water-logged

It would seem from the blog end, if one were not prowling around my flickr, that I had gotten sucked into my growling wound. Part of my spirit has but I'm mostly in one piece, minus a goodly chunk. Which my doctor tells me he explained to me (while I was still in the anaesthesia brain melt state). So I spent the latter end of the week (two weeks back now) messed up on Percoset.... stumbling dizzily to the bathroom every four hours and then tumbling back into bed.


divide © Laura Kicey

The drugs were the first mistake. The second was attempting to go to work on the drugs. Friday morning I made it to work (the walking went very slowly)... and within the first hour I began to feel extremely queasy and went down to hang out with the toilet. The quease fell away after some time but concentrating on said quease left me kinda tired. So I went into the library and passed out on a chair.

Oops.

The next mistake I made was unintentional. My legs were stiff from lack of use, since I'd been horizontal for days. Percosets had done other things to my body that I dare not mention. I decided to go to Ocean City NJ with my friend and avid blog devouree, The Shanners. The Shanners never goes to the beach. So I opted to bring ultimate and full Down the Shore beaching experience to us... it had been a while for me too. We lazed in sand in the sand for a couple of hours. And watched the lifeguard pile up before us, starring one rather old gentleman sporting white hair and coordinated mustache.


all eyes © Laura Kicey

He was amazing and dramatic, the best of the people watching experience twenty feet away from our humble towel turf. For a change of scene we strolled the boardwalk, during which time, most of my stitches came flying out, unbeknownst to the stitch-bearer.


for cryin in the bucket © Laura Kicey

Upon finishing the length of the walk, we cut inland to find seafoods. We dined right next to the fantastically seedy Motel that Dustin and I had stayed at for Thanksgiving vacation tour almost a year and a half ago. The (C)Oral Sands. The charm lying in the neon sign that was missing the inital 'C'. Which they had sadly replaced. Shrimp! Scallops! Corn on the COB!


pegged © Laura Kicey

And for desert Pirate Mini Golf in the shadow of the most competitive dad of all time. He who could not actually competently play minigolf is struggling while trying to beat his four year old daughter who couldn't hold the club. After we exhausted the 18 holes of yo ho ho, we grabbed some ice cream and made our way home.


finial © Laura Kicey

The following day Ms. Beaver and Rachelle returned for a second round of fashionable shooting. Feeling rather diminished in spunk, I offered that we might shoot "around the house", i.e. the really gorgeous house I live in but have woefully neglected to ever use as a backdrop for anything.


pewter © Laura Kicey

In between knoshing watermelon and resting on the on my post-operative tuffet, I managed to turn out some things I was really pleased with even though I was feeling severely off my game. There is in fact one of Sarah that leaves me a bit short of breath (loud horn tooting).


pillar © Laura Kicey

So the doctor when I met with him last week said everything looked good, healthy, pink and fluffy as should be. Despite panic calls to weekend emergency line. I had an actual day without pain this week, which made me ecstatic. But it was shortlived so I don't quite know if that is on par or worry-worthy. Six months in, my positivity wanes furiously and frequently. So I continue to spend far too much time (but never enough time it seems) partially submerged in the bath water. Thanks everyone who has been dropping by and sending their regards. Its nice to know that even when I go all quiet, I've not been forgotten.

This last weekend my Brother of Michigan descended upon the familial home and I was asked to join in the excitement. Most of which involved me giving him new music tips and eating fruit. Which I received flack for from Brother in the form of: "Don't you have some glamorous activities to be participating in, instead of lounging about reading cooking magazines. Don't you have a reputation to maintain?"

With that I demanded that we take a drive to get lost somewhere Lancaster, PA. Heading out Route 30 in the cicada drone heat, we toddled behind slow-moving Amish-gawkers for quite some time until I took an unexpected unmarked turn off and we found ourselves Nowhere. I felt slightly shortchanged on this particular adventure, though it yielded a fraternal heart-to-heart and an unusually creepy sighting: a bull wearing some bizarre headgear (the like I have only found as antiques on eBay) that completely blinds him with plastic cups. Upon hearing our approach in the car, he started fuming loudly. I have never seen a beast so irate. As we inched the car away from him, in order to not continue to have all of this heavy animal wrath pointing right at us, he moved with us. We were separated only by a thin electrical wire fence. The photo is crap but it was certainly worthy of note. Amish seem to take far too much pride in maintaining their buildings and equipment. I was left hungry for rural decay.


reticula © Laura Kicey

Not far from these bovine visitations, Mr. D was shooting his second consecutive wedding. Our plot was to make a break for it on Sunday morning and hit the spectacular Williams Grove Flea Market that resides in the 3 years abandoned amusement park. It did not disappoint with its collection of wasted Pennsylvania Deutschy kitsch and typography.


swingers © Laura Kicey

The photography I am most excited about at the moment I am not at liberty to discuss the specifics of until September some time (but I can show you and be incredibly vague).


quiver © Laura Kicey

I assisted Dustin on a shoot and snuck in some picture-snatching of my own along the way.


drawing room © Laura Kicey

We met some phenomenal people and discovered some amazing oddities that might need to be further explored.... church lady millinery and singing chiropractors on stuffed animals.


communion © Laura Kicey