Today tastes like a fast-food cheeseburger. It smells really good, but then you take a big bite and it's a wafer-thin well done patty on mushy white bread that sticks to your teeth like nougat.
Antidote for lousy work? Awesome play with wild women.
I have desparately missed the circle I knew in Santa Fe. One of my buds was a jeweler who kept a studio/showroom in a converted garage. She was apt to keep funky hours--up for two-three days at a stretch, working while the vision was hot in her head, then crash for eight-ten hours and do it all over again.
She liked the energy of a houseful of folks, but didn't want the care and feeding of roommates, so she issued a standing invitation and directions to the spare key to her best buds. Come by anytime! Let yourself in if I'm sleeping and no one's around when you knock.
So I'd swing on up during the weekend with a project of my own, plop onto the couch and we'd chat during the easy bits, and simply sit companionably during the tough stuff, and I'd browse her eye candy, and sooner or later someone else would come by, and a party would accrete, one by one.
Creative folken all around, an artist drawing the person embroidering, the jeweler soldering and buffing and cutting, a scuptor at the kitchen table working on a Froudian sculpture using the artist as a model because he was poking his tongue out like a little child as he drew.
Egos checked at the door; nothing to prove to anyone, just the thought in your head taking shape under your hands and seeing how much of it you could get out into the world. Sometimes a chance comment would give you wings, or at the very least, let you put some feathers on (or around! For EMPHASIS!) the bald spot. (By heaven, this is a BALD SPOT!!!)
Sitting and wireworking a shawl pin at Vincenza's table with Mischief watching TV in the next room--well, I could have been back at Tuf's, wating for the water to boil for tea.
Goddess watch over you and keep you, dear Haviland. You and all the krewe.