Well, as I keep growing older I sometimes start to think I have seen about everything. Nevertheless, almost as soon as the idea crystallizes in my mind, something new comes along. Today is an example of that. I have lived through hundreds, perhaps thousands, of snowstorms and one would think they would start to blend together.............and it's true, they do have a significant sameness. But they all have their own peculiarities, too. There isn't one that doesn't prove the endless permutations of snow, wind, and cold.
Last night I kept waking up to the sound of the wind that had been predicted. This solid house actually shook for the first time since I've lived here. The dogs were nervous and hid under the covers, pasted up against my body as if I could protect them from whatever catastrophe seemed imminent. I looked out the window in the morning and it looked as if there hadn't been much accumulation of snow. Nevertheless, the howling of the wind was intimidating. I put on my robe instead of getting dressed at once (a first) and came downstairs. The dogs did not follow me, confused at the change of routine, and stared at me without moving from the bed. The sound of dog dishes being filled brought them down, though, and Benny went to the shed door to go out. When I opened it for him, we were faced with a wall of snow. The wind had blown the outside door open and the shed was full of snow. I knocked it down with a broom, and on the other side the dog yard was bare. There was not a flake of snow on the car, parked a few feet away. The wind had knocked down the dog fence.
Next I went to the front door, where from the window it looked like nothing had accumulated there. When I opened it, though, a drift had covered the bottom half of the door and a flat wall of snow remained upright in front of me. A foot away, to my right, the ground was bare. I put on my boots and stomped a path through the drift to the open grass for the dogs. I put on their leashes, stood in the doorway as they bound through the door. The wind hit them, blew their ears back flat, and made them squint their eyes. After a very quick pee they raced back inside.
So, here we are. Miraculously the electricity is still on, so we have light and heat for the time being. I took the camera outside and tried to capture the atmosphere, but the pictures in no way do it justice. Most of them were blurry due to the difficulty I had standing still against the wind. I didn't linger long, either, standing in my boots and bathrobe.
For some reason I have become enthralled with painting figures. All it took was the sight of an exercise group in New Mexico Magazine. If I should ever become famous, I would be buried in copyright suits. Luckily, that is not going to happen and I can go on copying photos with reckless abandon. I keep altering my style somewhat, trying for something less descriptive. My saving grace is that what I do is of absolutely no importance to anybody. I have the freedom to do anything I want.
I got this for Christmas in the form of a bowl of dirt. Bulbs had been planted in it, and somehow persuaded to grow and bloom in 50 degree temperatures. I hardly believe it happened, but here is the evidence of how we bully the rest of nature (not that we need more evidence than what we see every day). I've been quite fascinated by this process, yet somehow I find it sad. I guess it is the same feeling I have about caged animals. I don't like cut flowers, either....something to do with the enormous ego of human kind, manipulting everything to serve its own needs and desires.
I received copious correspondence from my lawyer yesterday that included copies of letters he received from Phil's lawyer. There are several references to this blog in it. Apparently she and/or Phil scrutinize it regularly for evidence of malice and wrong-doing. Amazingly, they find it in the form of my unfulfilled potential, as well as misinterpretation and ignorance of the facts. It seems that one of my biggest crimes is not becoming a successful commercial artist. This is a recurring theme in their complaints. I am tempted to defend myself, except that what I did with my life after Phil walked out is irrelevant. Why did Sarah herself not become a supreme court judge? Why did Phil not become a dealer in vintage cars? Anyone could have done things differently. 