WALL-STREET-PANDEMONIUM
Waiting for my Knarly Head to arrive, my elbows lean on my hightop, hands clasped in, 'here's the church - here's the steeple' kidplay mode. I stare wondrously at the massive glittering wall in front of me. It is beautiful. Hidden fluorescents illuminate the great expanse of mirror and glass shelves, artistically arranged with hundreds of bottled spirits, and a few brightly colored art-glass artifacts. Only a handful of patrons surround me at T.L. Schmit, a new establshment to me. The music is soft, but spunky. A multitude of glaring screens that portray a variety of sporting events in progress hang suspended in space around the perimeter, volume off. So pleasant. I smile, masking the turmoil alive and well in my gray matter. Closing my eyes, I soak in the calm, but nurturing atmosphere, hoping for clarity to arrive. As my server boldy places the stemware of deep velvet red in front of me, I return to the moment. Lifting the goblet, I swirl briskly, forcing the liquid up in waves close to the rim. Embedded in my cerebral moments my eyes fixate on the rolling of the fruit of the vine. I think - I wonder -things I'm good at. Finally I try out 'the nose' of it. Oh yes....hmmm, nice spice, smoky but fruited - perhaps blackberry and apricot. A smooth palate of flavors. Quite a nice 'Zin' for this evaluating and thoughtful moment..
It is a rather delightful game to engage in - "I wonder what..." - when enjoying an evening's happy-hour, solo. A look around displays a handful of occupied tables. Three suited and neck-tied gents, intense in discussion lean into their conversations, sometimes frowning, and then a gentle 'yes' - shake' of the head - a firm affirmation of their proposed business plan. In the far corner, four 20-something couples laugh, poke at each other, animated in their pleasure moments of friendship. A single finely-aged woman brushes past my table, perching herself confidently barside, her motions lively, a certain flair about her. With lively engagement she places her order with the bartender. From an obscure angle, I subtly read her ambience. I will call her Vanessa - carefully coiffed, white-haired classic boufant-headed Vanessa. Intuition tells me she is in town on business, a briefcase at her feet. Her chardonnay arrives. She reaches purposefully and with a gentle grasp, no swirls, she sips at the buttery spirits. Both she and I peruse our shared-wall view. She wears finer dress on this evening than I, but I wonder how 'fine' are her inner thoughts. Have you ever observed the hand movements of a person, alone, waiting barside for their meal or just speculating in their private world? One can learn plenty from silent observation.. Vanessa sits stoically upright on her stool, hands folded as in prayer, resting on her counter. She stares into space, perhaps evaluating her business of the day. I continue my reading and notetaking of the current book of interest in my life, glancing occasionally at Vanessa. One moment she rests her chin on her cupped hands, ring-bling glaring at me. The next moment her arms fold on the counter edge before her, waiting. My velvet Zin slinks over my palate in microns, warming my spirit, assisting my focus on the decisions I must make in the coming week, evaluating the options to come. Vanessa's meal arrives and she delicately cuts, spears and savours her fish and vegetables. No fine food for me this night, only my Zin and a few almonds from my jean pocket (frugal female that I am). Vanessa makes her graceful exit a few minutes after her meal has disappeared. No eye contact has passed between us. The thoughts of our day, the roadways of our lives held captive and inward.
Turmoil and confusion enter us all at one time or another, uninvited. Some souls live in a virtual state of turmoil, perhaps self-imposed by bad decisions, some as a result of no fault of their own. The confusion that is presently occupying my thoughts is the result of my RV accident of a few weeks ago. It would seem that though the damages were what I considered minor, the repairs required add up to a much larger sum of money than imagined. Amazing how that happens! My dear Pedro is almost 13 years old, and therein lies the problem. Insurance companies that declare vehicles a 'total loss' use current vehicle value as a primary indicator. If the percentage of cost of repair is at a certain level in relation to the vehicle value, the result is: a total loss declaration. Pedro's damages are riding on a thin line for resurrection or death. This is the reason for the pandemonium in my brain. How to approach the new direction of the pilgrimage I am on is the decision that lies before me. Options for a new vehicle - RV or otherwise - more stationery art-time in specific locations, or more time in California with family all occupy my thoughts. Prayers for the right doors to open flow freely. Walls have a way of turning us in a '180' oh so quickly.
The urban freeways of many a great city now erect great walls at the perimeter of the multi-stripped concrete roadways. Noise pollution has become a popular discussion in city council chambers nationwide. Environmental design engineers are having a hay-day as they strive to out-do each other in their creative ways of planning these massive functional walls. Some of these walls I have seen on my travels have scored an A+. Esthetics aside, these dividing barriers have created more than a little confusion in many a driver, myself included! I would surmise that you may have a story or two for sharing as well!
The imaginary walls that I have begun to contemplate this week as a result of my 'accident diddy' have left me feeling like a critter in one of those fancy Halloween hay-bale mazes created at countryside orchard stands for October kid-entertainment. 'How do I get out of this crazy jigsaw of walls that I'm running into!" You've seen a 5-year-old's temper tantrum when told they can't have that cookie? Well, I'm stampin' my feet, folding my arms over my chest, jutting out my chin and sayin' "Really?,...come on now!!!" (We all revert to kid-dom at times, don't we?!) I'll let you know when my tantrum is over.
By the time I'd drained my glass of Zin at T. L Schmit I had a notecard of options before me. Carefully tucking it into my bag for later reference, I floated out, past a few patron tables, feeling lighter. I'd sent my turmoil packing into never-never land - at least for now. Walking purposefully to my car (well, OK, Michelle's car) I pass the line-up of newpaper dispensers. The Wall Street Journal stared at me. I imagined the pandemonium that is a constant on their trading floor, and I breathed a prayer of thankfulness that I am not one of them. I will delight in the relatively peace-filled retired life I now life - though minor turmoil does show up as an appetizer on occasion. By the time desserts arrive, I will be a happy girl. (Note: try spelling 'desserts' backwards! ... a bit of humor. The moral of this: Eat more dessert!!)
As I finish this blog, listening to my Pandora selections through my earbuds at my local tea-hangout, the words from Yanni's relaxing music is the encouragement I need for today. "Let your arms enfold me, through the dark of night. Let your angels surround me until I see the light." I will cleave to this prayer as I wait for the apparent walls to be removed and the new doors to be opened.
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
Friday, November 30, 2012
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
A GENTLE TETHER
This partially completed life of mine has seen it's share of greatness and grit. You have, no doubt, learned from my writing that the almighty tree is my favored metaphor in life. When I feel fragile, I see myself hanging on a thin limb -oh so close to breaking- falling into the abyss below. When I am filled with confidence and strength, my core is a great and massive trunk, upholding a million branches of living, breathing organic matter. The wind of life's trials blow - sometimes gently - sometimes with great power. Such a mystery, it is. The great flow of inner strength and alternate disconnect. The connecting cord - the tethering to the Life-Source of renewal for body, mind and spirit can be so fragile - strength, only a dream away.
Riding a wave of forgotten reservation, the young girl's dreams catapulted her into a sphere of brave advance. She was rising, rising - to the stage of no return, captive to her inner strength. Determination and confidence etching her face, she launched her charge down the carpeted runway to the vaulting table whose menace was sure to be defeated. Airborne for the vault, her position perfect, her hands sure she twists and spins midair, sticking the perfect landing. Triumphant in her smile, she exits her stage. A heart throb like no other. But then - bolting upright in her bed, she awakens from her dream of magic. Today was her chance. The dream - was it a sign? Would today be the day she became the confident gymnast of her dreams. Would she break through her ceiling of fragile brokenness?
This naturegirl's days of rolling down the highways and byways of the great U.S. have been interrupted by the great invader - called, 'accident'. Pedro is broken - I am not. Or, am I? I seem to be hanging on a thin limb on this day.
Today is Sunday. I attended church this morning, not far down the carefully manicured boulevard from my temporary home with my dear family in California. Isn't it funny how sermons sometimes have a way of burroughing into the heart and breaking it wide open. I am here today, as a result of today's churchgoing, to be R-E-A-L. My great admission - today's declaration -- for the last 24+ hours, I have been feeling B-R-O-K-E-N, rather defective - at the bottom of my game. There - I said it. I don't like saying it. Why? Because - does anyone ever really reach out and embrace a fractured vessel? Not usually. Humankind gravitates to the 'best of show'. And, who doesn't want to be the winner?!!!
Yes, I AM traveling, cross country - alone - a woman - and, I hear it often.... "Wow! That is brave!" , or, "I could never do that," or, "Seriously, you are joking, right?" I admit, the commentary pumps-up my inner 'feel-good' monitor. My admission - today's declaration - however, is not about courage or doing the unusual. My declaration is about, liking and accepting the real core of 'who I am' - my daily activity preferences and avoidances, my personality strengths and weaknesses, my caring and my indifferences - the natural flow of how I choose to fill my day when living with little to nonexistent external directives in my current life. Part of this pilgrimage journey of mine is 'inward.' Finding my way forward in my new single life requires a new awakening to 'the core of me'. Identifying the core is no easy task. Why is it so tempting to observe others who are a source of inspiration, and wanting to 'be like them' - to be someone else. I am pretty sure I am not the only one in this camp, though I am not condoning it. I am beginning (with a capital 'B') to 'know', who I really am. The past few days has enlightened my 'knowing'. I am still chewing and digesting. I am praying for a new freedom of acceptance in 'being me'.
I have loved my days on the road. This past 10 days I have missed the new landscapes that fly by me as I venture into territories unknown. I miss the funny roadside signage, the amazing (and sometimes not so amazing) architecture, the new cultural dialects I hear in the coffeeshops and grocery stores along the way. I miss the movement. I miss the wide open spaces. I am learning just how much of an earth-woman I am. That would explain why I am forever picking up leaves, and twigs and feeling flower petals. Perhaps the change in my daily routines have upset my equilibrium - my rhythm. I am untethered from my mobile living quarters - my dear Pedro - cantankerous mobile home that he is!!
Tethering is all about connectedness. Our connections help us feel grounded - anchored in familiarity. As I have studied the botanical worlds of the many regions of the country, I am most fascinated with the moisture-laden subclimates where greenery flourishes without man's hoses tethered to the faucets of city water systems. The profuse branching of ivy as it climbs the tree trunks and overruns the ground in a covering of lush green. What is unique about all this ferocious fauna is that it's connections can easily be loosened, removed, or altered. Tethering is different from the technique of tying - an element not easily removed. I love the though of being 'gently' tethered - to our loved ones, to our rituals, or to our natural instinctive choices. It is a softer connection, flexible, more readily negotiated. When I contemplate 'who I am', I wish to think in terms of a more flexible being, a bendable connection. I wish to remove the rigid knots that tie me to a 'prison of being'. Knowing that I am movable, but connected to a core gives me comfort, and comfort is something that is easy to live with.
The stuff of dreams and longing, of realtime challenges and hopes, and the regrets of unresolved conflict live in every human soul, at one time or another. We all navigate our days in varying degrees of wanderlust. The timeless question, 'Who Am I' has been queried daily by the masses, looking for the perfect formula of how to live out a life of peace and honesty, while maintaining intimate, equal, and bendable relationships with those we call dear.
Soul work is difficult. Finding balance between one's discipline to become 'more' or making choices for the sake of relationship compromise, and one's choice to rest in the comfort of living with our natural inclinations will forever be the stuff of daily life. This much I know - giving V-O-I-C-E to issues of the heart and soul is a requirement if one is to sift through the jumble of tomorrow's choices and arrive at the coveted prize of inner peace.
Riding on the wind of change, I am comforted in my tethering to the Source of all life, the great I AM - God the Father, Son and Eternal Spirit. Even when I occasionally lose touch with 'Who I am', I am confident of 'Whose I am'.
In this I find today's peace - buoyed by life's sometimes wild, sometimes gentle wind currents - carried to a new place with each new day.
Intothewind -
Naturegirl
This partially completed life of mine has seen it's share of greatness and grit. You have, no doubt, learned from my writing that the almighty tree is my favored metaphor in life. When I feel fragile, I see myself hanging on a thin limb -oh so close to breaking- falling into the abyss below. When I am filled with confidence and strength, my core is a great and massive trunk, upholding a million branches of living, breathing organic matter. The wind of life's trials blow - sometimes gently - sometimes with great power. Such a mystery, it is. The great flow of inner strength and alternate disconnect. The connecting cord - the tethering to the Life-Source of renewal for body, mind and spirit can be so fragile - strength, only a dream away.
Riding a wave of forgotten reservation, the young girl's dreams catapulted her into a sphere of brave advance. She was rising, rising - to the stage of no return, captive to her inner strength. Determination and confidence etching her face, she launched her charge down the carpeted runway to the vaulting table whose menace was sure to be defeated. Airborne for the vault, her position perfect, her hands sure she twists and spins midair, sticking the perfect landing. Triumphant in her smile, she exits her stage. A heart throb like no other. But then - bolting upright in her bed, she awakens from her dream of magic. Today was her chance. The dream - was it a sign? Would today be the day she became the confident gymnast of her dreams. Would she break through her ceiling of fragile brokenness?
This naturegirl's days of rolling down the highways and byways of the great U.S. have been interrupted by the great invader - called, 'accident'. Pedro is broken - I am not. Or, am I? I seem to be hanging on a thin limb on this day.
Today is Sunday. I attended church this morning, not far down the carefully manicured boulevard from my temporary home with my dear family in California. Isn't it funny how sermons sometimes have a way of burroughing into the heart and breaking it wide open. I am here today, as a result of today's churchgoing, to be R-E-A-L. My great admission - today's declaration -- for the last 24+ hours, I have been feeling B-R-O-K-E-N, rather defective - at the bottom of my game. There - I said it. I don't like saying it. Why? Because - does anyone ever really reach out and embrace a fractured vessel? Not usually. Humankind gravitates to the 'best of show'. And, who doesn't want to be the winner?!!!
Yes, I AM traveling, cross country - alone - a woman - and, I hear it often.... "Wow! That is brave!" , or, "I could never do that," or, "Seriously, you are joking, right?" I admit, the commentary pumps-up my inner 'feel-good' monitor. My admission - today's declaration - however, is not about courage or doing the unusual. My declaration is about, liking and accepting the real core of 'who I am' - my daily activity preferences and avoidances, my personality strengths and weaknesses, my caring and my indifferences - the natural flow of how I choose to fill my day when living with little to nonexistent external directives in my current life. Part of this pilgrimage journey of mine is 'inward.' Finding my way forward in my new single life requires a new awakening to 'the core of me'. Identifying the core is no easy task. Why is it so tempting to observe others who are a source of inspiration, and wanting to 'be like them' - to be someone else. I am pretty sure I am not the only one in this camp, though I am not condoning it. I am beginning (with a capital 'B') to 'know', who I really am. The past few days has enlightened my 'knowing'. I am still chewing and digesting. I am praying for a new freedom of acceptance in 'being me'.
I have loved my days on the road. This past 10 days I have missed the new landscapes that fly by me as I venture into territories unknown. I miss the funny roadside signage, the amazing (and sometimes not so amazing) architecture, the new cultural dialects I hear in the coffeeshops and grocery stores along the way. I miss the movement. I miss the wide open spaces. I am learning just how much of an earth-woman I am. That would explain why I am forever picking up leaves, and twigs and feeling flower petals. Perhaps the change in my daily routines have upset my equilibrium - my rhythm. I am untethered from my mobile living quarters - my dear Pedro - cantankerous mobile home that he is!!
Tethering is all about connectedness. Our connections help us feel grounded - anchored in familiarity. As I have studied the botanical worlds of the many regions of the country, I am most fascinated with the moisture-laden subclimates where greenery flourishes without man's hoses tethered to the faucets of city water systems. The profuse branching of ivy as it climbs the tree trunks and overruns the ground in a covering of lush green. What is unique about all this ferocious fauna is that it's connections can easily be loosened, removed, or altered. Tethering is different from the technique of tying - an element not easily removed. I love the though of being 'gently' tethered - to our loved ones, to our rituals, or to our natural instinctive choices. It is a softer connection, flexible, more readily negotiated. When I contemplate 'who I am', I wish to think in terms of a more flexible being, a bendable connection. I wish to remove the rigid knots that tie me to a 'prison of being'. Knowing that I am movable, but connected to a core gives me comfort, and comfort is something that is easy to live with.
The stuff of dreams and longing, of realtime challenges and hopes, and the regrets of unresolved conflict live in every human soul, at one time or another. We all navigate our days in varying degrees of wanderlust. The timeless question, 'Who Am I' has been queried daily by the masses, looking for the perfect formula of how to live out a life of peace and honesty, while maintaining intimate, equal, and bendable relationships with those we call dear.
Soul work is difficult. Finding balance between one's discipline to become 'more' or making choices for the sake of relationship compromise, and one's choice to rest in the comfort of living with our natural inclinations will forever be the stuff of daily life. This much I know - giving V-O-I-C-E to issues of the heart and soul is a requirement if one is to sift through the jumble of tomorrow's choices and arrive at the coveted prize of inner peace.
Riding on the wind of change, I am comforted in my tethering to the Source of all life, the great I AM - God the Father, Son and Eternal Spirit. Even when I occasionally lose touch with 'Who I am', I am confident of 'Whose I am'.
In this I find today's peace - buoyed by life's sometimes wild, sometimes gentle wind currents - carried to a new place with each new day.
Intothewind -
Naturegirl
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
LOWDOWN IN LOW COUNTRY
LOWDOWN IN LOW COUNTRY
A Minnesota gal, I am. Conversation with many a friend of mine, back home, may sound a bit like this - "So, what plans do you have for the weekend?" -a response - "I think we're headin' up north to the cabin." In Low Country, the replay is likely to be, "We are goin' down south to our sea place!" What may be a cabin in MN with a deer and pine tree motif of earthen browns, moss green and brick red would be rewritten in Low Country with white pillared porches and rocking chairs, surrounded by clusters of waving sea grass, bowls of shells and sky blue cushions trimmed in coral or lemon. The beach hats hang neatly on the porch hooks, beckoning a beachcomber to a stroll in the sand.
Low Country was something I'd read of in a few previous novels, but really had very little idea what the 'lay of the land' might look like, or even where it was. A bit of education was called for after seeing a few 'Low Country' road signs as I rolled down a South Carolina highway. My research told me it is a section of the east cost surrounding Charleston, South Carolina and Savannah, Georgia. Sea level is an operative word, when thinking 'Low Country'. Salt marshes pepper the landscape of this slow-goes-it part of the U.S. On a sparkling sunny day, the waving marsh grasses move in shades of celery, emerald and toast, outlining the puzzle-shaped patches of crystalline ocean waters. These saline swamps are teaming with all manner of sea life. A visit to the local supermarket is testament to this. The deli cases are lined with bowls of fresh crab cakes, mussels, shrimp and clam chowder.
The harbors along the fingerling-shaped coastline dock a multitude of shrimp trawling boats and seaworthy vessels loaded with the day's catch. Having never lived in this culture, my curiosity pushes me to peek around a corner here, a narrow street there, and a drive around the bend in the road reveals a line of pillared historic old south houses. A seaside bench beckons me for a few contemplative moments. Sun shining warm on my face, I recall the clip-clop of the horse-drawn carriages of Charleston, and the open door of the centuries old Catholic church within the historic downtown sprawl of ornate iron-gated walls. Organ music spilled out the doors of the church. Drawn into the sacred space of the empty sanctuary, I sit a few moments on a pew, listening – music and voices - of yesteryear - of what was - of what is to come. A wondering – what will a year - or two - or ten bring to my life. Always within me, the tree-climbing girl that swayed in the wind, wondering about my tomorrows. A cessation of the music jolted me back to real-time. Unseating myself, I left the sacred space of my wondering. And, once more ….I snap back to the present, as I sit on the bench of the dock of the bay. Rising, I walk to Pedro, and the next Low Country stop.
Octopus arms - that's what they look like! Giant trees of the costal Low Country frame the road with their magical limbs. These angel oak trees are like no other oaks I have seen. A light-strewn roadway tunnel formed by their canopy mesmerized me on the drive to Kiawah Island - one of 20+ Low Country sea islands. There was a tugging at my heart - "Stop! Go climb them!" Then good sense took over - no longer am I the 'small fry' on my Iowa farm with nimble knees. Instead I stop and stare up through the maze, thick with hanging 'beards' of Spanish moss. The mystery of this moment consumes my being. Squinting and turning circles, diamonds of light swirl above me. I breathe in the moist Low Country air, feeling the goosebumps on my arms. And on I go, to the local Java-Java haven, and my morning tea.
Brookgreen Gardens lies about an hour north of Charleston. It is 9,000 acres of pristine nature at its best! As I drive the short distance to Hilton Head on a cloudy misting day, I rehearse the delights of my visit there. This oasis is home to a multitude of winged creatures, creepy crawlers and of course, an occasional alligator. The many life-sized bronze sculptures scattered on the grounds awakened plenty of artsy inspiration for me. Grinning to myself, I recall the humor of the moment as the great blue heron stared at me, lifting and retracting his thick S-shaped cordlike neck, like a child and his slinky. A stone’s throw away, 2 turtles sit, head-to-head in some turtleland conversation, a seemingly romantic turtle-moment. The tupelo trees and great palmettos drip on this dewey day and I find shelter for the moment under the angel limbs of a monstrous oak. The short-lived shower allows me to roam for another hour, listening to many a fountain singing its water-song and walking the secret wooded winding paths to charming green corners and a child’s fairyland of nature’s magic. I welcome the tsunami of new world images that settle in and fill my soul, floating down ‘the 17’ on my way to the next bridge and island paradise.
Most everyone, at one moment or another in their life, find themselves facing a trial, a trauma – a few seconds can change everything. My journey has had it’s share of trials – a time here and there where I ‘lost my grounding’, feeling a little low in spirit. I’ve ridden the wave out and landed on solid ground again, in time. Sporadic times of ‘the terrific’ have also been a part of this pilgrim journey – euphoric minutes of pure pleasure and joy. It all comes with the territory. This, my friend, is life! Giving and receiving remains central to my purpose as I roll off the miles. The solitude of letting both God and my heart speak has allowed me to find healing and wholeness.
On my morning’s drive to the Hilton Head library last week, it was my great misfortune to face one of life’s little traumas. The stop light hidden around a bend in the road was red – a stationary car in front me. Squealing brakes and …CRASH… then silence. I feel only a twinge in my ankle – no other pain. The car in front drives through the intersection and parks. 9-1-1 – time elapse – emergency squad – police – tears – confusion. As I pace on the roadside, answering questions for the report, I am filled with regret. Why, did I choose that moment to glance out my side window. Everything has changed. Pedro’s engine will not start. It is time for Plan B.
My accident - terrible but not tragic. Inconvenient, but not the end. I am amazed that with my dear daughter’s help, I am sitting on an airplane in Savannah 6 hours later bound for California. Pedro has been towed to a collision center. From the west coast, I will navigate the repair to my RV on the east coast. My journey is delayed, but still I will write. There is always an inner journey – and there will I go. Perhaps come January I will reunite with Pedro for the remaining 5 months of my pilgrimage.
A low moment – feeling down, but not out in Low Country. Through life’s highs and lows I go on, confident of God’s presence, always.
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
Friday, November 2, 2012
ALL HAIL THE HORIZON - THE GREAT DIVIDE
The design element of 'line' has always been a big deal to me. As an artist, the importance of line has been drilled home time after time. Fat ones, skinny ones, curved, broken, short and long. Lines are snakey, sleek, interrupted and oft-times solid. These relaxing days on the ocean have, for me, heightened my love of line.
I am presently cocooned in a lovely condo on the edge of the Atlantic ocean - Myrtle Beach style. "Hey, wait a minute, I thought you were living in a micro mobile RV these days", you might say. Well, compliments of a generous brother who owns this 'pad', I am being graced with a week of expansive living. An indulgent pleasure, it is! The fact that I am suspended about 90 feet above ground, but surrounded by every creature comfort a person might expect, does not fully explain the euphoria I have been privy to over the past few days. There's not much in life, more magical than witnessing the sunrise and sunset high above the pounding surf from the balcony that sits on the eastward side of this resort-style living space.
My first evening on the beach graced me with a splendid sunset display, capping off an enjoyable travelers' birthday! Sunsets from my present perch are not the California type. One needs to be facing west to witness the dropping off of the great 'sun-orb' at day's end. However, sunsets when facing east at the Atlantic ocean are more about the horizon's great color divide as seen in the southern sky. Cloud formations have everything to do with the striated display of color as the light of day withers. The peachy slivered dagger of reflected sun that was my birthday sunset was a delight beyond measure. A large cloud cover left only this narrow-arrow of light with a few needle-like clouds casting a shadowed display of blues, oranges, pinks and mineral grays. Oh the glory of it!
As I have lingered over many-a-cup of tea, contemplating the great expanse of water and wave, of foam and seagulls, of the flip-flopping of light and dark at the horizon, I realize the great powers that are held in the atmosphere and movement of the ocean. This is the week that Hurricane Sandy hit the eastern seaboard. Though the outer bands left only a day's worth of rain in this locale, the day before I arrived, good fortune was not to be realized in the states north of here. As I have listened to the media's portrayal of the devastation in the New Jersey and New York areas, I moan in sorrow for the gross loss that lies to my north. How can it be? Somehow, the pleasant view I enjoy today, looking oceanward, brings to mind the Disney movie "Beauty and the Beast". How appropriate, the analogy - incomprehensible beauty when admiring a calm sea, and the most ferocious of beasts when 100 mph winds gobble up homes, neighborhoods and business districts, too close to water's edge.
Why is it that the ragged edge of human experience is seen most easily in giant-sized discrepancies -polar opposites. A new love begins for someone, and a long love ends for another. A lucrative new job offer comes to one, and a job termination arrives at the doorstep of another. A new life comes to one family, and a loved one leaves this earthly life for another family. Nature has its vast differences as well. I have witnessed for days now, the light changes where the line draws a horizon - one moment the sky is light, the ocean is dark, and 10 hours later, I behold a darkened sky and a shimmering moonlit ocean. Two nights ago a large hovering cloud-mass hung overhead, long after sunset. I stepped onto the balcony for a last look before I snuggled-in for the night. There I beheld - a grace moment. A small circular 'hole' in the clouds allowed the moon's rays to plunge downward, casting a small circular spotlight on the ocean's surface, halfway to horizon's edge. To me, it spoke of the Almighty, a sign of God's presence. The site held me captive for a good long while before I padded off to bed with the words of Amazing Grace ringing in my soul - a song most poignant with memory for me. I recalled with wonder and warmth a moment in my life when visiting Peter Island - of Sir Francis Drake Channel-Caribbean fame. On that evening, forever etched in my mind, I stood at midnite on a secluded mountaintop with 6 dear ones, listening to a native-of-the-island lift his voice to the heaven in song - the same song - as a full moon sent a million diamonds scattering across the ocean and a gentle wind blew my hair, face lifted to the great Creator. I need say no more.
About 10 weeks ago, I stood at a spot in Wyoming where an invisible line was drawn in the earth. On one side of the line, all water drained eastward, and on the other all water seeped away in a westerly direction. This line is called, 'The Great Divide' on geography maps. It was a rather profound thing to contemplate as i stood there. There was nothing totally captivating in the 'picture' of this area, but the spot held a great significance. The great divide has taken on a new meaning this week as I have gazed relentlessly out my condo window. Asians are well versed in the ying and yang of life. The word 'balance' comes to mind. This concept has fixated me for many a year. Some do the 'balance thing' better than others. Usually there is a consequence to 'out of balance' life issues. This, I will let you ponder on your own. For me, I will declare that this is among the more important of my daily life goals. How successful I am, I must say, fluctuates more than I would wish, but a goal has a boatload of worth! The balance I am most intuned to on this pilgrimage has to do with 'giving and receiving'. Art gift and outward-in hospitality, my common denominators for this traveler.
Tonight I have a fisherman and 'his line' in sight. So carefully he baits the hook, wades into the surf, pauses, pulling back his rod and with a gentle swing, out flies the line, a gesture of intention - a hope to reel in 'the gift - the catch'. Down the line of beach a young gent has reeled in his catch - a warm embrace for the lucky lady. Together they face the horizon, an evening of closeness. Ahhhh. Perhaps the same should be for me, again, some day. For now, the nurture of nature warms my soul - the knowledge of God's embrace is enough.
So slowly the sky grows darker, the horizon fainter. The south sky turns from baby-butt pink to cherry blossom to brandywine. A fading, fading and a return to blueberry skin and pewter until nothingness - a perfect balance - the horizon is lost to blackness. The moon is in hiding, until later, when once more, the reflected light will give birth to the glittered nighttime striation of waves. And God divided the day and the night. And another day.
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
The design element of 'line' has always been a big deal to me. As an artist, the importance of line has been drilled home time after time. Fat ones, skinny ones, curved, broken, short and long. Lines are snakey, sleek, interrupted and oft-times solid. These relaxing days on the ocean have, for me, heightened my love of line.
I am presently cocooned in a lovely condo on the edge of the Atlantic ocean - Myrtle Beach style. "Hey, wait a minute, I thought you were living in a micro mobile RV these days", you might say. Well, compliments of a generous brother who owns this 'pad', I am being graced with a week of expansive living. An indulgent pleasure, it is! The fact that I am suspended about 90 feet above ground, but surrounded by every creature comfort a person might expect, does not fully explain the euphoria I have been privy to over the past few days. There's not much in life, more magical than witnessing the sunrise and sunset high above the pounding surf from the balcony that sits on the eastward side of this resort-style living space.
My first evening on the beach graced me with a splendid sunset display, capping off an enjoyable travelers' birthday! Sunsets from my present perch are not the California type. One needs to be facing west to witness the dropping off of the great 'sun-orb' at day's end. However, sunsets when facing east at the Atlantic ocean are more about the horizon's great color divide as seen in the southern sky. Cloud formations have everything to do with the striated display of color as the light of day withers. The peachy slivered dagger of reflected sun that was my birthday sunset was a delight beyond measure. A large cloud cover left only this narrow-arrow of light with a few needle-like clouds casting a shadowed display of blues, oranges, pinks and mineral grays. Oh the glory of it!
As I have lingered over many-a-cup of tea, contemplating the great expanse of water and wave, of foam and seagulls, of the flip-flopping of light and dark at the horizon, I realize the great powers that are held in the atmosphere and movement of the ocean. This is the week that Hurricane Sandy hit the eastern seaboard. Though the outer bands left only a day's worth of rain in this locale, the day before I arrived, good fortune was not to be realized in the states north of here. As I have listened to the media's portrayal of the devastation in the New Jersey and New York areas, I moan in sorrow for the gross loss that lies to my north. How can it be? Somehow, the pleasant view I enjoy today, looking oceanward, brings to mind the Disney movie "Beauty and the Beast". How appropriate, the analogy - incomprehensible beauty when admiring a calm sea, and the most ferocious of beasts when 100 mph winds gobble up homes, neighborhoods and business districts, too close to water's edge.
Why is it that the ragged edge of human experience is seen most easily in giant-sized discrepancies -polar opposites. A new love begins for someone, and a long love ends for another. A lucrative new job offer comes to one, and a job termination arrives at the doorstep of another. A new life comes to one family, and a loved one leaves this earthly life for another family. Nature has its vast differences as well. I have witnessed for days now, the light changes where the line draws a horizon - one moment the sky is light, the ocean is dark, and 10 hours later, I behold a darkened sky and a shimmering moonlit ocean. Two nights ago a large hovering cloud-mass hung overhead, long after sunset. I stepped onto the balcony for a last look before I snuggled-in for the night. There I beheld - a grace moment. A small circular 'hole' in the clouds allowed the moon's rays to plunge downward, casting a small circular spotlight on the ocean's surface, halfway to horizon's edge. To me, it spoke of the Almighty, a sign of God's presence. The site held me captive for a good long while before I padded off to bed with the words of Amazing Grace ringing in my soul - a song most poignant with memory for me. I recalled with wonder and warmth a moment in my life when visiting Peter Island - of Sir Francis Drake Channel-Caribbean fame. On that evening, forever etched in my mind, I stood at midnite on a secluded mountaintop with 6 dear ones, listening to a native-of-the-island lift his voice to the heaven in song - the same song - as a full moon sent a million diamonds scattering across the ocean and a gentle wind blew my hair, face lifted to the great Creator. I need say no more.
About 10 weeks ago, I stood at a spot in Wyoming where an invisible line was drawn in the earth. On one side of the line, all water drained eastward, and on the other all water seeped away in a westerly direction. This line is called, 'The Great Divide' on geography maps. It was a rather profound thing to contemplate as i stood there. There was nothing totally captivating in the 'picture' of this area, but the spot held a great significance. The great divide has taken on a new meaning this week as I have gazed relentlessly out my condo window. Asians are well versed in the ying and yang of life. The word 'balance' comes to mind. This concept has fixated me for many a year. Some do the 'balance thing' better than others. Usually there is a consequence to 'out of balance' life issues. This, I will let you ponder on your own. For me, I will declare that this is among the more important of my daily life goals. How successful I am, I must say, fluctuates more than I would wish, but a goal has a boatload of worth! The balance I am most intuned to on this pilgrimage has to do with 'giving and receiving'. Art gift and outward-in hospitality, my common denominators for this traveler.
Tonight I have a fisherman and 'his line' in sight. So carefully he baits the hook, wades into the surf, pauses, pulling back his rod and with a gentle swing, out flies the line, a gesture of intention - a hope to reel in 'the gift - the catch'. Down the line of beach a young gent has reeled in his catch - a warm embrace for the lucky lady. Together they face the horizon, an evening of closeness. Ahhhh. Perhaps the same should be for me, again, some day. For now, the nurture of nature warms my soul - the knowledge of God's embrace is enough.
So slowly the sky grows darker, the horizon fainter. The south sky turns from baby-butt pink to cherry blossom to brandywine. A fading, fading and a return to blueberry skin and pewter until nothingness - a perfect balance - the horizon is lost to blackness. The moon is in hiding, until later, when once more, the reflected light will give birth to the glittered nighttime striation of waves. And God divided the day and the night. And another day.
Intothewind,
Naturegirl
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
BUMPS, PATCHES AND CRACKS
A ride down the back roads of West Virginia in October is a year-end bonus with a capital 'B'. The rolling hills show a bounty of confetti popcorn - verde, crimson and amber - weaving their foothills into a lattice valley of emerald green grass, a lime river carpet. As one might imagine, the road is not of particular pristine smoothness. Pedro gives no claim to a Cadillac ride. I feel the bumps. I notice a truckload of patched road cracks on my Saturday morning drive. However, the nostalgia of appalachian culture I witness roadside, distracts me. I am, at the same time, acutely aware of a squealing noise every time I steer to the right. Towns with a population of over 500 are scarce in the neck of the woods I'm traveling. My atlas tells me that I should arrive at a college town in an hour or two. Before my descent into collegetown USA, I am stopped on the winding mountain road by a long line of cars. The flashing red lights ahead speak of an accident. I see the ambulance. In a moment, I see 2 smashed cars. I pray. I wonder. I am reminded - life is precious. After the chainsaw splits the air, a time lapse - the ambulance drives off, siren-on. The road is cleared. I proceed, praying for the victim(s). God, ever-present - be my protector. Soon, my college town is in sight.
The bumps in 'my road' have landed in my lap. My left front wheel/brake issue from earlier this summer has resurfaced. I'll not list the number of 'check-up's I've had related to this issue. My wheel problem peaked with an on-the-tollway 'bang-thump-rattle-knock' event, shortly after my college town check-up, where a loose wheel was 'diagnosed' (a not-so-small safety issue) and Pedro was given a 'patch job' to get me to my nephew's home in North Carolina. The patch did not work. A two-hour delay for towing landed me at a repair shop that would 'reopen' on Monday morning. As per a book I am reading, I have decided to "Take refuge in the present moment", aka - Hampton Inn (INSIDE). That is - relax - unwind - read - soak in a real tub - be inspired - and let 'the fix' come to me. Thus, I have taken some hours to think of the soul messages meant for just now.
The people I have encountered as a part of this event are numerous, and represent a full spectrum of personalities and stations-in- life. I might preface this expo of events by reminding you that the language of West Virginia is considerably different from 'talking Minnesotan'. Did you ever see the movie - "Coal Miner's Daughter' starring Sissy Spacek? Well, 'that thar' would indicate all manner of speech, 'raught here-raught naow'! Don't get me wrong - there is not a thing wrong with this picture- the people I've met in the last 3 days of my motel hiatus have peppered me with 'sweetie' and 'honey' and - 'enytheng aelse I can dyuh fer ya, m'am' and 'teak care dear!'. It's all rather endearing, I must say.
The big burly man who rescued me from my roadside perch (tow truck guy) was a quiet but kind-faced gent, intent on his work of hooking up Pedro to all the gadgets required for a safe tow. In the half-hour commute with him I learned of a smattering of the challenges in his life. He was 1-week into this new job - a paramedic turned tow-truck guy. At last count, the deaths he'd witnessed in his line of work was 246. The nightmares were eroding his life. His fall-out with a relative who had a perfect 'God-fix' for him was troublesome. Did I have the perfect words - I think not, but I offered the best I had - a listening ear and my care. In private, I pray... for healing to come to his soul.
The two 'lube-shop-boys' who applied the temporary lock-washer patch (45 minutes pre-roadside breakdown) were a genuine 'south of the Mason-Dixon line' duo who tell it like it is, straight up and with a bit of colorful language (complete with .. 'scuze me m'am' after explicatives). After their half-hour work to tighten up my wobbly tire, I asked for the bill... to which one responded -' don't worry 'bout it m'am... my good deed for the day.' I wish I had time to 'detail' each of these do-gooder-boys, it could be a fine moment!
I could elaborate on the tire-shop stop, 5 minutes prior to the do-gooders stop, but the bruskness of Mr. Tire-shop guy would only be good for a quick roll of the eyes.
The young-dude at Sheets Dodge who shuttled me to my Hampton Inn hangout was another of the quiet, gentle ones, who'd just lost his job, elsewhere, 2 months prior. I sensed he was grateful for his new job. He wore his kindness well.
I contemplate these, and a bundle more of those I've been rubbing shoulders with during this 'bump-in-the-road' event. My prayers cover them. God intercedes in sighs, too deep for words. He knows them all. This pilgrm is poised to listen.
The book that inspired my pilgrimage tells me that a pilgrim progresses - across time and space. For me, the time now ticks off just over 4 months. My odometer tells me I have traveled 15,000 miles. I have visited 10 extended family members. Hospitality offered by hosts along the way contributes immeasurably to personal delights and gratitudes. We wandering-folk experience the world in a new way. The customary vernacular of others rings new in our ears, firing new thoughts-new questions in the pilgrim's mind. Paying attention to the lives of 'the small ones', rather than the grandeur of the famous, or of relics of notoriety paves the way for the inner journey to life's deeper meaning. Let me explain - As I travel, there are many historical monuments of significance along my pathway. I have, on occasion, taken time to have a quick 'look-see'. However, the inward journey of the soul, both of mine and of those who cross my path holds greater meaning to me. The works of artists, whose paintings I have observed in a multitude of galleries/museums are, to be sure, part of that journey. Contemplating the lives of the artist-folks, the met-along-the road folks, and the next-of-kin folks has illuminated for me both the pain and the exhileration of life.
As contemplation leads to the deeply embedded values that run the motor of daily living for all of us - the 'How' of it - the 'Why' of it - I find myself in conversation with God. Sometimes I think I have it right - sometimes I'm sure I must have it wrong. One day is sweet - on another day its a mountain to climb. On occasion I think I hear God's voice - on another I can see and hear only a big white, empty space - But, I KNOW the Spirit remains - I BELIEVE in the promises of God, and so - I hang on, for the sweetness and 'The Voice' to return. The scriptural Proverbs are a virtual storehouse of Godly advice on 'how to live'. On a prior visit I had this summer with a nephew on the west coast, he shared with me a poem that helps him in his daily choices. He granted me permission to post the poem on my blog. To me, it is profound. I am certain that every principle in this poem could be found in Proverbs.
I share with you.... "IF" by Rudyard Kipling:
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
..... (and, may I add my 'take' to the last line... '..which is more - you'll soar, my earthling traveler!")
As I meander, I learn from others - I observe with open-mindedness - I learn from the bumps. God willing, I give from the heart - I am becoming - MORE than I was - at least, for today.
Intothewind - Naturegirl
A ride down the back roads of West Virginia in October is a year-end bonus with a capital 'B'. The rolling hills show a bounty of confetti popcorn - verde, crimson and amber - weaving their foothills into a lattice valley of emerald green grass, a lime river carpet. As one might imagine, the road is not of particular pristine smoothness. Pedro gives no claim to a Cadillac ride. I feel the bumps. I notice a truckload of patched road cracks on my Saturday morning drive. However, the nostalgia of appalachian culture I witness roadside, distracts me. I am, at the same time, acutely aware of a squealing noise every time I steer to the right. Towns with a population of over 500 are scarce in the neck of the woods I'm traveling. My atlas tells me that I should arrive at a college town in an hour or two. Before my descent into collegetown USA, I am stopped on the winding mountain road by a long line of cars. The flashing red lights ahead speak of an accident. I see the ambulance. In a moment, I see 2 smashed cars. I pray. I wonder. I am reminded - life is precious. After the chainsaw splits the air, a time lapse - the ambulance drives off, siren-on. The road is cleared. I proceed, praying for the victim(s). God, ever-present - be my protector. Soon, my college town is in sight.
The bumps in 'my road' have landed in my lap. My left front wheel/brake issue from earlier this summer has resurfaced. I'll not list the number of 'check-up's I've had related to this issue. My wheel problem peaked with an on-the-tollway 'bang-thump-rattle-knock' event, shortly after my college town check-up, where a loose wheel was 'diagnosed' (a not-so-small safety issue) and Pedro was given a 'patch job' to get me to my nephew's home in North Carolina. The patch did not work. A two-hour delay for towing landed me at a repair shop that would 'reopen' on Monday morning. As per a book I am reading, I have decided to "Take refuge in the present moment", aka - Hampton Inn (INSIDE). That is - relax - unwind - read - soak in a real tub - be inspired - and let 'the fix' come to me. Thus, I have taken some hours to think of the soul messages meant for just now.
The people I have encountered as a part of this event are numerous, and represent a full spectrum of personalities and stations-in- life. I might preface this expo of events by reminding you that the language of West Virginia is considerably different from 'talking Minnesotan'. Did you ever see the movie - "Coal Miner's Daughter' starring Sissy Spacek? Well, 'that thar' would indicate all manner of speech, 'raught here-raught naow'! Don't get me wrong - there is not a thing wrong with this picture- the people I've met in the last 3 days of my motel hiatus have peppered me with 'sweetie' and 'honey' and - 'enytheng aelse I can dyuh fer ya, m'am' and 'teak care dear!'. It's all rather endearing, I must say.
The big burly man who rescued me from my roadside perch (tow truck guy) was a quiet but kind-faced gent, intent on his work of hooking up Pedro to all the gadgets required for a safe tow. In the half-hour commute with him I learned of a smattering of the challenges in his life. He was 1-week into this new job - a paramedic turned tow-truck guy. At last count, the deaths he'd witnessed in his line of work was 246. The nightmares were eroding his life. His fall-out with a relative who had a perfect 'God-fix' for him was troublesome. Did I have the perfect words - I think not, but I offered the best I had - a listening ear and my care. In private, I pray... for healing to come to his soul.
The two 'lube-shop-boys' who applied the temporary lock-washer patch (45 minutes pre-roadside breakdown) were a genuine 'south of the Mason-Dixon line' duo who tell it like it is, straight up and with a bit of colorful language (complete with .. 'scuze me m'am' after explicatives). After their half-hour work to tighten up my wobbly tire, I asked for the bill... to which one responded -' don't worry 'bout it m'am... my good deed for the day.' I wish I had time to 'detail' each of these do-gooder-boys, it could be a fine moment!
I could elaborate on the tire-shop stop, 5 minutes prior to the do-gooders stop, but the bruskness of Mr. Tire-shop guy would only be good for a quick roll of the eyes.
The young-dude at Sheets Dodge who shuttled me to my Hampton Inn hangout was another of the quiet, gentle ones, who'd just lost his job, elsewhere, 2 months prior. I sensed he was grateful for his new job. He wore his kindness well.
I contemplate these, and a bundle more of those I've been rubbing shoulders with during this 'bump-in-the-road' event. My prayers cover them. God intercedes in sighs, too deep for words. He knows them all. This pilgrm is poised to listen.
The book that inspired my pilgrimage tells me that a pilgrim progresses - across time and space. For me, the time now ticks off just over 4 months. My odometer tells me I have traveled 15,000 miles. I have visited 10 extended family members. Hospitality offered by hosts along the way contributes immeasurably to personal delights and gratitudes. We wandering-folk experience the world in a new way. The customary vernacular of others rings new in our ears, firing new thoughts-new questions in the pilgrim's mind. Paying attention to the lives of 'the small ones', rather than the grandeur of the famous, or of relics of notoriety paves the way for the inner journey to life's deeper meaning. Let me explain - As I travel, there are many historical monuments of significance along my pathway. I have, on occasion, taken time to have a quick 'look-see'. However, the inward journey of the soul, both of mine and of those who cross my path holds greater meaning to me. The works of artists, whose paintings I have observed in a multitude of galleries/museums are, to be sure, part of that journey. Contemplating the lives of the artist-folks, the met-along-the road folks, and the next-of-kin folks has illuminated for me both the pain and the exhileration of life.
As contemplation leads to the deeply embedded values that run the motor of daily living for all of us - the 'How' of it - the 'Why' of it - I find myself in conversation with God. Sometimes I think I have it right - sometimes I'm sure I must have it wrong. One day is sweet - on another day its a mountain to climb. On occasion I think I hear God's voice - on another I can see and hear only a big white, empty space - But, I KNOW the Spirit remains - I BELIEVE in the promises of God, and so - I hang on, for the sweetness and 'The Voice' to return. The scriptural Proverbs are a virtual storehouse of Godly advice on 'how to live'. On a prior visit I had this summer with a nephew on the west coast, he shared with me a poem that helps him in his daily choices. He granted me permission to post the poem on my blog. To me, it is profound. I am certain that every principle in this poem could be found in Proverbs.
I share with you.... "IF" by Rudyard Kipling:
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
..... (and, may I add my 'take' to the last line... '..which is more - you'll soar, my earthling traveler!")
As I meander, I learn from others - I observe with open-mindedness - I learn from the bumps. God willing, I give from the heart - I am becoming - MORE than I was - at least, for today.
Intothewind - Naturegirl
Monday, October 15, 2012
SAND CASTINGS
The wind off Lake Michigan blows ferociously at times. The trademark shoreline in southwestern Michigan is abundandant with gently curved and thinly structured grasses that perch on mound after mound of sifted tawny sand. A barefoot walk through the dunes is an experience I highly recommend. Not only will your muscles get a workout as you churn upwards through the sifting dune-sand, but the cold silky-smooth grains submerge your feet in a pleasure moment all its own!
The past four days have been spent near this favorite spot of mine, Benton Harbor, Michigan. The arts are alive and well in this city. A friend I have come to know in recent years is a pewtersmith and resides in this delightful city. Her studio is located in an old Box Factory - a place that many artists call 'home' for their creative ventures. She creates some of the finest pewter vessels and wall art that one can find, having recently been selected for a special award at our own Twin Cities-St. Paul Arts and Crafts Show at Xcel Center this past April. One of her techniques involves casting molten metal in various shapes. She can also be found pounding, torching, coloring, pitting, etching, fusing and twisting this malleable metal. Her patinas and style is truly unique. With a gentle spirit and committed daily routines, her work has caused me to examine my own life-journey through the eyes of her labors. As I contemplate my life as the metal in her hand, I have felt my share of blows, a pounding of the spirit. Sometimes the cutting edge, an etching if you will, of words, has brought a measurement of pain and the heat of conflict has torched my soul on, but a few occasions. These are real-life experiences most all of us face in life as we are cast into a being that hopes to find beauty in the end. Allowing ourselves to be shaped by The Creator, we learn through our own efforts, to create through individual experiences a meaningful, peaceful and fruitful life. Each of us are a piece of art, working our way to life's completion as we receive from others and give from our soul, the best we have to give. And so, the days pass one by one as we step off our future.
Taking a break, yesterday, from the collage-art I am creating on this pilgrimage journey of mine, I ventured down to Silver Beach in St. Joseph, MI, a large and impressive beachfront, as beaches go. A mild breeze prevailed on this day with temperatures feeling colder than the weather-person declared. I was amazed on my first visit to this fine place, how the beach resembled the winterscape of Iowa on a snowy day. That is, the wind-born sand at this spot creates drifts more than 3 feet high! I am told by locals of the invasion of tractor-sized equipment with their mammoth shovels being brought beachside with regularity to clean up the massive drifting. After a redepositing of the sand at water's edge once more, the monster wheels roll off the beach, leaving gigantic herringbone tire track castings for beachcombers to contemplate. As I walked swiftly toward the water's edge yesterday, clutching my sweater tightly to my neckline, I stared at the castings in the sand. Big tires tracks, smaller tire tracks, perfectly imbedded jogger shoe tracks and of course, plenty of webbed seagull bird-prints. The sand flats are water sodden on this day, making castings with perfection. I contemplated the lives of those whose footprints were left here at Silver Beach for my scrutiny. Perhaps a contemplative beach visit, an exhuberant moment, a love-struck moment, a sorrowful visit to water's edge - only God knows the souls of those who stood here, where I now stand in my own contemplative moment. A prayer flung upward, to The Keeper of those who still walk this earth, for good welfare, peace and life-direction, I turn away from the pounding surf on my walk back to Pedro, my home on wheels. I smile at the multitude of patterned designs the jogging shoe industry comes up with to plaster on the soles of their brand, each etched to perfection in today's sandscape. I could easily have material for a one-person art show today, if I reverse-casted the variety of jogger-sole imprints left for my perusal on this nostalgic day. I will resist the urge and return to my collage-art still in process in my own art space.
The wind of change is blowing in my life. Having retired within the past year from a good many years working as part of a hospital team that gives care to children, I have been searching for my next life-focus. It is at once, a bit unsettling as well as totally exhilerating to have such a freedom. I usually find my days unfolding in a relatively intuitive manner. This can be a good thing and, oft-times not so good, depending on the need at hand. If the 'to do list' is long, intuitive living is rather conterproductive. However, given my current 'life on the road' with relatively few deadlines and a great deal of flexibility, intuitive living works quite well. Life as a single person also allows for decision-making with less restrictions. Being a third-of-the-way through my year-long travels, I am beginning to gain a new focus for my future. This years' purpose, for me, involves both a committment to connections with family and extended family as well as exploring with more regularity the creative side of me, through the art I am making and giving to those I visit. The states I pass through (12 at last count) have shown me a multitude of landscapes and people-cultures which have broadened my understanding of life. I spend time (almost) daily at coffeeshops (and I am sitting in one at this present moment), a place were a person can get a great 'read' on the workings of life and the people who frequent these establishments. Business transactions happen here, studying happens here, relationships are started and broken here, personal enlightenment through reading and conversation happen here. I've seen it all. I've cried, I've laughed and I've 'stewed' in these places. I've cast off the old and welcomed the new.
Having arrived at this moment, this coffee shop, in the early part of the day after my beach-walking day in Michigan, I am filing away my thoughts on 'casting' that have become a new awareness to me. People-cultures, whether socio-economic, race or religious heritage have always had their own 'cast systems'. This type of 'casting', a people orientation, brings to mind a different definition of the word. To illustrate - the route through the Indiana city I arrived in following my 'beach day', took me through a lower class part of the city. Moments of discomfort as I stopped at the traffic lights illuminated for me the relative life of priviledge I now have. I wondered, as I studied the ragged-edged people on these streets, how they arrived at this place they call home. Are they held (cast) in this locale by choice or by mandate? Lest I 'cast my cares to the wind' and forget the less fortunate of this world, my day's events served to remind me of both the role of re-creation and responsibility that is expected of me and all of mankind.
The last thing I did before departing the shores of Lake Michigan where I spent the previous four days was to return to the same beach. My return trip revealed a very different sandscape - dried out sand, now-ferocious winds covering the intricate sand-casted footprints, I realized the temporal nature of all of life. Things change. New realities unfold. God takes the old and makes a new tomorrow.
As I rolled down the road and out of the town of my pewtersmith friend, windshield wipers moving to and fro, I relished the joys of new friends, of the lessons of nature through grains of sand and the anticipations of new life-scapes as sand sifts through the hourglass of the days of my life.
Intothewind-
Naturegirl
The wind off Lake Michigan blows ferociously at times. The trademark shoreline in southwestern Michigan is abundandant with gently curved and thinly structured grasses that perch on mound after mound of sifted tawny sand. A barefoot walk through the dunes is an experience I highly recommend. Not only will your muscles get a workout as you churn upwards through the sifting dune-sand, but the cold silky-smooth grains submerge your feet in a pleasure moment all its own!
The past four days have been spent near this favorite spot of mine, Benton Harbor, Michigan. The arts are alive and well in this city. A friend I have come to know in recent years is a pewtersmith and resides in this delightful city. Her studio is located in an old Box Factory - a place that many artists call 'home' for their creative ventures. She creates some of the finest pewter vessels and wall art that one can find, having recently been selected for a special award at our own Twin Cities-St. Paul Arts and Crafts Show at Xcel Center this past April. One of her techniques involves casting molten metal in various shapes. She can also be found pounding, torching, coloring, pitting, etching, fusing and twisting this malleable metal. Her patinas and style is truly unique. With a gentle spirit and committed daily routines, her work has caused me to examine my own life-journey through the eyes of her labors. As I contemplate my life as the metal in her hand, I have felt my share of blows, a pounding of the spirit. Sometimes the cutting edge, an etching if you will, of words, has brought a measurement of pain and the heat of conflict has torched my soul on, but a few occasions. These are real-life experiences most all of us face in life as we are cast into a being that hopes to find beauty in the end. Allowing ourselves to be shaped by The Creator, we learn through our own efforts, to create through individual experiences a meaningful, peaceful and fruitful life. Each of us are a piece of art, working our way to life's completion as we receive from others and give from our soul, the best we have to give. And so, the days pass one by one as we step off our future.
Taking a break, yesterday, from the collage-art I am creating on this pilgrimage journey of mine, I ventured down to Silver Beach in St. Joseph, MI, a large and impressive beachfront, as beaches go. A mild breeze prevailed on this day with temperatures feeling colder than the weather-person declared. I was amazed on my first visit to this fine place, how the beach resembled the winterscape of Iowa on a snowy day. That is, the wind-born sand at this spot creates drifts more than 3 feet high! I am told by locals of the invasion of tractor-sized equipment with their mammoth shovels being brought beachside with regularity to clean up the massive drifting. After a redepositing of the sand at water's edge once more, the monster wheels roll off the beach, leaving gigantic herringbone tire track castings for beachcombers to contemplate. As I walked swiftly toward the water's edge yesterday, clutching my sweater tightly to my neckline, I stared at the castings in the sand. Big tires tracks, smaller tire tracks, perfectly imbedded jogger shoe tracks and of course, plenty of webbed seagull bird-prints. The sand flats are water sodden on this day, making castings with perfection. I contemplated the lives of those whose footprints were left here at Silver Beach for my scrutiny. Perhaps a contemplative beach visit, an exhuberant moment, a love-struck moment, a sorrowful visit to water's edge - only God knows the souls of those who stood here, where I now stand in my own contemplative moment. A prayer flung upward, to The Keeper of those who still walk this earth, for good welfare, peace and life-direction, I turn away from the pounding surf on my walk back to Pedro, my home on wheels. I smile at the multitude of patterned designs the jogging shoe industry comes up with to plaster on the soles of their brand, each etched to perfection in today's sandscape. I could easily have material for a one-person art show today, if I reverse-casted the variety of jogger-sole imprints left for my perusal on this nostalgic day. I will resist the urge and return to my collage-art still in process in my own art space.
The wind of change is blowing in my life. Having retired within the past year from a good many years working as part of a hospital team that gives care to children, I have been searching for my next life-focus. It is at once, a bit unsettling as well as totally exhilerating to have such a freedom. I usually find my days unfolding in a relatively intuitive manner. This can be a good thing and, oft-times not so good, depending on the need at hand. If the 'to do list' is long, intuitive living is rather conterproductive. However, given my current 'life on the road' with relatively few deadlines and a great deal of flexibility, intuitive living works quite well. Life as a single person also allows for decision-making with less restrictions. Being a third-of-the-way through my year-long travels, I am beginning to gain a new focus for my future. This years' purpose, for me, involves both a committment to connections with family and extended family as well as exploring with more regularity the creative side of me, through the art I am making and giving to those I visit. The states I pass through (12 at last count) have shown me a multitude of landscapes and people-cultures which have broadened my understanding of life. I spend time (almost) daily at coffeeshops (and I am sitting in one at this present moment), a place were a person can get a great 'read' on the workings of life and the people who frequent these establishments. Business transactions happen here, studying happens here, relationships are started and broken here, personal enlightenment through reading and conversation happen here. I've seen it all. I've cried, I've laughed and I've 'stewed' in these places. I've cast off the old and welcomed the new.
Having arrived at this moment, this coffee shop, in the early part of the day after my beach-walking day in Michigan, I am filing away my thoughts on 'casting' that have become a new awareness to me. People-cultures, whether socio-economic, race or religious heritage have always had their own 'cast systems'. This type of 'casting', a people orientation, brings to mind a different definition of the word. To illustrate - the route through the Indiana city I arrived in following my 'beach day', took me through a lower class part of the city. Moments of discomfort as I stopped at the traffic lights illuminated for me the relative life of priviledge I now have. I wondered, as I studied the ragged-edged people on these streets, how they arrived at this place they call home. Are they held (cast) in this locale by choice or by mandate? Lest I 'cast my cares to the wind' and forget the less fortunate of this world, my day's events served to remind me of both the role of re-creation and responsibility that is expected of me and all of mankind.
The last thing I did before departing the shores of Lake Michigan where I spent the previous four days was to return to the same beach. My return trip revealed a very different sandscape - dried out sand, now-ferocious winds covering the intricate sand-casted footprints, I realized the temporal nature of all of life. Things change. New realities unfold. God takes the old and makes a new tomorrow.
As I rolled down the road and out of the town of my pewtersmith friend, windshield wipers moving to and fro, I relished the joys of new friends, of the lessons of nature through grains of sand and the anticipations of new life-scapes as sand sifts through the hourglass of the days of my life.
Intothewind-
Naturegirl
Saturday, October 6, 2012
HEADIN' EAST
For the past 5 weeks my trusty RV has not left Minnesota. I have enjoyed these weeks of renewed friendship with loved ones in my home state. I am getting restless for the road. Something wonderful happens to my soul when I head out onto a ribbon of highway. Tomorrow my RV, Pedro, will transport me to a new state, new adventures and opportunities to enrich my life. Looking back to the time of planning my journey, it seemed as though I pulled an Alice-in-Wonderland trick. I found myself slipping down, down, into the virtual abyss of a botanical world in my mind. I knew my travel time would need to focus on 'all-things-nature'. Thus my journey's purposes unfolded, as the petals of a rose slowly unfold from bud to bloom. "I must," I told myself, "visit as many botanical gardens as possible as I move from state to state." My travel days are filled with observations of the earth-life vegetation that passes by my RV window, as well as those special spots where public gardens are highlighted in travel magazines as great spots to visit. Whether I'm viewing natural habitat or carefully manicured formal gardens, I delight in each equally. Illinois, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio....where is my next glorious garden to be found? You can be sure to hear from me when it's discovered!
The days of autumn are at peak here in Minnesota. I sat, yesterday, outside a friend's house, relishing the day, cup of jasmine tea in hand. The green of the moss-carpet that blanketed the pond a short distance away was outlined in early evening shadows. A nearby aspen released its overripe golden leaves, descending on a swift breeze - a ticker-tape parade of golden chips that was the endcap of a perfect day. If the next month on the road heading south and east unfolds as I dream of, it should be an ongoing display of colored autumn splendor. The great river road that follows the Mississippi southward from the Twin City area will be on my proposed itinerary. Somewhere halfway down Iowa's east boundary I'll angle east through the Illinois countryside. I am eager to take in all the sights of a landscape that has already seen the season's transition to frosty mornings and pumpkins on the doorsteps of midwestern homes. The same eagerness I felt in June as I left on my westward journey is settling into my bones. I wish for sunshine and mild temperatures. However, I suspect I'll take what I get.
I am a farm girl. Born in Iowa, raised on 160 acres of flat, fertile soil, where tall corn grows like bacillus in a petri dish. I usually fondly say I 'survived' life with four brothers - all limbs and cranium intact. My life was filled with plenty of the great outdoors. Much to my mothers' displeasure, I preferred being out on a tractor or playing Ms. Robinhood in the woods, just a stones' throw from the big white farmhouse I called home. It was in the drippy-nosed days of my youth that I began to crave digging in the dirt. One fine midsummer day I suddenly noticed the sea of orange that clustered in the roadside ditch at the east edge of our so-called lawn. The seed catalog that had arrived midwinter informed my curious nature that these were indeed a hearty bloom called day lilies. Thus began my self-education in botany, a fascination that continues still. That would explain why I find myself standing in the aisle of Home Depot reading plant books in all parts of the U.S. as my travels take me from one region of the U.S to another.
Learning early in my youth that some flowers were perennials and some annuals, I nourished my love of flowers by planting different varieties each spring. I voraciously would peel through the catalog pages that pictured delightful new blooms I'd never before seen. Bedtime dream fantasies were of snapdragons and dahlias, sunflower and bachelor buttons. Planting time each spring, pleasured my days as the cherished new flower garden burrowed into the black Iowa soil, bordering my mother's vegetable garden. Then, the great wait - when would those minute spears of green first appear? A day of glee, when they burst forth stretching up through the clumps of black, looking for the warm sunshine and nourishment to fortify their grand stalks to come.
Another of my passions, collage-art, has occupied a tidbit of my time as I have enjoyed my mid-trip Minnesota re-connect. A weekend in the Brainerd Lakes area a few weeks back with friends allowed me a couple special days to do my artmaking out of doors, lakeside and flanked by some wonderful northwoods pines and the smell of a crackling fire come evening. I wish I could package moments like these - the tranquility - the inspiration that comes when immersed in nature's best - the creativity that flows so easily. I am finding my niche in this new art medium. It was a delight to present one of those art creations to a niece and her family recently. The family connections I continue to make on my pilgrim-journey seem to be filling me with a new and deep joy. Giving is truly more blessed than receiving! Having completed 5 art projects to date, I keep looking for those special ideas that come to me as I cruise down the country roads of state after state. I suspect the remaining 8 months of my journey will be filled with plenty more 'ah-hah' art moments.
You are, I hope, getting the 'gist' of this 'Art and Soul Journey' I am on. This (my journey) is, I am beginning to believe, one of my central life purposes. At least it feels that way to me today. I am grateful for the opportunity, and I highly recommend a road trip- with a purpose - to all you blog-readers.
Think of me - pray for me, as I will for you - as I am 'on the road again' come Sunday. The journey continues!
Intothewind-naturegirl
For the past 5 weeks my trusty RV has not left Minnesota. I have enjoyed these weeks of renewed friendship with loved ones in my home state. I am getting restless for the road. Something wonderful happens to my soul when I head out onto a ribbon of highway. Tomorrow my RV, Pedro, will transport me to a new state, new adventures and opportunities to enrich my life. Looking back to the time of planning my journey, it seemed as though I pulled an Alice-in-Wonderland trick. I found myself slipping down, down, into the virtual abyss of a botanical world in my mind. I knew my travel time would need to focus on 'all-things-nature'. Thus my journey's purposes unfolded, as the petals of a rose slowly unfold from bud to bloom. "I must," I told myself, "visit as many botanical gardens as possible as I move from state to state." My travel days are filled with observations of the earth-life vegetation that passes by my RV window, as well as those special spots where public gardens are highlighted in travel magazines as great spots to visit. Whether I'm viewing natural habitat or carefully manicured formal gardens, I delight in each equally. Illinois, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio....where is my next glorious garden to be found? You can be sure to hear from me when it's discovered!
The days of autumn are at peak here in Minnesota. I sat, yesterday, outside a friend's house, relishing the day, cup of jasmine tea in hand. The green of the moss-carpet that blanketed the pond a short distance away was outlined in early evening shadows. A nearby aspen released its overripe golden leaves, descending on a swift breeze - a ticker-tape parade of golden chips that was the endcap of a perfect day. If the next month on the road heading south and east unfolds as I dream of, it should be an ongoing display of colored autumn splendor. The great river road that follows the Mississippi southward from the Twin City area will be on my proposed itinerary. Somewhere halfway down Iowa's east boundary I'll angle east through the Illinois countryside. I am eager to take in all the sights of a landscape that has already seen the season's transition to frosty mornings and pumpkins on the doorsteps of midwestern homes. The same eagerness I felt in June as I left on my westward journey is settling into my bones. I wish for sunshine and mild temperatures. However, I suspect I'll take what I get.
I am a farm girl. Born in Iowa, raised on 160 acres of flat, fertile soil, where tall corn grows like bacillus in a petri dish. I usually fondly say I 'survived' life with four brothers - all limbs and cranium intact. My life was filled with plenty of the great outdoors. Much to my mothers' displeasure, I preferred being out on a tractor or playing Ms. Robinhood in the woods, just a stones' throw from the big white farmhouse I called home. It was in the drippy-nosed days of my youth that I began to crave digging in the dirt. One fine midsummer day I suddenly noticed the sea of orange that clustered in the roadside ditch at the east edge of our so-called lawn. The seed catalog that had arrived midwinter informed my curious nature that these were indeed a hearty bloom called day lilies. Thus began my self-education in botany, a fascination that continues still. That would explain why I find myself standing in the aisle of Home Depot reading plant books in all parts of the U.S. as my travels take me from one region of the U.S to another.
Learning early in my youth that some flowers were perennials and some annuals, I nourished my love of flowers by planting different varieties each spring. I voraciously would peel through the catalog pages that pictured delightful new blooms I'd never before seen. Bedtime dream fantasies were of snapdragons and dahlias, sunflower and bachelor buttons. Planting time each spring, pleasured my days as the cherished new flower garden burrowed into the black Iowa soil, bordering my mother's vegetable garden. Then, the great wait - when would those minute spears of green first appear? A day of glee, when they burst forth stretching up through the clumps of black, looking for the warm sunshine and nourishment to fortify their grand stalks to come.
Another of my passions, collage-art, has occupied a tidbit of my time as I have enjoyed my mid-trip Minnesota re-connect. A weekend in the Brainerd Lakes area a few weeks back with friends allowed me a couple special days to do my artmaking out of doors, lakeside and flanked by some wonderful northwoods pines and the smell of a crackling fire come evening. I wish I could package moments like these - the tranquility - the inspiration that comes when immersed in nature's best - the creativity that flows so easily. I am finding my niche in this new art medium. It was a delight to present one of those art creations to a niece and her family recently. The family connections I continue to make on my pilgrim-journey seem to be filling me with a new and deep joy. Giving is truly more blessed than receiving! Having completed 5 art projects to date, I keep looking for those special ideas that come to me as I cruise down the country roads of state after state. I suspect the remaining 8 months of my journey will be filled with plenty more 'ah-hah' art moments.
You are, I hope, getting the 'gist' of this 'Art and Soul Journey' I am on. This (my journey) is, I am beginning to believe, one of my central life purposes. At least it feels that way to me today. I am grateful for the opportunity, and I highly recommend a road trip- with a purpose - to all you blog-readers.
Think of me - pray for me, as I will for you - as I am 'on the road again' come Sunday. The journey continues!
Intothewind-naturegirl
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