Dots and blobs and shattered bits

5 out of 10 ain't too bad, given that it rained so much this weekend the back yard looked like this:


So naturally I looked like this:


Yeah, the beach getaway was thwarted, but that was no reason to shelf the new bikini. Felt kind of silly traipsing around in the itsy bitsy though . . . skirt made it feel a little more decent, domestic and ridiculous. Oh, Suz. *shakes head*

Courtney and Chris stayed the night and rescued us from the funk for a short time. A little short lived though, as Mondays usually are in this job. This weekend kind of sucked. No, it really sucked. Obon is a couple days away. I'll have my revenge on you, rainy weekend. Itsy bitsy will have her moment in the sun (with sunscreen, Mom).

I'm no good at the visual arts. I tell people this to avoid responsibility for that Picasso cat on the whiteboard (eh? nani??), poor penmanship in greeting cards (ltappy l3irthday!) and American School construction paper creations that hearken back to my 3rd grade book report days (Suzanne has exceptional . . . ideas.). So maybe I see things a little differently. I have a different vision of my surroundings and the way things work. Had a dream with lots of paint in it - big shiny blobs of colorful pigments waiting to be scraped and mixed on their pristine palate. Think I overdo it sometimes . . . get too excited . . . dab a little too much paint on the brush then hastily begin the first stroke before I've made a plan. Other times I'm quite shy and self-conscious, not getting enough paint - the first stroke a weak and measly excuse for taking the first step. Advantage of this is seeing the brush stroke clearly after its made - being able to count the hairs, observe their behavior when I take my brush to the canvas. I can always go over with more paint later if I don't like it. Harder to fix that obnoxiously thick streak of blue in the sky. Harder still to get the right amount of paint the first time. What a gift to not have to see the canvas in the shadow of perfection. There is so much white to cover, so much time to fill with goodness.

And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good. - John Steinbeck, East of Eden