mess

I was told the pest is a marten.  We'd heard it in the roof as it scratched, screamed, and hissed.  Not at all like the martin who's sometimes purple and flies around cuz it's a bird.  No, the marten is something else, something not north american, more siberian, abominable, or even made-up.  

I'm at a coffeeshop today because a film crew is shooting a commercial at our house.  I am a little unpracticed in recent decades hanging out with a laptop and cortado.  But it's a great time to address things like martens in my airbnb, concrete piers under my remodel job across town, and blog posts.  When someone asks me how I'm doing, I can honestly say that I'm suuper busy.  But I won't, cuz that's an answer I find annoying as shit.

I had reserved two rooms for my family at the Lakeside Inn.  We were headed to the midwest for my father's memorial service and I'd squeezed a few days into our week for my wife and kids to stay in harbor country (aka michigan summer cottage retreat land).  As a dad in charge of planning a small vacation I see Clark Griswold, and then I watch myself become him.  The voucher I have in my possession is for two rooms - one night - if anybody is interested.

My dear mother stayed with us for two weeks after harbor country.  She'd visit me in my studio throughout the day to chat or to observe me paint, or both.  And her questions might have irritated me when I was younger.  Mostly they were her attempts to address why I do not paint lovelier things like flowers or, her favorite, the sea.  When she felt more aggressive she'd launch into my technique and how she prefers more accuracy and control.  I felt that they were good questions.  Why paint anything, and why paint it this way or that way?  Could it be boiled down any better?  

I took my mother to the airport early, as my father would insist.  She bought us each a cup of coffee, and we sat together at her gate (the airline does issue a pass so that one can accompany their aged mother).  It felt awful sending my mother off on a flight by herself, so I asked the older lady beside us also traveling alone to join in on the lonesome fun.  

I hope my mother finds her set of watercolors when she's home.  And I hope she makes a happy terrible creative mess.