Archives For doodle

Ink Doodles

Mary Liz Ingram —  July 2, 2014 — 2 Comments

One day I decided to have less noise in my life.

Since I run a preschool and have three young kids, this might sound futile. I’m surrounded by noise. Tattle tales, laughter, squealing, talking, cartoons, singing, crying; the grating sound of my son digging through legos, cereal being poured on the floor, the dogs barking, the kids asking.

This isn’t the noise I’m talking about. This noise will be missed one day, when I’m old and my kids are grown and moved away. This noise needs to be welcomed and noticed, even if it gets on my nerves.

The noise I aimed to reduce is the noise that I invite and create myself. This is the noise that clouds my vision, that distracts my purpose: picking up the phone every few seconds to check Facebook or Twitter, worrying and planning and fussing over the mundane, the stress, frustration, and a world of busyness.

I decided to find another way to be.

Habits are hard to break. To get rid of a bad one, it helps to substitute it for a good one. Cue my ink doodles.

I didn’t expect to learn and change so much from carrying a notebook and pen in my purse, but it has calmed my life and taught me to notice.

Instead of browsing Facebook for 30 minutes in carpool, I draw something interesting around me. Instead of piddling around my house until I drop, I take a break and scribble down something funny I noticed my kids doing. It’s become a journal, a record of daily life. I see so much more than when I was deafened by the excess noise in my life. I hear the birds more clearly, breathe the air more deeply, enjoy the small moments with my family, soaking it in and doodling away.

It’s almost meditative, and it has helped me live with more peace in every moment. I wake up early and draw a sketch while sipping my coffee, starting the day by noticing life.

Most recently, thanks to this new practice, I doodled my way through Europe, creating an entire book of drawings that describe my experience.

Here’s a look at how it all began, with some of my first doodles. If you follow me on Facebook and Twitter, this is old news, since I post them as I draw them, beginning way back in March!

Doodles…

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To Kill a Mockingbird

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 12, 2014 — 4 Comments

“Your father’s right,” she said. “Mockingbirds don’t do one thing except make music for us to enjoy. They don’t eat up people’s gardens, don’t nest in corn cribs, they don’t do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That’s why it’s a sin to kill a mockingbird.”
― Harper Lee, To Kill a Mockingbird

There’s a nest outside my window.

It’s empty now.

Nestled among the thorns of pyracantha, protected and safe, the mockingbird built her home.

I passed by the bush one day and heard peeping. Peering up through the tangle of branches and leaves, I caught a glimpse of a wobbly, tiny bird, mouth to the sky. For the next few weeks, I watched the mother tirelessly feed her nestlings, hearing their loud peeps whenever she returned with a worm.

One rainy day, I looked up to see her come out from the nest, drenched and ruffled. On yet another search for food, she paused on top of the fence. I paused outside of my car. Standing in the rain, we looked at each other. I didn’t move, nor did she. I was loaded with bags and had just ushered my kids inside, a tired mother. I felt an unmissable connection to that mother bird. I felt a camaraderie, I felt my place in the nature of things. Mothers, caring for our children day in and day out; protecting them, nurturing them, helping them grow.

Yesterday, I saw a baby mockingbird happily hopping down the road. Peppy and spry, he hopped and hopped, while mother bird followed along the tree branches, watching, protecting.

I followed too, worrying for the new little bird. Barefoot, I walked down the street after the mockingbirds, keeping an eye on the neighbor’s cat sleeping on his steps. The fledgling found a spot in a rose bush, so I went home to my little ones.

Tonight as evening fell, I went into my yard. My dogs weren’t coming when I called, so I looked to see where they were. My heart sank. One of them had my baby bird.

I still choke up as I write. In anger and mourning, I desperately made the dog release. As our baby bird lay on the ground, I looked for it’s mother. There she was, on the fence, moving back and forth, watching from a distance. I felt her confusion, her loss.

I cried. I felt such pain for her. All her care, guidance and protection, and he was gone. With apology, respect and mourning, I took the baby into the garden, passing two thrashers chirping and hopping along the gate…observing, watching. I looked at them and hoped they could feel the respect I tried to show.

The mother mockingbird had gone. I buried the baby, with my pajama pants pulled over my knees and my bare feet pushing the shovel into the dirt. A quiet, peaceful corner of the garden, marked with a stone.

This is a sad story. It reminds me that life is a gift, and life is a struggle. Life demands respect and each day is precious, each creature a wonder. And we all have a place in the family of things.*

All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful,
the Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,
each little bird that sings,
he made their glowing colors,
he made their tiny wings.

Mother Mockingbird, ink doodle

Mother Mockingbird, ink doodle

*from “Wild Geese,” by Mary Oliver

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Achilles Heel

Mary Liz Ingram —  April 9, 2014 — Leave a comment

Achilles heel, meet Mary Liz’s eye.

An artist needs her eye. My eye’s have always been in good shape. I can draw tiny things, see tiny things.

Until my eye met paper. Paper got a little too up close and personal over a week ago.

With one fell swoop, I was down for the count.

I felt incapacitated.

I sat around with my eyes closed for two and a half days. I wasn’t sick, so I wasn’t tired and didn’t want to keep sleeping. I couldn’t watch TV, read, look at much at all. When I opened my eye, it felt like glass and razor blades were in there, so I kept it closed and found my “happy place.” A reposed into a zen-like state and tried to wait it out. Heal, eye, heal!!!

It was a strange forced experiment: What can you see with your eyes shut?

You can see a lot, actually.

Eyes Closed, ink doodle

Eyes Closed, ink doodle

I knew how to walk around my house without peeking. I could eat without missing my mouth. I could find my purse in the car, rummage in the right pocket, find my gum, unwrap it, put it in my mouth, and put the trash in the right spot without looking. I could brush my teeth, I could get dressed, I could fix my hair in a bun or pony tail without opening my eyes. I knew where we were on the roads driving to and from the eye doctor. If I categorized it, the stuff I could “see” was the “boring” stuff: the routine, the normal, the everyday. But it was amazing how accurate you can be without seeing.

After a few days, the pain was a bit better thanks to the eye doctor and lots of eye drops. That’s when I started wearing my sunglasses at night…and all the time. As I write, I’m still wearing my sunglasses.  This is for two reasons: #1 so the light doesn’t bother my eye, #2 so my odd looking eye doesn’t bother your eyes.

They look a little “mismatched,” we’ll say, due to my eyedrops. The upside is I get ready quicker since I don’t put on eye make up!

Wonky, ink doodle

Wonky, ink doodle

 

Sunglasses at Night, ink doodle

Sunglasses at Night, ink doodle

While the healing process has been dragging on and on and on, I know and have been told it will be fine. My vision is all blurry, but my right eye is working hard to help out it’s neighbor while he (or she?) recovers. Now that I’m getting better at just using the one eye – and I’m much better at “winking” than I used to be – I drew a few doodles from the photos I’d texted to my family, showing my “eye report” for the day. Hope they don’t freak you out 😉 (that’s my squinty eye smiley).

Luckily, my eye injury will not lead to my downfall like Achilles’ heel.

Just a temporary, semi shut-down.

Still, it’s amazing what destruction one tiny corner of paper can do!

I leave you with this important lesson: DON’T EVER PAPER CUT YOUR EYE!!!

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Cherries on Top

Mary Liz Ingram —  March 20, 2014 — Leave a comment

Today was sweet and sour.

Beginning with morning cereal and milk, the day quickly spoiled as the scent of sewage came wafting from my laundry room.

An unusually complicated, multiple detour, traffic battling drive to work added a splash of vinegar to the mix.

Already a day in bad taste, heavy circumstances added a heavy helping of more nastiness to the recipe of the day.

Come midday, this unpleasant parfait of rotten luck took a better turn.

Plumbing troubles swiftly fixed with only a kind charge of creative trade pushed the stinky mix off the plate.

The sun shone brighter, my heart felt lighter, my prospects were certainly more palatable.

A successful elementary school talent show added a simple sweetness to the afternoon.

The evening topped off with a warm family dinner, a gift in good taste.

A surprise entree by a knowledgable waiter added a touch of culinary adventure.

The end to this sweet and sour day was a bowl of cherries – literally.

A fun treat from a generous waiter.

A much needed reminder.

No matter what blunders and sewage may come,

“Life is a bowl of cherries.”

And meant to be enjoyed…

Bowl of Cherries, marker

Bowl of Cherries, marker

 

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Spring Prelude

Mary Liz Ingram —  March 19, 2014 — 2 Comments

Morning 1

In the Mist, watercolor & ink

In the Mist, watercolor & ink

It is a gray spring morning, damp and cold, when new buds are barely making a show.

Branches like gnarled claws, grasping into the mist that shrouds my morning drive.

The air is still and heavy, a floating moisture clings to my hair and coats the ground, muffling and capturing the sounds of waking birds.

A calm beginning, a waiting quiet, resting before the bright burst of spring.

 

Morning 2

Cherry Blossoms, ink doodle

Cherry Blossoms, ink doodle

A sleepy morning takes its turn, as warm rays burst through the heavy clouds.

Yesterday’s fog is lifted and I close my eyes to the renewing glow.

Cherry blossoms turn their face to the sun, opening bit by bit as winter fades.

Hope arrives as dreary days pass away and nature drinks in the light.

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Southern Snow Day

Mary Liz Ingram —  February 12, 2014 — 2 Comments

Today is a snow day…but so far it’s a rainy cold day.

We are all waiting and watching the weather, snow supposedly approaching.

Here in the South, snow causes paralysis. You can’t go anywhere, as my previous post of being snow-stranded attests. And if that’s not enough, take a read through last year’s hairy adventure driving home in the snow.

So… it’s a big deal if we might have 4 inches of snow this afternoon.  We’re all home from work and school, some hoping and waiting for snow and some crossing their fingers we miss it (can’t blame them, after our last episode).

I personally love a snow day and adore the falling snowflakes, despite the chaos it can cause. It is a magical thing here in the South; a gift that is never guaranteed. Some winters we have no snow; some only a few flurries; and rarely do we have a big, dangerous event. Remember the ’93 blizzard, anyone? Sleeping by the fire in our den, eating smokey-tasting soup cooked in our fireplace day after day, carving paths through the snow for a lost duck and a cold neighbor… for a week without power…. Fun times.

Feeling the impending winter doom hanging over us in the gray, clouded sky, wondering if we will actually see a snow flake or not, this morning I read an article by Rick Bragg, aptly entitled “Dixie Snow.” Speaking of the wonderment we Southerners feel when it snows, he writes:

I still feel it, some, when I see children rush into a snowfall that could not cover pea gravel. I see them using spatulas and spoons to scrape up enough snow to make the saddest snowmen you have ever seen, more red mud than anything else. They last a day, or a morning, and then become forlorn lumps. I have seen children make snow angels in what, mostly, seemed to be slick gravel. But I love to see them try.

-“Dixie Snow” by Rick Bragg, in Southern Living January 2014

It’s true. Countless images of my kids (okay, okay, and me…) come to mind: rushing outside at the first sign of snow, trying to catch some on your tongue before the flurries stop, making snow angels in a half-inch layer of snow while getting mud on your back, making tiny snowmen just to show you can. It’s a special gift, the magic of snow, when you don’t get to see it everyday.

But as the saying goes, “make sure you have plenty of milk and bread”…

"Snow Angel," 6x6 watercolor doodle

“Snow Angel,” 6×6 watercolor doodle

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Keep Dreaming

Mary Liz Ingram —  February 10, 2014 — 1 Comment

Sunday morning, lots of PJs, snuggling and drawing. The 2014 Winter Olympics play on the TV, a recording from last night replayed for the kids.

My 8-year-old videos the already-recorded figure skating on a phone, enthralled by the young Russian who spins so fast you lose sight of what’s what.

Videographer, ink doodle

Videographer, ink doodle

 

My 6-year-old draws pictures of snow boarders and dreams of flipping through the air (something, I would argue, he already does off of my furniture).

Dream Sketcher, ink doodle

Dream Sketcher, ink doodle

The baby watches and rocks on her horse, periodically coming to see the drawings I’m doodling while sipping my warm coffee.

Horse Rocker, ink doodle

Horse Rocker, ink doodle

You know, it’s hard being a parent.

Being responsible for the nurturing and raising of a child, not to mention three. Responsible for encouraging talents, providing opportunities, while still keeping life carefree and simple and full of freedom to create and explore. So many, especially Americans, pack out their weeks with back-to-back extracurricular activities on top of homework and high demands for excellence. I’ve always promised not to buy into the crazy-busy schedules, letting my kids try one activity at a time.

But then I had three kids.

In a week of 7 days, extra stuff fills up the afternoons faster than I thought. What should they try? Dance? Piano? Gymnastics? Soccer? T Ball? …..

Swaying between doing nothing and too much, I let the Olympics inspire me this cold winter morning, and I signed up my flippy, head-standing, hands-walking son for gymnastics. It just felt right.

Ninja Training

Ninja Training

On the plus, the gymnastics teacher has tried out for American Ninja Warrior, one of my son’s actual dreams (he has trained by walking down the walls of the hallway, climbing door jambs, setting up courses in his room).

So it’s a go. And it works because it perfectly coincides with my daughter’s dance class. Knocking out two birds with one stone in one afternoon.

*Slow Exhale*

It’s a tough thing to be somewhat in charge of helping your child’s “dreams come true.”

I’m going with gut instinct and crossed fingers.

And lots of love.

Ice Skating Dreams, original photography

Ice Skating Dreams, original photography

Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me

-Ella Fitzgerald & Louis Armstrong, Dream A Little Dream of Me

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Such is Life, Act 4: “An Ordinary Tragedy” part 2

Mary Liz Ingram —  January 29, 2014 — Leave a comment

Intermission over, the curtains raise. The mother enters.

Scene 3: Piano & Jumper Cables

Another night passes and we find the mother once again fixing breakfast in the kitchen. Boosted by the happy ending of her suspendered adventure of the previous day, her outlook is bright.

The work day commences and comes to a well-ordered end in time to make an early carpool arrival – ensuring a timely appearance for her daughter’s second piano lesson. In line for half an hour, with snacks prepared and resting thoughtfulness underway, she sketches and thinks and waits.

Rear View Mirror Doodle, ink on napkin

Rear View Mirror Doodle, ink on napkin

Ah, the cars crank and brake lights glow. Ready for the slow crawl around the corner towards the school, she turns the key. Tick tick tick – nothing.

tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick – nothing.

Nothing, Nothing, NOTHING!!!!!

It’s too much. It’s the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

With wide, glazing eyes she waves the moving carpool line around her unmoving car. She calls her husband and her mother and her stamina fails.

She cries.

She sits in carpool line and cries. Pitiful.

Knowing the eagerly awaited piano lesson will be missed, she sits deflated and calls the instructor. But wait! Cancellations have been made and another lesson time is available whenever the mother can get there! Saved from the tears of her daughter on top of her own, another surprise approaches.

A kind stranger, circling back, pulls in front and signals for the mother to pop the hood. With jumper cables and an understanding smile, with his bouncing daughter watching from the back seat, he starts her car! Again, the mother cries, but this time overwhelmed by the kindness of others.

The day is saved and the mother carries on.

 

Scene 4: Sanitized Lungs

Night falls and the tired mother sinks into the couch, a glass of wine and a heated blanket. Surely, surely, that’s enough fun for one week. With an inner pep-talk, she tells herself that tomorrow is Friday…just plain Friday. Work and done.

Morning comes and father is ill.

With little sympathy where there should be more, the groggy mother impatiently fusses at father for not taking his medicine. Upon further discussion over medicinal locations, and the lack of discovery, she exclaims in short-tempered exasperation “You’re a MAN!!!” and stomps to the shower. Poor father, getting the brunt of a bad week at 6:00am.

With a haggard disposition and weary eyes, she puts her head down and pushes through the day. A pendulum of kindness and frustration, she tries to regain her balance and clarity. She takes father to the doctor, with three silly kids bobbing and chattering behind her.

Lysol

Lysol

The diagnosis seems a cruel joke: severe flu and bronchitis.

Father is settled onto the couch, as quarantined as one can get in a small home of five people. The mother takes a deep, careful breath and puts on another metaphorical hat, dosing medication and spraying lots of Lysol. A spaghetti dinner and chicken noodle soup are readily provided by friends, and the mother continues to scurry back and forth around the house, tidying and germ-killing and care-taking.

Sitting at her desk in the quiet of an afternoon family rest, the mother reflects upon the strange, yet ordinary stories of a long, long week. There always seems to be a snag, a hole, a bump, a crash that must be navigated. She knows you can’t change it, you just have to take what comes and find some humor in each adventure. It helps her carry on and find a warm spot to rest at the end of the day.

Curtain closes.

“Maybe we do the right things, maybe we do the wrong, spending each day, wending our way along. But when we want to sing, we sing. When we want to dance, we dance. You can do your betting, we’re getting some fun out of life.” -Some Fun Out of Life, Madeleine Peyroux

Tired Tiara, charcoal sketch

Tired Artist with Tiara, charcoal sketch

 

Check out the previous installments:

Such is Life, Act 4 part 1

Such is Life, Act 1

Such is Life, Act 2

Such is Life, Act 3

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Lounging

Mary Liz Ingram —  July 16, 2013 — 2 Comments
Chair with apple, graphite sketch

Chair with apple, graphite sketch

Sunday mornings are made for lounging, an always calming day of rest. 

We’re always on the go: working, playing, living. It’s important to me to also stop. To rest, to reset, to pause and refresh.

Some might say that Sundays are made for church-going, especially since we live in the southern U.S., aka “the Bible Belt.” My husband works at a Methodist church, a published and well-known youth minister (www.organicstudentminstry.com!). The kids and I get up and go fairly often, but not in a rush or in perfection. It’s taken me awhile, and much attitude-adjusting, to go without stress or pressure or guilt, to go without feeling a burden of expectations. This is also part of the South.

I’m just beginning to go in restfulness, often meaning my hair is still damp, my dress is comfortable, and I’m there with my family in peace. It’s hard to add another place to be, and sometimes staying home in quiet is most needed.

This past Sunday we didn’t go to church. We rested well together. We loved and laughed and lived. We learned about bugs and plants, we ate three meals at our table together, we built forts and unloaded the dishwasher together, and we took care of one another.

These things are important too.

 

 

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Happy Distraction

Mary Liz Ingram —  July 13, 2013 — 4 Comments

Yellow’s my favorite color, and flowers make me happy.

I was using this vase of flowers to prop up my phone at the kitchen table, as I doodled pictures from past adventures. Leaning back to take a break (well, honestly to internally fuss that my husband was still using the computer when I wanted to blog), I noticed how pretty this simple arrangement was.

So I drew them with a pen and colored pencils. Ta da… That was nice.

Yellow Flowers, ink & colored pencil doodle

Yellow Flowers, ink & colored pencil doodle

 

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