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I tried a couple social excursions this week. One was a neighborhood ladies luncheon. I went to it only ask for a hug from one woman who gives exceptional hugs. She obliged, said she and her husband (both Magas) wondered if I would consider coming to their house for a drink some time. I said sure to that and now will wait and see if that comes. I sat across from other Magas and never mentioned politics (why bother). Most of the ones I meet here come from a local gated community where they must feel safe from “others”. Anyway, I don’t have to go to another luncheon for quite awhile. The other outing was to a new neighbors for an early dinner. I behaved fairly well, had food I did not have to cook, and was in bed by 7:30.

Speaking of food. here is this morning’s breakfast. French toast with sour cream and maple syrup. Very good but a couple times a year is quite enough.

And a Negroni cocktail that seems perfect for dinner with a few salty somethings.

Other than eating, drinking and keeping my “social” face on, I have been finishing the drawings and poems for the Concertina Book. It is so easy to just lose myself in these.

Warrior Chief     S. Webster

 

His name is Arkov, this warrior chief

who follows the rules of his own belief.

No one knows how he became so strong

nor how his bravery’s stayed so long.

 

Rounding up his men twenty times a year,

he’ll put on his helmet, pick up his spear.

And off they go out through the gate

stand at attention to watch and wait.

 

His tiny advisor close at hand,

Arkov scans the hills across his land.

For half an hour he looks side to side,

then triumphantly orders them back inside.

 

Frog       S. Webster

 

A frog, one morning put things in a pack.

An apple, a crown, and lunch in a sack.

 

He climbed on his camel to take a ride

across the desert in search of a bride.

 

All he needed was just one princess

taking a chance, and giving a kiss.

 

Regardless of how he looked to another,

he believed he was special, believed his mother.

 

Frog urged his camel across the sand

toward a castle rising from rich green land.

 

He arrived in time to hear gasps for breath

from a drowning princess out of her depth.

 

Frog dove in before she could sink

Just as the camel knelt for a drink.

 

When he swam across and lifted his head,

Frog saw she had kissed the camel instead!

 

So that is my week. And when I read it over in the blog’s review, I appear to be a slightly off old woman. An old woman who likes to be by herself so she can be herself. Just a nice hug once in awhile, not too many, something to drink, food not eaten over the kitchen sink, and the occasional nap.

I will try to be more exciting next week…but no guarantees. It is too humid, hot and energy sapping for much more this week.

Til later.

 

 

 

 

Someone told me a couple of weeks ago that I was “gifted” as she looked through my children’s books. I said, no, I just always drew things. Of course this led to other discussions with even the idea because my mother liked to draw, it might be an inherited “gift”. So I looked it up. No, anyone can draw, and draw well if they are willing to keep at it. It always fascinated me how it was possible to put an image of an object onto a flat page. And if I could get the most simple of objects drawn, then I could move on to more complex things. When I was quite young, I thought Walt Disney would call me and offer employment because I was so good at drawing the dogs from Lady and the Tramp. He never called and to be honest the line drawings of his characters were really quite simple…no shading necessary, just lines surrounding the space it took to suggest a couple of happy dogs ready to bounce around on the screen. Easy stuff. And I could understand how my fame for drawing never went beyond my mother’s interest….”that’s nice, dear.” She never even suggested I try drawing a flower or my own shoe. As long as I was amusing myself, that was good enough.

And I did keep amusing myself. Took art classes in school when offered. Tried different mediums. But always came back to the pencil with that wonderful ability to disappear under the pressure of an eraser.

When I was in Australia in 2005, Adele Outteridge challenged me to do a drawing a day for the following year. Here is how I did it to keep it simple, doable and fun.

A wide-spined concertina flag book filled with small tags in both directions of things around the house. 365 pages in total with the last on the inside back cover. This book is so much fun to open as it explodes between my hands when pulled apart.

Seven rows of fifty-two pages! And I never put a day off till the next. I didn’t want to let myself down by slacking off. And I loved it! Every day finding something I could fit on a tag…and then dating it.

Sketchbooks filled with drawings that became more complex over the years. This one is from a book I added stitched pieces to while adjusting to my husband be committed to a care center for those suffering dementia.

A couple of weeks ago at the library where we “Shut Up and Write”, I tried describing in a prose poem how to draw. Here is that piece that just came as natural as drawing itself.

Drawing     S. Webster

I need to find something to draw. That is the first step. Next, lay a piece of paper at an angle, top edge leaning down on the left. Place a kneaded eraser nearby and pick up the mechanical pencil. I’ve chosen a wine bottle opener, turn it in my hand to see how it should look on the page. There. Flat on is always easier than the demands of perspective. I never get things right if looking at it from the foot or head. Lay it directly under my gaze and there it is. Now put that on the paper. Start drawing the left side first. Get all that perfect before moving a little to the right to get the next part. No sides of the palm smearing over fresh loose graphite. If it happens, shape the kneaded eraser to fit the parts needing to be removed. Continue drawing to the right and down. Decide where it needs to be darker, where the shading needs enhanced. Remind yourself that this might easily end up as a wadded-up ball in the bin. I could start over. But I won’t. Feelings of failure take over. Maybe try again tomorrow. Pour a glass of wine. Think about how much easier it would be to draw a glass of wine.

I used this past week’s time at the library to write the poem to go with the warrior chief drawing. This week I will try again since I am not that happy with the effort made. But I have gone back to the frog hauling his crown around while looking for the princess who will take a chance and give him a kiss.

Maybe a couple castles in the background. Wish there was a way to show him riding on a camel as he travels the land…….+ there is only so much space on the page. But I can describe it in the rhyming poem that goes behind the picture. I think a camel is the perfect way for a frog to set off in search of a princess, don’t you?

Anyway, it is getting time for lunch. I am thinking a creative Bloody Mary to go with a savoury scone I baked yesterday.

And a parting thought for those of you who wished they knew how to draw. Get to practicing. It’s either that or fall back on the excuse that your are simply not “gifted”.

Til later….

Taking an early walk before heading out to have coffee with the boys at the senior center. It is our new meeting place for now and is where I take my chair yoga classes once a week. The weather is way too hot and humid to walk later in the day.

I am still going to the library to write on Tuesday afternoons. This week the time was devoted to finding the words in rhyme for the Down the Rabbit Hole book. Then yesterday I reworked those words to go with the order of illustrations. Some more tweaking and I think I have it.

So then it was back to the concertina book of illustrations and stories. The Warrior Chief is finished and I think I will write his story poem while at the library this week. Something with bravery and his little muse that rides along on his shoulder whenever he heads off into battle.

The next page of leaf prints was just begging to have something drawn…..so I decided a frog would be good. He has a backpack where he keeps his crown while traveling in search of a princess willing to lay a kiss on him. Needless to say, I stopped myself before I got too far because I could tell I was getting too caught up in his optimistic anxiety. I need to go back to drawing leaves or baskets.

Actually I could draw according to my written bit on how to draw something from one of my Tuesday sessions. I will add it here because this is a short post. A friend from poetry is bringing her granddaughter over to talk Australia. The said granddaughter just returned from her stay there working for a clothing design company and fell in love with the country. I will enjoy sharing stories with her.

Here is the drawing lesson.

Drawing     S. Webster

I need to find something to draw. That is the first step. Next, lay a piece of paper at an angle, top edge leaning down on the left. Place a kneaded eraser nearby and pick up the mechanical pencil. I’ve chosen a wine bottle opener, turn it in my hand to see how it should look on the page. There. Flat on is always easier than the demands of perspective. I never get things right if looking at it from the foot or head. Lay it directly under my gaze and there it is. Now put that on the paper. Start drawing the left side first. Get all that perfect before moving a little to the right to get the next part. No sides of the palm smearing over fresh loose graphite. If it happens, shape the kneaded eraser to fit the parts needing to be removed. Continue drawing to the right and down. Decide where it needs to be darker, where the shading needs enhanced. Remind yourself that this might easily end up as a wadded-up ball in the bin. I could start over. But I won’t. Feelings of failure take over. Maybe try again tomorrow. Pour a glass of wine. Think about how much easier it would be to draw a glass of wine.

Better go…

Til later…

 

I talked to the grocery man filling the shelves with lettuce this week. I am no longer buying bagged salads or boxed mixed greens. We have a Cabinet member who could be the most ignorant Secretary of Health and Human Services ever in our history, who has removed all measures to safeguard our foods. The lettuce man told me there were, so far, no issues with our store’s produce, but to be safe, buy foods grown and processed in California. So here is my first several times washed Romaine lettuce. We here in the states have some very stupid voters heading off to the polls to cast votes for those who have learned how easily those voters can be manipulated to keep the CEO’s pockets spilling over with the money saved by unsafe practices.

The front entry is finished this week. Next, when the rain subsides, I will have the concrete floor coated in the color of the exterior paint. Just a bit of repotting and changing some plants around yet to go and then I can move on to getting the garage floor treated. I moved the gong to the sunroom where it seems to fit better.

The new pillows arrived.

And the new placement of stones opposite the bench.

Because of handling these stones, I thought I should write about them at my weekly Shut Up and Write session at the library. Here is an excerpt.

Stones    S. Webster

I thought I should write something about stones today. You know, the ones we pick up just to feel their roundness with both hands. Holding their weight with such tenderness as we turn them this way and that to feel the smooth surface, knowing it will have to come home with us. Georgia O’Keefe stole her friends’ stones to line up along windows and floors in her own home. She felt justified in this because she said those friends would never love the stones as much as she did. I saw them in her house and wondered about those she stole from. Did holding onto the friendship mean more than holding a stone? I would have retrieved my own stone from her house and thereafter watched her closely. At least she understood how holding a stone can matter. How keeping stones within reach just to touch in passing can bring such calm. Mine are formed into a snake in the garden. Others in a line from that garden along the walk to the front door. Inside there are bowls filled with stones just waiting to be held. One bowl has a stone someone gave me – a stone she coated with a clear acrylic so it would forever have the wet stone look. She even pointed out a face she saw in it as she pressed it into my hands. All I see is a stone choking on someone else’s expectation. The next hole I dig, that stone is going deep inside where it is free to rub itself back into existence. And hope by the time it works its way up to the surface, no one is waiting to do anything but toss it back down.

I am back to working on the Concertina Story Book. Just laid in the second illustration. The poem that will go with it will be about a warrior chief that you can see taking form….love where his head dress is heading.

I should have it finished by the end of the week. Sadie will keep an eye on my progress.

Til later…