Yeehaw for scanners, but I’m going to need to get some fresh pens
I’ve almost depleted the stockpile from the heavy snow—it’s down to canned goods now.
Yesterday, I broke out the Chicken Soup with (wild) Rice which seemed appropriate for a chilly (albeit rainy) day. As I stirred the pot, I drifted back to when I was a kid, scrutinizing Maurice Sendak’s Chicken Soup with Rice: A Book of Months while singing along with Carole King on the record player.
You can’t shake these things.
So I stir, and hum along to myself, remembering how much I loved Sendak’s style, and how a recent conversation with a friend prompted me to consider helping her illustrate a children’s book. With my chops rusty from the other day, one thing led to another and I started to think about drawing—a skill I feel that anyone can learn.
I started by tracing, then emulating. The classes of my youth, where craft won over composition. On to college where I feel I really learned how to see for the first time and translate it through my fingers.
That memory alone could occupy an entry all unto itself where I thank a professor from Ohio State by the name of Mike Arrigo. (Thank you Google)
Anyways, all these things swirling around as the soup heats and smells like metal.
All this stuff, linked to this very moment.
Baffling really. And nonsensical at the same time.
The soup was fine. Not much to write about, and the crackers were sort of stale (even though my brother taped the package closed — who else would do that?)
Save for the Zestas, the other thoughts, those made for a nice lunch hour.
SPECIAL BONUS: 
A clip of Carole King singing the song.