weekends

Constant opening and closing... of doors. I constantly hear them coming and going. They are young. They come on fast and leave the same way. Friendships and more I assume. Our house is a welcoming place for these growing relationships. Always a new mix and new opportunities. The regulars arrive on Friday nights and most stay until Sunday night. Many others in and out, most come up to say "hi" I feed, I listen, I enjoy their company but they tire me out. An endless stream of kids. They like it here and keep coming back. They bring more. They do appreciate me and the place to hang out. It's comfortable and fun with it's constant mix of new faces. I just hope that they continue to make good choices.

My friend Jayne has made it and returned home after 2 months in the hospital. I don't know yet the outcome, if she will ever has that special sparkle back, but he spark has been ignited. She's home!

Watching Altered states of teens.

I try to learn from a wise and suddenly experienced new friend, Sharyn.
Although I have nothing so emotional to compare to as her tragedy of her son Caleb's accident, much of her agony I share by simply being the mother of a teenage daughter. It is also like living with a new person daily. I try to cope, to understand, to accept, to protect, to help...but am often met with a blank stare, wide smile, demands or outright hostility. I never know what to expect and I mourn for the little princess she used to be. I miss our closeness, and hope her altered state of being too will pass. Our house is overrun with kids coming and going... a safe place to hang out, her friends up from Fleet visiting for weekends, a few kids turning into large parties, large groups of co-ed sleepovers, a new boyfriend, and I'm now counting my beers and holding tight to my wine while wondering how liberal I can continue to be while the teens take life fast and run. I struggle as many have and many will.

play or be Played

So, as the mother of a 15 1/2 year old daughter, who at times seems on the verge of adulthood and at others barely out of the princess and stuffed animal stage, life can be unpredictable at the best of times. Life is filled with drama, daily ups and downs and doors slamming, only to be re-opened for a glimpse of who she used to be.
Too many older boys grace our basement playroom these days. Too many coming and going. Driving. Every parents fear of fast boys with faster cars.
Too many cars and boys littered our driveway last Friday. The age old dilemma of party crashers. "Just a few friends" turned into a major party, with uninvited guest hauling up cases of beer up our long dark driveway. One little drama after another, altercations, tears and shouting. The angst of the brink of adulthood. Nowhere to go, not old enough to be...
It started off OK with the sounds of the drum set being used again, the pool balls being whacked, the loud bass thumping the walls downstairs and alpha-male vying for dominance. One peek out of the window and another version unfolded. Of course after I saw the beer I had to appear. Playing MOM, the bouncer. The threats of police or a call to the parents. And I just wanted those days of appearing with pizza or my infamous chocochip cookies that would sooth all just reappear from the past. It used to be easy to relate to most of these kids, and I still do...they just don't realize it yet. They are above and beyond in their search of themselves. Life is complicated for teenagers these days... they are not all bad kids, some just make bad choices. We all did. Whoever decided to egg our house after being asked to leave under threat of police or escorted off by our young toughie Andy, I do not know. But however upset my daughter was, I just had to laugh and be thankful we live in a town that uses eggs as weapons instead of more violent means.

After being on duty and meeting scores of parents that trust me with their children, I had to hide my smile at my own ineffectiveness as a parent of a child of the same age. Their over protected, overindulged children of privilege have nothing to worry about compared with our kids that rarely get out of town.
So, the escape to the cape. The much needed break away. I appreciated the warm and sunny day in which to drive, top down, music up, to Wellfleet. A glass ( or more accurately, a paper cup) of wine, I set off along the shore. The sunset was exquisite...bright yellow reflections along the water turning pink, to orange to violet higher up, reaching. The water was warm too! Shoes off, toes in the water covered with the lapping foam. Sun-soaked sand was also a comfort as was my arrival to my own small treasure. Intact although sand blown and covered. Like a warm blanket pulled up and tucked in. A comfortable layer on my bits and pieces after a month of neglect. The guardians along the way were gone...just a few lone rocks washed here and there. I built up a few, but acknowledged the futility against the power of off season wind and waves. But it was comfortable there. I was alone, yet surrounded. I pulled two wayward pieces pf driftwood about and into place, adjusted a few strands for color and sat with my wine. I felt at peace after a stressful evening of being played. Oh, the life of a parent of a teenage daughter.

I'm back!

So, Here I am again. Ready to set a few words down. It took so much out of me, holding my breath for Jayne. But it's good news. She will make it. She's been moved to a rehab in Salem NH. to heal and start her therapy. Whether or not she'll be the same Jayne, we won't know for a while, but we'll love her whatever way we can get her! Jayne has hard work ahead of her at the rehab, but at least she's made it there.

This has been a difficult transition for me this fall. Although it is hard to leave the summer and sand behind every year, this seemed so much more. The weather has also contributed to the funk. Grays, no ocean blues and greens. Fall should bring more color into my life as it progresses to change the scenery. Although I seem to remember swearing off painting another series of pretty landscapes. A disappointment this week when I was told that my latest painting was to large to submit to the Arts Alliance Fall juried show, so I didn't bother with the other two paintings I had planned on. I finished setting the three diamonds in Amy's ring this weekend, now I can get to my portraits that await me. The family series. I need to get started with something a little offbeat though too.
It's almost a tease, having facebook and still keeping in touch. Dreams of travel constantly tap my shoulder. I could go. I want to and need to. Even just a quick trip to NYC, for museums, for freedom, for inspiration. For independence.
There is little here to inspire me at the moment.

Supporting Jayne.

Jayne, not just another Jane.
Friend, mother, wife, daughter, neighbor, volunteer...no matter how you know her, you can't forget Jayne.
Jayne is still quite critical after her tragic accident, yet now there is hope that she will recover. To what extent we will get the old Jayne back is not yet known, but I truly believe that she will survive this trauma. Her bones and body can heal, but the scope of damage from the head trauma is not know at this time. And time it will take. It will be work that the family has not yet to realize, but they will become as strong as she is. My heart goes out to John, Alycia, Pat and Mitchel. Even Sam, their golden lab has been lost with out her. John's brothers and sisters are there for the present, backing him up and giving support. Once they have to go back to their lives, I hope that we, friends and neighbors will continue to be there for this family.
I have started another blogsite in support. We hope to have a weekly calendar for sign ups to provide a hot meal for the family at the end of their day before they leave for the hospital to visit. It will be a long recovery and they will truly need us so they can concentrate on helping her. Please visit Supporting Jayne Lombardo on E blogger, or Facebook.

Still hanging on!

Jayne Lombardo lives!
She's still critical but has made it through a few rough days. We didn't think that she would make it to the hospital but she is strong. She will fight to be there for her kids. Right now the doctors are trying to control the swelling on her brain before they operate on her. She has a broken collar bone, pelvis, elbow, legs, ribs, fingers and toes. There is not much left untouched. Her eyes are swollen shut and her vision could be compromised.
But there is hope...
She has many prayers and positive thoughts coming her way. Meals are being prepared for her family by her many friends and neighbors. The kids will try returning to school tomorrow, but this family will never be the same. They will need support for a long time.
Although she doesn't have a blog site yet, anyone wishing to send a message can go onto Facebook and join the group "Supporting Jayne."

Tragedy....seeking positive thoughts for Jayne!

I now seek positive energy for a friend in need.
I left Fleet last week after a beautiful summer and now tragedy has struck again. My close friend and neighbor was hit by a car crossing the street in front of her house just around dark last night. In front of her kids. I heard all of the screams but thought that the kids were playing manhunt, until the cops and ambulances came. It was a horrific sight.The boys that hit her were also school friends of her children. Everyone was screaming and hysterical. Severe head trauma as she went off the windshield before being thrown 25 feet into a stone wall.She was life-flighted out by helicopter, but they couldn't stabilize her to leave for a long time ...it doesn't look good. She might loose an eye and has extensive facial damage, multiple fractures and we don't know if she'll make it yet. The next 48 hours are crucial.
This woman also has spirit similar to the inspirational Caleb Potter. Jayne Lombardo is loved by so many. Always so outgoing and upbeat, Quick with a smile and ready to help anyone. The backbone of her family, friends and everyone she meets, so I hope that she will also make it as far as Caleb has.
I will write more as this woeful tale unfolds in the next few days. After following Caleb's blog for over a year now, I know that she and her family will never be the same and are in for a very long hall.
I call to those places of power that gave me so much inspiration this summer, that magic that comes off of the dunes, the trinkets and treasures to the right of LeCounts, and to anyone that might come across this blog in cyberspace to help send positive karma for Jayne Lombardo!

Cleansed

A quick trip, just a weekend jaunt. Back to Fleet for a breather before being packed up into my summer box, to be shelved until the return. One morning full of mist and two more of sun. Almost perfect, almost. I'm now resigned to the fact that some things will never measure up, never be the same.
Anyway, the treasure...
The walk was perfect, as the beach was clean. Swept up and away, the shore ever changing. Gone were most landmarks so familiar in July and August. A very high tide had come in with force and gone out with all. Even the sculpted castles and crisp edges had vanished. Vanquished into the rolling blue, to be deposited elsewhere at another time. Only the strong survive they say, and that held true with the treasure...the trinkets and trash were gone. The path of seaweed and gateway were gone. The tide had come up and swept through the original structure. The foundation intact for it's good bones endured. Some tidbits here and there, secure in their place above ground, survived. Surprisingly, the cleansing didn't bother me. The trifle offerings of others, the trash and the ordinary really didn't have a place there among the special things. With no official entryway, it gave invitation to be viewed and enjoyed from many perspectives, just not the obvious. I took a look from the left instead. Another metaphor for my life.

Over the bridge

Gone. Packed up, on the road. It didn't seem too bad. Until I arrived back to my life. Yard overgrown, refrigerator empty and a layer of dust and cobwebs covering most surfaces. How does Jim live here and not see?
I miss the sound of the pines cradling the house in the morning breeze. I miss waking up to put on a pot of coffee, stand at my door and survey the day. I miss my beach walk and painting on the patio. I miss my bottle of red wine!
Over the bridge I went, back to the mundane, the everyday existence which I must endure till the seasons change once more and release me.
I have the beach in my head as K.B. keeps. The way the mist comes off the water, curls up the dunes and rolls back upon the sand, waiting to be burned off by mid-morning. The hot sand on my toes, the sound of the rocks lazily rolling under the waves. The way the seals poke their heads up and follow my progress. I have the sun on my back, although in reality my toes and fingers are chilled here at home. Fall is waiting it's turn.
Tomorrow will be worse. Back to work. The first few days of meeting new people, new assignments and students can be exciting, but then it wears off and become the Job.
My summer life has started to fade, as the warm days of laconic strolls to the treasure have. The cool mists of Wellfleet have begun to be replaced by the even crisper air of Gospel Hill. The scent of farm, apples ripening and buses collecting their charges.
Time to re-charge and put on my bright face.

Change happens.

So, I walked the walk and was filled with wonder as I passed by countless castles. Carved by the storm last night, the beach had been torn away. High tide left little room to pass. Walking close with walls of sand overhead gave me the feeling of seeing the valleys, buttes and cliffs of the Grand Canyon. Turret-like, almost mini castleswith layers of sand in various degrees of drying left stripes and unique edges. It looked like lace along the top, as those miles of carvings held onto the furthest most outposts before they dropped off the jagged edge and were swept away.
Gone were the fish of previous days, gone were the rocks, and absent were the usual pods of seals that greet me along my way. Gone were the ropes and signs that protect the plovers. No boundaries. No lines to keep clear of. The rusted steel beam that held my vertical wood logs in check, gone, but appeared further down the beach in the treasure trove. No landmarks...the square white bottle at the half way, picked clean by another contributor. Amazing how quickly things change. In place, dredged up from another place and time came quite an assortment of new large beams, different logs and stranded lengths of ropes, tangled, bleached and worn. Yellow fins, a hiking boot, a zippo and the ever present balloons made there way to the now well visited trove.
On the journey back, I spotted a beautiful piece of driftwood, worn smooth. My new small sculptural pile untouched by the tide, being high up next to the comfort of the dune appreciated the deposit. I could paint.

Coming to Peace

Time is winding down for my walking the sands. Start of a new year sooner than wanted, but inevitable. As the waves roll or pound depending on outside influences, so my life also takes shape. Will these stream of consciousness reports be inspired from a new source, or dwindle to weekend jaunts?
I need the inspiration of the water and sands, the found objects arranging themselves into new sculptural expressions, yet time to get back to the other world and real life. Will I take this place of power as a life change when given the opportunity? Or will I run? Or will I play it safe? Time only knows.
So, today I prepare to venture out along the edge once more. Others have now added to my guardians and compilations of trinkets. It detracts and devalues my intended spirit, although I know I should be encouraged by the shared experience. There is nothing original, and I'm sure I wasn't the first, but none the less, I am not thrilled to see the clones. But I will try to walk with openness of soul.
There was a violent storm yesterday and I am curious to see what survived and what more was brought forth from the depths.
The constant change actually should bring peace. Add to, or wash away clean...life continues at nature's pace.

Cast of silver

Silver gleaming along the edge. Shown bright in the sunlight, a streak of light along the shore. A vertical piece of lace. Fish, nothing but small fish. Cast about, thrown onto the sand, bitten, and headless, their countless scales sparkle in the sand and sea foam. Their fine bones exposed. Miles of small, silver strokes on the canvas. Birds of all sizes and colors feasted this morning.
My spirits and treasures were intact today. A few additional offerings displayed. I found my smaller shrine also untouched. It is always amazing to see that although the shore seems calm by day, so many new things are brought forth overnight to be discovered in the light. I was able to bring a few new colorful trinkets and pieces of driftwood to the compilation, and spied more for another day. A tee shirt, a hair band, goggles, sunglasses, foam and a swim fin. The twist of rope will have to wait, as will the rust from a ship's past.
Painting went well today. A close-up partial self-portrait with the treasures in the background. Maybe not original, but different for me to include myself.

Quiet time

My face , one cheek receiving the kiss of spray from the ocean, and the other, soft rain. The grayness seemed so appropriate today; the quiet, the pull of nature. I could hear the drops as they fell upon the scattered stones. It was a good omen. The water was also soft today and gray. Not diminished in power, but just softer with the day. I rebuilt today. The careless, unseeing visitors of the other day were gone with the sun. I searched, I uncovered, I stacked, until my guardians were once again in place. Then I moved on.
With every intention to see if my treasure was still there, or altered from the invasion of the curious, I started off to my place of solace. I was just a bit further down the beach when new matter caught my eye. Overnight, from the storm, I was given another gift. Cast up near the edge of the dune I spotted new supplies to create with. A lobster trap, large pieces of driftwood, a tangle of colored ropes, and many beautifully shaped rocks with which to sculpt. A fairy fort, a spirit house, a treasure trove of found beauty. And so, now a beginning of another, an offspring of the larger shrine. I hope it will survive.

Discovered, precious and shared

As they say, things are not the way they seem. I could not find my way to write yesterday, as things were so ordinary in a new light. There was no mist to cover and protect, no spirit today. The light of a warm sunny day brought more people along the shores. Out to wander and come upon what I treasure already. I reached my special place, and found it had been discovered. By many. It wasn't the same.
It was a bad omen when I saw that a few of my stone guardians were torn from their roost. To hold beach blankets from the wind. Casually hugging the corners, un-caressed, just tossed down.
Today I will restore, as the fog has returned with Monday vengeance.
Yet, a good omen today, for I have made a friend so far away. My trinket spirit is watching.

Ambivalence

After such a lovely morning, I returned to the world. To the inevitable, the truth. I knew it was not to be, yet I still hurt to think that this is all I will keep with me. So high on the scent, the electricity... then gone. Now empty like the dead balloons I pick off of the shore... the pretty ribbons still entwined, yet dragged along the sand. Held down and knotted with weed.
As the never ending flow of the tides, the highs are always followed by lows. Yet I knew when I longed, I knew. And I still fell. But only so far. No regrets.

Torn Between Treasures

Another day, another pilgrimage down the beach. The mist was thick and I loved the solitude along the way. The sun broke out in my path as I walked along, yet I couldn't see much behind or ahead.
It is such a creative time for me...how did I get along with out this force before? My mind is bombarded with glorious thought, one right after another, such plans! Then real life as always intrudes when I return home, plans in mind. Thoughts evaporate just as that morning fog burns off or drifts away.
I walked both sides today. The edge and shore, and close to the dune. Torn between. Drawn to both. A metaphor for my current place in time. The face has gone, now just words upon the screen.
The face that I know so well is comfortable, safe. A different kind of love. Not the butterflies in your stomach love, but the constant, low drone of consistent love. Complacent, yes...not exciting, yet still solid and comforting.
And so, my Treasures. Along the way I created a few new cairns up out of the way of the tides, at least until the next full moon and high tide. I gave a nod to those that stand guardian. There it was, like an apparition through the mist, yet the sun shone on it's spot most magical. In my youth I'd busy myself out in the woods for hours on end fixing places of welcome. Gathering moss to soften, flowers to brighten or incarnate a magical experience for unseen forces. I can still see the Fairy forts, Tolkien inspired, or invoked by mystical Castenada.
I entered through the path, a proper gateway. I tidied the entrance, straighted up stray pieces that toppled in the night, primped here and there, and then created my gift. Simple treasures and yet profound when presented to this assembly of spirit. Special.

Treasures

Treasures. More was revealed today. As I left the lure of the dunes and echoes, I found myself wandering between bits and pieces of color amongst the gray. A string here, bottles, a net and sandal. A jar, florescent tube, and rusting cans. Faded rope, a rubber sole and many sad balloons now deflated yet still attached to perky ribbons. Flotsam maybe, but a compilation like no other. Through the mists I made out a treasure trove, a sculptural offering by others of similar spirit as I. I made my contribution, the best from my stash ...and sat among it's many components to hear their stories.

A step away from the Edge

Clouds and mists for the morning walk. I went the solitary route towards Marconi, as the mists hung onto the dunes so seductively. The mung has washed in and feeds the hungry Plovers, running so frantically to catch their fill. Then something called me from the edge of the shore. I was drawn inward, towards the dunes. The whispers, I felt them calling. On approach I heard the soft reflections of the waves and roll of the rocks being cast about, up the height of those dunes, but there was another voice. I stopped. Completely stopped, before I heard them. Lives past, ghosts or what was between the layers of sand and time. Knowing they don't have long before they are pulled down into the sea. There is another song being sung there, if you listen. Quiet, but powerful and luring. A higher octave that joined the softly falling sands for a brief moment of awareness. The swaying of the grass that clings so desperately onto those dunes seemed determined to give more. I felt at peace there is morning, as it seemingly was speaking only to me. How many people enjoy this stretch without taking that step back away from the edge? The shore has it's own allure, but that other side beckons to be heard.

Another day, Another Life Plan

So today, I picked up the pace and was not distracted. I didn't glance back once. They were there, but no longer have the lure.
It was the reflections of the waves draining back into the sand that made it so pleasurable today. The light was beautiful and cast many different shades of purple into the sand. Wettest being deeper, with reflections of the blue,above and white foam bubbles being chased back to sea only to be run over by more on their way inland. There were perfect little balls of water seemingly floating on top of the sand, ready to melt or give way to any whim, breeze or touch. It was the constant swirl of color that I appreciated today. Of course I've seen it daily, but today it stood out so clear. It was the color of skin in my new painting. Purples, blues, oranges and pink.
Cowgirl in the sand...Purple words on a gray background, to be a Woman an to be turned down.
So, I have come to a new life plan. I feel that if I have only 20 good years left, I'm not going down easily. I will not wait for the opportunity, but will create it. My life has been a safe life, always safe.
Marriage, motherhood, my job, my art. Why did I list it in that order? Always on the brink of taking a risk, yet stepping back just in time ...to be safe. Is that how I want to live to the end? It's not who I used to be, so what has happened to me? Responsibility can only take so much blame. It's time to expand my universe while I still can. I need more. Can I leave my family behind? Yes, I have new reason, but I need the push.
First step, learn Spanish and Italian. Next, I think a villa in Tuscany for a month with my sabadical money next year. I need to travel, paint , to see new light. To live.

critique

As I look back over the Emotional Storm, I am longing for the first rendition. It was raw, yet it had heat and was bolder. But alas, it is buried deep. The scrapings and overpaintings of the final were more textural playthings, no longer so personal. Gone, but a memory. In more than one way.

Shadows on the Sand

The shore today was different, and my usual quest for the perfect rock, uninviting. What I did notice was scent and sound. The mung was back. Thick, and weighting the lazy wash upon the shore, seemingly slower than usual. Inviting for the plovers. It was one of those busy days, as many were enjoying the beach. They played, surfed or frolicked without noticing the actual beauty of what entices most to the edge of Wellfleet. From Lecounts to Cahoons and back to Marconi I strolled past a few gems just calling to be inspected, but today I was more interested in their sounds. I could tell where they were hiding. Below the waves, the roll, tumble and scraping. It was the music that played with the shadows cast by the clouds.
Billowing with gleams of bright behind, they came fast. Their shadows were the star of the day, as they gracefully swept down the beach, like a blanket lifted off to reveal. Whether highlighting the sand cliffs by pulling off the darkness, or sweeping over me and kissing me with it's warmth, the contrast painted the landscape with numerous passes. I like days with a surprise ending, and sure enough, at my little spot by the crest before Marconi...clarity. No mung, clear aqua and calm. A gentle swim before resting on the sand listening to those rocks rolls back into the fingers that pull.
A new painting started to take shape today, from the sand shadows and KB's remark about Cowgirl in the Sand. Was it mentioned in order to have a closer look at the lyric's...is it The Woman in me that makes me want to play this game?

just here

So, here I am, and the painting goes well. I think I need to stop, as I have altered it beyond all stages. Life goes on and I will endure. maybe better than I could imagine. Was it real? Did I really connect with such insight? I miss you, but you are fading all too quickly.
Next painting, a cleansing, less emotion.

Let me start by commenting on how beautiful the water's edge and sand dunes were today. The summer storms of late have been creating a diverse pallet on the beaches of Wellfleet. I am usually searching for my "rock of the day" when I walk the shore. The violent thunderstorms of last Thursday were amazing. I went to the end of the road where I could view PTown getting hit. The lightening was powerful, emotionally as well as visually. The power of Nature reminded me of my reading Carlos Castaneda's book's ages ago. Places of Power. I have found many in my life, and sometimes it is not only found in place, but moment, or less often, people. I found both can co-exist.
Anyway, the storms...
They changed me and my walk. They deposited sculptures.
The rocks were incredible the other day, so many crying out for attention I could not choose. Until I saw them. A pair, a couple so alike, yet different. Soft and pleasantly shaped. Not something I normally would reach for. But for today. And it was obvious why they attracted me. Soulmates.
There were waves formed of perfect rocks cast on the shore, being sirens for my reach. Teasing with their colors, forms and subtle textures. I loved the way the water lapped over them, the sensual sound, the foam curling around and then feeling the pull back to it's wave. I was upset that I didn't have my camera, yet it made an indelible image in my mind. Yes, it is beautiful here and I have squandered my time. I need this to be inspired and provoke my creativity once again.
Yesterday, all was gone, swept clean, cleansed of temptation. Another beautiful day yet so different. Not a rock to be seen...dragged away or just covered? The beach was barren of all that color and texture. Nothing beckoning to be touched. I could appreciate the sand for itself. I kept walking.

Today, most of those beautiful colors were back, tempting..."I'm Soft, I'm the Perfect Oval,"or "Me!" Is there really a siren's call to something so simple as a rock!? I refused, I turned my back on the beckoning. I passed the test...or so I thought, for on my way back from Cahoon's to Lecount's, it was waiting. The elongated shape, soft form and unusually bright yellow. It was there, and I must admit, it almost stopped me, but I still had the strength to resist it's call. And I went home to paint.
So much thought about rocks....

summer scene

Well, Paris has come and gone in a blur. A let down after all of the planning. Kendra was not as interested as I had hoped and was difficult to motivate. Although it was a challenge to navigate the subways and cultural differences, I still love an adventure. More about Paris later.
Well, time has past and summer is in full swing. Wellfleet is always cool, but this year here is so different for me. The boys are in Boston during the week, Kendra is working days , so I have a lot of free time that I have never experienced before.
Idleness and boredom with the perfect summer life. How many walks on the endless beautiful beaches can I take alone? I know that I am in a situation that many would find enviable, but yet this place comes with drawbacks of loneliness. Many relationships here are superficial.
Painting takes me off to another plane where it's not necessary to share thoughts or actions. I painted frantically yesterday in reaction to an emotional outpouring, feelings out of my control. A new friend, a kindred spirit, gone before we could fully explore and experience. I feel the loss but cannot openly demonstrate it or ask for more.

first blog , a post of my own!

So, Here I am...available to all cyberstalkers. Just a simple place to read my thoughts. Wisdoms may abound some days or not for months.
I wanted to set this up as a space to set my mind straight, especially when going to Paris next month. I seem to forget details, so a place that I can review my feelings will be nice.

I've been doing the research, planning the trip with Kendra and sometimes second guessing myself.
How are the two of us going to get thru on our own with speaking a word of French. Will we run out of money? Will we get lost?
How will I react to all of the art I've been studying all of my life. I'll be in the landscapes of Monet!
I plan on bring my watercolors to prove it.
I'll have to find out how to publish my photos. I'm so tech challenged...this will be a learning experience on it's own.
JustJane