So what?

Into the Mystic.  Willoughby Hills, OH.

When I put a camera up to my eye, my question is So what?  I try to answer that question both as I compose a photograph and as I edit it later.  Often, I've already composed the picture I want to take in my mind before I pick up the camera, but playing with cropping, colors, and shadows after the fact can bring about different images and evoke different emotions than what was first experienced at the scene.  It's a lot of fun.  I was about to throw away the image that became  Sophia Calls the Cats (found here) - until I looked more closely, cropped about half the photo, and began to see something interesting emerge.  

I see photo editing like I see make-up.  You may know it's there, but it works best when it merely enhances beauty, not compete with it.

Thursday's Storm on the Lake

I stopped on my way to the grocery store a couple of nights ago to watch the storm and snap a few shots.  Lightning is hard to catch!

I want to practice more with low-light photography, whenever I can find the time....

Look What Euclid Has

This is Lincoln Electric's new windmill, in Euclid (just east of Cleveland proper).  I can't decide whether I like it or not. It can be pretty, if you look at it the right way - like God's pinwheel. But it's huge and stark, too.

U2 and Pittsburgh!

On July 26th, my kids and I went to the U2360 concert in Pittsburgh, PA.  We had looked forward to this concert for 1-1/2 years.  We were not disappointed!  We had tickets to go last year, but 2010 was the year for emergency back surgeries. (Bono's, and mine.... Pitiful how I try to find that common ground with a rock star, eh?)  

The last time I went to a U2 concert was on an autumn night in 1987 at the old Cleveland Stadium. Four Irish lads creating rock as only they can, including everything from Party Girl to Gloria, with Bono's soaring, soulful praise:

Gloria
In te domine
Gloria
Exultate
Gloria
Gloria
Oh, Lord, loosen my lips.

Yep, I was hooked, big time, and long before most of America knew who they were. I've been a fan since 1985 when a college boyfriend gave me some of their early music on cassette. The band has often made me dream of going back to Ireland to maybe dance along its southern coast again (like in 1986), or meet with some friends for a Guinness, endless talk, and a few songs.  Maybe wander about the countryside taking photos, capturing stories.  Ireland is soulful, misty and mystical.   It has a rich history as a nation of scholars, and is one of the first (some say the first) to produce literature in the vernacular.  (See www.irishlanguage.net/irish/literature.asp.)   Some good-looking Irishmen, great beer, good music, and great reads?  I'm there already....at least in my mind.

Anyway, while healing from my own back surgery and looking forward to the show, I started reading more about the band, paying particular attention to the interplay between band members and their creative process.  It seems they are successful because they have faith in themselves, each other and their art; they check their individuals egos at the door; and they are committed to each other and to the process.  A process that includes, as Andrew Robinson relates, "spend[ing] days in the studio slogging through various soundscapes. Most days are long, tiring, and frustrating. It is common for the four band members to end the day with absolutely nothing to show for it. But if they remain committed to this arduous, mundane process long enough something brilliant begins to emerge." (Quote in larger context, here.  Robinson's quote is part of his larger discussion of the documentary film It Might Get Loud and the creative process in general. )  In other words, they're just like most of us - they have to work hard to get somewhere.  Still.  Writer's block?  Write through it. (I'm talking to myself, here.) 

I find the description above awfully close to one of my favorite quotes, Commit to the process; detach from the outcome.  In music, writing, painting, whatever it is you like to do, just do it, and tell your internal critic to shut up. It's not all going to be good.  But do it because you must.  Do it because it's in your DNA. Do it for the joy that comes from using and sharing God-given gifts. U2's art is often based on conversations with God.  And joy seems to ooze from their pores when they play.

The view of Pittsburgh from our Heinz Stadium seats.

Spaceship has landed!  Gorgeous.

Recording Day

Here I am with State of the Re:Union's senior producer Tina Antolini of NPR, the day of my recording of my Dear Cleveland letter in July.  What fun!  Tina and her assistant put me at ease right away.  During our chat she asked me if the letter was autobiographical, which was interesting, because I realized that it was, just a day or two prior, when I was practicing my reading of it.  Chalk up another point for writing what you know!

To read the letter, click here.  The posting of my letter and possible broadcast of my reading is slated for mid September.  

Everyday Grace

I keep thinking about a simple act of grace I experienced a few months ago at a gas station store.  I had just returned to my neighborhood after taking my sister to the airport at an ungodly hour.  It was now about 6am, the time when you know it's just too late to go home and back to sleep, but you can't imagine going on like this for an entire day.  And so I stopped in to this store just to get a cup of coffee before going home to wake the kids for school and begin the near endless hours until night would fall and I could close my eyes again.

I got my coffee and went to the man behind the bullet-proof divider at the register.  He said, How are you doing?  I said, Eh.  I fumbled with my wallet as I tried to hold my foam coffeecup without spilling.

Then he said, Don't worry about it.  I said, What? No...I have the money, I just gotta get it out of this stupid wallet.   He said, No, this one's on me.  Enjoy.

I left, lifted, with a small shot of energy that caffeine cannot provide.  This is grace.  Unmerited favor, as Christians like to call it.  This gas station cashier did this just because he could, and maybe he wanted to see this tired woman smile.   I also think that God came to earth, as the Gospels report, just because He could, and maybe he wants to see us smile.  Don't you think?  Can't it be as simple as that?

St. Francis of Assisi said, "Preach the Gospel.  If necessary, use words."  If only we would do this more, and argue less.  And blow each other up less....

NPR's State of the Re:Union Comes to Visit

Lake Erie at Mentor Headlands

A few weeks ago, my friend Diane Hoeptner sends me a link from Craigslist and says, "you ought to do this." "This" was an invitation from National Public Radio's State of the Re:Union show asking listeners from particular cities across the country to write a letter expressing their thoughts about their hometown or region. Sure, I'll give it a go, I said. 
 
Northeast Ohio has always been my home.  Nothing about living here is mediocre.  We roast in the summer and freeze in the winter.  In autumn, we revel in the bursting foliage, and in the spring?  Well, I count down the cold, cloud-covered days until I can get to the lake again, gaining hope as I see, finally, the leaf buds appear in the trees, the little wildflowers pop through the muddy grass.  When we're poor, we're poor (rated the poorest big city in the US in 2004), and yet we have treasures right here, among and within us, that truly can't be measured.

And so I sent in my Dear Cleveland letter to State of the Re:Union, and about a week later I received an email from its senior producer, Tina Antolini, saying that they'd be in Cleveland soon and they'd like me to read my letter for the program.  Below is that letter, recorded for them on July 25th.  It should be posted on their website (www.stateofthereunion.com) as an audio file in mid September, and may be incorporated into their broadcast, also to be aired around the same time.  I'll keep you informed!   

Dear Cleveland,

You're a beauty.  A beauty that, yes, has been abandoned by many in search of greener pastures and thicker wallets.  Nevertheless, you persevere -- you're a hard-working, gritty town, proud and tough.

Indeed, you're a tough city along a rough lake.  But you're not afraid to live with a moody Lake Erie, enduring her icy storms and Lake Effect howlings like a  husband endures a half-mad woman with PMS during a full moon.  You know she'll come around, in her time.  And she does, offering her cool tranquility during a summer's heat wave, providing a perfect place to watch the sun slip quietly below her waters, or slide down, raging, after lighting the clouds afire with pinks, oranges, and purples.

A while ago, you had enough of the Cleveland jokes.  True, you're among the poorest cities in the nation.  But, remember, you birthed rock-n-roll -- you've got soul.  And lately you have dug down deep to take pride in what other, more genteel people could already see.  Home to an thriving arts culture, your jewels include the world-renowned Cleveland Orchestra, The Cleveland Museum of Art, The Museum of Contemporary Art, University Circle, the Rock Hall of Fame, Playhouse Square, Karamu House, and a vibrant local art scene in neighborhoods like Tremont, Little Italy, Lakewood, and Waterloo.  

Art that moves the spirit is often born of pain and struggle.  Thank you, Cleveland, for offering so much that inspires my own artist’s heart.  Just as you do, I continue on. 

Sincerely,

Pat Washington

A Blessed Fourth

My daughter, celebrating freedom with a sparkler.

Our Independence Day celebrations aren't too elaborate.  Two things we do -- enjoy fireworks and read the Declaration of Independence (plus, this year, the Preamble of the Constitution and the Bill of Rights).  So here, because I am grateful for our freedoms, is part of that Declaration.  Thank you, Mr. Jefferson, for your eloquent words.  

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

It goes on to list the list of grievances against the British monarch.  To read the rest, go here.

Coffee

(So I went to a poetry reading last night and am still feeling kinda groovy.  Here is this morning's attempt to honor the gift of the gods.  What else have I been doing?  Besides the regular mom stuff and office job, I've been working on resumes, and web copy for lights and flagpoles.  And we had a little vacation in Hocking Hills, which included ziplining!)

I stumble to the kitchen and reach for you.
Coffee first.  Even before the cat gets fed.
And she knows that, watching me expectantly.
Your warm aroma rises from the grounds
as I hear the familiar gurgle and drip.
I breathe you in like a familiar lover.
And then...after washing a few dishes
in the sink to pass the time,  
there you are, brewed and ready.
Wrapping my hands around the cup of you,
I pull you close,
I drink you in.

Sunrise Photos at Lakeside

Sunrise at Lakeside, Ohio.  Word Lovers' Retreat.  April 3rd, 2011.
(Another post about the retreat to follow.)

 

 

Spring Poem Collaboration -- My Kind of Thing!

Spring

Once-tidy ribbons on my door wreath,

Blown blowsy by blasts of unruly wind,

Unwind their curly tails, wildly celebrating

Their spiraling freedom. 

Geese in the sky call out their joyful return 

In their northern flight, flashing their

V for Victory in their passing.

Long swathes of grey woodlands are now 

Dabbled with white dogwood and splashed

By yellow daffodils on every greening hill.

In the lowlands and marshes, life noisily abounds

As bird songs and frog calls herald the return of 

Earth’s resplendent warm beauty. 

Once again, she's spun 'round the sun like a dancer,

Around this sun, her star, her heavenly light.

The wild wind carried his love for her and, 

now aglow, she births spring’s vibrancy

from deep darkness within.

The poem above was written this weekend by Facebook friends Joseph Hebda and Melanie Floro, and me, and edited by me.  Special thanks to Melanie for priming us with her first phrases (in addition to her later contribution).

This collaboration began after I posted on Facebook that my daughter wanted me to help her find a spring poem on the internet for school.  A spring poem, hmm?  I said.  Yeah.  A nice, spring, appropriate poem, she said seriously.  (She knows me.)  Sheesh....Is a poet concerned with writing appropriate poems? I mused to myself.  And so....

I asked my Facebook friends if they'd like to write one with me.  Some wonderful imagery spilled forth, was edited and, voila, a poem was born.  I hope to shoot a wonderful photo for this sometime soon.  And I'd love to do this again!  Feel free to add your own poems as a comment below.

Then and Now (Thoughts on a Saturday Morning)

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: ... a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, .... ~ Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

I’m sitting here in the sunshine listening to the birds chirp outside my window. About a year ago, those chirping birds drove me nuts. I was going through a painful break-up, and my brother was fighting for his life against cancer, a fight he soon lost. I couldn’t bear to witness the beauty of the world. The birds woke me up at 4:30am, just before the dawn, and they made me cry. All I wanted to do is sleep. But I couldn’t sleep; relentlessly a new dawn would come. I was taking a ride on this earth, around and around, and I wanted off. I wanted everything to stop.

Now the morning sunshine is warm and beautiful, and the birds sound hopeful. Even though my brother is dead. Even though my love is gone. Even though the earthquake and tsunami survivors in Japan are in their first stages of grief. We must, each of us, walk through our own devastations. Each of us will take as long as it takes to stumble through.

The ground beneath our feet can seem solid, but then in a minute it can begin to shake and crumble out of control. To feel fear is human, but to stay fearful because of life’s uncertainties is to cease living. This is something I need to remind myself, sometimes daily. It’s easy to get dragged down. As U2 sings, Every day I die again, and again I'm reborn. Every day I have to find the courage to walk out into the street with arms out. Got a love you can't defeat….Walk out, into the sunburst street. Sing your heart out….I've found grace inside a sound – I found grace, it's all that I found. And I can breathe.

And so I breathe. And enjoy the birds and the sunshine. Because they are there now for me to enjoy.

Kicking Up a Storm

I am eagerly awaiting the warm storms again. I've had enough snow for quite a while. This photo was taken last summer at Mentor Headlands Beach.

Hospice Fundraiser at Chili Peppers Today!

I've wanted to blog about one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants, Chili Peppers, for quite some time.  When I walked in yesterday afternoon to pick up burritos for dinner, I knew that the time was now.

Today, Chili Peppers (at 869 E. 185th Street in Cleveland) is having a fundraiser to help Sharon Richman of Hospice of the Western Reserve take a two-week trip with some of her coworkers to Helderberg Hospice, their partner hospice in South Africa, this March.  Each participant must raise his or her own funds for the trip.  Sharon's tripmates include a photographer, two nurses, a volunteer coordinator, a music therapist and the CEO of Hospice of the Western Reserve, David Simpson.

"This is a wonderful opportunity to work together with our partner and learn how a hospice in another country helps patients and their families deal with end-of-life issues," Sharon said.  The partnership, established in 2002, helps provide vital funding for Helderberg Hospice as well as a unique opportunity to exchange information and ideas in the global community. 

Support from Hospice of The Western Reserve has helped its South African partner train nurses, social workers and administrators in palliative care.  Funds also help to feed hungry families dealing with end-of-life issues, buy medical supplies, and take care of other immediate needs.

"We feel that it is so important to share our learning and increase overall awareness of the need for hospice and palliative care in a country ravaged by the AIDS/HIV pandemic,"  Sharon said.   "[We] will give presentations upon our return to share our experiences and raise awareness."

Chili Peppers is a popular lunch spot for employees of Hospice of the Western Reserve, as it is just right up the street.  Chili Peppers' owner Steve Newman came to know Sharon via her lunchtime visits.
 
"I like to give back to the community," Steve said.  "Hospice does such a great service for people." 

I encourage anyone in the Cleveland area to come to Chili Peppers on E. 185th Street anytime today between 11am and 9pm to enjoy some great Mexican food and to support a good cause.  The menu has plenty of options to make vegetarians and vegans happy, as well as omnivores like me.  Also enjoy a complimentary piece of cake from Buettner’s Bakery!

It's a Wonderful Life

Well, goodbye to 2010.  It was a long, rough year.  I said goodbye to two wonderful people and endured a tough surgery, amid several other more mundane happenings, too boring to mention here, which were just made more difficult because of those bigger things.  Yet, hope is tenacious.  It's still a wonderful life.  George Bailey reminded me of that last week.

I bought that classic film, It's a Wonderful Life, online this season and it arrived just in time - on Christmas Eve.  The first time I saw that film I was in my late teens, and I didn't like it.  Who the heck was this George Bailey and what was up with that silly little angel named Clarence?   I caught bits and pieces of it on TV as I helped my family decorate the Christmas tree, wondering Geez, a story about some depressed guy who didn't want to live is a classic Christmas movie?  What gives?  Where's Santa?  Where's Charlie Brown?  I felt quietly embarrassed as I watched this man fall apart onscreen, and also again as I witnessed his joy restored at the end of the story.   Hokey, I thought.   It just didn't fit in with my idea of Christmas.  I wanted a perfect Christmas, with a pretty tree, pretty presents, and a pretty ... ahem ... a handsome boyfriend to kiss under the mistletoe.  I was going to have a wonderful life, and, in my mind, it had no resemblance to George Bailey's.

Well, as anyone who lives long enough knows, we can't always get what we want.   George wanted to travel the world; he didn't want to stay in Bedford Falls.  But, through no fault of his own, he stayed there and was eventually driven to deep despair.

The exuberance of youthful dreams gets tempered by what life hands us.  As my little girl started saying years ago, that's just the way life is.   We don't get to choose the tragedies that happen to us.  Except if we take our own life, which is the only choice that George thought he could bear.  Until, that is, his angel appeared and took him on a wild ride to show him what life would have been like if he had never been born.  That was quite a Christmas gift.  A messy one that can't be wrapped and put under a tree, but I'd take it.  And I do now, without embarrassment, every time I watch the miracle of George eventually realizing the worth of his own life, as he cries out to Clarence, I want to live....I want to live.....  

A story of struggle, dashed hopes, despair, and then joy, found in a new perspective. It fit my Christmas perfectly.

Stories on the Big Bed

Some of my most treasured memories of my childhood are of climbing up into my parents big bed and having Mom or Dad read to me.  And I am convinced that their reading to me sparked my own enduring love of reading and writing.

Dad often read from Richard Scarry's books, especially What Do People Do All Day.  (That is the book, there, to the left.)  He and I would hunt for Lowly Worm or Goldbug, and we'd giggle at the antics of that mischievous character, Gorilla Bananas, along with the rest of the whimsical Scarry cast.  These books were our favorite. 

Usually I would be wide awake, revelling in my time with him.  He, comfortably dozy, would open up the big book, and I would snuggle in beside him.  And we would begin.  Sometimes he would fall asleep in the middle of the story, but I thought that he was snoring just to tease me.  And so I would tease back by pulling on his chest hairs to wake him up.  This little girl didn't understand the demands of raising eight kids and working double shifts just to try to keep up with the bills....  I just wanted the whole story!  But Dad never got irritated at that.  And it's only been lately, as I am in my mid-forties, about same age he was then, that I've realized more fully the quiet effort that he had made to stay awake and keep reading.  It's one way I know for sure that he loved me. 

My mother seemed to favor reading me poetry.  (I get her thinking now ... poems most always are shorter than stories!) Some of her favorites, and, therefore, mine too were Robert Frost, Edward Lear, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Christina Rossetti.  I loved listening to her voice as she read the lilting verses, and this one by Stevenson is particularly nestled in my mind. 

Windy Nights

Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,

All night long in the dark and wet,

A man goes riding by.

Late in the night when the fires are out,

Why does he gallop and gallop about?

Whenever the trees are crying aloud,

And ships are tossed at sea,

By, on the highway, low and loud,

By at the gallop goes he.

By at the gallop he goes, and then

By he comes back at the gallop again.



I've done a little digging around on the web about this poem, and apparently, Stevenson's inspiration for it were the terrible fears he experienced at bedtime as a child.  "I had an extreme terror of Hell, implanted in me, I suppose, by my good nurse, which used to haunt me terribly on stormy nights, when the wind had broken loose and was going about the town like a bedlamite.  I remember that the noises on such occasions always grouped themselves for me into the sound of a horseman, ...." http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/2896.html. 

 

My Mom and Me

Now that's not the feeling that I got from my mom's reading of it.  That poem wasn't scary. Wonderfully mysterious, exciting, a bit brooding, perhaps, but not scary.  As I was digging about, I also happened to find it set to music on YouTube.com and ... eh, I suppose it's okay.  No offense to the composer, but there is just no comparison.  My mom's poetry readings of yesteryear still rule.  

Even now, at night when the wind and rain make the trees whisper and sigh, and I am lying cozy in the dark, I can hear my mom's reading that of poem.  And I sure am glad that she was the one reading to me rather than the likes of Stevenson's nursemaid.

I've shared the classic stories and poems that I have loved with my own kids.  But I don't think I've read to them enough.  It's never enough, really.  Such a simple pleasure. 

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Writing from Your Own Emptiness

I have just found yet another reason why I'm drawn to the boys from Dublin. 
I remember as a child, growing up in Ireland. We were taught the poetry of William Butler Yeats. I must have been ten years old. The teacher said, "and then Yeats went through his dry period. He had a writing block and he couldn't write about anything." I remember putting up my hand, and saying "Well, why didn't he write about that?" And the teacher just looked at me and said, "Oh, be quiet." But that is exactly the answer to the writing block. You write about your own emptiness, and we've done that for years now.
~ Bono   http://www.ascap.com/jam/feature_artists/u2.html

I found my peeps!

Last month, I attended a weekend Word Lover's Retreat at Ohio's very own Chautauqua community at Lakeside.  I've wanted to go to a writer's retreat for years now, but, as this single mom's budget leaves very little room for indulgence, I had kept saying someday....  Well.  Last month I made that "someday" happen, and I'm quite pleased that I did.  I met so many new writer friends!  Here are some of them in the photo, to the right.

The weekend was facilitated by fellow Cleveland writers Claudia Taller and Deanna Adams.  Claudia led us in discussions and writing exercises from The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron, and On Writing Well, by William Zissner.  Deanna, author of Rock 'N' Roll and the Cleveland Connection, Cleveland's Rock and Roll Roots, and Confessions of a Not-So-Good Catholic Girl, offered great encouragement and tips from her own writing experience.
In addition to enjoying great conversations with like-minded companions, I took a couple relaxing strolls around the community and enjoyed a beautiful sunrise swim in Lake Erie.  As the retreat wrapped up Sunday afternoon, we were treated to a graceful presentation and talk about belly dancing by Mary Bodnar (below).

The retreat was just what I needed.  Relaxing?  Not really....But it was invigorating!  Someone mentioned that my "motivation for writing is so palpable."  I appreciated that.  Maybe part of that was because I was excited that I was able to spend the whole weekend with fellow "word lovers."  I felt that I was exactly where I belonged.  I brought home a notebook with all sorts of wonderful scribblings that will be launch points for more writing.  And I went out and bought Cameron's book, The Artist's Way. (Less than $3 at the second-hand bookstore!)

I hope to attend the next retreat in April.  To learn more about the Word Lovers' Retreats, click here.

One Hundred One Days of Summer

Sophie and Nate at Mentor Headlands as a storm rolls in.  Aug. 2010.

Last month I was awarded honorable mention and inclusion in an e-chap book for my submission, Sweet Heat,  to the Dog Days of Summer flash writing contest, hosted by Michael Solender at his blog not from here, are you?  You can find the book here.   My writing is on page 47.

This contest was a lot of fun.  The rules?  Submit a piece of writing that is exactly 101 words (for the 101 days of summer) and include the words summer and heat.    Well....  After the summer we had, I was more than ready.  Creative juices flowed like sweat as I let loose my hot frustration on my keyboard.   And now, for your reading pleasure, here is my flash writing submission.

Sweet Heat

While lying in bed, I listen to the crickets sing for a mate outside my window.  Summer has peaked; school will start again soon.  Every year it’s the same – where has summer gone?  But I know….  It slipped away when I was merely bearing the heat of it, taking refuge in the conditioned air of my car and the office – in closed-up and artificial things.  But now, this night, I soak it in; I revel in the sticky warmth of it, knowing full well that the ache of winter is relentless in its approach.  Sing this woman to sleep, dear crickets.

Grieving Long Distance

My brother Bill died on Friday, July 23rd. It was unexpected. He went in for surgery early Monday morning, July 19th, and then Friday morning he died. He had been diagnosed with cancer in the spring, and I had really just gotten used to that reality. We thought he had a fighting chance to beat that monster. We were wrong.

Bill lived in southern Ohio for the past couple of decades, so I didn’t get to see him that often. But he was always large in my mind. One of two big brothers, he was one of my heroes. Somewhat quiet and quirky, it was hard to tell sometimes when he was joking, or when he was serious. He was the master of deadpan.

He never pushed advice, but he gave great counsel when asked. He encouraged me in my writing, and was always happy to hear of any success, like when I landed a great writing gig, or even when my kids did something great. Many years ago, he gave me Earl Nightingale’s series, Lead the Field, and here is some of what he wrote on the note that he tucked inside the package. It helps me to remember that this is not a practice life. It’s the real thing – we have only one life to live. We can be swept along and react to whatever life brings, or we can shape it into something better. Go for it!
I miss him.

I got the call that Friday morning when I was on my way to work. I stayed at work for 15 minutes, long enough to give instructions during my absence, and then I went home. Became numb. Didn’t know what to do or how to feel. And so I went to his Facebook page. I read the funny comments that he made just weeks earlier. Looked at his pictures. I wanted to be there, but I couldn’t – it all happened so fast.

The night before his surgery, I had an intense and awful dream about him dying, with me trying to drive down to see him just once more, but arriving too late. That dream came true less than a week later.

And so we made the long trip to southern Ohio for his memorial. Per his wishes, he was cremated, and so there was no body there to help make it real for me. There were just pictures of him, and the people he loved gathered about. He loved a lot of people. And we loved him.

The church overflowed. The eulogies were bittersweet – achingly beautiful, and laugh-out-loud funny. Do you know what your body does when you laugh and cry at the same time? It snorts. At least mine did, much to the chagrin of my quite proper, Catholic-educated, ten-year-old daughter. “Mom, you were laughing the loudest. And then….And then you…snorted!” she half-whispered, mortified. Yes I did. And it was good.

The night after his memorial, I had another dream. It was more of a vivid impression, really, because nothing happened, but instead I heard Bill’s quiet, lighthearted laugh that he had when something amused him. This time, I woke up comforted, and I smiled. I hope that he was glad that his family and friends were all together, celebrating his life well lived.

It will be okay. Love reaches beyond the grave, and I’ll hold him in my heart until we meet again. Until that time, I hope I can live my life the way he lived his -- with excellence, love, and humor.

Here's the beautiful bride from the wedding my son and I photographed on February 27th, in the midst of the last big snowstorm of the season.

Time Flies....

This is from a wedding my son and I did last August. I remember it well, as it was 90 degrees and very humid. The bride was as cool as a cucumber, but it seemed that the groom was really feeling it.... Click here to watch this garden wedding.

Burt and Terry

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ToP1-meVpaw
This is a video slideshow of my photos of my sister's wedding, a year ago this month. I had great fun making this video, and I think the Van Morrison songs fit perfectly.
I also photographed another wedding two months ago, and have had some other summer gigs that kept me busy, in addition to my office job. I'll see if I can post some photos from this summer's wedding soon.
I have some other photographic and writing projects rolling around in my head, and I'm looking for time to fit them into my calendar. In the meantime, I'm still for hire.

August in Neff Park, Cleveland.

Mentor Headlands Beach

A Fish Story for You

I must thank my brother-in-law and newspaper columnist Burt Cole for providing the prompt for this post, as he recently shared a funny story about unwillingly sharing his pants with a garter snake while picking beans in the garden. So here is my "skinny dipping under duress" fish story.

Once, when I was a teen, I caught a 8-inch (or so, no time to measure!) fish up my swimsuit during a swim in Lake Erie. How might this happen, you ask? Well, in a wild, wavy session of body surfing in the lake, one is sure to get pebbles in places the sun doesn't shine. And so I sometimes I would swim out to shoulder-depth water and pull out the suit's leg openings a bit to discreetly free myself of them. Well, don'tcha know -- one time, just as I was out there pulling my secret little maneuver, a big wave came along and, whoosh!, so does a fish, right up my swimsuit! Being a lifeguard, I knew I shouldn't scream -- I certainly didn't need the added attention. But I do believe I may have squeeled just a little as I slapped my hand along my side, trying to get the thing to stop wriggling on the other side of that Speedo. Eww, eww, eww.

There was no way to get rid of that thing except to peel off my swimsuit, which is what I did, in deeper water, with only one hand, as the other was still planted firmly on that fish until I could actually let him go. Good thing I can tread water with no hands.... I guess I was so cool about the whole drama that no one believed me when I got back to shore. Not until I showed them all the shiny scales on the inside of my swimsuit when I got back home.

Portrait of my children by Diane Hoeptner

Created several years ago. See http://www.dianehoeptner.com/.

Meet Diane Hoeptner

Longtime friend Diane Hoeptner is a fine artist living and working in the Tremont neighborhood of Cleveland. We first met when we both attended Kent State University in the 80s. Diane, however, soon pulled up roots and left for Los Angeles, CA, where she finished her Bachelor of Arts degree in studio arts at Cal State, Northridge. She ended up staying 17 years, becoming fully involved in the art world, which included working as a digital animator for video games and the film industry, teaching art at East LA Community College and serving as a special events coordinator for the Culver City ART group, all the while cultivating her own style as a fine artist.

She’s been honored with several art awards, has been published by fine art companies, and has enjoyed a consistent influx of commissions. Currently her focus is on working with oils, but she also is accomplished in a particular technique of watercolor and color pencil, having created gorgeous, dreamy pieces such as her portrait of my children. [See above.]I met up with Diane last week in her studio to catch up over coffee and discuss her art.

Let’s start at the beginning. Have you always seen yourself as an artist, or how old were you when you knew that this was your calling? I was encouraged to paint and draw as a child. At some point we lived across the street from a professional artist and her husband, a professor. They were world travelers who seemed very exotic and exciting. The woman, Mrs. Snyder, told me about their travels and gave me impromptu art lessons. I sort of equated travel, literature and art because of the Snyders and it was around then that I got the general idea to become an artist – at age 9 to 10.

You are originally from Northeast Ohio, but you move to the Los Angeles area for 17 years. What were you seeking out west?

Opportunity and sunshine.

And what made you "come home” again? You know the area where we grew up, Pat! Downtown Austinburg [in Ashtabula County] consists of a post office, a grain store and a church. My mother raised my sister and me by herself. She is made of very strong New England stuff – I am not. I hated growing up in the snowbelt and I longed for sunshine and civilization. But I came back home because I missed my family.

After so many years of success with watercolor and color pencils, what made you decide to change your focus to oils? I could write a book on why I love oil painting...and why I wish I would have started in earnest when I was 22 instead of 42! A good color pencil/water color painting takes 20-plus hours. A good oil painting can take as little as one hour. It's easier to frame an oil painting, and oil painting is more forgiving. The slow and meticulous nature of color pencil doesn't allow for a lot of experimentation; oil painting does. I was just telling my husband the other night I think I need reading glasses, ha! I'm just not in a place where I want to fuss over details (for more reasons than one!) and oil painting is perfect for me right now.

Not in a place to fuss over details – that sounds like a lot of women who come into their own in their forties. More creative, less uptight, more willing to work with imperfections, and even see the beauty in imperfections. I’ve struggled with perfectionism myself, but your blog has inspired me to push through that. You’ve posted a quote there that seems related to that – “commit to the process, detach from the outcome.” How do you bring this quote into your own life as an artist – what does it mean to you? "Commit to the process, detach from the outcome" reminds me to do what it takes and keep doing it. No one tells you in art school, "Hey, if you wanna actually make a living, you'll have to devote about half your time to marketing and sales." My "process" happens to include a lot of marketing and presentation-type activities. I'm not a natural born sales person. Rejections happen all the time in big and small ways, [and so] detaching from the outcome when a gallery says "no thanks" or a customer says "I'll pass" is really important. Producing good paintings, repeatedly, is crucial, so whatever it takes to get to the next painting, or the next thing – be it a marketing chore, blog update or correspondence – it's all necessary and it's all part of the process!

There's something to be said for going with the flow and starting right where you are. Committing to the process can mean crawling before you run…. It's not a lot of things I can do very well, but painting happens to be one of them. However, paintings do not sell themselves, not in this economy. So, I stumble and I try things, many things, and I stay on track by reminding myself to commit to the process and detach from the outcome.

Describe a good day for yourself in your studio. Do you have a routine? What works to get your creativity flowing? Everything begins with coffee and a healthy dose of internet celebrity gossip. Ha ha, just kidding (kinda). Seriously, coffee first. I like to start early, around 6am is ideal, and end around 3pm. I work from my own photographs and I keep a huge database of photos. Making a good painting is an elusive thing. Sometimes, it happens effortlessly. Sometimes you re-work it, wipe it down, do it again and then you have a good painting. But any day when a good painting happens is a good day. When I make a good painting, all things – inspiration, energy, more good paintings – flow from that.

What artists have influenced you in your path? Sargent, Sorolla, Waterhouse & Cassatt…. So many, a lot of whom are still living and working: Thiebaud, Chase Chen, Carol Marine & Arron Lifferth (both fellow daily painters) Tiina Heiska is my new absolute favorite.… Too many to mention.

I see on your blog that you’re part of the Daily Painters movement. What is that, and how did you get involved? The Daily Painters movement was started by Duane Keiser a few years ago. He vowed to make one small painting a day. And this led to his daily painting blog and finally to posting the small paintings on eBay to keep up with demand from buyers. Normally, an artist aspires to paint big and have a traditional brick and mortar gallery sell the paintings. Daily paintings can be studies for larger paintings, or they can be finished products unto themselves. The basic idea is to paint a small 6x6 or 5x7 painting every day. I was very intimidated by the idea of oil painting, initially, but the modest goal of doing just one small a day was irresistible.

And now you seem to be quite in the groove of it, with a following of artists yourself, and even some blog awards. How has blogging helped your creativity? For starters, I get immediate feedback from other artists on my blog. It may not seem like a big deal, but it is immensely gratifying! There's an incredible support network for artists on the internet. That is a blessing for an a-social person like myself. My blog also serves as a real life record of my progress. I can compare paintings from six months ago to paintings from last week and, hopefully, see improvements. Social networking sites like Twitter and Facebook have also been really helpful. A curator recently found my work through Twitter and with her help, I now have a two month exhibit at the 5700 gallery here in Cleveland.

Since I learned how to photograph my art for the blog, I can now provide up to the moment inventory choices for my buyers and to the people who help me sell my work! Because everything is so immediate, I find myself multitasking with many projects. For instance, a dealer wants a painting of poppies, my poster publisher does too and meanwhile, the company that needs art for their client will consider poppies. I'm a daily painter, so I paint a bunch of different versions of 8x8 poppies, then forward those to my various peoples. Next time around, I will paint selected versions bigger...and develop further versions with 8x8's according to the feedback. When one painting serves more than one client's needs I know for sure I'm on a good track and that sort of adaptability has evolved from my blog and the daily practice of painting.You started your blog on April 23rd, 2008, with the entry, “This is an experiment.” Seems to be a pretty successful one. Where do you want to go from here with your blog and your art?I look forward to more of the same! More painting, more blogging and more seeing where things lead. I have 14 paintings currently being considered for publication as posters at Editions Limited, and it will be interesting to see how that unfolds. My Cleveland dealer has helped get my art into some great local venues. One of my sunflower paintings will be featured on a poster and t-shirts for an upcoming festival fundraiser for the Make a Wish Foundation.

Being juried into Daily Painter.com as well as the Gawker Artist program has increased the readership on my blog exponentially and it has exposed my art to an entirely new audiences. As I take on paintings that are larger in size and scope and my collector base reaches beyond Cleveland, I suspect my blog will evolve as well. But for now, I just keep on truckin' and I feel very lucky to be able to do what I do for a living.

You can find out more about Diane and her art by visiting her blog.

Long Journey Home II

Feeling a bit lately as if I'm making my way through a fog, so here's another version of a photo posted earlier here. This is my son and my mother, walking in the fog in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

More posts to come soon.

The Summer Is Going Fast!

Ashtabula Harbor. June 2009.