The Story Board

Pumpkin Turnovers

2012-01-16T15:37:00.000-08:00

I have a recipe posted on They Draw and Cook! I absolutely love this site and I've been meaning to illustrate a recipe for some time. I don't know what I enjoy more about their site - all the amazingly creative artwork or the fantastic variety of recipes.

This is a detail of my illustration - you can view the full recipe here. I sent it in this morning and they posted it this afternoon. That was quick!

And here's what the final result looks like - of course I had to test out my recipe first (I never actually measure anything). My family didn't complain about taste-testing, either.

Food for Thought (And by Food I Mean Dessert, Of Course)

2012-01-10T07:14:00.000-08:00

While packing away the holiday decorations, I started thinking about the how we usher in a new year – lots of hoping and resolution-making going on. We follow the same traditions each year, but the years don’t turn out the same. Some years sparkle like stars overhead, others smack you ‘til you see stars.

Some things we have no control over. All we can do is hope for the best. Only, we don’t always figure that out. We go and put all kinds of energy into trying to change those things anyway. We might as well be trying to teach a seal to tie shoelaces.

And then there are plenty of things we can change, but we get so caught up in hoping and wishing, we forget to actually do something.

The tricky part is to know the difference.

Good Beginnings

2012-01-02T14:39:00.000-08:00

With a sudden rise in temperature, we thought a New Year's dinner in the garden was a good way to start off the year. We weren't the only ones who liked the idea; right after we sat down we spotted an unexpected guest:

My mom believed a praying mantis was a good luck sign. At least I know it's good luck for the garden. We named him Champollion. He's been spotted a few times already hanging about the yard, so he may as well have a name.

So begins another year. Enjoy all the good things you can!

Holiday Basics

2011-12-23T15:25:00.000-08:00

It started with the leftover Halloween pumpkin (the one no one wanted to carve). I couldn't let it go to waste, so I roasted it up. Boy, you get a lot of puree out of one of those babies.

Pumpkin + orange + chocolate chips = delicious. Just the thing to get things rolling.

Speaking of getting things rolling, look what you can make with a magazine, some glue, and a sudden burst of holiday spirit (fueled by pumpkin cake). I was planning to paint it, but I loved all the colors. It would look better against a bright red door, but mine will do.

I think my paper rolling inspired my son to do some paper folding. He made me the cool origami wreath above...

...and this awesome little tree! He has more patience than I do.

Here's a trio of frosty trees made from scraps I found in the garage,

and one with pipe-cleaner snowflakes to light up the entryway.

Sometimes it's fun to use what you've got.

It also helps to have a tree that bears gifts,

and snow in the local mountains!

Plus, I've still got four cups of pumpkin left.

Hope you are all brimming with holiday cheer! Happy Holidays!

Be Merry and Bright

2011-12-08T13:58:00.000-08:00

From the looks of things around the neighborhood and the blogosphere, I’m way behind in holiday preparations. In an effort to muster up some extra spirit, I spent my last class period doodling snowflakes and reindeer.

Are the decorations up? Nope. Cookies made? No, and most of the chocolate chips are already gone. Maybe we can eat the ingredients separately this year. Have I gotten my holiday shopping done? Bahahaha…

What I do have is a drawing of three birdies riding on a reindeer. Yessiree, I could cross that off my holiday to-do list, if: a) I had prepared a holiday to-do list; and b) that list included a drawing of three birdies riding a reindeer.

I think I earned the right to spend my last design class doodling. Yesterday my teacher informed me that in twenty years of teaching, I’m his first student to earn a perfect score on every assignment. Aha! It turns out I do pay attention to details.

On another note, it has occurred to me that Santa pulls one all-nighter a year, and he gets all the glory. I really don’t think the elves get the credit they deserve.

My Home Page...For Now

2011-11-18T18:12:00.001-08:00

It's been forever since I posted - I thought I should at least put a link to my new portfolio.

Last semester I was enrolled in a web development class, but another one of life's little setbacks forced me to drop it. My goal of designing a website for myself had to wait - so in the meantime I decided to use one of the free portfolio websites. I looked at a few and decided I liked deviantArt's daportfolio. Their layout is clean and simple, and it's easy to use - great if you need a place to show your work (and you're short on time and money).

I'm still updating it as I finish new pieces, but you can click the link to check it out:

adriennesaldivar.daportfolio.com

I still check up on my blog friends in my reader every so often, even though I don't get around to posting/commenting as much. I feel like such a lurker! Hope everyone's getting ready for a fantastic Thanksgiving holiday.

Not What I Expected

2011-09-04T11:34:00.000-07:00

What I like about homework files is you can steal from your own stuff. This summer I thought I’d be doing just that: picking favorite parts of old projects and turning them into portfolio pieces. I meant to sneak in beach trips and poolside reads, too. Let’s just say the summer didn’t turn out as I expected.

In last semester’s design class, our final assignment was to redesign a storefront using a fifties theme. Admittedly, my choice wouldn’t be hard to improve upon. Every time I realize someone gets paid to create a sign like this one, I whimper to myself a little:

The assignment didn’t go as expected. Before I began my digital renovations, my father passed away. The teacher gave me the option to skip the project, but somehow within the gust of funeral details and travel pains, homework seemed comforting.

My building makeover turned out okay, but again – not what I expected. Nothing I’d show off in a design portfolio. I planned to use the piece later as inspiration for another retro style illustration. Summer was coming and everything would be better, right?

From the first hum of air conditioning units being fired up to the drying of grasses by the riverbed, it was a weary summer. There were heartaches and legal hassles, along with family issues and life-sucking paperwork. Terms like ‘fiduciary’ and ‘codicils’ stabbed my brain behind the eyeballs. I tried to fend them off by remembering childhood friends and rummaging through old photos.

I discovered that no matter how old you are, when you’ve lost both parents you can feel like an orphan. In my dreams, everything is harder than it should be: I go to the store to buy dish soap and realize when my feet hit the cold floor that I’ve forgotten my shoes; I try to find my way home but I travel the wrong way down a one-way street, and all the exits on the monstrous freeways are out of reach.

Last week I stole a few moments to work on that illustration. Grief and paperwork can step outside for a smoke once in a while - the bastards don’t have to breathe down my neck every second, do they?

A project can be a breath of fresh air, a leisurely stroll. Say, for instance, in a newly renovated, retro style neighborhood. It’s even better if you have no expectations.

When Snails Overindulge

2011-07-18T12:54:00.000-07:00

HOO-boy! Those peppers were spiiiiii-cy!! Sprinkle me with garlic and toss me in butter, ‘cuz I’m on F-I-R-E fire!

Phew. I knew I shoulda stuck with the cilantro.

What I've Been Up To

2011-06-09T13:09:00.000-07:00

I did this illustration just for fun, because summer's on the way. I'm looking forward to squeezing in some beach time. I will not be squeezing into a two-piece; not even a modest one like the one pictured.

I started a new album with some of my recent illustrations. Just click on the two birds over there to the right, and see what I've been up to. Since most were class assignments, the styles are a bit of a mix, but lately I've been gravitating towards a fun retro look. I'm looking forward to adding to the album, too.

So, what have you been up to? What are you looking forward to?

Crumbs

2011-04-22T16:36:00.000-07:00

Here I go tossing out a crumb, in the hope that anyone might wander over here. I just got back from a short trip where I was reminded of a visit years ago to my parents’ house in New York.

My dad had just returned from the grocery store. If my mom had done the shopping, the bags would’ve cradled items like gourmet dried salami and Kalamata olives. My Dad usually came bearing things like a drum of mayonnaise and multiple packs of Oscar Meyer bologna. But one thing my parents shared was a craving for Entenmann’s baked goods.

This time, my Dad reported, he approached the bakery aisle to hear two women arguing over the dessert items. Finally the older woman declared, in her thick Long Island-y accent,

“We’d beddah get a crumb cake for a BACK-up!”

I don’t know why, but we found the idea of a backup crumb cake absolutely brilliant.

There’s dessert, and then there’s backup dessert.

Oh yeah.

Now that I think of it, that might have been the summer I coined the term “breakfast dessert.” As in: “That was a delicious cheese omelet. What’s for breakfast dessert?”

And while I’m on the subject of desserts, here’s an Illustrator drawing I finished recently:

It was one of four pieces of mine that my teacher chose to include in the student art show. One of my other illustrations won an award (and fifty bucks). Yay for me! I think I deserve a piece of pie.

The Wrong Place

2011-02-14T09:24:00.000-08:00

I’m taking an Illustrator class this semester. When the instructor showed samples of what was expected, I panicked. I’ve never actually done a drawing in Illustrator, and my first attempts made me think I might be in the wrong place.

Our first assignment was to make an illustrated graph. It could be on any subject, as long as it showed a comparison of data using illustration. As the student next to me started drawing up some lovely French fries, I struggled to make this:

Unless I could come up with statistics on paper clip catastrophes, I was in the wrong place.

The teacher worked his way around the classroom. One student had already formed a slice of pizza complete with toppings, another had a perfectly proportioned hamburger on a sesame seed bun, and the guy next to me was now coloring a box for his French fries (can you tell this class is just before lunch?). By the time the teacher came up behind me, I had managed to create this masterpiece:

Oh yeah I might be in the wrong place.

The teacher frowned. “Is that supposed to by candy?” The only lame response I could come up with was to state the obvious.

“I’m new at this.”

The teacher didn’t look surprised. What I meant was I’m really sorry for taking up space in your classroom. I wanted to redeem myself, but by the end of the class period, the best I could come up with was this sucky rose:

I’m in the wrong place, and that rose looks like it could hurt someone.

Fortunately I had time to work on this at home. It turns out when I’m not hungry or surrounded by people who’ve been using computers since they were in diapers, things start making sense to me. I might not be in the wrong place after all. Even my bees don’t look like they’d hurt anyone!

Just pay no attention to those numbers. They’re totally made up.

Stuffed Love

2011-02-04T10:28:00.000-08:00

My brothers and I were not easy on our stuffed friends. I still have a few of mine. Believe me, they won’t be crowned in any beauty competitions.

My little brother had a monkey (cleverly named Monkey) that smelled like a combination of steak and salad dressing. I don’t know what Monkey had gotten into, but I do know it’s not a good idea to go around smelling your brother’s things. My older brother had a fuzzy dog we called Risko. We had a tagline for Risko…Risko RISKS HIS LIFE to SAVE the others!! Proof that poor Risko lived up to that motto is that none of us can remember what happened to him. Wherever he ended up, he had to be carrying out a valiant rescue attempt.

I had a bear that underwent so many neck ‘surgeries’ that my mom finally had to crochet a collar just to keep his head on. I also had a stuffed chipmunk with tire marks on his tail. When your stuffed animals start resembling road kill, I think you’ve pretty much reached the pinnacle of toy abuse. The chipmunk and bear duo had the dubious honor of being my all-time favorites.

Here’s to the brave softies. They’re cute. They’re cuddly. They comfort us and keep us company. We repay them by biting off their noses and dropping them in the toilet.

We might have it rough. But it’s gotta be tough to be stuffed.

Skinny White Dog

2011-01-24T09:16:00.000-08:00

I’ve always been partial to dogs that are black or brown or a mixture of the two. I like big dogs that look a little intimidating. When we first considered getting another dog, I had in mind a black or chocolate lab.

Then one day while looking at shelter ads online, I came across a picture that seemed to have a message for me.

So I did what I had to do. I secretly stashed a leash, collar, and the exact adoption fee in cash into the glove compartment of my car, and told my family, “Let’s go for a ride!”

And then I said, “As long as we’re close by, why don’t we stop in the pet store and look at the puppies?” And, “Well, look at that, they’re having an adoption event today!”

And just like that, my desire to own a majestic and slightly imposing animal gave way to a new reality.

I was the owner of a skinny white dog.

By the time the skinny white dog was curled up in the back seat of my car and named Luna, the only thing left to do was to convince myself of the merits of having a white dog.

You know what’ll be great? I told myself. We won’t have any of those big piles of dark hair all over the place. No evil black dust bunnies gathering in the corners.

And you know what?

I was right.

It’s great not having dark furry tumbleweeds to sweep up. I don’t know how, but people always seem to be able to tell I own a white dog. They can sense it somehow.

I am thinking of brushing Luna outside from now on.

If I could just find the leash.

Kitchen Help

2011-01-14T09:08:00.000-08:00

There must be something to learn from this. One evening I pose the question: What should I make for dinner tonight?

To which CHILD #1 (a.k.a. Daughter) responds: Nothing.

Which probably means: Please do not bother me with mundane things. I am far too busy to be inconvenienced by such pedestrian matters. Can’t you see I’m texting? Geez. U r so lame.

And then CHILD #2 (a.k.a. Son) answers: FOOD!
Translation: FOOD! What else? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of an EPIC video game battle?

Die, zombie robot, die!!

(Question – Is it just me, or is it really necessary to have a being that is both a zombie AND a robot? Aren’t robots already kinda dead? Anyhoo…)

At this point THE FEATHERED ONE (a.k.a. Corfu) says:

Translation: Pizza! Pizza pizza pizza pizza! PEEEEEEEEEEEEEET-Zuh!!!

And that outburst is quickly followed up with:

Meaning: Head rub now? Promise I won’t bite. This time. Heh heh.

And then I give up and rummage through the freezer for Hot Pockets.

NOTE: I should explain the sloppy art: I just bought new software so I can do my homework at home, and I need to learn it. So now goofing around = practice. And practice = dumb stuff I can post on my blog! Hooray!

Also, I should point out that my kids are actually pretty helpful. But boy, timing is everything. Corfu, on the other hand, hardly ever lifts a finger around here (but occasionally bites one).

The Barber is In

2011-01-06T14:36:00.000-08:00

Here we are at the beginning of a new year. It’s a relief to put the last one behind me. If last year were a hairstyle, it’d be a Mohawk: scary all around and just plain ugly in the middle.

The year wasn’t totally without highlights. There IS an upside to having your life turned upside down. You’re compelled to take personal inventories, to appreciate things differently. Nothing like being flipped hip pockets over split ends to make you sit up and take notice.

I’ve enjoyed taking classes again. After sweating out some fears in computer workshops, I took a semester length class (got an A!). I signed up for two more this coming semester. It’s surreal to be in that environment after so many years, but I like being there. How often do people take a hard look at their lives, realize their dissatisfaction, and keep on doing the exact same things? It’s like watering a dead plant every day and hoping an orchid will pop up. But who am I to talk? Without a good kick in the pants, I fall into the category of stick waterers.

Being forced to set aside writing/illustrating pursuits brought an unexpected revelation, too. Even though I enjoyed what I was doing, I had a nagging feeling I wasn’t representing myself in a very authentic way. I doubt nagging feelings lead to wild success and utter bliss, so I’m okay with letting it all simmer on the back burner for now.

That leaves me with a question -what to do with this blog? It hangs in the blogosphere and in the back of my mind. I miss the camaraderie. I just haven’t quite figured out a way to keep it up.

So, no resolutions …just faith that this year is going to be better. It’s off to a pretty good start. I’d say so far it’s more like a bowl haircut: kinda funny looking, but ready for that awkward growing-out stage.

Happy New Year. Hope it has the right amount of bounce to it.

Homework (And a Little Type History)

2010-10-12T08:32:00.001-07:00

Here are two versions of a recent assignment to design a poster for a typeface. I picked Letter Gothic, which was designed in 1962 for the IBM Selectric typewriter. The font was often used for tabular items (like columns of numbers) because of the even spacing between letters.

The type element in the IBM Selectric was a pivoting ball (nicknamed the golf ball) that was removable, so you could change fonts on the typewriter. I think only the teacher and a couple of other older students knew what the heck I was talking about, but I remember using one in the office in the late 70s.

The first poster was inspired by the history of the typewriter and the art of the time; the second poster focused more on the properties of the font.

It’s been a long time since I worked in graphic design and much longer since I walked a college campus as a student. When I signed up for a semester length course in digital media this fall, I was sure I was in over my head. I’ve taken some workshops but never really used programs like Photoshop, Illustrator or InDesign. The first thing I did was look up the last day to drop the course.

So far I’ve been pleasantly surprised. It turns out not every nineteen year old is already an expert in Photoshop, and not everyone that grew up in front of a computer screen has a perfect sense of design. There’s a whole range of skill and talent, and although I have yet to see a grade, I think I’m keeping up.

The best surprise is how much I enjoy the projects. I love a design challenge and the chance to apply what I’ve learned. I also like deadlines – nothing better to motivate you to get your butt in gear.

Have you tried something new lately? Was it terrifying? Exhilarating? A little of both?

I Hope the Zombies Don't Have Gold Star Memberships

2010-09-01T07:32:00.000-07:00

There are online forums for everyone. I stumbled on one for zombie fans when they linked to an old post of mine, about a short zombie movie that was filmed in my neighborhood. Somehow my blog post got confused with the official site for the short backyard production.

Anyway, the zombie mix-up reminded me of a fun topic my kids bring up occasionally that goes something like, “Where would you go in the event of a zombie apocalypse?”

After some discussion, we always conclude we’d head straight for Costco. We can’t think of a better hideout. You could survive in that place for YEARS.

"They’ve got everything!” we declare. Food! Furniture! Beds even! To hear us, you’d think we were ready to lock down those industrial doors and set up camp right by the tube socks.

“They’ve even got make-up,” my daughter says. “Who cares if we can’t go outside, we can still look good.”

“And they have books,” I add. “And music and movies. We’d never get bored.”

We bring up the massage chairs, the exercise equipment, barbeques and umbrella tables. We list the soaps and sundries. We imagine setting up storage sheds (everyone gets their own room!) and rolling out the toaster ovens (unlimited samples!).

We go as far as to ponder what we’d do with perishable items. We’d start in on the fruits and salads, but luckily all that meat and seafood can go right into the walk-in freezers.

“Too bad cheese doesn’t freeze well,” I say with a sigh.

“Uh, Mom, it’s okay. You know there’s not really a zombie apocalypse going on, right?”

Right. Back to reality. I could really go for a hunk of brie though.

Lessons from Driver's Ed

2010-08-15T20:28:00.000-07:00

Here I go again, letting more than a month go by without posting anything. In my defense, I’ve been without internet for a while. I had no idea how dependent I’d become on things like Google Maps.

My daughter just finished the classroom part of Driver’s Ed. I picked the closest location that was reasonably priced. If my internet service was up and running, I might have checked the street view of the driving school before enrolling. Lesson One: The risky part of learning to drive is not necessarily the driving.

Used car lots and liquor stores flanked the driving school. It was located upstairs in a two story building that also housed a smoke shop, a gold buyer and a cash advance place. Lesson Two: Sometimes you have to do things that go against your every instinct as a parent, like dropping your child off and driving away.

For the first two days my daughter walked to a fast food place at lunchtime with a couple of girls from the class. Lesson Three: Your classmates in Driver’s Ed are probably not the same students you run into in subjects like AP World History.

After the second day of listening to the two girls talk nonstop about their recreational drug use, she decided to ditch them before getting invited to light up on the way back to class. Instead she walked the two blocks back to the driving school alone. Lesson Four: Cute girls in shorts get unwelcome attention from truck drivers.

So, my daughter spent the last two days of Driver’s Ed clad in jeans and a sweatshirt. She opted to stay in the relative safety of the classroom for lunch. We both welcomed the end of day four, the last day of instruction.

“Guess what happened,” she said. “Today there was an armed robbery downstairs.”

“What?” I asked. “Where, in the smoke shop?”

“No, the cash advance place. One of the guys in the class saw someone run outside with a gun. And then in a minute there were cops everywhere. Oh, and here’s the best part – after all that, the guy got away!”

Lesson Five: Parenting teens is not for sissies.

So Much Depends Upon Wheelbarrows and Timing

2010-07-06T21:35:00.000-07:00

A minute after I entered the freeway it happened - the red wheelbarrow soared from the bed of the pickup truck in front of me, and bounced to a stop. Up until the moment the wheelbarrow became airborne I’d been on autopilot, fighting the stupor induced by a four-hour Indesign class and wondering if the kids had made themselves lunch.

It took a split second for my brain to register that the large object in front of me was solid and ought to be avoided. It took another split second for me to slam on the brakes and hope the driver behind me wasn’t texting or reaching for his frappachino. Another fraction of a second to realize I couldn’t stop in time, and to glance in the side view mirror and hope no one was in my blind spot when I swerved.

Minutes before, I’d been chatting with a classmate about the design exercise we’d just completed. We compared thoughts on how clumsy it felt to be wrestling with programs so new and foreign, with things like control panels and smart guides.

“Hopefully it’s like driving,” I said. “Eventually we’ll be able to do all this by reflex.”

Precisely because I stayed after class to have this conversation about complicated rules and reflexes, I arrived on the freeway at the exact moment the wheelbarrow took flight. It was as if I’d just ordered up a test to prove I actually had driving reflexes.

If I’d entered the freeway an instant sooner, the wheelbarrow might have landed in the front seat with me. An instant later and the guy behind me might have redesigned my bumper, frappachino or no frappachino.

Earlier that same morning when I’d left for class, the brake light on my dashboard flashed on. I was already late and thought about dismissing the brake situation until later. Instead I decided not to take a chance, and submitted to doubling back home to add brake fluid.

Some days just work out like that.

Chocolate Cake with White Icing

2010-06-01T08:02:00.000-07:00

Whoops, a whole month went by. I checked my sitemeter expecting to see tumbleweeds…and whaddya know, someone had just visited from a domain called WideOpenWest. I took it as a sign I better post something before this blog becomes a ghost town.

In the midst of all the unbloggable events going on in my life, I had sudden thoughts of elementary school (a subject many writers probably visit from time to time) and cake (a subject pretty much everyone enjoys).

Those thoughts popped up when I decided to bake a chocolate cake with white icing, for no particular reason. Right smack in the middle of trying to get dinner on the table, I thought to myself, you know what would make me feel better? Chocolate cake with white icing. I can mix one up right now! I have all the ingredients! Dinner can wait.

Back in elementary school, chocolate cake with white icing was the one thing that could make me happy about being in the cafeteria. I hated everything about the place – the hot plastic trays and leaky milk cartons, the lonely search for friends while standing with a clod of beefaroni on my tray.

When I was in first grade, my teacher put me at the beginning of the lunch line every day and appointed someone to stay with me at the dining tables after everyone else had gone back to class. I guess she was worried about me because I was skinny and didn’t eat my lunch. I didn’t eat because the food was gross and the cafeteria freaked me out. The solution was to force me to spend even more time there.

Ice cream sandwich days weren’t too bad, but chocolate cake with white icing really was my deliverance. If I spotted kids coming out of the lunch line with those precise squares in the corner of each tray, even the smell of Pine Sol and gray-green corn couldn’t get me down.

In fact, eating chocolate cake with white icing may have been my favorite part of elementary school. Funny that my favorite thing occurred in the one place I dreaded the most.

So, what about you? What takes you back…what conjures up your best and worst school memories?

Wishful Thinking

2010-04-26T13:09:00.000-07:00

The idea for this illustration came to me while standing in line outside the career center. The sun was coming up (told ya the line forms early for free classes), and our long shadows stretched out across the adjacent landscaping.

Barriers to Employment

2010-04-18T17:46:00.000-07:00

It’s chilly outside the career center, but the camaraderie is warm. Eddie is always first in line, always with a big toothless smile on his face.

The line forms early for free computer classes. We stand under the palm trees and try not to get pooped on by excited sparrows. There’s an interesting mix of people - some are young, working towards their GED; others are shocked to find themselves unemployed for the first time in 25 years. One woman held the same job for 30 years. She was hoping to become a CPA, but her transcripts from the university she attended were destroyed. A few seniors just want to learn to email and buy birthday presents online, but most folks come in hopes of becoming more employable.

One day I notice a middle-aged woman with every feature on her face – eyebrows, nose, mouth, ears - completely encircled with piercings. She looks as though she got caught in the crossfire of some bizarre Bedazzler shoot-out. Plus, her hair is all the colors of a box of popsicles. I can’t help wondering what kind of job she is going for. I’m guessing not preschool teacher. I’m tempted to try to count the number of studs in her head - there must be over a hundred – but I don’t want to stare. She glances over at me and smiles. I smile back. I quickly surmise that she’s nice, but I still worry she’d scare the tattoos right off the manager at Al’s Auto Parts.

Some weeks ago I took a resume workshop. Mostly I wanted to know how skills like boo-boo kissing and vacuuming Doritos crumbs from car seats transfer to the job market. No one buys terms like household manager or domestic engineer.

Every few minutes the presentation was hijacked by someone else wanting to discuss how their felony convictions hinder their job search. For a moment I wondered if I’d wandered into the wrong workshop. Even the instructor gently reminded everyone about his other workshop, “From Hard Time to Full Time.” I was intrigued by the euphemisms everyone used. No one was convicted, they “picked up” a felony. It sounded like a trip to the farmer’s market. I picked up some squash, a watermelon, a couple of felonies…

There was another stay-home mom in the workshop, about my age. Her hand went up. Finally, I thought, I might get some useful information out of this class.

“Um, yeah,” the woman said, “I picked up my felony when I was eighteen…”

Okay then. I may have some things going for me. I don’t have a criminal record, and my face won’t set off any metal detectors. It’s still a chilly climate for job seekers everywhere.

Fledglings and Painting Notes

2010-04-08T20:39:00.000-07:00

Spring is in the air, and so are the fledglings. They go whiffling around the neighborhood, practicing their frantic acrobatics. Occasionally they crash land in my garden. I want to pick them up and put them in my pocket. I want to pat their fuzzy heads and feed them tidbits. I wait anxiously and watch for passing cats, hoping they make it into the nearest tree.

Maybe I had the fledglings in mind when I painted this picture. Maybe I was thinking of the story I started writing months ago. I haven’t had time to work on it, but it flaps around in my head anyway. It’s about a bird (not the one in the picture). I know how I want the book to look. I see the shades of blue the sky ought to be and how scruffy the main character is. I painted the picture to remind me, when I find time to work on it.

Do the mama birds wonder where the time goes?

Brush With Nature

2010-04-01T11:00:00.000-07:00

If you’re the mother of a teenage girl, sometimes the closest you get to observing wildlife in its natural habitat is strolling around the mall. This week the weather is so inviting, my daughter suggests a hike.

We pick a trail in a canyon along the San Diego River. Rainy days and warm weather have urged wildflowers and critters out of hiding, too. I follow my daughter and dog Luna, stopping here and there to enjoy green mountains dotted with purple and orange. Next to us, water striders skim along the top of the water. Lizards spring out of nowhere, stop to flex their muscles with a push-up or two, and then wriggle up piles of rocks.

We pause at the top of a hill and enjoy the burble of the stream. “What’s that on Luna’s back?” my daughter asks. “Is that a tick?”

My daughter has seen one tick in her life, at my parents’ house in New York. I haven’t seen one here in twenty years. “I doubt it,” I say, not bothering to look. “It’s just a spider. Flick it off.”

She nudges it with the leash.

“Not like that,” I tell her. “Now it’s probably on the leash. Brush it off.”

She cracks the leash like a whip.

“Ouch!” I protest.

“Oh, sorry,” she says. “I wanted to be sure I got it off.”

I rub the sore spot on my thigh as we walk on. The trail narrows as we get further into the canyon; shrubs reach out across the dirt path. We pass through a long patch of shrubbery and stop to enjoy the view.

“There’s another one of those things,” my daughter says, pointing to a spot on Luna’s back.This time I bend down to get a look.

“Ew!” I hop back, suddenly remembering why I prefer hiking on wide open trails. “It is a tick!” I flick the offending creature into the grass. We both shudder and leap around, doing the I-feel-like -I’m-crawling-with-bugs dance. Luna tips up her nose and sniffs the air.

We glance around. We’re deep into the canyon now. Besides that, we’ve taken a trail that doesn’t loop around like some other trails in the park. To return, we have no choice but to reenter the tick-infested thicket. My daughter bites her lower lip. We stare at each other and read each other’s thoughts: how ‘bout we just stand here indefinitely? No chance we can get airlifted out of a canyon just because ticks freak us out.

Resigned, we pick our way gingerly back through the woods. With stomachs sucked we sidle through the brush, trying not to scrape against any leaves. At every clearing we pause to inspect ourselves.

“I’d rather get poison oak,” I say as we march on.

“Me too,” my daughter agrees, trailing behind me with Luna. “I’d rather scratch for a week than have a tick on me for one second.”

“I’d rather spot a mountain lion.”

“Yeah, me too. At least they’re not gross and they don’t stick in your hair.”

“Or a snake,” I say.

“Oh, a snake, sure. You see those in the pet store.”

“No kidding.” I pick a leaf from my shirt. “I’d much rather…whoa!” I dig in my heels. My daughter and Luna plow into my backside.

“What are you doing?” my daughter protests.

“Snake.” I say.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, really.”

“Where?”

“Right there! I almost stepped on it.” We watch the snake slip past us into the grass.

“Uh-oh.”

“No, it’s okay.” I say. “I think it’s a friendly snake.”

“No, never mind the snake.”

“What, then?”

“We better take back the part about the mountain lion.”

“Oh, right. Good point.” I say. And in case the spirits of the trails were still listening, I state firmly, “We were only KIDDING about the MOUNTAIN LION.”

I see a group of hikers approaching. An enthusiastic puppy scrambles beside them, a husky with big blue eyes and a coat like a feather duster.

“Watch out for ticks,” I offer as they pass by. “Don’t let her get into the tall grass.”

As soon as they pass, I start laughing.

“What’s so funny?” my daughter asks.

“I forgot to mention the snake.”

“Oh, great, Mom. They’ll yell, ‘Hey, why didn’t you warn us about that snake over here?’ and you’ll be like, ‘Yeah, yeah…snake, whatever. Didn’t you hear me? There are ticks out here. Ticks! TICKS, I say!’”

By the time we reach the car, another tick had already burrowed into Luna’s back leg. As I open the car door to let the dog and her nasty little hitchhiker into the back seat, I turn to meet my daughter’s disgusted look.

“Well then. Next time, the mall?”

Is it Spring?

2010-03-25T14:17:00.000-07:00

I know, it's been three months. Over and over again I tried to post something. I must've tried a dozen variations, and none of them were cheerful. I gave up.

I have to realize my limitations. When life's big challenges come along, sometimes the best you can do is try not to end up like the guys in the picture below, who apparently got tired of being described as "cute" and "sweet"...

Angry Peeps: Yellow. Fluffy. Irritable.

They're pecking butt and taking names.

Unexpected

2009-12-13T16:00:00.000-08:00

I miss my blog friends.

I won't be around blogland much for a while, because at least for now I need to focus on other things. Sometimes life throws you a curve.

It looks like some of my dreams will have to be put on hold for a while, too - but I'll find a way to get back to writing and illustrating.

Even though I won't be visiting much, I'll be thinking about you and wishing you all the best.

Hope to be back soon.

Post NaNo Help, Art Contests, and Proof that Life Really is Stranger than Fiction

2009-12-02T14:19:00.000-08:00

A few random finds I thought I’d pass along:

For writers - Here’s something you might be interested in, particularly if you're in the process of revising your manuscript. To celebrate the end of NaNoWriMo, author Roz Morris is offering a free PDF download of her book, Nail Your Novel. She describes it as “a writing buddy in a book. It holds the reader’s hand every step of the way, from the blank sheet of paper to the finished manuscript.” If you’ve been struggling with any part of the writing process, this book may provide the inspiration you need to assess your material and successfully continue your project. Click here to find out how to download a copy.

For artists - Art supplier Jerry’s Artarama is holding a series of art contests. There’s still time to enter several of them. I didn’t notice any entry fees, but specific products may need to be purchased to create your entry. If you’ve been looking for an excuse to try out some new materials anyway, check out the contest guidelines here.

And, for anyone who just needs a break (I’m guessing that’s everyone), have you visited My Life is Average? It’s my new favorite place to remember how funny and surprising normal life can be. Who knew celebrating mediocrity could be so much fun?

A Small, Small World

2009-11-29T19:38:00.000-08:00

My daughter's world history class was assigned to watch this video over the Thanksgiving break. I think it's a good way to keep things in perspective this season.

More information about the Miniature Earth project can be found on their website here.

P.S. The comments line might be pulling a disappearing act. If it's missing and you'd like to leave a comment, try clicking on the post title above. :)

Thanks

2009-11-25T07:19:00.000-08:00

Since Thanksgiving is tomorrow, I thought it would be a good time to say thanks. Thanks for visiting and commenting. Thanks for the inspiration and encouragement, and for making me laugh, even on the days I think I might be chasing unicorns.

I thought blogging would be a good way to force myself to write and paint at least a little bit every day. I jumped into it with no particular focus in mind. As it turns out, a lack of focus is my focus. It’s worked out pretty well, because I’ve been lucky enough to connect with moms and writers and artists and travelers - all kinds of creative people who share some of my passions and are kind enough to share their ideas. I’m delighted and surprised every time you come back. I know my blog is a mixed bag. In the words of Forrest Gump, you never know what yer gonna get.

I hope you’ll keep visiting, and I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

The Art of Reading Coincidences

2009-11-22T17:30:00.000-08:00

I pay attention to coincidences. I always think there could be a message there. The trouble is it isn’t always easy to interpret what the message might be.

I don’t know how many times I’ve sent manuscripts out only to receive rejections all at once, within a day of each other. It doesn’t matter if I sent several different pieces out, or if they were sent months apart. If they’re going to be rejected, the rejections always come at the same time.

Naturally, I find that discouraging. It’s pretty hard not to jump to conclusions about what the universe is trying to tell you. My husband, the unrelentingly optimistic one, thinks this is the universe’s way of letting me get bad news over with at once, sparing me multiple days of misery. This way I spend less time feeling sorry for myself and more time on the business of writing and trying to find the right place for my work. I like his theory, but either way, I require a good amount of chocolate.

I pondered the meaning of all this after my last clump of rejections arrived. My son and I were taking the dog for her nightly walk. I was absorbed in my own troubles when I noticed how clear the night sky looked, and how many stars were out. I suddenly thought to myself that it’d been an awfully long time since I’d seen a shooting star, and wouldn’t it be nice to see one right now?

Less than a minute later I saw it – a flick of white across the black sky, as brief as a blink. I gasped, and then caught myself. I didn’t want to say anything out loud, since I’d probably just imagined it. Then my son, who’d caught my surprised expression, said, “I saw it too!”

I don’t know what it meant. But it did make me feel better.

Pods and Berries

2009-11-18T20:30:00.000-08:00

No, the title of this post is not a reference to iPods and BlackBerries. Put those down, and go for a walk. Unless it's ridiculously cold where you are. Then make yourself some tea, and look at the pictures.

This looks like a good place to start. See, Mr. Duck thinks so. Okay, back to pods and berries. I noticed we have quite a variety in our neighborhood.

These Chinese golden rain trees line the streets where I live. In summer they provide showers of bright yellow flowers; in the fall, the papery seed cases resemble bougainvillas. The only downside is the seeds take root in my yard - they're tenacious little devils.

I wonder what ever happened to ball fringe. Didn't it hang from things like lamp shades and sombreros? I always think of it when I see these sycamore seed pods.

Here are crepe myrtle berries. The dried out cases (in the top left of the photo) are shaped like tiny sectioned oranges.

These butterfly iris seed pods are almost as delicate as the flowers. They look like they're ready to take flight.

Indian hawthorne berries.

Heavenly bamboo.

I have no idea what these are, but I think they're cool.

Not a pod or a berry. More like a nut.

Here's some desert broom - our version of snow. This kind can give you the sniffles, too.

A magnolia seed pod about to burst.

Jacaranda seed pods remind me of castanets.

Way up in the tree, some palm fruit. Those are awfully big berries...

...and last, some tiny birch cones, about the size of an almond. They look cute on small holiday ornaments.

I hope you have the chance to get out and explore - maybe somewhere other than the mall.

Another Little Poem...

2009-11-15T18:29:00.000-08:00

...made up entirely of picture book titles (the last one can be found here).

This is what happens when I spend too long in the picture book section of the library. It inspired a new illustration, too.

Rainstorm

Raindrop, Plop!
This is the Rain
Rain
Love, Splat
Tick-Tock, Drip Drop
The Rain Came Down
Rainstorm
Up
High in the Clouds
Shadows and Reflections
Terrible, Terrible!
Clang Boom Bang!
What’s Up, What’s Down?
Achoo! Bang! Crash!
Ker-Splash!
Monsoon
Roar!
Now What Can I Do?
In My Heart
A Blue So Blue
Close Your Eyes
Make a Wish
Just a Minute
I Can Hear the Sun
Peace at Last
The Gift of Nothing
A Rainbow All Around
Rise and Shine
Let’s Go Home

Organizing is Just Another Chore

2009-11-11T18:31:00.000-08:00

A trip to the store with the upscale cardboard boxes and frilly coat hangers was supposed to inspire me to get organized. It didn’t work. Not even the expandable spice rack tempted me.

We do at least have a way of dealing with dreaded household chores. Eight of the chores that ought to be done weekly in a civilized household get divvied up. Two chores per week shouldn’t be too much to gripe about. We rotate, so no one gets stuck scrubbing toilets more than once a month.

To help keep track of whose turn it is to do what, we write the tasks on a dry erase board. Sure, it sounds a little stringent, but it helps keep peace. Under each of our names is plenty of leftover space to indicate whether we’ve done our chores for the week.

There’s been some evolution in how we mark off our completed chores. In the beginning, a checkmark or a simple ‘x’ sufficed. Things have changed. Let’s take a look at this week’s chart.

Here’s how my husband filled in his space:

Two little piggies…one for each chore! Don’t they look jaunty? I’ll bet that’s because they don’t have to live in a pig sty.

Now here’s my entry:

Oh, yes, you can tell who the artist is in this house. Those are supposed to be mice. I think the cleaning fumes got to me.

Moving on to my daughter’s space:

Wait a minute. I know she did her chores – I saw her sashaying about with a bottle of window cleaner. I hope she put more effort into the chores then she did in checking them off.

And finally, my son’s input:

I think he has some issues he’d like to take up with the management.

One Holiday at a Time

2009-11-08T19:54:00.000-08:00

You might remember me mentioning the neighbors who had Halloween decorations up in early September. As I passed their house yesterday morning, I was greeted with a four foot pine wreath and Christmas lights. On November seventh. The best part is - they still have a big hanging skeleton and a witch decoration up on their front porch.

These people don’t just rush the seasons, they clump them all together. Happy Hallo-giving-mas. Or maybe Merry Hallowistmas. They could be taking the retailers’ approach and skipping over poor Thanksgiving altogether. I’m starting to see why some communities have rules about decorating.

I wonder if these neighbors take the same approach to everything. Do they skip ahead to read the last chapter of a book, but reread the same Family Circle every month? Did they potty train their kids at six months but bottle feed them ‘til first grade? Do they eat breakfast before going to bed, but stay in pajamas ‘til 3 pm?

Is this a sign of how overstretched are we – racing through special times and letting other things slide? I’m always curious to hear how people manage the stress of the holidays. Most people I talk to don’t really seem to enjoy the pressure of all that’s expected of them. I’ve learned that even if it comes with a twinge of guilt, I enjoy things more when I scale them down.

I’ll be pondering this, while fully expecting to see jingle bells AND Easter bunnies sometime in January.

Best Movie Line Ever

2009-11-04T19:01:00.000-08:00

I’ve seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show a few times over the years, but a couple of weeks ago we watched it again with the kids.

Some of their friends had already seen it in elementary school – I thought that was pushing it. When the kids were little about the only things they were allowed to watch were PBS and the Food Network. But by the time they reached middle school, they’d come across more objectionable things on prime time TV. I don’t even want to know what they’ve Googled at friends’ houses.

Anyway, I was glad we decided to watch it, because it contains my new favorite movie line. Besides being hilarious as always, it’s proved to be useful, too.

About three quarters of the way through the movie, after committing murder and mayhem and turning a good portion of the remaining cast into stone, the deviant Dr. Frank N. Furter pauses, mugs for the camera, and pouts, “It’s not easy having a good time.”

It’s impossible for us to picture Tim Curry sporting lipstick and uttering that line, and not laugh. That quote has dispelled family arguments. It’s averted a few adolescent meltdowns. It’s become my silent mantra. I think of it while fighting my way past the herd around the buffalo wing samples at Costco. I mutter it when being forced to pick dog hair out of the clogged vacuum cleaner hose because company is coming. With the holiday season coming up, I just know it’s going to come in handy.

I’m sure the magic will eventually wear off, but until then I plan to get all the mileage I can out of that line. Because, you know, it’s not easy having a good time.

Is there a famous movie line that’s worked for you?

Pickled Eyeballs and Other Delights

2009-11-01T12:15:00.000-08:00

It's November! I hope everyone had a fun Halloween. I've been too busy to think up a new blog post, so I figured I'd put up some pictures of the festivities.

We gathered a large group of trick-or-treaters together, including my brother-in-law from Mexico and his girlfriend, who'd never experienced this ritual. They arrived all decked out and ready to go, and only got a little discouraged when one Halloween Scrooge told them the candy was "just for the kids." We conviced them to jump right back in.

As for my kids' costumes, I noticed a couple of repeat themes this year. Here's a picture of them from last year, as The Joker and Amy Winehouse:

My son decided to stick to the Batman villain thing. This year he was Two-Face. We went with more of a Tommy Lee Jones inspired look, rather than the more recent burn victim Harvey Dent:

The boy has a wild side. I could've gone crazy with the make-up, but do you know how hard it is to get a 12 year old boy to sit still for hair and make-up? Overall when there's a neighborhood overflowing with candy just waiting for him?

For my daughter, however, it's all about the hair and make-up. I think she settled on Cleopatra because it's the only costume that requires EVEN MORE eye make-up than Amy Winehouse.

Here she is, the Queen of the Nile. Or in this case, the queen of the eyeliner.

While I was searching through the craft box for something for Cleopatra's necklace, I found a pack of undecorated plastic masks. They saved my husband and I from being totally costumeless:

What's black and white and ready to be dragged all over?

Here's a picture of the happy trick-or-treating couple from Mexico:

Under that archway, this looks like some bizarre alternative wedding.

We're now the proud owners of that giant double axe prop. For some reason my brother-in-law thinks it wouldn't go over well with airport security. And speaking of props, I have to give my son credit with coming up with this lovely decoration:

Pickled eyeballs.

That's it. On with November. And for those of you participating in NaNoWriMo this month, good luck!

Trick or Treat

2009-10-28T21:20:00.000-07:00

Yeah, they work hard for the candy.

Of course, if mine bring home any dark chocolate Reese's, they'd better hide 'em.

Which treat do you love the best?

Trees

2009-10-25T21:45:00.000-07:00

It looks like the perfect day for a walk in the woods.

Try not to wander too far. How easy it is to get confused.

Wasn’t this the path you took before?
The colors don't seem quite right.

Limbs point in all directions – no help here.

Chalky fingers wave you on – Come along, this way.
Something rustles behind you. You turn around but nothing’s there.

You feel something tickle behind your ear – a stray strand of hair?

Close to your foot a spider darts out from under a leaf, reconsiders, and slips back into hiding.

The air smells of ashes and clay.

Try to remember. Were you heading east or west?

Overhead a woodpecker tests the bark of the tree– tap, tap, tap - and then hurries off. Maybe he knows the way?

At last, a tiny window.

You know this place!

The Other Kind of Cell Project

2009-10-21T18:16:00.000-07:00

Yes, we’re still working on the school projects. Last week it was the prison cell diorama; this week we’ve moved on to my son’s animal cell model. This post must have at least some useful information for creative types, moms, and even writers about children with dreaded school projects. In case you’re rushed for time, I’ll get right to a couple of points:

1. You can not glue two pieces of plastic together and expect them to be watertight.

2. Hand sanitizer is flammable.

The above mentioned model could be made of any material. That kind of artistic license can be trouble.

My son thought it would be cool if the model were squishy and lifelike. Our first thought was to glue two circles of plastic together and fill it with gel. I bought a giant bottle of hand sanitizer, and my son gathered up household items like marbles and crayons to make the parts of the cell (try to remember studying things like vacuoles and mitochondria).

He wanted to use modeling clay or silly putty for one part, so we tested how these would hold up in the gel. It turns out hand sanitizer turns both modeling clay and silly putty into a terrific representation of vomit.

Next we discovered we couldn’t glue the pieces of plastic together. I should know this already. I should. BUT (and here’s where it gets fun) you can melt them together with a hot iron.

One sticky detail - we realized we'd have to melt the last part of the circle after the cell was already filled with the hand sanitizer.

Alcohol based hand sanitizer + very hot iron = ?????????

Did you know hand sanitizer has a flash point of 69 degrees Fahrenheit? Don’t worry, we decided not to find out the hard way what would happen if we ran a 140 degree iron over an alcohol based squishy cell. After only a few minor mishaps that required scraping plastic goo off the iron, here’s the water-filled finished product:

Do you think he’ll get extra credit if we donate one giant bottle of unused hand sanitizer to the classroom?

Good Advice

2009-10-18T20:09:00.000-07:00

At my last illustrator’s critique group meeting I had the pleasure of meeting comics artist and graphic novelist Eric Shanower. Eric’s work includes a number of books based on the Oz tales by L. Frank Baum. He wrote and illustrated Adventures in Oz, a collection of stories that take place after Dorothy’s first adventure in Oz. Last week the hardcover collection of Marvel Comics’ series The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, written by Eric and illustrated by Skottie Young, was #2 on The New York Times Bestseller list for Graphic Books.

Eric brought an impressive selection of intricate ink drawings for us to view (my hand cramps up a little just thinking about all that tight rendering). Just one issue of his latest project Age of Bronze, a retelling of the Trojan War in comic book format, has over 140 drawings (I know this because he gave us a copy and I counted them).

He knew from an early age he wanted to write and illustrate comic books, and his foot-in-the-door job after finishing school was doing the lettering for comics. He stressed that making contact with the right people can be the key to finding success, so his advice is to put yourself in a position to meet those people as much as you can.

After telling us a little about his career, Eric was nice enough to take a look at our current projects and offer some critique. Good thing I had my newly revised picture book dummy with me. He gave me some helpful tips to strengthen the composition in a few of the drawings, then gave me my favorite bit of advice so far – “Go sell it!”

No problem. When I go to Staples to get copies made, maybe I’ll pick up one of those ‘Easy’ buttons, too.

The Pit, the Pendulum, and the Folding Chair

2009-10-14T17:55:00.000-07:00

So.

My daughter’s hard at work on her diorama of Poe’s The Pit and the Pendulum. All the creepy elements are coming together nicely, with a decidedly high schoolish irreverence to the classics.

At the dollar store we found cheapo plastic wrestling action figures. After a bit of convincing she conceded they were at least the right size. We managed to find one without a mask; she could fashion a robe for it to play the part of the unfortunate narrator. Mr. Wrestler even came with his own little plastic folding chair to throw at people. But more on that later.

Doesn't he look like he could take on a pit full of fuzzy pom pom rats?

The jewelry section of the craft store supplied the perfect pendulum. That part was too easy.

She thought there ought to be some bones strewn about for drama. How lucky were we that this assignment was given just before Halloween? The craft store did have the perfect package of realistic tiny skeletons - unfortunately, perfect tiny realistic skeletons cost a little more than I was willing to spend for something destined to gather dust in the garage. Instead we found a slightly less dramatic version...

We think he needs to lose the sign.

We found most of these skeletons already broken. You should have seen the suspicious look I got from the cashier when I asked if we could take home the already broken heads. Like I’d actually destroy the merchandise and then ask permission to take them home. Yes, that makes sense. Anyhoo.

With all the pieces falling into place, my daughter’s only remaining challenge was to figure out how to utilize that little plastic folding chair that came with Mr. Wrestler. She couldn’t bear to let it go to waste. Here, on top of the diorama, is her interpretation of what one of the evil guards outside the chamber was up to:

Everyone’s got to have a hobby, right? Is that one of the Dummies books I see off to the side? Could it be Knitting for Dummies? Poe for Dummies? Hmm…I’ll let you use your imagination. Try to think like a high schooler.

A Little Faith

2009-10-11T20:42:00.000-07:00

Maybe you’ve seen the TV show Medium. A psychic solves murder cases by having dreams in which she sees the crimes being committed. The most implausible thing about this show is that no matter how many cases she miraculously solves this way, her boss and family are still skeptical EACH and EVERY time she dreams up a psychic vision.

I feel her frustration. No matter how many challenging craft projects I triumph over, my kids still don’t believe I can pull it off. How easily they forget the amazing jellyfish costumes I whipped up out of hula hoops and shower curtains. And what about the dazzling dress I fashioned from a fake pumpkin and a Wheat Thins box? Or the giant flower vase constructed out of a traffic cone and an umbrella base? The Christmas trees made of inverted tomato cages? How ‘bout the thatched hut made out of a cocoa tin, or the teeny weeny charcoal barbeque grill we made out of a shaving cream cap, black aquarium gravel, and some red foil?

So with two Halloween costumes and two school projects (a model of an animal cell and a diorama inspired by Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Pit and the Pendulum”) to conquer, they still have no faith in my ability to ferret out the perfect materials for them to carry out their visions.

We started at my favorite store for inspiration…The Dollar Tree. A store full of curious and quirky finds - all for a buck. I met resistance:

“Mom, what are we doing here?” I endured eye rolling each time I paused at displays of things like blue metallic scouring pads and toxic looking action figures. Don’t they understand how it works? You have to sense these things.

“So, can we go now, Mom?”

Sigh.

We hit the big craft store next. I did redeem myself a little when I convinced the cashier to let us take some skulls that had snapped off their kitschy resin skeleton figurines – for free. Wouldn’t those little skeleton heads dress up the pit diorama nicely? Maybe Poe would be impressed, anyway.

Southwest Fall Color

2009-10-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

Since I grew up on the east coast, I get all moony for fall foliage around this time of year. Once again I’ll settle for watching the autumnal spectacle unfold on the internet.

While driving around the other day, I noticed our own autumn palette really isn’t too shabby. There’s soft sage and rust, terracotta and steely blues. If the northeast corner is the big brass band of pigment performance, the southwest is a nice wind ensemble. We’ve got deciduous trees. Sure, the sycamores go right to an unremarkable brown, but the cottonwoods will at least have the decency to turn bright yellow.

These are some pictures I took around Old Mission Dam in Mission Trails Regional Park. It's still early. Stay tuned for more yellow:

What color is your world?

A Little Poem...

2009-10-04T18:34:00.000-07:00

...made up entirely of picture book titles I noticed while browsing at the library:

ALLEY CATS

Picture This…
Suddenly!
Tuesday
One Fine Day
Something from Nothing
The Most Precious Thing
One Potato
Skin Again
Landed
Hiding
In the Leaves
Across the Alley
For Me?
How Kind!
Crunch, Munch
Mine!
No Biting, Louise
Bad Cat
I’m Sorry
I Stink
Do You Still Love Me?
You?
Are You For Real?
It’s Simple, Said Simon
Where’s My Hug?
Kiss! Kiss! Yuck! Yuck!
You and Me Together
The Most Precious Thing

Lions and Tigers and Bears

2009-09-30T08:52:00.000-07:00

Last week we went to the zoo. Thanks to very thick slabs of glass, you can get nose-to-nose with some pretty imposing creatures at the San Diego Zoo.

No sneeze guards provided when you stand beneath this one:

Luckily she wasn’t a hay fever sufferer. I love it when the animals wander over to survey the crowd. Here are a few more that looked as curious about us as we were of them:

I don’t know why, but looking at that last picture makes me imagine the voice of Stewie from Family Guy…What’s that you say? I look like Timon from The Lion King? Oh, ha ha ha. That is so funny! I’ve never heard THAT one before. Do you write your own material? Because that is really fresh.

As always, we saw plenty of animals snoozing. This inspired the kids to start singing impromptu lullabies like, “sleepy tapirs, sleepy tapirs…they’re ve-r-r-r-r-y tired. Sleepy tapirs, sleepy tapirs…they’re ve-r-r-r-r-y tired!”

The only slight disappointment of the day was not getting to see the elephants up close. The zoo just opened Elephant Odyssey, an enormous enclosure with two and a half hilly acres and a 120,000 gallon pool. Both the hilly acres and the giant pool were empty. It turned out the elephants were more interested in hanging out at the very back of the exhibit, where zookeepers tempted them with treats. Good thing I have a picture book idea that takes place at the zoo, so another trip there can count as research.

The First Line

2009-09-27T21:19:00.000-07:00

I’ve been revising a picture book manuscript. I got to the point where I was pretty happy with it, except for the very beginning.

At the library I pulled some picture books from the shelves and studied the first lines. I expected the stories to move right along within the first few sentences, but I wondered which ones grabbed you with the very first line.

From my random selection, here are a few I liked best:

Once there was a boy who found a penguin at his door. (Lost and Found, by Oliver Jetters)

Read it, don’t eat it. (Read It, Don’t Eat It, by Ian Schoenherr)

I have dreams about those shoes. (Those Shoes, by Maribeth Boelts)

It was all the mayor’s fault. (The Great Cake Bake, by Helen Kettleman)

One morning Hedgehog found Mouse covering himself with leaves. (Help! A Story of Friendship, by Holly Keller)

He was so lost, and had been so lost for so long, that when the early April thunderstorm blew in like a freight train, the dog lay down in the culvert, covered his eyes with his paws, and decided to never get up again. (Orville, A dog Story, by Haven Kimmel)

Although it seemed unusual for a picture book, it was the last example that made me sit down and immediately read the story. I just had to know why that poor dog was so darn tired and sad. All of the above examples raised questions and hinted that something interesting was to follow. After all, it’s not every day a penguin shows up at the door. And just what kind of trouble did the mayor stir up?

What do you think…what’s important in a first sentence? Are there any first lines from books you’ve read that stand out in your mind?

Just for fun – here’s a little quiz I found on some famous first lines from classic picture books. See if you can guess them all. Click here for first line quiz.

Wishing and Wondering

2009-09-23T13:13:00.000-07:00

We're just a couple of weeks into the new school year, and we're already sharing our first case of the sniffles. Rather than try to think of something to write, I decided I'd post an illustration.

Looking at this painting again made me think that I wish my head didn't feel as though it were full of sawdust, and I wonder if fudgesicles would really be such a bad idea for dinner.

I wish the new season of LOST were starting sooner, and I wonder if we'll be seeing more of Desmond this year...

I wish I could get to the hair salon more often, and I wonder if the trim I gave myself is really as crooked as I think it is. Maybe if I tilt my head, no one will notice.

What do you wish? What do you wonder?

Delayed Reaction

2009-09-20T21:33:00.000-07:00

While in Palm Springs last April on a spur of the moment trip, we took part of an afternoon to stroll around the small downtown area and window shop. As we paused to consider entering one trendy little shop, a well-dressed blonde woman stepped out. She was smiling and chatting with several other people as she brushed by us and headed down the sidewalk.

When she was out of earshot, I turned to my daughter. “Gee, that woman looked a lot like Martha Stewart.”

Her face lit up in agreement. “I saw that, too!” We made some remarks about how funny it would be if it really was Martha Stewart, and why don’t we go and ask her – she probably hears that ALL the time. Then we turned our attention back to searching for the perfect refrigerator magnet with palm trees on it, or something like that. As moments go, it was a passing breeze.

Yesterday in the library, while waiting for my kids to make their book selections, I wandered over to the magazine rack to kill time. I spotted the colorful pumpkins on the latest copy of Martha Stewart Living, picked it up and started flipping through it absentmindedly. A headline caught my attention – did it say Palm Springs? I backed up to the beginning of the article. There was Martha pictured alongside an article about her whirlwind visit to Palm Springs…last April.

That sounds like me. Practically bump right into a celebrity (we exchanged a look, even) and just find out five months later.

I can probably cross paparazza off my list of career possibilities.

What Day Is It Again?

2009-09-16T08:40:00.000-07:00

This morning I saw Halloween decorations. Not at the store. On somebody’s house. And not just a little fall pumpkin on one of those banners everyone around here displays.

As I was walking the dog, I rounded a corner and spotted a five-foot tall ghouly thing with rotting flesh and bad hair, hanging from an upstairs window. I thought it couldn’t be for Halloween…maybe they had a themed party coming up, or it’s their idea of home décor. I thought, wow – I bet their homeowner’s association is going to be all over them for that one. But no, a gigantic plastic jack-o-lantern on the porch confirmed that they were just rushing the season.

When I was little, we’d carve a pumpkin after school on the day of Halloween. If my mom had time to hunt for it, she’d drag a cardboard cutout of a cat out of a drawer somewhere and we’d tape it to the front door.

We’ve got a month and a half until Halloween gets here. I can’t imagine putting a Christmas tree up on November 10th…yet every year the lights and lawn decorations start showing up earlier and earlier.

But what do I know? I think it’s still summer. Oh wait…it IS still summer.

What I Learned This Summer

2009-09-13T06:52:00.000-07:00

The kids spent their first week back in school, but it’s still hot outside. I hope we remember that the beach is still there. It would be nice to enjoy it a couple of more times, especially now that the crowds are gone.

This summer I learned that the first thing you need to do upon arrival at the beach is: (1) use a shovel to draw a giant rectangle in front of your space and (2) throw some sand in it. This is your sandcastle plot. More importantly, it’s what prevents a family of eleven from erecting seven camping chairs (with double cup holders), a playpen and a pup tent right smack in front of you. You don’t even have to finish the sandcastle, but it’s aesthetically more pleasing if you do.

I learned that the more time you spend working on your sandcastle, the more likely it is that a kid will drag a boogie board right through it.

I learned that the arrival of seagulls means it’s twelve o’clock on the dot.

I also learned that you can’t leave a bagel with ham and cheese sandwich unattended on a towel, not even while your son just quickly runs down to the water to rinse the sand off his hands. Not even if it’s still in the plastic bag, and you are sitting right next to it.

I learned that watching a hundred gulls fight for one bite of a ham and cheese bagel is so entertaining, you might be tempted to pack an extra one next time.

I learned a new game. Actually, my daughter and I invented it. We call it Try to Guess Why of ALL the Possibilities, That Person Chose THAT Swimsuit. The name is self-explanatory. I can’t help trying to imagine a person standing in front of that three-way mirror in the dressing room and thinking, yes…THIS is the one! Especially if ‘the one’ is solid orange, and the person is shaped more like a pumpkin than a carrot. I’m no supermodel, but I do know when a little strategic detailing might come in handy.

I learned the same thing happens every summer: no matter how well I try to plan, we never squeeze in enough beach trips before school starts, and everyone gets so busy we almost forget it’s still there.

What's New?

2009-09-06T17:13:00.000-07:00

New thing #1: I FINALLY bought a new camera. No more blurry photos (I hope)!

For years I’ve wanted to get a good one, but couldn’t justify the luxury purchase. Every time I entertained the idea of going for it, some unexpected expense would pop up. After going back and forth about it and whining all summer about not having any decent family photos, I decided to follow the kids’ advice:

“Mom, just buy it before the car breaks down again.”

Sometimes they are so smart.

Even though it was scorching hot out (and blinding midday sun) when I brought it home, I had to test it out by the river:

New thing #2: I redesigned my Painting the Gown website. I have to say I’m pretty proud of myself for figuring this out. Computer skills come about as naturally to me as knitting does to a snake. Sure, I used a template, but I tried to disguise the fact at least a little. I haven’t seen the result on any computer but mine; I’m hoping there’s nothing funny going on with the fonts or anything. So if you check it out and something looks like gobbledy-gook to you, let me know.

New thing #3: A story I submitted recently to Stories for Children Magazine was accepted for their December 2009 issue. Hooray, an acceptance!

What’s new with you?

The Things I Never Knew I Never Knew

2009-08-30T18:01:00.000-07:00

I had an inquiry about my dress paintings that sent me searching for information on international shipping. I went UPS and FedEx to ask about rates, and decided I may as well fly the paintings there myself for the amount it would cost to ship them.

Then I did what I should’ve done in the first place – I got online to check the rates at USPS. The only problem was, it would have been quicker to drive to the Post Office and ask the question.

I got completely absorbed in the lists of things that are prohibited to send to other countries. For instance, did you know you can’t send salt to South Korea, or imitation pearls to Abu Dhabi?

I guessed there were economic or environmental reasons for the items listed, but some just made me curious. In case you’re wondering (and even if you’re not) here are a few things you can’t send by U.S mail:

Used bedding to Australia.
Honey or wax to Russia.
Pink colored quinine to Bangladesh. Only pink? See, I didn’t even know quinine came in different colors.
Japanese shaving brushes to Tanzania.
Saccharine to France. I know it’s not the reason, but I want to think it’s because they’d never ever use a sugar substitute.
Seal skins to Great Britain, except from an accepted source. What? There’s an accepted source for seal skins?
Playing cards to Greece.
Butter substitutes to Canada. Not even if you can’t believe it’s not butter.
Musical cards to Bulgaria. I’m with them on that one. Those things can be so annoying.
Human remains to Belgium. Actually, plenty of countries listed human remains. Does that mean the other countries are okay with them? The same goes for perishable infectious biological substances, which is good to know in case you have a jar of fungi you want to pop into the mail.

The good news is, dress paintings didn’t come up on any of the lists of prohibitions. The bad news is, I spent the better part of an afternoon reading through them.

Tradition

2009-08-23T23:46:00.000-07:00

My daughter celebrated her fifteenth birthday last week. After finishing our standard birthday dinner of pepperoni pizza, my husband and I started clearing dishes to make room for cake.

“Oh boy,” my son started, “here’s where Mom and Dad disappear into the kitchen, and we sit here and pretend we have no idea what’s happening.”

It’s possible there is a fine line between a tradition and a rut.

Before her birthday, my daughter told me she wanted to have her friends over to celebrate.

“But I don’t want to do the cake and presents thing with them,” she clarified. “That part should be just family, right?”

I’m not sure which part makes her squirm: all the attention, or allowing her friends to witness her immediate family that up-close-and-personal. Either way, we decided she could invite her friends over for lunch and swimming.

All we needed was a lunch plan. Pizza was out, since we were having that for dinner. I might have been a little distracted when I made the following enthusiastic (and very well received) offer:

“Why don't we make enchiladas?”

What exactly was I thinking? I’ve never made enchiladas in my life. Any recipe that involves shredding a large amount of chicken, followed by all sorts of fussing and assembling, sounds…you know…tedious.

Maybe the idea came to me because several people asked us about a week before her birthday if she planned to have a quinceañera celebration. The truth is, we hadn’t even thought about it. When it was their turn, both my husband’s sisters in Mexico traded the tradition and poofy dress for a trip to Southern California. One of my daughter’s friends just cancelled her plans for the shindig in favor of a shopping spree.

Fifteenth birthday. Formal parties and vacations and shopping sprees. So what did my daughter get?

She got to sit with me at the breakfast nook, and shred a big ol’ bowl of chicken. Think of it as quality mother and daughter bonding time.

I enjoyed it, anyway.

The enchiladas were so good, who knows? Maybe we’ll make it a tradition.

Home Sweet Home

2009-08-16T15:44:00.000-07:00

One thing we did while back east was to take a drive around Long Island, NY. We saw a couple of places my mom lived when she was little, and the house my parents lived in when I was born. I didn’t live in Long Island very long – shortly after I was born my parents moved to New Jersey and then Virginia.

The picture, taken by my grandparents in 1952, is of the house my mom lived in from the time she was twelve until she got married. It was easy to find – the exterior of the house has hardly changed.

Luckily when the current owners of the house caught us snooping around outside, they invited us in. We explained what we were doing there, of course. They were just as curious to know what the house used to look like as we were to see what it looked like now. It was built in the 1920’s. It had a fabulous spiral staircase and a big sunken tub in the upstairs bath. The stairs are intact, but the tub had been replaced. With help from termites, it was probably in danger of sinking all the way to the first floor.

I enjoyed seeing the old places, but by the time we’d driven by the third house on my itinerary, the kids’ interest started to wane. While they argued in the back seat over some detail about Indiana Jones, I completely forgot to drive by the church where my parents got married. I’ll have to save that snapshot for another time.

One of these days I’d love to show the kids where I grew up in Virginia, even though my childhood home isn’t there anymore. My parents learned at a Department of Transportation meeting that plans to widen the main road included the demolition of their house. That little surprise hastened their plans to move back to Long Island.

In New York I have a house to go to, but few childhood memories. In Virginia I have plenty of memories but no house upon which to look back. Neither place really feels like home.

What’s your definition of home? Is it the place where you grew up? The place you live now? To me, it’s the place you can’t wait to return to when you are away from it.

It’s good to be home.

Wedding Gown Painting

2009-08-09T07:30:00.000-07:00

I'm out of town (with very limited internet access), visiting the east coast for most of the week.

I thought I'd post a picture of a painting I just finished. The bride wanted a second painting of her dress for another family member, with a different color scheme. It was fun sketching a second pose of the same dress. The first pose is the one pictured in my sidebar.

Looking forward to catching up with my favorite blogs soon!

Zombie Mob Scene

2009-08-02T19:11:00.000-07:00

Warning: A little fake blood and gore ahead...

A couple of independent filmmakers in our area are making a low budget zombie movie called Tales of a Fifth Grade Zombie Slayer. They plan to submit the short film to film festivals, and hope to develop it into a feature length film. For one scene they needed as many kid zombie extras as they could round up. My two kids and a couple of their friends joined in the fun.

The line to be zombified began forming at 7:00am. The director set up canopies in the back yard, and about half a dozen makeup artists got to work transforming neighborhood children into the pintsized undead. First kids got an airbrushing of a nice ghoulish grey, and from there they progressed to further stages of decomposition.

All this took place on what may have been the hottest day of the summer so far. More than 50 kids turned out for the scene. While they waited, they crowded together in the shade to keep their syrup-based flesh wounds from sliding off in the sun. When filming began six hours later, they were all looking pretty wilted…and probably felt perfectly in character. Fortunately the crew provided snacks and soft drinks to keep the zombies’ spirits up.

Zombie cheers!

Zombie stares...

Zombie knuckle bump.

And watching all those kids waiting around for the big scene brought my favorite image of the day...

Zombie satire: a whole line of zombie children slumped over their video games.

Some Things Old, Some Things New

2009-07-26T19:00:00.000-07:00

This summer has been the season of broken things. We’ve replaced a car, a vacuum cleaner, and a washer and dryer. The dishwasher is giving me attitude. Apparently washing dishes halfway and not drying them at all is enough. I don’t want to know what the puddle at the bottom is all about. What bugs me is replacing items I’ve had for fifteen years with things that break down within a year or two.

It’d be nice to purchase something new because I want it and can afford it, rather than being forced to even if we can’t afford it.

My husband, the eternally optimistic one, thinks either way is just fine…because either way you get new stuff.

I like new stuff. I can imagine I’d like financial security, too.

What I don’t like is car shopping. We tried a couple of car dealerships and found some used cars that were practical, boring and a couple of light years out of our price range. And the salesmen refused to haggle. You can’t buy a car without haggling.

Next we tried one of those funky used car places where the office is in a sagging trailer – the kind that makes me wish I always carried hand sanitizer around in my purse. Almost everything on the lot had more than 90,000 miles on it and looked like it had been put out to the concrete pasture.

Then we spotted a ’92 Buick with only 42,000 miles on it. There wasn’t a scratch on it. We took it for a drive. The kids made it clear they’d sulk if we looked at anything else.

They were crazy about the retro look. Who knew the ‘90’s were retro?

Besides, the car was so cheap I could’ve written a check (if I’d thought to actually bring a checkbook). That was after haggling, of course. So we did the whimsical and impractical thing: we bought the seventeen year old car that made us smile.

If only I could get used to the idea that something made in the same year I got married looks sooooo old-fashioned.

Puttin' On My Top Hat...

2009-07-19T16:24:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don’t know it yet, this is Corfu. He’s a pretty entertaining bird, but his best tricks are imitating sounds of cutlery and swinging upside down from his toys. He’s not known for being eager to please.

Don’t worry, though - this post is not about him. This post is about the teenage sense of humor, and the sublime randomness of some of the comments they can come up with. I only posted Corfu’s picture because in order to appreciate the following example of this, you need to know who Corfu is.

I had just dumped a huge load of laundry out onto the daybed in the living room, since this is the designated laundry folding spot. My daughter, who is prone to random bursts of helpfulness, sauntered over and started helping me sort socks.

For a couple of minutes we sorted in silence. Then my daughter made this very important announcement:

“We need to go see Corfu’s tap recital tonight.”

Now that’s something I'd like to see. Good thing the laundry is done. I’m wondering what could be the appropriate attire for such an occasion.

I Worry Too Much

2009-07-12T19:56:00.000-07:00

This is just the kind of detail I always agonize about.

Our local SCBWI chapter asked our illustrator group to create cards to send a message of hope and recovery following recent bushfire disasters in Victoria, Australia. SCBWI Australia and New Zealand organized the Hope Card for Australia project, for children’s authors and illustrators to show support for the children and schools of Australia.

To brainstorm an idea, I looked for images that to me conveyed a feeling of hope. I liked an image I found of grass growing against a blue sky.

A nice enough start. I thought I’d go with a universal children’s book character, and added a mouse.

I wanted to include something specific to the area, so I researched native wildflowers and added the cut leaf daisy.

Something about the picture didn’t seem right. As I added finishing touches to my painting, it dawned on me – I’ve seen a documentary showing an overpopulation of mice plaguing Australian farm life. Oops. A message of hope for wildfire recovery probably shouldn’t include an animal whose wildly fluctuating populations occasionally wreak havoc on crops.

I searched images of Australian wildlife, found adorable pictures of Australian Wood Duck ducklings, and quickly redid the illustration:

And just after I turned it in, I learned that these little darlings have ALSO been known to be pests, although hopefully to a lesser degree.

If you think about it, plenty of lovable characters could be nuisances in real life, starting with the sweet little bunny. I’ll bet there was a darn good reason Peter Rabbit’s father was baked in a pie.

In Australia, even the beloved kangaroo has given headaches to farm communities. I’ll have to console myself with believing my little duckling wouldn’t dare cause any trouble.

Maybe I should’ve gone with a koala. Anyway, with all the best intentions, I'm sending good thoughts (along with a sometimes misbehaving duck) to Australia.

Doggie-versary

2009-07-05T19:32:00.000-07:00

I know I should post something other than pictures of my dog. It just happens that today is the one year anniversary of the day we brought Luna home from the Baja Animal Sanctuary. She was four months old. How could I resist a face like that?

This anniversary arrived just when I learned I have another piece of flash fiction posted over at Children Come First. It might be obvious that Luna's antics partly inspired this story. Click on the story title to read The Missing Cookies.

Summer

2009-06-28T19:24:00.000-07:00

Things to do:

Spend time with kids
Swim
Bake fruity things
Try to eat enough artichokes to be perfectly sick of them
Go to the beach
Try to leave some sand at the beach
Vacuum sand out of the carpet
And the car
And the closet
And the couch
And the refrigerator
Paint the kids’ rooms
Watch embarrassing reality TV but try to pretend I don't
Grill stuff
Read War and Peace
Or not
Keep plugging away at picture books
Keep trying to habilitate this one:

What’s not high up on my summer to do list? Blogging. I notice things have slowed down in Blogtown, so I’m probably not the only one finding reasons to step away from the computer. I’m going to try to post something once a week or so ‘til September (I can’t stay away from it altogether). I'm sure I'll keep popping in on everyone, too, because...you can only watch so much reality TV. And I'd miss corresponding with everyone.

So, what’s on your to do list for the summer?

A New Book by Rena Jones, and Some Fun Rat Facts, Too

2009-06-25T00:05:00.000-07:00

What is the perfect occupation for a rat? You can explore the possibilities from A to Z in Rena Jones’ new picture book, A New Job for Dilly.

In this story, a rat named Dilly seeks a job to support his passion for sour pickles. This clever alphabet book is illustrated by Lisa Oakman.

I thought it was interesting that Rena chose the misunderstood rat as the main character for her picture book, so I decided to look for some fun facts about rats. While researching, I formed a few opinions of my own as to what might be suitable employment for these talented critters…

- Rats can squeeze through a hole the size of a quarter! They’d be perfect for getting to those hard to reach places – I’d hire one to search for that spare change hiding under the car seats.

- Rats are very social creatures, and excellent taste-testers. I think party planning would be a good career for a fun-loving rat.

- Studies have shown that rats are ticklish, and even emit “laughing” sounds when tickled. Hmm…if rats have a funny bone, maybe they’d be good at reviewing TV sitcoms or writing riddles.

- Rats are good swimmers, and can be taught to reel in objects attached to the end of a rope. That sounds like the perfect set of skills for a deckhand.

- Rats can chew through glass, cinderblock, wire, aluminum, and lead. Wow! I think a rat might have a brilliant career in etching or engraving. Or maybe one could manage to scrape the dried pancake batter off my counter.

To learn more about the adventures of Dilly, hop over to Rena’s blog. And be sure to enter to win an autographed copy of A New Job for Dilly! Just leave a comment on at least FOUR of the seven blog stops. Rena will put your name in a pot and a winner will be chosen at the end of the tour. Please make sure she has a way to contact you, and remember to reply to at least FOUR different stops to qualify...see my sidebar for the tour schedule (and click on the names to arrive at their blogs). Rena will contact the winner at the end of the tour to find out how they'd like the book to be signed. Good luck!

Hide and Squeak

2009-06-24T06:17:00.000-07:00

These are pictures I took years ago of baby rats that belonged to a friend of mine.

You might have to search a little to spot them.

Since rats have received a bit of a bad rap, my friend and I thought it would be fun to photograph them among pretty things like baubles and lace...

...which we happened to find in colors that matched their fur.

Rats are playful and intellegent, and make sweet pets.

Come back tomorrow for a fun post about rats!

Pants on Fire

2009-06-22T06:23:00.000-07:00

I was tagged by Rena with this ‘Sinful Nature’ meme:

"Sometimes you can learn more about a person by what they don’t tell you. Sometimes you can learn a lot from the things they just make up. If you are tagged with this meme, lie to me. Then tag 7 other folks (one for each sin) and hope they can lie."

Pride -- What is your biggest contribution to the world?
You know those big fat recliners that have everything: cup holder, refrigerator, remote control cubby, massager...essentially everything except a flusher and a toilet paper holder? Totally my idea. That, and the Ped Egg, too.

Envy -- What do your coworkers have that you wish was yours?
When I had coworkers, it was the cubicles I coveted. I could use some tweedy gray walls so I can pin up my timesheet and my Dilbert calendar. And I’d love to have the scent of my neighbor’s Cup o’ Noodles wafting into my workspace.

Gluttony -- What did you eat last night?
Carl’s Junior. I eat it every night because their commercials are so appetizing. Nothing makes me hungrier than watching people eat like jackals.

Lust -- What really lights your fire?
The sight of a cell phone kiosk. Oh, it’s exciting enough just to be in a shopping mall. It's even better when twenty year olds with turned-up collars and gold chains beckon, call me Ma’am, and try to sell me a new phone.

Anger -- What is the last thing that really pissed you off?
At the movies on Father’s Day I spotted a baseball cap that said #1 Dad. I’m kicking myself for not being able to come up with a gift idea that's that original.

Greed -- Name something you hoard and keep from others.
Baked goods. What…wasn’t that the point of The Little Red Hen? I bake it, I eat it. Make your own cookies!

Sloth -- What’s the laziest thing you ever did?
Paint abstracts. Whenever I'm in a gallery, I overhear someone say a monkey can do that. Or a two year old. I guess it must be true then.

Who else wants to search for their inner fibber? I tag:

Stephanie
K
PJ
Keats
Ara
Suzie
Jules

Tummy = Too Chummy

2009-06-18T22:42:00.000-07:00

My husband is the type of person who always has to strike up a conversation. He‘s got a cheery comment or a joke for everyone – cashiers, bank tellers, repairmen, parking lot attendants - you name it. This mortifies our children. So it’s a good thing they weren’t with him earlier when he walked to the corner store to buy a Pepsi. I think it went like this:

Most of the employees at this store recognize us – we walk there nearly every day. This time my husband got in the line of a cashier he’s seen a couple of times but doesn’t know well. She was cute and young, and sporting a big pregnant belly behind her checkstand.

He gave his usual enthusiastic greeting, after which the young cashier squealed, “Ooh! My baby just kicked! Do you want to feel it?”

My husband, who doesn’t always think before he acts, said, “Sure!” and reached over to grab her big Pooh-bear belly.

One second…two seconds passed. Nothing happened.

Three seconds…four seconds…

That baby was not going to budge. I believe this was the baby’s silent protest against any future embarrassment from his mother.

Five…six seconds. My husband stared at the ceiling, now keenly aware of standing in a public place with his hands on some strange woman’s belly. Seven…eight. The cashier stared in the direction of her feet, though she couldn’t possibly have seen them. Nine…ten…

My husband finally relinquished his grip and pulled his hands safely into his own personal space.

“Gee...that was weird,” he said.

“Um, yeah, that was awkward,” the cashier said, hastening to finish the transaction. My husband grabbed the Pepsi and headed for the exit.

Do you suppose he found a lesson in there somewhere? Nah...probably not.

**In more pertinent news, next week Rena Jones is having a blog tour to introduce her brand new picture book, A New Job for Dilly. Check my sidebar for the tour schedule, and plan to enter to win a copy! Visit Rena’s blog for more info.

Going Places

2009-06-16T21:28:00.000-07:00

I was away for only two days, and somehow it threw my whole week off. Laundry, shopping, end of school year stuff…

I haven’t done anything I planned to do this week, including thinking up blog posts. So I’ll just suggest you go check out a fun game over on The Inconsequential Blogger. She’s traveling to some exotic locations, and posting mystery pictures. Try to guess where she is and leave a comment on her blog. She even hints at a souvenir prize (but only if she finds time to shop).

And, since I'm not nearly jealous enough of everyone's travel plans, feel free to tell me some of the exotic places you've been.

By The Sea

2009-06-15T15:57:00.000-07:00

Last night we returned from a weekend celebration on Catalina Island. Despite shivering like crazy, we all stood on the bow of the ferry to watch the sunset. I didn’t dare try to get a picture. The wind was blowing so hard I was sure the camera would be whipped overboard. My hair would have snaked all over the image anyhow. Besides, it’s been years since I watched that big orange disk dissolve into the ocean. I didn’t want to miss a second of it, even to snap a picture.

Later, my daughter tried to describe the feeling she gets when she sees a large body of water at night. She said it’s beautiful but somehow makes her feel nervous and overwhelmed; she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. My husband said he gets a kind of nostalgic feeling. I thought I knew what they were getting at. I get a little melancholic, but it isn’t entirely unpleasant. My son said he feels the same but couldn’t describe it.

I thought it was interesting that we all seemed to be trying to describe a similar sensation – one that contained a peculiar mix of awe, hope and longing. It would be a challenge to find the right words; some feelings are just more elusive than others.

How would you describe seeing the ocean at night? Or what experience do you find indescribable?

Summer Reading

2009-06-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

My daughter just finished up her first year of high school. The week before school was out, she picked up a little summer reading from the library.

I took one look at that volume and thought, that is not a book. That’s not even a tome. That is a piece of furniture.

She carted all six pounds of it (yes, she weighed it) around in her backpack the last week of school. I figured if nothing else, at least she’d get a workout. It turns out, she loved it. She finished reading it last night; it barely took her a couple of weeks to get through it. Maybe it's as hard to put down as it is to pick up.

I have to say, I’ve always been intimidated by the sheer size of that work. Which doesn’t make sense, because when I’m in the middle of a great book, I hate for it to end. For the first time, I’m curious to read it.

What book have you been meaning to read, but have never gotten around to it?

My Own Personal Shoppers

2009-06-10T06:12:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had a revelation. If you have an occasion coming up, you probably shouldn’t take your husband and teenage daughter up on offers to take you dress shopping. It turns out there are husbands and teenage daughters who think you can still dress like a nineteen year old.

Every time you happen to reach for a dress that looks like it might be intended for someone over thirty-five, it is smacked out of your hand before you can utter, “What about this one?”

By the time you manage to grab an armload to try on, a couple of fairly skimpy dresses have snuck into the pile. You don’t know how they got there. Teenage daughter follows you into the dressing room.

Every time you zip yourself into something with sleeves or pleats or a little extra breathing room, teenage daughter scrunches her nose so tight the bow of her lips goes right up her nostrils.

Reluctantly, you pull on one dress that is about one and a half sizes too small, and a couple decades too young for you. Teenage daughter releases her lips into a smile.

“That one’s perfect!” She skips out of the dressing room to fetch your husband.

Your husband, bless him, agrees with her. All pleas for something that covers your knees are ignored. You are wheedled into at least putting the dress on hold.

Then you are left to wonder whether you have, in fact, been playing it a little too safe when it comes to your wardrobe. Maybe you could be a little less of a fuddy-duddy. Maybe, as in other areas, once in a while you should try to break out of your clothing comfort zone. And maybe you should give it a chance, at least to please the people who love you enough to think you still look good in a little dress.

On the other hand, you wonder if you’ll wind up looking like one of those aging celebrities - the ones that don’t know when to abandon the spaghetti straps and the short-shorts.

The dress is still on hold. My personal shoppers have been given the day off.

Uninspired

2009-06-08T06:36:00.000-07:00

Inspiration is everywhere!!

Um...except when it's not.

As it turns out, very unlikely picture book characters are ALSO everywhere...

...like The Wire Basket I Took Down From the Top Shelf. I'll call him Dusty.

And here's Leftover Spaghetti Man. Also known as "Sticky".

Doghair Dude. We'll call him Harry.

Meet Shelly. I could write about When Harry Met Shelly.

Or Broken Shelly.

How 'bout my friend Jean Rippa? That one could be a tear-jerker.

Although probably not as much of a tear-jerker as this one:

The adventures of Bill Stack. Sniff. I think I need a tissue...

Sometimes it's better just not to think. Wouldn't you agree, Too Much Takeout Guy?

Right. That's what I thought, too.

Return of Vlad, The White Lined Sphinx Moth

2009-06-05T06:00:00.000-07:00

We arrived home on Wednesday to find the newly emerged Vlad waiting to greet us:

Hooray! I was starting to get a little worried, because we'd just hit the three week mark. If you missed the story of Vlad the caterpillar, you can read about him here and here. We identified him as a white lined sphinx moth, also known as a hummingbird moth.

I'm glad I left some sticks in the jar, because we found him hanging on one. I believe like butterflies, they need to hang for a period in order for their wings to fill up properly.

Later we found him clinging to the net on top of his jar, so we took him out to the garden. Since he didn't look ready to fly off, I moved him to the lavender bush:

I've seen his relatives hovering around this bush and hoped he'd be happy there. He was a very cooperative subject, and even let me spread his wings just enough to see the pretty pink underneath. He must've gotten tired of posing, though, because shortly after that he took off!

The first time we saw these hummingbird moths flitting around the lavender bush, it was my son who correctly identified them. All that time spent with his nose in the bug books has it's rewards.

Hummingbird moths are fascinating to see in flight. I tried to embed a video I found, but for some reason it wasn't working...if you'd like to watch how they fly, you can view a video here.

Ballooning Talent

2009-06-03T06:00:00.000-07:00

My eleven year old has been learning how to make balloon animals. He’s getting good at it. I wouldn’t try it – I’d get too nervous with all that popping.

He was down to his very last balloon and attempted to learn a new design. I think he ran out of balloon before he could finish it, and instead twisted up his own new design:

He named him Julio.

I think Julio is cool-io.

Do you have any unique or unusual talents?

Spineless

2009-06-01T06:27:00.000-07:00

I don’t buy a lot of knick-knacks. I don’t like clutter; I do like being surrounded by objects I truly like. Just once in a while when I come across an object that speaks to me, I spurge. Even then it’s usually a small splurge.

About ten years ago I spotted a small wooden deer in a garden shop. It was such a simple piece of art: a little log body and head, with twig legs and antlers. It was so rustic and whimsical I had to have it. I put it by the front door.

I noticed our entryway was looking neglected, so the other day I tidied up a little. I cleaned up the potted plants and dusted everything, including the little deer. Then I rearranged the items just to change things up a little.

That’s probably why I didn’t notice right away that the little deer was missing. Yesterday I headed out for my morning walk. I passed by my newly tended potted plants, noticed they were looking happier already, and kept walking. I got about three quarters of the way down the block, and then I found this:

Somewhere there's an idiot who thinks a wooden deer head makes an amusing trophy.

Seriously, what is wrong with some people?

If We Wore Hats, Maybe We Could Tip Them Or Something

2009-05-28T22:09:00.000-07:00

There‘s a woman I always see in the morning when I walk my dog. I live on the easternmost side of our neighborhood and head west along the river. She begins somewhere at the far west end and walks east. She’s always in the same walking uniform: white sweater, black pants, black sneakers. No dog or anything – she’s up early every morning for exercise. Good for her. At some point every single morning, our paths cross.

She refuses to say hello.

What’s up with this? It always throws me. If we were walking down a crowded city street it would make sense. We could bustle by each other among throngs of strangers all wrapped up in their own business. On a wide open path, surrounded only by trees and birds and a chorus of bullfrogs, it feels awkward.

I’ve tried everything to make the exchange less uncomfortable. I’ve offered cheery good mornings day after day, thinking she might just need time to warm up to me and my galumphing dog. I’ve smiled. I’ve nodded. I’ve made eye contact, or tried, anyway.

I’ve resorted to talking to my dog, as if we were too absorbed in the subject of earthy smells to notice the only human for miles approaching us on an empty path.

Finally, I’ve resigned myself to staring straight ahead, not acknowledging her in any way. After all, I’m not sure whether it’s my quirk for needing that social convention, or hers for insisting on enjoying an uninterrupted stroll.

Now when I pass her I’m reminded of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, when the remaining humans have to keep their expressions to themselves to avoid being caught. My morning walk has been taken over by thoughts of pod people.

So, what’s a little offbeat in your neck of the woods?

Is It That Time, Already?

2009-05-26T06:42:00.000-07:00

My daughter wants a new swimsuit. We were at the outlet mall, browsing. I pointed to an orange striped bikini that didn't look too revealing.

Me: How about this one?

Her: It’s okay for you, maybe.

Me: Honey, I think my bikini days are over.

Her: Nuh-uh. Have you seen the people on the beach? You’re skinny.

Me: That doesn’t mean I'd look okay in a bikini.

Her: What are you talking about? No one looks good in a bikini. Those days are gone!

I'm not sure if that’s good news or bad news. I’m going to eat another scoop of ice cream and think about it.

More On Vlad

2009-05-22T06:58:00.000-07:00

There may have been a couple of unanswered questions about Vlad, the one-horned fuchsia-eating caterpillar. Here's a quick update:

Where is the caterpillar in this picture??

It turned out Vlad had already eaten his fill once he devoured the fuchsia in the garden. As soon as I added dirt to his jar, he burrowed right in. It would have been nice if he'd let me know he wasn't hungry before I snipped a few remaining leaves for him. Sheesh.

It was nice of him, though, to leave a little peep hole for us so we could see what he was up to:

It doesn't look like he's up to much, although melting down and transforming into a whole other creature is quite a feat. I've read that these guys sometimes stay underground all winter. But since it's only spring, I think it'll be more like 2 or 3 weeks.

My son was a little disappointed that he didn't get much of a chance to get to know Vlad as a caterpillar. Something tells me we may be repeating this little experiment...

I have to say, so far Vlad has been a lot less trouble than Swamp Thing.

Swamp Thing Returns

2009-05-20T06:15:00.000-07:00

This is the story of a boy who went to sixth grade camp and had a blast. On the first day, a sparkling creek invited him for an invigorating (and fully-clothed) dip. That night the boy stuffed his sodden clothes into the extra plastic bag his mom provided. After five days he stuffed the plastic bag, more wet clothes, clean dry clothes (clearly superfluous), two damp towels, and a hunk of well-sanded manzanita wood into the suitcase.

Upon his return, his mother opened the suitcase and immediately detected a presence. Being invisible and having no sound, the presence can only be identified by a peculiar and specific funk. The boy’s mom recognized it to be none other than Swamp Thing.

After admiring the well-sanded hunk of manzanita, the boy’s mom tried to dispatch Swamp Thing by dumping the entire contents of the suitcase (including a handcrafted name badge and several pieces of sandpaper) into the washing machine. She turned the dial to ‘hot’ and glugged several seconds’ worth of ammonia over the clothes. She crossed her fingers. She might have said something like, “Holy cow, I hope there aren’t any dead animals in there.”

The boy’s mom had encountered Swamp Thing several years earlier. The boy’s parents entrusted a teenage girl to housesit while they were away. The teenage girl and her friends delighted in the use of a community pool and a linen closet stocked with fresh towels.

A day (or two?) before the family returned, the teenage girl tidied up by washing every towel the family owned (dish towels included) in two washer loads. For reasons unknown, her tidying efforts were interrupted. Marinating in the laundry room were one washer full of wet towels, and one dryer also full of wet towels.

The memories of that encounter with Swamp Thing were so distressful the boy’s mom couldn’t remember how she finally defeated the beast. She may have resorted to burning something. She hoped this time a hot water and ammonia bath would be enough. She washed and waited. In the days following, she retrieved load after load of laundry with no hint of the creature. Satisfied, she gave the hunk of well-sanded manzanita a little victory pat.

Weeks went by.

Then one morning the boy approached his mother before school.

“Mom, does this shirt smell weird to you?”

Against her better judgment, the boy’s mom took a whiff. “Is this one of the shirts you took to camp?”

The boy looked down and considered the Spiderman print. “Uh-huh.”

Yes, the boy had been to camp, had a blast, and brought home a little something extra. A highly resilient something extra. It’s on, Swamp Thing. It’s on.

Tips From a Newbery Winner

2009-05-18T06:30:00.000-07:00

I had the chance to hear a very encouraging talk by Susan Patron, Newbery award-winning author of The Higher Power of Lucky.

Her path to publish this book included a ten year period of writer’s block and six revisions. Her work space is a cozy writer’s cabin without distractions of phone or internet access. She doesn’t outline her stories, and the first two drafts of her books are written in long-hand (in pencil).

Here are a few bits of advice from her talk:

Don’t try to write the story’s events in order. Dive right into the center of the action and work in any direction that keeps you learning about your characters.

Incorporate whatever emotion you’re feeling that day – any irritation or exhilaration over the day’s events – into the scene you are writing.

Read your work aloud. If at some point you find your mind wandering, cut those passages.

Closely observe to let the reader see what you are describing.

A trick she learned from another writer – if you get stuck, try putting an object in your character’s hand. What can it tell you about your character?

Regarding her use of a very controversial word in a middle grade novel (on page one, even!)– respect the intelligence of your readers, then use the word that works.

End your writing day by leaving something that you are excited to come back to the following day.

Don’t worry too much about what you’ve heard publishers are looking for (or not looking for). If you believe in your project and think you’ve done something different, go for it.

Froggy Friday

2009-05-15T06:45:00.000-07:00

I was looking for something in the closet yesterday and I found this painting. I'd completely forgotten about it. Before I started working on a children's portfolio, I did a lot of semi-abstract watercolors. This seemed like a good image for springtime, so I dusted it off.

The picture's not great because it had been framed for an exhibit, and I was too lazy to take it out of the frame to photograph it. I titled it "All Four Frogs"...can you spot them?

A Few Words

2009-05-13T06:20:00.000-07:00

Words I like:
peach
swirl
decorous
serendipity
tomatillo

Words I use too often:
yeah
cool
no
maybe
ridiculous

Words that drive me up the wall:
functionality
task
gingivitis
behoove
fab

Words I think are a little depressing:
drip
hours
lozenge
fungus
assessment

Words that are fun to say:
pickle
rigmarole
squeaky
bamboo
scoop

Words that are the color blue (because I’m kooky that way):
day
face
December
faint
lackadaisical

Words that are funny just because:
rutabaga
ointment
dither
wad
bamboozle

Words that are satisfying to say:
freak
smack
anything ending in ‘k’
gooey
intercontinental

My favorite word that doesn’t sound anything like its meaning:
pulchritudinous

Got any favorite words? (Reminder: kids are reading...)

Beauty and Beast

2009-05-11T06:00:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in the garden yesterday morning, admiring all the new flowers blooming, when I noticed my fuchsia bush looked a little puny. I gazed through the twiggy center, wondering where all the leaves had gone, and discovered this guy:

My first inclination was to snip off the twig he was chowing down on and throw it over the wall with him on it. He could take his picnic someplace else. Instead I waited to show him to my bug-loving son, who promptly stuck him in a jar and named him Vlad.

He's been wanting to keep a caterpillar through metamorphosis. Although Vlad has a face only a caterpillar mother could love (or find, for that matter), I ended up spending a good part of Mother's Day morning trying to find out who Vlad's relatives are.

I was rooting for one of the pretty swallowtail butterflies we sometimes see in the garden. Their larvae look similar, but minus the tail spike. It's hard to see in the picture - and it's hard to tell which end is which - that's the tail on the left.

We think Vlad is a white-lined sphinx moth. We find them resting by our front door, and flitting around the back yard. They're fun to watch in flight because they look just like mini hummingbirds.

When Vlad makes it to the hummingbird moth stage, he's welcome to hang out in our back yard all he likes. I just wish his kind would lay their eggs elsewhere.

Lovely Things

2009-05-08T06:27:00.000-07:00

The parents of a good friend of mine were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary, so I offered to do the flowers for their party. I love an excuse to get my hands on big bunches of flowers. We filled my friend's garage with buckets of flowers and turned it into a flower shop for a day. Petals were flying! Unfortunately, I forgot my camera at home. Rats.

I did have the chance to snap a few pictures at the party. Here's one of the table centerpieces:

The theme was black, white and gold. I used a mix of white flowers, curls of black ti leaves and some swirls of gold painted bear grass. Here's a close-up:

My friend decorated the room with white tulle and butterflies. Here's a fuzzy shot (yep, a good camera is still on my wish list):

There were enough flowers to make a couple of arrangements for the buffet tables:

Unfortunately, I forgot to take my camera to the ladies room to take a picture of the fun arrangements I made for the bathrooms with leftover flowers. You'll have to take my word for it, they were inspired...

My friend's mom told the story of how on their wedding day, the photographer showed up hopelessly drunk. He snapped a picture of their wedding cake and then disappeared. Shortly after that, the elaborate cake fell to the floor. So the one and only picture they had of their wedding was of a cake that no one got to taste.

My friend decided to recreate the top of their wedding cake for the party:

After 50 years, they finally got to have their cake and eat it, too.

Also on the subject of lovely things, Kelly has nominated me for the Lovely Blog Award. Thanks, Kelly!

You are supposed to pass it on to some lovely blogs that you've discovered recently. Here are a few blogs I've found more recently, which I find lovely for one reason or another - humor, warmth, family spirit, creativity...definitely worth a visit:

Anne Spollen
Debbie at Suburb Sanity
K at Interstitial Life
Donna at Looking Forward and Back
Mary at Resident Alien

Have a lovely weekend everyone, and Happy Mother's Day to all the moms!

Triple Happiness

2009-05-06T06:30:00.000-07:00

This Sunday is Mother's Day, and this year it just happens to fall on my husband's birthday. We'll be doubling up on the celebrating. It'll definitely include one of my favorite things: brunch. What better way to celebrate two events than to pig out on two meals at once! Would it be overdoing it to have two desserts, too?

One more thing making me happy this week - I won the Mother's Day Contest on Stories For Children's Families Matter Blog, for a story I wrote about my mom. And the prize for first place is a necklace. Yippee! You can find my story "A Little of This" here.

Spa Treatments Do Not Include Whoopie Cushions

2009-05-04T06:52:00.000-07:00

I thought it was time to cash in a gift certificate for a pedicure. One that I thought I got for Christmas, but have actually had since my birthday last June. Definitely time for some pampering.

For me the real treat of a spa pedicure is the chair. That heavenly massage chair. The toe painting is nice, too – I actually had a party to go to and there was a color theme for the attire, so I wanted gold toes. But mostly I wanted the fancy chair.

I chose my gold paint. The pedicurist dunked my feet. I turned on the chair.

The little rollers started working their magic on the small of my back. About halfway up my back, the chair said, “Bzzzrt!”

“Yikes,” I said. “Noisy chair.” The pedicurist gave me a confused look.

“That, um… buzzing sound,” I said. The woman sitting at my feet knit her brows and pointed to one of the manicurists, who was busy buffing someone’s nails with that thing that looks like a dental drill.

“No, behind me. The chair made a noise,” I said. The chair was silent. The woman shrugged and went back to sanding my feet. I tried to relax.

“Pfffft…pffft!” said the chair. This isn’t sounding good, I thought. Maybe there was too much pressure on those tired old rollers. I started shifting my weight in the chair and then thought better of it. Maybe people would think I was the one making that awful noise, and trying to cover for it.

I felt a case of the giggles coming on. “Brrpppt, brrrpppt!” said the chair. I bit my lip. It was like lounging on a yak that got into a bad patch of grass. There were only five people in the shop. Surely everyone could hear it. No one looked up.

“Pllllt…plllt…pffffft…pffffft…blaarrrrrrrrttttt!!!!” said the chair.

I snatched the controls and jabbed at buttons. The pedicurist looked at me. “You want it off?” she asked. She gave me an understanding smile. Of course I wanted it off.

So, I’m guessing she knew the chair was defective. Why didn’t she stick me in another chair? Maybe handling people’s feet all day makes her cranky.

So much for pampering. I settled for a nice quiet foot bath, gold toes, and a good giggle.

Something Different

2009-05-01T06:30:00.000-07:00

I kept getting hints from the family that I haven’t made a favorite treat in a while. I finally made a batch last week when my son got home from sixth grade camp.

We call them Raisin Spicy Dice. I invented them when I entered a recipe contest on a whim – something I’ve never done before or since. No, they didn’t win, but they won over my raisin-loving son. Even my daughter likes them, and she’ll go out of her way to avoid a raisin.

The challenge was to come up with a recipe for raisins using no more than six ingredients. I used an unlikely combination of raisins, chocolate, and chili peppers. They taste like a spicy Tootsie Roll. If your curiosity gets the better of you, here’s the recipe:

1 cup raisins
2 T unsweetened cocoa powder
2 T light corn syrup
2 ¾ cup confectioner’s sugar
½ tsp. ground cayenne pepper

Combine raisins, cocoa powder and corn syrup in food processor until mixture forms a soft paste. Gradually add 2 ½ cups of confectioner’s sugar and process until combined.
Transfer to clean surface and knead until sugar is completely incorporated and a soft dough is formed.
In a shallow dish, mix together remaining ¼ cup sugar and cayenne pepper. Shape dough into 1 inch balls. Roll each ball in spiced sugar, then pinch sides to form into cubes.

Also, speaking of contests, I found another one to distract me from anything I should be doing. Stories For Children is having a Mother’s Day writing contest on their blog, Families Matter. The deadline to enter is May 4, so there’s still time to enter. You can read about it here.

Is there any type of contest you just can't resist?

On-A-Manna Who?

2009-04-29T06:33:00.000-07:00

We just watched the movie Short Circuit, one my husband and son have wanted to see. My daughter, at fourteen, is at an age where a campy 80’s robot movie is the perfect target for snarky comments. With every wisecrack we had to warn her not to spoil it for everyone else. But she did make one comment that struck me.

There’s a scene where the robot Number 5 is parachuting from a bridge and he yells, “Wheeeeee!”

Then right away my daughter snapped, “Robots do not use onomatopoeia.”

Something about that comment surprised me. Never mind the fact that even though the robot was using facial expression and following butterflies, the thing that bugged her the most was that he said wheeeee. What really impressed me was how effortlessly she recalled the word onomatopoeia.

I can appreciate reading and using examples of some cool literary devices, but the names don’t exactly roll off my tongue. I can’t remember them without first saying something like, “You know, whaddya call it…whaddya call it…that thing where the word sounds like the sound?”

Then of course I got distracted wondering whether the expression wheeeeee actually is an example of onomatopoeia. Is it meant to indicate the sound of wind rushing past our ears when we’re enjoying something like swinging, or parachuting off a bridge…wheeeeeeeee! (Of course, if we weren’t enjoying it we’d probably yell something more like aaaaaaaaaagghhh!) Or is it just an expression of emotion that only counts as onomatopoeia once we try to spell out the sound in writing?

So you can see the kind of thing that occupies my brain. At least I don’t spend time thinking up cute alliterative animal names like Wilhelmina Wombat or Sammy Slug. Oops, I just did.

Dependable, Needs Some Work

2009-04-27T06:15:00.000-07:00

My son has a best buddy who is a complete car fanatic. We had him over for supper one night and at some point in the conversation he started rattling off the different car models of he’d collected on some video game. The list went on for so long my son started humming. It sounded just like an acceptance speech at the Oscars that had to be cut short by the orchestra.

Then the conversation turned to what type of car each of us would be if we were a car. We decided my daughter would be a Jaguar. We weren't sure whether my son would be a Porsche or a Mini Cooper. The young friend had no complaints about being dubbed a Rolls Royce.

Then the friend looked over at me, his face scrunched in thought. I was afraid of what was coming. I gave him my most threatening friend’s mom face and told him under no circumstances should he tell me I’m a minivan.

“Hmm,” he said, and thought about it some more. “Could you live with being an SUV or a crossover?”

I laughed. Can’t say it’d be my first choice, but I thought I could live with it. Or at least I thought I should stop him before it got worse.

So, what about it? What kind of car would you be? Or, how would you describe yourself as a car? Sporty, maybe? Sensible? Frame slightly bent?

Just don't ask an eleven year old.

Saying Thanks

2009-04-24T06:30:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up my family said grace before dinner. But it was always the same grace. Just the one. Every time. I have to admit as a kid it was just rote mumbling that had little meaning to me. Except that it was the only thing standing between me and my mashed potatoes and pork chops.

It wasn’t a practice I kept up as an adult. Then a few years ago while visiting Lake Arrowhead I found this book in a gift shop. Saying Grace, Blessings for the Family Table edited by Sarah McElwain is a collection of blessings and sayings from around the world and throughout the ages. Covering a range of cultures and traditions, it has pretty much everything from ancient prayers to rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub.

We started an instant tradition of taking turns reading from it each night. We flip randomly through the book and read whatever page we land on. Since it’s a surprise each night, the words are more likely to be heard. I like having a simple way to incorporate a thank you into our daily lives.

And on the subject of gratitude, recently I was tagged by Kim and Bish and Anne for the Lemonade Stand Award, which is given for showing great attitude and gratitude. And what did I do to show my great attitude and gratitude? I let it slide.

Oops. I don’t always get right on top of passing these things on. They make the rounds so quickly I feel like I’d just keep tagging the same people over and over. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them. Heck, I’m still amazed anyone takes time to read my blog or comment. Visiting my creative and funny and inspiring blog friends really is a bright spot in my day. Bright and refreshing. Like…well, lemonade. So thanks!!

Now I Could Use a Stuffed Puppy to Hug

2009-04-22T06:15:00.000-07:00

My son is away at sixth grade camp. It’s a shock after having the kids at home for two weeks – now my littlest chick isn’t here.

When we were getting his things ready he informed me the boys get a reward if one of them brings a pink stuffed animal with him.

“Do you want to do that?” I asked him.

“No way.” He held his hands up, palms out, to emphasize the point.

“But what if it’s something cool, like a dinosaur or something?”

“Yeah, Mom, like Barney. That’d be really cool.”

“Not like Barney,” I argued. “Not even as a joke…?”

His eyes registered danger on the dorky mom meter. I decided not to press the issue.

I remember the days when he thought pink was just fine, and couldn’t go anywhere without his stuffed puppy. He’d had it since he was two months old. He was so attached to it I tried to find a duplicate. I’d probably have been willing to pay a lot for it. I was afraid he’d lose it; then we’d all be paying dearly for it.

But the toy was discontinued. I sewed a decoy, copying it as best I could. I didn’t notice 'til I snapped a picture of them side by side that Puppy Two looked like the original puppy on steroids. When one puppy got filthy, I brought out the double and the other went into the wash.

At first sight the freshly laundered puppy passed with flying colors, but as soon as my son got hold of it he’d howl in protest. His objection – the ears (his favorite part to chew) weren’t stiff enough with drool. He wasted no time fixing the problem.

It’s been years since any stuffed animals have come out to play, although we do have a tradition of sneaking stowaways into suitcases of traveling family members. In this case, I’d been warned - it had better not be stuffed. And under no circumstances would it be pink.

It Was Unintentional. Really.

2009-04-20T06:08:00.000-07:00

We went out to dinner, something we don’t get to do often as a family. We were all a bit edgy because there hadn’t really been a consensus on where to go, and not everyone was convinced. As we sipped drinks and a couple of us pushed romaine around on our plates, I glanced at the empty bread plate next to me.

“Who ate my garlic bread?” I demanded.

There was mumbling about some confusion, and then despite my objection, my husband called the waitress over.

“Could we get another piece of garlic bread?” he asked.

“Would you like a large order for the whole table?” she asked.

“No. Just another piece. I accidentally ate hers.”

As the waitress walked off looking thoroughly confused, I just had to ask. “Um, how do you accidentally eat something?”

I realized he meant he didn’t know the bread was mine and he helped himself, but I got really amused at the idea of eating something by accident.

Maybe by some quirk of fate you accidentally fell on a piece of bread with your mouth open. Or someone took you by surprise and stuffed a piece of bread into your mouth. But how would you explain chewing and swallowing repeatedly? It’s like saying I accidentally spent that $100 that was in your wallet, sandwiched between the ten dollar bill and the Costco receipt. Or I accidentally backed over the neighbor’s ugly plastic lawn ornament nineteen times.

Anyway, I’m still curious. I might accidentally eat whatever’s left in the kids’ Easter baskets, and I’m going to need a good explanation.

Venturing Out

2009-04-17T06:10:00.000-07:00

On a whim we made an overnight trip to Palm Springs. We’d never been, and we wanted to explore someplace new.

Discovery number one was that we’d been cyber-duped. Our hotel was the homely cousin of its online description. First item of business was to negotiate a room with something more appealing than a panoramic view of parked cars. Outside the lobby we met a woman with two boys who was facing the same problem. “This isn’t at all what we were expecting,” the woman lamented. Unfortunately for them, we snagged the last room overlooking the pool.

As we settled into our new room, the kids amused themselves by making sarcastic remarks:

“Is there such a thing as a six star hotel? Because if there is, this would be one of them!”

“Hey, Mom, this town looks just like home. You could’ve driven one hour up and one hour back and just told us we were in Palm Springs.”

My husband said, “Relax, guys. We’ll start having fun in a minute.” That made us all laugh, because he’s usually the first one trying to convince us we are having fun, even if we’re not.

Picking a restaurant for dinner in unfamiliar territory is also tricky. We wanted affordable, but decent. We spotted a crowded parking lot - possibly a good sign. Fingers crossed, we hoped for something trendy. Instead we found artificial flowers and early bird specials. This eatery was as far away from trendy as a mushroom is to the moon.

Still, it was affordable. The food was decent. Two out of three isn’t bad. We got our fill of trendy by strolling downtown and browsing in upscale shops.

The highlight of the trip was hiking in the Indian Canyons. As you can see from the pictures, the scenery is awe-inspiring. But the most exciting part was when a wasp flew into the car window and disappeared somewhere inside the roof of the car. We plugged up all the obvious entryways and hoped it would be dead by the time we returned from our hike.

As we drove back to the main road, I heard shrieks from the back seat followed by a *thwack!* against the window. Upon the wasp’s reappearance, my daughter had instinctively hurled a backpack in its direction. The car screeched to a halt; four people plus one wasp made an emergency exit. The people in the oncoming car (which fortunately stopped) look puzzled by our synchronized leaping and hopping.

Despite the shortcomings, or maybe because of them, we had a blast. Before we checked out of the hotel, I noticed a family arriving. A pouty teen-aged girl led the group, arms crossed. “But this place isn’t anything like it looked online.”

And the dad behind her pleading, “Well, the pool looks all right. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Spring Break

2009-04-06T06:00:00.000-07:00

The kids are home from school for the next two weeks. Yay! The arrival of spring tempted me to work on my little flower people painting. It's one of the illustrations inspired from some pictures I took in the back yard. The first sketches I made from those photos are here.

And speaking of sketches, my blogging will probably be a little sketchy for the next couple of weeks. We have no big plans for spring break, but we're looking forward to a change in the same ol' routine.

Hope Sizzles Eternal

2009-04-03T05:45:00.000-07:00

Can I have some?

Dang.

I thought not.

Can I have some now?

How 'bout now?

Now?

Can I have some now?

Can I now?

I'll watch this for you.

Puh-leeeeeeeeeeeeeease?

Now? Now?

Now now now now now?

I think I heard a noise upstairs. Maybe you should check.

Go ahead. I got these. Really.

Can I have some now?

Ooh. Do I smell fish? And, um, can I have some?

I Guess It Really Does Happen to Everyone

2009-04-01T06:15:00.000-07:00

After I posted some of my more ridiculous moments last Friday, my husband reminded me of the following story. And what better day than April Fool’s Day to celebrate tales of foolishness:

A scientist attended a banquet in his honor. He became distracted during the dinner and started figuring equations in a notebook. He was lost in thought when the crowd stood and began applauding. His personal secretary caught his attention and motioned for him to stand.

Noticing the standing ovation, he quickly stood and enthusiastically joined in. His secretary then had to come and inform him that the applause was in fact for him. The daydreaming scientist was Albert Einstein.

That anecdote is mentioned in his biography, Einstein: His Life and Universe by Walter Isaacson. Another story describes how Einstein enjoyed taking long rambling walks. On one such occasion he phoned his institute and asked for Dr. Einstein’s address. When the person on the phone informed him that information was private, he lowered his voice and admitted that it was Dr. Einstein on the phone, and that he couldn’t remember where he lived.

At least I feel better now.

The Didgeridoo Man

2009-03-30T06:30:00.000-07:00

This weekend we played tourists in our own city (we like to do that sometimes) and discovered an amazing didgeridoo player in Seaport Village. The didgeridoo isn’t an instrument I think of very often, but whenever I hear one playing I’m mesmerized. I must not be alone, because a crowd gathered as soon as the man started playing.

His modest act captivated passersby. He sat behind his instrument in a small chair under an umbrella. Next to him stood an amplifier topped with a collection box for donations.

On each ankle he wore a thick bracelet of jingle bells, and an extra cluster of cow bells on one. One hand held an egg shaped shaker. In the other hand he held a short stick that he clacked against another on his thigh. That was the simple accompaniment to the echoes of the pipe. Long drones mixed with a combination of trills, clicks and growls called to mind the sounds of nature and the spirit of the landscape.

Besides the haunting music, the musician’s playful manner was welcoming. Every deposit in the collection box was met with a comical tip of the hat and a cartoony whistle, which delighted the kids in the audience especially. I noticed no one wanted to wander off without giving a grateful wave, which was returned with an equally appreciative one from behind the didgeridoo.

I found this short clip of him taken a couple of years ago by someone in Balboa Park. The sound on the video doesn’t do it justice, but you can get a sense of what the performance was like:

You'll Feel Smarter After Reading This

2009-03-27T06:15:00.000-07:00

I was driving around yesterday with the gas light glowing on my dashboard, hoping to make it to the gas station in time (I did). It got me thinking of some recent moments that have been a little sub-stellar:

- As I backed my car out of the garage, I noticed my husband had already taken the trash cans out. They were really close to the door, so I kept an eye on them. It’d sure be embarrassing to knock one of those babies over. I kept a careful eye on those big ugly plastic trash bins. So careful, I turned and snapped the side view mirror right off the side of my car. It just dangled there on skinny little wire. On the bright side, no garbage was injured in the incident.

- We ran out of toothpaste. I dug around in the linen closet and found one of those little toothpaste samples the dentist gives out. I put it in our medicine cabinet. Later as I got ready for bed, I reached for the toothpaste, squished a dab on my brush and started brushing away. Only, I’d grabbed a tube of Benadryl cream. I can tell you it does not taste minty fresh. But at least my gums weren’t the least bit itchy all night.

- I got tired of having a different remote control for every gadget in the family room. For Christmas we got a universal remote. It has a million buttons the size of rice grains. I refuse to have my reading glasses around just for watching TV, so I tried to memorize what the buttons are for. The other night I was pressing away frantically and nothing was happening. Finally I gave up and asked my eleven year old in frustration, “What’s wrong with this thing?!”

He looked over at me. “Mom, you’re holding it backwards.”

I'm Not Indecisive, I Just Don't Know What I Want

2009-03-25T06:30:00.000-07:00

I have this problem. A good sort of problem. I decided to cash in some reward points I’ve had sitting around. We hardly ever use a credit card, and I figured the rewards weren’t going to get any better. So I settled on four $50 Target gift cards. I gave one to each of the kids, spent one on a couple of things we needed for the house (after my husband declined to take one), and saved one for myself. I vowed not to fritter it away on stuff I’d get around to buying anyway, like shampoo and toilet bowl cleaner. I wanted to get something I ordinarily wouldn’t buy for myself.

That was months ago. It’s still sitting in my wallet, along with a Starbuck’s card that has $11 left on it, a $25 card to some coffee place I’ve never heard of, and a gift certificate for a spa pedicure that I’ve had since Christmas. Clearly I need some remedial help when it comes to splurging.

So I’m wondering…what sort of things do you treat yourself to?

Marzipan Easter Eggs

2009-03-23T06:15:00.000-07:00

When my daughter was six, she was diagnosed with an egg allergy that lasted the next five years. Instead of dying eggs for Easter, we made them out of marzipan.

If you’ve never played with marzipan, it’s like play dough you can eat. What could be better than that? Okay, some kids might argue that you can eat the regular kind of play dough, but I’m sure this tastes way better. And our homemade marzipan tastes much better than any commercial type I’ve tried, but maybe I’m a little generous with the sugar and corn syrup.

We didn't stop at eggs. We made other things, too, like little animals…

One year we made a whole vegetable garden out of marzipan. We made cabbages, tomatoes, carrots, watermelon, gooseneck squash…

…believe me, it’s a lot easier to convince kids to eat a marzipan squash than the real thing.

We always made extra and packed them in pretty boxes to give away, too.

If you want to give it a try, here’s the recipe:

½ pound almond paste (it comes canned – I found it at World Market)
½ pound confectioner’s sugar
6 tablespoons light corn syrup

Mix together almond paste and confectioner’s sugar in food processor by pulsing on/off until combined. Add corn syrup and pulse again until thoroughly mixed. Mixture should hold together when pressed. Knead until smooth dough forms.

To color, separate into several Ziploc bags. Add a few drops of desired color to each, and squeeze to mix color (this part is also fun for kids).

Some tips for working with it – a dusting of confectioner’s sugar keeps it from sticking to surfaces. You can press it into candy or Fimo molds, or cut shapes with tiny cookie cutters. Toothpicks are great for drawing details.

Not Walking in Style

2009-03-20T07:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Luna (Doggie of Destruction) jumped and ripped a hole in my favorite dog-walking pants. I went to the nearest clothing store to try to replace them.

I don’t know how many pairs I tried on, but none of them fit. They were too long, too short, too saddle-baggy, too muffin-toppy. Too wandering-up-the-whosits, too sliding-down-the-whatsits. A bit tent-flappish here, a bit vacuum-packish there. I’m a little too old to be wearing a belt down around my thighs, a little too young to wear one just under the armpits.

Finally, I found one pair that fit perfectly. They fit and they looked awesome. They fit, looked awesome, and were ridiculously cheap. They fit, looked awesome, were dirt cheap, and were THE most UNbelievably itchy things ever. They itched like a burlap sack drenched in Mountain Dew, rolled in the sand and worn on a hot day at a country church. I gave up.

I strolled over to the shoe rack. Soon enough the temperature will be in triple digits, and I need a pair of sandals. The kind you can actually walk in, not the kind that looks cute when you kick them off by the pool. Last year I made the mistake of buying a pair without a strap in the back, because that’s all they make anymore. Am I the only one sick of mules? You have to grip those things with your toes. There’s nothing else keeping them on your feet. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but when you continuously clench your toes, you tend to clench other parts of your body, too. Besides, every time I want to relax my toes for half a second, I end up flinging a shoe across the room.

I finally found sandals that were pretty comfy, but the color was ugly. I searched around and found the very same pair in a nicer color, only they cost two dollars more. I thought it was funny that you could save a couple bucks if you were willing to settle for the ones that were the color of puke. I decided they weren’t really that comfy, anyway.

And I decided I hate clothes shopping.

Speaking of Fish

2009-03-18T06:15:00.000-07:00

Meet Marco Polo, our newest acquisition. He’s a little nicer to look at than Monday’s Mr. Blobfish.

When my daughter went to her water polo banquet the other night, she texted me halfway through the festivities:

I won a new pet fish.

Oh, great, I thought. I hoped that was some kind of code name for the awards they were handing out. A few moments later she sent a new text:

What should we name it?

Good grief. What was she thinking? What were the banquet organizers thinking? I pictured her coming home with some half dead feeder fish in a baggie. The poor thing would probably be gone by morning. I decided not to respond to her text. Better put off naming it, just in case.

I went to the garage and dug out our fish bowl. We’ve had two bettas that lived long happy betta lives, but the bowl has been empty for a while. My daughter texted me again:

Coach Kristy thinks we should name it Kristy.

I thought about texting back that we should name it Stop Texting Me Or You’ll Lose Your Cell Phone Privileges, but that would have taken too long. I now had a fish bowl to clean out. Urgh. If it was still swimming in the morning, I’d go buy gravel.

When the banquet was over, my husband arrived with daughter and Marco Polo, who to my relief was a hardy-looking betta. The fish came complete with a bowl tied with a fancy ribbon that included food and feeding instructions. My daughter had already removed the floating candle that topped off the arrangement. I’ve never been a fan of using live fish for centerpieces, but I have to say Marco Polo looked pretty well attended to.

Now our pets represent four animal classes: fish, bird, reptile, mammal. Make that five, if you count the spiders in the bathroom.