direct link here
What I meant by the word "artist" in the title - at the time I thought the only way to be an artist was with paint and clay and other materials you can touch with your hands, in the real world.
Monday, November 6, 2017
This happened in 1997
direct link here
This recording is cut off, not sure what happened. I tried to find the complete audio elsewhere, to no avail. But here's another audio that includes the same story, along with other things. I'm not the most organized person online, to say the least.
Also, here's more of my stories...
This recording is cut off, not sure what happened. I tried to find the complete audio elsewhere, to no avail. But here's another audio that includes the same story, along with other things. I'm not the most organized person online, to say the least.
Also, here's more of my stories...
audio journal 1.09.2009
direct link here
I ended up not being able to walk, and other yucky things. Want to hear about how it was adjusting to the wheelchair?
wheelchair pt 1
wheelchair pt 2
I ended up not being able to walk, and other yucky things. Want to hear about how it was adjusting to the wheelchair?
wheelchair pt 1
wheelchair pt 2
All My Homes
direct link here
In '94 or '95, DeSoto held it's festival thing called Toad Holler Hoot. Yes. Yes, I know. I think they named it that because back in the day, there was an old school there called Toad Holler. Or something along those lines. So they named the town festival after it. There was going to be pony rides, face painting, a bounce house. Three-legged sack races, raffles, corn dogs... You know how those things go. All I know is, just the thought of that kind of thing makes me tired. I'd rather sit on the beach in the sun. So we were living at my ex-husband's family's place. His grandmother was really involved in all sorts of town things, she took pictures for the newspaper and organized things and stuff. At the Toad Holler festival that year, one of the events was going to be a Cow Pattie Toss. Yup. There were cows on the property where we lived. These cows, it was decided, were to be the contributors to this event. And guess who the collector of the patties was. All I know is, one day the grandmother came at me with some plastic bags, and told me what was going on. I politely obliged. I was living under her roof. So Leah and I took our bags and headed for the pasture. We spent the afternoon searching for, and carefully collecting, cow dung. The stiffest things, they are. Round, and they look almost braided. It's weird. They were dried out at least, so the smell wasn't too bad. We collected all we could, careful not to break them. I did not go to the festival. I assume the happy townfolk enjoyed the fruits of my labors. I never really claimed DeSoto as my own, although I moved there when I was 11. Oak Cliff will always and forever be my hood, and my true home. I remember my last day at my house in Oak Cliff. It was built in 1907 (or 1903, I can't remember) and what stood out the most in my mind about it was the big fat white round columns that supported the front porch. On my last day there, I stood on the porch and wrapped my arms around one. I was hugging my house goodbye. I cried that day. It was the only home I had ever known. To this day, in my mind, it's still the only place that was my real home. Nothing else counts, except for maybe the house we moved to in DeSoto, but that was where the chaos began. Home, to me, is so much more than where you live. It's also a place in my head. -A.
In '94 or '95, DeSoto held it's festival thing called Toad Holler Hoot. Yes. Yes, I know. I think they named it that because back in the day, there was an old school there called Toad Holler. Or something along those lines. So they named the town festival after it. There was going to be pony rides, face painting, a bounce house. Three-legged sack races, raffles, corn dogs... You know how those things go. All I know is, just the thought of that kind of thing makes me tired. I'd rather sit on the beach in the sun. So we were living at my ex-husband's family's place. His grandmother was really involved in all sorts of town things, she took pictures for the newspaper and organized things and stuff. At the Toad Holler festival that year, one of the events was going to be a Cow Pattie Toss. Yup. There were cows on the property where we lived. These cows, it was decided, were to be the contributors to this event. And guess who the collector of the patties was. All I know is, one day the grandmother came at me with some plastic bags, and told me what was going on. I politely obliged. I was living under her roof. So Leah and I took our bags and headed for the pasture. We spent the afternoon searching for, and carefully collecting, cow dung. The stiffest things, they are. Round, and they look almost braided. It's weird. They were dried out at least, so the smell wasn't too bad. We collected all we could, careful not to break them. I did not go to the festival. I assume the happy townfolk enjoyed the fruits of my labors. I never really claimed DeSoto as my own, although I moved there when I was 11. Oak Cliff will always and forever be my hood, and my true home. I remember my last day at my house in Oak Cliff. It was built in 1907 (or 1903, I can't remember) and what stood out the most in my mind about it was the big fat white round columns that supported the front porch. On my last day there, I stood on the porch and wrapped my arms around one. I was hugging my house goodbye. I cried that day. It was the only home I had ever known. To this day, in my mind, it's still the only place that was my real home. Nothing else counts, except for maybe the house we moved to in DeSoto, but that was where the chaos began. Home, to me, is so much more than where you live. It's also a place in my head. -A.
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