Month: August 2025

I opened a folder marked “Artwork”. It was back before I put in separate folders that claimed the contents were certain kinds of artwork, like books, sculpture, etc.

And I thought it would be fun to pull certain pieces up for moving over here and talking about them.  Once moved over here, I walked off the rest of my 8,000 steps and fixed myself a turmeric/ginger old fashioned. Delicious! Anyway just a side note here. I went to the bar Tuesday at 4. Took my new spot. Had a Manhattan brought over by my new friend. Started writing on my legal pad, and some short time later ordered a pizza. By the time it came, I asked for a box. A fellow came up to me and asked if I was saving the seat next to me for someone. My purse was on the seat. I told him “No” and looked down the bar. It was filled and so were the tables behind me. The bartender (my new friend) moseyed over and said, “This isn’t working for you, is it Sandy.” “Not really. Why so many on a Tuesday?” And he said, “Because they have not been able to get in for two days.” Then he suggested we try again in October when most will go home to Florida…a state where even The Diary of Anne Frank can now be banned.  So I agreed and will return in another month or so.

So to start, I wanted to talk about how hard it can be to realize that making art for the shear joy of it is getting harder as I age. Why bother? is the question. There is no passion for the making except if it is political statement work. And I will do more for the walls in my garage as soon as I have the energy. But I am alone on that subject. Just this morning I took some flowers to a neighbor who reminded me that she holds opposite political views. I do not understand how she can not see where all this insanity is headed. So we had coffee together in her kitchen and I am accepting that my affection for her is more important right now. It would not matter what I could say, she is locked into her thinking. So I told her that I understood that a person’s identity and sense of self is totally anchored in their beliefs.

So back to artwork. This is an image of the burial of so much of my artwork. I am so glad to have made this choice to see the end of these many, many pieces.

To have this control over what happens is so much better than the unexpected purge of your art by the whims of Nature. This from the unforgiving fires of Dunally, Tasmania some years ago. I went there shortly after so much was lost and was caught up with this image I took of her sewing machine and ironing board. My visit there resulted in an artwork given to their archive center.

At least I had control over the end of my own artworks via a burial.

Other images that caught my eye this morning. This detail of a collaged work. I love owls and doing wood cuts of them for printing.

And my love of so many trips to Australia came through in my art and writings. These burned through Eucalyptus leaves that showed up in so many places with small etched prints of the outback.

I bought a burning tool like artist, Dan Essig ‘s after taking a short weekend workshop with him on surface design and using his. I still hope to use it again but not sure on what….just one of those versatile tools that can evoke so many various thoughts. I still have loads of these Eucalyptus leaves waiting for a place to be of use.

And this one….a detail of one of my antiwar pieces. We are still seeing the death of peace doves with no end in sight with the despicable world leaders taking hold of all our futures.

Here is a detail of the textures of one of these pieces. I love the color and the desire to touch these works.

And this extremely complex egg tempera painting from a photograph I took while staying at a shearer’s shed in Victoria, Australia. I was showing a slide of it while teaching over there, and a young woman came up to me to say she grew up on this sheep farm and recognized the kitchen fireplace. I told her if she gave me her address, I would send it to her. I did when I got home and never heard from her. But that never mattered. I was convinced that she not only received it but had it framed and hung it in a place of pride to tell her children all about the foods that came off that stove.

The painting is only 4″ by 12+” but if you know egg tempera from making gesso from scratch to coat many times while sanding each layer before adding egg yolk to powdered pigment, you understand that it takes more than just a little love for the subject matter.

And this caught my eye as well. It speaks of where I might be now with making art……”toward the unknown”….

Til later….. my glass is empty, and I have the most delicious scones I baked yesterday with ham, cheeses, spinach and scallions to heat up for dinner.

I saw my new doctor this week. Only in his thirties, very good hugger, honest and fun. It is a good match where he insists on first names only and could answer all my questions as well as respond to my many observations on aging. He sincerely hopes he can fill Teresa’s shoes to some extent. I like him and look forward to the next time. When I asked him if I needed to sit naked except for a tissue draped over my shoulders, his response was, “When someone needs to look at the private area, a woman doctor will come in with a female assistant.” I replied, “Good, that saves us both some embarrassment.” I asked if he was going to tell me not to enjoy the alcoholic beverages so much, his reply was, “You are 81 years old! I see no problem with continuing with whatever you have been doing.”

Yes, new doctor is a very good match!

So I went out to celebrate and ordered a Manhattan at a different bar and got some writing done while staying for a pizza as well.

I liked the bartender and it appears the feeling is mutual. He is just enough crusty with an intuition of when to just serve and walk away. His girlfriend is the bartender at another favorite place. Who wouldn’t want to sit a spell in this place?

This is a new basil drink served in a rocks glass minus the rocks. Both bartenders know not to bring me drinks with stems unless it is wine. Then dinner of a quickly consumed crabcake followed by this special of crispy eggplant rolls in marinara.

You’d think I was a food editor with this blog, but no, just an update of my socializing this week….enjoying my own company and those helping me do it. And a very good thing is that the second place has a lovely young girl waitress who is an artist. So her and her bartending mother will come over soon to go through art supplies I am never going to use again. So many papers for book arts going unused! I like her quirky mixed media drawings and am happy to pass supplies on to her.

Also this week, I decided to drop out of both my poetry groups. they have become too large and offer little in good critique. Mostly it becomes a discussion of where to go hear and read poetry, where to market, where to pay for advice, etc. So, at my age and having limited patience, I am staying home, doing more writing and occasional private protest art to hang in my garage to photograph and post. I am trying to fill the vast void of old fashioned artist protest art seen on FB.

And almost everywhere I look is a scene or person begging to have a story made up, written down, and put on pages.

Today is laundry day, so time to take things from the dryer to put away. The yard is watered and a friend is bringing me his PBS series of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. I remember going to the theater to see the movie a few years back and being totally captivated by the burnt umber hue of the entire film.

Well, that’s it for now. I will leave you with the latest simple poem that made me ask the question about using the “F” word.

The Watch Reads 2:09                 S. Webster

 

I am going to write

something.

It’s the middle of the

afternoon.

My mind is coming up

blank.

I need a full, complete

sentence.

But all I have is one

word.

Over and over and over

again.

So I say it out loud, then

louder.

Until the watch reads

2:14.

 

And then there is this:

And this: A Chinese pain spray a friend gave me that is supposed to really work. I will save it for the occasional charley horse.

Aren’t you glad to see me sign off!!

Til later….

Another lovely sky here in the neighborhood.

Then back to the bar to see if the bartender actually made the Turmeric/Ginger drink I gave her the recipe for. I also took two journals for the waitresses who were so kind last week. I must say that I used to be faster when making blank journals, but age and long swaths of time have made me slower. Anyway, we were greeted with this:

and this:

After our visit the drink will be called The Webster from now on. How fun is that! Not quite like having a planet or bird named after you, but close…. Then a great salmon and crabcake combo dinner finished the evening.

Back again next week to meet up with the fellow who was interested to find out I was a writer. I will give him a copy of my short stories book just for being kind.

Still working on poetry and went to a monthly meeting this past week. I raised the question of using the “F” word in poetry readings. And after the initial sweet ladies’ gasps, I was told “if it is necessary to the poem, and not for simple shock effect. ”  I have noticed that since the election of a total incompetent for president by mindless voters, the word comes so much easier. It could just be age, but I suspect it is like the red tie on my punching bag… an expression of complete despair.

This morning I took some photos of the yard out back. I think I am losing the dogwood and had the opportunity to tell my yardman when he too showed up at the bar while I was there. The leaves are all curling in on themselves and have spots.

After I sanded out all the exuberant sand blasting marks in my bench out front and blew off the walkway, I settled in with a paid for movie…the second adaption of Jane Harper’s books, Force of Nature. The first being The Dry. She does write a good story and  I am pleased another one will be released in April.

I am listening to Jeffry Archer audiobooks as I get my steps in. Lovely to hear proper English pronunciations in a male voice.

Not much else new…I might just thaw some shrimp to have with pasta and aging spinach.

More later when something else seems worthy of sharing.

Til then…..

The days just keep coming, over and over again.  Tuesdays don’t so much roll into Wednesdays as they roll into the following Tuesday. By the time I push to get my minimum 7,000 steps in, it is time for a drink, dinner, and bed. Only to start all over again the following day.

Speaking of drinks…here is the latest turmeric/ginger old fashioned.

Start with a simple syrup of one cup sugar to one cup water and boil until sugar is dissolved. Cool and add one tablespoon turmeric and one teaspoon ground ginger. Stir and sieve through fine strainer. Now in an old fashioned glass with ice pour 2 oz bourbon, 1 oz turmeric syrup and garnish with a slice of orange and a dash of Peychaud’s bitters…give a stir and get comfortable.

I have been working with the illustrations of drawing and stitch for my next book. And decided to make them black and white and only 3×4 inches centered in the page. Too large and they become too important and the important thing about a book is the text…not the illustration used as breaks in sections. So here they are with an extra for the cover.

I still want to write a couple more short stories, etc. but just needed a break with heat and humidity. On thinking about one of these illustrations being used on the cover, I got to thinking about the back cover. How the back of my books only have the obligatory author picture and brief bio.

I looked on the back of the paper backs on my shelf and was somewhat intrigued by the glowing remarks by “readers”. Do author’s ask friends to do this? Could anyone (author) just make up these glowing comments? Could I say that Annie Proulx loved my writing so much that she has quit writing just to go over my words again and again? What about Stephen King tossing his two cents in? Why not? It all seems so self-aggrandizing, so ego-driven. Can’t people just do what they always have done? Hold the book in their hands and thrum through to catch a bit of writing here and there to decide whether to invest $10? Or, if the book is not in a book store, couldn’t they just look it up on Amazon and read a description?

Maybe it is just an agreement between authors…”you say something nice about my book, and I’ll say something nice about yours.”

Anyway, I find it just a bit off. So will keep my books as blank as possible on the back so whoever bought it, read it, has plenty of room to write their own review before passing it on.

Here is a line from a short story….“Elderly single men who have either annoyed previous companions or watched them die off are rarely equipped with the ease their wives had for making new friends.”

It might be fun to pop a line or two from stories or poems into this blog.

I got to talking with a fellow in a bar last week. My friend was telling him about me being a writer. I told him I would bring him the short stories book this week, and keep it on hand in case he came in again while I was there. I like that he seemed mildly excited at the prospect.

Steps to get in before my physical therapist shows up to time my balance exercises.

So up and at it. Here is a picture of Sadie and Dily keeping me company.

Til later…