Frankie & the Gourds 9/8

Francisvale and Saint Basil's Cemeteries

  Available as an e-picture book on Amazon, soon to be released in paperback Francisvale and Saint Basil's Cemeteries are a couple of more cemeteries in the Philadelphia area. Francisvale is an old pet cemetery on a wooded hill, and Saint Basil's is a Ukrainian convent. 

Francisvale and Saint Basil's Cemeteries

 

Arthur is Sweet

 

Arthur

  Houdini is his first toy. Arthur came with his name, but Houdini would've suited him as he slips out of his harnesses. No wonder Mummy liked me best when I was sleeping. I'll likely finish The Complete Poodle cover to cover. Arthur is no show dog, but it is fascinating. It was written by a lady who bred champions at her kennel in the fifties. Ron's friend says his Golden Doodle is the best hunting dog he's ever had. Poodles were originally retrievers fetching ducks and geese from the water. Hoagie was a Collie Golden Retriever mix and loved the water. Arthur likes getting baths in the sink and vacuumed. Shiner used to attack the vacuum until he was so old that he was going deaf. Arthur never lets me out of his sight. I have to break him of that because he barks as soon as I'm gone. Lucky his bark is not nearly as loud and obnoxious as Shiner's. Shiner used to jump up and bark in the face of any stranger that tried to speak to me. Jacks are something else. David King, from Greenfields Puppies in Leola, Arthur's breeder, has a brother-in-law as a neighbor with Jack Russels. David also has adorable Basset Hounds. 

 

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

 

Frankie Stuff

  I've been forgetting my dreams the last couple of nights because Frankie and Arthur have taken over my life. 
   

Arthur & Jangle Mocum

 

Arthur & Jangle Mocum

Rain Storm

Poldark

  I had watched the seventies series when we had free Britbox, and I was hooked. Finishing up the first season from 2015. In a lot of ways it's better, more epic and sweeping. But, like all the old PBS, it lacks the on location charm of the original. All the acting is superb. I got the first book, Ross Poldark, from 1945 by Winston Graham. It's a darling little hardback, Ron wants me to read it to him. We better start soon because DOC is on the way, and I read Ron all of my books. While proof reading I read outloud a lot, so he hears some of it as I go. I'm one of those writers that reads over and over again, compulsively. DOC is by far my best work as far as writing goes. We've also The Complete Poodle from 1951 to get to that looks fabulous. I love dog books. Jack London was one of my favorite writers as a kid. I'd read all of his books and bawl. I don't read sad dog books anymore. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a huge hit at the vet today. The vet said he was wonderful. The vet 💓 Sherlock Holmes and Poldark too. Both Arthur and Sir Frankie Crisp came along with their names. Countess Po' Ass just knighted them. TTYL... ✨
 

All Tuckered Out

   I have to be real quiet, if I get up, poor guy wakes up and follows me. His first toy, there, is Houdini. I registered him. He's officially Sir Arthur Conan Doyle now. 

Frankie Loves Pizza

Ron says Frankie doesn't have Enough Toys

   I keep applying for puppies and getting ignored. I don't understand. Frankie says you won't find a bigger sucker. He's right. Tonight he was in the cup cupboard and mussed my big wooden Queen Anne's wig. Last night he raided the snack cupboard and ate all the kettle corn. Frankie loves green peppers. Who knew? He wants a brother or two. He has enough toys. 

Revenge of the Dream Hog

  5/26

  The dream hog got its revenge this morning. What a morning for dreaming. First, I was with Theresa, and it was around dusk. I was wearing little tie dyed sweatshorts, like I wear around the house. We were on a beach. It might’ve been a river bank, sandy with driftwood and rocks. We did not have a ride home. I was supposed to ride with a white man that Theresa knew, but for some reason I walked. It was very far away from home, and it began to sleet. The roads became very slushy with grime, and I was soaked. Three young white men were following me and seemed a worry until I ripped into them, telling them all off. They scattered. I approached an old factory, and when I entered I was no longer myself. I became a classy middle-aged black woman. The factory made garland, decorations for holidays, all kinds: Christmas, Easter, and all colors. There were big cardboard boxes and garland everywhere, so the place seemed a maze of boxes and I, the black woman, sashayed through the corridors wearing a tight sequin dress and swinging my hips. My hair was done up in curls. Some men from the factory started after me. They were wrapping me up in a clown box and turning me into popcorn. One guy told the other to eat me. He said that he liked popcorn pussy. 

  The next dream was very intense and came along with many warnings about childhood, innocence, and society. It took place in the late 1600s, that’s my guess. I was myself again, only about eleven years old. I had been adopted by a wealthy family, but I was not much. We were having a feast and many families had gathered for it. No idea why I was in charge of cooking, but I was. I looked for some meat to roast first. The meat was kept in a cellar with a dirt floor. There were some wooden crates to my right with a few seasoned chicken cutlets and two big portions of pork that looked more like thick pink giant sized t bone steaks. I chose them because they were the biggest and took them outside to a cobblestone garden where there were many toaster ovens set high against the back wall. Crusty bread was already baking in the ovens, and Mummy was there. I put blackberries on one of the cuts and cherries on the other and placed them into the ovens to roast. One of the portions, the cherried one, slid off the oven rack, down the stone wall, and landed on the cobblestone garden floor. I picked it up and took it back down to the cellar sink, which was deep as a laundry tub, and washed it. By this time my adopted mother, who might’ve been Elizabeth McGovern, all dressed in black, had regrettably called off dinner. She asked me if I had been drinking. I assured her that I had not. She asked if I had put spirits on the pork and why I had chosen it to prepare. I told her it was only cherries and that there was not enough of any other meat for the many families who had now gathered in the garden. They were all together in their small family groups, and each family had some sort of ancestral treasure with them like trunks, inlaid wooden cabinets, small velvet upholstered chairs, and large china dolls dressed in period Spanish gowns and caps. A game was afoot, a game that I should not have been playing, a cruel game of rumors. I was in the back of the garden when a man in his thirties, dressed in bronze galligaskins and hose, said that a woman was a whore and that she had brought down a man and ruined him. I could picture the woman that he was referring to, so I knew her. She had brown ringlets and wore a long gold and brown gown. I foolishly whispered his accusation to an older girl, and like the telephone game, the scandal started. There were whispers and accusations all around. There was a family in the middle of the garden that were called something like The Green Ladies. There were perhaps three of them, two girls and their grandmother. They had a big china doll with a pink silk skirt. One of the girls, in a red dress, who looked like a doll herself, was accused as the whore. I went to the family, siding with them, and cried. The grandmother asked if I knew Latin, and I assured her that I did. An older girl from another family ran up on us and stabbed the china doll with an enormous kitchen knife. The doll was ripped from the bottom. One of the families with older children had two big wooden gnomes with tall red caps as part of their family stash. A girl ran up and took the smaller gnome trying to destroy it. A blonde girl from the gnome family screamed, “I’ll kill you if you hurt that gnome!” Now she had made herself vulnerable to the crowd, so I repeated her threat drawing attention to myself. There was a ginger headed queer dressed to the hilt, in reds and gold, very glitzy, who was also defending The Green Ladies and stuffing his face with something. Meanwhile there was a commotion at the front of the garden involving my older teenage adopted brother with long dark hair who had drawn his sword in defense of his sweetheart. I was getting worried, looking for my adopted mother, wishing that I had kept my big mouth shut. I knew she’d be furious. I was regretting my honesty when a tall dark haired gentleman dressed in white approached me from the left of the back garden wall. He had an inlaid white cabinet, like a spice cupboard that was thin, two little drawers wide, but as tall as he. He begged me, saying he was not the scoundrel. I knew he wasn’t and assured him, “I do not know you, sir.” People were leaving or trying to at this point. Nobody was drinking, it was not allowed. I moved past a bunch of expertly made big wool stuffed animals, one, a gray and white kitten, was dressed in a little red suit like a child. A tiny white long haired dog scurried to a back room, and a girl said, “Surely, it can’t be a dog!” She meant the culprit. I was worried about the little thing. This crowd was out for blood. I was an outsider and sorry for my stupidity when two young girls began to argue. One, Laura Younkin, I knew from junior high. She wore a full gold silk skirt, and her hair was strung with ribbons and curled. The other girl had accused her, and she swore her innocence and accused me. She said, “Dana wants me removed as I do her!” I knew that Laura was not involved and told her that I’d not accuse a child. I was trying to be quiet and not give myself up when I woke up. It was a very detailed dream. I’ll try to use it in a saloon in DOC.
 

Dana's Dreams 

Dana's Dreams Two

Dreams 5/23

 

 And, just like that, they're back and beyond electrorococo. From Dana's Dreams Three Revenge of The Dream Hog: 

  5/23

  I had a couple of strange and wonderful dreams this evening. First, my brother and I were ghost hunting with Dame Darcy. We were driving in a car when Darcy pranked Glenn into thinking that he pissed himself. It was all good fun, but Glenn was salty and sabotaged our ghost hunt afterwards saying we were frauds. This dream felt so real that I did not believe it was a dream until after I had woken up. 

  The second dream began in a college dormitory. I lived in a small room with a childhood friend. The left side of the room had pink and brown plush carpeting, the right was pink and white candied marble. There were some visitors down the hall, and I was supposed to go outside and smoke a cigarette with one of the strange fellows. I had a gold box of Benson and Hedges cigarettes. But, I was waylaid because the long sliding door to our room had fallen off track, and I could not get it back on. My friend Brea, from school, tried to help but couldn’t. This is when my new boyfriend, Eric, showed up. He was a handsome white guy with sandy colored hair. I was leaving with him, but somehow he had disappeared on the staircase. Only his clothes and a bag were found. I was frantically looking for him when I ran into Daddy and my old neighbors, the Keilers, in a lush green yard that was meticulously kept like a park. By now Eric had caught up with us, and I was very relieved. He told me that he had to switch clothes with Brea. Mrs. Keiler, Gerri, was telling me how she had seen Fancy’s grave, that it was marked with white chalk just as Mummy had said. Fancy was a black cocker spaniel terrier mix we got when I was in junior high. Now I was wondering where Hoagie, our childhood dog, a collie and golden retriever mix, was buried. I was very distressed that I could not remember. Was he Up Camp? At Grandma’s? Anyway, Gerri told Eric that he was very lucky to have me. Then Eric introduced me to his cat, a silver tabby named Victor, I think. A man came after Eric and arrested him. We were separated, and he took him to jail with a bunch of naked queers. The guard also had another silver tabby cat. When the two of them were alone Eric overpowered the prison guard and had him on the ground. Victor came and started sucking on the guard’s cat. The cat’s foot shrivelled up as if it had been freeze dried or mummified, all black, curled, and crisp. Victor now morphed into a tiny new kitten and wore a yellow flower around his neck. Eric took him and hid him under some brambles, and we were reunited for a spell. The prison guards were after us, shooting at us. We dove into a dark river and when we came up for air we had been transformed into two other bodies. I was Latin and Eric had become a strong black man with strange eyes. I told Eric that this wasn’t me, but he assured me that I was myself saying, “It is!”.  We floated on some branches until we arrived at a complex. When we got to the black man’s home his family was terrified, knowing that it wasn’t really him but a body snatcher. Like my dorm room, they also had a Japanese sliding door. I asked Eric about Victor, and he told me that he would find us.

Dana's Dreams

Dana's Dreams Two

THE TRIP | EXCLUSIVE PREMIERE HORROR MOVIE | TERROR FILMS

The Dream Hog

3/23

  This epic night of nightmares might be attributed to Blue Marsh’s sumptuous mushroom soup. The dreaming  began with Mummy and I in a cottage. I went outside to a glorious English garden with tall red flowers. There were two dogs, buff and white Springer Spaniels, mating, but not like dogs; they were holding on to each other like people, face to face. There was an older fellow standing there, watching. I walked around to the back, and there were two dead dogs rotting in the tall grass. One looked like a big Doberman Pinscher. Then I saw Shiner, to the right, he was dying. I ran back to the cottage to tell Mummy. 

  The next dream was worse. I was in a pet store with a girl. Julius, my Betta fish, was in a glass fishbowl only he was big, big as an Axolotl. I was baby talking him when I picked him up and kissed him. We were in a small part of the shop hidden behind heavy velvet patterned drapes. Three college aged boys came in and started harassing me. One was very fat and bald. He was wearing a green sweatshirt and white bermuda shorts. I kicked him in the groin which did not seem to matter, so I said he must be very small. Now the other who looked like somebody out of Happy Days with golden curls, wearing a blue letterman jacket, and his mate were after me. I ran and forced myself awake. 

  The third dream wasn’t much better. I was in the garage at home in Clover Crest readying my car, Little Pearl, for a Gettysburg trip. I removed a blue glass water bong from up behind the pedals and placed it on a metal shelving unit to the left. Mummy and my brother were both there. Halfway there, maybe at a rest stop or visitor’s center, not sure, I had to stop in a  crammed garage for a checkpoint. I was doing something in my car then came out around the trunk where I placed my items that had to be checked, maybe five of them, including my gold and cream fabric money pouch and a plastic bag with what looked like pink cotton candy or raw wool that was actually drowning floss. I knew if you had the stuff in your mouth while swimming you could not drown. A blonde woman was checking my things and told me that was smart as somebody had drowned last year  when a man wearing a beige and brown uniform passed by. I thought he was a cop. The woman asked if “that nice young man took your money lesson”, referring to my money pouch. I said, “I don’t know, did he?” She nodded. I ran after him but he had already left around a corner. Very distressed, I woke myself up again. 

  Here comes the big one, it’s really rather ridiculous, I think, that I should have to dream for the entire planet of nondreamers. If Frankie is a dream eater, then I must be a dream hog. I’ll probably have to make more coffee just to get through; and I’m using my big birthday owl mug that Theresa had sent. This one took place at Chatham College that was very different from when I had gone there, much bigger, more modern. Daddy had taken me to school and was resting in an old dark wood stained twin bed waiting for me to finish classes; I had three. It must’ve been late afternoon. I was sitting at the foot of his bed talking to him when I put the headboards, about the size of cutting boards, into my bag. Afterwards I was with a group of women in a cafeteria that was dimly lit and looked more like an auction or mess hall. I was going through my heavy bag with books and headboards looking for some snacks in a plastic bag when a very strange fellow with a brown tweed cap and granny glasses sat down next to me and asked, “Do you drink?” I did not know how to answer when he told me that he thought that I drank because as was very loud as he. I told him it was because I used to be a teacher and picked up talking louder. He left as I pretty much told him to bugger off. The women were saying how creepy he was. When we got up the women noticed how heavy my bag was and how I was straining. They took me to a little stall that was bustling with students. They handed me a heavy gray wool drawstring duffle bag with a letter on it, C, I think. One of the women told me that a boy had bought it for me. The clerk handed me a wad of cash. I told him that I did not pay for it and asked who had. He told me that he was Asian. I looked around, and there were no Asians present, so I put the money in my wallet and went to class. My first class was in a crowded library, and I was not much worried about it although my book was a different edition than the other students at the table. Mine was a big green paperback with a white printed cover, but the others were purple. My female professor did not seem to mind. I was concerned, however, with my next class. I had only been there once. I didn’t even know what it was about. After that I was in a crowded lobby where there were rumors swirling about the two boys who had bought my bag. They were saying that they were big time, and drove sportscars. Their names were Lee and Chris. I was seated outside the classroom on a small set of bleachers with some other girls. One had long blonde hair and wore a skirt. She told me that she was thoroughly confused about the course as classes were always cancelled. She took three slim green hardbacks from her bag and showed me. They concerned Arthuriana, one had a Druidess on the cover and all had bare gnarly old trees. It appeared to be a history class. I began to feel relieved. I told I had read Le Morte d’Arthur and that she would like it. Then I second guessed myself, telling her it was full of superfluous things. Then something truly strange happened to a student in the class. It seemed he had been dropped in liquid nitrogen. The girl, his girlfriend, I think, and I were crying. I told her that he did not look like he had been dipped in liquid nitrogen. He had shrunk and was naked in a fetal position. He had a nice eighties style head of hair like Kevin Bacon. He was not freezer burnt. Lee, the Asian, joined us, and I returned his money. He insisted the boy be taken to the morgue, and the girl left with him. Later I ran into Chris, the other boy, he was a ginger. He asked about his money, and I told him that I had returned it to Lee and explained the entire incident. I was thinking that I could not fit inside of Lee’s borrowed sportscar, maybe. He was miffed at me to say the least, and I could not say that I blamed him. I was thinking that it was time to go when I came across a dark dollhouse, maybe six feet tall, in its own little alcove, that opened in two places. It was on a lazy susan, so could be turned about. I knew a girl from high school, Jennifer Davidson, had made it. It was lit. I noticed a lot of my dolls were there: Red Witch, Little Ron, my Victorian Nesbit’s, the Darlings, my wooden Santa, a nutcracker, and others. I took them all, looking, and crammed them in the top of my bag that had now changed into a supple pink messenger with many different zippered compartments. The headboards were gone. I was thinking that Daddy must be waiting for me by now, for sure. I was lost. A woman with old-fashioned upswept hair, wearing a pink ruffled blouse and long russet skirt, exited a set of glass doors on a concrete patio outside and offered me a bit of hard candy. I told her, “No thank you”, and asked the way to the parking lot. She told me that it was “downstairs through the lounge”. On the stairs were the same women from the cafeteria. I asked them if Chatham was a university now. I thought that it was from LinkedIn. They told me no, and laughed. They said that it was the online schools trying to make-out that they were real. I laughed too and thought so. The lounge was very busy. There were huge bins of DVDs for sale. Some girls were talking about a young man who had died and gave his age when I woke up and wrote down as many details as I could remember. I think a second dream notebook is nearly filled now.  

Dana's Dreams

Dana's Dreams Two

Three Witches Magic Shoppe Adventures in Doll Land

 

   

Ghosts of Fat Tuesday

     I never realized the ghosts in this picture with Shiner and me until now talking to my aunt. Ron says it is just a reflection, me stuffing my face, but it is so much more than that. It made it to my Ghost Stories. That place was so haunted. A guy killed a car load of women and children right outside my door. I heard it all years later, and did not even know what happened until "talking" with one of mycommiespace friends who happened to be Johnny Gruelle's, (yes, Raggedy Anne), grandson. He had gone to school with one of the women who was killed. Here, is what happened: the estranged father of one of the toddlers followed the woman and her girlfriend with her child from the Sinking Spring MacDonald's. When they got to the railroad tracks he screamed, "Where are you going to go now, bitch?", and rammed them into the incoming train, four deaths: two women, two toddlers. It's all documented in my Ghost Stories. The diagonal lines behind me are another sign. Oh, my ghoul... TTYL... Drunk, it's Mardi Gras, Yall! 💖

Read my Ghost Stories

Dolls & Magic March Clearance

  While I'm on a roll, (Thank You!), and saving for Gettysburg I've spent the last hour going through and slashing prices in my Ebay shop. You'll find mostly handmade, one-of-a-kind art dolls and original watercolor paintings, but there are also dolls and books from my collection, you never know. Will I be listing more stuff? Maybe. I've been typing Minie' Ball Catch All, I've made it to page sixty-six already. We had Anthony's Coal Fired Pizza today. It's good, but like everything else very exspensive. I've got to start a playlist for Frankie. It's hard to believe we've only had him five months. He came into our lives and took over. He's sleeping by my feet. He's very touchy feely, I'm not. I had made a playlist for Shiner on his last birthday, all of his favorite songs. TTYL... 

Shop Clearance on Ebay (Thanks!)

Shiner's Songs

 

Frankie's First Valentine's Day

   Frankie is a wonderful valentine. I woke up with him snuggled against my chest. He loves his new love bug, catnip mouse, and wand. I think I want to make him a wand for Mardi Gras. He's definitely getting Greenies for Saint Patrick's Day. He has tuna breath. I really wish that the damn' Pawrade would stop tempting me with puppies in Missouri. That is not what I signed up for. I have SPAMMED them, but continue to be tempted by puppies that I want only to be surprised that they are across the country and thousands upon thousands of dollars. 🙁 I did not find Frankie there. A wonderful lady listed him on Adopt A Pet. They are affiliated with Pet-Smart. I suppose we'll find our puppy there too, a brother for Frankie. We had agreed upon a Jack Russell when we got Shiner; we want an Italian Greyhound now, Ron says two, Shushy and Woo. They are very hard to come by in this area. There must be tracks in Missouri and Florida as Pawrade keeps rubbing puppies in my face. Well, Frankie is enough. We 💓 him. He's such a character. Happy Valentine's Day! 💕💖💕