922/1000 #landfebruary
The view from platform 6 at Milton Keynes railway station
Pen
10 x20cm

On Wednesday I took a drive and reconnoitered the train station to see the post-blizzard parking situation. The lot was plowed but there were many spots underneath the huge mounds of removed snow and the parking meters on the street were almost buried and necessitated climbing gear to get the quarters in the slots. I decided that the next day I would have to go to the station extra early in order to snag one of the spots. No problem – it would be a good chance to sketch some actual breathing and fidgeting people. Plus, I don’t want everyone to get too used to actual faces on faces.

A redhead, in the Penn Station waiting room, was sitting across from me. Well, I guess I purposely sat opposite her. She was engrossed in her book and stayed very still. Finally, her train was called and she vanished.

Someone else…

This piece of digital art changed dramatically as I was toward the end of working with it.  I was sharpening the image when I decided to fiddle with colours, switching from a deep blue to the rather serene green and turquoise colours of the final image. I liked the idea of it representing the haven our heart offers us from the time we’re born – to love ourselves, to be confident in who we are, to be able to offer love to others as part of the human community, to offer us succour when we are wounded or grieving, and to heal us on our life’s journey as and when healing is needed.

“One thing that helps is to give myself permission to write badly. I tell myself that I’m going to do my five or 10 pages no matter what, and that I can always tear them up the following morning if I want. I’ll have lost nothing—writing and tearing up five pages would leave me no further behind than if I took the day off.”

— Lawrence Block, WD

Photo Credit: http://www.youtube.com

For the past few days, I have experienced writer’s block or, perhaps, kindness block.  Whatever has had me in a sort of literary limbo, I just now am loosening its grips and feel like I have something worth sharing in this forum.  It figures that it was one of the finest gentlemen in all of Louisville, aka one of the men from the day shelter for homeless men where I am employed, who helped me find my voice once again.

This afternoon, I made my way across town to the modest apartment of one of the men who used to be a guest at the day shelter.  Today, I was a guest in his home during a monthly visit that is part of his participation in our permanent supportive housing program, and it was the highlight of my day.  I was there to offer him support in…

Are you where you thought you would be
as the old year dwindles down?
Have you told the ones who matter
why you’re keeping them around?

Are you where you thought you would be
as the old year dwindles down?
Have you told the ones who matter
why you’re keeping them around?

As found here. Happy Friday!

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I didn’t get to switch the radio off in time this morning. She heard, and understood (it seems). This was her response.

I’m really tired of hearing about all the “fake patients” with medical marijuana licenses in Colorado.

When recreational stores opened on January 1, 2014, some people believed that patients would happily leave their medical marijuana behind and switch to paying higher prices for recreational weed. Marijuana is marijuana, right?

There’s been lots of speculation about why the numbers on the medical marijuana registry have stayed flat, neither increasing nor decreasing.

Who’s to blame?

They blame all the people they think are staying on the registry just to avoid taxes. They can’t say how many of them there are or how much tax revenue they’ve lost. They just know they aren’t getting every dime they think they deserve, all because medical marijuana patients don’t have to pay all the high taxes that the recreational consumer does. But the reality for patients who choose cannabis is that all of their medicine is…

‘what have you done to my trees?’ he cried.

I finished my moon painting! I was working from a photo I snapped last week. Once I sat down and painted the background – I was sucked in. For the next few days, whenever I had a minute I pulled it out.

After the background dried, I softened the edge of the moon, to give it a glow. When the background was dry I started adding the tree branches. I decided to work with India Ink instead of the Payne’s Grey watercolor, because it is a richer black and less opaque. (It’s the test on the left.)
 

I wasn’t happy with how the branches were turning out. They seemed too stiff. So I wet all the areas where I wanted the branches to be, and added the ink. At first, it was a bit out of control (too much ink on my brush), but I got the hang of it. I guided the…

Every few weeks we distribute to the AP staff examples of great saves by our staffers who protected us from hoaxes and inaccuracies. Here are some of the latest:

A SUSPECT SNIPER
The video looked like it had been shot on the front lines of Syria’s civil war. It looked so real that the Islamic State group’s official website posted it as a de facto event, which drove up its popularity. The footage opens with a young boy on the ground, apparently shot by a sniper as he attempts to save a nearby girl. The boy gets up after the first apparent gunshot wound and the viewer can hear distinct Syrian voices in the background celebrating the boy’s survival. Then, as he gets up and runs toward the girl again, he is “shot” a second time, a cloud of smoke billowing from his midsection as he falls forward. As impossible…

The line Monday morning at the annual Christmas Bureau giveaway of food and toys in Syracuse, NY — an hour before the doors opened.

Every December I re-read John Cheever’s short story, “Christmas is a Sad Season for the Poor.”

And every year I share a link to it on Facebook. I don’t think many people bother to read it — even when I preface it by saying it’s really a very uplifting story of human kindness and redemption.

The definition of insanity is to keep doing the same thing over and over and expect different results, but here we go. Here’s the link to the story, which appeared in the New Yorker, Dec. 24, 1949.

Cheever’s story is quaint, dated and a little over the top. But it’s a wonderful piece of fiction that reinforces the notion that there might just be some hope for us as a species.

You’ll feel damn…

Leigh‘s “Writing on Water” video went viral this week. Locally, I used the Xperia smart phone she gave me to show it to everyone I could find. Now I’m sharing it with you.

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It started happening more and more.  Elanore would travel the world to find gifts and toys for children everywhere.  She tried to hire artists to carve dolls, trucks and small chairs, she visited book publishers and ordered a million books.  But no matter how far she traveled, no matter how much identification she showed, no one believed that she was Santa’s daughter.  Their lack of belief is the reason Santa has a workshop at the North Pole.  Even when Santa went with is daughter, no one believed they were who they said they were.   Eventually, the lack of belief began to eat away at the wonder of the season.  People met Santa, but didn’t believe that he WAS Santa.  Finally, Santa stopped coming to town.  He decided to simply deliver toys, to good and bad  girls and boys, and not bother trying to tell people about the true spirit…

Original Watercolor on 140 cid free cold press watercolor paper.

Measure 2 1⁄2 by 3 1⁄2 inches

Year-2014

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