PURPLE?! GOTTA BE KIDDING!

There was a queer half-tadpole half-toad I saw last year. I've seen quite a few really strange ones at Step Creek in their in-between stages...but this one's head...well, would you believe me if I tell you its face was PURPLE AND WHITE?! I couldn't believe how funny-looking it was so I first took a picture of it then sketched it at home.

I read online that some toad tadpoles, still in the unfertilized egg stage, carry toxins so that predators eating these eggs die instantly.

Could some mutation have occurred at fertilization that one egg wasn't fully detoxed, resulting in the development of lavender-ish features? Poor thing! But then he wouldn't know he was abnormal; it was the next pitiful fellow who grew the strange green skin. They'd both been dull gray-brown tadpoles, after all.

"when they measure themselves by one another and compare themselves with one another, they are without understanding."

ANOTHER TRY

It was finally a little cooler this morning, a temperature that told me it would be safe to chance a visit back to the park (it was down to 80.6 by 6 a.m.), so I snuck out for a quick walk. I told myself it would not be the former session of stand-under-the-blazing-sun-and-let-yourself-sketch, just a say-hello-to-the-critters-take-quick-photos-and-come-home before it got hot again. The forecast said high for today was 95 Farenheit.

Today I got to see my carp pal Panda, and Gamma the crow (this one was so named because he's so absolutely flat across the top of his head and to the tip of his hooked beak, his form can look like the upper case Greek letter when looking at him from the side!)

The crow drawing I did the other day didn't turn out so good, I wonder if Gamma's drawing today will put me in better...no, the crows don't get mad at me when I draw them poorly; I'm just wanting to draw them better 'cuz I want them to...I was going to say, to smile, but they don't smile, so...caw heartily? I don't know; you end the sentence. (Sorry; some of us are a little lacking upstairs  and need help finishing our own sentences.)

READING ELISABETH ELLIOT

Before going down to Okinawa, my sister gave me a book: Becoming Elisabeth Elliot, but I'd completely forgotten about it until a few weeks ago when we moved everything around in the room. THE BOOK!

Elisabeth Elliot? Those of you who grew up in the latter 1900's recognize that name. Married to Jim Elliot who was martyred by members of an Amazonian tribe, Elisabeth took her daughter, and with fellow missionary Rachel Saint, lived with these jungle people then saw them come to Christ and later became a radio host, author and conference speaker worldwide.

Chapter 9 tells of the shadow of a cross falling across the path of Jim and Elisabeth's nighttime walks when they were still dating. The space before the next chapter seemed perfect for a sketch.

The book isn't just romance and frivolity, of course. In high school, the no-nonsense Elisabeth learned: "Don't go around with a Bible under your arm if you haven't swept under your bed."

SILAS...

The other day, I decided to re-read George Eliot's Silas Marner, (it's relatively short). The main character has epilepsy too, like me.

In 2021, I sketched and named a crow Silas when I saw one guarding a discarded piece of furniture, since Silas protected an abandoned child.

Silas adopted the little girl and named her Eppy. That's short for "Hepzibah", a name found in the Bible, which means "my joy is in her".

I decided to post what my crow drawings look like now, but when I looked at what I put up, I said to myself these drawings weren't the best comparisons; I think I could pat myself on the back for my use of color 2 years ago, while my recent drawing looks rather sloppy. Oh well.

By the way, did you know George Eliot was a girl? Female authors weren't widely accepted, so that was a pen name.

OCTAVIA'S WEB

 Another story I promised the critters.

--------------------------------------------------

"Octavia's the best one! She oughta do it!"

"Why me?"

"Because June already wrote about you once!"

"But that wasn't me..."

"OCTAVIA!" It was no use. Octavia could see she was outnumbered. The Black Widows' Group was having their meeting at Octavia's place, and they thought they should get humans to like them which most humans didn't, and the way to do that would be by educating them about the good things about them.

"What did June say about you the first time?" someone asked. "Read it!"

"It's not a whole lot."

"Probably the one friend I want most to see after the rain lets up is Octavia the spider. Her web looks like a bed of diamonds then, and I can think of few things prettier than the sun's rays glinting through clear beds of crystal." (But this was about Octavia her grandmother anyway!) There was a dead silence among the spiders as Octavia read the two sentences.

"Pretty," a voice said. It was Constance, an elderly spider, who knew the article was not about the granddaughter. "But as Octavia says, not a whole lot. What's more, we all know it was written before June knew any of us."

"Yes," Octavia said, stepping into the center of the web, "Starr, Intsy, Rainbow, Tina, June has told me she's become friends with and spent time with some of you in ways that makes me very unworthy of saying anything. Please-- she called, "Come and tell us what you know."

With that, a big, beautiful spider lowered herself onto the web. "Then I really should say something," she began, "because it was just recently."

"Just a few weeks ago, June was talking with the mallards at Step Creek when she saw me in the branch above her head. Instead of screaming 'huge spider' like most human females, she commented on my colors, saying most outdoors spiders were pretty but she thought my bands were exceptionally radiant and asked if she could name me Rainbow. When she came the next day, she seemed sincerely glad to see me, and called me by that name. With most others, it's usually just 'big spider'."

"It's the opposite for me," a voice sounded from the leaves to the side. When people see me, it's 'What a small spider!' I was getting a complex." Sure enough, out onto the web came scurrying a little glittering spider. "But when June was looking over some bushes to talk to turtles, she saw me, and the first thing she said was that the lower part of my body looked like it had gold Byzantine finish, and she asked if she could take a picture. She was willing to believe I was little if I mentioned it, but she didn't seem that interested. Then she asked if she could call me Tina from ByzanTINE."

"So," Octavia asked, "She didn't see you as large or small but beautiful, is that it?" Both spiders nodded. Then they scooted off the web. A teeny tiny squarish thing came sliding out.

"It's not that I didn't want to speak out in June's behalf; I just didn't know how to say it. So--I'm just going to talk and then get out of here, and you'll have to figure out what I said, even if I don't say it right, ok?" That squarish thing was a spider, even smaller than the small one who had a "small" complex!

"June didn't tell me I was beautiful, or that my web was beautiful, or that I was wonderful. But I never before in my life saw somebody who was interested in a tiny spider to make a fool of herself. You know what she did?

She said she knew a song about a teeny weeny spider that didn't give up, and went home and learned it, came back, sang it for me, motions and all--there were other people in the park, too! When she said she'd go home and come back the next day, I thought she was just saying it--I mean, who keeps promises to spiders, especially little, un-pretty ones? It goes:"

"Intsy wintsy spider went up the spider spout/Down came the rain and washed the spider out/Out came the sun and dried up all the rain, so/Intsy wintsy spider went up the spout again."

"Spiders don't cry. When she came back and sang it for me, I realized why humans do. That's all." Intsy seemed to float up the surface of the web into the bush on the side.

Octavia smiled into the bush. "Thank you, Intsy. I think without realizing it, you showed the world that spiders--at least the spider Intsy--keeps her promises to humans!"

There was a little stir to the side.

"I don't know if this'll work!" a thin-bodied spider was whispering to a few others who looked exactly the same.

"Go on! You look most like Ma of all of us!" They whispered back and pushed her toward the center of the web, out in the moonlight.

"Um, I've got to tell you about the name Starr..." the spider began.

"Wait!" Octavia shouted. "I happen to know this one was June's favorite spider! I'm sorry. Go on..."

"Well," the thin-bodied spider looked hesitant. "When June was choosing a name, she also told a story called 'The Show Must Go On.' I'm going to make it real short."

"It was about trapeze artists doing dangerous work. One day, there was a terrible accident, but most of the public didn't even know about it. For the show to go on smoothly, there was hard work being done, and sometimes even terrible heartache."

"Wait," Octavia interrupted. "June told this just to explain your name?"

"I think so. I mean, yes." the spider continued. "June said, when those on the ground look up and see an eight-pointed light, they might think it's a star, and it's just hanging there, but it could be a spider doing dangerous work on webs they can't even see."

"On another day, June came and told us the story of the spider Charlotte who saved the life of a piglet by weaving words in her web at night while everybody slept."

"At the end of that story, Charlotte dies, but she leaves an eggsac with babies for the piglet to take back to the farm and release there--life has to keep on going."

"June said, 'Starr, I want you to be willing to work hard when nobody sees, and like the stars, keep on shining.'"

"So," the spider said, "until it's eggsac time for me, "the show must go on." With that, the thin-bodied spider moved off towards the leaves at the side of the web.

Whispers met her. "Good job, sis!" "Ma Starr would be so proud of you!"

Octavia tried to compose herself as she summarized.

So, ladies, you've heard much on the web tonight. Some of us are radiant, some have golden embossing; we live in dwellings lined in diamonds; we never give up in keeping the smallest promises; and we know what it is to work behind the scenes; and even when we know there is an end, there is always a quiet purpose and constancy in all we do. You know--it could be people misunderstand and do not think very well of us; but I think we're a pretty good lot, don't you?

The Black Widows went home that night more content than they've been in a long, long time.

END

SAINTS AND AGING

(Some people would say it's no big deal; all humans age, not just Christians. True; but don't you think those belonging to the Creator should have a distinct grip on reality? Anyway, this is what I came up with).

I suppose Satan uses the Ally of Age to try to strip God's warriors down. He would first wrench away APPARENT HONOR from many. We need the younger generation, voices say. Faithful old ones are made to feel no longer needed. Actually, they are not less honored by God, just given fewer places of human honor.

Then by various means he chips away at what the human creatures operates by: visible sight; he attempts to strip the soldier of APPARENT BEAUTY. Satan's arsenal seems to include add wrinkles, make appearance asymmetrical, get rid of some teeth and hair. For some, gray hair is "loss" too, altho' scripture refers to it as "silver" or "crown of glory".

One Old Saint, Dew & Rain from Heaven

The final stroke would be to take away APPARENT STRENGTH--in natural aging, there is less agility, muscular power, sensory perception; and the greatest fear is mental weakness. Have not I seen God no longer asking the seasoned saint to lead a fold, (altho' they continue, in private, to pray down the powers of Heaven), but to redeem joys of the Parent-child Bond, nurtured over a lifetime of walking with Him?

Saint of God, while young and able, be all you can be and do all you can do with all he allows to show how great He is and can do.

But saint of God, when older and finding yourself not as able, then rest and know that in so doing you can still show how loving, good, and wonderful your God is.

-And teach the younger ones to trust such God.

(Actually, I really debated posting this. Readers could easily loathe the writer for being "holier-than-thou". I'm not defending myself. I AM too proud, probably more than I realize, and only God Himself knows how much of a kick in the teeth I really deserve--but I don't think that changes the above truths, and I'd hope readers wouldn't stop considering them just because of what they see in my shortcomings.)

Heaven's Rain: God's Air Conditioner?

The Great Blue Heron! (This is an account from last year.) Just when I started sketching, it began raining, and my watercolor brush pens...well, the gesture drawing would be ruined, so I had to pack everything up.

Since then, I try to do quick outline work and do most of the coloring and details at home. See the greenheads and egret drawn in April who benefitted when drawn like this?

I benefitted from the rain. It's been unspeakably hot the past few weeks, but the precipitation made it so cool by yesterday morning (the rain had lifted), Kinya and I could walk downtown.

While we sat reading in the library to pass the time before seeing the dentist, we could hear the thunder and rain outside. But when it was time to walk across the alley to go to the office, it was just sprinkling. By the time we were done and needed to walk to the cabstand to go home, it had stopped completely and felt like the entire outdoors had been air conditioned.

I guess it had. God had done it.

YUCK!

"YUCK!" I remember thinking when a friend described it to me. It's like picking up a corpse and hugging it to yourself and saying, "No! I don't want this! I don't want this anymore!" Gross! But we do it all the time.

We say we have been crucified with Christ and are dead...yet too often see self very much alive. My friend told me well, the truth is, self really is nailed to the Cross--but too often we dash over and grab our rotting flesh, and like fools cling with all our might, perplexed we seem to still be enslaved. "Just let go," she said. "Repent, and don't pick it up so often."

Today, my husband decided to take me to the dentist. I've been having tooth nerve problems--remember I told you (April 3, '23) simple flaked tooth enamel developed into a different problem? At that time, I thought I'd surrendered all to God. But altho' it was a different dentist today, I found myself flaring up angrily when I felt threatened that what had happened before would happen again.

I am pretty embarrassed now when I think about it--the angry declaration of how I'd been wronged, how I'd jumped up ready to leave the office. Perhaps the worst part is the dentist and assistants in the room I got upset at really had nothing to do with the distressing situation I'd faced earlier so shouldn't have had to deal with my ire. After things cooled off, I apologized for my display...I think they're okay with me.

At least they put on professional courtesy. My next appointment will be next Tuesday.

JUST THIS FOR TODAY

The Japanese don't speak highly of family members, and I seem to have started to do that too...but today...would you humor me and listen? My son Keima. He bicycles to his workplace on the other side of the river, often comes home late--after dark. I posted a picture of my toddler grandson viewing fireworks a few weeks ago, but it seemed only fair to show Keima too, because... 

When we lost everything in the '11 Quake and came down to Saitama, God used the pastor's wife here to get him in a high school. My son made a dramatic turnaround from his previous despondent posture, applied himself, graduated at the top of his class.

Then he surprised all of us by discussing it with his teacher and not going on with studies or even opting for a high-paying job; but by being employed at a place nearby. The salary would be lower but dependable, and school advisors had told him his family situation desperately needed this right now. So, since his high school graduation in 2014, Keima has been helping pay our monthly living out of his monthly paycheck for a lackluster but steady work.

(To those of you who are concerned--yes, he also puts aside a little for his future family too.) 

His sister went on to university and got employment at a government post (hokenshi); it would be normal to use expressions like "accomplishment" or "achievement" here. She'd probably be more like the bursting flares up in the sky he'd gaze at from obscurity.

WELCOME BACK, KRITTER

When I came back to Iwatsuki after almost 2 months of being away, I worried about seeing the animals right away. But it was no problem (I wrote about it Feb. 27 post). The other day, I was finding myself concerned about having to stay away from the park animals so long. Would they welcome me?

When I thought back to Feb., I knew they'd welcome me back as one of their own to their flock, school, or murder..."murder"? Oh--that's a group of crows. I didn't sketch them, but they always come.

KATORI PIGGY...KITTY?

I have learned to love insects...most of them. But no matter what I do, I cannot love the ones who take my blood then leave heated balloon-like things under my skin (that's what it feels like, anyway). I know I cannot hold it against the mosquito for wanting to sustain life--but they cannot hold it against me either for feeling negatively about the discomfort they cause!

Marquita, who came to my room, never bit me. But I can't say the same for the mosquitoes breeding at the Irrigation Ditch, or all the others outside, for that matter.

The Japanese have ceramic piggy figurines to hold mosquito repellant incense in the summer. A photo on YouTube showed a cat had apparently been playing with one of these and got herself in a little more trouble than she'd bargained for...I sketched the picture, changing a few things here and there, and wrote the following story from imagination.

------------------------------------------

KATORI PIGGY...KITTY?

"Just look; mustn't touch," mommy kitty told the little one, and hoisted her on top of the low table, where the katori piggy was. Apparently, she hadn't heard the adage, "Curiosity Killed the cat" because the kitten not only peeked inside, but saw it was like a little room so stepped inside. He knocked the incense coil off its aluminum stand, and it went out instantly. Oh-oh.

But when Kitty decided he'd better get out, he realized the place he'd walked into was too small to turn around! There was an opening ahead; Kitty could get out that way. But he wanted to get out the way he had come in. There could be scary monsters on the other end, after all. But try as he might, there was no way to turn around in this thing.

"Mommmmmmm!" It's humans that say, "When all else fails, read the instructions." With kittens, it's "Call Mama!" Actually, he didn't have to cry very loud; Mama was watching the whole thing. "Just go out the front end, Sweetie, she said. "You're small enough." "But Mom..." After who knows how many minutes of arguing, that's exactly what the mother cat had to do: head butt her kitty out through the front opening. But he was so scared of what he might find out there, he resisted with all his might. He couldn't believe his own mother was doing this to him!

But he finally ended up popping through the front hole, and his mother's head came popping out too! Of course, a grown cat's body was way too big to come through that opening. As a matter of fact, even their heads usually don't fit. When she tried to pull herself back in, she found she couldn't. She was stuck! Oh, no!

So, wearing this pig armor, Ma Cat went hobbling over into the next room, where the human owners were. They looked at her for an instant and wondered what they were seeing, then they howled with laughter. "Wait. before you help her off with that thing, let me get a picture, " one of them said, and he left the room to get his camera. The cat didn't think it was so funny. But at least they were going to get it off. Through the photographing, the de-armoring, the kitten stayed quiet and hidden in the next room.

The little kitten love riddles and often tries to make up his own. That night, he turned to his mom and asked, "When does a cat have 6 legs?" She had heard about humans having 4 legs, 2 legs, and 3 legs, (crawling in infancy, standing as a man, using a cane in old age)...but cats having 6 legs?

"I give up. When?"

"When her 4-legged piggy outfit doesn't cover her 2 back legs. And she ended up wearing that outfit because she got her kitten out of it. Thanks, Mom."

She couldn't give him a bear hug, so she gave him a cat snuggle instead.

END

DABBLING

My first attempts, 2 yrs ago, at mixing in anything remotely removed from realistic in my drawings--I wanted to try it too--just didn't work. I tried to blame it on the serpent that posed for me by naming it Picasso. I know, I know; but I couldn't think of anything else.

I found out there's a technique called "bokeh" (Japanese for "blur"), used originally in photography; and artists and painters experimented with adapting elements into some of their works too. I tried it for a while, but I ended up opting to draw either the regular background or just fade it out.

Because when I made drawings like this--my sister, who is one of my biggest supporters, even asked me--"What are those shapes supposed to be?" No, she wasn't talking about the damselflies; she knew what they were. It was the other stuff I tried. That was kind of embarrassing.

Both of these are 2021 drawings; I just dared bring them out now and talk about them. I think anyone who does art dabbles in lots of stuff to find out what he really wants to do.

BLACK CARP

I couldn't title yesterday's photo story "Black Carp" because the following snippet had already been written...was it way back in 2017?:

BLACK CARP

Then there was the day I was standing on Main Bridge watching the carp get fed. People at the feeding landing for the carp and turtles in Quasi Pond were giving them food.

I say "feeding the turtles", but they're so slow and have such small mouths, the carp usually get food thrown in their direction before they get there.

With one exception.

When humans were tossing out food to carp, I noticed black shadows leaped off the bridge where I was and flew to intercept it!

"Hey, that was for the carp!"

"But we're just flying carp!" the crows insisted: "haven't you heard of black carp?"

With the morsels of food in between their beaks, the crows returned to the bridge, where they continued to dive repeatedly for "black carp" food.

I think some of the carp heard the crows and acted like they took them seriously.

A few days later, at Duck Pond, I saw a black carp struggling in the reeds, flapping her pectoral fins furiously, pretending, I think, like she was "trying to learn to fly." She knew full well that's for the birds.

CAN'T STAY HERE TOO LONG

PHOTO STORY TIME

1 Today's gonna be a scorcher

2 Wanna take a splash

3 Can't stay here too long tho'

4 Humans might mistake me for a black carp

BRIGITA

Today, I'm going to take it a little easy. I'll take a trot to the Yucho (postal bank) nearby to replenish some of yesterday's expenses. From tomorrow's forecast, I see the temperatures start going up again (it was so nice yesterday--thank YOU Father!), and after that, it looks like it's going to be "stay-indoors weather" for a while again.

Anybody for a story? This one that was originally in Japanese. I was talking with my husband about how some customs might've gotten started, like taking flowers to sick folk, and this "maybe" story unfolded. Here it is, in English, illustrated with drawings from last year.

-----------------

A boy, going up the mountain to do his goat-herding work each morning, heard out a cabin window the plaintive sighing of a little girl, "I wish I could see the flowers, the trees, the sky..."

One day, he determined he would do something about that. While watching the goats, he picked flowers, the prettiest he could find--and up here, where they grew wild, they were big, strong, bursting with color. His heart was bursting with happiness too, imagining her surprised pleasure with the ones he had gathered.

He whistled all the way back down the hill, then realized when he got to the cabin, he hadn't thought about how he would get the flowers to the little girl. He looked around and saw the windowsill. He made sure no one was looking, then he hopped over and dumped his floral treasure onto the wooden platform and raced home.

The next day, the soles of his shoes barely touched the ground as he ran to work...well, to the cabin on the way up the mountain to work. How had she responded?

The flowers had been planted in a heavy wooden cup, and there were two pieces of handmade caramel on the corner!

She had noticed! And liked them!

Alonso--that is the name of our Good Samarian--smiled all morning. The next day he would not stop at flowers. He went to his secret brook and looked for his favorite rocks. Some of them had been water-polished for centuries and gleamed like opal. Their mysterious milky mixings of color and design would, no doubt, hold her spellbound, he felt. And all girls liked diamonds and rubies, like the crystals he knew he could find. Strange...the hours of work seemed to fly by for Alonso now.

Again, in the evening, he deposited his find on the windowsill and ran home. The next day, he was thrilled to see them decorating "his cup" and the area around it, and...there were two more pieces of handmade caramel set out for him too!

Alonso's heart felt like it would explode with happiness. He would show Brigita the golden lichen that grew on the walls of his secret canyon. She was his friend now. Surely, she wouldn't tell anybody. For that day's route, Alonso took the goats to the pass, and found a flat rock the right size he could take to Brigita. That evening, he carefully placed that mossy stone on the wooden windowsill and went home.

The next day was Alonso's day to see Brigita's grandfather about getting paid for his goat-herding job for the month. Of course, on his way to the front door though, he passed by the windowsill. The flat moss-covered rock had been placed right under the cup with the flowers, making it look like a stand with a golden doily. Brook rocks cascaded tastefully all over, around it...except for several places where there were two handmade caramels!

"Oh, Grandfather? This month, instead of pay, you know what I'd really like? A birdcage."

"A what?"

"A birdcage. It doesn't have to be fancy. Just wood or even twigs is fine. Held together with twine, doesn't have to be painted or anything." Alonso said to a rather perplexed Grandfather.

"See, what I want to do next..." then, looking around and lowering his voice, Alonso told grandfather he wanted to catch a pretty bird he'd seen for Brigita "but I can't set a bird on the windowsill now, can I?" Would Grandfather be good enough to make a small cage for him?

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Grandfather shuffled off to the shed to pound and cut and fix up a cozy little box with perch and feeding dish, twine looped at the top for handling/hanging.

"Just a little something I threw together. Will this do?"

It had taken Grandfather less than an hour to build the cage. But catching the bird took Alonso a great deal more tiime than that. Several weeks later and no closer to getting the bird, Alonso gave up and caught another slower, small bird. It wasn't anything special to look at, but he always thought it had the most pristine singing voice in the forest.

Almost as an apology, he decorated the cage with flowers from the fields; put a small golden-moss covered rock in the corner, and added shiny pebbles from the creek. Maybe she wouldn't be too disappointed. With these additions made, Alonso set the cage on the windowsill and went home.

Alonso trudged to work the next day, wondering if he would see two caramels on the windowsill, or if there would be no more candy for him.

But almost before he saw the windowsill, he saw Brigita...standing at the window!

Embarrassed, he tried to hide.

"Alonso! Are you there? Come here my dear boy, so I can thank you!" Brigita was calling to him.

Alonso came out from behind the bushes and went out toward the windowsill, but as he got up towards Brigita, he realized she was reaching out towards him, with both her arms outstretched...she was blind!

These are the most wonderful gifts I have ever, ever received. However did you think of them?" She was feeling his face now. "Why Alonso, you are crying! Why?"

Alonso, desperately praying for the right words, answered, "Have you not heard of tears of joy? I am so glad you liked them, Brigita."

What Alonso had meant to be a bouquet of color, Brigita had thought was a gift of field fragrances. Alonso had thought he had dazzled her sight with sparkling crystals--but running her fingers around their contours and feeling their shapes had given Brigita endless fascination. Alonso had shared the glint of the golden lichen...but Brigita had found exquisite pleasure in stroking the furry moss against her cheek. Most surprising was Alonso's biggest disappointment; for the bird he had ben unable to catch could not sing; but the one he caged gave Brigita hours of delight.

The highlight of that day however, was when Brigita announced:

"Grandfather, do you remember the doctor said he wanted to try an experiment and thought I'd be able to see again? I said no, because I was scared if I tried and if it didn't succeed, I'd be disappointed. But I think now at least I must try. I want to be able to see my Grandfather and Alonso."

When the two cried this time, it wasn't because they were sad.

END

unfinished (pt. 3)

The last 2 pictures posted are actually the first two on the zine. I wasn't sure about posting them because I've already shown you so many pictures of these two, but since I've shown you the other 5 critters of the zine, it didn't seem exactly fair not to show them.

COFFEE the crow is yes, my "artist friend" who has adopted the name "Ble Curie de Sans" (Black Iridescence). No, he did not make this zine; I did. Really.

The critter on the first page?

BILBO my trusty pal in the Irrigation Ditch. I hear Red Ear Sliders are popular pet turtles in the U.S. Bilbo would be elated to have an owner do something about her shell situation. A casual observer may not notice right away, but it stopped growing at a certain point while the rest of her body kept getting bigger, so in some places, it looks like she is wearing a playsuit instead of being completely hidden by armor.

I've sketched so many turtles--I counted 49 pictures the other day--they hold still so are ideal for amateur artists like me.

I hope the other critters understand I might draw them less, but I still consider them ideal friends.

--------------------------------

I have an appointment to a dentist in Shinjuku today. A temporary "cap" has come off one of my front teeth. Again, God seems to have yanked the temperature down a few degrees for me, looking at the week's forecast--thank You so much, Father!

unfinished (pt.2)

You know ALABASTER the egret. Some people associate alabaster with the soft white stone used for exquisite carvings. Others think of how Mary broke the alabaster container to anoint Jesus with the expensive spikenard perfume it contained. Still others speak of "angellic, pearl-like, alabaster skin". Me? I think of my white egret friend who follows me around the pond and listens to my stories.

The page before that is another flying critter.

I couldn't help but call her VENETIA. Black butterflies have a mystique all their own, but when you add the luminescent blue vents to her wings, well, she's a "knockout." Actually, Venetia represents all the butterflies; recently, a lot of them have been coming by and posing to be sketched--the white, yellow, orange, brown, especially the little gray fella (who's really a metallic lavender).

The critter before this one flies in the water...it's called "swimming", I think.

SLIT is probably one of the oldest of my friends at the park. I still remember when she was a spry thing shooting around in the water, loving to play games. Now she unhurriedly, easily, smoothly pours herself through the pond. "What're you doing here by yourself?" I've asked, and seem to be met with "well, you're not by yourself now, so that's good, isn't it?"

("Slit" doesn't mean She'll cut your throat. It's just that she has a scar--a slit--near her lip, from an accident a long time ago.)

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

"Don't you have unfinished business about that zine?" You told your blog readers you made one, but from yesterday's photo, they can't see its contents at all!

The weather forecast looks like I'll be staying home from the park awhile longer, so I'll introduce you to some of the friends on its pages.

The animal on the very back is the first one I'll be showing. This is DIAN, the Ao Daisho (non-poisonous tree-climber snake). I rarely see snakes now altho' they were good friends several years ago. I posted earlier what I'd seen about an Ao Daisho's maternal protection.

Onto the page before it:

Here's GOLDEN the garden spider. I think all outdoors spiders are beautiful (but I tell spiders and snakes they've got to understand I can enjoy them from a distance only--they must not get too close; I can't give you a mental explanation for my physiological desire to jump if they make contact with the skin!)

I'll add 3 more pages before it tonight, but I gotta go get ready for online fellowship, ok? Ta-ta!

CRITTER ZINE

The site that spoke of the meander book also mentioned Zines. I haven't been able to get out to the park for awhile, but I decided to go ahead and make a simple zine to introduce some of my critter friends there anyway.

At first, I was just going to draw outlines but decided to color them in. found myself shading and highlighting, adding details I hadn't planned on at the beginning.

I made myself stop when I caught myself starting to layer with color pencil for more detail, or I would never get back to blogging.

I drew my friends: Bilbo the Red Ear Slider (turtle), Coffee the Crow, Slit the Carp, Venetia the Butterfly, Alabaster the Egret, Golden the Spider, and Dian the Ao Daisho (snake). 

There are many more critter friends at the park, but mini zines are...just that: "mini". So the mallard, dragonfly, lizard, roly poly, kawasemi, frog, hornet, more will have to wait 'til later.

WORKS OF FIRE

My daughter sent me videos of her 2-yr-old son enjoying a fireworks display. It showed him at smiling at the sky, but in one thoughtful frame also showing another thought, as he whispers, "kowai" (scary). He must've been referring to the repeated bangs he heard. That's a lot of power.

During Sunday's after-worship fellowship, we talked about how some things are like fire. We can use and thank God for them, but they can lead to scary things, like explosions, violence, hurt if used wrongfully. Pray that Yusei see God gave him a mind to be used, not to create blasts to melt bones, but able to make beautiful blooms in the night sky ("FlowerFire" is the Japanese word for fireworks).

YOU SHOULD FLY, LIKE US

Friday, I had to go to the clinic again. Because my medicine requires me to stay out of summer heat, the decision was made to go by cab instead of walking for over 25 mins.

My dragonfly friends seemed to agree with me. They didn't think I should walk to the doctor's office either.

As soon as I got home, I lay down, grateful for air conditioning. Because today was not as hot as the rest of the week, I had only a low-grade fever.

And because I'd been able to ride a cab, not walked, after only a few hours' rest, my temperature came down, and I felt fine. Well enough, in fact, to draw these post illustrations.

Oh--this latter reference photo was NOT taken today. I did NOT go to the park today. You can be sure that was taken on an earlier date, when it was much cooler!

BONEHEAD ALARM

Does anybody remember when Computers were NOT folding laptops but were large white cubic things that sat atop your desk...the same went for the television: they were "blocky" things too, not the mere flat displays they are now. Clock faces were circular, with hour, minute, and second hands that moved around the dial. (The wristwatch my Mom wore for children's work had Donald Duck pointing with gloved fingers to the time.)

The younger generation seems to think digital displays are quicker and easier, but... Once you get used to "reading the dial", the mind sees the position of the arms on the clock, and you feel the general amount of time that way, don't have to think math, numbers anymore--but don't the new digital clocks make you have to think in NUMBERS?

At any rate, the boner I pulled today had nothing to do with the kind of clock it was. It was with my head.  I looked at the clock when I woke up, thinking I had overslept, and I had only a few minutes to jump up, dress, get ready to leave for my doctor's appointment. Rats. I was going to shower, look calm and collected. But after talking with Kinya, I realized I had only woken up from taking a nap. I still had way over 12 hours to go. Oops.

No wonder the alarm didn't go off.

THE THIRD STONE

I saw an old story I posted in Japanese (Jan. 19, 2023), but I tried a redraw of the illustration and then decided to post it in English plus added a twist at the end...well, I'll let you see.

Once upon a time (classic beginning), there were three stones in a mountain pass. One came falling off the top. One came rolling around in the stream. The third was spit up from the ground.

The stone from the top was smooth beautiful marble, probably the most dependable substance in the entire pass. It wouldn't crumble even if a Billy goat stood on it.

The golden pebble that rolled up on the creek bed glittered in the sun. It could be just resting, but it looked like it was beaming, smiling. Crows gathered and passed around the shiny rock. My, it sure was pretty.

"Hey! What about me?" a voice sounded from the ground. Oh yes. There was that third stone. Some turtles walked over to where the voice came from. It was still partly covered with dirt.

"You look like me when I come out of hibernation," a turtle said as he began to clean off the mud.

"You and my mound, maybe you're cousins," said a dung beetle nearby. Other insects nearby chuckled.

"B-but this is nothing to laugh about, nothing to laugh about," said Professor Crow, as he stared, wide-eyed at the third stone; "I know shiny things when I see them, and this is no simple shiny thing!"

By this time, the rock was completely clean, and he looked like a crystal! The sun's rays shone softly through the trees, making the stone glisten. Little birds began chattering, trying to see their own reflection.

"This is," the crow continued, "A diamond in the rough!"

Humans know how much money they're worth. Insects don't.

"Does that mean," the dung beetle asked, "they're not cousins, after all?"

END

Our artist crow friend, Ble Curie de Sans, listening to the story, decided to title his next masterpiece: "Diamond in the Rough." It was a painting of the beetle doing a handstand in front of his mound of dung.