The Red Boots

Since this spring, the only shoes the little man owns have been these rain boots. Not really. They are just the only ones he has chosen to wear. They’ve been the talk of playgroups, grocery store trips, and doctor’s appointments. I have always allowed him to wear them. We have far bigger daily battles than what shoes he wants to wear. To my surprise, 98% of strangers simply smiled or complimented him on his footwear choices.

As I sat outside mourning summer’s passing yesterday, I realized that the wearing of the red boots is probably coming to an end, too. They grow so quickly and he’s becoming so independent. The thought nearly brought a tear to my eye. So, I sent the photo off for printing and framing this morning. The red boots are a memory I will always cherish.

Honeysuckle

I have always loved honeysuckle. I had no idea when I moved here that it grows wild. Actually, it is considered invasive and it will take over just about anything. As I sat outside today soaking up the remnants of summer, I made sure to close my eyes and take in, possibly, the last sniffs of it today. I couldn’t resist snapping a photo to keep me warm when winter kicks in.

Lesson #1 — Use the Tripod

I have been on a quest lately to get to know the programs on my Mac better. I have only been a Mac person for a few months. While I am absolutely in love with it and will never return to PC, I have realized that technology is changing faster than I can keep up. For instance, I recently purchased some CDs at a show only to come home and realize that my tiny wonder of a machine doesn’t have a disc drive.

When I was given this collage assignment in my art class, I thought it would be a great way to tackle iMovie Lesson #1; The Slideshow. I was ever so proud of myself for figuring out transitions, writing and adding my own music, and ridding Ken Burns from my project. The tutorial was easy to follow and I felt like this old dog had learned a new trick.

However, in my excitement to learn something new I completely forgot the very basic rule of just about any project I have been attempting. Use the tripod! Sheesh. Why can I not get that through my head? I have a tripod. I simply have never used it. After every single thing I attempt, it is always the roaring thought I am left with. Use the tripod! Maybe I need to have it tattooed on my arm. Nah, I would probably forget then, too.

Earplugs In My Own Home

Look, I’m not trying to be a bitch. I have sat here all summer listening to the sounds of 4-wheelers, or ATVs as I called them before moving here, not saying a word other than the occasional moan on Facebook. I have tried to chalk it up to cultural differences. I have tried to be patient with the youngsters because it could be my son someday. I have tried to keep my mouth shut and mind my own business.

But, here’s the thing. How can I mind my own business if I cannot hear myself think? It seems grossly rude to me that I am forced to listen to the sound of your chosen recreation while you don’t give you neighbors a second thought. Today is different though. I was hoping for a peaceful working birthday only to listen to six straight hours of one roar or another. And, now I’m just flat out pissed off.

Like any mother of a toddler, I value nap time more than the money in my bank account. I, especially, value that hour or so I get every day to complete my school work or to simply unwind. Sometimes, when it’s quiet, I actually get a chance to work on my music. Without fail, my quiet time is interrupted by the roar of some gas guzzling machine. It is beyond me how the boy manages to sleep through it. If I take a nap or dive into a paper, I often have to wear earplugs. I know that you do not know my child is sleeping or that I’m trying to work or to record. I have, patiently, reminded myself of this fact before I pop in my earplugs. I have also repeatedly reminded myself that I have the hearing of the superhuman kind.

For a brief moment before I moved my office into a space with new windows, I even entertained purchasing newer windows for the front of the house. New windows made no difference. I have daydreamed of gutting the house and moving our living space. I have stood in the hardware store contemplating the For Sale signs.

I understand, I do. My musical hobby is quite loud. I love being noisy and having fun. Who doesn’t? However, this is part of my angst. I suppose I have something called conscientiousness. I never turn up my amp loud enough for my next door neighbors to hear it. I do not come to your house, plug in, and fill up your walls with noise for hours at a time. Trust me, I’ve thought about it. You have an entire state full of mountains at your disposal, yet you feel the need to drive up and down the short stretch of paved road in front of houses within the town limits. If I had a studio at my disposal, I certainly wouldn’t be out in my nasty garage making music.

I have been nice long enough. I will not sell my house, remodel my house, or continue to wear earplugs in my own home. Being that we have no noise ordinances in effect here, police officers have enough to do, and West Virginia has no nuisance laws regarding ATVs, I will also not call the police. What I am going to do is start confronting you.

Just so you know, at that point, I probably will be being a bitch.

T is for Tired; Oops, I Mean Turtle

Yesterday was a very long day here in Toddler World. He is at an age where he is really striving for his freedom and expression. I get it. But, after the 19th time of cleaning up a spill or pulling him off a countertop, I was more than ready to have some quiet time in the studio once he had fallen asleep. I simply needed a few quiet moments to relax. Painting always relaxes me, but I did not expect, after the day we had, to start working on children’s paintings. I expected a screaming woman collapsing into a pile of exhaustion, not a turtle! Oh, well. I have always loved children’s art and luckily for me, it is all around me these days.