More Scrap

This is my cat.  Mine, because I drew it.  I used to draw him a lot.  So I stuck him here.

This is my buddy.  My bosom buddy, if you can use that word in a family blog.  Her name is NOT Jezebel, even though she dressed like this and even went grocery shopping and kid picking up in this rig.  She is not dumpy, you will note.  This is why I keep her around, to make me look good.

Perhaps we will call her Solome.  Yes.  Let’s do.

Down to the footwear.  Like I’d ever wear a toe ring.  It’d drive me nuts.  You will note, as I am sure she will, having not seen these shots before, that her skin is not unmarked about the ankle.  This is because she has seven children and can face off a twelve hundred pound horse, who will then sit in the dirt and shiver (the horse, not Solome).

Sultry has its applications.  I could never even come close to pulling this look off.  Any man I turned to with obvious intent would immediately become lost in the dark circles under my eyes.  My Solome’s hair curls all on its own, too, which I think is kind of cheaty.  Of course, the general effect of her loveliness is somewhat compromised by the  big, ugly plastic toy debris behind her.  It’s hard to be a woman of mystery when at any moment, a small boy may launch himself at you and beg for sandwiches.  Still – 

Here, she demonstrates some of her dance moves.  Very slinky and romantic and Nights of Araby, I think.

But this one is my favorite.  GO,  SOLOME!!!

These men are not watching Solome (they better not be).  Instead, they are being the production crew in the studio for Joshua Creek.  One belongs to me (cry for him), one is my brother-in-law, one is my brother in-law-in-law.  And one is my brother in law-in-law-in-law (and why he is there, I am not quite sure.  But since he is again a new daddy, I will let him stay).

This is Chaz making romantic and very oily Japanese Inari rice balls so that we can feed them to the fox demons that I swear live in our backyard.  Actually, we ate the dang things ourselves, and they were good, and it was only after I’d eaten one that I realized that just because something is Japanese and inscrutable, does not mean it will not make you fatter.  It isn’t fair that, when a child moves home, she should take over your kitchen and make Danish of ANY nationality.  But this one does it constantly.  She weighs 115 pounds.  I ask you, does this seem fair to you?

This old dog, asleep on the front porch, is older than I am.  Maybe that’s why we love each other so much.