Watercolor

I have to share my watercolor class experience on here because I know that every one of you have had an experience like this before.  When all is said and done the reaction to such classes range from 'Never again!", to "Maybe one more try....", to "I love this!"  Halfway through this watercolor session I have managed to experience all of the above reactions and many more along with them.  But the best reaction so far is uninhibited laughter.  Just goes to show you that I have no doubt that I was not borne into any artistic talent.  Clearly that gift was wrapped and delivered to someone else.  I know this because of the instructor I have tells me how good my work is.  Because that is her job.  She wants me to keep trying.  She knows I won't try if I am not given positive feedback about my painting skills.  She has worked with Pavlov's dog somewhere along the line, too, I just know it.

She is a good artist and has certainly developed a style that is unique and recognizable.  I know her work when I see it, without question.  To me, that is part of the gift.  Lots of people can draw or paint by copying pictures.  But to have your own style - that one way of doing things that makes a piece clearly your own - is something I feel truly marks someone as an artist. 

What makes this instructor even better is her unrelenting ability to look at what someone has done and be able to make them believe that they are onto something!  To express a comment about something so incredibly mediocre or just downright awful and yet instill a sense of accomplishment in the pupil - well, that is an art too.  In fact, it's an art that I, myself, am quite capable of, so the time we critique is most amusing.  Nothing more fun than trying to BS a BSer!

Allow me to walk you through one of our sessions.  We begin each class (all 6 of us) gathering around the instructors work table and watching her do a technique while explaining it.  Naturally it is never just a direct, " Do this, then this, then that and you're done."  We have to get off on tangents and into stories.  Some of those stories don't even have anything to do with the technique, yet there we stand in rapt attention until we come back around to the task at hand and she releases us to our own tables to get to work.

In my mind I try to see myself doing just what she says to do - moving my wrist just so or loading my brush just right, dragging the paint across the paper to create the affect she has demonstrated. Oh!  It's perfection!  I can do that, I can do that! And off I go, all enthusiasm and lofty ambitions....and ten minutes later I look at what I have done and the world has become a place for joksters and BSers. 

The instructor moves around the room checking our progress and giving encouraging corrections and positive comments. When she gets to my table I cannot look up at first for the grin on my face reveals how I really feel about my work in front of me as well as what is about to come out of her mouth.  I take a deep breath, lose the grin, and look up for "approval". Oh. My. Lord.  This is what she says," Oh, Ther-e-sa!  That is really a good job! Your lines are wonderful and I love the color you've laid down! That color just makes that picture sing."

I look down at my painting and do my own critique in my mind.  "Oh Theresa! What have you done!?  Why, I don't think I have ever seen a piece of ginger root ever painted quite so well before, you may have found a niche here...oh....what's that?....it's upside down?  ....oh, it's a tree?  Oh my, well aren't you something?! "  Oh hell yes, I am. 

In fact, my talent is abounding all over my table.  I have six used brushes laying in three different places. I have a ball of paper towel the size of a soccerball and just as heavy because I seem to feel the need to put my brush on it after every single dip in the water.  All of my paint, which started out in pretty little dabs of solid, bright colors have migrated into the center of the pallette and are now morphed into a putrid shade of muddy green-brown.  The pallette is on the right side of the table and the water is on the left.  For some reason the thumbnail of my right hand is blue and the left one has red underneath it...and I didn't even use the red.  Okay, I know, should have taken a course on the uber-basics of painting - like how to set up.

But this doesn't bother me because every single painting created by this left hand of mine and that miracle of creative resource known as my mind's eye has put pictures before me that bring me nothing but sheer joy in the laughter they evoke every time I see them.  I have trees that look better as ginger root if you turn them upside down.  I have fish that began their life on paper swimming (and looking reasonably good) through the ocean only to be sat down on the sandy bottom because of my talent at placing seaweed directly beneath their bellies and painting it going up instead of down.  My flecks of spotty color created by shaving watercolor pencils have been blown away in one breath because I didn't leave the paper wet enough. Those that did remain on the paper have bloomed into tie-dye looking blobs in places where blobs don't belong reminding me of the days of picture prints when the developing machine went haywire.  My mountains look more like landscapes from other planets and my trees become black fuzz bombs on an alien plain. However, my skies aren't too bad; they do look sky-like, even to me! It's a miracle! Now if I could just remember how I did that....

The best part of this whole thing is the fun and joy it brings!  Sure I suck, but that's okay, I'm getting a kick out of it and diversifying my knowledge (and appreciation) of art.  When it gets to the point where I cannot laugh anymore, when I cannot learn anything new, and when I dread the thought of making a messy worktable, that is when I will quit.  For now, I am just going with the flow - being that artist my instructor leads me to believe I am.  Yeah...it's like that.

Food adventure 1.

Have you ever eaten something that just is so delicious at the moment you are eating it that you could just cram all of it into your mouth all at once?  I had one of those the other night.

I had a gyro at this little Greek place that my husband and I have been going to for years.  It's not the kind of place in which either of us would want to eat from weekly or even monthly, but it is one of those places we both enjoy and are quite happy that it has remained good for many years.  It revamped it's exterior recently, but the food is the same delicious stuff that keeps us coming back - and ususally for the same thing:  gyros and fries.

They have these little skinny fries at this place that are SO good when they are fresh out of the fryer.  They are crisp on the outside but soft on the inside...and they are skinny!  They salt them just right and serve healthy portions in those little paper "boats". 

A good portion of the fries must be eaten first because once they are cool, they just aren't as good.  For me, since I am in full blown "go mode" on this food to start with, I go all out and toss on more salt at the table and then proceed to munch away.  After a few bites I like to dip them in the little tub of extra sauce I got that (which I shall not name here because I haven't a clue how to spell it) they use on the gyros. It's salty, slightly crisp, creamy and hot!  A little bit of heaven right off the boat (get it?).

Then it's on to the wrap.  The meat is warm, which melts the sauce a little, the onions have some seasoning on them and are super thin but plentiful, and the tomato is cool and smooth.  Encompassing this little number is a pita bread that cannot be found in any store.  Believe me. I've looked, hunted, scavenged, and driven to the ends of the earth, it seems, all to come up empty handed.  The wrap is soft and slighty chewy.  It holds all of the contents without ever tearing or ripping no matter how much you roll, sauce, reroll and grasp it.  You bite it, it seperates with the clench of your teeth - it doesn't crumble or shred or pull into a long piece of what's-with-this-length-of-food-hanging-off-my-lip? number.

And it's at this point where I have to really control myself not to just cram large hunky bites into my mouth because I want to be consumed by it, not it by me! I remind myself to slow down, savor the flavors and textures. Chew.  Breathe.  Enjoy.

Sitting across the table from me, my husband has no idea what kind of battle is raging between my brain and my mouth. (Though I am sure he would be pleased to know it is one of eating, not speaking.)  His only indicator is at the end of the meal - where my little fry boat is empty, the gyro wrapper is crumpled into a ball and he still has food left in front of him. No doubt the smile on my face is one of satisfaction and content.  I don't know what his smile is all about...that I ate more than he did? ... that I am an snoid?  ...that he finds my lust for food I crave ridiciulous?  Who knows?  (And I don't care, really; he's smiling at me!  That's good enough for me!!)  I do know that he knows I am happy with this meal.  'Nuf said.

I love food.  While I like most things, there are a few that I draw the line at, wrinkle up my nose about, wave away.  Then there are things that you had better get out of my way if I know that I'm going to get to eat it and you are between me and IT.  Move or be moved!  This night it was the gyro.  Once I recover from it (I believe I am still full), a new craving will arise and I will be off on another food adventure. Oh, how I love food!  I am sure you will join me for that one, too.

Joyful Snow

I was going to title this, "The Joy of Running in the Snow" but felt it hinted at waxing romantic about anything but running.  And I want to talk about running in the snow, thus a simpler title.  

Earlier this week I was contemplating a dilema I knew I would soon face.  When it finally does snow enough to stick on the ground what activity shall I persue first?  Running or cross country skiing?  I would bet for many of you the choice would be easy.  For me, not so much as I enjoy doing both.  Of course the skiing cannot be done without the snow, but there is something about running IN the snow that makes it an experience for me that I always appreciate more than any other kind of run.

Now, mind you, I am not all about going out there in blizzard-like conditions, nor am I fan of sub-zero temps or wind chill factors that make you shiver just thinking about it.  These kinds of snow days are the ones that bring to mind the ideal Christmas or sledding days of our youth.  The wind is calm, the day is slightly overcast, yet bright.  The snow floats down from the sky as if dancing, in big, soft flakes and wrapping a kind of muffler around us and silencing the noise of life going on in the background.

It's early in the morning and snow plows haven't hit the secondary streets yet. Many houses still have snow covered drives and sidewalks.  Each step I take is greeted with a soft cushioning underfoot - which, in my current age and condition, I am grateful for - masking the sound of shoe against pavement thus adding to the surreal quality of the morning.  Traffic is sparse both on foot and in vehicles and I am once again reminded why these kinds of days are special.

I enjoy the cold air on my cheeks, the snap of crisp air in my lungs, and the and the slower rise of my body temp.  Normally I am hot within the first 20 feet; on snow days I manage to remain cool until about a third into my run.  While the run seems slower, my time is actually faster, which always fascinates me.  There is something time-stopping about they way the snow floats down, sounds are muffled and the quiet adds to the mellow feeling.  My mind wanders at a slower pace but my watch shows my body much quicker. 

I am calmer during these runs and the usual scrambling trail of thoughts are halted and ordered into place, allowing me to flip through them one by one instead of many at a time or forgeting about what I've managed to track because I am distracted by sounds or objects that require greater attention.  There is a peacefulness that takes place within and I find myself content and happy. These kinds of runs end with a feeling of accomplishment for myself and gratitude for the opportunity.  Their occurance is rare and I am delighted when they arrive.

As for the skiing, it's a different kind of fun.  Again, the winters around here aren't always made for skiing so those chances should be taken when available too.  It could be an adventurous kind of outing for me if I could go into woods and trails easily.  I would probably be quite perplexed as to which activity to persue when snow does arrive.  But I live in the flatlands, so my "adventure" is only what the local golf course can provide.  The occasional animal track gives just a hint of the places I'd rather be skiing.  On the other hand, it's just chance that brings the snow needed to ski so I try not to gripe about it.

  I can only recall one time where the joy I felt skiing was comparable to the running feeling and that was on a course set in the forest on the back side of slopes in Boyne Highlands. There was that same soft, floating snow, the muffled silence that comes with it, and the gentle reflection lighting the path carved between the trees.  Clearly an experience I can look back on and smile.

There is contentment for me in that kind of snow; a joy, if you will, unlike anything else.

Oh dear, I have waxed poetic....anybody feel like sighing? ;)

To be or not to be?

That is the question. Are you in a game to win or have fun?

This question arose during a conversation where the woman I was having lunch with was talking about a game she had played said, "...it's a lot of fun!  I wasn't playing it to win.  I was just there to have fun..."  Oddly, just a few days before this same line of thinking was the topic of conversation but from the opposite side - playing a game to win.

So it got me to thinking about my perspetive as well as that of my friends and family.  What kind of player are they:  In it to win it?  Or out to have a good time?  I have no doubt regarding my own perspective; I am out to have a good time - to be with other people, to share an experience or learn something new (I like word games) or get some good excercise in for an hour or so (... and with ANY luck, have the opportunity to watch someone fall down in spectacular fashion.  Yes, I said "fall down" but we won't venture into that right now...).

However, I can't help but think that people like me drive the in-it-to-win-it group to a place  just short of crazy.   My lack of competitiveness and my absentminded approach to a strategy has to be annoying to them.  Mind you, it's not that I lack intensity.  I've played many a game where I've gotten wound up and began verbalizing while becoming quite animated with enthusiasm. That's because I was enjoying myself!  I can get all wrapped up in a game and still like the experience even if I lose. But for a person who always plays to win, they would, I imagine, rather not play with the likes of me.  I spend a lot of time enjoying myself - or at least trying to.

I used to think I was that way because I am not the most coordinated person on a field, track,  or course.  But some of those games are "my own" game and it's my own skill that will make or break the game for me and me alone, and I still am not concerned about winning all the time. It's the comraderie that I enjoy more than the score. 

Then there are the other games that require hand-eye coordination.  That's always a joy because a game that is brand new to me is played like it would have been played in my kindergarten year.  It takes me a few tries to get the hang of hand-eye games.  I like to think it's got something to do with my left-handedness.  In being so I have developed great use and skill of my right hand...to the point of occasional confusion.  I can't explain it any other way except to say it's like being in conversion overdrive.  (Does anyone out there understand this?) Ah, but I am off on a tangent (how unusual). With the hand-eye games I just about can't be in-it-to-win-it until I really, really learn the game(s) several times over.  I must admit, though, I did have a good laugh with one of my daughters and the Xbox Kinect!!!  And that is what will drive me to play again.  The fun!

Anyway, back to the question of those who are near and dear, I think my family is half and half.  Two of us want to win and the other two just want to have a good time.  With the recent addition of a son-in-law the scales are tipped to three for the win and two for the fun. Regarding friends I would say 40/60 win/fun.

 One of my friends wondered how a game could be fun if you didn't want to win.  It's a good question whose answer made no sense to her, for isn't winning the point of a game? 
This doesn't mean I don't want or like to win, nor does it mean that those who want to win don't have fun playing the game.  No, not at all!!  It's just an approach.

So, which are you? To be or not to be?  Win or fun?  It's a thought I will tuck away and bring out to mull over again some day down the road.  It certainly makes me think of the traits in all the people around me that make my world go 'round. Maybe, perhaps, even allows me a bit more understanding.

Here we go.

Actually, you have nothing to do with it.  That title is for me because I often speak to all of my inner selfs and refer to the collective as "we".  So here we go.  I have no idea how this is going to pan out for you or for me.  I haven't ventured into the blog world in a while.  The last time I blogged I wrote one.  That's it.  Just one.

And perhaps this is something telling about me.  I am really good at not finishing what I have started.  I often begin a task or project with enthusiasm but more often than not it dies a slow death sitting on my workbench, or in my Documents file, or in a box that eventually ends up in a closet.  What do you suppose it means? 

Thought bubbles are popping up in mass quantities amongst people who know me as they read this.  It's all right.  I have heard it all before.  If I really cared then my lack of follow-through would cease to exist and you would be reading something else.

Does this mean I am unreliable?  Good question!  I think I am, but that is a whole 'nother post.  This post is about getting this blog off the ground and running.  I don't believe I will write something everyday - or at least not post it.  I have set that bar before and only had one post.  This time, I will put things up as thoughts and observations come to me.  HOpefully you can bear with me and we can have some fun on here. 

Oh!  I just did a  "Foster Brooks" in the keyboard world.  See that "hopefully" up there?  How the H and O are capitalized?  That, if read correctly, should sound like Foster doing his shtick.  Makes me laugh a little every time.

 And there you have it. I have been all over the board with this opener AND I have managed to be self-depreciating and self-amusing, thrown in with a little sarcasm, all in one blog post. This is a lot like me, by golly. Like I said... Yeah.  It's like that.