Tinfoil Hats

I guess the big question is this. When did I become old enough to be everybody's mother? I got an email today from a complete stranger who was responding to a "Call for Artists" for an event that I am helping publicize. She wanted to know if she should quit her job and become a professional embroidery artist. Of course, a sane person would have put that email into spam or failed to respond, but I trust the universe. If that email came to me, I am supposed to answer.

So I did. Of course I immediately wrote, "Do not quit your job", and then I went on to tell her why. Art is not just a business, but really food for the soul. Whether you create or appreciate it, it must move you. I used to think that it was the final product that mattered and for some it is. For me the creative process is my thrill. Once a piece of work is finished I enjoy it for a few weeks, or maybe longer, but the real joy is in the creation of the work. It can pay for food for the body, of course, but this is its ancillary benefit, not its purpose.

I've learned not to be proud of my work, as it is really my Muse - for lack of a better word - who deserves it. Frankly, I start each sculpture or watercolor as an anxious, hyper-critical, self-conscious loser. My brain flashes messages like, "The world is imploding... and you're painting?", or "The front planter is full of weeds and nothing's made for dinner,".  Sometimes it isn't the pressing responsibilities that disturb me, but more intimate anxieties. "You're not a real artist."  "Your abbreviated career demonstrated you were only an average musician," or the real soul-killer, "Candidly, why bother? You'll never be great."

That last voice actually belongs to my deceased mother. She seems to choose to haunt me whenever I stretch beyond something I've tried before. In fact, I recently added some decoration to my tinfoil hat in the hope it will ward off her evil transmissions once and for all.

In case you got extremely nervous with this last sentence, let me add that I am kidding. Not about the negative thoughts that bubble up... just the tinfoil hat. I am pretty comfortable now that I know my first instinct is to think I am unworthy of my obsession to sing, dance, write, sculpt and, most recently, paint. Fortunately I write for a living, which has been the most amazing blessing of my life for more reasons than I would want to elaborate on here. On the other hand, painting is a way to release my brain from bondage. It feels different. I still hate to draw, though I am getting better.

Once I get to the stage in the piece where I can add color, the adrenalin flows through me as if I were anticipating jumping off a 50 foot cliff into a pool of deep, still water. (Which I foolishly did once and will never do again... and the water was not very clear as it was an old granite pit in New England.) Sometimes I am so invigorated by painting that I have to wait an hour - even if it's two in the morning - before I dare fall asleep.

I wonder that I am both a mother and grandmother because inside me is this young, naive, hopeful person who thinks she can paint. Then I pass a mirror and think, My God! What the hell happened? But as I ponder how lucky I am to be able to feel such enthusiasm and hope for the future, my phone rings. How fortunate. It was a wrong number.

Peace, love and please go green. Oh, and if you are in the arts, you deserve to make a good living.

Why the planter isn't weeded yet

This handsome boy has decided that the Madrigal acreage suits him fine. In the last couple of weeks his antlers have doubled in length and he has made himself quite at home in our planter. Initially I was going to weed it this spring when I discovered there were very few columbines growing. Then I realized that I didn't have any lilies in there either... and then even the cannas were gone.

In this shot he is trying to determine how to reach the roses on top of this weeping cherry and out of his range. In fact, they are the only roses that have managed to survive his amorous attentions.

Last weekend my cousin visited and I never got to this front planter, which looks quite terrible and I now realize is not because of the wet spring we had or the moles that occasionally try to invade our property or some sad little vole and its family munching on my bulbs. No, this is the young fellow who has been stomping down the wood hyacinths, eating the tops off the flowers, gobbling up the ground cover and leaving only the wild buttercups which I wish he would eat. And that was what I was going to weed tonight after work... finally... until there he was again. Asleep. You can see him on the lower right hand side of the planter, enjoying the shade from the Japanese maple.

We have watched this young stag grow from a very gangling boy into a little stream-lined model, but he is still small for the deer we normally find in this area. Obviously he is happy here - makes the rounds of the front acreage where we have grapes, plums, apples, pears, cherries, lots of maples, and lots of this particular type of clover that this deer seems to love. He also appears to be eating ants! I am not sure if they are the little ones or the carpenter ants (I hope we don't have them close to the house), but he was definitely licking up something on the patio last week in this picture.

He is looking much heavier and healthier this week. Oh, he also decided it was very nice of me to put fresh water in the birdbath every day. I couldn't imagine it was evaporating by half everyday, and I was right. It was our handsome friend.

I do love living on this property and every time we see another wild animal from the window or out in the yard - watching us watch them - it makes me feel like we are good earth caretakers. Maybe I can somehow make up for my past ignorance about what it really takes to protect the environment.

Would love a dead vole for my birthday...

Today is my birthday. Uh-huh, and I awoke to the timer going off on the oven. My husband leaves at the crack of dawn for his job, so I spent ten minutes searching for what he could possibly have wanted to turn off. It couldn't have been garden hose, I thought. He would have noticed as he left. His camera battery wasn't re-charging. And then my imagination started to crank up, even before I had my caffeine fix.

Did he know something I didn't? Was the Publishers Clearing House Prize Patrol going to arrive at 9:00, and the dear man wanted to make sure I answered the door? Well, now I know that wasn't it, as it's now 9:09 and the only vehicle here has been the recycling pick-up.  Oh, I've been up for hours, thanks to that beep-ing timer, so how have I spent my birthday so far?

The dog and I have a highly technical routine. After my husband leaves, she returns to bed and attempts to lie on top of my legs. She's only a 24 pound dog - should be 20, but we've both gotten a bit matronly. Still, place that little compact body on top of you and it feels like a ton. So as usual I got up and we let the cats out, filled up a canister with bird seed and peanuts for the squirrels and headed out to the feeders. I was treated to the visual of three squirrels looping up into the air as they sprinted off the feeders - where they'd been making a mess - and sprinted up the birches while performing even more astonishing acrobatic feats.

The shrub Jays began screeching, but I sort of like it now, and I must admit that my appearance causes a great amount of twittering of the real kind, from wonderful little finches, chickadees, juncos and a few thrushes. The doves are ground feeders and will wait for me to round the corner, but the robins will follow behind me as I water. They not only appreciate a nicely mowed lawn (thanks, dear), but a half-drowned worm is easy prey.

It's been a bad year for gardening in the northwest - it broke all the records by raining over 6 inches in June - and the veggie plot looked more like a giant fish pond than anything else. The garden has usually been in for at least a month by now, but my husband didn't put in the tomato plants until this past weekend. Our garden will be a third its usual size, but maybe we'll be able to keep it weeded this year. Oh, so we probably won't, but we'll still get tomatoes.

Like two of my children, my husband only listens to my advice after he has found a more reliable secondary source. Usually, he credits them with whatever he decides to do. In this case, it was how to plant the tomatoes. For those of you who are new to urban farming, here's a hint. All those tiny little hairs on the tomato stem are potential roots. If you want a sturdy, healthy, plant and a bountiful tomato crop from each plant, get out your shovel. After you amend the soil, dig a really deep hole and plant as much of that fuzzy stem under ground as you can, even if it is half the plant. I just learned that this year myself, and we've been growing tomatoes for 18. Suddenly everybody else knows it too, which makes you wonder if they fiendishly concealed the technique. Okay, so I don't always have a Pollyanna mentality and can be cynical even on my birthday, too.

Anyway, my new duty since Sunday is to water the veggie garden. I have container pots everywhere this year - fingerling potatoes in a trash can container, sweet peas in a giant pot, herbs scattered in ugly little pots everywhere - and they have to be watered daily or they'll dry out even faster than the garden. We trimmed, edged, mowed, weeded and power-washed everything over the weekend - we have the back patio to do next - so it looks bright and lovely for my birthday. I know it sounds silly, but that pleases me enormously, even if it is only the Fedex guy who gets to enjoy it with us.

Usually I have two modes with the my dog - on the leash or in the house - but today I was feeling all glowy towards her. She's an old bitch too, and such a darling, funny dog. I hate it that the hair around her muzzle and eyes has turned white. It used to look like she had Cleopatra style eyeliner and her gaze was so intense. She's a sweet smooth-haired fox terrier, which is similar to a Jack Russell, but without the insanity or the "It's all mine! Mine! Mine!  GRRRRRRRR!" mentality. Truthfully, my muzzle seems to be turning a little 'blond', although my granddaughter has warned me about letting my hair ever get white.

It was last year and she and her mom watched one sitcom together. The themes were often a bit adult, if comedic, but my daughter loves the actress America and when my daughter is laughing it is a beautiful thing. The little one was in kindergarten at the time, and I must have given her advice (my biggest, irritating and obnoxious reflex behavior), so she felt compelled to reciprocate. We have a lovely and enduring friendship.

"Oh, Grandma," she said with drama. "Don't ever let your hair get white!"

"Why not?" I asked, mildly amused by the concept.

"Because if you do, you  can fall over dead just like that!" To emphasize the point, she loudly clapped her hands together like a thundercap.

"Well, don't worry, darling. Your Grandma will never have white hair," I reassured her, "but how did you know that?"

"Oh, I saw it on Ugly Betty," she said. "The grandpa had a heart attack and just fell over dead. Boom."

You never know what she's going to say next. Now she's seven and confided that she 'really wants one of her paintings to be in a museum when she grows up. She is also telling me the difference between 'realistic' art and 'surreal'. Okay, so she didn't use that word, and said, "unrealstic", but it was impressive just the same. I wish I could see her today, but I always wish I could see her and I do often. I felt the same way about her cousin and now I feel that way about her baby brother who turns seven months old tomorrow.

He is about as delightful a baby as I have ever seen if you like nothing but grins, animated cooing and babbling, and a baby that burrows into your neck like a little puppy or immediately calms if you sing, "Swing low, sweet chariot" even with all the same first verse lyrics. Big sister thinks 'rock-a-bye baby' is too grisly for a baby, so that tune has vacated my repertoire.

My other granddaughter is grown up. She was a true gift from my stepdaughter, whom I also adore. My vanity makes me say that, as our third daughter is only 12.5 years younger than me and so having a 19 year old bio-granddaughter would make me feel as ancient as I am. Then again, how many people are lucky enough to know their non-bio-grandchildren from birth and their non-bio-children from adolescence? I was given a little experience without really having enough of a toolbox, but I don't think I did too much damage. (That's for parents to do, after all, isn't it?) I couldn't love either of them anymore, which makes me so lucky, doesn't it? I think I love the girls as much as I do because they are all so much like my husband in all his good traits. Brains, a sense of family, animal-lovers, politically engaged... and did I say smart? Actually, I meant brilliant. Oh, and the girls all have his amazingly thick, wavy hair - true movie star locks. Honestly, they don't have a bad hair day... ever. Oh, I think my grandson will have grandpa's hair too, as it is already looking pretty wavy and he has the telltale widow's peak.

So back to my birthday and me - you can tell I am crazy about the descendants - I let the dog roam all around the yard while I did my mini-chores. How I enjoyed the gentle breezes lifting the tree branches with that delicious soft rustling I equate to angel wings. I felt surrounded by mother nature in all her perfect glory and feel a sort of spirituality as I am so serene and at peace here.

I watched the beautiful cedar waxwings pluck cherries off the tree above me.There were ten or twelve robins patiently waiting for me to finish watering the crumbly garden soil while they anticipated dessert. I felt gratitude for the warm sun, the sounds of the forest below that traveled on the wind and wondered how it was possible to feel so good and be so old.:)

I plucked a few cherries off the volunteer tree that had planted itself three years ago. I still can't figure out which of the five varieties it will be or if it is a hybrid, but they are delicious. Then I grabbed a few raspberries that were a day too old and ate a couple blueberries that were two days too young, but I didn't care. How I have loved this personal Garden of Eden over the last 18 years. I wondered if the beautiful stag in my painting above would appear to bless my special day. He's been absent for a week and although it's not hunting season, those little antlers sprouting make me dread fall. No one on our dead-end street hunts, but deer can't read signs.

Needing to make my latte, I called the dog.  As is our custom, I began to wipe off her feet before we went into the house. My lovely little Cosette had celebrated my birthday too. In fact, I'm sure she thought her lovely new fragrance, eau de dead carcass, would be a giant hit. So I picked up the smelly creature and as soon as I took off her collar she began to quiver with terror. My husband will be delighted that I bathed her, as usually he takes care of the pets.

My son gave his dad a print a few years ago called, "Dog rolling in dead squirrel", so I recognize this is a universal experience. Dogs feel more powerful the smellier they are, and let' face it. What is more rancid than rotting mouse intestines? In spite of the 'single-lady-with-cats' prejudices, this canine instinct may be the secret reason most women don't have a dog.


After being scrubbed down and dried off, the dog suddenly remembered the bathing ritual always ends with a treat. She began dancing on her hind feet.  Yes, it was incredibly cute, so I opened the bathroom door. She shot out like a leaping antelope and flew throughout the house, making sharp turns as effortlessly as a race car driver. When she had exhausted herself and began panting, she sat on the kitchen rug. As the stare down began, I toyed with the idea of making her 'behave'. Instead I tossed the milkbone, which she caught in mid-air.

What are we doing tonight? Nothing, really.  I'll probably cook something light, like fish, because I don't think it's appropriate to make a big birthday dinner for yourself. (Too many dishes and pans!) My husband hates to eat out, so that won't happen.  On a weekend, he might barbecue for me, but he really hates being forced to eat out during the week. If any of you share a birthday around a major holiday, you can probably empathize with me. My birthday is June 29th and the 4th of July is usually celebrated sometime between the 2nd and the 6th. Many people are out of town so there's no reason to have a party. Who'd come? Oh, yes, I know I have children. One of them drives to see her in-laws, which is a good six hours. Sometimes she stops on the way back, by going out of her way, which is sweet.

My son won't visit if his sister's not here, as she would never forgive him, so that is out too. Our oldest daughter has a family, and family things on the fourth with younger kids entail fireworks and all kinds of barbecues. Who could expect them to fly up when the weather in California is so sublime? When the fourth comes around, wouldn't there be something wrong with them if they thought, "Fourth of July! Wow. Let's celebrate with Mom/Grandma and have a birthday party for her!" Honestly, I just can't imagine it.:) They have their own lives now and that's good. If I finish my work early enough - I might quit early just to celebrate - I am going to paint. That's my passion these days. I guess I'm older and becoming more interested in private time and more introverted than I thought.

I haven't decided if I'll paint an adorable mallard and her ducklings, or two baby rhinos I imagined touching noses. I really would like to paint my oldest granddaughter with a tutu cast aside, as she puts on soccer shoes sitting on her bed. I can imagine it, but I'm not very good without a photograph to work from, so the latter idea has been rolling around in my head for months. I want to create sort of an heirloom painting for each of the grandkids, although I am just starting to work with watercolors. Except for sentimental reasons, who knows whether they'll even want my paintings. My middle daughter thinks I should stick with birds and berries. (Her favorite painting of mine obviously is one I did of a cedar waxwing on a branch with berries all around. It is pretty and looks sort of Asian in theme.)

Oh, no one used to forget my birthday because I always obsessed about how old I was getting. That was when I was in my twenties, thirties and ... well, let's just say I lost interest in my own birthdays a few years ago. At a certain point it is about cultivating humility, moving off center stage and being cognizant of the fact that the ingenue parts are no longer for you. My realization that I was simply a little temporary stardust was also post-cancer, which nobody I know ever wants me to talk about. It freaks them out, and I suppose that's normal. Who wants to think about somebody going through a dreadful treatment that took a year or two from which to recover?

But for me, it is a little difficult to forget, as I still have some side effects and a wheelbarrel full of gratitude. In fact, the day I was diagnosed was also our 24th wedding anniversary, so how can I celebrate one without being grateful that I am now counting years of survival on 2 hands?

The loveliest thing about this year has been our children. One has done more for us than I could ever post here and I will be eternally grateful for knowing and loving her. She is like deep water, lush, beautiful and powerful and to continue the metaphor, as loyal as the tide.

I am so fortunate even though life has not been easy, it has been amazing. I never expected anyone to help me in my life, based on my early childhood. How wonderful that my expectations were exceeded. Certainly I am not very different from anyone else. We all have our trials, our tragedies, our emergencies, our joys and our triumphs. Not everyone is lucky enough to have children or grandchildren either. I have both.

Frankly, I am grateful just to be around. I have a job, insurance, a good man, children who care about the world and grandchildren who are amazing humans already. I even have a few great friends, long-term and new, and I still feel passionate when writing or painting. I care about the world, I volunteer my time for worthy causes and I stay politically engaged and active. And today my three, beautiful cats will hopefully get that adorable little vole that has just made its second nest attempt in our barbecue.

Good God, it's a beautiful life! I hope I remember how good I feel today, tomorrow. Peace and love, friends. Not much else matters.

Vuvuzelas: Noisemakers from Hell

The World Cup is a sacred event in our home, at least on the part of my husband. Luckily he is a man with excellent hearing, and although he wants to hear the announcers, the volume is low. Still, I find that my tolerance for the infernal 'buzzing' of the vuvuzelas this year is about 8 minutes. As a musician with high auditory-sensitivity, I must find an escape. Either I promptly fall into a deep slumber sitting on the couch, or am driven to the art room, sighing with relief for the first ten minutes.

The vuvuzela, aka bubuzela, is an excellent symbol of the differences in cultural attitudes around the world. In South Africa, where it originated, it is considered the epitome of the soccer spectator experience and represents and reflects the enthusiasm and excitement of its fans. In the U.S., birthday and New Year's Eve parties often contain a miniature version of these noisemakers, although I never saw the value of these myself. Certainly the alternatives of kissing and singing are preferable.

Other than hearing damage, the vuvuzelas, incidentally, can also spread disease. Like a trumpet or any other wind 'instrument', tiny droplets of saliva are expelled and can remain airborne for sometime, spreading colds and flus. For those with tinnitus (chronic ringing in the ears), soccer-watching at this level must approach the gates of hell. For the rest of us it is pretty obnoxious too, which begs the question, what do people get out of this? And who are these people? I would hazard a guess that the majority may be men.

Why? Because I had a father and lots of uncles and male cousins. I also have a husband, a son and lots and lots of nephews. Men, in my experience, love loud noises, although my husband swears he also hates the b-flat (below middle C) emitted in varying intensities by the vuvuzela spectators.

On the other hand, I can remember how my 6'4" father loved to jump out at us when we were little kids and yell, "Boo!"  As a sullen teenager with a persecution complex I often dreamed of reciprocating, but he had a weak heart and I had a conscience. Yet I am happily married and have been ever since I realized that all men retain the ability to channel a twelve-year-old's sense of humor. For those of you who can't remember what that is, here are a few examples of what's funny.  A fragile old woman crossing the street carrying a pizza and slipping on a banana peel. The slaughtering of chickens on a farm as they run around spurting blood after their heads are cut off. (Sorry PETA people.) You get the drift.

There is no judgment here, however, as this is a genetic ability. My girlfriend's grandson and my granddaughter were here one day picking cherries, playing on the swings and then went on to play a game of hide-n-seek. Everything was going swimmingly until the 3-year-old - recognizing he would quickly be discovered - took control by jumping up and yelling, "BOO!!!" 

After we plucked my granddaughter off the ceiling and comforted the hysterical child, I realized there was only one defense: offense. I carefully explained to her that this was 'fun'. All she had to do was reciprocate when he found her by jumping up and scaring him back. I should mention that she's an adorable, affectionate, nurturing child, very sensitive and with a sweet personality. Her "boo" never quite packed the same wallop his did and her enthusiasm for the sport was cautious at best. After the little boy went home, she wanted to know why scaring her was fun for him. I have two X chromosones and a failed understanding of the maly psyche, but I told her the truth anyway. "Because he's a boy."

In the U.S. the vuvuzela chorus is now a late-night comedian's joke, often equated to the sound of a buzzing bee hive. I would personally rather be stung all over my naked body than listen to that sound in the flesh. It appears I am not alone. The pharmacies in South Africa ran out of earplugs early on, but opportunistic ingenuity never fails where homo sapiens reside. The manufacturers of the vuvuzelas now sell earplugs to the World Cup spectators. Now that's American-style capitalism. It appears we have a lot in common afer all.

Flawed: The Human Condition

So many people see 'love' in the refrigerator, the joint, pills or the bottle that it is sad. Narcissism abounds, of course, but people under its influence are the least happy people I have ever met. People with good friends seem to be the happiest.

True self-love is the most difficult thing to attain. We have to learn to accept who we are and tolerate our flaws and failings because that is the human condition. Not only is nobody perfect, nobody needs to be. Just like most people have chubby periods, most of us also have times when we are weak of character. It may be in our youth before the frontal lobe matures. Or maybe we don't do anything really stupid, selfish or self-indulgent until our own particular mid-life crisis, but everybody blows it sometime. The lucky ones are moved and able to make amends and can move on quickest. Others may suffer with the consequences for a lifetime, but taking responsibility for our own side of the street is at least a partial remedy.

Being flawed is what allows us to be loved and lovable. I learned that a few years ago during a grueling medical treatment, which was the only time I ever needed anybody. Or at least, so I arrogantly thought. Otherwise, I just wanted people around for the good times, you see. When I had a bad hair day, or even a personal crisis, I would lock myself in hiding until I recovered. Looking back, I wonder if my parents would have wanted me to starve over one Christmas shortly after I ran away from home. They were hurt, shocked and furious wtih me. I had contacted them and even seen them, but I only had $1.75 to my name for a week. It wasn't enough to take the $1.70 train ride both ways. I had too much false pride to even think of asking them for the money or a lift home as we were on such shaky terms. Now that appears ridiculous.

My parents were human beings and had been incredibly demanding of me specifically, because I was mature for my age in their eyes. From five years on I had been utterly responsible until the day I ran away from home feeling justified. Taking my previous maturity for granted as an indication that I would always make great choices was their mistake, of course. I was just a kid like their other four. Less immature, perhaps, but still a kid with that limited frontal lobe at 18.

With experience I learned that if I don't let people in when I'm upset or needy about something, I can't expect them to be mind readers. Thinking, nobody ever helped me, as a judgment on other people is silly. Nobody is going to spend their time watching us for 'clues' unless we happen to live with Sherlock Holmes. (You do know he was not a real person, right?)  Keeping people from seeing my vulnerable side is a method I used to use to prevent any kind of intimacy. Being open is a positive form of honesty and allows people to feel close to us, which deepens friendship. Not that we want to be complainers or whiners - which is a waste of everybody's time including our own - by sometimes a kind ear will help us sort out our own issues and find solutions.

In fact, I wish everyone realized that human beings just can't love 'perfect' people. That is what worship is for, folks. My evidence? The reality shows (that glorify complete idiots doing stupid crap) and the celebrity fever out there. We love to cheer on the reality types because they are so uncommonly human but we never really love those celebrities, even if we try to emulate them in our dizzier moments. Of course, it's probably not the best idea to jump into a shark tank or eat worms either, as life is risky enough without adding weights to our wet or dry suit.

In any case, nobody needs or likes a poser as ego runs that particular posture. Learn how to risk being your authentic self and try to cultivate kindness, tolerance, acceptance, humility (almost left that one out!) and yes, even "love".  You'll attract a crowd of flawed admirers and friends just like you. And they'll be lovable too. Oh, and don't forget to think about the other people out there. They've got all the same issues we do plus their own personal ones. Be kind and maybe even polite, folks. It makes the world a much nicer place.

Experiment in painting with a simple enough motif...

There are so many beautiful things in the world that people like me seem to always feel in awe of something.  I am easily pleased when I can write, paint, sculpt, cook, garden or talk.This weekend was a painting weekend. It was too hot yesterday - it went from about 50 to 80 overnight - and too wet today to do anything else. So, here is the painting I finally finished, even though I started it last Sunday. Let's just call it, "Cedar Waxwing".

Step One

I happen to love trees and birds and fruit trees, so I incorporated these in a painting.This was the beginning of my effort, after I had sketched it out and begun painting in the bird and the branches on the tree.  As you will see, these changed quite a bit as I went on, mainly because I didn't like the colors that are naturally on the bird with the color I wanted on the berries.

Step Two

It was very easy to put that first sketch together and imagine that the painting was going to be an easy one.  I always think I have an easy concept and that it won't take me long to put it on paper. After I started this, I thought I probably should have put the bird more in the center, but it was really too late to change it once I was at this stage. The background is just white paper, although in this picture it looks tan as I didn't use a flash.

My art teacher has offered the concept that we can paint the same picture again and again - each time correcting our mistakes and making it exactly the way we want to have it - but I am not that prolific a painter yet. Just the idea of painting something once intimidates me.:) At some point I hope that I will be good enough to "whip paintings out"... but I may not live long enough for that. I am a slow painter and a slow sculptress too. Maybe it is because I want it to be 'perfect' or maybe it is because I am just slow at this and too timid sometimes.

Step Three

This is when I started having problems.  I didn't like my leaves. Now, I know that doesn't seem like a crisis moment, but as leaves take up a great deal of this picture, I started to get anxious over them. They looked too amateurish to me. The light wasn't right and they didn't have good shadows. Then I decided that all the branches were way too thin, and so I started to remedy that.

I was actually very frustrated at this stage and sorry I was working on something without a good photograph to copy. Clearly I could not paint what was in my mind's eye.
Step Four

I have learned that sometimes we are just out of gas creatively.  If you don't put down the paint brush and do something else, you'll wreck your painting.  Believe me, I have done it and after putting several hours into this already, I had no intention of messing it up if I could help it.  

I played with the background for a while. Then I worked on the bird feathers, then I worked on the berries, trying to get them to look shiny and bright and delicious. I started working on the leaves again and realized that they were not coming out well.  I would have to start again, lift the color off of them and try to find a way to make them look light-filled.  Then it occurred to me what was wrong.  In this picture you are looking up to see the bird and the berries.  The light is coming from behind the leaves. That was why they didn't look right to me.  So I set to work on trying to make the light shine through them.

Step Five

Now I had the bird under control and the branches and the berries, but those darn leaves were making me crazy. I played around, lifted off, darkened them, lifted that off, and then finally got one leaf the way I wanted it.


In between I made dinner, of course, but it was all I could do not to go back to the art room. My husband was sweet.  He kept saying, "I don't know what you think is wrong with it. I think it's nice. It has an Asian feel to it and it looks good."

Of course, the pictures I had taken made the background look much more yellow than the actual painting, so I was concerned he wouldn't like it as much when he saw it. Why do I care, right?

I am embarrassed to admit it, but I always need approval for my paintings. Even if I like them, I want other people to tell me they like them too. It's childish, I admit it, but I am just learning to paint and so I feel like my feet are off balance and that I am not in control.  Probably that is wonderful for me, as I rarely feel inadequate or unworthy. (Of course, that was a joke. I was making an allusion to Wayne's World, the first movie.)

Step Six - The finished painting

As you can see, the final painting has a lot of yellow in the background, as I decided that I wanted something warmer and also a little dramatic. I left the center of the painting with a little whitish area so that it would sort of glow, and I darkened the bird, lightened the berries, put some gold over the leaves so that they seemed to have light coming through the way it does at dusk. The actual painting is a little lighter than this shot, but the background is a developing sunset.

My last little touch was the Chinese symbol for 'bird'. I added it because it felt like an Asian painting when I finished and I wanted to carry that through.  I can say that I really do like this painting and I think I will probably frame it and hang it in the house somewhere unless one of the kids wants it. It has a nice feel to it and it is warm and... Ridgefield-y. (My town.) This scene could be from my backyard.

My thought of the week: Paint what you love and you'll love what you paint.

Jean Nicolet... one of my great grandfathers who turns out to be a famous explorer

There was a family myth about the French Canadian brothers who first came to Quebec in the 1600's.  It claimed that they landed in Quebec, grabbed some Native American women, and started our family line. Of course, the family name was Guay by the time it was my mother's maiden name and the story wasn't true. But there was one ancestor who fathered that line who did come from France and take a Nipissing maiden as his own. She bore a child for him, who became one of my great grandmothers.

The crazy thing is that his name was Jean Nicolet, and although he was not as well known as Samuel Champlain or Marquette, after about 200 years Wisconsin 'discovered' him.  Yes, he became quite famous as the first European to visit what is now Wisconsin, so famous, in fact, that there are paintings of him in the Governor's office and a statue recently moved to a park near Green Bay.

He lived with the Nipissing nation, which was a small tribe at the time, near Lake Nipissing for eight years.  Champlain had sent him there to enhance the fur trading business and to learn their language so that he could be an interpreter. It is said that he learned all the survival skills from the tribe, but there was one element of his education that was neglected.  Although he traveled by canoe thousands of miles, he could not swim. He drowned in 1942 because of it.

My great grandfather Jean was quite a noble man from all accounts, so much so that school children helped raise some of the money for that bronze statue that glorifies his contribution to history. The Jesuits also wrote about him, they had some of his memoir material although most of it was lost overboard (while in a canoe). He is quite famous in Quebec as well, I should add, and he was known as one of the good guys.

This painting depicts him in a Chinese embroidered damask gown that he donned as a way to impress a tribe (Winnegago) he had been told was ferocious. Thinking they might be from another race - from the descriptions of other Native Americans - he thought they might be from Asia. He was looking for the northwest passage for Champlain, remember. Hence, the robe and the two pistols - which he discharged to show his 'power' - seemed to be sufficient to create the show he intended. It seems this scene is often re-enacted in Wisconsin Public Schools, much the same way the Pilgrim story is re-enacted in Massachusetts, where I lived part of my childhood.

I am not sure if my great grandmother, known as Nipissing maiden or Giizis with a very long last name - BAHMAHMAAADJIMOWIN, which probably translated to 'daughter of so and so' - also called Jeanne, died or her relationship with Jean Nicolet faded when he returned to Quebec. Their daughter Euphonsie-Madeleine Nicolet, aka Euphrodie-Madeleine, was born around 1628, but she later joined her father in the City. She married Jean LeBlanc, a Frenchman, when she was 15 (legal marriage age for girls in those days was 12 but for boys it was 14) in 1643. There was a terrible shortage of French women for the Frenchmen who were there, so I am sure she had other offers as well. Her step-mother, Marguerite Couillard, was a Frenchwoman who married her father in 1637.

Of course, I have tried many times to find this Native American ancestor, as many family myths are based on truth.  I was sure this one was. Of course, as it has been 13 generations, I am about 2/10ths of a percent Native American on that line. Not a lot I suppose, but still exciting to know that I now have three ancestors who were Native American. One from the Mayflower Days, which is just about the same number of generations ago, so maybe I am closer to a half a percent Native American, and another from the New Amsterdam era.  The other rumor was we were from the Mi'kmaq tribe also on the French Canadian side, but that one I cannot verify yet.

The odd thing is that initially when North America was settled by Europeans, the French preferred a chubby type and a Native American woman was  valuable woman as she could withstand the elements and knew how to survive.Of course, once the Native Americans introduced the settlers to popcorn in the late 1630's, they should have realized the Europeans would eventually take everything else they had of value. I mean, what would the world be like without popcorn?

Well, I'll write more about this later. It is just interesting to realize that I am different than I thought I was this morning. I have a lot of research to do on this great grandfather.  I have found almost 300 historical references to him and several biographies.

Attitude in the Oil Business is Everything including Disgusting

I'm as disgusted as the rest of the country with the way BP gambled on getting away with experimental technology seemingly without any safeguards or even a reasonable plan B.  This picture by NASA of the BP oil slick - which now seems to be a great under-estimation of the first disclosed figure of 5,000 gallons a day - is from their Satelite.  If you can see it from space, imagine exactly how big it really is, folks.

Unfortunately, our government, both this current crew - which seems to be in a toothless daze of late - and the previous ones have allowed corporations to get away with literally, murder.  With all the devastation it is easy to forget that 11 people also died in that initial explosion. Does anyone know their names or care about their mothers and fathers, siblings and kids?

No, we are too worried about what is going to happen to all the people on the Gulf Coast, and perhaps the Atlantic Coast, the islands and who the heck knows where that oil will eventually go.

We would like to forget that BP essentially told the Environmental Protection Agency to shove it when told not to use the poisonous chemical disbursant their subsidiaries manufacture. Yes, they are doing... well... what they have always done. Whatever the hell they want!

They are only concerned that they disburse as much of the slick as possible so that the damages that will be decided by a jury - because this will go to court - are unable to actually determine how much damage they did.  You see, if you disburse the oil, no one can measure it. Punitive and negligence damages are based on the amount of oil that was released.  Getting the picture?

What the cost is to the U.S. Taxpayer and the people who depend on having a coastline in some way for their livings is meaningless to BP.  There is no way to describe what will happen to the value of those coastal towns and properties over the next ten years as the oil comes in and sullies the beaches and kills everything in its path.  All that marine life, all those coastal marshes and all this destruction for no good reason. Imagine something as innocent as children who want to go swimming when school gets out.  How do you explain to a six-year-old that some bad men didn't care about anything but money?  What about the families who had their boats ready to go into the water? They won't be able to breath around that oil never mind go for a boat ride. It is just not right and we are all pretty astounded that BP just didn't care.

Every other country that allows drilling has stringent regulations for safety.  Not us. We're the cowboy Americans. BP knows it could not possibly get away with this in England or Canada or anywhere else but a developing country. It is just plain stupid, folks. We let them get away with this stuff over and over again and nobody pays any consequences. It is obvious that Corporate America cannot be trusted. Oh, I know there are good people in corporations, I used to be one of them, but I'm not worried about them. I'm worried about the cads like the top echelon over at BP.

Watch the pelicans, as in their oil slicked-down feathers they can't fly or feed.  Imagine what we don't see.  Maybe the large fish like whales can swim away, but what about crabs, shrimp and oysters? Those beds and shrimp fishing areas will be destroyed for decades. We see the volunteers trying to pick up the oil and save the birds, but you know what? It should be those BP guys out there. They should have to pick up as the chain gang of miscreants who created this.

One BP spokesman had the guts to say it was not going to be anything but a modest problem.  I'm too angry and disgusted now to remember his exact words, but he didn't think it was a big deal.  Why should he?  His investments are still worth billions and even though I am starting to think there is a crime that has been committed here that should be investigated, you know BP's billions will bury our government in paper and nothing will ever be done.

Obviously BP has a board of directors filled with sociopaths as they simply do not give a damn. Sadly, the Corporations plundering our country, the oceans and the world's resources are just mowing us down.  Money, power and more money and power.  It is very scary what greedy, evil people can do.

This is a plea to all the people who can legally vote but do not.  Let's do some housecleaning in Congress, because, candidly, that's where the bucks have been parking lately.  The lobbyists are crawling up everybody's you-know-what and until we reform campaign finance, it will continue just this way. Corporations like BP will  do what they want, flaunting their power and telling our government to shove off.

It makes me sad, frustrated and anxious, but I promise you, I will be telephone-banking and I will be calling other voters and trying to inspire some action.  This has got to stop.  America is not for sale.  It doesn't belong to BP or anyone like them. Our resources belong to each and everyone of us but in order to protect them we have to participate fully as citizens. Let's get out there and change things.

Taking Care of Business

That is what we Americans do best, isn't it?  We 'take care of business' with all our hearts, but sometimes we leave a mess in our wake and forget about some of the important things like personal histories. 

Some people care, of course.  There is always the aunt or uncle on Mom or Dad's side who knows all the names and birthdates.  And then she dies and nobody knows where that old bible went or it rots in somebody's attic through the next generation. Then that house is sold and by then nobody is left to identify who the people are in the old pictures. If they are lucky enough to make it to the new garage, they are of no more interest to the newest generation than random old postcards would be.

So I've come up with a concept for our town. I want to give people a chance to step outside of their normal experience.  I want to do a sort of historical barn-raising. In fact, I am launching the Ridgefield Living History Project on Tuesday night. I've tried to lower my expectations, but I do hope to have a crowd at our first information and organizational meeting. I've gotten some pretty good press from the local newspapers, so we'll see. If nobody shows up, I guess I'll just write a book about Ridgefield and interview the oldtimers and newtimers myself.

For instance, I know a wonderful fellow originally from Iran. People here know him as "Cyrus" but I know him (phonetically) as "Seer-Ruse" with the accent on the second syllable. His daughter shared some precious saffron with us that her grandmother brought. As it is outrageously expensive to buy in the United States, I was ready to faint.  After all, you can't make that delicious Spanish rice and fish dish, paella, without it, folks.

And who could ever forget Claudia, who used to work at the City Hall and who ruled that building department for years. She is descended from some of the first white settlers in the area who homesteaded here, and she still lives on a street that bears her family name. My land was owned by my neighbor's grandfather, who didn't leave it to his daughters as they were... daughters. Instead it was eventually short-platted into five and ten acre parcels and what wasn't given to the family men was sold.

Did I ever mention how much I love this town and our five acres?  Just to give you an idea, the only way I plan to leave here is in a plain pine box.:) Oh, instead of a funeral, I'd rather have my family sponsor a concert with Jazz Musicians in the local park when the weather is really nice and then all go out and eat in an expensive restaurant and talk about how much 'Mom' would have loved the food. Maybe in June on my birthday for the concert but anytime for the restaurant.

Oh come on.  Anybody who has to dye their hair has earned the right to talk about their own post-mortem arrangements.  Oh, ashes, by the way.  That's how I would rather end up, and then sprinkled on my land somewhere pretty. Or if nobody owns it anymore, then along the Salmon Creek trail would be nice.  I wouldn't mind spending eternity around there as I burned a lot of calories walking that thing with my descendants and friends.

Well, we'll see next week whether I make a lot of new Ridgefield friends or start writing that book. I know not everybody thinks genealogy and personal history is worth preserving for the less-than-famous, but that's my point. In our own minds, aren't we all the real protagonists in our own stories?  If not, I want to help people get there. Every person's story does and should matter.

Watercolors as a medium and loving painting

Everyone who knows me knows I love art, but few people realize how much I have wanted to learn watercolors. Well, a few months ago I ventured into an all-day workshop an artist friend of mine was running. Of course, it was the second in a series, so I was a little lost, but I caught on and finished my first stilllife painting at home. 

It was an intense experience, but I decided that it was possible for me to learn how to paint. This was my first experiment and I had no idea how to do a tablecloth and worried about perspective. I worked harder on it and eventually fixed the plate, but I hated the color and thought I might paint it again.

It somehow ended up in the sink (not mine), which was a little sad, but fortunately I had taken a picture, so I didn't really care. It was my first watercolor but it won't be my last. Oh, forgive me, as I haven't framed anything yet, so some of these shots still have my masking tape, ragged edges, etc.

Well, then I did another painting of my granddaughter at her ballet class.  I learned that you cannot use a watercolor pencil on wet watercolor paper and expect a good result. 

As a matter of fact, although I still have the painting on my wall, it will probably become part of my draw of shame one day.  As you can see I could not get the flesh to look right on the chins of both little girls.  I was happy with the bodies and the hair, but definitely I needed help on the faces.  The girls are standing in front of a mirror, talking, and they were so, so cute in real life. 

Well then I did some other paintings, none of which are particularly great, but I liked them anyway.  This was my baby grandson - who is much cuter than I could paint, but I tried.

I also cut a painting in half, as I didn't like one side and that one came out pretty good.  I had really worked hard on the background and when the focal point of the painting - a clown fish - looked... well... stupid, I got frustrated and decided to retrieve what I could. 

This picture sort of grew on me, as I liked seeing the fish looking rather geeky - fish are not what you would call handsome - at the worms. They have personality I think, although nobody has offered to buy this painting, I'm rather glad.

So then I took another workshop and learned how to do something I didn't think was possible.  Paint a picture that even my husband likes.  I gave it to him for Father's Day, although it isn't Father's Day yet and he's not my father - although he often acts like he is when he's in a mood.  Just the same, he liked it or claimed he did, which made me feel very happy.

 I love orchids, and this one I thought was such a pretty subject.

Today I am working on another protrait of my granddaughter.  I think she looks quite lovely, although I haven't finished the painting yet or decided on a background. I like it anyway, and hope I don't ruin it by trying to finish it, but that's how it is. 

I'm happy with the eyes, they look rather luminous, exactly like hers and her mom's. The skin tone is perfect too, she has this gorgeous skin, seemingly without any pores (like her father's).  I'll add detail, of course and highlighting, but I like the hat and I think I have captured her 'essence' here.  At least an expression I see on her face sometimes.  She's a dreamer like I used to be.  The artist in her, I am sure.  Both her parents are artists and she is so talented already. Anyway, she was wearing my gardening hat and wasn't really inclined to give it back that day.:)

Watercolors are wonderful, but they are pretty risky. Still, how I love to paint!

Virgin Voyage for Experimental 48hrmag is this Weekend!

Today two of the most talented writers I know, Alexis Madrigal and Sarah Rich, (and their wonderful friends) will launch an amazing experiment that may foretell the future of on-line magazines.

48 hours will solicit a themed call for submissions over 24 hours.  Knowing the founders and their incredible and diverse writing, editing and cutting edge publishing talents, they are sure to select the best contributions only.  The second 24 hours will encompass the production cycle of something that is destined to have great  appeal for those hungry for substance, humanity, science, technology, humor and meaning in their reading. 

At the end of 48 hours - hence the name, 48hrmag - the public will be presented with a finished, amazing magazine. I wish them "Bon Voyage".  It is sure to be an exciting 48 hours!

Is LED lighting superior or just more hype?

LEDs, or light-emitting diodes, are the latest innovation in solid-state lighting appropriate for general illumination applications and today's energy conservation goals. 

The only negative comment I have heard about this technology - other than cost - was purportedly made by a Patagonia executive working to help green Wal-Mart's operations. Patagonia is a very responsible company with superior green credentials, so I won't embarrass him by name here. (His friends and children have probably verbally beaten him senseless by now anyway.)  The comment quoted in the article I read was essentially, 'Well, the LEDs last forever, but to produce them takes enormous power'.

Trade-offs are one thing, of course, but there is no logical explanation why anyone would think the trade-off with LEDs is iffy. It would probably astonish the U.S. Department of Energy (DOE) as well, as they not only collaborated on the solid-state lighting research but have compiled some pretty impressive results.  In fact, based on very signficant energy savings potential, the DOE has developed a strategy to both accelerate market availability and stimulate acceptance of LEDs.

The light emitted by the LEDs is very familiar to most of us, as just about every electronic contraption we own has an LED light.  Yes, all those little red and blue lights that signify your power is on in your burglar alarm, your cellphone, your cell charger, your watch, your computers, your faxes, all the clocks on your appliances, your auto dashboard are all LEDs. In other words, this is actually technology that has been around for a pretty long time and works. The challenge has been how to make it bigger, better, brighter and less costly. 

As you can see from the photo above, this LED (a sample at the Earth Advantage Institute's offices in Tigard, Oregon) gives off a very nice quality of light.  I took the photo myself without a flash and did not photoshop the result. The actual glow from the fixture is a bit whiter, but it has a pleasing, incandescant-style appeal.

The National Generation Lighting Industry Alliance's (NGLIA) and the DOE's partnership produced estimates of the energy savings that would accrue over a twenty year period. Here is a portion of the announcement:

"Under the LEd scenario, in 2030 the annual energy savings from solid-state lighting will be approximately 190 terawatt-hours, or the equivalent annual electrical output of about 24 large power plants (1,000 NW electric). At today's energy prices, that would equate to approximately $15 billion in energy savings in that year alone. Assuming the same mix of generating power stations, these savings:

         1) Would reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 31.4 million metric tons of carbon.
         2) Consumption for lighting would decrease by roughly 25 percent relative to a scenario
             with no solid-state lighting in the market.
         3) This would represent enough electricity to illuminate more than 95 milliion homes in the US today.

Over the 20-year analysis period, spanning 2010-2030, the cumulative energy savings are estimated to total approximately 1,488 terawatt-hours, representing approximately $120 billion at today's energy prices. Assuming the electric power plant generating mix is held constant over the next two decades, these savings would reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 246 million metric tons of carbon."
Source: Department of Energy (DOE)

My friends, that is a whole lot fewer carbon emissions. To learn more about DOE Solid-State Lighting Portfolio activities, visit http://www.ssl.energy.gov/.

Recession Legacy for Children: Doubling of Child Abuse

The resounding legacy of hard economic times has always been an increase in parental stress, neglect and ultimately child abuse.  A study of four metropolitan area hospitals found the incidence of head area injuries and trauma caused by child abuse has almost doubled since the recession began in 2007.

As horrifying as it is, after parental neglect, child abuse is the highest cause of infant and child deaths in the United States. Candidly, there is no excuse for child abuse, as it is the most horrific form of violence on our most vulnerable Americans.  This is not newsworthy, but what is new is the government's willingness to publicize the results of this study originally reported by HealthDay News.

Hospital records were compared from 2004 through 2009 with the recession period identified as from December 1, 2007 to December 31, 2009.  The hospitals studied were located in Seattle, Pittsburgh, Cincinnati and Columbus, Ohio, and only those head injuries classified as "unequivocal" were included in the study results. Other injuries that are not as serious or in doubt were omitted from the study to ensure the results were conclusive. Here is a quote from the HealthDay News article:

"Throughout the study period, Dr. Berger (one of the researchers) and her team recorded 511 cases of trauma. The average age of these cases was a little over 9 months, although patients ranged from as young as 9 days old to 6.5 years old. Nearly six in 10 patients were male, and about the same proportion were white. Overall, 16 percent of the children died from their injuries.

The authors found that the changing economic situation did indeed appear to be associated with a shifting rate of abusive head trauma. While the average number of such cases per month had been just shy of five, that figure rose to more than nine cases per month once the downturn got underway.

The researchers further noted that as the economy tanked, the trend towards an increase in cases was most strongly evidenced in Seattle and Pittsburgh. Berger and her colleagues were not able, however, to draw a specific link between certain aspects of the economy and the apparent abuse case spike."

Jay G. Silverman, an associate professor of society and human development and health at the Harvard University School of Public Health in Boston, also serves as director of Harvard's Violence Against Women Prevention Research.  He was asked to comment on the results of the study and observed that a significant rise in rates of abusive head trauma indicates an increase in other forms of abuse.

"Abusive head trauma is one of the most observable indicators of child abuse, because they result from the most extreme domestic violence that requires hospitalization," he noted. "But there are many, many, many more child abuse cases that we wouldn't expect to show up as traumatic brain injuries in the ER. So an increase seen in head trauma is probably indicative of an even larger problem. And that means that this finding should really be a major public concern."

Sadly, breaking this cycle takes an almost superhuman effort on a generational basis and the services people need to overcome these horrendous experiences?  Both perpetrators and victims need resources to change behaviors.  Unfortunately, as this study shows, not everybody is lucky enough to survive.  If you suspect child abuse - whether you are a legally required reporter like a teacher, policeman or social worker - please get the family help.  Do not ignore it, my friends, as this is not a 'family' matter. Children depend on all of us to do the right thing.

Even if you are unable to stop the abuse immediately, when a child knows you cared enough to try, that may be enough to help them survive until help finally comes.  And if you want to help these struggling families - from all income brackets as child abuse is only partially a socio-eonomic problem - see if there is any way you can help relieve the parents' or other caretakers' stress.  It takes a family to make a child, but a community to keep that child safe.

I will add my own conclusions here which are based on my childhood experience.  When there is any kind of child abuse, the home is simply a violent home. Perhaps not all parties participate, but there is a tolerance for the abuse that boggles the mind of any rational person. These people really need help, as they are part perpetrator/part victim as well. In addition to children, the elderly, women and men (yes, men get abused) may also be suffering abuse. Many people who have not experienced child abuse themselves have no concept of the potential for physical and psychological damage. However, this study points out that the number of children experiencing terror at home has almost doubled in two years. This is horrifying and frightening for the children of the present and the effect on their future.

This is not neglect (a different but serious, serious form of abuse) or minor spanking, pinching, shoving or slapping. Although these behaviors are abhorrent, one of the major causes of brain damage and death in children is shaking. Little necks and spinal cords cannot tolerate the violent movement. The brain bangs against the skull and the children can end up blind, deaf, mentally disabled and worse. Many young and/or immature people - and those with poor impulse control - need this information and to be taught how to ask for help and provided structure, supervision and strategies for effective parenting. Some may be unable to overcome reactive behavior and then their children are simply better off with other caretakers. There is no easy solution, and no painless remedy, but these children deserve the right to grow up unharmed.

No nurse, doctor or relative ever gave me advice on the subject of child abuse, even when I had infants. I'm sure I don't 'look' like a child abuser, and I am not, but, sadly, we must assume everyone has the potential.  The statistics are just too prevalent to assume anything else. Have your parents, teachers, friends or relatives ever talked to you about child abuse? Have you ever talked to a new parent or even a stressed out one?  Make your experience useful.  Help someone learn how to cope with parenting and save a child from this horror.

Child abuse breaks my heart. Here's the link to the full article.

Cape Wind and Cape Cod... Our Energy Future?

The New York Times announced today that Interior Secretary Ken Salazar has approved the controversial Wind Turbine project in the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of the Cape Cod area in Massachusetts. It has been lingering in the annals of 'project hell' for nine years as its developers attempted to get approval in spite of much political opposition. 

Photo Courtesy of NASA, Provincetown Spit, Cape Cod, Massachusetts


Although the late Senator Ted Kennedy opposed the project, Massachusetts Governor Deval Patrick along with Green Peace and the Sierra Club are supporters. Certainly it is clean energy - and in spite of the cries about taxpayer expense for re-doing the electrical grid in Massachusetts, the fears that tourism will be affected, etc. - and will broadcast to those middle east, oil-producing countries that America is moving ahead and making alternative plans.


Although I only lived in Massachusetts as a child - on the 'other' Cape Ann - it does seem a bit tragic that this beautiful and quaint coastline will be marred. Then again, tourism may be stimulated as the Greenies come for eco-tours and the energy industry props up a state that has had cyclical unemployment issues for as long as I can remember.


Personally, I would prefer a little scenic marring to a new nuclear energy plant.  As most Americans have refused to reduce their energy consumption in any meaningful way, these alternatives to fossil fuel and the greenhouse gases they emit are necessary.  The people who are crying 'not in my back yard' - with perhaps the exception of the Wampanoag Tribe that has sacred ceremonies based on a full horizon view - are just being... selfish.


There may be scientific reasons or strong safety concerns - like radar issues with the turbines - but as pretty as the coastline may be, preserving the entire planet's eco-system will take sacrifice on all our parts.  Even those with deep pockets and big real estate investments on Cape Cod may have to tolerate some scenic disadvantages to save both proverbial and real polar bears.

Fruit & Veggie Pesticide Risks: List of Best & Worst from EWG

The Environmental Working Group, a dedicated environmental watchdog organization, has published their Worst and Best Pesticide Fruits and Vegetables List.  Unfortunately, if you eat the recommended five fruits and vegetables a day from the 'worst' group, but do not buy organic produce, you will ingest up to 15 pesticide residues that day.

Worst: Celery, Peaches, Strawberries, Apples, Blueberries, Nectarines, Bell Peppers,  Spinach, Kale, Cherries, Potatoes, Imported Grapes 

Even the 'best' category will expose you with the same five servings to two pesticides residues a day, but by comparison it is an improvement.

Best: Onions, Avocado, Sweet Corn, Pineapple, Mangos, Sweet Peas, Asparagus, Kiwi, Cabbage, Eggplant, Cantaloupe, Watermelon, Grapefruit, Sweet Potato, Honeydew Melon

The usual methods of washing and peeling rarely solve the problem, as pesticides become absorbed through the skin and into the fruit or vegetable. Plus, peeling the skins often removes valuable fiber and nutrients from the product.

Protect your children, folks, and yourself.

Oh Art, Thou Dost Teacheth Me Way Too Much!

Painting, and pretty much all creative and artistic expression , is a growth experience. For instance, this painting started out as a very different one. I intended to paint a clown fish in a sea anemone.  I had an underwater picture that was just striking, and although I was not trying to duplicate it, I thought it would be a simple matter.  After all, how hard could it be to paint Nemo? 

Well, folks, some subject matter is much better done with an underwater camera and not by a novice painter.  After a very frustrating series of attempts to make the clown fish look like a real fish and not a caricature, I gave up.  For a few moments I mourned the fact that the painting would go into my drawer of shame. The issue, of course, was that my background work had taken so much time. Who wants to invest in something and have it turn out crappy.  It is like spending hours on a new recipe and the dinner is a huge disappointment or studying for week for a final and flunking the darn thing.

In a sort of frenzy I remembered my art teacher had mentioned using a mat to 'frame' an unfinished work and see what popped and what didn't.  Suddenly it occurred to me that I could cut off the part I didn't like - so poor Nemo had to go!

Then I put in some nice whimsical looking fish and as they looked a little disoriented, I gave them some purpose with the fishing line and baited hooks.  The painting is titled, "Worms again?"  Okay, so it is a silly name, but it is kind of a silly, almost pretty painting.  I like it though and that is what counts in art in the end. It is impossible to always get validation from others, and although it feels good when it happens, art is personal.  If I like I put it up on the wall or I give it away to someone who expresses the same appreciation I feel. One day I may sell my work, but not yet.

My job is pretty much a head trip as I write all day. When I quit work I do need to indulge in something that stimulates the rest of my brain. I judge my time and effort by whether or not the creative expression felt good.  Did it shut down my head for a change?  Did I forget about my husband's cookies and chocolates for a few hours? Was I able to lose myself in the infinite and suddenly realize that hours had gone by because I was so immersed in the process and so intensely focused?  That is how I judge the experience. The end result is hopefully worth keeping, but if it isn't, then it isn't. One of my descendants will toss it when it no longer has any relevance.

When I do any kind of art or creative work I have to remind myself that if it flops, I will not go to prison.  I will just do another painting or sculpture or basket and try again. Most of us don't want to even try things we aren't already good at, which is a shame. Imagine if someone thought they had to be a great pianist the first day they sat down to play, or the same thing with a great actress or a sports figure or even a politician.  We are all entitled to fail on our own terms. Hopefully it will be a temporary and short-lived experience.


My mini-epiphany with this painting was that just like in life, not every effort we make in art has to be perfect. As a matter of fact, even in utter failure, we often learn something more valuable. Maybe it is as simple as browns and purples aren't that pretty together.  Art is teaching me to be less impulsive (think about the design first and get the perspective correct), more patient (paint does need to dry) and to take risks (yellow and purple... hmmmm) without fear of failure.

Ni moto, as they say in Mexico. Roughly translated it means, oh well, or maybe it doesn't matter or its out of my control so I will give it one good shrug and then let it go.