C J Hardy's Illustrations

Did I Miss Spring

2010-06-03T10:40:00.002-04:00

As we once again haul air conditioners in, supporting them in the various windows, I'm reminded that two weeks ago we donned winter coats, convinced ourselves, hot coffee in our laps as we sat on the wooden glider, that spring would come. Judging from the rhubarb and promises of tiger lilies, it was indeed here.
Memorial Day weekend allowed the tent to be out~ briefly. Winds and rains forced it to be taken down and hung to dry. And now husband has decided it's not worth the effort. I love to draw in the tent; my miniature window on the world sans mosquitos. Even Lily seems content enough, hunkered down on old comforters that found their way there for an overnight.
I want to hang on to the few more days of 70's, birds chirping in celebration of their fledglings. That small window of time before neighbors consume my solitude with noisier celebrations of the summer solstice; pools, splashes, cries and scoldings.
So I ask again, "Did I miss spring?"

Ahead of time or Behind?

2009-12-26T09:22:00.002-05:00

It's the day after Christmas and I'm pretty sure many of my neighbors, one in particular will be aggressively dismantling their holiday decor. While it's early, in a couple of hours I'll see her out there, alone, boxes on the ground, small ladder at the ready, undoing what she was the first one in the neighborhood to do, more than a month ago. The rest of us were quietly savoring our turkey dinners and like a beacon from the Griswalds, her lights illuminated our living room. Like clockwork, it's been that way for more than a month every evening at sundown.
We'll likely see many of her decorations at the street for garbage pickup and there will be valentines in her window before the rest of us have our trees down.
Maybe it's my age, that contemplative period when kids are grown, well pretty much any way; still around but no longer really accountable to their parentals. I can savor, speculate, yes, even give in to a little laziness. Twelve days of Christmas meant to me it was a season, not a day to be done with as soon as the last sugar cookie is gone and the turkey is, well, ready for soup rather than sandwiches. I've been reading, Jim Bishop's THE DAY CHRIST WAS BORN and clearly those events took more than a day. Unlike customary manger scene portrayals, the Wise Men didn't turn up until Jesus was more than eight days old.
I want to see the old CHRISTMAS CAROL on tv, not a ton of contemporary Hallmark made for tv movies, laugh at the Griswalds one more time, maybe pop in a now antiquated "Carol Burnett Show" special.
As an illustrator who sometimes does seasonal work, I'm always thinking six months ahead anyway. Christmas cards need to be finished by June, any holiday magazine submissions now need to have a summer theme. But for the moment, I'll linger; watch the news, run some laundry and bask in the knowledge there is no where I really have to be.
Merry Christmas to all of you and a very happy, safe, productive and Blessed New Year.

Flu or what

2009-11-03T19:57:00.002-05:00

Fighting a nasty four days of vertigo has left me pondering what is actually wrong. It can't be flu, no temp, aches pains, etc. It's annoying when you can't draw and assignments are due. And how is it possible that a room can feel like it's about to swim as you're staying in one place. Worst case scenario, my MS has yet again reared it's large and ugly head, just when weather is nice enough to really enjoy- quick before it snows. So, pens and paints wait as I speculate. Get the doctor's number out and put it back. Speculate some more. Thank goodness for audio books. Perhaps I'll briefly not fight this and give in to it. Some pillows and delicious words of James Patterson. What say you?

Mary Magdalene Illustration

2009-06-16T15:09:00.003-04:00

As a natural-born redhead and illustrator, I was delighted to receive an assignment for MY LIGHT MAGAZINE to illustrate Mary Magdalene. This wonderfully enigmatic and elusive New Testament character has fascinated, Catholics, Christians, and historians alike.
So where do I begin. I look for resource illustrations and find as I knew I would, fine art representations; many hinging on the sultry as well as downright erotic. I always thought of her as the unnamed woman who washed the feet of Jesus with her tears. Further research indicated that at this time Jesus was visiting a Pharisee's house, a controversial step for a holy prophet. In fact the entire event was steeped in controversy.
Back to the illustration. I knew I was over thinking as I pulled Mary Magdalene to the foreground. I tried to create a look of longing and wistfulness. After all, at some level, Jesus was a love interest. (Whose feet would you wash with your tears and dry with your hair if not for love?) I placed Jesus somewhat in the background, with a wise old man (the probably wealthy Pharisee) pouring Him wine.
The event of creating the red hair reflected my views of the scripture as I repeatedly, softened, lightened, punch up color with the most vivid mineral orange. Too bright? Subdue with terra cotta. Too brown? add some venetian red. Ah, just right. How much hair would have shown. More than Our Lady, for sure. But she's inside the house, is her hair still covered? Probably.
Hold on, go back to the scriptural resource. But she's not actually named. Do I even have the right Mary? I'll have to take Pope Gregory the Great's word for it.

MEMORIAL DAY

2009-05-25T10:00:00.004-04:00

Chilly but pleasant Memorial Day and Happy Birthday Lily Pearl, our 5 yr. old Dalmation. She has a huge stuffed toy fish waiting for her. (She almost saw it as we brought it in the house and I swear she followed my daughter to see where she was hiding it.) Of course she'll squeak it to death and we'll have to keep her from annihilating it. Then a game of hide and seek of course. And a special treat in her dinner bowl. Happy Birthday Sweet little girl. You'll never know how glad we are you share your life with us.

2009-05-25T07:35:00.001-04:00

SAW WHAT!

2009-03-26T11:35:00.004-04:00

An evening walk. Chilly but doable; We needed jackets, my daughter and I. It was a bit darker than I like to out; no longer seeing our shadows and dependent on streetlights and a few opened living room windows to shine light out on ourselves. I regretted not having brought a flashlight and was just about to complain when my daughter grabbed my arm. I instinctively stopped and looked around, "furtively", you might say, were this the beginning of a mystery novel. Karen pointed up into the tree. I saw nothing unusl, save what appeared a batlike presence fluttering madly in place, then flying off. On second look, an odd shaped mass of feathers, twittering softly, babyish even. It was a few seconds before I realized I was looking at an owl. Small, but indigenous to NW Ohio is the sweet little saw whet owl. I longed for a camera. We stood in awe for about 15 minutes, then went on our way. Nest time, a flashlight and a camera, I promise.

Winter Storm

2009-01-10T11:38:00.000-05:00

We're bombarded once a gain with snow. A whopping 8-12 inches due by dinner time. So I'm going to be stuck indoors once again (my nasty MS keeping me from safely shoveling or walking.) thank goodness for the exercise tapes I can watch from my computer screen. A favorite, a walking tape lets me walk and actually break a sweat. Problem is, my screensaver often takes over in the middle of it so I need to push mouse to keep it going. Aurgh! Happy skiing to those in the midst of this most recent winter storm. Stay safe and warm.

ICE STORM

2008-12-19T10:46:00.003-05:00

Not sure whether to be glad we're iced in or not. While I wouldn't have minded all snow (which would have translated into 66-12 inches, Mother Nature decided to once again treat us to a variety of events ranging from snow, to sleet (about 5:00 this morning) to freezing rain. The temps hovering right at freezing cause the moisture to arrive as rain then freeze at the ground. Now it's thawing somewhat, leaving a slushy mess which is supposed to be followed by snow. YUCK! I think of all those individuals trying to get home for Christmas and other winter holidays and celebrations and my heart goes out to them. On the plus side, being "weathered in" always gives rise to the creative muses and so I'll probably work on my much delayed "REUBEN" a wip in progress that even I weary of at times. (My illustrative style changed after I was well into it, preferring now watercolor over layered colored pencil, but will continue in the latter venue on this project.)
I'll try to ignore, at least for the time being, the drier buzzer going off, or the sound of the salt truck. And transport myself to pre-war Germany for some artwork.

WAITING

2008-12-11T16:09:00.003-05:00

I'm not the most patient person and never more so than waiting to hear from an editor. And it's not unsual to have a six month wait for an answer. Even then, one should expect to do some rewrites.
I know the rule of thumb is to have seven (yes, seven!) things out there at all times.
I'm sure the suspense of wondering who is reading what and what do they think of it would render me completely helpless. After all, how many hours can one reasonably spend in front of a screen that isn't platinum?
It's a heady thing to have your manuscript requested. You begin to fly around wondering what to wear, what time he'll pick you up, (oops no, that's high school prom). You begin to fly around wondering how you'll cast your leading character when Hollywood comes calling. Then you weakly crawl to the publisher's site and hesitantly peel back the covers of what he already deemed publishable. Oh, no, I'm not nearly edgy enough for the YA market. Oh, God!, that character has my character's voice! Rendering my character now speechless.
I received advice a long time ago; tell your story. Have engaging realistic characters, Then worry about marketing. Having done that, move to the next project. OK. done. Excuse me while I check my email.

ALL SOUL'S DAY

2008-11-03T10:23:00.002-05:00

After the hype of Halloween and before the hype of Election Day, sits a quiet barely acknowledged day of All Soul's. Traditionally a day of prayers for the dead, it leaves me reflective on individuals who are dearly departed and recently departed. People I thought would be around forever, or, at least until I got around to calling, going to lunch, writing. But they weren't. Three dear friends have passed since August. I have no doubt they're around, chuckling at my stupidity, encouraging me in moments of doubt, and, I hope, forgiving my moments of nastiness, indifference or just plain neglect. Did I dismiss them when I heard they had Alzheimers, figuring they wouldn't know who I was anyway? Did I avoid them when the terrible C word came up, wondering what I'd say? Was I offended when, in a senior moment, they forgot my name or lost my number? Whatever the reason, I'm sure I could have done better. So before the Christmas season is upon us, that's my goal. To do better.

Beautiful Day

2008-10-17T12:54:00.001-04:00

I'm trying to enjoy the wonderful fall weather before either rain or snow comes. Today is so gorgeous and cool enough for a good walk. So many birds in the yard (my mom always saw that as a sign of impending doom_ hope that's a wive's tale; don't want anything to mar this great day and the fact that Im at least temporarily remitting.
Great inspiration for artwork. I've had some terrific assignments that lend themselve to my love of history (or at the very least, nostalgia). Working on a conestoga wagon, draft horses in traces, ah, where do all those lines go, LOL! But for the next 40 minutes, I'm going to indulge and get a nice long walk.

Happy New Year

2008-10-02T12:57:00.004-04:00

Happy Holidays to all those who celebrate and those who love those who celebrate. May you be inscribed for the New Year.

This Mother's Day

2008-05-09T08:18:00.002-04:00

It was an innocent enough search. I remembered a dear friend with whom I'd recently reconnected by way of the internet. I wanted to send her a birthday card, her birthday falling on Mother's Day this year. What I encountered saddened me beyond belief. Her 17 year old son had succumbed to neuroblastoma, a form of children's cancer, this past April. How could I not send condolences, even though time and space had separated us. I found a lovely card, indicative of her spiritual persuasion and emailed it to her. We exchanged a number of emails promising to keep in better touch and I felt I'd regained a friend from my past.
I remember two things about my friend Sue, from our earlier days. She was wonderful around kids, always able to approach them at there level (something I struggled with). And she loved tea and plants. I was always assured that the teapot would be boiling when I went to her apartment. And one birthday of mine, she took me plant shopping; the gift including her gift of time patiently showing me the ins and outs of keeping a plant from becoming "root-bound" as well as a book for the "purple thumb".
I will contemplate those memories this mother's day. I will think of those
mom's whose memories are painful or non-existent. I will hold my nearly grown children a little closer and pray for those mom's whose children are out of reach. And I will remember teachers and other adults who didn't physically bear children that non-the less were capable of mothering over the years.
Happy Mother's Day, everyone!

I HATE SPRING

2008-04-17T08:25:00.002-04:00

Doesn't that sound terrible. Not that winter wasn't long enough, cold enough or snowy enough (it never is for me, I love winter! and notoriously hunker down like a well-cared for groundhog.
But every spring there's a disaster, either a stray baby bunny, or a bird that sluggishly forgot to fly in the face of disaster (everything from tumbling prematurely from it's nest to facing up to the neighborhood cats.)
Two nights ago my vegging in from of IDOL was interrupted by what I though was a loud quacking sound. It didn't appear to come closer or move at all for that matter.
"Keep Lily in," I yelled not wanted to complicate matters by adding a nutty dalmation to what was CERTAINLY an injured duck.
I looked behind me; my daughters had followed me with flashlights (bless them, if you announce something loud enough you really can call out the reserves, even on American Idol night!)
"The sound isn't moving,"my youngest added moving the flashlight over the ground from where the sound came. "Oh, no," she murmured scrambling over the chicken wire fence that serves as property boundery all around us.
"There's a dog involved."
"Great," said my eldest. "You're going to be defending an injured duck against a dog?"
My youngest, now in our neighbors pitchblack heavily wooded yard swiftly spanning light over the ground. "I don't see the duck"
"Well what do you see," I called back, now heavily suspicious that we were in proverbial, uh, "wild goose chase".
"Hang on," she called back. "A dog. A little orange dog tied up out here"
"Where's the duck?" my eldest and I called back.
"Do you still hear quacking?"
"Yes, we do!"
"Well guess what. That's the sound this dog makes."
Her beam of light returned to the fence, where she scrambled over as deftly as before, muttering something about "better not tear my last pair of clean jeans."
We all gladly, plowed back into the house for the last five minutes of Idol.

I hate spring.

THREE DOPEY BROTHERS ON A TRAIN

2008-02-28T08:04:00.003-05:00

It followed a blizzard, day of watching the weather, listening to the weather, phone calls about University being closed and did we know. It didn't matter, in 8" of snow and the expressway closed because of jack-knifed trailers, who was going to go anyway?
So, Tuesday, which should have been snuggly, cuddly, hunker down with artwork, didn't happen.
Then Wednesday, ah, beautiful sun making Tuesday's snow sparkle. Today we hunker. Uh uh. Son lost/quit job because Tuesday's snow. Falls asleep late afternoon. Sure I'll eat with you guys, as soon as I wake up. Daughter with 5-8:00 class so dinner about 8:00 is fine. We'll dine. Pretend we're aristocrats (do they still dine at 8:00)Chelsea Clinton spoke at my daughter's college, I should ask her LOL. Think security would let me close enough to ask what time aristocrats eat?
9:00 son wakes up, hasn't eaten but would my oldest daughter go with him to Wal-Mart. At 9:00, I ask? It's bedtime? I guess only for people who have to go to school or work. Or who were up the previous day worrying about the snow for the people who quit/lost their jobs.
They return with movie, about 4 goofy brothers on a train, all after some exotic girl who cries a lot. They haven't spoken in a year, I don't know why and by the end of the movie truly didn't care, but wondered why Bill Murray had a cameo shot in the beginning and never returned. I might have liked the movie better, if I hadn't wondered why Bill Murray, dressed in 30's something clothing was running for the train. The train got lost somewhere. Part of the dopey brothers' itinerary was to locate their mother in a convent at the foot of the Himalayas. Someone mentioned Key Lime pie at this moment, jerking me to partial awakeness, (that along with my educated daughter asking if the Himalayas are in the states) and of course I needed a piece to bring me to full awakeness since the quest for the mother in the convent didn't quite do it.
Then good night everyone, I'm leaving, and son, with his movie, departs for his home a full two blocks away (and mother telling him to drive carefully and put his car in the garage) It might snow.

Merry Christmas

2007-12-21T10:33:00.000-05:00

It's been one of those years and it probably won't culminate in raucous celebration of the holidays. I was feeling a bit funky about the fact that mid-December, presents hadn't been bought, a tree wasn't up, and yet again my dear spouse and I were in a hospital room with a relative. Nothing serious, but mom needed TLC non-theless, which we were happy to give, grateful that at 80, she hadn't been hospitalized with more than a hip replacement.
So when my daughter invited me to join her and my other daughter for a Christmas program where she volunteers, I chomped at it. This is no ordinary school where my youngest volunteers. Set in a vintage brick Catholic school, run by nuns, most of the students are learning disabled and/or autistic. The auditorium was packed with hopeful parents, younger siblings, and friends who came just because they cared. A more entertaining evening couldn't have been had if I'd paid a ticket for a Broadway Christmas show.
Parents cheered, children waved from their places in the chorus or stage. Lines memorized (probably when Halloween decorations were being put up) were delivered without flaw. I went home a bit teary-eyed and with more Christmas spirit than I'd had all season.
I highly recommend this repast from crowded malls and Discover statements. Finagle anyway you can, an invitation to your local scout troup's, piano teacher's, grade school's, annual Christmas program. It will do your heart good.
Merriest of Christmases, belated Happy Chanukah, Kwanzaa, and Eid to all who celebrate. May they make your homes brighter and warmer and bring your family and friends closer.

PROCRASTINATION

2007-09-13T06:45:00.000-04:00

It's a heady thing, each new illustration assignment. So why do we illusrators freeze for a moment to take it all in. I almost want to go on a vacation and just let it sink in. I reread the text, imagine all the possibilities, and then stare at the paper. White and intimidating. Rough sketches, they look awful. But they have an energy that will go along with the the new enthusiasm; a month from now I'll be struggling to recreate that enthusiasm.
Whenever I was disappointed in a young male interest, my mother always said, "Someone better will come along." And they did.
But in this industry, I always wonder about those that got away. And what I did wrong.
So now, someone good has come along. Hmmm, I muse, will it be permanent. Am I just on "spec"? Only time will tell.
White paper. It stares back.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

2007-08-18T11:41:00.000-04:00

Today is our anniversary. 28th in fact. We've nearly made it to my parents 36th before my dad died. Further than my sister's 15th. We'll likely never make it to my husband's parents' anniversary, 60 something. No, we started out to late for that; and really, who needs a gold 50 on a cake. Who really needs cake for that matter.
It causes me to reflect on just what it is by which e measure an anniversary.

Do we just click off the years? Oh, Lord, I hope not. Prisoners do that.
Do we look at what we've acquired financially. Again, I hope not.
Do we reflect on our hopes and dreams when we walked down the aisle, starry eyed, to say our "I do's"? Did we really have dreams? Young people generally live in the moment. I'm sure we were no different.
So that's not a good idea, life happened and many of those plans never materialized.
Or do we treat it like a miniature New Years. Like our birthday's; marking the occasion that we were born and hope to have a new starting place to do what we didn't do last year.

This comes close. So for all the plans that we didn't do and can still do, without reflecting too heavily on those that may never happen, Happy Anniversary, honey. And here's to many more. I wouldn't be in this, however it goes, with anybody else. (and how many 20 somethings can say that!)

Candace Hardy's Watercolor Illustrations

2007-08-08T17:06:00.000-04:00

YOU GET WHAT YOU ASK FOR

2007-07-21T08:11:00.000-04:00

"You know," I said, albeit slightly nagging,"I'd love to just once get up REALLY early on a weekday morning, pack a small bag and take off for a destination unknown. Wouldn't that be romantic? Huh? What did you say dear?" I paused waiting for a response. "Nothing spectacular, maybe an overnight." He just looked at me.

I heard him during the night. Mooching; that's pretty typical for one who has always slept with one eye open anyway. maybe getting on the computer. Oh, why does he do that? He'd go back to sleep if he'd just stay in bed.
I returned to my dream. He was probably on the computer. The next sound I heard was wretching. Uh, oh.

"OK, hon?" I holler. Hope above hope that it's just the pepperonia pizza we ate WAY
too late after a family outing to Sandusky and I can go back to bed.

5:00 AM A shadow at the side of the bed tells me it wasn't pepperoni; in my
semi-conscious mind it's reminiscent of my children when they were small, needing mom. But fully awake now, I see it's my husband and it's serious.
"I need to go to emergency." and then adds, "but I can drive myself." My first impulse was to say, "Are you nuts?" But settled for, "I want to go with you. If they admit you for an emergency surgery, I want to be there." Now how did I know Surgery would be in the mix?

You know the little charts of smiley faces, to help patients indicate their pain level?
He had all the earmarks of topping out that chart by the time we reached the hospital.
As we're making our way through the early morning countryside to the local hospital which is located in a somewhat rural area, I say to mayself, "This wasn't quite what I had in mind for an early morning getaway." A word to the wise, when going to emergency and there is pain, emphasize said pain, you'll be treated much faster.
I thought of worst case scenarios as we waited in the small curtain-drawn cubicle. Heart attack? No, location of pain is wrong. An EKG ruled that out. Gall bladder?
Oh, God, stage 4 carcinoma that no one noticed. OK, now I was hedging on the ridiculous.
Down for a CT scan. Nothing significant. Bless our PCP who ordered a CT scan WITH CONTRAST. Aha! Eight hours later we have an answer. Acute apendicitis.
"Sweetheart, you could't have done this when you were 8?" Ready to burst literally, he is whisked away to surgery. Doctor, surgeon, anesthetist, all look young enough to be my kids. Maybe it's the ER lighting. He's in good hands, I tell myself. He's in God's Hands, I tell myself again.

Today he's home resting comfortably. Being watched like a hawk, I might add so he doesn't overdo.
Whosever hands he's in, Thank you thank you.
I'll just shut my mouth about early morning surprise getaways.

Still 12 after all these years

2007-07-15T17:56:00.000-04:00

For all the buildup I enforced on myself, it didn't last nearly long enough. An email to my inbox indicated a new literary gent. I was sure I had just what she was looking for. My hands literally shook with the promise of contact. How long would I have to wait for a response? A week? Two? Maybe it didn't arrive in her box at all.

I needn't have worried. One hour. One hour for a cursory thank you for considering her and wishing me luck elsewhere. It was a little like being stood up. I had sent only a query. What can you tell from a query? And my query matched what the interview I was forwarded said she was looking for. If you're not looking for that, why put it in an interview? Did she have some magic insight into my writing and illustrating abilities?

And then it got personal; she doesn't like red hair. I'm too fat, too thin, too tall. Silly? Of course; but you do remember junior high, right. And where our work is concerned, aren't we really all still 12?

Goodbye

2007-06-11T11:37:00.000-04:00

I said goodbye to my sister on June 3, 2007. It was expected, but not yet. It's always too soon. The pain she experienced shook my faith to it's core. Not only did I lose a sister, but a partner in crime from our younger days, a historian (one whom I could bounce memories off of) and a constant validator of my ever-decreasing memory.
Closing out her life has been difficult, in part because I shared her with an entire community. She was the champion of those who loved the arts, the last of the classical piano teachers in our area. Shoes I could never hope to fill. She was president of the local arts commission, participating in juried shows for youngsters who'd rather paint or draw than play on the soccer field. (Yes, there are some.)
She was generous to a fault; paying for services that every member of my family would have happily done for free. A lunch out was a special delight for all my kids when they were younger, and my girls especially as they got older.
But perhaps most significantly, the last of our family. The name we grew up with, the spelling of which changed with every generation, dies with us. There are no more relatives, parents, aunts and uncles. (Don't let me dismiss my cousins, however; they are numerous and have been albeit by email a constant support system throughout this ordeal.)
But as always, when we say goodbye, our mortality is left dangling by a thread.
Enjoy your most deserved eternity, sis.

REMEMBER

2007-04-29T11:21:00.000-04:00

I love houses. Really. I love being in them, painting them, speculating about them. I even love peeking in the windows of abandoned homes. So when this week's ILLUSTRATION FRIDAY topic, REMEMBER, appeared in my inbox, I was in my element. This is an example of what I'm reasonably sure I'd do on the side, if I were good enough. Houses. I'd illustrate houses. Especially the pre-War 20's something Tudor home with stucco and beams.
I've driven by this home, now owned by the bank, numerous times; it's fodder for my imagination. I picture getting up in the morning here, mowing the long rolling lawn. (With a hand mower, can you imagine that?) Being the lady of the house and entertaining 20's style as my mother might have.
So the sunset is editorial, I guess, a time gone by.

THERE AND THEN

2007-04-25T09:54:00.000-04:00

I sat at my drawing table this morning staring, yes, staring at a nearly completed illustration. Wondering. How do we even attempt to illustrate there and then. It's a concept I was told not to even attempt to write about for children under age 9-10 or thereabouts. (Early days of kiddie-lit, and those rules might have changed.)
I love historical fiction and keep hoping the interest could translate well into a PB or atleast a picture storybook. And so I keep plugging away at mine, set in preWWII Europe against the backdrop of KRISTALLNACHT, the night of broken glass. So Ilook at my MC's grandfather, blowing the shofar in a PRE WAR aynagogue. Where would he have stood. In front of the bimah? Are the curtains of the Aron Kodesh (literally holy closet, containing the Torah scrolls). I know European synagogues were beautifully ornate, their destruction yet another travesty of the war, but I have as resource pics only black and white. So I ponder; if I wasn't there, can I illustrate it?
Back to doing research, I came upon an amazing article about the TRIANGLE shirtwaist factory fire. I've read compelling adult fiction written with this subject as it's theme. FOR THE LOVE OF MIKE by Rhyss Bowen, immediately comes to mind. Maybe the key is in research, or love of the subject. And maybe it's being patient.
Whatever it takes, I'm back to the drawing board to poke at it until it feels right.

Today's thoughts and musings

2007-04-23T07:32:00.000-04:00

Looked at the calendar and the week is already more frantic than I want it to be. It seems most engagements are frivolous and have very little to do with what I ought to be doing. And the beginnings of nice weather won't work in my favor, I can tell that right now. I'll be pokier, want to be outside, wonder what I should really be working on in the absence of any real assignments.
Did finish submission to ILLUSTRATION FRIDAY, well sort of. The suject wasn't one I'd illustrated in the past, but WANTED TO. Thought it might be a good subject for a PB or card. So kind of a rough is what I submitted for this week. I really wanted to do Aurora Borealis against a polar icecap; and still may. But basically POLAR was play for me this week. Also working of the finish of a spread for a picture STORYBOOK I've been working at for far too long; (not having a print home for it as yet does cut one's enthusiasm.)
The coffee pot is plubbing away and it promised to be at least a warm, if only partly sunny day. Clouds rolling in against the semi-budding trees looks as though the world hasn't yet decided if it's winter or spring.

SPRING IN NW OHIO

2007-04-21T11:12:00.000-04:00

Last night my family experienced the truest sign of spring in NW Ohio. The Maumee river Walleye run. The doll fly venders, fishing boats, men lined side by side in chest waders hoping to catch their limit; this is spring for us. The Maumee is so narrow in parts that fishermen facing each other from opposite ends get their lines tangled.It's a beautiful river, albeit pristine, with woods up to its shore in many places.
It brings back memories for me becuse fishing was one of my husband's and my first dates. In fact I received chest waders for a birthday present the first year we dated.
And now we walk, too many years later to recall. We pick up spinners, doll flies, sometimes a few sinkers embedded in the gravel long the road. But mostly we watch for deer, enjoy the Canadian geese, which while many never left, are returning from their winter vacationing grounds. We usually go after dinner, near sunset, giving us all a longing to be in the river.
The park rangers hover predictably near, watching for the occasional offender, snagging, not catching through the mouth, going beyond the present limit of 3 fish.
Most obey the laws, licenses are expensive after all, $20.00 a piece. No one wants his license revoked, because sometimes just the promise of that perfect catch, is worth the hours of standing in the river with nothing. And for me, just once more standing in the river would be worth it all.

PUDDLE OF DROOL

2007-04-19T09:32:00.000-04:00

I'm once again sitting in a puddle of drool over another illustrator's work. If you haven't visited the SCBWI site and seen the most frequent Winner, do so. Hannah Harrison's work is not to be missed. If you can imagine whimsical artwork with fine art skills you'd just about have it. But the rich colors and the fresh clean look are beyond description. Her black and white incorporate crosshatch with humor, a combination that gives a bit of a nostalgic feel. In all her site is one to be closely examined.

TURNER MOVIE CHANNEL

2007-04-18T09:34:00.000-04:00

I treated myself to a one hour broadcast on TMC. Wednesday's Child; the 1930's version of the child of divorce. Solved of course in one hour. Plot line:
Mother has an affair.
Child sees her (of all things) kissing another man.
Friends see this as well and of course taunt the child.
Parents divorce.
Child goes to court.
Mother remarries and gets custody for most of the year. Father has custody June through Sept.
Of course we see the fleeting months by way of the calendar against the backdrop of seasonal changes and the boy's wishful narrative. Wow! wouldn't that simplify things for writers!Love those flipping calendars.
Child FINALLY gets to go home to father. Enter Father's new love interest.And of course pending marriage will be just the week he'd promised a fishing trip with the boy. (hasn't that been done before!!!)
Child FAINTS. And of course a nurse is called in to stay by his bedside.
What to do, what to do. Doctor advises (despite the fact he doesn't like to talk about these things. MILITARY SCHOOL, the usual solution.
Jump ahead to boy in full military school regalia. Father comes to visit. Brings gift.
Roommate advises that visits will become few and far between and gifts are proof of waning visits.
Father overhears conversation just as mother is arriving for her visit.
Again what to do, what to do.
Father knows just what to do. He'll cancel wedding plans and make a home for the boy.
THE END.
Aside from the frequent, "dahling" and "Golly Dad" the dialogue was believable. And the plot was NO LESS believable than some of the fare offered up in today's cinema. Ah, but try this in a manuscript and see upon whose slush pile lands.
I have to admit, dispite the obvious flaws, it did make for a feel-good hour.

CONTEMPLATIVE DAY

2007-04-17T07:14:00.000-04:00

Usually I'm up before the alarm, but this morning I indulged and listened extra appreciatively to those extra house sounds. You know, the ones that say everyone is home, safe and sound. I hate to dwell on the news, in fact I often avoid listening to the 11:00 news, but the Virginia tech slayings and parents receiving that awful news is going to keep cropping up in my mind. Having college age (and a bit older) kids, I wonder where they can go to be safe and enjoy the accroutements of everyday life. So I say a little prayer of gratitude that for this moment, everyone is home. and that will last until they all pull out of the drive.

Chasing myself

2007-04-15T20:06:00.000-04:00

I think I'm chasing myself all over the place. If I didn't need a cane occasionally, I think I would. So what's the solution to being all over the place. Wanting to succeed in this industry, and by that I don't mean JUSTthe children's book industry, but illustration in general. I'm finishing a piece for my own PB which I've long since lost genuine interest in. My editor hasn't found children's books to be lucrative and most authors I illustrated for have gone to greener pastures (and not invited me along for the ride LOL)
I think following one's passion is the key, if the passion doesn't constantly change. I was recently commissioned to do wildlife greeting cards for a local vet's office. Oweing them a huge kindness for services rendered in the midst of disaster, I wanted to do this pro bono. It's the second "pro bono" job I've had this year.
So I begin again and settle myself to serious thinking time at the drawing table, because, after all, there's no place I'd rather be.

OLD FRIENDS

2007-02-15T08:24:00.000-05:00

We don't think much about them when they're in our lives. And eventually they more often than not make their own direction on their charted path. I'm referring to old friends of course. It's a rare and humbling event if they stay, sharing the ins and outs of your life. So it's indeed a special occasion when one renters your life after 10 or more odd years or so.
An unexpected email from such a friend surprised me. I had actively sought my old friend out, wondering how she'd been. I was hesitant, thinking, maybe we lost touch because of something I said or did. Perhaps something not done, the sins of omission those of us in Catholic school came to understand, or at least claim to understand.
But a pleasant invitation came to "write back" and I hope a new chapter of friendship has been forged.

The snow blankets our yards yet with promise of more Sunday. I hope it doesn't snow everyone in. We have a family party on Sunday, and I'm always reluctant to miss those. I know as we age they will fewer and farther between and subsequent years will find this or that one missing from the table. My nephew turns 18 and while (in his mind at least) he has outgrown the family gatherings, us oldsters, with not quite the social life we all once had, will look forward to gathering.

BLIZZARD

2007-02-14T07:51:00.000-05:00

We saw it coming, so though the weatherman compares it to the blizzard of '78 there's not really a strong comparison. I've awakened early to see the damage and search for an unfrosted window through which to look. With the drifting and blowing, it's hard to tell. The picnic table is clear; lawn chairs left out to weather the winter have disappeared under mounds of the white stuff.
The 10 year old in me can't wait to get out in it. The mature (albeit practically senior self) says use your !@#$ head. (I've left the expletives for you to mentally insert.)
So I look at this day, hopefully a day for the creative muses to kick in. I'm working on a midgrade novel which in terms of subject and length, is looking more like a YA all the time. I'm not good at doing my own editing and will bore my grown children to death with requests for reads.And finishing an illustration for publication.
The coffee is perking and I'll shower and dress, treating this like any other work day, although I don't have to warm up a car and leave the house. (There are also no predictable paychecks, perks or benefits) Just a love for what I do and hope that someone will recognize it. And a very generous spouse who fills with with dishes, laundry, and an encouraging pat on the back. Happy Valentines Day, honey.

ONLINE PORTFOLIO

2007-01-22T19:43:00.000-05:00

RITES OF PASSAGE

2007-01-13T16:50:00.000-05:00

My youngest passed her driver's test on Thursday. It was a long passage. Not at 16 as you might imagine but as a young adult. Why? you might ask? Why not, I'd reply. You see, I've seen the newly licensed 16 year olds on the phone, speeding, running around by themselves for the sole purpose of running around by themselves. Taking cars the two blocks to school. Disappearing long after they should have been home. No thank you.
Our kids weren't allowed to consider having a set of wheels beneath them until they were 18. For my daughter, this was the year her grandmother died. Followed by a horrific accident for her older sister. Mowed down by a speeding semi on the interstate. Frightened to death as we all were, she postponed her time behind the wheel.
Just last year, a hunch I held was validated by statistics; judgment is the last part of the brain to develop. In 18-25 year olds.
LookSmart's FindArticles - Ready for the road? - car accidents leading cause of teen deaths; states enact graduated drivers' license programs

Current Events, Oct 31, 1997

Hmmm. So my thoughts that teens can't hold their focus were not just the imaginings of an over-protective mother. So we celebrated by daughter's accomplishment. Her first run as a driver? Taking mom to the store.

New avatar for the New Year

2007-01-08T17:45:00.000-05:00

My new look courtesy of Yahoo avatar. Now if I could just create my own avatar!

THE GIRLFRIENDS OF 1945

2006-10-04T18:18:00.000-04:00

It might have been a final goodbye luncheon; perhaps ladies parting ways as one leaves the workforce for marriage. This photo was found among my mothers photos and adapted to colored pencil and ink. They coyly glance at the camera not knowing what the postwar years will bring. They offered a play on my imagination.

Bunny Love

2006-09-10T10:59:00.000-04:00

We said goodbye to beloved bunny last Friday. Very sad long day, complicated by the unexpected arrival of grandparents for a visit. And while we were delighted to see them an unforseen event further complicated things. Grandma lost her balance and down she went. hard. Breaking the joint at the top of the femur. On to hospital where I'm happy to say, one week later she is recovering and in therapy.
Ever have that sinking feeling in your stomach, "uh, -oh?) that's how Friday morning began when I discovered bunny heavily breathing. I'd seen this in humans with congestive heart failure, and his lack of acknowlege of me (after all I bring the food and he being a little boy, was always excited to see hay and pellets coming) gave me a start.
A blessing is always hiddne in these events and no more so than none of us having to make that "final decisio". He passed after seizuring on the way to the vets. It's always too soon. and even thought at 6 we was considered a senior bunny (dwarf rabbits live typically from 5-8 years tops), we had hoped for a little more time.
Rest in peace Sweetie Petie.

BACK TO SCHOOL

2006-08-15T23:14:00.000-04:00

The Wal-Marts and Targets tout the age old (well at least as long as I've been around)reverie, BACK TO SCHOOL. I'm sure it has a different significance than it did for me in the 50's. Back then it meant a home perm, arguing about NOT cutting hair that had grown long in the summer. A new plaid school dress with a large "Pilgrim" collar, and saddle oxfords. It also mean a new wool sweater and skirt that it would be much too warm to wear for at least another month and a half. It meant walking up the steps to the school, last year's report card in hand to determine the right room number. Then checking the class list, would a best friend be on it. Or worse, one of the many nemeses that every kid faces until they mark their territory. How long til lunch when we could run home to a waiting mother and share the events of the morning, promises of great things; writing cursive, having geography for the first time, or, in later years, gym without the boys, Home Economics or Shop. But most of all, excitement. We hadn't been in the building all summer. The rooms had been painted, the floors waxed. There was a smell that permeated the entire building. Of course it didn't hurt that Kindergarten through eighth grade were house in the same building. There were new floors to discover, junior high had it's own entrance. Everyone had their space.
There would be orchestra or band for the first time. Brownies or Girl Scouts, and for the VERY lucky, lessons of some kind. Yes, there sure was a reason to shout, BACK TO SCHOOL!

TEA TOAST AND BREAKFAST IN BED

2006-07-31T09:59:00.000-04:00

It was a huge thing, stuck on top of my grandmother's secretary. Neither really belong in a bedroom but space in our story and a half being at a premium, and I the preservationist extraordinaire, leave little choice. It is a huge gray aluminum tray; tole-hand painted with lemon-yellow flowers, no particular genre. Bright with orangy-red centers. In my sisters and my growing up years, it came out of hiding, rather predictably at every recovery from flu or childhood diseases. Often it was the first sign that a doctor would be called to the house, and no, you wouldn't be going to school.
Wobbly, since it was circular and had no fold-out legs, it balanced precariously on top of the bedcovers, offering, as hot dishes conducted their heat through the metal, additional warmth to the recovering child.
Predictable as well were it's offerings. It began with tea, Lipton of course, it's orange tinged waters betraying the actual flavors, as no sugar would be offered. Tea, to see if you'd "keep it down". Then dry toast. so dark it looked like it would break before it reached your mouth.
The morning the tray held milque-toast you were assured that later, a simple toy or book might be brought and you'd be sitting up amonst a mound of pillows; that is if you ate the soggy crumb infested mixture, and "kept it down". By the time a baked potato, ginger ale and jello were served, your time to play amonst the blankets was numbered.
By then, it was a treat to move to the living room where you could recouperate on the davenport and watch a little TV.
Such were the days of recovery in the 1950's. I miss them. But I still have the tray.

Music Under the Stars

2006-07-24T12:06:00.000-04:00

What a beautiful evening. My daughters and I ventured to the Marina at the end of town, fully intending to take the launch by river to the Zoo. We are so fortunate to have a zoo on the opposite side of the river. For whatever reason, the launch never appeared and we went by car.
I have such wonderful memories of being a small child and hearing the symphony orchestra at this very ampitheatre.A WPA project, the ampitheatre has been around for years and the free events are popular among young families and seniors alike. The sit among the trees and listen to the music, birds and ducks flying overhead, was like a vacation for us. It's the kind of thing you see on billboards advertising a wonderful summer evening in distant cities.

WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF

2006-07-09T14:56:00.000-04:00

A weird night to say the least. I began rushing to class in a University. (My mother at 98, STILL dreamed of missing class.) The class was to begin at 9:40 and in my dream there were not two clocks that had the same time. Rushing to what should have been the second floor, a maintainance man stopped me and said the stairwells to the west wing had been closed because the floors were wet. Groups of students were herded to another stairwell and I herded along with them. A couple of them I seemed to know and tried to engage in conversation about the whereabouts of the class. To no avail.
I found myself in the most elaborate of lab schools, I guessed kindergarten by the areas designated for housekeeping, blocks and climbing. Security was very tight and I inadvertantly emerged through the curtains of a puppet stage. Someone kindly directed me back through the curtains and into the main hallway where I was certain by this time it would make more sense to go back home than to try to make that class.
I was startled to see my sister as directress of the lab school; primly dressed in a smart navy skirt and vest, and crisp white blouse. She was hurriedly giving directions to a secretary and her arms were loaded with books, binders and the all important clipboard. She waved to me and seemed less surprised to see me than I was to see her. After a cursory wave I meandered to a ladies room where I thought I should change clothes. Two girls whispering and pointing in my direction led me to stop and ask if I knew them.
It seemed they were upset that I had sold school sponsorships to people they had promised (you know, the ads students are always asked to sell) I assured them that I only sold to family and friends. That seemed to satisfy them and I went on my merry way. (Remember this is a DREAM, not an actual event.)
At home I sent to cleaning the kitchen floor, tackling with a vengeance a small corner where rice had spilled, buggy rice, no less, so I needed to sweep tiny bugs along with the rice. I remember thinking I wanted to get the house to it's pristine origins, whatever that might be.
Glancing up I saw my children (now young adults) at about 4 or 5 years old.They were dressed in those wonderful blanket sleepers of the 80's. I remember how wonderful it was to hug their little selves and as I did so, felt deeply sad that they really weren't that little any more. I asked my mother standing in the room if they looked little to her, and she assured me that they were really grown up. It bothered me, in my dream state, that only I could see them as little children.
The house looked like a family getting ready for Christmas and there was a large glass walk-in cabinet in the living room filled to the brim with rotating Christmas ornaments. It resembled a samll version of Frankenmuth. My daughter was reaching up to touch one of the whirling ornaments. As she turned to smile at me, I woke up feeling like I'd been somewhere "other-earthly."
The feelings of that dream have stayed with me most of the day.

Happy 4th of July

2006-07-04T16:57:00.000-04:00

Was it a storm or are we in the middle of a war zone. For a while it was hard to tell as flashes of white light grazed the side of our house and the air rumbled. A bit of both as the evenings "neighborly celebrations" that blissfully ignored warnings about amateurs setting off fireworks merged with scattered thunderstorms. We glanced above our roof and wondered if the next flare would render us "roof-less." I can see celebrating our country's independence, I encourage it. Flags flying from porches, rising at the sound of our National Anthem, attending a service given by the vets. But the risk of life and limb (not to mention the trip to emergency) escapes me. So with my family, I huddled inside, escaped the mosquitos, and commemorated our country's independence with national celebrations on cable tv.

Summer Luncheon

2006-06-24T17:43:00.000-04:00

Occasionally I get to have my nose in on other's doings and today was such a day. My sister, a successful musician and piano teacher had a special "end of year" luncheon for her piano students. And a nicer bunch of kids I have yet to meet. If they are any example, I can attest to the fact that today's kid are not going down the tubes. Bright, polite, talented, and well-behaved, they were a credit to their generation. I began to speculate why? Is it because piano lessons are not cheap? Or is it that they are from mostly upper middle class neighborhoods. Today's newpapers tell me neither could be a solid reason.
I thought of my own classrooms, some 25 years ago. I taught in a poverty-ridden, ethnically diverse, neighborhood. The classroom was a split second-third grade classroom; many families were transient, and I was pregnant with my first baby. Not ideal? It really was. I cannot recall any behavior problems, (I did however have one little girl with a permanent egg on her face who could never find a paper in her perpetually messy desk.) I think the key was they new from day one what to expect. I didn't have to be a talk show host, I needed to teach. It was a wonderful time. Parents were home, lunches were packed, homework was done by the students. Maybe 1981 was the end of a predictable time in our society. But today, for a couple of hours I revisited it.

Native American Image

2006-06-22T11:45:00.000-04:00

This is a favorite image I never got to use. Sadly, the project for which it was created was depricated. I happened to run across the website of a colleague of mine who has so richly illustrated the Native American community and whose pieces are in galleries throughout the United States. This is "my two cents worth". It's a piece that shows the reverence this group of people have for family and the respect with which they treat their seniors. I hope I have done this theme justice.

New Things Old Things

2006-06-20T18:52:00.000-04:00

Ever come to a point where the past and present merge? Or at the very least, meet. Today my youngest had an interview for a job at a facility attached to my old high school. The nuns retire here and she saw an ad in the paper advertising for a part time trainable position. I was thrilled. As she nervously filled out her application, I sat looking around this amazing facility. Amidst the contemporary eye-ball lighting, muted wall colors, I discovered that the furnishings were from the original building, built at the turn of the century. I had attended college in this building and had loved it's vintage look. AS various sisters moved through, coming and going from their outings, walks and activities, I detected my hands getting moist, a row of perspiration bubbles formed on my upper lip. I was once again 16 and waiting outside the principal's office. What tricks the mind plays on us. This is not about me, I had to remind myself; this is not my past or my future, but my daughter's present. I like that.

Father's Day

2006-06-19T07:59:00.000-04:00

Made Mac salad for folks to take to Father's Day Celebration across town. Everybody had a great time. I'd had a few off days due to heat so "babysat" our sweet Lilly. She felt so down with everyone gone, (I don't count that much; I'm basically "mom" to her and while she loves me to pieces, I'm always just there) I worried that she was getting sick. The little "faker" moped around all day, chin to the ground. My boy and I got her out just before a big storm. Wind was blowing fiercely and we lost a number of limbs.
When the folks returned around 10:00, she got to run in the yard without a leash. She was her old self, with her favorite FOLGER'S can,running and growling to herself (I think that's to create more excitement.
Pleasant uneventful day for all of us. My favorite kind.

Cleveland and tents.

2006-06-17T14:46:00.000-04:00

Yet another trip. This time for mdh. Traipsed to this perrenially foggy city. Made good time. Discovered navigational skills better than expected. Found a new route saving some mileage. That's good news considering gas prices. We fortunately had some saved up at Giant Eagle and got gas for .16/gal. That must be some sort of record. And home in time to see how everyone was. My youngest had babysat our Lilly and they had spent some quiet time in the tent. Ah, the tent, lovely home away from home; blithely set up in our yard and quietly killing the grass.
Sadly it comes down today, as I speak in fact. We will nag again, my youngest daughter and I for there is nothing quite like hard ground, molds dampness, mosquitos; all worth leaving an air conditioned house, to enjoy. ANd the first week in July will find us all once more under the stars, wondering which Roman candle will land in our yard and end our nights out forever.

Hidden Treasures

2006-06-04T15:43:00.000-04:00

It was an unexpected surprise after coming through tiny little Lima, a town I immediately coined one of the dirtier little towns I've encountered. "Let's go on to Delphos," I suggested, the tiny digital camera literally burning in my hands. A preservationist at heart, I love the overlooked elements of Americana, and the billboard view of downtown Delphos promised to supply my fix.
Rising like a Phoenix above the sun-glinted trees was the most magnificent stone church. St. John the Evangelist Catholic Church.
"Wow," I gasped.Does Bishop _____ know about this one? There's one he forgot to tear down, close, re"muddle", or neglect to find a priest for. We rounded the corner and my family generously waited why I got as many pictures as I could. I circled the building, wishing I could get inside. I'd not seen a vintage building in this kind of repair and hoped that this wonderful quiet community knows what a treasure they have.

Semper Fi

2006-05-30T19:21:00.000-04:00

Upon passing the funeral home at the end of town, we realized that the person being lain to rest was a child who attended kindergarten with my daughter. He hadn't gone to school with her all through high school, but I'm sure he brought cupcakes for significant parties and birthdays. He was 25 years old, and received a Purple Heart for his bravery in Iraq. Something else we noticed was the motorcycle gang, flag bearers lining the driveway in honor of this young man and in protection of family and friends who could be harassed by protestors. I didn't see protestors, and doubt that I would have in our small town, but it was a kindness.

Lunch and changes

2006-05-22T17:13:00.000-04:00

We all arrive at a crossroads in our lives and none moreso than my darling young lady daughter. Lots of conversation about programs and where lives are directed. Wonderful lunch with sister and her friend. Chimichangas and sherbet. Fun, jokes and conversation. But back home to serious conversations. I wonder how I'd illustrate someone at the crossroads of their life. Not sure. Wonder if we could solve it in a half hour like the Gilmore Girls. Ah, Luke would come in and save the day I'm sure.

A New Day

2006-05-20T12:33:00.000-04:00

Surprised by SOLUMEDROL treatment arriving in by FED EX this AM. Didn't expect treatment until the 31st. This means we can all go with JUJU to Lima. Day trips are always great and welcomed. Might do a dry run today. And on a nice sunny Saturday with lots of kids out and enjoying the day; I'm just as glad to be going. Spent some time along the river as is our usual haunt. Campsite at Hull Prairie was pretty well vacant, the walleye run now over and the river too high for the bass run that usually comes in June.
Then dinner out, a treat, with a Reuben from Arby's and Diet Mountain Dew. So thirsty and it was so refreshing.
Cleaned area this evening around the area that had been inhabited by Pidge. Time to contemplate, remember, and be grateful for her wonderful 11 years of companionship.

Laughter and Tears

2006-05-20T12:05:00.000-04:00

We all saw this coming; the demise of a dear friend. My pigeon, Pidge, has lived with me in my studio for 11 years and judging from the early events in her life was possibly 12 or 13 when we said our goodbyes. She survived pneumonia and probably succumbed to cancer. I will always be grateful for the special veternarians who made her last days comfortable and her passing easier. I hurt today, along with my other family members; dread going into the room, my studio when she left such an imprint. But wonder where else the lessons learned could have been learned without the pain. I think of the funny things she did and it brings laughter. The last week or so, "force feeding her" brought a chuckle to my daughter and I as she characteristically swung her head around spitting meds and a yeasty smelling food in our direction.
She never left "nesting" mode, tugging on shoelaces when she could no longer fly. As we saw her neurolgical system seriously compromised, we knew a final decision had to be made. She passed peacefully with mild anaesthetic at Dr.Tim's office. We appreciate the kindness and compassion of this fine vet and his staff.

The Road Not Taken

2006-05-02T09:57:00.000-04:00

I always loved this poem by Robert Frost:

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Like the poet, I chose the road less travelled, at least by many of my illustrator contemporaries. I didn't have the opportunity to attend many conferences and as a writer and illustrator have often been conflicted as to which to pursue more passionately. I was probably one of the last to open an online journal and to become agented.
I pondered all this as we river walked last night. No sooner had we gotten out of the van than we were met with heavy sprinkles. Not a deluge, mind you, just sprinkles that sharp and cold would have sent most people back to the van. We ended up in a gazebo type shelter over looking a pond. My daughter teased me about looking like the scene in SOUND OF MUSIC where Rolf is pursuing young Liesl in the glass gazebo.
The rain let up and we wandered down a hill and to the main road which we followed along the river. Suddenly my cane wnet nearly to the ground and I realized I'd lost a bolt and wing nut rending my cane pretty useless. (I can walk without it, but use if for balance for long distances and to maintain energy especially if a leg goes out; a nasty symptom of MS.)
A quick trip to a hardware store and my dear husband's ingenuity, it was quickly usable again.
Once home, I had some internet time and discovered paths some old online friends had taken. Enviably clever, moving from their traditional mediums with skills I sadly don't possess had shown them to have smart business savvy. So I glowered through the evening wondering what piece of the puzzle I'm missing. Then it occurred to me that while we're watching what others are doing, we might be missing our own uniqueness. A reminder to happily stay on our less travelled roads.

Treeman

2006-04-28T11:16:00.000-04:00

A favorite illo done for WEE ONES ONLINE. I think of this now as we enjoy new spring buds. The meadow walk, freshly mowed is filled with a tree called "redbud".

Beginnings and endings

2006-04-27T23:23:00.000-04:00

Therapy ended for me today. Glad in a way. I don't have a problem that can be rehabilitated so having the tools to go on at home is nice. And my book finally arrived at the library. It's been on reserve. ARCHITECTURAL DRAWINGS by Rendow Yee. Wonderful detailed book of architectural drawing and sketching from the representational to very technical. I can't wait to dive in page by page.
Need to re-send a watercolor and colored pencil to editor. Australia is a long way even for email and sometimes things get lost. New book (illustrated, not written by me) soon to be released. Will eagerly promote it.
Enjoyed walk along the river again. Took the meadow walk with my family. Dinner in the car with windows down. Wendy's chicken sandwich. My favorite. It sounds strange to eat out in the car but it's much like an old fashioned picnic with windows down; and we have our privacy and space. Great fun.

Boys on the Beach

2006-04-26T08:16:00.000-04:00

Love the summery image of children playing near the water. This is a rough graphite image. Enjoy

Schedules

2006-04-26T07:11:00.000-04:00

It always happens. My best intentions foiled by someoneelse plans. I'm going to be setting new studio hours. More serious. More shortterm long term plans. today should be an at home plan, and if I work it right, determine EXACTLY when I sit down at the drawing table, I should get something accomplished. I have an idea for a seasonal series and the "winterone" is already on the lightbox.

River walk.

2006-04-25T21:07:00.000-04:00

Today we wandered along the river. I kept wishing I'd had a sketchbook to render the fishermen getting the last of the walleye run. Lilly wandered beside Bob and my kids picked up doll flies and aother random fishing tools left behind. I spent some time wondering how one captures the last of the day's sunlight glistening on the water.