the Each Week, One Beast project: week 33

We've talked a lot about what Otto doesn't like, but not so much about what he does like. He likes cooking. But alas, he is not technically allowed on the kitchen table. Here he is, about to be whisked off.

I thought I'd share the before picture for this finished drawing, from my sketchbook, below. Sometimes I get a sketch I love, and man, it's so challenging to capture the energy of the loose sketch in the next drawing - the one I do on the nice, expensive paper. If I'm lucky I get something just as good as the sketch, but different. If I'm not lucky I get pages and pages of F-ed up Ottos, ready to be recycled into something more useful, like toilet paper.

August and onward

The Bittersweet Moods of Late Summer... that's a weather system, isn't it? I hope so, because that would mean it isn't just me feeling foul, and then inspired, and then foul again. I know - it isn't even late summer. But these cold nights, these shortening days, the insect noise and goldenrod scent...

I've started sketching little houses, one of which we might build on our land in Vermont. Matt is calling this theoretical structure The Shabin, maybe because he thinks its architectural style is going to be a perfect falling-apart blend of shack and cabin, or maybe, since we've always called our current house The Crapshack (even though it's really quite cute and not crappy at all), this is just an affectionate term for a future construction project which promises to be rife with miscalculations that will seem very unfortunate indeed, in hindsight.

Actually, we've got higher hopes than all that for this project, and it's fun to dream and plan - the sweet to balance the bitter.

the Each Week, One Beast project: week 32

The cat whose name is a palindrome. Again. Sheesh.

Early awake

I got up at 4:30 this morning, after having dreamt all night about fleas and woken up itching. Hmph.

The next thing I did was stand in the kitchen with one finger on my lower lip, and one hand on my hip, and contemplate, blueberry waffles: yea or nay?

And just then... There was a loud crash on the back porch!

Now let me tell you about the back porch, when it's in the dark. It's scary. It has always seemed to me that at some point in my residence here on Fig Street, I will come upon either a) a homicidal maniac in a drug-induced coma on my glider, or b) the recently expired body of said maniac slumped on the steps. It's a shadowy, tucked away place - the back porch. It harbors deep forebodings in the night.

So as you can imagine, the crash alarmed me. I turned around slowly, with a grimace, and in the light from the kitchen shining through the screen door, I could see zero hulking lurking things. Good! But kinda bad, because now I had to approach the door to flick on the porch light. Throwing caution to the wind, I did just that. I turned on the light, looked out the door, and... relief! No men on the glider, bleeding!

In fact, nothing at all, except one fluffy little raccoon cub the size of a cantaloupe, scampering round the end of the glider and down the steps.

Doom turned to glee, just like that. I made like a raccoon cub and scampered down the inside stairs to alert the baker to These Exciting Happenings. Outside we could hear little skitterings, and then we saw six tiny eyes glinting way up high in the dark bulk of the hemlock tree. When our eyes adjusted, there were three raccoons, clambering over one another and dangling from branches. They considered us briefly, and just when the horizon split open a little bit of blue light, I think they realized how sleepy they were, because they all three scritched their way down the hemlock trunk, and off they went through the garden. One paused to peer in the bakery window, which starts a few inches above ground, at raccoon's eye view.

Matt said he knew I wouldn't be grumpy once all day long, on account of the raccoons, and well, he was right. I wasn't. The end.

the Each Week, One Beast project: week 31

One more Otto. I'll share the complete drawings that these little Ottos came out of soon. Happy weekend, all!

Kittens in my shrubberies

This picture is from just before Ricocheting Kittens happened in my backyard on Friday evening. They came bursting out of the bushes - four of them - like little cotton ball/cannonballs. After a brief warmup routine, they did some pear tree exploration, which involves scurrying up and then plummeting out. Then there was a slower paced and not especially successful lightning bug hunt, after which everyone got very, very sleepy and it was time to nurse. I hope they come back again another night.

the Each Week, One Beast project: week 30

Ha! It's Otto again! It's now the Each Week, Otto project. Maybe, maybe not. This is again a sneak peak of a bigger, tiny picture. So far, with your help, I now know that Otto hates: cold milk (which is the same as milk that has not been warmed), the tedious task of painting trim, wet shoes (who doesn't?), dogs and everything having to do with them, sticky paws (and even just the mere thought), and Rude Awakenings. Please feel free to add to the list! Either here in the comments or an email to me, Otto's personal assistant and keeper of files, records and such.