'Winter is Coming' (Matted Photo Print of Completed Work)

An 8" X 10" Photo Print of "Break the Storm" is Available for sale 

At my Etsy shop: Sunflower Point of View.  This high resolution photo print is framed in a  high quality 11" X 14" black mat and will be sent in a clear fitted plastic bag.

'Break the Storm' (Matted Photo Print of Completed Work)

Sketch in Chalk on drawing paper

14" X 12"

Final work completed in Acrylic 

on Heavy Loose Canvas (Twitter)

An 8" X 10" Photo Print of "Break the Storm" is Available for sale 

At my Etsy shop: Sunflower Point of View.  High resolution photo print framed in a 11" X 14" black mat.

   

Dear Wikipedia Readers....

Hi everyone,

I don't usually post things along this line but Wikipedia is asking for help to stay independent and ad free.  I admire Wikipedia and I regularly enjoy the value of their services.

If you see this is an organization you support and if you are a position to do so, please consider making a donation at: Wikipedia 

"DEAR WIKIPEDIA READERS: We’ll get right to it: This week we ask our readers to help us. To protect our independence, we'll never run ads. We survive on donations averaging about $15. Only a tiny portion of our readers give. If everyone reading this right now gave $3, our fundraiser would be done within an hour. That’s right, the price of a cup of coffee is all we need. We’re a small non-profit with costs of a top website: servers, staff and programs. Wikipedia is something special. It is like a library or a public park where we can all go to learn. If Wikipedia is useful to you, take one minute to keep it online and ad-free. Thank you."

'A Walk in a Dream' (Matted Photo Print of Completed Work)

An 8" X 10" Photo Print of "A Walk in a Dream" is Available for sale 

At my Etsy shop: Sunflower Point of View.  This high resolution photo print is framed in a  high quality 11" X 14" black mat.  

In the Dark

I woke up last night, so restless I knew I was suffocating.  Before my dramatic panic could gain a good foot hold I realized that in my sleep I had smashed my face into a feather pillow and was literally a little short on air. Now chuckling at myself, I rolled over, waking myself up all the way.  I quietly got up before I could toss and turn my darling awake too and headed downstairs.

Char excitedly jumped into my lap as I sat on the couch.  We played 'chase the string' (which is way more awesome in the muted light of 4 am than ever before known.) This cheered me up for a bit but as he settled on my chest for a cuddle my thoughts again soured...

Age is marching on my face.  I have gained ELEVEN frigging pounds in the last three months. Every day, I woefully eat my Greek yogurt/ raspberry breakfast and then later munch down my loaded veggie salad, snacking only on almonds, hard boiled eggs and bell peppers... while I resentfully glare at skinny coworkers snacking on cream cheesed bagels and raspberry muffins.

I get to work in the dark.  I stare at my computer screen, checking internet references against word docs, without access to windows.   I leave work in the dark. I get home and make dinner.  I sit in a dark living room and stare at a TV, the blood in my ears sounding thick and heavy.  My art sits silently collecting dust in the company of many double stacked unread books. We stay up late.  I sleep badly.  I get up in the dark.

My special kind of hell is a regular happy world for others.  I am confused why I don't seem to adapt. I have struggled into this ill fitting sweater every day for years now.  Years and years.  Everyone around me seems to be just fine with the hours, with the commute, the grey walls, shared lunches in windowless break rooms and dress pants. Why am I not just fine too? Why am I slamming my inner fists against the walls?

I went outside yesterday, during the day.  Watery December sunlight kissed my face for the first time in three days and just for a moment I felt lighter. So today, as I got to work in the dark, I carried with me my tennis shoes. At 9 am, an hour and a half in, I traded my heels for them and walked around outside for ten blissful shivering minutes. 

They Leave

"They Leave"

18" X 24" X 1.5"

Free Flight: Paragliding and Hanggliding

Please Watch and Share: Gliders vs. Miners

The mining company purchased the property behind the houses in the 1990's when there were already houses.  This mining company will devastate the neighborhood and quality of life if they are allowed to mine "Phase 2".

I find it interesting that one neighbor cannot change his adjoining property (house and land) in a manner that negatively impacts mine without at least a massive effort to prove the need and to then hear opposing views. How can a different neighbor be completely exempted when their intended use of the property includes the words "total disturbance"?

Please sign the petition https://www.change.org/p/salt-lake-county-government-save-steep-mountain

Dear Friend - Part 2

Dear Friend,

Just over a week ago, I laid on the warm grass in the back yard, idly playing with your fur around your shoulders.  You were 'giving up' the last couple of days. You who love to run up and down the mountains, chase squirrels and tennis balls, swim in creeks, rivers and oceans, explore parks, camping and crazy long road trips (California, Wyoming, Utah and more)... 

Your last few pleasures are becoming impossible... getting in and out of the car, walks in the neighborhood, coming upstairs to bed.  This was a good day but as I watched you watch a bird in tree, the sunlight in the grass-  I knew I was watching you let go and it was time to ask myself to also let you go. 

I last wrote to you in April (http://acarnamedkatie.blogspot.com/2014/04/dear-friend.html). I am writing to you, again here on the internet, not for you but for other humans.  I hope they read this and know that to be in balance with life, we need balance with the world we are born in.  Animals were once a common part of our time on this planet. Now they are often not and we are losing something important as we lose this connection.  

Animals teach us lessons in real friendship. For all our logic and thumbs, we share the same longing for family, safety, adventure and play.  Dumb in our world, they are unable to articulate their feelings and needs with our words.  To truly bond with an animal, we learn to listen, hear, see and feel differently than we are taught to in our human interactions and this brings us into focus with our own natures. 

We humans tend to live in the past, regretting and second guessing what is done.  We tend to live in the future, worrying and planning for what we cannot predict or change. Animals live right now and living with them, we are brought back to the present.

And to you dear friend; It is all right that I am grieving for you. Ohhhh the lessons I have been privileged to learn because of you!  You know all my looks and I know yours.  I know your moods, your inclinations, your signals and you know mine. You accepted me and I learned to accept you. I have hated watching you become limited with age, I am sympathetic to your depression and frustration. I miss you on every run, walk, every excursion of shared "grocery store/ oil change/ park" we had together!

You have been my child, my sister, my friend.

And I promise, because I value you and our friendship, that I am letting you go too.  In tribute to our friendship I will not ask you to keep you going anymore.  I, and my best friend, we will let you go in the next few days, we will pick a day that is beautiful and we will let you go with peace and dignity.

  

Coffee with Sunday Morning (Original Art)

'Coffee with Sunday Morning'
***SOLD*** (Details: 4" X 12" X .75" permanently mounted to a 8" X 10" X .75", Mix of Medias include Acrylic, Ink, Oil Pastels, Watercolor)

A Taste

I am eager for a taste of this tricky evening.  I watch the wings that sink out. I watch the wings that hold on. I watch the C wings take the last bench.  I see that flat, yet tight turns, determine the fate of those that hang on.  Tips that wobble, from brakes pulled too much or too little, will miss the narrow thermals and rocky rolling lift line.  I watch and watch, learning, absorbing yet hesitating. 

This is some of my favorite air.  It may look crowded for a few minutes but I know I will have most of the ridge to myself if I hold out because most will sink or land out.

I am eager for a taste but I pause as I watch launch.  Many of the pilots, including those who possess kiting skills that far exceed my own, are struggling.  Light easterly cross wind mixes with strong tapered thermals in densely cool air causing wings to rapidly switch from surging forward to buckling in; all while trying to also to rock them into the gullies. 

Once I am past launch, the air will engulf me in the moment.  I know I will be present, 100% present in each instant.  It is a drug for me.  I don’t care about the last course; I don’t care about the bench.  I want the thrill of listening to my wing, of staring fiercely at the stiff sage for flickering foliage, of guessing which ridge will have the tiniest bit more movement as I try to correctly time each sink and lift cycle.

Oh I am eager for a taste!   Again, I pull my wing up but just as quickly I set it back down.  Again the light sharp feather of memory teases my neck.  I have been ‘gullied’.  The result was only a few nasty scratches and a twisted ankle but I have not forgotten it could have been more. I turn around to watch another pilot get picked up, sat down and snarled into a knot.

I look around for an instructor who has before helped me this year on a similar evening but they aren't here. Drat.  I turn back and as I watch I can see the gusts are abating.  It is going to continue to be cross and uneven but it is smoother.  I roll my shoulders, take a deep breath, decide and ask someone else to assist me; to ask them help me be safe and coach my launch.

And they do, while telling me I should take a pass on this tricky air…. J  With their much appreciated verbal only guidance, I have a safe launch and I have my taste.

Oh such wonderful air; the best kind, the teaching kind, the kind that keeps me hyper alert.  I grinned as I missed the minuscule thermal at the gazebo and I carefully tapped my brakes into a flat turn to catch it again, relying on weight shift.  I laughed as I climbed back up to ridge level; I dropped my inside hip, just touching my outside brake to level out my wing’s porpoise effect caused by flying close to the gullies and ridges.  I repeat this movement, searching the ridge for all of the steps.

A strong thermal lifts me up quickly and I turn into it, ‘parked’ for a moment until I feel it roll over and past and down I sink again.  The rowdiest air on an easterly evening seems to always towards the end so I use the lower landing zone to as a visual marker to not go past.

I dance in this silly, laughing turbulent air delivered by a wind that challenges me to be present, to be in every instant, to never let my attention stray and to never give up.  For thirty four minutes I sink, I soar; I live in each heart beat until I hear her sigh that she is done with our play.   I turn in my last chance to be on top, land on the grass and laugh at myself. 

Untitled Doodle (Original Art)

Untitled Doodle

11" X 14"

Our Muse

I am twisted slightly to look over my shoulder, eyes glued to the sluggishly waving wind sock behind me.  Every exhale of moving air against my neck is mentally measured. My peripheral vision watches the cells of my paraglider breathing in the north wind's presently insignificant gasps.

A tiny bead of sweat cools the side of my temple.  The rest is caught inside the mesh of my snug full face helmet. My fingers slide softly against my lines...

The north wind is coming.  I know it.  My imagination pictures my Wind Woman tumbling, laughing, teasing around far off flags and trees.  Although she is carelessly delayed by distractions from the eastern mountains and then tardier still as she momentarily pauses to smile at leaves... she is coming and I am patient and impatient as the late summer sun roasts my shoulders through my long sleeved shirt.

All around me stand 30 or more others; gear on, harnesses clipped, their heads also steam cooking in colanders called helmets.

We wait in near silence.

Then... the hang glider waiting on the edge of launch, having leaned forward on his wires for minutes the length of hours, suddenly straightens and takes the base tubes (the frame) of his wing in his hands; he has seen the flag down the valley snap up and strong.  He launches. The nose dips down and then curves up.

She is here.

There is a unvoiced cheer of unified relief as we pull up our wings, each of us now competing for our spot to take off.  We stagger forward like zombies, chests to the ground, toes scrambling; we are laughing with our belated muse as she catches us off the earth's edge to toss us up and up.

Winter is Coming (Original Art)

'Winter is Coming'
16" X 20" X .75"
Print Available 

Serenity - Maggie's Tree (Original Art)

'Serenity' 
Maggie's Tree

8" X 12" X 1.5"
(1) 4" X 12" X .75" mounted to (1) 8" X 10" X .75" 

Possibility

She is slender and very young.  Just old enough to be allowed into this little eclectic Portland bar. Perched on bar stool, wrapped in a pretty summer dress, legs crossed and shoulders hunched forward over the bar; her body language declares "Do not disturb".

I had to lean across her to order but I flashed her a quick "sorry " smile as I did.  Looking up and seeing a female face she returns a tight one, curling herself tighter around the little hand bound journal in front of her.

My inadvertently rude glance at her elegant cursive catches a few words "I'm struggling, I can't explain what I feel..."  and I am sympathetic as jerk my eyes away.  The rush of fellowship is familiar. I was this girl. Granted on the the other side of the country but I was her.

I have a giant bin full of journals from this time in my life. It's so heavy I can't pick it up.  I would write and write and draw and draw.  I still do, of course, I am writer and an artist. But it was constant then, literally, every moment, my fingers struggled to get my words out.

I look around at the world, at all these people with so many different temperatures in temper and conflicting points of view -so many hearts convinced it walks alone.  I wish I would pull over and talk to that old man on the bus stop I see each morning.  I am grateful I reached out to that old lady in the store who needed someone to see her and listened to her stories about beloved cats and grand-babies. I regret I didn't leave a little bigger tip to that waitress; I wanted the check and found her by the kitchen door and heard her whisper, "I am invisible." before I startled her with my approach.

I breathe my wish to this girl, that she sees forward to all her possibilities. My eyes find the bartender, my voice startles my ears back into hearing; I order my drink.

"The Light in Her" (Original Art)

"The Light in Her"

18" X 21" 

Loose Canvas, Acrylic
(Unfinished)

Oregon (Original Art)

"Oregon"

10.5 X 13.5 

Acrylic, Oil Pastels/ Loose Heavy Multi-Media Paper

'The Bug', Ego and a Vaccine

Our perception of self worth and value tends to be deeply aligned with our pesky testy fragile ego and as such it is an incredibly powerful aspect of the human condition, ego can be a serious force to reckon with.

I have my own ego issues, of course, but they are not usually sports related. God and fate did not see fit to give me a reasonable sense of spacial awareness or much by the way of eye hand coordination.  I respect the high possibility I may die carrying the laundry down the stairs some day. So when it comes to sports, of any kind, I hold myself back, take extra care and never compare my progress to others.

And this detached approach works well for me.... Until I catch 'The Bug'.

'The Bug' happens when I get really interested, invested and begin to see 'Dramatic Improvement'. Symptoms include an awakened fiercely competitive six year old self, hair brained determination and a complete lack of concern for possible bodily harm. Having the 'The Bug' means that I will now measure my progress with a ruthless and unforgiving memory.

Skiing is a great example.

I started skiing on gentle runs in the rolling sprawling hills of Harrisburg. I loved it; each time was chaotic movements in a splendor of heavy snow and coupled with fantastic car wheels.

Then I moved to Utah and had a couple of days on snow accompanied with the skilled aid of my dearest. Having grown up skiing on a racing team in Utah, he is more than proficient, ridiculously fast and a persistent instructor. Under his tutelage I went from sort of up right and mildly paying attention to showing some assemblage of 'Dramatic Improvement'.

I remember my first run taken with 'The Bug' and an inkling of confidence... As of that run, I have clobbered my face, free fallen, lost skies, blacked out and seen the inside of the First Aid office at Snowbird and Alta. In the name of 'The Bug' and my burning desire to be awesome; I have become a fanatical devotee to my crusade -despite my natural state of klutz.

Getting 'The Bug' is not a given occurrence though.  Scuba diving, for example; My darling introduced me to the world of diving years ago but the whole thing only enhanced an already acute awareness of my squish-able self. Diving is cool, awe inspiring and down right scary. Scuba diving remains in the category of 'Improve and Proceed with Extreme Caution'

Flying has been in this category up until last October.  I treated the whole thing with watchful meticulous routine and warily eyed interest. Then last year, after a summer of monsoons, cross winds and blown out days, there came a mystical week in October. For six days, in a row, there arrived warm/ cool autumn air, bringing straight and even winds with golden sunsets.

It's incredible what consistency will do. Launching, flying and landing six days in a row, of course, improved my confidence and skills. It also included my personal hook: 'Dramatic improvement'.

Perhaps 'The Bug' is intermediate syndrome, I have read a bit about it. Intermediate syndrome describes making 'choices not in line with one's actual level of experience, skills' and general know how. Regardless of what it is called, I have it, a burning, driving need to understand and accomplish, on my own, continuous improvement.  Along with 'The Bug', my ego now includes the unhappy trait of sensitivity when my choices are second guessed.

Then.... something did not happen to me, it happened to the one who matters most. I listened to the one with a prouder and stronger character than anyone in this world; swallow the first and exemplify the second, and ask for help, feedback and advice.

I think might have found a vaccine for 'The Bug'.

It's called 'Be Quiet and Listen.'

Sunrise with the Wind Woman (Original Art)

Sunrise with the Wind Woman

12" X 16" X .75" 

Acrylic Paint/ Oil Pastels

Kiekie (Personalized Pet Portrait)

'Kiekie'
Personalized Pet Portrait

18" X 24" X .75"

Acrylics and Oil Pastels
**Sold** https://www.etsy.com/transaction/208408393

Choice

We all have questions
Whispers inside...
And when they come out
We are left to decide,
Whether to speak,
To let Emotion Shout.
When your heart has had enough
When you have found yourself out.

We all have loss and regret
Look Beyond, Look Past
And all the things you carry,
Will fall away at last. 

Frankie's Reflection (Personalized Pet Portrait)

'Frankie's Reflection'
**Sold**
Personalized Pet Portrait

18" X 24" X .75"

Acrylics and Oil Pastels

*Sold* https://www.etsy.com/transaction/212469233?

Inspiration Point (Original Art)

'Inspiration Point' 

10.75" X 13.75" 

Heavy Weight Mixed Media Paper

Permanent markers; Oil Pastels; Acrylic

Early September (Original Art)

'Early September ' 

11"X 14"

On Mixed Media Heavy Paper 

Acrylic/ Oil Pastels

It is framed in a 11”X 14 black matte with a 8" X 12"opening.

https://www.etsy.com/listing/191754192/early-september-original-fine-art?ref=shop_home_feat_4

'Wind Woman Sing me a Song' (Original Art)

'Wind Woman Sing me a Song'

11" X 14" 

Heavy Weight Drawing Paper

Permanent markers & Oil Pastels

https://www.etsy.com/listing/190727332/wind-woman-sing-me-a-song-original-fine?ref=shop_home_active_2

**Sold**

Moab (2009)

I meant to touch on the camping trip and realized, a month later… that I didn’t.

Moab is…. How to draw Moab?

We arrived in the evening and we started our visit then and there by scrambling around the top of Dead Horse Point. My best sweetheart told me the story of how the place acquired its name and it left me with a tightened throat. Sunset fell completely and the night wind swept up the sheer cliffs, blowing my clothes against me and my hair into snarls. My hands hurt which was interesting. My hands always ache when I am high up. Heights do something to my heart rate too. So although I couldn’t see perfectly, my body knew where I was.

For a woman raised on the east coast for most of her formative years…. Beauty, to me, is the wet grass, the fireflies, the smell of the sea, rain in the afternoon, green everywhere. This was a different world completely.

Moab is a swirling dance of red, orange, and dusty purple during the day. It is fire and brilliant shards of light at dusk. It is a calm grey blue at night.

Silence beats against your ears. Regardless of whether is it a trail with very few companion hikers or if it is where tourism and crowds abound, the silence streams around the shrill echoes of laughter and brushes against your legs, eyes and heart. Silence is alive there.

Towering rocks are temples, they are forbidding and watchful as you pass under them. The ground exhales under your feet and for all the stones, dust, and solid ancient landscape, somehow Moab is vibrantly Alive and Self-Aware. It is an Eerie, and almost Holy place.

There the wind woman is even more wild and dangerous and beautiful. Although I have always loved and distrusted her, I have never felt fear. There, I was so sensitive to my fragile body and her fierce freedom that I was actually afraid.

It was exhilarating.

(2009 07)

'Remember the Light after the Storm' (Original Fine Art)

Sunday evening I landed, I packed and then I stepped away to close my eyes and breathe deeply.  I took a long sip of air slightly chilled with a cold front passing, warmed with early summer rays and sharp with a taste of cut grass and dust.  I have the perfect amount of quiet gratitude in my glass of joy.  

I am lost in time again; looking around at a little eclectic community framed by wild clouds and golden sunset.

And I remember… I am twenty again, twenty and cold.  I hadn't anywhere to go that night and I was afraid to be found by the one person looking.  There was no one to call and no way to call anyway.  I had snow soaked tennis shoes on, a small stash of squirreled away cash in my pockets and the sudden inexplicable belief that I would 'will' myself out of the corner I'd painted myself into.  

I remember this night like it is now; I cup my soul’s hands gently, carefully, around that night with palms full of humble recognition.  That beautiful night I huddled, shaking and shivering, in the shelter of a covered door entry at a closed grocery store. I remember a fire born in darkness and determination.  The heat of it burned my heart, my ribs - the inner flames torched my icy fingers -I would get out of this mess.

I closed my eyes at that moment on that night and I pictured what this would mean, how it would taste, what I would be able to do.  I pictured the road trip Dee and I promised each other, I pictured my identity,  I took my fears of water, of heights, of friendship, of roots and I held them to this fire and watched them burn.  For hours, alone and un-found, until early dawn, I concentrated on this vision.  

I had realized one of my truths, (I have a few now), and this one is a big one.  Maybe an obvious one but that’s the thing about being young- we all start out not knowing anything. 

Truth#4:  We forget that both happiness and storms will come and go and pass.  Again and again. Happiness is such a fleeting, painfully fragile, delicate and wondrous thing. And we forget, as we bask in it's luminous glow, our arms stretched out and up to the welcoming sky, that it will come and go and pass.

Storms, so wild, wicked and dark, as our ship is sinking, ropes lashing in the wind and unsecured sails perilously unfolding; we despair and forget. We forget it will pass. That the heavy suffocating rain will lessen, the clouds will break and the moon will return with stars to guide the way.  

Here is the point; Storms will come all on their own.  Sometimes we may mistakenly steer ourselves into them, sometimes we choose a course that lengthens the duration we ride through them -but storms will come. 

Happiness, while it may seem to 'just happen', happiness is always a choice.  Happiness is in our heads.  Sometimes it is a hard choice, one reached for with grasping hands blinded by pain, loss, or most terribly of all, with regret. 

Happiness was the moment I believed, that night and the nights after, with all I wanted to be; I believed I could and I would figure out how to get out of that situation. And every happiness since then leaves my mortal beating heart shaking with thankfulness to the person inside me trying her best, the man standing beside me and all the people around me reaching out with giving hands.

Remember the light after the storm Reader.  Even if that is all you can do as you hang on to the wheel of your ship, nose into the wind, the world black and your horizon tumbling, remember the light outside of the storm.

'Remember the Light after the Storm'

16" X 20 X .75"

Original Art - Oil Pastels/ Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

Wings in the Air (Original Art)

'Wings in the Air'

24" X 30" X .75" 
Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

'Red Fire Dawn' is at Urban Arts Gallery (Salt Lake City, UT)

Friday, 9 May 2014

Urban Arts Gallery  - 137 south Rio Grande Street, Salt Lake City, Utah

Yay for first tries!  

Friday, May 9th I attended CONNECT.  This event occurs every second Friday of each month hosted at Urban Arts Gallery (located in the Gateway mall, SLC, UT), (http://utaharts.org/connect). 

My work, 'Red Fire Dawn' was selected to be displayed for one month, May 9th through June 9th.

My Etsy Shop is now up and running! :) 

https://www.etsy.com/shop/SunflowerPointofView?ref=shopinfo_shophome_leftnav

Headed Home

Lately, the Wind Woman had been something of a pill, delivering only turbulent rain or half-hearted little breaths of a breeze.  Just in the prior week, on THREE evenings, I stood clipped into my gear, sweating in my full face helmet, fingers fiddling with my lines, staring over my shoulder at the flag on the end of launch.... and no wind....

Additionally I was immersed in family chaos composed of college graduation, dinners, military commissioning, an impromptu bridal shower -All of which a happy series of events, of course, but also loaded with family politics and emotions.  

Naturally, it was fantastic flying conditions the two nights booked with family gatherings....

And then it was Sunday and although the weather was not predicted to be flyable, it was still Sunday, the most lovely day of the week.  I am very fortunate to have a deeply religious family and usually I am left Sunday as my day -no interruptions, no events. Ah Sunday, how I eye this day with excited scheming and anticipation.  

Sunday morning we pulled weeds, hauled branches and after four hours of yardwork, the rental property was a little more presentable.  That afternoon, we hurried to Alta to celebrate closing day by slugging through heavy slushy spring snow and admiring the array of inappropriate costumes and outfits (or lack of ).  

As we returned to the car, my darling man checked the winds on his phone and announced... "Hey! It's flyable!".

Skies and boots were never so quickly shed.  Tearing down the mountain, falling out of the car to swap our ski gear for paragliders, we dashed to the flight park.  

And it was flyable;  we stepped out of the car, into harnesses and off of launch into bouncy and perfectly ahhhhhmazing wind. 

We flew and flew, for around an hour until it was time to head home.

"Headed Home"

"11" X "14" X ".75"
Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)


***I have decided this piece needs a lovely vibrant background... ;)

(Twitter)

Bike Ride (Original Fine Art)

'Bike Ride'

"20" X "24" X "1.5"
Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

Distractions (Original Fine / Contemporary Art)

'Cool Distractions' (left)

16" X 20" X 3/4"'

Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

'Warm Distractions' (right)

16" X 20" X 3/4"

Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

'Balanced Distractions' (left)

16" X 20" X 3/4"

Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

'Measured Distractions' (right)

30" X 24" X 3/4"

Original Fine Art - Acrylic (Sealed to protect against fading/UV)

Dear Friend - Part 1

Dear Sally,

In 2004, before I found you I had been both to the city animal pound and the humane society twice.  That August I made my first visit to the bi-annual ‘Super Pet Adoption’.

The Super Pet Adoption is an event hosted, financed and promoted by various state and local animal organizations.  On the designated weekend hundreds of animals, (literally), although primarily dogs, are delivered to a parking lot volunteered by a Pet Store.

I wandered through make shift temporary kennels stuffed with hay and covered with tarps to protect enclosed padded feet.  Industrial sized containers were constantly refilled with fresh water and there were land mines of poo in every direction.  The stifling smell of urine, hay and hot asphalt greeted numerous human shoppers.  The scalding late summer sunshine was soaked in saliva.

The dogs knew they were in hell.  They knew one of us was the only way out. It was a frenzy of excited barking, long tongues waving and furry bodies lunging at each person making their way through the narrow maze of kennels. 

I took my time at each enclosure, looking over pinned up cards giving each occupant’s information –breed, age, gender and a quick synopsis of the animal’s background and personality.

After a couple of hours in the exhaustive heat my search had proven unsuccessful.  I started down the last line.  Puppies, pit bulls and mutts alike were quieter, worn out by the hot noise and smells. 

At the second to last pen, I was stopped by a card that started with the words ‘Allie -Australian Sheppard-Lab‘. An Aussie mix?  I was raised by an Aussie. I looked down to find myself being eyed by a very thin, mangy black dog wearing a wicked scar on the inner crook of her left eye. 

Your stare was direct but not aggressive.  You’d crammed yourself into the straw in the further most corner. Your card advised your name was Allie, one to three years old, half black lab, half Aussie, crate trained, recently rescued from the pound by a local rescue.  As you stared at me, I couldn't help staring back and I smiled.

Huh.  I asked for a leash and took you out. You were awkward with me; not knowing what to do with my offered hand, or how to walk on a leash.  You did not recognize any commands, you did not respond to your name but you did continue to stare intently into my eyes.

I decided you were too young, too un-trained, had a very scattered background –the care/worker advised your history comprised of three homes and four rescues or impoundments. 

I sadly asked you one more time, “Sit.”  You sat.   I looked at you.  You looked me. 

I was coaxing you up for a repeat when I glanced over and saw a different person working with a different dog.  Upon repeat, this you again copied them.

I decided to walk away, to think it over.  I called my mother and consulted her.  The other hiccup was I couldn't quite afford you; older dogs were half the cost of younger ones.  She encouraged me to follow my instincts, promising she would fund the other half of the adoption fee.

I went back; I brought you home and renamed you Sally.

When I left the east coast, during my last visit, my physiologist had recommended I always have a dog because an animal distracted me from me.  When I had settled in California for a few weeks, I followed her advice and adopted a much much older dog.  I was fond of him, but his already advanced age helped me keep my distance.  Regardless of how that admission sounds, this is where I was in life.  I lived alone, I moved a lot; I was a ‘gypsy’ as my short term friends would joke.  I belonged with nothing and nothing belonged with me.

The violence of my teen years and divorce relentlessly stalked me. Despite miles of separation, I still woke up nearly every night screaming at 3am. 

I had so little trust in myself - I was afraid of everything.  What is really sad? The person I was at this time was a dramatic improvement from the person I was before.  By the time I had decided to head to  Utah, I was at least functioning. I didn't have public anxiety attacks anymore, I could hold a job, laugh; I paid bills and even began painting a little again.

Oh Sal, I was still such a mess when I met you.  I didn't trust you and you certainly did not trust me; it was an uneasy six months, remember? You cautiously learned basic commands and I diligently walked you every morning and night but we didn't bond.  You had your stories and I had my stories and we kept them to ourselves. 

Then we had a break.  One hot summer afternoon, I’d gotten off work and found an eaten pair of favorite shoes in the living room.  I flipped; yelling, I threw the remains of one at you and stormed into the kitchen to take a breath.  A minute later I calmed down and walked back into the now empty living room to stare in horror at the open door.  You were gone.  

Panic hit my chest like a lead ball.  This apartment was by a very busy street… Dashing out, calling your name, I looked out across the ‘streaming-with-cars’ street, and there you were, sitting by a tree on the grass.  You were staring at me; eyebrows low, mouth tightly shut, anxious eyes waiting.  

I shut up, slowly walked over and sat down next to you. 

I was unspeakably relieved to see you.  You were anxiously relieved I was looking for you. 

I sighed and told you I was sorry.  You sighed in reply and we both relaxed and rested, leaning on each other.  After a while we got up and as we crossed the street together, I realized you were looking for traffic too, just like me….

A couple of nights later I had a dreaded 3am.  Unlike the dog before you, who hid because I frightened him, you came and put your head next to my head, whining to wake me up.  Then you let me cry and hug you.  I never faced a 3am alone again.  After time, 3am came less and less until I realized one day I had not had a 3am in years.

We had an unspoken pact between us, I would always have your back and you would always have mine.  You have never been great with words commands but you are amazing with facial and hand signals.  We went everywhere together, to every fair, festival, shop, park, road trip; we were glued at the hip. I began to be braver and make real friendships and real conversations.  Hell you even went on a couple of dates with me. I chuckle now remembering what a suspicious and disapproving chaperon you were.

A few months after our ‘moment’, I met my knight in shining slightly dented armor and eventually I married my hero, a soaring hawk with sharp intelligent grey blue eyes. Together we live a life of adventure and friendship. 

Today, a decade after you and I first met, I am more than a functioning adult.  I am a thriving human being.  And I know it is in part because you trusted me that I learned to trust me too.  You Sally girl, you were a missing link.

You are old now; I think you are as puzzled by this as I am.  Despite being on a fairly intense regiment of pills, natural food and regular walks, age descends on you anyway. You've not lost any of your 'marbles' but you haven’t any of your legendary patience left for small children and dogs.  I don’t care.  I put you behind baby gates when needed and walk you in the evening when the younger dogs are gone. 

This morning was a really tough morning for you.  You fell trying to stand and fell again trying to go up the stairs.  I watched you hunch your shoulders, resigned; you stayed down, eyebrows lowered. 

I put down what I was doing, got out some more painkillers and while I waited the twenty minutes for them to take effect, I laid your quilt out in the back seat of the car and got your leash and collar.  I could tell they hit when you picked your head up to smile at me and wag your tail.  I helped you stand (painkillers, unfortunately, don’t make you stronger) and get into the car. We picked up my sweetheart for a coffee lunch break.  A couple of nice ladies cooed over you at the coffee shop and you happily visited with them while we ordered.  Afterwards you and I made one more quick stop before heading to a favorite park.

How we laughed as we pulled up.  I let you set the pace and direction and was astonished at how far you wanted to go.  When you were tired, you changed course and headed for the shade in a grove of trees. There you laid down and I sat down.  

You smiled and I smiled. 

You were the first to belong with me and me with you.  Our friendship is the foundation for all the ones that have developed since. You are beloved beyond words.  I know you know I love you but the volume of my gratitude is not something I can adequately express. 

But I'll tell you every day anyway, thank you for helping save me.

Part 2: http://acarnamedkatie.blogspot.com/2014/11/dear-friend-part-2.html