I was running with Mimsy in the wold yesterday

when today’s post title occurred to me.  Of course I was thinking in terms of  yesterday’s post, current to the modern moment that I dwelt in.  But I didn’t write it yesterday.  I’m writing today.  Actually, I could write it yesterday, with WordPress.  Write today and post yesterday.

So did you notice “wold” back there, at the beginning?  Doesn’t everyone long to drop “wold” into their everyday speakage?  Wold.  Wold wold wold.  Kind of like toe, when you say it over and over…it loses meaning, becomes nonsensical.  Which I know I’m not the first to notice.  Wold at first, though, sudden and unexpected!  Ah!  It is really lovely.  I might have been exaggerating when I used it, initially.  Thinking higher thoughts.  I’m a lowlander and travel in lowland settings; yesterday’s run  with Mimsy would have been a little more…in the fen.  Still  Always, always,  the bald, craggy face of Ben Lomond (Rocky Mountain, y’all) squints his granite eyes against the westward sun in the near distance.  So that yesterday I was sort of, yeah, running in the fen, beneath the wold.  With Mimsy. [continue reading…]

For Lack Of Better Words, it is Time For Apologies. And Confessions.

Dearly Beloveds (those of you who hold our connection, or my words or pictures anyway, in High Enough Regard to check in occasionally, and have been more or less  disappointed by the lack of anything new):  I offer my humble and slightly embarrassed apologies. And since I can’t leave well enough alone with apologies, I will also make an attempt at crafting a confession. Because of course confessions are always much more entertaining than apologies. [continue reading…]

The Gilded Branch, 3300 S 2300 E, Salt Lake (Holladay)

Elaine is my Thelma and Louise compadre. She is also my Longtime culinary (Sunday dinner) cohort and child rearing sympathizer. If you don’t know her, you should. She is many things to many people. She’s Memorable.  Distinct. And clearly, definitely a Maven.  Elaine is opening a one-of-a-kind gift boutique in Holladay, UT.  The Gilded Branch.  Right next to Silver Star Hardware on 3300.  When Elaine takes on a project, she does it Big.  It’s always Momentous.  A week and a half ago I had a sneak peek at some of her treasures.   Sweaters and jewelry, trendy but not faddish.  Christmas decorations handmade with antique ornaments.  Halloween decorations handmade with humor.  Artisan candy, gourmet cookies.  Good, possibly obscure books (Elaine could start her own Oprah Book Club, but of course it wouldn’t be Oprah it would be Elaine).   Silver Star’s facebook page has a picture of Elaine’s purse wall…candy bright colors falling confetti-like over one another.  No excessive bling, just pert, saturated color.  I understand there’s a creative display of colorful jeans (I think they’re on a ladder?).  Elaine’s taste is a local urban legend;  she’s a highly sought after consultant/contractor for renovations and new home design, not only in the Salt Lake area, but clear up into the Tri City area in Washington.   Her own homes (I’ve been friends with Elaine through five of them) are always beautiful, always classy, always warm and inviting.  There is no question in my mind that her boutique will be full of worthwhile finds. [continue reading…]

Remember Requiem?  Song of The Dead?  Or For The Dead…or was it…. By The Dead?

Well, anyway.  Summer’s over.  I mean really, really over.  Perhaps an autumn day (or several) will emerge from its frosty morning almost balmy, almost summery, but it will be esteemed by its more frigid sisters as a freak.  And will be forced to stand alone.  A lone, lonely loner.

The backyard zinnias are brown.  Dead.  The pumpkin vines are withered black/brown, dead.  Even the pumpkins are frostbitten.    Summer is gone.  And because I loved it, I (even though I’m not dead) will sing a wistful farewell to it.  In a dress.  Gray (not grey)… perfect for a summer requiem. [continue reading…]

Frankly My Dear, It’s a Mess

I’m still painting.   Still.   And not on canvas, not on board, not even on burlap (one of my favorite places to paint).  Oh no.  I’m painting walls.  And trim.  Still have white trim paint under my fingernails (and lately,  just west of the haphazard part in my hair).  I’m painting, and Frankly My Dear, It’s a Mess.  Everything is in Disarray.

My home is my gallery.  It’s where I hang most of my art.   My earliest motive to become an artist was a yearning to beautify my home.  In a sense, learning to paint  with oils (ah, timeless pigment, painterly textures!) was my first significant DIY project.  And it remains my most constant.   It’s kind of ironic to me that probably my next most consistent DIY project has been painting houses.  Walls, trim.   This is the third time.  There is a lot of wall and trim painting to do in houses.   And I’m still learning how to do that better too.  You’d think I’d have it down by now, but I don’t. [continue reading…]

Where’d ya go, sister?

Friends, Romans, Countrymen. Sisters. Lend me your eyes. If any of you remain to read (hello there Maurya darling, far far away). I feel I must explain where I am, lately. What I’ve been up to, why my voice here has been…diminished. Trailing off to a single monologue a week.

(Aside: The weirdest thing happens when I claim the floor for myself. Even here, even though I’m all alone in a morning kitchen with a laptop. It’s like I’m a character in a movie; the archetypal sweetheart ditz who finally gets the podium, with impossible explaining to do [aside within an aside: and what is up with that? after two and a half decades of silly movies, you’d think the sweetheart ditz characters would get that telling the truth from the beginning will save them all sorts of trouble by the end]).   I have the floor, and I am overwhelmed with this ridiculous urge to tell a tall,  irrelevant, unbelievable phish tale. And clog dance. Because I have an audience. I do sometimes clog. No lie.) [continue reading…]

Nonsense, But the Blurred Vision Thing is For Real.

Yesterday morning my favorite optometrist was diplomatic.  “I’d like to  take just enough of that strain off your eyes,” he said.  “They’re working awfully hard.; let’s see if we can give them a break.”

Which is what my last prescription was supposed to be doing, if I’d used it faithfully.  I’m not great with math, but I’ve had to wonder about probabilities and trends as I’ve visited optometrists over the last fifteen years.  Because each subsequent visit reveals that my eyesight has in fact worsened since the last time I visited.  Blurred vision, exponentially. I don’t think this can go on indefinitely, without my becoming not only entirely blind, but possibly eyeless too.  Empty, vacuous holes instead of eyes. [continue reading…]