I hope to be able to post a painting - more likely a painting in progress - sometime this week.
I normally have more time to paint during the week than I do on weekends. Weekends are generally busy around our house: my husband has a band and 2-4 Saturday nights out of the month we're traveling and playing at various locations. Let me clarify that...my husband plays - I'm the band secretary and P.R. person. If I sang/played I expect there would be a grand stampede for the back door. The hubby plays keyboards and - this is a totally unbiased opinion of course - he's very talented and does a wonderful job. Really! In addition, other than the Saturday nights that we play, on the weekends we're caregivers for an invalid parent. So, Mondays usually bring a return to a normal routine and hopefully the start of a productive week.
Since I don't have any art to post today, I've had a request to introduce you to our children (thank you, Jeanne). The four-legged variety. The two-legged variety have long since flown the coop. The tabby is Millie, a rescued stray and the gray/white Rag Doll is Bailey... also known as His Majesty, H.R.H. or King of the Roost. I found Millie a few years ago when I happened upon her just as I had purchased a chicken salad sandwich for my lunch. She rushed up to me, thin, obviously desperate with hunger and meowed so insistently that she left me in no doubt as to what she had in mind: my sandwich. Did cats eat chicken salad sandwiches I wondered as I tore off a quarter of the sandwich and handed it to her. Yes, they do. The food was wolfed down. I sighed, hungry myself, but knowing where the rest of the sandwich was going. That was about five years ago. Millie came to live with us and has since adopted my husband; he belongs to her and I belong to Bailey. Bailey is the opposite of Millie. He was born with a silver spoon in his dainty, aristocratic mouth (but don't let that fool you... he has a voracious appetite and could put a herd of pigs to shame at dinnertime) and he fully intends to maintain his position as Feline Royalty. He purrs and sighs when I brush him as if he just knows that my highest purpose in life is to groom him and attend his every need. But he really is a sweetheart. He's a perfect companion for quiet times of reading, movie watching (when he insists on getting in between me and the hubby so that he's right next to me) and knitting. Guess there's worse things in life than being butler to a cat?