Blog

I write for 15 or 20 minutes every morning. Usually it consists of random thoughts. This morning two things come to mind. February 1 is my son’s birthday (I have to remember to call him later) and it’s the 2nd anniversary of the death of a dear friend.

I also don’t know what to do today. I already paid the local handyman 20 bucks to shovel our walks. He cleaned off the cars and shoveled in the street as well. He’s a nice retired handyman and I don’t think he has much money. I have to go to the bank today because I’ve paid him all my cash in the last 3 weeks, we’ve had so much snow this winter.

I’ve always had trouble figuring out what to do on Saturdays which is my only full day off, since I work a 40-hour job. I’m thinking of going down to the river to try to get some photos of the ice buildup. The Saint Clair river has a lot of ice buildup in the winter, and this year January was the coldest and snowiest on record in Southeastern lower Michigan, so the river is completely frozen over which is a rare occurrence. The problem is there has been no sun except when I’ve been at work during the week, and even then the temperatures have been in the single digits making it impossible to be out more than a few minutes without my fingers and toes going numb.

I just checked the weather channel app on my phone and it’s supposed to get to 32 degrees today and it will be in the 20s tomorrow so maybe I can stay out a little longer.

The arthritis in my shoulders and my back has been unusually bad the last month - I guess from the cold and damp weather. I can see some heavy yoga stretching in my afternoon today to stretch those sore ligaments.

I feel like a log floating in the river (although nothing has been floating in our river lately), just going where the current takes me and hoping I don’t run into an immovable object. We’ll see where the current takes me.

How long will traditional media be around? How can we keep them from disappearing completely?

It has been at least 5 years since I’ve been in an art supply store. The last time I went, I could not find what I was looking for. That is plastic drawing templates for basic shapes - circles, triangles, squares, etc. They are almost impossible to find on line as well. Architects and designers have all gone digital. I can’t get my favorite brand of drawing pencils any more either because that company does not exist any more.

I’m not disparaging digital artwork by any means. There is some really exciting and beautiful digital art on Fine Art America and most other art sites. Nor do I think making digital art is easy (I’ve tried and there is indeed a learning curve), although it may be physically easier than standing before a large canvas or leaning over a large sheet of watercolor paper.

I personally love woodblock prints, linocut, monoprint (monotype), silk screening - the look achieved with these methods cannot be faithfully duplicated on a computer. And before you say “yes they can”, I will argue with you all day about that. While I will be amazed by the effects those who have learned to make stunning digital creations can achieve, and I can appreciate them as much as an image created in a more traditional manner and I would, indeed, even hang them in my home, it’s just not the same.

100 years from now, this will not even be an issue. Almost everything will be digital. The discussion will be about something else - like traditionally grown produce vs. vegetables produced by a virtual printer or some similar debate.

I searched the Fine Art America web site this morning and found these statistics:

Monotype: 558
Monoprint: 251
Silkscreen: 408
Lino Cut: 665

Wood block print gives a much higher return, but the first several pages are prints by Japanese masters, not a living artist making wood block prints, although I’m sure there are a few on the site somewhere.

I also Googled the following:

Wacom tablets for sale: 4,100,000
Oil paints (as opposed to “paintings”) for sale: 2,730,000

Some of the “Oil Paints for Sale” search also returned actual paintings for sale.


To be fair, on the Fine Art America web site, a search for “oil paining” and “watercolor painting” the two most common traditional media, return over 10,000 entries each. That makes me feel a little better. I also got over 7,000 results for ink drawing.

While progress is inevitable, there is a deep sadness that settles into an older generation when things ingrained in the social memory become shunned by the younger generations when that younger generation embraces only what is easily available to them, and this shift is partly the fault of supply, demand, marketing and corporate greed.

I’ll give you two examples from the non-art world. I hate zip lock bags. I always buy the bags with twist ties. You get far more bags for your money. I have to search high and low in the food storage bag isle to find them. They may eventually disappear. I also had to search for a floor mop that doesn’t require you to continually buy disposable pads for the bottom of the mop. I finally found one with a cloth pad that you can launder. Everything is manufactured to keep you buying more (obviously).

In any event, this blog is a useless statement in a virtual sea, and it’s the same rant you’ve heard over and over by the aging population, of which I am now a member. Nothing new here. Just a melancholy anyone under 30 reading this will experience in their later years.

Two things in my life have now come full circle.

When I was a baby, I was breast fed then my parents fed me good, nutritious food free from additives and excessive sugar (although back in the 50s they were ignorant about the harm even minimal sugar could do).

When I first picked up a crayon, I scribbled like everyone else, then my mother showed me how to make a circle and a square and a triangle, and I started to draw identifiable things. Neither of my parents were artistic, however, so I had to learn the rest on my own.

Then I discovered, as we all do, that world of chocolate milk and candy and french fries and McDonald’s hamburgers (we lived less than a mile from the first McDonalds built in Michigan). Oh, my mother provided a meal every night consisting of a meat dish and a vegetable but she wasn’t a very good cook (sorry mom) and it took me several years of being on my own to learn to enjoy a good piece of fish because she always cooked it until it had the consistency of rubber.

My art started to improve and by the third grade, I could draw a pretty realistic horse head (my favorite subject). I became intimidated, however, by the one kid in every art class who seemed to be the reincarnation of Leonardo himself, and being shy, I always got discouraged and doubted my ability when looking at the work of these prodigies.

I was drawn to paint in oils, however, and my parents bought me art classes and music lessons and I improved and grew to the point where I could paint a decent landscape. I could also draw a portrait faithful to the model. The entire human body I found difficult until I took a couple of life drawing classes and studied on my own the classic books on drawing and anatomy, after which I could draw a pretty decent representation of a standing body or a body in motion. I copied old master drawings and learned lighting, composition, etc.

Then I was sick for a long time in high school so they put me through a battery of tests and found I was hypoglycemic (the opposite of diabetic - too much insulin) and I had to give up those delicious chocolate shakes and give up that chocolate pie and the candy bars. I still ate the poisonous McDonalds burgers and fries, however, and developed a taste for prime rib and potatoes slathered with butter. I was always thin, so it never occurred to me I was causing damage to myself with this diet.

Having kids put the brakes on bringing the sugar into the house. They were not exposed to sugar until they were older and didn’t know what white bread looked like.

I had to get a job when my husband’s family business was struggling because of the economy (I had worked before the kids were born), and started working again when my kids were 3 and 5 years old. I hold the same job today, 32 years later.

I still painted for a while, but them all the overtime started and I finally gave all my oil paints to my art-major daughter when she took painting classes in college.

Now, I have come full circle with art and food. I’m aging and a bit overweight. My drawing skills have atrophied, and after several stressful years, my body is feeling stressed and creaky.

This week, my husband bought a juicer and changed his eating habits. I ate my last hamburger yesterday (I’ve been mostly meatless for a few years now) and I’ve given up all artificial colors, flavors, additives, preservatives, trans fats, sugar, meat, etc. I have done yoga for years but it’s been a while since I did any aerobic exercise and I’m starting again this week.

I also dug out all my old drawing books and I’m spending this day off studying them and copying old master drawings again. I’m healing my body, my mind and my spirit. I’m coming full circle. I still have to work, but every waking moment outside the office is being dedicated to art and health, photography and drawing, deep breathing and stretching. I’m purging my house and my body.

I will not deteriorate with age without a fight.

If enough of us on this planet can get over our personal issues and struggles and pray to God, the Universal Intelligence, the Buddha, Mohammed, Yahweh, Jesus, Krishna, the saints or just Mother Nature, I truly believe we can make a difference. We can shift the planetary vibrations from a mindset that fosters war, unrest and even governmental gridlock to one where people respect each other, cooperate and do good works.

This is truly the day for Christians to take this mindset seriously but everyone should take it seriously every single day. Everyone is always so concerned about proving they are right all the time (I plead guilty) that we have all lost sight of the bigger picture. That is, we need to take care of the planet. We need to care for those less fortunate. We need to spread love, not conflict and judgement. This is not pie-in-the-sky thinking, Nor is it naive. Atoms can affect each other at long distances and so can we. Instead of hating the terrorist, pray for him to see how he has been deceived and molded into a hateful, bigoted and sick human being. Instead of avoiding that mentally ill family member, find out what you can do to help him. Instead of not giving to that charity because you don’t like some of their political leanings, give anyway because by holding back, you are only hurting the poor and sick that they serve.

And finally, to the people who profess to be religious and righteous, stop concentrating on the physical - that is how someone chooses to live their life - and consider only their spiritual condition. Do they do good works? Do they help their neighbors? Then stop worrying about who they marry or who their personal savior is or what their politics are and embrace them as a good human being. Who are you to judge?

I wish peace and joy to every human being and all creatures on this tiny blue planet and may your life be filled with love for others, not bitterness, distrust and judgement. I vow today, to the best of my ability, to be kind to everyone and embrace their goodness in spite of their flaws. How we think affects our own spiritual and even physical health.

We are all connected.

I’m finding as I age, my body is getting stiffer with arthritis, which is a common enough thing, and I try to combat the stiffness with some nightly yoga, but I think I”m going to have to get more creative about it. I need to add more stretches to the routine. I need to stretch everything it’s possible to stretch in a human body in every direction it’s possible to stretch it.

I’m also getting mentally stiff. That is, if I have to deviate from a daily and even weekly routine, it’s psychically upsetting to me. I get out of bed at about 6:40 am every week day morning, make breakfast, take vitamins, and before I get in the shower, I write random thoughts on notebook paper for 15 or 20 minutes depending on how much time I have. If I don’t have time to write for a few minutes, I feel anxious and out of balance. Writing has been incorporated into my morning routine as surely as brushing my teeth.

Once I’m entrenched in a habit, I really resent it when the routine is interrupted. I find that characteristic kind of annoying at times, but due to the outside chaos I’ve lived through during the past few years, I find I need to control the inner chaos with an outer routine as much as possible. What I need to eliminate now is the inner resentment and distress, though minor, when the outer routine is disrupted.

As it is necessary for me to work a day job, I don’t do anything on Saturdays except maybe draw or go out with my camera. The laundry and groceries are delegated to Sunday afternoon. Don’t mess with my Saturdays. Just don’t do it. Sometimes I do go visit a friend or engage in some other infrequent activity on a Saturday, but I’ve incorporated that into my psyche and I can deal with it.

I try to not gauge my success in art by the quantity but by the quality of what I create, and due to the fact that the art activity is pretty much confined to the weekend, I’ve had to get disciplined about the process. I can’t just go where a whim takes me. There has to be some planning involved. I have to decide early in the day if I will engage my time in photography or a different artistic endeavor, which is largely dictated by the weather. If it’s pouring and gray, I usually stay inside and do work on paper.

Everybody needs some kind of routine in their life in order to get anything done and to stay sane. My problem comes about when that routine gets interrupted. I have to work on my resentment and discomfort whenever that happens. After all, we can’t control everything no matter how much we would like to. The trick is keeping the inner balance when the outside world throws a bit of chaos our way.

I’m working on it.

This is the first year my husband and I have not had any parents to share the Thanksgiving holiday with. My husband’s father died in 2010, my mother died in 2011, my father in 2012 and my husband’s mother just over a month ago as of this writing. They were all in their 90s except my father-in-law, who was 89, so they were all, in a sense, expected deaths. My husband and I have transitioned into the elder family category. That feels like a natural transition in some ways.

Another transition I’ve found in myself is a level of instinctive and learned competence in my photographic skills. I was looking for some inspiration yesterday and I dug out some photography books from my book piles and I grabbed a series that showcases the work of several professional photographers in the areas of wildlife, product and fashion, portraits and landscape. I was shocked to find myself disappointed with most of the images in the wildlife book, most of the images in the product and fashion book, and some of the portraits. The only book that still contains what I consider professional quality images is the landscape book. Most of those images still strike me as stunningly beautiful.

What does this mean? Does it mean I, myself, have improved to that point where I’m taking professional-quality photographs? Or does it just mean I’ve studied photography enough now to recognize sub-standard images? I’m coming to the conclusion that it’s a combination of both things. When I went through the wildlife book, there were blurry images where the intention of the photographer was obviously not intentional movement blur. There were distorted closeups of insects with a depth of field way too deep so that the background clutter was distracting. Some portraits in the portrait book were taken way too close to the subject distorting their facial features. It may have been intentional, but the images were ugly.

To be fair, these photographers were all still using film and I doubt too many of these photos had any heavy editing, however that’s an even more compelling reason to get the image right in the first place.

These books, which used to inspire me, I will probably give to the local library. I’ve transitioned to the other side of them in many ways. It does not feel as natural to me as the transition from being a daughter and a daughter-in-law to being the matriarch of the family, but it’s a very interesting transition. I want to keep enjoying the journey and keep improving as long as I can. I no longer make insipid, poorly lit, out of focus images except perhaps by accident. The goal now is to make people pause and either say “that’s interesting” or “wow”. I’m slowly getting there and the fun thing is it’s nice to be on the other side of the dividing line between “making an attempt” to “that image really works”.

There are two things I CAN do well, but I absolutely LOATH doing. For some strange reason, I forced myself to learn how to do both of these things through years of hard work and dedication, hating every waking minute of it but I persisted anyway. What was I thinking?

When I was in high school we still had home economics classes and we learned to cook and sew. As the sewing project we were supposed to buy a pattern and fabric and make ourselves a blouse, then we had to model the blouse for the class. I did ok with the button holes and I got the hem straight, but any of you who sew know how difficult set-in sleeves are to sew in without a lot of puckering. I kept going deeper into the shoulder to try and keep the puckers out and by the time I was done, I could put the thing on and button it, but the sleeves at the shoulder were so tight around my armpit, the circulation to my arms was cut off. There was no way I could have worn that thing all day without losing a limb.

I became determined to do better and set out to learn to sew, but I always hated the act of sewing with a passion. I got good at it anyway, and made most of my clothing through college because back then, it was cheaper to buy fabric than buy clothing off the rack. Suit lapels and pants fly zippers didn’t faze me. I could make beautiful button holes, I made my daughter’s flower girl dress for my brother-in-law’s wedding and the pattern was a bitch. I even made my matron of honor’s dress for my wedding. All of my brides maids were broke at the time, but all of them could sew except my best friend, so I sent them all fabric and a pattern in their size and they all made their own dresses. It cost me twelve bucks each for the patterns and the material in 1973 and they were very nice dresses.

All this time I remember fighting with the sewing machine and screaming “F....you!!” at it. My father would chime in from the next room with “I don’t think that machine was constructed for that kind of activity”.

When I moved into my current house, I made curtains for my bedroom. It was the first time in about 20 years I had touched a sewing machine. I hated it so much I rushed through it and I wake up every morning to a crooked curtain hem above my head. Why the hell did I put myself through all that torture?

Another thing I CAN do but I choose NOT to do is cook. I used to bake a molasses bread that friends would actually request when they came over for dinner. I made Thanksgiving dinner for the entire family (up to 14 people) almost every year for almost 40 years, and my daughter-in-law now makes my stuffing recipe. But I do hate to cook. I absolutely hate it. I can make a really good meatless lasagna and lots of other things but I would rather have a salad and a baked potato out of the microwave. No cleanup. No three or four hours of preparation for something that takes you ten minutes to eat. Then you have to go back in the kitchen and spend another half hour cleaning up the mess.

Ladies, for those of you who like to cook or sew, I salute you. I will spend months knitting an afghan, but I find that zen-line and relaxing. Cooking and sewing - not so much. I would have been a failure as a prairie wife in the 1800s.

I’m in my senior years now. I will help my family members in any way but don’t ask me to cook or sew. My daughter is hosting Thanksgiving this year. I have to bring a dish or two. I will be perusing the isles at Meijer looking for something ready made and that I can buy in bulk. I’ve done my duty. It’s time to pass on the torch.

I’m not a hoarder of anything, really, except books. I’m not one of those women who has to have a pair of shoes for every outfit, or really cares about what people think of her shoes. I also don’t wear heels over an inch high. That torture device was invented by a misogynist somewhere who no doubt took pleasure in inflicting as much pain as possible. The only shoes I have with heels I wear to weddings. The last wedding I attended was probably about 7 years ago (and my son’s wedding, for which I found shoes to match my dress that will never see the light of day again. I could barely walk by the end of the evening). I would have to search the back of my closet to find them at this point.

Yesterday, my husband and I went to spend a few hours with our daughter who lives about an hour and 40 minutes away near Ann Arbor, Michigan. We went to lunch then walked through the University of Michigan natural history museum. It’s a nice museum. They actually have a few almost in tact skeletons of some very interesting creatures including a mastodon that was found right here in Michigan.

Anyway, back to the shoes. I have some white walking shoes that are very comfortable, but since I didn’t know where we would end up for lunch and I didn’t want to look too underdressed (which is kind of silly, Ann Arbor is full of students), I chose a pair of black, round-toed, stretchy shoes with a thick rubber sole that are (or were, as I found out) good for walking. It became apparent while walking the quarter mile from the parking structure to the museum, my friends are dying.

The uppers on these shoes are made from some thick and stretchy heavy nylon material. They hug your feet but stretch to conform so no pinching because they are not rigid . The soles are thick rubber for padded walking. Unfortunately, the uppers have stretched to the point where my feet were “sloshing around” with every step and it became uncomfortable after a while. On top of that, I can see a wear spot on the right shoe by my little toe. I know my toe is about to break through to freedom pretty soon.

These shoes are my friends. I wore these shoes all over Paris several years ago. These shoes have walked through the Palace of Versailles and all through the Louvre and the Orsay. They have even been to the McDonalds on the Champs Elysees. How can I let them go?

I’m a little bit in mourning today. Yeah, they are only shoes, but I don’t shoe shop that often - maybe once every three years - so I’m sorry these shoes are now on life support. I guess not being wealthy has some advantages - you appreciate what you have more. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I can certainly afford to go buy a pair of shoes, but I don’t think I’ll be able to find friends like these again, but it’s time to find another friend for my feet. RIP my stretchy black friends.

I usually write a blog about once a week and I was trying to think of a subject that wasn’t depressing or really serious, so I thought I would write about things that really irritate me, which I used to just take silently, and which I no longer tolerate.

When I first went into the work force, I was astonished at the number of men, supposedly professional corporate men, who would call me “honey”, or “sweetheart”, or even “babe”. These were actually clients. To this day, I don’t know why I never responded with something biting, but I never did. I’d just chalk these guys up to being a..holes and let it slide. I don’t run into that any more. I think most of them have learned that’s idiotic behavior.

Along the same vein, I had a salesman come to my house when my children were young who was a photographer trying to sell family portrait packages. After he made his pitch, I told him we were not interested. He said “Well, maybe you should wait until your husband comes home and ask him”. My immediate reaction was to punch him in the face, but I kept my self-control and politely told him no thanks. How dare he think I needed “permission” to make a decision. I wanted to tell this jerk he was for sure going to lose a lot of sales with a line like that. I don’t run into that any more either. I guess having women in high government posts and as CEOs and world leaders has kind of squashed that mind set as well. Thank God. What an ass.

Another thing that irks me are complicated, convoluted phone menus. I had to call the state of Ohio last week for a tax matter at work. I swear it took a full five minutes to go through the phone menu and every time it said “press zero for assistance from an agent”, it would take me to another menu. I finally got a live person, she faxed me the form I needed and this form didn’t contain the section I needed to fill out. In fact the form I had to fill out originally on a related matter contained the address where I should send a check, but it didn’t have the zip code for that address. State forms are as stupid as federal forms. Doesn’t anyone proofread these things?

Then there’s the insurance web site (not the new government one), for the health insurance company we use at work. I’m the group administrator and I went on the web site three months in a row to check off “auto pay” so the premium payment would come directly out of the checking account at work. Three months in a row I got an overdue notice in the mail. I finally called and yelled, and it’s working now. It’s also a horrible web site to navigate. Who designs these things? Maybe the same firm that set up the AHC web site. DUH, guys.

Recently, I needed new tires. I had the original tires on my car with 80,000 miles on them. The last time I went to the dealership for an oil change, the guy at the counter gave me a quote of a little over $500.00 on tires. I drive a small car, so I was looking for something more in the $400.00 range. He told me to wait a week because they were having a sale. When I called back, he said that tire was not on sale, but if I had a family member who had ever worked for Ford I could get 50 bucks off the tires in question. My husband’s grandfather worked for Ford, but he retired in the late 50s or early 60s so I had my doubts they could find him, but I gave him the name anyway and he said he would call me back. When he called me back and said they couldn’t find him in their records, he asked me to find out what factory he had worked at. I told him I would try to find out and hung up. Not once did he offer to give me a price on a sale tire. I called the local Goodyear place and immediately got a quote for $100 less than the dealer quote so I went there instead. I don’t think the guy at the dealership was trying very hard, and he was making me do all the work. I hate being taken advantage of.

Why do people always assume you’re an idiot? Why do some men still think women are stupid? One thing I’ve started doing in my later years is telling people to their faces the situation is unacceptable. The first time I actually did that was many years ago when I went to a hotel in Lansing, Michigan with my husband who was competing that weekend in a chess tournament at that hotel. None of the beverage machines on any floor were working. The hotel restaurant was not open on Sunday because the kitchen staff was on strike. I saw bats flying around on the top floor when I went there looking for an ice machine that actually had some ice in it, and they didn’t clean the room after the first night. I was pregnant and hormonal, and hungry, so I lit into the poor guy at the front desk. He kept apologizing and said the hotel had made a significant contribution to the organization holding the chess tournament. When I was done yelling, I was still hormonal and hungry, but it felt good to unload. From the look on this guy’s face, I must not have been the first to complain that day.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dwell or fume or stew or resent or hold a grudge. I just don’t put up with stuff any more, and the jerks and the people who are trying to take advantage of me get an ear full and they can just kiss my tushie.

I still search for the perfect writing pen and every time I think I’ve found one, they stop selling it or they start cheaping it down and making it differently. When I wrote my first blog on this subject a couple of years ago, I was still looking for a replacement for my Bic buddies. Since then, I’ve gone through a couple of varieties, including a Papermate Limited Edition ball point, which I can’t find anywhere any more, and a felt-tip, fine Sharpee pen. I like the limited edition pen - no globbing, smooth writing, but apparently they weren’t kidding when they named it. The Sharpie pen writes well when you start out with it, but being a felt-tip, the tip wears off before you use up the ink and the metal shaft end of the pen starts scraping on the paper. Very annoying.

Earlier in the week, I dug a pen out of my nightstand drawer, which is a black hole for unused pens that get thrown in there after I realize I have too many pens in my purse (I like to have a pen for every writing mood - yeah, I know, it’s weird) and I came up with my beautiful, long-forgotten (we’re talking years) Uniball pen fine point “Roller Deluxe” by Sanford. I’ve had two boxes of these pens for probably fifteen years - a box of blue ink and a box of black ink.

I used to draw with the black ones so I only have four of those left out of a box of twelve, but I have six blue ones left besides the one I’m writing this blog with now. I think I’m in love again.

This pen is like a felt tip in that the ink flows onto the paper the way a felt tip distributes it, but it has a metal ball in the tip like a ball point. The ink flows very evenly and there’s no globbing. Here’s the kicker - I bought these pens at least ten years ago, maybe fifteen, and they show no sign of being dried out. I’ve been writing with the one I grabbed out of the drawer for three days now and there’s no hint of skipping from dried up ink. (I write my blogs longhand before typing them). I wonder if they still make these? I wonder what I paid for them when I bought them by the dozen before years ago. I’m off to look that up before I continue....

Ok, there’s good news and there’s bad news. They apparently still make these (I forgot to look at the price - I think two bucks a pen maybe?) but the reviews are like “What happened to this pen? The last box I ordered is dry and scratchy”. I see on the box they were made in Japan. Maybe now they’re made in China and the quality on the new ones is crap. I have enough left for about three months if I write constantly, but I fear I may be disappointed in what I order next time and I will have to start the quest again for the perfect pen.

One thing I just discovered, though, while looking up this pen - I’m not the only one with a pen obsession. When I did a brief Google search for this one, a whole plethora (I always wanted to use that word in a blog) of “pen review” sites cropped up That made me feel better about coming out of the closet with my pen obsession.

When I die (hopefully not for another 30 years or so), let it be said “Mary was a woman who left no pen untried”. Ok, so not the most important thing in the world to be remembered for, but hey, I’m just trying to keep my pen awareness at a high level and keep my writing public informed.