Still tracking my Christmas vacation during my first year of grad school; still at my Dad's place. The bird is Popeye, an Eclectus parrot. My father has quite a few parrots. They all hate me. Popeye here once climbed out of his cage, walked on his little bird feet in a straight line through three rooms, climbed up the side of a couch, across the couch to where I was reading, and bit my thumb. It is a resolute hate.
This was, apparently, the year I took up the foolish notion of learning the recorder, even though no one of the entire planet likes music played on a recorder. I practiced diligently for months, until I was defeated by "Short'nin' Bread."
Holy Moly! We're just getting to dinner? This may be the single sketchiest of day of my whole sketching life.
Uhm... and old lantern?
And me looking emo-tastic in a window's reflection that night when I can't sleep.