Archives For humor

Tipping Point

Mary Liz Ingram —  September 29, 2013 — 2 Comments

Wow. September 8, huh? I used to be so good at posting…every other day, every 3 days. But this time I’ve waited a whopping 21 days – almost an entire month?!

How did that happen, we might ask.

Well, I’ll tell you.

This happened:

Ruby, 8x8 pastel

Ruby, 8×8 pastel

Because 3 kids, one a baby, at least 2 jobs a piece, not to mention a cat and 2 other dogs, weren’t enough responsibility for my husband and I. Apparently not.

Ruby is my tipping point. Google gives a handy explanation: “Tipping point, the point at which an object is displaced from a state of stable equilibrium into a new, different state.”

Yep, it is definitely a new and, ahem, “different” state we are now experiencing.

But seriously. We love this little pup, our miss Ruby. We may be in the throes of puppy potty-training, “No Bite!” yelling, toy eating, mischief making, vet billing puppy-hood, but she is already spoiled rotten.

And it was quite an adventure to get Ruby.

With the kids riding blind, we took them about 40 minutes out on a secret mission. We turned at the blue mailbox and met a great friend and fabulous co-worker at her in-law’s farm. And there was little Ruby.  Before we left, we visited some chickens and were chased by some goats. All in all, it was a grand adventure (thanks Mrs. Tina!!).

Here are a few photos of our newest addition:

 

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Age of the Dinosaurs

Mary Liz Ingram —  September 8, 2013 — 1 Comment

Long ago, in some of my earliest yesterdays, I took a trip. Amidst mouse-eared balloons, sky-painting lasers & flying elephants, we approached the dinosaurs.

My father ushers me into place with the rest of my family. We begin our journey to the Mesozoic Era…the age of the dinosaurs.

Entering in darkness, unsure of what lay ahead, we creep tentatively under huge palm leaves. Something red is glowing up ahead, huge moving shadows warn me of coming doom. Dinosaurs.

These things are huge. They are moving. They are not stationary models, replica skeletons. In my 6 year old mind, with widened terrified eyes, if I’d know the words, I would have been saying “holy s$*#!!” If I wasn’t held in by a lap bar and my dad, I would have been in full on flight mode, running hysterically through the dark in a desperate search for 1987. Horror. Terror. I thought these guys were extinct?! But there I am, trapped in dinosaur land, eyes squeezed shut in hopes I’d survive this slow moving train of death.

All the while, as heart palpitations and sweat consume me, hysteria setting in, my poor Dad is trying in his logical, parental way to force me to look at these monstrous, man-eating beasts, promising they’re not alive.

Um, did you SEE them? They’re chewing on leaves and roaring for pete’s sake!? Not real?! You are kidding me!

Somehow these people don’t understand the situation. We are all going to die. Eaten by dinosaurs at Disney World. Perhaps crushed by a giant foot, chomped by a tyrannosaurus….who knows what horrific end awaits?

Well, so maybe I was mistaken. We made it out alive. Shaken and scarred for life, yes, but alive.

Traveling from the Jurassic period (or Triassic, Cretaceous…who knows?!) to present day, one week removed, you arrive at my 32nd birthday. One night over dinner, the kids asked me if I’d ever seen dinosaur bones. Well, yes, I answered, they are in museums. After a quick google, I announce that there’s a stegosaurus skeleton at a natural history museum an hour away.

So we take a trip. To see dinosaurs. On my birthday.

Call it motherly love, parental sacrifice. I STILL do. not. like. dinosaurs.

But we came, we saw, we photographed, we cheesed, we went. There were more dinos than I expected. Gross.

But the kids were AMAZED. I guess it was cool.

But they give me the creeps. Thanks Dad. 😉

Dinosaur & Hubby, ink & colored pencil

Dinosaur & Hubby, ink & colored pencil

The one and only drawing of a dinosaur I will EVER do…

A few photographs from our adventures at the Anniston Museum of Natural History:

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Those Days…

Mary Liz Ingram —  August 22, 2013 — Leave a comment

Marriage is bliss.

But sometimes you act like a horse’s behind, stubborn as a mule, a jack…well, you get the point.

My husband and I had one of those days a few weeks ago. We were tired, cranky, just plain obstinate. Sometimes it’s best to go to your separate corners for a bit.

In one corner, he typed away on his blog.

In the other corner, I drew a mule. Fitting form of venting, I thought.

It worked, too.

We both felt better, hugged and made up, and I now present to you one of my newest pastels, “Horace.”

Horace, 8x10 pastel on card, $175 framed

Horace, 8×10 pastel on card, $175 framed

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Hop, Skip & a Jump

Mary Liz Ingram —  August 8, 2013 — Leave a comment

Day 1: Legs itched like crazy. Had to stop.

Day 2: I’m going to DIE. Seriously, I might.

Day 3: I’m not going to die. But it’s close.

Day 4: I ran the first mile without stopping. 

I bought new shoes.

This was my motivation to begin jogging again. They are fabulously bright, with neon orange shoestrings and grass-green insoles. That, and my coordinated running clothes (dressing the part always makes it more fun), are about the only thing I like about exercising. I really don’t like exercising at all: I have to get up really early, I’m sore most of the day, and I fall asleep on the couch at 9:30.

Exercise is one of those nagging reminders that a healthy lifestyle brings to my guilty mind. So this week I started trying to relieve that guilt, and get in shape. GO TEAM INGRAM!

I do enjoy “going somewhere,” which is why I only like to jog outside: no track, no gym for me. I’m too tired in the morning to do yoga, and the cat gets all up in my business. So ear phones in, new shoes on, and off I go down the street for the sunrise.

Here’s hoping I can keep it up when it gets chilly! I’m an exercise wimp!

New Shoes, ink & colored pencil sketch

New Shoes, ink & colored pencil sketch

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Capacitors, Handy Manny & Me

Mary Liz Ingram —  July 11, 2013 — 1 Comment

I see Rosie the Riveter and Handy Manny in my mind. I hear the theme song from Rocky in the background of my thoughts… we got this.

I am a champion.

I dash back and forth a few times, 5 in 1 screwdriver in hand, and head down the front stairs. My older children watch me in confusion, eating their messy ice cream bars that I absentmindedly allowed in the flurry of sweaty chaos.

My AC is broken. My handyman Dad is out of town. My husband is at a funeral. It is h.o.t.

I’ve seen it done. I can do it. I am woman. Hear me roar.

Maybe that’s taking it too far…but still. I fixed my AC.

In my work dress and chignon, I took off the side panel of the unit, exposing the blower motor, capacitor and wires. I see that the capacitor has burned up (and YES! I even know what a capacitor DOES! Go team me!).

With my dad on the phone, we confirm the need to get a new capacitor. With the help of neighbors watching my kids, I’m able to pop off to the edges of downtown Birmingham, take my little self into the Washer & Refrigeration Supply Co., ask for and purchase a 5 microfarad capacitor for $10. Oh yeah.

I zip home in a jiffy and plug that sucker in. Voila! We have air flow.

I floated along in an internal cloud of success for quite a few hours that afternoon. I, Mary Liz Ingram, repaired my AC.

Washer & Refrigeration, 7x7 ink, colored pencil & pastel pencil on card

Washer & Refrigeration, 7×7 ink, colored pencil & pastel pencil on card

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Mr. Bean

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 31, 2013 — 1 Comment

toasted donuts, original photographySo I’ve had quite a few days on my own with the kids. I congratulate myself for successfully ending each day with everyone happy and whole by treating myself to a dessert or (oftentimes and) a glass of white wine. After a day of many doings, the house is always very quiet. All my little peeps are asleep, and it’s just me and the cat (my Dad might say, correcting my grammar, “The cat’s not mean.” But I think “me and the cat” sounds more fun than “the cat and I,” and on here I can write how I want. So there.).

It’s quiet. And a little boring.

So here’s a jaunty little poem to describe and illustrate the odd things that may or may not occur on such an evening:

Twas the night with just mommy, the toys put away, successfully living to the end of this day

The children were snuggled up tight in their beds, as visions of Scooby Doo danced in their heads

I on the couch in my pjs at 8:00, settled in with a blanket and dessert on a plate

I’d puttered about like a little old granny, and hummed and muttered and sat on my fanny

I had been in the kitchen preparing my snack, and was struck by a thought as sharp as a smack 

I was making odd noises in a sort of narration, excited by donuts, a cause for elation

When it hit me that in this sad humorous scene, I sounded a lot like the man Mr. Bean

Well the noises stopped there, and I went to the couch, I tried to sit up instead of assuming the slouch

“I’m a 31 year old woman,” I said in my head, and though I may not want to go paint the town red

I can hang onto my dignity and hold my head high, then I ate my three donuts without even a sigh.

Toasted Donuts, ink sketch

Toasted Donuts, ink sketch

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The Siege

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 19, 2013 — Leave a comment

Once upon a time, down the hill and around the curve, there lived a small woman in a castle of painted brick and siding. As the flowers bloomed brightly and the vines curled gently up the wall, the woman prepared for her day of honor: a day when the small folk in her care brought tokens of love, thanks and devotion for her days of tireless service.

The woman, who thought herself queen over her realm, received gifts of breakfast, priceless art, blossoms and praise as she reclined on her pillowed throne. The sun lit her day, as the small ones brought smiles into her presence.

Later in this day of tribute, the tides began to turn. There was a shift in the small folk’s demeanor.

Thus began the siege.

It began with a small rebellion by a 5-year-old boy, who called strike upon his labors. No laundry would he fold, no dishes would he put away, no rooms would he clean! He attacked the firm walls of authority with persistent whining, crying and the stomping of feet.

The woman, adept at handling unruly charges, placed him calmly in the corner of reflection until he relinquished his fight. As she took on his labors and folded the clothes of the residents, the boy continued his barrage of shrill protest, chipping rhythmically against the walls of her patience.

Fighting back against the siege, the woman hummed calming melodies as she attempted to retain her stalwart composure. But the battery did not cease.

Hours later, the dinner bell announced the time to serve the feast. The woman, offering treasures of coin to the oldest small one, farmed out the undone chores to the responsible peasant. Meanwhile, a tiny villager ransacked the palace kitchens, scattering plates and bowls all over the dirty floor. The boy continued his attack with tears and the gnashing of teeth, wearing down the resolve of the barely-standing battlements. Continue Reading…

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Grandfather's OLD and awesome coffee can with my brushes

An Artist’s Perks

Mary Liz Ingram —  May 14, 2013 — Leave a comment

There are many of benefits to being an artist:

*Free, yet thoughtful, Christmas presents (as well as wedding, birthday, baby, anniversary, and, ahem, any presents…)

*An excuse for any quirks or eccentricities, aka being weird

*A ready excuse for wearing odd or mismatched clothes, or for having embarrassingly shabby fingernails

*Having a creative storehouse at your (dirty) fingertips

Another fabulous perk to being an artist is that if you are at your daughter’s ballet recital, and your phone (yes, I didn’t bring a camera) is unable to take photos due to the lighting, you can doodle your way to preserving memories.

I sat down at my kitchen table the Sunday evening after her glorious “Under the Sea” ballet performance and doodled a few of my favorite ballet moments:

The little 3-year-old “beach-goer” who frolicked around the stage, refusing to follow the plan:

Scamper, Ink Doodle

Scamper, Ink Doodle

The sweet little ballerinas dressed and accessorized to be “jellyfish,” with tentacled umbrellas:

Jellyfish, Ink Doodle

Jellyfish, Ink Doodle

Continue Reading…

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Such is Life, Act Two

Mary Liz Ingram —  January 21, 2013 — 2 Comments

An intermission has ended, as the routine of life has been lived another week. The audience takes a seat once more, as the curtain is raised.

The stage, reset, now reveals a sunny winter’s day at the small home on the fringes of a bustling Southern city. The young working mother takes her place in the haven of leather armchair, a brief respite from the busy game of everyday life. On stage right, the baby naps in her crib. Stage left, the other children play together in a tango of happy cooperation and bossy annoyance.

Her head resting askew upon her supportive hand, the mother reminisces upon the events of a few days past, when the city slowed to a crawl. The spotlight centers on her place, as she recalls the day when the snow began to fall. Continue Reading…

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Thistle

marylizingramart —  April 21, 2011 — Leave a comment

 

About a week ago, while running errands with my family, on a persistent whim I decided I wanted one of the several thistles scattered along the shoulder of the road. As with most “whims,” there was not much reason for it…I just saw a tall, spiky, blooming thistle and became briefly obsessed with pulling one out of the ground. Partly driven by nostalgia, remembering a trip from my youth when my parents pulled over and showed my sister and I a thistle, partly driven by an “educational opportunity” for my own children (and humor at hearing my daughter say “thithle” with her slight lisp), and partly driven by an artistic impetus, I cajoled my husband into making two loops on a busy road so I could pop out of the car and pull up my coveted thistle.

It was one of my finer moments: dressed in nice clothes, climbing out of a little mini van, carrying a brightly striped child’s pullover (for spike-protection), dashing down a weed covered hill, watched by a whole intersection of onlookers merging off and onto the interstate, I quickly yanked up a thistle before scurrying back to the car with my strange prize. I’m sure I looked totally normal…

When I got close to my chosen thistle, which was much larger than I expected, I had a moment of panic that after all this trouble, in front of all these anonymous commuters, I wouldn’t be able to pull it up, and there I would be tugging in vain before retreating to the car in shameful surrender. To my relief, it came up with a quick snap.

My thistle has been blooming steadily all week in it’s little jar of water and giving me lots of opportunity to draw it, observe it, and reflect upon why I am fascinated by this odd plant.

At once both soft and jagged, with downy coverings and serrated thorns; both beautiful and dangerous, with soft red tufts of flower tempting the touch, while fingers must weave cautiously through the plentiful thorns. Strikingly harsh with it’s stiff, sharp leaves, and artistically intriguing with it’s curving, striated stems and colorful urns of flower. An unlikely place to find beauty, grace found among thorns.

Here are my impressions/studies of the thistle; I plan on trying it again soon with some different techniques.

3 Studies of a Thistle, 5×7 soft pastel on card coated with pastel ground

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