oil on canvas, 10x10, sold
Down here in the South, there's a kind of tree called crape myrtle, which, according to my friend Pat, blooms for 100 days, starting in July. There are white crape myrtles, and lilac-colored ones, but most of them bloom in various shades of pink, and they are everywhere. They color the sky when you look up, and their petals gather on patios, and the edges of the roads, and in driveways, turning the ground pink. They are amazing, and I love them.
THE MYSTIC OUTDOOR ART Festival is this weekend, in Mystic, CT. It's a big show, and a good one, and it is a madhouse, too, so be prepared if you go. I will be at the corner of Willow and Main, on the eastern side of the river, right across from the post office. I'll have lots of exciting new work, and I hope to see you there.
We brought Sam to the vet Monday evening, hoping to find something that would help him feel better. The vet pretty much told us that there was nothing to do, that Sam was at the end of his life, and the kindest thing to do would be to euthanize him.
We knew she was right. So we gave him a bunch of treats, and got down on the floor with him, and hugged him and loved him and let him go.
He was a great dog, a big, loving, dear lummox of a dog, and he enriched our lives for years and years and years. I miss him so much this morning, it hurts. But I'd not have traded a minute of our time together. Dear Sam.