Two Thousand Eleven

TWO THOUSAND ELEVEN

is going to be huge.

Let your hair down,
put on some rouge
Ride an elephant
to Baton Rouge
Prepare for the deluge
of Life,
and Art
2011 is about to start.
*
*Paint on,
Depingo

Christmas at Foxglove

THE CHRISTMAS TABLE IS SET. I am dining at Foxglove with Mr. and Mrs. Swan, Hulky, Bulky, and Snowy (their grown cygnets), fifty or so titmouses, three blue jays, two squirrels, Bella, Blossom and one dear. And he really is a dear. My husband is wondering whether he is the dear or if it is Jeff, the needlepoint deer which hangs over the fireplace.

While I am hoping our petulant amaryllis opens its outrageously red and white striped petals to scent the cottage air, a thousand uninvited Canadian geese crash our pre-dinner cocktail party. The swans let them stay for a half hour or so. "Hissssss!" they hiss, "What the hiss, it's Christmas."

Our Christmas tree is a living Norwegian spruce. It is out on the deck, overlooking the lake, its rootball warmed by mulch and burlap, lighted with white lights which twinkle on and off every now and again when squirrels mischievously dance in its boughs. The smaller birds love it and dart in and out, posing atop it and on its branches as if they were its ornaments. In addition to the tree, they are enjoying their Christmas present, a heated birdbath. I will never have to say goodbye to my tree because it will be planted in the woods of Foxglove during the first warm spell we have.

Pine and cedar garlands adorn the deck. Moss topiary ducks with red plaid bows sit sentry over the lake, guarding the cottage. Bella is old now and she is not too good at that anymore. But she is still is in charge of shoes.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Paint on,
Depingo

Deck the Halls

with boughs of folly,
um, err, uhh ... that's holly

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
ha!
Hope your Christmas is very jolly
Fa la la la la la la la la la
la

The Dancing Fool

STAYIN' ALIVE ... STAYIN' ALIVE ...

Oh, why couldn't I have married John Travolta, or at least starred with that dancing fool in Saturday Night Fever? Or better yet, James Brown or either of Sam and Dave. I could have shown them a move or two.

I recently attended John and Lisa's Christmas party. It was easily one of the loveliest holiday parties in the history of New York. There wasn't any dancing though, unless you count my husband's slow-motion swan dive towards the refreshment table. However, one of the reasons I liked the party so much, other than the obvious reasons of delicious food, champagne and company, is that it was a reunion with many friends whom I had met at John and Lisa's wedding earlier this year.

I was excited to see my tablemates from the wedding again. Usually I consider myself lucky if at a wedding my tablemates are tolerable, but these mates were so much fun. We had a blast and bonded instantly between dancing. Other guests that I had rubbed shoulders with while dancing at the wedding were at the party too. I recognized them immediately and when I reintroduced myself to them, they invariably said, "Oh yes, I remember you–the dancing fool."

Well... in my defense, I do love dancing, and weddings are about the only chance I get to dance these days, except when I am relieving various bodily and mental tensions that build up after hours of painting. I probably look like a loon, but this solo dancing is one of the best ways to release tightness and muscle pain caused by painting–but it has to be gravity-defying to be effective. I learned this as an undergraduate in a cartooning class at Parsons. Professor Stuart Leeds, a New Yorker cartoonist, had the whole class get up and dance around to loosen up our drawing hands and arms before we commenced drawing. Later, after hours of drawing, he had us dance to relax. It actually works and is a good way of staying in drawing shape.

I've had some fantasies about dancing over the years. When I was "the night person," so named by my doorman as I returned home in the early-morning hours after dancing 'til dawn every day, I always wished I would meet someone who would dance me to death (figuratively speaking, of course) by outdancing and outlasting me. (Remember that old movie, They Shoot Horses, Don't They? I would have won that marathon hooves down!). That never happened though. Instead, spent dancers avoided making eye contact with me after I had exhausted one partner and was on the prowl for another.

I finally figured out that I eventually will be danced to death (literally) when the Grim Reaper chooses me as his partner for my last dance. Yes, I will dance with Grimmy

'til the cows come home

'til the end of time...

termination...

mine.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want to leave this earth. I am having a really nice time here. But when I do, I know I will dance my way through eternity in heaven–which would be cool.

On the other hand, I hear the dancing in hell is hot!

Click on links to see some of my favorite dancing fools in action. (Sorry I do not have any footage of the biggest fool of all–me!)

Dance on,
Depingo

Ode to Jack and Joyce

JACK AND JOYCE WENT UP THE HILL
to drink champagne in their carriage
They drank too much, came tumbling down
and then it turned into marriage.

They gave each kid a name with a "J"
There's Jennifer, Joey, John ... but–hey!
What happened with Amy?
No one will say ...
Happy Anniversary, anyway!

Paint on,
Depingo

Why Did Ogden Do It?

What rhymes with lightning? ... Frightening!

AS TIME WILL TELL
you can toss doggerel
fast as you write it
down the wishing well.

But don't get uptight
do not wish you might
try ... oh sigh ...
a limerick tonight.

A limerick
is just a trick
to hide the fact
your brain's a brick

and doggerel's the lowest form of humor
much like having a literary tumor.
You hope to get rid of it–put a lid on it
or go to India and change your name to Kumar.

Then why did Ogden do it?

Ogdan Nash though brainy and brash
spent many a day in extreme rash
of uncontrollable rhyming syntax.
Then he'd have a drink and crash.

***With apologies to Ogden, Kumar,
and the many limerists and doggerelists, including myself-ist.

Paint on,
Depingo

Mc WORDS' WORTH

Intellectual Property