Tag: Houndstooth

A happier task completed

Late every August and into September, it’s impossible not to think of the impact of the flood waters from tropical storm Harvey (it had been downgraded from a hurricane by the time it got to us) on Houston, our home, our family, and so many of our friends in 2017.

I know I blogged a lot about it, and often refer to it even now. When I was pulling all my journals and diaries out of the cabinet that housed them, I found again something very special that I shared here when I found it water-damaged in a bin a few days after we were flooded.

It was a sketch done of my father by a fellow art student in 1949. It hadn’t been in the best shape, but the water further stained and damaged the paper. I was crushed when I found it. Lynne and Debby carefully extracted it from the water and set up a safe place for it to dry.

When I took it out of the cabinet the other day, I decided it was time to frame and hang it, and now it’s in the library.

It hangs between two of his paintings: one of an old fisherman (my brother or sister may know more about this one) and one he painted for me when I was a young adult and asked him for “a city.” He interpreted it in a way I’d never have imagined and still love so much that it’s a pleasure to see it every day. You may even remember the colors inspired one of my tiny One Word Art paintings that I titled “Respect.”

Read in August

Books that I read in August:


I read The Book of Life, the third book in Deborah Harkness’s All Souls series. I think Tom and Debby may wind up watching the series made from these books. I have one left to read–the fourth one, first one written after “the trilogy” was completed–but I’ve forbidden myself to do so until September. I’ve really enjoyed this series.


Reading Janet Evanovich’s Fortune and Glory: Tantalizing Twenty-Seven and Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight caught me up with her Stephanie Plum series. I think the next one releases in November. I know some readers say they’re repetitive, but for me, there’s comfort in coming back to these characters, and I laugh so much when I read them.


The biography I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead: The Dirty Life and Times of Warren Zevon was written by Zevon’s former wife Crystal Zevon at his wish and under the condition that she tell all the story. He died in 2003 from the effects of mesothelioma. This bio was a lot to process about one of my favorite artists. He had his demons, but some of the best musicians, composers, novelists, journalists, and artist managers of his working decades held his gifts in highest regard. Many of his worst behaviors happened during his blackouts (he was an alcoholic and addict) and he had no memory of them and was horrified and remorseful when made aware. Like many gifted people with his kinds of problems, he could also show extraordinary grace and kindness. To me, Crystal Zevon wrote with honesty and love, which made for a compelling read. I have two additional biographies of him in my TBR pile. I’ve started one of them, but it’s slow going because as I read, I’m doing a deep dive into Zevon’s music as the writer introduces his work from its beginning. I’m hearing songs I’ve never heard before.

Reading slowed down the second half of the month, not just because of my own writing, but because I’ve undertaken several organizing and purging projects. There’s no mystery here. When the world outside presents an abundance of chaos, all out of my control, I try to bring order where I can in the smaller environment of home. If this is something that might work for you, too, I recommend not doing it as I do it. Identify and follow through on one task at a time instead of juggling several at once.

A bright side: I’ve donated good stuff to Goodwill and to the Little Free Libraries around me.

Missing


There is an ever-growing list of things I can’t find. I think my dogs are gaslighting me. I might have to add a candle of St. Anthony (patron saint of lost things) to the Justice and the Songbird. Kidding. This isn’t an altar, but boy does the writing sanctuary smell divine.

In today’s search for what I didn’t find, I turned up three additional years of personal diary pages, so that organization task is still happening.

Painted Rock

Late afternoon/early evening, we got rain–glorious rain!–and the wind was blowing so hard it flipped open the top of our recycle bin that was waiting on the street to be picked up. Tom went out to close the patio table umbrella (because of the wind), and then he went to close the recycle bin so it wouldn’t fill with water. He found this on the street: someone’s painted rock.

I thought it was interesting because back in June, I blogged about wanting to add memorial painted rocks to Aaron’s Garden. Looks like we just got our first anonymous donation. No plan yet for whose name will go on it.

Tiny Tuesday!

One of my favorite things at Christmas since 2001 is watching Tim open the package he gets from his parents. In addition to their real gifts, they send him the funniest random stuff that cracks me up. (Is this a good time to remind you that December is only four months away?)


This past Christmas, his gifts included this game. In the Pandemic Time, on the occasions people gather at Houndstooth Hall, we’re usually all pretty desperate to catch up on conversations and cook and stuff our faces, so we haven’t played it. But surely its time will come, and just in case, I even picked up a couple of extra kazoos at Cactus Music.

You draw a card and choose a song to play from either side. I haven’t opened the package of cards, but I’m hoping that for all the songs I won’t know, on at least one side will be a tune for boomers like me.

I have a feeling there will be abundant laughter when we finally do this. I hope we don’t play kazoo songs like we sing happy birthday at our birthday celebrations, because that usually sounds like a dirge. Maybe because by the time we get to cake and candles, we’re in a food coma.

Wish you could know their scent

The various things we planted in late May are a good diversion from watching the price our lawn and shrubs are paying for this drought. We have a little more control over the potted plants, and they’ve flowered, lost flowers, greened up, and come back in cycles that are new to us. In addition, Tim has a lot of herbs and Debby a lot of flowers in pots. It does help my perspective to see things thriving despite the weather/climate.

A few of the knockout roses:

Their fragrance is delicate and sweet.

We did get some rain yesterday and maybe a little overnight, too. I’m hoping the scattered showers in the forecast over the next couple of days land on us, too. Houston covers a lot of territory, so predictions of rain are hit and miss.

Meanwhile, in news outside my little world, there have been satisfying moments of seeing justice meted out to some of humanity’s villains. I never know if it’s a good idea to show the restraint on here that I do, but I don’t want to be just more noise amidst the cacophony that bombards us all daily.

So you get flowers.

It’s the heat

I was up early this morning. Took care of a few business matters, showered and dressed, made sure our dogs and Tim’s had some outdoor time (both Tom and Tim being elsewhere for the morning/day), and got on the road to run errands around ten. I did that–not all of those successful–then got home around two. Ate lunch, moved my sanctuary table into the big office to start handling novel-related issues… Then I realized how drained I was by the heat. I thought I’d rest my eyes for a few minutes and get my energy back.

“A few minutes…” It’s now almost 6:30, and I’ve accomplished nothing on the writing/editing agenda. But I have water and grapes, the set-up still awaits, so I’ll try again.

ETA: Took me until 8/2, but NOW I have a fully revised draft of the fifth book and can officially move on.

Photo Friday, No. 816

Current Photo Friday theme: Heatwave


Sitting outside during the dogs’ midmorning recess, iced coffee and a coloring page next to me, but staring at my poor scorched grass. It’s 87°F before 10 AM, partly cloudy, with afternoon showers in the forecast. I hope the forecast is accurate.

ETA: The forecast wasn’t accurate. We got a few minutes of a very light drizzle.