I’m sure there are other people on earth who, when they are at their wit’s end, call their moms and say “Mooooommmmm! How do I paint penises?!” but I don’t know any offhand.

Fortunately, my Mom is a font of useful suggestions for capturing the wily wang in paint, and I am now back on track.

And that probably says way more about the oddity of my life than anybody really needs to know.

Hi, gang! It’s time for another exciting installment of “What Should Ursula Be Working On?”

That thing.

That other thing. No, the one with the vampire.


The other thing related to Digger.

The Other Thing. You know. The OTHER Thing? That thing that you don’t know how long it’s gonna take because you’ve never done it before? THE THING?

The sketch for that one thing. Although that’s not urgent.

That commission of the guy with the big thing. Which is getting overdue, damnit.

Time to go work on a thing.

With such an elegant mental filing system, obviously success is assured! Right? Right.

I love James. I love him dearly. He has many sterling qualities. He is a truly kind person, which I am not. As I said to my friend Carlota this afternoon “If James had dinner with Hitler, he’d say “Yeah…I dunno…that guy was a little…intense.” (I mention this only because we sat at a green light for several minutes while she laughed, because it is such a very accurate description. There is no malice in James at all.)

However, James has a somewhat…eclectic vocabulary. He’s very intelligent, but homonyms tend to defeat him. And things that aren’t even homonyms. He is a rampant committer of malapropisms. The difference between “stigma” and “stigmata” has never quite taken, for example, with occasionally unsettling results.

Yesterday he paused behind my chair and said, in the gruff squeak he’s had since the flu, “Man…I feel a lot better, I’m totally over the flu, but this lycanthropy is still bothering me.”

I digested this for a moment. Lycanthropy. Really. Man. You think I’d notice a thing like that. Admittedly, I’m not the most observant woman in the world, but still… “Your WHAT?”

“My voice. You know, I’m all hoarse…”


“Yeah! What did I say?”

I was tempted to lay in wolfsbane and silver cough drops, but somehow that probably wouldn’t help.

A quick study in splatter of a mudskipper, and a poem so atrocious that I cannot apologize for it enough.

The splattery backgrounds are fun. This was more just noodling around as a technical experiment, but I suspect I’ll want to do something a little more impressive with the technique at some point…

I am in a despicably good mood today.

There’s no particular reason for it. It is a senseless transparent cheer. I’m flitting between projects like a hummingbird that wandered into the Nectar Bearing Plantstravaganza Exhibit at a botanical garden. Finished a Digger, updated the website, working on another random splattery painting, fooling with the first page of the exclusive mini-story for the compendium. Set up the tripod on a whim at the sliding glass door, and have been randomly photographing little birds on the suet cake. The lighting is atrocious, so I have no idea if any of these will come out, but hey! Digital photography is so glorious. I can fill card after card with blurry little nuthatches, and I lose nothing. Not film, not nothin’.

And I just got spam with the header “labia squirrel doodle.” That has not contributed noticeably to my happiness, but it does make my brain do that flickering thing where it tries to summon a mental image and then blue screens and reboots. Sort of like trying to picture Dick Cheney naked. I’m convinced you could achieve enlightenment this way, because the brain actually shuts off in self-defense, allowing you a sudden glimpse of a thoughtless clear infinity. Sort’ve like zanshin, only without the dignity.

I threw a coupla decent bowls last night. I got a good bit done yesterday. Maybe that’s the reason I feel vague and happy and silly today. Maybe it’s the light. It’s still winter, but the light is the hot white-tawny of summer, blazing through the bare trees and carving them up with chiaroscuaro knives.

And life is good.



Sometimes I worry that my spiritual growth has been utterly derailed. But hey! Who doesn’t love an eyeball on a stick?