If you have been following my progress...

I know the learning curve is perhaps steeper in my case than in others, as my technophobia needs to be conquered in mini-battles... and perhaps this will now seem extraneous or abusive, but I am so excited that I figured out how to include multiple photos, I feel the need to keep doing it. I, while a lover of photography, am not generally in need of visual stimulation, but there are those of us that prefer it... I prefer the literary myself...

But here's how the day went (erasing all the black clouds as if they never existed - the magic of story-telling). First I read a little, very little, then I made orange-vanilla french toast, with fresh-squeezed orange juice (salvaging masterfully a half-loaf of soy-sprout bread that was being invaded by a proliferation of mold spores, and yes, I did get rid of the bad part, no experiments with home-grown penicillin on my family today). Then off we went into the sunshine (not without the usual growling about something or other, but as I said, I am leaving out all the negative parts for the sake of the narrative, right?)



This looked like a tempting ride, but sadly I have never owned a moto, and probably never will. I would have liked to ride up the coast letting my hair tangle in irreversible dread-knots, but alas, that is one fantasy that will have to wait.

After making appropriate social appearance at company fundraising picnic, and listening to a bluegrass band that was singing some 60's song about love and war that reminded me of what Lenny Kravitz would later sing about, I. discovered the face painting. She pulled me immediately in the direction of the table, and established her decoration for today would be a bunny. Yesterday while I was busy conferencing, she and Peregrine (with his grandma) went to see the butterfly exhibit at the Natural History Museum and had their faces painted at Safety-Day... very important. She was a cat yesterday, but today felt more like a rodent sort of day, as she rousted me out of bed by gnawing on my arm. Here is the process:


And the product:



Then we came home to meet Nicolai and Luana, and a friend of theirs, and I was convinced to come hear Damian Marley play over at the stadium. We met up with Eric and Michelle while we were waiting to have our water confiscated from us... No cameras allowed either, so I have no pictures, but that is just as well because I was lost in a dancing trance. Good show, but the sun was too hot, and I really ought to wear sun-block, what with the melting polar ice-caps and ozone void spots in the atmosphere... I just forget sometimes. What's a white-girl to do? Although, I have to say, excluding myself from this group, of course, white people are shitty dancers. No, not even that, they don't even move they just stand in rigid clusters no matter how much bass is being thumped in their direction. Not me. I was bouncing around even with a girl (uf!, a very long and heavy one) resting on my hip, letting the sweat roll off of me in waves, following my undulating curves. It is good to dance once in a while.

So once we were home again, I. begged to use the camera... and here I am, hot and sweaty and sadly (I will never be happy with the way I look, call it negative self-image from a patriarchal culture or what have you, but that's just the way it is) in living color:



Now, I really must stop avoiding my work.