No, Thursday's Out....

My paintings were rejected today from a forthcoming show at a local church (NOT Trinity), for having an insufficiently spiritual backstory. It’s hard to overstate how pleased I am. A generous friend heard about the opportunity first, and invited me to submit my art along with his. The arts committee responded by turning me down flat, but telling him that he could try again next year, perhaps punching up his spiritual side. I can’t stop grinning. In their defense, I submitted no backstory at all, just four paintings – take ‘em or leave ‘em.   They left ‘em. I suppose I might have guessed they’d want verbiage, but they didn’t say WHAT they wanted, just samples of my work. Not that it matters. I don’t have an artist statement that stresses my spirituality, and I’m just not in the mood to craft one. Plus, what if I DID submit one, and they said Yeah, still not good enough, but thanks for trying…. Rejection is such an art form. This particular rejection letter was sniffy enough to...

When my parents were preparing to throw a party, my dad would contribute to the house-sprucing efforts by cleaning out his fish tank. On the one hand, the entryway had not much to see but that tank, and everybody had to walk through it (dim, but for the tank lights), and then around the giant book case that blocked off the front room. Once you passed the fish tank and jogged around the book case, you emerged into the bright, picture-window front room, which looked out at Lake Washington and Mt. Rainier and the hangars of Boeing, across the lake and below the mountain. Ta-daa! So yes, Dad knew that every guest would pass the fish tank, and maybe he felt that if there was a bit of green algae on the inside glass, they would be grossed out, or he would be embarrassed.   On the other hand, tank-cleaning was a production that took hours, with hoses and buckets and exclamations of dismay when a bucket overflowed because he’d wandered off – a not uncommon occurrence.   Cleaning...

Most of the students in my PSU class this term are pre-law, or pre-government; it’s a 400-level Poli Sci course. If they aren’t prepared to discuss the reading when they are called on, their grades drop. It’s like the movie version of law school. The students are idealistic, smart and likable, except for one self-appointed provocateur . He opposes child labor laws, for instance, because poor families need money! He’s that guy. He isn’t named Redwood, but close. I wonder if he is rebelling against hippie parents.   Thursday, we had twenty minutes set aside for election discussion, and Redwood grabbed the floor: “Calm down! Everything is fine! People keep saying Trump is HITLER, and he ISN’T, but if he WAS Hitler, then you ought to TAKE HIM OUT. Why aren’t you doing that? WHY? Because you know he isn’t Hitler! If you really thought he was, you’d be storming the capitol, you’d ICE the guy! Why aren’t you ICING him? Why are Democrats so WEAK?!?!” The prof handled it firmly but cal...

On the morning after Trump won the 2016 election I lashed out at a couple of old friends who hated Hillary. I apologized later, but … anyway, I still miss them. A lot. My goal on this Wednesday was not to lose anybody. So far, so good. Sometimes I am in a state I call “not fit for human consumption,” and I go into seclusion, but that didn’t happen. I had a good run of commiserating, consoling, distracting. Some wise people offered wisdom. And I addressed two small annoyances. I fixed the clock in my car. Be impressed. The little knob is finicky. and I drove over to Kitchen Kaboodle to get a plastic scraper for the cast iron pans. (Do not plastic shame me. Not today. I mean it. I haven’t made it to bed yet, and it’s the Wednesday after Trump won. I could go off LIKE THAT.) At Kaboodle, I saw this charming dog-peeing-on-a-fire-hydrant novelty sponge set. The place was nearly empty -- me and two angry clerks. Feelings were high in Portland today. One clerk was nearby, and I gestured at ...

The flag had 36 stars for a couple of years after Nevada gained statehood. I saw this one on our drive to Las Vegas.  In other news of our nation... I phone-banked, which was new for me. Here are answers to your frequently-asked questions: • YES, we only called Democrats. Do not panic. This phone bank was about “ballot curing,” calling people whose ballots had arrived at the Board of Elections office, BUT … (the ballots) were in some way messed up or incomplete, and would not get counted. • I figured if ANYONE might appreciate a call, it would be someone who had already bothered to vote, but whose vote wasn’t going to count. • Mostly, I left voice mails. No one who answered was hostile. In the debrief session one guy said he’d reached a woman who complained that too many people had called. He said, “If you fix it, your name will come off the list!” There’s a man with clarity. • The first shift, 500 of us were calling Ohio voters. I had some technical difficulties and so did the org...

Local ice creamery Salt & Straw has set up shop in New York City, and the food critic of the New York Post is not a fan . He takes particular issue with their Pastrami on Rye flavor, which has a butterscotch base, and too much mustard. I don’t blame him! Salt & Straw flavors are almost universally Not For Me. I’ve liked two, ever. I only go into S&S when some visiting friend insists. Also, the aroma of baking cones blankets an entire block of Division, which is intrusive. I do love the tiny gelateria just up the street, run by two Italian brothers passionate about their nocciolo – so passionate* that in their first year, they shut down and went home to Italy during the hazelnut harvest.   Hazelnuts may be the Oregon State Nut , but Oregon hazelnuts are not noccioli. Having just received my voters’ pamphlet, I have several other nominees for Oregon State Nut, but that’s another story. Anyway, speaking of things that are intrusive and not to my taste, I had a...

The Uffizzi is full of breathtaking art, but this hit me just as hard. We left off with me at the Ukrainian church in Florence. I took a news vacation during the trip, but the Ukrainian church reminded me that things are brutal in Ukraine right now. And in the Middle East. And in Sudan. And .... Avoiding the news couldn’t protect me from reminders of conflict and oppression and violence, past or ever-present. Most people don't get news breaks.  In Trieste I was haunted by the stumbling stones placed at the "last voluntary address" of Jews deported to the concentration camps in World War II.   (I shudder that we are discussing “mass deportation” from the US, these days.)  And I was unsettled by the gorgeous Miramare  Castle, where Maximillian and Charlotte/Carlotta lived before they decided to go rule over Mexico, a bit of colonial arrogance that ended badly, as such things do.   (Here's Rudyard Kipling, from my visit to the National Portrait Gallery in Londo...