Bloody Caesar! Excuse The Outburst.

Bloody Caesar Shrimp & Chorizo Pilaf

In today's video, I do a pretty good job of playing dumb about what a "Bloody Caesar" is. That's because I'd never heard of it until my husband handed me a printed recipe from The Lemon Apron blog for Bloody Caesar Shrimp & Chorizo Pilaf. It's not hard to guess that a Bloody Caesar must be something like a Bloody Mary, though. A quick online search confirmed that the primary difference between the two drinks is the use of Clamato instead of tomato juice. So, for the first time ever, a bottle of Clamato juice was introduced to the CoolGray kitchen. I was pretty sure it would be vile. I can be that way sometimes. But, that aside, I'm also pretty good about experimenting, so we made the dish.

I also purchased some chorizo, which is not something I would typically have in unless it was part of a meat & cheese board at one of our holiday parties. But, I know that pork and shrimp like to hang out together in bowls of food, even though they'd never be caught dead together otherwise. With all the controversy settled, we were ready to cook!

Reading through the recipe, we knew the shrimp would have to cook with the rice for half an hour, and, since our shrimp were a bit smaller than the gimungus tiger shrimp called for, we left them frozen in hopes that they would cook through, but not become tough. That worked out beautifully. In fact, after reheating leftovers in the microwave, the shrimp were still succulent and tender, while the chorizo did become a bit too chewy. The biggest modification we made was the omission of both the red pepper flakes and cayenne. We were confident the chorizo would supply plenty of zing and we're not big spicy food eaters. There's also a little prepared horse raddish in the dish, which doesn't add heat but does help enhance the liveliness of the overall flavor profile.

With all that sharpness, the fluffy rice had a creaminess from cooking in the Clamato which was made a perfect balance. The finish with fresh-squeezed lemon juice, sliced olives, and chopped parsley contributed a freshness that brought the dish together in a really beautiful way! Our hats are off to Jennifer at The Lemon Apron for a delicious recipe we'll surely make again. Because it is her recipe and not mine, I won't publish it here. But, you should definitely visit her blog and read it over there. And, our modified version can be found in the description box of this video on my YouTube channel. Watch us make it together and taste it for the first time.

'Til next time, I am CoolGray.

30-Day Photography Challenge Day 3: Clouds

My back yard, this morning.

Rows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It's cloud's illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all.

It seems I've known this song by Joni Mitchell all my life. I've been singing it since I was too young to really understand the lyrics. So, when I took a fresh look at them today as I was preparing to write this blog, it was a beautiful rediscovery. The layers of suggestion, the universal resonance, and the highly-personalize-able concepts sparked a bunch of memories for me. But, before I talk about those, let me tell you a little bit about this photo.

The guidelines I set for myself for this challenge were that I would take all the photos with my iPhone and would not alter or correct them in any way. So, no filters, no cropping, no exposure correction. I also remembered from the last solar eclipse we experienced that it's a very bad idea to point your iPhone directly at the sun. But, I figured I didn't run much risk of ruining the camera if I just pointed and clicked super quickly. Good news: My camera is fine. More good news, this photo is pretty cool! I couldn't see what I was shooting on account of that bright sun in my eyes, so I just held the camera up and clicked. Mostly, I was just grateful there actually were clouds in the sky today so I could meet the challenge! That wasn't the case yesterday when I was thinking about what I would do for today. I really love the flare that created that Saturn ring effect, as well as the refraction that introduces color I could not see with my eyes. And, as an artist who works in acrylic pouring a good deal of the time, I see something quite painterly in the way the blue and white play together.

Now, back to clouds. There are moments in my life that seem to live more vividly than others in my memory. I'm not talking about profound experiences or milestone accomplishments. I mean, there are moments that are kind of like Boomerang images on Instagram, little brief loops, clear and bright, that I can call up at will. There are only a handful of them, and they're not really big moments in my life, rather moment when a particular sense was deeply impressed. For example, when I was around 16, I had a bright yellow peasant dress with tiny red flowers on it. I wore it a lot. One day, I stood on top of the hill that was my grandparents' front yard and looked down at the highway below. The skirt fluttered in the breeze and the grass was particularly green that bright summer day. Nothing much was going on in that moment. I was just standing there, idling. But, all these years later, I can still see that yellow skirt fluttering against that green grass, like a gem in my memory crown. Do you have any memories like that?

The memory that relates to clouds is from much earlier. I think I was 5 or 6...7 at the most. My dad had turned half of our back yard into a pretty impressive vegetable garden. It wasn't just a little patch. It was a serious garden, well planned out, with neat rows, a cold frame, and a path down the middle that led to the woods at the back of the property. One day, right at that woodline, I sat in dad's red wheelbarrow and just laid back, my legs dangling between the handles. I remember the smell of the soil, always pleasant to my nostrils. Again, there was a gentle breeze. But, I think it was probably the first time I ever spent time just gazing at the sky and watching how the clouds changed as they moved across my field of vision. This day, I saw a giant rabbit's head in the puffy whiteness. I stared and stared, trying to fill in the areas that the cloud had forgotten. And, then, the shape that was so clearly defined a moment before distorted and began to disintegrate, so slowly I wasn't sure it was happening at first. When it was clear my bunny was going away, I felt sad for a moment. Then, a turtle floated into view and all was forgiven. I can still see those shapes and the way they changed as though I were looking at them right now. It was just a moment, but it formed an indelible mark, for some reason. I can still feel the metal under my back, and the way the rounded edge of the wheelbarrow pressed into the back of my head. There wasn't anything noteworthy about the moment that my conscious mind can discern, but whatever makes these calls felt it needed to be filed for posterity. 

I notice now that both of these moment have color in common. The blue and white of the sky, the yellow and green of the skirt in the grass. I mentioned in my last blog that color is something I'm deeply connected to. Maybe that connection is founded in those moments.

Joni's song also talks about seeing clouds from both sides. Flying in an airplane above the clouds is an experience I love. I haven't flown in many years, though. Since 9/11, flying has become much more difficult, and my husband doesn't enjoy air travel, so we've mostly driven where we want to go for the past many years. We'll fly again in September, when we visit Italy. I'll no doubt take note of the clouds. A sunset from 35,000 feet is just spectacular! The oranges and purples are uninterrupted by any land mass or tree limb. The clouds just open their arms and embrace the color, soaking it in and reflecting it back across their undulating blankets at the bottom of my field of vision. It's peaceful and breathtaking. But, the song talks about clouds' illusions we recall. There aren't, in fact, any rabbits or turtles. And, that blanket I see out of my plane's window is really no place anyone would actually want to be. You can't see how cold it is, or how un-fluffy that blanket actually is. And, that starts me thinking about the illusions we all chase in our lives; those goals we pursue that will probably never satisfy us, either because we don't ever achieve them or we find out on arrival they weren't what we expected. 

For me, I know I spent years, particularly the years after we moved from New York to Florida, trying to fit in, feel a sense of belonging, and be accepted by those around me. In my New York years, I did it mostly by setting myself apart, making myself so uniquely fascinating in some very self-destructive ways, that people just wanted to be around me. That's kind of a New York thing, or it was in my time there. In Florida, I felt like a stranger in a strange land. I'm an Italian-American, loud, New York woman wanting desperately to find a home among the drawls, the a-line dresses, and the Southern "charm," which can be treacherous if you don't watch yourself. We attached to a church (a couple of them in our time here, actually) and I paid close attention to the messages sent about what was expected of me as a Southern Christian woman, or, in one case, as a person affiliated with a specific church. I was happy to comply. I changed my hair color and style, the way I dress, the kinds of movies I watched, and even the vocabulary I used. Where intellectualism is celebrated in the North, I quickly tired of hearing people here in the South tell me they thought I was amazing, but they found me intimidating, letting that be their reason excuse for not growing a friendship. I spent years willing to make any modification I thought was called for in order to feel like a part of the crowd.

One day, after a very traumatic experience that is a story for another day, I realized I was a "cloud illusion," and I not only didn't know what else I could do to gain acceptance, but I had forgotten who I really was. I had to separate myself from almost everything and everyone I had been associated with for the previous 7 years in order to rediscover myself. When I did, I realized I like myself a lot more than I liked the person I was trying so hard (and failing) to be. So, I cherished the few friends who stuck by me through it all, let the rest go, grew out my bob and stopped coloring it, and watched any damned film I wanted to! It was my year of authenticity and it was where "CoolGray" was born. It's when I began using the YouTube channel as a way to practice my rediscovered authenticity and recover from the trauma I hinted at earlier. Today, I'm grateful for the fall, as it made way for all the good stuff that came in its wake. It is truly wonderful to be living from a "This is who I am -- take it or leave it," perspective. Fortunately, who I am is courteous and compassionate, so there's still plenty of opportunity to please those around me without feeling caught on the hamster wheel of trying to please absolutely everyone. I really don't know clouds at all. But, at least the mist has cleared.

'Til next time, I am CoolGray

30-Day Photography Challenge Day 2: What You Wore

Cool Gray Studio

I found it interesting that today's prompt was phrased in the past tense. Much of the time, what I'm wearing is not particularly photo-worthy since I work at home. But, this apron is on a journey in 2018 and, as I noticed it taking this siesta on my studio couch, I thought it had a definite sense of something done...it had clearly been worn. Of course, I'll wear it again...and again. Once a month I take 30 seconds of video so I can document the journey of the apron through 2018 and post a video on my YouTube channel in December. On January 1, it was pristine. Here, it's only the end of April and I honestly get a warm, happy feeling every time it gets a new spot, splat, or swipe of color. It shows the journey and that's what this year is all about for me.

Each time I lift that apron over my head and lay it down (or hang it up, if I'm being a good girl), it has been worn and bears the mark of whatever the current creative project is. Looking at it is almost like flipping through a favorite photo album. each color reminds me of the project it belongs to and the experience I had creating it. It's a good feeling. A healing feeling. And, if you're following along, you'll know from previous blogs that making art is a vital therapy for me. So, when I look at this photo, I feel a sense of accomplishment, grounding, and satisfaction. In a way, I see evidence that I am here on the planet and there will be some legacy left once I leave it. That's not arrogance; it's more the desperate hope that our lives meant something that I think we all feel to one degree or another.

I want to talk about art for a moment. I was a Fine Arts student for a few years way back in the 1980s. I learned all the things an art student learns then: Color theory, figure drawing, perspective, design and composition, sculpture. And, art history. I learned about all of the "important" artists through the ages, all the names of all the styles and eras, and why they mattered. Last week, I saw the film, "Final Portrait," a quiet character study of Alberto Giacometti. Watching this depiction of an "important" artist struggling with his own perception of his work brought back a bunch of memories of those classes. Giacometti anguished that he was either on the brink of ruining his current work or had just done so, irretrievably. I think that's something anyone who creates experiences. Certainly, I do. But, more importantly, those feelings had a lot to do with why I didn't pursue a career in art when I was in art school. The more I learned, the more I convinced myself I simply wasn't talented enough, or important enough, to call myself an artist. I constantly compared my work to those around me to whom form and design seemed to come naturally. My own father is a natural talent in that regard. I couldn't draw anything that looked balanced or realistic, so I decided I was untalented. I got a corporate job and decided art was just a hobby for me.

It's over 30 years later, and the world has profoundly changed since 1980. In particular, the art world. Today, "important" art (that is to say, art for which people will pay millions of dollars) is defined more by the celebrity of the artist or the marketing spectacles created around a piece than any adherence to the rules and guidelines I learned about in art history class. If one famous person has paid a fortune for someone's giant sculpture of a piece of fruit, suddenly everyone who has millions of dollars to spare wants their own giant piece of fruit. The documentary, "Blurred Lines," on Netflix makes this point far better than I can. If the subject interests you, watch it. Essentially, it concludes that art today is whatever the artist produces and whatever the consumer wants to own. There's something sad about that to me. In a way it's evidence of a decline of civilization...of a bygone era of elevated tastes and refined opinions. I'm sure there are still plenty of gallery owners who believe they possess both of those things, however, so I guess I won't allow myself to mourn too much.

Another phenomenon has also affected the art world for those of us who don't have millions of dollars to spend. The blending of the art and craft worlds has made room for me and for many others to explore ways to use simple techniques and supplies to create affordable works of art other people actually want to purchase for their homes. I'm one of many YouTube artists who demonstrate, experiment, and teach others how to do some of these things. Etsy, craft fairs, and private commissions have opened up a whole new world of marketable art. (For Seinfeld fans, it's like Festivus for the rest of us!)

When we creators talk among ourselves about the ongoing debate on what the difference is between "art" and "craft," and whether any of us has a "right" to call ourselves and "artist," I see a new pride has emerged, a new confidence that comes along with time and effort spent to make something and make it well. There is a community of mutually-supportive artists who are willing to share their techniques and their art to inspire others. Sure, there's still a struggle with "ownership" of a design concept and some sense of competitiveness for eyeballs and sales, but the internet has allowed us to work that all out together, real time, for better or worse. I'm going with better. I'm going with better because this community introduced me to acrylic pouring, dot art, and some other forms of artistic expression that busted down the brick wall between art and me and allowed me to find a way to create something that feels authentic and has a healing benefit for me. That just can't be bad.

It is only this year, 30 years after art school, that I can unhesitatingly say the words, "I'm an artist" when introducing myself. While I may feel the rest of the world had to lower its standards in some way to allow this to happen, I'm also grateful that art is now available to me in a way it has never been before. One of the artists I follow on YouTube said it best, when she said, "Art is not about talent. Art is a desire. We make art because we deeply desire to do it." Yes to that. I want to be quick to add that I still have a world of respect for artists who have spent a lifetime disciplining themselves, refining their art, have genuine talent, and make great fine art. However those artists may feel about sharing the playing field with people like me, I'm happy to be on it.

It has always been the case for me that I am most at peace when I am surrounded by color in the form of paint. Color, I think, makes me happier than most things. The smell of an art studio is heaven for me. I am so grateful to my husband for understanding what PTSD does to me and why it keeps me home-bound so much of the time, and also what art does to heal me. His mother was an artist, too. He really does get it. So, I am an artist. My apron is what I wore. My journey is to be shared. I'm glad you're here on the path with me.

'Til next time, I am CoolGray

30-Day Photography Challenge Starts Today

Anyone who writes knows the paralyzing effect a blank sheet of paper (or a blinking cursor in an empty text box) can bring. I've been writing creatively since I learned cursive and words have always come easily to me. But, when I fall into thoughts about keeping a schedule or captivating an audience, those words all seem to take a smoke break. Where the hell are those slackers?

It took some mulling and musing to decide to blog. I've been living with PTSD for years and, with the most recent serious episode only 3 years in my past, I've found that part of the fallout has been a noticeable decline in my ability to focus on the printed word. So, reading has been more difficult than ever before, and writing has been just unavailable to me. About a year ago, I started my YouTube channel as a method of therapy for coping with PTSD. It required a decision to be genuine and authentic as well as a commitment to refuse to worry about how anything I produced might be received by anyone else. I did it for myself. Now, with over 400 subscribers, I'm certainly hoping to create content that engages and pleases viewers, but I'm not creating with that as a primary objective. It's working well. So well, in fact, that I have rediscovered the desire to write - a surprising side effect and sign of healing.

So, now that I've decided to blog as a next step in authentic living and recovery, the question I ask myself daily is, "What will I write about?" My objectives remain to be authentically me and to write about things that have a healing effect on my soul. Art is certainly one of those things. But, art is much more fun to make and to look at than it is to write about. So, as an exercise in discipline to help me establish good writing habits, I decided to respond to a 30-Day Photography Challenge I saw on Pinterest. I won't tell you what the entire list says right now. Each post will speak for itself and will be accompanied by some of my written thoughts about either the subject or the photograph itself. It'll help me get back into shape as a writer and it'll help you get to know me better as a new blogger. I know, brilliant, right? Sometimes I just amaze myself. (Pfffffffffttttttttttt!) All the photographs will be taken with my iPhone and won't be filtered or corrected in any way. I won't do one every day to make room for other subjects, but I will complete the challenge at a pace that makes sense. I hope you'll join me on the journey.

I will let you in on one thing about the challenge: Day 1 and Day 30 are the same: Self Portrait. My hope is that those bookends will be very different takes on the same subject. Who knows what I'll choose for day 30? For now, let's talk about Day 1 a little bit. Self portraits are an easy way for me to get started. I take them all the time. It's not so much out of narcissism as out of a need to have plenty of thumbnail fodder for the YouTube channel and other social media branding. I'm pretty good at taking selfies. This one was taken in my back yard while I was hanging out with my 2 dogs, Nigel & Benjamin. A good part of the country is still having snowstorms and cold temperatures, but that day was cloudless and 85 degrees in my part of Florida. I spend a lot of time indoors by myself, either making videos or editing them, so the sunlight felt just amazing on my face. I think that's pretty obvious. I'm kneeling in the grass because I was taking photos of the dogs and just happened to turn the camera around for a moment. Honestly, I don't spend a lot of time outside and even less in the direct sun, so this moment is a rare one, and one that makes me happy to look at. I almost think I can feel the sun on my face just looking at the image. I also have a very active mind...it's often a challenge to quiet it. So, the serenity of this image doesn't quite reflect the way I feel the vast majority of the time, but it is an accurate portrait of me in that moment. It's currently in my top 5 favorite photos of me ever taken. Here are the other 4:

I'm also thinking about the difference (if there is one) between selfies and self-portraits. It seems to me right now that any effort to make a distinction would be a bit snooty and affected. Certainly, we take a LOT of selfies these days, and we took far fewer before we all had a smartphone in our hands. But, I suspect the motivation for capturing one's own image, whether in a cave painting, timed snapshot, fine-art rendering, or iPhone is the same. We are always trying to understand the world in which we're living, and most of us are always yearning for a sense of place and purpose in it, though we're not always acutely aware of it. We take in a lot of information through our eyes, but we have to be intentional about looking at ourselves. Before selfies, we didn't do very much of it at all, really. The compulsion to study our own image when presented with it seems prevalent in our culture. I don't think it's ego at work, rather a deep desire to understand ourselves better. Perhaps I'm giving the gang on Jersey Shore too much credit on this one, but I suspect they're just less aware that's what's going on, on account of all the booze and all. It's just my opinion. If the subject interest you, take a look at this fascinating article about animals that have passed the mirror test for self-recognition. Who would have thought ants would make the list?! Their conclusion is, well, inconclusive, but it is interesting nonetheless. Many days, for me, it really does feel like we have somehow forgotten something about our origins...about ourselves...and we spend our lives trying to remember it.

I'd love to know your thoughts on selfies, self-portraits, and iPhone photography as art. Feel free to use the comments to start a conversation about that or anything else I brought up in this post.

'Til next time, I am CoolGray.

Rotini with Roasted Veggies in Tarragon Cream Sauce

Roasted Brussels Sprouts & Butternut Squash are my favorites.

Roasting is my favorite way to cook vegetables. Just toss with a little olive oil, salt, and pepper and spread them out on a baking sheet. They get tender and sweet in the oven, with just a little char to add depth of flavor. For this recipe, I used fresh Brussels sprouts and butternut squash with some scallions as a topper for our rotini. I learned to make a tarragon cream sauce from a recipe we found in a pasta cookbook. It was for tortellini with ham and peas, and it's also a delicious dish.

In an effort to keep our Friday night pasta dinners varied and interesting, I co-opted that sauce and then put the veggies on top. It was such a hit, I make it often. It's easy to swap out whatever vegetables you have on hand. The sauce can even be modified. Leave out the tarragon and double the Parmesan cheese, for instance. This is a great basic idea that can be riffed on any way you like, and I invite you to do that in your kitchen.

Ingredients, instructions, and the video on my YouTube channel that will show you the entire process follow. If you make this recipe (or your own version of it), I'd love to know! Say so in the comments!

Rotini with Roasted Vegetables in Tarragon Cream Sauce

Ingredients

1 lb. Rotini pasta
1 cup small Brussels sprouts, halved 1 cup butternut squash cut into 1/2-inch cubes
10 green onions (scallions), cut into 1" pieces (reserve tops for garnish)
1 1/2 cups half and half
2 TBS unsalted butter
2 TBS all purpose flour
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
2 TBS chopped fresh tarragon leaves
Salt/pepper

Instructions

Spread the squash, sprouts, and scallions in a single later on a baking sheet. Drizzle with olive oil and add salt & pepper. Toss to coat the vegetables evenly. Roast in a 370 degree oven for about 20 minutes, turning once. You should see a slight char on the flat faces of the sprouts. Individual leaves should be charred.

Meanwhile, cook the pasta and make the cream sauce.

In a medium sauce pan, heat the butter and flour together on medium-high heat, stirring constantly until the butter has melted and the rue appears bubbly and blonde, about 4 minutes. Slowly add the half & half, a little at a time, until sauce thickens, increasing the amount of liquid with each addition. When all the liquid is incorporated, add the Parmesan cheese and tarragon and stir constantly over medium heat until the sauce is thickened. Do not boil! Remove from heat and set aside. Sauce will thicken a little more while sitting.

Add the sauce to the cooked pasta and stir to coat evenly.

Spoon into bowl, top with roasted vegetables and garnish with chopped green onion tops.

I'd love it if you'd consider subscribing on YouTube! There are new recipe videos posted frequently.

'Til next time, I am CoolGray.

Musings on the Meaning of "Mother"

I love my mother. We've always had a close and healthy relationship. On the few occasions when we've experienced discord, I have felt very lost and despondent, no matter how old I get. The relationship between mother and child is, at once, the most precious and the most complicated in our human experience, I think.

Not all of us feel the way I do about their mothers. Not all mothers have made it their full-time job to build a lasting, healthy relationship with their children. Watch Dr. Phil for a week if you don't know what I'm talking about. I know I'm among the most fortunate of children because I have a mother whose very identity has been inextricably linked to her role as a parent for her entire life. Once, years ago, I asked her if she knew what her "purpose," was. I was struggling with getting a grasp on my place in the world, my perfect trajectory. Mom didn't hesitate, answering, "I've always been a mother. When I was young, I wanted to have ten children." She stopped at 4, but would have loved another 6 equally well, I have no doubt. "Mom" is who she is, even if she didn't give birth to you. She loves like a mom, worries like a mom, nurtures like a mom, and hurts like a mom for everyone in her life. God bless her for that.

With a role model like that, you'd think she'd have a small army of grandchildren by now. Her 4 children produced a total of 4. Half of us didn't have children at all. My own story is the only one I have a right to tell, so I'll restrict my comments on that subject. Having grown up in the "me generation" 1970s, I had a few tense moments waiting...hoping...to discover I didn't have a child on the way. I counted myself lucky, in my immaturity. Later, I thought for a long time that I simply hadn't found someone worth starting a family with. Ultimately, I married (at 40) and desperately wanted a child for the first time in my life. We tried everything. In the end, I learned quite late in the game that I had a uterus so full of fibroid tumors there was no chance I'd ever successfully carry a child. Recovering from the ensuing hysterectomy, I was nearly overwhelmed at the feeling of emptiness...of incompleteness. In some ways, I've never been the same in the way I perceive myself.

Once, while struggling with a difficult decision about how to manage one of my siblings during a crisis, I offered my best "tough love," advice to my mom. Her response, laden with pained sincerity, landed like a cannon ball in my soul. She said, "You'll never understand my position because you've never had children." I wanted to argue her point. I wanted to tell her that good advice is good advice and my empty womb was irrelevant to the situation. But, I couldn't breathe in that moment. I knew, at a molecular level, that she had spoken a truth that was irrefutable. But, did that necessarily mean I couldn't temper my thoughts and decisions, study her and other mothers in my life, and grow that same kind of heart, if only an approximation of the real thing? I know, this paragraph has gotten a little bit dramatic in tone. But, this is deep stuff, and it draws up thoughts and emotions that I'm unaccustomed to expressing outwardly, so I hope you'll bear with me there.

I have never carried a child, given birth, decorated a nursery, or been awakened for midnight feedings. I don't know what any of that feels like. Whenever I've had the opportunity to hold some else's newborn, I have been awestruck by the miracle in my arms and wondered how in the world anyone meets the overwhelming responsibility of keeping such a helpless being safe and healthy. I've spent a few moments looking into those tiny eyes, examining those impossibly small fingers, and being simply at a loss to comprehend what the daily commitment must be and how lives must change to meet the challenge. And, that's just one baby in my arms. My mom had 4 within 6 years. I was her first, born when she was barely 19 years old. It  astounds me every time I think about it. Having not experienced the profound physical, chemical, emotional, and lifestyle changes a woman goes through when bringing a new life into the world, I know I've missed out on something that is core to womanhood. And, if you're reading this and even thinking about going into gender identity, women's rights, sexual equality, or any other political agenda in the comments, please..just...don't.  This is a moment for respect. Respect for the absolutely incredible miracle that a woman's body is capable of performing, and the exquisite way in which God and nature alter and provide for her to rise to the result.

Let me lighten things up just a little and talk about motherliness that isn't biological in nature. In other words, "Mother" as verb rather than noun. Despite all my feelings of incompleteness and inadequacy, there are a few who have been a soothing balm on that sore spot in my soul by telling me they experience me as a mother. My favorite one actually refers to her own mother (my best friend) as "biomom," and to me as "moom." Biomom is happy to share, and I am deeply grateful for what those relationships do in my life. Another young woman stayed with us on weekends when she was in town for a while. At our dinner table, she talked about some of the difficulties she had in her own family dynamics and the ways in which she did not feel nurtured or respected in her developmental years. We thought we were just offering room and board, but she told us more than a couple of times that we were parents to her. Well, my darlings, the healing is mutual.

One of my favorite moments of unexpected motherliness happened about a year ago. A young couple lives next door to us and, for a while, their teen-aged nephew lived with them. As I was backing out of my driveway one morning, on a quick errand, I noticed the nephew sitting on the tree swing in the front yard, hoodie pulled up over his bowed head. I powered down my window and called out, "Are you okay?" He waved and nodded, and I was on my way. An hour later, when I returned, he hadn't moved. I walked over to him and asked if he was locked out of the house. He told me his aunt was inside but he was forbidden to go in because they had been arguing. I asked if he needed anything and he said he didn't. I squeezed his shoulder and said I'd be home and he was welcome to ring the bell if any need arose. Ten minutes later, my bell rang. He said he was cold and just wanted to know if he could sit inside for 10 minutes. I made him a hot lunch and asked if he wanted to talk about anything. This soft-spoken, courteous 18-year-old told me he knew he'd said some things he shouldn't have, but thought he wouldn't have the chance to make up for it because he was being kicked out. His mother lived several hours away and the plan was for him to be put on a bus back to her for his offense. He said he'd never taken a bus before, didn't have any money, and didn't even know how to check the bus schedule. I did check for him, and the only bus going where he needed to go departed our city very late at night. Our depot is one of the seediest spots in town, and we both felt he would be unsafe and vulnerable traveling that way.

He talked about his mother and her current husband, who wasn't his father. There were two very young half-siblings living with her. He described them as, "my world." While we were talking, she called and I gave him a little space for the conversation, but really all he said was a lot of, "Yes, ma'am, I understand." He told me she had a set some conditions under which he could return to her home. He said he was ready to meet them, even though he acknowledged he had acted poorly in the past. So, here I had in my kitchen this young man who was unwelcome in his current home, being received coolly in his mother's home, and expressing fear and readiness to make necessary changes to insure the next season of his life didn't go the way the past had. I have nothing in common with this child. Nothing about our life experiences matches up. I have no special training or wisdom that I can draw on for moments like this.  But, I do believe motherliness is a gift of God that can be granted by grace even for childless me. What I offered him came from a heart overwhelmed with compassion and sympathy. And, the words surprised even me, as I hadn't planned a one of them. I told him something like this: "You may feel as though something is ending because you're being asked to leave your home. But, I encourage you to see it as a beginning. You say you're ready to make some changes and you're being very brave and wise to take a look at your ownership in your situation and to consider what you can do about it. You've got young siblings waiting for you. They are little sponges and they will be watching you. What you do will have an impact on their development. So, you have a chance, here, to not only improve your own life, but to make a difference in theirs. I don't believe anything happens randomly. This may be just the moment when those children need you to be there and, though it feels sad and frightening to you right now, you may be about to begin the most important season of your life. Let those babies be your inspiration and your motivation. Do it for them, and you'll want to do better for yourself."

As I spoke, he stared intently into my eyes. He hadn't really made much eye contact before then. When I finished my thoughts, he took a long, slow breath. Then he said, "Wow, I never really thought about any of it like that." I don't know, but I had the sense no one had ever spoken to him in this way. I gave him a duffle bag to pack his few belongings (he was going to use plastic grocery bags) and I gave him my cell phone number and told him I wanted to know how he did. He thanked me. Then, he hugged me...and it's a hug I'll never forget. It was tight, long, and full of gratitude. I wish I could say he's kept in touch and is doing great, but I haven't heard from him since. His uncle did tell me he'd made it home safely and was, "fine." I'm going to have to trust that. But, the way he lives in my memory and in my heart feels very...well...motherly. These moments help me feel complete in my incompleteness. And, yes, they offer me a sense of purpose.

My mom is about to go through her fourth surgery in as many years. I've been able to help care for her in her recoveries, and I'll do it again. I've shopped for her (and my Dad), cooked for her, bathed her, and held her hand while she has slept in her hospital bed. I've offered her advice whens she's confused, and taught her things she needed to learn (like how to use emojis😆!) There comes a time in so many of our lives where we begin to parent our parents. For every time she has told me she doesn't want to ever be a burden on her children, I have told her it is a privilege to be able to give back for all the years they gave to me. I don't yet know who will be there to care for me when I get older, but I do feel there will be someone there...maybe someone I haven't yet met. In the meantime, while I may not be a noun mother, I'm going to enthusiastically embrace every opportunity to be a verb mother, and be grateful for it.

'Til next time, I am CoolGray.

Introducing The New Girl

Hi! I'm Lynn, but most people know me online as CoolGray. I'm primarily a YouTube content creator focused on art and cooking, but here I can talk about those things and anything else that's bubbling in my brain. So, it'll be a mixed bag here. If you prefer to stay more focused, there are lots of places to find me in the SocialSphere that will cater to your specific interests. Here are all of those links:

YouTube
Facebook (for cooking)
Instagram (for cooking & life)
Facebook (for art)
Instagram (for art)
Fine Art America (For art sales)
Pinterest (for cooking and art) 

I don't much like the Twitter. It's too restrictive for an artistic mind. And, I think I'm the wrong generation for Tumblr, Snapchat, or even Reddit. So, I'm not there. Heck, I just started figuring out Pinterest this week! But, I can YouTube like nobody's business, so please do find me there for the most authentically "me" experience.

So, why start a blog? Well, I was a writing long before I made videos. Some things are more easily typed than spoken. Sometimes, I want to talk about things that are way off-brand for the channels I've listed. So, this is my "junk drawer," if you will. It will be much more stream-of-consciousness and will meander through the meadow of wildflowers that is my mind. If you like that sort of thing, stick around!

What should you know about me right out of the gates? I'm embracing the reality that I'm in that group of people who must check the last box in the age range section of every form I fill out (over 55). In 2017, I let my hair go naturally gray, and Cool Gray was born. It was the single most freeing decision of my life. YouTube wouldn't have been possible before then. Neither would have identifying as an artist, though I've been making art my entire life. I'm now over a year into the whole notion of allowing the public to look into my life as I experiment with art and with cooking. I don't worry about my hair & makeup being perfect, thought sometimes I get lucky! I don't worry if I make a mistake on camera. I don't worry about what people might think of the video, of me, of the finished product. I'm creating a document of this season of my life and I'm leaving a legacy the only way I really feel I can. "Just do it" is the most effective therapy I've found.

In short, I'm being me and I am not ashamed. That's important because I spent a good part of my life before last year being ashamed for one reason or another. I live with PTSD from more than one workplace trauma, though most people wouldn't guess it. I'll probably write about that here, since I can't really do it in a way that makes sense anywhere else. I've never had children, which makes a big difference in the way most women feel about themselves. That may come up, too. On a lighter note, I'm a film buff, and I have a weird penchant for bad films as well as excellent ones. I have 2 dogs and 2 cats who are like children to me. The dogs have their own social media profiles. As me about that if you want to hang with them. They're hilarious.

I'm married 19 years to a man who showed me my true value and taught me what unconditional love looks like. He's a corporate IT management guy whose side hustle is playing bass with a rock & blues power trio. We're going to Italy this year. Surely, I'll write about that!

There will no doubt be some crossover with the YouTube channel, as well. That should serve as a suitable introduction. It's nice to be here, and I hope you'll be friendly neighbors and let me know what you think I need to know to be a successful blogger.

'Til next time, I am CoolGray.