I kinda sorta finished the Soul Mapping book and exercises a couple of weeks ago, but I went back over the last couple of chapters and legit finished last weekend. I realized I hadn’t uploaded all of the arty bits from the second half of the book. I’m too lazy to scan them, but I did take some photos.
Never take a mime to a demon fight.
I had a bizarre dream a year or two ago, about a friend who lives out of state showing up on my doorstep with a mime in tow. I don’t like mimes. I was not happy about having to invite a dream mime into my dream house. But my friend and her dream mime helped me hunt down a demon living in my dream house, so it turned out more or less okay. I did warn her, in real life, not to ever bring a mime to my house, though, or I’d have to real life unfriend her.
At first people called her Happy.
Consecrating the places of awe
The White Horse
I love the way Thomas tucks in his nose and folds his little chicken wing under his knee.
From the third floor of the library:
From the ground, while walking to my car:
All of that drama (and wind!), and we only got about three drops of rain from it. It cooled off, though, which was nice.
I bought a new, cheap blender to make hummus. It works great for that, but it turns out that it also makes a decent smoothie. Who knew?! And just in time for hot weather. I may have found a way to successfully avoid eating all the ice cream in the world, this summer.
I made this sketchbook three years ago and finally finished it.
8 x 6 inches, 24 pages of Canson 140 lb cold press watercolor paper, single needle Coptic bound with black waxed linen thread
You are what you are (sour AF)
When your staff interrupts you while you’re cleaning your knives.
This winter Thomas has discovered that blankets are awesome. He usually likes to be completely covered, but occasionally he’ll poke his nose out.
Thomas went for more than a year, ignoring the various tennis balls in his toy box, left over from Frances. Then one day he found a squeaky tennis ball, and now he’s addicted. Unfortunately, he peels them, so they don’t last very long.
Goal met. I think I can go to bed now.
I missed this in my earlier searching through Atlanta newspapers for my third great grandfather, Henry Lewis Hoover. I’ve had bits of The House that Jack Built floating around in my head all day.
“Lost,” The Atlanta Constitution, 25 Apr 1879, p. 2, col. 8; digital images, Newspapers.com (www.newspapers.com : accessed 15 Jul 2017). Rec. Date: 14 May 2017.
STTAYED OR STOLEN–A DARK RED Brindle Cow, crumply horns, bored for hollow horn and nails inserted in the openings. Ample reward for her delivery at 28 Connolly street. Dr. H. L. Hoover.