O.K., Myrtle thought, she may be old, but she had granddaughters, and she knew that these days, vampires were in. She had even let the girls talk her into watching a few episodes of "True Blood" and my goodness, there sure were some hotties on there, although she could do without some of that tearing of flesh. She had to turn her head at that gruesomeness.
But the day she looked into the mirror and saw her rose red lipstick bleeding into the lines at the corners of her mouth and traveling up into those crevices above her upper lip, she looked anything but attractive! What's a gal to do? She had run out of her Estee Lauder Perfectionist Correcting Concentrate for Lip Lines. That's it! Tomorrow she was off to the cosmetic counter. After all, it's not always a good thing to have bleeding lips, even in these days.
Here's how I was trying to figure out how I wanted to draw a swivel lipstick tube:
The man belched at the bar, and she could feel her forehead furrow. She knew that her face said, "Crankerella," but truly, are there no manners left?
Her distaste grew, but now she turned it upon herself. There was something, about this neanderthal...something sexy... Ugh! She could feel herself falling for the wrong man again.
...until...10 minutes later when I opened a can of wild-caught sardines in olive oil. J.Crew outfit completely wrecked--I even had olive oil on my shoe! Splatter, splatter, splatter, shadoobie!
These are the type of things that happen to me all the time--preventing from achieving complete, pulled-together status!
Just because Ron talked out of one side of his mouth and behind his hand, people could still hear him. When he complained, "there are so many broccoli stalks in this soup I'm becoming one," we cringed at his rudeness. Luckily the cafeteria lady was quite deaf; she had gone to a lot of Jefferson Airplane concerts in her youth. Plus, Ronnie was funny, had perfectly aligned teeth in his lopsided mouth, and he quipped without true malice. He did look like he was turning a little green, too.
He mourned the loss of summer just like any child. No more cotton candy, corn dogs, or raspberry- blue snow cones. The end of fairs, festivals, burning heat, and red sunburned skin aching for shade.
His sorrow was deeper, of course, because there was more carnival food behind him than ahead. The carousel's song had whirled through his ears more times than he could remember, and he was starting to lose the sound.
Then, again, he was still here. He still had time for another ride on a rickety roller coaster ratcheted together by dentally-challenged men. He still had time for another funnel cake...perhaps next year.
My Spanish student, Morgan, went to Norway and Sweden this summer, and she thoughtfully brought we back this candy bar.
I quote from the Marabou website: "In 2013, Nordic
markets will benefit from a highly-differentiated new tablet offer from
popular brand Marabou: Marabou Black Saltlakrits. A delicious blend of
Marabou milk chocolate and salt liquorice pieces, this latest addition
to the Marabou tablet portfolio delivers an exciting flavor combination
that fits perfectly with the taste buds of the Nordic region. As a
result, Marabou Black is certain to attract existing brand lovers and
newcomers alike."
Here's my watercolor version with just a few slight color liberties:
Here's a close-up of the chocolate bar. You can see all the pieces of licorice. Please excuse the chipped nail polish. Painting is tough on a manicure. (-; The original wrapper is in the background.
Now normally, I'm not a black licorice gal, but this is really, really good. It's such a subtle flavor, and the generous crunch of the sea salt against the licorice and milk chocolate hits it just right. It actually is quite addictive! Morgan tells me there's black licorice flavor everywhere--black licorice fudge, black licorice ice cream, etc. It's so fun learning about different cultures. I'm feeling a little Nordic with this generous gift. (-:
Helena had always been looked down upon for being a little bit "spicy." She may not be a textbook beauty, but honey, she's got the 'tude that matters. "Be proud of what you've got," has always been her mantra. When the opportunity arose for her to be an artist's life model, she peeled off those layers of cotton, silk, and leather (shoes), and let her admirer use her for the muse that she was!
I have a handful, maybe two, of all-time favorite singers. Van Morrison is right up there at the top. I'm sure I first was aware of him with "Gloria" and "Brown-Eyed Girl" listening to them on WLS out of Chicago. I can remember seeing him on Wolfman Jack's "Midnight Special" tv show and singing "Domino" when I was a little kid. I think I fell in love with him, though, in Martin Scorsese's 1978 rockumentary of The Band's final concert, "The Last Waltz" where he sang, "Caravan." I once read that he at times suffered from debilitating stage fright. He seemed so romantic--this other-worldly voice filled with so much soul--he seemed to pull out his deepest emotions, lost almost in a trance, and grab you with him as you fell into an whirling hole of mysticism and smoldering magic.
My uncle had grown up in the '60's, and he had given me all his albums when he moved to the west coast. I had all the classics--original Beatles, Rolling Stones, The Doors, Small Faces, a.k.a The Faces, and Van Morrison. I had 1968's "Astral Weeks," one of the most incredible, classic albums of all time. I remember that Rolling Stone Magazine--back in its heyday--had published an Encyclopedia of Rock and had given "Astral Weeks" its highest rating--5 stars. I used to listen to it over and over again in college--you have to understand, I was in love with that era musically--I always felt that I should have grown up in that time.
O.K., so fast forward to 2008 (released in 2009), Van the Man re-recorded that album as "Astral Weeks Live at the Hollywood Bowl." It's more uptempo with additional musicians. Both versions are spectacular so please listen to both. Where the h-e-double-toothpick am I going with this rock 'n' roll lesson? Well, I'm going here:
I'm driving home tonight in the cool, night air. I went out to dinner with a friend and then drove home. It was dark out, with swirling puffs of night-time clouds. And I was playing "AWLATHB." And I was playing track 3, "Slim-Slow Slider/Stop Breaking Down." Listen as he opens, "Slim-Slow Rider" and someone in the audience yells, "Yeaaaaaaaaaaah" at 00:18. You know you're in for something great. And really listen to what makes Van Morrison so special. Listen to that phrasing at 1:01-1:05 and again at 1:16-1:19 when he sings, "the fruit grove this morning." The timing, the melody. God, I love it so much. And I love it even more while sticking my hand out into the air through my sun roof and feeling the coolness swirling through my fingers--and more still while glancing my eyes quickly upward at the inky sky above me, so close that it's a part of me and I'm a part of it. And the thing is, at that moment, I feel such joy--such a complete feeling of utter, utter happiness. The music, Van Morrison, the air, the sky...a moment of immense joy for being alive and feeling all of it.
Astral Weeks Live at the Hollywood Bowl - Slim Slow Slider/Stop Breaking Down
With a dull spark and a puff of smoke, Midge's toaster bit the dust. What was she to do? She was a woman of routine, and she enjoyed her coffee, hard-boiled egg, and 2 pieces of toast each morning for taste and ritual. If her pattern was altered, her day felt off-kilter. Her eyes darted frantically around her tiny kitchen. Could the skillet work? Why not? After all, she made "toasted" cheese sandwiches, didn't she? Wasn't a skillet a flat toaster?
Of course, her hypothesis worked perfectly, as many have toasted bread like this for years. Midge didn't know about that though. She felt energized, not only because she had fed her body the breakfast it craved, but also because she was newly invigorated by her ingenuity.
I guess I could put the mouth in the right place, but it's so predictable. This actually started out as a balloon-faced, cartoon chicken. You just never know.
Yes, she had a pasty, pallid face that glowed in the dark and dishwater brown hair that had never known a highlight in the sun. Yet lying on her floor with a book in front of her, she could be anyone, go anywhere, breathe in adventure, love, and fantasy at any moment. Why, she had traveled to places unknown to those around her. She was...content.
