Try, Try Again

From a stunning best of show photo of Jan Hagan's I fashioned this abstract in Dale Laitinen's class. Will I ever get the concept? Abadstracts as I call them make me nauseous but
seem to be the vogue these days. Quite ugilly.
To me it looks like a burned moldy sausage. Or worse. Oh well, I'll keep trying.
Last night finished Deep, Down, Dark for book club on my ipad. Though I am especially interested in Chile and the psychological aspects of the coal miners confined in the mine for 37 days, I found the book tedious. Has anyone else read it? Today the free movie here is Bridge of Spies. I liked it so well at the theatre last year I may go again.

Election weary

Like most of us, I am totally election weary. Not that I don't find it exciting, nail biting, joyous, painful, and a dozen other adjectives. Since Catherine pinned a Hillary button on my bosum two weeks ago I have hardly been without publicly clarifying my position, and yet I find a yearning to go hide in the bushes and be done with this. Pull some nettles over my head and declare "Leave me alone". Are you just as exhausted with the rhetoric?
Last Thursday night my book club had dinner at Bistro 29, a lovely old French restaurant on 2nd St here. The food and service was almost as good as in France, and the price fixe menu ($29.) was bearable. I was getting into the spirit of the cuisine when, to my horror, someone (a Bernie person) brought up a cell phone picture of Hillary ogling Christina Aguliere's boobs. "Photoshop"several screamed. Who knows and who cares, I thought. The spell was broken, and the next three courses were consumed with election stuff.  I don't know if I can stand this till December. I may find an island retreat and reread old classics.
Im looking happy in the picture because Im just going into a great concert with Holly Near, Barbara Higbie and Jan Martinelli and 300 fans. It was an evening to be remembered and we raised 14 thousand dollars for scholarships. Whee. Perhaps if the electorate were better educated we wouldn't have all this drama and name-calling. Dream on, Crosse.

Open Studios Wrap Up

For a week and a half my living area has been the display gallery for my watercolors. I could have taken them down a week ago when open studios was over, but I found myself studying them a lot each day, finding things I liked, would change, or would eliminate all together.
What if our life was like that? We could spread out our successes and failures and attempts to change them, and have the leisure to study them, getting new insights? Tossing the bad choices in the garbage and trying over a new way? I like that concept a lot.
Here are a few pictures of the open studios. The weather was misty, so the turn out was not grand. What folks liked were small abstracts. I might add this was to my horror. I usually toss them in the garbage, and fast. I guess I need to rethink that. Or do I? Since I only sell enough to pay for my classes and supplies, maybe I should just stick with what gives me joy?
On the last day of open studios a   candidate for county supervisor came by. She was just walking the precinct. Finding twenty or so of her constituents inside, she stayed for an hour and a half, munching persimmon cookies. So politics rather than art took center stage. It was a hoot.
Ever since then I have been sporting the Vote Hillary button Catherine pinned on my left boob.
There is a best seller book right now touting the concept. of only keeping what gives us joy.  And in life, maybe its just the same way.
If one does what feels good and authentic, then parts of our life do not have to go in the garbage. Maybe. I'm evaluating that, as I think about the earth, climate change, and the political drama going on.

Mother's Day Weekend

Difficult and crazy as she was, I miss my mother deeply. She rejected the name mother, preferring to be called Bunny, even when I was a child, She also mostly rejected the role of mother. But she was generally so much fun, it was hard to hold her craziness against her. I've given up trying to understand her, for it only makes me crazy too.
After three conversations with my car insurance agent I decided to pay (out of my pocket) the owner of the Ford pickup $558.38 for repair of his car bumper which I hit two weeks ago following being hit myself by a huge bird, probably a red tailed hawk. It was a learning experience. I was still in shock after being hit myself, and I realize now I should have stopped a while and soothed myself rather than driving on. Insurance would have paid it fully, but then if I had another accident in three years it might have gone over the limit and I would have lost my good driver discount of 20%. Its all a matter of mathematics, I guess. But at 89, will I be driving (or even breathing) in three years?
When I spoke with a local naturalist he explained that the birds of prey are fledging right now. They are huge and wobbly and don't know yet how to gauge their lift, so accidents like mine where a bird crashes into another object are common during the months of April and May.
This weekend is Open Studios up here, and along with 25 other artists I am showing my works in my home. My housekeepers are coming this morning to help set up for the show. The persimmon cookies baked yesterday are waiting on the counter for frosting, and ten volunteers from Oakmont are lined up to help me, as the rules say one should not be alone in the house. I'm excited with all the activity.
Meanwhile, covering all contingencies, my cousin Ed in Vancouver says he will sponsor me for immigration to Canada if the election goes badly, that is if I promise not to bring Trump with me.