Finally remembered a dream, at least more of a dream than previously. I was in an urban area but it felt like the American southwest. An urban area but with the prow of a large grey ship jutting over ? There was a shop. The proprietor was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. His glory simply took my breath away. But he was very professional, very aloof. He showed me some totally inappropriate (for me) blouses. They were also sort of Indian/Southwest in style with flouncy bits around the loose neckline, cotton, pastel coloured. Nice blouses but just not me. Another woman came into the store and she had a lovely slim figure, was pert and nicely dressed. I felt frumpy, middle-aged and overweight in comparison. She seemed to click with him and I watched in frustration tinged with resentment while she chatted with this beautiful man who didn't seem to know I was alive. I remember going out on this 'ship's prow' in bright sunlight with the wind in my face and then going back into the store which was dark and rich and ornate. I glanced into one room and noted with surprise that it had rugs on the floor and was a meditation room. That made the beautiful man even more attractive. No, someone said or I somehow instinctively knew, it was a temple, a sort of mosque where Moslems would bow to Mecca.
The dream was vivid but mysterious. I don't know why I've remembered this one and no other. At least asking myself to remember my dream is starting to pay dividends. Having no remembrance of a dream life makes daytime life a little less rich.
Started the new drawing last night. Rather difficult as I had a determined little kitten trying to get on my lap. I'm writing this and clicking into a site to read about perspective. It seems straightforward enough reading about it but how does one decide where the extra vanishing points are. I get eye level and a vanishing point that is within the picture at the horizon line but getting that second (or third), which may be outside of the frame of the picture is a bit more problematical. I'm doing a loose copy of that castle as a background for the main feature, a floating dreamlike man. Well, that's the thumbnail sans castle. We'll see how it goes.
We're going to P and G's this afternoon hoping to see the wild cockatoos. R is so obsessed about the well-being of the long released Caruso it would be pure joy if he saw him today. P fed a wild cockatoo seed yesterday so G writes. Perhaps it's Caruso.
Jack is sunflower seed obsessed. I have been making sunflower and pellet rissoles for several weeks so that he would get the taste of the pellets and recognise them as food. No joy. He still refuses them. This morning I took Marvin in so he could demonstrate to Jack that pellets are edible. Jack was interested and even cracked a couple of pellets although he didn't eat them. Still, it's a start. I have removed all sunflowers from his seed mix. He's going to have to tough it out. He's not a happy bird this morning. I've asked R to pick up some shelled sunflower seeds. I plan to crush them with pellets, a half and half mixture so that he will get the taste of the pellets with the motivation of that lovely sunflower seed taste. The plan is then to reduce the amount of sunflower in the rissole until we're back to plain pellets. The problem is that pellet rissoles have a different look and texture from plain pellet. But we've got to try. He'll die of fatty liver disease if his diet isn't modified. By watching carefully I've come to realise that all Jack eats are the sunflower and safflower seeds - both with high oil content. Because he, we suspect, is an old bird, it is twice as hard to convert him than if he was a young bird. Even Dimitri, a wild caught corella, was easier to switch than Jack. Then of course there was Cambridge who never made the switch. He (she) lives with G and P and is on a seed mix with some vegetables. At least Jack will eat some vegetables; corn and apple. He isn't much chop on anything else.
Last night I dragged a comb through my hairbrush to clear it. Out came the strands which I rubbed between my palms to make them into a wad to throw away. I looked down at it and it was a mixture of brown and white hairs. It looked like a grizzled old man's chest hair. It just looked so odd and so not me. Is that what my hair is? If I was a man with a hairy chest that's what it would look like. Most of the time I go through the days and don't realise that I'm over half a century old then something innocuous will happen which brings it home. Life is short and fleeting and oh so swift!
I've come to the end of the blog for today and that blank title box waits. I've kept a journal for years without putting a title on each entry except for the date. The label box is okay for it is a good way to look up previous posts but this title void in just annoying. So I won't put one.
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