Portrait of a Living Room in My Middle Ages
I live in my living room.
It’s never tidy.
It’s either somewhat cluttered, very cluttered, or ‘when did the tornado hit’ cluttered.
The radio is playing ‘Lean on Me’.
There is the oscillating fan & the new TV; all that’s left of my mother’s last days at the nursing home.
There’s the iron sitting on the ironing board; not for clothes mind you.
My boyfriend is using it to iron words onto arrow shafts.
Then there’s the baby dragon coming out of its egg.
I made it by painting on a gourd, and it’s still sitting on my folding wooden table, perched on a soup mug, until I make the clay nest for it to sit in.
Wallop the cat is snoozing on the couch nestled between The Poet’s Companion, a dozen arrow shafts rubber-banded together and my blue carry sack for my dragon needlepoint that I’ve been working on for at least 3 years.
The upright piano I’ve had since I was 8 has seen better days. Covered with the plaster chess set I’ve been meaning to paint for 20 years, and two snow globes; one of a clown and one of a dragon. The fake flowers I hate that show off the black glove vase I painted. Two new photos of me looking presentable in their black cherry frames.
The didgeridoo I’m making out of 2 snake gourds that’s shaped like a giant saxophone.
I can’t finish it because I can’t decide if I want to paint it with petroglyphs or a wizard.
I can’t play it without spitting all over myself.
The 2 couches friends gave us covered with Celtic print bedspreads so the cats won’t shred them.
The Oriental rug I bought at an auction for $200.
I had to wait until all the bidders had run out of money so I could get the price down to where I could afford it without cringing.
Black Bob the cat resting with all four paws tucked under his body so he looks like a black Roomba with a tail.
The stuffed shaggy white dog on the bookshelf with Rachel’s sequined red, white and blue collar. The dog is perched precariously on top of books
and next to a tower of tarot decks from my days as a psychic.
The belly dance bin with a veil spilling out; still sitting there after a belly dance student told me she wasn’t coming back. I lent her a veil and I guess I never learn, because every time I lend something to someone they never come back. Seriously.
The fairy plate I painted when my friend worked at a paint-it-yourself pottery shop. She died of cancer at 27 but the plate lives on in a way that only inanimate objects can.
The white angel votive candleholder wrapped in my red crystal rosary sitting on the piano keys.
Try as I may to keep the piano ready for playing its covered with stuff 99% of the time.
Did I mention my hermit crab? He’s the biggest one I bought. He’s the last survivor. Did he kill the other one’s for food? When the cats startle him he jumps back inside his shell with a thud.
My two wooden practice swords for sword fighting. I never could afford the real thing.
Well, I’ve learned two things:
I collect dragon objects.
Broken dreams leave skeletonized remains all over my living room like a shrine to creativity.