Raccoon food delivery season

It is spring, the time of year when our animal brains start trying to convince us that we're actually excellent gardeners, despite all evidence. The last 5 generations of my family were dirt farmers in the Arizona desert, but whichever ancestor keeps telling me to get busy plowing kippers into the soil did not get the memo. I'll throw some dirt on my flower beds, buy some potted plants, and hopefully that'll be enough. 

And it’s also the season for fixing, throwing shit out, and getting things to where they should be. I’ve been buying light. A wide desk light for my kid, so he can assemble his models without hunching and squinting under a small single bulb. A task lamp for the dining room, so I can paint in my sketchbook after the sun goes down, or when I’m up at 5am. A professional light with a soft box for the basement studio, to get back to work on still-life painting.

Last night it was dark by the time I was done with my workout and showered, and I had a happy moment when I remembered that I could still paint under my new light. I got my stuff and went into the dining room - only to find the man sitting at the table under my lamp, practicing tattooing sheets of fake skin. He was so happy. Damn. I went downstairs to clean up the studio, instead. 

The studio has been taken over by pottery and spiders. I threw out garbage bags of cheap warped canvas board and broken frames, piled up bad paintings to sand down and repurpose, and apologized to all the crab spiders while I twirled giant cobwebs on a broom like cotton candy. This is going to be the year I finally get a ceiling installed, to stop ancient dirt from sifting down onto my wet paint every time someone walks overhead. The whole room gets covered with a layer of brown grime. I am going to FIX THIS.

Besides the spring itchiness, I’ve been figuring out how to send a hot Easter dinner to my college kid, who will be alone and working on the holiday. We tested out Grubhub, and the very first order was either delivered to the wrong room, eaten by the driver, or lost in the snow. I like to think that somewhere out there, a raccoon enjoyed a hot calzone. The second attempt arrived without a food thief swooping in and grabbing it up, so we are go to launch an Easter brisket and pie delivery in 7 days. I felt like a tech wizard.

And then my phone started dinging with requests to rate the delivery, rate the food, rate the app, and I felt like a victim of the Circle. 

My paintings haven’t been coming out great (no time alone) and I skipped my project reel last week, but I’ll get on it today - even though I am horrified by finding my paintings and drawings from 8 years ago and seeing what garbage they were. I would apologize now for embarrassing Future Me, but I think instead I’ll accept a “thank you” from her for being the one who has to paint my way through years of bad paintings so she can paint better ones. Cringe all you want, old lady, I’m doing it anyway.

11

My lucky baby turned 11 yesterday. She made it all the way through 10 with no accidents or trips to the ER! 

This was the year she lost her heart to Scotland. She says she felt it the first morning she was there, walking outside into the cold July morning and smelling home. This was the year she started the swim team, learned to sew (the basics), and won $15,000 for her school with a kids’ business plan presentation. It was also the first time she got overconfident with her grades and started slacking off, then realized how far behind she had gotten and hid the evidence, becoming more and more miserable in the mornings when we checked her (falsified) homework planner, until we got a text from her teacher and had to spend a month making a catch-up plan with her - this was an important lesson. She did all the work, felt so relieved, and got a class award for kicking her butt into high gear and fixing the problem instead of giving up.

It was a good year.

For her birthday, she wanted to invite friends over for a tea party. I used to hang out with people and host kid parties all the time, but ever since things went to shit with our friend group on Maui I just… stopped. I don’t want to make friends while at work, don’t want to get to know the neighbors, and the kids live far enough away from their school friends that nobody can casually come over to hang out, so our house has become a private space. It was good to break out of routine and get some people in the house.

We planned and prepped and cleaned all week. The kids got hold of the embossing label maker I bought to organize my sketchbooks, and Zenny labeled the goody bags and cupcake boxes, while Leif stuck “PROP FOOD”, “DO NOT EAT”, and “MAY CAUSE CANCER” labels on all the candy in Gavin’s Easter care package. Analog technology for the win.

Tweens are fun, because they’re old enough to handle things like good china and label makers, but still kid enough to chase each other through the house with a foam cosplay ax. I made cupcakes from scratch, topped with gold chocolate coins and little toy cats, and set the table with appetizers, fancy cookies, and decaf chocolate tea with cream and sugar. We had craft kits and activities, and for 4 hours the girls ate and played and laughed, carrying the cats and chickens around like babies. It went off without a hitch. 

After waving goodbye to the girls, we drove to Kaneohe and had dinner, cake, and presents with grannie. She had a mishap with her pan sizes and accidentally made an ENORMOUS rainbow cake. It weighed about 10 pounds. She cringed when she showed me, but it was great. Nobody is ever going to be mad about having a massive homemade cake put down in front of them.

(That’s not a phone, it’s an MP3 player. No phone for her yet.)

It was all pretty great. I hope the next year is even better for her.

nice while it lasted

Every day at home felt like summer break as a kid. I woke up early, stretched out alone in my comfortable bed, and got excited when I remembered that I had an entire day ahead of me to do whatever I wanted. I planned a big painting and worked on it for 3 days, baked cupcakes and scones and bread for my kids (hygienically), read books with my cat, took hot showers in the middle of the day, and watched shows about people with big hair in historic gowns. It was so great, except for sneezing out all my brain cells. I don't need brain cells to be a painter anyway, I can just be happy and enjoy my life. Some day.

But now the bedding is washed, the bedroom is sanitized, the test came up negative, and it is back to work with my doctor's note, where I get to be snarked at by assholes for wearing a mask for the next 10 days (state policy; at least I don't have to smile at anyone). I have a pile of emails to sort through, programs to plan, articles to write, orders to budget, displays and brochures to make - but with interruptions every 30 seconds because I'm also the front desk person who does all the circulation and phone calls. Bonus: I get to train for my co-worker's job this week, because she's leaving, too. Now I get to do three jobs badly instead of one job well. That is the government for you. Also, I kicked this all off by breaking my nose on the washing machine when the fitted sheet got stuck on the open lid and slammed it down onto my face as I stuffed the bedding into the washer. Appreciating the mask today.

Two more months before my immunity wears off and the story time kids cough me back into covid vacation mode.

(jk, I'll get a booster. I really can't keep getting this thing. Especially not with shingles as a side effect. FINGERS CROSSED.)

swimming, driving, and a running nose

After 6 years of closures, our little Parks Department swimming pool has finally started up the junior swim team again. Yesterday Zenny had her first practice, and hit the water like a pelican. If you think pelicans are not natural swimmers, you are correct. She had lessons as a little kid, but it's been a while, and we don't go to the beach as much as other families. I sat on the bleachers with the sports moms and tried to look busy on my phone so the girl wouldn't feel self-conscious. She wanted me there, but not watching, which I understand. By the end of the hour, with some one-on-one with her coach, she was doing a lot better. She's a tiny person, once she gets some muscles on those limbs she'll be as quick as a minnow.

And my baby boy is driving. Enthusiastically, which is weird for me. When I was a teenager, my mother had to threaten not to send me to college if I didn’t get my license, and I threatened to go live in the woods and be the weird lady who rides a horse everywhere. She won. I am still annoyed about it. But Leif likes the freedom a car will give him in this cursed non-walkable society, and he’s pretty competent behind the wheel, so that’s working out well so far.

My painting this week isn’t going great. I’ll get a bit more time to fix it, though, because I caught the cold that’s been going around, and I’m keeping my puffy red nose home tomorrow. Need to be rested and in quacking shape by storytime. 

Update: yeah, it’s covid. AGAIN. I’m going to have no brain cells left. Maybe this time I’ll get the kind of brain damage that makes me interested in sales and marketing so I can quit my damn public service job and make a living painting, instead.

sweatpants and owls

Today is a good one for me, because it is the day I officially lost the last of the 20 pounds I gained after surgery last year. Years of competitive swimming messed up my knees, and they really didn’t like carrying an extra stone around.

I celebrated by buying myself a giant pair of baggy sweatpants. 

So that was nice.

Today I finished painting the birds. 

I posted a reel about it, and included my own face, even though I just finished reading The Circle, and I am still not okay. A couple weeks ago, Zenny and I read The Eyes and the Impossible, this year’s Newbery award winner, and we loved it. It’s a beautiful, funny book full of art and nature and pupusas, so afterwards I thought it would be fun to read everything else Dave Eggers has written. Folks, I was not prepared. He’s bringing these kids up to appreciate the beauty of life just to DESTROY them as adults. The Parade really bothered me in a way I couldn’t stop thinking about, and then The Circle did me in. It was great. I hated it. It’s like a really long and engrossing episode of Black Mirror. And by linking it just now, I have learned that there is a sequel called The Every. Oh no. I am absolutely reading it, but I think I’m going to take a week off from Dave and read Starter Villain (Alex award winner) until I stop wanting to smash all my devices with a hammer.

Go read The Eyes and the Impossible, though, even if you don’t have a kid to read it to.

No ugly thoughts

My kids said I needed to start showing my face in my weekly painting reels so people would recognize me as a real person if the piece makes it to the Artists of Hawaii show this year, so that added an element of discomfort to my week. It's already a jolt hearing your own stupid voice on a recording and realizing that's what other people hear all the time, and seeing yourself on a video without the mirror reversal is the same kind of feeling, especially as you get older and start avoiding cameras. But just like your voice, everyone already sees your stupid face every day and they like you anyway, so maybe it's for the best to just take the shock and accept what you look like to the world. Remember that whole Mom Stays in the Picture thing? While teenagers are 'mewing' (pressing tongue to top of mouth to fake a slim jawline), the rest of us should be 'Dahling' (think good thoughts and be lovely).

exerpt from the Twits, by Roald Dahl

 

So I'll try to stay in the videos.

Also as an effort to take up more space in the world, I have started collecting shirts to annoy the book-banning moms at my library. My fashion theme this year is “be a bigger problem for those three people specifically”.

Breaking news

Today is a big one: Leif is taking his driver's permit test. He should be road legal by the end of the day.

what we’re lacking

Valentine's Day is a minefield of old feelings that I have learned to navigate by impersonating a sack of potatoes. Throw me in the car, I’ll roll with whatever.

We took the day off while the kids were in school and played tourist in Haleiwa, eating an overpriced, over-salted lunch at the Beach House and then walking up and down the shops to look at sea shells and tacky souvenirs. When we passed the Wyland Gallery, I walked up and grabbed the giant dolphin-shaped door handles, “Let’s see why this guy is a billionaire and we’re not.” The gallery was full of poured resin art and sea turtle statues. On the wall of Wyland originals, I stopped in front of a black marker scribble of a dolphin, with a dot for an eye and four slashes in the corner for sunshine. It would have taken less than a minute to draw, and it was matted and framed for about a thousand dollars. The larger paintings ($50,000 - $100,000) were carelessly airbrushed seascapes with a whale tail whacked in and dabbed randomly with glitter. It looked as if he had assistants prep the airbrushed canvases so he could spend 5 minutes painting a tail and then go surfing.

“I see what we’re missing. The audacity.”

We walked across the street to another gallery, where the owner was smashing pastel-colored paint into the shape of an ocean wave on a little canvas with a palette knife. A group of blonde women politely admired it when she held it up, “You did that JUST NOW? Wow! And it took you, like, 5 minutes??” “Well,” the artist said with a little fake modest laugh, “years, actually. It comes with experience.”

These guys are like the kids who come up to strangers and brag, “I’m the best at ninja, watch this,” and then break into wild flailing and expect applause. It’s lazy and arrogant, and it’s the key to salesmanship. 

The audacity. 

If you don’t have it naturally, be grateful. We get to be the ones who can slow down and enjoy making or baking or building things, getting frustrated and seeing improvement, developing pride in craftsmanship, and having the freedom to try different subjects and styles and methods instead of banging out the same schlock every day for people we feel contempt for.

But when it’s time to show your work and you feel embarrassed or out of place, remember to square your shoulders and think, I’m the best at dolphins, watch this.

A month into the project

I’m still keeping up, but I forgot I was supposed to do two paintings on the figure page (there are fewer pages than weeks in a year, so I’m pacing a couple weeks on the same page), and to make up for it I’m spending the next 4 Mondays on the birds. I’m going to be living on this spread for a month, hopefully it won’t be covered in coffee, fingerprints, and cat feet by the end.

(Paper is warped because I gessoed it, it’ll dry flat)

 

missing wildlife

Someone has abducted Baby Jesus. Over the weekend, extra cat food cans started appearing next to his dish (a plastic tupperware lid), and I cleaned them up so I could keep track of how often someone else was feeding him. Yesterday he was gone, and no more cans have been put out. One of the secret nighttime cat ladies has nabbed him, I think. I hope. I know she exists, but I don't know who she is. A couple of times, I came by after dark and got out of my car to find myself surrounded by dozens of glowing eyes, with all the fat glossy strays gathering around the walkways, waiting for their dinners. I have read Millions of Cats enough to know how this kind of thing ends, so I ran for it.

(Nearly all of them have notches in their ears, because Night Feeder also takes them to the Neuter Scooter like a good citizen.)

Today was going to be rescue day. We worked with the university vet tech program to arrange free treatment, and I have the humane trap in the trunk of my car, but he has vanished as suddenly as he appeared. I'm worried about him, and hope he's getting the care he needs. I'll keep checking for him.

Meanwhile, I have been getting weird about birds. DLNR announced their annual wildlife stamp competition, and I started thinking about painting an entry, which got me reading about endangered forest birds, which led to researching how scientists measure populations, and then getting mad about disruptions to albatross nesting grounds. Watched a video of researchers photographing a bird that hadn't been seen in 140 years, and now I feel like grabbing my camera and charging off into the woods to find all the extinct little birds that may still actually be alive. It gives some hope.

 love this

My sketchbook is filling up with birds. I might not paint a contest entry because I'm just trying to keep up with my painting-a-week project (progress on instagram), but I'm enjoying the birds.

Maurice

My paternal grandfather died this week, and I’ve been having feelings about it. I met him twice that I can remember, and only had a conversation with him once as a teenager. He seemed like a dialed-down version of my father; a generally happy person who enjoys the idea of piecing together clues to unlock conspiracies. For my father, that means he’s loudly cheerful and loves theatrics and alien files (he even wrote a book), and for his dad that meant noodling away at Bible code theories, convinced there were messages hidden in the texts if you applied the right cipher. Dan Brown conspiracy theorists, not anti-science conspiracy theorists - the kind of people who are looking for clues to puzzles, hoping to get a look at some secret world that’s bigger than what we can see. Joy-seekers. 

I would have liked to know him, but I think my grandparents didn’t want to intrude on our lives, and I didn’t want to intrude on theirs. We all missed the boat on that one. Now I send Christmas cards, and sometimes my grandmother replies, and that has had to do.

If I’m invited to the funeral I’ll try to go, but I think they won’t want to bother me with it, and I don’t want to bother them by asking. At least that would be consistent with how things have been.