Links and stuff!
ENROLL! I have a 5 day workshop to learn how to draw a caricature at Art Students League of New York Feb. 5-9. (My bday might be one of those days)
Video from “New Clutch” group art show at Manhattan Classic Car Club last November.
My mother was not a philosopher. I was probably 7 or 8, sitting in the back seat of the car when she laid down a simple formula to live by. “Expect the worst so that when something works out you will be more appreciative.” If you meet her, she's pretty upbeat and positive. She's always supported me and I could never be more grateful. But I lived with her. I got to see the down sides when things didn't go as hoped. Like any human, she would be mad, disappointed, sad, etc. when things shit the bed. From my young child vantage point, I had a good view of things. Miscommunication was the usual problem. She heard one thing and interpreted it one way, and yet there were probably several other ways to interpret what was said.
I will call my mother “Jacki” for this story. Because that's her name. Jacki. I personally still call her mom. This is a vague story because age has fuzzed the details a bit. It was the mid 70's and I think we had a Buick Skylark at the time. I was small and this car was a barge to me. I thought I could play frisbee in the back seat and not bother anyone. I didn't, but I thought it. On weekends, my mother did some kind of volunteer work to help underprivileged children or something in town. I don't remember very well since I was only seven and I didn't pay attention to anything unless it involved chocolate or Scooby Doo. We were in the Skylark making pitstops at all these stranger's houses and businesses to pick up games and other kid oriented trinkets donated for the function. I got to watch toys, books and games pile up all around me on the cavernous back seat. There was some nice stuff!
The 70's were well before Google Maps or iPhones so meeting strangers was still not that automatic. Out of 5 or 6 stops we had to make there was a certain percentage that just never happened. Other times there would be a miscommunication and what she had heard and what actually happened became a conflict. She was always polite, but when we were by ourselves in the car she would rant or cry or both and that's when I would get a philosophy lesson. It wasn't the kind of lesson that she was aware she was the teacher and I wasn't aware I was being a pupil. I only realized this well after that time and I don't think she's ever thought about what she said when I was in the car with her. A lot of lessons I've learned are never the ones I planned to learn. And that is one of the lessons. Knowledge comes from so many sources and is in so many different forms that you don't realize you learned something until well after it was presented. I don't expect perfection from anyone or anything but when I experience it, I do appreciate it immensely. Thanks mom.
I have a birthday coming up in this general region of the calendar. I've had enough birthdays that I only feel a slight urge to celebrate them on the decade at this point. Molly still bought me/us a present. This beautiful coffee grinder! I was blown away at how nice the color was when I opened the box. Online you see one thing and in reality it can turn out to be something different or not as exact. In this case it was even better! Added bonus, it grinds the coffee quietly and really well.
Speaking of Molly, her salon at the Center for Brooklyn History was a blast last Friday. She had been planning it with the CBH folks for several months as she brought together a diverse group of performers that she's met over the last few years. They had 2 floors, over 1700 RSVPs, and free Champaign, on Pierrepont St in Brooklyn Heights. It snowed most of Friday and the temp never got above freezing outside but inside it looked like everyone showed up and then some. A lot of friends, and some folks from my news letter here, but mostly a new audience of people that now know Molly a little better. The last act was a salsa band that played right up until 11 when it was officially over. We danced.
I love reading your stories! I could just picture you and your Mom riding around in the car like you described. Also, in this picture with your hair pulled back, you look soooo much like your Dad! I hope you're doing well. Cousin Jill