Old Woman Creek Estuary.
Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
Well maybe this was a bad idea. I haven’t seen any cats in the neighborhood since he got his wings…
Zubbles have arrived!
They are just as fun as I hoped they would be! The package came with a 4ozÂ bottle of pink, and a 4ozÂ bottle of blue. I didn’t open the “Presto Pink” Zubbles yet, though I did open the “Blazing Blue”. Many others are clearly shown on the site – just not for sale yet…
The zubble soap is very, very dark in the bottle. You can see where a few drops spilled in the photo below. But the color vanishes as soon as you rub it away.Â The bottle’sÂ lid’sÂ rimÂ is a bit leaky sometimes which would not be obvious except for the dark color.
They were “very expensive” I’ll just say, but I’m so happy that they are finally on the market that I plunked down my dollars so I could get my greedy hands on them.
And they are whimsical fun – if you like soap bubbles! I will take them tomorrow and let my Pre-KÂ Sunday School kids mess around with them.
Tiny pre-update: Zubbles
I’ve been watching this product called Zubbles with half an eye, since about 2005, because bubbles are one of the whimiscal things I find fascinating and dear.
FINALLY they have come to market, with a “Buy” button and everything. ( Thanks to Elly and Natalie for pointing them out to me. )
So, of course, I hit aforementioned Buy button. They cost at least an arm, if not an additional leg. The story is that the inventor spent $3 million developing them!
Further updates as Zubbles warrant. Hopefully with photos!
I feel pretty gleeful at the moment.Â Tonight is craft night, so hopefully I will have more art to post later.
Keep Looking Up – 2
Keep Looking Up.
After the storm, comes the beautiful rainbow, promise of God’s love.
(Too bad all those power lines are in this photo. Photo taken looking out my front door.)
Sketch – Harpy
Not all harpies are screaming, bird-woman hags.
But since most are, Heldra felt very alone. She tried so hard to findÂ companionship in the lost travelers of the waste – but none would go near her; all fled when they saw the shadow of her outstretched wings. Her sweet voice did nothing to allay their fears: all knew that harpies and sirens were kin, and so many had heard the (true)Â tales of folks ripped to shreds.
She stillÂ sits oftenÂ in a dead tree, singing to wyverns and birds. Occasionally a faun or dragon. But for the most part, she has the wilderness to herself – and her terrible kin.
Until she met the wizard.
[I won’t tell you how old this sketch is. It’s really old.]