I really have done more than paint...

...but all the other stuff I've been doing is ongoing and never "finished" and, hence, there is nothing to show for my labors. Thus, I show you these creations.

Birthdays, yard work, house projects, Mother's Day, etc. have all been sweeping us into a vortex of busy, and I realized yesterday, with speechless awe, that there remain only 4 weeks of school.

Good heavens! I'd better get busy! Lord knows how little I'll get done with that sweet kid at home.

Take care until next time. Carpe diem! And don't forget your jacket!

P.S. The cat painting features one of our neighbors' kitties. Isn't she regal in her repose?

Whole lot of nuthin'

January brings, for me, a volley of emotions, among them an immense sense of relief. Holidays have passed, normalcy may resume, a blessed routine rears its dull head again. Ahhhh. Welcome back, normal. I missed you.

But another post-Christmas emotion, in my world, would be ennui. Suddenly, the blurry flurry of fuss is all past us. (I heard an awesome quote recently: "Nothing is over like Christmas." So true.)

And I oscillate between resenting the boredom (likely because of a predominant and foolish human tendency to seek excitement), and thanking God for the boredom because it represents a lack of drama in my circle of life—a lack for which I am increasingly appreciative in my old age. Drama enters the room, and all sorts of things come sweeping in with him: upsetting situations involving life or death, important decisions that must be made, urgent needs that demand attention, frightening scenes, emotionally charged responses from self and others... No, thank you. Too much of that is downright exhausting, and I prefer it in small, irregular doses. Not that life always gives us a choice, of course.

For today, though, I'll breathe; I'll look at the sunshine outside, and smile upon the perfectly manageable calendar. Bring on the boredom.

Purr, purr

I finished this painting of our dear kitty just before the holidays hit hard. She's so darned picturesque, you know? Most cats are, come to think of it. And on days like we had today, a cat is a fine example of how to behave if at all possible. Find a comfortable spot with some filtered light, or make a spot if nothing measures up. Get cozy. Nap. Wake, and nap again. Look out any nearby window, be thankful you don't have to be "out there," and then drift off once more.

Perhaps you're reading this from a warm, sunny place where you prefer being outside. That's great, but it's not that kind of day here. When I ventured outdoors earlier, I was pelted with tiny ice balls. They piled up, but not like fluffy snow—this stuff accumulated like the fake snow at ski lodges, all sharp and unnatural. I couldn't make a snowball out of this substance if I had to. And why, I ask, would I want to spend time surrounded by such an unwelcoming, unyielding surface? I wouldn't. Hence the cat example.

I only wish I could have napped. With a 7-year-old who'd already been on the sled, no cable TV, dirty laundry from holidays spent running, dishes in the sink from people home on vacation, and toys strewn across every flat surface, there was no napping here.

But that's okay. I'll leave it to the cat. Napping screws up my sleep at night, anyway. And I didn't have to drive on hazardous roads to a job today, so I'll count my blessings. I hope this post finds you safe in the place you most want to be.