Recently a friend’s husband asked for the keys to my car so he could move it. Later, when I got into the car, the first thing I noticed were the two pairs of plastic Halloween fangs, one orange and one black, that had been in the center console tray for months along with a yellow feathered chick that had been there since last Easter. What on earth must he have thought?
It turns out that my car isn’t the only receptacle for vast accumulations of assorted bric-a-brac. This drawing, done in 2011, chronicles the various items that collect on our kitchen windowsill at any given time. Many items are still there today – the grappa, the Petoskey stone, the sterling silver needle. Other items have disappeared or been culled. For instance, the Chia pet couple went bald and was replaced by a Venus Fly Trap named Shelly and the Rescue Remedy spray was re-gifted to an anxious friend.
I will admit it, most of these items belong to me (except the clippers, those are not mine) and who knows what it says about me. I’ve recently considered eliminating such clutter from my life, mainly because we’re about to have the kitchen repainted, but I only entertain such thoughts when on my way out the door, when there’s no possibility of following through on the thought.
As they say, a clean stall is the sign of a dead horse.
It started like this: about 11 years ago, I got a phone call from my first grade son Ben’s school recommending that he join a special “social skills” group during lunch on Fridays.
“That sounds good to me!” I said. And the rest is history.
What I’ve neglected to draw here is that my reaction to this proclamation was exactly the same as all other the six-year old boys in the class. Six-year olds requiring extra help with social skills, that is.
Ben, of course, was just telling it like it is.
Anyway, ever since I started supporting Brain, Child Magazine and its excellent blog Brain, Mother with drawings, I’ve been spending more time thinking about how to get emotional expressions just right, which of course is challenging when one has developed a style completely devoid of lips, noses, chins and necks.
This chart below shows how many different expressions I can come up with for myself using just seven simple variations for eyes, and 10 different mouths.
The only problem is, there’s no feeling for the feeling I’m feeling! (And what feeling is that?)
Back-to-School night, in addition to reminding me that each year goes by faster and faster, brings back some incredible memories of those great years when our children were just learning to read and write.
Now, while I do come from a long line of skinny dippers, at least on my mother’s side of the family, I would like to state for the record that my husband and I have never participated in any skinny dipping events or activities whatsoever with our children. Ever. Prior to this particular Back-to-School night, however, our children had indeed skinny dipped with their 7-year old first cousin long after the late summer sun had gone down and the experience had apparently made a big impression on our son Ben.
I vividly recall noticing that Ben’s 2nd grade teacher appeared especially eager to meet us that night. I also recall noticing the repeated guffaws that emanated from the corner of the room where we eventually found Ben’s work posted on the wall. I’m certain that after recovering from the initial horror, my husband and I laughed louder than anyone. And it is my hope that Ben, too, will think it’s hilarous when he finds out at his wedding or some other suitable event that I have photographs taken that special night of skinny dipping with his sister and cousin by the light of the late August moon.
To borrow a phrased coined by my dear friend Michael, weekends (or weekdays) in Saratoga are best described as “a landslide of calories and naughtiness.”
This cartoon captures 24 hours spent in Saratoga last summer in terms of total calories consumed. I am returning to the scene of the crime for the same schedule of events this week and have vowed to curtail things a bit. We’ll see about that as much discussion about bringing our own wine in a concealed bag has cropped up in the last day or two. The quest to avoid rot gut wine may surpass the quest to avoid junk food. Time will tell.
Recently published in Brain, Child Magazine‘s awesome special Teen issue, this cartoon explores how information is shared (and likewise withheld) between parents and teens.
I was introduced to the Johari window 20 years ago at a UCLA Leadership workshop in Ojai, CA by none other than Joe Luft who created the concept with a guy named Harry Ingham (get it?) in the 50s. Despite being a terrific cartoon device, this matrix was a challenge for me. I had to virtually make up everything in the lower two quadrants. (Why make sh*t up when so much going on around you falls into the category of “you can’t make this sh*t up?”) As a parent of two teens, I have all sorts of things I could have used in the lower left quadrant, but I’m nowhere near ready to share that information, just yet.
I don’t know what to say about this other than that I was inspired to post it after reading that Dunkin’ Donuts’ new Bacon Sandwich has fewer calories than its healthy turkey sausage rival. No turkey sausage grease in my artwork, that’s for sure!
Shout out to my husband Dave who pointed out that our grease jar was a work of art in the first place.
I had a hard time finding a good Mothers Day Card so came up with this for my Mom instead.
My Mom is my favorite cartoon character (other than Snoopy.) She lives life to its fullest, speaks her mind and knows how to laugh at herself (which is a good thing because otherwise I would be in a lot of trouble). She is the best!
This is a preliminary sketch of the route Ben and I will take this week to visit colleges. Everything is subject to change, of course, especially because the weather forecast for each of these cities calls for T-Storms.
Whatever goes wrong, and something will go wrong, it will be better than spending one second in that Cancun airport.
This cartoon, published in the Winter 2012 issue of Brain, Child Magazine, is a good example of how seemingly forgettable exchanges between family members can suddenly become fodder for a cartoon. It goes like this: a member of my immediate family does something either memorably annoying or, now that I have children, memorably amusing and then I draw a cartoon.
Fortunately for me, my mother not only makes a great cartoon character, but she’s a great sport about it, even when I exaggerate just a tiny bit.
(Just for the record, the only thing I exaggerated about was the egg shell. Couldn’t resist.)