December 21st, 2009

It's nearly Christmas. The tree (as you can see) has been up since just after Thanksgiving. A few wall decorations and the Nativity are set up in the living room. On the hall wall, the big branch with beanbag reindeer, snowflakes and candy canes hangs above an old window, and people come and grab a candy cane as they wish, and laugh at the reindeer and the penguins sitting atop a shelf in a row.

On the CD player is an admixture of Mannheim Steamroller's beautiful and sometimes quite jolly Christmas music, songs of the advent of the Christ child, Dan Fogelberg's heart-wrenchingly beautiful Christmas CD, country hammered dulcimer Christmas music, baroque and classical stuff, and on and on. Scented candles fill the room with seasonal cinnamon, orange, pine, and mulberry and apple. Darkness comes early...lamps are there for lighting, but are left unlit until necessary; the tree is the star of the whole evening. The candles placed about the room give a moonlight-style glow to the Nativity. The candles in the window flicker. I grew up in Michigan, where there was always frost on the windowpanes, snow on the outer sills and ledges...and a panorama of white beyond. At night, the candles glowed softly in the window, and one could see patterns on the windows, made by the frost. The candles glow tonight; all is well. Mom went home to the Lord thirty-six years ago today. I don't grieve anymore. I have happy memories, and we light a candle each night from tonight to Christmas Eve, in her memory...and I tell my children of her.

Mom always had candles in a window when I was really little. Now, I have candles in our window. Five of them, just like she did. In fact, just two years ago I had to finally throw out the candleholder SHE used to use...but I have another holder with five candles. Beautiful red ones, like she always had. Tonight my son lit the first candle and I told the boys about their grandma Doris, what a sweet, funny, loving woman she was, how she'd have loved and most likely, spoiled, them...how they would have loved her. Now the candles have purpose. To help us remember the mother I loved so much, and the grandma they never got to know. Tomorrow, two candles will be lit...and on Christmas Eve, all five candles will be burning in that window, a tribute to Christmases past and the woman who helped me carve out family traditions that live on - at least in part - today. Some traditions are the same, some have been kept but "tweaked" for our own family. And it won't be a sad time. It's a happy time each year, sharing memories of spills, laughter, silliness, hugs, encouragement, planning, cleaning, decorating, everything she taught me about just letting go, forgetting to be a "grownup" when it's Christmas, and most of all, remembering WHY we have Christmas and Who it's about. Thank you, Mom! I love you.

I have changed quite a bit over the last few Christmas seasons, and for a time I thought that I was merely aging, and getting less and less willing to be dusting all the doodads and whatchamacallits people would buy me for Christmas. I now realize that's not it. I have reached an age where I have very little NEED of more THINGS. I still feel WANT and I have DESIRE of eye-catchers in the online shopping sites and in the stores...but not one single thing in the latter two lists really matters so much to me that I feel disappointment over not getting them. Rather than the fad clothing, the jewelry, the vacation trip, the movie tickets, the theater tickets, etc., of my younger days, I find myself now actually REALLY WANTING those things that I most NEED. Gone is the younger woman who had big dreams of all the "goodies" just waiting "out there" to be placed in HER eager hands. In her place is the matured woman who still says, "oh, isn't that beautiful"...but who has realized that the things she truly wants and needs, are things that cannot be purchased, charged, laid-away. The things I want now are "sensible" things, like to keep my eyesight in spite of diabetes...to continue to be able to walk and talk and think and laugh and feel and hear and touch and sing and create and love and give. I'm in downsizing mode when it comes to "things". I treasure most what comes from the heart.

Don't buy me any jewels...don't shower me with expensive clothes...don't get me an exotic vacation. If you MUST buy me gifts for under my tree, then get me a new warm bathrobe so that I can snuggle into it on a cold evening while I pretend that Oregon has snow every winter and not this accursed driving never-ending rain...get me soft slippers to keep diabetic feet from freezing while I curl up on the comfortable chair or sofa to read or watch a movie with my husband by the light of the tree. Give me music to move my spirit. Take me to visit loved ones. Bring them to me. Do the housework without being asked and give me a day of play, make a picnic, gift me with a book to make me laugh (or cry). Give me things, if you must...but IF you must, then please, DO make them things that touch my heart and not my pride.

The snow. I miss the snow each year. I was - awhile back - reconnected with someone from my past who meant the world to me. This dear friend, and also my sister, live "back east" where very severe snowstorms have hit. I keep getting emails about seats by the fire, blankets of white, deep BIG snow...and I feel jealous.

There is just something about a snowstorm that brings with it a unique solitude, unlike anything else on earth. Nothing can re-create its special stillness. I used to love sitting in a comfortable chair, wrapped in a robe or blanket, very close to a window, all lights off, fire in the fireplace, (or, if no fireplace then a heat source nearby and candles lit), a cup of hot cocoa or cider or tea in hand, book at the ready...and I would just gaze out the window into the moonlit night, and watch the big, fat flakes make their lazy drifting falls to the earth. Now and again a little wind would come up, and there would be a crazed ballet of thousands of fat white flakes, circling one another, twirling and flying through the air...then the wind died and they settled back into that lazy feathery fall. There would be a deep, thick blanket of white on the ground, and huge mounds of white on tree branches, especially pines and firs. Street lights would be on. Houses across the way were invisible, except for outdoor Christmas lights sparkling like colored gems in the night. And I would become so lost in that QUIET. Quiet not just inside, but outside. It was not only quiet, but it was STILL. All that snow...no one venturing out on a night like that! NO! Nothing moving, not one footprint, not one pawprint, nothing disturbed or moved, no plows or shovels or snowmobilers...just white on white on white, snowfall backlit by the occasional streelight, twinkling colored Merry Christmas lights in the background. Now and again, a huge mound of snow would fall from a tree bough. One SAW the "plop" but heard nothing but a very soft "whuff", if that. Amazing. TRUE Silent Night.

There would be peace as I let my mind wander where it liked, and enjoyed just BEING. There is nothing quite like the solitude of a moonlit night at Christmas time with a good deep snowfall all about. No sounds. No household movement or activity. No TV, no music...no, just for a little while, only me, my tea or cider or cocoa, and a white sparkling twinkling world where all was still, all was well, all was peace. Ahhh, for a snow like that again. Lucky you, my precious friend, my beloved sister!

Thinking a bit more about gifts...I am now old enough to realize that things wrapped in pretty paper pale in comparison to the true gifts I already possess or will have very soon: the love of my children and husband, the love of friends, the joy of family gathering together. Once, I was the little one watching aunts, uncles, grandparents and cousins streaming into a relative's home. Now, I am the grandmother watching the new generations of our family meeting together, and all the loved ones except a very few from MY childhood have gone on to a far bigger, better Christmas party.

I realize that I am so blessed. My dear precious sister is still here, and we talk or email often...the only thing missing is physically - closer residences. We are over two thousand five hundred miles apart and I long to be with her more often. But I have her love, and it warms me and comforts me and cheers me. I have still got the ability to see, taste, feel, hear, smell, laugh, talk, think, imagine, giggle, create, cook, touch, hug, tickle, walk, and do many other things unaided. I have as mentioned before, a fantastic husband and sons and wonderful in-laws. That in itself is a gift. The world, nor God, owed me any happiness, or any love. It was given, freely and without conditions. Any love given WITH conditions is easily dismissed and left behind. As it should be.

I pray with all my heart that as Christmas Day approaches, I will look beneath our tree where it will be deliberately bare - for we have chosen to step away from the commercial aspects of the season and embrace the joy, the love, the advent of our Savior - and I will smile as I see there, with my mind's eye, just how very many precious and unexpected and undeserved gifts God has truly given to me...and I will be grateful. So very grateful.

To my husband: I love you. You are a part of me, the very best part of me. Your love, your patience, kindness, gentleness, generosity, helpfulness, the fact that you find our home (wherever it may be) and being there with me, the most desirable location and activity on earth....I do not deserve you...but I am so very happy that I have you. How fortunate and blessed I am. YOU are a GIFT. My heart cannot easily contain the love and gratitude I have for this wonder, this man of God, this partner and protector and lover and friend to share life with.

To my children: I love you. You are my heartbeat, my pride, my joy. I gave birth to two of you, and am stepmother to the other two. Know this: all of you have filled my life with wonder and worry, laughter and tears, hard times and smooth sailing, work and play. You have kept me so busy that I have had to lay my own life's dreams and ambitions aside for over a quarter-century. And do you know, I am GLAD that I did! Yes, I have read you all the riot act now and then. Yes, I've lectured you and pointed out when you've made stupid foolish choices. Yes, you've gotten consequences for disrespect or unkindnesses, lying or cheating. You deserved every bit of it. BUT - you've also gotten thousands of hours of cuddles, hugs, kisses, bedtime stories, campouts in "tents" made of blankets and kitchen chairs, games, attention, education, care-taking, clean clothes and great food, a home where you loved bringing friends, encouragement, and you got spoiled rotten. Yeah, we were pretty poor by most standards...but you WERE spoiled because we went without almost all the time, in order that you did not. Maybe you never got as much or as fancy "stuff" as the other kids you knew...but their families were the "rich people" in the parable of the widow's mite, and we were the "widow's mite" bunch...OUR giving was all we had to give and was given gladly. We did not give what we could afford, we gave all we had. You always had good toys, good clothing, good shoes, proper medical care, a clean and cozy and attractive home, warm beds, transportation...you were NEVER TRULY POOR. And because of you all, I am now a senior citizen whose life has been one long big adventure and you were the stars...you still are, in my heart. I long more than anything I know of, to see you all grown, working, well-established, living a life that promotes peace of mind and well-being, comfort and security above "bling" and "stuff". And when I die, I pray that all of my sons will not say of me, "THIS is how much she gave to me" but will instead say, "THIS is how much she loved me." YOU ARE ALL GIFTS. I cherish every one of you.

To my sister: Merry Christmas. You cannot have a completely accurate idea of what you mean to me, because there are things deep within my heart that I cannot ever find the proper words to describe. Since I was four, you've been my sidekick, my pest, my tattle-tale, my shadow, my partner in crime, my partner in suffering, in fear and sorrowing, joy and happiness; you've been my laughter, my joy, my best friend, my pal, my teacher, my student, my encourager, my helper, my confidante, and to this day I cannot honestly think of one single other human being on the face of the earth who knows me as well as you do...nor another who shares this sense of humor we both have. We "get" each other. YAY! I'm so so blessed to have you for a sister. I can't even imagine a life without you in it. Don't want to do so, either. YOU are a gift. Your LOVE is a gift. You aren't as openly demonstrative as I, but I have never once doubted your love. Thank you for the gift of a lifetime of sisterhood, friendship, and a love that no one and no thing could ever reproduce. I love you and treasure you and count you one of life's greatest blessings.

To my newly-reconnected friend "out east": YOU ARE A GIFT. Our shared chats, our emails, our shared art, our shared laughter and silliness, our shared revelations of who we've become and how...at first, I was afraid that all we might have in common were memories, and that it would fizzle out quickly. But not to worry...the friendship is as though no time at all has passed, yet with the unique twist that we are getting to know one another all over again. I reckon that's what over forty years of separation does with wonderful friendships - you are fortunate enough to find each other once more, and you pick right up as though no time at all has passed...you proceed cautiously at first, testing the waters...and you begin to realize each of you is the same person, but each has matured and experienced much, and you begin that wonderful process of re-discovery and learning...and share all the joys and sorrows along the way. I love you. YOU are a dear and precious gift. Thank you for coming back into my life, thank you for your encouragement of my works, thank you for keeping me laughing and thinking and exploring and feeling valued. What a wonderful surprise gift to receive at this time of life...I treasure you!

To all my wonderful friends, my other family members, my praying online sisters, my church friends, my dear friends from old workplaces, friends who come often, friends who come seldom, close friends, casual friends: I love you. YOU ALL ARE GIFTS. Your love, your acceptance of me and my husband and sons "as is", the joy you've brought to all of us, is so precious. You've stuck by us through some pretty horrifying past times...and helped us come back into the sunlight again. You've "been there" in good times and bad; we've shared movies, dinners, coffees, snacks, popcorn, music, laughter, prayers, tears, victories, defeats, worries, praises, meaningful Scriptures, great recipes, craft ideas, information, hugs, kisses, handshakes, the list goes on and on and on. Some of you are very very old and dear friends...some newer. Thank you ALL, for your love, for your caring, for your friendship, your prayers, your sound advice, your comforting, your help, your encouragement. YOU ARE ALL GIFTS.

To our inlaws, both present and future: We love you. You have come into our lives and made our sons happy, you have begun new lives and new families with one son, and are about to marry and do so with another. Your kindness, laughter, loving natures, have added to our joy as well. We are so thankful that our sons have found women of God to marry, and women who know how to laugh, and trust, and be faithful to one man only, to keep house, cook, yet still be wise and smart and have a distinct separate personality. YOU ARE GIFTS, BOTH OF YOU, and we welcome you to the family.

NOW...isn't that funny? Here it is Christmas time...the tree has NOTHING underneath its branches...yet I have already sent my thank-you's for all the gifts I found in my heart, already opened and much-loved and appreciated. Who needs Santa? God Himself has given, and YOU ARE THE GIFTS. Thank you.

MERRY AND BLESSED CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! I pray that you all will look inside your own hearts to find the gifts you are going to cherish for a lifetime. Paper rots...things break or get lost or given away...but the love - of friends and family, and of God - love is forever. Unlike shows of affection or attention given out of duty, it cannot be bought, manufactured, or placed. And unlike any other gift, the more of it you give to others, the bigger YOUR portion grows. :)

http://www.beachtownposters.com/ Today, I want to introduce you to a dear friend, one who has such artistic talent that it makes my head spin. If you really enjoy retro art, do yourself (and anyone who may like retro as a gift!) a favor. Go to this website: http://www.beachtownposters.com/ and view the beautifully-executed artwork of Aurelio Grisanty. I just received one of these posters, and I promise you, you'll be amazed at how much MORE beautiful they are than what you're seeing online!! Aurelio's posters are full of beautiful and memory-evoking images, wonderful light and shadow, and glorious colors, all combined to bring your senses alive. You Boomers out there: I'm sure that you can remember browsing through Grandma's old catalogues from the thirties and seeing adverts in this style. ALL of us can plainly see why this style continues to be sought-after by so many people, and remains an integral part of design choice for new interiors, restorations, and art used in all manner of places. It's enduring and charming. Do your eyes a huge favor, and pop onto this website today. At these amazingly low prices, you can buy one or several, and each one is signed by the artist. Aurelio is an acclaimed artist and once you see these posters, you'll understand why I am telling you, RUN don't WALK, to Beachtown Posters for your holiday and other gift-giving ideas, AND for your own personal enjoyment. You'll be so happy with your posters!

Ah, autumn in Oregon. One needs to haul out the entire wardrobe to stay properly dressed for it! One day we may have near-freezing temperatures and strong cold breezes and grab for our fleece-lined jackets and hats; the next, awaken to bright sunshine and a day that warms into the mid-seventies. It's then that we hang up the jacket, discard the hat, and grab our sleeveless shirts and shorts again. But OH! Let us not put the heavier clothing completely away. That would be silly. Oregon is on its seasonal merry-go-round: Around and around the weather goes, and where it will end up nobody knows. And we have our little inside jokes - that the best suntan oil for Oregon is RustOleum, or that there are four true seasons in Oregon: Raining, Ready to Rain, Just Rained, and Sunburn.

This year Summer's been dragging its heels, and Autumn has entered tentatively, blowing cool air kisses at us for a little while, then withdrawing shyly to gauge our mood - No! - we're not ready yet to surrender our sunshine! And Madame Autumn, dressed in her seasonal gown, grabs her red-and-purple- and- gold-leafed train in hand, whirls around and flounces off to wait for another day. Mr. Sun grins broadly and beams at us, in gratitude for our admiration, and we laugh in delight as already-cut-back bushes suddenly shoot forth brand-new blooms. We say things like, "Ah, Indian Summer, it's not fall yet!" Next thing you know, the blooms are withering on the plants and Autumn has made her second or third or fourth entrance, always waltzing to the strains of rustling-leaf rhythms played on the boughs of the shedding trees.

She's grinning now, she knows that Mr. Sun has packed up and is ready to head south to winter over in the southern hemisphere. She has returned with an aire of great self-confidence now...all shyness gone...she knows that we will accept her presence. She is happy to see that some of us actually celebrate her arrival, we revel in the scent of her, heady with wood and burning leaves and crisp air and apple-peel smells and pumpkin pie spices. She understands that to some of us, the revelation of her formal wear for the season is breath-takingly beautiful and not to be dismissed. She has absolutely no sympathy at all for they who (had they been given the choice) would not have invited her this year.

Some folk dread the approach of Autumn and her handmaidens Frost and Rain and, I often think, see death in her and stop there with their minds' eyes. I do not. I see a portion of the cycle of birth, growth, dying, and rebirth. Out of the train of Autumn's gown are shaken leaves that are, yes, dying or dead...but oh how gloriously they are dressed and bejewelled in their rubies and emeralds and topaz for their final dance! And even as they lie on the earth, turning brown and crunchy and unwanted, they don't sorrow over dying - because they know that they will melt back into the earth, and they will live on as they nurture new life coming in the Spring.

And as they lie there, spent but far from done being useful, Miss Frost arrives in her silvery finery, and with her breath blows goodbye kisses to the leaves, and blankets them with crystals of frozen dew. She dances in the morning time, as the distant sun is just peeking over the horizon to see if we miss him yet...and she dances with wild abandon, her laughter chilling the air, tiny feet leaving exquisite patterns on the grassy places. She takes an icy silver-gloved finger and signs her autograph over and over again on our window panes; she scampers all over our gardens and cars, leaving her calling-card at each. But her energy is soon spent for that day; once daylight has arrived in earnest, she scurries off to nap until she can come out to play next morning.

Rain, meantime, stands waiting in the wings, wearing her galoshes in place of dancing shoes, dressed for play and not dance , excited as a giddy schoolgirl. When finally announced, she comes like a flower girl at a formal wedding, grinning, at first marching politely, scattering the tiny droplets of water gently, softly like rose petals everywhere she goes. But she grows more bold and careless with each performance, until finally she throws all caution to the wind and turns her basket upside down on us, laughing heartily at our discomforts.

We are drenched for months on end by her , for she is a true prankster, creating puddles for cars to splash through JUST at the moment we're stepping to the sidewalk in our new dresses and suits; making fresh mud for new shoes to get stuck in; and in general, poking and prodding her way into our everyday, dripping into every nook and cranny where she finds an opening. She's a bold gal, our friend Rain. Hole in the roof? Left a car window open? NO umbrella??!! IN OREGON???!!! Well, all Rain sees is more opportunity for her liquid mischiefs! And there she is, pooling in your attic until just the opportune moment for her to peep into your kitchen through your ceiling tiles, laughing with glee when you sit down on a soggy and mildewed car seat. You'll hear her clapping her hands with joy, her face alight (thus the brief appearance of thunder and lightning here once in a great while) with happiness whenever she gets the chance to wreck a lovely outfit and waterlog a new and costly hairdo - or perhaps create a whopper of a mudslide and take out entire houses!

All in all, though, one must give Madame Autumn her due. When she does come, she comes grandly, unashamedly, dressed like royalty and bringing an entourage that will not fail to be noticed. She comes expecting us all to bow to her...and we do, as we pay homage to her power at the thermostat. She knows she's beautiful. She needs no summer lighting to show off her stuff! She may not bring us the warmth of Summer or the newness of Spring; but she has a grand sort of beauty, a majesty, an aura about her, that bespeaks a different excitement - the excitement of change and of moving forward.

One tries to think of really being able to fully enjoy a caramel apple, a mug of spiced cider, a cup of hot chocolate, a big bowl full of homemade stew or soup, in the warmth of spring or the heat of summer. It does not fit. It is not supposed to. These things connect our hearts to Ms. Autumn and Autumn will carry them forward when it's time for her to dance away and introduce Mrs. Winter. So I say, get out your rain gear, get out your sweaters, keep out a pair of shorts and a tank top until at least November...because Madame Autumn is arriving and the whole of my city is awash with excitement and preparation for her arrival to stay. Light the bonfires! Toss the cinnamon sticks into the cider! Smell the coming frost in the night air! Listen to the geese singing paeons to her beauty as Autumn approaches!

Make way! Make way! She is here! All hail Madame Autumn, give Frost and Rain their recognition. But remember this about Autumn... She's a regal and beautiful grande dame, but in her are also childlike joys and deep satisfactions...jumping into a pile of just-raked leaves, carving pumpkins, harvest, family closeness. She's not to be hated or dreaded. She is a unique and separate cog in the cycle of life. And now, off to mull cider and plan rainy-day crafts!

If This is a Virus, I've Got it Bad!

"It's probably that bug, that virus that's been going around," said a friend. Little did she know that I'd just spent half the afternoon sitting on the edge of my sofa, screaming my fool head off during a Chicago Bears game (hence the orange script here). My team. Loved 'em since 1975. Still do. Loved 'em when nobody else did, cheered when everyone else boo'd. Gotta love any team that can produce a Dick Buttkus or a Refrigerator Perry or a Walter Peyton!

Just prior to that, I'd been yelling encouragement to the Pittsburgh Steelers (hence the black script here). My team. Loved 'em since 1975. Still do. Loved 'em when nobody else did, cheered when everyone else boo'd. Gotta love any team that can produce a Lynn Swan, or a Franco Harris or a Terry Bradshaw!

Whew. Okay. All that said, I must face the fact that I am an NFL two-timing hussy. I am "torn between two loves." When the Bears and Steelers recently faced off against each other, I was hollering for BOTH offenses to "SCORE SCORE SCORE!" and screaming for both defenses to "PUSH THEM BACK, DON'T LET THEM SCORE!" That game nearly was my psychological undoing!


I love NFL football (mostly MY teams!). Years ago, I pondered a question: Why on earth do men invent these roughneck games? Why, since gladiators fought in huge outdoor arenas and colliseums, have men always needed to pound the living daylights out of other men? And why have still other men - and women - loved to watch it? What is it that makes them love doing this?

Then a friend's husband demanded she and I sit in on a Steelers game. He explained the game to me and clued me in on all the terminology and I found myself getting very interested. And I stopped asking and starting getting answers.


There is something universally appealing about being a spectator at a contest of strength. Oh, you can say it's all about who can move the ball the most, who scores points. That may determine the winner of the game but believe you me, we are all watching and rooting for our teams and getting downright giddy when they knock the stuffing out of the opposition, or complete a TD by means of an intricate series of almost ballet-like leaps and bounds. We like to watch them win, for sure...and we boast about the standings, and their averages, and we DO keep track of point spreads and stats. But really, if all we wanted out of the game was to watch several men stand across from several other men and score points with a moving sphere, we could watch tennis. No, it's that thing in us that loves to see muscle pitted against muscle, brawn against brawn, the cave man or woman in us, that loves football.


When I began watching pro ball in the mid-1970's, I was fortunate enough to come in when Dick Buttkus was playing for the Bears. They had a lot of microphones right down near the field, technology not being what it is now...and you could hear these big men growl and grunt and even threaten each other. I can't count how many times I heard Mr. B growl out, "Yer goin' DOWWWNNN!" And his predictions came true more often than not, and it was FUN to watch him hurl big burly men around like so many sacks of wet flour. It was FUN to watch Walter Peyton run that field like a cheetah and leave his opponents behind him like it was no big deal.


When Terry Bradshaw, with the Steelers, threw a pass and Franco Harris caught it, it was FUN to watch all those big muscle-bound men throwing themselves every which way to try to stop him, while he deftly leaped right over them and ran the TD home. It was FUN to watch LC Greenwood, Mean Joe Green, that entire Iron Curtain Defense, just nail the living daylights out of the opposing team.


Yeah, it was exciting when MY team stopped the opposing team's men from scoring points...points matter! It was thrilling to see MY team cross that goal line and score! But the FUN came from hearing the SMACK! of helmet against helmet, the UGH! OOF! of a big man getting the wind half-knocked out of him, the FUN came from watching the huddle on a winter day when players' breathing sent puffs of frosty breath billowing up into the air like so many steam engines standing in the station. It was FUN to watch cleats connect with wet earth when it rained and snowed, tearing up huge divets until the lines were no longer visible, the field a sea of brown soggy earth, and the football had to be set on a towel so that it could be snapped; seeing uniforms so muddy and grass-stained that you were no longer quite sure who was who...you had to know who players were by how they moved and played. Something can be exciting without being fun. This stuff is FUN.


Now, I am a lady who spends most of her time sitting or standing, busying herself doing country crafting, re-finishing furniture, creating art, photography, or cooking up a storm in her kitchen. I write poetry. I sing in public. I feed the birds and squirrels and go outside just to smell my pretty flowers and look at my beautiful garden. I am a woman who loves my family and friends and can spend hours visiting with them and telling them how special they are. I cherish them and grab every opportunity to say "I love you". I am a woman with a very soft heart, a forgiving spirit, a generous nature. I am tender and love to laugh, playful and very accepting of the 'little girl' that still lives in me (she likes to walk in mud puddles and go barefoot and say silly things sometimes), and my heart overflows with wonder at the beauty all around me and within my imagination. Music moves me. I don't suffer stupidity OR hurtful vanities gladly. I can be stubborn and opinionated, but my heart breaks very easily. Yet, there is a part of me that every fall, while rhapsodizing over the falling leaves and changing season, while preparing my first big pot of spiced cider, while wondering if I shall finish the French Country chair, or create a new design for my Christmas cards, can't wait to grab a cold beverage, sit down on that couch, turn on the game, get hubby beside me, and start pounding the sofa arms, inching forward until I nearly fall on the floor, and screaming like a banshee over my teams.


The BEARS...the STEELERS...Loved 'em since 1975. Still do. Always loved being an artistic, creative, tender-hearted lady. Still do. Somehow, it all works. Go figure. And while you ponder, would you be so kind as to pass the popcorn?

These photographs are a small sample of the fine-quality photographic art prints that will be available for sale in time for the holiday season. To view all photo art for sale, along with pricing/framing/shipping info, please click this link: http://ducksleevephotos.blogspot.com/

09/26/2009 AUTUMN EVENING PLEASURE

I want to share here a poem I just love. My sister found this way back in 1980-something and wrote it down to show me. It's ee cummings' poetry and there is something about his use of words, his rhythms and the pictures he paints on my heart and in my mind, that have endeared this work to me all these years. I highly recommend that you enjoy this poem alone, curled up in a big chair with a cup of tea or cocoa, fireplace lit, while softly playing Respighi's Ancient Aires and Dances, the best selection being "Siciliana". Enjoy! Let me know if you liked the poetry and the music. It absolutely took my breath away. Also explore Sibelius' work, "Finlandia". Just beautiful. And for those of you who happen to like baroque music, there is a little-known piece by (of all things!) a bluegrass/rock/jazz band called Dixie Dregs...it's called "Go For Baroque" and is a beautiful baroque piece played by fiddlers and guitarists. Awesome.

Somewhere I Have Never Travelled

somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond

any experience, your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me i and

my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility: whose texture

compels me with the colour of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens; only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

ee cummings

09/24/2009

This is how my corner garden looks right now. It's sort of sad to see all the beautiful flowers beginning to fade. All spring and summer, they've been so lovely to watch, waving and nodding in the breeze, scenting the air with lavender, bending low with heavy blooms. The vegetable garden's pretty much done now, too. Got the last of the cukes and the tomatoes are nearly done, but there are a few peppers left to pick.

All this said, I look forward very much to fall. Autumn is so filled with new and familiar scents and sounds. The air grows crisp, and heavy with the promise of coming rain and cold weather; it even smells of winter to come. Now and again one gets a whiff of burning leaves, and although there is nowhere near the fall "color" here in the Pacific Northwest that there is in my home state of Michigan, fall is a wonderful time.

Soon it will be truly fall. This is when instead of looking at my garden, I come sit near my window with my hot tea and watch the birds at the feeders. It is time for them to return... it is a time of going to get freshly-made cider in gallon jugs, spicing it and drinking it with a group of good friends. It's a time of raking leaves and putting them onto the plants as natural mulch. It's home-baked whole-grain breads, home-made soups and stews and casseroles, pears in place of peaches, cranberries replacing raspberries; a shift in mood, a time of cozying one's home and hunkering down with old soft quilts and good books. It's when we gradually cycle back indoors because we know soon it'll be raining almost every day. It's a time of listening for the honking song of low-flying geese heading south, of beginning to plan the holiday season, of "nesting" more closely, not being quite so on-the-go and spread-out as we were in summertime. It's a time of putting away flowery summer curtains and getting out the heavy winter plaids...of packing away summer and shaking the wrinkles out of autumn to put it all on display and to good use. It's family time. I love it. I love how crisp and clean the air smells, as I fall asleep with my window open just a bit; how the night skies light up as if on fire when the sun sets.

This is the first entry on my new blog. Its purpose is to allow me to express myself, and to get feedback from visitors and friends. One way to express myself is to write, another is to showcase some of my "creations"...some may be old dying chairs or tables I've found and brought back in a new incarnation, others may be drawings, still more may be decoupage, wall art, folk art, short stories and poetry - so please, come often and I know you'll see things you really love, because they're from my love of creating and that can't be anything but WONDERFUL! Be sure to let me know you were here and feel free to leave comments. Thanks for coming. Photos to come ASAP. Stay tuned.....