What does this have to do with WAX?

Feeding wild turkeys in our back yard

I'm at my Whidbey retreat, nest, studio, cave. December is my Greta Garbo time, my I vant to be alone time. For the past few years I've come here to regroup, regenerate, rehydrate and rehibernate, well no just hibernate. I arrived in slapstick fashion on Monday nite, my next door neighbor, new to the island didn't quite know where the shuttle landed (probably neither did NASA) and so another neighbor picked me up while she sat at the park and ride waiting for me, sans cell phone. Ah, then one day of artistic bliss, first an SDA meeting with my pals. At our host's studio I spied a DVD, Drawing for the Terrified. What a coinkeedink, my "assignment for this month," as is my custom instituted last year, is to draw every day. EEEEk, the thing that perhaps I am most afraid of-is drawing, well maybe a root canal is ahead of that, in first place. All morning in my jammies, reading/watching videos online at the NYTimes, writing my morning pages, feeding the wild turkeys in our back yard, unblissfully sketching, my neighbor calls me and says we are flooded downstairs. Into action, I call Karl, my darling plumber. I love this guy. He arrives in 15 minutes, assesses the situation, gotta call the carpet steamers/septic people. So all day and nite till 8pm I'm working on this stuff. What kinda retreat is this? There will be more, much more today. The insurance adjustors, more septic people, a new pump, floater, etc. etc. The joys of homeownership, thank you very much.

Septic boys playing in the front yard