Kieran Kramer's Blog, page 2

Painting Stones

Nothing is easier and more fun than painting stones. You don’t have to be good at it. You can be very, very bad at it, in fact, and still enjoy the process and produce a work of art.

What’s the definition of a work of art? Mine is: anything that touches you. It doesn’t matter if no one else likes it.

I’ve had this North Carolina river rock (that I bought at a garden center in Hickory NC, where I used to live…you really shouldn’t take rocks from creek or river beds!) for over twenty years. I painted it and stenciled it with a sun image and sprayed it with Modpodge. It’s been sitting on my front porch, along with a stenciled rock with the moon on it, all this time, and I never tire of seeing them. They remind me of days gone by, precious days when my kids were small.

I also treasure a little box of rocks my daughter made at one of her birthday parties in middle school. The cover of the box says, “My Personality Rocks.” Get it? Your personality rocks, yo!

My daughter’s painted rocks

Inside, in little candy paper wrappers that I bought at the arts-and-crafts store (along with the boxes), my daughter painted little rocks with different images that reflect what she loves about her life, herself, her world. If I had to choose between saving a ring with a rock on it–a diamond, an emerald, you name it–and this box of painted rocks, I’d save this box that captures my daughter at a certain age.

So go out and get some rocks and paint! Allow yourself to sit down and create something humble but your own, something that speaks to you….

And rock on!

Mother Nature Flexes Her Muscles

Flooding at my parents’ house on Johns Island when Irma’s storm surge hit the Lowcountry.

Hurricane season is always stressful when you live on the coast. Most of the time, you walk around not thinking at all about it, and then suddenly…it’s on every channel and in the local and national papers! You feel like the rest of your life should totally stop as you prepare for the hurricane that may or may not be coming your way. But you have to keep going to work or school, making the kids’ lunches and walking your dog. You feverishly sign on to Weather Underground, click on Severe Weather, and go to the Hurricanes and Tropical Cyclones page. You click on the hurricane you’re watching–sometimes there are several! You move over to the header called News and Blogs and read Category 6, the blog that explains simply and thoroughly exactly what’s going on. You call your out-of-town friends and family and ask if you can come if needs be–with your two cats and a dog! And then maybe at the last minute–before voluntary or mandatory evacuations are called–you cancel because overnight the hurricane track changes drastically. Your town is no longer in the cone. You can stay. You’d never stay if the hurricane were coming your way, no matter what category it is, even a Cat 1. You’ve been through them, including Category 4 Hugo, and the fear you feel isn’t worth it–you find out with Hurricane Matthew that even Category 1’s bring down huge trees on roofs and lots of flooding. Nor is the horrible recovery period afterward any fun. It can last weeks or months. Yes, neighbors band together, and you experience a survivors’ atmosphere, which is very cool. The camaraderie, even with strangers, also reaffirms your belief that the world is 99.9% filled with good people who’d give you the coats off their backs if they saw you needed it (you ignore the looters and price gougers; they are a fact of life). But even when you stay knowing the hurricane isn’t coming, you’re afraid when they mention that storm surge. And when you see your city semi-drowning in it, its streets turned into rivers, you realize how lucky you are that it wasn’t a direct hit. You carry on. You hope everyone will return to normal soon. You have a few more hurricane stories to tell, never realizing that storm surge alone is a pretty bad thing to happen. Imagine if it were accompanied by over 100 mph winds!

Real Housewives of New York, End of Season 9

So another season is over.

Look how amazing Dorinda looks in that catsuit! If she’s anything like me, she’s probably sucking in her stomach and holding her breath while the picture’s being taken, but man, for someone over 50, she looks hot! They all look fabulous, don’t they? No one has overdone the Botox and plastic surgery. People have been talking about Bethenny doing too much, but she had real jaw alignment issues, and I don’t blame her a bit for getting it fixed–nor do I have a problem with any woman wanting to feel better about herself with tweaks here and there.

It’s not for me. I’m going to embrace getting older–except for the hair dye. I’m totally into that! But hey, aging isn’t for sissies, and there are all kinds of ways to approach the inevitable.

But let’s get back to the Housewives. (FYI: I’ve only watched the New York side of the franchise for three years. I started with the Beverly Hills ladies, added New York, and now I also watch Orange County).

The shows are all totally different, aren’t they? The whole vibe of the New York group is so much…louder. Haha! But I also appreciate that they’re more straight up. So there are pros and cons to each show. The bottom line is I’m always shocked at how cruelly Housewives treat each other, wherever they film.

In New York, they’re mean and then in the next breath, they’re talking as if nothing bad happened between them. Look at Ramona and Bethenny. Or Bethenny and Luann. Or Sonja and Tinsley. You’d think their upfront arguing would mean grudges aren’t held for long–because they put everything on the table–but they do hold grudges, the same way they do in the other Housewives shows I watch. Sure, it’s to keep a storyline going on the show. But let’s forget about that, shall we? (wink) It ruins the fun!

In general, I’ve noticed there’s an awful lot of drinking going on when the New York Housewives fight–as well as when they make up, the way Bethenny and Ramona did in Mexico. All that crying and hugging in the pool was brought out by tequila, pretty much.

Yet I still watch. Maybe it’s because they’re so over-the-top. These are women over 40 who embrace looking glam. They show off their boob jobs in eye-popping gowns. They talk about sex as if they’re having a lot of it. They drink like fish with no apologies and seem to recover effortlessly. They go after what they want.

They’re like a lot of us were in our twenties! 

So part of me thinks, more power to them. What would I be doing if I had a ton of money, a fabulous apartment in New York, and time to play?

LOL.

Bethenny, apparently, is the only one working full-time with SkinnyGirl, but the others have…interests. Not sure what Tinsley’s are, or Luann’s, apart from her music. Sonja’s into fashion design, Ramona had some sort of big career in marketing, I think, and Carole is a well-known former journalist working on a cookbook right now. I’m not sure what Dorinda does. But that house in the Berkshires sure is nice!

We know a lot of the show is totally fake–that is, I don’t think most of them would spend any time together if the cameras weren’t rolling, except maybe Bethenny and Carole–but it’s still fun to watch.

So let’s get down to favorites. If I had to choose three Housewives to hang out with, they’d be Bethenny, Dorinda, and Carole. They seem the most down-to-earth and smart to me.

Tweet this post or put it on Pinterest and tell us your faves in your caption. (FYI: I can’t do comments on the blog. I used to, on my old blog, but it got so time-consuming replying, and removing spammers. But we can definitely communicate on social media!)

Maybe all the Housewives are a little crazy, but they’re also entertaining. I’m not ashamed to say that I’ll tune in just to take my mind off my own worries, which seem a lot more pressing than theirs! I mean, apart from Bethenny’s stalker ex-husband, which is a real problem, Carole’s sofa needs re-upholstering. That’s about as rough as it gets for them!

Which reminds me. My sofa needs new pillows.

For right now I’ll ignore the bills, the five big school assignments I have, my endless guilt about not seeing my parents as often as I should, and pretend a sofa pillow shortage is about as pressing a problem I have….

 

 

The Community of People Who Do Their Best

Painting by Sally Rosenbaum

It’s early morning. A kitty next to me on the bed is kneading my bathrobe. Ouch. Ouch. Tap. Tap. I’m typing–ouch–while the feline massage continues.

I tend to avoid zen discussions about writing. There’s an awful lot of talk out there about the specialness of being a writer, of the care we must take to protect our Muses. We are storytellers. We can change the world. I do believe that.

But bus drivers, teachers, and doctors, too, can change the world. As can cooks, plumbers, editors, audio technicians, movie directors, grocery store managers, factory workers, and veterinarians.

I prefer to consider myself part of the community of People Who Do Their Best. I believe we’re all called to do something with our lives that brings grace, or a sort of ease, to the world. In my little corner, I tap away at my laptop with two rescued tabby cats and a black lab mix nearby in the hopes that my labor will alleviate some pain, somewhere, by lifting a veil and giving someone a peek at the rich complexity of life. Maybe it will make them feel less alone.

And that’s pretty much all I need or want to say about my being a writer. The rest of my posts on writing will be about the nuts and bolts of it. Or other things about writing…I think it would be fun to interview other writers. But I will most definitely keep my blogging at the level of my wanting to be a part of the community of People Who Do Their Best. It’s a much larger community than the world might have us believe, and I’m proud and grateful to be struggling along with everyone in it.

 

 

 

Oscar Wilde: My Dream BFF

Oscar Wilde…I wish you lived now, in 2017. I’d want you as my best friend. We’d go to the movies, savor our favorite lines. Eat too many Milk Duds. We’d have our own special, private expressions at parties to share when that person cornering us on the balcony is a pompous windbag. We’d read books and discuss them. We’d go to art galleries together. Sometimes we’d make each other angry because we are both wildly opinionated about art and what constitutes art.

I always knew you were famous for a lot of things, especially being famous for its own sake-kind of like Paris Hilton– but in grad school I learned…

You ended your life a poor outcast.

I didn’t like learning that. I prefer to think of you as the party guy, the popular bon vivant, to the end.

Why is it that so many geniuses are misunderstood?

We know it’s because the status quo in any age doesn’t tolerate differences well. You were snarky. Outlandish. Brazenly yourself.

It didn’t matter that you wrote a beautiful children’s story, The Selfish Giant, which I used to read to my own kids. You also wrote perfectly lovely poetry that would make anyone with a heart and a predilection for beauty weep, or smile. You wrote stunning intellectual essays about the culture of aestheticism. You were famous for your wit. Who could not laugh through your play The Importance of Being Earnest? My beloved Colin Firth starred in the movie!

Thank you for being wild, Oscar Wilde. I’m sorry your life ended so tragically, but I try to imagine that to the end you retained your special spark. I hope that on your death bed, you said something only you would say. I hope there was a glimmer of a smile upon your lips as you faded away.

We will never know, your fans, but our consolation is that your memory and your work live on, challenging the world to see all people as worthwhile individuals who deserve to be fully alive, as you were.

 

The Last Straw

I forgot to take out the garbage today. You know what that means–a whole week of angsting about creating new garbage, which is probably a good thing to worry about. M just told me the other day to stop using plastic straws. They are the worst garbage on the planet and mess with sea life. I’m terrible, but I keep imagining seals with straws stuck up their noses as a joke with each other. “Look, Ma!” a teenage seal might squeak, and his mother would tell him to stop it, maybe box his ears with her flipper. It’s no laughing matter, trash in the sea, so I feel bad imagining that seal scenario. But it’s there. At least it reminds me how much I love seals and everything else in the ocean, except for jellyfish. I even love Great White sharks. They look so friendly–but in a terrifying, awesome way. I want them all to live and be happy (except for jellyfish, although someone will surely tell me they’re essential on the food chain). So I’m done with straws. Count me out.

Chalk this random musing up to my forgetting the garbage. My life goes slightly awry when that happens, but it’s all good….

Trouble When You Walked In

"Love is an open door..."

YSF is Amazon Book of the Month in Romance!

YOU’RE SO FINE was chosen as an Amazon Book of the Month in romance for December 2014!

Boiled Peanuts

Ham Biscuits