14/365 Wood

Ten minute free-write*, on Wood.

Wood ages in circles around my eyes.  How does it die, I wonder.  Good wood for chopping up and using for a fire.  The flames licking the air, while smoke trails upward, swirling.
Wood cabins smelling of pine, so rich, you just breathe it in, let it fill your senses, and then admire the rich amber tones of the wood, gleaming on the wall.  This is how it was in the cabins at Rip Van Winkle's motorlodge, in the Catskill mountains.  How many night before bed did I look at the wood and feel a certain wonder.
I hve  a big chunk of cedar on my key chain--it was carved just a little to bring out it's best.  I love the way it feels curving upon my fingerstips.
Being around a sacred fire, where each piece of wood was placed with intention in all the directions, to the East and West, North and South, to Father Sky and Mother Earth.

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long.

Visit Evie, whom I freewrite with, at the space between colors.

13/365 tin foil

Today we did a fast 5-minute free-write*, on, of all things, Tin Foil.

Tin foil--what on earth can I say about this subject?
It's pretty when it comes out of the box and looks all mirror like.  And I like the way it take a sharp crease, or conforms perfectly to line a pan of lasagna.
And then there's the way it crumples up, in a tight ball if you want--shaped any way you want--armature for a doll's head to be covered in clay.
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*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long.
Visit Evie, whom I freewrite with, at the space between colors.

12/365 Hand written letters

Today we did our first 20 minute free-write*, with a subject suggest by Yvonne, over at Ink Spillers Attic. Thank you, Yvonne.

The subject is Hand-written Letters

Wandering through Hallmark's Card shop, I come across an array of stationary that I just must have.  Flowers curving along the edges of the paper, and again on the envelopes.  I found pads of distinct design, and sharp contrast to flowers... more abstract with lines tht lead the eys.  All of this to present myself to a mail box.
When I was young it was letters to friends I'd meet on summer vacation.  In my teen years me and my cousin Ed shared many a tome.  And then came a history of letters--my letters to and from Evie, who lived three thousand miles away for eighteen years.  Truly there wasn't a day that went by without going to the yellow legal pad, and writing a note, or pages even, about what was going on in my life, and responses to what was going on in hers. We kept each other apprised of all our movements--from the raging fights with our partners, to how the tiger lilies were growing so large in the garden.  We'd mail each other envelopes
filled as fat as  they could stand.  It tied our friendship with constant communications, waiting to be reunited some day to continue our friendship in peson, as we do today.  But I miss those long endless pages, filled with the day's events.  Our lives were rich with activity, so unlike today.  We still keep a geat deal of these letters stashed aways in cardboard boxes.
Letters also brought me into the realms of deep friendship, and love.  I wrote to Jim as much as I wrote to Evie, practically, and we had a prolific exchange of words worthy of publication, I think.  He says that I shined my brightest in those letters, and indeed I was a consumate letter writer.
Soon Evie and I will go through some old letter; ones from each other, and others from admired professors we had in college.  We'll be taken back on the wings of lovely stationary, or plain lined paper, and countless yellow legal pads.

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*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long. Visit Evie, whom I freewrite with, at the space between colors.

in remembrance



My dad is buried in Calverton National Cemetary. He served in the Army, during WW2, in New Guinea and the Phillipines. I've barely visited his grave in the past 21 years... just twice, in fact. It is far from here, and I wouldn't go without my mother, who has the motorized wheelchair, which is impossible to take apart and put in a car. The one thing I would worry about, if he were not at Calverton, is how much disarray the tombstone is in. Is it over-strewn with twigs and dead leaves? Did someone knock the stone over? These things would bother me. But, I can rest assured that the grounds around my father's grave are beautifully groomed at all times.


Tomorrow, Memorial Day, there is a special ceremony on the grounds of the cemetary. Each and every tombstone has a small flag placed next to it. I imagine it must be very touching. Maybe next year me and my mom will get to see it somehow.

I wish everyone a Happy Memorial Day, and lets not forget the meaning of the day. Hope you wore your poppy proudly.
  (not my pictures)

11/365 Cinnamon

10 minute free-write* on Cinnamon.

"I am the cinnamon baker's(?) wife --  smell me.:"  A line from the series of books, Letters From Iceland."
I find the words inotxicating.

Cinnamon wafts through my home in the winter months -- heated on cookie sheets, placed in the overn. 
Men love this fragrance.  Women do, too.

I like a cinnamon stick in my hot chocolate.  This fine herb delights so many other tastes, from beverages to main courses, to candy, and cereal.

I can't remember what I learned in Chinese Herbology class about cinnamon, and that is too bad.
It must be some type of tonic, I would think.  But I don't remember.

Cinnamon toast--drenched in butter and loaded with a mix of sugar and lots of cinnamon--
ah, a real confort food.

I love cinnamon candies -- the ways they bite the tongue, and linger there after they're gone.

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(photo gotten off the internet, no credit given)

*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop. There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words. Supposedly this opens the mind up to greater creativity. They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long.

Visit Evie, whom I freewrite with, at the space between colors.

10/365 moonlight

Today's 10 minute free-write*  is on Moonlight.

The moon lights our path through the wood.  On the lake I can see her reflecting her reflection.
Oh, Mother Moon, Goddess Moon, shine down upon me when I sleep.

I often times wake up in the middle of the night, moonlight shining brightly in my eyes.
She'll wake you up so that you notice her.  She likes to be noticed.

I have the moon tatooed on my chest, the howling wolf and I are the light.

My mind goes back to the campsite -- the light on the path -- the way even
stones speak out to you. 
You save some in your pocket, wondering if they'll always glow so bright.

Moon energy is strong, and nothing to be toyed with.

The moonlight moves in cycles, getting dimmer and dimmer until the dark of the moon.

The ocean responds.
Each woman responds.

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*A free-write is a type of automatic writing, where you just go with your stream of consciousness non-stop.  There's no thought to spelling or grammar, and no editing of words.  They can be 5, 10 or 20 minutes long.

9/365 doors/doorways

These free-writes tend to get quite tedious at times, and what pours out is less than entertaining, to say the least.  But I trudge on with it, having made the commitment.  Today's write is about Doors/doorways.

Can't get through my door, the key gets stuck.

Door are always leading nowhere in dreams.
I remember the doorway to my friend Jim's place in San Diego.
The wood framing, very simple.  The one step.
The Doors of Perception, of course.

Did I mention about not getting into my door so easily?

I have never stepped over the marital threshold.  That doorway
scared me too much.

Doorways open to new vistas -- why can't I see them?
Poor some sunlight on them.

When you open the door to a coffee shop, the fragrance should
seduce you right away, otherwise why bother?

The doorways to church are sacred -- it brings you over to another side,
once you cross it.

8/365 bottles

A 15 minute free-write on Bottles.

Glamorous perfume bottles, swirling curves of glass
surrounding fragrant notes of jasmine and sandlewood,
honeysuckle and lime.
A dab behind each ear, and another on the pulse points--
your neck, your wrists.

Hands holding up glasses in a toast; a bottle of red between
two lovers.

"Bottles of Hope"-- made by so many women for other women
with cancer or some life devastating disease--for women in need of hope.

The proverbial message in a bottle--and the feeling that one is always
secretly awaiting that message.
The romance of a bottle bobbing along in the ocean,
just waiting for you.  What magic.

Bottle-nose dolphins.
Baby bottles.

Bottleneck on the highway. 
How man times have I driven down that road?
Ah, but I have traveled roads with just a bottle of water at my side,
the radio blasting, my hair flying past the car window.

400!

This is my 400th post. When I started this blog in the fall of 2008, I could never have predicted keeping up with it for this long. I spent a good portion of my life writing in journals, and keeping everything very private... then for the past several years that kind of writing started to cease. But I discovered a different avenue for my writing, and so much more, in this thing called blogging. I didn't have anyone following me for the longest time, and then slowly, my following built up, and in indeed I follow a lot of blogs myself. It is a great enjoyment for me to go perusing the blogs.


I want to thank all of you who follow me, and those of you who visit regularly, and leave me comments. It means the world to me.

I look forward to another 400 to come.

a visit with my niece and great-nephew

Visited with Melissa and Logan on Sunday, and took a couple of pictures.  It was so nice, sitting out in the backyard, with the breeze, and the birds singing.  I saw a cardinal, too.

~click on any pic to view larger~



7/365 rain

Today's free write is about Rain.  It is getting harder for us to think of subjects to write about, so if you have any ideas please pass them on.  Soon we will start doing writes without any particular theme, I think.  To visit my cohorts writings, please visit her at the space between colors.

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The rain comes down in buckets today, feeding the trees and birds to a much needed drink.
In Lapland the rain would come down so often, and the smell of that small wooden cabin
would grow richer, the logs emitting their fragrance.
I love it when it thunderstorms.  Sometimes I'll pound my cottonwood drum.
Bang bang--the sound of the Earth in the key of D.
I like to dance in the rain on a summer's day, feeling it on my face and body.
The sweet coolness enveloping me.  Those storms are the best part of summer,
flashing through the sky.
Once I remember kissing someone in the rain, getting drenched to the bone,
then going inside to make love, our bodies sliding against each other.
Camping out, the rain puddles 'round the tent, and the dampness creeps deep into the bones,
until the sun dries everything out again.

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6/365 Memories

10 min free-write on

Memories

The time I went sleigh riding with my friends, in Sunset Park.  "Follow me!" one said,
gliding round the hill.  My sled, handed down, would not turn.  I belly-whopped, face first,
into a broken bench, and shards of ice.  My face, a bloody mess, I went home to my parents.

Memories come with a song, an old love, a summer divine, the view of Colorado mountains.

Climbing Cuyamaca in 90 degree heat, drinking applie juice along the way.
Stopping by trees to collect oak sap, to later burn as incense.
Bathing in the secluded waters, and listening to the spirits speaking on the hill.

Memory of myself, holding the camera to my eye,
and dancing my way into people's spaces, trying to capture the perfect shot.
Never did, but I keep trying.

Always memories of my father.  His large hands making beautifully delicate
decorations on wedding cakes, and holding my own young hand in his.

Memories of my mother, when she could walk, and how she took life by storm,
indeed, she still takes it that way.

Memories can make our insides cry or rejoice once again.

5/365 boxes

Today's ten minute free-write is on Boxes.  To see Evie's free-write, go to the space between colors.


Boxes come wrapped in bows and ribbons.
Boxes hold our bodies at the very end.
My mother's jewelry box played La Vie Rose, and
I opened that box a million times, just to listen to it.
I used to cover Altoid boxes with polymer clay, transforming
them into little treasure boxes for charms and fortunes and movie ticket stubs.
Children hop through hopscotch boxes on the sidewalk, in the 1960's--
these colored chalk playthings are not seen so much these days.
Origam boxes don't hold anything.  How very Zen of them.
Cigar boxes-- always one of my favorites, they can hold all sorts of things.
When I was a child I would collect little stones and acorns, and twigs,
from the park across the street.  I'd place them in a cigar box lined with
cotton (from a box), and covered with red velvet.  I thought they were cold,
and needed a warm home.
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some of my clay covered boxes

4/365 trees and rooftops

Evie (the space between colors) and I have decided to do a free-write a day, thus my numbering them in the title of this post.  Counting railroads, flowers, and buildings as the first 3.  Instead of our usual 5 minutes, we've now progressed to 10.

Today's subjects ended up being a duo...  so...

on Trees and Rooftops

I can see the trees above the rooftops of my neighbors.
All strange people I don't know,
But I can smell their barbeques in the the summertime.

I have smelled the fragrance deep within the trees, of
sandelwood and cedar.  Deep mossy notes that fill
a man's cologne.

There beyond the rooftops, trees dwell,
emitting their own fragrance of oak and maple.
Birds dance upon their branches.
Songsters herald the summer days.

My eyes shift now to the rooftops themselves,

painted silvery while.  I remember sunbathing
on the roof, and doing yoga in the bright summer sun.

Round and round my mind goes back to wood and
rings of age. 
Such are the rings under my eyes.
What part of me is Wood?

Wood, the element... Chinese Medicine:
the Liver and Gallbladder, Spring, the Eastern dirction.
The sour taste.  The sound of yelling.
Wood "opens" to the eyes.

I still remember.

buildings

Did another free-write.  This time the subject was Buildings.  It's strange what comes into your head when you do these stream of consciousness things.    I have no photograph suitable for what I've written, so hopefully you can just picture it.  Anyway... here it is.

Abandoned buildings echo the cries of the insane,
Long forgotten asylums of a day gone by.

I see only the hollow windows of those forgotten buildings,
with no one to peer out at the view.

There were no warm seats in those asylums,
only cold metal, now strewn in piles of dust
along with sinks and gurnies.

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And though unrelated, here are my pictures for Buildings.

flowers

Me and Evie did another free-write today.  This time the subject was Flowers.  We only worked a couple of minutes.  See Ev's free-write at the space between colors.

flowers

There are flowers on my computer tower, now dead from too many days.
A flower holds water so pretty, the rain falls, nourishing stoma and stem.
The gift of flowers is a special sharing.
It can be a gift to yourself also.
In Finland I traversed the land for wildflowers, and came home with arms
full of fire weed and buttercups and blue bells,
ready for the planter that hung on the porch, or the glass vase
on the table out there.
My friend paints flowers on silk, so beautiful; luscious colors,
dripping dyes.

Happy Mother's Day

Wishing all the moms out there a very Happy Mother's Day.  You are the salt of the Earth.
Here is a mother's day photo collage I made for my mom.

~click on pic to enlarge~

a long ramble and some pics

It's 5 am. I've been up all night. Not a case of insomnia, but an intentional act.


I wrote some on my second novel (tentatively titled: Patria)... just a few pages, but it was a surprise to be doing it, because it is not something I am actively pursuing.

I wrote a longish piece "about me, and what I want in a man"... this may or may not be printed in this blog post, depending how I feel.

The sun rises in about one hour, and I am going to try and hold out on sleep, to see if I can get to the roof and take some sunrise photographs. It's supposed to be clear skies.

There are fog horns bellowing in the harbor. Always a welcome sound.

Must remember to change lenses....... from the 18-55, to the 55-200. See if I can zoom in on any particularly colorful sunrise clouds. It's always an iffy situation, whether there'll be a worthy shot on the "roll". I'm getting quite tired, and that doesn't bode well for my enthusiasm to do this.

For fun, this evening, I joined a free online dating service. I've never done such a thing, but it will be fun to see what, if any, responses I get. Actually I already got one, and it was sweet, and I wrote back to say hello. What led up to joining the service was the thing I started writing "about me, and what I want from a man"... But of course they don't really provide a space where writing such stuff is appropriate. (Actually, I ended putting in the section titled.summary of me.  Here it is, if you want to waste some more time reading. I don't considerate it a finished statement.

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about me and what I want in a man

basics... that he be Caucasian, at least as tall as me (5'6"), preferably taller. whether he has hair or not is not a consideration, but I do enjoy a beard and mustache, and glasses are always a plus. He can be pleasantly plump, (like me?), though I prefer men of leaner proportions. Of course, with age comes a little spread on all of us, so that's to be expected... and speaking of age, he should be between 55 and 65 years old. Unmarried, whether it be widowed or divorced, or a confirmed bachelor, there shouldn't be a ring on his finger, and old ties should not be holding him back in any way. If he carries a lot of baggage, then he'll have to do it on his own. I've got my own stuff.

not so basic

I like a man of high intelligence, whether it be street smarts or book smarts (though this alone is nothing without a little street smarts). A man who has a lot to say, and likes to make me laugh. If I'm laughing it's a good sign.

A man who can make me laugh. Yes, I know I said this already, but it has to be reinstated. It is a strongly desirable quality. BUT, I don't want one of those men who thinks everything is funny when it's not. They are inappropriate laughers, and that irritates me.

I like spontaneous little gifts. Gifts tell me that he's been thinking about me. Flowers are always welcome, and chocolates once in a while. A bottle of Chanel No.5 goes a long way. The simplest things can show he cares.

Religion is not very important to me, but I despise the fervent religiosity that overcomes some people. If he goes to church or temple every week, that's his prerogative, but don't expect me to be joining you. I stopped going to church when I was about twelve years old. Once in a while I break my abstinence from church, when witnessing a wedding, or a baptism or something. I do like the pageantry of it all, and the way the alter is smudged generously with the frankincense and myrrh. In my heart I follow the teachings of Native American spirituality. If this were to be shared with a man, it would be truly magical, but it is not a quality I think is so easy to find. At any rate, it should be respected.

Someone who supports me in my writing, photography, and crafts, and who himself has hobbies and interests. The more we can learn from each other, and share, the better.

I enjoy sitting together at home, just talking or reading together, or watching television, or movies. Making dinner at home for ourselves.

I love to go on rides to the country, and seek out some lovely stream or waterfall, and go to the open fruit/vegetable markets on the side of the road. It is a chance for me to take a lot of pictures. Oh, a man shouldn't be surprised if I have the camera up to my eye half the time. And I'll be taking pictures of him, too, so he'll have to deal with it.

I think I still have it in me to go camping, but having some type of RV sure would be nice. But any way you look at it, I love to be in the country.

The man I want can be a little brusque at times, but basically he is a sweetheart by nature. Someone sensitive to my own sensitivity.

I want to explore things that are new to both of us, or things that are old to one of us, and new to the other. I want to have fun.

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The sky is getting lighter, but the sun is not expected to rise for another half hour. I'm not too sure what's the best time to go to the roof... like how much before? I'll play it by ear. The birds are chirping, and I've finished my second cup of tea.



6:02 am

Well I got up there a little later than I meant to, having missed the "rising", but caught the "risen". So many contraptions up on the roof (for mobile phones and such?) that it's hard to get a straight on shot of the sun. Too much trouble climbing over the tinny encasements of wires and such.

The moon was still quite bright, as it won't be setting till sometime after noon.

In the other direction was the Verrazano Bridge, which I usually give a complimentary shot, despite the dullish sky.
 

sage and sweet grass

I have used sage and sweet grass, to spiritually cleanse myself and my home, for over 30 years now.  Unfortunatly I don't have a picture of sage to show you because it's all used up right now.  But here is some lovely sweetgrass that was sent to me by my friend, Jim, from New Mexico.

Sage is used to rid the self and home of any bad vibes that may be lingering.  You burn it in a mother-of-pearl shell bowl, and waft it over your head and all around your body.  Then waft the smoke all over the house, starting from the Eastern direction, going clockwise. This is called "smudging".  It is best to keep the windows closed for this first part, and then open them wide, so all the bad energies can be swept outside.  Make sure the corners of your house are smudged thoroughly, as this is where dark energies tend to linger.

The sweet grass then ushers in the good energies.  Burn it in the same manner of the sage, and you will be delighted by the sweet beautiful fragrance of it.  It is so beautiful you can't help but feel better when smelling it.

Here is a picture of the sweetgrass.......it comes braided like that.  Hope you get to enjoy these two fragrant cleansers at some time in your life.

portraits of Little Guy

my birthday

7 am, on this, my birthday. Woke in the dark, and have been sitting here perusing the web. I may, or may not, go back to bed to catch a couple of hours. Right now birds are chirping, the crows are calling, and the streets are quiet on this Sunday morning.

So, what does it feel like to turn 58? Hmmm, that's a hard one.

It feels kinda old compared to my head, which I believe feels much younger... or thinks much younger, as the case may be. I am not as bold as I was when I was around 37 and younger, I'd say. But after that, my fathe died, and I lost some of my pizazz. I'm still looking for it. But I do feel at least 40ish, NOT 58. I am no longer the "older woman", just the "old woman"... yikes! My body feels it. Being fairly sedentary, the aches and pains have set in, and if it's not one thing it's another. I'd like to think "it's just a number", but damn, it's a real age.

This afternoon, I'm going to a "birthday/mother's day" luncheon with my mom, sister, niece, great-nephew, and ex-brother-in-law (my niece's father). I haven't seen Logan in over two months, and can't wait.

So, later on I will post this blog entry, and have some pics to show you, too, hopefully.


5pm

Well, pics didn't come out so good today, so I won't post many, lest I embarrass anyone, least of all myself. Melissa and Logan always look pretty good, so they get pics published. :)
 
Thanks to all of you who've sent me birthday wishes.
 

birthday goodies

Today I got some pre-birthday gifts.  A delivery of beautiful roses from my Aunt Ev, and a pedicure and sandels from my sister, who also took me to lunch.  Ain't I lucky?!  Thank you, Aunt Ev and Tree!

the days of May

When May comes, so does my birthday (on the 6th), and that is always an issue to be dealt with to some degree. Then comes my father's birthday on the 16th, and the reminder of his smile, and how he added a whole new feeling to a room when he walked in, and how much I will always miss him. The day after that I am reminded of the trip I made to Finland six years ago, in search of love. And though I have come to terms with it, it looms large in my collection of life's events.


The problem with my birthday is that I often get depressed when it's coming... it usually starts about two weeks before, but this year I don't feel so down. I don't want to get depressed about it. It's silly. It's not because I'm getting older, because I had these feelings when I was in my twenties and thirties, even. Perhaps I have felt that too many years pass by without consequence, but I'd rather look ahead than cry over spilled milk.

So, I am not so much feeling the depressing feeling this year, and I remember last year I wasn't too close to it either (if I remember right). In looking back in my blog, it didn't seem like any depression was going on, but of course I could've been closed mouth about it. Maybe I am outgrowing it; afterall, I'm going to be 58 years old. Oh, Lord, how did that happen. Ha.

I will just take each day as it comes, and try to live in it fully.