She puzzled and puzzed...

Here is the deep thought for the day - you can't be where you're going until you get there. Well, duh. But, gee, I hate that travel time. I am halfway to my final destination, when I can lay down any fear that my eyesight will be damaged by this surprising and exceedingly inconvenient condition that was laid on me at birth. I don't like waiting for anything, you know. Sometimes I eat nothing for dinner but dessert. That should illuminate things for anyone who was wondering if I had passed my sainthood test. Not there, not even close. And sorry to say, my eyes are no longer a matched set. The right iris, the one that got zapped, is wider than the left. In fact, the left looks more like a three quarter moon now in comparison. And the pupil on the right is more open, too. That probably means that, like the right eye, the iris in the left eye is convex as well. This is not good. So I pray that on Monday, when Dr does a look-see, he will decide to do the second procedure SOON. Even though it hurts, and is totally unpleasant, I will be thrilled to put my chin in the little rest and let him thump away with his fancy green light. Let us hope it only takes a few little knocks next time.

Terminal uniqueness...

I have always been different. First, I was the only girl in my generation, for 16 years, that is, until my youngest uncle began his family. And I was the tallest person in my sixth grade class, even taller than the teacher, Mr. Magill. Now, in my latter years, I am the oldest in most of my classes, even older than my teachers. Some could be my kids. And yet, I was unprepared for the experiences I had at the eye doctor's. First, there is this rare condition, an inherited anatomical anomaly that threatens to close off the drains for the interocular fluid, allowing the pressure to build up amazingly fast and produce blindness within 48 hours if not attended to. Except that I had little "dips" in the angles, sort of little troughs that helped keep them open. Nevertheless, pressure was building, so we scheduled the laser surgery. I had the first one (one eye at a time) yesterday. Now, I was led to expect that this was kind of a snap, a little zap that opened a hole in the iris to allow fluid between it and the lens and keep a space there, forever. My iris in my right eye was actually bowing out due to the pressure. Scary. I did all my pre-operative chores, getting my prescription for drops filled, and made a special trip to the drugstore for Tylenol, the requisite painkiller recommended, even though I had Aleve and Advil and Excedrin and ibuprofen and aspirin. Sigh. I took 2 Tylenol and headed out, chauffered by a dear friend as I would be pretty blind in one eye afterward. It took an hour for the drops that shrunk my pupil down to a period to work, then they plopped in the anesthetic drop, and we began the procedure. There were two lasers. The first produced a brilliant green light and served to charbroil the area where the puncture would go. It wasn't supposed to hurt. But it did. The second was supposed to hurt. But it didn't. Lucky me, I got extra pokes, lots of them, because my iris bled. This never happens. Except to me. Happy to say the Dr got around that pesky little drop of blood, and managed to consummate the procedure. And I came home with a post-operative instruction sheet that said use your drops, sight will return in a day or two, and otherwise, no restrictions on activities. Sounded like a walk in the park. Except I woke up in the night with scintillating pain. It felt like someone had shishkabobbed my eyeball and was turning it on a spit over hot coals. Nothing on my instruction sheet about this. I had left the Tylenol bottle by the bed with a glass of water, so I took a couple and propped myself up, giving it a moment before I decided if I was dying or not. And it subsided, slowly, but completely. Now I know to keep the Tylenol going on a regular basis. I am guessing that this does not happen to others who have this procedure, either. Just me. Must be another of God's little jokes. Good news is that, though my eye still feels like someone used it for a hockey puck, my vision cleared up and was perfect this morning, just 15 hours after the procedure. Bad news is that this was just the first of two operations. Don't know if knowing what to expect is a blessing or a curse. Probably, it couldn't get too much more complicated. Probably, the second one will go smoother. Please.

Tha little ofd lady valentine, ME!

All day yesterday I thought I should be doing something special for my valentine. What to do? I already had a fluffy white turtleneck sweater. My new Speedo had arrived, so I took it on its inaugural lap swim. Was that special enough? Since I got home and felt like I had broken my body, I decided no. I am not going to make my three requisite trips to gymlala this week due to eye surgery coming up, so I kind of pushed the workout a little. Then I was so sore, I couldn't think of much else than a hot soak and some aspirin. And today, I am tired from a long night of wrestling with Morpheus, a frequent occupation lately. Before I crapped out and laid down with my current novel for a little siesta, I took a trip to Safeway, and while there, plied the bakery aisles, looking for something bad for me, to soothe my sweet heart. Nothing leaped out at me. Then, as I threw yet another tub of Lite Cool Whip in my cart, there it was. This year, my valentine's name is Sara Lee. Lemon cake. Oh, joy in a yellow box! I had it for lunch, and then, for dessert, too. Do I feel guilty? Is the Pope Catholic? But it is a lovely, soporific kind of guilt. Now for that nap.

The current version. Sigh...

It has been cooled down, then warmed up again. Then the light got more intense with lighter values. Then it got kind of scuffed up, because it was too smooth and kind of trite. And here it is, for all that's worth. I have been slapping away at it for days now. I want to slap at something else for a while. The satisfying thing is that the idea somehow got out of my head and onto the canvas. Oh, the rudiments are always there. But the particulars are there, too. The creative process is very fickle. Seldom does it manifest completely as envisioned. Not that that's a bad thing. Actually, usually there is something accidental that is really brilliant, a bit of God's idea, on the canvas too. Happy accidents. Surprises. That's worth the whole kit and caboodle.

Homework...

So, Kevin says "draw a head". Could be from the handout he gave us, or from life. Well, the only live head I have around this house is mine, unless the dogs count, and I haven't seen any canine models yet in figure drawing, so, here I am. It was a quick study, and it really does look a little like me, though I don't think I look this young in real life, but hell, if I am going to go to all this work, I am going to freaking flatter myself a little. Otherwise, I'd take a photo.

Things change, Vol. XXXIV

I balked at the idea of spending big bucks for prescription glasses because I kept losing my cheapo readers. In the end, I was buying them three pairs at a time at Costco, and they just seemed to evaporate. But the world was getting really fuzzy, near and far away. Time for progressive lenses. Ouch. Telling the world you are getting progressive lenses is like telling the world you are pregnant. Everyone who has experienced pregnancy then is entitled to tell you their horror stories, bloody, painful births that they barely survived. And you stand there with your beachball belly, nodding and praying. Too late to do anything about that, folks. So, everyone, male and female, told me their woes with the progressive lenses. And, cheap little person that I am, I decided to do the 21 day persistence routine. I can get used to anything in 21 days, if I just keep pushing through the resistance. And, surprise! There wasn't any resistance. I felt comfortable (and really CLEAR) from the get-go. Just a little searching for the sweet spot at the computer, and need to remember to look down when negotiating stairs. And the piano will require the leftover pair of readers. Can's see the top of the page and the keys at the same time. But, otherwise, I am happy as hell being old four eyes here. Wish I had gotten cuter frames, but I chose ones that I could not see over or under or around. Later, I can get a cutsey-poo pair for social occasions. And, surprise! I have not lost them once! That is probably because I put the on in the morning (usually after a short period of what-is-wrong-with-this-picture), and they stay parked there all day. Really hard to lose them after all!

And now for something entirely different...

My daughter once noted she didn't like still life paintings because they seemed so contrived. Well, yes, there must be some artifice in setting the objects to their best advantage, for sure. I decided that it would be fun just to take little slices of my life and immortalize them on canvas. So here is my Walmart lamp, on top of my teensy rolltop desk, with books and a painting I did earlier in my opus, another still life of sunflowers. I's just the beginning, of course. I will be diddling with it for a while yet. But I am liking it already, very warm. I think the microwave may become my next subject.

Sometimes, you just have to give up...

I have been trying to make this painting interesting, change the values, change the pigments, make the cow cuter, painterly it up. Just isn't going to happen, folks. And that is what happens sometimes. I thought about doing something outrageous, like go purple or orange or real impasto. In the end, it is what it is, kind of vanilla. Oh, hell, vanilla is more amazing than this poor guy. So, back to the drawing board. I'm thinking a nice still life would be fun.

Sayonara, dear Speedo...

I suppose it is a monument to my diligence that I have successfully shredded my first Speedo. I levered myself out of the pool (had to swim in an inner lane with no ladder or steps to get out), and felt my bare bottom on the cement deck. Fortunately, my towel was not that far away, and no one looks at anyone at the gym anyway, at least not when I am looking at them, and when I slicked it off in the shower, I could see that it was all lacy across the rump. Good that I got an auxilliary suit recently, though it is a little tight still. Takes a while to break in a Speedo, I found. Just in case, I ordered another at swimoutlet.com, a roomier one, on close-out, too. I plan on wearing out bunches of workout stuff. Keeps me from wearing out, you know.

Progress, not perfection...

My second trip through the vicissitudes of figure drawing finds me more receptive to the teacher and less afraid of that great big blank page that stares at me first thing. I am a seat-of-the-pants kind of gal. I don't like looking for the large trocanter or the scapula. I just want to draw what I see. But Kevin, dear teacher, is right. If I can't map the underlying structure, I can't get a true rendering of the subject. This drawing was about as successful as I have been so far. There is a real assuredness of line that is really new for me. Proportions look pretty believable, if not exactly true. The attitude is good, too, because I am doing what Kevin has been trying to get me to do from the beginning, drawing from the inside out, mapping shapes instead of objects. My pencil just seemed to take off on its own. There's hope for me yet!

The Boo is not amused...

As I drove him to the vet this morning, I kept telling him how sorry I was. But he had these really gnarly wartlike things on his eyelids, and they grew all the way through so that his eyeballs were getting irritated, and they were growing, so time to do the right thing and get them removed. He reluctantly got into the car, actually. Then I had to drag him into the vet's, where he sat quivering and shaking. Well, can you blame him? Now he is home, at least most of him is here. He walked in, made a sideways trip to his bowl, then stood there as if he had forgotten where he was. Mostly, he just lays on the floor, with his tongue out, making burbling noises. We have a bagfull of medications, and he has to wear his new appliance for at least a week so that he doesn't open the incisions, which are sealed with purple sutures. How punk is that! I just hate seeing an animal suffer, but it beats having those awful things on his eyes, I think.

Pardon my insensitivity, but I'm not all that well yet...

I was toodling home from the gym today, all pumped up and full of endorphins, when I noticed a roadside shrine, you know, flowers and pictures and notes taped to a telephone pole by the side of the street. And that always makes me kind of sad/mad/scared. Especially this one, that is right around the corner from my house, on the street that I go up and down every single blasted day. Part of me wondered how anyone could get going fast enough on that street to kill themselves. So perhaps no one actually died. But then, I have never seen one of these monuments for someone who bumped their head or broke their pelvis. No, of course someone left the planet. Another part of me was really indignant that they should do that so close to ME. Oh, I am so not well yet. It is all about me, still. Ouch. It reminded me of that night a couple of summers ago, coming home from a dinner party and getting all balled up because that very same street was all blocked off with a feeding frenzy of emergency vehicles. How rude! And the next day, finding out a young woman lost her life there. They just recently stopped putting flowers at that site. What a life this is. And how soon it can be gone. Right around the corner.