For the big six-O I am calling this Adventures in Watercolour. Whether I will ever revisit this place is up in the air for now. This is what I accomplished by paying attention to a little watercolour tutorial and using the wet on wet technique. Up to a point, of course and then did too many embellishments, but over all I think it’s not bad. The crooked border was an impulsive afterthought. And this one I’m happy with simply because it is recognizable as an elephant. So, Happy Middle of the Week Wednesday! I’m drinking that midnight eclipse coffee again and planning on getting many, many things done. Just have to decide what. Perhaps some pseudo LSD hallucination-like wet on wet abstract watercolour blended creations. Whoa. Brace yourself.
Ha! Just showing you I figured out what day it is.
This morning I looked at my calendar, located Monday, and marvelled that it was already the 8th of October. Except that it’s not. Time stands still when you neglect to flip your calendar. Yep, STILL stuck on September.
On the weekend we removed a very old hide-a-bed from our spare room and replaced it with a queen Ikea bed. It was either that or risk inflicting back problems and insomnia on everyone concerned. I suppose we could have opted for something more expensive and comfortable (although even a straw mattress on the floor would probably have been an improvement) but this way no one will be tempted to over stay their welcome, right? Come to think of it, my cooking might have that problem covered already.
Also this morning, on the 6th, not the 8th, I donned my long neglected running shoes (which I had to rummage around in the closet to find) and went for a walk. No one is more surprised by this than me. It’s a gorgeous fall day! Sunny and windy and warm.
I saw a lot of trees. But not one of those painted birds. A chickadee flew right past my head into a spruce tree and refused to come out and strike a pose for me. Nevertheless, the wind and the sun and the fresh air and sunshine blew the cobwebs out of my blogging brain and this mish-mash of a post is the result.
It includes everything but the kitchen sink and a recipe. I’ll fix the recipe part of that by giving you a list of smoothie ingredients:
- coconut water
Yes, I drank that, and yes, I am still alive. It tasted great, even with the cucumber, which normally I find remarkably yech and try to avoid, but mixed up with all the other stuff it’s barely discernible. The only good cucumber is a pickled one. (Pickles in a smoothie?? Huh. Maybe not.)
And on that note, adieu for today. Tomorrow I might be more focused, but I’m not making any promises.
My job is done. The latest paying one, anyway. I’m inventing new jobs for myself by the dozen, although not working very hard at any of them so far. I feel as if I have all the time in the world. That’s probably foolish in the long run but at the moment it just feels good. How I imagine it would feel to go through a portal to another dimension where fantasy and reality have traded places. Although maybe slightly less weird.
Yesterday, on my first official day as a retired person, I got all my pre-op tests and reports and preparations done. Lab work, diagnostic imaging, papers, forms, faxes….now I wait for a phone call with a date and time for my day surgery, which they hope to schedule in the next two to three weeks. I also had my doctor refer me for a hearing test. She says it often takes up to eight months to get in. Good thing I can read lips.
All the activity yesterday was more exhausting than showing up for work, since I added in some other running around too, being out and about anyway. What a luxury to know I could just come home and nap if the mood hit me.
There was a minimal amount of fanfare surrounding my leaving work. I am thankful for that. Well, if you want to know the truth, I practically begged them not to do anything. I hate a fuss. I worked up to the last minute of my schedule, gathered up my stuff and left like it was any other day. Except for hauling away a couple of gifts – a beautiful flower arrangement (artificial because I kill things) and a desk top easel (because apparently I have talked about nothing else besides painting for the last two months). I’d say both of those things are perfect.
Already I’m having trouble remembering what day it is. So I think I may need a calendar with a schedule on it. Or I may just sit around on the couch watching Netflix for the rest of my life.
That’s not the only possibility. I might also sketch and draw and experiment with water-color pencil crayons and consider all the possibilities of mixed media and get lost on Pinterest and never write another thing…..
Nope. Going to make up a schedule. The only stipulation will be that I am not allowed to get upset if I can’t stick to it. It’s not like anyone will notice unless I’m foolish enough to share it. So, yeah. I’ll get right on it. You’ll know I’m done when you notice some semblance of organization and routine around here. Not to mention pictures that make sense.
There isn’t a lot of sunshine yet today, but that’s okay. We’re having gorgeous autumn weather into the last ten days of September. Six work shifts to go. I know countdowns are bad, and a form of wishing your life away while you wait for something to end or begin or happen but I’m doing it anyway. Anticipation is half the fun, right?
On my second last working Wednesday, all alone between six and eight with no appointments and no customers and no real ambition, I decided to write down all the things I will miss about work when I’m finally done with it on the last day of this month. I took a sheet of paper out of the printer, got one of my three erasable pens out of my pocket (there must always be three) and sat down to write a list. Things I will miss. Ten minutes crawled by. Everything I thought of was something I actually wouldn’t miss at all. In fact I knew I would be beside myself with relief and happiness to never have to deal with that shit again. So then I divided the paper in two and on the second half started a list of things I will NOT miss. I filled up that side and the entire back with such a pile of work related crap it put me in a totally pissy mood. I should not be left alone on Wednesday nights. I’ve always said that, but no one listens.
While this process was all very cathartic, I won’t be sharing my list of negativity from hell. Going over it once was enough. Indisputable proof that it’s time to walk away.
W is coming home today. He’s been in Ontario at the island closing things up for the winter. He’s bringing my water-color paint supplies home with him. I can’t remember why I thought it was a good idea to leave them there, but now I’ll have fewer excuses for stifling my creative urges as I amass all my tools and gather ideas and look up art classes. Plan projects, get organized, have another cup of coffee, read some blogs, play some candy crush, make a pot of soup…..
Is it a little sad that procrastination is my favourite thing in the world? (Except for reading for hours and watching bizarre things on Netflix. I never put those things off.) If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, I’ve been headed in that direction forever. I do entire blog posts in my head in the middle of the night on my brilliant blog where I discuss brilliant things. Then dawn breaks and work looms and Netflix sends me a notice that some dumb thing I’ve been watching has new episodes. So the brilliance is put on hold. Or forgotten.
Well, it’s an interesting theory/excuse, hey?
No, I’m not really buying it either. But my point is (YES! I have a POINT!) work will no longer loom. Huge chunks of stress will dissolve right before my eyes. I will have to find something completely different to get all pissy about. I will answer more prompts and accept more challenges. Or at the very least, drum up the courage to share my artistic creative genius. You people are all really nice and will humor me on that one, right? Thank you, I knew I could count on you.
Ten days. Six shifts. Gorgeous fall weather. Paint supplies en route to home. Oh yeah, and W too.
Life is good and about to get better.
I used to practice writing my autograph when I first learned cursive writing. I wanted it to be honed to perfection for that bright day in my future when I became famous. Famous for what, exactly, wasn’t as important to me as the embellished and flashy signature I’d be ready to write out for my adoring fans. (It did come in handy for signing cheques and important documents eventually, but hasn’t been useful for much else.)
Three autograph books are part of the little stockpile of interesting things I brought from home this visit. One belonged to my dad and two were my mom’s, all filled with autographs from their schoolmates and friends in the 1930’s and 40’s. This past-time of collecting little bits of wisdom in small books probably evolved into the year book autographs of later years. I remember someone writing to me “Roses are red, Violets are blue, I shot my dog Cuz he looked like you” and thinking the whole custom was highly overrated.
These books do contain a lot of similar silly little poems and sayings, but one of them also contains art work by some people who were more ostentatious, or maybe simply had a bit more ambition than to just scribble a signature.
These little sketches and water colours were of course something you would not want to toss away, and along with the signatures of old OLD friends, made these books significant enough to be cherished mementos for over eighty years (…and counting).