Unpleasant News

                                                               

Neil Gaiman, author of some of my favorite novels, has been very credibly accused of a variety of non-consensual sexual encounters with a number of young women. The details are sickening.  

I'm not likely to stop reading or listening to his works, but it's deeply saddening to think that an author I've let whisper in my ear (via audiobook) as I fall asleep, is capable of such nastiness.

Perhaps he can get a job in the forthcoming administration.

Etching the Sky

 

Icy Days

Days of school cancellations or delayed starts. Our driveway is passable with 4WD--the tricky part is getting down to the icy walkway to the car.

But we have hay and fuel oil; the water is still running, and the power is still on. 

Seeing the scenes of the fires in California and being aware of the ongoing misery of so many recovering from Helene, I am reminded daily of our good fortune, as well as the fragility of our existence.

 

Warts and All

 

In Praise of Beauty

 

Oh, Deer!

John looked up from his computer to see three deer, not twenty feet away on the slope directly behind the house.

They were munching on the ground cover--a mix of ivy, houttuynia, periwinkle, and weeds.

This is the best I could do--shooting through screens and embarrassingly dirty windows.

After the plague that wiped out so many deer a few years back, it's nice to see these pretty critters--though come summer I'll be cursing them if they eat my hostas. 

 

More Ordinary Things

Okay, it was childish of me, ten years ago, to buy the Spotted Dick pudding just because of the name. And probably even more childish to have saved the tin.  And now, to memorialize said childishness . . . 

But I'm really enjoying drawing (though not very well) and painting ordinary things.

Hit don't matter how lop-sided the end result is. What matters is the peaceful feeling I get, as I concentrate on a familiar object and attempt to really see it.

Maybe I should get stoned to further enhance the experience. . .

 

Snowy Morning

 

A Wedding Slipper

More painting from objects, not photos.  One of my maternal grandmother's wedding slippers. (Yes, I also have her wedding dress. . .)

 

BRRRR!

 

Mourning for America

                                                                   

Mourning President Carter, a good and decent man whose long post-presidency life set an unparalleled example of good works and selflessness.

Mourning those who died at the hands of the insurrectionists of January 6, four years ago.

Mourning the rise of the oligarchy and angry men in every walk of life.

Mourning the considerable peril our country faces in the four years ahead of us, as a vindictive and profoundly ignorant little man seeks retribution for slights--real or imagined and hustles to pay off the billionaires who have put him in office.

Mourning my loss of faith in my fellow citizens . . . and those friends I thought I knew . . .

Looking East, 7:30 AM

 

Ordinary Things

 The Tampa cousins (both painters) have nudged me into attempting more drawing from life (rather than photos as is my wont.) This is the mug that follows me around all day--usually with hot water, sometimes tea, occasionally grog (hot water, rum, lemon.)

Next up, my grandmother's biscuit cutter and spatulas. I don't use these--but can't get rid of them. Maybe painting them will allow me to let go.