What’s in My Journal
Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
Things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can’t find them. Someone’s terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.
by William Stafford from Crossing Unmarked Snow
Today Sunday is the new Saturday. Tomorrow is memorial day and I don’t have to work. A whole entire extra day to make mailart and clog up more spraypaint nozzles. It’s nice to feel so free and uncluttered on a lovely Sunday evening like this one. I’m sitting next to wide open french windows where I can feel the cool air on my skin and hear birds calling to each other in the oaks just outside. Soon I will have to close the windows, or put on socks and a fleece sweatshirt.
I went to Home Depot yesterday and stocked up on spraypaint. 2 shades of pink, lavendar, baby blue, apple red, black, white, and paint thinner to keep the nozzles free and clear. I keep forgetting to turn the cans upside down and spray until the stream is clear. I also got a 4- foot long fold out table. Which means I can stop using a TV dinner tray for my spraypaint station. I also decided not to cover the table with newspaper. Why bother? It just blows away eventually and besides there’s no one here to get mad if I get paint all over the table. Except the cat posse. And as you can see from the photo, Buck at least, could care less.
When my neighbor re-did one of her bathrooms last year I inherited this lovely iron claw-foot bathtub. Whistle if you think she’s gorgeous. I do.
Here’s another page from my current visual journal. I don’t think I’ve posted it before, but I could be wrong.