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In Search Of

I’ve often been told that I’m quite lucky because I seem to be able to do many things and my grandmother used to always say that I would never starve for the same reason.  The other day, as I sat in a kind of indecisive stupor, I realized how difficult it can be as well.

This isn’t about me wanting people to know what I can do, by the way.  This is about my not being able to move forward in either painting or writing or any of my other pursuits because my mind is just too divided.  At one point, I did tell myself that the answer would simply be to divvy up my free time (because there is a day job that makes all other pursuits possible) and put in a couple of hours for writing here, another couple of hours for drawing practice there, a bit of knitting while listening to an audiobook before bedtime.  It sounds good, doesn’t it?  Then the elements of everyday life have to be figured in and all of a sudden, it doesn’t work.

Then there is another factor that I met headlong last week.  Time was on my side, I had the space, I had the tools.  However, I had nothing to write about and no inspiration for painting.  Unproductive, to say the least, and that eats me up all the time.  Not one to dwell on any kind of misfortune, I grabbed a couple of magazines from Barnes&Noble and read up on techniques in both writing and digital art.  I finally know how to sketch using Photoshop instead of Illustrator and I’m learning how to do better characterization of my writing subjects.

I’ve begun a sketch of a model on a coupon I found on my work station (20% off at OneStopPlus.com) and will hopefully come up with a better blog entry soon.

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Lobsters!

A sale on lobsters at Stew Leonard’s saw us at the Mondonedo household, trying to figure out who could best play henchman.  The grisly task fell on Eddie, Rina’s husband who wasn’t going to take part in the feast (not by choice, really, but by genetic disposition).  He had the apron on, after all, so he seemed the logical choice.

The water was taking its time so while waiting for it to come to a boil, Eddie brought the lobsters out of the bags and arranged them on the table.  There’s something very disconcerting about sharing a table with live things that will later on be on one’s plate.  It was Death Row at best.  I moved from my spot on the bench hoping the eyes don’t follow me and was relieved to see that they didn’t.

The first dunk was tricky.  Eddie’s tongs did not quite grip the lobster well enough so instead of it being eased gently into the water (Rina said that’s what the instructions were), it sort of made a splash.  That, of course, elicited a bit of a horrified squeal from Rina and me.  The lobsters on the table seemed unperturbed.  I figured they were relieved to be spared from the first round.

If I were next in line to be cooked, I don’t think I would have wanted  the result of my fate presented to me on a platter.  Unfortunately, that’s how it was for the lobsters that Saturday afternoon.  The newly boiled lobsters were set before the rest in all their orange glory.  One wonders if they still recognized their comrades now that they looked and smelled differently.  I tried to give comfort in my ignorant human way by telling them that it was their fate after all.  The only sound I head were the little clicks from the mandibles and maybe the other mouth parts.  I was reminded of the aliens in Predator and in District 9.  I thought it best to keep a distance.

Minutes later, all eight were properly boiled, cut up, and served for those without seafood allergies.  So while Eddie and two of his sons had steak, Rina, Dondi, and I feasted on lobster. Eddie could not resist a taste, however, and it was a huge relief that Rina didn’t have to go looking for the EpiPen. The lobsters were so fresh and so sweet, there was no room for remorse.  Then again, I don’t believe in being remorseful for anything I’ve eaten because once it’s in the tummy, it’ll just be a waste of time and energy to entertain any sort of regret.

Thanks to Rina, we didn’t miss the best lobsters of the season.  At feasting’s end, we sort of agreed that once a year, when the lobsters go on sale, we will once again have Eddie don the apron and line up the lobsters.