R/W/B

I am going to admit something today. Something terrible and quite anti-Fourth-of-July. I am not a fan of the summer picnic. My family may already sense this as I always fall short when it comes to planning and participating in formal picnic environments. I love the family, the food, and having the day off. But I always feel the pressure for it to be memorable. So this year I am trying to take my husband's advice to just "go with the flow" and to not become overwhelmed by the details. I pledge to avoid stress about the following: 1.) selecting the right heavy duty paper plates and deciding if we need plastic spoons as well as the plastic forks, 2.)if we have a big enough variety of sodas for everyone because I might forget who needs diet pop or caffine free, 3.)whether I will be attacked by mosquitoes, or 4.)the location of the picnic table in relation to the closest available restroom. My family is picnic-ing on the fifth instead of the fourth. This gives me the "freedom" to spend the fourth of July painting the studio, cleaning the house, seeing that I still have a husband, and sewing with my Mom. To note: I do adore picnics in the autumn and winter. Yes winter. My mom used to take us to a state park during the off picnic season. We had the park to ourselves most of the time, sans bugs, and the food just tasted better with a chill in the air...

The 12th Precinct Musing

Here is the gang that I loved---and the chair. Other things Learned from Barney Miller: flashers, drag, homosexuality, racism, classism, elitism, drug abuse, poverty, and the struggle to be a leader with all of these ingredients in the soup.

Miller Time

As I meander through my somewhat adult life I realize that the little television exposure I did have effected the way I live. Sometimes my imagination is too big for books and definitely too big for TV when growing up. In my youth I believed in Sesame Street and wanted to live there in the apartment building when I was grown. I preferred Rhoda to Mary. Her attic apartment was the best---complete with a beaded doorway in which I desired to have in my first apartment. Of course Rhoda would be my best friend. We would comb each others long hippie inspired hair, drink lots of coffee and moan about life (and how we really didn't like perfect teeth Mary). And of course I would be married to Detective Stan "Wojo" Wojciehowicz from Barney Miller. Sometimes I wish it could be Captain Miller---but he was married after all. Fast forward twenty years or so. Here I am. I live in the upstairs of an old house. I have earthy artist friends like Rhoda (and I have the long hippie-like hair). I still love Sesame street and my art is reflective of the beauty found in childhood imaginings. And I am married---to a man of Slovak heritage and not Polish heritage. He is not a cop or a detective, but I believe he is a very honorable man. What does all this mean? When looking for a chair for the studio I wanted a Barney Miller chair. I found a feminine version---but I consider it my Barney Miller chair. The husband assembled it last night while I was at work, I was elated to come home and take a spin---imagining the crew at the 12th precinct and wondering who had to have the drag duty in the park for the night, what Fish ate for lunch...and pondered where would WoJo be now...