By Laura Grimes
Many laws are writ about packing. Pack food. Pack water. Pack enough underwear so as not to run out. Many more laws take it in the shorts, laws that are never violated under any circumstance. Herewith are writ the laws that take it in the shorts:
By Laura Grimes
The Pantsless Brother was passing through town recently, but I was prepared this time. Gas or no gas, I found him some pants. Whatcha think?
A clever friend sent the photo to me, and she can’t remember where it came from. Gotta love those flames on top of the head. But is that … smoke coming from those ruffled BVDs?
The Pantsless Brother is now so concerned I’ll further inflame his reputation that he regularly will go on about some crazy tale and then say … “Don’t write about that.” or “I don’t want that showing up in your blog.” or “You don’t get to blog about that.”
By Laura Grimes
Several vignettes about kids and books have been pin-balling about my head for months, but two things this week got the mojo going: a goofy T-shirt and a fake mustache.
You only get one this time, though. I’m intent on cleaning up the hell holes around the house and the other night I came across a small bright purple T-shirt. Size 7. It was covered with colorful buttons, shiny Mardi Gras coins, pipe cleaners and assorted gunk from the craft bin. All this was attached with miles of masking tape.
By Laura Grimes
Shhh! Be vewy vewy qwiet! Educational systems are done for the season in these parts and the Large Smelly Boys and I are hoisting secrets in the cargo hold and heading north.
JoJo is beside himself with anticipation to see Uncle The Pantsless Brother again. Daughter of Uncle The Pantsless Brother, otherwise known as Stinkerbell, is graduating from high school. By loose blog association, that would make JoJo and Stinkerbell cousins (she’ll be surprised to hear this).
Also, Mother of Daughter of Uncle The Pantsless Brother, otherwise known, by loose blog association, as JoJo’s Aunt Who is Mother of Daughter of Uncle The Pantsless Brother, recently celebrated a birthday. Yes, seriously, we have relatives to fete. We have feted (not fetid) relatives. We have serious fetting to do.
Continue reading Headed north to feted (not fetid) relatives
By Laura Grimes
Mr. Scatter boarded a plane this morning when the sky was barely light so I’ll be his best blog buddy and post a link to his visual arts review that ran in The Oregonian this morning.
Here’s an excerpt teaser from his review of A Pioneering Collection: Master Drawings From the Crocker Art Museum, which is on view at the Portland Art Museum through Sept. 19:
German artist Johann Georg Bergmüller’s crowded and energetic 1715 drawing and watercolor “Saint Martin Appealing to the Virgin,” for instance, is suffused with allegory and religious phantasmagoria. It revels in the sense of a larger, ordinarily invisible universe just out of human grasp: the artist is chronicler of the real but unseen.
Johann Georg Bergmüller
German, 1688-1762
St. Martin and Other Saints Appealing to the Virgin, 1715
Pen and brown ink, brush and brown and gray washes, blue, pink, red, and orange watercolor, white opaque watercolor on cream laid paper
13 7/8 in. x 7 7/8 in. (31.0 cm x 22.0 cm)
Crocker Art Museum, E. B. Crocker Collection
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Mr. Scatter recently wrote about how several artists through history have rendered the grisly tale of Holofernes, an invading general who lost his head to the beautiful and clever Judith.
By Laura Grimes
You’re stuck with me. Sorry about that, but it can’t be helped. Mr. Scatter had a wee bit of oral surgery and he’s either high or sleeping. Either condition would produce an interesting blog post, but it ain’t happening.
Like that wasn’t enough, the Small Large Smelly Boy came home from school smelling like squid. Something about biology. He was especially happy to report that he got to pop the eyeballs.
By Laura Grimes
Mr. Scatter: What’s a dirty dog ball doing in the dishwasher?
Mrs. Scatter: Um … getting clean.
Mr. Scatter: We don’t have a dog.
Mrs. Scatter: That’s why it needs to get clean.
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OK, I confess. I completely took poetic license with that dialogue. In other words, it didn’t happen. Which is exactly what makes it highly unusual.
When Mr. Scatter sees a dirty dog ball in the dishwasher he doesn’t even bother to ask anymore. He just packs more cups and saucers around it, and closes the dishwasher again. He’s used to finding tile pieces and doll legs in the silverware caddy. He knows better than to toss a perfectly good broken plate when it’s sitting on the counter.
This is what you call marriage security. I have to stay married to this man because I could never find someone else who would put up with dirty dog balls in the dishwasher.
By Laura Grimes
It’s raining and the sky is pretty much a solid dull gray. Gray upon gray. Rain upon rain. End upon end. But the sky doesn’t have to be that dull.
The Pantsless Brother must have seen something different out his window. He sent me this note:
I’m looking out at the sky over the water as the evening fades and all I see is Turner.
Could he have been thinking of this painting?
The Fighting Temeraire by J.M.W. Turner, 1839
Oil on canvas
National Gallery, London
That brilliant expanse of sunset sky is saying goodbye to a famous warship that’s seen its last good fight and being carted off on its last voyage to be broken up. Broad, colorful strokes know their bigness and strikingly evoke a sense of loss. The canvas gives room to all that the sky has to say.
By Laura Grimes
(Editors note: For the safety of our readers, Art Scatter insists on maintaining proper blog decorum. Translation: We don’t swear. Mr. and Mrs. Scatter at all times maintain proper blog decorum in their everyday lives, inside and outside the computer screen, in order to set prime examples for their tender Large Smelly Boys and for the general public.
Also, Mrs. Scatter searched the interwebs high and low for a proper photo and finally picked the one above from Wikimedia Commons and then looked at the caption. It’s from a Fred Meyer store in Portland, Oregon! Hullo! Cue the dialogue, puhleez!)
Mrs.: You park over here? I never park over here.
Mr.: Where do you park?
Mrs.: I park over by the sidewalk so I can safely walk into the store without getting run over.
Mr.: This area is closest to the entrance. (Points in a general direction.)
Mrs.: You go in that door? I never go in that door. You just like to park near the coffee shop, don’t you?
Mr.: I never go to the coffee shop.
Mrs.: We’re going to get run over.
By Laura Grimes
One fabulous day recently at the National Gallery in London a whole class of schoolchildren wearing matching blue uniforms were sprawled on the floor drawing intently. They chatted and giggled quietly, but they were focused.
They attracted me like honey. I edged closer and watched them. Some of their drawings were just spindly stick figures. I watched them show each other their work and point to the giant painting they were studying.
A young man sat on a cushioned bench behind them and drew in a sketchbook. I thought he was with the group. A teacher chatted with him. And then she asked all the students for their attention.
She introduced the young man and asked if he would talk. I realized then he just happened to be there. He smiled to all the kids, leaned forward, turned around his sketchbook and held it up. Then a bit shyly but cheerfully he told them all about it.