July 30th
Pickleball. It's a new thing with the retiree set of New Jersey and Florida. So new, in fact, that my typed word on the screen has an angry red line underneath. Wikipedia does recognize the term, though; I guess it must be a thing.
I played pickleball yesterday with Norman, Donna, and Josh. I am not good at pickleball. I got my skinny body moving around the court... not to hit the ball exactly, but to run after a ball I didn't hit. We drove all the way to Red Bank to a transformed hockey rink to play the game. Following the rules of where to stand on the court was just as crazy as the number system Donna was using for scoring. I woke up feeling sick today. I moved my body in new ways yesterday and I am now paying for the results. It did feel good to get moving while I was moving.
I tried to be friendly yesterday. I made a relaxed brunch for Donna and Josh on the deck. They brought bagels, I provided the scrambled eggs, fruit and coffee, and I did not go crazy cleaning my house. We took a long drive to Red Bank, played pickleball, took a walk around town with Teddy and Andrea, and then all met up again at night for dinner at the cheap Chinese place in Matawan.
I really did try to be friendly yesterday, so why were my feelings crushed at the end of the day? I even played pickleball. I thought perhaps I was coming out of my introverted self by swinging a racquet. No, the wooden racquet did not meet the plastic ball as often as it should have, but it did swing around at the end of my arm. Didn't that show everyone a new side to me? I even joked that I was actually playing vagina ball, not pickleball since I more often caught the ball between my legs instead of against the racquet. I must have a sense of humor. Had to laugh at myself. God. But then, after dinner, Andrea and Donna made plans to get together, totally leaving me out of their conversation even as I was standing next to them. What, the vagina ball champ is not good enough to go to lunch with, shop with, or tan with on the beach? True I don't eat out well, I don't shop well, and I don't tan when I hide under an umbrella, but still, a girl likes to be included.
Well, neither of my friends paint or write and I don't ask them for help with those activities. Andrea considered buying a bracelet at the street sale in Red Bank yesterday while I splurged on an art projector for myself on the computer earlier in the day. So I am different. So what? I wonder if I will be purchasing a pickleball racquet next.
Saturday, August 4, 2018
Taking advice (45)
July 29th
My head is spinning with the advice of my peers. Take notice world, I am calling them my peers, these famous bloggers who make money doing their creative thing on the internet. Yesterday, I downloaded another ebook, this time a free one, thank goodness, from Bjork of "Food Blogger Pro" fame. He makes quite an impressive income out of blogging and teaching others how to blog. His free ebook is a list of blogging mistakes and how to fix them. And just like "While She Naps" Abby, Bjork offers general advice that makes good sense and should not come as a surprise to anyone who ever considered blogging. (BTW, just a few years ago, the word, blog, and certainly the term, blogging, would have had an angry red line underneath the typed word on the screen. Now Penzu, Google and Word all recognize the term as accepted verbiage. That is very cool. I am trendy.) So in Abby's book, one that I did pay for, I read enough to skim through and not quite finish because I already knew many of her tips. Abby does make a point that blogging continues to be the center of her profitable home-based business and that blogging is therefore not dead. Bjork, the online rich blogging guru who everyone looks up to, recommends wordpress.org and not wordpress.com, and to include personal thoughts in every post. People want to get to know you, the writer. "Useletter" Amy, also making her way at home on her computer in her pajamas, is full of similar ideas and great links to get me excited. Okay, so the advice is there. I take notice.
I have advice coming in from all sorts of directions these days and since I don’t know what to do with myself, I try to take it all in. Barbara advises me to tutor for lots of money, friends and neighbors say I should tutor not just kids but adults too, a tennis friend of Norman wants me to paint cat portraits, dog loving friends of Pat wants dog portraits, my online internet peers encourage me to write a blog, and applause from FB buddies gets my desire going to be a writer. My head is spinning from it all. I keep coming back to my blog. It is the one thing I love to spend hours designing, composing and reading back what I wrote. I used to follow the Food Blogger podcast in the car for many months. Bjork has the loveliest radio voice. He found his calling as a host for sure and he could convince the timidest of them all (such as me) to make a living out of a blog. He makes it seem like a doable thing to monetize your posts, but still, I hesitate. Any time I visit someone's site and the annoying ads pop up, I give up the idea and very likely close the person's site out of impatience. It is just as annoying as those phone calls selling me stuff on my landline. I simply don't answer my phone anymore. Gotta be a better way to do this, Bjork.
Meanwhile, I do have a blog. It is not a wordpress.org and it does not make me money, but I like it. Murray the portrait sits on my easel and I am waiting for paying commissions, so this week I might also focus on Me Being Creative. It is a blog. I have content. I have a dream. (Take notice, world, it is a day for advice, not a day for the number 45.)
My head is spinning with the advice of my peers. Take notice world, I am calling them my peers, these famous bloggers who make money doing their creative thing on the internet. Yesterday, I downloaded another ebook, this time a free one, thank goodness, from Bjork of "Food Blogger Pro" fame. He makes quite an impressive income out of blogging and teaching others how to blog. His free ebook is a list of blogging mistakes and how to fix them. And just like "While She Naps" Abby, Bjork offers general advice that makes good sense and should not come as a surprise to anyone who ever considered blogging. (BTW, just a few years ago, the word, blog, and certainly the term, blogging, would have had an angry red line underneath the typed word on the screen. Now Penzu, Google and Word all recognize the term as accepted verbiage. That is very cool. I am trendy.) So in Abby's book, one that I did pay for, I read enough to skim through and not quite finish because I already knew many of her tips. Abby does make a point that blogging continues to be the center of her profitable home-based business and that blogging is therefore not dead. Bjork, the online rich blogging guru who everyone looks up to, recommends wordpress.org and not wordpress.com, and to include personal thoughts in every post. People want to get to know you, the writer. "Useletter" Amy, also making her way at home on her computer in her pajamas, is full of similar ideas and great links to get me excited. Okay, so the advice is there. I take notice.
I have advice coming in from all sorts of directions these days and since I don’t know what to do with myself, I try to take it all in. Barbara advises me to tutor for lots of money, friends and neighbors say I should tutor not just kids but adults too, a tennis friend of Norman wants me to paint cat portraits, dog loving friends of Pat wants dog portraits, my online internet peers encourage me to write a blog, and applause from FB buddies gets my desire going to be a writer. My head is spinning from it all. I keep coming back to my blog. It is the one thing I love to spend hours designing, composing and reading back what I wrote. I used to follow the Food Blogger podcast in the car for many months. Bjork has the loveliest radio voice. He found his calling as a host for sure and he could convince the timidest of them all (such as me) to make a living out of a blog. He makes it seem like a doable thing to monetize your posts, but still, I hesitate. Any time I visit someone's site and the annoying ads pop up, I give up the idea and very likely close the person's site out of impatience. It is just as annoying as those phone calls selling me stuff on my landline. I simply don't answer my phone anymore. Gotta be a better way to do this, Bjork.
Meanwhile, I do have a blog. It is not a wordpress.org and it does not make me money, but I like it. Murray the portrait sits on my easel and I am waiting for paying commissions, so this week I might also focus on Me Being Creative. It is a blog. I have content. I have a dream. (Take notice, world, it is a day for advice, not a day for the number 45.)
The Art of the Title (44)
July 28th
As of yesterday, I was calling my entries by the number of days I am retired. That is just weird. When I had 43 days of school left, I was keeping a calendar on my desk (a pretty one given to me by my friend Ave) and crossing off the days. 43 days meant I still had an impossibly long list of things to accomplish. There was the scenery for the Lower School musical, an art show to curate and hang, 260 report cards to write, and classes on my schedule filled with impatient kids already thinking the school year was over. I still had to pack up an art room filled with too many supplies for a move to a new space. 43 days felt like a lifetime. 43 days felt like I was in the throes of a hectic and stressful school year, and I imagined that Day 1...the final and glorious half day of school...would never come.
As of yesterday, I reached Day 43 of my retired life. My 43 retired days squeezed in very similar activities, such as painting, tutoring, organizing supplies and moving stuff, writing as I did with my report cards, and counting the days just like I did at school. But, my 43 retired days happily flew by without having to cross off a box on a calendar with a pretty pink Sharpie. I was shocked to see the number 43 at the top of my entry yesterday. What exactly am I counting? How many days I do nothing? How many days I cook or eat out? How many days I clean the house? How many days I paint, write, or plan for my future? None of that requires a timetable. That is just called life. The only day that concerns me now is September 1. If I don't have some kind of system in place for being productive in the next month, I will anguish over the guilt. Getting there is a journey I am living. Good or bad, the journey should not be a counted on my fingers or toes.
If I were to give a title to my Penzu journal, I would call my book "How Not to Retire" with a subtitle of "No Need to Count the Days." A fun or perhaps better thought is whether I should I go back and rename every entry. The number system is not at all helpful if I go back in time to search out an essay. I need a table of contents, just as Penzu offers on the left of my computer screen, but not with numbers. You just don't talk in numbers. That is silly.
Yesterday, for example, was Day 43, a beach day. I got to cool off in the breeze, relaxing and kibbitzing with Norman and Andrea on the shores of Ocean Grove. It was a lovely way to spend a hot summer day, and not just because it was Day 43. My 43rd also brought me a much-appreciated compliment from Barbara over my blog and how that should be the vehicle to advertise my work. Thank you, big sister. And my 43rd also brought me a compliment from Daddy on my writing. He does not mince words and tells me straight out when he is not impressed. This time he was impressed. So Day 43 was a really great day in my estimation, and as a title to an essay, it does not do it justice. Now this day, my 44th, will bring Zach and Michele over for brunch, a possible conversation about wedding plans, and hopefully some creative time in my studio with Murray the portrait. My 44th sounds like a lovely Saturday. My 44th does not have to be called anything but Saturday, a glorious and exceptional weekend day in my retired life.
Tomorrow is Sunday and I hope it will also be a nice day. It doesn’t have to be remembered as the 45th day of my retirement, the 29th Sunday of the year or even the 5th Sunday of July. Let’s just hope I can just remember what day of the week it is.
As of yesterday, I was calling my entries by the number of days I am retired. That is just weird. When I had 43 days of school left, I was keeping a calendar on my desk (a pretty one given to me by my friend Ave) and crossing off the days. 43 days meant I still had an impossibly long list of things to accomplish. There was the scenery for the Lower School musical, an art show to curate and hang, 260 report cards to write, and classes on my schedule filled with impatient kids already thinking the school year was over. I still had to pack up an art room filled with too many supplies for a move to a new space. 43 days felt like a lifetime. 43 days felt like I was in the throes of a hectic and stressful school year, and I imagined that Day 1...the final and glorious half day of school...would never come.
As of yesterday, I reached Day 43 of my retired life. My 43 retired days squeezed in very similar activities, such as painting, tutoring, organizing supplies and moving stuff, writing as I did with my report cards, and counting the days just like I did at school. But, my 43 retired days happily flew by without having to cross off a box on a calendar with a pretty pink Sharpie. I was shocked to see the number 43 at the top of my entry yesterday. What exactly am I counting? How many days I do nothing? How many days I cook or eat out? How many days I clean the house? How many days I paint, write, or plan for my future? None of that requires a timetable. That is just called life. The only day that concerns me now is September 1. If I don't have some kind of system in place for being productive in the next month, I will anguish over the guilt. Getting there is a journey I am living. Good or bad, the journey should not be a counted on my fingers or toes.
If I were to give a title to my Penzu journal, I would call my book "How Not to Retire" with a subtitle of "No Need to Count the Days." A fun or perhaps better thought is whether I should I go back and rename every entry. The number system is not at all helpful if I go back in time to search out an essay. I need a table of contents, just as Penzu offers on the left of my computer screen, but not with numbers. You just don't talk in numbers. That is silly.
Yesterday, for example, was Day 43, a beach day. I got to cool off in the breeze, relaxing and kibbitzing with Norman and Andrea on the shores of Ocean Grove. It was a lovely way to spend a hot summer day, and not just because it was Day 43. My 43rd also brought me a much-appreciated compliment from Barbara over my blog and how that should be the vehicle to advertise my work. Thank you, big sister. And my 43rd also brought me a compliment from Daddy on my writing. He does not mince words and tells me straight out when he is not impressed. This time he was impressed. So Day 43 was a really great day in my estimation, and as a title to an essay, it does not do it justice. Now this day, my 44th, will bring Zach and Michele over for brunch, a possible conversation about wedding plans, and hopefully some creative time in my studio with Murray the portrait. My 44th sounds like a lovely Saturday. My 44th does not have to be called anything but Saturday, a glorious and exceptional weekend day in my retired life.
Tomorrow is Sunday and I hope it will also be a nice day. It doesn’t have to be remembered as the 45th day of my retirement, the 29th Sunday of the year or even the 5th Sunday of July. Let’s just hope I can just remember what day of the week it is.
Day 43
July 23rd
Anger fills my body and impatience fills my soul. I woke up angry. Not a good sign for today. Yesterday I woke up calm and content to embark on a free day with my choice on how to spend my hours. Today, I feel the impatience of one needing a change on an interventional level. I've got the whole world at my artist's fingertips and I should be excited and joyful at all sorts of prospects. What I need instead, is a wall to punch. That is not like me at all. Since when do I want to take up boxing?
Norman asked me what my project was going to be yesterday morning. I think that is what started the angry snowball of events. He asked in a perfectly congenial way, but I immediately felt guilty for not having a ready answer, such as I have students coming for art lessons, I have a canvas started, I have important, money making things to do. Nothing came to mind and I felt guilty for taking up space in the house. Ugh. How quickly I downplayed the worth of my existence. He ended his day getting into a war with Yev, his arrogant boss, and that replay of events from work last night filled our morning conversation with even more arrogant words and a level of anger from his tone that bubbled over into my body.
I spent a good hour on the phone with Barbara yesterday, talking about making a business plan to tutor art lessons. She wants me to charge $100 or more an hour. I suppose with Ranney families, that would be possible. I don't know. $100 sounds like an aggressive thing to ask and I don't do aggression well. I hope that doesn't stop me from pursuing the dream of making money as a retiree before I even start. September is almost here. Scary shit. I do favors for people without a question of payment and step into someone else's uncertain shoes and happily help them problem solve with no question of payment. I will lend a hand without ever having someone twist my arm. I should be a way wealthier individual but I feel richer than Trump after feeling like a valued friend. This morning, Ranney put an extra $1500 in my checking account as my 15-year bonus. So, ironically, I did get paid for something this morning after all. The money will help pay the bill for Norman's new teeth and maybe help keep the guilty feelings at bay, but it does nothing to raise my confidence as a person worthy of taking up space in her own home.
Moving forward, more out of guilt and fear than out of a happy adrenaline boost, I knocked on the neighbor's door last night to ask if Evan would like art lessons. We had a lovely conversation. My neighbors are lovely people and we do not know them well. I hope Evan will come to try an art lesson with me. Then I set up the projector (which I still do not like. I might use some of my bonus money to buy something for me... a better projector) and figured out a painting for Murray. That was successful as a step in the right direction. Now, I have a canvas ready to paint in my studio while I wait for a commission to come in. And finally, last night, I raced through my house and cleaned. Without a well defined week with cleaning left to do on the weekend, I don't have a cleaning schedule anymore. I eventually clean when things get grungy around here, like the toilets. A clean house makes me feel in control and keeps me calm. I love a clean house. I should do it regularly, just for my sanity. My clean house, my talk with the neighbors and even my canvas for Murray did not help me wake feeling calm. I need a wall to punch. What is that about? Can't blame it on PMS. That stopped years ago. Thank goodness.
Anger fills my body and impatience fills my soul. I woke up angry. Not a good sign for today. Yesterday I woke up calm and content to embark on a free day with my choice on how to spend my hours. Today, I feel the impatience of one needing a change on an interventional level. I've got the whole world at my artist's fingertips and I should be excited and joyful at all sorts of prospects. What I need instead, is a wall to punch. That is not like me at all. Since when do I want to take up boxing?
Norman asked me what my project was going to be yesterday morning. I think that is what started the angry snowball of events. He asked in a perfectly congenial way, but I immediately felt guilty for not having a ready answer, such as I have students coming for art lessons, I have a canvas started, I have important, money making things to do. Nothing came to mind and I felt guilty for taking up space in the house. Ugh. How quickly I downplayed the worth of my existence. He ended his day getting into a war with Yev, his arrogant boss, and that replay of events from work last night filled our morning conversation with even more arrogant words and a level of anger from his tone that bubbled over into my body.
I spent a good hour on the phone with Barbara yesterday, talking about making a business plan to tutor art lessons. She wants me to charge $100 or more an hour. I suppose with Ranney families, that would be possible. I don't know. $100 sounds like an aggressive thing to ask and I don't do aggression well. I hope that doesn't stop me from pursuing the dream of making money as a retiree before I even start. September is almost here. Scary shit. I do favors for people without a question of payment and step into someone else's uncertain shoes and happily help them problem solve with no question of payment. I will lend a hand without ever having someone twist my arm. I should be a way wealthier individual but I feel richer than Trump after feeling like a valued friend. This morning, Ranney put an extra $1500 in my checking account as my 15-year bonus. So, ironically, I did get paid for something this morning after all. The money will help pay the bill for Norman's new teeth and maybe help keep the guilty feelings at bay, but it does nothing to raise my confidence as a person worthy of taking up space in her own home.
Moving forward, more out of guilt and fear than out of a happy adrenaline boost, I knocked on the neighbor's door last night to ask if Evan would like art lessons. We had a lovely conversation. My neighbors are lovely people and we do not know them well. I hope Evan will come to try an art lesson with me. Then I set up the projector (which I still do not like. I might use some of my bonus money to buy something for me... a better projector) and figured out a painting for Murray. That was successful as a step in the right direction. Now, I have a canvas ready to paint in my studio while I wait for a commission to come in. And finally, last night, I raced through my house and cleaned. Without a well defined week with cleaning left to do on the weekend, I don't have a cleaning schedule anymore. I eventually clean when things get grungy around here, like the toilets. A clean house makes me feel in control and keeps me calm. I love a clean house. I should do it regularly, just for my sanity. My clean house, my talk with the neighbors and even my canvas for Murray did not help me wake feeling calm. I need a wall to punch. What is that about? Can't blame it on PMS. That stopped years ago. Thank goodness.
The Art of the Number (42)
July 26th
42 days.
42 days of trying to figure things out.
42 days of considering a future as an artist. Only 10 of those 42 days actually painting in my studio, but 42 of those days were spent considering how to turn my art into a business.
2 hours of teaching art and a maybe a day's worth of hours spent considering how to turn that into a business. Teaching is definitely the easiest bunny to follow as I understand how that could bring in money and I am obviously not obsessed with the idea.
42 days of writing.
A full 42 days of writing.
42 days of pure joy in the morning. 6 blog posts inspired by my Penzu rants, 4 Facebook posts linked to blog posts, and way more than 42 likes, loves and comments on my writing. I think I see a trend here. This is an eager and contented bunny.
Today I woke not know what I am going to do. I am waiting for a few commissions to come through with my paint portraits. Daisy's lesson this week was successful and she left a happy and confident art student. Murray the portrait, already imagined in a frame on the wall, is waiting to begin. The living room is complete and looks lovely. My Penzu entry for Day 41 was a heart wrenching and soul searching therapy session that helped me come to terms with how I have been feeling. I shared it with Katie and I want to share my self-discovery with the world. Not sure who else cares that much about me, but as an artist, I want approval. Approval for my writing more than the content. The line I wrote about Hannah, for example, I thought was pure genius. I want more acclaim for that creative line of prose than for any portrait I painted.
Norman asked me what my project is for today. I don't have one. That feels nice inside, but embarrassing to admit. I do have a possible plan for dinner in Westfield with Sam and maybe I can invite Joyce or Lisa to come too. I do want to start a painting. I have computer related things to do. I could take a walk or clean up my closet. None of this, though, is showing him that I will bring in money comes September. That brings on the guilt again. How do I get over that?
What is my project for today? I want to focus on me. I think plowing through my closet and ditching the clothes and bags I do not need or fit into will continue the summer cleaning theme of this week. Cleansing my home and my soul. Making room for something good to grow. I may not get to paint today or even promote a future business in art, but I did write on my 42nd day. Nonsense words, words nobody needs to read, but words to describe my feelings 42 days into retirement.
42 days.
42 days of trying to figure things out.
42 days of considering a future as an artist. Only 10 of those 42 days actually painting in my studio, but 42 of those days were spent considering how to turn my art into a business.
2 hours of teaching art and a maybe a day's worth of hours spent considering how to turn that into a business. Teaching is definitely the easiest bunny to follow as I understand how that could bring in money and I am obviously not obsessed with the idea.
42 days of writing.
A full 42 days of writing.
42 days of pure joy in the morning. 6 blog posts inspired by my Penzu rants, 4 Facebook posts linked to blog posts, and way more than 42 likes, loves and comments on my writing. I think I see a trend here. This is an eager and contented bunny.
Today I woke not know what I am going to do. I am waiting for a few commissions to come through with my paint portraits. Daisy's lesson this week was successful and she left a happy and confident art student. Murray the portrait, already imagined in a frame on the wall, is waiting to begin. The living room is complete and looks lovely. My Penzu entry for Day 41 was a heart wrenching and soul searching therapy session that helped me come to terms with how I have been feeling. I shared it with Katie and I want to share my self-discovery with the world. Not sure who else cares that much about me, but as an artist, I want approval. Approval for my writing more than the content. The line I wrote about Hannah, for example, I thought was pure genius. I want more acclaim for that creative line of prose than for any portrait I painted.
She was an old girl with almost 17 years of a joyous life. Translated into human years, she made it to 119. Who wants to live that long if you can't see much of anything, you have to take medications every day just to feel somewhat okay, and you are scared and shake all day long? We put Hannah down the day she had some kind of vertigo attack and we could not have her face yet another illness and a stay at a vet hospital. It was enough. We gave her almost 17 years of love and she gave us back 119 years of pure, unconditional love.
Norman asked me what my project is for today. I don't have one. That feels nice inside, but embarrassing to admit. I do have a possible plan for dinner in Westfield with Sam and maybe I can invite Joyce or Lisa to come too. I do want to start a painting. I have computer related things to do. I could take a walk or clean up my closet. None of this, though, is showing him that I will bring in money comes September. That brings on the guilt again. How do I get over that?
What is my project for today? I want to focus on me. I think plowing through my closet and ditching the clothes and bags I do not need or fit into will continue the summer cleaning theme of this week. Cleansing my home and my soul. Making room for something good to grow. I may not get to paint today or even promote a future business in art, but I did write on my 42nd day. Nonsense words, words nobody needs to read, but words to describe my feelings 42 days into retirement.
Am I a Bad Person (41)
July 25th
Feeling cleansed feels good, just like stepping out of a hot shower all shampooed and conditioned. The piano left yesterday and I cleaned the living room of piles of stuff. I rearranged the couch, the chair, the treasured old radios and Victrolas, and laid down a new rug. I feel like I have my living room back again. I like the antiques we collected over the years. Norman and I have a distinct home personality and we enjoy being surrounded by things of the past, the warmth of aged wood. Am I sad that we gave back the piano, even if it took up so much space and we were out of a living room for six years? Of course. My emotional turmoil over the loss of our Steinway and the feelings Sam was facing had me connected to FB like an addict yesterday, sharing my thoughts with the world and getting much anticipated support through comments, likes and loves. I just hope the post and its friendly support helped Sam get to a place of acceptance over the change.
It took the better part of the day to rearrange the living room and bring in Sam's many other pretty instruments as decor. All said and done, I sat on the couch in the evening, now placed in front of the windows and in full view of my paintings, and really enjoyed the feeling of being cleansed. We were blessed to own a beautiful, old Steinway and I was filled with emotions giving it back to Dot when Sam loved it so, but then again, I was pleased to have my living room back. Does that make me a bad person?
Sam's feelings went through me yesterday the same way I struggled with my feelings the day we put Hannah down. She was an old girl with almost 17 years of a joyous life. Translated into human years, she made it to 119. Who wants to live that long if you can't see much of anything, you have to take medications every day just to feel somewhat okay, and you are scared and shake all day long? We put Hannah down the day she had some kind of vertigo attack and we could not have her face yet another illness and a stay at a vet hospital. It was enough. We gave her almost 17 years of love and she gave us back 119 years of pure, unconditional love. Was I sad the day we gave Hannah to Dr. Farber to be put to sleep? Of course. She was my little girl. My pick of the litter. My soft body to cuddle with. But I also felt cleansed with her loss and that is a terrible admission to accept. Does that make me a bad person? She was not suffering anymore. Sam was not suffering anymore living in a home with an old dog with issues who needed so much extra care. My rugs were not peed on anymore. I have my painting of Hannah as my special connection to her and Murray is happy as a dog in shit to have us to himself. I choose to keep my memories of the good Hannah close to my heart and cleansed my mind of the sick and suffering Hannah. Am I a bad person?
Teaching at Ranney was a dream come true. My mom always said I should be a teacher, a goal she had even for herself but never achieved. I used to pray to the stars at night, to my mom, to guide me to make that dream come true. I was going to be a teacher, an art teacher. Ranney hired me mid-year when they were desperate to replace an art teacher who left them in the dust. I always said that if they had the time to do a real search, they would have chosen one with experience, a Master's degree, something more than me. But they were desperate and I was eager. So starting in February of 2003, I took on the role of Art Teacher at a ridiculously low salary. I was so happy to have that income and so proud of my new status. Putting in extra hours or computer related non-teaching responsibilities that came with the job was a pleasure to do. I felt this way for most of my 15 years and gave the school the best art teacher possible. The last few years became a stressful pull on my emotions. Still proud of my title, still excited by the work of my students, still happy to have the income that grew nicely over the years, I was also not feeling well physically or emotionally. A teacher in the upper school had a cancer fear and was taking off one year for treatment. I was (and this is the most awful admission ever) jealous. Not of cancer, God forbid, but that she had a reason to take time off from school. That same year, they honored me with a Cum Laude award. Didn't they see I did not deserve to be honored with thoughts like that? Slowly I was pulling away from my enthusiasm. I was still excited about projects and young artists. I was still growing my program every year. But the excitement was fading and stress took over. Norman and I need my salary. With Ranney, we were in a good place. We could pay the bills and put money away for savings. Once September comes, that stops. Am I a bad and inconsiderate member of my family? I finally admitted to the world this year that I need to stop teaching. The stress of the Ranney day and the Ranney commute was killing me. I was not the person I wanted to be for myself or for anyone else in my life.
With Hannah, I took a stand and made a decision to put her to sleep. With the piano, I took a stand and told Dot to go ahead and sell it if she no longer wanted to keep it. Perhaps she needed the money? It was her piano. With my career, it was time to change or I would no longer recognize me. I took a stand on many hard decisions this year. With each one, I ended up feeling cleansed, oddly relieved, and perhaps not so regretful in the end. Could I be a good person to so easily gloss over the feelings of my son, the kids at school, or the still beating heart of my Hannah? I'd like to not be a judge for once. What would my therapist daughter say?
Feeling cleansed feels good, just like stepping out of a hot shower all shampooed and conditioned. The piano left yesterday and I cleaned the living room of piles of stuff. I rearranged the couch, the chair, the treasured old radios and Victrolas, and laid down a new rug. I feel like I have my living room back again. I like the antiques we collected over the years. Norman and I have a distinct home personality and we enjoy being surrounded by things of the past, the warmth of aged wood. Am I sad that we gave back the piano, even if it took up so much space and we were out of a living room for six years? Of course. My emotional turmoil over the loss of our Steinway and the feelings Sam was facing had me connected to FB like an addict yesterday, sharing my thoughts with the world and getting much anticipated support through comments, likes and loves. I just hope the post and its friendly support helped Sam get to a place of acceptance over the change.
It took the better part of the day to rearrange the living room and bring in Sam's many other pretty instruments as decor. All said and done, I sat on the couch in the evening, now placed in front of the windows and in full view of my paintings, and really enjoyed the feeling of being cleansed. We were blessed to own a beautiful, old Steinway and I was filled with emotions giving it back to Dot when Sam loved it so, but then again, I was pleased to have my living room back. Does that make me a bad person?
Sam's feelings went through me yesterday the same way I struggled with my feelings the day we put Hannah down. She was an old girl with almost 17 years of a joyous life. Translated into human years, she made it to 119. Who wants to live that long if you can't see much of anything, you have to take medications every day just to feel somewhat okay, and you are scared and shake all day long? We put Hannah down the day she had some kind of vertigo attack and we could not have her face yet another illness and a stay at a vet hospital. It was enough. We gave her almost 17 years of love and she gave us back 119 years of pure, unconditional love. Was I sad the day we gave Hannah to Dr. Farber to be put to sleep? Of course. She was my little girl. My pick of the litter. My soft body to cuddle with. But I also felt cleansed with her loss and that is a terrible admission to accept. Does that make me a bad person? She was not suffering anymore. Sam was not suffering anymore living in a home with an old dog with issues who needed so much extra care. My rugs were not peed on anymore. I have my painting of Hannah as my special connection to her and Murray is happy as a dog in shit to have us to himself. I choose to keep my memories of the good Hannah close to my heart and cleansed my mind of the sick and suffering Hannah. Am I a bad person?
Teaching at Ranney was a dream come true. My mom always said I should be a teacher, a goal she had even for herself but never achieved. I used to pray to the stars at night, to my mom, to guide me to make that dream come true. I was going to be a teacher, an art teacher. Ranney hired me mid-year when they were desperate to replace an art teacher who left them in the dust. I always said that if they had the time to do a real search, they would have chosen one with experience, a Master's degree, something more than me. But they were desperate and I was eager. So starting in February of 2003, I took on the role of Art Teacher at a ridiculously low salary. I was so happy to have that income and so proud of my new status. Putting in extra hours or computer related non-teaching responsibilities that came with the job was a pleasure to do. I felt this way for most of my 15 years and gave the school the best art teacher possible. The last few years became a stressful pull on my emotions. Still proud of my title, still excited by the work of my students, still happy to have the income that grew nicely over the years, I was also not feeling well physically or emotionally. A teacher in the upper school had a cancer fear and was taking off one year for treatment. I was (and this is the most awful admission ever) jealous. Not of cancer, God forbid, but that she had a reason to take time off from school. That same year, they honored me with a Cum Laude award. Didn't they see I did not deserve to be honored with thoughts like that? Slowly I was pulling away from my enthusiasm. I was still excited about projects and young artists. I was still growing my program every year. But the excitement was fading and stress took over. Norman and I need my salary. With Ranney, we were in a good place. We could pay the bills and put money away for savings. Once September comes, that stops. Am I a bad and inconsiderate member of my family? I finally admitted to the world this year that I need to stop teaching. The stress of the Ranney day and the Ranney commute was killing me. I was not the person I wanted to be for myself or for anyone else in my life.
With Hannah, I took a stand and made a decision to put her to sleep. With the piano, I took a stand and told Dot to go ahead and sell it if she no longer wanted to keep it. Perhaps she needed the money? It was her piano. With my career, it was time to change or I would no longer recognize me. I took a stand on many hard decisions this year. With each one, I ended up feeling cleansed, oddly relieved, and perhaps not so regretful in the end. Could I be a good person to so easily gloss over the feelings of my son, the kids at school, or the still beating heart of my Hannah? I'd like to not be a judge for once. What would my therapist daughter say?
A Gift for an Artist (40)
July 24th
Today, our Steinway piano leaves the house, sold to the highest bidder by Dot. I woke early this morning, ready with a title for my Penzu essay and a mind filled with words too scrambled to do justice to the scope of my emotional feelings. Dorothea Lippart was the music teacher at Ranney when I began teaching. Dot is a talented and lovely person, a beloved mentor to every young student who ever had the honor of working with her, and a very generous friend.
Just over six years ago, Dot retired from Ranney life and was planning to move from her beautiful, antique-filled home in Rumson, NJ. Two grand pianos sat together in her tight first-floor living room, a house of a true musician. The pianos were eventually going to be gifted to her two sons one day. Meanwhile, she was not going to her new home with both pianos and asked if anyone would be willing to hold one of them until her son, James, was ready to take it. We went with Sam to her house to see the piano. How thrilling for Sam to play on a real Steinway, a beautiful grand lady meant to fill the concert halls of the world with music. It was an ordeal to bring the Steinway home. Piano movers removed her base and wheeled the body of the piano up the steps on its side. We delegated all the furniture in our living room to the garage to make room for her visit. Only a couch and a chair remained, comfortable seats for an audience to enjoy her sound. We sat around the Steinway for the last 6 years, simply kvelling at Sam's gift of a piano and his gift of musical talent.
I painted a canvas for each of my family members over the years. They all own an original B Levine and a very precious piece of my heart. For Sam, the painting that hangs in his room is a realistic composition of his fingers on the keys of the Steinway. I must have taken over 50 photos of his fingers on the keys, all with a good view of the Steinway logo above his hands. I remember asking him which photo he liked best, as I know little about music and which keys he was pressing to give him which sound. A true collaborative effort, an image of Sam was selected by Sam, then painted by me. I have done many paintings in my life and not all of them have dogs in them. This is one of my favorites. The piano moves into a new home today, but my painting of Sam's fingers on the keys remains as an homage to a grand lady who filled our living room with beautiful music. I am thrilled that he has my gift of a painting to always remember his gift of music from Dot.
Sam will own another piano one day, whenever he is ready to choose one for himself. Right now he proudly plays on a grand electric keyboard, various guitars, ukeleles, drums and assorted other instruments. He graces the halls of his school and the courtyard of his camp with his talent. He amazes audiences and totally captivates his proud parents no matter what keys or strings tickle his fingers. Can someone find him a microphone, please?
Today, our Steinway piano leaves the house, sold to the highest bidder by Dot. I woke early this morning, ready with a title for my Penzu essay and a mind filled with words too scrambled to do justice to the scope of my emotional feelings. Dorothea Lippart was the music teacher at Ranney when I began teaching. Dot is a talented and lovely person, a beloved mentor to every young student who ever had the honor of working with her, and a very generous friend.
Just over six years ago, Dot retired from Ranney life and was planning to move from her beautiful, antique-filled home in Rumson, NJ. Two grand pianos sat together in her tight first-floor living room, a house of a true musician. The pianos were eventually going to be gifted to her two sons one day. Meanwhile, she was not going to her new home with both pianos and asked if anyone would be willing to hold one of them until her son, James, was ready to take it. We went with Sam to her house to see the piano. How thrilling for Sam to play on a real Steinway, a beautiful grand lady meant to fill the concert halls of the world with music. It was an ordeal to bring the Steinway home. Piano movers removed her base and wheeled the body of the piano up the steps on its side. We delegated all the furniture in our living room to the garage to make room for her visit. Only a couch and a chair remained, comfortable seats for an audience to enjoy her sound. We sat around the Steinway for the last 6 years, simply kvelling at Sam's gift of a piano and his gift of musical talent.
Sam's post on FB the day the piano came was a proud and excited blurb. He learned to be a musician on a Howard, a used upright piano too old to be tuned properly. That day, he began playing on the concert grand Steinway. Quite a change in status and quite an honor for our young, talented musician. Sam composed the score for an original musical on the Steinway and wrote a CD filled with original songs on the Steinway. He made us smile with his music, filled our home with magic, and entertained scores of friends and family on the Steinway. He was gifted with the best keys and the best sound for many years. Today, movers are coming for the Steinway, taking it to Virginia to be restored and sold. Dot's son, James, did not want the piano after all.
I painted a canvas for each of my family members over the years. They all own an original B Levine and a very precious piece of my heart. For Sam, the painting that hangs in his room is a realistic composition of his fingers on the keys of the Steinway. I must have taken over 50 photos of his fingers on the keys, all with a good view of the Steinway logo above his hands. I remember asking him which photo he liked best, as I know little about music and which keys he was pressing to give him which sound. A true collaborative effort, an image of Sam was selected by Sam, then painted by me. I have done many paintings in my life and not all of them have dogs in them. This is one of my favorites. The piano moves into a new home today, but my painting of Sam's fingers on the keys remains as an homage to a grand lady who filled our living room with beautiful music. I am thrilled that he has my gift of a painting to always remember his gift of music from Dot.
Sam will own another piano one day, whenever he is ready to choose one for himself. Right now he proudly plays on a grand electric keyboard, various guitars, ukeleles, drums and assorted other instruments. He graces the halls of his school and the courtyard of his camp with his talent. He amazes audiences and totally captivates his proud parents no matter what keys or strings tickle his fingers. Can someone find him a microphone, please?
Google Knows Everything (39)
July 23rd
A new week and we are in for a week of rain. I don't mind the rain as I am retired. I do not have to go to school or anywhere in particular. My phone has a thing from Google maps on my home screen and it used to tell me how many minutes it will take and if there is traffic to get to "work" in the morning. Then it gives me the same information at 5:00 to get "home." My schedule was so predictable that Google knew my habits. Now I stay home when I want to, I visit people when I want to, or I might go to a store if I need something. Obviously, Google cannot put a handle on my scattered life these days. Yesterday, in an attempt to be helpful as Google always tries to do in their creepy way, the phone advised me that Target was 8 minutes away and there was very light traffic to get there! Have I spent the last month shopping at Target? I don't think so. That is funny. Creepy, but funny. Maybe Google knows I need Q-tips or something. Even creepier.
We celebrated Daniel Goldstein's wedding with the Buber's yesterday. Daniel and Sara had a destination wedding in Greece, and in their honor, a party was held at a local Greek restaurant for friends and family. It was a sweet and perfect way to celebrate the couple with our beautiful friends. Our waitress was more than happy to put together a plate of roasted veggies for my dinner. I am feeling more and more welcomed by restaurants these days. My dish was delicious. I spoke with many people at the party about painting pet portraits and how to go about making that a business. I left with an exchange of promising phone numbers. Here was a day off in my newly formed schedule, and it paid off nicely with possible commissions. Sam performed for the party on his new keyboard and he got rave reviews from everyone. Mazel Tov to Dan and his new bride.
Today I do choose to drive in the rain, and actually, I will be driving towards school. I am meeting with Lisa and Meg at a vegan restaurant for lunch. It will be fun to catch up and hear what they are up to. I have lots to contribute to a conversation which is nice. Not only will I be telling my friends that I am not bored and I do not regret my decision to retire, but with all of my thoughts over the last month written, tweaked and recorded on the pages of Penzu, I can speak with clarity and sound like I make sense. I keep going back to writing as the thing that should define who I am. It has brought me the most joy and the most rewards throughout all of my careers. It has also become my private therapy session as I transition in life. And from the last few times I met with friends, I was able to communicate my rambling thoughts as if I had the skill to think before speaking, something I was never good at doing. Now, I remember my well-composed written monologues and I can sound well-spoken instead of scatterbrained. People listen.
Zach and Michele fly home today in the rain. Hope that is not a problem for United Airlines. I will make them baked ziti this morning to have in their apartment when they get home and then go visit some friends. A rainy day but with plans. Google, got that?
A new week and we are in for a week of rain. I don't mind the rain as I am retired. I do not have to go to school or anywhere in particular. My phone has a thing from Google maps on my home screen and it used to tell me how many minutes it will take and if there is traffic to get to "work" in the morning. Then it gives me the same information at 5:00 to get "home." My schedule was so predictable that Google knew my habits. Now I stay home when I want to, I visit people when I want to, or I might go to a store if I need something. Obviously, Google cannot put a handle on my scattered life these days. Yesterday, in an attempt to be helpful as Google always tries to do in their creepy way, the phone advised me that Target was 8 minutes away and there was very light traffic to get there! Have I spent the last month shopping at Target? I don't think so. That is funny. Creepy, but funny. Maybe Google knows I need Q-tips or something. Even creepier.
We celebrated Daniel Goldstein's wedding with the Buber's yesterday. Daniel and Sara had a destination wedding in Greece, and in their honor, a party was held at a local Greek restaurant for friends and family. It was a sweet and perfect way to celebrate the couple with our beautiful friends. Our waitress was more than happy to put together a plate of roasted veggies for my dinner. I am feeling more and more welcomed by restaurants these days. My dish was delicious. I spoke with many people at the party about painting pet portraits and how to go about making that a business. I left with an exchange of promising phone numbers. Here was a day off in my newly formed schedule, and it paid off nicely with possible commissions. Sam performed for the party on his new keyboard and he got rave reviews from everyone. Mazel Tov to Dan and his new bride.
Today I do choose to drive in the rain, and actually, I will be driving towards school. I am meeting with Lisa and Meg at a vegan restaurant for lunch. It will be fun to catch up and hear what they are up to. I have lots to contribute to a conversation which is nice. Not only will I be telling my friends that I am not bored and I do not regret my decision to retire, but with all of my thoughts over the last month written, tweaked and recorded on the pages of Penzu, I can speak with clarity and sound like I make sense. I keep going back to writing as the thing that should define who I am. It has brought me the most joy and the most rewards throughout all of my careers. It has also become my private therapy session as I transition in life. And from the last few times I met with friends, I was able to communicate my rambling thoughts as if I had the skill to think before speaking, something I was never good at doing. Now, I remember my well-composed written monologues and I can sound well-spoken instead of scatterbrained. People listen.
Zach and Michele fly home today in the rain. Hope that is not a problem for United Airlines. I will make them baked ziti this morning to have in their apartment when they get home and then go visit some friends. A rainy day but with plans. Google, got that?
Reality Movies (38)
July 22nd
Nature or Nurture. This was the theme of a movie we went to see last night with Jacki and Harold. "Three Identical Strangers" was more documentary than scripted, and as the second documentary/full featured film we saw this summer, it hit me that reality TV has hit the big screen. I guess people are more interested in seeing real people. At first, I found it humorous to see imperfect teeth, lines and expressions on faces formed by a life lived, not by an acting school, Long Island accents, and completely natural bodies on the screen. We all like to look at actors as if we are looking in a mirror. I will never be Julia Roberts or have the voice of Lady Gaga, even if these women dare to come on screen with no makeup or scraggly hair, pretending to be me.
This movie brought us the story of real-life triplets separated at birth for a scientific study of nature vs. nurture. The study came out of a Jewish adoption organization in New York and manipulated many sets of twins and these triplets for their own conclusions. That is sad. I remember how hard it was to split up Bab's family of puppies. She mourned the loss of each pup and it was just as hard on the puppies to be separated. These three men were told stories of how they banged their head on the crib after being torn away from their brothers. One brother committed suicide later in life and the other two have to face life knowing that they were the subject of a study with no real conclusion. Their lives were manipulated. Even the adoptive parents said if they knew there were triplets, they would have taken all three babies to keep them together. These families and these boys suffered needlessly in the name of science. I left the theatre feeling quiet and uneasy. My only comment to Jacki was why did it have to be a Jewish organization that was at the root of this story. Real life is not always a pleasure to live through on the big screen. Perhaps we go to the movies because we want to pretend we have perfect faces, perfect bodies, lovely voices, and happy endings. For the price of admission and 2 hours of my time, I want to escape and dream a little. I can deal with my own real life and real struggles the rest of the time.
Nature or Nurture. This was the theme of a movie we went to see last night with Jacki and Harold. "Three Identical Strangers" was more documentary than scripted, and as the second documentary/full featured film we saw this summer, it hit me that reality TV has hit the big screen. I guess people are more interested in seeing real people. At first, I found it humorous to see imperfect teeth, lines and expressions on faces formed by a life lived, not by an acting school, Long Island accents, and completely natural bodies on the screen. We all like to look at actors as if we are looking in a mirror. I will never be Julia Roberts or have the voice of Lady Gaga, even if these women dare to come on screen with no makeup or scraggly hair, pretending to be me.
This movie brought us the story of real-life triplets separated at birth for a scientific study of nature vs. nurture. The study came out of a Jewish adoption organization in New York and manipulated many sets of twins and these triplets for their own conclusions. That is sad. I remember how hard it was to split up Bab's family of puppies. She mourned the loss of each pup and it was just as hard on the puppies to be separated. These three men were told stories of how they banged their head on the crib after being torn away from their brothers. One brother committed suicide later in life and the other two have to face life knowing that they were the subject of a study with no real conclusion. Their lives were manipulated. Even the adoptive parents said if they knew there were triplets, they would have taken all three babies to keep them together. These families and these boys suffered needlessly in the name of science. I left the theatre feeling quiet and uneasy. My only comment to Jacki was why did it have to be a Jewish organization that was at the root of this story. Real life is not always a pleasure to live through on the big screen. Perhaps we go to the movies because we want to pretend we have perfect faces, perfect bodies, lovely voices, and happy endings. For the price of admission and 2 hours of my time, I want to escape and dream a little. I can deal with my own real life and real struggles the rest of the time.
My New Normal (37)
July 21st
I have a ring to wear that was kept warm on my mother's ring finger for many years. It is an 18K gold band that she added 3 little diamonds on the top. Pretty and shiny, but a bit too snug, even on a good day. For $40, I had a jeweler increase the size just a hair (literally, from size 6 to 6 1/4) and I hope I can wear it now. I plan on going through my mother's jewelry and seeing what else can be worn or shared. I know that Katie wants her cameos, and she will be getting my engagement ring one day, along with everything else I own (eventually). Michele now wears a diamond from Mommy in her engagement ring. There are other gold pieces and stones. I have to figure out what Sam can use one day for his future wife. This is a project to do in retirement, going through my jewelry along with other piles of things waiting for attention. Meanwhile, my new sized-up ring has seen the light of day and is going to keep my mom's spirit alive on my hand.
My New Normal
I am getting to the point in my summer, as I always do towards the end of any July when I can relax and just enjoy not being in school. The stress has worn its way out and I am ready to move on. I tried moving on right after school ended this year. I did way too much, way too early. I have to learn to pace myself, but there are always projects to start, projects to finish, places to go, and new skills to learn. I woke up not knowing if today is Monday or Saturday. I am now well immersed in the life of someone without a regular job defining their week. My new normal. Problem is I like the boundaries of a well defined week and knowing which days I can just collapse and be lazy because I deserve to have them after a long week.
This week is going to be dedicated to defining a schedule. I enjoy waking early and writing to Penzu. I enjoy planning out my meals. I enjoy being creative each day and I enjoy finding those moments that are so thrilling to my soul that I have to share them with the world. I feel great at the end of such a day. I woke early today with the satisfaction of one who lived a really good week of such days. I think if I checked, I must have checked off many boxes on my vitamin week checklist. Hope I can continue to make that happen.
This weekend is going to be spent with Norman, a trip to Delicious Orchards, going out to dinner and the movies with Jacki and Harold, and going to a wedding celebration for Daniel Goldstein. This is a lovely, full weekend. This is what a weekend should be, relaxing and enjoying the days without pressure or guilt. It is my Sabbath. Being hard on myself and putting in the hours to feel productive can easily be lumped into what I define as my "work" week. So, when Monday does actually arrive, I will start Murray the portrait and work on it until I hear that a client wants to pay for an original B Levine. I will meet with Daisy and tutor art. (Two rabbits, I know.) I will rearrange the living room when the piano leaves. I will do a social thing and have lunch with Lisa and Meg. I will spend a day with Norman and go see a show in the city. I have chores to do and dreams to dream. A full life shines in my mind, there's a smile on my face and Mommy's 18K gold ring on my hand.
I have a ring to wear that was kept warm on my mother's ring finger for many years. It is an 18K gold band that she added 3 little diamonds on the top. Pretty and shiny, but a bit too snug, even on a good day. For $40, I had a jeweler increase the size just a hair (literally, from size 6 to 6 1/4) and I hope I can wear it now. I plan on going through my mother's jewelry and seeing what else can be worn or shared. I know that Katie wants her cameos, and she will be getting my engagement ring one day, along with everything else I own (eventually). Michele now wears a diamond from Mommy in her engagement ring. There are other gold pieces and stones. I have to figure out what Sam can use one day for his future wife. This is a project to do in retirement, going through my jewelry along with other piles of things waiting for attention. Meanwhile, my new sized-up ring has seen the light of day and is going to keep my mom's spirit alive on my hand.
My New Normal
I am getting to the point in my summer, as I always do towards the end of any July when I can relax and just enjoy not being in school. The stress has worn its way out and I am ready to move on. I tried moving on right after school ended this year. I did way too much, way too early. I have to learn to pace myself, but there are always projects to start, projects to finish, places to go, and new skills to learn. I woke up not knowing if today is Monday or Saturday. I am now well immersed in the life of someone without a regular job defining their week. My new normal. Problem is I like the boundaries of a well defined week and knowing which days I can just collapse and be lazy because I deserve to have them after a long week.
This week is going to be dedicated to defining a schedule. I enjoy waking early and writing to Penzu. I enjoy planning out my meals. I enjoy being creative each day and I enjoy finding those moments that are so thrilling to my soul that I have to share them with the world. I feel great at the end of such a day. I woke early today with the satisfaction of one who lived a really good week of such days. I think if I checked, I must have checked off many boxes on my vitamin week checklist. Hope I can continue to make that happen.
This weekend is going to be spent with Norman, a trip to Delicious Orchards, going out to dinner and the movies with Jacki and Harold, and going to a wedding celebration for Daniel Goldstein. This is a lovely, full weekend. This is what a weekend should be, relaxing and enjoying the days without pressure or guilt. It is my Sabbath. Being hard on myself and putting in the hours to feel productive can easily be lumped into what I define as my "work" week. So, when Monday does actually arrive, I will start Murray the portrait and work on it until I hear that a client wants to pay for an original B Levine. I will meet with Daisy and tutor art. (Two rabbits, I know.) I will rearrange the living room when the piano leaves. I will do a social thing and have lunch with Lisa and Meg. I will spend a day with Norman and go see a show in the city. I have chores to do and dreams to dream. A full life shines in my mind, there's a smile on my face and Mommy's 18K gold ring on my hand.
Mamma Mia and My Mama (36)
July 20th
I thought of my mom, yesterday, as Joyce and I were driving past a field of horses in Monroe. Joyce called out to the horses to say hello. Mommy used to do that and she got very upset if there was a single horse on a field. Everyone should have a friend, she would say. Joyce made me remember that. When I looked down at my phone, It struck me by surprise that it was the 19th. Mommy's birthday. After our trip to Columbus Flea Market, I sat down at the computer to write in Penzu, a bit later in the day than I like, and ended up spending the afternoon writing this blurb about my mom in Facebook.
Yesterday was my mom's birthday. July 19th. She would have been 91 years old, but she missed out on the last 34 years of a life she should have had. I miss her, not always on the anniversary of her birthday, but at strange moments, like when a butterfly flits by, when my kids could really have used the love of a grandma, when a clock reads three of the same digits (that's a weird one, but I think of her every time), when the stars are especially bright in the sky, when I watch anything on the food network (which wasn't even a channel 34 years ago and oh how she would have loved it), or I when watched Downton Abbey on my iPad (a show so similar to Upstairs Downstairs that it screamed out her name with every episode. And she would have gotten a kick out of having an iPad too.) Mommy loved to type on her electric typewriter. It was such a fun toy for her. Imagine my apple keyboard under her fast hands with Google bringing all kinds of answers to her very inquisitive mind? My Instant Pot or my Vitamix? Ahhhhh! Never mind that she did not get to meet Zach, Sam, or Katie, or see Adam or Becca grow up. She would have loved being a great-grandmother. Mommy would have enjoyed the last 34 years of this world. I pray to her all the time for guidance and with love. I hope she knows that. Happy Birthday, Mom, wherever you are. I love you.
I am not a Facebook enthusiast or a Facebook addict, but retirement is turning me into one. Like Norman does every day, I spent the rest of the day checking my post for comments, replying to comments, and seeing who liked what I wrote. Interestingly enough, not many FB friends knew my mother. I had a few, like Ricky, Barbara, and Jader who had a true connection to Mommy. Many friends thought she was just a beautiful lady in a carefully chosen photo (that would have mattered a great deal to her), and most commented on liking how I wrote what I wrote.
The world knows I am an artist. If I don't tell them or paint for them, Norman tells them. Norman and Pat are my biggest fans. So I here I am chasing a dream of being an artist. Secretly, though, I want to chase after my writing bunny. Getting compliments on my writing, bringing my mom to life through my words for over 50 people who do not know her but will "Like" her on FB, made me feel amazing and very creative. I was a proud writer who got noticed for writing on my mom's birthday. She liked to write too. I hope she would have been proud of me.
Last night, I went to the movies with Katie. Mamma Mia, a mother-daughter film if there ever was one. The movie started off one year after the death of Meryl Streep's character. I did not know that going in. The flashbacks were a bit confusing as the story brings us back to 1979, the year Meryl's character graduated college (same as me), and entertains us with how she met her three suitors and Sophie's dads. I am never that concerned with how brilliant or deep a story goes. For my $10 senior movie price, I just want to be entertained. I danced in my seat to ABBA music the entire time, so happy be sitting with my daughter. By the time Cher enters the Dolby screen and tries to wow the audience, I was so caught up in the coincidence of Sophie not having her mom for the birth of her baby, just like what happened to me, that I paid little attention to the stiff and strange looking Cher with white hair. The actual Meryl makes an appearance at the end through the eyes of her daughter. Meryl, beautiful but with my mom's not so perfect nose, reminded me again of my mom. I was bawling. I missed my mom on her birthday. Katie was trying to console me as I am sure she was putting herself in the position of Sophie and could not imagine not having me there when her time comes to be a mom. It was all too much.
The New York Times gave Mamma Mia a harsh review. It is not the kind of movie that gets a notice from critics or Oscar nods. But this film touched me on a special day like no other could. With my faulty memory, I will always remember this birthday for my mom and will keep her alive and close to my heart for many days. We should all get to celebrate birthdays through a Dolby cinema presentation. Happy birthday, Mom. I love you.
I thought of my mom, yesterday, as Joyce and I were driving past a field of horses in Monroe. Joyce called out to the horses to say hello. Mommy used to do that and she got very upset if there was a single horse on a field. Everyone should have a friend, she would say. Joyce made me remember that. When I looked down at my phone, It struck me by surprise that it was the 19th. Mommy's birthday. After our trip to Columbus Flea Market, I sat down at the computer to write in Penzu, a bit later in the day than I like, and ended up spending the afternoon writing this blurb about my mom in Facebook.
Yesterday was my mom's birthday. July 19th. She would have been 91 years old, but she missed out on the last 34 years of a life she should have had. I miss her, not always on the anniversary of her birthday, but at strange moments, like when a butterfly flits by, when my kids could really have used the love of a grandma, when a clock reads three of the same digits (that's a weird one, but I think of her every time), when the stars are especially bright in the sky, when I watch anything on the food network (which wasn't even a channel 34 years ago and oh how she would have loved it), or I when watched Downton Abbey on my iPad (a show so similar to Upstairs Downstairs that it screamed out her name with every episode. And she would have gotten a kick out of having an iPad too.) Mommy loved to type on her electric typewriter. It was such a fun toy for her. Imagine my apple keyboard under her fast hands with Google bringing all kinds of answers to her very inquisitive mind? My Instant Pot or my Vitamix? Ahhhhh! Never mind that she did not get to meet Zach, Sam, or Katie, or see Adam or Becca grow up. She would have loved being a great-grandmother. Mommy would have enjoyed the last 34 years of this world. I pray to her all the time for guidance and with love. I hope she knows that. Happy Birthday, Mom, wherever you are. I love you.
I am not a Facebook enthusiast or a Facebook addict, but retirement is turning me into one. Like Norman does every day, I spent the rest of the day checking my post for comments, replying to comments, and seeing who liked what I wrote. Interestingly enough, not many FB friends knew my mother. I had a few, like Ricky, Barbara, and Jader who had a true connection to Mommy. Many friends thought she was just a beautiful lady in a carefully chosen photo (that would have mattered a great deal to her), and most commented on liking how I wrote what I wrote.
The world knows I am an artist. If I don't tell them or paint for them, Norman tells them. Norman and Pat are my biggest fans. So I here I am chasing a dream of being an artist. Secretly, though, I want to chase after my writing bunny. Getting compliments on my writing, bringing my mom to life through my words for over 50 people who do not know her but will "Like" her on FB, made me feel amazing and very creative. I was a proud writer who got noticed for writing on my mom's birthday. She liked to write too. I hope she would have been proud of me.
Last night, I went to the movies with Katie. Mamma Mia, a mother-daughter film if there ever was one. The movie started off one year after the death of Meryl Streep's character. I did not know that going in. The flashbacks were a bit confusing as the story brings us back to 1979, the year Meryl's character graduated college (same as me), and entertains us with how she met her three suitors and Sophie's dads. I am never that concerned with how brilliant or deep a story goes. For my $10 senior movie price, I just want to be entertained. I danced in my seat to ABBA music the entire time, so happy be sitting with my daughter. By the time Cher enters the Dolby screen and tries to wow the audience, I was so caught up in the coincidence of Sophie not having her mom for the birth of her baby, just like what happened to me, that I paid little attention to the stiff and strange looking Cher with white hair. The actual Meryl makes an appearance at the end through the eyes of her daughter. Meryl, beautiful but with my mom's not so perfect nose, reminded me again of my mom. I was bawling. I missed my mom on her birthday. Katie was trying to console me as I am sure she was putting herself in the position of Sophie and could not imagine not having me there when her time comes to be a mom. It was all too much.
The New York Times gave Mamma Mia a harsh review. It is not the kind of movie that gets a notice from critics or Oscar nods. But this film touched me on a special day like no other could. With my faulty memory, I will always remember this birthday for my mom and will keep her alive and close to my heart for many days. We should all get to celebrate birthdays through a Dolby cinema presentation. Happy birthday, Mom. I love you.
Chasing Rabbits (35)
July 19th
A fortune cookie left for me on the counter last night after Sam's takeout dinner really hit home. It must have been written just for me.
"If you chase two rabbits, both will escape."
I have been running in circles for the last month, just like Murray does when he chases a squirrel, a bird, or a rabbit around a tree. Silly boy does not realize that the squirrel climbed up the tree, the bird flew away, or the rabbit hopped to safety under a bush. Murray will continue to race around the tree, thinking that if he is patient or clever enough, he will catch his new friend. I have a dream of catching myself a job as an artist and I continue to think that if I am patient or clever enough, I will catch my dream. Lately, I have been torn between tutoring art and painting pet portraits. I don't know which direction to go in, which will make the most sense. And of course, I am so confident in my dream of being an artist, that I wish I could do both. If I chase two rabbits, will they both escape? Perhaps I need to focus on one thing at a time.
Possible leads keep dangling in front of my face, just like a field of rabbits for Murray. I have heard many times that if opportunity knocks, you will only be able to recognize the opportunity if you are ready. I have done my requisite 10,000 hours and I am ready. I certainly can teach a child how to paint. Yesterday, an opportunity tapped me on the shoulder. I met with Nancy, Ping, and Maureen for lunch and I voiced my interest in teaching art to children at home. We were just discussing whether or not asking a Ranney parent would pose a conflict of interest, and Maureen offered such good advice to me. I wish I had typed out how she worded the advice. Her words sounded so reasonable and marketable. Just as we were talking, a Ranney parent walked into the student center at Monmouth University where we congregated. Her boys Elijah and Josiah are adorable young artists from my Ranney art classes, and Mrs. Anderson practically pleaded with me to have them come and work with me. Was this a sign? Was she my rabbit?
Then at night, Pat texted me with another possible lead for a pet portrait. Her friend Harriet not only wants a portrait, she wants a big one. Well, I watched that cute little cotton tail of another rabbit hop by. Should I chase this one too? Pat said at this rate, she should go into business with me. She brought me two interested leads, neither of which responded to me directly yet, but still possible clients.
When I think of Pat, I also think of my mom. It would have been my mom's birthday today with 91 candles on her cake. I was pregnant with Zach at Mommy's unveiling but she never knew we were expecting. For some strange reason, I sense her every time I think of Pat. We met Pat and Joe in our Lamaze class. She has been a part of my life ever since the birth of Zach. And while I think I am a good and compassionate person, I am not always a perfect or considerate friend. I have treated Pat the same horrible way kids treat their moms. I am forgetful to call her, to be there for her when she most needs my support, or to include her in my life when I should, yet Pat loves me unconditionally and always forgives me the worst, just like any mom would. When I was pregnant the second time, I was in the hospital with Placenta Previa, scared to lose my baby. Pat called me on the phone in the hospital and while it was already a few years since the passing of my mom, I thought it was Mommy on the phone. It sounded like her voice and the tone she would have had in speaking to me. Ever since then, I think of my mom every time I am with Pat.
So if Pat says she is helping me make a business out of my pet portraits, I want to think that is my mom sending me a sign that this is the right direction to go in. My mom, my adorable fluffy rabbit. What color tail do you think she would have? She never liked having gray hair.
A fortune cookie left for me on the counter last night after Sam's takeout dinner really hit home. It must have been written just for me.
"If you chase two rabbits, both will escape."
I have been running in circles for the last month, just like Murray does when he chases a squirrel, a bird, or a rabbit around a tree. Silly boy does not realize that the squirrel climbed up the tree, the bird flew away, or the rabbit hopped to safety under a bush. Murray will continue to race around the tree, thinking that if he is patient or clever enough, he will catch his new friend. I have a dream of catching myself a job as an artist and I continue to think that if I am patient or clever enough, I will catch my dream. Lately, I have been torn between tutoring art and painting pet portraits. I don't know which direction to go in, which will make the most sense. And of course, I am so confident in my dream of being an artist, that I wish I could do both. If I chase two rabbits, will they both escape? Perhaps I need to focus on one thing at a time.
Possible leads keep dangling in front of my face, just like a field of rabbits for Murray. I have heard many times that if opportunity knocks, you will only be able to recognize the opportunity if you are ready. I have done my requisite 10,000 hours and I am ready. I certainly can teach a child how to paint. Yesterday, an opportunity tapped me on the shoulder. I met with Nancy, Ping, and Maureen for lunch and I voiced my interest in teaching art to children at home. We were just discussing whether or not asking a Ranney parent would pose a conflict of interest, and Maureen offered such good advice to me. I wish I had typed out how she worded the advice. Her words sounded so reasonable and marketable. Just as we were talking, a Ranney parent walked into the student center at Monmouth University where we congregated. Her boys Elijah and Josiah are adorable young artists from my Ranney art classes, and Mrs. Anderson practically pleaded with me to have them come and work with me. Was this a sign? Was she my rabbit?
Then at night, Pat texted me with another possible lead for a pet portrait. Her friend Harriet not only wants a portrait, she wants a big one. Well, I watched that cute little cotton tail of another rabbit hop by. Should I chase this one too? Pat said at this rate, she should go into business with me. She brought me two interested leads, neither of which responded to me directly yet, but still possible clients.
When I think of Pat, I also think of my mom. It would have been my mom's birthday today with 91 candles on her cake. I was pregnant with Zach at Mommy's unveiling but she never knew we were expecting. For some strange reason, I sense her every time I think of Pat. We met Pat and Joe in our Lamaze class. She has been a part of my life ever since the birth of Zach. And while I think I am a good and compassionate person, I am not always a perfect or considerate friend. I have treated Pat the same horrible way kids treat their moms. I am forgetful to call her, to be there for her when she most needs my support, or to include her in my life when I should, yet Pat loves me unconditionally and always forgives me the worst, just like any mom would. When I was pregnant the second time, I was in the hospital with Placenta Previa, scared to lose my baby. Pat called me on the phone in the hospital and while it was already a few years since the passing of my mom, I thought it was Mommy on the phone. It sounded like her voice and the tone she would have had in speaking to me. Ever since then, I think of my mom every time I am with Pat.
So if Pat says she is helping me make a business out of my pet portraits, I want to think that is my mom sending me a sign that this is the right direction to go in. My mom, my adorable fluffy rabbit. What color tail do you think she would have? She never liked having gray hair.
Do Dreams Come True? (34)
July 18th
Do dreams always seem more exciting than real life? The anticipation of what could be, fuels me with energy, the inspiration to go forward and create, and excitement for life. I love to plan, I love to make lists and organize my rush of thoughts into action. Retirement has done all of that for me in the last month. I am dancing through the planning stage of retirement with pure happiness and with an occasional down day at a beach or a movie.
Yesterday, I started to see two possible plans come to fruition and the reality is not as exciting as my dreams. I put out there on the FB world my latest post on dog portraits and screamed out to readers and sharers that commissions are open. Lo and Behold, a friend of a friend responded with, "Her work is beautiful! I want a portrait! How do I reach her?" In my excitement, I drew up a flyer on the computer and sent it to her. Never heard back. Then I revisited the flyer and hated it. It did not look good printed out on paper. Back to the drawing board (literally).
Yesterday, I started teaching art lessons at my house. Daisy came by bubbling and eager to paint with me. I gave her a free reign to choose any image she wanted to draw and another image to paint. We printed them out and we spent our hour together drawing an anime character. Never got to a paintbrush, but that really should not the first step, anyway. She drew alongside me and filled the first two pages of her sketch pad. She left happy to share her work, but Joyce questioned why she did not start painting on her first day.
I had a glimpse into what a day might be like if I taught art at home and put in the time to do research on the computer. I ended the day crashing on the couch and napping in the middle of an iPad video, just like I used to do after a school day. I have not afternoon napped for the last month! Since June, I have happily gone about my chores, painting, shopping, daydreaming of plans, and exercising, all without ever crashing into a nap. I am happily exhausted at the end of a day and fall asleep satisfied but haven't needed a daytime nap. A nap was what I did after a scary ride home from Ranney when I could not keep my eyes open in the car. A nap was my escape from a school day, trying to transition to home life, cooking and cleaning the kitchen after dinner. A nap was my mental and physical escape. I napped yesterday. What does that tell me?
Today, I will visit with friends from Ranney for lunch. It will be good to see friends from my previous life. It will be good to compare stories and voice what is happening to me. Maybe I can figure out what is troubling me. I think I need to win the lottery and go back to painting just because I love to paint, or draw with a child just because it is fun to spend time with a child (someday my own grandchildren to be specific), and just enjoy life. But without a win in the lottery, I still need to earn money. Naps or no naps.
Do dreams always seem more exciting than real life? The anticipation of what could be, fuels me with energy, the inspiration to go forward and create, and excitement for life. I love to plan, I love to make lists and organize my rush of thoughts into action. Retirement has done all of that for me in the last month. I am dancing through the planning stage of retirement with pure happiness and with an occasional down day at a beach or a movie.
Yesterday, I started to see two possible plans come to fruition and the reality is not as exciting as my dreams. I put out there on the FB world my latest post on dog portraits and screamed out to readers and sharers that commissions are open. Lo and Behold, a friend of a friend responded with, "Her work is beautiful! I want a portrait! How do I reach her?" In my excitement, I drew up a flyer on the computer and sent it to her. Never heard back. Then I revisited the flyer and hated it. It did not look good printed out on paper. Back to the drawing board (literally).
Yesterday, I started teaching art lessons at my house. Daisy came by bubbling and eager to paint with me. I gave her a free reign to choose any image she wanted to draw and another image to paint. We printed them out and we spent our hour together drawing an anime character. Never got to a paintbrush, but that really should not the first step, anyway. She drew alongside me and filled the first two pages of her sketch pad. She left happy to share her work, but Joyce questioned why she did not start painting on her first day.
I had a glimpse into what a day might be like if I taught art at home and put in the time to do research on the computer. I ended the day crashing on the couch and napping in the middle of an iPad video, just like I used to do after a school day. I have not afternoon napped for the last month! Since June, I have happily gone about my chores, painting, shopping, daydreaming of plans, and exercising, all without ever crashing into a nap. I am happily exhausted at the end of a day and fall asleep satisfied but haven't needed a daytime nap. A nap was what I did after a scary ride home from Ranney when I could not keep my eyes open in the car. A nap was my escape from a school day, trying to transition to home life, cooking and cleaning the kitchen after dinner. A nap was my mental and physical escape. I napped yesterday. What does that tell me?
Today, I will visit with friends from Ranney for lunch. It will be good to see friends from my previous life. It will be good to compare stories and voice what is happening to me. Maybe I can figure out what is troubling me. I think I need to win the lottery and go back to painting just because I love to paint, or draw with a child just because it is fun to spend time with a child (someday my own grandchildren to be specific), and just enjoy life. But without a win in the lottery, I still need to earn money. Naps or no naps.
Fingers Crossed (33)
July 17th
It is late in the day for writing (just after 12 noon). I woke up excited about my FB post last night and a response to my pet portrait business. My creative activity for the day yesterday was all computer related and I sat for the longest time redesigning a blog post on my home blog. It began as a vitamin week checklist and ended up all about Maggie. At the last minute, I added a phrase I noticed on a few Instagram posts... Commissions Open! In a brave moment, I actually shared my post on FB. I got the usual likes from family and friends. Maggie is a cute Cockapoo after all. Then it was shared by other people (thank you Norm, Ruth and Pat). Pat knows how to get the word out to people after her nightmare of finding a kidney for her son. A friend of Pat's replied that she was interested in a portrait and that my work was beautiful. I fell asleep a happy camper, dreaming about how to price my work and how to approach this as a job.
This morning brought me to the computer with my hot water and lemon, as usual, but then I directed my eager attention to Illustrator and planned a layout of sizes and prices to send to my new friend and Shih Tzu owner (Marilyn). Now, I am still waiting for her response. I think my work is worth way more than I listed, but I do not want to price myself out of the market. I need advice. Where do I get that? Most of the portrait artists on the internet are not charging that much but then there is one man who charges thousands. That's where I want to be! Perhaps I have to start lower and enter the market more competitively. If I get a response from Marilyn, I will consider posting my flyer to a FB page as a way to get the word out. Do I need a FB page? What exactly is that? Is that different from a profile page? Next bit of research, I guess. All I know is that I do have a blog that posts beautifully to FB and it brought in some interest. A professional website according to Amy "Useletter" starts at $180. I'm not there yet.
For my next stab at retirement fun, Daisy is due to come by for her... my... our... first lesson in art this afternoon. I plan to take it slowly as I would in my classroom at school. We may never get to a canvas today. But that is okay. I am looking forward to beginning a new teaching career that does not involve Phillip, As'ad, Timmy, traffic or snowstorms. I get to work with pets and kids in my own home, doing what I have already invested in my 10,000 hours. Fingers crossed something works!
It is late in the day for writing (just after 12 noon). I woke up excited about my FB post last night and a response to my pet portrait business. My creative activity for the day yesterday was all computer related and I sat for the longest time redesigning a blog post on my home blog. It began as a vitamin week checklist and ended up all about Maggie. At the last minute, I added a phrase I noticed on a few Instagram posts... Commissions Open! In a brave moment, I actually shared my post on FB. I got the usual likes from family and friends. Maggie is a cute Cockapoo after all. Then it was shared by other people (thank you Norm, Ruth and Pat). Pat knows how to get the word out to people after her nightmare of finding a kidney for her son. A friend of Pat's replied that she was interested in a portrait and that my work was beautiful. I fell asleep a happy camper, dreaming about how to price my work and how to approach this as a job.
This morning brought me to the computer with my hot water and lemon, as usual, but then I directed my eager attention to Illustrator and planned a layout of sizes and prices to send to my new friend and Shih Tzu owner (Marilyn). Now, I am still waiting for her response. I think my work is worth way more than I listed, but I do not want to price myself out of the market. I need advice. Where do I get that? Most of the portrait artists on the internet are not charging that much but then there is one man who charges thousands. That's where I want to be! Perhaps I have to start lower and enter the market more competitively. If I get a response from Marilyn, I will consider posting my flyer to a FB page as a way to get the word out. Do I need a FB page? What exactly is that? Is that different from a profile page? Next bit of research, I guess. All I know is that I do have a blog that posts beautifully to FB and it brought in some interest. A professional website according to Amy "Useletter" starts at $180. I'm not there yet.
For my next stab at retirement fun, Daisy is due to come by for her... my... our... first lesson in art this afternoon. I plan to take it slowly as I would in my classroom at school. We may never get to a canvas today. But that is okay. I am looking forward to beginning a new teaching career that does not involve Phillip, As'ad, Timmy, traffic or snowstorms. I get to work with pets and kids in my own home, doing what I have already invested in my 10,000 hours. Fingers crossed something works!
Realistic Goals This Time (32)
July 16th
I have come to a couple of conclusions about life in retirement. The panic has faded. The anxiousness does not keep me up at night. I am determined to make this work on my own terms and I think I am finally waking from a dreamy state of wonder. Realistic goals hit me this morning... A new list (Like I said, I like lists)...
I have come to a couple of conclusions about life in retirement. The panic has faded. The anxiousness does not keep me up at night. I am determined to make this work on my own terms and I think I am finally waking from a dreamy state of wonder. Realistic goals hit me this morning... A new list (Like I said, I like lists)...
- I stopped staring at emails from indeed.com for job offerings. I will regret not making it work as a freelance artist. I want the flexibility of working from home. My skills are in art, not sales, writing about finance, or teaching English.
- I posted another blog entry yesterday about Maggie the portrait. The blog post began as a full and vibrant vitamin week checklist. I even went as far as designing the checklist on illustrator with a pretty font and real checkboxes to check off. As I wrote out my blog post with the help from an entry in Penzu, it turned into a story about Maggie. I have pretty photos of Maggie, even one with the real Maggie looking at Maggie the portrait. I have a personal stake in showing Maggie. The vitamin week checklist was delegated to a second post and saved as a draft. Only words and pictures of Maggie became published. What does that tell me? My vitamin week checklist is still a personal, therapeutic search for life in retirement and not to be shared, at least not yesterday anyway. My goal to make my blogs work should be writing posts that other people find interesting and can spread the word about my interest in painting.
- I asked Gabrielle and Joyce to allow Daisy to come by for a test tutoring session. I even have a set appointment, Tuesday at 3:00. I am going to begin. Daisy is a perfect age, she loves art and she knows me well. Perhaps next door Evan will be next.
- I completed 2 dog portraits this month and they each took about one week or so to finish. That is a real window of time to work on a commission, not like the month-long projects that sat idle on the easel during school.
- I redesigned the images of my pet portraits for the blog post about Maggie and I realized how great they look, even on the computer. Time to design that website. I am ready, commissions are open!
- I got the projector to work after a few silly emails translated from Chinese. I bought an adapter and I am ready to go. The projection will not work in my small studio so once the living room gets reinvented after the Steinway moves out (so sorry, Sam) I will have the space to make the projection happen. I have a projector stand picked out. I am optimistic. A professional artist needs a professional set-up and professional tools. Daddy taught me that.
- I thought as well about a blog about teaching art. With Daisy coming tomorrow and mental lesson plans for her visit, I also have photos in mind to take of Daisy at work. Showing kids with their paintings will sell my business. Do I dare show work from Ranney? I have years of student artwork that I taught. I wonder if that is ethical. I wonder if anyone else cares. I was the teacher and these were my students. It's just a thought. At least I know if I start a teaching art blog, that I have content I can pull from.
- I bought an e-book from Abby Glassenberg on starting a blog for business. I am also reading information from Amy "Useletter" on the right steps to take. This is my goal for this week.
- I decided on a painting (actually two) of Murray. I will keep plodding away on my doggie portraits to keep me in practice and in good shape to welcome a commission. Two portraits completed in my first month with one for sale was a great start. It has to become a regular thing. Word has to be spread. September will come too soon, scaring me and my checking account.
- I want to make each day full. I will print out that fancy new checklist and make it work for real. Today is Monday, the start of a new week and the start of month 2. I have so much I want to accomplish. That is a good feeling. I will face down September with a strong work ethic and a working plan to make money. Then I can enjoy being an artist.
A List of Goals (31)
July 15th
I have computer related things filling my head lately. I want to start up a home business with art. If I never try to make this my source of retirement income, I will regret never trying. That means making it official with a blog or website to sell my services. Yesterday, I asked Joyce to keep Tuesday afternoon free for my first working session with Daisy. If I can feel comfortable with her in my studio and get her to work with me, it will boost my confidence.
So here are my short and long term goals for making it work. (Another checklist. I like lists.)
On an unrelated point, Norman wants to go to Portland Maine because a friend said so. I looked up the city and what there is to do there. It is just north of Boston so not as far as I thought and there are lovely parks, lighthouses, trails, and towns to wander around. My husband and I have exactly the same personality. It is amazing how we ever discuss or agree on anything when we both flip out at the first mention of an idea. He told me about Maine and what was my reaction? I told him he was crazy to want to go on another long drive. I did not listen, I did not calmly say that I would look into the idea. I did not give him a chance to convince me at all. And when I want to talk to him about anything that is important to me, he either flips out or ignores the fact that I am speaking (who really needs hearing aids in this family?). Just like me, he will return hours or days later, calmer and ready to talk. I forget I have had time to consider all that I am asking him before I introduce a subject and I expect him to respond off the cuff. He needs the same window of time to have a point of view. In the end, we usually agree. We just need time to get there. We've made it work that way for 35 years now. I guess we might also take a trip to Maine this summer.
I have computer related things filling my head lately. I want to start up a home business with art. If I never try to make this my source of retirement income, I will regret never trying. That means making it official with a blog or website to sell my services. Yesterday, I asked Joyce to keep Tuesday afternoon free for my first working session with Daisy. If I can feel comfortable with her in my studio and get her to work with me, it will boost my confidence.
So here are my short and long term goals for making it work. (Another checklist. I like lists.)
- Set up a place to work with students. I already have a studio room but with Daisy as my guinea pig, I can test it out to see if it needs to be tweaked for students.
- Figure out what materials will be needed to start. I have stuff in the basement. Time to go through all of that.
- Set up a better spot for projecting images. The projector works with the adapter. Yay! Now I need wall space and a proper table for the projector.
- Research options for websites on teaching art and selling art. This is right up my computer loving alley. I enjoy my personal blog. I have to turn that into a platform that makes money.
- This is a short list, but each bullet point is really intense. I am so excited about the computer elements, that I rush through this morning's essay, just to start designing my business. It is good to be excited. Keeps me going. Keeps me young.
On an unrelated point, Norman wants to go to Portland Maine because a friend said so. I looked up the city and what there is to do there. It is just north of Boston so not as far as I thought and there are lovely parks, lighthouses, trails, and towns to wander around. My husband and I have exactly the same personality. It is amazing how we ever discuss or agree on anything when we both flip out at the first mention of an idea. He told me about Maine and what was my reaction? I told him he was crazy to want to go on another long drive. I did not listen, I did not calmly say that I would look into the idea. I did not give him a chance to convince me at all. And when I want to talk to him about anything that is important to me, he either flips out or ignores the fact that I am speaking (who really needs hearing aids in this family?). Just like me, he will return hours or days later, calmer and ready to talk. I forget I have had time to consider all that I am asking him before I introduce a subject and I expect him to respond off the cuff. He needs the same window of time to have a point of view. In the end, we usually agree. We just need time to get there. We've made it work that way for 35 years now. I guess we might also take a trip to Maine this summer.
Funny Old Jewish Comedians (30)
July 14th
Thirty days of writing. A full month of essays, that is if this were September, April, June or November... (all the rest have 31, except for February). They say as you age, you are more likely to remember stuff from long ago, such as that silly school day rhyme to memorize the months. My long-term memory is okay for stuff like memorized poems and technical dribble, my short-term memory not so skillful. I hope to ward off my troubling dementia by eating plants. Thank goodness these days you don't have to memorize much of anything. A calendar to check a date is right on your phone, people's names and numbers are right on your contact list, and all the information in the world is right there for the asking. Just ask Google.
Last night we treated ourselves to dessert at Cafe 360 in Freehold where they serve delicious dairy-free sorbet for me and a nice variety of creamy goodness to cool off my husband's sore gums from his surgery. Not only were there many flavors of sorbet as an option, but they now had pistachio almond milk ice cream, and it was labeled as Vegan! I am a stubborn, willful soul and when I decide to do something, I will not stray, even if I end up starving. So to my delight, it is getting easier to find places that recognize and welcome their vegan customers. I savored every last lick of my creamy scoop of pistachio. It was a delicious and happy way to end a dopey day.
Then we watched an episode of 'Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee' with Jerry Seinfeld and Jerry Lewis. The older Jerry died last year, not from all the "stiff" bacon served to him in the diner on the funny Netflix show (as all vegans would want you to believe), but from old age. The man was really old which of course made it all the more funny to watch. At the ripe old age of 90 something, Jerry ate bacon, smoked and drank with all the other funny old timers of his day. Amazing how these Jewish comedians lived so long. Perhaps humor was the magic pill for their longevity? That lifestyle would have killed me years ago. I know I feel as good as I do from eating my way and I am proud of a great looking body for a 60 something lady and more mental clarity to boot. It makes me want to convince everyone else to do what I am doing, including Norman. Vegan doctors say that he could reverse his diabetes on a vegan diet and get off all his meds. It is really hard to convince a man who takes more pleasure out of eating a traditional meal than he is troubled by his diagnosis. He recovered from his surgery yesterday with amazing grace and no pain at all. He is out playing tennis today as he so wanted to do. His constitution, even with decaying animal flesh in his belly is pretty strong. So who am I to preach to the man? Across the street, Andy is going through some kind of health scare as his wife posted on Facebook that he needs a doctor for his prostate. (Who announces such a thing on Facebook?) Anyway, I was so tempted to call them up and scream into the phone, STOP EATING DAIRY! The hormones in cow's milk pose the biggest risk for breast and prostate cancer in this country. But people will do what they want and that is usually what they grew up doing. Like drinking milk. Milk doesn't do a body good, but the dairy industry will spend tons of money to convince people of this so they can continue to be an industry making tons of money. Vegan activists must be getting the word out with their rebuttal since they not only convinced me but also a small cafe in Freehold to sell vegan ice cream to the masses. I don't preach well, and I am not an activist, but I do care about the people I love and I hope they all live to be 90 something. I only hope the planet and the animals will survive the funny, old, Jewish comedians.
Thirty days of writing. A full month of essays, that is if this were September, April, June or November... (all the rest have 31, except for February). They say as you age, you are more likely to remember stuff from long ago, such as that silly school day rhyme to memorize the months. My long-term memory is okay for stuff like memorized poems and technical dribble, my short-term memory not so skillful. I hope to ward off my troubling dementia by eating plants. Thank goodness these days you don't have to memorize much of anything. A calendar to check a date is right on your phone, people's names and numbers are right on your contact list, and all the information in the world is right there for the asking. Just ask Google.
Last night we treated ourselves to dessert at Cafe 360 in Freehold where they serve delicious dairy-free sorbet for me and a nice variety of creamy goodness to cool off my husband's sore gums from his surgery. Not only were there many flavors of sorbet as an option, but they now had pistachio almond milk ice cream, and it was labeled as Vegan! I am a stubborn, willful soul and when I decide to do something, I will not stray, even if I end up starving. So to my delight, it is getting easier to find places that recognize and welcome their vegan customers. I savored every last lick of my creamy scoop of pistachio. It was a delicious and happy way to end a dopey day.
Then we watched an episode of 'Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee' with Jerry Seinfeld and Jerry Lewis. The older Jerry died last year, not from all the "stiff" bacon served to him in the diner on the funny Netflix show (as all vegans would want you to believe), but from old age. The man was really old which of course made it all the more funny to watch. At the ripe old age of 90 something, Jerry ate bacon, smoked and drank with all the other funny old timers of his day. Amazing how these Jewish comedians lived so long. Perhaps humor was the magic pill for their longevity? That lifestyle would have killed me years ago. I know I feel as good as I do from eating my way and I am proud of a great looking body for a 60 something lady and more mental clarity to boot. It makes me want to convince everyone else to do what I am doing, including Norman. Vegan doctors say that he could reverse his diabetes on a vegan diet and get off all his meds. It is really hard to convince a man who takes more pleasure out of eating a traditional meal than he is troubled by his diagnosis. He recovered from his surgery yesterday with amazing grace and no pain at all. He is out playing tennis today as he so wanted to do. His constitution, even with decaying animal flesh in his belly is pretty strong. So who am I to preach to the man? Across the street, Andy is going through some kind of health scare as his wife posted on Facebook that he needs a doctor for his prostate. (Who announces such a thing on Facebook?) Anyway, I was so tempted to call them up and scream into the phone, STOP EATING DAIRY! The hormones in cow's milk pose the biggest risk for breast and prostate cancer in this country. But people will do what they want and that is usually what they grew up doing. Like drinking milk. Milk doesn't do a body good, but the dairy industry will spend tons of money to convince people of this so they can continue to be an industry making tons of money. Vegan activists must be getting the word out with their rebuttal since they not only convinced me but also a small cafe in Freehold to sell vegan ice cream to the masses. I don't preach well, and I am not an activist, but I do care about the people I love and I hope they all live to be 90 something. I only hope the planet and the animals will survive the funny, old, Jewish comedians.
A Dopey Day at the Dentist (29)
July 13th
Dopey, dopey day. Is it because it is a Friday the 13th? Baboo, who was a pretty superstitious Grandmother, always said 13 was a lucky number, not a cursed one. Meanwhile, she was buried on the 13th of a winter month. I can’t remember the month, but I do remember the day very clearly. We drove through an awful blizzard to get to Beth Israel Cemetery in Woodbridge. Baboo riding in her hearse, leading us and Uncle Arnold next to another hearse with their family were the only cars on the New Jersey Turnpike. It made us laugh when the two hearses were playfully weaving on the snowy road. Only Baboo would take us on a hearse race! I just hope it was the right hearse we followed to the cemetery and it is in fact Baboo resting peacefully in the grave we go to visit.
So today is the 13th and Norman was due for surgery to have dental implants. We are now sitting on the deck after a bungled surgery. He is fine but will be angry with himself later on. He does not do well with anesthesia. The tooth was extracted and surgery had to stop because he became “unruly” whatever that means. Now he will have even fewer teeth in his mouth than before and no implant in place to add more teeth. Not a lucky day, Baboo.
I truly do not know what to write about today. We woke early to get to our surgery appointment and I had to skip my morning ritual. I love starting my day with a meaningless ramble on a new page of Penzu, the therapeutic words always leading to a great analysis of retired life. Now it is too late to call on the early writing Gods. I not only feel very uninspired about this day, but yesterday was a lazy day of going to the beach with nothing dramatic to remember and record. I sit next to Norman while he sleeps off the anesthesia and I stare blindly at my small iPad screen. This week was an accomplished week. A painting was finished, signed and delivered. Two of my Penzu essays were turned into blog posts I am proud of and was happy to share with people. I even went to a few art shows for inspiration. All is good with my kids, and until yesterday, with my husband. I guess a full and vibrant week means I get to enjoy a down day with no thoughts. That is a good thing since my mind is as numb as the man next to me who was drugged up for no reason. I’ll just sit here on the deck and keep Norman company. How do you get a sleeping man to bite down on his bloody wad of gauze?
Dopey, dopey day. Is it because it is a Friday the 13th? Baboo, who was a pretty superstitious Grandmother, always said 13 was a lucky number, not a cursed one. Meanwhile, she was buried on the 13th of a winter month. I can’t remember the month, but I do remember the day very clearly. We drove through an awful blizzard to get to Beth Israel Cemetery in Woodbridge. Baboo riding in her hearse, leading us and Uncle Arnold next to another hearse with their family were the only cars on the New Jersey Turnpike. It made us laugh when the two hearses were playfully weaving on the snowy road. Only Baboo would take us on a hearse race! I just hope it was the right hearse we followed to the cemetery and it is in fact Baboo resting peacefully in the grave we go to visit.
So today is the 13th and Norman was due for surgery to have dental implants. We are now sitting on the deck after a bungled surgery. He is fine but will be angry with himself later on. He does not do well with anesthesia. The tooth was extracted and surgery had to stop because he became “unruly” whatever that means. Now he will have even fewer teeth in his mouth than before and no implant in place to add more teeth. Not a lucky day, Baboo.
I truly do not know what to write about today. We woke early to get to our surgery appointment and I had to skip my morning ritual. I love starting my day with a meaningless ramble on a new page of Penzu, the therapeutic words always leading to a great analysis of retired life. Now it is too late to call on the early writing Gods. I not only feel very uninspired about this day, but yesterday was a lazy day of going to the beach with nothing dramatic to remember and record. I sit next to Norman while he sleeps off the anesthesia and I stare blindly at my small iPad screen. This week was an accomplished week. A painting was finished, signed and delivered. Two of my Penzu essays were turned into blog posts I am proud of and was happy to share with people. I even went to a few art shows for inspiration. All is good with my kids, and until yesterday, with my husband. I guess a full and vibrant week means I get to enjoy a down day with no thoughts. That is a good thing since my mind is as numb as the man next to me who was drugged up for no reason. I’ll just sit here on the deck and keep Norman company. How do you get a sleeping man to bite down on his bloody wad of gauze?
A Day at the Morgan Library (28)
July 12th
Yesterday was a day of inspiration perfect for any artist. My trip to the city was lonely but it was something I could do just for myself. If an exhibit looks promising, the weather fair and no other pressing needs are keeping me at home, why wouldn't I make the $6.80 senior fare bus trip into Manhattan? I tried reaching out to Daddy, Katie and even to Pam Shipley to meet me at the Morgan Library. I ended up on my own, having just as much fun talking to strangers in each of the galleries of the Library and Museum.
There were a few exhibits that tickled my fancy and drew me there, even without the companionship of a friend. The sketches of Thomas Gainsborough were enjoyable and so lovely. His sketches look just like his paint strokes. I discovered the same startling comparison years ago in an exhibit of Vincent's drawings. Vincent's small marks of pen and ink were a perfect match to the small directional strokes of his brush. I remember thinking this was obviously how Vincent van Gogh saw the world and recorded it on his page. It was just as startling to remark on the same fluidity of work with Thomas Gainsborough. Do my drawings look like my paintings? I'll have to think about that.
The next room I visited was the drawings of Wayne Thiebaud, an artist famous for painting cake. I meant to teach this artist to my art classes and never got around to introducing him to the kids. How much fun would it have been for them to paint a picture of cake? Without creating a lesson on the artist, I never researched or learned much about him. Turns out he was a draftsman and a cartoonist before he ever painted cake, and the exhibit was clearly not about his paintings. His early cartoons started off the display and his wit brought a smile to my face. He was also asked by Wimbledon to attend their tennis matches and visually record the tennis players. Here I thought Norman would not appreciate being dragged through another museum, yet we would have both enjoyed this particular exhibit for our own separate reasons. I was most taken by the quick sketches he made of people as they could have been drawn by the hand of my dad. It must have been the drawing style of mid-20th-century art, and they were both wonderful artists of that era. I felt a close bond with Daddy, even if he was not able to make it to the museum. Seeing the quick pencil and ink sketches of Gainsborough and Thiebaud was almost like having a glimpse into the personal lives of these artists. Just like one's handwriting reflects their personality, so does their art.
A final exhibit, "The Magic of Handwriting," connected all the rooms of the museum in a well-curated theme. Upstairs in the Morgan was a room filled with the handwriting samples of many people in history, world leaders, artists, scientists, and celebrities. A glorious and oh, so fascinating room to wander through. I examined each torn slip of paper that someone before me had written on as the most precious of all finds in any museum. Sigmund Freud wrote out a note to his 94-year-old mom, giving her six dollars on her birthday. That was very typical of the little, innocent letters I took a long time to read and enjoy. I witnessed the signature of the Grand Duchess Anastasia along with her imperial family days before their death, I looked at the shaky hand of an older Winston Churchill, the bold script of Andy Warhol, and the feminine scrawl of Marilyn Monroe. Hands down, the most beautiful writing in the room belonged to Benjamin Franklin.
I was ready to record all these treasures with the camera on my phone, but what got my notice with the most glee was a letter written and signed by Vincent van Gogh. Shana Lindsey at Ranney once questioned my use of the lower case "v" for van and wanted it changed to a capital letter before report card comments were sent out. I was pretty sure my usage was correct, but I could never be positive that I was not following some other incorrect information on the internet. And as Vincent usually signed his work with just his first name, it was hard to prove my case. But here was a letter signed in full. Sure enough, it was written as Monsieur V. van Gogh! It was a joyful feeling to be validated by the artist himself. Best exhibit ever. I was inspired by the hands of many brilliant people and I was even given credit as an art teacher who knew her stuff. Not a bad day.
Even better, we closed out our day giving Maggie to Andrea. She loved my work. Another good feeling moment. And our dinner with Jacki and Harold left me feeling even more optimistic that I could be successful some day. Maybe Harold could be my agent? Instagram notifications lit up my phone all night with likes and comments on my Instagram worthy day.
Yesterday was a day of inspiration perfect for any artist. My trip to the city was lonely but it was something I could do just for myself. If an exhibit looks promising, the weather fair and no other pressing needs are keeping me at home, why wouldn't I make the $6.80 senior fare bus trip into Manhattan? I tried reaching out to Daddy, Katie and even to Pam Shipley to meet me at the Morgan Library. I ended up on my own, having just as much fun talking to strangers in each of the galleries of the Library and Museum.
There were a few exhibits that tickled my fancy and drew me there, even without the companionship of a friend. The sketches of Thomas Gainsborough were enjoyable and so lovely. His sketches look just like his paint strokes. I discovered the same startling comparison years ago in an exhibit of Vincent's drawings. Vincent's small marks of pen and ink were a perfect match to the small directional strokes of his brush. I remember thinking this was obviously how Vincent van Gogh saw the world and recorded it on his page. It was just as startling to remark on the same fluidity of work with Thomas Gainsborough. Do my drawings look like my paintings? I'll have to think about that.
The next room I visited was the drawings of Wayne Thiebaud, an artist famous for painting cake. I meant to teach this artist to my art classes and never got around to introducing him to the kids. How much fun would it have been for them to paint a picture of cake? Without creating a lesson on the artist, I never researched or learned much about him. Turns out he was a draftsman and a cartoonist before he ever painted cake, and the exhibit was clearly not about his paintings. His early cartoons started off the display and his wit brought a smile to my face. He was also asked by Wimbledon to attend their tennis matches and visually record the tennis players. Here I thought Norman would not appreciate being dragged through another museum, yet we would have both enjoyed this particular exhibit for our own separate reasons. I was most taken by the quick sketches he made of people as they could have been drawn by the hand of my dad. It must have been the drawing style of mid-20th-century art, and they were both wonderful artists of that era. I felt a close bond with Daddy, even if he was not able to make it to the museum. Seeing the quick pencil and ink sketches of Gainsborough and Thiebaud was almost like having a glimpse into the personal lives of these artists. Just like one's handwriting reflects their personality, so does their art.
A final exhibit, "The Magic of Handwriting," connected all the rooms of the museum in a well-curated theme. Upstairs in the Morgan was a room filled with the handwriting samples of many people in history, world leaders, artists, scientists, and celebrities. A glorious and oh, so fascinating room to wander through. I examined each torn slip of paper that someone before me had written on as the most precious of all finds in any museum. Sigmund Freud wrote out a note to his 94-year-old mom, giving her six dollars on her birthday. That was very typical of the little, innocent letters I took a long time to read and enjoy. I witnessed the signature of the Grand Duchess Anastasia along with her imperial family days before their death, I looked at the shaky hand of an older Winston Churchill, the bold script of Andy Warhol, and the feminine scrawl of Marilyn Monroe. Hands down, the most beautiful writing in the room belonged to Benjamin Franklin.
I was ready to record all these treasures with the camera on my phone, but what got my notice with the most glee was a letter written and signed by Vincent van Gogh. Shana Lindsey at Ranney once questioned my use of the lower case "v" for van and wanted it changed to a capital letter before report card comments were sent out. I was pretty sure my usage was correct, but I could never be positive that I was not following some other incorrect information on the internet. And as Vincent usually signed his work with just his first name, it was hard to prove my case. But here was a letter signed in full. Sure enough, it was written as Monsieur V. van Gogh! It was a joyful feeling to be validated by the artist himself. Best exhibit ever. I was inspired by the hands of many brilliant people and I was even given credit as an art teacher who knew her stuff. Not a bad day.
Even better, we closed out our day giving Maggie to Andrea. She loved my work. Another good feeling moment. And our dinner with Jacki and Harold left me feeling even more optimistic that I could be successful some day. Maybe Harold could be my agent? Instagram notifications lit up my phone all night with likes and comments on my Instagram worthy day.
Busy but Bored (27)
July 11th
Writing has helped me come to terms with what is happening in my changing life. My emotions range from a burst of happiness and creativity, to the fear of not feeling happy or creative, to yearning for the calm demeanor I aim to show the world. I fell asleep last night with a text from Norman asking if I'd like to take a 7 hour trip up to Maine because a friend of his enjoys Portland. He is going through his own disturbing worries lately, with dental implant surgery on Friday, wellness checkups next week after a few troubling sugar readings, and a wife bumbling around the house, intruding on his well-honed retirement routine. He just wants to get away. I get that. Only thing is, I do not want to get away. A 7 hour car ride to a destination I am sure is lovely does not sound like a fun activity. I will not have my comfortable bed, my shower with the handheld nozzle, or my kitchen to feed my vegan soul. I am still figuring out my days and I need to be home to get to that place. Then I'll take a vacation.
Yesterday was a productive day, but I ended the night bored to tears. That's just crazy. Zach came by to help fix our new, expensive deck umbrella that was not meant to tip over in a storm but did anyway. We took a lovely walk in Manalapan Rec, followed the walk with chores at home, and lunch on the deck. All wonderful, right? I spent the afternoon shopping for velcro for Maggie's frame and wandered through TJ Maxx, only to decide I needed nothing. Who goes to TJ Maxx without finding something you did not realize you needed somewhere in the store? At home, I did my finishing touches on Maggie. She was framed and signed and photographed for my Instagram worthy moment of the week. I topped off the day with a delicious vegan stir-fry, a walk with Murray and I finally cleaned the house. I should have fallen into bed exhausted, pleased with a full and vibrant day to add to my checklist for a full and vibrant week. Instead, I was bored. I fell asleep with shpilkes. Crazy, crazy, crazy.
I think I am still riding high on my adrenaline burst as a retired art teacher and looking for activities that will keep me feeling worthy. Why that splurge of energy should hit me at bedtime is complete nonsense. All I know is that I do not want to take a 7 hour drive to Maine but at least it might be something to do.
Writing has helped me come to terms with what is happening in my changing life. My emotions range from a burst of happiness and creativity, to the fear of not feeling happy or creative, to yearning for the calm demeanor I aim to show the world. I fell asleep last night with a text from Norman asking if I'd like to take a 7 hour trip up to Maine because a friend of his enjoys Portland. He is going through his own disturbing worries lately, with dental implant surgery on Friday, wellness checkups next week after a few troubling sugar readings, and a wife bumbling around the house, intruding on his well-honed retirement routine. He just wants to get away. I get that. Only thing is, I do not want to get away. A 7 hour car ride to a destination I am sure is lovely does not sound like a fun activity. I will not have my comfortable bed, my shower with the handheld nozzle, or my kitchen to feed my vegan soul. I am still figuring out my days and I need to be home to get to that place. Then I'll take a vacation.
Yesterday was a productive day, but I ended the night bored to tears. That's just crazy. Zach came by to help fix our new, expensive deck umbrella that was not meant to tip over in a storm but did anyway. We took a lovely walk in Manalapan Rec, followed the walk with chores at home, and lunch on the deck. All wonderful, right? I spent the afternoon shopping for velcro for Maggie's frame and wandered through TJ Maxx, only to decide I needed nothing. Who goes to TJ Maxx without finding something you did not realize you needed somewhere in the store? At home, I did my finishing touches on Maggie. She was framed and signed and photographed for my Instagram worthy moment of the week. I topped off the day with a delicious vegan stir-fry, a walk with Murray and I finally cleaned the house. I should have fallen into bed exhausted, pleased with a full and vibrant day to add to my checklist for a full and vibrant week. Instead, I was bored. I fell asleep with shpilkes. Crazy, crazy, crazy.
I think I am still riding high on my adrenaline burst as a retired art teacher and looking for activities that will keep me feeling worthy. Why that splurge of energy should hit me at bedtime is complete nonsense. All I know is that I do not want to take a 7 hour drive to Maine but at least it might be something to do.
Reaching out to Abby (26)
July 10th
Sweet. Maggie the Painting is another portrait ready to go and just needs my signature after I check it over for any last minute triple zero brush touches. Nobody else will notice the difference of a stroke here or there, but fiddling around in my final self-approval stage makes me happy. Andrea was surprised and teary-eyed to see her sweet dog on my easel in a text message. I look forward to her reaction in person. Will this be another Instagram worthy moment?
Yesterday, I purchased an e-book as an investment in my future. Abby Glassenberg was one of the first podcast voices I listened to in the car. A sewist and blogger, Abby taught Middle School math before the birth of her first daughter. Her blog, "While She Naps" was developed as a hobby and she eventually turned it into a business, giving up her teaching career for the joys of crafting and motherhood. Back then, I had no idea what a blog was or how it was different from a website. This was still early days on the internet with social media communities. Of course, as I get excited about all things tech, blogging took over the creative world and became my thing as well. The visual gratification of a beautiful post filled with my students' artwork was a great way to communicate with parents at Ranney. On a more personal level, my home blog became a place to air my writing. I wrote about my creative whims, recipes, quilting, and art. The writing and the art was just a hobby for me, as I had another more financially worthy title of Art Teacher to fill my days. Abby's blog and podcast slowly evolved into a business platform where she made herself a living selling PDF patterns and membership to her Craft Business Alliance group. I slowly stopped listening to her business conversations in favor of vegan podcasts and other creative podcasts featuring artists talking about art, not about business.
Along the way in our internet friendship, I reached out to Abby a few times. Each time, as a true internet friend, she replied. That was always thoughtful of her to take the time, and it made good business sense, as she got me to buy things. For example, through Pinterest, I was inspired to turn my Beginner self-portraits from school into a doll for each 3-year-old child. The dolls brought their innocent scribbles to life and made a splash in my art show for a couple of years in a row. It was a huge undertaking to do this, but I was very proud of this project and I shared it with Abby. I even bought one of her patterns for a real doll and made it for Emma as a present. Abby thanked me for my note and appreciated the pictures I sent of my Beginner dolls and her pattern made into an Emma doll. After our correspondence and me sending her pictures of my dolls made out of drawings, I found a photo of a doll she made from her daughter's drawing on Instagram. I quietly accepted personal credit for her brilliant social media photo, even if she did not offer it to me.
The next time I reached out to Abby was with a question. I was not using my personal blog to its potential, but like the rest of the world, I got caught up in the Instagram storm. I was excited to upload quick photos of vegan food and art to Instagram. All it took was one well-written sentence and hashtags to reach out to the greater community, and I received instant gratification for my efforts. Artists need to share, they need the applause for their art. The personal blog was a journal of creative moments for me, whereas Instagram made me feel like an artist of worth. I wrote to Abby and asked her if blogging was dead. She got back to me with strong words, insisting that blogging, which is the basis of her business, is more vital than ever. Okay, perhaps for her. Pleased that she replied to me once again, I felt like she really is my internet friend and I tried to see her point of view. I still preferred listening to other podcasts in the car and happily continued to use Instagram instead.
Now I have all the time in the world to try out blogging again. Could that be a way to sell my portraits? I can go back to my blog, update it to reflect my new stage in life, and link it to Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest and even to Twitter, (another thing I have an account in but do not use. Honestly, how many hours are there in a day, even for someone with time on their hands?) So yesterday, Abby was selling an e-book through her e-newsletter. For only $13 I can read why blogging has not died. I not only take personal credit for this topic (which she did not offer me after I posted that very question), I was intrigued enough to spend the money and get a better answer to my query. Halfway through her book and I am still not convinced. She must be a born saleslady and I am happy she is making a living doing what she loves. She got me to hand over cash for a good PDF pattern and a good pep talk on blogging. Today, I will sign and frame Maggie, upload the portrait to Instagram, finish reading my new e-book, and possibly write a blog post.
Sweet. Maggie the Painting is another portrait ready to go and just needs my signature after I check it over for any last minute triple zero brush touches. Nobody else will notice the difference of a stroke here or there, but fiddling around in my final self-approval stage makes me happy. Andrea was surprised and teary-eyed to see her sweet dog on my easel in a text message. I look forward to her reaction in person. Will this be another Instagram worthy moment?
Yesterday, I purchased an e-book as an investment in my future. Abby Glassenberg was one of the first podcast voices I listened to in the car. A sewist and blogger, Abby taught Middle School math before the birth of her first daughter. Her blog, "While She Naps" was developed as a hobby and she eventually turned it into a business, giving up her teaching career for the joys of crafting and motherhood. Back then, I had no idea what a blog was or how it was different from a website. This was still early days on the internet with social media communities. Of course, as I get excited about all things tech, blogging took over the creative world and became my thing as well. The visual gratification of a beautiful post filled with my students' artwork was a great way to communicate with parents at Ranney. On a more personal level, my home blog became a place to air my writing. I wrote about my creative whims, recipes, quilting, and art. The writing and the art was just a hobby for me, as I had another more financially worthy title of Art Teacher to fill my days. Abby's blog and podcast slowly evolved into a business platform where she made herself a living selling PDF patterns and membership to her Craft Business Alliance group. I slowly stopped listening to her business conversations in favor of vegan podcasts and other creative podcasts featuring artists talking about art, not about business.
Along the way in our internet friendship, I reached out to Abby a few times. Each time, as a true internet friend, she replied. That was always thoughtful of her to take the time, and it made good business sense, as she got me to buy things. For example, through Pinterest, I was inspired to turn my Beginner self-portraits from school into a doll for each 3-year-old child. The dolls brought their innocent scribbles to life and made a splash in my art show for a couple of years in a row. It was a huge undertaking to do this, but I was very proud of this project and I shared it with Abby. I even bought one of her patterns for a real doll and made it for Emma as a present. Abby thanked me for my note and appreciated the pictures I sent of my Beginner dolls and her pattern made into an Emma doll. After our correspondence and me sending her pictures of my dolls made out of drawings, I found a photo of a doll she made from her daughter's drawing on Instagram. I quietly accepted personal credit for her brilliant social media photo, even if she did not offer it to me.
The next time I reached out to Abby was with a question. I was not using my personal blog to its potential, but like the rest of the world, I got caught up in the Instagram storm. I was excited to upload quick photos of vegan food and art to Instagram. All it took was one well-written sentence and hashtags to reach out to the greater community, and I received instant gratification for my efforts. Artists need to share, they need the applause for their art. The personal blog was a journal of creative moments for me, whereas Instagram made me feel like an artist of worth. I wrote to Abby and asked her if blogging was dead. She got back to me with strong words, insisting that blogging, which is the basis of her business, is more vital than ever. Okay, perhaps for her. Pleased that she replied to me once again, I felt like she really is my internet friend and I tried to see her point of view. I still preferred listening to other podcasts in the car and happily continued to use Instagram instead.
Now I have all the time in the world to try out blogging again. Could that be a way to sell my portraits? I can go back to my blog, update it to reflect my new stage in life, and link it to Instagram, Facebook, Pinterest and even to Twitter, (another thing I have an account in but do not use. Honestly, how many hours are there in a day, even for someone with time on their hands?) So yesterday, Abby was selling an e-book through her e-newsletter. For only $13 I can read why blogging has not died. I not only take personal credit for this topic (which she did not offer me after I posted that very question), I was intrigued enough to spend the money and get a better answer to my query. Halfway through her book and I am still not convinced. She must be a born saleslady and I am happy she is making a living doing what she loves. She got me to hand over cash for a good PDF pattern and a good pep talk on blogging. Today, I will sign and frame Maggie, upload the portrait to Instagram, finish reading my new e-book, and possibly write a blog post.
A Day at the Races (25)
Today is July 9th. My last official day of actual teaching was a month ago, making today an anniversary of sorts. What will I do to acknowledge my milestone? I've got errands to run, a house to clean and bills to pay. That sounds like no fun at all, but it is. It really is. This is Monday and Mondays have always meant putting all that fun stuff on a back burner and clogging up my mental state with the issues of school. At 7:30, Early Care would begin my long Ranney day. Instead, I sit in my stylish robe (a gift from Nikita, a little Russian boy in school) with my hot water and lemon, perusing my mail, paying my bills, and typing out my thoughts. So you know what? I am having fun and I very much appreciate this time to ponder my new daily grind with flexibility and joy.
Yesterday was another social day. We drove to Queens, my old stomping grounds, and spent the day at the Belmont Racetrack. We met Jeff, Wendy, Mike, Pete Saunders and two adorable international lads from camp. They grow them really cute in England! Jeff and Mike are enjoying their first summer not at camp and it was nice for Norman to relate to their idling days. The beautiful weather continued through the weekend and our day at the races was a wonderful way to enjoy it. I like seeing horses run, even if my bet for "Street Cat Sam" did not make me rich. I hope as a vegan, horse racing is not a horrible thing to enjoy. I hope as a vegan, the horses are treated kindly in their sport and are given a respectful retirement once their racing days are over. I am at least grateful that they are not considered food for the carnivores of this country. Ugh. Retirement from racing, retirement from camp, retirement from teaching... it all makes me reflect on what that stage of life should look like. A horse not racing still wants to run through a meadow and feel the wind in his mane. A horse not racing still wants the companionship of other horses and looks to his human buddies to be cared for as any animal deserves. I think that is not so different for us humans. For today, I might not be painting with children, but I am painting Maggie the dog. And I will do my errands, whenever I feel like doing them.
Yesterday was another social day. We drove to Queens, my old stomping grounds, and spent the day at the Belmont Racetrack. We met Jeff, Wendy, Mike, Pete Saunders and two adorable international lads from camp. They grow them really cute in England! Jeff and Mike are enjoying their first summer not at camp and it was nice for Norman to relate to their idling days. The beautiful weather continued through the weekend and our day at the races was a wonderful way to enjoy it. I like seeing horses run, even if my bet for "Street Cat Sam" did not make me rich. I hope as a vegan, horse racing is not a horrible thing to enjoy. I hope as a vegan, the horses are treated kindly in their sport and are given a respectful retirement once their racing days are over. I am at least grateful that they are not considered food for the carnivores of this country. Ugh. Retirement from racing, retirement from camp, retirement from teaching... it all makes me reflect on what that stage of life should look like. A horse not racing still wants to run through a meadow and feel the wind in his mane. A horse not racing still wants the companionship of other horses and looks to his human buddies to be cared for as any animal deserves. I think that is not so different for us humans. For today, I might not be painting with children, but I am painting Maggie the dog. And I will do my errands, whenever I feel like doing them.
Georgia in the Bronx (24)
July 8th
Inspiration: the word of the day for yesterday. And the missing checkbox in my list for a full and vibrant week. Without the stress and endless jarring of a day at school followed by the need to hibernate and recover from those stressful moments, my days are now calm and I can happily look for creative inspiration as my life source of adrenaline. Some people might get that same rush from competing in or watching sports. For Norman, I am sure it comes down to showing off his talent in an amazing one-eyed game of tennis, a skillful bet in poker, or perhaps a blood curling movie he knows better than to take me to. I get that rush every time I see something that screams out to me to be painted, sewn, or written, and it feels really good inside. The image of Murray now waiting to become a painting gave me that burst of adrenaline. And our visit to the Bronx last night to see Georgia O'Keeffe not only fueled my urge to blend paint on a canvas, but it inspired me to write as soon as I woke up today. Inspiration gets my clean and vegan blood pumping, the telemeters in my ancient brain growing, and my arthritic fingers ready to move. Inspiration is the fountain of youth and should be a checkbox on everyone's list.
A gift from Norman this year was a pair of tickets to see Georgia O'Keeffe at the NY Botanical Gardens. We spent a magical night together in perfect weather. We began with a stop on Arthur Avenue for an Italian dinner. That made me nervous since we are talking about traditional Italians here, kind of like Sonny's of Hopewell Junction. Gluten Free or other crazy American nonsense served here? Not likely. But a lovely dinner was possible, and it was discovered at Gerbasi's, a lucky stop for us on the traditional avenue. We dined at an outdoor patio with Godfather music filling the cool night air and it felt like we were transported not to the Bronx, but to Italy. My dinner was amazing, my date with Norman, lovely, and the waiter absolutely happy to put together a V/GF meal of my choice. Smart man. A happy customer means a returning customer bringing more friends to try out his Italian delights.
The O'Keeffe exhibition in the Gardens was just as perfect. It was a small collection of her flowers and landscapes and it filled my soul with art. The Gardens surprised me at first since we did not see a single flower. We walked along a path looking at pretty green lawns, cool origami lamp posts, rocky formations, and well-groomed trees. This part of the Garden looked more like a public park than a place to pay to enter. After walking around the exhibit in the library, we stopped to listen to Hawaiian music and I even joined in a hula dance lesson on a great lawn. Imagine me dancing? Not in my wildest dreams, but I did swirl my hips! The Hawaiian theme continued into a conservatory with brilliant flowers typical of a tropical island. They really did a great job of transporting everyone into the world that inspired Georgia. And it will inspire me to return to my easel with renewed spirit and gusto. Do I think Andrea will question the Hawaiian flowers I might paint around her sweet Maggie's neck?
Inspiration: the word of the day for yesterday. And the missing checkbox in my list for a full and vibrant week. Without the stress and endless jarring of a day at school followed by the need to hibernate and recover from those stressful moments, my days are now calm and I can happily look for creative inspiration as my life source of adrenaline. Some people might get that same rush from competing in or watching sports. For Norman, I am sure it comes down to showing off his talent in an amazing one-eyed game of tennis, a skillful bet in poker, or perhaps a blood curling movie he knows better than to take me to. I get that rush every time I see something that screams out to me to be painted, sewn, or written, and it feels really good inside. The image of Murray now waiting to become a painting gave me that burst of adrenaline. And our visit to the Bronx last night to see Georgia O'Keeffe not only fueled my urge to blend paint on a canvas, but it inspired me to write as soon as I woke up today. Inspiration gets my clean and vegan blood pumping, the telemeters in my ancient brain growing, and my arthritic fingers ready to move. Inspiration is the fountain of youth and should be a checkbox on everyone's list.
A gift from Norman this year was a pair of tickets to see Georgia O'Keeffe at the NY Botanical Gardens. We spent a magical night together in perfect weather. We began with a stop on Arthur Avenue for an Italian dinner. That made me nervous since we are talking about traditional Italians here, kind of like Sonny's of Hopewell Junction. Gluten Free or other crazy American nonsense served here? Not likely. But a lovely dinner was possible, and it was discovered at Gerbasi's, a lucky stop for us on the traditional avenue. We dined at an outdoor patio with Godfather music filling the cool night air and it felt like we were transported not to the Bronx, but to Italy. My dinner was amazing, my date with Norman, lovely, and the waiter absolutely happy to put together a V/GF meal of my choice. Smart man. A happy customer means a returning customer bringing more friends to try out his Italian delights.
The O'Keeffe exhibition in the Gardens was just as perfect. It was a small collection of her flowers and landscapes and it filled my soul with art. The Gardens surprised me at first since we did not see a single flower. We walked along a path looking at pretty green lawns, cool origami lamp posts, rocky formations, and well-groomed trees. This part of the Garden looked more like a public park than a place to pay to enter. After walking around the exhibit in the library, we stopped to listen to Hawaiian music and I even joined in a hula dance lesson on a great lawn. Imagine me dancing? Not in my wildest dreams, but I did swirl my hips! The Hawaiian theme continued into a conservatory with brilliant flowers typical of a tropical island. They really did a great job of transporting everyone into the world that inspired Georgia. And it will inspire me to return to my easel with renewed spirit and gusto. Do I think Andrea will question the Hawaiian flowers I might paint around her sweet Maggie's neck?
A Day of Photoshop, A Good Day (23)
July 7th
Much better. Yesterday, I hit a bunch of boxes on my vitamin week checklist. Maggie the Painting has life breathed into her. I am not sure it is Andrea's preferred style of art, as it does not reflect mid-century artwork, but it does reflect me and that is my goal, discovering me. My attempts at throwing around pots and cooking up a creative storm in the kitchen were also much improved yesterday. I ate like a vegan princess all day, finishing up my food frenzy with a delicious (perfect for me, but not sweet enough for Norman) dish of homemade mango sorbet. I was into socializing, going for a walk with Joyce and speaking on the phone to Sue. I even sat on the deck (protected in a cloud of bug spray) with our dishes of sorbet and learned how to play poker with Norman. I love the guy, but I could not follow all the rules. I am a simple gin rummy girl.
I decided on a photo for Murray my soon-to-be painting. Merging a few different photos of the furry boy into a perfect image from my dream was a fun hour-long jaunt in Photoshop. I attempted to use the computer to see if I could conjure up the idea of using a reflection of Murray in the side view mirror of a car. The images I had were not working and we would have to take him for another ride and get a better shot of his face in the wind. I was clearly not ready for this to be my next painting. I will use the brilliance of this idea at some point in my creative future, simply because it is a brilliant idea. Looking through my photo files, I found another wonderful pose of Murray and this one is so typical Murray that it screamed out to me to be painted. That happens with almost all of my work. An image will let me know it has to be painted. This regal portrait of Murray will be perfect on the wall of my house. It could be called, King of the Manor, which he is. Life took a wavering pause this week as I am sure the creative Gods will throw my way regularly. But I feel refreshed, ready to take an optimistic stab at all possible ideas and move on.
This morning, I read a few blogs about writing. Amy Lynn Andrews has a UseLetter newsletter (silly name) with helpful tips. As a retiree with goals in mind, the tips have become remarkably useful (thus the name?). I subscribed to a couple of her links, writers helping new writers. I will enjoy the process of learning how to promote myself, as a writer and an artist. A check mark in the category for finding an income? The sun is out, I slept better, and I get to go the Botanical Gardens today to see a Georgia O'Keeffe exhibit. I am excited to share my experience today with Ave. I consider her my artist muse but as she is more my pen pal these days, I get to practice my writing with her too. Dear Ave, for today, life is good.
Much better. Yesterday, I hit a bunch of boxes on my vitamin week checklist. Maggie the Painting has life breathed into her. I am not sure it is Andrea's preferred style of art, as it does not reflect mid-century artwork, but it does reflect me and that is my goal, discovering me. My attempts at throwing around pots and cooking up a creative storm in the kitchen were also much improved yesterday. I ate like a vegan princess all day, finishing up my food frenzy with a delicious (perfect for me, but not sweet enough for Norman) dish of homemade mango sorbet. I was into socializing, going for a walk with Joyce and speaking on the phone to Sue. I even sat on the deck (protected in a cloud of bug spray) with our dishes of sorbet and learned how to play poker with Norman. I love the guy, but I could not follow all the rules. I am a simple gin rummy girl.
I decided on a photo for Murray my soon-to-be painting. Merging a few different photos of the furry boy into a perfect image from my dream was a fun hour-long jaunt in Photoshop. I attempted to use the computer to see if I could conjure up the idea of using a reflection of Murray in the side view mirror of a car. The images I had were not working and we would have to take him for another ride and get a better shot of his face in the wind. I was clearly not ready for this to be my next painting. I will use the brilliance of this idea at some point in my creative future, simply because it is a brilliant idea. Looking through my photo files, I found another wonderful pose of Murray and this one is so typical Murray that it screamed out to me to be painted. That happens with almost all of my work. An image will let me know it has to be painted. This regal portrait of Murray will be perfect on the wall of my house. It could be called, King of the Manor, which he is. Life took a wavering pause this week as I am sure the creative Gods will throw my way regularly. But I feel refreshed, ready to take an optimistic stab at all possible ideas and move on.
This morning, I read a few blogs about writing. Amy Lynn Andrews has a UseLetter newsletter (silly name) with helpful tips. As a retiree with goals in mind, the tips have become remarkably useful (thus the name?). I subscribed to a couple of her links, writers helping new writers. I will enjoy the process of learning how to promote myself, as a writer and an artist. A check mark in the category for finding an income? The sun is out, I slept better, and I get to go the Botanical Gardens today to see a Georgia O'Keeffe exhibit. I am excited to share my experience today with Ave. I consider her my artist muse but as she is more my pen pal these days, I get to practice my writing with her too. Dear Ave, for today, life is good.
Family on the Fourth (21)
July 5th
With the Fourth of July done and celebrated, we are officially thrown into the midst of summer. June 21st, the first day of summer, didn't feel like the beginning of the season, even though the calendar said so. June 21st was just another day of me floundering about, figuring out what to do with myself. Three weeks of Penzu journaling and I've been transported to the Fourth of a new month, calmer in the process and hopefully present in the moment. Yesterday was a lovely day and my thoughts were not rushing ahead to another year of school or to summer projects that I wished I had more time to tackle before the summer ends. After three weeks of self-written therapy in my journal, I could just sit back and enjoy the day.
To celebrate the Fourth, we piled my New Jersey crew into three cars and drove up to Yorktown Heights. Travel was light, even into and out of the city, and that made for three pleasurable car rides. Betty was not part of our trip due to some unfortunate vertigo but her presence in our day was replaced by the addition of little Evey, Sam's girlfriend's one-year-old daughter. My children are branching out and figuring out their own identities as couples and hopefully as parents one day. It is a good feeling to know that is happening even as that means we need three vehicles to go anywhere now. Becca and Adam have life figured out. Yesterday, I enjoyed the pleasure of watching their beautiful young families. I want this for my children. And someday to enjoy the blessings of a little Emma or Lillie of our own.
Zach and Michele were congratulated on their engagement, Adam and Cari on their new home, and I was congratulated on my retirement. Everyone came to enjoy the Fourth with milestones to celebrate. I am finally taking my retirement in stride. I went from sheer panic and guilt to a calm thank you as I was greeted. One of the husbands of Ricky's friends said hello to my dad and said, "hi, Betty," as he looked at me! Okay, so I am retired after all, which means I am officially lumped into an age group that could range 30 years or more. I smiled and later corrected the man. I realize now I that I never found out his name either. My family is growing and I am figuring out my place in life. I hope the next 30 years will be a story to remember and to celebrate, and not just on the Fourth of a new month.
With the Fourth of July done and celebrated, we are officially thrown into the midst of summer. June 21st, the first day of summer, didn't feel like the beginning of the season, even though the calendar said so. June 21st was just another day of me floundering about, figuring out what to do with myself. Three weeks of Penzu journaling and I've been transported to the Fourth of a new month, calmer in the process and hopefully present in the moment. Yesterday was a lovely day and my thoughts were not rushing ahead to another year of school or to summer projects that I wished I had more time to tackle before the summer ends. After three weeks of self-written therapy in my journal, I could just sit back and enjoy the day.
To celebrate the Fourth, we piled my New Jersey crew into three cars and drove up to Yorktown Heights. Travel was light, even into and out of the city, and that made for three pleasurable car rides. Betty was not part of our trip due to some unfortunate vertigo but her presence in our day was replaced by the addition of little Evey, Sam's girlfriend's one-year-old daughter. My children are branching out and figuring out their own identities as couples and hopefully as parents one day. It is a good feeling to know that is happening even as that means we need three vehicles to go anywhere now. Becca and Adam have life figured out. Yesterday, I enjoyed the pleasure of watching their beautiful young families. I want this for my children. And someday to enjoy the blessings of a little Emma or Lillie of our own.
Zach and Michele were congratulated on their engagement, Adam and Cari on their new home, and I was congratulated on my retirement. Everyone came to enjoy the Fourth with milestones to celebrate. I am finally taking my retirement in stride. I went from sheer panic and guilt to a calm thank you as I was greeted. One of the husbands of Ricky's friends said hello to my dad and said, "hi, Betty," as he looked at me! Okay, so I am retired after all, which means I am officially lumped into an age group that could range 30 years or more. I smiled and later corrected the man. I realize now I that I never found out his name either. My family is growing and I am figuring out my place in life. I hope the next 30 years will be a story to remember and to celebrate, and not just on the Fourth of a new month.
A Colorest Gift (20)
July 4th
It is the third day of another week of the summer. Do I think that time is still flying by as I watch with slight panic the days of winter vanish from my life? I cannot imagine how it can be the Fourth of July. Today sounded like forever in the future when I scrambled through my last months of teaching. It felt like forever when we froze in the late spring and hoped for signs of sunny days to take walks, or even when report cards were completed and approved, crossing off yet another final job for the school year. On Monday, I bought a few groceries at Wegman's, my store of choice for the day, and the cashier wished me a happy holiday. I thanked her with a smile and wondered what holiday she was talking about. The Fourth of July crept up on me this year. The days now seem long and lazy as days of summer should, so how can it be possible that my calendar continues to creep along and throws a surprise at me?
Yesterday, I spent a lovely day with Zach. He came with me to the art store near Red Bank to hopefully cash in a gift certificate. Hillary Kramer, of finance and TV fame, a real friend this time, was so indebted to me for inspiring her daughter Shia with art, that she gifted me with lots of money and many gifts over the course of her daughter's Lower School years at Ranney. The overflow of cash from her deep pockets bought couches for my den, among other fine purchases for the house. Her gift certificate to Colorest art store was given to me four years ago. Talk about the years of life disappearing in the wink of an eye! Not only was this gift from four years back a long time ago, it expired three years ago! Zach and I walked into the shop of this expensive purveyor of art materials in Red Bank with trepidation. Would they honor my $250 gift certificate? The nice man behind the desk helped us out and suggested we activate it today as another cashier on another day may not. So without any need for brushes, canvases or paint, I picked out pretty new brushes, canvases and many new colors of paint. At the big box stores, as the man called AC Moore and Michaels, I would not have spent nearly this much money, but I hope to see that the quality of my Colorest selections will make a difference in my work. And really, this gift that lay forgotten for the last four years was like found money. A lovely reminder that I once taught art and was appreciated.
Today we celebrate the Fourth of July, Zach's engagement, my retirement and Adam's new home all in one big backyard Yorktown Heights splash. Hopefully, the time will fly by on the road, without traffic making it stand still, but pause long enough for us to savor the love and happiness of the day.
It is the third day of another week of the summer. Do I think that time is still flying by as I watch with slight panic the days of winter vanish from my life? I cannot imagine how it can be the Fourth of July. Today sounded like forever in the future when I scrambled through my last months of teaching. It felt like forever when we froze in the late spring and hoped for signs of sunny days to take walks, or even when report cards were completed and approved, crossing off yet another final job for the school year. On Monday, I bought a few groceries at Wegman's, my store of choice for the day, and the cashier wished me a happy holiday. I thanked her with a smile and wondered what holiday she was talking about. The Fourth of July crept up on me this year. The days now seem long and lazy as days of summer should, so how can it be possible that my calendar continues to creep along and throws a surprise at me?
Yesterday, I spent a lovely day with Zach. He came with me to the art store near Red Bank to hopefully cash in a gift certificate. Hillary Kramer, of finance and TV fame, a real friend this time, was so indebted to me for inspiring her daughter Shia with art, that she gifted me with lots of money and many gifts over the course of her daughter's Lower School years at Ranney. The overflow of cash from her deep pockets bought couches for my den, among other fine purchases for the house. Her gift certificate to Colorest art store was given to me four years ago. Talk about the years of life disappearing in the wink of an eye! Not only was this gift from four years back a long time ago, it expired three years ago! Zach and I walked into the shop of this expensive purveyor of art materials in Red Bank with trepidation. Would they honor my $250 gift certificate? The nice man behind the desk helped us out and suggested we activate it today as another cashier on another day may not. So without any need for brushes, canvases or paint, I picked out pretty new brushes, canvases and many new colors of paint. At the big box stores, as the man called AC Moore and Michaels, I would not have spent nearly this much money, but I hope to see that the quality of my Colorest selections will make a difference in my work. And really, this gift that lay forgotten for the last four years was like found money. A lovely reminder that I once taught art and was appreciated.
Today we celebrate the Fourth of July, Zach's engagement, my retirement and Adam's new home all in one big backyard Yorktown Heights splash. Hopefully, the time will fly by on the road, without traffic making it stand still, but pause long enough for us to savor the love and happiness of the day.
Stichery Dickory Dock (19)
July 3rd
My writing prompt this morning came from an e-newsletter again. Stitchery-Dickory-Dock is a quilting site written by blogger Amy Gibson. I was first introduced to Amy through her "Block of the Month" Craftsy class when quilting was all the rage for me and I was spending hours a day researching how to be a quilter. Hours a day staring at an iPad screen meant getting to know Amy quite well. I loved reading her blog where she wrote all about her journey as a quilter and as a mom. It did not strike me as strange for someone to post so much about her private life to complete strangers. She did not feel like a stranger to me. I studied her lessons in her iPad videos and learned to love quilting from her. She became my friend, another intimate iPad friend. Amy went through many transitions in her life, such as her journey in art, with publishing books and hosting BOM designs for us to try. She told us about her private life with the birth of her children and her decision to homeschool her brood. Over the years, her private blog posts were filled with stories I was intrigued to read. I slowly became less and less interested in her quilts as I found my own style, but I remained interested in Amy as a friend.
Her blog post this morning was the first one in many months and I opened it before any other email, delighted to see her name. She writes, "Have you ever gotten to a place in your life… perhaps right after a big change… where you stopped and looked around and realized you’re lost? Or at least, you think you’re lost. Feels like lost. You look up and realize you’ve wandered off the path into unknown territory. At first, you’re frantic to get “back on track,” but the more you try, the further you seem to get, and that’s when your mind really starts to get the best of you. Why did you wander off in the first place? Were you on the wrong path? Maybe a new, better path will emerge?" My intimate iPad friend was talking about her life since writing her last post. She could have been talking about me.
My Path Emerges
When I walked onto the stage of Camp Kinder Ring's social hall with Sue Smith and Richie Posner, 25 summers ago (wow!), we were planning the backdrop for "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat," a set that I had designed in a previous camp. I took a pencil (perhaps it was a piece of chalk) and ran across the stage drawing the horizon line. Then I quickly sketched in a pyramid and the Sphinx. Within minutes, Egypt became a scene on the stage of our very Jewish camp. When I turned around, Sue and Richie were staring at me. They were holding an old-school overhead projector waiting to begin the scene the way they always did before this crazy person took over. It was revealed to me after my sketching frenzy that using a projector is a great way to enlarge an image and amaze everyone else at camp. With this tool, I could draw without using my artist's eyes. It became an easy crutch, one we used with every colorful and amazing backdrop that followed Joseph. It also became the crutch I used in school with the smart board and it is the crutch I am looking to replace with my expensive projector gift. A projector that will still not work until I buy a $30 adaptor.
So yesterday, in my effort to do something creative, I started Maggie the painting. I have a small 12" square canvas and I considered trying this size as a possible quick business model. As Maggie would be a gift to my friends, (she will not be for sale), I am more relaxed and willing to experiment. All I really have to draw in a dog portrait is the placement of the eyes and nose. The rest of it comes to life as I move around the canvas with my brush. I actually wavered at the thought of drawing without my crutch. I even thought I might enlarge it on the computer to a 12" square image, print it out in tiles to tape together, and then trace it onto the small canvas. A 25-year habit is scary to undo! But within minutes, Maggie appeared on the canvas with a few pencil strokes and within the hour, she was blocked in with shades of brown.
Just like Amy, I've been feeling like I am lost. I think I need these small challenges to remind me of who I am, who I have been all along. Drawing Maggie the old-fashioned way might have been a first step in redirecting me on my path. I thank my friend, Amy, for reminding me that sometimes we all feel lost and that is okay. It is also okay to move on. Embrace the emergence of the right path and celebrate it when we recognize it.
My writing prompt this morning came from an e-newsletter again. Stitchery-Dickory-Dock is a quilting site written by blogger Amy Gibson. I was first introduced to Amy through her "Block of the Month" Craftsy class when quilting was all the rage for me and I was spending hours a day researching how to be a quilter. Hours a day staring at an iPad screen meant getting to know Amy quite well. I loved reading her blog where she wrote all about her journey as a quilter and as a mom. It did not strike me as strange for someone to post so much about her private life to complete strangers. She did not feel like a stranger to me. I studied her lessons in her iPad videos and learned to love quilting from her. She became my friend, another intimate iPad friend. Amy went through many transitions in her life, such as her journey in art, with publishing books and hosting BOM designs for us to try. She told us about her private life with the birth of her children and her decision to homeschool her brood. Over the years, her private blog posts were filled with stories I was intrigued to read. I slowly became less and less interested in her quilts as I found my own style, but I remained interested in Amy as a friend.
Her blog post this morning was the first one in many months and I opened it before any other email, delighted to see her name. She writes, "Have you ever gotten to a place in your life… perhaps right after a big change… where you stopped and looked around and realized you’re lost? Or at least, you think you’re lost. Feels like lost. You look up and realize you’ve wandered off the path into unknown territory. At first, you’re frantic to get “back on track,” but the more you try, the further you seem to get, and that’s when your mind really starts to get the best of you. Why did you wander off in the first place? Were you on the wrong path? Maybe a new, better path will emerge?" My intimate iPad friend was talking about her life since writing her last post. She could have been talking about me.
My Path Emerges
When I walked onto the stage of Camp Kinder Ring's social hall with Sue Smith and Richie Posner, 25 summers ago (wow!), we were planning the backdrop for "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat," a set that I had designed in a previous camp. I took a pencil (perhaps it was a piece of chalk) and ran across the stage drawing the horizon line. Then I quickly sketched in a pyramid and the Sphinx. Within minutes, Egypt became a scene on the stage of our very Jewish camp. When I turned around, Sue and Richie were staring at me. They were holding an old-school overhead projector waiting to begin the scene the way they always did before this crazy person took over. It was revealed to me after my sketching frenzy that using a projector is a great way to enlarge an image and amaze everyone else at camp. With this tool, I could draw without using my artist's eyes. It became an easy crutch, one we used with every colorful and amazing backdrop that followed Joseph. It also became the crutch I used in school with the smart board and it is the crutch I am looking to replace with my expensive projector gift. A projector that will still not work until I buy a $30 adaptor.
So yesterday, in my effort to do something creative, I started Maggie the painting. I have a small 12" square canvas and I considered trying this size as a possible quick business model. As Maggie would be a gift to my friends, (she will not be for sale), I am more relaxed and willing to experiment. All I really have to draw in a dog portrait is the placement of the eyes and nose. The rest of it comes to life as I move around the canvas with my brush. I actually wavered at the thought of drawing without my crutch. I even thought I might enlarge it on the computer to a 12" square image, print it out in tiles to tape together, and then trace it onto the small canvas. A 25-year habit is scary to undo! But within minutes, Maggie appeared on the canvas with a few pencil strokes and within the hour, she was blocked in with shades of brown.
Just like Amy, I've been feeling like I am lost. I think I need these small challenges to remind me of who I am, who I have been all along. Drawing Maggie the old-fashioned way might have been a first step in redirecting me on my path. I thank my friend, Amy, for reminding me that sometimes we all feel lost and that is okay. It is also okay to move on. Embrace the emergence of the right path and celebrate it when we recognize it.
Shpilkes (18)
July 2nd
Half a month at home and I have shpilkes. I enjoy a bit of downtime as much as the next retiree, but lounging at the beach, sitting poolside in Stanley's backyard, or even relaxing on the couch in my own house does not sit well with my mental state. I have shpilkes. I can't sit.
Yesterday, we began our day's itinerary with a tennis game for Norman and a Penzu rant for me. We followed those fun activities visiting the South Gate Manor with our happily engaged couple and Michele's mom, Tobi. Michele is an excited and happy bride-to-be, which makes my son happy, which ultimately makes us happy parents. Fill the pretty venue with friends and family dressed up to celebrate their day and it will be perfect. They are getting a very good deal thanks to her dad's connections. It always comes down to who you know in this world. They will need a good deal. None of us are lottery winners here. But I know that Zach considers his engagement to this lovely girl, who thinks my son is just as perfect, as the biggest win of his life. She is and I adore Michele. I look forward to not only next summer but to a lifetime of happy moments and the start of many celebrations for Zach and Michele.
I told Andrea all about Zach's wedding plans as we sat poolside in Stanley's backyard. Norman can do some serious lounging and relaxing. I was ready to be productive somewhere else after about an hour of kibbitzing; my husband could have enjoyed sitting in the water for an entire day. We compromised and stayed an extra half hour. My afternoon was completed with a frustrating bout of "Who writes these instructions, anyway?" I plugged in my new art projector and tried to project the image for my next painting. That goal is what life is all about, getting started on a new project and feeling like I am someone worth being me. After fiddling around with the buttons on the unit, the buttons on the remote, various plugs, flash drives, and Youtube videos to better explain the instruction sheet, I realized that my projector will not project an image. It will focus an image which is important to my work, but it won't display an image. Huh?
To make me feel like I am in control, I wrote a long email to the customer service department of the projector company this morning. Then I wrote an even longer email to the customer service/finance person at Ranney to ask why a person retiring (me) does not get the same bonus for a job well done as everyone else this past year. Thank you, Penzu, for getting me warmed up to write. I may not be able to start a painting, but I can write. Oy. I have shpilkes. I think I will go shopping today.
Half a month at home and I have shpilkes. I enjoy a bit of downtime as much as the next retiree, but lounging at the beach, sitting poolside in Stanley's backyard, or even relaxing on the couch in my own house does not sit well with my mental state. I have shpilkes. I can't sit.
Yesterday, we began our day's itinerary with a tennis game for Norman and a Penzu rant for me. We followed those fun activities visiting the South Gate Manor with our happily engaged couple and Michele's mom, Tobi. Michele is an excited and happy bride-to-be, which makes my son happy, which ultimately makes us happy parents. Fill the pretty venue with friends and family dressed up to celebrate their day and it will be perfect. They are getting a very good deal thanks to her dad's connections. It always comes down to who you know in this world. They will need a good deal. None of us are lottery winners here. But I know that Zach considers his engagement to this lovely girl, who thinks my son is just as perfect, as the biggest win of his life. She is and I adore Michele. I look forward to not only next summer but to a lifetime of happy moments and the start of many celebrations for Zach and Michele.
I told Andrea all about Zach's wedding plans as we sat poolside in Stanley's backyard. Norman can do some serious lounging and relaxing. I was ready to be productive somewhere else after about an hour of kibbitzing; my husband could have enjoyed sitting in the water for an entire day. We compromised and stayed an extra half hour. My afternoon was completed with a frustrating bout of "Who writes these instructions, anyway?" I plugged in my new art projector and tried to project the image for my next painting. That goal is what life is all about, getting started on a new project and feeling like I am someone worth being me. After fiddling around with the buttons on the unit, the buttons on the remote, various plugs, flash drives, and Youtube videos to better explain the instruction sheet, I realized that my projector will not project an image. It will focus an image which is important to my work, but it won't display an image. Huh?
To make me feel like I am in control, I wrote a long email to the customer service department of the projector company this morning. Then I wrote an even longer email to the customer service/finance person at Ranney to ask why a person retiring (me) does not get the same bonus for a job well done as everyone else this past year. Thank you, Penzu, for getting me warmed up to write. I may not be able to start a painting, but I can write. Oy. I have shpilkes. I think I will go shopping today.
Not Living in a Bubble (17)
July 1st
My eyes glaze over most items in the news. Even the days when reading an actual printed newspaper was a thing to do, I skimmed the front page and went directly to the crossword puzzle. Keeping up with the news might have allowed me to speak with authority on the world at large, and sound smart, but it was finishing the puzzle that made me feel smart. My focus on what is important in life reflects my sheltered, self-centered existence for sure. So caught up in the dramatic election and presidency of the Trump era, I did expand my pseudo-fascination with politics to reading the daily New York Times e-newsletter. The Times seems to share my slant on the outrageous events that took over our country and I felt like it was my job as a citizen to keep up with what was going on, not that I could make a difference. My vote for Hillary certainly didn't. This presidency, like all the rest before and after will enter the history books (or the cloud) and be remembered as it will. More determined people than me, such as Ricky and Barbara, may help this country recover, one voice at a time. I thank them as I would thank a doctor for helping people recover, one body at a time. The world needs passionate experts. Listening to the ridiculously funny remarks of the hosts and late night geniuses on television does help make the ridiculous so much more than just a joke and adds fuel to my unlikely interest in the news. I try not to live in a bubble.
My focus on what is important tends to shift with what is happening around me. When we spent summers in camp, we used to joke that we were in LaLa Land and Kinder News was the only thing that really mattered for 8 weeks of every year. Of course, the many hours dedicated to Ranney School had the same effect. Teachers were immersed in school events, schedules, and the behaviors of the students. Real world concerns seemed not to touch our day. The formative years of our young students pleaded for that singular attention, and as Mr. Rogers so eloquently reminded us in his documentary, that is where our focus should have been. But now, without camp ruling my summers or school regulating the other ten months of the year, I now get to focus on me. I'm not sure that is a healthy thing, as the country could be falling apart, but perhaps I am just going through a phase.
Which all brings me to this morning. I read a newsletter post from Ricky Tims, The Quilt Show host I've been watching and following for years. How ironic that celebrities become our intimate friends. My background has me staring at the faces of my iPad or television friends with the eyes of an artist. I know the shape of their features as if every appearance on the screen is a pose for a portrait. Other people might be listening to the tone of their voice or getting swallowed in by the characters they portray. I memorize their features. In some way, everyone gets intimate with these famous people. And the reverse, I think, is true. Ricky Tims may not recognize me if we pass each other on a street, but he does know his audience very well. What he shares on his online quilt show is what he knows quilters want to hear, including just enough of his personal life in La Veda, Colorado, to keep us interested in him. So I do consider him a friend and I would be drawn in by any headline concerning his life. It seems from his post this morning, that there is a wildfire raging through Colorado and threatening Ricky's home. He showed photos of the town, the spreading flames, and I could sense his fear as his home could go down just like many of his neighbors' homes. What did Ricky and his partner Justin grab first? His quilts. An artist will always be an artist. I could relate to this story in the news.
As my children are growing up and leaving my house, I have less loved ones under my wooden roof to be concerned with in case of a fire. They say to get yourself out of the house and make sure everyone knows just how to do that. There is a good reason schools have annoying fire drills. What would I grab at the first sign of smoke or a flame? Other than shouting to Norman and Sam to get the hell out, I would grab my Murray. And if possible, my paintings.
My eyes glaze over most items in the news. Even the days when reading an actual printed newspaper was a thing to do, I skimmed the front page and went directly to the crossword puzzle. Keeping up with the news might have allowed me to speak with authority on the world at large, and sound smart, but it was finishing the puzzle that made me feel smart. My focus on what is important in life reflects my sheltered, self-centered existence for sure. So caught up in the dramatic election and presidency of the Trump era, I did expand my pseudo-fascination with politics to reading the daily New York Times e-newsletter. The Times seems to share my slant on the outrageous events that took over our country and I felt like it was my job as a citizen to keep up with what was going on, not that I could make a difference. My vote for Hillary certainly didn't. This presidency, like all the rest before and after will enter the history books (or the cloud) and be remembered as it will. More determined people than me, such as Ricky and Barbara, may help this country recover, one voice at a time. I thank them as I would thank a doctor for helping people recover, one body at a time. The world needs passionate experts. Listening to the ridiculously funny remarks of the hosts and late night geniuses on television does help make the ridiculous so much more than just a joke and adds fuel to my unlikely interest in the news. I try not to live in a bubble.
My focus on what is important tends to shift with what is happening around me. When we spent summers in camp, we used to joke that we were in LaLa Land and Kinder News was the only thing that really mattered for 8 weeks of every year. Of course, the many hours dedicated to Ranney School had the same effect. Teachers were immersed in school events, schedules, and the behaviors of the students. Real world concerns seemed not to touch our day. The formative years of our young students pleaded for that singular attention, and as Mr. Rogers so eloquently reminded us in his documentary, that is where our focus should have been. But now, without camp ruling my summers or school regulating the other ten months of the year, I now get to focus on me. I'm not sure that is a healthy thing, as the country could be falling apart, but perhaps I am just going through a phase.
Which all brings me to this morning. I read a newsletter post from Ricky Tims, The Quilt Show host I've been watching and following for years. How ironic that celebrities become our intimate friends. My background has me staring at the faces of my iPad or television friends with the eyes of an artist. I know the shape of their features as if every appearance on the screen is a pose for a portrait. Other people might be listening to the tone of their voice or getting swallowed in by the characters they portray. I memorize their features. In some way, everyone gets intimate with these famous people. And the reverse, I think, is true. Ricky Tims may not recognize me if we pass each other on a street, but he does know his audience very well. What he shares on his online quilt show is what he knows quilters want to hear, including just enough of his personal life in La Veda, Colorado, to keep us interested in him. So I do consider him a friend and I would be drawn in by any headline concerning his life. It seems from his post this morning, that there is a wildfire raging through Colorado and threatening Ricky's home. He showed photos of the town, the spreading flames, and I could sense his fear as his home could go down just like many of his neighbors' homes. What did Ricky and his partner Justin grab first? His quilts. An artist will always be an artist. I could relate to this story in the news.
As my children are growing up and leaving my house, I have less loved ones under my wooden roof to be concerned with in case of a fire. They say to get yourself out of the house and make sure everyone knows just how to do that. There is a good reason schools have annoying fire drills. What would I grab at the first sign of smoke or a flame? Other than shouting to Norman and Sam to get the hell out, I would grab my Murray. And if possible, my paintings.
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