Today I'm sharing a couple of pages from my art journal which I started a few months ago. I keep this journal and a box full of colored pencils and pens and a heart-shaped box of crayons near my seat in the living room. The journal gets opened at night when I'm not interested much in what's on TV or when I suddenly get a yen to draw and color something. Lately, for reasons unknown to me, elephants have been finding their way out of my imagination. I draw them on paper . I paint them on plates . I'm considering creating an elephant figure out of some of the chicken wire in the backyard. Freida is the name of the elephant up there in the photo. The Husband named her. Freida is a cutie with her curly bangs, red hoofs, and red ribbon. I wonder what kind of adventures she has been on. The singing gourds in my drawing were modeled on two dried gourds that Godmother Pat and Darling Jenn painted for us at our #21 anniversary party in September. See the lovely gourds

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. Crackle. Chirp. Chirp. Little brownish birds with yellow beaks landed on the persimmon tree branches above me. Hop, hop, hop. Chirp. Chirp. "Is it time for lunch?" I stepped away from the ladder. "Okay. I'll do something else until you're done." Right after the birds had their fill, the Husband came outside and he kindly picked a basket of persimmons for me. A wonderful day.

Today is shameless promoting of us, the Husband and me, and our art work at Happy_Macs , a Zazzle.com store. When you click on that link, you'll find our first products for sale—two 2018 calendars featuring the cartoons of the Husband, a.k.a Arrmac. For those who didn't know or had forgotten about Arrmac, he was in a cartooning frame of mind from 1998 to 2007. I pulled them out of the archives to produce two calendars of his awesome work. Said Arrmac in words similar to these: I created these cartoons years ago, but the Wife continues to promote me. Well, yeah.

"'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free. . ." ~ Joseph Brackett

I need a broom to sweep the dirt off the sidewalk in the front yard, which means a slow walk around the house to the shed in the backyard. I push apart the rusty sliding shed door and immediately spy the broom in the filled, and so far neat, interior. The broom, mind you, is not pristine. It looks a little frayed. Still, I find myself say, "I can't use you." Oh no! That's the Mama in me speaking. A broom lasted literally forever for her because she let it sit for many months before using it, and when she did, it was sparingly. I shook off the Mama's voice.  The broom in the shed is solely for outdoor purposes, including sweeping dirt from the cement. So what that we bought the broom within the past year or so. So what that the broom will get more bent out of shape because I really need to sweep with extra muscle. It's not going to put us in the poorhouse if we need to buy a new broom. (At least, not yet. Maybe not ever if the current GOP tax bill loses

I had it in my mind yesterday afternoon to pick more persimmons, rake the leaves, and clean up the canna lilies I dug out before breakfast.  It was a gorgeous autumn day, the sun's warmth keeping the  chill at bay. Before I knew it I had painted those plates up there in the photo. Maybe today, I might get to those tasks. This was my second adventure with plate painting. This time I discovered some things about me: One, the plate is my canvas, I say with dramatic relish. Two, a plate's design, such as a border of faint red and blue flowers, can be painted over, with abandon. So much for the Mama's chinaware that she only displayed. It's not like I'm doing anything different other than displaying them, with new faces, in the the yard somewhere. Three, painting the whole canvas is cool. It was with much restraint that I didn't paint a background behind Konnie, the small rambunctious elephant. Four, mixing colors is the same joyful sensation I got when

Damnzel furiously trumpets at the heartless and selfish Republicans in Congress. They've sold their souls to Evil, which is putting it kindly.

Dear Friends, today I give to you my first fictional story as a retired lady. You're welcome. Giggle.

I say I'm retired, so I must be retired. I haven't had a big paying project in years, so I might well say I'm retired. I kicked in my Social Security. That definitely feels g-r-e-a-t! I hope these new tires are durable and long lasting. They're guaranteed for life I'm told.  

Once upon a time the Husband and the Mama each bought me a simple dehydrator for Christmas. The Mama let me choose my present from her, while the Husband said, "Surprise!" I'm spoiled rotten, I tell you. Yes, I returned one dehydrator. As for the kept dehydrator, I experimented with it once. The dehydrator was nothing more than five plastic trays sitting on top of a plastic base that has a heating element in it. Both the Mama and I agreed that it took a lot of hours to dry a handful of fruit. Not to say I had to interrupt whatever I was doing to rotate the trays every two hours. After that one time I cleaned the trays and put everything back into its box. On Sunday, I decided that I wanted to dry some persimmons so I brought out the dehydrator. Instructions stated that it would take at least 24 hours to dry the fruit, which I figure would be about five or six persimmons. I didn't like the idea of the flimsy-looking machine being on while we slept. Besides I w

Last Saturday, the Husband and I walked a bit along a slough. I'm not kidding about "a bit". We couldn't find access to a slough where I felt like we wouldn't be trapped by four-legged or two-legged creatures. When we saw what looked like someone's tent by the water, we took the other path which circled us back to the car. Because I now walk on knees without cartilage the bit of a walk was good enough. We even climbed up an incline that had me gasping for breath at the top. It wasn't until I was looking at my photo on the computer that I saw the duck and egret in the scene, which I didn't see because I was so focused on composing the shot with the palm trees in the distance. With the magic of Photoshop, I was rewarded with this wonderfulness. I'm hooking up with Our World Tuesday . It's been a while. Click here to check out the other participants from around the world.

Ever had spaghetti pizza? The other day I used leftover spaghetti, made with a friend's awesome marinara sauce, as the "sauce" for a pizza. The spaghetti had zucchini, red pepper, yellow onion,  two huge handfuls of spring salad mix, and brie. On top of the spaghetti went layers of red onion, pepperoni, green olives, pimento, and farmer cheese. The marinara sauce was homemade by friend Gloria who grinds her own mixture of dried herbs and spices. The sauce had a light and mellow taste. Subtle and sophisticated. Wowza wow wow! Gloria gave us two tubs of her sauce, one for the freezer.  There are so many possibilities for the second tub. I could use it as a base for a cioppino or make a pasta dish with Italian sausage, for example. Both the Husband and I agree that we could even slurp up the sauce straight as soup. Yummmmm. Thank you, Gloria!

Caaa! Caaaa! Caaaa! We like sharing the persimmons with the crows and the other birds. Why not? I'm linking up at All Seasons , a weekly meme hosted by Jesh at Artworks from JeshStG. Click here to check out Jesh and click here to check out other participants.

In 1974 the Daddy and I brought back wall plaques of peacocks and fishes from our visit to the Philippines. Gifts for the Mama, the wall art were made of coconut shells. Until last year, the pieces wore their plastic wrappings and were carefully stored away. The Mama wanted to make sure they stayed pristine forever, of course. Of course, when I discovered the plaques last year, I ripped them out of their packaging and set them aside to sell in our garage sale. No one wanted to buy them. That was fortunate. A few weeks ago, on a whim, I colored in one of the peacock plaques with acrylic paints. Not the one above. That's my second effort. I'm finding zen as I color between the lines. There are two or three more plaques that I can color, if I want. And I want. A couple of dull-looking vases could also use a paint job. . . .

Hint: Find the watermark, and gaze downwardly.    Giggle.  Purrrrrrrrr.  

Have you ever wondered what Thanksgiving Day is all about? How it came to be?  It's not about the big box store sales that start earlier each year on Thanksgiving Day.  Or, is it? It's not about the huge generous portions of turkey, stuffing, gravy, pumpkin pie, and other yummy food that friends and family gather together to consume. Though that is much to be thankful for, especially if you don't have to do anything but eat. It's not even about the Pilgrims who supposedly ate the first Thanksgiving meal in the New World with the original residents of the land. According to the Wikipedia article, Thanksgiving Day originated as a kind of harvest festival. You know, as in thank you, God, for all the food that we have been able to grow, gather, eat, and store for the harsh cold months until we can grow food again.  I am indeed very thankful for the lemons, persimmons, avocados, apples, and tomatoes that we harvest from our backyard. In the early years of the United State

Yes, I know. I look cute hanging out in my cute surroundings.  If you please, I would like to continue my nap in peace.  Perhaps you would like to go read my movie reviews . Purrrrrrrrrrr.   

"Mr. Herd," said she.  "I am your guide." "Pleased to meet you." he said  "Call me Shep." "Shep Herd?" "Why yes that is what I do." Ba dum tssssshhh. You're welcome.

A party has been going on in my head, and it has been rather rowdy at times. We all do need to be rowdy once in a while, but within reason. Within reason.  Who coined that phrase? How long did it take for others to start saying it? Before it was explained in a dictionary? In a grammar book? Is this phrase an idiom? Are idioms even taught anymore? Pshew! See what I mean? A party is going on in my head! Some of you may have thought that my idea of rowdy is making loud and happy noises, and possibly doing a silly prank or two on the Husband. That, of course. Sure. Maybe. Not telling. Giggle.   Rowdy to me is also playing with words and sentences, and thoughts and concepts. Once upon a time 11 years ago I jumped out of a plane. That was not hard at all. If you freeze, like I think I did, your instructor (the professional skydiver to whom you're hooked), merely pushes you over as he falls forward. Me jumping out of the plane (from 18,000 feet up in the air, too, mind you) w

Missy Molly plopped herself down in my path for her first morning purrrr! and petting. Pretty Molly. " Mew! Where do think you're going? I want breakfast." "I want to do this first," I said, opening the back door to the chilly morning. I leaned out the door, talked into the air, and watched for poofs of cold breath to float away. Nothing. "Good," I said, opening the door wider. Molly scurried to the south and I limped to the north with a bucket full of dumb cane. Dieffenbachia to some. A few weeks ago, I finally took the overgrown dumb cane out of its pot. Wowza, I tell you. The plant's thick tangled roots completely filled the medium-sized pot. Sorry guy. It is the sole descendant of the original plant that the Husband received as a gift in the mid-1970s. From this successor of a dieffenbachia, I pulled apart about a dozen more descendants. I also snapped pieces from two or three tall stalks to try growing more that way. With luck a