The Moments in Between

It is my belief that the moments in between are what tell our stories in a way that the bigger, flashier moments can't quite grasp- A formation of clouds brief and fleeting against a startling blue sky.

A small waterfall, flowing over rock and moss, snow and ice as the earth awakens.

 An indoor garden, the plants lovingly tucked into the soil of their new home (just like us).

These are where we tell our stories, in these small moments that give way to hope and to what my mother calls the little thank yous everywhere. It begs us to ask ourselves what our moments in between look like.....

Oh Those Kids- What's a Girl to Do?

As some may recall, one of my favorite parts of moving to land to homestead was that I could, once again, keep goats- my favorites being Nubians with their gentle playfulness and their giant floppy ears.

Without a barn, things were pushed back for the spring and summer but I still had dreams.-- Well, that was the original plan until we realized that the barn might not be up until August (hopefully way before then) and the poison ivy by the river and other brush would be up and well established- and probably procreating- by then and we needed goats to get ahead of that.

So, we started looking- we figured that if we found one early, we could build a temporary goat shelter out of the numerous pallets we have been collecting for our eco-barn and use tarps to wrap it up nice and wind proof- not pretty but workable.

Looking for a goat without spending well over $100 is pretty challenging. It really is. I thought we could find a free or very cheaply priced goat that was healthy, easily, but everyone scooped them up - if there were any- before we reached the ad. That is, until we saw a small ad on a local website that listed a wether who would be ready when he weaned from his mother in a couple months. We jumped and two days later were cuddling the little fella and saying "Yes please!" to the kind farmer and his family.

I asked all the questions about CAE & CL and worming and shots and all the technicalities that goat keepers keep track of. The buck was sweet as was the doe (these being the parents) and our little guy- he just wanted to be held and cuddled- and to nurse, of course. So, we rejoiced as we headed home, leaving him behind in the pin with his sister and mother. We had 2 months to build a shelter and find a companion for him- you can't have just one- they are very social-- so we made plans. We laid out the goat pen and designed the pallet moveable shelter and then we looked for a companion.

We started looking again but this time, thinking that if we could find a doe, this one with good milk line, we could wait to breed her and then we could have fresh milk and make cheese again. But finding a doe- let alone a Nubian- was not only challenging but expensive (oh that elusive money!) and then WHAM! I saw her one evening online (thank you Craig's List)- she was darling and so I called- and she was reserved. I left my number, just in case, and then, the following day in the midst of inventory building, I got a call saying "If you want her, come and get her."

I have never raised a bottle-fed baby of any sort, being a staunch supporter of extended breastfeeding and natural parenting, so it is odd that I would adopt a goat of only 4 days old who would be nursing on her mother (if left to do as nature intended) for another 2 months, at least. But I knew that if I didn't take her, someone else would. Frantic and suddenly terrified, I called my husband. There wasn't even a moment of hesitation as he gave me a big "What are you waiting for- go get her! We'll make it work!" and I was off like a shooting star- with a laundry basket by my side.

And so, there is one waiting with his mother on a farm not too far away- for the day he will join us here. We plan visits with him at least once a week if not more.- And there is one leaping and bounding in our kitchen and following us around as she gets used to these smooth floors and bleats to us when she doesn't know where we are (goodness forbid that we would dare to visit the bathroom!). She plays with the cats and drinks from a beer bottle (what a lush!) with a nipple on the end.

And us? Well, as things fall into place and we wait for things to settle in, we are doing fine, taking each moment in with gratitude and playing with our cats, our dogs, our guinea pigs and our goats- as we make soup, beans and rice and play board games or tell stories (and write them!). I am thanking the Universe for this cornucopia of gifts and finding peace and trying to practice trust in this path we are on. Certainly something spectacular is happening and all will be well, I just have to trust in this divine path......

Making Do With What You've Got

I'm sure you've heard that one before. But it takes on so many new meanings throughout life. With our change of location came a serious (and, admittedly, scary) change of finances. And that certainly forces creativity on a new level. Where, before, it was fun and funded (mostly), now it is a find and make art situation.
The project I recently faced was a revamp of the kitchen. We hadn't really organized it- 7 months ago when the moving truck showed up, I sort of unpacked and shoved things around. Then, when the hubby arrived, I waited for him to make it into what he needed- since he is the chef. But a few days ago, I got the itch- a serious itch. So I unloaded everything and started fresh- with the help of a new soul friend egging me on and hauling butt on those cupboards.

With drawers and cupboard re-organized, I looked at the drawer, once the holder of all things silverware, newly organized with my overstock tea (yes, I have an addiction- can you ever have enough tea?) and then to the counter- now full of homeless silverware.
I wanted to do something creative, something that was both practical and funky. So, I pulled some cans from my recent obsession with coconut milk banana shakes and washed them thoroughly and hammered down any sharp edges.
And then, you'll never guess-- then, I pulled out Mod Podge and fabric- I know-- GASP!! I bet you didn't see that one coming- Hehehehehehe. And I sat down and decoupaged them. I cut out a little fabric spoon, fork and knife and put those on the cans so that they were "labeled" and then I let them dry. And when they were, I loaded them and put them on the counter (which still has it's characteristic squeak because it still isn't properly attached- we'll get there) and just like that my kitchen had some funky matching action.

Next up? Well, a pot rack I designed- designed with desperation and some serious form meets function action- well, I hope- we haven't made it yet- but I see it in my head- that counts, doesn't it?
Did I mention we are also busy drawing property layouts for this little farmlette? Where will the garden go? Where will the barn? What about the berries and grapes? And the orchard?
 Oh there are things to be done!

The Power of Birthday Wishes

I have been wondering recently about the power of a birthday wish.
Here is this special day when someone entered into this plane on this planet and with all that behind it, the wishes seem particularly potent.
I've wished for so many things that seem to come about most often when they are birthday wishes- look at this past year when I wished for a small piece of land with an amazing house and WHAM! There it was, falling into place.
It makes me wonder how often we utilize our powers of manifestation and how often we don't. How often do we plant little seeds of "can't" and "won't" and "don't" along with "I wish" or "I will" or "I could"?
"I could start a business." but inside there is a little "Well, maybe- if you have time and if people decide they want what you make." or you might say "I will move this year." but with that comes a little bit of "Yeah, if you can find a job and an affordable place. Maybe."
But I don't know how much time we actually spend just dream something into fruition and reality. How often do we just sit with our dreams and trace the path to attainment?

At least for me, it isn't very often. I mostly find myself doing the "Well maybe but so many things can go wrong. We do live in a litigious society." or "No one is going to buy that." or, more commonly, "You can't- it just won't work for you."
There seems to be this piece in the back our minds that only comes forward long enough to shoot ourselves in the foot with "reality" and "logic" before retreating with an "I told you so" just as things start to fall apart.
But that birthday wish- the unadulterated wishing that children do on a star or an eye lash - the kind that asks for a horse or to be an astronaut or some crazy sought after toy. That is the kind of wish that can start the ball rolling, and, perhaps, if we let it, it will blossom into something more. Perhaps, we won't wake up to find a unicorn nuzzling our hair but perhaps something else will come-  something that adds up to that thing we are so wishing for.
We just won't know until we relearn the art of wishing and hoping with child-like abandon and enthusiasm.....

Mom- You Don't Get It!

With four children in the house, you bet I hear those words a lot. They're said with emphasis on  "Mom" which is drawn out into a two syllable word in an exasperated tone.

"Mo--om, you don't get it! I'm the only one!"

Now, with that one phrase you can insert so many endings:
"the only one":

-without a cell phone
-without my own laptop
-without unlimited computer and email use
-who doesn't have an airsoft gun
-who isn't allowed to walk into town by themselves
-who doesn't play video games (you may remember that conversation from this post)
-who doesn't get to be on Facebook all the time
-and, a personal favorite because it was said in these particular words just the other day, "who doesn't get to watch graphically violent movies and play graphically violent video games."
Yes, that is an actual direct quote.

First off, I'd like to give a shout out to my son's superb vocabulary and use of the English language. He speaks so well and clearly- even if we are butting heads. And second I want to say:
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"
Now, that that's out of the way, I can say, that it is so hard to tow the line between our current society and culture's obsession with being constantly connected to technology and our family's belief that we don't need to be- even as we struggle with the reality that we feel the draw.
Since my husband and I were both raised without telly and video games, we both feel that strange pull that a forbidden thing can hold. For me it was always television and Lucky Charms.
I know, right?
But I was the kid eating homemade granola and fresh made yoghurt while the other kids were horking down Twinkies and Lucky Charms every day. So, when I finally moved out to live on my own, I found myself in the cereal aisle staring down the Lucky Charms, a mixture of severe craving, guilt and drool taking over.
I bought a box and some milk and went home -and ate until there was nothing left. Yes, disgusting, I know- but I loved them- every single bite.

I was the only one who ate homemade bread and natural peanut butter and homemade apple butter.
I was the only one with wool tights and long johns while other children wore t-shirts in the dead of winter.
I was the only one who wasn't allowed to watch Dirty Dancing when it came out (when I was still in grammar school).
I was the only one who made all the Christmas gifts for their family every single year while everyone else got to buy them.
I was the only one who wasn't allowed to watch television every day after school and all weekend. And, I was the only one who only knew what Mario Bros looked like only because I had seen pictures but never actually played.
Even in high school- I was the only one.

Of course I wasn't the only one- but it felt like it. Sometimes that uniqueness feels painful and lonely. But we aren't really alone. There is always someone in our tribe- unique and not quite in the flow of the main stream- slipping slowly along on an entirely different eddy than everyone else. We do find each other, eventually- all those people who feel so alone. And, if we make the time and space, we will also find a common ground with the diversity of people around us.

So, when my children come in that door wailing about how unfair it is that they are the only ones without all these gadgets and gizmos and privileges, sometimes I try to have them count their blessings but mostly, I let them rant it out. Because they are feeling their own uniqueness and that feeling of being the only one is a most exquisite feeling and so often is masked by a sense of loneliness.

So I will say to them:
"Yes, you are the only one - the only one of you, right now, in this moment, on this planet, right now. You are the only one-- and you're not.
"I know I seem like I don't get it but I do. I remember so many of these things and I am trying to find my way through this guidance role I have taken on with the stars and my gut to guide me. Your tribe will come- part of it is already here- and more will come, you will call them in without even realizing it and when you do, you can say, 'You weren't allowed to play graphically violent video games, either!?? I thought I was the only one.' in complete astonishment as they say, 'Nope. Funny, all this time, I thought I was the only one.'
"And you can laugh.
"You are never alone. Unique, yes- but never alone.-- and no, you still can't have a cell phone."

80's Hair

No, I'm not talking that charm of a slightly blue rinse- which, by the way, I think I will rock at some point when I am white-haired and wrinkled in the most charming way possible. No, I'm speaking of one of the quotes that came my way on the ride home.

It was snowing- nice and hard, making the world clean and new and quiet and we were chatting. Well, I was concentrating on driving safely (and very slowly) while the children visited about their day when the following conversation took place:

"Hey Mom, did you love the 80's?- You know, all that style."
Flashes of a young Madonna leapt to mind.
I laughed a bit, "Well, I was quite young so I wasn't really full throttle in the fashion, culture side of it- it was the 90's before I really noticed fashion."
"Oh," my oldest daughter said, "Huh, well Bobby's mom must have really loved it because her hair is really big just like in the 80's- like three feet tall big. She looks like she is still loving the 80's."
I laughed, I couldn't help it. And I had to wonder who Bobby's mom was. Some people can really rock that look while others (like me) look sadly outdated.

After our recent excursion into the world of coming of age movies such as Footloose (the original, mind you) my oldest daughter has been very interested in the fashion of days past. Yes, we wear leg warmers- it is 20 degrees outside on a warm day- of course we do! But, she also does it because it is very chic to her.

Her next request is to watch FAME, a movie that I don't know if I have ever seen all the way through so I will have to preview it. Again, we are talking the original here.

It is always startling to look through the ages of fashion and see the trends that we humans have adopted- super tan, pale- small hats, big brimmed hats- puffed sleeves, long sleeves, no sleeves- big breasts, small breasts, no breasts- slim hips, giant wire accentuated hips- long hair, short hair, no hair- tight clothing, loose clothing- high waists, low waists, no waists- flat shoes, high-heeled shoes- our whims as a society and our expression of what we perceive in that moment of our history to be "beauty", has changed over and over. And it continues to do so until we recycle versions of each thing we have worn throughout the ages in some way or another. What a fascinating species we are!
(Bobby's name has been changed not only because I don't remember it but because, on the off chance that anyone ever reads the posts I write, and thinks that maybe they have fantastic 80's hair, I want to keep it anonymous.)

This Time of Year

 At the beginning of the year, there is that feeling, that in breath and holding pattern that occurs as we enter into this in between stage. It is the only time of year I can think of that feels this way. As we hit March, even if it feels as wintery as ever, there is that knowledge that Spring is well on the way.

The summer is that giant out breath- the warmth and light and expansion as people take to the outdoors and revel in the goodness of the greenery and plenty around us. When Autumn comes, there is a coolness in the air and an energy that sparks an awareness and clarity and, when the wind hits us just right there is that moment when you feel you might take flight with the geese over head. Then, with the beginning of winter, there is the excitement of the holidays, holding wonder and promise.
But January & February feel different, they are the thickest part of winter and everything is muffled by snow (in these northern parts, at least) and the world is blanketed in white (well, some of the time). Sometimes, depression can creep up (I know it does for me at times) trying to nestle in and take hold in the quiet and cold.

But, mostly, I feel that there is a silence that comes on tiny feet to rest in one's soul. And I wonder why I so often seek to turn from this chance when, if I sit still enough for long enough, that silence might take hold, settling me into a time of rejuvenation that will serve to prepare my soul for the coming days and seasons.

Several of the Differences Between Here and There

 

You know what I'm talking about- we're here now but before we were there.
 I won't list pros and cons- not about this, not when it is a cultural thing. I will only take a moment to look at the differences.
There's, of course, the famous accent, a bit of twang, a bit of slang and a slight mountain-people sound to the language. It is quite delicious, actually. I have been given to understand that if I add the single word "wicked" to my vocabulary, I will fit right in.
The funny thing is, I'm not sure I want to. It has nothing to do with not wanting to be "one of them" or "sound like I'm from around these parts" and has more to do with the fact that I like all the places I've lived. I love the mix of soils in my blood and the way they combine to make up my experiences.
My children were born there, not here and I want to hold that space so they won't lose that piece. We chose that city- we chose it for its feeling of town camaraderie.

There was rich experience of the mix of different cultures and orientations.
There is where the fact that anything went was celebrated.
There has the slogan "Keep it Weird" and everyone smiled and laughed and accepted the individual strangeness and uniqueness we each have.
There they had the good food- the food that makes your toes curl and your eyes roll back in your head in ecstasy.
There was the land of good coffee, gray weather and a million different grocery stores and variety and affordable prices.
There was where the land was a giant melting pot that was a beautiful celebration of life and diversity.
There is a place where there are so many people, so many different experiences and the world is open and big and exciting.
There is my favorite city and a place that will forever live in my heart.
But, we didn't want city, we wanted stars at night and the howl of coyotes (hopefully not after our livestock). We wanted a barn with chickens and geese and ducks and a sheep, a goat and a pig (and no, they don't walk into a bar) and we wanted a slower pace, a more focused intent to live simply and smaller bills. So we are here.

Here is where the entire town of 1200 people throw a Halloween party- the entire town.
Here is where, for Christmas, Santa comes to the town hall and, again, the entire town shows up and every child sits on his lap and receives an wrapped gift while their parents eat and visit and decorate wreaths and evergreen bunches and make ornaments.
Here is where neighbors know each other and split wood together, where they laugh and joke and everyone smiles and waves- everyone.
Here is where despite differences everyone bans together because people need each other.
Here is where the stars are clear and bright and the sun shines even when the ground is covered in snow.
Here is where you make your own good food because there aren't restaurants.
Here is where the grocery stores are fewer and farther between and the prices are higher but the people who work there, know you and ask about your family.
Here the world is a smaller place.
Here is where everyone in surrounding towns show up for the middle school basketball game because that's live entertainment.
Sometimes I wonder if we have gone back in time- more in the Pleasantville sort of way than a women-shouldn't-vote sort of way.

The world we lived in before, the children had seen elephants and primates at the zoo. They had played with the gadgets and gizmos at the science museum and many had enjoyed the paintings and sculptures at the art museum. In this world, the art is the nature around you and in the words you read and speak or hear, the art is something you and your friends make. The zoo is in the animals that are both wild and domestic in your yard and in the yards around you. And the science museum, that is found in the gadgets and gizmos you learn to use working in the field, house and barn and the things you invent while playing outside.
In this world, the simplicity of a thermometer and it's ability to go up and down with the changes in temperature is something you have time to really wonder at as you put your coat on and head out to sled under the full moon.

The Joys of Needlepoint- Yeah, That's Right, I Said Needlepoint!

I'm an obsessed woman. For many years, I have coveted the old art of needlepoint.
I knew how to do it, the mechanics of it, but I'd never done it.
In my grandmother's house, when I was little, there was a giant tapestry- seriously, it was BIG. It hung in the living room over the sofa in the big log cabin when I was very little and, later, in a different house, in the den. It was a needlepoint from the Lady and the Unicorn series, this particular one was "Desire".
My mother made it before I was born. She'd bought it in Italy and spent four years completing it (on and off). I loved it.
Under this gorgeous banner, my grandmother would bring out a tiny silver tea set and we would have tea and I would share my cup and saucer with the stuffed horse I'd named "Preppy" that my grandmother kept in the house for me to play with. Preppy now lives with my mother and my children play with her when we visit and now that tapestry hangs in my mother's house.
I've always loved it but it never really ocurred to me that I could make one too and then a friend came over and sat there doing needlepoint on a scroll frame and flowers blossomed under her finger tips and wool yarn in a hundred colors filled her bag --and I fell in love.

On a trip to Goodwill, I found a kit, it was started but mostly unfinished and it was $2 so I bought it. It wasn't something that I would necessarily hang on my wall. It was small and it was of a macaw. It screamed Golden Girls- but I wanted to needlepoint, so I did. The yarn kept breaking and I grew frustrated until my friend explained that the yarn was old and I would need to buy more and since I wasn't invested in the finished project, I scrapped it.
But I still coveted. I didn't want a cheesy puppy or kitten, I wanted real art- Da Vinci or Lady and the Unicorn-- classic pieces-- or something wild and wonderful- but not Hallmark or Precious Moments style- not because there's something wrong with them- they're just not my style.
I found a counted cross stitch, something I had never done before and didn't entirely understand. It was $4 and new and complete and I got it- it was a peacock and a spider and I knew I could alter it to be something I would like more. So, I dove in, slightly intimidated by the tiny size of the aida cloth and even more intimidated at how many times I had to unfold it before it was completely open.

And then, on Solstice, my mother arrived with a gift sent all the way from England and when I opened it, I found the most amazing Solstice-celebrating needlepoint I'd ever seen. It was the first in a six part series that I now hope to collect and complete. To date, I have finish a the first fifth of it -- and I work on it all the time.
Between needlepoint, knitting, lace work (don't get too excited, I make it up as I go), sewing, needle felting (sculptures and wool paintings), spinning, crochet and cross stitch, it is hard to get to all of it and still go to work, fill any orders I might get and be a decent mother and partner. So, I stay up late and sneak time with all these handwork lovers and achieve what I can in those stolen moments. Sometimes I wonder what it was like when this was what the days were like, needlepoint and handwork arts and if I would have loved living then or whether I would have wished for something different.......

I'm Sorry, I Don't DO New Year's Resolutions

I know, that title is definitely a little bitchy- it can easily be said with the attitude of a hormone driven teenager, incensed by their parents' suggestion.
But, I'm not a teenager (well, on the surface) and I don't do resolutions.
I remember the first time someone told me about them, I was so small, a little slip of a girl (which is a whimsical way of saying "shorter and younger than I am now but with the same attitude) and I thought, "Wow, how exciting!"
I made them every year when I was younger:
"This year I will take a walk every day."
"This year I will get up every morning early and make mom breakfast."
"This year I will learn to do a split."
"This year I will run a mile every day."
"This year I will lose 20 pounds."
"This year I will be a more compassionate mother who speaks quietly and in constantly calm tones."
"This year I will be unflappable."
"This year....."
You get the picture.

The thing is, year after year after year, I disappointed myself. All those lofty goals and expectations, left a wake of un-acquired goals and each year, I lost a little more faith in myself. Even as I saw people around me not quite meeting their marks, they did far better than I did and little by little I felt worse about myself.
So, when last year rolled around, I thought, "If the Mayans are right, I could be far more evolved by the end of this year and if Western Culture's shock-factor approach to the Mayan calendar is correct, there might be an apocalypse and I may not be here at all. Either way, I should probably get my butt in gear."
So I chose one thing but NOT as a resolution. I chose it as a daily practice and I put as little emphasis on it as possible.
And one day at a time, like every thing else in this life, I did this one thing. I missed some days but, with a determination I didn't realize I had, I kept at it.
I don't know why this year of all years I managed. I don't know why it was easier but maybe I can thank that auspicious year of 2012 for a little boost in the evolution department. And despite everything that changed and moved and revolved and resolved and all the ups and downs, I did in fact spend one year creating a daily practice. A little thing, something that someone might call "nothing" but that "nothing" changed everything just enough to reset my orbit.
So, now I am mulling over something new as one practice comes full circle.
I am leaning towards spending a year honoring my body. A strange idea and somehow selfish - though I know it's really not.

This body has grown four children- from scratch, stretching and growing to accomodate an entire human being (isn't that amazing?!) and it birthed them and nursed them -- for eleven consecutive years, I might add. And it is scarred and tattooed and sore and strong--- And it is growing older with as much grace as it can muster- and I spend no time honoring all the things it has done for me in all these years I've been blessed with, this go round on the planet.
So, perhaps it is time to honor it with a daily yoga and meditation practice.
Perhaps it is time to look in the mirror and see this skin I'm in and say, "Thank you" before moving into a sun salutation.

I Don't Know What A Title For This Post Would Be....

I was subbing the day it happened- not there, not in that school, that town, that state. But I had been surrounded by the magic of children all day. I was in that glow bubble that I get into when I teach. I was in the thick of joy when I walked in my front door and saw the candle on the mantle piece. My husband met me at the door.
"You lit a candle, that's so nice." I said, smiling up at him.
That's when I saw the pain- but before I could ask- he said, "It's for the children."
I was puzzled, "Our children? They aren't home yet- what children?"
"The ones killed- in the shooting this morning- at the school in Conneticut."
My breath left me, "No, don't say that. No!" I whispered,  as I began to shake.
That's when he told me and I started to cry.
Like so many, I remember Columbine- but I also remember others and one of the first school shootings- the one at Simon's Rock College in December of 1992. Not many people remember it or have even heard of it but I remember. I was young and I remember hearing that the woman who was checking vehicles at the gate was on the phone with her husband when she was shot. And I remember thinking how awful that must have been for her and her husband and how scared her husband must have been- helpless at the other end of the phone knowing that the one he loved needed him and he couldn't get to her, couldn't stop what was happening. I can't find any details on it now but that is how I heard it back then- when it happened 20 years ago (minus a day) from the shootings in CT.

And with Columbine, I never remembered the shooters' names but I remember sitting on the floor of my room watching our tiny tv clutching my baby son to my chest and sobbing. It was the look on the parents' faces that did it more than anything, that look on their faces as the camera's focused in on the tragedy. The look that said, "Please god, please let me wake up- this can't be happening- where is my baby?" and the look of fear and hope as they scanned the buses for their children, for the face that they held with bated breath, to see. The look on their faces when their child didn't get off the bus, that was what tore me in half- the frantic look of a parent who has lost their child. I sat there wanting to hold them close and make it better.
Years later, when a dear friend lost her daughter to SIDS at three and half months old, she told me that the firemen had to pry her daughter from her arms because she couldn't figure out how to let her go, how to function- the instinct was to scream and hold on and will life back into her child. And those firemen, strong, trained and burly, they wept as they pleaded with her, they wept- all of them- as they gently took her daughter and wrapped her up.

And there is was again, that lost look of a parent whose child is gone. That look that tears a heart in half. I dreamed for months that I found her daughter alive and well and carried her back to her mother's arms and all was right again. I dreamed it over and over again but no amount of wishing or dreaming changed it so I wrote a poem for them- about her and the gifts she had brought during her brief stay on this planet, and I gave that- a poor substitute for their baby girl, but the words were all I could find.
Months later she said, "In every language there is a word for someone who has lost their parent, in English we say 'orphan' - or someone who has lost a spouse- we say 'widow' - but no language on earth has a word for someone who has lost their child. That is how awful it is- it is unspeakable- a pain that can not be named- not in any language on earth."
I, in no way, wish to imply that there is less pain in the loss of a sibling or parent or spouse or friend. Losing anyone that you love with all the fibers of your being will tear you to pieces- there are no exceptions.
I always find myself wanting to gather those in sorrow and pain up and hold them, rock them and let them release their demons and weep with them until they have emptied themselves of the darkness and can be rekindled into light.
I want to give them back that which they have lost and make it right for them so they will no longer suffer and it is always startlingly painful that I can not do this for them. I can only weep next to them, stranger or not, and wish I was stronger and full of magic- the magic of fixing things-- Fixing the lost, the sad, the broken, the pain, the rage-- this is for both the one acting out and the ones being acted upon. I weep for all of them and that it couldn't be fixed or stopped or soothed or changed into something light and right and well. I want to fix it and make humanity well again- whether it is an individual or a country torn apart by war. I want to understand the reasons why we fight and hurt each other and why we lose something- or someone- precious-- in hopes that somehow, in that knowledge, I will know what to do to make it better, to hold peace for them so they can rest and know they are loved and held.
This race of humanity is a hard one- we strive for the light but so easily find darkness and sometimes- like The Nothing in Michael Ende's book, The Neverending Story, it takes us from ourselves, and from our loved ones- and sometimes it takes them from us and we are left keening.
So, I wrote a prayer. May this prayer ripple out- across county lines and state lines, oceans, rivers and mountains, countries and continents. May this prayer be felt in the hearts of everyone around the world so that we can know we are loved in light, so that we may heal each other:

May we all find our way back to the light together,

Helping each other to find solace when we are lost in the darkness of this magical, painful, confusing and amazingly, brilliant life. 

May we remember that the life that courses through us, connects us all.

And that in order for us to hold the light collectively, we must take the time to truly see each other.

 May we join hands in recognition of each other's individuality, and in honor of our similarities 

As we walk forward towards the light, becoming one with every step.

This is my wish, my prayer and my hope for this planet. It is my hope that this prayer can be heard around the world and answered with true peace and light from all.

More Presents? Of Course- I've Got to Get My Creative Fix!!

We are still at it- all that making of art craziness- in this house that has yet to be named. I see something- whether it is a piece of fabric or a pretty picture and suddenly I have a new idea. This time, I saw big giant dragon tears and then I saw the magnets at the dollar store and suddenly I remembered a project a few years back where the children drew tiny pictures and we Mod Podged (see- there's that indespensible Mod Podge again!) then on to the flat side of the dragon tears and then glued them on to a magnet and Wham! there was cool magnet art going on.
Inspired by the fabric covered light switch covers, we cut teeny tiny circles (well, the size of a quarter or so) and used that handy-dandy Mod Podge to put that fabric on that flat part of a giant dragon tear and once it had dried, we hot glue gunned it on to a magnet. And suddenly we could do sets- mushroom fabric light switch cover and mushroom fabric magnet!

The children got into it and had fun and we have many more to make. Up next- origami boxes to hold the magnets which will go out to local friends as gifts this holiday season.

Here a Gift, There a Gift, Everywhere a Gift, Gift

Warning: Gift spoiler alert to any family members...... Don't look if you don't want to know what you are getting for the holidays.

So much for a daily blog- "Really, I'll be on top of it- I promise! Come and read." But, uh, yes, well, things have been different. We'll use "different" because it keeps words like "good" and "bad" out of the conversation. This is not a simple situation. So much change in such short time and I am a slow processor with certain things. When thrown into a situation I can usually adapt and accommodate but with this- a life change, I am a slower adapter when it comes to the long run and the details.
I brought the enthusiasm and then I lost a little bit and a little more and things unraveled from there. But you know what started the regrouping recently? That would be the creativity needed to make gifts for family and friends.
Wracking my brain- and then I got it- Mod Podge!! I know- something I didn't know anything about as a child and since then, I have embraced.
So here is a peek at our holiday gifts- the first peek- Light Switch Covers. The switch plates were about $0.47 each (the non-breakable ones) and the fabric we had though you don't need much for these (about 3 x 5). Then there was the Mod Podge which we already had.

Using words cut from newspaper and written by hand, we Mod Podged the fabric and the words and created little works of art for our friends and family. We sealed them with a coat of polyurethane. We have other things in the works as well and I will keep posting the different treats as we create them.......
Art is one of the most healing things in the world and as far as this momma is concerned, it is a life saver.

Crazy Cabinets in the Kitchen

This old house has its issues and the kitchen which appeared in the photos to be the one room that was pretty much redone has issues too. The stick on floor tiles are popping up, the counter was never screwed down and squeaks when you lean on it and those cabinets look nice but, though solid wood (thank goodness!) are cheap and sort of, well, plain- for this momma's wild taste.
So, I considered the chalkboard paint option- one that we love, love, love but getting a bunch of colors at $13 to $15 a quart was a bit pricey on a budget that is $0. So, I went back to the drawing board. I considered painting patterns or taking panels out and inserting mesh or other things we could find to make funky door panels but then a new friend said "What about fabric?" And it evolved. What if I Mod Podged fabric on to the panel of each cabinet- except for the ones I paint with chalkboard paint?
So, the work began.

 

I carefully took each door down- some days it was one or two at a time and some days I took a bunch at a time. Between filling orders and working odd hours at my part time job, I finally finished. When I put the final coat of chalkboard paint on the three chosen panels, I sat back. The kitchen was full of color and fun and funky and suddenly everyone wanted to be in there.

The ingredients? Well, that would be: fabric, cabinet door, Mod Podge, a little cheap paint brush, foam applicator/brush thingy & polyurethane. I followed the rhythm of cutting the fabric to panel size, applying Mod Podge to the panel, carefully putting the fabric on the panel and then Mod Podging over the fabric. I did two coats of Mod Podge and once that was all done and dry, I did two coats of polyurethane. And suddenly I had cabinets that I no longer wished to replace- EVER.

As I Make My Way Back-

Back to the land of light, to the spirit of who I am and gather some of the pieces I lost- and re-establish my spiritual footprint on this good green earth, I am starting with the images that inspired and are breathing life back into me. (The incredible wood carving is done by the amazing & talented- and wonderfully kind- Ron Cowan)