I said oh, you’ll know him when you see one of his prints. His stuff was everywhere in the eighties. I image searched him then went to his Wikipedia page. Standing at the sink, still in our pajamas and the pairs of magenta and powder blue latex gloves we wear while washing dishes together, we learned the artist died of a heart attack while doing aerobics in 1984, the same year I took up the sport.
Entries from Tucson
Some fun with what's left of this year's poppies
Today makes my back hurt just thinking about it. We have started building our raised garden beds. I was feeling pretty good about the weekend-long effort, then Hiram said something about geometry and the square footage we’ll have for plants when we’re finished being less than I thought. How can four smaller beds using all of the same pile of the wood we had be less than our original plans for two bigger beds not using everything? The answer is: Whatever. I’m still stoked.
Nothing says home of the brave like hoarding toilet paper.
It would be sad not to photograph these orchids a friend brought over and there is enough sadness in the world already, so I do what I can.