Lions, Tigers and Bears. Oh My!

"Bear"
Acrylic on canvas 18" x 24"

I just finished the last few strokes on my painting of a beloved dog named Bear. It is ready for the frame and to be presented to its new owner.

When I think of bears, cute black doggies never came to mind before. I would think of panda bears, polar bears, adorable bear cubs, and cuddly teddy bears. I wonder why Phyllis, the best friend of my beloved friend Ruth, chose that name. But Bear is quite smashing in his red plaid bandanna and he carries his name proudly.

I always think of bears when I remember my niece's wedding. Everything was perfect for her weekend celebration, from the lovely grounds of the ceremony to the sun that came out just for them. The beautiful bride and groom modeled what every couple should look like on their wedding day, even if I am a bit biased. She is my niece, after all. Becky is now a consultant for Beautycounter, a beauty regimen that carries no questionable ingredients (like bearskin). She gets to transform brides into princesses every day, and anyone can be a princess after Becky has her way with them.

On the very long drive up to Big Indian in the Catskills, for Becky's wedding, we followed a GPS along dirt paths, confusing forks in the road, and no signs of civilization. At one point I told my son to bear right. In the back seat, my stepmom came to attention. "A Bear? Where?" she wanted to know. We were in the country after all. It was possible to see one. "No," I replied, "we just need to 'bear' right." Oh, the joys of the English language. We did end up seeing a bear at the wedding. He was probably just laughing at us and waiting for the reception to begin.

I would not want to face down a real bear in our backyard, but I would never want to witness someone with a rifle shooting a scared and hungry animal either. Deer, rabbits, chipmunks, and an occasional red fox wander through the forest where we live. They all have the right to exist, even the scary ones.

Just this week, bears were mentioned on the news. It seems there is a ban on killing bears in New Jersey and only official bear hunts are allowed with archery as the weapon. Hundreds of bears have been killed annually this way. Ugh. Maybe, we're just living on their land? Did anyone consider that?

And then there was the fattest bear competition. Beadnose, chubby bear #409 from Alaska won the honor of most blubbery. Nobody actually weighed her. She got the most likes on social media for her size. Talk about body shaming! She has to eat enough salmon and cake to last through many months of hibernation. Really, folks.

And then, of course, there is my dog, Murray, who has a pet bear named Ted. This stuffed bear recites R-rated lines from the movie whenever Murray plays with it. The bear gives Murray many minutes of happy fun as well as making us laugh. Now that's a cool bear!

Bear the Dog was a joy to portray on canvas. His red bandanna was a special detail that I enjoyed painting as much as the whispy white fur surrounding his face. I hope this bear continues to bring many years of happiness to Phyllis and his painting will hang on her wall with honor.

Things that go bump in the night

Katie with Hannah when they were both young.
Only pleasant dreams for my little girls.

Back when I was younger, I had a nightmare. The Twilight Zone was a much-anticipated show each week on television. I could still hear Rod Serling say in his deep voice at the end of each psychological thriller, "This is The Twilight Zone." One episode was particularly horrifying. The Caterpillar was about an ear whig that entered the ear of a man, ate away at his brain over the course of the show and came out the other ear. I watched that episode with my parents and when I woke the next morning there was a spider crawling in my hair. I think I learned how to perfect a good scream that day.

I must have also learned how to express my feelings in a story. In school, the teacher asked us to write in our journals and I recapped my morning. She was so alarmed by the tale that she phoned my parents to ask why they would allow a girl to watch such a show. I am no longer a fan of horror stories, but honestly, I wasn't spooked by the show. I was simply terrified of a spider whispering something in my ear and a coincidence that was way too much to bear.

Some people remember their dreams. I'm glad I don't know what my bizarre mind is up to eight hours every night. And I'm glad that scary dreams do not pay me a visit that often. Last night, though, I had another nightmare. I woke in shock, remembering the most vivid and strange dream of my dog Hannah. I could not close my eyes again for hours.

Hannah was born in our kitchen in a makeshift birthing bed, lined with towels. Her mom, Babs, was a rescue dog my daughter found one day. Babs was not only in need of a loving home, but she was also pregnant. Hannah was one of her four babies. Cosmo and Russell were adopted by our close friends, and Alice went to the librarian's home.

Hannah sleeping peacefully on top of one of her brothers

My pick of the litter, Hannah, never knew from the horrors of a puppy mill, a foster home, or even a crate. She was a happy little girl, so soft, so funny, and the joy of our family for many years. Hannah lived to be almost 17 years old, which translates to 119 years of a human life.

To my way of thinking, we gave Hannah a home for 17 years and she gave us back 119 years of pure, unconditional love. Not a bad return on such a short investment. Everyone should have a pet.

Anyway, back to the nightmare. We put Hannah to sleep this year, a loss that left a hole in my heart. Murray, the dog who sleeps with me now, makes sure I only think of him 24 hours a day, so as hard as it was, I recovered from my grief. Hannah was not suffering anymore. She was not scared anymore. I can't imagine why her presence would haunt me in the early hours of the morning.

Last night, I dreamt that Hannah was caught in a window and the glass cut her badly. As it happens in dreams, people and places are connected in unexpected ways to tell a story that somehow needs to be told. In my dream, Kelly Engles, a teacher from school caught my sweet puppy and cradled her in blankets to wait for me. In my mind and in my arms, I was holding Hannah again last night. Her fur was as real, as silky, and as soft as it always was. I woke up startled and spooked beyond reason. I could still feel her warm body in my arms as I sat up in bed. She was there. She was really there. I have no idea why Kelly Engles paid me a visit in the night, but Hannah came back to me in my dreams.

As a fan of Theresa Caputo, the Long Island Medium, I am pretty sure there is another plane of existence to this world. I'd really like to think that my mom is out there somewhere keeping my family safe. One crazy night, I woke to a clock reading 1:11 am. I closed my eyes and opened them again at 2:22, then 3:33 and 4:44. I never saw the 5 o'clock hour because I jumped out of bed shaking, too spooked to go back to sleep. Who was visiting me then, Theresa? Another spider? My mom with a message I could not understand?

I am much too logical for this. I just hope Hannah is resting in peace somewhere, and I get a good night's sleep. Sweet dreams, my friends.

Keep Calm and Leave the City

Norman in the crowd. He ran across all five boroughs of New York

and made the cover of the magazine that year!

I think we will always want to live close to the city. New York City, that is. And I am not sure why when we don't like crowds.

I grew up as an art student in Queens, a short trip to the museums and galleries with my Dad.

My husband is a Brooklyn boy, born and raised. He was just a car ride out of Chinatown for cold noodles or prawns with walnuts. And it was easy to cut across the boroughs for a quick trip with his Dad to opening day at Shea.

Norman even drove a taxi, long before Uber took over the business and made it cool to drive other people around. As New Yorkers, we never questioned the noise, the traffic or the crowds.

Then we dared to move to New Jersey, a river away from all that the city has to offer and at least an hour by car on a good day. As foreigners, New York is exhausting. We are always happy to partake in the theatre, to take a hike with Shmooey, to reminisce with Vicki, or to pop in to see my Dad. So why do we always feel like a bunch of tourists every time we enter the isle of Manhattan? The mad rush of people in Times Square has become downright scary to us.

We like the city, but we like to be calm.

Keep Calm and Play Tennis

Keep Calm and Avoid Zombies

Keep Calm and Go Back to Sleep (A good one)

Retirement has given us plenty of choices to slow down. I get to sleep past the crack of dawn and I get to choose between painting, sewing, cooking, or just laying around the house, binge watching a new favorite show. Norman stays out late playing poker and he uses up some of that energy a marathon runner will have for life in a game of tennis, but deck napping is his favorite afternoon hobby. We like to keep busy, but we are taking pleasure in this renewed pace of life.

Everything else is happening too fast. What, are we all running a marathon every day? As every new generation does, people want to bring back the slower movements of the past. A time when every step counted, even without a Fitbit. Every action was well conceived and appreciated. What you said meant something.

The Slow Food Movement started in the 80's and is still going strong with Farm to Table living. The Slow Food generation inspires us to stop eating fast food and to take the time to prepare whole foods and celebrate regional cuisine. Not great for the McDonald's of the world, but much healthier for the rest of us.

In my world of crafting and sewing, there is the Slow Stitching Movement and I am it's biggest fan. Creating art with your hands, not by machine, takes us back to what makes us human. I can feel my mind and body relax with every stitch I do by hand.

And in schools, there is a slow movement with maker spaces, offering kids tools and materials, and enabling them to discover the joy of creating things. That is great. We have become a consumerist generation with no clue for how things are made or where they come from. My art room was always a maker space. The world needs art.

It needs tennis too.
And music, dogs, and smiling faces.
What do you do to Keep Calm and Carry On?

I bet I have a T-shirt for that.

Call The Midwife

Me, my Mom, and a "Pram"

During my years as a teacher, I did not watch much television other than the ABC morning line up of talk shows I recorded and caught up with when there was time. It's been years since I followed a prime-time series. I think I only watched the first year of Seinfeld before giving up on even that. I was always more in need of sleep than a good laugh at something on the tube.

A few shows were the exception. HGTV kept me well entertained, but it was BBC television that always drew me in. Downton Abbey was reminiscent of Upstairs Downstairs, something I loved to watch with my mom. I finally gave in and binged all the episodes during a summer break. It got me to fall in love with the British all over again and I missed my mom with every season. She would have watched it all with me. Then my daughter, Katie, got me hooked on The Great British Bake-Off, a cooking competition about some chefs with English accents baking biscuits. We can't wait for the next season, even if Mary Berry has gone onto bigger showstopper opportunities.

In my retirement, I am starting to watch the telly again. I have a new Netflix obsession and another BBC series. What is it about British TV that I can't resist? I woke at dawn to watch Prince Harry get married and I have now binged every episode of Call the Midwife over seven seasons. I love sharing all the bits and pieces of the plot with my daughter and her boyfriend, the show's two other biggest fans. How perfectly adorable is Fred Buckle and his Violet? Will Trixie finally beat her alcoholism? What antics will Sister Monica Joan get herself into next? I love these characters, my new television besties.

My brother and me, 1957

My mom gave birth to my brother and me during the 1950's, the same time period of this show. She was proud to say she gave birth to me in a hospital, as those were modern times. She smoked during her pregnancy, something that made me cringe every time women with big bellies on the show lit up their cigarettes. And she was given a drug to induce twilight sleep during her birth. The amnesic drug did not kill the pain, it just induced a narcotic state of disorientation making her forget the entire thing. My mom woke up not remembering the pain or even that she gave birth. It's amazing I survived the pregnancy, the birth, or that I lived beyond a childhood of eating peanut butter and riding a bike without a helmet. Those were modern times?

Valerie, a nurse on Call the Midwife next to a photo of my Mom.
The same time period, the same haircut, and a cunning resemblance.
The accuracy in the show's details is remarkable.

I watch Call the Midwife and I think about my mom. The stories take place in the East End of London, not in Whitestone, Queens, but still, it is sometimes very hard to watch and impossible not to compare. Did we really live through the things they are showing? Was racism as rampant and as fearful as smallpox? Were women so strong as to deliver a baby, yet thought of as the weaker sex with no appreciation for what they can contribute to the world?

Midwifery in the 50's was a skill only women were allowed to participate in and these women were brilliant at successfully delivering the most complicated of births and calming down a frantic new mother with breathing techniques Lamaze classes could only hint at during my own birthing years. I laughed through Lamaze with my other pregnant friend, Pat, and I think we missed some of the finer points of the program. I could have used a caring midwife 'down there' in the delivery room.

I am up to 1963 in the show and this is now my history. I can remember moments from that year and I remember that turbulent decade very well. We have come such a long way from then, but these glorious, strong women portrayed on the show are still being thought of as too weak to have a voice in what really matters, such as their bodies.

Sister Evangelina would have some very harsh words of advice for this country, I am sure.