Blog Archives
Thank you.
Just one woman with a pen and a sketch book who still really doesn’t have a clue how she thinks of the world. I guess that’s real honest drawing, I’ll figure it out. I always have perceived my world through these lines. Mistakes after mistakes. Processing and redrawing. I drew Bonnie after six goes, it helped me to do so.
On difficult days the only way for me to process events is to draw. A language in itself of sense.
I’m deeply grateful for all your well wishes regarding Bonnie’s passing, you’re all in it with me, some of you for ten years now. It’s not the Never Ending story though, it’s my life on concrete streets and there’s no dragons I’m afraid.
Just this cat who really is going to be the death of me. I make no apologies for the anatomical mess in this drawing, I will look like that if she gets me one day. Much love.
La de dah.
Hark at me getting the landscaping done in my garden.
Frannie is planning a moonscape (or dogscape) she hasn’t decided yet. It’s obviously going to have mostly two foot deep craters as Frannie loses interest and moves along to the next virgin patch of grass once she’s dug the thing. My ankles are really loving the new rugged terrain.
Another question. Why does the laundry pile grow in the spring? Because everyone has outgrown their clothes again and nothing fits so everyone throws out said clothes to be washed and for me to put it back once dry and the cycle continues…
Did I mention I’ve illustrated a book?
Cat walk
I see where this is going and I am powerless to stop it, my jumbled corpse and broken bones while being lovingly purred at.
Pandemic didn’t cause a washing shortage that’s for sure. I’ve lost the will to live pairing socks and everyone’s got each others and is having fun negotiating them back. Don’t say I don’t make it fun.
Explosion.
Explosive start to Monday with a vacuum rammed washing basket. You can imagine my sheer joy at working through that. Isn’t this fun? Bet Snow White held those animals at gunpoint to get them to tidy up her bloody cottage. 
Thoughts while holding a washing basket.
1. Where’s my peg basket?
2. Who put tissues in their pocket?
3. That tree looks beautiful.
4. I’m tired.
5. Are star shorts appropriate?
Washing basket joy.
Look, I can’t do the washing because Gruff has left his toy dog on top and he looks so comfy.
Better get the kettle on then.
Beast of burden.
Not you Arnie, my washing basket.
I’ve closed the bathroom door so it can’t get out and I can’t see it either.
Weekend’s all right for washing.
Oh god, tonnes of it too.
All right! I can’t carry you as well you know…
Hrmph, all right for some, wake up! This washing needs sorting at some point.
Washing and ironing.
I wish I could hide from it.
Some days it feels like a tsunami out to get me. Shove it all in the draws before it swallows the kids….
Doodlemum 