Flutter-bies

 



There are a lot of butterflies out and about this time of year.  Aside from the white cabbage moths that lurk around taking bites of my kohlrabi, there are black and orange butterflies dancing around in the sunshine.  Early this morning I spied this Eastern Comma perched upside-down on the patio umbrella.  





Then this afternoon this American Lady visited the zinnias which look raggedy but they attract goldfinches and butterflies so they get to stay.

When I mowed the lawn around noon I found something in the garden that I thought there was no chance of finding--a butternut squash!  I examined every blossom all summer hoping to see a swelling between it and the plant but all the ones I saw were smooth there.  That means that they're male flowers; the ones with the swelling are females and they're the ones that make fruit, um, squash.  I was resigned to only growing a plant but today I found a squash.  Yippee!




The Sweet 100 cherry tomatoes are still ripening and look like ornaments among the bright green leaves.

This morning I re-baited one of the rat traps and by the time I went out to mow it was sprung and the peanut butter and bread were devoured.  I watched YouTube videos of how to make a 5-gallon pail into a rat drowning pool.  I guess I'll have to get busy and find some wood that I can make into a ramp and get the thing set up.  I don't know why I'm uneasy about that when I'd be thrilled to find a rat dead in the trap.  I'll get over myself and get it done, probably this weekend.  My datebook's kind of full during the week.



Today's art lecture was about the apple and what it symbolizes in art.  Most of what Father Jim talked about was sacred art (go figure!) but it was very interesting.  So interesting that I was moved to take a picture of the apple tree that looms over the fence behind the house.

For supper tonight I made a WW Chicken Pot Pie that wasn't exactly what I hoped it'd be.  The biscuit pieces were doughy on the bottom and crunchy on top, and the frozen mixed veggies didn't cook all the way so they tasted... odd.  If I ever make this again I'll be sure to thaw the veggies and use Pillsbury biscuits even though they add a point per serving.  I'll probably bake them separately so they cook all the way and then snip them up to garnish the casserole.  Or snip them first and bake the pieces, yeah, I'll do that.  Next time.

24 September--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

             I looked out the windshield to see a converted barn and outbuildings made into six or seven little shops.  The haphazard construction over what looked like a hundred years of farmers’ expansion turned out to be perfect for making each little façade unique.  There was a bead “Shoppe,” a bookstore, a gift shop, a bakery, one with garden art, an artist’s studio, and Gil’s gallery.  Since it was early in the tourist season not all the stores were open and there were only a few vehicles in the lot.  I sat staring at my potential future for a minute.

            Abel slapped his hands on the steering wheel, making me jump.  “Well, let’s unload and go see Gil.”

            I laid a hand on his arm.  “Wait.  I think it would be better to go in and meet Gil first; once we’re acquainted we can think about showing him my paintings.  In fact, let’s let him ask to see them.  Keep a little of the power on my side of the fence.”

            He turned and looked at me with amazement.  “Man, for someone so nervous when we started out this afternoon, you’ve sure got this figured out.”  He opened his door, got out, and came around to open my door.  He bowed low as he swung it wide, his hand extended to me.  “Milady?”

            I reached my hand out to his.  “Thank you, kind sir.”  The solemnity of the gesture was broken when he tugged me into his arms for a quick hug and a kiss on the neck, which made me giggle.

            “Stop that.”  I pushed him away and smoothed my rumpled shirt.  “Gil might see and think you’re bringing some tootsie to meet him instead of a serious artist.”

            “Hmm, I never thought of that.”  He adjusted his collar and brushed the front of his jacket.  “Madame?”  He held out his arm and I slid mine into it; his left hand covered mine and patted it.  “This is going to be great.”

            Gil, a distinguished man with a big city air, opened the door for us.  “Abel, you sly fox, how have you been?” he said, and swept Abel into a hug.  Like every man on the planet, they slapped each other on the back.  They stepped apart and Gil looked around at me.  “You must be Gail.”  He shook my hand.  “Abel’s told me a lot about you.”  Then he gave me a hug too.  He looked around.  “But I thought he said you were bringing me some of your paintings.”

            I was surprised he was so eager.  “I thought we might get acquainted,” I said, “before I overwhelm you.”

            “Nonsense.  I’m looking forward to it.  Abel, why don’t you go get Gail’s paintings while she and I get to know each other a bit.”  He shooed Abel out the door and led me to a white sofa in front of the bay window.  “Can I get you something to drink?”

            “No, I’m fine, thanks.”  He sat beside me and asked how long I’d been painting, what I thought my style was, whose classes I’d taken.  He seemed impressed that I’d studied with Jacques Tunis.  I told him I called him “Jake the painting Nazi” and he laughed so hard I thought he was going to roll off the couch.

            “That’s the perfect name for him.  He’s been terrorizing students for years, but he’s really got an eye.  If Jake likes your work, you’ve got it made, at least around here.”

            While we talked I kept looking at the art hung on the walls and propped everywhere in the small space.  Most were pastels and oils, not too many watercolors.  A few of them looked like a child had painted them; they were flat, no perspective, but I really liked their energy and bright colors.  I found out later that those were Gil’s own work.

By then Abel had arrived with the first box of my paintings.  Gil was like a kid at Christmas, pulling them out, unwrapping them, and turning them this way and that.  “These are wonderful, Gail.”  Abel left to get the rest.  “Help me take down some of these,” he flapped a hand at the wall, “and we’ll hang yours so we can get a real look at them.”  He and I worked together making a display of my work on the largest wall.  He dived right into the last box of paintings as Abel carried them in, hanging them too, arranging the dozen works in a pleasing group, and stood back.  “Well, you’re sure not a beginner, Gail.  Are you sure you’ve only been painting for a year?”

            Abel said, “I told you, Gil.  She’s got real talent.”

            I could feel myself blushing.  “Thank you both.  I’m glad you like them.”

            Gil turned abruptly and walked to a door in a dim corner of the room, opened it, and shouted, “Dennis, Abel’s here with his friend.  Come see.”

            A middle-aged man wearing an apron came clattering down the stairs.  “Gil, one of these days you’re going to make me drop something, yelling at me like that.  I jumped so just now I nearly lost a whole tray of rumaki.  Knock it off.  Hello, Abel.”  He gave Abel a one-armed hug and touched his cheek to Abel’s shoulder.

Abel slapped his back and said, “Dennis, I’d like you to meet my friend Gail.”

            “It’s so nice to meet you.  Abel’s been raving about the new woman in his life.”  He wiped his hands on his apron to shake my hand.  “Sorry, I’ve been making us some little goodies.  Abel, can you help me bring things down while Gil goes gaga over Gail’s paintings?”

            They went up the stairs and Gil turned to me.  “Don’t pay any attention to Dennis.  He likes to tease.  I don’t go gaga over everyone.  Now, let’s see what we have.”

I sat back on the couch to give him room.  I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he slowly walked back and forth, rearranging a few to make a better display.

Finally he turned and said, “These are really good.  I think the tourists will like them.  Now, let’s get down to business.  What prices were you thinking of?”

            Shocked that he expected me to set prices, I said, “I have no idea.”  While we waited for Abel and Dennis to bring down the food and wine, Gil led me into the world of selling art.  He explained about his commission and that many artists charge for the framing and throw in the art for free.  Since I got the frames from Abel for free, we went back and forth trying to set prices for the various sizes of paintings that would give me a little profit.

            By the time Dennis had arranged his delicious hors d’oeuvres on the table in front of the sofa and poured us each a glass of wine, Gil was in the process of choosing which of the paintings to take.  He ended up taking seven of them, various sizes and subjects.  He decided that my flowers would be most popular.  He also encouraged me to mat smaller paintings that he could sell in the twenty to forty dollar range.  He called those “bread and butter,” since nearly everyone can afford them.  I promised to send some as soon as I got home.

            We visited for an hour or so, and I was excited that Gil kept having to get up to greet customers.  I hoped to see one of my paintings sold, but no one bought anything.

            Gil could see how disappointed I was and put his hand over mine.  “Don’t worry, Gail.  It’s really too early in the season for the real art buyers to be up here.  The tourists up here now are more middle-class and just like to look.  It’ll be okay.  Trust me.”

            “I never trust people who say, trust me,” I said, “but I guess I’ll have to.  Promise you’ll call when the first one sells?”

            He promised and even crossed his heart.  Abel and I said our goodbyes and left to go back to our motel, promising to call them the next time we came up to Door County.

            “Happy?” Abel asked as we drove away.

            “I think so.  I like Gil and Dennis, and I think Gil will do his best to show my paintings in their best light.  Thanks again for making this happen.”

            “I haven’t made anything happen.  I just knew someone in the art world who could give you your first opportunity.  You’re the artist; it’s your gift that makes things happen.”

This is another hour's knitting on the Two Hour Bag.  I realized this afternoon that I'm using too small needles for this yarn but I'll be damned if I'll rip it out and start over.  It'll just be thicker, or something.  I couldn't figure out why I'm so tired but then I realized that I was at the art lecture during the time I usually nod off on the couch.  No nap, tired early.  Works for me.
--Barbara