Well 2011 was a year of change and new directions. I lost my job, developed severe mobility issues, graduated from college and started doing more artwork. So some good and some not so good. I hesitate to say bad because I think the actions aren't over and I feel like I don't entirely know the outcome.
I try to view change as not good or bad really. Or rather I try to view it as potentially good. I mean when I got laid off I really thought that suddenly My Life As I Knew It would drastically change and we would be living in a cardboard box - three cats, the sweetie and me - and we still are (knock wood) where we started. That's a great good thing to me. I got to do interviews, apply for work and get around surprisingly well despite the pain and the feeling that I should be doing more. But the pain is teaching me to look at what I have to do - if I can do it - and it's teaching me to accept help graciously and with the idea that I have given to people and now get back.
So 2012 is going to commence in a relatively short time. Last years goals were somewhat met. I had to go look them up and found there were 4 and I re posted them here for me to think about.
1. Pay more attention to my health and physical well-being.
2. Work at doing art.
3. Get my ETSY shop going.
4. (the big one) Go to the Doctor and Dentist.
I did do 2 and 3 easily and I am paying more attention to my health - I started losing weight (20 pounds) and since I've become somewhat disabled I pay more attention to it so I guess I could say I did No 1. No 4 was more difficult. I've called my doctor and got referrals to two other doctors. I will be calling them in 2012 and see what they say. I think - while not totally perfect - I did my resolutions.
GOLD STAR for me!
So without further ado my resolutions for 2012
1. Do enough artwork to have a small show.
2. Go see the Orthopedic doctor
3. Get either some job/volunteer work to give myself more structure.
4. Lose 20 more pounds (I've lost 20 last year).
5. Get either an Illustration certification or going back to Texas State for the second part of my BFA. (Or both!)
6. Work towards becoming retired.
7. Go on some sort of vacation!
Check back with me throughout the year. I have very positive thoughts on this.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
New photos
I bought myself an early Christmas present this year. During taking my visual graphics class this semester, we were allowed to use the school cameras - handy little Fujifilm Finepix S3300. I really liked them and since I opened my ETSY account had been using the little Nikkon Coolpix. (That's a nice little camera as well) So after consulting with the SO, I decided to spend a little cash and get it for me. It was on sale and I can use it for shop photos.
I just love it. of course right after I bought it I was forced to stay indoors for th emost part because of the crutches and not being able to do a bunch in wet rainy weather with lots of cement walkways and such.
Today, however, was beautiful and I decided to try the back yard. It's a blast. So here are the backyard plants (who are doing quite well with all this nice slow steady rain we've been having) and a trellis....
I think the shots turned out pretty good. I need to practise more but the zoom is totally wonderful. I'm going to take some of the jewelry I've been making and photograph it outside. More shots later!
Thursday, December 1, 2011
On this the beginning of the year
Today is somewhat of a high point, I suppose. Today or this morning at around 10:39 Pacific Standard Time I was born in a town near Los Angeles. Not a big hoopla really for anyone but me but it did encourage me to become a little thoughtful and reflective (are these two different actions or one)
I don't remember much in terms of my young life. I know I was born and spent my early days in Culver City near MGM studios where my father worked. I was the youngest of three sibs. Two older brothers.
One of my earliest memories though is the Easter Bunny who I swear I saw one morning. My bedroom was in the front of the house and I had a set of double french doors that led to the front or living room. I remember waking up Easter morning early (before dawn) and seeing the Easter Bunny. A rather tall fellow with a pink bow around his neck and was holding holding a basket. The Bunny turned around and held its finger to its lips - telling me to be quiet. His being there was out secret. I remember this vividly the white fur, the little tail, the big pink bow... Strangely, I didn't receive my basket in my bedroom - it was always on the breakfast table, but the bunny came to see me in the room. That vision has never dimmed over the years.
I was told that when I was 4 or 5 I would get up early in the morning and sit on the curb in front of the house. (No mean feat - since the yard was long and our house sat back to the rear of the lot). I would get up, sit on the curb and sit away - just singing the sun up. To this day I still sing to myself, to cheer myself up, to express joy. I'm not the most talented singer although I can sing and have a pleasant voice but it stays a really private gift to myself. I do however sing more in the bath tub than the curb although I have been known to sing on the front porch. I no longer get up at 5 in the morning to sing. Age does bring wisdom.
I remember the time my brother ate grapes in front of me and wouldn't share. I still don't eat grapes much although that is more to Caesar Chavez rather than my brother. I remember trying to bury the duck in a hole. This was totally by accident since we were originally trying to dig a duck pond fill it with water to give the duck a swimming hole. No one told small children that they had to line the pond first - the resulting muddy hole caused the duck to almost succumb. My mother rescued it and we got in a great deal of trouble.
Holes and mud seem to figure prominently in my youth. When older and at a different house we flooded the flower bed outside the bedroom window and took turns jumping out the window into the mud. Totally killed the begonias and again raised my mother's ire. I have lingering guilt about the horrid things we did to my mothers flowers. She died when I was young so that may have encouraged that feeling of guilt.
I remember learning to read and loving the whole process of reading. My grandmother gave us politically incorrect Southern readers from the '20's to brush up or reading skills. While the childrens names escape me - not Dick and Jane - I remember the books were illustrated with photos of the period. Picking cotton looked fun to me . (I told you they were politically incorrect.) Growing up in Southern California with a family based originally in Texas had it's charms.
So what then does 60 mean to me? I'm not sure. Mentally I don't feel 60, although my body is being difficult these days and not working it's best. I have a strong interest in learning. I love finding new things to keep me thinking and want to learn more. I've learned to be comfortable with myself which I couldn't do when I was younger. I've accepted my shortcomings and still try to resolve the issues they bring. I try to understand myself and learn to forgive myself my flaws. But I don't feel old except the rare times the bionic leg starts hurting more than usual or a twinge suddenly makes me long for younger bones.
But suddenly I am older - older than 59 and yet younger than 70. With the exception of my mother, the women in my family are long lived so I hope that I will be the same way. My grandmother died when 89, my one aunt in her '80's I think as did my great aunt. My other aunt is hale and hearty. So I hope I live as long as they do. I still have things I want to finish and times not waiting.
So I give myself this birthday wish and that is to be happy and accomplish something this year and the year after and the year after that. To not be idle and to keep going. Happy Birthday to me.
I don't remember much in terms of my young life. I know I was born and spent my early days in Culver City near MGM studios where my father worked. I was the youngest of three sibs. Two older brothers.
One of my earliest memories though is the Easter Bunny who I swear I saw one morning. My bedroom was in the front of the house and I had a set of double french doors that led to the front or living room. I remember waking up Easter morning early (before dawn) and seeing the Easter Bunny. A rather tall fellow with a pink bow around his neck and was holding holding a basket. The Bunny turned around and held its finger to its lips - telling me to be quiet. His being there was out secret. I remember this vividly the white fur, the little tail, the big pink bow... Strangely, I didn't receive my basket in my bedroom - it was always on the breakfast table, but the bunny came to see me in the room. That vision has never dimmed over the years.
I was told that when I was 4 or 5 I would get up early in the morning and sit on the curb in front of the house. (No mean feat - since the yard was long and our house sat back to the rear of the lot). I would get up, sit on the curb and sit away - just singing the sun up. To this day I still sing to myself, to cheer myself up, to express joy. I'm not the most talented singer although I can sing and have a pleasant voice but it stays a really private gift to myself. I do however sing more in the bath tub than the curb although I have been known to sing on the front porch. I no longer get up at 5 in the morning to sing. Age does bring wisdom.
I remember the time my brother ate grapes in front of me and wouldn't share. I still don't eat grapes much although that is more to Caesar Chavez rather than my brother. I remember trying to bury the duck in a hole. This was totally by accident since we were originally trying to dig a duck pond fill it with water to give the duck a swimming hole. No one told small children that they had to line the pond first - the resulting muddy hole caused the duck to almost succumb. My mother rescued it and we got in a great deal of trouble.
Holes and mud seem to figure prominently in my youth. When older and at a different house we flooded the flower bed outside the bedroom window and took turns jumping out the window into the mud. Totally killed the begonias and again raised my mother's ire. I have lingering guilt about the horrid things we did to my mothers flowers. She died when I was young so that may have encouraged that feeling of guilt.
I remember learning to read and loving the whole process of reading. My grandmother gave us politically incorrect Southern readers from the '20's to brush up or reading skills. While the childrens names escape me - not Dick and Jane - I remember the books were illustrated with photos of the period. Picking cotton looked fun to me . (I told you they were politically incorrect.) Growing up in Southern California with a family based originally in Texas had it's charms.
So what then does 60 mean to me? I'm not sure. Mentally I don't feel 60, although my body is being difficult these days and not working it's best. I have a strong interest in learning. I love finding new things to keep me thinking and want to learn more. I've learned to be comfortable with myself which I couldn't do when I was younger. I've accepted my shortcomings and still try to resolve the issues they bring. I try to understand myself and learn to forgive myself my flaws. But I don't feel old except the rare times the bionic leg starts hurting more than usual or a twinge suddenly makes me long for younger bones.
But suddenly I am older - older than 59 and yet younger than 70. With the exception of my mother, the women in my family are long lived so I hope that I will be the same way. My grandmother died when 89, my one aunt in her '80's I think as did my great aunt. My other aunt is hale and hearty. So I hope I live as long as they do. I still have things I want to finish and times not waiting.
So I give myself this birthday wish and that is to be happy and accomplish something this year and the year after and the year after that. To not be idle and to keep going. Happy Birthday to me.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Giving Thanks
I've been finding stray bits of information here and there about Thanksgiving - or giving Thanks or Gathering Day. It seems that everyone seems to have a day of Thanksgiving which I find positive. Generally I get a random thought and then things start popping up - what Carl Jung called synchronicity. Because of all the thoughts on giving Thanks I found myself wandering around getting distracted from actual artwork this week.
It's by Gerald Manley Hopkins,(1844-1889) a British poet who converted to Roman Catholicism, studying to become a Jesuit priest which caused him a considerable amount of conflicting feelings about his poetry, himself and his beliefs. After reading of the death of 5 nuns aboard a ship he began writing again but his poems weren't released until after his death in 1889. He is most famous for what is called sprung rhythm.
Most of Hopkins work was published after his dead by his best friend Robert Bridges, who was poet laureate of England. The few poems that exist before the Jesuit days seemed to have been saved by Bridges. Hopkins had sent them to him.
So that is my Thanksgiving gift to you - May you find joy in what is around you.
I started rereading some poetry which is actually slow going for me. Often I get lost in the rhythm and rhyme of the thing and lose the trains of thought. (It's why I read them out loud in the bathtub - I do better hearing it.) One of the poems I thought to include here today even though it's not particularly a Thanksgiving poem. (Well, I think for me it is.)
It's by Gerald Manley Hopkins,(1844-1889) a British poet who converted to Roman Catholicism, studying to become a Jesuit priest which caused him a considerable amount of conflicting feelings about his poetry, himself and his beliefs. After reading of the death of 5 nuns aboard a ship he began writing again but his poems weren't released until after his death in 1889. He is most famous for what is called sprung rhythm.
GLORY be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.
Praise him.
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| Hopkins |
He's unique in that he's considered a modern poet because of this sprung rhythm which is closer to Anglo-Saxon and early English poetry rather than the structured meter in regular poetry. It has to do with the stress of the first syllable of a foot. Hopkins was strongly attracted to language and studied Old English, considering it a vast improvement to the more modern polyglot language. He also was influenced by Welsh poetry with it's use of similar sounds, the same sound repeating several times in a line. His poetry is best when read out loud (great bath tub reading for me).
Most of Hopkins work was published after his dead by his best friend Robert Bridges, who was poet laureate of England. The few poems that exist before the Jesuit days seemed to have been saved by Bridges. Hopkins had sent them to him.
So that is my Thanksgiving gift to you - May you find joy in what is around you.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Survivors
I'm making myself get out to exercise in small doses. So today I picked up the camera and went looking in the backyard to see what survived the drought and neglect. I used to have a garden. Somewhat chaotic - like me. Squirrels would tear out the little tomatoes, take a bite and decide green tomatoes just weren't tasty. Everything ate the chard. The herbs did well until the heat and then they sank into maintenance.
So I wasn't expecting a single thing. Surprise, surprise! Nature is hardy. My garden or culinary sage is going great guns! I think it's the Biedermeister variety. Large leafed and tolerant of the high heat, high humidity we have in the summer. It's thriving. A tiny bit of it got sacrificed for dinner tonight but I think it will survive.
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| sage - close up |
Then the rosemary (three different kinds) is also thriving. It's happy as pie in what I used to call the Mediterranean garden since it rarely got watered was somewhat rocky and very sunny. Someone once told me that the Texas Hill Country is very similar to the Mediterranean area. I can agree based on the herbs here. The rosemary and the sage grow side by side. I also found a tiny plant of Salvia Greggii - which isn't a bit culinary but has nice flowers. It didn't do so well but I found it and some remains of the German Irises still holding on.
I think Rosemary remains my favorite herb. I really love it. Earlier this summer, I had cut some for cooking and left it in a cup of water on the sink and it seems to have rooted. I'm going to try to transplant it into a pot and see if it grows. The whole yard could fill with rosemary and I wouldn't mind in the slightest (The bees would like it as well) Besides these leftovers I had various introduced plants... or what I I could refer to as the birds garden. Most of these have come from seeds left by the birds. I love the lantana and it will bloom until the very last minute. Somewhere I have the paler variety but I love the brightness of the blooms so much.
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Lantana
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We also have a wild grape that a neighbor shares with us. It's never produced grapes but does have blooms. This year I really thought it had died but no I found small branches with grape leaves growing. It trails along one of the fallen trees we've never cut down. I was sitting on one when the resident woodpecker started complaining I was out and about. I hadn't seen him be so active and quite so vocal before.
Among plants I didn't find a good place to snap a photo were Wild petunias and Pigeonberry which does very well in our yard. Pigeon berry reminds me of dock just smaller and tinier.
I did find a really nice set of tiny little amaranth - I am not certain what kind it is but the sun really lit it's spire. I found several small colonies. When I plant garden amaranth it just won't grow but the wild variety does well in my yard. Not certain exactly why.
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| wild amaranth |
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Queen's Wreath and Cactus
I decided to walk a bit outside today as I was becoming stir crazy and I hadn't yet been on crutches outside. Hopefully the crutches won't be around too terribly long but the pain in the bionic leg was getting a little strong. (Hence the slightly crabby entry about unemployment from a few days ago) I decided to take my little digital camera and wandered across the street to take photos of the neighbors cochineal-ridden cactus and Queen's Wreath.
I hadn't seen Queen's Wreath until I moved to San Antonio when a teenager. There is was called Queen's Crown, which seems to be either a family thing or a local thing (It appears to be more local, as one of the web sites I looked at had people from San Antonio and Sequin calling it that). Up here it's and from what I could find on the Internet it's called Queen's Wreath or Coral Vine. The Latin name of it is Antigonon leptopus. It's a beautiful vine covers everything and is pretty drought tolerant. I'm going to try to take some cuttings and root them for our fence over here. Bees love it as well as butterflies. The tubers are supposed to be edible which I'd be willing to try if I could dig right now. It's got a bunch of other names and in some states is considered an invasive weed. Since it's a native of Mexico I imagine it crept up here on it's own or people planted it and it naturalized. I've only seen it in older neighborhoods but not in the wild. On a side note, a relative of this plant shows up in a Miss Marple story by Agatha Christie. The name of the exact mystery escapes me.
The white fuzzy stuff on the cactus isn't mold as one of my neighbor thought. It's a Cochineal bug see this link http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cochineal
It makes a really nice red dye. I'm gonna go ask to get some. I've dyed with it before. It makes a really intense red dye on the blue side. (Not a tomato red but more of a magenta red. You have to be careful when picking it off some cactus. It the cactus seems to have thorns they hurt when they stab you. (Personal experience). There is a related bug that is used for the same purpose in Europe called kermes. The bug makes a cottony spot to hide or keep cool but generally people think the cactus is moldy.
The last picture is a cactus tuna or fruit. They also can be eaten or turned into a dye. You get a pretty tasteless pink jelly that is very sweet (from the sugar more than anything). I don't particularly care for the jelly. I have never eaten it fresh. you have to be really careful when pulling them off since the tunas have tiny blond prickles that hurt like crap if you get them on you. A lot of people singe them off over a gas burner or put them in a colander and rise the hell out of them. Prickly pears are also called Opuntia and there are a lot of varieties of them. This particular one is the more ornamental spineless variety but it still has the tiny prickles.
The last picture is a cactus tuna or fruit. They also can be eaten or turned into a dye. You get a pretty tasteless pink jelly that is very sweet (from the sugar more than anything). I don't particularly care for the jelly. I have never eaten it fresh. you have to be really careful when pulling them off since the tunas have tiny blond prickles that hurt like crap if you get them on you. A lot of people singe them off over a gas burner or put them in a colander and rise the hell out of them. Prickly pears are also called Opuntia and there are a lot of varieties of them. This particular one is the more ornamental spineless variety but it still has the tiny prickles. Monday, October 31, 2011
Randy, my grandfather or is he Sam...
I guess with Autumn approaching, I started thinking about how I celebrated holidays in the past and my family. Here I've written about both my grandmothers and my great grandmother on my grandfathers side but nothing about the men in my past,. LOL. That sounds wrong but I did start thinking about my dad and his dad, Samuel Randall.
I have only one photo of Sam - taken at my mom's sister Virginia's backyard. It was sent to me by a cousin, whom I didn't know until a few years back. I don't know much about Sam at all except what a few family members have told me and what information I have found online. The online info is mostly dry and factual.
He was born Samuel Randall Wederstrandt, although his brother Herndon said his full name was Samuel Jackson Randall Wederstrandt. (Samuel Jackson Randall was a pretty famous national politician - look him up.) I got this from a letter I found in the Louisiana State University archives. (Marsden papers) It was in the last box and was written in pencil explaining the genealogy for the Randall -Wederstrandts. His father was Robert Carroll W. and his mother was Ida Loula Williams. From another cousin who sent me a note, it was a rather happy family, she had been raised in the household. Ida died about 1901 (Sam was about 10) and it looks like Herminia, Robert C.'s sister came to live with them). I found evidence of this from various census.
Sam was known as Randy during this time, Samuel is not a normal family name - we tend to do Robert, Charles, John, Herndon, Blake and Randall more.
Sometime around 1914 (could be earlier) Randy met a young German girl somewhere and they married. I assume Louisiana since dad was born in New Orleans. I have a copy of the birth certificate. They went on to have two other boys and here's where the trail gets odd. Since th elast boy was born in 1918, I assumed Sam got into the Army and was out in 1918. I found references to them in a 1920's census for Dallas where they were living and working. I also found a census for the three boys in New Orleans at the Protestant Orphans Children's Home for the same year so whatever happened happened fast. Story goes that Frieda put the boys in the home and left, and Sam followed her. He went to Los Angeles, California and I found him listed in the 1922 directory where he was working as a waiter. (Frieda dissappears all together). He surfaces in directories and one odd news story I found in a newspaper log where a movie director who is drunk runs into him with his car. He has minor cuts and bruises and his car is bumped up badly. Sam dies in 1947 and is buried in the Los Angeles Veteran's Cemetery.
My family stories take over here. My grandmother (the fount of all knowledge of this time) told me he was an unpleasant alcoholic who was mean to my mom. She and Dad had to live with him when they moved to California. I know he took great care of his house, his garden, with roses and a nice lawn. Grandmother took me by this house on Patricia and showed it to me and told me the story of how he broke is plate glass picture window one night by throwing a bottle through it. It's a nice house. I know my grandfather was an electrician at a movie studio and got my dad hired to do the same. I know he's buried in the Los Angeles Veteran Cemetery as a Vet so he served in World War I and I have the unit listed somewhere. (My grandmother took me to his grave when I was living with her.) But I have no other bits of info. My dad never spoke of him but then he never spoke of anyone in his family. My grandmother always called him Sam so I think somewhere he went from Randy to Sam. Maybe when he became disillusioned with his life. (Was it the War? Did he experience something horrible in the war? Or was it Frieda who was German, maybe he never forgave her after the War for being German.)
So who knows.
He was born Samuel Randall Wederstrandt, although his brother Herndon said his full name was Samuel Jackson Randall Wederstrandt. (Samuel Jackson Randall was a pretty famous national politician - look him up.) I got this from a letter I found in the Louisiana State University archives. (Marsden papers) It was in the last box and was written in pencil explaining the genealogy for the Randall -Wederstrandts. His father was Robert Carroll W. and his mother was Ida Loula Williams. From another cousin who sent me a note, it was a rather happy family, she had been raised in the household. Ida died about 1901 (Sam was about 10) and it looks like Herminia, Robert C.'s sister came to live with them). I found evidence of this from various census.
Sam was known as Randy during this time, Samuel is not a normal family name - we tend to do Robert, Charles, John, Herndon, Blake and Randall more.
Sometime around 1914 (could be earlier) Randy met a young German girl somewhere and they married. I assume Louisiana since dad was born in New Orleans. I have a copy of the birth certificate. They went on to have two other boys and here's where the trail gets odd. Since th elast boy was born in 1918, I assumed Sam got into the Army and was out in 1918. I found references to them in a 1920's census for Dallas where they were living and working. I also found a census for the three boys in New Orleans at the Protestant Orphans Children's Home for the same year so whatever happened happened fast. Story goes that Frieda put the boys in the home and left, and Sam followed her. He went to Los Angeles, California and I found him listed in the 1922 directory where he was working as a waiter. (Frieda dissappears all together). He surfaces in directories and one odd news story I found in a newspaper log where a movie director who is drunk runs into him with his car. He has minor cuts and bruises and his car is bumped up badly. Sam dies in 1947 and is buried in the Los Angeles Veteran's Cemetery.
My family stories take over here. My grandmother (the fount of all knowledge of this time) told me he was an unpleasant alcoholic who was mean to my mom. She and Dad had to live with him when they moved to California. I know he took great care of his house, his garden, with roses and a nice lawn. Grandmother took me by this house on Patricia and showed it to me and told me the story of how he broke is plate glass picture window one night by throwing a bottle through it. It's a nice house. I know my grandfather was an electrician at a movie studio and got my dad hired to do the same. I know he's buried in the Los Angeles Veteran Cemetery as a Vet so he served in World War I and I have the unit listed somewhere. (My grandmother took me to his grave when I was living with her.) But I have no other bits of info. My dad never spoke of him but then he never spoke of anyone in his family. My grandmother always called him Sam so I think somewhere he went from Randy to Sam. Maybe when he became disillusioned with his life. (Was it the War? Did he experience something horrible in the war? Or was it Frieda who was German, maybe he never forgave her after the War for being German.)
So who knows.
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