Friday, December 21, 2012
Wheres the keys
Well where r they
And have the nerve to say whose asking? Probly not even for me
R u f**n serious! F*k off n dont come bak here
Lmao! Yea yea u think i gaf about him. I jus realized i am one number off. Stupid iphones. If u only knew the whole story im sure u woodnt be saying f**k all. But just like any white person ur s**t dont stink n u think ur something Special!
U think any man who hides kesy on 6 month pregnant woman n steals her chikdrens money for crack is a f***ing joke! Im supposed to be nice n ask politely n be courteous when asking for my f***ing keys! U can go f**k yourself n have a merry f**n christmas a**hole
For a little while.
I'm expecting to hear from the son who's coming for Christmas, so I won't turn it off for long
I'll turn it back on now.
I hope she doesn't text me again.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
One of my favorites is Really Small Gardens by Jill Billington.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
the main difference between them is the texture and density of the 'stroke', and that some are transparent and some are not. the watercolor brush will also 'lift color in a way similar to a dry brush on wet paper, but it's much more (disappointingly) controlled and uniform than the real thing
the ap doesn't have the subtlety of real artists' washes and pen / pencil strokes, or the precision, or any of the lovely and miraculous surprises, but it does have one very attractive feature, which they call 'rewind'. with this you can remove the last stroke(s) or wash(es) or erasures you've done, without altering the picture. you just get what you had before you put the new bit in... then, if you decide you liked them better than you thought, you can change your mind again and put them back. there's no damage to the 'paper' no matter how many times you go over things, and it's very hard to make things muddy. no worries about whether the paper is wet or dry - which also, sadly, means there's no way (that i've discovered so far, at least) to paint wet-on-wet.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Friday, November 9, 2012
to begin again from where i am.... to recognize mistakes and start again from a blank page...
it's been a very long day, fraught with highs and lows.... mainly lows. it's been a many kleenex day, if the truth be told. when starting from a low place, any direction is uphill, and very hard, discouraging work.
... but the view from the top just might be a big improvement over the one down below, if we can just get there.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Monday, August 13, 2012
I'm so old I remember playing vinyl '78's, and I remember when 8-track tapes we're cutting - edge technology. And I remember when baseboards and door trim were nailed on. Not so anymore. Glue is the way it's done now. Really stinky glue with ghastly, noxious fumes. After working with the stuff all day Sunday and sleeping in a house reeking of it (though, I assure you, ALL of the windows were wide open) I woke this morning with a mother of a migraine. Nothing good drugs and sleep can't cure, but it means a day off work at a time when I need to be there... And my brain feels so bruised after one of these that it's not good for anything strenuous for a day or 2 afterwards. But we learn to cope.
Towards the end a day of drugs and sleep,feeling nearly human again, I took the dog for a short walk. He was over the moon. Migraine days are not fun for him. So he did his happy dance, then bounced into the bushes with serious business on his mind. He's a funny guy - he likes his privacy in moments like these, going as far out of sight as the leash will allow, and turning his back to me. I try to be respectful and turn my back as well.
He came bounding back with his usual joi de vivre, and it wasn't till he began rolling about on the lawn, rubbing at his face and chasing his tail that I suspected something amiss. When he held still long enough to get a good look at him, my drug and pain dulled brain didn't at first comprehend what the little yellow bits in his long, thick, curly hair were. Pain, however, is a very good learning tool,
so as soon as the first ons stung me, I figured it out right away. Yellow jackets! And lots of them. The pooe dog was writhing on the ground in panic, and all I could think of was to beat them off of him. It seemed to work somewhat. A number of them left him alone and concentrated on me. Somehow we ran the rest of the way home, with me beating at both of us, till, standing on the doorstep, I did my best to slap the ones off of me and brush them away from him, and we made as quick an entry through a minimally opened doorway as possible. inside the house I concentrated on pulling angry wasps from his thick, curly hair. I did successfully extricate a number without getting my hands stung, but they managed to find some other juicy bits of me to bite. I don't know how many times either of us got stung, but I'm certain he got the worst of it, poor boy.
Once I was fairly certain the dog had no more hitch hikers I noticed one or 2 still entangled in my own hair and clothing, who had no interest in parting ways. I'd no sooner disentangle on, tha another would alight with murder on his mind. In a flash of divinely inspired brilliance, it occurred to me that, like flies, they might head for the window if the room was darkened... So I turned out the lights and patrolled the windows with a fly shatter.. Even so, it was some time and many insectile corpses before I felt safe in my own home.
Back to the dog, who was pacing and panting in a panic, to find that he still had a few entrapped in his hair. He seemed to believe I was doing something to improve the situation, though, as he came immediately when I called him, standing, all a-tremble, for me to tug and tear at the terrifying things in his hair. I had tostop periodically to swat at the odd one who preferred me to the window. I haven't counted the corpses on the floor. Something in the neighborhood of 20, I think.
Then I had to settle the dog enough that I could run a brush through his curls, making sure we really had got them all. He was wide eyed and trembling, panting so hard I was afraid he'd hyperventilate.... Can dogs hyperventilate? He had that wacant, staring look animals get when they're in pain, so I got the children's Advil from the cupboard, and gave him the dosage recommended foe his weight. It seemed to take a long time for the trembling to stop, and even longer for his breathing to return to normal, and he was glued to my side as I prepared for bed.
Only then did it occur to me to google 'dog stung by wasps'. Turnd out I should have given him antihistamines
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
She's a stunner
and she's mine
Saturday, June 16, 2012
He discovered that the window ledges were perfectly sized for a large-ish dog to sit on and gaze wistfully out at the lake any time a thoughtless human ignored his pleas to go exploring. (the lake is the blue you can see beyond the lawn and shrubs)
The beach was so private, I took to walking him along it late in the evenings, just before bed, in my pyjamas.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
For years, Catalyst and others have been demonstrating a correlation between companies with more women on top and higher profits. Organizations are taking notice. Pax World Global Women’s Equality Fund is a US mutual fund that invests in companies that promote gender equality. “When women are at the table, the discussion is richer, the decision-making process is better, management is more innovative and collaborative and the organization is stronger,” said Joe Keefe, President and Chief Executive of Pax World Management and Pax World Funds. “It’s not just me saying this, it’s research saying this.”
Whether this is the idea behind my job title remains to be seen. The fact that there are a good proportion of women there, in engineering and other positions, suggests that this may be the case. Mine is a newly created position, assuming some duties of an office manager, but seemingly with expectation for creative thought and original ideas. Writing and editing skills were also high on the list of criteria, as was integration into the existing office culture, and some background in financial reporting.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Birdbath #2 has a colonial styled white porcelain base. The basin for this one is also the glass from a ceiling light, with a leaf design mosiaic made from glazed ceramic tile. The top image shows a closeup of the mosaic lining of the basin.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Though I’ve lived all of my 55 years in northern climes, I’ve never learned to like winter. And yet, the experience of walking on a blanket of freshly fallen snow moves me in a way I can neither explain nor understand. The fragility and softness of snow belies the ruthless, unforgiving climate that produces it.
The delicacy of little pockets of fluff precariously attached to small irregularities on the bark of a tree trunk fill me with fresh awe each time I see them.
The tender way the fork of a tree cups thousands of tiny crystals without injuring them is gentle as a lover’s first uncertain touch.
We’re expecting 10 centimeters overnight. There is only a slight breeze; white shreds of frozen lace dance languidly around the mercury street lights. They catch in my hair and eyelashes, kiss my face as they melt on my cheek or lips. The low hanging clouds reflect back a warm orange-gold as the city quiets in the darkness.
The dog is never happier than when he steps out the front door of the house onto an untouched world of soft white – unless perhaps it’s when he can punch through the crust made on the snow’s surface from a brief thaw. He’s like a cat in a field of catnip, leaping twirling, rolling, burrowing, bouncing. The personification of joy. Or, perhaps I should say the ‘anim’-ation of joy.
I’m just recovering from several days in bed with a nasty flu/cold bug. Being ill is always a reminder to me of how good ‘well’ feels. It reminds me to be grateful for good health.Tomorrow, in celebration and gratitude for the reminder, I’ll take the dog along the walking trails that follow the creek. They’re kept ploughed throughout the winter, but if I wake early there will still be a generous layer of pristine glory over my world.
The outlines of the trees along the trail will be softened, touched here and there by the same glory.
We may be the first to walk through it - pioneers in a way, going where none have gone before.