Don’t even know where to start. I have an excuse, I really do. Since my last post I was informed that a space had become available for David Smith’s watercolour tour in the southwest of France. A sudden cancellation, a fluke, I was meant to take it.
Here’s a preview of my first finished painting while there.
It'a been a long pandemic. I write as if it's over, but statistically speaking it's not. Looking at the North American population data I was surprised at the differences. In Canada, 1 person in ten caught Covid, in the US it was 1 in 4. Amazing considering we were months behind in the ability to obtain vaccines. It probably has to do with population density and the relatively greater numbers of people concentrated in US urban centres, along with higher rates of poverty and those lacking access to medical care. Somebody's got to think about these things and leave it to the former sociology, anthropology and counselling psych student to do just that. It was the US hitting a million Covid deaths that motivated the statistical exploration. In America one in 336 of the overall population died of Covid, in Canada it was 1 in 946.
I was going to write about reemergence as I finally started the process a couple of weekends ago, taking my first in-person painting class after two long years. It was back in the saddle again with Marney-Rose Edge (@edgefineart) reinforcing what I've learned with her in the past - deliciously rich, multi-layered deep, dark backgrounds and transforming ordinary flower photos into watercolour backlit beauties. This one, 11x14, is based on my own reference photos.
Now that our fourth dose of vaccine has taken effect, I'm going to walk on the wild side. Masked, of course. We've been inside a restaurant only three times in two years, as this particular Japanese place has the equivalent of dining in your own little room. We're lucky that outside eating starts early in our neck of the woods. Tonight, though, we'll venture inside to a place more conventional.
On Monday this butterfly will continue her emergence from the cocoon. We will be part of an audience for the first time in ages. We're breaking our fast with a Pink Martini concert, our fourth or fifth over the years, but the first one in three. I'm trusting that the days of hacking audience members are over. I remember going to see the Three Tenors on one New Year's Eve, where the stadium sounded like a TB ward. It even merited mention in a review. I hope those days are gone and that we all learned something about viral spread.
There are far worse in the scheme of things, but this was a series of closely timed annoying events. After an enjoyable, but snowy Easter with family in Edmonton, I flew home while experiencing a combination sinus and ear infection. Not. A. Good. Idea. Landing was particularly bad pain-wise. The next day, Friday, I had a virtual visit with my doctor, who called in antibiotics. My mistake was attempting to pick them up after 5:00 pm. There was a glitch in the system and no prescription arrived, with no hope of one through the weekend.
Off I went to urgent care where I was informed that their definition of urgent "drop-in" care means to line up upon opening for an opportunity to book a visit, which are usually fully booked during the morning. Next stop: the ER. Luckily I qualified for the fast track section. While waiting I received a phone call from the coordinator of the art society weekend show, the first in over a year, informing me that my feature framed and hung painting had fallen from the wall and smashed to the ground. The framing wire had frayed and broken. I took deep breaths and reminded myself to think like a Buddhist. There was nothing I could do until the morning.
Meanwhile back at emergency, my eardrum was near bursting, indeed requiring another antibiotic prescription. We found a late night pharmacy and dropped it off, only to discover the resident on duty at the hospital had incorrectly filled in the form. The pharmacist reassured me that a phone call could fix it, but would require time. Off we went to the only open restaurant for dinner on the heated patio, the best part of the day.
Although in the heat of it I felt like Alexander, in the book about his no good terrible horrible very bad day, all's well that ended well. The medication appears to be working and although the glass in the frame was in a million pieces, the painting survived for the next show. Appropriately the title of the painting is "Sunnier Days."
Although its exact history is unclear, the fable of the rainbow crow evolved from Native American mythology, telling how fire came to earth.
Crows used to have beautiful voices and brightly coloured feathers. One harsh winter all creatures were cold and buried in the snow so they elect the colourful crow to fly and ask the creator for help. She’s given a sprig of fire to take back to earth. The fire melts the snow and saves the other animals, but crow arrived injured, with charred feathers and a hoarse smoky voice. Once healed, though, her shiny feathers shone a rich, deep black with all the colours of the rainbow. It’s a fable of selflessness and service.
I thought of rainbow crow on a recent walk at the beach. I bet there’s a story here.
Forgive this blog, that seems to be functioning eight weeks in the past while we deal with real life in the present. Just didn’t want to miss these, a random account of our time spent down south.
Let's take, for example, a most unique Christmas from C. It was the first gift of our lives that elicited a look of horror on my face. I wish I had a picture, but M and KC assure me I conveyed my feelings adequately. He gave me three sessions for us to meet with a voice coach to learn a romantic duet. Susan, next door, is an opera singer who gives lessons. She told him the rules: no wine ahead of time. Strike one. Also no dairy, chocolate or peppermint. Who knew? And who could have predicted the torturous exercise of finding an appropriate song, which included a major argument in which the words Moon River will never be uttered, much less sung, in our house. Ever.
So we went, fortified by sheer bravery, raw nerves and a bottle of water. Susan told us, when working as a voice teacher at a music college in LA, she described herself as a dream quasher. So long story short we chose A Kenny Rogers and Sheryl Crow duet version of Let It Be Me. Three long sessions later I can say we accomplished something, even successfully, and the only thing quashed was perhaps C's idea of a romantic gift.
A highlight was a trip back to Painted Canyon for an alternative route of the ladder hikes. Along the way we accomplished an earth geocache, studying the area’s unusual and varied geography.
The official Earth Cache photo, proving we were there:
I learned what I had been missing by delaying my morning walks until 8:00 a.m. An early morning zoom class gave me an opportunity to appreciate dawn’s golden hour.
Finally I have an unreasonable amount of photos taken from flights at 35,000 feet. This view of Mt. St. Helen’s crater was exceptional.
And now we’re home, the house well taken care of during extraordinary cold and snow.
Colours give me comfort. I was a colour conscious young child. Loved everything colourful: Crayola crayons, Colorforms, mosaic sets. Still do, you've witnessed my love of self striping yarns right here on this blog. Recently, as in having knit and crocheted three pandemic blankets. I really was destined for the art world.
This extended era of covid nudged me to indulge in this set of Pan Pastels. Not without guilt, they are sooo expensive. But once we crossed the border in Dec, prior to the current travel advisory, where the price wasn't so bad due to an e-bay opportunity, I satisfied my tonal urge.
As gratifying as a 72 pack of Crayola’s, the one with the built in sharpener. Does anybody know what I'm talking about, this craving for colour? Probably not. I guess there are worse things.
This winter finds me painting prolifically, thanks to another class with David R. Smith. This one was finished today, a summer lake scene, a perfect subject for cooler weather.
Certainly not in the time of covid. But here's the story. Over Christmas in California we spent some time at Lake Cohuilla, one of my favourite spots. It's a county park and as we entered the gate we were told that a herd of bighorn sheep were on the hillside. I can't tell you how many times we've looked for those sheep and not seen anything. It's no wonder, as they blend so perfectly into their surroundings as nature intended.
We took our walk around the lake, taking in the scenery and wildlife.
An hour and a half later, returning to our picnic spot we spotted 17 sheep a short distance away.
As we had lunch, the surprisingly curious creatures had their own meal just feet away from us. There was a sign in the park warning people not to approach the big horn sheep. Apparently that advice doesn't go both ways.
This one was wearing her jewelry, ear tags and neck tracker:
We complain about the park’s $6 per person entry fee, but this was well worth the cost of admission.
The third Covid blanket l’ve finished. Another opportunity to saturate my bland pandemic life in vibrant colour.
I have been working on this for years, mostly at Christmas. This December, 2/3’s the way through, I vowed to finish it. So, does it count as a blanket in the time of Covid?
Project: Desert Sunrise Blanket
Pattern: New Wave Throw by Lion brand
Yarn: Jojoland Rhythm, 24.62 skeins, colourway M06, dyelot 010,
Crochet hook size: J 6mm
I crocheted 2.46 kilometres (1.53) miles of yarn for this project! I like the camel stitch border I substituted, looks like knitted stockinette on the front and seed stitch on the back.
Christmas, 2019, back when we could gather with more than one household for the holidays. 23 from the Wilbo clan gathered together to celebrate. A Spanish serrano ham was ordered, complete with ham stand and knife. We dreamed of a glut of prosciutto style meat, to no avail. Here is the link to the caper of the disastrous deli meat.
Advance two long pandemic laden years. This Christmas there were four of us, in accordance with covid guidelines, triple vaccinated Mari and KC joined us to celebrate. Son, Bryant and partner Sammy had just returned to their home in Bali. On the 20th, there they appeared on facetime, requesting we open their gift early. I protested, preferring surprises under the tree for Christmas morning. He insisted we unveil their gift while they were present.
What a surprise to find a 17lb serrano ham for the four of us. M had tried to dissuade him from buying it, reminding him that the previous time we had 23 people in attendance. His answer? "Not my problem." and it hasn't been. We've had salty dried meat goodness right off the bone and on pizza, sauteed with veggies, on grilled cheese sandwiches, chopped and scattered on broiled potatoes. Mari has kept a ham diary and daily photos. Since the 20th, we've only had one hamless day. Who’d have thought a piece of meat could make our low key Christmas special.
Although far from typical, here’s hoping your Christmastime and holidays were merry, calm and bright.