Molly Goatwax

stubborn

Some years ago I had occasion to have all the lymph nodes removed from my right armpit. This surgery invited the onset of one of the first of this generation's drug resistant staph infections. It was so persistent they trained Hubby to maintain and monitor my home I.V. for over a month. Some days the fever was high and the fluids clogged my lungs. It was touch and go, and I was bothered by the excessive weeping and stink of the wound. After I emerged, I was warned quite sternly not to let my right arm get so much as a bug bite or sunburn. The painting hand! My immune system had been compromised enough that even vigorous exercise of the arm might cause dangerous swelling, as my lymphatic system could not send its healing fluids to that quarter nor drain any excess toxins as it should. Huh. Last night I burned my hand broiling hubby a steak and I got a whopper of a blister. A blister. A blessing! I must have gotten re-channeled somehow. Life is ever tenacious, right down to those weeds that stubbornly bloom in the sidewalk cracks and those tough guys whose adrenaline makes them heroes in battle. Every day someone survives the impossible. My blogging buddy, the Curmudgeonly Professor, has been blessed with the insight and the experience to put it much more succinctly, musing about how people slog through these dilemmas. Thanks for the reminder. Tommorrow I may spend an hour lying in a bed of asters watching the clouds go by.

Artists do it by hand

Of all the images I use repeatedly, Annabelle the goat seems the most compelling to use as a logo/button graphic, so I have started a woodcut. Here it is at the beginning of the dig-out, but my eyes went buggy for the day.

Lookie-loo

Yesterday Hubby and I had an appointment to see the inside of an Arts and Crafts Movement cottage built in 1910. I was prepared to fall in love, but, besides looking as if it was about to collapse inward, it had no redeeming stained glass, fixtures or woodwork. Everything, everything sagged, crumbled and smelled. It was very sad. The agent dropped the listing price by sixty grand and Hubby offered thirty less than that, at fifty. I hope they don't call back.

Hurry, hurry!

You have only one week left to view the Salon Show at the notorious Mount Royal Tavern! With every inch of wall covered, there's a lot to take in, so you'll want to take time for at least two beers..

a preview

Now that I know how to use a hole saw (it needed a locking nut-not the whole mandrel), as opposed to the spade bits I borrowed for smaller holes, a world of round instruments waits to be inset on my art works. Behold...and yes the piece is crooked in the picture plane...a timer set under this gel transfer of a discarded excercycle so you can time the sessions you are not excercizing! You can get in several sessions a day! Note how the fancy Japanese paper's ivy print echos the bed of plants in which our excercycle rests! I need something in the corners, ceiling buttons, perhaps. Or a name plate. Shoe taps, anyone?

Pass the corn

Right now I am baking cheese scallion biscuits to go with the pulled pork I made yesterday. Don't you wish you lived in my house?

Saturday

I finally opened the 12 year old photo pcd files in photoshop. Thanks, Lis, Kel and Hubby, all of whom suggested the fix. But! The images are itty bitty and I've got better copies in my web album, anyway. Watching an instructional video, I figured out that the hole saw and pilot drill attachments I have need a mandrel. Sparky's got one I can use, for now. Maybe there's one in the basement. I'll look after I set up a five pound shoulder and a liter of ginger ale with some chopped onions in the slow cooker and wash the floor.

occupational hazards

Taking photos today at the baby farm, I picked my young subject up from my tray, changed the background paper and held him aloft a bit, trying to coo his eyes open a crack. The infant peered at me briefly and then started to squirt. He got my equipment, his fancy outfit and a hand crocheted recieving blanket real good. Then the alarms went off. The whole unit reverberated with a high pitched tone and the loudspeaker announced an emergency. Thinking it a coincidence, I joked with the mother that her son was a born trouble maker, when the security detail locked down our room and advanced with radios drawn. The baby set off his ankle bracelet security sensor by wetting on it and after questioning, we had to wait while the ruined device was snipped off and replaced. Yow. I don't think they've had any babies stolen off that unit with those structures in place. The guilty youngster had not a care in the world as he lay curled naked but for his hat on the bed pad, waiting for dry, inspected clothes.

smokin

I have been so frustrated. The scanner is old, my hole saws are not drilling, the art school hasn't sent my transcript, the dog upstairs still barks, but less. More mitigating factors! I aced my reading test for the Red Cross today and Miss Janet came over for a studio visit. Fat chicken breasts were jerked and then grilled on the tiny Hibachi-in-the-parking-lot, and are now marinating post cooking. Friday's lunch will be gourmet on the real cheap. An avocado...a ciabatta...ah! Ears of corn!

yarrrrr

Nothing, it seems, is ever easy. Even though I found a power chord for the scanner with a transparent media adapter for digitizing my 35mm slides, the twain driver or whatever it is can't read it any more. I feel as though I am banging against a wall. I found my first photo CD and no one uses those files anymore, so they can't be read.