My Expensive Bottle Opener - watercolor

6"x9" watercolor

Whatnots, knick knacks, tchotchkes - whatever you call them, they have often worked their way into our hearts as well as onto our shelves. They hold memories.

This cast iron bottle opener belonged to my grandparents. It saw a lot of use in the days when it was a necessity for getting into your bottle of pop (or soda if you prefer). When I was young, it was a dark, mustard-yellow with dull, dark, red and green pops of color on its wings, etc. By the time I was in my 20s the opener wasn't seeing much use, and a lot of the paint had worn off.  Poor, ugly, neglected little thing.

I had the bright idea of giving it a facelift. I wanted it to be a Christmas surprise for my grandparents but. . .  how was I going to smuggle it out of their house? What if I was caught "stealing"? Would they believe me when I told them what I had planned? Would they act like they believed me, yet at the same time fear I was an up and coming kleptomaniac?

I enlisted my dad's help. It was his parents after all. I explained my intentions and gave him a wink as I slipped it into my purse. We then behaved nonchalantly like all good crime families do.

However, as we were leaving the house that evening, my grandma noticed its absence. She began to ask about it and look for it in earnest. My dad and I looked guiltily at each other and, as he didn't really want to see his mother in torment, he stepped back into the house, said "don't worry about the bird," and stepped back out. I've always wondered what they made of that comment.

I painted it up as you see above, and they were very happy at Christmastime.

Several years later, after they had both passed, the bottle opener ended up in a box of miscellaneous items for auction. I wanted that bird. I ended up bidding against a person who must have been a collector of some sort. It was a bidding battle. He was not going to walk away with my prize! 

Thankfully, he bowed out at $30. Who knows how far I would have gone. What would I have given? I do remember family members circling my children protectively just in case the klepto had come entirely unglued.

The parrot sits in my kitchen window to this day, and after 30 years I'm noticing that it needs another facelift. I promise to share the results here with you.

A few steps in the process:

 

Behind the Purple Door

 Watercolor - approx.  9 x 12"

My step-daughter and her husband travel. They're great at it. They love it. And they have a website where you can find her brilliant (and funny) articles on travel, along with amazing photos taken by both herself and her crazy-talented, photographer-husband. It's called Manifesting Travel. Please give it a click and check it out!

My jaw dropped when I saw this door it! (Look for it on their website. It was from their recent trip to London) I had to paint it! And write a poem! Haha! Here it is:

Behind the Purple Door 

Passing down a street unknown,

I spied a purple door

with polished brass, and marble steps

that lead to something . . . more.

But more of what? I asked myself.

Behind that hue sublime,

are all belongings dipped in gold?

To live, have they more time?

Are people here, in fancy clothes,

who sip their fancy tea,

with pinkies out, and elbows in,

much happier than me?

Their tablecloth so elegant

and made of lace so fine.

Mine’s old and from my mother,

with stains of tea and wine.

Twas handed down, like all good stuff,

and treasured all the more.

Do items have that kind of worth

behind the purple door?

Do candles here burn brighter?

Are the residents more kind?

Are they smarter, stronger, wiser?

Can they always speak their mind?

And those who live behind the door,

do all their problems cease?

They have wealth, but do they have

a deeper sense of peace?

Are their lives here that much better?

They have etiquettes and rules.

Their belongings may be shiny,

but the shine, it only fools

us into thinking we need more,

when truly we are fine.

And if I had to choose a door,

thank you, I’ll choose mine.

I like sharing my process, so here it is in a few steps:

I sketched the door, applied the masking fluid to the areas I wanted to remain white, 

and started the first layer of paint.

This is the fun part - watching the purple door pop off the page.

Getting more of the detail done.

Finished watercolor, before a bit of digital tweaking.

As always, thanks for stopping by!

Watercolor - Teacup

 I have always loved works of art in watercolor but haven't worked with it much myself. 

This year I've made up my mind to try to work more in this medium. 

It takes more patience: (Patience is something I have been greatly lacking lately in my work) It needs to be planned a bit more ahead of time - Where are the highlights going to be? Protect those areas. Where do you want the paint to flow and have its own fun? 

It takes more faith: that the drip and blobs will dry to satisfaction. 

It takes practice: Wet into wet, dry over dry. 

There are no undo buttons. I can't paint over mistakes like I can with oils. (I make a lot of mistakes)

I didn't begin this piece very carefully. I just sketched it up (with my reference photo) and dug right in. Mistakes were made. I cheated (if you want to call it that), and when it was complete, I put it into my digital app, Procreate, and fixed a couple things. Below is the process to where it ended up before I "cheated". 

     This bottom one is what the actual, physical watercolor looks like. My ellipse is skewed, and I didn't plan well for the highlights. For my own purposes, like putting my art here on my blog, or uploading the image to my yearly calendar, it works to do both the physical watercolor, and the digital fixes and enhancements.

     I'm not doing very many things anymore with the end purpose of framing and hanging on a wall. But, having said that, I'm aiming to actually have a watercolor or two, done this year, that are frame worthy. 

Willow House Chapter 28

For chapter one click here

The Horses Aren’t Busy Tonight, So . . .

     

    

      “Oh my gosh, Ella! That was the most amazing day ever!”

     “Yeah,” is all I manage to say. I’m still kind of in shock and haven’t been talking much.

     Daleni and I are curled up on our sleeping bags under my open bedroom window. The curtains are pushed all the way back so that we can watch the stars as we listen to the crickets. And yes, if you’re wondering, the air conditioning is on, but my door is shut, and I’ve placed a rolled up bath towel across the bottom to keep my mom’s money from flying out into the warm, night air.

     “I wish you had told me everything from the beginning,” she says. “I’m still a little mad.”

     “I’m so sorry, Daleni! There were so many weird things happening. I didn’t even know how to explain it all.”

     “I get it, but let’s pinky swear to always tell each other the truth.”

     She holds out her pinky, and I curl mine around hers. “I swear,” I say.

     I lay back on my pillow, glad that the whole mess is behind me.

     “Que pases buenas noches, Ella.”

     “Good night to you too, Daleni.”

     I roll away from her onto my side. I start thinking back on the day, all the crazy things that happened, and how happy I am with the way it all turned out. I’m feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. There are still a few mysteries to be solved, but they can wait. I still have most of the summer ahead of me.

     “What is that noise?” Daleni asks. She’s up and on her knees, peering out the window. I pull myself up beside her in a flash. 

     “Is that what I think it is?” she whispers.

     “Dios mío!” I say.

      A black, Cinderella carriage is coming down my street.

     “Come on!” I shout.

     I take her hand, kick the bath towel out of the way, and together we practically fly down the stairs. We pause before opening the front door. We need to take a moment. She nods her head. I nod my head. I open the door.

     The carriage has pulled to the curb, directly in front of my house. This time the fairytale feeling doesn’t bother me. Four of the tallest, blackest horses I’ve ever seen are standing in front of it. They have long flowing manes and long flowing tails. They stamp their feet and toss their heads, ready to get on with it.

     “Come along, girls!” Mrs. H. shouts from the driver’s seat.

     “Go on, Sweetheart,” my mom says from behind us. “Mrs. Hallovich wanted this to be a surprise.”

     I run to my mom and throw my arms around her. Dad is standing at the foot of the stairs with Tommy in his arms. Tommy reaches for me.

     “Can Tommy come too?” I ask.

     “That’s the plan,” Mom says.

     Mom and Dad watch from the front porch as the three of us scurry down the walkway to our ride. 

      Mrs. H. hops down from the driver’s seat and opens the carriage door. “Up you go, ladies,” she says. Then, “not so fast, Mister!” she adds. I think for a moment that she doesn’t want Tommy to go. It’ll break his little heart. It’ll break my little heart. “You’re riding up front with me. I need help controlling these horses.”

     “Vroom-vroom,” Tommy says.

     She and Tommy climb up into the driver’s seat and Mrs. H. turns to peek at us through the front window. “Comfy?” She asks.

     “This is great!” I say.

     Mrs. H. chuckles. We hear Tommy making more vroom-vroom noises as we take off. Daleni and I sit next to each other in the seat that faces forward like a couple of princesses in pajamas. The horses are trotting down the road like they own the place. Daleni leans away from me and puts her head out of her side window. I do the same on the other side. The night air blows in my face. A million stars are out. This is the life.

     Before I know it, we’re coming to a stop. I know exactly where we are.

     “I’ll go to the door,” I say to Mrs. H.

     “No need. Here she comes.”

     Mandy is walking down her front porch steps wearing her pajamas too. “Have fun, Sweetheart!” her mom is calling to her. 

     “Did you plan this with her mom too?” I ask Mrs.H. 

     “We had a little chat, yes.”

     “Hey, Mandy!” Daleni says.

     “Hey, Daleni! Hey, Ella!” Mandy plops down in the seat across from us. She’s excited too. “I can’t believe this. This is amazing!” 

     Mandy sticks her head out of her window like us and then we’re traveling down the road, harnesses jangling, hooves clip-clopping, having no idea where we’re going, but happy to be on our way.

     After a couple more minutes we’re slowing down and pulling over in front of another house. The front porch light is on. Melanie and her dad are on the porch swing expecting us. In less than a minute she’s climbing up in back and she gives me a high five and sits across from me. If I’m being honest (and I always try to be honest), things are looking better for Melanie and me.

     “Hi, guys!” she says.

     “Hi, Melanie!” we all say back. 

    The carriage starts to move. 

     “Let’s put our heads back out of the windows!” Mandy says. 

     So we do. Four windows, four heads hanging out, one Mrs. Hallovich, one Tommy, four black stallions, and a billion stars.

     We ride through the night. We pass Roy’s, where we’ve all bought candy.  Even Mrs. Hallovich, who bought her candy there about 100 years ago.

     Much later, Mrs. Hallovich returns the M&Ms to their homes. Daleni and I are back in my room and she’s already asleep beside me. I still can’t believe Mrs. H. is really Grandma Hallovich. I don’t know what we’re going to come up with to tell my parents. There’s no way they’ll believe everything that’s happened. Adults can be funny about things like that. Don’t you think?

     I’m so wired up, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until Tuesday. I reach under my bed to pull out my diary. I grab a pen and I’m just about to start writing about everything that’s happened when I change my mind. I put the diary back. I pull out the midnight blue journal, with silver stars, that belonged to my great-great-great grandpa William. A good story is hard to keep in when it just wants to get out and live. I start writing: 

     I’m way too old for a babysitter . . .

The End

I hope you've enjoyed the book. Thanks for reading!

Willow House Chapter 27

To start at chapter one click here

 A Few Answers to a Few Questions

     

      Mom picks Tommy up at 4:00, when he’s done napping. Mrs. Hallovich ushers the rest of us outside, where she gives my friends a grand tour of the yard, the carriage house, and the greenhouse. We don’t go down to the pond. 

     After the tour, we set up the croquet game. Melanie loves it.

     “Not too bad for a game made for 80-year-old grandmas, is it?,” I ask, as I step on my yellow ball placed right next to hers, and send her green one flying into the next county.

     She rolls her eyes at me. 

     Then, she goes to chase after her ball.

     Just before 6:00, we stop to help Mrs. Hallovich put things away. Mandy’s dad arrives shortly after that to pick up her and Melanie.

     As Daleni, Mrs. H., and I are waving goodbye, Mrs. H. heaves a big sigh and says, “I bet you girls have a lot of questions.”

     That’s the understatement of the century.

     The three of us move to the iron table under the giant willow tree.

     Mrs. Hallovich starts. “I never, in a million years, thought that my daughter presented any kind of danger to you or your brother, Ella. I didn’t realize that she had become so . . . so present. I’m very sorry.” She pats my hand.

     “Then, that really was your daughter Gertrude?”

     Mrs. H. nods. 

     “So, she didn’t die like you said?”

     “Yes, Ella. She died when she was seventeen.”

     “Then . . . she’s a ghost?”

     "Something like that.”

     Daleni speaks up. “Is that why she wouldn’t let Ella or Tommy touch her?”

     “Yes.” Mrs. H. nods. “She has a physical presence, but it’s not quite the same as ours. You would have recognized something was different.”

     “Why did she take Tommy?” I ask.

     “I think she was terribly tired of being alone.”

     “But she has you! She’s not alone.”

     “It’s not quite the same, Dear. Trudy is on a different plane than us. Do you know what I mean by that?”

      Daleni and I both nod because we’ve spent a lot of time watching the sci-fi channel. It means she’s not all the way part of this world.

     “How did she get there?” I ask.

     “That’s the million dollar question!” she says. “All of those willows that Sam planted around the pond, were enchanted. I don’t know much about how it all works, but the magic they carried was the same magic that has kept Sam looking so young when everyone else aged. They created a kind of fountain of youth. Sam had planted them to give that gift to my father and his family.”

     I hate to ask my next question because I hear it’s not polite to ask a lady about her age. I’m pretty sure that this situation is different though. “Are you really 130 years old?”

     Mrs. H. nods. “131 actually. But, I stopped swimming in that terrible pond years ago.

     “Did your parents stay young?” I asked.

     “Well, the magic doesn’t reverse your age, only preserves you where you are. So, no, they didn’t stay young. Besides that, my parents simply didn’t swim. You see, you have to spend time in the water. I never understood why, but Sam had a strict rule that the children were not allowed to swim in the pond. I thought maybe it was because the pond was too deep, or too cold. I didn’t truly know about the enchantment until Gertrude got sick.” She paused.

     “What happened?”

     “Sam thought the willows would save her when the doctors were failing. He checked her out of the sanitarium and brought her home. He carried her out into the water of the pond. She died in his arms.”

     “So, the magic couldn’t save her?”

     “No, Dear. But, it did something. It made her unable to pass over to where we all need to go when when we die.”

     “Couldn’t Sam do something?”

     “He didn’t want to do anything. He wanted to keep Gertrude close to us.”

     “It was Sam who rescued Tommy, wasn’t it?”

     “Yes,” Mrs. Hallovich said. “That was Sam.”

      I think about that for a moment. “What now?” I finally ask.

     “I’m not sure. Sam and I have some things to discuss.”

     I have a few more questions and then I need to go home and sleep for a couple of days because I’m pretty sure my brain is starting to smoke. “Is it Sam who’s been cleaning up the place?”

     Mrs. Hallovich laughed. “That’s partly correct. You see, Sam was so delighted when you and your brother arrived that, yes, he put his green thumb to work and began doing things to bring the lawn and gardens back to their former glory.”

     “What’s the other part?” I ask.

     “The house itself. Sam only helped. He couldn’t have done it all alone. I believe that the whole house is enchanted, and in some way has been very happy to have you home.”

     Daleni and I look at each other. Wow.

     Mrs. H. continues. “Your presence here may also be what pulled Trudy further onto this plane.” She looks down at her lap. “I hope that wherever she is now, she’s happy, and that I will be with her again someday.”

     I take a deep breath. Here comes, for me, the real million dollar question. “Mrs. Hallovich?” I have trouble getting the words out. “I guess you’re my . . . “ I look to Daleni for help and she gives me a little nod. She knows what I’m afraid to ask out loud, but Mrs. H. saves me. 

     “Yes, my dear. I am your great-great grandmother.”

     Tears fill all six of our eyes. Then, the three of us jump when we hear a car horn blast from the curb. My mom is here to pick Daleni and me up. Daleni is spending the night at my house tonight.

     “What do I tell my parents? Do they know about all of this?” I ask as we head around to the front of the house.

     Mrs. Hallovich stops me and places her hands on my shoulders. “They don’t know anything yet. We’ll have to put our heads together and come up with as much of the truth as we can without scaring them. For now, just tell them about the tea party.”

Willow House Chapter 26

To begin at chapter one click here

 The Tea Party

    

      Daleni and I are sitting in the parlor waiting for the M&Ms, who should be here any minute. Tommy is napping in the study, across the entry, where I can see him. Mrs. H. went upstairs to change out of her wet clothes and “put herself back together”. She didn’t say much when we were walking back to the house. I let her carry Tommy because she looked like she needed that. She also kind of looked like my mom does when she has a migraine coming on.

     Daleni and I aren’t saying much either. I can’t believe the things that have happened since this morning, when my biggest issue was deciding which shoes to wear with my sophisticated, green and white dress. At least I’ve gotten a little used to the crazy events at Willow House. Daleni is probably freaking out. I look over at her. She looks at me. She looks okay. She doesn’t look like she just saw a ghost, which is actually what probably just happened.

     She’s the first one to speak, “Ella, are you okay?”

     “Yeah. Are you?”

     “Yeah.”

     The jangle of an old-fashioned telephone, interrupts us. It’s that brass doorbell. Daleni and I both stand to answer it. Mrs. H. calls down from upstairs, “I’ll be down in a minute, girls. You can escort your friends to the dining room.”

     I open the front door and I’m happy to see that Mandy and Melanie have also put effort into their fashion choices of the day. Mandy has on a bright yellow sun dress and Melanie’s is bright orange. They look like very pretty M&Ms. The four of us spend a few seconds complimenting each other on our dresses, but then the beautiful entryway snags their attention. I step out of the way so that they can have a better look.

     “This is amazing,” Mandy whispers like she’s in church.

     Melanie is nodding her head. “This is really beautiful, Ella.”

     “Thanks,” I say. I’m thinking thoughts I’m not quite ready to say out loud. They have to do with a new feeling that I belong here. This house belongs to my family. Great-Grandpa Frank is Mrs. Hallovich’s son - Henry.

     The girls follow Daleni and me into the dining room. Their eyes grow big and they gasp, and I know I won’t have any trouble convincing them to have the tea party inside. I’m about to offer them a seat when Mrs. H. enters. She’s dry and looks fresh as a daisy.

     “Welcome to Willow House, girls!”

     I make all of the appropriate introductions. Mrs. H. is putting on a brave face like nothing happened, and I can see that the M&Ms are comfortable. In fact, they seem excited to be here. Mrs. H. tells us all to have a seat while she gets a few more things from the kitchen. 

     We’re barely settled in our chairs when she returns with a china, tea service: a fancy teapot, sugar bowl, and cream pitcher, all with a beautiful weeping willow design. They match the five cups and saucers that are already sitting at our places. 

     I’m a little worried because I’ve never really liked tea. I’m going to drink it though, because that’s the polite thing to do. Mrs. H. goes around the table filling each of our cups then sits at the head of the table.

     “Go ahead, girls. It’s not too hot.”

     We all pick up our cups. I notice we all extend our pinky. It must be an instinct from prehistoric times. We take a small sip. It’s delicious! 

     Our faces all light up. I think maybe the other girls were afraid they weren’t going to like it either.

     Mrs. H. is nodding. “It’s my mother’s recipe. It’s made with oranges and lemons straight out of the greenhouse. This was the only tea I could stand the taste of when I was young.”

     After that, it’s a real party: a well controlled and polite free-for-all with our pinkies extended. I’m not sure you’re supposed to stuff yourself at a tea party, but there’s no way to stop eating all the yummy things she made for us. There are finger sandwiches, and fancy breads, and fruits, and vegetables, and dips, and pastries, and of course, potato chips. Most of the platters, as well as our plates, are empty when she says, “I have one last thing for you girls.”

     When she leaves the room we all groan and complain and laugh. How can we squeeze in one more bite?

     Mrs. H. returns in a couple of minutes with a pile of pink boxes. Each one of us receives two; a smaller box on top of a bigger one, tied together with a pale yellow ribbon. 

     “Go ahead and open them,” she says.

     Inside the top box is a beautiful, little jar of the strawberry jam she had been working on when Daleni and I arrived. Inside the bottom box. . . a fancy cake that looks like a beautiful girl in a ball gown. The doll part is stuck down into the vanilla cake part and each of the dolls has on a different colored dress with ruffles of icing and candy pearls.

     “I thought you girls might be too full to eat them, so I made them to take home.”

     “Eat them?!” I say. “How can we eat these?”

     “They are so beautiful, Mrs. Hallovich!” says Melanie.

     “Thank you!” says Mandy

     “I can’t wait to show my mom!” says Daleni.

     “Enjoy them!” Mrs. Hallovich says. “But please do eat them! I don’t want to hear about my cakes growing any green, fuzzy stuff.” She laughs.

Not Mrs. Hallovich's pattern, but a teacup nonetheless.

For next chapter click here