possibilities

First Impression

2012-02-05T09:54:00.000-08:00

Being a lover of winter, snow, and fairy tales, I was immediately intrigued when I learned of Eowyn Ivey’s first novel, The Snow Child, set in Alaska. Newlyweds in 1966, hubby and I bought the books Homesteading in Alaska, and How to Get Out of the Rat Race and Live on $500 a Year. That never happened. Still dreamers, Alaska is on our bucket list.

The Snow Child is a delight to hold. The paper is lightly textured and feels like cotton. An impish mysterious small figure peeks from behind the paper-white bark of a stark tree. A red fox peeks from behind another tree and watches the child. The dark night holds a sliver of the moon- or is it an eclipse? Perhaps an eye? I’m only on page forty, so I’m eager to discover everything that will be revealed in the story.

I inspected this book carefully before beginning to read. First edition 2012. The paper feels gentle. The type is the perfect size for bedtime reading by tired eyes. There is a handmade quality to this edition. The edge of the book is not surgically sliced at a hard ninety degree angle. The pages are slightly angled, almost divided in sections, like the sewn signatures of a hand made book. The cover beneath the dust jacket is white as snow and the end papers are dark-night blue. Lovely. A mother who always swaddled her babies, I feel Eowyn Ivey’s story is revered by the designers of her book and her publisher Little, Brown and Company by the way The Snow Child is presented. I know I am in for a treat!

Swaddled in bed last night beneath a wool blanket and down throw, our house as still as Jack and Mabel's homesteader cabin, I began reading The Snow Child and slipped with them into their world near the Wolverine River in Alaska. I read slowly, pondering Eowyn Ivey’s phrases, sentences, and skill as a writer. And, tonight, when I read from The Snow Child, I hope to again fall asleep with a tear on my cheek that sparkles as one of Alaska’s snowflakes.

Cathy Safiran

February 5, 2012

Off the Color Wheel

2011-09-25T08:27:00.000-07:00

1952, Illinois, Kankakee, kindergarten. Ah, the headiness of it all. A blue plaid dress from J.C. Penney for the first day of school, something new that didn’t come out of a bag of cast-off clothing, hung pressed in the closet. White blonde hair became curly, thanks to a smelly Toni Home Permanent with crispy endpapers, rubber curlers in three sizes, and mom’s nimble fingers. Grooming? Check. Wardrobe? Check. Eager to step over the threshold of education? Definitely, check.

The original section of Steuben School was two story, built of Illinois weathered yellow ochre limestone cut into large rectangular rough-sided blocks. It looked a lot like the town’s stately library with bronze lion statues out front. A turret projected from a corner of the school between the first and second floors where surely Rapunzel lived before the prince rescued her.

The kindergarten entrance in the new red brick one-story modern design wing, built the year before to accommodate the first post-war babies, was only a block and a half away. A crossing guard, faithfully stationed at the end of the block twice a day, made it possible to walk alone, mom waving goodby from the front porch. Grown up at last. Free of my mother’s hand.

One day during the first week of school, our class marched single file through the hallways and up a short flight of steps to the doorway of an office in the turret and was introduced to Mrs. Red, our principal who did not look like Rapunzel. Sternly she informed us, this is where students who misbehave and do not repent are sent. Everyone’s eyes grew round, but somber Mrs. Red, stationed behind her massive desk, didn’t fool me. She had to be a good person because she looked like Kate Smith singing her way onto television in the afternoons with “God Bless America.”

The kindergarten teacher, Miss Cyrier, was young and smiling. The round tables with matching chairs fit me perfectly; my feet even touched the floor. A new soft chenille throw rug served as my mat for our midmorning break. Age five was tender in those days. Still regarded as babies, it was believed we couldn’t manage to stay awake for three hours of school. At nap time, I laid my head down, but never slept, always rested my head above the elbow, on my skinny arm of a pillow, and spied through slitted eyes at what the other kids were doing.

The excitement of art class occurred the last half hour every Friday. Miss Cyrier had an endless supply of manila paper stacked in the cupboard at the back of the room. We would line up, one table group at a time, and receive in our clean hands the blessing of one brand new piece of thick, creamy, drawing paper. I always put it to my nose, trying to inhale its essence. Then, back to the table. To creativity. Art.

Armed with the basic box of eight Crayola Crayons and the fresh sheet of manila, I was on my own. The word “sketch” was not in my vocabulary. Nor “draw.” Only “color.” At home I was precise, staying within the lines of pictures in coloring books. Little Lulu was my favorite. One transforming day, a visiting friend taught me to trace heavily with red, green, blue, or purple over the black outlines of the pictures and, as they say now, “Make it my own.” Unfortunately, there were no coloring books at Stupid School. I opened the box, pulled the Crayolas partially out, plastered the sheet of manila to the table, and stared.

Each Friday afternoon I daringly turned my paper horizontal and methodically drew the same wide landscape. Two inches of blue sky created with back and forth strokes and two inches of vertical green jagged grass at the bottom set the foundation for my house. It was the classic two-story, windows drawn in black with four square little panes, inverted V roof, and red brick chimney with the required spiral of smoke rising above, but definitely well below the blue sky. If time permitted, I would add a few pitiful attempts at yellow or red flowers by the front door. One day I became brave enough to add a bare tree and got pretty good at branches and twigs. My first sketches!

Soon came the day I never expected. Hopeful teacher that she must have been, Miss Cyrier issued her challenge: we were instructed not to draw the same pictures, not to copy from our neighbor, draw a favorite thing. She believed we could do it. Battle-tested Mrs. Red would have known better.

Yes! I was ready. To warm up, prepare for the challenge, I turned my paper horizonal as usual. Drew the blue sky and green grass as usual. Next, I would draw my favorite thing, but in a bright color. Without knowing, I was heading into dangerous territory. I shut my eyes tight. I could see my favorite thing behind my eyelids. There it was in all its magnificence. Trigger. Roy Rogers’ horse. I chose to draw Trigger purple. Crayon tight in hand, trying to transfer the image behind my eyelids to the manila paper, I began with the pointed ears, keeping them a little below the sky. Cautiously, I headed down the paper, curving at the base of the neck and onto the back. I decided since Trigger was in the corral I wouldn’t need a saddle, but would make a little dip where it would rest. Down, over, up a little bit to the back end of the horse. Whoa! Trigger looks like he’s got a big blanket roll there. I knew all the horse-talk from the TV cowboy shows. Another creative decision awaited. Take a deep breath, draw all four legs and feet, and stop. The tail would be easy and be drawn last. Okay. Easy.

Miss Cyrier suddenly interrupted to announce time was almost up and to finish quickly. Well, any hope of salvation of that portrait of Trigger ended right then. That crayon got nervous, squiggled down to the grass, across just a mite, back up, curve the stomach down, and then two front legs and feet. This was not going well. At some places on the legs the crayon marks met, leaving the impression of a horse on stilts. The head was, well, the image of my thumb. It just stuck off the body at an odd angle. I didn’t even have time to detail his eyes, nor put a smile on his face, and not even add a glorious mane and tail. But, I did manage to grab the red crayon and stroke on a half-inch wide red frame around Trigger in His Pasture. Time was up. I was nervous. Even I couldn’t recognize Trigger.

Miss Cyrier soon stood behind me, peered over my shoulder, and gave me my first true lesson in the world of art and art critics. I can still hear her scalding words to this day. “Cathy,” she said, “that is a very nice cow.” She evidently didn’t understand folk art, nor cows either. There were not any of the hanging milky-things under the animal in my drawing. Did she think it was a cow just because it was purple?

I didn’t think of Miss Cyrier much in the following years, but often felt a twinge of apprehension when a drawing pencil or marker was in my hand. Decades passed, three to be exact. Attending an auction outside of Kankakee, just several miles from good old Steuben “Stupid” School, one evening the auctioneer held up a piece that was destined to be mine. I was nervous, trying to anticipate any bidding competition and debating my bid limit. I decided to bed every dollar and piece of change in my purse. $12.50 I would pay. That was a lot of money then, when the kids always needed shoes. Within half an hour the object of my desire was on the auction block, derided with chuckles and groans from the crowd. I bid. I won. The only bidder.

“Sold!” called the auctioneer as he banged his wooden gavel on his auction wagon counter. “Sold for $1.00 to the lady who thinks she’s got herself a real prize.” The crowd roared. I remained unscalded, thinking, “You bunch of dummies don’t even recognize folk art when you see it.” Neither did Miss Cyrier.

Charmed by my good fortune, I rolled the little three by four foot antique hand-hooked wool rug and tucked it under my arm. Featured horizontally in the center of the rug was my kindergarten drawing: bright blue sky, half circle chrome yellow sun with darting rays, one fluffy white cloud, green pasture, and a smiling purple horse. It was even framed in red.

I wish I knew the woman who made the little wool rug. But, in a way I do, for I think of my little misunderstood purple horse drawn on manila paper and the underappreciated wool rug with a purple horse as distant cousins, both made by those who create what makes them happy, no matter how naive the attempt or untraditional the result.

going high tech

2011-03-25T07:28:00.000-07:00

new Kindle device

came in quiet plain brown box

seems cold, clinical

no paper, no ink

examining wireless

lightweight plastic screen

seems impersonal

platonic relationship

perhaps I’m too old

staid in my known ways

secondhand, indie bookstores

wandering, browsing

ready, get set, go

I love new technology

bravely venture forth

at the coffee shop

firing up wireless

so much temptation

Alchemy

2010-11-19T07:52:00.000-08:00

Members of a writing group I am in began writing sonnets, Shakespeare. Here's my humble offering patterned after the bard's Sonnet 18.

Alchemy--after William Shakespeare

May I propose to make a quilt with you,

Cut sadness from old wounds and scars untold?

Pray this lifeʼs garden bloom all lovely hues,

Before sharp frost sneaks in our beds so cold.

This stone ﬂoor boasts remnants of cast off clothes,

Cerulean skirt blood-soaked on the hem,

Black mourning suit tear-stained with old sad woes,

It seems a quilt from these canʼt be a gem.

I hear you can be very hard to please.

Dark nightmares I do not intend to breed.

Perchance for strange new brilliance I may tease,

And choose bright happy cloth but never plead.

I'll not hang tough nor tempt you more with pause.

Come here, slip 'neath this silken rainbow gauze.

Cathy Saﬁran

November 17, 2010

The Beekeeper

2010-07-24T19:58:00.000-07:00

It's been a few weeks since I took this photo of a local farmer moving white painted wooden bee skeps in the back of his tractor-pulled wagon. Just through the trees lies his destination, a shaded spot suitable for this collection of white boxes which will be stacked and will house his bees. They are placed in a U-shaped area, a dozen structures as tall as a man, arranged in a semicircle beneath the shade of the spreading limbs. Beyond the trees are huge fields, perhaps several hundred acres of pasture and crops, which the bees call their own.

I've written about concern for the pollinators before. Though we have flowers and clover, and the neighbors have apple and cherry trees, I have not seen honey bees again this year. Perhaps they have chosen the life of domesticity. I don't know. But, thanks to the bee keepers the honey supply in our area is plentiful and the bees are productive.

Change of Plans

2010-06-16T20:11:00.000-07:00

A couple of minutes ago when I sat here to finally post something new, I thought it would be about the cancellation of our Canada trip. Seems a brother of the friends who are our hosts has decided he will be going instead. Which is fine. Really. Though I did, and do, want to visit the wild and remote wilderness lake again I'm surprisingly not upset. For some unknown reason the decision to go is out of our hands.

Scrolling through the list of my photos, looking for one to post with a planned lament about our change of plans, I found my picture of Great Serpent Mound in south central Ohio which I took a couple of years ago. The sinuous switchbacks of the earthworks is always magnetic for me. The first time we visited I ran to the incline (the one in the lower right corner), prostrated myself upon the grass skin of the mound, and melted into the serpent. This sits above a beautiful river. Looking over the edge of the bluff, the towering sycamores are beneath my feet. It is a sacred place. Sacred trees. Sacred effigy.

So, instead of trekking north and across the border, we'll be home. Touching familar earth under our feet. Working in the garden. Whatever. It's all good.

Seize the Day

2010-03-20T06:15:00.000-07:00

This week, immersed in laying out license plate letters and making a few signs, my mind kept busy spinning its threadbare story of how I don't have time or the ability to write.

So, this afternoon, feeling a little out of sorts because of my lack of haiku or verse this week, wrapping the last sign for tomorrow's shipment, the mini-billboard I held was shouting the real purpose of life: Carpe Diem.

I don't kid myself about my writing. I can turn out some decent haiku, occasionally a poem works, and sometimes feel deeply enough about a sycamore or person or thought to pen a short essay. Novelist, no. Mystery writer, no. But, give me a pile of old junkyard stuff, saw and paint, hammer and nails, and I'm prolific. As I pondered the Carpe Diem sign in my hand today, I truly understood time is not given to be wasted. And, there are many ways I write in my world.

A Personal Profile in Courage

2010-03-14T15:34:00.000-07:00

This is National MS Week. Multiple Sclerosis. About thirteen years ago our lovely young daughter-in-law was diagnosed with MS.

Before MS she was a teacher, cross country coach taking her team to levels they never imagined, downhill skier, and back country hiker and camper. A little over a year ago she began again to participate in outdoor sports in a different way. And, she is still teaching by demonstrating bravery, tenacity, and hope.

Meet C., our beautiful daughter-in-law. Here she is, back on skis for the first time since her diagnosis, in December 2008. Our son said it was the best Christmas present ever and his smile reveals that.

C., you are a true profile in courage and we love you very much.

What's On My Plate

2010-02-09T21:41:00.000-08:00

Finally, back to my blog. When I began this, I hoped I would be disciplined and post on a regular basis. Well, so much for good intentions. But, I did have good intentions to create a workspace in the basement and though not really complete, it's comfortable and in use nearly every day, if only for a short time. I still want to empty a couple bookcases down there and shelve all my quilt books and supplies. The wonderful thing about this space is silence. The only sound I can hear is the furnace behind the wall. No tv. No radio. I do have a mini travel dvd player that is rarely used but keeps me from feeling deprived.

The pieces on the plate are for an English Medallion quilt. The pattern is by Bettina Havig. So far the directions are precise and everything is going well. Knock on wood! I actually feel like a real quilter since I moved into this space. My work table from the second hand store cost only $20. The top was a little worn but that didn't bother me and I just applied a couple of coats of varnish and painted the legs. It's big enough for my old portable sewing machine which boasts the names of New Home and Janome. Must be New Home sold to Janome? I haven't checked that out. The only reason I chose that one is my hubby's grandmother had a New Home treadle which I have down there, and intend to get cleaned and running, in the cutting area. I forgot to mention I have an eight foot banquet table elevated with pvc pipe in an adjacent room. Lucky me! No bending over to cut. The other machine, the one pictured here, is a birthday present to myself a couple of years ago. It's a dandy little white Singer Featherweight. I swear when I switched to this machine my sewing improved dramatically. When I feed the little pieces under the presser foot they slide right in and through. No more thread tangling and pulling the fabric down and out of sight. It's so nice to have both machines always on the same table. Always ready to sew. Always ready to sew with a friend. :)

~~the 2nd photo is supposed to be here but haven't figured that out :(

The second photo is my batting covered wall. This tip I learned from a local gal who taught me to use the rotary cutter and mat and gave me the confidence that I can make quilts. Just like the old Colorforms plastic dolls, the quilt blocks stick to the batting and it makes a huge difference watching the quilt come together. Even the large center assemblage is just clinging without any pins.

It's snowy and cold here tonight. We are so blessed to be warm and safe.

Thanks for visiting.

Wheat Harvest in Amish Country

2009-09-13T16:05:00.000-07:00

Driving the back roads of LaGrange County Indiana recently, I came upon a field of standing wheat shocks which were harvested in the labor intensive ancient way. The ripe golden wheat is first cut using cast iron farm implements drawn by a team of sturdy draft horses driven by the farmer. In this particular field the crop was raked into small bundles, hand tied with green twine, and then the small bundles stacked into the larger shocks shown in this photo. You can see a closeup of the individually tied bundles in the previous post. The raking, tying, and stacking is often the work of the women and children. The women work in a long polyester dress, apron, and bonnet. This is only a portion of the field.

The beauty of the scene is breathtaking.

And so is the work behind it.

Close up of wheat shocks

2009-08-19T10:51:00.001-07:00

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here's a closeup of the wheat shocks in the above post.

If you look closely you can see the green string that holds each small bundle together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe an edit is due?

2009-07-18T20:04:00.000-07:00

In the About Me section, I hope for another twenty five good years. I'm wondering if I should edit that to twenty.......naaahhhhh, maybe I should add five more years. Another thirty years is entirely possible!

Quilt Festival

2009-07-06T13:01:00.000-07:00

Shipshewana, IN had its first quilt festival in June and it did not disappoint. There were just over 80 quilts selected to be shown and I am happy to say mine was one! I was surprised to see how longarm machine quilting dominates hand quilting. Naively I still imagined hand quilting is preferable. I've had one top machine quilted and the quilter did a fantastic job. I went the machine route because I will never hand quilt all the tops I piece, only select ones. So, I shouldn't be surprised. A quilt top finished by the hands of a skillful longarm quilter is beautiful in its own way.

The grand prize was from Michigan. It is trapunto applique, machine quilted and very striking. It's the white with red. I was lax and didn't take the notes I should have.

An applique quilt with playful puppies also won a ribbon and is just a delightful piece.

My entry (top photo) was a variation of the pineapple block called Windmill Blades and I did hand quilt this one. I got excellent marks for my fabric choices, however the corners of the binding were my downfall. Still, not bad for only the 2nd quilt I've made. I feel because when I participate I succeed.

Sorry all the photos are at the top. Wasn't meant to be laid out that way but I just don't know how to insert them!

Into the Beautiful North

2009-06-23T12:11:00.000-07:00

Earlier this year I had the privilege of going to Kankakee, Illinois for the kick-off of the book tour of "Into the Beautiful North" by Luis Alberto Urrea. As a child every Saturday during the summer my friends and I walked to the imposing sandstone library complete with turret and bronze lions. We scoured the card catalogs and stacks always eager to discover a new treasure to read. "The Black Stallion'' series by Walter Farley was by far the favorite of our little tribe. It was a joy to return to my childhood stomping grounds, but I was not prepared for the impact of the evening gathering.

So, here I am revisiting the lions who now reside in front of the new library. The old library, now I believe the library for lawyers, still stands though somewhat less dazzling without the lions guarding the front entrance.

I have not reviewed this book yet. I'm still digesting it. However, I can endorse it and its author. Meeting Luis and having books autographed was an unexpectedly rich experience. I am a huge fan of "The Hummingbird's Daughter" and am happy to report my old tattered copy is now autographed and even graced with a sketch of a hummingbird on the title page.

More to come on "Into the Beautiful North". I can tell you it is being considered for film production and "The Hummingbird's Daughter" is scheduled to begin filming in January 2010.

Also, if you are not a fan of the chain bookstores or big-box online stores, check out a fabulous Oregon book store with a website: Powell's Books. You can find them at www.powells.com with a large and varied online store. They also have a program called "Indiespensables" which offers subscriptions. You choose the length of subscription and every six weeks will receive a box, always a surprise, that includes a wonderful autographed book and a few extra delights. Check it out. It's a great gift for yourself or someone else.

Check back. This post is in constant revision. You may peek inside "Into the Beautiful North" via the link below. When the page opens use the blue toolbar at the top of the page to see inside the book.

Harvesting the Roses

2009-06-21T14:58:00.000-07:00

Here's a photo of the process of harvesting rose petals to make Rose Champagne Sorbet. First you make a base, freeze it, then process with champagne in an ice cream freezer. I use a KitchenAid. Absolutely indescribable but I'll try: delicate, effervescent, subtle rose flavor. Heavenly! You can see the petals in the colander and the pulp in the food processor. These roses are an antique variety that blooms only once in June. And, they are organic.

BOOK SIGNING

2009-05-24T13:16:00.000-07:00

Last week I had the pleasure of meeting author Luis Alberto Urrea at a book signing. I am a devout fan of "The Hummingbird's Daughter" which I learned is about to be made into a movie! The signing was for the new release, "Into the Beautiful North". I won't even try to review these books, as you can find professional writings about them. Suffice to say I am such a big fan because Mr. Urrea writes with intelligence, heart, compassion, humor, Everything. Here's my favorite photo which was taken by a friend who accompanied me.

PURPLE TREES

2009-04-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

redbud, heart shape leaf

native, too small to harvest

or it would be gone

C.S.

String Star Quilts

2009-04-22T16:13:00.000-07:00

Last November a dear friend issued a "quilt challenge" to a group of about 90 quilters. She showed a small child's quilt from the late 1800's and challenged us to create something, not necessarily duplicate the original, but to Create with a capital C. Six months later, next quilt retreat, and two of us did Create. In this photo the original which measures about 31" wide and 44" long is on the bottom and my little quilt is on the top. I sewed it from strips of Civil War reproduction fabrics that measured 3'' long and 3/4'' wide which finished to diamonds 1'' in height. Lots, and lots, and lots of pieces!

Since I began shortly after the 2008 Presidential election, I dedicated this to Barack Obama and included one piece of cotton I printed with his name on my ink jet printer. But it is more than that. For me it is a symbol of the validation of the Declaration of Independence that "all men are created equal." Now we can work on equality for women and children!

When I showed this quilt at the show and tell of the quilt gathering, I thought, "There's so much controversy, it just may be art!"

Easter Sunday

2009-04-12T15:06:00.000-07:00

Easter Sunday 2009. A long and cold snowy winter. A cold spring. Yet today we have sunshine and the promise of the coming season of growth. Last week we had snow on the forsythia. You might say YUK and I did, but then when I took photos I realized it is all a matter of perception. After all, how often do we get to see brilliant yellow blooms frosted with ice? It melted quickly, no harm done. And I realize much of what I perceive is from the fears of my own heart. May spring flow to summer and the bounty be great for all. Here's a little Easter haiku.

Nucleus

sharp breeze from the east

warm western sun on my face

I am the center.

c.s.

IT'S BEEN QUITE A WINTER

2009-02-15T23:58:00.000-08:00

It's been quite a winter here, as I talked about a few days ago. How do you like the big 'cupcake' on the patio table? I love winter if I don't have to drive on icy roads. But I am ready for yellow flowers and going for a walk without boots and my hooded coat!

Working on my Baby Jane

2009-02-15T23:52:00.000-08:00

I've been working on my Baby Jane quilt again, even cutting some solid triangles and completing my first top row triangle. Sometimes it goes well as these results show, and sometimes it just don't.

A 4-SHOVEL WINTER

2009-02-10T10:53:00.000-08:00

Today the temperature is in the mid 50's and the strong wind is from the south melting the snow, but the piles of icebergs from the snow plows are still standing. This was a 4 shovel winter: narrow shovel, wide shovel, old fashioned scoop, and extra shovel. We had lots of snow this year but it was so cold it was the powdery light kind. We had one snow deep enough and drifted enough to contract the plow man to clear the driveway. Hubby still refuses to get a snow blower but he's getting one this fall for his birthday if he wants one or not so we don't have to use a shovel to dig a 'you know what'.

CREATIVE SPACE

2008-12-25T21:55:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been doing some rummaging, sorting, shifting, and moving things around. Like my thoughts, "stuff", priorities, and my spaces. Last week I discovered my beloved Ikea work table would fit in the room I call an office (it is), a study?, mini-library, and now my sewing room. This table is 36" high. No bending over to cut or press fabric. Fabulous! Here's a photo of my room in transition, or expansion, or whatever. This is where I plan to spend as many hours as possible in 2009 working on quilts, especially my Baby Jane, in my creative space.

A Timeless Past-Time Anyway

2008-11-07T18:08:00.000-08:00

Quilting. A timeless past-time. Cloth in hand. Thread through cloth. Sounds simple. Is not.

This evening I finished block A-13 Starlight - Starbright on my Baby Jane patterned after the amazing Jane Stickle original. Google "Dear Jane quilt" if you're not familiar with it. Anyway, this completes the first row of 13 blocks, each and every block different pattern and fabric. Now only twelve more rows, a dizzying array of border triangles and corners, then assembly and finishing. Quilting. I must live to 150 to finish this baby.

Anyway, here's the baby pictue of A-13. It will be all of five inches square when trimmed and 4.5 inches square in the quilt. I love this one dearly.

UPDATES!! UPDATES!!

2008-10-29T20:04:00.000-07:00

Time for some updates:

1. I have some sad news. The little neighborhood chihuahua I called Piggy is with us no more. One of the neighbors found him dead in our front yard a couple of weeks ago. We had been exceedingly busy, gone a lot, and hadn't seen him for a few days but thought it was because we were on a different schedule. Possibly he had a heart attack for he wasfound lying on his side on the soft grass underneath a tender blue spruce by our front driveway. He knew we loved him, but I think he loved our salami. He is missed. He was a bright spot on the neighborhood scene.

2. Well, I'm now two months with the new glasses and they have been somewhat challenging. They are perfect for working at the sewing machine with my quilting project so I guess they are ok. I'd go back and get rechecked but there's still no guarantee the next ones would be better. I guess I did "get used to them" as the technician suggested, but they sure aren't my favorite glasses! (And YES, believe that a professional person said this!) Looks like I'll be shopping not only for glasses but a new opthamologist next time.

3. The Canada vacation continues to rest well in my mind. Whenever things get hectic, I just retreat to the silence and beauty of the remote Ontario lake country and breathe deeply. Here's another photo. Enjoy!

Autumn Rising

2008-10-10T07:50:00.000-07:00

Ah, autumn. My favorite time of year. The humidity of summer has evaporated. Even if the days are hot, the longer nights are cooling. My maple tree in front is tinged with red. However, without a frost I don't believe this is a good thing for I read only the trees not completely healthy have vivid leaves before cold weather. When we were in grade school my friends and I would gather the most brilliant red, gold, and orange leaves. Nancy's mother would melt a block of paraffin in a cut down coffee can. Regular Van Goghs, we would take our old brushes from paint-by-number kits and quickly coat the leaves with the melted wax.

Earlier this year I was worried about the absence of the bees. They never did appear. I did see a lone bee or two but never a honey bee. Then, the white butterfly bush which would be covered with monarchs had only a handful of visitors. The hummingbirds were at the feeder. Now, with it put away for some time the hummers are visiting the yellow gold nasturtiums in the pots. I still worry about the scarceness of our pollinators.

Hubby and I took a fabulous trip to Canada, to a remote island owned by a friend. It was a cherished gift and I found it totally interesting to see how I fell into a different rhythm without tv, computer, phone, lights, etc, etc, for over a week. I could actually just BE instead of always DOing.

Here's a photo of the lake. Pristine and untouched. Clear and deep. In Mother Nature's intended condition. And, no, I won't tell you where it is!

Migration

2008-08-29T10:27:00.000-07:00

While working in the yard this morning I heard the distinct call of sandhill cranes. For me their primitive sound is the midwest's equivalent to the north country's call of the loon. It is a plaintive, haunting cry.

Looking over the Amish field which recently was cut for silage, I could not see any birds. Shortly, the crane's call could again be heard but still no sight of a bird. Perhaps the neighboring fields will be a resting and feeding stop on their long migration. However, the Amish are thorough and frugal harvesters who leave little in the way of stray ears of corn in the fields. This is an area where man's imprint on the land is more gentle than other places. Perhaps the cranes will find their way to my backyard if only for a short time so I may hear their migration song, watch them awkwardly parachute from sky to earth, and feel the vibration of their voices in my heart.

Give them 10 days

2008-08-28T21:36:00.000-07:00

"Give them 10 days" the optical technician said when I removed my new glasses today and said I couldn't read a thing with the new bifocal prescription. The way eyeglasses are sold is such a crock of you-know-what. Prepay is the only way. Then when they aren't right you are given the run-around to straighten out the fuzzy mess. Seems the only way to get the old (perfect) bifocal prescription back is to see Doc again - after ten days. So I left the office with the new glasses perched on my face with their assurance I would get used to them but I fired back that it is like breaking in a new pair of shoes. If the shoes don't feel good right away you can get used to them perhaps, but they are going to cause a lot of grief. Same with glasses. I just hope I don't fall UP the steps or pour cooking oil on the burner like I did with the last pair of bifocals that were bad from day one. Ask me in ten days. Hopefully I'm just pessimistic about this. Anyway, for the next 10 days the old glasses will be with me all the time. Only good thing is the distance Rx is terrific.

Back to Quilting

2008-08-25T20:26:00.000-07:00

This morning the temperatures were in the 50's and the coolness awoke the urge to make quilt blocks. About 2 years ago a friend and I began our Dear Jane quilts as a way to keep in touch over the internet, swapping photos and extra emails. However, the idea of completing the quilt became daunting and we faltered (read stopped). But the need to sew resurrected my project and this evening I finished A-11; one more block and I'll have the first row done. See what I mean? A daunting project. I've seen Dear Janes that are so incredible! As amazing as the women who have completed them. Now I'm back on track and hope to pick up speed. Here's a photo of the first one I did. It's probably a year or nearly two since I began. But hey, slow and steady can get to the finish line. Wish me luck!

The Defender

2008-08-25T20:05:00.000-07:00

This evening a hawk swooped across the backyard, landing on a fence post near the pussywillow bush and sunflowers. It wasn't a red tail and was larger than a sparrow hawk but I haven't had time to get out the Audubon book and identify it. It was graceful, swift, and focused. Wondering what caused his arrival, we looked but couldn't see anything of interest. However the next second he dove into the center of the pussywillow and dozens of goldfinches exploded from the thick branches and leaves of the bush. We were familar with a few goldfinches visiting the birdbath and we knew in the fall they relished the sunflower seeds. We thought we were blessed with about 4 or 5 of the vibrant chrome yellow and black birds, never imagining an entire flock resided close by. Just as suddenly as the hawk appeared, it flew up and away. Challenged by the neighbor's four pound Chihuahua who barked and charged all the way across the yards, the hawk took flight. Piggy, as we call him, is four pounds of dog with eight pounds of bark. He's utterly fearless and his purpose in life is to protect the neighborhood from intruders. For his effort he received a bite of grilled chicken. So now I'm pondering the sequence of flowers ~ thick bush for cover ~ abundance of birds = arrival of hunter. The circle of life and beauty of nature is not all quiet and pastoral. Aggression exists. And the defender need not be the biggest and the mightiest force. It may arrive in the form of a tiny creature with a big and strong heart.

i'm still here

2008-08-22T18:35:00.000-07:00

i'm still here though it's been 4+ months since my last post. spring has come and gone and summer is drifting into autumn. my daylilies were glorious and the Russian sage softly sways on the edge of the garden. the sunflowers are towering and the birds daily circle above in anticipation of the abundance that awaits.

my font is huge today, for after this long an absence there isn't much to write. though busy outdoors all summer it seems summer has passed me by. i want a summer to spend wandering. to the Outer Banks and then up to Maine. across the Dakotas to the Oregon coast. down to New Mexico and the Gulf of Mexico.

i long for the slower days of winter when i can quilt, make soup, watch movies and READ. but for now i work, thankful i am still strong and healthy enough to do so but with anticipation for the crisp days of autumn and time for myself.

90% vs 10%

2008-04-11T06:49:00.000-07:00

90/10...a ratio I was considering today when considering the way I submerge myself in life.

Yesterday I attended the first of a 3 day quilting retreat in my hometown with the Dear Jane quilters. Instead of staying at the hotel and committing 100% to the experience I opted to return home at night; 90% in and 10% out of the experience. Instead of setting up my sewing machine and committing 100% to a project I instead dabbled at 3 projects and accomplished probably 10% on each one, leaving a 90% deficit.

It seems I'm always flying on the edge of experiences, keeping one foot securely grounded. That anchor that is always present keeps me from submersing myself 100%. So, instead of being saturated with color, experience, possibilities I build a little wall that keeps me "safe" but actually causes conflict because I'm not all the way IN, only 90%.

So today I'm packing up my sewing machine, bringing my new project which I'm not enthused about but thought I should do, and sew my little heart out. This evening is the annual "show and tell" and I have two projects I did commit to 100% and will present them with 100% enthusiasm.

spring budding

2008-04-08T12:00:00.000-07:00

The temperature exceeded sixty degrees here yesterday. The pussywillow bush several days ago was budding full and furry. Today it is morphing into soft green leaves. From the kitchen window the bush looks tall and full against the wide spring sky. It is a sentinel of this season and the next.

Close up, touching the soft velvety catkins, the new growth of spring is the essence of renewal. But one thing is missing. The bees are missing. Every other year the bees would be busily visiting the bush, hovering and working. But not this year; not one single bee came to dance with the pussywillow.

I feel a sadness with their absence and also concern that every season we may have one less garden visitor. Will the hummingbirds come? Will the butterflies grace their special bush? What about the dragonflies...lightening bugs...goldfinches?

The silence of the absence of the bees carries a lot of questions. Who has the answers?

i don't know, i just don't know anything anymore

i just don't know

2008-04-07T20:07:00.000-07:00

Only three and a half months since my last blog...oh, well. Perhaps this will be a quarterly posting schedule instead of the every day event I imagined when I began. Perhaps this is "quality time" blogging?? I don't know anything anymore except that I don't know anything.

Just take everything in your brain you thought you knew, put it in a good old brown grocery bag, shake it up, dump it out, and see if anything makes sense. Maybe I do still KNOW stuff; maybe it's just that nothing makes sense anymore. I don't know. See? I just don't know anymore.

If you can make sense of this, good for you. For I just don't know...

friday night

2007-12-28T18:59:00.000-08:00

Ah, good old Friday nights. Not quite what they used to be if you're an old granny. No pacing for the '57 or '65 Chevy to come into sight and up the drive; no basketball games in the high school gym; no sock hops. Remember sock hops? Soooo much fun. This Friday night the wind is howling, my flannel pants and long fleece top are snuggly, my James Welch book the perfect reading this cold December night; and the now-balding driver of the old Chevrolets is softly snoring, tucked in his warm blankets. If the roads stay clear so my grandbabies and their parents are able to drive for their holiday visit tomorrow, all will be well in my world. Think I'll have a nice hot caramel drink, see what happens next in Welch's Fool's Crow, and hope the Great Spirit has more mercy with us than we Europeans had with the native people here. Blessings to all as 2007 winds down.

babystep #2

2007-12-27T19:39:00.000-08:00

Well, it's only about six weeks since my first blog entry. Christmas has come and gone. This was an especially peaceful Christmas this year. A thick cushion of snow quieted the outside world and my inner world was peaceful as well. When I noticed the dreaded 'ghosts of Christmas past' had not visited me yet, I invited them in, but thankfully they only stayed fleetingly and without any power this year. So the cookies were baked, the pumpkin pie too, and turkey this year was a capon drowned in white wine and paprika. What all this means, I haven't a clue, except perhaps as I get older I am focusing on what is truly meaningful in my life. I do look forward to 2008!

the beginning

2007-11-12T20:14:00.000-08:00

Well, I've done it . . . opened my first blog . . .

ummm...ummm . . . umm...

now what do I say???

I guess anything I want!!!

Hhhmmmmm.....hmmm . . .

Anything? Yes, anything.

Now, that IS opening myself to possibilities.

But, that's the intent . . . to discover new possibilities.

Wonder how long this will last.
Wonder if it will get started even.

But then, anything is possible!

And this is Babystep #1.