oil on canvas, 31 x 27", 1978, $1500
Friday, June 12, 2015
Friday, May 29, 2015
Friday, May 15, 2015
Tuesday, May 12, 2015
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Friday, April 17, 2015
Friday, March 27, 2015
Friday, March 20, 2015
Friday, March 13, 2015
Friday, March 6, 2015
Friday, February 13, 2015
Friday, February 6, 2015
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Food for thought......Hemingway once said ...'The most painful thing is losing yourself in the process of loving someone too much, and forgetting that you are special too.'....let me take a moment to express my thoughts on this very complicated subject.. ....You can put so much love into a relationship, marriage or even family members and still fall into this terrible stigma...You get treated the way you teach people to treat you...Once they know that they can treat you badly, and even disrespect you and yet still get kindness and affection in return, they will use this against you as long as you let them...If you are being wronged and abused by anyone, it is time to make some changes in your life...Once you get away from this type of treatment, after some time , you will look back and not even believe that you let yourself be treated that way...There are lots of cruel narcissistic people in this world that are self centered and very selfish, and only out for themselves ,and they will take advantage of you until you have nothing left...If you are in this situation ....run away as fast as you can and don't look back, because no matter how hard you try and how much you want to believe in them...they will NEVER ever change.....
Friday, January 16, 2015
Friday, January 9, 2015
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Today marks the 40th anniversary of my move to New Mexico.
My then husband and I drove a ’67 Chevy Impala and a ’62 Volkswagon w/sun roof into Santa Fe in the early evening. He carried the plants in the VW and I drove the kids and cats.
From the minute we left Texas, it was difficult, weather-wise. We experienced horrible winds from Dallas to BigSpring, then rain and tornado warnings to Lubbock. We spent that night with my grandmother. It was a brief respite, however.
The next morning we were delayed a bit by sleet and high winds, but we managed to leave Texas shortly after an early lunch.
The snow began within the first hour of driving. It was blinding.
My brakes gave out in Santa Rosa and I had to use the emergency brake to stop. We were delayed again with the repairs….. and then we drove on in the snow, sleet, rain, wind and more snow.
My husband finally pulled over and put the chains on the Chevy on the side of the highway. Huge semi-trucks were flying by us! He was so cold; we in our Texas coats, laughable now.
We started up again and drove through more snow. Right before the turn off to Old Santa Fe Trail, my husband pulled over to the side of the road, again. He walked over to me and said, “Rosebud (the name of our VW) has died. She can’t make it”.
I screamed, “Tell Rosebud we are almost home and to get going!” and he got in the car and it started right up! We drove into town in the most snow I think I have ever seen.
But we made it!
We slept that night on the floor of a house we’d rented a month before, with some blankets because our furnishings/belongings were stuck somewhere in Texas, in the snow. I will never forget the smell of piñon wood burning in fireplaces, all over town. The night sky was pink and the snow came down in silence.
I was home.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Monday, December 29, 2014
I had a fascination with public restrooms as a child.
When I first became aware that they existed, I would beg to go look at the bathroom in whatever establishment we were in. I must have been tiny because I can remember always wanting to “see the bathroom” and whining to everyone until they would let me look.
Some of the times the excitement was in just locating the bathroom. It was like an Easter Egg Hunt, in a way. Where could it be? I loved to explore at an early age. This was true in restaurants as well as people’s houses. First thing, I headed for the restroom! I liked the doors, too, with their little skirted cutouts, stencils, painted girls, etc. The boys door was boring in comparison.
My mother became so tired of my pleading (and probably a little embarrassed) that she began to not allow me access to any bathrooms, forcing me to sit still and behave for at least the first hour. She made me urinate in our toilet at home before we left the house. She knew I didn’t “have to go” for a while.
I would fidget and make life unbearable even though I’d been warned to not discuss the bathroom until she said I could. I remember singing “row row row your boat” over and over until my mother would BEG me to go to the bathroom. I had this hangdog look that said, “PLEASE, purty PLEASE may I go see the bathroom?” that I wore continuously. My mother would try hard not to look at me and when she did, she’d get so angry even though she knew I was going to behave in that manner. Why not just let me go see it and be done with it? Sometimes I asked her that question. That usually created an even bigger problem so I didn’t ask too often. I could read her like a book!
My mind would create what the bathroom of that particular store or gas station, restaurant or movie theater would look like as soon as we walked in the door. Were the sinks shiny? What color were they? What did the wallpaper look like? Were there any little pretty chairs? Was the bathroom carpeted (those were my favorites but not many in public restrooms)? Did it smell nice (and I shunned the dirty ones)? Oh, my imagination was so full.
I knew which “stops” were quick and which ones we’d be in, longer. According to my perceived allowed time frame, I would fake, very loudly that I simply had to go pee, “PUHLEESE!” IF there were people with us, or a “worker” (as my mother referred to them), she would acquiesce, because she knew I would not back down in front of them. If no one else was with us, I knew to wait a bit longer until the last possible moment.
I realized that a loud wailing voice about how much I had to pee was more effective than a small voice. She wouldn’t dare punish me in public and by the time we got back home, it’d either be an elm tree switch “spanking” or she wouldn’t talk to me for days. Big deal. I got to see that bathroom! It was worth it.
What fun I had crawling under the stalls to lock all the doors, or taking all the toilet paper (I began doing these semi-destructive things at about age 10). I loved the one-holers because I could lock the doors and stay in there as long as I wished. That never went over well. Eventually my mother would notice I was missing. She always knew where to find me, too.
One day, I got over it. I don’t know when that was. I DO appreciate a pretty bathroom to this day, but it is no longer my focus. It’s purely a utilitarian visit.
I do like the fancy sinks and toilets these days, though. The glass sinks are the best!