HONESTY - Character Education Animation

I have this great friend named Kymberli Barney who once drew me as a gangsta. You might leap to the conclusion that this is frivolous but in my animated world, I equate it to being Knighted. Kymberli can see the essential qualities in a person or a situation, through the clouds and confusion.

I draw many. Few draw me. Kymberli did tho.

She also happens to be the rather brilliant teacher of the Middle School Humans of BHiveU. Which leads me neatly to my next point:

I opened up my shop on Teachers Pay Teachers earlier this year, and while I've been a "pro" artist for over thirty years, it's been a struggle to figure out where I fit as a content provider to educators. Are my specific skills best applied drawing clip art? I'm definitely happier doing story-based projects, and things that provoke empathy, and that's what I do here on my blog, or in my books and films. So when Kymberli suggested I do some PickleWeasel 'character education' drawings and animation for the teacher market, it lit me up. Thank-you Kymberli!

Fun with watermarks.

The first six posters are already up in my shop: Honesty, Trust, Kindness, Cooperation, Perseverance, and Accomplishment. It was pretty challenging to depict these character traits in a single still image, I had to dig deep.

And here's my special announcement: HONESTY is now an animated film. Here is a preview:



Synopsis:

When PickleWeasel meets someone he likes, he decides to cut some flowers to give as a gift. But, when he discovers the flowers belong to someone else, he finds himself in a pickle. What to do! Pretend he doesn't care? Run away? Or be honest? PickleWeasel learns how to listen to his conscience and choose honesty, even when it's difficult.

This HONESTY life skills animation is a fun too to help you teach kids the value of honesty. So important, right? And there's lots of room for discussion of alternate outcomes and feelings in this story. If you want to see the whole thing, check it out here.

Thanks for supporting my work!

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Rocks.

Sometimes, our best friends abandon us. On the surface, it appears to be because of something superficial, but there are always deeper issues lurking below the rocky surface. These cracks in the foundation of a friendship can go unnoticed for years, but eventually, usually when one of the players evolves, the foundation crumbles.

It's painful. 

We can compromise our integrity and beg them not to go; it won't do any good though. After all, they are only doing what they believe is right for them. We must rise above the waves and move on.  It isn't until calm waters return that we realize our friends never abandoned us: they set us free.

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Hugs.

This is a film about hugging.

There's been some debate about the difference between real life friendships and Internet friendships. Some folks believe that one is somehow less meaningful than the other; the reasoning being that if you haven't met them in person, it doesn't count.

But there are many people who stand by their Internet friends as more loyal and supportive than friends or family from real life.



I wanted to address that difference, by making this film. For me, the screen is really the only thing that stands between us, and yet it is there nonetheless.

Someday I will hug you in person.

What do you think about friendships on the Internet?

Pass this hug on - click to tweet.

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Letters from my SELF.

New Years Eve was rushing up at me again. But I could feel a creeping despondency all week threatening to derail me. To defy it, I decided to go ahead and host my usual Impromptu Black-Tie Potluck New Years Eve Party. Make-up, high-heels, dress and perfume on, I pushed that vulnerable darkness down and threw open my arms to greet my guests.

I have an old friend named Pascale Girardin; Pascale and I grew up together, meaning we went from wild young women in university to responsible mid-lifers. The foundation of our friendship was laid in our twenties, most of which time we spent being insane rollerskating punklets, dating guys, partying and doing art.

I hadn't seen Pascale in a few months - she's pretty busy running her high-end ceramics company, traveling around the world and creating fantastically beautiful installations in hotels, restaurants and fashion houses. As I type this, she's designing what will be the world's tallest *something top secret*. Is that not the cool? She is a true and original talent.

So anyways, when she showed up at my party I was super happy to see her. We settled on the chaise longue to catch up; this turned into reminiscing....

Pascale was reminding me about that time in 1983 when I talked her into going to some tacky downtown bar to ply free drinks from unsuspecting tourist dudes; being poor artistes we had to be inventive about partying.

To escape their eventual expectations we climbed out the bar's toilet window and went to Les Foufounes Électriques to hang out with our friends. That's back when Les Foufounes was new, decrepit and sooooo coooool.

We used to be so crazy.

I suddenly felt my happy-mask dissolve. The tears welled up...

I frayed and fell apart at my own party.

I had been feeling lost lately. As I mentioned before, the creeping darkness can be tamed but it always comes back. When you grow up, get married, have a family and spend years and years perfecting your craft, dedicating yourself to earning money and raising the kids...even if you find happiness in that, you do somehow forget who you were when you were newly formed. You look around and you can't remember how you got where you are now.

All of this came out in the safety of Pascale's embrace, on New Year's Eve.

She let me cry and made some comforting noises. The party went on.

*     *     *     *     *

Later that week, Pascale came by to visit. She opened her bag and pulled out a bunch of old letters.

"I was leaving my place and I just thought I'd grab these. They're the letters you wrote to me when I was travelling..."

"Look at these things! This is who you are, JC."

I blinked.

Pascale went on, "I don't know how, but the mail courier always managed to get these crazy letters to me in Georgia, San Francisco and even Australia! Look, this one's written completely diagonally..."

I opened one. And in my handmade pencil and ink marks on paper, partly written and partly drawn, I saw "me".

In a case of seemingly random serendipity, Pascale had reached deep into our past and brought me back my self. 

The self I thought I had lost.

She has always been a great friend.

The HUZ went up into the loft and brought down all my old shoe boxes full of handwritten letters from Pascale and many other friends from before I was married; before the days of faxes and emails! Pascale and I spent the rest of the evening poring through them, making new memories from the old.

Here's some exerpts from my letters to her.

I was obviously obsessed with sex. No change there.

I was confident.

Vapidity reigned! This is a rather terrible drawing.

Too funny not to share.

It's been brilliant for me to reread my old letters from my self. I think I will return some of my shoebox letters to their senders so they can have a peek at their own pasts.

Have any of you ever done this? Those of you who have never written or received a hand-written letter, should try it. Email, texting, and Facebooking doesn't even come close.

Thank-you Pascale.

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The Spotter.

This is a story I wrote and read this weekend at my dearest and oldest friend's 50th birthday party.

*   *   *   *   *

Do you know what a spotter is? It's someone who stands across the room on the gymnastics mat, knees bent, arms outstretched and ready.

You run towards them as fast as you can, skip once and round-off back handspring. They're there to guide you, and support you in the more difficult and dangerous acrobatics. Having a spotter gives you confidence until you can do it on your own.

*   *   *   *   *

Dear QQ,

It was 1977. I was fifteen and you were thirteen... but you acted sixteen and I acted fourteen. It somehow seemed to even out.

You went to a private school for girls high on the hill and I went to public high-school down near the train tracks. By rights we never should have met....but meet we did!

We tumbled our way through weekly gymnastics classes at the YMCA where the high walls of school-only friendships didn't exist. Somewhere in those Saturday cartwheels, walkovers and handstands, between the balance beam and the vault, a friendship sprouted that would last a lifetime.

We spotted each other in those days; I wanted to do a back handspring - you would spot me.

You wanted to do an aerial ....wait, no... actually you never needed spotting for that. You could do that and so much more all on your own.

One night we had a sleepover at one of our houses:

"We need to find some boys!" one of us said.

"Boys? I know where there's some boys," said the other. "There's a home for juvenile delinquent boys just behind my house!"

"No way! Let's go sneak in there!"

Off we went and we managed to find our way into the very quiet and dark building. We giggled in the halls, creeping around for a whole ten minutes but found no boys and retreated back to the house for a mid-night snack.

I'm sure the parenting jury is still out on who is a better influence on who! It matters not. One is always there to spot the other.

As high school concluded, gymnastics petered out and I didn't see you for a few years until one night I caught a glimpse of a vivacious blonde in a downtown bar. I was seventeen and you were fifteen.*

*Please never ever tell my own teenage daughters this story.

I called your name and when you saw me you ran right over and hugged me. It was like we'd never been apart.

This phenomenon of timelessness was to endure through the years. You moved to Toronto, I moved to England. For a few months we intersected in Vancouver before you moved back to Toronto and I returned to Montreal. No matter how long we miss each other, nothing changes between us.

There were broken hearts, terrible losses, risks and leaps in our professional lives and also great successes in love and work. Betrayal and weariness wounded other friendships, but never ours.

We lived in different cities, traveled around the world, bought homes and cars, changed jobs and hemlines. Through all this the spotting continued. When I faltered, you reminded me of who I was. When I doubted my abilities you reminded me what I could do.

You were at my side for our wedding, witnessed the birth of our daughter and taught our ten year old son to snorkel while I trembled in the shallows, afraid of sharks. I wonder how you will spot me next?

How can I describe the depth of our friendship? Are there any words that can go there? Loyalty comes close...understanding, care, and love, all evident in abundance. But none of those words is exactly right.

My husband, our children, my mother and brothers, aunts and uncles and even my grandmother before she died, consider you to be part of the family. The meaningfulness, purpose and love that you bring to our lives is unwavering and true. Because you are my spotter, my friend, and my family. You're the closest thing to a sister that I'll ever have. Sister is the word I'm looking for.

So Happy 50th Birthday!

May we have many, many, many more years of spotting each other!

*   *   *   *   *

I've known QQ for 37 years. How long have you known your spotter?

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The Balancing ACT.

Trust is huge.

But even between best friends, a small misunderstanding can have terrible consequences.

There are times when you must really stretch to bring things back into balance.

Although emotionally taxing, it's usually worth it!

However, it's a good idea to talk about things afterwards so it doesn't happen again.

Also, remember to use the bathroom before going out.

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