 You might see him balanced
on the post at the top of the porch, like a feline finial. Splayed across the third step of the front stoop, basking in the sun. Or perched on the still-warm hood of the just-parked car, mitten paws tucked tight under his furry chest. So it was not surprising when an unknown passerby knocked on the door, breathless. It's awful cold out here she said, your cat is waiting to go inside. Thank you we said, but he's not our cat. We're just one of the houses he visits. He lives across the way. Can go inside any time, we explained. Doesn't want to. His name is Tigger, we tell her. A Maine Coon cat. The coolest cat in the neighborhood.
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 Something in the light
The early-morning sun cut along the tree line, illuminating the canopy of maple, oak, and beech in a show of color. Paper thin and lit from behind, translucent leaves shimmered in blaze orange, ruby red, and sunburst yellow. Like a stained glass window. And in the glow, I wondered, is that what the glassmaker saw? Something in nature, something in glass, something so beautiful.  Shadows on the Footbridge
If I were to write a letter or a poem today, I'd start with the changing light in the morning, and the evening, and the shadows on the footbridge in the woods, as crisp and still as the near autumn air ... and say, there's no need to look at the calendar to know the seasons are changing.  We walked along the river where the waterfall tumbled and roared releasing negative ions ... which are really positive odorless, tasteless, invisible molecules circulating in the air outdoors, out among the trees, where plants grow, and the sun shines. Ions that are especially abundant near mountains, waterfalls, pounding surf, fountains, and after a downpour. Negative ions that cancel negativity, lift spirits ... and help us nurture a sense of awe. In the heron we spotted on the opposite shore, at the swirling water at the bottom of the falls that sometimes freezes and spins like a roulette wheel, and the greens growing out of the top of an old wood piling ... like icing on a cake. Morsels of delight delivered by airborne molecules each time we open the door and step outside.   It was a lark to pause, hit
play, and watch the series, Portrait Artist of the Year. Would it be interesting to watch someone paint? To see what it takes to paint a portrait in just four hours? It is. And because of it, I'm seeing my collage work in new ways. I've never been a painter. Just collage. Painted sheet music. No other papers, inks, or marks. It's come together by chance, but the decision to stick with just the sheet music and paint has limited my choices. And in some ways made it easier. It forces me to find solutions with the materials I have. No distractions or wasted time pining for other papers or methods. Watching the artists on the program gives the viewer insights to the process of painting a portrait, and the decisions each one makes as they work. How they squint at their work, exhale deeply, frown, step back, and stick with it. It's inspiring to watch them overcome doubt and move forward. It's got me thinking about how I create my collage art, the shapes I cut, how I paint the paper. How much detail I add ... or omit. This is a new collage, with snippets of painted, cut, and torn papers coming together, in unexpected ways, for a new project. Nothing is permanent, yet. And there's a long way to go. But new ideas, thoughts, and techniques are pushing through the underbrush, revealing themselves bit by bit. Just as the portrait sitters do as they come to life on the blank canvas of each and every portrait artist.  It was a good week for cats ... one got a snake, the other a mouse. It was by chance i saw them whisking away their prey. Two cats, two different days in broad daylight ... the pride of the neighborhood. ------------------------ The cat with the snake was the first one I saw. The one with the mouse was second, and for some reason more difficult to watch. Was it because I imagined the mouse as cute and fuzzy? And snakes are not? Domesticated cats don't need to hunt, but the instinct remains strong. These two carried off their prey with heads held high, eyes darting left and right, wary for whatever and whoever might be watching them. When I told my neighbor I saw her cat carrying a snake, she said, "Really, he's never been hunter." Well, he is now.  This one's different.
It's a journal, but this one's only for the good stuff.  It's a good way to start a letter ... with a story. I'd also write about the crocus. They're blooming(!) in small spaces, with just two or three flowers, and in mass plantings that blanket the ground. What a welcome sight. But the owl. That's the story of the day. It's wingspan, nearly 4 feet wide (I checked), was what caught my eye. It flew though the trees, with not a sound to give it away, circled back and landed on a branch, close to the trunk of the tree, and faced us. Bird watching us watch it. What a sight. So I'll use the story in a letter. April is just two days away, and with it comes Nat'l Card and Letter Writing Month. Give it a try, because as much as the people I write to might enjoy getting mail, writing and sending mail can be equally gratifying. It's another way to say hello. What if you don't have an owl story? Imagine you're sitting across the table from the person you're writing to. What would you say? Write about that new recipe you tried, a program you're enjoying, or that project you're working on. That's what I do. And send it. Because people love getting mail, they really do. People also love stories, and you've got some good ones.  Want more help? Grab a copy today!  With their
belted parkas, buffalo plaids, fleece collars, and quilted hoodies fashion-forward pound puppies, pugs, terriers, hounds, and retrievers prance and strut the sidewalk like it's Fashion Week. As they brace against winter's cold in their canine couture, they set tongues, and tails, to wagging. ----------------- While winter is suppose to be cold, this winter has been unusually cold. Below average temperatures, with windchill temperatures dipping into the single digits. It's no wonder we're seeing more dogs wearing jackets. No doubt the jackets helps keep the dogs warm , but something tells me the fashion is more for the person at the other end of the lease.  the overnight storm fills the sky with snow and and blankets the ground in white, lighting the night like a full moon lantern When I woke during the night, the room was filled with soft light and the windows had a glow about them. I knew it wasn't the moon, it was obscured by cloud cover. It was snow in the air, on the trees, and the ground illuminating the landscape.
When something catches your attention, use it as a prompt, a way to capture the moment ... with a photograph, a drawing, or in this case, collage+poetry. It's a short poem and a simple collage. Simplicity can sometimes break the barrier to creativity and give you a place to begin. Start small, and see what happens.  What are you working on?
The thing about telling people what you're doing is ... they ask about it. And that's good. It can motivate you to keep going, offer a push when you're in a lull, or even bolster your confidence knowing someone is interested. But it also means you'll probably want to finish whatever that thing is. To keep the promise you made ... mostly to yourself. A few good things Over the last few years I have maintained a journal to list of a few good things about the day. It's a simple, but interesting exercise. Some days it's easy: Wordle in two (rare and very exciting), pepper jelly with cheddar cheese on a cracker, or Ollie the orange cat rolling on the sun-warmed winter driveway. But other days, it takes a bit. The journal sits on a side table along with a pen to remind me to make my entries. The so-so, or not-so good days, are when it's most rewarding. When it's most helpful. Because it forces me to think beyond the worry, the mistakes, and the mishaps. To re-examine my day and find a few good things, despite it all. And they're always there. The pattern the blinds make on the wall when the afternoon sun comes around; the surprising, fresh scent of a cucumber when it's sliced; or the person who paused and waited to hold the door for me as we entered the store. Thinking about a few good things is helpful, but writing them down helps to solidify the goodness. Page after page after page. I've mentioned the botanical journal in earlier emails because I want to share the idea with you, so you can list a few good things about your day, too. After mulling over how to illustrate it, a botanical theme seemed most fitting. Can't see the forest for the trees This week I struggled to measure where I am with the project. Too many pieces, nothing holding them all together. So I taped some of the illustrations to wall and began to think ... about the page order, and whether or not the pages should be lined, blank, or a combination; whether or not it should be strictly collage, or mixed with line drawings. More collage pages with the black background? Lots of questions. I'll get to all of them eventually, and keep going. When will it be ready? Not as soon as I'd hoped. I thought it would be done by now, so I'm shooting for the end of the month. I'll keep you posted. Tell me about a project you're working on ... and what do you think, more pages with the black background?  That's what I told myself
last week: use your imagination. My floral collage work was stalled. I'd finished themost recent and wasn't sure what to do next. Until I saw a story on wallpaper. The designs were fanciful and the colors were, let's say, creative. While the floral shapes were representative of flowers and greenery one might recognize, they were rendered in colors that were bold and daring. Different from what's expected. And it opened my mind to new ideas and color combinations. I pawed through my stash of painted papers, pulled a deep blue and beige (which frankly I thought I'd never use so a prominently), and decided that would be it. Just two colors for this collage. The collage is nearly done, and when I look at it, I'm reminded that sometimes being stalled can be helpful. With an idea in mind, even one that is stalled, your brain will keep working on it. New information will register and steer you toward new solutions. If you've got a project where progress is slower than you'd like, take a break and look around. Something might catch your eye, change your perspective, and set you on a new path.  IS IT WORTHY?
Does the dandelion know it's the dandy of the dinner plate, revered for its nutritional and medicinal properties? Or that it's a weed? A flower reviled by landscapers and gardeners alike? Hardly. The dandelion grows ... thrives even, in the crack of a sidewalk, the vacant lot, and the lush green grass. Persistent, resilient, and radiant until it becomes a puffball of seeds carrying wishes and dreams with the wind. ------ When I considered a collage of the dandelion for inclusion in the upcoming floral journal, I wondered if readers might wonder if it was worthy. If you'd think it was worthy. It is after all, a simple, common flower. It's not a showy flower like the cosmos, the dahlia, or the sunflower. But true to its nature, it took root and lingered in my thoughts until it became clear ... it is worthy. A symbol of persistence and grit and beauty. Still a work in progress, my collage is inspired by collage artist Mary Delaney; set against a black background, its simplicity shines.  The flock of birders stood shoulder to shoulder along the edge of the pond.
With binoculars held high, they zoomed in and listened to the whispers and murmurations, examined their crossbill beaks and fanciful feathers. When a man on the edge of the group lowered his binoculars, I sidled up to him and asked, what are you looking at? Unruffled by my presence, he turned and said, "Absolutely nothing," and we laughed. Like me, he was not a birder. He was a fisherman surfing on the wing of the avid birder to his right. Caught in the crosswinds of the spring migration, we joined the flock, and under the wing of our eagle-eyed guide and his dancing green light, we found ourselves flitting from tree to tree, branch to branch, and bird to bird. Deep in camouflage we zoomed in on the yellow-throated warbler, scarlet tanager, a crow-size Cooper's Hawk, and speckled wood thrush. The great egret and its reflection in the morning's still, dark waters seemed more painterly than real, and the unblinking black-crowned night heron's regal pose was magnified in our guide's sighting scope. When the sounds of a nearby construction site crashed through the birdsong, one birder commented that what we'd just heard might be the sound of a pile-driving plover. What a lark! ------ Writing notes: Writing this story soon after the event made it easier to remember small details. If you're not able to write about an event shortly after it happens, try making notes for later. Writer Anne Lamont likes index cards. She carries a set of cards with her and makes brief notations about events, overheard conversations, and thoughts that come to her when she's out and about. Some she uses right away, some not until years later. Think about how you can capture what matters before it takes flight. Try different methods to find what works: notes on your phone, a small notebook, or like Anne Lamont, index cards. And ... a word about using idioms, clichés, and common phrases. There were just too many to ignore. Yes, this story is filled with common bird phrases, cliché, and idioms, but they are used in a tongue-and-cheek manner. Unless you're doing something similar, take the time to write your story using your own words. In most cases, your words will be more interesting and have more impact.  A month of distractions
In January, when shorter days lead to restless evenings When watching and reading turn to too much ... too much watching too much reading When my mind and hands are hungry for activity even though I'm feeling lazy I need something to do, but just a snack, thank you A little something that's not too much of a commitment, but interesting enough to engage I grab a pen and a notebook and sketch something And it's no good It never is and I wonder why I keep trying Something's off ... always And I never have the patience or interest to do any better So I cover it with what does feel good and better ... collage Leaf after leaf branch after branch it comes together I get lost in the colors, the process, and when I'm done, I rinse my sticky fingers and step away from the table  Butterflies in your stomach? Though The Great British Baking Off and its spinoff, Junior Bake Off, have been broadcast for sometime, only recently have I settled in to watch more than just an episode here and there. I'm hooked. Part of the appeal is how cheerful it is. Some of it comes from the setting ... an open-air tent on a green lawn, the bright colors on the mixers, and generous dash of humor offered by the comedians who banter with the bakers. But there's more to it. There's the grit and determination of the bakers themselves. Especially the junior bakers. When the dough doesn't rise, the caramel burns, or the cake topples, they hang in there. And start over. Again and again. What looks like a looming disaster is somehow salvaged and sometimes, turned into a show-stopping winner. Tomorrow the calendar recognizes Idiom Week and when I searched for idioms, "butterflies in your stomach" caught my eye. The bakers start each competition with butterflies in their stomachs. They're nervous and excited ... each and every time. And they keep going. It's a good reminder to viewers like you and me to hang in there. To keep going ... even when we're not sure how. To try new things. I'm still struggling with the making of my solitaire book and box, but I'm not going to stop ... though I've been tempted. One of the biggest challenges was to find a way to make a box that would hold both the book and a deck of cards ... and I finally figured it out.  A well for the cards to sit in, with the book sitting on top of the well. That had me stumped for a while, too ... until I realized I could measure and make a dummy version to test it.
There have been a lot of heavy sighs and there's still a lot of figuring to be done, but I'm determined. Are you working on a project that's got you frustrated or stumped? A sentence, paragraph, or chapter that won't come together? A dropped stitch in a knitting project? A painting, skiing, or woodworking technique you just can't grasp? Keep trying ... and like the bakers, you'll get there.  How one thing leads to another ... I've been struggling with a project, so I've done some research and reading, and more research and more reading. And I'm starting to feel as though I'm going around in circles. Because I am. I'm not sure who said, "The answers are in the work," but I know it's true. I also know the hard part is starting the work. Though I'm still uncertain, I've decided it's time to start. Anywhere. To grab at that idea that hangs like a loose thread and see where it takes me. When I set out to write today's email, I toyed with the idea of World Jellyfish Day listed for Friday, but aside from seeing one or two floating in the water while swimming in the ocean (eek!), what do I know about jellyfish? So I decided on a nature theme to recognize Saturday's Nat'l Play Outside Day. I gathered leaves, pinecones, pine needles, and dried flowers to make a natural mandala, didn't like what I created, and scrapped that idea. But the leaves I collected did merit a second look, so I created the leaf pattern above. They are all from the same tree, but all so different. Much like all of us. While the pattern of leaves on the black background was striking, I wanted more. And that is when then the pieces (the black paper, the yellow leaves and pine needles) came together to form an idea ... and a jellyfish. A bit abstract, but still, a jellyfish.  Be the jellyfish ...
When jellyfish were still an idea, I read a bit about them and was reminded of their bioluminescence ... they light themselves up in the deepest, darkest water. As I discovered with my foraged materials, once we start, one thing leads to another, and then, like the jellyfish, we create our own light. Our own bioluminescence. It can be difficult to get started, but once you do, your light will shine. -------- p.s. After collecting and working with the pinecones and pine needles, my hands were covered in sap. Even if you're not a fan of Wednesday's Nat'l Peanut Butter Lovers Month, you may be interested in knowing it's a handy cleaning agent. Washing up with soap and water doesn't cut through pine sap. But ... peanut butter (or almond butter) does.  It's hard to know how long it took
It wasn't until the warm spring air arrived and it was time to exchange our bulky coats, gloves, and hats for lighter jackets and longer days that I had any inkling something had been happening. On my first trip into the attic, my eye caught the bright orange draft snake on the floor just inside the door. Something was different, but I wasn't sure what. Was that a dust bunny on the left end of the draft snake? I wasn't surprised at the sight of it, it had been a long winter and trips to the attic were few. On my second trip, I saw another, right in the center of the long tube. Once again, with arms laden with winter wool, I stepped over it. But something wasn't right. When I came down from the attic the second time, I bent over to take a closer look. It wasn't one dust bunny, or two ... there were holes in the fabric. The finely shredded threads feathering the edge of the holes had tricked me. The tube, still holding its shape, was empty ... of the hundreds (or more likely thousands) of split peas I'd poured into the tube to stop the draft. One, two, or more(?) mice had chewed through one end of the draft snake to get at the peas. Once they reached the middle, they chewed another hole. Less time in the tube, more time for removing the peas. But where to? How long did it take? Did they eat them? Share them? Hoard them? It remains a mystery. There were no split peas to be seen or found. Not one. Anywhere. And no mice. We never saw them, found mouse droppings, or heard them ... quiet as a mouse. Until we set a trap.  I was restless and it was late ... far too late to be making noise, so my options were limited when I grabbed the deck of cards that sits on the bookshelf for someday or sometime it was a surprising move because really, they don't get much use, but I thought ... Solitaire, I'll play, Solitaire the cards, still like new, were stiff and slippery, hard to shuffle, and I couldn't remember all the rules so I faked it and won and thought, that was easy too easy so I searched for instructions and found it wasn't so easy after all game after game I lost until I was no longer restless, but tired, and went to bed and played again the next day, and the next and lost again and again and again until yesterday after days and weeks of following the rules ... I aced it on a quiet evening with a full house ----------- While I didn't have a lot to say about playing Solitaire, I wanted to write a short piece about how calming it was to shuffle the cards and how sticking with it (finally) gave me the reward of winning. Solitaire is a good game when you're not sure what to do. Playing with playing cards vs. online adds a physical dimension and allows for less screen time. Here's how to play.  We were steps into our walk on the low-tide beach when I spotted a large clam. A clam as big as a softball, left high and dry when the tide went out. Clamming up When I picked up the clam for a closer look, I marveled at its response ... a slow-motion closing of the gap between its two halves. What was an already narrow gap closed and the clam pulled itself together. It was alive. I walked to the water's edge and tossed it into the ocean withthe gratification of having done a good deed ... little did I know it was not the only clam left behind. A wicked storm The day before we'd had a wicked storm. High winds and crashing waves. Farther down the beach we saw another, then a few more. They were tossed and tumbled by the surf, spit from the ocean, forming a line as far as we could see. There were hundreds of them. Atlantic surf clams sometimes known as bar clams, hen clams, skimmers, and sea clams.  I'd tossed one back into the ocean, but there so many ... too many to toss into the sea. Would it be the right thing to do, anyway? How long would they survive out of water? We didn't have answers to the questions we were asking ourselves. But the questions kept coming Without the storm surge, would the returning tide come in far enough to pull them back into the sea? We weren't sure. Nature's way So we did what we knew best ... let nature do what it does. Tumble, toss, and confound us with its power, destruction ... and beauty. Just as it did on that blue-sky day after the storm when it offered an all-day clam buffet ... to the seagulls.  |
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