Fatale Abstraction

Heart of Pine

Had this one over on the diorama, but it's from before I moved the pew out of storage a few weeks ago. The important thing is you can see my fabulous table. What's funny is I set the scene and thought I had everything the way I wanted it, and when I looked at the image on the computer, it drove me nuts that the Mexican sugar-mold candelabra was off-center from the middle of the table. *shrug*

Anyway, I still like the subdued, washed-out easteregg colours with the fiery red of the glass candle basins and the light filtered through tulle on the windows. Surprisingly, when I took the photo, you could well see the skyscrapers in the near distance through the sheers, but they don't read in the image. Just as well. It's oppressing enough, as it is.

Anyhoo, this is that fabulous table I got at a great junk store called Rustic Relics in Quanah Texas, up in the panhandle. It's the coolest store. I got the most fabulous shit there.

One of the fellows who runs the shop got this table from an elderly couple he was doing handyman stuff for in New Mexico in the 70s. He said they had all kinds of incredible things, and this old pine table with the butterfly joins was something he drooled over, and they asked him to choose something from their things to take for himself, and this was the piece. I'm guessing I'm just the third owner, then. Hopefully, in 200 or 300 years, someone will slobber over this table and wonder about its history, and about the meals consumed there and who has sat with their elbows propped thereon. I hope it has a rich and storied history-- however untold--to carry in its secret heart of hearts.
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I seem to be having a drama-a-minute these days.
I woke up Tuesday feeling a tightness in my face, wondering why.
I left the doglet with a friend to dog-sit all weekend. When I picked her up on Monday afternoon, my friend had just bathed her. Well, apparently, I'm allergic to something she washed the doglet with. My eyes were nearly swollen shut, and my right arm has a rash. Didn't dare to wear makeup, and I felt like I looked like Michael Gambon.
NOT that it's bad to look like MG, but he's, like, in his 70s, and he's male. I take umbrage at being made to look like a 70 something male whilst still in the early stages (and denial) of the early 40s. It just ain't right.

Oh, and I haven't noticed a difference with the benadryl. Meh.