eventually

Update.

Not only did the trip home 

from YouCan'tGetHereFromThere last forever,

it made us sick. 

A gnarly bug, incubated for those untold hours on the plane,

gave us weeks of explosive sneezing and rumbling coughs.

Ack.

Just to prove anything at all is moving here,

we've finally gotten the garden in.  Mostly.

  I like to wait until it's at least 90 billion degrees out,

 don't you?

In other news... 

I have this sketch awaiting on a 2' canvas,

and though I've actually put some paint on the beast, 

I think I'll let 'er git along some before the unveiling.

Yeah, yeah.

 Both the garden and the painting will get done.

Eventually.

tree #7

What could be colder and darker than here?

Maine.

In Maine, they're having a blizzard.

They sent home the help at the assisted-living place

and are passing out picnic boxes to the inmates. 

My mother's comment:

"Yup, we call it winter."

At 92, she's got those New England understatements

 down cold. 

tree #7

apptitude

It's 95 degrees,

a dry wind is blowing 50 mph,

and the High Park fire continues to rage 

20 miles north of the ranch.




I'm still painting canvases,
 but I'm too distracted to finish one.



It's easier to knock out these little paintings
using the DrawCast app on my phone.

While flowers are feverish here,

I dream of the cool trees in Maine.

Apptitude is everything.

front range twilight

While we were in Maine, 

I dreamt of Boulder.

discombobulated

Contrary to the hollow echo, I'm still here.

  I've been back in Maine visiting my family.  

Two days into it, my sister had a stroke.  

She's okay now, but it was a reality check for us all.  

If lobster counts, we did a lot of self-medicating.  

The weather was as beautiful as only Maine 

can serve up in August.

 Then that bad girl, Irene, 

 delayed our flight back to Boulder.

  I'm being as stoic as us down-easterners are supposed to be 

when I say,

 it was a hell of a vacation. 

I found this large acrylic hanging 

in my dad's workshop in the basement.  

 I painted it in my parents' guest room the summer of 1969.  

The world was in upheaval.  

Five months later, I dropped out of college

 and moved to Colorado.  

   

As you can tell, breathing was important.  

Still is.

basta pesto

Garrett the Great basks in the sun, 

while the basil and tomato plants behind him 

photosynthesize yumminess.

Sorry, but when the basil is ready,

pesto production takes precedence over posting.

I must have processed at least a dozen batches

in the last week.

The pesto is stacked like cordwood 

in the freezer. 

Now it's time for us to go home to Maine

to visit my mom

and eat our weight in lobster rolls.

Ahhh... fattening up for winter.

day's marsh

Day's is a lobster/clam shack along Route 1 in Maine.

My husband lives on their lobster rolls when we're back there.

While he ordered his umpteenth,

I slipped out back and took some pictures.

I did this pastel when we got back.

Dissatisfied, I put it aside a few months ago.

Thought I'd go back to it, but that can drive you crazy.

Better I should shoot it and let it go.

There are more pictures,

and there sure are more lobster rolls.