tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49227612382663528522024-02-19T07:18:49.335-08:00LARABEELaura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.comBlogger393125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-19331024204684641622023-09-01T10:05:00.002-07:002023-09-01T10:05:46.597-07:00A Basket of Stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVFwwqwI1Ls6tFiU73nx79asGN6CenR9Zbo0cDrUxuQvFvbG0hBo_LK5e4ErC5xh9sVy1rkh1v6n6N6WW2E_UoBQKbulmP5dWNQBl2tOPKJ3RaKhLwGPteVu-di609GPlg_fsEGP8E71c6nEo6pWif_GipeB1pg8qRc1HE74INxme6LrkHFbU5gBmmVk/s4032/IMG_3578.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVFwwqwI1Ls6tFiU73nx79asGN6CenR9Zbo0cDrUxuQvFvbG0hBo_LK5e4ErC5xh9sVy1rkh1v6n6N6WW2E_UoBQKbulmP5dWNQBl2tOPKJ3RaKhLwGPteVu-di609GPlg_fsEGP8E71c6nEo6pWif_GipeB1pg8qRc1HE74INxme6LrkHFbU5gBmmVk/s320/IMG_3578.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><h2 style="text-align: center;"><i>A Basket of Stuff</i></h2><div><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">My house, now known to me as The Cottage, is undergoing a major shift in consciousness and in format. It has been dusted within an inch of its life, vacuumed, curtains washed, plants repotted, windows washed, floors mopped. This is an ongoing list of tasks, multiplied by 3 dogs daily shedding. The studio is still cluttered but hopeful, the sewing room is dusty, and there are at least two closets that are on the overhaul list. There is a sweet massage room set up with incoming clients next week.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7fLVlFOlJgVDND2nH7nWJjVNXDbGhealVEPhM_H7TUtk8uxFxQJWVNSqfYvrJjqRM-m6R4q6WK0WmseHTafo7fc9lPgSc9GlZvamgv5WHleSYqUgVirgMJMFizna3ppyBVYX4pNCrm1SffQQS69IkBGRq0ci0sune1Hm-bxs0KFhU4Vp5eH3xwKiHBQo/s4032/IMG_3581.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7fLVlFOlJgVDND2nH7nWJjVNXDbGhealVEPhM_H7TUtk8uxFxQJWVNSqfYvrJjqRM-m6R4q6WK0WmseHTafo7fc9lPgSc9GlZvamgv5WHleSYqUgVirgMJMFizna3ppyBVYX4pNCrm1SffQQS69IkBGRq0ci0sune1Hm-bxs0KFhU4Vp5eH3xwKiHBQo/s320/IMG_3581.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p>I now am living with myself, 3 dogs, 2 cats and 5 chickens. The marriage is over. <p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwypRUiDKOvKB0M5ibbus7PR5RqQ6hDBT0cIOGKB3XENRv3t_DB4bgrjE1EF68WCS7JGvmm319-LBn1sUeU8u0t1xkMdasXclkhfRioatqKrY5DZXI8EFlksUnxtH9tSJxswi_6wRUmCA7hy08PT0HJCl10BlAu636qSnMtIaQ2E4vNi8QiIXzyAOy59E/s4032/IMG_3575.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwypRUiDKOvKB0M5ibbus7PR5RqQ6hDBT0cIOGKB3XENRv3t_DB4bgrjE1EF68WCS7JGvmm319-LBn1sUeU8u0t1xkMdasXclkhfRioatqKrY5DZXI8EFlksUnxtH9tSJxswi_6wRUmCA7hy08PT0HJCl10BlAu636qSnMtIaQ2E4vNi8QiIXzyAOy59E/s320/IMG_3575.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>There is no loneliness. There is loveliness. There is discovery. There is anger, sadness, redemption. There are amends, there is growth, struggle, fear, support, there is living, newly configured. I return to Morning Pages, Back to the Life-Affirming Practices. My heart and mind and soul are revealing layers of “why”, and I am leaning heavily on my grown, complex, loving children. This heavy leaning will lighten. I am grateful beyond measure for the loving support embracing me.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQqYFTIIiZNt-NANgkUrGzscA9JimDh5buWoz3Jubj7wiGB_f2yw9aQUY03qKEn5jKVd5_R-2qyIHDfW3eBcUKMQnVch36XYNkkA7vuVhFh23wFY_bOPNAJOdM6_5PF-sCTUg2w5QWeaexkF8a6Yl53GEbv2Z2D0HvWlcLzt6D50bO2Ho8-NbFMIOFiw/s4032/IMG_3525.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQqYFTIIiZNt-NANgkUrGzscA9JimDh5buWoz3Jubj7wiGB_f2yw9aQUY03qKEn5jKVd5_R-2qyIHDfW3eBcUKMQnVch36XYNkkA7vuVhFh23wFY_bOPNAJOdM6_5PF-sCTUg2w5QWeaexkF8a6Yl53GEbv2Z2D0HvWlcLzt6D50bO2Ho8-NbFMIOFiw/s320/IMG_3525.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>This from Big Bend, a most exquisite place next to my Heart River where the Salmon used to run: Journal Entry with prompt “The Pit”</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>18Aug23</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>I looked into a pit:It appeared dark, without a speck of light refracted, not quivering with suggestion, no shadows, no air to move, not even a change in temperature, the pit was dense and of course, bottomless. I am terrified of static forever bottomless pits. I am scared of the dark. I hate the sound of nothing.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>I trip over an unseen root in the path, I fly front first, a face planting free fall, into the damn pit. It actually is cold. It stinks. A fly is buzzing. I crash through the table top, pulling the oil cloth after me a checkered flag tattering behind me. I’m doomed.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Moving fingers, toes, hip joints, shoulders, I raise my head, open my eyes. It’s daylight. There’s a little breeze. I’m not broken. I’m not snoring. I’m not even hungry.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br /></i></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Three days, or a week have passed, an unrelenting curious question floats above the silence. It’s met by the osprey family who live in what seems like dangerous conversational heights above the small green ribbon river of The Lamprey and Pike Minnow. They consider the question without judgey definitions, catastrophic adjectives or even correct spelling. It’s not their question. They watch it float from above the dark hole, the pit. It appears to shimmer a bit.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">What I know today: this is a raw, unedited, spontaneous Friday. September 1, 2023</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I can do this.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;">xo</p><p style="text-align: justify;">L</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-23274438777830964022023-08-08T19:25:00.000-07:002023-08-08T19:25:44.532-07:00A Beginning, of Many<p> A Beginning, of Many.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJMr8QNaQUjr3fDZaOGKT7oxHL3lDLWZ0dPWv4oS4p6xCDNZxahHHX_6NoWaV1IpsZY6H3r1NVjZhae1VbFCUNtMu0GXjPAG4WCiHLKejucctZLCBLlsczxHtYBL2Jw2M-lZUroUHC2C4---VaYwwfgC03pxZDf84nQ56bHfnsiaOK4pIn6ruEJkT15A/s4032/IMG_3476.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLJMr8QNaQUjr3fDZaOGKT7oxHL3lDLWZ0dPWv4oS4p6xCDNZxahHHX_6NoWaV1IpsZY6H3r1NVjZhae1VbFCUNtMu0GXjPAG4WCiHLKejucctZLCBLlsczxHtYBL2Jw2M-lZUroUHC2C4---VaYwwfgC03pxZDf84nQ56bHfnsiaOK4pIn6ruEJkT15A/w480-h640/IMG_3476.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Fluttering as an animated jewel, this Being moves from bright orange to soft pink to brilliant yellow. Does she think, “Zinnia. I love zinnia nectar”? She is elaborate and gorgeous. Her life span as butterfly is quite short, is that state a reward for her experience in the cocoon, turning to soup and reassembling as this glorious thing? Or does metamorphosis even have a reward?</p><p>I am an artist, not a scientist. My language isn’t of the academic, the scientific, or even of the art world. My language is of life, love, observation, Recovery, personal growth, and unlimited creativity. I step out of my past into this right now, my bejeweled moment.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvdW0zjN36DAICFZRomThhWRl2j8kl_RRdmFI-ov_WRkPMtbloVBIhxgBxeIF3zj-AIzCQDUOXGv8o5AMu7136QI33xAC03MkRibjDteOq1mZkia53YCzTMKygMAZlO2VAzwkQehNH2_LvUpy5wXO3hpsh76cl995ZiIwHMYETIkfUitb64qxanesw-4/s2546/IMG_3412.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2546" data-original-width="2544" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVvdW0zjN36DAICFZRomThhWRl2j8kl_RRdmFI-ov_WRkPMtbloVBIhxgBxeIF3zj-AIzCQDUOXGv8o5AMu7136QI33xAC03MkRibjDteOq1mZkia53YCzTMKygMAZlO2VAzwkQehNH2_LvUpy5wXO3hpsh76cl995ZiIwHMYETIkfUitb64qxanesw-4/s320/IMG_3412.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>My paintings evolve from experience, at times shedding, at times mining the past. Full of movement and drama they are a pathway to a deeper quiet. I work in acrylic usually, utilize materials at hand such as recycled papers, cardboard, bargain house paint, inks, and mark-making implements. Usually the work evolves on a panel, occasionally on canvas. Of course, tomorrow may nullify this recent description, and of course, I am open. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-45460069252606176662014-10-08T09:15:00.002-07:002014-10-08T09:15:40.501-07:00Coming Home. Again.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Obvious that I have been away from the blog o sphere.<br />
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Is it the turning of seasons that pulls me back?<br />
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Or, more likely, it may be the seduction of saying something without interruption, the possible run-on sentence, or the sweet delight of a well-crafted, wholly complete sentence.<br />
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Regardless, the willingness to begin again has presented itself.<br />
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There is an exhibit of my newest work at Rochioli Vineyards and Winery, "Touching Water." This group of paintings pleases me, not to mention that the tasting room is a beautiful venue for the art. Their wine is indescribably delicious. The exhibit is up through October 22, 2014. Go out there, take a picnic, enjoy the art and sky and wine and one another.<br />
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Pokeberry</div>
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Sending you love. Thank you for stopping by, and ya! I'd love to hear from you.</div>
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xoxo</div>
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LPC</div>
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Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-81106629729377288752014-03-28T11:02:00.000-07:002014-03-28T11:02:43.664-07:00Rain, Anais Nin, art, & sex<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger than reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I cannot transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls. ---Anais Nin</span><br />
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It is a rainy day, here in N.California. Drought conditions make headlines these days. Rain is predicted through the coming 10-day forecast, with the dire warning that while raining, it is not enough to cause a dent in the dry, dry, dry year. We are still drying up. <br />
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I have a small fire whispering in the wood stove. The front door is open so I can hear the doves and Orioles in the hedge. On the stereo soft, meditation music. Clouds hang gray, their edges overlap with the muted hills. The air is thick with moisture and orange blossom. The is no rain at the moment, yet it is foretold in the occasional cool breeze singing in the wind chimes.<br />
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I used to appall my mother by reading Anais Nin and D.H.Lawrence. There may not be an equivalent in post-modern literature to these artists. If there are, they have not caught my interest. At one time I dreamed that I might be the one to take things over the edge, but, thankfully, let that one go.<br />
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Recently Wayne and I ventured into the de Young Museum in San Francisco to see the Georgia O'Keefe exhibit, her landscapes and flowers from the Lake George years. She was young, a prolific artist. A woman. Early in her marriage, painting what she experienced, she explored light, perspective, color, emotion. Later, when she attended a show of her husband's photography featuring intimate nude images of her, she was furious. She felt exploited. He had not told her that they would be exhibited.<br />
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Anais Nin brought sexual intimacy out into the mainstream, insisted that sex is enjoyed by women. Georgia O'Keefe did, too, and said that she didn't. If you were hapless enough to say that you saw sex in her work, she told you that that, my friend, was what you brought to the picture.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">A few more words from Anais Nin: <i>Loving loving loving as the artist can love, the poet in love with the world, with all ... senses, adoring all that is alive, courting the whole world with songs, dancing, poetry, music, a huge passion for life, a passion for all its faces, phases, contents, aspects for man, woman, child, the sun, nerves, pain, the perspiration of nervous agony..."</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><i><br /></i></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">The creative process is sensual, bringing experience to life. Recording the intimate relations we have with our environment, emotions, thoughts and feelings, expressing that which words may not touch with their clunky articulations.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Don't think for a moment that I know anything! I am easily embarrassed by sexual innuendo while being excruciatingly curious. I love erotic art and literature. The creative process demands "rigorous honesty," demands that one leave no stone unturned. The ego may rise to make its own unreasonable demands for recognition, "I am so great and unique and I do it this way, the only right way..." </span></span><br />
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And the woman who plays</div>
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both earth and guitar</div>
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bears in her voice</div>
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the mourning</div>
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and the joy</div>
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of the most poignant moment.</div>
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Time and distance</div>
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fall away from the guitar.</div>
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We are a dream,</div>
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an unfinished</div>
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song.</div>
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The untamed heart</div>
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rides back roads on horseback;</div>
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over and over again it dreams of the night, of silence,</div>
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over and over again it sings of the earth, of its guitar.</div>
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from Pablo Neruda's "Ode to the Guitar</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Holding close to Mother Earth, blessing this day with Presence, Thank You Spirit.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">xoxo</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-family: Georgia, Century, Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">LPC</span></div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-18722467204373458222014-03-25T17:26:00.000-07:002014-03-25T17:26:57.759-07:00Tippy-toe into the Nikon D600 Realm<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A new camera is nestled in the bottom of my maroon-with-turquoise trim shopping basket. So beautiful and heavy and technologically way ahead of me, I am almost embarrassed to take it out, like, I don't really know what to do with it! Oh. What a lie! I DO know what to do, and when I don't, I go ahead anyway. Gradually my confidence will return, and grow. My old D50 had little picture icons on the dials, this one has capital letters, which equates in my mind as Greek. </div>
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The camera came with a thick manual and an instructional CD. There are tutorials available, as well as classes. I am playing with it, delighted with what happens, regardless. </div>
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What I love the most about photographing my world is the meditative experience of quieting mind/body, being still, feeling molecules within myself and the object coming into alignment. And, when I press the button, the "click" is fantastic! </div>
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Many moons ago, as a college student, I took photography classes. My first camera was a Nikon, 35mm. Ya. That's it. I am sure there were different models, but I was unaware of them. My own "real" camera was a new aspect of creative expression for me, an extension of my eye, a record of what fascinated me. The darkroom was a chemistry lab, a dream land. Images appeared in vats of liquid on floating paper. The images literally floated on to the paper before my eyes. Sometimes it was disappointing, as I would be so attached to what I hoped would appear, and it wouldn't form. Once, there were scratches down the entire length of film, ruining my shots of a team of draft horses in harness. I cried over that loss. <br />
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Art is like that, no? Full of drama, hope, inspired ideas all of which call on our highest image of ourselves to bring them forward. The process includes purpose/inspiration, gathering of information, skills in manipulating materials, determination and motivation to carry the idea to fruition and completion. The process includes a dance of stepping aside, getting out of the way, embracing an unknown, allowing a divine expression to transpire, all the while maintaining the confidence required to choose medium, technique, tools, and to take the inherent risk of claiming expression.<br />
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Oh! Exhilarating, no? <br />
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xoxo<br />
LPC<br />
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Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-13027201188062244282014-02-17T23:31:00.001-08:002014-02-17T23:31:45.048-08:00Rain and Other Blessings<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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What inspires the upwelling of creative expression? Often for me, it is Place. Deep in the Redwood forest something happens, akin perhaps to my Welsh genes; wildness stirs. <br />
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On the valley floor a fern forest responds to the wet sounds of rain. The fronds unfurl, spread their green wings, bend under the symphony of drops falling from the canopy. Giants support and are supported by a community of biodiversity, life cycles which have generated one another for endless centuries. This particular grove has never been cut by humans. It has been struck by lightening, burned, held it's breath in drought, careened in furious winds, had its roots bared from flood and covered with silt from the hills. One senses that nothing is particularly easy here, yet the peace which permeates is not deceptive. There is, what I call Spirit, alive here.<br />
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An ancient forest regenerates. This baby may tower in the valley 1000 years from now. Presently in the nursery, cradled in the belly of an ancestor, small yet tall and straight, learning the art of rain catching. There's hope in the rotting, untold genius in having all its needs met in this present moment.<br />
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Red wood. Slabs on the peat, straight grained, looks freshly cut. Nothing is dated. My eye, drawn by the stunning color, notices the complimentary green arching over wet red.<br />
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I am nourished here, in this forest. Back at our cabin a book lies on my bed. <u>The Gift</u>, <i>Creativity and the Artist in the Modern World, </i>by Lewis Hyde. I was compelled to purchase it a couple of weeks ago, after spending hours at the de Young Museum in San Francisco, immersed in the infinite creativity of David Hockney. Why did my eye fall upon its simple cover, it being the last copy on the shelf? Picked it up and in the same motion pulled out my coin purse. I did not want the exhibition catalogue, as I was intrigued with merely being in the presence of this prolific, stream-of-consciousness body of work. While the exhibit has rooms of portraits, I was drawn to the walls covered with huge drawings, paintings and digital images of Place. I recognised a kindred spirit; One Who Stares. <br />
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Lewis Hyde has taken me on somewhat of a roller coaster ride, from tales of the Pacific Northwest; capitalism; a story of the Wise Hare, being a Future Buddha; an explanation of how AA works on gratitude as a true teaching; how Ford Motor Co. cribbed a cost-benefit analysis and sold thousands of dangerous Pinto cars and trucks whose fatal flaw would cost hundreds of human lives, and on page 84 asks, "How does a person go about deciding to give someone a kidney?" <br />
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<i>The artist appeals to that part of our being... which is a gift and not an acquisition --- and, therefore, more permanently enduring. Joseph Conrad. </i><br />
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I do not pretend that I fathom where this book is taking me. I do know that there is a force within me which stops me in my tracks when I look into the clear water moving through the Redwood grove, its surface dancing in concentric circles, flashing white light on the underside of ferns draped over the bank.<br />
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In the perfect system, sky is mirrored below. Somewhere in this sensory miracle a painting begins. <br />
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A Redwood gathers water from the sky and channels it down its truck. It knows how to do this, bringing the water close to its body, directing to the soil and its own shallow root system the life-giving moisture, even during drought years when the coastal fog is the only source of mist. Therein is the gift.<br />
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All of this knowledge, of which the human is aware of a fraction, is contained in the seed of the Queen of Trees. Already here, it awaits the perfect moment to begin its journey which will span centuries. The Redwood is a gift, a grove a treasure, the Spirit and inspiration of the forest is priceless.<br />
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I am grateful.<br />
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xoxo<br />
LPC</div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-9743700345197440552014-02-05T12:10:00.000-08:002014-02-05T12:10:26.202-08:00Where in The World have I been?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I have been painting. No writing. Some walking, visiting my river which flows smaller by the day from lack of rain. <br />
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My youngest is now fully fledged! Now has his own nest, with a beautiful wife, and now little daughter, Helena; known as Lena! is our newest family member.<br />
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Helena Margo</div>
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Helena Margo's Mama, Gina with a young fan. Wish all the hearts floating around them would show up on film!</div>
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In the studio there is much goings-on, up to and including staring out the window. My journal has fattened with Writing Practice, prayers and setting intention for 2014. As evidenced by my sweet little blog, I have not been an active Writer. Not worried about this, as by now I realize that there are times of action, like a wave which swells and crests, then settles into quiet. The calm does not frighten me anymore.<br />
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Must admit that "not" writing has been fueled by guilt, sustained by a negative thought stream which kept insisting that I had/have nothing sustainable or significant about which to write. ARGH! Stop that, Girl. So, I made a date w/my much neglected dentist.<br />
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I am here to attest that just one action step is worth a thousand words. My mouth is happy, and I don't feel so silly about putting off something so obviously up-to-me. Understand, I did not go willingly: #2 Daughter made me do it, threatening me with all sorts of dire consequences (like that Dr. Graneth's staff was going to hunt me down). Ok. Ok. I am sincerely glad I did, and am doing my regular and consistent dental care!<br />
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Yes. It was a step towards getting back to what matters!<br />
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Here is "Lady Guadalupe of the Sunflowers" completed! She hung in the Cloverdale Arts Alliance Gallery for a time. She is home in the studio for now. One intention for this year is to find a bigger studio space. Yes, I am willing to share the right situation, rent, etc etc. As you can see, there are giant panels (5' X 5') awaiting.<br />
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Making waves in Joy! Still looking to my sweet dogs for joyous expression, impromptu fits of fun.<br />
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Last year an idea of a themed exhibit was born. The exhibit does not have a date, or venue, but the idea is alive and well, "Water." I am considering this as a sacred practice; photographing our Russian River, Pacific Ocean, puddles, dew drops, tears. Painting the water, the sky, the swimming hole, bringing to consciousness the sweet spirit of life-giving water.<br />
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Then, there is Amos Lee. You'd think I was 25 or something. I have an unabashed crush on him. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcf3ixnNtkI">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xcf3ixnNtkI</a><br />
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At edge of our North American Continent, on the California Coast, is a place called Sea Ranch. We spent the week after Christmas there. I wrote short paragraphs and took long walks. Out of this seemingly sketchy practice came Renewal. Renewal with its subsequent "action" steps. I can do this.<br />
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Funny, how NOT doing what I love leads me astray. <br />
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My intentions for this 2014 are simple: More! More love. More family. More walking. More work. More reading. More writing. More painting. More selling the paintings. More submitting and publishing the writing. More laughter. More hugs. More promoting the arts. More walking and singing. More walking with the dogs. More walking joyfully upon this dear planet.<br />
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Starting right here: Now! What unbridled joy to have Grandbaby #7 napping on my bed!<br />
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Yes. Life IS Good. And, I DO love you!<br />
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xoxo<br />
LPC</div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-87790691170271737622013-06-28T15:58:00.001-07:002013-06-28T15:58:17.745-07:00To Begin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This I know: to begin again, one must stand in a clear way for something more fresh and authentic than before, right? Right.<br />
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To begin again I see with new eyes.<br />
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To begin again I make a cup of coffee, open the window to catch the afternoon breeze.<br />
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To begin again I adjust my attitude to include that all day, every day, is a new day. This is the message of Emerson The Labrador. Every single day holds a possible trip to the Lake. Yes it does.<br />
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Beginning, by its very nature, is a fresh start, regardless of the timing. While the kitten has to wait for another 3 mos. before he can go outside, he is not thwarted, discouraged or even affected by a limitation beyond his scope of understanding.<br />
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Starting a fresh notebook on a clear, winter day in Sausolito, a writing prompt grows its own line.<br />
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My creative expression seems to begin with warm-ups. Kind of like an easy yoga routine before giving a massage, get my synovial fluid flowing within my own joints before enrolling my clients in their new flexibility. Sometimes writing, sometimes staring out the window at the morning emerge over the hill, sometimes three cups of morning coffee.<br />
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Good to know that the creativity does not go anywhere. My attention may rest elsewhere, but the essential creative thought remains, quiet in its waiting.<br />
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Calling names like procrastination, avoiding, blah-blah is merely moving air. Has nothing to do with the basic instinct of the creative.<br />
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Creative is spiritual practice. Is noticing the environs within as well as the outer world. Is interacting within both worlds.<br />
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A quote for today, from <u>the Artist's Rule</u>, by Christine Valters Paintner.<br />
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<i>Come to the edge, He said. They said: we are afraid.</i></div>
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<i>Come to the edge, He said.</i></div>
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<i>They came. He pushed them, and they flew. . .</i></div>
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<i> Guillaume Apollinaire </i></div>
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Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-91356359826250122592013-06-27T13:14:00.001-07:002013-06-27T13:14:20.220-07:00Oh my, how time does fly!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Amazing! </i>How time does fly.<br />
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What all has gone on since Feb. 9, 2013? So very much that there may be no catching up, which brings one to "acceptance" which is different than "liking" or "not liking!" Acceptance has less opinion and more, well, more presence.</div>
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I see that already the ramble has begun. I will make no attempt to catch-up, since it is all in the past, now, anyways (I heard that Phew!).</div>
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Springtime has been long and drawn-out. The rain stopped too early, and fire season was upon us until a couple of days ago, when it rained on our camping trip up the river, and here, too for that matter. The fire season will be back in full swing within the week, as high temperatures and breezes whisk away the humidity.</div>
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In celebration, for lunch today I had 4th of July tomatoes in my salad. Dark red and juicy, they are not at peak summer yummy, but I am not complaining.</div>
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We have a new family member. His name is Panda. Today was his first trip to the vet, and all was well until The Nurse took his temperature. That was mean. And rude. And I could hear him complain all the way out at the front desk.</div>
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Yes. My two Cutie Pies are making every day a good one, as usual. That is why they are dogs. </div>
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<i>Dog = God </i>spelled the other way. These faces do that to my day.</div>
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Yes. More trips to the coast are in order. A place of peace and contemplation where luscious energy infuses us. Oh. I could go there right this minute.</div>
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Yes: Write. Read. Meditate. Pray. Write more. Read more. Yes. More more more.</div>
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Love,</div>
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LPC</div>
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Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-43888055916597338722013-02-09T17:45:00.000-08:002013-02-09T17:45:34.404-08:00Details<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The sun is sliding down the blue blue sky, coastal mountains seem to be growing to meet it. Soon, this bright day will move into chilly evening. Just now I was thinking of returning to the garden, as I have more tomato cages to uproot and clean, but the temperature in the room dropped about 10 degrees. I looked up to see that the sun is setting!<br />
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And, I don't think I'll go back out there! Hehee! Took 4 o'clock coffee out to the Tree Trimmer. Took photos, and drank the coffee. <br />
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Back in the olden days, when I was a kid, we had 4 O'Clock Snack every day. Visitors to our farm said that we had four meals a day. "No we don't. 4 o'clock snack is a snack." was our stock reply. Looking back I realize that that snack was probably 1200 calories, since it included milk, cream, pie or cake or cookies, warm and fresh from the oven. Left-overs from the "snack" were the evening meals' dessert, maybe served with lemon sauce or whipped cream to spruce it up.<br />
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Omg. Well, we were farm kids. Recently my brother shared that he and Dad had a similar morning "snack" before they left the house for the milk-barn at 5:30 in the morning! Dang. Had I known, I might have gotten up earlier. We, my brothers expecially, burned those calories.<br />
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Here are Lucy and Stripe helping with the gardening. They are stealth-bug-catchers. Stripe (the brown one) found a cut worm and dashed off with it so as to not have to share. Lucy gave chase, but in the end, let Stripe have her fat worm. I wish that they would go after gophers. I need help in that area.<br />
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My friend, Rev. Joyce Duffala, has told me a number of times, "God is in the details." Once again, she is right.<br />
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Every phase of gardening has its timely details. Not unlike Life, hmmmm. I procrastinate. Not really wanting to go out and get dirty, or stickers in my delicate fingers, or bugs in my hair. Every time though, those details draw me into the tasks, into the golden afternoon light. Today was no different. A bed for the greens is prepared. Most of the tomato cages removed, cleaned and in a row. <br />
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I am plotting. There has to be a way to thwart this colony of gophers which has moved into my sacred gardening area. This is a detail that I am finding difficult.<br />
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Valentine's Day approaches. This one will be Wayne and I's 31st anniversary. That, is amazing. I am not one to go on and on (hahaha! guess that isn't true!), you know, all mushy & stuff. I will say, though, we are doing well! Growing well!<br />
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<br />
Yes. I do love you.<br />
xoxo<br />
LPC</div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-5158532490599460722013-01-27T15:20:00.002-08:002013-01-27T15:20:44.161-08:00Freedom Is An Empty Box<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
All this cleaning-out going on, everywhere! Not a room untouched, a box unopened, not a paper unread, or a dust-bunny undisturbed. This is unsettling.<br />
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The Blue Bird box is cleaned. The back porch swept. The ashes out. The studio tidied, dusted, re-arranged somewhat. A box from the storage unit emptied, right down to the layer of pretty rocks on the bottom.<br />
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Rejuvenating. Restorative. Transformational.<br />
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Of the many gifts in living in N. California: February is the month of ripening citrus. Oh! Afternoon light dancing through the orange tree highlighting the fruit, a blatant invitation to indulge in juicy tart sweetness.<br />
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Daffodil spears are pushing up through the leaf mulch. It is late January, after all, the Paper Whites are almost done! Black lambs are racing around in the tender green grass! The sky today, regardless of that strong cold breeze, is as blue as possible.<br />
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I have been turning the mulch. Having ordered and received my new panels (5' X 5' made of Balkan plywood for strength and lightness) there is work to be done in the studio. Surfaces to clear, paintings to move, shelves to tidy. In the midst of this process I lost it. Haha. To be expected, perhaps, with breathing in the dust and stories of "stuff"and sunlight muted by winter-spotted windows. Yesterday it hit me that actually, I am not an artist, nor am I a writer. I have no career, education or accomplishments. Life is meaningless. Yesterday I did not see this as a gift. I fell face-first into the mulchy hole.<br />
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Later in the evening, when I settled into my chair to watch the Dog Whisperer, I noticed the agreed-upon-box-from-the-storage-unit perched upon the dog crate in front of the damm TV. No choice (haha) but to go through it, like I've agreed to do.<br />
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That Box: OMyGod. What a box, even though deceptively small. Yes, it was a box of destiny. Past. Passed. It contained letters, journals, sketch books. It contained misery, destruction, heartbreak and failures. It contained frustration, rage, disappointment and fear. It contained my worst fears. Every one of them. <br />
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I sorted the contents one by one. I read the letters. I looked at the sketches. I made decisions: I keep this drawing and throw away the rest. I put books into another box for Goodwill. I put 10 pounds of Court Papers into the recycle bin. I burned the letters. Something wonderful started to happen, but I didn't know what it was. <br />
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I felt a feeling of emptiness filling me up.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The Mule Got Drunk and Lost In Heaven</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Mind is ever a tourist</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Wanting to touch and buy new things</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Then toss them into an already</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Filled closet.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>So I craft my words into those guides</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>That will offer you something fresh</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>From the Hidden's Tavern.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Few things are stronger than</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The mind's need for diverse</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Experience.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I am glad</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Not many men or women can remain</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Faithful lovers to the unreal.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>There is a kind of adultery</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>That God encourages:</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Your spirit needs to leave the bed</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Of fear.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The gross, the subtle, the mental worlds</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Become as a worthless husband.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Women need</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>To utilize their superior intelligence</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>About love</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>So that their hour's legacy</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Can make us all stronger and more clement.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Sometimes a poem happens like this one:</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The mule I sit on while I recite</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Starts off in one direction</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>But then gets drunk</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And lost in</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Heaven.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Hafiz</i></div>
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For months I have not been able to find my friend Hafiz! <u>The Gift</u> was in plain sight, I just could not see it. Home again, next to my laptop, my all time favorite book smiles. We are back in business!<br />
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All is possible. Hafiz says "Hidden's Tavern," Emily Dickinson calls them "possibles." Each day presents them, each breath enlivens them. Each word represents them. Each action fulfills them.<br />
<br />
All is possible. All is well.<br />
<br />
I love you.<br />
xoxo<br />
LPC</div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-85786868644716362852013-01-15T12:00:00.002-08:002013-01-15T12:00:50.201-08:00New Territory<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Not a square in sight. So far. <br />
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Having grown up on the Northern Coast of California, the roar of the surf was the soundtrack of my days, 24/7. When I reached the incredible freedom of my driver's license, "the beach" would call me with its distant conversation. My young dreams of future life were of a house on the Coast, with animals and a studio, and bookshelves lined with Leo Tolstoy and Zane Grey.<br />
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Of course, life has carried me far, beyond my wildest dreams in many ways, though short of living day by day on the Coast. I am not disappointed. I am satisfied.<br />
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My studio is a humble bedroom-converted, with windows that encourage sunlight to splash into the room. On a fairly regular basis I am driven to clean out and re-organize, because my obsessive-compulsive housekeeper raises her critical head and delclares my sanctuary a mess. Geez, I say. Must you be so harsh? Don't most artists have all their stuff, their material, all around them? O. K. I see: Do we need all ((ALL)) of this?<br />
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To be fair, I do admit that I have been cleaning-out. Have made my lists, and checked them off. I do enjoy a more open space within which to work, as meditation often begins with my eyes landing gently in a corner, on the window sill, or top shelf. Inspiration is only a breath away, or a stepping aside to allow its entry. It comes forward, not unlike the winter sunlight dancing with the Madonna and Lady Guadalupe and the Blue Birds.<br />
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Fifteen years (or so) ago, the forces of nature which govern and pummel the Northern Coast created a never-before Sea Ball. High tides, high winds and the January surf created them from sea grass, twigs and roots. My nieces, nephews, kids and I collected them out the the wild water. They still inhabit my space. No. I will never throw them out. I have given a few of them away, re-homed them. Periodically I give them the once over with the vacuum cleaner. After all this time and cleaning, they still pour forth sand.<br />
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<br />
It is human nature to be creative. It is our nature to create and hold beliefs, ritual, and meaning about our lives. These become our stories, what we hold to be true. <br />
<br />
So often, what we hold to be true isn't. This is the space, once cleaned out of untruth, becomes the source of our renewed and rediscovered creativity.<br />
<br />
Hey. I love you.<br />
xoxo<br />
LPC<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /></div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-18455806101102648542013-01-01T17:53:00.000-08:002013-01-01T17:53:29.298-08:00Looking Back, and Forward<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Several moons have travelled across the sky since I've written. Now, faced with how to catch up, I say, just jump in and do it! Isn't it odd how liquid time is? Moments pile up like sandstone, memories wash away details, monkey-mind elaborates and exaggerates! What is one to do?<br />
<br />
Smile and go with it? Realize that what I put here is just my story, or all my story. Let go, my Dear, of making it good or excellent or rotton or complicated. Let it flow!<br />
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<br />
We have been at the Coast for a week. It has been wonderful. In fact, we are still here, though packing and leaving tomorrow by noon. Yeah. Going home. Picking up the dogs! Checking back in to my Life! Renewed. Resolved. Inspired. Quieter. Maybe a little more solid. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
The past year has been full of growth. Apparently my personal growth was needing some updating, as from here it seems that is all that I've been doing. I tend to forget in any given moment, that Life has been very very very full. My partners and I ran our Phantom IV Gallery for a year and a half, and closed it October 1. By itself, that was an adventure! for which I am grateful of every moment. The Gallery experience moved me deeper into my own artwork, and also delighted with meeting and getting to know other artists. <br />
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<br />
The coming year excites me. I look forward to renewed energy which emerges with the light. This dark time of year is incubation, where seeds/ideas planted in dreams or conversation or writing swell and germinate. Minutes of light extend each day moment by moment. I can feel it! <br />
<br />
Oh, and my new planner awaits me! It's arrived! And I cannot wait to crack it open!<br />
<br />
My little secret: I like the discipline of planning and doing. For so long, spontaneous was very important to my way. Let whatever happens lead. Oh Lordy. I cannot believe I did that for so long, not realizing the suffering I caused my own self.<br />
<br />
Two and a half years ago I joined a 12 Step group to "try" and lose weight. My weight has bugged me for as long as I have been spontaneous, I kid you not. So, after watching my dear friend melting away, and asking her, "What the...???" she invited me to come to a meeting with her. That was August 17, 2010. Wow. And what does Program do for one? Let me tell you: Following the Steps, using the tools, giving back to the Fellowship has brought the spiritual into my life, completely. Yes. Every morning I read my literature, I write in my journal, I pray, I meditate. I call my sponsor, and my sponsee calls me. I walk, I meditate. I prepare and eat an abstinate breakfast. I go to work, or take the dogs out, or do yardwork. I prepare and eat an abstinate lunch. I go to work, or to the studio. I prepare and eat an abstinate dinner. I make calls to Fellows.<br />
<br />
And I have lost 58 pounds. They are gone. Don't even threaten to return.<br />
<br />
Of course, Life is interwoven in this schedule. Life with family, friends, spiritual community. Interwoven is the key. No longer tangled, knotted or torn. A calm has enveloped my life. No, not boring, or resigned, but a beautiful order.<br />
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<br />
The coming year promises more: art, fellowship, deepening relations, Love, writing, giving, growing. I look forward to an incredible year.<br />
<br />
For you I see good fortune, community, shared work, solidarity, faith, trust, and love. I see this for us all. I celebrate.<br />
<br />
I love you.<br />
xoxo<br />
LPC<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HN9bBysd4ZCimxEqPFXWeSQIPw798ghNDOM7feANqhRZg4xoHRCDhe54u922o516psPfMVay5xO9qg067Niu-ZyaXKbCULO2RBknH83UkHipaJicMFpQc2J_fdrPKMZHh5m1Hb46dYk/s1600/DSC_0253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HN9bBysd4ZCimxEqPFXWeSQIPw798ghNDOM7feANqhRZg4xoHRCDhe54u922o516psPfMVay5xO9qg067Niu-ZyaXKbCULO2RBknH83UkHipaJicMFpQc2J_fdrPKMZHh5m1Hb46dYk/s400/DSC_0253.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-57904873493124140052012-09-15T19:34:00.000-07:002012-09-15T19:35:23.950-07:00Home Less: Without Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A knock on our front door sends dogs into frenzy
barking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All activity stops,
though the television seems to gain volume while we wrestle the dogs out the
back door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They grumble muffled
last words.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The neighbor is sorry to disturb us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wants to share something, no, no need
to come inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wayne stays in his
chair with dinner in his lap, I go out onto the porch.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Something is that there is a homeless person, a drunk
homeless person, a drunk homeless woman loose on our lane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was sitting on the grass talking to
herself when the neighbor noticed her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He was watering, sprinkling with the hose by hand where the main
sprinkler had missed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he went
over to turn the water off, she disappeared, though she’d seen him and run off,
swerving side to side down the lane, he saw that much.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Look over here, he motions with his hand, and I follow
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, in the grass of
Sandy’s lawn, under the mulberry tree, is the woman’s kit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Homeless issue blue sleeping bag, black
bag for whatever, and a white plastic bag with her wine in it, a forlorn little
abandoned heap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was nowhere in
sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could smell sprinklings
of wine, but it wasn’t hers.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t want to get her in trouble, you know, by calling the
cops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s not hurting
anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just wanted you to
know, so, you know, you’d lock your door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Course, you have the dogs, so don’t have to worry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Ok, I say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll
be watchful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
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Inside the house, I go back to my writing room, cluttered
with paper stacked and toppling over the printer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Books piled on one another, towers grown and dusty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The windows are open to catch the
harvest breezes, though I may close them tonight because it is getting colder
these evenings.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A rock rough voice tumbles through the screen, a voice
without language, hoarse, concerned, urging speed and caution, fugitive
tense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know it is her, come back
to reclaim her belongings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our house is small, rusty red with white trim. Oriole and
hummingbird feeders hang from the eves, feeders for the seed eaters, green
edged pink petunias in the blue ceramic planter, decorate the tattered
lawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a remnant of a house
for me. I have been cleaning it out, room by room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vacuuming the ghosts of motherhood, of romance and longing,
of college papers, ancient ledgers, and photographs of a childhood on a
dairy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Making room for my dreams,
though now and then despair creeps in and knocks over a pile of magazines.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been frightened of homeless people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are too raw for me, wearing their sadness,
their fear, want, end-of-the-road weariness in stench and rags.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Muttering and grumbling and sometimes
swearing aloud as though they are in an argument with a ghost, I have just
steered away, look away, stay away, run my fright away.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It was a surprise to note that I recognized the woman’s
belongings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has been on our
lane before, been surprised before, to disappear quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her things have been in the ditch a
little further down, beyond where the water goes over the road in the winter
after too much rain has fallen in a short time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a culvert there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A double culvert.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My Labrador, Emerson, has barked at the dark hole when we are walking, barked
at shadows and spiders and fast lizards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have shushed him, raced up the embankment like there are weird
energies chasing me, hurried home.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This past spring my neighbor and I found a litter of five
fat kittens in her pump house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
called the people who rescue and trap feral cats and they came out and picked
them up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Raised them for adoption,
for their forever homes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One dark winter morning I was loading the car for work, when
a cold nose pushed into my leg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of
course I jumped, to find a stocky wet Labrador and his partner, a Great Dane
mix, hanging back behind him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
looked at me like, “she can do it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She’ll take us home!” and I said, ok, load up, and they did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I checked collars and found phone
numbers and called their people who left work and hurried right over to pick up
their wanderers, cried on my porch because they love them so, and were afraid
of losing them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About a year ago I came home from work to find a young, red-shouldered
hawk in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bird rescue
people explained to me how to get it out safely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After following their multi-stepped process, I simply opened
the back door and shooed it outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It flew low over the yard, swooped up and over the gate, didn’t even
flap its wings to gain speed and elevation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to know, who do you call for a lost, feral woman?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How would one catch her?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Often late at night I hear coyote calls echo over the
vineyards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once fire truck sirens
woke me, and I lay in my bed afraid to inhale, for fear of bringing attention
to myself while dreams crumbled into corners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The siren wailed out of hearing and in the silence suspended
over the valley a chuckle burbled, yapped, barked into a high howl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other voices joined the choir, carrying
the call up and over the hills and stopped abruptly as it began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I haven’t heard them for a while, feel
a missing for them, hope all is well with their tribe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Obviously the homeless woman does not belong to anyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
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<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No one brings her a cup of coffee in the morning, provides shelter
or solace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder how she
manages to get up in the morning, does she wait for the sun to warm her limbs
and joints into rising?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would she
like a cup of coffee?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFYeba8FrvgDveWTFANm_mIcWdHjYBDrHPHFI1obDgpmuvccvnWjRasYnDN25aGwAeAydU5DiT2Ye0UUXG-q-37Mmee44nTyiSWKkAcke1K-wVYQ-7PJWbXnHQTWMh5oe-_e_8gXHZBg/s1600/DSC_0285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFYeba8FrvgDveWTFANm_mIcWdHjYBDrHPHFI1obDgpmuvccvnWjRasYnDN25aGwAeAydU5DiT2Ye0UUXG-q-37Mmee44nTyiSWKkAcke1K-wVYQ-7PJWbXnHQTWMh5oe-_e_8gXHZBg/s320/DSC_0285.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is anyone searching for her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Missing her?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, you know, Laura.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some people want to be homeless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is she an incurable homeless person?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have written myself down to resignation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There is a woman outside my window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Untended, wild. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Perhaps right here, in this moment of empty silence,
guidance will emerge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are
places to call to inquire as to possible actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the time being, I may put out coffee for her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And a prayer for us all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
xoxoLPC</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-90776266427963593972012-09-10T16:54:00.000-07:002012-09-10T16:54:00.390-07:00Garden of Eden, Sonoma Style<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6jJJWbAtX780a9OBy5lCjQL16BT4DLdP0wpRhsMlwBjHhkhzhGqbSbA8NxYMxjraTSq6tUH3jPY4fPGbxYRUh8XwfsJjtSb2SsGr02iiU8nWOhKAS_n2Ojzf4NfbLVYIuUfNFTDZ_fM/s1600/DSC_0291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd6jJJWbAtX780a9OBy5lCjQL16BT4DLdP0wpRhsMlwBjHhkhzhGqbSbA8NxYMxjraTSq6tUH3jPY4fPGbxYRUh8XwfsJjtSb2SsGr02iiU8nWOhKAS_n2Ojzf4NfbLVYIuUfNFTDZ_fM/s400/DSC_0291.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Someone Who Can Kiss God</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>by my friend, Hafiz</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Come to my house late at night---</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Do not be shy.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hafiz will be barefoot and dancing.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WuDQVdVqzLvwVHL_ykZ_oG8Sz-2858BezAElT9UOCefulOuOp13ATAQ8khAe5Xul_gtkjKqQKoT81VjgjOD0fpIR2qmd0yul9tLmO3ZrwQYielz98mSKfH_XOmKc7I9D_XjQI3bLb6g/s1600/DSC_0292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WuDQVdVqzLvwVHL_ykZ_oG8Sz-2858BezAElT9UOCefulOuOp13ATAQ8khAe5Xul_gtkjKqQKoT81VjgjOD0fpIR2qmd0yul9tLmO3ZrwQYielz98mSKfH_XOmKc7I9D_XjQI3bLb6g/s400/DSC_0292.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I will be</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In such a grand and generous mood!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9VnhZQZIzddz53b6eSB8xxjSltltl9O3PRXtyHOaQKlc8yBGn7jyX6TjShaZGzoTGoaDo-d-TB7CbQpPMt9TCUsvWI9F0e5azPZN-Qz6Tk1CuBmoWOB-OkMKDUTgCTG-kgGQy5pXSPM/s1600/DSC_0293.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9VnhZQZIzddz53b6eSB8xxjSltltl9O3PRXtyHOaQKlc8yBGn7jyX6TjShaZGzoTGoaDo-d-TB7CbQpPMt9TCUsvWI9F0e5azPZN-Qz6Tk1CuBmoWOB-OkMKDUTgCTG-kgGQy5pXSPM/s400/DSC_0293.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Come to my door at any hour,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Even if your eyes</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Are frightened by my light.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My heart and arms are open</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And need no rest---</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They will always welcome you.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Come in, my dear,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
From that harsh world</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That has rained elements of stone</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Upon your tender face.</div>
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Every soul</div>
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Should receive a toast from us</div>
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For bravery!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bring all the bottles of wine you own</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To this divine table---the earth</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We share.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
If your cellar is empty,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This whole Universe</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Could drink forever</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
From mine!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
***</div>
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There may be no other place on the planet quite as beautiful as this Sonoma County! The grape harvest has begun. Days are hot, nights cool, colors exquisite. Hafiz probably wanders the countryside, maybe drives my car, throws my camera on the floor, dogs in the back, directs me. And I thank him for his insistence. I love September.<br />
<br />
xoxoLPC</div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-29228564818494408392012-08-31T13:40:00.000-07:002012-08-31T13:40:35.789-07:00Bloo Luna<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Long ago, when I first started my blog, this girl was a pup. A wascally chicken-chasing pup. She still is, for the most part, though now that she is 6 years old(!!!) she has mellowed somewhat. There are those who might take issue with that statement. Har har. </div>
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I for one, would not leave her unattended with a chicken. That is for sure.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
She shows me daily that life is for living. Don't, she says, let the small stuff bother you. Be real. Show your feelings as the temporary things they are. Be happy, there is no reason under the sun not to be. Love your Mama. She takes you for rides and walks and accepts kisses. Well, except for certain times, and we won't go into that here.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Run hard and fast. Play chase and tug-o-war daily. Sneak cat food. Wrassle Emerson into the dust. Steal avocado pits out of the compost bucket, throw them for Emerson to fetch. Sit, wait, lay down and walk nice.</div>
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And yes, she still remembers who Meat Pie is. Say the name and she looks at the front door. I kid you not. </div>
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I love you Luna.</div>
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And I love being your person.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
xoxoLPC</div>
</div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-16007111526879104492012-08-28T11:13:00.003-07:002012-08-28T11:13:55.037-07:00Warm Up. Write. Paint. Water. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Over the years I push myself to focus the Blog on the ART. Perhaps just giving in to the fact that Life <i><u>is</u></i> Art would be a wise move. You see, to get out of or into my house these days, I must step over this smiling, blue-haired, gift-bearing angel.<br />
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The garden reflects the seasonal changes which begin the moment the seed is settled into the earth. Of course I lead the chorus of "Oh no! Isn't it tooooo early for this?" Of course not, it is late summer, almost fall. The pumpkins are orange, the sunflowers mature, tomatoes ripe.<br />
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Cottonwoods are waving their shiny leaves in the breeze this morning. It feels hot already. I have watered the zucchini and basil, picked a clump of golden table grapes for lunch. I am saving the trip out to the neighbor-goats with apples in hand for later, my before-I-go-into-town pick-me-up.<br />
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My planned foray into the studio will not be put off much longer. The coffee waits its pressing. I have started a large painting which at this point reminds one of waves.<br />
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There is a wagger on the porch, smiling her way back inside. Oh! There is another smile, the Labrador smile. His is harder to see as he blends with the shadows and dust. His is more a swagger.<br />
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Surrounded by beauty. Savoring the sensation and movement of what feels like a pause between seasons. <br />
<br />
It is a good day, today.<br />
<br />
xoxoLPC</div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-42454135379739443562012-08-14T10:38:00.000-07:002012-08-14T10:38:23.833-07:00Perculating Cobwebs, Cleaning & Bees<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Moving along with the artichoke theme, I notice that even housekeepers in the wild have dust and cobweb buildup, carcasses in the folds, and general shrouding. Helps me know that I am not alone.<br />
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Can the end of summer really be two rows down on the calendar? Oh dismay! Perhaps the worst thing is that this also means the National Elections move closer, and in this movement all the horrific negativity present in our culture is ready to inundate every nook and cranny of wired communications, written, spoken, advertised and generally poured into our proverbial coffee cups. Daily. Moment to moment.<br />
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Do not despair, LPC! There is art to be discovered. Painting to splash. Words to play. Hugs to embrace. Images to stop in time. Abstract to engage.<br />
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I enjoy my daily foray into FB (Facebook). I am steeling myself for the endless political postings. Perhaps I will relax, and "block" them, which can be done painlessly. Or perhaps I will leave them for my own personal growth! At times it is apparent that certain ruts in my brain have fossilized, and a good shaking vibrates newness into the area. <br />
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Polarized political punditing (hahaha!) has gone on since the invention of the mouth and movement of air. Harm and good have been the result. Period. For Ever.<br />
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The Workess Bees head out for the morning pollen gathering. Their morning ritual dances communicate direction, type, color, and best route to the pollen source. If something changes, like a gardener cutting the sunflowers, this information is added, the Bees share freely and make the necessary adjustments to keep the pollen flowing into the honey factory. <br />
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No. They do not argue. Or call each other names. Or worry about who married who, or sexual preference or if pot is medicine. <br />
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I do not believe that I have ever noticed a worried Honey Bee. I have found them exhausted and dying, but even then they do not appear distressed. Just done.<br />
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<br />
Funny, but I was going to write about something else, though for the life of me, I cannot remember what that was.<br />
<br />
Have a day filled with purpose, affection, good work and clear communication.<br />
<br />
I love you!<br />
xoxoLPC</div>
Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-19297314466684796542012-07-04T17:00:00.000-07:002012-07-04T17:00:46.150-07:00Gratitude & Freedom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I can hardly stand how beautiful the artichoke is, regardless of season. On my morning walk-about I pass them, some fallen over, others completely spent, with shreds of lavender still attached. Their unabashed wearing of their best purple robes, daily, is inspiring.<br />
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My first born used to "twiddle" a strand of hair while she sucked her thumb wrinkled. Something about this twisted crown made me think of her. Of that.<br />
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I am preparing for a Poetry Reading. It seems ironic, in that I have not "polished" any poems for over a year. I have been painting. Yes. And helping run an art gallery. Have been thinking. Writing daily, sometimes pages, sometimes, just the date: today is Friday. My Mom used to look up from her game of solitaire and ask me, "What is today? Tuesday?" Perhaps it was a ruse, so that I wouldn't notice her sly moves.<br />
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My poetry is mostly about relationship and nature. Or the nature of relationship. Or about some guy(a couple of decades ago) that rose like a myth out of a steaming Oregon hot spring, who was nature, but not relationship.<br />
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Honey Bees have what seems like a magical relationship to their environment. They read the landscape, they dance to communicate with one another, they are part of a large community which is, in fact, their home. I heard recently (more NPR education), that the drones are actually females. Why does this not surprise me?<br />
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I love how the Bees love the artichokes. We share that love.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>How Did the Rose?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>How</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>did the rose</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>ever open its heart</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and give to this world all of its beauty?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>It felt the encouragement of light against its being,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>otherwise we all remain too</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>frightened.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>***</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Hafiz</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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This little fuzzy is a mystery. Who is she? Looks like a cucumber? A melon? Just so cute, at this stage.<br />
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Looking up at my sunflower I noticed a whole gaggle of pollinators, including the little native bee. All busy, all with bright yellow pollen piling up in their leg-bags!<br />
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Can you see the light from within? Looks as though this fig is glowing! Usually I am not allowed any of the First Figs, as the Orioles, Starlings, Mockingbirds and Woodpeckers all gorge their way through the whole crop in one or two days. This morning I scored!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Which brings me to the whole point of July 4th: </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The Gratitude List</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<ol>
<li style="text-align: left;">Thank You God.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Thank You for all that IS today.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Thank You, this Life is full.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">Thank You for this garden.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">I am grateful for exaltation and exploration.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">I am grateful for morning, noon, and yes, the evening.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">I am grateful for neighbors, community, and our country.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">I am grateful for landscape, tree and blade of grass.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">I am grateful for generosity, friendship and love.</li>
<li style="text-align: left;">I am grateful for figs.</li>
</ol>
<br /><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I love you.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
xoxoLPC</div>
</div>Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-35964612371253807852012-06-08T17:42:00.001-07:002012-06-08T17:43:07.899-07:00Teasles<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Just a little photo-essay from a roadside stop.</div>
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Love you.</div>
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xoxo</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
LPC</div>
</div>Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-14884276207377945012012-05-31T21:21:00.001-07:002012-05-31T21:21:38.965-07:00For Dev... On the Way to Rebekah's 8th Grade Graduation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Junior and I were ready, and waiting.</div>
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Dev finally came out the door.</div>
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Twice or three times.</div>
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Then, ta daaaa! The Graduate!</div>
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Ok. Now we have to hurry, because 5 minutes ago</div>
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we were supposed to be there.</div>
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Noooooo! No more photos!</div>
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(Isn't she so dang cute???)</div>
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Congratulations! </div>
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xoxoLPC</div>
</div>Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-63665343097911722942012-05-30T09:34:00.000-07:002012-05-30T09:37:02.182-07:00Musing Morning<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Last week our neighbor had her grass cut. Porfiro left a patch out in the field, and upon questioning, replied, "There is a turkey setting there..." So I went tippy-toe around the patch, twice. I couldn't see any turkey. So, I went in closer, around again. Then I stopped. To get a better feel for the situation. I let my eyes rest, and looked down at my feet (being extremely too close) to see the white bars of her tail feathers about 8 inches from my red Crocks. I could see her head, too. I raised my camera, and BOOM! She was outta there, huge in her fury and chaos and pandemonium.<br />
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Oh Goddess. Forgive me. What was I thinking? I wish I'd have stayed with the original shot, this one, of her little piece of meadow which Porfiro left for her. I am trusting that she went back to her nest, and is settled down in there, peacefully. I am staying away.<br />
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Mary is officially a 6th Grader as of yesterday. Hers is a precious class of twelve students, and I heard deep appreciation from the words of their teachers. They will be missed. And everyone blesses their journey. Gosh. From here, it seems that life speeds up a couple of warps, doesn't it?<br />
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Lively is an understatement.</div>
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Which leads me to my Morning Meditation Room. The back orchard has become such a haven. I have been spending hours out there, planting, moving compost, staring into the Borage blue, listening to hundreds of birds all at the same time. <br />
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We built a planter box, with a wire bottom, to keep the voracious gophers out of the peppers and beans. Oh awful rodent: starts at the bottom and chows the whole plant down into its hole, gobbles it whole, leaving me the name tag. ANCHO gone missing.<br />
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So I have over-planted my raised bed. With anticipation! I can hardly wait for the medley of plants. Here is the list: <br />
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Ancho Peppers</li>
<li>Chinese Long Red Beans</li>
<li>Rattlesnake Pole Beans</li>
<li>Dill</li>
<li>Cukes</li>
<li>Simpson Lettuce</li>
<li>Rhubarb Chard</li>
<li>Teddy Bear Sunflowers</li>
<li>Carrots!</li>
</ul>
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It is a pretty big bed. (smile)</div>
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Oh and tomatoes! But they are not in the bed. We will maybe show those to you tomorrow. </div>
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Yep. I am back in the garden.</div>
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xoxoLPC</div>
</div>Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-30591046134103365152012-05-24T21:43:00.001-07:002012-05-24T21:43:21.991-07:00Healdsburg FFA Parade<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This one quit, and no amount of cranking could get it going again.</div>
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So, everybody out, and push! This may have been the longest parade ever for these guys.</div>
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I've been told to not photograph strangers, but I couldn't help myself!</div>
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OH! It's the Dancing Mary!!!</div>
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...and friends!</div>
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Mary is prone to the giggles.</div>
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And we are glad of it!</div>
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I don't know. Couldn't spell or pronounce these guys. Let's just call him the Bottle Guy.</div>
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Really. It was the best parade, ever.</div>
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xoxoLPC</div>
</div>Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-21931384701605753572012-04-11T17:39:00.002-07:002012-04-11T17:39:57.518-07:00New Work<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Our Lady Guadalupe of the Moon</div>
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by</div>
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Laura Paine Carr</div>
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This painting, and 9 more, are on exhibit at Rochioli J Vineyards and Winery through May 15, 2012. Open daily, 11 - 4, and by appt. on Tues. & Wed.</div>
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Would love to have you see them in person! Sip a little of the excellent wine and enjoy the spring vista of vineyards, cottonwoods and willows along the Russian River, and the wild sky. And enjoy the paintings, too, of course!</div>
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Love,</div>
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LPC</div>
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</div>Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4922761238266352852.post-58007513143555650942012-03-09T16:14:00.000-08:002012-03-09T16:14:55.860-08:00They Just Think They Got Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7QhvSjdpWO9U3Pmdsso9AOJaRcjjc6y_zY8aR35awMIUIcCbrzNKzUkCYzv9UbWTz7pHkQSjsjEjj3kghefwJEKfHnSlUKTeo2QKaE6SpRmTQ5wz-CS_zMDJ5UUYp_yXrLfe9oLxXlqM/s1600/DSC_0580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7QhvSjdpWO9U3Pmdsso9AOJaRcjjc6y_zY8aR35awMIUIcCbrzNKzUkCYzv9UbWTz7pHkQSjsjEjj3kghefwJEKfHnSlUKTeo2QKaE6SpRmTQ5wz-CS_zMDJ5UUYp_yXrLfe9oLxXlqM/s400/DSC_0580.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The morning coffee klatch. Warming up for a day of soaring. And, of course, finding nasty things upon which to dine.<br />
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Did you know that Turkey Vultures are quite talkative? They are.</div>
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Oh this is my current favorite shot. Love those feet in the morning light. I could never plan for such a shot, that is for sure.<br />
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Here is my Raven friend, busily avoiding me. I am sure that they know who I am, as they seem to hover about, and fly off as soon as I roll to a stop. It is entirely too orchestrated to be accidental. One day I think that I will invest in a tasty sandwich and place it upon the hood of my car and wait for them. Then, <i>CLICK!</i> I will have my Raven. Heee hee. We shall see.<br />
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This is a pretty good shot. Interesting composition.</div>
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Next time I will catch him flying the other direction. <br />
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On this trip home from The Lake I also saw a Bobcat! A beautiful, healthy and rather large one loped across the road in front of my car. I watched it leap out of the grass, and was so stunned I was unable to pick up the camera. It crossed the road, and as it leaped into the brush, it looked back over its shoulder at me. I cannot help but feel that these critters know me. Perhaps one day each will hold still long enough for me to get my shot. Neither Luna nor Emerson even noticed the cat, being satiated from their swim.<br />
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I am fascinated with the big black birds. Wildlife and animals in general are my favorite subjects, whether to read/research or to follow with my camera. My paintings are progressing, Our Lady Guadalupe guides me right now into realms I never knew existed.<br />
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It is peaceful in these realms. Colorful, quiet, and soothing.<br />
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Love & hugs.<br />
LPC</div>Laura Paine Carrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05062656101856415850noreply@blogger.com4