I’ve had some glass slides in various sizes for eons…never opened them let alone used them for anything.  I saw some soldered jewelry somewhere and decided I wanted to try it.  I bought a soldering iron, lead-free solder, and some flux…and it sat…never been opened.

Well…guess what??? I OPENED EVERYTHING!  And here is my first attempt.  I printed a photo of David and Santa that I just love!!!  It’s over 5 years old, but that doesn’t make me love it any less! I cropped and printed at 2″square, sandwiched it between two glass slides, put copper tape around the edges and soldered.  It’s not perfect, but it will get me through the holiday season!  I just want to find some ribbon to put through the paper clip I improvised.

Hmmm…wonder what I should try next??  Stay tuned.

It was a wonderful weekend hanging out with the girls!  I’d needed it more than I realized.  I even got some scrapbook pages done!!  Yeah!!  I don’t think I’ve gotten any scrapbooking done in “I don’t know how many” months.

I am posting the completed scrapbook layouts below!  The colors didn’t reproduce that greatly on some of them and I’m not stressing out over it because I’m too tired to care…LOL!  But since I haven’t posted in a while I figured I’d better get something up here! LOL

My Nana was an artist.  She was an oil painter.  She was rather prolific.  I have no idea how many canvases she painted, I’m guessing more than 50.  I believe Nana started oil painting later in life.  I remember her taking classes when I was quite young, but she was probably in her late 60s or early 70s.  I wonder if it started after she and Poppa closed the egg business or before?  I don’t know, should probably ask Lynn, I’m sure she would know.

I do remember watching Nana paint a few times while they still lived on Sherman Way.  Poppa got sick shortly before or after the move to Londelius.  Nana tried to paint some after Poppa passed but I don’t think her heart was in it.

I so wanted to be like Nana, gifted artistically like Nana.  So much so that I signed up for the first oil painting class offered at Sepulveda Jr. High.  Mr. Weinstein was the teacher.  As much as he tried to come off as a gruff old guy, he was a softie with a great sense of humor.  He and I had connected when I had him for 7th grade art and I couldn’t wait to take his Oil Painting class.

I remember the first day of oil painting class…we had to go home and scour magazines, books, whatever we could for an appropriate subject to try and paint.  I had Mom take me to Nana’s house.  I knew she had tons of ideas stashed away.  Nana was famous for saving everything and anything that might inspire her…especially postcards and the covers of greeting cards.  I knew I could find something to paint in Nana’s Library!

Nana and I finally did find something…it was a pastoral scene.  Lots of blue sky, purple mountains majesty, a river running across the foreground, with a fly fisherman in said river.  PERFECT, not a ton of detail for that first attempt.  GOD, I sucked at oil painting.  I had absolutely NO CLUE!  I didn’t realize nor understand the colors of things.  It kind of reminds me of a scene in "The Girl with the Pearl Earring" where Vermeer takes Scarlett Johanssen’s character to the window and says tell me what colors you see in the sky.  My response back in that oil painting class would have been blue and white.  I didn’t get the concepts of saturation, hue, value, brightness, etc., I didn’t get that the river had flecks of grey, brown, and white in addition to blues and greens. I was color-blind in a sense.

Now that I am older and hopefully a bit wiser, thanks to scrapbooking, photography, and photoshop, I am really intrigued with learning to paint with watercolors.  I played with some of the techniques listed in some watercolor books I got through my paperback swap group.  I had everything already, a sketch book, brushes, and paints…and the lessons out of the book and those I found online flowed and made sense.  It was fun and I’m anxious to try and stretch my wings in another creative venue.  When I complete something worthwhile, I promise to post it.

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I don’t really know why this poem was going through my head as I sit folding laundry tonight…I’m just going to go with it.