The beat goes on.
The beat (it's a drip actually) can be mistaken for the sound of a clock, it's that steady. It signals days and weeks of cleanup to come. As our favorite contractor said last night, "there will be at least one day of hell before this start to get better". Forewarned is forearmed, so they say.
I'm living in a world of cliche's that inevitably turn out to be true.
I remember having ice dams many, many years ago when we first bought this house. But since then, we've put on a new roof, new gutters, new ceilings. Now I think of the coming DOH as I do the winter solstice: Bring it on. At least we'll know that things can't get any worse.
I hear you all out there whispering, "be careful what you wish for"... don't I know it.
After doing yet another round of roof shoveling (alas, some of our roof is inaccessible), I left John filling pantyhose with calcium chloride. I'm not sure what was harder to find, the pantyhose or the filling. It made me realize again how much I miss my mother; she'd have had a dresser drawer full of them. All of which would be organized in unopened packages, sorted by color. in her world preparation for a snowstorm meant you went out to buy milk.
Having done my pantyhose part, I retreated to the studio where my music barely drowned out the sound of the You-Know-What in the corner. Clearly my grocery store tulips needed to be painted. For a little while, at least, there was some color to be seen and appreciated dearly. A wee bit of a painting, it's only 4 x 4, but powerful.
Because there's more snow in the forecast.
Friends keep asking why I haven't been painting snow scenes.
Truth is, I just can't get myself to do it. Yes, it's beautiful. All around me are trees covered with snow, (and I think "hope the power doesn't go out") antique New England Colonial homes with magnificent icicles hanging, (and I whisper "ice dams") and the brilliant male Cardinal birds who are posing against what has got to be the most opportune of backdrops (honestly, my only thought is "how does nature come up with a gorgeous color like that"?).
But painting any of those winter wonderland scenes just doesn't fire me up. I need color.
Yesterday I worked on this still life of three Hydrangeas that my favorite Hunter/Gatherer scrounged up this past weekend. He did that for me after speeding hours behind the brand-new-fire-engine-red snow blower I gave him last week. Timing is everything, friends.
Speaking of snowblowers:
I just might paint it, 'cause honestly... it's every bit as pretty as those Cardinals.
Yesterday brought more snow. It was time to escape. So I drank way too much iced coffee, turned up the heat in the studio, and decided to paint the warm waters of Central America. It worked, I felt much better.
Today... more snow. Fortunately, John brought me some beautiful hydrangeas yesterday, and I plan on doing a few studies of those today. (Too bad the coffee's neatly gone!)
Despite my non-sequential approach to the 30 Paintings in 30 Days Challenge, I had a ball. Started painting small, then went much, much larger. Which was great, because I was using parts of my brain and some of my muscles that had been dormant far too long. Kudos once again to the brilliant Leslie Saeta, who manages to keep us all on our artistic toes by organizing such things! She is such an inspiration to me.
My new mantra is "every day that passes, we are one day closer to Spring".
I foolishly thought that the Farmers Almanac had gotten it wrong this year.
It forecast heavy snows for us, yet we made it through December and January,
(or so I thought) without much more that a picturesque dusting of the white stuff. Today I sit looking out at about 36 inches on the ground and another 12 or so predicted. It is beautiful, but in a city like Boston and a town like Milton, there are only so many places to move it to. Walls of snow and plowed up gunk are everywhere. Sidewalks have vanished and all of the conversations you have are one note. Snowblowers are the new status symbols, the bigger the better. And this year we actually bought our very first one. Not for the status of it, but because the fellow who plow(ed) us out has moved on to bigger and better jobs like churches and office parking lots. Truth be told, we are enjoying our independence. We prefer moving snow on our schedule, not the plow guy's.
In every dark winter there is something to be discovered, and this year I have discovered The Pioneer Woman. No, she is not living on a compound somewhere in the desert. Nor does she ride shotgun on a Conestoga wagon.
She is a food blogger, Food TV personality, and she refers to her husband as Marlboro Man. What's not to like?
Thanks to PW, before heading into the studio to paint this morning, I whipped up her recipe for the best iced coffee.
Note; this was after I bought the 2 gallon containers, cheesecloth, mason jars with handles, and some NYC roasted Zabar's coffee. (The Zabar's coffee was my native born New Yorker's addition, natch). One sip and somebody please, cue the angels singing. OMG!
I'm obligated to share her genius with you:
I'm off to paint.
Because the prediction for snow was just upped to 16 inches.
(Someone, please turn February OFF!)
Subscribe to My Blog To Receive Email Updates