the rabbit hole

I'm countin' again...!!! and Warm Weather Hap'nins

2010-04-28T21:35:00.009-04:00

Here's Garfy... He's sacked out on one of his favorite things: a paper (what else?) sack. Garfy's rescue story was recently featured on The Animal Rescue Site. At least three of my (online) buds recognized either him or my name and I contacted me. How cool is that? Every morning I take my first cup of coffee and click over from my reminder email to help feed shelter animals. Reading the rescue stories always gives me a lift and a good start to my day. It reassures me that there really are lots of responsible animal people out there. Some folks listen do the morning news. I read the rescues.

Then I click over to Freekibble.com to check out the bow-wow and meow trivia questions and again, to donate kibble to shelters.

And what am I counting? YOU. All the "yous" who didn't mail back their census forms can expect a visit. Training started yesterday and I was over the top to learn I had several weeks of paid work for the Department of Commerce once again. This will be quite different from the canvassing and map spotting of last year, but it should be interesting to say the least. I'm hoping for friendly dogs and friendlier people as I have to ask all sorts of personal and repetitive questions. Though it's in the best interest of everyone to participate, there's a lot of paranoia out there - especially around here. So look for the 2010 Census Blogs to begin!!

And here is a sure sign that we went from cold to very, very warm really fast. Bogo is my dear elderly lady who grew an amazingly thick coat this past year in the coldest winter I've experienced in my 20 years in GA. Even with all that horsehair, a blanket on the coldest nights and lots of extra food, she lost a lot of condition. All my other horse are fat. Poor Bogo is very thin and looks rather motheaten.

I'm trying a few different diets to help fatten her up. She's 23 this year - not that old for a horse, though my Roman only lived to be 24, and I don't know what sort of care she had before she came to me two years ago. Isn't it amazing how different her summer and winter coats are?

She seems to feel fine - and all the routine medical work show her healthy, but she's not digesting hay and grain well enough. I'm open to any suggestions from the horsey folks out there. Right now she's on pasture that is adequate but not yet very lush or long, along with Strategy, a pelleted feed with a cup of corn oil added for extra fat and calories. When the Burmuda grass comes in, the pasture will be at its best.

The last of Winter... a photo journey

2010-03-09T10:09:00.010-05:00

Peeking out from one of my canvas carryalls is Dinah. Tiny Dinah as she is known here, doesn't get much respect. She's very small, difficult to photograph being a black cat - and she tends to be very busy except when she's hogging Freda's dog bed. Poor Freda is completely intimidated by this tiny dynamo - and will come and stare at me to do something about Dinah being in her bed.

Dinah was one of two kittens found on a highway dehydrated and near death from upper respiratory disease. She and her sister Winkle (the Blue Siamese) spent six weeks in quarantine. My vet said that even though they were tiny as eight week old kittens, in reality they were five or six months old. They finally got well and grew a little - but both maxed out at about five pounds. Five pounds of Dinah-mite!! Dinah is of course named after Alice's cat in Alice in Wonderland.
What do you do when you are iced in and out of birdseed? My poor birdies couldn't believe that the feeders were empty what with the freezing temps and the wind blowing snow. I felt so guilty that I rummaged about to come up with something to get them by. I had whole corn that I mix into the horses' feed and actual horse feed - which is pelleted grain and alfalfa along with cracked oats.

The bits were way too big for the small songbirds, so into the Oster for a grind. Then I added Kasha and barley and bread crumbs to the mix, and got out the Jif Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter to slather onto the suet feeder and some pine cones that I wired to the old pear tree. What a feast!! This buffet drew cardinals, bluejays, doves, nuthatches, woodpeckers, chickadees, red-winged blackbirds, several different sparrows, phoebes, tufted titmice, juncos and of course, starlings. I'm pretty sure they like the Jif better than the generic stuff I usually give them!! (But then, so do I)

When I ventured outside with my camera, I found this imprint of wingtips and little bird feet and got this photo right before Elvis obliterated it in an attempt to ambush Madeline...
If you look closely for click for enlarging, you can see the imprint here ... and then...

Whump!

I think he's trying to lick the snow or just make a face at Maddy

And finally - Here's Claire. She may not look it, but I know she was thrilled to finally get some Pyrenees-suitable weather. These dogs begin to pant when it is over 50 degrees. That's why I have them shaved every spring.

Today it is nearing 70 degrees and it's my turn to be thrilled!!

Oh yeah, Spring is ... confused!

2010-02-12T23:37:00.011-05:00

Things can really change in a few days. Just ask the daffodils... In twenty years, this is the most and the prettiest snowfall I've ever seen here in Northeast Georgia. The horses were running around sniffing the ground and tossing their heads - and Freda was (blush) afraid of the snow...

A blanket of snow for Easter Lilies. In this case, they are Valentine lilies!! Or President's lilies...?

I was working on the cabinet on the right at a client's home - making a couple of changes/additions when Brodie came over to sulk a bit. He's not the one pictured - he's the new dog; a rescue - and I think he wants to be painted! Cool dog - a Blue Weimeraner. I had a wonderful time painting for this animal and art loving couple. Just being in a home filled with original art gives me a huge lift! Everywhere you look, there is something to make you smile.

A funky bear they bought at a silent auction - coincidentally, I had done much of the painting! This was for a fundraiser and I'd no idea who had "won" it. Small world.

The kitties on one side of the canine cabinet, done in a folksy style.

A cool and spooky figure. Very enigmatic.

These were just a few of the interesting art items in this wonderful mountain lake home. Oh - and I'll be doing a portrait of Brodie in the near future.

Meanwhile, Happy Snow Day!

Dreaming of Spring...

2010-01-31T20:36:00.013-05:00

Winkle contemplates Spring of 2010...

It's the end of January and I am restless. Years ago when I dwelt in the land of lake effect snow there were five seasons: summer, fall, winter, mud season - and finally - spring. The end of January usually meant that the worst of winter was yet to come, followed by weeks of inevitable mud. Now, after nearly twenty years in the Deep South, I have come to expect the stirring of Spring in February - and tomorrow is day one.

These little daffs appear to be huddling together, having shed their leafy blanket a bit early...

Though we here in Northeast GA have just suffered our second major winter storm with snow and ice and power outages, - my senses are drawn to the first rather bold tidings of things to come. Believe it or not, these photos were taken just a few days ago as the temperatures reached the 50's - and the sun paid a rare (these days) visit.

I can't help but wonder if a bloom will appear from within the pot ...

Yesterday and today I was scheduled to run the galleries at Sautee (Sat.) and Tallulah Falls (today). I received calls from each to let me know they would not be opening due to weather conditions. As a transplant from the North, I was prepared to brave the cold and ice, but quite content to be told to stay home with the kitties and a good book. Luckily my power did not go out!

Not only are there daffodils blooming, the Spring Peepers have begun to sing in the woods. One would think they'd retreat with this return to cold nights, but thus far the little peeps are peeping still.

No - not my photo - I hear them, but likely won't see any until they begin to lay eggs in the pond.

A wonderful cocoon found amongst the blackberry canes.

Elvis came along for a walk before the sleet and snow began, but he just wouldn't hold still for a photo. Perhaps he was eager to get back home or spooked as we revisited the Fallen Dolly of the Dell.

Or perhaps he was pointing to this small "leafy treehouse"? Could it be the abode of a mousie ? It was only about 6 inches in diameter, so I can't imagine anything larger than a field mouse living here. Maybe it's used as a camp in summer ?We also found this unusual set of burls attached to a small sapling stem. I've no idea whether this is the product of a fungus, insect - or the plant itself, but it is certainly unusual .

And finally, Happy New Year!

2010-01-17T09:51:00.011-05:00

I know, I know, my New Year's wishes are not exactly timely, but you must understand, that until a couple of days ago, I had no welcoming words for the new year. The best I could do was kick old 2009 to be sure it was dead - not exactly a pleasant image or state of mind! But on Tuesday, as I wrote to a friend:
You'll never believe it, but my van is finally running. It turned out there was a short under the motor mount, nearly impossible to find, and my mechanic finally sussed it out while driving it up and down hills. When the motor reved, or rocked in its mount due to gravity, braking or even quick acceleration, the short caused either low voltage, or a surge, which then ruined the switches and electronic bits and such... Ricky (my mechanic) called me at 10 pm Tuesday night and said " I found it, it's fixed, and I'm dropping it off tonight. I just can't wait to see it in my rear view mirror."

I know this is small stuff to most people, but it's really big news to me.!! So even though it is pouring rain and my bank balance is $4.71, I am happy! Thus: "Happy New Year." Here are a few shots from the last flooding rain. The first one shows that amazing richness one sees when everything is washed and aglow, still glistening wet, with all the colors imaginable shining in the fresh air. How can anyone be happy in a beige house when there are hues like this?

Below and above are scenes from the forest floor - nothing unusual - just the beautiful cacophony of nature.
This one shows an area between my workshop and a storage trailer where the waters run rapid off the roof and down toward the woods. This little torrent creates a cascade of leaves and twigs and acorns which then are trapped in a "leaf jam" to lie in amazingly complex patterns just like a logjam in a large river.

And finally, here's my pond at flood stage. The winter had been so mild up until a couple of weeks ago, that there were still green lily pads. But now the pond has been quite frozen, and these reminders of warmer times have turned black and disappeared beneath the surface. Another "leaf jam" is visible in the lower right where the overflow pipe protrudes. I suppose I should get a rake and clear it, but I think the deeper water can only be good for the pond life in general, so I'll likely let it stay till it clears on its own.
I planned to post some photos from my opening reception, but when I looked for my camera this morning, it's nowhere to be found. That means I left it sitting on a pedestal at the gallery ( I hope) and I have to wait until one o'clock to call. Keeping fingers crossed, I'm off to make some brunch.

A Big Birdie told me: every Dog has his day...

2009-11-20T19:30:00.005-05:00

Recently I made a trade with an amazing expert gardener and budding artist (pun intended). If you've not visited GetSoiled, I urge you to go on over and pay a visit. There you will find some of the most luscious photographs on the web - but that's not all. There's advice and information on food and nutrition, plant science and healthy meals, all offered with keen wit, humor, and a dash of panache.

Whenever I "Get Soiled," I am further convinced that when people are creative in one area, that creativity spills out into another, and another and another. There's photography, mosaic work, the building of raised beds and wonderful paintings!! I was lucky enough to barter one of my landscapes for this fabulous Birdie and I smile every time I see her (I decided it's a her).

And now for a happy ending...

When Bad Dog showed up, I made posters to distribute to the coon hunter's headquarters: the local feed store.

And today - hooray!! - one of my neighbors spotted the pic and called to claim him!! Seems he's been missing for two weeks, ever since the last cattle round up. Yep. Apparently BD was a failure at coon hunting (good boy!!) but was a natural born herder. Perhaps that explains what he was trying to do with my horses...

I kinda gave the guy a hard time, as the dog didn't get that thin in the five days before he showed up here. My hope is that he'll worm him - and increase his rations. And yes, he's earned a new moniker for not being so insipid as to chase after raccoons. He shall now be Good Dog as far as I'm concerned. That's him waving farewell with his ears and tail!!

My kitties are relieved...

No good deed...

2009-11-18T15:36:00.006-05:00

...goes unpunished.

Okay - so Wednesday has never been my best day. All kinds of rotten things seem to happen on "hump" day. (I think of Wednesdays as humpff days.)

It was bad enough that I had an appointment for a checkup at 8:15 am. I figured I'd be out of there by, say, 9:00 or 9:15 and have plenty of time for the drive up to Tallulah Falls for my demo day at the Center. But as I was still sitting in the very chilly waiting area at 8:55 am, I called to get someone else to go and open up for me.

I finally get out of there at about 10:00 and head for the Toccoa post office to pick up a package that has been waiting there for me since Saturday. That accomplished, I head up the mountain, figuring to stop for gas at a station near the top of the climb. As I turn into the station, my van stalls. This is not good. I let it glide to a stop and try to start it, but it it immediately dies again. Now I freak. A million half-formed thoughts and solutions race through my head, each shorting out when they run up against the tiny balance in my checking account. No money for towing, no money for repairs, no way to get the damn thing home without busting me completely.

After about ten minutes of stewing, I decide I must get it home somehow. I turn the key, stomp on the gas, and it roars to life. I put some gas in, call my friend Carol, and start for home advising Carol of my progress in case I get stranded. It stalls once more but restarts and I make it!! The dogs greet me - my three sitting for their pats - and Bad Dog by jumping on me with muddy paws. I'm all (well, reasonably) relieved and happy. I call my mechanic, and the Center, and cancel all my Wednesday and Thursday obligations.

I have to borrow some cat food from close neighbor and friend Carol, as I was afraid to stop on the way home. She comes right over and then leaves with Bad Dog following along. Ten minutes later she's on the phone to me. Bad Dog has clambered under her house and somehow managed to break or knock loose a pipe. Water - HOT water - is streaming and spraying everywhere, and Bad Dog won't come out from under there. As her water comes from my well, this is another thing that is not good. I tell her to turn off the water, and I put on boots and sweats and fetch the pvc pipe repair kit.

Sure enough, there is steaming water flowing out of a disconnected pipe joint. We turn off the hot water heater and drain it completely, make the repair, and get Bad Dog out from the scene of the crime. We replace the barrier to the crawl space that had been removed by Carol's son-in-law when he came to do a pipe repair!

So who's to blame? Me for letting the dog stay? Carol for being followed home? Bad Dog for being a dog? The son-in-law who didn't put the barrier back?

Nope.

It's just a Wednesday thing. Luckily, it comes only once a week.

Is this your hound dog?

2009-11-16T23:56:00.011-05:00

'Cause it's not mine...

Once again, a critter has wandered upon my back 40. I came home quite late last Friday, tired and chilled, and just wanting to chill out. I climbed out of the van and right away I noticed my two Pyrs cause they show up even when it's really dark with the security light shining off their white coats. It's harder to see Freda, but I'm used to her being right smack in front of me waiting for her pat-on-the-head greeting. Well, that night, I kept glimpsing Freda over here - and then over there, and then back over here. I could see her long ears flapping about and I wondered how she moved so fast. Then I opened the rear door and ka-whomp - a dog jumped right in, ran right over my groceries and paintings - and plopped down in the driver's seat! So that's it - four ears flapping in the night...

You guessed it. Not Freda - but some free-loader.

So here he is. Sad, skinny, and sans the giant chain that someone was using as a "collar". He looks like an old dog, but he's not. He's just got that Bloodhound droopy look. And he's definitely got that stinky dog smell.

So of course I fed him and made up a bed in the shop for him - and wondered why he was still here the next morning.

Lots of my neighbors are "coon" hunters, a despicable activity carried out under cover of darkness with big guns, dogs and flashlights. Why anyone thinks this is sporting defies not only logic but humanity. So I'm not about to go ask any of them if they're missing one of their black'n'tans. I tried out a few dog-sounding monikers on him, but he only seems to react to "Bad Boy" and "No". (I found this out when he tried chasing any of the kitties who offered to run.)

He tried to protect me from the horses, too, but after two days he's given up on that. I figure he needs about fifteen pounds of muscle to look good. I really can't afford another large dog, so if you're a doggy lover in need of a real pal, here he is! He wants to ride in the car, so someone must have given him rides. And he always tries to come in the house, so someone must have let him in. sigh... Poor boy...

The Pyrs don't mind him - except when he tried to eat their food, but a truce has been declared during which they pretend he doesn't exist. The cats are wary - and Freda wants to play. But "Bad Dog" only wants to bay at unknown things out in the pastures. Better not be my any of my kitties...

And Elvis? Elvis can't wait to shred that doggie's nose.

Who lives here? And here? And here?

2009-11-09T09:17:00.016-05:00

Ever since I was a child, I've been drawn to places that appear marginally habitable... This fascination includes not only old houses and outbuildings, but spaces and openings in stone, earth and trees. I find myself peering into these spaces, and wondering who lives there?

Perhaps it could be me?

Perhaps it is the desire to escape - to go and live among the wild things where the only rules and constraints are those of the natural world. If the worry of survival was simplified down to the basics of food, shelter and water, would stresses be lessened? Perhaps it's the need to "make over" a space to suit my particular comfort level. Or perhaps it's just the fantasy of becoming someone or something else - trying on another existence...

I can see myself much as Alice In Wonderland - shrinking down and down, smaller and smaller until I might fit inside the little doorways, the small openings, the tiny thresholds - of mice and moles. My tiny abode could be filled with the fragrance of wintermint or wild roses or sweet clover and dishes of acorn and hickory nut shells would serve up fresh berries.

I'd make garments from the petals of Rose of Sharon, the leaves of sumac and gardenia, and sleep on a bed of the softest fern fronds. I'd float down the creek in a pecan husk canoe, and walk out on the water lily leaves to bath in the "cup" of a lily's bloom.

In summer I'd build a treehouse out of Sycamore bark and camp high in the sky in my private arboretum.

I'd catch a night ride on a flying squirrel or hop a treefrog - and I'd sleep the sleep of the just, the innocent, and the contented - waking with the warmth of the sun...

... sigh

... and now for a walk - and then on to the business of this other life.

Wild themes, continued...

2009-09-30T19:44:00.005-04:00

Bogo posed for flight. Does she know that white horses are sacred?

I know, I know - this was last weeks theme... but wild horses do fly. If you've ever been astride a horse soaring over jumps and streams and galloping over the earth, you know what it is to fly.

Ever since I heard his album "Graffiti Man", I've been a fan of John Trudell - and an admirer of his activist work. This video, with the beautiful voice of Anne Humphreys singing, is a favorite of mine. The flight of insects, the flight of birds, the flight for survival of wild things , the flight of Native Americans to avoid extermination. When fight is certain death, only flight remains.

Who's all powerful?

2009-09-27T11:24:00.008-04:00

I saw this over at The Clever Pup, which I came to via Polly Jackson's new website - and I wanted to pass it on. Think about it. When you go to build a home or studio or whatever, who determines what materials you can buy and who does the wiring, plumbing, etc.? If it doesn't meet insurance standards, then you'll get no bank financing. If you want to drive, you gotta have insurance. Want to own a home? Mortgage insurance. How about medical malpractice insurance and double indemnity insurance and flood insurance and dental insurance, and business insurance - and bonding and floater policies for craft and art festivals?

So tell me. Who's really responsible for the high cost of everything? Who's pockets are full?

Protect Insurance Companies PSA from Will Ferrell

Wild Things... Theme Thursday

2009-09-24T13:31:00.017-04:00

When despair for the world grows in me... I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought or grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time, I rest in the grace of world and am free.
- Wendell Berry

I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments. - Joanna Baillie

It seems no matter how we hack away and groom and "landscape" our surroundings, nature will persevere the moment our eyes and energies turn away. The spirit of the wild is stronger than civilized humankind.

Even goldfish born and raised in the tiny tanks of a Wal-Mart know how to be wild when given over to the possibilities of freedom in the natural world.

Art may imitate wild nature; less often does it dare to place itself in the midst of it, and when it does, it may come out second best - John Hart

They could just take you up yonder, honey, you're already wild and blue...
- John Anderson

And some only seem to be tamed. If you catch them unawares - wildness shines from their eyes, and shows in their actions...

Wild skies, wild animals, wild woods, wild horses - the spirit of the wild, wild at heart.

Susan Boyle singing The Rolling Stones Wild Horses

Night Night, Cereus...

2009-09-14T19:11:00.015-04:00

Please, please - click on photo/s to enlarge. The structural detail of this flower is deserving of notice!

About six weeks ago, I was shocked to find that my Cereus had bloomed without me! When I noticed two new buds a couple of weeks ago, I was determined not to miss the rather rare phenomenon of a Night Blooming Cereus in all its glory.

Here are the tiny bud stalks which appear right where a vein from the center ends at the edge of the "leaf."

I remembered to go out for the nightly check right around midnight and found the blooms already wide open.

The flowers are showy and quite complex, reminding me of lotus blossoms or water lilies. There are many, many stalks (stamens) tipped with pollen that sweep out of the center - and what appears to be a bloom within the bloom suspended out in front of these. This is the male organ, or pistil. And those who are attracted by the Cereus' lovely perfume must climb past the pistil, and over the stamens. Quite ingenious!!If you look closely at the throat of this bloom, you can see a small brownish thing that looks like a pointed tongue. I thought this another quite amazing feature until I looked inside the other bloom (see below) and there was no brown tongue! It's a little slug! I can't figure out how it managed to find its way up and into there, but then - I probably underestimate its abilities. Just because it's a slug, doesn't mean it's a slouch.

I apologize for the change in viewpoint. Even though I rotated this photo during editing, each time I loaded it here it rotated back. I gave up. Anyhow, you can see the inner structures better in this shot - just turn your head sideways to get the right perspective... (ha).

I moved it, pot and all, out to the plant table in the front lawn so that light from my mercury vapor light would illuminate it some. I thought it would have a better chance of fertilization if moths, etc., could not only scent it, but see it as well. Last time it bloomed during a full moon, but it was overcast and quite dark last night. The scent is so sweet and powerful, my efforts are likely superfluous, but then it is a desert plant and its native insect population would differ. Couldn't hurt!

"Good days are to be gathered like grapes,

to be trodden and bottled into wine

and kept for age

to sip at ease beside the fire.

If the traveler has vintaged well,

he need trouble to wander no longer;

the ruby moments glow in his glass at will."
~Freya Stark

(French adventurer and explorer...1893-1993)

Into September... the bonny Bunny Days

2009-09-06T10:27:00.011-04:00

What's this? The bunnies are back - and new colors are arriving just in time for Fall.

This summer, I was delighted to see a spotted bunny and her (?) friends nibbling the grasses along the mowed edges of my quarter-mile long drive. They must be escapees from my creepy neighbor - who likely eats them - or perhaps his wife/girlfriend let a few go.

I can't be sure, but based upon past history, it's difficult to believe any sort of altruism is involved. So this past week, I toodle down my driveway and get another bunny surprise.

A lovely little buff bunny with a cottontail!

Adorable and cuddly looking - but still smart enough to allow me no closer than 25 feet. So here's a blow-up.

Sweet.

And along with Buff Bunny was this hybrid. It has the agouti fur of a wild bunny, but the more rounded plumpness of tame rabbits.

Oops! That's not a bunny! It's the mighty tyke known as Dinah. She thinks the bathroom sink is just right for a nap, especially right after she's been harassing all the other kitties. Lately, she's taken to creeping up and cuffing them quickly, before scampering back to the safety of her sink.

- from Through The Looking Glass:
"One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it - it was the black kitten's fault entirely."

Ah, yes. The black kittens are always blamed. (Sometimes rightly so.)

Have a three bunny day - and may the black cat bring you luck (as they do in Britain).

Out of August...

2009-09-06T09:17:00.015-04:00

Among the delights of living in the boonies are chance encounters with prehistoric creatures. I'm pretty sure this one hasn't changed much over the millenia. With its raptor-like front legs and fantastic camouflage, the Praying Mantis is among the most successful of insect predators. Mantises were imported to the US from China and Europe to aid in control of crop-damaging insects. At least three varieties and their multi-hybridized offspring are now found here.

I caught a glimpse of this one as it flew from one place to another to escape my riding mower. I was astonished at the size of it - at least five inches length, possibly more! Just as I turned to run for my camera, I heard a horrid snapping noise. My bad dog Freda had spotted the fluttering mantis and had her muzzle buried in the butterfly bush where I had last seen it. Oh crap! I yelled at Freda "No! No!" and she backed off looking both hurt and chagrined (see below).

Luckily for the mantis - and for me - Freda's jaws had missed. As I shot photos, I bemoaned the shortcomings of my digital camera with its lack of decent focus or close-up ability. Roy or Linda would have had a field day with their high quality equipment - and excellent eye/s for what makes a fabulous photo. The photo above is just about life-size.

As a child, these were/are among my favorite insects. I was thrilled to find an egg case, always hoping to be nearby when the tiny mantises emerged by the dozens or even hundreds, and once or twice I was that lucky. Even now - when their numbers seem to me to be greatly reduced, I get a little thrill when I find a mantis - or an egg case.

Here's Freda sulking. She is a bird-dog, after all - and this mantis was large enough that I had at first thought it a fledgling fallen from a nest. I made sure the mantis was high up in the Magnolia tree and commenced mowing.

Share the ride, share the road...

2009-08-16T09:56:00.012-04:00

Most mornings I back my trusty van up to the front door of my house and load (or unload) it for the day's endeavor/s. Without fail, one or more of my kitties takes it upon themselves to help or hinder. In Madeline's case, it is definitely the hindering deal. She has determined that the indentation of the back door when raised makes a lovely bed - and observation post.
When asked to vacate, she gives me this "how can you even ask?" look, stretches - and promptly sits back down to gaze about. After a bit, and in her own good time, she turns around and ...

stretches again for effect before gauging the distance to the ground. But does she jump? No. And for a good reason. Madeline is the clumsiest of cats - being extremely cow-hocked, and having broken one leg in three places when she was four months old. The leg had to remain pinned for months - with the tip sticking out of her hip!
So I persuade her take a circuitous route, and back over the roof of the van she goes, sliding down the windshield to gaze about in her queenly manner until the next opportunity to attain the throne.
And on down the nearby macadam road, I saw what from a distance appeared to be line like a tar repair. No - it was a very large Kingsnake, Blacksnake, Chickensnake, who stopped right in front of me and refused to move even when I took his/her picture and stomped my feet. I finally gave it a nudge with my foot and off it
went into the tall weeds. It's not the largest I've seen, but it was over six feet at my estimate. These are among the good guys of the snake world, eating small rodents, eggs and such - and not poisonous or aggressive. Quite beautiful - and fascinating as it moved effortlessly away.

A Turtle's Tale...

2009-07-15T23:12:00.005-04:00

Isn't he pretty? He's a male three-toed terrapin or tortoise, a variation of box turtle. The males have this bright coloration on the head and neck. He looks just like the one I found...

A few days ago we had showers on and off after a month of dry weather. Whenever this particular weather pattern occurs, the turtles come out to cross the roads - and many never make it. Thursday I had already moved two turtles to safety when I spotted a third in the center of my lane. A car was close behind me as I slowed enough to realize this one had already been hit. I turned around to see if it was alive or dead, and saw it retract its head and front legs. The rear left quarter of its shell was broken and there was a gap of an inch with fat and flesh visible. The poor fellow was stuck to a 92 degree highway with his own dried blood. Eeeww.... Lucky for me I am not squeamish. I slid a scraper under him, then placed him in a plastic tub that usually holds cans of paint. I figured he'd likely die of shock and dehydration, but I took him on home and gave it a try. I disinfected the injury as best I could, gave him food and water and checked him frequently over the next several hours. By the time I realized he was pretty stable, it was Friday morning.

The job I was doing (painting a floor on a deadline) took over 12 hours and I had to go back on Saturday to finish. My turtle boy was now sporting a large band-aid to stabilize the broken shell. I had to do this as he kept banging around his container-home making the gap bleed. By the time I got home on Saturday, I all the the area Vets were closed, and of course I couldn't afford a vet bill anyway. I was supposed to go to the opening reception where I was showing work, but I couldn't not try to get my turtle some professioal help.

I called the University of Georgia in Athens, and the nice young veterinary student who was on call said to bring him over. It was a hundred mile drive round trip and I missed my opening, but it was worth it to hear that she (the doctor) thought he could be saved - barring any complications. They will release him in a nature sancuary when he is able.
This is not a photo of the turtle in my tale - but this injury area is similar - and likely my turtle-boy now sports something like this. Non-toxic silicon adhesives with fiberglass reinforcement has been used successfully.

I'm one of those dedicated turtle savers who will slow, hit the hazard lights, stop, and move turtles off the road in the direction they were headed, unless it's a particularly dangerous and/or unsuitable area, in which case I release them on my 40 acres. Apparently it's mostly male turtles seeking girlfriends who are out and about after a rain. Box turtles don't range far from the places they are hatched - usually not venturing outside of one square mile during the whole of their 50 + years. They do need to be near fresh water for cooling off and as a source of easily caught food., and eggs are often laid in soft or sandy soil adjacent to a pond or stream. By now there must be a healthy population hereabouts. Luckily I have two small ponds and a stream on my land.
Twenty years ago I had a wonderful turtle experience that gave me a love for these intelligent gentle creatures which I wrote about here.

So many empty places - empty spaces; left behind...

2009-05-19T22:14:00.019-04:00

My camera is still chock full of photos taken during my brief stint as a census canvasser. Poignant, melancholy and sadly sweet, here are some of the places nobody lives... but spirits dwell...

Ironically, one of the areas assigned to me was a large cemetery. I say ironically, because we were supposed to be canvassing to add new addresses and to eliminate defunct addresses. hmmmm... I don't think anyone here will be filling out a census form... But it was a beautiful day and a lovely, peaceful place. I sat in the shade of a huge oak and ate my lunch, pondering the meaning of life.

Don't you just love the ironwork?! It appears to be early twentieth century, 1910 or so... Each partitioned area or family plot varying in detail, and elaboration.

Fabulously medieval! But do the barriers fence interlopers out - or keep kin within?

And perhaps a ghostly spirit or two dwells herein...
The diamond detailing in the gable ends lend elegance to this simple farmhouse now sadly bereft of human inhabitants - but home to a bat or a nest of chimney swifts - and the scent of new mown hay.

And here is my favorite - a sweet stone cottage nearly overgrown by lush foliage -
but strong in its space, and enduring in grace.

It was all I could do not to climb through the ivy - down the rabbit hole, so to speak - to peer back at this world from that one, to know what lies beyond the cool deep shadows and dark windows...

Shrouded in time and mystery, I see it as the perfect hideaway - a place where magic might yet be possible, where hushed voices sing in soft whispers of time gone by...

Here's one that combines Federal style with the gambrel roof line so popular in hot, humid climes. A beautiful entryway complete with transom, double windows, and lovely twin chimneys!

This old Victorian with its ample porch and lovely shade trees sits snugged up to the street that was once the main road south out of town. Just imagine carriages pulling up in front when the highway was but a dirt road.

Beautiful in its simplicity and symmetry, this old barn remains. Don't you wonder who toiled here? The seasons were many and the harvests bountiful - and yet the barn stands empty and alone.

House? Barn? Shed? Perhaps all of these things at one time or another...

And finally - a bit of "urban" decay. These grand old brick structures remind me of all small towns' downtown glory days. Boarded up, burned out, abandoned or let cheaply to thrift shops and store-front churches - and yet - dignity remains.

making friends...

2009-05-04T19:04:00.027-04:00

No more canvassing! I'm relieved to be through - and terrified I won't be able to find anything else. My friend Carol and I are going to pool our last two hundred dollars buying plants and pots at a wholesalers and repotting to make fancy artsy pots o'fleurs to sell at the gallery. Wish us luck!

In the meanwhile, I thought I'd post a few shots of friends I made - or tried to make - while out and about. Out of the hundreds of address I visited, only two dogs seemed bent on a bite. The majority of dogs were reasonably friendly if not outrightly so. In fact, the biggest risk was being jumped on by enthusiastic pooches with muddy feet. I met no "attack" cats - though several shy ones skittered away at my approach. A few would gladly have hopped in the van with me and most allowed me to scratch their chins or stroke their backs.

Some simply ignored me...

or were too busy watching the neighbor's dog to bother about a census person...

And who knew there was such dog as a bi-color Newfoundland? I was delighted by these huge fellows and their spots and speckles!

This fellow liked me so much, he did a cha-cha-cha.

This pretty calico was positively too shy to look at the camera...

Miss calico was quite unlike this Akita - a very friendly and not-at-all-shy boy.

This fellow was just wa-ay laid back... I think I woke him from a nap.

This adorable canine kept watch without expending energy. I don't recall she ever got up once.

Sometimes, the yard-guard was of another sort. Nice horns!

Some looked on with little or no curiosity.

And some were all about curiosity!!

Theme Thursday: Fire - and the aftermath

2009-04-23T18:58:00.021-04:00

This is a common sight all over the South. All that remains after many a fire is what might have been the source of the blaze - the chimney.

Fire in the sky is less common, but once in a while I catch a few clouds ablaze in the evening.

One evening after a violent storm, I was surprised to see the sun setting again - in the north! It took a moment for me to realize I was seeing the glow of a forest fire started by the storm.

I photographed the storm on the news next morning (see my window reflected in the screen?) The storm set off the above fire and spawned two tornadoes and the largest hail I've ever witnessed. Luckily I only witnessed it after a friend put several hailstones in her freezer. They were nearly the size of baseballs!

Fire and ice - all descending from the heavens simultaneously...

Cool spaces in way back far out places

2009-04-22T19:50:00.026-04:00

The very best thing about my temporary job is that it gives me a chance to see people's personal outdoor spaces - places that I would otherwise never know existed - places that they have created for themselves.
Cause folks, these aren't places "put together" for the neighbors' sake. They aren't places created by landscape designers. These are places that can't even be seen by passers-by. These are unique little worlds, and I feel privileged to have been allowed to share them here.

After jostling down a half mile of dirt track driveway winding through thick pine woods, my van rolled around a curve and out into an open meadow of surprises. There before me was a series of rock gardens - and I do mean gardens of rocks! Crystals and geodes, mica and minerals, sandstone and quartz - all laid out in the sun to sparkle or to oxidize. Standing watch over the gardens were animal sculptures made from recycled metal, including this owl. His body is a former propane tank and the eyes are the wire brush wheels off of a bench grinder.

"Blooms" of crystal, iron and manganese...

Rose quartz!

A closeup of the iron (rusty orange) and manganese (deep purplish-black) deposits on crystals.

The largest wind chime I've ever seen/heard, made from aluminum baseball bats... And yes, it sounded great - not at all like the sharp tinny sound of an aluminum bat hitting a ball.

And finally an alligator, a rooster and a giant giraffe - all made from old farm implements and scrap metal.

Really a cool place!! The owner graciously gave me a tour and permission to photograph his private world. He also gave me a night blooming cereus (?), a plant with which I was unfamiliar. Check out the very short video below! I had to work an extra 45 minutes to make up the time I spent there - but it was way worth it.

I was taught that one should not say "thank you" for a plant - that the the giving of a plant is to be reciprocal instead. I returned there today and dropped off several new sprouted lilacs, and though the owner wasn't home, I know he'll find places to plant them.

More on my travels and tribulations...

2009-04-19T11:11:00.012-04:00

It was a week crammed with must-do's and must-finish's. I completed a group of commissions (posted on my September Studio site) and I was juried into a new gallery center which meant delivering works and attending the first opening reception. I also began to be "trained up" for the resident artist position at the Heritage Center which means justifying the cash/sales at end of day. Somehow I still squeezed in over thirty hours at my canvassing job for the Census Bureau, but I am tired - and just wishing for some downtime.

Careworn and weathered kittens... left sitting in the yard of an abandoned home. It's as if they await the owner's return...

Another casualty of an abandoned homestead..

Yellow jasmine in bloom - and a bird's nest inside a mailbox.

Just a cutie I met in a parking lot during a lunch break... Notice he has "camouflage" dog tags...

And lastly - a heartbreaker...

The two horses pictured above look just the way well-cared for equine should. They are sleek and healthy and in excellent condition. Those collars they wear are only to prevent them from "cribbing" (chewing on wood/sucking air) - nervous or bored habit.

Compare them to the horse in the last photograph. This is what a starved horse looks like.

I turned into a long drive through a wooded area and came upon a lovely home sitting up above a fenced half acre or so. I glimpsed a leggy horse from a distance but could only see the horses head and hooves.

I had a lovely conversation with the owner - a very young woman with a 13 month old baby - and we discussed children, dogs and feeding hay. I asked her if I could photograph her horse and she said "why, certainly" - though he'd "not been brushed or groomed lately." I had no idea of his poor condition until I drove down to the gate. I nearly threw up as the sight of his ribs and backbone made my stomach roll over. This not just thin - this is critical - and criminal.

This is not an old horse. She never mentioned him being ill or made any excuse for his condition. I started to go back up to speak to her when someone else arrived - and I decided to just go ahead and report it to the authorities. Either this woman is completely ignorant of horse care - or she's so preoccupied with her child that she's completely neglected this once-beautiful Thoroughbred. His feet were in poor shape as well - and his mane was a tangled mess. My conclusion was that since there was some green stuff in the lot, no one bothered to feed the horse.

Sadly, this is all too common...

Meandering ... the ups and downs

2009-04-12T21:19:00.008-04:00

I thought this blue just heavenly...

It's been a while since I worked for anyone but myself, and all too quickly it has been a return to a life of juggling. Forty hours on the new job, Saturdays at my gallery space, and Sundays at the Heritage Center (as I want to maintain my resident artist status) means I no longer have "a day off." I've rarely taken any days off of being an artist, but this is different as it's back to having to be somewhere every day of the week. I know for most struggling artists, this is everyday reality, this attempting to live two lives and maintain two full-time occupations. Just keeping up with things like laundry, vacuuming, and grocery shopping have become a challenge, and yet I must count myself lucky to have this temporary job.

For many years of my young adult life, I lived in the future, always waiting for the week-end, or the summer, or the future, while life went on. I'm not a Buddhist, but discovering the philosophy and practice of "mindfulness" has been invaluable for me. I look for the best in each experience as well as to consciously be aware that my life is each experience.

With that in mind, I've taken my camera and a notebook along as I scour parts of the County to update addresses for next year's census. I've driven down gated lanes lined with landscaped plantings, country highways and graveled roads - and dirt trails that seem to lead nowhere - but might. Some of the places I've been in the past week sadden me: old trailers and falling-down houses with piles of junk and debris and tarps over roofs to keep out rain. The poverty is palpable. Sometimes a door is opened to reveal toddlers and/or pregnant young women and the reek of tobacco smoke nearly knocks me out. This angers me...

But what breaks my heart are the dogs on chains, skinny wild cats, pregnant cats, and staked-out fighting chickens. Fighting chickens - or cockfighting - is illegal. Raising the birds used for this horrific "sport" is not. The birds are kept tethered by one leg to a stake out in all weather with only a piece of tin (and theses are the "lucky" ones) as a rain shelter. There is no bedding, no perch, no protection from cold or wind or heat. Barbaric - as are those who profit from this disgusting and cruel practice.

But it's not all bad. I came across a dirt drive that led up and up and around and on and on... and finally came out at an amazing place. The house, fence and outbuildings were all made from re-cycled materials utilized in the most charming ways. I asked the owner (a widow in her late 60's) if I could take some photos, and here they are.

She told me a wonderful little story. It seems her late husband was born and raised on this land. His family operated a sawmill there from the turn of the century until the 1950's. Before his death a few years ago, he contracted to tear down a gymnasium in the nearby town of Carnesville. He later used much of this lumber to add on and side their little home. She recently learned that the lumber to build that gymnasium had come from this very land back in the 1930's.
Full circle.

In the white room...

2009-03-31T23:37:00.009-04:00

This strange looking room is my future collage/assemblage space. It was once the guest room with blue carpet (thus the blue venetian blinds). I ripped up all the carpet and the baseboard will have to be replaced as it was just some vinyl junk.

I really hate blue carpet.

I painted the floor white - and I was considering marbling it into "tiles" - but I think I'm going to just clear coat it and leave it. I love all the reflected light, and it will be easy to find all the things I'll be dropping - or that my cats will knock on the floor (when they sneak in). The white floor reminds me of my old loft in Philadelphia. It had a nasty chipped linoleum floor that I poured - yes, literally poured high gloss oil-based white paint onto. The smell was unbelievably terrible - (I probably lost a couple of years of life due to that ) but the effect was incredible, gorgeous, perfect - for an artist's space. The rest of the loft was sprayed white, too (of course!)

And so in the honor of my former white art makin' space of 3,000 square feet, I've decided to rip down the wallpaper and do the walls in white textured plaster. It will be the only space in my house without lots and lots of bright or strong color accents. But then, white on white on white is color too.

Speaking of white... (or formerly white), this is Glynnis after the flood. Note the high water - or should I say mud - mark.

Funny thing about Great Pyrenees, though. Within 24 hours, the mud will just slide off and she'll be pure white again, just like Claire.

Yes, this is Claire. Very dignified... (and clean).

And this? This is a Charolais cow. I love her ears. She's rather dignified too. Where I live, I seem to be completely surrounded by these moos.

She'll likely turn up in one of my paintings, but for now, she fits right into this blog, which seems to have developed a theme.

And one more - Frosty, a white cat rescued from being a feral fellow many years ago. He's gone on to his reward, and I'm sure his little bunny friend is up there too.

This is an old painting. And when I look at it now I can't believe I did something this sentimental. I do like the bunny toy.

Theme Thursday : mineral... COPPER

2009-03-26T14:42:00.026-04:00

Wealth falls on some men as a copper down a drain.” - Seneca
Last week I was confident of getting my theme post up in a timely manner... Yes, well, that was before all plans for the week fell apart. Instead of painting the outdoor mural next on my schedule, I've been out scrambling to make ends meet. Seems the weather is uncooperative, and I won't be able to paint or get paid for some time yet. And as I had counted on this income for March, I've got to step back and punt.

I hate thinking about money. I'm not gifted with cunning or opportunism when it comes to getting ahead, closing the deal or being self serving. I suppose it's due to my just not caring much about making money. I'd happily life on the smallest of stipends if I could just make art. But this is not my lot in life, and for the first time in twelve years I'll be taking a temporary job.
With that in mind, I felt it apropos to choose as my mineral that of which the smallest of legal tender is made: copper.

Copper has been good to me. As I stated in an earlier post, I'm one to: see a penny and pick it up, all the day to have good luck... I love the idea of finding a "copper." I've often thought that if I could possess all the lost and mislaid pennies of the world, I'd be comfortably well off - and no one would suffer loss. I also hate waste. It is with this in mind, that I've made it through here and there by recycling. No - not pennies - though I've a gallon jar filled with them as well as an additional container of wheat pennies. I keep the pennies. But several years ago when I was still married, my spouse - a welder - began to carry home pockets full of the little welding-rod end caps shown here. The pipeline manufacturer he worked for threw these away! He knew how much I loved bits of metal like this for my assemblages, so he collected them for me. Gradually, several coffee cans were filled and set aside amongst my collections of "stuff."

Things change. The marriage ended and I became sole proprietor and sole supporter of myself and my critters. More recently, free-lance art jobs became scarcer and scarcer as the price of copper soared higher and higher. Those little throw-away "O" rings actually made a couple of mortgage payments possible.

I've never cared much for gold or diamonds, but I love the color of copper. I've copper-coated horses, copper-bottomed pans, and copper plates for etching. I have yard art made of copper and jewelry made from copper wire and some say my hair is the color of copper - but I think it's actually more like "natural" brass. Hopefully, I'll be able to hang on to my yard art, my jewelry - and my hair! (heh) Though soon it may be more silver than copper...

“The world is an old woman, and mistakes any gilt farthing for a gold coin; whereby being often cheated, she will thenceforth trust nothing but the common copper” - Thomas Carlyle

My vegetable garden...

2009-03-19T10:15:00.011-04:00

Back in the 1970's when I was a struggling artist (oh dear - I still am!) beginning to make and show things, I worked in fabric and fiber. I'd been a sculpture major in art school, and I loved working with form and texture and color - all in the same art form. Fiber was hip. Fiber was now. Fiber was where it was hapnin'. It still is, but I have moved on...

I guess I am no longer hip or hapnin'... (heh).

For the Thursday Theme, I stewed (groan) over what to post on "Vegetables." Rummaging in my rummage room last week, I'd come across one of my old soft sculptures... Aha! Cabbage is a vegetable, right? Well, it will have to do. I love cabbage - and I owe a couple of years of living to the sale of these cabbages - or cabbage roses, as some called them. I've never been any good at growing a vegetable garden, though my flowers, shrubs and trees flourish. But this fellow seems to be an exception. After all, he's managed to survive over thirty years with me!

Ahhhh... pear blossoms from a cabbage's perspective.

I'm featured!

2009-03-15T21:48:00.008-04:00

Top Artist's Directory

I just learned I've been chosen as the featured artist this week at Top Artist's Directory. Kim Barker (aka laketrees) provides a great service to artists listing over 300 artists who blog, and providing a venue that showcases the artists' biographies and selected images.

I know it works, as several people have said they found me through Top Artist's Directory' listings. Thank you, Kim, for your time and efforts on our behalf, and a big thank you for selecting me as this week's feature artist!

Thank you.!

And my gallery reception was today for the two person show of which I am one person (heh). Some of my friends say I could do a two person show all by myself... but I think they mean it in a nice way... sorta. I mean; they're referring to how prolific I am; not how many personalities I have (cause two ain't nearly enough) - nor do they mean I am two-faced.

I do paint pretty fast and it comes from spending six years reproducing old master paintings onto furniture for a high end company. We were paid piece rate, and one had to be fast or be cut. If you've never had a job that paid you by the piece, count yourself lucky. It's not for the faint of paint. I once painted an entire armoire (sides and front) similar to the one pictured, but bigger, in a day and a half. Twelve hours. 'Course by then, I'd done a dozen of them and hardly needed to look at the sample. The "allowed time" for that piece was 30 hours. And no matter how fast or slow one painted, all work had to pass inspection at quality control. So one couldn't take short cuts, one just had to be fast.

The cabinet pictured here is my own design - and I only ever painted one of these. Took me three days of steady painting.

And more good news! I sold a piece at the show - and so did my friend Carolann. As is so often the case, the purchasers were both artists themselves. The piece I sold was a framed print of Desperado, a tiny painting I did a couple of years ago and couldn't bear to part with. I made only 5 prints, as I'm not a fan of large print editions. You can see it in the photo at left from my shop/gallery. The painted oar, shelf and headboard are among the things I paint to sell there. Many of my customers live on Lake Rabun or along the Chattahoochee River so trout and fishing scenes are popular.

The reception was a good time, in spite of being a chilly and rainy day. Lots of folks brought food, and I was even given a delicious pineapple cream pie to bring home. Yum-yum!!

Here is the original Desperado... 4 x 6 inches of grumpy chick...

Theme Thursday... animals

2009-03-12T11:07:00.045-04:00

This is my first thematic post, (find the other culprits here) and because it's animals, I just couldn't resist. I'm a total softie for animals, wishing I could make things better for them in general, and sharing my life and home with many over the years. I've never counted the number of cats and dogs I've rescued, saved, neutered, fostered and loved, but I know they add up to dozens and dozens and dozens. Birds and bunnies, horses and pooches, kittens and cats and even turtles, possums and squirrels have quartered with me at one time or another.

Those helpless little faces, those eyes begging for love and understanding. How could I not answer the call?

And today I wish to share a little secret: I also rescue homeless stuffed animals.

I know there are more of you out there who share my compassion for these, the cast-aside, the forgotten and forlorn. They number in the millions; helpless creatures once-treasured for their fine fake fur, silken ears and polyester-plumped little bellies, their bright glassy eyes now clouded with despair.

Stained with the tears of old sorrows, their hapless little faces peer hopefully from the shelves of thrift shops and second-hand stores. Their threadbare little limbs poke out of yard-sale boxes, tossed there with the callous indifference of capitalists bent on gleaning some further mean and meager sum - as if all their years of dedication were not enough penance...

Never mind how they were there for us when we needed them: when we were frighted of the dark or when our hearts were broken, or when we needed someone to hug when no one understood. They listened without judgment or censure.

Like tokens of love from a now-defunct relationship, we are embarrassed now by their very presence in our domain. They remind us of our fragility; they frighten us with their knowledge of our deepest fears. And so they are scorned, cast away, abandoned, forsaken.

Here now are the faces of some of the wretched and forgotten.

See how their faces are careworn; etched with love passed on, tattered by disappointments and frayed with anxiety.

See how they ask for nothing except to be loved.

Can you turn away, unmoved?

Open your heart and your home to those who have served us well in our time of need. Hug an animal today... stuffed or otherwise...

(It'll be our little secret.)

Like the Velveteen Rabbit, it's the loving that makes it all real.

Introducing Freda...

2009-03-05T21:51:00.016-05:00

As my last post was rather lengthy, and my fingers are stiff from pulling on fence wire, I thought I'd tell Freda's story. She's so uncomplicated that there's not much to tell. Just the facts (mostly).

Fact No 1. I couldn't say no.

For nearly I year I didn't have a dog at all. After the loss of my beautiful black Great Dane Chloe, it was a long time before I thought of another canine. I was cat food shopping at a Petsmart, and I stopped to look at the photos of pets for adoption. Just as I was turning away, a young woman with three small children walked up. She asked if I was looking for a puppy and she shoved a snapshot of five mostly black hound-dog looking pups at me. I politely said that I really didn't want another black dog as it would remind me of my Dane. The woman's face actually crumpled, and much to my horror she began to sob loudly and to wail "Oh God, what am I going to do? Nobody wants any and now I have seven dogs and they're getting really big and they're not very cute anymore and I've tried everything and what am I going to do and I don't have any place to keep them and we found the mom dog and she was starving and we rescued her and she was already pregnant and I can't bear to have them all put to sleep and what am I gonna do? Wa-aa-ah."

Fact No 2. No good deed... yadda, yadda, yadda.

Everyone in the store was looking at me... I said: well, I guess it wouldn't hurt to take a look . She hic-cupped and smiled and apologized - and said she didn't live far and I followed her... I named my new nearly all black puppy "Freda" after Frida Kahlo - but I didn't learn how to spell it until later (obviously).

Freda's mom was a Yellow Lab. Freda's dad ?????. He must have been some sort of Pointer though, as she looks like a black German Shorthaired Pointer. And she points.

Fact No 3. Some dogs are completely useless. (heh)

Freda is naturally lazy. She doesn't bark unless the moon is full and the foxes or coyotes are yipping in the distance - oh, and once she barked all afternoon out in the pasture and when I finally went to investigate, she was dancing around a huge rattlesnake that had obviously just eaten something very large ( rabbit? neighbor's chicken?) Freda must have known it was the sort of thing one rarely sees in real life, and she didn't want me to miss out (eeesh). Safari guide dog anyone? She loves strangers and won't even bark at their dogs. Not much of a watch dog...

But she did help me get that plaintive look for a little painting...

Fact No 4. A winning smile will take you far.

I'm a huge supporter of spay/neuter and good care for all cats and dogs, no matter the color, breed - or lack thereof. I hate that so many people are indifferent to the wonderful mixed breeds in shelters and go out and buy dogs and get on "waiting lists" for particular puppies rather than saving one from euthanasia.

I mean: just look at that face!!!

Coming soon: Freda's paw...

...some bunny to love (heh)

2009-03-03T15:16:00.006-05:00

Due to several recent sightings of rabbits – or bunnies, as I prefer to call them - my left brain is focused on the nature of superstition. .

I think of myself as rational and logical, and I was heavily educated in the sciences. This means I like to know cause and effect and the “why” of how things work. I’m the sort of person who had trouble in algebra and calculus, because I wouldn’t just accept the formulas for problem solving; I had to try to reason them out, to understand why/how the formula worked. How anal! How obsessive! How stubborn! But I am none of these things exclusively – because, like all humans, I contradict myself.

What do bunny sightings have to do with any of this? I thought you’d never ask.

For several years I worked as an artist for a high-end furniture company. I had to “clock in” at 7 am – which meant up at 5am and on the road by 6am for a 40 mile drive. Armed with a mug of black coffee, I would set out before sunrise, driving along blacktop country roads for most of the journey. As the faint light of dawn gave way to sunrise and then sun-up, the finite natural world along the berm woke up along with me.

Startled by the sudden bright light, nighthawks and doves and other small indistinguishable birds would often flutter out of the tall grass and veer drunkenly across the beam of my headlights. I had to watch carefully as nothing upset me more than having one crash into the car. Once in a while I would spot the murky forms of deer or wild turkey as they moved to their daylight hiding places. Apparently, although skunks, opossums and raccoons are late night party animals, they retire before sunrise because I don’t recall ever seeing a live one in the very early morning.

There was one other creature I would see on these morning commutes: little rabbits: les lapin; bunnies. Now I am very fond of rabbits, real and imaginary, often using them as subjects in my paintings. I once had a little chocolate Netherlands Dwarf bunny named Ernie who had the run of my house. He was adorable, used a litter box and got along well with the two cats I had at the time: Johnson and Evinrude. Every so often I would find that my phone was dead which meant Ernie had chewed the line in two again. And then there’s the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland ( I’m late! I’m late! - story of my life), and The Velveteen Rabbit and the fabulous song: White Rabbit of Jefferson Airplane/Grace Slick fame.

I didn’t see rabbits everyday, and sometimes a few days would pass without seeing ‘a-one. But seeing bunnies hopping about in the early morning cheered me, - and I began to take note of whether I saw any - and to mentally categorize the days, based upon the number of bunny sightings. A ”bunny” day was any day a rabbit or rabbits were sighted, and then there were “two bunny” and even “three bunny” days. A “three bunny” day was rare indeed; rabbits are solitary creatures, after all.

Upon arrival at work, someone would unfailingly ask: “How are you?” Since my mood was better on days when I spied bunnies, I might answer “I’m great, I saw two bunnies this morning.” Eventually, I would say simply: “It’s a two-bunny day!” and the person would know that was a good thing.

I mean, sure, I was being cute, but part of me meant it. This is where the superstition thing comes in. I actually began to correlate how good my day would be with whether or not a bunny had appeared. I didn’t question it at the time; I didn’t even consciously think it, but I felt that the bunnies were good omens. I mean I didn’t really believe it – but it seemed that those days, those bunny days, just went more smoothly. It’s obvious looking back on this that bunny days probably went more smoothly because of my attitude. Conversely, sighting a road kill rabbit (or any other hit and run creature) negated the good karma of the day because it bummed me out. Thus on a day when I was in a good mood, I noted the good things, and ignored or discounted any bad or unpleasant happenings, and vice versa.

Is this how we come to be superstitious? … I say I don’t believe in luck, good or bad, but I am likely to pick up a penny found on the sidewalk because my Dad always did. It seems disrespectful to his memory to let it lie there – or is this my excuse “just in case?” What about saying the name of that play? What about believing in second sight or fate or ghosts or a supernatural being? What about jinxes? I freely admit to keeping certain potential good news to myself for fear of jinxing it. This is probably just aversion training: having spoken too soon, or counted my chickens before they hatched, I have had to eat crow – an unpleasant dish. But I truly think of it as a jinx, as if the one causes the other. Hmmm … not so rational after all, am I?

My huge encyclopedic dictionary defines superstition as follows: A belief founded on irrational feelings, especially of fear, and marked by a trust in or reverence for charms, omens, signs, the supernatural, etc., …
And supernatural: Existing or occurring through some agency beyond the known forces of nature; lying outside the natural order….

I noticed that the old Elvis song: “Suspicion “ kept running through my head ever since I began thinking on the nature of superstition. Granted the words sound similar, but I thought (assumed) their meanings were disparate – and they are – but they are also related.

suspicion: the state of one who suspects; the imagining of something wrong, without proof or clear evidence…

Each of these terms deals with things that cannot be proven, and interestingly to a linguistic afficionado like myself, each has a different root word origin. I will not bore you with these….

Suffice it to say that curious but imaginative beings that we are, we continue to invent reasons and answers for things we cannot understand and to question our own conclusions in our attempt to have proof of reason and reasonable proofs. And if all else fails, let humor prevail.....

May each and every one of you have a three bunny day!

I hadn't thought about bunny days in a long while. But since my two Great Pyrenees guard dogs are unemployed (I sold all my sheep), they have also become uncharacteristically indifferent to small trespassers. I have started to notice there are bunnies down along the driveway, especially in the evenings. And every time I see a bunny rabbit, I smile and I get a good feeling. Obviously, the bunnies pictured here are excapees from someones domestic rabbitry.

Walking slowly at first...

2009-02-28T20:04:00.015-05:00

Do you think it was natural causes?

One never knows what will be found in my woods...

One of my goals for 2009 is to get back into better shape and I thought I'd start out by walking every day. One of my favorite blogging artists Leslie Avon Miller has been posting her walk progress in mileage on the sidebar of her blog: textures shapes and colors. I thought it was a neat idea - and one that will challenge me to continue so I am shamelessly copying her idea.

I'm up to (blush) two miles!! Yeah - not much, but I just started a couple days ago, and I got sidetracked. Halfway down my 1/4 mile driveway, I realized I needed to go back for a shovel and clean out the dammed up leaves so that my steep road won't be crisscrossed by flash flooding. After 45 minutes of shoveling gravel and leaves, I 'd had a pretty good workout.

Though NE GA is still in an extreme drought situation, we've had three days of constant rain. The small watering hole in the upper pasture is full and overflowing the red clay banks with red, red water. The horses have clean water in their troughs, but they use this little pond for water sports, splashing and rolling in the muddy water on warm or hot days.

I usually have company on my walks; my goofy dog Frieda, the two Pyrenees, and a few kitty cats. I looked up at what I thought was a squirrel and spied instead a grey tabby fifteen feet up a tree. That's Madeline. She has apparently forgotten the broken leg of last year. Broken in two places, it was a challenge for the vet to pin because of all the small pieces. Maddy came to me from the rent-a-center where I was picking up scaffolding. The guy came out of the warehouse with my locking wheels in one hand and little Maddy in the other - and a sob story about how she was "gonna get squashed" if she stayed around there. So she came home with me and promptly broke her leg. I believe that's called irony. 'nuff said...

It's still winter - and though the trees have begun to blush with buds, the landscape is still rather bleak. But spring is marching out of the woods in the form of little yellow daffodils. These were hunkered down under the logs of a fallen pine that a friend cut up for me. Guess it's time for some spring clean up.

Sometimes it's the air, sometimes it's the smell. Sometimes it's the sound of water, sometimes it's the stillness. It's tapping into the transcendent, and teaching your heart to see it, and making your eyes and hands express it that creates transcendent paintings. - Gil Dellinger

Clever blogging... John Wright... and yellow

2009-02-26T10:33:00.016-05:00

Living in a rural area as I do, I've little access to professional galleries, museums and the art world that I know is out there. Having lived in Philadelphia for many years with its ready access to New York , Washington and Baltimore, I hunger for ART. When I discovered the world of the blogging artist, I realized here was an ever changing gallery with hundreds of artist's works that I could visit any time in order to satisfy my longing for art - and the comradeship of other artists. I follow - and subscribe to posts of many and I am constantly inspired, enchanted and challenged by the work, the writings, and the creative ideas I discover there.
A couple of weeks ago, I saw this post at John Wright's blog "John Wright Art". I was originally drawn to John's blog for a curious reason: I've never cared much for yellow. I read that back - and it sounds absurd. How can an artist dislike a color? The truth of the matter is that I've spent too much time in too-yellow rooms! When I was growing up, yellow was THE color for kitchens. The particular yellow was so often "lemon" - a rather cool and pale imitation of sun and butter and Black-eyed Susan petals. As a child, I never had enough sleep, therefore I spent too many crabby mornings in a yellow kitchen. Perhaps I need therapy... just give me a green room (heh). I find flat pale yellow without the balance of other accents to be very off-putting, to say the least.
Shown above is John Wright's watercolor: "Outside the Pavilion"

When I saw the header image for John's blog, I was struck by the yellows. Sunny, warm, luscious hues of ochre and cadmium and gold - and yes - even lemony yellows. So fitting for the sun-washed beaches he paints. Lovely. And John is giving one away! He's offering the original watercolor shown here to any one of us who shamelessly seeks to have it. There are a few "rules" and one needs to be lucky as well (prolly leaves me out...) ;~( But it's great fun to participate and I'm happy to share John's work.

I recently read a quote about the dangers of yellow in the hands of "amateurs." I wish I could find it, as it's so apropos, but I did find these:

I was for years in the yellow period, you know. - Joseph Albers
Some painters transform the sun into a yellow spot, others transform a yellow spot into the sun. - Pablo Picasso
"What a horrible thing yellow is." --Edgar Degas

This little guy is from my own "yellow period."

While searching for that quotation, I came upon: Color, Meaning, Symbolism and Psychology - a site where one can take a "Color Personality Test" (as if we didn't already know if we had a sunny disposition or a tendency to blue periods...) But I did find this quote to my liking:

"Yellow shines with optimism, enlightenment, and happiness. Shades of golden yellow carry the promise of a positive future. Yellow will advance from surrounding colors and instill optimism and energy as well as spark creative thoughts."

And a quote from me: I'm liking yellow better these days.

Here are a few more of my yellows...

A bit of debris...

2009-02-23T20:20:00.014-05:00

I'm doing about 63 mph when I notice it, and I suspend my distance vision from its "defensive driving" sweep and refocus onto... what? A tiny movement had caught my eye... There. Not a bit of debris after all, but a tiny crab-shaped spider clinging desperately to the glass of my aerodynamic windshield. She is a pale yellow-green and in the sun's glare her body appears translucent, as if she had been splattered there the night before, as I first thought. But I can see she is very much alive, her little form being buffeted, her tiny abdomen moving in a minuscule jerky little hula dance as she struggles to hold fast. She (I automatically assume it's a she) is so small she could fit inside the circle of a dime even with all her eight legs outstretched as they are now. In this brief second of my notice, two legs lose purchase and she holds now with only five. At any moment, she may be gone, swept from the glass by pummeling molecules of air.

Almost automatically, I let up on the gas to give her a chance to regrip. I've six miles to go and she'll never make it. I notice a couple of cars behind me, but I had been exceeding the limit by a few mph, so let 'em suffer. At 55 mph we round a curve, the direction of wind shear changing abruptly and - unbelievably - she now holds on by only three legs. How can she possibly do this? What manner of strength and will and magic does she possess? Is this just an average spider? I think: this is a spider worth saving. With two of her tiny legs pinned to one side by the force of air - she reaches and paws, scrambling madly with the remaining three trying to re-establish her hold; I slow to 48 mph.

The two cars behind me have become four; impatient vehicles driven by important people with no time for drama. She's slipping... she pivots and regrips... I nearly lose her just as I see a crossroad ahead and signal to turn right. Several vehicles accelerate around me with attitude as I brake for the turn. Even before I come to a complete stop she is scuttling quickly toward the driver's side window. I lose sight of her as I open my door and emerge from the van - and then I see her. She's peering warily from the rubber gasket lining the door frame, front legs raised in a warning gesture. After what she's just endured, who can blame her? Suddenly she makes a run for the edge of the hood and disappears under the rim, sheltered in the mechanism of the wiper blades. Safe.

Springsteen's Hungry Heart is playing as I put the van in gear and we continue on our way...
.............................................................................................................

If I were to write of my philosophy of life, of what is meaningful and important to me, I could not improve upon the following paragraph from Annie Dillard:

There are many things to see, unwrapped gifts and free surprises. The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside by a generous hand. But - and this is the point - who gets excited by a mere penny? If you follow one arrow, if you crouch motionless on a bank to watch a tremulous ripple thrill on the water and are rewarded by the sight of a muskrat paddling from its den, will you count that sight a chip of copper only, and go on your rueful way? It is dire poverty indeed when a man is so malnourished and fatigued that he won't stoop to pick up a penny. But if you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days. It is that simple. What you see is what you get.

- Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

I believe with all my heart that everything wrong with modern civilization has to do with greed. I don't really understand what motivates the extreme desire for more, and more, and ever more. Why does a person with a million dollars need ten million or 50 billion? What can possibly make a baseball player "worth more" than a scientist or poet or even another baseball player? How did our ideas about what we value get so skewed?

One of the lessons I remember well from grade school civics on up to high school American History was that there are supposed to be limits on how much one person or company can control. Whatever happened to the controls on monopolies? Where are the anti-trust controls of old? What happened to fair trade? Why did Sam Walton think he needed not just ten or fifty Wal-Marts, but literally thousands? What drives humans to want more power than they can understand, much less control? If there were five hundred car manufacturers, instead of a handful, would we be bailing them out? If banks and mortgage brokers and financial institutions were truly competitive - truly manageable on a human scale, there would be thousands upon thousands going about their business all over the world. Some would succeed, some might fail - but the failure of one or two or three companies could not panic the rest of the world. We've become a population of billions controlled by a few concerned only with the present and with themselves. With great power over great numbers comes anonymity. With anonymity comes abuse.

Manifest destiny is a lie. Free enterprise is a broken promise. Bigger is better is an oxymoron. I say we need to think small. Smaller populations; smaller companies, smaller cars, smaller growth, smaller salaries (for anyone making more than say, the president...) smaller desires, smaller houses .

Think big? Nah. Give me the small pleasures.

Six folksy chicks found at a flea market for $1 each. One of life's little pleasures...

Monday musings...

2009-02-16T21:21:00.025-05:00

Horsemen often refer to the look in a horse's eye to describe the sort of mount and companion that horse is likely to make. Generally speaking "a quiet eye" or " a kind eye" are the ones to look for. Here are the kind eyes (and ears) of two of my horses, soft, calm, but ever alert.

The chestnut is Dixie, and don't let that soft eye delude you. She's the alpha mare and total tyrant of chow time. She never shows any white, rolls her eye or lets on - until she whirls, teeth bared, hooves flying to run off any equine in her peripheral vision.

Perhaps that's why Babygirl (the bay) is looking just a little apprehensive... Actually, it was the whirr and beep of my camera that put Babygirl off.

I just liked these close-ups and wanted to share a little horse lore with all the wanna-be horse whisperers out there.

The shy one with the teary eye is Rita the red roan.

I have all kinds of collections of things - bones, twigs, plastic lizards, buttons, glass perfume bottle stoppers, cicada shells, telephone wire, turtle shells, and, um, Kewpie dolls. Actually, I never purposely collected these little guys; I just keep finding them as I unpack boxes marked "miscellaneous dec."

Apparently they have hidden themselves amongst the odds 'n ends I put away until my house is "finished" (yeah, like that's ever going to happen...) waiting for me to liberate them. It was only when I came upon #4 that I realized I had an entire Kewpie family. They guard my DVD/VHS players from bad karma and power surges and the like... Who'd have ever thought Kewpie doll hair would make a fashion statement?

Before I got sick, I was thrifting - one of my most favorite pastimes. I found the bobble bird that day and I also found this wonderful little (21 x 8) painting of mushrooms. They're not the morels I wrote of a while back, but aren't they delightfully rendered? There's no date, but it's signed "Ralph Cooper" and it's painted on a fragment of one of those canvasboard panels. On the back there's a small printed cartoonish figure wearing a hat that says something like: _URG DAN or DAI in very tiny print. The artwork style of the figure would date it from the forties to the late fifties.

I paid $3.00 for it.

I wonder what future thrifters will pay for my works...

And finally:

I missed Valentine's day as I was in a bit of a viral stupor. It's not the day itself I regret missing, as it's generally been a disappointment, romantically speaking... sigh. But I wanted to post something cool - like my fellow bloggers did for the most part.

So here he is... My Valentine Kewpie, wishing everyone love and hugs for the rest of the year.

Addendum: Roy just informed me that my Kewpies are just plain trolls... Oh my. As soon as I saw his comment, I knew he was right. I'd forgotten they were called trolls. Perhaps they now lurk around blogging sites rather than bridges. Thanks Roy!

2009-02-10T18:53:00.024-05:00

As a transplant to The South, one of my great pleasures is that spring often comes in what used to be the middle of winter. Growing up, I was a heat loving person. I thought nothing could be finer than to lie in the sun; sweat trickling on bare skin, a cold drink and a book. Ah, summer...

Shortly after I married, I spent two years in Vermont. I say "spent" rather than "lived" purposefully. Though I found it to be unsettlingly lovely (like living in a postal card), I never could get warm - even in summer. In winter (which began in September) snow drifts eight feet high could cover the windows; temperatures of - 15 were commonplace, and just when I thought Spring must be coming, it wasn't. What was coming was mud.

Mud season must be experienced to be comprehended. Like most children, I had once adored playing in the mud, splashing about in puddles and building forts. But the mud of my childhood and the mud of Vermont's fifth season have little in common. In New England, we're talking black, sticky and deep - and it's cold mud - made up as much of slush as of water and dirt. Each night, the mud freezes, creating deep troughs and furrows into which small mammals have gone missing - and upon which unprepared Midwesterners twist our ankles and curse their muck. When there was still snow in the woods in June during my second year there, I informed my then-spouse that I would not spend another winter in that beautiful hell. "Summer" was six weeks of no more than 80 degrees. Blink. It's winter again.

That is all behind me now. I've lived in Georgia nearly nineteen years, and I think I will never be complacent about Spring in the South. For the past several days the temperature has been in the mid-sixties to seventy degrees. Tepid - almost warm - breezes kick up the chaff as I feed the horses their hay in my shirt-sleeves and lift my face to the still feeble slanted rays of a February sun. Sure, it may yet turn colder. We might even get another hard frost. But there will never be snow in the Georgia woods in June. I love you, Vermont - even more from a distance...

And now for some fun:

Some of my online buds have been challenged by mouse (aka kimy) to choose and write about ten words beginning with a letter drawn from "the jar." Kimy graciously granted my behest, and the jar did its magic, offering up a "W". W is perfect for me.!! It seems quite kismet, with so many of my interests and artistic subjects beginning with doubleyew. I don't recall hearing any rules, per se, but I felt my ten words should be the first ones that came to mind. Here goes:

Water. Cold, clear, clean, refreshing, wet, (heh). Rain. We're entering another year of prolonged drought in the Southeast, thus this is a subject forefront on my mind. Water is often rationed; water tables dropped. Fine old trees, hundreds of years old; dying. Lakes and rivers 20 + feet below normal. Water = life.

Wonder - The look on a baby's face as it gazes upon the world; the questions in our eyes as we ponder meaning and mystery. The wonder of it all. The wah-wah-wah -wah-wonder... And don't we all know It's A Wonderful Life... ? It is. We are full of life and wonder.
Wing - Wings, winged, winging. My artwork is lately filled with winged Black Birds; birds who fly upon the Wind (my third word) and into the wind and are blown by great white winds begotten of Warm (4) air masses colliding with cold air masses to produce Weather (5) and the Water (6) of life.

Warm. Yes. I may think I'm cool - but I'd rather be warm. Warm hands, warm blankets and fires and mittens. The warmth of the sun, a warm smile, a warming trend; heartwarming...
mmmm... warmth...

Weather. One of my fav subjects. Bridges all conversational gaps, affects everyone - and is all powerful. Rain, hail, snow, sleet, hurricane, tornado, cyclone, blizzard, thunderstorm - or a fine sunny day - all amazing.

Whiskers. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens... My cat Elvis' whiskers tickling my cheek; not a bad way to be awakened.

Whistle. What Jiminy Cricket said to do when you are afraid. The myriad whistles of birds, groundhogs, prairie dogs. whales and - yes - trains. A fine sound, rooted in our ancestry.

Whinny. I just had to put this in. It's the happy, soft greeting of my horses when I whistle. I've six horses here and each of them has a distinct sound - from a high trilling to almost a chortle to what can only be described as a soft murmuring.

... Kinda makes me Wistful...

thanx Kimy and all the other participants.

It's been fun to see what folks do with this.

The beautiful "Babygirl" - one of the sweetest mares ever... She's the one who "murmurs."

2009-02-04T00:07:00.012-05:00

Wow... I am so, so honored that if anyone was here, I'd be speechless!! I've been chosen to receive a blogging award! Roy Hilbinger, who is an amazing photographer as well as a gifted writer, selected my blog the rabbit hole as one of his picks for the PREMIO DARDOS blog award. Not only is the award a major surprise, but to receive it from such an amazing blogger as Roy doubles the honor. Roy was the first one to "follow" my blog; he just showed up one day much to my delight, and I became a follower of his after reading just one post. He's a caring, compassionate and responsible citizen of the planet with eyes that find the beauty in all things and brains to articulate about what he finds and thinks. His blog: Roy's World was honored in kind, and I am humbled to be chosen as one of his picks.

Here's what this award is about:

The Dardos Award is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. These stamps were created with the intention of promoting fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web.

The rules:
1) Accept the award by posting it on your blog along with the name of the person that has granted the award and a link to his/her blog. [Note: Don't forget to copy and paste the award jpeg itself to include on your own blog!]
2) Pass the award to another five blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgment, remembering to contact each of them to let them know they have been selected for this award.

Now my task is to pass this award on to five more bloggers whose sites embody the values as noted. I think my favorite phrase within the "mission statement" of the award is the last line of the first paragraph: a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web. I do feel affection for bloggers with whom I share images, comments and philosophy - though we've never met. The humor, intelligence and admirable attributes they convey in their postings makes me feel as if we have a connection that is akin to personal friendship. We are fragile and strong. We are compassionate and resilient. We think; therefore we blog. This is way cool.

I'll contact and post my picks in the morning - as I'm sitting here at 1:20 am with a terrible cold and should be in bed. But I got so excited, I forgot for a while I was sick... Thank you, Roy.

It's morning - and here are my choices (in no particular order) for the PREMIO DARDOS :

Turboblues, the blog of John Grow. John doesn't say much about himself in his profile, but there are reams of autobiographical writings and his outstanding and very moving poetry. He's not afraid to tackle controversial subjects or to bleed onto his keyboard. The fist time I encountered his blog, I read until my eyes hurt. A writer's writer is John.

Art Propelled, the amazing visual journey of Robyn G, an artist from South Africa. I would nominate her just for the series on"Bug" - and yes, you need to go there to see the phenomenal photographs and to check out "his" heartwarming tale - but I nominate her blog more for how she allows me to see through her eyes. The art she post is sometimes quirky, sometimes cutting edge or beautiful, but it is all engrossing and intriguing., as are her exotic (to me) photos of South Africa.

The Roaring Inside is Holly Friesan's blog about her life as an artist. Holly is particularly gifted at speaking with her creative voice while still telling truths. Her work spills out from her studio and her pages, all the while drawing the viewer inside to read and wonder. I love this quotation from her "About Me": I am a working artist/painter struggling to find my way through this glorious, anxious life with a heart full of unresolved questions. A glorious life indeed...

Poemfish is the blog of Casey Kurz, a visual artist and writer over on typepad.com. Her munificent blog includes extraordinary poems, photographs, and writings as well as some of her inspiring artwork. What I like best about her writing is how she focuses on both the fragility and strength of life. Her essays are introspective, inspiring and uplifting,; searching for and honoring the best in everyone.

Finally I nominate Embrasures, the poetry blog of Marcy Stoekel. Marcy is quite new to the blogging community here at Blogspot, but her poems richly deserve a wider audience. She speaks with the inner voice of all women, and yet her poems transcend gender. Her work is not just a good read, but an emotional escapade; evocative, challenging, strong and oh, so poignant.

I'm not really new to blogging - though I only recently began to take the rabbit hole seriously and to post regularly. I enjoy the feedback and the "validation" that writing offers and though choices are skewed a bit toward the arts, it's because that is where my heart is. A month from now I could add twenty more wonderful sites, as I discover more every day.

2009-02-02T19:43:00.000-05:00

I couldn't find the rest of the photos I wanted to post until today.

Yeah, okay... One of those cloud photos from the previous post was man made, but wasn't it cool? Though it appeared a plane had gone down (or up) 'twas just an illusion. Jet streams actually do affect cloud formation to a great degree in parts of the country which are on major flight paths. (I read that somewhere - and experienced it when I lived in Western New York: overcast 60% of the time! - and thought to owe at least 20% of those cloudy days to jet streams, the particulates in the exhaust attract molecules of moisture and ta-da!

clouds!!!

This little series documents one of my cloud chasing adventures. I spotted a line of mare's tails dancing across the western sky just like a sparkling chorus line. I grabbed my camera and headed up the mountain to try and get a better view. I zoomed toward them and they danced away over the tree line. I topped the mountain and headed into the most open area I could find which happened to be a new subdivision... A few folks wondered what it was up in the sky that interested me so - but no one dared to ask.

I'm fascinated by these little tornadoes of ice crystals... It's as if there are several little twisters high in the sky.

I added the info on man-made clouds because I was thinking about those sweet groundhogs who are disturbed from a nice sleep every year so that we can all rest, knowing (heh) just how much winter is left... Odds are that in the Northeast part of the country it's likely to be cloudy. Not so today. Sun in PA; clouds in GA. Spring will be early in the south and late in the north... That's not much of a surprise is it?

Groundhog Day! Why not keep it as a day to honor one of our cutest and most resilient of creatures ? And when evening comes, spend it watching a classic Bill Murray film.

I say: leave the little furballs be. Here's a true sign of spring: daffodils!!

These beauties actually bloomed over two weeks ago, but it seemed cruel to show them off before Groundhog Day - when at least folks "know" what to expect.

2009-01-29T19:31:00.000-05:00

It's Clouds illusions I recall, I really don't know clouds at all. - Joni Mitchell.
Last week I was looking at images of cloud formations online, when I came across a site called: The Cloud Appreciation Society. I was amazed!! I was delighted!! Cloud Appreciators had to be my kind of people, by whom I mean folks whose eyes wouldn't narrow or glaze over at a mention of fallstreaks or mackerel skies; people who wouldn't look at me sideways when I told them I was a cloud chaser; people who would actually get excited over the beauty of clouds.
As they say on the Society's website:

"At The Cloud Appreciation Society we love clouds, we’re not ashamed to say it and we’ve had enough of people moaning about them ... see how we are fighting the banality of ‘blue-sky thinking’."

Most people think of weather as a subject to break the ice or as small talk, but I love deep discussions of weather, storms, precipitation - and cloud chasing. Yeah, yeah, I know everyone's heard of storm chasers, those dare-devil types who froth spittle as they careen over the Great Midwestern Plains... But we cloud chasers are perhaps a little more sedate. We're just as happy seeking the rare crescent cloud or a chorus line of mare's tails as a funnel cloud (well, nearly). And though I may zip along the road as quickly as legally possible, I'm not likely to encounter anything more dangerous than the strange looks of motorists or homeowners as I repeatedly speed up and slow down, pull over, turn around or jump from my idling car to sprint for a clear line of sight.

Clouds don't last. They are but transitory phenomena, to be savored by the eye and captured by the lens - and to someday find their way onto my canvases.

I'm excited about joining up for the nominal fee of L4. or $5.68 (US Currency).

I'll be member #14, 401...

Cloud-walls of the morning's gray
Faced with amber column,
Crowned with crimson cupola
From a sunset solemn.
May-mists, for the casements, fetch,
Pale and glimmering,
With a sunbeam hid in each,
And a smell of spring.
- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

2009-01-25T16:06:00.001-05:00

Hearing Voices...
I've managed to keep her mostly silent these past several months. Her angst and fear can drive calm and confidence from the most secure and self-possessed, not to mention me. I'm the best of her - and yet I'm just another of her selves, her voices - the one somewhere in the middle that she returns to - tuning in after a swing to one precipitous edge or another... the even-toned, reassuring voice of optimism.

She heard me this past week, speaking over the others; not drowning them out - for they have their places - but holding them to whispers. She needs me now and she knows I hold her grounded. The others are still there and will return, but I am the way of the future. Even as I think this, she warms to my voice, rejoicing in the new year and the changes it brings.

I've rarely thought of myself as a Political person. I use the capital "p" intentionally, because we are all of us political in some sense; the root word: politic, meaning: skillful, ingenious; shrewd or artful... Political in any sense has come to have mostly negative connotations. Over the past several years, I've found myself increasingly willing, but unable, to ignore the Political world of our governance. Every time I heard someone say "president Bush", I would feel a twist of revulsion - and I would immediately tune out either literally or figuratively. I had to avoid hearing whatever it was to protect my inner core of self or I mightn't be able to function.

Try though I did to hide away from news of wars, terrorism, eco-system destruction, and domestic disputes, I was increasingly unsettled and sickened by the policies of the then administrations. It's not that I was apathetic - in fact, the opposite is true: I cared too much. I didn't realize quite how much all this weighed upon me - even in my carefully constructed art-world cocoon - until Inauguration Day. I felt a great joy and tears of happiness as I watched and listened, but somehow it was a bit unreal... like a long wished for event that, when it finally happens, is more surreal than real. It seemed as if I were in a dream.

Once the day, with its glitz and pageantry were over, I was close to slipping back into my now habitual benumbed state. I hadn't yet assimilated the fact that this country had lived up to its promise.

Then yesterday, as I was driving along, and thinking far-off thoughts, I heard the news announcer say: "President Obama..." Not president-elect or senator, but President. The manner in which it was stated was so casual - and yet, I felt an unfamiliar sensation, something not associated with "the news." I felt a little twist of happiness in my gut. No more instant avoidance, no more cringing at the president's name, no more fear of yet another swipe at the constitution. That voice on the radio? It's the voice of change.

It's going to take some getting used to, but what a profound pleasure. I finally feel as if it's "my turn."

She's aware again of the cadences of living. Movement and currents cease to toss her thinking from one extreme to the next. She can navigate by the sound of my voice alone as I hold her to me, soothing, persuading, encouraging...

...she emerges from the cocoon...

The more faithfully you listen to the voices within you,
the better you will hear what is sounding outside.
~ Dag Hammarskjold .

2009-01-20T11:12:00.000-05:00

Barack Obama and Michelle Obama on inauguration day. Photo by Charles Dharapak/Associated Press. Courtesy New York Times.

A proud day for America. I so look forward to the promise of a better world that this day symbolizes for all of us.

2009-01-10T21:45:00.000-05:00

The "blue roan" photo... explained

I photographed that comely steed a few months back, but didn't download the photos until recently. I was quite taken with the blue-black sheen of the horses coat against the red, red, red of the freshly painted tin - and I immediately wanted to capture the image for a future painting.

At the time the photos were taken, I couldn't get very close to the fence or the horse because he was penned adjacent to a bridge reconstruction. Heavy equipment had rendered the road and berm impassable so I took the shots from my vehicle window using the maximum range of a telephoto lens. When I finally looked at the photos on my computer, I was distressed to see the very tight halter that I had failed to notice in my excitement over colors and compositional factors.

A halter should never fit tightly. In this case you can easily tell this horse would have great difficulty chewing his feed as the halter would make it nearly impossible for him to open his jaws! A halter should not be left on a horse in pasture in any case as it can snag on a tree, fence or another horse.

The location is thirty or thirty-five miles from my home - or I'd have driven right there to remove that thing. Instead I called the animal control for that town who referred me to the "livestock agent" for that county who referred me to "the equine guy" who referred me to an Atlanta office! Four phone calls later, I was assured someone would "look into it".

I think I'll take a drive tomorrow...

2008-11-19T09:54:00.001-05:00

Reap the wind...

Rhythm is the basis of life, not steady forward progress. The forces of creation, destruction, and preservation have a whirling, dynamic interaction.
- from the Kabbalah

They whirled past the dark trees, as feathers would be swept before a hurricane. Houses, gates, churches, hay-stacks, objects of every kind they shot by, with a velocity and noise like roaring waters suddenly let loose..."Faster! Faster!"
- Charles Dickens

Sometimes we are privileged to witness an event or experience something that is so intense, it becomes imprinted in minute detail upon our memory bank. It doesn't matter if the experience is terrible and frightening or wonderfully pleasant and magical. When our senses or emotions are stimulated to such an extent, we can later recall every detail because to remember is to re-experience.

I've been fascinated by tornadoes for most of my life. Like many who grew up or lived in "tornado alley," these violent storms with their dangerous beauty and magnificent terror have a hold on me. I'm conflicted by my attraction to these phenomena; I admit to feeling guilty for what I can only describe as the hypnotic pleasure I derive from watching footage of twisters. They literally and metaphorically draw me toward the vortex, unable to take my eyes away from the sight of that undulating funnel. I understand their power and the devastation they wreak, but I cannot counter my fascination.

There is a eerie shade of green that forecasts menace in a severe thunderstorm. Whenever I see that color, preceding or following a line of brilliant white, I know to take cover. When I was about nine or ten my family lived in a two story house in central Illinois. I remember the sky turning black and green and white as the sirens blared and the wind came up strong. There wasn't time to run to a neighbor's basement, so my mother huddled us beneath the heavy kitchen table in the southwest corner of our two story house. The sound was incredible, a constant deafening roar while everything shook and rattled. Outside was near blackness, everything moving horizontally, and it was that sight - that moment - as the huge funnel cloud passed so near - that sticks in my mind's eye.

Suddenly there was a tremendous crashing, tearing sound, and our mighty maple tree blew over and through the kitchen wall, right on top of our table shelter. We kids scrambled screaming out from under - and it was over. The wind died and everything went quiet except the dripping of rainwater coming through the openings in the roof.

Throughout my life I have drawn and painted tornadoes, amassed a collection of photographs of funnel clouds, and purchased those Weather Channel videos of "Nature's Fury." Of course I own and love The Wizard of Oz, and Twisters I and II. I have photographs of a sculpture installation at Artpark in Lewiston, NY taken from both the inside and outside of a thirty foot tall interactive "tornado" that took my breath away; I so wished I had built it. It would seem I cannot get enough of twister imagery.

Yesterday was another beautiful 60+ cloudless day. It was breezy, but not windy and the air was cool, the sun very warm as the horses munched their afternoon feed. I was filling the horses water troughs when I became aware of a rushing, crackling sound like wind rattling through dry leaves. I glanced down the slope toward the treeline and was delighted to see a small whirlwind stirring itself into a little frenzy of leaves and debris.

As I watched, mesmerized, the tiny cyclone grew, spiraling to a height of thirty or forty feet as it swept up the hill right toward me. I've experienced small whirlwinds passing over and seemingly through me a time or two, and I anticipated this one with delight and excitement. When it was no more than twenty feet away, I realized this one was still growing in intensity, and I experienced a tiny thrill of fear, but stood my ground. And then the twister cut sharply away from me toward where Jessie, the pinto gelding, was concentrating on his dinner. He suddenly became aware that something was after him and I swear he jumped straight up in the air as the cyclone surrounded and passed over him. He stood trembling and snorting with all four legs extended, watching the little twister dance across the driveway and dissipate. If he could speak, he'd have said: "What the hell was that?!!" I have the effrontery to envy him - though were our positions reversed, I'm quite certain he would not feel the same.

The whole thing took less than a minute, an amazing, magical, entirely captivating few moments, yet it is perfectly imprinted upon my mind's eye. I can't stop thinking about it and I know it will emerge as a painting in the near future.

Hosea 8:7
For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind...

2008-06-25T14:18:00.000-04:00

Superpowers...

“Ninety-nine percent of who you are is invisible and untouchable.”

Richard Buckminster Fuller

“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.”
- Antoine de Saint-Exupery

It's happening more and more often. It just comes over me and there's nothing I can do to prevent it. Sometimes it happens as I am standing in line at the bank or paying for groceries. (It almost always happens at public events or in public spaces.) At first I thought it was my imagination - just a trick of the mind; a mistake, perhaps a misunderstanding - after all, things like this don't happen to ordinary people.

Wait a minute... who's ordinary???

Funny how we see our selves, isn't it ? I, myself, am a mass of contradictions! I am funny but very serious - and not to be taken lightly... I have a few very rigid viewpoints, but I nearly always give one the benefit of the doubt. I like socializing and I am interested in people and curious about how others think - yet I spend a great deal of time alone, by choice. I think of myself as a "good" person who looks for the best in others, and yet has little faith in humanity... Normal ? ...I suppose... Sane ? ...certainly... But I've never thought of myself as ordinary. So why should it surprise me that I have developed superpowers...???

Yep. It's true. I know how to become invisible.

Actually - I first became invisible and then I learned how to do it. The first time I was sitting in traffic, waiting to pull onto the main road. Vehicles moved past, sometimes stopping right in front of me, but no one let me merge. No one smiled and waved me in as had always happened in the past. They didn't notice me... they couldn't see me... I had disappeared. The next time it was a shopping trip to Quality Foods. I stood waiting to pay for my groceries as the cashier and bagger conversed and joked and rang up my order. I smiled at one, and then the other; I held out my check - but neither even looked at me. Without acknowledging my presence in any way, they waved me out to the parking lot with my cart full of heavy grocery bags. I was invisible.

My most recent disappearance was at my bank branch, located for my convenience in the grocery store lobby. There were two tellers at their stations but one was on the phone, so a line had formed sort of halfway between the two as customers observed "next person waiting etiquette". When the teller finished her phone conversation, she looked right through me to the store employee behind me and motioned for him to step up for service. Wow. Invisible again!!

With all of this evidence,I have to believe it's true. And just like the "ordinary" people on that show: Heroes, I plan to step up to the challenge. Not only will I continue to develop and hone my ability to disappear by wearing inauspicious clothing, very little makeup and a benign expression - but by continuing to masquerade as just another bland, unimportant, unassuming, and innocuous middle aged woman. They'll never see the pretty young woman inside me - the one who is well-read and hip and witty... the one who rescues ladybugs and horses and even tries to dodge butterflies. They won't know how funny I am, or how kind I can be, or how much love I hold inside. They won't suspect that I am anything at all like them.

And little will they know, that I am developing another superpower... telepathic X-ray vision. Though they cannot see me, I can see right through them. As I peer into their self-absorbed and indifferent little minds, I plant little seeds... little thoughts... little bits of self'-doubt and self-realization. I will them to see beyond their biases and assumptions. I implore them to take stock of themselves and to question their perception of the world around them. I champion the cause of fresh vision. I wish upon them the gifts of empathy and sympathy - for one day they too, will start to disappear.

And finally; this: www.stephenrobinsculptor.com

I recently spoke with my first ex-husband, a sculptor, who still lives in Philadelphia. We talk often, but I don't know how much or what parts of each conversation he remembers. He suffers from more than the average (I think) memory loss, and it's difficult to know whether it is a natural part of the aging process or something more. He's a phenomenal artist and a really good person and I will always have a place for him in my heart. He teases me about not posting his website in any of my blogs - so I have decided to oblige him here. He may not remember a lot of what I say (another kind of invisibility?) but what is in print cannot be long forgotten. I hope you'll all visit his website. It's highly worthwhile.

2008-06-10T01:16:00.001-04:00

2007-11-23T22:03:00.000-05:00

Morning has broken. The break of day. Daybreak. The crack of dawn.

Such noisy and explosive terminology for the beginning of a new day - sounding rather more like the demolition of something than the beginning. I wonder why we speak of mornings in this way? Morning is such a soft time; the light coming on so slowly that at first dawn could be mistaken for nebulous starlight or a fullish moon behind cloud cover that sheds an indirect glow, almost as if the atmosphere itself were the source of light. The soft, tender light of a new day slides over the earth and slips between trees and buildings. By the time the sun itself is visible, most of the world is awake.

I suppose for most of us, morning is a time of greatly increased stress. Many dread another day at a meaningless job, or dealing with kids and too-busy schedules and all of the things they didn't accomplish yesterday that they should have. People say: I'm not a morning person and we know what they mean: they are grumpy, half-conscious, not quite "with it." They usually want to be left alone - needing time to adjust, to shake off that dreamy state of unconsciousness so they can cope with the day to come. And so many are trying to get through the week on too little sleep, only to be jolted awake by all manner of horrific means: obnoxious beeping of electronic devices, the shrill clamoring of a traditional alarm clock, ringing phones or someone yelling at them: get up !! get up!! It's no wonder people dread mornings, and just endure; living for the weekend.

Like most, I spent many, many years having to be somewhere early, following a work day schedule of 9 to 5 or 7 to 4 or even 7 to 7. All the while I worked at these jobs I wanted to be doing something else. I often felt cheated out of my time, my days - in a way - cheated out of my life. I wanted to be making art, not just making a living. To try and make up for my lost time, I would work on art projects and paintings at night, most often staying up too late to catch more than five or six hours of sleep. My candle burned at both ends and I watched my life melting away. I felt entitled to do this, that I must do this, to take and have control of any time not spent on the job. With all those mistaken adages about successful people needing only a few hours sleep, I always assumed I would eventually adjust.

Needless to say, I was not a morning person. Some of the time I felt I was not a person at all, just a zombie, sleepwalking through life...

In 1997 I gave my two weeks notice and went out on my own as a freelance artist. It hasn't been easy, but it has been a decade of discovery. One of the things I learned is that I am a morning person! I enjoy the quiet just before sunrise that gradually gives way to the sounds of birds and squirrels and light traffic, the cool temperatures, the mist along the valley, the changing light and the wonderful taste of coffee. (I had apple pie for breakfast this morning!) I love the morning because it is mine. And now I believe that anyone can be a morning person, given the right circumstances: enough sleep (eight hours for me); a bit of preparation the night before (automatic coffeemaker, clothes laid out, tools and equipment ready)... But most important of all it is the knowledge that the day is mine - the whole day, all 24 hours, to arrange and schedule and do what I do best - that makes my mornings so sweet. It's not earthshaking news to most people, but to someone stubborn like me, it was a lesson learned rather late in life that certain aspects of our lives and some of our individual needs are to be accepted. There is just no point in going through life being resentful - or doing battle with ourselves.

If we could all awaken at our leisure, or at least unencumbered by the manacles of civilization and society that are imposed upon us, how would we spend our days? If we could all spend our days living - doing what we loved - how would we awake in the morning?

Bon matin.

Begin at once to live, and count each day as a separate life. - Seneca

2007-11-04T09:40:00.001-05:00

Faux finish in a salon/spa.

2006-10-05T19:47:00.000-04:00

This was me in 1983. I still feel the same on the inside...

2006-10-05T19:44:00.000-04:00

2006-10-03T03:32:00.003-04:00

The mystery in the ceiling...
For eight years I lived in western New York; Chautauqua County to be more specific. For a couple of those years I rented a storefront building in Lakewood that had a huge showroom up front and an apartment in the rear. I needed a large studio/workshop so this served better than a "normal" house.

There was also an upstairs apartment rented by a single guy - kind of a party-bachelor but rugged outdoorsy type - who came and went all hours of the day or night. So, when I was first awakened by the strange sounds coming from above, I just assumed it was "Dave" getting in late or stirring about. I didn't think much of it, and the sounds - kind of a bumping and scratching - were intermittent. I remember thinking he must be sitting on the edge of his bed swinging one foot so that it dragged on the floor every so often. And the bumping was explained by his eventually removing his shoes and letting them fall with a soft "ka-bump." For over a month, I heard almost the same sounds, seeming to move about, but not too much, explainable if he were sitting on different sides or the end of a bed. By this time it was more scratching and less bumping and the scratching had moved to a spot directly over my own bed.

You have to understand that up until this point, I only heard the sounds at night, when awakened briefly - perhaps by one loud bump. And this was an old building with one of those commercial dropped ceilings throughout; large square panels which muffled sound, suspended in a metal framework. I would drift right back to sleep...

I was home late one afternoon when I knew "Dave" was not at home. I walked through the bedroom doorway and distinctly heard the scratching noise. It stopped abruptly. I froze and listened;and it started up again - a very distinct: scratch, scratch, bump... scratch, scratch, bump... followed by a crunching sound. Rats! All this time I thought it was Dave, and it was rats! Or bats! Could it be bats? Or very large mice? Something in that ceiling was alive.

Now that I knew this, it drove me nuts. I would jump awake and listen to that sound. How could I have ever mistaken it for shuffling feet? I would listen and listen and try to discern just what it could be... But I was afraid to look... I mean, all I had to do was get a flashlight and a stepladder and push up one of the tiles and... at least I would know - or I might scare it off so I could get some peace.

It took two more weeks to talk myself into it. The scratching that night was right above my head and in a place where the ladder would fit. Steeling myself, I fetched my equipment, and - flashlight ready, I climbed the ladder and stood for a few mpments, gathering my courage while envisioning something large and furry jumping onto my face, or perhaps several bats fluttering out into my bedroom. But I had gotten this far and I had to know what it was. I slowly raised a ceiling tile adjacent to the noise then simultaneously switched on the flashlight and stuck my head up into the void. I saw two red eyes though the rest of the form didn't register at first. And then I realized Good Grief! It's a turtle! A turtle?

It was a box turtle; the kind I used to find in the woods years before when my father would take me mushroom hunting for morels. What was it doing in the ceiling? I reached in and grasped it by the shell anticipating its weight and my hand just floated up. It was as if I had picked up a ball of cardboard. The poor thing weighed almost nothing. Suddenly I was overcome with shame and remorse. Due to my mistaken assumptions, poor detection skills and unreasonable fear, this poor turtle had been crawling around in the barren ceiling, slowly dying of thirst and malnutrition, for at least six weeks. I carried it into the kitchen for closer inspection and to try and save it.

Turtles are pretty wrinkle-y critters when they are healthy, but this one was just about dried out. It was either unafraid, or more likely, just too weak to withdraw its emaciated limbs and neck and close it's shell. But the eyes were bright orange and very much alive. I set the turtle in the big porcelain sink and offered a jar lid of water. That turtle immediately craned its neck about, put beak to water, and began to take small swallows - about one every 3 or 4 seconds. This went on for over 5 minutes until the turtle finally pulled its head up a bit and looked at me as if to say "what now?" I remembered that turtles liked tomatoes so I offered it a slice along with some bread soaked in water and some lettuce. It began to eat the tomato. I was gratified to think it might survive its ordeal.

The local vet said what I had offered was a good start for its diet, and to add tuna as a protein source. At the library I found a book on turtles that told me this was a common box turtle; more specifically: a female carolina carolina terrapina - (female because of the orange eyes), found generally along the Atlantic coast and the Appalachians. New York was a bit far north for one of these, and I began to suspect that my upstairs neighbor might have lost him a turtle. He had recently been on a camping trip to North Carolina. Could he have brought her back with him? But how did she get into the ceiling?

I never found out because I never told 'ol Dave about finding the turtle. I was upset that he might have been responsible for its being lost in the first place, and that he might want her back if that was so. I had already planned her future. I would release her back into the wild in North Carolina on my way to Nag's Head in a few months.

It was November when I found her and by April she weighed over a pound, had many fewer wrinkles and was possibly even rather chubby for a tortoise. As I drove along a backroad in North Carolina looking for a good spot to release her, she munched happily on tuna and tomato. She had never seemed afraid of me and I had grown quite fond of her.

I found a great place, adjacent to a wetland, way, way out in the national forest. I worried a little that she might not re-adjust to the wild, but I felt this was the right thing to do. I put her out onto the mossy ground with the last of the food I had brought for her. She had not been on natural ground since I had found her, and she stretched her neck out to its' full length and looked about. She seemed quite excited. As I was baking away, taking a couple of photographs of her, I heard the strangest sound: a kind of croaking, squeaking sound like nothing I had ever heard before, and it was coming from my turtle! Was she calling to her own kind or to me? Amazed, I listened for several minutes as she repeated these sounds at short intervals. The last I saw of her, she was marching rather purposefully off into the woods; head high; quiet now.

I left her then, and, feeling quite happy and purposeful myself, drove on to my destination. I like to think she was thanking me out loud...

2006-09-21T19:52:00.002-04:00

Imagine if you will:

You are driving down the interstate and it's a long monotonous stretch of road - not much scenery, conversation in dribs and drabs as each passenger is reflecting upon all there is to do at home after four days on the beach...

You take note of a truck coming up behind and then moving into the left lane to pass. It's a car carrier, but the trailer appears to be empty and it rattles loudly as he pulls along side and then ahead to pass. As he moves back into the right lane, I can see that his trailer is not empty after all. Lashed securely and painstakingly to the top rear ramp of that huge trailer is a little yellow Tonka truck. And I mean the tie downs were authentic !! We laughed and laughed and wondered - does the driver carries this toy just for amusement ? Is it a gift for a child back home or perhaps even a practical joke perpetrated upon the driver...? No matter. It sure made my day and renewed us for the remainder of the trip.

Wouldn't you want to know the person who thought that up?

2006-09-01T01:15:00.001-04:00

This is what I do... I paint.

Mural for Gainesville Bank and Trust. Located in an Hispanic neighborhood, the mural depicts scenes from Mexico to Argentina as it wraps around the far wall behind the counter. I had to bid for this job, and my competition was a Mexican muralist out of Florida. He was cheaper - but when he learned the painting had to be finished in three weeks and mostly done at night (due to all the other tradesmen's schedules), he declined. I had a wonderful time working in that neighborhood, eating delectable Mexican and Ecuadorian foods from places where they did not speak English. And even though I am a strawberry blonde WASP, everyone was gracious about my doing the painting.