Well, you know what I'm going to say

If I'm posting this late, it's because it's been a busy day.

And it has.

It's going to be a busy week, too, and for large parts of it I'm not going to be in the office.  Which means no computer.  Which means no blather... at least until I figure out how to do it subliminally or something.

So...

Hmm.

Maybe we'll all just have to collectively stab Ontario in the shins (you're off the hook for today, Wheat) and see if we can make the not-Toronto office squeal.

Or at least post a photo or something.

That's it for now, folks.  Type at you later.

Every nose has its thorn

Today's iris bud does not have a nose.  Or a thorn.  It does look a bit heil hitlerish though, don't you think?  Or maybe it's just preparing to do some synchronised swimming or something, I don't know.

Now, about the title.  I've spent a bit too long today buggering around with my iGoogle page and adding a few new gadgets, and as a result I haven't really bothered to come up with any blatherage.  So... I thought I'd tell you briefly about my father and the nose songs.

Don't worry.  I promise that the above sentence will make sense at some point.

When I was a kid, my father had a habit of changing the words to songs when he sang them to us.  Not all of the words, mind; just a few key ones.  Nose was the usual substitute.  Most of the songs my father sang had nose in there somewhere.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe he liked confusing the heck out of his kids.  Or maybe he liked laughing at me when I'd try so hard to correct him.  Yep, I was OLF right from the very beginning, now that I look back on things.

I got used to my father's nose songs, of course.  So used to them that when he sang a song that actually had the word nose in it I was sure he was making it up. Absolutely positive that he HAD to be making it up.  He wasn't.

Now, the weird thing about all of this (like the nose thing wasn't weird enough) is that somewhere along the line I picked up my father's habit of changing the words in songs.  Me.  The person who silently rolls her eyes (well, I suppose most people roll their eyes silently, now that I come to think of it) when people screw up the songs she likes.  My personal excuse is that I do it on purpose to amuse myself, although in the end I think it's more reflex than anything.  Considering my upbringing, I suppose I come by it honestly.

In case you wondered, I'm not a nose person myself.  My word of choice is a little more focussed.  If a song has the word money in it somewhere, you'd better believe that in my head it becomes monkey almost immediately.  In fact, I think that a few monkeys improve most songs.  Go on, try it for yourself and see if you don't agree.

Or maybe you won't.  That's ok.  I did say that the whole thing was weird.






Anyway, that's it from me.  If any of my two fans became fond of the little modelling clay men and their adventures from a few months ago, they've reappeared on the other blog as of this morning because I woke up too early.  And if anyone out there has no clue what I'm talking about, don't worry.  That's about par for the blather.

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Edited to add:  this.  No reason, except that it's fantastic.

Doodlidoodlido

The photo's a few weeks old, I'm afraid.  I need to take some new ones today, but the weather report's saying that I'd better do it soon if I don't want to be fighting the wind and the rain.  This blather might be short.

Today's post title sounds a bit like a brain-damaged rooster, don't you think?  It wasn't what I was aiming for, but once I'd typed it out I just had to keep it.  It's too weird not to.

What the weirdness came from (other than my generally weird brain) is that I just finished doing something that I don't normally do on a Saturday morning.  No, not laundry.  I do that nearly every Saturday morning.  What I was up to this particular Saturday morning was doodling.  Um, and laundry.  They're not mutually exclusive, now that we don't have to beat things against rocks to get them clean.

Anyway.

I normally wait until later in the day to get my weekend art fix, but since it's Drawing Day today I thought I should make sure I got something done before I got distracted by other things.  Besides, I'm hoping to get TWO doodles out of the way this Saturday (gasp!  Shock!), since I have an idea for Illustration Friday that doesn't involve the daylily I sketched for Drawing Day.

Oh, such a productive person, me.  If I manage to get the second thing finished, that is.

You've probably guessed by now that I'm not exactly driven to draw.  I like drawing, yes, and I get a lot of pleasure from drawing once I actually get down to it, but I can't say I've ever felt drawing to be a need.  There's a reason why (well, more than one reason, really) I call myself a doodler rather than an artist.  It's a casual hobby.  I don't take it too seriously.  I know I could be a lot better at it if I did, but I guess that doesn't concern me too much.

Besides, I tend to be the type of person who doesn't want her hobbies to become serious.  Those people who work night and day to build a specialised business from what started as a hobby but that's ok because they're "doing what they love"?  I'm not one of those at all.  At all.  Work is work and hobbies are hobbies, and if a hobby becomes work it's time to stop.  And I can honestly say that I know that about myself, not just that I think that about myself.

You see, I used to teach singing.

I've sung for most of my life.  Grew up taking singing lessons and performing.  Sort of fell into leading a childrens' choir and giving private lessons as an adult.  And I don't do a bit of it anymore.  Not a single bit.  I haven't even touched my piano in a year, and I love playing piano.

As long as no one's listening, that is.  I'm a pretty horrible pianist.

The problem was that the whole thing stopped being fun.  Trying to coordinate choir stuff from out of town (the choir was in my home town where my father still lives, but I'm only here on weekends).  Listening to scales and vocalises over and over and over again.  Correcting theory papers, ferWhomeverssake.  It became a job, not a hobby, and that sucked.

Now?  Well, I still sing.  That'll never stop; it's too hardwired.  I sing for myself, though.  Will I go back to performing?  Maybe someday.  I do kind of miss it.  Will I go back to teaching?  I can't see it.  It's been a good six years since I stopped, and I mean the good in that phrase.  Will I touch the piano?  Yes, of course.  Poor thing can't go neglected forever, and the father figure did have it tuned a few months ago...





Ah.  Well, so much for a short post.  I'd better see if I can get at least a few photos before the day turns to crap.  Have a good Drawing Day, everyone.  Even if you don't draw and don't want to take part in the "official" business, why not take a moment for a little doodle?  It's fun when there's no pressure.  And if you're desperate to see my daylily (and if so, why?), you can check it out here.  Or not.  It's just a hobby, after all.

Busy, have I mentioned?

I have approximately a half-hour before I have to set up for my next program, and in that time I'm intending to post on two blogs.

Think maybe I have my priorities a little skewed?

Also, a bag of potato chips does not equal lunch.  You know, for any of you out there who hadn't realised that fact yet.

Busy is better than picking your nose, I suppose (unless you have a particularly interesting nose) but a happy medium wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Oh, and speaking of mediums (or media), let's see if this will work:



Drawing Day is tomorrow, boys and girls.  Draw something -- anything -- and post it on a blog, Facebook, DeviantART, or pretty much wherever else you post things.  Doesn't have to be fancy; the whole point is just to get busy and draw.

And that's my cue to head to the other blog now for a spot of weirdness.  Yeah, like you never get weirdness from me.  This'll be a different kind of weirdness than you usually see from me, though.  Later, all.

Ok, here's the thing:

I have mentioned, I think, that it's busy season at work?  Well, I've been busy.  I've also been doing pond studies today, and I'm cold, wet (from the rain, silly.  Not the pond), and a bit cranky.

Do you really want me to blather, given that?

Didn't think so.

I'll attempt to be more blathery (or at least pointless) on the weekend, ok?

Unless I'm busy.

Which is a definite possibility.





Sigh.

Family moment of the day:

It's my younger brother's birthday today.  And he's OLD!

Which makes me...

Um...




Ok, so that taunt didn't work out as well as I'd planned.  Ah well.  Happy birthday anyway.

And this might be it for the blather today.  Busy day for me.  I'll try to drop by later for a pointless photo, but don't count on it.

Vague whinging from the West

So, would you like a break from hummingbirds and orioles to listen to me complain?  Great.  I thought you might.

I know I spend a fair amount of time here whining about not feeling well.  Hey, it's just what I do.  I don't really plan out these posts (noooo... really?), and oftentimes when I sit down to blather something out it's just coming off the top of my head.

And frequently, what's off the top of my head is whinge.

As far as the whole health thing goes, what may not be coming out very clearly in blogland is that damned near everything I complain about is minor.  Sure, I have a few ongoing issues like the effed-up ankle, but all in all?  I moan to moan.  Or to fill space.  Or whatever.

Having said that, though, I thought I'd let you in on why the moaning gets loud and repetitive this time of year.  Let's examine the usual timeline, ok?  First off, late winter.  That'd be snow mould season, and I don't breathe for a bit.  Then, early spring.  Poplar pollen, and I don't breathe for a bit.  Then things start getting busy at work, and I start seeing a lot of school children.  Inevitably, one of them manages to give me a cold or something and I don't breathe for a bit.  And since I'm still in busy season, I don't get a chance to just rest and get over the not-breathing, and things drag out.

Every frigging spring.

Any wonder I get a little cranky?

Unfortunately for the whinge factor, my current cold/flu/whatever took an unexpected turn just as things seemed to be improving, and I now have an ear infection.  And... I'm pretty much as miserable as an ear infection can make a person.  A person with very little in the way of serious things to complain about, true, but miserable all the same.  I'd gladly pull a van Gogh if I thought it would do any good.  Or if I had a special someone (or, erm, prostitute) who needed to be sent an ear, I guess.

Anyway.  To summarise, I'm achy, I'm crabby, I'm tired of being sick, and for the most part I'M FINE.




And I suppose occasionally I need to be reminded of that.


[/almost point]

Narrowly avoided the pumpkin this time, I think.