Yes, that Picasso.  The painter.

In the countries we have been to, we always enjoyed buying works of art from individuals.  Any small neighborhood bazaar will have artists selling their goods and we have purchased many.  These are not masterpieces, but just works of art that touched us.

A beautiful friend of ours in Ankara has a daughter that follows her own path in Life.  The first time I remember seeing Ayşe was at an Embassy sponsored “Olympics”.  While everyone was running around jumping through hoops, she was busy dragging a tree branch around in the dirt.

When I saw her my first thought was, This little one follows the beat of a different drum.  And as the years progressed, I thought correctly.

I began to see postings from her mother of Ayşe’s paintings on Facebook.  So, I asked her sometime ago if her daughter would be interested in selling some of them.  Ah, no thank you, Ayşe told her.

Recently, luckily for me, she has grown and realized the value of things.  So, when I asked again, Ayşe told her, Yes.

Her mother sent me four pictures of the paintings Ayşe picked out for me, and the one I chose was the one Ayşe said I would choose.  It made me feel good that she sensed which I would pick.

Here is Ayşe’s painting hanging on my bedroom wall, that she did when she was 7½ years old.It is based on Picasso’s painting titled Portrait of Paulo as Pierrot.At seven years old, I was struggling to tie my shoes …. come to think of it, I still do; but put that aside and let me say something here.  A close friend used to paint pictures from the Masters.  He said by doing so, he encountered the same problems they had and learned how to overcome them, and he became a better artist.  Something I never would have thought about.

But then I realized the same can be said for writing.  By reading the works of the Masters, I have learned how they used words to describe all the facets of Life.  Reading the words of Tolstoy, Hugo and Dickens, I have become better at putting my thoughts on paper.

It will be the same with Ayşe.  If she continues to follow the Master’s works, and I expect she will, she will become an artist who stands out.  Just the fact she chose the work of Picasso to copy, says a great deal and I know she will be a success in Life.

Carry on, Little One.  Your drum is calling you.

There is a small bar halfway between my apartment and the Consulate where I stop several times a week to have a beer on the way home.  One of the owners, a young man named Luciano will come and sit with me to learn English and teach me Portuguese.  When I told him my 99 year old mother wants to see pictures of the people I meet, he smiled but kept muttering : noventa e nove (ninety nine) over and over again.

So, my Portuguese class is sitting at a bar with a young man who is hungry to learn English, while I sit drinking the local beer, hungry to learn Portuguese.

This is why Life is so amazing.  So enjoyable.  So satisfying.

One of Life’s infinite adventures to follow.  Terese knew, and I am learning.

The head of the Housekeeping team is Pedro.  Pedro’s people go through the offices to clean and empty the trash, and I find them to be good people at the core.

Every Thursday morning Pedro comes to my shop/office and cleans, and a few months ago he cleaned my coffee cup.  For serious coffee drinkers, this is a big No-No.  I am proud of the seasoned cup I drink my coffee from.  So, it being his first time, I gently chewed his butt out and told him not to do it again.  (evidently, he must not be a coffee drinker)

Well, Thursday afternoon, I looked for my coffee cup and did not readily find it.  I sat at my desk perusing the last hours since drinking coffee to determine where I left it.  This is not an unusual thing for me to do, as my cup accompanies me regularly, and as in the past I had to acquiesce it would eventually show up.

So, I went to get a different cup and noticed there was another `Turkish’ cup like the one I normally use.  It took several seconds to realize, I only have one `Turkish’ cup and this was it, except it had been cleaned.  Again.

I will not repeat the words that came to mind about Pedro.

So, me being a forgiving man I decided not to chew his butt out, but left a permanent reminder for him not to wash my cup again.  I created a notice that I place directly on the coffee cup in a language he would understand.  “Do Not Wash” We’ll see if he can read.

There is a pet shop down across the street from the apartment building, that has two dogs in their driveway who often decide to bark in the middle of the night.  It is most irritating.

Now, as you will remember from your childhood, the times you started crying and your father (or a mean mother) told you, “If you want to cry, I will give you something to cry about.”  Well, I decided if these animals wanted to bark, I will give them something to bark about.

So, I chose to purchase several slingshots to pester these damn dogs, but the problem I have living overseas is the slingshot is considered a weapon.  I find that baffling, because what harm can you possibly do with a sling shot?

So, I contacted a nefarious individual in the States who I often do business with, who shall remain nameless, to purchase, disassemble and ship me two slingshots in separated mailings to deceive the postal people.  In anticipation for the upcoming dog disruption I knew I would cause, I also ordered a bag of paintballs …. and marbles to use as a last resort.

Once I finally got Gary’s shipment, I hastily assembled the weapons of mass disruption and pulled out the paintballs.  When the sun sat enough to keep me from being easily recognized from my 9^th floor balcony, I proceeded to fire paintballs down to the pet shop across the street.

Unfortunately, the paintballs do not have enough mass to travel all the way across the street to the pet shop, so, I had to use the marbles.

Once I had the angle of trajectory (AoT) figured out, I could send marbles directly into the driveway.  It was an amazing thing to see.  These little clear glass projectiles were probably traveling a million miles an hour and yet I could watch them as they passed under the street light to their intended target.  See below.

Of the 40-50 marbles I sent into their territory, only about 10% made it to the target; and the only reaction I got out of them is one would get up to see if it was something to eat, while the other rolled over and licked its butt.  And they seemed to swap on who was going to see if it was something to eat, and who was going to lick their butt.

But I guarantee you, if an old widow woman were to walk by dragging her grocery cart behind her, heading home to feed her hungry children with what little money she had, those damn dogs would have come alive with every intention of tearing her apart, as if she were an infamous dog hunter like one of those you see on the reality shows.

Well, since the paintballs were of no use for the damn dogs, I decided to use them to pepper the building with the white roof below with splats of colored paint.  While doing that, I wondered what the people inside thought about the popping noise on their roof.  No one stepped out the back to see what it was.  Perhaps best, because I would have shot them with paintballs.  … I was watching for them.

…  I love being ornery.

In order to be a Pumpkin Pie Master, you have to bake at least 15 pumpkin pies.  I baked 20 today.  Yesterday, my friend and I met with some of the Marines at a favorite Irish pub.  We have been there several times before.  Below is a picture taken by our waitress, Alice (pronounced Aleece – long E at the end) and then one of her and me.   … because she is nice to look at.Next, I will tell you about some damn dogs.