Dead hibiscus

I've been sick this week. Quacked at babies for toddler time and then went home to work on freelance illustrations with a giant bottle of ibuprofen. When my tablet got too hot, I gave myself a few hours to paint a dead hibiscus. I get one blossom a week, and I was too late on this one. I picked it out of the dirt and shook off the bugs, deciding it could be a companion piece for the live one I painted last week.

Of course, as soon as I was busy painting the dead flower, the hibiscus plant popped open another fresh blossom. Too bad, I like the dead one better.

For the last few weeks I've been slowly dabbing away at a painting of Leif. This child is impossible to paint, but I finally got a reasonable likeness of him.

CLOSE ENOUGH

Another one of our patrons died, having somehow drowned after falling off a surfboard. I looked him up to see if his obituary had been posted yet, and found a newspaper article from 1999 about how he witnessed his friends murder two drug dealers, disposed of their cars, helped hide their bodies for maybe a month, dug a pit to bury the decomposing corpses, dug them back up a few weeks later, and weighted their rotting remains with cement tiles before chucking them into the ocean.

Holy shit, Mr. L.

And here I was getting excited about not getting eaten by a shark.

nope

I don't go to the beach. When I do go to the beach, I don't go in the water. When I do go in the water, I don't carry the kids around, because they're slippery and covered with sharp elbows. But yesterday we had a couple of hours to kill after parent/teacher conferences, so I took the kids to the beach, marched my sun-starved body down into the ocean, and coaxed Zenny into the water with me. I held her up and we bobbed like dumplings, chest-deep and jumping with the waves. Within 10 seconds, a couple of lifeguards in a nearby outrigger started screaming, "SHAAAARK! GET OUT, SHARK SHARK SHAAAARK!" and pointing to a spot right beside us. If the lifeguards are freaking out, I get to freak out. That is allowed.

It is very hard to run in a moving ocean while holding a 6 year-old. Instead of leaping out of the water like a penguin, I fell forward in the surf and tossed Zenny, pushing her ahead of me until she could run on her own, trying to keep my drumsticks between her and the shark. There was a lot of flopping and rolling, but we got out. It was not graceful.

Turned around in time to see the shark cruise through the waves we had just been floating in. It circled around a couple of times and headed for the kids surfing nearby. Everyone on the beach was screaming for them to come to shore, paddling their hands in the air to make them swim faster. Each one made it to safety without getting nibbled like a corn cob. Thanks to all our frantic air paddling, probably.

butts remain unmunched

So that all turned out okay. Nature is fun.

More body fluids than one would like, but not enough to be exciting

THIS WEEK

* grabbed a door handle covered in blood

* saw someone blow their nose into a book and didn’t catch him before he hid it, because I was cleaning blood

* hunted for snot book and found 9 additional hidden books

* and a nest of candy wrappers

* called the police because someone offered to kidnap a kid in front of the library. “Hey kid, you wanna get some ice cream in my white van?” There really is a creep in a white van who has been trying to snatch kids all over the island for the last 6 months, almost succeeding twice, but this guy just looked like a sarcastic drug addict - still, fuck you, buddy, you can’t approach kids and threaten them at my library

* except he totally got away

* gave a picture of the guy (which I shamelessly snapped while he was horking down a gas station ice cream cup on the library stairs) to Officer Youthful-Altruism and Officer Seen-Some-Shit. The older of the two stalked off to hunt the guy in his car, unironically using the term “stranger danger”. I thought that was just a cute term to use with kids, but I guess if you use a thing enough it becomes not cute. They are so tired of this white van guy. Last week the police chased him across my mom’s school campus and he got away AGAIN. Whoever he is, he’s got a good cardiovascular system.

* spent some time looking into a career change, but could not find openings for... I don’t know, Coroner's Office document archivist? Evidence cataloging? There has to be something a library degree is good for that is more interesting than helping people click the ‘print’ button, wiping up nosebleeds, and reporting people not getting kidnapped.

* did outreach at the Menehune Surf Contest. Got a free lunch. Considered that maybe this is a good gig after all.

If you like that kind of thing

* Gavin slept over at a friend's house, and I'd never met the kid's parents, so I gave the boy all kinds of tips on how to escape if they start getting drunk and shooting bottles or dealing meth out of the garage or trying to poach wild boars at 2am. Gavin texted me three hours later saying, "Wow, they have a three-story house by the beach. His dad is a wine broker." What is a wine broker? You're on your own, kid, that is outside my area of experience. Call me if his auntie shows up with wine coolers and challenges you to throw darts at each other.

I'm going to paint tomorrow. I have to.

bummed

Today I quacked and sang and beeped like a forklift, blew kisses to babies and laughed with young mothers. Afterwards I went to the staff fridge and pulled out the big plastic jar of tea I had taken this morning, which had been given to Mike by a co-worker. He doesn't drink unsweetened tea, and as I took a swig of it, it occurred to me that it could have drugs in it. Or poison. I drank it anyway, because if he's taking drugs I'll find out and he'll be busted, and if he's trying to murder me, fine, good luck with that.

It was just tea. I was a little disappointed.

I don't like the word insecure. We use it to describe a personality flaw, a weakness, but people who feel they do not have secure and reliable food, love, housing, or safety are usually correct. It's a bad feeling.

Things are okay. Nothing is actively going wrong. But I am feeling not secure. Unsafe. I pushed the man away in my sleep a few weeks ago, and since then the ground feels like it might shift underfoot or drop out completely. And I'm staring at the man, saying, I laid out the plan, the kids are almost raised - either keep steady and don't fuck it up, or make a move and fucking go already. I've never been able to get rid of him. He keeps coming back, looking for redemption and then being disappointed when the mended thing isn't as good as the original thing. Disappointed that I'm shrugging and raising the kids instead of rekindling our true love. Except it was never true, and it never can be. I don't want it anymore. I want a house and healthy kids and family holidays and the bills comfortably paid. "You're happy," he says, "But I'm not happy." Motherfucker, have you met me? I am not happy. I am fine. I am sad and okay and heartbroken and resigned. I give myself permission not to set fire to myself in order to rekindle things for you. I am not the gatekeeper of your happiness, go get it yourself. Set yourself on fire. Maybe I'll warm to it.

Rite of passage

Today was the first day I slapped on the STUDENT DRIVER PLEASE BE PATIENT magnets and let Gavin drive. He's a bit squishy on the stops and wide on the curves, but we made it to work without running over anybody or going off the bridge.

and apparently we both make the same 'yiiiikes' smile

We're switching gears on a lot of things this year, as he approaches 17 and starts considering colleges. Last childhood Halloweens, last Christmases as a kid. I had been thinking that I would be immune to the empty nest thing that will happen some day, as a person who is comfortable being alone, but then I was left by myself on Monday and scared myself stupid with the security cameras, convinced there was someone standing in the driveway and staring at the house, just outside the partially-opened gate.

I sat frozen on the couch, staring at the live feed for a long time before sneaking to the window and realizing it was the neighbor's traffic cone and a lawn chair. When the time comes for the kids to leave home, I'll move somewhere with bears to eat imaginary intruders. And then I'll just have bears to deal with. This is a good plan.

hibiscus and varnish trouble

Unexpected day to myself. 

I realize I have done this color combination before, but the blues and oranges make me happy. 

I planted a double-hibiscus a few months ago just for this purpose. The flowers only bloom for a day or two before dropping off, so I stalked this one and nabbed it at the right moment. I dig the delicious red shadows in these flowers.

Advice welcome

 This week I put on my chemical mask and varnished some paintings. 

Here is the thing about varnish: it combusts if you ship it by air. Possibly. So if you live on an island, you are stuck using whatever varnish the overpriced art store has had shipped in by boat, because you can't order anything else online. I'm okay with this, because I am a fan of not blowing up airplanes, but I am just really bad at using Damar varnish. If I put it on thin it catches every surface irregularity, if I put it on generously it puddles. This time it did something worse:

It went on smoothly and then it crackled. I don't know what went wrong. Surface problem? Brush problem? Could I cheat and use deck varnish, or does it all turn yellow over time?

So annoyed. 

Somebody put a jar of semi-gloss art varnish into a little canoe and send it over for me.

Dept of Misc

I don't have art to show this week because my drink &draw tattoo design went very wrong. The snake looked like a raw pretzel that had been left on the counter to rise for too long. Since then, I've been spending my time getting weird about nib pens and researching botanical illustration societies.

Here is what has been happening, non-art-wise:

*My mother came up for Sunday dinner. We had a Guinness and walked over to the thrift store, where I thought it was VERY FUNNY to buy a bright orange blouse covered in lions and a pussy bow.

yep

It works, though.

* Patron tried very hard to persuade me to make an appointment for a foot massage. Not a massage for feet, a massage performed by feet. No to either.

* I made a patron angry by refusing to issue him a new library card without ID, and then he suddenly switched gears and loomed in for a fist bump.

I need a little placard at the reference desk that says "PLEASE DON'T TOUCH ME".

* Gavin has trained the kitten to climb door frames. This is not a skill anybody needs, but it is very cute. He gives the little guy a boost so he can reach the tops of the doors, and now there are paw prints on the walls and ceiling. This gives the house an air of mystery, maybe.

* Plucky was put in the coop for being broody. We came home to a kerfuffle and found the side door unlocked, Plucky missing, and a totally different chicken stuck inside. Evicted the strange chicken, checked the nesting boxes, closed up the empty coop. This morning Plucky broke back in, and she was eating breakfast in there like nothing had happened. I don't know. One time we came home and found about 30 doves locked inside the coop. I think they have a portal in there somewhere.

* Learned that my oldest and best high school friend is expecting a baby, after years of carrying cats around in snuglis. This means I get to knit something. *cracking knuckles*

* One last comment on my lychee branch before the library art show ended: "I could totally see my nana hanging this in her kitchen. She looooves old stuff." Ok, thanks for that.

In the works: a painting of the teenager, an underdrawing for a double-hibiscus flower that may be the end of me, and fancy* nib inking.

* not fancy. All my nib research will culminate in me chucking a $4 Speedball pen into my Walmart cart.

Avocado

The cat had his procedure, so I took a day off to make sure he didn't bust a stitch. Painted an avocado while listening to a crime-solving podcast, wondering if it's too late to quit my job and become a pathologist. Probably I'd have less time to paint produce if I had a job that didn't let me take a day off to babysit my cat's balls.

I painted a bunch of boards in different colors to use as backgrounds. A blue background looked good, but the kids went nuts for the shiny gold, so I went with it.

My ward, unbothered

I'd like to be a painter who gets the form down in thick, lovely stokes, but I am a terminal dabber. 

In other news

Got screamed at by a shirtless guy for closing the library. He came back a few days later and tried very hard to be charming, hoping I would not recognize him with a shirt on. Nice try, Ed.

Tried to have an inspirational Banned Books Week story time, but dropped a book truck on my foot at the outset and it went downhill from there. 

A few more cat procedures may be in order before I feel like going back to work.

hang on

My office-mate's 10 year-old grandson died this week. An honor guard of nurses and family lined the halls and walked him to surgery, where he was taken off life support and his organs were donated to save three people.

On the heels of this, one of my favorite author/illustrators (Ben Hatke) lost his 4 year-old daughter in a traumatic horse accident.

And a great aunt died. Then an online friend died.

Everyone - just make yourself very small and quiet for a little bit and stay alive, ok?


Drink and Draw

Kept it cheap and drank leftover Capri-suns and a homebrewed Guinness clone.

The girl went for wildcats.

The boy imprisoned some sailors.

I overworked a tarantula, because the great-aunt's funeral was in Arizona, and now there is active talk about buying a house outside Kingman to stash grandpa in so he can be closer to his remaining siblings.

My cabin-in-the-woods daydreams had more in the way of raccoons and squirrels than rattlesnakes and black widow spiders, but whatever. I'm rolling with it.

Alexa, play something catchy to cheer me up.

Alexa what the fuck, no.

Better, I'll take it.

bulbul

Some guy on a black motorcycle is on the loose in our town shooting people (ok, just one person. In the leg. But still) and the police haven't come by yet to interrogate the big black motorcycle sitting in our driveway. Or the big black motorcycle in the neighbor's driveway. Or... ok, it looks like the guy across the street has one in his driveway, too. It seems that everyone in Wahiawa has a motorcycle, actually. Sorry about that, detectives. Good luck.

Demotivational painting 

Have been feeling uninspired, painting sloppily and then wiping everything off with a rag. Got mad at a seed pod and a shriveled nut, threw them out the back door, and painted one of the rescue birds, instead.

Fidget the Red-Vented Bulbul

This is not a happy picture. This particular bulbul escaped the aviary, panicked, and drowned in the toilet. It was a bad way to go. My mother, the local Bird Witch who rehabilitates these guys, was very upset about the death, and so she opened up the flight cage and released her other young rehabbed birds - then worried that she had made a mistake and doomed them to die in the wild. She did not doom them. They have been returning every day for dinner, chasing her from her car to her front door when she gets home from work. It's good for her, and it's funny for me. We're still really sorry about Fidget, though. 

Currently in rehab: Spike the Red-Whiskered Bulbul, who has undersized wings and flies like a chicken. He smiles, which is weird for a bird. 

I need to take a break from plants and birds and paint some faces and bodies again. People with faces or bodies are encouraged to come sit for me. I have a kegerator and cookies. There's a cupcake in it for anyone with tattoos.