A few good things

For some, or perhaps several reasons, I have been in a bit of a funk lately. As the kids and I sit down to dinner after another long day, I am struck by some simple things that I am very thankful for:

Stouffers microwave dinners
Publix chicken fingers
My Mom bringing me toilet paper, sunflowers and candy
Having text conversations in Olde English with my sister
A fried egg sandwich and wine refill from my sweet husband when it is way past my dinner time and I am imploding
Kisses on the nose from Patrick
Mary Clare proclaiming she wants to marry a boy that talks just like Moto Moto from Madagascar because apparently she likes deep man voices (???? Already?)
Cool breezes and drawing outside
Calls from my Dad just to chat...and listening to him get distracted and not be able to pay attention just like me
My kids laughter even when they're being rotten little stinkers (like right now)
There are so many things to be thankful for. These are just a few.

Whistle while you work

Just got back from the most relaxing beach trip EVER and very much wish I could sit on that deserted beach forever, doing what we want when we want to and never having to go to work or worry or be stressed or overly taxed and tired...

Ah, wishes.

You don't always get what you want...hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go.

Words of Wisdom from a 4 Year Old

This morning over breakfast, Stephen asked me if I was sad. I told him I was just tired, to which he responded, "yeah, it's no fun to go clean a house on your birthday." Mary Clare then announces with a little swagger, "Well, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do..."

That made my morning and gave all of us a laugh...

"My" Caterpillars

The other day as I as walking across the yard from the recycling bin, I saw something move next to my foot. On closer inspection, I found a little caterpillar. And another caterpillar. and another and another and another...and a million caterpillars overtaking my pitiful patchy front lawn. Apparently my little tufts of green grass are their favorite food and they all came to stay. None of my neighbors have this pandemic of caterpillars. I have had them on my leg, in my shoe, and on my arm just from walking to my car...that's a little yuck.
Mary Clare wanted to put a few in a jar to let them grow into butterflies. Thinking they wouldn't make it through the night, I humored her and fixed them up a jar complete with a mesh top (very handy for sprinkling water). A week later, we still have the caterpillars...and now they are my pets. I feed them grass and water twice a day and they live on my kitchen window sill. They have gotten pretty big and they eat a lot. We'll see what happens, and if they keep living. Mary Clare thinks they will make a "chrysalis" (such a smarty pants). Yay caterpillars!

growing and growing and growing

So, speaking of all things growing...

Oh. my. gosh.

my workload is GROWING. I'm daily adding to commissions, art shows, art classes, and demonstrations.

I am so very excited about it all, but it is starting to crush me!

Just today I have arranged two new pastel demonstrations: one at Forstall Art Center and one at the Hoover Public Library.
I still feel so funny that people are asking ME to do these things, paying ME to teach pastels! It is mind-boggling.

Today I hung my largest painting yet at Mountain Brook Presbyterian Church/Preschool and felt so warm as I saw how much everyone liked it.

I have several challenging commissions on my plate, where its even down to the desired expressions on the people's faces that I have to create for my clients.

I am so very overwhelmed that I am actually getting to do this for a career...that it is working...that it is so fulfilling and is so marvelous to be able to create things that draw out feelings, express emotions, capture thoughts.

How did I get so lucky!

I still feel like just a kid!

Want some bird seed?

When my sister and I were little, she had a Big Bird toy with a pull cord on the back.
When you pulled it, he would say things like "I live on Sesame Street," etc.
Well, Big Bird was loved, his cord pulled A LOT, and he went a little funny.
He was known to say (and we can hear it perfectly in our minds to this day; sorry you're missing out!) "I live on Sellll..same street" and, "Want some burrrrrrd seeeeed?"

So I ask you, "Want some burrrrd seeed?"



Because apparently this is something I am good at growing...by accident.

My real garden has been spontaneously (and frighteningly fast, I might add) overtaken by morning glory. At least the one thing that grows in there will be pretty! I do still have a few squirrelly tomato and bell pepper plants, 3 carrots and some herbs. You can't win 'em all, I suppose! I'll try again in the fall and see how winter veggies grow in my patch. Good thing we don't depend on my skills (or lack there of) for sustenance.

Bad Blogger

So, I'm a really bad blogger...

I decided when I started this one, that it would be a spot to say things I felt like I needed/wanted to say, just for the heck of it. And if I didn't have anything worth saying, I wouldn't. So lately I haven't had anything to say :)

I've just been drawing and painting and playing and cooking and cleaning and thinking and reading and teaching and living and growing.

Life is going well, lots of good news lately in my "art career": Best of Show for cow painting at a show in Georgia, I was accepted into the Pastel Society of America and was (to my happy surprise) chosen to exhibit 13 pieces of art at St. Vincent's Hospital next summer after an interview I thought I bombed. I sold my biggest pastel picture to date to my wonderful Aunt to decorate her new law office, and did a new picture (that I have now stolen) that I am very proud of; it stretched my techniques and I feel a great sense of accomplishment.

Meanwhile, we are trying to relax more and enjoy life...like Roman Italians (thanks Anthony Bourdain!)

The Next Generation

My sister and I have been on a kick to be as weird as possible...not on purpose, unfortunately. It began, as Mel says on her blog www.pat-and-mel.blogspot.com, with us spontaneously texting in Olde English for an HOUR. (Attempt at a reason: Melanie was at Shakespeare in the Park in St. Louis at the time). We then began wondering what was wrong with us and we blame it on Dad. So this weekend, we were all alone in Atlanta, and could do whatever we wanted, and we spent an hour or more taking weird pictures on photo booth.

The evidence:



So today, the next generation has joined our ranks:



We are so proud.

And, Mel, here is our Olde English conversation which is clogging up my phone. Using Dad as our reason for being so weird (love you Dad!) or not, it still begs the question: What is wrong with us?!?!?!!!??!?!? :)

Mel: "Pat is ignoring my chatter, and a friend said I should speak to him in olde english the rest of the night...hahahahaha"

Me: "What be thou address numerals? I knowest well the code of zip but hast forgot the rest"

Mel: "Streams of water escapeth me eyes. This I cannot halt. Disgruntled are those surrounding this person. Ohh how I longeth for time with my beloved sister. When shall I be graced with thou presence!??

Me: "I cannot bear such humor! How my breath doth also escape me! methinks my libations maketh me a trifle to merry! Ah, if only I were with thee what mayhem we would make?! In but a weeks time, fear not dear sibling. My fingers doth protest at my disgraceful abilities upon this miniscule machine."

Me: "I cannot still this new speech. It pours forth like the fountains of wine from which we partake. Oh dread...I find myself thinking in such verbosity though quite alone...I fear the permanence of such dialects."

Mel: "i hath not felt so much cheer in many changes in the seasons. Oh how thou hast restored laughter in my heart..."

Me: "I have just let a gutteral laugh escape my girlish mouth, akin to a man with a robust middle...I fear I may wake the sleeping babes with my frivolity?!?!"

Mel: "how dost they sleep through such laughter? I musn't stir to hastily...insects are stirring as though my flesh is but a stream of honey"

Mel: "woe is me...I wish to retire to my abode. Locked into this hellish weather, I must stay as this entertainment doth continue..."

Me: "Yea it will continue for many more bites of the mosquito and loathsome flying intrusions. But take heart! Thou lodgings are but a jog away?!?!!"

Unfortunately, it didn't stop there....days later I receive another text from my Olde English sibling:

Mel: "Dearest sister, I pray this letter finds you well. I am to board the strangest of contraptions. Hast thou heard before of an aeroplane?? It shall deliver me to a destination shortly. My heart overfloweth with the joys and anticipations of our travels."

Me: "Of such a strange innovation I have heard tale! In truth I have witnessed this mythical metal beast but this very morn. I write you with all warmth of eager expectation of your long awaited arrival"

So ends the tribute to my singular sister, whom I cherish with all love and doth hope with all my being to see again in the quickest of days.

There's no rage like the rage of a two year old

Oh, a new stage of fits has hit the Ingram household. Too bad Stephen is missing this one.

The raging Patrick.

A fit over what, exactly, remains to be discovered. But the fit is still raging. Can't keep him in his room because he bursts through the baby gate; he proceeds to ram into the kitchen wall, ending up with a fleck of paint on his tooth and a mark on the wall. Does that stop him? Oh no.

So I try to hold him and be nicer...help him to calm down, you know. The Dalai Lama says "parents should be calmer."

Then he bites me. My first child bite. He BIT me! on my arm! I am still a bit shocked. And it still hurts. Those were sharp little teeth! So much for being a calmer parent.

So the backwards-underwear clad little monster is now in his room, still crying. After the biting incident, he has ceased storming the blockade and is just wearing away at my sanity a bit at a time with his half-hearted screaming. Oh, Patrick.

There is no rage like the rage of a two year old.

Garden Casualties

Curling pea plants climbing gracefully up my wooden fence, colorful leaves of Swiss Chard bordering the garden bed, pumpkin vines stretching around the mounted bird feeders with mini pumpkins beginning to grow, big red onions being pulled from the rich soil, bountiful squash and tomato plants, the smell of herbs wafting from my brimming herb garden...me relaxing in my little private garden surrounded by the colors of my labors.

or not.

We've had some garden casualties. A lot in fact.

1. birds ate my tiny lettuce plants
2. peas think it is too hot, therefore only two wee plants have sprouted and are pecked by birds
3. topsy turvy tomato planter hanging from a shepherd's hook is so heavy, it crashed overnight; cherry tomato plant is still intact, but the bent pole is now duct-tape-roped to a crepe myrtle tree
4. squash disintegrated due to some disease/pest I am unaware of
5. big pumpkin plant now taking its turn to shrivel
6. red onion above-ground growth has now collapsed...not sure what's going on there. I found the little onion under the ground and he seems fine, but only time will tell
7. only 3 carrots grew out of the 15 or so
8. basil looks like sticks (now being salvaged) because I didn't know you are supposed to pinch it off to make it grow...oops. thanks to my smart neighbor, we're back on track.


the sad half-empty garden


no more squash


what happened to the onions?


ah, the duct-tape rope...still hanging on

On the bright side, so as not to be a glass-half-empty kind of girl, I have a lot of radishes. (wait, is this a bright side? do I eat the radishes? not so much. turns out, they do sort of taste like poo) My tomato plants are happy and I have two ripening tomatoes, lovely and unpecked. My beans are also happy (I even have some to eat!), as are my bell pepper plants and other herbs. Tons of oregano, but don't know what to do with it except smell it; lots of mint, blooming lavender, flat leaf parsley, chives and thyme. Half the garden is now empty due to the above casualties, but to reclaim this lost land, I think I will plant something easy, like flowers. They should cheer me up. And maybe the birds won't eat them.


abundance of radishes...any takers?


my herbs (hhhherbs as Mel might say)


happy bean plants


and beans!!!

Farewell Dress Up Box (sort of)

Last weekend on a particularly drippy and dreary afternoon, we decided to clean out the house (again). I sat on my bed looking into my closet, trying to pick out what could go, when my gaze drifted to the left corner of the top shelf. There sat a beat up cardboard box which has not been opened in a very long time...

oh yes, the dress up box.

My family will know exactly what I'm talking about. Little costumes picked up during childhood and adolescence (or so I claim) that I just couldn't part with...a tinkerbell costume (grown up size), clown nose, purple cape, elf shoes (?). I took the box down and called in MC, knowing she would love to inherit some of this nostalgic loot. Of course, dressing up ensued. As we put on giant hats, angel halos, some killer teal and yellow clip-on earrings (kept of course), and some sticky, old and very bright red lipstick, I tossed out the junk (note: some of this is not considered junk?) and Mary Clare magpied a few items. I hit a bit of a snag, though. I mean, how can you part with such a marvelous wig and moustache ensemble, especially when it brings to mind me dressed as Sonny Bono!? And Lip-synching "I Got You Babe"? Ah, the memories...



To be fair, some of the retained items are actually Stephen's dress-up box additions: Thai kickboxing shorts and a very un...I mean attractive 70s outfit. So fortunately (or unfortunately?) it is not just me with this weird collection.

Take that Stephen.

And I don't know who that crazy guy is in this picture.

Growing Outrage

Today I am not feeling very hopeful.

I feel outraged. I feel isolated in my peaceful home, surrounded by flowers and smiles and relaxation. I feel impotent as I become more and more aware of the hatred, the duplicity, the injustice in the world, and the reality that there is not much I can do about it. I sit and watch news reports, watch videos of the flotilla being attacked and people being killed, read reports of BP's hospitalized, silenced workers and the insane amount of time the oil is predicted to continue gushing, look through photos of malnourished children in tent cities in Haiti, smiling sadly for the camera amid the trash and rubble. The problems are real and serious. What can I do? How do you sow love instead of hatred, light instead of darkness, peace instead of injustice?

I am frustrated and angry at the news. So many sides to the stories, so many things that are true and so many that are not. And how to tell the difference? Any hatred is bad. Lies are bad. All I know is that people are desperate; people are human and have the right to live life fully and with dignity; people should not be objectified; people should be protected, not ignored, not attacked, not starved, not silenced.

But these are just thoughts. Where is the action that matters? How can we find the truth in these situations and move towards justice, instead of becoming stagnated by choosing sides and arguing over the "facts"? And how do we personally work toward these things when we are but one small part of the whole, lacking influence, lacking opportunities, lacking knowledge?

I am at a loss.

Hope is the things with feathers

Last night before I went to bed, I was thinking about hope. Foremost in my thoughts was a poem by Emily Dickinson:

"Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul,
and sings the tune without the words,
and never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
and sore must be the storm
that could abash the little bird
that kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land
and on the strangest sea;
yet, never, in extremity,
it asked a crumb of me."

I thought of the hopes I have--the real hopes, not just "dreams" or "wishes." I hope to be better. I hope to grow; to grow in goodness, in love, in right action, in resolve; to be less foolish, less selfish...which led to me thinking of St. Francis:

"Lord, make me an instrument of your peace
where there is hatred...let me sow love
where there is injury...pardon
where there is discord...unity
where there is doubt...faith
where there is error...truth
where there is despair...hope
where there is sadness...joy
where there is darkness...light
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled...as to console
to be understood...as understand
to be loved...as love...."

Hope is the thing with feathers. It is alive and active and constantly present. It remains a living presence in my soul, spurring me forth to grow, to renew, to never give up trying. The hope that says "be better," "sow love," "so peace," "seek understanding," "look outside yourself."

It struck me that hope was an interesting thing to be contemplating when so much despair surrounds; when I have for the first time felt a sense of hopelessness and helplessness. Crushed lives, crushed communities, crushed structures in Haiti--devastation on an incomprehensible scale. Gushing oil uncontrollably attacking the Gulf, seemingly unstoppable. The economic recession still resulting in waves of job loss, foreclosure, and spirals of debt and worry. Earthquakes around the globe, flooded cities, uprisings in fragile governments. I've never felt so hopeless for situations, as I sit on the couch watching it unfold on the TV, without any way to plug the oil or rebuild homes in Haiti.






Yet, from the rubble and sewage of Haiti comes a beautiful tin carving, with three little birds perched in a tree, brought home from Stephen's recent trip. Even Haiti, where the continuance of life seems so endangered and hope seems so absent, hope is the thing with feathers; people are surviving.



The oil gushes and the pelicans and gulls are mired, but one at a time they are washed clean, surviving. Hope is the thing with feathers.



The bird hope may be small, but hope is present. Amidst so much despair, it's song seems so dim. The bird hope in my soul is restless--I feel useless; but I can sow goodness here in my place. I can stir up hope in the souls of others so that together we may amend, or at least begin to heal, what these unhindered atrocities have destroyed. Hope may seem small, but hope is stalwart. How do we follow hope's quiet and constant call? I don't know, but I'm trying.

Good Things (that I didn't have to do)

One of the benefits of buying a house is that sometimes you can mooch off of the work of others. We have a little house in Homewood, 3 bedrooms, 1 bath with an extra art room. It is just right, having lots of finished details in a small space. The garden already has raised beds, bird feeders mounted in stone-paved corners, roses growing over an arbor, irises and lilies by the lamp post in the back; all we have to do is take care of what has already been prepared. We are good at keeping things up; not so good at taking on projects (hence, the still-present GIANT stained and sagging ceiling above the kitchen table from the late-winter monsoons, or was it fall? I lose track. It is a lovely accent to our kitchen). One of the latest benefits to our house are the beautiful hydrangeas blooming in the front and back yards. All I have to do is reap the rewards! There is one downside to our small space (setting aside the leaky roof, which Stephen has so expertly repaired)--two words: one bathroom. The key is to ask MC if she has to go before you get settled (something we often overlook, to our own detriment).

Pre-Summer Slump

I have been in the process of drawing a cow for about 3 weeks. It is a big one...18x24 pastel of a big rust-colored cow grazing by a river on top of a green hill. Normally I can knock one of these out in a long day, or maybe 2. Why is this cow taking me so long? I blame it on a pre-summer slump. Spring rush of art shows and end-of-year preschool activities coming to a close make me tired, and the heat outside makes me lazy. My to-do list has gotten lost and I just poked around the house today, with half-intentions to get myself together. Ah, but alas, the approaching summertime heat and cold mint sweet tea call to me and I just get stuck in the middle, between productivity and relaxation. I suppose I should pick one. I'll let you know which I choose. Too bad summer doesn't mean "break" anymore!

(If I could, here is what I would choose. Ahh, the days when we had so few responsibilities)

Boogers and Leaves

Today when I came home from teaching preschool and pastel class, my poor little MC was sound asleep on the couch with a fever. Patrick and I stayed outside on the front porch where I could hear if she woke up, because keeping the dude quiet inside for more than a minute was never going to happen. 3 hours and many mosquito bites later, we finally saw Mary Clare's little face at the door, feeling better. Patrick and I had spent the afternoon decorating pine cones with monkey grass and clover, throwing rocks into the monkey grass, smashing mosquitos, singing songs, making butterflies out of flowers and pretend-catching the moon.

I'm so used to being busy and always having something productive to do (and feeling guilty if I'm not). As I sat on the porch watching him follow birds and bumble bees, I felt very relaxed for the first time in a long time. Happy to watch him play and to just sit and smile on my peeling, paint-layered steps, feeling the green all around me. And now as I sit and my kids run and play and pick boogers, my 5 day head ache has finally faded and life feels good. Even with the boogers (that he so dutifully wiped on a tissue)

Growing Compassion, Growing Community

There is a man (really a couple of different men and a woman who alternate) who sits next to the ramp from Hwy 280 to Lakeshore Drive. He holds a sign and waits, rain or shine. We take that exit each day after preschool and see him there. Mary Clare has asked what he's doing and knows he is homeless and needs help. We have given him what little cash or coins we have, but seem to always end up with a green light or in the wrong lane to offer anything. But Sunday after a meeting, while Stephen was at work, we passed the man again and the kids and I decided to pack a bag of food to give to him. The kids were so pumped about it and got to work right when we got home. Almost entirely on their own, they packed a bag full of things they thought would make him happy...goldfish, fruity pebbles, dried cherries, oreos, cokes, magazines, a piece of chalk in case he wants to draw, a pad of paper and a colorful pencil in case he wants to write something, toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, deoderant, washcloth (toiletries which Patrick so carefully placed in a ziploc bag for the "little man" as he called him), a (clean) pair of filched socks from Dad's drawer, a cheerio and teddy graham plastic container in case he wants to save some things, and a few other items. The bag was finished with some pictures. The exact words are better than my retelling: Mary Clare said "I think I'll draw him a monkey because monkeys are silly and they make you laugh, and if you laugh you feel happy. Mom, would it be okay to draw a heart and write 'I'm sorry you don't have a house?'"
It's hard to think of anything to say after that. We are so proud of the compassion that has grown in their little hearts...and that they are able to share it in a real and tangible way even though they are only 2 and 4 years old. I felt myself receding into the background as they worked away, on their own initiative and with their own sweet ideas of what someone without a house might like to have; an onlooker torn between smiles and tears. Their little hands taught me a lot and the picture above sums it all up for me.
This is what I feel "church" should be...community, meeting needs, restoring humanity in ways big and small. It doesn't have to take a lot of preplanning and structure...just compassion, love, and action. It doesn't take a lot of searching and waiting to grow up...just simplicity, honesty and kindness. When we gave the man the bag after school yesterday, we asked him if there was anything else he needs that we could get for him (MC was worried he needed a pillow and blanket, so I told her I'd ask before we took it). He said "I'm just trying to get food and enough money for a hotel room. This helps so much!" Simple needs. People worry so much about what "homeless people" will do with the money they offer, so they don't offer...the man just wants a place to sleep and something to eat. Instead of worrying so much over taking action, we just need to help however we can.
We will now always have a bag full of food, necessities and a few happies in our car so we'll be ready to help, just like MC says.

First Fruits...I mean vegetables

We have planted a small garden at our house--three little beds with herbs, tomatoes, squash, pumpkins, beans and peas, radishes, carrots, red onions, peppers and very sad lettuce. So far I'm doing a good job taking care of it; watering, weeding, observing, keeping little feet from stomping the plants back into the dirt. Today was a momentous overcast morning...we pulled up our very first veggies. Radishes. The kids thought they were amazing and beautiful, even if covered in dirt. I was suspicious because they were all split and weird looking and was afraid they would taste terrible (radishes already taste odd anyway). We brought them in and they tasted pretty good as far as radishes go, to me at least. MC and P spit them out into the trash. Ah, well, it was exciting nonetheless.
I started this blog today because, as I was pulling weeds, I thought about what a pervasive metaphor my garden was for my life. So much involved to keep it healthy; a little neglect and you're in trouble. I never liked to blog, worried it was narcissistic--who wants to hear what I have to say anyway? I was always the girl in the back of class who never said anything unless I thought it was really relevant (which wasn't often), and got annoyed at people who seemed to talk because they liked to hear their thoughts. So I'm beginning a blog without expectations of "readers," but it helps to record my musings with the thought of an invisible, if perhaps imaginary, audience.
So, we'll see how it goes.
(And yes, Patrick is wearing Mary Clare's shirt...not my doing, not that I really care)