Erratic Genius Art

Lynn, over at TurtleHead, asked in a comment if the Erratic Genius was still creating art since his sweet Window Garden days.

Yes he is, but it has evolved dramatically...

Window Garden

When I had to stop being a stay-at-home mom, and had to go work in an office, I mentioned to the Erratic Genius that I missed the hours of gardening that I used to indulge in while he and the Word Wizard dug for dinosaur bones, ran through the sprinkler, made mud messes, and entertained me endlessly with stories, laughter, and made-up songs.

Soon after he created a faux stained glass window garden for my office (see picture) - he was only 8 years old.

(Sadly, when my office was relocated to another building, I had to leave the garden behind - the sun had baked it to the glass. Notice the four leaf clover.)

Serenity

I came across this bird drawing a year ago on Papa's birthday

After my papa died, not long after, I had a dream about him.

I stood inside an ancient church at the very back. Everything was dark, and everything was cold.

I looked down at the stone floor, at the dust on the stone floor, and at my bare feet in the dust on the stone floor.

I looked up and ahead, and I saw light and I felt warmth emanating from the front of the church. And there stood mon beau Papa. He smiled, and his smile was beatific. He lifted and cupped his hands and motioned me to come forward and see the secret that he held in his cupped hands.

I cautiously moved towards him, and when I reached him, I finally also smiled. He did not speak, but gently nodded at his hands. I looked into his blue eyes and then down to his hands. Inside, within a soft warm glow he held a little bird.

The next day I called La Sorcière, ma maman, and told her about the dream.

She barely let me finish. "Your Papa always worried about you, and what he wanted more than anything was for you to find serenity... the little bird is serenity."

10, 000 Pieces of Lego

What I find the most difficult to get used to, now that my boys are not constantly in my hair; competing vocally in volume for my attention; tangled up in my arms; being read to; tickling, teasing, hugging and kissing me; crying, whining, angering at too much homework; asking repeatedly if supper is ready; practising their swearing skills; dumping 10,000 pieces of Lego on the floor and rustling through them for hours for the right pieces; dragging friends through the front door and out the back door over and over again; slamming the front door, leaving the back door open wide; shouting and running from room to room; gathering weapons, armour, and provisions for the dragon adventure they are plotting; yelling to each other while one is on the toilet and the other is keeping a running commentary on the TV show that they are watching, "What's happening now", "Fuck, you just missed the best part", "Oh, shit, I just need to finish wiping my ass. What's happening now?"; singing dirty nasty Scottish drinking songs; playing Alice Cooper records at maximum volume; and practicing Shakespeare lines loud enough to wake the dead, is the silence.

Dirt Pirate

I was commenting to a friend that one of the differences between gardening in the country and gardening in the city, is the kind of treasures that are found in the process of digging.

In the country I regularly found miniature shells, broken pottery and glass, antique glass bottles and glass stoppers, ancient blunt headed nails, and even rusted old tools.

In the city, so far, I have found a used condom (not pictured), an unused condom, pop bottles, beer cans, a lipstick, and a new spoon.


That is, until last Sunday...

I found what appears to be an old broken bottle neck and a newer piece of a china cup.



Did my friend hide those in my city garden to surprise me?