Saying yes...

random randomness about snags

-- Because I am so not blogging right now, today I'm going to post two! I feel like Ernie Banks.

I am a big fan of the random conversation... the stream of consciousness conversation... the conversation that takes on deep importance even though the subject matter is quite bogus. Maybe that's why I like any number of comment threads around the internets. They just take off into parts unknown and everyone is on board, treating it as though it were a serious matter.

My lamblets are naturals at the random bogus conversation, as is Grizzled. Grizzled didn't realize it though until he met me. I've built up his ignored RBC muscles whether he liked it or not. The lamblets though have been steeped in it since birth. As soon as they were old enough to talk, I went from spelling everything and naming everything to asking random questions. Car time was perfect for this. While driving, I'd ask, "Ok, if the dogs could drive, what type of car would they drive and why?" It was decided that Argus (RIP) would have driven a big Kleenex box of a car since he loved to eat Kleenexes. He'd also have a convertible. Wilson (RIP) would not have a convertible. He hated thunder and was not fond of wind, however he did love the sun, so maybe a sun roof, but he'd need the reassurance that a partial roof could bring...

And off we'd go, discussing what music they would listen to and why. What destinations and why. There were many conversations like this. Still are. They seem so normal I rarely notice them, but every once in awhile I find myself stepping outside of myself and observing, wondering what a fellow traveler might think if his car window had been down and he'd heard a snippet of our chat.

Today, after leaving the pet store, the eldest lamblet said she had been checking out the "Snags". I asked if she didn't mean "ferret". She said no... it was a Snag, she was sure, because Snags will eat anything-- they're part goat and part ferret, but the goat gene is recessive, which is why they look like ferrets-- and this one was apparently chewing on a cage-mate's tail, therefore it was really a snag... Conversations about Snags continued until we were in the car and listening to Bruce Springsteen's "Adam Raised a Cain". The lamblet was certain he was singing "Oyster Pig" during the refrain. I assured her he was not singing oyster pig... besides, what was an oyster pig?? A pig covered in a shell? Would it live on land or in the water?  She said she thought it would be an oyster shell that when opened, had ham inside... they were found in fresh water.

Fresh water??? I was skeptical because ham is nothing if not salty. I would seriously doubt the existence of oyster pigs in fresh water... which led to the question of would a fresh water oyster pig hold pork while a salt water oyster pig would hold ham??

It was about this time that we were pulling into the driveway and I was discussing what needed to get done before the day was over...  thoughts of oyster pigs leaving my mind while wrestling with the large bag of dog food, I heard the lamblet say, "Fresh water or salt water, I'm guessing a snag would eat them...".

I think she's right, but preferably wrapped in bacon and drizzled with bourbon.

Youth is wasted on the young... or, maybe they could share...

Imagine my surprise when after hearing the doorbell, I open my door to find "Lettuce O' Love" Charlie... he had rebounded a bit after my last post about him, but then suffered another stroke last summer. He's has had other injuries, but apparently, will not stay put. The first words out of his mouth both made me laugh and panic...

"Don't tell me wife I'm here! She doesn't know I'm gone!"

I scanned him... there was no produce in his possession. He could have set it on the seat part of his sporty walker/chair dealio that was also tricked out with handbrakes, but no, it was empty. I then thought, oh please, don't let Charlie get on my case for how our weeds are sneaking into his yard... or worse, don't let him ask me to hold my hand or give him a kiss.

He didn't. He said he came over to chat, that it had been awhile and he can't hang out in the garden anymore let alone meet over the hedge. He also said he had some leftover shingling if Grizzled wanted it. Apparently he noticed Grizzled yesterday, making a repair on our shed, and said he hoped he hadn't had to go out and buy shingle.  I reassured him he hadn't, that I was pretty sure he was using what was left from when he originally built it. I then corrected myself and said for that matter, he might have... I don't keep track of what Grizzled squirrels away from Home Despot... which brought Charlie back to the point of his wife not knowing he was paying me a visit and would I please not tell her, that sometimes men just have to do what they have to do or buy what they have to buy and not get permission first.

I wanted to tell him the same went for women... in spades, us having been told what to do longer over the course of history... but I refrained, and once again promised that my lips were sealed (in more ways than one). While I can perfectly understand his wife's worries, I can also understand how frustrating it must be to need guidance and/or permission after a lifetime spent doing things for yourself. 

As Charlie was leaving, he told me to help myself to any raspberries I could reach over the fence. He said even if he tries to pick them, he drops 4 out of every 5. He then asked me to maybe tell his wife where he was if he didn't make it back home... just in case he fell. I offered to walk with him if he liked. He said he'd love that, but didn't think it was a good idea, he didn't want us both to get into trouble, but if it wasn't asking too much, he wouldn't mind if I watched him until I was sure he made it home... I told him I'd be happy to and as I watched him slowly find his way home, I couldn't help  but think of Jessica Tandy in "Best Friends" telling Goldie Hawn in a rather resigned way, "Life has a way of beating the crap out of ya."

Non-Post #3 or #4... Or Something...

It's June 10th and there's a windchill... it's 59 out, but feels like 53. Did I mention it's June 10th? I thought the weather in zone 5 was not allowed a windchill after the full moon in May. It's June 10th. No more windchill, ok??

Speaking of June 10th, it's insanely bright in the wee hours during this time of year which is nice since I'm usually awake in the wee hours. It might as well be light out. Tomorrow is the youngest lamblet's b-day (It's also aif's b-day. Happy early B-day, aif!!!) and since today is the last full day of school, she took her b-day treat with her today. She decided that she needed Dunkin Donut Munchkins which was fine with me. Our school still allows homemade treats so I was actually happy I didn't have to crank out 24 monkey cupcakes ala last year. Munchkins it would be, but I knew I had to get them first thing... I wanted them to be fresh and wanted to get them before the run on donuts began. Since Grizzled and I were wide awake by 5... did I mention it's insanely light in the morning during this time of year... we ventured off to the DD to make sure we scored enough Munchkins. I expected a line, I forget that not everyone is wide awake at 5:30. I was kind of worried ALL MUNCHKINS WOULD BE GONE!!! I forgot we had an advantage by being early risers. There were only 2 other cars in the parking lot, one of which was a police car... there oughta be a law...

But enough about Munchkins... I'm currently working on some sketches for some paintings. The ideas for these paintings came about during a side conversation and actually have nothing to do with the final subject matter. Anyone looking at the final work will have no idea what the initial seed looked like or what the initial conversation was about. The final paintings will be images of a metaphor, but no one will know but me (well, and a couple of other people). It had me wondering though if as science, etc, advances, if there might be a way for us to find out. Could you grind up the painting, put it into a solution and then break down the componentswhich would also ultimately reveal the original inspiration?? Wouldn't that be interesting? Pretty soon museums and galleries, etc, could show not only the original work, but the original idea that led to the final piece. Who knows what you'd see! And I wonder how many of the original seeds would have absolutely anything to do with the final piece? I'm guessing very few.  And of course, ultimately the original idea means nothing to the viewer because the viewer is the final "decider". The viewer is the one who decides what it means to them. The rest may be interesting, but doesn't really matter.

Still... I can't help, but wonder if the original idea that led to these paintings will affect how I go about them. Will they look different than had I approached them with a different thought in mind? Will that original thought be perceptible on some level that we aren't aware of?? Will there be some cell, somewhere in the viewer's body that can pick up on the subtle path from start to finish? Or does it just matter that they are finished and connect with something in the viewers mind...

I'm finished. End of non-post. I need to find a sweater.

Still Not Posting... However...

I haven’t been on facebook that much in the past couple of months, either as myself or as that anthropomorphized cupcake, but was updating some of El’s stuff today when I realized I had not turned off the “chat” function. El’s favorite German friend popped up with random thoughts all his own so he and El chatted about a plethora of topics… his having been to a very Catholic wedding done in Bavarian, his own thoughts on religion, which was then followed with a chat about Feuerbach, high/low German, parliaments, the Pirate Party, correlations between the Roman Empire and the US, medieval studies, both his and ones I recall from my foggy years at college, his hopes for our new President, etc…

I was once again left kind of amazed that in the middle of a Monday afternoon, I’m having a very random, yet educational conversation with someone in the middle of another country who is more informed on worldly events than I could ever hope to be (thank you US media, and... come to think of it, I don't find that part amazing. It's expected.), remembers more of his education, speaks numerous languages, but is still having this conversation with a dictatorial cupcake…

It was a nice conversation and one that snapped my drowsy mind out of its afternoon slump, but when it was over, I still had to laugh and think, what was that?!? It would not be something that could happen in any other time except for the digital age. No matter how many journals, diaries, etc, I would go through, I would never really be able to look back to another age and find an entry that said, "Monday: Got kids off to school, worked on sketches for painting, went through old mail, vacuumed, talked to sister-in-law regarding her vacation, had interesting and educational conversation with man in Germany, but had conducted my end as a polite, yet dictatorial cupcake." 

Nope. That last sentence changes everything. And while that last sentence makes me think that my mental alarms should go off, it's that last sentence that makes me smile... the thought that two people could meet in the middle of an interesting discussion in such a bizarre way does indeed make me smile.