Over

The long anticipated sleepover is over. Before it began,I confess, I wondered how we would fill five days (four nights). That was certainly not an issue, of course.

I even finished reading a book, walked on the treadmill every night, and the house is fairly much together.

Buddy caught two lizards on his nature walk today and gave one to Roo. She loves it. But I had to curtail the lizard petting while the dog was on the loose. I didn't want to think of the consequences.

Both kids read to me, and I am proud.

Roo and I baked and baked.

They both ate well, slept well, and overall seemed perfectly happy.

They were wired this afternoon, though, in anticipation of their parents' return. I sent them outside to romp while I cooked dinner. Papa poured wine. Worked.

The house is too quiet, now.

Movie Night, Etc.

OK, so all is going well with the big sleepover. Tonight is pizza party/movie night.
We couldn't find a movie about ants, so Buddy is watching October Sky....again. Roo is watching a Scooby Do movie. One is upstairs and one down. The video store gave us free Goobers - probably not a good idea. Papa will make popcorn soon.

A few highlights of the last couple of days:



Roo is the photographer for a new club Buddy has formed. She snapped this of Buddy.



And Roo took this of me. Remember, I have had an interesting day.



As substitute photographer I took this one of Roo.

Buddy created a membership roster and is making big plans, but the mission and rules are still a bit vague. He just asked me if I like the first day of our club - mouth full of popcorn. Whatever this club is, it is off to a good start.

On a side note, yesterday I got these in the mail from my sister!!!!




I am amazed at all the effort she put into finding cotton sock yarn for me and that she knitted after she underwent hand surgery. I love them! They are soft and comfy.

Grosser

Buddy and Roo are staying with us until Sunday. We picked them up yesterday.

Since then we have been dividing our time mostly between ant farm making for Buddy and baking for Roo. Almost everything is going well except a failed ant hunting expedition this afternoon. One new ant farm is now complete. Banana bread and biscuits are delicious, and, in addition, Froggie the Froglet has a new habitat.

Buddy's new aircraft with parachute actually flew until the dog ate part of it. To no avail, Papa frantically attempted a rescue at the landing site. Sorry, no video. Would have been a treasure.

After dinner, at bath time, I weighed each kid; naked both weighed exactly 34.8. They loved being the same. After I said Buddy was taller,he thought a bit, then said Roo must be rounder and fatter. Roo said, "Yeah, I am fatter and grosser." and laughed a deliciously wicked laugh.

Now they are clean and sleeping. So sweet.

I am happy to report I weigh less than I have for about a year. That does not mean I have lost very much, but it sounds really good, eh?

Praise Be

If something really wonderful happened, especially if the result was great relief, my mother and my grandmother frequently said, "Praise be!" No other phrase can quite replace those words for me.

So today is a praise be sort of day. I have lost several pounds and I might actually walk on my treadmill early today. I am actually looking forward to my indoor walking. How did that happen? And I noticed last night that I can crank up the speed a little on the treadmill, now.

I know it makes more sense to walk outside in this beautiful place, but my foot is more stable on the treadmill. It works better.

Anyway....Praise be!

New Math

My big sister and I were chatting on the phone this afternoon. Early in the conversation, we talked a little about weight - a common topic. She said she had recently heard or read that if you reduced your calorie intake by 115 calories a day, you would lose a pound a month. If, in addition, you exercised every day enough to burn about that same number of calories, you would lose 2 pounds each month. Wow, that is 24 pounds in a year's time. How encouraging. Through the years I had read similar information many times, but our conversation today reminded me that every day matters and that I don't need to take giant steps, but that little ones make a big difference.

The other piece of insight I gained is that I think I need to stop blaming age and thyroid, etc. for my weight gain. I know I accepted the blame in a recent post, but now I accept more fully:)I suspect with more time at home I have been eating, without noticing, just a few more calories per day than in past years. And, with my bum foot, I am sure I have reduced my exercise by enough to make the difference, too. I certainly haven't gained 24 pounds in a year! But over the last seven years, I have crept up more than ten pounds. Why that could be accomplished by considerably less than a hundred extra calories a day!!! Just a tiny amount of food. Almost unnoticeable.

So the good news is that when I went to the art center for a reception this afternoon, I found it easier to avoid cake, cookies, and all manner of temptation. Why all I have to do is cut back just a tiny bit!!!!! Since the reception food was serving as my lunch today. I selected just a few savory tidbits and moved totally away from the food table to visit with association members and friends. I think I saved way more than a hundred just by avoiding the cake!

So the funny news is that toward the end of our conversation, my sister moved from her deck to the kitchen. When she did, she found that her daughter and granddaughter must have been there to deliver Girl Scout cookies. So when I told her that I was happy that no Scouts had come to my door this year, she checked one box for calorie count: 170 for three cookies. I proposed that if she ate just one, she would save 100 calories for today. So we laughed a long time at my math logic. Don't you like it?

Of Course Not

Of course I didn't take my camera with me to a cooking class with Edward Brown, author of The Complete Tassahara Cookbook, The Tassahara Bread Book, and others. We learned his way of chopping, listened to interesting tidbits about his life and cooking, and assisted a little in preparing a really wonderful meal:

Kale Salad
Green Chili Souffle with Red Sauce (tomato base with sesame and chipotle)
Roasted Vegetables with Buerre Rouge sauce
Apricots Stewed with Ginger and Lemon

We used lots of fresh parsley and cilantro.

I love robust flavor, and this menu certainly offered that. The meal was also beautiful. I am so sorry I don't have pictures.

Random Catching up Post

First, thanks to my official "followers" and to all my other friends and family who tell me they read what I have to say. You make me smile:)

Several days ago. Buddy, Papa, and I were walking from his school to our car. It had been raining for days, but on that day, it would rain hard, stop, then mist, then the sun would shine, and then start all that over again. As we walked to the car, a little bit of all of that happened. Buddy said, "Gaga, this is just the perfect day! Just perfect. There's a little of everything." I loved that. And I do love that boy.

Since then we have enjoyed almost perfect weather - upper sixties and even seventies. With sun. Sorry everyone who doesn't live here.




Buddy has a cold and stayed home with us on Tuesday. We've been making an ant farm from a kit: plaster of paris, a plastic mold, front cover, tubing, and other assorted parts. We impatiently let the plaster dry, he painted the face of it, then we had to let it dry/cure another few days. So we took advantage of the sick day to work on it some more. Finally the farm is ready for ants, and we can't find any that are big enough to enjoy watching. I may have to BUY ants. How silly is that? Several years ago, the pest control man gave me an award for having more ants that anyone he'd ever known.




In addition to the new ant farm, this little collection lives on my kitchen counter. The jar is another ant farm we made, the salad container is a tadpole habitat with a population of two...now almost froglets. The other cute thing is one of his many critter keepers, ready for the next victim/prize. Thank goodness, his parents are willing to lug home all the other creatures we collect and the projects we make. Well, I do have a stash of projects and art work. I am telling myself they make my house appear enjoyed.

Roo and I were making cookies the other day. When we were almost done she said, "I am just LOVING this day!" I love her to pieces, too. Both children are past the stages that require much physical effort. Now, I can mostly put out books, art, and craft supplies....and food. And POOF! The day is gone. Love it. Well, there is the cleaning up.

I feel very foolish for not having oodles of pictures from our valentine celebration, but I was having too much fun to stop and find the camera. Next time.

I am distressed that tonight I must decide between Olympics and Idol.Last night, too! Oh, no! I don't watch much TV, so it doesn't seem right that I must choose. I plan to study my online French lessons while I watch - so I won't feel lazy. I used to make an afghan during every winter Olympics. That worked for me for many years.

I just told Papa that I feel happy on days when I am productive. Today was one of those: weeding the garden and picking greens for dinner, stopping by the art center to take care of a few little tasks, and buying seeds and starter pots so that tomorrow the kids and I can plant tomato seeds indoors and spinach in the raised bed. I also made a run to the framer to pick up and leave paintings, cooked dinner, and now I'm getting ready to study. I'll tread before I go to bed.

And even better, the housekeepers came this afternoon. So my house is clean - except the studio. Even their magic is not enough in this room. A year ago I thought new storage for me and a desk for Papa would change the climate of the studio. Short lived. Yesterday I visited the office of a graphic designer. His office was arty and tidy all at the same time. Why not me?

Now the last random thought. A couple of months ago I was startled to realize that I have cleavage. Imagine that. I had waited 69 years. Unfortunately, the cleavage is not as good news as it seems; it's due to my recent weight gain. No, I am not fat, but compared to my "usual" weight, I am large. And I feel big. And I never thought this would happen. I have spent years trying to eat in the most healthy way possible and often helped students/clients with weight issues. My mantra - in addition to making healthy food choices - has always been to avoid mindless eating. I like positive statements rather than negative, so now I am surprised I said that to others or to myself. Yesterday, I read about a woman who eats mindfully. I love the positive tone. Encouraging.

Show

Two pieces have been accepted for the encaustic show - the "Not Just a Pretty Face" diptych and "Reflection."

See previous post.

I am happy.

More Art

Encaustic Reflection




Encaustic Seeds




Encaustic Not Just a Pretty Face


I have recently entered these three pieces in an encaustic show. I would like for them to be accepted.

Mother's 99th Birthday, February 13 (1911-2006)

Mother at Florence Mall - selling her art, Photo from Florence Morning News



With my sister, Margaret, in North Carolina - 2002- age 91.



Honored at the symphony at age 92


Mother at about 22



Mother (left) with her mother and older sister

Mother and her Violin

This essay was written to appear in the Florence Symphony Orchestra's program for their October 2006 concert, the first concert of the 2006-2007 season and the first concert after Mother's death. FSO dedicated the concert to Mother, seated my sisters and me in our time-honored seats, and read most of this essay to the audience. Again, you will see some information that repeats from the two earlier essays. But, these words show in detail Mother's commitment. For years before her death, Mother was the sole surviving and longest serving member of FSO. She played with them for fifty-one years; her last concert was played at age 90. My two sisters offered their memories to assist me in writing the following:



Eleanor Page Anderson
Her Violin and Her Commitment

“I keep playing because the next concert will be the best.”

In 1918 when she was seven, our mother, Eleanor Page, asked her parents for a violin. Her mother, assuming the request was a childish whim, gave her a little tin fiddle for Christmas. She was crushed and persisted until her daddy brought a real violin home in his Buick and arranged for her to have lessons with a young man who provided music for the then-silent movies. Mother learned by playing along with him behind the curtains at the downtown theater. Then when violinist Lola Dickman moved to Florence, Mother began more serious study. Picture this: With her violin and books, Mother skated from her home on West Pine Street to school at the building that is now Poynor. After school she tucked the violin and books under her arms again and skated to the Dickman home near the train station.

Mother’s dedication to study and play her violin continued through her school years and at Furman University where she earned bachelor’s and master’s degrees in education. After graduating and teaching school a few years in the Greenville area, she returned to Florence to accept a position at McKenzie Elementary School (and later at Royall). One night shortly after our move to Florence in the summer of 1949, a stranger came by our house and sat on the front porch talking with Mother for quite some time. We later learned that that he was one of the organizers of what would become the Florence Symphony Orchestra and had come to persuade Mother to join. She agreed. With a full-time teaching job and caring for her mother and three girls, attending practice couldn’t have been easy for a single mother - but she loved music and made the orchestra a priority. We remember trying to sleep during evenings of string practice in our living room and watching her bundle up to rehearse in a chilly building at the airport. We also recall the pride we felt when we attended the orchestra’s first concert and the many more that followed.

Before that first performance, Mother coached us in proper concert behavior - especially when to applaud and not. On the big night, we dressed in our Sunday best and arrived at McClenaghan High School with the orchestra members. Mother seated us on the front row, just left of the conductor - and directly in front of the violin section. She told us (we were then about seven, nine, and eleven) we would have a good view from there. For years that was our place and now we realize that Mother had a “good view“, too.

In her retirement years, Mother resumed her violin study, spending many hours traveling to Hartsville and Columbia for lessons and many more hours practicing. She was determined to improve her skills and to play her fiddle with the orchestra as long as she could - and that she did.

We are thankful for the orchestra’s contribution to Mother’s life and ours. Through her fifty-one years with the Florence Symphony Orchestra, she made friends, made music, and set an example for the rest of us.

If Mother could be here tonight she would be pleased - and even more embarrassed - that this concert is dedicated to her memory. She would not be too shy to boast, however, about the orchestra’s dedication to excellence and her status as a charter member. And we believe she would be proud that the Florence Symphony Orchestra continues to flourish so many years after that meeting on our front porch.

About Mother

Following is an essay I wrote a year after Mother's death in 2006. A little of what I have included here repeats from the earlier essay, but as I pondered how Mother lived her life, those bits seemed important - especially since these were published two years after the first. In re-reading what I wrote in 2007, I am reminded again of her exceptional positive influences. I stressed her discipline in this essay, but I must mention that her self-discipline did not outweigh her kindness, nurturing, and her generosity.

I slept in this morning. After Gary woke me to say goodbye, I snuggled down and closed my eyes, reluctant to leave the warm nest I’d made under my red coverlet. I had not stayed in bed so late in years: I often have chores waiting, several weekdays I must be ready to greet my grandchildren, and more importantly, Mother thought I should rise early and be presentable by eight o’clock at the very latest. As a matter of fact, while she lived with me the last five years of her life, if she didn’t hear me moving around or see me dressed and prepared for the day by 7:30, she would phone upstairs to be sure I “was alright.” Yes, I do think she worried. She also thought folks were lazy and generally not respectable if they “lolled around in bed all day.” Even though she had been retired for almost thirty years, until she was well into her nineties, she still set her alarm for six-thirty. I finally convinced her that her respectability would not be compromised if she happened to sleep a bit later than that.

She held, of course, other standards for herself, my sisters, and me. Quietly, not sternly, she let us know what those standards were and expected us to meet them. She assumed we would do well in school, follow the rules she set for us at home, and behave ourselves in public. So most of the time we did. I remember hearing neighbors and friends comment that Mother never raised her voice. They were impressed, but I was not. At that time I didn’t realize how much discord some families face. But I did know that Mother kept a paddle in the drawer beside her bed - and one beside the couch. If we didn’t do as she asked, she had a certain way of planting her foot on the floor, as if to hurry toward the paddle. I must quickly add that she used the paddle on me just once, I think, and I am sure that spanking was a couple of gentle taps.

Mother employed several methods to teach us. The paddle threat and the shame of not meeting expectations were two of them, but the example she set was the strongest, longest lasting one. Of course Mother was always up early, usually bustling around the house. She cooked, cleaned, sewed most of our clothes, and did our laundry. She taught school and rarely missed a day. Of necessity, she was frugal; by nature she was shrewd, supporting our family of four on the small salary female teachers earned at that time. She also taught Sunday School for many years - most of her adult life until health problems forced her to stop at ninety. She played violin in the Florence Symphony Orchestra for more than fifty years, going to evening rehearsals after working all day. When she retired from teaching, she studied music again and began art lessons. Even in her last years she never just sat and watched TV; she knitted, studied the Bible, wrote to family and friends, or read. When, in desperation, she pulled out cards to play solitaire, I knew she needed a new book or project. Mother was, indeed, a doer.

Yes, she spent her time in constructive ways and believed others should do the same. Within that framework, however, she found time to talk with family and friends, listen to my chatter, watch favorite TV shows, or write letters. While I attended Furman, I knew I could count on weekly notes from her. And she continued to write to me through the years until we lived so close we could communicate in other ways.

Those who knew Mother called her amazing, talented, sweet, charming, and quiet. Some have called her stoic. Perhaps, but she was not dispassionate; she just handled whatever came her way without tears or complaining. In her unflappable way, Mother faced her challenges, taught us, cared for us, and provided our home. Until her death she worried about my sisters and me, was eager to know every detail of our lives, showed immense interest and pride in our accomplishments, and loved nothing better than to spend time with the three of us. She enjoyed reading my essays, exclaimed over my quilts, and complimented my paintings. She also saved over sixty years worth of report cards, recital programs, pictures, newspaper clippings, and other keepsakes from the important events of my life. Certainly, from our births until her death last year, my sisters and I were her first priority.

While it is clear Mother intended to demonstrate her love and caring, I do not believe, however, that she realized she was our exemplar. Since she believed there was only one right way to live her life, I suspect she didn’t know she taught us by the way she lived it and left it. At ninety-five, on the morning before her fatal stroke, when she was tired and weak and using a walker to get around, she still struggled to shower, dress, apply powder, lotion, and lipstick, and comb her hair. And her nails were polished.

I pondered all that this morning and felt a twinge of guilt as I hugged my pillow and enjoyed extra time in my bed. Though I will never, without necessity, set my clock for six-thirty, I see more clearly how her expectations influence the way I live my life. Her approval is still important; I do not want to behave in a way that would have disappointed her and caused her to conclude that I was not worthy of her respect. I know she would want me to live a caring, disciplined life. And when I think about her dedication to her own creative pursuits, I believe she would expect me to continue mine. Most of all, she would approve of putting family first, giving them as much time as possible. I cherish knowing she cared for me so strongly, and now, a year after her passing, I see that in her quiet way, Mother set standards I try to follow.


FAB, 2007

She's Got Spunk

This is an essay I wrote about Mother in 2005, a year before her death. (I wish I could include photos, but Blogger is not happy with any I have tried to upload lately. I will keep trying. Very frustrating!)

Although most people know her as Eleanor Page Anderson, when Mother arrived in the big white house on Pine Street in February of 1911, she was Ella Bradley Page. Because her grandmother Ella had just died and no one wanted to call little Ella by that name, she endured multiple nicknames. “Dan” was funny and “I-lou” was just plain strange. In self-defense she proclaimed herself Eleanor.

And that is like her. Though she is quiet and polite about it, she has always been a take-charge woman. I learned early to move out of the way when Mother decided to get something done. She is 94, now, and her attitude has served her well. Her age alone would lead one to think so, but when I reflect on her life, I see evidence of focused energy and determination in almost everything she has done. She tells me her imaginary childhood friend, Gus, was and is her guardian angel. She says he helped her through some hard times; I believe it was her own spunk. Let me tell you why.

When she was about seven, Eleanor asked her parents for a violin. Her mother, assuming the request was a childish whim, gave her a little tin fiddle for Christmas. Though crushed, she persisted until her daddy brought a real violin home in his Buick and arranged for her to have lessons with a young man who provided music for the then-silent movies. Mother learned by playing along with him behind the curtains at the downtown theater. When violinist Lola Dickman moved to Florence, Mother began more serious study. Picture this: With her violin and books, Mother skated from her home on West Pine Street to school at the building that is now Poynor. After school she tucked the violin and books under her arms and skated to the Dickman home near the train station. Some of you know the rest of the story. She has fiddled many an hour and for fifty-one years played with the Florence Symphony. She missed only two performances - one due to a broken arm, the other because she had had the flu (when she was about ninety) and couldn‘t attend rehearsal. She sat in the audience both times. She gives that kind of energy and commitment to everything she does. Just yesterday my husband remarked that Mother never just sits in front of the TV. At her age and with all she has done, one could say she is entitled. Not Mother. She reads novels, writes notes to friends and family, listens to music and sermons, or studies the Bible. Well occasionally, now, she snoozes or plays solitaire. But she never just sits. Until she moved in with me a few years ago, because she thought she should, she set her alarm for 6:30. One must be up, clean and presentable, and ready to do something constructive early in the day. She still arrives at the breakfast table with powder and lipstick on.

Mother’s life has not always been easy, and until recently she would not have had time to just sit. Propelled into single parenthood when my little sister was on the way, she taught school and created a stable family life for Weeza, Margaret, and me and - on the side - earned her masters degree so that she could provide more for us. Imagine taking care of three children, doing housework, teaching, and studying or writing a thesis - all at the same time. If that were not enough, she sewed for herself and for her girls so beautifully that teachers stopped us in the halls to admire our dresses. Mother worked hard to provide other opportunities, too. In our Greenville years, we took dance lessons, attended kindergarten (not all children did in those days), went to story time at the library, and always attended Sunday School. Later, in Florence, we went to piano, violin, and dance lessons. I was given art and speech instruction as well. I wonder how she paid for all that. She wonders how she got each of us where we were supposed to be at the right times. We walked and rode our bikes a lot, but rainy days were nightmares for her. We attended Scouts and GA’s and choir, and regardless of how bad I thought my hair looked, we went to church each Sunday morning - Mother had to be there to teach Sunday School.

Because my grandmother needed Mother’s help, that move to Florence occurred just before I entered third grade. To her duties of teacher, parent, Sunday School teacher, musician, chauffeur, seamstress, and cook she added caregiver for her mother and the big old family home on Pine Street. The budget was tight, so to help pay the bills, she pinched pennies and took in boarders. I recall the struggles, but I remember our happy times, too. Some of you have read stories of my childhood and may have assumed it was perfect and magical. Though not perfect, for me it was good. Mother created a pleasant and beneficial upbringing for my sisters and me and now seems surprised that she did. We laughed, sewed together, went to church, played, and got through the slim times. In spite of money troubles, Mother hosted big family meals and welcomed her sister and brothers and their families when they came to visit. We often invited friends - including Miss Dickman - for Sunday and holiday dinners, too.

Thirty-two years ago - after thirty-eight years of teaching - Mother retired. With no more work or family obligations, she suddenly found herself with free time. In her usual determined manner, she set out to find something to do with it. She bought cigarettes and tried smoking. Thankfully that didn’t work out. She took ceramic classes until she had made keepsakes for everyone in the family. Finally she settled on art lessons and more violin instruction. As usual, she began both with passion. Add artist to her long list of titles.

When I was a child, friends and neighbors told me my mother was amazing. They marveled that she never raised her voice and showed infinite patience with us. I usually shrugged and was puzzled about why folks would say that. Now strangers, friends, doctors, my sisters, and her grandchildren all think she is something. Her great grandchildren seem to think so, too. Two-year-old Billy, who stays with us when his parents are at work, often stops what he is doing and rushes to her room to see her. He begs “Mimi” to watch him play and, though normally a spinning ball of energy, melts into her lap for a story. Six-year-old Mattie loves to visit, too. Reese Eleanor is way too small to understand but shares the name Mother chose so many years ago. I hope she will also share her spunk.

Sometimes I take Mother for granted the way we do with family. Every day I see her doing ordinary things. But they aren’t. It isn’t ordinary that she remembers some things better than I. It isn’t ordinary at all that she is working to maintain her strength. In spite of her unsteady gait and painful back, she keeps on. She is disgusted that she must continue to use her walker and that the doctor says she must take so much medicine. And she is not ordinary in her attitude. She smiles when I see her in the morning. She thanks me for a nice breakfast or lunch or dinner. She acts surprised and thrilled each night when I take ice cream to her room or when I buy her jellybeans. She is witty, laughs a lot, and tells me to have “sweet dreams.” Of course she is also set in her ways and opinions - stubborn maybe. And you must know there were times when I thought she was not cool. I also didn’t like her to insist I wash dishes or come home on time. I didn’t want her to critique my hair and I hated for her to burst into my bedroom to tell me it was almost seven o’clock - meaning I was horrible for sleeping in and had better get up to have breakfast and dress for school right now.

But I loved the feel of her soft hands when they tucked me in at night and her Ponds Cold Cream fragrance when she told me to “sleep tight and don‘t let the bed bugs bite.” I was proud when she curled my hair and made my little dresses, or later when she sewed yards and yards of nylon net to make puffy gowns for dances and church or choral events. I liked her homemade biscuits, waffles, doughnuts and fruitcake and - as regular She readers know - the dressing she made at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Of course I also loved to hear her play her fiddle. By the time I graduated from Furman, I was smart enough to appreciate Mother’s commitment and sacrifice to help my two sisters and me through college; later I knew grad school would not have been possible without her backing. She is determined, industrious, patient, calm, and kind. And I believe Mother’s spunk sets an example for the rest of us.

This essay was first published in SHE MAGAZINE in 2005

99

In the last few days, much ado has been made of Ronald Reagan's 99th birthday. Reagan is revered by many, and perhaps it is worthwhile to make note of his birthday. But every time I hear that this would have been the 99th anniversary of his birth, I think about Mother. She and Ronnie were the same age, with birthdays just a few days apart. Her 99th would have been this coming Saturday, February 13.In honor of her life, I will talk about her this week.

As children do, I suppose, sometimes I didn't notice Mother's beauty or appreciate her talents. Others did, though. Even a few days before her death, nurses commented on how youthful she appeared and the beauty of her skin. They thought she looked seventy-five, not ninety five. (I tried to insert a favorite photo here, but it won't upload - perhaps later.) And I was often told Mother was "the perfect woman." In the early years, I didn't understand that. Now I do. She was strong, a hard worker, determined - stubborn even, and kind. With her spunk, she set an example for all of us. I hope I can highlight those strengths.

Her aging process is also a reality check. She looked wonderful for her age, but I watched her steady decline and, in her last years, observed her limited quality of life. Now I can see my own signs of approaching old age and even hear my daughter complain of her "aging." I don't want this to happen! I feel I have to do all I can now, before it is too late. I suppose Mother felt this way, too.

This week I will include photos of Mother and essays about her. Stay tuned and feel free to comment below.

More Baking

After picking up Buddy and Roo from first grade and pre-school, Papa,the kids, and I went to the pet store for tadpole food. Then it was home to feed tadpoles and bake a birthday cake for Son-in-law.

I can assure you there has never been a cake quite like this one!

Nothing profound

Saturday - errands with Papa. They included eating smoked fish tacos at Rudell's in Cayucos. Oh, my. So good.

Sunday - a pleasant day with Buddy and Roo.

Today - gardening, shopping at farmer's market,helping a friend solve computer problems, and enjoying a dinner of our market salmon with fresh greens from the garden.

But mostly, I have been working hard on tasks for the art association. I am happy to say I am coming to the end of a major effort. Whew!

One painting is coming along. I will post it soon. I need to have it done by Friday:( I want to enter it in an encaustic show, so I will need to take its picture along with several others and have a CD ready to submit.

This week will be busy with art meetings, children, son-in-law's birthday celebration, working at the gallery, a drawing session on Friday, and a French lesson on Thursday or Friday. And I am delighted that I will be able to fetch a bundle of kid's art from an elementary school on Friday. We will display it at our gallery.

And, this week, I have to develop a list of prompts for my writing group. We want to encourage daily or at least weekly writing, so we will provide numerous prompts this month. Suggestions?