wildeve-musings

Busy Bee

2011-08-07T07:57:00.039-04:00

Busy Bee, a photo by wildeve1 on Flickr.
This morning we are expecting rain, so I'm taking some time out from my usual running around to regroup and organize. I am still reeling from some major life changes in the past 18 months, and I really need some time to get my bearings. Getting used to life in a small apartment with no outdoor space. I miss sitting out in my garden- but I garden for a living, so I spend plenty of time in other gardens. Still, a quiet, solitary cup of coffee in a garden of one's own is priceless.
The up side of downsizing is having less responsibility, more time for myself, and a short walk to the beach. Life is sweet, and I plan to enjoy every minute.

Dragonfly

2011-07-31T07:28:00.001-04:00

Dragonfly, a photo by wildeve1 on Flickr.

When we stood next to my nephew Brian's casket last summer, a dragonfly came and landed on it. I think it was Brian's way of letting us know he is still here, but not in his physical body.
Brian had Cerebral Palsy. He could not walk, speak, or eat regular food. But he knew how to communicate, and he was the happiest person I knew. He radiated pure love and joy, every day of his life.
If I could be like him, I would have accomplished everything I need to do in this world.
He taught me that my concerns are small, that life is precious and should never be wasted in self-imposed misery.
He used his voice to express pleasure, and always greeted me with a smile- even when I knew he was in pain.
Whenever I see a dragonfly, I think of him and smile.

Love is Abundant

2011-05-30T07:18:00.000-04:00

“You can see a tree and feel all the love coming from the tree to you.”- Don Miguel Ruiz

Love is abundant. There is no shortage of love on this earth. If we see the world through the eyes of love, we can find love everywhere,

In a tree,

A flower, a dog,

A friend, a baby.

We are not so different from plants and trees. In fact, the chemical makeup of chlorophyll and hemoglobin are almost identical, both containing the same amounts of carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen and oxygen. The only difference is that hemoglobin has 4 parts iron, and chlorophyll contains 4 parts magnesium. (I discovered this fact in the book The Hidden Life of Deer, by Elizabeth Marshall Thomas.)

Goldfish

2011-05-06T06:24:00.006-04:00

“I wouldn’t mind turning into a vermillion goldfish.”

Henri Matisse

I love goldfish. Really.

I’m very fond of them.

I even love the crackers, but that’s not what I’m talking about here.

Goldfish and Koi have a magic in them that is otherworldly, a bright flash of gold below the surface of things.

A quick turn of a fin, or tail.

To me they represent that which is just beyond our reach, something we have to search for, the metaphorical treasure in the water of the unconscious.

Our golden soul.

The essence of our being.

My grandchildren named their goldfish Awesome. I think the name is perfect for him.

Their other goldfish is named Spec, which is short for Spectacular.

This big guy lives at Russell's Garden Center in Wayland, Massachusetts.

Here are some of his friends.

Have a great weekend!

Primroses

2011-03-08T07:39:00.002-05:00

These primroses remind me of candy, with their bright colors heralding spring. Garden centers and grocery stores are teeming with them now, the cute, little unassuming flowers that are a promise of things to come, of brightening days and sunshine.
“Just living is not enough… one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.”
-Hans Christian Andersen

Gypsy Life

2011-02-22T09:13:00.001-05:00

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."- Oscar Wilde

Embracing color today, and embracing my situation, and how I got here. Hoping I can communicate clearly, without my ADD making leaps and associations that only make sense to me.

Instead of saying "I am between homes," I can say, "I am a Gypsy." Embracing my inner (and outer) Gypsy. Yes.

Instead of saying, "I am between jobs," I can say, "I am free to choose a new direction."

Embracing that freedom. Mmm-hmm.

Instead of saying "My new life didn't work out," or "I made a mistake," (which is ok) I can say, "I am safe now, I took steps to correct things, protect myself, and live the life I was meant to live."

It is all how you look at it.

and is all okay.

A New Road

2011-02-21T21:42:00.007-05:00

Last night I dreamed

that I was driving home

and I noticed that an exit ramp which had always been closed-

under construction-

was now open,

so I took it.

It led me to a highway five lanes wide.

My car and one other car were the only ones on the road

and the other car belonged to a local news personality.

I could only see the back of his neck.

I was worried that my car wouldn't be able to get up the steep

incline of the road,

but after

a moment of doubt and hesitation,

I made it to the top.

It was bright and sunny there, and I pulled over

behind the news man

to a scenic overlook...

We didn't speak, but we both looked out at the view

we could see for miles,

beautiful mountains, trees, and scenery.

as we looked, the fog lifted, revealing even more,

including a spectacular castle.

The only association I can think of is that the newscaster has a very strong BS detector, and everyone tells me that mine is way underdeveloped. Since I have just entered a new chapter in my life, I think the dream makes sense- what do you think?

Shifting

2011-02-12T06:34:00.000-05:00

My blogging energies have shifted again, just as my life has shifted. It seems like an endless winter of merciless cold and storms with no moral or meaning. As I try to make sense of it all, I realize it doesn't have to make sense, it just is. I struggle not to take things personally, to accept that I am just where I'm supposed to be at this moment in time. I am grateful to have a support system, even it if seems a little wobbly and wonky sometimes.

Driving and the Nature of Time

2010-12-11T22:29:00.002-05:00

I am driving west, toward the fading light, and the night folds in behind me.

Lights season the villages and hills in my rear view mirror.

I wonder how fast I would have to drive to keep up with the setting sun?

I see scenes all around me that I wish to photograph- in this light, with these long shadows, everything looks so beautiful, so ethereal, so fleeting.

I don’t want to miss a thing. I want to bring all these moments, these snippets forward with me in time, and every mile I drive I have to let them go.

This is the bittersweet truth, the nature of life, the dilemma of time.

How precious it is; and how impossible to capture.

To me this is almost unbearable.

It is excruciating to be moving so fast by this beauty, to see it and let it go, see it and let it go, over and over.

I want to keep these moments alive forever. I know the light of day will come again. But tomorrow will never be exactly the same as today.

Introducing...

2010-12-06T09:47:00.000-05:00

My new blog, Rhode Island Daily Photo.

I live and work in Southern Rhode Island. I think it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. I hope you enjoy viewing The Ocean State through my camera lens.

Snail Trails

2010-11-09T19:28:00.003-05:00

I have landed in Rhode Island. I must say I rather like it. The road that lead me here was a little bumpy, with obstacles thrown in my way, it took a really long time to get settled.

Seems I don't always take the straight and narrow way home. I tend to stop a lot and ponder, check things out, and go in circles.

Circles upon circles upon circles. But here I am, and like I said, I rather like it.

and I've met some fabulous new friends.

Some Shadow Shots

2009-10-25T05:21:00.001-04:00

Taken at the beach a few weeks ago.... I don't have much time to be here, or sign up for Shadow Shot Sunday... just thought I'd share these.

A Change of Season

2009-09-28T05:41:00.001-04:00

"All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves..." Anatole France

The wind comes up and churns the sea- can you smell the salt spray? This season, I am preparing to leave this place, trying to get a lot of work done and trying to spend as much time as I can with the people who mean so much to me.

As I savor the time I have spent here, I look forward to a new adventure, a new and happy home. I have been too busy or too tired to get here very often, but I hope when I get settled I can share it all with you.

stone wall

2009-09-20T05:35:00.001-04:00

The Light

2009-09-20T05:32:00.009-04:00

I love the light this time of year.

It infuses the world with magic, penetrating the grass so it seems to glow from the inside.

The grass shines along the sides of the road.

The phlox is dappled with light.

Shafts of light tickle us, cast long shadows, play in our hair, and blind us as we drive.

We are reminded that our lives revolve around the sun;

of the force and the beauty of it.

Dreams

2009-09-05T03:00:00.003-04:00

For the first time in a very long time- as long as I can remember, really- I am allowing myself to dream.

Dreams were for other people, I always told myself- not for me.

Other people deserved to be happy, and I was always happy to see them succeed in getting what they wanted out of life. I just figured that for me, some things just were not meant to be. I just tried to be content with my lot in life, and be as happy as I could under the circumstances- which, honestly, were pretty miserable sometimes.

But of course that's just crazy. Maybe in the past, not getting my hopes up worked for me... but not anymore.

After all, who am I NOT to have a better life?

Yes, I am worthy of that.

And so are you.

Have a nice Labor Day Weekend!

You deserve it.

A Summer's Evening

2009-07-21T20:28:00.011-04:00

My favorite time on the beach is after four, when the crowds have thinned out and the shadows grow long, and the sweet smell of family dinners on the grill can drive you crazy.

The sun is still warm, but there's no need for sunscreen, and the light dances and plays on the water.

I love to watch the transition from day to night,

and see the fishermen

cast their lines into the pewter sea.

But the best thing about the beach after four is: it's free! :)

Shadow Shot Sunday

2009-07-12T04:40:00.001-04:00

This is Orchard house, the home of Louisa May Alcott and her family in Concord, Massachusetts. I loved visiting this place where the author of "Little Women" lived and wrote.

The walls and woodwork are covered with the paintings and drawings of May Alcott, Louisa's sister (Amy in the book). She pencilled small drawings of angels and fairies all around the windows in Louisa's room, and Louisa used her earnings from "Little Women" to send her talented sister to Europe to study art.

I visited here in May with my mother and sister, and I was touched to see many mothers exploring the house with their school-aged daughters. My favorite things about the house can not be seen in these pictures: The tiny, fold-down writing desk Louisa's father, Bronson Alcott, fashioned for her between the windows in her room, to take advantage the light, The trunk of clothes the sisters used in their dramatic performances, and the dolls they played with as children.

Photography was not permitted inside the building, but I did get these quick shots of the outside.

It is now Monday in Australia, where heyharriet hosts Shadow Shot Sunday. There is still time to play!

Fireworks on the beach

2009-07-06T03:50:00.002-04:00

My sister rented a cottage on the beach and we all congregated there for food, family, and fireworks.

It wasn't an official display, but there were bonfires up an down the beach and people brought their own- and we could see them go off from Plymouth to Provincetown.

There was a tons of great food, conversation, walking on the beach and rock collecting.

We grew up walking on this beach, now my children and grandchildren are enjoying it. It is a lot more crowded now, but still beautiful.

Waiting

2009-06-29T15:12:00.001-04:00

"The waiting is the hardest part." -Tom Petty

Y, Oh, Y do I have to wait?

Waiting.
Waiting for the sun to come out.
Waiting for Godot.
Waiting, waiting, for someone to call..
We all have to wait sometimes.
In offices, in lines, in traffic.
We wait for our meals to be ready.
We wait for the show to start.
We wait for help with something we can’t do for ourselves.
Then there is long-term waiting, the kind that last for days, weeks, months, even years. The kind that can drive us crazy sometimes.
Waiting for a baby to be born,
A house to sell,
A soldier to come home from the war. Tying a yellow ribbon around a tree.
Leaving a candle in the window.
Waiting for something, ANYTHING, to exciting to happen.
There are productive waiters. They bring waiting equipment- they haul their knitting to the doctor’s office, they always have a book on hand, or a crossword puzzle. At home, they throw in a load of laundry, or clean out the junk drawer.
What is the lesson in waiting? In the play, Waiting for Godot, an entire play about waiting by Samuel Beckett, (*Spoiler Alert*), Godot never shows up. What if we are waiting for something that’s not even going to happen? How do we know?
Time is so precious. We often have no control over the timing or results of our waiting. Many things are worth waiting for, and waiting can help us learn to be patient. But we can’t stop living to wait.
　
What are you waiting for in your life? How do you handle it?
　
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” - John Lennon

The Eastern Box Turtle

2009-06-15T11:26:00.001-04:00

This endangered, or at least threatened, box turtle took a stroll through my brother's yard the other day. The new signs I see on the Falmouth bike path say they are endangered, though I haven't found any information to confirm that.

It moved very slowly and deliberately, seeming to weigh every move, as turtles do. I can identify.

The beautiful markings on its back look like handpainted, primitive art. Could the turtle be a female, on her way home to lay a clutch of eggs? They are said to have an inner homing device, and return to the place of their birth to lay their eggs.

A sudden decision, and it's time to go.

"The eastern box turtle is found mainly in the eastern United States, as is implied by its name. They are populated as far north as southern Maine and the southern and eastern portions of the Michigan Upper Peninsula, south to southern Florida and west to eastern Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas. The eastern box turtle is considered uncommon to rare in the Great Lakes region; however, populations can be found in areas not bisected by heavily traveled roads. In the Midwest, they are a species of Special Interest in Ohio, and of Special Concern in Michigan. Eastern box turtles prefer deciduous or mixed forested regions, with a moderately moist forest floor that has good drainage. They can be also found in open grasslands, or pastures."-from Wikipedia

I've missed you

2009-06-13T06:40:00.005-04:00

My computer crashed about a week ago and I am still trying to figure out how to access all the pictures, music, etc that I want to keep...Arrgh!

My sister (I can't say enough good things about my sisters, as you may have noticed) gave me a laptop- I'm so lucky and very, very grateful. I have trouble with the keyboard, but I'm getting better. My brother got it all set up for me- I have such a wonderful family! Love you guys!

I have missed you, my bloggy friends. I hope to be up and doing some serious posting soon.

Trains

2009-06-04T18:57:00.001-04:00

I love trains, do you? I work near the railroad tracks, and I see the trains coming and going every day. There are the trash trains, which take the refuse from transfer stations on Cape Cod to a facility which incinerates it, and there are the passenger trains. These carry tourists who eat their lunch or their dinner on board.

Trains are friendly and romantic. The tourists on the train always wave when they go by. You might think they are just happy because they are on vacation... not true! You should see them in their cars. It is the magic of a train ride that gets to them.

My grandfather, Charlie Weeks, worked on the railroad when I was a girl. I think he was a Signalman- he used lanterns and worked in the caboose. I remember him taking me to ride on the train with him while he was working. To me, the caboose was the best part of the train. Getting to ride in the red car, bringing up at the rear, was the ultimate treat.

My daughter helped me take this video of the train. I uploaded it to YouTube so I could share it with you. Enjoy!

The Irises Are Blooming!

2009-06-03T20:10:00.004-04:00

Like girls dressed in ruffles

And frills

Dancing, fragrant

In the wind.

The Internet and the Past

2009-06-02T17:35:00.001-04:00

The past has been on my mind a lot lately. I've been spending a lot of time with my brothers and sisters. We have been talking, really talking, about things our family never talked about. Traumatic things that left us all feeling bewildered, shell shocked, and isolated. Someone on Facebook contacted my sister. The woman said she was in the car with our sister Patty the night of her accident. That she had been dropped off at home before it happened. After the accident, Patty was awake and talking, then she lapsed into a nine month coma, then she was gone. It was painful to hear from this woman, but she gave us answers to some questions we have carried with us for many, many years.

I won't say she gave us closure, because I hate that word- it is such an oversimplification of the grief process. Like one day you'll wake up and feel fine as if nothing ever happened. It doesn't work like that. Things get better, but it is never over, case closed. In my experience, grief cycles- like the earth rotates around the sun. Sometimes the earth is closer to the sun, sometimes it is farther away. Sometimes the angle is different. Sometimes it is Winter, sometimes Spring or Summer. And it always returns, transforms.

What she did do is start a dialogue between us, one we have never had. I'm grateful to her for that.

Photo: Patty, and a friend with a camera, East Sandwich Beach. MA

Shadow Shot Sunday

2009-05-30T16:00:00.001-04:00

I took these last Sunday morning when the sun was very bright. The basketball hoop in the driveway and my nephew David enjoying his morning coffee and the Boston Sunday Globe.

It is Sunday in Australia. If you want to play- or see shadow shots from around the world, visit heyharriet by clicking the link below.

Introducing...

2009-05-27T18:00:00.000-04:00

Wildeve's art pages!

I never thought I could handle one blog, nevermind two. But things change, and I am involved in a project I want to share which would commandeer this blog and completely devour it for way too long.

I am making a Soulcollage(R) deck, an intuitive collage project -and I would like to share my other art projects as well.

You can access Wildeve's art pages here:http://wildeve-wildevesartpages.blogspot.com/

or just go to my profile and find it under My Blogs.

Memorial Day

2009-05-25T20:26:00.001-04:00

Where do you think of when you think of home? Is it the place you live now? The town you where you grew up? If you have more than one house, which one do you consider to be your home? I mean emotionally, when you say "I'm going home" where are you going? Answer quickly, without thinking.

For me, home is the town I grew up in, the town where I spent only thirteen years of my life- from age seven to age twenty. Most of my school years. I wonder if there is a developmental age where one forms attachment to places? Driving to my old hometown always feels like going back in time, even though I do it quite often. Maybe home is the place I came of age, the place of firsts: first kiss, first grief, first loose tooth.

The house I live in now is my home in many ways- all my stuff is there, I feel cozy, I know where everything is located and I can have all the comfort I need. But my hometown reminds me who I am and where I came from. My grandparents lived there, my parents met and got married there, My aunts and uncles and cousins all lived within a mile or so of each other.

Every Memorial Day, my family would go to the local parade and follow the marchers to the cemetery- as kids it was only fun, we never really thought about the meaning of the firing of the guns, the solemn ceremony. We just waited until it was over so we could make noise again.

I went to that cemetery today. Now, I know a lot of people there. I guess that comes with the territory of aging.

Remember us, they whisper quietly as the breeze.

Remember us.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2009-05-23T08:45:00.005-04:00

Table with blue glass, Provincetown, 2008

This was taken last summer on the Provincetown Secret Garden tour.

It's Sunday in Australia, if you want to play, visit heyharriet at:

Typical Babies

2009-05-20T20:25:00.005-04:00

Always either sleeping...

or eating!

But I only see four :(

Nest Update

2009-05-18T19:45:00.001-04:00

It was a very cold, raw day here on Cape Cod. We had a chilly wind, and rain on and off all day. Every time I walked by the robin's nest the mother was sitting there, keeping her babies warm.

I've started to talk to her. "You're such a good mother," I tell her.

I felt mean when I chased her off for a moment so I could show you how the babies have grown. They are now a mass of beaks and eyes and newly formed wings.

I see three beaks, but I'm sure the others are just hidden from view.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2009-05-17T09:19:00.006-04:00

I'm late- it's already Monday in Australia, where heyharriet's blog is located. I had a very busy Saturday, but this morning it is raining- so rain plus weekend plus coffee equals blog time for me! This is an older shot of beach grass at Sandy Neck Beach, taken with my SLR back in the day when we had a photography shop in town and I took all my film there to be developed. As much as I love digital cameras, and hope to get a digital SLR someday (I do love my teeny point and shoot, too) I miss the old camera shop- a casualty of technology. Do you have a special place you miss that is gone now?

This shot is for my Aussie friends. I was about to say it's not a shadow shot, but I noticed the shadow of the ribbon, so I guess it is! My sister is an art curator, and she travels all over the world escorting paintings on loan to museums. She went to Australia recently. One of my bloggy friends mentioned yummy Tim Tam biscuits in a post, (I'm so sorry I don't remember who it was) so I asked my sister to bring some back for me, and she did! I intended to share them, but I have to admit that they were so yummy I ate most of them myself! Anyone else love Tim Tams?
She also brought me this pretty tote bag from the Sydney Royal Botanic Gardens. What a nice sister! She got some cool photos of fruit bats and black swans at the gardens.

If you want to play, visit heyharriet at the link below:

Baby Robins

2009-05-14T18:23:00.000-04:00

I went to check on the nest yesterday and look what I found! They must have just hatched.

The Robin Adopts an Egg

2009-05-13T21:39:00.002-04:00

Last week we found a Robin's nest in a giant boxwood at work, complete with four pretty blue eggs. I couldn't see into the nest, so I held my camera up over my head and took a few badly aimed shots until I got this one.

(A side view of the nest, with one egg showing.)

Meanwhile, my daughter found another nest some neighborhood children had raided near her home. There was only one egg left intact. She brought it to work and slipped it into this nest. Do you think the mother robin noticed the extra egg?

We left the nest alone for a few minutes, and when we came back the mother was sitting on the eggs as if nothing unusual had happened. if she did notice, she didn't seem to mind.

One Lovely Blog Award

2009-05-13T21:06:00.001-04:00

http://jcatmom.blogspot.com/

JC at Lilacs & Cats has honored me by giving me this One Lovely Blog Award. This is my first award ever- so thank you, JC! You can visit her lovely blog by clicking on the link above.

This award is to introduce new blogs to your readers. Here's what you do ~ Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award, and his or her blog link. Pass the award to 15 or 5 (or a number in between)other blogs that you've newly discovered. I'm going to give this to a few blogs that may not be new to me, but might be new to you, dear readers. Some of the blogs I love have quite a following, and deservedly so. Others are gems you may not have discovered yet. I am hoping you enjoy them as much as I do. (If you pass this along, remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.)

Here are my picks, in no particular order:

1. A Chef in the Garden

Tim is a caterer/chef turned estate gardener. I love visiting his blog to see what he's been up to.http://achefinthegarden.blogspot.com/

2.After the pencil soars through

A thoughtful, honest blog full of warmth and sensibility, and great family stories.
http://evyan-r-osborne.blogspot.com/

3.Window Views

A new photo meme site, by Mary the Teach, creator of Ruby Tuesday http://windowviews2.blogspot.com/

4. A Room of One's Own

Isabel' s blog is very sensitive, literary, and touching

http://a-room-of-one-s-own.blogspot.com/

5. Birmingham Alabama Daily Photo

Virginia is a very talented photographer with an eye for beauty. Her pictures of the "Magic City"
are truly magical

http://birminghamalabamadailyphoto.blogspot.com/

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-10T07:54:00.000-04:00

My middle daughter works with me two days a week. She is a wonderful and very busy mother- so our time at work is so special. We get to chat and laugh all day without interruption- what a gift it is to get to spend time with her! (My oldest daughter takes on the enormous task of babysitting to make this all possible- bless her.) Friday we were sitting on a stone wall for a quick break and I noticed our shadows- she made a heart with her hands and I snapped the picture. So here is a mother/daughter shadow shot for Mother's Day.

I am a mother to three incredible children, all grown; and a grandmother to five special grandchildren. And then there are the children (and the mothers) of my heart- each unique and very precious to me.

I spent Saturday with my Mother- we went out for appetizers, went down to the beach and came home with pockets full of pretty stones, and then, as she likes to do- she made me dinner.

Sometimes my heart is so full of love I think it will burst, and it stretches instead. There is always room for more.

To every one who has ever mothered or nurtured or loved a child, a loved one, a cherished pet, a garden, a work of art, a piece of music... to everyone- male or female, who has taken part in this creative dance we call life- have a wonderful Mother's Day.

Shadow Shot Sunday

If you want play, visit heyharriet's blog by clicking on the link below:

Lilacs

2009-05-09T07:33:00.005-04:00

Newly planted lilacs- now they just need more topsoil and a little pruning.

A close-up of the flowers

Heart-leaves of lilac all over New England,
Roots of lilac under all the soil of New England,
Lilac in me because I am New England.
Amy Lowell (1874–1925)Lilacs

Don't you love lilacs? I know I do. Every year for the past 100 years (this year will make 101) The Arnold Arboretum in Boston hosts Lilac Sunday, usually on Mother's Day. I have always wanted to go, but Mother's Day is a very busy day for me, so I've never made it.

http://www.arboretum.harvard.edu/visitors/visitor_spotlight.html

Lilacs are an old fashioned flower- they remind me of my grandmothers. My Nana had a huge one in the middle of her yard when I was small. It was the backdrop of many family photos- I remember running in circles around and around it. The heady fragrance of lilacs still brings me back to those days, like a time machine. My Grammie had lilacs, too. She was superstitious about them. Bringing white lilacs into the house would surely bring bad luck, she said.

Yesterday I helped plant 15 huge lilacs... I didn't actually do much but provide support for the guys doing the heavy work, the shrubs were so huge I couldn't have moved them. They look nice though, and I hope to get more pictures in the next couple of days when the flowers open up. Meanwhile, this rain is keeping me inside, so I get to blog and eat yummy olive rolls. Life is sweet!

Gardening

2009-04-21T11:25:00.018-04:00

I garden for a living- an occupation which suits me, but is entirely dictated by the weather. Gardening is a pleasurable hobby for many people, some of whom spend many hours of idyllic puttering outdoors, on days that are so perfect that the earth itself purrs with delight. I’ve had days like that.

Gardening for others is often more demanding and intense. What pleases me is not necessarily what pleases someone else. I’m out there in all kinds of conditions; wind, light rain, sometimes hail or snow, if it doesn’t last too long. Sometimes the weather stubbornly puts a stop to my work altogether. I get my errands done then- or stay in with a hot cup of tea- just the thing on a rainy day.

I wasn’t always a professional gardener. Excuse me, I meant to say Horticulturist. Now that sounds more impressive, doesn’t it? I had a garden at home, and spent all my free time there. Up until my 50th year, I worked in human services, in a very civilized office, as a Nutrition Counselor. I shuffled lots of papers and saw up to 20 clients a day. I felt like I was suffocating. When I had a rare free moment, I looked out the window, longing to be outdoors, to be in a garden.

One spring, I saw an ad in the paper for a gardener. I thought, I am going to be 50 soon. If I have to spend so much of my life working, I might as well do something I love to do. I answered the ad- and I’m very glad I did.

Photos: Some of the gardens I've worked in over the past few years.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2009-04-18T17:50:00.004-04:00

I had fun taking these shots of marbles in a white dish-

the trick was to get them to stop rolling around.

Have a great Sunday, everyone!

If you want to play, visit Hey Harriet at Shadow Shot Sunday, link below.

Happy Easter

2009-04-11T11:28:00.002-04:00

For Easter I thought I would share some of my favorite bunny postcards from my collection.

This one, and the one below it, are signed by postcard artist Ellen Clapsaddle.

Have a wonderful Day!

Patterns in the Garden

2009-04-08T06:00:00.002-04:00

Whenever I doodle, I always make spirals. It is an unconscious act, I don't know why I do it, but spirals make me happy. My sister made these spirals in her garden, with beach rocks. In a couple of months, when the garden fills in, we will barely be able to see them.

Spirals have been found at Celtic Megalithic and Neolithic sites

They are Celtic symbols of triplicity, found in groups of three. (The triskele)

They represent the triple goddess,

and the three realms: Land, Sea, and Sky.

Are we acting on an ancient urge, embedded deep in our collective unconscious?

Spirals make me think of shells, the DNA, double helix, and the tendrils of vining plants, curling around a support. How do they know to do that? What other ancient mysteries do spirals hold? Any thoughts?

A Few Spring Things

2009-04-07T06:00:00.001-04:00

A bunny in a dome,

A Dedham pottery dish filled with Wampum,

Shelley, the mermaid, with her shells,

And a glass bunny egg cup in the window.

Prisms

2009-04-06T06:00:00.002-04:00

Here comes the sun

And I say

It's allright

Do you remember the scene in Pollyanna, when Haley Mills hangs the prisms in Agnes Moorehead's window? Ever since I saw it, I have been hanging prisms in my windows. I took these shots just before I gave this grapevine window a good spring cleaning. I've decided to keep it up a little longer- soon there will be leaves to lend me privacy, and I love having the sun streaming in.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2009-04-04T20:48:00.004-04:00

I have been working most of this week, and I work outdoors, so I finally got some tree shadow shots. The first is a NOT tall and slimming shadow of me- I am wearing about five layers! Yes, Spring is here, and every morning when I watch the weather, they tell me it's going to be really nice (not counting the rainy days) and in the fifties. Then- as an aside- they mumble, "but cooler on the coast." We have had a relentless ocean breeze, so it hasn't warmed up quite yet. I have windburned eyes! Some years it feels like we go straight from winter to summer. Still, Cape Cod is a glorious place to live.

Click here if you want to play:

Windows on Spring

2009-04-04T07:05:00.000-04:00

On a gray, gloomy day, the windows on Main Street in Falmouth are hopeful, anticipating the warmer weather to come. Surely, we will be wearing sunglasses and eating ice cream soon!

Photos: 1. The window of Eight Cousins children's book shop. 2. An unknown clothing shop. 3. Window display at Kaleidoscope Toys. 4. The window of Ben and Bill's Chocolate Emporium.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2009-03-28T14:56:00.000-04:00

The dragonfly saw her shadow. I found this dragonfly in my rusty old wheelbarrow, and she even waited for me to go get my camera.

If you want to play, visit Hey Harriet here:

Voices

2009-03-28T10:38:00.001-04:00

"In my family, no one talked. my father never talked to my mother, my parents never talked to my grandmother, and none of them ever talked to me." -Xiaolu Guo, from Twenty Fragments of a Ravenous Youth

This line from Guo's novel struck a chord in me- how sad for a child to grow up in a house of silence. How sad to feel like a "forgotten sweet potato" under the soil.

The household of my own childhood wasn't silent, by any means. I was the oldest of seven children. There was chatter about the weather, school bullies, and sleepovers. I loved to read and spend endless hours roaming the countryside, climbing trees, and playing made-up games. I felt safe, and I felt loved. Many things were just not questioned or discussed. My parents never said they loved me, but I knew they did. I remember a pretty happy household. At least that's how it seemed to me.

But I fell for a talker: someone who talked about life, personal philosophy, history, future plans. And his family, who were all talkers- passionate, affectionate, uncensored. I spent hours sitting around their kitchen table, drinking endless cups of tea, while they talked, talked, talked. They told stories, they laughed, they grieved, dished out advice. I loved every minute of it, except the occasions when the passions boiled over into arguments, and sometimes even fistfights.

I'm not always in the mood for animated talk. Quiet is often a welcome relief. But I still fall for talkers- they draw me out. I tend to keep to myself, at least until I'm really comfortable with someone. It's not that I'm shy (anymore), I just love my solitude.

I don't know where I'm going with this, except that lately I feel- to quote Guo again, "like some spare chair forgotten in the dark corner of a warehouse." I've spent a lot of time alone and I'm craving some good talk. Maybe that's why I started blogging- and reading blogs- but it's not quite the same without the sound of voices. I'm craving the sound of voices.

My mother read me stories when I was very small, tons and tons of stories. When I was three, I turned to her and said, "I want the books to say the words to ME!" When I think of my childhood I can still hear her voice: lilting- almost chanting- the lines from my favorite books:

"So one by one, stray dogs came to Julie's house. She fed them and of course they stayed."

"By the shores of Gitche Gumee,

By the shining Big-Sea-Water,

Stood the wigwam of Nokomis,

Daughter of the Moon, Nokomis.

Dark behind it rose the forest,

Rose the black and gloomy pine-trees,

Rose the firs with cones upon them;

Bright before it beat the water,

Beat the clear and sunny water,

Beat the shining Big-Sea-Water. "

"In an old house in Paris

that was covered with vines

lived twelve little girls in two straight lines."

My mother nurtured me with stories, poetry, classic literature, sketch pads, pencils and paints. And her marvelous voice. She can still recite the lines of my favorite books, word for word. I am very lucky.

Photo: Reading in my Grandfather's chair

In memory of Nichloas Hughes 1962-2009

2009-03-26T20:11:00.000-04:00

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article5956380.ece

Nick And The Candlestick

I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears
The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs
Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.
Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,
Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish----
Christ! They are panes of ice,
A vice of knives,
A piranha
Religion, drinking
Its first communion out of my live toes.
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,
Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?
O embryo
Remembering, even in sleep,
Your crossed position.
The blood blooms clean
In you, ruby.
The pain
You wake to is not yours.
Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses.
With soft rugs----
The last of Victoriana.
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,
Let the mercuric
Atoms that cripple drip
Into the terrible well,
You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn.

Sylvia Plath

Theme Thursday- Mineral

2009-03-26T06:00:00.003-04:00

I love this garden in Provincetown, surrounded by a stone wall which incorporates some amazing amethyst crystals.

A small bed in front of a short part of the wall, facing the street.

Inside the garden, a shady seating area, with a huge amethyst half geode- if I have the correct term- over a bench. I visited this garden last summer during the annual Provincetown Secret Garden Tour. The tour benefits the Provincetown Art Association, and the gardens are something very special- full of quirky art, antiques and whimsy. I have only been going for two years now, and I can't imagine summer on Cape Cod without it. After the tour, it's out to lunch at Bubala's or Napi's, or one of P-town's many eclectic restaurants. Then we take in a few galleries and do some shopping on Commercial Street. It's the highlight of my summer.

A stone wall in Hyannisport.

Mending Wall

SOMETHING there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, “Good fences make good neighbours.”

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

“Why do they make good neighbours? Isn’t it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall I’d ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offence.

Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,

That wants it down.” I could say “Elves” to him,

But it’s not elves exactly, and I’d rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father’s saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, “Good fences make good neighbours.”

Robert Frost (1874–1963). North of Boston. 1915.

(Click on the title of this post to link to the "Theme Thursday" Site.)

Winter

2009-03-25T08:45:00.001-04:00

In this long lonely winter, I have learned a lot of things about myself:

Dust gathers on things that don't move.

I am more social than I thought I was.

I don't know how to reach out.

The sun makes me smile, especially when I'm driving, and people smile back at me.

I enjoy getting up when I want, lingering over coffee, taking my time deciding what to do with my day.

I impulsively paint things, like only one side of my hutch, or a windowsill.

I want to be accepted as I am.

I would like to open my back door in the morning and see a farm, or the countryside.

My rhythms are the same as the rhythms of the earth.

My emotions are made up of the elements: Earth, Air, Fire, Water.

I often think of Persephone, how she travelled to the underworld in autumn, and returned to her mother in Spring.

Bright colors cheer me up.

I want to write, paint, and walk the earth.

I love to explore.

I can look at things that have been around me for years, and see something new- or not see them at all.

Singing and laughter are essential to life.

Money is a mysterious force.

None of us are what we think we are.

Our essence is pure love.

We need the connection of touch.

The body has physical memories.

I could probably write a post on each of these thoughts.

Happy Birthday Grace!

2009-03-23T13:16:00.000-04:00

To the little girl who has stolen out hearts and filled our lives with magic. Have a lovely day!

Grace's Birthday

2009-03-23T13:15:00.000-04:00

My granddaughter Grace is six years old today. Yesterday, for her birthday, her Mama guided us on a treasure hunt to find birthday surprises.
Photos: 1. At the arcade, Grace and Mama Kelly try to solve a riddle (the second clue.)
2.The answer leads us to The Cupcake Shop.
3.Grace wants the cupcake with the pink flower on top.
4. Grace enjoys her cupcake with brother Charlie (left) and cousin Nick (right)

Treasure Hunt

2009-03-23T13:14:00.000-04:00

Photos:
1. After solving the riddle, Grace and her Family followed clue number three:
It ties to your wrist
It's shaped like the moon
You might float away
When you get your ______.
2. Which lead them to the toy store.
3. Grace tried on the Toy Store Birthday Hat. She also got to pick out a gift- and she knew exactly what she wanted. She picked up the doll, and she was ready to leave.

Shadow Shot Sunday

2009-03-21T10:54:00.003-04:00

This is my grapevine window, taken about a month ago. ( Note the snow on the ground- it's gone now.) It has crystals hanging from it that make rainbows in the mornings. I will be dismantling it soon, as much as I love it, for privacy reasons. Maybe I will recreate it in the kitchen.

Visit heyharriet if you want to play.

Top of the Morning to You

2009-03-17T06:00:00.001-04:00

Here's wishing all of you a Happy Saint Patrick's Day. It will be my first day back to work, and afterwards I'll stop at Ma's for some corned beef and cabbage. Have a great day!

An Irish Blessing or Two:

May the blessing of the rain be on you—

the soft sweet rain.

May it fall upon your spirit

so that all the little flowers may spring up

,and shed their sweetness on the air.

May the blessing of the great rains be on you,

may they beat upon your spirit

and wash it fair and clean,

and leave there many a shining pool

where the blue of heaven shines,and sometimes a star.

Wishing you always...

Walls for the wind,

A roof for the rain

And tea beside the fire.

Laughter to cheer you,

Those you love near you,

And all that your heart may desire

Spring Lambs

2009-03-13T20:33:00.010-04:00

Young Lambs
by John Clare (1920)

The spring is coming by a many signs;

The trays are up, the hedges broken down,

That fenced the haystack, and the remnant shines

Like some old antique fragment weathered brown.

And where suns peep, in every sheltered place,

The little early buttercups unfold

A glittering star or two—

till many trace

The edges of the blackthorn clumps in gold.

And then a little lamb bolts up behind

The hill and wags his tail to meet the yoe,

And then another, sheltered from the wind,

Lies all his length as dead—and lets me go

Close bye and never stirs but baking lies,

With legs stretched out as though he could not rise.

Thanks to Barry's post at Frost Bottom Farm (http://frostbottomdays.blogspot.com/) I found out there are newborn lambs at Peterson Farm in Falmouth. Daughter , grandson and I went over to see them today. They are so cute! It was cold out so they were hunkering down pretty well.

The Irish

2009-03-11T10:46:00.000-04:00

She made the journey from Ireland on the ship Catalonia in 1891 at the age of nineteen, with her parents, brother and sisters. The family settled in Walpole, Massachusetts, where Katie met and fell in love with David Smith, a Protestant Scotsman with a deep brogue, who walked with a limp. It must have been love, because she defied her staunchly Irish Catholic family to marry him, and they never spoke to her again. Being disowned broke Katie's heart, but that's the way things were between the Protestants and the Catholics- an animosity that still exists today.

The couple moved to Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, and raised their three daughters, Belle, Bertha (my grandmother) and Mary in the Catholic Church.

Katie Hazlett, 1879-1947

Henry Murphy (1864- sometime after 1910) is more of a mystery. He arrived in the U.S. around 1865, from Ireland, at one year of age, and married my great grandmother, Harriet Wood Harding, an immigrant from Newfoundland, in 1890. Very few records of them exist because of the Chelsea (Massachusetts) Fire in 1911. By 1910, Henry was an inmate (what they used to call patients) at Worcester State Hospital, which was primarily a mental health facility. Often in genealogy one has to read between the lines; in Henry's case, everything points to schizophrenia. Two of his grandchildren were known to be afflicted with it, and I have learned recently that not only does it run in families (no great surprise) but it runs very high in Irish families:

"The notion that madness has favored the Irish had been kicking around since the 1850's, when a seeming prevalence was first noticed among immigrants in New York and Boston. The toll was so high that, between 1817 and 1961, no other nation has produced, in proportion to its population, so many who were sent to asylums, workhouses, and jails for the condition we now call manic depression and schizophrenia."

-Patrick Tracy, Stalking Irish Madness

I found this heartbreaking, sometimes gruesome, entirely riveting, book on a recent trip to the library, and I'm having trouble putting it down. Tracey writes of his family's tragic history of the disease, for which there is no cure. He visits "The Cave of the Cat," or the Oweynagat, in Ireland where the fairies are "reputed to possess the minds of the insane."

A fascinating read, if you have the stomach for it. I'm reading it for Henry.

Three Sisters

2009-03-10T01:14:00.001-04:00

"to sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub."

- William Shakespeare

I started this collage back in December, with a damaged poster of Albert Moore's (1841-1893)monochromatic Dreamers (apologies) and a stack of Celtic Mandala calendars by Welsh Artist, Jen Delyth.

I deeply admire her work and I couldn't bear to throw the old calendars away. I contacted Jen by email and she graciously gave me permission to post the collage to my blog. You can see her art at http://www.kelticdesigns.com/

I added tissue paper, cardstock, hand painted brayer paper, and sheer gold fabric. I was intrigued by this trio of women and the thought of what was going on under the surface. What were they dreaming (or daydreaming) about? Were they all dreaming the same dream? What treasures were hidden in their dreams?

The theme of three sisters is significant both culturally and to me personally, as is the number three in general. I am one of three sisters- and what sisters they are! Loving, compassionate, extremely fun, adventurous, and talented to the bone. They are not only my sisters, they are my dearest friends. I am so lucky to have them. Laura and Julia, this is for you.*

But the threes don't stop there. I also have three funny, gentle brothers. I have three children, two daughters and a son. My mother is one of three sisters, and so was her mother. The number on the house I grew up in was 133, and our phone number had three threes in it. The list goes on and on.

Culturally, there are the Celtic Three Sisters, or the Triple Morrigan; The Triple Goddess; and the Holy Trinity. You can read more about the Triple Morrigan at Jen Delyth's astounding website. Don't miss the catalog- I want one of everything- especially the jewelry.

(*you may notice there are four goldfish in the collage. The fourth, slightly obscured fish in the lower left hand corner is in honor of my other sister, Patty, who is no longer with me in this life, but will always be in my heart. ( See my post, December 22, 2008)

Ashley MacIsaac - Sleepy Maggie

2009-03-08T20:27:00.002-04:00

Dear Readers, My computer modem was broken for several days. It is fixed now . In the spirit of Saint Patrick's Day, I thought I'd post this for you while I get some posts together.

The music video for Ashley MacIsaac's rendition of Sleepy Maggie, with gaelic vocals by Mary Jane Lamond.

Nesting

2009-03-04T07:59:00.003-05:00

The Accidental Artist

This collage came about mostly by accident- I was experimenting with thin tissue paper, a brayer, and gesso. The paper bunched up into a bird-like shape and it looked like a dove or a roosting chicken, waiting for an egg to hatch...

I know the feeling, to be right on the verge of something- but having to wait until the time is right. It took me a long time to finish this- I wasn't sure what to do with it.

The colors are intensified a little in the photo because the original was much duller than the actual piece.

On canvas, with acrylic paints, antiquing medium, bits of scrapbook paper, and hand painted paper. 11X17

The Roast Beef of Old England

2009-03-04T06:00:00.001-05:00

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

.

Painting: The Roast Beef of Old England by William Hogarth.

In a recent post, part of the Autobiography of my 3rd Great Grandfather, William Harding, he mentioned a song called "The Roast Beef of Old England. " Well, I looked it up, and wouldn't you know- there is a whole Wikipedia article about the song. Just thought I would share it with you.

"The Roast Beef of Old England" is an English patriotic ballad. It was written by Henry Fielding for his play The Grub-Street Opera, which was first performed in 1731. The lyrics were added to over the next twenty years. The song increased in popularity when given a new setting by the composer Richard Leveridge, and it became customary for theatre audiences to sing it before, after, and occasionally during, any new play. The tune is also played at United States Marine Corps formal mess dinners, during the presentation of the beef.
The song provided the popular title for a 1748 painting by William Hogarth: O the Roast Beef of Old England (The Gate of Calais).

Lyrics
When mighty Roast Beef was the Englishman's food,
It ennobled our brains and enriched our blood.
Our soldiers were brave and our courtiers were good
Oh! the Roast Beef of old England,
And old English Roast Beef!
But since we have learnt from all-vapouring France
To eat their ragouts as well as to dance,
We're fed up with nothing but vain complaisance
Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England,
And old English Roast Beef!
Our fathers of old were robust, stout, and strong,
And kept open house, with good cheer all day long,
Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this song--
Oh! The Roast Beef of old England,
And old English Roast Beef!
But now we are dwindled to, what shall I name?
A sneaking poor race, half-begotten and tame,
Who sully the honours that once shone in fame.
Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England,
And old English Roast Beef!
When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne,
Ere coffee, or tea, or such slip-slops were known,
The world was in terror if e'er she did frown.
Oh! The Roast Beef of old England,
And old English Roast Beef!
In those days, if Fleets did presume on the Main,
They seldom, or never, return'd back again,
As witness, the Vaunting Armada of Spain.
Oh! The Roast Beef of Old England,
And old English Roast Beef!
Oh then we had stomachs to eat and to fight
And when wrongs were cooking to do ourselves right.
But now we're a . . . I could, but goodnight!
Oh! the Roast Beef of Old England,
And old English Roast Beef!

Rules of Sorting

2009-03-03T08:11:00.006-05:00

Is it beautiful?
Is it useful?
Is it sentimental?

I don’t know which guru of removing clutter came up with these questions as guidelines for deciding which things to keep and which things to get rid of when organizing, but I always think of them when I am cleaning out cabinets and closets.
They are helpful rules, but in the second round of sorting, faced with a huge pile of objects that survive the first set of rules and mock my indecision, I feel compelled to add a couple of questions of my own:

What kind of energy does it have?
How does it make me feel?
Does it suit my “style?” (Such as it is- confused.)
Do I really need it?
And if not, do I love it so much I can’t imagine life without it?
And (one more)
Do I really need three of these?

An example of an object that made it past the first set of rules is a china duck that belonged to my grandmother. It is cute, and very sentimental.
But my second set of rules sent it packing, straight to the giveaway box.
I could not look at it without feeling sad. My grandmother had kept it on top of her T.V. set, and it still had traces of soot on the bottom from the fire that took her life.

Yesterday my daughter came over to help me with the sorting, which has quickly turned into an enormous undertaking… a physical and spiritual purging, really. She spotted the china duck in the giveaway box.
“I love that duck!” she said. “I always wanted it.”
She has no memory of my grandmother, or the fire. So the china duck stays in the family- in a new home, and my daughter is happy. She went home with a huge box full of things. And I feel a whole lot lighter.

“The giveaway is a purification. It purifies an experience to give something. The native way of the sacred giveaway, or giveaway circle, involves sharing a person’s skills or talents, or giving material goods that have meaning to the giver, and therefore bestow special meaning to the recipient. Part of this giveaway, this sharing, can be stories of your culture.”

-Exploring Native American Wisdom, by Fran Dancing Feather, Rita Robinson

A is for Amy

2009-03-01T15:52:00.014-05:00

It is snowing here on my part the Cape, and has been for most of the day. A good day for cleaning out cabinets, a trip to the store for supplies (the BIG storm is arriving tonight) and catching up on my reading. I was away most of the week visiting my sister and her family.

The ghostly photo on Willow's blog http://willowmanor.blogspot.com/ inspired me to post this illustration by Edward Gorey, from the Gashlycrumb Tinies. His macabre drawings and alphabets has been a favorite around here since I bought two of his books, Amphigory and Amphigory II, when my children were teenagers. if you haven't seen Willow's blog, please visit it! You won't be disappointed.

My daughter took her brother to The Edward Gorey House in Yarmouthport, Mass. http://www.edwardgoreyhouse.org/index.html , for his 21st birthday. It is a small museum in the home where Gorey lived and worked in the last years of his life. If you want to know more about Edward, a click on the title of this post will lead to his Wikipedia Page.

Part Four of the Life of William Harding: In which William Finds Love

2009-03-01T05:00:00.002-05:00

(Cilp art photo, courtesy of June at Art Freebies.)

When we last left William, he was summoned to the home of Mr. John Wood of Appledore.

"Shortly after I returned Mr. John Wood of Appledore sent his daughter
to my mistress to borrow a man to help him for a few weeks as he was
busy making the ironwork for three vessels and his son would assist
him. A few years before Mr. Wood lent two men to my master for some
months when he was very busy. My mistress came to the forge and asked
her brother if he could spare a man for a few weeks to go to work with
Mr. Wood at Appledore. He told her that Richard Spearman, James Harven
or I might go as we were competent for the business. The mistress asked
if either of us were willing to go. "I will" said I.
The young woman said "I hope you will not deceive me."

"You may depend on my coming to-morrow" I said.
After the young woman left my shop mates began to make sport of me and
said that old Mr. Wood would make a Methodist of me for they said he
is a rank one. I said I do not care he will make no Methodist of me.
After we left work I made myself ready and in the morning of the 24th
of May went off for Appledore, three miles from Bideford.
When I arrived at the town I did not know where Mr. Wood lived, but I
met a little boy and asked him to show me where Mr. Wood lived. "Yes"
said he "he is my grandfather" and showed me the house. I knocked at
the door, the young woman who came for me opened it. "Does Mr. Wood
live here" said I. "Yes" she said. Are you the young man that is come
to work for my father?" To this question I said "Yes."
Then she showed me the forge. The old gentleman welcomed me. He asked
my name, he knew my father well he said, and the name was a familiar one
as his wife's maiden name was Harding. He showed me what work I was to
begin at, and he gave me a boy to work with me by the name of Thomas
Moulton.

Before breakfast the boy said his master read a chapter and went to
prayer. "I know that" said I.
When we were called to breakfast Mrs. Wood welcomed me and seemed glad
to hear that my name was Harding. I thought it strange to see the
Master took the Bible and read a chapter but when we knelt down and I
saw no book in his hand but that he prayed without it I was astonished
altogether.
When we arose from our knees he said " I suppose this is not what you
are accustomed to." I said "No sir not in the morning," leaving him to
think we said our prayers at night which I thought was quite sufficient.
The boy told me that next Monday a Methodist Preacher was coming there,
that once a fortnight they came there and preached after night in a
house close by, that they took their meals at Mr. Wood's house every
time they came.
Accordingly on Monday Mr. Wavil, for that was the name of the preacher
that came that week, arrived. At breakfast the young mistress told me
that I should dine with them in the parlor. I begged to be excused
thinking that the preacher would have something to say to me, but they
insisted on my dining with them.
At this time very little was said to me and you may be sure I was glad
when dinner was over. At four o’clock we were called to tea and told to
get ready for preaching at six o’clock.
We went and when they began to sing the hymn I joined in with them as I
was always very fond of singing, being one of the choir of Bideford
Church.

I thought it must be
what I had been told before was "Class Meeting" and was resolved to ask
the boy next day and did so. He told me it was class meeting.

The next week a day was set aside for all trades to walk, being the
Jubilee, it was kept in memory of "King George III reigning fifty
years. All prisoners and deserters were set free.
In Bideford the 14th of June was set apart for it. A dinner was cooked
for hundreds of poor people in a large street where most of the gentry
lived called "New Buildings." Tables were placed each side of the
street end to end and the ladies and gentlemen served out plenty to eat
and drink to the poor men, women, and children. The band playing their
instruments of music all the time of dinner. They played many pretty
tunes and among the rest were "God Save the King" "Rule Britannia' and
"The Roast Beef of old England."
Before and after dinner every trade and calling marched in succession
with a specimen of their trades and callings.
Each trade had its Coat of Arms. Ours as blacksmith was a yellow silk
flag with three crowns and under the crowns, three hammers. It was sent
down from the board in London and cost 10 pounds that was paid by
ourselves.
At night the town was illuminated and beautifully. Thousands of people
from the neighboring towns and villages were there to see the sights.
The church was crowded in the forenoon and a sermon was preached on the
occasion by the Rev. Mr. Walters. The choir sang in the church, "God
Save the King" and "Rule Britannia.
Among the thousands of spectators that were there to see the
marching(every man with a cockade in his hat it was a grand sight to
behold). I saw Miss Harriet Wood with a niece of hers.
I had drinked a little freely that day and when I saw them I boldly
asked Miss Wood if I could accompany her home, but she refused as she
saw that I had drunk a little too much in her estimation.
I stopped the whole night looking at the fireworks, and after the Bell
Ringers gave up for they had been ringing all day, it was almost 12
o’clock at night when they rang the last peal. I went into the butchers
shambles and lay down on one of the blocks to take a nap and when I
awoke in the morning someone had cut off my cockade and carried it off.

The 16th I returned to Appledore again to work. In the course of the
week, Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Wood and his wife and daughter talked to
me many times about religion and about my soul. They held prayer
meeting twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday. They asked me how I liked
their way of worshipping God. I said " I like it all very well except
Class Meeting and as to that , I do not, for it can't be anything good."
"Why" they said "What badness do you know in it, if you do we would be
very glad for you to tell us?"
"Well" said I "it is a private meeting, no one is allowed to stop but
what you call members of the Society, in these meetings. I am told you
put out the lights, and then the preacher and men do what they like to
the young women and to the married women also."
Miss Wood said "Thank you, you must think we are a very wicked set of
people and you must have a very bad opinion of us."
"Pardon me Miss, I only said as I have been told, I do not confirm it
for truth."
When Mr. Waire comes I will tell him all about it. Monday came and Mr.
Waire came also, he said nothing at dinner, and at tea he said "well my good
young man are you coming with us to the preaching to-night?"
"Yes sir" said I.
"I am very glad to hear you say so."

I well knew he had been told what I said about Class Meeting.
At six o’clock we all went to preaching. The first hymn he gave out
was #319 "Watched by the World" and his text was "Prove all things." I
thought as he was preaching that I could die for him. He applied his
subject very plainly. At the close of the sermon he gave out for the
Class to meet and begged any that was desirous to know what Class
Meeting meant to stop in and hear for themselves, then they sang and
concluded. Before I had time to go out the preacher came to me and said
"I wish you to stop in." "Not now" said I "another time will do."
"But" he said "I particularly wish you to stay, I shall ask you no
question." I consented and he commenced by singing and prayer. He
prayed that God would give me clear sight and that I might be convinced
all was wrong that I had been informed about the private meetings. He
prayed that God would convert my soul.
I thought this was very good, yet I could not think that this was
class meeting. He than began to speak to each in turn, asking them one
by one how they felt, the state of their minds, they said something I
could not hear distinctly from some others I could. He gave them advice
suited to their case. When he had done talking to them he gave out a
verse of a hymn and concluded by prayer. Now he turned to me and said
"How do you like this."
"Is this Class Meeting?" said I.
"Yes" said he "this is the way it is conducted in all our society's
throughout the world."
"Well" said I "I am glad I stayed in for I know more now than I ever did
and have felt more than I ever did in my life. What a fool I must have
been to listen to such lies. I hope you will all forgive me."
That we will freely, they replied and hope that before long you will
join us to serve God and save your soul.

Miss Wood after that night often spoke to me more freely and offered me
the loan of any book they had to read after my days work was done. I
chose the "Methodist's Magazine", in them I found great good in reading
the Biography of many that had been brought to God through Methodism and
had died in the Lord. I prayed that like them I might die in peace.

About the 9th of July, 1814 this day was working very hard and at night
after prayer Miss Wood said to the boy "Tommy you must stay up with me
for a little while for I am going to write my sister in Wales."
"Well Miss" said I "if you have no objections I will sit with you and
let Tommy go to bed, as he hath been hard to work this day, and you can
give me a book to read."
"You are welcome to stay" she said "if not too much trouble. I will
not be long."
Her mother and father and the boy went to bed and she began her letter
and I to read, but she had not written half her letter before something
came over me. I put down my book and went and looked over her shoulder
and said "excuse me", putting my arm around her neck and giving her a
kiss, saying at the same time "Oh my dear." That word went to her
heart, she dropped her pen and we fell into each others arms and talked
over what we felt for each other. We made a promise there and then to
keep company with each other and if God should spare us that when we
could bring things to our expectations we would be married.

Houses, Homes and New Beginnings

2009-02-24T07:50:00.011-05:00

I have been contemplating the difference between a house and a home these days. I am faced with the very real possibility that I will have to let go of the place that has been my home for the last 23 years. Like a cat, I am very attached to this place.

In 1908, my grandmother and her family survived the Great Chelsea (Massachusetts) Fire. Nineteen people died, many more were burned or injured, and a third of the city burned to the ground. I once read an account of the evacuation and survival rates of the animals in the city; horses were blinded and led out by their owners, and dogs followed their people to safety. But the cats refused to leave, even to the point of leaping from their humans’ arms and running back into burning buildings. Many horses and most dogs survived the fire. Nearly all of the cats in the city perished.

This house has seen my children grow into adulthood, my grandchildren arrive and learn
to walk, my marriage fall apart. I am the only one left here. I can make a home anywhere.
It is time for a new beginning.

(Remains of a Home, Chelsea Massachusetts, 1908; Looking for a Home, Chelsea Massachusetts, 1908. Photos from the Chelsea Historical Society)

A poem

2009-02-20T10:06:00.005-05:00

The Journey
One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

- Mary Oliver.

This poem speaks volumes to me right now, just thought I would share it. The photo is mine, taken in Falmouth, Mass.

The Belle Of Amherst

2009-02-20T10:04:00.007-05:00

I recently had the pleasure of watching "The Belle of Amherst," a recording of Julie Harris in a one woman performance about the life of Emily Dickinson. Harris' portrayal of a feisty, passionate Dickinson is truly remarkable.
I have been enamored with Julie Harris ever since I saw her in "East of Eden" and "I am a Camera" many years ago. I had an opportunity to see her live with Richard Kiley, reading A.R. Gurney's "Love Letters" at a benefit for Harwich Junior Theater in the early nineties.
She is such an amazing talent, an American treasure. I truly adore her.

The one thing that took some getting used to in "The Belle of Amherst" was the fact that it was a recording of a live performance, and she was projecting her voice to an audience- that said, I highly recommend it, and it is available on Netflix.

Julie Harris (born December 2, 1925) is a American stage, screen, and television actress. She has won five Tony Awards and three Emmy Awards , and was nominated for an Academy Award . She is a member of the American Theatre Hall of Fame .

Harris's screen debut was in 1952 in The Member of the Wedding , for which she was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actress . That same year, she won her first Best Actress Tony for originating the role of Sally Bowles in I Am a Camera , the stage version of Christopher Isherwood 's Goodbye to Berlin (later musicalized as Cabaret ). She repeated that role in the 1955 film version of I Am a Camera. She also appeared in such seminal films as East of Eden , Reflections in a Golden Eye , and Requiem for a Heavyweight .
Horror film fans remember Harris as the ethereal Eleanor Lance in The Haunting , director Robert Wise 's 1963 screen adaptation of a novel by Shirley Jackson , now considered a classic of the horror genre. Another cast member recalled Harris maintaining a social distance from the other actors while not on set, later explaining that she had done so as a method of emphasizing the alienation from the other characters experienced by her character in the film.
She reprised her Tony-winning role as Mary Todd Lincoln in 1973's play The Last of Mrs. Lincoln in the film version, which appeared in 1976. Another noteworthy film appearance was in the World War II drama The Hiding Place (1975).
Harris has received more Tony Award nominations (ten) and wins (five) than any other performer and in 1966 won the Sarah Siddons Award for her work in Chicago theatre . Her Broadway credits include The Playboy of the Western World , Macbeth , The Member of the Wedding , A Shot in the Dark , Skyscraper , And Miss Reardon Drinks a Little , Forty Carats , The Glass Menagerie , and The Gin Game .

Of particular note is her Tony-winning performance in The Belle of Amherst , a one-woman play (written by William Luce and directed by Charles Nelson Reilly) based on the life and poetry of Emily Dickinson . She first performed the play in 1976 and subsequently appeared in other solo shows, including Luce's Bronte.
On television, she is known for her role as Lilimae Clements, the mother of Valene Ewing (played by Joan Van Ark ) on the CBS nighttime soap opera Knots Landing . The role was as a recurring character from 1980 to 1981 and as a series regular from 1981-1987. For her television work, Harris has won three Emmy Awards and has been nominated eleven times.
On December 5, 2005, she was named a Kennedy Center Honoree . At a White House ceremony, President George W. Bush remarked, "It's hard to imagine the American stage without the face, the voice, and the limitless talent of Julie Harris. She has found happiness in her life's work, and we thank her for sharing that happiness with the whole world."
She continues to work - recently narrating five historical documentaries by Christopher Seufert and Mooncusser Films , as well as being active as a director on the board of the independent Wellfleet Harbor Actors Theater.[1] She has also done extensive voice work for documentary maker Ken Burns .
In the summer of 2008, Ms. Harris appeared on-stage again in her hometown of Chatham as Nanny in Monomoy Theater's production of "The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-In-The-Moon Marigolds."

Personal life
Harris was born Julia Ann Harris in Grosse Pointe, Michigan , the daughter of Elsie L. (née Smith), a nurse, and William Pickett Harris, an investment banker.[2] She graduated from Grosse Pointe Country Day School, a school that later merged with two others to form University Liggett School . She lives in Chatham , Cape Cod . She is thrice divorced and has one son, Peter Gurian. She was a friend to the illustrator Edward Gorey and neighbor to the actress Shirley Booth , whom she visited frequently.
Harris has survived breast cancer , a bad fall requiring surgery, and a stroke.

[from Wikipedia]

A Gestation

2009-02-17T10:46:00.004-05:00

Aquinnah Cliffs, Martha's Vineyard

This winter, I have been struggling with some major, life-altering decisions. My mind is like a computer which is running a scan in the background- something is going on under the surface, I don't know exactly what it is, but the screens are freezing up, or sites are loading so slowly that getting anything done seems impossible. I can't decide between coffee or tea, I can't decide which sweater to wear, I can't decide whether to eat or not. Things that are usually simple for me are daunting chores. I know what I need to do to break up the ice jam, to get things flowing again- but what is stopping me? Maybe it is winter itself, a quiescent time- a gestation of sorts. Or it could be pure fear.

Whatever it is, something has to give!

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." - Anais Nin

Monday Meme

2009-02-16T08:34:00.010-05:00

Just a bit of fun, a One-Word Meme. Found at the blog of Leslie http://texturesshapescolor.blogspot.com/

who found it at the blog of Cait O’Connor.

This meme is of words. Feel free to take this and enjoy.

1. Where is your mobile phone (cell) Desk

2. Your significant other? Painting

3. Your hair? Messy

4. Your mother? Home

5. Your father? Remembered

6. Your favourite? Daylily

7. Your dream last night? Needy

8. Your favourite drink? Wine

9. Dream/goal? Security

10. Virtue? Kindness

11. Hobby? Collage

12. Fear? Loss

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Elsewhere

14. Where were you last night? Sister's

15. Something that you aren't? Confident

16. Muffins? Pumpkin

17. Wish list item? Puppy

18. Where you grew up? Massachusetts

19. Last thing you did? Shower

20. What are you wearing? Jeans

21. TV? Weather

22. Pets? None

23. Friends? Family

24. Your life? Unsettled

25. Your mood? Ambitious

26. Missing someone? Cupcake

27. Car? CRV

28. Something you're not wearing? Shoes

29. Your favourite shop? Thrift

Your favourite colour? Turquoise

33. When is the last time you laughed? Today

34. Last time you cried? Today

35. One place that you go to over and over? Beach

36. One person who emails you regularly? Mark

37. Your favourite place to eat? Sister's

MEMEs

Giving up the Musket For the Hammer

2009-02-13T18:42:00.010-05:00

Chicago Daily News negatives collection, DN-0003451. Courtesy of the Chicago Historical Society.

Part Three in "The Life of William Harding," Autobiography of my 3rd Great Grandfather; in which William returns home.

For Parts 1 and 2, see Blog Archive.

"But when I came in sight of the Turnpike gate, the very house I was
born in and in which my mother and father died, my heart began to beat
heavily.

I passed it but a man stood at the door. He said, "how far have you
come?" I made no reply but passed on. Just below stood my father's old
blacksmith's shop and a man by the name of Alexander Rooke, an old
apprentice of my father’s was at work. At the death of my father he
bought the tools and continued to work to this day.
To pass away the time a little that I might have it dark before I
entered the town I went to the door and spoke to him. After a little
conversation with him about his business and a few question he put to me
I said "do you know sir if Mrs. Halls is living?" "Yes" he said "and
lives in the same house still, come in and have a horn of ale." I
thanked him but he little thought he was to his old master's son he was
giving the horn, the very same horn that my father drank out of for many
years. I drank it and thanked him and went away.
By this time it was nearly dark. I went along the street, saw many
people. They seemed to be afraid as they could see I was dressed as a
man of war. I spoke to none of them but went on; at last I arrived at
the door of my dear mistress' house but before I ventured to knock on
the door I listened but heard no voice but that of a woman. I knocked
pretty loudly and a young woman came to the door. I asked if Mrs. Halls
lived there, she said, "Yes" and went back. I heard her say "'tis a man
of war man asked for you." "Tell him to come in." Oh how my heart did
leap for joy at the sound of my dear mistress' voice that I had not
heard for four years. The servant girl told me to come in. I did so
very quickly and I could have flown into her arms and embraced her but I
was not willingly to frighten her.
"Sit down" she said.
"Is this Mrs. Anne Halls?" said I.
"Yes" was her reply.
"Then" said I "I am right, I have a message for you."
"Where did you come from?" she asked.
"From Plymouth, I left yesterday morning and this is the first house I
have entered since I came to this town."
"You must have something to eat and drink then."
I thanked her but said I "it will be right to deliver my message
first. Now madam I ask you did you not have an apprentice that ran away
from you upwards of four years ago and enlisted as a soldier by the name
of William Harding?"
"Oh yes." she said "Do you know him? Where is he? Tell me for I would
be glad to hear , but much more to see him, poor dear boy, he was
wickedly enticed away and went for a soldier, since, I have not heard
whether he is alive or dead."
" Well man I have promised him that I would find you out and tell you
all about him. He is living and well now but hath been wounded twice,
but he is quite recovered and as I was coming to see a sister of mine in
this town, I promised to call and tell you. He did not write but I have
fulfilled my promise."
"You say you have a sister, pray what is her name."
Here I was brought up entirely. "Why ma'am her name is Anne
Harris."(stepsister)
She paused a moment or two then "What is your name?"
Then I was about to say William Harris, when the name William dropped
from my lips she sprang from her chair, fastened her arms around my neck
and cried out. "It is yourself my dear dear boy." After embracing me
over and over she said "I thought you went for a soldier, if so, how
came you by this dress."
"So I did, but in order to see you again I have deserted and here I
am, these clothes are all I have and they were given me by a man whose
son is in the "Superb" Sloop of War", that I might return to you. Now I
ask your forgiveness. Can you, will you, forgive me all my ingratitude
to you?"
"Yes my dear boy, form the bottom of my heart I freely forgive you and
pray God to forgive you also and I hope you will be steady and sober in
the future."
I promised her I would amend my ways and be steady. "Come" she
said "before you eat or drink you must change your dress."
A suit of good clothes and a shirt was brought to me and I soon changed
my dress. The hat I burnt and the clothes I gave to an old washerwoman
to cut up for a little boy.
While I was taking my tea I sat in my father's armchair.
She sent for her brother, the foreman of the shop, to see how he would
establish me in the forge. He came and was glad to see me and wished me
to serve out my time. To this I readily consented and offered to work
and get new indentures and pay for them myself as I had burnt my first
previous to my running away.
We spent several hours in conversation, I telling them what I had
passed through since I left. We sat up to a late hour and then retired
to rest. She put me in the bed I often slept in but my sleep went from
me, owing to the multiplicity of thought. How thankful I felt that I
could once more say I was home in the hose of so kind a friend.
Next morning I went down in the shop. They were all surprised to see
me. The foreman did not tell them I was come and they thought I was
home on furlough, my dress was that which betrayed me as I had colored
instead of Regimental clothing. That day I went to see my sister Anne
Harris. At first she did not know me, but when I told her how I came
away she was glad.
In a day or two I went to work. It seemed rather strange but I freely
gave up the musket for the hammer.
The first thing was to get fresh indentures, this was done, and the
time I had served before I went away was dated back so she gave me the
four years I was away.
"Charles Carter" attorney at law made out the indentures and kept them
in his possession until the expiration of my apprentice-ship.
I had not been home long before a draft was issued to draw men to serve
Twenty-eight days in each year, apprentices not exempt past fifteen
years of age, and when the constable went to take down the names of
those that were old enough, Thomas Short and George Crew informed them
of me. My name was taken and in the first draft we three were drawn to
serve in the "Torridge Local Militia", twenty-eight days in the year.
Fourteen in the spring and Fourteen in the fall. "Great Torrington"
being the headquarters under "Lord John Roll" commanding officer.
About the end of the French war with "Bonaparte" our regiment was
called to Torrington for the 3rd of August. This was to see how many
would turn out to do Garrison Duty for six weeks.
Out of the two Regiments viz "The Torridge Local" and "The East Budley"
eleven hundred turned out I among the rest.
In the month of May, the 11th day, we left our headquarters for
Plymouth and were marched into "Frankfort Barracks" and from that to
Stone House. We were billeted in Public Houses so many at each house
according to its size. We did the duties required until the news
arrived that "The Battle of Waterloo" was fought and Bonaparte
conquered.
What rejoicing there was! Poor mothers and sisters rejoiced to see
their children and brothers come back safely and on the main street that we
had to pass through, there was an arch erected across the street with
"See the Heroes come" on it. We had our own discharge July 10 and went
home.
Shortly after I returned Mr. John Wood of Appledore sent his daughter
to my mistress to borrow a man to help him for a few weeks as he was
busy making the ironwork for three vessels and his son would assist
him. A few years before Mr. Wood lent two men to my master for some
months when he was very busy. My mistress came to the forge and asked
her brother if he could spare a man for a few weeks to go to work with
Mr. Wood at Appledore. He told her that Richard Spearman, James Harven
or I might go as we were competent for the business. The mistress asked
if either of us were willing to go. "I will" said I.
The young woman said "I hope you will not deceive me."

Going for the Sympathy Vote

2009-02-13T18:31:00.001-05:00

I love vintage valentines, and this one- well, I've never seen another one like it. So sad, and yet amusing. The poor boy and his dog are both so sad, heads drooping, their toys lying useless at their feet. I can't help but thinking, they would be happy if they just played together, went for a walk, anything... so much love right in front of them-- wasted.

The Letter A

2009-02-12T07:58:00.008-05:00

I have been watching this letter game go around for a while, it is great fun to see what other people do with it. I have a little free time this week so I finally asked Kimy, at Mouse Medicine, for a letter. (Kimy did a great post on the letter K, if you haven’t seen it you should check it out!)
When I found out I had the letter A, the first thing that popped in my head was the opening lines of the song Do Re Mi from The Sound of Music.
“Let’s start at the very beginning,
It’s a very good place to start-
When you read you begin with A, B, C
When you sing you begin with Do Re Mi.”
The letter A makes me feel like I’m back in my nursery days, learning to recite the alphabet with a song that ends with “next time won’t you sing with me?”
A was the first letter I recognized, and the first word I learned to read. Isn’t it lovely that A is both a letter and a word? A word that begins things, and the first word of many sentences and titles:
A Child’s Christmas in Wales
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court
A Tale of Two Cities
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
A Christmas Carol,
To name a few.

So many important words begin with the letter A. Here are my top ten:

1. Art- I recently rediscovered my passion for art and began to actually make art again. It was always there inside me, but dormant for a long time. Where would we be without a way to interpret and express the beauty that is our world? Or channel our pain into a work of literature, music, dance, poetry, or visual art? Without art, how could we wrap our minds around the exquisite ache of being human? Art connects us, it helps us recognize each other as fellow travelers on this wondrous earth.

2. Alphabet- A series of symbols, a fascinating code of letters by which we communicate. When arranged in certain ways these symbols can convey both very simple and very complex concepts.

3. Abode- The phrase “My Humble Abode” comes to mind. I love being home. A cup of tea, a book, my favorite foods, my desk, comfort; all can be found in my abode.

4. Acceptance- If I accept people and things for what they are, I am at peace. I can’t change reality by refusing to accept it. The Serenity Prayer, if applied by everyone, could probably put an end to war.
“God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.”

Acceptance is very powerful.

5. Alchemy- A definition: 1. An early form of chemistry, with philosophic and magical associations, studied in the Middle Ages. Its chief aims were to turn base metals into gold and to discover the elixir of perpetual youth. 2. A power or process of changing one thing into another, esp., a seemingly miraculous power of changing a thing into something better.
I love this word. I think of Rumpelstiltskin spinning straw into gold, I think Reduce, reuse, recycle (lots of R words, I know.) Most of all, I think of compost.

6. Angelou, Maya- American author and poet. When I picked up the first volume of her Autobiography, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, I thought, how can anyone be so truthful and brave? In the early eighties, I had an opportunity to see her read her poetry at the Community College. It’s an experience I’ll always treasure.

7. Adventure- I like to think of life as an adventure. There are big adventures and small ones; from climbing Mount Everest to discovering a new bookshop.

8. Angel- I’m not a religious person, but I do have a thing about angels. I love the idea of an angel, or a spirit guide, watching over me and the people I care about. Well, everyone really. It is comforting to me to believe in angels. I carry a few laminated “Prayer to the Guardian Angel” cards in my wallet. If I happen upon a person in distress, I give her one. It always seem to comfort that person, too.

9. Animals- The amazing, sentient beings who share our planet with us.

10. America- Still beautiful. I am optimistic and feel like she is finally growing into the ideals on which she was founded.

Other good A words: ancestors, adjective, admire, abundance, affinity, accommodate, adore, amethyst, anthropology, astronomy, astrology, agape, apple, alcove.

Not so good A words: acerbic, aggressive, accident, abduct, abhor, aberration, agoraphobia, agony, agitate, allergy.

If you want to play this game, leave a comment and I will assign you a letter. All you have to do is list ten words beginning with the letter that are important to you.

A New Fern, and a loss for Boston

2009-02-07T11:36:00.003-05:00

Friday I went to a Hort Industry trade show at the Boston Convention Center called "New England Grows." I found this fern at the Casa Flora Booth- and had to have it. I am a big fan of ferns (among other things) and I have a small collection of them outdoors. This Australian beauty, however, is a tropical fern that I will have to keep as a houseplant. I love how the mature fronds and the new fronds look so different from one another. She is called Asplenium dimorphum x difforme "Austral Gem," but I think I'll just call her Katherine.

In other news, I recently learned that the New England Flower Show, held in Boston for the last 137 years, was cancelled this year. Facing financial problems, in part due to $850,000 spent sprucing up the new Rose Kennedy Greenway, The Massachusetts Horticultural Society can't afford to finance the show this year. I hope this is just a one year setback, and not the end of the show altogether. So many people look forward to this show every March. There is nothing like walking into to an oasis of Spring, fragrance and color after the long months of winter.

Service and Desertion

2009-02-04T08:00:00.009-05:00

Photo: the HMS Mars, right front, pictured in the Battle of Trafalgar (from Wikipedia)

This is another except from "The Life of William Harding," taking up where the last one left off.

"My master did not live to see me complete my trade but died of
Consumption in 1808; in the thirty fifth year of his age; leaving a
widow, but no child. I and a nephew of theirs by the name of John
Hopgood, two boys, lived in the house with her. She was a mother to us,
she carried on the trade after her husband's death and for a time we
were obedient to her commands; for we both loved her as a mother; but by
degrees we grew wicked, associating with wicked companions soon learnt
their ways by beginning to drink. Drunkenness, gambling, cursing and
swearing and fighting were our besetting sins.
Our dear mistress often wept over us as if we were her children and
told us the awful end we would come to if we followed so sinful a course
of life. But deaf to all her entreaties at length we both determined to
leave so kind and good a mistress and to pay her for her goodness to us
we both enlisted for soldiers June 10. 1810. I in the 28th and he in
the 31st regiments of Foot, but his father being interested with a
minister of The Church of England procured his discharge and he was sent
back to his friends, while I had to leave the comforts and kindness of
so good a mistress to carry the musket.
We marched for Plymouth docks May 20, 1812. There we remained until
July 10 when three hundred of our Regiment embarked on board the
Transport Brig "Mars" for Lisbon. Lord Wellington was then with his
army near Salamanca.
As our squadron was proceeding on its way a French privateer gave chase
to us, for our Brig sailed so badly that we were behind all the rest.
Orders were given to be ready to fight, for the captain of the brig and
Capt. Thomas English, who commanded us, were determined to engage her,
so a signal was given and one hundred of us placed each side of the
Brig, at it we went and it was not long before a ball passed close to my
face and took away part of my left whisker. Soon after another ball
entered my right knee, which caused me to fall. I was taken below and
the ball extracted and my knee bound up.
Just at this time we heard the roar of a cannon from the "Commodore,"
that had sailed away from us, but hearing our firing she turned back to
discover the reason, she bore in sight about sunset. The French
Privateer made off but the ship followed and took her. They had her in
tow when daylight appeared.
This took place July 29 and we arrived in Lisbon on the 31st. We lost
one man and eighteen wounded in the skirmish. If the "Commodore" had
not returned the privateer would have taken us or sunk us to the bottom
for both captains were determined not to give in to them.
I with the other eighteen wounded was not suffered to land, but were
put on board the Brig "Ruby" Captain Underhill, with two hundred men
that were wounded at the Battle of Salamanca just before we arrived to
be sent to Plymouth Hospital.
We arrived in Plymouth Sound the 20th of August and were put in the
Militia Hospital at Storn House.
After lying in the hospital for a few weeks my knee began to get well.
My heart and soul for the first time were filled with a strong desire to
see my dear mistress and friends once more, but how to do this without
leaving my Regiment and run the risk of being taken again I could not
see, for I was informed that as soon as my knee was well I should be
sent off again in the next division. But my mind was fully set to see if
possible my dear mistress, run what risks I might and to if possible
repay her for her kindness, and as I had liberty to walk out a little
every day, I fell in company with an old man that kept a shop and sold
apples and gingerbread. I went in day by day as I passed along and the
old man began to inquire how and what could posses one so young to
become a soldier. I told him all the truth as I found I could confide
in him. I asked him to give me his advice how I should act in future and
he strongly advised me to desert and to return to my mistress. He told
me if I would make up my mind he would furnish me with clothes to
disguise myself and we fixed a day for my departure.
Accordingly on the morning of Nov. 6th I went to old Mr. Thompson's,
for that was his name, and he furnished me with a suit of sailor's
clothes and a hat with the name "Superb" in front, he gave me an old
"Pass" of his son's for he was in the "Superb" a sloop of war.
The next morning Nov. 7th at daylight I started, for I had not returned
to the hospital that night.
I left the old man with many thanks and he told me he hoped the Lord
would protect me and carry me safe to my friends.
When I arrived in Lavistock 14 miles from Plymouth I went into a public
house and to my great surprise a Press Gang was there. I thought that
it was all over for me but I mustered up all the courage I had and
called for a pot of beer. The Press Master said, "What ship are you
from?" I pointed to my hat. "When did you come into the sound?" I told
him on Sunday and that I had only eleven days liberty to see my
friends. I begged them to drink and not delay me. He asked if I had a
"Pass." I told him I had and began searching for it but he told me not
to mind it. I called for another pot of beer, paid for it and drank one
glass. He asked
where my friends lived. I said Bristol and Bideford where I was truly
bound. I left them and was thankful that I had thus escaped. Now I
know I would not meet any more Press Gangs until I came to my native
place; except they might be carrying a deserter down to Plymouth which
was the case sometimes.
I made up my mind not to enter Bideford 'till after dark and I slept at
"Oakhampton," an inland town that night and knowing I had plenty of time
I stopped 'till after breakfast. I had then 28 miles to travel before I
came to my native town. At two o’clock I arrived at Great Torrington, six
miles from home. I a took little refreshment at the "Sign of the White
Hart' public house, started from there at three o’clock knowing that I
had plenty of time to walk those six miles.
Oh how many things came into my mind in walking those last six miles, I
shall never forget. I asked myself very many questions.
"Shall I" I asked myself "see my dear mistress well. Will she, can she
forgive me? Will she receive me and hide me from being taken again or
will she, as I feel I deserve, send for the Press Gang and take me up
and send me away as a deserter?" These thoughts and many more occupied
my mind as I drew near the town.
But when I came in sight of the Turnpike gate, the very house I was
born in and in which my mother and father died, my heart began to beat
heavily."

The Garden Sleeps

2009-02-04T07:11:00.005-05:00

Snow drapes
The bones of the earth
In perfect contours,
Dressing old bones in new clothes,
In winding sheets.

Snow marries the frozen soil,
Clings to the frozen stones,
Softens the earth
For the plow.

I wait
For the softening,
For the seeds and the leaves,
I wait for
The dormant earth
To open, like a lover,
to the sun.

We got another five inches of snow yesterday. This picture was taken yesterday during the storm. This morning every branch has a sheath of snow and the world looks like a big birthday cake.
They say a snow cover is very good for the garden, so the perennials should fare well this year. Most winters we experience a lot of alternate freezing and thawing, which can stress the little plants and even heave them right out of the ground.

Some people say snow is "poor man's fertilizer. " According to garden write Jeff Lowenfels. this is more than just an old wives tale:

"There is something else that happens when it snows: nitrogen is deposited by the snow and absorbed either into the soil food web residing and active at low temperatures or by plants as a result of nitrogen fixation, a microbial activity which, astonishingly enough, can take place even at low temperatures. Even when the soil is frozen, its eventual thaw can result in the absorption of nitrogen.
I had always been just a bit skeptical of the fact that snow contains nitrogen. My research when I was first asked this question back in the late '70s -- which I don't need to remind you was pre-Internet and Google -- failed to turn up any reliable data confirming what I considered to be just another gardening wives' tale.
Well, it turns out not only snow, but rain as well, contains nitrogen compounds that were suspended in air as they formed. It is estimated that 2 to 12 pounds of nitrogen are deposited per acre as a result of snow and rain. Most of this nitrogen comes from emissions as a result of burning fossil fuels and industrial manufacturing. The rest comes from lightning fixing atmospheric nitrogen, which makes up 70 percent of air, as I recall."

-Jeff Lowenfels

Annual Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading

2009-02-02T10:52:00.004-05:00

once a snowflake fell

on my brow and i loved

it so much and i kissed

it and it was happy and called its cousins

and brothers and a web

of snow engulfed me then

i reached to love them all

and i squeezed them and they became

a spring rain and i stood perfectly

still and was a flower

Winter Poem, by Nikki Giovanni

The names of the trees

2009-01-31T18:48:00.002-05:00

A grove of Beech trees

An ancient trunk

Dawn Redwood

Pagoda Tree

Today I'm studying the Latin names of trees. I don't know if I will ever have all of the names memorized enough to just roll off the tongue- my aging memory needs lots of reinforcement. But I find some of the names as beautiful as the trees themselves.
Liquidambar stryaciflua. Nyssa sylvatica. Magnolia soulangiana. Betula papyrifera.

In another month or so when I am out working with my pruners in hand, this studying will have its rewards.

I started blogging with the long winter stretched out in front of me like a sleepy cat. Now I can already feel the quickening of approaching Spring. It's almost time to gather brush to burn, to spend long days outdoors, come home exhausted, sometimes wet and cold, and sleep really soundly and well.

I know I won't get here as often. I will savor the remains of winter, drink endless cups of tea, and play indoors as much as I can. It feels like such a luxury to me.

First photo taken on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, the other three I took at Arnold Arboretum, Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, last August.

A Genealogist's Dream

2009-01-28T16:45:00.008-05:00

This is William Harding, my third great grandfather on my father's side. Born in England, he was so overcome with grief upon the death of his first wife, Harriet Wood, that he booked passage to Newfoundland to escape his sad memories. The name Harriet Wood was given to his daughter from his second marriage, and subsequently his granddaughter, my great grandmother. He left a diary and an autobiography, both of which are invaluable sources of information for our family and many other families from the area. A distant cousin from Newfoundland was kind enough to send me a copy several years ago. What a treasure it is! Here are the first paragraphs of his autobiography:

"I was born in Bideford, England, in the county of Devon, November the Fifth, in the year of our Lord, One Thousand Seven Hundred and ninety Three. Nov. 5-1793.
My brother George was born Oct. 30-1795.
My Father was a blacksmith by trade and kept the Torrington Turnpike Gate. My dear mother died the first day of May 1800, in the forty eighth year of her age.
My father died in March 1801 in the sixty-second year of his life.
They were both members of The Church of England, and brought myself and my brother up the same.
At the death of my father, my uncle James Halls of Bristol took my brother to bring him up to the bread and biscuits and sugar boiling business. Mr. John Halls, blacksmith of Bideford took me to bring me up to that trade. Then my brother and I were separated two hundred and two miles apart. "

Back to my Roots

2009-01-26T11:18:00.003-05:00

This is one of my first attempts at collage since I was in high school. I used to collage everything in sight by cutting up old magazines and newspapers. I collaged lampshades, boxes, even an old refrigerator. I always loved the process. But life threw me a few surprises and I stopped creating art... I just couldn't do it anymore.
Now that I have a little time on my hands I am trying collage again... and I still enjoy it as much as ever. This is an amateur attempt, I have a lot to learn, but right now I have to "just do it" and silence my inner critic.
I'm learning to make some of my own papers and I hope to make a lot more pieces this winter before I go back to work. I'm thinking of trying some small pieces so I can experiment with different techniques. This collage measures about 18"X24".

Patterns in the snow.

2009-01-25T09:41:00.001-05:00

I'm still mesmerized by the events of the last week, and very happy :) .
A walk on the beach didn't cure my cabin fever; it was too frigid and windy to stay out very long, but it helped.

I like how the waves left patterns in the snow.

This is a combination of frozen sea foam and snow.

Tiny little tracks, left by a mouse, maybe?

Underpass art

2009-01-19T10:46:00.014-05:00

I have often wondered about this painting on the train bridge near my work. It is located on busy, very narrow Route 6A in West Barnstable, Massachusetts. Just standing there next to the wall with traffic whizzing around the corner seems risky, I can't imagine being there for the time it took to decorate the concrete wall.
The mystery (to me, at least) was cleared up the other day in a waiting room when I discovered an article in Cape Cod Voice about local artist Edie Vonnegut, daughter of the late author Kurt Vonnegut. She painted the bridge as a gift to her mother. According to the article, her mother was appalled at the public gift of the nude painting. Edie Vonnegut paints strong women, angels and domestic goddesses. More information about her can be found here: http://www.edithvonnegut.com/

The painting also inspired a radio show on Cape Cod Radio Mystery Theater Called called The Mermaid on the Halloween Bridge.

http://www.capecodradiomystery.com/

Snowbound

2009-01-15T09:48:00.002-05:00

The other day we were expecting a storm, so I went to my sister's house so we could be snowbound together. We drank strong Lipton tea in pottery mugs, and nibbled on macaroons. An old friend came by and spent a pleasant afternoon with us.

After dinner (and a little wine), we watched "Practical Magic" and ate Chocolate Oatmeal, a delightful concoction of melted butter, raw oats, cocoa power and sugar, in about equal parts. It can be rolled into balls to make refrigerator cookies, but we just ate it by the spoonful, right out of the pan.

The next day we had pancakes for breakfast and and guacamole for dinner. In between we made watercolor and cut paper valentines, and painted brayer paper. My art skills are rusty, but it was fun!

Photos of valentines and brayer paper.

You can't blame a girl for trying...

2009-01-09T19:30:00.003-05:00

This very determined harbor seal found the ultimate "all you can eat" buffet this week on Cape Cod. She had to swim two miles inland up a creek to get to the Sandwich (not the food, the Town) Fish Hatchery, just teeming with trout. I just thought these pictures were so cute. The photo gallery I posted earlier had problems so I scanned and added these. Photos by Steve Heaslip from the Cape Cod Times.

First Congregational Church

2009-01-09T07:57:00.003-05:00

This Church sits on the other side of Falmouth Village Green. It is a typical New England Church- one like this can be found in almost every town. It has been through various incarnations since 1796. The original bell, made by Paul Revere, still rings over the village. One of the past Reverends, William Bates, was the father of Katherine Lee Bates, who wrote "America the Beautiful."

Photos, top to bottom: Three shots of the church, one of Santa and his reindeer with the church in the background.

Saint Barnabas Church

2009-01-09T07:39:00.002-05:00

The other day I took a walk around the Village Green in Falmouth, and after finally getting my old camera working, took a few shots of the churches. I'm more a of a spiritual person than a religious one, but I think some churches are beautiful and interesting. This is Saint Barnabas Episcopal Church, built in 1889. It is made of granite and trimmed with meadow red sandstone. It was designed by Henry Vaughn.

Photos, top to bottom: Saint Barnabas Church, main building, the church door with Christmas wreaths, the Parish House, which was originally a reading room or library for the Town of Falmouth; the church spire.

Other Favorites

2008-12-31T09:52:00.002-05:00

Top to Bottom: The Three Bears, illustrated by Foedor Rojankovsky. From this book I learned the important lesson: it's not cool to break into other animal's houses and then complain about the accommodations.

---Ukelele and her New Doll, Illustrated by Campbell Grant. This book taught me not to feed sand to my dolls, and sometimes, newer isn't necessarily better.

---Picture from Animal Friends, Illustrated by Garth Williams. This book gave me the idea that friends might help me with my yard work.

Seriously, I just love the books.

Little Red Ridng Hood

2008-12-31T09:50:00.002-05:00

Little Red Riding Hood is probably my very favorite Golden Book. Not so much for the story, but for the illustrations by Elizabeth Orton Jones. Photos, top to bottom: the cover, autographed front page, and controversial page (some people believed Little Red was drinking wine- and protested against the book. My mom always told me she was drinking grape juice.)

Golden Legacy

2008-12-31T09:44:00.002-05:00

Golden Legacy, a history of Golden Books, by Leonard S. Marcus

Little Golden Books were a mainstay of my childhood. Every week when my mother went grocery shopping, she would buy me a new 25 cent Golden Book. I was especially enchanted by the illustrations.

I have read these books to my children, and now I read them to my grandchildren. I was delighted to find this volume on a recent trip to the library. I have been entertained for hours reading about the lives and careers of my favorite Golden illustrators: Eloise Wilkin, Feodor Rojanovsky, Tibor Gergely, Garth Williams, Richard Scarry, and Elizabeth Orton Jones.

The Silent Stretch

2008-12-29T09:37:00.000-05:00

In the silent stretch between Christmas and New Year's Day, I like to reflect on the year gone by and project (just a little) toward the year to come. Who knows what great adventures lie ahead? The new year lies in wait like a fallow field, teeming with living soil, the material of life. It is up to us, the wind, and the birds to plant the seeds. Seeds of hope, compassion, imagination, creativity, friendship. Some people say that planting a seed is the ultimate act of faith. How does a sunflower seed know to grow into a sunflower? A miracle, even if we now know it is written in the DNA of its cells. This year, I would like to reconnect with old friends... and make some new ones. As the old year slides away, I remember the words of the poet, Theodore Roethke.
"What slides away provides."

(This is a photo of Gay Head Light, Aquinnah, Martha's Vineyard. My camera is broken, so I am using older photos from my library for now.)

Happy Christmas

2008-12-24T11:53:00.002-05:00

"Christmas--that magic blanket that wraps itself about us, that something so intangible that it is like a fragrance. It may weave a spell of nostalgia. Christmas may be a day of feasting, or of prayer, but always it will be a day of remembrance--a day in which we think of everything we have ever loved. "--Augusta E. Rundel

Christmas Eve

2008-12-24T11:49:00.001-05:00

Wishing you a magical Christmas Eve!

"Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl. But it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart... filled it, too, with a melody that would last forever."-- Bess Streeter Aldrich

In Memory of Patty Ann, September 25, 1954-December 22, 1973

2008-12-22T08:09:00.001-05:00

Patty Ann and Moose, about 1960

My sister, my friend, I miss you still... and your imaginary friends, Good Elspra and Bad Elspra, who took the blame- or praise, for all of your most astonishing deeds... I miss talking all night, making up songs, your contagious giggle... Climbing out on the roof , sharing a birthday cake with a line down the middle... your favorite frosting on one side and mine on the other. I miss your chocolate oatmeal, steaks at midnight, swimming at the lake. You were my partner in crime, my staunchest defender, my friend when I felt most alone.
You insisted on a real christmas tree even though it gave you an asthma attack.
All the stars on my tree shine for you.

'Northern Exposure' - Northern Lights

2008-12-17T08:48:00.001-05:00

Darkness settles into our souls in this, the darkest time of year. We respond by celebrating our holidays with lights, and lots of them!

This video is from "Northern Exposure," my favorite TV show of all time.