I've Been Thinking About Art Today...

photo and art credit: Chrysti Hydeck, copyrighted, all rights reserved

Care to join me?

1. watch this
2. answer - Do you dare?
3. look at these and these
   
4. ask yourself - Can I do something like that?
5. read this
6. grab a pen - Write your own list.
7. come back to your computer - Leave a comment and tell me about your art.

Thanks, GKGirl, for the nudge. Art close-up by Chrysti.

at this moment...

Time.

Time is a fleet-footed young girl. She scampers away on tip-toe; tiny nails painted shell pink. She's so quick all you see is a flash of her scarlet skirt. Sparkle. There she goes again. Drifting away. Leaving behind only fading memories. Memories that feel more like dreams. Memories of magic. Of smiles. Of breathless laughter. Of butterfly kisses and, "Do it again, Daddy. Do it again."

I keep turning corners just two steps behind her. Trying desperately to catch a hold of her skirt. To stall her just for a moment. To keep just a little of this fleeting beauty. Be still, I whisper. Be still.

But she doesn't. She won't. She can't.




But, oh.
How I wish that she would.




Image by Jamie M.

Sloane, at 7

Tomorrow my little girl turns eight. And while she'll always be my little girl, but she's not so little anymore. She's growing up and it is much, much too fast for this Momma. My heart aches tonight. It's the kind of ache that's accompanied by a lumpy throat and stinging, brimming eyes. How can she be eight? Stop!, my heart cries. Wait. Please, please wait.


I read once that when a child is born, two people are created; a child and a mother. Jeffrey would tell you that the truth is three people are created. My Mom would say five to seven, depending on which people had grandchildren already. No matter the head count, you get the point. And it's true. So true. I became a new Relyn when Sloane was born. A better, more fun, more thoughtful, hopefully wiser version of me. Definitely a safer-driving version.


Sloane and I played around tonight and I took some pictures of my seven year old, just before bed. This is what seven-nearly-eight will always look like to me.


It looks like silliness. And jokes about bums and booties. It looks like sleepy eyes and snuggles. Like giggle-filled whispers and dirty fingernails. It looks like drawings and stories and non-stop chatter. It looks like freckles across a nose and skinny arms cuddling two American Girl dolls.

It looks like love. Just like love.



If you'd like to wish the birthday girl a happy day, please visit her here. She'd really, really love it.

Creature Comforts

My friend Jessica wrote the post that inspired this one.


This November morning is gorgeous! Bright and blustery and the most beautiful golden light. Like so many do at this time of year, my thoughts are turning to nestling in, getting cozy, creating warmth and a feeling of contentment in my home.

I'm thinking of....

* a downy comforter and thick pillows * a big pile of magazines and a long evening at home * a purring cat on my lap * a big stack of books * a good pen and my journal * a nice piece of chocolate * super-warm slipper socks * chicken and rice * the scarf knitted for me by a girlfriend * warm cookies and cold, cold milk * quiet piano music as I drift into a nap * the memory foam we added to our mattress - heaven * long hugs * the first fire of the season * warm sun on a chilly day * comfort island * rich cello music * painting Sloane's fingers and toes * writing Christmas cards * bundling up in my gorgeous pink coat, the one I get compliments on every time I wear it * a massage * peppermint scented lotion *Jeffrey's Carhartt * soft, soft purple mittens * the moment when the car's heater finally starts to warm you * hot cocoa * apple crisp * switching to my winter lipstick: deeper, redder * knowing that Christmas is coming, but ready to enjoy Thanksgiving first * fleece * hot homemade soup in the ski lodge * the first beef stew of the season * our deep seated, cuddly sofa * a good night's sleep with the thermostat turned low * Scoopy - Sloane's special blankie friend * sweater weather *

Ahhh... November

Date Night

We went to a movie tonight since Sloane was at a slumber party. Never mind which one, it was kind of a dud. We almost never get to see movies in the theater anymore. Wouldn't you know it? It has become inevitable that we pick a dud. Anyway...

The best part of the movie was the people-watching before the show began. Our favorite this time was the group of six teens directly in front of us. The canned pre-show music switched to YMCA and I found myself doing the motions along with the song. Kind of in my lap, but still doing them. I looked up and saw four of the six teenagers we'd been watching groovin' to YMCA. They were doing the motions, too. Only they were doing them big and high and proud. I just love teenagers! All that exuberance.


Stormtroopers like the YMCA, too. Image by JD Hancock.

It's the Cinnamon Sticks...

Cold then. A slow gritting lorry flashed its orange globe at me as I came here. I see our parents have left a glass jar of pot-pourri with you-fir cones in it, cinnamon sticks. A dried, golden pear. I don't know what its scent is-spice, but also a musk, of some kind. Frankincense? Nor do I know very much of how love is shown, for I so rarely show it. But these are the gestures people remember, or kneel at, I know that much. It isn't the big declarations. No brass bands playing. It's cinnamon sticks, or a drawing of a sleeping dog. Or the gift of a stone moved with the sea for so many years that its rolled into a smooth round ball.

~ The Oystercatchers

Many years ago, when I was a very young woman and my own love was new, I had a friend who was in her sixties. Reenie told me a story I've never forgotten.

Her life, her love was a disappointment. She and her husband had spent years growing apart, becoming strangers. They had become roommates. The kind you are assigned in college, not the roommates we excitedly choose for ourselves. Their love had become a dim memory, made bittersweet by the sadness that always accompanies years of disappointment. After more than a year of considering, Reenie decided to divorce her husband. Decided to spend the last decades of her life alone rather than with a man who no longer loved her.

On the evening she planned to tell him, Reenie took a shower to help steady her nerves. When she opened a drawer to get out her underthings, she found a Snickers bar tucked inside. Her favorite. He remembered. He brought her one for no good reason. Just because. He left it there to surprise her. To do something nice. To make her smile. A Snickers bar.

I imagine her sinking to the floor, still damp and clad only in a towel. Eating that Snickers, savoring that sweetness. Deciding then that the sweetness of being known was worth the sadness of feeling distant. Deciding then that things could change between them. Deciding to stay.

And that's exactly what she did. She stayed. She loved. She started again.

And so did he.



Excerpt from the book Oystercatchers by Susan Fletcher. The perfect image, called Forever, is by Daria Sukhanovska.

Better Late Than Never

I'm gonna do it.

No, silly. You are too busy. You'll overwhelm yourself.

Nope. I'm gonna do it. I need a project to get my out of my too-much-obsessing over work rut.

Crazy, girl. You're too late. This is already November 4.

Zip it, critic! I'm in. It' better late than never.

I've seen NaBloPoMo posts all around the blogisphere and thought how daunting it would be to post every day for a month. But, I'm in. I'll be posting here every day in November. So, I hope you'll stop by a little more often this month and chat.




Walk the Line, above, and other wonderful images by Boopsie.Daisy can be found right here.