This morning as I was driving the boy to school I saw a wild turkey beside the parking lot of a church in our neighborhood. Being my mother’s daughter and never one to pass up an encounter with Nature, I whipped the car around so that my kid could get a close up view of the majesty of the wild turkey.

Perhaps majesty isn’t exactly the word. He came trotting right up to the car, and since I rarely leave home without a camera, you can share the encounter with us. In the distance you could see his wives, all three of them. I can’t say for sure if even in the turkey universe you could consider this guy handsome, but if he can support three plump ladies, he must be doing something right.

He gave us no end of hell, pecked at the tires and the mirror, and then chased after us when drove away. It was quite a show. He probably got lucky after we left.

Today the husband is taking the boy to a classmate’s birthday party. I have a strong suspicion he will come home and say, “Had you met these people before you said he could go to this party? Oh, my god!”

One of us has to go. This will not be a drop off party based on my kid’s wide eyed description of all he swears his friend is allowed to do, such as ride 4-wheelers through the abandoned building site at the end of the street, and shoot his brother with paintball guns. He says there is a pool, but they can’t swim because the pump is broken and the water is black. The birthday boy has gleefully confided to his buddies that he is going to try and push his older sister in the swampy pool.

Fortunately his tetanus shots are up to date. Other than that, I’ll just spray him with Deet and hope he doesn’t come home with West Nile virus.

But so far I am still ahead in the horror party sweepstakes, since I took him to one where the the family had a cross made of 2×4’s in the front yard, along with sheets of plywood painted with bible verses, and WE BELIEVE spelled out in Christmas lights along the porch railing. The party was held in the front yard since the family pets, a pair of pit bulls named Hannibal and Angel, had just had puppies and were a bit over protective.

There’s nothing like watching a group of seven year olds whack a pinata in the front yard while two slobbering pit bulls lunge barking at them through chain link fencing and the kid’s mother hurls pieces of hot dog across the fence while yelling, “They really are sweet dogs; they’re just excited is all. Hush babies! These are Bubba’s friends. ”

I am seriously starting to consider private school.

Bound and determined to make massive headway on this illustration project. I have drawn until Monkey-Paw has nearly set in. You’d think I should be nearly done by now. You would be laughably wrong.

It also helps immensely that school has started. From 8 to 2:30 I can draw in relative peace. There was a large breakthrough yesterday. Weeks ago I bought a pad of incredibly crappy cheap paper for rough sketches and writing myself general throw-away type notes. I decided a couple of the rough sketches were worth scanning. When I scanned them the generally crappy texture of the paper looked like an old watercolor. Brilliant! I just saved myself hours and hours trying to make new drawings look as if they had been lying around in an attic for years.

While I work, contemplate this humble bee. Collecting pollen on a globe thistle, now that’s a never-ending job. Smells nice, though.

You will be happy to know that the souvenirs my child bought for me on his recent trip were not stolen. After the glory of zombie-kitty house slippers and a Misfits sweatshirt on Mother’s Day , you might think he was tapped for gift ideas. You’d be wrong.

Zombie finger puppets. The happy alien was a prize in a previous goodie bag.I like that he seems blissfully unaware of the menacing Zombie at his side.

Also, I am continually distracted this morning by  the antics of the cutest, happiest looking birds playing in my garden. If I am to get any work done at all, I should move away from the window.

Nice how he coordinates with the water bowl and the planter, huh?

Other random information you neither need or want: my child got one trait from his maternal Aunt Stacy. When he likes a song, he will play it over and over for days in a row. You never know where his taste will lead him. A few days ago it was the Eurythmics’ Sweet Dreams, right now we are in a 2 song loop of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Snow, and a catchy little dance-pop number called Don’t Trust a Ho.

Last week I came slap up against a looming deadline and told Athena if she caught me goofing off and/or whining about how hard the job was, that she had permission to whack me with a dead fish. So far I have been keeping up with my self imposed quota of drawing every day, but damn! Yesterday I thought she was going to get her chance to have at me with that fish. The kid had a friend over, the friend had to be returned to his parents around lunch time, and we had shopping to do.

Oh, yeah, fun story. Sonny Jim went to Nebraska with friends of ours. The whole time we are in Europe, he keeps asking how much longer until he gets to go to Nebraska. Wahoo, Nebraska, to be precise. So he went. He had a terrific time, drove a boat, caught fish, ate enough ribs to choke a large carnivore. On the way back they spent the night in St. Louis, where their car was broken into and all their bags were stolen. A treasure trove of wrestling superstar t-shirts vanished in a flash, along with all his viable underwear and socks. Fortunately, the souvenir shorts he bought at a gas station were on his person in the hotel when the robbery occurred. Yes, my kid bought clothing at a gas station. I’m so proud.

We got beyond lucky with clearance racks, and replaced a few wrestling t-shirts, hats, and even hooked him up with contenders for “lucky” underwear. His former “lucky” underwear had Stewie Griffin on it and said Obey Me! His future lucky underwear had Brian on it and says Don’t Make Me Beg. I am raising a class act, let me tell ya.

Also…celestial event happening last night, the annual Perseid meteor shower. You know how I love staring up into the dark. So I crammed in a few hours of drawing between dinner and cosmic fireworks. Athena gets to keep her flounder in the freezer for now, the kid and I stretched out on the patio and made wishes on shooting stars until the wee hours of the morning. Finally when we couldn’t stop yawning and couldn’t think of anyone else to wish for, we called it done and went to bed. So if you get some sort of good news in the near future, you’re welcome. It was no trouble at all.

I got no shots of meteors, but the moonrise was pretty spectacular.

All that was missing was an orchestral soundtrack  and a

booming disembodied voice instructing me to go on some sort of quest.

I have a fairly broad range of experience under my belt, and take great pride in not stumbling through the world with my mouth hanging open like Gomer Pyle on a fist full of Xanax and legal weed. But seriously, not since an accidental visit to Memphis on the anniversary of Elvis’ death have I had more WTF? moments than in Amsterdam.

And I am not even talking about the obvious choices like the vibrator emporium or the fetish boutiques with their elaborate window displays. I am talking about everyday things that make you go, “Huh. Well…there’s something you don’t see every day.” A few examples for your enjoyment…

My kid now has nightmares that these creepy mannekins come to life and chase him down the street. I am pretty sure one of them moved after I took this picture. The one with the orange ponytail might have flipped me off.

Actually, I think I went to school with this guy. His hair was shorter back then.

This is a diner that has been converted into a houseboat. With a basement added, and a car welded to the roof. Not just any local Peugeot or Citroen, either, but a huge honkin’ tail-finned piece of Americana from Detroit’s heyday.

This was over the door of a large church.

In case you were feeling like things might turn out all right, think again.

I have no explanation for this statue. The one beside this was a headless pregnant woman standing behind some sort of lizardy bird thing. The building looked like some kind of museum, but probably it was a hardware store. Or a doctor’s office.

A bird-legged bomb, perched on the roof of a house. Sure. Why not?

Wonder where they keep the key to that giant lock above the window?

Jane, Athena…(and anyone else, but as photographers, Jane and Athena will be especially awed) drop what you are doing and go here. (Click the image to go to the website.)

Have you seen this book? I saw it a couple of days ago and looked through it, but didn’t buy it. Then I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I went back to the book store today and the one copy was still there. I can hardly describe how beautiful the photos are, and how much it makes me want to take long winter walks through fallow gardens.

I realized this morning that I wasn’t going to be able to restock the bare refrigerator and pantry with the power of my mind, and there was simply no way to avoid going grocery shopping. I hate grocery shopping, and would truly rather take a beating any day.

I’m shuffling morosely up and down the aisles piling groceries in the cart, wearing rump sprung yoga pants and t-shirt from the book fair at my kid’s school. At the beginning of each aisle I run into the same guy, and stop and motion for him to go ahead of me. He apparently decides that it’s not the layout of the grocery store, but the hand of fate that keeps throwing us together, and that my off-handed courtesy is rabid flirtation.

I get to the check out line, and start piling up my groceries when I become aware of someone standing behind me, really close behind me, close enough that they better know me. I turn around and it’s Aisle Guy, grinning all suavely, and he says, “Well…here we are, together again.” The cashier in the next lane is waving and saying “Sir, I can take you over here.” He ignores her. I continue to unload groceries, and suddenly he’s there again, basically sharing my pelvic space. So I said, “Damn,dude! Back up! Even my husband doesn’t try to stand that close to me!” And then he got all huffy and says, “You aren’t wearing a ring.” Like that’s some kind open invitation to get all personal in the check out line!

I am dressed to scrub toilets and buying a metric ass-ton of groceries at 9:30 in the morning. What about this screams Single Woman Looking for a Hook Up?

Dude, those emails are spam. There really aren’t horny housewives in your area looking to S*** C**k and ***k!