Don’t you wish we could stop worrying about how “old” we are, and start thinking positively about the years we have ahead? Life doesn’t stop at 13 or 25 or 30 or 40 or 50 or 60 or more. There’s always something to do. Something to learn. Someone to love.
Be mine or I’ll pout! One of my customers who bought this magnet had the cutest comment:
This will be a great V-day present for the husband… to remind him of my powers.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all!
It wouldn’t be St. Patrick’s Day without the saint himself wearing cat eye glasses, sporting a shamrock on a hybrid mitre/leprechaun hat, and pontificating about Guinness beer. So here it is, my first ever Saint Patrick’s Day magnet. I’ll probably add a card with this image too.
Cats are so emotionally and psychologically conflicted that when you hug them, they’re torn between whether to purr or bite you. If you hold them long enough, eventually the latter will happen. (BTW, Wookie is my lovin’ noogie nickname for my own mentally unbalanced kitty.)
This year, I really wanted to help the Girl Scouts raise money, but I can’t be in the same room with Thin Mints or Tagalongs without devouring them immediately. The compromise was to buy a couple of boxes from a co-worker and dispatch them to the break room, pronto, before they damaged my thighs.
I still managed to stuff FIVE cookies in my mouth before foisting them on the office. To my relief, most of them were gone by the time I got to work the next morning. Now the Girl Scouts are a little richer and my butt is no bigger than it was on Monday. It’s a happy ending for all (so to speak).
My super power is that I am an expert toast butterer because I make delicious toast. So says my husband, who tends to be very methodical about things. When he makes toast, he applies the butter evenly and consistently across the bread in paper-thin strokes. This exacting approach is great if you’re flossing your teeth or filing, but it sucks the art out of toast making.
I, in contrast, am a Matisse-inspired, Fauvist-style toast butterer, using wild impasto strokes to produce a buttery masterpiece. I have illustrated my approach below.
Don’t tell my mom this, but Renaissance art scares me. On Saturday, we (“we” being my mom, step dad, brother, my step dad’s grandson, and me) went to the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum in Boston. Now the Gardner is a drop-dead gorgeous place with a lot of incredible works from Renaissance artists like Raphael and Titian (no complaints about quality here). But Renaissance art is so…serious. Everyone looks like they’re about to kill or be killed by someone.
One especially haughty looking fellow was King Philip IV of Spain, who my brother dubbed the “pinhead King” because his head seemed all out of proportion with his body. In Philip’s defense, the giant cape, puffy shirt, and “Look ma, my head’s on a platter” collar did not help matters. Also, he was probably miserably hot in that royal get up, which might explain why he seems so crabby. My brother was feeling a bit less charitable and suggested that Philip needed a good smack to wipe that smug look off his face. Art is so open to interpretation.
After having a terrifically fun time, we all piled in the car, with we three “kids” squished in the back seat. My step dad, who is a devout Catholic, had a bible in his car, which is actually a really good idea if you’re driving around Boston.
P.S. The Gardner collection includes more than just Renaissance art. I was, for example, completely blown away by the etchings of J.M. Whistler and Anders Zorn. To die for.
My mom is visiting this weekend, and seeing as I’m one of those lucky people who have a really cool mom, I’m off to spend some time with her, my step dad, and my brother in Boston. Truly, my mom is the best–creative, smart, strong, beautiful–and I love her dearly (even though she made me wait forever until I could pluck my eyebrows or wear makeup). Here’s a big “hi” to you, mom. Love, the weirdest of your two middle kids and the shortest person in the entire family–Karin.
I just made a Facebook artist page and am feeling like a big Loser because I only have one like. One. single. like. Might someone else find it in their heart to like me too please (please)? Especially if you’re one of my family members–I know you’re out there. You really should like me. At least on Facebook.
P.S. My brother just asked me how to go about liking my Facebook page. If you go to the menu on the right and scroll down a little, you’ll see the Facebook Like button. Well, that’s one family member that likes me, but I have a really big family.
