Sometimes there is a lot of "same old, same old" going on in my life in central Ohio.  But, there are times when life is a-maze-ing.  I prefer my truly amazing experiences to be overseas in distant locations where none of my friends really ever want to visit.  I'm not sure why I thrive there, but that is the way life is for me.  Give me a paintbrush and a ticket and I'll gladly paint in the least visited country in Europe, the smallest island nation on the planet, deep in the rain forest of West Africa, or anywhere in Asia or Australia (I'm still waiting for those murals to happen).

Part of my "same-old, same-old" was my most recent mural in the Buckeye State.  But, even it wasn't really a same-old kind of experience.  Let me tell you how things happen in my life.

When I last painted overseas, in Mexico, I traded services with a dentist.  I painted a mural for a deserving grandson while she took care of a root canal and crown.  Who won in that exchange?  It's my feeling that everyone did, especially the very lucky grandson.  But, I knew it was one of those wonderful experiences that only happen outside of the borders of the good old US of A and never inside those borders.

Or so I thought.

My pastor connected me with a chiropractor in need of an artist.  The name of his practice had "Back Pain" mentioned in it.  In passing conversation, I said, "I wish you took care of feet."  Sometimes, it's not good to get what you wish for.  Other times, things just fall into place.  This  was one of those "fall into place moments".

The chiropractor was willing to exchange services.  I received treatment that helped my feet and a local church received a community mural for a newly finished Sunday School classroom.  Everyone won, especially a collection of children around six to nine years old.  You can read the full story here.  If you want the rest of my a-maze-ing tale, you'll have to read on.

Networking is not high on my skills list.  I have lots of talent.  Networking just isn't one of them.  It doesn't stop me from trying.  I have contacted every United States Embassy to tell them about my community murals.  Closer to home, I have written to nearly every school in the neighboring five or so counties.  And, in Columbus, I've contacted all of the neighborhood area commissions to introduce what I do.  It's my conclusion that most people simply delete anonymous, unsolicited emails like mine. Most of this networking has done nothing for me.  Like I said, it's not one of my skills.

Now, if I can get my foot in the door and share what I do, that is a completely different experience.  And, I got my foot into Netcare, a 24/7 organization that provides mental health and substance abuse crisis and assessment services where I live.  My connection was Allan, who heard me present my murals at an area commission a few years ago.  He kept my business card and remembered me.

Netcare didn't exactly want a mural.  They wanted an a-maze-ing labyrinth where people who strolled their courtyard could peacefully wander.  And, when they finally reached the drainage grill in the center, they could throw their worries down the drain.  So, I met with a few people at Netcare.  I told them I had absolutely no experience with what they wanted.  (Sometimes, you just have to be honest.)  However, I wasn't afraid of paint.  And, I assured them that everything would be touched up before I said it was finished.  When they saw the quality of my murals and heard some of my travel stories from Africa, the deal was sealed.

A-maze-ingly, I was going to paint a maze.

It is much, much easier said than done.  The maze came with a diagram and around 80 numbered rectangles of a stencil pattern that needed to be adhered perfectly on the cement surface.  It would have been easier if four two-person teams assembled the stencils.  There were just two of us.  Now, if there were four working teams, of course, something could have gone wrong.  The stencil patterns might not have aligned perfectly.  Nobody would really know who made the mistake.  However, everyone could sit back and blame problems on another group.  When there's only one team working, it better be perfect.

It took an entire day to get the 80 stencils applied with a-maze-ing perfection to the concrete surface.  It was, unfortunately, the sunniest and warmest day we've had in Ohio all year.  I'm not usually one to complain about glorious weather, but it was hard to line up the pattern in the glaring sunlight.  And, when the day was done, I was a mazed artist.  In case you aren't sure, that's not really a good thing.  The job required crawling all over concrete.  I used gloves to protect and cushion my hands.  It helped.  Allan had knee pads, but said they hurt as much as they helped.  I crawled around with a pillow to cushion my knees.  It barely helped at all.  By the end of the day, I ached everywhere.  It was a-maze-ing how many new places could hurt.  And, it was equally a-maze-ing how long everything hurt.  Allan and I both agreed that the stencil should have been applied by a bunch of twenty-something artists from the Columbus College of Art and Design.  They probably wouldn't have ached at all.

I certainly hurt the following day when we applied the paint.  And, I hurt the next day as I started touching up the edges.

I'm used to touching up projects.  All murals require touching up and that's when I shine as the invaluable artist to finish off the work.  I knew all along that I would need to touch up this a-maze-ing maze  I just didn't realize how a-maze-ing I would have to be.  The seal for the adhesive stencil patterns probably would have worked just fine on a gym floor.  We didn't paint one of those.  It was concrete and just as bumpy as you would expect it to be.  The adhesive wasn't meant for that kind of surface.  Paint seeped under the stencil.  I had to go back and touch up the entire border of the maze.  So very fortunately for me, we had several days of rain in the Buckeye State.  I stayed home until the following week and it gave me time for my muscles to recover.

I felt wonderful.  And, as you may expect, a mazed artist completed the task and it simply looks a-maze-ing.

Easter has always provided special memories for me.  When I was a kid, we always went to my grandparents home for a family reunion.  Always.  It was like a Norman Rockwell painting.  Easter included a house full of cousins, Easter baskets, chocolate eggs, egg decorating, an egg hunt before church, "Sunday Best" clothing, all girls (and most women) wearing bonnets, Sunday School where we learned that the eggs represented new life and the Resurrection, and then home for a family feast.  And, that family feast always meant an Easter ham.  You can't really celebrate Easter without a ham.  It may not be written in the Bible, but you still need to have a ham.

One Easter even had a science lesson for me.  I loved chocolate Easter eggs that were coated with a hard candy covering that was mostly white with colored speckles.  I thought that the robin in our backyard might like one in her nest.  She already had a pretty blue egg.  Well, I learned that robins don't like chocolate as much as I did (and still do).  She abandoned the nest.  Some chocolate melts in your mouth, not in your hand.  I guess all chocolate eventually melts in a nest.

Decorating eggs has always been a delight for me.  And, I still love to do it.  Unlike anybody else I know, I decorate my eggs for my Christmas tree, but I remember my mother hanging plastic eggs on a tree in the yard.  My tree has real eggs but the actual tree is fake.  Mom did it the other way around.  But, I know it was Ukrainian eggs at Easter that inspired me to decorate eggs at Christmas.  When I saw them in a magazine, I thought, "I could do that!"  My tree has over 700 egg ornaments.  I guess I really could do that.

My favorite memory of Easter as an adult took place in Eastern Europe where I painted a mural for orphans in Romania.  My host and sponsor was a devout member of the Orthodox Church.  Plans were made to attend an Easter service on my visit.  I don't really think it was an option, but I really wanted to attend anyway.  As I already told you, the "Norman Rockwell" Easter with my grandparents included Sunday morning services.  When you celebrate Easter with Romanians, it's a midnight.  I'm not really at my most alert at midnight or anytime after that.  It didn't matter.  I was at church and everything was in Romanian.  No, I didn’t understand a lot of what happened.  But, that didn’t stop the overwhelming sense of devotion and faith.  No words were needed for that. 

It felt like everyone in the country went to church at midnight.  The chapel was not big enough for the crowd.  The place was packed, standing room only, and the crowd of the devout spilled outside the church, down the sidewalk and into any open area.  Everyone went to church.  I had to ask if there were seats for the worshippers on days that did not have hoards attending the Easter celebration.  No, I didn’t like the answer I received.  Chairs were for old women.  Everyone else stood no matter how long the service. 
 
I felt like an old woman and really wanted a chair.

Each person inside or outside of the church received a candle.  However, none of the candles was lit and the church was dark.  Darkness in a standing room only situation wasn’t ideal, but there was a reason for this.  A recent Orthodox tradition across Eastern Europe included candle light brought directly from Jerusalem.  I have no idea how that was actually accomplished.  I'm going to guess that that flame didn't go through the scanner at the airport and probably wasn't x-rayed or patted down.  The candle light must have traveled by chartered jet, which is certainly better than I have ever traveled. 
 
At one moment, around midnight, a priest appeared holding a bouquet with a flaming candle in the middle.  And from that flame, imported all the way from the Holy Land, one by one all of the candles were lit inside the chapel and out on to the street.  There was a lot of chanting in Romanian, or Latin, I couldn't be sure.  But, even I learned how to say the main greeting repeated by all the devout, “Christ is Risen!” and “He is risen indeed!”
 
The celebration continued throughout the night and into the wee hours of dawn.  It was approximately one in the morning when we left (much earlier than most of the devout).  After the service, there was a traditional Easter dinner with my hosts.  I’m not usually (ever) hungry after midnight.  I’ve always considered it a good time of the evening, er … morning, to sleep rather than eat.  But, it was a feast!  The meal started by breaking Easter eggs.  You shared the experience with someone else at the table (each person took a turn to crack the tip of their neighbor’s egg with their own egg) and proclaimed Hristos a Înviat!  (Christ is risen). 
 
The table was filled with meat wrapped in cheese, as well as a dish that was sort of like potato salad.  It was heavy food and there didn’t appear to be any light eaters in Romania.  I love any and all forms of potatoes.  So, I filled up on the delightful food.  But when the plates were taken away, another course was delivered.  Why didn’t anyone tell me about another course?  I didn’t need another course.  I had no room for another course.  I received another course.  This time I was served turkey and lamb.  The correct way to eat the lamb was with a bit of yogurt/garlic sauce and a sip of local red wine. 
 
And, yes, there were desserts.  Two of them!  I was too full and too sleepy to even remember what they were.  But, I remember two.
 
Before leaving for the hotel at three in the morning, I asked about the recipe for that potato salad.  It was the only dish of the evening that I possibly had a chance to reproduce.  It was very fun trying to figure out the names of some of the ingredients in English.

                                                                    Monika’s Potato Salad
                                                                      Bucharest, Romania
 
                    1 pound of potatoes                           2 eggs
                    1 pound of carrots                              oil                            
                    7/8 cup celery root                             dash of salt
                    2/3 pound chicken breast                  little bit of mustard
                    1 ¼ cups sweet pickles                      1 lemon                
                    1 ¼ cups sweet peppers                            
                                                                   
         
Boil the potatoes, carrots and celery root (if you know what it is and can find it) in water with a dash of salt.  After they cool, dice them.
 
As the vegetables cool, dice the chicken, pickles and sweet peppers. Then, add everything to the vegetables.  For this recipe, the peppers were not the kind you find in the fresh vegetable section of the grocery.  They were bottled and pickled in sweet vinegar.  I’d never seen this product before.  But, if you can find them (and I have since seen them even at my local grocery) use the pickled version.  The whole mixture is held together with mayonnaise.  And the amount used is a matter of taste.  Mold the mixture on a platter to form a flattened igloo shape.
 
In Bucharest, the recipe called for homemade mayonnaise.  That’s another thing I’ve never done before.  Probably never will!  To make this, start with salt and an egg yolk.  Add oil a drop at a time (I have no patience for that!) and stir only clockwise.  Add the juice of the lemon and a taste of mustard.  I’ll add mustard to the mayonnaise I buy.
 
The entire surface of the salad on the platter is glazed with the mayonnaise.  Very long slivers of the sweet pickles are coiled to decorate the base of the igloo in a series of red circles.  Decorative flowers on top of the salad are made by piles of finely diced egg whites and garnished with sprigs of dill (or parsley) for the leaves. 

Hristos a Înviat!

I remember when my high school French teacher talked about us, her students, going to Paris some day.  I never believed it would happen.  So, I sampled her French onion soup and even ate an escargot or two, because I really never thought  I'd ever leave Ohio.  It just didn't happen back then.  I didn't know anyone who traveled.  Well, life has surprises.  Still, I traveled an awful lot of the world before I ever made it to Paris.  It took way too many years to get to the City of Lights.  But, when I finally made it to the heart of France, I again sampled French onion soup, a snail or two and even added crêpes Suzette in a café along the Seine to my discoveries.  I knew for certain that one trip was not going to be enough.  Of course, I wrote to my French teacher. 

She cried.

Paris has a web of underground metro trains that I found very confusing.  On my first visit, I frequently found myself going the wrong way.  But, I was in Paris and there was a continual smile on my face, no matter which direction I traveled.  One of my friends gave me instructions on how to get to my first stop, the Louvre.  Where else would an artist go?  When I reached one connecting point, he said it might be a good place to go above ground to find a place to eat.  So, I came up to the surface.  To my left was Notre Dame Cathedral and to my right was the Eiffel Tower.   Above were blue skies and I chucked the Louvre that day.  It was time to walk Paris.  And, it was a good move, too, because the rest of my stay in Paris was rainy and gray. 

So, my first stop in Paris was Notre Dame Cathedral.  I'd envisioned the isle on the Seine to be a garden with the cathedral tucked away in one small corner.  Silly me.  The place was a mass of concrete and elegant buildings.  But, the cathedral was simply beautiful.   And from there, I went on to explore so many historic monuments, museums, churches, restaurants and delights that Paris has to offer, even if you barely can communicate in French.  Sorry, Madame Heine.

That was my first trip.   I made many more trips to Paris when I lived in Belgium for nine years.  After all, it was just a day trip away, a frequent weekend destination.  Yep, that was life in Europe.
 
One of my friends in Belgium had the most amazing job.  François created and managed the website for Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.  He called the place "the office".  How cool is that to have on your resume?  Whenever he went to Paris, they put him up -- for free -- in an apartment right next to the Cathedral.   He said that the morning bells blasted him from his bed.   Who had travel envy? 

That would be me.

Well, when he finally invited me to Paris with a free place to stay, he didn't have to ask twice.  And, he was right about the cathedral bells.  While my host spent Saturday at work on the cathedral's website, I went to see a museum expo featuring the works of Picasso and Matisse, which I had been dying to see.   And during his work that day, François heard the rector of the cathedral say, "I wish I knew an artist who drew cartoons that appealed to children."

Timing, as they say, is everything.  My friend said that he knew an artist and he just happened to bring him to Paris.  It's one of the few times I ever felt that I was in the right place at the right time.  Just as I strolled out of the exhibition, I got a phone call to come meet the rector.

So, I was on my way to Notre Dame and not as one of its million upon millions of tourists.  It's one thing to say you can draw, and it is certainly nice when your friend can put in a good word for you at a cathedral.  But, I arrived at Notre Dame with my website and clip art to show examples of my work.  I knocked the rector's socks off when he saw my art.  Well, that is if he wore socks under his robe.  Anyway, it's always nice to impress anyone, with or without socks, and I was hired.   I didn't know exactly what I'd be doing for the people at Notre Dame, but right away it was clear that I had what they wanted.  So, there would be even more trips to Paris for me also to work at "the office".

As it turned out, the project was to illustrate an interactive computer presentation that explained the history of the cathedral.  My cartoon was the host novice used throughout the presentation.  If that wasn't awesome enough, the rector made sure I got a private tour that included sitting at the cathedral organ, walking on the roof with gargoyles and a few other hidden passages that tourists don't get to see.  And one day when Gérard Depardieu happened to be in "the office", I was pulled into the rector's office for a meet and greet.  The whole experience in Paris was a piece of heaven on earth, which I guess, Notre Dame is supposed to be anyway, or it was until April 15, 2019.

Hopefully, it will be again soon.

There really hasn't been much to write home, or blog, about in February and March.  Yes, the polar vortex departed, but there still has been an abundance of cold, snow, rain, wind and gray in Buckeye Country.  I've stayed indoors and tried to remain warm.

While huddled in front of my computer, I've been in kind of a publishing mode.  I have two books in various stages of unusual publishing, a third in the process of illustrating and a fourth just waiting for me to work on.  It's kind of a new experience and a new direction for me.

I've mentioned the first two books before, but there is more to tell.  Once Upon West Africa is a collection of fifty Liberian folk tales that I collected as a Peace Corps Volunteer decades ago.  Over the years, I've edited, re-edited, added to and revised them.  And, a year or so ago, I illustrated them as well.  They've just been sitting around, gathering dust inside my computer and waiting to be discovered.  Recently I met a Liberian living in Columbus, Ohio.  He couldn't believe the treasure I've been sitting on.  He wants them in the hands of the one and a half million students in Liberia.  That's a big dream, bigger than I ever imagined.  I believe he's going to make that happen.

In recent weeks, we've passed the stories back and forth, editing and re-editing.  And, to eliminate 32 blank pages in the book, I had to expand 32 stories.  It really made them a lot better, too.  But, I have read all fifty stories at least six times in recent weeks.  My Liberian friend has read them about that much as well.  Every time I read them, I find mistakes.  Every time!  The text is surely 99.99% error-free by now.  But, it is just impossible for me to eliminate that other .01%.  I had no idea how hard it was to get about a hundred fifty pages perfect.  I'm sure they still aren't perfect, and that drives the perfectionist in me insane.

My other book, "Pick Me!" Cried Arilla, is a whole lot shorter.  I was so excited to have it written and illustrated, that I quickly printed off my own edition from an online company that prints individual books.  They print expensive books.  Very nice quality, expensive books.  I paid $42.00 to have one copy made.  And then, I realized that I really should have had someone else help me proof-read the book.  It really is very hard to proof-read my own writing.  My eyes know what I want to say and they kind of glide over the mistakes.  And, this $42.00 book had five errors in it.  Utterly maddening!

Arilla is currently in the works at a self-publishing house.  But, it's not the regular kind of self-publishing house.  Usually, if you do this, you get the books and are responsible for selling them.  If you aren't good at that (and I don't really think I am) you might have a large pile of books in your garage.  My book is being published by Elm Hill, a Christian book publisher associated with HarperCollins, one of the top five English publishers in the world.  Elm Hill will use their HarperCollins connections to help promote my book.  So, in my mind, it's a step above normal self-publishing.

I'm learning a lot in this whole process.  This week I attended a meeting of local writers and illustrators in the Columbus area.  Who knew there were enough for a meeting?  I didn't know what to expect and I certainly didn't get what I wasn't expecting.  It was a critique night.  Authors shared their stories and others in the group gave their advice.  Honestly, I never liked group work when I was a student.  Nothing has changed over the years.

I don't think I'm alone in that dislike.  The woman in charge said, "There's a good chance you won't agree with anything you're told in the group.  But, go in with an open mind.  You might find something you agree with later on when you think about it."  I was doubtful.

This group had their rules.  I know I'm great at reading my book.  It's something I know I do very well.  But, according to the rules, I had to pass my book to the left, to a woman who wasn't familiar with the text.  Of course, in my very biased opinion, she didn't do the story justice.  And, I honestly believe that very few people on the planet would read my story to my satisfaction.  You may think the word "diva" but don't say it aloud.

There was some praise (which I always love to hear) and some advise (which the woman in charge was right about.  I didn't agree with it).  The contact I have at Elm Hill told me my book was perhaps the best children's book to ever come across his desk.  I wasn't going to readily accept any criticism from people I didn't know.

And, then it happened.

One guy gave me advice that I really liked.  Drats!  Did I mention that I paid $42.00 for a beautifully made edition of my book?  Of course, I did!  My book was perfect as it was, except for those five typos.  I needed no advice, but I got it anyway.  And, I really liked it.

I don't really want to give the plot of my story away, but Arilla is a star and she wants to grow up to be part of a constellation.  However, she keeps getting overlooked in the selection process, hence "Pick me!" in the title.  The guy across the table said, "I want to know what Arilla did that finally got her picked.  What made her shine?"  (Yes, he really used the pun and I so appreciated it.)  I kind of had it implied, but it needed to be spelled out.

He didn't know how much I appreciated the suggestion and hated him at the same time.  It meant that I had to throw out four pages, write new text and re-illustrate it.  And, it made the book so much better and it probably is going to cost me another $42.00, unless I have the patience to wait three months on Elm Hill.  My favorite line in the story is now:
                                             So our little star learned the thing she should know
                                             and it gave her heart a warm heavenly glow.

I'm not going to tell you what she learned or how she made the change.  Buy the book.  It's a delightful read and beautifully illustrated.  If you have any doubts about that, just ask me. 

But, the cute little story makes me think.  If I want to shine, if I want a warm heavenly glow, if I want to be picked to do the job I'm meant to do, what are the things I need to learn?  What are the things I should know?  I think that's a question that we all need to ask ourselves.