A portion of my favorite walking trail has been washed away by historic high water levels in Lake Ontario.  It’s annoying, not just because of the portent of climate change devastation, but also it was a straight 5km stretch of uninterrupted trail five minutes from my house. I’ve been reduced to walking on the street like a common urchin, stopping for traffic lights and being subjected to all the noise, noise, noise, noise.

I haven’t been drawing much because I’ve got a couple of guitar shows coming up.  I’m French polishing today which is a craft that basically lulls you into thinking everything is going along smoothly so you get complacent and inadvertently touch something by accident, spoiling all your efforts.

The latest job for my Super-X-tendo Arm involved reaching up into the rafters of the entryway at C’s daycare to take a photo and determine if the robin’s nest has been successfully vacated.  We’re trying to decide whether to retrieve it for ornithological studies with the 4 year olds.

The man in the white house sits, naked and obscene, a pustule of ego, in the harsh light, a man whose grasp exceeded his understanding, because his understanding was dulled by indulgence. He must know somewhere below the surface he skates on that he has destroyed his image, and like Dorian Gray before him, will be devoured by his own corrosion in due time too. One way or another this will kill him, though he may drag down millions with him. One way or another, he knows he has stepped off a cliff, pronounced himself king of the air, and is in freefall. Another dungheap awaits his landing; the dung is all his; when he plunges into it he will be, at last, a self-made man.

Rebecca Solnit (via azspot)

I came to a stop earlier behind a big old mid-60′s Ford. Some things came to mind- how bright modern brake lights have become, and there was a smell from the exhaust, too, the grainy, slightly dangerous scent of leaded gasoline. When I was a kid there were still enough of those old pre-ban cars still on the road and that smell lingers in my memory.  Driving then had a whole different set of sensory experiences. Tires don’t squeal the way they once did.

A raincloud decided to open up on me this evening as I went walking.  The drops felt good against a mildly sunburned face.  A cleansing of sorts.

A moment of magic when the bottle of dish soap gives up an unexpected offering of tiny bubbles.  ***(edit): I actually drew this same phenomenon back in 2013, so I guess we’re doing a clip show or something…)

A baby Canada goose got angry at me today.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him his attempt at a menacing hiss was more comic than threatening.

I’ve been eating a lot of celery.  It’s apparently useful in reducing blood pressure, and my blood is exceedingly pressured recently.

I was having a productive weekend until this evening when my body decided it was time to shrug off another kidney stone. My calcium-rich diet full of leafy greens and my specialized body chemistry like to do this every once in a while. Never had one? You don’t know what you’re missing.

Earlier I was working with some maple wood that had been specially dried in a process that caramelizes it. No kidding. It smells like pancakes when I cut into it.

Watching a live feed from the nest of a Great Grey Owl. (Strix nebulosa, biggest in the world.)  

It’s mesmerizing, especially at night.  Mom and dad take turns swooping off into the darkness and occasionally both leave the brood, which snuggles up in a fluffy pile.  We were concerned about one particularly scrawny looking specimen until we learned that owls lay their eggs several days apart and the owlets grow so fast that they coexist in the nest at vastly different stages of maturation.      https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCx5UmygKRo

Old car joys, volume 81.

On my hands and knees (and belly) by the side of the road this afternoon tracking down the cause of a horrendous sound that gave every indication of being a vehicle-ender.  It was only a loose piece of metal shielding. Now I have to decide if it’s worth getting fixed, or should I just trust the quick solution I fabricated on the spot from a scrap of aluminum?

-I just read a post on an email newsgroup (I signed up in 1999)… having to do with lute building and repair.   Apparently a man wants to pay to have a luthier come to Malta for a week to fix his liuto attiorbato because shipping and insurance would be too expensive to send it out.   Now, I *know* this is an obvious scheme in the vein of “the most dangerous game, but what kind of serial killer is specialized enough to go after luthiers?   I’m kind of tempted.