Sadie and Dilly are good company. Trying to trap Dilly under the scissors to clip out mats is a challenge. One more to go and so far neither of us has drawn blood. She never had them before so I will blame it on the heat and humidity this year.
Mornings are still lovely and now with a tiny chill in the air.
The fog hangs around until mid morning.
With Annie Dillard passing this week, I recalled her writings that stuck with me. Remember the one…probably from An American Childhood…where her teacher, with all good intentions of showing her class a science experiment, raised a moth (or was it a butterfly?) in a glass jar? And when it went to spread its wings their was not enough room and one wing became deformed. The last she saw of it, it was walking away down the sidewalk. The story made me feel so sad and angry at the same time. And the image of a limping butterfly making its way down a concrete walk has forever lodged in my mind. I don’t remember if my own children ever read Annie Dillard’s books. I came across them after they were grown and off on their own. If their college readings centered around the natural world, they probably did. But I suspect most their reading was science based without the emotion of reading Dillard and others like her. I thought I still had most of her books on my shelves but only found, The Writing Life.
I remember not too many years ago, I saw a large female frog in the pond. It was patiently waiting for a much smaller male frog to finish his business while perched on her back. She kept trying to keep her head up while he busied himself with the task at hand. I wanted her to roll over and slap the little bugger. And when she didn’t, I just had to look away. And you know the first thought I had was when I looked away? Annie Dillard would have watched to the end and probably taken notes! I looked back and with a feeling of not being up to the task, I found both frogs had disappeared. Missed opportunities!
Anyway, Annie Dillard always made me to pay closer attention to Nature. Annie Proulx, to people. Remember how she, Proulx, was sitting in a bar in Wyoming when two fellows came in and something about them prompted her story, Brokeback Mountain? I don’t think much got past her or her imagination.
Nowadays I notice people more than Nature. Probably because I don’t take off onto unsteady ground to get among the frogs who might be waiting for me to show up. And people are most anywhere I look if I get out of my house and into town. Mostly I stay home and pretend I know what is going on without having to be there in person.
Speaking of pretending to be somewhere in person, I am vicariously attending the latest Tasmanian Basket Gathering and drawing/stitching in the Gathering Book. I only have the back side of this facing page and the book is complete. Should I make another book?
I think I am ready to make another political work for the garage. Already the Reflecting Pool one seems a year old. It is probably because the people’s choice for president can’t help himself from bouncing from one national embarrassment to another. And, of course, his ignorant, loyal followers need to know he is there for them. I can’t tell you how disappointing it is to hear so many complaints about what he causes and yet, see so little protest artwork being posted on social media. Thank heavens for the political cartoonists who have no problem putting their work out there. As long as I have space to hang a work and the time to give myself an opening reception, I will keep on.
Now an early drink is in order…a toast to the Annies.
Til later….