Art + Life, or, as Judy Collins asks rhetorically, Who Knows Where the Time Goes?

It's not that I do nothing day after crazy day. Really, I work from dawn to dusk. At least. But sometimes when I look at the body of art created by my peers, I think what the #*!@ is wrong with me? Where's my body of work? Where, at least, is my appendage?

I have to remind myself that regardless of the general lack of respect in our country these days for the pursuit of raising children, there is alot to be said if they're still alive when the sun sets on a midsummer's eve. Especially if they're not actually yours. . .

A few pieces of art have been forthcoming, conceived and completed between read aloud chapters of The Baseball Card Adventures by Dan Gutman (okay, I admit I'm into them - they are after all, time travel adventures as well, and I'm def. down with the baseball stats, too, at this point), multiple viewings of Night at the Museum, breakfasts, snacks, lunches, and endless teatimes, and breaking up the unfair battles of two boys separated not just by 5 years in age, but interests as well. Oh, and did I also mention between my cat being attacked several times by a local fox gone rogue?

What I HAVE managed to finish was The Fence, glimpsed here in yet another fuzzy foto from my cell phone, and artfully digitized for your viewing pleasure --- at least you can see a corner of it tucked between the NE corner of our house (our bedroom) and the shed, lovingly known as Shed de Wafers (long story). And while I'm at it, I've returned to (well okay, maybe I never really left it) my Ladies of the Canyon past, as evidenced by the (again, altered) foto of The Clothesline (and do you see that sort of auxilliary line below the clothesline? Silver strung it years ago, for tightrope practice; he never took it down, so Dante and Sebastian have inherited it). I use the upper, official line daily, for handwashable glad rags, and also holding background papers to which I'm applying the old spray can (though USUALLY not at the exact same time). I have precisely 15 clothespins (because I stole a half dozen from September's backyard to add to my own 9 - and why did I only have 9 for pete's sake, one of which was originally intended for some arty thing or other?) for which I would love to find one of those cute vintage - well retro at least - cloth clothespin bags, you know the ones I'm talkin' about? But this week, with Colin back working in New Mexico, and my numerous unsuccessful attempts to fix the damn dryer myself, I finally threw in the towel - literally - and just hung everything out to dry. One can spend the better part of a day hanging one's mentionables (and un) up, and taking them down, with a few brief interludes to simply step back and admire the pretty picture it makes. Lucky we had those fierce winds between driving rain. The result? Our sheets smell lovely, but the after shower rub down (towel off) is trés harsh. Probably good for exfoliation though.

Up next:
Bunnies and Sqirrels and Fawns, Oh My!
Fab. Glue (that's punny)
Got Aprons?
and last but not least,
On a Clear Stamp You Can See Forever