Autumn

"As I pass, my friend the birch nods its head and turns slightly. Its leaves are tinged with just the slightest hint of yellow. I wonder how it will fare - autumn is coming. But the birch is having none of that. It waves its arms in rhythm with the wind. 'You worry too much, it laughs. Wait till you see the song I sing right before winter.'"

A cute alternative to a wedding card

Happy days ahead, Tessa and Mark.

A memorable experience

I've been underground for nearly one hour in a 44 degree environment. My hands are cold yet I'm sweating in my jacket because exploring this 1.7 million year old cave proves to be a bit strenuous.

Our little tour group of ten cave explorers slowly descends the slippery marble steps into the largest room of the Oregon Caves known as the 'ghost' room. After pointing out interesting features in the room, our Ranger guide allows us time to absorb the immensity of the cavern. The only sound is water dripping from calcified formations. The quietness of our surroundings is nearly palpable.

Our of our group, an older gentleman named Arnie, asks permission to play his harmonica. "Oh yes!" says Emily, our guide. "The acoustics in this room are incredible."

We quickly realize that Arnie is no amateur musician. His notes from his harmonica wail and quiver as he plays Louis Armstrong's, "It's a wonderful world".

At 220 feet below the surface of the earth where it takes 1,000 years for a stalactite to grow 1", where molten lava and and water under high pressure created this pathway deep into a mountainside, Arnie could not have chosen a better song.

and life goes on....

The task of caring for an aging (ailing) parent is gargantuan. And our (aging parent) doesn't even reside with us....

I have acquired a healthy dose of respect for all who are involved in their elderly parent's lives. The task comes with emotional potholes complete with triumphant highs and despairing lows. We comb thinning hair. We help with general hygiene and toileting. We cut food into manageable tidbits and when those tidbits cannot be managed, we spoon feed. We show up again and again because we love and because we can.

It is a tender duty filled with moments of poignancy. We laugh - a lot. Thankfully, Ellen is a good sport and laughs along with us.

Ellen has the means to afford this room in an adult family home. This picture was taken before we personalized it with a few pictures and quilts to make it feel more like home. She is safe here, fed home cooked meals and monitored closely. We feel fortunate to have found such loving and attentive care in this beautiful home.

So.... with Glynn and I feeling a bit frayed around the edges since his mom's hip fracture in March, April's terror attack in Boston, the deadly tornado in Oklahoma, not to mention the I-5 bridge collapse last week, I've certainly had my days of wanting to crawl back into bed in the morning and put the covers over my head.

I made time to create yesterday. Often I sit down with no agenda in mind and then marvel at what message my soul is attempting to communicate to my brain when I finish a piece.....

tragedy

cdn.newsday.com

Horrific violence. Lives lost. Limbs severed. Flesh punctured. Dreams shattered. And on it goes and goes and goes.

In the hours (and days) after a tragic event, we are inundated with reminders of the violent act. The same footage is shown again and again. I could likely mimic Bill Iffrig from Lake Stevens, WA as he stumbled and fell when hit by the percussion of the bomb blast while he ran the Boston marathon. But, I would rather put it out of my mind altogether.

I acknowledge and mourn the tragedy with exclamations of horror and even tears. Then, wrapping my mind around the event as best as I can, I compartmentalize it, tucking it away from of my stream of consciousness after surrounding it with healing, loving, positive thoughts.


A verse of a poem by friend, Kathleen Overby, says it well:

   I sequester myself in the garden, 

an antidote for the headlines

repeated over and over again --

as if only despair and destruction

could make the front page news.

Because life goes on and I choose to live in light and loveliness.

My sincere hope is that each living victim of the Boston marathon bombing will find a way to redeem this sad experience into something good - even if its simply recognizing the compassion and kindness and hope of the American people. 

luizberto.com

Pound cake with rhubarb compote

 So.... day 5 of 'acute' bronchitis and I'm climbing the walls out of boredom in between bouts of napping, coughing and wishing I had a new set of bronchial tubes.

Glancing through a magazine in the doctor's office yesterday I came upon this recipe.  (Yes, I'm one of those magazine page thieves. I can justify my actions.) Rhubarb delights me as does pound cake.

 

Today, the photo op of the baked product caught my eye. Subtle greys, delicate patterned china plate,  pink toned rhubarb compote. "Surely I can re-create this in water color", I mused. 

Before you form an opinion please allow me to explain that I am a water color novice with a capital "N". I know I cannot learn to paint without trying so I put on my brave girl panties and here is the finished product: 

Although it looks more like fried egg on toast with a huge splash of ketchup, I do like the fork and the plate has potential. Please notice the subtle shadowing. I'm quite proud of it. 

The next step involved replicating the dessert in real life. Lucky for me I had a few, ripe stalks of  rhubarb growing in the garden. It is as delicious as it looks.

Over thinker

I'm working on changing my habit of over thinking. It tires me.

No sooner had I posted this post when I came across this on Pinterest:  

'Nuf said.

 

Life....

We received the phone call in the wee hours of the morning the night before we were scheduled to leave on vacation. Glynn's 86 year old mother fell, breaking her hip.

Time has a way of slowing down and wrapping its edges around an event so that it becomes one's focus. Worrying about Ellen, ensuring she receives proper care, calming and comforting her consumes our time. Thankfully Elda happened to be in town visiting her mom for a few days before flying on to visit her grandchildren. Her bedside vigils have been a huge comfort to Ellen.  Elda plans to stay in Olympia for a few more weeks, until her mom's life 'normalizes'.

Surgery was successful. A heart murmur was detected and treated. This may be what has been causing her frequent dizzy spells and falls. Ellen was moved to rehab yesterday and the arduous task of getting her up and moving will begin today.

Ellen is spunky. A recent fractured rib only kept her down for two weeks. Our hope is that she will regain mobility such that she can remain in her independent living situation in her little apartment in town. We are holding our breath, knowing Ellen may have a new normal to adjust to.

Time will tell....

Here is a result of yesterday's therapy: creating.

Chicken fricasse

I'm still trending upward on the chicken raising learning curve.

I learned that introducing a rooster to the flock will help protect the hens from predators.

I learned (the hard way) that the Rhode Island Red rooster is notoriously aggressive.

courtesy of: farm6.staticflickr.com

I learned (the hard way) that carrying a shiny pan into the coop to treat my flock to leftover steel cut oats sends a message of danger: predator to the pea-sized brain of said Rhode Island Red rooster causing him to attack the back of my legs with a powerful WHOMP, causing me to drop the pan resulting in another powerful WHOMP.

My cantalope-sized brain instinctually tells me to 'let him know who's boss'  resulting in an aggressive stance on my part causing yet again one more WHOMP on the back of my legs.

Sigh.

As I walk back to the house, my tail between my legs, my mind is already creating the ad that will appear on Craigslist:  Aggressive rooster for sale. Will pay you to dispose of. 

courtesy of: l.yimg.com

While my racing heart calms, I google my latest chicken challenge and discover that although the RIR rooster is often aggressive, said aggressions manifests itself as he reaches adulthood. Since 'Randy' just recently found his voice, a rather pathetic cock-a-doodle, I realize he's nothing but a cocky, young dandy, strutting his stuff amongst his harem.

The article informs that bringing unusual items into the coop - like a shiny pan - causes his protective radar to ping.

It's all good.

To curb said aggression, one can hold the rooster in the crook of ones arm 10 minutes a day for one week. This allows rooster to learn that I, the ultimate coop master, am safe.

courtesy of:fellowshipofminds.files.wordpress.com

Stay tuned for more chicken raising adventures. Something tells me I'm in for a wild ride.

courtesy of: arcatapet.com

Enjoy the journey

Contentment

Last Saturday I experienced a fresh version of joy.

2.75 year old Cooper spent the weekend with us and when we awoke to sun, I knew Cooper would be delighted to run his little legs in the yard while I commenced cleaning my flower beds of winter's debris.

Imagine for a moment my enjoyment as Cooper willingly became my little helper; filling the wheelbarrow with dead branches, crumbling seed pods into dust, and discovering worms. He planted himself amongst  tall, dried out stalks of ornamental grass and shook them vigorously, laughing delightedly as they rattled and rustled. Cooper is just now finding his voice and he entertained me with a running commentary of melodious chatter, a diction only he can interpret.

An intense wave of tenderness toward this precious, little boy washed over me (again) that day. He has stolen this grandma's heart.

courtesy of 123rf.com

willy nilly journal

A challenge for this artist who loves order, routine and everything-in-its-proper-place is that such perfectionism hinders my creating. I find I labor over a project or page needing every brush stroke the same, each corner lined up, images proportioned properly.

This is fine and dandy if I were drafting.

But I am simply creating beauty to fill my own soul, not drawing up plans for the next downtown high rise.

I find the serendipity of the spontaneous often eludes my art. So, I'm on a continual journey, challenging myself to be a messy, finding happiness in an 'oops' or a stray paint smear.

photo courtesy of aliedwards.com

To further my education into the realm of whatever happens, happens, I completed an e-course by Mary Ann Moss (dispatchfromLA.typepad.com) in which she teaches one how to make a visual journal.

This journal is constructed with pieces of scrap fabric, bits and pieces of craft paper, ephemera, even security envelopes - anything one felt was too unique/good to throw away but has since been stashed in a drawer forgotten and unused.

Before I began the project I promised myself I would only use supplies on hand.  NO running to the craft store.

Here is the finished product. When my inner perfection demon scrunches its face now and then at a mismatch or crooked alignment I laugh it away!  Serendipity reigns and I am quite satisfied with the haphazard, anything goes look of my new journal.

I don't journal, per se. But I'm a HUGE lover of quotes and jot down snippets from books and articles which are found laying around on various surfaces, scribbled on scraps of paper. My intention is to keep this journal by my reading/computer chair and use to contain all that good wisdom.

Friend, Kathleen, helped me figure out the binding process when I visited her yesterday. I came home with three bags filled with more ephemera, lace, fabric, and doo-dads from her enormous stash.  Woot Woot! It feels like Christmas in February!

It is raining sideways today. The 'worst storm of the year'.  Considering it's only 2/22 (Nick's birthday!), that's not saying much. After errands I plan to hole up in my studio - again.  That's what winter is for, isn't it?

val·en·tine /ˈvalənˌtīn/

Many, many years ago, an early Christian saint named Valentinus was imprisoned for performing weddings for soldiers who were forbidden to marry as well as ministering to Christians, who were persecuted under the Roman Empire. During his imprisonment, he is said to have healed the daughter of his jailer. Legend states that before his execution he wrote "from your Valentine" as a farewell to her. Today, Saint Valentine's Day is an official feast day in the Anglican Communion as well as in the Lutheran Church. (thank you Wikipedia)

Since Valentinus was behind bars in a dank, dark dungeon, perhaps he bribed a guard to run to the nearest Walgreens  to purchase  a box of Russel Stover chocolates for the now healed girl. As the story goes, Valentinus healed the daughter.  Nothing is mentioned about his falling in love with her....

There is nothing wrong with fantasizing happy endings, however, so I'll continue to associate Valentine Day with little heart candies that say 'puppy love' and romantic candlelit dinners and dozens of red roses and.....

Since Valentine Day is a time to exchange tokens of affection I made some tokens from my stash of ephemera to send to a few special women in my life.

 Sweetheart Glynn's wall hanging valentine:

And the first Valentine I made for Glynn 34 years ago, a bit faded with age:

In closing, I'll leave you with a special Valentine poem written by blogger, Karen at theartofdoingstuff.com. I wholeheartedly relate to this love poem, unfortunately. It's titled, 'Carbs, a love poem':

My chicken saga continues....

A recent Sunday had tragic overtones when a hawk killed one of my two hens.  Little Lou, the survivor, was traumatized and would not venture outside the coop for a day. I either needed to find her a new home or replenish the flock. My girls bring much pleasure so I decided to start afresh...

Each Saturday there is a chicken auction in Chehalis. Although I've watched plenty of auctions on TV I've not experienced one first hand and experienced a bit of trepidation (fear of the unknown) at the thought of actually bidding, etc. But Little Lou needed companions so I pulled on my big girl panties and became a brave girl.

The auction began with eggs - dozens of them.  The auctioneer moved on to the baby chicks. Next came the rabbits. Then chickens, ducks, and even a turkey or two. Raucous describes the noise level.

We had 2.5 year old Cooper with us so as soon as the chickens came up for bid I started bidding despite eyeing a few chickens down the line that I would love in my flock. Next time.

You'd be proud of me, dear reader, holding up my #69 card, nodding quickly when the auctioneer looked my way for confirmation of a bid and giving a slight shake of my head when the bidding went too high. Within minutes I discovered that an auction can be quite addictive.  With heart pounding and adrenaline rushing, I felt The Power!

I came home with this dandy, Rhode Island Red rooster (he'll help protect the girls). I'll name him Randy for obvious reasons. Three Gold laced Wyandotes and this little buff colored hen, breed yet unknown, complete the flock.

 

 

Alas. Little Lou does NOT appreciate her new roommates and holds herself aloof. Here are the newest members of the flock crowded together in one corner of the coop while roosting at night. Little Lou chooses to roost alone on the other side of the coop. This in spite of a long roosting perch that would hold all of them.

Crazy chickens.....

There's no place like home

Last week I sat down at my studio desk and prayed to the paper crafting gods for easy-flowing inspiration to craft and complete a housewarming gift for my niece, Jennifer.

I love the completed project which, I must say, came together without a hitch (and without a trip to the craft store).

'Love builds a happy home'

The shape of the house was made with a food product box, taped together then covered with old text & mod podge.

Then the fun began!  This and that from my hoard of paper, ephemera, and fabric. The chimney, a wooden spool from Grandma Dorothy's sewing basket.

After a fun night with Jenny and husband, we went to the Junk Salvation show in Hillsboro, OR where we found (and bought) treasures to adorn our homes. If you love funky junk/re-purposed old stuff and antiques, Junk Salvation is having another event June 21 and 22nd at the Puyallup Fair Grounds.  I recommend it. It's a chick thing so have your husbands stay at home.

photo courtesy of athingforroses.blogspot.com

In closing, I want to say something about creativity.  Quite often people comment about how creative I am - as if even a smidgen of creativity evades them. I STRONGLY disagree. We all create in some way. Arranging furniture to create a comfortable space, choosing a menu that not only includes choices from different food groups but involves color and texture, plopping flowers into a pot to sit on a deck, doodling absentmindedly, color coordinating bathroom towels to match a shower curtain, gardening, sewing... the list is endless.

courtesy of leoniedawson.com

Rearranging boards on Pinterest is not a creative endeavor. Creativity spawns creativity. Rearrange a shelf. Move around your decorative pillows. Grab a paint brush and paint a dresser in a bright color. Hang a picture or two. Put a vivid flower into a vase, place it on your window sill and contemplate its color. Move the vase to a different spot, testing the influence of its presence. You cannot get your creative juices flowing without first sticking your toe into the pool....

Telling the truth about an AR 15 semi automatic rifle

Dear reader:

I must be upfront with you, I am not a gun enthusiast. I was not raised around guns and, except for circumstances involving personal protection, I would rather not have them around me.

That said, I decided to educate myself about rifles in light of the gun rights debate that has intensified since the elementary school shootings in Connecticut last month. Before we sanctimoniously say, "I see no reason to own an AR 15", let's straighten out the facts.

Firstly, the definition of an assault rifle is 'a rapid fire, magazine fed, automatic rifle designed for infantry use.' This does not describe an AR 15.

courtesy of hedgeco.net

A semi automatic rifle,  the AR 15 is the civilian equivalent to the military M16 (a fully automatic rifle) with a huge exception: it cannot fire automatically. Did you know that the AR 15 has been available for civilian purchase since 1963 and that it is the most popular gun used in America today with more than one half of said users claiming they use it for target practice?

Where the M16 can shoot continuously, machine gun style, with only one pull of the trigger,  the AR 15 is capable of only one shot per trigger pull. Many people purchase semi automatic rifles that look like military assault rifles but they are incapable of automatic fire and are actually at the low end of power among rifles. The AR 15 shoots a sporting round .223 Remington, or slightly more powerful .45 MM round. The .223 is used for target shooting, varmint hunting, and occasionally deer hunting. The .223 round is actually less powerful than most deer hunting cartridges. This means that had a more traditional looking hunting rifle been used in the Connecticut school killings, potentially it could have caused even more carnage.

courtesy of bigfivesportinggoods.com

The above pictured rifle has the exact capabilities of an AR 15 yet it looks like the rifle my grandfather owned (or one used by the Calgary in Civil war times). A blog reader posted, "the coward (in Connecticut) could have used a pink semi automatic .223  (like the one pictured above) with fluffy bunnies on the side and caused the same devastation ."  Since I have no problem with my neighbor owing a standard looking rifle (or pistol for that matter), why then would I take issue if she chooses to own an AR 15? 

Some people think the "AR" stands for assault rifle. ArmaLite first built the rifle for the United States Armed Forces. They eventually sold the design to Colt who have registered the trademark name "AR 15."

In the midst of the heated debate about gun rights, it is important to ferret out the truth about guns and not get caught up in the hype the media (and some politicians) attempts to sensationalize. Politicians and those opposing  gun rights are demonizing AR 15 semi automatic rifles, purposely misconstruing facts, to further their political agenda of gun control.

Although I do not foresee a time when I would own an AR 15 rifle,  I am against the government telling me I cannot own one. It worries me when politicians threaten to take away my rights guaranteed by our Constitution. That said, dialogue about how to prevent tragedies like the one at Sandy Hook Elementary School is necessary and one can only hope that some solution(s) (like better background checks) can be found.

I'll admit to not being an expert about this subject. Should any of my web based research be incorrect, please tell me because I want the facts, not propaganda.

Ancestry

The older I become, the more I enjoy hearing about family history.

So, when I was handed a handwritten account named the 'Autobiography of Jorgen Andersen Raun, I was anxious to read it.

Jorgen was Ellen's grandfather living in Denmark who, in 1823, married Kjesten. The next year, they welcomed daughter Marie into the family.

One year later, twin daughters were born and in the next month their mother died. She was 26 years, 5 months. Nine weeks later, one of the twins died. The next year, the second twin died. She was 1 year, 12 days.

Jorgen married another Kjesten that year. Twin sons appeared one year later and sadly their mother died in 'her confinement bed'. Her age was 33 years, 8 days. 15 day old Anders died followed by his brother the next year. His age: 1 year, 3 months, 10 days.

In 1827, Jorgen married Ellen Marie. A small son was born later that year.  Ellen Marie died the next year and was 'taken to her resting place on November 22nd'.

Elsebet became Jorgen's wife in 1829. A daughter was born in 1830 only to die in January of 1831. Krestina's age was 9 months, 10 days.

In October of 1831, another daughter was born, named Ellen Marie. She died in 1832.

In 1833, Ellen's father, Hans Raun was born. A new daughter joined the family in 1835 only to die 10 months later on May 30, 1836.

Three more children were born in the next 5 years. They survived infancy and childhood. (One brother died when the boat he was on, bound for America, sunk in the harbor. His suitcase, floating amongst other debris, was retrieved and Ellen remembers her dad telling about a carved animal figurine, retrieved from the suitcase, that became a keepsake of the family's.)

What tragic events - losing 3 wives and seven children in 12 years! I cannot even begin to comprehend personal loss of this magnitude. 

We romanticize the 'olden' days, perhaps dreaming of simpler times. No cell phones or traffic jams or or random drive-by shootings. 

We forget, though, about the hard work; so hard that life expectancy was little more than half of what we experience in our pampered lifetime. 

Famine, scarlet fever, diphtheria, high childbirth mortality, crop failure, poverty with no safety-net government programs, few woman's rights, the list of hardships is long. This was Jorgen's reality.

Hans, Ellen's dad, came to America as a young boy and was married at the age of 15. His wife died giving birth to their third child. Ellen's mom, Amelia,  was hired on as a housekeeper and eventually  married Hans. He and Amelia went on to have 9 more children. Ellen is the last living child of their union.

Scatter joy

Those of us who hoard beautiful crafting paper know the trial that goes along with attempting to keep it organized.  A favorite blogger, iHanna, shared organizational tips she used in her studio and suggested using a rolling open file system. Can I say 'brilliant'?! I think I've found my answer.....