Category Archives: Anecdotes & Musings

Essays, opinions, observations, and other creative writing

A Priceless Gift

My hubby and I went on a road trip toward Glendo State Park in Wyoming for the great 2017 eclipse. We didn’t make it into the park, deciding upon seeing the insane line that we’d do better pulling off-road after turning back south on I-25. We really did do better, and the photos support that. *

I was glad not to be in a crushing crowd with too many bodies and not enough bathrooms. I was happy to have space and time to enjoy the interval leading up to the event, strumming on my ukulele and sipping on an icy beverage. We sat under the shade of the VW’s hatchback and taped halves of an extra pair of eclipse glasses to our camera lenses to protect our sensors from getting fried.

I had no illusions that there was any life-changing impact from this phenomenon or pointless pagan rituals to follow. I was unencumbered by expectations of anything other than beauty.

I was not disappointed. Even the sunrise on the way to our destination had a special sense of anticipation to it.

Indeed, it was stunning. The last time I witnessed an eclipse, it was through a hole in a box we each made in grade school. I only recall it being rather anticlimactic. OooOOOoooh, a shadow. Whoopity-jinkies.

This time, eclipse glasses gave me a new freedom to watch the progress in a position I was used to viewing normal things: with light and space. The news that I could slip off the glasses during totality (in areas where it actually occurred) was exciting, and I rushed to rip protective lenses off everything to get photos that way once we reached it. We had about two minutes plus, to fiddle around with things, and in my haste, I never even tried taking a picture with the tablet or the phone, preferring to stick to my camera with the zoom engaged. I even got some great pictures using the digital zoom – without a tripod (my hubby used it with my other camera) – I had alternately set up on the roof of his car, braced only on the rain guard over the sunroof.

As if this weren’t spectacular enough for two photographers, there was the added treat of the way the atmosphere around us changed during totality – the shimmering silvery purple cast that settled all around us in an otherworldly filter between eye and world – every tree, flower, and person was a different color than I had ever seen and it cast a magical aura upon all denizens of the path. A colorful post-sunset twilight glowed on the horizon 360 degrees around us, as we never can witness otherwise. The sky didn’t blacken, but waxed to a starry indigo, showcasing planets and stars in a way few photos can convey – the headliners of the day aren’t divas; they share the limelight.

Spectacles like this only emphasize to me how truly special God considers us to be. There is no way for me to deny the concept of Intelligent Design if I really think about all of the billions of miracles that happen every day – from the intricate interworking of the ecosystem and climate balance to the perfection of how the moon just “fits” perfectly in proportion to the sun many millions of miles away to give us such a show with just enough corona and time to enjoy it. It serves no practical purpose – it’s just a cast shadow when you get down to it – it doesn’t accomplish any useful task in the sight of the universe – except to fill a wee creature with enough mind to consider it with wonder.

Sunsets didn’t have to be beautiful, nor kittens cute, nor birdsong inspiring – but they are – because He cared enough to make it so, and to design us to appreciate it. Berries didn’t have to be delicious, nor roses so aromatic, nor moss so soft, but for us to enjoy. Yes, there are other critters that expend their senses on these things, but they would anyway even if they were strictly utilitarian, as they do other things, and further, they indulge in some things that to us are outright repulsive.

One may argue that some things don’t have such pleasant smells, flavors or tactile properties…but to that I point out that many of those things are that way for a different reason, such as to deter us from things that have spoiled, are poisonous, or may in other ways cause us harm: a concerned warning.

Our earth revolves and orbits within amazingly narrow parameters that happen to sustain life. Other celestial bodies’ gravitational forces are just such that we are not obliterated. Flowers open at just the right time with just the right smell for just the right species to come along and pollenate in just the right geographical area. Trees get just enough light and water to photosynthesize just enough oxygen to sustain animal and human life on the planet, balanced with certain atmospheric requirements and minerals in the soil turned over by worms and the waste of other animals and many other factors put in place by our Creator.

How absurd it is to me that anyone could possibly believe that all of this could coincide on a purely random basis. That takes far more of a stretch of faith than believing in God! One could believe in a Big Bang…but Who made the Big Bang? He Who designed each stunning eclipse.

Specified complexity** is a marker of design by an intelligent source – it is sufficiently, significantly complex enough that it is highly improbably to occur at random, and specific enough to have to have been created for a given purpose. Combine millions of instances of this in the known universe, and it is impossible for all of them to have occurred by chance.

Science, and faith in God, are not mutually exclusive. God created science; He created math; He created physics and created – or allowed to perpetuate following His initial creation – all that we see, hear, taste, touch, smell, know about, and still have yet to know. The scientific community has increasingly discredited Darwinism, and many scientists speak in terms of intelligent design – and of faith. They can’t escape it. Yet lesser minds persist in resisting.

Some people think it’s insane to believe the world was made in six days (God rested on the seventh, remember?) or that the earth is only so many years old rather than what carbon dating or fossils say. I say: we have been wrong many times before. What makes this any different? We were convinced that we were right before, and our arrogance soon was exposed. Our technology now could just as easily be inaccurate. And we’re also ignoring the obvious: any Being, Who is capable of creating the UNIVERSE and of creating MAN and WOMAN in an already mature state, is also capable of creating other things in advanced states of evolution and development – including rocks and fossils and species. I wrestled with this myself, and as I did, I reasoned: Really, you aren’t going to try to limit the limitless, are you? That’s just your inadequate mind trying to make God as small as your limited imagination. He’s not subject to your shortsightedness; He made you! I can just see Him planting little bits of “evidence” to keep us busy for a while, perhaps to test our faith. If you think God doesn’t have a sense of humor, take another look at the duck-billed platypus. Don’t take yourself so seriously!

Timothy Keller is one of my favorite authors, and is very adept at pointing out bulletproof logical arguments for the faith. In his book The Reason for God***, he relates a quip and draws a brilliant analogy that (one hopes) resets a closed, limited mind to one that confronts the fact that we don’t know it all. I lent my copy to someone, so I will have to paraphrase it. A Russian cosmonaut (atheist) returned from space and proclaimed tersely that he “didn’t see God” while up there. Keller, always on point, countered that the cosmonaut’s assertion that this was any kind of “proof” of the nonexistence of God was akin to Hamlet going up to his attic and claiming he didn’t see Shakespeare. The point being: the character (Hamlet) could never have any idea of the existence of the author (Shakespeare) except what Shakespeare chose to write into his character’s consciousness. Hamlet’s obliviousness to his creator’s existence bears exactly zero relationship to the very real fact of Shakespeare existing. Shakespeare would exist regardless of whether or not he ever wrote himself into the play or into the mind of Hamlet. Likewise, our attempted denial of God, based on our own ignorance, cannot negate His existence. The creation is never greater than the creator. The creation only exists on the whim and graciousness of the creator. The creation had best get his mind right and his facts straight.

My paintings aren’t greater than I am. They would not exist were it not for me. They aren’t even equal to me. They can’t do what I do. I make them; I can change them; assign them; destroy them. They portray things because I design them that way. But my art analogy doesn’t have legs…I can make mistakes. I can make a dud painting, flat out. It’s not the painting that made itself go wrong.

God makes mankind in His own image – but gives man free will. Man chooses wrong; man screws up. Man sins against himself and against others. Sometimes he doesn’t even mean to. Man is imperfect. But God is perfect, and doesn’t make mistakes. We make them. Sometimes that mistake is that we make a “god” out of ourselves, and deny Him. But that has no bearing on His existence.

God is evident in the instinctual physiological response of mothers to the sound of crying offspring.

God is evident in the intricate function of a human eye.

God is evident in the very DNA to which we both adhere and occasionally transcend via intent. ****

None of this is the result of random chance. It is too complex and too specifically pertinent to the successful function and survival of a certain species in a particular environment. Evolution does not explain the origin of any development to this stage. Someone designed that from which it evolved. And it is more than possible that the path of evolution itself is designed and directed by that Being.

And Someone designed our moon to be just the right size to just block most of the sun when viewed from our Earth, and the moon’s orbit within the same plane as Earth orbits the sun so its shadow will intersect our sight (remember, Neptune’s moon Triton’s orbit is not parallel to the same plane – so our own moon’s orbit didn’t have to be either). He made everything line up in such a way that when we are perfectly lined up with it, that we can stare at the spectacle for two minutes straight without our sensitive eyes going blind, and marvel at a rare, unique beauty. Talk all you want to about how colors are caused by bending of light waves and elements in the atmosphere – He created all of that! And He designed us to respond to it with fear, wonder, joy, curiosity and a desire to know more. What a priceless gift.

On the way home, in the limitation of a simple pencil, I tried to describe the abstract beauty of the eclipse in my own God-given manner.

My self-expression may have evolved of its own nature and my intent, but the underlying passion fueling my art was born as my received gift from Him. And to Him I am ever grateful.

 

– Eilee

 

 

 

End notes/asterisked references in this post:

* I rarely show my photography, but thought this a rather special occasion. I have plenty more, and far higher-resolution prints than the images you see here (with more discreetly placed watermarks) are available to order.

** http://epsociety.org/library/articles.asp?pid=54

*** http://www.timothykeller.com/books/the-reason-for-god

**** http://www.naturalnews.com/042157_DNA_transformation_science_epigenetics.html

 

 

 

 

 

All content on this site © 2013-2018/present L. Eilee S. George; all rights reserved.

 

When Appetites Attack

Among the many stereotypes that are tritely painted on artists as a whole with a broad brush, one I cannot wholly disagree with is quirkiness. That may be because I am known as quirky, but also, almost everyone I know – artist or not – is quirky in one wonderful way or another, so I know I am in good company!

One of my eccentricities came out in bold form lately and I just had to share it, to inspire folks to step out of the ordinary for a while – just for the fun of it.

Like many creatives, I doodle. A lot. Sometimes, I get an utterly irrepressible compulsion to doodle and I cannot rest until the itch is scratched. Sometimes the appeasement feels so darn good I keep scratching away until the doodle becomes a finished drawing. This is not always convenient, like when we are traveling and I have no pencil or paper…but I manage to make do with what’s on hand.

My hubby and I went on a long overdue jaunt up into the mountains a couple weekends back, and we both have a soft spot for certain sites around the area, including tasty Beau Jo’s Pizza in Idaho Springs, Colorado. We had even dropped in there for mountain pie after we got married, as it was already a favorite haunt whilst dating as well. I’ve been going there many, many years, and remember the days they used to invite all their visitors to draw on napkins, and then they would display them around the restaurant. Folks would eagerly explore all the galleries that resulted in the grand old building; it gave you a feeling of belonging, inclusion and community. Sadly, they don’t do that anymore; they ran out of room years back. But that didn’t stop me from paying homage to tradition in an appropriate style, with a rendering of something we aim to go see every time we visit, and I got to bring it home too:

Ballpoint pen rendering of Rocky Mountain Waterfall in Idaho Springs CO done by L. Eilee S. George onto a pizza box in which we brought home leftovers from Beau Jo's Pizza

“Fall to Your Knees” – ballpoint pen on pizza box, L. Eilee S. George

Yes, it’s a Bic. I absolutely love it. This shows I’m still connected to my photorealistic roots, but rest assured, my Neo-Pixellism is still in full swing.

This place is very special to us; special things happened here…happy special memories. Times laughing, crying, times I’ve prayed for help, for peace – and in thanks for grace and blessings – then I shared this spot with my sweetie and later we said our vows very near here. And the rest, as they say, is history. 🙂

More updates when my next batch of art is suitably “scrumptious” as pie!

(A thousand thanks Beau Jo’s!)

 

– Eilee

 

 

 

 

 

All content on this site © 2013-2018/present L. Eilee S. George; all rights reserved, except where otherwise noted.

Independence Day

Last night was First Friday Art Walk in, among other areas, the Santa Fe Arts District in Denver, where I am every month, connecting with the people who come to the gallery where I have shown my work for some five years. I meet a lot of really nice and fascinating folks every First Friday, and I strike up conversations pretty readily anymore. I find that strangers and I inevitably find some interesting connection – geographic history, life experience – something – as I explain inspiration behind my paintings when they inquire. Yesterday also happened to be what would have been my father’s 85th birthday, and he was heavy on my mind. Here in a couple weeks, it’ll be four years since he died in our arms from non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

Daddy was with me last night; he crept into my conversation with a veteran, mentioned in a context of my father embracing regulation and integrity in his business dealings as well as order in his home life, because Dad had been a Green Beret. He appeared as a brave fighter in another conversation I had with a nurse over his cancer when she was asking about a painting I’d done that hinted that I too am a survivor. And Dad popped up again when I was talking to a nice man named Howard, telling him how full of verve and autonomous my octogenarian mother is, and how stubborn I am, and how Daddy used to call each of us “in-de-damn-pendent”. Howard, a writer, really liked that word; so did Dad. It suited Mom and myself in Dad’s eyes, because he always wanted to help us, and we were so confoundedly self-sufficient it frustrated him to no end. It was a term always laced with underlying respect. He may have been extra protective of me since they had me so late in life, but regardless, I think any loving man with a driven wife or a headstrong child could relate to Pop’s proud, conflicted exasperation.

Dad grew up during the Great Depression in a family that was already floundering financially. Into the beginning of and through World War II, he worked sometimes as many as three jobs as a kid, to help contribute to the family’s survival: bicycle repair tech, newspaper deliverer, and soda jerk. He worked like this often to the detriment of his studies. I think it was early on that he vowed that his children wouldn’t struggle that way, and when that season of life came to pass, like many well-meaning parents are known to do, sometimes he overcompensated.

Of course, in my more naive days, I was willing to take assistance as he gave it, without much thought to it…but I started working in my teens and did realize what effort money entailed. I also had a close friend who lost her father in her mid-teens…and I became acutely aware that my own parents wouldn’t be there forever, and perhaps I should figure out how to stand on my own two feet – and I knew I wouldn’t get good at it overnight.

I had worked for almost a year as a proofreader and typesetter for multiple publications at my local newspaper during my senior year of high school. With that, I funded most of the purchase of a little used 1980 Honda Accord LX hatchback that became my first car. Dad insisted on helping me with the scant rest of the balance – the whole price was a whopping total of $2800. Looking back, I can’t remember how many times someone had to tow that vehicle. Sea-foam green with squeaky brakes, I named it “Cricket” (because we always name our cars in our family). It got me around Springfield when I went to college, despite what seemed like everything on it getting fixed twice: the brakes, the air, the heat, the radiator…but it was my first taste of freedom, and I was terribly sentimental about the thing.

One weekend I came home to visit from college, and saw a brand-new Camaro IROC-Z in the front lawn. For some years I had become accustomed to strange vehicles appearing there and vanishing, ghostlike, as Dad had to repossess cars from time to time for the bank. Parking downtown was limited, so sometimes he would store repos at our place till they sold, or payments were brought back current by their owners; he tried to work with them. Considering how the road we lived on was regularly utilized as a drag strip by local youths, it wasn’t a bad marketing move. Now, a Camaro in the late 80’s lacked the seductive, edgy lines it had in the 70’s – but it was still a coveted car in some circles. It was white and sleek and just plain looked fast, even just sitting there on the gravel next to the garage. I could hear it growling, revving and purring at me, “Come on; let’s scrrream across the countryside together, my darrrling.” Ooh, an American car with a strangely European accent. Well, it was a truly exotic machine in my sphere at any rate. I peered inside – score! It was an automatic – which was all I could drive. I admired its shiny newness, and my little Cricket seemed to deflate a little, whining and waxing melancholy as my eyes caressed the gleaming interloper.

Being in the habit as he was to watch for me whenever I came home, Dad met me on the driveway. He lit a cigarette, returned his lighter to his pocket, and motioned to the Chevy, tendrils of smoke following his hand. “What do you think?” He almost sounded like an announcer on a game show presenting the grand prize.

“It’s nice,” I acquiesced. “Another repo?”

He nodded. “Another fellow over-bought and couldn’t keep up on the payments. It was for his son. The kid doesn’t even have a job.” He puffed on his ciggie; I loitered and toed the ground, wondering if I should go in and say hi to Mom. We exchanged the how’s-school-it’s-fine ritual. He studied me a spell, and then proceeded to do the unthinkable: he offered me the car on a silver platter. Keep in mind that I was eighteen, in school with a part-time, minimum-wage job in the University music department, riding my bike more often than not to save on gas money, subsisting on ramen and Vienna sausages, and he was presenting me a no-strings, free, brand-new muscle car that was basically sex on wheels to anyone with eyes, ears and nerves.

“You’re kidding. That’s not funny,” I said, my face absolutely serious, fists clenched at my sides.

“No – I mean it. I could buy it easy as anyone else,” he stated plainly, shrugging.

“But I couldn’t.”

You don’t have to,” he smiled matter-of-factly.

“Not the issue,” I countered, and pointed to the Honda, on which I had paid off the balance to him by then. “That,” I added with pride of ownership, “is mine.” Cricket straightened her posture, trying in vain to look shiny after a speedy, hot, and dusty ride down I-44, highway 96, and 71 Alternate.

Dad was atypically pulsing with excited nervous energy, and clearly he was growing impatient and eager. I found it mildly disorienting – but more than that, amusing. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t get one of these every day. It’s a good deal. It’ll sell fast – he doesn’t want it back – the kid won’t work for it.” Some birds quarreled in the nearby Bradford pear; smoke eddied around Dad’s head in the still air. I was still secretly breathless from my impetuously swift race home. “Do you want it or not?” he asked bluntly.

One of my thin arms cradled the other’s elbow, which led up to a hand holding and worrying my chin; my face pinched in pensive consideration. I was hard pressed to think of any of my peers with a finer piece of car, or such a generous offer. I knew it would be somewhat more reliable than my little roller skate. I knew it would have a certain allure, a je ne sais quoi if you will, I mused of the flirtatiously foreign-posing domestic. I knew a lot more than that, having grown up with a savvy financier like my father. I suspected a test, but Dad wasn’t that manipulative. He wanted to please me, but I looked at the bigger picture, knowing there was more to this situation than merely that, which bore sober reflection. To myself I dialogued: does he really want me in something that fast? I can’t handle that much car…I’ll wrap myself around a tree…ugh and the upkeep…the cost…and I just plain don’t need it…. He squirmed on his hook; I let him off it.

In a staccato breath, I answered, “Nope. No thanks. Not for me.” I meant it. He knew I meant it.

Still, his jaw dropped. He threw his cigarette down to the ground, John-Wayne-style, and ground it into the gravel with a twist of his sole, rather than dropping it into the old tin peanut can into which he typically deposited expired butts. It wasn’t common for my old man to be speechless. He fidgeted briefly and then pierced my eyes with his as he found his voice. “Do you at least want to give it a test drive?” he tempted.

“Why torment myself?” I answered him. I was starting to think that he wanted me to be a foolish teen! Vicarious? Perhaps. But he already had my brother’s automotive genius in theory and practice, who offered all kinds of wonderful fodder for the wish-I-had-wheels-like-that-at-that-age fantasy. My brother was legendary in the local clandestine drag race circuit. I even suggested that Dad offer the same deal to him. He mumbled something about him having enough cars already that work better than mine. I shrugged; mine was working right then, I observed.

It seemed we were at an impasse. Dad pivoted forth and back, and rubbed his head with a perplexed grin, tousling his salt-and-pepper hair. “Can you tell me one thing…why?” he finally asked, his blue-gray eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Well,” I answered thoughtfully, and started ticking points off on my fingers as I looked up at the sky where, apparently, my mind had written a list, “It’s a gas guzzler for sure – my monthly costs would go up on that alone. Two, the insurance has to be astronomical. And, it will likely be a target for vandalism and theft by some kids who might be jealous of it – I’d never have that problem with the Honda! Plus the cops would probably target and pull me over in a car like this, whether I sped or not…I don’t need extra tickets either – I already have a lead foot!” I finished with a firm voice, but visually I was likely a contradiction, with round eyes and a forgetfully open mouth – I do recall having surprised myself. “Lastly, it projects an attitude of…I don’t know…aggressiveness, that isn’t in line with my personality and with which I don’t want to be associated.”

I think Cricket was hyperventilating behind me.

Dad’s jaw was slack from awe once more. He took a breath, and slapped his hand firmly on my shoulder; I was a tad anxious. “I sure got a good turn on you,” he proclaimed, his voice breaking a little. “What a sensible listing of reasons – right off the top of your head like that…wow, kid. I didn’t think you listened to me all these years, but clearly you did. I can’t wait to tell the guys at the bank how my teen-aged daughter turned down a new sports car!” He shook his head, beaming at me. “Come here,” he said, grabbing me with a beefy arm and hugging me. I was surprised and teary, and could barely breathe from him squeezing me so. We wobbled apart, and he patted me on the back like a faithful apprentice, and said, “Come inside and say hello to your mother; she’s cooking dinner.” And in we went. Cricket slyly stuck her tongue out at the haughty-yet-wounded Camaro, who – at least in our brief possession – never got a name.

InHiSchl1I fed on that look of pride in my dad’s eyes that day for years; it was worth more than any car he could have offered me, even a McLaren – not that I could drive one (what would be the point of making that with an automatic tranny?) There were times I still let him help me, as I could see it physically hurt him when I refused his assistance. I knew that was part of why he had worked so hard to become successful: to provide for his family and help others – and that this was fused with his very purpose in life. But I picked and chose the circumstances, and didn’t take abusive advantage of him or allow myself to become codependent.

These many years later, I look back, and wonder if Dad ever knew that the Camaro episode was the principle event behind all those intermittent times I subsequently turned down his help and money – because I was “in-de-damn-pendent”, as he called me. I came by it honestly…after all, so was he.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

 

 

 

 

All content on this site © 2013-2018/present L. Eilee S. George; all rights reserved.

 

Blog Intro

I’m Eilee George, and I hope to create how-to blog posts in several creative areas. I am a strong believer that ANYONE can draw if they want to learn – it’s a set of skills and principles like anything else. As a prolific writer (although not always online), I prefer to use an unstructured, informal sort of prose as my writing style; thus I chose “prose” over the word “blog” in the menu tab title…but it is essentially a blog. I will try to categorize topics by media, and by complexity, in subordination to the media, unless I just don’t have much in that category. The following table of contents will, for now, serve only as a teaser as to what you may be able to look forward to reading later on, if you’re continuing in your creative quest and if I find more time to write; some things may change. I’ll throw other unplanned entries in as special events occur. If the presentation gets confusing, shoot me an email here and let me know; I’ll try to fix it. For now, check the sidebar for what I’ve actually posted. I’m still figuring out my preferred blog organization and categories etc. So…let’s learn together!

DRAWING AND PAINTING
Elements and Principles of Design – Introduction
Elements of Design: Line
Elements of Design: Shape in Simple Space
Elements of Design: Form, Texture and Pattern
Elements of Design: Hue, Value, and Intensity
Elements of Design: More on Space, Proportion and Scale
Principles of Design: Balance
Principles of Design: Create Drama with Contrast
Principles of Design: Variety
Principles of Design: Movement
Principles of Design: Unity and Harmony
Principles of Design: Rhythm and Repetition
Principles of Design: Emphasis and Dominance
How to Create a Pleasing Two-Dimensional Composition
The Mind’s Artistic Eye
The Color Wheel: Primary/Secondary/Tertiary Colors
The Color Wheel: Value: Tints and Shades
The Color Wheel: Intensity, Compliments and Tones
The Color Wheel: Triads, Tetrads and Other Combinations
Color Psychology
Elementary Linear Perspective
Methodology of Atmospheric Perspective
Dissecting the Human Body: Finding Proportion in Figure Drawing
How to Break Down Proportion in a Face
Media Techniques: Working with Graphite
Media Techniques: Working with Charcoal
Media Techniques: Working with Pastels
Media Techniques: Working with Colored Pencil
Media Techniques: Working in the Acrylic Paint Medium
Media Techniques: Working in Other Paint Mediums
Style: A Wealth of History to Inspire the Future
Style: Interpretation and Finding your Unique Viewpoint
Style: Some Tips on Methods of Abstraction
Inspiration and Influences: You Don’t Live in a Vacuum
My Favorite Supplies and How They Earned the Distinction

DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY
How to Organize Your Inventory
Getting Up Close and Personal: Using the Macro Lens
Digital Photography: Framing Your Shot
Filters Aren’t Everything
Practical Uses For Digital Photography

CRAFT PROJECTS
How to Affix Weird Things to Each Other
How to Make a Working Lamp
Going the Extra Mile in Costume Concept and Construction
Making a Faerie or Angel Costume For Someone? Make Your Own Wings, Too
Doing Simple Sewing Repairs the Right Way (Or the Fast Way in a Jam)
How to Make Homemade Gifts They’ll Love

CLEANUP
An Ounce of Prevention…
How to Safely Remove Various Paint Stains/Adhesive Residues

GRAPHICS
The Beauty of Contrast and Clarity
How to Make a Legible Garage Sale Sign
Design a Simple Logo
Prioritizing information

BUSINESS
How & Where to Protect Your Work (Intellectual Property)
Artist Pitfalls in Business
Build a Brand and Be Consistent
How to Retain Clients, Vendors, Assistants, and Associates

COOKING
How to Make a Beautifully Presented Rice Side Dish
Cooking Easy, Healthier Orange Chicken
Gluten-Free Beef Stroganoff
Mini Pizza hors d’oevres
Embellished Croissants
Russian Potato Salad
Medicinal Properties of Herbs and Spices
Cooking for Kids and Other Picky Eaters
Little Kitchen Tips and Tricks

LIFE’S UPS AND DOWNS, AND MISCELLANEA
Failure Redefined
How to Keep Your Sanity When You’re Laid Up for Months
The Best Selfish Things You’ll Ever Do
How to Keep Your Perspective When You Lose a Loved One
Facing Your Own Mortality and the Big C
Training a Kitten to Walk on a Leash
Dealing with Multiple Food Intolerances
What Faith Has Done for Me
Stuff I Learned By 40
Our Keys to a Fantastic Marriage
How to Keep Your Identity in a World of Conformity
Create if You Feel Like It (Doggone It)!

ANECDOTES, POEMS, RANTS, PROVERBS, AND/OR STORIES
(These just might end up on a new web site.)
Independence Day
New Music Page!
Upgrading Imagery

And Who Knows What Else…

 

AND, not part of the blog, but visit my MUSIC and VIDEOS pages!

 

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All content on this site © 2013-2018/present L. Eilee S. George; all rights reserved.