The Tiniest of Termaters

Here’s a post that’s just something from my daily life and it’s not about art at all. Except gardening is an art, I suppose, in a way. And I don’t garden very much in my daily life. But I’m trying to take care of Grandma’s garden for her, and I’m not very good at it, but I did find this ITTY BITTY ADORABLE MUTANT cherry tomato today (pictured next to a normal-size cherry tomato).

So this post is about art that I’m not good at but somehow still managed to discover something really cool amidst the mess I made out of it.

And then I ate it.

Close up of my hand holding a normal cherry tomato and an ITTY BITTY TINY MUTANT cherry tomato

Actual Content

I suppose I should post something besides things I wish you’d buy, or posts about how I’ll be posting better posts soon.

Are you afraid of getting old? I’ve come to terms (mostly) with the idea that I’ll most likely be old someday sooner rather than later. It’s okay; it’s just a thing that happens to everyone who survives long enough. But getting old? Facing the mental and physical deterioration? That doesn’t look so appealing.

My husband Corvin and I are live-in caretakers for my grandma. She’s going to be 103 next week. That’s old. She was doing fine up until a couple of years ago, but now she needs 24-hour assistance, and watching this downward spiral day-by-day is…daunting. Her mental faculties took a major dip over the weekend. No one can figure out what broke. She’s been in the hospital for two days now, getting poked and prodded and complaining that she wants to go home. She’s irritated and I don’t blame her. I’m not expecting a cure, but I hope they figure out what happened so we can make a plan for dealing with it.

What about death? Are you afraid of death? I’m not afraid to be dead–I’m pretty sure that there are only two possibilities for what happens to us after death: The Big Nothing, or The Thing You Really Believe. If it’s the former, it won’t matter. If the latter, it’ll be pretty cool. I’m good with it. But the process of dying? That makes me nervous. Will it hurt? Will it be embarrassing? Will I even be aware of what’s happening? (Do I want to be?) Will I finish even half of the things I want to do here before then?

So many question marks.

Corvin and I took advantage of the “night off” when Grandma went into the hospital and had ourselves an evening walk by the river. Here’s a pretty sunset. Sunset over a river with dramatic storm clouds rolling off