Gotta Love Pavlov

Yesterday I actually managed to get some artwork done!  OK, I'm not sure if it qualifies as art if I'm using a pattern.  The intensity of focus is something I've missed.  It takes much longer to turn two pieces of floral wire and a bunch of ridiculously sticky floral tape into bird legs than I had anticipated.  It's a good thing I had the garage door closed (it was freezing and I had my little space heater zooming) because I think I had my tongue sticking out to one side, clearly aiding me in my bird-leg making efforts, as I focused on how to make proper legs with too-short wire.  It would have been embarrassing to have been spotted by the neighbors looking like that.  In any event, I enjoyed plowing through my stash of fabric and finding the perfect trio for the project.  Not everything from the indoor studio has made it to the garage studio, so I found myself muttering a few choice words under my breath each and every time I realized that something I needed was in the house.  Did I mention that it was pouring rain?  And that there is no path from the garage to the house free of said rain?

Today I had hoped to clean up for a while (my children are savages) and then move on to the next stage of bird making.  There were a multitude of distractions - the charming Egyptian gentleman that lives around the corner feels compelled to come to the door and share a bit of his religious beliefs with me in exchange for letting him pick all of the oranges he wants.  Does one get assigned a special place in you-know-where when one ducks and hides after hearing his car pull up?  I just wanted to get some art work done!

Then I found myself having to actually holster an air horn (ok, I don't have an actual holster; the front pocket of my jeans served me well).  One of my two cats has discovered the kitty version of carpet sliders.  Carpet sliders are the most magnificent invention for boys named Kevin with carpeted homes.  They are made of flat pieces of plastic with velcro straps and are worn like very unattractive shoes, then the boy runs and stops so as to skid across the carpeting.  Sox, the deviant cat, started in the living room and absolutely bolted across the house, leaping to the dining room table that is complete with a lovely red holiday tablecloth.  He was sliding at great speed, and I actually watched him spin like an ice skater, making horrible scratches with his back claws in the wood.  I lost my mind, yelled, blasted the air horn and watched him bolt.  Hiding behind the sofa while I returned the tablecloth to its proper state, that rotten cat waited until I left the room, wound himself up and did it again.  And again.  And again.  There has been a lot of hollering, blasting of the air horn, and a cat doing a good impression of Fred Flintstone.  In order to save the dining room table, I've propped the air horn in the middle of it.  Pavlov had it right.  So far, so good.

But no progress on the bird or the art journal.  Without any kids home for more than an hour, I'm going to try to get something done.

Stupid cat.

P.S.  The air horn works great for arguing kids.  It's a most glorious Mom tool.  :-)