This will be my Thanksgiving post

On any given day of a particular type of work, one may find oneself escaping to other worlds, other more exciting worlds.
Fields are calling out to be frolicked in, and skyboats are yearning to be taken through the clouds. And sometimes I'm just hungry.

I'm making all kinds of friends.

This is the closest I've come to being productive lately, even though this actually happened about a month and a half ago.
It reminded me how much I enjoy my drawing so I'll try to get back to it again.

Hi ho.

Today is Kurt Vonnegut’s birthday. The 11th day of the 11th month. Armistice day, now Veteran’s Day. I should read one of his stories today in his honor. What a great writer. Some people might not think so, though. Some highly privileged, highly educated, highly critical individuals might not deem him worthy of the honor of the title “great writer.” To them he will always be a science-fiction writer, something that not even he, himself, was comfortable being called. Or he will be some coarse and shallow humor writer. It’s a shame, those that interpret him that way that read into what shouldn’t be read into and don’t read into what should.
I can only speak for the influence he’s had on my own life, though. In the world of literature, at a time when I was hesitant, if anything, to welcome any work into my mind and let it plant roots his books did just that. My time in high school was most characterized by a distanced and dutiful approach to education. And when I was unknowingly keeping these great writers at arm’s length, allowing myself to sail through assignments without any heavy lasting impact, I found that there was one in particular that broke through my guards.
Cat’s Cradle was that first book. I was caught in the story, tangled up in the characters and was led. I was led forward out of my safety bubble and taught how to take off my student glasses. Maybe that’s what it meant to actually read something, to see it the way it was intended to be seen, as a story.
Stories get so twisted and exploited in our society. Somewhere between publication and a student’s backpack their meaning gets dissected, categorized, labeled, repackaged, processed, and filtered. The story’s meaning, its purpose, is told and passed down. It becomes sterile and lifeless, like a portable museum exhibit. Its heartbeat becomes frozen in time. It is no longer a dynamic and kinetic relationship between reader and word.
What I mean is that the reader isn’t caught off guard in the same way, isn’t thrown back, pulled forward. Their mind isn’t trampled by the heaviness of the words on the page and the task of finding the meaning for themselves. And they, in turn, can’t move the story, can’t bring it to life in any new and creative way because that path has been paved for them. What impact they could have had on that story and that story could have had on them is diluted.
And that book was one of the first to leap over all of the walls and diversions to really show me what stories can be. It was one after another after that point. It would be a year or two later until I had the freedom of college to choose what I wanted to read for myself and when I went back through the catalog of writers I knew Vonnegut’s roots were planted and the curiosity had bloomed. It was Sirens of Titan, Player Piano, Slaughterhouse-five, Breakfast of Champions, Bluebeard, Hocus Pocus, Deadeye Dick, Slapstick, Timequake, and then Man without a Country, Armageddon in Retrospect, and Fates Worse than Death.
I ate through them like a kid with his first box of See’s Candies, picking up the next curious creation before I was finished swallowing the last. And I think when I read everything I could I sat back with the same, is that it, no more? look on my face, words stuck between my teeth and smeared around the outside of my mouth. With a gentle sigh and contented pat on the belly I closed my eyes and waited for it all to find its way into my blood. My appreciation for this creation is immense, and my gratitude on this day is sincere.
Happy birthday, Kurt.

Screening

One of the last things I had to do before starting work. When I got to the waiting room there was this woman sitting by the door who had been talking to herself for a while. I sat down without her noticing me. A minute or two later, though, she noticed. Finally a chaperone (I'm assuming) from across the room told her to calm down and behave herself as she was obviously getting louder, trying to get my attention. The rest is self-explanatory.

(Apologies for the poor fuzzy quality. The notebook doesn't scan as clean as the flat sketchbook.)

Maybe the economy IS turning around...?

So I got a new job. I can't imagine I'll be able to post EVERYthing that I might wean from these new experiences, but I'll do what I can. The rest will remain in my secret vault/sketchbook.

Anyone else haunted by really old anxieties?

Pretty much explains itself.




P.S. By "for a while" I mean like years.

Update 2

This is from a good day we had recently. It deserved to be recorded.

Thanks.

Update #1

So August hasn't been the month of 1-Post-A-Day, but I've done my best. I've recently started a new job, we've been busy with pet sickness, me-sickness, house-sitting, meetings and trip planning. I've got a lot of things I want to write and draw about and I'll do my best in this next month to keep on top of them. Here is update #1. While house-sitting for my family we had a brief encounter with one of the more primal sides of our domesticated friends.
What follows is the abridged version: ( Not for children under 3)

Amish Bread...the Bread of Friends

If you've never heard of it Amish Bread is traditionally passed on from person to person after it sits on your Amish countertop for about 10 days. There is a somewhat complicated process of adding ingredients and mixing at various points until you are ready to bake and separate the dough. Well this is well and good if you give the leftover dough away like you're supposed to. However, when you have 3 batches that will make 12 loaves of bread you tend to get overwhelmed. The tradition of baked friendship ended with this household. My apologies, America.

Part II

This took way too long...but here it is. More days to come.

Our night was eventually redeemed by an extended visit to the Souplantation. Nothing like endless coffee and muffins to brighten a particularly dreary day.

This is our day. Part I

When all you want to do is sit somewhere and eat your *&@$!@$% sandwich, some days it seems the world conspires against you.

P.S. What do you think people did to allude to curse words before the advent of the typewriter?
P.P.S. When I was little I used to count the number of symbols in those same fictitious words to try to guess which curse words were being referenced.



To be continued...

Part II

and thus, the end of the walk:

My wednesday

This was a nice little break in my run-of-the-mill Wednesday experiences. I hope you enjoy. Part II to come next.

(Note: My job includes many duties, one of which is the occasional walking of the dogs.)

How romantic...

Jamie and I were fortunate enough to come across this lovely gentleman at the street fair the other night. He was charging a dollar for anyone that wanted to come and sing a song, but in the meantime he chose to serenade us with some of his favorites.

Harvest!

Figs are delicious. And now they're in bloom. Did you know that a fig is really just an inverted flower? Yes, it's true. I just found it out. If you already knew, well good for you. No need to make other people feel dumb. Geeze.