Some of my newest art work and a cool book I came across for fellow art nerds:
Pony Gods
Pony Gods
Written By: Maranda Russell
I pray to the Pony Gods.
I don’t know if they listen,
or even if they care,
but sometimes
they do seem to answer.
Why the Pony Gods?
Why not?
I figure the Pony Gods
have just as much a chance
of being good –
or being real
as the human ones.
Moving Sale! Selling a House is a Pain in the…
So…my husband and I are in the process of selling our home and looking for a smaller, less expensive place. We simply don’t need a big house with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a full basement, and lots of other room just for the two of us. I have quickly learned that getting a house ready to sell is a nightmare in some ways though! Here are a few things we are dealing with:
*This past weekend we had a moving sale. Man, that was rough! Getting stuff ready for the sale, dealing with all the people the day of the sale (two of which got in a heated exchange over a tea cart they both wanted), having people trying to wander off and take stuff from parts of the house that were NOT for sale (one even took a couple pictures off the wall), having to get the leftovers ready for charity to pick up, and throwing out my back so that now, two days later, I can barely do anything.
*My idea of clean is obviously not a realtors idea of clean. I am not an extremely dirty person, in fact, I’m normally quite organized, but I am kind of bad about dusting, washing windows, and other stuff like that I simply don’t think of much. I also tend to have to pick what tasks are most important due to my health problems, so when I do clean, obvious messes, stains and frequently used areas get first priority.
*Having four cats makes it really rough to get a house in showing shape. They constantly make messes, and get cat hair in every square inch of the house.
*Apparently, when showing a house you have to “stage” everything. I’m supposed to take a normal, lived-in home and make it look like the showcase floor of a furniture store or something. Not enough furniture = bad. Too much furniture = bad.
*I never realized there were so many things wrong with our home until seen through the eyes of a realtor! Other people often comment that our house is really nice, but after listening to the realtor, I felt a little bit like I was living in a shanty or something.
*Trying to fix the timing so that we will have a new home to move into at the same time we find a buyer for our current home is stressful. Really hoping we don’t end up having to live in a motel or something in between!
Video: New Drawings and Sketches!
Lately I’ve felt like drawing again, so I’ve been busy:
I Fell in Love Today
I fell in love with a glimpse of you today…and you never even knew.
But there you were, sitting cross-legged, Indian-style on a gravel walkway winding through a field of scattered tombstones. You wore a grease-splattered McDonald’s uniform and were happily occupying your own world. Your head was down, but bobbing slightly to the rhythm of whatever music was streaming through your earphones.
Was it simply a short break or was the work day done? What was it like to leave the circus that is the home of Ronald McDonald, only to take shelter in the land of the dead a few hundred feet away? The image of you, of all that you represent washed over me and still remains in my mind’s eye – a jumbled collage of America, commercialism, youth, morbidity, and the ever-present hope of eternity.
On the Railway
On the Railway
Written by: Maranda Russell
On the railway,
no one studies your face.
No grief is given,
but neither is grace.
The wheels are loud,
and the engine is hot,
bringing to mind
all things better forgot.
With the changing landscapes,
and nature’s colorful hue,
remember this thought
that will always ring true:
On the long ride back
from wherever you roam,
never return the same person
as when you left home.
Fighting Fear
“Fighting Back from the Inside” drawing by Maranda Russell
Fighting Fear
Written by: Maranda Russell
I took fear by the hand
and shook him until I heard
the sound of his yellow bones
popping in and out of place.
I pushed him down the stairs,
his skull cracking
against the white, stone steps
on his way to the finale.
He hit the basement floor,
his form a worthless gray lump,
emitting the mocking voices
no muzzle can silence.
Still, I must close the door
at least one more time
and pretend not to hear.
So I do.
