My usual morning involves a strong cup of Java and a moment or two spent here with you but I decided to change things up a bit this morning. So I lit the Sandalwood incense I recently picked up in a quaint little shop a few miles to the north and poured myself a cup of Yogi Tea, Woman’s Moon Cycle to be exact. There I sat gazing out the window while experiencing the complex aroma of an earthy sandal wood smoke. The tea’s spicy scent reminded me of my youth and a hot bowl of cinnamon oatmeal. It did deliver on the harmony it promised but it was the little something else it provided that I liked most- a flash back to my youth. Perhaps it was the incense and not the tea but never -the- less, it was a fun trip.
I remember 5th grade, my best girl friends and a boy that each wanted to claim as their boyfriend. Quite honestly I didn’t find him anything special (sorry Brent) but just the mere fact that he was wanted by all meant that yes I wanted him too. So the leader of the pack, not me, decided that we should put together a multiple choice love letter which gave him the option to choose his girl.
It went something like this: If you love Sonja check this box, If you love Denise check this box, If you love Junie check this box and so on and so forth. Well this boy was no dummy and wasn’t going to cut out any of his options, so of course he checked every girl’s box- apparently he loved us all 😉 This meant we had to take turns at recess holding hands with this lucky three-timing boy. I wonder if Brent has ever settled for just one woman.
I enjoyed a moment of retro bliss and the memories were special but I still feel a little sleepy and may have to pour myself a stiff cup of Joe after all. Old habits die hard ya know. Have a harmonious weekend.
My mind is quiet as the light is lingering in a dance on the lawn and the trees are gently bending in a late afternoon breeze. It’s perfect, really, warm enough for a tank top and shorts but not hot enough to force a sweat. The sunflowers are bright and cheerful as the smell of grilled chicken floats thru the neighborhood. I could stay in this moment forever, summer sun, garden flowers, succulent food on the grill, gentle breezes in my hair and the a little wren bringing dinner back to the nest. Summer afternoons are a perfect time for curious minds to wander while a tired body rests. My thoughts are misty but recognizable. I see lush gardens in the mist and hear the ocean just beyond my tattered little cottage that sits amongst the roses over looking a craggy cliff to the ocean. It’s so serene and perfect just like this summer afternoon.
please stay for a little while longer or maybe forever. I love everything about you: your warm breath, bright and beautiful skies, flower filled fields, and even a little sweat here and there. I would trade an evening by the fire, my sexy leather boots and favorite pair of woolen mittens for an eternal summer, if only you would stay.
Free to just be…..
It all started one afternoon as she was sitting at her computer diligently working away. After hours, well maybe only one, of grueling work she took a short break and peered out the window. What she saw beyond her office space was very interesting and almost shocking. It was the head of a cat on the body of a rabbit or so she thought, at first. This intrigued her very much and her curiosity lead her to follow the poor creature to his home in the woods. He was wet and hungry and seemed so alone. So of course this city girl, living on the edge of an animal preserve, befriended the beautiful creature and feed him left over roaster chicken. (That’s right he ate better than many Americans in this struggling economy.) The word (roaster chicken) spread through the kitty hood rather quickly and what started as one, became many.
This city girl- gone wild, thought she could save them all. So she locked the poor creatures in her garage where she could feed and care for them. She attempted to tame the wild beasts (who were miserable by the way) and find them suitable homes but after a few bites and numerous scratches, and an estimate from the vet for almost $500.00 to spay/ neuter and vaccinate the lot, she set them free. She felt terrible, just like a failure but then she put her human thoughts of controlling nature and the pet population aside. She began to really observe these creatures for the very first time. She watched them run and jump at butterflies, stalk little birds that were bathing in her birdbath and romp and wrestle with such glorious freedom. There was so much love and happiness in that little pack, how could she crush their spirit and try to mold them into what she and society thought was right. Perhaps her heart had been in the right place (didn’t want another kitten to meet it’s demise) but maybe, just maybe her mind was not in line with what was truly in the best interests of the wild beasts, who so desperately wanted to remain together and are only truly happy when they are free. Who should decide? Who makes the rules?
At the risk of becoming the neighborhood cat lady this city girl continues to feed the beasts kitty food with the occasional gourmet treat of left over seafood or chicken… and down the rabbit hole she went. This whole adventure has been so, so tiring and cause for a very long nap.
If I were a flower I think I’d be a Toad Lily like this cheery specimen from my garden. I love the warm colors with many little specks and interesting details. My favorite thing about this flower is the way it twists up when the sun goes down and then opens again as the sun warms the stem. I would love to be able to hide my face when the it became cold or dark and then open back up as soon as the sun made everything just right.
Hide and seek anyone? Do you ever have the kind of day that is so busy and crazy that all you need is the perfect spot to hide? A secret spot that’s just right for peeking when necessary. It’s been that kind of day, more like that kind of week and even that kind of month for me.
Babies learning new skills like opening the front door is wonderful but it also posses a new set of problems that keeps me on my toes. There are so many things I should be doing, like restaining the front door or…
cleaning out my car but something fun always comes up and gets in the way. When given a choice I choose fun every time. Hey we all have weaknesses, mine just happens to be a good time. What’s yours?
“It is our choices that show what we truly are,
far more than our abilities.”
I found this quote to be fitting for today’s blog party. Karen Valentine of My desert Cottage is hosting an event that will allow us to take a peek into the lives and studios of over 160 creative soles. Make sure you take this opportunity to see where these creative individuals work their magic.
I share my desk with a camera collection but my creative process doesn’t begin in the office, in front of my computer, it begins on location, the moment something catches my eye- an opportunity is captured,
but sometimes it starts in my mind when an opportunity is developed or created. My work space is where ever my camera takes me.
There’s no recipe or guide to my creative process and my destinations aren’t down on any map. I love the fact that my work environment changes like the wind. Some days I head out to the woods or garden but my favorite places to work are found during my travels.
My office is the place where I decide if an image will make it into my shop, Studiopink, or just take up space in my computer. I’ve posted a comglomeration of things that inspire me throughout the office.
My inspiration board is filled with my photos, as well as a few quotes and clippings that speak to me. I can’t tell you how many times a day I look over my shoulder to digest the images and words that inspire me.
Of course I love to photograph pretty things like flowers …
How could I resist a spring bouquet of pink Calla Lillies?
Or a vase filled with fresh daisies plucked from the field.
I love my flower images but I have to say my favorite photographs are captured in the dreamy spaces that I create.
This image of fresh sheets hanging in the trees was capture in my backyard and then enhanced by a little photoshop magic.
An old chair with chippy paint tucked in the woods is just my style. It feels like a secret place that’s waiting just for me.
The fading light peeking through the trees makes this image special.
Although the magic really happens when I look through the lens of my camera, I do think my indoor studio is important and should reflect my personality.
That’s why I have a few special niches filled with things that inspire me. I have a love for writing and the antique Smith & Corona typewriter that was used by a journalist on assignment inspires me to follow my passion. It folds flat and has a carrying case perfect for a travelling writer/photographer- my dream job.
I’ve combined a few images with original essays in a
No matter where you decide to create, always follow your bliss and take the creative journey in a manner that is just your style.
“The world is but a canvas to the imagination”
Henry David Thoreau
I felt empowered this day and had to captured the moment in a reflection across the pond.
Live your life with a creative spirit but more importantly-
just live it!
When you meet someone new do you open up quickly, unfolding each and every petal with a willing spirit? Maybe you’re the kind who likes to take it slow, letting down one tiny leaf at a time. I’m usually the slow flower that stays protected until the time is right. Actually I not sure my blossom has ever totally opened up to anyone.
I love it when I meet someone who is completely comfortalble in their own skin and not afraid to open wide and let others in. This kind of person is hard to find. We each have a spirit that flows around us and occasionally touches the lives of others and sometimes that spirit engages in a dance with another. Have you ever noticed that happening, like the time when you met someone and everything just clicked because you felt as though you had known this person all your life.
I feel a little anxious right now because there is a lot going on in my life. I have several projects started but not completed, my house is being painted, wild cats are living in my garage, I’m struggling to get my business going, princess #2 will be here in a little over a month and I’m taking a trip to the west coast in 3 weeks. Oh and I’m trying to get ready for a Where Bloggers Create party on Friday hosted by Karen Valentine from My desert Cottage.
I really have to get busy and take some photos of my work space. There’s so much to do and it seems as though nothing is getting done. I guess we all feel like that sometimes, unless you’re the kind of person who is completely organized and in control at all times. I don’t think our spirits would dance well together, they may tangle but probably not in a graceful manner.
It becomes obvious to me that I live in rural America when I come across a folky scene just like the one I encountered yesterday. Okay it went like this: I was driving home from the big city, well what I call the big city, and while cruising down the highway listening to the radio I almost had an accident. Why, because to my left in a little country cemetery, where my Grandparents are buried, was a horse trailer. I thought to myself, “that’s odd why is a horse trailer parked in the cemetery.” Then I took a closer look and saw a man with his hat in his hand holding the reins to his horse. They both stood in front of a grave stone. It was as if they were praying or paying respects to a loved one who had passed. I was so astonished by what I saw and I really wanted to get off the highway and take a picture but something told me not to impose and keep it as a visual memory. It was an unforgettable sight. I wish I could have captured it with my camera but I guess that would have been rude.
Speaking of rural America I recently came across some info on my southern roots. They are about as rural as one can get. The rumor has always been that my great-grandmother was an American Indian but I found some info to the contrary. She may really have been a gypsy. She never really said anything about where she came from or who her family was. It was just assumed by the way she looked, long braid down her back, long skirts to the floor, dark eyes, weathered skin, etc that she was Indian. Duci was silent about her life and her past. The gypsy evidence would explain a lot, like her total separation with her family, no birth certificate, her fortune telling predictions, odd beliefs and stories,. I didn’t know her well, the truth is she kind of scared me by the way she would look at me like she knew something I didn’t and then just turn and walk away.
Gypsies weren’t welcome anywhere back then and many tried to pass themselves off as Native Americans because that group was better excepted. I’ve always wondered how roots or ethnicity play a role in who we are, even if we were never exposed to that culture. I’m curious to know if certain tendencies creep in because of our DNA. What do you think?
You know the things you think you want to change about yourself? The very same kinks you try so hard to keep secret. Well my friends, these are the things that make you unique, your true self, with a few quirks, a couple bad habits, and scar here and there. This uniqueness is where your true power lies, it’s the stuff within these very layers that make up that part of you….. that is so uniquely you! It’s important that we embrace our true self and stand up for what we believe in- sometimes not so easy to do but oh, so powerful! It’s usually during my down times when I’m once again reminded of this fact and that’s when my true power or core ignites and takes over.
Although photography is my greatest love sometimes I like to dabble in other artsy endevors like making jewelry or whatever else comes to mind. The above necklace is one of the pieces I made while needing a little extra strength. I don’t wear it often. It usually rests on a little alter niche in the corner of my office.
The photo below is in response to my sweet friend Lucinda and her request to see the house from my ghost story. So this weekend I took a drive past that house and snapped this image just for her and you. If you didn’t have the opportunity to read my last post Dear Dairy, I’ve had better days click on the previous link and catch up.
The house still looks pretty empty to me but this Methodist Church campground is full of old vacant cottages, it’s kind of spooky sometimes. I’ve always wondered what really happened the day I visited that cottage but Debbie and I just didn’t talk about it much. We did some pretty crazy stuff as kids, like hopping on a bus to see how far we could get on thirteen dollars. The bus driver called her mother who called my mother and I’m sure you can guess the rest of that story.
After the terrible incident on Friday morning, Mr. Java and I managed to catch the remaining kittens and the mamma cat. It took six hours and wasn’t complete until shortly after midnight. They are locked in our garage until the babies are tame enough to handle. Then they will be off to forever homes and the Momma cat will be spayed by my vet and then released back to her hunting grounds. I will still feed her if she needs me to but no more babies. I don’t know how I get myself into these things but this isn’t the first time and probably won’t be the last either.
I’m behind on my blog visits but promise to catch up this week!
Note to self be sure to check under the hood of the car before driving away. That’s all I’m going to say about that 😦
I’m in a bit of a dark mood and it’s Friday so I thought no better time than now for a little ghost story. Here goes…
Back in the late seventies there were two young girls who had far too much time on their hands. They spent many evenings making prank phone calls in the basement of little Debbie’s house. One particular evening they reached an old woman who thought for sure that these little girls were the granddaughters she had not seen for several years and insisted that they come for a visit. So the very next day these two curious little girls set out to find the old house in the camp ground that belonged to the lonely old woman and her sickly husband. The visit was strange but pleasant and lasted a few hours. The old couple talked about old times and memories that the girls had no knowledge of but went along with. They ate cookies and had tea. The house was in disrepair and full of old musty smelling furnishings. Finally after hours of reminicsing and looking at pictures of unfamiliar faces, it was time for the gravely ill old man to take a nap. He moved at an extremly slow pace and had a very strange color cast about him. His presence kind of scared the little girls but they were polite and said nothing. The old woman was kind but very sad so the girls hugged her and went on their way with a promise to visit the very next day. This visit had been so very strange and hard to explain. The girls didn’t speak much about the old couple or the visit the rest of the day but the next day, shortly after breakfast, just as promised, the girls set out on their bicycles to visit their newly adopted grandparents. When they reached the old cottage style house it looked different, empty in fact. They knocked and knocked but no one answered the door. One girl, who shall remain nameless, peeked inside the windows and was shocked by what she saw- nothing. The house was completely empty except for a few cobwebs and an old broom leaning against the wall. The girls were completely stunned and left the camp grounds without saying a word. After that day they rarely spoke about what had happened to the old couple in the rickety little house or if in fact the visit ever happened at all. That house still stands today and it still looks empty.
This my friends is a very true story. I miss you Debbie and as for my adopted grandparents in the old house- I just don’t know what to say.
That’s all I can handle today.
Thanks for taking a moment to spend your day dream with me.Sometimes we need just a moment to close our eyes and let our minds take us to that quiet place where dreams linger and anything is possible. For the dreamy chair poll the clear winner or image that spoke the loudest was #2, the chair with the nest and little blue eggs. This image was raw, totally untouched by photo-shop. It just goes to show that the real magic of light speaks louder than anything simulated in a photo editing program. Image number #1 and #2 will be for sale in the studio and #1, #2 and #3 will be for sale in a set of dreamy little note cards later today. I’m so excited but right now this girl has to take off her dreamy hat, put on her super-girl cape, hop in her sporty convertible (lets pretend I have one) and drive 40 minutes away to rescue Mr. Java. He forgot his work phone and several of his desperate employees have questions and need to his assistance. So I’ll be back this afternoon to work in the studio and make my blog rounds. Thanks again for your input on my mystic dream space.
Oh, by the way, I’ve started revamping my vision board. I’ll give you a peek some time soon.