My dad, who passed just over eighteen years ago.




I recently ran across this pic of him, shot in the early aughts, and three things about it jump out at me: 

1. almost everything in that face is his father's
2. except the eyes, which are his mother's
3. he kept his hair a lot better than I'm keeping mine

My latest paintings were both Christmas presents so I had to wait til their recipients got them before making them public, so here we go now:



My eighth gouache is supposedly a chipmunk. I still struggle with getting my paint to a good working consistency — straight from the tube it's too thick to spread easily, but it feels like when I add any water it instantly goes as thin as watercolour. There's a sweet spot in between that I keep missing.



My 43^rd acrylic is my house, as seen from across the street. You can't see much of the actual house frontage and porch from here, so it looks like mostly garage, but there is enough house back there to live in. Any other angle would be mostly tree, so if I wanted to get the whole building in, this was the best I could do.

My parents married on this date seventy-three years ago. Today is the day I remember that, had they not done so, I would not be here. Part of what Alan Moore called a “thermodynamic miracle” in Watchmen...

having a shopping trip turn into a much nicer experience than expected: the store was nowhere near the zoo I expect in December, and I got to visit with people while dropping things off to them, and the weather was lovely, and it all ended up being a joy

My father's parents, Charlie and Lottie, were the source of treasured anecdotes from our childhood onward. Often the stories arose from the contrast they presented: Lottie was an archetypal worrier and ditherer, while Charlie was a genial, unflappable stoic. Probably the most classic Charlie and Lottie story is The Pie On The Car.

They were over visiting at our house, and had arrived while my father was out buying groceries. He returned and unloaded the car just as the skies opened up with rain so heavy you could barely see through it. My grandparents helped my parents unpack the bags, and then mom noticed that the pie dad was supposed to get was not there. At first he was confused, cuz he was positive he bought it. Then he realized that he had lifted it up onto the roof of the car while he was unloading, and then had forgotten it there. Everyone crowded around the back door to look at the driveway and yes, sure enough, there was the pie, getting drenched.

Lottie immediately fluttered and cried out, "Charlie! There's a pie on the car! There's a pie on the car!"

In reply, he drawled out, "Keep your shirt on, Lottie." To us little kids, that line was inexpressibly hilarious, and many is the time we recalled it in the years since. [Maybe you had to be there.]


For some reason, I have been thinking of that story a lot, the last few days. And I am struck by the humble wisdom in it. I realize that, for many months now, I have been experiencing a lot of anxiety over everything and nothing. Everything is cause for alarm. I have become a classic Lottie. And, the other day, I read something that said the major components of fear and/or anxiety are overestimating the harm a situation will cause and underestimating our ability to cope.

In other words, not keeping the situation in perspective.

In other words, not keeping your shirt on.


And so, lately, when I find myself unduly concerned about some hypothetical, I tell myself, "Keep your shirt on, Lottie."

And, oddly enough, it helps.

gaining an appreciation

Went out for a drive today and one of the best parts was passing a farm with a big bunch o’ cows out in the field. I loved seeing them so much.

And now I remember times when I was going-on-teen and out in the car with my folks, and how much pleasure they got from seeing something like that. And they’d point it out to me so that I could appreciate it, too. And my reaction was along the lines of rme and big deal and who cares about stupid cows.

I feel bad now for rejecting the treasures they offered me. I look back at young me and don’t understand him at all. How could I not dig animals?! I wish I could apologize to my parents now, and thank them, and tell them that I found my way to the same page they were on.

a moment where I became keenly aware of a convergence of blessings:

this morning, I felt well enough [and had the time and freedom] to go out on a beautiful sunny morning, driving a car that runs smoothly on roads clean and dry and maintained, to spend quality time with my daughter who is one of the most precious people in my world -- I found myself on the verge of tears

an outing with all the kids

a problem that resolved itself rather than impinging upon me

old fave Christmas tunes during my alone time, bringing memories of family no longer with me