Cruiser

Iron Man

It was Sunday afternoon. Sydney and I were at Borders Book Store Southpark, in the Seattle's Best Coffee Shop. Sydney had the Lemon Pound cake that she paid for with the money I gave her for cutting the grass. I never imagined she'd do it. The fact that we had a manual mower made it even more impressive...

I had the White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Cookie. Tracy stopped in briefly, after a time of shopping for "Vintage" furniture. I shared my cookie, but I am afraid I wasn't very happy to do so.

I did this drawing while waiting for Sydney at a beauty salon called MO Hair.

Smelly Cat

Sydney got her hair done today. We laughed about how we have each heard people say, "I got my hair did". It seemed like old times for me. Syd and I have spent many Saturday mornings at the salon. There is no other experience like the African American Salon.

I always get curious looks, as you don't see too many Black Men taking their daughters to the beauty shop. Of course, I get all of my instructions from my wife. Over time I have learned phrases like, Wash-N-Set, Doobie, Kiddy Perm, Touch-up, etc. I don't pretend to know what all that means, and because we are dealing with a black women's hair, I simply say what I am told to say, and no-one gets hurt.

After the doobie, we spent an hour or so at the "Smelly Cat". I wouldn't be caught dead at a place with a name so, well -gay, unless I was spending time with my daughter. Smelly Cat is a beatnik style coffee shop in the artsy district called NO DA, short for North Davidson, While we were there I brought back another tradition from my past with Sydney. While she was reading I did a sketch of her. I like how it came out. This is one of numerous drawings I have done of her over the years. Most of which, coincidentally were inspired and executed at a coffee shop. More often than not the coffee shop was Starbucks. Good coffee, a fresh sketch book and an afternoon with The Syd-Meister - Life is good!

As I wait...

I examine my hands to discover a tar like grit beneath the nail on my left index finger
I enlist the pointed corner of my opposing thumbnail to chisel away the unwanted soot.

The exercise proves therapeutic - even gratifying
As when eliminating the descending alien attackers in an ole school video game
Like crossing off an eight-letter word (having a percussion sound) for boredom - in a crossword puzzle

After a moment of review all nails check out positively
Then, with one last stroke of my thumbnail my impulse to groom is well satisfied
And I rise from the doldrums just as the light changes to green

Out of Season

When words are true
The fewer the better
Or perhaps no word need be spoken at all
Less one might hold you to the letter

When silence is long
Imagination is unleashed
The twitch of an eye carries a world of meaning
And every gesture is laden with scheming

Where passion lives
So lives bitterness and despair
Love and envy come to occupy the same bed
With today’s insatiable desire
And tomorrows frailest care

In the absence of virtue
Emotion overrides cognitive reason
Nobility gives way to common indifference
And honesty is a fruit born out of season