Folks of my vintage may remember the Peter, Paul and Mary song, 'I'm in Love With a Big Blue Phrog'.
Trish's brother, Doug, loves frogs. I did a mixed media frog for him, presented it after watching PP&M do the song via Youtube. He liked it.
Grant, a friend of mine, recently replied to my 'how ya doin' with "I'm finer than frog hair." It's an old saying I hadn't heard in some time. Given that refresher, I added hair to the frog.
Trish wanted me to paint a horse. I tried to paint a realistic one but failed, can't draw or sketch worth a damn. So.....paint an unrealistic horse. More fun to do, more fun to view.
Some of the mixed media items have meaning. The RV near LHC on the map. The dark chocolate (Trish loves the stuff) label. The old station wagon driving down to Phoenix to hang with college fraternity brothers twice a year.
As for the rest - pure whimsey. The mane is fake doll hair from Hobby Lobby
It's temper I'm talking about, recalling times I've lost it.
Lost it a lot when I was a kid, had a short fuse. My closest sibling, Gerry, 3 years older and much larger, knew that well. He'd either hold me in a bear hug until I cooled off or run like hell to get out of range of whatever I'd throw at him. He didn't run fast enough to avoid the barbecue fork, though; nailed him in the arm at 12'. He'd pissed me off by snapping me with the wet dish towel when we were doing the dishes.
My most recent blow up was at a pickleball player. He called me 'flak jacket' after seeing me wear a tan vest. I told him what the term meant to me, that a flak jacket had saved my life twice in Vietnam. It didn't sink in; he called me that every time he saw me.
I finally lost it, reamed him out, reminded him that a real flak jacket saved my life, and that he should show some respect for combat veterans who'd laid their lives on the line. Later, I apologised, told him Nam vets were treated harshly when they returned to the US, were sensitive about it, had a short fuse when disrespected. He's a good guy, had no idea he'd pissed me off repeatedly.
Then, there was the time I lost it in Egypt in '83. Once a month I had to sit down with the client (City of Alexandria) to review the US dollar invoice. The invoice was huge, over a million $, and usually about 150 pages. It had to be approved by the client before being paid by USAID, which funded the project. The Egyptian guy who reviewed the invoice would go through the invoice page by page, asking me what each item was, took 2-3 hours.
The approval procedure was well established, since the project had been in progress 4 years. Omar, the Egyptian guy, ignored the procedure once, disapproved a few items, prior to the sit-down review. When the invoice was returned to me, I wrote VOID on the front page in big black letters. He didn't know what void meant, looked it up in some Egyptian/English dictionary, which said it meant 'silly'.
He was quite unhappy about the void/'silly' thing. I explained that void meant invalid. He didn't accept that. I told him again, using different terms - which didn't work either. I tried one last time. And failed. That did it! I grabbed my briefcase, stormed out of the office, slammed the door as hard as I could.
Next day, my boss told me that Omar wanted me replaced - immediately. Didn't happen. I don't recall how the matter was resolved, but the invoice was finally approved and paid. I never needed to write void again.
Trish brought her home from UT 2 days ago. Parker hadn't been her usual bouncy, happy self since Artie's demise. Although we weren't planning on getting a second dog, we couldn't stand seeing Parker so down in the mouth.
Her coloring is called 'phantom'. Why? Beats me. Trish's last 4 dogs were all red poodles, so this a break from tradition - although she (Maisie, not Trish) is a poodle. Maisie is 11 weeks old, high energy, into everything like a 2-year old kid. Our bedroom closets all have full-length mirrored doors. She sees her image in the mirrors, and barks at that 2-dimensional dog at every opportunity. Her eyes are actually quite dark, the light spots in the picture are because I used the camera flash. We think she'll be close to Parker's size when she's fully grown
Parker's much happier. The two of them chase each other around and wrestle a lot. Life is good again.
Over half of US citizens will get cataracts (cats), usually starting around age 40. Initially, cats are very small and of no consequence to one's vision. They enlarge gradually over time and may become problematic around age 70 or later. That was the case with Trish, various friends of ours - and now me.
I've had annual eye exams for several years and was always told my cats were small. Until this year. Several months ago, my eye doc said I should have cat surgery on my right eye. So, off I went to visit the local eye surgeons, who, after many checks of both eyes, said I should have both eyes done. The right one was done last Wednesday, the left will be done in 10 days.
The operation only takes about 7 minutes. They give you an intravenous drug to relax you, but you're otherwise wide awake during the procedure. Trish said the drug was wonderful; I think she was given a more generous helping than I. Next time, I'll ask them to increase the dosage because I felt something less than wonderful.
So, now my right eye has the best replacement lens available (there are different types and different prices), and the left eye still has cats. The difference in vision is remarkable: right eye is much brighter and whiter; left eye is duller and yellowish. Before the operation, I had no idea how much the cats negatively impacted my vision. I'd used reading glasses for years and prescription sunglasses as well.
I think vision is the most critical of the senses. Life without it would be tough, less valuable. If and when, your eye doc says you need the surgery. Do it!
To be honest, there is one drawback: when I look in the mirror, I see a lot more wrinkles in my face. I look like an old man, for cripes sakes!
My favorite picture of Artie, all ready for his burger on Mackinac Island.
A fine little pooch he was. Artie was a certified therapy dog and visited elementary schools with Trish numerous times over the years. The kids loved him, nearly wore him out doing high fives, a trick I taught him early on. Trish taught him several other tricks as well.
In Sioux Falls, S D. He didn't like the cat statue a darn bit, felt put upon.
He liked to spin around in circles - counterclockwise only - before meals or going outside or doing anything he enjoyed. I often wondered if, someday, he'd totally unwind, spinning around the other way for hours and hours.
In Monterey, CA with big brother, Ranger. Was Artie embarrassed or focusing on an ant?
Every evening after dinner while we were watching TV, Artie and Parker would conduct a loud wrestling match, sometimes so loud we paused the TV for several minutes. They'd merrily chase each onto the recliners, the sofa and the floor, growling like it was a fight to death.
He had cancer, was off his feed a lot in the final days. He passed away at home early one morning, the same day we had planned to have him put down. He always hated going to the vet.
My first rain chain was on my last home in Oregon, 30 miles northwest of Portland, overlooking the Columbia River and Mt St Helens. It got lots of business.
The next one was near the front door of my current home in Lake Havasu City. Although it didn't get anywhere near the amount of business as my first one, it (and the gutter that fed it) did keep folks from getting soaked when they entered the house during infrequent downpours. I recently retired that one.
Here's the new one.
