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.)

• 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.

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?

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.

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.

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. 

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.