The Return of Toad

This morning, this friend greeted me on the path next to my newspaper. First toad of the year. I love to see toads around, usually a sign that they're surviving here. When I had a community garden, I had a resident toad, whom I provided with the traditional clay pot to live under. Toadore and I got quite pally, and he was unflinching while I hoed around him, never bothering to duck.My cats have other ideas. They are totally terrified of toads.

One once got into the living room at the condo, I think carried up a flight when I brought in houseplants from downstairs, and suddenly appeared on the rug, about the size of your thumbnail, like a piece of living jewelry. The current cats crashed into each other in their anxiety to escape, and ended up hiding behind me, while I scooped him up and returned him to the outdoors.

They explained that guarding from wild animals was not part of their job description, as described at the shelter.

Scarfing it up and French as She Is Spoke

The cashmere yarn that featured in my recent socks is riding again, in the form of a one row lace scarf which is destined for a friend who doesn't know about this yet, so don't say anything. This is possibly the simplest lace pattern ever: multiple of four stitches, each row knit four, then the pattern: yarnover, knit two together, knit two, do this combo to the end of the row. Repeat the row till you either run out of patience or yarn, whichever happens first.

And while I knit I'm listening to the radio,and being reminded once again that it's a big mistake to use foreign phrases if you don't know how to pronounce them.

Recently I've heard more than one news person refer to what they thought was a coup de grace, sorry, no circumflex accent available in my memory banks, meaning the blow of mercy on the battlefield, where a soldier kills a comrade to put him out of terminal pain.

Which is fine, if you don't think it means the best part of the show! or if you don't pronounce it as coup de gras, which is quite different. Gras means fat. So it's the verbal equivalent of cheering on the spectacle of someone being beaned with a can of Crisco...anyway today's lovely offering was mise en scene, meaning , more or less, stage set, mise being from the verb mettre, to put or place. Anyway, the theater person in question talked about mise en sein, not understanding how to pronounce scene. Now the mise part is about putting,and sein is, um, a boob. So he was congratulating a film maker on his brilliant boob job???

Doesn't take much to amuse me! I'd probably be disappointed if North American speakers stuck with their own language. Or if they finally renounced the belief that you never ever pronounce the last few letters of any French word.

Signing off here as Li Ada, goo afternoo

Pre Mother's Day hike

Wonderful weather, perfect for the Preserve and walking there. I walked for a couple of hours, past bluebird boxes, in some of which are tree swallows like this guy



with many butterflies zooming about, bluebirds,here the rightful occupant of the bluebird box



wonderfully scented flowering trees



spring flowers still there, the canopy not having filled in yet to shade them out



and first sighting in years, a Baltimore oriole, a male. His sound is like a waterfall of sound, round, lovely notes, the Rampal of the bird world. I was so carried away listening and looking for him that when I caught sight of him, I wasn't able to get a pic.

For the first time in a long while I was able to make it all the way to the end of the big trail,



to the stone bench,



where butterflies danced all around me and I managed to seize a pic or two.




On the way back, I met a woman sitting at the side of the trail, resting an instrument case at the side of the bench, and fell into conversation. She's a musician, rehearsal this morning, performance this evening, and she had sought out some quiet and beautiful place to be calm. She asked me a bit about a bird she'd seen, and confirmed my suspicion that that wonderful bird I'd seen and heard was indeed an oriole. As a musician she said for her it's one of the most musical of all bird songs. Her vision is failing and she's trying to learn birdsong for when she can't see them so well.

What could be better for Mother's Day weekend. Tomorrow, Handsome Son will visit and that will be perfect, then I plan to hustle him off to the shore, to take advantage of the weather, which has been so unpredictable you have to seize the day, and it's his favorite of all summer destinations. I'll be happy to draw and stitch and read and rest my soul!

So if you are a mother, or have had one, or wish to be one, or are quite glad you're not one, or act in the place of a mother to someone who needs one, I think that about takes in everyone (!) enjoy tomorrow.

Socked in

When I joined or rejoined various groups in the last few months, since I've once again been free to, I didn't quite realize that these monthly meetings might now and then all collide in the first few days of the month.

But if the calendar wills it,my first Sunday embroiderers come right before the first Monday evening artists, who are right after my Monday afternoon recorder friends, the day before my second Tuesday recorder society,which in turn is the day before my second Wednesday book group which barely ends before my Wednesday stitch in with the embroiderer buds starts. It was all supposed to be spread out a bit more than this. And now I have three commitments all falling over each other on the same Sunday in May. I have to learn once again to juggle. And here I thought I had it all neatly organized to avoid pressure and all that. Oh well.

Meanwhile, the other kind of socking has been going on, as I use some of the cashmere I harvested from the thrift store sweater to make a nice pair of socks. The white yarn is acrylic, best for heels and toes since it doesn't wear out as soon as you glance at it, unlike cashmere. But in order not to look like a sock monkey,I added in irregular stripes.

Here's Sock One in progress:



And in action:



Keen observers will note that the cashmere has not been steamed and dekinked. Longtime blogistas will vividly remember the endless banging on I did about my first Yarn Harvest,how the poor peasant washed and hung the fibers and tested and checked until finally they were mature, neat and ready for knitting.

That was before the poor peasant realized that once the new knitting was done,the degree of kink in the yarn was so imperceptible as not to be worth fretting over, despite the great photo ops the official Hanging of the Yarn presented, so nowadays I just unravel, wind and knit. And I don't think anyone has recoiled at my scarves and purses and other such items, probably because they know they won't get any more if they do..

Indian event, food, dancing, singing, noise, wonderful

Last night I was invited to an Indian evening at the local high school, the South Asian Students' annual bash, with a dinner followed by a singing, dancing, standup comedy extravaganza. I can absolutely recommend this as an antidote to feeling down and wrung out.

The event opened with an Indian dinner in the cafeteria, all kinds of very good food indeed, no idea what I ate, but it was great, and the sound of munching took over from the endless phoning for a while...




My honorary granddaughter,



seen here posing with her parents, for several photographers, which is why they didn't all look the same direction (!) was a big part of the evening, in the singing group, really good a cappella,



and several of the dance routines, including the classical dance the one with all the bells on the ankles, very difficult stuff. This involved her mother dashing backstage several times to help get her into and out of complicated outfits.

The two MCs, surprisingly funny for kids, some great lines. And some great inside jokes Indians make about themselves -- this was a special treat, since though I have Indian friends, I'm really not into the inner jokes. Several were about Indian parents, delivered by kids who may have been born in India, but are really American in outlook now, and the parents present fell out of their chairs laughing. I also liked the "how do you know you're really Indian" jokes, including: I can prove it. "After school, you went to shoot hoops. Not Indian. I went to the library. This proves it!" and since this was the night before AP subject exams, it went over big!

I think spicy Indian food is an upper itself, and then the loud and wonderful music, which is great when you see the dance that goes with it, just lifts you up and keeps you there. And once again I was blown away by the sheer glamor of the dressed up girls and some of their mothers -- the ones who hadn't come straight from the commuter train, in New York corporate gear.

My friend, the mom, all glammed up in Indian clothes and makeup,was on pins the whole time with this and that, typical mom requirement on a big evening, and I was the grandma, just nodding and smiling and saying, oh she's lovely, and not worrying about whether she ate anything before the performance. Easy job, this grandma stuff.

The Turtle Continues, and the Three Part Purse

This turtle is traveling at her own pace, nice and slowwwwww. But it's a great project for trying out stitches and colors and generally doing things from either long ago or never. I dug out a couple of needlepoint books I've had lying around for oh maybe 40 years or more -- the price on the Elsa Williams tells me it's practically antique, to renew my acquaintance with needlepoint stitching.

And those lovely crocheted pieces I acquired via Freecycle a while back? astute observers will have noticed that the new toilet in the Ds. TeePee Caper has a lovely lace thingie on the tank, very posh, and that the Ds are wearing lacy hats....and there are several summer purses in the works. Aside from various chests and things with beautiful runners on them, under glass.

One purse is this, a three part one, each part stitched up separately



and lined with some exciting Chinese type satin fabric from another freecycle. Crocheted loop for the eventual button, probably a nice tourmaline bead, and I still have to decide how to join the three into a single purse.



click to enlarge

And if it needs a handle. Each purse is a crocheted mat thing, probably a chair arm cover or maybe a dressing table mat. But I like their new life.

The other motivation for this slow steady work is that days are a little hard right now, what with closing the estate account for HP, and yesterday getting yet more preprinted forms from the state with his information on them, now no longer valid, and having to write and put them right yet again about the ownership of the property. It all drives home my singleness yet again, and though most days this is okay, some days it is lonely.

So it helps to just set stitch after stitch, listening to Anna Quindlen on CD with her latest book of essays, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake, at least I think that's it, it's on another floor from where I now am.

She's an interesting writer, though blind to her privileges, but she's far from the only writer to assume that everyone's an affluent baby boomer, with too much stuff, and too many houses! however, she does get in some wonderful lines that are worth mining. Like her brief flirtation in the 70s with Fiesta ware and Roseville pottery, which made me guffaw totally, remembering my own similar one and the later recoiling!

I wish they'd got someone other than the writer to do the reading, though. Some writers have wonderful voices and are easy to listen to. She has this hoarse, nervous voice, reads like a metronome, and oh well. I've heard her on radio discussing her work and she's wonderful to listen to in conversation,but the reading seems to have put her into Reading Mode. She admitted that she hates to revisit her own work, and reading it aloud, even harder for her. So why on earth agree to do it, I wonder. At this stage she has plenty of clout to say, no, I think we should get Meryl Streep, or something.

I wonder if I should name my turtle..

Symmetry

I'm posting a little painting/drawing, just a small fantasy, very unlike my usual stuff, and better in here than in the art blog, as a gift to me.

Today I did the last transaction at the bank, closing out the estate account for Handsome Partner. The officer was very nice, and said, oh, this is painful, are you okay? and I was much better after she said that. There are so many endings, and maybe this is the last, and then again, it may not be.

Then a while later, in the library, I bumped into one of my old art students from the years when I taught drawing at the adult school, and had a great catchup chat with him.

The symmetry comes in here: last time I saw him was at the hospital, where I was sadly drinking coffee in the snack place while waiting for the major surgery for Handsome Partner to be done and a verdict given. As we know, the verdict was nice try, but didn't work. His walking was in a lot of doubt.

So both our lives have gone in various directions, and today we came together again by chance. So though he didn't know it,he closed the circle in a way.

so I thought I needed a little present, a totally undemanding bit of playtime, so this little drawing resulted.

The Ds. and the Toilet Paper Caper

I thought I'd got away with not mentioning the plumbing adventures around here to the Dollivers, and nearly did, until they got wind of the President's Correspondents' Dinner this weekend, complete with comic turns, most of them politicians, and fancy duds.

They noted the references to the Veepstakes, as Romney attempts to select a VP candidate for his ticket who is not known for carrying dogs on top of cars,but I did wonder: if he'd been flying the jet that carried the space station around recently, would he have had his dog's crate put on top of the whole thing, but I digress.

Anyway, the Ds. pointed out that the least they could get in this situation was the Teepstakes, aka Toilet Paper Caper. So I heaved a sigh and made the requisite costumes from the aforementioned material. After a brisk struggle for candidate, Michelle got to hold the scissors for the Ribbon Cutting, mainly because she's the one with the Long White Queenly Gloves.




Cutting complete, to the roars of acclaim from the crowds, well, from the Ds. and Elton, the dogs being banned from this ceremony since they'd want to drink from the bowl, the party moved into the bathroom to celebrate, with a piano medley by Elton, complete in his TP hat.



He had evidently taken care in his selections, and gave us first a rousing rendition of My Country 'tis of Thee, which the Ds pointed out is the same tune as the brit national anthem, thereby satisfying both cultures. This was followed by a merry farrago of dance tunes suitable for May Day which is almost upon us, and he noted astutely, would not result in another party with new outfits, may as well seize the day and celebrate now, then Paper Moon, Beautiful Dreamer, and Hey, Hey, The Gang's All Here.

As I left, they were breaking out the beverages, but I thought I needed a rest after all the excitement. The Dollivers insist that you click to enlarge and admire their ingenious new outfits.

You know you've been seeing too many plumbers when...

...when your phone rings, the screen shows it's the plumber, and he starts, hey Liz, howya doin'? meet you over there in ten...

As of even date, all the toilets in the townhouse are not only working just lovely, but they are, get this ADA compliant!!! when I finished laughing about this, the plumber assured me this is Important For People Getting On a Bit...all it means is they're a bit taller than the norm. fine by me, but I wonder if the person also has to be a bit taller than the norm to get the best advantage...I speak as a rather small woman these days.

Funny, when I was 12 I'd reached my adult height, a great big five foot five, and towered over the kids in my class, who all thought of me as a giant. Then gradually they grew, I stood still, and I am now considered really teeny among the true giants I live among. I've taught classes where I practically had to jump up to look people in the eye.

And the other property, speaking of plumbers, which I originally was, now has a new water heater and new washer hoses, nothing wrong with the old ones, but the HOA over there insists on replacing stuff rather frequently, and I figured, what the heck, let's go for another toilet, as well,I'm on a roll here, oh, pun, sorry.

And I guess the plumbers have a couple of boat payments now to play with, oh well. I'll miss their constant visits, but I like to think of them cruising happily around Cape May, fishing.

I've been wondering if I ought to have a ribbon cutting ceremony to inaugurate the new bathroom facilities, but that would entail new clothes for Dollivers and ribbon cutting type hats, you know, the sort the Queen wears when she declares bathrooms open and God bless all who, well, sail in them. So I decided to postpone a decision on the ceremony.

Reading and other food for thought

No, I'm not confused as to which blog I'm in! I just thought, since it's time to chat about a book or two, that I may as well make and upload a drawing, just as quick as taking a picture, my usual practice, and I think probably more interesting, except that I have to be more specific about what books I'm talking about.

The red one on top is David Lodge's "Thinks", which is a brand new looking paperback which I brought home all interested to see what he's doing lately, long time since I read any of him, and found, aaaarhrhrhrhrh, I've read it when it came out in hardback. This is a snare and a delusion, since newly issued books, and there are more and more of them lately, get shelved by our local libe as new books. Like heck as like, as my Lancashire pals were wont to say.

So rather than rereading, I just draw it to your attention. He's one of those very earnest male writers who can not grasp that he has slim to no insight into how women think, or feel, or operate, but never gives up on trying, as if the left brain would magically throw open that right brain door which enables anyone to grasp anything about anyone else. And I have to admit I do read him, just in case he's got it yet. He's an entertaining writer, once you deal with this lacuna in his abilities.

And the other really is a new book, Anne LaMott's latest, written with her son Sam, "Some Assembly Required." Oh dear. I usually love her writing, because she's so astute and has a gift for the phrase that just creates the scene in your mind. But here, aside from the parts written by her son, which sound very much like, look Ma I'm writing! big thoughts, big words, get me, look no hands, etc. No reason youthful stuff should make it into Mommy's book, better he should earn his chops the usual way.

Anyway, aside from all that, she truly does seem to be desperately and frantically trying to control everything, the new grandchild, the mom of the grandchild, who withstands her with great patience and kindness, amazing in a 19 year old girl, and the humor doesn't make it this time. Aside from a long travelogue about her trip to India, than which not much is less interesting.

All in all, I wish she'd waited to write this for a few years, anyway, to digest what's up, and maybe she'll write a new version. This one's okay, I guess, but oh such a far cry from her wonderful best. I think she's in great pain because she's not the principal player in anyone's life now. Even the old relative who died is out of her orbit, and the young family makes it clear that they are, too. this is a hard situation, and I wonder how many grandmothers have driven away the younger generation just out of their sheer neediness.

You'll have noticed that this book gripped me totally,no matter what I say about it! so there's that.

I Walk Alone!

I take a walk every day, at whatever time suits me, all depending on weather and my current state of energy. And it's amazing how many other people insist that they want to come along, because then they'll do it! They want to set up a regular time and walk, and I'm now up to friend number five whom I've had to tactfully duck, because I don't want company when I walk.

It's a walking meditation, a time to think, to get ideas, to just breathe, to go at my own pace, to come home when I've walked enough. Not to chat and trip over other people's dogs, I hate walking with dogs, done enough of it for this lifetime, and if it's the dog's walk that's fine, I'll do it, but if it's my walk, I don't feel called upon. I guess I'm antisocial, at least as far as walking is concerned. But I'm quite nice really, as long as you don't try to tag along.

What I don't get is why if people want to walk every day they don't just do it? just setup a timetable, and do it. It seems as if they need me to carry them along or something. Very puzzling.

Today, the horses were out, nibbling happily in the field around the stables I pass, several fields, strung out along a road, so it's great to catch horses in sight and take their pictures. I stayed in my car across the road this time, because if I go to the fence, they all trot over curiously and want to snuffle at my camera and generally assume that whatever a human brings might be a treat for them, which results in really blurry pictures.








One of them is a rugged individual who likes to eat alone, near the fence, sometimes putting his head through it to eat from the other side. There's a lesson here!

click to enlarge and see my friends better.

Earth Day 2012

Happy Earth Day, people, animals, flowers, weeds....lovely rain here today, just what they all needed right now

Now for the serious stuff

Away with all this work and fret! it's time to get down to the real essence of life. Cake.

I made my first Yellow Cake, from the same ancient cookbook that yielded the coffee cake that people needed the recipe for. I mention that it's an ancient cookbook, since in recent times the association of yellow cake is strictly with uranium production rather than a nice little nosh with your afternoon tea.

This, however is in fact a nice cake recipe. It did call for the use of a hand mixer, which I don't use much, but have one of. At least I did when I started out this afternoon. Alas, after a couple of minutes beating of this recipe, smoke started to pour out of it, and I unplugged it and ran outside to set it down before it burst into flame, thereby possibly baking the cake before it was in the oven.

This breakdown was unfortunate, since there was a lot of beating yet to do. However, I remembered my Downton Abbey, and how the cook would have grimly set to work with her wooden spoon and strong arms, or shouted for Daisy to do it. Well, I have a wooden spoon. Alas, the counters are a bit high for beating stuff for a lady who nowadays barely tops five foot three, so I had to rest the bowl in the sink, an exciting procedure.

I did soldier on, all good ingredients, you know, and was quite surprised to get an edible result, which you see here. If one of the cakes appears shorter than t'other, it's because the cook needed a sample. It was nice that the recipe made two loaves, too. It's the kind of mixture that you can make cupcakes if you happen to have the paper cases, which I didn't, or a muffin pan, which I don't, or various other shapes and sizes of cake, but I'm rich in bread pans, so I thought, hm, let's call it Pound Cake, and make it loaves. Pounded. Done.

So this is good. I now have a little bit of something nice with tea, if Handsome Son should come by, or a friend desperate for a cup of tea and a little something, or if I fancy a slice meself. And while I nibbled, who am I kidding? tore into, my slice of cake, I ordered a new mixer online.

What I do in my spare time...

Aside from all the usual woes of home ownership and maintenance, including a frantic call from the local tax office to say I forgot to sign my check, and they're sorry, their staff missed it too, and can I come in and sign it, and on and on, and daily stuff, and the art commitments I seemed to be buried under, I also have free time, and thanks to the embroiderers' group, I have a nice restful project to work on then!




This is the first pre-designed thing I've ever done, kindly drawn out for everyone in the group, onto the canvas, and with access to all kinds of wonderful needlepoint yarn. So I decided that my turtle was a great chance to try out all kinds of stitches -- this is also the largest mesh I ever worked in, it's all a learning time -- something different happening in each division on the shell. Officially this is supposed to end up being a pillow, but I have other thoughts about it. Meanwhile, I'm plying my size 22 (huge compared to the needle I used to use for miniature needlework) needle and having a very nice time. It's so undemanding, unlike original art, and just the ticket for sitting by the window for an hour zoning out while the radio chats on.

For more serious stuff, though it may not seem so, I have a couple more drawings in Art the Beautiful Metaphor, for which go here

The Artists' Traveling Journal starts its journey, soon, that is

I've made the Artists' Traveling Journal, which came into existence partly because of the work blogistas here put into our International Traveling Journals a while back,which fired up local artists to do likewise, except this one is hand to hand, not going via mail. So I was able to make a bigger book, not having to consider postage and shipping size and expense and so on.

If you'd like to see what you've wrought, go here

Sayen Gardens, reprise!

This is the location of the Duelling Brides scene a while ago, and though weddings were imminent while I was strolling around there today, and painting out of doors, I was through before encountering any of the brides.














Lovely time between seasons, early spring now fading, daffodils ending, azaleas starting up, trees leafing out but the canopy is still light enough that a lot of sun gets through. Grandparents hauling little kids around assuring them that they're enjoying this, they are, and no, they may not swim in the lake, just stay on the path, oh now look what he's done, Linda, we'll have to go home for clean clothes now and so on.

I calmed down enough to make a painting, very unusual for me, since usually I'm too blitzed by all the visual stimuli out of doors, but today I did manage a painting. To the accompaniment of friendly passers by saying things like, look, people still DO that, how cute, and what's that woman doing there, oh, I see, that looks like a good idea, wonder if I can try that, etc. And noting that I drank from my water bottle from which I poured drops of water onto my brush, and wondering if I was going to collapse from crayon poisoning maybe.

I suvived anyway,and if you'd like to see the resulting work, go here

Phoebes and other friends

Cool, bright weather, perfect for walking down by the pond. Trees opening leaves and wonderful scent of honey around these blossoms and reflections of trees in water, one of my favorite things to see.







Cool, bright weather, perfect for walking down by the pond. Trees opening leaves and wonderful scent of honey around these blossoms and reflections of trees in water, one of my favorite things to see.


And the birds evidently thought so, too. As I stood on the little bridge suddenly there was one, then there were two, then there were many barnswallows, and tree swallows and a couple of purple martins, out of nowhere swooping and flying over and around me, under the bridge I was standing on, and up on the other side, making sharp U turns and back under the bridge again. This is a favorite nesting site, so I guess these were the early arrivals from wherever they spent the winter.

And there was a pair of phoebes, obligingly saying their name over and over, lovely alto sound like singing not whistling, and sitting around close enough to try for a picture.

Here's one in a tree



and the other one of the pair checking out the bridge



And Carolina wrens shouting endlessly, all around, huge noise from a tiny bird.

And among all this wealth, a cormorant appeared from underwater and swam around, very hard to picture, since as soon as you get him in the frame, he dives and reappears yards away. These are very primitive birds who have to get out of the water and stand on a low branch to dry their wings after diving for a while, not enough natural oils to let the water roll off as they swim. Cormorants are a good sign that the water's clean and the fishing is good.

And that life in general is good, too.

Housekeeping and a bathroom counter drawing

First, I hope that my frenzied attempts to remove the word verification which was reported to me by a couple of frustrated wouldbe commenters, has worked. Evidently when dear ole Blogger overhauled behind the scenes, it made the word verif a default, whereas I had always set it to default to no word verif, not wanting to make life any harder.

I could only get the "no" setting to stay put, after many many attempts after which it would default right back again to "yes", by putting in comment moderation. So that's why this is there. I do read comments quickly, so there's not a big delay in getting your words out here, and I trust the the word verif. stays away.

Should it suddenly show up -- I guess you realize that it's impossible for the blog owner to know this? it shows only on guest commenters' screens -- please complain instantly, and I will go after it with a shovel, or Roundup or something.

Today I made a moderately successful drawing, as I sat on the side of the bathtub -- just in case you were wondering! -- and drew what was on the counter, the finished toothpaste tube before I tossed it, and the replacement and the various other items in use.If this enthralling description leads you to actually want to see it, go here

I made at least five attempts to get my paragraph breaks used by blogger, and this is my final try. They really have done a job on this site! sorry if it's hard to read, not for lack of trying. I'm trying one more workaround, and then I'm out of ideas.

Ancient history and new life

My honorary grand daughter and her mother came over this morning in search of information. GD has to research information for a class discussion, HS junior, on the Vietnam War. She had a sheet of questions she asked me to respond to, and I realized that to her this is history. To me it all happened a few minutes ago.

I told her, above the bare bones of what she needed to know from me, about the Cambodian and Vietnamese refugees we'd worked with, to help them get ESL and some sort of a life here, and about the American vets who'd come home terribly disabled, and how HP tried to help them get back into the scientific workforce.

And about the old Quaker ladies who had stood in silent protest day after day downtown in the square, in a very conservative town many of whose citizens were fully in support of the war, and what great courage it took to be a pacifist. And about how close that war was to all of us, largely because we had the draft then, and how passionately people felt on both sides. And the flak I took at work for having my organization declared a Peace Site!

She scribbled furiously the whole time I was talking, and it was a surprisingly moving time for me, too, to recall that awful time. When she and her mother got up to leave, I gave them each a decorated egg, a kind of symbol of continuing life. They don't observe Easter, but they accepted it as a token of Spring anyway!

Meanwhile,back in the kitchen, cooking continues, life and drawing go on, and if you'd like to see today's drawing, go here

Eggs, Parades, Spring, Easter, Hats!

The Dollivers, with Elton and The Dogs, wish all our blogistas a Happy Easter, a good Passover, Happy Spring and Happy Opening Day (for baseball enthusiasts). After their Easter parade,

among the daffodils HS and I planted last Fall in honor of Handsome Partner, to show off their new hats and dresses, they retired to the living room, and set up with Marigold and Duncan as an appreciative if puzzled audience

where they showed off this year's official eggs

and the general collection.

Elton and The Dogs had new finery, too, to match the Ds., and Elton played away the weekend with renditions of Easter Parade, Who Let the Dogs Out, and gave a nice recitative of When Aprille with his shoures sweet, the beginning of the Canterbury Tales, no idea he knew it, just goes to show, then he indulged his group with a chorus of How Much Is That Doggie in the Window, which they barked along more or less on key. The Ds were too busy diving into eggs to participate. As they say, once the dresses are settled, the food is the main event.

White violets in the woods today

Lovely walk today, cool, sunny, wonderful light for walking and seeing. I got my first sight of the white violets this year, all out and blazing away, a whole bank of them. If you'd like to see the drawing that resulted, go here

Despite blogger's updates, here's a new post over on Art the Beautiful Metaphor!

Blogger appears to have improved its system to where it's impossible to make a complete link, so here's a partial one that will get you to the blog, and the lates post which is what I wanted to show you. The only thing is that once I post again over there, you'll have to scroll. Bear with me. I wish the PTB at blogger would just find a nice hobby and stop futzing with their blogworld! Anyway, new drawing, couple of painting if you scroll down, here

Blossom madness Spring walk

No need for a narrative here. After a day of close stitching, involving a lot of couching on my labyrinth embroidery, and some assembling of a rolling stretcher doohickey for my needlepoint -- never worked big enough to need one before, being of the miniature persuasion-- my eyes demanded a rest, and I went out to stroll about in the sunshine.

And saw a lot, some of which I show you here.

Behind the Scenes in the Egg Studio

The Ds. pointed out that five is a perfect number of decorated Easter eggs, one each. I didn't break it to them, pun intended, that all but one have destinations already, so the Ds. and Elton and the Dogs (his new group) will have to share, but they will get a photo opp.

This triggered a mad scramble through the fabric basket for appropriate Easter stuff, preferably with an egg motif, and Elton applied for a new hatband to match, and insisted that all the Dogs get a new collar. This is getting out of hand.

Elton's pawing through his sheet music to put together his program of piano accompaniment to the shoot.

Anyway, up in the studio, the eggs are drying after several stages of painting and rolling in acrylic and drawing into wet paint with skewers.



Nail polish is the preferred varnish finish for them, so as not to asphyxiate any humans on the way.



This afternoon there's an embroidery adventure: my first meeting of the Guild, complete with project to do, yet to be seen. We'll see how this goes!