Accident Prone

I've been very fortunate in my life to not have an issue with being accident prone.  My brother however has had his fair share of being accident prone.  I remember at least once a year, my parents were taking my brother into the emergency for one reason or another.

I didn't witness one of his first accidents, but my mother can tell the story well.  He was just a little guy and was helping my Grandmother do the wash.  In the 50's and 60's they had a washer that looked more like a robot than a washer.  I'm sure he was very fast and happy to help her wring out the laundry.  This process was done by using a wringing mechanism on top that resembled the inside of a copier machine where the paper is dispensed out.  It had several rollers that would squeeze the water out once inserted.  Somehow, my brother got his little arm wrapped up into the laundry and if was fed through those rollers.  My mother said Grandma was fast to catch the switch and roll him the opposite direction to remove his arm.  I remember for the longest time, he had a scar from that day.  I guess that's why they modified that machine.  It was more common than we knew.

I remember all us cousins running around at my Grandmother's house.  My uncles worked in construction and many times, would park their utility trucks on my Grandmother's front lawn.  On this particular day, as we were all running after each other, most probably playing tag, we decided to run around this utility truck.  Of course there were those of us who would fall down, but get up and brush ourselves off.  But that wouldn't be the case for my brother on this day.  He got too close to the edge of the truck and caught the top of his eye lid below his brow on a hook or piece of metal that was sticking out on the edge.  I know to this day, you can see the scar still above his pretty blue eye.

Halloween always seemed to play a disastrous time for my brother as well.  In particular, I can recall a year when he was Dracula and we spent our Halloween at a park.  Again, it involved several children running around.  It is because of our costumes in the 60's that we have rules and regulations regarding how costumes are made.  My brother took a tumble.  It was quite orchestrated.  He took a rolling effect.  Then my parents heard the cry.  He fractured his arm that evening.

Our family loved to take trips to Palos Verdes and the beaches in the Los Angeles area.  In some of the beaches, there are bluffs.  I remember my father taking us on hikes on some of those bluffs.  I was terribly afraid of falling down them.  The trails got very thin.  I remember yelling at my father for taking us on those trails.  My brother seemed to be more fearless than myself.  After our hike, we would usually venture down into the water to play in the sand.  My brother and my Dad were playing some game which involved either a ball or Frisbee.  Well wouldn't you know it, the ball or Frisbee got stuck on top of a bluff like area at the beach.  My brother, being the enthusiastic retriever ventured up the side of that bluff.  I remember my Dad asking him how he was going to get down.  He responded that it would be easy.  He took a few steps and then from the very top of what seemed like three stories at the time, my brother in all his glory came rolling down the side of that bluff with dust being exerted from every part of his roll.  Then the thud at the base of that bluff.  Of course, we all ran up to him to see if he was alright.  I don't remember if he broke or fractured anything that day.

Then there was the Fourth of July.  I don't remember my brother getting injured during this holiday, however, when I was in middle school I remember holding the infamous Roman Candle.  I always felt like the Statue of Liberty when I held on to one of those enormous sticks of explosive sparks.  I usually held the Roman Candle away from me as always advised by my parents.  This one time, it was heavier than usual and I leaned in against my blouse in my abdominal area.  My Dad lit that and I was so enjoying watching how it turned from a bright glow to different colors and the sound it made as all that fire blew out of the top.  I started to feel something burning on my stomach and pulled the Roman Candle away and there was fire coming out of the bottom as well and had burned a hole clear through my shirt.  And that is why, we no longer have Roman Candles to hold on to.  Then there were those fireworks that you would hammer into the tree and watch whirl.  I don't know how many times that darn thing would come off the nail and twirl toward me and into my long hair.  I guess that's why those don't exist anymore for your average firework consumer.

Determination

I have some memories of my childhood in El Monte.  I believe at the time when I was about 6 or 7 years old, I was probably one of the smallest ones around.  I wasn't that outgoing.  In fact, I was considered the strange one (due to autistic behavior).  I had cousins who were very outgoing and were always the center of attention.  I used to admire that they knew how to do so many things and were fearless.

I have cousins who I thought should have been surgeons.  I don't know why at the time I thought it was acceptable, but a few of us would see our male cousins hanging around an old shed in my Grandmother's (Abuelita's) backyard,  They would be intently concentrating on a rock.  It was then that we realized what they were doing.  They were doing surgery on a poor lizard.  This particular one was called a blue belly lizard because it had a blue belly.  Evidently we had caught them after they had observed the working organs of the poor little lizard and one of them was proceeding to sew up an incision they had made.  After they sewed the lizard up, miraculously the lizard ran off.  God only knows how long that lizard lived after that.

These were the same cousins who thought it was great fun to throw each other into the cactus in my Grandmother's yard.  The whole house would run out when we would hear the cry of one of the boys coming from the back yard, because we all knew they had been thrown in the cactus.  All my Aunts (Tias) and Grandmother would gather around the poor victim and using whatever means and work at getting all those horrible stickers out of their body.  Of course the boys who threw the other cousin in the cactus would get a reprimand and then proceed to laugh at the one who was in the dining room getting the stickers taken out.

These cousins all knew how to ride skateboards and ride bicycles.  Even my cousin who was a little older than myself had a wonderful stingray bike she used to ride.  Her dad had adjusted the seat much lower than the older kids, because she was small in stature.  I used to admire that she was able to ride her bike back and forth from her house to my Grandmother's.  I didn't know how to ride a bike so I would run beside her always running out of breath.  Because she loved me, she would stop and then walk her bike until I caught my breath and then we would proceed again.  I remember thinking in my little girl mind, "I wish I knew how to ride a bike."

One day when there were no cousins around my Grandmother's house, I noticed that my cousin had left her stingray (I think that was the brand) bike laying on the ground up front.  I went over to it and awkwardly picked it up.  It seemed so big and heavy for me.  I had observed my cousin riding the bike, so I put my legs over and straddled the bar.  I put my foot on a pedal and pushed it down and fell hard to the ground.  I remember it hurt so bad.  But I picked the bike back up and did it again.  The same result over and over again.  The searing pain, over and over again.  I remember at one point seeing my knee scraped.  During this learning experience, I was able to get one pedal down and eventually getting the left pedal down, but falling repeatedly.  I remember crying.  But I was determined to ride that bike.  I must have been trying for hours and then it happened.  I pedaled a few times without falling and then would fall.  Mind you all this time, I couldn't reach the seat because it was too high.  I was doing a standing and sometimes sitting on the bar of the bike.  At some point, I was able to ride the bike in a full circle and fall.  Then by the end of my trying, I had mastered the balance and pedaling of the bike ride.  I was so happy, but there was no one to show.  So I took my chance and rode my cousin's bike up to her house to return it.  I remember feeling so proud that I had learned how to ride her bike.  I don't remember her reaction when I brought her bike to her.  I know for the rest of the day I was beaming.  I can only imagine what my legs looked like for days after. But, my determination paid off that day.

My Love For Art

I was curious to see if my art blog was still active and it is.  If you are interested in reading a few short stories, they can be found at https://myloveforart.blogspot.com -- During the time I wrote the My Love For Art blog, I was very enthusiastic about my resurrected love for art and the encouragement I had been receiving to sell it.

Several people who encouraged me to sell art, actually purchased some originals and/ or commissioned me with their concepts.  I can tell you the commissioned pieces are much harder for me, because you want to capture their descriptions and concept.  I've learned that my art is a gift from God, so when I begin each piece, I say a prayer.  When I'm commissioned, I pray through the entire piece.  There are times when I look on a piece and just say his name, "Oh, God!"  I usually get through those ones.  I've been known to wash off a canvas and start over.

I admire the works of several artists.  With some of them, they tend to use similar color palettes of color.  I have also learned from trained artists that there are art rules.  My art is very much like my life.  It has no boundaries and my palette is every color that makes sense at the time.  So my art is very bright and colorful.  I was once told by an artist online that my art was naive and whimsical.  I was also told by a close friend that if I paint 10,000 hours, I could become a master at my craft.  I'm hoping with each year I have left to paint that my art gets better and less naive.  However, my art is original and I paint what I'm feeling at the time.

I originally started painting when my daughter moved out.  Her huge room became my art studio.  Whenever my heart was missing her, I would go into my studio, play music, drink wine and paint.  In that first year, I painted over 100 pieces.

My art comes and goes with my emotions.  My family recently moved from Southern California to Washington.  I was looking forward to all the new subjects of beauty I would be able to paint once we got moved.  I was ready to work 24/7 on art.  But unknown to be, my plans took a terrible emotional blow in September.  My creativity had been stifled up until about two weeks ago.  It's amazing how someone you are closest to can disappoint you and affect everything that makes you, you.  My lesson learned was that I have to keep looking up for my life's answers and know that disappointments are part of humanity.  Forgiveness is how I move forward.  And thank goodness it goes both ways.  I know in my life I've been disappointing.

I have Graves diseased eyes.  There are days when the pain shooting from them becomes unbearable.  On one particular day several years ago, the pain would not cease, even with 800MG of Ibuprofen.  So to detract from the pain, I painted.  I painted a piece I called, "My Eyes' Fury".  After I painted, I slept and woke up much better.

I keep several pieces of my early day art that I would never think to sell because they are pieces that no one would hang or want.  But they remind me of how far my art has evolved in the past five years and it has.

Introduction To Cindy's Colorful Canvas

I'm pretty new to blogging.  I started a blog several years ago. At that time, My Love For Art pertained primarily to my art on Blog Spot.  I found that there were way too many art bloggers out there who were much more experienced than me.  Although I have been interested in art since I was a young girl, it wasn't until five years ago that I started painting with acrylics. I've given away many pieces and surprisingly have sold and commissioned several (www.facebook.com/cindyscolorfulcanvas).   I'm starting to think it is more of a hobby than a sideline career.  The title of my blog is appropriate to my art as well as to my life.  My life has been a great big colorful canvas, thus I decided to leave it as such.

Anyways, my name is Cindy.  I am a 54 year old woman and will turn 55 in May, 2015.  Currently, I am a mother to four amazing children (a daugther and three sons) and stepmother to an amazing stepdaughter. In a previous marriage, I was a stepmother to several.   What kind of mother would I be if I didn't refer to my children as amazing?  I am presently married (almost 18 years) and have been married three times before for a total of four times.  In my mind I say I've been married on and off since I was 19 years old.  I sometimes try to deny the first marriage and hardly mention it in my life, because it only lasted 8 months.  I like to count only the last three marriages as they are the ones that I choose to remember because they provided me the opportunities of motherhood.  I always say, I'd do the same thing over in my marriages just to be guaranteed the children in my life.  It was never my intent to divorce and remarry.  In fact, when I look back on my life, I probably should have never gotten married and just had my children out of wedlock.  However, that then would go against the things morally that I believe in my life philosophies.  There were times when that philosophy was very questionable.  Whatever that means.

Because of my daughter, I am also a grandmother to one granddaughter and soon to be a grandmother again to a grandson.  I have three grandpuppies (a male and two females) as well, because of my oldest son.  My two youngest twin boys are still in high school.  What was I thinking when I became a mother at 38 years old?  I've been a mother since the age of 23 years old.  I always have said that God has a sense of humor when he blessed me with twin boys late in life.

I recently retired from a school district in southern California, where I worked as an administrative assistant to a superintendent for 11 years and a human resources manager for a little over 11 additional years.  In those 22 years, I can tell you that my life was anything but boring. Initially when I was hired by the district, I was a single mother of two. Because of my prayers to a Mighty God, it is my belief that I was provided the opportunity to work for this district to be able to provide for my family with minimal financial struggling.  I also believe that it is because of this district that I was able to early retire at the age of 54 and give my old stressed out body a rest and do things I choose to do, instead of being stuck in the pressures of working for someone else and escalating health issues.  Although my income is now less than half of what it was, it still is more than what most people make starting out in their careers.  I feel so blessed.  Upon retiring, I felt that I could subsidize my income by doing art.   I'm still working toward getting an art business up and running.  I made this life changing decision when my husband and I visited Seattle, Washington in August 2013.  With retirement, came a life changing move to Washington.

I thank God for each day I wake up.  We are only promised a moment, so I try to live each one I have to the fullest.  I have health issues which have impacted my life.  Up until the age of 35 years old, I considered myself a fairly attractive person.  Now looking back at old photographs, I think I was more on the pretty side.  However, due to health issues that later in life were diagnosed, what I considered to be once attractive, has suffered some changes.  I'm now extremely overweight, which was always my fear as a young girl.  My once beautiful big brown eyes have been affected as well by Graves Disease gone Hashimotos and I now have a protruding right eye.  I have arthritis and the early onset of diabetes.  Although there are days where I think I have the worst in health, I know there are many more people out there that suffer much worse than I do with health and would give anything to bear my cross instead of theirs.

Getting back to my origin, my ethnicity is Canadian French and Mexican.  I call myself a Frenchican when people ask me what is my nationality.  My biological father is Canadian French and my mother is Mexican.  My Mom divorced and remarried when I was very young.  I consider my Caucasian stepfather my Dad.  My biological father, who I hardly knew, passed right after the twins were born.  Both my Mom and Dad are still living.   Although my childhood was pretty rocky, I have some awesome childhood memories.  I grew up in the Los Angeles area, primarily in the town of Lomita.  In my senior year, my family moved to Riverside County where I lived until recently.

I've been told by many people I have met throughout my years that I have interesting stories to tell that have happened in my life.  In retirement, I need to keep my mind sharp.  So, I thought it might be an opportunity to share my stories in a blog format.  My stories will include childhood, motherhood, career, retirement and art.  I hope the stories I share will bring you entertainment, if even for a short time in your day.

Since it is Christmas time, I'm going to share the story of the disposal of our family Christmas Tree in 1978.  As with most live Christmas trees, at the end of the season, they are dried out.  Of course, like most people, you can always set them on the curb for the garbage truck to pick up or you can have a Dad who prefers to dispose of it himself.  On one particular evening, he decided it was time to dispose of the Christmas tree.  We asked him how he was planning on doing that and he replied, "By burning it in the fireplace."  We all assumed he was going to cut it into little pieces, etc.  But, no.  He proceeded to shove the entire Christmas tree into our fireplace and partially up our chimney.  He prepped the base strategically for ignition.  Upon lighting, we were horrified to what we heard and saw.  First was the loud boom, then the loud roar of flames shooting up the chimney.  I remember him uttering a few profanities as he jumped back.  He sent us out the front door to witness what was happening above the house.  It was like the Fourth of July.  Sparks and embers were flying everywhere.  Surprisingly, even with the fall leaves on the ground, nothing caught on fire and he didn't burn any neighbors' homes down.  The only casualty was the front of our fireplace which had a hue of black on the bricks.  I don't remember if my Mom was ever able to get that black color off.  My Dad's lesson was that he wasn't going to ever do that again.

I don't have a plan yet as to how often I'll blog, but I know that I'll be back.  If there are particular areas that I have mentioned that you may have an interest in learning or have me write about, please feel free to drop me a comment.  Have a great day!!