Happy Bird Day!

Odd things first.  Remember I reset the rat snap trap last night and hoped to catch another rodent overnight?  Well, when I opened the curtains and looked out the patio door this morning the trap was gone.  Gone!  Like disappeared.  I went out to look around a bit but wasn't dressed for searching and didn't see it anyway.  Later on when I was more appropriately dressed I went out to look some more.  Couldn't find it even in the ferns and behind things.  Which leads me to think that there's some poor raccoon or possum or stray something hobbling around with a trap snapped on a paw or jaw.  Ugh.  That didn't stop me from going to buy another trap, though, and getting it set up before knitting.  I followed the suggestion of the kid in Ace Hardware and looped a string through the trap and put it around the leg of the step so it can't get hauled away.  I won't be leaving it out while I'm away.  I'm not quite that desperate.  Yet.


By filling the feeders yesterday I attracted ALL of the birds.  When I was filling them I thought about how they'd been empty for a couple weeks and wondered if or how the birds would get the news that there was seed for the eating.  Well, this morning I got concrete proof that birds have a way of communicating.  First a trio of Bluejays came to tag team the peanut wreath,

then a Red-bellied Woodpecker made a quick stop at the platform feeder,



 


followed by a little Downy Woodpecker on the suet and then back to the suet pellets where it was joined by a Nuthatch.





Next a Cardinal perched on the edge of a planter waiting its turn on the platform, joined by a pair of Mourning Doves that didn't get photographed.  It was indeed a happy bird day.



 

The check with the prize money from my Fair entries came today.  It cost me $4 to enter seven items and the check was for $13.50, which means I more than tripled my investment.  Not bad, eh?  That'll pay for my lunch tomorrow.

I'm keeping on keeping on with the second Two Hour Bag.  I've got about a quarter of the last skein yet to go.  I hope to finish it tomorrow, then I'll work on my sock the few times I'll have to knit during the week.







4 October--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

June

I put the phone gently onto its cradle and sat down hard on the chair in the hall.  I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.  It had been Gil, the Door County gallery owner, calling to tell me he’d sold the last of the seven paintings I’d left with him less than two months ago.  At first when I heard his voice, I was sure he was calling to tell me he’d sold the first of my paintings.  How nice, I thought, I wonder if he calls all his artists when the first of their works is sold.

Then he said, “Gail, I’m so glad I caught you at home.  I need you to drive up, today if you can, and bring at least ten more paintings.  I’m completely out and I can’t have gaps like this for the weekend.  Your work is selling like crazy.  Can you come up today?  Please?”

            I had to ask him to repeat himself.  I heard him chuckle when I said, “What?  Say that again.  What?  You can’t be serious.”  But he was serious.  I got an immediate knot in my stomach.  Fear was a familiar friend; I’d spent a lot of my life being afraid of new experiences.  I’d fooled myself quite a bit this last year into thinking that I’d gotten brave, that I reveled in new challenges.  And there I sat in my dim hallway feeling sweat trace its way down my spine, feeling a cold prickling in my hands and feet.

I needed to tell somebody.  I needed to find someone who could convince me that this was a good thing.  I called Abel’s number, but got his answering machine.  Then I remembered he was working.  I called the Garden Center and had him paged.

            “Gail, what’s wrong?” he said, panting into the phone.

            “Nothing’s wrong, Abel, nothing at all.”

            “Why did you call then?  It scared me half to death when Lou Ann told me you were calling.”

            I took a deep breath to calm my racing heart.  “Gil called just now.”

            “What did he want?  He can’t want us to pick up your paintings so soon.”  I could hear the sound of customers and cash registers behind him.

            “He wants me to drive up there today with more paintings.”

            “Why does he want more; didn’t he say seven would be enough?  Just a minute.”  I heard him turn away to answer a question about planting apple trees.  “Okay, I’m back but you’d better make it quick.  We’re really swamped today.”

            “Okay, I’ll be brief.  Gil sold all of the paintings we took up there and wants more.”

“Holy cow!  Gail, that’s wonderful.  Congratulations.”

I had to pull the phone away from my ear when he yelled.  “Thanks.  Anyway, I was hoping you could drive up with me but since you’re at work and so busy, I guess you can’t.”  I was ashamed at how whiny I sounded.  I cleared my throat and tried again.  “It’s no big deal, Abel.  I’ll ask Clara to ride along.  I’ll call you when I get home.”

            “Okay, Gail, I’m sorry but I’ve got to run.  Talk to you tonight.  Love you. ‘Bye.”

            “I love you too.”  But I was talking to the air.

            Well, rats.  Abel was my first choice to help me take a car full of paintings up to Gil.  But Clara would be willing to haul paintings too, and she might get a kick out of seeing my work in a gallery.  I gave her a call; she was free and more than willing to help.

            It didn’t take long to load the paintings in the car.  Gil had asked if I had any more of the painting I’d done of my mailbox covered in flowering vines, so I packed two other ones I’d done of that part of my garden.  The first ones I’d taken to Gil’s were all flowers and landscapes.  This time I included a couple of shore and lake views I’d done since my first trip up there with Abel.  The only painting I wasn’t willing to part with was the beach scene I’d painted last winter in the midst of a blizzard.  After seeing it hanging in my kitchen, Abel said he’d take me to the Caribbean next winter to see things like that myself.  He said we’d call it a research trip instead of a vacation.  I couldn’t wait.

             Clara and I set off in fine good humor.  Except for the backseat piled with paintings it was just like old times.  We laughed and joked like we had before.  I hoped this day would reassure her once again that she was still my best friend.  She brought me up to date with the doings of her kids.  She even reported that Dan and the new florist in town, Moira, had gone into Simpson together to see a movie the week before.  She felt pretty smug that she’d scooped the gossips at Mavis’ about Moira, and that her matchmaking ploy in sending the pretty young woman to Dan to have the heater in her van fixed had worked out so well.

            We drove straight to Gil’s gallery in Fish Creek, arriving just before noon.  Gil rushed out to greet us and nearly knocked me over, he was so happy to see more paintings.  It didn’t take the three of us very long to unload the car.  Gil spent the whole time telling me about the sale of my paintings.  He was a good storyteller; he remembered every comment and compliment.  It was thrilling and more than a little humbling.

            Clara was quiet as we worked.  I think she hadn’t really believed that people would want to buy my work and I could see that listening to Gil was making her reconsider.  It made me glad I’d asked her to come along.

            Gil asked both of us to help hang the pictures.  I loved it because he was so knowledgeable and knew just how to feature each one.  He used a long pole to adjust the track lights on the ceiling to wash each painting with just the right light.

            When we were ready to leave, he kissed and hugged us both.  He held my shoulders, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “I hope you’re working hard, Gail.  I plan to keep you busy for a long time.”  He reached behind him to his desk and picked up an envelope.  “Here’s a check for the paintings I sold.  I want to take a bunch of your work along for the city gallery when we go back to Chicago in October.  There are lots of people in the city who would love a little piece of Wisconsin hanging on their wall.”

            “Thanks, Gil,” I said, “I’ll keep painting.”

            Clara piped up, “I’ll make sure she does.”

            I threw an arm around her shoulders.  “Oh boy, I’m in trouble now.  Clara can be a real task-master.”

            Just then a car pulled up and two very well-to-do looking couples got out.  Gil’s eyes lit up.  “I’d better get back to work.  These are old friends and I know they’re going to love your work.  Thanks for racing up here today.”  He kissed my cheek once more and hurried over to greet them.

            As Clara and I walked back to my car, we could hear one of the women say, “Gil, everyone at dinner last night was raving about a new artist you’ve discovered. I think her name is Gail Logan?”

Clara and I stopped walking and stared at each other, not making a sound.

“Margaret said she’d bought the last one yesterday,” the woman continued.  “Now that’s not the truth, is it?  I hope you saved one for me.”

              We heard Gil’s smooth gallery owner voice say, “No, I didn’t save you one, Emily, but Gail delivered more this morning.  Why don’t I show you what she brought?  You just missed meeting her.”

            I took one look at my rumpled jeans and sweaty t-shirt, grabbed Clara’s elbow, and raced us to the car.  I was afraid Gil would come out and insist I go back in to meet that formidable-sounding woman and I didn’t think my current attire would impress her at all.

I've got everything packed, except my laptop, and already loaded in the car.  I'll tootle off shortly after breakfast tomorrow to spend a glorious day lunching and knitting with my friend KS, then meet up with CDA at The Clearing to get a jump on our week of writing.  It's going to be so good.
--Barbara