Wednesday, November 13, 2013


My birthday is coming up in a few weeks and I am completing my seventh decade. Would not change a thing. Sure I've figured out a lot along the road but that's just it, those figurings make this me and I'm pretty content with the package.

Donny laughs at me about the whole getting older and older and older thing since I never ask for Senior Citizen discounts. I'm not completely fanatical, I will reluctantly take it if queried but, as a point in case, I do everything I can to avoid Harris Teeter on Thursdays in fear that I'll be asked.

The problem is that it's the name that's all wrong. The title Senior Citizen has a pretty strong reputation for being connected with so many negative aspects of aging. If marketing were to spice it up with say, Super Senior Citizen, or Fantastic, or Terrific. Or Awesome I'd be in. Being asked if I'm a Super Senior, or an Awesome Senior or any of the other positive superlatives would be much more fun.

Anyway point made let's party!

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

Back By Popular Demand

 Kind of proud of this show. Twenty-four originals created fresh from my studio lovingly built for me by my guy, Donny. When we were making some changes to our house, I suggested that a studio would be good. My art supplies had so many homes in nooks and crannies around and about. Scattered at best. Having them all in one place all the time would be a dream come true. And nothing would even need to be put away. Ever. Truly a dream come true. And it is. Thanks, hon. I love it and you, with all the wealth in my heart.

Painting is a way of life for me. Thanks to my stellar Mom I always had supplies to perfect my art. Always. Pots of finger paints. Reams of paper. An easel. Prang crayons. Sometimes even the biggest box that had gold, silver and copper as well as 64 total, count'em, colors. Colored pencils, maybe my favorite for their longevity. Tracing paper. Tiny sharpers for those colored pencils. Coloring books. Modeling clay. Brushes. Watercolors, Prang again. A smock. Those funny activity books with watercolors embedded into the page. No lessons. I was self taught. Perfect. I lived and live the artist's life.

Both my folks worked in this era when moms stayed home more times than not. We were not poor but a tight budget was the business of the day. Still I always had art supplies. Mom never faltered. I dedicate this show to her and her endless faithfulness. She wanted to be an interior decorator and she would have been good at it but her life took a different direction. Thanks Mom for your unflappable support. Dad did his part too. When I took off for college, Mom thought Art Education was a good fall back choice. Dad said to just go for art, that things would work out. I did both. And things have worked out.

Enjoy the show. Acrylic on board, or canvas. Vintage or repurposed frames. 
At Glenn Eure's Ghost Fleet Gallery now through November 30, 2013. 
Fall gallery schedule Tuesday-Saturday 10-5
Pat & Glenn close daily for their midday lunch date.

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Tis But A Scratch

This summer while son Donald, his wife Terri and their four year old son were visiting us I experienced a tiny mishap.

Sebastian and I were deep into improving his house made of good size stacking interlocking blocks (think very large Legos) complete with lighting supplied by many strands of Christmas lights. Already wonderful but all great designs constantly need improvement.

This house resided, as all the awesome grandchild constructions of any size do, on our wrap around seven foot wide covered porch.

Our house is on pilings and the porch is on the main level. By adding the aspect of pilings this means it is actually the second level. You get to the porch via three doors, two are double glass doors on the water side, the third a single glass door opposite. This makes the porch really like another room in the house, a huge room.

We live just feet off of Kitty Hawk Bay on the Outer Banks (for my loyal readers that may not know this). It's a breath taking view. We face north and get a glorious sunset over the water a good portion of the year. Sunrise is blocked by land and homes but it's pretty good too.

Recently Donny replaced the wooden rails between the pilings on the porch with tempered glass. Yes, it is a soul settling place. And so we all, from babies to adults, spend as much time on the porch as we can. Even in cranking weather, the little ones are out there running and riding.

This day is toward the end of Donald and Terri's vacation and Sebastian and I are very busy squeezing a lot into each minute. Rushing out one of the heavy glass doors with hands full of supplies, I fail to stop the door from slamming onto my heel. It is a windy day otherwise the door would have been no problem. I look down. Blood is gushing. I have no time for this. I drop my stuff, grab a paper towel from the kitchen and return to more important things.

About this time Terri comes along and notices the seeping blood. The paper towel is woefully inadequate. "I'll get a bandaid," I tell her. The only bandaid I can find is a Hello Kitty one. It tries to staunch the wound but it, too, is woefully too small.

I don't care. I just want to get back to playing with Sebastian. But the blood is announcing itself everywhere. I find another slightly bigger bandaid. It helps. Some. Terri witnesses all of this with trepidation. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, fine."

"Alright. But just let me say this and I'll say no more."

I look at her looking at my bloody bandaid. It is holding the line. Barely.

"Might you need stitches?"


Recently she sent me this link with a comment that it reminded her of my foot injury. I found it hysterical. It begged for a BitchSLAPBoard (my new company I formed with my cousin). I painted one and tagged Terri on FB (where else). Today I get a package from WOOT. I didn't recall ordering anything. It is my own Just A Flesh Wound shirt. From Terri. I love her. I love this. Tis But A Scratch.

Post Script
I need to add that Terri was more right than I. It has taken said heel many weeks, nay months to heal. It might have gone a bit faster if I had not deigned to try and run buffering the wound with but moleskin pads. (It didn't hurt when I was running. Only later). A few weeks ago, I finally got the message and cut the back out of an old pair of shoes. I actually tried cutting a hole in the shoe to match where the flesh tear was but I miscalculated and after too many revisions ended up cutting the entire back out. I thought this would render the modified shoe impossible to keep on but it worked just fine.

Thursday, October 03, 2013


Got a frantic message from my cousin last week.

"Did I send you an email?"


"Praise the Lord. The anti-Bill Gates strikes again. If I had I was going to ask you to send it back."

"You know you cannot get emails back. That is unless you're NSA or a tabloid."

"If NSA is reading my email, it's a slow news day."

I reasoned that she was slightly chagrined at her almost mistake. I'd been there, both ways. It's a lot more fun to read something that was never intended for your eyes than the other way around. Since I was in the studio already painting for a pending art show I grabbed a scrap of board. The result was fun but I could do better.

I painted another board. I sent her a photo. "See how well you clean up."

"I love it! Name your price."

Price? We continued to chat. With her every sentence, I had inspiration for more boards. The woman is a wealth of cleverly combined words.

"Maybe we could sell these."

"Go for it. I don't do marketing well at all."

"I'm on it. But I need to keep a low profile. The job."

"No worries. How about we call ourselves AL. Your first initial and my second. Wait even better SLAP. Both our first and second initials."

"I like."

"Or how about BitchSlap."

And slam, bam, thank you ma'am BitchSLAPBoards was born. Look us up. We hang with SandyBeachGirl on Instagram & Twitter. And Sandy Jett Ball on Facebook.