Almost here!

We are on high Pickle alert in the little yellow house. Our new puppy, if they can come through with a current picture of him next to my name on a piece of paper, we're not buying air here, is white and tan, sweet and scruffy, and, hopefully, small. His parents both weighed under 8 lbs., so he should be a little bugger. That would be nice, as I could keep him forever in the Pickle tote bag, which is now sitting by the door, all ready for the little guy. Boo listens intently when I tell him about his new adopted little brother and looks like he is all excited, too. Or maybe he just thinks I am going to give him a Milkbone. Exciting time here. Puppies bring so much love with them, warm fuzzy love, too. I have had some heartaches lately. Pickle will be very welcome here.

Appliance wars...

Our weather is flopping around like a dying fish. One day, it is triple-digit hot, and the next it barely reaches the half-century mark. I had retired the heat dish to its summer home in the garage, replacing the fan which came inside for duty. Now they are both sitting, side by side, awaiting the current day's offerings. Yes, I have this tender little body that does poorly against changes in temperature. I wear a sweater to the market year round because of those chilly refrigerated aisles that always make me shiver and goosebump up. Probably there is no ideal temperature for me, because the interior temp changes often, too, especially because of my inordinate love of coffee, a demon for causing really violent hot flashes. But I am ready for whatever gets laid on me here.

Stick a fork in me, I'm done!

Another semester is history. Last of the finals today, and they saved the best for last, the art history memory bowl. I did pretty well, I think. Like, perfect. Or damned near. What a difference studying makes! And I took back the last of my library books, sold the textbooks back, cleaned out my locker and my slot in back of the painting room, then rode the funny elevator with the windows in back up to my car in the parking garage, for the last time. Sigh. Well, for the last time in a while. I will probably go back for some more education, eventually, like next spring, when I plan on taking that one pesky class I need to graduate in my major. And maybe another bout of figure drawing, and some more painting classes, like watercolors, and, oh, I want to take a photography class, and, well, you see, it will go on as long as I do, probably. But for now, I need to go around the house and collect all the shoes that seem to have migrated to odd corners, and mow the lawn, and do some laundry, and renew my driver's license and cancel my #$%^&** satellite service and get something that will not change the channels all by itself, right in the middle of my favorite programs. Yeah. Sounds like a plan for tomorrow, when I have nothing to do.

Pomp and Circumstance, Then and Now...

Saturday, I mosied over to my hometown for my high school's centennial celebration. Tents were set up on the football field (first time my toes ever danced on that grass) for decades of classes. Right across from the 60's tent, where I hung out most of the time, was the 20's, 30's and 40's tent where my folks hung out, briefly. Long enough, though for my mother to get her picture in the Sunday paper, representing as she did the Class of '39 (Dad was '38). They weren't the oldest there, either. Meanwhile, back in the wild 60's, we were variously fat, wrinkled, grizzled or otherwise beaten up by life. Some were recognizable. Most were not. Nevertheless, we were there, alive and kicking, and for the most part, healthy, too. My feet were killing me, so I schlepped out of there after five hours. Got to see some really great old faces.

And, so, from the ridiculous to the sublime, my daughter graduated from law school the next day, magna cum laude. What a beautiful young woman she was in her velvet cap and purple-edged gown, with her juris doctorate hood trailing behind her. The Hon. Willie Brown was the guest speaker, an alum of '58, so it was a lively ceremony. I loved that they played Pomp and Circumstance, which was missing at her two previous graduation exercises. And the recessional was done to the final credit music from Star Wars. I just loved that bit of whimsey. We had a lovely dinner together before she was off with man and friends in tow for a mega-party at a local bar they shut down for the occasion. Oh, and did I mention she ran the Bay to Breakers in the morning, in an old cap and gown? What a kid. As we speak, she is at her bar class, with tons of materials, buckled down for the next 10 weeks till the exam.

And I have now taken my first final (a snap), am off to my final critique in principles of color, then home to buckle down myself for the biggee tomorrow morning, the art history blue-book torture test. Will be done, soon. Not too soon for this tired little lady.

As soon as school is over...

My whole life is hung up till school ends. I have been shopping for possible Pickles (my new Pekingese pup), but can't get him/her till school ends. The yard needs attention. The house is a natural disaster. I need to get my driver's license renewed. Only 1 1/2 little weeks. Last art history class this morning, and we are in the 20th century, when art melted its container and went all over the place. We learned about Dada Monday, and it seems impossible that it could get stranger than that, but we haven't even gotten to Jackson Pollock or Andy Warhol yet. Actually, I think our book skips old Andy. The gal who wrote it probably didn't like the wig. And last painting class is this afternoon. I am doing a very large, very fast copy of a woodblock print by Chiuro Obata, a Japanese American who taught art here in the Bay Area. Lovely colors. But what was I thinking, a 24" x 30" in two little three hour sessions? I like challenges, that's for sure. Happy to report, though, that I got an A on my color portfolio, and on my mythology presentation. So, if it ever ends, it will be a success, for sure.

Seeing red...

My parents have never been to my house. To be fair, I am older than dirt, so you can imagine how old the folks are. However, one of their favorite supermarkets lives half a block away. Sigh. So, my mother is kind of flying blind when she buys me gifts for the house. One of them was this really goofy cannister set, beige with grapes and vines all over them, blue lids with little bunches of graped for topknots, and lots of curlyques around the top and bottom. If they sound awful, well, they were. But, loyal daughter that I am, I put them on my counter and stored flour and dried cranberries and nuts in them (don't bake anymore, and don't use sugar, coffee is in the fridge), for about eight years. And suddenly, I looked at them and said NO MORE. Today, I bought a set of ultra-sleek bright red cannisters with airtight lids, each with their own handy dandy spoon attached, four of them. At Target, for $19.99. Best $20 bucks I have spent in years. Every time I walk by them, my heart goes pitty pat. My kitchen looks like, well, MY kitchen. Okay, it's not much of a rebellion, but I think it counts. And when my mother goes to her reward, the kitchen table is going to the Good Will, too. Can't do it yet. She may want it back. Yeah, she's like that.

Some days I should just stay in bed...

Actually, I used to schedule mental health days spent all scrunched up with pillows, quilts, laptop, dog, and a few good movies on the VCR. I usually couldn't make it past 3 PM, but I felt renewed anyway. And then there are days when the perversity fairies take over, and things just don't perk along as they should. It started with forgetting to put the pot under the brewing coffee, not a good idea at all. I stubbed my toe. I dropped an egg on the floor. Somehow, I got breakfast together, then sat down to check my e-mail. And, no desktop! Again! Now, I know how to get around without my icons, but what a pain. So, after a trip to Costco and most of a noon meeting, I sat down to work on it. Annoying pop-up kept telling me I had infections on my disk, click here and send $$$ to rid myself of them. I tried running my pop-up zapper. It wanted more $$$, too. Then I found my desktop, got online, and downloaded a super-duper zapper. And after running it, no desktop! Again! I walked away for a while, always a good idea, as steam was coming out my ears by then. Later, once again, I got it back (secret is getting into MSCONFIG file, once I found it), and now we are perking along. Very slooooowly perking along, but even limping, I am happy the good old gal is back. And it is perhaps time to retire her, though it would not be any different with a new, slick sucker. Those viruses are everywhere. Makes me want to pull the covers over my head.

Hair today, hair tomorrow...

As a teenager, my mother will tell you I was obsessed with my hair. This was because the good hair fairy skipped a generation and left me with all this admittedly very shiny, but also very fine hair (my kids got the thick, luxurious locks, thus sparing my mother's angst). To this day, I pack the kid's tiny baby hair combs in my Baggalini. I have tried it short. I have tried it long. It is best short, I decided, and got it all whacked off recently, in stages, so I could lessen the shock. It looked so good, I couldn't figure out why I didn't do it sooner. Then I remembered. Short hair is always too short when you get it cut. Then it hits optimum length, and looks super. For about three days. Then it is too long, and it looks lumpy and bumpy and lopsided. Lots of product helps, but it also makes it look like I am wearing a haystack. It stays that way until the day you decide to get it cut. That day, it will look absolutely fabulous. Hey, I don't make the rules. I just laugh at them.