The Mole People Painters.

Last night I had to implement the emergency studio work trick: I was cranky having self-indulged in fun things like catching up on my accounting, and blissing out in a general state of angst all week, and thus had to force myself to work in the studio before bedtime, even if it was just for a few minutes. Of course I was there a couple of hours, of which the first few minutes involved killing camelback crickets and 2 flying beetles. I need better lighting out there. I thought about the Charles Burchfield photograph, and rationalized that maybe I, too, am a mole painter.

Yesterday I was a bit wrought over some home repairs, like a new roof. I was also misinformed by someone that I had standing water in my crawlspace and possibly mold issues, so natch, I was worried I had a plumbing problem as well as a heating and a/c duct problem. I've been on edge feeling like my house was going to fall apart or at least cost an arm and a leg to keep together and that I should just bail. My a/c/heating guy is the best. He came with the house. His number was in my mom's tattered phone directory. The calendar printed in the back of the directory is dated 1964 and 1965. Los Angeles had one area code. The a/c guy comes around twice a year to replace the filters and check the unit. I was braced for bad news which I would have promptly ignored. During the flood I had water in my duct work. If it had rained a few more hours, the water would have overflowed into my house. I'm just now getting around to calling him. My unit checked out fine. Not only that, but he said there was no standing water, no mold, and that I've got one helleva built house, the joists are the size of telephone poles. I am relieved. I can go back to being a mole painter and relax for a day or two, and go back to stomping on crickets. They're not the lovable crickets- these are creepy, and ever since I was informed they eat mold and dead possum, I've been a little freaked out by them.