My Battle With Modern Technology

Give me a challenge and tell me that I could not do it, I will prove you wrong, even if it kills me! 

Call me a stubborn old woman!

Except when it comes to modern technology. I surrender to:
    Computers
    Notebooks
    i-Pads
    i-pods 
May be even i-phones.

Give me back my Pen and Pad! (Pad of paper, I mean.)

I do enjoy being able to obtain information on the Net. I can find out the facts and correct my faulty memories on most any given topics. I can find out how I can go from Point A to Point B. I can gather information on most any subjects that I wish to learn.

Hooray for the Internet!

And I am awed as to what Power the Net has - it is allowing me to share My stories with you. Especially with those of you some thousands of miles away from me. All with a click of the Key. 

But, it also leaves it wide open to anyone in the world who wishes to invade my "domain." 

"The Big Brother is watching you." Remember "1984"? The book by Orwell.

It is here in this 21st century. 

It has also enabled unscrupulous people to gather, and sometimes alter, and spread false information about us. 

And we are helpless and not able to defend ourselves. 

So my advice to all is: Be mindful of what you say and wish for! 

You don't know who is listening!

A New Year

I cannot tell you how my "time" went. I have been living at the Conservatory for a little over two years now. But-

I have neglected to keep up with my writing. 

I have somewhat neglected to do some real painting.

You see, I have being piddling - doing little watercolor cards at the kitchen counter. Watercolor is cleaner and far less toxic than oil, and painting little watercolors takes little effort or thought. A cop out, I know. I make birthday cards and send them to selected "neighbors." They love the cards and praise me. Hence, I paint more little cards. What a "circle of events."

And, I have spent a lot of time watching News on television. What happens in the country worries me a lot. 

What is happening?

Throughout my ninety years, I had seen a lot, lived through a lot... 

I am not afraid of change, but I am afraid of "unreasonableness" and "madness."

I, like many, have "blinders" over my eyes, live on.

ON TURNING NINTY

Last Wednesday, I turned 90.

Among my ancestors, only my paternal grandmother lived past 90. I believe she was 94 or 95 when she passed away.
Grandmother refused to leave China when my family fled from the Communist invasion and went to Hong Kong in 1949. She and her second-daughter, my single aunt, lived together.  For almost thirty years, she lived under the terror and suffering from the new government. I vaguely remember stories about how she was made to live in only one part of her three story home, having to allow others to take over her other parts of the house. And, how, during the young Red Army "madness", she lost everything. The story was that somehow they found out about her diamonds hidden under the floor boards and confiscated them, among other things.   

My mother said, since my father's mother would not move to Hong Kong with us, she could not take her mother, my long-widowed maternal grandmother, to Hong Kong with us. Her logic, certainly not mine. If only I had any say-so in those days. I would have at lease made some "noise." Grandma went to live with one of her brothers-in-law and passed away a few years later.

And here I am, ninety-years-old, living comfortably in a nice two-bedroom apartment, in a modern and fast-growing part of Texas. I have a view of the most wonderful sunsets a lot of the times. I am well-fed and well-cared of. I am surrounded by some good friends and caring staff. I am well-loved by my children and their spouses, and by my grand-children. What is more - I can still walk without a cane. My middle daughter, Melinda, gave me a plaque that says, "Age is like a hat. It's all in how you wear it, Honey."

My cup runneth over.

My only worry is the "craziness" in the country.

I am not a praying type, but  for the sake of our children and grand-children, I am praying that "This will pass."

Good Design In PAINTING

No, I have not abandoned my blog or painting. It just seems that my days slip away from me, without me doing any productive works. But then, at almost 90, I am entitled to "goof -off". Right? There is nothing urgent that requires me to "get with it." Isn't there?

I still read, paint, and I study about art and life - that is to say that I LIVE.

But, the days do seem to slip away faster than I realize.

So back to the idea of Design, John Carlson, the great artist and teacher said, "If you approach nature without some idea (that is, when you are painting nature), she is merciless in the way in which she piles lumber in your way."

Because you are not really painting the world out there. You are painting a design that you impose on the world. Without that design concept, you can get caught up cataloging what is in front of you.

Where were you, John, when I needed you, when I was in Europe painting landscapes.

Design is the over-riding structure you impose on your painting. Without it, details, incidentals, nuances and distractions can easily bury you.
Wow, that is profound!

So begin your painting with a design idea firmly in your mind, then you have a road map.
Follow the road map.
Every mark is doing something.
Be aware of that "something" when you paint.
Each mark influences the entire dynamic of your painting.
Do thumbnail sketches (that's what every teacher says.)
Use a view-finder.
Stand back 10'-12' often.
Chang your view orientation.
Walk away sometimes.
Crop and frame dramatically.
Find large, strong value masses to drive your painting.

THINK in terms of design!

Your paintings become more engaging and your success rate soars.

DO IT!

EDIE'S POEMS

Where I'm From 


    I am from the books crowding the shelves,
 siting around. 

    I am from the old rotten apple tree
 From the tree-house that has gone with the fallen limb.

    I am from the red brick school,
sitting there.
    It is no longer mine.

    I am from pillow forts and gun fights with my brother.
   
    I am from the stuffed tiger who came with me everywhere.

    I am from homemade soup stirring in the kitchen,
And shrimp Wonton with my grand-mother.

    I am from photographs lining the walls,
Mysterious figures of the past.

    I am from shelves weighted down by trinkets and tokens.

    I am from the green house on the corner,
The old swing-set and the playhouse. 

                                     By Edie Olderman
                         (my 11-year old grand-daughter)

WHERE DID THE TIME GO?

Here I am in Plano, TX, for the tenth month.
Almost ten months!
Where did the time go? 
Yes, I have been very content in this old folks' place. It is not home, but it is okay.
Living among some 200+ Seniors is still a "new" experience for me. I do, however, finding it interesting. 
I have found people from all different parts of the U.S. and beyond, and people with very different backgrounds. 

Lots of materials for a story teller.
Someday, I will tell you a story or two.

In the meantime, I have learned a lot about people and life. 

I came across this and wish to share it with you -

        The best part of life is not just surviving
             but thriving -

        With passion and compassion, 

        And humor and style,

        And generosity and kindness.

MY FRIEND BEVERLY

I first saw Beverly Montgomery at an art workshop in Ardmore, Oklahoma, in late 1999.

I was blown away by her colorful and vibrant watercolor paintings. I said to myself that I wished that I could paint like her. I was a greenhorn of a painter, seeking advice and help. I wanted to know Beverly. And I did.

Beverly became my mentor, my teacher, and my good friend.
We traveled to Mexico, Italy, and Portugal to paint.
Of course, we painted in many places in Oklahoma - Murray State Park, Turner Falls, Sulphur, Ardmore, etc.

Beverly Montgomery was always interested in Art. However, It was not until her boys were grown that she went back to school and obtained her art degrees - BA from University of Texas at Dallas, TX; and MFA from Texas Women's University in Denton, TX.

A resident of Texas for many years before moving to Marietta, Oklahoma. She was active in the art communities in and around Dallas, TX. and later in Ardmore, Oklahoma.

She mastered her art so well that she was awarded the coveted title of Member of Southwest Watercolor Society (SWS).

Beverly taught briefly at Murray State College, Tishmingo, Oklahoma; and for the last few decades, she taught at Goddard Center for Visual and Performing Arts in Arddmore, Oklahoma. She did workshops in Ada, Holdenville, Madill, and Sulphur, Oklahoma.

She touched many of us, want-to-be artists, and helped many of us to become true artists.

Beverly passed away in the early morning of July 15, 2017 - while we, some good friends of hers, prepared an Art Show in honor of her, at the Conservatory at Plano, TX.

Beverly passed away.

The show went on.

Her art lives on.

THE LITLE POETESS

My ten-year old grand-daughter writes poetry. 
Here are some of her poems:

The Ringy-Dings

The Ringy-Dings
Are thingy things
That ding ding ding when they move
And they hover
And they ground.
They really are quite dumber 
And look like a mound.
And what they eat is disgusting.
It smells all musty
And looks all dusty
And is called remusty.
And some are green
And some are mean
And some smell like poop
And some go gloop
And some are in the shape of a hoop.
And they drag around spaghetti
And they stare at parettidetti
Which is funny rigatti
And also a pigati.
And they have Afros made of cloud,
And they are very loud.
They like dingy places
And mingy faces
That are stinky 
And blinky
And they leave trails
Of floating goo.
And they faceplant in rails
And they slime
A trail of blue.
But even if I could I would never ever ever change the amazing 
RINGY-dings!!!!!!!!!!

One Little Dot

One little dot of light
In a sea of night.
One little star in the sky
One little plane flying by
One little speck in the sea
One little dot in the world
That's me!!!!!!!!!! 

The Sun

The sun
It just makes you want to have fun.
It's bright,
It brings light. 

Writing

Writing,
It brings out imagination,
Makes the characters fighting.
Fascination.
You weave a story,
don't make it boring
The hero won glory,
The eagle is soaring.
Fantasy.
A mantis sea,
A tiger freed,
A kittens need.
Knights in shinning armour,
A poor old farmer,
A miller.
An assassin, a killer.
Writing is so fun.
You can do it everywhere, any time,
In the sun,
Even in front of a mime!

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP

Last night I got a phone call from my old schoolmate Joyce.

Joyce and I went to England together after our graduation from Hong Kong University in 1954. We traveled on S.S.Asia, from Hong Kong to Italy. And from Italy, we went on an overnight train to Calais; then crossed the English Channel to Dover; and then, rode a train to London.
We stayed at Joyce's aunt's place in London for a couple of weeks.
You remember the story about us washing her aunt's antique vase by mistake?
You are not supposed to WASH the dust off antiques!
We did not know.
We were two ignorant and silly girls!
Her aunt did not get mad at us. She forgave us. What a Sport!

Joyce, my friend from sixty some years ago.

Joyce now lives in Australia with her husband, Ernie.

I was so thrilled to hear her voice.

Joyce and her family were refugees from Shanghai, like me and my family in 1948-9. Joyce is part English, part German, part French, part Asian, and part I don't know what. Me, I am pure "Han", Chinese.
Joyce could speak Chinese as well as I could.
We became good friends at the University.
After I moved to the U.S., we kept in touch all these years.
Isn't that great?

Joyce and I never had any words. We respect each other.

It was so good to hear her voice.

We talked, and we talked.

We filled each other in on all the news relating to our old school mates, etc.
She wanted to know how I like my new life and so on.
There was such warmth in her caring voice and I was so touched.

Since I came to the Conservatory, I have received many cards, letters, phone calls, messages, and such from my friends in Ada, Oklahoma. They all wished me well and wanted to know how my new life is. 
Some of them, I did not think that I knew that well. 

Yes, I do have lot more friends than I realized.

I used to be quite cynical about that aspects of life. I used to say that I had many acquaintances but not really many friends. Which is probably true for most people, if you think about it. 

What is a friend?

A friend is someone who likes you for whom you are. 

A friend is honest with you in all aspects of your relationship.

A friend tells you the truth even though you may not like to hear it.

A friend is someone who comes to your rescue if you need help.

A friend is someone who can disagree with you but still talks to you. 

A friend does not have to see or talk to you everyday, but he or she is there for you if you need him or her. 

A friend does not take advantages of you in any way.

A friend is there for Life.

I am lucky that I have many friends. 

I am also lucky that I am making new friends.

I wish you the same!

The Loner

They call him Whitie. 
He has a full head of fluffy white hair.

I had seen him around. 
He did not say much. 
Sometimes, he would acknowledge your "Good Morning." Sometimes, he would give you a half-hearted smile. Sometimes, he would just look at you. 
Perhaps he did not hear my greeting.

That morning, I went to the dining room for lunch. John, the dining room manager, asked me if Whitie could sit with me. "Sure," I said.

Whitie sat down, and ordered his meal.

Since I am supposed to make conversation with anyone eating with me, I started by introducing myself and asked him how long had he been at the Conservatory.

He said, "Six months."
"How do you like it here?" I asked him.
"It's terrible," he said.
I was taken aback.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
" My son wants to mange my life. He sold my house. He put me on an airplane and sent me here," he said.

I did not know what to say.

I was thinking that I was one of the lucky ones because I made my own choice of coming to this senior living place. I would resent it if my daughters did the same to me.

I waited a minute or two. trying to collect my wits.

"I was a ski instructor," he said.

"I had ten acres of land and a big house. I miss sitting on my front porch watching the deer go by,"
he  continued.

I forced myself to make a smile.

"I understand." I said.

Did I really?

"I hate it here," he said again.
"Where does your son live?' I asked.
"A mile from here,"he said.

"He comes to see me once a month," he said.
Obviously, he did not think that was often enough. 

"How many children do you have?" I asked.
"Three," he said.
"Where do they live?" I asked.
He looked at me and said,
"My daughter came to see me once . . ."

I was silent.

"It will get better,"I said to him. A white lie?

"Thank you for talking to me,"he said and smiled.

I am going to make a point of greeting him and talking to him. I hope that I can make his life a little more bearable for him.

I wonder how many "Whities" are in this place.