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Insomnia

Somewhere between the dishwasher’s rinse cycle downstairs and the moment I usually fall asleep is a quiet time of night where I listen to nothing after a day’s fabric of noise. In the middle of this spell, the silence is usually broken by a pair of great horned owls. One has a perch near the deck, the other a block or so down, and they rally back and forth for several minutes over this and that. It always makes me smile. I enjoy this time. Sleep follows soon thereafter.

A few months ago, a little toy truck of Ford’s awoke me in the middle of the night (in my BEDROOM!) with a shorted battery going BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP chuggachuggachugga and, without opening an eye, I lurched for the toy and chucked it out the window. I didn’t care that Ford loved this truck so much that he took it into the bathtub with him (explaining the short). I didn’t ponder how he’d feel about it’s sudden disappearance.

Well, he didn’t ask for it after the toy disappeared. But I felt the bad karma might return to me. And it has, with the BEEP BEEP BEEP sound of a reversing toy truck rattling from the forest floor below my window. It’s a little elfin hardhat area hammering away at my nerves.

See? This is why I am getting rid of all the plastic, battery-op crap. What’s a Waldorf doll going to do to me? STARE me to death with two beady little embroidered eyeballs?

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Studio Friday: Happy Accident!

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Last week, I mentioned that I manage to sketch whenever I can during the day, right alongside the boys. We do this indoors and out. I prefer outdoors.

A good workhorse for outdoor drawing is a long masonite slab. Ours holds three sheets of drawing paper in a row: One for me, one for Chas, one for Ford. Ford oftentimes abandons the art for something else: playing cars with drawing/ painting tool “x”, playing spaceships with drawing/ painting tool “x”, playing Harry Potter with drawing/ painting tool “x”. Chas imitates Ford until he sees that I am drawing, at which point he picks up drawing/ painting tool “x” and begins to assist me on the page. We work together for another two to three minutes, and then I stand back and watch.

And here we are: I’m now standing behind the glass, watching the two of them devour the carcass of a clean work station. More performance art than painting, red and black paint are beginning to slosh beyond the edges of the masonite and onto the floor. Within minutes, there will be little red footprints peppering the deck and two naked boys running around the yard like bloody red Banshees. Later, I will be rinsing curly pink hair in the bathtub and scraping petechia-red gunk out from underneath longish nails as they watch *tv.

But wait! There are more studios to see here.

* tv is handy for: trimming nails, cutting hair, brushing teeth, taking measurements, but not much else.