Sumi Ink Skies

TONIGHT the sky looked like a sumi ink painting. I like the pale blue sky with a line of puffy clouds hanging in just enough light so they are dark inky black behind the trees and in front of the horizon.
I wish I had gotten a photo of them, but maybe you know the kind of sky I mean. Perhaps you could paint it. Perhaps I could. Maybe I will.
I feel as if I am facing more outward today and not focusing so deeply inward.
Just wanted to document that today was another day on my life calendar and a special day it was, one of deep meaningful conversation with someone I love. The conversation was heart to heart and reinforced bonds that grow stronger every day.
God bless men that can talk with their hearts - femminismo
p.s. Picasso sculptures, "Head of a Woman" 1962, "Jacqueline with a Green Ribbon" 1962, and "Head of a Woman" 1962. Photo by Gion Mili, Life magazine image, taken in 1967.

Can't Seem To Stop Myself

EVEN THOUGH I have little to say - nothing too remarkable happened today - I feel the need to blog again. I thought this was gone; this excitement to keep track of the days and the moments. But I guess not ... .
This morning I overslept and woke with 30 minutes to get ready for work. Wasn't going to happen. I took a long, luxurious shower and felt very good afterward. Friday is casual day at work so I got to put on jeans and a shirt and not worry about stockings and the proper outfit. Extra sleep and blue jeans. Maybe today was more remarkable than I thought.
It was raining on the way to the desk, computer, and chain to hold me there. That was lucky actually, because yesterday a bird passed over my car and left a truly ugly stain down the passenger's side window. (Must have eaten something really, really bad - and orange colored.) So the rain washed it off a bit and that was good.
The coyote was gone this morning. The city doesn't usually send out crews that quickly to pick up dead animals. Maybe they didn't want the citizenry frightened. I'm wondering if someone wanted the coyote for his carcass or his ears. There's another side of me that believes the "right people" picked up the coyote and took it and gave it a decent burial under the huge oak out in the field near their driveway.
Listen, do you think there's something wrong with me that I dream up stuff like this? Sometimes I wonder.
I loved the image of Steve from Bloggertropolis waving his hand in front of the elevator door, when he knew it was going to open anyway, and then pretending it was him that did it. I'm trying to think if I do any weird things like this or if it's just strange stories I cook up in my head.
I talk to myself a lot, you know; not expecting answers, and mostly to keep myself on task or help me remember things. And I dream up the most extraordinary stories where I turn out to be the heroine, saving someone some trouble or injury. I don't leap off buildings or dodge bullets, but folks end up being grateful. Then I shake my head wondering where "that" came from and go back to whatever I was doing before I started daydreaming.
I can't believe I'm actually typing this out. I guess I'm more tired than I thought and there's plenty to do tomorrow. I'm posting a photograph I took of a window in the Mister's old house and a bouquet of flowers I picked for him, in my efforts to show what a great little housewife I would make - so he would fall in love with me - femminismo
p.s. Candace, what is the name of these orange flowers? Oh, I remember! Globe flowers!

Intruding On The Wild . . .

OR IS THE WILD intruding on us?
Our whole planet should be "civilized" by now, shouldn't it? Under concrete and ticky-tack buildings? What use have we for the brown earth, green grass or wild things that nest, crawl, lope, and secret themselves along the hedgerows?
This morning on the way to work, rushing down the highway in my gasoline powered automobile, a sad sight appeared. At first I thought it was a large cat by the side of the road, but as I drew closer I saw it was the lean athletic body of the Trickster, Mr. Coyote.
It is shocking to see any animal left dead by the road, but this healthy looking, beautiful thing of the wild shocked even more. (The images are Life magazine photos hosted by Google. Top photo, 1970, by Stan Wayman. Bottom, in 1947, by Cornell Capa.)
The following is from a beautiful book by Hyemeyohsts Storm, a Northern Cheyenne, born and raised on the Cheyenne and Crow reservations in Montana.
"These, my Sisters, are my Gifts," he said, "and these Arrows are also your Gifts."
The Youngman then Covered three things of War that were in the Middle of the Lodge with the Coyote Robe. He also Placed the Robe that White Wolf had Given him, and the One from Otter, Under the Coyote Robe.
"Under Coyote's Robe is a Gift for Each of you," he Told the People. "They are for you who Sit in the North, the South, the West, and the East. Under Coyote's Skin are the things that will Give you Buffalo. You will not Hunger, nor be Alone, nor Lost."
The Youugman then Told those who Sat in the Four Directions to Pick their Gifts from Under the Robe.
"I will take the Ax," One said.
"And I the Lance," said Another.
"I will Have the War Bow," said still Another.
"I will Take what is Left, the War Headdress," said the Last.
The Youngman then Asked the Grandfather to Uncover the Robe of Coyote, and to Give Each of them their Gifts.
The Old Man Lifted the Robe of Coyote.
But the War Ax was Now a Fragile Pipe Stone, shaped like the Pipe of Peace. The Lance was Now Covered with the Wolf Skin and that of the Otter, its Point Broken, a thing that could not be Thrown. The Last thing was what had Once been Two. It was the Contrary War Bow Now Strung with the Straight Line of Feathers. The Eagle Feathers were Now the Single Brother Feather as is Worn in the Hair. And the Bow was Now One of Peace. It was the Thunder Bow.
"Which of you Now Wishes to Possess for himself the Gifts you See in Front of You in this Brother Lodge?" asked the Youngman.
They All Hung their Heads because they Recognized these things.
-- just a bit of "Seven Arrows" by Hyemeyohsts Storm - femminismo
Prayer for the Coyote
I don't care whether you are dangerous or dirty;
A threat, a plague, a vicious killer of wildlife.
I only see through you a way of life
That used to be and now is no more.
What joy you have known, what dangers you have faced,
What pleasure you have taken with food, drink, mating or
Enjoying sunshine -
Those were my pleasures too.

You Don't Have to Persuade Me

MR. WENTWORTH, Mr. Darcy - ah! That Jane knew her heroes!
No, you wouldn't have to try very hard to persuade me that Mr. Wentworth was worth the having.
I just finished watching "Persuasion" on Oregon Public Television (On Demand) and it was well worth the time spent, even though my hearing isn't the best and the British accents I enjoyed so in my youth now sound a great deal like Chinese.
This particular production had Miss Anne Elliot looking either sideways or straight into the camera (at the very end) with her wide variety of looks: consternation, irritation, forbearance, confusion or joy. Anne's hairdo made me wince with pain and I could just imagine the headache I would have at the end of the day if I were to try putting my hair up like this.
Here is Mr. Wentworth's letter to Anne that Jane Austen wrote for him:
"I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own, than when you almost broke it eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death.
"I have loved none but you. ... For you alone I think and plan. -- Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? -- I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice, when they would be lost on others. -- Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in --- F.W. (Frederick Wentworth)
"I must go, uncertain of my fate, but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening, or never."
Wow! Could a woman turn down a man who could write a letter like that? Doubtful!
I got the pictures from another blog with this fabulous quote (mixing zombies and Jane Austen) "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a zombie in possession of brains must be in want of more brains." For "single man" you insert "zombie" and "brains" for everything else ... like fortune and marriage.
I'm glad I'm not a zombie. I really don't think I could handle the diet - femminismo
p.s. None of these images are mine.

Third World Thoughts

Sunday Morning, on CBS (Feb. 21), there was a segment by a writer named Steve Hartman who travels the world looking for stories because he believes everyone has one to tell. For starters, this past Sunday, he had an astronaut twirl a floating earth globe in the spaceship's weightless atmosphere and - at random - point to a place where he should go and choose someone - also at random - from a phone book.
I love seeing how other people live and the way they make a life for themselves and Steve takes us all over. (Most of these stories contain great morals and a great deal of inspiration.)
Steve went to India for one of the stories and I think everyone in the world should watch this one YouTube video on a 78-year-old man, quietly living life the best he can, to find out if your life actually sucks as much as you think it does.
Someone commenting on the YouTube site said at least this man was living in a house. (some live in cardboard boxes on the street) I think there were 13 family members altogether. If you watch it you will find out. (Watch out for the Welch's grape jelly commercial at the beginning. Time for a quick bathroom break there.)
Lately this third world view has intruded in my life - not a bad thing - and I find when I use plastic bags or bottles, I try to reuse them as often as possible. I wonder what treasures these might be in a third world country. Would a Glad bag with a ZipLock top be a balloon or a ball, filled with air and zipped up to toss around and bat back and forth? Would it be a way to collect rain water - safe to drink?
But even in my own town I worry about those without a home or people to take care of them. There is a man in town with three shopping carts full of possessions. He pushes one of them along the sidewalk, towing the other one behind. He then leaves the two of them and walks back to get the third one and when he has them all together he starts over again.
When is the last time this man had a good meal I wonder - as I drive by in my nice warm car without stopping. (I'm always on my way somewhere - like to a restaurant to buy a nice warm meal.) There is one thing I have not learned in my life - yet. That is how to approach someone who may not want to be approached.
When was the last time he had a hot shower or clean clothes? Who is there to take care of him?
I do not quite believe the story of the lilies of the field. Some things, some people, need more than air, rain and sunshine. Do you know how to approach someone who may not like human contact? Let me know how to get brave and do it in the best way possible, if you can - femminismo

Birthday Girl and Violets

JUST a short note on today: Shey's birthday was celebrated tonight. She looked like a very happy 17-year-old girl. Movie and dinner with friends and a chocolate, chocolate, chocolate cake with them and family and then presents. We've all come a long ways together ... .
Today was bright with sunshine and tonight may set a February 21st record low temperature. I hope all those violets will still have their bright eyes shining tomorrow. Here's how they looked today when I gathered a bunch of them in a cup - femminismo
p.s. See my new gloves beside them? There is work cut out for the gloves!

Got Food?

YES, do you have food?
I hope so! Many in Oregon - and throughout the U.S. - do not.
"Food insecurity" - better known as "hunger" - touches too many families. If you had a nice dinner tonight and don't have to worry about tomorrow's cupboard rations, you can be very, very thankful.
After watching the movie "Food Inc." I was looking around the Internet and googling places nearby that sell grassfed beef. That's how I came upon Mossback Farm in Yamhill, Oregon. After reading more about their farm, I see they even offer opportunities to come and stay, work and learn how life on a farm really goes. Very tempting, what with the exquisite scenery and all. I just might have to put that on my list of things to do one day. Rich, the farm co-owner, noted that he was blogging for food. I had already made a Valentines Day donation to the Oregon Food Bank, but wanted to let others know they had an opportunity to donate. (Or choose your own state's food bank. I'm sure they've got one!)
I know the "food" I show in this photo is not what one might serve for dinner, and half its calories come from fat, so it's truly not a good choice for your main meal. (The candy is actually in homage to Steve's recent blog/rant on Cadbury's and Hersheys. No mistaking the chocolate for a tea packet, Steve.)
But ... back to hunger: If you're like some unlucky folks, and you've already spent most of your income on rent, heat, lights, water and medicine, where else will you cut back? For a lot of people, they cut back on food.
Hungry is an awful way to live.
Children who are under nourished don't develop properly either - physically and mentally. What does that mean to our American future?
If you can all spare even $5 each, consider how much that can help the cause when it's all added up. Click on the beet/turnip (?) to the left and you'll suddenly be at the Oregon Food Bank. Donate and I can assure you it will make you feel much better about life with that good warm glow in your heart.
Now for something completely different: I FOUND my dragonfly earring that had "gone missing" in ... what? January? I have made many sorties looking for it and have discovered that I am completely demented when it comes to giving up on something I am determined to have! (Have I ever told you about the Mister's and my courtship? Well, another time, perhaps.)
Anyway, there I was at lunchtime walking in the sunshine, taking photos, and I suddenly realized I had dropped my camera bag. (See a pattern of losing things here?) I retraced my steps and recovered the bag, but now my walk had changed direction. I was headed where I had been walking when I lost that earring. I looked closely at the ground hoping something would glitter. I noticed a paper clip on the cement near our local BiMart and thought, "My earring is just about that big, so if I noticed the paper clip I surely would see the earring." Lo and behold, there it was about five more steps away next to the pallets holding clay pots. It's not difficult to determine which was out in the weather, is it? It will need some help before it goes back to work.
The weather here in Oregon has been awfully pretty lately. The witch hazel is almost finished blooming, so I'm glad I got a picture of it during my walk. There was a magnolia ready to pop, so I'm sure you'll be seeing that soon.
And this tree bark that naturally separates into what could be "sheets" of parchment for a book. I wonder if I started pulling it apart if I would be arrested. (It does not belong to me.) Isn't it going to fall off anyway? Such a great project piece! I used Photoshop on the tree, so it's not totally "real" but close enough - femminismo

The Other Side

DOESN'T dream time seem like that? The "Other Side"?
A few nights ago I struggled with a man who was in my house and I kept trying to tell everyone that he meant me harm. "They" said he seemed harmless. He said, "All right, I'll leave now."
But I knew he didn't mean it and as soon as the other person was gone he was attacking me again.
I screamed. I shouted. I hit and tore. I ran from the house - along with someone else (?) - and jumped through uneven fields full of blackberry vines. I didn't mind the running or the tears from brambles. I just wanted to get away.
Then I dreamed "they" were trying to kill us all. I asked, "Isn't there an alternative?"
"He," abruptly dropping his weapon and evil persona, said, "Well, yes, I guess there is." Turns out it involved something akin to selling my soul. However, I didn't get killed, so I guess I took this alternative.
If you gave up your soul there were only two things you could not do: You could not wear the "signs of the Zodiac" and you could not drink alcohol.
In my dream I saw a man lying "dead" because he was wearing a sign. Then I absentmindedly took a sip of wine. Oh no! Alcohol! I waited for the black smoke to pour out of me, because that's what happens when you drink alcohol with no soul. (where does this stuff come from?)
A better dream was last night's trip to The Other Side, when everyone (well, almost) wanted to kiss me on the cheek because I was "so cute." I must have been regressing to when I was about 5 years old.
No, no! Don't try and flatter me by saying, "What do you mean, when you were 5 years old?!" (Oh, OK. Go ahead.)
The Mister did celebrate his birthday, along with my sister, Miss Murphy. Aren't they cute? And this is proof!
On Valentine's Day the Mister and I took a drive through the country and you could see the creeks were swollen and the buds on the trees are ready to burst. The beavers on one creek had taken a tree down and skinned all the bark off it. The little cabin shown by the creek had ferns growing all over the roof. It was behind a large bush of bamboo and in the summer must be quite the secluded hideout. It is always cool in this spot, we heard from neighbors. Not much sun at all, but lots and lots of rich green moss.
There were chickens rooting around in the mud under netting to protect them from hawks. Chicken hawks.
The day was lovely and of course over too soon. But I did get an orchid from my sweetheart for Valentine's Day, so I was pleased - femminismo
p.s. The picture at the top of the post is from Life magazine images hosted by Google. It shows a father in West Germany showing his son the view on the other side in 1961. They were lucky to be looking over and not living a scary nightmare on the other side.

Happy Birthday, Mister!

HERE is just a little something to warm up the day a bit. The Mister is celebrating a birthday, Valentines Day is getting closer, and Little Miss Murphy will celebrate a birthday also.

I think I will be busy baking cake tonight and maybe cookies also. So I'm going to blog ahead a bit.

I found this great picture on Google's Life magazine hosting space and couldn't resist doing something arty with it with Photoshop. I hope the photographer would approve - femminismo

P.S. The photographer was John Dominis

Time To Report What's Been Going On

NOT MUCH, that's what's been going on.
Well, actually, I must count a Friday off work as something going on. I met up with two lady friends (as a matter of fact, two of the best people I know) and we went to a great restaurant in our town, Syun Izakaya. It is an excellent place to eat, with marvelous fresh ingredients of the highest quality. Courteous servers and ambiance galore. Take a good look at those orchids (just part of them) that greet you at the door.
Eydie loves the sushi, but Sandi and I must have our food cooked. I adore the salmon with homemade teriyaki sauce and part of Sandi's thrill with the food is saying the name of the dish. It's something like "Nikooniki," or close anyway. Eydie's sushi included a little of everything from the sea and what looked like watercress in a fresh green bunch on top. Wasabi added a lovely green, of course, and there was the colorful pink of octopus, which once turned out to be the only sushi I could stand because at least it was chewy. Soft, soft fish textures sort of start my gag reflex going.
Hmm. I'm beginning to think it might be time for a new computer. This one is getting awfully slow about loading pictures. I've been waiting for the sushi far longer than Eydie had to. The red button on the hard drive tower is flashing frantically. So ...........
I've rebooted and the sushi is finally here. That also allowed me to get a fresh cup of tea and my materials together for Judy Wise's healing quilt square. I think I am going to put something special on my square - a seashell. A shell that holds a secret memory for me that is both tantalizing and painful. Maybe most tantalizing memories are ... a little bit ... "that way": painful. Judy can put her fingers on this seashell, the one with the hole in the middle, and savor the mystery. Perhaps through her fingertips it will tell her a story.
We had a Superbowl party at our house on Sunday and it was a topsy turvy day of emotions for me. Not because of football, but I think it has something to do with age. Wisdom come too late. Experiences missed. Mistakes made. Opportunities not taken. Explorations not made. I spent the day with people who mattered though, and now that I think it over a lot has been going on. It's just when it happens an hour at a time, it's not much. But when you look back over four days it's a whole bunch of stuff - femminismo
p.s. It's the Mister's birthday tomorrow. I'll tell him you said "Have a Happy Day!"

A Prayer For Judy Wise

MAY she heal quickly and her eyes be active soon! Artists and journalers, along with family and friends, everywhere are thinking tonight of Judy Wise and wishing she is well soon.

In Dark Alleys You Can Find Your Inner Artist

I GUESS you can find your inner artist just about anywhere, but I had almost given up hope of finding arty places around "home." Out in the dark, walking around city streets, a light rain falling on my hair-sprayed head, I was walking back to the car when I found a touch of New York City.
A very light touch.
It was First Wednesday downtown, with art, wine and words. There was even a very famous writer, Jean Auel, in town. It is the second February event she has graced us with her presence.
There was chocolate and wine everywhere you turned, with Grendel's offering chocolate pear tart and Urban Decanter swishing wine around the glasses for the just right tasting of their goods. At Valley Art there was a beautiful window display. None of the pictures I took really did the stained glass work credit, but I tried several shots.
Like I said, there were writers and poets. There was also a woman with a turtle that "drew" pictures. The turtle, a live one, "chose" a crayon, which was picked up by someone from the audience. The woman holding the turtle then held him/it up to the paper and he "drew" with his/its mouth. The helper used the crayon and drew over the turtle's line he'd/it'd drawn. Soon a "picture" appeared. I wish I had gotten their photo but I was too enthralled trying to understand what I was seeing. Even the Mister believed me. He said even I couldn't make up a story like that.
One of the nicest, most talented local artists was also on the scene - Jan Su Hirst. She offered to let us help with a silk painting (a valentine) she was doing. Tomorrow I'll show samples of some her silk scarves - femminismo

Dangers To The Heart

I'M NOT talking about cholesterol here or being a couch potato.
It has lately occurred to me *again* of the dangers of love and caring.
Elizabeth Stone said, "Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."
And just when I've finally gotten used to my children out there in the world driving to and fro, flying to and fro, loving to and fro -- then *they* go and have children and I've got to get used to the fact that something bad could happen to the ones they love and how would a mother ever fix that?
It's not like a sore throat where medicine and soothing drinks and Popsicles will help. Not anything like a fever where a couple of aspirin and cool washcloths will suffice.
So the grandchildren get older and they've made it through all those stages where they just might be OK, and then they go and have children.
I will tell you something: Don't ever start thinking of bad things happening. If you want to take your mind off these things, imagine a baby straining its teeny tiny sweet kissable neck to lift its head and aim a mouth in the direction of food. Imagine itsy bitsy fingernails, about as big as the tip of a ballpoint pen, but perfect in every detail.
Cradle a little foot in your hand and think ahead 10 years. Better make plans to get up off the couch and improve your diet so you can keep up with him then - femminismo

Adieu To Janaury.

OH, CRUEL MONTH! You were not that cruel this year. You do not deserve our pitiful whining about spring. Here is a poem about you ... I think it is.

January in Kyoto by Nishiwaki Junzaburo (1894-1982)

JANUS, old man,
Your name is damp and grey and too prolonged
A ring to rattle in my verse;
You double-faced, diluted churl of churls,
You corn-dull, poppy-wilted, beaver-brown,
You snow-eater, a parasite on roots and berries,
Iconoclast of gins and perries,
You're really one of the pariah dogs
Yelping, thrash-worth, at the belated gods.
I know the deities would rather inflate
And flow in pipes than in metric odes, but now
You suddenly brought us shy myth,
When we, disguised as Zeus and Hermes, went
At cuckoo-crow at the hell lady's door,
In the Hiei foot-hills by pebbly-purring streams.

We went into a peasant's cottage to see
How one cleans and adorns one's range
With a sprig of rue and a tangle of hips
To honour the bluff god of the kitchen fire.
The old baucis-and-philemon tree rustled its top:
"Reverend sirs, you are early. Well now."
My friend, Ben Johnson scholar at the university,
And a complete parr angler, could speak
The Yase doric: "Look what we've got,
Such lovely slender buds; may we leave
These things with you by this mercury bush,
As we're going to see Emau Convent up there?"

etc, etc. (Jane Austen is almost on; gotta get along)

Ending:
When we returned full circle to the roots
Of our orchids, we maundered to sanctify
Fertility ... magic jabber ... over cups of tea.
The wife decanted golden mead to immortalize
Our chats and our pseudo-goldliness, but we tried
Hard to hide our mortality . . .

I KNOW ... I'm horrible to quote only part of a poem. See you in February - femminismo

I Can't Help Myself. I'm "Mad."

I CHOSE my dress and its color. I selected my jewelry (they didn't have pearl earrings to match the necklace) and chose my hair style. I even got to pick my nose. (Maybe "choose my nose" sounds better.) I did all this on the Mad Men Web site, where you can download your own self as a character. (That's Peggy's desk I'm standing in front of and Joan is in the background, but you can't see her here.)
I love "Mad Men," the show. Some of the people I dislike intensely. Don't even get me started on Peter Campbell. And I practically stop breathing when they're in a meeting and smoking their heads off.
So far they've had enough alcohol between them to empty the liquor store in our town.
Lately I've been watching reruns of earlier episodes being shown on Comcast's On Demand. So fascinating to watch Peggy do the Twist. And I don't think most have really experienced life until they've seen Joan Holloway do the cha cha.
Don Draper walked into his girlfriend's apartment and offered her a trip to Paris. She just had to get rid of her friends who were gathered there. She didn't do it, however, since they were already planning to get stoned and listen to Miles Davis.
Hmm. Would I give up a trip to Paris with Don? Now that's a conundrum - femminismo

The Light Is With Us A Bit Longer

THE DAYS are staying a little bit longer it seems and signs of renewal are all around.
Mushroom compost decays in the garden, promising a rich beginning for our summer garden. Tulips are rising from the flower beds and magnolias have fuzzy coats over the blossoms to keep them warm until next month. The Star Magnolia will unfurl first, with delicate white blooms. Then the tulip tree magnolia will burst forth in pink, with petals so thick and voluptuous you could serve them for dinner filled with Russian caviar.
The flowers come first and then the leaves. It's the same with the forsythia and cherry tree.
Tree peonies have dark green leaves unfurling too and we hope no February ice storms will head our way. Lenten roses are the saving grace of our garden, appearing early on with lovely blooms such a magnificent purple (in this planting anyway) and bullet-proof foliage.
The moss I brought down from the woods and placed on top of the bird feeder has flourished during the drippy winter weather and is a rich, bright green.
The small gray bird will not need the feeder, however. It has not lasted through our winter. Brought down from the skies to fall beneath the redwood tree, he lies there until he too becomes part of a little bit of everything. Insects, small mammals and soil.
I can't wait to smell the first breath of spring. Already we are hearing the noise of frogs awakening down at the creek at the foot of our street and they promise a quick return to the backbreaking work of weeding the flower beds. But it's exciting at the same time, and old promises of planting a greater variety of beautiful flowers to last throughout the summer are heard once more throughout the land.
I hope you see small signs of spring wherever you are - femminismo
p.s. The cat in the window was a photo I took at random from the movie "Love and Other Catastrophes." (please come visit me in jail)

To the Brave Women of Haiti

TOMORROW I am going to begin reading "Breath, Eyes, Memory" by Edwidge Danticat. Her book dedication page says "To the brave women of Haiti, grandmothers, mothers, aunts, sisters, cousins, daughters, and friends, on this shore and other shores. We have stumbled but we will not fall."
Danticat was born in Haiti in 1969 (one year before my daughter) and raised by her aunt. She reunited with her parents in the U.S. at age 12. Two years later she published her first writings.
I wonder how autobiographical this novel is? But don't tell me, if you already know. This book is going to be my "lunch" tomorrow. I have started working four 10-hour days a week. I intend to have lunches away from my computer - maybe a short walk and then some reading. (The photo of Danticat is from the traditionofexcellence. files.wordpress.)
Today was my first 10-hour day. I took a short cat nap when I got home because I didn't sleep that well last night. I'll bet I sleep tonight!
In keeping with my journaling on subjects dear to my heart and reminding myself I'm keeping this blog so I will remember the days of my life, I want to put this photo here. Granddaughter after granddaughter - which isn't a bad thing, *at all* - and now finally a little boy. Alex, who will you be? What will you do? How far will you travel on these little feet?
All the days of your life you will know happiness and you will know sadness. May they be in equal proportion, so you will realize and treasure the joy when it comes. All the days of your life you will know sweet and you will know sour. All the days of your life you will know boredom and you will know excitement; you will know disgust and pleasure; you will know praise and criticism. None of it will last forever, so either enjoy it, ignore it or learn from it - depending on what it offers you.
(I took the baby toes pic and the Mister took the one of me and the kids.)
These are happy days, and poignant days - wishing I could share them with those far away or those gone from this life of ours. We keep it churning along, though, don't we? - femminismo

Desert Highway ... or Not?

I ENJOYED l'astronave's video so much I've been laboring to produce one of my own. I am not sure this will work, but since I greatly admired her desolate "Wilderness" (or not?), which turned out to be her lying on the snow, focusing on the desolate formations, I thought I would try my own.
Is this a desert highway wavering in the heat ... or not? (Granted. It's a stretch.)
Saturday I searched all over for signs of spring and found some. How surprised was I? Very. We've still got February to get through, but things are looking up.
Next time I write I may actually plan ahead and write about something that means a lot to me. Something heartfelt. For now, since I've wasted much too much time on Photoshop and Picasa uploading, this will have to do - femminismo

Welcome Alexander!

TODAY the earth greeted another guest. It seems impossible - but isn't - that my granddaughter has given me a great-grandchild.
His name is Alexander and he will grow up to conquer hearts, I am sure. Let us hope he is wise and generous and kind to everyone he meets and spreads his mother's infectious giggle.
Today, January 20, 2010, seems very important to me. I catch myself with a lump in my throat, tears in my eyes and a dozen memories flashing through my mind.
I feel the small body in my arms, even though I've not held him yet. I yearn to watch his face wrinkle and twitch and his mouth pucker and tremble.
May Alexander always be a joy and know much of it himself. (joy, that is) - femminismo

"Our grandchildren accept us for ourselves, without rebuke or effort to change us, as no one in our entire lives has ever done, not our parents, siblings, spouses, friends - and hardly ever our own grown children." ~ Ruth Goode

Martin Luther King Jr.

A DRAWING in memory of the man.
There are so many pictures today; so many drawings. I got my inspiration from a photograph of King taken when he was arrested.
He managed to look a bit saintly, a bit "aren't we beyond this?" and a bit angry. And in truth he probably wasn't trying to look any of these ways. He didn't have to, because there he was and those were most likely the exact feelings he was having at the time. But I can't put myself in his place. Can't judge what he was feeling. However, I remember where I was when I heard he was killed and I thought the world was crumbling around me with the violent deaths of America's leaders in the 1960s.
"WHAT makes dying easier is to be able to transcend the world into some kind of religious dimension. I would say that the most important thing is to know that beyond the absurdity of one's life, beyond the human viewpoint, beyond what is happening to us, there is the fact of the tremendous creative energies of the cosmos that are using us for some purposes we don't know. To be used for divine purposes, however we may be misused, this is the thing that consoles . . . I think it is very hard for secular men to die."

-- ERNEST BECKER (terminally ill, just before his death)

On Being Green

ART SPARKER was looking for things that are green. It's one of my favorite colors and I seem to veer toward it whenever it comes to furnishing our home with a new rug or chair.
In Oregon I find this color almost anywhere I go, and it appeared beneath my feet on a recent walk.
(Look closely! Do you see the metal dragonfly earring I lost? This is where I was soon before I noticed it was missing. It began to snow that day and then everything was covered in 4 inches of white fluff.)
I wanted to take a picture of a little green dress, handmade, that must have belonged to a little girl who didn't wear it for very long. It was in great shape when I bought it at a garage sale.
What was the story that Ernest Hemingway wrote in six words? "For sale: baby shoes. Never worn." Poignant.
I like to think the little green dress (with rick rack, I think) was just outgrown quickly.
I am still glancing through "Your Mythic Journey" by Sam Keen and Anne Valley-Fox. The book is open to a section on "Gifts and Wounds."
The authors say "Everyone alive has received some share of the gifts that make and keep human life human. The giving and receiving of gifts plays a large part in most cultures. Gift giving is rooted in the primal feeling that the world itself is a gift, a banquet already spread before us when we arrive on the scene. Something - chance, God, the trickster, or divine reason - arranged things to support human life."
Then, "Generosity is a recycling of the gifts of life."
And "Wounds are as universal as gifts: sooner or later suffering and death strike us all. The ancients wove myths around this basic ambiguity of life."
Along with me, remember the people of Haiti tonight before you close your eyes, and if you have the wherewithal, be generous with a gift of money for the victims - femminisimo

Looking For Something to Post ...

I WAS looking for something to post and took down the book "Your Mythic Journey," by Sam Keen and Anne Valley-Fox.
A line of text caught my eye: "At least 51 percent of the people in a society are not self-consciously aware of the myth that informs their existence."
There are lots of pieces of paper in this book; rambling thoughts I had while reading it. I came across one set of scribbles that actually went somewhere. I might have been doing an exercise in the book. Here's what it says:
Where did I come from?
I came from a blind date - two people with separate dreams and myths, colliding in a world of joy and danger.
I came from Oregon - the mists, the rain, the grasshopper afternoons of summer.
I came from a small high school with a chance for a classical educations: Latin, physics, literature, music, chemistry. I came from "Peyton Place," "Lady Chatterley's Lover," True Story magazines and Mad Magazine. I grew up wondering what halvah was. I came from "Marjorie Morningstar" and Grimm's fairy tales. I came from Shakespeare and Dante.
I came from Dear Abby, crossword puzzles and early morning coffee with cream, oatmeal I couldn't stand, burnt pancakes on a winter morning.
I came from a small old barn with two cows, steaming in the cold morning, being milked by my father.
I came from a hide out in the scotch broom where I left my copy of "Alice in Wonderland." I never found the book again and to this day believe it was taken by the White Rabbit.
I came from a spring strawberry field on a steep hill. I would lie in the row with my head pointed down the hill, staring at the clouds in the sky.
I came from a house cluttered with the clothes and belongings of seven people.
I came from a family that had dinner every night at 4 p.m., listened to Walter Cronkite, watched "The Honeymooners" and Ed Sullivan, went to the beach often and sat in the car looking out at the rain and the ocean.
I came from a family that laughed, shouted, cried and worried.
I came from love - femminismo

Remarkable News!

LOOKING ahead to July 2010, you will never believe where the Mister and I are going!
Can you tell by the map? Is it big enough so you can see the names of the wonderful cities we will visit?
This is still somewhat unbelievable for me -- an opportunity to experience a little more of Europe and other cultures.
We will arrive in Venice July 24th and then travel by ship to Dubrovnik, Corfu, Taormina, up the Amalfi Coast, Florence, Monte Carlo, Portofino and then to Rome. July should find us in very warm weather with thousands of other tourists exploring the Heart of the World. (Or "The Stomach of the World," since the food is among the best in the universe.) We must begin studying all the places where we'll touch down so we will be prepared to take off quickly and make the most of our shore excursions.
We will be traveling with my sister and brother-in-law, so will have the delight of knowing at least two people on board. Ciao for now - femminismo

Can You Tell Who Got A Blu-ray Player?

YES, it's true. A Blu-ray player and surround sound and we've watched about seven movies in the past week. The blogging life has suffered.
Work is going well and I feel I'm getting more done. This morning did a rare thing and went by slowly. It seemed to be accommodating me by stretching itself but not leaving me bored by the clock's slow moving hands. I seemed to swim through my chores with an endless amount of time at hand - no stress. That will surely have to make up for yesterday - and perhaps tomorrow.
The Mister and I watched "Iris" last night, with Judy Dench, Jim Broadbent and Kate Winslet. Now there's a powerhouse trio, if ever there was one! Got to be my three favorite actors. High up there anyway.
Tonight we watched "The Bucket List" with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. Two questions Morgan asked Jack (this is what the Egyptian gods asked at heaven's gate): "Have you experienced joy in your life?" "Have you given others joy?"
I can say "yes," and "yes" to the Egyptian gods who will then let me pass into heaven.
I may have some remarkable news tomorrow. Stay tuned - femminismo
p.s. The photo is from Life magazine archives, hosted by Google. I find the most extraordinary images on this site.

New Piece of Art

STARTING January 2010 off right has taken a little while. A bit of winter cleaning has been happening, with one half of the office getting cleaned and being put on the other side of the room. I sit in my chair at the computer and things look more organized, but all I have to do is glance over my shoulder and become discouraged.
It is time to get big boxes and pack up books that I never intend to read and will not use for anything beyond a paperweight. It is time to go through papers and save what I will really use and toss the rest.
Meantime, since I know many of you have wondered what the Mister and I really look like, I bring you this hugely realistic composition from Stefano, the Italian portrait painter. (Actually, it's a drawing I did New Year's Eve and finished today - with one of my favorite "paints," makeup. Please don't tell the Mister he's wearing makeup.) I think I made up my eyes a little too heavily, but the mascara wand didn't work on paper like it does on lashes. Don't you love the Mister's bronze tan. Time spent on the Riviera is never wasted!
My raven tresses are all the rage there too. Big hair is back and it's ... well ... big! - femminismo
p.s. Did you do something creative today? Show me!

A Pause To Remember

ON Totalfeckineejit's blog was a suggestion we all pause at 12 noon on New Years Day and remember those we have lost in the past year, decade or 100 years.
This is a gesture of remembrance, but also a light to hope for the coming year. Check out the festival of light and be inspired.
My list of people who have gone before me are Bob Jackson, the boy who walked with me down the aisle and up onto the stage at our high school graduation. He died in a automobile accident shortly after that. Drinking and speeding were the cause of his death. He was a passenger in the automobile and the first person my own age - that I was close to - to die. Mortality is a difficult concept to face when you are 18 years old.
Of course I gratefully recall my grandparents, Rose and Peter and Ira and Anna, the essence of everything we are today and the values we hold dear. My uncles, Frank, Truman, Ray, Bud; my aunts, Mildred, Jo, Mary, Min, Dorothy, Mary Lou and Tina.
In the photo above, right next to the candle, are my parents George and Margaret. To be born into their loving arms was one of the luckiest things to happen to me. I will miss and love them forever.
I remember Orv and Ruth, and Grandma and Grandpa Matteson - Georgia and Ernie - born in another century, believing that all you had to do with a bathtub or toilet ordered from Sears Roebuck was put them in a room and they would do their job. Plumbing? What's plumbing?
I recall other friends from school and the community, gone too soon.
In their memories, and for our children and grandchildren, let us all endeavor to make the world better in our small part of it. You never know how far goodness will spread. To start you off on the right foot this year, check out this spot on the dial, Don't Almost Give. I have found myself - too often - putting aside a charitable request envelope "for later" and then never doing anything with it. This is the year I put my energy where my mouth is, and my extra currency, also. Won't you do the same? No money? Your time, then. You will never regret it - femminismo
edited at 6:30 p.m. - I forgot my Aunt Ellen, who taught me that people who are "different" can also love life as strongly as any "normal" person and love God even more fiercely.

Blue Skies Leave and Snow Begins

THE WEATHER is entirely too changeable and caught everyone in Oregon (even the weathermen) off guard. On Tuesday, one minute I was walking over frozen ground with my eyes downward looking for my missing earring. The next I was looking up to see if what I thought I saw was really snow coming down!
Little tiny white flakes gradually turned bigger and bigger -- soft, floaty and steady. I was at work as I watched my white car become covered with a thicker and thicker layer of white stuff.
The boss said "Run for it if you want." And laugh if you must, but in our part of Oregon the snow doesn't usually amount to much, so we are never prepared. But in less than an hour and a half we had 4 inches. It was a long slow drive home for many people and some never got there by car but had to abandon their vehicles and walk.
The Mister did a couple of 180's on the way home in our rear-wheel drive Mazda - one on the freeway! I was luckier to be driving the front-wheel drive Toyota. We were ever so glad to see one another home safe and sound.
Today he drove me to work in his four-wheel drive truck since our side streets were really slick with slush. It was still slippery going until we got to the main streets. When he picked me up at work tonight we were almost home when a man driving a meat truck with a bad alternator flagged him down to give him a jump with cables. While the Mister played the good Samaritan I got this picture of our second blue moon. Such a fluke it showed up at all.
One more day of 2009 and then we are on to another year of good and bad, laughing and crying, testing our faith and asking more of our hearts, minds and spirits, I'm sure. There never seems to be a lack of testing our fortitude, but I am sure we are up to it - femminismo
p.s. One more day to make a charitable donation to help on April 15. If you can't give money, give of your time -- please and thank-you!