Happy Birthday Big Sister!

Friday February 3 is Brandi's birthday!

Brandi McKenna is my big sister and all my life we've done everything together.

Here we are last year selling our collaborative trumeaus
at Scott's Antique Market in Atlanta.

She is a willing photography subject and is in no way above hamming it up for the camera!
Her most natural environment is anywhere outdoors, in nature, usually with her clothes hangin' on for dear life. Here she is throwing a grasshopper into the web of a writing spider at the Farm. O, the times we've had in and around this barn. Her dog Buffy once had a litter of puppies under the wood floor where we keep the hay. It was a tiny dirty dusty crawlspace of about 12 inches and she crawled under there to eagerly retrieve each new pup and present it to me and Dad, him with video camera in hand, and excitedly report on the sex of that one and her prediction of how many more would be left to recover. She even braved all the black widows and worse yet-hopsies-that lurked below. (Hopsies a.k.a. "Cave Crickets" are the only creature on the planet neither of us would touch, "not even with a ten foot pole" because they are so repulsively grody). And I think it was while Buffy was lactating for that litter that we attempted to milk the dog in order to feed the baby field mice who's nest Dad had uncovered while bush hogging the pasture. Never a dull moment.
Whatever we do and where ever we go, we're always erupting into laughter. When she came out a few summers ago to help me paint Dad's house it was like a luxury vacation for the two of us, just like old times out there minus the constant horse riding, which is sorely missed.
One of my earlier memories with her out at the farm was when I was about 6 or 7, making her about 10 or 11 I guess we were. Dad would take us out to our farm on the weekends, where kids roamed free and unbridled of most parental ruling for two or three glorious days on end.
Provisions on this morning where not to our liking, so Brandi announced we would go shoot us a squirrel and have Dad fry him up for breakfast. Grass does not grow under her feet and she is quick to whip up a plan, with enthusiasm. So we went to the woods, armed with her .22 rifle and she shot one out of the trees above. I remember us saying a prayer for him on the forest floor once we found him, giving thanks for the life we were about to eat. We took him back to the trailer and presented him to Dad who skinned him and fried him up and we had squirrel for breakfast that morning.

Bran makes rock hard paper mache Man In The Moons,
which she has done a brisk business of selling now for several years.

An animal lover, she's always had a special love of birds. Once she trained a chicken that fell off the chicken truck to ride on the back of her bicycle, when she was three! And when I was about five she had cooked up a walk to Hardee's after a summer rain and she caught a bird on the walk there, armed with only her cunning avian talents and bare hands. When she snuck it into the fast food place under her shirt and it began to tweet, she pantomimed whistling in hopes of pulling off a ruse, but the jig was up and our order was promptly given to us to-go in spite of our plan to "dine in." I also remember her going down to the end of our driveway in the mornings, to the weeping willow and calling up a small murder of crows! She could "caw-caw!" just like them and it always impressed Dad and made him so proud. I was so envious of her crow calling ability!

When we were growing up it was a constant battle with Mom over having pets. Mom always said "When you grow up you can have as many animals in your house as you want." Bran's family now is never low on critters.

Each one of her three kids has their own bird,
I think they've got five total at the moment...

A better sister, more productive entrepreneur, creative word-maker-upper (In Brandese a menu is called "a map of the food", a crown "A king's hat", Freud's penis envy is "Fraud's penis jealousy", etc...) enthusiastic pep-talker, harder worker, faster hustler, more loyal or forgiving friend you will not find.
"Often imitated, never duplicated", the mold was broken on February 3, 1973 when Brandi Kay Pearson came into the world.
I love you sister!

Fox

On my way home from the studio today, I saw a roadkill fox, right on the dotted line for the left turn lane. I pulled up into the turn lane on 29, backed up with hazards on and retrieved it. Got some looks from a bunch of workers in a truck that said "Spanish American Contractors" on the side. I had a few plastic bags to contain the small amount of blood around his head and threw him in the back right next to the air compressor.
See the Deer rack in the background? That was last year's biggest roadkill score; a rail road track-kill actually. It reminds me how this is such a much nicer time of year for roadkill collecting than July. No stink, no flies, no maggots; a much more enjoyable experience by leaps and bounds. Harvesting the buck head was worth it, but gross. I smelled him for months before I could get him, all the time worried someone would beat me to it. As it turns out, I don't think I have a whole lot of competition, at least not in Charlotte.

Poor little guy had a compound fracture on his left front leg. And even though he had to have been hit last night or early this morning and I found him around 2:45 PM, he felt almost warm in the armpits. It's been in the high forties today.

Is there anything prettier than a fox tail?
Finding this fox brought up all kinds of fox memories, like the time I was driving with Dad out at the Farm and we found one in the road and stopped to collect it. That one had been shot, so we deduced he had either ran into the road from the woods with a fatal bullet wound, or more likely had fallen out of the hunter's truck on his way home from the hunt. Either way, it was finders keepers losers weepers. I watched Dad skin him behind the house, where I'd watched him clean so many fish and skin various other critters, enthralled in every one as kids always are. The skin is on there good, held strong by the fascia and you have to peel & pull & cut over & over. Critters without their skins are very fearsome looking. They got taken to the pond & dumped in for the snapping turtles to eat, but this one's getting buried in horse manure to clean every last bone for art purposes later.
When I was a teenager, I saw a fox die in broad daylight. It was one of the strangest things I've ever witnessed.
Me, Brandi and Dad went for a horse ride, our two golden retrievers followed the horses and the two cats trotted along too, a regular parade. Our favorite destination was "Pasture Number One", adjoining the very back of our property; very hilly and picturesque with woods all around, a small pond and a lone tree on the far end up a hill we would always gallop to. We had hauled ass to the tree, where we'd sit and let the horses graze, enjoying a good stare and exchanging deep thoughts, and were on our way down to the dam side of the pond when we spied a fox. He was out for a stroll right in the middle of the day time, right in front of three humans, three horses, two dogs and two cats.
He was walking in our general direction, not really towards us particularly. And then he did the strangest thing, he walked right into the pond. Brandi & I got real alarmed and asked Dad all kinds of questions. The fox went in deep enough where he couldn't touch with his feet and started swimming, swam in a circle. He just kept swimming in that circle, around and around. Dad explained that he had probably been poisoned from the turkey houses that were not 100 yards away, and that poisoning is a chicken shit way to kill an animal, but turkey farmers would do it out of necessity. Once poisoned, animals will get very thirsty and also kind of go crazy. I urged Dad to go home and get a gun to shoot him, but he said the fox would drown before he got back, which he promptly did right there while we were talking.
I think getting run over is the much better way to go.
Waste not want not I say! I am excited to skin him, and trying to decide whether to put him in the fridge until next week, or to take him to the studio and skin him there tomorrow or this weekend? I'm going to be there for the next three days, so I need to make a decision.
I already know what we'll use him for. Bran & I are already collaborating on the project. It was perfect timing.
Very few things really make me happier than a good roadkill blessing!
You've got to appreciate what's important and "know what's good."

I am sharpening this week, in anticipation of upcoming creations. This is my beloved set of Record chisels I got as a Christmas gift at least a dozen years ago. They have seen some action. I usually sharpen in between projects, honing bevels and secondary bevels over sandpaper on glass, then on a Washita stone, then it's over to the speed strop with polishing compound to finish up to a mirror shine.
Yes, I really love polishing. It's one of those tedious, repetitive tasks I enjoy getting lost in that has the added bonus us yielding fabulous results. There is nothing quite like watching thin shavings of wood curl up under the cutting edge of a freshly sharpened chisel. Extremely satisfying.
All 13 of my carving gouges are ready to go. With everything sharpened, the world is my acorn!
On the way to the studio, I detoured through the hood and admired the local sights. I'd love to live in one of these. I can just picture the Green Truck parked out front. It would look right at home next door to this vintage whip.
This is right around the corner from the studio, and it's my dream home. Well, one of my dream homes anyway. I could spend the morning on my balcony, then walk to the studio! Ah, that's the life.

Tomorrow, it's on to the cut list for construction and carving will be soon to follow.
I can hardly wait!

So much ahead in this new year, waiting to be made. I'd almost not know where to begin.
Except I do.
In the shop. Roxi accompanied me today.

It's been a constant stream trickle of tools coming in, filling in the peg board. I love the view!
Roxi is such a home-girl; she is ever-ready to make the return trip. That's why her butt usually gets left at home.
I pass so many things I want to stop and photograph on the way to & from the studio. This church in Concord is just one of many. It was a beautiful overcast day, but the light was flat on my way home. Still I stopped for just one quick shot.
I'm starting on a retablo this week.
Pictures coming soon...

Home

Here is my home, be it ever so-well let's face it-it's adorable!
I've been here five years now, which feels like both ages and an instant, simultaneously. I think of myself as one who likes to stay put. The very thought of moving nearly causes the sensation of a rising panic, starting right about at my heart, but then I remember to breathe.
Breathe Dusti and remember that you will find beauty and make a happy home where ever you go, because you are truly a gypsy at heart.
Breathe and remember "there are other worlds than these", located minutes from your studio. I can make a home so close to the studio so that my daily routine is an effortless flow of work and the daily self-care routine. While I enjoy driving, there is something to be said for the energy & resources sucked up by a daily commute of 1 to 1 1/2 hours.
The entire area surrounding my studio is honestly just dreamy; really a sight for these sore, "Charlotte-y" eyes. I'll be taking so many pictures, visual delights absolutely abound and have me wanting to paint worse than ever.
So, I'm scared to move, but I'll be sucking it up and doing it anyway so I can live on purpose.
The best thing I have going for me is the faith in myself to go forth with the blind courage of those who have nothing to loose.
Just gotta remember to breathe.

Ah, the rail road tracks. God help me, I love this refuge from Charlotte with all her progress, traffic, neighborhood associations and outdoor advertising; strips of peaceful refuge for miles on end where time stands still.
Cloudy days like this one a few days ago are my favorite. The camera just loves those overcast skies.
The November colors are some of my favorite. I love the changes in seasons. Is anything more exciting than watching the world change before your very eyes?
Just look at the miles of gorgeous scenery I try to take in while keeping my feet going where they should each step. Did I make that sound too hard? It's hard because A) the ties are spaced unevenly and cause me to lengthen my stride about fifty percent longer than natural, and B) the scenery and compelling vibe of the CSX right of way is hard for me to tear my eyes from, thus causing me trouble with "A".
This tracks runs east and west but it bends north and south a little over its course. The sun is at my 1 o'clock on my way east and about my 7 o'clock on my way west, back home.
I like taking shots from my hiking viewpoint, even though shooting into the sun isn't photographically ideal. For me, this is what meditation looks like.

CSX has put down a few yards of thick black felt over about 20 feet of tracks, I don't know why. There's some conduit running right beneath, so that's probably why. If I were rich, I'd buy me some miles of tracks and make them carpet it like this, so I could walk & run and not be as concerned about the likelihood of busting my ass...again! Wouldn't that be fancy?
My Mother is perpetually concerned about me falling down, getting knocked unconscious and being run over by the next train. I tried to stay away. I did. But my quality of life suffered greatly without this particular vice. And a girl's got to have her priorities straight.
Sorry Mom;)

And now for something completely different:

Remember Steven King's Cycle Of The Werewolf and the film version Silver Bullet that followed it in 1985? By the way, that was such an awesome year to be a 9 year old, as I was!
I love this movie and rank it among a very short list of movies based on King books that did the stories justice.
I remember renting it from Buck-A-Day video in Laurel Mississippi and watching it in the Orange Room of Mimi's cool, old, haunted house with my own Ka-Tet; Brandi, Karla and Vanessa. We watched more than once and I was captivated by every moment. I didn't read the book for a few more years, which is kind of cool, looking back on it.
There were aspects of the story that really resonated with me; the children taking their silver necklaces to a local reloader who smelted them and cast them into a silver bullet with which they could kill the werewolf. I was raised worshiping at the altar of the smelting pot, looking up into Dad's face through a delicious smelling cloud of molten lead vapor, thin as gossamer. Watching him hold the mold under the pot, filling the perfect bullet shaped voids, tapping the mold on the table then watching the fresh hot bullets tumble out with a rich thud; ah, what a ritual. Also the firecrackers that shot out the werewolf's eye were a mandatory treat on each visit to Mississippi to play with the Hodge sisters, the eye injury the werewolf/Reverend sustained was exactly the type of incident parents warned us against, and I thought of that as we played "bottle rocket wars" with the Hodges & the McGees among the fire ants and mosquitoes out in Jones County Mississippi; it all just felt sweetly familiar to my little 9 yr. old self.
Here was the hero's super cool "Uncle Red" played by the fabulous Mr. Gary Busey! He was everything you'd want out of an uncle, a confidant, partner in crime, parent deflector and whip-ass wheel chair/motorcycle hybrid maker for his "crippled" nephew played by Cory Haim. He even smuggled him some contraband bottle rockets to shoot on the night of the 4th of July!
That's another cool detail about the story; each werewolf attack takes place on a holiday. When I later checked out the book from the library I read in the prologue how yes, King knew that in reality the holidays he referenced didn't each fall exactly a month apart to accommodate a werewolf's biological cycle, but that was what you called "Artistic License". Lighten up, haters!
This guy, The Reverend played by Everett McGill was perfect as the creepy, unwholesome looking town werewolf with the perfect cover; "Who me, a Man of The Cloth, an unholy Hell creature?" His eyepatch was donned after the werewolf tried to chase down Cory Haim as he was trying to shoot off the bottle rockets over a bridge. The jig was up when the boy and his older sister showed up at the Reverend's house the next day, combing the neighborhood for people with fresh eye injuries. He was spine tingling in that scene! Incidentally, I would have loved him at about this age to play Roland Deschain, the hero of Steven King's crown jewel of literary accomplishments, The Gunslinger novels, a.k.a. The Dark Tower Series. All I can do now that he and Clint Eastwood are too old for the part is pray a movie version is never made.
Aw, remember when Cory Haim was still a cute little boy? He was great for a horror movie back then, he had a cute role in The Lost Boys too, as I recall.


I've been revisiting these 80's classics this month. Sadly this is not available on Netflix, so I haven't seen it in decades still. But it's something to look forward to eventually buying off ebay, it's a good one for the ol' collection.
My memories of staying up late in the really cool, but really scary Hillcrest house, Mimi's signature indoor climate-around 60 degrees in the summertime, all us kids snuggled up in blankets, raiding the fridge for Pudding Pops and Cokes and watching "those ol' vulgar movies" as Dad called them, are some of the sweetest little parts of my childhood memories. Grownups all asleep, two pairs of sisters up way past their bedtimes, watching Silver Bullet, Creep Show, Nightmare On Elmstreet, Sleepaway Camp Nightmare and the like in a big orange rose wallpapered room with a high up bed, shag carpet, and heavy drapes covering windows bumpy with condensation from the frigid temps indoors divided by one thin pane of glass from the absolutely muggiest heat outdoors Mississippi has to offer on a summer night.
Ah, that's the stuff dreams are made of! Now, getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom alone in the very scary and very dark house later on required some real courage, combined with a running start to leap back into the tall bed, ensuring your feet stay the requisite 2' minimum safe distance from the bed's edge to avoid capture by the creature who undoubtedly lay in wait for a tender little girl in his under-the-bed lair.
Still, it was a bargain at any price, the whole horror movie watching experience!
And now that I'm as grown as I'm likely to ever get, I can watch them at home alone and I don't even have to get a head start on a running leap to get back in bed! Those monsters would have gotten me by now. Besides, I got tired of living in fear of them and crawled under my bed at home one night, right around that age, just to prove to myself it could be done. As Van Helsing would say, "A moment's courage and it is done."
Thanks for letting my ramble about things I remember that make me feel happy and cozy and nostalgic.
That's just the feeling I want to summon for this much needed and much appreciated rainy October night.
I just know what's good, is all. Besides, a little vulgarity hasn't hurt me much yet, as far as I can tell.