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.

In my last blog, I used a whole lot of Christmas carols.  And, Baby, It's Cold Outside!  There is a polar vortex whirling around Ohio right now.  Let me assure you, I do not belong in this kind of cold weather. 

I could'a been in the Caribbean!
I should'a been painting two murals in Jamaica!
I would'a been there most of January if it were not for the partial government shut-down.

So, instead of painting, sweating and mildly tanning in Caribbean sunshine, I've holed up in Ohio freezing, waiting and mildly muttering.  But, we all know what's supposed to happen to those who wait.  And, fortunately, a few good things have been going on in Ohio in addition to freezing temperatures and drifting snow.

Actually, thankfully, there hasn't been that much snow.  I once drove through a blizzard from Ohio to Kansas.  In Indiana, my car slid head-on, out of control, into a guard rail.  I was able to back the car out - with no damage - and continue on my foolish way.  In Illinois, visibility was near zero.  I didn't even see the truck from behind when it rear-ended me.  Of course, I felt it.  And, again, I could'a damaged my car.  I seriously should'a crunched something, but there was not even a scratch.  And finally, in Missouri, in the middle of the night, I had fuel line freeze up.  The truck driver who stopped to help me said, "I'm taking you to a hotel."  I could'a frozen to death if I stayed in my car.  Sometimes, you have to listen to your guardian angel (or trucker) and do what you're told.  I know, I should'a known that without this guidance.

I try to avoid blizzards these days.

Anyway, it's been cold in Ohio and I've stayed indoors.  But, let me tell you about a couple of the good things happening.

"Pick Me!" Cried Arilla    In recent weeks, one of my friends asked me, "Why don't you write your own kid's book?"  The only answer I've ever had for that question was that I didn't have an idea for one.  I've often been told that I write well enough to do this.  I seriously believed that illustrating a book would'a been easy for me.  It's kind of been on my bucket list long before I ever even heard of bucket lists.  So, when my friend urged me to consider the task, I thought about it and found the inspiration I needed.  And, since I had time on my hands and no desire to go outside, I illustrated the book while I should'a been in Jamaica. 

The inspiration for "Pick Me!" Cried Arilla centers around my grandmother.  I kind of think she would'a been flattered that I used her name and, at the same time, horrified that she was the center of attention for the story.  But, Grandma was the first artist in my family tree, and I thought I needed to honor her influence in my life.  So, like it or not, Grandma, this one's for you.

The story, in my very biased mind, is rather clever.  A school teacher reads a tale to her class about another school in heaven.  In that school, the Archangel Michael teaches stars all the skills they need to know in order to fulfill their purpose.  Of course, Arilla is one of those stars, but she is also one of the students in the library where the teacher is reading.  Illustrations on the Earth mirror what also takes place in the classroom in heaven.  I've never seen a book like that before, so I think it's unique.  And, if that isn't enough, it all rhymes!

Of course, now I have to figure out how to publish the book.  If I self-publish on the site where I've made coffee table books in the past, the price could be as much as a hundred dollars.  I don't think even the people who already love my writing and drawings would pay that price.  I wouldn't.  If I try to find a publisher, they usually don't accept unsolicited manuscripts.  An author needs an agent and a literary agent doesn't usually want to represent someone who is not published.  It's a difficult situation.   When I get it figured out, and the book is for sale, I will let everyone know.

Once Upon West Africa    Okay, I've never actually had any children's book published, but right now I also have a second one in the works.  I collected fifty folk tales from Liberia when I was in the Peace Corps, which was a long time ago.  After I revisited Liberia in 2016, I was inspired to illustrate the tales.  One of my connections at the U.S. Embassy thought it was a project that might qualify for a grant to get the stories into the hands of young Liberian readers.   That could'a happened, should'a happened, would'a been wonderful, but it didn't.  So, I've been sitting on these tales and their illustrations for quite some time.  I just needed the right connection to move the project along.

And, that connection came through CORVA, a Central Ohio Returned Peace Corps Volunteer group that meets monthly in Columbus.  It was through CORVA that I first heard about contacting U.S. Embassies for mural projects.  And, it was also at a CORVA gathering one night that two separate people told me that I needed to meet LeRoy, a Liberian living in Columbus.  I knew there were Liberians in central Ohio, but I'd never actually met one.
That was about to change.

LeRoy and I met up at a local restaurant.  I would'a preferred an African meal of cassava leaves, but I guess that is not to be found in Columbus.  If you want that dish, you have to go to someone's home.  LeRoy wasn't going to invite a complete stranger into his house for the first meeting.  (However, he did for our second meet-up, and the cassava leaves were so delicious.)

My new Liberian friend has his own N.G.O. called Village Improvement Project that does development work with rural Liberian communities.  So, of course, I was interested in what he's doing.  I dream of an extended stay in Liberia painting community murals across the country.  Fortunately, LeRoy was just as pleased about meeting me.  He couldn't believe I've had this treasure of Liberian folk tales so many years.  He said that they should'a been in the hands of Liberian readers a long time ago.  And, LeRoy has experience and connections that could bring this about. 

Currently, plans are in the works to find a grant that could sponsor this project.  And, while that is going on, the tales are getting a final editing.  It is next to impossible to write something as long as a book without some mistakes.  It's truly maddening.  Unfortunately, I find it next to impossible to edit my own writing.  My eyes gloss over errors because they "see" what should'a been on the paper all along. 

We've already discussed printing with a publisher in Columbus.  It won't be that long before a couple of sample copies are in our hands.  It's actually going to happen!  I've been contacted by the U.S. Embassy in Liberia for a return muraling experience.  It, too, was put on hold by the partial government shut-down.  But, now, I'm seriously hoping that when I do return to Africa, I'll have a few samples of the book to share with the people I meet along my path.   And, if you remember my friend Daniel, the principal of the school in Parken, his students will be among the first young readers in Liberia to receive copies of Once Upon West Africa.

It almost makes it all worth while waiting through a polar vortex.