I painted a shoe!

Week 5's lesson for the online watercolor class was shoes. 

I began by drawing one of my husband's sneakers. An afternoon of perspective challenges took it's toll.  I stopped before it was finished. It "might" have worked, but I ran off the page. And Tom's shoe is much longer in real life.  This looks like a child's sneaker. Okay, make me say it, I didn't plan the drawing in advance. 

 

No way in Hell was I going to try to draw this geometric nightmare again. Horrifying experience. Failure accepted. Lesson learned. 

I studied the next shoe, measuring as I lightly sketched. It isn't perfect, but I'm kind of proud of this one. The best part being that I will never have to paint it again.  

I almost had a heart attack painting this. I must remember to breathe.  

Better late than never?

On November 8, 2020, I ordered an advent calendar for my grandson.  I figured I had plenty of time to receive it by December 1st.  I was a bit concerned when it wasn't shipped until November 22; however, I still figured it would arrive in time.  

It arrived yesterday, February 17, 2021.  

Wear the damn mask.

I am doing a dialogue exercise recently used by Roderick Robinson in a post at his blog, Tone Deaf.  

Suzanne is a healthcare technician in a medical clinic. Her patient is a middle-aged man named Joe. 

Joe:  I can take off this mask for the test, right?

Suzanne:  No, our faces will be about 15 inches apart. You have to keep the mask on while in the clinic.  Those are the rules.

Joe:  Seriously, SUZANNE? You're kidding, right?

Suzanne: (Not looking at him, setting up the machine) I don't kid. 

Joe:  This mask is uncomfortable.

Suzanne:  I know it's uncomfortable. I've been wearing my mask and a face shield at least 40 hours a week for nearly a year now. 

Joe:  (Getting angry) It's really uncomfortable!  

Suzanne:  This is to protect us both. Please try to relax and you will be able to get through this. It won't take long.

Joe: (Grumbles and lays down, pulling his mask under his nose.)

Suzanne:  Sir, pull your mask up over your nose.  If you don't, I can't to do this procedure.  

Joe:  I can't believe this!  (He pulls the mask up over his nose)

Procedure accomplished.

Thoughts?

Get real

I came across this on FB the other day. It gave me pause.

It is a lovely sentiment; however, it reminds me of something a person would write AFTER they lost a friend to suicide.

In truth, I don't have friends who want to listen to me talk about the dark thoughts that periodically drag me down. Their eyes glaze, they change the subject, they have to leave, they start telling me about people who have it worse.

This realization doesn't make me angry. I still love them, and I enjoy their company. I just don't look to them for help. They don't know how to help. Why would they?

I think Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez got it only too right when she recently said: "it’s a painful fact for many survivors of trauma that they must deal with people who try to minimize what they experienced when they tell their stories, in an effort to silence them."

When I'm feeling overwhelmed, I pay a shrink to listen to me and help me through it. It works for me.

If you are having a mental health crisis, I strongly recommend getting professional help. Or call a suicide hotline ASAP. It is physically impossible to pull one's self up by your own bootstrap. Sometimes we all need help. There's no shame in that.

Pirate Pillaging and Play

We had a visit from grandson, N, the other day. Since COVID, N and his sister, E, do virtual school and his Dad works from home. His Mom is a stay-at-home mother. They live about 15 minutes from us, comprising our pandemic "bubble."  

N will be turning 9 soon.  He is a lonely little boy, as are many other little boys in these plague ridden times. When he comes to visit he expects us to play, so we play.  

Yesterday, we played pirates. We all loaded up with "loot" from inside the house and grabbed our weapons, weapons being Viking swords, and a sun bleached plastic baseball bat. There's even a plastic shillelagh from one of Tom's old Halloween costumes (Ogre).  We have excellent pirate weapons.

Then we each claimed our pirate kingdoms in various parts of the yard. The fun involved raids, theft, the absolute glee of pillaging the other's loot.  

I am the worst pirate, I'm afraid.  I AM crafty and ruthless; however, I have a hard time running or even moving fast since my knee injury.  I'm about 95% recovered, but I doubt it will ever be better than that. Still, I'm happy to be able to move. I'm happy to pretend I'm a 9 year-old pirate.  And, dontcha know, I can pillage with the best of them!  Arrgh!

  

Watercolor?

I signed up for an online watercolor class. I paid $175 to take this 6 week class. Each Friday the teacher releases a new lesson with text, video, and assignment. The lessons are well thought out, well laid out, and I am learning things. 

Learning things is the easy part, I find it hard (painful, even) to do the work. I want to skip school. I want to throw $175 away.  I also want to learn how to paint a damn apple.  

Lesson 1: Fruit was released on a Friday. The following Sunday night, I still hadn't started the assignment. I keep my materials in a box. Before going to bed that Sunday night I put the box on top of my keyboard so when I woke up the next morning I would know I meant business.

Voila! The somewhat pathetic first step. The frame around the painting was required. It is not meant to be in perspective. It is just a frame, the instructor's whimsy, ostensibly to add interest. Surely I could do perspective if required? Right? Well, maybe. We'll see.

Today is Sunday again. I haven't started Lesson 2: Leaves. I can't believe I have to do this again.   

I am happy, but weary to my very bones

I know I should

I know I should write a post concerning my thoughts about yesterday's attempted coup/acts of sedition.  I want to, but I'm still a little shell shocked.  Let's see if I can spit something out.

• It was obvious this nonsense was coming.  
• It isn't over.  
• It might get worse before it gets better.
• A Democratic Republic is worth fighting for.

Ending 2020 on a positive note

 Here are some photos I took at Lake Apopka in Central Florida in the last days of 2020.  

It was 50 years ago today.

50 years ago, Tom and I moved in together.  We had no money, jobs, skills, or education. In fact, at 19 years-old we had hardly any brains at all!  

When we decided to give it a go we had been an on again, off again couple for two years; never exclusive, rarely in the same city at the same time. I was indulging my creative imagination, seeking revelations, finding my self. Tom was a traveler, a hitchhiker, an adventurous Lost Boy. We were perfect for each other!

Ours has been an alternative love story, complicated and edgy. It isn't a simple romance, or even a particularly appropriate tale to tell young, impressionable grandchildren. The late 1960s and early 1970s were outside of time for some of us. But for crying out loud, we beat the odds.