Sunday musings...

I went to church today. Well, not actually church. Science of Mind is more of a spiritual philosophy, developed by Ernest Holmes, a principle that embraces Universal Mind and our connectedness with one another and all things within that container. I have always liked that premise, that we are all ONE beneath it all. Of course, I like being one with some, and not with others. Sigh. Anyway, I got there early for the 10 AM service, sat down, and watched the congregation file in. I noticed that there were a multitude of women very like me, sweetly dressed and made up, and alone. We all sat on our little islands surrounded by empty seats. And I thought how pathetic I am. The theme for this month is diversity, and today, Rev. Edward spoke about prejudice, how it is far easier to practice than tolerance because it needs no research. Indeed it is predicated on ignorance and self-absorption, and is really about stories we tell ourselves. Contempt prior to investigation, we call it in Program. Great message for me to hear. And later, I saw some of those lone women were actually women I am acquainted with, and if I picked up my phone, I could find a plethora of friends to accompany me in the future. Or, I could arrive a little later, and sit next to one of those carefully put together gals, introduce myself, and make a new friend. Or move on if that is too frightening for her. After all, we are together in the pursuit of a spiritual life or we would not be there in the first place. I find part of that is getting over myself, the fear that others will not like me as I am. Okay, blazing new trails here. And I did run into a friend, one who like me is battling inner demons, and that made the whole trip worthwhile, to know I am not alone in this seething cauldron called life.

If I knew what I was doing, I'd be someone else...

I find life very confusing. Somewhere along the way, I began painting. Then I went to school, to become a psychologist, because folks continue to amaze me with the way they act, and discovered that I liked art a lot better, so I got a little degree in art, and now I fiddle around with art stuff, make these little pictures, and print cards that say I am an artist. And yet, gee, how can that be? I went to a demo by a REAL artist last night, left my poser card, and hope that, when he does another workshop, he will alert me. Maybe after that I can be authentically an artist? I do understand that my confusion has been shared by many who the world at large recognized as amazing artists. We are, as a lot, highly sensitive. Hell, we wouldn't be creative if we weren't, right? Nuts. I am just going to do what I have been doing, playing around with the art stuff. I could be doing worse things, for sure. And I am not bothering anyone. Am I? If so, sorry. Or not. Whatever.

Riding the learning curve, again...

I went to a demo of Sennelier pastels, both oil and soft, and got all kinds of new ideas. Best tip was about paper. The support for this medium is paramount. Too much tooth, no detail is possible. Too little, and you have dust up your wazoo. I did this little guy on the black Tiziano paper the demo artist handed out, and wow, it is fabulous stuff. Must get down to Blick to get some soon. I laid out the drawing with student grade pigments, then put the dynamite Sennelier pigments on top. It was really fast and really fun. Like painting ever so much more than sewing. Beginner's mind has returned. Fun on a summer afternoon.

Things change, sigh...

Good news. The Boo went to the vet today, and his ailment was an inner ear thing, which is now pretty much cleared up. He is not cocking his head to the left all the time, stumbling, or tracking sideways any more. Bad news. A UPS truck crunched my bumper on the way out of the parking lot. I drove away chanting "$500, $500, $500". Sigh. Not my first time around the Ferris wheel. It is all set in motion to happen on Tuesday, trip to the body shop, rental car, etc. Well, no one got hurt, even little Boo, and my bumper had already escaped one scrape and been all patched up with touch-up paint. There is still a tube of that in the glove compartment, because, knowing me, I will need it. Oh, and sitting in the waiting room at the vet's, I perused a Dog Fancy mag, and saw that Boo is not a Pekingese, after all. He is a Tibetan Spaniel. There was a photo of one that looked just like him. Okay, mystery solved. Meanwhile, back at the little yellow house, the sewing project for little kiddo's wedding is done diddy done done (yay), so I am about to lay an oil palette for some touching up of old works that no longer please me, and probably some new stuff, too. Very exciting time here, some of it rather alarming, much of it just joyous.

There's good news, and there's bad news...

Happy to say the Boo is through throwing up. Sorry to say he is not eating, not even the chicken and rice I cooked up special, and is tracking kind of sideways. So it is off to the vet again tomorrow to find out what is up. Sad when my Boo is puny. He is usually so spunky and spry for an old guy.

Just back from the lalaland south of here, beautiful Marin County, where I met my little kiddo for lunch and a shopping extravaganza at the terribly chic mall, where there is an Anthropologie, Nordstrom's, JJill, Bare Essentuals, and, best of all, a Cheesecake Factory, where we had lunch after our first round of shopping. This is not a usual destination for the cowwoman, but I had dropped in earlier in the month, so I knew my way around. Had a low-cal salad so we could have a key lime cheesecake slice for dessert. Learned all about the latest in my daughter's life, watched her try on size 4 clothes, saw pictures of the latest fitting of her wedding gown, and she graciously drove me around the parking lot on the perpetual search for my car, which I parked near a little tree, thinking that would lead me right there. Unfortunately, there were hundreds of little trees. Oh, well. She already thinks I am around the bend. Wouldn't want to disillusion her. Fine day. Now, if I could just get some food into the Boo, all would be perfect.

HP never promised me a rose garden...

Very sad day in the little yellow house. Dear friend, who bravely battled ovarian cancer for 4 1/2 years, passed yesterday, peacefully in her sleep. This was a great blessing. She struggled so to stay with us right up until the last, and it was uncomfortable at best, and painful at worst. We spent many a moment together in our sobriety, and she mentored my sponsor, so part of my recovery will always belong to her. That is the beauty of the Program. One can never die if one has worked the 12th step and passed on the wisdom that was given by those who came before. We were together on retreat when she decided to divorce her husband. I watched her go back to school and learn somatics, which she taught for her last years, and I took some classes from her. She died in the presence of her youngest daughter, the one that had been a trial in her last days, and had come back to help her mother in her end days. What a blessing.

I am really tired, having heard the news last evening, then sitting up most of the night with a sick dog. Dear Boo threw up all over the bedroom. The dryer is now whirring happily taking care of a pile of quilts, towels, and the cover to the dog stairs. Boo is now laying in the doorway, looking pooped out. Rice and chicken are cooked and waiting for his appetite to return. Definitely no rose garden today. It is fortunate that I know sadness is just the other side of the coin from joy. It will all be just fine, whatever happens, as long as I don't fight it. Surrendering, to grief, fear, and tears.

Strange daze...

I am still getting used to this thyroid hormone. There are times I feel all sped up, a truly unusual sensation for the cowwoman, who is mostly slow-moving. So today, I got to the gym fairly early, then came home for a quick shower before moseying over to the noon meeting to say hello to a lot of friends. Made myself a liverwurst sandwich for lunch, with one of the artichokes I cooked a couple of days ago, yum. Mowed the lawn later in the afternoon, and what a relief. The frontyard was all ragged again. Yard of shame. Worked on my sewing until the bobbin got all conflicted and started acting up. I am sure I will resolve this problem soon and get back to the project. I am more than half done, and the promise of painting hangs before me like a carrot in front of a donkey. I heard from my daughter today about the hair and makeup extravaganza that will occur before the wedding. I have very little hair, and makeup would be a waste on me, so I am planning on being there to help out. And dressing there, too, so my linen does not wrinkle from the drive. Ah, I am sure there will be life after the wedding. A much slower, far less exciting life, for sure.

Sew and Sew...

Discipline has never been my strong suit. Sigh. So I packed away the pastels. They were just too tempting, resting as they were on the kitchen counter, all lined up like happy little soldiers, just waiting to perform. My house has been turned upside down for months, with the sewing machine reigning over the kitchen where the dining table usually resides. It, too, waited patiently. I fired it up yesterday and whipped out three more 9 foot table runners for little kiddo's wedding on 7/30. This is actually an improvement over former behaviors. At this rate, I will be done before the end of next week, thus having a whole month left to put ME together. I have the dress, the wrap, the little purse to stuff full of Kleenex, even the jacket for evening, if necessary. All is good, if I plan on going barefoot. The search for shoes has been bleak. I need just the right thing, not too casual, not too dressy, not too high a heel, so I can negotiate lawn at the garden wedding. My dress is linen, very simple, lovely pale turquoise in color, so I have decided on silver shoes. The other day, I realized I have silver ballet flats. Perhaps I could order a sparkly ornament for them? That would temporarily dress them up, I would be comfortable and stable on all surfaces. Except that my pedi would not show. And I am proud of my pedi. Well, one has to sacrifice for children, n'est-ce pas? Like shackling myself to this machine till 16-18 runners are all stitched up. Really, it is a happy thing. And when it is done, I have promised myself I can lay an oil palette!

Days of My Life...

Funny thing has happened. Since I started taking the new hormone, I am not as hot and bothered any more, despite triple digit temps here on the summer solstice. And I wasn't as cold last week when I had to fire up the tower heater again, we dipped so low. Well, the weather here has always been schizophrenic, even when I was a child. I shivered my way through swimming lessons in the morning fog for years. Only the beginners got sunshine, at 11 AM. Maybe that is why I was a beginner for so long? Anyhow, I got big butt to the gym today, second day in a row, and got to do a full workout, and felt like flying when I left. Endorphins will do that to you. Then I got all altruistic and gave a gal a ride to the noon women's meeting. Plans for a movie fell through, so I headed to the library to return books due tomorrow (very diligent now, an amends for all the overdue tomes I had as a kid) and to Costco for another bottle of wonder pills. Oh, and I changed the bed this morning. All in all, a full day already, and I have more coming when I head for the Bridging the Gap meeting tonight, a service committee of AA that takes newcomers to their first meeting after rehab. Feeling pretty recovered here at the moment. That can change in a heartbeat, though, so, trudging on.

Don't you wish it was this easy?

Open your mouth, something good to eat just drops in? Ah, those days are over. Well, they really never were for me. My mother fed me canned peas. Horrid stuff. And now, I have, of course, my eating philosophy - if it isn't luscious, I am not eating it. No more fig newtons or rice cakes. Don't care if they are good for me. I just had a lovely chicken salad with broccoli slaw and shredded carrots and Mandarin oranges and toasted slice almonds with sesame soy dressing. Yummy. And strawberry ice cream, just a little bit, made with coconut milk, low in calories and fat, high in satisfaction. That is my way of being these days - good to my little self, who has spent most of her life floundering around, doing all kinds of things that wounded her, and is now in the long and rewarding process of healing. The art helps. The art continues to surprise me. I thought this was a lost cause for the longest time. And now, just look. It's kind of magical, the art. It really just does itself. No mind involved. Amazing.

Gratitude on a sullen Sunday...

Summer arrived with a vengeance today, two days early according to my calendar. The thermometer is in triple digits, about 30 degrees over yesterday. Gee, that was fast! Especially since we really haven't even seen spring yet. It kind of missed us this year. Well, I keep doing what I do. Went over to see my folks for Father's Day. Took them a pie. Hell, I have bought a thousand shirts, hundreds of golf balls (he's 91, not doing that now), a ton of See's Candies and innumerable bottles of Bailey's and Korbel Brandy. A chocolate pie is probably a good idea, yes? They can both enjoy it, if, at their advanced age, they can enjoy anything. My brother came by at the same time, and I got to watch as my dad shot down the Giants, knowing how fanatical my brother is about them. Nothing has changed there. He used to do the same thing to me about the 49ers. Strange people, my folks. Nevertheless, despite heat and my bizarre relatives, I am full of gratitude today. I think I have solved my shoe dilemma re little kiddo's upcoming wedding - shoe ornaments for my silver ballet flats! It is a garden wedding, and heels are not a good idea on the lawn, or for long periods of standing, either. I'll just dress up these little sweethearts a bit, and I am good to go. I went to my usual 2 PM Sunday meeting, heard an inspirational speaker, and cruised by In and Out for dinner. Now comfortably full of hamburger without onions, fries, and chocolate shake, $5.69. Also, a diet root beer. Life is good. New painting coming up just fine, with help from new pigments I got yesterday at Dick Blick. Pretty happy here. Oh, and I ran into my cousin playing the piano at a local shopping center. Hadn't seen him in decades. He recognized me! I must be doing something right.

You win some, and then there's this...

Making one hell of a mess in this particular piece. Had to run to Berkeley for more choices of pigments. Oh, well. Putting it aside for a while. Meahwhile, back at the ranch, it seems to be a time of discontent. Nothing that will linger for very long, but doing some inventory taking here, most of it mine, and then, gee, there I am in someone else's all of a sudden. Getting out my manual for living and examining my inner landscape, always a fruitful endeavor. T'will all come out in the wash. Which reminds me, there's a load in the dryer even as we speak.

This perfect day...

Just got home from the gym, and looked at this painting, thinking it might be done. Putting it aside for now, and starting something different. Part of my process is that I am easily bored and need lots of stimulation to keep my engine going. And I am always doing something. Let us hope that something is not eating. The thyroid hormone made me ravenously hungry in the beginning. It seems to have leveled off now so that I am no longer obsessing about the TJ cookies up on the top shelf. I didn't even buy any yesterday when I popped in after my workout. Got broccoli slaw and shredded carrots and ranch dressing and non-fat milk and whole wheat sourdough bread and diet root beer and two bananas. Now, that's a cartfull of health if there ever was one. Oh, and some vegetarian burritos, really yummy with avacado and Greek yogurt on top last night for dinner. I am now contemplating the last two pieces of pineapple upside down cake. Perhaps I will just have that for lunch, skip the main course? Really, I worked off those calories already!

I'm forever making messes...

Just when I had it all cleaned up, it happened again. If the level of the mess is indicative of the level of no-mind, well, this one is coming out of the ether, for sure. And I understand why they give mental patients art therapy. You would think it would be about analysis of the final product. Probably, from the therapist's point of view, it is. From the mental patient's viewpoint, it is an opportunity to rise out of her own mire of misery into another place, one where spirit reigns. I feel like a mental patient today. Stuff is spinning around inside me, as I try to figure it out. Experience says to just drop it, solution will come creeping up on its own. And what better way to do that than to scrape away with chalk on paper? In the end, there is the product, a dividend that arises out of the divine presence. Yes. Good idea. Don't think. Just paint.

Gee, I hope this is done.

I kept working on the bird and smearing the lower right of the painting, over and over again. I have now put it in the folder with the other birds, where I cannot do it any more damage. Don' t think there is anything I can do to improve it, either. Guess I could neaten it up? Yeah, but then, it wouldn't be my work. My signature is imperfection, all over the place. Easy goal to attain, that one. Proud of the work I have been doing. It has all been really challenging in this very picky medium. Getting any measure of precision is a process that can be very frustrating.

Took a break Monday and schlepped off to the gym, first time they have seen my face in a while. The trouble with taking time off is that I usually have to start over with teensy weensy weights. Not so this time. Apparently, the hormone also enhances strength, because it all seemed easy. So easy that I went back Tuesday, did the full routine complete with a swim after. That pushed the envelope, and left me limp as overcooked spaghetti. Now recovering before going back tomorrow. It's all good, after all. Yay, me!

The dividends keep accumulating here...

Soooooo happy to be taking this nifty little thyroid hormone. I took the old bod to the gym today, filled with apprehension since I had not been there for a couple of weeks, which usually means huffing and puffing and lifting weinie weights that don't do my muffin top or saddlebags any good at all. Surprise! I was less winded than I have ever been, worked out at full weights, felt great when I was done. Going back tomorrow for more. Going to whittle away at all the lumpy sections, get all firmed up. That and my new skin regime, lots of retinol, day and night, and I should look like 30 again by the time the wedding comes along. Well, maybe not. At least I will have given it a good shot. After the gym, I did Costco, always a delight, got one of those rotisserie chickens to gnaw away on over the next week. Then I put this image on paper, the beginning of something interesting, I think. Lots of value contrast. Already have 5 or 6 layers here. Leaving a lot of pigment laid down instead of smearing it around like I usually do. Very illuminating results. More to do, of course. Oh, hell, there's always more to do.

The final, final (I'm not adding another thing to it) version...

Holy cow, I am tired of this image. I like it, it was fun to do, and I spent forever making those ripples in the water. Really challenging. And boring. And the cowwoman is easily bored, and chomping at the bit to get on with another image. Please let this one be done. Really, only HP knows when that is. I have filed it in the bird folder, where it will be reviewed soon for any possible revisions. As are all the bird opus. Everything is subject to review in the cowwoman's life. That is the way my life seems to happen. Act, then think. Then apologize and think again. Working on thinking BEFORE acting. That is a challenge, for sure. I could spend the rest of my life on that one endeavor. And probably will.

Beautiful day in the neighborhood...

Spring has at last sprung. Mild and sunny, with nice cooling breeze, perfect weather for a walk, yet here I am, still in my ballet flats from my morning sojourn out to my meeting, shopping, and otherwise being my public self. Have been diddling away at this image, and what was I thinking, anyway? Water! Well, it is coming up, and strange as it may seem, I always see more from a photo than I can from the actual piece, and I have some ideas now how to render it. Not unhappy, so far. Amazing birds, herons. In case you don't know, I am having a whole lot of fun with this medium. Today, I picked up a set of inexpensive, student quality pastels to use in underpainting. The wondrous Sennelier sticks will finish the job, and hopefully not evaporate quite so quickly. Cowwoman is a little short, since the IRS noticed the little error I made on my return this year. Well, I got to keep that $270 for a couple more months, anyway. May be time to market myself, make some extra $$$.

Well on its way now...

Yet, still not done. I have an environment to work from, so debating about the level of detail I need, or don't need. This version will sit on the counter for a while. I need to mull here. Layer upon layer, the scene emerges. Gee, is there a better way to spend one's life? Can't think of it at the moment. Oh, and between layers, I mowed the pseudo-lawn, trimmed all the overgrown bushes in front, and swept up the walkway. Brownie points in heaven, for sure.

Beginning, again...

There is a mystical moment for me in every painting, when I see my efforts begin to coalesce like a new universe out of the nothingness of color and strokes. Sometimes, it is difficult for me to hang in there until that moment, but I always know it is coming, can feel it welling up. Epiphany happens. It is exciting. It keeps me working. Simple images, these creatures, and they have a certain majesty. They know who they are, and what to do. That in itself makes them superior to me. My authentic self is still in the process of discovery. And, every day, I cast about for the next right thing to do or say. Some things are a given. I will watch my soap opera every weekday, except when some blasted tennis match or Olympic games preempt it. I will eat three meals, take a bath every other day (the old earthsuit cannot tolerate every day anymore, and gee, I don't sweat very often, anyway), feed the dogs, check my email. All important tasks. Beyond that, everything else is a surprise. And that is what retirement is, a perpetual surprise. No one is expecting me to show up anywhere on a regular basis. Of course, there was school, when I was a geriatric student. But, in all honesty, the teachers never expected any of us to show up. They dropped out like flys. I guess I am the only one that hopes I will show up every day. Well, that works for me.

Mother, child...

I suppose that Nature knows what She is doing, and mothers just naturally take care of young ones. Unless, of course, they are human mothers, then, despite our huge pre-frontal brain, the one that makes us so much more superior than, say, this tern, we are clueless how to take care of our babies. Doctors write books. Mothers read them. Doctors are wrong, sometimes. Babies grow up all bent when they were meant to be straight and strong. Okay, I sound a little bitter today. It is the day before my birthday, which was the day my appearance disappointed everyone because I was not a male heir, but a tiny peanut of a girl, who grew up to be a tall, meaty German/Scots/Irish gal, very smart but terribly conflicted. Couldn't stay in any of my marriages. Somehow, I kept changing. Still doing that today, will never be static, not as long as I draw breath and stand vertically. Hope that is no longer a disappointment. The old guard is now happy to see me. That is new, actually. And long awaited, too. I feel more like the baby bird than the majestic mother most of the time. At least, I am capable now of imagining being the angelic mother sometimes. Took a lot of healing to get that far. And 67 years on the Big Blue Ball.

Layers, and layers, and layers...

I never liked this work, just filed it on the bottom of the pile. Today, I made little folders out of the backs of a few paper pads, and sorted out the lemons for some reworking. Now, it kind of works, I think. It helped that I now have more pigments, thank you Riley Street for the nice sale. Cannot rely on mixing colors as much as I do with paint. Hell, I use only 6 or 7 pigments in both acrylic and oils these days. I can mix anything with a warm and cool red, blue, yellow, a white and a raw umber. Not so with these little sticks. Well, not so much, because I have done it, but pure pigment seems to be the way to go. Lusting after the full set of over 500 that Sennelier offers. When I have that here in the little yellow house, you will know I have sold something BIG.

The best four letter word in the world...

SALE! Today was the last day of the spring sale at Riley Street, that mecca for artists, the art supply store. Gee, how could I resist 40% off on pastels? Those little sticks are usually $5 each. And I trash them really fast here. One thing I will never be is neat. While I admire those who can demonstrate this virtue, for myself, I think it is kind of boring. Part of my charm is that I am all over the place with my pigments and implements, and with most of everything else I have in my little yellow house. Perhaps soon I will get things in order. Well, anyway, on this gray Sunday, I piddled around with this image, which I think is called The Little Woman. He looks like he is giving her what for, and she is happily handling it. Didn't do that on purpose, it just came out that way. It's always like that, you know, just keep working and whatever is supposed to be there will be, in the end. Kind of a mystical thing.

Home is the cowwoman, home from the netherworld of the peninsula...

Well, it rained yesterday. And I had this new white linen outfit, very loose and flowy, very springy, all picked out to wear to my daughter and son-in-law-to-bes' couple's shower two hours south of here. My shoe choice was little flowery white thongs. Definitely, they were out. So I bought new shoes, silver ballet flats, to keep my toes dry, and wore my new clothes anyway. To break up my drive, I stopped at the upscale shopping center halfway through my trip to check out Anthropologie because they sent me a 15% off coupon for the whole month of June, my birthday month. I really stuck out there in my white linen. I just plowed forth like a sleek ocean liner amongst the freighters in their dark, winter garb. Usually, I am the one in the right season while everyone else errs. Yesterday, that was problematical. I arrived early, and there were no other cars present, so I backtracked to the corner shopping center and bought a book at CVS, a Jonathan Kellerman I have not read, and would like to, even if I were not caught without a book and 45 minutes to wait, so it was not a loss, no, not at all. At 15 minutes before the appointed hour, I pulled up at the same time as daughter and her guy, and my ex and his gal. It had stopped raining, which was propitious as my gift was this big basket full of linens and goodies, and it would have been impossible to juggle it, an umbrella, and the 30 lb. purse I think I need to carry. Despite meeting up with some of my ex-family, it was a delightful day. The crowning touch was that I had chosen off the registry for my gift, big fluffy white towels with tan stripes. I just thought sweetpot would like them. I bought them on Wednesday. And she told me that Friday, they registered for the same towels! Linens, it seems, are seasonal and one cannot register too soon for them. We are in tune, little kiddo and I. Sweet day. And it makes the wedding less daunting. Joy and sorrow live on different sides of the same coin, you know. And it flips rather easily for this little person.

Remember when...

Twenty-two years ago, I quit smoking, hopefully for the last time. That means that I have now not smoked for as many years as I did. To commemorate my success, I bought myself lots of presents today, like several new pieces for my new, all-natural-fiber look, and a pair of silver Sketchers, which make me smile every time I look at my feet. And that also means my dreaded birthday looms, the big 67. As fond as my friends and I are of sitting around congratulating ourselves on how good we all look, that is still a hella-lot of years under the proverbial bridge. Okay, maybe 60 is the new 40 (or 50, I forget), I am closer to 70 than 60, lots closer than I realized. Sigh. Okay, now that's over. Today's image is from the days in the house on the edge of the world, a bouquet a neighbor brought over on my birthday in a Ball jar, which he asked be returned to him. He grew the flowers in a huge garden festooned with silver ribbons on wires to keep the deer away. I gave this painting to my wild man artist. He always liked it. I remember having a lot of fun doing it, and feeling kind of ambivalent about the outcome, but now wish I had it back. Remembering is good, yes? I am deciding, yes.

Where is global warming when you need it?

This is supposed to be SPRING. Instead, it rains, every other day, and not a warm seasonal rain, but frigid north pole rain, that has even threatened snow on our mini-mountains. My birthday approaches. In my 67 years of existence, it has NEVER rained on my birthday. This may be the first time. Meanwhile, this is very inconvenient for my life here in the little yellow house without large closets. My fall/winter wardrobe traveled to the back closet in the studio weeks ago, when we had about two days of 70 degree weather. It is boxed up in canvas cubes, on a high shelf. The boots and heavy shoes are in the flat boxes under the bed, and the flip-flops and ballet flats are on the floor of the miniscule bedroom closet. I put on my anklet and polished my toenails, for heaven's sake! That should mean WARM weather. Someone needs to get with the program. It rained today. It is supposed to rain again tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after. Okay, that means I do not have to mow the pseudo-lawn. There is always a blessing in the trial, you know. But I will also have to put socks on over my pedicure. I hate it when that happens. Probably no one but me ever has these problems.

First drafts...

Part of my I-really-do-love-myself program is to buy myself flowers. A lot. And fortunately, Trader Joe's has these funky little bouquets for $3.99, so loving myself does not break the bank. Then I immortalize them with a painting or two. And photograph them for later use. I get a lot of mileage for $3.99. This particular little work gave me lots of new ideas. I was actually supposed to be loving myself by doing the laundry when I started it, and, as often happens when I am distracted, things got kind of fuzzy and out of hand. Well, that seems to be working kind of okay so far. Best thing to do is not to think, just keep applying pigment, get over myself in all kinds of ways. I see possibilities here I have not explored before in this medium. Very excited. And the laundry, well, it awaits.

Another day, another artwork...

Nothing says loving like something new on the paper. I saw that one artist put up colored pencil drawings in one of our local galleries, and I thought "I can do that!" So I did. Somehow, mine is not as artful as his was. It is, however, on top of the drawings in my portfolio that I am assembling for the fall semester, when I am thinking of applying for independent study. There is a whole upper division to academia that I would love to explore, but cannot afford. And despite my daughter's kind offer to explore scholarships and grants, I don't feel it is my place to step into that where another, younger artist may profit greater than I, at my advanced age and all. Nevertheless, I think I have something going on that is kind of special, and I know a lot of the teachers at our local JC would be happy to work with me. I like being guided, and pushed in directions I would not think to explore. Staying in the learning mode is an excellent idea as 70 looms for me, keeps the old gray cells perking. Plastic brain, that's the ticket.

Doors, lots of doors...

Here is the shotgun view through the bedroom through the bathroom through the laundry room through the living room through to the backyard. Oh, and through the dog door, too. Always going through doors here. And one can do a complete circuit of the little yellow house inside by virtue of the two doors into the bathroom. Now that I have relayed that terribly interesting fact, may I gripe? Yes, Virginia, I do feel better. Also feel pretty weird, which is to say not like my miserable self. That should be a good thing. Working overtime instead to make it more misery. Now, isn't that interesting? It is said that an unexamined life is not worth living. Welcome to my microscopic mind. I went to Target the other day, one of my three favorite destinations, the other two being Costco and WalMart. I was searching for haircoloring, you know, the $8.98 surprise in a box. Tired of being blond in a yellowish tint, so I got lightest ash blond shade. Also some frozen dinners, and a tube of tinted moisturizer, lightest covering possible hoping wrinkles will disappear beneath it. Anyway, I was noticing the people at Target. More affluent clientele than WalMart, it seemed. Most had this truly blank expression on their faces. The most prevalent emotion displayed was confusion. I smiled at everyone coming my way, I do that regularly because it always perks me up when someone does that for me, and I always hope a big grin will lift me out of pitiful mode, but no one that day even looked at me. Now, that is interesting. A whole store full of unexamined lives. After paying, I spent a happy ten minutes searching for my car in the vastness of Target's parking lot. That is the price of feeling good, it seems, a new pall of brain fog. Must work on that today. There are no doors that offer quick fixes, it seems.

And another thing...

Happy to report that, after three days taking the teensy dose of hormone, thyroid is purring happily. I hedged my bets a little and took myself off to the movies to see Bridesmaids, mostly because the Tomatometer at RottenTomatoes.com gave it a whopping 89% and those strange folks on Roger Ebert's show both did a thumbs-up, too. I felt the need to laugh, and this film did not disappoint. It had some really crude moments, but somehow missed the tone of an Adam Sandler epic, where everything and everyone is just plain stupid. Some of the humor was physical, but most was in the snappy script, and the faces of these obscure and totally luminous actors in the cast. It is a rare moment when I feel good about a movie not playing at the Smart People's Movie Theater, but I was thrilled to join the throngs of the great unwashed humanity at the local multiplex. And there's another one coming on this one's heels, Bad Teacher, that looked like it could promise a few chuckles, as well. So, huge and ugly Roxy 14, I will return.

Well, that's over.

I have just spent a frustrating two days (read daze) wrestling with Google to get back into my blog. It didn't like my old email address, and insisted I use my gmail address to get aboard my dashboard. But it wouldn't let me reset the password, over and over and over again. Very vexing. I was ready to dump the whole thing and start over with a new blog, because I find that I cannot live without venting my spleen here online, while the whole world watches. Well, not the whole world, but they COULD if they wanted. And I am still thinking of doing that. If I do, for those who are interested, I will put up a link. Meanwhile, relief oozing from every pore, because here I am, finally with my newest weinie bird pastel. Now there are ten or so, and I figure another ten or so will yield a dozen that I like. And anyone who thinks there is no God ought to spend a few minutes perusing this little old fashioned bird book I have, that shows only a thousand or so of the varieties that populate this tiny blue ball orbiting an insignificant star in the great big infinite Universe. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!

What to do when you don't know what you're doing...

Yes, that bird really looks like that when seen full frontal. Really interesting, isn't it, how things kind of come together in this truly odd way. HP made all these little flying creatures, probably out of big stomping around kind of creatures, now scaled down and lightened up, and there are millions of them, with thousands of variations on a theme, enough to fill volumes of tomes on library shelves everywhere. Grace notes, for sure. Here in the little yellow house, it is cold again, and raining. I will be poring over the drawing board all day, trying to make sense out of this one, or just throwing up hands and doing something else, endeavoring to stay dry. Not the happiest of campers, although have been out to Costco to get my thyroid hormones, which I cannot take till tomorrow, on empty stomach. I realize I am expecting to feel uber-better instantly, and that will probably not happen, never has before. Could that be the problem with this mini-mess I just made? Oh, whatever. Just not up to snuff, on any level at the moment.

Holy cow! Sometimes, I'm right!

Feeling like a new woman, like Eve here, getting hers from Big Daddy. You all know the cowwoman has been dragging her derriere for the past few months, expecting that THIS TOO SHALL PASS, except it just wasn't. So off to the Dr. for tests, like that was going to help anything. Probably I was just as nuts as I felt, wishing every day I could just stay in bed all day long, like forever. And I was cold all the time. Had to wear a sweater in the summer to go to the market and traverse the refrigerated aisles. So I had blood tests, and today, big surprise, it turns out my thyroid has abandoned ship. There really was a reason for the lousy way I have been feeling for the last year or so. It fluctuates, of course, so every so often, I felt almost human. Then it would tank again, and crash, I would be picking myself off the floor wondering what happened. So, tomorrow, off to Costco for some nifty thyroid hormone, just a teensy dose to begin with. You know what this means, don't you. Faster metabolism! Easier weight maintenance, and loss, which I need to do, just a few pesky lbs. It is always a surprise to find that, symptoms notwithstanding, I really do have that ailment-du-jour up on WebMD! And I am not nuts! Well, still a little, but, then, all the best people are.

It's all kind of silly, actually.

Sometimes I wonder- is this all there is? Is this enough? Can it be that there could be something more? After all, how silly is it to spend one's days scraping chalk on paper, doing pictures of such prosaic subjects: flowers, birds, apples, lemons, pears, tomatoes. Nothing mysterious or very important about this endeavor. And yet, my soul is so soothed every time I pick up a pastel stick or pencil or nupastel, or brush, for that matter. Not intimidated by the blank page any more, not like writing, which seems so much more labor intensive. There is a solace in the physical motions, too. And yesterday, when I was more pissed off than I had been in many a moon, I just carved this painting out of my angst, left it all smeary and messy. It is more real and more ME than any I have done so far, because it is not at all fussy, no patient pushing the pigment into the margins and smoothing it all out. That is where it gets interesting, in the intersection of things. Well, that is where it gets interesting everywhere, right? If I never intersected with anyone, how peaceful life would be. And how dull. Nothing dull about this piece. It is screaming with me-ness. Today, another image. Can barely wait to see it happen.

Aha moments in the weeds...

Once upon a time, when I was newly sober and grieving horribly, I spent many hours out in the yard of my little townhouse tearing at the weeds. There was something really cathartic about this endeavor. It seemed to go on forever, and I just kept my head down and kept yanking. I burned up two teapots in one day, I was so intent. Of course, I was 21 years younger then. Today's efforts need to be punctuated with frequent moments of stretching my back, and even the occasional break. But I find this to be the ideal thing to do when I am pissed off, as I have been lately. Taking it out on the weeds is ever so much better than yelling at Pickle, who keeps barking and rolling in the loose stuff and traipsing into the house, dripping little pieces of yard in her wake. I have stopped for a while this time to put Bandaids on war wounds on both my hands, one from the rake, one from the trimmers I am using to ferret out the low-lying weeds the weed-whacker missed. I now realize I should have been more specific with the guy I hired to do this job. Expensive lesson. On my frequent sojourns into the house, I also peck away at the latest bird pic. Funnily enough, I think I am done. Pissed off also means less pickiness, because I am now tired of these particular birds and want to get on with the next ones. There will undoubtedly be a time when I will visit these little guys again. Just not today.

What can be the use of it, anyway?

Sometimes it seems like there is nothing to get out of bed for. Today, even the dogs looked like nothing. Lower than I have been in a month of Sundays, and struggling, which is exactly what I am not supposed to do. Program teaches me that we don't struggle. So I know I am in trouble here. Did the things that are guaranteed to not harm anyone, like rake up into piles all the weeds that got whacked yesterday in the backyard, and stuffed most of them into garbage bags, then filled the yard waste can to brimming and (TA-DAA!) put it at the curb to be emptied in the AM so I can fill it up again tomorrow. Went to my sweet little AA meeting, where I ran into two sponsees, one who is visiting from the coast and will be taking my to lunch later in the week. Then on to Trader Joe's, as I was out of crispy almond cookies, as well as eggs and yogurt. Home to heat up an Indian entree, one of my favorites, now bringing up burps of pleasure. Then I made the mess you see here, just not worried about anything here, slap, slap, scrape, scrape. Have peeled some of my pastels so I can use the side of the stick. That lays pigment down ever so much more quickly, and HP knows, cowwoman likes things done INSTANTLY. While working away, I saw how pissed off I am at the moment. Nothing really new, just another round with the core wounds, and this is progress, usually I am a soggy heap of woe around this stuff. Pissed off, well, that's ever so much more righteous. Eckhart would say I am becoming my pain body again. Whatever, Big Guy. Just don't mess with me here.

It's a rude, rude, rude, rude world...

First, ITunes kept burping and refused to play my favorite classical stream, RMF Classic from Krakow, Poland. Okay, I found another station that was similar, from France, I think. But the music was not as bouncy. That is, I think, because Polish people like to jump around much more than the French, who just glide about in that oh-so-elegante, snooty way. Their station played all this flowy, airy stuff. Then my daughter sent me an email saying my Facebook account got broken into and sent out a lot of stuff that was, well, rude. Now casting about to find out how to change my password, though I think this happened because I left the page open when I went out today, bad idea, I guess. Hey, I'm already feeling crumby here, Universe! Let's get it together for a better tomorrow. Thanks.

My amygdala made me do it!

On my channel surfing safari the other night, I came upon a program about the brain. I learned all this stuff in Psych 1A, most of which is now in the personal trash basket somewhere in the nether regions of my being, but I did remember feeling particularly sympatico with the amygdala. It is part of the reptile brain, the one underneath all that superb frontal and prefrontal cortex that is our species organ. In it live the emotions. Yes, I love my amygdala, because it lets me feel so magnificently. Why, only yesterday, I was in tears over Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano Concerto, a piece of music I first heard over 50 years ago. Yet I can still be moved. Of course, my amygdala has also gotten me into lots of trouble over the years, especially when the higher functions of my brain are restrained by a whole big bunch of booze. And wouldn't you know it, it was that stinking amygdala I was trying to shut down! Whatever is going on in there today, I am pretty sure the amygdala is no longer in charge of my actions. Unless I am working at my art. It may be a poor little weinie talent, but it lives at the core of my emotions. When I am there, higher functions do not serve me. In fact, they make things too neat, so that I cannot love them. My heart loves a big colorful mess of a painting, with just enough explaining to make sense of what I want to portray. Perhaps the day will come when higher functions will not even need that. Ah, I think I am on to something here. Meanwhile, the bird opus continues. I am aiming for a dozen bird paintings, and will probably need to do twenty to get the twelve I will like. This is number seven, still in the works. New paper, more tooth, interesting effects. Lots of fun. Have learned that I need to unwrap and break up my sticks of pastel so I can scrape the color on with the side. They are not precious objects, my pastel sticks. They are tools.

Snap out of it!

While it is not a happy thing, it is a good thing to be aware of one's limitations. And I reached the end of my proverbial rope yesterday and toddled off to see my Dr. about this crappy mood I have been in all year so far. Well, not every moment, but it falls on me like a pall and there I am, swimming in the murk. I know there are worse things happening in other folks' lives, but hell, this is my life, the only one HP gave me, and I want it to be a whole bunch more happy than it has been lately. A wise woman once counseled me to always look at the physical first, because it is the easiest to deal with, much clearer than the emotional, and many ailments cause emotional difficulties. So, this morning, I got up, brushed, flushed and headed out to the lab without even a sip of coffee to start my engine. I have to admit, the little gal who drew my blood really knew her stuff, not the slightest sensation when she inserted the needle. And I apologized for the lazy way my fluids filled the vials, so she explained it was a small needle and everyone's blood, even those much younger than I, took its time. Gee, that made me feel a lot better. Because I was such a good girl, and because a friend made a payment on her painting she is purchasing from me, I took myself out to breakfast at IHOP, where I had French toast with sausage, the senior plate, just enough and I ate the WHOLE thing. Lots of coffee later, I feel much better, though still lower than low. So I will be putting two or three more layers on this painting I started yesterday. It has passed the what-was-I-thinking stage, and feels like it will become something I am not ashamed to show. Well, obviously, because here it is! There were some prints of amazing landscapes at Quest Laboratories this morning that gave me an urge to lay a palette of oils, something I have not done so far this year. Hmmm.

Civically responsible me...

The cowwoman is home from the Superior Court Dept. 3, and happy to be back on her own turf. Honestly, I was happy to do my duty as a citizen of this county, but I really thought those attorney-types thought we were all numbskulls. First, they herded us around like, well, cattle. This morning, we lounged around the lobby for nearly an hour and a half while they did their secret things inside, then in we went, only to deplane not 10 minutes later for yet another secret confab. The jury was sworn in just before noon, and I thought, whee, now we get to go home! No such luck. I plodded back through the security (left my watch at home because it set off alarms, then found that my bra underwires did that too, and not leaving THAT at home), and sat for another hour and a half while they selected three alternates. Never got to go answer their questions, many of which I thought were imbecilic. Like the defense attorney asking what my impression was of his client, before and after hearing the charges against him (attempted murder, assault with a deadly weapon, and unlawful detainment, of his MOTHER). Like that's important. Look, I wanted to tell him, it's like sirens. You know that something not good is happening. Ditto this situation. Only thing I need to know for sure is that the DA thinks your client did something bad. Not my place to judge him as a person, only to review the evidence to see if it proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the DA is right. Lots of questions about why do we think a victim would not testify, gee, maybe because he is her SON? And were we going to be prejudiced if the defendant did not testify? Gee, I know that all he could tell us would be his sanitized version of the facts, and I would not be inclined to be very invested in the truth of it. If my decision came down to what I ASSUMED or THOUGHT, I would surely acquit, because there was not enough compelling evidence. I noticed that the DA challenged mostly young people, and since the defendant was a really young, seriously cleaned-up guy, would perhaps commiserate. And the defense attorney tended to challenge older, more highly educated (read SMART) folks, because he was depending on the pity factor to cut in, for sure. Would love to be a fly on the wall, and will check in about 7 or 8 days from now, because they said it would only take 4 or 5. The wheels of justice grind slooooooowwwwly. Tiny bit of aftershock to burn off before I am back to normal. It was all exhausting. And boring. And educational, in a sad kind of way.

Edgy and disaffected me...

It's Sunday, again. Least favorite day of the week. At least I got to sleep in late. Got up really early Friday for a happy day swimming in a jury pool at Superior Court Section 3. Lots of other really unhappy people there. Honestly, the defendant seemed happier to be there than any of us. District Attorney was a Michael J. Fox clone, just stretched out a bit. I will probably not get empaneled, but have to be back at 9:30 AM tomorrow to find that out. So I guess I just got all flummoxed and did this somewhat stylized little bird picture. Honestly, these guys wouldn't look real if they were sitting on my porch railing. And I guess they are, because there they were in my big bird book. I took several photos of this one before conceding it just stank. Then I went back in with lots of dark pigments, and it felt a little better. Now, it is at its best yet, but probably not done. Whatever, it is going into the pile for a bit before I look at it again. Me, I'm off to Barnes and Noble for a look-see, then to my 2 PM meeting, civilized hour, that.

Fragile, handle with care.

I was already fragile when I became an artist. I went around seeking validation from the world at large, like, am I okay here? Please tell me I am okay. Dressing right for the occasion was paramount to my comfort level. A pimple could send me into paroxsyms of fear and dread. I still cannot look at myself in the mirror with my glasses on before leaving the house, or I may never leave it, what with the network of wrinkles all over my face. Okay, it's not THAT bad. And I do check my eye makeup, otherwise I tend to have this raccoon thing going on. When it comes to the art, I always start out just wondering if I can capture my subject. Funny, because I have never really failed at that, not with a modicum of persistence and a whole big bunch of stubborness. And then, well, gee, now what? I notice the Artist of the Day all have gimics, do I need one, too? Is my art too traditional? God forbid, could it be ORDINARY? That is my greatest fear. Well, I like the hawk now, and I didn't for a long time. And it may change a bit more, too. Complimentary colors, that's the ticket. He got all fierce, too. A couple of lines did that. Values are good. And then there is that iridescent blue that I picked up at Dick Blick. Tricky, it's all very tricky. I am sure I will get braver as I go along. With this medium, I can always go back to what it was. Layer by layer.

The whatever factor...

It is what it is. Here's the deal. Once upon a time, at the house on the edge of the world, we had the summer of no summer. Gray and foggy 24/7. Not unusual. It is usually foggy at the coast in the summer. That's why the whole population of California would wind up in our tiny town during those irritating (and fortunately, infrequent) inland heatwaves. But here, in the valley, with a whole range of hills between us and the ocean, we are having the spring of no spring. Oh, we have an occasional day of 70+ temps, and everyone sighs. At last! Then, back to 61 degrees with a chance of rain. I drove to Berkeley yesterday, and from the Richmond/San Rafael Bridge, San Francisco was a smeary gray blur. That was on the way over. Coming back, it was shrouded in its own cloud cover. At 1:30 PM. Today it is even cooler, and my 4 day forecast says rain by Saturday. Oh, well. I just keep diddling away at the pastels, now that Dick Blick has provided me with several new pigments, some new pads of paper, and another can of fixative. The trick to these works is just keep layering, just keep layering. More and more is revealed, and suddenly, they pop. Here is an homage to Mother's Day. I think that's what I will call it.

The other side of the paper...

Not impressed with this so far. Something is off, and I have changed a lot of things, but have not hit on it, yet. Just not very excited, though he is a handsome beast. Probably just needs to pop out more. More layers! Lots of pigment! Bah. I think I will put him aside, and have some Haagen Dazs. Meanwhile, major barking day for the poopies. Must be a school holiday, because the young'uns have been running up and down the driveway by the side of the house all day, whooping and screaming. Boo and Pickle are hysterical most of the time, anyway, but add a whole big bunch of excitement, and we will need Valium by bedtime, for sure. Or maybe I am the one who needs Valium? Don't do that any more, actually. Maybe a soothing bath, and a cup of vanilla chai.

Oh, ho hum to you, too.

Tired of messing around with the roses. Can't make them be anything but what they are, anyway. I added the little bird, and it gave me some ideas about future paintings, of doing a big one of all those little glass birds that live in the glass case in the back living room, the ones that I never pay any attention to. They are actually rather precious, as all are gifts, most from my adorable son, who gave me another one for Mother's Day. And, on that note, let me say what wonderful people my children have become. They both felt exactly as I did about the demise of Osama, sad and appalled at the revelry. Never a moment to cheer the death of another human being, even one as misguided as this one. I am so pleased that they, too, feel the rip in the fabric of our existence here, that we are all connected in a great cosmic web and need to honor that so we don't become what this man did. Okay, way off subject of kind of ordinary little work here, but, gee, this is my blog and my opinions, so everyone should get over it.

A Sunday soliliquy...

I believe that everyone has objects in their lives that defy the laws of physics and just evaporate of their own volition. One half a pair of socks leaps to mind. In my tiny life, the objects most likely to leave the earthly plane are scissors, umbrellas, and dog leashes. Notice that these are things that, when required, are required with some urgency, like when wrapping a Mother's Day present five minutes before I am due to arrive at said mother's door, a fifteen minute drive away. Well, strange things are happening in the little yellow house. After so diligently removing these objects, the universe has started to give them back! I found a perfectly strange pair of scissors laying beneath my camelia bush in the front yard. When I put them in my desk caddy, I realized there was another strange pair already there. Oh, wait, I think those were in a box of oddities I had accumulated and spread among my other thingies a year or so ago. Okay. But, all of a sudden, there were two pairs on my sewing table, where I was sure there was only one yesterday. And, lo and behold, I found yet another pair in one of my junk drawers while searching for viable batteries. Ah, the Universe is feeling generous. Okay. Send money.

Enjoy it, it won't last much longer...

Caught up in this fury of activity, just don't want to stop coloring paper. It makes me feel about five years old, messing with crayons, diligently staying inside the lines. I have always thought of myself as a good girl, even when I'm not. It's always a momentary aberration whenever I step outside the lines. Maybe I need to be there more often. Oh, this one is barely begun, and will change bunches before I pronounce it finito, but it just came up so majestically from the paper, rising almost of its own volition. That is magical when it happens, and precious. I cut these roses from a bush in the backyard jungle. Wow, they are really RED! Feeling the presence of the divine today. Savoring that, as it will shift soon. Shift happens, you know.

It's one of those days here in the little yellow house.

Just finished sweeping, brushing up, and generally trying to rid the house of dog hair. Like that will ever happen. I forgot that once it gets warm, and I leave the front door open a lot, barking season begins. I can judge my spiritual fitness by how many times I yell at the dogs to shut up. It helps to get all engrossed in an artwork. I am thinking of calling this one You Don't Say. Hard to believe these birds are taller than I. Not exactly magnificent beasts, but truly fun to work up. Learned a lot, too, like much easier to work light over dark than vice versa. Many, many coats of fixative needed to get the slimness of those mighty necks. And never quite got away from the comic book look, but then, these are not beautiful animals and have their own wondrous comedy about them. My, God was having an interesting day when She made ostriches.

It begins again...

My dear friend rescued this ancient bird book from the scrapheap recently, can you tell? Great big mess on my kitchen counter, again. This one is coming up just fine. A few more layers, that's the ticket. Fun in the afternoon.

The learning curve, cowwoman style...

It has always been my MO to study others around me before acting. You see, I have always been DIFFERENT, taller, more clumsy, either incredibly shy or incredibly visible, never anything in-between. Others have taught me what to wear and how to behave. Not by what they TOLD me, never could tell me what to do, but by how they demonstrated and by how successful that was for them. Now, as an artist, I still look at what others are doing. And what others are doing is ANYTHING THEY WANT. Looking back, that is always what great artists did. They learned the craft of art academically all right, then bent it to their particular angle. I think I am still finding mine. But here's the delightful thing that seems to be happening at this time - if I am patient and observant, I can almost always get what I want onto the canvas or paper. Here is that little messy thing that I was despairing over recently. With just a couple dozen more layers, it has popped right off the page. Birds are so full of grace, you know, just little blips of color that inspire joy. We don't have this particular species in our part of the world, but they can live on the wall of my house quite happily now. Not at all unhappy this time. My quest for COLOR has been full realized in this piece.

Bless this mess...

Sometimes I think I am ALWAYS just starting over, again and again. I got my fluffy butt to the gym today. It felt ever so good. And so far, since I have been home, not much is happening. I did stand at the kitchen counter and dab away at this painting. It is going to take a lot longer than I thought, because these are persnickety little birds, and they will require attention to give them each their own personality. Perhaps this is just a little too detailed for pastels? Nah. It will all be just fine. Or not. Paper, fortunately, has two sides, and no effort in this regard is ever wasted. Every stroke of pigment teaches me something as I putt-putt along.