Chunk's folks: howling and creating

I TELL PEOPLE that I was raised by wolves in the mountains of British Columbia, and that's true, but it might give 'em the wrong idea.

For one thing, my folks are artists. In my family, everybody is some kind of artist. Well, everybody is several kinds of artist. I'm not saying they're any good at it. That doesn't really matter. But they're always making things, and then they're making more things.

It's the holiday season, and I'm feeling all warm and fuzzy. Could be these crazy socks. Anyway, I'm gonna do something different; I'll show you some of my family's artwork that somehow ended up in my house--er, my lair. It's a totally random sample.

For starters, my pop did the painting above. My mom was the model. He used to paint all the time. I seem to recall that he won 1st Prize at the Orange County Fair, amateur oil painting division, thirty or so years ago. He doesn't seem to paint anymore.

These days, mostly my folks work in clay. Here's a plate that my dad did a few years ago. I keep it in my living room. I used to have an even better one that he did, but somebody stomped on it. That can happen, if you don't watch out.

My mom makes lots of clay pots and whatnot. Here's one she made a while back:

Actually, I kinda messed up the photograph, so it looks darker than it really is. But I like it.

Here's another pot--or something--Mom made. I'll drop by their shop, and I'll be looking at one of these things, and she'll just say, "Want it?" Usually, I'll say, "sure."

A friend of mine finds his way to my folks' workshop as often as he can just on the chance that my mom'll offer him one of her pots.

Here's one of my favorites:

Actually, I've got lots more of these things, but I don't want to over-do it. There are literally hundreds of pots and jars and paintings and sculptures and photos sitting' around the property, at my parents' house, at friends' houses, here and there.

Next time, I'll show you my sister's "Easter Goose," which she did for the American Cancer Society or something. I forget. One time she was over my place and she spotted this laminated and folded thingy that I had bought. It showed all the flora and fauna of the hills around here. She picked it up, looked at it, and said, "I did this."

You know the German Shepherd image you see on the side of K-9 police cars? Well, it's adapted from a painting my mom did more than twenty years ago of a dog owned by a cop that my parents knew. They met him--the cop and the dog--at a "Schutzhund" club, but that's another story.

I remember the guy, named Jim or Rick Weaver, I think. He was a health nut. Rode his bike thirty or forty miles a day.

I think he was in his early 50s when he suddenly died of a heart attack.

People go like that sometimes.

I've got a bad cold, and so don't expect any of this to make sense. I just did this, that's all, like the rest of my howling, lunatic family. Here it is.

Love 'em, though.

Ahhwooooo... Werewolves of Trabuco, Ahwooooo!
Ahhwooooo... Werewolves of Trabuco, Ahwooooo!