
Reading break.
“We should read to give our souls a chance to luxuriate.”-Henry Miller

Reading break.
“We should read to give our souls a chance to luxuriate.”-Henry Miller

Morning view.
That is snow on the roof of the low building above the truck. It was 70 degrees just 3 days ago.

An inadequate but satisfying breakfast.
When it is cold I could stay in bed all day. This morning, the siren’s call of the electric kettle was too strong.

“You will be successful in your career.”
The universe is obviously trying to tell me something, in the form of this dark chocolate orange fortune cookie. The message? “Get to work, you lazy woman.”
“Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.”-Confucius
“I like work: it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours.”-Jerome K. Jerome
“Out of clutter, find simplicity.”-Albert Einstein
“Hide not your talents, they for use were made,
What’s a sundial in the shade?”-Benjamin Franklin
Only very special books live on the shelf above the desk in my studio. I am about to start reading Hung in the Middle, a memoir by my dear friend Alana Nicole Sholar. Methinks she is in good company.

Hung in the Middle
Welcome to CAMPy WASHINGTON, where humor is a matter of civic pride.
Here’s George Washington, all dolled up to keep watch over the fine citizens of this urban neighborhood. He’s attended by Cincinnati’s famous flying pigs and a docile cow.
The purple gorilla and old-timey robot aren’t just mural stars: they have real life counterparts, statues that are an integral part of our local identity.
George is ready for his close-up.
The mural sits right off the highway, and is visible to random people filling their tanks at two gas stations. Although it doubtless makes them smile, its real importance is in brightening the lives of local residents who spend their days looking at manufacturing warehouses and crumbling 19th century brick buildings. In a neighborhood so far off the radar as to lack even the condescending appellation “up and coming”, public art really does make a difference.
I have reached the frenzied, delectable stage of writing my current short story. All of you writers know what I am talking about: that blissful point where everything-plot, characterization, language, action-clicks into place. When it all begins to make cohesive, beautiful sense. That is where I am at today, dear readers. It feels good, but it is also time-consuming. I will be back tomorrow with several posts. Until then, feel free to let your gaze wander over, and your mind reflect on, the charms of this little gallery. I’ve had a tasty and sociable few weeks, wouldn’t you agree?
“Not that the story need be long, but it will take a long while to make it short.”-Henry David Thoreau
The frozen sky spits out a combination pack of snowflakes: huge, miniscule, fat, puffy, wispy, deflated. Something for everyone, except me. I am ready for spring; curmudgeonly winter with his ridiculous whims needs to go away. Back to yesterday, or last week. Back to when he was wanted, appreciated, welcomed.

Snowy day, snowy day.
I have no energy, just a belly full of decadent food and a gaping need for a long, warm nap.

Creme Brulee French Toast.
Goodnight, all. I’ll write tomorrow.
My Internet connection decided to play hooky this afternoon. It went away, leaving an onslaught of cold rain in its place. I ignored them both, sliding into a hot bath fragrant with salt, book in hand. It wasn’t a waste, but a swirling respite. A challenge. A challenge to be calm, if only for a few moments.

Bath time
A random image taken on the fly during my visit home last month. Something about the juxtaposition turned on my imagination. Don’t ask me to explain-I just liked the combination and slightly skewed composition of totally unrelated objects that somehow, through an alchemy of memory, beauty, and wishful thinking, made perfect sense.

Cityscape
Zizi isn’t reading in this picture, but she is lounging on the arm of the comfiest chair in my studio-library.

Look at those eyes!
“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul.”-Jean Cocteau