first reference to the Reef as 'the Reef'

my thoughts are swirling about, as they always do when I first get up in the morning.  I meant to get back to this Sunday sometime but gave myself ample excuses why I shouldn't...my neighbor invited me for spaghetti...what else?  It took several hours to light the fire at the Reef (yesterday's fire was delightful and warm)..sometimes I don't stay long enough there to appreciate the warmth but I always make the effort because it's the only source of heat (not actually true, I have several space heaters but I chose not to use them).  I did paint again.  Saturday I'd gotten some lush (seems like a misspell, that word, but I'll go with it) pink, a white lacquer, several other colors, not doing any Jasper Johns at the moment, red white and blue, but I might get to it since I've got flags about the house and what other source of flag would we have but the ewess of ai..that's not to be a sarcasm, I don't have any regrets or misinformation about my political stance anymore, other than to say I 'once shook the Cuban Ambassador's hand' hehe...well I did...an ancient story at this point but it was in the time of the cultivation of American University students and the reeducation of art as the influence to world peace, which I think was a good effort and once that gives me the idea that it is time to have a place like the Reef...
there's always been a place like the reef...for a little while there was only the woodpile at the back of my parents' house but I was in the middle of relationships and the longterm had become the blender (spun up into a drizzling puddle), who can paint then?
one of the more delightful reefs was on 18th street, back East as I like to say, and while I reminesce about it, I think that the art created there (the Housewife's Middle being my very favorite) came about just as it does here, a sort of magic combines before your very eyes while you stand there peeling the wet canvas from the wall and trying to stretch it out a bit...the Middle piece was done on a damask table cloth and came out a hue of red and blue (aaaahhh....Johns...) that was like a Madras but softer and it pouched towards the middle of the frame like a flabby stomach but in a loving way.  It was stretched after it was painted, my husband 'P' did the framing, him of the Corcoran School...it was lovely from the start and I don't know who has it but I know I sold it as in those days I didn't keep much but him and our children.
Now it's the opposite, I keep everything (that's going to change here shortly because I think daily about moving to the Reef) and my children are grown.  At times I'm a foster parent but now I only have a little day charge, Gabe, whose mother did a runner and my neighbor, his gramma, has taken charge of things.  This little spectacle has dragged me down like a stone but I'm floating on the top of it, like something you'd throw in the bathtub to scrub with and I think that's why the Pollack inspired series is my present effort.  No structure, colors little momma mixed, colors I started out with that she got into, I packed her clothes up yesterday, she was going to live at the Reef with my little charge.  It's insulation, talking about it now. 
I can't say that being a painter, among the varied careers of my life, hasn't been like that always.  It has.  There's always high drama and you wonder about the relevancy, or why it works out that way.  A couple years ago I had a couple doing meth next door.  It was amazing.  One day the sheriff was  parked across the street, where our preschool is housed (good God).  There was tape across the fencing of the house.  It fluttered in the breeze.  Finally I asked, "What's going on?"
The Sheriff told me.  "Hmmm..." I said.  So I looked for signs and I found plenty.  The refitting of the family van every first of the month when he had cooked his batch.  His absence for several weeks after that.   Coming home to his wife and screeching and banging.  Her as twitchy as the cat in idle conversation.  We both did needlework and crocheted.  Our children had been raised together, overnights, school activities, some of the same grades.  She retired as the bank manager.  The bank subsequently closed.  It didn't happen overnight.  For years we were all substantial family elements.
It's quiet over there now.  Fit and Refit are gone and the owners are back in residence.  They might as well live in outerspace for all I see of them.  Well, that's not true entirely.  When I worked 'up on the Hill' as we call the state pen, 'he'...the husband, just sorted of popped into place wearing camo which I thought was not allowed on site, as I walked into the main building from the warehouse.  He was just under the tower at the gate and he only needed a rifle.  Cuban ambassador huh, hehe...hmm.  I hadn't noticed he was there but there he was and the camo fatigues were really out of place.  I had got chastized for wearing a camo neck scarf and I had no idea it was disallowed.  It was really disallowed.
So I'm thinking once the little momma stuff is out of the reef...there's some rather nice dishware and cookware to be boxed, then I've got to put some of my overflow in there and maybe hmm...take some of my overflow to the quarter store?  That could be the place for it.  There's really too much of it.  It's been taking me some time getting past what little momma did but as I say, tragedy is always there and tomorrow I see a centering helper about steering over the Rowandan-sized bumps in the road.  He was cautioning me, the centerist, that it does seem to interface with one's religious beliefs but I told him that being a Catholic is the starting point for me, not the authority on faith, although it seems to provide to me the toolbox AND the materials for my faith.  I can't make other people, like the meth-cooking neighbors and the little mother in the woods, live their lives the way I have been used to seeing them live their lives: peace, joy, harmony, status quo...but whatever I tried to do to keep them from sliding into the ...into the what? well, mrs meth died...nah, I'm not a failure at saving people but standing at the edge with them is frightening and teh constancy of painting is consistent with the knowledge that there are  other ways to get around the Rowandan bumps in the road.  Like having a religious faith.  Not that you have to advertise and encourage it in others.  You just have to live it.  but whoa, I really was down about little momma...really
During the housewife's middle studio days I saw my husband kissing someone else during a get together at the house.  We lived on the second floor of the building and our studio was on the top floor.  I had to admit that I liked my freedom.  He'd given me the open window and encouraged me to fly out like a bird by doing that but instead we got married and had a baby.  We aren't married anymore and I don't feel that I would like to be married to him.  His father died recently so we talked a few times about that.  Our daughter doesn't want him at her wedding next May.  My brother's wife calls him 'the deadbeat dad' but that's just a term for someone who still paints, like me, and rails at the world about  your politicians and assorted scumbags that create havoc with our lives (oh I did think Saddam Hussein might have been one of those, come to think of it) but anyway...I guess I'm spilling these beans as a reference to falling in love with Raven and wondernig where that'll go... It's been five years now, I realize, and for all intents and purposes, that's my life, but Raven isn't anywhere you'd be able to see him pop up...out on the boat a lot...dropping in for twenty minutes while I'm building a fire at the Reef...never gone anywhere with him, like dinner or Hawaii...tsskkkk...art and painting is like that...not a normal life, but plenty of bliss in it, and delightful children (they just keep coming...you should see the one and only granddaughter,,  arrrghhh...)
Well, at that rate it's time to get out the waffle iron and attempt  coconut waffles, not Julia child here but I make stuff up pretty regular...

about two cups of white flour (you can sift it or you cannot but it is lighter if you do)
a teaspoon of baking powder
third cup salad oil
dash of salt
l/2 teaspoon cinnamon
flaking coconut sprinkled over the batter to taste (about 3/4 cup if you like it crunchy)
powdered milk, l/4-l/3 cup
enough water to make the batter like thick cake batter
one big egg, separated, yolk into batter, whip the white and fold in

heat up waffle iron until it sizzles, pour on batter and cook until golden brown...delicious


going to go make some now...by the way I got another honorable mention this year for my Christmas cookies in the bakeofff...it was in the local paper and the ribbon is hanging in the beader car, ok, puff puff brag brag...have to get some boxes for little momma's dishes...urggg...it's nearly 6 am...her spawn will be here in another hour and a half and we'll tear through the day as I chew my upper lip where a cold sore scab is looking gnarly at me in the mirror...
oh...post note...great ripping fire in our little area last night...might have to go see it in the light, glad we didn't find it last night looking for it, me and my little charge...his gram is on the fire crew of course...burned the place to the ground and it was an eyesore so is that really a loss...she came looking for him last night but I'd gotten him over to his gramps after we got back from not finding the fire...she said it was still going, one never wants to see total destruction either in buildings or people but there it is...varrooommm!! challenge is to put it together and keep it together...and PAINT!!