A Statue of Columbus was Replaced in Argentina... and that affects us, how?

Welcome to Lots of Dots and Spots - lots of links in this one....

There was a morning in Salamanca, Spain in May when our group visited its massive cathedral. It was one of the few places I knew about prior to that trip from having heard stories from my friend Matthew, a former Jesuit, who studied there. Taking in the opulence of the sanctuary, seeing the sections for the Haves and the Have Nots, I wasn't prepared for my own sense of dis-ease. I felt sick, anxious... a case of the heebeegeebees, as my dad named it. I finally left the building while the others toured. 

Eight summers before, while in Pricilla Long's (life-changing) writing workshop at the Taos Summer Writer's Workshop*, I met artist and activist Maurus Chino, a native of Acoma, a pueblo 60 miles west of Albuquerque. (Photo from 2015 with him at the Santa Fe Flea Market.) He'd won a scholarship to that conference to work on his treatise on removing statues of the conquistadors in New Mexico. Before that week with Maurus, I saw past a monument of Onate or Pizarro. It just didn’t occur to me that there was something off about memorializing killers. (Duh!) I’m pretty sure that my unconsciousness was in part due to our history books omitting the part that those men, who towns are named for, were the Attilla, the Hitler, or the Bush of their time.  because they brought the Christian word to the people of the Southwest, Mexico and South America.

Replacing a statue of Columbus with one of native Juana Azurduy,  a Bolivian Independence Leader, (which looks just a little like John Travolta,) is no small victory for those who understand the legacy of opression. Knowing Maurus’ work, it was hard won. It’s whatever it took a century later to get (the promise of) reparation for slavery, or decades later returning art stolen by Nazis. It’s not the actual statue, money or art. It’s not the apology. It’s the acknowledgement. 

For me today, seeing this article about the removal of the statue, it's a reminder to wonder, what am I looking past? It’s about the sign I see from the Edens, Never Again is Now. 

p.s. This dining room, where our watercolor group ate breakfast a couple mornings this past May, was Ferdinand's summer palace... where discussions of the new world surely happened and obviously, the riches his armies brought back festooned.

*Now called the UNM Summer Writer's Workshop with this year's move to Santa Fe. If you want to write, if you've been working on a short story or a whole novel, GO! My week in Priscilla's class gave me confidence and structure. And every workshop leader since, each a much published author,  has added practical writing tools to my toolbox. I so recommend this writing experience.

Waiting... On an August Peach Morning

This morning, I waited for the 7:30 southbound leaning against the post of the wind-shield on the train station platform. The 7:26 northbound pulled in the four minutes ahead. I stand at the north end of the platform near where the second car from the end, the quiet car, stops for loading. In the morning, the only one who gets off is the conductor shepherding the passengers and giving a very old-school all-a-boarded wave to the engineer up front.) Most mornings, today with no exception, the timing is frequently German precision with the north bound pulling in, loading and pulling out, as the train into the city pulls in, allowing any stragglers held up by north bound to cross the tracks from the parking lot and board for the commute.

 

The sun on these August mornings has a soft peach quality to them. Leaning against the post, I soak in the sun, aware that this is the only time I have to soak it in for the day. It feels medicinal to me, like topping off the tank with vitamin D. And, in the twelve minutes I’m there, my cheeks get flushed, a drip of sweat eases into my undies. I stand, my eyes closed, trying to remember this for November, December…

Metra trains are HUGE. As the northbound slows to a stop, I welcome the shade it throws across the tracks. Except today, the engine stops and the sun allowed by the crack, maybe eighteen inches between the engine and the front car, leaves a perfect alignment between the sun and me. I smile, thinking, this will help me remember… the elusive welcomed shade.  

With clockwork, that train pulled out, ours pulled in and my peach morning meditation ended. I remind myself that I am not waiting for winter.

 

You can find 75 other photos of the scene from the Deerfield Train Station platform at Instagram.com/Innovasia.

https://www.instagram.com/innovasia_/?hl=en

Roommates and Refugees - Can I Live with Someone Again?

The other day a coworker said she wanted to offer housing to refugees in her basement. Me? Being an empty nester since 2011, I think about living with someone often. I’m wondering though, if I could handle a roommate, let alone a family from another part of the world with whom I can’t complain in my own language. See, there is the crux of it, I am pretty sure, I’d not be as open as I’d like whether stranger, friend or lover living with me.
 

Back in the 90s, to mitigate the possibilities of annoyance from personal ruts, my man-friend and I bought a house together. Unfortunately, like freckles and eye color, you take those ruts with you. Long after I’d bought him out, I learned he never felt it was his house. I guess my Girl Scout Hospitality badge had an expiration date.

In college, I remember my boyfriend from out-of-town sneaking into the dorm room I shared with two others in an all-girls dorm. I thought it was exhilarating and fun to have the secret visitor, my roommates told me it got old, like fish, as I remember the discussion. I get their point now. I wasn’t so enlightened then.

And, that’s the other point, forty years later,  I might be ready to make amends. I might be able to say I am sorry for not being aware of the needs of the people around me. More importantly, I think I am willing to bend to other’s needs. At least, now I can talk about it.

I’ve been amazed at families who include more people in their day-to-day living as long term house guests, a nanny or even an older parent. We kidded our friends about their waif du jours… the people they took in who needed a place to stay when a lease was up, or attended grad school on weekend. My friends who had au pairs from the time their child was born till he went off to college. My niece with exchange students from Thailand and Denmark

It took me until Alex could hold his head up for me to truly, completely accept him as a house mate. It was the day I’d waited for since we got pregnant. It came from some (cockeyed) sense of quintessential parenting… riding my bike with him in the bike-carrier. I got him in the carrier, strapped his own baby Bell helmet tightly,  clumsily got my leg over my boy-bar bike and took off. Nearly killed him. We went flying. His 35 pounds in the back, maybe flailing around, threw me completely off balance. Perfect metaphor for life with a housemate that doesn’t leave for 20 some years. You have to get back on and ride again, even with a few asphalt scrapes. That day. That day, I knew there was no turning back and I was in the relationship for the long haul. Off balance and all. I hope I can shorten the learning curve on other housemates.

We grew up with a few waifs of our own. When Castro took over Cuba, my parents took in my dad’s sales representative from Cuba until his family found a place in the US. My cousin, a Detroit undercover police officer, stayed in an upstairs bedroom while he recovered from a gunshot wound received in a battle with the Mafia. He’s the one, before seatbelts were made law, taught me to ride safely by sitting sideways in the front seat and holding my arms taut on the dashboard and the front seat-back.

The cons to living with someone rate no more than annoyances. Things in my space, my things in theirs. Noise and sounds different than what I create. Responsibilities and accountability. My reasons for living with someone for the most part outweigh the negatives. I like coffee brewing-type fragrances, sounds in the house and, if it was that kind of roommate, waking up with someone, I like cooking with and for someone. I like sharing adventures, as simple as a quick walk in the evening, a bike or car ride through neighborhoods, or news of the day.

Over the last couple years, there have been several conversations of Golden Girl house, sharing a home or condo. Money is one factor, it might allow more travel. But, it’s about sharing a space with someone who, as my one friend says, has something going on.   

All my worries can be summed up by an elevator speech, literally- four floors worth with a co-worker, that occurred after writing this today on my commute into work.   Asking about his summer, Robert told me he’s had his daughter for the summer and she is leaving on Sunday. I asked him, “How is that for you?” As the door closed, he looked back at me, “I get the remote back.”

Unpacking The Evolution of Learning and Mastery of the Creative Act

It’s nearly ten weeks since I returned from Spain. That first night, with my essentials... contacts and glasses in my purse… I left my suitcase unopened, turned on the tv to missed episodes of The Good Wife and after twenty-five hours of being up, went to sleep in my own bed. Four hours of jet lag later, I woke and began to unpack the trip.

The bag exploded all over my living room with sock and underpant shrapnel everywhere. Laundry was folded and put away before the end of the day. I refilled my pallets with paint, my board with watercolor paper and repacked my easel, tripod, brushes, clips and other tools into my backpack ready for the next outing.

Between loads of wash and calls with family, an impromptu lunch for four of us on my patio that included a couple bottles of wine, a salad bar salad and a rotisserie chicken, I’d told the headlines of my trip four times. Each opened pockets with souvenirs of ideas still to uncover… traveling alone... with a group, the meaning of art and painting, unscheduled time and talent, my talent.   

I loved the trip. I learned so much from the leader, Timothy J. Clark. I'm aware now of how much I need to learn about the art world and how it works. His presence, knowledge, accomplishments are driving me to learn more. 

Since then, I’ve taken a figure drawing class, which Tim highly recommended for me to learn to draw accurately. Lucky me, I stumbled on the right teacher. Did you ever see a painter hold up a brush and seem to measure? That's about accuracy. The first thing Stuart Fullerton gave us in his class was a stick to measure and check to make sure the figure on the paper aligned with the figure we saw. 

For any trained artist reading this, it must sound, Duh. It is. But I now know I want to learn the fundamentals, not just paint because it feels good to paint. That's what I really learned in Spain. I don't want  a park district understanding of painting and art. Tim opened my eyes to the difference, though there is nothing like getting lost in painting. For me, when I'm lost it it, it's an expansion of that moment when I hit the water when diving or the minutes after an O. And, then, the thinking starts again and I wish the colors weren't as muddy or the lines a little straighter or whatever. 

I'm committed to getting in my 10,000 hours, so I'm using up ink, paper, paints and panels daily. In the past week, I did a pen and ink at Wrigley Field and painted at the Emily Oaks Nature Center in Skokie. I've sketched at the Historical Society Gardenin Glencoe, along the Lake in Highwood, on the train, as well as a scene of a pine tree and ball field lights that I see from the platform every time I take the train. I've taken that same picture more than 60 times, in my own OCD Monet way to watch the shadows and position of the sun throughout the year. 

After lunch that first Sunday, after my company left,  I threw my backpack in the car and did a quick painting by The Lake. I was up again the next morning when I heard about dense thick fog and went back to the same spot. In the ten weeks since, I made a switch from watercolor to oils. I've taken two, two-day plein air workshops, one from Stuart another from Errol Jacobson and a one day program from Don Yang during an Urban Sketchers of Chicago Workshop.  I join the weekly Plein Air Painters of Chicago through the Palette and Chisel most Saturdays and try to sketch daily. 

At some point, I will find my voice in my art.  I have a pile of watercolor paintings seven inches thick that I've done over the last couple years. There is not one in that pile that I would show anyone... or, that i like. Something's happened though with using oils. In my own estimation, I've ascribed to the Cub's Coach mantra, "Try not to suck today." I'm making progress. I figure I am about a quarter of the way to the 10,000 hours. My oils don't suck and my vacation is still with me. 

###

This is another in what is becoming a series on creative practice. The earlier ones were written over the last fifteen months and speak specifically to what I've encountered and learned, but, I suspect that nearly all my posts are about my own creative process. 

Self Confidence and the Uphill Climb of Learning a New Craft

Dabbling is my Creative Process

Cauliflower Wraps - A Paleo Adjustment for Brain Health

Since June of 2013, I have rarely swerved from regularly eating a paleo diet. In the first month, the hand and foot pain I'd endured stopped. I realized it as I unpacked for my writing workshop in Taos and saw that I didn't pack Advil. I haven't needed it since. During that time since, I lost more than 60 pounds and I have energy... every day. And, every day I am grateful that my chiropractor, who'd just completed a six month nutrition education program recommended that I try an anti-inflammatory diet. She told me, if you need a name for it, call it Paleo with no dairy, grain, sugar or legumes. A week or so later, still aching every day and every night, I committed to a week of cold turkey (so to speak) Paleo. Three years later... why would I go back?

I won't but I have made an adjustment recently. Do you have word-fiinding issues? Do you forget names of people and things that you've always known? Do you ever forget something that happened the day before? Ok, I know it's only me that this happens to, so when I learned about North Shore University Health System's Center for the Brain headed (so to speak) by Demetrius Maragonore, MD, located at Glenbrook Hospital, I made an appointment.

Fortunately, I learned after a rigorous assessment that even though this memory stuff only happens to me, it's normal and not dementia or Alzheimers or Parkinsons. Part of the process included a discussion of my exercise and nutrition. I learned I woefully under exercise, they recommend 7 days, 30 minutes of sweat. And, they increased my intake of B and D vitamins.

As for my diet, Dr. Maraganore said he only needed me to adjust a couple things. Ominously he said, "Are you willing to make a change?" I nodded yes and might have said, "sure," I don't remember. "Ok, can you drink red wine instead of white?" I love this man!!!

All other adjustments pale (so to speak) to that one, but he told me I should drink more water, three times a week, eat a combo of garlic, tomato, onion and basil for the lycopene, and add legumes. That's been the most difficult, knowing that they also have an inflammatory aspect to them.  I'm compliant, but I eat them sparingly. edamame here and there and hummus.

This recipe was created in view of Necessity is the Mother of Invention. I needed to eat the cauliflower noodles I'd made for another dish that didn't get made.

The noodles take ten minutes to prepare and an hour to bake. Once they are made and cooled, the wraps take as long as you need to slice avocado and assemble the other ingredients... a couple minutes.

Cauliflower Wraps

Cauliflower Noodles
1 Head of cauliflower shredded or chopped fine
3t Herbs - Italian seasoning
1 t salt
2 eggs

Steam the cauliflower to soft but not mushy, squeeze out any liquid. Add seasonings and eggs. If it's too hot you'll have scrambled eggs so let the cauliflower cool a bit.

Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper or silicone mat. I used a slotted spoon and scooped the cauliflower mix onto the mat. Working to reduce the amount of liquid, I kept the container of cauliflower mix on an angle to let the moisture run down and I squashed the mash on the spoon to get the last drops out. Spread the mix evenly on the pan and cut dividing lines every two and a half to three inches to make lasagna-like noodles. Bake 350 degrees, 55-60 minutes. They should be browned and still soft.

I wrapped mine in the parchment paper and stored them in the fridge for a day before using them.

The Wrappings
Lemon Hummus
Avocado
Spinach
Sprouts

Spread the hummus, add three slices of avocado at one end, sprinkle sprouts on top and spinach have way down the noodle. Roll the noodle starting at the end with the avocado. I cut them in have so I had  two rolls from each noodle.

Anyone eating Paleo learns quickly that when you don't eat crackers, chips and breads, you have fewer vehicles to get other foods like guacamole, salsa and almond butter into your mouth. I get tired of eating a pile of vegetables with some meat on top. The Cauliflower Noodles make a tasty vehicle for sandwich fixings, whether hummus is schmeered or not.