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some of the same accidents as *last year*

O look: some more questionable artwork from Oona. Funny, considering she can't even dress herself. *And* she's hopeless at Scrabble. Could you at least draw the 'a' backwards, to give it the slight stink of authenticity? Thank you.

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Someone has a fun pumpkin costume from Grandma (one that's already gone through three other grandkids) but it's still too big, so Auntie Catherine stepped in with this Frosty get-up.

Erratic subject matter.

And then Thelma and Louise went to a Halloween parade at Skeleton Park (it was built over a mass grave, actually).

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*Something* lumpy pink and fur-smeared across the 401 on a rainy Saturday morning: I was so distracted by the sickening thump going over it that I almost missed the exit for Ottawa. We drove up to see C's dad Graeme, who was in town visiting the *other* family set. C's sister Catherine had her full Halloween collection on display, from the skeleton half embedded in the ground to the bloody handprints on the windows to the skull-face candlesticks. A multi-year purchasing project, I was told. Oona was exposed to some nuclear-level cuddling and then we all went to the government farm, where I'm always amazed at the idea of people paying admission to see *cows* and *tractors*. I pay taxes for this, and then have to pay *again* to get in? In a rather bizarre protest, our brother-in-law Nick, who teaches law, walked around with a fist-sized hole in the crotch of his jeans. Then we drove home in the rain again. And that was *Saturday*.

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Discipline is difficult: I could easily be making my way to the studio while it's still dark but it *is* Sunday morning after all and I want hot water and coffee and cereal on the bottom half of the Week in Review. And then when I *do* get there I have to sort of throw myself into something right away, just start drawing or painting or writing almost automatically because it's easy -- too easy -- to get lost in notes and lists and worst of all *organizing*, you can *always* tell yourself that you're not ready or things aren't right or it's not the right time but mostly this is bullshit and that's the easiest route to losing your way (nowhere, nothing). And you'll look up soon enough to see that it's time to go home anyway, get groceries, make lunch, and there goes another *Sunday*.
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Comments

  1. Elle10:42 am

    Sounds like a fun weekend . . . I so want to write something sharp & witty about dirty old men and coffins but my strict Catholic upbringing won't let me!!!!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Tami Cohen10:44 am

    hahaha :) great post. i like the odd protest bit, will mention that to my husband in hopes that he remembers it when HE has something to protest

    ReplyDelete

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