Saturday, August 12, 2017

Another Saturday Evening Post

I'm watching "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them." I missed maybe the first forty minutes or so, so I have roughly an hour and a half to sit and be mesmerized, stymied, tempted to watch the next showing the moment it starts, and . . . I want a wand too! But since I'm usually the last one to hop on to a growing trend, everyone else would have one first, and then it wouldn't be so special. Unless! Unless we could conjure our very own original one-of-a-kind conjuring. Can you imagine how we'd wreck the world trying to outdo each other? We'd end up in a whole mess of trouble for sure, huh?

But anyway. I'm good and tired, almost worn out, and my wallet is thinner by five or ten pounds worth of ducats. I drove again for the fifth time this year. Yea hey! The body never forgets. It holds on to aches like a sore loser holds on to the sourness of losing too. I hefted heavy bags of things like bird seed and potting soil. The potting soils weren't all that heavy since they'e made up mostly of peat and perlite; it's the muscles that were at fault. Being rusty is no excuse for the sorry state of my hefters, but I enjoyed every moment of independence. I love being in a nursery. There's always so much to see and I get a kick out of imagining such good stuff growing in my own yards. 


Truth is it's still too hot here for growing things that aren't already growing. I left the lavender in the bag as long as I dared. Keeping it company on the patio today s what propelled me out into the world; it needed a bigger home and more soil. The smaller buds were limp. What if it's root bound? What if it's dying from lack of nurturing, deeper/wider space, lime, attention?


Having never owned the lovelies before meant a Google on its anatomy and care were required. So it happened. Three pinched pieces made me happier all day. Had I known and remembered lavender had such amazing properties, I'd have never taken a single antidepressant. The scent is a drug. A natural antidepressant. And it doesn't give you a case of "munchies by proxy." *grin* 

I'll dissect one of the specimens I tucked inside here for safe keeping, but I wore one and a tiny fingerling of leaves, nested inside my bra. I smelled good, I felt good all day, and that's why I spent so much money on gifts for people who probably have too much stuff anyway! That's a true story and I'm sticking to the why and how of it! 




Now. How to draw lavender is a question I intend to solve any day now. It's such a complex plant though. It has layers and layers of secrets that need discovering; one lavender web site offers a free cross stitch pattern for a more sharper-eyed dreamer than this one, along with all the information one might need--and it's easy to understand, plus it's chocked with lovely links. Besides, my cross stitching days are over. Maybe, and probably for sure. But seriously. Have you ever inspected lavender? I love those little flowers I'd never seen before; when they die they turn an interesting brown once they wither, while the large scooped leaves (?) turn brown too they yet refuse to give up their heady scent. The greenery turns as well, which is natural but the oil infused "plaits" are too rich to toss even after they've winked off.  

Tomorrow you'll find me uprooting and repotting and inhaling lungsful of bliss. After a body roll of Biofreeze you might find me in an easy chair with my feet up, Minuet on my lap under a sketch pad, and a cup of tea within reach while I pencil in the anatomy of a little flower and all that comes with it . . . except the scent.

Speaking of drawing . . . 


There's a whole lot of fun going on in my journals lately.



Coloring is a whole other story with a sad ending. I cannot lay down good color under certain specific conditions. It's not unusual but it's annoying as heck when a great drawing ends up ruined.  You'd think I'd know better by now, huh? 


We find fun where we find it, right? Drawing when I cannot sleep is nothing new but I still tend to forget things I've done the next day or week or whenever it is that I discover the fun by accident. 

I need new markers. Already. I seem to go through them faster than I realize. Copic is hard to find now, and what a shame that is. Companies that copied their brand and sell their schlock at a lower price aren't doing me any favors. Cheap is wasteful! And it put Sears and Montgomery Ward under. I'm still saying!


And then there's this. Art that makes you go . . . Fill in the blank. I used to buy a magazine that featured such art in an attempt to understand the genre and the creators behind it. Is this a new genre or is it just new to me? Still. After all these years. I've seen the likes for at least a decade in underground magazines. Some of it is unsettling to say the least, but it's mesmerizing. The scary parts are the stories I conjure when I simply look. 


What would da Vinci and his sort think? Dahli? Picasso? Well maybe not Picasso. But Vermeer and Rembrandt? I think they'd be as intrigued as the poor limner. That doesn't mean I'll share my personal drawings that reveal so much of me. That's for journals since I'm not really the brave sort. Knowing my use of "I" labels me as being neurotic is more than enough psychoanalysis than seems necessary. Know what I mean?

No matter. Romulus and Remus had siblings from another mother/father! This is so cool I shiver just a little every time I look, and I've looked and looked and looked for a long while now. 




I am so old school I sneeze eraser dust. My one dream was to draw so well people would see it and cry. Okay, sorry for punning on "Fame," but that song used to be my secret, half-way anthem--all the while knowing I could never stand up to the scrutiny that came with fame. Class critiques did me in so no way would I ever fly across the sky like a flame, or hold the moon in my hand. Let someone else do it.  Yes, I'm old school but this is new school/old school. This is where talent meets vision-meets patience in the details-meets a new story in every personal translation-meets self and someone you know discovered in a peer.




"I Am."

Thank you, Carroll Davies. I look forward to seeing your work in books and magazines. You should have your own comic book. Greeting cards. It should be on the side of buildings, and I am so anti graffiti, but yes to a wall inside an art museum! I hope you don't mind me sharing your work here. It's been within reach since the day it arrived. Yours is a powerful voice. I am honored.


Yes, I've managed to write a few letters between being awed, drawing silly, getting to know lavender, and making store clerks duck ducats. I'm breathing and thriving and keeping an eye on the prize. Summer's almost over. I'm happy. I'm seriously thriving. I thrived through the hottest days and intend to thrive some more. Life is good. 

P.S.  Is Abby really dead? Or is Ray Donovan and everyone imagining how life would be if she died? Bunchy wants to wrestle? Poor old thing? And is Danerys dumb? Smarter than we give her credit for? What's going to happen in GoT tomorrow night? Can I stand it?  


I almost forgot to tell you about this funny. A father had the older daughter keep watch while he took younger daughter inside the port-a-potty for a bathroom break. Seriously.  They went inside the larger side-by-side version but it must not have been set up for action because they came out and went inside this one. Where they stayed. And stayed. Eventually daddy came out, shut the door, and waited with older daughter. Seriously. My how we have fallen as humans. Some poor minimum wage earner has to clean up after them. I might have laughed, but I'm glad I'm not the one. I'd quit first.

Oh! And another thing! I went to the post office! I went in, got my mail, read one letter in the parking lot 'cause it was just that good. Okay, I couldn't tell how good it was until after I'd read it, but the Honda was cool by the time I finished. *grin*

I wish you happy mail. I like to imagine it's like an adult Happy Meal.






6 comments:

  1. so good to see you back my dear and what a post you posted . I just love it . yep I would quit first too . anyways watch your mail box I wrote you a card because I was worried about you . I hope all is well and be good and I will try and do the same .

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    1. Dear, kind, thoughtful, you. Thanks. It took too long to get over the breathing difficulties; it left me tired and floppy. Minuet and I just lolled around sipping tea and doing lots of little things from bed-to-patio-and back. Thanks for the lovely card. I have a stack of mail that gets worked on a session at a time. There's isn't much to tell so I'm taking my time. Very little has changed for me except the needs to clean, reshuffle and order food. :) Hope your waning summer days are filled with more interesting things now that you have your son to dote on you. :) Enjoy every moment. Be well. Thanks for commenting.

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  2. Your sharing of my art with your thoughts/reactions to it touched me deeply. As I opened up in the zine you opened up here. Thank you for that. I would characterize myself as a very private person and yet some deep (and probably universal) stuff insists that I let it out and share it around... These were all unplanned doodles, that's when stuff really comes through sometimes.

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    1. Well it deserves high praise. You're very good and your art is expressive. I like the stories I find in the images. :) And you are absolutely right: Stuff comes through when it will.

      Thanks for the gift.

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  3. You,are talented ...i am entering you into our arts section of the flower show next year

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  4. Wow. I posted your comment then couldn't find it. Now here it is! :) Thanks for your lovely comment but I didn't do those ink drawings at the bottom of my post, but isn't the artist something else? And, sadly, I wouldn't qualify for your flower show even had I drawn those, unless I moved from Texas to Wales. :)

    You make me laugh so hard. I followed you over thirteen years back, you and Weaver. Then my Mac died, and I lost everything. Another reader directed me to you again recently, and here I am, still mostly lurking. But lurking and laughing my ass off. Thanks for the good medicine.

    Be well.

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