A weeks worth

I will never care enough to pay attention to how blogger decides to stack and apply images. It's practically organic in how it keeps changing.  I've always just worked around this capriciousness. Fitting in the words when I can find them.

And that is something that needs working on. 

I've read where some people do not visualize anything when they read or think about a word. What a strange void in those heads!

 For me, I usually get a full-color image, sometimes a movie with sound when I try to dredge up a person's name. That grubbing about, the searching has become an annoyance.

 I can run scenes from all the films he's been in, I just can't come up with the actor's name. This is not new. Still, the implications of long spaces between words as one ages gives one pause. 

The passing of Peter Max did not go unnoticed. He colored my life back when I thought that Art would be the easy way to go, educational and career-wise. All of his work looked delightfully lazy and carefree. Like me.

After a week of difficult and fruitless adulting, Colin brought a fine treat home. Especially noted because his week has been tough too. Double shifts and dental appointments. 

This morning I only want to report good things. The world will find its way into Hell's handbasket without my help for a day or two while I regroup. 

thanks, Nancy

My Waterman continues as champion. 

I should pick race horses as well. Do NOT give me hints or pointers towards Kalshi. I've only just now deleted the Georgia Lottery app from my phone.

I have been judged and found wanting.

That adulting thing had me combing through boxes labeled "IMPORTANT" for my house deed, only to find packets of photos from my mother's horde sent by my sisters. I don't know where this Polaroid came from, but they seem to hold up better than regular prints. 

A house party, 1965 or '66. I made the dress. A Simplicity pattern that was chimp simple once I figured out how to thread flat elastic through a channel using safety pin. 

Peau de soie silk was a thing back then. I lucked into about three yards of it at a yard sale, a dull, nubby gold, but the price was right. One dollar. My mother's necklace studded with big fake topaz. I clearly remember being disappointed with the tenth grade boys in attendance.