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Keepers vs. Doinkers
A Story of Fish and Marriage
My family loves to fish. We've been
fishing for as long as I can remember.
I had my very own little tackle box
when I was small. It was red to match
my snoopy fishing pole. My favorite lures
were the purple worms, and I loved the
colorful foam bobbers.
When we caught a fish that was too small
we called it a doinker. "Oh, that's a
doinker. Throw him back."
And the ones that were big enough were
called keepers. "Yeah! That one's a keeper!"
This was pretty standard in my house:
"How many fish did you catch today?"
"Four doinkers, three keepers." And
then the little nod of approval.
When Colin first met my Grandpa, my
Grandpa was grumpy. He teasingly asked me
why I was going to marry an Irish boy. (We
are of Dutch origin, and my Grandpa's big
on the whole Dutch thing.)
But after talking to Colin more and getting
to know him, my Grandpa pulled me aside
and said, "You know what, Pen? I think Colin
is a keeper. Not a doinker." I was so proud.
I beamed. I hugged him and he gave me the
little nod of approval. This was a huge compliment
from him. I was thrilled.
So, now in two days, I marry my keeper (even
if he is Irish).
I finally find myself with a few
minutes of peace and quiet.
I'd almost forgotten what it felt
like to be silent. To hear my thoughts
and be still. I've been rushing around
like a mad-woman...pay this person,
schedule this appointment, call to
confirm that other thing. Leaves
me no time to just be. I promised
myself that I'd be in the moment. And
I think the only way to accomplish that
is to take breathers. To shut off the phone
and turn off the music. And just sit.
Ah, breathing is so nice.
After much consideration (actually, too
much...there's no way anything could
be delivered in the remaining time)
I decided to create my own watercolor
journal. I went to my favorite paper store
and bought green, floral paper (a nod
to the green of Ireland) and bound
a beautiful book of watercolor paper. I
can't wait to fill the pages with my Irish
discoveries. Maybe I'll take a picture of
it for show and tell later. After some more
breathing, of course.
4 days!
Sometimes I feel like I'm living in
a dream. And one of these moments
I'll wake up and be back in 7th grade,
still be wearing headgear, still avoiding
boring homework, still wondering what
I'm supposed to be doing now. Am I
really old enough to be getting married
in 5 days? Am I really able to do a job
every day? Can I cook meals? Can I be a
good pet owner? Am I really responsible
enough to own a house?
I was in a meeting the other day and after
the initial small talk and common pleasantries
(I dislike small talk) everyone started talking
about fiscal year this and strategic steps that.
I felt like I was having an out of body
experience. I mean, c'mon. Who really wants
to fill their short life with that stuff? I can't
understand it. I finally felt almost sick
to my stomach and excused myself. I
went into the bathroom and found myself
staring at my reflection wondering how
I got there.
I feel like a lot of the times people are not
honest with who they are inside. They hide
behind these protective shields to ward off
enemy arrows. Why? Maybe because it's
safe there. There's nothing heartfelt on the
line. It's not going to get you in trouble if
you just say what you're supposed to.
I wish I could change this. I know I can
start with myself. I don't have to fit some
mold of who I think I should be. It's just
a matter of being honest and true and
boldly myself. And if that's scary, that
means I'm doing it right.
I'll admit it. I have a collection of wooden
flying things. Yes. I. Do. I'm obsessed
with them. I have a flying cat over the
fireplace. There's a flying egyptian lady
and a flying frog over my desk. In the
corner swings a flying naked cherub. A
miniature flying cat dangles from the lamp.
And I just added a new flying wooden thing
to my collection: the flying giraffe. And
he's a beaut. So beautiful, in fact, that I
had to draw him. I think I'll document the
rest of them at some point when I run into
some free time.
I don't know why I like these things as much
as I do. Is it the colorful strokes of paint that
decorate them? Is it the aged patina? Is it the
fact that these animals are not born with wings,
but have them all the same? Maybe it represents
freedom. Having wings...wouldn't it be lovely?
A little slice of life.
Holy sticks and stones, cover letters
are hard to write. What do you say?
How formal are you supposed to be?
I am not a formal person. Do I just get
across myself in a cover letter? Do they
care? They probably receive about a
zillion cover letters from people every
week. And mine will just be torn open
and dropped in the trash like a quarter
of a zillion other ones. Why? Because
my cover letter sucked.
Sometimes the world seems like a dull
place. This is only temporary, and it goes
away quickly. But sometimes I can't find
anything to read. To listen to. To look at.
I feel like I live in a desert with only bland
sand to gaze upon. It's hot and
uncomfortable.
But then there are the lush jungles of
interesting things. Creatures coming out
of the greenery. Brightly colored plants
peeking out from behind every rock. And
I can hardly take it in - it's so beautiful.
It's completely overwhelming to me.
That's how I am feeling now.
I am getting married in 13 days. I have
about six books rented from the library that
I can barely put down. I have several really
interesting illustration projects that are
vying for my time. I feel like I'm learning
something new with every turn I take.
There's just so much to take in and do
and see and feel. It's what alive feels like.
The only thing to remember is that I need
to be in the present. To not look so forward
to the future that I miss what happens today.
But feel what I feel right now...right now. I want
to be completely present to enjoy every last bit
of wedding planning I have left to do. To read
every line of each book and feel it enter my blood.
To watch every stroke of the brush with awe and
excitement. To be present.
That is my wish for this week.
I saw this interesting person at the cafe
yesterday and thought I really needed
to do a drawing.
People are so intriguing. I could sit and
people watch/sketch all the day long.
Question: does anyone know of a really
good journal for watercolors? I'll be going
to Ireland for two weeks in less than a
month and would like to purchase a travel
journal. If not, I can just make my own.
Some days feel like you're just slogging
through waste-deep, thick mud. These
are the days when it's just best to list
a few things that bring on some sunshine.
1. Whenever you give Vince a look like
"I'm sad" he rolls over and says "here's
my belly...rub it and feel better."
2. There are multi-colored tulips springing
up all over my gardens. Pink. Red. Yellow...
3. The weather is predicted to be in the
70s Friday. Time to wear my hodge-podge
of colors skirt and flip flops. (yay!)
4. These guys are coming to town tomorrow
night and I'm thinking of catching them.
5. Short motorcycle tour through the hills
this Sunday.
6. That feeling of "I can" when you run
across an inspirational site and are open
to it.
7. The color orange.
8. Telling your to-do lists to pipe down.
Jerks.
9. Thinking up beautiful things to redo
my studio...hmm...the possibilities...
10. Friends like these.
Any sunshine of your own to add?
Only 19 days until the big day.
Nineteen. A nine and a teen. 19.
That's 19 days to finish up 8 billion
little things that I have nicely printed
up on a three-page checklist courtesy
of theknot.com. 8 billion things that
seem to be expanding everyday.
But you know what? I don't even
look at the list. I fold it up and stick
it in my red daybook and ignore it.
Sometimes it attempts to crawl out
and whisper my name.
Pen-ah-lope. PEN-ah-lope.
But no. I ignore it. I draw instead.
I sit down at my drawing table and
pretend that my red daybook doesn't
exist. I mean, c'mon. There are spring
leaves to record. And purple magnolias
to capture. And imaginary owls to paint.
So, my list remains check-less.
How long can I procrastinate all this?
Will my head eventually explode? Right
now I feel no stress. All the BIG stuff is
done. If nothing else happened before
the big day (say the earth stopped spinning
and resumed May first), I could just throw
on my dress and show up with some flowers
picked from my garden and be peachy-keen.
That'd be okay....right?
Okay, okay. Stop it. I'll get out that stinky
list today and check some stuff off.
But I may draw in the margins. You can't
take that away.
I was the sneaky one who hid all the
Easter eggs for the kiddies this weekend.
Blue ones in the tree. Pink ones in the
grass. Yellow ones by the daffodils. Green
ones in a snake hole. Well, how was I to
know it was a snake hole? It looked just like
an old rail road tie to me. But when everyone
was running around gathering their treats,
they started shrieking. Snakes! Snakes! Then
I started shrieking (I hate snakes). Vince ran
in to snip at them. Colin went over to investigate.
I stood as far away as possible...hoping they
didn't get in my hair. GRODY!
The little plastic egg was eventually recovered
safely from the slithering ickies. The bubblegum
inside was eaten later with hardly a thought.
And Vince snipped at every long, skinny stick
he came across for the rest of the day.
It was quite an exciting event.
Last night to calm things down, we had a
bon fire. A huge, sparkly, orange bon fire.
There's nothing like a fire to make you feel
right and calm and mindful. It's mesmerizing
to watch the sparks rise up like fire flies,
hear the crackling of the wood, and smell the
perfume of the fire. It was the perfect way to
wind down the weekend.
Okay, here's the super secret surprise!
No easter can go by without an easter
egg hunt. So, I've hidden some easter
eggs on my site (there are five) for you
to find. Click on them to see what's inside.
Happy jumping bunnies!
I'm still working on that super secret
surprise. Check back tomorrow...
Until then, check out the beautiful
tree that's blooming in my front yard.
I could fill an album with pictures of
this flower.
Last night I was working away on a
logo for a client, as well as something
else I'll tell you about in a minute...
Anyway, our good friends called asking
us to come over to help move a couch.
(Well, to ask Colin to move a couch...
I'd just kind of stand there and wish
I was stronger.) So, we go to their
house and they ask us to look in their
spare bedroom (where the couch was
to be moved). And standing there all tall
and proud was a baby crib. My mouth
dropped open with a big grin. Yep. They
are going to have a baby.
Everyone I know is having babies. And
I'm happy for them all. I am looking forward
to pinching some baby cheeks, holding
some chubby baby legs, and getting some
soft baby toys.
Congratulations Brad and Jenny!
Okay, the little thing I mentioned above
that I said I'd tell you about: There is
another super secret surprise coming
your way. So, get your hopes up...cause
that's where they should be!
Bill, bill, junk, bill, junk, catalog of depression.
Yes that's right. Catalog of depression. You
open the pages and envy strikes you right in
the heart. Pow. Right there, sister. You'd like
that pillow? Can't have it. You'd like that table?
Fuhgettaboutit. How about that curtain? NEVER!
Take that in the kisser. Pow pow.
These glamorous catalogs sometimes invade my
personal space. Their glossy pages contain
over-stylized, perfectly designed little sets. They
aren't just selling you a couch for a millioin dollars,
they are selling that white paneling on the back
wall, the ever-so-perfect gray/blue paint color,
the fresh flowers in every nook and cranny of
your house. Sheesh. It makes my house feel
sheepish. It's ashamed of the kitty hair on the
floor and it's faded rugs and that spot in the sink
that won't go away. How dare you make my
house feel bad. I know what I'll do...I'll throw the
catalog of depression directly into the trash
with the left over spaghetti and mash it around
just a little. Take that, perfectionist.
I wish they had a catalog of not-so-perfectness.
One that shows messy colors and oops marks.
But I gues if I really wanted that I could just
take a bunch of pictures of my house. My nice,
cozy, all-too-colorful-for-anyone's-good house.
Ok. End of rant.
Does anyone know for sure if the Rapidograph
is really going to be discontinued?
Addition to previous blog:
If you haven't already heard,
Small Spiral Notebook is coming
out with a print edition. (yay them!)
The lovely Alex illustrated the first
cover, and it's beautiful.
You can help them out by preordering
print editions, giving a donation, or
buying a book from their bookstore.
Check out my garage sale illo while
you're on the home page. (ooh, ahh,
and buy a cheap book!)
This weekend, in keeping with my
plan to simplify and lighten the load,
Colin and I went through our clothes.
Anything that didn't fit perfectly,
hasn't been worn in two years, has
duplicates, or we just generally didn't
like, we threw into a pile for a garage
sale. And there was a lot. I'd say I got
rid of about an quarter of my wardrobe.
Colin got rid of much more...maybe a
third. Who knew two people could
accumulate so many clothes. We haven't
gone through the rest of the house yet
to look for uncherished knick-knacks,
tchotchkes, and trinkets.
So, it's all piled up in the spare bedroom.
We don't really have time to have a garage
sale until after the wedding. (Less than a
month!) But I feel good about starting
the simplification process.
My pal Evan is an advertising writer. Lately
he's been working on some radio spots that
require him to interview past customers and
record their commentary about their varying
experiences. A lot of times people laugh,
and this gets recorded too. In the editing and
piecing together of well-polished spots, the
laughter has to be separated to equalize.
And Evan sends me clips of different laughter.
Small snivels. Loud bursts. Cackles. High-
pitched weezing. Bellows. They are all great.
I picture each laughter captured in little, glass
jars to be let out when it's time. They take up
different amounts of space, have different
shapes, colors, movements...
I think my laughter would be bright red and
twirl around in a small circle and then burst
like a firecracker.
What would your laugh look like?
I was never one of the popular people
in highschool. I had a very different take
on everything and was therefore sort of
an outcast. My brother was my best friend.
We drove around in our beaters talking
about life and what we wanted. And we
felt different. I guess everyone probably
felt that way to some extent.
I was never invited to parties. It hurt for
a while at first. Even if you are the outcast,
you still want people to want you around.
And I would have to hear about how
"awesome" last weekend was....What so-
and-so did...how funny that other thing
was. It wasn't pretty. I felt like a loser.
In college the same trend continued. People
went to parties and gatherings and I didn't.
But now I didn't want to. I'd been to several
parties and always felt weird and awkward
and silly. And I usually left early and went to
do my own thing. And I'd feel guilty about
not wanting what everyone else apparently
wanted. But this feeling faded, too.
I don't know if I've become callous to
the feeling. Or maybe I'm just okay with
the way that I am naturally. I don't dig
smash down parties. I don't dig bar hopping.
I don't dig large crowds of loud people.
I am comfortable with what I do like, even if
it's different from everyone else. I like to
spend a Friday night going to art openings,
drinking some good wine, eating some cheese,
chatting with some close friends (pinky finger
remaining wrapped around my glass). Or maybe
exploring some part of the city I haven't yet
discovered...Or even staying at home and
having a bonfire and looking at fireflies.
I love discovering this about myself and feeling
that it's okay. Better than okay. It's me.
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© Penelope Illustration. Stealing
is not nice. |
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