My summer copilot Boncuk is on my left shoulder, happily grooming the hair on the side of my head near my ear and also finding the odd "where the heck did that come from?" hair from my post-age 50 face or neck. Cheers, pal. His touch is so light and delicate that I hardly know he's there and occasionally get a shiver from his little beak preening. By contrast, Kizzy woke me with bellowing good morning screams of desperation to get the day underway.Now that he sees me, he is silent and patient, and Hapi just says "Ok, gonna have coffee," and mimics the coffee pot and the pour. The pups are sleeping on their bed, waiting for breakfast, and the cats have sullenly left the room as they have been fed already but my humble offerings were not enough. Sorry, boys.
So this is summer.
Frantic rushing forgotten for a while...I could enjoy a life of this pace, I think, but then realize how easy it is to slip into lazy mode. Happy to have art time, and am working a lot on the School of Stitched Textiles course, and really enjoying it. While my heart is pulling me to go to Hampton for the day and just sit by the sea, I have a feeling I'll be sitting by the Pfaff wrestling scraps into something coherent that I can call art. My house is an unholy mess but my threads and beads are sorted and under control. A day off. Again. Priceless and appreciated, universe!
Funny enough, I have little bags of fabric scraps sorted into neat color combos that I envision becoming a quilt or little mummy dolls. No thought required, just show up and sew them. Have I touched them in the year they've been in my art room? Nope. Too busy with Thoughtful Projects. Maybe a day of sew-play is in order...
Or maybe I'll go the beach. Or maybe I'll go to Portsmouth...or...maybe..go... During the school year I am rushed and sick to the point of having no choices. Now choice makes me freeze like one of the baby bunnies I see by the sidewalk when I walk my dogs. Too many choices leads to no choice at all, really. All year long I crave art time...and here it is. It will be gone before I know it! During the school year, I get flooded with memories of waking up at Hampton as a little girl. Smelling the ocean before opening my eyes. Stopping at the Ashworth Market and getting a little bag of Swedish Fish and then loping down to the beach alone and walking with the seagulls, enjoying the quiet beach before it became packed and crazy. The empty arcades, the warm sun, the freedom and peace. Happy place.
But these are just memories, and when I go today, it is usually too late and the beach is already loud and crowded, and it is hard for me to walk on the sand with the legs I now have. I go for a swim because I think I should, having come all the way there. I don't like laying on the beach, or reading, and get a bit bored. I end up thinking of all the things I could be doing with this precious time.
I just like waking up at the beach and the scent of the ocean before opening my eyes. Sometimes I can smell the ocean here where I live when it is caught on a breeze and it is magnificent, especially at night, because it is not an every day occurrence. It reminds me that the beach is very close, and always within reach. I do think that living here is the best of all worlds.
But staying home and focusing on art time also means chilling with the pups, who I know will not be here forever. Tilly had a medical scare this week that we are still not completely through, so I don't want to leave him alone for too long. Testing has shown that my poor 7.3 lb wonder is in relatively okay health for an older gentleman but a recent diet change has tossed his digestive tract into chaos. Not out of the woods, but there are um..signs of productivity. So out we go to the sidewalk five or six times a day, with hopes of seeing what most people hate to have to look at. I remind myself that someday, sadly, I won't have this option.
Onward. Beach, Pfaff, or sidewalk, it will be a good day. Cheers.