Painting is a lot like story telling. Some would say it is the same. I, personally see a few differences- but only a few. What I have learned is that with both you start out with an idea and an outline and then the darn thing takes on a life of it’s own.
And this too is true for both, some blossom and go forth to see the world while others (despite your vision) fail to bloom – these gather forgotten dust or must [sometimes begrudgingly] be destroyed.
You can’t quite tell it (unless you can smell it) `round here but Autumn has officially arrived.
It’s a balmy 95 degrees today. I have the shades drawn, the AC turned down to 70 degrees Fahrenheit and some sort of orange-cinnamon-pumpkin-fake-cake concoction baking into thin air.
Lord why don’t they make a more comforting smell to compliment fall?Why?!I can hear the atoms colliding in the space around me!Why is this room spinning faster than the earth?
Whew! I don’t know why I’m in such a state. Maybe it’s the fake cake that’s baking. Maybe my hands cramp too much for typing. Maybe I need another nap?
Maybe? The truth is I am rather erratic today and maybe I lied. I suspect I’m in such a state because…
Well… You see…
Deep breath and confess.
I’m nursing a hangover. A post bachelorette weekend party hangover but I can explain.
You see we went to this place and had some drinks…
And then some more places and some more drinks…
I couldn’t stop `em, the girls and the drinks just kept coming…
Hmm. I don’t remember much after that but I hear we had fun. 😉
I know! What the heck?! I must be insane, mad as a hatter to party like that at my age but you know what? I do not regret it. Not even if an unknown photo surfaces. Not even with a hangover. And you know why?
It was a great way to end the summer but most importantly …
sniff, sniff. I wish I felt well enough to write 1000 words.
Because the bachelorette just happens to be my baby girl and I will never [never ever never] be too old nor will I grow too weary to make memories with that beautiful soul.
Cotton, peas, your friends, your seat, your nose… There are a lot of things you can pick. Family isn’t one of them. Disclaimer: Life is crazy, people are crazier and my family… well they get the crazy award if there is one. This is a work of ‘true fiction’ inspired by family. The names have been changed to protect the guiltyand the photos are meant to confuse the innocent.
Here’s a Quarter – Call Someone Who Cares or Cats, Mice, Birds & Bulls*t (Crazy Conversations)
Lenny: I called you at least a dozen times Saturday!
Why didn’t you answer?
Me: Did you leave a message?
Lenny: Hell no, I did not leave a message. Why don’t
you answer your phone?
Me: Well because sometimes I am busy.
Lenny: You are not so busy that you can’t pick up
the phone at some point. I mean – for Pete’s sake I called you twelve to
fifteen times – all day long and you ignored me.
Me: Hmm. I
usually do answer if I recognize the name or the number and (of course) if I am
free to talk.
Lenny: Oh, so you were busy. Are you working on a
Lenny: Then what are you so “busy” doing?
Me: I have a couple minor things in the works but mostly … Hmm… let me think … I guess most of my time is spent playing with the kittens – oh and watching the birds. Maddie, my female cat – mother to the kittens – killed a Bluebird and ate it. Lordy, lord! I know it is only natural but I have to admit it troubled me seeing it. That poor little bird flapping his beautiful blue wings so fiercely at first… then flap, flap … flap. He went limp and it was over. I almost cried. I prefer not to see it, ya know?! Did I tell you one of my tomcats, Jimmy, sweet little Jimmy Jam killed a Cardinal? Oh man, that was unsettling. I don’t know if I can ever see him as being sweet again. I don’t mind them killing mice but–
Lenny: So you are so busy with these kittens who [by the way] you know will grow up to kill the birds because that is what cats do – you are saying this full time obsession prevents you from answering your phone?
Me: No, that is not what I said. Didn’t you hear the part where I said if I recognize the number? I’m looking through my phone and apparently you are not even listed in my contacts; if you were stored in my contacts my phone would specifically say “Incoming call from Lenny” and then I would (probably) answer.
Me: Yes PROBABLY. Although I’m not sure now.
Lenny: Why? What do you mean?
Me: I’m not sure I want to talk to anyone who is so
callous toward cats and birds.
Lenny: I am not callous – I’m just saying —
Me: Oh, shut up hater of God’s creations. Back to your query, I’m still looking… Why aren’t you in my contacts? I don’t have your number. Hmm… no voice mail … no messages…
Lenny: Oh my gosh! You are screening your calls,
aren’t you? Why are you screening your calls?
Me: That’s my business and you haven’t answered my
question. I save important numbers. Why don’t I have your phone number stored?
Lenny: Because I use a Call Private service.
Me: What is that?
Lenny: My phone is set to restrict my ID so it shows
up as anonymous or private number.
Me: Why the hell would you do that?
Lenny: Because I’m not comfortable with everybody
knowing my phone number – I like my privacy.
Me: Oh, I see. In other words you’re paranoid or up to no good. That is a sneaky tactic, you know I do not like sneaky!
Lenny: So you will answer the next time I call?
Me: Not if I don’t recognize the name or number; definitely
not if it is anonymous or private.
Me: Because I like to know who I am going to be talking to Mr. Sneaky Snake; who I am freely giving my time to. Maybe you should drink root-beer.
Lenny: Well, don’t you at least want to know why I
Me: Oh dear Lenny, [mean spirited bubble buster] in honor of your anonymity and with all due respect for your privacy [despiser of soft furry things] the answer is no. Now if you don’t mind I have a thousand kitty videos to catch up on so here’s a quarter, call someone who cares.
I do not know the story behind this poor cardinal being “uncapped” but I know he is not [at all] happy about it.
He, however, makes the best of it; he is a proud bird and holds his head high, or at least what is left of it.
We lovingly refer to him as Knot-head, which is odd considering he is missing most of his topknot. Is that irony? I don’t know but it amuses us so…
I don’t think he minds our entertainment at his expense (because we keep him fed and adore him) but I feel certain he detests the gossiping, cruel remarks from the other birds — the well plumed and unscathed with their mean-tweets and chuckles. Yep, he is past being embarrassed — he’s pissed.
Knot-head is one angry bird and I suspect he is plotting revenge.
I must tell you I have petitioned him for the full rights to his story. The problem is he may have limited comprehension and communication skills due to his head injury. Time will tell…