What Next

About a month ago kindly neighbors up here gave me lovely persimmons from their back yard tree. Though I'm still muddling along trying to figure out what grows in Sonoma County I can verify that persimmons celebrate this climate.  As they ripened I froze the pulp for making my famous persimmon bars. Maybe I'll get to that by spring. Meanwhile I arranged seven in a basket to paint, but before I got to it they turned to mush. With only my preliminary sketch and my fuzzy memory bank, I attempted to paint them in yesterday's Oakmont watercolor class. I had a photo for reference of some heirloom tomatoes I once painted in a different basket. The finished product looks like genetic engineering of persimmons/tomatoes. Oh, well.
Evenings I am reading a worthless novel called NEXT by Michael Crichton. The  protagonist injects his own sperm into a petri dish and produces a half-human/half chimpanzee child. I think my unconscious picked it up and now I have produced persmatoes, or shall we call them tomasimmons? Such silliness on a week that there is so much profound to consider: the 40th anniversary of Roe v Wade, with four states cleverly manipulating licensing to eliminate all abortion services and at the same time the Armed forces lifting the ban on women in combat. In Washington hearings Hillary swung hard at the Republicans who are only thinking of 2016 and none of us got to find out why the State Department has such a limited budget they can't provide adequate security for our embassies.