Pop Art Class

The kids at work have been making pop art paintings. 

I posed for some of them as I sped through the rooms.

Then mine made me cross on the way home because they wanted Maccas and I simply shan't buy it for them again. I shan't! 

The big fella has been consumed with love for his puppy now she is one and all devoted and such. 

We should have named her Diablo, the vixen!

Life has progressed with more deep and meaningful twists and turns of the medical and philosophical types. Questions, questions....I am all questioned out now and just need a little lie down. I am also very tired of popping my girls (I may start calling them "the nuns") out of my shirt at Dr Anybody-who-needs-a-look, last week three days in a row. I'd have less demand made on them if I loitered at Hooters, I tell you. 

So I made a couple of these for my own boys' rooms. This one isn't finished as he needs his jewels (aka skull rings) to be tweaked.

This one is looking at me like I'm mad sitting here at 4:35 pm on Friday. I think I shall hang him at the entrance of the house to ward off all the teens that seem to wandering in and out of late. Some of them aren't even mine!

Speaking of Pop Art...my gorgeous four sisters took me to see a real live piece of Pop Art last Saturday night for my birthday/ recovery/ reunion celebration. It was at the Powerhouse which only rivals GOMA in my building affections and it was the funniest thing I have seen in years. We laughed so hard our throats still hurt the next morning. Maybe there should be a Medicare rebate for comedy tickets 'coz it's a LOT cheaper than the Wesley and it actually makes you feel better!!!!

"Sing out, Louise!"

Sanctuary

Today I realised why I had been blogging a lot less. Of course there is the obvious lack of time and energy when work becomes a full time prospect but there is also less quiet, still time to just notice those everyday marvels that I used to feel so compelled to record.

Due to the disease (whose name we will not mention today for I am cross with it)- I have spent a lot of this week lying on my back in an endone haze. Monday I had some reconstructive surgery which is all good and fine and dandy, then I read a whole book Tuesday, much of which I may not remember, and Wednesday I walked to my neighbour's for a cuppa and leg stretch- quite limited activity for a gadabout like myself.

Today Shorty and I were alone in a quiet house...like the olden days of yore when it was just her and I... everyday. We decided to do one of our favourite girl things together.

 "Down the back" is getting less and less use from the older offspring as they tend to use out the front more with their own friends and a little more independence. Down the back has languished a little since the Year of Chunders.

The giant ginger plant that sheltered and fed the ladies with all manner of bugs and lizards has shrivelled to dry stumps in the drought but the recent rains has sent new shoots popping out all over.
The ladies scratch around in relative chicken luxury under a bower of red hibiscus and taller natives.

The ladies' garden is back on track with egg production back to where it once was and the rain tank being full enough to get water down there.

That will help with getting these dormant old vege patches back into action. They died off and dried out when I lost the energy and will to tend to them in the Y.O.C. (Lets just call it YOK from now!)
I'm thinking that stump of gum tree left over from the 2008 Gap storms would be good as a stool or table up the front. Too rustique? It will be considered.

Back in the cubby there are residual shells and stones from the beach holidays of years past and dingly dangly stuff from when the bigg-uns were wee-uns. All these things hold their own memories and make me smile.

 Sitting, having a cup of tea, while Shorty Divine makes glitter sand cakes and chatters along with the cockatoos and chickens is like a restorative salve. I feel my back unknotting, my mind clearing and the anaesthetic residue wafting away on the warm, spring breeze. It's not New York or Straddy but it is my sanctuary above the chooks in the cubby with a cup of tea and my baby. Things are looking up.

Sing it, Johnny!