HOMESTEAD
Yesterday my first ever Art Exhibit opened at the Library! In all the flurry of getting ready I lost track of when I'd set up posts for the front page. Thank-you, puddle, for coming through on Sunday!! I hadn't intended this as an April's Fool joke. The joke was on (and the fool was) me! LOL! To compensate for being AWOL, click on the photo above and it gets big.
This was our wedding gift to Eldest and his bride, in 2006. I painted it with water-soluble oils and hadn't recalled it being so detailed! I wish I had that brush again...!
Dean is First!
ReplyDeleteClick on the picture out front and it gets larger.
Click on it again and it gets even LARGER!
In fact, that second time it becomes larger than it actually is!!
The orange kitty in the foreground is my grandcat, Hobbes.
His brother Calvin is in the window. =^. .^=
Heckava show, listener! Both you and the DIL should be proud: good and excellent work and more. Jericho is a lucky town!
ReplyDeleteYou're right about the detail, lol! Totally lovely and loving. Alive.
Congratulations on the exhibit, listener!
ReplyDeleteHey Cat! How've you been??
ReplyDeleteThanks!
ReplyDeleteWe have a lot of artists around here. Some months we have sculpture, and one woman's cloth persons reminded me very much of your beautiful work...!
This one:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10150768926761754&set=a.10150768903516754.464430.637766753&type=1&permPage=1
I spent quite a while with last night: it was almost as if Georgia O'Keeffe had come back. . . .
Sleepy. Beginning to wonder if I have Sleeping Sickness. *wry grin* Otherwise okay, thanks.
ReplyDeleteGlad to see you back. Like others, I was beginning to wonder.
ReplyDeleteIncidentally, if anyone fells inclined to send Sheriff Chuck after me between Thursday and Monday, tell him to look in Columbus. They've moved their science fiction convention to Easter this year.
Wake up, little Susie! You've been missed. ♥
ReplyDeleteI DO NOT want to live in a country where the Supreme Court upholds routine strip searches!
ReplyDeleteIf I had the physical capability of walking out of this house under my own power, I'd be on a plane tomorrow. Can't bring myself to watch the News Hour's coverage of the decision; just thinking about it makes me sick! That is the most frightening, barbaric, um-American thing I've heard in a long time.
I liked the way you said that about Sheriff Chuck, Bill.
ReplyDeleteSeems pretty strange to hold a Sci Fi Convention at Easter.
Proof positive of this being the post-Christian era, I suppose.
Thanks, everyone. Glad to be back.
ReplyDeleteThen she would have envied my camera lens over her brushes...for its swiftness. ;-)
ReplyDeleteIt hadn't occurred to me that folks looking through the pictures might not be able to discern painting from photo for each. Perhaps I should add designation?
Oh, whew! I went back and looked and it does say "photo."
ReplyDeleteWould that I could paint that well, though. Verily!
I think I was there when they'd only been up for a couple of minutes. Nothing was labeled. Fun to redo today with your notes.
ReplyDeleteBut, yes, I did have some trubble deciding.
Cat, I sympathize: it's always been the Supreme Court that's kept me voting Dem, even when I am not that happy with them. Because the alternative is so awful. I voted in the general in '68 for McCarthy (write in) -- watching Nixon's court in the following years convinced me that I don't have the luxury of a "pissed off" vote. Or sitting home. Or not doing everything I can, every year. That *we* cannot rest, because *they* WILL not.
ReplyDeleteThat's intriguing. I wonder if I could make a painting of it. Would be fun to try!
ReplyDeleteRemember reading somewhere that it takes over fifty years after a "court" is finished setting precedents to reverse them.
ReplyDeleteWell spoken, puddle! Voting is not a luxury, it's a absolute necessity. If only we could be ensured that our vote would be in the majority and honoured!
ReplyDeleteHonored...or even counted.
ReplyDeleteIt's not all doom and gloom.
ReplyDeleteWhen Daily Science Fiction rejected "Snowball the Wonder Cat," as I suspected they would, I showed it to my writing group.A couple people gave me some really helpful suggestions and I've been working on the re-write. Going to send it back to the group now, since Jay said he'd like to see it again. Would you guys like to see it again too? A girl and her cat: good for what ails you. *grin*
Yep, I *would*. . . .
ReplyDeleteBe great to see the try!
ReplyDeleteSnowball The Wonder Cat
ReplyDelete"Drat it all!" I slammed back from the computer, taut with frustration, and sat staring at the monitor. It stared back with its enlarged print and enhanced, brightly colored cursor. Turning away from its mocking gaze, I moaned. "I can't. I can't, can't, can't write!"
Snowball looked up from grooming her fluffy tail. "What's the pur-roblem?" she inquired.
I grabbed at my hair, groaning again. "The problem is that there's nothing I can write about." Snowball made a low, rumbly sort of sound. I sat up and swiveled to look at her where she sat on the sunny windowsill, candy-pink ears perked, large, round, green eyes trained on me attentively.
“Why do you need to wrur-rite anything?” she asked. “Why not sit in the sunshine instead?” I couldn’t help smiling just a little. My cat was always practical, by her own lights anyway.
“It’s the Twenty-seventh,” I explained. That was, after all, the only necessary explanation.
“So?” she said. Did her whiskers twitch? “It’s sunny..”
“Yes, I know,” I said a little desperately, “But the contests close on the first. That’s only four days away.” I paused. That didn’t sound right. If this was the Twenty-seventh of March, and the deadline was the First of April...
Groggily, I realized that I was in worse shape than I’d supposed. I reached for my water bottle and found it empty. Scowling, I put it down. It fell over with a dull clunk. I stared at it morosely but didn’t touch it again.
I looked at Snowball. She had lain down. The sunlight falling full on her back, shimmered with iridescent sparks in her soft, white fur. It was pretty ; but, I was too wound up to pay much attention. She seemed to be radiating expectancy. So, I elaborated on the urgency of the situation, why I had to produce and dispatch something, and fast. It was better than facing that monitor again.
“You know how upset I’ve been ever since –“ A sob interrupted me.
“Evurr since he left.”
“You never liked Kit,” I accused indistinctly. “You were glad we broke up.”
I sniffed and looked up in time to see the tip of her fluffy tail twitch. “He didn’t like me.”
That was true enough, but I didn’t feel like admitting the justice of the point. “He might have if you had talked to him,” I wailed.
Snowball sat up and looked at me sternly. I felt quite sure it was sternly. She somehow managed to look like my father when he scolded me in my childhood. “You know I couldn’t do that, Cassie,” she said. She even sounded like my father, even though her voice was about five octaves higher. “I can talk to you because you are a poet...”
Snowball The Wonder Cat
ReplyDelete"Drat it all!" I slammed back from the computer, taut with frustration, and sat staring at the monitor. It stared back with its enlarged print and enhanced, brightly colored cursor. Turning away from its mocking gaze, I moaned. "I can't. I can't, can't, can't write!"
Snowball looked up from grooming her fluffy tail. "What's the pur-roblem?" she inquired.
I grabbed at my hair, groaning again. "The problem is that there's nothing I can write about." Snowball made a low, rumbly sort of sound. I sat up and swiveled to look at her where she sat on the sunny windowsill, candy-pink ears perked, large, round, green eyes trained on me attentively.
“Why do you need to wrur-rite anything?” she asked. “Why not sit in the sunshine instead?” I couldn’t help smiling just a little. My cat was always practical, by her own lights anyway.
“It’s the Twenty-seventh,” I explained. That was, after all, the only necessary explanation.
“So?” she said. Did her whiskers twitch? “It’s sunny..”
“Yes, I know,” I said a little desperately, “But the contests close on the first. That’s only four days away.” I paused. That didn’t sound right. If this was the Twenty-seventh of March, and the deadline was the First of April...
Groggily, I realized that I was in worse shape than I’d supposed. I reached for my water bottle and found it empty. Scowling, I put it down. It fell over with a dull clunk. I stared at it morosely but didn’t touch it again.
I looked at Snowball. She had lain down. The sunlight falling full on her back, shimmered with iridescent sparks in her soft, white fur. It was pretty ; but, I was too wound up to pay much attention. She seemed to be radiating expectancy. So, I elaborated on the urgency of the situation, why I had to produce and dispatch something, and fast. It was better than facing that monitor again.
“You know how upset I’ve been ever since –“ A sob interrupted me.
“Evurr since he left.”
“You never liked Kit,” I accused indistinctly. “You were glad we broke up.”
I sniffed and looked up in time to see the tip of her fluffy tail twitch. “He didn’t like me.”
That was true enough, but I didn’t feel like admitting the justice of the point. “He might have if you had talked to him,” I wailed.
Snowball sat up and looked at me sternly. I felt quite sure it was sternly. She somehow managed to look like my father when he scolded me in my childhood. “You know I couldn’t do that, Cassie,” she said. She even sounded like my father, even though her voice was about five octaves higher. “I can talk to you because you are a poet...”
“Some poet,” I muttered. “Can’t write a poem to save my soul.” Absently, I reached for the water bottle again. “Not much of a human being either for that matter. Can’t even hold on to my boyfriend... Or make sure there’s water in my bottle.” I put it down in disgust and it promptly toppled onto the floor.. I closed my eyes.
ReplyDeleteSnowball stretched like a furry rubber band and laid a paw on my knee. I touched the paw lightly with one fingertip before she contracted into normal cat shape and licked where my finger had been. The contact, brief though it was, eased the tightness in my chest.
“You have an arrrtistic temperament,” she said. “He has no poetry or music or magic in him at all. He couldn’t have harrrd me if I’d tried.”
I thought about this, but not for too long. I had to finish explaining myself to my cat, and then I had to write a prize-winning poem. So I tried again, from a different angle.
“The last time I talked with Marilyn – You’ve met Marilyn...”
Snowball shuddered. “And her dog!”
“Pretzel’s a good boy,” I said indulgently, remembering the patient Golden Lab. “Besides, he’s a highly trained guide dog. He didn’t bother you.”
“He didn’t molest me,” she said. “Bothering is a whole differr-rent dish of water.” I smiled. It was getting easier to smile.
“Yes,” I said, “well. Marilyn is First VP of the Writers Division and editor of the Division’s magazine.”
“I know,” Snowball said complacently. “That’s why you have so much corr-rospondence with her. She publishes a lot of your lovely poems.”
I blushed. “Yes, well,” I said again. Ummm...” Opening the desk drawer distractedly, I found a limp half-roll of Wintogreen Lifesavers and extracted one. Its sweet, sharp tang made me cough.
“Anyway,” I went on, “he’s one of the contest judges this year. And I told her my entries would be in by the end of the month.
“Only, when I told her that, I hadn’t started anything yet. And then Kit and I had that fight or whatever it was, and I was too upset and confused to write. And then he, he walked out. “
I choked but no tears came this time. Was that a good sign or a bad one? I had no idea.
“I know,” Snowball said softly. “It was awful to see you like that – not able to eat, or shower or get dressed for days. You’re usually punctual about meals, and so Well groomed.”
TBC
She had come to rub against me again. Stroking her head I said, “The only thing that’s kept me going is needing to take care of you, Kitty.” She butted her head against me comfortingly. I rubbed her ear.
ReplyDelete“Then, I woke up this morning, well, I guess it was almost 12:30, and looked at the clock –“ I waved vaguely towards the large display digital clock which showed not only the time, but also the date and room temperature. “That’s when I realized the contest deadline was just a few days away. Though I don’t always see eye to eye with the National Federation of the Blind as a whole, Well, I take my membership in the Writers’ Division very seriously. Besides, I promised Marilyn.
“An that’s why you’re complaining about not being able to wrur-rite instead of sitting quietly in the sunshine or taking me for a nice walk?”
“Yes.”
“So,” she said, “wrur-rite something. You’re always wrur-riting something.
“Remember the time you almost stepped on me getting out of the shower, and you didn’t even put on a towel because you were in such a rush to get to the computer and wrur-rite down a new poem?”
I didn’t . But if Snowball said it happened, it must have happened.
I sighed. "You're supposed to write what you know, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, everything I know – my real or everyday life, my dream life, my fantasy life," I choked and sank my head into my hands. "Even and especially my pain and despair and emptiness life - " Snowball growled. I ignored her commentary on my poor phraseology and went on in a rush. "Everything I know is Kit." Snowball sneezed.
“You were much too wrapped up in that guy,” she said. “All he talked about was computer programs and computer games. I don’t know what you saw in him”
“He’s the only guy who ever asked me out, except for Tommy Ruggles in Tenth Grade. And Tommy only asked me out because he figured not seeing well, I’d be easy to hit on. And he was so mad when I wouldn’t let him unbutton my blouse... Kit never insisted that we have sex.”
I thought a bit. “Of course, that might have been because he doesn’t know what sex is. He sure never mastered the art of kissing. It’s a pity Tommy turned out to be such a creep; he was a pretty good kisser.
“And there was Steve Wright my first year in college. He was a great kisser, the skunk!”
“Skunk? “Snowball asked with interest.
“Yeah. It slipped his mind to mention that he already had a girlfriend. Fortunately, she believed me that I didn’t know. Guess she realized my shock and disgust were genuine. He ended up without any girlfriend after that.”
ReplyDelete“Serve him right,” Snowball said approvingly.
“I suppose. But I also ended up without a boyfriend, until Kit. He was nice to me.” I sniffed. “He didn’t trick me or expect a lot of me. And he introduced me to his friends...”
“Who were all computer geeks and their wimpy girlfriends. “
“Well,” I conceded.
I remembered something Snowball had said. “They all know about magic though. They play Dungeons and Dragons...”
“That’s not magic,” she said scornfully. “That’s just a silly game. Magic is serious and real, like me. Not everybody can recognize it. Only special people like you.”
“I’m special?” I asked doubtfully.
“Yes.”
“And unemployed,” I reminded her, “and subsisting on Disability and a meager writing income.”
She waved a dismissive paw. “That isn’t what matters. “
“Not to you,” I agreed gloomily, “or really to me either. But that sort of thing matters to most people.” I paused.
“Kit didn’t care...”
There was silence between us for a few moments while she vigorously scratched the side of her head with a back paw and I crunched my Lifesaver disconsolately. When she could return her attention to me, she returned to my writing problem, rumbling thoughtfully.
“All right, He is what’s in your mind. So, wrur-rite about him.”
I startled myself by making a funny little sound somewhere between a squeal and a sob.
“Why not?”
I cleared my throat. “I, I can’t do that!”
“Why?”
Panic rose in my chest. I looked around wildly for someplace to hide. There was noplace, except the bathroom; and Snowball would follow me in there. I drew a long breath, held and released it. That didn’t help. Finally, I had to answer her. “I just can’t!”
"Don't humans write about their most intimate ex-purr-iences in autobiographies, and memoirs, and those novels with the Fur-rench name?"
"Roman à clef? Yes. And, most first novels are largely autobiographical as well."
She sat up and began washing her paws. "So," she inquired again with a delicate redirection of emphasis, "what's the pur-roblem?"
"I find that sort of stuff distasteful enough to read, let alone to write."
ReplyDelete"Wrur-riting about one's life and everyday ex-purr-ience, you mean?"
"Yes."
She began washing her face, giving her complete attention to this important business for several minutes, then going on to wash the top of her head. I watched in amusement. When she finished, she blinked. "Is everything in your life distasteful?"
It was my turn to blink. "Well, no, I suppose not. But…"
"Is everything in your life too intensely purr-sonal to talk about?" she pursued, stretching her front paws.
"Well, no; but…" I stared at her. She stared back, sublimely unconcerned. She yawned.
"Is there anything, or purr-haps anybody in your life that is noteworthy other than him?" she asked with a fine show of indifference.
I began to grin. And, as the grin grew broader, I felt the writer's block disperse, like a thick fog stirred by a breeze. I missed Kit something awful. The bewilderment, the pain of that final betrayal, the resounding, wall-rattling slam of the apartment door remained, a tangible presence like a stone in my chest. But, just as water flows around an obstacle, my life could go on, thanks to Snowball. for now at least, I had something to do.
"I'll write about you," I said, leaning forward to rub Snowball's head. "I'll be sure to win First Prize in the Fiction contest."
I laughed for the first time in days as she reared up, the image of a lion rampant. "What do you mean the Fiction contest?" she demanded in a low growl.
I smoothed the ruffled fur on her back. "Well, after all," I said. "No one would accept a story about a talking cat as nonfiction."
Snowball growled. Ignoring her, I stood up and stretched. "Man, I'm hungry! I'm gonna have a nice, big breakfast, or brunch, or whatever and then, thanks to you, Kitty, I can get to work."
ReplyDeleteShe jumped down to followed me into the kitchen. I poured her a saucer of milk as a special treat, and then bustled about distractedly. I only just avoided putting the Canadian bacon in the toaster and the frozen French toast in the microwave in my excitement.
"What should I call the story?" I mused while setting the table. "Something snappy. CAT ON A HOT TIN ROOF? Na, that's been used. Hmm. THE CAT WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD? LONG CAT'S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT?"
Snowball jumped onto my chair and sniffed at my plate as I set it down. "Are you going to drown that in maple surr-up?" she asked disapprovingly, pointing at the Canadian bacon with her nose.
"Yep." Picking her up, I moved her to the other chair. Then, I sat down and began extravagantly buttering the French toast. "How about ALL'S CAT THAT ENDS CAT?" Snowball sneezed. I looked up in concern. "Are you getting a cold, Kitty?"
"No," she said testily. Climbing up, she sat on the far edge of the table and glared at me. I could tell she was glaring because her eyes had changed from green to yellow. I watched her warily. If they turned orange, I was really in trouble.
"I think," she said, "and since I'm the subject of this so-called 'story' my opinion ought to be taken into consideration – I think you should call it SNOWBALL THE WONDER CAT."
I choked on a bite of French toast. "W-wonder cat?"
She crossed her paws in front of her chest and glared still more intensely, orange eyes glowing. "Wonder Cat," she repeated grimly. "After all, how many talking cats do you know?”
The End
Thank you!!
ReplyDeletepuddle ~~ I, too, thought Easter cons were a fairly strange idea, since the date moves around and most people don't have a holiday that weekend. But science fiction cons are always looking for the best deals, and it was explained to me that hotel rates are possibly cheaper on Easter than any other time.
ReplyDeleteVery nice. But why do I think, "No one would accept a story about a talking cat as nonfiction," is the end-of-story punch line?
ReplyDeleteOriginally, it was.
ReplyDeleteBTW thanks!
ReplyDelete