Aya Means... (Original Art)

'Aya'

14" X  18"

(Mixed Media)

Big Box Store....

My mission today... take Luna, aka 'Looney Tunes' to Day Care/ Bath.  Then go to visit hubby at hubby's office. Last, go to big box store with huge list. Return home and put perishables into fridge.

All with Little Blue Bird in tow.

We can DO this!

Timing is critical.  Little feathered creature must be recently napped and fed moments prior to her encasement into the highly suspicious and dreaded contraption called a 'car seat'. Plus have Friday chores that MUST be done prior to leaving the house as  I know I will not do them when I return.

7am... she awakens.  Change, feed, snuggle, dress in day clothes, feed, change, tuck back in for am nap.  It is 8:30am.

GO!

Downstairs, push power button for pre-prepped coffee.  Shovel yogurt into mouth while it brews.

Crap -forgot am weigh in.  Go upstairs. Subtract yogurt...gah... no bueno.  Move on!

Try to scold Luna into eating - receive mournful squeaking.  Give up and have a cup of coffee on floor with Princess Buttercup to convince her to eat.

9am... Gather, place all necessary items into car (i.e. extra outfit x2 (including a top for me), baby sling, four legged friend hammock and leash etc.)

Dress, apply mascara, brush hair.   Empty garbage, double check / add to grocery list, water house plants, do last night's dishes, clean coffee pot, update/ balance monthly bills, switch laundry, empty little box, vacuum -

10:50am... Hear stirrings of starvation and Luna runs downstairs to inform me her charge is awake.

Change, feed, snuggle, play, feed, change, tuck into car seat.

11:50am Load car with infant and canine. Lose more of hearing from outrage of one, celebration from the other.

12:10pm Doggie Daycare.  Sit in car extra two minutes to gather resolve.

Get Luna out first.  She is a twirling ball of ear piercing fur attached to a leash.  Extract second distressed tragic creature.  Luna tries to reassure her ward and her cold nose is rewarded with increased vocals.

Realize making scene in parking lot...

Haul both into Daycare...

Attendees are 3x usual. Check in machine is down.  Must hand write in.  Put baby seat in crook of arm, hang on to puppy with other, scrawl illegibly time, name, date.  Sampling of 'Communication' with staff below:

"Hi!  This is Luna!  She is here for a half day of daycare and a bath."
"Who again? Moona?"
"Luna!"
"LUNA?"
In reply to her name, Luna stands up, paws on the counter and also answers.
The harried person smiles,
"Oh hi squeaky toy, haven't seen you in well over a month or two." She looks at me, "Baby here yet?"

The giant car seat I am clinging to is clearly not obvious enough. I nod.  Mind you, we are both shouting over barking.  This is freaking tiny girl out and winding Luna to maximum excitement capacity.

I leave with even less hearing.

12:25p Hubby's office.  Baby peacefully asleep.  No evidence of before scenes to explain my tangled hair and disheveled demeanor.  She looks darling with her bow and angelic expression and doesn't stir once for the hour we are there.  Office full of males smile at the little sweet peaceful face.

1:40p I load her into the car to leave and hunger wakes her with vengeance,  Kiss hubby good bye, sit in parking garage and feed her.  Twenty each side plus a pant change.

2:40p Big Box Store.... This was down right entertaining.  First the little blue bird has recently napped and fed and has dry pants.  She is nothing but bright curious eyes.  To prevent the invasion of her space, (and cuz I love that she is so small I can) I carry her in the sling for this expedition.  My list is comprehensive and requires canvasing the nearly the entire joint.  Every single aisle there is an approach and comment.  Naturally the most common one is,  "How old?"

What follows is varied.  Everything from comrades, "I took mine out at 3 weeks!", a frown, "I took mine out only at 12...".

There are questions about her name, how labor was, how much did she weigh at delivery, or now?  Did I get vaccinated for the flu?  Am I going to get her vaccinated too?  Is she sleeping through the night?  Don't let her cry it out! Be sure to let her cry it out!

My favorite?  A Costco employee, "Ma'ma, we don't allow dogs in...."  he glances into the sling, "Oh, right, sorry!"

PS:  I never stopped moving, I smiled and sometimes answered.  Every now and again, someone would get a little too close (really, couple of times folks would just lean right on in to my chest) and sunshine would get nervous.  Each time, I rubbed her back, kissed her face as she searched my face for clues in a response.  She was out by the time we were checking out.

HUGE Shout out to the lady behind me who asked if I needed help unloading and then unloaded my cart before I could accept and then to the lady in the mini van who slammed on her brakes to hustle her hubby out to help me put it all in the car.

4:00p Home, in need a nap and a glass of wine,  I settled for chocolate and a cuddle with the darling daring little bird.  The thing is this.  While the unsolicited advice and judgement was a bit overwhelming, the plethora of genuinely sincere well wishes were bountiful...  I felt empowered.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

But seriously, this was one of the most intimidating days I have ever had.  Interviewing at General Dynamics was easier.  If I can do this, and do it pretty darn ok, then I can do anything.

Hubby was picking up the Luna girl so I could put away perishables

Motherhood/ Labor

Carefully I scrub the sole of my foot smooth.  This three minute shower has it's time allotted carefully; Soap all over, shampoo and conditioner at the same time, maybe shave underarms and at least one minute to scrub my feet.

I make observations and then, like little mice, they run around in my head, scurrying here and there. Unexpectedly showing up and making me jump.  I noticed, while pregnant, many Mom's forget their feet so I had promised myself, not forget mine. Not that my toes are particularly 'pretty' but they take me everywhere I have ever been.

Motherhood... it is the strangest difficult transition imaginable.  My relationship with everything is changed and I see myself, and everyone around me, with a different kind of awareness.

In labor, the women who aided us blew my, already rose-colored perception of women away. Women can be lifelines of a strength and grace I do not comprehend. Sometime between my dilation of 6 to 9 1/2, I lost myself until slender hands grasped mine.   She pulled me out of the tunnel.

I believe all living things are comprised of Four; body (instinct, physical reactions such as flight or fight), mind (logic, reason), emotion (love, hate, compassion) and that indefinable essence, perhaps something called the soul.

After labor this is no longer a belief.  It is indisputable truth.  I was a passenger and my body had become a stranger's. My body was in control.   This scared the shit out of me,

Funny thing, right?  Not the pain, not watching the mirror -what terrified me was my complete and absolute lack of control over my body.

After, when they handed me this tiny girl, with her dark startled eyes, the flood of recognition in my bones..... my arms closed around her  -I can not express this.  It was all of me, all four parts. Then watching my exhausted and overwhelmed friend, how he both shut out and wrapped his arms around me.... I saw, understood him and accepted.

The first week of postpartum was a blur of hospital and mild shell shock.  Yes I can recite the days and events, I have my memory, it's overwhelmed kaleidoscope of people, pain and dark 2am's looking at her face in wonder and watching my darling husband try to sleep.

Week two was joy and extreme physical awareness.  Not sure why this is when it showed up, a week later, but my body's protests are the second thing I thought about next to her gentle face.

Week three; the reality of parenthood started to set in.  My 'I-Can-Do-This' attitude rallies, pain subsides (comparatively).  I take short walks with little Luna, start to do small chores, walk up the stairs often to recover long lost muscles.  I see the stress on my man, on us and start trying to reconcile it.  This doesn't go well...

Week four.  My body gives me the bird. I wake up with a 103.4 temperature - mastitis.  This is Unholy pain.

Interestingly, I KNEW what was wrong.  I knew it was mastitis.  My body told me what it was.

This pain -, it is in my fingernails, my head is exploding, my eyelashes are scratching my skin, my muscles are pulling my skeleton apart.  THREE days until the temperature begins to recede. The only relief is when I nurse her so I over fed the little blue bird at every opportunity for days.  Relatives helpfully comment daily how 'lucky' I am to stay home for a bit.  I don't understand this observation and the fever makes me foggy and too weak to answer with a biting reply.

Week five was a see-saw.  The benefit of being this ill, was that I sat down for this week.  Really and truly (and finally -as my Mommy said), I sat down. I cuddled, soothed and sat. Too dizzy to argue with my body, my activities were limited to showering and feeding this tiny happy girl.

Hello week six!!  I feel... dare I say it.... better.  Genuinely, everything feels better.  I respect my limits now too. Yesterday afternoon, as I got up to trim the backyard ivy I felt the room tilt slightly. My response? I immediately took off my shoes, went upstairs and took a nap.

Daughter

Hello little person,

I was nervous, so anxiously nervous and excited to meet you.  I am not the most maternal person by any stretch of the imagination.  I worried I wouldn't have the right response when you at last arrived.

For months I sang to you, talked to you, laughed as you moved.  When I skied fast and sure, I willed the energy of the mountain to you.  My love of the clean clear cold to you.  On my one little flight this spring I thought about you,  I prayed my love of discovery, change and beauty would be yours. When my darling and I went camping, hiking, exploring, I hoped some memory of the smell of the dusty desert, the pine needles, the snap of the camp fire and blue berry pancakes and coffee would find it's way to you.

I carefully wrote up a simple birth plan and shared it with the doctor and hospital staff.  I found a copy of it this morning and snickered.

Labor was the most difficult, personally challenging task I have ever undertaken. Ever. I was not afraid leading up to it, which is my style,  I usually put off being afraid until I actually get to what I might be scared of.

I was afraid of labor somewhere around 7pm and at 9 1/2 centimeters dilated.  Contractions were waves; Pacific coast waves, massive-forceful-pummeling-cliffs type of waves.  They swept over me, drowning me in them. I was not 'I' and me was not me.  I was a passenger in the unbreakable rip tide and the current swallowed me in it.

I was hoarse for a week afterwards.  I will skip all of the details and move on to you.

At 12:34am, they put your tiny self on my chest, goo and all.  Your wide dark terrified eyes were searching all around you and I answered, "Hey there little one."

And your eyes, still too under developed to truly make me out, reflected recognition of my voice. Your cries subsided for a moment and I knew you and you knew me.

Mine.  Mine for this instant.  So very soon, you will begin to define yourself, belong to yourself but for the next couple of years, you are mine and I am yours.

In the dark hospital room I watched my sweetheart bath you, cuddle you close and watched you feel safe, Your little tense body, so exhausted, relaxed into his strong arms.  Later we all cuddled in the hospital bed together and we were all safe because we were all together.

There has been very little quiet since the small hours after your birth.  In the last two weeks, our diverse tribe, compiled of friends and family members, have come by daily to meet you.  Their support has been a loud distracting life line in a world of deprived sleep and overwhelmed emotions of joy and mild terror.  Honestly, I long for silence and an empty house with only the three of us present.  I am trying to be patient. Soon, everyone will go away.  After all, even my own Mother came for three short days.

Before I digress completely, I had nothing to worry about.  You are so perfect, (says every Mom), but you really are.  You are perfect.

Yesterday (Original Art)

'Yesterday"

Watercolor/ Inks

(Details: 11" X 14" heavy weight 140-lb paper.)

Available

Grandma's house

Gah...

Another one... 

Resigned I settled into watch the stupid dream unfold - when I hear the muffled sound of a chair dragged across carpet.  

I look next to me, to see a chair drawn up and - startled, I exclaim, "Grandma!"

She beams at me from behind her glasses and happily I sit down in the offered chair.  She sits down across from me.  We are at her kitchen table.  There are violets and little random metal figurines on the window sill and fresh coffee on the table.  

I take a nice deep reset breath in her house of fabric, books, teddy bears and time. It is such a relief to be here.  This place that didn't change, that always was. 

I swallow my silly salty reaction and for a distraction, I move to sit side ways and study the many dusty framed cross stitches covering the wall behind me.

She pats my hand, giving me a few minutes as she goes to rescue oatmeal cookies.  Returning, she brings mugs for the coffee and cookies for comfort.

Here is the thing about my mother's mother.  Although Grandma was a spitfire; a sassy opinionated bird of a woman, she never tried to tell me what to do or to think.

She never meddled.  At least with me.  Maybe, because just like her, there is nothing that will enrage me quicker than someone telling me what to believe, what I should or shouldn't do. I have more than a bit of her sharp temper and stubborn independence.

Like her I love fiercely, I make up my own rules and ignore convention. 

I tell her all about it.  About it all.  Twelve months ago in August to today and she listens.  Such a gorgeous and confusing year; Banff, skiing Christmas (and all winter long), People in it, Work, Work, Work,Yellowstone, camping...

At certain points she 'tsks' in sympathy, at others I flinch away from her glowering disapproval, and at the exact right times, she smiles and claps - she is the perfect audience.  

I get down to telling the last little bit of the pickle I feel/ think/ believe/ image I am in.  

As I surmise my tale, she nods seriously, but I catch her mischievous side ways glance; the solution is obvious to her....the pause extends as she sighs to herself and looks out the window.

I become exasperated and I counter her sigh with a fidgety movement that catches her attention and give her an eyebrow raised and her smiles widens. 

She shrugs, looks up and smiles reassuringly at me, "There is nothing wrong with more than one Grandma in the house."

........................

....................................
................................................oh.

Slowly my eyes smile too and in a moment I am grinning back at her, "Oh!"

She smiled again, patting my hand, 

"Get up and go to work today, ignore the fuss.  You love that man, you went looking for him and you two choose each other over everyone else.  Ignore his occasional misinterpretations.  Respect his fears."

Dishes clanked as she stacked them together and continued,  "When you get tired today, come home, sit down and read a book. Help that impatient and restless girl stay put. She needs to bake a bit longer. It isn't easy for her to be still, just as it isn't easy for you and your sweetheart.  " 

She stood and took my empty mug and went to her kitchen.  She leaned down to see me through the hanging tiny creations cluttering her view, "One more thing."

I paused, I had stood up to bring in the plate of cookies, "Yes?"  - but at the same time, I looked down to see the alarm on my phone going off and woke up.

A Blue Apocalypse Dawn (Original Art)

20” X 20” X 1.5”

Oil Pastel, Acrylic

I haven’t touched a paint brush since May.

MAY!  

There isn’t time.  Every day is a dramatically frantic run to the end and I am deliriously tired.

In the extremely rare moment there could be time, there is too much upheaval, too much noise.  I retreat to my safe place, the one room untouched by chaos, my small sunlight second room and hang out with my cat. 

I am not stressed, perhaps a little sad sometimes.  These last few weeks of the story that is just of him and I, they are so crowded and full of fires to be put out.  I want to sleep in.  I want to paint.  I want my sweetheart to have time to sleep in. I want one more day in the strange and beautiful place called Yellowstone.  Just one more day that is just about him and I wandering about a new place holding each other’s sunburnt hand. 

I am excited and happy for what’s next.  I am grateful to be with the most bossy and ultimately capable human on the planet.  

My body is heavy now; so heavy and busy and rich.  And every morning I am even heavier then before and it is harder to get to the bathroom to brush my teeth. 

I dreamed of this little girl last night.  She and he were discussing, in serious tones, Why, why Exactly, the swing that goes up then swings down.  They waved hands, heads tilted up and back as they talked about Why the clouds built in some ways rather then others and Why they dispersed.   I dreamed about the moment all parents face when they mourn their pre-parent selves.   I dreamed I loved him and her in a rashly raw and ludicrous way I didn’t know I could before.

Ah the anticipation of being first time parents...

It is the cobalt wild mustang, watching the rise of a fierce red dawn.

.....And I am out of Popsicles...

Your hand around mine

First night of insomnia in Months.

Seriously, since getting pregnant, my body is disinterested in my restless brain's occasional desire and decision to not sleep.  It knocks me out every dang night.

I fell asleep quickly but at last, the roller coaster that is my life the last twelve months, greeted me at 12:32am.

I tried not to move.  Maybe if I pretended not to be awake, maybe my brain would forget, maybe -

Luna's cold nose softly poked my arm.  I opened my eyes to see this gentle friend watching me. She knows, my breathing gave me away.

We got up and went down stairs and she went out to go potty and I did too. When she came back in, she tried to herd me to bed but I went to the second bedroom.

Usually this room helps.  The warm adobe walls embrace me. This time it doesn't.   I think about this being her room.

I listen to the vibrations of her hiccups - whenever I move in the middle of the night, it gives her the hiccups. Her little feet start paddling gently against my lower rib cage.

I think about what this means; first time parenthood is daunting and thrilling and odd.  I feel so young these days.  I see that my thirty years something equals infant something maturity.  My grasp of life and my place in it is so small.  Infinitesimally unbelievably small.

Despite this fact, my life is overwhelmed in gifts of great grace, with astonishing beauty.  I am privileged beyond believable explanation with my relationship to the most remarkable human ever made.  Our rare, gorgeous, messy relationship will be a shadow on the wind forever.

I marinate in this until 2:30am.

Then I get up and go downstairs.  Char greets me and we hang out for a bit.

There was this moment in Yellowstone....

I was drunk with joy.

Blinding sunlight reflected off the dark blue green water below, a breezy cool wind raises goosebumps on my wet skin...  

I smiled up at him, into his silver blue eyes,  My long tangled hair lies in wet ropes on my sun burnt shoulders, my exposed white belly blazes in the blue afternoon and the little life inside me curls up tightly.

I do not fear the water as I usually would, I do not question my semi-uncoordinated feet, I am holding the hand of the one I value most and the world is ours.

His hand, warm and strong around mine, gives me confidence to jump into the deep -For the fifth time.

He counts down from three and together we jump, never letting the other go.

All the ups and disorienting downs of the last several weeks comes back to this moment.  All of the disjointed happenings in the last 365 days are summed up in that moment.

Yes life is strange and people sometimes as awful as they are amazing... Yes the unpredictable is scary and terrifying but no matter what - there we are.

As long as we jump together, as long as our fingers are interlocked as we plunge in, as long as we surface linked; no unrelenting current will pull us apart.  We will laugh, reflecting back to each other all that over flows and builds in one to the other; victorious in this story that is of you and I.

Pregnancy induced insanity aka symptoms know as Harpy, Medusa...

Lalalalalalala.... pregnancy isn't so bad!

My hair is GORGEOUS!  My skin glows!  The whole shave your legs and the hair grows back by morning, well that is a bit annoying but it's okay!  I eat the same foods (except anything tomato sauce based, everything tomato sauced based has expired). Weight gain has been manageable with careful diet and reasonable exercise.

I sleep like the dead and I am so happy.

So happy!!

Most of the time.... but when I am not happy.......

Then the world crashes and burns.  Torrential down pours of drowning rain bring death and destruction and sweep everything into a pit of eternal despair.

It can be funny to retell these stories, I have had co-workers in tears laughing as I related the antics of my three year old brain but in all seriousness, it is kind of terrifying.

Usually I am an overly full of serotonin and lighthearted kind of human.... but when this new inner toddler hijacks my body, mouth and emotions.... I morph into something I don't recognize.

Harpy is defined as "a rapacious monster described as having a woman's head and body and a bird's wings and claws or depicted as a bird of prey with a woman's face."

Just a couple of days ago, I suddenly and inexplicably started to erupt snarky cutting comments, to vocalize off topic and sometimes slightly cruel observations until a certain person started to at last react.  THEN as a indefensible defense mechanism, I promptly dissolved into inconsolable tears and tragic desolation.

Intelligently, this person stopped to give me a coffee break/ potty break (and himself a sanity break) at the first gas station.

I hurried to the bathroom to wash my face in cold water and then hide in the safety of a stall but the power combo of my blood shot eyes, flushed cheeks, sticky blond hair and ever expanding tummy inspired two very sweet ladies to barge in and herd me out so they could rub my back, and tummy, and tell me "todo estará bien" over and over again.

In my shaky bewildered and forlorn state, I gratefully drank in their kindness. I let them embrace me and attempt to dry my salty and saturated face with their hand stitched hankies...

Eventually I emerged and brought my coffee to the heavily leathered, seven foot, salt and pepper breaded, masculine person behind the counter.  This giant towered over to pat my hand, tell me the coffee was on the house and ask if he needed to fix any trouble I might be in....

And then reason suddenly blinked it's lights back on....how nice of it to FINALLY show up!

I took stock of my current place in the world.  Shame and horror combined with a dark inner snicker as I realized the complete and absolute ridiculousness of my situation...

I attempted to give a small reassuring smile at the good intentions of the deeply tanned tattooed human anxiously watching me.

Mischievously.... I almost giggled. I almost restarted the water works.

It was a deeply conflicted moment as I realized this all had begun because earlier the car was locked for a minute and I had then waited for about another minute for it to be unlocked it and then... and then... we just drove off...

I didn't get to go potty....

That. Was. The. Trigger.

I turned to face the doors of doom and the person (who I had just poured a ten gallon bucket of irrational outraged accusations on) who sat grimly, quietly in the car waiting for me...

He couldn't exactly have followed me in... our little four legged friend requires the car's air conditioning to be on full blast this time of year.

I sighed and began the second longest walk of my life out of that dusty gas station. I glumly climbed in, my face turning redder by the second as I silently replayed the events of the last three hours to myself and hunched my shoulders over for a silent new bawl at my surmise....

My plea is pathetic but I must submit it regardless.

Reader it was pregnancy induced insanity....

again....

Smallest of Warriors (Original Art)

'Smallest of Warriors'

24" X 24" X 1.5"

Mixed Media/ Layered Art

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request.  Depending on the piece, I charge $.75 to $1.00 per square inch)

Hello Roxie!

My outfit rocks today.

This is worth noting because many of my daily clothing choices are an epic fail lately.  The expanding waist line has only added to my usual morning closet conflict.

Anyway... Roxie

Roxie is a sweet hearted, gentle, attention mongering little creature. Cute picture huh?

Roxie is the newly adopted member of my extended family.  My Mom took her in the day before Mother's day.  Roxie is staying with us for about a week.

This is awesome because Luna has been in dire need of puppy time and these two knuckle heads are about the same age, similar in size and LOVE each other.

Yes they met less than a month ago - But their comparable energy levels, sense of fun and mischief, shared need to tumble, tackle and run, have made them soul sisters.

Together they have the destructive power of a category five tornado.

The first morning, the day after Roxie arrived, I left for work at 7:30am and I sadly choose to leave them with free reign of the house.  I figured my husband is soon up at 7:45am and they were still eating breakfast and how much trouble could two little dogs get into??!

Fifteen minutes Reader.

In fifteen minutes they had up sided three large house plants, removed all couch pillows and cushions (but they were undamaged), knocked over the bar stools and were happily fighting over a tug toy next to the now crooked coffee table.

He put Roxie in her "crate", a soft fabric zippered box.

Since this act signaled to Luna that the games were presently over so she hurried back to bed.

Later that day, suspicious after the incoming call advised me of the situation created in fifteen minutes, I took a rare lunch to check on the dangerous duet.

I discovered Roxie can "hamster" her container and had done so all over the main floor.

Luna knew the crooked couches, tables, turned over plants and look on my face equaled possible doom so hurried herself back to bed until the skies cleared.

I really wanted to be mad but they were so happy...  so I let Roxie out and called Luna back downstairs to kick them both outside, where they wanted to be anyway....

Upon leaving I tried to barricade the living room with kitchen chairs to keep the hamster effect contained to one room.

Fail

Thankfully, that evening a sturdy and trustworthy looking wire crate arrived.  My favorite person put it together and I introduced her to it.

Although Luna graduated from her crate several months she still knows the quiet ask "Kennel" will be followed with tasty snacks.

She helpfully showed Roxie this.  So although Roxie was not exactly thrilled, she was amiable and willing.

Walking Roxie with Luna was an event.  Roxie finds every sound, direction and distraction interesting and worth investigating.  Walking past a driveway?  We must go up it!  Oncoming car?  Lets jump in front of it! Child riding bicycle?  Run around human's legs until she trips!

In a bid to make it home alive and desperate for an immediate solution, I tied her to Luna's collar.

This worked GREAT!

Luna wears a gentle lead because she is a spazy determined creature who has literally nearly dislocated my shoulder on a walk BUT Luna does get that moving cars are dangerous and walking in a straight line is the goal.

These are very important concepts.

...hehehehehehehe.... for your viewing entertainment

The end of this story, is as I walked in on today's contained disaster, I was grateful for the sturdy wire crate today.


...Like the hedgehog?

Roxie does too.  It is her most prized possession.  I found her in her crate, semi-buried in what was left of her bed, giving her hedgehog a bath.

Just as I leaned down to release her, Charlie torpedoed past at warp speed causing Roxie's vocal chords and heart to accelerate even more.

I realized Luna is not the only playmate in the house for Roxie and letting her out I watched the collision of three happy furry bodies.




Knuckleheads....

March of the Elephants (Original Art)

'March of the Elephants'

24" X 24" X 1.5"

Mixed Media

Details

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request.  Depending on the piece, I charge $.75 to $1.00 per square inch)

March of the Elephants (In Progress)

Sometimes when I am dreaming and I wake up me, my dream follows me with billowing soft and heavy feet into the waking world.

It was hot and it was dry.  The sun was brutally blinding.

In the far away distance, purple clouds built blue contrasts of rain and gushing wind.

My hair caught in my mouth and eyes as I heard them and then watched.

Their heavy footsteps caused billowing soft dust to swirl up in towers of smoke preceding their measured approach.

And I watched.

........Sharply in contrast a bird, from my waking world called outside the window

- My dream self turned at the sound and I stumbled, waking myself up.  Just before I opened my eyes, I watched the dream fracture.  

I wondered at the patterns of thought and sleep and I watched.  

Watched the March of the Elephants step out of the dream

'March of the Elephants'

24" X 24" X 1.5"

Mixed Media

Final

Panic

I don't like selfies.  I think I look like an idiot, smiling blankly at a mini plastic box. I decided to make this exception so you could come with me and Luna this evening.

It's cool and dry and warm and the air is rich and there are deer up the mountain behind me and quail dodging Luna's scrabbling feet.

Panic is a funny button.  One I usually prefer to push by myself.

I enjoy it sometimes simmered with coffee. Other times it is better toasted with wine.

Sometimes, like this evening, I like most to take it for a walk.  I dearly love to walk.

Once away from accidental eyes, I take it out of my pocket, unfold and smooth out the creases and picture it becoming as large as a bed sheet made of tissue paper.

I shred it into little pieces, and as I do, I imagine it turns into different colors.  Then I toss this confetti of color, so light they float, up into the air.

I let these tiny thoughts of fragmented conjecture wash around and over in waves of salty release until at last I let them get mixed into aspen leaves ruffled by the wind woman's hands.

I get that this is a mental game, a head game.  I get that, I do.

I realized a long long while ago that life is just one big head game.  And the best thing to do is to be the one running them.  

And to go for a walk with a friend.

Fractured Beauty (Original Art)

'Fractured Beauty'

I created this work using mixed media and Platte knives, (no brushes) featuring Sunflowers layered under and over a lattice pattern cut with Cricut's Explore® Air  

24" X 24" X 1.5"
Details
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Dear Moms....

Dear Moms,

You have a gig that would make any non-Mom human falter.  I had no clue until I recently began to try on the idea. Now that I am getting an inkling, I am floored.

Hi Mom, the one who breast pumps milk at work while hiding in the unlocked server room which contains four air conditioning units on full blast to keep said servers cool under a blanket woofing down your lunch - You are a super hero.

Hi Mom of two, you breast pump in an un-lockable office supply closet.  Due to work demands and time off constraints, you went back at three and half weeks... after you tore to a three in delivery.  You can't sit down still so you have propped up your monitors with boxes and you stand all day.   Co-workers ask how your month off went.  Some how you have not clocked anyone in the mouth.  I don't know how.  If you cave and do, I promise to vouch for you and say it was self defense.

Hello Mom who isn't breast feeding,  the office wanted to go out for lunch.  To welcome you back. To get there we drove over a long and bumpy road.  You sat in the back, polite grin frozen on your teeth as your tightly bound breasts shot unthinkable amounts of pain through your body over every jolt.  I furtively watched your face turn whiter by the moment... I am really sorry...

This other Mom happens to be one of my most admired people.  She's a widow with three girls and has since all that upheaval, has re-married and had a little boy (now almost two) with the new hubby. She got in thirty minutes late the other day.  Someone said something catty about it.  Since I know her, I reached under the conference table and squeezed her hand.  She hung on back.  She was at hospital with little dude all night, and came home in the morning to find her younger daughter in a pickle I won't elaborate on here.  Point is that lady some how already turned in all of things needed for this morning by 8am.

Seriously society?

You grow a human for nine months in your body, have it extracted from your vagina or your stomach and society doesn't say, hey, since you just train wrecked your life and body, you should take the fourth trimester to heal and recover, to attempt to get onto a normal sleeping schedule, to adjust to having a tiny human in your world.

This culture says, 'Hey, get back to work! You're lucky we gave you any time off!"

I believe having a kid is a personal choice so I don't mean paid time off should be expected.  It's awesome when companies choose to but what I mean is, how can a society expects these Mom's to hurry the hell up and get back on the clock?  Or else they will consider you just a lazy entitled step-ford wife hanging out getting her nails done.  If a Mom wants to, has to, chooses to go back asap, totally cool... but at least give her a little slack!

I see you, all of you, finally, and I am a little intimidated by all of you because you are the ultimate bad-ass.

Fractured Beauty (Work In Progress)

"Fractured Beauty"

Mixed Media

24" X 24" X 1.5"
Final

Walla Walla Vineyards (Original Art)

 Walla Walla, WA

20" X 24" 1.5" 

Oil Pastel on Acrylic

Hands

It's 3am and I am listening to you.

I am a curvy kind of female.  Flat tummy, strong legs for skiing down mountains, a bit short on height and regular features.  Will you love snow? Will you be little like I was, when you are little?  Will you have his dark hair and grey blue eyes or my green ones?

In the beginning weeks, I reached for you and found nothing there.  Then around ten weeks I felt something, awakening maybe?  I am not sure of the word.   It was a feeling like watching a seed first crack open.  At twelve I felt colors... I dreamed colors.  Reds, yellow, blues and lavender.

When I sit up, stand up, there isn't anything to show.  There is nothing that yet gives away your hiding place.  It's only here, now, when it is dark and quiet, when I can feel my tummy's slightly rounded firmness, where I cloak your world.  It is only in this quiet hour when sometimes, deep inside, I wake up because you fluttered.

My fingers flutter back to you and I think about your hands.  How they are developing, your nerves connecting, sensitivity building, the essence of you, which will choose who you become, solidifying.

I confess I am vain about my own hands. I like watching them.  They are loveliest when I am holding a bit of chalk and my nail polish is coated in a dusting of purples and greens and a bit of fire red. They are the anchor of my essence, the extension and sum of all I am.

I have a thing for hands in general, so many people do extraordinary things with their's. I watch my best friend working on a broken sprinkler head, kiting up his wing or fixing my computer.... his fingers dancing across the key board to repair whatever I broke, again, with the elegance of a concert pianist.  I think about his hands holding your hands.

What will you do with your hands?

Little Luna and our Tantrums

My best friend and I had a good day yesterday.  Pretty sure it has to do with the tangle the morning came in.

Sometimes, when we are unable to sleep we  migrate to the second bedroom.  This peaceful room has walls painted a calming adobe brown.  In the dead of night, I woke up for a moment.  Just for a moment.  I was unable to move in the mess of our arms, pillows and hands and I thought about puzzle boxes before heavy sleep returned again.  Are you familiar with puzzle boxes? The ones where different pieces slid about around until they at last open the middle?

We are a puzzle box.

For today's morning we both raged with terrifying thunder claps and fiery fury.  He escalated to a winding tornado and my response was to turn into bitter frost.

I think this is why we work.   I have no fear in the face of a heat that would melt most.  Antarctica does not look at the Sudan and see a mortal enemy.

Darling heeled boots and my precious swirling skirt added to my grandeur as I ended our battle by closing the bedroom door softly, deafeningly, behind me.

Poor little Luna.  She had been snuggled deeply into her quilt and pillow on her king sized foam bed when startled awake by our snarling, she ran for cover from the fall out of our vocals to hide in her kennel downstairs.

She graduated from being kept in her kennel when home alone months ago but she really likes her space so I removed the door and hid it between the wall and couch.  Naps in it on her other foam bed are another of her favorites.

I went down and sat on the floor a few feet away and whispered soothingly until the little creature peaked out to survey my face and see if the storm had cleared.

We never yell at Luna.  Never.  A sharp word breaks her heart.

I smiled at her and held my hands open and coaxed her forward until at last she cautiously crept out and into my arms for a cuddle.

To convince that the fight had nothing to do with her, I sat on the floor next to her while she ate breakfast and drank my coffee.  This gave me a little time to cool down too and grin ruefully at the remembering the verbal boxing match.

And then I went to work.

The Old Moon

12" X 24" 

The Old Moon

 (Gels, Acrylic, mixed medias) 

Inspired by...

Using mixed media and an abstract direction, this piece is an interpretation of the children's poem "Wynken, Blynken, and Nod" and related to my post "Hands"

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request.  Depending on the piece, I charge $.75 to $1.00 per square inch)

Hey there seventeen going on eighteen. It's me, thirty five going on thirty six.

I was thirty five this last year.  Quickly coming up on thirty six.  I love certain numbers for no particular reason and thirty six is one of those numbers.

I don't like odd numbers as much. Odd years, etc.  Ek.

I may be a bit superstitious.  You are too.

This year is going to be awesome.  In celebration of it's arrival, I went digging around through the two bins that contain EVERYTHING about me pre-twenty four and found the below piece of work (photos below).  I am grinning holding it and under my breath I mumbled,

'Hey there seventeen going on eighteen.  It's me, thirty five going on thirty six'.

I swear I could feel my younger self glancing up as I drew it back then in that tiny bedroom I rented from that older older lady that summer.

I remember wondering a lot, back then, if I would ever start writing songs again, or when I would again play the flute or pick up poetry. My 'voice' had been silenced for over a year at that time.

No, I didn't. I haven't written a song since it was extinguished. I am so sorry seventeen almost eighteen, I never could find that voice again.

But I found a new voice.

And I really really wish that some how I could reach back and touch your hand and tell you it's going to be a hell of a lot better than all right.

Thank you for this little piece of the past I forgot I had kept.  I burned, literally, so much  I forget what photos and pieces survived the purge of twenty two.  I remember why I saved this one, it was the quote on one side and the poem on the other.

I have thought about that quote every single time I made a friend who turned out to be a kindred spirit. And it has always, for nearly twenty years, been absolutely true.

"For true partnership is achieved only by separate and whole persons who retain their separateness even as they unite."

And then that poem... I was a mess at this time but in a moment of clarity that night I wrote it as a declaration, as a promise.

I believe that words have weight.  I believe that by putting emotions, promises, premonitions; into words, into shapes, colors - I believe that act binds one to them.  So maybe this battered piece of cardboard, the only canvas I could have afforded at the time, sketched with a sharpie and watered down nail polish, bound me to the future I live in now.

And that is awesome.

 

Walla Walla Vineyards (Original Art)

20" X 24" 1.5" 

Oil Pastel on Acrylic

New work in progress. Time to pay a little homage to gorgeous Walla Walla, WA

Softened Sandpaper

I was old and you were old and the world so different we didn’t recognize it.  I dreamed your hand felt like warm softened sand paper and my bones felt light and fragile as a bird’s.

We were smiling, with our exhausted faces.

And then I woke up in this dry desert of a state with the smell of rain and green things in my inhale. 

My body is still strong, albeit a few pounds over ideal, and I thought about that quote I always seem to think about, “What makes life so bitter sweet that it will never come again”.  I am para-phasing, it’s an Eleanor Roosevelt one.

Remember when you worried aloud, early on, that we had so little in common? I, the day dreamer, the artist, the wanderer.  You, the thinker, the problem solver, the adventurer.

And I laughed and said I gloried in it.  The gorgeous, strange kaleidoscope of you and I.  And a little skeptical, a little bemused, you have held my hand and haven’t let go any more than I ever could of yours.

Ah our manic battles, our compromises, the raging tantrums, the astounding grace of the story that is this of you and I.

Landscapes - A Group Art Show (Hosted by Mod a-go-go)

I am excited to say my 'Autumn Rain' and 'A Walk in a Dream' will be included in Mod a-go-go's Landscape group show starting this Friday, February 19th and going through March 13th. :)

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request)

She called Your Name (Original Work)

'She called Your Name'

20" X 20" X 1.5"

(Acrylic, Oil Pastels)

Details

(**I love and welcome the compliment of a purchase request.  Depending on the piece, I charge $.75 to $1.00 per square inch)

A Year in with Luna

Luna came into our lives a year ago this month. An earnestly goodhearted young creature with giant bat like ears and endearingly bright amber eyes; Luna was from the New Mexico desert and newly landed in Utah, rescued from a cull by Rescue Rovers and now adopted by us.


Sweet little Luna, her beseeching eyes nearly came out of her head on that drive home. I sat with her, as she shivered and her cries trembled out of her throat. On the way home, we stopped for a new collar and treats. She politely took them but could only cough them back out of her dry mouth.

We introduced her, on leash to Charles, but our caution proved unnecessary. She was too scattered and only briefly touched her nose to his. We showed her the house, introduced her to her crate, toy box and last to her bed next to ours.

Luna inherited Sal’s giant bed; this bed sports a large yellow egg shell foam core (to cuddle my Sal’s achy bones), topped with a soft giant quilt folded in four and pillow. I had de-furred and thoroughly washed this deluxe set up and added a stuffed animal I had been sleeping with.

Tidal waves of anxiety were rolling off of her. I sat down on the floor and patted her bed to encourage her onto it. She heavily sighed and walked her trembling self onto it. She let me cuddle her close and pressing my forehead to hers I whispered she was safe, how excited we were to get to know her -I know she could not comprehend my words but dogs can innately pick up the tenor of our tones.

I stoked her shoulders and face until the shivering abated and decided to leave her unleashed overnight.

She slept the sleep of the dead and didn’t move once. I didn’t bother to get her up the next morning as I left for work either. My sweetheart did get her up later and let her out in the yard. She ran her heart out exploring and as he went to retrieve her, (so he could go to work) he discovered the difficulty of recalling a little desert dog who did not have a name, much less any understanding of human words.

An hour later he did get her back into the house after bribing with lunch meat and other tasty treats.

Overwhelmed by the onslaught of terrifying noise (cars, garage doors, blow dryers, microwaves), she trucked through the first three months by sleeping… a lot. I started tracking and I think she actually slept about 22 hours out of every 24.

We took her for long walks every single day. I constantly pulled her tucked tail back up and kissed her face. I inundated her with treats, using the words I wanted her to learn; Luna, treats, watch me, potty, outside, inside, leave it, walk, ride, go ahead, go to bed, go to kennel…

Four months in she began to wake up. At this time we were flooding her with toys to give her outlets as she graduated from being kenneled when we are gone. Overcoming her fear of the car was a game of patience. As she grew to trust me, I would sit in the back seat and coax her in with treats.

Now, the words, ‘Let’s go for a ride’ results in a ballistic dance of happiness.

Looking back over this year, quite a few people have said she thrived because of our patience and the time we spent working with her. While that is true… she was incredibly patient with us too.

Yesterday, someone complimented her and I offhandedly replied, “Yeah! It has been a lot of work” they kinda paused and said, “I know you say that but every time I see her, she seems so gentle and focused on trying to be good, trying to understand”

I paused and ruefully agreed.

I have been holding back. I loved my Sal dearly.  Just typing that, I could bawl for an afternoon.

Little Luna and I went for a walk yesterday and a few minutes in she came bounding up, to say hello, to check in, to kiss my hand and then dart off with lightning speed.

I stopped and she froze. Many yards away, she froze. She was listening for my steps and paused when she didn’t hear them. I knelt down just as she looked back. And in that moment, she launched at me, hurling her slender self with such velocity she couldn’t stop in time and I didn’t get out of the way. We collided in a mess of tail wagging and snow covered laughing.

 

Her Feathers Carried Change (Work In Progress)

I have been traveling the last bit and it is very satisfying to now be home and able work on her.  The overlays are all nearing completion which is exciting.  I can soon start to work on her details, talons, face, and feathers.

"Owl Called my Name"

'Her Feathers Carried Change'

20" X 20" X 1.5"

Oil Pastel, Acrylic on Canvas

**Work in Progress**

Final

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2am (Work in Progress)

**Work in Progress**

2am

11" X 14" X 1.5"

Arcylic, Oil Pastel, Gels

Details

Roses and Bubbles (Doodle art)

Charlie...and the Vet...

Whenever I work from home, such as this week, Charlie considers my getting to work on time of the utmost importance... I start around 6:45am and he is sitting outside the closed office door at 6:40am. If I am not there at 6:43am, he will begun to alert me (and the neighborhood) that I am late.

PS: Charlie is not allowed in the office alone... ever... there are plants (non-toxic) to be eaten/ dug up, paint brushes he believes are chew toys, etc. etc.

To keep the peace, I open the office, tuck him into his office chair next to mine and flipped on the computer by 6:35am.

Happy Charlie:

I then go retrieve coffee and get Luna up for breakfast.

Eyeing his snoring  whiskers around 8am I remembered he and I were going to the vet today....

GAAHHHHHHH.... resting my chin on my hand and morosely gulping overly strong and hot coffee, I considered the ways I might make this less of an embarrassing and stressful afternoon.

My negative energy wakes him up and he does what any sensible friend does when their friend is acting weird and staring at them.

He sits on me.

Ok, ok... this will not be too bad,

I'd already set his carrier out in the hall, lined it with a soft towel and taped a trash bag over it. I'd left the crate door open and a favorite treat in the back.

His appointment is at 4pm, which is perfect.  His automatic feeder goes off at 4pm (Charlie does not believe day light savings should have any impact on meals so we bought an automatic feeder and never change the time). This is perfect because we will leave at 3:45pm and his tummy will be pretty much empty.

He is also going to a vet that is ten minutes from home. And last this appointment is just a check up! No shots!

It's going to be easy.
Or easier.
Or not so bad,.,

During lunch time, he decided to get up and come downstairs to commit an attempted murder by sitting right behind me while I made lunch.  Or maybe he was just trying to get me to trip and then he could eat my lunch. Maybe he likes hanging out with me....AND he would like my lunch.

Either way, it was at this time, he noticed the crate in the hall.

Slowly he stood and sauntered over. He sniffed the air from a careful distance from the open door, his tail began to twitch, his ears slowly flatten... he does not enter for my paltry offering in the crate.   He turns and looks at me and utters a slow low disgusted growl.

He knows I am going to betray him.

Toast.

Bugger the internet and the advise to leave the crate out!  This is the third time I have done it and all it does it leave us in a fight for the rest of the day.

I go on to eat my lunch in lonely silence.  He does not return to the office to attempt to get in on my lunch or to continue his afternoon nap or to interrupt my conference call. He stays downstairs, on the other bed on his lazy boy.  He keeps his back to me and he does not purr if I pet him.

All right, fine. But At least his tummy will be empty, the drive is short and the visit a benign check up.

About thirty minutes before it is time to leave I eat three pieces of dark chocolate and drink an overly strong giant mug of black tea.

I put on comfortable shoes, add the to-go mess bag (paper towels, disinfectant, hand sanitizer) to the car, change my shirt into a more casual one, pull my hair up and and stuff it under a hat, take a deep breath and head in for battle.

He knows this routine.  He is prepared and darts for the bedroom and the safe havens offered in them but I have closed all doors and with Luna's help, we corner him by his automatic food bowl.

Getting him into the carrier is easier than it should be...
BURNT TOAST! I left the treat in there earlier.  He snarfs it down in record time.
Gahhhhhhhhhhhhh.............

There is nothing to be done, I tell myself and carefully lift the carrier by the bottom (using the handle jostles him all over the place) and put him in the back seat and secure it with a seat belt.

The blasted animal begins to howl a mournful and terrible song.  His serenade is so loud that as I back the car out, a neighbor retrieving mail pauses to gap at me.  Charlie makes this sound, only in the car mind you, that sounds like a small child drowning in a well of water.  It is awful; deep, tragic, echoing and it fills the car with such bellowing that my whiten knuckles could crack the steering wheel.

Music, of any kind, will only make him louder.  Rolling down the windows in today's balmy 15 degrees seems rational but I don't give him.

Staring at the clock, counting the minutes, I take each turn gently, each acceleration is a soft increase in speed.  My right arm is twisted uncomfortably behind me so that my fingers are in the crate door and his face is smashed into them.

"You can do this Char bear!  Only eight more minutes!"

"ArrrrghhhhwwwwwwaaaaaaYYYYYY" he replies.

Salvia suddenly coats my finger tips as snort from his snot results in a sneeze.
TOAST.

He is going to up chuck...

"Four more minutes little friend!"

He moans, shoving his nose into a fingernail accidentally, "AhHHHHHHMMMMMEEEEOOWW"
(Translation: "WHY???")

"Two minutes! Wait! Now we are in the parking lot!"

But it is too late.

At the last split second, he pulls his snotty little face away and belches his treat into the back of his carrier along with a surprising amount of fluid.

Parking, I quickly wipe my disgusting finger tips with a paper towel from the mess bag and apply sanitizer and haul him in his crate carefully out of the vehicle.  (Prolonged exposure can him throw up again.)

Small piece of luck!  We are presently the only patients in the office.  The front person asks if she can help and I ask if she likes cats.  "Of Course!" she answers, eyeing the moaning crate.

Sadly for her, this means I pop open the top and hand him off for a cuddle.  He is happy to cuddle with her.  She didn't put him in the torture machine.

He is pretty good about not getting his mess on himself, so although she is startled, she is not grossed out.  I ball up the trash bag while she tells him he is handsome and he head butts her face as a thank you.

As soon as the door closes to our waiting room, I let him investigate while I answer the questions for the tech.  He has forgiven me now that we 'in it together' in a foreign place, he sits next to me, rubbing his face on my leg and even reaches up to request I 'pick him up'.

Anyway... the tech leaves and in walks the vet.... Rudely the man roughs him up, takes his temperature, inspects his teeth and squeezes his little body all over.

Charles has lost... drum roll please: 6.5 pounds.

Over the last two years mind you, but this is amazing.  Shoot, I have been trying to get off the last eight pounds for a year without success.

Char and I are advised he is in incredibly good shape for his age and his teeth actually look really good.  Over all, he is a darn good looking healthy decade old (ish) cat (last part is my part but it's true.)

The vet leaves.  Char jumps down.  I reline the crate with the extra trash bag in my handbag and call him over.  He sits down and heavily sighs.

"It's time to go home buddy."

He sighs again, I wait.  Around the two minute mark of looking towards each other but not at each other he stands and stiffly walks over to me and into the crate.

The front desk is awash with dogs; a giant Dobie bellows hello, a pittie woofs, a huge boxer lungs for the crate cradled in my arms.

And I still have to pay....

A beseeching tortured cry erupts from the crate and I start to giggle.