Flu or what

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

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

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.

SAW WHAT!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

YOU GET WHAT YOU ASK FOR

"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

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?