"Game"

I couldn't find my water pistols, a clear sign I haven't played with them enough in recent times.  I always enjoyed running around after my little brothers and splatting them on hot days.  This developed into something of an arms race with bigger and bigger super soakers and the garden hose.  Good times.  I'm not too old for this but maybe they are?

A different brother came over and saw this painting.  "Do you think it's appropriate to show your brother a naked Ken doll?"  I laughed.  "He doesn't have any genitalia!" I protested.  "Well, alright then."  Bro sat down and contemplated while I finished doing whatever it was I was doing.

Ken was trouble for me in this painting.  I needed reference, and I didn't know I needed a 1969 model.  I spent hours looking for my first love and learning stupid doll facts which had nothing to do with my early memories of stealing Ken from Sis1 and Barbie, or was it Tammy?  Who cares?  That bimbo didn't have anything to do with my relationship with Ken.  I envied her car though.  Ken and I had a pedestrian relationship because I was sure Sis would miss a car theft while she didn't seem to notice an absent Ken.

This painting isn't really about those early years, but clearly Ken made an impression on me in a way that manifested in later times.  I won't explain it.  Make conclusions however you'd like about him being featured on this canvas.  The larger point is that we carry our past with us.  Some of that's great, some of it's heavy baggage.

I like to think of the year end as a great time to drop that baggage so I can look forward to the new year as a fresh start.  Issues properly addressed and filed give me more head space to think about happy stuff like playing Mother May I with my sisters or squirting water at my brothers in the yard.

This painting took me a long time to do, though most of that time was spent sitting around and pondering instead of painting.  I told my brother I think it's too busy, but he said all the busyness is interesting.  What do you think?

The main thing for me is that finishing this painting was liberating, exhilarating.  I literally danced around the living room for a while in my happiness.  Issues addressed and done, a lighter load for 2019, and I get a painting to show for it!

Maybe there will come a year end when all of my issues have been addressed and I'll just paint flowers, but until then I'll keep making these paintings.  I like sorting through my thoughts and memories and especially love the happy feelings of completion and accomplishment.  May everyone find their own project they like doing as well.

And yes, I have a lot of siblings with 2 older sisters and 4 younger brothers which makes me a solidly middle child in a very noisy house.  I so envied only children, but then I wouldn't have had a sister from whom I could steal Ken.  Or, maybe Ken would've been mine in the first place?  But then I wouldn't have had anyone to shoot at with the water gun or with whom to play Mother May I.  Maybe it all comes out as a positive?

I hope everyone had a pleasant Christmas (or holiday of your choice) and has a wonderful, exciting, fulfilling, and happy New Year!

"Winter 2"

I drove east shortly after sunrise the other day.  Snow had dusted the trees through the night and the morning sun glittered on branches like sparkling fairy dust.  It was absolutely gorgeous and shook me out of my cold morning crabbiness.  Sometimes beauty slaps us in the face to make us appreciate the world we live in.

Yesterday's fairy snow is gone and December gloom crept back on me today.  I went to the park under a warm gray #6 sky.  The pond was cool gray #8 with #7 ice floes.  The bare trees are shades of gray brown on a brown ground amid brown leaves.  A brown squirrel scampered by and brown ducks flew overhead.  I set off with determination on the gray gravel path.

"This is good for you!" I panted to myself as I trudged forward.  My shoulders and legs felt like they weren't connected properly.  I adjusted.  I considered taking a shortcut back to my car.  I found myself tense again.  I adjusted again.  And again.

Eventually all the parts started working together.  I decided that if my world is gray and brown, I'd name the shades.  I started noticing all the colors in the subtleties.  Green moss dust on tree trunks, burnt umber, raw umber, yellow ochre... green grass!  Rose brambles held a hint of green in their brown vines, a bush held some green leaves.  I walked past a pair of deer, one of whom was intently licking the contents of the other's ear.  I couldn't make up my mind whether to feel disgusted or laugh.  Maybe it's deer foreplay?

There's a couple more places where I could've abandoned my walk, but I managed to do the complete circuit, including going up and down a couple of significant hills.  The leaves on the ground didn't look brown anymore.  They were a vibrant orange.  The bare patches on a sycamore tree reflected a vivid blue.  Same leaves, same trees, different perspective.  Of course it might've had something to do with the stroke I was having coming up that last hill, but I'm thinking positive.

In the season of gifting, remember, fairy snow and shades of brown are also gifts.  All we need to do is put ourselves in a place to see them and open our eyes and minds.

Wishing everyone happiness and peace during the holidays!

"Winter"

I like making snowflakes.  I liked cutting them out and sticking them on winter windows in school and I liked sticking them on the windows at home.  I still liked cutting them out when I was designing packaging for a living.  Some things are perennially perfect activities and I don't care about all the little bits of paper that get scattered around.

Mom hated the snowflake activity.  She did care about scattered bits of paper.  She hated Legos and all sorts of things I liked to do.  That's fine.  She didn't have to cut paper or play with Legos.  Do your own thing.  Be happy.

This sounds so simple.  It is simple.  There's all sorts of aphorisms that reinforce the thought.  The problem is we talk ourselves out of it, and other people try to talk us out of it too.  For example, when I happily cut snowflakes at work, my coworkers told me to get serious and quit having fun.  I shooed them away and kept cutting.  An afternoon of quiet clipping turned into many successful package designs.

Although this supported my paycheck, I didn't consider it "important".  They weren't like Rembrandt's portraits, Van Gogh's sunflowers, or anything else the masters created.  I kept waiting for an epiphany to lead me to my own masterpieces.  I think too many of us keep waiting for an epiphany and don't even cut snowflakes in the meantime.  I'm not just talking about art.  Whatever floats your boat, do it.

Mr. Roger's "Nobody else can live the life you live" has been stuck in my head for quite a while.  “You are a very special person. There is only one like you in the whole world. There's never been anyone exactly like you before, and there will never be again."

This has often struck me as both absolutely true and impossible.  There are so many people in the world.  All the great paintings have already been painted; there are no new ideas, just variations on snowflakes that look like solid white when they get together.  And yet, no two snowflakes are alike, right?

My recent paintings are an attempt to live up to Mr. Roger's affirmations.  The paintings are about my unique life.  Nobody else could paint them because I'm telling my stories.  Someone else could paint similar objects in a similar style, or paint their own stories in their own way, and it would be something entirely different.  That's great.  Even with the billions of people on the planet there's still room for all of us to express ourselves.

It's one thing to aspire to the masters and another to be choked by their achievements.  I don't want to be Van Gogh.  He was nuts.  Rembrandt died poor.  I'm painting in a pursuit of happiness.  It doesn't matter if these men achieved more posthumous fame and fortune.  What matters is following Mr. Rogers' wisdom and being my best me.

I've been thinking of these things for a while, but maybe I'm being extra fatalistic since I found out Jason Furcsik died.  He's another of my brothers' lifelong friends from the Glen, and yet another of their friends to die far too young.  I feel so sad.

On a brighter note, Bro2 brought his new puppy over.  For a ricocheting ball of energy, he is so gentle with my ancient dog.  It's funny to watch them play together.  They're in love, and I have to say I'm in love with the adorable little thing too.

"Chef"

I'm not a chef, but I've been telling people how to cook lately.  Okra?  Deep fry it.  Use it to thicken things.  It's just a green vegetable.  Hide it in soup or stew.  Too many peas?  They freeze well.  I freeze celery too.  Cut it up and freeze for later cooking.  Grated cauliflower?  Sauté, microwave, or add it to other things.  I bet it would be good mixed in with mashed potatoes.  I saw a creamy cauliflower soup on one of the cooking shows.

All of this cooking direction is the result of my latest volunteer efforts.  I stand in a cold parking lot and give food to people who need it.  I'm enjoying it, which seems a bit crazy since I'm freezing out there and it seems downright criminal that there are people in such a wealthy country who need food handouts, but everyone is so nice.  My fellow volunteers are nice and the recipients are nice.  They tell me how to cook things and I pass on their tips.  We all bond in the cold.

None of us have any say about what kind of food we'll be handing out, therefore, okra.  Despite its popularity in the South, very few people love it in Ohio.  We all know it's slimy and gross, even the majority who have never eaten it before.  Given a choice between okra and sugar snap peas, people took the peas.

The Canadian winds blowing off of Lake Erie are brutal.  I found my long johns and silk socks.  It helps.  I used hand warmers inside my winter gloves and sealed the leather gloves inside plastic food prep gloves.  I shiver and hop up and down while people laugh.  I never realized destitute people are so jolly, or grateful for that matter.

Oh sure, there's some crabby old women who demand butter when we don't have it that week.  Here, take some eggs.  Want some okra?  Actually, I think the brightest side of okra is the incredulous looks I got when I offered it.  The other bright spot was when an older man lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw the okra.  I gave him a lot of it since he seemed to be one of the few people who knew what to do with it.

One of my friends volunteers to serve dinners at a nearby church.  She happily stays inside where it's warm, but otherwise there are quite a few similarities: happy people, good food, camaraderie -- and the fact that there are people in the US who need free food.

It seems to me there are people who volunteer for things and many others who don't.  I think the ones who don't are missing out.  It doesn't have to be about food.  My dinner-serving friend used to volunteer as a receptionist at a children's hospital.  She's an elf for Santa's train.  I've volunteered at the parks and schools.  I tended flowers in city planters last summer.  Just pick something you like to do and find a place to do it.  The things you gain may be hard to quantify, but I'll bet it makes you feel better while making other people's lives better too.

If I haven't convinced you to volunteer somewhere, it's a good time of the year to give too.  Lots of charities need your support.  Pick one, or many, and spread some happiness.  If you want to give to Food Not Bombs, contact them at FNBeastCLE@gmail.com.  We're especially hoping someone will donate a used van, truck, or SUV for delivering food.

As for last week's deadline, yes, I got my project finished in time.  It didn't matter.  I'm in the middle of a major redirection of the project with a new short deadline.  Sigh.  Actually, before the sighs I had a temper tantrum by the latest instructions.  I've progressed to sighs.  Thankfully the only witness to my tantrum was my dog :)

"Fuzzy"

Bro2 got a Cavachon puppy.  I really should've taken a picture because he's extremely adorable even though he's so tiny it seems kind of silly to even call him a dog.  The cat towers over him and seems confused by ricocheting ball of energy flying around the house.  The picture below is somebody else's dog, but gives you an idea of general cuteness.

The original "owner" said she didn't want him anymore.  Bro had to take him for a bath and haircut before they could even go home together because the puppy's fur was so filthy and matted.  This makes me insane, but now the puppy is warm and fuzzy with his new butch haircut.  Bro even bought him a coat so he won't get cold on their walks.  They're going to be very happy together, so I guess all's well that ends well.  I was happy to visit and soak up puppy love and kisses.

I love puppies but I think my next dog might be an older animal.  Hopefully one who is already housebroken and doesn't chew on important things or walk through art projects.  Mostly I hope my ancient dog still has a few years in her.  I hope she likes playing with Bro's new puppy.  If not, she and the cat can cuddle in a corner and cast disapproving looks across the room until the little beast grows up and settles down.

I'd like to wax poetic about warm and fuzzy thoughts but my brain is jammed on the fact that I have a very hard deadline to meet.  I'll have to work through the weekend and my brain isn't helped by the fact that I'm having a hard time getting started on it.  The layout is approved, everything is set to go... and inertia.  I want to finish my latest painting instead.  My energy is pulled in opposing directions and nothing is getting done.  I hate that when that happens.

It will all work out.  I always meet deadlines.  It's just a question of how crazy I'll make myself before I get into a Zen state of productivity.  One of the things it took me a very long time to accept is that starting a project before my mind is on it is often pointless.  I blow time on "shortcuts" that take more time in the end as I laboriously fix things.  It's best to just do it right the first time.

This feels like a beginner's problem, but I suspect a lot of us do it.  We aren't machines.  We need to take time to cuddle fuzzy puppies, take a walk, or take a bath, or whatever it takes to blow off our procrastinating energies.  I guess the joy of maturity is knowing when we have a bit of time to waste and the confidence to know we can make up for that waste through experience?

You can think of it like Christmas shopping.  Some people have all their gifts in July.  Some by December 1.  Some wait until Christmas eve or even January.  The important thing is to know what you can live with and what others will accept -- and with that I'm feeling a whisper of positive deadline Zen...

I hope you are all enjoying the holiday season!

The last of my tomatoes from the garden!  Picked green to ripen inside,
this is the first time I've made them last until December.

"Soccer"

I used to take my little brothers to soccer practice.  Kids ran down the field one direction, then ran in the other direction.  Back and forth, back and forth.  Sometimes it rained.  I didn't see why I should be punished for sports, especially for something as inconsequential as soccer.  It wasn't like it was something important.

I tried to be supportive since Bros wanted to play, but I suspect my priorities leaked into their priorities.  They can swim like fish because that's an important life skill.  Soccer?  I doubt they've played it since they were 10.  Of course it would be fine if they did want to play.  Healthy exercise outside is always good, but sports are just games.

Sometimes I feel like the only one in the world who could care less about sports.  Once in a while I pay attention because our team is in the playoffs or won the title and I have to look happy for the fans around me.  I'm happy they're happy, but c'mon everybody!  None of it matters!  (I'm now feeling like ducking because people will start throwing soccer balls at me, and I don't even know if Cleveland has a team.)

Maybe I get too serious?  There has to be more to life than work and obligations.  Maybe games matter?  I remember an afternoon spent with my sisters kicking a ball around after Dad told us about soccer.  It was a fun afternoon.  I wonder if I could get them to play again sometime?  Maybe we'd have an important sister bonding moment?

"All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy."  It also leaches the life out of your creative pursuits.  You've got to play around with things to discover new things and express yourself in interesting ways.

For instance, I was substitute teaching in an art class when I looked at the waste basket.  Kids had thrown away aborted attempts at things, but the mat board they had done them on was still mostly good.  I had a free period and used up their discards in creative play.  That 45 minutes or so sent my art in a new direction for a while, and still turns up in my current work.  It was also just as possible that I would've made messes on stuff they'd already thrown away, but you don't know until you try.

I think a lot of us quit before we start because we don't know whether or not something will turn out.  Think back to kindergarten when you drew and colored and pasted without those kinds of worries.  It was fun.  You liked to do it.  When did you lose that sense of play?  Why?

I've been thinking of my 20s lately.  It was a period of time when I got down to the serious business of being an adult and left too many of my games behind.  I think of my boyfriend's sour looks when I was being silly and blame him for being a sourpuss -- but I also fault myself for buying into his control.  Lesson learned and not to be repeated.

Play is good.  It's necessary.  It makes everything in life worth experiencing.  I'm not convinced soccer is essential, but you get the idea.  Well, soccer isn't necessary to me, but if soccer is your fun, it's vital.

What's your favorite way to play?

"Music"

Sometimes I wish I had a smaller yard.  I've been raking leaves in between bouts of snow.  It hasn't been enough snow to count, but enough to convince me that leaf raking can be put off for another day (like in April).  I listen to the swish, swish, swish of the rake through the leaves and think of this little story about snow in China by Jim Croce.

Anthony Arya recently sang Croce's "Operator" on the singing competition show "The Voice", which you can see here.  He's a cute boy, and he sang it well even though he didn't even know what an operator was and I just don't believe his heart has ever been broken.  Somehow the song isn't the same without the heartbreak.

Jim Croce is one of my favorite go to musicians when I'm feeling blue.  "Photographs and memories... all that I have are these to remember you."  At some point the longing and romanticism gets replaced by P!nk on youtube "You weren't there, you never were" and I quit feeling nostalgic and think about Chinese people sweeping snow.

Arya's heart will probably get broken eventually.  I'm not wishing it on him, but  I often think the best artists (and other professions) have interesting and/or painful back stories which create a need for these people to express or prove themselves.  I want a peaceful world, but I suspect it would be beige and boring.  Maybe I'm just looking for a point behind the world's miseries, but this explanation gives me peace so I'm sticking with it unless someone can give a better reason.

Use what you're given.  If your heart is broken, sing a song with tears and a crack in your voice.  It may seem less perfect, but the cracked song touches the hearts of the people who hear it, and it seems like that's the point of all art.  If you're young and innocent, sing innocent songs.  There's a song for every emotion in the rainbow, but the classics are classic because they speak to emotions.  There's comfort in knowing someone else understands how you're feeling.

I painted this portrait of Robert Smith as part of a larger assignment.  I'll admit I didn't even recognize his name at first.  I dutifully looked him up and liked his wild hair.  I'm sure I've listened to The Cure, I even suspect it's one of my ex's favorite bands, but I don't usually pay much attention to who is singing, just what they're singing...

"There was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more than to never feel the breaking apart all my pictures of you."

Hmm... I wonder if Robert and Jim Croce could've cried in their beers together and felt their common humanity?  Maybe they'd just like to talk about Chinese people sweeping snow?

I was going to end this by saying it was time to rake some leaves, but it's raining now.  Maybe I'll spend more time listening to music on youtube because April definitely seems like the best time for raking?