"Firebird" by Erté

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© 2017 Pamela MacCarthy


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“A Painter's Kitchen-
Revised Edition:
Recipes from the Kitchen of Georgia O'Keeffe”
(Red Crane Cookbook Series)

Margaret Wood

March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 February 2005 March 2005 April 2005 May 2005 June 2005 July 2005 August 2005 September 2005 October 2005 November 2005 December 2005 January 2006 February 2006 March 2006 April 2006 May 2006 June 2006 July 2006 August 2006 September 2006 October 2006 November 2006 December 2006 January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 June 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009 March 2009 April 2009 May 2009 June 2009 July 2009 August 2009 September 2009 October 2009 November 2009 December 2009 January 2010 February 2010 March 2010 April 2010 May 2010 June 2010 July 2010 August 2010 September 2010 October 2010 November 2010 December 2010 January 2011 February 2011 March 2011 April 2011 May 2011 June 2011 July 2011 August 2011 September 2011 October 2011 November 2011 December 2011 January 2012 February 2012 March 2012 April 2012 June 2012 July 2012 August 2012 September 2012 October 2012 November 2012 December 2012 January 2013 February 2013 March 2013 April 2013 May 2013 June 2013 July 2013 August 2013 September 2013 October 2013 November 2013 December 2013 January 2014 February 2014 March 2014 April 2014 May 2014 June 2014 July 2014 August 2014 September 2014 October 2014 November 2014 December 2014 January 2015 February 2015 March 2015 April 2015 May 2015 June 2015 July 2015 August 2015 September 2015 October 2015 November 2015 December 2015 January 2016 February 2016 March 2016 April 2016 May 2016 June 2016 July 2016 September 2016 October 2016 November 2016 December 2016 January 2017 February 2017 March 2017 April 2017 May 2017 June 2017 July 2017 August 2017 September 2017

Monday, March 24, 2003  

Tomorrow bright and early is my interview [?] for a gallery/exhibition... I 'm lugging 3 of my newest canvases to show the gallery committee, then they'll contact me in 3 weeks to let me know the result.
They handle the vertical.
They handle the horizontal- two weeks worth of space, exposure and notoriety-
And they'll just let me know.

I 'll hang for the day, as they decide away, and then after 5, I'll lug my "children" back home.
How to kill time between then:
Theres a beautiful flower shop in Roppongi that has an "orchid" room, and a lady plays piano while the people walk around the mossy place. I love it in there... then there's "The Raj" a fab Indian restaurant to go fall apart in. The curtains, the tables are so nice in the back- you can spend an afternoon just munching garlic nan and sipping lassi...
A movie, theres an idea...
All these diversions- Oh- I can shop till I drop at the "meat rush"- takubin all non perishables home the following day, so I don't have to feel like I just bought groceries for a year by carrying them along with me...

I hope they give me the exhibition-

Everythings coming up- bright lights and daffodils
Everythings coming up sunshine and Santa Claus
Everythings coming up roses for you and for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
'Till next time... 'Mela

4:36 PM

Friday, March 21, 2003  

I became a mom 17 years ago today, on a Friday morning at 10:06 am. My son is a teenager, with all the symptoms.
Invasion of the body snatchers was supposed to be a science fiction, wasn't it?
I may check the closets [no basement] for pods...
I always heard expressions people say about "the teenaged years" and thought, "these people really do exaggerate"... NO MORE. What happens? What makes the most darling children turn into dark, brooding teenagers?

This is my congrads to me-
I celebrate the event, after all I did the "labor"-
and I remember the song I danced around to 5 days before he was born, on St. Patrick's day- "Come on Eileen". Me, out to here but still dancin'- they played that song again this St. Pat's, and it brought back that feeling of solidarity with myself.
Having a baby is a good way to get to know yourself.
It all came back to me hearing that song "Come on Eileen"...

And Happy Birthday to my son.

I remember the Chinese proverb: You learn more about your own parents when you finally become one...

I guess the karma from my hell raisin' girlish days is coming to git me!

'Till next time... [ Mamma ] 'Mela

3:13 PM

Saturday, March 15, 2003  

Early this morning, a high pitched voice called and told me my new bicycle was on the way...

My new "gidensha", as they call it here in Nippon, is here...

There's something spiritual about getting new "wheels"- it conjures up memories long since put aside...

I remember my first bike. My father bought me a Schwinn; aqua blue and brand new- I didn't yet know how to ride a "two wheeler"- my father remedied that one pretty quick: he said ,"sit down here" and soon after shoved me out into the main road alongside "Pops" bicycle shop- I pedaled as if I had been doing it all my life. My father was a Bronx/Army man, he sure didn't stand on ceremony. I was 8 at the time.

The next new bike came on Christmas a few years later. My father and mother were now divorced. He must have been up all night, that Christmas eve-
Christmas day when me and my three sisters came to visit him at his house, there were 4 new bikes, that he had painstakingly put together. I was 12 then.

And now here I am at last- with a beautiful new bike I just got delivered today, wrapped in bubble paper right on down to the foot pedals- they take no chances with bruising things...

I can only think of Roger Daultrey singing the great song from the "WHO" :


In glorious lilac purple and silver with matching baskets.
I'll have to asessorize with a new umbrella and rain towel...


'till next time- 'Mela

11:47 AM

Thursday, March 13, 2003  

I heard there was an earth quake here,
but I was too busy imagining one on the train to experience the true jolt of reality...
I must be psychic-

While I was on the train riding towards home, I was imagining what would the buildings look like if there was an earthquake, and later on I find that at that same time, one actually happened- so the thing to do now is to imagine [really hard] that I have won an obscene amount of money from a lottery ticket I bought and forgot about -till now...

Tomorrow is White Day.

No, not a day for marriage, or to go to confession, at long last- I for one, although brought up Catholic, could not MAKE myself tell them guys in robes my personal business, I had sass at age 7!
But to get back to WHITE DAY- in Japan, they love most things American- except the living, breathing, large sized replicas walking around in their towns and cities, otherwise they would have things other than clown suits and shoes for us, right? WELL- I'm talking Valentines day. What has been a well known season for sweeties to do the thing they love best- here in Japan has been deemed "Valentines Day" and "White Day"- respectively.
So, on the real stupid Cupid day, girls are supposed to give chocolate to any and all of the male species that they are personally acquainted with- from workmates, teachers, bosses, husbands, boyfriends, flavors of the week-

Chocolate companies really score on the possibilities- but what always drives me way past nuts, are the "dedicated lot" who stand in front of you in the checkout line of the "gourmet" section of the department store- you, with your solitary jar of pickles waiting while little miss make-it-myself- just gotta get 347 ingredients/items to spend a whole day making what they do at Godiva's much, much better...

One month later, the men are to reciprocate- dispensing heaping helpings of their hospitality...

I think I liked it better when I bought my mother a large box of assorted chocolates in a satiny box, but ate them all while waiting for her to pick me and my sisters up after church.

Youse all aren't wearing long robes, are ya?

'Till next time... 'Mela

5:17 PM

Friday, March 07, 2003  

"Ohhhhhh Mama can this really be the end ,
to be stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis blues again..."

They don't write songs like that one anymore...

I sound like a commercial for K-Tel Records,
except they were talking about Hoagy Carmichael, then.

Maybe in another 20 years someone will be saying the same thing about some song they heard in 2003.
I can't fathom it, really.

Hard to get sentimental or even feign interest over "Closing Time" - and/or whatever the hell the name of the song where the guy says "I'm six feet under, bla bla bla"- or the girly-girl who sings "Little bit o this, little bit o that"...

Are you kidding me or what?

I guess they're trying to express the same sort of angst as Bob Dylan
did on the opening tune,
but gee, golly, damn- something has seriously disconnected in the imagination and creative part of the brain responsible for writing songs that you feel in the gut.

This knockover fluff I'm hearing lately is just rehashed, reheated, recycled, and redundant.

Dozy git.
I really like that word, it has chemistry.

I like Echo and the Bunnymen.

I used to wear my hair the same way as Ian did
when he sang The Yo-Yo Man:

"Froze to the bone in my igloo home,
counting the days till the ice turn green
You know when heaven and hell collide
there are no in betweens..."

Gloomy shit. I loved it, still do...
Especially on this rainy March day-

And I don't drink alcohol, any more.

Amazing the amount of control it takes when you don't drink, to keep your sanity.
The jokes are all rehearsed, the rim shots are dead on, but you aren't in a stream of consciousness when delivering the punch lines- so if they work, great, if they don't-

Like the sound of the pipe organ at Yankee Stadium, when everybody's waiting for something to happen aside from someone spitting on his shoe for the umpteenth time-

Uuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrr goes the organ- as if to say: "Will this guy get a hit"? "Will he steal the base"? or What?

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrr goes the organ.

Godfrey Daniels there's pineapple juice in my pineapple juice!

And the band played on...

"Oh Buttermilk skies..."

'Till next time, 'Mela

3:03 PM

Tuesday, March 04, 2003  

March is coming in like a lion, alright...

Happy Fat Tuesday, one and all... and to one special niece of mine, Ms. Jennifer, Happy, Happy 18th Birthday to you, sweetheart!

Things are looking up for this calendar girl, although the economy here in Nippon is none too great, there are opportunities for the persistent pavement pounder, or, in this age, keyboard pounder. It used to be [for this ex New Yorker] a subway to the bus to a taxi up the block while fixing your lipstick and tucking your bagel-breakfast in your bag before getting settled for your five minute interview-
now its all an email away...

Not one to talk about breaks before they tap on the door, I'll just say that I'll be vacuuming the dust the hell off my welcome mat forthwith.

I think its time I turned this roll of film in my pocket the hell in and had its funky ass exposed for the thing that it is: a lovely collection of photos of the "Japan Grand Prix International Orchid Festival". One of a string of events that helps us all get through the winters here. The tedium of the cold, sunny, dry days is too much sometimes- I know all you people in the 'States who are now diggin' your asses outta 6 foot snowbanks will really feel for my poor soul on this one, but gee, if its gotta be winter, why not have the weather in hybernation mode to go along? Being raised upstate NY all this light bothers my eyes past 3:30 in the afternoon...
But the orchids- ohhhh the orchids...
This is my third consecutive visit to the festival, so now being the seasoned connaisseur, I don't point and snap at everything that crosses my lenses path. I was able to put that 'ole L-7 viewfinder in my mind to good work in choosing the more suitable subjects for my future canvas, [ j'espere, j'espere] namely the smaller, more numerous flowers, and their surrounding greenery. And I did it with only one roll of 24 exposures. Last year I was "crazy for Cattleyas", but this year I went for the more subdued, dude. And what variations on this theme there were! Fuzzy, raggedy, scraggly, in breathtaking colors, and with scents equally as intoxicating...

They get a good turnout at this annual event - located in the Tokyo Dome, home to the Yomiuri Giants baseball team, and ex-Giant Hideki Matsui, who is Yankee property these days... got 'ZILLA?
Try to visualize a sports arena filled to the rafters with orchids, orchids and more orchids- expensive rigs flashing away, and even the mobile phone cameras- "Look Ma, I'm at the Orchid Festival"!
A great way to relieve the winter doldrums.

'Till next time... 'Mela

9:42 AM

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