When I was very small, I used to drag a cat around with me wherever I went. Where other children used well-worn flannels to drag through the leaves, dirt peanut butter and jam, I had my cats. Suffice it to say that they were the best loved critters on the block, if not the best dressed! While plastic and porcelain dolls sat gathering dust on my shelves, my parents and their colleagues were determined that I was to be a "veterinarian in training" as they observed me bundling small mewing creatures in bandages, blankets, bibs and cribs. The companionship of the cats seemed to fill my emotional needs as well as my imagination. They passed the time while the new baby brother kept my whole family occupied. My main human cohort was my grandfather who contributed greatly to my ever blossoming imagination. His granfatherly yarns contained some of the greatest grandpa fibs ever crafted. This widened my eyes and prepared me for my own yarn spinning abilities as I began to find trouble to get into. A good imagination can be one's best friend when enjoying life in a manner that mother would not approve of. I also learned that the old folks were the ones that were full of tales, comfy laps, warm cookies, and magic. I've loved seniors ever since.

As a rather precocious preschooler, I was often plopped in the rear of the station wagon, given some paper and a pencil and told to "Shut up and draw". This kept me occupied, and my parents sane, on most family trips. It also kept me from punching my brother and yanking his hair when the folks weren't looking. My drawing usually depicted scenes including people and animals with occasional props. I was not big on landscapes in the early years. Frankly, I don't like landscapes now either. I'd rather experience a nice landscape than see it hanging in my living room.

Growing up in San Diego, California in an area of upper middle class professionals is not what one would expect from most starving artists. My parents were never really poor, yet they they weren't as wealthy as our neighbors or as mother would have liked. She spent much of her time dreaming, scheming and trying to figure out ways for Dad to climb that corporate ladder. This was a little difficult since he was a meat cutter in a big chain grocery store. His occupation suited me as it meant that we could have steak once a week. That was my favorite. I was a card carryin' meat and potatoes kid. While other kids were developing craters in their teeth from candy and junk, I was building a case for concrete arteries.......

........The came the wine.

The first sips were secretly stolen during a cocktail party that my mother threw to attempt the social climb. Glasses clinked with ice as they discussed their recent 4 over par, my Mother's new drapes and whether they thought Nixon and Cabot-Lodge could pull off the election. Gents stood around in their heady aftershave with their comb-overs while their ladies slobbered over one another's lovely organdie dresses and their newest wigs. I was a sworn in member of the "seen and not heard" crowd. I tried to look well washed and pressed while I eyed the wineglass on the buffet. I had fallen in love with the scent after sniffing mother's breath when she returned to our pew after taking communio on Sunday mornings. I would want to crawl in her lap to experience the stimulating burgundy smell and she would shush me and tell me she had to pray now. I prayed now too. Please God, don't let them see me with the wine and don't let me spill it. The sweet steal of the sensual red stuff was a piece o' cake. It was really something to maintain coolness and grace while avoiding observation when one is only seven. Pulling it off in taffeta was even better and there was the added 'swoosh' of the material that had to be stifled.

Fruit of the vine didn't become a staple with me until I was the mother of two toddlers. This alone was reason enough.

Later, living in San Luis Obispo County afforded me the ability to go from 'cheap wino' wine to 'fairly decent' wine, where I now remain. My best buddy, Carol Sue and I became wine tasters in our backyards in our backyards beginning with 'chateau le screw top' and eventually moving up to the bigger reds. If we awoke the next morning with our sinuses ready to explode, it was good stuff. Some day I hope to move up from 'fairly decent' to 'very excellent'.

My HDL is 91 and my LDL is 92. "Drink Wine, Live longer". I guess the stuff really works.

Drawing and painting were always my 'hobby'. However, I had to do other things to pay those bills. Working as a Planner/Scheduler in various industries from utilities to aerospace kept me in paint, canvases, sketchpads and an occasional bottle of wine. The cats continued to be a never ending source of entertainment. The two seemed to meld together nicely. Give me a sunny porch, a glass of cabernet and a shed machine and I'll likely turn out a painting of my past.

By Shelly Wilkerson and Don Bartell
From ARTAFFAIRS.COM Magazine
Summer-Fall 2002