AngelinaBeadalina

Unphotogenic O-phail-ia, the ScaerieFaerie

2011-11-21T17:22:00.002-06:00

Poor unphotogenic Ophailia! She's the epitomy of a ScaerieFaerie. Even her kickass, funkycool wings couldn't soften her fiercesome gaze. Poor Ophailia (that's oh-fail-ya, sort of like Ophelia, but a "fail")!

Bless her Munster-meets-Tinkerbell-in-a-dark-alley heart, she did teach me a few things, though! First, those kickass wickedwings should have had a hole punched in the middle of them before they were shrunk in the oven. Glue by itself doesn't seem to want to hold Shrinkydink material in place, since I easily removed her wings today while thinking about how to salvage them. Two, tattoes can be cool on a scaeriefaerie, but they will smudge when you first apply them. Third, inspiration and ideas come from every project, fail or no fail... and ScaerieFaeries have been born in my imagination, as well as a few ideas about how to adorn them!

So, dear Ophailia, I know I said I couldn't wait to write your story, but now I'm busy working on the next attempt. Please forgive my haste, and please accept my thanks :)

Sunlight Faerie Trap

2011-11-19T19:20:00.002-06:00

Seen any sunlight faeries flitting around these shorter and darker days lately? I haven't caught them, but I imagine the time is drawing near when I'd like to lure a few of them to sprinkle sunlight beams here and there.

Think they might be drawn to the brightness and shimmering pretties in this faerie trap?

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Hope all is well with each of you! Shorter daylight hours, more kiddo homework as the school year progresses, etc. have given me excuses to not sit downstairs and write in the blog lately. I use the smart phone to keep connected to facebook friends... phones are easy to carry around the house and yard. Anyway, hope to catch up with everyone soon!

11.11.11

2011-11-11T09:16:00.000-06:00

Auspicious numbers? Special lucky days? What do you think? I understand attaching symbolic meaning to particular numbers, but I'm not sure how much numerology means to me. I tend to think dates and numbers are the same in life as they are in baseball-- for any given situation, there is a special meaning or statistic to be recognized. Still, it's hard to argue with the "hey, I was there, and it won't happen again until the next century" sentiment.

I remember the year one of my friends turned eight years old on the eighth day of the eighth month. At least, I think I "remember" it. Probably, I remember everyone talking about it once we returned to school after summer vacation! It was a pretty neat happening in the eyes of a third grader, I can tell you that much!

So, what do days like 11.11.11 mean to you? Signing the Armistice on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month made the ceasing of hostilities with Germany an easy date to remember in the timeline of WWI. I'm sure the people who arranged such things gave some thought to details, such as this one, which would lend even more gravity to the momentous occasion. We all do it when we can, don't we? This attaching special numbers to momentous occasions in our lives? How many people were married today? How many people hope for children to be born on a birthday they'll share with grandparents or other family members? I'm sure you can think of more examples.

For 11.11.11, I choose to be reminded of the number "one," instead of "eleven," when I consider its symbolism. In the end, at least in my view of the world, we are all one. We may be scattered around the globe, separated by oceans and centuries, defined by our current physical bodies, but we all come from the same source... and we all reach in the same direction, all feel pulled back to the same things, all are one.

Insert Witty Caption Here

2011-11-06T16:32:00.002-06:00

Hmmm. Should I go with "Get Your Nest Made" and talk about phrases used by grandmothers and mothers? How about "Let the Bells Ring" since this shape reminds me of a bell, and then I'd segue into... well, I'm not sure what I'd segue into from there.

You know what this photo makes me think of every time I scroll past it on my phone? It makes me think of a National Geographic spread about those temples covered with vines, the ones in Cambodia (is that where?) that look as if they're carved into cliffsides and have been overgrown by giant trees. Ha! If you can understand that last sentence, you are either clairvoyant or similarly memory-challenged like myself. Let me see if I can find the name of that lost place and give you an interesting link or two. Be right back.

Aha. Found it, at least I think this is the place I was trying to recall. It's Angkor Wat, a lost city of Cambodia. Maybe it's the color of the wasp nest, or maybe it's the shape and openings, whatever it is, this wasp nest makes me think of grander things than stinging insects building their homes on my rose bushes. The almost shimmering gray paper is gorgeous, if you can look at it only for its texture and color. It makes me want to create with paper clay, except that I already know I won't achieve the same delicately smooth, papery look.

Hmmm. Now, I'm wondering whether or not it's cold enough that the wasps are out of their bell-like temple. Would it be fair, or prudent, to swipe their nest and use it in a creation? I'm guessing not so prudent, but the wondering does lead to inspiration, right? Inspiration, I got covered... just ask all the never-started and/or never-finished inspired ideas surrounding me!

So, that's my blogging bit for today. Lately, I find myself avoiding the basement "dungeon" (where the computer resides) in favor of reading or sitting outside in the late autumn sunshine. Anyway, I hope this finds you each well and happily enjoying your own sunshine (be it autumn or spring where you are)!

Rain or Shine, I Love This Tree

2011-11-03T19:18:00.002-05:00

It isn't a grand tree in size, not like the hedge apple tree you see in the distance. It's a rather small tree in comparison to others that have survived along the roadsides and in the fencerows here in the flatlands. It is, however, a grand tree. Every time I drive this particular road, which is many times each week, I slow down to marvel at the way this tree stands out against the backdrop of broad midwestern sky. Spring, summer, fall, winter... rain, shine, moonlight... this tree has a presence that I find captivating.

I don't know what kind of tree it is, except that I'm pretty sure it isn't a maple, oak, or fruit tree. Its leaves and bark are nothing showy, but there's something about its shape that draws your eye. The branches are lovely fingers reaching up into the wind on a late autumn day, and snow shadows stack prettily upon them in winter. Spring's new leaves create a tease, and summer's full regalia simply poofs out a brilliant shape.

I love this tree.

November in the Northern Hemisphere

2011-11-02T19:37:00.002-05:00

November.

Northern hemisphere.

Roses still blooming.

Probably not that unusual.

Still a little befuddling to the brain... and welcome to the eyes.

The Veil Draws Thin... and Where Have I Been?

2011-10-31T14:49:00.002-05:00

They say the veil between the worlds draws thin at this time of year. "They" being mostly a mix of all manner of Pagans and Christians who believe in the reality of the spirit world. Ghosts, haints, unsettled spirits, they try to reach us this time of year.
You know me, skeptic extraordinaire, fascinated nonetheless by any and all things spiritual and mysterious... and I think there must be a reason, so old it has been forgotten, behind the connection of ghosts and spirits with Halloween. All Hallow's Eve, All Saints' Day, all these things must surely have been recognized at this time of year for a reason. I imagine there are plenty of theories about this, so I'll just tell you about my quick Halloween afternoon ramble on the backroads.

It's a beautiful autumn day, sunny and crisp. I don't have a lot of time between work and time for the kids to be home from school, but there's some time. Today, I felt drawn to an old cemetery I'd seen on one of the backroads in our area. When I first drove by this old graveyard, it was a little scruffy looking. It has no gates, no drive, no signs (nor any "no trespassing" signs). It probably wasn't meant to be right off the side of a county road, but how could people in the mid to late 1800's predict where horseless carriage paths would emerge? The reason I point out the lack of a "no trespassing" sign is that I'm trying to justify intruding upon it without asking anyone whether it is public or private. It now appears that someone, whether an owner of the land or an employee of the county, has begun tending and cleaning it. I've wanted to stop and walk up into it many times. Every time I've driven slowly alongside it but not stopped.

Today, I picked the last of the marigolds growing in my hapless garden of weeds and tied them with a tiny slip of leather. I grabbed a pretty gourd from the basket my mom sent home with me, and I grabbed my keys... and took off straight toward that graveyard with the feeling that today was the day to step into it.

I've been thinking a bit about Halloween celebrations, trick-or-treating, fanciful witches and monsters and bats, and the secularization of Christmas. Wait, did I mean to type "Christmas"? Yes, I did, because I wonder why it is that no one laments the trivialization of Halloween the way we do the commercialization of Christmas. I will tell you that I am not a Christian, that I celebrate Christmas anyway because I love the family togetherness and traditions, and that (strange as it seems coming from me) I prefer Christmas hymns to Rudolph and Frosty. I'm starting to have the same type of feelings about Halloween. I don't think it's merely a candy-buying, fake-witch-t-shirt-wearing, monster-mashing kind of holiday. It's okay by me to have trick-0r-treating and fun and parties, but I feel the growing need to recognize more than the commercial part of the event, ya know? I'm not sure yet what that means, except that I'm thinking more today about the veil and whether or not this is the only time of year it can be lifted. I'm thinking about showing thanks and reverence to those who came before us, and not only at Thanksgiving or Memorial Day. I'm thinking about the goodness and kindness in the soul of the person who started what looks to be a reclamation of the place. I'm thinking about the four gravestones I saw lined up next to each other, each bearing the same name at the bottom of the writing (maybe a parent?). I didn't read the last one, but the first three were children. One was a baby, one a toddler, and one an eleven year old who died ten years after the baby and toddler. What was childhood like for that eleven year old? Did he or she expect to die young? Did he or she feel the presence of those siblings when this time of year came? Was anyone left in the family to pass along these stories? I wish I knew.

I left the marigolds and gourd with them.

Sasquatch Call

2011-10-30T19:02:00.002-05:00

Yep, that would be the self-proclaimed "Sasquatch Siblings" demonstrating their sasquatch call while on the trampoline. But, of course, I'm sure you all gathered all that information from the picture itself, right? Ha ha ha ha, it has been entertaining around here today!

After finishing their homework, the boy and girl decided to share the upstairs television while I was taking a nap, um, I mean, reading a book. I woke to strange shouts and serious discussion about what was happening on the show "Finding Bigfoot." Well, after listening long enough to discern that no one was getting scared, I strolled into the living room for a closer look. I promptly became hooked, just like them, even though my days of badly wanting to believe in Bigfoot are long gone.
Oh, you know I wanted to believe, way back when I was in fifth or sixth grade. James is in fifth grade, and Kate in fourth, so I guess their fascination is right on schedule. I also wanted to believe aliens and the Loch Ness monster were real. Wanted to believe, sure did. Really believed, not quite ever.
Still, despite the skeptic in me, I have to admit that I don't really know the truth about sasquatches, aliens, mysterious monsters, and other creatures who make the grade in Scooby Doo's world. Actually, maybe all the Scooby cartoons ending with the revelation that the bad guys were dressing up as the mythical monsters helped reinforce my budding skepticism when I was a kid. There's also the fact that if I'd really believed, then I would never have been able to sleep at night since I was already the biggest 'fraidy cat in the world!
So, which strange, mythical, outlandish creatures make the grade in your world? Which ones have you, or someone you know, seen? Which ones do you wish were real? Which ones are you convinced will be proven to be real? Which ones make you laugh and snort coffee out your nose when someone speaks seriously of them?
Me, I believe lots of people truly believe they've seen alien space craft, sasquatches, Loch Ness monsters, and such. I believe plenty of people truly believe in faeries and sprites and other friends of Tinkerbell. I believe I want to believe in some of them myself... and probably will continue to enjoy imagining their lives and their stories, even when half of my brain is insisting they cannot possibly exist in the real world. So, there. How's that for a definitive answer? I'd write some more, but everyone else is back upstairs watching the "Finding Bigfoot" marathon, and I'm afraid I'll miss something interesting if I don't join them for a while :)

Catch a Little Bit of Sunshine

2011-10-26T20:02:00.001-05:00

Catch a little bit of sunshine. Reach out, and grab it with your eyes. Fold it up, and stuff it into your pocket. Pull it out, and look at it whenever your day needs brightened.

Imagine This...

2011-10-24T19:52:00.002-05:00

It's one of those autumn nights when the air feels soft and wisps of clouds can be seen trailing the horizon. Bright stars lay strewn across the uppermost velvet reaches of the sky. The cats saunter towards you and settle on the ground at your feet.You take a deep breath, wrap your sweatshirt tighter around your body, and sink cross-legged into the grass. Someone walks quietly toward you and joins you. Whether or not you know this person in real life, you sense that your kindness and support are needed. You put your hand gently on the person's shoulder as you both take another deep breath and lean back to look at the sky. Contentment grows and dissolves some of the person's worries. You think you might try counting stars until you fall asleep, cradled by the soft grass, listening to the cricket chorus sing a slow lullaby.

You're almost asleep when you hear it.

It's the sound of raindrops on drying leaves, and you stretch out your open palm to catch a few. What lands in your hand is a tiny white feather. The person with you reaches out her hand and shimmering flakes of gold swirl and land on it. In the dim light, you can see falling purplish petals from the season's late blooming flowers. The feathery, sweet scented, magical downpour continues at a slow and steady pace. Somewhere from the heavens, you hear echoes of giggles and peals of laughter. You stretch your arms high into the air, catching more blessings, letting the ones that fall soak into the edges of your lives.

In the midst of the shower of good wishes and loving kindness, the other person rises, smiles, and turns to walk back to her path. You see her skipping happily as she reaches the edge of the yard, and you hear the mellow tinkling of bells in the distance.

Magical, magical... and somehow, you know the person's spirit has been lifted and she will feel your energy surrounding her as the earth keeps spinning toward a new day.

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I do this for a friend, for someone who simply asked for positive vibes to be sent into their world. Maybe you will join me, and I will extend my thoughts in your directions... and together, we will gather the starlight and distill it into kindness.

And She Said...

2011-10-21T14:44:00.002-05:00

And she said, "Hello, country bumpkin! How's the frost out on the pumpkin? I've seen some sights, and man, you're something. Where'd you come from, country bumpkin?"

Thank you, Cal Smith, for a song that pops into my head every fall with the first frost. (Oh, yeah, you really need to click on that link if you've ever liked country music!)

This morning's driving to work adventure involved a hunt for a patch of frost. It did have a few requirements, bright fall colors not being one. The most important requirement was that the patch of frost had to be somewhere near the little drive I trespass upon when I

want to stop and take a picture without feeling guilty about stopping on the side of a fairly narrow road. Shhhhhhhh, you don't have to tell everything you know, so please, feel free to ignore that word "trespass." At least it isn't someone's driveway :)

Frost, frost, frost! Too soon, too soon, too soon! Last time Mother Nature asked me my preferences, I made it quite clear that 50 to 65 degree weather, twenty-four hours per day, would be perfect. I don't know where She came up with the idea to spring winter upon us when it should still be fall. Hee hee, wonder how I could re-write that sentence so that it also included the word "summer"? Serious business, M.N., what are you planning? I've been doing my darndest to appreciate each day, each season, each peak, and each transition, but you are making my head spin! Not to mention, my fingers and toes are having a tough time adjusting to this chilly blast. There. I'm done complaining. You know what you're doing, and I'm sure you'll give me plenty of opportunity to observe and learn.

Oooooooooookay, allllriiiiiiighty, then. Guess it's time for Angie to rummage through the closet and find her gloves and a snug hat. The coat is already in the car, so hey, I'm getting prepared... bring it on, 'cause I love your seasons!

Clearly...

2011-10-19T20:27:00.001-05:00

Thursday morning sky, blurry picture, and clear thoughts about how life is a lot like the sky:

Every day is unique. The sun rises in a slightly different position, at a slightly different time. Clouds, temperatures, moisture, winds, and all combine to create different scenes in the sky. It's the same for each of us, too. We rise, knowing each day is a little bit different from the very beginning. Our thoughts, feelings, family and friends, pets, and all combine to create different situations in our world.

Each of us has our very own unique perspective. What you see as clouds to the north, I see as a storm brewing in the south. What you see as a passing event that doesn't affect you, I see as a big problem heading my way. Other days, you see rain, and I see the rainbows.

Dark clouds may obscure the view, but the stars and planets are always in the great sky. Daily details and small problems may blind us temporarily to possibilities and the grandness of life, but those miraculous things are always out there, waiting for us to enjoy.

Ah, but I know someone will think of this, so let's not forget that the star light we see from any given star may be tricking our brain. The light takes so long to travel to us that the star may actually have died before we ever see its light. Easy, peasy... the kindnesses you show to another person may have happened long, long ago, but the effects continue to shine in their life long afterward... or, the people we have loved in the past might have left our lives, but the love we felt still fills a space in our heart for as long as we live... or, you may have a dream that was very real but didn't seem to be coming true, until years later when the hard work you put into it finally produces results.

Obvious, I know, but I tend to forget. Trying to capture these thoughts and write them helps me remind myself, ya know? Sky therapy, yeah, that's what I'll call it. This morning when I stepped out the front door in search of a good picture to start the day, all I saw was those dark clouds on the horizon... until I remembered those 360 degrees and looked all around me. The faint light of the coming sunrise shone above those clouds. The half moon hung right over my head. Stars were still blinking in the western sky. It's all there. We just have to remind ourselves.

I Feel Winter Walking Slowly to Our Door

2011-10-17T13:28:00.002-05:00

In the quiet of a foggy Fall morning, I hear Winter's shuffling footsteps coming along the path to our door. Later in the afternoon, with the wind whipping out of the north and scattering clouds across the sky, I feel a tiny shiver and remember Winter's touch.

Yes, I know Autumn is still the biggest player in the room, but Winter is tiptoeing up to the corner and humming a soft and cozy song so we won't be completely startled when she does walk into the room.

I'm not sure why the exploding milkweed pod in the photo made me think of winter this morning, but it did. The sky was blanketed behind me, and the sun in front of me was shining on patches of fog. The car windows were down, letting the day ride with me to work. The greens of summer were still out in plenty of places, and the oranges and golds of fall were splashed all around me... and yet, I felt Winter.

I felt the call of that silly fluff of milkweed, too. This morning, I didn't stop to photograph it, thinking I'd surely see another on the rest of the drive. Nope, not a one caught my eye. So, on the way home from work, I backtracked and stopped to take the picture. Isn't that milkweed pod beautiful in a very primevel sort of way? The pod's rough texture seems such an incredible contrast to the angel hair fluff of seeds and fibers within it. In fact, I'm wondering how durable those fibers might be, as well as whether or not they'll still be attached to the pod when I drive by it tomorrow morning. Wouldn't those fibers make gorgeous hair for a paper clay face of Winter? Of course, that's most likely simply another idea that will never come to fruition, but hey, thinking up the ideas is the fun part!

On that note, I do believe I should head outside for a few minutes to commune with Autumn and her sounds and smells. Lately, it seems homework duty and other such everyday stuff leaves little time for sitting on the front step and noticing Nature's transitions... gotta change that a wee bit and not lose touch with the sensations of the outdoors, ya know? Have yourself a terrific rest of the evening (or beginning of Tuesday)! Ang

They Ate It...

2011-10-12T17:14:00.002-05:00

Isn't this too cute? The three little pigs in the pen at Rhodes Family Farm have a house of sticks, a house of bricks, and no wolf in sight. They are missing one thing, though. They don't have a house of straw. Seems they kept eating it!

Nature's Kiss

2011-10-11T06:19:00.003-05:00

Grass clinging to bare feet,

Dew outlining an intricate web,

Sunrise peering over the roof of the old barn...

Kisses from Nature, every one.

Nature, Nature,

Bless me again in some little way,

each and every day.

Blessings, I Have Them...

2011-10-06T17:23:00.003-05:00

Blessings, I have them... and they are called:

Ricky, James, and Katie

Mother, Pop, Soupie, and Bubby

Cousins

Classmates and childhood friends

Family friends and neighbors in Kentucky

Illinois friends

Garrens, Grays, and other family in far flung places :)

Words

Torch, glass, creativity, and fellow artists

Eyes, cameras, memories

I am grateful to the powers of the universe for allowing me the pleasure of experiencing all of the above, as well as the few hundred other things I'm sure I've forgotten to include!

I do hope you have a long list yourself, and I hope you continue to be blessed.

Have yourself a wonderful weekend!

Ang

Matagot

2011-10-05T20:12:00.002-05:00

Matagot.

"Magician Cat."

If well fed, treated to the first mouthful of food and drink at each meal, the black cat matagot brings wealth to the home. Who wouldn't like to have one of these living with their family?

Cats and Their Crones: Liam and Lucy

2011-10-04T20:18:00.002-05:00

Lucy.

She's my human.

I've loved her since the first full moon I can remember.

She walked down the middle of the moonlit country road in that cloak of hers.

I followed her.

Somehow, I knew she was the one who would keep me, cherish me, honor me.

Somehow, she knew I was the one who would become the living hem to her flowing cloak, the cuff to her ankle boots, the mantle to her heart.

Lucy didn't need to tell me her life story.

I knew it, surely as I knew she'd place a saucer of cream on her porch every evening.

To some, she seems an old woman.

To some, she seems little more than a slow gaited waft of fabric moving along the outer pathways of the village.

To me, she is the grandest personification of compassion and wisdom ever put on this earth by the gods.

Lucy wears that cloak from long habit.

Once, when she was young and not so fair as the other girls, she hid behind it.

Habit became her habit, for she is a nun married to solitude.

The years brought her self-acceptance and clearer vision when she looked in mirrors, but the cloak remained.

Only I know the depth of the nap of that velvety fabric.

Only I can see the creases of time and translate them into the paragraphs of knowledge gained.

I am Liam, and Lucy is my crone.

Must Have Been Looking for His Uptown Girl

2011-10-04T13:45:00.002-05:00

Here's yet another reason I like to take the backroads on my way to work in the mornings. Of course, the first reason has to be that I'm a Kentucky girl at heart and will always choose the backroads if given the chance. The next reason is that I can almost always score a cool picture along the way, even though I take the same roads Monday through Friday, August to May. I've seen an eagle standing in the shade of a tree alongside the road. His talons were practically on the chip-and-seal surface. Turkey vultures, Canada geese, herons, and blackbirds frequent the skies and fields along this route. Prairie grasses, weeds, and wildflowers fill the fencerows. It's a short drive, but it resets my mood to "happy to be alive."

This morning, I thought I'd stop and take a picture of some goldenrod. I did. Those pictures were better than this one, BUT this one is more interesting. See the fellow standing by the side of the road? That's not a dog, nor is it a stray cow or llama. It's a deer. I know they've gone from "plentiful" to "virtually a nuisance" in the past decades, but I still don't see them up close for more than a few seconds when they appear. Deer usually like to stand still and hope you ignore them. If that doesn't work, they bound away quickly and hide. This guy didn't seem to know the drill. I saw him running perpendicular to the road, passing between a fence and the outer row of a corn field. I could see his antlers very well from that vantage point, even in the flash of an eye. Still wishing I had been able to take a picture of him, I pulled over on the side of the road and took a few pictures of goldenrod. In a hurry to get to work early, I jumped back in the van, turned on the radio, and start to pull back onto the road... and plain as day in the filthy sideview mirror, there stood the buck some 30 or 40 yards behind me. He must be a Billy Joel fan, that's all I can figure. Instead of running back into the field, he trotted up the middle of the road as "Uptown Girl" played on my radio. I thought he was going to finally leap the fence, but he sauntered closer and stood quietly. Obviously, the buck likes KLOU 103.3 and Billy Joel. He didn't run until I looked at my watch and decided I had better get the van in gear and head to work. What an interesting start to the morning!

Obviously...

2011-10-03T15:23:00.002-05:00

Obviously, it's coffee time. That's "coffee time" as in Angie obviously needs some coffee or a Ski or something because she's having trouble thinking of ideas to write in that blog.

The kids will be stepping off the school bus in about fifteen minutes. I've had lunch, torched one sculpture that we hope turns out okay, fed the cats, and roamed the backyard for a short while.

I could start a project that's been incubating in my brain since yesterday afternoon, OR I could go to the kitchen and clean and fill the Bialetti and set it on the stovetop to brew me a cup of coffee.

Heh, heh. Wanna take votes on which I'll do?

Don't Even Know Why...

2011-10-02T15:56:00.003-05:00

Well, I do know why I like this photograph I took at Six Flags yesterday, but I don't even know why it seems a little cheesy or "off" or something to use it as the focus of my blog entry. Maybe, it feels funny because the whole setting around the Batman ride is meant to create a replica of the imaginary city of Gotham... too much fantastic fakeness brought to real life but in a trick-the-mind kind of way?
Eh, so what.
What I really like about this picture is the dappled sunlight on the druid's face. Um, if that is supposed to be a druid, I should say. I confess to having loved a few Michael Keaton and Val Kilmer portrayals of Batman, but I'm not very well versed in the details of the storylines as they appear in the comic books and become translated into movies. I just happened to think this guy and his twin who stood on the other side of the archway looked the way I imagine Druids would look if I designed the set of their world: serene, powerful, in possession of some sort of magical sword or weapon but not brandishing it, infused with the light of Nature.
I do love the way the simple but bold lines of this sculpture can evoke so much thought from me. I think that says a good deal about the people who have the fun of designing those scenery setups for the amusement park. Gorgeous work, Six Flags peeps!

On Second Thought

2011-10-01T09:45:00.002-05:00

I absolutely love country music, at least the older stuff and some of the newer stuff. I grew up listening to Johnny, Johnny, and Johnny (Cash, Paycheck, Rodriguez). I had George and Tammy in my veins, and Loretta sat on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. If you ask me, George Strait is certainly an acceptable bridge between older and newer music.

HOWEVER, in the interest of women everywhere, let me write a little note about George's song "Write This Down."

Dear George (or the songwriter or the character singing),

If you had just told her those things, then it would have been good. If you couldn't remember to do that until it was almost too late, then it would have been good to simply say "I'm sorry." Instead, dude, you did what to many men seem to find acceptable. You told her that she should write it down, make herself a note, do it herself if you forgot. Really, man? You can't be bothered to take the time to remember to appreciate her on a regular basis, so now you are putting on her shoulders the responsibility to remind herself that you love her?

Dude, now that I've reconsidered this song, I'm in the mood to write one myself, and it probably won't be any Lady Antebellum kinda sweet longing stuff... naw, I'm thinking more along the lines of something that would make Tammy, Loretta, and Jeannie C proud.

Sincerely,

Me (or any other woman who is having a little trouble translating Martian to Venusian lately)

Echoes Fell from the Temple Walls

2011-09-29T20:55:00.002-05:00

Echoes Fell from the Temple Walls

The blindingly bright sun at my back, I stood at the threshold. Like some Raider of emotional Covenants, I paused and listened for sounds of the past revelries, sounds of forgotten treasures growing more valuable every decade, sounds of the last breaths breathed within these walls finally being released to the outside.

When the sounds did not come, I forced my body into a paralysis of expectation. Still, the sounds of history could not be heard. Remembering all the books, all the legends, all the mythic attempts to create epics from fragments, I inhaled slowly the scent of possibility, held it to the count of an imaginary drum, and exhaled forward knowledge into the past.

At first, the rumble could only be felt, not heard. Then came the great roar of stones grating against one another and the microscopic crack of sunlight near the ceiling. Blinking ecstatically, I could barely hold my soul within my skin.

My eyes began to focus around the motes of dust sparkling in that glimmer of light, and my excitement imploded into itself to become a black hole of spiritual contentment.

There it was, and it was real to my mind.

It was the walkway to the inner sanctum, and it was charged with the energy of souls chanting offerings. I started to lift my foot and cross into it. Instead, I softly put down the foot and listened more closely to the words of the chant. Almost grasping an entire phrase here, catching a syllable there, I strained to tie them together and burn them into my memory. Hoping to make it all more real, I stooped to pick up a tiny stone and tossed it a few feet into the hallway of the temple...

... and the Present intervened as the echoes fell from the temple walls. My heart raced, my hand shook a tiny bit, and my feet remained at the edge of the threshold. Ah, but my ears had heard, and they recorded the message to the beat of the falling echoes:

Life is life,

Good is good,

Hold high your arms in gratitude.

That is where the replica was born. That is where the ideas have been toyed with and worn.

All Tends Toward Chaos...

2011-09-28T18:22:00.003-05:00

Isn't that one of the rules of physics? Everything moves toward chaos. I think it deserves some sort of mention in art, too, don't you? There's a lot to be said for fine workmanship-- its beauty, intricacy, polished assembly. There's even more to be said for the effects of the unraveling of such fine workmanship upon the eye and the imagination. When you drive by a well built barn, are you inspired to create a painting or snap more than a cursory photo? For me, I know that I tend to give a well built barn a nod of satisfaction and then move on, looking for something with more character to inspire a great photograph. That almost seems wrong, doesn't it? I value skilled workmanship and fine materials. However, I'm pretty sure they don't inspire me as much as skilled workmanship from another era and fine materials that have aged.

What's the draw of rust and faded wood? I believe it is the knowledge that many stories must have enfolded within the walls of a building old enough to be falling down from age. When I spotted the barn in this photograph, I wondered:

Who owned that farm when the barn was built?

Who cut the wood and took it to the sawmill?

Did that wood actually come from trees growing somewhere on the farm?

How much did it cost to buy the metal for the roof?

How many seasons of savings had to be gathered to build the barn?

Was there a barn-raising with neighbors bringing food and spending the day joking and laughing while they put up the frame?

What did the farmer wear? Overalls? Khakis? Whatever Sunday clothes had been worn to rags?

Did the farmer's wife keep chickens and a cow in that barn?

Who milked the cow?

Did the cow have a name, like Bessie or Ol' Bossie?

Were there barncats and hound dogs sleeping in the sunlit loft on winter afternoons?

What happened when the farmers got older and could no longer handle all of the daily chores?

Did someone move back home to help them run the farm?

Did those helpers attempt to slow the ravages of time, or did they just let it all slowly die?

Are there any antiques hidden in the corners of that barn?

Would anyone get mad if I parked the car on the bank of the road and walked into the barn?

See? Lots more to think about an old barn that's tending toward chaos, isn't there?

Get Low! Go Sumo!

2011-09-27T13:49:00.003-05:00

Don't ya love the battered and worn sumo wrestler for still being ready to take on the world? There were so many cool things to capture in photographs during our Sunday visit to the St. Louis City Museum (<--- one of the coolest places on earth, by the way). The sumo statue just begged for some attention of his own, though. I patted his topknot of hair as I walked by him. James and Kate were happy to pose with him, too.

How much do I know about sumo wrestlers? Not much. Do I still think I have to admire this one? Of course! Look at him. He's ready to take on his opponent, nothing between them other than a strip of strategically draped cloth and some steaming breath pouring from their nostrils. Raw intensity, that's what it is.

When you're ready to take on a challenge, get low, and go sumo! Bring the intensity. Bring all the weight you can carry. Keep it all low, and dare the challenge to knock you over... because low and heavy is not easily overturned.

Yeah, What If?

2011-09-25T20:03:00.000-05:00

I spotted this mural and quote on the wall of Beatnik Bob's inside the City Museum in St. Louis yesterday afternoon:

So, yeah, Rollo May (an existential psychologist of the twentieth century, by the way), what if imagination and art aren't merely the frosting on the cake of modern life?

You know, we'd still be talking about cake, dessert, optional extras besides the necessities of food and shelter. However, if we could allow ourselves think of imagination and art as "the fountainhead of human experience" without equivocation, then wouldn't the quality of our lives change for the better?

If we could allow ourselves to think of imagination and art as essential parts of emotional, intellectual, and spiritual growth, then instead of spending time explaining and rationalizing creativity, we could dive right in to the middle of the refreshing pool of art. If everyone could agree to agree those qualities are important for growth and general well-being of society, then we could spend less time arguing about the "why's" of budget cuts and more time figuring out reasonable solutions. After all, people eating is more important than people clapping for a performance... but acknowledging the arts do have an essential role in our life would go a long way toward healing a rift between the arts and the realities.

If we could all agree imagination and art are integral parts of learning, then all teachers would be encouraged to incorporate skills into as many subjects and problem-solving sessions as possible. How many times has imagination created a solution where we previously thought there was none? How many times have art and math entwined to create amazing landscapes and tools? Wouldn't it be great if we could all encourage our inner daVinci without fear of retribution for wasting time and resources fooling around with imagination?

Wouldn't it be great if we could all encourage one another to imagine, to create, to appreciate... and to do so without having anyone say we were ignoring the importance of realities like eating, working, and finding shelter for our families?

'Midst Lovely Autumn's Tears

2011-09-23T13:38:00.003-05:00

'Midst lovely autumn's tears, I will walk the path of restoration. I will scoot my feet along the seeding grass, kicking the colorful leaves of memories, looking for meanings and divinations like so many hidden acorns waiting for the squirrels. From autumn's front walkway, summer's abandoned list of needs is still apparent, and I will sort them as I saunter toward the porch. From autumn's creaking porch swing, winter's rest will beckon, and I will nod sleepily. Autumn will be a lazy afternoon of life, the napping and daydreaming afternoon we need between summers and winters. The balm of intermittent soft showers and faint golden sunlight heals our restlessness and soothes our spirit.

To the casual eye, Nature appears to be dying in autumn, but those who watch have seen the seeds being cast from the trees and plants. Autumn in really a time of rest and restoration of the soul, a time to review the growth of spring and summer, a time to prune and shelter that which must grow again come spring.

Rainy Day

2011-09-22T15:16:00.003-05:00

If I could slow down time, I'd stand by the little creek (ditch in the dry summertime) behind our house for an hour in the rain. I'd watch the patterns the raindrops make as they land on the surface, noticing how the rings merged and listening to the sounds as the drops fell through the leaves of the overhanging trees.

Raindrops.

I love the sounds and the sights and the scents.

Like the late Eddie Rabbit, I do love a rainy night. I love a rainy afternoon even more, though. The cozy sky and the sounds seeping into the house from the slightly opened windows make me feel both sleepy and energized at once. Maybe the sleepy part is really a calm contentment, but whatever it is, it sure is nice.

What a nice afternoon... hope yours was as nice and cozy!

Does Your Base Fit Your Being?

2011-09-20T21:58:00.002-05:00

How does your base fit your being? Were you raised in one way and now live in another, or does your base fit smoothly into the big picture of your life as it is now? Not that it's any of my business. I'm just fiddlefarting around with ideas as I try to decide which glass sculpture to pair with this piece of copper, once I actually decide what I'm doing to this piece of copper!
Spirals and repetitive borders speak to me in some materials, but the copper piece and the glass piece don't seem to be speaking to each other. Maybe, a different glass beadalina sculpture is the answer, but I'm not sure which one. Maybe, removing the nail polish and starting over on the design I want to etch is the answer, but I'm not sure about that, either. That's not the point of this post, though.
The point of this post is that I wonder how many of us feel as if the foundation of our personality, the base upon which it was built, is no longer a good fit with the person we have become? I wonder how many of us still value that foundation but feel we have grown beyond it, even out of it? You know, we feel our start in life was a solid one but that it somehow isn't big enough to hold up the meandering floor plan full of add-ons that is our personality now.
Well, I suspect this topic is way beyond being addressed in a single blog entry, so maybe I'll just leave it at this and coyly say, "It's food for thought."
Truth is, I'm sleepy, and the brain is not functioning full-tilt. It's more like my brain is wandering here, there, and everywhere, and still only moving in circles... interesting, intriguing circles, but circles, nonetheless :) Guess it's time for sleep. Maybe, I'll dream about writing the rest of this little essay! Good night, and sweet dreams to each of you!

Blessed

2011-09-19T19:40:00.002-05:00

Be Blessed with Peace in Your Heart

Quick! Look in the Mirror! Tell Us Something Good You See!

2011-09-18T18:03:00.002-05:00

Yeah, you. Go, look in the mirror, and tell us what you see. Don't tell us what you wish you saw or what you wish you didn't see. Pretend that's a friend looking back at you, instead of your own reflection. Wouldn't you tell a friend what you like about them? Well, of course, you would if you thought about it. So, make sure you treat yourself as kindly as you would a friend. Go on. Go look again. What do you see? Me, I look at this picture and see my sister and brother, blueblueblue eyes, shining streaks of gray, and lotsa freckles.

I also see things I wish I didn't see, but hey, that's a big part of the reason I'm writing this blog post about looking in the mirror. After snapping and deleting at least one dozen photos of my new short haircut, I felt fairly vain, particularly silly, and definitely warped by my expectations of other people's expectations. You know, as well as I know, that this picture captured a single moment that I found acceptable when I looked at it. The question is, why were all the others so unacceptable to me? I looked like that and that and that at those moments, so why weren't they suitable? Crazy, right? Right.

I'm not doing that to myself any more if I can help it. Of course, there will be pictures and reflections that make me cringe. That's life. But I don't have to mentally beat myself with the ugly stick every time, do I? No, I don't. It's ridiculous to frown at a reflection that obviously slept too few hours, as well as with her face crammed into a wedge on top of the pillow for those short hours. So, what if I look older every time I wake up? Does that make me any less happy about still being on the planet? Sometimes it does, but it sure as hell shouldn't! I'm not a girly girl. I take pride in having earned those gray hairs, take satisfaction in knowing those crinkles around my eyes have come with time. So, why in the world do I ever need to experience another truly unhappy moment when I look in the mirror? Oh, there can be moments of dissatisfaction, moments of annoyance, moments of regret, but they should only be moments... not big enough to undermine my self-confidence, not traceable enough to shake my self-image. I am who I am. That "am" ain't a supermodel, doesn't have legs that can be shown in shorts, needs to exercise and make her body stronger, but she's okay. Your "am" is okay, too, and don't you forget it!

Have you ever compared yourself to others and found yourself lacking? Don't do it again. Whatever her name is, she is not perfect. Chances are, she is comparing herself to someone else at the same time you are disparaging yourself for not being like her. Is either of you any better off for having those feelings of inadequacy? Nope.

For a great deal of my adult life, I lived in the shadow of a fabulously pretty woman who'd been the girlfriend of my ex and then of my husband. Um, yeah. That was an interesting twist in all our lives. What sucks about it, though, is that I didn't yet have this "I am who I am" knowledge. You wouldn't believe how many times I felt overwhelmed by my imagined importance of someone else's memory of someone who was no longer an intimate part of their lives... sheesh, I can't even reread that sentence without rolling my eyes, let alone understand how I could have let my brain do that to me for so many years! Pfffffft. She was beautiful. What did that really have to do with my life? I thought I caught a glimpse of her in another aisle of a store one day not long ago. I think the "pfffffft... so effing what" and the simultaneous shoulder shrug that I did at that moment says a lot about the change in my level of self-comfort as the years have passed. Good luck and best wishes to her. May she be as comfortable in her own skin as I am becoming. A few years ago, I'll admit that I would have wished to bless her with a few extra wrinkles for good measure, but you know what? Now, I just want every one of us to be happy with ourselves and show one another kindness when we can.

Once you come to this point, you realize it's your duty to try to spread the wisdom, share the knowledge, impart a little loving kindness to those who haven't yet seen the light. Time is key here. No one can rush time, and no one can make experience accumulate more quickly for themselves or anyone else... but if reading about the light sheds a little bit of it upon someone and brings her closer to being able to see it, then I'll write this as often as possible, in as many ways as possible :)

Project of the Week: Her Name Is Breaking Free

2011-09-14T15:05:00.005-05:00

Her name is Breaking Free, and she is the project of the week. Let's call anything less than fourteen days a "week," okay? Funny, how time flies once school starts! All of a sudden, kiddos have bedtimes and early mornings, homework and football practice, and dress codes and mealtimes. Heehee, the dress codes reference means that laundry becomes a priority because certain clothing favorites "need" to be washed in time to wear to school. Football practices and homework and mealtimes have to work in and around one another. Life is a little less laidback once school starts and Mom goes back to work, ya know?

This school year brought a surprise for my work schedule, though. My work day ends at 12:30, so I have three hours for torching, running errands, etc., before the kids arrive after their school day. So far, as anyone who's ever had the opportunity to be the stay-at-home parent could predict, little errands and crises have claimed lots of those afternoons. Ah, but I have gotten to torch some, too, and it has been wonderful! I finally reorganized my desk and indoor crafts, to boot, and that is starting to make a difference. (By the way, thanks for all the not-so-innocent nudging from my less packrat-y friends... you should be proud.)

Wow, Three Years Since This Pic

2011-08-17T17:31:00.002-05:00

There I was, looking for a pic already loaded on my computer, hoping to do a quick little blog post before we head to the Open House at school tonight... and wowee, how time does fly! James will start fifth grade tomorrow, and Kate will start fourth grade.

They are still cute as they can be, but they've started getting the pre-teen look about them.

**sigh**

The old people were right... time flies, doesn't it?

Keep 'em? or Chuck 'em?

2011-08-16T08:42:00.002-05:00

Should I keep 'em? Think I'll run into trouble at school if I'm the teacher aide with smiley faces drawn on the cap of her chucks? I'm thinking about doing that, you know...

I already have another pair of new shoes for work, so do I really need these?

Ha, ha, ha!

Does the world need peace?

Does chocolate taste good with peanut butter?

Does the sun rise in the east and set in the west?

Yes... well, maybe not "need."

Yes... of course.

Yes... oh, man, nothing better!

and Yes... without a doubt.

Chucks, it is.

I'll have to let you know about the smiley faces on the toes, though :)

Run Away and Join the Carnival?

2011-08-15T11:03:00.002-05:00

No, I don't really want to run away and join the carnival... but I wouldn't mind if the people who made these rides were local and needed an apprentice in the paint shop! Look at the colors! Look at the gorgeously gaudy lights and designs!

By the way, this Sphinx boat ride had the kids squealing with delight because the boat almost stood on end at the top of its swing. Katie told me she could feel herself being lifted off the seat. Our friend Eileen, who stayed on the ground with the rest of us grownups, told me she saw Katie being lifted off her seat. I wouldn't know. I had to stop watching. It was either that, or have a panic attack because Kate was on one end seat and James was on the other end seat. Yep. Swing to the right, and mom alerts are on danger overload. Swing to the left, danger overload again.

You know I've been lazy with cameras for the past year. It's sooooo convenient to simply use the camera on my phone. There is the little problem of the pause between touching the button and the shutter releasing, though. This was the best pic of the dragon rollercoaster on the move. Oh, what a spectacular, splendiferous sight was that dragon and its pagoda!

Finally, here is a midway shot of the Himalaya carnival ride. Take the colors in these images, multiply them exponentially by 47, and you'll have an idea of how lovely the colors were at dusk at the St. Clair County Fair last Friday night.
Ahhhhh... sigh... Wouldn't it be fun to help build and decorate all those rides?

What? Doesn't Everyone...

2011-08-11T11:26:00.002-05:00

What? Doesn't everyone have an oxygen tank cap and a brass Ganesh on their work table? If you melt glass, you just might have both of those. It just struck me as funny when I set the Ganesh on the table this morning. Not funny ha-ha funny, more like it struck me as unusual funny at the time.

I imagine all of us have our good luck charms and routines in our lives. Artists, especially, seem inclined to work a little inspiration voodoo dance magic whenever we set out to create, don't we? Creating things is a funny business, you know. We want to say we do it from our hearts, that we create because of the need we feel to do so. That's true, but it's also true that creative muses can be finicky, and the reality of making things is that you have to work. You can't just sit at your table and watch the fairies and good luck charms wave their magic wands to "poof" your art into existence. It's more like the good luck charms and fairies and whatever other muses you can conjure are there for moral support, there to cheer on each step until you build momentum and keep going.

Now, you may scoff at good luck charms, especially if you are a natural skeptic such as I am. It's also possible that you may believe that fairies literally do exist. I'm here to tell you that both perspectives have some weight. My way of including both the mystical and the skeptical in my life is to merge the two. You know what I believe about those fairies and magic elves in the workshop? I believe that thinking and dreaming about them is a way of giving my mind permission to explore ideas that it would otherwise shun. I think imagining the life of the fairies opens doors to other creative worlds. I think delving into the stories of deities and good luck charms opens mental windows and lets inspiration breezes blow across my work.

I think setting Ganesh, the Remover of Obstacles, on my work table this morning before I lit the torch opened a closet of confidence and patience... I tried those on for a while, and they fit well while I was torching. Very nice, very nice, indeed.

What about you? Have any good luck charms or rituals you don't mind sharing? I don't know about you, but I love to hear other people's thoughts about these things :)

Bless the Possibilities Each Day Brings

2011-08-08T07:54:00.002-05:00

Treat Yourself Kindly Today

2011-08-04T08:26:00.002-05:00

What Caught Your Eye Today?

2011-08-02T08:09:00.003-05:00

What caught your eye today? Did you pause to admire it, observe it closely, experience it? It's easier said than done, this pausing. There's little time for it when you're grabbing the mail, downing the last sip of coffee, trying to find your keys, and jumping into the car to head to work. When it's still summer, the kids and I don't have to do the early morning rush to school... and I am lucky enough to be able to pause and look more closely when something catches my eye. I hope I can remember to do it occasionally once we're back into the school routine (them to their school, me to mine for work). Despite the rush, despite the anxiety of wondering whether you'll beat the bell if you have to turn around and go back to the house because someone forgot their glasses or you noticed your shoes don't match, despite the stresses of modern living, it does us all good to pause to gaze at the world around us.

It's funny how times have changed since I was a kid. I don't remember my mother ever catching grief from other people because she was a stay at home mom, but I can attest to the guilt and grief that can accompany it nowadays... see how I felt compelled to mention it before I continue with the "pause when you can" message? Anyway, that brings me to another conclusion. People can be in the stressed out phase or in the pause-and-enjoy phase at any given time. It's not just that there are two types of people (with apologies to the Type A and Type B personality theory), it's that each of us has the potential to be in either phase. We don't have to confine ourselves to one mode all the time. The laidback Type B can step it up, and the perpetually stressed Type A can relax... it's all a matter of timing and opportunity and remembering it's possible.

To that end, I figure sharing what you see when you pause is bound to be a good deed. It opens up the view to people in the rushed phase. If only for a few seconds, it reminds them sunlight changes its hue from season to season and apples aren't just crayon red. It captures and pares down a scene into smaller vignettes that can be easily consumed. It's sort of like making life vitamins to supplement busy schedules. So, open up. Here are some vitamins to pop when you have the chance:

Summer sunlight floods our front window in the morning hours. This house has a lovely triple window in the dining room. It is uncovered, except for the small light-blocking shade the former owners installed to cover the middle panel when the sun is beaming in the morning. Sometimes, even I pull the shade. Ah, but it is amazing to see the sun bathe whatever is on the table. The pinks and reds and pale yellows in the apple skins were glowing this morning. As I walked by the table, coffee in hand, I couldn't help but stop and look at the shadows and highlights on the plump apples. James thought these Cripps Pink apples looked so delicious that he reached back into the bin at the store and grabbed an extra one to buy.

Venturing into the jungle that started the summer as a garden, I found the first gourd among the buttery yellow blooms and light green, fuzzy leaves. Faint light yellow lines run vertically on the deeper yellow body of the pear shaped gourd, and a tiny green hat tops it off.

The watermelon vines are wandering all over the garden jungle. There have been many small yellow blooms, but I still haven't spotted a watermelon. While I was contemplating whether it's too late for those watermelons to start growing, I glanced down to find a big fat snake snoozing on the landscaping pebbles. He was about two feet long and an inch or so in diameter. Talk about pausing... I think my almost bare in flipflops feet froze and my heart stopped. (Oh, and now the vicious cycle circles more strongly. The garden is too overgrown with grass and weeds, so I'm scared to get in there and pull stuff out because there might be a snake waiting for me. Since I haven't pulled all that stuff out, now there's really a snake enjoying living in the garden. Ack!)

Breakfast: Cooked an egg in a little bit of pepper and butter, covered it with the leftover red peppers and onion and mushroom from last night, and sprinkled it with shredded parmesan cheese. Let it all bubble. Put it on asiago cheese bread toast with mayo and a slice of tomato. Eating it with a fork because it slides hopelessly side to side if you try to pick it up.

That's all from me today. Hope your day is filled with little opportunities to pause :)

Woof! Don't Let a Bad Mood Dog Ya!

2011-08-01T07:59:00.002-05:00

Woof, baby!

Don't let a bad mood dog ya, not like I did yesterday. Ugh. Did you ever see a puppy dog who lost his Frisbee and had his best chew toy stolen by a smaller dog? Well, I don't know exactly what the Frisbee and the chew toy are, metaphorically speaking, but I am pretty sure my facial expression was similar to a puppy dog's on a day like that. There wasn't much reason for me to be grumpy. In fact, if I start rehashing the gripes, they'll probably grow and take over today, too. So, let's not do that.

Let's move on to a fresh start. Hey, it is a new morning, after all. One good thing that can be said about mornings is that you can almost always convince your mind it has a fresh start. Fresh, new, and filled with opportunity, fresh starts are good:

writing your name on the first page of a new notebook

lacing the strings on a new pair of shoes

pulling open the spout on a new carton of orange juice

breaking the vacuum seal and smelling the scent of a new bag of dark roasted coffee beans

sticking the key in the ignition of a new car for the first time

mowing the grass for the first time in the spring

making the first mark on a squeaky clean whiteboard

Well, the list will keep growing as the day progresses, because I'm going to will myself to think in terms of "new" and "fresh." This reminds me, why do little boys like to wear the same pair of socks until they are crunchy? Don't they recognize the good feeling of pulling sweet smelling clean socks onto your feet?

See, look at that. "Fresh" doesn't even have to be brand-spanking "new" to be good. Renewal is often even better than the first-"new"-al. The first time you do something, you can't compare it with anything else. Remember your very first day of school? It was exciting, wasn't it? I remember waiting for the bus on the wrong day, by the way. After about an hour of my mother telling me to quit waving and making weird chopping gestures at passing cars, we figured out it was the teachers' first day! Anyway, the point is that I was so excited and ready for school, but I had no idea how that feeling would compare to other back-to-school days. Each year, there would be friends and fun and challenges awaiting... and I could compare those exciting new things to last year. By the end of any school year, you're ready to move on to the next year, even if it's a little scary. The sense of renewal floods your mind, doesn't it?

This year, I will make hundreds on all my spelling tests!

This year, I will lay my clothes out the night before and not rush so much in the morning!

This year, I know I can finish my projects early!

Hee hee, it's catching, isn't it? The joyous sense of renewal is hard to ignore, once you start thinking about it. You can limit yourself to New Year's Day, and the start of school if you have kids or work in a school system... or you can choose to have that feeling 365 days of the year.

Hmmm. One or 2 versus 365? I think I'm opting for 365! Happy Fresh Start, Everyone!

Took a Cornfield in the Flatlands to Put It into Perspective

2011-07-30T15:54:00.005-05:00

WOW.

Talk about perspective.

Would you look at that? If you wanted to sketch this scene, it would only be a matter of triangles and straight lines... well, not quite that simple, but you get the idea. The thing is, I've looked at perspective lines drawn in a book and never been able to wrap my brain around them. Oh, I understand, but it doesn't come naturally to me. Wonder if there's such a thing as a geometric handicap? If there is, then my brain has it.

Funny, after all these years, it's funny to have the light-bulb moment while driving down a back road, smelling the corn, feeling the wind whip through the windows. You never know when those moments are going to find you :)

As Far As the Cats Are Concerned...

2011-07-29T10:12:00.002-05:00

As far as the cats are concerned, school can start any time, the sooner the better. Hey, school in session beats being coerced into playing poker with the 9 year old cat whisperer!

Kate is the cat whisperer at our house. She can tell you that Moochie prefers to be scratched just to the side of her chin, while Momo and Shadow prefer to be scratched directly under the center of their chins. She knows that Moochie and Shadow had a stare-down yesterday but seem to be "talking" to one another more and more. She knows that Shadow rarely lifts his paw in response to Momo's hissing and smacking.

What she can't do is make the cats play poker with her... not that she didn't put in a valiant effort this morning.

Moochie flattened her ears back, waited for her chance, and then ran away. This is the cat who used to let a much smaller, but just as determined, Kate hold her under the armpits and carry her over huge shin-deep puddles in the low areas of the backyard, tail almost skimming the water. Um, yeah. Mooch was not in the mood to play poker.

As you can see from the picture, Shadow wasn't in the mood to try his luck at card games, either.

Momo rolled her head over onto the cards, walked away, and then tolerated a second approach from Kate and the cards. I believe this toleration was actually snoozing in disguise, but we don't have to tell Kate, okay?

That's the excitement in our world today.

Hope your Friday is just as blissfully mundane :)

Moochie

Goddess, Keep Me

2011-07-28T07:54:00.005-05:00

Goddess, Keep Me

Goddess, keep me:

Connected to the Universe

Out of trouble

Loved

Loving

A part of my family, even when we are apart

In harmony with Nature

In the hearts of friends near and far

Safe

At peace

Open to the wonders of change

Out of the eye of the storm

Hovering near the edge

Singing along at the top of my lungs

Free

Bound to the reality that we are all one

Slowly, Guys, Slowly

2011-07-27T08:28:00.004-05:00

Working without wrapping the glass around a mandrel (stainless steel rod) does not come naturally to me.

I suck at it, to be blunt.

I'm trying it again.

Any time I try something new, I work so slowly and tentatively that it seems I'll never make progress.

Procrastination and hedging are definitely tied up with lack of confidence and uncertainty of outcome.

That is all.

Rules? There Are Rules?

2011-07-26T09:49:00.004-05:00

Wait. You mean to tell me there are rules for creating? Oh, I know, I know. There are rules for creating everything. We also call these "rules" by other names which are less annoying to anarchists-- instructions, guides, timesavers, helpful hints. Despite the title of this post, I do appreciate these rules. Otherwise, I wouldn't have a clue about using a file to smooth the edges of a piece of copper pipe I've cut apart and flattened between an old sledge hammer and another hammer. Rules are useful guidelines, especially once you realize why someone bothered to write down the rules in the first place.

Ever think about that? Rules for creating get written or passed on by word of mouth because someone experimented and discovered information they wanted to remember and share. Thank you to any person who has ever done this. You are appreciated for your knowledge and generosity.

Yes, rules are invaluable to artists. Rules pinpoint a place to start your process, whether it is melting glass or etching copper or any other artistic endeavor. Life experience, school, books, and online information all give us the base upon which to build our creations. For instance, my newest art adventure involves trying to shape and patina copper to use with my glass sculptures. As usual, I'm a year or so behind trends, and lots of people I "know" from the glass world have already mastered this copper art.

C'est la Angie's vie... like I said, I'm almost always at the back of the curve of new trends. The back of the curve is most likely where I'll stay this time, too. I like to use the internet and occasionally purchase a book to learn some basic information. From that point, I start stumbling in the dark and experimenting on my own. This technique? Fail. Another technique? A tiny bit of success, then another fail. Technique number 3 (or 4, or 57)? Fail, then a success, if I'm lucky. Can I repeat that success once it's been achieved? Ha ha ha! Heck, no, because by that time, I've forgotten I got to that point.

Ah, but there is a good thing about this stumbling. Eventually, I make something I like. Even though it won't be what I pictured in my mind when I started my quest, I will have gained a bunch of experience and will have the fun of putting the piece into a bigger project. That is what will happen with this less-than-perfect, but still appealing, piece of copper pipe in the picture.

P.S. The "rule" I bent with this pendant involves using a pencil to trace over the swirl and stick figure etchings to make them standout more. Then I sprayed it again with the clear acrylic paint.

P.P.S. Here are some of the links I found while experimenting. They may, or may not, be useful for what you want to do. At least, they'll be a starting point if you're interested in dabbling:

http://basiccopper.com/wowicoinarcr.html

http://www.sciencecompany.com/patinas/patinaformulas.htm

http://www.fxl.com/architects/patina.htm

Also, try googling Instructables plus copper etching... sorry, can't get link to copy.

Rain on a Parade... It's All Good :)

2011-07-25T10:14:00.002-05:00

Well, yeah, rain on a parade is not always a bad thing, especially when the temperatures and humidity have been hovering at the tops of their ranges. Not sure why I bothered with the umbrella, except to attempt to keep a friend's 3 year old kiddo sort of dry and to try to keep from soaking my phone and tiny purse/phone bag. Needless to say, keeping the 3 year old "sort of dry" ended in failure, much to his delight. As for the phone, I probably should've left it in the van for all the picture-taking good it did. Ever try to hold an umbrella, corral a kid intent on grabbing parade candy and beads, and take pictures with a smart phone? Go ahead, laugh, it was pretty funny :)

My attention span for writing is about to expire this morning, so I may just leave you with that glimpse of yesterday. It was a fun day, despite, or maybe because of, the rain on the parade! So, go on out there into the big wide world! Have fun, no matter what! Give Monday a high five, and slap the Week on the rear! Go, team!

Burning Wishes

2011-07-23T08:01:00.002-05:00

"Qualities associated with fire such as purification, strength, and life are also associated with ash. Burning is seen in many cultures as simply changing the physical state of matter, not as the destruction of the more spiritual qualities of that matter." from The ABC of Magic Charms by Elizabeth Pepper

Do you have a burning wish, a wish that blazes in your heart, a wish that shoots flames of inspiration throughout your soul?

Transform it.

Write it on paper.

Burn it.

See it written in ash floating on the wind.

It will land.

It will come back to you transformed... if you are standing where it lands.

But you cannot catch it by standing in the same place you were when you watched it turn into ash. No, you must keep moving, following, finding, if you wish to be there when it lands.

Moral of the story:

You make wishes come true when you grow towards the outcome you seek.

Nature's Bag o' Tricks

2011-07-22T08:23:00.003-05:00

It's a cicada of some sort, right? I can't begin to tell you which one, since they belong to the Order Hemiptera which includes about 82,000 species in the world. What kid hasn't ever found the empty shells of these critters and been fascinated by the creepy, almost clear, exoskeleton clinging to a tree? I remember collecting as many as I could one summer day, and that is most likely an amalgam of a bunch of similar summer expeditions rolled into one memory.

This particular one was stranded on the patio this morning, so top heavy that it couldn't hold itself right side even when I flipped it over onto its legs. One morning this week, I gave up on the flipping and finally tossed one of his relatives into the air. Its wings began beating on the downfall, and it flew away. This one didn't fly when it was tossed, so it posed for a picture.

Actually, the posing for the picture lasted a few seconds, but the posing for admiration of its markings lasted a bit longer. Aren't those colors and designs terrifically terrifying in their insect way? Decidedly beautiful in their boldness, don't you think? But, then, it is true that my eyes have rarely lighted on any object done up in blues and greens and not been delighted!

Wouldn't this make a wonderful mask? Wouldn't those wide, wide, wide set eyes
exude a strangely mesmerizing power?

You know what I like to do? I like to look at a creature like this, take mental notes about its details, and try to figure out on my own the "why" behind those details. Nature has a big bag of tricks for all, and it's fun to speculate. For instance, take these extremely wide set eyes and bulky body. If you couldn't judge the size of its wings while it was in flight, if you could only see those eyes, wouldn't you think it is much bigger all over than it is in reality? What about that design on his back? Are those blunted cone shapes a camouflage trick, or are they a signal of some sort? Is there even such a thing as a visual Morse code for insects? Why transparent for the wings in this one, instead of tiny panes of color? Hmmmm.

There ya go, Nature's Bag o' Tricks, with the drawstring loosened... go ahead, open it up more, and peek inside :)

Nalar

2011-07-21T08:05:00.002-05:00

Na + lar = Nalar

Ancient + Shine= Nalar

Nalar, am I.

Oh, the ancient part is not literally true, mind you. Though, I must admit there might be a smidgeon of truth to the idea that there is something "ancient" about me. If you could only hear me now, you'd know I am chuckling at that. La-la-ha-haha-la! Of course, this chuckling throws people off the Elvin trail, don't you know. Elves are supposed to have such light, clear, singsong-y laughter, something on the order of windchimes and tiny bells. My laughter is more of the bongo drumming variety, I've been told.

Ah, but back to this talk of ancient ones. They do live within me, same as yours find their way through the blood and into your deepest thoughts. It's all a matter of listening for them, don't you think?

Maybe, and I'm only saying maybe, our task in life is to learn to listen for their voices, to learn to see with their sight. For bumblebees' sake, don't you start running around with a club and trying to catch a dinosaur! La-la-ha-haha-la! What I meant is to listen for the hum of life, to look for the messages of time written on nature's walls. I can help you, if you like.

Go ahead, pick me up from where I'm planted. Lift me to your own sweet eye. Look out at the world through me. Yes, my dear, look at the world through me.

Masks have a power, have you heard? Shhhhh, I'll tell you the secret. Masks give you permission to be inside a different part of your soul, don't you know. All those places the world has told you aren't real or practical or necessary are exactly the places you will see when you let yourself be me. La-la-ha-haha-la!

Ah, and when you do it, when you let yourself see, then you will know the "shine" part of my name, don't you know. You will understand, and the light will shine even brighter from within your own eyes.

Laughter and sparkles until we meet,

Nalar
*****************

P.S. You can generate your very own Elvin name here.
P.P.S. Sorry for the blurry pic. Just wanted to show you Miss Nalar's size. She's basically a giant glass headpin, since I made her directly on the stainless steel mandrel (instead of using bead release so she could be removed from the mandrel).

Ha ha ha ha... But Not in My Yard

2011-07-20T18:41:00.002-05:00

Once upon a time, long, long ago, I was indeed a yard snob who looked down upon such cutesy concrete culture.

I'm not anymore, not really... except to say that Marilyn/MissPiggy/BLWiT-escapee is too much, even for me.

But... but... isn't she great??

everythingBUTtheKITCHENsink-cakes!

2011-07-19T13:11:00.002-05:00

Well, maybe, these pancakes didn't have that much stuff in them. After all, I look at the counters in the kitchen and still see things on them, so the search for ingredients wasn't a complete clean sweep :)

Actually, I've been trying to get back into the habit of eating more good food than junky food, but pancakes were calling my name. Loudly. They were calling my fruit/veggie/meat-eating name, and my tummy was echoing their cry!

Good food was starting to establish itself as king of the cupboard for a bit there, but cakey sweets were sabotaging the regime. Once again, the phrase "moderation is the key" crops up in my life. Cold turkey is fine... on toast... with mayo and pickles... but it's not the best way to change the eating habits of a person like me. Soooo, time to balance the not-so-great aspects of pancakes with lots of good-for-you ingredients. Today's tasty try: pancakes with fresh blueberries, walnut chips, and enough cinnamon to turn them brown.

What about you? Like pancakes? Favorite recipes? Throw it all in here :)

Meow-me-mowwww, Meow, and MEOW*

2011-07-16T17:22:00.004-05:00

* Shadow, here. Please, allow me to translate those meows in the title. It won't take long, as the message is fairly short:

"Meow-me-mowwww" means "I snub you and your silly grasshopper/chairhopper chairs you posted about in this silly bloggiethingie, Human."

"Meow" means "*I* am the cat, and *you* shall adore me."

"MEOW" means "I read what you said, and I haven't seen those sardines yet, so what are you waiting for??"

*******************************************************************************

Ang, here. That silly Shadow cat... I could almost see the wheels turning in his brain when I was taking this picture. Happy Saturday (aka Caturday) to each of you! We've had a wonderful start to our weekend. Our niece Heather spent yesterday and part of today with us, and now the kids each have a friend over to play for a while. The cats are snoozing on the patio. Shadow seems to relish the spot on top of the wooden spool table I put on the patio the other day, by the way :) I'm getting ready to read and/or maybe set up that copper etching dealio I saw online. Life is good, huh?

Invasion of the ChairHoppers

2011-07-15T11:16:00.004-05:00

By day, they're ordinary (and extraordinarily comfortable) lounge chairs. By night, they become... CHAIRHOPPERS.

By the way, no, I do not do drugs. I'm naturally weirdly imaginative and fear the things I might see if I were to dabble in mind altering substances. There. I knew someone would be wondering.

Back to the chairhoppers on the patio, let me just say upfront that I do love our cats very much. What I don't love so much is their propensity to knead and scratch without first seeking approval of which things to scratch. So, I decided to fold up the chairs at night, which is when the people-plus-cats patio turns into the cats-rule-people-drool-io. Well, no big deal for the felines, they simply plopped themselves on top of the folded chairs. So, I tried again. I folded the chairs partially shut, thinking nary a purrfactory would bother trying to get comfy in one of those. Think again, catmama. Sooooooooooooo, one more time I tried, and with that, I give you the chairhoppers with their backs too slanted for sleeping and their folds too narrow for nesting.

I'm sure I'll pay for this.

I saw them eyeing me.

Ummmm, okay, that's enough blogging for me today since I have to get busy with the to-do list. You know the list, the one that begins with "purchase several cans of sardines, serve said cans to cats, keep fingers crossed that peace has been made."

Head North? Go Swimming? Bend a Bow & Arrow?

2011-07-14T07:04:00.004-05:00

Weren't we just talking about clouds the other day?

Look, here's another message in the sky.

What does it say?

Your guess is as good as mine.

God, Spirit, Eternal Flow of the Universe... this force is constantly sending us messages in one form or another. What we have to learn to do is recognize and translate the daily messages so that we can use them.

You see, your guess is as good as mine about each message because we each have to do our own translating. You might figure that's an arrow in the sky in the picture above, giving you a sign to continue progressing forward. I might think it also looks like a swimmer, contently stroking through the water on their back. Someone else might see an arm pulling back a bow, reminding them to keep their eye on the target.

May you be blessed with open eyes and compassion for yourself and others as you make your way through today and its messages.

Evens or Odds?

2011-07-12T07:41:00.003-05:00

Which do you like? Evens, or odds?

If we're talking composition and creating, then it's odds for me. Odd numbers please my eyes, and I assumed this was true for Nature, too. Odd numbers give you one for the middle and two for sides. Yeah, even numbers give you balance, but odd number arrangements have a weighted center plus the balance. So, what up, Nature? What made you put four petals on this gourd bloom?

All of you who actually possess "green thumbs" are most likely rolling your eyes at me right now. I deserve it, too. Really. Why have I not paid attention to how many petals are in different blooms? I think the answer is just what I said above-- I assumed Nature made blooms with odd number arrangements.

Quick. Draw a flower on your paper.

How many petals does your flower have?
(Hey, leave me a comment with the answer. I'm seriously wondering about this!)

So, I can only guess what you all drew, but I can tell you what happens when I doodle a flower. Unless I am trying to make a mandala of sorts, the flower I draw will have five petals. Ahhh, shoot. Now, I just realized I do use even numbers when I draw flowers with more than one ring of petals. That's where the "mandala of sorts" comes into play. I start with four petals, one for each of the cardinal directions, and finish with more to fill in the spaces, just like a compass rose. Holy cow. I just blew my own theory about odd numbers right out of the water. Compass rose?? That name for the symbol on maps has been around for ages... and why would someone compare it to a flower if it didn't have some basic characteristics of a flower.

Alright. That's it. Thought myself into circles trying to write this one... think I best go get Tuesday rolling :)

Introspection, Direction, and Cloud Collection

2011-07-11T08:56:00.002-05:00

If you lie back on the patio and point your camera straight up into the sky, this is what you see here today. The railing in the corner of the picture is on the upper deck, the place our kids aptly named "the sky deck" when we moved here. Considering all the photos I snap of sunrises, sunsets, and clouds, you might expect the sky deck to be my favorite spot, but it isn't.

My favorite spot is the concrete patio beneath the sky deck. Our funky tri-level is on a hill, so the lower level opens onto a broad concrete patio, part of which is covered by the sky deck. It's a flexible place, too. Want shade or protection from lightning? Sit under the sky deck. Want some sun or wind or rain on your face? Scoot out to the edges. Want to step into the grass with your bare feet? There it is, waiting for your touch.

So, that's my place for introspection. Thinking never gets crossed off my to-do list, even though actual application and follow-thru of those thoughts can linger indefinitely on the list before being checked off as done. This summer seems to be especially high on the introspection list... and that leads right into the "direction" part of my title. Direction. I don't seem to have it artistically. Practicing patience may have been my goal while waiting for my studio setup, but in fact, it may have been more of an excuse than anything. Oh, sure, the torch table wasn't put together for a very long time, but would I have used it much anyway? Not too sure. Since Ricky put it together sans fan and light, I've started torching sporadically when the temperature is warm enough to open the doors for air flow (and still be able to keep the glass warm). Twenty-five pounds of glass arrived last week (awesome 30% discount for ordering in bulk at Mountain Glass!). The box is open, and a few rods have been melted. Eh. Two pleasing figures came out of the flame, but I'm not rushing to try to sell them.

Laziness? Ha. I'm sure that's been said about me regarding plenty of things, but I think that's merely a camouflage, a ruse to disguise my lack of direction. I kept telling myself that being patient about the studio was good because it was giving my brain time to incubate new ideas. Nah. Soon as the propane and oxy were lit, I made goddesses and faces... same old, same old. Except, it's not just SOSO when I'm sitting there watching them form in the flame.

Hmmph.

Goddesses, figures, "nekid wimmen," whatever you choose to call the sculptures I like to make, is making them just a rut, or is it a creative groove that needs to be followed? They are about self acceptance, body confidence, growing with gracefulness. They intimidate some people, and they make other people crack jokes. That's okay, they also touch some people, lend them positive energy, re-ignite confidence, instill a little more courage for a few moments. Knowing that feeling even one time is a great treasure for a creative person, ya know? It's a good groove, it is. Now, I just need to gradually carve it out a little wider along the edges as I follow it. I need to make sure it's growing as it moves forward, not becoming simply a rut.

Anyway, I've rambled a lot today, and I didn't even make it to the "cloud collection" part of the title! You can bet I'll hit that one another day. After all, collecting clouds may be a fairly ephemeral sort of hobby, but daily observation and introspection of what you see can't hurt, now can it?

Toodles! Have a terrific start to your week!

Ant Awning

2011-07-10T07:51:00.003-05:00

Can't even call this delicate swatch of nature a toad's umbrella. A toad would only be able to shade a foot and part of a leg under this teensy umbrella. Maybe we could agree to call it an ant awning? You know, a nice shady gathering place for an ant and a few dozen of his closest friends.

What would an ant see from below this awning, besides a human who needs to get out her nice Nikon and quit lazily relying on her phone camera? I think an ant would look up into a grand display of silky, creamy color floating against a brilliant blue sky. Some ants would only look briefly, and they'd grunt grudging approval. Other ants would sigh with delight at the wonders of all those slender lines gracefully curving and falling into fringe at the edges. There might be a few ants who wish they could sit on top and slide down the perfect slope, grabbing onto one of those fringes and dangling until someone could catch them.

Nature's tiniest creations make me see opportunities for my imagination to fly. Untether your imagination from what we're taught to see as reality, and suddenly, the potential for magic explodes upon the scene:

Persephone the Parasol Faerie skipped along the paths running between the blades of grass in the lawn forest, golden scissors in hand. Parasol Faeries can do that, run with scissors because they are so graceful and careful with their steps. They don't "move" as much as they flow with the energy surrounding them. Flowing with the surroundings is what lets them speak Spider, too, by the way. It's important to speak Spider, else you'd never be able to arrange for the silken web fabrics you need for parasol making. Spiders can be a gruff bunch if they think you expect them to do your will. You have to chat them up, flatter them a wee bit, let them decide today would be the perfect day to spin some extra web and donate it to the cause.

Yep, untether that imagination and float your thoughts on the breeze whenever you have the chance... it's good for the soul.

Gitchyer Boots! We're Weeding the Pond!

2011-07-09T07:12:00.003-05:00

Those are my little brother's big yellow overboots he uses for work. What you're supposed to do is wear them over your workboots, so they are roomy. That's my size 8 women's flipflop lined up against the sole. Yeah, I borrowed those boots to wade in the pond and pull out weeds last Sunday morning. I didn't wear any shoes with them. I don't think it would've made much difference. What with the pond mud suction on the outside of them, as well as the suction that got going on the inside and twisted them around my ankles, it was pretty interesting... especially for my brother, working from the pond bank (since I had the boots), pointing out to me (once I was in deep enough to have water threatening to slosh over the top of the boots) that Mother had seen a snake right about where I was standing. My thought was that I might survive seeing the snake. But if it happened to wash into one of the boots when the water sloshed into them, then Bubby might as well go ahead and call 911!

Here's a peek at the pond.

Here's a peek at the pretty yellow bloom you see on those pond weeds.

Here's a peek at one of those piles of pond weeds (some sort of bladderwort, I think).

There will be no peek at me, boots up to my knees, jeans wet and muddy up to my butt because somebody steered me toward the steeper bank with talk of the pond not really being very deep on that side. Can you say "gullible," and can you sing "Slip Sliding Away"?

Giant, Rose-Colored Flashlight... Shine It!

2011-07-08T10:56:00.002-05:00

Blogger wouldn't let me load the pictures of mine and Bubby's pond raking adventure, so I browsed and found this photo of the sunset from a few weeks ago. At the time, I had trouble finding the right words to describe the sky's message that evening. Guess what? I still don't know exactly how to put it into words, but when did that ever stop me from trying?

Do I believe the sky literally sends us messages? Wellllllll, yes and no. Yes, because the message of hail or tornadoes or lightning is a fairly clear one warning us to take cover from actual physical harm. Yes, because a sunlit, cloudless sky is another fairly clear message about what we can do in the world at that time. No, because I've never heard a cloud or raindrops speak actual words (so you can rest assured, for now, that I've not gone completely over the deep end yet).

But if you think about it, then you are likely to agree that messages don't have to be in the form of actual words, voices, signs, etc. Messages can be brought to us from things that catch our mind's eye and set the wheels of thought and intuition in motion. I can believe in those messages, and I love to look for them in the sky. It's an endless fascination.

So, what about this rose-colored flashlight in the sky? It practically begs you to imagine your God or Mother Nature or Spirit holding it and shining it around the world, doesn't it? It almost has to be a beckoning call for optimists, doesn't it? It must need to be a reminder that we are able to choose to shine a rose-colored light on situations at will, wouldn't you think?

With that in mind, I hope you shine your light today... the world can use as many rose-colored flashlights revealing as much goodness as possible!

I Am. Hear Me.

2011-07-06T08:46:00.003-05:00

I am.

Hear me.

Don't stop at "woman." Don't stop at "roar."

Hear me, all of me, all of the person that I am.

I am short, tall, average.

I am blond, brunette, red, gray, silvery white.

I am slender, full figured, bountiful, athletic, strong.

There are no boundaries defining what I have to be.

It doesn't matter so much where I fall on the physical continuum at the moment.

It matters where I allow myself to be on the ever sliding scale of self acceptance.

Your respect, your love, your confidence in me, these don't create my self acceptance but soundly reinforce it.

For that, you have my gratitude.

I am challenges, tears, struggles, fears.

I am laughter, giggles, unexpected surprises, hugs that last for three days.

I am shy, outgoing, friendly, kind, compassionate, crabby.

There are no limits to what I have to be.

It doesn't matter so much which of these I am being at the moment.

It matters that I throw myself open to all experiences, recognize the good and not so good before gracefully letting them go.

Your support, your ears, your kindness, these don't determine my reactions, but they help me in the daily dance that is life.

For that, I thank you.

I am adventure, contentment, enlightenment, confusion.

I am happiness, doubt, encouragement, deliverance.

I am a perfect storm of possibility.

It doesn't matter so much what the forecast is at the moment.

It matters that I am willing to ride the wave.

Your courage, your confidence, your passion, these don't control the storm, but they sure make it fun to stand with our faces uplifted to the rain and sun.

For that, you get a knowing smile and a bond so strong it can't be broken.

Sisters and Brothers... We Grow Up Eventually

2011-07-05T08:52:00.005-05:00

Yes, that's me with my brother and sister and our mom.

No, I'm not going to outright tell you that's me with the ears poking out the side of the blue bandana.

By the way, Mother used to wear a bandana like that to hold back her hair, and it *did* look cool when she did it.

Sisters and brothers are on my mind this morning because I just spent a wonderful holiday weekend with my sister, my brother, and plenty of other sisters and brothers who make life interesting and fun. Those other sisters and brothers would be cousins from both sides of the family, my son and daughter, my cousin's son and daughter, and even my "sisters" and "brothers" from grade school and high school. Eventually, we all grow up in more ways than just the physical, and eventually, we all realize how much we love and cherish one another.

I love and cherish (and love to pester the snot out of, as well as cherish each opportunity to aggravate) my sister Soupie and my brother Bubby. Those are their real names. Seriously. I checked their birth certificates, and that baloney about Annette Susan and William Lee is a hoax, a sad, sad hoax pulled over their unsuspecting eyes. Poor Soupie and Bubby. Maybe, just maybe, I should write something nice about them so they'll feel better about that whole name mixup. Susie, I love you, and your heart of gold that is bigger than the stash at Knox. Thank you so much for being you. Your thoughtfulness shows itself a bazillion times a day, and while I'm sure everyone already knows that, it doesn't hurt to repeat it. William Lee, I love you, and your protectiveness and belief in doing the right thing are wonderful... except when you decide to protect your stash of rubberbands/waterguns/weaponoftheday and believe that the right thing to do is help your cousins or niece or nephew win a battle against me.

Of course, thinking about my sister and brother naturally leads to thinking about our mom, dad, and their brothers and sisters-in-law. Watching them over the years, it's easy to see their love for having fun together and their love for one another (despite, and maybe because of, all their differences of outlooks on life). It's good to see them together. I could write so much more, but I wouldn't know where to stop, ya know? There's always another story to add to the pile. I think I'll just go with It's good to see them together.

Brothers and sisters, sisters and brothers, watching them together is a joy. It's also a necessity at a family gathering, otherwise, you might be the next unsuspecting target of a prank orchestrated by cousins! Jeffrey and Patrick, your brotherly kindness, um, make that brotherly shenanigans, runneth over the edge of the cup of family goodness. Yeah, thanks for including my husband in the sneak attack attempt to steal back the Nerf bullets from me :) Doris, Rose, and Junie, just seeing your faces and hearing your voices takes me back to Grandma and Granddaddy's front porch, giggles and all.

Sisters and brothers, brothers and sisters... watching James and Kate with Elizabeth and Matthew is so much fun. It's as if the clock has been running since the last time they saw one another because they all grow so much. Yet time seems to have simply paused between visits because they pick up their friendship right where it left off the last time we said "bye! can't wait to see you again!"

Like I mentioned at the beginning, there comes a time in your life when people you've known since childhood automatically become more than just friends. They become your brothers and sisters in this game of life. It doesn't matter when it happens. Sometimes it can fade away for years before we reconnect, but if you are blessed in life, it does happen. For most of my life, I've seen it with my mom and her friends from school. You can see it in the way they are always "right at home" with each other, in the way they know and still love one another right to the bone.

Loyd (and Jacinta by proxy, even though you're younger than us old peeps), Bonnie, Paula and Ronnie, Joyce, Robinn, Marta, Lisa, Lisa, and Scottie, this brings me to all of you. Seeing you in person made my heart happy. Ever hear the saying "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, the other gold."? You are gold... you don't have to call yourselves "old" friends, but do remember that you are like gold. Loved seeing each of you!

*sigh* That's not even all the stuff spinning in my noggin' this morning... but I figure you can use a break after reading this much ;-)

Happy, happy day!

Refreshing

2011-07-02T06:55:00.003-05:00

Refreshing, that's what my weekend with family and friends will be. Hope yours is the same!

See ya on Tuesday!

Peace and Sweetness Where You Can Find It,

Ang

Knee High by the Fourth of July?

2011-07-01T07:58:00.002-05:00

Not very long ago, I looked out the kitchen window and thought how "punny" it was that Mother Nature appeared to have done her hair in cornrows. The neighbor's corn was just coming up, and the long, straight rows made an interesting visual texture on the landscape. Well, I never did snap that picture, but I have been watching and marveling at the way the corn has been growing.

"Knee high by the Fourth of July" popped into my brain with a burst of giggles yesterday morning. Ha! This morning I stood by the corn to take this picture, and those long leaves were tickling the top of my head... when they bent in the slight breeze. New goal for corn farmers: 5'3" high by the Fourth of July.

Wonder how long the "knee high" reference has been in our language? "Since you were knee high to a grasshopper" is my personal favorite, I think. Hmmm, be right back. I'm off to google the origin of this expression.

Cool. "Origin of knee high to a grasshopper" led me to this little blurb. Heehee, it is an Americanism that started out as "knee high to a toad," way back in 1814. Makes you wonder exactly what was said in the conversation on that front porch, huh?

Oops, distractions, distractions. Imagine how long it might have taken to uncover that little bit of history without using the internet! Not only that, but imagine how having the world at our fingertips, instead of having a brain-load of memorized information, has changed the way our minds operate. When I was a sophomore in college, Statistics was the dreaded course for pyschology majors. After all, if we'd wanted to do math, we would have majored in something besides a social science, right? Anyway, the professor was a hoot, as psychology professors tend to be, but his one piece of serious advice struck a chord with me-- you don't have to memorize every single formula in real life, but you do have to know and remember how to look it up when you need it. Egads, Joel Royal, you must have been a seer, too, to have known that in 1985 before we were all surfing the world wide web at will!

Well, the corn is getting taller while I sit here trying to find an interesting link about the origin of "knee high by the Fourth of July." You might find this Phrasefinder Search entertaining and/or useful, but that's all I've got for now. Suffice it to say, we can figure that the phrase is an Americanism and can't be more than 235 years old.

One more thought before I go. Remember how I said I've been watching that corn since it came up? It didn't get this tall in one day, two days, or even two weeks... but with steady growth each day, it got this tall in what now seems like the blink of an eye. Think about that. "Rome wasn't built in a day" and similar sayings spring to mind, don't they? Keep growing, even when you feel as if the growth is so little that it is imperceptible. The best way to keep on track with your goals is to put down the tape measure and simply focus on doing what you can in this moment.

Now, to learn to actually apply these thoughts to real life...

Under the Lights

2011-06-30T08:15:00.002-05:00

The third and fourth grade boys' baseball team played a makeup game under the lights last night. Yep, it was a Damiansville doubleheader, with the first and second graders leading off with a game at their usual time. Yep, the photo is about as blurry as you can get, but it serves the purpose. The setup of the game wasn't any different from any other game, but getting to play under the lights surely had a subtle effect on the boys!

AWESOME, that's what they were!

PROUD, that what I am of our son James. This is his second year of playing baseball, and he's put a lot of effort into practicing... and the improvement shows! There are kids on his team who've been playing much longer, and they are really good young athletes. That's overwhelming for a beginner if you let yourself make comparisons, of course. But last night, after making some key plays and hitting a triple, he told me, "Finally, I'm one of the good players, too." He said that with conviction, and the look of confidence was beautiful to this parent's eyes.

I'm not quite sure I've ever experienced that sports moment myself, and it's amazing to me. Now, we all know there are sports advocates and sports notsoenthusiasts. Beyond playing basketball in seventh and eighth grade, organized sports weren't really a part of my life. It's also true that I am squarely in the academics-are-most-important camp. It seems you almost have to take one side or the other, and that is looking like it was a pitfall of mine. "Balance is the key" is applicable to many situations in life. That becomes apparent more and more.

So, unless I want to sit here all day trying to put a bunch of feelings into print in a way that makes sense and doesn't offend either the sports or notsosporty camps, let's just say I'm going to remind myself more often that balance is the key.

Think About It

2011-06-29T08:48:00.002-05:00

While the sun is happily heating up that gorgeous blue sky, the wheels in my brain are spinning in myriad directions. Instead of working together to herd my thoughts into a single direction, those wheels seem to think they're really steel balls in a pinball machine. Boing, clang, whizz, ding! Guess it must be time for one of those compilations of thoughts. Hang on, I'm pulling the Play spring-lever-thingie!

Thanks to Teri Kay Yount for sharing a health tip recently. She posted a quote about how foods that don't go bad are probably bad for you. Foods that do go bad are generally good for you. Think about it. It was something I've known for years, but I've also tended to ignore it in the last five or so years. Teri, you didn't know it, but that one reminder has stuck with me for the past weeks. I think about it when I choose a snack... the good food doesn't always win yet, BUT it is starting to taste better and better!

As long as we're talking food and health, please, remember that those of us who are overweight and out of shape are most likely aware of our current condition. If you feel the need to remark on how much weight someone has gained or how they look in a swimsuit or how they would be so pretty if they lost weight... don't. Think about it. We're all beautiful, no matter where we are on the scale. That goes for everyone, ya know? If someone is looking well, then all you need to say to is "You're looking great!" If you are worried about someone's health, then give them a hug and tell them you love them.

Praise and positivity win over nagging and negativity... it's not easy to do if you were raised before society started coddling and praising children (and adults) "willynilly", but it is worth trying. Seriously, none of us could grow into the person we need to be if we were never told how to act appropriately, so there is merit to correcting a child or adult. BUT it costs nothing extra to do so in a positive manner and heap on the praise for good actions whenever possible. Think about it. I have to admit that this does not come naturally for me and that I fail miserably at times... but each day is a new chance to strive toward positivity and bring some good to balance the negativity.

Giggle. Every. Single. Day. Think about it. Do it :)

Go with the flow. Remember you are part of the flow of the universe, not merely an observer. Think about it. You can't control the flow, but you can control how you move within it. You can float, gently steer yourself, paddle faster in the rapids...whatever feels best for you at the time.

"Earthing" is an idea that has made the rounds. I only know this because their was an article about it in a women's magazine I bought at the grocery this week. Apparently, going barefoot, sitting on the ground, etc., has a name now. I love this! Heck, my CB handle when I was a kid was "Princess Barefoot." Yeah, think about it... spending more time outdoors is generally going to lift your spirits in some way. You choose your terms and time. Go enjoy nature's gifts!

Sigh. That's about it for me today. I sure hope today finds you well and content. Love, Ang

Be the Weed

2011-06-28T08:10:00.003-05:00

Be the weed. Don't just grow like one. Be one, from the topmost leaves to the longest root, and you will survive hail and hell, guaranteed.

It seems the weeds in the cracks in our patio and driveway could survive an armegeddon of almost biblical proportions. If I chose to go all the way to biblical proportions with this battle, instead of "almost biblical," I could smite them down with some Roundup herbicide. The cracks are relatively small, though, so I have tried to avoid the chemical destruction. Instead, I rely on the physical removal of the weeds. I pull them out of the cracks at least once each week.

FYI: I seem to be prolonging the war without making any progress.

FYI: Weeds have some characteristics that deserve recognition.

Think about it. Weeds have an uncanny ability to transport themselves across great expanses of concrete, detect what little viable soil is available, and grow. Vexing as that might be to me, it certainly is an amazing attribute for a plant. Grow, no matter where you are planted. Don't focus on what you don't have... use what you do have.

Weeds have some sound mechanisms for escaping physical destruction, too. Yep, lessons can be learned. For instance, weeds craftily sink very long roots in a short amount of time (at least, it seems that way to me). When accosted by a weeder who relishes pulling them out by the roots, weeds still have a chance to survive. Being uprooted does not guarantee death. There's always a chance roots might be able to sink into soil somewhere else. See? Never give up on yourself until all possibilities have been exhausted.

This brings up the other mechanism of note-- if someone tries to uproot you, cut your losses by sacrificing part of your leaves. After all, as long as your roots are still planted, new leaves can replace the ones broken off by the zealous weeder. Ka-ching. That right there is the take home point worth at least a dollar. When you know who you are, when you are planted firmly in your own beliefs and desires and goals, losing a few days of growth is only a small setback. You know you have the power to grow again, and quite possibly, flourish even more than you did before the setback.

Be the weed.

Daddy Was a Goldfish, Mama Was an Elvis Impersonator

2011-06-27T09:01:00.002-05:00

*Snort*

Goldfish.

Elvis impersonator.

I crack myself up sometimes.

What should I name her? Elvisina? How about naming her for what she was lacking as I created her-- Inspiration? Hee hee, I can't help but laugh every time this photo pops up.

The thing is, Elvisina here is really just another opportunity to practice what I do when I'm being AngelinaBeadalina. My mission at the torch has rarely been confined only to what happens in front of the flame. The other half to the sculpture equation for me has almost always been uncovering and telling each sculpture's story. I can call it an equation, but there's really no rhyme nor reason nor predicting the final outcome, so you can't really think of it in mathematical terms. It either happens, or it doesn't. When it happens, I can feel the groove and "hear" what the glass is telling me. Then, of course, the story is easily uncovered and written down. When it doesn't happen, I know it from the beginning. Yet, for another hour, I'll sit glued in front of the torch like a moth to the screendoor under the porchlight. That's when the Elvisina's happen!

Yep, just like in real life, when it comes to creating things, perseverance can be good or bad or a mixture of both. I think the challenge is learning to figure out whether or not perseverance is warranted in the moment, ya know?

Moral of the story is... if you have goldfish, don't let them answer the door when the Elvis impersonator rings the bell.

Um... no, wait, that's not quite it. Elvisina is kinda cute in her own way. She did provide me with an opportunity to torch. I did have fun making her face once I saw the glass wanted to do a little wiggle along that edge.

Moral of the story is... oh, heck, I can't put it all in words. Just do what you love to do, and go with the flow even when it takes you strange places :-)

Time Wears Us All Smoother

2011-06-23T09:33:00.004-05:00

Time wears us all smoother.

It rounds the edges of our bodies, our hearts, and our minds.

Time grinds off the ragged edges so the cuts are never again as jagged.

Time builds up the crevices so the pits are never again as deep.

InvisiCat Is Sitting in My Chair... Again!

2011-06-22T08:56:00.002-05:00

This is Shadow. He's our stray tomcat du summer. Yeah, that's right, looks like we'll probably be blessed with one every summer at this house. Bet the cat hobos left some kind of mark on the mailbox post. Last summer's Osiris was gone by winter, so we'll see how long Shadow graces us with his attention.

He is pretty cute, although he does keep sneaking onto the good lawn chairs instead of sticking to this cheap blue plastic one in the picture below:

I'm calling him InvisiCat this morning because he blends in so well with the tan, black, and white chair that I overlooked him. Then, he seemed to be pretending to ignore me while I was taking his picture. Apparently, he's practicing not hearing me tell him to get out of the good chairs! So, the gorgeous closeup of cat-ignore-the-human-itude had to be the one I posted for this blog entry. Isn't he pretty?

He's also craftier than I realized. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I spied him digging in the cat food bag and serving himself. The top of the cat food bag was rolled up and tucked under to keep it shut, but he had it unrolled and was sticking his head inside, one bite at a time. Gotta love the fortitude and forthrightness of a stray cat. You've got food and shelter, I need it, looks like we might as well be family :-)

Dragonfly Days

2011-06-21T09:21:00.002-05:00

It's summer.

This dragonfly transports my mind back in time to childhood summers. My mother has always called dragonflies "snake doctors." I remember watching one zoom across the water of a pond and anxiously wondering where the snake was hiding. My grandparents lived in an old farmhouse set amongst many silver poplars and a bunch of barns. Behind the biggest barn was a pond with steep banks, cat tails, and lots of snake doctors. The sun must have been a couple of million miles closer to the earth when you stood at the edge of that pond, because the glare and heat felt white hot on a summer afternoon.

If I could sneak back there today, I'd find a good spot to sit down and watch those dragonflies without worrying so much. Snakes and I still aren't best friends, but it would be okay now that I know the alternative name for those beautiful winged doctors. Wonder if that pond is still there? I'd walk barefoot across the sunwarmed hot metal of the cattle crossing, pick my way around any fresh cow patties in the barnlot, and head to the pond. The grass and weeds around it would probably have dry, brown spots from the summer heat. I'd sit on the bank with my feet planted in front of me, and I'd wait to see what appeared.

Where would you revisit if you could choose any summer spot from the past?

PLBs Invade My Space!

2011-06-20T08:13:00.003-05:00

Okay. PLB could stand for "pretty little bug" or "pretty little beetle." It could. However, I'm leaning toward another explanation. Quick! Cover your ears, and I'll whisper it.

PLB stands for Pretty Little Bastards.

You heard right. Pretty little bastards, aka Japanese beetles, are here for summer vacation, and I'm not happy about it. Those shiny, beautifully iridescent winged marauders ate our plum tree last summer. Thankfully, the plum tree survived, but I wasn't so sure that would happen until it leafed out and bloomed this spring.

In a book about Zen, I once read that plum trees are revered for their hardiness and ability to keep growing under adverse conditions for hundreds of years. I might have misunderstood what I read, and it's possible I misremembered the details. What I wonder is whether the person who wrote that had ever dealt with PLBs? If the PLB is never seen, can it exist? I'd like to find out, please! Ha! I crack myself up, especially since that opportunity is probably never going to present itself in our yard.

This is where I could go into a tirade about bugs and infestations, humidity and heat, all the annoyances of a midwest summer. I won't do that now. I won't bother providing links to all the things I'm getting ready to google and read about Japanese beetles, either. But make no mistake... it's war, and I intend to win if possible. I am going to write about them and their pretty little iridescent bodies, though.

I can't help it. Put it down to respect for the enemy, or insanity, but I think they really are very pretty. The emerald green with all the bronze-ish browns is a gorgeous color palette. Doesn't mean I'm not going to squash them, but I might cop to pausing a second to admire one first. How can you not recognize the beauty in the damnable?

Seriously, those PLBs are not alone in the philosophical quandary they present. Aren't there many things in life that make you pause in awe before you demolish them? I believe it is the grandeur of nature's design, as well as the sheer concentration of energy in some things, that draws my attention. Demolition of anything is not very high on my list, actually. I prefer to live and let live when possible. I'm the person who likes to observe, but not intrude or interfere, with nature as much as possible.

Possible. Possible. "When possible." "As much as possible." Why do I keep repeating that, if not to pump up my confidence/righteousness for the coming battle? Yeah, I imagine that's part of it. I am not above squashing a bug, but I've been trying to mold myself into a kinder person...

Guess what? I think I'm going to fail myself at that today.

Look out, PLBs, you've munched and mangled your last meals on my dime!

What Happens in the Blink of an Eye

2011-06-19T10:45:00.004-05:00

What happens in the blink of an eye is simply this, the world continues growing and changing as it always has done.

What happens in many blinks of the eye is that we slowly learn not to count the blinks but focus on the world as it is at the moment.

May your moments be filled!

The Hare in the Moon

2011-02-15T22:05:00.002-06:00

In Asian folklore, in MesoAmerican folklore, even in Native American folklore, the dark areas we see on the moon form the image of a hare or rabbit. If it's the Chinese folktale you hear, then for you the hare sits on his hind legs and pounds a pestle into a mortar, grinding the elixir of immortality.

Until this winter, I always saw a face in the moon, a face with flag shaped eyes, never a rabbit. The man in the moon smiled down upon the world, jovial and benevolent from his perch atop the sky. I like the hare better. Maybe it's because my sweetheart and children call me The Bunny, maybe it's because I see the elixir as more of a healing potion than a immortality pill, but the hare holds my attention more than the genial man-in-the-moon.

As long as imagination is ruling the night, why not imagine being the healing hare? The moonlight tells me it's not a bad idea.

***************************************************

Hmmm, dedumdedummmmmm, mmmm-mmmmmm-mm. Lovely night, bit chilly, but lovely just the same. Time to grind the magic, time to salve humanity's wounds, time to find the pestle I lay down while I was hunting for my reading glasses. That was an excellent article in Scientific American, possibly weak as far as mythological influences, but not a bad explanation of the healing power of positive thoughts and laughter. Must remember to tell more jokes, sure I must. The world needs more laughter, if only to prove the language of expression can be universal. Of course, the feeling elicited by such universal expression is what interests me at the moment. It's the healing power of feeling happy that I seek to pound into my mortar and collect for all the weary world to use. Scatterbrained old hare, I am. Now, where did I leave that pestle?

Teeediddledeeeediddlydeee, who's going to find it for me? Teeediddledeeeeeeeee, teeediddledeeedumdoooooooooo, please, please, tell me "who"! Heaven only knows, I'm a scatterbrained, flopper-eared old rabbit, and I must find my tools. I do sometimes wonder if those mischievous middle-aged angels are playing tricks on me when I'm napping. They think it's fairly funny to poke fun at the old ones. Turnabout, and all that, considering we "old" ones have actually been blessed to grow old and wizened and crotchety.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm, let me think. Did I have it with me when I skipped down to the kitchen garden for a late afternoon carrot snack? Fresh carrots, rinsed in rainwater and rainbows, that's the stuff for tired old bones. Must write myself a note-- time to test another variety of carrot. Those heirloom seeds do bring back memories! Mother's cream cheese icing on carrot cake, Father's after-dinner carrot, Grandmother Cottontail's stories about velvet jackets and such. Hmmm, do let me think, is there a velvet jacket yet hanging in the stairwell to the attic? Would be just the thing for a night such as this. No need for a full winter coat, but spring has not fully shown her lovely self. A touch of the long sleeves is just right, you know.

**********************************

And that's all for me and my imagination tonight, my dears. I can certainly hope to one day be an ancient Bunny... but in the meantime, this rabbit must remember the alarm clock will be ringing! Goodnight, good moonlight, good dreams to all!

Ignore That Mess Behind the Curtain...

2010-11-12T08:28:00.002-06:00

If that title makes you think of The Wizard of Oz, then you and I are now on the same wavelength for a few minutes! Don't be scared, it's not you that's a little warped, your mind just veered a bit because I dangled the Emerald City on the end of a stick. Oh, but I do love to watch "The Wizard of Oz," and I do love the man behind the curtain and his all too human attempt to control his world!

What is this "mess" that you are supposed to ignore? I'll tell ya. It's all the junk and overgrown patches of weeds in the spot that tried to be my garden this year. The spot isn't to blame for my shortcomings, though, in case you're wondering. I put out the garden. I made mistakes. I neglected things when I didn't know what to do with them. Now that Jack Frost off'ed the last of the atomicblasthardy cherry tomatoes, it's time for me to clean up, clear out, and generally put things to bed for the winter. The wheelbarrow with tiny pebble rock that I moved from one place and didn't get to another place has to be emptied. The fire ring that had to be relocated so we can have a nice apron and drive to the new pole building has to be tidied and filled in anticipation of a good burn day. All the makeshift stakes and mini-umbrellas have to be picked up and put away for re-use next year. The stray plastic hand tools that were made to withstand weather deserve a wipe and a dry spot in the shed. That's the mess behind the curtain.

See, the mess is just the backdrop for this trip to see the wizard. Honestly, I'm not sure why I got off on the tangent of Emerald Cities and Wizards! What I was thinking about is cleaning up my mess and having a little fun, too. This past summer, I gathered wishes from friends and family on Facebook and then gave those wishes a real world send-off into the Universe. One time, I wrote everyone's wishes on great long scraps of paperboard left from the building crew when they put up our new shed. Then, I rolled the scraps and burnt them, watching the wishes turn to ash and spread into the sky. Another time, I wrote wishes on leaves and let them fly away on the breeze. This time, I'm going to gather wishes and dreams and requests from everyone, use markers to color them onto a dead branch that needs to be burnt, and then put that branch into the fire (after it rains! we're much to dry here to be burning leaves and branches and such right now).

So, you wanna join me? What's your wish? Do you have a request for someone else? Would you like to just have your name thrown into the pile and say your wish silently to yourself? Whatever you'd like to do, you're welcome to join! Please, leave a comment so I know what to add for you... and everyone who reads it will be virtually joining hands with you and extending your wish!

Veterans Day

2010-11-11T22:17:00.003-06:00

Well, Veterans Day has come and almost gone without me putting much pen to paper. Here's my blurb for Facebook today, short but sincere:

Because a veteran has seen the things he has seen, my visions are possible. Because a veteran has done the things she has done, my to-do lists are filled with things that can be freely done. Because veterans have given their lives, I can have my life. Because veterans have fought, I am free to spread peace. Thank you. That's hardly enough, but I'm not sure you could ever be repaid enough.

My father-in-law, a man I never met, served in the Army just after WWII. He brought home another Angie from Germany and started a family. My paternal grandfather, another man I never met, joined the service during WWI. My uncles, four of them, did their stints in the military during Vietnam-- a Duncan who spent his Army gig in the U.S., a Duncan who re-upped with the Marines at least once, and two Greers in the Army. In the Garren family, my husband's brother is a chaplain in the Air Force, a man whose daughter served, a man whose two sons-in-law served/serve.

So, I've known veterans, but that's about the extent of my military knowledge. When recruited by the ROTC guys at Murray State, I gave a non-interested kid's flippant response. I didn't like green, and I didn't want anyone telling me where to live. Yeah... that wasn't my best moment, but I had no clue at the time. Thank goodness there were other people who did understand and did take on the responsibility!

Today, we went to the Veterans Day Parade in Germantown, a town just a few miles down the road from here. It was awesome, and by "awesome," I mean smack your forehead and say Duh AWESOME. The younger military people deserve much thanks, but it was the faces of the older veterans that really drove the point home to me. The saying goes that all gave some and some gave all. After some reflection, I'm convinced that All gave All. It doesn't matter how they got into the uniform (happenstance, circumstance, or Uncle Sam grabbed them by the seat of the pants), once in uniform, they gave every second of their life to their country. Oh, sure, they had leaves and furloughs, but they were still on Liberty's clock. Wives and girlfriends waited. Children grew taller and taller each month. Parents grew older. No one gets to turn back time, but it seems to me those guys should've gotten the chance in exchange for what they did. Then, when their time in the service was finished, the "lucky" ones who came home on their own two feet and not in a casket were given the privilege of picking up where they'd left off as if nothing had happened. For the most part, I think that's what they did, too. For the most part, they didn't complain about it, either. AWESOME. Yes, that's the word:

AWESOME.

Grab Your Paintbrush

2010-11-08T06:56:00.002-06:00

Well, Flock It All, I Never Thought about It That Way :)

2010-11-06T16:16:00.003-05:00

Ever hear someone complain about flocks of noisy birds disturbing the peace and leaving mondo poops everywhere? Of course, you have. I know I've shoo'ed away seagulls in grocery store parking lots, and I've tooted the car horn at massive flocks of blackbirds chattering in an empty field. Maybe those seagulls were confused by the Long John Silver's restaurant and thought they really were seaside, I don't know. I do know I have only a vague idea why I would be bothered by big gangs of vagabond birds.

I was much too much of a scaredy cat to ever have watched more than a clip from an Alfred Hitchcock film, so flashbacks of birds pecking out eyes and such can't be to blame. Quite possibly, the bird poop is at the root of the distaste we seem to have for big groups of blackbirds, seagulls, or pigeons. Duh-- that has to be the reason when the birds congregate in towns or cities where people will have to walk around the poops.

But is there a good reason for me to look with distaste on a flock of blackbirds in the field?

Now, that probably sounds like a stupid question, and I know there are smart answers having to do with some birds threatening other birds, etc.

What makes me ask the stupid question, then?

It's like this: I was sitting in the living room earlier this afternoon, trying to stay out of the sunshine because my eyes were still a little dilated after an eye exam. Suddenly, the sunlight slanting across the other side of the room started wavering and quivering. My first thought was that my eyes really had gone bad! That couldn't really be the problem, though, so maybe we were having an earthquake? That could happen, but it wasn't very likely to be the culprit since I didn't feel anything quivering and shaking. So what was happening?

It was blackbirds, flocks of them, flying across the sky. Keeping my eyes open and my mouth shut, I stepped out the doors and onto the upper deck (the kiddos call it our "sky deck") to watch the birds. It was like watching waves breaking and curling in the sky. The ones that settled in the trees at the back of the yard looked like so many flecks of pepper on the trees. The noise fills the air, not at thunderous levels but definitely fills the space.

It's really a spectacular sight if you view it without preconceived notions.

Blackbirds, I think I might not dislike you so much.

I'm not sure I can say I like you,

but you're not so bad.

P.S. Dear Seagulls at the Beach,

You are at least on the right track, since the lake is a bit bigger than a puddle... I do like to watch you!

P.P.S. Dear Seagulls in the Parking Lot,

Stop begging for fries when I happen to eat my lunch in "your" parking lot!

Who? Me?

2010-11-05T06:28:00.002-05:00

Heehee... guess that was false advertising, since I'm not sure I have a good Katie story to tell you that you haven't already heard. You know the caption fits the picture, though, especially with those wings!

Did you hear about the ghost hunting she did this summer with her friends? They were all around the house, inside and out, with their pretend ghost detector gadgets (old cell phones, toy calculators, whatever was handy). One pleasant afternoon when the windows were open and the wind was blowing, they walked through the downstairs just in time for the wind to blow James' door shut with a loud bang. You should've heard them scatter!

That's all I've got for you this morning. It's time to drink the coffee, wake up the kids, get all of us dressed, and get out the door in time to drop them off and make my own way to school. Yesterday was my first day as a teacher aide in a local school's pre-kindergarten class, and it was fun! Better run for now! Have a terrific Friday!

Yoooohoooooo, Jack! You Forgot Something!

2010-11-03T08:40:00.002-05:00

Dear Jack Frost,

Please be advised that remnants of your laundry were left hanging on my clothesline. If it weren't for the fact that I might need that clothespin if I hang out all the wash on a single day, then I'd let you slide on this. Unfortunately, I have D.W.C.S. (Don't Waste Clothespins Syndrome) and cannot abide spurious use of clothespins.

Sincerely,

Ang

Dear Ang,

Please forgive Jack's lack of oversight. Details tend to get lost in the freeze-everything-you-can-before-the-sun-comes-up shuffle. You do like the colors on this leaf, though, don't you? I mean, it was all sparkling and crystalline and flashy and blingy in a "kissed by Jack" kind of way, wasn't it?? Not that Jack requires your approval or anything.

Now, be a good girl, and explain to Jack this D.W.C.S. in more detail. I, uh, Jack must know more!

Sincerely,

Jack Brrrrr Frost

Dear Jack,

It all started when I was a kid. My sister and I often had to hang clothes on the line when our mother was doing laundry. I'd hang out a basket. She'd hang out a basket. Sometimes, we'd both work on the same basket. Anyway, all four lines would be filled by the end of the day. There would be no room to spare, so you had to work in a meticulous manner. Okay, so not much I do could be described as "meticulous." Fine. You had to pay attention to detail, though, or you'd run out of room on the line before you finished! Oh, and clothespins! You had to creatively engineer the hanging of the last few batches of clothes, otherwise you'd run out of clothespins before you finished!

White clothes are the most clothespin intensive, by the way. Socks, socks, and more socks will deplete the clothespin stash quicker than you can say "Frost my ankles, and freeze my knees!" You have to make sure no sock hangs alone. In fact, if you can squeeze three socks under one pin, you're on the right track. Underwear is a similar story. Besides the fact that no one wants to flash their drawers like so many flags on the line, there is also the fact that drawers tend to be almost as plentiful as socks. Panties, schmanties, you better hang those babies up two to a single clothespin! Those tighty-whities might need more airspace if they're very large, but you get a feel for these things after a while.

T-shirts are a whole story unto themselves, Jack. If you hang them by the corners at the tail, you can connect a bunch in a row by overlapping the corners slightly so that a single clothespin catches corners of two shirts at a time. This means less than two clothespins per t-shirt! However, this has its drawbacks, as the tails of the shirt tend to stretch and cause mega-weird clothespin-ghost tracks when you take the shirt off the line. Same thing will happen if you overlap them at the shoulder seams, too, except the stretch is not as bad if the shoulder seams happen to be reinforced. It took much experimenting as a child, as well as a goodly amount of experimenting as an adult, to figure out the least noticeable spot for clothespin-ghost tracks is under the arms. It goes without saying, too, that you must continue to overlap these parts of a t-shirts in order to cut down on the required number of clothespins!

Jeans and pants require judicious use of pins, too, you know. Don't waste two clothespins to a single leg of lightweight khakis because you're going to need those pins for all the jeans. Denim is kind of heavy when it's wet, in case you didn't know. (Jeans zippers are also kind of hard to zip and unzip when wet, too, but that's another story about Opryland and high school senior trips that we can save for another time... well, just know you shouldn't ride the log flume *before* you go to the bathroom... otherwise, you might find yourself borrowing enough money from a loanshark classmate to buy yourself an extra-long t-shirt...)

Sheets, towels, and blankets take up the most space on a clothesline, but they are the easiest to manage, with one caveat. Do not drag them across the yard while someone might be watching. That's all I can say about that.

So, Jack, I guess you can see now that D.W.C.S. is often rooted deeply in the brain, or at least, it is ingrained at an early age. Not that it really matters in the grand scheme of backyard activities, but now you know!

Sincerely,

Ang

P.S. I am sorry you tripped on all the weeds in the garden. I find it best to balance the D.W.C.S. with a healthy dose of willful neglect in other areas :)

Wanna Walk?

2010-11-02T18:01:00.007-05:00

Come on, let's walk side by side through the late afternoon. We can talk about the weather, or we can talk about our "whether or nots," or we can walk in silence.

We're on the low side of the Carlyle Lake Dam right now, on a Nature Trail by the side of the road. The trees are so tall, reaching up and up, forming a cathedral under the bluest sky.

Now, lean against this tall maple goddess of a tree, and look up into the fading green canopy of leaves. It's dizzying and awe-inspiring, all at the same time, isn't it?

Did you feel the shaggy bark as you leaned back against her? I did, and I told her "thank you" for letting me enjoy the view at the expense of a few pieces of bark that crumpled when I moved.

Cottony clouds float along the bluest sky ever, whispering secrets to the treetops.

Isn't it funny how thorny situations can stay at the back of your mind for such a long time? Walking with you makes me loosen up, makes me think I can talk about anything, even those thorny situations... Maybe I won't talk about anything in particular, but I know you will listen while we walk. That is a good feeling.

Or maybe, this tree is in our path today because it symbolizes something larger than our problems. Maybe we are meant to think about crowns of thorns and prophets and philosophers?

Look. I think it's a reminder to cross bridges when you come to them. Don't worry so much about the bridge until you reach it, or you might miss the sights and sounds which build up to it.

Standing here with you, listening to the breeze through the drying leaves, watching for birds flitting here and there, I feel peaceful and happy. Even a dead branch seems beautiful in this frame of mind.

Of course, it's always true for me that driftwood and dead branches and such have an impressive beauty, but it's not always that I connect that to the beauty of the circles of life.

Who really needs to say anything in a spot like this? I'll put my hand on your shoulder and thank you for sharing this with me.

There's part of the dam. Our trail is coming to an end. The sign at the beginning asked us to take nothing and leave only footprints, or I would be tempted to make a bouquet of delicate dry weeds and seeds.

*Sigh*

Goodbye, Trail.

May each of us who walk you come away with a sense of calm and belonging.

Can You Hear Her?

2010-11-01T19:39:00.002-05:00

This is Annie Marshall's grave.

Annie lived and died over a hundred years ago, but her story lingers, thanks to the haunting strains of a violin that some say can be heard at midnight.

Annie was eleven years old when diptheria killed her.

Annie probably gets quite a few visits from the curious living souls this time of year. I can tell you from personal experience that walking up to Annie in the daylight, or in the dusk, is a strangely compelling experience. I can't tell you what it's like to walk up to her at midnight and hear the strains of violin music, though. Never have done that one yet.

You know what I think about when I walk the loop that comes past Annie? I imagine a real little girl, a practically homeless and oft neglected girl spending lots of her after-school time flitting around the graves and mausoleums near Annie. Can't you just imagine the thoughts of such a little girl, if she existed?

That's Annie. She's my friend. She don't talk much, but neither do I. We kind of like it that way. She done give me so many of them little bears of hers, I couldn't never not call her my friend.

I been wishing I had a dress like that, but Annie says she'd rather have some jeans and a t-shirt like mine. She didn't know little girls ever wore anything except dresses! Come to think of it, she didn't know little girls could ever be wandering around outside any time they please, either.

I like coming here. It's safe here where nobody can reach out and grab you. Ain't nobody trying to tell me to get outta the way. Ain't nobody making fun of my hair or talking about my mama's boyfriends. Shoot, ain't nobody here at all most days. And when they do come here, they's always whistling or singing to themselves, so I hear 'em and hide.

There's some good hiding spots over there by that stone house thing. Annie says there's dead people's bodies in there, but I don't care. I do wish they'd open their door and let me see inside sometime or another.

I hear my mama hollering for me. Shhhhhhh... don't you tell no one you seen me here. It's our secret. You, me, and Annie. Our secret.

Tooooooooo Spooooooooooooky for Halloooooooween?

2010-10-31T19:24:00.003-05:00

This is too spooky for words, my friends. This 'fraidy cat to beat all 'fraidy cats has come to a decision. I am no longer afraid of the dark. Ghosts, apparitions, aliens, and strange unidentified creatures can rest easy now, knowing that I feel no need to rid the world of them. It's Halloween, and all that scares me is. . . humans.

If the ghost of my Grandma or my Granny could appear and give me a real hug, then I would revert to my old fears because that would mean bad spirits could also touch me. It hasn't happened yet, even though I've wished for it so many times in my life. So, that's it, in a nutshell. It sure took me a long enough time to figure out this one!

Whatever scares you, try looking at it from a different angle. You might still be scared, but who knows? You also might chip away at the fear, creating a new handhold for courage.

That's my Halloween thought for the day. It's certainly not spooky in the conventional way, but sometimes "a-ha!" moments regarding real life sneak up on us and spook our brain with their uncanny appearance :) Hope all of your tricks have been balanced with lots of treats this Halloween! Nighty-night!

Lessons in Life

2010-10-30T08:41:00.002-05:00

Lesson #4,742:

Well, actually, this could be Lessons #4,742-4,746 or so. This picture brings to mind a bunch of different little blurbs.

For instance, Lesson #4,742 could indeed be that oak trees do not care whether (or when) other trees have changed colors. Oak trees are apparently stubborn like that. They will also hold on to their leaves long after the poplars are bare and the pines have shed beaucoup needles.

This observation leads to Lesson #4,743: Don't worry about raking the yard until all of the trees have lost their leaves. The poplars were losing them so quickly that the ground I had just raked would be covered again in an hour. I put away the rake. I'm waiting.

Lesson #4,744: If you sit under an oak in autumn, then you should not be surprised when an acorn falls on your head. Ask Katie. She knows from personal experience. She said it didn't hurt, so I don't feel so bad telling you it was actually funny to watch... exactly like a cartoon scene, it was.

Lesson #4,745: Frost is beautiful, but it is not easily captured in a photograph. I know. This was supposed to be a stunning photograph of a frosted leaf sparkling in the morning sunlight. Ha.

Corollary to #4,745: Don't forget to put down the darn camera and actually look at what you're attempting to capture. Otherwise, you're going to miss a lot of beautiful tidbits from Nature! The sparkles were spectacular in person, by the way.

Lesson #4,746: If you mess around too long writing your blog, instead of straightening the house as you planned, you may run out of time.

Corollary to #4,746: Ain't no corollary, really. I just need to say I better finish up here and zoom through the house one time! Bet I won't get to come back from the Fall Festival stuff and clean up before Parade time, and then family is coming to spend the night (and hopefully not look at the dust I let grow this week!). Have a terrific Halloween weekend, Everyone!

Squiggly Lines and Half Moons

2010-10-29T16:22:00.002-05:00

Always, the moon is a drawing force upon my soul.

That squiggly branched dead tree in the backyard is, too. It may not pull me the way the moon does, but that tree makes me fall in love with it every time I look out the back windows.

The other night, I was walking back to the house from the shed. My feet stopped at the tree, even though I try not to stand under it when the wind is blowing. Before I realized what I was doing, my hand laid itself upon a flat part of the trunk where a branch had once been. It was the same motion as someone resting their hand on a loved one's heart. So instead of a tree hugger, does this make me a tree patter?
I also happen to be a tree watcher. This one has a few different woodpeckers who treat it like their very own buffet, as well as plenty of sparrows and a stray goldfinch or two who drop in to rest on a favorite tall branch. Exotic birds and pet birds will catch my eye, but my true love is simply observing whichever wildbirds are near me. Hummingbirds at my mom's feeders, sandhill cranes in the fields near my parents' home, blue jays in the tall trees along the ditch at the back of our yard, hawks on light poles, and even turkey vultures resting on a neighbor's split rail type fence. . . those are my delights. Just like the squiggly tree, their adornments seem subtle but fascinating.
Hmmm. I'm not sure how that all ties in with the moon, although Luna is the retiring and shy counterpart to the blazing sun if you think about it.
Anyway, just a little rambling to go wiggle its way into your brain, just like the squiggly branches are always wiggling their way into mine!
Have an awe-inspiring Friday!

Staring into the Eyes of God, or Why Artists Need Time to Waste

2010-10-28T14:12:00.002-05:00

I will now cop to spending an hour one afternoon this past summer taking pictures of this praying mantis that graced the front sidewalk. It was obviously a "she," and she was moving very slowly, as praying mantises are wont to do, even when they aren't as pregnant as she appeared to be. Besides having a huge abdomen, she was also one of the longest mantises I remember ever seeing. She was gorgeous, all subtle brown tones and elegantly armored. How could I not run for the camera? She had beautiful patterns on her gently folded wings, and the colors were so intriguing.

Here's where more practical people (or people who are gainfully employed at "real" jobs) snort and mutter something about wishing they had time to take pictures of bugs. . . and I understand why, I really do. Why do you think I waited to write this until I found out I have a full-time, outside the home, job lined up? Being a stay-at-home mom and artist is a job, but one with leeway to do things that people on the clock for the man don't have. Often, other people only see the leeway and forget about the 24/7 responsibilities and the fact that a stay-at-home parent never clocks out and leaves the job. Maybe that's too much of a tangent off of today's discussion, but believe me, it is something that crosses your mind when you're enjoying the perks of that position.

Anyway, we were talking about wasting time taking pictures of bugs, weren't we? Soon as I finished following this one around the front sidewalk, I came inside and googled "praying mantis." It has always seemed entertaining to me that insects who eat other insects would be called praying mantises when they are actually preying, but then I do love a good play on words! The "praying" obviously comes from the folded front claws and the meditatively slow movement of these creatures. In fact, one description of them likened looking into their eyes to "staring into the eyes of God."

Staring into the eyes of God is an excellent metaphor for my interaction with this praying mantis. Far as this spiritual mutt can tell, God and Nature and the Forces of the Universe are all intermingled in such a way that even this former athiest is awed by the magnitude of power embedded in all that is life. What I wish you could see in the pictures I took is the incredible depth in the eyes. It was like looking into a clear marble with millions of translucent layers, practically endless.

It took me a while to come to the conclusion that it was worthwhile to spend the last hour of that afternoon in that way, observing and contemplating with no specific goal. A long time ago, before I'd read as many bits and pieces of books about art and spirituality and such, another glass melter told me there are people who think artists fulfill the duties and responsibilities of shamans in our modern culture. If that is the case, then who better suited than the creative soul to observe, experience, and pass along the wonders of nature to the souls who don't have the leisure to do the mundane footwork? It seems appropriate that we would all have something to contribute. The people with the technical skills dedicate their time and energy to building us homes, making our tools, sewing up our wounds. . . why shouldn't those of us with a different set of time constraints be obligated contribute what we are able to glean from our interactions with nature?

Oh, and all this speculating and pontificating does not mean that people with "real" jobs aren't creative or don't enjoy nature. That's not it, at all. Many people make those things their priority during time away from work. Many people find ways to integrate the soulful with the practical. All I'm saying is that maybe artists aren't merely "wasting" time when they do things like spend an hour staring into the eyes of God, take a day to research and interpret background information for their projects, and allow their brains time to incubate ideas while physically occupying themselves with mindless tasks. Many times, those "insignificant" actions will result in a time shortcut to education or momentary enlightenment for another individual. Making those moments more accessible for everyone adds so much to our overall quality of life, don't you think? I think so, and I think that I will work harder to make other people aware of that, no matter which side of the got-time-to-waste side of the fence I am living on!

So, go ahead. "Waste" some time when you can. . . and I will thank you for it.

When It's All Said and Done

2010-10-27T11:54:00.004-05:00

When it's all said and done, I guess the thing that attracts me to these older gravestones is the intrigue, the mystery, the stories. Time has worn them, but it hasn't erased them completely.

Who was lain to rest here? Pauper or prince? Does it matter now?

Memories upheld, bolstered by more memories.

Is it sad, or is it simply the results of time's march?

How can you not wonder about the connections this human had to other humans? How can you not wonder whether this person's life has touched yours by some series of connections?

What's Locked Up in Your Head?

2010-10-26T14:25:00.002-05:00

If it wasn't protecting some family's old mausoleum in the graveyard, I'd be looking for a way to pick it. Okay, so I wouldn't really do it, don't even have a clue how to do it, but I most certainly would wonder about it! Seriously, I wonder how long it's been since anyone pushed those doors back, sneezed at the mustiness inside, and greeted their ancestors' remains with a faint "hello"?

What parts of the life of a family remain hidden behind those doors? Are all the generations gone, leaving behind no one to care about whether or not that door can be opened? Are there children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren who live too far away to even know that lock is frozen? Are there people who could try to unlock it but choose not to do it?

What is locked up behind those doors?

Pondering these locks and their rustiness, I make the leap to pondering all the things we lock up inside our heads, hoping the locks rust shut, hoping the concrete doors are too heavy to heave with our shoulders. Obviously, that sort of pondering could get very dark, very quickly... but that's not exactly where I'm going with this train of thought. I'm thinking in terms of the parts of us that could be good, except we're too afraid of them to let them come into the light of day.

How many times do we bar parts of ourselves from being seen by others? How many times do we close up our dreams and longings and aspirations so that no one else can see them? Is it because we are afraid we won't be able to live up to the potential we have in ourselves?

I think so.
I know so.

We don't have to tell each other about all of those potentials, but when we do, we often find success is not as improbable as we think. Amazingly, the people who know and love us are often able to see straight through our concrete doors, with no need to pick the lock. What we think we have secured so well is not as hidden as we'd like to believe.

It seems that with all this talk of "concrete," I should give you a concrete example of something locked up in my head, instead of dancing around abstracts, right? Well, I'm not so sure I can really do it. There are great potentials hidden in me, just like there are in you, that will never even peek through a crack in the door because I am scared to throw myself into life without a safety net. From what I have seen in other people, though, the better you are at throwing yourself into the abyss without worrying about where you'll land, the more you can achieve in life.

And because I know that is true, I tell you about one potential (and it's conjoined fear) that lurks in my head, waiting for me to get the courage to unlock it. It's about writing. Gaaaaaaaawd, I love words, always have and always will. I remember writing Composition 101 essays at the breakfast table in college (this was long before assignments were ever expected to be anything but handwritten). . . my comp class was an 8 or 8:30 a.m. one. The inspiration would hide from me all night, and then finally make a splendid leap onto the paper in the morning. Higher classes required longer papers and more preparation, of course, but it was basically the same story. Once I found the inspiration, the words flowed well. Nowadays, I write Facebook status lines, and sometimes they are eloquent little blurbs and descriptions (and sometimes not). I write short blog entries like this one. When the flow hits me, I love it! It's why I write again (and again and again and again) in hopes of finding it one more time. So, that's the potential.

Here's the fear: exactly what do you make of writing like that? how do I ever turn it into a book? is there anywhere to take it, when it's basically limited to short venues? there are tons of inspirational writers, why aspire to be one more? how do I ever make an essay into something more than an essay? is there any point to it?

And that's where I am on that particular monster lurking in my head. Funny thing is, at least one of you has seen it without having a key to the rusted lock! I am so grateful for that, and I intend to pass along the kindness as often as I can. Writing this is one way. At least I hope it speaks to someone somewhere along the line and encourages them to let us see what's locked up inside their head. Chances are, we've already seen it in you and can't wait for the opportunity to cheer you on toward your dreams!

GO, YOU!
UNLOCK YOUR DREAMS!

How Do Thunderbirds Speak?

2010-10-23T04:08:00.005-05:00

How do thunderbirds speak?

Well, if it's extremely early in the morning, then this one speaks through a less than perfect photograph. I may have the urge to write again, but I know better than to try to get out the camera and disturb the rest of the sleeping household, ya know! I'd also like to go outside on the upper deck and look at the clouds covering our part of the sky like a downy blanket. Once again, though, I know better... the hound-doggies in the neighborhood have gone to sleep, and far be it from me to awaken sleeping children OR quietly slumbering puppies :)

So, what you see is what you get for photos of this thunderbird right now. That doesn't mean we can't talk (make that "whisper" and "tap the keyboard a little less noisily") about it right now, though! Technically speaking, this bead was melted out of dark ivory and coral colors of glass. That thunderbird design was done with thin stringers of coral glass. Gravity helped me with the contours of the bead itself, playing and pulling the glass around the rod as I thought of old pottery and beadwork.

Something else was on my mind, too, as I turned the mandrel and meditated. Could I use this pared down thunderbird symbol? I seem to have no problem making Buddhas, even though I'm not a Buddhist. I love to use Chinese inspired themes, and even though I'm a spiritual mutt who thinks the Tao comes pretty close to summing up my thoughts, I'm not Chinese. I adore making Madonnas (the Mother Mary, Queen of Heaven, not the pop star), even though I don't call myself a Christian. I love religious art, and it inspires my creativity! I try to let the glass tell me what it wants to be, but part of why that works is that I fill my brain with all sorts of material and images from the world's religions and cultures. Am I misappropriating someone else's culture and beliefs when I do that, though? I don't feel as if I am, I feel as if I'm honoring and connecting with another part of the world.

But if you look at it from the other side of the images/ideas, maybe it does make me a bit of an interloper. It's a fine line, if you ask me. It's a line I've thought about many times. Most of those times, I choose to use my inspiration and let it flow because I tend to think my intentions are good. When it comes to Native American inspiration, I have trouble doing that because I've read the other side of the story. I have a tiny book filled with pictures of Zuni fetishes, such intriguingly pared down shapes. The book mentions counterfeiters who sell fetishes to the detriment of the Zuni artists who attempt to make a living sculpting fetishes based on their culture. I've read an incredible book/conversation with Lame Deer, even keep it handy because I like to re-read snippets that resonate with my own beliefs. When you look up "Lakota spirituality," though, you are almost certain to come upon warnings about charlatans who don't belong to the tribe but try to sell themselves as "medicine men." You find admonishments that the Lakota way is cultural, and only members of the culture can claim it. Can you really argue with it?? This continent was wide open and land "belonged" to no one until our European ancestors came. I am thankful for my country, and I can't go back in time and stop change... but I can also see "progress" from the perspective of those whose world became smaller as it filled with settlers from other lands.

All of which brings me to my measley little glass thunderbird. In the big scheme of things, who would spend the time to argue with it, even if I sold it? It's just a piece of glass, not a million dollar conglomerate in the making. One of my cousins used to tell me our grandmother was part Cherokee, explaining Granny's complexion that was so much tanner than our own all year long. While looking over the family tree with my own Mom a few weeks ago, I mentioned that story again and asked her about it. To my surprise, she said it was her father who told her his mother was part Indian. Well, like lots of information about past generations, it's not easy to confirm or deny. If one of my maternal great-grandmothers did have Native American ancestors, would that make it a little more acceptable for me to use Native American stories and symbols for artistic inspiration? I don't know. It feels as if I'm stretching, as if I'm trying to find a handhold to grasp a door that isn't mine to open. I don't know.

Who knows how we make all of our decisions in life, and who knows for sure whether we make the right ones when the details are inspected? For now, I will keep toying with the art in my books about North and South American native cultures. I'll keep toying with ways to let my inspiration flow without overstepping boundaries... who knows, who knows.

That's That... The Cat Is Where It's At

2010-10-20T09:49:00.002-05:00

One night this summer, I grabbed the fancy chalks and headed to the patio to doodle a colorful mandala. The mandala was fairly quickly forgotten, being merely a piece of meditative art that has served its purpose once it is created.

The kids had other uses for the chalks on their minds, though, and their feline inspiration shone brightly. James and Kate do adore our cats! Moochie is just older than James, and Momo was a Christmas present of sorts a few years ago. Kate likes to play "cat whisperer," teaching Osiris to sit and follow her.

As far as these children are concerned, the cats are connected to them by cords of love so strong as to never be broken. Cats being cats, sometimes they respond accordingly... and sometimes they blow ya off just for looking at them.

My point, if there is one in this rambling, is that James and Kate made some incredible pictures that night, and the electricity in their images was definitely fueled by their love of their subject. James' vibrant chalk cats were especially amazing to me because he is the child who usually doesn't want to draw or make things. Ah, but when his subject was near and dear to him, his hands were on fire with passion, his creativity was ignited.

We all know loving what we do is important. We all know artists are inspired by the people and things they love. We all know it's important to follow our hearts.

And we all tend to forget these things, or put them on the backburner, from time to time. Don't let another day go by without doing something you love! It may be as simple as stopping on the sidewalk to pick up a leaf with all the burnished oranges and glorious reds of autumn. It may be as complicated as heading to your studio and spending hours making something just for yourself. Remember your heart, and do your soul happy today!

Long Time, No Write, Right??

2010-10-19T13:48:00.002-05:00

I am such a dork, such a doofus. I neglected this blog for months, all because my writing muse seems to throw a huge tantrum in the summertime. What I didn't realize is that my neglect, coupled with the blurb at the top of my page, might make someone wonder if something was wrong with me. D'oh! I am so sorry. The request for prayers is for Mallory (Rosebud) H's daughter, who is fighting and beating cancer even as we speak. I am sure Jenny can still use all the prayers and healing vibes you can spare, just because it's a time of upheaval of "normal life." I, on the other hand, request your forgiveness for not keeping up with the blog. Pretty please? Coincidentally, last night Mallory herself was asking me when I was going to start blogging again! Thanks, Mrs. M, for all your encouragement, especially when I know you have more important things on your mind! Okey-dokey... gonna post this, gonna make one more bead or sculpture since I finally have the torch set up again, and then gonna try my best to get you all a new and improved blog post :) Toodles, Ang

Cockadoodledoo

2010-07-11T08:09:00.002-05:00

Wake. Rise. Crow about it. Really, when you think about it, that's not a bad way to start any day, huh?

Metal rooster, cool tree stump, and sunrise light all courtesy of Mother's flower garden :-)

Cat Whisperers and Such

2010-07-10T08:59:00.002-05:00

This is Charlie. My parents and little brother are on his staff. Mother is his hot food chef and belly rubber. Bubby is his crunchy food chef and play/battle friend. Pop is not his chef, nor his servant, but he is probably Chief of Staff in Charlie's mind. Pop, the man who never cared much for cats until now, is Charlie's cat whisperer extraordinaire. Charlie follows him to the shop. Charlie winds around his feet and legs. Charlie meows at him. Charlie watches him. Charlie apparently hangs on every whisper from Stanley. . . and I get the feeling they both like it that way.

Ever since Charlie arrived and finally warmed up to his humans, Bubby has been calling Pop "The Cat Whisperer." Well, of course, Kate and James have heard this term before now, but I don't think they realized they'd ever met one in person until Granddaddy started being one. Watching Animal Planet's "Cats 101" is one thing, being a real life cat whisperer is another, you know.

They've been discussing it, too. Katie came to me with a sad face yesterday and told me about their conversation:

K: I'm going to be an animal whisperer when I grow up.
J: You can't do that. Those people don't make any money. You'll be a hobo, and I'll have to tell all my friends, "Yeah, my sister is a hobo."

Can we insert a virtual eye roll here? I sure hope her knowledge of self rubs off on him, his knowledge of practicality rubs off on her, and they both end up somewhere comfortably in the middle!

Bastages! This Means Farging War, You Little RingTailed Corksuckers!

2010-07-06T16:40:00.002-05:00

This must be the work of raccoons. There are a few ears left, and I'm going to snatch them out of the garden whether or not they are completely filled out. . . we might not get to eat all of them, but I'm done providing raccoon chow without a fight!

Angie, Angie, Quite Contrary...

2010-07-01T08:21:00.003-05:00

Angie, Angie, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?

I'll tell ya how my garden grows. The weeds grow quickly, and the grass crabs it's way across the short rows that aren't easily tilled. Oh, you meant the vegetables? So far, so good, as far as there have been any results. Three, 1-2-3, count them, of the many cherry tomatoes have ripened. I hope they don't all decide to turn pretty red this weekend while the kids and I are gone, because the hubby won't give them a second thought. The stalks of the sweet corn are tasseled out, and you can see two or three ears silked out on each one. The potatoes are growing like Godzilla hybrids of some strange sort, but I haven't gotten up the nerve to dig down under a hill and see what actual progress is being made. The lettuce is supposed to be a summer hybrid that can withstand heat, and it does look pretty. . . pretty lonely, that is. I'm pretty much the only one who'll eat a green salad, so I keep forgetting to grab some lettuce at the right time. What else is there? Oh, yes, green beans are growing and growing and growing. I staked some of them early on, forgetting to check the description on the seed packet. These are bush plants, not vining ones. Of course, I still like the look of the twig teepees standing uselessly over them, so those remain. Toss in a few bell peppers that I hope make it to the ripe red stage, some cabbage that may or may not finally make full heads so late, and an assortment of regular size tomatoes, and that's it.

The good news is that part of the garden is going to have to go soon in order to make way for the driveway to the new pole building. HOORAY! I'll give up that southwest corner, no problem. I'll just till a little farther north and east next spring. . . that is if I have any gardening inclinations left once I have my torch set up in the corner of the new shed. Goodgawdglass, here I come. . . it'll be August before the building is done, and who knows how long after that before it has electricity and I have walls enclosing my section at the end, but IT'S IN SIGHT :-) Yeah, who gives a rip about the poor garden anymore, huh? Heehee, I guess I do, I really do because I'm waiting for lots of corn and tomatoes. I'm just happy as snot about the reason I'm going to have to change the garden boundaries!

Put Me in, Coach! I'm Ready to Play!

2010-06-30T10:00:00.003-05:00

Well, it's Wednesday, and it's summertime. You know what that means, don't you? Gotta be a girls' ball game going on somewhere! Our kids joined teams for the first time this year, and it's been fun watching them play.

Boys' games are up on Thursday's, and it's really fun watching them slug it out against other teams, too.

Go, Kate!
Go, James!
Go, Indians!
Go, D-ville!

It Is

2010-06-29T08:13:00.004-05:00

The world is a sacred vessel.
It should not be meddled with.
It should not be owned.

If you try to meddle with it, you will ruin it.
If you try to own it, you will lose it.

-- Lao Tzu

Damn! Been upstaged by a translation of something an ancient Chinese dude said thousands of years ago. Ha! Humbling, isn't it? You can't see me, but I am smiling as I write these sentences.

Happy 47th Anniversary to Stanley and Clara!

2010-06-28T10:10:00.001-05:00

Happy 47th Anniversary to Mother and Pop!
Love you both so much!

Thank Goodness, It's Not a Hard Tack Life We Live

2010-06-25T08:22:00.002-05:00

This was meant to have been written and posted on Memorial Day. Thank goodness, the soldiers who protect us in any day and age are not as lackadaisical about deadlines as I am. For your service, you are admired, thanked, and placed on a mental pedestal. You sacrifice your own safety, your family's sanity, and so many small moments of what would be a normal daily routine. I would like to say I understand what you do, but I can't, simply because a civilian can come no closer to completely understanding your life than an occasional foreshortened glimpse of your day. If I am honest with myself, I have to admit that you are taken for granted many days of my life. So, when there is an opportunity to reflect closely upon what you and your forebears have done for our society, then I owe you time and thought. . . and I apologize for what a small drop in the bucket of gratitude that is, and I hope you won't think writing about my small personal experiment trivializes your life in any way.

Here's what I did. During Memorial Day weekend, my sister, the kids, and I stopped at Fort Duffield to see what the reenactors were doing. We stopped late in the day, but we did get to see a couple and look at their tent and campfire. They were generous with their information, as well as their hard tack and snickerdoodles! James and Kate happily chose snickerdoodles, but I figured I ought to try the hard tack. The "soldier" let me attempt to nibble a corner of the "cracker" and then let me in on a little secret. Most Civil War soldiers would bust it up with the butt of their gun before attempting to eat it. They would sometimes soak it in their coffee cup, making coffee pudding. Hmmm, I thought, I guess I could try that. I carried the rest of my chipped off hard tack. I carried it in my sweaty palm while we finished walking around the fort. I carried it in my sweaty palm while we walked farther up the bluff to the cemetery. I carried it in my sweaty palm while we swam through the ninety-ish temperatures and almost visible humidity on the way back to the car. It still looked exactly like it did when I first put it in my hand.

That's tough stuff, that hard tack. You can find an official Army memo about it here. Did you read the ingredients? Four cups flour, four teaspoons salt, and about two cups water are mixed and baked in an oven. "The fresh crackers are easily broken but as they dry, they harden and assume the consistentency of fired brick." I think the sample I received had reached that kiln brick stage.

Memorial Day morning, I cracked my hard tack (no gun butts involved) and put it in my coffee cup. I indulged in my usual sugar, even though I imagine sugar in a soldier's pack after so many days and years at war would not have been likely.

As I poured my one cup of coffee for the morning into the hard tack and sugar, I had a very mundane thought-- this stuff is going to absolutely ruin my coffee because it's going to dissolve and turn the whole thing into a starchy mush. I quickly sipped what I could, hoping to avoid any globs of hard tack, hoping that didn't make my Memorial Day tribute too trivial. You know what? The hard tack stayed hard. I caught a crumb or two, but they were more like grit than mush. For once, though, I didn't finish my morning coffee. Figuring that wasn't in the spirit of my experiment, I poured the leftovers into a travel cup and took it with me to town, just in case I got the urge to cheat and get a hard tack free cup of espresso while I was at the bookstore.

I did finish most of the coffee, but the hard tack had soaked up some of it. When I opened the travel cup the next morning, here's what I saw-- leathery pieces of moist hard tack. Soldiers, thank you for what you do, that's all I can say!

The N.H.B.

2010-06-24T09:01:00.002-05:00

That's "N," as in "naked." That's "H," as in "headless." That's "B," as in "Barbie doll."

She lives in our backyard, you know. The furlines greet her every time she lands someplace different around her tree home, and this has caught my attention. It seems to me that I have to pick up the N.H.B. and move her every single time I mow the yard. I always perch her somewhere on the half dead tree that needs to be cut down (except that I can't bear to bring up the subject to the bill payer in the house because that squiggly tree has so much personality, as well as so many bird homes in its branches). The next thing you know, she's back in the grass, risking her plastic limbs in order to instigate more cat investigations.

I am beginning to wonder if she's alive.

Yeah, I said that. Me, the scientifically oriented skeptic of all things supernatural, I just suggested the N.H.B. might be a phenomenon worthy of a Scooby Doo episode. Well, I'm not sure the Mystery Gang would find the requisite sinister culprit and plot, but I do think the N.H.B. would entertain such an inquisitive group of youngens.

This leads me to the idea that I could use the N.H.B. to create a summer mystery for James and Kate to investigate. Um, great idea, but not for my two. Kate still hasn't recovered from the time I jokingly referred to the ice maker dumping sound as "the refrigerator ghost." (I thought it was funny, Ricky thought it was funny, and Katie screeched and has been spooked by it off and on ever since.)

So, dear N.H.B., you and I will continue this little game with the cats by ourselves.

P.S. to the N.H.B.-- Your head is living in a basket full of hen 'n chicks, in case you'd like to mosey over that way and really freak me out!

9

2010-06-23T09:39:00.002-05:00

Nine. It's a very good number.

It's also a sort of awkward, sort of silly, sort of strange bridge into the double digits. Nine year olds are too old to pitch fits, too young to party, too old to catch a ride in a stroller, and too young to think just strolling along the sidewalk is a fun thing. Nine year olds. . . I have one, and I think he's handling it really well.

From what I can remember, nine was not a very flattering year for me, so I'm really digging this boy's newfound sense of self. He's so smart, but what he's always longed to be is funny, side-splitting-slap-your-knee funny. Um, how do I say this? He was more cute than funny, more smart than funny, more fun than funny. This has been a sore spot for him, as you might expect, especially since his little sister seems to have been born with the class clown gene fully intact and working well since she was old enough to talk. The boy tried too hard to compete, taking his jokes that extra not-so-funny mile, straining to get a laugh.

Well, I am pleased to announce that I think he has finally started growing into his own sense of humor. It's funny, it really does seem to have happened within the last month. Technically, he's only been nine for a little over a week, but I think the "I'm nine" realization started sinking into his brain as soon as his sister turned eight. For four weeks each year, James and Kate are the same age. This does not amuse either one of them anymore. James starts referring to himself as "practically nine" as soon as Kate reaches eight (same thing happens almost every year, just the numbers update themselves). This year, I think 9 means "I'd better start acting like a big kid" to him. He's a little less dramatic with his fits when things don't go his way. Okay, he's still dramatic, but it has toned down a smidge. He's a little bit more thoughtful of others. He's literally walking taller-- the way he carries his little boy body is starting to have a teenagerish turn to it. He's funny.

Yep, all these years of trying too hard and coaxing the laughter have coalesced into a hilariously laid back sense of humor. It's starting to be really fun to watch. The "bumper stickers" for his tennis shoes appeared one afternoon after a period of furious work with papers and markers and such. After wiping the tears from my eyes and catching my breath, I begged the little booger to let me take a picture of the bumper stickers. He obliged. The bumper stickers disappeared later that evening and have not made a reappearance yet. . . but I think "yet" might be the key word. Sunday morning, Ricky was sitting at the dining table with his back to the stairs when James casually slid his hand through the railing and started rubbing Daddy's head with his knuckles. "Have you had your Father's Day dutch rub yet, Dad??" I like it-- sly, dry, funny wit.

So, James, since I know you have a habit of reading my stuff when you get a turn on the computer, let me say this to you: Nine looks good on ya, Boy!