scoring a humongous bargoon on canvases

“Being a man” is such a B.S. concept — there are as many different definitions of it as there are different people....

My 62^nd acrylic is a further exploration of a limited palette I discovered while working on a previous abstract. I got quite excited working with those colours (and their respective values). I really like how they look and work together, so I have stocked up on those paints and hope to do a lot of different things with them in future.

Pillsbury Crescent Rolls! They aren't a major part of Thanksgiving dinner but they are a key part.

Having enough room in the freezer for two turkeys!

The other day we went to visit Ma [my mother-in-law] at her long-term care placement, as we've done semi-weekly for like half a year now. During that time, I've come to recognize and be more familiar with some of the other residents.

One in particular is a woman who might well be about our age or maybe not much more. Wheelchair-bound [like almost all the residents in Ma's section], white-haired, tall, very thin, with an elegant patrician face, the sort of bone structure that preserves your beauty for life. Most likely she was movie-star lovely in her youth. The thing I notice about this woman is that she always looks sad. Almost half the times I've seen her, she's been crying about no-idea-what. Sometimes she will let out an angry outburst of "Get out!" directed to the empty hallway in front of her... but except for those times, she is non-verbal. [Again, like almost all the residents in Ma's section.] When she's not crying or yelling, she sits quiet, gazing above everyone else's heads, looking utterly forlorn.

I remember a time that I couldn't help thinking that this must be a helluva way to live.

Last time we visited, a man about our age showed up. I don't recall seeing him before, but the staff greeted him by name, so he must be a regular. [TBH I've never noticed many regular visitors in that section besides ourselves — maybe we visit at unusual times.] He had a generous colourful bouquet with him, and brought it to the aforementioned lady, announcing that today was their fiftieth anniversary.

And that woman lit up. She wasn't able to speak to her husband but she kept her eyes locked on him and her smile never dimmed. She took the flowers from him, posed for him to take a picture, then a nurse took a picture of them together, and the whole time she looked rapturously happy.

I'd been thinking that she lived a joyless life, but here a moment of deep joy came to her, and she recognized it and revelled in it. And I found it so intensely moving to see her, that my eyes got wet and I had to take care not to let people see. We took Ma off somewhere else then, but that meeting of that couple wouldn't let go of me. I've been thinking about it ever since [my impetus to write about it, obviously]. 

I keep thinking that her life does have its own moments of Goodness, and those are probably what she lives for. And, in that respect, she's perhaps no different from any of the rest of us.

getting the dishes done: some days it just feels like such a relief

an easy fix

Last night, when I removed my hearing aids for their overnight recharge, part of one of them stayed in my ear. (Wuh-oh.)

This morning, I took them back to Costco for a repair. And it was simply a matter of unplugging the broken cable and plugging in a new one — literally took less than thirty seconds. (Oh, and it was free: “Everything is covered by your membership.”) Gotta love it.

 After a two-year drought, the British store finally got M&S Digestives back in stock!

The silver lining of a day of gastrointestinal distress: overnight I lost four pounds.