Friday, November 20, 2009

She's resting peacefully in a quilt lined planter box, relieved that the pesky little temporary kitten has disappeared. Her nose is marked by the faucet where she seeks liquid refreshment, whether or not it is turned on.

Having collected and saved a bunch of ephemera, I decided to start working on an altered book as a form of therapy following leaving a job I loved. The images and articles simply express the spiritual nature of the place I find myself now, with themes of dragonflies, psalms and sisters.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Yesterday was Andrew Carl Newsome's birthday. 10 ~ 10.
Dear Baby,
You would now be 34. A full grown man with a full life behind you and I can't help but ponder what that life would have looked like.
I now know that without the help of grief "experts" I came to the stage of acceptance of your death too quickly. My support team did not know what I needed. I did not know how to grieve your loss - and I still don't. Your footprints are all I have of you. Then, it seemed impossible to mourn for a baby I didn't get to meet and hold and kiss. Now I can. . . . .and I do. The wound is healing softly and gently. Thank you for your help. I still long for you. I'll always be crazy for newborns. Blessings and love this day. Your Mama.

Friday, October 9, 2009

Taylorbuilt. Made to last. My eldest grandson is a wonder on earth. Both of the these structures were built at local nature spots, inspired by nothing more that a big branch and then another and another. The one on the right has been there a year. I'm sure the park guys wonder. The other one is at Lake George and I wonder if the geese roost there at night.
I really like these geese. After visiting Lake George, the pond 2 miles west of town, for the past 10 years, they have shown up and seem to have taken up residence there. When you get out of the car, they start running laps around the lake. run run run. Or they go to a certain tree, scurry around it and then run back the other way. Several are white, some gray, some gray and white.

The water is fairly fresh, but covered most of the summer with duck weed. Simon likes to go for swims. The west end is preferable to the east due to mud and stinky muck. I always pack a big towel in the car. My last car had permanent lake fragrance.

I love Lake George. God finds me there and my mind is quieter and my heart stills for awhile. It's my Zen place. Simon led me to through the trees years ago and we discovered the creek to the south. Its banks are covered with long soft grass always inviting me to lie down.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

This is the time of year when I think a lot about my roots. Having emmigrated from Denmark in 1927 (when he was 27), my dad returned for a visit in the sixties with his new Kodak in hand. Is this a sunrise or sunset that he captured? I don't know, but it is one of many treasures in his slide collection. It is awesome to look through his eyes and capture the image as he did. He taught me about beauty; to value and respect creation; to be curious and to explore and to find joy. I am thankful for Dad's eyes.
Though his hands were tough and hard calloused and brown, they tenderly potted thousands of fragile seedlings and eyedrop-nursed some orphaned kittens. They wove baskets, held a hymnal, carved soap figures, built from wood, created from copper, aluminum and iron. On his deathbed, he place his big hand over the head of the little cat that slept there beside him and whispered "misse, misse, misse" ("kitty" in Danish). I am thankful for Dad's hands.
It seemed appropriate to begin my blog with this memory and this photo.