The 45th Annual Redbud Festival in Three Rivers took place on a very nice day, not crazy hot or cold as we’ve experienced some years. Today I’ll show you the beginnings of Saturday.
Tomorrow I’ll tell you a list of 7 observations and experiences.
There will be 4×6″ original oil paintings at the Redbud Festival, priced for $40 each instead of $50 as a SHOW SPECIAL! Here are 2 samples of the 8 available paintings:
Yesterday I told you of some good ideas that came to me while I was organizing my storage shelves. Today I will tell you of two that aren’t complete. They are good ideas in terms of how to spend my time and energy with my art business, but will take more thinking on how to bring them about.
Lately I have preferred to work in silence instead of listening to podcasts, music, or the radio. I seem to need lots of quiet in order to think. I don’t have an agenda; instead, I just let the thoughts roam freely, and sometimes good ideas show up.
When I photograph my paintings on the easel in the painting workshop, I am often appalled by the state of the storage shelves behind the painting. What am I storing? Why is it such a mess? If the things aren’t useful, why I am keeping them?
Last week I went through those shelves, moving things that seldom get used to the upper levels, consolidating things, and evaluating their usefulness. I had some thoughts while doing this task, some new, some old.
The crowd shuffled back down the hall when the party was over. The conversations were so much fun. I heard people going on about the bathrooms (“Fine facilities!” in a very Southern accent), talking about how many paper napkins with the White House emblem that they stuffed in their purses, and the cameras never stopped snapping. (This was in the olden days before phones became cameras.)
We were very reluctant to leave, as were most of the guests. It was all such a beautiful fantasy, and it was hard to believe it was over so quickly. While I changed from my vindictive and useless high heels to a pair of walking shoes, Michael made friends with Jeff, a Secret Service guy.
He showed him the photos of meeting the President in Sequoia in 2001 and referred to him as “Dubya”. I said, horrified, “Michael! They probably don’t call him that here!!” Jeff said, “Actually, we call him Forty-three”.
There are many layers of security around the White House, several different fences and gates to pass through before emerging onto Pennsylvania Avenue.
I may have stood on a bench for this one. (It was safe – my high heels were in my oh-so-dorky-with-dress-up-clothes-backpack). There was a fence separating us from the White House and another one separating us from outside the White House. Our next mission was to locate a Metro Station and figure out how to get back to Alexandria, where we had a 19 block walk back to Janey’s (the reason I brought normal shoes).
Here is the magical little item that gave me this unforgettable adventure.
It is interesting to note that no where are the artists mentioned when the ornaments are shown, only the National Parks that we represented. (That website is gone now.) We were instructed to not use our designs commercially – no reproductions, no advertising saying “as designed for the White House”. I have been asked many times why I haven’t made more ornaments, and that is the main reason. If that agreement wasn’t part of the deal, perhaps I might have done so, but to paint the same little fussy object over and over probably would have lost its appeal.
However, last year someone asked for one, so I painted 3 more, sold 2 and have one small one remaining. I took a chance that the statute of limitations would have expired after 10 years. So far no one has come to get me in the middle of the night, but this is the first time I’ve put this on the World Wide Web. (If my blog goes silent, will someone please contact the Secret Service?)
About getting “gussied up”. . . I faxed the White House a second time to ask about the dress code. Here in Tulare County, “dressed up” means that I iron a polo shirt for Michael to wear with decent jeans. “Formal” means his best Wranglers, boots, and a “sport” jacket. (“Sport?” What, is he going to play basketball??) Really really formal means a tie with the formal ensemble. The White House returned my fax with a phone call, and I was told in no uncertain terms that “No denim is allowed on the compound”. This meant a major shopping expedition for Michael. Me? I found a $3 blue velveteen jacket at the local thrift shop, and since I have enough clothing for a small island nation of semi-shortish women who wear their skirts too long, this was adequate.
We arrived in style at the White House, and joined the queue to be officially identified as invited guests. Everyone was excited, dressed up, and friendly. When we finally got inside the White House, we began the shuffle down a long hall. Everything was interesting, everyone was nice, every moment was memorable and thrilling. There were 2 men at the reception wearing blue jeans. Michael asked one of them how he got away with that, and the guy said ,”I don’t dress up for nobody”. Apparently he doesn’t bother with proper English either.
The reception was in the East Room.
Outstanding food, and incredible to be there in every way. Here is the podium where Laura Bush spoke. We were too short and too far back in the crowd to see her. (I was wearing my highest heels, to no avail other than possibly doing permanent damage to my feet.)
The tree in The Blue Room was 18′ tall, and my ornament was placed in The Most Perfect Spot Imaginable. It doesn’t show in this blurry photo but appeared in a video of Mrs. Bush with her dogs.
Here is the view from the Blue Room where we were all standing around in shock and awe:
We handed the camera to a stranger to pose in The Red Room (this was in the Pre-selfie Era), and suddenly, the carriages turned to pumpkins. Everywhere we looked, a uniformed guard was saying, “This way please”. That had to have been the quickest 2 hours of my life! 
To be concluded on December 26, AKA Boxing Day. . .
Once we knew the date of the White House reception, I began making plans. We have very good friends in Pennsylvania who invited us to stay with them AND, get this, loaned us a car! So we flew into Harrisburg, which has rocking chairs in its airport. (Now that is a bit more common than in 2007.)
Here is how it looks around our friends’ neighborhood: 
After recovering from a red-eye flight (Note to self: NEVER do that again), we drove to Old Town Alexandria, Virginia to the home of our friend/cabin neighbor/partner in The Cabins of Mineral King, Janey. The drive was so interesting to us. Just seeing signs along the freeway that mentioned Civil War battlegrounds was fascinating to these West-coasters. And the colors – this photo was taken at a rest stop.
I knew I would love Janey’s town from years of hearing about it. (Please excuse the car in the way – parking is at such a premium in her neighborhood that we had to have a permit for our borrowed car and she had to negotiate with a construction crew for a place to put the car.) These homes were built in the late 1700s, and I was instantly in love with the whole place.
We got all gussied up, and Janey drove us to the White House. Tune in next week. . .
I’ve told this story before, but hope I have new readers since that original telling. Here goes. . .
In August of 2007, I was asked to paint an ornament for the White House Christmas tree, representing Sequoia National Park. My first thought was to moan, “Not another freebie”. An invitation to a White House reception would come with the ornament, and I thought, “So? That’ll be expensive”. A friend said I would be nuts to turn this opportunity down, and then Michael said he’d be happy to come to the White House with me. So, I began painting. (You can see that my painting skills have developed since then, but just be polite, okay?)
At the time the call came, I was working on a painting of Sequoia trees in the snow. I got a few little ornaments and tried the same design on one in acrylic paint, but it dried way too fast. I tried oil paint on another, and that was better.
Eventually, a large shiny gold ornament arrived. It looked like glass, and I was afraid of dropping it. I put layer after layer of white paint on it, carefully handling it as if would break, because if that happened, what would I do?? During one of these layers, my thumb dented the thing a little bit and I realized it was plastic! That eased a bit of worry. When it was finished, my neighbor took photos of me holding it so that the size would be evident.
You can see this is no ordinary ornament – it was very big, which made it much easier to paint than my little practice ones.
There was a little difficulty about the reception because no date was given, and various reservations needed to be made. We painters were given a fax number to send any questions, so I faxed a note asking the reception date and how tight the deadline for mailing the ornament was. As I was frantically trying to program in the fax number so a response could be received by my fax machine, the phone rang. “Cabinart, this is Jana”, I answered. “This is Bob at The White House”, came the response. “Hi Bob,” said I, ever so casually. To be continued. . .