Thursday, April 30

How I work

I'm still working on the book for my mother.I'm coming to grips with the fact that I just have to wait until the last minute to do stuff like this.

Still, I am enjoying the process.And I keep imagining her face when she sees it.

If you came here today looking for baby and dog pictures, you can see one over here.

Sunday, April 26

Numbers

It was 93° here today. 

Today

April 26

That just doesn't happen around here. The last time it was even close to that warm on this date was in 1990 when it got up to 92°

It was 90° yesterday. It's supposed to be 90° again tomorrow. And 94° Tuesday.My son's number was 130 today. 

He completed a triathlon in the 93°.

He finished 4th in his age group.

 (I'm proud of him for just participating in this event.)Three events really. He was smiling every time I saw him swim/bike/run past me. He's like that.Kiran clapped every time he saw his dad.And I smiled watching Kiran with his mom . . .And his dad . . .And the knowledge that soon these three will become four.There should be a medal for that too.

Saturday, April 25

Why do I always wait until the last minute?

I had planned to put together a book for my mother for Christmas, but I never got to it. I thought that once the holidays passed, I'd have lots of time to create this album, using techniques I learned from Judy Wilkenfeld.

It's two weeks before Mothers' Day and a trip to visit my mom, and I'm just starting to put the book together.

I guess I can sleep when I get there.

Thursday, April 23

Good book, good friend

Kiran 'reading' to Atticus today.
I hope I'm not boring you, but I never get tired of seeing these two together!

Thursday, April 9

One thing leads to another, or how Kiran got my goat

In February, I was inspired by Denise of grrl + dog to dust off my knitting needles for a little guerilla knitting .Oh boy, was that ever fun. And after it was over, I still felt like knitting. So, I found a pattern for this goat pillow, and I thought to myself, I'll bet Kiran would love a goat pillow.Except really, I just felt like knitting this goat pillow, as evidenced by his reaction.That's okay though. I have my eye on this bench in town that is in serious need of a sweater, and it's not so critical.

Sunday, April 5

Did you know . . .

. . . that there is at least one web site dedicated to the art of graffiti? They carry paint designed specifically for the practice. I learned about this stuff watching the CBS news show Sunday Morning, because they did a story about graffiti in Paris this morning.There's even an exposition featuring graffiti that will run through the month of April in Paris. Check out the artistes.Don't get me wrong. I have seen graffiti. I just haven't always viewed it as art.
Jordan's graffiti wall and his dog, Bugsie
Several years ago, when my oldest son was living in his first house, he loved breakdancing, and put in a hardwood, mirrored niche in his basement specifically for this particular form of fun exercise. He hired an artist to paint one wall of the niche with graffiti. It was awesome. (J also made a grinding rail that he would pull out into the driveway when he got home from school or work. I recall that he was pretty popular with the neighborhood kids.)And now I'm doing graffiti. Who would have thought! One piece I did is framed and hanging in the house where J and his wife (and Kiran) live.

Another is waiting for a companion piece before they both get cut up and crafted into a purse for my youngest son's girl.

I'm sad that there is only one more week of my online Graffiti Chic class with Alisa Burke. I had so much fun making art with this group. It has been so liberating!But for now I've got to run. The wind is perfect for working on my scribble.

Peace out.

Thursday, April 2

Thursdays with Kiran



Bouquets

One flower at a time, please
however small the face.

Two flowers are one flower
too many, a distraction.

Three flowers in a vase begin
to be a little noisy.

Like cocktail conversation,
everybody talking.

A crowd of flowers is a crowd
of flatterers (forgive me).

One flower at a time. I want
to hear what it is saying.

—ROBERT FRANCIS