All day and all of the night. . .

It rained all day yesterday. It rained all night last night. It has rained intermittently all day long. What does all of this rain mean to us: a damp basement and sinus headaches. What does that add up to: a wasted Sunday spent sweeping water in our basement into the drain and sleeping off said headaches.

Poor Cynical is wanting to take full advantage of the sunshine peaking through the clouds by taking a walk. However, each step I take means a thud and a pouding to my head. I fear he's bored and suffering from cabin fever. A boy can only watch so much television and surf the net for so long.

I used my awake time making yet another dish cloth. I couldn't tackle anything that required much concentration. I may have mentioned that my marathon dish cloth knitting is all part of a larger project. I am putting the cloths in gift baskets along with soaps made by a local lady and other goodies. I hope to use these as birthay give-aways throughout the year. And, I have a few I need to drop in the mail.

I spent the remainder of my day napping. I am not typically a daytime sleeper. Naps may refresh others, but it only makes me ever so grumpy and ruins my nighttime slumber. However, when ibuprofen offered no relief, I resorted to some serious sleeping on the couch.

Corners of my home
In the theme of "corners of my home", I am posting yet another photo. This is the landing area at the bottom of the stairs. The small bench was made by a friend of mine and positioned upon it are Mary Engelbreit pillows (which I am sure Cate will notice.) It's a transplant from my own place, a piece I chose to keep whenever I moved. Convinced we didn't have a place for it, I expected it to move to storage until I slid it into this spot.

The painting above the bench is one of the few pieces of artwork we have hung. I have been in this place a little over a year now, but we still haven't managed to hang all of my framed stuff. I can't seem to make up my mind and having to put a hole in these smooth refinished walls seems like a disgrace.

The painting does have a little history. When I was 13 years old I lived across the street from an art teacher, an instructor at one of our local colleges. I spent much of that summer at her house, fascinated by this free spirit and her sculpting husband. She was teaching a class and needed a model, so she approached my parents. Eager to get me out of the house and doing something constructive, they agreed. I was so excited and chose the dress I am wearing because it was so very colorful and intricate. I thought it would challenge the students.

I sat for over three hours, allowed to shift as I needed, but asked to keep my facial expressions consistent. At the end of the day, I went home, feeling famous, and stylish and a little self conscious after being examined that closely by a room of people.

The students hosted an art show early that fall and a few of the paintings from that session were included. Most didn't really look like me, but it was neat to see what they had created from those few hours.

I hadn't thought much about that day until my 21st birthday. I was home when someone knocked at the door of my folks' place. I opened it casually and didn't recognize the person standing there. She identified herself, but I still had no recollection. She later explained that she had been a student of a lady that lived across the street briefly. Recently she had gone through some of her paintings and discovered this one. Through some deductive reasoning she figured out where I lived and just wanted to drop it by. It was an eerie feeling, seeing yourself at 13 years old through the eyes of someone else.

My parents framed the print and it hung at their house for a long time. Recently they remodeled and according to my mom, it just didn't "go" with their new look. So, it became mine.

I felt strange hanging such a large painting of myself, it seemed narcisistic. However, when I really looked at it one night, I realized that it wasn't me, but a scared 13-year-old girl wearing her best dress and scuffed sandals, tanned from a summer of laying in the sun listening to the radio, fascinated by her colorful interesting neighbor, hoping to grow up to be just like her. It wasn't me any more. It was someone I once knew.