Whosain Molt

Okay. There is no pretending that this is a stellar drawing. I have done very little art work since my sister passed on, so am more than rusty; yet, this is good enough for me. Sheesh. Am distracted by the bulge. BRB. Gotta go fix it.

Okay. It is done. I am too lazy to scan another copy, so I hope you will take my word that the tweaked drawing is much better. So. I did the sketch for my brother, who is the only person I know who doesn’t the name of the fastest man on the planet. To help him out, I decided to send him the entire Olympics 2012 sport section of the NYT I’ve been saving for any possible future grands that might come my way. Since I could not send him such marvels in a plain white envelope, I tarted it up just a little. Hope you get at least a smile from my efforts.

Be well.

Li

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THE POINTER SISTERS

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Um . . . a friend saw this one and asked “Why are they called the pointer sisters?” Not snickering ’cause am not sure if I’ve posted this one before. If I did, and I have, it would be a lot like the pot calling the waffle iron aluminum. He-he.

Please, please, PLEASE, tell me you get it. You get the posters, too, right?

WARMTH

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I think I need a new scanner. My colors are more vibrant than they appear here. Hmm.

Speaking of art therapy? Was leaving when the tail feathers caught my eye, and I heard myself inside my head. “Oh, wow. O-Bird is right. Look at that!”¬†And, so I did. I stopped and I looked with all of my attention focused, but not crazy-staring. And this is some of what I saw:

My world might look/feel/seem dark and dreary–sad and weary–but I am here. It shows in the colorful tail feathers. The sadness, pain, and all the other too-personal-to-mention-in-public stuff can’t be hidden. The tree is only sparsely leafed. The grass isn’t all that green. The flowers are respectfully carrying on. They feel me. The BERD that is this limner still cannot look the world in the eye, but it is functioning on a basic level. The horse hair blanket is appropriate. It hurts but offers warmth and a degree of comfort. It’s all here. Everything is here.

Happy Birthday!

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Wish I could share my cake with you. I haven’t cut it yet, although my birthday was today/yesterday, or when ever Wednesday, the 25th was the day’s date. Would have needed help blowing out the candles, so there were none. Besides, I’m not celebrating until my youngest sister wakes from the deep sleep she’s in. Comas are funny things. They’re both good and not good. They can be good for the one who’s in one, yet not so good for those awake. No matter. There will time to celebrate. Oh, happy day.