she ate the whole thing

but i get ahead of myself. like these women pictured here, i am likely older and fatter than you, though i never wear a full, long skirt, nor a cap nor a shawl -- and rarely an apron. i do however, upon occasion, wear an apron, but i only have blue ones. my hair is not black nor white, and neither is my cat. she's not green either.

but a truism emerges nonetheless: a portly older woman has a cat. what could be truer than that? in the five and a half years we've spent together we've not always seen eye-to-eye, but we have a policy by which we stand: we always make up before we go to bed.

something has happened this weekend, though, that threatens every bit of the simpatico wavelength we have forged: ruby caught and ate a tree-rat right in front of me. (we were outside.) (though tree-rats look like big mice with a long rat-like tail, i've gotten to know them pretty well over the years; they love the bird-feeder late at night, and they'll peel and sample lemons on the tree, placing the bits of rind carefully on a nearby leaf. though there are those who shudder at the mere thought of them, they're pretty harmless.)

now ruby, like previous cats with whom i've shared a bed, has learned that birds are out-of-bounds. i understand the magnitude of sacrifice she makes for me in this, so i tread carefully with regards other possible prey. spare the butterfly, if possible, but allow the dragonfly, like that. and if she catches a mouse she's not allowed to bring it into the house. but a rat? i'm afraid we didn't have any rule for that.

the first sign that something was about to happen was her uncharacteristically rushed and clumsy leap toward the side fence and into the morning glory vines which thicken towards the ground and back she came with the rat in her mouth, as it kicked and kicked, in its wholly ineffectual attempt to run away. she didn't seem sure where to drop it, and in case that had anything to do with me, sitting there, i half-heartedly congratulated her on her catch.

she shook it several times in what appeared to be clearly an attempt to kill it, then dropped it on the cardboard port in front of my swing. it lay on its back, still kicking, and breathing hard. i could see its belly fill and deflate, fill and deflate. ruby played with it, but seemed more interested in dining than diddling.
and thus she began, taking the head first.

she was quite masterly and efficient, and utterly serious. soon the head was only half there, bloody and fresh. the rest went down a bite at a time, though she had to work the gristle, or the intestines -- not sure what -- till they tore. very slightly, i could hear the crackle of the bones. it didn't take much time, as i sat there unclear of my role, if there was one. ruby neither rushed nor dawdled. i wondered if she would eat the tail, which was last, but she did.

then all that was left was a very small puffy pile of swollen entrails, and one hand, er, paw, though it looked like a gloved hand that might reach for one's monocle. ruby, full and tired, crawled right into her bed and slept, even before she cleaned herself, though truthfully she had been very neat.

so who am i now? she is clearly no longer my "baby." or is she? i don't know how to treat her, though i'm struggling to stop myself from getting down on my knees and bowing down, we're not worthy, we're not worthy. my charming companion has shown her true face, and she has asked me, what does anyone really know?

painting in a minor key

this whole rather stream-of-con- sciousness meandered from one inspiration to another (i'll get to that), and since much of this travel was through the nabis' neighborhood, i tried to find that tune in my head. forgive my synaesthesia, but i realised that the only way i could describe it was through sound.

this adventure began when i when i saw the elmes poster at the (below right). i knew it reminded me of something,
and it was clearly indebted to nabi music.
(see more at this amazing blog!)

i looked through my nabi books, and i think that this vallotton (above left) comes the closest, and that perhaps the ones i was seeing in my mind's eye were conflations of a few of the other ones.

the next two are just echos, the synapses skipping.

while bernard was the only one of these two who were part of the pont-aven crowd, you can surely see the route. but all this made me want to grasp what message i was getting from their work.

and i found that for me, it is non-verbal. it like the minor- key in the key- strokes of symphony, like a rotation that leaves every- thing rotated, not quite in

free-fall...........

three of these bottom images are from another won- derful site, i added the fourth, from ernest batch- elder, but its original artist is not attributed. personally, i think the bonnard more matches the batchelder.

there is something terribly attractive about that skewing, that minor key; it can be almost unbearable to come right-side up again. yes, the artists were heavily influenced by japanese prints, their flatness, their blocks of color, and their their knowledge of the importance of the non-linear line, and symbolism, and a response to the impressionists. but i believe that the goal, probably unconscious, was to play by the music that they heard, not anyone elses.

which is like so many of us today.

something in my eyes

many years ago i was read- ing a short story, follow the eagle, by william kotzwinkle, for about the 400th time. this is a story about a young native-american motorcycle rider and here it was, the middle-of-the-night, when i noticed for the very first time that the story was increasingly in the cadence of hiawatha! why had i never noticed before? well, this same phenomenon has happened again, but i'm going to string this out for a little longer as i wait to see if you can guess.

in his charming and perceptive essay seeing eye-to-eye with japan, taras a saks provides some fascinating differences he's observed between american and japanese cultures. for example, "In the book The Inscrutable Japanese, by Kagawa Hiroshi, the author notes that if Japanese children, when scolded, look their parents in the eye, they will be further reproached, “Why are you looking at me that way?” In contrast, if an American child looks down or away when chastised, he or she will most likely be ordered to “Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

he continues, "Though in the US, for example, direct eye contact is seen in a positive light — denoting honesty, sincerity, self-confidence, and trustworthiness — in Japan it can be taken as proof of vanity, hubris, overconfidence, and rudeness"

in another column, selling dog training services successfully, the author instructs, "It’s important to take charge at the initial consult. Don’t be content to be left standing in the entryway while the client’s life swirls around you, politely waiting to be acknowledged. You’re a professional there to do professional work. They’re paying for your time and there’s a limited amount of it—it’s important to get right to work and set a tone of productivity. When the door opens, introduce yourself and shake hands while making good, solid eye contact. If the dog is present, compliment her and, if safe and appropriate, pet her. But then straighten back up, smile, and suggest, “Shall we sit at the kitchen table and get started?” Clients will feel more comfortable if you take the lead, and are much more likely to hire you if you seem competent and in control."

whether it's dog-training or vacuum cleaners, the rules are the same, as well as for for everything from laundry detergent to breakfast cereal: behave the way you would if you wanted to strike terror in the hearts in japan! in fact, can that be the underlying message in both cultures? i wonder if bullying is as much a problem in japan as it is here, where basic to our culture is the positive effect in a nation of salesmen turns us also into a nation of bullies.

and yes, surely you've noticed by now: after six years of doing this blog; after thirty years of being a student of japanese art, yesterday i noticed something for the very first time: they are never, ever, looking you in the eyes.

pleasuring oneself

it is always interesting to me to watch japonisme as waves, washing over the west over the decades, as this is highlighted in one year, and that in another. from its first faces in the haystacks and bridges of the impressionists, still painted with the hand of the west, through the blossom of the poster with its asymmetry, blocks of color, outlines, and more, and on through to the beginning of the art deco years.

it is in those years, the 20s and 30s, the jazz age with its flappers and charm, that we see some of the most clearly influenced images of all: the chic simplicity of the faces of women. in magazines (and on their covers), and on the covers too of sheet music, we see as nowhere else an almost perfect uh, mirroring of the faces of the bijin in the japanese prints.

throughout the west posters, magazines, illustrated sheet music proliferated for many of the same reasons, which continuously fed back into each other: the development of modern printing, modern communication and modern transportation technologies passed new styles and info around the world as quickly as they used to pass around town after a sunday morning in church.

this is the moment when the ideal woman's body became elongated and ultra-thin, just as utamaro had fantasized in his prints. everything now must be streamlined, swift, be it autos, trains, buildings, costumes, or, of course, women. the requirement of 'charm,' was forwarded by 'movie stars,' (in her book 'charm,' actress margery wilson insisted, among much else, that 'girls' must learn to walk on 'one line,' not 'two lines.' try it.)

as women's freedom grew, so grew the strictures by which she must present herself physically. the mirror of this in the sixties are the books 'fascinating womanhood,' by helen andelin and 'the feminine mystique,' by betty friedan as analyzed brilliantly by holly welker in bitch magazine. (note: at the time, i found myself in both consciousness-raising groups and fascinating womanhood classes. come to think of it, the second actually led me to the first.)

from bitch: '[where] In The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan complains that "the only passion, the only pursuit, the only goal a woman is permitted is the pursuit of a man," Andelin insists that a “fascinating woman” finds happiness precisely by assuming a secondary status and lacking an inner life. Being infantile, manic, pixie-ish, and dreamy [is] posited as an important ingredient in attracting a mate, which is the most important element of female happiness.'

in yet another iteration of several of my favorite themes i look at how malleable we as women are expected to be, even more so as we assume increased power. in any number of ways what is likely a majority of women still include a husband and children in their 'must haves.' and as long as that remains true, the girdles and facepaint will remain in the weekend bag. and it will always remain true.

sitting getting my taxes done last month in a small office surrounded by three other menopausal women, i was surprised that i was the only one to whom it had occurred that if 'mating' ceased to be a goal (and yes, that included getting laid), the need for so many other things fall away as well. we get to please ourselves, pretty much for the first time. it can be hard, but, ladies & gentlemen, it sure is sweet.

notes from the internets

You can't prevent poets and writers from comparing women to flowers in the same way that you can never tell designers to stop bombarding runways with floral maxi dresses when it is time to showcase their spring/summer collections -- considering the name of the season itself implies as such. 1

There is an awful lot of debate still ongoing about the running of the F1 in Bahrain. The pretty odious Bernie Eccelstone , whos hobbies include comparing women to domestic appliances and praising hitler has said that the raging battles for democracy in the state are nothing to do with him. 2

TOO MANY ASSHOLES ON MY FACEBOOK TONIGHT ARE COMPARING WOMEN TO APPLIANCES…

I JUST WANT TO SMACK THEM IN THE FACE!!!I AM NOT LIKE A FRIDGE OR A VACUUM CLEANER, OR A VENDING MACHINE. I AM A FUCKING HUMAN BEING WHO DESERVES MORE THAN YOU WRITING A WITTY CRITICISM OF HOW YOU WANT ‘YO WOMAN’ TO ACT. ESPECIALLY WHEN ONE OF THEM IS A FAMILY MEMBER.

I SOMETIMES WANT TO SCREAM 3

Here's a Georgia Repub, comparing women to pigs, cows, and sheep: "State Rep. Terry England was speaking in favor of HB 954, which makes it illegal to obtain an abortion after 20 weeks even if the woman is known to be carrying a stillborn fetus or the baby is otherwise not expected to live to term. 4

Preibus wasn't comparing women to caterpillars. He was pointing out how rediculous it is to point to poll numbers (rather than actions) as proof this 'war' exists. 5

The authors believe in wild oats and are full of advice for sowing them: comparing women to wines, for instance, they suggest trying "the mellowness of experience" as well as the "exuberance of youth," and the pleasures of oral sex are not neglected. 6

You can't prevent poets and writers from comparing women to flowers....

... a red red rose, maybe?....

(this all written, still, heart in my throat)

occupy blogger

perhaps i'll cry

there is one reason why i have not torn out my hair nor moved to wordpress (nor have i posted, though): a couple of years back, google decided that any user like me who was still using the old format could just forget accurate links to older posts if they were foolhardy enough to not want to update.

like now, there was a huge uproar which went on and on. if i recall correctly, even when a googmanager did post it was not very friendly. but we perservered in our protest.

finally, someone wrote some little fix that we oldies could tack onto our templates and make it work for older posts. why they didn't do it sooner i do not know.

but this is the only reason i am slightly optimistic even after all the heedless bullshit: they have made right, at least once, in the past.

meanwhile, while this GUI is still available, i might as well use it; the making of this blog seems to have been encoded in my cells after all these years; it organizes how i think.

meanwhile, check out this endlessly marvelous (new?) site featuring wondrous sheet music cover art. but only go when you have a lot of time to spare.

that last post, such as it is, will be my last post on this blog. i find all the new "improvements" to the composing system to be counter-intuitive, impossible to use, wildly slow, etc. the tags on the previous post will attest to that. i just finally gave up trying to get them right. fuck it.

7AM Wednesday 25th though i had looked for it under every gear-sign i came across, there was never an option to revert to the old interface. apparently, i had not tried them all. found one where that did indeed reside this morning and am goiong in to re-edit those last two posts. but... what they're saying is that soon that'll be gone too.

fever

Never know how much I love you,

Never know how much I care.
When you put your arms around me,
I get a fever that's so hard to bear.

You give me fever,
When you kiss me,
Fever when you hold me tight.
Fever! In the morning,
Fever all through the night.

Sun lights up the daytime
And moon lights up the night..
I light up when you call my name
And you know I'm gonna treat you right

You give me fever
When you kiss me,
Fever when you hold me tight.
Fever! In the morning,
And fever all through the night

Everybody's got the fever

That is something you all know
Fever isn't such a new thing
Fever started long ago

Romeo loved Juliette
Juliette she felt the same
When he put his arms around her he said,
"Julie, baby, you're my flame

"Thou giveth fever

"When we kisseth
"Fever with thy flaming youth
"Fever! I'm afire,
"Fever, yeah, I burn, forsooth."

Cap'in Smith and Pocahontas
had a very mad affair
When her daddy tried to kill him
She said,"Daddy, oh, don't you dare!

"He gives me fever with his kisses
"Fever when he holds me tight
"Fever! I'm his Mrs,
So"Daddy, won't you treat him right?"

Now you've listened to my story,
Here's the point that I have made:
Chicks were born to give you fever,
Be it Fahrenheit or Centigrade

They give you fever
When you kiss them
Fever if you live and learn
Fever! 'till you sizzle

what a lovely way to burn
what a lovely way to burn
what a lovely way to burn
what a lovely way to burn