deep

to burst like him. that is what i craved. to burst up and out — flames of leather and ink. but i was tethered by delicate snake print and the pride of a stubborn pace. my feet set quietly into the sand and my heart absorbed the nuance of the dunes.

we thought we were abandoned. why does youth do that to our minds? we had to scramble. and then we slid ourselves with so much caution through a window into the rooms half shuffled with sand and papers. even then i wanted to run away from you. i wanted to escape on the thick air and hide alone to wonder what kind of daydreams people sustained themselves on here.

the photos didn’t develop in a linear fashion. each exposure bent on the other and i am left with a single image. i wish i could step back for a few moments to walk the lost frames and say a silent, prayerful goodbye like i always do when it’s time to pack up my tangled heart and leave somewhere.

and when i am gone, off to the spirit side, will the images of my subconscious come with me? will i get to see any of these sorrows that are my undercurrents again?

i secretly hope so.

overcast

the weather was stormy yesterday.  it was a rare treat during this dry summer.  the world beyond our windows was humid and hushed in the breaks between downpours.

i often create by the quick-n-dirty approach right now.  for me, this means using what is already here and skimming on being rudimentary in process.

a remnant gray skirt, embroidery hoops, permanent ink and stamps were my tools. my product is a simple scarf, printed intentionally rough and aged.

before slipping into sleep the night before last, what kept coming back to my mind was, “for never was a story of more woe/than this of juliet and her romeo.”  what a blissful set of lines.  shakespeare’s work is so brilliant.

maybe i will add some tiny beads to the edges.  but likely it will stay just as it is to be worn on days when i’d prefer not to blend into the background.

it’s so good when making works out.

m.

Presently

obsessing on: what is my purpose in this life? (take 3,451,817)

Analyzing the above question for three decades has led to one answer.  It is this: my answer was always meant to be multi-faceted.  i spent so many years earnestly trying to make my purpose fit into one word.  i kept believing that i could think myself into finding a singular objective.  i acknowledge this was partly an immaturity issue but it was a bad habit that has persisted until the present even though i know that there is no singular answer!

a cluttered and messed space makes my mind feel that way.  it begins a cycle of feeling like i am always too late to find my singular purpose and i’ll never get the chance to and worrying if i am not doing a great enough job helping my family develop their purpose(s) and that i am behind and that i should be more prayerful and more creative and finally sewing some pattern out of my books that i cut the material for a year ago or learning to paint with watercolors but i can’t because it’s 4pm and i still haven’t washed the dishes and i am letting myself down and i am trivial and that being a housewife is maddening and why can’t i even do a good job at it and being angry at myself for my mind/heart attention being stuck on house work or my loopy thinking rather than my raising lovely daughters work.

in truth, i would love to have a spotless home.  yet in my heart it doesn’t feel right at this point in my life because then i would have to spend all of my wonderful creative existence focused on that goal and teaching my girls that it should be their goal, as well. (you may disagree and i totally support that but this is my crazy brain and how it processes all of this.)  i don’t want that for me or for them.

tired of feeling overwhelmed again on the clean vs. create issue, one morning i decided to channel all of my objective thinking ability to figure it out.  after a bit of inspiration by imagining what my great-grandmothers would have suggested i do, a plan was born!  and i found my way to keep working away at the many purposes i have held special and felt compelled to do since my girlhood: being a storyteller, a writer, a model, a reader, a seamstress, a designer, a leader, a teacher and a compassionate listener.

my very loved “granny list”

(i know, she isn’t glamorous in any way.  in fact, she’s a bit funny since it took me five minutes to draw up.  i wanted something that looked as though it could have been found in a lovely elderly woman’s kitchen and had been stuck on their fridge for about twenty years.  at least it’s got some color and is recyclable, right?)

the granny list is gentle on me.  it keeps me on track just enough while allowing me to exercise my free spirit approach to existence. my granny list is a daily compass and once i get to my cleaning destination i can pick how little or much should be accomplished each day.  i have no need to feel pressured to take care of every mess elsewhere at once around the house until the proper day.  and if i screw up a week, it’s okay because i can just start over again on the next week.  i am so deeply grateful for my granny list.

i took my lovel…

i took my lovely L to the mall this morning.  i have not been to one for many months.  do you remember the thrill that accompanied a trip to the mall as you were coming of age?  among the peers in our small town, it was a source of high culture (we thought) as buying clothes there would reveal our identities to a cruel world (until the treasure hunt of thrift store shopping was discovered) and finally take us to new heights of cosmopolitan living revealed in glimpses of Vogue and Seventeen (not easily achieved in the few stores nearby).  did city kids have the same feelings on the mall experience?

upon reaching my later twenties, thoughts of the mall meant nostalgia and laughter at my own short-sighted and naive perspective.  in particular, recalling how in my girlhood i would cry the entire car ride home when i hadn’t gotten what i thought was enough or deserved!  (i am still guilty of these “it’s not fair moments!” now and then.)

today i sat on a bench with a few rare moments to watch passersby.  there were parents on dates with their children (like me) and women whose bodies showed the proof of years of caring for their families (also, like me) and awkward teenagers trying to fit in the adult world around them.  i saw two ladies with face lifts, one fellow with triumphant eighties rocker hair, and countless women that forget to put themselves in the rotation of care each day (i fight this undertow daily).  i wonder what a visit to the mall was providing each of them on this day.

for my lovely L it was a perfectly thrilling first ride on the escalator (which became six perfectly thrilling rides in all) just like Corduroy.  happily, we didn’t see him there since he had already found a perfectly happy home with the little girl named lisa.

this morning before we left i felt very much like Corduroy.  thankfully, i had my own little girl to bring me back to where my true home should be — a place of perfect, immaterial joy.  (i am graciously humbled.)

presently

daydreaming on: kitchen walls getting pretty after the paint goes up, beauty of possibilities for transplanted flowers all the way from connecticut, quiet time

researching on: slavic folk patterns, romany culture, putting together our own curriculum, watercolor

obsessing on: kitchen trim — orange-gold vs. gray with folk pattern vs. stencil