Illustration in ink on paper for an upcoming story (bh1476).
Day 5
Up around 6 -- this way I can do some art before the day's full craziness sets in. C lurches out of bed around 7 ... which is incredibly early for her, but she's instructed Little Graeme (who C used to babysit a lifetime ago, who now insists on being a grown-up, living in his own house, driving a truck, having a dog and just generally being ridiculous) to drop by on his way to work. This is so she can have him investigate (and solve) the source of some "bad smell" coming from beneath the cottage. Despite C diagnosing it as everything from septic back-up to malicious ghosts, Little Graeme calmly informs us that it's just some pipe which needs a cap. While she has his trusting/helpful nature within her grasp, C immediately hits him up for her entire future works program. MLK might have had a dream, but it was nothing without sliding glass doors.
In the afternoon I drive C into Sackville where we spend several hours running errands for ourselves (laundry, permit for the electrical work, getting caulk and weather stripping, etc), for Catherine (guitar strings {?}, fruit for the girls, fucking gourmet cat food) and having lunch.
The rest of the day unfolds in something approaching nearly-normal summer, with a little sun, a little cloud, and I only get rooked into one ridiculous task, when Graeme and I move a washer/spinner (I know, it's the summer of machines) into our already crowded kitchen so C can indulge her hobby (seriously) of doing laundry.
Day 5
Up around 6 -- this way I can do some art before the day's full craziness sets in. C lurches out of bed around 7 ... which is incredibly early for her, but she's instructed Little Graeme (who C used to babysit a lifetime ago, who now insists on being a grown-up, living in his own house, driving a truck, having a dog and just generally being ridiculous) to drop by on his way to work. This is so she can have him investigate (and solve) the source of some "bad smell" coming from beneath the cottage. Despite C diagnosing it as everything from septic back-up to malicious ghosts, Little Graeme calmly informs us that it's just some pipe which needs a cap. While she has his trusting/helpful nature within her grasp, C immediately hits him up for her entire future works program. MLK might have had a dream, but it was nothing without sliding glass doors.
In the afternoon I drive C into Sackville where we spend several hours running errands for ourselves (laundry, permit for the electrical work, getting caulk and weather stripping, etc), for Catherine (guitar strings {?}, fruit for the girls, fucking gourmet cat food) and having lunch.
The rest of the day unfolds in something approaching nearly-normal summer, with a little sun, a little cloud, and I only get rooked into one ridiculous task, when Graeme and I move a washer/spinner (I know, it's the summer of machines) into our already crowded kitchen so C can indulge her hobby (seriously) of doing laundry.
Ugh. Remind me to never wear that outfit again. You let me go into town dressed like that?
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