I was in Park Slope last week and took some pictures of the Montauk Club. It’s a fabulous, ornate building.

What struck me this time was how the faces of the gargoyles initially appear identical but they’re actually very different. Each has his expression: grumpy, scared, bored, peckish…

They make me think of the lion in the Wizard of Oz. I want them to talk to me.

M is out of town and some people are either missing him a whole bunch or else taking advantage.

I went upstate again today for some further house-buying investigation. This time I took the bus.

Photo courtesy of brilarian on flickr.

Leaving New York by bus mostly involves going through the Port Authority terminal which is vile – an urban level of Dante’s inferno designed specifically for human discomfort.

I was standing in line waiting to board and a soft-spoken young man wearing a white cap and carrying a backpack approached me. “Free poems,” he said, holding out a sheet of paper from the stack of photocopies he was carrying. Out of habit I shook my head and he moved on to the next person, who also shook their head. Everybody turned him away.

I wish now that I had said yes. He was so gentle and he wasn’t selling anything; he was giving away his poem. I wish I had accepted it.

Last weekend I drove up to the Mid Hudson Valley in phase one of project figure-out-if-I’d-like-to-buy-a-house-and-live-upstate-at-least-part-time. It’s a good thing that omens do not deter me because Saturday began with finding the rental car bashed in. In the pouring rain.

I called the police and they showed up quickly so I was on the road by noon. It was still pouring rain. It never stopped raining. The rain got heavier and heavier. There were sheets of water crossing the parkway. On the hills little rivers gurgled along the pavement edge. Then there was the fog. I saw devil deer. And they saw me.

I drove steadily and slowly and felt exceedingly proud of myself when I got to my destination in one piece.

I had a lovely overnight visit with a friend who has known my parents and then me “since day one” as she puts it. Outside it continued to rain. The power went out but we remained unphased, sitting by the fire with candles and tea. She listened to me talk and talk and talk, and I started to see more clearly what my next step might be. Get help. Look at lots of houses. We went to bed and wrapped up cozy for a night without heat.

Sunday morning was another world: blue sky and crisp sun.

During breakfast the lights came on and the fridge started groaning. I drove back over the hill and spent the afternoon exploring the valley and imagining what it would be like. What would it be like to live here? What would it be like to come back and forth from the city? What would it be like to have to drive instead of walk to the store? Who would my neighbors be? And on and on. All the way home.

The plan was that the trip would clarify things, but I’ve come home with more questions. Maybe that’s alway the way. I guess I’m in the process.

On day 2 of being sick I was already so completely and utterly bored that I grabbed one of Barbara Walker’s stitch treasuries, picked a stitch pattern with a large repeat, grabbed some cotton and knitting needles that looked like they would probably work, and made this washcloth.

The problem with the project was that it woke up the giant knitting obsession, but more on that later…

Meanwhile another huge sense of accomplishment was achieved by installing hooks behind the door in the studio to hang my no-longer-pile of bags.

Little victories.

I’m sick. M is sick. Days feel stripped down to essentials.

I’m frustrated at having all this time at home without the energy to make things. My studio looks sad and lonesome.

I need to learn from these guys how to relax and renew.

It’s all about naps.

I bought a new wallet and while cleaning out the old one I found a single porcupine quill tucked into one of the credit card compartments. I have no idea where it came from.

My grandparents live on a farm in Canada. Once, while visiting, I took the difficult path along the side of the lake – the one that usually only the dog takes, while people cross by canoe. On the steep bank under the fir trees I found the remains of a porcupine: skin and quills. Sacred.

I took a few of the spines and when I got back to the house I carefully put them into a matchbox which I carefully stashed in the cup holder by the driver’s seat in my car, and which I never saw again. I don’t know how I lost them when I was being so attentive, but it seemed right. Must not have been okay for me to take anything from that animal.

So the other day when I found the treasure in my purse it felt like full circle. I’ve been given back one quill.

I’ve been walking down this block several times a week for months now, but I only just noticed the bicycle. What else am I missing?

Christmas to New Year to whoops it’s been a week without posting. I’ve been in that hibernating, quiet, winter space. Spent the first of the year tidying up, readying my studio for new work. Dreaming the next phase.

Slowed down to notice the glove abandoned in the street below.

And the cactus blooming up above.

It’s amazing how the turning of the year and the return of the light affects my mood. There I was, the Eeyore of Brooklyn feeling like nothing will ever change and how the hell did I get here. Two seconds more daylight and I am filled with hope, balancing my checkbook and making grand plans for the next five years. Magical, magical planetary influences.

So I give you what I think may be my all-time favorite picture of myself.

Summer in the mid-1970s; wild and free in the enormous garden of family friends, clad in Mexican cotton and having successfully fought off any and all hairbrushes for many a day. (Likely taken just moments before my mom took the shears to my head in an impromptu attempt to preserve her sanity and keep the child welfare folks from carting her off, accused of cruel and unusual hair styling.)

I love the spirit of the picture, and it’s my wish that 2008 bring more of her playful energy into my life. Teach me, oh little one.