There is a woman beside the till at the Fyxx sniffing all the individual tea bags. It is agony to watch as she sniffs, hard, and then slips them right back into their respective tea stacks in the tiny shelf. I am sitting all the way across the room, watching as I type, frozen in my seat. Sniff. Put back. Sniff. Put back. There are twelve kinds of tea. Four rows of three. And yesterday I sat across from this amazing woman who breezed in just after rush hour in the coffee shop and sat at the community table with us, still all bundled from a bus trip in the cold and she readily admitted to not being capable of multiplication. At all. It was very charming and I felt just fine about my own meager mathematics abilities. Will and Mitch are behind the counter. One is wearing heavy boots and the other is wearing cross trainers. Two pairs of footwear I wore today actually.
I have started running again. Learning my neighborhood, quickly. It is awesome. Sometimes I meet my friend halfway down the river or halfway down Waterfront. We never know. I never know at least. She is very quick, and I am getting back in the saddle. I haven't committed to daily running in quite some time and sometimes it feels like my stomach lining is slipping out of an unseen tube. Oh well, push through, keep running. I forgot how good it felt to run. To wear goggles and to run for the sake of adventure. It is nice.
Today after missing J completely at our supposed meeting spot by the bridge, I turned and ran all the way back down Waterfront only to meet her at my front door when I wound back home. We partook a lung, laughed on the floor and stretched our limbs tucked inside our over priced leggings. I have the millionaire leggings and she has the millionaire running watch. Anyway, we lay and caught up and then I walked to Martha Street to coat some screens for Art City and do some more work on a new print that I am working on. Sadly, the door leading to the upstairs studio was locked up but Inga was kind enough to let me in on her monoprint class.
I forgot how much fun monoprint was! I hung out with the latest crew of printers, all the women in their fifties with grandbabies and a keen interest in what the hell my reason was for bombarding their printing party with my pre-art-school crazy. They loved it, the entire adventure of application, the risk, the work, the time, the city, and I loved them for their enthusiasm. Valerie and Effie and Violet (who really likes Birds of Paradise flowers) are routing for me. Thanks ladies. My favorite woman was Valerie who gave me some sound art school advice: focus one's portfolio more on the person than the palette. Then she quickly added: and sometimes vice versa. Awesome. Can do. She also told me about her fresh grandson named Matthew Kingsley (after Wes Anderson's Kingsley Zissou character in Life Aquatic). My jaw fell when this plumpy little woman started rattling off amazing Anderson references while we mixed ink for the class. Good day.
So I sat and dry etched onto my plastic stock that Inga dug up for me and us women rolled out inks like dough at the high work tables and sent our etchings through the press over and over until we were totally satisfied with layers and colors and embossment. I was totally satisfied with the women. Great class. I made a new friend, Jane. She looked about 32, married and happy at her evening winter art class. Cool lady. I even made a fairly okay looking monoprint based off a drawing I did of my Surly a few months ago. Into the portfolio it goes. Two down for print media. Monoprint. Check. Silkscreen. Check.
Last night while drawing at the light table, Drex explained patiently that while the school may request 20 pieces per say, one does not have to include as many. "Choose well, Madge", he said. Okay, pal. I'll try. I have good people around me who are holding me accountable without even realizing it, just from simple encouragement and an honest opinion and the odd inside tip.
Today I realized that I can run everyday with my pal Les, who has lived in Montreal for years. Up the mountain and down in matching ridiculous outfits. If she will have me that is. Awesome. While things may not be falling into place just yet, things are at least falling. Motion, pals.
Things are in motion over here.
Oh and on another note entirely, my Great Auntie Louise is still slipping in and out of this life. I can hardly believe that my phone calls to my mother of late include the phrase, "Has she died yet?", the yet implying wishful thinking or hopefulness. I would never want anyone to pass, but this woman has long been seeing the angels. She is ready to try eternal rest on for size. She has one foot inside Heaven's gate and one foot tied to the hospital bed. Her mind is floating like a balloon trying to decide which route to take. Her legs are long and none of us know how long she will take to decide. We are all thinking of her as her body is beginning it's journey to the light. Go for it Auntie Weeze, you lived well. I love you.