I just finished painting two chair seats that were inspired by Grandma Moses.  They took forever to do, they'll probably sell immediately and someone will want me to do them again and I don't want to do them again; I hate them.

I hate Gr. Moses.  I'm glad she's dead.  I think she actually died before I was born so why does she torment me so?

Because folks who needlepoint just looooove her crap.

She can't draw.  Critics say "Oh, her work is so lovely and primitive!" 

"Primitive" is code for "sucky".  "Primitive" basically means "Looks like any four year old with a box of crayons could do it." 

Seriously, anyone with opposable thumbs could have produced that woman's entire catalog.  Oh, but she didn't even start til she was eighty! people will say as though that's any excuse. You know why more octogenarians don't paint like her?  They would look at the results and consider it a waste of time.   My dad is over eighty and deaf.  If he takes up the guitar should he get a record contract based on that?  If the music industry were as retarded as the "art" community he would.





We had a fun weekend.  Last Friday was our 28th wedding anniversary.  For the life of me, I can't remember what we did.  I'm pretty sure it involved food...
Katie left town on Saturday morning.  She borrowed my car and went to Wisconsin for a wedding reception.  Zack left town Friday morning.  He and his buddies went to a music festival in southern Minnesota.  He's been telling me about it since he got home from work last night.  They had a blast.  Josie babysat on Saturday evening, so the minute she left the house, Jay and I hopped in the convertible and took a road trip of our own.

We drove over the border to Hudson, WI and turned North.  We drove up the St. Croix past Somerset and stopped when we got hungry.  We had beer, brats and grilled eggplant on the veranda of a  lovely little winery over looking the river.  It was a perfectly beautiful early summer evening.  After we were done we headed back.  Over the border, in Minnesota, we watched rainstorms march across the sky far to the west of us. I was sure it was pouring in all the windows we had left open at home but Jay assured me that the rain was farther north than our house.   Eventually we hit the storm but we were going so fast  that the rain just bounced off the wind shield and flew right over us; we didn't have to put the top up until we got  back to the Twin Cities and had to slow down. We pulled off on University Ave and stopped to put up the top right in front of a bar where a group of young men were huddled under the awning.  They enjoyed the spectacle we provided, getting the top up in the downpour.  I enjoyed it, too.  Driving the last few miles home with the top up felt sort of like being zipped up in a plastic bag.  Naturally, we drove out from under the storm not a mile after putting up the top.

At home, not only had it never rained a drop so it's okay that all the windows were open; we had left the sprinkler on, too.

Jay decided that the eggplant from two hours earlier hadn't held him so he threw a tenderloin on the grill and we snacked on that as the sun went down.  Josie got home around 10:30 and she had no idea that we had run away from home while she was gone.

I think it's time to go for a run.

 

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