She looked on

At the end of a strange day. Dusk falling, a deep peace in a very small cocoon. 

I had a follow-up today with the PC. I did myself an injury last week thinking I could hoist 20lb bags of birdseed and cat litter as if I was still twenty. 

The next day, all I could do was lay on the heating pad and find something to watch that would not provoke screaming, sneezing or laughter. All of those hurt too much. Morgan Freeman narrating Dinosaurs worked for me and Sophie. I read that cats see blue and yellow. This creature also made a gutteral mewing sound. She was spellbound. 

The doctor assessed a muscle sprain and made sad faces when I asked about heroin. She gave me a shot of Tordal, a powerful nsaid, and when I got home I slept the afternoon away. When I woke, I had no pain and went about my business. The conclusion of the long day had me just soaking up the unseasonable warmth outside until it was dark enough to bring Bailey inside. 
 

Moomba Masters broadcast live from Australia was a glitchy mess, but JP did well. Waterskiing on a river seems to be a different beast. He still revels in what he does.

While searching for the Bad Smell that usually means there's something DEAD in here, another box of pictures demanded attention.  

I might be ten or eleven. My sisters and brother in flannel, footed pj's and me still running the summer baby doll. This picture makes me want to cut my hair. 

The smell? A half cup of milk I had left on the desk beside the stitching chair. Second only to dead frogs.

The Shadow knows....

Colin continues his calling as Nature nurturer. No pictures, but yesterday,  I rousted him from a deep sleep because a squirrel had fallen into our pool and was unable to climb out. Rescue accomplished.

Then, while he was at work, this cardinal bonked her head on one of the big windows. He warmed and protected it for a bit, then watched it flit away.

Goodbyes

We took the show down yesterday morning. These pieces didn't come home with me.

Isn't that the goal of making art that you're willing to display? I feel like I've misplaced something important.

"As Yet Unbaptized" with its new owners. 

The All-Seeing Eye has a new home.

     

And the surprise, out of left field, 

"Night Gardener", was sold. This one really wrenches. When I look at the detail shots, I can remember laboring over each choice. Thinking through the story it was setting the scene for.

I had a hard time choosing which pieces to include in this show. After the fact, I realize that I based my choices on how deeply the work resonated with me. 

No thought at all that they might resonate with others.

Voicing these feelings. Even thinking about making art again, feels vapid and self-serving when half-way around the world, the US military is murdering children so we won't talk  about the fact that Trump is a treasonous, degenerate pedophile and is terrified of being exposed.

It' not working Shitweasel. 

Solutions

 It was bound to happen. I left the room and came back to the thread stash overturned. The mess was not photogenic so I sorted them. There was no way these were all going back in that box.

A solution.

I picked all the fat ones and set them aside. For whatever reason, my color eye just never chose them. 

The skinny skeins left in the box? Much loved favorites, some with only a yard or two left.  Summer will come.

In the meantime, these colors will be looking for a new home.