Naughty, Naughty

I confess, I sat on the couch after supper and neglected to write last night. My bad. So I brought the art pages to work with me today and I've done the weekend one and today's too. I'm having a hard time readjusting to being back home and having all the technology to play with and other things to do. I swear that tomorrow I'll get back to working on my manuscript. Cross my heart.

September 19 & 20--Paul Cezanne,Viaduct at Estaque. Jamie loved living in the old yellow villa right by the viaduct. There was always the sound of water like music from her garden. Even in midwinter when the icy winds blew down from the north there was still a trickle like falling silver notes. Spring was the best, she thought. That was when the snow melt from the Alps came rushing down, when the viaduct's arches split the water into four foamy white shafts that rattled the road above. Charles never wanted to live there; he hated the noise of the trucks grinding their gears and the blue stink of their exhaust. Jamie agrees that the noise and smell of them wasn't perfect but she relished the view they had down the small valley to the lower town and she rather enjoyed the good-natured catcalls she got from the drivers when she worked in the garden.

Charles is a poop, I can see that already.

September 21--Arnau Bassa, Altarpiece of SS. Mark and Ania. All Josh wanted to do was buy a pair of shoes. He was tired of walking barefoot all the time, tired of his feet burning from the hot pavement, and stepping in god knows what all the time. He thought it was a miracle that he hadn't gotten an infection before now, with all the miles he had put on his feet. He spied a shoe seller, a cobbler's stall and hobbled over. As soon as he laid a hand on one of the shoes made of soft leather with a nice sturdy sole, the cobbler himself thrust his infected hand in Josh's face. "Look at this," he said. "Lay just one finger upon my flesh and heal me. Please, Master." Josh shook his head but the man was relentless. "This is the devil's tool that pierced my flesh," he said brandishing an awl. "This carried the sickness into my blood. You can heal me, Lord Joshua, please." Tired, his feet aching, Josh smiled and shook his head. "I am sorry, Master Cobbler, I can not heal you hand. You need to see a doctor. All I can do for you is buy shoes from you." The cobbler's face fell but he helped Josh try on shoes, none of which fit. On his way out of the stall Josh touched the cobbler's infected hand, the wound opened, and blood and pus poured out. The man cried out, "He had healed me! Hallelujah!" Josh shook his head and moved on down the crowded street.

That last owes more to Christopher Moore than the Franciscan nuns who tormented me through elementary school.
--Barbara