Modern Ancient: Money on Trees and an Accidental Lemon Yellow incident involving a Dog with a Cone

Ok today was just silly, but read on, it's a good laugh.

I started out painting on Day #24 with the knowledge that I only had about 2 hours to fool around with this 30 paintings in 30 days challenge and the rest of the day needed to be productive since I have a show this weekend. I had one canvas board left, and of course it was an 11x14, so it was going to take longer than I wanted. I decided on something simple. Money plants.

I like money plants. I remember my parents growing them. For months they looked like a pile of weeds, and when the whole summer had passed, we got to help peel the leaves off to reveal the shiny insides. I was about 5 years old and completely convinced that if I were careful enough, perhaps there might be some real money inside one of them. Why else would my parents plant such a thing and spend so much time on them? Looking back, I remember hearing someone say "Money doesn't grow on trees" and I was so disappointed for my parents, who kept trying to grow it. Ha! Anyway, I had a nice time reminiscing and painting along, thinking "dang, these things are HARD to paint, why did I pick this anyway" when suddenly the front door of my studio flies open....

Now, just a wee bit of background here. I have a little compulsion for musical instruments, and need to sell a few of them. Mainly, 3 trombones. My husband's friend, the high school band director was coming over and my husband decided it would be good to drag these trombones into the studio to see if he could tell us what they were worth. My studio is set up for working in glass, not oil painting. I have no place set aside for paintings to dry, and as the end of this challenge draws near I have a pile of wet paintings lying about wherever I can find a place. There are paper towels covered in turpentine and wet paint right outside my door so as not to cause a fire inside. I have palette paper covered in paint from the last painting lying on a low table, and my cello is standing in it's case right near the front door. There is no room for these trombones.

Fast forward...

Mr. Honse comes in the door, which means the cello has to quickly be moved and I warn him (too late) about all the wet paint rags he just stepped in and now it's all over his shoes. Then WHAM here comes my overly protective golden retriever in his CONE to see who is in the studio. Cone drags through the palette paper, grabs a nice glob of lemon yellow all over, and in a matter of a second this poor guy has bright yellow oil paint all over his black coat and black dress pants.... aye...