The Blog: Spellbound by our own imperfect lives...

I'm taking drawing lessons from a fabulous and very encouraging teacher, Michelle. As I have accumulated drawing supplies, I have tried a couple iPad drawing...things. I don't even know what to call them. This morning, I plugged in a tablet (bamboo, I think) but only gave the youtube tutorial about five minutes. What the hell. I have reached my lifetime technological quota. I reluctantly allowed Alexa into my life and I turn the living room light off at night by shouting at her. But that's it. When I look at spending an hour trying to learn to use a table with a stylus thing when I could just pick up a piece of paper, my head starts to make a hissing noise and I want to take a nap. Sigh. Michelle is encouraging me to think about ways to combine photographs, drawing, and words. I sent her this from 2014. It's one of my favorites. Too bad I don't remember how I did it. Regis had his second sleep study done last night. The doctor was insistent that he use

This post is going to be a partial, not-fully-formed, stream of consciousness post about quitting stuff. I don't like calling it that, and have had conversations with people who don't like this title either. The connotation is bad, they say. Quitting sounds negative and implies that you were meant to do this thing and you are rebelling and not doing it anymore. That's kind of it, though. I've been thinking about this for several weeks and probably even longer than that. I couldn't get my head around the idea fully and so kept trying to think it though before I touched the keyboard. Some ideas are not meant to appear on the page fully formed, though, so here goes. Thinks that make it difficult or hard to define: People take it personally if you don't want to do all their stuff anymore. They take it personally when you say you are quitting cooking. Or quitting holidays. They think it means I am going to hermit in the woods and never communicate again with t