owl house & breakfast

Last night we were sitting with our neighbor John on his patio. I had my sketchbook and was drawing this old owl house up in his tree.

Now he thinks I am amazing (Bill says he has a crush on me . . . John is in his late 80s) just because I sat there and drew in a book on my lap. He seems to think artists must work at drawing tables and easels in studios. I try to explain about the millions of sketchers out there in the world, but he just shakes his head in disbelief.

His owl houses no longer house owls --- he hasn't been able to climb a ladder to clean them out for years --- but now and then a squirrel will stay for a while. Squirrels chewed the edge of the door hole a bit.

Jeff came to visit for a few days; this morning we ran errands in Brenham and took Jeff out for breakfast . . . at John's favorite cafe hidden behind the train depot.

Their service is so quick I didn't have time to draw more than a quick continuous-line of a few of the items on the table. We know we are in Texas when this includes hot pepper sauce and a jar of pickled tabasco peppers.