I often feel pulled to start a blog post by writing what the weather is like here. It's not for lack of knowing what to say but rather more my connectedness to weather. I love weather - watching it change, soaking in the magic that each and every version offers. Unlike many, I'm energized in ways by the winter rains. Those dark, gray days where the soil is saturated and even the bravest of birds is waiting it out in some sparse canopy somewhere wake my senses. I feel ambitious and directive. I feel like cleaning out closets and sewing dresses and writing mom a lengthy, hand-penned letter...all before lunch. Curling up with a good book is more appealing to me on days where the shadows are long and the temperatures are too hot to do anything else comfortably. I'll lie in a hammock and try to read...while I drift in and out of a dozey sleep and listen to sprinklers and lawnmowers in the distance and the grass grow.
I've been wanting to post since Monday. Monday turned to Tuesday and then to Wednesday and wooly beasts reared their ugly heads. This danged pirate leg is stubborn and though I thought the "problem" was resolved, it looks as though it has returned for an extended visit. More blood tests on the schedule, blood thinners likely, and a very pertinacious ego to tame...that same ego that is convinced of my invincibility - of mind over matter. I'm humbled to the point of wearing support stockings and understand first hand now that the very fact that they are called "stockings" is a testament to their unattractiveness. All I need now are the big clunky shoes - worn for years with a slight tip outward - and a housecoat. Hmph. That ego of mine - let's call her Hildegard - is trying her darndest to have a mountain of jewels to carry with me on my travels. That mountain is more like a little gopher mound due to the fact that I'm spending more time than usual in the horizontal position to keep myself from keeling over or moaning in discomfort. Hildegard is a formidible gust, I tell you, and often will carry me off into the studio to work for an hour before I finally come to my senses and realize I'm hurting and decide to go lie down. She does not easily concede and will often insist that I take a tray of parts and pieces to assemble while being otherwise completely useless. Sure enough that tray is often only half as useful as would seem with no anvil or hammer or grinder at close hand. We're wrestling in spurts, that Hildegard and I. Round after round we battle for dominance and I'm not sure who to root for. I'm just along for the ride.
I've been experiementing with some new ideas in my jewelry lately and am loving the combination I've concocted of combining frayed, sewn silk into the "chains" of some new necklaces. I have a stout little handful ready to take with me to Australia but I've listed four in my esty shop in case you'd like to wear a little softness around your neck. You may notice a little something extra I've added to the bezels...more play with that in the coming months.
We had a wonderful weekend in Portland. My two wild ponies adore....ADORE their big sisters...one of whom is a student at Paul Mitchell. The two youngn's were BEAMING when they left Saturday morning to go be with Mattie at school...where they would get their hair cut any. way. they. wanted. That's right. I just wanted them to have fun and to not worry one speck about what mom wants. As long as no strange chemicals or colors found their way into the mix, they had complete say.
"But what if I want a mohawk?" precocious and testing.
"Go ahead. Sounds like an adventure!"
"But what if I want to shave my head?"
(Please don't try to convince me that a little hair color is okay. I won't agree with you...nor will I argue...when it comes to my girlies I'm blinded from all logic and temperance in hopes of keeping them young, innocent and pure for as long as possible. It all starts with a little blond streak, then it's cell phones, then dating, then...you see. I'm putting it off as long as possible in spite of mustang snorts and hoof digging. I'm one of those strange-addicted-to-technology-hippy types who can justify her addiction to technology by her balancing it out with lots of gardening and rain catching and tire swinging and hand-crafting. "You want to call your friends and chat for hours about nothing? How about you crochet instead." "You want to get on the internet and read about movie stars? How about you go dig fence post holes instead." My kind of parenting.)
Where was I? Oh yes. Hair cuts. They turned out fine. I still long for the days when the locks were long and "put it in a pony, pweese, momma" was a good enough 'do' to not interfere with play time too much. The girls had a grand time...look at them here walking down the sidewalk in downtown Portland, giddy with excitement for the snipping to come.
We spent that night in Mattie's darling, funky new studio apartment where her bed does double duty as couch also. In spite of the fact that it has one, tiny window, it's bright and cheerful and is hers. Raspberry red counters and all. She loves it and we're so excited for her. No more drab, depressing, shared apartment.
The night before we and Mattie's sister and mom, showed up at Mattie's apartment to help pack. Holy cow. The usual clothing tornado had struck and we spent a few good hours sorting and bagging and boxing her belongings....an entire garbage bag of just scarves!!! Once packed, it took all of a couple of hours to get every last piece moved from one place to the other. Done by lunch time.
Vince took me to meet dear Jen for lunch. She and Liz will be team teaching a wonderful, decadent class in self-care in Portland this October.) She was dressed like late-summer amaranth - dripping in flowing faded tones bleached from the sun. She moves like wind in the blades of the broom corn - fluid and whisperlike. A peek in her trunk revealed another reason why I love her so for who but a lover of earth and nature would keep a mud-crusted trowel at the ready? I didn't feel so silly about having a pair of clippers in my car. We sat in a library cafe of a beautiful antique shop. We ate and then wandered for hours and hours visiting and perusing the goods. We are dreaming about gardening together, she and I here on my new land, clearing way for a window house to shelter a lemon tree, a cozy chair, a wood stove and a bathtub...tucked at the pastures edge. In the shop I snatched up a box of plain white vintage airmail stationary with a wonderful crinkle to it. Some of the patterned envelopes will find their way to Mary Ann and some to momma with hand written letters stuffed inside.
I'm rambling, not entirely out of character, and leave you with this picture of spring that I found along the road on ambitious walk the other day. It poured a warm rain while I walked and I let the clear water run down my head soaking my hair and turning in to meet my tounge. Breathing it all in I felt the peace of n.o.w. There you are spring, creeping in like the moon. Don't think I don't notice, that I haven't been waiting.