A few of my paintings from this summer.

The use of color  in my paintings this summer was self-taught experimentation. I came up with the idea of basing some of my paintings on books. I based the following four paintings on the Twilight Series by Stephanie Meyers.

Twilight (oil pastel on paper)

Eclipse (oil pastel on paper)

New Moon (oil pastel on paper)

Breaking Dawn (oil pastel on paper)

The following painting is based on a book by the religious mystic St. John of the Cross.

Dark Night of the Soul (soft pastel on paper)

This is an attempt to attain a three-dimensional effect in color.

Fish (soft pastel on paper)

Growing Old: Growing Young

The Baby Boom generation is now entering its retirement years.

Having been born in 1946, I'm among the first of the baby boomers to retire, which I've done. I actually retired at age 63; I'm now 66. One of my reasons for retiring was not one of the normal ones: to help raise my grandson, who is now four years old. Yes, I'm raising another generation. But, I well know that most baby boomers will not be retiring and raising a young child at the same time. Many will be retiring to a life of leisure, travel, and to looking for ways to remain relevant to the world.

This is one of the directions my blog will now take: how do we retirees remain relevant to the world?

This is certainly not a new problem, if indeed it is a problem, beginning with my generation. It's probably been an issue for many retirees in the industrialized civilization. Living on the farms, I imagine, kept one busy and relevant right to the day of death. I'm sure a farmer's work is never done. But when accountants, doctors, lawyers, bus drivers, police persons, teachers, garbage workers, real estate agents, sales people, truck drivers, etc., retire, they are often possibly confronted with another lifetime to live. It begs the question, what do I do now?

I certainly cannot tell someone else how to live his or her life in retirement or during any other time period. I can only relate my own experiences and what I learn from others and from research. And there's a lot of research from which to learn. Learning is nice and suffices for its own sake, but doing (being, in the philosophical sense) is the essence of life. What we believe and what we do from day-to-day is important. How we live is perhaps the most important component of living. That's what I hope to explore on my blog in the future. It's a vast territory with many theories and possible answers, and that's part of the beauty of retirement, I can begin a new journey, and perhaps fulfill some of my unfulfilled dreams. I suppose there are others like me.

So, I hope you join me on my new journey: to remain relevant to the world.

Blogging: Absent, but not gone.

I haven't posted much or written many posts lately. I have some in rough drafts that are not finished. But, the fact is, I'm still around.

What have I been doing? Drawing and painting mainly. My Two-D Design course takes up a great deal of my time. This is the only course I take, and I'm retired (sort of), so I can bring my course assignments as close to perfection as I like. But that takes up a lot of time. Art is about details, and they take time to perfect. (Really, how do full-time art students perfect their art projects when juggling four or five courses at the same time? I feel for them.) But I enjoy it so much that I can spend hours working on a piece of art and not even realize I've been working for hours. I've always been a perfectionist (which isn't necessarily a good thing), so I'm right at home with this artwork.

I haven't been writing. This is a dilemma for me. Where does my future as a writer lay? Do I even have one anymore? I have several books that are highly polished and I could self-publish them pretty much as they are, but I don't feel connected to them right now. My writing imagination is somewhat dormant these days, although I've been feeling some rumblings in the background. The desire to write isn't dead in me yet. But I'm not sure when I'll put pen to paper again.

What it's like being a retiree taking college classes with teenagers.

I'm into my second year of art classes (I take one class a semester; this is my third class) at the University of North Florida. The first two classes (Drawing I and Drawing II) were taken in the evenings, and I was not the only older person enrolled in them, so I didn't feel out of place. But this class (Two Dimensional Design) is a day class, and I'm the only older person in it. Even the instructor Laura Colomb is much younger than me. This is the first class in which I've felt out of place.

I'm pretty amazed by the young people around me. Some of them are clueless about their lives, like elementary school children. They are smart. The requirements for enrolling at UNF are stiff. Yet, some of them seem like they'd rather be doing something else, like texting on their i-phones. Some of them miss classes or don't do the required work. When the teacher says that, if you miss the class critique you're automatically dropped two letter grades on the assignment, and several of the students don't show up, I wonder why. They probably didn't do the assignments and stayed away. Some of these students just don't have their priorities in the proper order.

Some of these students are pretty darn good artists already. Seriously, they don't need this elementary art class, but it's a requirement (I think) for the program. It's a good class. It's foundational to the various art majors. Maybe some of the students are bored by it (but none of them seem bored). Some of the students seem to have trouble staying awake. I think back to my college years and wonder if I was so sleepy in my classes. Maybe they're overwhelmed by the amount of work they have to do in all their classes. Or maybe they're tired from staying up late partying.

I had quite a bit of interaction with the students in the first two classes. In this class, I've tried to strike up conversation with one or two of them. It just doesn't go very far. They talk to each other okay. But I think they see me as an outsider. I don't think they object to me being there. They are friendly all the time. But what can we possibly have in common? Of course, we have the art class in common, and we do discuss our art work to some degree. But that's about it.

Here's the thing, though, because I'm so much older than them, I feel that I should be a model student. I want to mentor them in some way. I want to reach out to them and help them. Of course, most of them do not need my help. But maybe one or two I could help. But, we don't talk. So I pretty much stick to myself and my work. Maybe that's the way it should be.

Reverting to my childhood?

I have been reading young adult/children's literature lately: Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, and now James and the Giant Peach. Why? I want to see what makes for classic children's literature, what children/young adults are reading. I've checked out from the library Deenie and tales of a fourth grade nothing by Judy Blume and a few more recently written YA books. Hopefully, I'll be able to read them. Who knows, maybe they'll tickle my inspiration.

Back in the 1970s I read a book Growing Young by Ashley Montigu. He cited studies that show how as we grow older we become more like children again. I was greatly impressed by the book and read it several times. Now, as I'm growing older, I see it happening in myself. I'm not unhappy about it; in fact, I think it's kind of neat. So, maybe this has something to do with my reading YA. When I was a child/adolescent I never read books. So, I missed all of these good children's books. Reading them now, and finding them somewhat interesting, is a pleasant surprise. And, yes, in the back of my mind I'm thinking "maybe I can do this, write children's books." I'm not sure it will ever happen, but it does offer me a semblance of hope.

Summer is gradually coming to an end. Is my writing?

I like summertime. It's a chance to swim in the pool on hot days. It's a chance to swim at the beach. Many plants flower during the summer. And I've had a good summer. My daughter, who moved to Georgia from Florida a year ago, has moved back. I had my three grandchildren around me for much of the summer. I painted in the hot garage almost everyday, my grandchildren right around me, also drawing, coloring, and painting. They produced many masterpieces, which are hanging on my garage walls. But it was hot in that garage. I came inside the air-conditioned house, sweat dripping off me, my shirt soaked. And I didn't mind it at all. The grandchildren are back in school now, so I have more free time. I'll be signing up for another drawing class, which starts next week.

The one thing I didn't do this summer was write. I wrote hardly a word of fiction. It was a thinking, reading, and wondering kind of summer. To be honest, the wondering has been about whether I'll continue trying to write fiction or give it up. My characters used to live inside my head; I temporarily became each character, feeling their feelings, thinking their thoughts; I became a different person for a while (actually, many different people), which is an amazing, emotionally satisfying kind of experience. That doesn't happen anymore. I don't become my characters. I'm not sure which is the mental illness: being able to become someone else, or not being able to become someone else. This is a serious issue. Not being able to become someone else leaves me with nothing to write about. I feel as if there's no life in what I'm writing. And, if there's no life in it, what's the point? This is what I'll be trying to figure out this fall, whether there's a reason to write anymore.

How many "sexy" books can we read?

One thing I've noticed through my blogging/FB/Twitter, blah, blah, blah, is the abundance of books that have "sexy" as part of their description. By "sexy" I believe the blurb is saying that there is a good deal of overt sexual activity that takes place in the book. The question of whether the sex is an integral and necessary part of the plot probably isn't important; it's the fact that it's there, and probably in abundance, that is important. The assumption is that sex sells, that readers want a good dose of sex with their books.

I wonder if this "sexy" aspect is important as a marketing ploy.

Do you write sex into your novels just because it adds to the book, maybe even making an ordinary or so-so book more attractive? Do you include it just because you feel it's a requisite of books today?

I think many of us writers do believe it's needed, and we add it for the extra oomph we feel it gives our books.

What do you think?