Green!

I opened the drapes this morning, gazed out at the backyard, and saw a haze of green grass growing up through the straw.  I will be very glad when I've got a lawn again.  I feel like I can't go out to the garden without trampling some baby grass blades.  It was drizzly today so I didn't run the sprinklers, I didn't get to walk this morning either because of the rain.  I refuse to walk around the block in the rain and get my nice shoes wet.  I won't do it.



Because the Y will be closed on Thursday, T the trainer offered me a session this morning and I took it.  It was hot and humid in there and I confess that I got a little light-headed but I'm not too proud to tell him when I'm woozy so he changed up the exercises.  May I also say that I'm tired of being a barometer.  Days of high humidity and the lines of storms chugging through have awakened my old injuries so that parts of me are aching like crazy and making me feel old-er.  I don't like it.  I had hopes that working out would make it all better.  It didn't.




What do you do when it's a rainy day?  After lunch you cast on one of the dishcloths you entered in the Fair but haven't knitted yet (they require a pair; the second one won't be the same color but the shape will be the same [are you surprised?]) and finish it before supper.  Doing this did nothing to make my achy right hand and wrist feel better.  




 
Once that was done I fired up my iPad, put an hour on the timer, and buckled down to work on the outline/timeline of my novel.  As I read along I realized that the version on my iPad didn't have the extra scenes I've written to fill that big plot hole I made last fall.  Dang it.  So I hopped on the laptop to do a little cutting and pasting to plunk the pieces where I think they'll go and rearrange other parts so that it makes more sense there between what was Chapter 23 and Chapter 25.





I managed to get the camera up and running in time to catch Mrs. Hummingbird at the feeder today.  I also dumped out the grape jelly water from the Oriole feeder dish, refilled it, and put out a fresh orange half just in case yesterday's Oriole decides to come by again.





The lantana in the hanging baskets is enjoying the heat and rain.  I like the one with the red center and the ring of yellow florets.  Hummingbirds like lantana so I always try to plant some.





2 July--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

When Clara came back from her lunch break, I encouraged Samara to go next.  As soon as she was out of sight, I turned to my old friend.  “Clara Mae, I’m surprised at you.  You’re usually so nice to people.  What has gotten into you to act this way with Samara?”

“I don’t know, Gail.  Something about her just rubs me the wrong way.”  She shook her head.  “I’m sorry, I know you like her, but she’s so ‘me-me-me’ all the time.  It just drives me nuts.  And her paintings!  They’re just paint splashed on canvas; not nice pictures like yours.”

“You’re right, Samara’s paintings are more abstract than mine…”

“They’re abstract, all right.  Messy is what I’d call them.”

I held up my hand, “Clara, there’s all kinds of art, and just because you and I don’t understand some of them doesn’t make them bad.  Samara’s use of color and composition evokes emotion instead of representing something like my flowers or scenes.  It’s just different, not better or worse.”

“If you say so.”  Clara folded her arms across her chest.  “I still think she’s pushing her stuff on people.”

“And you’re pushing mine.”  I peered at her over the tops of my glasses.  “Right?”

Clara’s lips held their sullen slant.  “Yeah, you’re right.  I’ll try to do better.”

            I finished my bowl of chowder and went back into the sale area hoping something had changed.  The atmosphere in the booth during the afternoon was calmer…a little.  Clara and Samara were pointedly polite to each other and they took to giving each other the most ghastly grins each time something was sold.  I was tempted to send them to separate corners for a time-out, but we were busy and really needed all our hands to handle sales.

            Once all the customers had left at the end of the day, I was amazed and flattered that many of the other sellers came over to admire, and buy, most of my remaining paintings.  They commented that they’d seen my work being carried around all day and everyone was talking about the watercolors at Booth 37.  I decided 37 would be my new lucky number.

            Samara sold most of the jewelry she’d brought but not many of her paintings.  I told her that I thought her style was better suited to a more cosmopolitan clientele.  Clara snorted when I said that, but she kept her mouth shut.  Samara perked up and agreed that it took a more educated art connoisseur to appreciate her less-representational art. 

            Samara’s mom, Ellen, and her granny, Jonny Lou, came to pick her up and I was happy to finally meet them.  Clara struck up a conversation with Jonny Lou about raising kids and then they wandered off to track down the crafter who made the embroidered towels Clara had bought so Jonny Lou could buy some too.

            Ellen and I had a laugh over Samara pushing me to transform the way I dressed. 

          “That girl’s a force of nature,” she said.  “I’ve spent her whole life trying to slow her down.  Most times I feel like I’ve got ahold of a comet’s tail.”  But there was a sparkle in her big, dark eyes and a proud smile on her face.



I stopped at McD's on my way home from the Y, saw the lines at the drive-thru, and congratulated myself on buying a little stock last year.  Always seeing people in the drive-thru convinced me that they'd be a good earner, and they are.  *pats self on back*  I have to decide which of my favorite slaw recipes I'm going to make for 4th of July and get the ingredients tomorrow because everyone knows slaw is better if the flavors meld overnight.
--Barbara