Today...

... today the sun came out.  It went back in.  It came out again.  But, people, the sun shone upon the land--and it was about time.  We've had over 6" of rain in September and, I'm convinced, most of it in the last 4 days.  Rain rain rain rain rain.  Bah.





The first thing I did today was gather up all of my interchangeable needles, cables, and doodads and get them all fitted into the case that I retrofitted yesterday--and it all fits.  Look!

With the sunshine came the birdies.  This Downy Woodpecker came for a suet snack






and this Hummingbird stopped for a couple sips.


 

My computer was still acting up and a perennial problem with the scroll bars and being able to select things and not have the file hop around was still there so I called the fixit place and the tech said to bring it and my mouse in.  Well, naturally the computer behaved impeccably there.  He left me to futz with it while he waited on someone else.  I couldn't get it to do what had been driving me crazy for years.  Then he said something that changed my world.  "Do you use a mouse pad?" he asked.  "Nope, just the desk," I replied.  "I think using a mouse pad will fix that problem.  A desk surface doesn't let the mouse work properly; a mouse pad does."  So off I went to Best Buy for a laptop cooling mat (the black thing on the desk that cools my computer since it kind of overheats) which will extend its life and a $5 mouse pad.  Fixed.  I can move pictures around, I can sort them into files, and a little five-buck mouse pad will save me.  Honestly. (I spoke too soon.  The scroll bar went back to being blinky and it wouldn't let me select a photo.  Oh well.)

I took Durwood's old photo enlarger, his old DSLR camera, and that European DSLR from Amazon down to the camera buyers.  Turns out that European one was worth a pretty penny so I came home with over $200 today.  That plus yesterday's take will make a nice dent in my vacation expenditures.

I've been thinking about getting my teeth straightened.  They're moving around which makes my partial not seat correctly so I had a dental appointment today.  Not getting my teeth straightened.  It'd cost $7000-$10,000 and I don't think I'll live long enough to warrant that outlay plus think how many vacations that could buy.  Instead I'll live with the gap in my front teeth and get a new partial that's made with a material that kind of molds to your mouth.  I'll get it October 1.  High hopes that I like it.


Speaking of October, look at what came in the mail today.  A Jury Summons.  Ugh.  I was hoping it'd be for the week I'll be at The Clearing so I could weasel out but no, it's for 2 weeks after I get back.  Fingers crossed that all cases settle early that week.

13 September--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon. 

The first Friday in February I drove to Madison for the Art League Awards Banquet.  Samara and I had entered last fall with equal amounts of terror and hope, and we were about to find out what a little piece of the art establishment thought of our work.  I called Samara when I got to my room and she came right over from the university.  We strolled around “the Square” and did some last minute shopping, then headed over to the hall where all the competitors’ art was hung.  Walking around the exhibition of entries with Samara, I was humbled by the quality of the work on display.  To my eyes my paintings looked like they'd be appropriate for a tourist area gallery and the rest of them looked like they'd be at home in a museum.

I spent the time it took to get ready for the banquet practicing my I'm-really-happy-for-the-winner smile.  I didn't have to practice my smile when I looked at the dress Samara had helped me choose the day before.  I had packed a navy evening suit to wear but when Samara saw it she said, "Gail, you'll look more like an executive than an artist if you wear this.  We have to shop."

In a little boutique a block or two off the square we found the perfect dress, a bias cut tank dress with an asymmetrical hem, with the greens, blues, and lavenders of the ocean swirling over it.  In the same shop I bought a silver gray shawl that glimmered like moonlight on the sea.  Samara approved of the silver sandals I had brought to wear with the suit and she gave me a pair of earrings she had made from pieces of blue and green sea glass.  She even helped me with my makeup.  I seldom wore any and the tiny dabs I put on were not enough according to Samara.  She swept my eyelids with a green shadow that made my brown eyes look even browner; she threw away my "old lady red" lipstick and bought me a glossy dark plum that she said made my lips look luscious.

"Abel won't be able to resist kissing you when he sees this," she said, as she leaned close to apply the lip gloss.

"Give me that.”  I took the tube from her.  “I'm not so old I can't put on my own makeup."

She giggled.  "Just remember it's an evening event.  Put enough on so you don't fade into the wallpaper."

We had the standard banquet dinner of watery iceberg lettuce salad with one lonely cherry tomato, mystery meat over fake mashed potatoes, limp green beans, and orange sherbet for dessert.  After dessert and too-strong coffee, a half-dozen members of the Art League got up to speak about the organization's aims, each one paraphrasing the last.

"Can't they skip all this and just get to the awards?  I’m dying of suspense," Samara whispered, which earned her a glare from the pair of matrons sitting on my left.

I pulled my program out.  "See?"  I pointed at the list of speakers.  "Only one more speech and then they announce the awards.”  I was nervous too.  My palms began to sweat.  I was glad I'd kept my napkin in my lap so I could squeeze and twist it rather than my skirt.  On the off chance I'd win, I didn't want to look like a rumpled bed on stage.  Then I heard my name.      

“Gail, you won!” Samara leaned over and gave me a hug.  “Go on.  Go up and get your award.”

I didn’t know if I could get out of my chair, let alone walk up the steps onto the stage.  My ears were filled with the applause of the banquet hall full of people.  As soon as I stood up the sound of the applause dimmed, the walls of the room seemed to fade into nothing, and all I could see was the spotlight on my painting on stage.

I concentrated on not stumbling over my skirt as I climbed the stairs.  One of the Art League members took my arm and escorted me to center stage where the president awaited me.

“Congratulations, Gail,” she said, as she hugged me and gave me an air kiss.  Her embrace threw me.  I’d expected a man who’d shake my hand and make some bluff remarks about art so I wasn’t prepared; I was left with my arms halfway up and my lips puckered as she pulled back and turned me toward the still-applauding crowd.  “Tell me, Gail, what made you enter this particular painting?”

I looked at the view of orange daylilies tumbling over a broken-down rail fence and was stuck for an answer.  “I, um, I guess I disliked this one less than the rest of my paintings.”  The room erupted with laughter.

Once the crowd quieted, she said, “Well, I guess that’s one way to decide.  Where did you find your subject?”

“On my farm in Kingman.  I paint what’s around me.”

“How long have you been painting?”

“A couple of years, I guess.”

I suppose she asked more questions; I don’t remember.  I know I posed for pictures with every member of the Art League Board of Directors; I have copies of the photos.  I know the treasurer presented me with a check because that photo was the on the front page of the State-Journal the next morning.  But I have no clear memories of the rest of the evening, I was so giddy with excitement.  I do remember that Samara earned an Honorable Mention and received a check for fifty dollars.  As the party started to break up, we went back to my hotel where we kicked our shoes off and lounged on the couch in my room congratulating each other and making grandiose predictions about our place in the art world.  There was an empty wine bottle and two glasses on the table when I woke up the next morning.  My prize, a check for a thousand dollars, was propped against the bottle.

In the morning, I called my family to tell them the news; they were all very happy for me and Merry reminded me that there were still a lot of empty walls in their house.  Even Clara had to admit that winning such a prestigious prize might mean I was a real artist.  Both of us laughed at that backhanded compliment, it was so classic Clara.

Samara had class that morning, so I had a light breakfast in the hotel, packed, and drove on home grinning with the joy of winning and just a tiny bit afraid of what this first success might mean.

All I really need to do tomorrow is put together the marinade for the chicken breasts I'm fixing for Sunday supper for my renters who took care of my mail, newspapers, and mowed my lawn while I was away.  I'll dig the potatoes out so we can have some fresh taters too.  Yum.  Maybe I'll go to the Y tomorrow too.
--Barbara