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Had an interesting discussion over on Nextdoor which I seldom use.  But I did join the book club, thinking I’d meet some of my neighbors who are possibly interested in reading similar things.

I decided to read Gulag Archipelago which I finally found in kindle format, and not the mashed up junk I had downloaded from internet archive.  Well, it’s three volumes, around 700 pages each!  And once I started, I couldn’t stop, couldn’t put it down.  So, I mentioned it in the book club in our local nextdoor neighborhood app.  One nice guy said he though it should be required reading, as we could see some similarities in our culture today.  And then another guy butted in to put him down and call him a racist.

Well, so, I had to engage.  The discussion on my part was reasonable and civil.  On his part, put downs and calling me names.  After a bit, with the first guy engaging as well, the guy went back and deleted several of his rude message.

I mentioned that, and wondered if he had more to contribute other than ad hominems.  Long story short, after a while, he posted a link to an WaPo article, which I couldn’t read because I don’t subscribe.  We discussed the election lawsuits which he poopooed, and I said he should be looking forward to them, especially since he’s so certain his side won.  And he again called me insane, and sick, and said he is blocking me.

Wow.  I’m blocked, by a guy who was insulting, rude, name calling, and I’m really thrilled about it!  I told someone else of Nextdoor who was being insulted by him to keep engaging, and he would get blocked too!  Celebrations all around!  Some people are just plain trolls.  No question.

Funny thing happened with my new health insurance coverage, and the local CVS where we usually get our prescriptions.  I had a prescription renewal last month, and when I got the call it was ready, I was told it was going to be $352 and I asked why so much!  I was told the insurance company said I couldn’t have it covered again until February.

Well, we have new coverage, effective January 1.  So, I decided to see if I could get it paid for by the new insurance.

Went to the pharmacy, and asked the youngster who waited on me about the prescription.  He got it, and I told him, about the price being $352 and I didn’t have the money, and wondered if the new insurance would pay for it.

He said, “Let me see,” and pulled it out.  It was actually $3.52!  He said, “Well, the old insurance must have paid for it!”

Surprise!  So, I asked him should he take the new insurance card now, and he looked at it carefully.

“Next time.”

I asked, ” Why?”

“It was from last month and billed to the old insurance company.  If I redo it, it will cost more under the new plan.”  🙂

God is good.  CVS is as well!  Or at least our pharmicists over there are, and Santa may have played a roll!  God is good!  🙂

 

For me, I was just a kid when I decided I wanted to be an artist. Of course, the impossibility was obvious, and I changed that to wanting to be a nun. The convent across the street from one of our early residences so often burst forth with beautiful singing, and I deduced nuns just taught school, did art work, and sang beautiful music. The also got to only wear one thing, no worries about fashion, or what everyone else was wearing. They were all wearing the same thing.

But that was then. When I grew up and married and had kids, I never thought I’d have the opportunity to do the type of thing I liked, because actually staying home and raising kids is hard work.

But, then, they go to school! And my wonderful husband said that I, too, could go to school while they were in school. So, my local community college was my favorite hangout!

First, I studied painting, and drawing, and later discovered design and sculpture. My instructors were community college type teachers who didn’t think too much would ever come from their classes, and some admitted they were really teaching appreciation, as once folks realized art is hard work, they just appreciate others that much more.

Others thought they were teaching hobbyists. Our classes were filled with curious youngsters and retired government and military folk. A few housewives, I suppose, like me.  Here’s a few of my early drawing class efforts.  

 

I cannot find any Christmas spirit, and even the Christmas lights neighbors have lighted the neighborhood with don’t really help.  COVID restrictions and lockdown have limited church services so much they have

 

n’t even posted a notice as to when mass will be on Christmas eve.  That’s depressing.  Usually the most attended mass all year, and we have a limit on how many can occupy the church at one time.

We’ve been signing up for weekly Sunday masses, and it’s worked out pretty ok, but the church seems so empty and drab with no singing, no hymnals, no greetings to each other, and everyone having to stand on a round spot to keep from crowding neighbors….ugh.

May God be with and bless you all, and keep our country safe from the encroaching globalists who want to take over.  Once this nation falls, there will be no where folks can go looking for freedom!  And those on the left just won’t get it, until it’s too late, and they become victims themselves.

May the Spirit of Christmas be with each and every one of you.

I’ve got a family of foxes living under my shed! What a treat! A veritable gift from God during these trying stay-at-home days! They’ve kept me enchanted, and I’ve been trying to get good video of them regularly. The mom is quite nice looking and seems healthy. She comes at least twice a day, and the kits rush out and nurse on her while she’s standing there! She often picks at them, probably cleaning them. Since they have gotten bigger, a few try to follow her when she trots off into the woods. The road running right by the small area of woods is scary. I’m afraid one or more may venture out into the roadway! Can’t bear the thought!

None of my pictures are on this computer, yet, but I’m going to post some of them later today.

Today, I woke up early, and walked the dog in a terrific downpour, picked up the newspaper, and grabbed my coffee and ipad for a first look at the day. It’s now sunny and sweet, but then, it was still dark.

For some odd reason, I clicked on a link somewhere that took me to youtube and food videos. Wisconsin’s famous butter burger first. And after licking my chops I went on to a video about different types of tenderizing to use on steaks, and could taste those trial steaks. I swear. Then, Navajo fried bread, umm umm, and on to English muffins, made in a huge cast iron skillet.

I used to have a huge cast iron skillet! Sent it with the kids when they moved to Arizona. But those muffins looked mouth watering good!

Now, when I should be thinking of folding laundry, and once again attempting to get this sewing machine working they way I’d like, I have food on the brain. What will supper look like tonight? Anyone’s guess.

This is my first block using the block editor…or I should say, the second, as the heading, or title is a separate block. I have to learn how to use these blocks to display what I want here the way I want it. Just took a short Yoast course in how-to, and I realize doing is the best way to learn. So, I’m practicing.

This is a good way to make something stand out.

This is also an experiment. To see just how a drop cap will display once I’ve written a whole paragraph. This is something I might use should I write a poem or post one that I like.

Long ago, I was an art student, and a racing fan, both.  Each year, we’d make an annual trek to Saratoga Race Course, in beautiful Saratoga Springs, NY and enjoy a few days of serious racing and the Midsummer Derby as it’s known, the Travers Stakes.  Back in 1973, the same year as Secretariat’s appearance there, another chestnut speedster of 3 yrs was also there.  Spanish Riddle.  So blindingly fast he set the six furlong track record, indeed, one that has only once been equaled and never bested, until late 2019.

His was a sad story, because as fast and wonderful as he was, he broke a foreleg in a workout right there.  His situation was dire, and his handlers who loved him so, decided to save his life, constructing a special boot to replace his leg, and he was retired to stud right then.

He stood first right on Rt. 9 just a bit past Hillsboro, VA at a lovely spread called the Virginia Stallion Station.  If there were other stallions there, I never knew.  But, I loved horses, loved Spanish Riddle, and loved painting, so one day I dared to ask, by phone, if I could come down with my camera and take a picture of him, intending to attempt to do a classic portrait of him. One that would show him as equal to some of those on display at the Racing Hall of Fame in Saratoga, one of my favorite haunts.

By this time, I knew and understood from conversations I’d overheard, or directly participated in myself, that horsemen are notoriously critical of horse artists, and pick them apart freely.  They live with them, love them, handle them daily, and no artist could ever make a good enough painting of their loved fabulous champion.  I knew this.

I arrived with my camera and was greeted by Mr. Stanley Greene, the stud manager, who bragged about his charge, brought him out with pride, and had his groom hold him for a classic pose.  I had chosen a perfect time of day to capture light on his shining coat, and posed him with the sun over my shoulder, getting a few really good shots.  Where these pictures are now is anyone’s guess.  Ugh.

They were nice, accommodating, and just a tad condescending, as I expected.  I wasn’t imagining their skepticism and doubt in my abilities.  After all, I was just a student at a community college.  All true.

I worked on the painting for about three weeks.  Using oils, I realized I had picked great light and shadows were just right for a classical portrait similar to those found in the museum, or galleries in Middleburg, where I liked to lunch on occasion to look at horse art.

Using several transparent layers, I thought I got the colors just right, and as soon as it was dry enough, I thought I’d go see if I’d done a good job or not.  Well, the best judges of that of course, would be his people, his tenders, the people who loved him. So I called, and asked if Mr. Greene would like to see it.

“Of course, come on down and let us see it,” he replied, chuckling.  I’m sure he thought it would not be much.  They did love that horse!

Well, I went out one day in the afternoon, with the painting framed, and covered with a blanket.  I was greeted warmly, and invited into the barn office where Mr. Greene had his desk, a few chairs, some art prints hanging on the walls, well lighted, including Degas’ The Races, which is world famous.  It took up a very prominent place across from his desk.

I placed the covered painting on a chair, and he and his groom got ready to see my portrait of Spanish Riddle,  six furlong track record holder at Saratoga Race Course, champion sprinter, so  removed the blanket.

The smiles disappeared from their faces in an instant.  They just stood and stared at it.

“You gave him back his leg!”

Yes, I had.  They could think of nothing to say.  I asked if I’d done a good job, and what did they think of it.  They dissembled, hemmed and hawed, and said it was terrific!

I was so pleased by this reception, by their obvious appreciation, that I perhaps stupidly said, “If I were to leave it here, where would it hang?”

Mr. Greene immediately rounded his desk, and took down Degas’ The Races.  I said, “OK! It’s yours.  Take good care of him!  He’s a super champion!”

And they were so happy!  I was so flattered!  How could I not be?  I left it there with his people in his barn and will never ever forget Spanish Riddle.

My one regret was I forgot to even take a picture of it!  Stupid, stupid.  No idea where it might be now, either. Spanish Riddle after a few years foundered and had to be put down.  Virginia Stallion Station moved to the Middleburg area, and I lost touch immediately, my goal having been accomplished anyway.  I doubt Mr. Greene who was middle aged at the time is still managing a stud farm somewhere, unless it’s in heaven.  The painting is forever lost.

But the memory lives, in my heart, and so does beautiful Spanish Riddle and his people.