Reflections on a Life

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 15 Feb 2026 15:58:00 +0000

STUCK IN ITALY

I am a fortunate man; an acknowledgment I will share with anyone willing to listen. At 86 years, and in reasonably good health, I take unwarranted pride in my age and quickly remind myself I had little to do with that accomplishment. Fate and Mother Nature played a much larger role than I did. As some of you know, those of us trudging through the ninth decade often need assistance, and it is my great fortune to have a partner who will not hesitate to assist me when she thinks it’s needed, regardless of my opinion on the matter. Although this can be frustrating for me, I must admit that most of the time her assessment is correct. My default reaction to her offers (or advice) is always the same - “I’m fine,” “I can do this,” or “It’s not a problem,” which I imagine is frustrating for her.

Two years ago, Patience and I had the privilege of spending a week in a wonderfully restored, too old to comprehend Villa in the beautiful hills of Tuscany. Our room was simple, but elegant. From our window we could look out upon a green landscape lavishly covered with olive trees and vineyards, interrupted by occasional villas scattered across the hillsides. Our bathroom had all the modern conveniences, but with a unique bathtub and shower. The tub, situated in a corner of the room, was deep and narrow, and was not completely enclosed by glass or a curtain. There was an open area of about 24 inches on one side of the tub, which meant one had to remain in the enclosed end of the tub when showering. When it came time to remove the results of 14 hours of air travel, I decided on a luxurious bath rather than an awkward shower. As I prepared for this much anticipated Aquarian event, my wife looked at the tub, then looked at me and said, “do you think you can handle getting in and out of that tub?” This translates to “I think you are going to have a problem with this tub.” Silently offended by the suggestion that I needed help taking a bath, I quickly replied “yeah, it won’t be a problem.” She nodded silently and left the room unconvinced. Her silence spoke volumes. Stripped down to my bare lean body I carefully climbed into the tub with little difficulty but immediately realized I could not sit down. For me to kneel or sit on the floor I must have support for my arms to ease myself down. Unfortunately, the contour of the sides of the tub did not provide this the support. It was only after a great deal of twisting and grunting, and a few heartfelt words, that I managed to reach one of the faucets and used it to ease my body into a sitting position. However, once seated, I found myself too far from the faucets to turn on the water and had to move forward to reach them. Not a problem I thought, until I tried to move. I couldn’t move! I could not slide forward, or backward, and I couldn’t lift myself up. After several futile efforts I realized, my ass was stuck to the tub! I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In 84 years, I never had anything like this happen to me. My tush was stuck to the bottom of the tub like one of those suction cup holders. I didn’t know if I should be embarrassed or concerned. I was about to call my Patience but realized that was a bad idea. If she knew what was happening, it would not be long before all our Facebook friends would also know. I got myself into this, I would get myself out. For the next few minutes, I quietly rocked by body back and forth in all directions, hoping to release myself from the grip of this demonic tub. Finally, I felt myself slipping forward. I was free, and greatly relieved to no longer be one with the tub. Confidently, I continued with the bath as if none of this had happened. Unfortunately, my problems were not all behind me, no pun intended. When it came time to exit the tub, I remembered that getting up requires the same support as sitting down. Once again, I found myself twisting and bending my beautiful, but not so supple body in positions not meant for someone my age, while pathetically expressing a string of heartfelt words. Somewhere in that bathroom from Hell I heard the words, “Oh sweet Jesus.” Surely that wasn’t me. At one point I found myself lying on my back staring at the shower overhead, one effort away from calling my wife. But I persevered, and once more the faucet came to my rescue. Using it, I managed to pull myself up and into a kneeling position. Taking extra care, I stood up and graciously stumbled out of the tub after an epic bath I will never forget. And I will always wonder - was it my ass or was it the tub?

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 15 Dec 2024 15:09:00 +0000

NOTES FROM THE NINTH DECADE

It's 4 AM and I find myself thinking about the timeline of my life. How over the years my personal world would suddenly expand in incremental bursts. The first 18 years were spent getting ready for whatever would follow. Suddenly my world expands with college and medical school, and I find myself more than I was before, living in a new community with new friends and new interests. Before I can get fully settled, it falls apart and I am thrust into another life, enlarging my personal world once again and revealing another aspect of the person that I am. Years later my life makes one more major change and I’m living in still another world. Each move, each change over the 82 years has grown the circle of my personal world. Those that have passed are still here in memories and long-standing personal remnants. Today my world is and once again changing, only now it seems to be receding, contracting under the weight of 85 years. Probably a natural course of events and not necessarily a bad thing. It allows me to focus my attention on what is important, discarding so many unnecessary distractions.

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Tue, 02 Jul 2024 16:13:00 +0000

Reflections on a Dream

His was a life defined by change. At least that was how he saw it. There were not many changes, but when they occurred, they were significant, causing major disruptions in his life, as well as the life of others. He did not consciously pursue change, seeking something better than what he had. In fact, there were years of utter satisfaction and joy in the life he was living. There was no reason to look elsewhere for something missing in his life. At the onset, life was easy. The paths were wide, amply marked, and well lit. They were easy to navigate, and minor changes along the way could be accomplished without difficulty. There were no major obstacles in his path. It was a happy road that would take him to wherever he was going, and once there…well, he never thought about what would follow.

It would be easy to say that circumstances changed, but that’s not what happened. He changed. He had absorbed all there was for him in what could be considered the first of many way stations in his life’s path. The road did not end. It was still there, waiting for him, perhaps even calling him. But it was not the wide, easy road he first traveled. This road was narrower, with fewer markers along the way. There were now obstacles that had to be overcome. The road was steeper, and unlike before, stress and anxiety were his companions. He was hesitant at first, not sure if he wanted to make this journey, and on more than one occasion he turned back. But in the end, he set off, determined to go wherever the road would take him. The further he traveled the steeper the road.

This time, the road didn’t stop, and he realized what should have been obvious - it never would. Wherever he was, he could never leave this road, no matter how difficult it became. There would be some respite along the way, and occasionally he would find himself in places he never expected or intended to be. Personal losses and grief were balanced by satisfying accomplishments and joy. As the years accumulated, he anticipated reaching a place where the traveling would slow down considerably, if not cease altogether, but that never happened, there was always a place a little further down the road that was calling him. Getting there, even if the journey was short, was becoming increasingly difficult. The road was now very narrow, steep, and full of twists and turns, with nothing to mark the way. He stumbled frequently and often stopped to rest, questioning where this road would take him. The landscape was changing, the familiar becoming less so as new and uncomfortable vistas opened before him. He no longer had the confidence and trust in himself that he once possessed in abundance.

Rilke tells us that change germinates slowly within us before it makes its “sudden” appearance, catching us unprepared. The road, which had become so difficult to follow, suddenly became unpassable. Fallen trees, boulders, and water obstructed passage to what was now an obscenely steep grade. Only with extreme effort was it possible to move closer to what was yet an unknown destination. Nothing else mattered now, not the past, not the exhausting effort it took to move forward, and not even the love of the family and friends that accompanied him on this entire journey. Suddenly the road became an open flat surface that rose before him, so steep it was almost impossible to scale. He was now crawling because it was impossible to stand erect. He could see the crest. It was within his reach, and with his last bit of strength he pulled himself up to look out and see his destination - an endless sea of dark nothingness.

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Tue, 23 Apr 2024 18:06:00 +0000

NOTES FROM THE NINTH DECADE

Growing Old is Easy

I mistakenly thought that by now – weeks away from my 85^th birthday - I was prepared for what was yet to come. It turns out I’m not as wise as I thought I was. I I naively thought I exited the eighth decade prepared for whatever the ninth had to offer but have quickly learned otherwise. Despite a lifetime of pondering about anything and everything, I am learning things about myself I never realized, or was unwilling to acknowledge. It’s been easy to convince myself it’s the mirror that has changed, and not me.

Growing old is easy! The only requirement is staying alive. If you can do that your body will do the rest, and it will do it so unobtrusively and effectively that you don’t know it’s happening until each change, big or small suddenly appears in your mirror. Hairlines magically moves from here to there. The shape of your body changes as parts seem to shift and settle, and areas of skin begins to resemble crepe paper. It’s a bit of a shock at first, especially the skin part, but they’re not difficult to accept once you overcome misguided vanities. These physical (and metabolic) changes affect more than our appearance; they are accompanied by a host of functional changes that intrude on many of our lifetime routines. Simple tasks that were once accomplished thoughtlessly now require deliberation, patience, and even caution. It took only one tumble trying to get my second leg into a pair of pants to teach me to hold on to something, or better yet, sit down. The same with putting on or taking off a pair of socks. Sitting down is easy, but even that requires some attention. I learned that the hard way when I sat on the bench in our shower. I was feeling quite secure when suddenly I sensed something moving, not realizing it was me, and the next thing I knew I was sitting on the floor of shower with my head buried in the shower curtain. The only thing bruised was my self-esteem and confidence. Lesson learned.

With time and patience these new, age-imposed measures can become routine. The key word here is patience, which I believe is a requirement if one hopes to successfully navigate these later years when the waste of haste can be a serious injury. Then there is the issue of frustration, something I have encountered more in the past few years than in all previous years. I’m putting on a coat or shirt, one arm is in the right sleeve, but no matter how much I twist and shout, I cannot find the other sleeve, and I bob and weave around the room like a wasp behind a screen. Or I’m trying to pull a sock off with arthritic hands and it gets stuck and I can’t get it past my heel. These futile and extremely frustrating efforts result in a string of emotionally charged words uttered with intense passion!

But more importantly, when we move patiently through the day with conscious deliberation it is easier to appreciate and take delight in the simple joys of life. The fact that we have the option to do so is itself a gift. I am not always successful, but I try to find a moment every day to celebrate whatever it is I’m doing at that moment. Each year the passage of time accelerates at a frightening rate, and patience is one way we can slow things down. Time is a commodity that increases in value the longer live, and once it is spent it cannot be replaced.

Of course, there is no predicting the course our life will take, and how we will react to it. A funny thing happened when I turned 80. I became more comfortable with my age, and more secure about my future than I was during the previous 10 years. It feels like the previous decade was all about preparing me for the next one.

Another surprises waiting for me was recognizing some less than admirable character attributes that I am not proud of. I prefer to think they are the recent results of my age, and not part of the person I have always been. A sobering experience for someone who thinks highly of himself.

There is a sense of accomplishment that comes with being 80 years or older that I can understand but find hard to justify. We suddenly revert to our childhood attitude toward age when we were so proud of being five and a half years old. Look at me. I’m 85 years old!

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Tue, 02 Apr 2024 14:09:00 +0000

A Dog Named Ralphie

The dog was old. His health was failing, and he was in constant pain. There was little joy left for a life that gave so much joy to others. Once again, it was time to make the call, a call she has made too many times over the years. It was never easy. In fact, it was becoming increasingly difficult each time she had to say goodbye to a dog she dearly loved. High on a shelf in in the “dog room” sat 13 clay pots to remind her of each painful decision she lived through, each one with its own special sadness. This one was bad, arguably the worst it has ever been because of the accumulative effect of several painful losses in recent years. With the loss of this dog, she was grieving for the loss of every other dog in her life, as well as two very dear friends. The atmosphere in our home, reflecting the heaviness in our hearts, was made worse by the sadness in the eyes of our remaining dog. Bunny was grieving for the loss of her soulmate. For several days we all quietly tiptoed around each other, looking for the first small signs of levity. There was little we could say to one another, and the few words available were tired and all too familiar.

Bunny was clearly depressed over the loss of Jabber. Patience had promised her that she would never be an only dog, so it was important that she find a companion for her as quickly as possible. Acquiring a whippet can be a time consuming and lengthy affair, so she went directly to an animal shelter, and in very short order Bunny and I were introduced to the newest member of our family, a small white dog with an almost hairless body and a large hair-filled head. We were told his family was living in a car and that he was one of the two dogs they had to give up. We had several concerns. How would Bunny react to him? How much training had he received? Would he sleep in a crate. How would he react with Bunny? And of course, what will we call him? After tossing about several names, we settled on Ralphie, and considered ourselves ready for our first “little dog”. We quickly discovered that the only thing small about Ralphie was his size. Everything else about him was extra-large. He is a wind-up toy that never winds down. This is magnified in our eyes by 3 decades with a household full of whippets who, when indoors, spend most of their time in elegant repose. When Ralphie is not sleeping, he is moving, both horizontally and vertically. I am convinced his four feet spend as more time in the air than they do on the ground. He bounces, stands, and spins when he is excited, which happens to be his default mode. He is cute, with dark eyes and eye lashes that never end, so it is difficult to get angry at him, and he is smart, quickly responding to Patience’s training, and knowing how to use his excessive cuteness to bend us to his will. His effect on our household was immediate and dramatic. His frenzied enthusiasm is impossible to avoid. This small white bundle instantly filled our home with light. His energy and enthusiasm were infectious, bringing back the smiles and laughter that had been displaced by sadness. Ralphie’s presence filled the entire day. His non-stop motion and demonstrative appreciation for our attention and affection allowed us no time to dwell on anything but him and his funny antics. At the end of the day the newest member of our family quietly walked into his crate, ate his bedtime snack, and proceeded to sleep through the entire night, giving Patience her first full night’s sleep in weeks.

We opened our home to this little dog, and in return he opened his heart to us. In just 24 hours Ralphie had bounced his way into our hearts. Bunny needed a bit more time. She wasn’t so sure about this funny little creature barking and bouncing all around her who clearly was not a Whippet. But like Patience and I, she eventually succumbed to his charms. Ralphie, aka Little Shit, and his zest for life has reached all of us.

Since his arrival Bunny has become more active, even picking up a toy to ever so gently, play with it, something quite unusual for her. Unfortunately, Ralphie has not been influenced by Bunny to become less active. Patience has found her laughter, and I am in a constant state of captivation by his charms, quickly responding to his pleas to go outside to play with him and his toy. There is a new normal in the Renzulli household.

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Fri, 18 Aug 2023 14:32:00 +0000

BILLY THE BAKER

Sitting at my desk this morning I wondered how I would decorate my cake today. Allow me an explanation.

Since late adolescence I have always known what I wanted to accomplish in life, and followed that path with a sense of purpose and meaning. It wasn’t difficult to do until my familiar and comfortable path began to severely change direction. I maintained my footing and went on to navigate three major changes in my lifetime. I am not telling you this to pat myself on the back, but to set the stage for what happened to me when I turned seventy years old.

Changes in my attitude and self-confidence, questions about my work, and a loss of purpose began to gradually make their way into my thinking soon after entering the eighth decade. From time to time they would demand my full attention, making it clear they would not leave until I dealt with them. One of my ways of doing this is to write about them in my journal, and occasionally, when I feel I have comfortably managed the questions, I write about them publically in my blog or in these columns. The responses I receive from readers confirm my belief that these “stuff of life” issues are universal, and shared by others, each in their own unique way.

So what does cake decorating have to do with any of this? Well, thanks to my wife, I’ve seen dozens of episodes of the Great British Baking Show, which has given me a new way to look at these questions. We are all bakers, and life is the cake we bake. First we try to understand what we want for ourselves and go about acquiring the training and tools to accomplish our goals. Obviously the time and effort needed for this depends upon what it is we hope to do. When we feel we’re ready, we begin working, alone, or in the company of others. We may spend a lifetime in one place devoted to one chosen task, or we may move on to other work in a different setting. For many, this lifetime of work is marked by various combinations of successes and failures, hopefully more of the former than the latter. At some point, our working days come to an end, either slowly or abruptly, and we have nothing else to put in the oven. Our baking days are over.

As a baker, I can look back on my life’s work as a series of cakes freshly removed from the oven. With the exception of an occasional cookie or small bun, my baking days are over. At least the oven work is. Now its time to focus my attention on the fun part -decorating the cakes I’ve created. There are thousands of written words, essays, manuscripts, and assorted notes and comments to be reviewed, revised, and edited, and above all – organized, in addition to all the unfinished material to be completed. For the past several years I’ve fantasized about having some of my work published, and if I want that to happen, now is the time to act.

In the studio, where most of the work has been completed, the decorating is approached differently. Although it involves new work, I see it more as a refinement of the past. The intent is to raise the quality of my work, building on what I’ve already done. For 35 years I’ve been learning and practicing. Now it is time to do what I’ve always wanted – to create the best art I am capable of doing – with no excuses, ifs, ands, or buts. Making those paintings I’ve been imagining in my head for years a reality will be the icing on the cake.

It is also the time to think about cleaning up any mess I’ve left in the kitchen. This means reaching out to family and friends, especially those that have been partially displaced by time and distance. It’s the time to mend those injured relationships, as well as establishing new ones and re-establishing old ones.

This has been a fun way of interpreting the final chapter of my life’s journey, and I look forward to at least 10 more years of “decorating”. It is one more new beginning.

Note...That is not my cake.

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sat, 02 Jul 2022 16:30:00 +0000

I saw the light

Seven years ago I wrote in my journal,

"Now, resting between yesterday and tomorrow, I realize time has blurred my understanding of myself. I have a reasonably good idea of who I have been, and what I have, and have not accomplished during my lifetime. The goals and desires that have guided me through the years continue to roam about in my head, albeit with a little less noise. However, they have difficulty getting traction because time has worn away some of the fearless and unbridled ambition and enthusiasm that allowed me to believe I was in charge of my future. Now, after a lifetime of pursuing a life of my own design, and well into the 8^th decade, I find myself disoriented, unable to clearly define what I want for myself in my remaining years."

I was 74 years old and struggling with the notion that all of those “Somedays” (Someday I will travel to Italy. Someday I will begin working on that book. Someday I’ll do Pilates.) that I’ve leaned on so heavily in my lifetime were rapidly diminishing with each passing year. Of course it didn’t help that the passing of each year had become incrementally faster with each birthday. As a result, I felt increasing pressure – all self-imposed – to know what I wanted to accomplish in the years ahead and pursue it vigorously, not necessarily the best way to approach creative and imaginative work. In retrospect my work suffered for several years while I battled with myself. It was only when I realized the true nature of the problem that work and life both returned to a healthier normal.

The problem was not the diminishing future and the loss of basking in glorious Somedays. It was the pathetic way I responded to being seventy-something years old, using age to define myself. I saw everything I did or planned within the framework of my age. I was no longer William Renzulli planning a new series of paintings, but Seventy-five year old William Renzulli. This mindset artificially distorts reality, and I was beginning to screen all future work and plans by asking if I was too old to consider, let alone act on them. I know; it is a ridiculous way to think, and fortunately, as soon as I recognized that I put an end to it. Now, early in the ninth decade, I view my future as endless and my potential unlimited. Liberated from a totally needless burden, my life and my work has once again become a source of pleasure and satisfaction.

Another life's lesson learned, and like all the others, destined to be re-learned again and again.

Notes From the Ninth Decade

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Tue, 26 Oct 2021 21:20:00 +0000

It's 4 AM and I find myself thinking about the timeline of my life. How over the years my personal world would suddenly expand in incremental bursts. The first 18 years were spent getting ready for whatever would follow. Suddenly my world expands with college and medical school, and I find myself more than I was before, living in a new community. Before I can get fully settled, it falls apart and I am thrust into another life enlarging my personal world once again and revealing another aspect of the person that I am. Years later my life makes one more major change and I’m living in still another world. Each move, each change over the 82 years has grown the circle of my personal world. Those that have passed are still here in memories and long-standing personal remnants. Today my world is and once again changing, only now it seems to be receding, contracting under the weight of 82 years. Probably a natural course of events and not necessarily a bad thing. It allows me to focus my attention on what is important, discarding so many unnecessary distractions.

You're Not Safe Anywhere

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 24 Oct 2021 16:52:00 +0000

You’re Not Safe Anyywhere

It began innocently enough. A few mild lower abdominal cramps and a sense of pelvic fullness, familiar feelings we’ve all experienced, but generally find no reason to discuss publicly. There was no sense of urgency, so 15 -20 minutes later I made my way to the bathroom in the studio to take care of the issue at hand. You will understand if I avoid a detailed description of the following events, carefully selecting those that I will share with you, dear readers.

As many of you know, I am 82 years old, and I have learned to respect the limits that age has imposed on my sense of balance. So, I approach everything with some degree of caution, especially in the bathroom. But this was a simple matter of sitting down, something I do countless times every day. What can go wrong with that? And indeed, I safely accomplished the maneuver. However, within a few seconds after sitting I found myself moving swiftly toward the door in front of me. I don’t mean getting up and walking hastily out of the room. I was still seated while in motion! Actually not just me, but the entire toilet! My swift, precision like mind told me that unless I acted quickly, not only would I find myself in a pile on the bathroom floor, but could possibly sustain some serious hurt that I would eventually have to explain to my wife. Ignoring the fact that most of the lower half of my body was exposed to the local environment, and with my trousers down around my ankles, I desperately grabbed onto the sink with one hand and pushed against the wall with the other, successfully bringing everything to a standstill. Well, perhaps more like a sit-still. It was then I realized the toilet seat had become separated from its moorings, and as soon as I sat down it slid forward and would have deposited me on the floor except for my quick cat-like instincts. As a result, I found myself sitting on a toilet seat precariously balance on the front rim of the toilet bowl, afraid to move for fear of upsetting the balance.

I will leave it to your imagination to figure out how I extricated myself from this ridiculous position. I do have some pride!

CHANGE AND SAMENESS – TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Fri, 10 Sep 2021 17:03:00 +0000

CHANGE AND SAMENESS – TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

Some loves never die, even when the object of desire is a model train. Ever since Santa gave me a Lionel train set when I was 9, I have been fascinated with model trains. Over the years I’ve started several layouts, each one far too elaborate for me to complete. I came close when we lived on the farm in Maryland, but that ended when we to moved to Paducah 19 years ago. Over the years I flirted with the idea of building a small layyout in the studio but dismissed the idea as foolish. Then Covid arrived - and everything changed. It was not a burden being sequestered at home since I work in a studio in our home. Life continued as usual, or so I thought. until the sudden decision to build that layout.

I began construction of my layout in March, transforming half of the gallery into a train room/workshop, and totally disrupting the studio, and I have never been happier. I take some time to work on several commissions in progress, and find that far from being a chore, painting is fun once again. I’m still painting buildings and barns, but with a new perspective, and dimension.

There is an art to model railroading, as there is in any enterprise, and it is this art that has always attracted me. The basic element in all my paintings has been the intent to create a sense of place for the viewer, despite the 2-dimensional limitation. Model railroading provides that 3^rd dimension to create a place of my own design employing the same fundamentals of painting – composition, color, light, and design. In essence I am constructing a 14-foot diorama in the gallery.

It begins with an idea which over time becomes continuously transformed.

Slowly the bench work makes its mark on the gallery.

THANK YOU FOR TEACHING ME TO DREAM

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 16 Aug 2020 22:50:00 +0000

DREAMS OF A YOUNG ARTIST

(Studio newsletter – December 19, 2013)

Oh to be young and fearless. Actually just being young again would do, but for the sake of this letter fearless has to be part of the mix. Encouraged by commercial success during my early years as an artist, I harbored ambitious dreams for myself. One of them was to see my art on the cover of the New Yorker magazine. I was so confident I could make that happen that I created a series of paintings, composed to fit the cover of the magazine and accommodate the text. Eventually reality intervened and I never queried the magazine with my cover art. (I learned later that they do not accept un-solicited artwork.) I eventually sold several of the paintings, but a few remain, resting quietly in a file drawer in the gallery – a quiet reminder of what once was.

I am not haunted by the dreams that never made it, because so many did. (I still think they would have made great covers.) If you don’t allow yourself to dream, you can be sure it will never happen. If you allow yourself to dream, there is always the chance it may happen. The choice is ours, and I choose to dream, even as an old artist.

My daughter Sara responded to the newsletter with this simple line: “I love these dad. Thank you for teaching me to dream.”

The sentiment expressed in those 7 words – “Thank your for teaching me to dream” - fills me with a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment beyond description. Teaching my children to trust and to nurture their dreams has been a high priority goal for me. The message is a simple one: not everyone can be whatever they want to be, or do whatever they want to do, but everyone can try, and dreams are the foundation and the force that sustain these efforts. These are not mindless, pie in the sky dreams, detached from reality. These are the dreams that determine who we are, and how we choose to live our lives, dreams that call on us to use all of our facilities to achieve our goals, dreams that take us from within ourselves into the world around us.

There are no guarantees or promises of success and happiness, and the only reward may be the satisfaction of knowing we made the effort.

GARLIC, ANCHOVIES, ANXIETY, AND ART

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 21 Jun 2020 14:20:00 +0000

I love garlic – or more accurately – I love cooking with garlic. I don’t like eating it by itself, raw, or cooked. In fact I distinctly dislike it. But when it is added to other ingredients it enhances the flavor and adds a unique and delightful touch to the dish. When used properly garlic makes everything better. The same applies to anchovies. The small fillets packed in oil have a pungent odor and a taste that must be “acquired”, something I have yet to fully accomplish. But like garlic, when used in measured amounts with other ingredients they add another dimension to the flavor without imposing their own. Three or four finely chopped fillets added early in the process of making tomato sauce for “Sunday pasta” enriches the sauce without revealing their presence.

Anxiety and worry are a lot like garlic and anchovies. Their value depends on the circumstances and the amount. Anxiety over something we have no control is wasted energy. When it is excessive it can be debilitating and overwhelming, rendering us helpless and unable to function. So much so that it is listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Anxiety disorders are the most common mental illness in the U.S., affecting almost 20% of adults, according to leading specialists in anxiety treatment. (http://www.webmd.com/anxiety-panic/guide/anxiety-panic-guide-overview-facts) But in small managable doses, anxiety can behave like garlic and anchovies, and become a useful and helpful tool.

I’m sure I’m not the only artist to hear the comment, “how relaxing it must be to paint”. When asked about this I am quick to point out that painting is definitely not a relaxing exercise for me. In fact it is usually very stressful, especially as the painting progresses, and I invest more and more of myself in the work. I have a tendency – okay, it is more of an unbreakable habit than a tendency – to put off the more difficult parts of the painting for as long as possible. And when I am forced to confront them, I can count on the presence of palpable anxiety. I have learned that this is not only inevitable, but a welcomed part of the creative process. My best work is always accomplished under the duress of varying degrees of anxiety. Its presence tells me that I am moving forward into unfamiliar places where real creative growth is possible.

This is the positive side of anxiety. When we are faced with a need to act, a task at hand, or a decision to be made, it can be helpful rather than incapacitating. It sharpens our minds and increases our awareness of all our options and their potential hazards. It helps us determine whether we should be cautious or aggressive. The right amount of anxiety may urge us to go ahead and push at those boundaries, or it may cause us to pause, and discover previously unknown obstacles lying in wait for us. In its own way, anxiety makes us a little bit wiser. It does not promise success, but encourages the effort. It has taught me to appreciate the difference between stress and distress. In measured and controllable amounts, anxiety is my friend. There is little question in my mind that my creative efforts need anxiety as much as my cooking needs garlic and an occasional anchovy.

WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Mon, 18 May 2020 22:36:00 +0000

“What am I doing sitting on a pile of trash in an empty city lot behind Fourth Street?”

It was 9 AM on a Thursday morning in the mid 1970s. I should have been attending Medical Grand Rounds, a presentation by the medical residents of interesting cases to the house staff and attending physicians. It was a weekly ritual that I had attended faithfully for the past 6 years.

So why was I sitting on a stack of empty mattresses in the middle of an empty lot? I was drawing the back of a row of dilapidated houses, fascinated by the texture and gritty nature of the composition they created, totally unaware that this would mark the beginning of a 5 year process to reveal an artist tucked away somewhere within me. To say it was pure pleasure would be less than true. Guilt and insecurity were right beside me, asking me “what are you doing out here? You should be at Grand Rounds. It’s ridiculous to think that you’re an artist, or could become one. All you can do is draw small sketches with a Parker fountain pen. Hell, you can’t even paint!” There was no shortage of guilt, doubt and self-recrimination, but not enough to pull me away. Art – pencil and pen and ink drawing – was becoming more than a casual hobby; it was something I felt driven to do. It’s not like I was bored and looking around for something to keep me occupied. This interest in drawing simply crept into my consciousness without any forethought, and once it was established proceeded to grow until it became more of a need than an option or choice. This wasn’t the first time I experienced something like this. In the spring of my first year in college, without my conscious input I suddenly decided I wanted to be a physician and not a pharmacist. Ironically, I was now engaged in a process that, albeit much slower, would take me from medicine to art. But that’s another story. I would end up painting and drawing the backs of buildings throughout my years in Wilmington, and over 25 years later would do the same in Paducah.

The backs of so many urban buildings often stand in stark contrast to their fronts, and are frequently far more interesting because of the nitty gritty texture and disarray. In 1984 the Wilmington News Journal moved their headquarters from downtown Wilmington to a new suburban industrial park, and asked me to do a painting of the old headquarters for a poster to give their friends and employees. Of course I did the back, which was far more interesting to me that the boring façade in front. They loved it, bought it, and then asked be to do the front for the poster. Here are the two paintings – you can decide for yourself.

I originally considered calling this post – By Their Backsides You Will Know Them. But then I wasn’t sure how people would interpret that.

3-24-20 Gemelli with Zucchini and Ricotta cheese

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Tue, 24 Mar 2020 14:23:00 +0000

What a delightful surprise

What to do for dinner? After a week of sheltering at home the cupboards were a little bare. Poking around in the fridge I found a zźucchini, carrots and celeryyÿ, along with a tub of ricotta that had to be used.

While waiting for the pasta water to boil I cooked some chopped onion, celery, and carrots in olive oil. When the onions softened I added 2 cloves of slice garlic and the zucchini, along with1/3 cup of chicken stock and the dried tarragon. Several minutes later I added some white wine, and still later fresh lemon juice. All of this was done on a whim, so there is nothing fixed regarding the timing. I kept the lid off the pan after the zucchini was cooked to allow some of liquid to cook off.

I mixed in about a cup of ricotta a few minutes before the pasta was ready, tossed the pasta in the pan with the sauce, and sat down to eat with high hopes.

The result was a delightful new way (if there ever is a new way) to enjoy pasta. The sauce was light, almost sweet, and thanks to the tarragon had a wonderfully unique flavor. I see more of this in our future.

RAVIOLI WITH SUNDRIED TOMATO - CREAM SAUCE

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Thu, 17 Jan 2019 00:47:00 +0000

1-16-19 Ravioli w sundried tom in oil/cream sauce

INGREDIENTS :

Ravioli or any shaped past

Sundried tomatoes in oil – coarsely chopped

Onion – Garlic

Olive oil

Heavy whipping cream and butter

Fresh parsley

Red pepper flakes

PROCESS:

Cook the onions in olive oil until soft, add the garlic and red pepper flakes and cook over low heat for several minutes then add the tomatoes and parsley. Continue cooking over low heat. About 4-5 minutes before the pasta is ready add the cream and butter, stirring frequently. Then add the pasta with a bit of the pasta water and garnish with parsley and serve.

COMMENTS:

Patience loved this and said this is what I have to serve to our next dinner guests. I have to agree – it was good.

Spaghetti with cucumbers, smoked salmon, and kalamata olives crudo

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Tue, 14 Aug 2018 01:35:00 +0000

Pasta with diced raw cucumbers, kalamata olives, and smoke salmon with olive oil, dill, and garlic. This is a new dish for us, inspired by the abundant harvest of cucumbers from Patience's garden. It is an unusual pairing, pasta and cucumbers, but it works. The olives and dill give it a unique flavor, and the salmon is optional. A few halved cherry tomatoes provide a little color.

7-15-18 Spaghetti w Japanese eggplants and mint

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 15 Jul 2018 23:57:00 +0000

My goal tonight was to create a “rustic” dish, even though I can’t begin to describe to you what that means. It is something simple, with a minimum of ingredients and best served on an old wooden kitchen table with dishes and utensils that don’t match…totally unpretentious.

INGREDIENTS:

1. Spaghetti

2. Two Japanese eggplants cut crosswise

3. Olive oil

4. Garlic

5. Leeks

6. Fresh mint leaves finely chopped

7. Mozzarella cut into small cubes

8. Fresh tomato 1-2 slices cut into small pieces

PROCESS:

Saute the Leek and garlic in the oil until soft. Add the eggplant and cook of med-high heat, adding half of the mint after 4-5 minutes. Stir often and continue cooking until the eggplants begin to brown. Cover and remove from the burner until the pasta is ready. Place the pasta in a bowl and add the eggplants, along with a drizzle of olive oil and some of the pasta water. Garnish with the rest of the mint plus the cheese and the tomatoes.

COMMENTS:

Patience and I were both pleased with this dish. I think the next time I do this I will add some croutons (made with P’s bread) to the garnish.

7-3-18 Angel hair pasta with fresh herbs & olive oil

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Wed, 04 Jul 2018 11:24:00 +0000

After a week away from home it felt good to be back in my own kitchen, and even better to be preparing a pasta dinner. Tonight I wanted to take advantage of all the fresh herbs in Patient’s garden creating a variation of the traditional Aglio Olio.

INGREDIENTS:

1. Angel hair pasta

2. Extra virgin olive oil

3. Fresh thyme, oregano, and basil finely chopped

4. Garlic – one clove minced

5. Shallot – sliced

6. Tomato – medium size coarsely chopped

7. Mozzarella cut into small cubes

8. Salt and black pepper

PROCESS:

Add the herbs, garlic and a dash of salt to the olive oil (about 1/3 cup) and allow to sit for several hours or more.

While the pasta is cooking sauté the shallots in olive oil and place in the pasta bowl. Add the pasta with some of the pasta water to the bowl, along with the herb infuse olive oil and mix well. Add the tomatoes and mozzarella and drizzle with a bit more olive oil and serve.

COMMENTS:

The herbs used in place of the traditional parsley give a subtle, but distinctly different flavor to this dish that is best described as gentler and/or softer. P and I both gave this a 10+. The next time I will prepare the olive oil 1 or 2 days in advance, and reserve some of the herbs for a garnish.

5-15-18 Ravioli w mushroom-sundried tomato-cream sauce

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Wed, 16 May 2018 12:19:00 +0000

I wanted to use the ½ pint of white mushrooms in the fridge to make a sauce for the spinach cheese ravioli in the freezer. I also wanted to keep in rather simple and open to last minute “inspirations”.

INGREDIENTS:

1. Ravioli

2. Mushrooms coarsely chopped

3. Sundried tomatoes in oil coarsely chopped

4. Tomato paste – 1-2 teaspoons

5. Fresh basil leaves

6. Olive oil

7. Onion and garlic

8. Sweet Vermouth

9. Heavy whipping cream

10. Chicken broth

11. Grating cheese

PROCESS:

Saute the onion and garlic in the olive oil until soft. Add the mushrooms and cook over med-high heat, stirring frequently until they begin to brown. Add the sundried tomatoes, tomato paste, basil, and a splash of sweet vermouth, lower the heat and continue cooking. Add the broth if the sauce becomes too thick. About 5 minutes before adding the ravioli stir in the cream – as much or as little as desired. There is no fixed amount for any of these ingredients, so there is no right way or wrong way to prepare this.

COMMENTS:

Patience and I both gave this a 10. It was fun to prepare, and offers a lot of options to explore any number of variations.

4-7- 18 ANGEL HAIR PASTA WITH ASPARAGUS AND CHOPPED CLAMS

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 08 Apr 2018 14:57:00 +0000

Tonight’s dinner affirmed what I have always suspected. The emotional involvement of the cook is the most important ingredient in the preparation of any meal.

Recently I have been approaching the dinner hour with little enthusiasm, going through the motions of doing what has to be done at the last minute without any forethought. Fortunately most of the time the results have been ok, and occasionally better than ok.

I began thinking about tonight’s dinner early in the day, deciding what I wanted to do, imagining the preparation and how the dish would look and taste. I knew exactly what I wanted, and how I would do it. And because I had everything worked out in my mind, I was free to act intuitively and make additions or subtractions during the preparation. But the real key was my emotional involvement. I was passionate about what I was doing.

INGREDIENTS:

1. Angel hair pasta

2. Chopped clams

3. Asparagus

4. Olive oil

5. Shallots

6. Celery

7. Garlic

8. Lemon juice

9. Grape tomatoes – halved

10. White wine

11. Dried dill or fresh if available

12. Butter – 1-2 pads

PROCESS:

Cook the shallots and celery in the olive oil until they begin to soften, add the garlic and a pinch of salt and cook uncovered over low-medium heat for several minutes, being careful not to burn the garlic. Next add the clams and its juice, the asparagus, and dill, and continue cooking. Several minutes later (sorry, but there is no rigid time schedule here.) add the tomatoes, lemon juice, and bless the pan with some white wine. Allow it to simmer to reduce the liquid while waiting for the pasta. Turn off the heat about 4-5 minutes before the pasta is ready and add the butter. Then add the pasta and a bit of the pasta water and dinner is ready.

COMMENTS:

This unpretentious pasta dish was everything I wanted it to be: light, delicious, and the perfect accompaniment to Patience’s freshly baked bread.

3-29-18 Cavatappi w crab-corn cream sauce

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Fri, 30 Mar 2018 00:02:00 +0000

I wanted to try something different tonight.

INGREDIENTS:

1. Cavatappi pasta

2. Frozen corn

3. Lump crab meat

4. Whipping cream

5. Olive oil

6. Shallots

7. Celery

8. Garlic

9. Sundried tomatoes in oil

10. Dried dill, basil, and tarragon

11. Old Bay seasoning

12. White wine

13. Chicken broth

PROCESS: I did this on the fly, so nothing is carved in stone.

Saute the shallots, celery, and garlic in olive oil. Add a bit of broth and about a cup of corn, along with the herbs and 3 or 4 finely chopped sundried tomatoes. If it gets too dry add more broth, or some wine. Then add the crab and let it simmer. I add the cream at the same time I put the pasta in the boiling water. Stir frequently, and when the pasta is ready add it to the sauce.

COMMENTS:

Patience, the inhouse food critic gave this a 22.

2-3-18 Gemelli with ham

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 04 Feb 2018 00:39:00 +0000

There was just enough leftover baked ham in the fridge to use for tonight’s pasta.

INGREDIENTS:

1. Gemelli pasta

2. Baked ham coarsely chopped

3. Sundried tomatoes chopped

4. Olive oil

5. Butter

6. Carrots

7. Celery

8. Dried tarragon

9. Garlic

10. Leeks

11. Sweet Vermouth

12. Chicken Broth

13. Red pepper flakes

PROCESS:

Cook the Leek, carrots, and parsley in olive oil until soft, add the garlic and sundried tomatoes and continue cooking. About 5 minutes later add the tarragon and chicken broth and continue cooking while waiting for the pasta. When the broth cooks down add some wine. Add the past and some pasta water and cook for another 1-2 minutes before serving.

COMMENTS:

Wow, this was good, a unique flavor that we really enjoyed. It was worth taking the time to write this up and post.

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Thu, 18 Jan 2018 13:27:00 +0000

1-17-18 POET’S PASTA

Our delightful dinner guest tonight was poet/writer Ahron Taub from Washington DC, and current artist in residence at AIR studio in Lowertown.

INGREDIENTS:

1. Gemelli pasta

2. White mushrooms

3. Artichoke hearts

4. Sundried tomatoes- coarsely chopped

5. Leeks

6. Garlic

7. Olive oil

8. Aurgula

9. Dried basil

10. Sweet Vermouth

PROCESS:

Cook the Leek and garlic in olive oil until soft. Add the mushrooms and cook over high heat, stirring often, until the mushrooms start to brown. Lower the heat, add the wine, basil, tomatoes, and artichoke hearts and continue cooking over low-moderate heat. When the pasta is done, add it to the pan and mix well, then add the arugula and allow it to wilt from the heat before serving. Top with your favorite grating cheese.

1-13-18 Kick Ass pasta

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 14 Jan 2018 01:05:00 +0000

I spent all day thinking about this, and tonight I am pleased to say it worked as planned, a simple, no frills, dinner.

INGREDIENTS:

1. Spaghetti

2. Mushrooms

3. Asparagus

4. Olive oil

5. Onion

6. Shallots

7. Garlic

8. Fresh chopped parsley

9. Butter

10. White wine

11. Lemon juice

12. Dried Tarragon

PROCESS:

I cooked the mushrooms and shallots in olive oil and garlic over high heat until the mushrooms started to brown. I removed them from the pan, deglazed it with wine and set them aside.

Next – cook the onion and garlic in olive oil and add about 2 tbsp of butter and fresh parsley. Add the juice from ½ lemon. Keep warm while the pasta is cooking.

Wrap the asparagus in wet paper towels and nuke for one and half minutes.

When the pasta is ready, mix it into the the sauce and transfer to the plates. Top with the mushrooms and add the side of asparagus. Sprinkle with some parsley and enjoy.

COMMENTS:

Patience loved this, and that says it all.

12-9-17 Gemelli w artichoke hearts & bottoms

noreply@blogger.com (William F. Renzulli) — Sun, 10 Dec 2017 01:12:00 +0000

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I had dinner all figured out. It was going to be my precious Patience’s favorite ingredients – artichoke hearts and peas. Alas, not long into the preparations I discovered there were no peas in the freezer. What could I do? What goes with artichoke hearts... artichoke bottoms, which we happened to have in the freezer, and dinner was saved.

INGREDIENTS:

1. Gemelli

2. Frozen artichoke bottoms

3. Artichoke hearts in water

4. Leeks

5. Garlic

6. Celery

7. Olive oil

8. Fresh dill and dried tarragon

9. Lemon juice

10. White wine

11. Butter

12. Pancetta diced

13. Red pepper flakes

14. Chicken broth – about 1/3 cup

PROCESS:

Note – I’m describing the steps I took as I worked my way through this dish. The key is the ingredients, and how you use them is up to you.

Cook the pancetta, remove and set aside, and remove the grease from the pan.

Add olive oil to the pan and cook the leeks and celery until soft, and them add the garlic and continue cooking over low heat. Add the chicken broth, artichoke bottoms and hearts, and red pepper flakes, plus a splash of wine, and cook covered until the artichoke is totally defrosted and soft. Add the herbs and about 1 tbsp of butter and cook uncovered to thicken the sauce. Before the pasta is done, add the lemon juice and pancetta .

Add the pasta with some pasta water to the pan and mix well.

COMMENTS:

We both gave this a 10, easily.