15.5″ x 15.5″ Framed & Floated Original Watercolor on handmade paper $500.

Archival Giclee and Standard Prints available

“Smelling and tasting this wine transports me to my childhood when I would run through Mom’s cotton sheets hanging outside on the clothesline on a summer day.” —Randy Elrod

Be sure to check out all my watercolors at my all-new gallery. This week is Grand Opening and we have many specials!! If you are one of the first 50 to visit and make a comment and/or subscribe, you will win a FREE print of your choice. Click HERE to visit.

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Featuring over 50 new paintings.

This week only:

Buy one piece of art and save 10%

Buy two or more pieces of art and save 20%

To celebrate this week, the first 50 people to leave a comment at ElrodArt.com and/or subscribe will receive a FREE print.

Go now, browse and tell me your favorite painting.

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73.5″x 76″  Original Watercolor  on six 24″ x 36″ x .5″ canvases $2,000.

Archival Giclee and Standard Prints (Best Value) available. For pricing use drop down menu on Paypal button below.

“Hope is the only bee that makes honey without flowers.” —Robert Green Ingersoll

This is my biggest, most ambitious painting to date. Over six feet by six feet on six individual watercolor canvases. I captured this photo at the stunning Balcones Wildlife Refuge in the hill country just outside of Austin, TX. It typifies the magic of spring and rebirth and hope. For more of my paintings go to my online art gallery HERE.

Options

Original Watercolor on six canvases$2,000.00 USD 8.5 x 11 Giclee Print$55.00 USD 9 x 13 Giclee Print$65.00 USD 11 x 17 Giclee Print$85.00 USD 16 x 20 Giclee Print$120.00 USD 8.5 x 11 Standard Print$28.00 USD 9 x13 Standard Print$33.00 USD 11 x 17 Standard Print$43.00 USD 16 x 20 Standard Print$60.00 USD

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1. (Tie) Hendry Rose The 2010 Rosé is the result of a saignée of both Zinfandel and Cabernet Sauvignon, along with just a little bit of Cabernet Franc and Primitivo. Saignée is the process of “bleeding,” or allowing the sweet, free-run juice to run out off the tank and into a smaller tank for fermentation. This lowers the alcohol in the red wine, concentrates its colors, flavors and tannins, and in the process, produces a light, dry rosé that is perfect for drinking in the summertime.

Well-chilled, its clean, bright, citrusy fruit and palate-cleansing acidity are just right with picnic foods on a warm afternoon, or to accompany a simple barbecue-roasted chicken on a summer evening. Great with fish tacos, too! As George Hendry puts it, this is a “screen-porch” wine, made for warm-weather drinking, well-chilled, with simple foods. $13.

3. Pangolin Chenin Blanc (But almost any Chenin Blanc will do) Chenin Blanc comes from the Loire Valley of France. It is the most widely cultivated varietal in South Africa, where it is called Steen.  It’s styles range from very dry to medium-sweet to intensely rich. The full-bodied wine has a fruity palate and a long finish, with orchard and citrus fruit, spring flower and earthy notes. $9.

4. Columbia Crest Two Vines Chardonnay This lighter style Chardonnay opens with aromas of fresh spiced peaches and honeysuckle. Lively fruit flavors are accented by notes of lemon zest and creamy marshmallow ending with a juicy, crisp finish. Intended for immediate enjoyment, this Chardonnay captures the varietal intensity indicative of wines from Washington state. $8.

5. Ménage à Trois Red Wine The 2010 is drinking exceptional. Sure, you will find a bottle or two that is inconsistent, but for crying out loud, it costs less than a similar size soft drink. What can you expect? I love this light red wine! The 2010 Ménage à Trois exposes the fresh, ripe, jam like fruit that is the calling card of California wine. Forward, silky and soft, this delicious dalliance makes the perfect accompaniment for summer grilling. $7.

Question: What is your favorite summer wine?

If you are a wine lover, please take a moment and share this post with your friends. The buttons below are for your convenience.

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“Ostracized”

Exclusion comes when you offend or disappoint a community with the religious and social power to ostracize you.

Original Watercolor 12″ x 14″ $550.

Prints and Original  purchase available HERE.

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My parents are still very young. They were on the early side of seventeen when I became more than a twinkle in their eyes. Children having children. Both with birthdays in January, married in April, pregnant (and barefoot, literally) in July of 1957.

Fifty-five years and a lot of living later we are all still around. They remain in love, and somehow, they continue to love me. They are older and wiser, but as for me, well, that’s a story for another day.

The Schedule

After fifteen long hours of driving from Austin, immediately upon arriving home in Ringgold, Georgia, the front yard overflowing with cars of family members, my brother Terry met me with “adopted” granddaughter in his arms and said laughingly, “Dad has a schedule for your day tomorrow. He’s been showing it to everybody.”

Now if you know me at all, you know why Terry was laughing. A schedule of anything is the furthest thing from my mind. I’m rarely on time, do not own a watch, and usually don’t know what day it is. Hmmm, maybe there’s a correlation here. Dad says black, I say white. Father, Son.

But as the day progressed and we veered from “the schedule,” we joked with Dad about it—and a sure sign there are cracks in the universe occurred. He said, “Well, you know Son, schedules are made to be broken.” What?

The Breakfast

Mom and Dad’s morning ritual is breakfast at the Ringgold Hardee’s. (They obviously had made allowances for me in the schedule, since 8:00AM is almost their lunch time.) As we entered, it was very clear Mom knew just about everyone there. This was not just about food, it was a social event. It was fun watching her work the room.

They talked about how different the new Hardee’s felt (the old one was destroyed in the catastrophic EF-4 tornado that flattened Ringgold last year) and how difficult it was waiting until the completion of the new one.

One of the most touching moments of the day happened as my Dad recounted the story of one of their Hardee’s clan, Rev. Leon Hullender, and how for years, upon arrival, he would always say a hearty hello to everyone, and then plop down at his “reserved” seat and hold court. My Dad visibly choked up as he told how when Leon died, someone put a flower on that seat, and no one would sit there.

I had only seen my Dad choke up three times in my life. Three. When his Mom died. When his Dad died. And during his thank you speech at the celebration of his 50th year in the ministry. So that should tell you something about that.

The Road Trip

As long as I can remember, my parents have loved to drive. (Maybe that’s why I hate it.) Today was to be no different. They have a new car, a stylish red Hyundai Optima, and when I asked what they would like to do for their anniversary, it was clear they wanted to drive to Pigeon Forge for lunch at the Apple Barn. It’s a tourist town just outside the tourist town of Gatlinburg, Tennessee. That’s a two hour drive from Ringgold. A two hour drive. For lunch.

I remember as a kid driving from the mountains of Tennessee all the way to Juarez, Mexico. If you Google Map that, it’s about 1,421 miles and takes 22 hours and 53 mins. One way. This is what we called vacation. 46 hours and 2,842 miles of driving in six days. Did I mention how I feel about driving?

Dad proudly told me as we drove up to Pigeon Forge that he and Mom would sometimes drive up just for lunch.

The Stops

Dad loves to stop on road trips. Often. It makes the driving seem longer. He told me they always stop in Loudon. So we did.

But the next stop, I was excited about. McKay’s is an anomaly that could only prosper in Tennessee. But prosper it does. It is a used book/record/video store. You take in your old stuff and trade it for money or store credit. It doesn’t sound like much of a business plan, but the place is always crawling with people.

When Mom sees books, her eyes light up. She is the reason I am hopelessly addicted to reading. On the trip up, she was talking about a book she had read recently that vividly describes a meadow in Austin that is covered each year at a certain time by Monarch butterfies on their migratory flight.

McKay’s is a bookworm’s paradise.

They also told me about beating the McKay’s system. They go to garage sales (every time we would pass a sign, Dad would exclaim, “Garage sale, Granny”) and buy used books, records and videos,  then take them to McKay’s and make double and sometimes triple their money. Can you say entrepreneurs?

The Lunch

Special occasion eating for my parents is Cracker Barrel. No Ruth’s Chris for them. I’ve tried to take them to fancier places, but they just don’t enjoy it. A Cracker Barrel vegetable plate to them is finer than the tasting menu at French Laundry.

So to my surprise, we had lunch at a different restaurant. The Apple Barn. Think Loveless Cafe meets Cracker Barrel. The sign out front proudly states that every customer receives a free serving of apple fritters and apple julep.

We had chicken for lunch. We had it fried, potted and with dumplings. And it was good. Move over Thomas Keller.

We walked out happy.

The Fun

I don’t recall my parents having much time for fun. They were hard workers. They believed that working hard and providing for family was the ultimate calling.

But I fondly remember playing horseshoes and checkers. Mom and Dad are competitive. I remember them playing checkers all night trying to beat each other. Some of my best memories are my brother Terry, baby sister Cheryl, and my Mom and Dad playing horseshoes in the back yard. For hours. Sometimes my Papa Elrod would join us. He had a very cool sideways spin that none of us could emulate. He was competitive too. Very.

So today we went bowling. Now, growing up we never bowled, because the only bowling places were full of those who smoked and drank. We did not support nor go to places where those things were going on.

But somehow Mom and Dad have found a bowling alley located in the Pigeon Forge Recreation Center. It is pristine and I must admit a hidden gem. So we bowled.

My Dad is ambidextrous, but bowls right handed and has a distinct dance to the left as he follows thru. Mom has a bad leg now and watches. She enthusiastically applauded and cheered every time Dad would have a good bowl.

We had FUN.

I heard Dad tell Mom as we walked out, “If I can keep this up and practice a bit more, I think I can really improve.”

The Dessert

Dessert is a big deal at the Elrod household now. I think it’s because we were so poor growing up. We never had it. Mom reminisced as we returned to the Apple Barn for what else—apple pie, fried and al a mode—about times when we had almost nothing to eat for weeks on end. And how she would go to our neighbors and see the food on their table and it would make her so hungry. But she was too proud to say anything.

Dad usually has a milk shake at Cracker Barrel for starters. Yep. And a bowl of ice cream every night. For seventy-plus years. His cholesterol is below normal and he is the picture of health. He has been to the hospital once in his life. And that just the emergency room for a few hours with kidney stones.

Why didn’t I get those genes?

The Trip Home

I have neglected to tell you, I had pulled my back out. So my usual hatred of driving was compounded by physical pain. I had been in the car for three days straight. My version of Dante’s Inferno. So it was with consternation that I heard Dad say we would go home the back way instead of the Interstate. Because there might be traffic in Knoxville.

I determined not to say anything, but Mom, being the empath she is, sensed my distress, and gently asked Dad, once we passed Knoxville, to get back on the Interstate. Thankfully, he acquiesced. The two hour trip back home still took over three hours.

As I squirmed in pain, wishing we would get home, it suddenly occurred to me. Dad was driving slow because he didn’t want the day to end.

At least that’s what I choose to believe.

Because I didn’t either.

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At Ringgold High School the McKinney stories were legendary. They were the best (and the meanest) fighters in our town, especially the brother called Rat. And there were lots of them. McKinneys I mean. Twelve children. They all lived on McKinney hill out in the country.

Gary died a few days ago. I guess he decided to go back to a hill. The world has lost a great man. I lost a friend.

Remember this exchange in the movie Tombstone:

Turkey Creek Jack Johnson: Why you doin’ this, Doc?
Doc Holliday: Because Wyatt Earp is my friend.
Turkey Creek Jack Johnson: Friend? Hell, I got lots of friends.
Doc Holliday: …I don’t.

I don’t either. Not real friends. The kind a man needs. The kind that when you find one, you realize what a rare and fine thing it is.

A friend who is not waiting for the next thing you can do for them. A friend that is…well, just a friend.

Gary was that to me.

A lifelong friend. For over 30 years.

Here are a few snapshots.

He left our small country village and went to college. The stories of his academic success wafted back to our town in a day long before cell phones and e-mail. The word spread like wildfire in our small community. Gary McKinney was making straight “A’s” and was at the top of his class.

I will never forget how articulate, well-read and soft-spoken he was when he came back home for a visit a couple of years later.

He was proud of his strength. He was a man’s man. He would always put up his fists, dance around shadow boxing and say, “Come on, come on, you want some of me, SON!”

He was a legendary pulp wooder. He helped me cut a few of my trees later in life and treated his Husqvarna like others treat their Ferrari.

He was the first of my friends to become a Pastor. His Dad and Mom were so proud.

He was also the first of my friends to go through a divorce. The unpardonable sin in the evangelical church.

He went back to cutting pulp wood in the panhandle of Florida, ironically not far from the church that “let him go” because of the divorce.

I was fortunate enough to be able to return some of his many favors to me by recommending him for a job as the Singles Pastor at our mega-church in Florida. The pastor there had also gone through a divorce and therefore did not classify divorce as unpardonable.

Gary thrived and in fact worked there until his lengthy illness and ultimate death.

His stories about his Dad “Clyde” were also legendary.

He had a habit of raising his voice gradually to a fever pitch as he told stories of his family of fourteen and his country upbringing.

He always had a smile. Always.

I remember some people equating his red hair, country stories and ever present smile with blarney. Little did they know.

I’ll never forget a backpacking trip, just the two of us over 20 years ago, on the Jacks River Trail in the Cohutta Wilderness, and his tears as he told me about his divorce and subsequent ostracization by the Christian community.

I’ll never forget him saying divorce is a fate worse than death because your former mate is still alive and the hurt never goes away.

Little did I know those words were a foretelling of my life as well.

We worked out together in a private gym in Florida several times a week for years. A friend who was the rehab director there opened just for the two of us so we could beat the rush and get to work on time. We had conversations there I will hold dear forever.

He was an athlete. We also trained for a marathon together. Something happened and he was not able to run it, even though he had lasted through six months of grueling training in the Florida heat. I’m not sure he ever ran an official one, but he could have.

His affectionate term for me was “SON!” When he would say it, it was all capitals, with the explanation point, all executed with that affecting southern drawl of his. I can hear it as I write. SOOOOOOON!

He and his brother-in-law even wrote it on my car on my wedding day in 1979. In capitals.

I would have been honored to be his son. I would have been honored to be his father. I know Clyde was and Jared is.

I am honored to have been his friend. Forever.

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When expressed at all, this fear is usually articulated as, “What will people think of me when they see what I’ve created?”

But it’s not people we’re most scared of. It’s specific individuals. The opinion of fuzzy thousands (or millions) of others isn’t what inhibits us most as we ponder our choice of subject matter.

Rather it’s the frown on a few faces that come clearly into focus: the guys at church, our pastor, our mate, our kids. We don’t mind the world knowing about our lives, but we’re not sure we want our parents to know.

Picture the person whose response to your art concerns you the most. Usually it’s a spouse or a parent. Sometime’s it’s another relative, friend, or an old teacher. It could be an admired colleague or one you don’t like but find intimidating. Whoever’s opinion worries us the most is our “censor in chief.”

That person can feel like a scowling Torquemada scrutinizing every word we write.

Neutralizing our fear of his reaction may not be possible. But imagining how we’ll deal with him helps. Simply identifying our censor in chief can be a revelation. We don’t always realize how much he directs our creativity.

And if we can temper our fear of a censor in chief’s opinion, dealing with the reaction of anyone else is a piece of cake by comparison.

Question: Can you identify your censor in chief?

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*These thoughts are the closely paraphrased words of Ralph Keyes from his extraordinary book The Courage To Write.

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“Serenity”

“Boredom is the feeling that everything is a waste of time; serenity, that nothing is.” —Thomas Szasz

Watercolor on handmade paper

Unframed: $850. 14 1/4 h x 36 1/2 w

Framed & Matted: $1,000. 22″ x 44″ Dark Brown (Sepia) Wood with Dark Brown (Sepia) Mat

Plus $7.95 shipping & handling

Archival Prints on watercolor paper also available (all sizes approximate according to original dimensions)

Options

Original Unframed $850.00 USD Original Framed & Matted $1,000.00 USD 8.5 x 11 Archival Giclee Print $55.00 USD 9 x 13 Archival Giclee Print $65.00 USD 11 x 17 Archival Giclee Print $85.00 USD 13 x 19 Archival Giclee Print $105.00 USD 16 x 20 Archival Giclee Print $150.00 USD 17 x 22 Archival Giclee Print $170.00 USD 17 x 25 Archival Giclee Print $175.00 USD

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