On Painters Eleven and December’s damp days

I cannot resist reading this book. And I mean reading every paragraph, not just perusing the images and captions. I was drawn in by the story of William Ronald, a Canadian abstract expressionist painter, and have been reading it every chance I got today, despite the fact that I am in the middle of three other books, while the children watched the new Winnie the Pooh DVD, between bean bag toss and race cars. The paintings are fantastic, and there are lots of good quotes for someone like me trying to learn everything I can about abstract painting.

In the morning, I saw out my window the clear view of the majestic blue mountains, trimmed with snow, and a thin slice of cloud suspended just over the flat ochre plain beyond the city. I guess it caught my eye because it is normally dark when I am home during the work week.

Even though the sky was blue for part of the afternoon, the gloominess of December’s chilly damp weather settled over the landscape and into the house. Without lights blazing, I cannot see into the corners of the rooms. The dim light brought me back to the frontier gold rush days 150 years ago, when this would be the normal atmosphere in side a British Columbian’s cabin. Of course the whir of the electric sewing machine brought me back to the future pretty quickly, and the sound of the budgie imitating the click of the machine as I whipped up some pillow cases for the children as a gift for the beginning of Hanukkah, which starts on Tuesday and by way of a long story, our household has taken to celebrating as of last year.

So with another latte pulled from freshly home-roasted beans, and the comforts of handmade afghans, we snuggle and await the coming of the celebration of light and miracles.