The Green Green Grass of Home

Thanks Thelma! Just a little guitar - enough to sing and write and make a little noise :0 Yes, the cats love it! They especially like to lie in the open guitar case, and pluck at the strings with their teeth! :D Silly geeses!

I love the designs in this painting, Anita. The colors look like fresh spring. I didn't know you was a songwriter and singer too. I would love to hear your songs. I bet the cats love to hear you sing. I can see another beautiful book out of that! " I Found My Lost Cat With A Song" . (Just a Thought) What instrument do you play? Keep up the great art work and hope you sell many.

I was quoting an Alan Jackson country song when I referred to the "hoochie coochie." I didn't know what it meant so I looked it up. It appears to be rude. As for 'Midnight Train to Georgia,' I like to try and do the Ray Charles version which generally goes well except for the middle bit which has some VERY tricky half notes and makes you realise what separates the amateurs from the professionals! I'm still amateur!! I can hear it fine, but I can't quite do it!

Ahhhh! - "Georgia, Georgia The whole day through This old sweet song Keeps Georgia on my mind " or more contemporary (but I prefer the old stuff...) "Way down yonder on the Chattahoochie, it gets hotter than a hoochie coochie..."

Heh-heh! One day , you never know, it could happen. Re your home, I don't actually know where it is, is it the US, the UK or somewhere else? Wherever it is, it sounds nice. Cool breezes, wild, dark green countryside, soft rain, wet autumn leaves on wildwood paths. Is that how it is?

The near abstraction of this painting is just wonderful. The lyrics of the old song give us a clue: the subject is still in jail and dreaming of release and homecoming. It's been a long time. He's leaning back and sees, through the heat and dust of the afternoon, a shimmer of waving green through the wire guard fence. He doesn't see exactly what it is, his eyes are tired and half closed; he's nearly asleep. Half awake, half dreaming, the distant, waving green and gold become an almost abstract shimmer, a rippling canvas against which his mind paints the story of sweet release. Well, if I'm out of order, I'm sorry, but I DO allow other people to interpret my pictures as they wish so forgive me for taking a liberty here. I'm just putting down in writing what I might have done in my head, anyway.