The way I remember it, when I was a freshman in high school, I received a couple of very significant things and a couple of  insignificant things.

One insignificant thing was a really bad version of Meg Ryan's haircut in You've Got Mail. It's my own fault for going to A Great Cut to have it done, but hair grows, so it wasn't the end of the world.

The second insignificant thing I received was a noticable amount of weight gain, a result of being bed-ridden and given mostly brownies to eat. The reason for being bed-ridden was because of one of the more significant things I received that year:

A patch to cover a hole in my heart. I was told it was Gore-tex in material, but really, that didn't matter too much to me. What mattered was that after having my sternum broken in two and my heart man-handled, I woke up. That's really all you can hope for in a situation like that.

The second significant thing I received near the same time as my surgery was a yellow lab puppy named Honey. She wasn't just my dog, but I always put it together that we got her as a result of my open-heart surgery. Maybe she would be a good replacement if I didn't survive, and if I did survive, she would help me make it through high school, as my older sisters were going off to college one by one.

There I was, chubby, sporting a terrible haircut and a healing wound right down the center of my chest, with the prettiest, sweetest dog by my side. I was a lucky girl.

***



As I healed and Honey grew, we spent a lot of time together. Who can tell what a dog really thinks, but context clues pointed to the fact that Honey's favorite activity was going to Shelby Farms, a large park in Memphis. As soon as we'd enter the parking lot, she'd start whimpering to get out of the car. I'd let her out, we'd walk through the gate together, and in a flash, she'd take off for the nearest body of water. I'd walk along the trails while she ran vast circles around me. She never grew tired.



The same wild dog had a soft side. Many nights or mornings, she'd climb in my bed. I couldn't sleep with her through the night because she snored, but her affection was the sweetest. Or maybe she was needy. She'd follow us around the house all day. She always wanted to be near someone, and she always wanted a good pet. How do I know? Because every time you sat down, she'd get right next to you and put her nose on or under your hand. If you gave in to pet her, she'd wriggle slowly, tail wagging, until you were scratching her rear end.

She was never mean, maybe disobedient, but always loving and always sweet. Always.



***

This Christmas, Honey was 13 years old. She could barely walk around or get up and down. Many times she'd fall down or slip. No more walks with her or trips to the park, but she was still the prettiest and sweetest dog.

***

Last Monday night, my last night in town, my sister Ginny told Catherine and I that we should go in and sit with Honey on her bed, a palette my mom made her out of sheets and cushiony things in our dining room.

"You never know if she'll make it through the night," she said.

We walked in the dark room and all three sat around her. Honey woke up and we talked to her and pet her and told her we loved her.

I left town for Knoxville the next day, and two days later, Honey died.

***

When I talked to my sister Catherine yesterday, I asked her why we even bothered having pets. We are all completely devastated.

Today, after a night of sleep, I know my question yesterday was selfish. Honey gave far more unconditional love and affection than I could ever learn how to give. She was a dog worth giving a home and loving as best as we could.

But, oh! How badly we'll miss her.

Almost every morning around 7am, my neighbor spends thirty seconds starting his car. Once it's started, he revs his engine for another 20 seconds or so.

Simultaneously, I lie in bed awake, fuming.

***

Most mornings in between 3am and 5am, I wake up and can't fall back asleep until about an hour before my alarm goes off or the revving of the engine starts outside my window, whichever comes first.

I eventually fall asleep, deeply, so when my alarm finally goes off, I often hit snooze for thirty minutes to an hour.

Putting my alarm across the room so that when it goes off, I have to get out of bed to turn it off, hasn't cured my snooze addiction. All it means is that I walk back and forth between my phone and bed for about thirty minutes, in five minute intervals.

It's completely masochistic, insane, bewildering.

***

One early morning while it was still dark, I woke up from a dream that I realized has been recurring, in theme, for a long time. The scenario changes, but the feeling is the same.

Basically, there is a problem to be solved or task to be completed- I have to find someone, gather something in boxes, prepare for an event, or take an exam. I work to accomplish the goal, but the end result is unreachable. In all my might and effort, I can't complete what I set out to do.

I see the person I'm trying to find, but they disappear. The things I put in boxes keep falling out. I gather what I need to for an event, but they keep escaping me. I go from room to room on my high school campus, unable to find where I'm supposed to take the exam.

The tension and frustration is palpable, as everything I want or need becomes elusive. I wake up, relieved it was a dream, and by the time I'm fully coherent, I forget the dream altogether.

***

Although reality grants me the ability to accomplish small tasks throughout the day, there are still the White Stags in my life, ever-elusive goals I can't fulfill.

I'll hunt them down with time.

***

I know one thing. The impending reaction to my neighbor and his revving engine is becoming less and less elusive.

I worry.

I worry about people who are addicted to their smart phone. I worry when friends play games on their phones during social gatherings. I worry that people mistake The Daily Show as a reliable news source. I worry whenever I watch a reality TV show. I worry when I write on someone's Facebook Wall, if it's for them or me. When I am on my couch watching an inspiring documentary or movie, I worry if my life could ever be as inspiring.

I worry.

One of my favorite painters recommended I read the commencement speech given at Stanford in June 2007 by Dana Gioia, former chairman of the National Endowment for the Arts. If you are an artist of any type and you worry, you should read it.

I have one more mason jar painting to make to reach my goal of 100. Here is No. 99, which you may purchase here.



No. 100 has been claimed by a friend, so that leaves a few at Magpies Bakery and a couple that are also listed on my shop.

I thought at this point I'd know more how I felt about continuing to make these after I reached 100. I'm not burnt out on them, but I'd like to take a break to concentrate on some drawings I've been wanting to make on paper.

In other news, I just booked a show at a coffee shop in Memphis for February (more on that later) and am working on showing at a very popular dining establishment in downtown Knoxville come spring. (can you guess which?)

I'm not sure if anyone has gathered this, but I really like animals. I like them so much that when I was finishing up college, I got a job working at a vet clinic, just to see what it was like*.


Llama
acrylic on canvas
2011
Sold (I will have prints of this soon)

The clinic was about a 20 to 30 minute drive from where I lived in downtown Knoxville, and most of the time, I was the only employee there with my boss. I'd spend my hour long lunch breaks alone and also the afternoons, when she'd leave for a few hours.

As I've mentioned before, I was really down back then but was too confused, prideful, (something), to do anything about it. I bring this up because, even though my job was really great, it wasn't good for me to be alone so much.

On my hour lunch break, I did various things alone in the area, trying to distract myself from thinking too much.

One activity I enjoyed was taking walks at Victor Ashe Park. It's not an aesthetically pleasing park and best serves soccer players and disc golfers, but there's a path that runs through it to the far end where it crosses a small road, passes over a creek via a bridge, and winds with the creek through woods and large backyards.

So I'm walking there for the first time, woods on either side, listening to the water rush over root and rock. And I'm looking at the back of these people's houses and their large yards wondering if I'm really supposed to be back there, but there are other people on the path as well.

I look up, and there he is: A dirty white llama standing in the creek, looking straight at me.

He was beautiful. He was magic.

He had a friend lying in the grass behind him, and I stood for a while there, watching and falling in love. And for a brief moment, the dark cloud above my head dispersed.

***

When I'm feeling down, one of my safety nets is seeing something/someone doing what it/they do best, even if it's not particulary exciting.

Besides being cuddly and soft, I think this is part of the reason why I love animals. They are so good at being what they are.

That day I saw the llama, he was perfectly fulfilling his role as a llama, and it made me really grateful.

***

About the painting:

In the beginning stages, I painted a llama from Machu Picchu, with the mountains and ruins behind and below him. I wanted him to be magical and strong, so it seemed like a good idea to have him standing on a tall cliff.

I decided, however, that this idea took away from the fact that anyone could happen upon this llama, as I did. I also thought it was important to have the creek.

I painted the sky pink first, and then about 20 other colors. At the time I was painting it, my friend Josh was practicing for a double bass recital in the room next to my studio a lot. As the sky changed from light yellow to white to dark grey to black, he kept telling me to make it pink again. He knows as much about art as I do about the double bass (very little), and I can't say I wanted to trust him, but for some reason, I did.

I also made the llama white because I didn't want dirt to read as brown fur. I also wanted to make him a little more fantastical, because he is. Fantastic.

*If you like animals because they are soft and cuddly, I wouldn't necessarily recommend working at a vet clinic. For all the cuteness, there is just as much that's sad, terrible, tragic, painful. I learned a great deal there.

This month, I have artwork in a few places.

One is Urbhana, located at 115 South Gay Street (Knoxville 37902) My newest paintings are there until the end of the month.

Urbhana is open:

Mon - Fri: 12:00 pm - 4:00 pm
Sat: 1:00 pm - 5:00 pm



It Don't Come Easy
acrylic on canvas
approximately 4' x 3'
$1500

Two is Magpies, located at 846 North Central Ave. (Knoxville 37917). My newest mason jar paintings are there for sale and also some framed prints of my paintings. They'll be up through December.

Magpies is open:

Tue - Fri: 10:00 am - 5:30 pm
Sat: 10:00 am - 2:00 pm



Three is I will be at the Holiday Market on Market Square THIS Saturday, December 10 from noon to 7pm. I'll have mason jars paintings, fine art prints, and more plus half of my booth will be dedicated to Knox Heritage with salvage, Knoxville postcards, JFG light bulb ornaments, and Summer Supper Cookbooks.



Come out and support your local artisans and craft makers!

In the meantime, hope all of you are drinking lots of hot chocolate and merry-making these days.