Finally, painting content

So my mother tore off all the tendons and the muscle on her right shoulder, and had to have them strung back up like guitar strings. If you’re going to do something, do it thoroughly, etc. I’ve been staying over for most of the week to help with her post-op care, finally enjoying a bit of time to paint. 

And I get my pick of post-op sympathy flowers, because I’m the one buying them for her. She’s lucky I’m not into painting potted cactuses.

Detail:

Glare and brush strokes

Proof of life:

A woman and her ice pack 

DIY nursing care

Got my second shot.

The vaccine distribution isn’t going as well in New York; mother- and father-in law (both school bus drivers who are not yet eligible) tested positive this weekend and Jon is in the hospital with his organs failing. It is not looking good.

- - -

Meanwhile, it turns out I am as good a nurse as I am a detective. Last week my mother got stuck in the floods and drove for 3 hours up and down the coast, trying to get her tiny car through the washed out roads, and the strain on her already-torn shoulder ligament caused it to snap free and slither down into her arm muscle. A surgeon has to fish it out, pull it up like a garter, and stitch it back in place. Since she is in terrible pain and has no internal cabling to lift her arm until then, I stayed over for a few days to keep her fed. Immediately gutted her kitchen, reorganized the cupboards, and installed a new oven. She accepts this as quality nursing care. Probably because she’s on dope.

Walked up to the store every morning and stopped to look down at my favorite drainage ditch. I always want to climb down the vines and look for secret entrances to the underground.

The rain has been activating the waterfalls on the mountain. They’re probably covering the entranceways to other worlds, too. I am much better at falling into ditches than climbing mountains, though.

- - -

Zenny turned 8. The age of awakening, when children start wondering if they’re the chosen one and seek adventure through reckless bike riding and spooky woods exploration. The age where they start reading good books and stop dropping the milk carton.

There was an enormous shepherd’s pie, a platter of corned beef, and a number 8-shaped cake covered in fresh raspberries to annoy the fruit-hating cousins. Rainbow Dash was hung from a tree and clubbed with a stick. Nobody got clocked in the head this year, but my cousin hit the thing so hard the piñata stick cracked in half and landed point-down in the dirt like a javelin in front of our feet. On the whole, I am not a fan of piñatas.

Exhausted. The teenager is babysitting his grandmother for a few days, and I’m back in my own bed again. Going to lock myself in the studio for a few hours next chance I get.

Detective librarian on the case

We have been a police station for hours and nobody has reported any crimes yet.

GUN DROP

We’re going to open up the book drop tomorrow and find it just completely full of guns. Look out, criminals (and also law-abiding citizens). I am the last person you want in charge of those.

I’d actually like to keep the frosted glass and the island decals, thanks.

They just took a photo of our rusty old sign and changed “library” to “police station” and kept all the dirt.

“A famous actor is coming today,” we were informed by the set manager. I tried to imagine who I’d be excited to meet. Hoped it was one of the officers from Wellington Paranormal.

Folks, this is the cast for the show:  https://m.imdb.com/title/tt10937180/

Oh well.

Owls and chickens

Okay, I'm doing a free trial of Noom because the relentless mysterious advertising finally worked, and the first thing I did was try a soup recipe and explode a filling. These people are serious. They'll break your teeth if you don't log your meals.

We're still fixing up the ceiling and studio. There is a bit of a theme developing over here.

Upstairs/downstairs 

Electricians came through and wired up new outlets and a light in the studio. The electricians are the neighbor’s grown sons, and I accidentally left my flayed dick painting out where they could see it. Have fun speculating about what goes on in our basement, neighbors.

The spare rib I painted while I was coveting a painting of a pork chop.

Instead of a ceiling fixture for the new studio light, the teenager talked me into buying a smart bulb. And it’s great. It has dimmer settings and changes to any color you could ever want to light your still life. Just lovely. Until your kids get hold of the app and change it to strobing red. 

Plucky modeled under the warm light and listened to murder podcasts with me. 

Who killed those hitchhikers, Plucky?

(She says it was "Buck". It was only funny the first time, Plucky.)

The girl’s mittens are finished. She’s ready to visit her brother in New York next winter. And she plans to wear them until then, evidently.

 

 “Twilight hands” is the mandatory pose for modeling mittens

And I did actually paint in the cleaned up studio, finally. A little bit. And not very well. Sill counts, though.