Focused at Fifty

I also name this blogpost 'Art Bramble'. I think it sounds better than 'Art Ramble' because bramble sounds so much more fun! LOL. This blog is dedicated to my father for his upcoming birthday on September 23rd. Brief backstory friends: My father, Robert E. Haynes is one of my greatest influences ... in mind, body, soul, ideas, ethics, morals, values, and art. His picture with me is the one at the top of this blog. He taught at Glassboro State College, now Rowan University, for 3 decades. Before that, an artist and illustrator. Presently, he is retired, loving retirement in the artistically incredible Humbolt County, California, as an artist once again and an arts educator on several boards in the communities of Arcata and Eureka, California. Dad, forgive me if some details are amiss. LOL. But my friends, you get the idea. Artist, traveler of the world, educator, and back to being an artist and arts administrator with a heavy influence in the community arts! In the ar

I had just arrived home last night and was walking up my deck steps laden down with a bag of groceries, my briefcase, lunch bag, and several empty coffee mugs left in my car. As I came up to the front door, I remembered that we have a rather large spider, about two inches across, which has made an impressive nest in the back corner of the house. I decided to take a peek at it before I went inside. I dumped all of my belongings on a deck bistro table by the front door and headed to the back of the house. I was observing the garden spider when from behind me I heard a shout, “WHO’S BACK THERE?” I turned to see my 70 something neighbor Charlotte standing on her back deck peering over at me, her hand shielding the evening sun from her eyes. Charlotte was a good neighbor, always keeping an eye on who was in the neighborhood and if something didn’t seem right, she spoke up about it. “It’s just me Charlotte!” I yelled back. “I was just looking at this huge spider spinning its web on t

I am going out to eat at a nice restaurant this evening and thought about getting a little more dressed up than usual. It’s a fun thing to do. Make yourself a martini or pour a glass of scotch or wine while getting ready. Turn on some mood music depending on the occasion. It got me thinking to when I was younger, say before age 9, when my siblings and I would watch my parents get ready for a night out on the town. The smell of Mom’s perfume and Dad’s cologne still permeates these memories. We would watch them get gussied up in suit and dress. Mom would finish picking out her jewelry with Sheryl’s help. Dad would put on the little light in his closet and enlist Adam’s and my help in picking out that perfect tie. We would giggle and laugh at them while sitting with our legs crossed on their oh-so big bed, the small black and white TV on in the background. Dad and Mom looked like the king and queen of the castle. They would sometimes have a cocktail first. Mom, a glass of Gallo or Mat

One of the things you find out when you get older is that when you hurt yourself, there is no one there to kiss it and make it better. You scream and move on. Correction, you scream DRAMATICALLY and LOUDLY, fall to the pavement with hand still attached to the garage door, and move on after you have pried your hand from the door. It all started innocently enough (isn't that how it always starts?) when I realized it had begun to rain and I had left plastic tubs full of flea market items outside in the driveway. Obviously not wanting them to get rained on, I ran outside to bring the tubs into the house. Rain drops pelted my back but luckily not enough to warrant a "torrent." With much cursing under my breath, the three heavy tubs were safely inside the house. It was then I realized that that I had left a 1930's chrome Art Deco ashtray stand out by the garage. I thought for a minute that I would leave it, considering it was under the deck and may only get a little we