Spring Break was an awesome week--spending time with my daughter before she moves; it was fun to hang out here and at their 'barn'.
I also managed to creep around one room of my basement, clearing cobwebs and debris, and sacking up a truckload of mildewy art and assorted costumes and $hit. I was down there thinking, rather bleary-eyed--not from the mold (Bail leaves tomorrow); just thinking of how cleaning wastes one's time when there are millions of other things to do. I threw out some old lace, old boards, metal junk, a broken table...I rearranged some low shelves, boxed up some dishes, swept a shattered black china panther (where did THAT come from?!) and found a tiny mirror. AHA! Enough 'work'--I decided to make....
A METH HOUSE! Yes, a crack house! I couldn't wait to get started on my new project so I threw down the broom and raced outside. I worked for a while, gathering together some supplies and tools and began to carefully contemplate proper procedure of steps.... I even googled "how to make crank" and so far the LAW hasn't shown up yet!
Later, careful not to cut my fingers up on a razor I was using or jab myself with some rusty metal, Bail sat outside on the porch and began working on her own project. Soon Brig and a few friends parked their asses in my truck bed to watch our progress...
"I'm gonna have a crack house!" I announced proudly. (Friend Jesse was still leery of the ratdoll site I'd visited yesterday--"Your moms a freak.") They all rolled their eyes, but seems rather interested in the detail... while Bail said, "Oh, mom-- you make us so proud!" (snicker!)
So here it is, without the future doll, Miz Meth:
Old suitcase, paper-mached/painted...
Rusty nails/screws/hooks/chain/wire...
Metal strips for bent bed legs...
Wire-screen windows...
Rusty woven wire for a cot bottom...
Stained, moldy linen for mattress/pillow...
Torn lace curtains...
Heavy metal 'cd's...
MORE DETAILS TO COME!
(You can see a 'brick' corner of the "Rathaus Hostel" that still sits on the porch from last summer--it stores by odds and ends.)
Next Saturday I must work in the a.m., but that’s ok—I’ve never been one to get all fired up over flowers, candy, Valentine’s Day or my birthday—how ironic I was born on a day associated with a ‘saint’, as irreverent about religion as I am. On Wikipedia (hmmmf), one random story says “Saint Valentine upon rejection by his mistress was so heartbroken that he took a knife to his chest and sent her his still-beating heart as a token of his undying love… Hence heart-shaped cards are now sent as tribute for overwhelming passion and suffering…” Ha! How odd that John Q. is on TV at this very moment--a doctor has jabbed his finger into the open chest cavity of a young boy, poking his heart into action. ba-bump. ba-bump. Also strange this 'asian' antique postcard reiterates John Q., proclaiming ‘New Hearts for Old’ –one of the first examples that popped up when I was looking for some on Google. (Postcards, not hearts.) 
Ah, coincidences abound.
I often receive combo Birthday/V-Day Victorian cards with cute little cherubs, cupids, large-eyed children, vintage floral, lace and beribboned designs and I think they’re all quite lovely… probably quite similar to Clarice’s find on the backseat of Benjamin's old Packard.
I find it extremely disturbing... reverberates with cannibalistic recipe terror much like this Silence of the Lambs youtube of the Man himself...
You don't even have to see his face to know he's cute....
