Three books in progress

 <--- That's 10-year-old me holding my new Christmas gift, Mini Dragons, from the makers of Creepy Crawlers. You know, Plastigoop, a little immersion oven called the Thingmaker, tongs, and a set of metal molds. This might be my most favorite gift EVER. Mini Dragons and Creepy Crawlers were dangerous "toys" -- easy to burn a few fingers off. And Vac-u-form, which my brothers had, was another scary toy, now that I think of it. But they sure were fun and creative. 

Not all our toys were dangerous. We always had Lincoln Logs and Tinkertoys and plastic bricks.

She gave us plain paper -- colored and white -- and told us to draw our own images to color.

We always had pens and markers and crayons and scissors and glue.

When we did dioramas or posters or other creative work for schools or contests she was available with suggestions but didn't try to run it. We created our own work.

And they didn't make so big a deal out of winning -- or losing -- that I felt I had to win.
Creative people usually put LOTS of pressure on themselves. 

Family members don't need to add more.

Boy, did they ever!
Mom MADE our living room couch. The entire thing. And it was a sectional!
We grew up seeing her oil paintings around the house.

She won lots of blue ribbons at the Michigan State Fair for her desserts and art.

My favorite of her State Fair blue ribbon entries was a gigantic Christmas stocking wtih lots of cool things embroidered and appliqued onto it.
She made a lot of our outfits. My favorite was a white sleeveless shift with big bright flowers colored in embroidery paint.
Our pillowcases had her art on them, in embroidery paint. I still have two of mine -- they have my name on, and one has Pebbles Flintstone on it and the other has roses.

Dad made things from wood -- all kinds of cool stuff for camp.

Mom took photos of Dad's inventions and wrote about them and her articles appeared in camping magazines.  

She wrote articles often for Redbook, Good Housekeeping, and Ladies' Home Journal. 

She was a professional photographer. 

She created the most exquisite decorated cakes for our birthdays.

She was a great cook, too.

She made many of our Christmas tree decorations and the elves that hung around the house.

When Dad ran for judge we silkscreened his lawn signs in our basement. (He won.)

Our photo album was (is) a giant 2 foot by 2 foot homemade book with rows and rows of photos taken by Mom. It's really cool. Much better than a mass-produced album.

We made our own Halloween costumes every year. It start with Mom making them, and as we got older we made our own. They usually won prizes at the city Halloween party.

Our Easter eggs were always extra creative. I don't just mean the colored eggs. She also made giant sugar eggs with little scenes inside them. And we always had a decorated Easter tree inside and another outside.

Even in my awful angsty teen years, I don't remember my mother ever saying a negative thing about my art.

Aside to Mom: Thank you. <3 

Not an easy task with 7 kids.
I can't count how many times I went to the Detroit Institute of Arts before I was 12.

Same with Greenfield Village.

And the Detroit Zoo.

And the Detroit Historical Museum, where they had the coolest exhibit, The Streets of Old Detroit. 

(Just writing this makes me ache to see it again. The Streets of Old Detroit was recently updated --
https://detroithistorical.org/detroit-historical-museum/plan-your-visit/general-information)

This creative life seems to summon people who are especially sensitive and unconfident. That can be a problem when it comes to managing rejection of manuscripts and art and negative reviews.

My parents both endured unbelievably difficult trauma in their lives, but they were resilient.

They made the best of the bad things life threw at them.

When my dad died at 40, leaving a young widow with 7 kids, Mom was determined to keep going. She remarried, giving us two more wonderful little sisters, and she went to college and earned a 4 year degree. She is the very embodiment of tenacity and strength.

I learned not to rest on laurels and not to allow rejection to hold me back. 

There were times when it felt like it was me against the world, but still, deep inside, I firmly believed the world was wrong about me and someday I was going to be successful with my art. 

I don't know how I had confidence to believe that. I think it came from my parents.