WHERE’S THE MAD HATTER?

On Saturday we were invited to a lovely tea party to celebrate Valentine’s Day at our friends the Turners. Jennica and her daughter Rya played hostesses to several little girls all glammed up and ready to partake in girly activity. Here they are looking like they are waiting for the Mad Hatter, who must have been off with the White Rabbit somewhere, probably attending the Queen. They all waited patiently and with the best of manners for tea to be served.

Decorated cakes and cookies were ravenously eaten, sweet teas sipped and fresh strawberries delicately nibbled. Once all the little princesses appetites were sated, they waved their magic wands and the remnants of the party were miraculously swept away to make way for a heart-shaped frame craft. (the “magic” coming in the form of Mamas madly cleaning up after their princesses…oh, so that’s where the madness comes in). We then retired to the backyard and play area to blow some bubbles where I discovered my two year old can quite expertly climb a ladder all by herself…yikes, good to know.
A wonderful time was had by all and we are grateful to Jennica and Rya for their hospitality and thoughtfulness.
After arriving home I opened the back door to the mini van and this was the picture I was presented with; a little girl looking the perfect picture of ‘princess-ness’…wrapped in a pick furry coat, dress ruffles peaking out and her head topped with a silver tiara. A bag of goodies in her lap, a wand in one hand, a sucker in the other and a big smile on her face. She just seemed to be saying. ‘Ain’t America grand Mama?’
And there were still presents from the Mama as well! You just can’t beat a holiday celebrating love, even though poor St. Valentine didn’t quite have the best of times on his day, him being a martyr and all. Actually, did you know that there isn’t just one Saint Valentine and that there are more than one Valentine’s Days? There were several early Christian martyrs named thus. Finally, in 1969, the Catholic Church formally recognized eleven Valentine’s Days! The Valentine, or rather, Valentines, honored on February 14th are Valentine of Rome and Valentine of Terni. The one from Rome was a priest who suffered his martyrdom in about AD 269. His pieces reside in a church in Rome, AND one in Dublin, Ireland….oh dear.
Valentine of Terni was a bishop in about AD 197 and was said to have been killed during the persecution of Emperor Aurelian. Parts of him are in Rome and Terni.
It is unclear as to when romance began being associated with these guys and their feast day. There is mention of Valentine’s Day in Hamlet by William Shakespeare, but no clear history of the holiday’s evolvement into the giving of love letters could be found. In the mid-nineteenth century the holiday was reinvented through the exchange of letters and cards expressing friendship and love. No one really knows why the holiday suddenly took off in this way, but various stories abound, again, non of which could be verified. Possibly, it was some wily marketing executive wanting to unload an overstock of stationary. Or perhaps a group of young ladies with too much time on their hands, set to making fancy cards expressing their shy feelings towards a secret crush. Though no one seems to know for sure, what does seem to be true is that much speculation and down right falsehoods have sprung up around Valentine’s Day. Typical of love, isn’t it?
What I remember from my own childhood was the fun I had making the container that would hold my Valentine’s from an old shoe box. Personally, I found this to be the best part of the day. At right is what I remember the cards I used to receive looking like. Now of course most of the boxed cards children have to choose from have the images of pop and tv stars on them. This year we made ours, I just couldn’t bring myself to buy yet another High School Musical anything.
Here I leave you with the ruefully mentioned Valentine's Day spoken by Ophelia in Hamlet (1600-1601):
To-morrow is Saint Valentine's day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose, and donn'd his clothes,
And dupp'd the chamber-door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid Never departed more.
(William Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act IV, Scene 5)

©KKW 2009

SLOWING DOWN AND TAKING NOTICE

I don’t usually make New Year’s resolutions; I just am not interested in resolving to do something I should already probably be doing anyway. But my falling down on January 2^nd (See Nice Start To The New Year) has made me think that perhaps this year should be different. You see I am an assiduous multi-tasker and hopelessly and perpetually in a hurry. I am one of those annoying people who believes that everything happens for a reason and that there is a lesson in every error and I think that in falling down and injuring my ankle and knee that the universe is trying to tell me something, something like: ‘slow it down stupid!’

I rush, it’s what I do, there just doesn’t seem to be enough time for everything that needs doing. Being a single mom with two young children is a full-time job just by itself, add to that a full-time day job and off-hours freelancing, doctors appointments, laundry, dinners, packed lunches, homework, house cleaning, the care of a large number of pets, yard work, car upkeep, shopping, karate lessons, speech therapy, drop-offs and pick-ups to and from school and daycare…whew, I am making myself feel exhausted and overwhelmed just listing what I have to do weekly. My point is, I don’t see an alternative to rushing madly about. I already rise at 4:45 AM in order to just get myself and the kids ready to leave for the day, and I really do try to get the required amount of sleep, which means I would have to be in bed asleep before 9 PM….the only time that happens is when all of the rushing has finally caught up with me and I am so weary that I can barely make it up the stairs to collapse on my bed, but most nights I am able to at least make it to bed by 11 PM and slip in some much desired reading time. This is my favorite time of day, when the house is quiet except for the gentle, steady breathing of my children and assorted pets. When I snuggle down into my flannel covered feather bed, cover myself in my silk cocoon comforter and pull out whatever book I am currently reading, I comfort myself with the thought that I have several hours to loose myself in blessed, hopefully uninterrupted, sleep.

In causing myself an injury that requires me to walk slowly and carefully I have begun to see some things in a new light. At first glance it would seem to be somewhat depressing to find that your two year old walks faster than you do. But it has forced me to slow down and smell the roses so to speak, even at work….”Oh, that’s a nice potted plant, never noticed that before,” as I am shambling my way to the restroom. And, if one walks slowly, one catches interesting bits of conversation floating from cubicles and offices, most of which is dull, but on occasion there is some sparkling jewel of useful information that could possibly come in handy in future, one never knows.

While out in society, walking slowly can result in found money that has fallen to the ground, or small creatures in need of help out of a dangerous parking lot. Since progress is being made sluggishly, one has time to notice the mother duck at the edge of the pond gathering her brood around her with clucks and soft quacks, or the beautiful, puffy cloud filled sky, although caution should also be exerted when noticing nature since not paying attention to where I was going caused my forced leisurely gait in the first place. I am sure that there are less painful ways to make oneself take time to notice life’s small joys.

Not all multi-tasking need be a rush job, while commuting to work I have nearly an hour all to myself in the car and practice deep breathing and deep thinking. This results in a wondrous calming of my mind and spirit and helps to start the day right. However, by the time the lunch hour arrives I feel the need to pounce from my chair and bound out the door in order to run needed errands and usually come back without having eaten and all a fluster. I have one hour at lunch from the time I leave my desk until the time I am expected back at it to get my daily errands done. I am able to go into three stores, shop and arrive back on time. Lists are absolutely essential and must be ordered by store layout. Today I went to the party store for a friend for tiaras and wands for her tea party next week, then to the book store for myself, leaving shortly after laden with several volumes and still arrived back at the office with 12 minutes left to pop my Lean Cuisine into the microwave and land back at my post. For better or worse I work in front of a computer all day, so in some ways this allows me to slow down, albeit, at times a little too much, there are days when I find my head lolling and my eyelids uncomfortably heavy to say nothing of my sedentary body that cries out for some exercise. There is nothing worse than being sleepy and unable to just take a nap. I find myself wondering if anyone would miss me if I just slid under my desk for a little siesta. Corporate America really needs to rethink the work day, there is no doubt in my mind that if we all started with a little Tai Chi in the morning; exercise for both body and mind, and then had a little nap in the afternoon that we would all be more productive and happy.

In my younger adult days I was puzzled when I would hear someone say that ‘there weren’t enough hours in the day’. I thought to myself that there were plenty of hours in the day, at that time in my life I got done tons and had lots of time to play and do the things I wanted to do. I went to work and enjoyed it, I swam and worked out at the gym, I painted and created, I went out with friends or on dates, I saw movies and plays and concerts, and I read several books a week. But now I find myself wishing for a few more hours at the end of each day just to put my life in order. How on earth did this happen? When did my days get so short?

You may think that perhaps I am just not organized, but though it may appear so to the external eye due to the chaotic state in which my home usually exists, I assure you that I’ve got a system that works pretty well. On Sunday afternoon I do all the cooking for the week so that dinner is easily heated up and ready quickly when we arrive home. I pack all the kid’s lunches for the week as well and have them lined up in the frig. I lay out five outfits for each child after the laundry is done on Saturday. In the mornings I get myself dressed and ready before waking the kids. Once they are awakened and dressed #1 helps #2 eat her breakfast and go to the potty while I take out the critters and get them feed and watered. On my way out to do this I drop off my work day bag and the kid’s lunches and start the car to get it warmed up if it is very cold. When I come back in I fix my coffee, get the kid’s coats on and we are out the door. And as long as I don’t hit the snooze button on my alarm clock too many times we are on time. In fact this morning we were running 20 minutes ahead of schedule and had to sit and wait for the daycare to open. But it was nice; we all got to chat and laugh and sing to the music on the radio. Being early this morning was an especially nice way to start the day, I even had time to give both my babies extra kisses and hugs, reminding myself to savor each embrace from little arms and to commit to memory the feel of my lips on their dearly loved foreheads and chubby little cheeks. Because it is not the frustrations of my days that I will want to remember when reminiscing, but the smell of my children’s hair and their infectious laughter, causing me blissful pause and peace. Besides, the raising of little humans should never be a rush job.

©KKW 2009

IN MY NEXT LIFE I WANT TO BE OPRAH

I love hot showers. I mean I LOVE hot showers. I believe they are one of the top ten inventions of humankind, (as are warm, fuzzy socks). There is nothing that can wash away -- literally and figuratively -- the grime from a days work than an invigorating, revitalizing, clean, refreshing, hot shower. It’s the first thing we do when we arrive home, mostly because I’m a total germaphoib and the thought of all the billions of wee germies clinging to my two children totally creeps me out, but also because it instantly calms and revives me. The kids are the first to take baths and are then dressed in clean clothes and sat down with a snack to allow me to rejuvenate in my very modest, yet beloved shower. I’ve recently begun locking the door to the bathroom, otherwise both kids feel the need to ‘keep Mama company’ and no matter how many times I insist that I don’t need company while I shower it doesn’t seem to be getting through, so I lock the door and give instructions to #1 that unless someone is bleeding…profusely, or something is on fire, or there is some other immediate and dire emergency that I am to be left alone for just 5 minutes. And maybe 8 out of 10 times I remain undisturbed because #1 can see the difference between the frazzled woman that enters the bathroom and the more relaxed one exiting it a few minutes later ready to meet their needs once more. It is amazing how a few gallons of water poured over oneself can change ones whole outlook towards the world.

So, as I am standing there last evening, head leaning against the shower wall just letting the wonders of clean hot water flow over me, I think to myself that if I were a very wealthy woman I would have one of those showers that you see on luxury home shows, you know, the ones with water spraying at you from all angles. I imagine that Oprah has a shower like that. Yes, when Oprah gets home after a long, hard day of helping others, or partying with her famous friends, or just hanging out, I bet she steps into a room-sized shower and presses a button….no, wait, she wouldn’t even need to press a button, she would simply murmur ‘Shower on. Hot.’ and sparkling, wondrous, scalding, clear water would massage her every sore muscle. A delicious smelling soap product would rain down upon her weary shoulders and cleanse and moisturize her fatigued skin and then rinse her squeaky clean once more. And the hot water would never run out like it does at my house, where I don’t quite make it to the end of washing up before the water temperature suddenly drops, it would just keep pouring its rejuvenating, liquid self from all available, invigorating spouts. Yes, and the water would be from some green source and be renewable and the unit that heated it be energy efficient from sun and wind. It would be a blessedly mother earth friendly, guilt-free power shower. Oh my yes, Oprah would have a shower like that and I want one too! Can I be Oprah in my next life please?

What I admire so about Oprah (besides her possibly having an awesome shower), is her balance. No, not the fact that, unlike me, she can probably do a summersault and not then fall over, but her life’s balance. She has worked hard and amassed great wealth, and with that wealth she helps thousands in all parts of the world better their lives. Yet she is still able to both appreciate and be grateful for the luxuries she allows herself. Those ‘Favorite Things’? those are expensive sister! At least for most of us, but does she apologize for her love of luxury? No, and nor should she. She has chosen to be good to the world AND herself. Wow, what a life! To be able to help so many and still live well one’s self, what fun! Her social conscience, her willingness to help, to make aware, to take action, she appears to be made of this, and it is this that makes her a rich woman, she seems to have accumulated wealth of wisdom and generosity as well as property, can I pleeeeease be her in my next life? I want to live in luxury, I want to dispense wisdom, I want to help thousands achieve their dreams, and I want to weigh in on the side of a better society and world.

But hold the phone! Should I really have to be Oprah to do these things? To have a positive impact on the world around me? Sure, she has millions of dollars to offer to the needy (or is it billions?), but I work, I have funds, okay, so my pile is nowhere as big, but my dollars count too. Don’t my children and I save and contribute to various charities on a regular basis? There are so many great places to help, some of our favorites are Ox Fam and Heifer International, Swallow’s Nest, International Assistance and Adoption Project, and Half The Sky, Habitat for Humanity, Women for Women International, Smile Train, Operation Smile, The American Heart Association and let’s not forget the critters, The American Humane Society to name a few. Everyone I know does this: helps where and when they can, it’s inspiring both when we witness others kindnesses and are kind ourselves. Did you know that by being kind to another, or receiving a kindness from another or even just by witnessing a kindness, our serotonin levels increase (serotonin is that body chemical that gives us a feeling of happiness and well-being). Want a little jolt of the warm fuzzies during a long work day? Just close your eyes and think of a kindness done for you or by you and you will be injected instantly with giddy inducing serotonin. Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh. Better yet, actually DO a kindness, go and tell a co-worker what a great job he did. Or help that poor co-worker clear the paper jam in the copy machine. Bring in cookies, baked goods are always a hit and instantly make the atmosphere a happy one. A home-made cookie is like a warm hug wrapped in sugar.

Compassion shown to strangers is great and helps us to live in a society of peace and fulfillment, but kindnesses done for those we love are, of course, just as important. Though I hope that I am teaching my children to think of others as well as themselves, it is not our contributions to charity that my eldest finds impressive. She tells me I am a hero when I jump out of the car during a rain storm to help the turtle attempting to cross the street make it to the other side. Or knock on a woman’s car window when we see her apparently unconscious in the drivers seat and pulled haphazardly off the road (she was fine, just sleepy), or when I read to her in the evening, or help with homework, or fix her favorite food for dinner. These are the things that she thinks are extraordinary.

And sure, if I had money aplenty and I still qualified, I would adopted more children. I would adopt more critters too for that matter. I would build a great big barn just like daughter #1 wants and fill ‘er up with creatures great and small. I know that I can not single handedly save the world, but I sure can make my little corner of it a happier place and keep those around me safe and warm and fulfilled. The two children I have and the many pets and all of my good friends are more than enough to spread joy on my peanut butter and jelly life.

And I have my luxuries too, I have fuzzy socks! Many pair of them! I have a fluffy, warm feather bed for which I am nightly grateful to crawl into. I have a home, food, family, friends, work, health; sufficient abundance for anyone I would think. I am so grateful, really, really I am. So I guess my ‘Oprah Life’ will just have to wait, because I am too glad of the one I have at the moment. Although a great big, automated, room-size luxury shower would be mighty nice.

©KKW 2009

BABY IT'S COLD OUTSIDE!

HAPPY YEAR OF THE OX!

Gong Hei Fat Choi! (Congratulations and Be Prosperous!) The Lunar New Year began on January 26^th this year, with the new moon and will conclude on February 9^th with the full moon and we have been celebrating at our house for the past week. We’ve got a great big ol’ cardboard Kitchen God on our front door and twinkling red lights in the form of fire crackers. We’ve stomped on bubble wrap to scare away evil spirits (instead of setting off real firecrackers), and the kids have been generally making a lot of noise, although there is nothing new about that. On New Year’s Eve we devoured our celebratory feast of fish, stir fried bok choy, noodles and congee (rice stew), then ended the meal on a sweet note with lotus seed filled sesame balls (rice balls) and fortune cookies. The Mama got a fortune that says “Happier days are definitely ahead for you. Struggle has ended.” Wow, now THAT is a good fortune! Although last year was a pretty happy year for me already, more happiness in the new year? Bring it on!

The girls were given gifts of new shoes and Hong Bao (red envelopes with money inside traditionally give to children and unmarried persons at the new year). And we watched the four hour extravaganza that is The Spring Festival Gala on CCTV (the Chinese television station we get on the satellite). Lots of skits, singing, dancing, acrobatics and colorful entertainment.

Lily’s third grade teacher was the first teacher she has had that knew what the Lunar New Year was and the class celebrated with games and food and treats on the first day of Spring Festival. (Chinese New Year, Lunar New Year, Spring Festival, these are all names for the same thing). Lily declared it the “funnest” day she has ever had at school. Thanks Mrs. Brown!! I’m sure that it helped that she was the only Chinese in her class and therefore felt herself the guest of honor.

This past Saturday our friends had several families with children adopted from China over to their house to allow us to all celebrate together. It was loads of fun for all and Lily declared that now IT was the “funnest” day ever. We ate Chinese take out and May, another guest, prepared sticky rice, a traditional sweet made for children that has raisins and peanuts mixed in with the sweetened rice and is sprinkled with red and green jimmies.

The kids played and colored and received more Hong Bao. And we tried to get all of our beautiful girls to sit together for a photo on the sofa, but it was nearly as hard as getting all the babies to sit on the traditional red couch in China to have their photos take together. Someone is always crying or running out of the photo. Still, just look at all those gorgeous faces! And they all live in our little town! In fact, Maggie and Meika are from the same orphanage and now live only a mile from each other!

The Spring Festival is the biggest holiday in China, rather like our December holidays here in the USA. It is a time when people travel to their home towns to visit with relatives, eat and make merry. A time of putting away the troubles if the year passing and starting fresh. People in China traditionally will pay all their debts, scrub their homes clean, buy new clothes and shoes and try to follow the long list of do’s and don't s that have customarily surrounded the holiday. Though the house is thoroughly cleaned, all brooms must be put away before the first day of the new year so that any good luck arriving will not get swept away. Food, especially sweets, are left on the stove as an offering to the Kitchen God who lives behind the stove. He is the recorder of family deeds and it is traditional to try and bribe him so that he will give a good report of family members to the Jade Emperor.

Red clothing is usually worn because it is thought to scare away evil spirits and bad luck. And new clothes are worn to symbolize a new beginning. The biggest part of the new year celebrations is the dinner every family will eat. A dish consisting of fish is mandatory since the word for fish – yu - in Chineses sounds like the word for “surpluses”. Dumplings, cakes, greens and sweet rice cakes also grace tables. Noodles, the longer the better, represent longevity and long life. Oranges are popular as their name is a homophone of “golden luck”. Seeds, such as lotus, sunflower and pumpkin symbolize birth and renewal.

The first day of the new year is for visiting the most senior members of one’s family; parents and grandparents.

The second day is for married daughters to visit their parents and honoring one’s ancestors. Graves are tended and incense burned. People are also extra kind to dogs on this day as it is believed that the second day is the birthday of all dogs.

The third and fourth days of the New Year are for visiting with other relatives and friends.

The Fifth day is for eating dumplings in honor of the Chinese god of wealth, since dumplings look like little purses filled with money.

The seventh day is everyone’s birthday! Generally, birthdays are not celebrated separately in China, everyone grows a year older at the new year together.

The ninth day is the birthday of the Jade Emperor of Heaven and prayers are sent his way.

The fifteenth day of the New Year is the last and is celebrated as the Lantern Festival. Rice dumplings stewed in a soup is eaten on this day. Candles are lit outside homes to guide lost spirits home. Families walk through the streets carrying lighted lanterns bringing the festivities to a close. So next full moon be looking for our red lanterns as we parade around the back yard and finish up the Moon Cakes!

WHAT DOES A TECHNICAL ILLUSTRATOR DO EXACTLY?

Being that I was tied up quite a bit around the holidays with a freelance project that I needed to finish before the end of the year, I have had quite a few questions lately from friends and family as to what exactly I do when I say I am a technical illustrator of artifacts, so I thought that I would try and explain it.

I have a Fine Arts degree from Kent State University with a concentration in metal smithing, so you can imagine that such a degree didn’t exactly prepare me to jump out into the wide world with a great understanding of what I was suppose to do in order to make a living. I was warned by multiple family members that I would never be able to survive as an artist, but since my graduation I have always made either all or part of my salary working as an artist. So a great big “HA!” to all the naysayers. (Oh, that felt good! Thirty years of pent up ‘I’ll show you!’ released at last). It hasn’t always been very lucrative or easy, none the less I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have wanted to do anything else. And it helped that the internet came along in the 1990s allowing floundering artists a chance to tout their talents as web designers, which I also do, but I want to talk here about my hand drawn illustration work.

Much to everyone’s surprise, as well as mine, my first position out of college was as an actual silversmith with The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation which then led a year later to a career with the museum as a technical illustrator in the archaeology department. (And to those wondering, yes, I did wear a costume to do my silver smithing in – see photo as evidence. The lace on the sleeves of my dresses caught fire quite a lot).

It was famed archaeologist and author Ivor Noel Hume who gave me “my big break” as an illustrator. He is an extremely interesting and prolific writer, and for those unfamiliar with his books, I would highly recommend you give him a read if you have any interest in history or archaeology, you won’t be disappointed. He, together with his now departed wife Audrey, headed up the Department of Archaeological Interpretation at CWF and I was hired to illustrate the seventeenth century artifacts discovered at Martin’s Hundred on the James River. A subsidiary colony of the Virginia Company and neighbor to Jamestown, Martin's Hundred was effectively destroyed by an attack by the Powhatan tribe in March of 1622, leaving it a virtual time capsule as the result of having been abandoned not long after that. Its dead and much of their material culture lay forgotten beneath the fields of Carter’s Grove Plantation until 1976 when archaeologists discovered it once more. By the time I joined the department the digging at the site had been completed and the artifacts were waiting to be drawn; an entire room of them. I spent nearly three years at the task and learned so much from the Noel Humes of value that I count it among one of the greatest highlights of my career.

After finishing up the Martin’s Hundred artifacts, I spent a year working at NASA learning how to use the revolutionary new machine called the Personal Computer. There they sat in a room all by themselves with the only two guys willing to give them a try and me. It turns out that learning to use a computer was far easier than I would have imagined, even though it was during a time when Windows yet hadn’t been invented and each command was typed out in dos. (I am so ancient!) For a year I created schematic CADD drawings of the space shuttle. Cool, huh? Plus, I now had a skill set that few at the time possessed, computer literacy. Okay, all you young things probably cannot remember a world without computers, but I assure you, it existed and there was resistance in some quarters to the change brought about in the office environment, so anyone willing to learn was of great value at the time.

An opening for an illustrator in a different part of the archaeology department at Colonial Williamsburg opened up and back I gladly went from space shuttle to the 17^th and 18^th centuries again where I worked happily for nearly ten years illustrating artifacts and mapping dig sites. In the mid 90s budgets at the museum were cut and so was I, but I have worked for contract archaeologists and museums on a full-time or freelance basis ever since, the longest running being with The Corning Museum of Glass in New York. I have worked with the curatorial department there for about ten years and have completed the illustration of literally thousands of complete artifacts and fragments of artifacts, most dating from the first, second and third centuries. These illustrations have been published in books by David Whitehouse, curator of the Corning Museum of Glass. To those interested, links to these publications can be found here

So what does it take to illustrate an artifact? Well, first is the ability to be able to properly handle an irreplaceable and delicate object. As has been mentioned in several previous blog entries, I am a total klutz, BUT am still able to be trusted with a two thousand year old fragile, paper-thin, piece of glass. This is because, number one, I was taught by the best; Ivor Noel Hume and the curatorial staff at The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, and two, because when I am handling an object that is ALL I am concentrating on, I am fortunately not distracted by small children, beasties or what ever else usually causes me to miss a step. I remember when interviewing with David for the first time he asked me if I was comfortable handling the glass. I told him that “Yes, I am confident doing so and that though I am extremely careful in my handling of artifacts of any kind, it does not make me nervous to do so.” He later told me that if I had said that it did make me nervous that he would not have hired me.

By remembering a few simple rules one can, in most cases, keep precious objects safe. Tables where artifacts are handled are padded and sometimes have little walls along the edges to prevent things rolling off. When moving an object, it is kept as close to the table as possible so that should it fall, the distance would be short. Elongated bean bags are used to help prop up and cushion objects. In the case of metal artifacts, cottons gloves are worn so as not to deposit oils from the hands which can be corrosive to metal. Most importantly, objects should be handled as little as possible, the less you touch it, the less opportunity for accidents.

I live in Virginia, The Corning Museum of Glass is in central New York state, artifacts of course do not come to me, I must go to them. So, for the last ten years I have traveled to Corning to visit my friends at the museum and draw until my fingers are numb...literally.

Jill Thomas-Clark has been working with me for these many years and has become a good friend. Working with Jill is a true pleasure and I very much enjoy my trips to the north country. She gathers the objects to be drawn and pulls them from the collections. She assists me with interpretations of what I think I am seeing in a sometimes very worn or weathered object; she keeps track of the thousands upon thousands of objects, their numbers and where and when they were drawn. And generally coordinates all aspects of my trip, from the objects I will be drawing to my plane reservations. She is a wonder.

Once I arrive, I am shown to my little storage room where the glass awaits me in a very cold, climate controlled environment and I don my sweater and pair of magnifying glasses. Each object is divided into two halves in a drawing, on the left, in most cases will be a profile. This will show what the object’s thickness is as well as give clues as to how it was formed. The glass from this period is blown and to make a rim or foot it might have been folded back on itself several times, a profile will show this. It will show where the object is solid or whether there is space between its walls.

On the right side of the drawing will usually be the object as it appears on the outside. It will show its decoration should there be any. Some early Roman glass was decorated by molded, cut, scratched or applied means. The early Islamic glass that I am working on now is highly decorated, so in order to show a full view of an objects pattern a “rollout” is done. This is a three dimensional object’s decoration made flat (see drawing at right which shows the decoration on a large shallow bowl. Click on any drawing to see detail).

Each drawing is done to scale, which means, actual size. I have drawn large vessels that stand two foot high; they are drawn two foot high, as well as very small objects; at left is a wee bottle that stands only about an inch tall. (Is it not amazing how something so tiny and fragile has existed unbroken for two thousand years?). The finished drawing may be reduced for publication, but is shown with a scale so that those doing research can see what the objects actual size is. All measurements are as exact is as possible. If I can measure it, it is on the drawing. If, for instance, I have an intact bottle with a narrow neck and I can only really measure the top part where the bottle has its opening, then that is all that I can with confidence put on my drawing. I can make an educated guess, but I dash the line in to indicate that I am guessing.

I first make a detailed and measured pencil drawing with all the views that I plan on showing. This I do at the museum with the object in front of me. I also take several digital photos of each piece in case I need to reference it later, but I try to make my pencil “sketch” with as much information as I will need in order to complete a finished inked drawing. I will also have David Whitehouse’s excellent written description of each piece to reference as well.

I draw as many objects as I can in the time that I am at the museum, as well as talking with David and Jill if there are any questions about how something is formed and what needs to be conveyed visually. I then take my pencil drawings back home with me and do the final ink drawing on mylar film to be used in publication. The drawing technique I use for the final inked drawing is called “stippling”, which means that I use thousands upon thousands of tiny ink dots to simulate the varying degrees of shading in the object. Above you can see an example of a bottle with my pencil sketch on the left and the finished ink drawing of the same bottle on the right.

Many times there is only a small fragment of an object left in existence, this makes it no less valuable from a research point of view however, and these shards are also worth illustrating. At right is one example of a piece of decorated glass.

Oftentimes I am asked what the purpose of drawing these objects is when they can simply be photographed. Well, they are photographed, and beautifully so by Corning’s photographer. But a drawing can show parts of an object that cannot be seen in a photograph, such as its profile, insides, complete decoration, wear pattern or in some cases how it originally appeared. A good example of this is the bowl pictured at left. At some time in its history this glass bowl was in a fire hot enough to melt and change its form. The top drawing shows what the object currently looks like, the drawing below it shows an illustrated reconstruction of what the bowl looked like previous to the fire that altered it. And in the case of the rock artifacts below, the carving done by Native Americans can only be seen clearly in a drawing.

So that, in a nutshell, is what I do. I am so very grateful for the work I have had to date, it is always exciting and fascinating employment. I am thankful too for the many interesting and wonderful people I have gotten to work with and for the excellent experiences my chosen profession has allowed me. I have been privileged to learn from many of the finest minds in archaeology today and hope to continue for many years to come to do so. I have been honored to handle and draw such objects as first century depictions of saints Peter and Paul, possibly made during their lifetimes. Masterworks made by both famous and anonomous artisans. Personal objects used by both the wealthy politian and the humble slave. Bullets and weapons that have passed through living bodies and ended lives. I’ve drawn giant pieces of ancient machinery and tiny brass straight pins; animal bones and the bones of humans; pieces of history several millennium old as well as soda bottles from the twentieth century. I have even drawn Thomas Jefferson’s toothbrush! And though I have drawn many thousands of objects, I can still tell you, in most cases, where and when it was done and the objects purpose and place in history. It causes me pause quite often, to think when I am using an everyday item such as a cup to wonder: ‘Wow, in a thousand years will there be some archaeologist digging this thing up and trying to piece together the ways in which it was used?’ Or in the case of a particularly complex piece of equipment: ‘Man, I would hate to be the illustrator trying to figure out how to show this on paper.” I hope that this read hasn’t bored you and that you might look upon your humble belongings in a new light; every bit of material we live with and use is a piece of history and art in its own way, no matter how humble. Think of that the next time you brush your teeth!

©KKW 2009

INAUGURATION DAY 2009

On this very special Inauguration Day, I find myself reflective like perhaps so many others. As I made my way around town doing errands at lunch, everywhere I went where there was a television there were large groups of people gather around them listening in attentive silence. I too listened to now President Barack Obama’s inauguration speech several times and read it through as well and wished that I could have watched the entire thing, unfortunately I had to work -- fortunately I still have a job to be working at.

My eldest daughter, eight years old, came home very excited to tell me about watching the inauguration on TV at school and did I know how very important this day was to our history? Her enthusiasm and zeal put me in a wistful mood and made me think about how this tiny individual, left on a busy city sidewalk in China with a hope that she’d be found and rescued, is now part of a family half a world away and a living testament to the optimism of both China and the USA. She is now a citizen of The United States; a tiny flame of joy, hope and determination. My daughter sees no hindrance to her dreams due to her sex, her heritage or place of birth. She is bright and creative, stubborn and kind, resolute and joyful. My family has been made through adoption and my daughters are the fulfillment of one of my greatest dreams: to become a mother. That I would choose to become a parent in this way I did not even imagine when I was a child, yet here we are. I and my children envision so much promise for ourselves and our future because we live in a country that encourages the formation of families through international adoption as well as by conventional means. A country not perfect, but with the freedom to say so. A nation made up of individuals of great worth, talent, generosity and grit, to which my two young daughters now belong and to which they add their own indomitable spirits.

Since her adoption, I have taken my eldest with me to vote and within a few short months of coming to this country, my youngest was brought to her first presidential election as well. Our wait on November 4, 2008 was relatively short compared with other parts of the country, which was a relief since attempting to wait in any line with two small children can be a challenge at the best of times.

The line that chilly morning snaked out the door and across the parking lot of the local fire department hall. So I put my youngest in her stroller and handed her a granola bar which kept her contented, but left a trail of crumbs throughout the line. My eldest was not contained, physically or mentally, she remained in constant movement and non-stop conversation the entire wait. That’s my girl alright. ‘I’m cold. I’m hungry. Hey, what’s that on that guy’s shirt? Sister, watch me do this. Sister, make a face like this. Sister, you are getting crumbs everywhere! Mom, sister is getting crumbs everywhere!” All at full volume of course.

I had reminded her about the voting “rules” before we ever left the house since we have done this many times before and have discussed that she must remain silent and just watch and not get in the way and NOT touch the screen. She assured me that she remembered the rules. So when we finally got our turn at the designated “booth” what’s the first thing she does? touch the screen of course. Fortunately, her fingers didn’t hit any critical spots.

‘Baby! Don’t touch! I’m the one voting.

‘Oh, sorry Mama.’

The choices for president come up…

‘Mom! Vote for Barack Obama! Vote for Barack Obama! (she pronounces this ‘A Rock Obama’). 100 sets of queued up eyes turn our way.

‘Lily, remember what I told you.’

‘Oh right, sorry Mom.’

I check the box of my choice.

‘Yeah! You voted for Barack Obama! Good job Mama! That’s who I wanted you to vote for!’ So much for the anonymity of the polling booth. But she came away with an appreciation for the civic responsibilities and rights that she had so recently been studying in school. In fact, her class took a field trip mere weeks before the election to Washington D. C. and she came home greatly impressed by what she had seen; the statues and memorials, the monuments and museums, but what seemed to impress her the most was the Vietnam Memorial and what it represented with all of its inscribed names; the polished black granite reflecting back her young, contemplative face. As she described to me what she had seen she paused in her dialogue suddenly, and then said, “I’m really lucky to live in the United States, huh Mama?” “Yes, dear one, I’m lucky too and blessed to have you here with me.”

So what does this inauguration mean to me? It means that my children, who have started life so precariously half a world away, can witness the fulfillment of a dream and know, with certainty, that theirs are within reach as well.

©KKW 2009

DEAR LILY, ADVICE FROM AN EXPERT

Dear Lily,

My Mom says I have to be nice to my little brother, but it is so hard! He is always bugging me! He takes my stuff, he copies everything I do and he follows me everywhere! What can I do?

Signed,

Frustrated in Fredericksburg

Dear Freddy,

No, no, no, you are playing this all wrong! There are quite a lot of advantages to having little brothers and sisters, I know because I just got myself one a few months ago. Initially, when I got the news from my Mama that I was finally getting a little sister, and that she was two years old, I was a wee bit apprehensive. After all, it had just been my Mama and me for as long as I can remember, how would this change our relationship? How could I protect my property from being destroyed at the hands of this new, possibly ferocious little family member? Would my mom now give all of her attention to my baby sister and not have any more love left for me? These are all very important and legitimate questions to be asking, and believe me, I asked them. That is perhaps the most important thing you can do: communicate your fears with your parents. Don’t be afraid to do this, at the very least you usually get a good hugging out of expressing your concerns, always a fine thing in my opinion.

My own Mama reassured me every time I conveyed my fears (and I conveyed them a lot), that though there would assuredly be changes to our lives, that there would still be as much love from her as there had always been. She said that parents have an unlimited supply of love and not to worry. She challenged me to look at the situation differently than I had been, that instead of thinking that something was going to be taken away from me, that instead I would be gaining a whole other person to love and be loved by. And this indeed has been the case, I really DO love my new sister, much to my surprise, and she really does give me all the hugs and kisses I could possibly want in return.

Now you speak of your brother taking your toys, this is probably the most common problem that we as siblings encounter. I was warned that if I left anything within reach of my baby sister that she would take it, turns out this is true. So the simple solution to this difficulty is to hide your stuff. Bothersome, I know, but necessary because if you leave, say, a box of markers laying around for little ones to get a hold of, you will have more than just a messed up box of markers on your hands; your mom will likely have something very unpleasant to say about it too, and poof! no more markers for anyone! Best to just try and think one step ahead for everyone’s benefit.

Now to the mimicking dilemma; here is where you need to rethink your position the most. The fact that your brother wants to copy everything you do should make you feel good! He wants to be just like you, you should find this flattering. More importantly, you should be using this to your advantage, you could teach him all sorts of things that will drive your parents totally nuts and for which, if it is done right, you will receive no blame. Say for instance you continually make a noise that drives your mother crazy; why not teach it to your brother? Double the annoyance, double the fun watching your parent’s face change color in exasperation. Or when your mom’s back is turned, add a few more toys from your brother’s toy box to the mess on the floor. In comparison, your untidiness looks quite controlled and you appear to be an organizational genius.

Here are a few other advantages to having a younger sibling that you may not have thought of: *They can fetch things for you and are happy to do it, so no more getting up to ask for a snack, they can do the begging for you. *You get a lot more treats because your mom is trying to keep said sibling quiet, which usually means some delicacy is handed out and she can’t very well give it to them and not to you as well. *Same goes for presents; lots of kind people have brought a present for my new sister when they visited, and since I am a new big sister, they usually brought me a present too! This was an unforeseen bonus that I was happy to accommodate! In addition, you can teach your brother all of the annoying habits you possess and watch the delightful expressions on your parent’s face when they realize that they now have more than one set of infuriating habits to try and break. Remember, you have a partner in crime now; you must use it to your gain.

I realize that it isn’t always easy to be nice to your younger sibling, they really can be soooo annoying at times, but I think that the gains far outweigh any possible loses. I certainly don’t miss watching a television show alone while my mom does the dishes and laundry, I get to have company and introduce my sister to the likes of Dora the Explorer and we can sing along to High School Musical. And guess who my sister runs to when my mom gets out the vacuum cleaner? Me of course, she clings to me like a little monkey, but that’s okay, I like the feeling of being needed. I like that she thinks I can protect her from the noisy beast. I like that we get to share a room and I am no longer alone when I go to sleep. I like that someone is finally playing with the baby dolls that my mom had gotten me (I never cared much for dolls, but Meika loves them). I like having company in the back seat when we go somewhere. I like reading stories to her, helping to feed her, playing games with her (although she just cannot seem to get the rules of chess right, it’s maddening). I like that she gets so excited to see me again when the school day is over. I like that someone looks up to me and gives me the respect that I so richly deserve. Mama was right; having a sister really is quite wonderful if you change your perspective. So that would be my advice to you Freddy, just look at your problem from a different angle, I think you will find that you can work this system to your advantage if you try.

Good luck! Lily

KKW ©2008

NICE START TO THE NEW YEAR

othing like starting the new year with a *pop*, unfortunately, that popping sound was my ankle. Anyone who has read my blog entries before will know by now what a klutz I am, that's 'klutz' with a capital “K”. I had spent the day keeping a doctor's appointment and my friend Jennica again made my life so much easier by watching my two girls so that I didn't have to drag them along and attempt to keep them in check while I waited for an opening in my doctor's schedule. Not to mention keeping me from having to answer the billion and one questions that #1 would ask about every little thing. 'What's in those jars? What are you doing to my mom? Is she sick? Why is she that color? Can I see your heart listening thing? Why does she have to wear that sheet? Why does she have to pee in that cup? HOW does she pee in that cup?'...you get the picture. So after having a relatively peaceful day, all things considered, I picked up the kids, and planned to make spaghetti for dinner. I hadn't eaten all day and was craving carbs. But the new sleigh was running on empty so I had to stop for gas and while I sat there waiting for the tank to fill (we have a full service station in our little town!!), I spied our favorite Chinese restaurant. Okay, having someone serve me hot, delicious, sauce covered food did sound more appealing than cooking. Besides, isn't eating out a good new years tradition? Obviously, I'm grasping at excuses to be served.

So as we are walking into the restaurant, a man in the group in front of us kindly held the door as I was carrying daughter #2. Daughter #1 is prancing on ahead and as she slips through the door, in true Queen of the Klutzes style, my right heel goes off the curb and buckles under me, the last thing I remember before crashing gracelessly to the ground was 'Mmmmmm, something smells especially good tonight!'...and then I am kissing the pavement and daughter #2 is screaming. I hang on to her, but at the expense of my left knee, my head, my shoulder. Ugh! Excruciating pain immediately assails me, mostly from my ankle. I've done this before you see and I know exactly what I have done as the adrenaline floods my system and nausea floods my stomach; I have torn the ligaments in my ankle...again. The kind folks that were holding the door see what has happened and rush over, gathering my now screaming two year old. Daughter #1 runs back out yelling “Mom!! Mom!!” And as so often happens when we venture out into public, chaos ensues. The nice people who own the restaurant run out to help; they bring hot tea, a whole pot of it. Another man appears from no where and asks if he should call the rescue squad...I think, or rather I try to, I am in so much pain and it is not abating that I shake my head yes, mostly because I haven't been able to assess daughter #2 yet and I fear that she has been hurt. Once the nausea passes, I am able to sit up and ask for my screaming child who it turns out is just scared. Who can blame her, poor baby, here she is being carried securely (or so she thinks) by her own Mama and suddenly she is on the ground and Mama is gasping and moaning and not comforting her. Oh the drama! Oh life's uncertainty! Oh those stupid curbs that I just can't seem to master! Regrettably, I have done it all before.

The first month I was home with daughter #1 I was carrying her into the Kroger's in Charlottesville, I was talking to her and telling her how much I loved her, and bam, a curb, geez, how hard can it be to step up onto a curb?! Down we go, that time my knee saved us, but daughter hit the back of her head and because it was her that was hurt and not me I sat there bawling like a lunatic. By the time the rescue squad got there a few minutes later she was laughing and flirting with everyone and was totally fine. Now what the heck kind of unfair karma is that?! There I was telling my new daughter how much I loved her and wham bam, we're on the ground, I felt like the worst mother alive, ouch! love hurts! Although I didn't drop her, I guess that's something. It's good to know in these situations, that as parents we will apparently and unconsciously sacrifice all available body parts in order to not drop the baby.

And then there was the time five years ago in February when I went out to get the mail and was looking around instead of where I was going and rolled my right ankle off the driveway and went down head first ten feet from the road. This is how I knew today what I had done to that same ankle, because that time 5 years ago I tore all the ligaments in it. I laid there for at least fifteen minutes as cars sped by, I was unable to move or even get to my knees. Finally, two guys in a pick up stopped and shouted out the window “Hey, are you alright?” My inner self begins to mumble 'Duh! Do I look alright?! Do you think I am just taking a little rest here in the middle of the road dressed in my PJs?” But I manage to just scream “NO!” They kindly hopped out and got me to my feet. These two must never have been boy scouts, because they don't seem to know that cross-handed-seat that you make with your arms for injured persons and pretty much drag me up my long driveway. Once in the house they ask if they can do anything else, I thank them and tell them no, that I will call my next door neighbors, they always know what to do and Marion is on the rescue squad. Unfortunately, as my ankle swelled to three times its size and I attempt to call them, it is alas in vain, the line continues to bleat a busy signal at me for 30 minutes. I find out later that unbeknownst to the adults in the house, one of the kids had taken the phone off the hook. Daughter #1 was up in her crib, she was 2 at the time and I could hear from the baby monitor that she was awake and wondering why Mama was not coming to get her. I had no choice but to call 911. Forty-five minutes go by, so I call again and ask if they are coming and I am told that the squad is taking someone else to Charlottesville (40 minutes away) and that they will be there as soon as possible. All I can think is that it is a good thing my injury isn't serious, mercy, I'd be dead. Once they arrive I insist that the first thing they do is go and get my baby for the love o' pigs! One of them does and brings her down to me, she takes one look at me and declares “Mama hurt!” Oh my yes, my entire foot has swollen to an unbelievable size and is turning the color of a fine red wine. Having seen the flashing lights and ambulance in my driveway, my wonderful neighbors rush over and take Lily back to their house. I am taken to the hospital in Charlottesville, x-rayed, packed in ice, handed crutches and told to stay off my feet for 3 weeks....uh, right. So having done this before I know the routine this time. I am advised to go to the hospital, but I decline, it's already been a long day, I own my own crutches and brace and the ambulance guy has given me really cool instant ice packs, I think I'm set, and I can see that my ankle isn't the color of red wine this time; it is swelling and turning purple in spots, but doesn't look as bad as that first time.

While I have been laying with my foot up in the ambulance, my girls are being fussed over by the other ambulance attendant, the kind people that rushed to help and all the employees of The Panda Garden; bless them. They are brought back to me in the ambulance and daughter #2 who has stopped her crying, starts to cry again once she spots me, poor baby, this has really upset her. Of course daughter #1 starts looking all around and asking questions 'What's in those jars? What are you doing to my mom? Is she sick? Why is she that color? Can I see your heart listening thing? Does she have to pee in a cup?' We have not foregone the billion and one questions, only postpone them.

Eventually, after a bit of paperwork, for which one of the questions is my age, I give my birth date. The attendant looks up sharply and says, “But the guy on the phone said you were 35.” Really? I suppose he was guessing, nice to know that when I am in agony I look younger than my many years, there was the sunshine I'd been waiting for. I am helped from the vehicle and since we are already there, I see no sense in going back home with all of us hungry. I can put my foot up just as well here as anywhere, so we go on in and eat. I'm fussed over with concern by all present, but honestly, I feel like a dope, how clumsy can one women be? Should I just expect to take a tumble every few weeks and get used to it? Should I start wearing protective gear? On the bright side, the pain that I went to the doctor's for this morning is nothing in comparison to my ankle, and has been virtually forgotten. And the chef at The Panda Garden treated us to hot sugared donuts at the end of our meal especially for us. That's me, always looking for the silver lining. Gratefully, we live only a mile from the restaurant and so I drove the short distance slowly and carefully. It was a bit of a struggle getting daughter #1 to get the critters feed and the dogs in and settled. She then had to bring me my crutches, but I knew exactly where they were and I am now so glad that I had decided to keep them around and not give them to the thrift store, I know myself too well. At least I have a good excuse for sitting here eating my Chinese donuts and watching a movie, now THAT is a good start to the new year!

KKW ©2008

UPDATE:

Having woken up several times in the night from the pain in my ankle and then trying to get up to use the bathroom and discovering that I couldn't bare weight on it at all without nearly passing out, I decided that I should take the advice of the ambulance attendant and get it x-rayed just in case, plus I couldn't find the brace from the last time and having it unprotected means any little thing that touches my ankle is agony. Again, my wonderful neighbors to the rescue, Theresa drove us all in the new sleigh to the “Quick Hospital” in Charlottesville. $100 co-pay?! Sheesh! X-rays were taken, I was given a brace, some pain meds and sent home to await the reading of the x-ray. They called a few hours later to say it was fractured, but they couldn't tell if it was from the last time or this time...huh? Regardless, the treatment was the same, so it didn't really matter; stay off of it for at least 3 weeks. Again I say, uh, right.

#1 says to me after observing me hobble around this morning, “But Mom, little sister falls all the time and she doesn't get hurt.” “Yes dear, but little sister is two, two year olds are made to bounce when they fall. Once you reach adulthood you are expected to have mastered walking, when an adult falls it is more like snap-crackle-pop. And indeed, my left knee, which took more of a bashing than I had originally thought, is the size of a softball, the color of grape jelly and makes a sound like crumpling plastic when ever I bend it – eeeeewwwwww. The scariest part is that being such a klutz, the use of crutches is especially dangerous, I have nearly fallen again several times...ironic. Trying to get to work should prove interesting.