Morning Lamb
Photo finalist in the Canadian Federation of Agriculture's 75th Anniversary Photo Contest

I hope all of you have had a fantastic Christmas and are preparing for the New Year with great anticipation and joy.

We had a great Christmas here and as usual I have a story to tell about it.

As the family grows larger (in physical size...I could never do the baby thing again!!LOL) and everyone has demands that must be met. One scare commodity is the computer. Apparently my family has decided that my time on this wretched machine far exceeds the families approved time lines and so for a present this year my family bought me my very own lap top.

Nothing fancy, just a basic piece of equipment that I can gleefully fill with my photos and paintings and write my stories on. Something I can take on my travels through out the house and beyond on my whim.

My whim apparently is very irritating to family members so with great joy to the receiver and from the givers my new lap top began the lengthy process of rebuilding. For those of you who know me or have read this blog you will all note that I am not the most computer literate person on the planet and my husband is quite adept at it. Most of the time.

He likes to install new hard drives and usually this results in lengthy durations where I have no contact with the outside world. A horrible fate for someone who has a set routine and can not fulfil it. In that way I am very much like The Big Bangs Sheldon. The world is not quite right if my routine is disrupted.

And so I puttered around the house Christmas morn as Dave installed program after program.

We had Christmas dinner complete with all the trimmings and had scented candles placed upon the table to add a festive air to the event. I went to the studio to work on several new commissions and several hours later returned to the kitchen to note an odd glow from my new laptop. Wondering what program could ever do that I sidestepped David as he raced to my side babbling about "the candles, the damn candles"

My screen had an odd configuration on it slightly resembling a lighted skull with rays coming from it. When I ventured to looked at the back I nearly suffered a stroke. The illumination on the screen was caused by a huge hole about 3 inches by 2 inches in my lap tops cover! David had left the never been touched by me laptop too near the candle and after several hours of inattendence it melted a gaping hole in it!! My new baby was now horribly mangled!!!

My children in the past , who have sat at the computer thoroughly focused on the screen totally oblivious to the outside world have missed the fire departments arrival at our home. I always wondered how a person could so totally tune out the world around them and I always wonder, always suspected which side of the gene pool THAT darling trait came from. It would appear it comes from the male side. As David had sat at the computer, as it melted away without once realizing this event was literally occurring under his nose!

And men wonder why women call men "Dumb asses!"

I will be the only person on the planet (including the Pope) who has an actual HOLY computer!

Happy Holidays Folks

Blue Bird of Happiness- Needle felted

Chickadees Hat and Mittens- Needle felted

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house not a creature was stirring except.. for the parents"

We are trying to finalize the great mans arrival and as par for the course, we are once again on a frantic search for "the" gift that was purchased with glee and hidden with hopes that it would not be found by the multiple little fingers that are linked to a curious mind.

I had hoped that we could avoid a repeat of past Christmas' that had a habit of continuous giving. You know what I am talking about, where you find gifts squirreled away only to be located during the summer months. Doesn't bode well for food stuffs or sledding equipment and trust me when I say there is no disappointment quite like that of a child who receives the ammo for his "special" Nerf gun but doesn't actually get the gun until August of the following year!

This year I made a pact with myself not to lose a single gift. I hid everything in plain sight with the knowledge that they would be easily accessible for prying minds but also easily found for aging ones as well! I also cut down on the amount of gifts and put a Nix on anything that required "assembly" or "batteries not included" gifts.

The plan was to remove those confused looks that pass between parents during the mornings festivities where each of you tries in vain to send mental images and discussion topics while looking like you planned the Barbie clothes to arrive without the Barbie! Searching through cluttered garages and crawling over rabbit hutches in a futile attempt to find the module that goes with that new xBox gets mighty embarrassing when you have an anxious audience.

I love Christmas!

A good story now. A true story.

I was at the bus station yesterday to mail of one last painting and as I stood in line awaiting my turn I watched the exchange between the clerk and the bus driver who was trying to explain why she was on the phone and not behind the wheel of her bus and travelling down the highway. I was listening half heartedly as my focus was drawn to the parked bus as a timid elderly woman slowly exited the vehicle. She looked confused and uncertain and lost.

"You'll wait? Great, I'm leaving right now."

The driver explained to her coworkers and the rest of us that an elderly passenger did not get off the bus in Antigonish (about 90 minutes away from us and the opposite direction she needed to be going in!) and was now in danger of missing any buses to get her to her final destination of Sydney. This woman bus driver was taking her over to New Glasgow to be able to catch a bus that would be waiting, courtesy of another kind person, so that she could make home before nightfall.

One last look at the frail older woman had me sending a silent prayer to God thanking him for the bus driver and her kindness. The cynical part of me that I do try to remove from my character wondered what would have become of this poor woman if the driver had of been callus and cold. Would she have been able to find lodging for the evening in a strange town as everyone bustled past her without regard for her plight?

This kind act had me becoming more aware of those around me. I smiled a bit brighter and wished the clerks through out the day a Merry Christmas not just because it was polite conversation but because I actually wished them good tidings. The response was wonderful.

And so I extend my warmest regards and hopes that you enjoy the Holiday season and all it has to offer. Perhaps the feeling of good will toward all men will stay with us all a Little bit longer than these few days in December. Maybe it won't get lost like my Christmas gifts.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year one and all!

Crystal Butterfly
(which promptly fell off the railing 1 second after this photo was taken thus proving that crystal butterflies can not fly and will become mangled when they hit the ground 15 feet below them!)

Crystal Angel

Crystal Christmas Ornaments

We are now beginning to feel the effects of a brutal Nor'easter here. The sheep and the horse are all hiding out in their sheds and Rex the rooster is learning that crowing in a wind storm leads to instant flight!

Poor Rex, being the rooster that he is in all his glory has become airborne several times already and being a typical stubborn males has decided that he can not take refuge in the shed until his quota of crowing has been filled. I am quite certain one of my neighbors will become the new owners of an aged Ameracauna Rooster! I imagine the scene will resemble that one in Twister where Helen Hunt sees a cow fly by their truck, only in our case it will be the truck driving school down the road witnessing Rex's first long haul flight!!

I am hoping the storm will be gentle on us. I love my concrete house. The only thing I usually hear in a storm like this is the sound of slapping shingles. It is a very horrid sound. There is no rhythm and it I swear it sounds like money. Money leaving my bank account as each and everyone hurtles to the ground in an effort to dent one of my vehicles! I have found the use of ear plugs to be very comforting in a case such as this.

I suppose we should be glad it is not 10 feet of snow!

The pictures today are of a recent project the kids and I have under taken. It has been great fun to create sculptures out of pipe cleaners and then let them soak in a solution of Borax and water where crystal form and the end result is fantastic. It is easy and your imagination is the only limiting factor.

Imagination is a great thing...unless you are the mother of an imaginative 11 year daughter. I was out one evening and when I returned a few hours later I was stunned to find my beautiful kitchen in complete disarray. I have a large kitchen. There are 40+ feet of counter space and each and every inch of it was covered in "stuff". Anna was bounding around like a kid on a sugar high busily writing out orders and placards informing people not to touch her experiments. :(

It seems she decided the Internet was a wondrous fount of information and one the should be utilized to its maximum. Not content with our earlier Borax creations she decided to see what else she could create crystals out of. It seems that all food stuffs are fair game. Sugar, salt and spices were all combined in various concoctions with food colouring and vinegar. The next day involved a long expensive visit to the grocery store.

Being 11 also means that clean up is NOT one of your required priorities. Creating a vast mess and coating every inch of Moms huge counter top ...do-able and DONE!

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So in true MOM fashion I lectured as I cleaned and taught Anna a new skill... multitasking. She can now clean and apologize at the same time!!

Merry Christmas Folks.

Charlie 7x5 Oil Portrait Sold

The Holiday season is now upon us and my kids are home for the holidays and buzzing around the house fueled by Christmas bonbons. Any attempts to get them to use this excess energy in a positive way ie doing laundry is as futile as Borg assimilation!

There are more social gatherings in these last two weeks than there have been for the rest of the year and the burst of activity has us all sleeping very well at night. The chance to visit and enjoy the company of new and old friends has been a blessing in more ways than one and I for one enjoy the relaxed atmosphere of this season as compared to other years.

The studio is hopping busy and I presently have 4 commissions in various stages of development propped up on easels and tables. They are all smaller in nature which makes them rather fun to play with as opposed to the larger canvas' which can be daunting in a tight time frame.

So between the Holiday festivities, herding sugar crazed kids to various events and refueling my 13 year old sons insatiable appetite with something half way nutritious I hope to hide out in my studio. Maybe I'll sneak an eggnog or two up with me!!

Happy Holidays to you and yours!

Roamin the Wildman 4x5 oil portrait SOLD

It is hard to believe it is so close the Christmas. Up until yesterday we still had a few die hard Rubeckia and Dandelions blooming on our property. Those who think global warming is not happening in Canada has not been on my property. I am still watering my animals out of the trough which has been going on since early March! I have had animals for over 25 years and this is the first time I have had almost 10 months of uninterrupted trough use.

It has been a blessing to my back but I see the effects on my animals and in my pastures. The sheep are prepared for cooler temps and their heavy wool fleeces has them in some discomfort. My pastures must be sectioned off earlier or else the animals will chew the vegetative growth to the root stocks and kill the plants.

For those of you who live in Northern climates look around and you'll see these effects however minor you perceive them and take note. You do not have to live in an island nation like the Maldives to be acutely aware of the impacts of our changing climates.

We built a ICF concrete house with solar in floor heating and south ward facing exterior that houses the best thermal windows money could buy. Sound excessive? Our construction people thought so. They claimed on more than one occasion that our home was excessive. I suppose if you think global warming will never affect you then yes this is true.

With the time of day heating rate installed and the thermal capacity of our home it is not uncommon to have the power go off for 6 or more hours and our home only loses 1 degree of temperature. When you compare the heating rates of our home which is 3600 square feet to a stick built home of 12oo square feet our electric bills (which includes heat) is less than theirs. Yet our ways are too expensive?

The sad fact about this is we did it without government support. While our federal and provincial governments tout that we should take environmental issue seriously , the programs they have in effect such as the Energuide and rating system is not programmed to handle newer houses such as ours. This is a grievous error on their part for there are almost 12 ICF homes in my immediate area but the government will only aid people in building traditional non efficient homes and the retro fit of heritage homes. Why is there an incentive for people who do not believe our actions are destroying the planet?

As I listen to the news this morning and heard of the newest price increase for gas all I could think of was the reason I built this home. While attending my mothers funeral I talked with many of her peers and they all remarked that they could not afford to heat their homes. They had resorted to closing off sections of their homes and layering their clothing to stay warm. I was so shaken by this that I told my husband that I do not want to be elderly or retired and unable to heat my home. Thus the ICF house with its "extreme" modifications. While my neighbors eat less and stop donating to charities in order to keep their families warm I will sit in warmth and wonderment at what it will take to change their attitudes towards this global issue.

Roamin 4X3 oil portrait SOLD

They say that people resemble their pets in appearance and temperament. I am not sure if I believe that. I sometimes prescribe to the belief that the animals choose you and you become the pet.

The painting above is of one such critter that became a part of my life by his family's choice and not mine. When we moved back to the Maritimes from Alberta we found ourselves in a small rural area with a collection of unique neighbors. The one next door to us welcomed us in and after a short conversation told us not to worry about the many and various assortments of feline wildlife in the area. They were his and he fed them. Don't worry he said I'll take care of them.

Other neighbors welcomed us and mentioned the cat issue with other words, and not all of them were so kind. Too bad you bought the house in the winter... in the summer you'll come to really appreciate all the cats! Much giggling was heard.

That summer we became quite aware of the extent of the cat issue. I clearly remember one summer evening where our family sat on the deck enjoying a BBQ, under close scrutiny of 32 cats. That number is fact as we had time to count them as they licked their furry lips in hopes of a flyaway morsel of food.

We adopted the live and let live philosophy. Kinda hard when the Toms use your hay for a litter box and even the horses won't sleep in its aromatic fibers but we decided ignorance of the issue was best. The cats were so feral many of them were only seen as earth coloured blurs and my horses and I became accustomed to the bolts of kitty streakers that usually ran between our legs. I have THE most bomb proof horses on the planet thanks to those finicky felines!

Late one August afternoon we arrived home and instantly noticed the lack of feline attendance. We had become accustomed to their presence on the steps and although one could never catch one we were slightly concerned at the lack of numbers.

Later that evening when I went out to close up the chickens I noticed one scrawny female nervously walking the deck. When I bent down in another futile attempt to get her to approach me I nearly fainted. The lower half of her jaw was partially missing. She yowled and sped off into the night. It was like she was telling me something bad had happened before she left.

In the days that followed my other neighbors told me the tale. One that was like a ritual. When the cat population got too high our "good neighbor" would load up his shotgun and practice population control. I was horrified. The problem was his in the making caused by his need to feed the wild cats. Having seen that female who survived I was incensed.

When she returned a week later, barely alive I couldn't help but feed the survivor. Soft canned food was all she could eat given her rearranged facial features and the next summer she gave birth to one female kitten. Jaws, as we called her promptly disappeared. Thus started the Fullerton Feline line of cats. Each year, a litter of kittens was born in the hay shed and of each litter only one female ever survived. We never knew why or how but as time grew on and my kids got faster each kitten would be captured, tamed and eventually adored. This went on for 7 years and when we moved from this community to our new location a small runt named "Kitten" came to.

We never fixed her as she was so small and misshapen that after 3 years and no pregnancy we assumed the line had come to an end without any human intervention. She lived in the barn with the horses and Max the dog and on really cold evenings she would totter off to the house to warm up by the stove. After a few hours she would sit patiently by the door and then return to the barn. We fed her and in return she tolerated us petting her. Decades of wild kitty succumbing to the charms of Purina and children.

On July 4 of the next summer what did we find in the hay but two small kittens. It appeared our belief that Kitten was sterile was erroneous. My kids quickly named the kittens in accordance to their temperament. Storm Cloud was a throw back to generations of wild kitty who deeply resented human interference. Roamin loved to wonder around people. As he grew older, Roamin would accompany me on my walks along the shore. My walks were frequently 3 or more kilometers long. I loved him like no other cat. His unique personality was a big as the ocean and when we built our new home he quickly became a favorite of the workers. He almost caused the death of one fellow as Roamin, true to his name, shocked a fellow working on the trusses. It was not a place one expected a cat to be but several times over the next couple of days we would come to the house to see Roamin proudly perched on the highest truss of our new roof.

Roamin visited neighbors and while we were gone during the day he would curl up at someone's house. He adored the attention...and the morsels! At 5pm he would be seen trotting across the lawn ready for his Fullerton Feast. Cloudy would usually lurk in the back of the garage hissing her dislike of Roamin and his antics. He ignored her. Roamin was the star.

As much as we loved our kitties we decided that they needed to be "fixed". We adored them but did not want a repeat of our last place. We were officially at two cats. Occasionally, Roamin had a friend visit him. Like most parents we were not too clear on whether or not his new friend was a good influence or not, but Roamin always made his rounds and always came home.

Late one summer evening my husband was driving his sister and her boyfriend back home after a trip to Greece. The next morning he woke me up and let me know that we had lost Roamin. David had found his and his friend's bodies on the nearby roadway. We had a proper burial and there were many tears shed.

Cloudy became the sole feline occupant of the house and in accordance of her new responsibilities became somewhat more tolerant of us. She stopped being so bitter and allowed herself to enjoy all the perks of being a "kept pet".

It has been two years since I lost Roamin and when a friend mentioned she was doing a basket for raffle to raise money for a Cat hospice she and her friend ran, I couldn't think of a better item to include than a portrait of my own little wild man Roamin. Maybe because of Roamin having me as his pet I have become more tolerant of folks trying to help animals. I can relate to all types of people and their compassion for those less fortunate. I make it a habit not to shoot anyone.

Maybe I am like my cat, a little wild and crazy and looking for my own truss to climb. I want to experience all life has to offer and when it gets cold outside one can usually find me curled up someplace warm and safe. So what do you think? Do we chose our pets or do they chose us?

Busy Bees

Three Trees SOLD

Times are hectic and the days just don't seem to have enough hours in them.

My daughter had a belated birthday party in which she and several friends wanted to go see the new Harry Potter installment. It is a great movie and highly enjoyable.

The experience of organizing such an event, not so much.

I went early in the week with plans to buy the tickets to ensure that we would actually gain entrance to the movie. Imagine showing up with a horde of preteens and being denied entrance due to lack of seating for all the bodies you arrived with. Not a pretty sight to imagine and one I planned to avoid. My first attempt had me wondering around an empty theatre hoping to find an employee to sell me said tickets. It was a rather creepy experience. All I found were janitors who told me to return in 3 hours when they were actually open. I wondered why they would leave their doors open if not to allow the public in. The cleaning crew looked at me like I needed a brain adjustment.

At 7pm I arrive with hubby in tow with plans to spend some money. I was greeted nicely by some sort of a student who assured me that I would want the actor package and as she scribbled my name on a sheet of paper in a tattered binder beside a movie that was decidedly NOT Harry Potter sent me on my way with assurances that "All would be fine." Yeah, right.

Apparently fine for a childless teenager is somewhat skewed from that of an organized, in control, busy 25 hours a day mother with a horde of kids on her tail. I arrived at the theatre at the aforementioned time with only 1/2 the children in tow as it had started to snow and I, like many other mothers out there had to drive into town very slowly because our "I'll get done sometime soon, don't worry dear " husbands neglected to watch the weather channel and learn that the form of precipitation arriving would be white and not wet. Our studded winter tires sat nicely piled in their plastic wrappers in the garage and NOT on our cars as requested. Men. Insert a snort of derision here.

So I tried to explain to John or George (but who really cares at this point) that I was here to collect my tickets and my reserved seating in the back row as my daughter with perfect eyesight had requested. I wore new contacts for the event hoping to be able to see most of it with some sort of clarity. One would think that a 50 foot high Ron Weasly would be hard to miss.

Seems that Jim or Jack or Bob had never worked the cash register before so he toddled of to ask for help. Instead of dragging a mentor with him to aid in taking our money he repeated this performance for us another three times. After 15 minutes of "trot the lobby" we are joined by another teenager and a manager who thank the Lord above is over 19. He nicely tell us that there has been a mistake and that our requested seating has been given to part of the legion of Harry Potter fans who arrived 2 hours ago.

"I couldn't really move them." Smile. "At least not forcibly." Bigger smile. Obviously a Crest white user.

My son has mentioned to me that when I am not pleased with people that I should not smile. It looks rather scary when I try to smile when I am very angry. I figured the steam exiting my ears would have been a clue that my smile was not really sincere but a Canadian attempt at civility.

"Yes you could." I replied, as sweetly as I could muster. "Move them I mean. We did have reservations placed on Tuesday. We were here first." It was true. Justice out ranks squatters rights.

The manager stopped smiling.

"You want me to move them?"

"You want me to sit in the front row?" I smiled again. Connor shook his head and turned away. Audible groaning was heard, from the multitudes of girls who had waited all week for this movie and from the manager who would have rather dealt with a saber tooth tiger that endure another feigned smile from me. The line behind us was growing exponentially.

He scurried away to make arrangements and a duo of teenagers took our food orders. The inept Carl or Chris tried to ring in our order.

The manager arrived and flustering said "How about 3/4 of the way up?"

My daughter and her friends jumped on that as Anna whispered something unkind about my "special" abilities.

Yep. I had succeeded in embarrassing her and her friends and paid good money to do it. Lucky me and on a Saturday as well!

The worst part... I never got my food. I guess those teenagers had not reached that section in their education where they could successfully add. I guess it really is true when they say math is a lost art form in our schools. I am the one who made multiple visits to the theatre, paid out my money to view a movie I would have normally waited to view on CD and I am the bad guy. Moms get no respect.

I accepted defeat and sat in the movie reveling in the vivid colours that can only be attained from putting in a new pair of contacts and the belief that my pants wouldn't be tighter when I left the movie.

Rememberance Day

A Symbol of Our Fallen

Today is Remembrance Day in Canada. It is a day where we as a Nation take pause and celebrate our servicemen and women. It is a day that we remember those who we give thanks to for our present freedoms.

It has been many years since I personally attended a ceremony. It was something I was rather ashamed of as I stood among a group of many in our small community today. I was surprised at the large number of young people in the crowd. A youth that has been untouched by civil strife stood side by side with veterans of many wars . It made me humble.

I watched in silence as did the crowd as each group came forth with their wreath to lay upon the memorial. A member of our Nations finest escorted each and every presenter and in strict accordance to protocol he would salute briskly, even as the presenter, often confused on their role fidgeted, unsure whether they should stand and salute or leave. This was never more poignant than when a group of Girl Guides came up, bearing their wreath, six little hands clasping their brilliant green and red gift of thanks.

They could not have been more than 7 years old and their anxious eyes watched the young officer hoping for some guidance in this sea of silent onlookers. A daunting task for any adult, it seemed almost paralyzing for these small girls. Six tiny hands laid the wreath at his feet and then looked at the crowd and unable to find any parental aid looked up at the young officer and waited patiently for guidance.

The young man was standing solemn and when he briskly saluted the memorial the three girls jumped. The littlest one poked the young mans leg. A silent but not too subtle way of saying,

"What do I do next?"

Much like the guards at Buckingham Palace who are trained to resist any and all prompting those little fingers, not understanding protocol, poked him again.

The young officer, resplescent in his crisp uniform flickered his attention to the young girls, meeting their gaze in quiet understanding and ever so slightly tilted his head towards the crowd. Smiling with acknowledgement they straightened their little shoulders and walked briskly at his side as they left.

I admit I lost the battle to remain impassive. My makeup was not quite so crisp when I finally reached the car after the service. I am not ashamed of those tears, nor will I be of any in the future. There are many brave young men and women who have given their lives in service of this country. There are many more still answering this call. A call that many of us ignore. Cries of wars in foreign lands often fall on deaf ears in lands where peace is accepted without the personal knowledge of the toll it demands in payment.

Today I not only remembered the past but the present.

I remembered that we still fight for freedom and peace.

More Wool!

Chloe In Wool!

Chloe In Wool! Part 2

I must say I have found this whole new craft of needle felting a wonderous way to de-stress. With each poke of the needle through the wool I find my aggravations and worries disappear and as the successions of needling continues I see before me something beautiful being created.

The above model is my usual muse, Chloe. My appaloosa mare is my buddy and we get along great. She doesn't care if she ever gets ridden or if she is kept at a 5 star stable, she is quite content to stroll among my pastures protecting her flock of sheep and generally keeping tabs on her human. That would be me. Anytime I want to try a new style of art I usually look at my muse. Chloe never disappoints and usually my efforts turn out to be quite acceptable.

I may not show her this latest work. Simialar to Manfred on Ice Age "Yes Chloe this wool makes you look poofy"! My darling mare in reality does not have such behemoth legs or quite so much coat but it is quite a good likeness of her.

I used pipecleaners for her structure, Clun Forest wool for the body fill and then decided to use Alpaca fiber for the outer covering. This was the start of my demise.

While the colour was very close to Chloe's natural hue it was not the ideal thing to work with in this instance. It did not needle felt well and added to her bulk. No female ever wants to hear that her clothing is adding to "her bulk", hence the reason I will neglect to show Chloe this model. She does after all have control over how long I remain in the upright position while riding her!

The Wool Gatherers

Blue Bird of Joy

Chicken Little

The Swan

I may not be able to get into the studio lately and paint but I have been joyfully creating none the less.

I was fortunate enough a few weeks ago to organize a wool needle felting workshop where a friend of mine taught over 20 people how to create items from wool. I was blown away by the imagination and creativity that all the people , young and old, expressed. The fantastic thing was that none of them were classically trained artists yet each of them created something that made everone go "WOW".

So inspired was I that I started to pick away at a few things myself and quickly I found myself with these little gems above. I figure since I have sheep, I have wool and since I only receive about $0.05/pound if I sell it locally that I might as well enjoy using it in some artistic manner. An economist may call it "value added", I just call it fun.

I was demonstrating how to do this at a local art show and one young man stopped to watch. Within seconds he was smiling and he said to me

"Out in a field somewhere there is a sheep screaming "Ouch..Ouch.... Ouch!" Each ouch coincided with a needle punch!

This young fellow suggested that I start making wool humans and selling them as Voodoo dolls so that students may poke an offending teacher when the mood arose!

Remind me never to piss off a young person!!

Mother Nature is a Hoot!

Anikan Skywalkers Owner


It's a Boy!

I love you

Houston, We have a problem!

Anyone who says Mother Nature doesn't have a sense of humour obviously has never grown carrots! Our garden this year has been a source of many a good chuckle and been the brunt of many an off colour joke. Trust me when I say these photos are pretty tame. At Fullerton Farm we eat the worst of the offenders!

I couldn't resist sharing these with you because I can't resist a good laugh. That is why I must relay an honest to God real "yes -it -happened -at -my -workplace -and -I -did -not -read -it -on -the -internet" event. I am very sad that I was not there personally to expereince it but my boss, who was there and had to deal with it retold it so well I am still laughing my ass off about it.

At work, the maintance fellows needed to do some repairs on our heating and ventilation systems and in order to do the job correctly they needed to tear down an external wall. This wall is concrete block and since it was going to be a long and dirty process it was decided to seal off that section from the rest of our facility to ensure that our workplace remained clean and undistrubed by the construction workers.

'Cause lets face it, construction workers are the grubbiest most inconsiderate people on the planet when it comes to regarding the lives they affect. They use any and all workspace as a personal landfill and come and go as they please with an air of arragance that makes any sane individual want to handle an pneumatic nail gun as a weapon. Trust me, I have built a house. It does not matter the specialization they deal in they will leave a trail through your property that will have you gritting your teeth so hard your molars are loose. Dentists love to hear that their patients are renovating, those antigrinding plates increase in sales dramatically when construction folk enter the scene.

So, in an effort to avoid any and all interaction with the previously afore mentioned critters, we made sure that the door that would allow them access our facility was not only locked and barred, we disabled the unlocking mechanism to ensure that even the most intrepid of fellows could not gain enterance.

After months of having a gaping hole in our wall, I am talking 9+ (it is easier to get pregnant have an child and get back home than it is to hurry a construction firm) the hole was filled in yesterday.

This is where the hilarity begins.

Since we can not and have not entered that room in quite some time you can imagine my bosses surprise when at 3:50 pm she can hear a knocking on this door as she is leaving for the day. Surprised she leans against the door, still disbeleiving her ears. The knocking persists and it is now followed by a

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

Knowing that the room is scheduled for repair and disgusted at the extreme lenght of time it took to do the job my boss is rather angry and considers leaving the disembodied voice to fend for itself. But being the kind soul that she is ( I should know, she has hired me back 3 x already...I think she deserves a medal for that alone...or an extended vacation stay at the nearest governemntal facility!) she replies,

"Yes?"

There is a pause and then ,

"Can you open the door?"

"NO."

"Can you open the door please?"

"Why? and NO."

There is quite a long pause. I am assuming it is this person trying to determine which boot will taste the best when he realizes that he must ask a woman for assitance. That is in the same line as a man asking for directions...a man just doesn't do that and when you add the extra weight of construction gear and a good dose of testosterone poisoning, I am pretty sure this fellow was considering eating his shorts instead of asking this rather cross and in control female for any aid.

"I repaired your wall."

"Good. What do you want?" It can be hard to hear through a locked and plastic covered door.

Another pause.

"I want to leave."

Like my boss I would be thinking, please do so. I have 9 months of your crap to clean up. Go, hurry, scurry scatter. Take your pick.

Another pause.

"I can't."

You've heard of peole who paint their floor, then promptly paint themselves into the furthest corner from the door in that room? Imagine this fellow, bright boy that he is (and probably fertile with over a dozen kids at home ready to add to the gene pool), standing in a room with the door disabled so that it can not ever be opened from his side with a brand spanking new wonderful 9 month overdue freshly bricked up concrete wall. Four beautiful, intact finished concrete walls complete with a disabled inpenetrable door.

24 hours later and my boss is still laughing her ass of about it!

Our construction wizard didn't just lock himself out of his house he barricaded himself with a neatly stacked cement block wall that took him over a day to complete and at no point in time did Einstein ever consider how he was going to go home at the end of his job.

That's why you send a women to do a man's job. We would have done it right the first time .

Spy 16x12 oil portrait

This is the second version of the mare I painted. I like both. Which do you prefer?

Today was an interesting day. I have a friend who is trying very hard to get into nursing school and there is a course that is giving her some troubles. I guess it is not "some" troubles but alot of troubles and her fear of receiving a passing grade is beginning to stress her out. In every major conceivable way.

I thought alot about her troubles today and how her plans for a new future are hitting a rough patch. I know in the end she will achieve her goal. She is a natural "nurse". Even if she doesn't believe in herself I do. She is a determined smart woman who is very focused. That focus can carry people over mountains.

Sometimes that journey to our goals gets pretty rocky. Sometimes we can't see those rocks and we continue on because it is expected of us. Society today demands that you "suck it up" and continue on regardless of the pain it causes you. So you keep walking on that rocky road, your feet are torn and bloody but your smiling because you're expected to be a team player.

I think this is a ridiculous notion. Not the team player part but the continuing on in a miserable situation instead of saying

"Enough is enough. I hate this situation and I am not going to take it anymore."

As a mature student my friend is putting alot on the line. She knows her present situation is not the right path for her and she has made a choice to go another route. Even though this new route is fraught with financial difficulties, family stresses and huge nagging moments of self doubt all combined with college systems that do not support mature students with bursaries and a student aid system set up to aid only 18-21 year old mature students still struggle forward.

Why?

My own personal opinion is that mature students have learned they have value. They are a resource that is being left untapped and previous employers have lost sight of or neglected to use this important sector of their business. Neglect and abandonment causes people to become restless and mobile.

The local College in my area has an increasing enrollment and the latest numbers are to my mind rather shocking. Forty percent of the student body is mature. Mature being someone who has already graduated high school and has entered the workforce. Forty percent is huge.

Our college is small with an enrollment of 1000 students but let's put this in perspective for you. Forty percent of 1000 is 400.

That is 400 individuals who have left the workforce.

That is 400 previously trained mature responsible employees who are no longer in the workplace. Does their employer miss them? You bet he does.

If you were to hear on the news that a company shut down putting 400 local people out of work wouldn't that raise your hackles? It should. I'll bet some of you have even been involved in protests about lost jobs, but where is the support for the mature student returning to school?

Mature students who enter the education system are a welcome change to the professors who find their focus and determination an enjoyable change to the self righteous indifference of many of the young people. Mature students are more apt to volunteer in school organizations lending an experienced ear and voice of wisdom. Mature students know they have value yet here they become just as neglected as they were in the "real" world.

The demographics of our society are changing just like the enrollment of colleges but there is little in the ways of aid for them. Society feels that their assets should be liquidated, all their earnings, in some cases decades worth, should be given up to fuel their educational dreams. Mature students have families who live in those "liquidatable" assets.

Mature students have already proven they are reliable and trustworthy as they have extensive credit histories. Why not give them aid? You know they will pay you back. They have already proven they can.

With our aging demographic approaching record numbers of people leaving the workforce to enter into retirement, who is going to replace all that lost knowledge? Has no one considered this hidden segment of society? Would raising a cry of age discrimination get you booed out of a debate?

My friend has another 34 years of work history ahead of her yet she is trying to enter into and complete her nursing degree completely unaided. Our country is going to need new educated faces like hers in the workplace. Ones with a few years of real life experiences to me would seem like a great investment.

When you graduated high school 45 years of work experience seemed like a lot. Any 18 year old will agree there is little difference between 45 and 34. To them that is a long time. So why has it become acceptable to ignore an ever growing segment of our society that realizes their true value and is determined to better themselves? Their efforts not only help them personally but their efforts ensure their communities are filled with knowledgeable people who can afford to stay in the Maritimes and resist the cry of "Go West Young Man".

Did I waste an afternoon considering the trials and tribulations of mature students?

I think not.

There are 400 of them in our community right now contemplating the results of their actions. It took 300 Spartans to leave their mark on history, imagine what these 400 could do.

Pam's Spy Private Collection Oil Portrait

Commissions are great fun when you have a great client. Actually almost all my commissions have been great fun. I have been able to meet some really cool people and try some new and interesting subject matter.

The above painting is one I did for a woman who had a really nice mare she wanted painted. She did not have any really good photos and she knew I was a former equine photographer. As luck would have it she was showing this mare in my back yard so to speak, so off I went with my camera in tow.

The mare was lovely and the day was perfect and I was able to get several really nice photos of her. It came down to two pictures that I was really enamoured with and so Pam said

"You choose."

Oh wow, are you kidding?????

The only demand on this comission was that it was of this palamino mare. I got to choose the style, form, medium and photo. What more could an artist ask for?? True bliss!

As it was, I could no more make a choice than the owner so I painted two versions of this portrait and once again left it up to her to choose. Both were beautiful but in the end she chose the above image. I felt it really captured her well.

I think that about the other painting too!!

Guess Who?

Leonardo DaVinici 7x5 oilPortrait

Right now my son is outside watching the sky to see what the end of the world looks like. What faith our children have in us!

Yes I know, this is in fact another human. I spend 30+ years avoiding the human form and in the span of 2 months create 3. There truly must be an apocalypse on the way. I am pretty sure if one was to stand by DaVinicis' grave one would feel a rumbling about the soil. That would be the great master himself rolling about shuddering in disbeleif at my rendition of his form.

Sorry dude, I did my best.

I remember when I used to have my photography business and how I loved photographing the horses. They didn't complain about the light making them look fat or that I didn't get their good side. When that statement was made to me by several of the riders it was all I could do not to bite my tongue off to prevent the response,

"You have one?"

Once I photographed a very green 5 gaited Saddlebred and the trainer saw the photo and wanted it as they were trying to sell the horse. When the trainer returned with the owner in tow she stood flabbergasted and slack jawed at the picture. The trainer and I were thrilled by the action of the horse and her perfect symmetry in motion. We both knew it would be a very marketable shot. The owner/rider in the photo almost had an apoplexy on the spot and began ranting about what a horrid picture this was. The trainer and I were confused, the photo showed the talent of the horse and the potential to do higher level showing, not to mentioned made her look like a 6 figure horse.

All the owner saw was herself.

Apparently she felt my duties included making her look like a super model (which she wasn't) and reconstructing her facial features to make her appear less constipated ( I suspect was an issue).

Needless to say I did not make the sale. I did however get future work from the trainer who had no aspirations at being on the cover of Italian Vogue and I learned that dealing with people was not always a pleasant expereince.

Which is one of the reasons I have always said I will never paint people. They tend NOT to be honest. I guess "never" is a relatively short period of time and I have had fun painting these folks, especially since I will never have to hear them complain that I did not make them look like Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie.

There's a mouse in the house dear Liza!

This was the scene outside my door this am. Beautiful and crisp and clear it gave me hope for the coming day. It was all the more beautiful considering the event of the evening prior.

I was in my room contemplating the difference between velocity and acceration and trying to discern if there was an applicable real life happenstance so that I may understand this concept more clearly. Physics and clearer thinking are not two events that coincide in my noggin so when I heard my son yell from downstairs I almost dismissed him. Then he yelled again,

"Mom there's a mouse in my bed!"

The calculation of displacement using a directional component paled in comparison to this new adventure. I ventured forth to my sons room expecting my children to be partaking in some sort of jest. I am usually the object of their pranks, which is ok. I cook. Sometimes I make them eat tofu. I figure it all equals out in the end. We'll know for sure when I am elderly if they ever visit me or not.

So I enter the room in which Anna stands behind her big brother and Connor is watching his bed with an unveiled look of disgust and mortifiacation.

"It's in my bed." Not on, around or near...in.

"Are you sure it is a mouse?"

An ungentlemanly snort erupts from his 13 year old countenance and he replies with total beleif,

"I saw it's beady little eyes MOM. It scurried ACROSS my bed." He crossed his arms in defense and stood glaring at the bed. He was offended that something small with beady eyes would dare to "scurry" anywhere near his abode.

Did you ever notice that when we dislike anything it has beady eyes and it scurries? I Never imagined the Black Stallion scurrying across the white sands to Alex Ramseys whistle. I don't have to image Connors disgust, it is plainly visible. I tried to interject a life lesson about the correlation between Connors room being the messiest in the house and the appearance of said scurrying beastie. Like me and physics, the lesson whistled over my kids head without even the slightest rustle of hair.

You see, Con is a bird guy. If it has 2 legs, 2 wings, feathers and a beak it is the ultimate in cool. Apparently if it is small has beady eyes and scurries it is not.

Not quite beleiving there is a scampering mouse in my new house I begin by pulling of the comforter. The kids quickly and in unison step back. No mouse.

"Its there Mom." It is so charming that he believes this but can't grasp the concept of cleaniness being next to Godliness.

I am trying to imagine if a mouse has constant velocity and if he travels in meters per second as I lift up the mattress.

Connor shrieks pointing and Anna zooms out the door all the while I'm holding the mattress in search of the offensive scurrierer and wondering if the matress qualifies as a freely falling object and if in fact it's accelration rate of -9.81 m/s squared (-....directional component...I know physicists are nuts!) would kill said mouse or just render it younger (- velocity....??).

Yes his eyes are beady. And yes the little bugger scurries with constant velocity and accerates infuriatingly well.

Now let me tell all you non parents out here a little known fact about the males of the human species. We may think we live in a civilized society, regale ourselves in History about our brutal ancestors (I have French and Scot in me...not a real peaceful combo) and we all brag about how far we have come in our peaceful times BUT add a mouse into a young mans personal space and let me tell you the testosterone level will spike.

All that barbarity you thought you left behind with your 7x great great grandfather will come roaring back with a vengence in the form of your sons coming of age rite.

Man vs mouse. The epic battle.

Being a mother means you carried said child for about nine months and learned some modicum of patience. It is 9 pm and I know the local feed store that will sell me mouse traps and poison is going to open up in the morning. My son however, now beginning to understand the concepts of physics and the quickly changing directional components of mice and their ability to accerate over your feet as you clobber your own digit with a broom, has become a warrior before my eyes. I now understand why my forefathers were booted out of Scotland for supporting Bonnie Prince Charlie. If Connor is any indication, we were death with brooms.

Connors mode was predatory and his focus was Mr Beady Eyes. Vaguely aware that my constant nagging about cleaning his room is hindering his attempts at a victory over this foreign invader to his demense I have to duck as a pair of gubby socks are flung with disregard to my personal hygeine at my head.

Realizing with a maturity that Connor won't attain for another 30 years I return to my room to ponder the amount of displacement that said mouse is creating in my sons room. As I study the difference between displacement and actual distance travelled I am envisioning total destruction of my sons room within seconds. The noise is loud enough to have me considering the insertion of ear plugs when Anna arrives announcing that she is camping out on the living room couch becasue she is not sleeping anywhere the beady little mouse might be.

Soon after a disheveled and somewhat tired young warrior announces his intent to sleep in the spare room. His bird cage is under his arm. Apparently Simon is offended too.

The really funny thing is that Connor does not seem to be mad about the mouse being in his room as so much disgusted that it touched his bed. That its mere presence is enough to start a plague. So my young warrior retires to bed. The little princess snores softly on the couch and the damn bird sharpens his beak on the cuttle bone all night.

I know I'll never be able to envision Physics without the assistance of Mr. Beady Eyes.

The Pre Race Warm Up 16X20 Oil

It has been a while since I have been able to post a completed painting. I would love to say that I have been whisked away on some lively foreign adventure but truth be told my time is not my own lately. Some days I only get a minute essence of time to work in the studio and I miss it like crazy!

This painting is based on one of a series of photos I took during Truro Raceway's Grand Circuit Week last year. The evening this photo was taken was one of those luscious times when the evening light was rich and beautiful and the contrast between light and dark was extreme.

Have a great Thanksgiving. I am looking forward to having a huge meal on the table, complete with our own farm raised Turkey (not Connor's Lurkey!!) our own potatoes, carrots, squash and, of course, decadent Velvet Lush cake!

May your festivities be full of great food and wonderful company.

Take care and happy holidays.

Bird in hand

I love working with kids and teaching them new skills. They are open to new expereinces and their excitment is geniune. They usually know when something is not working and they abandon it while the rest of us "mature" folk struggle on with the futile hope that with enough effort we can succeed.

Success is not the goal.

My son had his market turkey project come to fruitition and while he was competitive he did not qualify for the auction. I was disappointed for him. I feared he would see this as a failure.

I needn't have worried. He took it in stride completely non plussed about the situation and telling me his plans for the next years competition. As I listened to him I wondered how as an adult we lose that acceptance of circumstance and move on without taking it to a personal level.

I know a young woman, who in truth aggravates the daylight out of me. She is disruptive, rude and selfish. She states her personal beleifs in great detail as if the rest of the world should come to great screeching halt. Several other friends have agreed that taking a post maul to her over inflated ego would be an appriopriate course of action. I am inclined to agree.

Then I wonder, she was probably like many of the young people I have worked with in the past. Passionate about thier interests and desiring to be accepted. Praying that others do not see them as odd and as a result some grow into aggressive snappy individuals.

Somewhere along the way this critter lost her support system. Or maybe she just squacked enough that no one will speak up for fear of being buried in her non stop flow of verbal diarrhea. Maybe if someone had nicely reminded her that she should remember that God gave her twice as many ears as mouths maybe she would have ranted less.

Maybe I will remind her of that anatomical lesson next time she begins another of her socially disruptive tirades. If that fails I have friends who prefer plan two.

Arranged marriages

Gorgeous George - Bluefaced Leicester Ram

You want me to do what? With who??
Marty, Clun Forest Ram

It is that time of year. The time where shepards start the process of dreaming. When they begin that first step in a long journey where they pray their well thought out plans can be become reality.

This is a time of wonderment and hope. You hope you will get perfect woolie little bundles of joy bounding about your paddocks in March. You wonder if it will ever happen after you observe two maiden (virgin for the vulgar) sheep bound like rocket blasters in opposite directions of each other.

Bella, our Purebred Clun Forest ewe was introduced to her "husband" and the result was NOT something that would burn up the pages of any romance novel. Marty, the chosen groom, being as virginal as she, decided to channel his inner gopher and tunneled his way out of his love nest to join Gorgeous George and his harem in the neighboring paddock. I guess Marty missed that day at sheep school. I am sure he broke many laws, including mine which is a big one.

Don't break the g#$ D*&n fences.

Poor Bella, she stood stranded in her paddock, abandoned at the alter of love as Marty gleefully bounded around Precious, Abbey and Eve. George paid little attention because as the experienced older male he knew he had to wine and dine the girls first if he ever wanted to acheive a grand slam.

Marty repeated the "Gopher" routine for two more days until we finally erected a wooden fence somewhat sturdy enough to prevent further escapes from his imagined Alcatraz. Poor Bella, all dressed up and the boys don't even know she's there. Reminds me of many a high school dance. Yikes! I feel your pain Bella!

Gorgeous George however is the apple of my eye and apparently Eve's as her bottom is now a very bright and vibrant fire engine red from all of Georges amourous attentions. One ewe down 3 more to go!

George is a former 4H Champion and a Blueface Leicester Ram who'se body is adorned with tight curls, the like of which would make angels weep. It is like having a Ram in Armani as far as this shepard is concerned. I have particular high hopes for the offspring from George and Precious as her fleece won 3rd place at the Provincial Fleece Competition this year. With my luck, the gopher will sneak in and I will not get my dream lamb, but some dark face ram that has a fleece not even a carpet maker would love!

But one must remember that this is a season of hope and joy at what the future could bring, as long as your name is not Bella!

Ummmmmm, Why'd you do that?

My husband is a clever man. He has degrees adorning his walls and the ability to recall the most insignificant piece of info and remind me why it affects the price of shoelaces in Timbukto.

Knowledge is great. So is the ability to tune people out. I think he has developed this skill to the level of Master Tuner Outer.

Sunday we went on a family trip to Treego. This is a climb in the trees like monkeys sort of family amusement park. Florida gets rollercoasters, we get to perputate the image of the Canadian lumberjack...

Seriously it is great fun but the trip had us worried as our car seemed to be having power issues on the way up and back from Moncton.

Monday morning had me racing back home before work to put the pork chops in the fridge to ensure they were still in an edible state at the end of the day. Our cat, who seems to be a strict vegetarian occassionally takes a liking to pork so I felt the need to feed my family this source of protein and save the can stuff for Puss.

When I entered the driveway I noticed a black object. Upon further inspection I quickly realized that my fan belt had fallen off. Who knew your car could drive without one???

So David decides that he can repair the vehicle himself. All family and friends have witnessed his attempts at mechanical repair. They are not always successful. The most notable was when he set the T bird on fire and it only had 3 wheels on it inside our new garage. The learning curve on how to put on a wheel was pretty steep that day!

So he buys a new tool. I believe that is the only reason he tries to repair our aging fleet...it is a "legal" excuse to increase his tool inventory. He asks me to help. That results in great martial bliss and of course several words that would make a sailor blush were uttered. No blame will be laid here!

SO as Dave becomes increasingly frustrated at the tools inability to move the alternater thingy far enough away to install the new belt I mention that I think his tool is too big (hard to believe I said that!) (DFF _ I can edit these entries, you know: what she said was "are you sure they gave you the right tool". Of course they did...the car is just too small). He assured me that the men who sold him this tool knew what they were doing and would I please hand him the grinder so he could remove the radiator shield (also incorrect. It was only a few clips that had to be removed and that didn't work either).

I restated my belief that there had to be an easier way other than removing the entire engine and half the exterior parts. Maybe his tool was the wrong size.

Again I was reminded of the mental superioity of the mechanical community and I left the building still muttering that the tool was not the correct size to move that thingy for the belt whatcha ma call it.

I went to pick my daughter up from Girl Guides and she asked if the car was working yet. I said No. She instantly questioned, "what did Dad do this time?" She may be young but she has learned from past mistakes...opps learning experiences. She is marrying a rich man so she can avoid all this DIY repair delimmas. Smart girl.

When I enter my home I get a full nostril full of that delightful aroma that only a grinder grinding metal can make. You know the one that shuts of your lungs and attaches itself to the back of your tonsils with a grip a politician would love?

Gagging I went into the garage to be greeted by a triumphant man asking for my assistance.
As I journeyed through the garage of smoke and debris I see attached to the proper spot his new tool. I clasp it, shove it in the only direction it will go and within seconds the fan belt was in place.

Dave smiles and states,

"Once I figured out the tool was too big I took the grinder to it. Now it works great." (DFF: I hate to have to modify a brand new tool just to get it to do the job it supposed to do. Oh well, she can't compalin that my tool ids too big now ;-) )

MEN.

Whats new pussycat?

Turkey Lurkey and her showring debut (August)

This is just a quick blub to let you know that I am still among the land of the living and to get a few folks off my back!

Apparently some people do not need to see my art work each and every day. Imagine. I thought that was the point of my blog but I am told that a daily dose of Crystal is much more entertaining than the visual displays I love to show off.

I am still trying to decide if I am offended or not.

Considering the time and energy required to be truly offended I think I will take the slackers way out and joyfully continue in my fantasy that you really want to hear my ramblings, with or without art. I prefer the art but since my output is non exisitent at the moment this is what you get!

So here is my totally non art related story for you.

My son is involved in the 4H Market turkey project. It is a really cool project where members raise a turkey for 5 long months and then attempt to out do The Donald in a business model. He got these birds as day old chicks and they have grown and grown and grown.

We butchered two in August to limit the finicial bleeding from our bank account because a full grown turkey can and will ( if given the chance) eat his weight in gold. The first two turkeys weighed in at an impressive 16 and 18lbs. That is alot of hot turkey sandwiches! If you do not think this is a large amount, consider holding two newborn babies complete with full diapers and then re question the weight issue! Yeah, that's alot of bird.

Most producers do not raise turkeys for 5 months for obvious reasons. Besides the fincial draining of ones chequeing account the turkeys also grow to a phenomenal size. Any woman out there right now will agree with me that stuffing a 25 lb turkey into a 10 lb pan does not work. You men must also remember that the 10 lb pan fits perfectly in the modern oven. Simple math here folks, that leaves 15 lbs of bird that regardless of the amount of pressure or velocity at which you kick the oven door , you still have waaaay too much bird for your modern convienence cooking device.

But I digress.

The great part about the 4H Market Turkey project is that your kid has to keep track of how much money went into said beast and find out a marketable price to sell excess birds at. He has learned that women are smarter than men. Men think bigger is better. Women already understand the rules of physics. An object will occupy a given space at a given time due to its given mass. That means,

The damn turky will NEVER ever fit into your oven as a whole entity.

Men will never understand this. Therefore my son is targeting them as potential buyers of his Turkey at the Market Turkey Auction this weekend.

I watched with pride as my once super shy child chased down the manager of the local Atlantic Superstore in an attempt to use his youth as an aid in soliciting bidders for the auction.

My son has seen the inside of our freezer, he knows there is no way in Gods green acre that 5 turkeys, 1 lamb, 17 meat kings and 50 lbs of pork are all fitting in there. He has also reasoned that if he ever wants to eat ice cream in the privacy of his bed room he must ensure that there is aleast enough space to fit 2 L of Udderly Divine. Right now the odds are against him ever becoming lactose intolerant.

This is one motivated kid.

As a side bar, the above photo is of Lurkey in August. August 3rd to be exact. She has done nothing but eat for 2 straight months. Use your imagination for her present size! Even coyotes won't tackle her now, although I should be concerned for the horse!

I'll let you know how the auction goes. Either he does well or we'll be drinking shakes for a while!