Meet Zelda

Zelda to the Rescue, collage/acrylic, 6 x 6

Elizabeth W. Seaver
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Maybe you remember Zorah to the Rescue several posts ago.  Well, Zelda is Zorah's baby sister who has been promoted (since Zorah got sold and flew off to be a superhero in someone else's back yard.)  Zelda defends the defenseless, defeats the previously un-defeatable and is the mistress of all she surveys.

She looks a little nervous here, as if it might be her first day on the job which, by the way, comes with a lifetime supply of birdseed, 401k plan and comprehensive health care.  Life is good.

Zelda's magic cape will fly her over to The Workhouse in Lorton, VA, for a showing of the artist's work which may be viewed May 9 through June 3rd in the Vulcan Gallery in Building 16.  If you are in the area, stop by the opening on Second Saturday, May 12, and say hello to Zelda and Frieda and Ferdinand and Orville and me.  There may be a few other birds you haven't met yet on my blog.

Zelda promises to demonstrate her cape's marvelous trick of flying, even when she is standing still.  Believe me, such demo is not to be missed.

Good-bye, Bertie!

Bertie Went A'Courtin', acrylic/collage, 22 x 28

Elizabeth Seaver

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Bertie cycled off to live at Mike's house.  Thanks, Mike.  I'm so glad to know Bertie will have a good home!

Frieda's Cotton Candy

Frieda's Cotton Candy, acrylic, 24 x 24

Elizabeth W. Seaver

In which we see how Frieda keeps her svelte figure bikini ready -- careening up and down the boardwalk wearing a crab weight.  

* * * * * *

Before Frieda left their waterfront condo for a day in the sun and surf, her mother cautioned her, "Make sure to wear your bathing cap today, dear.  You must maintain your coiffure for tonight's ball.  We won't have time for another visit to the Curl Up and Dye between now and then."

"Yes, Mother," Frieda called on the way out the door.

Her mother needn't have reminded her.  Frieda liked wearing her new flowered bathing cap.  Her mirror never lied.  She knew it made her look fetching.  No one else had one quite as fancy as hers.  Frieda had seen the envious looks of other birds her age and how they whispered behind their hands as she passed.  

Frieda hopped on her bike, excited to be at the beach for their summer vacation.  There was nothing like riding.  The world whirled by, making her feel giddy.  If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was flying. 

She stopped for cotton candy at her favorite vendor, then got back onto the boardwalk, whizzing along at quite a clip.  Good thing it was early--fewer bikers and pedestrians about.  She still cringed every time she thought of Mrs. Birdwell from last summer.  The dignified lady's toes would never be the same.  At her mother's insistence, Frieda had written six apology letters this winter.  She hoped not to run into the lady again this summer.

Just then, in the distance, Frieda spied the most virile creature she'd ever seen.  He pedaled toward her on the boardwalk.  He had an ice cream cone in one hand, and oh, what a cute feather adorned his lovely, egg-shaped head! 

Did she dare ask his name?  Perhaps a tiny bike crash would facilitate an introduction. 

She must find out whether he would be attending the 23rd Annual Beach Ball tonight.

Going to Florida

I'd Better Go Back to Paperbacks, 16 x 20, collage/acrylic

Elizabeth W. Seaver

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A lovely lady came in today to buy this painting for her sister-in-law whose birthday is coming up.  She had been in my studio with her sister in January and remembered she liked it.  What a thoughtful sister!

I'm happy he is going somewhere warm and beach-y.  

I think they still sell paperbacks down there....

It's Getting Warm

Ferdinand's Ice Cream, 24 x 24, acrylic

Elizabeth W. Seaver

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It's that time again.  The birds are migrating to the beach.  Enterprising youngsters hawk ice cream and cotton candy on the sand for bicyclists to stop for a treat.

Don't Lick and Ride

Don't Lick and Ride, acrylic, 24 x 24

Elizabeth W. Seaver

There are times when one shouldn't do two things at once: chop onions and talk on the phone, walk and chew gum (at least for some of us) and ride and eat a lollipop.  Disaster often follows.

The story I lay down here is true to life, out of the annals of our family history.  It has nothing to do with doing two things at once, or the dangers of transportation of any kind, but it does involve lollipops.

One Christmas, the assembled family (enough for two cars of folk) planned to head north to visit MORE family.  Now some of you might say, "There's your first mistake."  But, truly, we went to see perfectly ordinary people whom we hadn't seen in a while.

Just as we were mounting up, men and boys in one car and women in the other, my younger son said to me, "I have a bubble in my throat."

UH OH.  The only other time he'd said that to me, there was barfing in our future.

Feeling sly, I said, "Oh, Sweetheart, don't you want to ride in the car with your brother and all the other guys?"

"No, Mama, I want to ride with YOU!"

We were in for it.

About 20 miles up the road, I unwrapped one of my favorite candies, the one the Tootsie POP people only make at Christmas.  A peppermint Tootsie POP.  Yum!

At that moment, tragedy struck.  Yup, barfing.  Why didn't I think to grab towels, an empty bucket or, indeed, any manner of barf receptacle before leaving home?  Obviously I had been hoping that there would be no barfing.

I stuck the lollipop in my mouth, grabbed my son's new knitted hat he'd gotten as a Christmas present and held it under his chin.  Now, knitted hats are warm and fuzzy and perfect for when the cold wind blows, but they do not hold liquid well. 

Using my elbow, I pushed the button to roll down my window and hurled (pun intended) that steaming hat as far as I could out onto the grassy easement of I-95.

The other driver in our party, realizing that there was some distress in our car, had pulled over just in front of us.  I got out of the car, lollipop in mouth, and went to tell the fellas we were turning around and would see them later.

The whole experience left me with only one thought, really.  Why does crisis occur every time you have a sucker in your mouth?  It makes one feel so silly.

Did I give up lollipops?  No.  Did I stop going north to see family?  No, but I started carrying around an appropriate container for vomit, and I learned to pay attention when I heard, "I have a bubble in my throat."

We purchased another winter hat.

Lord Spencer

Lord Spencer, 6 x 6, acrylic

Elizabeth W. Seaver

Eschewing all transportation producing waste, either into the air, or in great steaming plops in the middle of the road, Lord Spencer sallies forth on his bicycle to check on his tenants, the Moles.

He is conscious to wear clothing which will at once be suitable for riding out on a cool, crisp day, and proper attire for a bird of his station in life.  One must show respect for oneself, after all, as well as for those on whom one calls.

And the poor Mole family has been beset by all manner of ills.  Henry is recovering from having tripped over his own mole hill and spraining his ankle; he is woefully behind at work.  His wife, Martha, is expecting a blessed event at any moment.  Worst of all, their parents' indisposition is causing the older children to run amok.  

Just the day before, Lord Spencer himself caught Essie in his stables, letting the air out of the tires of all his best mounts.  His groom threatens to quit on account of it.

Petie, after repeated corrections, continues to dig random tunnels, hoping to join his burrow to his best friend Ronald's burrow, causing the entire field to look like it has been plowed by a drunken farm hand. 

Lord Spencer remains sanguine, ever the practical landowner.  "Moles are nothing if not great aerators."