Spread The Love - Children As Teachers

   Some days it's easier to write when compared to other days. When preparing to write (or paint, or what-have-you), the questions are the first thing to flow like a river. Where do I begin? What do I write about or what do I create? Will anyone find the finished work interesting? As I write this, my husband Dave and I are at the harbor in South Thomaston Maine on a beautiful sunny day watching a tidal river race inward towards land, because the the tide is coming in. We just finished visiting our favorite beach - and no, I'm not going to tell you where it is; that way it remains a secret - and there were a few tourists there, but mostly locals. And even then, it was fairly empty for late August. There were the usual mix of kids present, and they were the only ones brave enough for the barely 70 degree water, save for one other woman. No fear.

   Getting back to my writing setting, we noticed a moderate sized art gallery that now stands empty and is for sale, most likely for some stupid outlandish price. Speaking of art galleries, earlier in the week, Dave and I finished setting up our art show in Tenants Harbor Maine. You can tell it's been a while since I've set up in an art gallery. Boy, was I stressed. Somehow, Dave was relaxed and took it all in stride. Why can't I be like that? He can drive me nuts sometimes...

   Last Friday night, my only granddaughter called me on her new cell phone. She's ten. I'm still trying to get used to fact she has a phone. Both her and her brother attend the local middle school where they live, and both of them having cell phones help their parents keep track of their whereabouts after school if they attend an after-school center which is located next door, or go to the town library, which is about three blocks away. Our conversation went something like this;
"Grammy, I miss you. When can I see you again?"
"How about tomorrow afternoon," I replied.
"Great! What can we do? I would like to go to that art class we go to in the winter. I miss that," she stated.
"Well, that's not happening right now because it's summer," I reminded her. "I was thinking either swimming or bowling."
"Bowling - definitely," she decided. "See you tomorrow. Love you, Grammy. Bye."

   Okay then. I'm glad we got all those details worked out. Despite our short conversation, I do still feel loved. Bonus points for the fact that she called me; didn't text, didn't IM; actually called me. It's amazing what a simple phone call can do for people - so much more positive than Facebook. By 12:30pm on Saturday afternoon, we picked her up (her brother had already made plans to go to a friends house). We went to the local bowling alley which has been a landmark since 1960. My granddaughter is definitely getting better at candle-pin bowling. She came oh-so-close to getting her first strike, but was robbed as the last pin just wobbled there. However, she took it all in stride. Would I have done the same if that happened to me? After a few strings of bowling and a few arcade games, we all headed back to our house for a late lunch. We played cards while Dave made us all lunch. I taught my granddaughter a new card game and she almost beat me. It was a close one right up to the last hand. She was perfectly fine with the games outcome. Why do I have to be so competitive?

   The next morning, Dave and I attended church, but went to the 11am service instead of our usual 8am worship. The sermon was on how to love one another in the face of adversity and disagreement. As Christians, how do we take a stand against hatred, racism, and violence? Who are we on the inside? About 2/3rds of the way through the service, a young girl, no more than 4 years old, made it a point to go around the church, shake hands with as many people as she could in a timely manner, and to say "Peace". She was letting her love shine and was a crystal clear example where, if each one of us showed each other even a little bit of love on a regular basis, there would be peace on earth.

   Who were the real teachers this weekend?

   Until next time,
   Keep spreading the love,
   Jill

Spread The Love - Hot Air Ballooning

   Go with the flow... let it all go... you cannot control people, places, situations, and things.

   The weekend was all set - our ride was planned for 6am Saturday on August 19th, 2017. On Friday afternoon, Dave came home early from work, we packed our bags, and hit the road. No matter how many times we travel the great state of Maine, there always seems to be two seasons; winter and road construction. Our trek to Lewiston Maine, about an hour and half  long, began innocently enough. Then about 15 minutes after hitting the road, the road construction started hitting back. The first part of our journey on Route 17 west wasn't too bad as by mid afternoon, it had been raining in earnest for about an hour. No construction crews were to be seen. Despite the grooved pavement, we drove easily the first 35 miles or so to Route 126 in Chelsea. We cruised through Gardner and Litchfield, until we hit more construction. Again, no road crews, but they left us a wonderful puddle-ridden, crater-filled one lane road that lasted for about 3/4's of a mile too long. Undaunted, we continued on past many a picturesque farm.

   We stopped in a local Hannaford supermarket to pick up dinner that we would eat later once we arrived at our hotel. Even though we were hoping for a room with a king bed, we instead took the larger double-queen room that had a huge bathroom with a grand-sized tub. This was one of the big reasons why my husband Dave booked this particular hotel, as I was looking forward to a royal tub soak. After our dinner, I thoroughly enjoyed my lavender bubble bath.

   Despite my comfortable surroundings, I never sleep as well in strange places like I do at home and awoke at 3am the following morning. I stayed in bed and rested until the alarm went off at 4:15am. Dave and I showered, dressed, downed two cups of coffee, left the hotel, and promptly got lost using our vehicle's outdated GPS system. Apparently, the city renumbered the dwellings in many parts of the city. We stopped at a local Denny's and got directions from an old timer and managed to get off track again. We then stopped at a Citgo gas station, and while the convenience store attendant couldn't help us with directions, he at least told us what street we were on. Since Dave was now looking on a map via his Smart phone, he knew where we were and where we had to go.

   We arrived about five minutes late to our meeting place destination for our hot air balloon excursion. There's was plenty of coffee and donuts, but we only had more coffee. We were excited enough about our adventure, the last thing we needed was sugar-filled junk. We waited... and waited. Six o'clock came and went and then seven o'clock did the same. The person in charge of all the balloon launches informed everyone that the flight would be delayed and we would all attempt to launch at 9am. Back to the hotel Dave and I went to finally have a decent breakfast. Afterwards, we tidied up our room, checked out, and headed back to the same meeting place. We were 15 minutes early this time...

   The magic hour of 9am came and once again, the person in charge of the flights had to cancel everything due to a cloud ceiling being too low. FAA regulations state that the ceiling must be at least 1000 feet and we never saw anything above 800 feet. Hopeful excitement to complete disappointment in less than one minute. We stood in line to start the process of getting our money refunded as all the other flights we could reschedule for were already booked. I felt overwhelmed and and began to shed small and silent tears. I waited an entire year to do this. It seemed even Mother Nature was against us.

   As the morning wore on, I was worse than a five year old in my disappointment - overtired, hot, and grumpy. Dave and I watched the parade that was part of the festival, but it was mediocre at best. When all the vehicles towing the hot air balloons came slowly down the street, I quietly cried some more. Afterwards, Dave and I went out to eat at one of our favorite restaurants in the neighboring city of Auburn. I asked our waitress "what there was to do for fun in Lewiston and/or Auburn"? She asked a number of coworkers and they pretty much said they all go to Portland which was approximately 30 minutes to the south. Since I wasn't in the mood for Portland, (I've been there over a dozen times in the past year),  Dave and Googled "fun things to do" in the area we were in. A few things popped up, but nothing piqued our interest.

   We ended up driving the extremely-longer-way home route, saw some cool sights, my husband took a bunch of photographs, and we enjoyed each others company. Once we finally arrived home, we just chilled out for the rest of the evening. In the end, I have to go with the flow. When situations do not work out the way I would have wanted them to, I have to let things go. We're going next year and possibly changing our plans to an evening flight instead. Here's hoping... Up, up, and away!

   Until next time, I'll just be chilling... to the best of my ability.
   Jill

Spread The Love - Through The Flower

   Through The Flower - My Struggle As A Woman Artist by Judy Chicago was a book I read this past week. There were many profound ideas presented between its covers and, I must admit, I was duly inspired. Keep plugging; it seemed to say to me. You are not alone. Many female artists do not have large studios to work in, despite what is depicted in major magazines - we are called "kitchen artists." Judy Chicago also participated in the feminism movement in the 1970's. She began an all-woman course of arts in Los Angeles. She opened a co-op gallery in that city as well. However, one of the main issues of the book, of having men understand women's art, was not satisfactorily solved.

   I realize I'm stating the obvious when I say that women experience the world from a different point of view then men do. It's only natural and there is nothing wrong with this difference. However, when women are not respected for the people (and artists) we are, just because someone has a difference of opinion regarding a work of art, then we have a major problem. And despite all the progress we've made, there is still to a certain degree, where our own culture still indoctrinates women to be second-class citizens. We are taught that our natural bodies are not good enough, (Google any story on how much Photoshop and other portrait software is used in the advertising industry), to question our thoughts due to hormones, as well as second guess ourselves on a regular basis (ie; hormones again). The family unit is too dysfunctional. Love takes a backseat (or gets stuffed in the trunk), divorces happen and any children can become pawns in an egotistical tennis match between two people who now, for some reason or other, hate each other. And guess what? If you can't cut it, you just might as well just end your life, because you're never going to be good enough anyways.

   Whew! Got a bit deep there, for a moment. So - where am I going with this? To be totally honest, I'm not sure. I realize that I cannot single-handed change society. I did, however, find a way for me to BE alive, well, and functioning to the best of my ability within this society. It works for me. You are going to have to do some self-discovery of your own, but feel free to use my example if you wish.

   I followed my heart and did what I thought was best for myself as well as my family. I tried, to the best of my ability, to be a good role model for my daughters to pursue their passions career wise. I deeply love all four of my grandchildren and participate in their lives as much as I am able; building relationships, loving them, and respecting them for who they are. I try to nurture their gifts and talents. I tell them, as much as possible, to be the best person they can be.

   Through experience, I learn. This past week was highly interesting and served up prime examples. At the beginning of the week, I was able to listen to a friend as she experienced her child leaving the nest a year earlier than expected. I had been through that change, not once, but twice. And both experiences were different on their own levels. I knew her pain and was able to hold her up as best I could. I did the same to support her when she thought no one else would understand.
   A second friend that I met up with mid-week, said her and her husband were separated after 10 years of marriage and would divorce soon. As she filled me in on other details, as we hadn't seen each other in about two years, I was floored - I was not ready for that revelation. That conversation made me appreciate my husband Dave even more and the relationship we've built up over 33 years. I'm still a firm believer that marriage involves effort on a daily basis by both parties.
   By the end of the week, another friend began a new job and she was stressed with all her new responsibilities. However, as she was becoming more familiar with it, the more she liked it.

   While on the walk with my third friend, I zoned out for a moment thinking about all the drama that goes on in everyone's life, mine included. I was in my own head so much, that I walked out in a crosswalk only paying half-attention and almost got run over by a tourist. I didn't matter that the first lane of traffic had already stopped, that there was a police officer standing about ten yards away, and that I yelled at the out-of-state driver - who just stared straight ahead. There's also the fact that it's a state law to stop for pedestrians in crosswalks. About 20 minutes later, as my friend and I strolled the boardwalk, a women was passing by us and mentioned that she was the one who stopped in the first lane of traffic and was sorry that the other driver didn't even bother slowing down. I thanked her with my heart welling up with love. That evening, Dave said, "I'm glad that you're alive." "Me too", I replied.

   I heard a story once of a boy on a beach full of starfish. The boy was throwing starfish back into the water. At the same time, an old man was walking past and asked the lad what he was doing. "I'm throwing them back in the water.", the boy replied. "What's it going to matter? There are thousands of them here.", the old man chided him. The boy responded, "It made a difference to that one I threw back." 

   Last Thursday, Dave and I got together with our youngest daughter and her two boys. We played a rousing game of tag on and around a jungle gym at a local playground. After a while, I noticed a piece of equipment off to my left near a fence. I asked Dave about it, said it was a sea-saw, and we checked it out. This see-saw was nothing like what we had as kids - there was room for four people, the seats were very comfy, and one could never be slammed into the ground. A politically-correct see-saw if you will. Dave climbed into one seat, and I in another, and we got a good rhythm going. I was transported back to when I was five years old - no cares, no worries, no thoughts, other than having a blast at the present moment. I was overcome with feelings of pure bliss.

   In the end, I had a week full of experiences; interactions with people and read about another persons life experiences. Experience came in each moment. Each moment that comes together and forms a life. On numerous evenings last week, I had sore feet and tired legs from all the walking and playing. Dave asked, "Was it worth it?" I replied, "Most definitely. My soreness proves a life well lived."

   Until next time, how's your life going?
   Jill

Spread The Love - For Whom The Horn Blows

   As I write this, it's Saturday morning on the 5th of August. The lights are down low, the fog has rolled in, and for some reason, all I can think of is the poem that was written by Ernest Hemingway, "For Whom The Bell Tolls". My husband Dave and I are listening to mellow jazz on the laptop via the internet. The instrumental song that's currently playing is featuring mellow saxophone and other brass horns. I'm relaxing on my sofa - it has been a long but satisfying day.

   Satisfying, not necessarily in art, but with family. Here in Rockland Maine, we are knee deep in the annual Lobster Festival. Dave and I picked up our two oldest grand-kids this morning and checked out the hour long parade that started at 10 o'clock. However, about an hour before the parade commenced, roads were already blocked off, traffic was extremely heavy, people were confused, state and local police were extremely polite and professional, and yes, car horns were blowing. We managed to park on a quiet side street, near a grove of trees, and walked the half-mile to the beginning of the parade route, which by the way, flows from three major streets into one. It's like watching a parade and a detoured traffic jam at the same time. We managed to nab the exact same spot as last year, so we were all pumped.

   Before the parade started, two large school buses pulled up to this 3-way major intersection, stopped, and then approximately 100 men in white sailor suits exited. Then the buses had to be escorted down a 4th side street past some parade floats. More horns and sirens. A good friend of mine named Signe was on one of the "floats" - technically a red convertible Mustang. The Lobster Festival has been in existence for the past 70 years. Every year, votes are cast for a young woman to be that years Sea Princess. Kinda tacky, I know, but somewhat historical. My friend was the very first Sea Princess back in 1949. Dave and I spotted her, waved, and loudly wished her well. She waved back and got the young man who was driving the vehicle to toot the horn.

   As the parade proceeded, participants passed out candy, school supplies, necklaces, frisbee's, and coupons. Needless to say, our grand-kids made out like bandits. A little after 11 o'clock, the 70th float passed, thus signaling the end of another annual parade that had been filled with sirens, guns, laughter, music, cheering, and applause. And yes... horns. Once the last float slowly drifted out of sight, the sidewalks and streets were filled with people folding up their chairs and walking back to their cars. We followed likewise. Along the way back to our car, we ran into several people and floats making their way back to the high school where they started from. Some participants on the floats had leftover candy and tossed even more to the grand-kids. Like they needed it.

   Once we piled our chairs as well as ourselves into our car, we made a quick U-turn, and headed for a major road. Gratefully, other vehicles let us out and we zoomed back to our house within minutes. Once inside, we engaged in a rousing game of Phase 10 until it was time for lunch. It wasn't long before that time hit. Since no one could decide what to eat, it was off to Subway. Dave took the children in to order their food, while I waited for our oldest daughter to meet us there. Food was eaten, a little shopping was done at the big-box store in the same plaza, and our daughter told stories of her recent vacation with her family.

   After we all departed ways, Dave and I went to a photo center to pick up his large prints for our upcoming art shows. He was pleased at the results. Once back home, I had a project planned for this weekend, and I began in earnest. The mission - I need to declutter. My paintings have officially over-run my studio. They are in all corners, under tables, behind furniture, and take up a large closet. Never mind my easels, paint supplies, paper, and canvases... and my framed works for the upcoming gallery showings. A fellow artist friend of mine offered me a space in her immaculate "barn" that's next to her studio and mentioned to me that the two of us could have a combo art / yard sale in September. She was excited about not only helping me solve my clutter problem, but hers as well.

   Unbeknownst to her, this "decluttering" is a major undertaking for me. Not only to unearth them from their current resting places, but to go through them and to make sure they are all signed and titled. Some titles came easily, some required more thought. I ended up signing and titling about 50 works, went through about 50 more that had already been done, and put them in moisture-proof protective containers. I haven't even tackled the closet yet!I started thinking - should I blow the horn on this entire project?

   When a person creates a piece of art, they put a part of themselves into each creation. Each of these paintings I think of as a child. Unfortunately, over the past few years, most of them have been in some sort of storage mode for at least the past few years. Some I didn't get the chance to hang at all for my enjoyment. There comes a time when you have to let go. I want to say I'm ready to do this, but in reality, I'm not. I feel as if a large part of my SELF is being ripped out of me... thus, "for whom the bell tolls"... me. Does this mark the end of my painting forever? No - from here on out, I'll be doing it on a much lesser scale.

   It's been said, "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear". For me - when the child is ready to fly on their own into the world, they will do so. I've invested a great deal of time and energy into these paintings. I've filled them with the love that was in me. Now it's their turn to bring love into the lives of new owners. I am spreading the love. May this transition pass smoothly. I've read that death is just passing from one room to another - that's easy enough.

   Until next time,
   Jill