It’s that perfect union where death becomes beauty before swallowing it whole- bits of brownish-cream playing at the edges of what’s left of the vibrant pink. In the grand fashion that is Autumn, I’m anticipating the blaze of glory that’s about to light up all the trees without an ounce of help from anything pumpkin spice. (Love the spice, just not the accompanying commercial bandwagon.) ♦
In pairing down and letting go in recent years, I went through a box filled with childhood clothing. Among the contained pieces, was this felt Robin Hood hat acquired at age five during a family trip to Disneyland. I snagged the remaining feather, sticking it alongside a number of books residing on my nightstand. A quick photo helps capture the memories that float to the surface when presented with the object, while not having to fill space with the crumpled felt and brittle plastic remains. Win-win! ♦
Lots of posts about people all scaredy-catted to go see the new Stephen King It flick- me, I just feel like I’m off to visit an old friend. Count it a character flaw, a vice- trash in, trash out- yet still I view. Here’s a timely shadow found on my sister’s car seat formed from the sticker plastered on the window. For those in the know, it’s more than legible. ♦
Years ’n’ years ago, I owned VW Beetles of the 1974 Super variety. Two, in fact, both the color of Crayola Sky Blue. Made one a pet project- removed the interior- all the seats, panels, ceiling, carpet, hardware, windows, seals, etc. Stripped and sanded the exterior down to the metal to build it back up again- primer on up. Had art cars on the mind at the time (still do)! The first paint job sits on the bottom and the redo sits on the top- complete with many a glued gem in going for a perma-raindrop-esque kinda deal. I’d love to do another someday- something wacky and outlandish, possibly clever! ♦
Found at Walmart (WHY am I here again, it’s a rare, rare thing, thankfully), an irreparable travesty. They’re tryin’ anything to save on packaging costs these days.
While standing in line (cuz it’s Walmart), I found this on my phone while looking for an image of pinecones. This comparison corroborates my previously shared experience at the Olympic Game Farm. Bad llamas. Look at that poor little alpaca made to stand upon the back of that there llama and painstakingly tongue bathe its bad llama hairs one by one.
ASIDE: I need more letters of the alphabetical variety to fix the following conundrum. I don’t like the informality of “cuz” coupled with the way I most often write, buuut I don’t like the proper way either, that of “‘cause.” When reading it, my mind doesn’t read it as I say it which is most certainly C-U-Z. Oh, well, there are worse things. “Cuz” it is for now.
My Dad was heading out of my place today, and commented on the sorry state of one of my beloved plants. The poor dear hasn’t been responding well no matter what I’ve attempted, ever since following me home in June-ish. Despite its deceptive show of green here, it’s dropped nearly two-thirds of its leaves. “Can’t stay here, too many colors, need sleep,” says my Dad, his best attempt at explaining the plant’s troubles, its suicide, in fact, so says my dad. Struck me kinda funny, and I now see its long lanky leaves reaching for the sky as a neurotic cry for help. Hoping the current regimen will stabilize the thing- it’s fairly ginorm to be staging a death in the middle of my living room. ♦