The bottom row left to right are the finished pieces From top to bottom shows the process. All were inspired from a sticker on Schatzi's cage when she traveled from Germany to the States that says-LIVE ANIMALS! Acrylic collage on paper 10 x 14 each click to enlarge
It's Just a Dog From time to time people tell me, "Lighten up, it's just a dog," or, "That's a lot of money for just a dog." They don't understand the distance traveled, the time spent or the costs involved for "just a dog."Some of my proudest moments have come about with "just a dog."Many hours have passed and my only company was "just a dog," but I did not once feel slighted. Some of my saddest moments have been brought about by "just a dog," and, in those days of darkness, the gentle touch of "just a dog" gave me comfort and reason to overcome the day. If you, too, think it's "just a dog," then you will probably understand phases like "just a friend," "just a sunrise," or "just a promise.""Just a dog" brings into my life the very essence of friendship, trust, and pure unbridled joy."Just a dog" brings out the compassion and patience that makes me a better person. Because of "just a dog" I will rise early, take long walks and look longingly to the future. So for me, and folks like me, it's not "just a dog" but an embodiment of all the hopes and dreams of the future, the fond memories of the past and the pure joy of the moment."Just a dog" brings out what's good in me and diverts my thoughts away from myself and the worries of the day. I hope that someday they can understand that it's not "just a dog" but the thing that gives me humanity and keeps me from being "just a human."So the next time you hear the phrase "just a dog." just smile....because they "just don't understand."- Anonymous Schatzi was rushed to the hospital once again last night for emergency surgery. She made it through, but will have to be put on a bland diet from now on. No more bones. Her weak stomach cannot take it. My mother sent me this poem this morning. It says what I want say in such a better way than I believe I could at this moment. Please continue to pray for our little girl. She is more than "just a dog" to us...............
I did this pastel drawing about 10 years ago. I used to draw from my sub-conscious. Starting off with squiggly charcoal lines and letting the images emerge. The balding man with the dark beard used to appear quite frequently. This particular drawing was once
in a show in Denver. At the opening a man asked me who the bearded man was. When I began to tell him how he just showed up in my drawings usually taking center stage or placing himself in the background, it was then that I realized it was him that I was speaking to. His name was Steve and whether he places himself in center stage or in the background, we've been good friends ever since.
Usually from the backseat of an old Chevy on long trips to Grand-maw's house, or as you tinkered on that broken down truck, but mostly on Sunday mornings when you made your famous beer- battered biscuits,I heard that song.
You whistled or hummed to the forgotten words, but it was your song all the same.
I can see clearly now the rain has gone............
It's going to be a bright bright sunshiny day........
When the big storm hit, did you close your eyes?
Why did the rain sodden your days, months,then years?
Saturated, you allowed time to weather that storm.
But the clouds have passed.
It's over now.
I hope you can see clearly by now.
Years sincefound me on a country road just after a rain.
Your song came on the radio.
I could see the sun poking through the clouds.
When I called you that evening you said it was still raining, but you were doing alright.
A lttle rain never hurt nobody.........
I'll be back next week. I am going to visit my family in Dallas-maybe I'll have a few biscuits on Sunday morning if it's not raining too hard.
Travel I 16 X 20 acrylic collage on paper Travel II 16 x 20 acrylic collage on paper
She was quick on the draw with even the slightest sniffle. There was no where to run when that sharp, hollowed clank echoed through the room. Her handbag, now opened, set free that suffocating aroma of lipstick, Juicy Fruit Gum, and occasional peppermints. There I was with a moist handkerchief thrust beneath my nose. This is a dreadful memory. One that will stay with me the rest of my life. I know she meant well, but why she never offered it to me unused, I will never know. Last night I got to thinking about handkerchiefs and how absurd they seem. Their delicate nature defies their very use. The word handkerchief is even confusing. It sounds like a sneeze. When I saw a box of them at the thrift store the other day, I wondered how many fugitive nose drops each one may have caught. I pictured all the different grandmothers thrusting them below the noses of unsuspected children. Then I found it ironic how something so dainty could hold such a dreadful memory.
Friends, I need everyone to pray for our little girl, Schatzi. She had emergency surgery last night, because something was obstructing her bowels. It turned out to be a sponge that a military doctor in Germany left from surgery a year ago when we had her fixed. The sponge was pressing on her small intestine which caused her colon to twist. She made it through the surgery, but is not out of the woods yet. We will have a better idea on Saturday the doctor says. Please pray for her recovery, we love her so. Thank you
It was difficult to ignore what had happened around me, but the truth was I had a dentist's appointment. While the rest of the neighborhood was busy gathering broken branches and chainsawing fallen trees I was fretting in a serious way. The tentacles of Hurricane Ike stung the Miami Valley on Sunday. There were record winds the likes of which Dayton had never seen. Luckily, our tress were still standing, minus a few branches and about a half dozen bags of leaves. This gave me permission to concentrate on the matter at hand, the dreaded dentist. Over the years I've grown accustomed to chewing my food on the left side. I just assigned it to getting old, like the odd way I have to go downstairs. It's a sideways gait one stair at a time. It's painful, but more so for the person behind me. Yesterday was just a meet and greet with my new dentist. Why they do this is beyond me. I have to go back in 3 weeks for him to tell me the "findings". In the meantime I'll endure the pain. I've put up with it for this long. On the drive home I was able to access all the wind damage to the tune of, " lions, tigers, and bears, oh my!" with the words, "trees broken, branches strewn, and leaves amass, oh my!" Once home I saw the fallen Linden tree that barely missed the house across the street with it's broken, exposed roots, I was back to fretting about my teeth. I winced when I heard the buzz of a chainsaw, because it reminded me of the dentist's drill. Then I put my work gloves on and began gathering branches.
It was during the Great Depression when two young boys came to her door selling vacuum cleaners. Her husband was away on a business trip. In these tough times they were still quite fortunate to have the means, but she was so lonesome without him. This would be her first chance for human contact all week and it was already Friday. She invited the boys in and offered them a Coca-Cola.
As they began to assemble the brushes on the newfangled model Hoover she returned with the cokes and a plate of cookies. She couldn't help but notice the distraught look upon their faces.
As ostentatious as the house appeared from the the outside, it was sparsely furnished and there wasn't a rug in sight. She quickly excused herself and came back carrying a small floor mat that they kept on the back stoop. It was quite muddy because of the recent rain. The boys caught a glimpse of her pocketbook peeking out from her apron pocket and knew they had made the sale. Her husband returned that evening. She never mentioned the vacuum cleaner. Just as she never mentioned the other two she bought earlier that year. She was just so desperate for attention while he was gone. The closet underneath the stairs hid all her attempts of interaction. Among the vacuum cleaners was an array of Fuller brushes in every shape and size. Her husband was never privy.
Monday he would leave again and her lonesomeness would return.
Her only comfort was knowing the doorbell would ring again.
Maybe there would be a special broom that could sweep her blues away.