The morning after

January 1. 6:49 am. 

This is fog and smoke from the ton or two of explosives set off within a mile of my house. I don't want to call them fireworks because there's rarely anything visible. They just don't get high enough. But the noise! Poor Bailey spent the night under the bed. The girls were unphased.  There was a surprising lack of gunfire throughout the evening. 

It was almost 8:30 before the day could show its face.

And here's mine. Unfiltered and not-yet-caffeinated. Gimme a minute.

A year of unexpected grace

 

2022 was very hard on people in subtle ways. 

There was no pre-pandemic normal to go back to.

People craved escape, in any form. Some creators came through in astonishing style.

Some of us makers muddled along.

Little birds grew strong wings. Families found new nests. May 2023 be gentle on us all.

Home

 

Look familiar? 

I'm in the process of moving out of the studio and back into the master bedroom. It's going to take some getting used to.

Remembering the studio's morning light and the street view. Moving personal stuff out. Leaving art/writing stuff there.  Remembering it was all scattered anyway. So much less stuff than before. 

While I dragged stuff to and fro, he keeps tradition.

The seven-degree weather was belied by blazing sunshine this morning and I got caught up in adding another reveler. 

The TV was already gone. Just music, sunshine, and list-making

Last night was the first night back in the big bed. As if I'd ever get it all to myself.

Merry Christmas!

Away

 

I spent a few days with Charlie at their new place. We wandered, investigating the territory. Found a grand library where the let him borrow books and a game before he even had a library card! 

Three stalemates at Connect Four makes me think chess could be next.

Bad weather and no internet led to shenanigans. 

Charlie's sky

 Never in this lifetime have I seen so many stars, but it's so achingly familiar.  

Then there's this