OK. I showed you this last week. It's the coat I started out with, after dyeing (apparently I didn't get a photo of it before I dyed it; it was a really pale greenish-tinged blue). It's not this purple; the finished photos, below, are the truer color.
CreateMixedMedia.com, and I'm always making notes for blog posts that might interest our readers. I was thinking one morning about how so many of us go through life prepared for the worst--anticipating calamity and disasters and woes. I tell my husband that if you live with someone like me, you'll never run out of gas or have the cable disconnected because someone forgot to pay the bill. You won't have grease fires or come home from vacation to find your house flooded because the washing machine hose burst (because People Like Us always turn off the water to the washer before we leave on a trip. Duh). But this, for me, is The Year of Learning Not to Worry, and that also means it's a year of learning to expect The Good Stuff. To Expect Joy, rather than calamity.
For me, one of the purest, simplest representations of joy is cats playing. Around here, they go nuts at least once a day, running through the house and leaping over stuff, careening off doors and furniture and doing that thing where they race up, look up at you, pretend to be terrified beyond all imagining, and then turn and try to run off--except their furry feet can't get a grip on the kitchen floor and they end up doing a little cartoon running-in-place thing. I can always hear that cartoon doodle-doodle-doodle-doodle of whirling feet when they do that, and it always cracks me up.
So what would make cats joyful? Well, duh: being able to leap above the clouds, of course. So that came first. And then I thought about the cats I know: they wouldn't just leap around all day for nothing. No. They'd want a purpose if they were going to expend that much energy. Not that they're lazy or anything. No! I never said that! So they're chasing fish. But the fish are joyful, too: not only can they get out of the water and soar through the clouds, but they have WINGS, so while the cats who are chasing them can leap, the fish themselves can FLY. So they'll always win, no matter what the cats think. And since these are not hungry, skinny cats, it's not a big deal that the cats will never catch the fish: everyone is having a blast.
One day, at the beginning of this, I woke up from a nap with a different, way WAY better idea for a title: Joy School. What a fabulous title! I loved it! We ALL need to go to Joy School. Forget Expect Joy; I was so changing the title.
And then I went, "Wait a minute. That sounds reallyreallyreally familiar." So I heaved the big sigh and went in and checked in the library, and there on the shelf with all Elizabeth Berg's other books was, of course, Joy School. I hate it when that happens. Expect Joy, it is.
The thing I learned during this project was something I should already know, and that I learn periodically, but that I forget (duh): don't quit before you're done. Don't end too soon.
Goodlordalmighty. What came to mind just now, and which I will spare you in any detail, is when I worked for a veterinarian who provided day boarding for stud services. So if two people had purebred dogs they were going to breed, they could bring them and leave them in the big pen and we'd (meaning: me) keep an eye on them. This was not my favorite thing to do. Mating is a private thing, and I did not want to be anywhere near, never mind that my job was to let the vet know when, um, never mind. I'll quit with this: inexperienced stud dogs always quit too soon.
Gack. Why does my brain do this to me? Why does it remember the weirdest, stupidest, bleah-est things and NOT remember stuff I need to know? Or even stuff like: who was the killer in last night's episode of Law and Order: SUV (we're into 2007 now, I think. Only about 70 more Netflix episodes to go). We watched the whole thing, and I swear they ID'd the killer, but dang if I can remember who it was. It wasn't the stepdad or the mom. I don't think. Who knows? This happens a lot, and The EGE looks at me weird when I ask, "Now who did it?" just as the credits are rolling. Hey, in my defense: after 200 episodes, a bunch of the killers begin to blur together, OK?
See? I *do* listen to you when you tell me what you want to hear!
Thanks for coming by--now to go photograph the 12 (yes: twelve. I know: What was I thinking?) new-to-me garments from last Saturday. I can't even begin to tell you how exciting it is for me to have a dozen things just waiting for me to figure out how to make them Fabulous~~