Anxieties All Over The World Today

Posted on by Sandy Webster

The Trump administration is hanging around waiting for the votes to start coming in. It will be a rough next few days for everybody.

I wish those iPhones would put more effort into capturing the moon. It was cold but beautiful early this morning. Now I am back from a quick run to the grocery store while the caregiver was with Lee. He is getting a bit further along with confusions. Most noticeably is how to eat. I quit leaving his beer in the bottle when he tried to pour some on his potato chips last week. Now it goes in a glass so he knows to drink it. And this morning taking his fork with French toast and dipping it in his coffee. He remembers that it is all food to eat but forgets the order. I watch that the hotdogs go in end first…pretty messy if you bite in the middle. But his spirits are good and that is a very good thing.

The other day I got to thinking about making journals to use in 2021 for drawings a day, etc. I was about to order a bunch when I thought again. They just aren’t right. I want something I can do pen sketches on…quick ones…..and then write, also in pen.

So I looked over my papers and using some of the pads I bought to make the DaD ones for this year. They are pads of 11″ by 14″. So logically I thought I could make folios that were 5.5″ by 7″ or landscape folios with the 7″ going across. Neither seemed okay to me. So, I made folios that have one side at 5.5″ by 5″ and the other side 5.5″ by 9″ landscape. This way I can sketch on the small page and write on the long page.

I got this far.

And then I cut scraps of some black paper to cover the spine edges because I will likely do a Coptic  binding.

I turned the folios so that it alternates short page next to long page. There are eight signatures of four folios each. That should be plenty of pages to get me started come January 1st.

The pen drawings will not be something I am trying to capture like my graphite drawings are. No erasures with pen so I don’t want the burden of looking…more of the burden of thinking. They could just start out as memory marks that represent what I need or want to say in the writing section. And NO haiku! I think I am even speaking in slowly counted syllables now. Enough of that come 2021.

And for subjects to finish out the year in the drawings a day I am doing the end of a scarf each day. I have almost as many as Dr. Birx had for her appearances with Trump. Of course mine don’t have that brand name she wears. Mine are a bit more loving hand look.

Starting new series

of drawing my many scarves

through end of the year.

 

A scarf from yarn scraps.

Gift from Suzy and held closed

by kangaroo bone.

 

Linen in tatters

has become a layered, stitched

and beaded long scarf.

 

Very soft black cloth

stitched with hundreds of white marks.

Tassels on corners.

 

And some more old journal entries.

All painting sketches from Bali in 2005.

And some more writings:

 

And in a town called Hay.

Latte and sausage roll – $7.10 and I am alone!!! Slipped away by myself to this small coffee shop. Order and pay first. Great serviettes on the table. My impression is this is a woman’s town. Place is filling up with them – most close to my age. I have 45 minutes to be served and get back on the bus.

 

Writing prompt.

What used to live under your bed?

An alligator waiting and watching for any part of my body to hang over the edge – hand, foot, knee – all were in danger of being bitten off.

*Note: That above fear came from an illustration on the cover of a book in a set of encyclopedias my mother acquired. The girl was riding in a fancy boat, she was Burmese looking as I recall, She had her foot draped over into the water and a crocodile/alligator had it in his mouth. I tried to never look at that book in the set. Other than black the only colors in the inside illustrations were orange and turquoise. Sort of art deco looking. Anyway I never saw those books again until a few years ago a friend in St. Louis purchased the same set. She is a retired art teacher and I am quite sure the pictures never frightened her…..but my hair stood on end as I just had to look at that one cover illustration again.

And finally this really beautiful view of the grass that I thought was “just grass”.

Til later…when the nightmare election is over!

 

A Very Blowy Day

Posted on by Sandy Webster

The other morning it was misty when we did our morning walk on the trail. Then two days of rain so no walk. The leaves are mostly down today due to tropical storm Zeta coming through.

And I have four days of drawings to show. I really hated doing the scissors…too technical but loved the thread and scraps of cloth.

These cat claw clippers

are as hard to draw as they

are to use on cats.

 

My handy scissors

for snipping threads, bits of cloth

to keep on stitching.

 

Embroidery floss

and snipped pieces of fabrics

wait for a needle.

 

Some fringy fabrics

of neutrally colored cloth

are very useful.

 

Some more journal entries…..

 

Isn’t it odd how you have to find that one thing that was there before so you know that you are where you wanted to be? And then I draw it again…it is recorded…my presence is noted….I can bring it home…I can remember. Mary gave me this bowl she made of layers of papers. She was such a good find in Australia…a older woman from the UK who I traded my unknown Australian room mate for, just because she might be interesting. We became fast friends and spent time traveling together whenever we could. We laughed all the time we were together and when we last saw each other, she said, “The problem is Sandy, we didn’t meet soon enough.”  We had so many more stories to tell each other, but I am very grateful for the time we did have and the craziness we shared. Her bowl sits in the studio full of Eucalyptus leaves. I think she still reads my blog, so “Hello, dear friend….remember when we…..”

And some journal notes……because our fifty-third anniversary was just two days ago and was thankfully not given any attention.

 

October 27, 2003  36th anniversary alone in Townsville, Queensland.

I am on the Pacific coast of Australia and settled into my accommodation. Visited the art gallery and shopped. Found this one and only micro brewery nearby and ordered a grilled barramundi dinner. The young girl at the tap insisted I try the red as well as the stout – a full pint (schlepping those suitcases can only be rewarded one way). The bar keeper (young man) has brought me the beer. “Happy Anniversary” he says. This is a perk for lone traveling women with a conversational bent. I told him I just picked up an email from my husband telling me to go out and have a beer.

It has just occurred to me this morning in Mackay and now Townsville that most average Australians seem to have a Jimmy Buffet ambience – shorts, thongs and an easy goingness that used to be more apparent in the States. We seem “tense” by comparison. Now, post 9/11 we have lost the ease, or did it go before that? Did it go when we became concerned about secure futures and monetary gains? I do know this, when I get home, I am going to relax – take on the mental adjustment and notch it down. “No Worries” as they say here.

The boy who brought my beer is on the hunt for something salty to finish it off….a micro brew with just fine food and no snack or appetizer menu….a good boy to go looking. I may ask if I can take a bottle with me to have tomorrow after class and then peel the label.

I need a watch – have lost all track of time – just going by the sun now and it is still up. He has not returned and I probably need to move towards a take away for another day.

 

And those scraps of cloth ……. a finished coyote.

Til later.

Last of Beautiful Days

Posted on by Sandy Webster

Sunset over the burial site.

Lee enjoying one of our last drinks on the porch for this year.

Our walk yesterday was an abundance of fallen leaves. The most beautiful this year are the reddish pink sourwood ones.

My last four days drawings.

A gift from Lorraine

coptic bound botanical

book for journaling.

 

Another hand bound

book of spare sheets that were not

very well printed.

 

Bamboo and skunk tail

handmade paint brush made for me

by a thoughtful friend.

 

And then another

paint brush from the same maker.

This one with deer tail.

 

Some Journal entries.

Southern Flinders Range – Adelaide to Alice Springs – 2007

A dead level flatness of pale gold green. Some dusty green scrub and small “branchy” Eucalyptus. The cloud shadow on the Flinders make them turn a dark purplish grey. The sun where it strikes the sides of these hills and glares off the wheat fields that push their way into the trees. All of it looks thirsty and empty. The sheep are lean and dusty looking. The few spaced farm houses seem lonely. I think the women who live here miss their children – the ones who left – and I think they watch themselves and husbands age daily. No prisoners ever came here to South Australia but some may have been imprisoned by the land. A place on the edge of “bone dry” inland. Salt bush grows here and supports the sheep.

 

And more prompts for writing…these two were actual personal experiences…not made up, but fit perfectly for the prompts.

Write a brief scene between an obese couple.

I saw them only once at a rally for railroad buffs. They were dressed in striped engineer’s overalls, hats to match and red bandanas around their necks. As they moved toward the table I was struck by where will they fit and slid casually down to one end of the bench. They eased in on the low benches opposite one another on each side of the table, she down, but not very far down from me. I smiled, nodded a greeting and looked away. I listened to them chat excitedly to each other about the trains as they held hands across the table. At first I was struck by their size – never knew they made clothes that big! How did they manage to do anything? They must have driven here together. How do they fit in a car? Truck? Where do they sit in restaurants? There are so many doors they’d never get through. How do they manage? I know one thing – however they do it, it’s always together – one hand reaching out for the other.

 

The man is not crying but you know his heart is breaking – How do you know?

Homer wanted to see me privately before going back to the class. We sat opposite each other in a quiet place in the entry way. His hands gripped each other in turn on the table between us. His eyes looked first at mine and then away as the words faltered and failed.

So that is a bit more of the journal writings. I miss writing. I miss so many things. And unlike Homer, I have no one to talk to about the things I miss. The other day I received a message via Facebook that I was missed, I was loved. Did you know that a person does not burst into tears? At least I don’t, I read words and thoughts like that and those tears just quietly flow. If I have to say why when Lee asks, I can’t answer. I can’t talk. My throat closes over. I can’t breathe. It is the realization that what was, will not likely be again. I know I am supposed to be grateful to have those memories and thoughtful friends, and I am. But I miss what was. I miss what used to be. And I regret that I took for granted that my life would be the same. It is not. And when these tears flow down my face I think of the tear duct plugs that my eye doctor puts in every six months to prevent dry eyes. If he could see me in these moments he’d say, “Damn, those things really work!”

Til later.

New Things/Old Stories

Posted on by Sandy Webster

Our bowl of leaves is overflowing. The color is getting less vivid on the trail.

From this to this in just a few steps.

But late afternoons are perfect for a warm snooze on the porch.

And inside we have this! Thanks to one of very few people who offer to help out.

I no longer have the spare time to use the spa tub, so asked if the board Lee made to fit across it so I could read books in the bath, could be used as a barrier for someone who might lose their balance near the open stairway. Tommy said, “Sure.” and it was in place twenty-four hours later. One more thing off the list that wakes me in the middle of the night. And it will be easy to patch the holes when removed for selling the house in the future.

I also stopped by the grocery store and brought home many, many boxes to pack things away that we no longer use. Those boxes will be placed on a table we put up in the garage and be checked out by the kids, post covid worries next year, and then go to recycling.

Coming back from our morning walk, I saw this gasping effort of the nasturtium on the deck above. It is my favorite plant to buy in the Spring.

And this beautiful view of morning sun on wild grasses.

Now for those past four days drawings.

Onions like this one

are mostly well behaved if

they aren’t cut into.

 

A wad of burlap

tied to look like a pumpkin

with some sticks and stems.

 

A thank you package

from a very clever friend

living in the woods.

 

Only the right shoe.

It is all I have time for.

Cleaning lady here!

 

And I could not stop stitching on the Night Bunny. Now he is “boro-ed”. I had to stitch the paper to a piece of cloth so it would take the continued jabbing of the needle and pulling of thread. I have pinned another together of an owl on a nest in the moon light. Maybe it will be a Night Critters series.

Now for some more journal entries of sketch and story.

October 3, 2003 Perth WA

I am back pondering the plight of the traveler. Western Australian Museum Café – far outside corner. Latte again and a spinach cheesy pizza – downtown Perth. Expensive or more to the point, “pricey” town. A couple – middle age- one table over. Besides the companionship I notice another plus to being in company. The physical burdens of sightseeing are shared. He has the camera and cash and carries most purchases. She looks restored and cared for. Not only that, they sound American.

I carry whatever I left the B&B with this morning. In the string bag are camera, money, sketchbook, paints, notebook, pen, map of the city, some leaves and a recent purchase of blister bandaids – guaranteed to heal overnite. My shopping bag holds a sale book from the Art Museum titled Wildflowers in Art, a buy at $10. Bandaids and botanicals!

I am not thirty anymore. I enjoy saying “I’m American” as much as hearing them say “I know.” Besides my look of “older lady on holiday”, I cannot for the life of me get down the thing they do with the fork in the left hand. It (the fork) is turned over and the knife is used to sever bits of everything on the plate – then loaded up the “hill” of the fork. Fine, I can do all that – anyone who enjoys playing with their food can do it. Now keeping it in the left hand, turning and aiming at a gaping mouth is hard. I pass it to the right hand after removing bits, spearing one and go towards my face hoping I do not look as famished as the Australian maneuver appears to the watcher.

I am now going to look at old stones and shells and find the right train back.

Note* Not long after this observation on how to use the knife and fork properly I practiced….a lot…and for the past ten years at least, always make sure to add the knife to my right hand and pass the upturned fork over to the responsibility of the left. Only exception is soup. 

And another journal entry about Australia.

What is it about the Australians that seem to bring out the best in those of us who are not? In their company I am not a stranger but pulled into their raucous interior – inhibitions and hesitations fall away. They seem to hone in on the interior of a person, do not see or hear how we portray ourselves. To them we are all an equally appreciated part of their whole. We feel we belong and belonging to an Aussie group of fun-loving friends is definitely a good feeling. Even when parted, you will smile at the memory of being together and you will hear them laugh and feel their arms around you.

I will bring them out later, in secret, when my own kind neglect to see inside me and think I am someone else.

I love that last entry and have pulled them out so many times in this isolation.

All good today.

Til later.