I’ve been crazy busy this last week and a half getting paintings ready for the show in July. Other than not being able to find my favorite spray varnish, the work has been coming along nicely. Which is good, because on a personal level, I’ve been struggling with my old 9/11 PTSD the whole time. Need I remind you the Birds series began when Trump was inaugurated in 2017? Although painting helps, my sleep is mixed up because of dystopian nightmares, and I don’t want to leave the house. One positive thing that has come out of this is I’ve repainted three pieces I wasn’t happy with. They weren’t bad, they just didn’t sing. One of them, the American Bald Eagle ABE, has been repainted twice. When I posted him on Facebook the other day, someone who I respect said it was devastating. I loved that. Another of the do overs is Gideon, the first painting I did from scratch after the initial cataract surgery. When I wrote about him in December, I mentioned how surprised I was that he wasn’t as angry as I was feeling. Wary, yes, alert, but not nearly as upset as one might expect, given the chaos in my life at the time - my WIFI dying, finding out all the family history I grew up believing was a boatload of blarney, having my eye cut open etc, and of course, the election. What changed this week was his background. He previously had my coppery golden signature color. Coppery gold has a lovely surface. It compliments everything and most importantly, it is safe. Gideon’s’s new pale peachy color might be regarded as even safer, except now he really pops. In fact, ABE also had that coppery background the first time around, and he certainly pops more now on his baby blue, too. The third bird that has been done over bothered me so much, I never even posted about him. I’m still not certain if I’m finished with him yet, so maybe I won’t show you him until I am sure. He plays nicely with a piece I started before my UK trip and completed today, so maybe next time. I do need to report that the post cataract surgery saga continues. As you may recall, I finally got a new prescription for lenses to correct my double vision and seeing close up issues. I had high hopes the new glasses would be ready in time for the UK trip, but of course, they were not. Instead, I went with my old prescription sunglasses that deal with the double vision but interfere with my new distance vision, and several pairs of reading glasses in different strengths - which is what I’ve been doing since November and am still doing today. Because, surprise surprise, when I picked up the new glasses upon my return, they weren’t right. Partly because of a lab error and partly because the prescription was wrong. So back to the lab they went. Fingers crossed, hopefully they will be ready by the end of next week. Or the week after that. Onward.

When I started to write this post, I was at the Newcastle airport for the first leg of my trip home after another two weeks in the UK. It had been a busy visit. We worked on the images for my 'The Birds' book, and got a sweet vintage dresser for my room. We also both got sick with the same bad cough, just like any other couple, and spent much of the time simply hanging out and living together. I baked a few ginger cakes and a loaf of bread, and made pasta puttanesca twice. Speaking of food, we went to South Shields which is across the river from my beloved Tynemouth to check out the dunes and carnival fairground and had lunch at The Marine (https://the-marine.co.uk/) which I highly recommend if you happen to find yourself there. All of this was in the original draft of this post I was writing in the airport, along with how I finished Oskar the owl painting I brought with me to work on and bought the paint I needed once I arrived. Anyway, there I was, sitting in the Newcastle airport writing in my notebook and waiting for the departure board to post my gate. I had a really tight window between arriving in Amsterdam and catching my Boston flight and too much time was passing. Eventually I headed downstairs to wait at the general gate area. By the time the flight details were posted, it was an hour and a half late. The reason being that as my plane’s incoming flight landed in Newcastle, a passenger on it suffered a heart attack and an ambulance needed to be called. The other passengers were not allowed to disembark until the paramedics worked their magic and took the patient away. Once the plane was empty, it had to be cleaned, hence the delay. And then, since almost all of my fellow passengers were going to Amsterdam to catch other flights that we had now missed, the service desk was a mob scene. Luckily, Expedia, who I book flights with, had already lined me up with a new Boston flight, but alas, it was for the following morning. I was given a room and meal vouchers at a hotel nearby and then spent an hour I’ll never get back in Passport Control with several hundred anxious Chinese travelers just to get out of the building. By the time I checked into the hotel, the buffet they provided was slim pickings. I did have a nice shower and slept ok however, and was up at the crack of dawn for a decent breakfast and was on the shuttle back to the airport soon enough. Have you been to Amsterdam’s Schiphol airport? It is HUGE and very confusing. But as I was already checked in, all I had to do was get in an enormous line to be scanned by security and then use my remaining meal voucher at Starbucks. So to make a long and tedious story a little bit shorter, 36 hours after I’d left for the Newcastle airport, my Provincetown friend picked me up from the Logan shuttle drop-off in Barnstable, a two hour bus ride, and then after another hour’s drive, delivered me home. These trips seem to be getting harder, although this was still not as bad as that fiasco in Heathrow in February. Perhaps I’ll go less often from now on and stay longer until I move there for good. Onward.

According to Facebook, I posted this as a new painting seven years ago. At the time I was I still deciding on a title when I found out a dear friend from my Ozark hippie days who went by the name Morningstar, had died. We’d lost touch ages ago after she came to visit me in New York. I had taken her to the top of the Empire State building one night under a full moon. It, along with all the Times Square and high-rise lights, blew her mind. I then heard that she had moved to Texas shortly after she returned home. Doing a quick Google search into her death, I learned she had been murdered by her schizophrenic son. He had just been released from the hospital a few days earlier and beat her with a hammer, among other things. In spite of his obvious mental condition, he was discovered cowering naked in the kitchen and covered in her blood, he was tried, convicted and died in prison under suspicious circumstances. A horrible story all around. I felt the need then to name the new crow Morningstar in her memory. Once the original painting sold, it became the image on my best selling giclees and cards. So here’s to Morningstar, the woman, the crow, and her son. Onward.

When I started the bird series, it was in response to the 2016 election. At the time, I’d stopped painting to work on a writing project, so it wasn’t until the inauguration in 2017 that I actually picked up a brush again. The first birds were small and for the most part angry because I thought what is happening now was going to happen then. One would think that the paintings would be even angrier now, and a couple of them are - Abraham, the American Bald Eagle from a few weeks ago, is one. He was a repaint, so was the recent Loon, which also got much darker, but the two newest pieces that were started from scratch, are friendly and light. They even have hopeful names that refer to renewal and the arrival of spring. This surprises me. It’s been a difficult few months, given my on-going post-cataract surgery problems, et cetera. But there they are, Persephone, the Heron who was supposed to be blue but turned out purple, and now the pink Cockatoo, titled Peony, above. I thought about calling her Primavera or Primadonna, and even Peaseblossom, all names I might use later, but Peony won out for reasons that may only be obvious to me. Both of these paintings, besides their heat and palette, are much bigger than what I’m accustomed to, which means bigger brushes and bolder mark-making, so perhaps having to adapt to not being able to see close-up very well now, is a blessing, as they say, in disguise. I did, however, get a new prescription for lenses that should correct all the vision issues at my surgical followup with the eye doctor yesterday. Hopefully I like the new frames I’ve picked out and will finally be able to see what I’m doing again. I’ll prime new panels to paint on today, it would be logical to do another colorful piece, but I feel a Snowy Owl or a pale Egyptian Vulture coming on. Fingers crossed that the new glasses are ready in time for my upcoming visit to the UK. I won’t be taking the laptop this time because of my not so irrational fear of US Customs, but I’ll pass on getting a burner phone and just shut my regular one down when I get on the plane heading home instead. So as my friend Kevin likes to say - Onward.

I’d lived in downtown Manhattan for 35 years by the time I finally left. There was a brief period in the East Village, and a month of sleeping on a rollaway bed in the stockroom of the boutique where I worked. Mind you, the year before I’d been living in a shack in the Ozarks that had no running water or electricity, so a lamp to read by and a toilet were luxuries. From there, I had a tiny two room walkup that measured 14’x14’ with a shower and kitchen appliances in one room and a sleeping loft in the other. I lived there for several years and finally moved into the building next door when I married my soon to be ex-husband. Once he was gone, I stayed in my rent-stabilized apartment for 30 years until my landlord paid me to move out. When my landlord made me his offer, I called a friend who lived on Cape Cod and she told me her friend who had a store there needed a salesgirl. I was on the Bolt bus two days later and was hired the following morning. I also looked at an apartment I’d seen on Craig’s List on the way back to my friend’s house. It was in a basement but had decent furniture, a big TV with cable, and free WiFi. I shook hands with the landlady and called my New York landlord to tell him I would take the deal. He gave me six weeks to vacate my apartment. I sold almost all of my furniture and gave away a ton of books and clothes. And tore up 30 plus years of journals, which was liberating. By the time I left, the UHaul wasn’t even half full. My parrot, a Senegal named Pacino, sat up front with me in his travel cage for the ride. I arrived in Yarmouth Port on Halloween and lived and worked there for six months. In the meantime, I met up with some artists from the gallery in Provincetown and they offered me the job. That was 14 years ago this month. There’ve been a few snags, I’ve had five addresses and six jobs since leaving New York, but doors kept opening. Now, as I contemplate how to move to the UK to be with my beau, I once again am faced with an apartment full of furniture. There will be no UHaul this time but I don’t need to deal with that today. I have a place to live both here and there, I’ll just have to wait for the next door to open. And while I wait, I’ll enjoy this little beach town before the tourists take over this summer. So yes, Onward.

Last Thursday, I set off for my followup with the optometrist at my cataract surgeon’s practice. I had anxiously anticipated this appointment because although the surgery had corrected my distance vision, it did nothing for my double vision, and it made my closeup vision worse. This means I can’t see my phone or laptop much less paint even with reading glasses since they don’t help with the double vision unless I shut one eye. And the glasses that do correct the double vision are my old myopic prescription that now makes everything blurry. So I had high hopes for this appointment. But half way there - it’s over an hour away - I got a call saying it was cancelled because the optometrist was sick, and once I was home again, I got another call saying the earliest they could fit me in was July. As the office would be closing on Friday for the Easter holiday, it was suggested I call back on Tuesday to see if anything sooner had become available. Up until then, I’d been reminding myself that new glasses would fix the problem, and I could deal with it until I got the revised prescription last Thursday. Needless to say, I did not have a pleasant weekend. I even called another optometrist closer to home but since I am technically under my surgeon’s care until I have my followup at his office, they were reluctant to see me without his permission. In the meantime, since it’s a struggle to paint but also a struggle not to paint, I decided to rework another piece I wasn’t happy with yet. I pulled out the Loon I did last fall as a favor for a friend who wanted it as a giclee. I had thought of it as a commission but my heart wasn’t in it. Not that there was anything wrong with the piece, it just didn’t sing to me and once the giclee was done, I put the original away. Luna’s singing now, in spite of my not being able to get a good shot of her since she’s so shiny. I finished her on Monday. And then on Tuesday when I called the surgeon’s office as suggested, they squeezed me in with a different optometrist in the practice for May 6th. Only another two weeks, I can handle that. There might even be another bird to repaint. Onward.

I don’t invest in the stock market but I am afraid of the chaos. And I can’t be the only one nervous about traveling with my laptop and phone. One of my mindless activities lately is cleaning out my techno storage and drives, which is more useful than playing Spider Solitaire ad nauseam. Today, I deleted dozens of individual chapters of two novels I wrote and rewrote several times in between the Angels series and the Birds. It was similar to ripping up thirty years worth of journals while I emptied out my Soho apartment when I left New York. I have no regrets about doing that, in fact it was incredibly freeing. I also, for the record, tore up four large garbage bags full of art I unearthed while cleaning out my studio. It was stuff I never bothered to photograph, because frankly, it was weak and had to go. As did those novels. I was in love with one of my characters, and friends who read the books liked them, but now I cringe at the idea of anybody else seeing them. So - bye bye, Kitty and Danny, off you go. I also felt like that about Abraham, the bald eagle I posted in February. My fiancé is a painter as well, and he often comments on how quickly I work. His paintings can take ages to finish but we’re still each other’s critique partner regardless of our different processes. So when I decided to rework Abraham, he was all for it. That’s the newest version above. He’s better, no? Finally, I’ve noticed a drop in my internet numbers. Website hits are down, likes on Instagram are too, and last week’s Substack reactions to Persephone were surprisingly low. I’m not taking this personally, I know it’s because shit has gotten too real. Hey, I just gave my phone 53 gigabytes of storage space and cut what’s saved on my Google Drive in half. I grew up military, I lived in Germany during the Berlin Wall crisis, it was terrifying. When my father came home and burned documents after memorizing them during the Bay of Pigs, our tornado cellar became an atomic bomb shelter. Later, I lived less than a mile from the World Trade Center. 9/11 was very personal to me. I get it. This is PTSD territory. If you think you are over-reacting, you are not. Be kind to yourself. Stay in the moment. Onwards.