I don't even know these people.

And really, who am I to even want to finish these things?

They assume characters when I'm working on them. I can already see a wistfulness in a couple of their eyes that breaks my heart. Maybe a few months ago they would have seemed peaceful and charming. I'm not sure I can begin. They start speaking to me, and I feel a little crazy and consumed by the intimacy they require. I'm a little afraid of them. I don't have time for them. How sad is that? They are orphans.

Nevertheless, I should probably work on a few so I have something small and light to vend in Portland next week, in the event that I'd be taking/shipping them back home. My Aunt also wants some dolls for an invitational show at a gallery in Lincoln. I should "just do it" like the slogan says. Stop thinking about stuff and act. The way things are these days, I might leave some bad karma on them as I finished them, and then NO ONE would want them.

The kids want to leave for the pool. Can't blame them; it's 150 degrees again today. And so we'll go, becuase I love nothing more than vegging at the pool on a beautiful day when I have a gajillion things on my mind. My greatest fear (well, one of them) is a stunningly gorgeous cage.

This is drivel, and I regret it.

The church bulletin today had an ad for a "desert retreat" where you discover grace through silence. It caught my eye. Now, who could imagine that?