It all started when my 37-year-old daughter sent me an email saying she had cancer damn near everywhere, and was in the Waukesha Memorial Hospital (what does it memorialise? Waukesha?). Well, frankly, things don't look too damned good, and I think that if she survives, it will be more by her will than by good medicine. It had gone on for some time undetected, and was (is) pretty well established. If she dies, I will, of course, be heartbroken, but the test is not of me; it is of her. Her karma calls for her to fight for her life, and if she fights, she wins, whether she lives or dies. Another instance of the journey being more important than the destination.
I know that sounds wacko; I believe some very queer things, indeed … a card-carrying member of the Lunatic Fringe.
And, in a short conversation with PainterWoman, I was suddenly struck with the thought of posting pictures of some of my old handmade artwork, not my photos just yet … still trying to figure out a way to theft-proof them, so my Scottish Lassie will not explode. She wants me to put them into stock-photo agencies, but I haven't figured out how, yet. And all the turmoil of getting this new machine and getting everything set "just so", plus my daughter's illness … well, I've not been too keen on it, and that's a fact. But I have started uploading some old drawings and prints … paintings and lithos, sculpture … whatever … will follow as I get to 'em.