Day 12 - Missing Gazebos, Giant Squids, and The Supreme Inadequacy of The Northern Lights

Day 12 dawned bright and sunny and I was eager to get in a lot of work.

And by work, naturally, I mean wandering around through the woods and looking for a gazebo and dipping my feet in the lake.

You will no doubt be delighted to hear that I achieved my goals and, in fact, exceeded them by putting my feet in the water more than once.

Three times. Because I am an overachiever, apparently.

Before heading down into the town square, I decided to find the last, most elusive gazebo in town. Being a hot-shot visiting artist guy, I have an in with Margaret, a town selectman, who sent me detailed direction to the hidden gazebo, which is apparently only known to a few people in the universe.

I followed her direction precisely–direction, which I feel I must say, included biking up a hill that was longer and steeper than Mt. Everest–and wound up here:

Private Property. Keep Out. We Mean It.

I gasped a bit, still catching my breath from the grueling bike ride up the hill, and poked around a bit, thinking that I may have overlooked the path somehow.

I followed one small trail a few dozen feet before it petered out. Not wishing to wander too far and wind up on the news (Stupid Artist Dies of Exposure 13 Feet From Huge House. And Gazebo), I grabbed my bike and headed back to the house to pack up my supplies for a few hours of work downtown.

Ready for action!

 It wasn't until I arrived in town that I thought that perhaps this was not the best way to bring my recycling to the recycling bins.

I stopped in the local bookstore and demanded to be allowed to sign books, whether they were mine or not. "I AM AN IMPORTANT PERSON! LET ME SIGN BOOKS!" I cried.

"Is that a bottle of wine in your backpack?" the kind lady behind the counter answered.

"I HAVE A PEN!" I bellowed.

It's lucky that they did have a delightful display of my books on hand, or I would have wound up signing some frightful diatribe by Rush Limbaugh or something.

After my grueling few minutes acting like a famous author, I spent a few hours alternately working and dangling my feet in the lake.

This is the dangling station. Please note the tragic lack of a message in a bottle on the raft. It is a loss that will haunt me forever. WHAT DID IT SAY?

This is my feet in the water. Because you needed to see that.

This is a close-up of my feet in the water because I have nothing else to write about or show you.

This is the water. At this particular location, it s full of weeds and probably 60 foot squid-like monsters, just waiting to drag me under and swallow me whole. Or not whole. It really doesn't make much difference at that point, does it?

A few people stopped and asked me about the boat rentals. I explained that I didn't actually work there, but when they kept asking, I offered to collect their money and send them off on the boats. Then they left me alone so I could work.

I was hard at work on my plans for starting a black-market boat rental business when Kerri called and said that she was coming up with the kids for the night so we could go see the northern lights.

I was, of course, delighted to have them come up, but obviously didn't give that impression. I may have stressed how easily I had adjusted to the life of a childless bachelor. I may have stressed it a few dozen times during dinner. Or a few hundred.

Despite my calloused disregard for the feelings of my nearest and dearest, they did not ditch me during the meal and we went off in search of a good place to view The Northern Lights or, as I now like to call them, The Whole Buncha Driving Around For Nothing Lights.

We did not locate them, although I did snap a few pictures of the night sky.

The night sky. Please note complete lack of beautiful lights.

For comparison, here is a photo I accidentally took of the inside of my pocket the other day.

My pocket. Please note spectacular display of colors.

Next time, I think I will just stick my head in my pocket and save the gas.

No matter how quickly I acclimated to childless bachelorhood, it was a great night with my family and I was delighted to have them join me even if they refused to put their heads in my pocket to see the awesome view.

Day 3: The Rey Residency - Grand Theft Adirondack

Well, after nearly getting lost forever and starving to death yesterday (I had lunch almost an hour after I normally do), I have started to settle into a routine and get a lot of work done.

I spent the morning today working on a painting for an upcoming book. I managed to get quite a bit done and I'm happy with how it's coming out.

You can see the obvious influence of Curious George, right? Right?

After slaving over a painting all morning, I biked over to the Curious George Cottage and started on a sketch for an alphabet book I'm illustrating for Sleeping Bear Press.

Having trouble with the kid in the front right. I might just change him into a fire hydrant or something. That will teach him to be hard to draw.

I also did some work on a personal project.

Don't ask.

And created a new Olde Tyme Portrait.

This is how I've been grooming myself during the residency. I look dapper.

I decided that the day was too delightful to spend all of it hunched over a drawing board in a cottage, so I biked over to the town center and hunched over a drawing board in a different location.

Work, work, work...

I was looking for a spot to sit on the delightful beach and found, to my great joy, that there was one plastic chair sitting all alone on the deserted shoreline. I quickly stripped off my shoes and socks and dragged the chair to the edge of the water and sat down to draw.

I had been working for 15 or 20 minutes when I sensed a disturbance in the force. A feeling that I was being watched.

Turning around, I saw a lady in a sun hat sitting next to the spot where I had dumped my belongings, staring at me.

Hard.

The kind of stare you give people who drive down the breakdown lane and then squeeze into traffic that you have been patiently waiting in. The kind of stare you give people who have 19 items in the 14 items or fewer line.

The kind of stare you give a guy who took your beach chair.

I patted down the hair on the back of my neck and went back to work, assuming that if it were actually her chair, she would say something. She never did say anything, and the next time I dared to turn around, she was gone.

So, lady, if it was your chair, I'm sorry, but I thank you. It was very comfortable and I hope to steal it again later today.

Eventually I tired of stealing chairs and headed back to my glorious abode to make dinner (pasta with spinach, feta cheese, and pesto if you're wondering).

Along the way, I took the time to take another picture of the inside of my pocket to share with you. Because I care.

This particular piece looks alarmingly organic to me. Maybe my camera can see inside my spleen or something.

Then I spent some quality time working on another personal project that involves staring at my friend Dave's beard for excessive period of time.

His beard is hypnotic. Do not stare directly into it. Do not look at it while driving or using heavy machinery.

I decided to head off to bed a bit early then, because I want to get up early to go stalk chairs by the lake.