Jackson is 13 on October 13th

Just a month after September 11th, with Day on bed-rest for a complication in her pregnancy, Jackson was born, fat and healthy.  I was standing outside the delivery room with his Leary grandparents and got to hear his first cry: all was well! Then Tom walked out with a little bundle in his arms--tears in his eyes, too--to introduce us to Baby Jax.

When I wake up in the morning, I will  be the grandmother of a teenager, Jackson Thomas Leary, my first of four grandchildren: Jackson and 9-year-old Marcus in Virginia, and Nathan, 7, and Elena 2, in Helotes.

One of my favorite memories of Jackson as a little boy was the way he'd start in the morning planning who'd get to read him his bedtime stories.  If you were his pick for the day, he'd say, "You're the winner!" Later, if someone else did something more wonderful than you'd done, he'd switch loyalties and that person would be the winner.

How great it would be to so value your own self that you pronounced those who got to spend time with you the winner of the prize of your presence!  And truthfully, we adults did do a bit of jockeying to win the prize of reading bedtime stories to Jax.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JACKSON!

Marinating...

It's unusual to have four writing groups and one salon meeting in one week--but what an inspiring week this has been!

Each group--all women--is a unique and wonderful burst of talent and humor, leaving tracks in the minds of all of us. We want to write for all kinds of different reasons: to pay attention to my life, as one said; to publish, another said; to be with like-minded creative people, another said.  And me--I'm just over-the-moon lucky to get to be the official leader.

As a college teacher, I always enjoyed interacting with students, but you don't actually learn all that much from 18 and 19-year-olds.  In groups of women, you learn something new from each person, always, every time. There's a freedom in doing what we choose to do, without grades, without being compared with anyone else. We are just doing what we want to do, each for our own reasons.

After each group meets, I avoid talking and phone calls for a while.  I just want to marinate in the words that I've heard and read, extending the energy of being with my writing friends for as long as possible.

Sometimes I can't sleep--I'm so jazzed.
Other times, I fall asleep and dream strange dreams.

Last night, I dreamed I stole a bowl from an antique store that was valued at $7000!  I mentally tossed and turned all night, trying to decide whether to fess up and take it back, or keep it. (In my real waking life, I have never stolen a single thing from a store,  even a pencil.)  But in the dream, I asked for the price, considered it ridiculous, and brazenly stuffed the white pristine bowl into my pocket book.

After using the bowl, I discovered that it wasn't a real bowl; it was made out of some kind of exotic paper--and that the food I had put in the bowl had ruined it, making the option of taking it back out of the question.  So now what?

Fortunately, I woke up.  I have no idea what the dream might suggest about my psyche or character. The bowl could be the container of valuable things.  The bowl could be ordinary looking (the one in my dream looked about as interesting as a piece of Corningware) but could be worth far more than it appears to be.

The paper from which the bowl is made could come from the variety of papers I've collected for sketching, possibly my fear of "messing them up" with my inexpert lines and marks?

But theft?  I'm still working on that one!

A dream is a rough draft. A sketch.  Lines of a poem that don't fit together neatly.  Bits of narrative without the string needed to hold it together. I'll just let it marinate, see if tonight's dream will unravel or explain it.

October 12--Sunday: The Eve of Leaving

Driving to the All Night Big Box before dawn--to get crackers and fruit for writing group--I noticed the tire lights flashing on the dash, all four.  Blue does that when the weather changes, just as her predecessors did, but I'm not complaining.  I chose her knowing that her tires are her least stellar features.  But I make a mental note to have them checked in the morning before taking to the road.

The air is cool, the sky silver as I drive home. Neil Young is talking about his new memoir--which features his love of cars, and I make a mental note to read it.  He's not enamored of beautiful sleek cars; he chooses cars for their "soulfulness"--which now has to be balanced with their effects on the environment.

Margie at the Big Box store has helped me find a garment bag.  She's usually a checker; I don't usually see her in the back of the store.  "I don't care where they put me," she says, "As long as I get to work here.  I love my work.  It keeps me busy, keeps my mind off things."

I wonder what things, but I don't ask.  I take a mental snapshot of her standing in front of the banks of cheap suitcases and wish I could sketch her there in the place she loves, wish my skills were up to it.

Driving home under the metallic October sky dotted with black birds, I'm excited that I get to spend the next couple of days in the car, driving to Georgia, and excited about arriving there, being there, hoping for full foliage colors.  I make a mental note to call a few friends who've sent me cards this week, to thank them.  I make a mental note to call Mike--who's invited me to come for a picnic while I'm there.

I also make a mental note to remember to watch the second half of the interview with Elizabeth Gilbert this morning, before writing group.

My mental notes are filling my brain this morning--think I'll go back to sleep for a bit before finishing packing, finishing painting Elena's little rocking chair, and completing the packing of the car for tomorrow morning's departure.

Painting a Punkin

First, you buy a pumpkin.  A real one.

Then, you paint it with acrylic paint all over--I chose white.

After it dries, you attempt to draw a design on it with Sharpies, but you find that the Sharpies don't work so well on a real pumpkin.  (Michael's has fake pumpkins for painting and carving--which I will try next time.)

Fortunately, your painting partner has a little set of colors from the Dollar Store--so you use those:

If you like, you can decorate your face to coordinate with your color palette:

Then, send pictures to your friends and family, wishing them all a HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

A thousand words is better than a picture sometimes....

Like tonight.

My oldest writing group surprised me with a birthday party of  wine and cupcakes and cheese and tamales, even party hats and a beautiful lantern filled with flowers.  It was wonderful!  I took a few pictures, but haven't yet checked them out or asked if I could post them.  But what really cracked my heart wide open was this:  During the timed writing, I thought they were all writing the prompt--when they had already planned ahead to write a letter to me!  Listening to them read them, my eyes full of tears, I told them I felt like I was at my own funeral--hearing so many loving words by my family of sisters!

Of course, I feel like posting them--but that would be shameless of me, so I'll re-read them tonight and savor every word.  I just want to say a great big thank you to Becky and Janet for organizing a birthday surprise this afternoon--and for every member of the group, those who were physically present and those who emailed their letters (and one rhyming poem) to be read: Mercedes, Kathi, Lea, Melissa, Kara, and Mary Beth.

Even with all my art-making, it's words that touch me most--words from the hearts of eight beloved women and writers who've been together for many years, some as long as a decade.

I'm actually too overwhelmed at the moment to do it justice in writing.  Some things you just hold in your heart and return to over and over with great big gratitude and love!


Just as I was closing out this post, I got this photograph from Lea:

Thanks so much, Lea!
It took me two blows--to blow out twelve candles
on delicious Bird Bakery carrot cake cupcakes
brought by Becky....

But I have a feeling that the wishes
will still come true!

"Show Me How Big Your Brave Is"

Last night at salon, someone told me it was a brave thing to learn to draw--especially to post my rookie drawings on a site with such good, strong ones.

It's funny--I don't feel particularly brave, but I do feel a tad vulnerable, showing my first efforts in a domain I know so little about.  The really good drawings, paintings, and illustrations are both inspiring and intimidating.

Monday, Pam Bryant--in our shared McNay painting day--was wiping paint from her fingers and said, "Having paint on your fingers is like having a smear of somebody's lipstick on your face.  It means somebody loves you."

This morning, she sent me this:

Listen to Sara Bareilles's "Brave" on You Tube for inspiration--if you need any!

Rick Riordan and the Percy Jackson books

At my Monday art gathering, I painted with a group of women including Lyn, the mother of Rick Riordan--author of the Percy Jackson books that my grandsons devour.

When I told them I had met their favorite author's mother, my status soared!

I am looking forward to getting to visiting her art studio at The Carousel on Nacogdoches Road.

A kid in a candy shop of colors

As I paint (like a four-year-old) I'm reminded of this picture of me sitting on the floor of our living room, painting my heart out--and I'm probably about four in the picture!

This was before my first grade teacher used my coloring of the courthouse to show the rest of the class three things NOT to do--which engendered a lifetime of paralysis with crayons, brushes, and pencils.

(To say I paint like a four-year-old is not a self-deprecating remark; rather, it captures the bliss I feel when pressing colors into pages, free and curious and childlike.)

A photo-app altered photograph

Yesterday, I made something with Play-Dough and Elena looked at it and said, "Bootiful, Yenna!" in her encouraging mother-like voice!

From some of my artist friends and artist daughter, I am getting some excellent pointers (since I asked for them) and am reveling in learning.

Here's Day's e-mail to me yesterday:

I love watching your process. I also love that you added pictures of the drawings that appeal to you.  I think one thing they all have is a clear sense of where the artist wants your eye to land.  The strokes are confident (which yours will become).  Idea:  think about doing a drawing like making an advertisement for your idea.  What would the viewer need to see as most important… and be courageous in knowing that your drawing alone can be enough to share the idea.

I love you.
off to cross country with the boys.
Day

Few things are more enjoyable for me than watching Day draw and paint!

My daughter, Day Anna (aka Daisy)
turns 43 in one week!

In writing, I know these things. I know that a piece of writing needs a focal point, a shape, not just an assortment of sentences.  I know how to punctuate sentences and spell words.  But in drawing--I want to shout, "Help, Somebody!" because I don't quite know how to hold the pencil and apply it to the page.  We're talking basic here!

I stay up way too late watching tutorials on YouTube.  I go in Michaels daily to take advantage of this week's 50% off coupons to buy various tools and colors and papers.  I now know the difference between watercolor paper and tracing paper.  I know that charcoal pencils smudge.  I know that pictures in certain magazines (like National Geographic) have more "clay" in them than cheaper magazines, and I know the difference between Gesso and Mod Podge.

It's tempting to just collect the colors and keep them on the table--art supplies are inherently yummy.

As a lifelong teacher of writing, I know the basics I want someone to teach me are hard to teach.  Everyone knows how to put words together because we write throughout our years of formal education.  How many notes to friends and love letters to boys have I written in cursive?  Not so with drawing.  One can, as I did, get all the way to graduate school and beyond without ever having an art class.

We say, "I can't even draw a straight line."  Until trying to draw the armoire for my homework this week, I didn't realize that straight lines and curved lines are extremely difficult!  Joy has suggested that I just practice, practice, practice making geometric shapes--and now I see the rationale for doing that.  My admiration for visual artists is growing by the day.

Nellie and Pam have sent links to various online blogs and demos. Joy, who has illustrated several beautiful books for children,  sent a drawing showing how she uses thumbnails to play with placement of elements. (Check out the books on Amazon illustrated by Joy Hein!)

Pam gave me a list of iPad apps for doing playful things with (and without) photographs.

Paper 53

SketchMee

Doodle Dandy

Waterlogue

iOrnament

Photo Pal

I've not been able to install most of them because my iPad doesn't have enough available space and its operating system needs updating....but that shall be remedied with a trip to the Apple Store at some point.

With the free app Doodle Dandy, installed with no problem,  Nathan made this design in a few seconds:

Designs such as theses can be saved as photos--and possibly incorporated into drawings?

Day has been drawing since she was old enough to hold a crayon. She seems to have an innate skill for lines and colors, and her pages clearly convey where they "want your eye to land." Her strokes are confident.

Watch little children with paint brushes and clay.  Remember your own little girl self before she got self-conscious and timid.  Banish the voices in your head of your first grade teachers who told you not to press too hard, not to use purple when the real courthouse was red, not to color outside the lines.

Here's to confident strokes!

Thanks for this, Nellie!

More Inspirations from the "Storytelling" class at Sketchbook Skool