Arctic Tundra. For a larger version and print, please click the image.
Because I needed to paint something cold now that it’s above 110°F. Whew!
The snow is sparkling like a million little suns. — Lama Willa Miller
Painted Desert – I’ve lived in Arizona for more than a decade now, but this is my first landscape painting. Majestic view with some extra bursts of color.
I didn’t realize how I’d feel once the holiday season started creeping in. The mall is already playing Christmas music and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet. It’s actually bad enough it’s Thanksgiving when you’ve lost someone close to you.
Anyway, I’m not making more posts about how sad I am. I’m sad. No surprise. Grief sucks. Also no surprise. I’m not fishing for sympathy comments.
However, if you want to comment a funny joke, I’m all ears. Sillier the better!
Speaking of jokes… let me share one straight from my dentist’s office—my dentist, by the way, is amazing and will cure your fear of dentistry if you have any—so if you’re the Phoenix area, check them out—they may also have kittens. Yes, kittens. Well, cats. Our two little kitty boys were fostered by my dentist, no joke. She still has their momma. My dentist is awesome.
Wait. The joke!
A mushroom walks into a bar.
Bartender: We don’t serve your kind here.
Mushroom: Why not? I’m a FUN-GUY.
You may have groaned, but I’ll bet you’ll pass that one along. ;)
Oh, artwork. Yeah, it’s been like pulling teeth (OMG ANOTHER DENTIST REFERENCE) but I made five more pieces of art. Once again, I hate three of them. I’m glad I have more time to pull together a show of twenty.
However, I did love two of them. This time, so that you can actually see the detail, I’m sharing just one of them. I’ll probably post another soon. This is my second favorite (hey, gotta save something to show you later) and created entirely in Adobe Photoshop, which isn’t common for me, but go figure.
I call it ‘Sanctum‘. It’s an alien gateway/throne/dunno. I created it for a wonderful friend of mine (who has no blog to link to) who adores all things alien. Someday, the mothership may return for us. I hope they bring cookies.
Wild is the music of autumnal winds
Amongst the faded woods.
– William Wordsworth
I live in a place where we don’t experience certain seasons, at least not like other parts of the United States do. Seasons here in sunny southern Arizona are: “too-damn-hot” and “bragging season”. That’s all. I mean, we get monsoon season too… but that’s not a true season. It’s just an influx of haboobs.
Luckily, we’re finally moving into bragging season. Time for the months when we can cheerfully call our sweater-wearing relatives up north: “Hey, it’s December and I’m by the pool! Whatcha doing today? Shoveling, eh? Bummmmmer.”
I don’t miss the snow. Not at all. What I do miss are the changing colors of the trees. Okay–and trees (that aren’t palm or mesquite or palo verde).
And squirrels. I swear all we have are coyotes and snakes.
Anyway… I’m happy about bragging season finally arriving. I’m tired of driving my car with oven mitts on (kidding–sorta). I’m really looking forward to the cold water taps on our sinks actually pouring out cool-ish water again (no kidding, the “cold” tap is always hotter than the “warm” one during the summer here).
So, what’s the best season of the year where you live?
[The following (upbeat) post was written the day before my mother had the emergency that put her in the hospital and eventually took her life. However, I felt I should post it now instead of deleting it, as we revisited the restaurant last night and the memory brought me comfort.]
We were in a restaurant that we hadn’t been to in a while, inspired by the the post-credit scene from The Avengers. Yeah, we knew a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. Okay, more like two towns from here.
Only the place we go is trendy, unlike the one in the movie scene. Has a bar, but no dance floor. Open kitchen. Really just a family restaurant with exotic atmosphere. Plays my favorite kind of music: progressive house. Oh, sure. You didn’t know? I’m one of those graying old skool kids. Surprise. So…
We’re sitting there near the kitchen, finishing off our tasty shawarmas and people-watching. Then a song from my current repeat-playlist starts to fill the room. It’s one that speaks to me during this strange time in my life.
David knows it. He holds my hand. We listen.
But then something unusual happens: I notice an older woman nodding her head to the music. Then another woman, much younger than me, dancing by the hallway near the bar. I see a man at the bar whose lips are moving to the words. And another woman near the window tapping her hand in time with the bass line. One of the servers at the soft drink station briefly sways to the beat.
I mention it to David.
He sees another guy, sitting somewhere behind me, thrumming to the music.
“Yeah. And to think when we walked in, they were strangers.”
I was struck by the idea that a song that moves me also moves others. That, for a brief time, we were all connected by one song. In a restaurant—not at a rave.
I loved it. It was a fascinating part of an already-good day.
Oh, and: no, I’m not sharing which song. ;) Maybe I’ll catch you in a restaurant one day and we’ll see what happens next. Shawarma, anyone?