Home » Posts tagged 'humor' (Page 5)

Tag Archives: humor

As The Mind Wanders…

Posted on by | Leave a comment

I think I could be my own soap opera. I have enough family drama (when will our fortunes turn around?), suspense (will there be a job???), heartache (my daughter may move away someday, more about that in a minute), humor (between my husband and my sister Colleen I have more than my share), romance and passion (We’ve been happily married for nearly twenty-five years for a reason), sadness and sorrow (a lot to list, but no more than most people, so tonight we’ll let it go)

Drama

As my hands are occupied with creative endeavors, my mind is free to wander about flitting from one subject to the next. I started out the day feeling ambitious. I had a plan…plans.  We started the day with an hour walk. My mind was racing with details of what my day would entail. Got home, showered, dressed, and went to work. I spent the day opening a second shop on etsy, “Pywackett Vintage”. An homage to my in-laws whose Chicago antique store shared the Pyewackett part of the name. I’ve only listed five items so far, but it is a detailed pain in my backside process, and I had other stuff to do as well. The stress and worry that come with unemployment make every day its own little drama.

Suspense

Still waiting, waiting, waiting, for the email, the text, the phone call that will let us know what is going on with Dan’s possible job opportunity. Waiting for news is always the hardest part.

Heartache

As I did dishes I began to think about Jessica. Her husband John is a journalist. There is always the chance that he may get work elsewhere. Right now they are only forty miles from me. I thought about how upset my Mom was when Dan got the job opportunity that led us to California. There was much talk about companies “tearing apart families”. She actually took off her wedding band and put it on my finger “in case she never saw me again”. I had to remind her that I was only moving to California, a little more than seventeen hundred miles away, where as she left her family in Ireland. A mere 3657 miles, across a big giant ocean. I was moving less than half the distance she did. When I think about the possibility of my daughter moving far away from me it breaks my heart. It makes me think about my Mom and how she felt, and how much I didn’t get it.

Humor

Colleen is still the funniest person I know. I don’t think I’ve ever had a phone conversation with her that didn’t include at least one giggle. When I’m with her I find it difficult to not end up crying from laughter. And then there is Dan. Despite our troubles, he makes me smile every day. He does all kinds of goofy stuff just to get a response from me. It’s really very sweet because I know he is as worried as I am.

Romance & Passion

One year of worry, stress, fear of financial ruin, anger, frustration, and bewilderment at the way the world treats an extremely decent, hardworking, compassionate and kind man, and nary a harsh word. We love each other as much as we did twenty-five years ago when we prepared to get married. You always hear or read stories about how love turns into friendship or doesn’t last, I’m here to say that it isn’t true. When you find the “right” one, your soul mate, your one and only, it doesn’t end, it only gets better. Despite all of our troubles we laugh together every day, we kiss every day, we hold each other every single night as we go to sleep. We weather every storm together and hold on even tighter.

Sadness

I know I said I wasn’t going to mention anything, but I think I need to say this. I still miss my Mom seven years later, and (although I talk to him sometimes as much as four times a day), I miss my Dad. Jobs take us from our families sometimes, and that’s life, but it also takes us away from those we love and hold dear.

In all I ended up working on several projects today. I began another cabinet door project with another of  Theresa’s old kitchen cabinet doors. It doesn’t have enough done to make it worth posting. I also began another pencil portrait. A few weeks ago I did a drawing of Mia. This is Mia’s beautiful older sister Maddie. A very preliminary sketch, lots of work yet to be done on it.

4 11 14

 

 

First Steps

Today was a day to plan the future. We spent today on the hunt for a possible business location. It’s harder than you might imagine. There is a lot at stake here, and finding the right spot is essential. The entire process of opening a business is both exciting and terrifying. It is however a dream that I have had for many years. Now it is a dream that must become a reality if we want to find a way to earn a living. That may sound melodramatic but at our age people seem to view us as too old to be of any use. Dan has had his age come up repeatedly in interview after interview, and has been asked more than once if he can “keep up”. One of my friends has a husband just a few years older than us who has been out of work. He is a hardworking man who knows his business. He is also in excellent shape. He continues to play softball with his sons and their friends who are in their twenties. He recently had the opportunity to pick up some part-time work. The young man who was interviewing him for the job actually asked if at his age he could still climb a ladder. Trust me this man does not look his age, and looks in much better shape than your average thirty year old. My sister lost her job in December. She is one of the hardest working women I know, and she can run rings around people half her age. She was turned down for a job because the interviewer was concerned about how much longer she could work. She is only fifty-three. As we move forward in this business I will be going out of my way to look for the kind of mature responsible employees that my sister and our friend are. There’s a lot we can teach some younger workers about how things need to be done.

I have an upcycled project for tonight, but as so often happens I forget to take the “before” shots. (I guess I’m getting old.) An old cabinet door front that has been given new life as a shadow box. I left the door as it was found, just a little cleaning, and built a box to attach to the back. I gave it one shelf right in the middle. On the bottom I added another small vintage wooden shelf. I painted the interior in a dark maroon. The perfect place to display some of my pottery.

4 8 14 (2)

 

4 8 14 (1)

Last Minute Projects

Posted on by | Leave a comment

I’m on deadline, and as always happens the night before a show, I am nowhere near ready. I lost my man Friday, because it is after all Friday (So sorry for that. I assume we all know Robinson Crusoe, right?), anyway Dan had a job interview that turned out to be a waste of his time. (It’s never good when the person interviewing you tells you he needs to be armed because “people” want to get him) As much as he needs a job, this is one I’m not sure I’d want him to take.

I’m a procrastinator, one might say the queen of procrastinators, but not this time. I’ve been working every day, but with so much on my mind my creativity has been hit or miss. I’ve messed up quite a few projects, started some that won’t be completed, killed myself with fumes, but in the end what will be, will be. I always think I won’t do well (you know the Irish broken glass on the floor thing), occasionally I do very well, sometimes terrible, shows are like gambling, sometimes you get lucky, sometimes not. I made an attempt to cut the mirror for the “Mirror, Mirror On The Wall” piece. I bought an inexpensive door mirror for another project and I had more than half left over. I broke the mirror four times. Hmm four times seven, another twenty-eight years of bad luck for me, oh and Dan broke two, another fourteen years, added to my twenty-eight equals forty-two. OK, so we’ll be unlucky until we are dead, what else is new, although I did manage to break four mirrors without slitting my wrist, or needing a band-aid, and trust me that is progress, and more importantly… Success! Dan finally cut a piece of mirror without breaking it.

Sometimes in the midst of the chaos (which would be my kitchen at the moment) something great happens. I love aging mirror. You know when the glass is old and the silvering is disappearing? The patina of it is gorgeous. I was messing with a mirror that I bought at the thrift store a couple of months back. I was aging it with chemicals (so cool!), but it wasn’t turning out exactly as I wanted. Then I turned it over. Beautiful! I added one of my photographs from the Eiffel Tower, which I had changed to sepia, painted the frame in metallic black, and I love it. It’s one of the best “night before my homework is due” projects I’ve ever done. Now comes the hard part, selling it. Everything I do is one of a kind. Especially when it is the “accident that turned out incredible” kind, I’ll never be able to do it again.

Short post tonight, work still to be done, but here is my happy accident, and my frame with a mirror.

4 4 14 (1) 4 4 14 (2)

Return To The Past

My writing has been a bit dreary as of late. I decided today to forgo any and all complaints, and instead write about my curiosity with human nature. I think I’ve mentioned once before my fascination of why people are who they are. I was reminded of it this morning when I was choosing what to wear today. I have a plaid black and white blouse. In fact I always seem to have a black and white something in my wardrobe. When I was a little girl my Dad took our clothes to the laundromat. (A momentous occasion I assure you) It wasn’t his habit to do the laundry, but I believe this particular incident happened around the time my youngest sister was born which means I’d have been five at the time. Dad put the wash in and went next door to where there happened to be an Irish pub. While he was at the pub the laundromat went on fire. Amongst the clothes that were in the laundry was my favorite dress, a black and white check with a red bow at the collar. I remember being very upset at the loss of that dress, and all these years later I still love black and white. It makes me wonder what little occurrences happen in our lives, some when we are too young to recall that shape the people we are to become. Wouldn’t it be interesting to visit our younger selves and discover secrets of why we are who we are? There is a book about what kind of advice that you would give your younger self, but the truth is that our journey makes us who we are, both the good things we’ve done and the ridiculous antics of our youth. I like who I am. I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes and some fairly stupid choices. I’ve also made some really spectacular choices. I’ve reached my age with a wonderful husband that I adore, two amazing children, and a very good man as a son-in-law. Any change that I would make in my past would change what became my future. I’m not interested in going back.

No boxes tonight! A return to fairyland. The show on Saturday is to benefit a Christian school. I came up with a new design for my fairies. My Mother would say a prayer with us at bedtime. It was the prayer she knew and said as a child. My Dad has a different prayer, one that his mother said with him. When I called him not long ago to get it he was rather upset with me for not knowing his mother’s prayer, but as I pointed out to him it was Mom putting us to bed. My new design pays homage to both. My fairies kneel before a prayer, half dedicated to my Mom’s prayer, half to my Dad. Some fairies, some elves. One day left to prepare, and I can’t wait, because I’m tired!

4 3 14 (1) 4 3 14 (2) 4 3 14 (3)

Staying With It

I started the day hoping to be very productive, but my artistic mojo had jumped ship. It seemed that no matter what I put my hand to it just didn’t want to work. I began to get discouraged but I didn’t give up. First because I have the show to get ready for and time is moving fast, but I am also fighting some inner demons. My mind isn’t where it needs to be, which is focusing on my work. I almost quit, but I don’t have the luxury of quitting. So I plowed ahead and you know what? My mojo made a return appearance. By the end of the afternoon I was well into not one but three pieces. Only one is fully completed, but there isn’t much to do on the others. I’ve produced a few pieces that I really love in the last few weeks. That’s one of the unfortunate perils of artistic creation. You fall in love with the work, but you can’t keep everything. On a positive note, as I near the one year mark of my project, my “artistic refrigerator” is starting to look a little empty. I feel like I’m making real headway on finishing many of the upcycled projects that were started long ago, using up unpainted wood that has been sitting for years, and turning some old pieces into something really nice.

In a little less than two weeks I will be at my year’s end. I had promised to do something fabulous for the anniversary, but what I had in mind might not happen as of yet. My head cold of a few weeks ago left me a little on the breathless side. Working with semi-gloss paints on these wooden pieces isn’t helping. I’ve promised myself a break from fumes after Saturday. I had planned on something in oil, but it may be a last-minute production.

I forgot to take a “before” tonight on this box. It was an old piece I picked up a few years ago in an Arizona antique mall. The perfect size to use as a desk top file folder. I had attempted to work on it a while back using the photo to wood transfer technique, but of course impatient me ruined it. I thought I might try again but then remembered that I have a roll of beautiful vintage wallpaper. I attached the wallpaper using spray mount, added metal corner brackets on the bottom, but I still wasn’t satisfied with the piece. A look through my stuff turned up a piece from the back of an old chair. I painted it black, distressed it, and attached it to the back of the box, perfect! This is one of those pieces I love that I wrote about, but off to the show it goes in hopes that someone else will love it as well.

4 1 14 (2)  4 1 14 (3)4 1 14 (4)4 1 14 (1)

Signs

Tonight I will spare you all the “woe is me” saga. I had a couple of really bad days. As if things weren’t troublesome enough around here, the IRS has not taken kindly to our situation and is hitting us hard for tapping into retirement funds. Imagine that? We had the nerve to want to use our own hard-earned money to eat and pay our mortgage. Just when you think things can’t get any worse…

Strange dream again this morning. I was walking for miles and miles, but it was back in Chicago, and Phillip Seymour Hoffman (RIP) was waiting for a bus, there was a woman’s voice on an intercom, then I woke because the phone was ringing. It was my Dad and it was 4:54 a.m., I jumped out of bed and ran for the phone. (Insert minor heart attack here. When the phone rings at night or early morning I always assume the worse) He felt really bad when I answered. He knew he had woken me, but he is eighty-one and gets confused, and the two-hour time difference between here and Chicago sometimes get switched around in his head. I told him it was fine and tried to go back to bed, thinking maybe I could go back to sleep and find out where I was walking to, and why Phillip Seymour Hoffman was waiting for a bus. Unfortunately for me at that precise moment our neighbors decided to let their dog out, and turn on the security light in their garden that shines right in the window next to where I sleep. I mumbled some choice language and gave up. No sleep for me!

Dan and I went out today to look at a few possible locations for our business. We still don’t know how we will pull this one off, but we aren’t giving up. He also got another lead on another job. (Major good karma and prayer request.) We need a miracle and we need it fast. I’m a person who believes in signs. Not like stop signs ( I do try to come to a complete stop, but there’s a reason they call them “Hollywood stops”, and I’ve lived here more than ten years), but signs from God, or Mohammed, or Buddha, or to whomever it is you give your prayers to. My Mom prayed to Our Lady Of Perpetual Help. Swore by her. My Dad was out of work when we were young and my Mom prayed a particular prayer that was answered. We put the photo on her mass card when she passed away. I’ve been praying my Mom’s prayer, I actually have the ratty old cardboard one that she had for years. I’ve been praying for a year. Honestly I’ve been questioning why my prayer hasn’t been answered, but I haven’t given up. I did my prayers this morning, even cried a bit asking for help. After looking at business locations we stopped at Walmart. We rarely go there. (We don’t like their politics or how they treat their employees, but that’s a story for another time.) As we walked to the back of the store we saw a display of religious candles. The kind that I see many Hispanic people buy. There are usually photos of Jesus or Our Lady Of Guadalupe on them. There She was, Our Lady Of Perpetual Help looking right at me. I’ve never seen that photo on one of those candles before, and I worked at a grocery store for eighteen and a half years. I bought it, She is sitting next to my bed with my Mom’s mass card, and my Mom’s Prayer card. Dan isn’t religious, he is too practical, too scientific, but not completely closed to it. I am choosing to believe, I need to. I’ll be lighting the candle tonight.

One more day, one more box for the show. I’ve had this box, an unfinished wooden one, for years. Grabbed it out of the studio the other day and thought, “Suitcase!” Searched Google images for copyright free luggage stickers. Added some faux ribbon straps, a chain, and lined the inside with decoupaged paper. I’m rather fond of it, but it needs to go, hopefully Saturday.

Off to bed now, wondering if maybe just possibly I will dream something not so odd tonight, or that maybe my Mom and Phillip Seymour Hoffman are cooking up a plan to get us out of this mess with a little help from a particular Lady.

IMG_6485  IMG_6487 IMG_6490

IMG_6492IMG_6486

Creating With Heart

Posted on by | Leave a comment

Before I begin my rant, and there will be a rant, I want to acknowledge that I have touched on the following subject more than once before. (If you’re interested 4/23/13 I Am An Artist, 6/15 What Makes An Artist, and 7/16 We Are All Artists) When you post every single day for a year, and your brain is as full of knowledge as mine (a nice way of saying I’m getting older), there will be times that I may repeat myself. I can’t remember every single thing I’ve written about, but there are things that I am passionate about and things that get under my skin and I just can’t let go. Two days ago on Facebook there was a post about a photographer named Vivian Maier. She was a nanny by profession, but also a gifted photographer. There is a new documentary about her that opens this weekend. Ms. Maier was an unknown talent until a man named John Maloof purchased a box of negatives from a Chicago auction house in 2007. (One more recommendation from me about something to Google!) This morning while reading the NY Times I came across a review of the documentary and some criticism about Ms. Maier. I have in the past touched on the fact that I have no formal art education. My only exposure to an art class was in high school, and well, it was high school art. My teacher thought I was gifted and didn’t give me much in the way of guidance. I had upon showing her my work been allowed to skip Art 1. I now think that may have been a mistake. I don’t know the basics, but at this point I don’t really care. I could always actually take a class or read a book, but I am me, and that means I do everything my way. Some of the criticism leveled at Ms. Maier was that she had no formal training, and that she didn’t print her own photos (which I might add would be difficult because she is deceased), thereby she shouldn’t be called an artist, and also questioning photography as an art form.  Two days ago I wrote a post about the judgements leveled by other people. Why the need to demean this work? Any five-year old can take a photograph, but with an artist’s eye? Last night we watched American Idol (Yes, I am part of that demographic that no one cares about but still watches) Keith Urban made an excellent point. He told one of the contestants that you can sing from your head or sing from inside yourself, you are still singing the same words,but the performance changes. (Not an exact quote but the general gist of what he was saying) I am related by marriage to a very talented and successful artist. I love his work. He has been fortunate enough to have training that I have not. I don’t envy him, I admire him and have told him so. There was a point in my life ( before the blog) when I would use his talent as a weapon against myself, to further the agenda of “not good enough” that resides inside my head. I made myself feel inferior, that and another member of this same family called my work “primitive”. I would say to Dan, “Look how wonderful and talented he is. What could I have done if I had his training and family support?” That is a ridiculous question, it is the question of someone who doesn’t believe in them self. These days my mantra is, “Look what I can do when I’ve never had any training.”  (Thank you Mr. Urban for inspiring the following thought) I could paint with all kinds of skill if I had the right schooling, but my skill comes from my heart, and is God-given. Who gets to decide who gets the title? I see quite a bit of work in museums that I really, really dislike. It’s still art. The creator of that work is still an artist. The terms “outsider”, “primitive”, “amateur”, are words that I find offensive. Vivian Maier was an artist every time she pushed the shutter button, I am an artist every time I pick up a pen, a brush, a pencil, or for that matter a frying pan.

OK, got that out of my system. I managed to finish a few things today. I’m only posting one because there are five photos to go with it. Another box, this one done with scanned images of vintage French postcards that I own, decoupaged on painted wood, trim painted in the wonderful Martha Stewart Pearl Paints (Love them!)

3 28 14 (2) 3 28 14 (3) 3 28 14 (4) 3 28 14 (5)3 28 14 (1)

Pearls Of Wisdom

We often hear about wisdom that comes with age. My personal experience is that its true, at least for me, and at least in terms of how I view myself. I was talking to a friend earlier today, she is a wonderful, warm, loyal, and very loving person. She suffers from a terrible lack of self-esteem. She puts up a fairly decent front, but I know her well. She is several years younger than I, and I feel very protective of her. I was trying today to impart some of my hard-earned wisdom in terms of how I have learned to deal with my own issues. It has taken me a long time to realize that I will never be good enough in the eyes of some people, some who know me well, some who don’t but think they do. I have spent years feeling inferior, and I believe that in many ways most of us do. We live in a judgmental society, bombarded with ads of how we are supposed to look, dress and act. Family expectations based on who our families want us to be, but not who we are. Religious judgment, people who claim to love God, any God, but are quick to condemn their fellow human being. Not smart enough, not pretty/handsome enough, too thin, too fat, wrong color skin, wrong color hair, too old, loving the “wrong” person…I could keep going, but I think everyone gets the idea. Do we do it to make ourselves feel better? Think about what we are doing to each other. Think about times when you feel bad about yourself. Do you really want someone else to feel that way? We can’t make everyone happy, we have to make ourselves happy,  we should cut ourselves and others a break. I want my friend to realize, I want everyone to realize, that the only opinion that matters is the one inside your head. Am I perfect? Absolutely not! I am stubborn, and messy, I procrastinate, have absolutely no coordination, I eat out of stress, worry about everything and anything, continually leave every cabinet door in my kitchen open, I can be controlling, opinionated, have a sometimes foul mouth, have a horrific temper, and still frightened of far too many things in life. I am also very kind, considerate, compassionate, loving, thoughtful, creative, artistic, a terrific cook, inventive, generous to a fault, a good wife and mother and a bleeding heart Liberal. I’m working on a few of my issues, particularly the messy cabinet door opening foul tempered parts of me. The thing is that when you weigh the good against the bad, I’m a pretty decent person. Do parts of me bother others? Yes, but I have learned that it is their problem not mine. I can’t please everyone, neither can my friend, neither can any of you. Be nice to each other, be considerate, help one another, but don’t judge each other no matter how much you disagree with how the other person lives their life, it’s theirs not yours. Believe in yourself, make a list of your best qualities, and those you want to change for yourself, the person who matters most.

To my friend (and she knows who she is), it hurts me to see you in so much pain, as I said this morning, you keep telling me how “Amazing” I am, if you really believe that then you need to remember that my friends are “Amazing” too.

Tonight options. Working on stuff for the show next week. One photo I took in Paris, two identical boxes, two designs, two techniques. two lids, all interchangeable. Haven’t completely finished either, haven’t decided which lid will go with which box. One more fault of mine, sometimes I can’t make up my mind.

3 26 14

Overdue Apology?

Parents often speak of the joys of parenthood, and there are many, but there is one that most don’t speak of. That is the joy of annoying your teenager. Some may think me cruel, but despite the many people who see me as not having a sense of humor, I can actually be quite funny. My sister Marion once told me that for her I’m sort of a female Bob Newhart, dry wit that comes out of nowhere. I can be very quiet, and still at times painfully shy, but when I am comfortable with the people I’m with I open up a bit. I’ll never be the type who can dance on a table top, but who would want to see uncoordinated me do that anyway? (I’d compare myself to a blossoming flower, but at my age I think the only thing I could be compared to is something that blooms in the fall…like cabbage) I digress…My children are no longer teenagers, but full-fledged adults. It is very difficult to annoy Jessica. She is such a sunny pleasant person that it is hard to find an angle, and as a teenager she studied voluntarily. (Where did I go wrong?) I remember once finding her studying the Periodic Table of Elements. I asked if she was having a test. Her response? “No, I just thought I should know these.” Supportive and proud mother that I am, I called her a weirdo. (Just kidding Honey, love you!) Brian is now twenty-three. He is intelligent beyond words, which is really interesting since he hated, and I mean HATED school. It is my firm belief that he charmed his way through school. He is very charming. Well that and he once asked me to bake a cake for a teacher. He didn’t tell me his grade was bad and that he was buttering the man up, only that his teacher like strawberries. We fought about school from about the sixth grade when he announced that he would no longer do homework. Schoolwork was the teacher’s job, and if they couldn’t do the job in six hours it wasn’t his problem. I’m sure you know I had a lot to say about that. We butted heads through most of his teenage years, arguing about just about everything. He was so stubborn. (Gee, I wonder who he gets that from?) I fought back the only way I could, sarcasm and humor. I knew he didn’t think I was funny, but I thought I was funny, and better yet I knew it annoyed the crap out of him. (Forgive me Brian, but it was my best defense!) My favorite story, and I hope he thinks it’s funny now, is when he was into existentialism. What? I know, when he told me he was an existentialist I said, “I don’t even know what that is.” He explained that we might not really be here, that the bed we were sitting on might not really be here, that we had no way of knowing what was real. (This is where the fun starts.) “I know we are here. I know you are here. I know that because I gave birth to you and pushed out all eight pounds and nine ounces of you. Trust me I know you’re here.” He was very upset with me. “You have no respect for my feelings!” Conversation over. I thought I was hilarious. He of course did not. I knew he was searching for his identity, and maybe I could have been a little more understanding, but he wouldn’t do homework or clean his room. A mother has to have satisfaction somewhere, right? I really am sorry Brian for not taking it a little more seriously.

Today’s work is for my Brian. I love him dearly and am very proud of the kind and compassionate man he is. He recently moved out and I offered art for his new place. He is a different kind of guy, so I thought he needed a different kind of art. I knew from the onset that I was going abstract, a style which I am very new to. It pulls me way, way out of my comfort zone, because I reside in the land of “supposed to look like”, this isn’t in my territory. Abstract forces me to let go of control to a certain extent, and lack of control is a very scary place. I wasn’t exactly sure until today what existentialism was (I just looked it up), but I thought about the universe and nothingness, and what might be happening out there in the cosmos. In my vision it is darkness, bursts and flashes of light, and more stars than you can possibly imagine. This is my Universe.

3 25 14

Questions

I heard something this morning that really resonated with me. I heard it of course on Sunday Morning (at this point I think CBS should be sending me a check for promoting their show). There was a segment on an artist who makes amazing collages out of dollar bills. His name is Mark Wagner, his work is incredibly intricate. (Google him, amazing work!) During the interview he said, “Art happens in two places. In my brain when I’m making these things, and then in the viewer’s brain when they are looking at them.” I never really thought about art in that way. There is the old “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”,  but I never really thought about the very personal relationship between the viewer and the work of art. I of course have a very personal relationship with my work, and the work itself is the result of my life’s experiences, through my mind’s eye, my talent. In the same way when I look at a piece of art my life’s experiences will affect the way I see, relate, or experience that work. It means a great deal to me when someone likes my work, or finds a deeper meaning in it, but I guess I hadn’t put as much thought into exactly how others are experiencing what I create. I am a very self analytical person, and have a fascination with why other people are who they are. The reality is that no two people will experience art in the same way. Dan and I had a conversation just the other day about just this kind of thing.  We talked about how our likes and dislikes are formed, and the fact that some of them we seem to have been born with. We all know how we inherit the color of our eyes, but why is he so intrigued by history? Why art for me? Why was I so drawn to it from such an early age? My kids have been exposed to art from infancy, but I certainly wasn’t. I have very strong reactions to particular kinds of art as well. I can pick myself apart on a lot of my little idiosyncrasies, but there is much about myself that makes me curious. Why do I love antiques when my sister thinks that they are creepy? Why do I love purple and green, and my daughter red plaid? I know a lot of who we turn out to be is shaped by our parents and our environment, but even that doesn’t account for everything. Do we carry opinions in our DNA? I always wondered if we can inherit body type, why we couldn’t inherit memories and taste as well. Sometimes this kind of thought can lead you down the dog chasing it’s own tail kind of thinking. Sometimes there are no answers, just more questions, but I really do love to ask them.

I didn’t accomplish much today. I’m still short of breath and it makes me tired. I did the unthinkable today, I tried to take a nap. I almost succeeded, that is until my cat Mia decided to do a little mountain climbing up my leg and onto my hip and yodel (well, meow). She left and I tried again, but then the phone rang. No sleep for me. I did manage to finish the front panel on the box, but I am leaning towards upholstering the top. I want it to be a place to sit and read.

3 23 14