Dance In The Moonshine

Post title from the latest album by local bluegrass sweethearts the Whiskeybelles.  You could do far, far worse than checking out their music, and why wouldn’t you?

Have I mentioned here my brother and his estrangement with his daughter?  Well, let’s pretend that I haven’t or that neither of us remember it.  Short story;  she had a rough time, developed an Oxy monkey, and did some things that were not good, including stealing from my brother.  He had a new wife, who demanded that he sever ties, and his daughter did the jail cold turkey cleanup program.

Since then, she has soldiered on, tried to no avail to reconnect with her father, and started a new life in a community several miles away.  She moved in with a good guy, Andrew, and they seem to have gotten their shit together.

I know her mother from high school, and have been in contact with both of them through the evil scheme that is Facebook.  And after much drama more or less, my niece and her boyfriend got engaged.  I called my brother and was not going to spill the beans, but I told him, he had to call his daughter.

He didn’t.

So last November, they got married in Las Vegas.  It was a wrong time and wrong budget to travel and I sent my regrets; but her mother contacted me and asked if I could reconsider, because her father was still ghosting her and she needed someone to walk her down the aisle.  It was hard, but I just couldn’t make it for budgetary and timing issues.  But it looked like a lovely time was had by all, and I will regret not being there.

I called my brother prior, and after a bit of Sailor Jerry Bravery, read him the riot act and told him there would come a time that he would regret being so severe about cutting her so thoroughly out of his life.  He responded and said “you don’t know the whole story”. to which I replied that I didn’t, but still she was your only fucking daughter and don’t be a dick.

I have a picture sitting on our dining room built in of him and her when she was about three, when they came down to visit and he is holding her.  We still have a couple of photos of her as a child and later as well.  I mean, she’s goddam family, you know?

My brother’s house, like ours, has always had a fair amount of small animals sharing space, and for his place, they once had one than my niece particularly loved, a spaniel named Taylor.  So one year, when I had little cash for presents (and as brothers we said we wouldn’t spend any real money on gifts, we were all kind of less than rich), so I did one of my fuzz bucket drawings of Taylor as a shared gift for my brother and his daughter.  If you have been around here much (all TWO of you!) you may have seen some of my fuzz bucket drawings – we hav a gallery of them in our entry hall, and when some friend visited we realized no one realizes that I am the one that draws them.  In fact, fair half of the artwork in our house is mine, and most of the rest is Jon Langford or Salvador Dali.  Some is Escher.

So, on a recent visit, I was kind of disgusted to see that my drawing was still on display in their living room, when I kind of intended it to be for his daughter, because Taylor was much her dog.  Upon reflection, I should have asked for it back.  It was one of my better.  Taylor was an artistic dog.

So, when my niece and her guy got married, and I couldn’t make the trip to do a duty,  I decided I would fix one damn thing my fucking brother wouldn’t:  I would gift my niece with an illustration of her current puppzors, Quigley (who is a Good Dog)

Of course, since I am a zombie I forked up the deadline, and just finished the portrait recently.  Took advantage of the regrettable closing of the local art store to get new papers and charcoal and pastels, and did a new one (good lord, fresh pastels and good paper makes such a huge difference!  you artists know).  Fortunately, my niece sent me an awesome picture of the three of them that I could use as a basis.  And with a few extra days off for whatever fucking holiday we are currently in the midst of, I finished it tonight.  I like it.  The dog properly take priority over the humans.

 

Now to get it framed, and there is an awesome local frame shop who makes everything look fantastic.  And then to ship it off with a very apologetic note and card about the timing, hoping they love it enough to cut me some fucking slack.

And I am more than pissed toward my brother about his attitude.  He will come to regret it, I have no doubt.  And that is really very sad, and he doesn’t even realize it.

 

ETA:  Young Zombie got some farm kittehs when he got his first post-college apartment, and as such I also did portraits of those two little fuzzbuckets.  Now being framed:

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