D Selby Designs

Spool has left the building! Sort of.

This time, I have a reason rather than an excuse for not blogging. I packed Mom off to brother in VA, then headed south with Greg to check out a publishing empire and a printer. The former was to talk to a long-time editor friend (she’s hardly ‘old’) and to see the phenomenal success of her boss, and consider whether I could start a magazine. Then we dropped into Atlanta and visited with Carey and Griff, and saw our first Roller Girl bout. Atlanta beat Kansas City, whoo hoo. I’m just grateful that Carey’s no longer skating. It would have been too harrowing for this mother. Ironically, Griffin now volunteers on a regular basis as scorekeeper, so Carey goes along for the ride. Clearly, she has made many lifetime friends and is in her social element.

Then it was off to the printer, who is now our printer. This was just over two weeks ago. I came home and had a melt down, and asked good friend, Jeff Rogers, to meet up for a long talk session over iced tea, which turned into long talk over food, a decision for which I will always be in favor. At the end of the nachos, he said God has gifted me with certain very unique talents and experiences, and to basically get off my, uhm, seat and get going.

So I did. He gave me the name of a wonderful (skills and personality) graphic artist and together, we have produced an 8-page mini-version of the tabloid, Spool (thanks, Morgan, for the name), for the national needlework trade show this weekend. It’s our trial balloon and if ads are sold and designers found, we’re off and running–to the bank! Not with wads of cash, but to ask for wads of cash.

My goals: to create meaning and community and good stuff. There is an ocean of youngins who swore they would never do their mother’s needle art, but now they want to do something needling, and I want to offer young designers a platform. Ultimately, if the operation moves into the black, there may be residential internships for: recent design graduates, middle of life awaken-ers, and established designers who need a year off from life to focus on design rather than on paying the electric bill. How much richer our lives will be for them!

Now, it’s onward and upward, and thanks for the fish. Just a little Douglas Adams reference, and if you don’t know who he is, get one of his books. So droll. He and Kurt Vonnegut are looking down on the BP oil spill and shaking their heads. Life imitating art.

Fired Up

Those of you who know me well know that I have a new idea daily that usually fizzles by nightly news time, but I have one that has grown legs. More about it later, but I am darned excited. Reading Guy Kawasaki’s book, The Art of the Start, and wanting, wanting, wanting to create meaning, mantra, and eventually, a business plan. Looking for smart people and some money, not necessarily in the same places.

You’ve been warned. But if I ask you for money, that doesn’t mean I don’t also think you’re smart.

Mom is going to Virginia for a few weeks so that I can focus. And regroup. And celebrate another year married to Greg.  Thanks, Roger and Pat.

No. More. Rain.

The tiny little culvert separating our main yard from the extension is no longer small. Or a culvert. It’s a river.

Calvin Bo-Rail!

What a wonderful Derby. My way to spend it: in front of the TV with a bowl of chili. I had to go with my personal favorite trainer, D. Wayne Lucas, but Greg picked the winner, Super Saver. What else, for a man who has made a religion out of coupon clipping? Not that we placed a bet. It’s the same with the lottery, which is our personal retirement plan–but we never seem to put the dollar on the counter.

I got up at 3:30 this morning to take Zach to the Louisville airport. He’s flying stand-by to Germany, and the later connecting flight to Newark looked a bit full. We hit the storm at about Shelbyville, so I raced home after dropping him at departures. I figured if he didn’t get aboard, hey, he’s a big boy. I got back ahead of the slow-moving storm, but took a potty break at Starbuck’s in Frankfort, and met the front AGAIN. Am certainly glad to have gotten my few flowers in yesterday, as it has been rain, rain, rain today.

Zach e-mailed that he missed first class by one seat. I am playing the world’s smallest violin. He’s spending Sunday night in Munich, Mon and Tues in Prague, then will train to Salzburg to meet up with Carey and Griff. I picture a Chevy Chase-Randy Quaid meeting, but Zach doesn’t own a dickey. I have put in a request for a tacky tea towel. Hey, small price for my kids to be living my life, right?

Cat Scratch Fever

I took Mom to the Woodford Humane Society, where we’ve always found our cats, today.  She so enjoys Mocha that I assumed she would love petting the kitties. She hated it. Wanted to take them all home, and got snarky because we couldn’t. Well, I had a big time clipping claws as a volunteer. Hence, the title of this post. I’ve been home for three hours, and Mocha is still sniffing my shoes. Jealous.

The other night, Mom and I were eating dinner and watching the evening news. A Viagra commercial came on and she said, “I used to take that, but it made me lose my mind.” When I stopped laughing, I explained to her that it is a pill men take to maintain an erection. She looked puzzled and said, “Oh, it’s been many years since I’ve had one of those.” Another bite, as I choked.  “Well, maybe I never have. I just can’t remember anything these days.” Laughter is good medicine.

I’ve been designing cross stitch this week for two magazines so it’s busy time, again. Greg says that USA Today mentioned in a ’saving money’ article that more people are stitching again. That’s good, ’cause there couldn’t be any fewer stitching!

Be sure and check out my friend, Jeff’s, new book, KY Wide 2 @ www.jeffrogers.com

Peeps for Crack

Poster for Arts in the Orchard 2010

One of Letterman’s jokes last night: in honor of Easter, NY crack dealers are switching to Peeps.

SO hot and sunny yesterday that 25K people welcomed the opening of Keeneland–minus me. After 30 years without allergies, I’ve been hit. Then today (anniversary of the monster KY tornado of ‘73), it’s raining sideways and the wind is holding my willow tree boughs out parallel to the ground. Welcome to Kentucky.

We went to church last night to give up our Sunday seats to seasonal visitors. We’ve been running around 10,000 but are anticipating 15K for this weekend. Then we’re meeting at the pond at 2 on Sunday for baptisms. Last year, there were over 200. If you get the chance, click on www.southlandchristian.org Monday or later, and watch the podcast. There are two dancing bits that I so enjoyed. My starched evangelist grandfather is probably spinning in his grave, but what’s the point of not celebrating this most joyous of seasons? I had to help Mom take out one of her hearing aids during “Footloose”.

Here is a poster I’m selling at “Arts in the Orchard” in two weeks. It’s $10. Actually, I can do a color poster of any of my paintings for same, 11″ x 17″. When Zach gets back from Chicago, we are supposed to update my site so that I can manage it without infringing on his time. Back to rock, paper, scissors, Kids.

Tomato Season Approacheth

No plantings before Derby Day! KY has been known to have frost as late as May 1. But memories of Better Boys and Big Boys and Jubilee cherry tomatoes are popping up as I work on this small (12 x 12) painting of last year’s crop. The shadows and stems gave me a Tim Burton feeling, but I’d have to put faces on them to carry that thought through. Not going to happen, Carey. I might put a Permanent Green Light glaze on the two small ones. The chroma of this photograph is higher than the actual painting. I may also put a Terra Rosa-with-Alizarin glaze from the lower center up to the left corner. Naphthol Red with a touch of lemon? The cadmiums are so opaque. And maybe I’ll heighten the violet shadows. And overwork it, as is my M.O.
Must get my walk in before the temp shoots up. Did you know that Good Friday used to be called God’s Friday? That explains a lot. Not much good about it, but for that promise by Christ to the thief on the cross.

Take my breath away, Kentucky

The forsythia, the tulip trees, the new new buds coming out in that shimmering acid green, never again seen in nature until the next spring–I love it all. But when I hauled coats and sweaters to the attic, the sweat dripping from my nose was a reminder of how hard it is to be a (former, but for Clairol) redhead in summer. Predictions for near 90 degrees tomorrow? Sheesh.

Keeneland opens tomorrow. That makes for a good Friday, then it’s usually dark on Easter, unless the heathens have completely tuned out. Whatever–I have cherries to finish. And a new chicken composition, and tarts, and tomatoes. Bring it on, Winsor Newton!

Can this be right?

Did I lose a bunch of blogs, ’cause surely it’s not been over a month. I got rather sucked into the vortex of crumby winter weather and the odd phenomenon of not being able to see beyond the home care grindstone. A quick trip to Chicago with hubby dear changed my view.

We could hardly have custom-ordered better spring weather for the normally weather-challenged city. It was crystal. It was blue. It was warm. Our hotel was switched at the last minute from the Hilton to the Fairmont, and I must say, overlooking Lake Michigan 34 floors up can make for amazing sun rises. I spent the first day alone soaking up the Art Insitute (which is really my favorite way to visit the AI, no offense to any one) while Greg worked, and then we had dinner with Gale, Griffin’s mom, at Jean and Georgetti’s. Carey called an hour before we met, saying she was watching the Travel Channel RIGHT THEN and we must go there. Ironically, it’s Gale’s husband’s, Merrill, favorite place and he was green with envy. Gale was at the Hyatt, site of a conference she was attending on aging, and the Hyatt is right next to the Fairmont. Too, too much– that two mother’s in law from Lexington must be in Chicago to finally get together.

The next day, I fritzed around Michigan Ave and met Gale for lunch at The Drake. Had to have their signature snapper soup, which, since I was getting sick, perhaps wasn’t the best choice. Now I know all the ladies’ rooms between The Drake and The Fairmont. Stopped in a Walgreen’s and picked up throat lozenges. I took some Advil, said a prayer, and dressed for dinner. I looked pretty good, since the Sheisido (?) lady at Macy’s grabbed my arm and said I needed makeup. I don’t know what Bio Preformance actually does, but I now own some.

The purpose  of the trip was to have dinner with Greg’s employer, whom I’d not yet met, and a key (potential) client. I took to both Steve (employer, who reminds me of a taller, younger Jon Stewart) and the clients right away. I suppose it was my job–no, my priveledge–to converse with the client’s wife and son. We ate at Smith and Wollensky’s and holy moley, that was some fine grub. “The Guys” thought I was such a winner of a wife, taking a cab home alone so Greg could hang out with the boys.  I could barely hold my head up!

Next afternoon, we both flew sick. So if you  were on Southwest’s Thursday afternoon flight from Midway to Louisville, you have us to thank for that ungawdly cold you’re now cultivating. Weekend was spent wrapped in quilts, taking antibiotics, and sipping tea.

And winter has returned.

FIve Minute Painting Class

Got the educational display up at Barnes and Noble, and will attach the next two steps of the process. The final painting was finished the day before, so very wet paint. How does Greg frame such a painting? VERY carefully. Had some nice feed-back as we were hanging it. Seems that B & N on a rainy Sunday is where other painters hang out.

I was meant to meet up with Cindy this morning, but the weather scared her off. I hadn’t even looked outside before stepping in the shower, and our roads were clear. Later, a bit of snow, and weather people on the telly announcing many road accidents because it doesn’t look as bad as it is. Mom and I had oatmeal with craisins and brown sugar, cozy, cozy. I inhaled a pot of coffee as she read stories to me from today’s paper. Wild times.

Greg is in Memphis and I am now listening to KD Lang sing about dreaming of spring while in cold, dark places. My winter garden from Lowe’s 75%-off-after-Christmas-bulbs is looking pretty good. The paper whites are doing better than the amaryllis(es?), which Greg isn’t too pleased about, since he hates the scent. I like it, but it reminds him of kitty litter right out of the bag. Just as well he’s where he is.