More Weird Than Usual

This has been a very strange day. I slept too late; left the stove burner on, on "high" while I got dressed; drove down the lane with my cup of tea on the top of the van; and, I cried a lot today. The crying doesn't feel bad, just unbidden.

Today my youngest grandson, Julian, is sixteen and I know it is a tough day for him. He won't get what he wants for his birthday because his gift list is far bigger and more expensive than his family can afford. In fact, it is bigger and more expensive than we all can afford even if we pooled our resources. (Oh, to be a grandma with enough money to lavish him with gifts!) I lost track of time this evening and neglected to call and wish him a happy birthday. Somehow the fact that his birthday card was mailed Monday doesn't relieve my regret about my failure to speak to him.

Sadly, I have faced this situation before. Keeping track of time is my biggest failing - in my opinion, anyway. I forget what day it is, when anniversaries and birthdays are, and forget to acknowledge such occasions in a timely fashion. Thankfully, my family members, children, and friends have a great deal of patience, and love, regardless of my thoughtlessness. My failings, my shortcomings, my mistakes, and the effects they have on those I love, float around like fallen leaves on my tears.

Another of my grandsons, Jake, is about to be deployed to Iraq. I can't say it out loud without crying. War -a lonely and evil thing. It takes people away, by distance, or illness, injury, and death. I am powerless to protect Jake and no prayers or tears of mine will change the reality of his departure. This war is a noxious battle of power and pride and desire for supremacy. My tears for Jake are among the pools, lakes, rivers and oceans of tears shed by so many women as their loved ones leave for battle.

I had to buy a new broom today. Why would buying a broom make someone cry? Because the other one is worn out, old and falling apart, leaving straw bits behind when I sweep. Today Julian is 16...this week Jake leaves for the war...my son's baby shoes are sitting on the table...I am feeling old, a bit worn out and used up. I leave groans behind when I get out of the chair...I know that I am not as strong or as fast as I was a few years ago. I left the burner on and the cup on top of the car, I cried when I bought a broom, and I forgot to call my grandson on his birthday. My faults, frailties, and failures seem easier to remember than the dates and days that I want to remember.

Today I bought a plastic box, a container for the mementos of my son, his life, and death. One day, when I think I can bear it, I will put his birth certificate, baby book, report cards, and other remembrances from his childhood in there. Then I will add his death certificate, dried flowers from his funeral, photos of his grave, and the little pieces of his truck that I picked up at the accident scene. Perhaps the plastic box will protect the things better than the cardboard box did. He died on Jake's 21st birthday...Jake deploys this week...I can't protect him...I forgot to call Julian. Dates and times, events and activities, remembering and forgetting...brooms, boxes and tears...

Things today really seem more weird than usual. Thoughts and memories are crowding my mind. My memories of the past and fears about the future are as abundant as the straws falling from the old broom. Tomorrow I must call both of my grandsons. I cannot get lost in my life and forget. I will call Julian and wish him "happy birthday." I will call Jake and say "good bye for now." I will cry and the tears will not feel bad, they will be unbidden.

Holding On To The Good Stuff

This EDM sketch is "Something That Smells Good." It is one of my soapstone containers that holds Patchouli solid perfume. Patchouli became my favorite scent in the early 70's - primarily because it was said to cover the scent of marijuana. Back in those "good ole days" I smoked a lot of that herb and even grew it in my backyard. My neighbors all knew what the plants were and so did my children. As I look back on that, I think that the main thing it taught my children was the advantage of a good compost pile! I am proud to say that their minds weren't warped too much since neither of them seemed to be interested in smoking weed to any extent. Now my daughter is too old for such foolishness. I am too!

I don't smoke "Mary Jane," or cigarettes, anymore, nor do I drink alcohol in any form. I don't use illegal drugs - the ones that are prescribed for me alter my mind enough! Even though it has been a long time since I sat around with friends and smoked a joint, I didn't give up using Patchouli. I like the fragrance, and I like the memories that go with it. I remember those days with fondness and fun. I have a number of good stories about the times when I was "stoned." They are funny ones and I enjoy having others laugh with me over the antics of my younger days.

My brother, Mike, only wears Patchouli- that aftershave stuff is not for him! Like me, he has fond memories of the good times we each had in the past. I'm sorry to say that I never had that "particular good time" with Mike. Instead we share the love of the fragrance, the fun of wearing it, and our own individual stories of the "good times." When I am with Mike - not nearly enough for either of us - the fragrance of Patchouli enfolds us in a special, and somewhat secret, embrace.

The event that brought all this to mind so clearly, and fondly, was seeing Joan Baez in concert on Monday. The audience ranged somewhere between 45 and 70 years of age. There were canes and strong arms to lean on. No one moved very fast and there was lots of gray hair. A small number of younger people attended and Joan carefully explained the background of the songs for those who "weren't there" back then! She encouraged us to sing along on several of the songs...it was very nice. I'm told that there was a distinct smell of marijuana in the parking garage before the show...glad I wasn't there...I might have lingered a bit too long!

Well, this blog has kept me smiling the entire time. Ahhh, There was some good stuff in the 70's, I can still smell the fun we had.

Flickr

This is a test post from , a fancy photo sharing thing.

Memories...happy and sad

This is a photo from my 60th birthday weekend, so it is three years old. You might have guessed that I am in the center of the photo and my children are on either side. Shannon is the one with the reddish hair. She colors her hair because she says it is "too grey." At first I didn't believe her, then I got a chance to see it when it was a bit grown out. She's right...just too much white for a woman her age! She is 39 years old in the photo and my son, Todd, the older of the two, is 41 years old here. He has his dad's hair - beautifully white at the temples and a sprinkling of white through the rest of his hair. Me - about four white hairs here, and three years later I have a few more shining in my temples.


This photo was taken on a very happy day. Two of my friends gave me the gift of a weekend at a beautiful beach house directly on the Atlantic Ocean in St. Augustine, Florida. My son and his wife, my daughter and her husband, and the two boys were there. My sister was a surprise guest and Lori, a long time friend, joined us with Dwight who has become the newest member of the "family." So, my closest friends and family members were there to celebrate with me, and with my life partner, Kess. It couldn't have been a happier, nicer, or more wonderful time!


The following year, on my 61st birthday, we celebrated again! Kess and I, and those same two generous friends, were going out to dinner at a favorite restaurant. When we arrived - there were my kids, their spouses, my grandsons and Lori and Dwight. I was delightfully surprised - again! Two years in a row I had my children with me for my birthday - what a treat! Another very, very, happy time...and a few tears of joy from this old mom.


I didn't know it then, but that was the last birthday that I would celebrate with both of my children. Four months later - almost to the day - my son was gone forever. I was with him that January...we visited him in South Carolina for his 42nd birthday in March, and then I never saw him or spoke with him again. On May 2nd he was dead, killed by a 21 year old girl who ran a stop sign. She hit him broadside on the driver's side and his truck rolled and rolled. Todd was thrown from the truck and he died on the edge of the road a few minutes later. The death certificate says he died from closed head trauma, but I could tell from the accident scene that he must have had massive internal injuries. I am told that he "didn't suffer" because the head injuries were so bad that he wouldn't have felt all the pain.

Todd would have been 44 years old today. Even though it has been almost two years, I frequently wonder if he knew what was happening when he lost control of the truck and it began to roll. Did he realize that his life was about to end? Did he call out for God, his wife, children, or his dad, Shannon or me? How long did he lie there, alone, before someone came to his side?


Today I feel frightened, frightened about the depth of the pain that I feel when I remember him. I feel frightened that I won't have the emotional strength to survive the day, yet I know I will. The memory of looking at the gashes in the asphalt from the truck tumbling over and over...the memory of seeing his blood on the road where it had run from his head...those memories are as clear in my mind as if they happened just yesterday. I'm not certain that it will ever be any different.

I haven't enjoyed a holiday or a birthday since Todd was killed. I haven't put up the Christmas tree, decorated for the Springtime, or planted any flowers. Those "special days" of the year don't seem so special. The things that bring happiness into my life now are live things - people, the great blue herons and owls that fly overhead, our three dogs and two old cats, my little parrot that Todd used to hold. She never tried to bite his callused hands...

As I get older, I cherish the memories of my children's lives - remembering when they were just little folks. They really do grow up too fast and leave home much too soon. I wish I could have a "do over" with my kids. I would pay a lot more attention, be much gentler, hug them dozens of times each day, not waste a minute in worry, but spend my time being in the present moment as I watched them grow.

Happy Birthday, Son. Your life made a difference for so many people and we miss you.

A Warm Summer Day In Jacksonville, Florida

This photo is for all of you who live in the southern hemisphere . We are still in our coats and sweaters here in North Florida. The weather reports for the U.S. sound like someone's bad dreams - snow, killer tornados, ice storms, baseball sized hail, huge trees uprooted, telephone and electricity out, dangers of mudslides and floods The earlier fears of a shortage of heating oil may come true if the weather doesn't start behaving in a more "normal" fashion.

While freezing temperatures sweep through large sections of the country, the inhabitants of the far north are seeing the icebergs melt and the ice sheets getting smaller and smaller. With evidence of global warming showing up in the polar regions, and the extreme weather patterns throughout the US, I don't understand how anyone can say that global warming doesn't exist.

I understand that weather changes are part of the natural cycles that our planet goes through. This same series of weather events may have taken place thousands, or millions of years ago. But my concern is for right now, and for the next generation. What about contamination of the groundwater and the water that I drink from my well? What is that stuff that floats by each day as the tide shifts in the creek? If the water levels are rising, how long before the foundation of my home is compromised by erosion? Will the beautiful blue herons that nest in the tall pine tree each year be poisoned by the the chemical runoff from lawns that are sprayed for weeds and insects? Will our next President actually do something about the environment?

The small steps that I take to be gentle with Mother Earth pale in comparison to the severity of the problems that face us. I recycle everything that I can. Our city, and county, takes glass, metal, paper, and some plastics for recycling. The grocery store accepts paper and plastic bags and certain foam trays and cartons. Many of the products I use come in containers that have recycled plastic in them, but I can't recycle the recycled containers! The businesses here aren't given recycle containers and cardboard boxes spill out of dumpsters when they could be reused or recycled.

I don't have any answers for the situation other than to encourage everyone to do whatever they can to help. Please reuse boxes and padded envelopes. Don't throw the "peanuts", bubble wrap and brown paper stuffing in the trash, either save it to use yourself or recycle it through your local agencies. When you get a package that is filled with peanuts that aren't biodegradable, write to the company that used them and encourage them to switch to the peanuts made with cornstarch. You can toss those in your garden and the first rain will dissolve them.

I could go on and on with suggestions and ideas. Instead, I will end this rant here with one more suggestion: Starting today, choose one more way to reduce the stress on the enviornment where you live and act on it for the rest of 2008. Please...

Ahhh - Donuts, My Favorite Food - EDM #146

There couldn't possibly be anything better than donuts - better tasting that is, not better for you! I really do love donuts, any kind - except for the ones with coconut on them. The type that I have illustrated here are a lot safer for me to have around the house than my most favorite kind - Krispy Kremes! If you have never had a Krispy Kreme Donut, it is probably a good thing. Once you have one, you will always remember the flavor, smell, texture, and melt-in-the-mouth goodness of this local treat.

I don't know what city they were born in, but here in Jacksonville Krispy Kremes are sold at gas stations, grocery stores, church breakfasts, and at the Krispy Kreme stores themselves. If you are a true Krispy Kreme aficinado, you will make a trip to the Krispy Kreme store where you can sit, hot coffee steaming on the table in front of you, and watch how they are made.

First, tiny balls of dough become limp rings of white floating through space on row upon row of wire racks. They travel up and down the conveyor belt, through the warmth of the oven, where they rise. When they reach the end of their journey in the rising oven, they are flipped, shelf by shelf, into a vat of boiling vegetable oil. Sizzle, snap, hiss - the rings puff up as they float along in the bubbling fat. Halfway through this leg of their journey, they are quickly flipped over by a device that rises up from the roiling grease to toss them over a dam into their second bath in the hot oil.

At just the right time, when they are golden brown on both sides, they careen over a metal ledge through a downpour of white, liquid, sugar, to emerge as donuts that are "Hot and Now!" The flashing neon sign in the window announces their readiness for consumption, and you are about to learn the truth of melt-in-the-mouth delight. The line attendant uses a wooden chopstick to deftly pluck your donut from its journey to the packing area, places it on a clean napkin, and hands you the warm, light, sticky treat. Mouth-watering joy is yours. One bite, another bite, maybe a third, and it is gone!

What do you think, shall we have a refill on the coffee and have another donut, or, maybe two?

A Few Of My Favorite Things - EDMs #48 and #99

WOW! I finally did it! I don't know why, but my computer let me upload some of my art work for the first time since last November. This is a sketch of the Lamy Safari fountain pen that I bought in September. I've had the pencil sharpener for about 15 years and must get a new blade for it if I am going to get a good point on my colored pencils. The little bit of eraser is dirty and brittle. I added it to the sketch just before I replaced it. I spent a good deal of time on this piece and was actually content with it when I finished and decided that I would post it.

Being content with any of my art work is a novel experience. No matter how hard I work on them, or the positive comments I get from others, my sketches always seem so primitive, unpolished, or - heaven forbid - overworked! I just finished a post card size piece yesterday, (you can't see it yet because I'm sending it to Anita Davies), that is only partially overworked! If called upon to describe my artistic style, I would say that it is "colorful, tending toward realistic, but overworked."

Perhaps it is because I am a "beginning artist" - in spite of taking classes, reading books, studying catalogs, talking to artists, going to workshops, and owning every expensive art supply that Joe, Jerry, Dick, and Daniel ever advertised! I have been told that it is a temptation of beginning artists to "overwork" the products of their artistic endeavors. Well, duh! I figured that out all by myself! I do despise being so predictable and ordinary! At least predictable anyway...

Enter Kate Johnson (she has a new last name now, but my book has "Johnson" on it) and her marvelous talents, delightful students, and her encouraging entourage of faithful followers. The alumni of her online classes give glowing reports about the things they have learned, the improvement in their art work, and the fun they have being part of the on line alumni group. I am not being cynical, but completely serious. I have been collecting Kate's books for many years and have loved every one of them. Now I have the pleasure of becoming one of her faithful followers for real - in "cyber time" none the less.

I am about to begin my first online class with this esteemed artist and teacher and I can't wait! It starts on Tuesday and I have spent the past two weeks "overworking" the computer by reading blogs, setting up my Flickr account, figuring out how to post my art, negotiating links, tags, and art sites written in languages other than English. Gosh, that only leaves me a day to round up all my pencils, brushes, sketch books, tablets, erasers (oops, I shouldn't have mentioned that), bags, containers, boxes, tins, kleenex, paper towels and rags!

Let's see - shall I use the Prismacolors, Derwents, Neocolors, Faber-Castells, or Graphtints on my first sketch? Wish me luck - I hope I don't overwork it!

"NO ART" Blog

The holidays are over and I can truthfully say that I don't think things in my life have slowed down at all. I got through Christmas at the Post Office pretty well, no serious complaints that I know of. After the holiday, I took some days off for my birthday. Even before I could celebrate my birthday, my grandson, Taylor, arrived. He was now on his own since he couldn't maintain a decent attitude or schedule at his parents' house. Where can a homeless grandson go other than his Nanny's?

Tonight is his first night, alone, at his apartment. His parents found him a studio apartment to rent for a reasonable price. They were generous in putting up the money for the security and first month's rent. Kess and I paid for his car repairs so that he could get back and forth to work and school more easily. For the first week here, the "NannyMobile" was delivering him to work either at 4:00AM, or during rush hour, and picking him up at 10:30PM. We had some very good talks during those drives and may have even settled a bit of the (our) world's problems.

With all of the family pulling together and pooling our resources, Taylor has moved into a relatively comfortable, extremely clean, well-stocked little place. My partner worked with him to figure out his "financial picture" and a basic grocery list. Seeing the money and expenses on paper was a shock for him since he had been living in the magical world of "bank card fantasy." After all, you just use the card and the things get paid for. Should I mention here that he is driving an antique Mercedes that takes only premium grade gas?

I suppose I could whine about our lives being turned sideways by having a boy/man in our home once again. Seems like only yesterday that he spent last year's school holidays living in my art studio. Gee, I guess I should have mentioned that earlier - a studio occupied by a guest makes it hard to do art. To be honest, I have been trying to organize the studio so I could work in it for over seven years, but having holiday company, and then a grandson living in it, does discourage me from even considering organizing it.

I have hit the "no excuses" wall now. Cathy Johnson's watercolor pencil class starts very soon and I signed up to take it. I really do need to be able to use my studio. It doesn't work too well for me to try to draw while sitting in the recliner. Not only is the light bad, but the elderly cat (whose picture is on this blog site) walks through the still life set ups. She also likes to lie down directly under my chin which prevents me from seeing the paper, the pen, or anything else, including the TV. She only sits still for about five minutes at a time and then she stands up, turns around, and lies down to face the other direction. Arthritis, kidney failure, and hyperthyroid problems make balancing comfortably on top of my senior citizen's breasts hard for her to do. She slips often enough to make watercolor painting a hazard. If I can work in the studio, I can put a gate up at the door to keep her out.

Oops...I forgot...there are also three daschunds that sit in my lap when I am in the chair. They wiggle into their favorite spots and stay there comfortably...until there is a sound outside. That sends them rushing off my lap, jumping to the floor and slipping and sliding to the door. In our yard we have heavy-footed squirrels that walk noisily about, and birds that rustle the leaves as they fly by. The doxies are never completely still since they dream, push against one another, and snuggle closer and closer in my lap. Working with pen and ink isn't very satisfying when my art has extra trails of ink through it caused by the constant churning of canines.

You see, I have very good reasons for my "NO ART" blog, don't I? NO watercolor, NO pen and ink, NO studio, NO ART! What about pencil you ask? Is "the dog ate my eraser" a good excuse? I promise there will be art next time I write. I do have to do my homework for Kate's class!