Monday, January 27, 2014

how to combine rich patterns and texture in a bleak, cryogenic world

 I Everyone is in a sort of an ursine funk right now.  I'm watching petals dry up and fall off of the $3.99 flowers I got at Trader Joe's to, you know, brighten up the 900 square feet of my existence. They are now moldy stalks with what appear to be shriveled eyeballs on top, but do I get up and walk the two steps over there and put them out of their misery?  Nope.  Too much effort.  Normally I find a gallon of coffee very inspirational. And bacon. Negatory. Yesterday, the kumquat made an inquiry about dinner, a subject that usually excites me, and I thought about our pantry and offered, Pepper?  He said we were out of pepper.  So I cut some leg holes in the bottom of the sleeping bag I was wearing, put a raccoon on my head and went out, squinting as my orbs froze. 

Having found the pepper, I shuffled up to the checkout with some other grey and lumpy peasants who had given up,  given up I tell you, when boom, my hopeless world was rocked.  JoAnn's fabrics are subtly colored, soothing the eye into seeing beauty again with a steady rhythm of patterns and textures, starting with a fluffy pelt peaking out of her boots on up to her snow leopard hat that does not in any way make you wonder about the curing process.  Wakened from their winter coma,  my hamsters  synapses were a bit rusty so I grunted and gestured and JoAnn brightly translated from woodchuck into English,  Oh, shall I stand here by the cheese?  JoAnn went home to make a split pea soup studded with savory ham hock and I wiped my nose with my sleeve.

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