Funky Friday...

Well, I am up. I have perused my summons to jury duty, which tells me the date I am obligated to report, the place, gives me a parking permit and a badge, and informs me of the terms under which I may forsake this privilege. Nowhere does it tell me what TIME to appear. Nor does it give me a phone number to attain this information. Okay, problem solver is engaged. We will figure this out. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, my daily art shots, the Artist-du-jour on my homepage, have all been devoid of color. Now, I love color. That is why I picked up the pastels. They exude vibrancy. It is sooooo much fun to just lay more and more pigment on the paper. This is my current oeuvre, which flies in the face of all those others who think life is black and white, or worse, gray. I actually have curtains the color of the background of this picture, and they are behind the little TJ bouquet. Notice that my workspace, like my art, is all-over-the-place. I always start with the sticks all lined up and arranged by color, the whites and grays on top, followed by the yellows, the reds, the blues, the greens, the purples, and last, the earth tones. Then I get going, and in the end, there is this great big pile. Today, I will rearrange it, again. Too much time wasted finding what I need in my hand at the instant I need it. Patience is not my strong suit. And this work is at that "what-was-I-thinking" stage. Don't think it will ever come together. Hope I am wrong.

The new regime...

I moved the big jellydoughnut dog cushion under my computer desk today because I am about to put up a big folding table in the nook in the kitchen and move the angel table and rocking chairs into the office as I prepare to whip out 18 table runners for kiddo's country wedding. And look! My furry bozos figured it out and happily crawled under there. For about 5 minutes. And notice that, like an old married couple, they are occupying the far reaches of their king-sized doughnut. At this moment, they are both stretched out on the rug, having their post-afternoon-romp nap, to be closely followed by their pre-bedtime nap on the bed, once I move into the bedroom. Ah, the life of Boo and Pickle. And yesterday was Pickle's third birthday. Somehow I thought this milestone would find her more settled-down. Not happening. She just said hello by putting her big feet on my thigh, thus allowing me to pull half a dozen or so leaves, twigs and burrs from her fluffy little self. This is why I keep a doggy brush in the bedside table. Life with the fur people is mighty busy and fine.

Wonders never cease!

My keys found their way back to me! Here's the story; I went to my noon women's meeting, and we read the 5th step today, about admitting to God, ourselves and another human being the exact nature of our wrongs. I shared about how disappointed I got with myself in losing my spare set of keys, like I have double-digit sobriety, I should be better than that by now. I really didn't mean to share that, it just kind of came bubbling out. I like to be really candid with the women, who may think that I have attained perfection if I didn't share my shortcomings. Well, I am a legend in my own mind there, I think. Anyway, Lucy came up and asked me if there was an AA chip on my keychain, and did I have a Ford? I left them there last week, and she turned them into the office. Wow, what a blessing. I get to hold onto about $100 that I had already earmarked to replace those suckers. I can stop looking at the ground and behind all the furniture and in the pockets of jackets and pants, even the ones I haven't worn since September. I can move on, to new and bigger problems. Oh, right. There are still problems. Nonetheless, gratitude is all over the place in the little yellow house today.

Dancing in the darkness...

Well, it's Monday. The garbage guys have been by, several times. The whole house shudders with the noisiness of it all. Sirens. Lots and lots of sirens out there today, reminding me that drama lurks in the side streets, just like it did in the brush at the house on the edge of the world, where the vultures wheeled overhead. I am sick. Not surprising. Much drama happening all around me, and I got really overwhelmed with it, and am now just getting back on my feet, except I just got knocked off them. So that is a big hint to just take care, do what I can, the rest will still be there waiting for me, like the Pickle prints on the tile floor, residual of chasing up and down the fenceline, barking at my neighbor as he hauls his trash barrels up and back the driveway. It never ends, does it. Oh, and I took this prosaic little painting and put it up on the drawing board and livened it up a little. Guess I wasn't feeling particularly brave when I first executed it. Now, anything can happen, and it certainly did. Color, wow.

Sunday, again.

There was a moment this morning, late this morning, when I considered not getting up at all. Never mind that it is all sunny and bright outside. It is actually so not warm it is amazing. If it gets over 60 degrees these days, everyone breaks out the shorts and sandals. I was all cocooned in sweats under quilts and the thermal blanket, toasty and basking in the vestige of what must have been a sweet dream. Then I opened my eyes. Bad idea. Both dogs were sitting by my side, hanging over me with that Snoopy intensity, waiting. I flattered myself to believe it wasn't because they were hungry, and indeed, once I stumbled out into the rudeness of 49 degrees, I saw that there was actually some food leftover from yesterday in one of their bowls. Dear creatures, my fur people. So, to reward myself, I made French toast out of my new TJ whole grain sourdough and Greek yogurt, topped with sugarless syrup (not bad at all), and ran a lavender bubble bath. I am now dressed, and that was a major accomplishment. A friend called, and I got to realize this is a difficult time, as a dear friend is passing. That happened several times last year, but every time it was a surprise. There was no time to honor that spirit until it had left the planet. And now, I honor not only my dear one who is fading, but an even dearer spirit who is standing by her side through this sacred time. I hope to be able to visit sometime this week, if she is strong enough, and read to her from Ann LaMott's Traveling Mercies. So much in there to chuckle at, to identify with, to soothe.

On another note, I distracted myself and went to a concert last night. I know that when some folks say "concert", they mean Dave Matthews Band or Lady Gaga. I mean the American Philharmonic Orchestra of Sonoma County, an all volunteer symphony orchestra that gives free concerts. I donated the suggested $20 and felt treated. They played an all American program, beginning with Bernstein's Overture to Candide, Barber's Adagio for Strings, and Copland's Appalachian Spring. Very stirring. After lolling about the lobby during intermission, doing some of Ann LaMott's Butt Mind (comparing my rear end to all the others in the room), we heard Moby Dick, by Bernard Herrman, a little played work for chorus, soloists and orchestra. Of course, the chorus was all male. No chicks aboard the Pequod. Ahab, the baritone, was spectacular. It was a noisy, self-involved piece that was resoundingly well-received. I got to be somewhere else for a couple of happy hours. Thinking I will do some of that today, too. Walk in the neighborhood. Do a pastel of these tulips. Something. Anything.

It's "just shoot me" Friday, again.

I seem to have lost my spare set of keys. And how is that a problem, you may well ask. For a normal person, it wouldn't be. For this numbnuts person, BIG TROUBLE. Because it is only a matter of time before I lose the other set, and wind up with no keys at all. Maybe if I don't have a spare set I will be more conscious of where the only set is. You think? Hell, I cannot begin to trust that reasoning. Reason has very little to do with what goes on in the cowwoman's life. Bad news is that replacing the handy-dandy remote thingy alone will cost $80. Apparently this is the sole delight of the dealership. Not even the Geek Squad at Best Buy could help me there, and having a captive consumership, they are not interested in making it affordable. Good news is that dear friend who has been making payments on a painting paid it off last night and I have $90 I did not count on. Bad news is that I didn't plan on spending it to replace something I may or may not ever need. Oh, nuts. I am waiting till Monday to see if those errant keys find their way back to me before heading out to replace them. And praying my solo set do not escape before then. Oh, and the cows are really old, back when I was just getting going in academia and trying stuff. I've always loved them. Today, they are my symbol of things coming home.

This may be the end result. Maybe.

Must hide this under something. Otherwise, every time I walk by, there will be more to do on it. It is fun and bright and okay exactly as it is. Just like me. Oh, I work on improving me, too. Not as easy as working on a painting, though. Life has marched on, and a whole bunch of it marched across my face. Winter came back today, and, once again, I am chilled to the bone. Planning on just bundling up under lots of covers and being a slug for a few happy hours before I have to get up and do it again.

The state of the art...

Here is current oeuvre, still loosey-goosey and all over the place, could be done, maybe not. This one taught me a lot about layering the colors, and not worrying about anything. Nothing. Nada. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming. I am working away furiously, praying every moment for my dear friend as she bravely leaves the planet. Hope I can be as courageous when it is my time to dance with the angels. And I love this happy mess. Kind of mirrors what's going on inside the cowwoman today.

Always beginning. Always.

I started a new pastel, after a lovely mile and a half walk to the art supply store, where they were having a dandy sale on pastels, normally $5.50 a stick, now only $2.99. Just couldn't get any better. I picked up yet another white, an off white, a couple of yellows, a pale blue that is not on the turquoise side, stuff that will give a little pizzazz on top of other pigments. And then I spent a happy hour doing this mess, which I sort of walked away from, thinking WHAT WAS I THINKING, then looked at again and saw that the rudiments are coming up quite nicely, after all. It is destined to be quite loose, not a bad thing, and I will be needing stuff to keep me busy indoors because my 4 day forecast says it is going to be winter again for the next few days, with thunder and lightening, even. Okay. I can handle that. I can close all the windows that are now open to catch the warm afternoon breeze, and spread the newly-laundered towels on the rug in the backroom again to attempt to catch the dog's dirtiness before they disseminate it all over the frigging house. Aaaaarrghh! Couldn't it just stay SPRING for a while? Strange days in the little yellow house. And, with all this beginning, a dear friend is in the end days of her waltz with cancer. Four years of discipline and protocols kept her with us, even though she had stage four ovarian cancer when first diagnosed. I am watching her do it her way, preferring to be at home, where she is most comfortable and not in danger of being hooked up to a machine because her girls feel guilty. Hospice visits daily, bring nurses and spiritual moments of meditation. This is one shining soul. Perhaps this will be my homage to her spirit. We spent many happy moments together, my friend and I. And love given is never lost. She will live in me as long as I am in the world, for sure.

Abundance and other considerations...

I just paid my taxes. Yes, I owe. I never have enough deducted. Why give them more than they deserve, let them keep it a whole year, then futz around for six weeks before refunding it? Unfortunately, however, I way underdeducted this year, and owe a bunch. Which is okay, because the state owes me. I will be adjusting the withholding, soon. It is good that there is always enough to render my pound of flesh to the powers that be. And, thank HP, that is over for another year. Meanwhile, rolling around in the spring weather, loving the roses coming up in the backyard. I figured out I could take just one dog at a time on my walks through the neighborhood, sort of Mommy and Me time, one on one. Together, they are impossible. Boo poops along at his little old man pace, getting slower and slower as we progress, while Pickle leaps out ahead, straining and coughing, even though she has a nifty harness instead of a collar. Ah, life's little challenges. Just thinking ahead of the dogs is a trial these days.

The absurdity of it all...

On Monday, this week that is, there was snow on Mt. St. Helena. Yesterday, it was 90 degrees. We went from tower heater to ceiling fan, from 4 quilts and a thermal blanket to a sheet, in just 48 hours. Interesting, to say the least. Then our Catholic cathedral got a new bishop, who flatly stated that if you condone homosexuality, birth control or pro-choice, don't ever darken HIS doorway. Gee, let's all take a giant step back into the Middle Ages. Well, whenever the Catholic Church treats women with the same respect as men, I'll be happy to join up. Since that will never happen, I think I am safe here. Never putting myself at the mercy of a bunch of old fat men in dresses who live in uber-luxury again. And as if this were not absurd enough, PBS aired a program last night on Did God Create Evil. Big duh. God, in Her infinite wisdom, gave us free will. And then some dildo got the good idea to kill, steal, maim, and generally get all Bruce Willis on the world at large. There is no evil, really, just profound ego sickness. How sad the whole thing is. Sometimes, I see a glimmer of relief on the horizon, like maybe our pitiful race will wake up and smell the Global Warming. Whatever, I am headed out in my Partial Zero Emission automobile to stay sober and get some Cool Whip.

If at first you don'r succeed, just keep pushing away at the damned thing.

This was my second ever pastel in my whole entire life. It sucked. Perhaps it still does, but I like it a whole lot better after just a little session on the drawing board. Gee, I just love it when that happens. Wish I could do my life the same way, just put a layer over what stinks underneath, make it all crisp and new. Okay, the composition is not so hot, but it still has a freshness it lacked in the beginning. I was still afraid of the medium when I started this rather complicated thing. Now I know it will do whatever I ask it to do, which is more than I can say of everyone else in my universe. There should be at least one thing in everyone's life that one can feel in control of. And if at first it sucks the big one, one knows it can be remedied with a tiny bit of perseverance, and some elbow grease.

Things to do on another rainy day that was supposed to warm up, get sunny, and didn't.

I didn't exactly rise and shine, but I did get up in time to make yummy pancakes with cherries on top, then get to my meditation meeting, and have a non-fat latte with a dear friend afterward. A quick trip to Trader Joe's for essentials like homemade corn tortillas and toasted unsalted slivered almonds, then home in time for lunch of beans that I made recently when I just couldn't get warm. My mother made these beans a lot when I was growing up, a vestige of her Great Depression upbringing, and I just love them. Onions, bacon (turkey now that I am being circumspect about things like fat) and beans, nothing else. Well, water, and a sprinkling of fresh ground pepper. Simple. Really good. Anyhoo, I perused the pictures I took over at a friend's house recently of her new chicks in their brooder. My grandparents had a chicken ranch, and I loved it when the chicks came. One hen house was dedicated to them, under two or three gigantic brooders. Total cacophony in there. Those chicks were uniformly yellow. My friend mail-orders hers from Chicken Magazine (and yes, there is a periodical for EVERYONE out there), and gets a variety of breeds. Sweetness. Noisy sweetness. Still in first draft mode, but close, I think to being done. Happy with it so far.

Musings for (another) rainy Friday...

Well, there was good news. Sunshine, which has been in very limited supply lately, is scheduled to return in a couple of days. Very excited about that myself. Meanwhile, back at the little yellow house, there are chores to finish, like the laundry currently residing in the dryer, where it has been for three days. And I am actually thinking of starting an oil painting, because I want to see how finished I can work a figure, just because my homepage shows me An Artist a Day, and they wax eloquent over those folks who produce air-brushed images. Gee, what really is good art, anyway. Beats me, that's for sure. This painting was done long before academia, very fast image as it was a gift to my darling daughter and needed to be done before Christmas. I remember that the entire image was on the canvas before I put the brush down for the first time. Furious work. Little more needed to be done after that. It will always remain up in the top ten favorite works of this tender little artist. It hangs in her bathroom. Oh, well. Onward. I also will be boiling down some notes and information from a friend into a book for children. We are working together to write his story, my words and pictures, as he has this huge heart poured out on paper, but not many skills to relate it to a reader, and I have no story, but a whole lot of words and training in the craft. It is an ideal partnership, and we are dedicated to having FUN, and not slinging any barbs at one another. Kindness and patience, I can do that. So, busy, busy. And who cares if it is going to rain, all day long.

Spring, not!

Like a good student, I headed out into our frigid, rainy weather this morning. Honestly, what happened to Spring? We have been pelted with storm front after storm front. Thank HP, we get a little respite in between, otherwise we'd all be up to our heinies in water. As it is, there is snow on our little Mayacamas, an unusual scene in even the darkest of winters here. I chose a warm subject for this morning's class, Van Gogh's flinty sunflowers. Got creative with brushstrokes, and, as usual, all over the place with color. Not a wasted morning. I learned how to blow paint around with a straw! And splatter and sprinkle with salt, too.

A day of service and love...

This morning, I gave a drawing lesson to an old friend. We drew an apple. Gee, it was great to sit down with my cache of implements and noodle away at a drawing for a while. Then I met with a sponsee, sent her off sober and fortified with as much program as one can pack into an hour. Another friend came over, and, after a nourishing and comforting lunch of soup and melted cheese sandwiches, I gave another drawing lesson. I am working out the kinks and thinking I would love to teach folks to draw, and make a little $$$ on the side. Very little, actually, but anything is helpful, right? There is something I didn't know about myself; I am a natural teacher. I taught some of the tricks, like make a cross as a hangar to make the drawing around, outline in straight lines, changing angles wherever the apple does, erase back once the final shape is determined, remember to weight the line on the shadow side, include the reflected light wherever you see it, spatula the shadow under the object, make the darkest shadow directly beneath it, etc. Great to remember all this stuff. I had sooooo much fun, and forgot all my troubles, like the fact that my little credit union that has served me for 25 years is being swallowed by a big credit union, and I will have to notify 6 different entities who either put $$$ in or take $$ out, and make sure they all have the information before June, and don't try to make the change before that. Aaaaagggggh! Why me? Add to that the debit card thing. Life without a debit card is shopping limbo. I should know. I lose mine at least once a year. Ah, well. As they say, trust God and tie up your camel. I will take my steps. Hopefully, they will take theirs. Think I will draw a lemon next.

Love for three apples, revisited...

I traveled to my hometown the other day and made a stop at the local Pacific Market, sort of a mid-point between Safeway and Whole Foods, to pick up a bottle of Bailey's for my dad, who was celebrating his 91st birthday (and God, I am so glad I don't drink any more, $24.99!), and the first thing I saw on the way in were all these amazing apples. I bought these three, and finally threw them onto the counte and rendered this little pastel, all loose and hopefully worthy of their splendid presence. It is done. I signed it, over the booboo I made in that area of the painting. Oh, well. That is my trademark, always a flaw (or two, or more) in everything I do. More about Dad. He was reading the insert from a drug his doctor prescribed, absolutely appalled at the side effects, and asked me to look it over. It stated it was for moderate to severe Altzheimer's. It occurred to me that if Dad was able to read it and make a decision based on the information, he certainly didn't need it, as he certainly didn't have Altzheimer's! Well, he said, my dementia. I told him, hell, you're 91, you're allowed some little brain farts. He decided not to take it. Since he is on 8 other medications, that sounded like a good idea to me.

Done, done, and done again...

When I started this oeuvre, I was just disgusted with myself, and back in that place that says "you stink!", what ever made you think you were an artist, quit while you're still sane, blah, blah, blah. Haven't been in that situation for a while. Forgot that I really can do whatever it is that is in front of me, don't need to worry about the outcome, just keep messing around, it will become, almost on its own volition, the art. And, of course, it did. No mind. Cultivating that place where it is just me and HP, doing stuff together. LOVE the pastels for their layering, the way they just make color pop right off the paper. This paper, by the way, was blue to begin with. First time I've worked on colored paper. Its really fine. Meanwhile, I got to listen to faves on the Arts channel, Strauss's Don Juan, some of Madama Butterfly and Mendelsohn's violin concerto, some unfamiliar but really enlightening music. All while I was up to my elbows in pastels, standing at my kitchen counter, in my pajamas. Time to clean up, I guess.

Raining. Still.

And my homepage cheerily informs me that it will be raining for at least the next four days. Goody. Meanwhile, on the kitchen counter, my new masterpiece is in the making. No, not done. But a good start for this really dismal day. When in doubt, create something. Anything. And I had these happy little flowers from TJs just sitting there. God does such a good job with the flowers, n'est-ce pas? Spraying it with fixative so I can work over the mess without smearing it any more than I have already. I hated it for the first half of the job, then just settled down, got over myself, and now, I see something wondrous could come up, after all. Ah, the artistic life. My homepage has also been giving me an artist a day, and lately, they have been photo-representational, reality squared. The only distinction between them has been the subject matter, like an oddly posed person, none of them overly attractive, or worthy of immortalizing, like this redeems them in some way. And who beside the immediate family would want them on their walls? I do notice most of these artists are men, classically trained, at that. Makes me wonder if I am supposed to do that kind of work. I may try it. I am pretty sure I CAN do it. Just don't know if I want to. I like messes like this one better. I will continue pondering, certainly. You will be the first to know what I decide. Taking a huge risk putting anything of my own creation up here for God and everyone to see. Oh, well. It is what it is. Distinctly mine.

Life, or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

In defiance of the time change, I have been sleeping really, really late. Actually, it is a rare occurence that allows me to do that. Once awake, I rarely fall back to sleep. Perhaps it is because it is cold and rainy, and the dogs are not anxious to brave the elements either, so they don't wake me up jumping around on the bed. Whatever it is, it is blessed. I need a whole big bunch of sleep to make up for the years and years and years of deprivation. So, today, I had to hustle to make my noon women's meeting, where I met up with dear friends from decades of recovery, and a big passel of younguns from the treatment center. Everyone got the same dose of sobriety, and off I went to TJs for Greek yogurt and bananas, staples in the current eating plan. Saw a bumper sticker - Hokey Pokey Anonymous - A place to learn what its all about. Loved it. Some yahoo in the ubiquitous Honda Civic made a quick uturn from my right hand lane directly in front of me, and I didn't hit her. That was good. I made a stir fry of tofu, green beans, carrots and mushrooms with a splash of Thai curry sauce for lunch. It wasn't as bad as it seemed as I described it, and I felt really righteous after eating it. Now I am contemplating a pastel of the new TJ bouquet, or just a liedown with my funny and sweet and sexy totally without redeeming qualities novel. I am leaning toward the book. Ah, retirement. It doesn't suck.

Time flies, sometimes they take it away...

Time for my annual diatribe about the powers that be taking away my hour. Bastards don't even pay interest. They keep it for six freaking months! I got my revenge by sleeping in this morning, until there was only a half hour of the new, truncated morning left. Felt really swell. Then I took a picture of my newest little watercolor, a nit-picky little composition I did without any thought at all, and it looks it. Sigh. Just wanted to see if I could do it, and I could, sort of. I saw in the NY Times (I get it online, don't want to be left out, after all), an exhibition at a local NY gallery of installations that looked like wrinkled bed sheets painted gray and fixed to boards and hung on the walls. Got to guess some guy did that. No woman would hang her dirty laundry up for the world to see. And the call it "fine art". I call it sanctimonious. And gullible on the part of the public who ooh and ahh over it. Emperor's New Clothes lives! Hope I never get pretentious enough to do anything like that. Hell, I live in shit-kicking, tree-hugging California. Never happen.

Little pearls...

I have signed up to get an artist-a-day on my homepage, so I can gauge where I am on the artist wannabe scale. And, so far, I am nowhere, because I don't do design or abstract or installations or fabrics or just plain what-is-that-anyway stuff. My favorite so far was a pitch black swamp, complete with reeds and a pond, three-dimensional and stuck into a corner. I wondered if that artist had ever seen mold. That is what it reminded me of, and I just have to lift the shower curtain a little to see that (actually, I took the bleach spray bottle to it soon after I saw the display. For some reason, I like color, and flowers, and a certain elan that these artist seem to lack. Now, I am all in favor of social commentary. I just don't think that is a proper use of art. Whole schools of art came out of that kind of dissatisfaction. Surrealism, for one. Dada, for another. Both lack any semblance of beauty, or order, for that matter. Give me Jackson Pollack any day. His stuff at least embraces passion, all that splashing around. Of course, he was drunk, too. There seems to be this vein of darkness running through the art world. I suppose it is as Eckhart Tolle says, ego stuff. When I am in the zone, there is no me, just the medium and the support and the work. I like the world of no me. I'm going to hang out there as much as possible.

Old painting, new lease on life.

If at first you don't succeed, just paint over it. I decided I really didn't like this painting. Too busy. To prosaic. Kind of nothing, actually. I only did it because someone said I should, and I didn't have any other good ideas at the moment. It was also really COLD. So I warmed it up all over the place, and loosened it up and made it a warm and, if still prosaic, textured painting. Now I wouldn't be ashamed to hang it on a wall somewhere. What can I say. It's raining, and it's gray everywhere, but in the little yellow house, golden things happen on the kitchen counter.

Horrible warnings, first thing in the morning...

One of the reasons I sojourn to a neighboring city to do my watercolor class is the quality of the students there. Here at our senior center, there are all these fussy folks who make fussy little pictures and never say anything about mine, which made me feel they didn't like them or something. And that made me feel like I was doing it wrong. But no one ever said I was wrong, of course. Until today. There are a couple of sweet ladies who sit at the end of my table. Well, actually, one of them is sweet. The other one doesn't have anything good to say. About anything, or anyone. I took my last two pastels, and she kind of sniffed and said"wait till you start to cough". Now, I have had no trouble with dust. I fix my work regularly, and often use a palette knife to push the loose stuff into the paper, since I love the prismatic look I get when I do that. Again, I thought I must be doing it wrong. And then I realized, maybe SHE was doing it wrong. Yeah, that's the ticket. And here's today's watercolor masterpiece. Kind of overworked this one, but it was fun and challenging and a happy two hours, ignoring that pill at the end of the table.

Love for three apples...

It's kind of a pissy day here in the neighborhood. I slept late, something I no longer apologize for as I lived with a horrific sleep deficit for YEARS. So I spend every blessed moment HP gives me snoozing. The dogs have learned to do their stuff quietly, if they get up at all. After my great and regenerating slumber, I slooooowly got ready for my day, and every time I walked by the counter where the apples and the pastels sat, I put another layer on the paper, so that when I headed out for my noon women's meeting, my fingernails were kind of yellow, and I had to scrub off before settling down into my recovery. I love this simple little thing. All three apples have their own personality to project, and they have been really smooth, then really rough, and now, somewhere in the middle of it all, and probably done-diddy-done-done. Ah, what small wonders there are in this big, complicated world.

Pickle of the evening...

I quickly snapped this view of the Pickle as she reposed on the big dog doughnut the other night. They always crack me up when they lay on their backs like this, totally un-self-aware as they are, dear little guys. I would like to be that unconcerned about the world. True, I am better than I have ever been, but I have my moments. The other night, at a concert, a friend introduced me to a member of the orchestra, and this fellow asked me what I do. Now, most people I know do not ask that. They, like me, are intent on recovery and just not worried about the status or lack thereof in their occupation. What one does for a living is secondary to who one is, and what one does for others. So I kind of stumbled for a moment before answering that I was an artist, sort of, kind of, well, newborn artist. Because saying I am a retired bookkeeper is really boring, and though I may not have a place of employment to travel to daily, I am very much employed and engaged right here in the little yellow house. Learn and grow. And practice, practice, practice.

This is more like it!

Okay, for a little while I forgot who I am. Then I started this pastel, and I remembered! I am messy! I am all-over-the-place! I am let's-do-this-and-see-what-happens! No use pretending. It is a kind of dismal day. Sky is all puckered up. It is cold, again. But here in the little yellow house there are sunflowers, and a newly brushed Pickle, and guts. Yes, that's right, guts. It took some to even begin this, then to keep going when it looked unredeemable, and keep squiggling away. I am running out of yellow pastel, but it was worth it. And it even warmed me up!

Prissy little moi...

I have a good excuse for this rather prosaic little ditty I executed in watercolor class this AM; I had only been out of bed for 40 minutes before I arrived, just on time. I did this from a reference photo for an oil i painted for my daughter many moons ago. I find it interesting that it looks better in the photo than on the block. Perhaps it smiled for the camera? Anyway, not much forethought means kind of mediocre composition and not terribly interesting piece, except to yours truly. Everything interests me one way or another. I saw how much I love 300 lb paper. It takes all kinds of abuse so stalwartly. And I felt a lot less worried about stuff running together than I ever have been before. The medium no longer has the upper hand in the equation. Gosh, I just love being in charge!

Oh, for that waistline again...

Here is the cowwoman at 14 years of age, about to toddle across the stage in her first heels for her 8th grade graduation. My mother didn't give me a corsage like everyone else, but a little wreath for my ponytail. Already, I am embarrassed. I remember little of these days, mostly because I was so worried all the time. Am I okay here? I was so different from all the other kids, miles taller, kind of awkward and athletically challenged, like I tripped over my own feet just walking. It would have been so different if I were the person I am today, much more self-assured. Well, on most days. Just recently I had a turtle day, just pulled into the shell, never got out of the PJs, shuffled around the house in fluffy socks, piddled at the pastel-du-jour, and hid from the big bad world. Costco lured me out of that funk, and here I am, all dressed and blown-dry and made-up, and it is only 11 AM! Progress, not perfection. Sigh.

Rough draft here...

Busy little pastel blooming on the kitchen counter at the moment. It seemed like a good idea when I began. Remembering motto from Finding Nemo - just keep swimming, just keep swimming. It will all come together any time now. Hungover this morning from the Oscars. No, did not drink anything alcoholic. But Highly Sensitive Persons like I cannot draw outside the lines very often. I need my routine: bed at 7 PM with a couple of warm dogs, a good book, a magazine or two, reruns of Bones or CSI, a new program or two (Castle tonight, yum), and lights out by 11. Last night I was all jazzed up by Colin Firth's well-deserved accolades and that marvelous movie that was feted, The King's Speech, now among my all time favorites. When I get too excited, I need a long time to decompress. So the lights did not go out until well after midnight, which had me dozing till nearly 10 this AM, and now, I am all muzzy and, yes, hungover. It could be worse. That's another favorite motto, from Young Frankenstein. It could be raining. Oh, wait, it is supposed to rain today. Don't think I will even get dressed today. Just poke around in current bedtime gear of sweats and thermal T. Yes, that's the ticket for this gray Monday in the little yellow house. And muck around with the nasturtiums.

Verrrry interesting...

I journeyed down to Rohnert Park yesterday, that non-city that is really just a bedroom for the rest of the county and the City to the south, to see a friend who was sitting the last day of an art exhibit at the library there. Not an easy place to find, their library. I finally got out of the car and walked into the Credit Union to ask directions. The information person was just as perplexed as I, but a friendly patron heard me and I was happy to realize I was just across the thoroughfare (RP does not have normal streets as they are all engineered for beaucoup commuters) from it. Found my friend and teacher, oohed over her pieces, talked a while with another artist who does very nice watercolors, sort of in between prissy and all-over-the-place, like mine. And I realized I liked my stuff more than I liked anything in the show, even James's Pepperwood pastels, which I had the privilege of watching him create last summer. They are very contrived, and he never, never goes non-local with his colors, so they are also kind of bland. You can see, I eschew blandness all over the place. It is all about the colors, watching them slide up next to each other and pop right off the paper. This is one of my very first watercolors, done in the Senior Center class while I was not paying attention to anything but my brush and the pigments. I guess it isn't necessary to be well-mannered or usual, after all. It is just necessary to follow my own internal guidance. I may test-drive that theory and put this or one like it up for grabs at Art for Life this year, sort of run it up the flagpole and see if anyone salutes it. If not, I will get to keep it. No losing in that equation.

Not my best time, no not at all.

Somehow I have gotten all off track. Well, I was sick. Then Boo was sick. Then I was sick again. I didn't go to the gym. I missed some of my meetings, and even one of my community watercolor classes. Everything got all mixed up for me, and I began to feel crumby about myself again. Old tapes played, the shame-on-you, you're-a-big-phony, what's-the-use tapes. Funny how they are never far away. I got all ashamed that I couldn't seem to figure out how to thread the sewing machine. I know. These are not earth-moving problems. And, at the same time, they are MY problems. Happy to report that fear-of-sewing-machine is conquered, and several tasks thereof have been mastered. Also, got my butt and muffin-top to the gym today. Edie, 80-something gal, had missed me. SHE is still there. Felt so good I bought myself a lemon cream pie, which I ate for dinner and dessert. Not ALL of it, just two slices. And I pulled out this image of a Cezanne knockoff a la Seurat that I did in my very first art class, design and composition Art 3. It was a defining moment when the teacher, dear ditz that she was, acknowledged that I had some talent going on, after all. Felt really good, and I need to remember that today. Wounded and limping, but rising up again. Sometimes the best view is from beneath the problem.

Anything worth doing is worth doing well.

I hated that motto when I was a kid. Mom was talking about cleaning my room, of course, which, I guess, I never considered worth doing in the first place. Anyway, I noticed I had given my little nude the collarbones from hell, totally messed up there, so I worked on her again. She is rather sweet and innocent, I think. Ah, youth, that time before all the slings and arrows of time cut you to shreds. It is only 9 AM, and here I am, up, fed, online. Don't know what is wrong with me today. I might even get to the gym! Can barely wait to see if that happens.

Weinie watercolor of the day...

Gee, class was a hoot today. I sat, tongue between my teeth, laboring away at this rather complicated Van Gogh homage, and listened to the LOLs around me. I was taking up too much room, scoot over. Did you get a new coat? I got one, but it is too good to wear in this weather (?). Did soandso have her operation yet? My partner in crime, Alan, was also very engaged with his oeuvre. We barely said a word to one another. This was all just fine with me. I am still muzzy from this little head cold, and just happy to be among the living at all. Don't know if this is any good or not, but it sure was a whole big bunch of fun to do. Perhaps it is done. Perhaps not. Busy, busy. And Van Gogh is great for watercolor. What I miss in this medium is the ability to bring my objects over my background. With Van Gogh, you just outline everything! Works swell.

This is what happens when I can't sleep...

I get ideas in the night. This was not the one I had, but one has to start somewhere. I actually wanted to do red poppies, but have no photos to work from, so TADA! Here are the pink ones that bloomed bravely by the steps of the post office in Jenner-by-the-Sea, where the house on the edge of the world was. I picked at this little rendering, then said the-hell-with-it and made it all loosey-goosey. What can I say, I'm sick here! Got another really annoying cold going on. Just don't have the patience to do much more than scribble, anyway. Now have pastels on my nose.

Rain? Again?

Yes, we needed it. But rain poses a whole series of PROBLEMS when one has a dog or two. My little guys are free-ranging, going in and out the doggie door into the backyard whenever spirit moves them. Then they mosey on back in, with feet all wet and muddy. This would not be a problem if they would come in when I called them. Yeah. That'll happen. I solved this particular problem by closing the door behind them, and letting them stew on the back steps till I am ready and equipped to deal with them. I keep a bunch of old towels handy to wipe them down, and yesterday, I put a pie pan of warm water by the door, too, to wash off their little footsies. How smart am I! And it all would have worked, if I had only one dog. Dealing with two squirmy poopies is another thing altogether. Once they are reintroduced to the interior of the house, I decided to take the dog steps away from the bed, because I am tired of washing the top quilt every few days. Then I felt sorry that they were being deprived of their memory-foam heaven, so I bought this big fluffy dog doughnut at Costco, and for the longest time, nobody laid down on it. So I threw Boo onto it. He got the idea, and Pickle, smart-heart that she is, followed suit. Until this morning, they have never gotten onto it together, but look! Rare and heart-swelling moment! I am thinking that I could do my own reality show, the Poopie Wrestler, what with all the gyrations we go through here on rainy days, give Dog the Bounty Hunter and all those Bridezillas a run for their money.

And the other one, messy and fun...

Okay, the blotch on the seventh tree was a mistake, but I like this painting anyway, because the colors are so vibrant and not usual or stagnant. I do that because, try as I may, I cannot get a nice even wash. So I mess it all up, varigate, and pray a lot. Hell, it's just a little community class, free, nobody's grading me. Fun for old folks.

Thurday in watercolor class...

I find watercolors to be really picky and prissy, for the most part. But I do work hard to make them my own. Today I did four different pages, two of them kind of just off the cuff, one, this one, in fact, I labored over a little, and one I just did because I like Wolf Kahn and it felt like an homage to that great guy. It is all okay. Nothing is to be ashamed of today. Perhaps I could be a little more patient, but I like the DOING, and want to keep at it. When I do a complicated piece like this one, I work from the bottom up, because then I will wait for it to dry before going on. And it helps to do more than one piece at a time, so I can alternate and avoid big runny messes. Hopefully. Love this class, and the teacher, and the other students, too, all old farts like me, just having a ball slopping paint around on paper.

What to do with a rainy day and a few pastels...

Thought I would try something entirely different. I mean, what use were those two semesters of figure drawing if I didn't do a figure once in a while. Cannot tell if she is okay or not, certainly not from the photograph. In the reference photo, she had on a sweater. I just made her up from the neck down, trusting my memory of the gals I drew lo those long-ago days in Kevin's class. He would lurk around the outside, and point out all my faults. Didn't give me many strokes until the final review. Well, he always wanted me to challenge myself. How delighted he would be here. My gal has gone from having hair to the moon, to being more restrained, and since I don't have a flesh colored pastel, she looks a little jaundiced in some places. More to do. Good to keep busy and out of trouble while the rain falls.

Sunday. Blah, blah, blah...

Sundays are my least favorite day. There's no mail to look forward to. Television sinks to its most inane (no Bones reruns). Once upon a time, in life number one, they were hellish because of crushing hangovers that I couldn't complain about and had to muscle through doing all kinds of chores to show how sane and happy I was. Earlier, Sunday meant an hour cringing in a pew at St. Sebastian's, hoping my German grandmother would not notice when I rested my butt against the seat to take the weight off my knees on the tortuous, unpadded kneelers. So, today, I slept in till noon. Felt just fine, actually. The dogs and I had a leisurely brunch of pancakes with apricot (sugar-free) spread, walnuts, cinnamon and Cool Whip, with a cup of steaming Sumatra on the side. Then I headed out to the sensibly timed meeting at 2PM, then to Costco for tapioca pudding, among other things. Have been thinking. Most people are not beautiful. I looked for them while plying the aisles, and found two possible candidates, both young women, both blond, neither one particularly happy, and you would think beauty would be a cause for continuous joy, wouldn't it? Oh, well, I bought the dogs another bed, this time a huge fleecy cushion that I can throw down beside the bed so they have somewhere to go when they get kicked off of it in the night for fidgeting. Everyone needs a nice fleecy place to lay down, I think. Yes, I'm rambling here. It's that kind of day. It's 5:30. Think that is too early to curl up in bed with a mystery novel and International French Vanilla Coffee? Yeah, probably.

And here it is!

A perfect example of what one can do with absolutely no planning and very little attention. Aaaaarrrrggggh! Those shadows have to go, n'est-ce pas? I looked in my handy-dandy instruction book for ideas. Still haven't got the hang of this paper. It hardly takes any pigment before becoming annoying dust. Probably there is a compromise between this and previous paper. Quitting for today, while I am still ahead. I hope.

And the next layer...

One of the valuable lessons I have learned so far about this nit-picky medium is to choose a direction, warm or cool, and continue aiming in that direction. So my underpainting tells me that it will be a warm background with a cool foreground. Messing warm over cool, or vice versa, makes mud. Yuck. Trying to keep the hues prismatic, as can be done with pastels, and as I want to portray. Otherwise, I'd be painting this. Silly me. Each layer brings everything into the light. I love that. This is keeping me from obsessing about Boo, who just follows me from room to room, happy little guy that he is. How sweet it is.

You have to begin somewhere...

What a week! Boo is better. He got there all by himself. Four vets laid hands on him, he had xrays and bloodwork and a consultation with a radiologist. Still don't have a clue what was going on. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I have been carrying my camera around with me all the time, hoping to catch an episode of franken-dog to show to the vet. And now, he's not doing it any more. Sigh. I said nuts, and started a new pastel. If you were wondering where pastels come from, here is a photo of the beginning of something. It started last night, when I dug out a pad of actual pastel paper and did a portrait of my olive oil bottle. Then today, I shopped for really pretty tomatoes and a pepper, and stuck them in the picture along with a kind of crippled garlic clove. I'm thinking that's enough stuff for this one little composition. This paper smears things around more than the previous, toothier paper. Must fix often, to prevent that. Not unhappy about it, though. I will be able to get an edge if I want one, and still remain my loosey-goosey self. I think the bottle is doing a tower of Pisa thing, though. Must get out ruler.

Trying new things is good for my soul, right?

I am kind of timid about putting details in the background of my paintings. So I put this homely little figure in this environment. Had to get out my ruler to do it. I could have been even more detailed, but the pastels haven't allowed me to get very tight. I have decided that is because of the paper I am using, Fabiano watercolor paper, which is what the artist I am emulating uses in his work, which is very loose. So, surprise! My work remains loose even when I try to get some details in. Next experiment is with some new textures of paper. Certainly, one can always loosen it up later. In fact, that is my usual MO. Not unhappy with this rendering, actually. In terms of what I was aiming for, it is very successful. She looks a little like Carrie Bradshaw, doesn't she. I have gone in a couple of times to make her more attractive, without endowing her with that terminal prettiness we see on the boob tube all the time. No long flowing locks, either. I think she is interesting looking. Interesting will keep me looking at her a lot more than prettiness. Just keep plugging along. Something good will always emerge.

Okay, maybe NOW it is done.

I remembered what my teacher said about value contrast and went back into this little rendering with an eye to lights and darks. Frankly, there are folks working in this medium who do really detailed work, and I marvel at that, because it is so very messy and I can so easily get the painterly look I so love, why would one want to get all nitpicky? But then I worry that my vision is not fine enough for the FINE ARTS crowd. And then I look at artists like Matisse and Cezanne and see that their work was definitely on the fuzzy side. Richard Diebenkorn! Wayne Thiebaud! In the end, I am just happy that the fruit now resembles oranges more than it did peaches. I like it now. Most of what I do is accidental anyway. When I try to get all deliberate, I get murky, ugly stuff. Right brain. Staying in the moment. Hell, I love surprises.

Getting back to normal, well, as normal as it gets around here...

After our trip to the vet yesterday, I decided that it would be okay to leave the house for a moment or two, that Boo was not going to keel over, probably. So I grabbed my bag full of library books and my reusable Trader Joe's bags and hopped into my newly cleaned puddlejumper, which I notice some lousy bird had pooped on, and headed out. Now, I had not read any of the aforesaid library books, since I got all tangled up in Stieg Larsson's trilogy, but hey, no one said I had to read everything I bring home, right? I picked out a couple of books by favorite authors and I think I have read both these books before, which is never an impediment as I have the memory of a gnat. Then I got all kinds of special stuff at TJ's, like more 0% Greek yogurt, yum, and stopped off at Whole Foods because I saw these little oranges there the other day, and I wanted to immortalize them, they are so perky and sweet. Twelve of them cost me $4.38! No wonder my friends call that place Whole Paycheck! So I started this last night. Now working extra hard to keep the oranges from looking like peaches. It is kind of sylized at the moment, and I think I may leave it that way. In fact, it may be done. Kind of interesting what happens with pastels. At the moment, they are all over my pajamas, which I have yet to get out of at 11:40 AM. I am kind of frazzled from interrupted sleep the last couple of nights. Taking the day off, again. There, that's a plan.

This precious day...

We saw another vet today, not our regular guy who was booked solid, but a great gal they referred us to, and Boo's ailment is still a mystery. So far, no new episodes, and we have stopped the pain meds which made him kind of loopy and not very hungry, either. Now I know that he has a significant heart murmur and arthritic hips. None of this slows him down all that much. Even in damped down mode yesterday, he managed to cavort around, jump up on the bed and couch, and down again. He appears to be just his old self today, and so far, no episodes of distress. I also know that nothing that is happening is life threatening, and no damage is being done that can be discerned. All this has made me appreciate dear Boo even more than usual. I knew when I was on my way to pick him up, back in October, 1998, that he was temporary. I savor his dear presence every single day, with doggy massages and special one-on-one moments. Now, every day with Boo in it is a gift.

We interrupt your regular programming for the following bulletin...

We are back from the vet. Yes, the very expensive emergency vet. They were very thorough, and it is now clear that this is not a acute problem, like a blocked intestine. More likely it is an arthritic joint problem, but xrays and tests will have to be done. Tomorrow. Meanwhile, we have a little pain pill to give him, so he will not erupt in screaming pain any more. That's good. Nothing worse than watching this innocent little guy suffer. Let's be honest. Boo is no spring chicken anymore. And that's going to mean little things will go haywire, just like me, actually. Nothing major, hopefully. I expect him to live another 5 or 6 years, in fine health. Please.

The state of the Boo report...

Boo is sick. I think. Actually, at the moment, he doesn't look any different from this picture, when he was well. Whatever is happening comes in episodes, with hacking and discomfort. No pain that I can discern. And, of course, this started Saturday night, when his vet was closed up tight till Monday morning. He had another episode in the night, and again this morning, at 6 frigging o'clock. I got up, dressed, deoed, combed, brushed, flushed, and was all ready to haul him to the (very expensive) emergency vet, when he laid down and went back to sleep. Smart little guy. He showed his usual enthusiasm over my French toast, and got his usual tiny tidbit. Pickle was outside barking, and he showed little interest, but then, he is no ball of fire these days and often eschews joining the Pickle in her backyard patrol duties. So, not planning on any activities that take me far away today. It's all okay. I have a great book and plans for another pastel painting and still have fear of sewing machine to conquer. It would be nice if whatever is wrong with the Boo were to resolve itself, or at least wait till tomorrow morning. And I thought when the kids were grown up enough to tell me where it hurts that this kind of distress was behind me. Aaaaaarrrggh.

Saturday ablutions...

While I do believe that she who dies with a clean house has lived a wasted life, there are limits. So I swept up a whole bunch of dog hair, did a couple loads of laundry and changed the bed. Nothing better than a nice clean bed, unless someone else did the changing. Then I found my carwashing bucket and headed out to the driveway to give Jolie her first bath of the new year. And I noticed those little scrapes on the right back bumper had multiplied and there were now some on the left back bumper, too. Not my fault! I didn't do those. Some anonymous person with similar deficiencies in backing up did these new ones. So I headed out to the auto supply store for some touchup paint. Hey, I know about this stuff!. Strange thing happens when I enter Kragan's Auto Supply. My IQ drops about 50%. Must be all that free-floating testosterone. Happy to report I found the paint, read the manual hanging there, and selected the right color for my little puddlejumper. Hard to go wrong, since it's black. Well, you'd think so, but all these cars are painted by men, who have not yet grasped the concept of standardization. How many shades of black can there be, anyway! Ran into one of most macho male friends in line to pay for my little tube, and could not bluff my way out of my presence there, which occasioned painful memory of backing into a friend's car last year, causing the current need for touch-up. Sigh. Because I was such a good girl (I even deadheaded the hydrangea and trimmed all the privet that has grown to scary heights since last summer), I continued on to Safeway, where I got myself a nice steak for dindin. And it was scrumptious. Now headed for my lavender scented bed for the next installment of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest. Ah, life is good with a belly full of black angus and a rip-roaring mystery novel.