This is a quick update on themes in recent posts or maybe the things that never got written. My one-block walks continue, providing mental health at no cost to taxpayers:
Teen groups could also apply to cedar waxwings. They move as attention-deficit flash-mobs from tree to tree. I'm collecting images for a future textile collage of waxwings in the soapberry tree.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
3/25/10
If you drive, don't draw
Cellphone use is already banned in many school zones. Soon they will crack down on pencil use. Scrawling on scrap paper and post-it notes will become a criminal offense. And then how will I remember the highlight of the day?
The most hilarious sight of the morning was a middle school boy traveling to school on his metal scooter. He was loaded down with the typical two-ton backpack. Dangling from the backpack by its handle was the boy's violin case. With each leg-kick push of the scooter, the violin case bounced on the sidewalk.
This is much more amusing if you are not the parent making revolving payments on a dang orchestra or band instrument for a middle school student.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
The most hilarious sight of the morning was a middle school boy traveling to school on his metal scooter. He was loaded down with the typical two-ton backpack. Dangling from the backpack by its handle was the boy's violin case. With each leg-kick push of the scooter, the violin case bounced on the sidewalk.
This is much more amusing if you are not the parent making revolving payments on a dang orchestra or band instrument for a middle school student.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
Jump Up Dance Around
It's got a good beat. You can dance to it.
I'm having great fun displaying our latest art project and explaining the importance of lifesize art to kids and adults. Unfortunately this wonderful moment has caused an annoying song to be stuck in my head. I'm having to jump up, jump up, and get down like I haven't since Danger Baby was home from college one summer. Danger Baby was totally into House of Pain's "Dance Around".
Each of my sons has an interest in music that overlaps with mine. Each is different. House of Pain is not in an overlapping area. I will not say "Jump Around" is a "low point of American music", as I can understand the energy. Plus, I wouldn't want to repeat a memorable dinner table pronouncement from my dad thirty-five years ago when he was annoyed by my music.
Enjoy the energy in the art. The little students are jumping with excitement.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
3/22/10
Montessori Teen Insight
I was working with a four and a half year old girl studying teens and place value. You know, eleven is one ten and one unit. Thirteen is one ten and three units... So, I asked this little girl in her black crinkle patent go-go boots, "What does teen mean?"
"It means you are in a group!" Very true words from a little girl Teenagers are all about groups!
Besides her go-go boots, this little person has more interpersonal intelligence than I can comprehend. You've heard of Howard Gardner's theory of multiple intelligences?
I can zip my boots, and I'm mighty glad I survived parenting teenagers. The teens mean many ten groups vs. ever-tired parental units.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
"It means you are in a group!" Very true words from a little girl Teenagers are all about groups!
Besides her go-go boots, this little person has more interpersonal intelligence than I can comprehend. You've heard of Howard Gardner's theory of multiple intelligences?
I can zip my boots, and I'm mighty glad I survived parenting teenagers. The teens mean many ten groups vs. ever-tired parental units.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
Too many elections, too few voters
We will have four elections this spring. It's great to have many candidates vying for positions, but so many elections seems silly and wasteful to me.
This photo was taken in rainy early February before the statewide primary election, our second election of the year. We had already voted in a special election to fill a city council seat, but that election went to a runoff.
Early voting in that runoff between Davidson and Fang is in progress but I can't remember if it is partisan or nonpartisan. Still ahead we have the state primary runoff in April. Then there are county and school district elections in May.
I try to be a responsible citizen, but I'm nearing voter overdose. On the upside, many Collin County old folks are finding frequent employment as early-voting poll workers. Let's put Americans back to work by having more elections!?
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
3/21/10
Four Quilt 3 Dog Night
So very cold last night. Outside my window the snow kept making soft plopping sounds. I would half-wake and wonder if these were the sounds of a plomphing, hopping rabbit rustling under the bed. Didn't I put the rabbit back in his cage for the night?
After a particularly scary nightmare about rebuilding a corrugated cardboard wheelchair on the top of a hill during a windstorm, I sat up wide awake. My blankets and quilts had slipped onto the floor leaving me shivering, but the preschool rabbit was safely in his cage.
It was clearly the fault of the CBS sportscaster who proclaimed, "It's raining threes on the University of New Mexico!," during the sad second round basketball game last night. Things didn't go well for the Lobos against the Huskies, and threes seemed to rain in my dream.
Now I have the Three Dog Night version of Paul William's song, "Old Fashioned Love Song" haunting my waking hours. On the good side, I'm remembering the graphic impact of the old-fashioned four-block quilts on display at the IQSC in February through March 28th.
Just an old-fashioned love song
One I'm sure they wrote for you and me
Just an old-fashioned love song
Comin' down in 3-part harmony
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
After a particularly scary nightmare about rebuilding a corrugated cardboard wheelchair on the top of a hill during a windstorm, I sat up wide awake. My blankets and quilts had slipped onto the floor leaving me shivering, but the preschool rabbit was safely in his cage.
It was clearly the fault of the CBS sportscaster who proclaimed, "It's raining threes on the University of New Mexico!," during the sad second round basketball game last night. Things didn't go well for the Lobos against the Huskies, and threes seemed to rain in my dream.
Now I have the Three Dog Night version of Paul William's song, "Old Fashioned Love Song" haunting my waking hours. On the good side, I'm remembering the graphic impact of the old-fashioned four-block quilts on display at the IQSC in February through March 28th.
Just an old-fashioned love song
One I'm sure they wrote for you and me
Just an old-fashioned love song
Comin' down in 3-part harmony
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
3/20/10
Grocery art
Spring break did not include tourist meccas or sandy beaches, but I hit two brand new grocery stores on my staycation. Neither had super-saturated color postcards for sale on a revolving metal rack.
What's the buzz? Tell me what's happening? This is the grand opening of the Frankford Road/Marsh Lane Aldi store at 10:30 Thursday.
Aldi has come to DFW. Comparison grocery shopping is a serious recreational sport here, and our area is often a test zone for marketing concepts.
Besides the first store openings of the German-owned Aldi chain, this week also marks the opening of the Park Lane Whole Foods store with a dedicated shopping cart escalator to the lower level parking garage.
The preschool rabbit was miffed that I'd given him raw asparagus last evening instead of fresh cilantro. He led me a merry extended chase eating up the minutes on the game clock. He was the victor, thwarting efforts to get him out from under the bed where I store dining table leafs, my mom's phone journals, and a big portfolio of watercolors. I was too frazzled to pack a sack lunch so it was an excuse to visit the new Whole Foods store. I figured I could brave the pouring rain to grab a salad bar box lunch.
Hurrying and Whole Foods don't go together. Unlike Aldi where the employees were caffeinated and ready to explain shopping cart deposits and the green implications of self-bagging, the wheat-germ gang at Whole Foods hadn't quite gotten the tongs to the salad bar at 8:45 a.m.
I'll go back when I'm not late for work. As I whizzed away from the check-out, I glimpsed an Art-o-mat machine. I need a technicolor postcard of that!
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
What's the buzz? Tell me what's happening? This is the grand opening of the Frankford Road/Marsh Lane Aldi store at 10:30 Thursday.
Aldi has come to DFW. Comparison grocery shopping is a serious recreational sport here, and our area is often a test zone for marketing concepts.
Besides the first store openings of the German-owned Aldi chain, this week also marks the opening of the Park Lane Whole Foods store with a dedicated shopping cart escalator to the lower level parking garage.
The preschool rabbit was miffed that I'd given him raw asparagus last evening instead of fresh cilantro. He led me a merry extended chase eating up the minutes on the game clock. He was the victor, thwarting efforts to get him out from under the bed where I store dining table leafs, my mom's phone journals, and a big portfolio of watercolors. I was too frazzled to pack a sack lunch so it was an excuse to visit the new Whole Foods store. I figured I could brave the pouring rain to grab a salad bar box lunch.
Hurrying and Whole Foods don't go together. Unlike Aldi where the employees were caffeinated and ready to explain shopping cart deposits and the green implications of self-bagging, the wheat-germ gang at Whole Foods hadn't quite gotten the tongs to the salad bar at 8:45 a.m.
I'll go back when I'm not late for work. As I whizzed away from the check-out, I glimpsed an Art-o-mat machine. I need a technicolor postcard of that!
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
3/19/10
Magnets on the move
Have appts. Need magnets. Sounds like a cheap classified ad.
My walking buddy moved her father out of his apartment into an "independent living facility with amenities." You would think the amenities would include fresh refrigerator magnets, but we are not living in utopia! This is not a nanny state. Sometimes we have to tough it out on our own.
Medicare doesn't cover refrigerator magnets even if yours are pitiful and don't stick anymore. My buddy's dad has doctor appointments to keep track of so he needs magnets.
Medicare doesn't cover my own dad's wheelchair now because he is in a skilled care facility instead of assisted living. This post cannot detail the convoluted thinking behind this ruling. I'm thinking that Dad's wheelchair has a lot of metal parts where we could use magnets to post advertisements at a price--Sort of like a slow-moving sandwich board to promote crocheted kleenex holders handmade by some lady named Ruby.
When I visit Dad it is depressing to see the family photos on the old fridge. My sister, brother, and I are gathered in these freeze frames from the weekend after our mom died in 2005. We look exhausted, stiff, and weepy stuck up with assorted magnets, frozen for the long haul at a very bad moment in time.
My walking buddy moved her father out of his apartment into an "independent living facility with amenities." You would think the amenities would include fresh refrigerator magnets, but we are not living in utopia! This is not a nanny state. Sometimes we have to tough it out on our own.
Medicare doesn't cover refrigerator magnets even if yours are pitiful and don't stick anymore. My buddy's dad has doctor appointments to keep track of so he needs magnets.
Medicare doesn't cover my own dad's wheelchair now because he is in a skilled care facility instead of assisted living. This post cannot detail the convoluted thinking behind this ruling. I'm thinking that Dad's wheelchair has a lot of metal parts where we could use magnets to post advertisements at a price--Sort of like a slow-moving sandwich board to promote crocheted kleenex holders handmade by some lady named Ruby.
When I visit Dad it is depressing to see the family photos on the old fridge. My sister, brother, and I are gathered in these freeze frames from the weekend after our mom died in 2005. We look exhausted, stiff, and weepy stuck up with assorted magnets, frozen for the long haul at a very bad moment in time.
I'm opposed to grimy, old refrigerator magnets, and support No Refrigerator Left Behind. The other day I followed a pickup truck hauling a refrigerator. The fridge had been wrapped in many rounds of Saran Wrap to hold the door shut and all the magnets and photos in place like a sandwich-wrapped appliance mummy in situ. I tried to take a photo with my phone, but took a photo of myself instead!
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
3/17/10
Limestone
Today I got sufficiently foolhardy to climb down the slope to the creek. I was following an orange butterfly, and hoping for a better view of the tiny fish enjoying the sun-warmed shallow water.
The butterfly was long gone when I got down there, but I got a good reminder that tree roots are holding this whole bank together. The limestone chips and erodes easily, creating concavities.
The macho mallards weren't interested in my insights into the precarious nature of the whole enterprise on their spring break afternoon.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
The butterfly was long gone when I got down there, but I got a good reminder that tree roots are holding this whole bank together. The limestone chips and erodes easily, creating concavities.
The macho mallards weren't interested in my insights into the precarious nature of the whole enterprise on their spring break afternoon.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
The woodpecker of the day
Take my picture, please, please, please!
Today the red-bellied woodpecker wanted to appear on the cover of the supermarket checkout tabloid. It was jealous of yesterday's downy woodpecker. There's no other explanation for its cooperation with the papparazzi.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
Today the red-bellied woodpecker wanted to appear on the cover of the supermarket checkout tabloid. It was jealous of yesterday's downy woodpecker. There's no other explanation for its cooperation with the papparazzi.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
3/16/10
Honoring a dead anole
Fifteen years ago when I desperately needed a connection to nature, I found small, color-changing anole lizards appearing on my patio, outside my workplace, and sunning on every rock. They were all telling me to Pay Attention, to start looking outside myself and my little drama. I probably wouldn't have noticed, except that they suddenly seemed to be everywhere. In a way, those anoles saved my life, or at least my sanity.
Now I am paying attention to the changes in an anole on my front sidewalk. He first appeared on my front stoop in mid-February, way too early for anoles to be out. When this lizard appeared again the first week of March, still stressed and brown. I hoped he was a sign of arriving spring. I put a warm towel on the sidewalk next to him and hoped he would feel better.
A few days later arriving home after work I found him again on the sidewalk, this time dead. Surely a cat, rat, or opossum would carry him off in the night.
It seemed too sad to scoop the lizard into my trash bag on the way to the dumpster. I could bury him, but maybe I should wait for insects to consume him and save his skeleton to show my students.
Each day for over a week I've expected the anole to disappear. Instead the skin shows more color everyday. No profound insights here about life, death, or returning to dust. I don't want to be morbid or gross. I'm just thanking the lizards for their insistent command to observe nature, and to notice by paying attention once again to a small reminder.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
Now I am paying attention to the changes in an anole on my front sidewalk. He first appeared on my front stoop in mid-February, way too early for anoles to be out. When this lizard appeared again the first week of March, still stressed and brown. I hoped he was a sign of arriving spring. I put a warm towel on the sidewalk next to him and hoped he would feel better.
A few days later arriving home after work I found him again on the sidewalk, this time dead. Surely a cat, rat, or opossum would carry him off in the night.
It seemed too sad to scoop the lizard into my trash bag on the way to the dumpster. I could bury him, but maybe I should wait for insects to consume him and save his skeleton to show my students.
Each day for over a week I've expected the anole to disappear. Instead the skin shows more color everyday. No profound insights here about life, death, or returning to dust. I don't want to be morbid or gross. I'm just thanking the lizards for their insistent command to observe nature, and to notice by paying attention once again to a small reminder.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
Princess socks and fairy shoes
Fairies will soon be dancing all along my creek judging from all the pink shoes and booties hanging from the branches of the redbuds. I suspect the tiny ruby-crowned kinglets will be their green-clad handsome partners. I'm remembering the many groups of children I've seen act out the story of the "Twelve Dancing Princesses".
For thirty-five years I've wondered what provoked my 300-level drawing teacher when he assigned our class to "change a shoe into a flower". The gruff, arrogant, heavy-smoking assistant prof did not seem likely to be inspired by a fairy tale or a spring walk along a creek. We believed he thought up the assignment as a particular torture for juniors who were starting to feel comfortable as art majors.
I'm still wondering, and that's more influence than I wanted to credit his teaching in the mid-Seventies. For today, I'll believe a redbud princess once danced before his eyes.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
Accepting photography limitations
I've almost, but not quite, given up trying to photograph the birds I see on my one-block walks. Today's walk was a festival of woodpeckers, and this little downy woodpecker was a real show-off. It seemed jealous that I was slack-jaw agog over a pair of bright red-bellied woodpeckers higher up in the next tree.
The creek was a busy place. I backtracked several times savoring sightings of tiny ruby-crowned kinglets, slow-moving robins, flying ducks and a soaring hawk. I walked through several swarms of gnats and wondered about tiny gray birds flitting about much higher than the kinglets hop. Maybe they are gnatcatchers.
It's time to get out the bird book. I'm still pretty hopeless identifying birdsongs, but my slow walks have helped me notice the rhythm of rustles in the brambles that hint of kinglets.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
The creek was a busy place. I backtracked several times savoring sightings of tiny ruby-crowned kinglets, slow-moving robins, flying ducks and a soaring hawk. I walked through several swarms of gnats and wondered about tiny gray birds flitting about much higher than the kinglets hop. Maybe they are gnatcatchers.
It's time to get out the bird book. I'm still pretty hopeless identifying birdsongs, but my slow walks have helped me notice the rhythm of rustles in the brambles that hint of kinglets.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
3/15/10
Caps For Sale surprise
My brief run through the Sheldon Gallery offered a real surprise. I had no idea that the author/illustrator of the beloved Caps For Sale was a pionerring American abstract artist. I've never even been sure if Esphyr Slobodkina was male or female. Now I know she made wonderful, whimsical found-object collages in two and three dimensions. You can see the works of the exhibition "Rediscovering Slobodkina" on flickr.
Reading about Slobodkina brought even more surprises, although I suspected the connection to Margaret Wise Brown. Slobodkina was born in Siberia, and grew up in Manchuria, before traveling to the U.S. to study art in New York City. Plus, the wonderful peddler of Caps for Sale has a name! It is Pezzo.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
Reading about Slobodkina brought even more surprises, although I suspected the connection to Margaret Wise Brown. Slobodkina was born in Siberia, and grew up in Manchuria, before traveling to the U.S. to study art in New York City. Plus, the wonderful peddler of Caps for Sale has a name! It is Pezzo.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
3/14/10
18-hour Playtex cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye
Thank heaven for the arrival of spring break. I'm hung-up, under-wired, and wrung-out. What that means in my fifty-something life is I'm as as tired as a bra-strap caught on the cosmic washing machine agitator. I've been pulled this way and that for a whole cycle, stretched thin. When I finally get into deep sleep, I have nightmares of shopping for bras.
Tide and Bounce sitting in a tree. K I SS I N G.
Cross my heart promise:
Phrase uttered by children after making a promise to indicate the depth of their sincerity: the speaker is so committed to the action just agreed to that they offer self-inflicted pain and a death wish as proof of their seriousness. Must be accompanied by a gesture of drawing a imaginary X across the speaker's own heart, or else it doesn't count.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
Tide and Bounce sitting in a tree. K I SS I N G.
Cross my heart promise:
Phrase uttered by children after making a promise to indicate the depth of their sincerity: the speaker is so committed to the action just agreed to that they offer self-inflicted pain and a death wish as proof of their seriousness. Must be accompanied by a gesture of drawing a imaginary X across the speaker's own heart, or else it doesn't count.
© 2010 Nancy L. Ruder
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