finally!

Well, I did it, I completed the wiring and boxing up of the photos/art and they are ready to take to The Technology Garden for the "Icons and Images" show.  It seemed to be harder to do to today, and to take longer just screwing the screws in.  My hands and back are tired and sore.  But the art is packed in two boxed and one bag in the garage, ready to go.

MMMMmmmm--but no on'es going to love me any more

I'm getting objections to my smoothies.  Not smoothies I''m making for others, but the ones I'm making for myself.

I just made one, and I know it will cause distress.  Even though I'm the only one that drank it and it may have been the most delicious smoothie I ever made.

This is what was in it:  Concentrated white grape-raspberry juice, rice milk, mixed frozen berries, balsamic vinegar, and fresh cilantro.  That's right, vinegar and cilantro.  How daring are you?  I thought t was great!

Saving Fish

I LOVE the way Saving Fish From Drowning Starts!!!!!  Great opening!!    She's GOOD.  I brought that book to Chapel House for Keith to read to me, but somehow, that never happened, so now I'm reading it myself, which is nice but a little sad.  Read it during the fretta--and only during the fretta.

The Best Fretta Ever made

I am not retiringly modest, and perhaps my memory fails me, but the fretta I just made was the best one I ever had.  It had potato, yellow sweet pepper, jalapeno pepper, hot Italian turkey sausage, broccoli, onion, garlic.  And southwestern egg-beater.  Have I forgotten anything?  I'm not sure.  Just let me repeat, if was fabulous.  Sauteed in extra virgin olive oil.  Took longer to make than I expected, all that cutting and chopping.  But it is Sunday morning and after all my work, I felt I deserved a treat.  I probably won't make such an elaborate breakfast very often, but I sure did enjoy it.

"Good Dog"

"Good Dog"

 

            Last year, while my son, Graham and I were visiting my daughter, Erin, I made a big fuss over my grand-puppy, Mr. Rochester. Mr. Rochester was, in fact, not a puppy at all, but I like to refer to him as my grand-puppy, since he's my daughter's dog and it's fun to be silly with him. 

            "Oh, Mr. Rochester," I cried, in a high-pitched silly voice, "what a good dog you are!"  Then I told him to sit.  "Goooood Boy!" I squealed.

            Graham was eleven at the time.  He usually wanted to be taken seriously, to be treated with respect.  So I was surprised when he asked me, "How come you never tell me I'm a good boy?"

            "Well," I stuttered, temporarily at a loss for words, "I do.  I always tell you when you do a good job, and when you make me happy."

            "Not like that!" Graham insisted.

            "Do you want me to talk to you like that?"  I asked.

            "Yes!" he said.

            For a while, I tried to inject a little more enthusiasm and gaiety into my praising of him.  I even talked to him just as if he were a beloved dog.  He seemed to eat it up.  But once we were away from Mr. Rochester, he soon forgot his jealousy and was aptly pleased with more appropriate praise.

            A short time later, I was leaning against Keith and telling him in my silly romantic voice how much I loved him and how sweet and cute he was.  Graham came into the room and said, "How come you never talk to me like that?"

            "Because," I answered, "You're my son and the apple of my eye.  You're my little sweetie and Dad is my big sweetie, and there's a difference between the two.  I love you both, but I love you in different ways."

            "I want you to tell me how cute I am," he said.

            "You are very cute," I replied, truthfully, but it just didn't sound the same, even though I was sincere.  Even though my voice was full of love.

            "Yeah, right," Graham said, tuning in to the difference in the inflection in my voice.

            This is the same boy who goes off to school without even saying goodbye most of the time.  If I want a goodbye hug, I have to grab him and give it to him.  At family gatherings, if there are no children, he wants to sit in my lap and be my baby, but if there are children, I may as well be a piece of furniture.

            When he asks me to make him a milkshake and then gobbles it without a thank you, I want to say, "How come you don't tell me I'm a good girl?" but I don't.  When he says he'll run off and live with Aunt Sandy if I'm mean to him, I want to say, "How come you don't love me the way you love her?" But I don't.

            I know that love is enduring.  That we love each person differently. That there are ups and down in our feelings, and that our attention is sometimes diverted elsewhere, but the love continues underneath.

            I am blessed by the fact that Graham, now 12, is surprisingly affectionate still.  He is warm and capable of acts of great kindness and love.  I can usually remember this when he seems to be ignoring me or being rude.

            If he thinks I'm ignoring him, I have to remember that he is still a child, and that it is hard for him to remember the enduring nature of love, how it runs like a river deep underneath everything.  If he's feeling ignored, or second best, I have to tell him I love him.  I have to show him my love him the best I can in the all the unique ways that I love him.

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Oranges, Grapefruits & Nectarines

Oranges, Grapefruits & Nectarines, a variant on beating the heat which is a variant on eating the wallpaper, by Mary Stebbins Taitt. Click image to view larger.

Doesn't matter what variants I amke, the printer doesn't print them right anyway.

rain smoothie

Since it's raining, but still hot in the house, I made myself a smoothie with my new smoothie supplies and set it on the counter next to the sink and did PILES of fishes.  DISHES!

and drank the smoothie as I went.

This is what I put in the smoothie:

rice milk
concentrated white grape juice
frozen mixed berries (raspberries, blackberries and blueberries
Acai sorbet (no I don't know what it is, yet, it's purple and tastes good)
a little balsamic vinegar

MMMmmm, wonderful, sheer perfection!

Now I am resting a minutes, because I washed a lot of dishes and washing dishes hurts my back.

apricot salsa and fretta.

The other night, I made myself some apricot salsa. I cut up a very ripe tomato in small bits and added some chunky apricot jam and pepper and spices and served it--to myself--with blue corn chips.  It was wonderful.  A sort of "girly" salsa fit for a queen.

Tomorrow morning, I am going to make myself a fretta. I was very sad to discover Serpicos had closed--they made the best frettas.  While I was at weggies I got a potato, an onion, a jalapeno, some hot sausages and some brocolli for my fretta.  I will use the southwestern eggbeaters for the base.

Preparing for Icons and Images

Preparing for Icons and Images--click images t see larger.

Last night in my insomniac stupor, I made 4 separate pictures for thetitle "Beating the heat 13" and each time I thought I was done, butended up not being happy with it. I lay in bed (after 5 AM) thinkingof new ideas and was going to try some of them today, but decided Ineed to finish this up and get back to working on the house and Iwould use one of the four I'd already made.Then I made another "brand new picture" (a long-winded variation on avariation of an older one). It printed way dark and I could see someflaws and was going to keep working on it but remembered I need to getout of this house and get back to my sweeties, so I decided to stickwith the one I'd already done. In the future, I can modify it. If Iwant to.I framed them both, but they need to have holes drilled and be wired. These are pictures #12 and #13, the last on the list, but I have to go back and prepare some of the others for hanging.Still, slow progress is better than no progress! See At the Edge.

Tears

I am always on the verge of tears. Now matter how calm, how gay, how joyous or happy I may feel, I always teeter at the brink of loneliness and sorrow. This sense of pain does not detract from my joy. I think it makes it all the more intense. Mary age 22

I was going to back post this to August 18, 1968, which was the date I wrote it, but they only allow backposts as far back as 1990. I was very disappointed.