Dear reader, you know your world's a bit surreal when this is your skyline. And two doors down there's a sphinx. Yonder, the Eiffel Tower.
If you kicked it with your ruby slippers, you'd probably punch through styrofoam and a bunch of winged harpies would fly away.
Don't ask me how I know that.
Last night we watched Sophie's volleyball camp at UNLV. She looked pale with dark rings under her eyes. It's been a long, continuous summer of volleyball for that girl...at this point I suspect one gym is blending into the next.
Izzy, too, is participating in a music camp at the university.
With all this extra driving, there must occasionally be a good place to stop.
This is a very good place.
I'm not sure how one is meant to use these little spatulas, but that hardly deters me from wanting them. I would caress my face with them. And wave them like sceptres. And shoo things away, like unfolded laundry.
Also on my list of things I have no clue how to use but desperately want: these.
Indian yellow. Alizarin orange.
If I had one of those pigment sticks, it would be the end of me. I'd fondle it like Gollum and the ring. I'd retreat to a cave and stare into its hue until the sun itself seemed drab by comparison. If my children climbed the mountain and begged: please, Mum, come home and make dinner!, I'd hiss and cling to the stalactites.
And that is why I didn't get one.
This paper, too, forced me into a stern personal lecture (aloud, of course) about keeping one's hands to oneself. I wanted to caress it, to hold it close to my skin. To giggle, hum, and gently rock back and forth and name it Charlotte.
On the twentieth time I told myself don't touch, I reached out and touched!
I have a certain madness when it comes to paper.
But the moon is full and a few nights ago I went back for another run--this one fragrant, more peaceful, though not without an aching hamstring.
And these clouds turned from silver to coral to lavender, illuminated from within by a lightning storm which made them appear like giant Chinese lanterns hanging in the sky in celebration of some mesmerizing, heavenly event.
Wishing you a lovely weekend.