I'm Mad at the Moon!

A cute children's story, by Mary:

Be sure to enlarge this screen & turn up your volume!

O ... M ... Gosh!
Finally got back on my blog and
soooo happy to be here!
Hope everybuddy is well!
XOXO

Awwwww, RATS!
ART ABOUT TOWN art show opening night
in Westport, Connecticut has been rained out!
Revised date is Thursday, May 29th!

Another of my paintings which will be on exhibit
at Chic Jolie

PINK FLOWERS

Come to the Art About Town art show in Westport Connecticut  - May 22 - June 15.

Opening night (Thursday, May 22nd) all of Main Street will be closed from 5:30 - 8:30.  

There will be musicians, artists demonstarting how they paint and food ... it will be lots of fun!

This is one of my paintings (GATHERING FLOWERS) which will be on exhibit at 

CHIC JOLIE, 57 Main Street. All paintings are for sale.

I'm mad at the Moon

She hasn't much sense

She comes at my bedtime

And sits on my fence

And then starts to act

Like a silly balloon -

And that's why

And that's why

I'm mad at the Moon!

She plays peek-a-boo

With some clouds in the sky

Or hide-and-go-seek

With a tree that's nearby

Then sends lots of Moonbeams

To dance in my room -

And that's why

And that's why

I'm mad at the Moon!

She loves to dress up

Like a silly old clown

Or look like an orange

All juicy and round

Sometimes she's a slice of

A lemon for tea

Or just a big grin

That is laughing at me!

I've seen her race stars

All across a black sky

I've seen birds make marks

On her cheek or her eye

But she keeps on smiling

That silly old loon

Oh, sometimes it's hard

To stay mad at the Moon!

If only she'd come

When I'm up in the day

Then I would gladly

Come outside and play

But that's when she chooses

To sleep in her room

And that's why

And that's why

I'm mad at the Moon

But somehow tonight

She has not come at all

And I must admit

That I miss her sweet call

If only she'll promise

To hurry back soon

I'll never more 

Ever

Be mad at the Moon!

*Sorry my (mean ol') computer won't allow me to add all my illustrations to 
this poem ...so you will just have to use your imagination. Sorry sorry sorry. :(

Lent is fast approaching:

A Catholic Girl

by me,

Mary

(A brief autobiography)

I was raised in a convent, with nuns as my teachers,

And lots of monsignors and priests as my preachers.

I am NOT amused to have my faith made sport of

For I'm a Good Catholic Girl ... (er … well … sort of),

My life is a penance to work out on Earth,

With no room for romps, for amusements or mirth,

I don't go to bars or wear black patent shoes

That reflect my undies, don't swear or drink booze.

I'm prim and I'm proper, in fact, I'm a saint

(And I'll kill anybuddy who sez that I ain't!)

I'll bet some carouse lots, from Mondays to Mondays,

And dally in sin, and I bet that on Sundays

They don't go to mass or get in holy ruts

And they think that us Catholic Girls are all nuts.

Easy for them to go dissing the Pope

And saying a Catholic Girl is a dope

Who gives up her cookies, (no, I mean for Lent),

While the likes of these others just never repent

But are free to sin freely and never confess it,

Or beg for a priest to forgive and God bless it -

They most likely have lots of men on a string,

And go out each night on a wild, carefree fling!

Life, for such people's a mad, joyous whirl,

Without all the guilt of a Catholic Girl -

But a Catholic Girl 

Knows if she's living WELL

And ENJOYING her life,

She will go straight to Hell!

It's snowing ... AGAIN!

'Sno Fun!

Is there anything nicier,
sugar 'n spicier,
anything more sweet or grandish,
than to see falling snow
setting all hearts aglow,
making everything so Fairylandish?

Each flake makes me quiver
with wonder,
I shiver
as softly I sing "Jingle Bells" -
ah, the beauty, the thrill,
as it climbs up my sill
with its luscious white whipped-creamy swells.

I give up counting flakes,
each succeeding one makes
a more mountainous mound out my door.
Why does it keep falling?
It's getting appalling!
I'll never get out any more!

Now the power's gone <bleat>,
no TV and no heat,
and my batteries are down to two!
Won't someone please stop it?!
I can't see atop it -
the snowplows can't even get through!

They'll find me next Spring
frozen to everything,
what the heck am I going to do?!
I have had it!
Enough!
Who invented this stuff?
You know,
I just hate snow,
don't you?

DAYMARE

I know this must be just a dream -

The cat's been eaten by the cream,

A chicken's made a wishbone wish

And turned a frog into a fish

The sky has swallowed up the Moon -

I only hope I wake real soon

So PINCH ME, PLEASE!

OUCH!

Goodness sake!

(Uh ohhhhh ...

Ohh noooooo-

I AM awake!)

The Child Within

You try to hide,
But I know who you are,
Big as an Atom,
Small as a Star.
You're the Wind when it whistles,
Fires that flame,
All of the Known and Unknown
Without name.
You're the Calm and the Quiet,
The Truant and Free;
You're all the wide World,
I know you -
You're me.

I'm still in Recovery Mode from my How-I-Met-My-Idol-Richard-Armitage-aka-John-Thornton- Excellent-Adventure-at-the-92nd-St-Y-in-NYC. It all happened on the night of January 16^th, 2014. Our Richard was to be part of a group of actors doing a READING of Pinter/Proust.

First of all, I DARED myself to go to NYC and take on all the challenges of such an "excellent adventure" without making a trip to OZ to get me some COURAGE, first.

I plotted and planned for DAYS before the trip, sometimes assuring myself that I could always opt out if I wanted to. Who would know? After all, no NORMAL person my age would easily consider going into New York City … by train ... alone ... on a cold Winter night ... and then have to make her way to 92nd Street by whatever transportation she could find, and then sit in a darkened theater for hours WITHOUT falling asleep. (I always fall asleep in darkened theaters in my ... advanced age.)

(The key word above is *NORMAL*. I do not consider any Richard Armitage fan (or Fankle, as some of us on this British website called C19, call ourselves) normal. C19 is a website mostly devoted to Richard Armitage, and we are all proud members of the Armitage Army. We are all hopelessly, deliriously obsessed with Our Richard, as we call him.)

So, ignoring all the pleadings from my own common sense, (or what little of it I have), I did it – even with the gnawing worry that I would probably make quite a few blunders.

When I got into bustling Grand Central Station, I asked a police officer if he could tell me the best, least expensive but fastest way to get to the 92^nd Street Y. He told me I had three options: the first was a bus, but he didn't think that was a good idea because it would take ages, what with all the stops and the congested traffic; the second was by taxi, but that would be reallly expensive, and the third way was by subway.

We walked over to a counter and he got a map and proceeded to tell me to make sure to go to the ticket booth downstairs at the subway station and buy a ticket for $2.50 and another ticket for $5.00, (huh?), and then make sure I took the train going north, and then make sure to go past three stops and then ...

I interrupted him politely here and said I thought I'd better opt for a cab because I was sure I'd make a mistake of some sort and probably end up in New Jersey. He laughed amiably and agreed that a cab might be my wisest choice.

So I went outside into the cold night and walked three blocks before I finally got a taxi. I could see that the street traffic was indeed truly horrific and the cab would probably cost me a fortune ... but after all, it was to SEE OUR RICHARD IN PERSON, and wasn't ANY expense, any effort, worth THAT?

The cab to the Y cost $20.00, tip and all.

I checked in at the ticket counter to pick up the ticket I had ordered by phone and asked if someone could deliver a small package I had brought for Richard Armitage. A nice young fellow said he would take it to Richard personally. I could have hugged him. :)

As luck would have it, I had gotten to the Y in time to sit in on the discussion in what's known as The Gallery, before the Readings. Never expected I would be allowed in, but I was. The discussion was so delightful, the speakers so witty and charming, as well as so informative.

Then it was upstairs to the balcony for me. I tried to see if I could spot TWO people in particular: a woman whose name online was Fantastica, and another whose name was Librarygirl. No luck yet.

The READING began, and OMG – suddenly there was our Richard! (Be still my heart!) I'm afraid all the other performers/readers proved a bit of a blur, because I had eyes mainly for RA. I even kept focused on him when he just sat in the back onstage after each reading of his parts. Imagine ... I was breathing the same air as he was. (I'll bet ALL the members of the Armitage Army who were there that night must have been thinking the same. I mean, this was no ordinary HUMAN BEAN we were seeing on that stage. This was OUR DEAR DARLING LOVABLE RICHARD ARMITAGE! )

Well, he was simply ... Richard. Which is to say he was charismatic, eloquent, funny when the lines called for him to be funny ... in short, he was magnificent. Many a time I wanted to pinch myself to prove this wasn't all just a dream. I guess Proust is okay ... and I guess Pinter is okay ... but Richard could have been reading the telephone directory for all I cared, and I would have been in Swoonville just as easily.

During intermission, I was sure I had spotted one of the ladies I had hoped to meet (I had been given a description of her and her real name, as well as her online name (which was *Fantastica*) and told she would also be looking out for me.) I went over, close to where she was sitting and managed to call out her real name. (She's shy and very private and prefers not to have her real name mentioned.) She immediately turned and looked at me - then she broke out in a BIG SMILE and came charging over to me, and we broke out in giggles and hugged. I had been told beforehand that it was her birthday, so I gave her a tiny figurine I had made and wished her a happy birthday. (I had also made her a card, but I never could find it in my darned, overcrowded tote. Rats!). Talking to her, I felt as if I'd known her for YEARS. Truly lovable. :)

How could this evening be more perfect than it had been so far, I asked myself. I was soon to find the answer when, after the Reading was over, Fantastica and I went down to the lobby and, on a hunch, made our way close to the Gallery area ... and suddenly THERE WAS OUR RICHARD! Smiling, looking so happy, so quietly animated, so thoughtful and gentle. He posed for picture after picture, his manner so welcoming, that handsome face so benign ... looking a bit tired, but so obviously enjoying being with his ardent fans.

Fantastica, took my camera and took the picture you see here in this blog. (I was afraid to look at it until I was back on the train, on my way home.)

It was in the midst of this well behaved little mob of fans that I also discovered I was standing next to ... of all people ... Librarygirl. She was soooo cute, and soooo funny, with such a tall, handsome hubby!

IMO, THIS part of the evening was entirely THE BEST part. Being in Our Richard's presence, having a picture taken with him, hearing him laugh and talk and just being so ... well, I'm sorry, but the most apt word I can think of to describe him is: SO SWEET! It was HEAVEN! He told me he had gotten my package and thanked me. He was talking to ME. Richard Armitage was smiling and talking to ME!

He calmly signed autographs, posed for pictures, spoke to us in that low, mellifluous voice of his. He even told the guard standing nearby that he would not leave until he had seen all his fans. Wottaguy!

When it was all over and Richard had left, a group of us headed out the door and then hugged and kissed goodbye. We were strangers no more, but Armitage Army buddies.

I grabbed a cab and headed back to Grand Central Station (another fortune in taxicab fare ... but who cared!?)

I missed my 11:22 PM train by THREE MINUTES, but who cared?

I thought it was the LAST train, and I might have to either sleep in the waiting area to catch the next train in the morning, or find a motel ... but who cared?

Luckily, tho, I found out at the Information booth that there was a 12:07 AM train. HURRAY!

I was in such a dream state on the train, reliving the evening in my mind, (and occasionally napping off), that I missed my stop. Uh oh ... what to do now? I got off in (OMG) Fairfield and luckily found a cab, and tho it cost another small fortune to get me back to my car at the Westport station, I thought ... who cares!?

I tell you ... EVERYBUDDY should have a DOSE of Our Richard in their lives. It's better than a shot of caffeine or adrenalin!

(I apologize to anyone who fell asleep while reading this.)

BTW - If you'd like to see the series that initially got all us women so hooked on Richard Armitage aka John Thornton, you can view the entire series on Youtube. Here is the link - just copy and paste it in your browser:

http://youtu.be/JslYJ2pvk8w

WARNING: you won't like *John Thornton* AT ALL when you first see him.  But, hold on.  You'll soon be all (Lady) Ga Ga over him ... I guarantee it. ;)

(Be sure you watch BBC North and South, or you'll get a Western instead.)

(The following is a TRUE story. I hope it won't frighten anybuddy. )

GETTING EVEN

… a True Story of Revenge

by me,

Mary

When I was a senior at St. Brendan’s all-girl Catholic High School in Brooklyn, I got an after-school part-time job at Oppenheim Collins department store.

Since I had no experience, I was hired as a stock girl. Though I worked in the basement of the store, the atmosphere was pleasant, the job was easy, and my co-workers were genuinely nice people. Our responsibility was to unload each new arrival of cartons containing clothes for sale, iron any that needed to be touched up, hang them on wheeled racks and ticket them. Then the men would take turns delivering them by freight elevator to their appropriate departments on the upper sales floors.

One day we were joined by an “older man” … a freshman from St John’s University. I was immediately smitten. I remember going home that night and telling my mother about this cute guy who had just been hired.

Since wearing makeup was strictly taboo for a Brendanite, and since I had zero sense of style, I was pretty much a plain Jane. Certainly not a creature who might induce a college freshman to swoon. 

But he and I really got along well; we became great pals. We would often take breaks together, sometimes with other co-workers, and we'd spend our time talking and joking in the lounge. I secretly adored him, and I was glad he liked to spend time with me, even if he did consider me just a nice kid.

 Then prom time at St. Brendan’s came around.

One of the drawbacks of an all-girl’s high school is that if you wanted to go to your prom, you had to ask a guy. I, of course, asked my secret crush.

He turned me down.

He said he was going steady with a girl named Annie and it wouldn't be right for him to take me to a prom. My crush had crushed me. I never did go to my prom … for me, it was either him or nobody.

Eventually we both left Oppenheim Collins and we lost touch.

A few years later I got a job working at Simplicity Patterns in New York City as a technical illustrator. I had always loved to draw and to sew, and my current goal was to become a fashion illustrator. I had also learned to wear makeup and had acquired a pretty fair sense of style.

One day I decided to go to a nearby department store on my lunch hour to pick up a present for a friend. As I entered B. Altman’s and was heading for the escalator, I spotted a familiar figure over at the silverware counter.

It was none other than my crush … only he was even more adorable than I remembered. At first I was gripped by a sudden paroxysm of shyness, but then I mustered some courage and walked over to his counter and said something like “Hi … remember me?”

His look of astonishment, once he did finally recognize me, gave me a lift. I like to think he might have been a bit floored by how much I had evolved since our days at OC.

We laughed and exchanged a few pleasantries, and before I left, he asked for my phone number. Somewhere in our conversation I gleaned he was no longer seeing Annie.

We soon started dating.

And that’s when I finally got even with him for not taking me to my Senior prom.

I married him.

Am I ever lucky, or what? Picture of Richard Armitage/John Thornton and me at the 92nd Street Y in NYC, after his READING last Thursday - (1.16.2014). (Still not able to post images directly from my files. )

My painting of Anne and her kindred spirit/best friend, Diana,
from one of my all-time favorite books:
ANNE OF GREEN GABLES

THE ALABASTER BALL

by me

Mary :)

Earth sent invitations

To a danse one night

Requesting all invited

Please – to come in white.

The glass-coached clouds assembled

And the Ebon Sky

Banked its brightest fire,

Snuffed each candled eye.

Then the Winds belled music

Set a whirling pace

And down the Heavens

Waltzed the Snows,

In their finest lace.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

GOOD GRAVY!

I can't believe I finally solved my *forgot-my-password* problem.

BUT

I'M BAAAAAACK! (again ;)

Phew!