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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.