stuff about artstuff.

Magical.

When I was little, one of my favorite things was to draw under the Christmas tree.  I would lie on my belly for hours at a time all season long with a stack of paper, a pencil, and a sharpener, and just draw. Girls in fancy outfits with outrageously high platform heels, fairy tale characters, imaginary families who lived in extensive underground tunnels or inside trunks of giant trees.
I loved drawing by the warm glow of the tree lights, surrounded by the sparkle and the magic. I always loved to draw, but there was something extra special about this.

What is it that makes a Christmas tree so magical? It's illogical that such amazingly beautiful energy can come from a dead tree wrapped in electrical cords and covered in shiny stuff.  But there's no denying the magic.  I can even feel it taking our evening dog-walks through the neighborhood, soaking in the glow of others' trees from inside their homes.

Flossie, the ultimate love-sponge, will even forgo a comfortable lap to sit under it.

Part of it could be that rarely in life is there such a high concentration of things we love all in one small space - every single thing on there means something special.  It takes something pretty sturdy and powerful to carry that kind of energy on its branches.
Thanks, tree.

Wishing you all the best this holiday, with, of course, the highest concentration possible of things you love.  Merry Christmas everyone!

There's No Place Like This Place.

 
Just another ordinary ferry ride, on another ordinary summer evening. 
We around here tend to take things like this for granted, it's just how we get to the other side. 
I grew up on the other side, and it was just how I alawys got to ... well, everything. 
A perfectly ordinary way to get somewhere. 
People do it every day, to commute; to do ordinary, mundane things and get to ordinary, mundane places. 
Every so often, though, I am lucky enough to remember how extraordinary "ordinary" things really are.



 
I've always loved the colors and textures as the seawater is churned up by the ferry engines.



 
I so dig this place I call home.

So do you remember this?

And this? 
And of course this? 
And ... well, all the rest are here.

If you do, once again: extra bonus points for paying attention.

Gosh I drew these a long time ago.  But guess what?  We're finally "refreshing the line" with some new Seattle and Puget Sound themed designs.  I am excited to get drawing on this new project after all these years, since this place is one of my favorite subjects. 

Stay tuned for more about this very soon!

$2.17

My grandparents lived on a very large wooded lot right in the middle of town.  It was at the top of a hill and much of it was a fairly steep grade, and over the years Granddad had built terraced paths throughout the property, linking wooded gardens, picnic grounds, a horseshoe court, a rope swing, even the remains of tree-houses built for my uncle and mother when they were little. 

It was a magical place, words can't really describe it.  As did everyone else in my family who grew up anywhere between 1932 and 1998, I spent a majority of my childhood roaming the paths, entertaining myself in this wooded wonderland. 
Upkeep was constant: although both became increasingly crippled by arthritis, Granddad spent every waking hour of his retirement maintaining, cleaning, clearing, manicuring, and tinkering... 
and Granny's passion for gardening was apparent in the details. 
When we grandkids were given chores to do to help out, they were often made into some kind of game.  One of my favorites was especially for the littler kids: the fir-cone-Easter-egg-hunt.  Under 100 or so large fir trees, the paths could have easily become littered with cones - but not Granny and Granddad's paths.  Granny would send me outside with a big brown paper grocery bag, and would give me a shiny penny for every cone I picked up from the paths.  There was no cheating and reaching off-path to get a little extra cash, the challenge was to count just how many were on the actual path.

Weekend before last the temperature rose into the 70s for the first time around here since mid-September, and I was finally (sort of) caught up enough with work to take a couple days off and tend to my own little yard. 
I started Saturday by pulling weeds from the flowerbeds, 
but ended up spending most of the day reclaiming one whole side of the backyard from the ivy that annually threatens to overtake us all ("Feed me!" ).  A really lousy job, clearing ivy.  I'm sure you already know this, but I had to say it again.  Really, really lousy. 

Molly thought she was helping me with all my digging.  Um, we'll discuss that another day. 
To entertain myself while doing my own digging, pulling, and trimming, I played the fir-cone-Easter-egg-hunt game.  All day long I counted every single cone I picked up from the grass and from the mess of ivy that had once been (and soon will soon return to) grass.  There was no cheating and reaching into flowerbeds, the challenge was to count just how many were in the actual lawn-area. 

Keeping count became a Zen thing, and although sweaty, aching, and covered head to toe in bugs and dirt ... I quite enjoyed the day.  Although I get no shiny pennies for those 4 garbage cans full of ivy, I managed to collect 217 fir cones ... not too bad for a day's work. 

Just In Case You Thought I Knew What I Was Doing.

So if you've been reading the last few posts, you already know about my recent waking-state public speaking debut: yes, this was the first time I've had my lips anywhere near a microphone or my face in front of a crowd outside of that old recurring nightmare that for my entire adult life has managed to pop up during times of extreme stress: the one where, as I often did growing up, I'm back giving a talk in church  ... but being a nightmare, of course, I appear at the podium in various states of undress and/or sleepwear, and as the dream takes place in the present and I was still a child the last time I prepared a talk for church I've completely forgotten what the talk was to be about, and my notes are probably back in my old bedroom in the house my parents sold 26 years ago so they won't help me now.

What, you don't dream stuff like this?

Um, ok, well ... anyway.

I have to admit that I surprised myself by not only willingly but excitedly participating in the recent Surtex seminar program ... and it really did prove to be fun (no, really, actually fun, not just less-terrible-than-standing-before-my-childhood-church-congregation-as-a-stuttering-pajama-clad-adult, but fun).  Chatting with Dena and Kate (both amazing women!), answering questions, meeting all the enthusiastic people wanting to learn more about the business - it was a great experience from my point of view and I hope it was for all who attended.
(thanks, Leyla Torres, for the photo and the mention!)

But it seemed to have left me on some kind of crazy high or something, because later that day when the amazingly prolific, clever and connected Tara Reed bounced past my booth with that irresistibly sunshiny smile of hers and asked if I'd be up for a quick video interview about licensing, I (quite uncharacteristically) mumbled something like, "sure, why not...?" and only cringed a little when she enthusiastically grinned "Great! I'll be right back with my camera!" (for some reason I thought she meant some other interview, some other time, perhaps someday in the far and distant future - you know, maybe even in a galaxy far, far away...).

So.  All this is just to let you know that if you're at all curious about what I might have to say about my Adventure in Art Licensing, in minimal words and without forethought (it is quite possible my notes for this presentation are still back in my old bedroom at the house my parents sold 26 years ago), hop on over to Tara's Art Licensing Blog to see my interview, and while you're there check out all the others who have shared their own licensing stories.  Wow!  Once again Tara has taken a teensy spark of an idea and turned it into another incredible resource for artists looking to grow their business - this girl just blows me away with all she manages to accomplish, I'm pretty sure she has not only figured out how to exist without sleep, but how to control the Space-time Continuum and I am eagerly awaiting her telesminar and eBook on Warp Speed.

The one thing you are pretty sure to come away with after watching (aside from the fact that I can make my lips completely disappear) is this: Beth Logan had no idea what she was doing.  I mean, just in case I didn't make it clear enough by repeating that several times during the interview.

But it is true - even just a few years ago the kinds of resources that are available to artists now simply didn't exist.  There is a wealth of information out there now to help creatives find their niche and pursue their own Art Business path.  Stumbling blindly into stuff is pretty much how I roll, in general.   Others, however, may prefer an actual plan, even goals, so I've added a new section of art licensing links in my sidebar.

And the cats drinking coffee? 
My very first licensed design.  Although technically, Espresso Time was really the second time I licensed a design ... the first was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away ... seriously long and far, longer and farther than I care to think about: primordial ooze, dinosaurs, Beth's first licensing deal...

The Ocean in February.

Anyone who knows me knows about my thing with the ocean. I'm all about the ocean.

But I have a special thing about the ocean in February.

Most folks wouldn't consider outdoor activities involving the beach this time of year, at least this far north ... but there's a special place in my heart for Pacific Northwest beaches during this particular month.

It all started in 1972. We were planning a little family outing, a long weekend at the cabin over Presidents' Day. Mom said, "we're going to have to make sure and pack lots of warm clothes. I am sure it will be cold and rainy the whole time we're there." but I had a pretty good feeling otherwise. Maybe this was just because I was a kid, and kids aren't very practical. But I felt strongly about it. I said, "I bet you it will be nice!" and then my kid brain went into bargaining mode: "I bet you a pair of clogs that it will be sunny and nice the whole time."

I had been longing for a pair of clogs for so long. Cool wedgie-heeled slip-ons - all the fashionable girls had them. Mom was not too keen on the style, and had been answering my pleas with a firm "No!" for quite some time. Looking back, I can't say I blame her. Allowing her clumsy and cross-eyed little child to leave the house in shoes with a heel (even a tiny one) and no secure straps or laces? It hadn't even been 2 full years since I had spontaneously tumbled down the driveway jamming my front tooth clean through my lower lip, and that was in flat Mary Janes strapped on tight. Heaven only knew what kind of damage could be done in floppy little clogs.

But she smiled, agreed to my "bet"...

The sun shone on the beach that Presidents' Day weekend, as it shone on my wishes for fabulous new shoes.

That next week I got my dream clogs: soft crinkly leather, cork wedgie-heels, and blue as the sun shining on the Pacific ocean in February.

Among other dumb things about 2009, it ended up being a particularly ocean-free year for me. That was totally lame, but instead of dwelling on the past, I'm happy to move forward and soak in all that this happier new year has to offer.

Off to a pretty good start, ocean-wise and fabulous-shoe-wise (really) and I haven't tumbled down one single driveway.

The Artstuff Archives.

Quite a few of you nice folks have stumbled onto this blog while searching the Interwebs for my older work.  Maybe you're one of the many people who have contacted me over the years looking for something you remember having seen at one time, but can no longer find. 

Well...this one's for you.

I've started compiling these "archival" images into one place, just for you...the Artstuff Archives.  These are designs that were published years ago...a few have withstood the test of time and have been reprinted over and over again and are still available in stores, but many are out-of-print and have been hidden away in a flat file in the Artstuff Studio all these years.  

Little by little I'm digging them out and scanning them to share with you on the Archives page...and hopefully make it easier for those who have been searching for a favorite old Beth Hendrickson Logan print to finally get your hands on it!

So far the page features only Washington State images but more designs (and more places) will be added as I get the art scanned and organized (much of it was created before I even had a computer...I know, weird to even imagine a world so primitive, right?). 

There's a new link in the sidebar (look, over there to the right of this post...up, no...up further...it's the little Smile at the Rain picture!) that will take you right to it.  So...browse around, I hope you find what you're looking for, and if you don't...please ask!

And thank you, thank you, thank you to you awesome individuals who have followed my work for all these years and who collect these old designs...it always brings a giant smile to my face when I hear from you!

Halfway Through.

Halfway through June already. Almost halfway through the year. Here we are, right in the middle of everything. Just like that.

I've been busy. I've been sitting here at this computer more often than, well...more often than I've been outside enjoying a rare gem of a sunshiny, dry June in the Pacific Northwest. That just doesn't happen around here. Today, the world is damp again and smells fresh. Don't get me wrong, it's been smelling pretty awesome with everything in bloom, but today...it's that nice, wet smell. The air moves a bit, but is still comfortably warm. Made me stop and realize, "hey, I'm halfway through June already."

There is still an awful lot of work to be done here at this computer in the weeks to come...deadlines to meet, projects to finish, others to start. But I have taken a few pleasant moments to breathe.

The other night there was a moon. One of those kinds of moons. The kind that makes me forget I have a humble little old unspecial camera and makes me think I could somehow capture it. As you are about to see, I can't. But what I got makes me remember how big I smiled when I saw it in person. It was, of course, oranger and crisper than this...and it was scurrying up the sky in such a hurry...busy busy busy, a sky to light up, a Moon's work is never done...can't be lurking around down here on the horizon...

You probably saw it that night too. Remember? That was nice.

Another warm and beautiful June evening, earlier in the month...I watched a really fun movie.

It was about 4 kids who had been students together at art school, then all went off and lived their lives...complete with all the various drama, love, death, and tragedy that occurs in people's lives in movies...then a quarter of a century or so later reconnected for an evening, a First Thursday gallery walk just like they'd done religiously every single month back when they were in school.

I know, this is a super-corny way to tell you what I did a few weeks ago. I'm sorry.

But it really did sort of feel like I was sitting somewhere in the dark, watching it all unfold on a big screen, eating popcorn...transformed into an entertainingly distant yet comfortably familiar world.

You know when you see a movie where several years pass and you watch characters age...and even though the actors are peeking through wrinkle-makeup and have splashes of phony grey sprayed into their hair, it's easy to imagine that they're still that exact same person because, really, it's only been about an hour since you watched them be young, right there on that same screen? It's that cinematic magic that occurs when an entire story is wrapped up in an hour or two...it's like they haven't really aged at all, and no time has actually passed...well, because it hasn't. Aside from that hour or two.

There's no way it had been more than an hour since I'd seen them last...it was just right back there at the begining of the movie when the characters were young. They had their entire lives ahead, the world to conquer. Everything was so important then. No one else could ever understand just how important. They lived for art. It's all that mattered. They usually went on the First Thursday gallery walk on empty stomachs desperately hoping to get some free food along the way. Mmm, little squares of cheese. And of course free wine.

An evening out often ended in some hole-in-the-wall serving something spicy and exotic, and always with talk of The Revolution. And that could easily go on until dawn. Easily.

Sitting over an empty plate that had only recently been overflowing with yummy Moroccan food, realizing that my particular evening would end at a much more reasonable hour than, say, dawn (ew)...I just smiled, sipped a beer, and listened to talk of The Revolution. That was a great movie. I give it two thumbs up...even though, I guess, I'm only really halfway through it.

PS...only one more day in the first half of the year, which means only one more day to enter the drawing for a full set of Mother-Earth coasters. To enter, just leave a comment on that post.

And PPS: OK everyone...I'm sorry. Not only was this a super-corny way to describe that evening, by the consistent theme in your comments I now see it was super-obscure and super-confusing as well. I do get carried away sometimes.

The 4 kids were actually ME and 3 old friends from art school. One with whom I've remained close over the years, the other 2 she reconnected with recently on Facebook and brought us all together after all these years.

We enjoyed a warm summer First Thursday wandering through Seattle's Pioneer Square art galleries...which I hate to admit I haven't done in years, either (the sun-through-the-trees photo is my only documentation, taken with my phone). We even saw another old schoolmate who now has her own gallery.

Soaking in eye-candy of every possible flavor, critiquing (as art students tend to do constantly) and in the moments in between attempting to catch up with 25 years of life-experiences...then realizing that wasn't as necessary as first thought, because we had all suddenly been transformed back to who we were and what we meant to each other back in that other life (the movie).

Sorry I got a little too poetic, vague, and esoteric in trying to express how surreal it was and how it felt like no time had passed...but I do stick by the metaphor, because it feels like the person I am now really only watches people like those kids in movies any more.

So there you go...a typically-Beth-style "quick" explanation in only 5 paragraphs!

"Draw a Giraffe."

This was almost always the answer to "Mommy, I don't know what to draw. What should I draw?" It was her favorite answer. Maybe she knew an animal with a neck like that would fill the page, or take me a while before I started bugging her again, insisting she play Creative Muse to a 4 year old child. Mostly, I think, this answer somehow amused herself...we all survived on her sense of humor back in those days.

I repeat those 3 words to myself every now and then, when staring at a bright white sheet of paper. An empty, open sketchbook. A clean desk (no, really, sometimes it is...). Although more often than not, I have more ideas than I have time or paper (not saying they're all good ideas, some are actually pretty awful, but I have them nonetheless).  But every so often, when I find myself staring blankly, those are the words that come to mind.

"Oh I don't know dear, just draw a giraffe."   

Of all the giraffes I must have drawn in my childhood, this is the one that has lasted...complete with extra long (high-heeled?) hooves and fancy purple lady friend. It's on a scrap of 1/2" thick wallboard or ceiling tile, I'm not sure what it is. The fact that it's drawn with markers tells me this was a special and supervised event (not my usual crayon and pencil). It got knocked around a bit in its earlier life but has been stored in an acid-free bag for years now. And I was extremely relieved to find it safely stored up on a high, dry shelf when cleaning up the sad mess from an unfortunate plumbing incident that flooded my basement studio last week.

Now You've Got Me Thinking About October Already.

We could all use something to look forward to about now.

This one worked for me today. Hits me deep down in my very middle, in that part that's really hard to get to. Even if you aren't usually a link-clicker when you read my posts, really, go click this one.

Then click Trailer 1 to watch it as big and HDish as your monitor and system allows. Go on, do it. If you're anything like me, it will at least make you smile.

It looks like they've got it right, and I'm very excited. These guys have been very dear friends of mine for a long, long time.    

Simple-Pleasure Food Memory #17

Crackers and butter.

In need of a super-quick afternoon snack and not feeling quite motivated enough to slice cheese (I know) this one brought me back...    

When we were very young, my friend Leslie and I always managed to get into trouble together. It would start innocently enough...but then a perfectly normal game of hide-and-seek would become hide-together-under Daddy's-workbench-until-the-grownups-were-worried-enough-to-call-the-police, and playing "beauty-parlor" with dolls would somehow evolve into a game of chop-our-own-hair-off-at-the-pigtails. One time we decided it would be fun to play "hippie"...we dressed up in fringey tie-dye stuff with lots of beads and stood by the road shouting "peace man peace, yeah yeah yeah" to passing cars. Don't ask why. It sounded like a good idea. Apparently folks were offended that 5 year olds were "protesting the Viet Nam war" in our quiet neighborhood and complained to our parents. We didn't know what that meant. But we never played "hippie" again.

In this same way, one warm July afternoon, a perfectly innocent game of dress-up with some boxes of old Halloween stuff evolved into a game of "trick or treat".  Why hadn't anyone thought of this before? This was a great way to spend the afternoon. We would dress up and parade around the neighborhood in our fun costumes, and here's the genius part: people would give us candy! Of course. Why not?

The response wasn't exactly what we 'd expected. Most neighbors didn't answer their doors. One or two asked if our mothers knew where we were. We weren't sure. Why?  These were the same folks who ooohed and aaawed over our adorable selves on Halloween...why weren't they impressed now? 

Then finally, a nice neighbor lady invited us inside and served us a plate of saltines with butter. What a fun game this was. We should play this more often.  

What we didn't realize was that she was merely getting us off the street before we embarrassed our families any more than we already had. While we were happily munching on crackers at her kitchen counter, our mothers were called and informed that we had been begging door to door in Halloween costumes. In July. When we finished the last crumbs, we were sent back to my house where we got it from my mom...and later to Leslie's where we got it from hers.  

Like a lot of things that seemed to really concern or upset adults, we didn't fully understand why this was bad. But from then on, trick-or-treating was reserved for that one day a year.

Crackers and butter on the other hand...that's just good any old day of the year.

Illustration Friday: Legendary

From my Moleskine: just a little ode to some of the legendary icons of Seattle. 

After the last issue yesterday, the Seattle Post Intellignecer, our city's oldest  newspaper, joined the ranks of the Kalakala, the Twin Teepees, Frederick and Nelson, the Rainier Brewery, the Supersonics, and countless other entities and landmarks which are now just part of our city's history. 

The PI was around since those old-timey prospector days, when this place was the Gateway to the Klondike. 

Now, it will exist as an online-only news source.   

Those local folks who found themselves unemployed after the last run on Monday night can in all fairness lash out at me for even mentioning this, let alone go on and on as I'm about to. Lash away guys.  Sure, I can wax nostalgic about the daily newspaper as an institution, about the smell of the ink and tactile quality of rough newsprint, with a sudden unexpected fondness for the grubby black smudges on my hands and clothes, or even that little jerk who used to manage to crush at least one blooming bulb every time he blindly tossed a paper over my fence. I can ramble annoyingly about a world where co-workers would gather around a crossword puzzle during a break or strangers in a coffee-house or on the bus would share sections of the paper rather than avoiding all human contact by texting or web-surfing.

I could go on and on...but I'm one of the guiltiest parties in the decline of the daily news printed on a piece of paper. Like many others, I learned the news about the PI's last day online.

I know.

Who am I to wax nostalgic over something I did nothing to support when it most needed me? Well, I'm just a serial nostalgia-waxer...I can't help it. I still turn my head trying to focus quickly as I drive past, hoping to catch a glimpse of the skinny-house in Montlake or the weird-white-lump "building" on lower Queen Anne, only to see shiny perfect boxes that look the same as everything else built in the last decade; I feel a painful little tug from deep inside when I realize I'll never again eat a greasily delicious after-hours feast at The Doghouse, where the fluorescent orange gooey goodness oozing from my grilled sandwich is rivaled in cheesiness only by the drunken sing-along led by Dick Dickerson and his organ that wafts from the dark bar along thick clouds of cigarette smoke.

Yeah, I'm the girl who actually paid money for a carload of stinky old chairs and tables from the Music Hall before it was torn down, who dragged my nephew to the imploded carcass of the Kingdome the day they opened the site to the public to gather armloads of broken concrete, small pieces that had once been our big round stadium. So it seemed only natural that I would actually make the effort to buy that final issue of the PI yesterday (again, the former employees can all shout "where were you last month, last year...?" while throwing things at me, I'll take it). But I was too late anyway. Boxes all over the city were empty by the time we started looking at noon. My own jaded guess was that before the sun even came up, armloads were taken all at once after dropping in the first few quarters to open a box, and that they would all show up today on eBay.  I'm afraid I was right.

I'm nostalgic but I'm not crazy.

Stuff changes, and I guess that's ok.

But something that will remain unchanged is that I will always speak fondly of things I remember from our city's past, with little stars...or are those little kitschy neon signs...in my eyes. Those of you with JP Patches episodes on DVD tucked away in the back of your  media cabinet, who, try as you might, can't help but crack a smile when you hear the words keep clam, you will understand what I mean.

Beth Logan 101

The goofy title is for 2 reasons: first, while I wasn't paying attention, I managed to write 100 posts. Whaddya know? So this, tada, is the 101st. The other reason...well, here:

Ok, we all know I have a procrastination issue. But eventually I get to stuff, really, I do. And here's proof. A short time ago a few months ago, I got tagged to play the 7-random-things-about-me game. Then I got tagged again. And again. It's not that it didn't look like fun (because it did) and it's certainly not that I didn't totally love reading the things that my taggers wrote about themselves on their own blogs (because I did). They are all 3 fascinating and talented people...2 of which have never driven a car. Who knew?

There's Elizabeth Metz, who I found myself drawn to over and over again when drifting through links on Illustration Friday. Her beautiful illustrations always catch my eye...and she is smart and clever and I just found out it seems we have the same favorite movie! How many other grownups do you know who still fall back on a silly fairy tale as their favorite? You can read the other 5 things I haven't already blurted out about her here.

Then there's Amber Alvarez. I was lucky to get Amber as my new neighbor at Surtex last year and she's been cracking me up ever since...she's got the biting wit of a real New Yorker but has never lost that Island sweetness. Oh and her art is awesomely adorable. I dare you to say that, along with her full name, 3 times fast. Even if you can't do that, you really must read her hilarious 7 things.

And last but certainly not least is another Surtex buddy Gina Rivas, who creates art as warm and bright and gorgeous as she is herself. If you don't already know Gina, you really ought to check out her blog & website and get to know her and her beautiful art! I only get to see Gina once a year at the show and it's been fun to get a peek into the real Gina on her new blog!

And now, the 101 part. Actually in blabbing on and on about myself so in the past 100 posts (I had a hard time thinking of 7 new things I haven't already told you) we're probably up to a much higher number, but for the sake of the post we'll still call it Beth Logan 101:

7 Random Things (most of) You Didn't Already Know About Me, in No Particular Order.

1. I have always been a grouch in the morning, even when I was little. A real bear. Growly and hairy and with claws. Ok, mostly just growly. Delicious coffee has become a very important part of my morning. But not this important.

2. When I was a little girl I named my first cat Henrietta, after that slightly creepy meow-meow-meowing puppet on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. I think she sort of resented the name...my Henrietta was a rather crotchety and ill-tempered little kitty.

3. After dropping out of art school I went for a whole year without drawing or painting a single thing. I'll never do that again. Sometimes now I might have to go weeks at a time without putting a pencil to paper, for some reason or another. When that happens I get really cranky and can't wait to start creating again.

4. I have freakishly long toes that can bend twice....in, and then out again. Or in twice, like fingers bend. I often pick stuff up with these prehensile toes instead of bending over. I can't draw with them though. Are you familiar with these amazing people?

5. Since I've already covered my favorite movie of all time (anyone want a peanut?) we'll move to second favorite: Pee Wee's Big Adventure.

I have always been a Pee Wee Herman fan. I can't help it. Watched Pee Wee's Playhouse every Saturday morning back in the day (yes I was already a grownup then). Got Pee Wee and Chairy action figures for Christmas one year, but my first puppy Stella devoured them. Don't talk to me about shady theatres and scandal and mugshots and such. I can't hear you. My fingers are in my ears and I'm shouting "blah blah blah..." I love Pee Wee.

6. I was "legally blind" until I was 6 years old. All that means is that I had pretty lousy vision which improved after wearing glasses for a few years. It remains pretty lousy, but is much better than when I was little. I've worn glasses or contacts since I was 18 months old. I've recently started seeing better, close-up, without either of them. This really freaks me out because it means I'm that age...when people's arms aren't long enough to focus on the thing in their hand, when you hear things like, "I can't see that...I can't find my reading glasses", when you may spy me peeking over the top of my specs with that granny-gaze, squinting, entire face stretched and twisted into that scowly mug that only old people's faces can stretch into. That expression that makes teenagers cringe unconsciously. I have news for you, teenagers. You know why you cringe? It's because someday you will also make that face. Believe me. I thought I never would, but this is terrifying and horrific...I do it. I make the face.

7. 7 is actually my favorite number. My birthday is on a 7th. At birth I weighed 7 pounds and 7 ounces, and for years my mom had me convinced that I was even born at 7am. More recently, though, I got hold of my birth certificate and it says 11:45am. Oh well. But that might give you a clue as to where I got my habit of harmless story-improving exaggeration. Still I'm all about the number 7. I met Husband Guy (whose birthday has a 7 in it) on a 7th, and we got married on yet another 7th. I could go on and on...

Alright. Finally, the last part of this 7-things-game is that I'm supposed to tag 7 more people. But here's the thing: since I took so long to get around to it, every single person I know in Blogland has already done it. I'm the last one. This is what I get for procrastinating. So I'm afraid I'm going to cheat and skip the last step. But thanks to Gina, Elizabeth, and Amber for including me...it was fun! And the rest of you, have you gone to those girls' blogs yet and checked them out? Really you need to do that now.

Illustration Friday: Enough

Have you had enough caffeine yet today?
Just another day in the coffee tornado.

Here's one from the archives.

Way back...1993 to be exact. Doodling with a Sharpie, and apparently enjoying some delicious coffee while at it. In the earlier part of the year, I guess...because it's signed "Beth Hendrickson" and that was the year of that one thing, that thing that changed my name, you know, happiest day of my life and all.

Sigh. Yeah, that was a pretty good year.

But back to the Coffee Tornado.

Mmm, delicious coffee. Nice to see some things haven't changed. Well, actually...we were just talking about how it doesn't feel like we've changed (or aged...ha ha, I know, not living in reality over here) and how we can't believe that was so long ago (1993, that is). In many ways, it feels like just yesterday.

Could be the permanent coffee-buzz.

Time just whizzes by when you live in the Coffee Tornado.

A Little Romance.

First grade...I guess I was a bit of a romantic even then.

Too shy to actually physically chase boys in real life, I drew this picture and passed it to a boy in class. Not just any boy, but an adorable little brown-eyed boy with Beatles-ish bangs and matching Garanimals outfits.

Sigh. Be still my tiny little 6-year-old heart.

Well, ok. It wasn't this exact picture. Even then I knew to keep a copy of my artwork for my own files when sending something out. Or actually, to be honest, I think it was one in a series...worked on the concept until it was perfected. In each draft I think my legs became longer, my dress became fancier, and somehow my glasses disappeared. But the kissy-lips on the chaser and the happy expression on the chasee remained throughout all. The version that was passed across 2 rows of desks was not-so-subtly captioned with each of our names and big arrows. And of course it was folded as many times as tiny hands with scrawny little arms could fold a single piece of paper.
My heart raced in fear and anticipation as I watched each kid pass it along to the next.

He was smiling as he unfolded it. I could feel my heart in my throat, my face burned all the way back to my ears (where the edges of my insuppressible smile ended on each side). When it was completely open, he stopped and stared for just a second. Then, as any self-respecting 6-year-old boy would do, he immediately wrinkled it up into a tiny ball of garbage and turned away.

The rejection wasn't as bad as it could have been. He was never mean to me after that...as little boys can be. He still spoke to me, as much as 6-year-old boys speak to 6-year-old girls. Later he actually taught me my first nasty word. Out of the blue one day, he smiled slyly at me and slowly, carefully, and quietly  spelled out all 4 letters. A short, simple word but certainly not one I'd heard before. I could tell by the glint in his eyes and weight of each letter as it left his lips that this was a cool word. A secret word. A very important word. And he had chosen me to share it with. A dumb kid within earshot worked it out phonetically for several minutes and finally said "Ship? Why are you saying ship? That's dumb. Ship..." but I knew he wasn't talking about boats. I smiled knowingly, and so did the adorable boy...we shared a moment. It didn't matter what the word meant...I could find that out later.

Later came when my sister was brushing my hair into tight little pigtails...seemed like a good time. I asked her what it meant. Caught off-guard and a little in shock, she rhythmically bonked me on the head with the big heavy hairbrush as she said "that's a nasty, nasty word for your poos and I never want to hear you say it again!" I can still picture the entire conversation as it played out in the big bathroom mirror. Innocent smile, then sudden bonk, bonk, bonk...wince, wince, wince..."nasty, nasty, word..."

I guess I was able to learn at an early age that love can hurt. That when you put your heart on the line, rejection is a strong possibility. But that things work out in the end...eventually true love is out there to be found.

Here's hoping you've found it...and that you're able to share this Valentine's Day with someone you love.