Thursday, March 21, 2019

Blackbird singing....

This morning, taking a quick walk around the park, I heard the song of what turned out to be the Red-Winged Blackbird.

Elementary to bird watchers, but new to me!

I mean, I know the bird's call. I love it because I associate it with high summer. You can listen to it here on the Audubon site.

But I did not know what bird it was I was hearing. I had to stare up into the tree where it came from, and keep staring, until I realized the call was coming from the tree next door. That second tree was a lot smaller and it was then that I could easily behold the blackbird sitting on a branch.

I do not think I have ever been able to identify the blackbird before. I believe this is its debut on this Web log.

There was the goldfinch.

And the robin that built its nest on the windowsill right by Howard's desk.

And the mourning doves Jeoffry scared away.

But the red-winged blackbird? It is common. It is abundant. But before this it was a mystery.

Red-winged Blackbird, I am happy to add you to my list of birds I now know.


Monday, March 18, 2019

Green day

Yesterday I had to take a picture of my purchases at Amvets before they were even in the bag.

They were just so pretty! Full of the colors of spring. Even if spring is not here yet. The pitcher in the pitcher (ha, could not help that) is covered with flowers that you cannot see. The records on the right, I had actually picked them out the day before. But I could not handle the checkout line on that day so I put them back in the record bin and went on my way.

No one else wanted the records I wanted! And I put them right in the front and everything.

I am insulted!

But happy to find them right where I had stashed them, I will say that. We had no coffee hour at church because the Italian Mass congregation had the hall for their massive St. Joseph's Table. And so my friend Lizzie and I went from church to Amvets where we met our friend Ryan. And then all three of us went to Buffalo Cider Hall...

.... in honor of St. Patrick's Day.

We agreed that Amvets is a great place to meet. That way if your friend is late, no worries. You may amuse yourself indefinitely.

I was happy because I had the best St. Patrick's Day outfit I had ever had. The piece de resistance was a bright green Liz Claiborne sweater. It had been sitting for months at the top of a pile of clothes in a box destined for Amvets. But the box never seemed to make its way to Amvets and so I thought, I may as well get a wear out of it, I mean, as long as it is here.

"You should keep it," said my Irish friend Bill Kearney at church. And I do believe I will.

There are times when you need something Kelly green and even if that happens only once or twice a year, it is worth having something for those occasions!

Back to the Buffalo Cider Hall. While we were drinking cider with varying percentages of alcohol Ryan had to tell me about this St. Patrick cartoon which now I will never get out of my head. Here I had admired St. Patrick in the choir loft of St. Anthony's ...

... and had even said a prayer: St. Patrick, pray for us!

But now when I think of St. Patrick all I can think of is this.

Ha, ha!

A happy St. Patrick's Day it was. And now back to work, with unfinished business clamoring for my attention.

Are we there yet?

Friday, March 15, 2019

Sketching a shoeshine

My friend Meghan and I were downtown yesterday sketching and I drew a picture of her getting a shoeshine in the downtown Buffalo Athletic Club building at 69 Delaware Avenue in downtown Buffalo.

That is it up above!

It is fun to draw whatever happens to be going on. I am starting to see that.

If you have a sketchbook you are never bored!

Wednesday, March 13, 2019

The thrift shopping we do in the spring

Even though it's freezing out I know it is spring.

There is the matter of the daffodils, up above. It may take a sharp eye to spot them but they are there!

There is also the matter of  I cannot stay away from thrift shops.

I have a lot of work to do so I do not go special. But I work in a quick stop on my way from somewhere I have to be. For instance yesterday I went to the chiropractor. On my way home I could not resist popping into Goodwill.

Hardly had I stepped inside when from across the crowded room I saw it -- a gigantic framed print of John Singer Sargent's "Daughters of Edward Darley Boit." Here is a picture of it from the Boston Museum of Fine Art, where I believe the picture lives.

And I have to say, it was darn near as big as in that photo. And framed the same way, too. I recognized it as soon as I walked in. I have been studying Sargent recently because I have been noticing that he and I have in common certain ways of thinking and perceiving things. Howard laughs at me because I am cooking dinner and listening to curators and other eggheads giving lectures about him.

Back to "Daughters of Edward Darley Boit." It was $15, purple price tag, darn.

That was not the color that was half price! Yellow was half price if memory serves me.

Where would I put it? That was another consideration. I just have so much stuff, you know?

I could have overruled both those considerations. However, that fine ostentatious frame was chipped pretty visibly in spots. That was what finally made me make the decision I did, which was ...


That evening Howard said, "I'm surprised you could resist it."

"Me, too," I admitted. "If the frame were OK I would have bought it."

Howard asked, "Was it an original?"

I said, "Howard, no, it was not an original! People pay millions for this guy's stuff!"

I had to pause to imagine the greatness of the situation were I to be able to reply, "Yes, it was an original. And I like the idea of having an original Sargent. But where would I put it? And it had a purple price tag --

Howard stuck to his guns. "It could have been an original. You never know. People don't know what they have in their houses."

Watch, he will turn out to be right. The Boston Museum of Fine Arts will all of a sudden report that "Daughters of Edward Darley Boit" is missing.

And here it is at the Town of Tonawanda Goodwill. Turned down by me because the price tag was purple and not yellow.

Howard would sure have the last laugh!

Wednesday, March 6, 2019

The five people you meet on Ash Wednesday

This is a an uncompromising Ash Wednesday. As my brother George said it does not matter that it is the middle of March, it is the dead of winter.

I took that picture yesterday before my fingers froze and my phone died. 

Ash Wednesday stresses me out so much that I cannot be around people. Today instead of going to my usual church I went to St. Benedict's for my ashes. I have done that other years too. Every time I go there, I behold things that amaze me.

St. Benedict's as I have written before has a free-wheeling Ash Wednesday atmosphere. Laity distribute ashes. A girl welcomed me at the door with a bright smile and an invitation to check out their prayer resources, also there was a priest hearing confessions, and --

Suddenly the priest was at her elbow. "I was just going to say, I'm going on break," he said.

Ha, ha! He must have seen me approaching!

I went to get my ashes from this one lady who administered them simultaneously to me and to this big handsome guy my dad would have called "Mountain Man." We had to recite a psalm together.

All the while this girl was at the piano -- they have a piano at St. Ben's -- playing New Age music. That is the way this church is. It just is.

Now comes the greatest thing. After getting my ashes I was kneeling in the pew trying to pray the Rosary, which I try to do every day anyway. And right in the middle of a decade, which for the record was the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, this young man approaches me.

"Hi!" he called out, with a big smile, as if he knew me.

And I figured he did. Because I am terrible with names and I am always embarrassed about it. But luckily all I did was say "Hi!" in return, and smile back.

Then I realized he was doing that with everyone. He would call out "Hi!" or "Hey!" exactly as if he knew them! And sometimes he would say, "Welcome to St. Benedict's," sometimes not.

He was not this dweeb, either. He looked like a popular kind of party guy. I admired him for taking on this role so fearlessly. Then what happened was, the girl at the piano began singing from her distant corner. You could not really hear her so this guy began chiming in, helping out.

"Lord, be with me, I can't do this alone," was one lyric, I think. I can't really remember. I was too awestruck.

I have never seen anyone with such self-confidence! He was just sauntering around the church, doing his thing.

Next to him, we are all mere church mice!

Monday, March 4, 2019

Back to Aqua Fit

On Saturday I went back to Aqua Fit class after a rather long absence.

I think it was the winter. All of a sudden when it's cold out, a class in the pool is a major time investment. You can't just run out into the parking lot with wet hair and a sun dress and go about your life. You must dry your hair, get dressed, all that jazz, and before you know it an extra hour has passed.

So on Saturday I had to talk myself into it. Here is your hair dryer, here is your swimsuit, you're going to like this, go.

And I did like it! Until this morning.

That was when I woke up and hurt!

It felt as if I had been in Body Sculpt class. It's funny, I have seen discussion threads on MyFitnessPal and whatnot, about whether to take this class, about whether it is more than just fun. Which, it is fun to be in the pool, let's admit it.

It does do you good!! Take it from me.

Plus you can use someone else's shower and you do not have to squander your own hot water.

Plus, after class the other day, I sketched the street corner. That is it above!

Howard liked it and put it for sale in our gallery.

I liked it, too. I love this side of town, near the gym. The houses have such personality and I love the power lines. It was all great fun. Even if I was a little sore afterwards.

I went back this morning.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring!

Thursday, February 21, 2019

The art store to end all art stores

The most wonderful and terrible thing has happened. The nation's biggest art supply store has opened about a mile from my house.

I mean, I could walk there!

Not that I am going to. I will have to do the ugly American thing and bring the car. Because of all the stuff I will buy there!

It is this magical place. It is just a big old steel building in truth, but in spirit, when I encountered it ... well, it was just as in the picture at left, by Gustave Dore, may I point out.

How did this happen??

I speak, of course, of Hyatt's All Things Creative, a family-owned Buffalo store that has been around forever except I never went there. Do not ask me why I never went there. What it was, I think, was that you had to go out of your way, and I was in the habit of going other places, and you had to pay to park because it was downtown, but it was not quite downtown, not so I could walk there easily on my lunch break, and --

Who cares why I did not go there. The point is, now it is practically right next door, and in a part of town where I live half my life. The gym I go to is there, and the Amvets I go to, and Albrecht Discount, and, well, everything.

It is a struggle not to go there all the time!

I have been there only once so far. I made the mistake of going there several days ago with Meghan, my friend and sketching buddy. We took this selfie of ourselves entering the store.

Well, it was not really a mistake because had I not gone with Meghan, I would still be there.

I cannot wait to go back by myself and just wander forever. It has taken a great force of will not to. Because I could not believe my eyes.

It is being described as the nation's biggest art store and I am not going to argue. There were watercolors there that I had never seen in person! That is what I told Howard. Paints I had only heard about but never seen.

There was about a quarter of a mile devoted just to journals!

By the time I left -- peacefully but reluctantly -- I was beginning to agree with people who have been telling me I should illustrate my book on Leonard Pennario. I have to give myself an excuse to go this store!

But how I would I work in a picture along the lines of Arthur Rackham's "By Day She Turned Herself Into a Cat"?

That is the question. And it must be answered because if you cannot aspire to a picture like that, what is the point?

Once I answer that question, though, one thing is certain:

I will have what I need!

Saturday, February 16, 2019

The incredible edible egg

This morning, a miracle!

I opened the fridge to get out an egg, and it was kind of early and I was really sleepy so I dropped the egg.

Oh no! That is one messy task. I am preparing myself for this messy clean-up but then ...

The egg did not break!

It was sitting on the floor whole!

I picked it up, gingerly, astonished. What had happened was, the shell had chipped away just a bit on one end. But the membrane underneath somehow held the egg together.

I've never seen anything like it in my life!

My one regret is that I did not take a picture. If you do not take a picture nothing has really happened. You would think I would have learned this lesson by now. But I was sleepy and so I did not take a picture. I picked the egg up and marveled at it and then I think I was afraid it would break more and so I cracked it into the skillet and cooked it and brought it to Howard with his oatmeal.

He ate the magic egg!

Maybe the egg was a sign because the rest of the cooking and coffee hour baking went magically.  The folks at coffee hour tomorrow will be happy! I made Cranberry Buckle and Jewish Apple Cake and a creation of my own, Chocolate Strawberry Coffee Cake. I made cinnamon buns. Everything went really fast.

One thing that was funny, there was a stick of butter I worked on all day. Besides other sticks of butter I was throwing into baking creations, there was a stick that sat on the counter and I chipped away at, tablespoon by tablespoon. One went into this, two into that. Finally in addition to everything else I was making dinner and that, too, called for a tablespoon, and then another tablespoon.

It was like a clock, that stick of butter. I could mark time with it.

Anyway, a productive day, in and out of the kitchen.

Tuesday, February 12, 2019

Get it done!

You would not believe what I have accomplished. Yesterday, I ....

... Worked on an art commission. See that picture to the left? That is a photo Howard took of me hard at work.

People sometimes give me commissions and I am so honored! But at the same time they make me nervous because I want them to love the end result (as we put it here in Buffalo). It is one thing to sketch something just because you feel like sketching it. It is another to have someone ask you to sketch something because you are not just doing it on a lark, you know?

But anyway. That is one thing I did. Give that 10 satisfaction points because I am still not satisfied.

Another thing I did was a grueling 40-minute long Pilates video. Let us budget that, recklessly, at 20 satisfaction points.

And, after that, did work on my Pennario project. I have momentum going! Every day I get a little bit more done because this is my year. With which, I award myself another 10 points.

Also I cooked a rocking dinner with salmon that I had scored half price at Albrecht Discount. 50 satisfaction points.

And also -- are you ready for this? I cleaned the bathroom.

375,000 satisfaction points.

I mean it!!!

I could not get over that I cleaned the bathroom!

This morning when I awoke it was the first thing I thought about. I hopped out of bed and went into the bathroom and the tiles felt different under my feet. These are the hexagonal bathroom tiles typical of North Buffalo houses. They felt cool and clean.

The radiator cover was cleaned off. The toilet gleamed. My sister said there was an illustrator who called the toilet "the swan of the bathroom." Suddenly I understood!

The vanity had reason for vanity. The vintage Standard tub sparkled.

To think that I had done this!

Goes to show..

There is no limit to what you can accomplish, once you put your mind to it.

Sunday, February 3, 2019

Sugar haze on the Feast of St. Blaise

As promised, the picture of my braided coffee cake all sugared up.

It was soon all gobbled up!

We had an unexpectedly big crowd today for our coffee hour. I expected a small crowd what with the Super Bowl which, you can tell by that I am writing at the hour I am that it does not mean the world to me. I would rather be listening to Leonard Pennario or finishing up a sketch, both of which I have managed to work into my evening so far.

But back to our coffee hour. Maybe it was the mild weather, a break after all these frigid days. Maybe it was that word has gotten out about my rocking pastries. We will never know. But after the Blessings of Throats, it being the Feast of St. Blaise, everyone came streaming over. New people, regulars, everyone. I was astonished!

A word before I continue about the Blessing of the Throat. There was no way I was going to miss getting my throat blessed, particularly since I somehow skipped my flu shot this year. But I had a quandary.

I set up the coffee hour this morning pretty much all on my own. My friend Margaret, who usually helps, she and her husband are in Florida. I did pretty well because I was at church by 8, and I got in just in time for the Asperges. I was singing the Asperges with the choir, entreating God to sprinkle us with hyssop and we will be whiter than snow. Thinking of white snow it suddenly hit me--

Oh no! I forgot to put out the sugar!

The sugar is supposed to go next to the coffee. The coffee pot had been gurgling and percolating and the cream was out and also on hand was a beautiful bottle of Frangelico that one amazing young gentleman had brought to go in our coffee. But the sugar. The sugar!

I had to get over to the coffee hour to put out the sugar and so I did the unthinkable. I cut in line for the Blessing of the Throat!

Everyone was lined up in two queues in the center aisle. But the lines went on forever. Surely it would not matter if I slipped in, you know? So I did.

And my friend Lou told me at coffee hour that as I presented myself for the blessing, as captured in this quick photo he took with his phone ...

... this one woman in line looked at me dagger-eyed!

She does not go to coffee hour and so she does not know my vast responsibilities to it. And so she judged me. That is what Lou told me anyway. He said he saw the woman make this face.

It is a big problem, someone cutting in line for the Blessing of the Throat!

But so must it be. I made it over to coffee and I got the sugar and put it out. And there were already one lady and two gentlemen waiting for it, would not you know.

The good news is, we carried off this feast, which besides what I brought also included bagels and cream cheese brought by our friend Thomas and beer bread that our friend Joe made with blueberry ale. Joe if you will remember is the gardener with the romantic flowering quince. I have his recipe for the beer bread now and we have not heard the last of it.

Next week I will remember the sugar. I will not make that mistake again.

I will branch out into different mistakes.

Saturday, February 2, 2019

Thank you, Betty Crocker!

Saturday is baking day as I prep for church coffee hour. Today I tried a new coffee cake. It is titled Sweet Bread Wreath. It is from Betty Crocker and it came out looking great.

I like to do something new every week. That is the game! Ideally it is something that teaches me some new technique or makes me do something different. In this case it was making a braided wreath. I had not done that since I made a braided Christmas Stollen a long time ago from the Monastery Cookbook. Now that was a project. One day I will have to revisit that.

That was not a wreath. Today's bread was.

You had to divide the dough into three pieces and roll them into 26 inch ropes.

Then you braided them loosely and shaped them into a wreath. It was all easier than I thought it would be.

The wreath was kind of rough at the bottom edge where the ends of the ropes were pinched together. However, I figured, that is where I can cut into it when it is on the coffee hour buffet. If you do not cut into a cake nobody cuts into it and it just sits there. That is what I have learned!

Likewise if you do not take the cover off something, be that cover foil or plastic or whatever, experience teaches me that nobody takes the cover off. They might reach under the plastic or foil and take a slice but they do not remove the covering, oh no.

Got to love it!

Back to the Sweet Bread Wreath which, by the way, you can find the recipe here.

I put it in the oven to proof at a balmy 100 degrees and here is how it was after maybe an hour and a half. Eventually it emerged.

So pleasingly plump! I gave it a lot of time because I used white whole wheat flour. I was out of plain white flour and too lazy to go to Albrecht Discount.

Before it bakes you are to brush the Sweet Bread Wreath with beaten egg and then sprinkle it with spices. Here is where I did not read, and I mixed the spices in with the beaten egg. Oh no. Oh no!

I brushed the mixture on as it was, fingers crossed, and into the oven it went.

Ta da!

I think I will sprinkle powdered sugar on it immediately before serving. Another lesson I have learned is people like a bit of sweetness but not a load of it. Well, the kids like a load of it, which is why I made brownies as well. But most people don't want anything with too much sugar. Still they like some. They do not want no sugar. You must strike this happy medium.

Which I hope I do with the Sweet Bread Wreath. I will try to take a picture tomorrow before Mass so we can see how it looks with its pious dusting of sugar.

Meanwhile I have nothing but praise for this particular Betty Crocker cookbook. It is "Come Home To Dinner" and it utilizes your appliances like the bread machine and the Crock Pot.

Its bread section is the greatest. I have done a bundle of the recipes and they all work out great.

As opposed to this other bread machine cookbook -- this series of cookbooks really -- that I used to use. Here, I found this picture of them. I had three of these books.

The breads on the cover look yummy! And they usually came out well. But not after an eon of fussing and tweaking. I would look in the machine and they would be too crumbly or too wet or too heavy and the machine would be huffing and puffing and finally just stop.

I was always adding something or amending something but somehow I never blamed the books. I always blamed myself. And at the end when the breads came out well I would write "VG" or "Made for church everyone ate it up" or something like that, and forget about all the work I went through.

Whereas with this Betty Crocker book, the dough always comes out of the machine perfect and easy to work with, no muss no fuss. I marveled at it for several weeks until it finally dawned on me: Those cookbooks I used to use were just plain bad.

Fie on them! I do not think I will even give them to Amvets. I do not want some other cook baking for her church coffee hour to be pulling her hair out. I think I will just throw them away!

Betty Crocker is my new best friend. Sometimes you need someone who has been around since your great-grandparents' era, you know?

She knows her stuff!

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Snow day in Buffalo

We are in the throes of a snowstorm here in Buffalo. And this morning I drew the above picture of Howard's 1970 International Harvester Scout, parked in the back yard and ready for action.

The whole city is pretty much shut down. The federal workers are furloughed again. The state jumped on board and those workers are off too. Schools are all shuttered, no surprise there. There are driving bans.

My friend Meghan, God love her, texted me this morning to go sketching the way we do every week.

I liked the idea and I said yes!

Then we went back and forth about what coffee shop we were going to go to. We found that Spot Coffee downtown was open until 3 p.m. so we decided to go there. Coffee shops are great to draw in when it is too cold outside.

"This is why we are going to kick every other artist's butt," I texted Meghan. Well, maybe I was not that rude but I was rude enough.

And after all that .... and after all that ...

.. Howard threw water on my plans.

That is too chilly to say. Bad metaphor. He put the kabosh on my plans, shall we say.  He had been out with the Scout and it was just too cold, he said.

"My fingers froze in 10 minutes even with heavy gloves," he reported.

So I had to slink back to Meghan with an apology and a reversal of plans. It is not as if Howard would have prevented me from going. Do not think I had not thought all this out! But it was like inviting something to go awry because if something did, Howard would not be quick to bail me out. Well, he would bail me out, sure. But I would not soon hear the end of it.

And so I am grounded like everyone else.

Oh well.

It is fun!!

It must be, because here it is dark again. I am never bored, I will tell you that. I am never stir crazy, not really. I have been sitting around drawing and writing and enjoying my endless stock of Celestial Seasonings Christmas tea.

Speaking of which, did I mention that my Christmas tree is still up? No wonder I am enjoying the day.

With luck, tomorrow will be just like it!

Monday, January 28, 2019

Vegan before 6

My sister was on Mark Bittman's Vegan Before 6 diet and so of course I had to do it too. There are these 10 pounds I want to lose. I have lost 10 and I need to lose 10 more.

I had heard of VB6 before. Except when I last heard of it I was working pretty much 9 to 5 and it is difficult to be vegan before 6 o'clock under those circumstances. You do not have time to plan perfectly and if you get hungry you are in trouble. You cannot just go to the kitchen to chow down a few more cubes of tofu.

I do the no-meat-on-Friday thing year-round and I was never able to plan well as far as packing my Friday lunch for work. And on Fridays when my stomach was growling, that was when my mind would go to Mark Bittman and VB6.

"Yeah, right," I would say to myself. That is a condescending phrase I picked up from Leonard Pennario.

However, now things are different!

My schedule is more flexible and so this diet is no big deal. It actually reminds me of how I used to eat a long time ago, before I got married and there was this other person in my house who insists on meat. May I add I weighed less then, too. I know it is very possible to eat meat responsibly but still.

Vegan Before 6 is also very similar to this traditional Catholic fast I did during Lent a few years ago. I did get through that OK, now that I think about it, despite office hours.

However as I discovered then, you do have to plan.

I enjoy a game, and I do spend too much time thinking about this because there is nothing like a new diet, so full of promise. I made veggie burgers out of pinto beans from a Moosewood recipe. Ah, here it is!

These beanie burgers are golden. Add some ketchup and ballpark mustard and your mind accepts them as the real thing. It is like what I have read about Mock Apple Pie. I have not had that but I guess what happens is, you use zucchini instead of apples and as long as you add the appropriate spices, nobody knows the difference.

Well, at church they would probably know the difference. At our after-Mass coffee hour I announced I was on the diet.

"Vegan before 6," I said brightly.

And these smart-mouth guys in our congregation are laughing at me.

""So you can eat meat now," one of them told me. "Vegan before 6 a.m."


Why didn't I think of that?

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

Confession confession: Back into the booth!

I miss keeping this Web log and I keep trying to pick it back up. Today I thought of it especially because I returned to an experience I used to get a big kick out of chronicling.


It remains an exotic experience. Perhaps it will always be so, seeing that I fell off the Confession wagon and had to go back after a million years -- an unforgettable experience. Anyway, I always try my best to be conscious of every minute of it, not to go through it on autopilot. And happily circumstances usually conspire to make every Confession a Confession to remember.

Today what happened was, I was in St. Michael's, as usual. My friend Meghan and I stopped in there for prayer and Adoration before we went sketching. And Confessions were going on. And the line was not long.

I watched and waited, as I always do.

I could go to confession on a daily basis and I could still not get the system right. When the light is off over the booth, you may enter, and kneel, and await the priest's attention, right? Or is it when the light is on?

In this case I saw the light was off, and a gentlemen walked into the booth, and the curtain closed behind him, and the light went on. Bingo! That meant when the light is off nobody is in there. The light on the other side of that Confession station was off. I made my way over there. I pulled back the curtain, gingerly because I will never forget that time I walked in on that one girl.

Nobody was inside. I went in and knelt down.

Holy cow, I could see the priest sitting there on the other side of the screen! I never remember seeing that before. I think a light was on that was supposed to be off.

Either that or ... had I made a mistake? Was I not supposed to go in there?

Things quickly got worse. That gentleman who had walked in before me, I could hear every word he was saying! I could hear the entire conversation between him and the priest. Do not get all excited here -- all I heard was the priest giving him some kind of advice, but still, sort of intimate, you know? I knelt there confused. Do I stay or do I go?

Thank God the priest invited him to recite his Act of Contrition. That is when you know you are out of the woods. But the whole time this gentleman, this young man, recited his Act of Contrition, I was kneeling on pins and needles. Clearly I was not supposed to be here, where I was. I worried I would be reprimanded.

The confession ended without incident. But my problems continued. Usually your cue to start your confession is when the priest's window slides open. The window was apparently already open. End result, as we say here in Buffalo, there was a protracted silence with this white-haired Jesuit in the window just sitting there, and me just kneeling there.

Finally he said, "God bless you." As I had not sneezed, I took that as my cue.

After that things went well, as seen in the painting of me and the priest up at the top of the post. But still ...

What is it about confession?

It is always an adventure!

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Drawing on the right side of the food court

I have been sketching a lot at the downtown library. And the other day I headed over there because I was downtown with Howard and I had a couple of hours to work while he went to the dentist. On my way to the library, though, I stopped and looked around.

I thought: I have drawn everything out the windows of the library that there is to draw!

That was when I saw Main Place Mall. Let me check out the food court, I thought. The food court is on the second floor and perhaps there are some views.

And sure enough!

I went in and I drew the Rand Building and the Brisbane Building. There was a table that afforded me a pretty good view. And it beat drawing the same old stuff I have drawn a million times from the library. I mean, I love some of the views from the library. But there are not as many as you think.

It is a strange situation you encounter in the Main Place Mall food court, I must point that out.

On the one hand is the sound system. They play classical music, I guess to try to make people finish up their lunch and go. Me, of course, I love it. On this occasion they were alternating between Mozart and Beethoven, mostly chamber music, but with some piano concertos tossed in. Even with the system being on shuffle, it was heaven.

On the other hand there is this garbage person who orbits the food court ceaselessly pushing this deafening garbage cart. Again, they do not want you to get too comfortable.

Also there were all these guys. There are no women in the food court! It was just me and these guys. And this one guy in particular kept yapping into his cell phone. Apparently people were wanting money from him and that was what he was talking about. He had a million calls going on and to each caller he kept saying, "I'm going to call you back."

True, you get in the drawing zone and you do not hear too much anyway. It fades out. But in the meantime I was getting a little stressed and I am afraid it would show in my work.

Well, all is well that ends well. I liked what I did and when Howard got out of the dentist I went home with him happy.

 And the next day I went back again, this time with my friend Meghan who is super-artistic and sketches with me. It was exactly the same as the first day -- Mozart and Beethoven quartets, schufts and oiks, the garbage guy, no other women in the food court, uneasy cell phone conversations, the whole bit. But we were there for, yikes, almost five hours! And we did good work.

Above is my second portrayal of the Rand Building and the Brisbane Building. The best part is the street lamp, to my way of thinking. I like to draw exactly what is in front of my eyes. It is a kind of souvenir.

The Main Place Mall food court .... I will remember it!

Tuesday, January 1, 2019

A Midnight Mass to remember

Today being the Octave of Christmas it was back to Mass again. Everyone is laughing about how nobody knows what day it is any more.

All we know is we are in church all the time!

But nobody minds. The music was beautiful. We got to sing "Resonet in Laudibus" and "Silent Night." Everything was very calm next to a week ago, I will tell you that.

I do not believe I have written much about our Midnight Mass. It was an adventure!

This was the first Latin Midnight Mass that Buffalo had seen in decades. So we were nervous. I was not even planning to go to it to tell you the truth. I did not grow up going to Midnight Mass. We could go when we got older and could go on our own. My parents absolutely were not up to it. Long story short, I am more a Mass of the Shepherds kind of girl. Give me a crisp Christmas morning any day.

But around 9 p.m. on Christmas Eve I decided I had to go. I did not want to miss this Mass. And for once we were not hit with a Christmas Eve snowstorm. And so after dinner with Howard I drove downtown to St. Anthony of Padua.

Good thing, too. Because it turned out the choir was overwhelmingly men and desperately needed some women's voices. And as it was it was just me and my sketching buddy Meghan and three teenagers.

My brother Tony played the organ. That is he in the picture at the top of this post, bathed in light as if he is transfigured. I snapped that picture at Midnight Mass. I took it at the end when I could finally relax.

Tony is a wonderful organist but we had not practiced or anything and his playing is complex and not easy for me to follow. In the Kyrie I was waiting to hear when I was supposed to come in. And my cue never came! Then I realized what was happening. Tony was playing something like what I was supposed to be singing, except he was way up in the high treble, making a kind of chirping, fluttering sound.

Son of a sea cook, I started to laugh! I could not sing for a moment there and everyone else on the girls' side stopped singing too in solidarity with me.

I had to get a grip and tried to make myself think of sad stuff.

"Mary," I told myself, "it's Christmas. Your mother is dead. Your father is dead. Think how much you miss them."

But I could not sober up. On top of being nervous I was punchy. I am not used to being up all night and our Midnight Mass, I should point out, actually started at midnight and not at 10 p.m. or 11 p.m. the way some churches time it.

Finally I imagined myself walking through a snowstorm, compass set on North, just walking. I just sang what I was supposed to be singing and I got through it that way.

Weak beginning, strong finish, as we sometimes say up there in the choir loft. The important thing is, we pulled off our Midnight Mass. It hit its stride at the Gloria and after that things went OK.

Next year should be pretty darned good! But for today it was just time to relax.

The Octave of Christmas.