The Woman Who Mistook the Laundry Pile for Her Dog

Isn't that cool? When Jules and I are out on our morning walk, we like to jump on the frozen puddles and break the ice. (It makes both Jules and I very silly to do this). But as we approached this particular puddle, I was drawn up short and pushed Jules out of the way because it formed a perfect ice spiral. Of course, I had neglected to bring my camera and I had to return about an hour later to shoot this picture. Bob observed that it looked almost like the rings in the center of a tree. I pointed this out to a couple walking their dog and they were suitably intrigued by it, too. Luckily no one had smashed the ice!
Getting back to the title of this posting, however:  I sing to Jules fairly frequently (between you and me, Jules is a saint because I'm no great singer). So because of my messed up left eye and the habit I now have of taking my right contact lens out when I'm in the house I see in a corrupted and odd way. I was changing my clothes in the bedroom and I glanced over to Bob's closet and saw (what I took to be) Jules. I started into some (truly stupid) song about going for a walk with my dog and I was going on for quite a while while I tied my boots and simultaneously realized that the large black shape was really a laundry pile and my dog was just then entering the bedroom, wondering for whom I was ululating. Jules looked embarrassed for me but I  think our dirty socks enjoyed it. Maybe I should take the laundry on our walk tomorrow.
Here's another shot, but including my feet for scale (shod in my new hiking boots).

Sick O" Single Socks

The equivalent of airing one's dirty linen in public is exposing the alarmingly disorganized contents of one's sock drawer on the Internet. But I'm nothing if not brave.
Bob says (correctly) that whenever he washes the laundry, he winds up with a fistful of singleton socks.... and they're all mine! I have no idea where they have all fled to; they're probably seeking sock asylum , longing to reunited someday with their straying mate. I just bought five new pairs of socks and do you think I can locate half of them already?
I suspect Jules (who's father was a thief) swipes some of them. I have spied him slipping down the stairs with head tucked low to his chest, slobbering over one of my socks. If only he'd take the whole pair!
I haev vowed to spend a rainy afternoon sorting and discarding those socks who have been orphaned for too long- or maybe I'll just resort to furtively wearing mismatched hose.

A (Free) Chicken in Every Pot

Bob and I were told, by a Stop and Shop check out person no less, that if there were no rotisserie chickens done when you arrived starving and impatient for rotisserie chicken, you are to be given one free. This started a free rotisserie chicken avalanche of sorts. For the last month and a half, I have arrived at somewhere between 4:30 and 6:00 and I have procured a free chicken on every Friday except one. We have had at least four (and I think five) free chickens. The poor young woman who mans the courtesy desk sees me coming and has a free coupon ready Maybe it seems like sort of a scam, but they guarantee the readiness of their birds.
Now it's become a game of sorts; will dinner be free? Or will we finally have break down and pay the already reduced price of $5.00? And the chicken is consistently delicious, too.
It was even weirder tonight as I left the Stop and Shop after being told that the chicken wouldn't be ready for another 35 minutes and went to KMart to "kill time". I selected a (highly reduced) pair of really outrageous rainbow woodgrain tights (that were all of $1.00 after discounts). A message promptly came on the intercom, "Attention KMart shoppers..." Apparantly, there was a cosmic glitch and none of the cash registers were functioning and absolutely nothing in the store could be sold. We were told that we either could come back in an hour or return tommorrow. Do they want to sell us this stuff or not???
Following a lovely- and free- meal I have an appointment with destiny to obtain those thrilling leggings...
Lucky me!

I Dunno... Is It Me?

Maybe it's that spell of winter (even if we've barely had a winter) that is highlighted by president's birthdays and apocryphal ground hogs (that do or don't see certain shadows), but there is sure is a lull that kicks in about this time of year that makes it hard to get going. Today was (unexpectedly) cold and windy and drove me running indoors with an unattractive red dribbly nose and no urge to visit the great outdoors. So I cast about the homestead- interior style- for a likely subject to photograph. See, I've even had a tough time posting a blog entry...
Bob and I are enjoying the gentler pursuits of serious studio time, so househole projects be damned! (Plus we've had no money to really buy and install raw materials.) But come this spring, there a few things coming down the pike. Like planting the gardens: only this year, the beds are dug and there is manure a-plenty so we're expecting a bigger, more managed harvest. Also, the top o' the stairs is slated to become Rita's clothing closet and I just cannot wait. I spend major amounts of time running up and down the stairs gathering elements of my wardrobe from several far-flung closets and dressers. We'll also be slathering stucco and quartz rocks on the face of the chimney and making it a worthy and artistic statement. And recreating the outside seating area (loathe to call it a terrace; sounds too grand!) in cement and stone instead of rotting wood. I'm tired already.
The only photo I succeeded in concocting today was Jules's fishnet pantyhose laying on my studio floor and resembling a dancing frog... or is that me? I think we all suffer just a bit form darkeness and cabin fever.

I Seemingly Have Fewer Fingers (A Good Thing!)

I should have said that I SEE fewer fingers, which is really a good thing! I am constantly trying to explain to family and friends just how it is that I see since my eye disaster. The weirdest aspect of this whole thing is that it's bizarrely selective; I can see some odd details really clearly and other bigger picture items not at all.
So the other day it occurs to me that I am seeing fewer fingers. If I close my right eye, my left (badly damaged eye) was seeing a fuzzy sort of hand approximation. I was essentially seeing three fingers for every one. (Lots of "ghosting" and haloes.) But recently when I close the right eye, my left eye has made a great leap forward. My left eye is resolving in some fashion, and now I see two fingers for every one. That's a major improvement! There' a lot less visual static and I can detect details, like seams on my winter gloves.
The piece above is an illustration of that fabled hand/eye collaboration. I should try making a piece that expresses the multiplicity of fingers!

The Well-Dressed Beast

I broke out Crispin's raincoat the other day as unpleasant (albeit not freezing) rain was scheduled. I'm not much on blanketing horses, but after my previous blog posting lamenting Crispin's insisting on standing around and getting wet, I thought to dress him up. He didn't care.
At least I got Crispin a bright red and black housecoat; you should have seen some of the horses at the barn! There is no end to people's bizarre ideas of what a horse should wear. Decked out like pink plaid tea cozies and peculiar high neckline horse hoodies, the unfortunate beasts made to wear these costumes resemble galloping sofas. Recent studies have proven the superiority of a horses natural defense: the woolly winter coat. (But of course, you don't have to buy anything so how can it work?? There is no lack of money to be made selling horse owners crazy merchandise...) On the other hand, that heavy winter coat gets wet and the horse could take a chill. But like I said to Bob the other day about Crispin, "Well, we haven't killed him yet!" so we must be doing something right!
A final and ironic note, however is that Crispin's rain jacket seems to have lost it's waterproofness so when I removed it the next day, he was soaked through underneath. It was probably worse than if I had done nothing.
Okay, I found a lovely selection. And this poor horse, mind you, was out on a sunny warm day dressed (as someone so aptly described it) in a hybrid between lingerie and armor!

Richard Serra Comes to Breakfast!

While enjoying the toasted version of Bob's bread for breakfast, I realized that the available slices laying on the plate reminded me of something... modern sculpture. When upended and set at (approximate) right angles, Bob and I discovered that there was a distinct echo of some of Richard Serra's monumental sculptures. (The plastic baby (from a previous year's Mardi Gras King Cake) adds scale). Funny how art winds up appearing where you least expect it!