Sunday, January 18, 2009

comforting my daughter; cleaning up the dishes

As I am about to hit the road again early next morning, I am musing:

Boys aged 5 and 8 are loud, messy, tornadoes.

I can't cook.

I can still comfort my grownup daughter in her post op pain.

My son in law can cook.

I can complete six small gouache paintings in nine days.

My daughter's new dog is a spoiled bitch.

But anything my daughter loves, I love too.

Cleaning up is easier than cooking.

My daughters friends are great cooks.

And it is time for me to go home to my own dog, who is also spoiled and ate one African sculpture and one pillow in my absence, and to my husband who says he missed me but only after I begged him to say it.

And....that I love the long drive both here and back is nine hours of personal freedom to stop and pee when I want, to eat when I want and to wander where I want. But I'll head straight home to the cozy that is waiting for me.

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I am living and painting in the little town of Houston. A far way from my San Francisco beginnings. I paint what I see of the human condition, be it human, animal or object. The glimmer of humor, pathos, and spirit in so much of what I see is the basis of what I paint.


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