Congratulations on Your Surgery!

Message from a child, as yet unaware of the "get well soon" protocol! :-D

I can still type, thank heavens! photo: Sarah Barr

Float oil on canvas 11 x 14 inches

ART QUOTATIONS
Well, Studio Friday (I'm late as usual) has this as its theme, list one or more quotations on art that speak to you. This topic was almost too much for me as I am a life-long collector of quotations. Both computers in the house have word files for "Interesting Sayings" I come upon on-line, and I also keep a notebook for copying in those found in printed books. Actually, I've filled one notebook (started at age 20) and am well into my second. I hadn't really thought about how obsessive this must seem, till this minute! Live and learn.

Anyway, here is one art quotation from my collection:

"To any artist, worthy of the name, all in nature is beautiful, because his eyes, fearlessly accepting all exterior truth, read there, as in an open book, all the inner truth."
--Auguste Rodin, 1840-1917

I thought this went well with this painting. I've had a few comments from the peanut gallery along the lines of "awfully skinny legs on that kid!" but many more warm comments from parents of kids with physical disabilities who instantly recognize this for what it is: a physical therapy session. One perspicacious mom even pinpointed exactly where it was taking place "Is that the therapy pool at Children's Seashore House at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania?" she asked diffidently. Bingo!

SICK
and miserable. My poor Henry. He is mostly past the lying-in-bed-like-a-limp-rag part of his illness. But this next stage seems to have moments of utter misery and despair, possibly due to pain or boredom or the unsettled feeling of being out of his normal routine. Who can say? The clasped hands are not actually imploring me for anything: they are linked because seconds before he was raging and he has learned that squeezing his hands togther while he bellows has better consequences than what he really wants to do: squeeze his mother's head till her jaw snaps. Ouch! He is soon going to be as tall as I am too, so I am glad for his new rage dispersal method, however temporary.

Anyway, this rage seemed to sap what little strength he had mustered, and he is now back upstairs lying in bed like a wet rag. And I do mean wet. Washing machine ho!

BIRTHDAY
The twins turned thirteen today! Henry, home from school for the weekend, celebrated by getting ferociously ill. He has spent most of the day in bed. And we've had to change his sheets and pajamas nine times today so far, it's that kind of illness. (Aren't you glad I shared this detail?) It is so hard because he can't talk and we have to guess what to do for him, based only on his various symptoms and reactions. In some ways it is also easier because he can't talk, and complain and whine and demand things. (But I'd take complaints over silence anyday of course!) P, in contrast, had a nice day hanging out with a friend, biking around town, relishing a special dinner and enjoying his gifts. Henry came down for the celebration, ate a few bites of cake, looked at his gifts and went back to bed. The poor baby...er... teenager!