Hold His Hand

This is a first. Both the Amazing Reese and I will have a piece in the Art Car Museum's "God" exhibit. The opening reception is this coming Saturday, September 15th from 7-10pm.

It will be curious to see how other artists interpret this very personal theme. Compartmentalizing God in a two dimensional format was almost too much for my brain to process.

The piece of mine that will be exhibited through December 15th is "Cottonwood". It is to symbolize one small facet of the beauty of God's creation.

Reese's piece is called "Hand" and is made from a coat hanger with a brick base. You can see him holding his hand (holding His hand?) standing in the long line at the Art Car Museum to deliver our pieces. Reese has long been a coat hanger artist. He uses coat hangers for everything. Not even kidding.

Besides the opening reception on Saturday night at the Art Car Museum, where, of course, we'd love to see you, we will also be volunteering at Saint Arnold Brewing Company on Saturday morning and afternoon. I'll be in the front handing out glasses and tokens. Reese will be a tank farmer. Taps are open from 11am - 3. Should be a fun Saturday. 

This

There are times in my artistic pursuit when I struggle so much over a particular painting that it absolutely and completely blocks ALL forms of creativity. Ugh. What's to be done?

I'll tell you what....better yet, I'll show you. This.

A 50 gallon drum would be better for this sort of thing, but the grill worked just fine. Yes, the garden hose was running for safety reasons. All in all, this was a very worthwhile and satisfying way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

Next week, here I come.

Does your list look like this?

1. build boxes for paintings
2. mail paintings
3. check volunteer dates
4. e-mail Lawndale about volunteering
5. e-mail Pam and Valerie about iPub
6. write blog entry about ___?
7. empty dish washer
8. think of something for supper
9. tidy house
10. do something about organizing upstairs bathroom
11. tweet/facebook for old blue jeans
12. donate clothes to goodwill
13. or suffer mild humiliation by "selling" clothes to buffalo
14. make boxes
15. figure out how to do the God art project
16. e-mail lady about website
17. put assorted art deadlines on calendar
18. paint
19. write blog entry....

Two days later....
1. fail
2. obviously fail
3. what does this even mean?
4. check
5. no
6. _______? still nothing
7. yes!
8. yes
9. sort of....it's better than it was
10. nope
11. yes. I should do that again, though....put this on new list
12. not yet
13. definitely no
14. still no
15. kind of....I know what to do just not how to do it, so no
16. nope
17. no
18. yes and no
19. this will have to do

Perchance to Dream

The setting in this painting is part real and part imagination. Believe it or not, I am only just now realizing that this is a trend in my work, to paint partly what's there and not the whole scene. Until now, I've excused it by saying that I only paint what I see.....but maybe it would be more accurate to say that while my paintings are based in reality, there is a healthy dose of imagination thrown in....which pretty much sums up the way I live. 

This is a real live tree here in Houston and I love it. This is what it would look like if it were in a natural setting, which it is, just not this natural setting, which isn't entirely true. It does look like this. But because of its surroundings, it also looks like something else entirely considering that some major identifiers as to its location have been purposefully omitted.

It's 30" x 30" oil on linen.

Supper and a Song

Remember that scene in "It's a Wonderful Life" when George and Mary are dancing the Charleston at the high school dance? A crowd clears a space around them while they are dancing and cheers. George looks at Mary and says, "They're cheering us. We must be good!" What George and Mary don't see is that while they are dancing, the floor over the swimming pool is opening, and each time the crowd cheers it's because George and Mary narrowly miss falling in the pool.



A couple of months ago, Reese was asked by someone at church if he would perform for a new event they were trying called Supper and a Song. He replied by saying something to the effect that Sarah plays the ukulele and we'd love to play a few songs. Playing music is one of our favorite things we do together. Even though we've gone busking, normally we just sit in the comfort of our living room with the captive audience of whoever happens to have been invited over for the night.

Reese and I picked three of our favorite songs to perform and amped up the practice. We play these songs ALL the time and in the comfort of our living room, dare I say it, we sound pretty good.

There was a time back in the day when I was a little better than adequate as a singer. In junior high and high school I was in several choirs, and can still remember (and sing) the alto harmony for several 70's era pop songs. Those days are long gone. Reese, on the other hand, has a beautiful voice. When he sings, he gets frequent and regular compliments.

As Reese and I were practicing for the Supper and a Song performance, he would look over at me, smile and say, "Sing, Sarah!" I'd mumble sing, content to let him shine, for he really does have a lovely singing voice. When we got to church for rehearsal 30 minutes before show time, it was the first time I had heard myself mic'd. Perfectly content to stand beside Reese and play, I was completely unprepared for the sound of my voice booming back to me over a PA system. To say I was mortified is an understatement. Reese sweetly whispered to me that if I didn't sing, he was going to announce to the audience that I sing along with him. When I complained to Lance the head sound guy, he told me that he asked Chris the secondary sound guy to turn up my mic on purpose. What? Now, the Amazing Reese loves me. I know that. But why on earth did he insist that I sing along with him when he knows what I sound like? And why did Lance have Chris turn up my mic? It's a conspiracy, I tell you.

To both Reese's and my absolute delight, the first act performed while the crowd was talking and eating. This was great! If we could be background performers with hardly anyone paying attention, all the better. This might not be so bad after all.

After a short intermission, a 16 year old young lady named Grace (even her name is pretty) walked on stage, sat behind a grand piano, started singing and playing her original compositions. She was incredible - beautiful face, beautiful voice, and beautiful spirit. It was so lovely. Wouldn't you know it? The crowd settled in and actually started paying attention. Reese and I were up next.

First of all, whoever put us on after Grace, well, our style couldn't be any more opposite. As Reese aptly explained to the gathered crowd (250 people!), Grace's performance was Jones Hall champagne worthy. The best they were going to get out of us was beer at the Alabama Ice House. We performed  three songs - We're Going to be Friends by the White Stripes,  You've Got a Friend in Me from Toy Story, and That's Amore.  Somehow, it's all a blur, we fumbled through and made it back to our seats. The audience applauded, but I figured they were just being polite - not that there's anything wrong with that! We could all use a little more politeness and courtesy in this world. We had just settled in back at our table (I was trying to make myself smaller and dying a little bit on the inside) when there was a tap on my shoulder.  Turning around, a bouquet of flowers was presented to me by Sam, the dearest of friends. If kindness can slap someone in the face, this is how to do it. I was overwhelmed with gratitude. Thank you, Sam (and Mary!)

 

In the early part of this week, I thought of how unprofessional and goofy we must have seemed, especially when compared to the other, more polished performers that night. (Why, oh why am I comparing us to others? That's never a good thing.) Then yesterday, we actually received a very sweet thank you note (our first fan mail!) for just being who we are - Alabama Ice House kind of people. My head still thinks that any accolades are probably (maybe, maybe not) because we were dancing so close to the edge of the pool, then fell in backwards. But in my heart, like George Bailey, I prefer to think, "They're cheering us. We must be good!" So all in all, in spite of nervousness and (lots of) mistakes, we sure did have fun. *shrugs shoulders* Come on in! The water's fine.

Boulevard Oaks

For whatever reason, I keep painting trees. It must be a phase. At this point, I have  two more tree paintings already planned and sketched, just waiting for the time to put into the actual painting part. These are some of the lovely oak trees from a boulevard in a neighborhood in Houston called Boulevard Oaks. Redundant, but a lovely part of town none the less.

Instead of painting this week, daughter Hilary and I have appointments for cake tasting and going for round one of her trying on wedding dresses. For my part, I found my mother of the bride dress last week in a consignment shop. It's a beautiful vintage (late 60's, early 70's) pink silk dress with beading around the collar and sleeve edges. It fits perfectly, was only $24, and is bride to be approved! I'm still on the lookout for shoes, but at least there's time to shop. Silver slippers with a small heel would be ideal.

Let's Be Friends

Backstory, Part 2

With a little bit of island fever, which is what happens when mainlanders feel stuck on an island, I wasn't ready to go back to Hawaii after a month of "nannying" in Aspen. It's been 28 years since this story began, I don't remember all of the details, but from January to May, I traveled, lived, and worked in Oklahoma at a pizza place, in Washington DC at a place called The Cedars accompanied by volunteer work at a soup kitchen on 3rd Street downtown. In the Chicago area I helped cook and clean for a family who lived between Winnetka and Wilmette. I stayed with Stan and Mary in Kansas City. That was my favorite. They graciously assimilated me into their family life. I love them. From there, my time line might be wonky, but basically from there I got a job at a Covenant Heights Camp on the top of the mountain in Estes Park, Colorado. That's another (small) story.

All this time, I had been keeping up with a few friends from the church in Aspen. Letters. We wrote letters back in the day. When these friends invited me to a young adults camp out retreat during spring melt, I hitchhiked to get there. (Did you know that, Dad, that I hitchhiked?) The retreat was just off the road in a clearing up towards Ashcroft. By the time I arrived, everyone was setting up tents and campers, but there were two guys off in the aspens setting up what I came to find out was called a "lean to." It was just a tarp strung between two trees and tied off at an angle. Who sleeps like that? What about bugs and snakes and bears? Ugh. One of these guys came bounding out of the woods across the meadow, all long limbed, wearing overalls with shaggy blond hair  and a huge enthusiastic smile to introduce himself. It was the Amazing Reese, only I didn't know how amazing he was, yet. If I were to draw a super hero character of the Amazing Reese, he would look like he did that first time I met him, only shirtless, which will be explained in the next paragraph.

Now Reese had grown up camping. He joined boy scouts just so he could go camping. He likes to joke that he was the oldest Tenderfoot in the troop. He didn't care at all about badges, but please let him go camping. This, on the other hand, was my very first camping trip EVER. I was so grossed out by the filth factor that I even went into town the next morning to shower. Thankfully, I made it back in time to watch Reese, in his overalls and shirtless, cook scrambled eggs over the camp fire the next morning. Mmm, mmm good. His long and lean muscles had been chiseled from carpentry work the previous  summer and a long winter of cross country skiing. It looked good on him and I wasn't the only female to notice. The eggs were delicious, too.

During some getting to know you chit chat, I asked Reese where he lived in town. Normal enough question, but he was cagey in his reply. He told me where and I asked, "Oh, those apartments on the right?" He said, "No." So I asked, "Then is it that house down on the left?" He said, "No." I said, "Well, I know the area, and there's nothing between those apartments and that house." He reluctantly and rather sheepishly said, "You know that stream that goes under the road? If you follow that stream up about 20 yards, then jump over it, there's a little clearing. In that clearing is a platform I built. And on the platform, is my tent. That's where I live." OK, I thought. This guy really likes camping.

At church retreats, it's usual to have a speaker focus on a particular topic for the weekend. That weekend, the topic was friendship. The speaker discussed different examples of friendships in the Bible, buddy buddy friendships, romantic friendships, and friendships centered on another's spiritual well being. The idea was that we live in a disjointed society with people moving in and out of our lives, and unless we really commit to friendships, we can easily lose our way in this great big world. I went to six different schools growing up, so the idea of  working toward a "staying connected" friendship appealed to me.

There were no big sparks. At the time, I was sort of dating someone else. But I liked Reese well enough. He was enthusiastic, kind, thoughtful, and helpful. Plus, he knew how to scramble eggs over a campfire. That's a skill worth something. He must have liked me at least a little bit, too. By the end of the weekend, with the idea of friendship on our hearts and minds, just before I put my thumb out to hitchhike back to Estes Park, Reese and I looked at each other and said, "Let's be friends." I think we shook hands to seal the deal. So, that's how we met and became almost instant friends. And we've been best friends ever since. But falling in love? That's another story.

The Backstory

One of the things I've wanted to do since I was a teenager was write a book. In a few months, I'll be 49, and it's about time some effort got put into this dream. Maybe not like every writer, I don't know, but a big hindrance has been trying to formulate or even think of what to say.

When I tell stories in real life, in the living room over a cup of coffee or glass of wine, there's a give and take, an ebb and flow, especially when the Amazing Reese and I are telling different viewpoints of the same story.....like how we met.

It's a simple enough story. This is how it begins. When Reese was growing up his family went snow skiing quite a few times. Because Reese is from a big family, they would drive from Houston to somewhere in New Mexico, like Angel Fire or Taos, and sleep in the pop up camper. It was so cold at night that if Reese left a glass of water by his bedside, it would be frozen solid in the morning. On one of these ski trips, Reese's brother Claude brought a neighborhood friend, Robert Woodson. Turns out it was Robert's first time ever to go skiing. He fell in love with the sport, eventually becoming a ski instructor, traveling the world to ski winters in both hemispheres.

Because Reese grew up in Houston where it hardly ever snows, he was enchanted by the adventurous life Robert was living in perpetual snow. He asked Robert where in the world he could live in snow country and get a job? Robert told him that he could always find a job in Aspen. So one November, just before Thanksgiving, Reese moved to Aspen and within a few days had a job making sandwiches at a butcher shop.

From Hawaii, I came to to the mainland initially for a conference, after which I was invited to spend the month of January with my parent's friends while they vacationed in Aspen. How cool is that? What hadn't been communicated to me was that I was to be the live in nanny for their three small children. Classic bait and switch.

The only social outlet I had during that month was going to church with the family on Sundays and one church sanctioned young adults meeting on a week night. I met some really wonderful people during that month, and even though Reese went to the same church and we had the same friends, Reese and I didn't meet each other that winter.

Trash or Treasure?

I've been cleaning out the studio of things I don't use or need anymore. Is my trash your treasure? If so, come and get it. This lot includes old sketchbooks, house paint, oil paints, books on funding, broken plates and dishes, pastels, a portable box easel, an abstract painting, and a portfolio bag. It's yours for the taking.

Skyspace

Almost every weekend, the Amazing Reese and I walk Tilly to Rice University for some off leash time. They have expansive green spaces and on Saturday and Sunday mornings, the students, with very few exceptions, are still sleeping. It's a lovely campus.

Week after week on our walks, we've watched the new James Turrell Skyspace being built. James Turrell designed the coolest tunnel under Main Street between the two buildings of the Museum of Fine Arts. It's exotic. So when this new skyspace was finally opened to the public, of course we wanted to see it.

The deal is, the "light show"for the new skyspace happens at dawn and dusk. I had read that people needed reservations for the show at dusk. Really?

Maybe it was because we were there at 5:20 in the morning after a late, restless night. Maybe it was the heat and brightness of the neon....and the bugs attracted to that.  Maybe it was the long list of don'ts positioned next to each entrance. Maybe it was because we weren't expecting the light show to be SO tediously SLOW.  Whatever it was, our first experience at the James Turrell's Skyspace at Rice University was underwhelming. 

It looks like a spaceship designed by math geeks, which I suppose is appropriate, since Rice is full of Math PhD candidates and Houston is Space City. 

We haven't written the experience off completely. We'll find our Zen and give it another go...in the winter...at dusk...after which we'll walk to Valhalla for a pint. That should be more fun.

Sticks and Stones

What do y'all do when you find out that someone is trash talking you behind your back? My natural inclination is to let it go and ignore it. But what good does that do? Is it worth correcting the false story and defending oneself?

It stands to reason that the person who is being maligned must apparently be intriguing enough for people to think about them all the time. So, maybe hearing false rumors about oneself is a good thing? Hm, how has it happened that I hadn't thought about that until now? Maybe Oscar Wilde was right when he said,

"The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about."

Life with Friends

So many dear friends came to the Archway Gallery opening that it has been difficult figuring out how to document the night.

Well, obviously, it is a completely different show than last year - different juror, different art, different artists. 47 works of art were selected for this show out of over 200 (less than 300) works submitted. (I've gotten two numbers for actual submissions - 240something and 280ish.) Either way, I'm absolutely thrilled to have been included.

The juror, Julie Farr wasn't able to make it to the opening reception. Someone else read her remarks about the art and her selections for prizes. First place went to a lovely piece of glass work called "Bee Box Reconfigured." That Julie wasn't there was the only damper on an otherwise very exciting evening. I really wanted to thank her and hopefully glean any bit of wisdom from her about art in general, and my piece in particular. It just so happens that we were both at a different art event last night so I was at least able to thank her for including "Sunset at Hermann Park" in the show.

One of my favorite stories from the night didn't actually happen until the next day.  The next morning, my friend  Tim, who was solo for the night because his wife and kids were out of town, played a piano piece at church inspired by the art in the show. It was, well, inspired, and so lovely. It's such fun when arts collide and such a blessing to have so many talented friends.

As part of Art Houston, an art crawl type event in which over 30 galleries participate, there's a second opening reception of the Fourth Annual Juried Exhibition tomorrow night. If you didn't get a chance to see the show last Saturday, or if it was too crowded to see the actual art in the exhibit, come on by Saturday, the 14th. Give me a shout and I'll meet you there.

Houston is the longest I've lived in any one place and for being the fourth largest city in the United States, (how many times have I said this?), it sure is a small town. In the above picture are dear friends Joni and Chris, who we've known for years yet hardly ever see, who came clear across town to support Team Hazel. Aren't they cute? Reese and I first met them when we were skinny, had two (of four) daughters, and my hair was still black. Imagine that! To give an idea where my painting is in the gallery, to the right of Chris (Chris' left) is the front door. In the background between Joni and Chris on that middle wall, you can recognize the painting. Again, what a blessing friends are!

For your viewing pleasure, here's a link to an album from the opening reception uploaded on facebook. (Archway Gallery Reception)

Also, besides tomorrow night, I'm happy to meet anyone at Archway Gallery to view the show. It's up until August 2nd.

New News

Just found out yesterday that one of my paintings, Sunset in Hermann Park, has been accepted into Archway Gallery's 4th Annual Juried Exhibition! Well respected  Julie Farr, the director of Houston Center for Contemporary Craft selected the work for the show this year. This is my second time to be included in Archway's Juried Exhibit. Last year I was ridiculously excited. You can read about it here. If possible, the plan is to be a little more subdued at tomorrow's opening. Yeah, right. As if.

The opening reception is July 7th from 5 - 8pm at Archway Gallery, 2305 A Dunlavy  here in Houston, Texas. The Amazing Reese and I hope to see some of y'all on Saturday.

"You don't write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say." F. Scott Fitzgerald

This Tiny Life

Wouldn't it be great to be allergic to cats? Then declining to pet one would be so much more polite. "Oh, sorry, I can't pet your cat. I'm allergic."

I was about to say that I'm not allergic to anything, but that's not true. My skin reacts to everything - plants, soaps, lotions (including sunscreen), the sun, food oils, metals, various bugs - it's annoying.

I rearrange stuff in the house all the time. A few weeks ago my daughter couldn't find the cutting board and asked where it was. She thought that maybe I had moved it out of the kitchen and into the living room for some random unknown reason.

At age 48, one would think that I would have figured out by now to feed myself on a regular basis. Instead, I am surprised by stark raving (raging) hunger several times a day. I'm hungry right now. Absolutely starving.

The same daughter who asked about the cutting board is newly engaged (yay!) so we have a wedding to plan. One thing that means that I'm going to have to shop for some grown up shoes. My guess is that it might be uncool for the mother of the bride to wear chucks to her daughter's wedding.

Someone recently offered me $1000 for Tilly. 

Organic dishwasher detergent doesn't work AT ALL. These dishes are about to go through the wash for a third time.

Recycled toilet paper (the kind organic type people buy) is unpleasant to use. 

I literally dream of living in a really old house someday.

I painted the upstairs bathroom. It's blue. Apparently, I'm in a blue phase.

Editor's note:
The Amazing Reese was concerned that some of my faithful readers are cat lovers and would therefore be offended by the above cat remarks and consequently never read this blog again. Well, here it is. I'm not a huge fan of cats. I am, however, a HUGE fan of the people who own them. If showing you that I care about YOU means that every now and then your cat jumps in my lap from out of nowhere and scares the living daylights out of me, then so be it. I like you and once my heart rate returns to normal, I'll get over the fact that your cat freaks me out on occasion. Thanks for continuing to be my friend and faithful blog reader.

Name that Cat

Trying to catch up on the business side of art, I've been working toward getting paintings ready for public. There are a few things on the horizon, nothing certain yet,  but there's always hope.

It's easy to forget these little details - painting the edges black, adding hooks and wires to the back, and signing my name. Some of these paintings have been unsigned for over a year and a half, which if it weren't for this blog, I honestly would have no clue. This tiny little insignificant blog is the best record keeper ever, for me.

Signing ones name takes a surprising amount of time.To be sure, I'm a little picky about how it looks on a painting - it's so permanent - so great care is taken to get it just right. Today's haul was 16 paintings worth. Between signing and adding hooks and wires to some, and cleaning up afterwards, it took the whole afternoon.

 

There's more to do. There's always more. That's a good thing.

Ninja Painter

Home is wherever I'm with you. And since you're in my heart, I'm always home....except I like it when we're side by side for real.

Not such an exciting job, but at least the bedroom was painted today -- green to blue. It was a task that was long overdue. Yay. Happy exhaustion.

The color was made by combining the remnants of several cans of paint in the garage, which means that it's unmatchable, as was the green before it, which was made the same way. So do it right the first time. (I did.) This actual color could of course be matched, but the sheen is anybody's guess. It was made by combining some flat, some satin, and some gloss.....only a paint ninja could match it.

Apartment Therapy Hazel House Tour

A couple of months ago, the Amazing Reese and I hosted an engagement party for some friends of ours. It was the first time to our house for one of their guests, and she casually mentioned that she would like to include our house in a blog about apartments. "But it's not an apartment." "Oh, we do house tours, too. Your house would be great for one of the house tours." It was easy to agree to that, plus Nancy (in the photo below) is quietly winsome and very likable.

One month ago, the day before she was due to come take the pictures, I noticed that her e-mail address was at apartment therapy dot com. Naturally curious, I looked up the website and was stunned. Apartment Therapy is a big deal. I really should have dusted.

A couple of days ago, I found out that well written and engaging story was to be published today --  super excited! It wasn't until late yesterday afternoon that the thought occurred that some of the opinions in the comment section might not be kind. Nancy took wonderful photos, but this house has always been photogenic....plus, duh, it's our house. Of course we like it. Not everyone will, though, and that's OK.

This is the view while sitting at the dining room table to write this. It suits us. This drafty old house has been a great place to raise our family and our newest addition, Tilly the Wonder Dog. A bucket full of thanks to Nancy Mitchell at Apartment Therapy for featuring our house on one of the tours. Y'all can read all about it here: Reese and Sarah Hazel's Welcoming Home

Where the Sidewalk Ends

For whatever reason, I don't have a particular formula for creating paintings. Just because this painting happened this way this time doesn't mean that the next painting will.

Which incidentally makes it hard to remember how to paint. Presumably it would be easier to be formulaic. As it is now, it's both a thrill and a bother to start from scratch every single time I paint.

 

One of my strong suits, however, is mixing colors. Though, sometimes the colors in my paintings confuse people. They have more than once asked why something is thus and such color in a painting. When looking at a tree, for instance, I don't see a monochromatic gray trunk. I see reds, pinks, blues, and purples....yellow, green, orange....depending on the light and the kind of tree it is, a tree trunk can be any color on the color wheel on any given day.

Which brings up another point. In real life, there was a car parked at the end of the road, but I didn't "see" it so I didn't paint it. It was a blur. Also, the sun was muted, but bright enough that it was hard to tell where the sidewalk ended, or really what shape it was. So I painted what I saw, which looking at it now looks a little cattywompus. Oh well.

The weird thing is, this tree is just outside (west, looking south) the Menil Collection, and I really wanted to get the shape of the tree right because I figured people might recognize it, but there are no other context clues to identify it as such. Just to the right of this view in this painting is the main building of the Menil. This road separates the Collection from a lovely field where neighbors gather, spread blankets, have picnics, play music together, read books, or just visit. There's a red swing in the field where grown-ups and kids take turns swinging. In real life, in the background are a series of muted bungalows that I literally couldn't see for the trees. Well, that and my bad eyesight. On the plus side, I have excellent hearing. (ninja ears)

Admissions

Like many people (?), my interests and passions have changed over the years. A rather large chunk of my life was devoted to gardening once upon a time. No more. Certainly not exclusively,  but usually if a plant is in the ground, especially native plants, they tend to grow regardless of care or most recently around this house, a lack thereof.

My garden was never formal or organized. It was for the most part a specimen garden. I wanted to grow as many unique plants as our space allowed. The garden flourished as long as it was watered on a regular basis. But who wants to water all of the time? Plus, here in Houston we've had several extreme seasons in a row -- freezing winters and exceedingly hot summers. The garden still hasn't recovered but what do I care?

OK, I care a little bit. Which is why, when daughter Anna pointed out this vine growing into our house from outside a few weeks ago, I didn't have the heart to yank it out. From what I remember, it's a Mexican flame vine....which has a lovely orange flower and if it blooms inside, that'll just be a bonus.  The trellis on which it was originally growing was blown down in  a hurricane (Rita, Katrina, or Ike) a few years ago and never replaced. It's hot outside -- again. Where else is it supposed to go?

Welcome home, little vine. I will love you and hug you and call you George. Just kidding -- but not really.

Tilly 'n the Labs

Tilly the wonder dog is a regular volunteer at Methodist Hospital, mostly on Fridays. Here, sweet Tilly is making the hospital rounds with  her lab partners.  :)

Soul Food

Suffice it to say that Life has not been kind these past few weeks. As an artist, it's expected that creatively I would thrive during times of angst, but in fact the opposite is true for me. I much prefer to create from a place of beauty and peace. Sure, during the creative process there can be a sort of restless excitement that comes when inspiration meets work, but for the most part my artistic pursuit is one of calm and steady perseverance.

And so, after a month of inactivity, I'm back in the studio. It seems surreal....but it's not. It's quite real. Whether or not anything of lasting significance comes from this, to have painted today has nourished my soul. Thank God for today.

My By Self

When Erin was a wee one and wanted to try something on her own, she would look at us in all seriousness and say, "I do it my by self." We, of course, pulled away and clapped and praised her burgeoning autonomy and newfound skill.

This picture, for me, is that story all grown up. Only a short while ago she was an excited little girl -- I've seen this same expression on her face since she was a little bitty -- and now, Erin has completed her master's degree in clinical social work at the University of Texas. I love that she's made so many personal and professional choices based on her natural inclination toward showing mercy to others. She's an amazing woman. Congratulations, Erin! You did this all your by self.

Galveston Historic Homes Tour

It has to be largely my grandmother's influence that I love living with history. She had an antique shop for a while, and would often tell stories about various pieces of furniture, who owned it, where it was from, and what wood was used to make it. She had stories about dishes and silverware, paintings, and music boxes. She had picture books on her leather top coffee table of beautiful historical homes in Kentucky and Virginia. She talked at length about her childhood home in Mississippi and little by little, I came to love the things she did, which is why I was so excited to win four tickets to the Galveston Historic Homes Tour courtesy of West University Buzz magazine.

As one might imagine, it was a bit of a shock to visit Galveston back in 1985 as my 21 year old self after growing up in Hawaii. At the very least, I was stunned to see cars driving on the beach! It didn't take long, however, to learn to appreciate the charm of Galveston. Back then, with a young family in tow, we were always in a hurry to get back to Houston after a long day at the beach.

As our daughters grew up, however, I jumped at the chance to chaperone  field trips to Galveston. They were usually when our daughters were studying Texas history and we toured the tall ship Elissa, the Menard House, and the Old City Graveyard. All these years, though, what I always wanted to do was go on the Galveston Historic Homes Tour. But just because I love things like this, doesn't mean that my loved ones love it, too. Not wanting to coerce anyone, but really wanting the companionship, the Amazing Reese, daughter Anna, and dear friend Erin, all, bless their hearts, agreed to go with me.

With a picnic lunch sandwiched between our tour of six of the ten wonderfully interesting homes, with Bishop's Palace thrown in for good measure, it was a full day. Longing for more, it should come as no surprise to regular readers of this blog that I've spent a great deal of time these last two days researching historic homes for sale in Galveston. It's certainly not practical and only vaguely realistic, but I have grand dreams of the Amazing Reese (and Tilly) and me loving a historic house in Galveston back to life.

Even at the end of a long day, the Amazing Reese was a good sport. He went on this tour only because he loves me, and never complained about it once.....not that he's a complainer, he isn't, but still, he could have complained, but he didn't. Thank you, Reese -- just another example of why you are so AMAZING.

Presbyterian School Days

Once upon a time, all four of the Hazel daughters went to Presbyterian School. Those days are long gone now, but the memories of that place are sweet and strong. Erin was our first to attend, back when Betty Baxter was the head of school. With a simple handshake and personal greeting for each student every morning, Betty instilled a deep sense of belonging while teaching manners, respect, and common courtesy.

As a young family, we couldn't afford such an education for our daughters, but felt that we couldn't afford not to go, either. With scholarships and squeezing an already tight budget, we made it work. Lucky for us, Presbyterian School reinforced our ideas of what early education should look like. Which reminds me, several of our teachers were some of the most beautiful, kind, gentle women I've ever met in my whole life.

One of the teachers, Mrs. Henricks, still there, was a feisty, adorable woman who taught our third graders Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. Who does that? Third grade! Years later, when Joy and I ran into Virginia (Mrs.Henricks) at Target, she remembered that Joy had tried every trick in the book to get out of doing her homework. Mrs.Henricks loved a rascal, she's one herself, but schoolwork was schoolwork and she expected (with some mercy thrown in) for the kids to perform. And they did.

Back then, the music teacher was a brilliant woman who composed musical plays for the kids just to supplement a lesson on Abraham Lincoln. I can still sing the opening song, and I wasn't even in the play. "Happy birthday Mr.Lincoln, happy birthday Abe, happy birthday Mr. Lincoln, it's your birthday!" (<--singing it to myself)  Mrs. Fish could play the same guitar left handed or right. I've never seen anything like it. The kids would crowd around her while she was playing. If a kid got too close to her left hand, she never fussed....she would turn the guitar around (and upside down) and play it upside down and backwards. Who does that?

Mrs. Livingston nurtured our daughters and their fondness for science with hands on gardening. The kids worked to build a garden on campus and they worked in a garden at the Children's Museum after which they made power point presentations of their work.  Power point presentations in elementary school! Who does that? (The day lilies and fig tree still growing in our back yard are from Mrs. Livingston's own garden.)

Besides the loveliness of the campus, art classes were at MFAH's Glassell, the chapel teacher had the voice of an angel, the students learned Spanish, ate nutritious lunches, learned that gifts could be thoughtful handmade creations....which brings us to this sweet painting.

This Presbyterian School commissioned piece was a gift for someone who, according to the grapevine, really loved it. Several things were included in the painting to make it unique for the recipient and for Presbyterian School, though the image is universal. The girls' backs are toward us, so that we can all identify with the schoolchildren. They are in the blackwatch plaid dress uniform and running toward the office part of the school, which includes those windows, the top portion of which is the emblem for the school.

Maybe power point presentations are the norm in elementary school these days. Maybe third graders all over the globe study Shakespeare. Maybe all schools have a world class museum and art school part of their daily life....I don't know. For us, these things were extraordinary. For Presbyterian School and what it was for our whole family, I will ever be grateful. This painting reminds me of that, plus more, so much more.