A blog category about finding “art” in unexpected places and situations.
You know you’re in serious trouble when you spend time arranging your leftovers-from-the-fridge into an “artistically” weird sort of Bento Box-type lunch.
Some fourteen years ago, when older daughter Amy announced that she was pregnant with our first grandchild, I was both ecstatic and a tad nervously hesitant. A grandfather?! Seriously?! At this stage in my life? Am I even old enough to be a grandfather … officially?!
The old blog post below explains (in excruciating detail) how I ended up being called “Abu” (Abuelo = Grandfather) by that first grandchild Daniel—and all the other ones who came later.
Younger daughter Emily is a whiz at making custom t-shirts, so she recently created these two for Robert and me. Grandson Daniel came up with the idea of calling Robert “Rbu” to go along with my “Abu,” making us a weirdly matching set.
The old Abu post …
And here are a few early pics of Daniel and me …
And Daniel today …
Yes, my favorite word is “Abu.”
A blog category about finding “art” in unexpected places and situations.
Prepping for dinner last night, I looked down into the kitchen sink, and lo and behold, a work of art materialized!
Sorta pre-Christmasy.
Confession/TIB (Truth In Blogging): We ate the art.
In a souvenir store on Broughton Street here in Savannah …
T-shirts telling the truth get on my last nerve.
Another Marvelous Monday.
A new blog category about finding “art” in unexpected places and situations.
After drying my hands, I carelessly tossed the hand towel toward the bar on the outside door of our new glass shower (fully expecting it to fall to the floor as usual—the towel, not the door).
But lo and behold, I instantly became a renowned artist! InstaArt. Putting me in the same league with, say, Jackson Pollock and his brilliant “drip technique” of throwing/pouring paint onto his canvases.
See my artistic intelligence? No?! Just look! My masterpiece (well, master towel) seems “bathed” in soft light, accentuating the “clean” lines of the work. Dramatically crowned in portrait mode by the green loofah.
Enjoy!
{Holiday prints now available for a limited time only for $19.99 plus shipping and handling! 🎄}
Here’s an old post from way back in 2014 (when I was still late middle-age).
So today I ate lunch at Savannah’s hip Green Truck Neighborhood Pub on Habersham Street.
Here’s how the story went down.
As some of you know, I no longer bring meat into the house–it’s all vegetables, fruits, legumes, nuts and seeds there. But I occasionally indulge while eating out. And for some some reason, today I had an all-too-powerful-to-ignore-or-resist hankering for a hunk of grilled meat. So I pulled up to the Green Truck, belly-ed up to the bar to avoid the table wait and ordered the Green Truck Classic Burger, described in their menu as “plain and simple as an old truck: lettuce, tomato, onion and our soon-to-be-famous house-made pickle.” (I added cheddar.)
Yum. No, double yum!
I kept furtively looking around to see if any of my vegetarian friends might have followed me inside. I was nervously poised to slam my meaty plate in front of one of the folks on either side of me at the bar.
Anyway, I savored every moment, every bite. (Do Not Tell Anyone About This! It’s Just Between You And Me.)
Well, when I finished, (and be forewarned, the rest of the story is probably TMI, so stop right now, if you like, and you will still have my burger story), I went to the non-gender-specific bathroom–I’m so 2014– before waddling back to the car.
There was the coolest retro sink inside.
And the typical cabinet.
But for some reason I glanced at the cabinet again …
… and thought, “I wonder what’s in that little cabinet? And if the contents are also non-gender-specific?”
(P.S. When inviting me to birthday or Avon parties, put some of those plastic child resistant lock things on your cabinets. I’ve never been able to figure them out.)
So, of course I reached up and opened the cabinet door. Wouldn’t you? No?! (I also opened a door in a huge hallway in the Biltmore House in Asheville some years back, and a piercing alarm went off, terribly embarrassing my family and friends. Me? When things like that happen, I just try to go to my Happy Place inside and block out externals. There might have been an “Alarm Will Sound” notice on the door, I can’t remember, but really, how often would the Biltmores have changed the batteries?)
Lo and behold, an alarm of sorts also went off when I opened the cabinet door inside the Green Truck’s non-gender-specific bathroom. Here’s what was scrawled on the inside of the door:
I walked out of the bathroom beet red.
(P.S. II: I was so taken aback by the message that I completely forgot to see what was inside the cabinet. If someone wouldn’t mind, would you rush over to the Green Truck, pretend to have to use the bathroom, and snap a pic or two of the inside of that cabinet so I can go to sleep tonight? Thank you.)
NealEnJoy 