Spread Peace Through Art--Wish I Knew How to Paint!

Art

Pastures painted in vivid greens,

‘neath skies of blended blues;

soothing scenes depict tranquility,

of places past--

Where tall grass blows upon a lea,

shepherds tend gentle flocks,

work horses graze,

farmhands nap,

chickens waddle to a trough.

How fortunate that grandmother knew how to paint.

Her heart,

in cracking oils on canvas,

randomly splashed on my suburban walls,

reminds me,

and those who visit,

of

peace and serenity.

And you!

How lucky are you?

Given a chance to leave a legacy,

to express yourself with art.

A lifetime ahead--anew--

to spread love to future generations.

Please pick up the brush,

the pencil,

even a box of crayons.

It’s never too late to begin.





(Written by Eve Gaal in loving memory of her talented grandmother, who knew the influence of art.)

We're Almost There-30 More ideas

Don’t Give Up!

Here’s Some More ideas

to help keep you busy while at home.

(I tried something like this one.)

1.       Play cards. Rummy, poker or 52 pickup?

2.       Paint a rock for gifts or paper weights.

3.       Have a balloon fight on the patio

4.       How about a family barbecue?

5.       Make chocolate or vanilla shakes

6.       Decoupage might be fun-no Mod Podge? Use Elmer’s glue.

7.       Quilting with scraps

8.       Chalk drawings on the sidewalk

9.       Make lemonade or iced tea in different flavors

10.   Read an ebook (I can suggest several good ones!)

11.   Write a book review on Amazon

12.   Cut your bangs? Maybe not.

13.   Color your own hair?

14.   Tell ghost stories

15.   Take a fancied-up bubble bath. Candles, rolled towels.

16.   Cupcake or cookie decorating

17.   Record a video and post it on YouTube.

18.   Clean some windows

19.   Sew curtains/pillows

20.   Play trivia games-party games

21.   Jump rope or hopscotch?

22.   Blanket tents and forts

23.   Make a giant tic-tac-toe game out of painted cardboard.

24.   Call Grandma and Grandpa

25.   Have a hole? Darn it.

26.   Slow cooker chili. Yum

27.   Identify plants and trees around your home-draw them

28.   Extravagant Ice cream sundae festival with sprinkles

29.   Masquerade ball at home with costumes

30.   Teach your dog to roll over or fetch?

Advertising Ideas--A Memoir

I remember stepping foot into his office. I’ll call him Jay. He was the first client who yelled at me. Later, much, much later, he warmed up, becoming cordial, but, that first meeting, when I was twenty-three, went something like this:

“Hello, I’m from the newspaper.”

“Yeah, so?”

I wore a dress I had sewn on my mom’s Singer; Kelly green with small white dots over a white, puffy sleeved blouse. In hindsight, I looked like Snow White’s sister.

“Thought I’d come by to talk to you about advertising.”

At first, he said nothing. Then Jay’s eyes sort of bulged out of his head and he turned red. “What in heaven’s name do you know about advertising? I have owned this dealership for fifty years and you think you can waltz in here to tell me what to do?”

“No sir,” I answered, worried the man might have a heart attack in front of me. My knees shook. Good thing I had opted for the pattern with the full skirt, I thought.

“Well, you’re going to tell me how to advertise? Do you know anything about advertising?” His voice shook the entire office. I think they heard him at the parts counter.

“I admit I’m new to advertising, but I have some ideas that could help sell more cars.”

“You have ideas, huh? You think you can help me sell more cars?” The yelling turned into diabolical laughter that shook his portly belly and scrunched his gray eyebrows together. At this point, I wanted to run back to the shelter of the office to tell my manager I had failed. Maybe, I’d take that low-paying job writing obits, after all.  Jay sneered a twisted smile, but it calmed me down. “Get out of here. Go get your ideas and come back next week. I’m busy.”

“Can I leave you a copy of the newspaper?”

“Yes, now get out,” he shrieked, pointing to the exit.

The following week, I came back with a mock-up of a full-page ad and he signed a contract. Jay became a loyal newspaper advertiser for many years. I had triggered something. Either guilt for his nasty behavior or pity for the newbie. A mystery I have yet to solve.

Once I had my first check, I bought a navy-blue suit, assuming falsely, it would help me command a bit more respect. Later, a closet full of suits, a briefcase and business-like pumps didn't help either. Sadly, many future clients also screamed about prices, tear-sheets, proofs, typos etc.  and those pencil skirted suits didn’t hide my quivering knees.  

Either way, Jay, and all the others, inspired me to figure out why things like this happen. Six years later, I went to grad school for a Master’s degree in Human Behavior. As if learning psychology would stop clients from shouting. 😊 I hate shouting. Don’t you?

Anyway, what do you think? Did Jay like my ideas? My dress? My determination? Did I upset his ego?

More than likely, he simply wanted ads in the local newspaper. Right?

A Post of Memes

Thought I'd write a few inspirational memes.

 I took the photos too, and don't mind if you share these.

Hope you liked this post. I'd love to see your comments. Thank you!

Butterfly Shadows

I stopped under a moving shadow of a Monarch butterfly.

She fluttered around a tree and flit above a house.

My eyes darted left and right hoping to catch a glimpse of orange.

Her fire

a smudged blur in my memory.

One Piece At a Time!

Sorry to drag you along on my walks, but it seems walking gives me hints for writing. Clues to the universal order or disarray of things. Walking makes me question nature and makes me think about the status quo. I walk—therefore—I am. Deep, huh? It’s supposed to say think and it was said by philosopher Rene Descartes. In fact, he said it in Latin: Cogito ergo sum. And walking, which is supposed to make me healthy, at least lets me philosophize.

So, here’s the scoop:

Crossing the road one morning, I found a puzzle piece directly in the middle of the road. I racked my mind. What could this mean? My inference radar thought of many different scenarios. Have you ever put together a puzzle and found there’s one last piece missing? So frustrating. I’ve been there.

But what message was the galaxy sending me? Was there something missing from my life? For days  I tried searching for answers. I tried being introspective. Mindful. I hugged my husband. I read and review books. I give, I volunteer. I assist when necessary.  I looked at my improved diet and my relationship with God. Wow, there’s always room for improvement, but after days of reflection, I still couldn’t pin it down.

So, I took myself out of the picture and then it hit me. The day. The piece. I was looking at it all wrong.

I found this puzzle piece the week of June 12, 2018. The day of a famous summit in Singapore. A meeting about disarmament of nuclear weapons.

The universe communicated with a tangible form of an important word.  Without spell check but maybe using autocorrect, this solitary puzzle piece appeared before me. Maybe the rest of the pieces are on other streets, all over the globe, sending a strong international message.

Say it. Say piece.

PEACE

Let’s not lose an important piece of our puzzling world.

Inspired by Rossetti to Explain Ekphrastic

A friend and I were discussing ekphrastic poetry the other day, but the word ekphrastic had escaped those file folders in my mind. The more I tried to describe what I meant, the more it sounded like I had no idea and my words kept dragging me farther and farther down a rabbit hole. (I even have two poems from a few years ago that appeared in an ekphrastic anthology It's called The Way the Light Slants and it could use a few reviews. Take a look.) Honestly, even though it’s a device I use often, the word ekphrastic doesn’t ring a bell from my memories of high school or college English. According to Wikipedia, “In ancient times it referred to a description of anything,” this of course, I think is hilarious.

 Anything?

 So even after reading the fancy online descriptions about ekphrastic poetry, I’m thinking the word is bandied about to alienate the average poet from those who have a higher, perhaps snobbier idea of literature. Can you hear my audible sigh?

 Poetry should be for everyone.

 By Dante Gabriel Rossetti

 Of course, a great vocabulary can elevate poetry to higher, more sophisticated levels. Readers, who enjoy poetry, are smart enough to figure out what a writer is trying to communicate by rereading the work several times, or by looking things up. Understandably, there are times when the writing is so personal that readers can’t relate. With ekphrastic poetry, they may get a clue. A photograph, drawing or a video is described in detail, as a moment to share, thus making it even easier to understand. In simple language:  it’s poetry written about a picture.

Anyway,

This brings me to the works of Dante Rossetti, an artist who lived from 1828-1882. All his paintings feature women with the most interesting expressions. His paintings remain so inspiring that I think I could write a poem about all of them. He was in fact, hired to illustrate poetry books and he also wrote romantic sonnets. Mere words however, would certainly fall short of his delicate portrayal of

the gorgeous beauties he painted. Still, someday, I’d like to attempt a few ekphrastic poems on the whims, personal thoughts and deepest desires of his glorious subjects. Maybe a publisher should put together a poetry anthology based on this idea because everyone’s perspective on these attractive ladies would be original.

Have you ever written an ekphrastic poem?

Intangible Greetings

Choosing Laughter

The days are shorter and the air cooler now.

There,

 at the top of the hill,

 is our warm,

 comfortable home.

A place we nurse wounds,

shed tears,

laugh if we can.

Sheltered from rain,

we read books,

write stories and play board games.

We’ve grown to appreciate the way the birds sing.

We’re grateful hospitals send us home,

because we’ve known young people

sent to hospice.

Yeah, young ones.

Believe it.

And fresh faces who passed while sleeping.

It happens.

They looked healthy....

We might complain on a sofa asking for a tea.

Flowers entertain our aching bones.

Trees sway near the window,

the dogs make a fuss,

visiting grand kids giggle on the stairs.

Someday,

there’s the promise of a better place.

I’m bundled up imagining it.

Cozier,

filled with love,

and those traveling before us.

Higher,

much, much higher,

with expansive panoramic views.

No tears,

or pain.

We won’t need doctors anymore

probably not even tea,

              and complaining will be a thing of the past.

              Until that time--

              each time I drive

              or walk up that little hill--

              my heart fills with immense anticipation,

              bubbling with appreciation,

              for stucco walls,

              a tile roof.

             Where I can cry if I feel like crying,

             or choose to laugh.

             Where I can be thankful,

             for another cool day--

             in Autumn.

Eve Gaal

Copyright 2017

Abundant Love and Crosses

Luke 15:7-“Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth.”

One at a Time

Eve Gaal

Imagine my bewilderment at coming across this

collection of crosses probably made in China.

The cynic in me laughed--

maybe my dark side.

While the best in me hailed it as an achievement

here in our egocentric

capitalistic society.

A display of blatant commercialism

necessitated by

those who thirst for life.

But does it matter?

If even one human being

perhaps while making these crosses,

painting them, packing them, stacking them

begins to believe?

If one sailor on a

giant freighter crossing

through the Panama Canal

lifts one of these boxes and peeks inside.

They’ll decorate walls,

lonely  halls or

the side of roads where hate may have raged.

One mind that reconsiders,

forgives—

a family kept together--

a marriage saved.

A tribute to the fallen--

a comforting memory,

a marker of love.

If only one,

eye rests on the symbol and prays?

If one teenager who loses a friend to drugs

takes a tearful gaze

at the commemorative cross

reflecting on ‘why’.

If one life is saved,

from the clutches of doom—

the fire and fumes--

and one heart has turned toward God--

He will rejoice and be glad.

John 6:35

Jesus said to them, "I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst.”

Social Media Hearts--(A Poem)

Look at the world,

where varied types of hearts commingle.

Some seem fully oxygenated,

gassed up

ready to whirl over others like a lawnmower.

Delete key overload,

parental controls,

a pack of unfriended hearts--

who had once made us smile.

Adult supervision lingers as

spiritual guidance,

legal representation,

group administrators,

and an authoritative boss.

Assisted living pulls hearts into

managed care and hospice.

One end is another beginning.

Wary hearts meekly gasp for air,

a word,

perhaps a meal.

Some are fearful and alone--

they kick--

act embarrassed—

ashamed of the past.

Sad hearts often find themselves mortified to be human.

They feel the species is regressing--

it does sound rather depressing.

And science invented a pill,

increasing serotonin--

flowing with emotional  dopamine

numbing like legalized cannabis.

Look away, look away, look away Dixieland.

Watch the news—hear the fire and the missiles--

see handsome soldiers break their mother’s hearts.

There are evil hearts that stab with knives made of sarcasm.

Sometimes they crawl into the recesses of their ventricles

pushing their own bloody convictions

behind an alias,

a nameless heart.

Cowardly hearts that prey

without a spine.

Waiting for a payoff?

Or simply inebriated?

Unattached and disloyal knights

who don’t care about anybody’s heart.   

Courageous hearts peacefully march for rights.

They proudly protest unfairness.

Stomping out bad hearts with vocalizations,

banners and communal prayer.

Like a roller-coaster—hearts can skyrocket at the medical center.

Hearts come and go.

On foot or carried on a stretcher.

Some have stitches and stents--

some turn to God and repent.

Wild ones twirl like overjoyed ballerinas.

Some people paint dreams around their heart like a picket fence.

They weave through clouds on multi-hued fantasy creatures,

and sing or write poetry about grateful hearts.   

Some are volunteering,

rescuing, knitting or putting out fires.

Millions of magnificent hearts connect into a loving tapestry.

But can honest hearts keep the good from unraveling?

Can we manage the truth behind our limitations,

while guarding innocent hearts?

In Time of Harmony by Paul Signac 1893

#

by Eve Gaal

Inspired by the President and Hemingway

Our illustrious Commander in Chief has inspired me to try a new marketing campaign for building my platform and increasing followers. Figure I'd jump on the proverbial bandwagon and find out what all the fuss is about. I mean, if he can tweet, then so can I. 

(Take a breath here--because my Tweets won't have anything to do with those tweets.)

 I’ll be sharing uplifting and inspiring quotes written by famous people and since I’m fairly good at writing one-liners, I’ll be sharing my sense of humor through short, silly jokes or witty remarks with the main purpose of making people smile. For free. There' no hidden agenda other than I wouldn't mind having more twittering friends. (And if you want to re-use something I wrote, please give me credit for writing it.)

My thinking is that since Twitter’s all a-flutter with high anxiety--thought I’d try the happiness approach--thereby creating more interest in my writing--naturally generating more blog readers. And who knows? Maybe I will receive some financial gravy as in book sales and writing assignments too. It can't hurt to try, right?

Although I’ve used Twitter for years, it never seemed like a serious place for an author. After all, what writer wants to be limited to 140 characters? Oh wait scratch that-- I guess Hemingway could have posted his six-word bestseller: 

  “For sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.”

Anyway, follow me at Eve@Eve Gaal for some comic relief. When I can’t come up with anything funny, then it will be a serious quote like the one I just posted on Twitter from one of our greatest Presidents-Abraham Lincoln: “Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than any one thing."

Do you use Twitter? How does it help you? 

Abundant Anniversary

The smoke alarm had to go off on our Anniversary and that’s one of those things that frighten the

collars off our dogs. And while we usually walk together hand in hand with a Chihuahua on each leash, this Columbus day and tenth day of the tenth month under what felt like tropical breezes and warm cloudy skies, I took the short walk around the block myself with Pinky.  (Someone had to change the batteries immediately.)

Pinky takes the lead

Every day, even on a short walk, there are things to see but this time I was duly rewarded with long tall shadows, flowering shrubs and hummingbirds.

The shadows fall

Crossing the street

Do you see the chirpy hummingbird?

The flag in our park

Please ignore the trash on the ground.
Non-locals like to sneak into our park and act like boars.
There's a trash can across from this bench. 

 

 Join me on this special day by having a seat in our one-acre community park where gratitude flowed from my heart as well as inspiration for a poem for my beloved I had to jot down when I reached our now peaceful home.

Happy Anniversary

Thank you Steve for coming into my life 24 years ago—

the man who changed my life.

The spring in my step when I walk our dogs—

the flowering scent along my path.

Your eyes the morning light—

your smile the California sun.

Thank you for being an angel

when I need spoiling.

Thank you for being disciplined and wise

when I need to grow up.

A warm and wonderful shoulder to cry on when I’m sad—

a solid rock of reassurance and a gift from God--

the one who broke the mold—my Steve.

Nature inspires me. How about you? 

Photo Blog of The Fifth Commandment

Peter's Denial, Carl Heinrich Bloch (1834-1890 Danish),

 National History Museum, Frederiksborg Castle

Thought I'd share a few photos about my newest short work titled The Fifth Commandment.

Wikipedia-(New Panama City)

Much of my story is a recollection of old Panama in Central America, which touched my heart as a family friendly, peaceful but humble town across from new Panama City which is full of skyscrapers, restaurants and fast cars.

This breathtaking altar has quite a story
 of it's own involving a Welsh pirate.

 Huge bridges, highways and giant expanses of water separate the old from the new and it almost seems like there’s a time warp of a hundred years between the two areas. 

My pictures are from the old section as described by my character, Christina. 

I loved the serenity in the French Plaza

If you like faith-based stories then click here now.

Even my own dishes inspired me....

but most of the story came to me in my dreams.

Have you ever denied someone you loved?

An Unlikely Superhero

Ask a kid what they want to be when they grow up and they might say they want to be a fireman or a dancer. Perhaps a superhero like superman, which in grownup-speak means policeman, soldier or even preacher because they are saving the world from evil. But—by the time they are finished with school—they will typically change their minds a few times based on local opportunities, pressure from parents and tuition fees.

When someone asked the young me about my future, I said, “I’m going to be a writer.” I kept a diary and later some journals. I wrote stories and created crudely assembled “books.” I entertained my family by reading them my flawed but heartfelt poems.

 In high school, I had one superhero and her name was Edna St. Vincent Millay.

The way she had experienced various passions and perspectives in life and then wrote about them, made her a sort of idol I wanted to emulate.

Although I’ve outgrown my enamored feelings—here are a few (romantic) facts about a writer and poet who lived a charmed life, creating not only lyrical poetry but who also had amazing success.

1.       She had red hair and green eyes!

2.       She wrote an opera for The Met.

3.       She owned an island called Ragged Island in Maine.

4.       She lived in Vienna, Rome, Budapest, Paris and New York

5.       She wrote articles for magazines using the pseudonym Nancy Boyd.

6.       She received the Pulitzer Prize

7.       She married a Dutch importer in 1924

8.       She died working all night on her last book of poems.

My favorite of her poems are:

a.       Renascence

b.      Childhood is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies

c.       The Fawn

d.      Dirge Without Music

e.      Hyacinth

f.        Souvenir

g.       The Philosopher

h.      The Poet and His Book

i.         Conscientious Objector

Her poems are emotional and delicate, not contrived. Her tender words touch on love and innocence as it teeters on the brink of mortality. Perhaps subjects I didn’t need to be so enthralled with at age 17 but glad her words are still sitting on my shelves waiting for me to return. And now that I’m a mature “writer,” it’s time to set new goals. Anyone have an island for sale? Maybe  I better start with red hair.

Hyacinth

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am in love with him to whom a hyacinth is dearer
Than I shall ever be dear.
On nights when the field-mice are abroad he cannot sleep:
He hears their narrow teeth at the bulbs of his hyacinths.
But the gnawing at my heart he does not hear.

How about you?

What were your childhood aspirations?

Did you have a superhero that you wanted to be like when you grew up? 

For International Women's Day

Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence. —Helen Keller

Every year, on March 8^th there is a celebration honoring women called International Women’s Day and I wanted this post to reflect the importance of something that eluded me for many, many years. I hope it inspires everyone to take a good look at his or her own uniqueness and purpose in life. I also wrote this because of a humorous article I wrote about a cheating, lying boyfriend who strung me along for many years. Unveiling my shame seems funny in hindsight but the memories are still embarrassing. Fortunately, this relationship turned into a wonderful thing because it was the catalyst to changing my life. Read about The Scoundrel this upcoming Saturday in the Los Angeles Times. (Available at newsstands everywhere.)

When I was a kid, I had trouble seeing the chalkboard. Once I received my thick, not so attractive glasses that I didn’t want to wear, my grades improved but my confidence level suffered. Life is like that. We go five steps forward only to take two and a half steps backward. Our lives get muddled when we make amazing inroads in confidence and self-esteem only to forget that there’s another multiplier called self-respect. Personal achievement, accomplishments, awards and even attractiveness will fall to the wayside leading to various problems that begin with unhappiness and depression if there’s no self-respect. How you think about yourself is the most important quality of all. By being honest with ourselves, we can accept and love who we are.

Unfortunately, I didn’t know any of that.

Though I wrote a restaurant column, earned my diploma and wrote stellar ad copy, there was still something missing; something no accolades, rewards, bonuses and even kind comments could help me overcome. I had to learn about self-respect. What did that mean? After all high school theater gave me, a false sense of confidence and many people told me they thought I was great. Great—nah—average maybe. You see, I didn’t buy into the kind and well meaning compliments and spent most of my twenties acting the part of a confident coquette. Then one day, I decided to make a change by learning and going back to school for my Master of Arts degree.

Hitting the books helped me stay away from negativity and reading inspirational articles filled me with the desire to help others. I set my standards higher and accepted my limitations. I let go of those people who manipulated me or tried to take advantage of me and slowed my life to a crawl—or at least the speed limit. I smelled the flowers and set examples. I volunteered, developing a sense of humor along the way and went outside to exercise. My inner value blossomed and attracted real love. Without being selfish, I could still love myself and in turn be much better at sharing my heart.

Additionally, I’m grateful for my friends and followers. Thank you so much for reading this and sharing my ideas with those who might need a little help "seeing" things along the way.