My Holiday Card

Over the years Handsome Husband and I have received piles of Christmas cards jam packed with tales of great deeds, grand vacations, and amazing accomplishments by children and their adults.  Sometimes we even knew who these people were.

It’s the same again this year. Our table is piled with holiday cards which spew glitter as soon as they’re released from their envelopes. Tucked inside each folded card with the pre-printed personal message and pre-printed personal signature is The Letter, the missive that explains in minute detail just how exciting it was to be them this past year.

Well folks, it was pretty darned exciting as well here at Scarborough Studios. While I have not yet discovered the cure for putting my elbow in wet paint, nor have I managed to figure out how to hang a painting in the right spot the first time, I have had my share of success. For example:

I’ve worn out more than a few brushes.

I have used up 2 very large tubes of white, nearly an entire tube of Prussian Blue, and found an old tube of Indian Yellow that I’d forgotten entirely about. At least I think its Indian Yellow. The label seems to have gone somewhere.

I made some great painting buddies.

Handsome Husband and I managed to wedge over 30 paintings into my vehicle without using a shoehorn.

Handsome Husband and I managed to remove those paintings from my vehicle without a shoehorn.

Best of all (cue the glitter shower) ,I have been honored to meet people who start out as collectors and become dear friends.

Happy Holidays to you, too dear reader.

 

Another Christmas Letter

We got our first Christmas letter a couple of days ago. It was from J.W. Marriott, Jr., Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of Marriott International, Inc.

No kidding.

I had no idea he knew we stayed at his place.

We’ve gotten others since. You may have gotten them too.  They’re from close friends you haven’t seen in years, slathered with photos of people in matching sweaters smiling out at you. Images of favorite cats and dogs watch you closely, ready to lick the eggnog right off your face.

©2011 Patricia Scarborough  5pm Early December  8x10 oil

In a few letters we’ve gotten over the years, the animals actually do the speaking.  Who knew they watched their owners so closely? Imagine what they could accomplish if they had opposable thumbs. That’d be something Mr. Marriott would find interesting. Maybe he’d give them a free room.

This is my holiday letter to you. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short.

Thank you.  Thanks for buying art; my art, any art. And for reading my blog, and for liking me on facebook. 

Thanks for listening to me try to figure out what I was doing.  Creating is necessarily a singular activity, which means artists are alone a lot. It’s helpful to bounce ideas off others for a fresh perspective. Thanks for putting up with my bragging, complaining, whining and poking fun. You've been very kind.

©2010 Patricia Scarborough 12x12 pastel Winter Corn Rows, from the Square Mile Series

It’s been a good year.   HH and I have had some fun and put a lot of miles on the car. I’ve participated in exhibits in Lincoln, Norfolk, Grand Island and Kearney. I’ve done some good work, even took Best of Show honors.  I've also painted some stinkers but I’m still here, and I’ll be here next year keeping at it.

Happy Holidays to you, Dear Reader.  How was your year?

Christmas Letter

@2009 Patricia Scarborough 12x12 oil

It's that time again!

Tis the season for the Christmas Letter. (Cue the theme from Jaws.)

Like the Boogie Man at Halloween (in my neighborhood it was the Hairy Scratch), or your neighbor at the back door with her arms full of zuchini in September, it's the time of year our mailboxes fill up with long-winded missives from those dear close friends we didn't know we had.
Shiney as a new Sears catalog, these perfect families and their charming escapades, vacations and championships dazzle us with their, well, dazzling-ness.

I surrender.

The only cruise I've been on is up Highway 81 to hit the Walmart store.

The only gold I've received is the gold cap I got for the tooth I broke on last year's peanut brittle.
I did find treasure. It was the last piece of pumpkin pie hidden in the fridge after Thanksgiving. Too bad it was 2 weeks old. (At least I think it was pumpkin pie.)

So, my Christmas Letter to you, Dear Reader, goes something like this:

Thanks for stopping by.

Thanks for your comments. It's always nice to hear from you.

Had a great year painting. Snagged a couple new galleries, taught a few classes, made tons of friends.

Hope you had a good year too.

Happy Holidays my Friends-

Oh, and come back next week. I'm going to reveal a very cool project initiated by a very cool fellow. Consider it your Christmas gift. You're gonna love it, I promise.

C is for Christmas

Ah, it's that time of year, isn't it? You know what I mean.

It's December, the month when all the friends you haven't seen in the last 12 months write to tell you how fabulous their year was.

It's Christmas Letter Time!

Eleven-inch envelopes that normally hold bank balance statements or credit card reminders now carry 8-1/2 by 11-inch pages of dancing snowmen or twirling holly garland wrapped around the years' adventures.

Does no one just stay home and read anymore?

It seems that all my best friends, who I haven't heard a peep out of (out of whom I haven't heard a peep) since their last declaration of Christmas cheer, have traveled the world with their beautiful children in tow. Remember them? The A+ students who organized the Katrina Relief Effort from their elementary school in the 'burbs while directing sight-impaired children across the street at the afterschool program in the projects before heading out to dance class to practice for the lead in the Nutcracker, after which they'll build a house for the neighbors whose house burned down, and train their dog to fetch newspapers for the elderly. Oh, don't forget the bone marrow drive they're thinking of starting? All while wearing white, neatly ironed button-down shirts, actually tucked in to their Dockers. Which are actually pulled up to their waists and belted. Did I mention they dined with the Pope?

Who are these people?

My Christmas Letter to You:

It was a pretty darned good year. Learned alot. Forgot some. Learned some more. Laughed more than I cried. Added a few more wrinkles and silver hairs. (Note to self: try 20 watt lightbulbs in the bathroom.) Made new friends. Kept the old ones.

Love my family like crazy, every single one of them.

How was your year?