A New Year, A Sad Change

The year 2012 is starting out a bit strange for me. My life seems to be slowly rotating away from some things, and drifting toward others. That’s natural, I suppose, but it can also be sad.

The biggest change, and the saddest, is my decision to leave The Barn Owls Writer’s Group. After almost seven years, things had reached a point where instead of looking forward to the Friday meetings, I was looking for excuses to get out of driving into town. There are a variety of reasons why I made the decision to go on a long, possibly permanent, hiatus.

When I first joined Owls, we had eight or nine members (can’t remember exactly). There was barely enough time for us each to read and get a critique of our five pages within the three hour meeting time. It was a vital, enthusiastic group, with high hopes and a real desire to get published. We even put out our own anthology of short stories, and had book signings at the local bookstores. Not long after I joined, one lady passed away from cancer. But the remaining seven held together, gave a good variety of constructive critiques of our work, went to writer’s conferences, went to a presentation on writing by S. L. Stebel, where two of us (myself included) got to have a short bit of writing reviewed by this man. We got together periodically to have lunch before the Friday meetings, and generally had a good time with a strong focus on improving our writing skills. I loved going to each and every meeting.

Over time, one by one, people dropped out, or, I hate to say it, were driven out because of writing style/genre and/or personality conflicts. When Alan, the much loved only male in our group (he always referred to himself as the head rooster among the hens) got sick and had to move away, and then later passed away, the group was down to six, and the spark of enthusiasm seemed to go out. Slowly the focus blurred, and although most of us brought pieces to read and got great feedback, the field trips stopped, no one was going to conferences any more, and the only time we got together for lunch was at Christmas.

With the exception of our leader, and maybe two others, the rest of us were skipping more and more meetings. We attempted to get new members, and had a few show up for awhile, but they either couldn’t commit to the time, or had health issues that prevented them from attending very often and they eventually dropped out altogether. At one point, a younger woman, who had been a journalist nominated for a Pulitzer, joined, but because she owned her own business based out of her home, she couldn’t always make the meetings. She was just the shot of energy, professional experience, and fresh air the group desperately needed. Unfortunately, not all the members looked at it that way. The woman left the group after only a short time. I think she found the meetings boring and depressing.

Then another longtime member moved to the coast, showing up at meetings maybe once a month or so. Now we were down to five. And the focus on writing was pretty much dead. If no one brought anything to read and critique, then dice were pulled out and some kind of dice game ensued. We even stopped doing the ten minute speed-writing exercise, which I had always enjoyed. I was at the point where, as soon as the dice came out, I left. I wasn’t interested in playing a dice game when I could be at home working outside...or home writing. I didn’t join Owls to play dice. I joined to learn about writing, polish my work, and hopefully get published. I still have that dream, and am still working toward that eventual goal.

I missed the first two meetings of the new year—one due to lack of interest, one due to the fact I had to take care of a sick cat. When the call came out to ask who was going to be at the next meeting, I felt a sense of dread. I just didn’t want to drive the eleven miles into town, so that when one or two members were done reading, the rest of the time would be spent playing games. I couldn’t do it. I finally accepted the fact that the group no longer held any interest for me. The dynamics had changed. However, I honor and respect them as individuals, from whom I learned an enormous amount about the skills and joy of writing.

In sending out my request for a long hiatus, I thought I had left the door open for a return to the group, if the focus returned to writing. I made it clear I wanted to stay in touch. After all, these women had been my friends for over six and a half years. But within days, my name was struck from the e-mail list, cutting me off from any notices of activities or personal adventures. That hurt. Maybe I should have expected it, but it still feels like a slap in the face.

Just a week after I gave my notice to leave, one more member, the woman who had moved to the coast, and who had been in the group way longer than I had, officially left. She was instantly cut off from the e-mail list as well.

So, now they are down to four. I hear they are asking around to see if anyone knows others who might want to join. I wish them luck. Maybe if they get new, excited, enthusiastic younger people in the group, things will start clicking for them again. It’s just unfortunate that it took so many of the longtime members bailing out to effect that change.

I will miss the Owls very much. But, I’m still writing. I still have my dream.

"Yuletide"

This was our Christmas card. Hadn't done any real artwork in quite a while, so it felt good to get back into drawing. The picture is done in Sharpies and watercolor pencil.

Also, I had been trying to come up with a cartouche-type signature for a long time, but could never get the R to work well in the designs. Then, as per usual, at around 3:00 am, as I lay wide awake, it hit me. Turn the R around. I tried it, and really liked the way it looked. Only thing I think I will change, is to square off the ends of the enclosing triangle, so it doesn't look quite so much like a Caution sign. LOL

Two Badass Redheads!

Who Dusts?

Sorry, it’s been a while, I know. Summer was a busy one, but, I’m back now, and I have a question.

From my personal library I am re-reading a very excellent art book called Art Making & Studio Spaces by Lynne Perrella. It is a showcase of 31 artists and the places they work their individual styles of magic. Eye-candy to the max. Loads of ideas. But...

Each of these studios is crammed with stuff—supplies, books, baskets of fabric or paint tubes, collections of figurines, seed pods, chunks of wood, toys, personal shrines, artwork of their own and by other artists, ephemera...just about anything an artist needs for work or inspiration. In almost all of them there is not one inch of table, shelf, or cupboard space that is not covered with something. And in every studio there was not one speck of dust. Nary one spider web clinging to a corner of the ceiling...nadda.

Now, I realize that in a photo shoot for a book you would clean your studio to within an inch of its life, and they probably had a set decorator or stylist to help arrange things in more photogenic ways...but what about the rest of the time? These places would be dust magnets. Who is going to go around and dust bits of dried grasses, tiny Simpson figurines, or shelves full of Day of the Dead statues? Really. It’s a duster’s nightmare.

And no spider webs? Come on. Not one? Spiders would love these places. Hideouts galore. Maybe they were there and camera shy...but the webs should have shown up somewhere. An artist studio without one spider seems a bit too sterile for me somehow.

And don’t get me started on flooring. Carpet...in a studio? Seriously? Even if your art form is sewing or quilting, I know from experience that pins love to hide in carpet, and are only found by me stepping on them. In one studio it looked like, under a table with drips of paint dried to its edge, was what looked like pristine beige carpet. So, where did all those paint drips go? Does this person go to all the trouble of putting a big drop cloth under the table when she works, and then pulls it away the rest of the time? Seems like a lot of work. Why not just have a paint-friendly floor in the first place? It’s a studio, after all. The floor is meant to get grubby and paint-spattered.

So, that’s my question. When the camera crew is gone, and life goes back to normal for these artists....who dusts?

You Don't Work, You're Retired.

Someone said that to me recently. It sounded as if I had been consigned to an old farts home...pushed out of life’s loop. That I spend my days sitting in a rocker knitting socks for charity. It implied that once you retire, you cease to work...at anything. You’re just waiting around for the “big one” to hit and take you out. The junk mail from hearing aid companies, assisted living facilities, long term health insurance, and funeral/cremation plans, doesn’t help.

Or, maybe it implies that I now spend my days either sitting in a club house after a round of golf, cruising the country in an enormous, gas-gussling motorcoach, becoming a “Snowbird” and heading to Arizona for the winter, or taking long cruises on luxury liners—okay, so I’ve done that once, because I wanted to go through the Panama Canal, which was awesome.

I don’t work? Right, I don’t work 9-5 at a desk with a little brass placard that reads, “Sharon Robb-Chism, Escrow Assistant” I had one that read just that, once. Among other titles, in other years: Office Manager, Shipping/Receiving Clerk, Sales Assistant, etc. And yeah, I don’t have to deal with insane escrow deadlines, loudmouthed construction workers, rude delivery men, and bitchy teenagers whining about how they hate the clothes being picked out for them and paid for by their mothers, for the new school term.

So, if I had a desk, what titles would that placard have on it now? Gosh, let me think.

Housekeeper (I admit, not my most dedicated work, but I don’t live in a pig pen either), cook (I am good at this), laundry lady, home accountant, yard & BIG garden maintenance lady, landscape manual laborer, home nurse—human and animal, animal feeder, spa maintenance lady, stable hand, stall mucker, horse groomer and trainer (of our own horses), jewelry designer, personal jewelry web-site updater, artist—published, writer—published, photographer—published, reenactor—pirate and medieval, equestrian gamer, costumer—for human and horse, internet forum moderator (not too arduous, this, but still), and last but most importantly, loving and supportive wife.

I don’t need a placard, I need a billboard.

Yeah, I’m retired, but not work? Get real. I work my ass off every single day at one or more of the above. Mostly more, especially during the summer. Would I give all that up for a nice 9-5 desk job? Not on your life. I’d still have to do half the stuff on that list and hold down a day job. Which is what I was doing before I retired, and had all this time to sit around in my rocker and read junk mail implying that my body already has one foot in the grave. NOT! However, I am ready for another cruise on a luxury liner. Maybe the Med this time, or Australia?

FIRE!

Here is a great shot of me, and my friend Jill, in our pirate personas of Ransom and Red-Handed Jill. We're just about to touch the slow matches to the fuse on the cannons (called guns on board a ship). We are on the deck of the Aldebaran, making ready to fire on the shore battery at The Northern California Pirate Festival. We had SO much fun. Can you tell?

The picture was taken from shore by a friend with a great camera. His pirate name is Crunchy. :=)

Still Playing After All These Years

My husband and I just got back from spending four days playing pirates at the HUGE Northern California Pirate Festival...or as us insiders know it, NorCal. Held every year over Father’s Day weekend in Vallejo, CA, it is an event we look forward to every year. We get to hang out with all our pirate buddies, dress up and act silly, listen to music, dance, eat good food, and best of all, be part of the crew of the schooner Aldebaran, and fire cannons! So, at an age when I’m expecting my first Social Security check, I am still playing—and loving every minute of it.

Playing—it’s not just for kids. Playing is good for you. Playing keeps you sane, gets you away from the doom and gloom of the news headlines, gets you away from your job worries, keeps you interested in things, keeps you from becoming the stogy old fart everyone avoids like the plague. I never want to get to a point in my life where I no longer want to throw on a costume and go play...at whatever.

Trying new things. I never want to get to a place in my life where I am afraid to try new things. As part of the crew of the Aldebaran we get to help sail her to the event site. When Captain Hayden, midway through the sail from Richmond to Vallejo, asked if anyone wanted to take the helm and see how it felt to steer a 72’ schooner, I jumped at the chance. For fifteen minutes I got the experience of a lifetime, feeling how truly alive a ship is, how to keep her pointed in the correct direction—nothing like driving a car—and getting just a hint of the thrill and also the responsibility of being at the helm of a ship. It was scary and exciting, and I loved it!

I’m lucky, in that at age 62, I am still physically fit, still active, and the only health issue I have to deal with is a mildly annoying hyoidal hernia—which I gave to myself by each winter lugging in heavy boxes of fire wood for the wood stove for twenty years. I still ride my horse, do barn chores, and work in a large garden all Spring through Fall. All that helps keep me moving and limber. For now, when I ask my body to do something, it pretty much answers, “Right.” I know my limits, and I tend to push them, but not to the point of stupidity. So far, that plan works for me.

So, pirate or Steam Punk, Medieval or barbarian, or just fooling around on Halloween, I’m there, still playing dress-up, still learning new things, and best of all, still playing. If I’m lucky, eventually I’ll drop dead in the middle of, “Oh wow, that was so much fun, I can’t wait to—”