FirstBorn is a daddy. My baby has a BABY. And that little baby, Missy B, is two years old today. TWO. That means she’s practically a KID. PRACTICALLY A GROWN UP!!!
Today it’s a princess gown (with fairy wings–don’t forget the fairy wings). Next thing you know it’s a prom dress or a wedding gown or a lab coat with her name embroidered on the pocket.
Holy crap–they grow so fast. Seems like she was just two.
Today I took a walk. All by myself. Imagine that–all by myself! No husband, no friends, no dogs. Nobody tugging me in another direction. Nobody getting bored or impatient while I stooped to examine interesting things. Nobody peeing on every corner. Just me.
And my camera. Canon Power Shot. Nice little thing–small enough to fit in my purse or pocket but with enough bells and whistles to make a pro happy.
I’m not a pro so it makes me very happy. I just disable the flash and let the camera do the rest. Because I’m not looking for great photos…I’m looking for inspiration for my next paintings. Texture. Composition. The undefinable something that passes the squint test.
And I found it in downtown Nevada City, which is neither in Nevada nor a city, just an old gold mining town in the Sierra foothills. The gold rush era buildings ooze yummy–I’m talkin’ YUMMY–texture.
Old funky sheet metal and older, funkier concrete…it’s enough to make a girl swoon, I’m tellin’ you, pass out with the delight.
And then there’s just plain old metal on metal. Not that there’s anything plain about this. It’s just begging me to create its likeness in wax.
Rust. Wood. Sheet metal. Stone.
These will keep me busy in the studio this weekend. They’re for reference only, a jumping off point for plaster and wax. If history is any indication, the final results will look nothing like the original.
I’ll post before and after pics, maybe some during the process. Look for them in the next few days.
I got up yesterday, went on-line to check out the local news. The first thing that caught my eye was the story about a boy by the name of Colin Pierce, a seventeen year old with Down Syndrome who was elected homecoming king by the students at Nevada Union, the same high school my kids graduated from.
This was more than just a feel good story for me. For nearly fifteen years I’ve been an art instructor at a center for developmentally disabled adults. I’ve learned to see people for their abilities, not their dis-abilities. Some of my absolute favorite people in this world have Down Syndrome. Or Autism. Or one or more of any combination of DNA screw ups. People either through accident of birth or accident of man are not the same as everyone else.
So for me, this story went beyond Colin. Because Down kids accept themselves just fine. This story spoke volumes about how far we’ve come from a society which not too long ago institutionalized people who are different as a matter of policy. Make no mistake, we still have a long way to go. But this is a start. You can read about Colin here.
And then I read about three year old Davyn Wilkison. He’d wandered away from his home in the mountains not far from here. Wandered away the day before and was still missing. My heart went out to the family as I thought about the child’s odds. Night time temperatures weren’t too cold yet, he’d most likely survive that. But there’s a river, wild and dangerous. Bears. Mountain lions. Coyotes. Mine shafts. I wouldn’t want to be out there alone at night, I couldn’t imagine a child.
My heart went out to the little boy. To his family. But there was nothing I could do besides send up a prayer.
A little while later I was told Davyn is related to a man I know through work. Which meant he wasn’t a stranger to me anymore. He wasn’t just a story that I could walk away from. I sat there after the call ended and let the news sink in. Let myself feel. And then I said to the universe, please–let this child be found safe. And unharmed.
And lo and behold, a short while later, he was. His story is here.
Starting off the morning with good news–no, make that GREAT news set the tone for the day. And then around noon came the icing on the cake. The broken pipe that had left us without water for three days was finally fixed. We were back in the world of indoor plumbing. Showers….Flush toilets….
Good news indeed.
My favorite way to eat pizza and still feel good about myself the next day.
1. Get a pizza. This one happens to be a take ‘n bake from Pappa Murphy’s. Chicken, artichoke, bacon thin crust. I always order extra artichoke and spinach.
2. Now here’s the tricky part. There was a time when I could sit down and eat half of this sucker. Stuff my cheeks like an out of control gerbil and feel like crap the next day. But now…
Cut two pieces. Just two. OMG–LOOK AT THEM!!! Don’t you just want to jump in face first? Geeze, I couldn’t even wait for the photo, I had to take a bite. Had too, like somebody twisted my arm…sigh.
Then take those lovlies and chop them up. You heard me, chop chop chop them into little bite sized pieces. Pizza sacrilege but you will thank me later. You really will. But it’s so frightening I can’t show the photo. Not now. Later.
3. Fill a bowl with salad greens.
4. Add avocado.
5. And an apple. Chop it up first and give some to the dogs.
This is Bean. The other half of The Littles. He will kill for a piece of apple.
Toss it all together. Mix with a little Italian dressing. Or oil and vinegar. Something simple.
OMG, you will love this! It’s loaded with little mini-pizza croutons in every bite. The apple adds nice contrast with the sweet. And it’s filling enough to keep you from going back for more pizza.
Today had its…challenges. And then I found this photograph among the thousands of photographs on my computer and I felt the stress just melt away.
This is Lake Tahoe, about an hour away from here. I’m so blessed to live surrounded by nature’s beauty.
Namaste.