Some of my more discerning readers may have noticed a sharp drop in the rate of postings to this blog. For this I blame the Salt Mine, which takes up an inordinate amount of my time and prevents me from hobnobbing with Daffodil with the constancy and regularity to which we had both been accustomed.
H. L. Mencken once said, “Every normal man must be tempted, at times, to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats,” and there is something about the mining of salt that makes me feel as normal as billy-o. The hard work, tedium and regular beatings I could stand- we artists, after all, are built tough and tempered in the fire of constant disappointment- but the sharp erosion of Daffodil-time adds a layer of cruelty to the situation that is hard to bear. When one considers that the time we still do have together is significantly occupied with eating, sleeping and the vain struggle to keep our hovel habitable, it is easy to see that there is not a lot of time left over for blogging.
In addition, Daffodil has decided that some new token is required for each parting, to remind her of me when we are apart. I am thus compelled to spend a surprising amount of my time drawing pictures of dogs in bath tubs or Daffodil riding her elephant to the oasis. For the most part she takes these with her when she leaves here, and what becomes of them I do not know. (Since she generally accepts each new piece with a reverent, “Oh, this is beautiful, isn’t it?” I picture a sort of Sistine Chapel in progress at her mum’s, but it may be that they simply go into the trash.) Occasionally, however, she leaves one behind, so in the interests of having a wee squidgeon of art for a change, I present you with a little piece tentatively entitled, “Daffodil Scolding A Bear Who Is Pretending He Doesn’t Know Anything About A Rabbit.”