Varnish 2022

After a couple of years of pandemic shut down, the varnish workshop run by Joe Robson (the Varnish Guy) was up and running again this year! It was the last week of April, held once more in the Chicago School of Violin Making in Skokie (which is newly renovated and quite lovely).

I wasn’t sure at first if I would be able to attend due to conflicts at either end of the week, but Joe was able to accommodate my truncated work schedule. I missed the first day, and most of the last two, but it was still worth it.

The main things I get out of the workshop at this point (since I’m rather comfortable in my varnishing skills, even if it’s an area where one can always improve) are the camaraderie, and the time to focus.

The camaraderie is hard to overstate. It’s wonderful to spend full days with people in your field when normally we are rather isolated from one another. I got to catch up with old friends and make new ones (none of whom ever ask, “What kinds of wood are violins made from?”)

I even got to share my commute this time with the incomparable Jennifer Creadick of Lutherie Lab in MN. She made my trip in March to Atlanta for the Celebration of Women in Lutherie exhibit possible by sharing her hotel room, so I offered her a place to stay in my home during varnish week, and she took me up on it. She made the drive to Chicago and back delightful every day and I miss her. 

(This is us on a whirlwind and chilly tour of Milwaukee making a stop at Bradford Beach on Lake Michigan.)

This workshop also had the highest number of women in attendance yet! Six out of fourteen, and we even found a seventh to come out to dinner one night for a Women In Lutherie evening of fun and sushi. (That evening was really good for the soul and one of the highlights of the week.)

In terms of focus, I have so much competing for my attention at home that to take a few days to concentrate on nothing but varnish work is both efficient and satisfying. In addition, it never hurts to have knowledgeable people to problem solve with right in the same room.

One other thing to mention before I get to any actual varnishing, is that we always see extraordinary antique instruments from around Chicago during varnish week. The most amusing part of that this time was the day an Omobono and a Bergonzi arrived. The Bergonzi is on the bench, and the Omobono is in the case.

If you're not a violin history nerd, let me explain: Carlo Bergonzi worked in Antonio Stradivari's shop, and his exquisite instruments are greatly admired among luthiers. He's sort of a violin maker's violin maker. Omobono was one of Stradivari's sons who also worked in the shop, but he was famously maligned by his father, and his name is industry slang for a screw up. It's hard to know how fair that characterization of Omobono is since his father seemed like a harsh and unforgiving man to work for, and the instrument of his we got to see was lovely. But it was hard not to feel for Omobono to watch centuries later, when placed in direct comparison with Bergonzi, he's still left to the side. (Poor Omobono!)

On to actual varnishing!

The projects I took down to Chicago this year were ambitious in number. Typically people bring two instruments: One in the white, and one already grounded. I brought six instruments (all of them at least grounded, a couple with some varnish already started), and a couple of days in I brought a seventh on which to learn antiquing methods. That was. . . a lot.

I made excellent progress, so I don't regret it, but that much work left less time for socializing. One of the nice things about the varnishing stage of building an instrument is that it comes with built in time constraints. At some point you can't do anything until whatever you've put on the instrument has completely dried, which forces you to take a break and turn your attention to something else. I had enough instruments on my bench that there was always a new one to pick up and work on. Good for accomplishing work goals, less good in terms of enjoying other things in life.

So here's what I worked on:

I brought three really beautiful commercial instruments in the white that I purchased back in 2020 to put under a store label for sale at Korinthian Violins. I prepared each with a balsam ground, but a different choice of aged wood color. That made for a good show-and-tell for the people new to those materials at the beginning of the week, to see (as pictured here from left to right) the gold, red-brown, and grey-green all side by side.

These instruments were straightforward, and an exercise in efficiency. They didn't all quite go to plan in terms of finished color, but I think they all came out nice, and I hope customers like them. Two are already set up and on the shelf, so I'm looking forward to people trying them out.

The other three instruments were all things I built.

There is this violin that I made for my daughter, Mona. She doesn't play, but I built a violin for her sister who can, and I think it's a good idea for each of my children to own an example of what I do even if they don't appreciate it now. 

I associate Mona with the color yellow, and wanted this instrument to look like pale amber. I used a Strad Varnish (from Violin Varnish Ltd) base coat for most of it, with a bit of cochineal tapped directly into some of the stronger flame lines, and a touch mixed into an all over coat.

A personalized feature of this instrument is the bird on the back of the scroll that was sketched there by Mona's older sister, Aden.

People often admire how pretty instruments look when they are still in the white--and they are--but I'm always enthralled by the transformation of a piece of maple during the varnish process that brings that piece of wood to life. I find this particular piece of wood dazzling.

 

I was able to do most of the varnishing on this instrument in the workshop, with one additional coat at home before polishing it all out. I recently set it up and was able to play it, and I'm pleased with how it sounds (which is always a relief!).

Part of what keeps varnishing interesting is all the variation possible. Mona's violin I wanted rather light, which is an interesting contrast the other one I worked on.

The next violin is a commission for a client in the Milwaukee area who wanted something to honor her grandparents. It has their names inside, and a Star of David on the back of the scroll.

The varnishing challenge on this violin was she wanted it very dark. Much darker than I usually go with my varnish, and I ended up combining bone black, lamp black, and cosmic black, along with some deep reds and browns to reach the color she wanted. It's not what I would have done on my own, but it's quite striking. I just strung it up the other day, and it needs to settle and be adjusted before I pass it on to the client, but I think she's going to love it.

I can't wait for her to be able to play this instrument for her grandmother.

The final thing I brought that I built is this viola. It's for a client who wanted it to match a violin I built for his daughter a few years ago. That instrument I also varnished in the Chicago workshop, and I still had all my notes about how I achieved that particular color. 

 

It was interesting to chart out step by step what I did before and see if I could replicate it. I think I did it, but I can't wait to see the two instruments side by side one day and see how close I got. I love how this viola came out, but I still have a few tiny things to do here and there before I can finally set it up and hear how it sounds. I can't wait!

The final project is still hanging in my shop waiting for some free time to magically show up so I can complete it. I experimented with a quicker approach to varnishing at a workshop a few years ago, and was never happy with the results I got on this viola. I also wasn't completely happy with the construction on this instrument when it arrived from the supplier in the white, so I figured it was a perfect candidate for antiquing.

Antiquing is a process of artificially aging the varnish wear on an instrument to make it look older, which is what a lot of players want, even in a new instrument. I normally don't do it, since I figure my instruments will get worn enough just out in the world on their own without me hastening the process. But when the talented Itzel Avila, antiquing master, gave a demonstration at the workshop and mentioned how much easier it is emotionally to antique something she didn't make herself, I was inspired! Why not pull out that viola that I was planning to strip and do over anyway and try some of these techniques? That was really enjoyable, and I'm looking forward to finishing it someday.

I also managed to leave the workshop with more things than I brought, since I purchased a viola that Joe varnished for my inventory. That one needed a couple more coats of varnish on just the top and the ribs, and I was flattered that Joe trusted me to finish that work on my own. But this was the lineup of things to complete after a week in Chicago:

It's a happy sight.

And it was a wonderful week! I hope everyone this year gets to do something as fulfilling as I got to do in my varnish workshop.

Dear Dad, 2022

Dear Dad,

Wow, what a year. We’re in this weird phase of moving out of the pandemic, while the pandemic is also still here. The beauty of being vaccinated, though, is hospitalization and death seem off the table. Long Covid is still a concern (I know too many people suffering with that to take it lightly), but the fear has lifted. Now it’s just an annoyance. I’m tired of masks. I’m tired of takeout rather than eating in restaurants. I’m tired of the social stress of people behaving without care for others and the divisions it causes. (Someone actually stuck a flyer on the door of the violin shop by the sign saying we require masks condemning our “virtue signaling.” That was just cowardly and rude.)

But the exciting thing about life getting back to something closer to normal is we get to do stuff again! There are concerts to play, and people to see.

The event where I thought about you most was when Mom and I went to Venice. Dad, we went back to Venice! But this time I got to play a concert there with my mandolin orchestra. I wish you could have heard us. You’d have loved it. We played against a backdrop of Tintoretto paintings. It was wonderful to have a chance to travel with just Mom for a week in Italy like that, but you would have loved it so much. The food, the canals, the gelato, the art, the endless places to wander. . .  You wouldn’t have kayaked with us, though. Mom and I would have waved to you as we paddled and you stayed in your suit and tie on a nice civilized path alongside the water. But oh, Dad, you would have loved all of it.

The garden back in Detroit is looking amazing. I don’t know how Mom does it. Our yard is such mess! Literally, right now, because we had a new deck put in, and the old pile of deck garbage is still here. The new fence doesn’t go up for another week or so. But it’s so nice to be in the backyard! I’m sitting on the new deck right now in the shade of the beech tree, perfect temperature, nice breeze, no fear of rotting boards giving way underneath me and sending me to my doom. We even strung some lights from the garage to the terrace above the new deck the way I always meant to and never did. We might repaint the mural on the garage wall from a dozen years ago. Quinn in particular feels it's time to paint something much better. Mona has ideas.

I got to do the varnish workshop again, finally. I still had those three instruments in the white I bought to use in 2020 before the pandemic shut everything down. And I had three instruments of my own to varnish, so that was fun. (I don’t think I’ll build three instruments at the same time anymore. Two is plenty. Three gets overwhelming.) I built a violin for Mona that she doesn’t want, but I’m glad I did it anyway. The little bird Aden drew on the back of the scroll came out cute. The violin sounds nice! I still need to make one with simpler wood for mom to paint. That’s one of the many projects that never quite seems to happen, but I do want to make a violin in the white for mom to decorate. That would be cool. I wish I could have done that with you, too! I’m trying to picture how fast you would get that done. It would be funny, because my part, building the instrument would take months, and then you would paint something amazing in under ten minutes and that would be the only thing anyone would comment on or praise. (And that would have been fine.)

Which reminds me, I did an internet search not long ago for your ties. I think often about all those ties you painted in that sweatshop in Brooklyn and there have to be some of those still out there in the world. I feel certain I would recognize your work if I saw one, but who knows? Mona and I went through a portfolio of Mom’s old prints from early in your marriage and before, and it’s fascinating to see what elements of her style have persisted, and what things are hard to recognize as her hand. Maybe those ties of yours don’t resemble what I think of as your work. Maybe I’ve passed one on the street and didn’t know.

Writing is weirdly stalled. I need to buckle down for one more edit on my latest novel, and figure out what I’m doing. I feel if I play the numbers game, I have a shot at a traditional publisher. But maybe I’d like the control better of staying indie and just investing in real marketing for a change. Or maybe creative control but with some support from a hybrid publisher is the way to go. I don’t know. All the non-writing bits of writing gets really discouraging and frustrating. But I like the new book. It’s fun. (And wouldn’t make you weep like the first one did!)

I think the oddest thing at the moment that I wish I had you here to talk about is the transition away from having kids in the house. We spent so many years where everything was centered around the needs of our kids, and scheduling things based on school calendars, or having to base so many meals adjusted to boring palates. . . And now they are essentially all grown up and it’s wonderful in new ways, but very different. Ian and I actually have to figure out what we want to do. We’ve spent a long time tag teaming to get things done, but now we can do things together again. So there are good things which are exciting, but it’s also a bit sad. I’m looking back on all their childhoods and wondering if it was okay. I don’t get a do-over. Maybe it wasn’t enough. I tried, though. I really did try.

I keep thinking there will be some relief at least in not being responsible for all of them in front of me all the time, but then I think about that lunch at your house where Alit was over. She’d just had her first child, and she said she had been experiencing nightmares where she was scared for the baby or didn’t know where she was and was panicked, and you looked at her sadly and said, “That never goes away.” So I’ve thought ever since that I should be prepared for that to be the case.

Luckily, though, at the moment it doesn’t seem to be. Aden finally got to leave for her first year of college, and when I don't hear from her, it means she's happy and busy. At the moment, Aden’s off being a camp counselor to six and seven-year-olds. She loves it. She found the job herself, and she’s teaching little kids art, and seems to be really enjoying everything. She loved her first year of college. There were a couple of complications, but you know what? She handled it all herself and did fine. She loves UW Stout. She’s made good friends. She’s adorable and sweet and making beautiful things. Aden’s even in a print club where they did some giant woodcut pieces that they printed on fabric using a steamroller! How fun is that? Anyway, she’s amazing. She’s still magical. All blue eyes and happy laughs and funny and kind. Just like the tiny girl you remember, only taller. I really miss her. I was supposed to have a week with her between college and camp, but then Ian’s mother died, and she agreed to go with her dad to Portland to help him sort out the house and the estate stuff. I don’t know if she was helpful in a practical sense, but the emotional support she gave Ian was invaluable. With a little luck she’ll be home for a week or two at the end of the summer, but that seems like a long time away. We have lots of Star Trek to binge together whenever she gets back.

Speaking of Ian, he’s doing okay. I think he’s still in a bit of shock after losing his mother so unexpectedly. The stress of managing the house in probate, etc., is a bit much. I’m trying to help where I can. But I know what it’s like to lose a parent, and there’s really only so much anyone can do. That’s just a hole in your life that never gets filled. You learn to walk around the hole or face away from it sometimes, but it’s always there. I feel like the yard that is my life has a few big holes at this point, and maybe when there’s nowhere left to walk that’s how you know it’s time to go.

I wish you were here to talk with Mona. She finished high school a semester early, and graduated 6th in her class! You’d have been so proud, but you wouldn’t have had a ceremony to watch. She tried a semester of college online through UWM, however it was awful and turned her off of college entirely. I keep telling her that that wasn’t college, that was sitting at our dining room table watching assigned YouTube videos, and she should do a real semester of art school somewhere in person before she makes up her mind if that’s of any value or not. I feel like she might have listened to you. She did apply to Pratt based on the idea that you thought she should go there when she was only 11. You loved college so much (14 years of it? Am I remembering that right?) and you would have had lots to tell her about why she should give it a go. She’s not really listening to me, so nothing I say gets through. If you were still around, I would find a way to send the two of you off to Paris for a bit, and you could give her the tour you once gave the St Paul School boys, and you could draw together and see all the museums, and I would be satisfied that that was enough of an education if she still didn’t want to do school. She is focusing in on jobs and putting together a resume. The most enticing plan of the moment is to set her up in Nancy’s house in Portland and let her get a fresh start in a new state, but with housing and transportation covered so there is a cushion while being far from home. We’ll see. I know she will be fine. It’s just hard to see her so anxious while she’s living in a time of unknowns. But damn I wish you could see her work. She’s so good. She won the Racine Art Museum Peep contest this year with her Peepzilla, so her sculpture abilities are as strong as ever, but her ink drawings are mind blowing. I would give anything for you could see.

Quinn came out as trans recently. She surprised us with a cake that was the trans-pride flag inside. Not that the news was a surprise, just the cake. Remember all those conversations we had when she was only two and insisted she was a girl? Changed her name and everything for a couple of years? I know you thought I was being overindulgent and not helping her in the world by going along with it at the time. But now I’m wishing I’d advocated more for her earlier. It’s so hard to know. She needed to come into herself in her own way and her own time, so maybe an official coming out did have to wait until now. I don’t know. But I’m really proud of her for being so courageous. This country is so cruel to trans-people, and the rhetoric is so nasty, that I’m already fearful about places she can’t go and be safe. As if anyone has anything to fear from someone as sweet as Quinn! I wonder how you would have handled her coming out? I suspect it might have taken some adjustment (heck, I will be stumbling over pronouns for a while out of habit), but I also picture you doing some amazing drawing full of rainbows and weird birds to send her in celebration. I know your love would never have wavered. There’s nothing not to love about Quinn. I’m hoping the fact that her entire family is in her corner will help what will likely be a complicated path. I’m going to smooth it as best I’m able.

Well, the lights above the new deck have switched on in the dusk, and the bugs are far too interested in my laptop screen. Time to wrap this up.

I love you, Dad. That never changes. I hate that you didn’t get to go with Ellora on her tour of colleges (I can’t imagine anything that could have made you happier!), or that we can’t really tell you she got into Berkeley. I hate that you don’t get to see how little Rivyn (not so little now at seven!) is a bundle of creative energy like his father and such a pure delight. You would be amazed at the beautiful work Mom is doing lately. She told me she misses how she always counted on you to look at a piece and be able to tell her when it was done. It feels unfair that life goes on and you’re missing some wonderful things. But life isn’t fair.

I love you. Happy Father’s Day. I will try to make you proud even though you can’t see.

Love, Kory

Why A Women's Night Out

I started this post in a side note about my recent varnish workshop, and it was getting pretty long and off topic, so it made sense to simply get it all off my chest in its own place.

Until the creation of the Women In Lutherie group, I felt rather alone. Working in a male-dominated field is tricky. There are some wonderful, humble, supportive men out there, but they are not as vocal as the ones who feel the need to posture, or make everything some sort of competition where they must win. The number of men (particularly in online violin maker groups) who can't wait to tell you you are wrong is staggering. 

But the Women In Lutherie group is not like that. It's empowering and friendly. And as of this moment, it has more than 600 members. Now I don't feel so alone. These women have helped my confidence, my techniques, and my sense of belonging in this field. It's wonderful.

So of course at the latest varnish workshop in Chicago, which had the largest number of women yet in attendance (out of 14 people, six of us were women), we wanted one night out together to relax and talk among ourselves.

A few of the men at the workshop expressed disappointment at being "excluded" from the Women In Lutherie dinner. None of us want to make anyone feel bad, but we're also tired of being made to feel we have to justify ourselves. We simply said, "Go do your own thing! We'll meet up together tomorrow!" It was not forever. It was for one dinner.

On any given night when a bunch of luthiers get together, it's nearly always a men's night out. They get that by default often enough. When it came up again that "how would we have felt if they'd gone off and had a men's night," one of my friends finally blurted out in frustration: "Every night is men's night!" But the thing I wanted to say, and didn't find the opportunity in that context, was this:

Our experience is different. It just is. And sometimes it's a relief to be with others who understand, and whom you don't have to explain any of that to. It's nice to be among luthiers who never ask "what wood are violins made from?" It's nice to be with fellow musicians sometimes who get what that means. It's nice to hang out with friends who went to your same school and shared certain experiences. There are lots of different ways to feel a sense of belonging and comfort. And sometimes also safety, and shared frustration.

When women get together, do we talk about men who make our lives complicated? Sometimes. And if that makes any man nervous, he should ask himself why. (Because the men who are not nervous, know we're not discussing them in any bad light.) 

In what way is the experience of a woman luthier different? Here's one example:

Any of those men in the workshop, if they were seated behind a bench in any violin shop in the world, and a new customer walked in, would not only be assumed by that client to be the luthier, but probably given the benefit of the doubt that they were experts in their field.

I am not granted that. No woman I know is granted that.

My name is on the window, I wear an apron, I sit at a workbench with tools in my hands, and still people address my husband if he's behind his computer at the other desk. I have to explain I am the luthier, then prove myself worthy. It's exhausting. And demoralizing.

I recently spent half an hour with an older man, explaining what work his violin needed, and I thought by the time he agreed to all of it that I had earned his respect. But when I was writing up his work ticket, he looked past me to my husband and said, "How often do you have to bite your tongue to keep from interrupting her?"

To his credit, my husband didn't miss a beat and replied, "Never. She's the luthier."

I know the man thought he was being cute or funny. But would it ever occur to him to say that if it were the other way around? Would he ever assume the woman was the luthier in the room? Men are assumed to have knowledge about tools. The default about women is ignorance. 

I have two major thoughts about that incident. The first is, for the occasional person who says something like this, how many are simply thinking it? That's a hard idea to shake when working with people.

The second is, many of us in this (and other) fields suffer a certain amount of imposter syndrome. We all harbor doubts about our abilities and worthiness, because there is always someone better, someone more talented and successful, and to find the balance of humility and confidence that allows us to function can be tricky from day to day. Men in lutherie tend to at least be granted a level of trust that they must know what they are doing. If they are feeling insecure, they can feel somewhat assuaged by those who walk into their shops starting from a level of belief in the abilities of the luthier before them. The average person tends to bolster their confidence.

Women, by comparison, tend to feel undermined. When your own doubts are subtly (or not so subtly) reflected back at you regularly, it makes the work harder.

This hurts everyone, frankly. Not just for women who aren't given enough opportunities or encouragement, but I've met men who are not as good as they think they are, who do damage because they overstepped their abilities since their egos were not in check. Women don't want to make mistakes, men don't want to be wrong. Both things feed into how we are perceived overall.

Maybe men don't want to believe my experiences as a luthier are different. That doesn't change the truth of it for me, and other women I know. And there are times I don't have the energy to explain it.

The dinner out with the women during the workshop was illuminating and delightful. The dinners out with everyone were also fun. Just different. 

Would it be nice if the world functioned in a way that a women's only dinner (or group) felt unnecessary?

YES! YES IT WOULD! Let's work toward that! Let's hope for that! I would love to feel as welcomed and understood and supported and included in the world of lutherie as a whole that a Women In Lutherie group could be cast off as a curiosity.

But that's not the world we are in at the moment. I don't just like this group, I need this group. I am better because of this group.

And for men who don't want to feel left out, you need to change your end of things. That's not our job. You need to help make the general space welcoming enough that we don't want to occasionally retreat from it. That's a good goal, and not just for lutherie.

Death Of My Mother-In-Law

My husband's mother recently passed away. We're not exactly sure when. Ian called her on Mother's Day, and she didn't pick up, which wasn't unusual for her. A couple of days later he got a call from her doctor's office saying she didn't appear for a post-surgery followup. He called a neighbor to check on her. The neighbor found Nancy dead in bed.

It was sad breaking the news to the kids. They called her "Oma," which was the name she picked for herself when she became a grandmother as a means of differentiating herself from my mother. Aden and Quinn were at home, so they were told in person. Mona had just left that morning for a summer job in a different county, and we had to tell her over a bad phone connection. They were all somber. But Oma has always been a somewhat remote figure in their lives living all the way on the West Coast, so I don't know if they really knew how to feel. I'm not exactly sure how to feel, because it hasn't really sunk in for me yet that she's gone.

Nancy was many things. She was generous. She was curious. She was adventurous in that she traveled to more places than anyone else I know, but then also led a predictable and simple life at home. She managed to get a good city job in the planning department in an era when I don't imagine that was easy to come by for a single mother. She was a teacher, at one time in a one-room schoolhouse in California, and until recently a tutor in English as a second language. She was thoughtful. I never heard her raise her voice or say anything mean about anyone (short of a few politicians). She was practical, preferring often to eat out of reusable food containers than regular dishes. She liked heating her house with a wood stove when possible. She seemed unconcerned about other people's judgement, wearing what she liked, and was unapologetic about her tastes and interests. She loved colorful things, clever woodworking from the Saturday Market, shiny souvenirs, Hawaiian pizza, dangly earrings, maps, Jeopardy, and skiing. She drove a stick shift most of her life and always named her car. (In the last several years she drove a Prius.) Most importantly to me, she did an excellent job of raising her only son into the man I love. Her example taught him self-reliance, and respect for women as equals.

The thing Nancy prized over all else was her independence. Her childhood home was not pleasant. She didn't associate family with joy, and the responsibilities that family can impose she did her best to see as her choice rather than as an obligation. She was incredibly good to her brother, nieces, and nephew. She was certainly good to us.

However, Nancy seemed most satisfied with doing things apart from family. She had friends, and activities, and routines, but we were only allowed to know about them superficially. She reminded me very much of the way teenagers only give one word answers to their parents so as to keep their private lives private. The kinds of questions I might ask my own family felt more like prying with her. She preferred we didn't intrude, so we had to be content with some things being left unanswered. I don't believe it was anything against us, but a pleasure she took in being owner of her life. 

I did have the opportunity to get to know her a bit better on a road trip she joined me and Ian on back in the late 90s when I needed to deliver a viola I'd made to a player out in New York. When Ian's not driving, he tends to sleep on long car trips, so Nancy and I had many hours together just to talk for a change. I learned a lot that explained why the two of us navigated family events and interactions so differently. I find my family a source of inspiration and peace. Growing up, she found hers something to overcome. She told me once of a pivotal moment when she was 18 and had graduated from high school, and while driving her car came to a literal fork in the road where she could go back to a home she disliked, or pick a new road and create a different life. She picked the new road and never looked back. That was Nancy.

The fact that when she found herself pregnant she was able to make all the sacrifices it took to create a settled life for a baby is impressive to me, since raising a child is the opposite of freedom. But she did it. She kicked out the man whose unreliable behavior could not be tolerated around an impressionable child. Ian's dad died when Ian was only three. Nancy was a single mom in the 1970s and somehow managed everything on her own. No support from family. No resources except what she could find by herself. She raised her son to be capable and independent, as well as ethical and kind. (Although, having enjoyed much of the hippy culture of the 60s, I don't think she ever knew what to make of Ian's decision to join ROTC. Teenage rebellion takes many forms.)

Nancy worked for decades as a city planner in Portland OR. It wasn't a coincidence that when light rail was installed, there was a convenient stop near her house. She was incredibly smart about her finances so that she could provide for her little family of two. To say her home was modest is an understatement. But she provided as many opportunities for her son as she was able, including getting him into an expensive Montessori school with a scholarship.

The only place she splurged when she could was travel. Reading of her adventures in every Christmas letter was always surprising.

We wished more of her travels had led her here while her grandchildren were growing up, but we did manage a family trip out to Portland a summer before the pandemic hit. We'd taken the kids out there once before when they were small, so this was the first time we were able to really show them around. I'm glad we did, since we had no idea it would be our last opportunity for such a visit. Nancy somehow found space for all of us in her tiny home and our kids got a sense of where their dad grew up, and got to know their Oma a little better in person instead of from afar.

Nancy was one of the few people to read all three rough drafts of my novels when I first wrote them long ago. That's a lot to ask of anyone, and I appreciated it more than I think she knew.

I can't think of anyone who lived a life somehow so completely on their own terms and yet unselfishly the way my mother-in-law did. She never neglected a birthday or forgot to send things for the kids to open under the tree every year. She used a lot of her time volunteering at the art museum and the science center after she retired, and I wish I knew just how many adults she helped learn to speak and read English. She lived the life she wanted while also helping many. Not enough of us can say that.

Literally in the end, she went the way she wanted to go. Her health and cognitive function were starting to slip into a state where her independence was threatened. As much as she loved her son (and there's no doubt she loved her son), the last thing she wanted was for him (or anyone) to be involved in her care or decision making. She always intended to die as she lived: On her own terms. Her spiraling health concerns simply brought her down more rapidly than we were expecting, but maybe not earlier than she was ready for.

So as sad as it was to learn that she died in her sleep at home, it also wasn't tragic. The "when" was too soon. The "how" was exactly what she would have preferred.

Nancy was unique. I hope she enjoyed her life. She will be missed.

Peeps! 2022

It was a good year for Peep art in our house! At this year's Peeps art show at the Racine Art Museum, Mona took first place in the adult individual category with her fantastic Peepzilla sculpture, and Aden and Quinn and I placed second in the group category with our giant Sparkle Peep.

Mona definitely had a vision for her Peep sculpture this year, but the rest of us didn't have any specific ideas, so we just decided to go big! And sparkly!

I built a basic bunny Peep from foam board, paper, and tape.

Then we just started gluing on acrylic gems. Lots and lots and lots of acrylic gems. Aden started in one area while she was home over break, then Quinn and I took over after she left. It wasn't hard, but it took a while, and by the time we got to the back there was no time to sort colors or be fussy if we were going to make the deadline, so it was simply random. The end result definitely looked like a group project. But it was a group project, so we'll just call that a bonus.

Sparkle Peep looks especially pretty in the sun! It will have a home in our violin shop window when we get it back (near its inspiration, the Sparkle Cello).

I originally ordered what I thought would be an appropriate quantity of acrylic gems online, but I apparently misunderstood the sizes listed, because the boxes that arrives contained very very tiny jewels. We had to go to a craft store to get bigger ones. I can't begin to imagine how long it would have taken to cover that entire Peep with these little things.

After gluing on a bajillion gems, I coated the whole thing with Mod Podge so they wouldn't start shedding. (I did the same with the Sparkle Cello, so I know it works and dries clear.)

Finished Sparkle Peep!

Now, there is a strict size requirement at the museum for this show. I built a box to test our things in, so even though Sparkle Peep was impressive for its size, it definitely fit within the dimension limits.

Peepzilla did too. . . Until the Peeps got added to the tail. At first we thought we were going to have to simply take Peepzilla home, but Mona finally agreed to snip off the ears of two of the offending bunny Peeps in order for the sculpture to fit in the box. I was proud of Mona for doing it, because I know how painful it is to be forced to alter your work when you don't want to. And Peepzilla is spectacular, so I'm glad people got to see and enjoy it.

Pre-pandemic, the Racine Art Museum held a opening night event for all the artists in the show. There was food, and the first public viewing of the works on display, along with the announcement of the prizes. There are three major categories: Adult Individual, Group, and Young People's. There is also the coveted "Peeple's Choice" award that is voted on by the public and announced after the show comes down. We just got news the other day that Peepzilla also won that prize!

Anyway, this year we thought the tickets they gave us when we submitted our pieces were for an in-person opening again. Last year (when I won for my Peep-A-Rama), it was all online. We drove all the way to Racine before realizing this year was virtual too! This was an excellent lesson that as fans of The Amazing Race we should have known already, which is "Always read the clue." Said right on the tickets: "Virtual awards ceremony." Oops.

We drove back home in time to catch the announcement of the big award of the night, the Adult Individual category: Peepzilla.

I can't describe how much I love that Mona's thing, and our group thing, are arranged in such a way that they are the first things people really see when they walk into the exhibit.

Mona dismisses any praise from me as simply "Mom stuff," but seriously, Peepzilla is excellent. It deserved the Golden Peep. (As well as the second Golden Peep it earned for Peeple's Choice.)

And Sparkle Peep looks so BIG. Which is what we were going for, so yay!

The line for the exhibit on the afternoon we went was long enough Ian had to go put another hour on the meter. But it was great to see so many clever things on display.

And as far as trophies go? I don't think there are any awards cuter that these Peep art awards. They are hand blown glass by a local artist and they are adorable. (The first one here is Aden's from a few years ago, the tall one in the middle is mine from last year, and the last one is Mona's. I can't wait to see the second one she gets when she goes back down to the museum.)

The Racine Art Museum always offers to keep winning sculptures for their permanent collection, and Mona is leaning toward letting them hang onto Peepzilla. I think that's a good idea, because they would store it more safely than we could, plus it sounds more impressive on an art resume to say something you made resides in a museum than in our house.

Sparkle Peep, however, will have a proud and glittery place in the violin store window for passersby to enjoy. Does it make sense for a violin shop to have a giant Peep covered in jewels on display? I think only at ours.

Happy Spring!