Friday, April 29, 2011

Fabulous Friday

I have spoken of the frenetic goings on of these past weeks.  It continues.  I embrace this, and realize that stress arises, even when you're having tons of fun and excitement in life.  Does the Dogwood feel a similar tightening as it lets go into full-flowered brilliance?

This purple wonder is blooming on Sarah's fence.  She says it's three years old!  I say, what a marvel (having not noticed it for the past two years)!  She is busy too, sewing six Little Indian tunics for First Grade Performers.  Thank Goddess for sewing-stashes, Berninas and can-do-it Creativity! Oh yes, and coffee.

I have set up a blog for my artwork over at Word Press.  When I am more up-and-running I will do a post here with more information and a link!  Ha!  The Learning Curve has been steep, more like a cliff than a curve.  Word Press is not easy, though it has some very interesting possibilities.  I have registered my domain.  I am making myself snort and laugh with this vocabulary, I mean really.  Register that domain.  The simple truth is that if you do not, when you decide you really want to, or need it... ta-taaaaa!  It's gone.  Or better yet, it's for sale.  That's right.  Some one will SELL you your own self.  Capitalism at its finest: take the free out of freedom.

Sonoma County unfurls at this time of year into a colorful splendor of wave after wave of wildflowers.  These are the colors in my current painting series.  I am loving stopping to stare at the flamboyant combinations  Mother Goddess flings about the fields and roadsides.   The upcoming Wedding's (I know, I haven't done a post about this, either!) "colors"are orange and pink, maybe red, too?  Oooo.  It is all going to be so gorgeous.

Emerson is having his first Gallery Experience, right now.  He walked well from the car to here, only pulling badly once or twice.  He smelled everything inside, including the other Gallery Dog's (Phoenix & Peanut) food and water dishes, and bed, and did NOT pee on anything!  Whooo hoo!  We are making big progress, as the nut-Labbie grows up.  He is whining now and then, as I have him in his crate while I'm chatting with you, but he is doing a fabulous job of being a Good Dog!

When we were young, we called this "Rattlesnake Grass."  These flowers become seeds, and yes, they rattle in the wind even now so young and green:  Adding these soft hues with burgundy to my palette.

This weekend, starting tonight, must be one of the most busiest on record.  Major Events are piled on top of one another from one end of the area to the other.  How to manage?  Just jump in, I say.

Where ever you are, I am hoping that you are caught up in joy, laughter, and love.  Remember to share your beautiful smile.


Monday, April 25, 2011

Marvelous Monday

I am working these days, with a sort of frenzy about me.  Must get this done, N.O.W.  "Get it while the getting is good," my Mother used to say.  Of course, she said this in reference to picking fruit at the exact right moment of ripeness, or a blossom at its perfection, or snatching a cookie right out from under your nose.

Spring is sprung here, in N. California.  Dogwoods are spackling the wild woods with bright white.  The Buckeye is all leafed-out, many already sending their flower spikes upward.  Little League is in full swing.  Orioles building nests, whistling while they weave.  Nature supports me in my hurry.

I've begun a new painting, well, I began it a few months ago, but it feels as though it is renewed in its development.  Yesterday it became pink.  A color I do not ever remember using as a serious color.  Let's not judge at this juncture.  Pink.  Anyways, I like pink.

A Self Portrait.

A few nights ago the rain doused all the rosey blooms with clear pearls.

Morning light sparkling, reminding me of my affinity for spirals.  Mother Nature loves Spirals.
I love you.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

You'll Have a Blast

Often I load photos, and start the writing.  The images tend to lead, I type as quickly as possible to keep up the with flying ideas.  I talk in my head faster than I can type.  Often a day presents me with multiple gifts of insight, memories, inspiration, tears, laughter.  

Each of my three daughters has two children, and a blessing for which I am grateful on a daily basis is that I am able to see these Grandchildren often, and yesterday one spent most of the day with me.  This One's name is Annie, she is seven.

Yes.  She reminds me of her Mama.  Completely.  Even looks practically just like her.  Is it one of the perils of being Grandmother that I compare every little twinkle in the eye with one of my own children?  Or maybe, just maybe, it is one of the joys of being at this vantage point on the proverbial "hill."  

Leaves are popping out right and left.  If I stand and stare, I swear that I can see them unwrinkling, opening their little factories to the Spring sun, revving up their engines for the work at hand.  Do you know that this morning, while I was on the phone with my Cousin Up North that the Mockingbird was splashing in the fountain, the Oriole sipping at his feeder, 15 Hummers were zooming, a bright red pair of House Finches singing and nibbling seeds with various brightly feathered sparrows and a Blue Jay, not to mention a pair of sunbathing Quail and two Ring Necked Doves, were all in my front yard?  They were, all at the same time.

Annie and I buried a Robin, and she took over the grave decorating duties, with rather spectacular results, including a prayer written from A to Z.  Like I said, she really reminds me of her mother. 

Yes.  Totems appear when one allows children into their life.  Mystical.  Mysterious.  Powerful.  No, there is no explanation, nor scientific reasoning, or anything.  They just appear.

Yeah.  It's true.  C'mon over.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011


One of my kids is 26 today.  My First Son, fourth baby, born on a spring day.  He was quite the miracle, being born into a family of five already-there sisters.  Brave little fellow, no?  For quite a few years he was the most fabulous, though now and then a rascally, pet.  We were all so amazed at how he was such a BOY!  And yes, being a seasoned mother of daughters, I am here to report that boy babies are much different than girl ones, and I don't just mean their gender.  This little man roared when he cried.  No.  My girls did not sound like that at all.  He stomped on bugs.  No.  The girls collected and cared for bugs, or threw things up in the air and took off in dramatic flight.

I spoke with him this morning.  Teased him about his rotten choice of MLB team; we always laugh when we talk.  He is hoping for a Berry Cobbler for his birthday, but he is out of luck, since I have quit baking altogether (and lost 28+lbs!).  Wow.  It is just hard to believe that he is 26.  Kind of mind-boggling, if you don't mind my saying so.

Having a typical spring day, with a burst now and then, of sunshine, then dark and blustery with rain, and in it all is the startling beauty of flowers, vineyards, the mountain ranges wearing shadows and new leaves.  A vision of heaven on Earth.

Happy Birthday, Seth Owen!  You are a Love, and so loved.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

We Are DOING It!

We may all be familiar with waiting:  Wait for dinner.  Wait to grow up.  Wait for the rain to stop.  Wait for summer.  Wait for someone to be nice.  Wait for the economy to change.  Wait to retire.  Wait for a war to end (remember when it was the war?).  Wait for extra pounds to melt away.  Wait for... fill in the blank.

There is nothing wrong with waiting.  At times, one must work her way through a large chunk of living before she arrives at a certain place and time.  She may have children to raise, chickens to feed, dogs to run, grandchildren to pamper.

I wait, holding my breath, hiding in the drapes to catch the Oriole at the feeder.  It seems that all I get are hundreds more shots of the greedy little hummingpigs, which, while entertaining, are not the Oriole.  I have been guilty of waiting for a perfect poem, a masterpiece painting, even a certain moment to ask for some little thing, like a hug.  Like I said, there is nothing wrong with waiting, if you don't mind waiting longer for that which you desire.

Our friend Hafiz urges us to court the urge, the urge which pushes us towards perfection, expression, to Love and Life.  Yes, making the acquaintance of the desire to sing a painting, draw a poem, sew up a sentence, is the spirit behind the creative life.

A group of us have met for a couple of years, reading and studying and practicing The Artist's Way, by Julia Cameron.  With the support of these dear friends, fellow artists, I have grown into my painting, making it part of my spiritual practice, my art practice, my practice of Being.  And from this group, four of us have taken a leap.  We are opening a Phantom Gallery!  There will be more posts, but for now here is a sneak preview... we have moved in, moved the art work in, and hung it.  Suffice to say, IT IS SO EXCITING!!!

Right now, the biggest deal is carving out the hours in my week to be at the Gallery.  I mentioned last week to a room full of people, "I have never changed careers.  I have only added another and another..." This is another change, and it is so good.

See that rascally little Oriole?  He sees my camera, and will not come to his feeder.  All day long he hangs out there, until I bring out the camera.  Then, he goes off to the highest Palm, or the Cottonwoods, or the Maple.  He chirrrrs, and chirps, and stays away.  I love him anyway.

Spring is here.  Dogwoods are unfurling.  We have patches of blue blue sky, occasional balmy days, the hawks and geese are making noise.  Life is full.  Oh, Yes.

Big Love,

Friday, April 1, 2011

Sprouts and Hafiz Morning

Next door things are hopping in the greenhouses.  Savory herbs, vegetables and tomatoes are started, some well on their way having been transplanted, already, to the 4" pots.  Oh, they are all so beautiful.  The rain was hard on all the little growing things.  For instance, my salad greens are gone.  No poppies, either.  Garlic going strong, as well as the potatoes.  Fruit trees, as of the last four days, are blooming with abandon.  Please don't agree with the weekend forecast: rain.

These are the Beefsteaks.  You can tell by their potatoey leaves.  Did you know these guys are all related?  They are.  More closely, even, than that we are all related.  Potatoes and Tomatoes are of the 'toe family.  Yes.  I often get accolades for my scientific vocabulary.  Believe me, I get the family-tree concept.

Here are the late bloomers.  They are stretching, and that's not the best, but under Jolee's gentle touch, they will all transplant to bigger trays.  Today, I believe.

" we contemplate change, we often pull back a little and stop rehearsing our lives with our loved ones."  J. Cameron   This, from my reading this morning.  Interesting to consider pulling-in, or back a little, is not in this instance, withdrawing from reality or responsibility.  Rather, it is a moment or meditation to be still long enough to discern what is really going on within.  For me it takes considerable concentration to be quiet, to listen to the still small voice gain strength and speak.  Yes, this practice rewards consistently.

Wildness catapulted to profusion in a few warm days.  My walk this morning revealed big buds on the grape vines, which may, by tomorrow, be leaves and tiny flowers.  The momentum forward is never really thwarted, no matter how nasty things close-in may look.  All this, I suppose, is showing me that to hang on is pointless.

To me it appears that God is just wild about Life.  Maybe reading my friend Hafiz' poetry all these years has influenced (oh I hope so!) me.  My prayer out in the vineyard this morning, was that I be able to ride this wave of excitement, fear, anticipation with open-hearted tenacity.  Then, just now, I found this poem.

A Barroom View of Love

I would not want all my words
To parade around this world
In pretty costumes,

So I will tell you something
Of the Barroom view of Love.

Love is grabbing hold of the Great Lion's mane
And wrestling and rolling deep into Existence

While the Beloved gets rough
And begins to maul you alive.

True Love, my dear,
Is putting an ironclad grip upon

The sore, swollen balls
Of a Divine Rogue Elephant

Not having the good fortune to Die!


I say yes, to that.
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