by Susan Lobb Porter | Family, Kids, Life |
Warning: Seasonal Blasphemy Alert
DaughterDearest and I went to Farmer Bob’s lot and picked out a Christmas tree today. A Nobel Fir, just like the one Mary and Joseph had–because one of us is a traditionalist, you see, and if oh! tannenbaum was good enough for the holy family then it’s good enough for ours. So says she-who-was-not-paying-for-the-tree. I, on the other hand, thought that maybe when the offspring sprung I wouldn’t have to do this anymore, that I could go back to decorating a few ailing houseplants (my houseplants are always ailing) and call it Happy Holidays.
Because if you want to get Biblical, I’m sure that’s what Mary did. Once her son left home and started hanging with the fishermen (What? No doctors???) I bet she was relieved she didn’t have to bake the birthday fruitcake and hunt down Farmer Bob’s great-great-great-great-a-thousand-times-great grandfather for a tree. Especially at those prices. And Joseph? I bet he didn’t care if they had a tree or not. Hey, wasn’t his kid they were celebrating. And fruitcake? Fuhgeddaboutit.
Who knew?
Fast forward a couple thousand years to now. My hopes of cheering up the dusty dracena with a couple of silver balls were cruelly dashed by my now grownup children. Who would’ve thought they’d want to come home for the holidays…. Go figure. Or move back in after college while wanting nothing more than to move out again. And a tree is part of the deal. Not a tree from the nearly eleven forested acres we live on. Most of them are Ponderosa Pine. Too tall. Unless we had a fifteen story atrium in the house. Which we don’t.
Although I might talk Mr. Spouse into building one when he retires. He likes to build things.
But back to the tree. My children are traditionalists. They want a tree from Farmer Bob.
And so we set out on the great tree adventure. DaughterDearest ran hither and yon through the lot, from one tree to the next. And the next. And the next. Greeting each and every one with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever with a bladder problem. Or a six year old on crack. She wanted this one. No! No! She wanted that one. But…but look over there! And off she’d go again.
While I trotted behind her, discretely checking the prices. Holy crap! Some of those suckers required my banker’s signature.
She totally charmed Farmer Bob. Was it the skinny jeans on the size 2 tiny hiney? Or the long blonde hair tucked under the Cal cap. Cal being short for I’m a freakin’ genius! I went to Berkeley!!! Which is like wearing your IQ on your head. Whatever, she was adorable. And yes, she is SMART.
In the end we picked a tree that met all the criteria.
Hers: It was the most beautiful tree ever!
Mine: Wouldn’t have to take out a second mortgage to pay for it.
The End
PS. Still no photos. One more thing for the fix-it ticket.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Family, Kids, Life |
Not with a bang.
It’s official. The docs are signed, the keys returned. The war-that-was-never-ever-declared-a-war-by-Congress is OVER.
I was on my way to work, driving down a steep country road when I heard the news. And that’s all it was, just news. Blah blah blah a story. Followed by other stories that I didn’t pay attention to because I was too busy thinking about the war that wasn’t a war.
The non-war that my son returned to three times over the course of four years. But he was one of the lucky ones. He survived. And any injuries he received were not important enough to tell his mother about.
Unlike the 4,487 American service members who didn’t survive. And the 32,226 who were injured severely enough for their moms to be told. And the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis either killed, injured or displaced. But they don’t count because, well, we don’t want to think about them.
It’s over. Maybe. Sort of.
We’ll see….
The question is, will anybody outside of the military even know? Because we, as a people, have been sheltered from the facts. The tone was set by our former leader (he-who-must-not-be-named) when he told us to show our patriotism and go shopping. Don’t worry our pretty little heads about what was going on over there. And then he told the bad guys to ‘bring it on.’
AARUGH!!!
Okay. Step back now. Breathe deep. Much better….
When I was formulating the idea for this blog I told myself it would be non-political. It’s about art and life and everything in between, right? Painting, not politics. But for a long time this war WAS my life, affecting everything I did. It’s why I stopped painting. Why I moved my elderly mother into my studio, ensuring I wouldn’t have a place to paint if I wanted to. Because if I couldn’t save my son, maybe I could save my mom. It’s why I quit my galleries and just let my career turn to dust. You can read about some of that here, written during deployment #2.
It’s why I was a crazy woman–absolutely bat shit crazy— for four plus years. Because being consumed by fear and rage and anticipatory grief will do that to a person. So will going to funerals of young men who are called heros for being unlucky enough to be on the wrong end of a bullet or a bomb. And writing condolence letters to the unlucky moms. Hundreds of letters, until one day I woke up–not that I ever slept–and said, “I CAN NOT. DO THIS. ANYMORE.”
And so I pulled back and allowed some semblance of normalcy to creep into my life. I never for one minute stopped caring. But I had to start living my life again. My son was home. He was safe. For me, it was time to move on.
And now, this war-that-was-never-a-war is over.
But only for some. Because for those who lived it or died in it or came home missing something, or for those whose loved one is never coming home…this war-that-was-never-a-war won’t be over for a long, long time.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Family, Kids |
There are two young women I love with all of my heart. My daughters. One I gave birth to, the other one married my son.
Today I’m going to talk about my daughter-in-law, the BEST DIL in the world, ever. It’s her birthday today. She’s 27.
I don’t know about you but when I was 27 I was on the tail end of my screwup phase. Finally getting it together. Sorta. I had an art degree and a couple years of waitressing and retail sales under my belt. There were a couple of broken hearts along the way as well. I was sharing a rental in a marginal part of town with two elkhounds and a roommate. The leap into the world of commercial art–illustration and graphics, would take place towards the end of that year. Even then it was a long, slow process.
Fast forward to BEST DIL in the world, ever. Her name is Nicole, by the way. Niki. And I’ve known her since she was 16, when she first started hanging around our house with all the other kids. I liked her for her own merits even before she and FirstBorn began dating. And once they did begin dating I fell in love with her too. Because she brought out the best in my son. What mother wouldn’t love that?
So it didn’t really surprise me when they eloped. But holy crap, they were 18 years old. Babies. DIL was still in high school. And FirstBorn was a brand new Marine heading off to what would soon become war.
But, as I said…it didn’t surprise me. Because even back then they were right for each other.
Fast forward again. They’ll be married nine years next month. NINE YEARS. Been a lot of growing up for the both of them. Three combat deployments to Iraq–not easy on any marriage. But while FirstBorn was being a Marine, Niki was working any number of part time jobs and putting herself through school. Not just taking classes, excelling. She made Phi Beta Kappa in her junior year and graduated Magna Cum Laude with a degree in molecular biology.
Not bad for a kid who got married in high school…
Today? Good jobs, both of ’em. A couple of cats. A dog. A mortgage. And best of all…most most MOST important of all… a baby. A beautiful little girl born to rock solid parents.
As the saying goes, ‘I didn’t lose a son, I gained a daughter’. Indeed I did. And I love her like my own. Happy Birthday Niki!
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art, Kids |
When my kids were little they were not allowed to use the ‘B’ word. I’m assuming you’re all grown ups and will not be terribly offended if I say it in print. If you have fair sensibilities consider this a warning–cover your eyes or skip down to the pictures.
The word in question…the gasp! cover your mouth WHAT DID YOU SAY!!!! word…was (and still is) B.O.R.E.D. As in, I’m bored. As in I’m SO bored. As in…well, you get the picture.
I would tell these brilliant little humans there was SO much in this world to do, see, think about. Adventures to make up. Things to build. Really, who had time to be bored? And they would go off and write stories. Or draw pictures. Or pound nails into a couple pieces of wood and call it a shelf.
They didn’t start with the eye rolls and the exasperated sighs until the hormones kicked in. But that’s another story.
And this is where you, dear readers, enter the picture. Let’s say you’re one of my students. Let’s say you’re desperate for inspiration. Your muse is misbehaving, filling your head with all sorts of nonsense, making you feel badly about all things art. You’re uninspired. Stuck. Quite frankly, you’re bored. You come to my class and tell me you can’t paint. And you’ll never ever be an artist because you don’t know what to paint.
And I will tell you that you are a brilliant human being. I will give you a hug. Maybe two. Then I will point to the sign that says No Whining, hand you a camera and send you outside.
With one rule. The big picture is overwhelming. Really. Your creative mind is spinning like a kid with a couple of Cokes under his belt in Toys R Us. Overstimulated. So my answer to that is tune out the distractions, tune out the BIG picture and F.O.C.U.S. Don’t go far. Don’t get distracted by the meadow. Or the horses. Stay on the walkway and focus on an area no larger than a foot square. Look for patterns in the concrete or the rocks.
Like this. See, that was easy now, wasn’t it? Oh, wait…are you saying that’s just a couple of rocks? Well yes, it is. Three, actually. And some moss. And not even a great composition. That’s because you’re looking at the BIG picture.
Look what a little cropping can do. Squint. Nice colors, eh? Compositions isn’t bad either. Imagine this with layers and layers of glazes. Imagine working the surface, scraping and painting and bringing forth all sorts of yummy texture.
Some rotation for a different look. The point is any one of these could stand on it’s on as a painting. They could also be used as background for other images. Put some blue on the upper half and call it a landscape.
Cropping another area of the original photo. Squint. See the arrow? Half an arrow. This could be a total graphic kind of painting. There are any number of possibilities. Hey, I did a post about this not long ago using the hair on my dog’s head. Really, there’s NO excuse.
So next time you’re stuck, take a deep breath and tell yourself what a BRILLIANT human being you are. In fact, do that a couple of times. Say it loudly until you believe it. Jump up and down a few times while you’re at it. Then open your eyes, look around and get painting.
By the way, you’re welcome to use any of these photos if they inspire you. And if they do, send me a picture. I’d love to share them on the blog.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Art, Family, Kids |
“It took me four years to paint like Raphael but a lifetime to paint like a child.” Pablo Picasso
I spent my early art career years as an illustrator, a time when I could render anything with near photographic precision. When my kids were little I moved on to portraits, mostly because I loved painting their beautiful little faces.
But I didn’t love painting other people’s faces, that was work. Inner Critic weighed heavy on my shoulder. If you’re not familiar with Inner Critic then stop reading this right now and go make something spectacular–because there’s nothing stopping you. Really. Go away now. Shoo!
But, if you’re like any number of creatives and have this weight on your shoulder, this little voice in your head, this invisible something bitch-slapping your ego whenever you walk in the studio–then read on.
Because Ingrid has something to say.
Ingrid is my niece–okay, my great niece, but that makes me sound old. And I’m not old.
Ingrid is a hunter of monkeys. And a discoverer of unicorns. A child who sees the world, well…through a child’s eyes. With no apologies.
She’s three years old and you can learn something from her. The painting up above? That’s Rapunzel. With pink hair. Ingrid made this right around her third birthday. Which blows me away because not only does she have all the facial features–including ears–she’s got them pretty much where they’re supposed to be.
But where are the arms? WHO CARES? Ingrid KNOWS she forgot them. She pointed that out herself and said she would add them after her nap.
After her nap. The wisdom of the universe condensed to three little words.
Which shows this child has her priorities straight.
I’m going to have a chat with Inner Critic today. Maybe bribe her with some chocolate. Or zonk her out with a meditation. Or just tell her to go to hell. Then I’m going down to the studio and I’m going to paint. Not going to think about it. Not going to analyze it. Just going to heat up some wax, tear up some paper and HAVE FUN.
And when I’m done, maybe I’ll take a nap.
by Susan Lobb Porter | Beloved Beasties, Kids, Uncategorized |
These are the trees around my house. Ponderosa Pine. And yes, they are as big as they look. Bigger, even. I mean, they’re huge. Positively enormous. Makes you dizzy just looking up. And up. And up and up and up because there’s a gazillion of ’em on our property alone. So many trees you can’t even count that high. Because we are surrounded by the Tahoe National Forest. In other words, we live in the deep, dark…woods.
As do lions and tigers and bears, oh my!
Okay, no tigers. But mountain lions, yes. Bears, you betcha. In fact once upon a time Bubba (best dog EVER, R.I.P.) sent one scurrying up that middle tree. Yes, that one right there. Bears, or at least this one, can leap tall buildings trees with a single bound. But this wasn’t your run of the mill tall tree, this was a gigundo Ponderosa. Took that bear three clumps till he reached the top.
I know because I was there. Way, I mean way, too close. I could’ve reached out and touched Mr. Bear as he raced by. You would race like that too, if Bubba was snapping and snarling on your tail. Check him out down below. Ferocious dog, eh?
Yep, here he is with his girl a few years back. No greater love hath a child than the dog they grew up with.
But back to the woods. And the critters. An interesting assortment we have here. Besides the native wildlife we have monkeys. Uh-huh. Do too. Just ask Ingrid, my niece. We’ve even gone monkey hunting on my property, she and I. Didn’t catch any monkeys but we saw some monkey nests and that’s almost as good.
And we have UNICORNS! Yes we do, Ingrid says so. Here they are, right here.
Wheew, well I think that’s enough excitement for now. Unless you’ve got some critter encounters you’d like to share. Anybody?
