Went out to a little local folk art fest thingy this afternoon with Kevin and his kids. (He has two boys. Fortunately they’re in the same vague age range as my kid brother Max, which puts them in arguably the least personally alarming subset of the species. And were I much more of a furry than I am, I’d put in a vote for Kevin’s totem as some species of good-natured but highly efficient herding dog.*)
Anyway, it was a lot of fun, watched chainsaw carving being done. This is more fun to watch when you have not just been woken out of a sound sleep by it, as happened the last time, over a decade ago, when a buddy of my folks, Ken Hunt, came up and decided he was going to carve a large-breasted deer woman,** using a chainsaw, at about eight in the morning. Ken was an odd fellow, but an amazing sculptor when he put his mind to it. (No, I couldn’t find any photos of the deer woman. He did this one gigantic wooden laughing Buddha located in a Chinese restaurant in Salem, OR if you’ve ever seen it, though–impressive. as. hell.)
Generally any time I see an art form done, I get an urge to try it, but fortunately for all, I do not have any immediate desire to grab a chainsaw. This is a good thing. I have neither the space nor the time nor the spare appendages that I would require for such. When we can grow new limbs in a vat, I may take it up, but until then, I think I’ll just have to watch from afar. (Not afar enough, possibly. I’m still picking cedar chips out of my cleavage.)
Unfortunately, it seems like despite four years down here (god, has it been four years already?) I’m still not acclimated to the sun. I applied sunscreen twice–TWICE!–and I’m still a rather pleasant shade of grapefruit pink. The most amusing bit is that I was wearing a chunky turquoise necklace, and now have a lovely line of irregular white across my sternum. Heh heh heh. Also got a touch of heat stroke, but fortunately I recognized what that was as soon as I got a touch queasy and stopped sweating. (You don’t get out of Arizona without learning THAT one…) Nuthin’ bottled water can’t fix, fortunately.
What REALLY weirds me out is that my shoulders and collarbone fried like a fritter, and my face didn’t at all. Apparently regular ‘ol sunscreen slathered on wilted under the solar onslaught, and my friggin’ 35 spf makeup sailed through without a qualm. I can’t even claim that it’s due to my face being more all-weather, because my scalp at the part in my hair fried too. CoverGirl powder foundation, we are impressed.
So now I’m pink and slightly raw, but I have aloe and in a few minutes, I shall celebrate the lifting of the drought by taking a nice bath with a cheap historical romance novel.*** An excellent day all around. I have accomplished pretty much zip today, mind you, but I regret nothing! Nothink!
And I can assuage my guilt by running prints of the Taxman while I’m in the tub.
*Forrrrrtunately, I’m not that furry. Really.
**This is not making any headway on that not-a-furry thing, is it?
***I hereby recommend Amanda Quick for those lookin’ for a historical romance. They’re clever. And Deb, in her ongoing desire to convert me to the genre, loaned me about a dozen of ’em.
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