often, david has a signature in his paintings. not his initials or his name, but these petals…they bring an element of the organic into a piece that may not speak to nature in any other way. they are a breath, sneaking their way into a painting to remind you that your relationship with this very canvas is a living, changing, ever-evolving thing. the gift of art in its every form: we grow by it, through it, with it.
at the beginning and the end of the movie LOVE ACTUALLY are these really fantastic scenes of people coming together, vignettes of greeting each other, hugging and kissing. a warm feel-good movie anyway, these scenes are the reasons i love to go to the airport. i love to watch people…in their excitement about travel, in their absolute joy in seeing someone they have missed. we have our own airport stories…of meeting and coming back together, of skipping and champagne, seconds and minutes memorized for all time.
we spent a little bit of time in airports this past week. we people-watched, wondering about each person’s story, where they were going, where they were from, what was in their heart. we watched children run to loved ones upon seeing them; we watched couples embrace.
for a little while, with a late-evening departure, we sat at one of the bars at the milwaukee airport (which, incidentally, also makes me think of the movie LOVE ACTUALLY – you must see this if you haven’t already!)
we had promised gay and dan and jay and charlie and sandysue that we would bowl with our new christmas-crackers-bowling-set, and we had no intention of going back on our promise. so we painstakingly set it up and struggled to hold onto the tiny ball. giggling, we bowled at the bar, the bartender thinking for sure we had lost it.
sometimes you just have to be goofy. it makes people deep in thought around you laugh. what’s better than that? it’s not the opening or closing scenes of LOVE ACTUALLY but it, too, elicits smiles.
here, a teaser from the movie:
ps. you can borrow our bowling set anytime. just message us.
we left florida in the rain. it was a tad bit bumpy as we climbed and i was grateful to come out above the clouds into a clear sky with soft early morning color. as we flew at this altitude i could see glimpses of what was below us, spaces quickly filled in by soft puffy clouds blocking the view. i strained to see what terrain we were flying over, curious if i could pick out landmarks and know a little bit more about where we were, wondering about people living in those tiny dots of towns and cities and farmland below the clouds that we were flying above. it was easy to forget that it was raining down there.
i feel like life is like that. it has become more telling to me in these times of divisiveness. we are each at a different altitude…we have different starting points – our backgrounds, our education, our financial status, our various orientations…the starting point list is lengthy; all things combine to make us who we are and all things weave us a different starting point. at any given moment we are at yet another one; life is fluid like that. we live above our own clouds – or, at times, in them – either way our view blocked.
here above my clouds – for my clouds are different than yours – my questions are these: how curious are we about the people who are not at the same place as us? how much do we strain to see what might not be where we are? how much do we want to know, to empathize? how much do we forget what is happening someplace else, for someone else, in the places where it is more difficult to see through the clouds? how engrossed are we only in our narrow bandwidth of sky? can we see the experience of others? can we try?
we can either think it is a soft-morning-sky kind of day for everyone or we can actually realize that it’s raining down there.
we have found that little bits of wisdom are all around us. we were on the train to chicago when we encountered a wise man named lester. he seemed a gentle soul, a big man with soft eyes, he was sitting across the aisle from us. he talked to us about his life, about life in general. he had had a long day already, commuting by numerous trains in a circuitous route to go to a job interview; he wanted to make some changes and the interview he had been to was part of that.
he told us of a relationship he was in – nothing that was all that serious – but there was this woman…. the thing that stuck with us was his comment that in the morning as he awoke with her, she was on her phone….scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. the early sun bright in the room, this lovely man by her side, she was endlessly looking on various social media platforms for what was trending. “put down your phone,” he pleaded to the side of her that had forgotten he was even there. “i’m trending.”
we’ve talked about presence before. we’ve talked about being in the moment and not missing it. we’ve talked about gratitude and time together. we’ve talked about how fleeting time really is. we’ve talked about relationship and listening and appreciating the place you are, the minute you are in. and yet, in six words, lester said it better – “put down your phone. i’m trending.” wisdom indeed.
i can feel it. it’s not something i can put words to. it’s mysterious and undefinable. but it’s coming. there is a turning point. right around the corner.
i walk into this new year and there’s something different…there is an underlying vibration i can feel – viscerally – a pulse, a quivering – that is present.
when it was time to pick a piece of my music for this week’s studio melange, i was drawn to this one….full of angst and wonder and sedimentary layers and mica and minor…..full of questions.
2019. it has been nine years since i recorded a full-length album of any sort and seventeen years since a full-length vocal. is it time? to record? to let it go?
i can feel it. it’s not something i can put words to. it’s mysterious and undefinable. but it’s coming. there is a turning point. right around the corner.
remember when you carefully wrapped your toddler’s presents, expecting their absolute glee when he or she opened the gift? and then, moments after the gift was opened, with wrappings and gift cast aside, you found them ecstatically playing with the box the gift came in? well, welcome to babycatworld.
b-cat has lots of toys. we struggle with keeping dogdog from devouring them. we gave him fun new things for christmas, but he doesn’t seem all that interested. however, the moment we put a carry-your-stuff-out-box we used at costco on the floor in the kitchen, babycat decided it was his. no matter where we move it, he sits in it. he has claimed it; it is his safe spot. it would be impossible for him to lay down in it; his hulking “big-boned” body dwarfs the box. but sitting in it seems to suffice for him. i guess everyone/every creature has their special spot. so for now, this crest box has become a part of our home.
i might add that it doesn’t match our decor in any way. i’m wondering if he would still sit in it if we spray-painted it black…
“…leaving to fill in the space called the future…”
yesterday is but a shadow now. we rise with the sun and the lingering shadows and shapes in the dusk-then-darkness-then-dawn quietly disappear. we can’t hold onto them, any of them, despite our sometimes-longing to do so. memories are like that. the moments we most want to remember…they slyly tiptoe out of our mind’s eye, elusive to our heart-threads trying to hold onto them. that is why i keep a calendar.
my calendar is written. with a pencil. every day i write in it, catching up what we did with our time, what we worked on, where we went, who we saw, maybe a new recipe we tried. mostly, though, i write down moments i don’t want to forget. milliseconds or minutes of bliss with a loved one, gorgeous things said, handholds or hugs that i want to keep feeling, things i want to memorize but know will slip softly into a recess that i may or may not be able to access.
on the first day of the new year (or the last day of the old year) it is my ritual to read every day, every log, of my year’s calendar. in that reading we are transported. to the places we went, the people we visited with, the exquisite times, the arguments, treasured mom-moments that have repeated-time-release joy. we remember things we had forgotten. we stand once again on the precipice above the canyon or the beach on the cape. we stroll once again under a canopy of spanish-moss-covered live oaks or the big sky of the high range mountains. we sit once again on red rocks or on the train to chicago or on the subway in boston or on the pontoon boat up north or on the high kitchen stools having potluck friday or on the raft or at the pub near where we scattered ashes one last time. we hike once again in the nearby woods, on the river trail, through high desert. we roadtrip, once again, heading east, west, south, north. we have conversation-snippets-to-remember once again with The Girl, The Boy, david’s parents, our siblings, nieces, nephews, dear friends. once again, we make music and art, we write stories and blogposts and press releases and letters and emails and texts; some we want to hold onto, even if just a word or two, a sentiment or two. once again.
we process our year. we see. we celebrate. we learn. we plan and we plan to not plan. we dream. we look to the future.
on this day, the last day of 2018, i am deeply humbled and perspective-arranged reading the attached and feel that there is no way i could possibly add any wisdom or profound emotion to it – it is all there. please. read this writing: A BRAVE AND STARTLING TRUTH
i was drawn to them in the charming boutique in ridgway, colorado. flying wish papers were intriguing and whimsical. “write it. light it. watch it fly.” it touted on the cover of the pack of wish papers. captivating. i thought of how many times i have blown kisses or wishes to someone. this was a vessel for me to do the same in a magical moment or two. they were a little pricey, but what price do you put on wishes and hopes….or on the experience of sharing those with others?
we flying-wish-papered with My Girl, each of us dedicating kitchen-table-together-time to writing our wish or wishes on the magical tissue, then wrinkling it into a ball and rolling it into a tube. we placed it on the wish platform and lit it. it was true glee to watch it burn, lift off the platform and fly, bringing our wishes and hopes into the universe. sweet. we’ve since flying-wish-papered with wendy aka ben aka saul and also jen and brad. each time it’s a gesture i won’t forget. simple and yet powerful.
this painting morsel – BLOWING WISHES – reminds me of those flying-wish-paper times, reminds me of all the times i have blown wishes across my hand. a beautiful morsel from the full YOGA SERIES painting GREET THE DAY, it offers a post-holiday-end-of-the-year breath…to stop, greet the new day, the new year with hopes and dreams and flying wishes.
reverse threading 