Zob the Glob and the Pause That Refreshes

3561.

Or, to mix commercial metaphors and taglines, let's just say that Zob probably does this at 10, 2, and 4.

We are a Dr Pepper household after all.

Zob the Glob by The Wife™. Used with permission.

Zob loves him a little soda pop, but who doesn't?

Zob Loves The Library. Of Course.

3531A.

Where ever we go, that friendly little guy, Zob the Glob, tends to tag along.  And, like us, he adores the Multnomah County Library.

Zob's interested in everything. But he's easily distracted. He was keen on American history ...

... but then noticed we were interested in something ourselves.

... and he couldn't resist checking it out.

(NB: Zob is copyright my wife, who created him. Used with permission).

Wife Art: Midland Library Bookshelves with Trees

3531.

While I dither over creating art, The Wife™ takes charge and takes action, during a deliciously long afternoon sit-in at the Mighty MultCoLib's Midland Branch:

The wispy trees lining SE Morrison Street beyond the window are in a shiny silver marker. The subjective marks above the window are in a shiny gold.

Such is the subjective power of impulsive art that I can fetch the way I was seeing, the feeling of place, and the emotions of the moment just by looking at that card.
 

Wife Art: Colored Coffee Cup #1

3530.

The Wife™, as me, carries about a handful of art tools at almost all times. When so moved, and we get a plain coffee cup, no designs, she goes to work.

The result is usually as delightful as it is simple, and authentic because it's totally of-the-moment.

"It's okay. Toss it out." says she?

Not on my watch, pal, not on my blog.

[WyEast] The Great Mount Hood Car Lockout

3406.

Did you know that you can get back in to a 1972 VW Beetle with a lockpick?

That's the kind of thing someone says to one that the interlocutor typically responds to one with a request for the story pertaining to that remark. Yes, there's a story attached.

Before the stark realization.

Olivia and myself, see, were one SE 122nd in front of the old Rossi place, as is our wont when the sunrise looks like the above and I know it's going to be cloudy and dark the next several mornings. And I pull over to the side, get out and run across the big boulevard slab of 122nd, I'm not thinking about where I'm putting my car keys.

I mean, I've been driving enough years.  Almost every other driver I know can relate to that, I think.

I'm not even thinking about it yet, when I'm playing with settings on the camera and noticing that I enjoy using the Canon's "Vivid Color" setting for scenes like this. The above is what it looks like with the filter in. The below is what it looks like with auto settings.

In both, the there are two really entrancing things; the lattice-work of the cloud patterns in the upper sky, and the low deck hovering in front of Larch Mountain there on the left. Really imposes a sense of scale and wonder.

Not quite as much wonder as the wonder I'm now feeling when involuntarily patting my right front pants pocket to verify the presence of my keys as is, again, my wont. Hmm. Not there. Not to worry, they made it into the left front pocket. I do this sometimes.

The cloud cover is beautiful, but not quite the wonder it would be if it were clear, that'd be prit-near an iconic representation of the sun breaking over the side of the mountain. If you strain the eyes, you can see the mantle of recently-acquired snow.

And there's still a sense of wonder with they keys, because they aren't in the left front pants pocket, not neither, the wonder being oh, my, I couldn't have, could I? Well, I'll look in my jacket pockets. That's usually where they are when they are where I should have put them.

I don't have the keys to this wonder in more ways than one.

Well, I wondered on more than one level that day.

I got a shot that I could reframe and crop to the wonderful thing above and stalked up and down the east side of 122nd for a few more minutes. I knew exactly where this was going, but could live in the glow of having created a little bit of photographic art here for a few minutes. And when I got back to Olivia, that beautiful yellow VW, I looked on the passengers' seat … and there was every key I had, safely locked away inside the car.

The key ring … a large, jailer's-style I've owned since about 1985 (it's a keyring that's easy to find) was there, just tucked under one corner of my bag. And, to provide subtlety to the jest, the spare keys … which I have in case I, for large example, accidentally close the door with the keys in the ignition having, ideally, left the car with my ever-present bag slung over my shoulder … gleamed at me in the morning light from the small mesh zip-up pocket in which I keep them.

You have an evil sense of humor, Reality.

Olivia was cool. She, as The Dude, can certainly abide.

And I was on the phone to The Wife™. She came perforce, but whereas she usually has a spare set of keys (her keyring is legendary, and has started many impromptu conversations as well as a friendship or two), they had been accidentally dropped at the Fabric Depot over at 122nd and Stark. They had been recovered. But she hadn't yet been to retrieve them. And it was about 8 AM. And Fabric Depot didn't open until 9 AM.

A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse. Never doubt the providence of chains of causality.

We, fortunately, still have roadside assistance left on our AAA Plus membership so we called and Tim Scott, a very patient and avuncular fellow with AA Express Locksmiths, came and restored Olivia access with a reasonable quickness, and therein the lock pick. One lever on a side of the cylinder, one small whatever-the-locksmith-technical-term-for-it-is with a little curved end feeling around inside the lock itself, and we were open and in in very short order. And watching him, I felt like I was in some heist movie or an epside of Mission:Impossible for a few minutes.

Between the call and the locksmith, my spouse and myself shared some contemplative time together. As she's been doing social stuff on line and I've been busy with a volunteer layout project we haven't had much no-device time together. It was good. It was why we got married after all.

I was home about two hours after I'd though I'd be.

A bit of inconvenience.

And so it goes.

[art] "I Got This": When The Wife™ Cartoons

3228.

My spouse likes to hide her light under a bushel in some ways. When it peeks out, it tends to be delighfully amusing.

The job of the bon mot in this house is typically left to me. I'm not just boasting here; of the two of us, and she'll back me up on this, I'm the one much less likely to be left to the so-called 'wisdom of the stairwell'.  She's brilliant, just not exactly in the ways where I'm clever, and that works the other way too.

So, a few weeks ago she dashed this out on a slip of paper over coffee at Powell's. The spots are my fault; I stowed it between two books to keep it flat and somehow it got damp there. I am a crap archivist. But the wit is all hers. This kept me laughing the rest of the night.

Just a simple whimsical thought, deftly accomplished.

I'm not the only wit around here.