You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' ~~~Eleanor Roosevelt

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

AND YOU THOUGHT HALLOWEEN WAS OVER !!!


iNtRoDUcInG
ThE
aNnUaL
pHaNtOm
pHaMilY
pHoToGrApH


 When the photographer,  Mr. Henry Trembles, pulled up to the Phantom Phamily's Estate,  his eye grew wide as the  decrepid, decaying



old mansion loomed  above him as if to swallow him whole! 

He tried to stay calm   but his heart began to race, his knees began to quiver!  With shaky hands, he picked up his camara case and equipment wishing that he had not  taken this job!  What was he thinking?  The  13 mile drive to get to the Estate was enough to kill any  man! It was nothing but a  long, winding road with curves turning from left to right so quickly that  his head was spinning  as he tried to keep the
old Studabaker from going straight into the ravine!

If  he had listened to the Towns People, he would be safely home right now, tucked in his feather bed,  with his hot water bottle warming his feet!  He  would be comfortably alone,  eating his dinner  of wild boar and  drinking his evening gruel.


He definitely would not be standing in the dark, trying to gather  his courage to go up the rickety, broken steps and knock on the door.  He stepped forward and then quickly shrank back , as a lone wolf  howled eerily in the cold night air!   

The three story mansion must have been a beautiful home once but now it was in ruins.  All of the glass in the large windows had been  broken out long ago and now the jagged remnants of the once lovely, black, silk curtains freely danced in the moonlight as the wind tossed them to and fro!


He gulped and slowly made his way up the steps and saw the huge  door knocker that was made out of black metal to resemble some fierce creature he was sure he had never seen before! 

  He hesitated and then with  a tremling hand,  knocked on the door.  A hollow sound echoed and then all was deathly quiet!  He knocked again, much louder this time! Still,  no sound came from behind the heavy weather-beaten door!  It was as if he were trying to wake the dead!! 

Before he could knock a third time, the  large door swung open on rusty hinges, creaking shrilling as a musty damp smell invaded his senses and large cob webs of dust swirled and curled around his body!  He looked up into the dark faces of the  proprietors of the Phantom Mansion and fainted dead away!  No one ever saw  or heard from him  again! 



We know he was there, because these pictures were found years later, hanging  upside down and crooked on the cold, damp walls of that  old delapidated mansion! They are  all  alone, nothing but blank eyes staring out into the dark, dead of night! 

Or so the Towns People say, no one can really be sure, because anyone who dares to enter the house doesn't stay long enough to really see what's inside!  And on a cold, clear night, if you listen closely, you can hear the echo of the shrill screams  of those brave souls who try to enter  through the doorway of The Phantom Mansion!!

Dare you look at these pictures???


 






 


 




 


 
Every year the picture always look the same,
their clothes, their faces, and even their eyes!!


See...
They Never Grew Old...
They just disappeared!!!

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Oh No!!!! Not More Knitting Witches!?!


THE TRICOTEUSE

She has brows like a knitting machine;
 teeth grinding, sliding back and forth,
 hands tense twitching, like the furies,
 knitting revenge into every stitch,
 like Madame Defarge,
the tricoteuse.

 Like Nero,
she could be knitting while Rome burned.
For each stitch that drops off the needle,
another head will roll.
Stitch on stitch,
she builds a scaffold of reprisal
to shore up her pain and punish her foes,
fatally – clickety-clack.

As she watches the guillotine swing,
she never lets go of those knitting pins,
 pinning elbows to sides,
 tight, pressing breasts together,
like a turnkey, pointed,
like knives piercing nooses,
tearing at thread and yarn.

She never lets up on the rhythm of plains
and purls and slip stitch over,
 knitting holes for the holy,
knotting sutures for her bleeding wounds.
She knits her worries into the fabric,
repetition relieving her heart’s terror.

She experiences no trauma.
 The edge of life is taken off,
 woven into lacy borders, colours,
a jacquard array, balm for her sorry soul.

Falling apart,
 she knits to keep herself whole.

                     ---Wendy Freebourne
                           Knit Designer and Poet



I constructed the
"Knitting Witches Spiderweb"
out of white cotton yarn and a glue stick!
 Time consuming but fun!

Friday, November 6, 2009

BALLLET OF BONES

                                                              
DON'T MISS  

 THE LAST

THREE PERFORMANCES

OF

THE MERRY MACABRE

BONES BALLET















 THE ENCORE PRESENTATION OF

THE  ORIGINAL  BLACK &  WHITE  VERSION OF:

THE BALLET OF BONES
IN
"PICASSO'S  HALLOWEEN"

######################################






MORE KNITTING WITCHES AND THEIR SPOOKY STITCHES!!!!


             NOW THAT HALLOWEEN IS OVER  
             AND THEIR BEWITCHING
                       IS DONE, 
WHAT COULD THESE
CRAFTY WITCHES BE
                   WANTING TO WEAR?

OF  COURSE !!

           THEY'RE KNITTING THEIR          
 **  **  ** 
WINTER UNDERWEAR!












****************

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Bewitched Knitting


               BEWARE!!

                                     THESE  WITCHES
                                             ARE IN
                                          STITCHES!!














Bewitch me with your comments!!!!

Bewitch me with your comments!!!!

Life Is A Witch And Then You Fly!

Life Is A Witch And Then You Fly!

The Poem "Dark Rosaleen"

O my Dark Rosaleen, Do no sigh, do not weep! The priests are on the ocean green, they march along the Deep. There's wine from the royal Pope upon the ocean green; and Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope, My Dark Rosaleen. Over hills and through dales have I roamed for your sake; all yesterday I sailed with sails on river and on lake. The Erne at its highest flood I dashed across unseen, For there was lightning in my blood, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Oh! there was lightning in my blood, Red lightning lightened through my blood, My Dark Rosaleen! All day long in unrest to and fro do I move, The very soul within my breast Is wasted for you,love! The heart in my bosom faints to think of you, my Queen, My life of life, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! To hear your sweet and sad complaints, My life, my love, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen! Woe and pain, pain and woe, are my lot night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so, like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne again in golden sheen;'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! 'Tis you shall have the golden throne,'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen! Over dews, over sands will I fly for your weal; your holy delicate white hands shall girdle me with steel. At home in your emerald bowers,from morning's dawn till e'en, you'll pray for me, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! You'll think of me through Daylight's hours, My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen! I could scale the blue air, I could plough the high hills, Oh, I could kneel all night in prayer, to heal your many ills! And one beamy smile for you would float like light between my toils and me, my own, my true, My Dark Rosaleen! My fond Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew, A second life, a soul anew, My Dark Rosaleen! O! the Erne shall run red with redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread, and flames wrap hill and wood, and gun-peal, a slogan cry, wake many a glen serene, ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! The Judgment Hour must first be nigh,ere you can fade, ere you can die, My Dark Rosaleen!