I'm dreaming of a pink Christmas

My taste has always hovered precariously close to tacky.  When I was a child, I would have given the world for one of those artificially colored and preserved roses suspended inside a lucite globe which you could buy at the supermarket.  My mother, guardian of my taste, refused, to my misery.  Luckily, I grew out of that one.

But last year, to my dismay, I found myself craving tacky 1950s bottlebrush Christmas trees in pink, turquoise, and silver.  So strong was the impulse that I succumbed.  I had three pink trees of various sizes, and one blue tree, and the ornaments were pink, light green, and turquoise shiny and matte balls, along with vintage silver glitter birds from my childhood.  I have to admit, it looked so delicious, my teeth hurt just remembering it.  Alas, I took no pictures.

This year, I was way behind the times, and didn't get the trees out of storage, so all I had were some very small bottlebrush trees in green and pink, and one larger tabletop tree of pink glitter, along with a 50s snowman and santa.  Nonetheless, it made me happy to look at.

There is something about some color combinations that is like a jolt of adrenaline - I feel my blood rushing and my heart pounding when I look at them.  Some pinks combined with glitter do that to me, as do pinks with some turquoises, some greens, and some aquas.  Just typing these words, I am suddenly salivating.

So, while it is true I am dreaming of a white Christmas outdoors, indoors, give me a pink Christmas any day.

Holidays

I tried something new this year for the holidays. I remember how excited I used to be as a child - the good cheer I could feel in the air around Christmas (my mother was Jewish, my father Lutheran, but it was my mother's idea to bring me up with Christmas!), the palapable excitement of taking my truly puny allowance and buying presents for my family and one or two friends.

One image stands out - an intricately carved Indian box with white inlay on the top my friend Andy gave me one year when I was 9 or 10 - it was redolent of magic and mystery. And I remember going to the 5 and 10 and picking out a turtle brooch with a red rhinestone eye for my mother and being really excited. I don't know if she ever wore it, but it was in her jewelry box when she died.

I miss that excitement. So I had an idea. This year, I have noticed to my chagrin that there are way fewer holiday lights bedecking the houses in my town in general, and on my street in particular.  I love holiday lights.  They cheer the dark winter nights and warm the hearts of passersby. They are a gift to all of us from the homeowners.  So I decided to let the neighbors on my block who put up holiday decorations know how much their effort was appreciated by leaving an anonymous thank you note and small gift at each doorstep to be discovered Christmas morning.  The idea of a mystery present and saying thank you to these generous people filled me with the old holiday anticipation and excitement - I was on a secret mission for Santa!

While I was doing some "touch-up" shopping for my family on Monday, I picked up four pretty but, to put it delicately, thrifty notebooks, along with four glittery gift bags and glittery tissue paper.  I wrote a note thanking each household for the holiday lights that brightened the street, the season, and our spirits, and tucked it into the bags, and then, last night, Christmas eve, around 1 am,  I ventured out, gleaming gift bags on my wrist, and quietly tiptoed up the steps of the four decorated houses to leave my gifts. As I left each present at the front door, I felt some of the innocent excitement I had felt as a child at giving someone a surprise gift. (I was also quite relieved not to hear sirens as the police responded to reports of a prowler scoping out front porches in the neighborhood!)

I felt satisfied and happy as I walked home in the snow, sheltered overhead by the stars shining in the bright, clear night sky. It felt like Christmas.

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

This stanza from a poem by e e cummings fills me with excitement and joy. It reminds me of all the good and beauty and potential in the world, the wonders just waiting to be discovered if we look for them.

Somewhere inside, I believe in magic and enchantment lying just beneath the surface of what might be considered ordinary things: a gnarled root; a rushing stream; the still rooms of an abandoned house; a rusty, flattened bottle cap; a jar of silver glitter from my childhood.

And when I read this verse, greenly spirits leap within me and say YES!

Roses, Christmas, Snow: Beauty and Loss

"At Christmas I no more desire a rose
Than wish a snow in May’s new-fangled mirth;
But like of each thing that in season grows."
William Shakespeare

This has long been my aspiration - to like of each thing that in season grows, but Winter is a tough sale for me. The days are short, the darkness penetrating, and it's cold, cold, cold, especially when - like me - you don't have a heating system in your house. Nonetheless, I get excited about snow, I love walking in winter-bare woods, it's cozy drinking hot chocolate in front of my toasty wood-burning stove, and there's nothing I can do about it, anyhow.

However, I can't suppress my satisfaction those years when my roses continue to bloom well into December. Maybe not until Christmas, but December 15 isn't bad, especially since two weeks ago we actually had snow, which excited me no end and prompted several photographs. There is such a crystalline, pure beauty about the snow-decked landscape; it is as sublime as the lushest garden in midsummer.

There are all kinds of spiritual lessons in Winter, too, but it is late, and I want to mention the loss of a wonderful, warm-spirited, truly consequential human being, the Bostoner Rebbe, Rabbi Levi Yitzchok Horowitz, of blessed memory. I discovered a few days ago that he died on December 5 at 88. When I was at Brandeis, I became a follower of his, and had I stayed in Boston, I believe I would be a Chasidista (female Hassidic follower) until this day. He was not perfect, of course, but he was warm, kind, compassionate, and principled, and he cared about people. I feel a deep sadness knowing he is gone, of course wishing I had found a way to communicate with him and let him know how to this day, his lessons and words have stayed with me, and that to this day, I think of him with respect and love. But maybe, since he was a Rebbe of exceptional spiritual gifts, he knows anyhow.

Flowers! Their beauty lifts the soul.

I was so surprised and delighted when Mon Tres Douce, Bon Aime Twin (I'm throwing in a leetle French for culture, although minus the accent marks I don't know how to do on this computer) sent me an amazing bouquet on the first day of Hanukah.

When I opened the door for the delivery person, I was at first struck by the almost vibratingly intense midnight blue delphiniums, set off by a huge pale blue hydrangea head of bloomlets. Then the beautiful white roses and snapdragons came into focus, along with purple iris and tiny white nameless flowers. The effect was so stunning I just stood and looked at it for a while after I got it situated on my ancient, shabby-but-antique breakfront. I cleared away some of the extra decorative items/clutter in honor of the bouquet's beauty. The vase is a dark blue glass - wow. I don't know what it is about flowers, but they have the ability to reassure me that there is wonderment in the world if you just look around, and that anyone can tap into the magic that brings joy by being open to it.

(And by the way, in case you haven't thought of it, wasn't it wonderful, generous, and thoughtful - as well as a bunch of other good things - of Twin to send me flowers? And for the non-French speakers in the crowd, Tres Douce means very sweet, and Bon Aime means much loved. Although maybe it should be Bien Aime. Oh well, culture is treacherous. Show off, and you get shown up.)

The magical effect flowers, foliage, trees, lakes, streams, etc. can have on me is why, a few weeks ago, when I felt really, really down and tearful, I decided finally to brave the woods lining Provincline Road along the back route to Mercer and Nassau Park Malls. I parked my car in a small, graveled indentation, and walked into the woods. There was a small river, or substantial stream, depending on how you look at it, and gnarled, twisted trees overhanging the water; trees so accessible even I dared scumble down a slight slope to sit in the hollow of some massive tree roots, feet dangling above the waters. Finally I began to feel some peace, some abatement of misery. That it took quite a while showed me just how unhappy I had been feeling, because usually the moment I have taken two steps into the woods, I feel uplifted.

I strolled along the water, coming finally to a small beachy plot with massive branches lying like the skeletons of prehistoric leviathans. I wove in and out, discovering to my delight clam and other shells lying open and empty, not at all what I would expect to find by a simple riverlet. I claimed some as my treasure.

Finally, after about an hour or so, I was ready to return to reality from that other-worldly place. With the shells in my pocket as talismen, I emerged back onto the busy road to finish my errands.

There are so many places to explore. I don't need the rain forest or the jungle; give me a small patch of woods, and be it ever so humble, it will contain secrets to soothe and restore my soul.

Today, however, my bouquet sits in front of me and makes me smile. I need no expeditions for a while.

Abandoned Village

Twin and I had the best day yesterday - we explored an abandoned village! Several houses of 1800s to early 1900s vintage are scattered along two roads leading essentially nowhere. In one house, I found a flat, porous gray rock with a top of lettuce-green spiky, conish crystals! I was also able to take a little bit of vintage wallpaper to use in my journal as a reminder of the adventure.

Twin and I bring out the adventurer in each other! I never would have done it without him, and he says he never would have done it without me. It was fascinating walking through the two old houses, both quite enticing, both houses we would enjoy living in.

To be continued . . . .

Thanksgiving gifts

This year, Thanksgiving was different. It is like the question asked at Passover, how is this Thanksgiving different from all other Thanksgivings? I didn't spend it with my family, now shrunken to my brother and former sister-in-law, both of whom decamped to sunnier climes, leaving me behind.

Although my beloved friend Lydia invited me, and although it meant boarding my cat Orange Boy, which is traumatic for him, traumatic for me, and expensive, I decided the right thing to do was to accompany sweetie Twin down to Virginia to spend the day with his 90-year-old father and his care-giving brother.

The ride was long and arduous; thankfully, Twin is a terrific driver and a wonderful travel companion. And when we arrived, Twin's brother and father were so welcoming, and so outspokenly grateful that we came, and that I came, I knew I had made the right decision. It was what Thanksgiving should be about - family, gratitude, warmth.

AND when we got back to the hotel, the heated pool was still open, so Twin and I played Sole Tag and Marco Polo!

Two gifts along the way - going there, lighted crosses on a mountain that flickered and seemed to move, ethereal and supernatural looking; returning, a huge, pale rainbow spanning the horizon. Thank you, God.

Altered Book Workshop

I signed up for an Altered Book Workshop* this Fall, and apart from missing the first of four sessions because I misplaced my appointment book and misremembered the start date, it has been such a boost!

It isn't about learning techniques - so far I know everything that has been taught - it's about creating with other living, breathing creative people in the room. We are separate but together, giving each other support and space in equal measure. It lifts my spirits and encourages me. The last session is this Saturday, which is a bummer, but I am so glad I signed up and followed through. I have a problem with inertia, and often have meant to sign up for a class and then at the last minute decided to bag it.

My altered book is a board book, and I have had fun making painted and stamped layered backgrounds. I accidentally hit on a theme - wings - I had just been working along, creating whatever felt right, when I realized that everything in my book had wings. There was a bingo card I used as a background, so I cut out a W and S from a magazine and pasted them over the B and O to make the word WINGS. I really want to finish this book by the end of the last session.

And then I want to take other classes - if there are any that are appropriate. It adds to my life and reduces my tendency to self-isolate.

*For those of you who don't know, altered books are published books which the artist then uses as a kind of canvas for art, thereby altering the book. The kind of art done in the books varies widely. It can be collage, painting, drawing; it can cover the entire original page of the book, obscuring the original printing, or it can use what is printed in the book. Some people black out words, leaving other words visible to create odd, obscure poems. Some people draw on the existing illustrations. The quality of art varies widely, even in published altered books. Many are just plain horrible and trite. But many are fascinating, surprising treasures to be lingered over.

Estranged - Deranges - Dangers - Angered - Granted

On my way home from a Hasidic wedding this evening, I hit upon a word which transmits pretty much how I have been feeling for a week or two - estranged. Of course, I tried to rearrange its letters into another word, but failed to come up with anything which used all the letters. Deranges came the closest, along with its anagram, grandees. Dangers and angered didn't do badly.

I found it interesting that estranged contains so many negative words - of course, in my mood, I would be more likely to find them.

The day before yesterday I found a list my mother made when we were waiting for admission to a popular gallery show in England ten years ago or so - words that can be made from the letters in apocalypse. (Hmm, I wonder if she found calypso. Probably - she found polyp!) I miss her, for many reasons, although sad to say, she wasn't actually a very good parent. But paradoxically, no-one could make me feel as valued, as needed, as special, as worthy of love as she did. It's a basic human need to feel well and truly loved, appreciated, valued. I'd give a lot for my mother's arms around me right now.

Flowers and Happiness

Sweet Twinerik brought me these flowers Saturday night - it was such a wonderful treat! The colors are amazing - bright lime mumlets, intense pink giganto mum in the center, and a variety of cerises, wines, and lemons - devastatingly beautiful. Who would have thought bright lime flowers would be so satisfying? And the central deep pink mum against the scattered dark wine red blossoms - wow. I love just sitting and drinking in all the color. It is mesmerizing.

Oh, those old-time autograph albums!

Among the many things I collect are vintage autograph albums, primarily from the mid to the late 1800s, with a smattering dated through the 1920s.

They had a version of this when I was in elementary and middle school - I think they called them "bash" books - such a charmingly euphonious name, don't you think? - and each page had a heading in which the invited people wrote their comments. To say that the contemporary version seemed rather crude and mean-spirited beside the lofty corniness of the vintage books would be an understatement. The ones I saw singled out those poor kids who weren't "in" with the "In Crowd" and made fun of them. I have never run across a mean-spirited comment in my vintage autograph books.

The older books are fascinating - each person wrote a little verse, usually not original, and signed it with aspirations to ever-lasting friendship. Some people drew designs and pictures, some even painted water colors of some skill. All the messages were encouragements to good behaviour, with the exception of a few which encouraged the young woman whose book was being written in to pick a good husband.

I include here a typical verse with a clever twist of which some writers were fond. Remember, most of the writers and artists were high-school age, just setting out in the world. I was reminded of this amusing effort recently when I saw another, very similar version, pictured in a book I was browsing through.

B hopeful, B happy, B cheerful, B kind
B busy of body, B modest of mind
B earnest, B truthful, B firm, and B fair
Of all misBhaviour B sure and Bware
Bthink ere you stumble for what might Bfall
B true to yourself and B faithful to all
B Brave to Bware of sins that may Bset
B sure that no sin will another Bget
B watchful, B ready, B open, B frank,
B polite to all whatever their rank
B just and B generous, B honest, B wise,
B mindful of time and B certain it flies!
B prudent, B liberal, of order B fond,
Buy what you need Bfore Buying Beyond
B prompt and B dutiful- and please B polite
B grateful, B cautious of those who Btray,
And truly Bloved then Thou shalt B
By all you Bfriend and always By Me!

Autumn's Fire, Winter's Doldrums!

I'd like Autumn more if Winter didn't slip through the door at the end, riding on its coattails.

I love the idea of celebrating the Seasons, and savoring their individual joys, symbols, and attributes, but I have a tough time with winter because it's COLD out there!

If it's cold with tons of snow everywhere, great. If it's cold with the glittering remnants of an icestorm transforming the landscape into faerie magic, great. But if it is just runny-nose, teeth-grindingly cold all the time, my spirits take a bit of a beating. (Of course, the fact that I don't have central heating doesn't help the matter much, but that's a different story.) Here it comes - my innate positivity pushing to the surface, irritating me by reminding me how wonderful it is to walk in winter woods. You really see the structure of the trees, the branches, and the majesty of the boulders in places like the Sourlands and the Witherspoon Woods. My heart is beating a little faster in anticipation.

But for now, I will revel in autumn's colors festooning the landscape, and perhaps press a leaf or two in my journal for remembrance.

Last year, I took leaves from my red Japanese maple and ironed them between two sheets of wax paper, which cooperated by melting together and trapping the leaves inside. It hangs in one of my windows. I also took some wrapping paper with what looked like a Victorian Aesthetic period pattern on it, and with some more red maple leaves and a few sprinkles of tasteful gold confetti, made a book cover for one of the journals I sell at a local gallery during the holidays.

I am trying to think of a craft I can do for Thanksgiving with one of my dearest friends ever, who is, alas, despite her many perfections of character and intellect, craft-resistant. I will post the results if I am successful.

Happiness

Happiness is ephemeral, of course, but it does seem there are ways to make oneself happier. No, not taking a bubble bath! (There was a time when in every article about dieting in a woman's magazine, the bright idea would be promulgated to "find another way to treat yourself when you are feeling tired or low - indulge in a luxurious bubblebath instead of eating that ice-cream." Yeah, right! Hand me the spoon, please.)

Evidently, the act of smiling gives one a sense of well-being. I have tried this, and by crackey, it works! I felt my whole body relaxing and my spirits inch upward. Now, it can be difficult to smile when one is really, really depressed, but it will help.

I find smiling at people on the street makes me feel good too. I like radiating good will toward people, and often they will respond by smiling back, and I feel that although the world seems like a grim place, there is satisfaction in making someone else's day even a fraction better with a friendly smile. Then, too, it creates a sense of connection with another human, and connecting with people is one of the big things that contributes to happiness in life.

I haven't tried this yet - I just read about it. But smiling at oneself in a mirror is supposed to be good for the spirits and outllook. I guess it is like seeing one's inner self smiling and saying, "Come on, I like you, we'll get through this together."

Doing something nice for someone else definitely contributes to happiness, because it increases one's sense of worth as a human being.

Sing out loud. Studies actually show this increases happiness.

Listen to music you love - "music hath charms to soothe the savage breast," or something to that effect. (Slight digression - more people think this quote goes "savage beast" than "savage breast," which does bring up visions of marauding nipples. But it is indeed "breast.") The quote seems to originally come from William Congreve, in The mourning bride, 1697:

Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,
To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak.
I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd,
And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd,
By Magick Numbers and persuasive Sound.
What then am I? Am I more senseless grown
Than Trees, or Flint? O force of constant Woe!
'Tis not in Harmony to calm my Griefs.

See above right in side column for a portrait of Congreve.

Move to music, otherwise known as dancing.

Hang out only with positive friends, not those who will agree with or encourage your negative outlook on life or a particular problem. A friend can acknowledge your feelings without egging you on or adding their own negativity! Negative energy is a killer.

Go outside and get some sun, and then get some more. Sunlight and a sparkling day are truly mood boosters.

Wear something that makes you feel attractive, NOT your standard "I'm depressed" outfit.

Okay, corny but helpful: write down (this is not a mental exercise, get your pen or pencil out) the good things in your life and read the list regularly, at least once a week.

While you've got your pen or pencil out, write down an important goal, including the steps you must take to achieve it. Place this somewhere you will look at it every day. It will help motivate you and keep you on track.

Think hard: what things make you happy? Think back and try to connect to happy memories. Make a list of things that bring you happiness, and then schedule them into your life. This is so much harder than you would think, but extremely worthwhile.

There are other things, but I'm bushed right now. Besides, that is plenty to get started with!

More color

I remember reading about the gardening predilections of the famed Vita Sackville-West. Her husband complained that she liked green, weird flowers. I have seen a few green flowers in my lifetime - my Helleborus Foetidus has sprays of small green cuplike blooms - and I have never particularly liked them. But I have a bouquet of flowers in my living room that features pale green chrysanthemums and purple liatris, a truly unlikely pairing, and I love looking at it! I know I could stand to be more adventurous about color. I like wearing a pink blouse with a pink skirt. Someone more daring would wear a turquoise blouse with a pink skirt. Maybe flowers are the place to start!

Gray

Everything seems gray to me right now. Not black; that communicates a different feeling altogether. For me, although there are many grays I like a great deal, and I have gray clothing I love, and I definitely do not discriminate on the basis of grayness, gray is the color of despair, disappointment, exhausted hopes, misery, and unexpressed anger.

Interesting the different things colors communicate. Pantone, a printing ink company, employs scientists to research what different colors mean to us and what reactions, emotions, and responses they elicit from us. They say that turquoise is associated with healing, for example. Could be - never really thought about it. Thinking about turquoise does, however, give me a sense of well-being.

You would think black would be despair - and maybe it is, but a different kind. It is the death of hope, the death of expectation, the death of maybe next time . . . It is despair in a locked room in which one is trapped. With gray, it is true one is wrapped in it as by a shroud, but should I miraculously muster the energy and find some scissors or just a nail to snag it on and hold it while I rotate it off, I can escape. It soesn't seem likely, and the mere thought of the energy necessary to act makes me want to take a nap, but with gray, not all the doors are locked. There is still life.

The Bratzlaver rebbe, of sainted memory

Usually the yiddish word Rebbe is translated as Grand Rabbi, and in a sense that is right. Either it means teacher, as when a boy in yeshivah talks about his rebbe, or it means Grand Rabbi, a Rabbi whose wisdom and purity and special connection to God have brought him devoted followers who come to his synagogue to pray, who come to his table to learn from him, and who count on him to tell them how to live. One such Rebbe of about two hundred years ago was the Bratzlaver Rebbe, who lived in Bratzlav. Usually when a Rebbe dies, his son or very close male relative becomes the next Rebbe. This did not happen with the Bratzlaver Rebbe, and yet he has followers even today, called by some Toyter Chassidim, "dead" chassidim, because their Rebbe died so long ago.

Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav was an exceptional person. He wrote mysterious, perplexing fairy tales to illuminate spiritual truths. He also seems to have struggled with depression, and this brings me to the reason I am writing about him. A few summers ago, in a period when I was supremely happy and the world seemed to promise so much, I picked up one of the small translations I have of some of his works, and there a phrase struck me powerfully, although I realize to others it may not seem particularly profound. "Do all manner of things to make yourself joyful."

For a Rebbe whose life was lived according to strict, strict rules and regulations, whose every moment was supposed to be a devotion to God, to be concerned that we make ourselves joyful seemed so humane, so full of love, and also, if you listen to the words carefully, full of acknowledgement and compassion that many of us have trouble feeling joyful.

Lately I have wondered, what could he have done to make himself joyful, back in the early 1800s, in a poverty-stricken village? I know he and his chassidim believed in prayer outdoors, walking in the woods and nature, and that is indeed a profound source of joy. I know they sang - and studies today confirm that singing out loud is a way to make oneself happy. They could have spent time with good friends, discussing worthwhile things, and they would even have joked and laughed. They would definitely have found joy in the company of their children. Chassidim also loved dancing, so they would have danced. (And I find satisfaction in thinking that those Chassidim who were artistically-inclined could have created silver ritual objects, or made elaborate papercuts, or painted decorative scenes.) One thing is certain, they did not go out to the mall to shop recreationally (although they would certainly have gone to a macher sefarim - someone who sold books). They didn't turn on a television set or sit, scrolling through the internet. They didn't text inane coded messages to each other, or "tweet," or any of the other superficial, short-cut types of communication so popular now. And I know that the answer to joy lies more in their solutions than in contemporary ideas of what makes one happy, and I hope I can learn from them.

I may have written before about the flashes of profound happiness and contentment I have gotten from the natural world - lilacs unexpectedly blooming in the shadows; a wisteria dripping with color-saturated bloom. I remember thinking when I saw the wisteria - if one has the essentials -why does one need more than this beauty in addition? But the human soul being what it is, our more specifically, my human soul being what it is, I still like to buy things for the visual pleasure and stimulation they afford me. But I do try to walk in my small, rather mangy garden daily for a reminder of the most important things in life, and I think of the Bratzlaver Rebbe with love and admiration, and a tinge of sadness that this great heart and mind should have suffered from such sadness.

Color

I love colors. While I admire the elegantly monochromatic, a really saturated color is what gives me a visceral thrill. I think of this because Twinerik is such an affirmative, appreciative audience for the colorful outfits I put together. Yellows; vibrant pinks; melon, apricot, peach, and all the other fruity shades; turquoise; lavender blues, lime green, jade green, forest green, acqua - they are all so juicy that they make my mouth water. At my dentist's office, the staff make a point of coming in when I have my teeth cleaned (four times a year - anything I can do to avoid less pleasant dental work!) to see what colors I am wearing that day.

I like vibrant colors in the garden, too, although my favorite two roses are pastel pinks - Eden and Heritage. I am not exaggerating when I say looking at a full-blown Heritage bloom against a blue sky is a religious experience to me. There is something so mysterious, so mystical about such beauty existing in the world - in my backyard! But I digress, as usual. This summer I have magenta petunias and geraniums next to orange and yellow marigolds, and I am really enjoying the battle of the colors I also bought a vibrating deep pink rose which blooms and blooms and is such a luscious deep-stained pink, luminous in the sunlight. I bought a lime-green leaved heuchera which is fantastic - a true chartreuse, as a matter of fact, and a bright coral double flowered impatiens. Going into the garden always givs me something to gasp in pleasure about.

Someday when I am more organized, I am going to rearrange and replant the beds for more color, both in flower and foliage. It makes my mouth water in anticipation just to think of it.

Savor Happiness While It Is Yours

Things change so quickly; the world changes so quickly. One day, we are drunk on happiness; the next, sunk into the deepest despair. If there is any way to make the most of your happiness when you encounter it, do. You never know when the rug will be pulled out from underneath you.

And now, for your habitational pleasure, the poetry shed-castle hybrid!

An e-mail from Twinerik the Thought-Provoking indeed provoked some thought, and some PhotoShop skullduggery, on my part last night.

If I were to have a modest castle in my backyard, what would become of my beloved rose-pink Poetry Shed? As I pondered, weak and weary, eyes both red and very bleary, I came up with the solution seen here: castle tower grafted on the poetry shed. Perhaps not the most harmonious architectural marriage ever proposed, but at least that way I would get a little bit of everything . . .

Never fear, I am still working on the project.

Bleary-eyed at 4 am

Last night, I got inspired to make art at an unfortunate hour - 2am. Finally, after painting and stamping and making decorative background papers, I decided that bed was the prudent course of action, but not, of course, until I had learned how to use my cell phone's camera. I took several photos of my cat Orange Boy, and several of myself. Please remember that at this point, it was nearly 4 am, my hair was what someone with an extremely charitable imagination would call tousled, and I had exuberant paint splodges various places on my face, generally not as appearance-enhancing as traditional makeup. I will include a few of these photos tomorrow (I haven't transferred them to my computer. Instead, for now I post this photo of myself with Orange Boy back on February 3, when I had the flu and was playing with my old cell phone's camera. The greenish yellow tinge, sick though I was, is from the camera's reaction to indoor incandescent light, not my complexion!

At long last, blog!

Having received a complaint from one of my loyal readers that I haven't been keeping up with the times, I have hereby resolved to add something - anything! at least three times a week. We'll see how long that noble notion lasts . . .

In the meantime, I continue to struggle with the sheer numbers of nifty doodads I have collected over half a century or so. My defacto sister-in-law, Jan, came over yesterday and we spent 45 productive minutes working on it, which instilled new hope in me.

Jan had gone to the Museum of Modern Art in Manhattan over the weekend (yes, folks, she, at least, has a working brain and intellect. Mine have fallen into sad disrepair.) There she saw a show put together by a Japanese artist whose mother was a hoarder and barely had room to move in her little house. He finally persuaded her to let him clean out her house by suggesting he use her collections as the basis for an exhibit. This lofty purpose spoke to the importance of her possessions, so she acquiesced. The Museum of Art set aside a large gallery room in which he simply arranged every single item that had been in her house, along with either a replica of, or the original of, her tiny home. Jan e-mailed me this photo she took.



My stuff would make a great exhibit! I would just prefer to have it in my house, where I can enjoy it. And I would like to be so organized that I would know where to look for any particular type of item, so I could have revolving shows around different themes. Well, onward and upward.

I also include a manipulated photo of my backyard in winter, where I have substituted a castle tower for the rose-colored shed which stands in the back. I have often dreamed of having just a small castle in my backyard, nothing too showy or ostentatious . . .

From gruddled to grinning

I had one of those afternoons where nothing felt right and for no apparent reason I felt as though everything in the world was wrong (without being able to come up with any examples, of course!).
Then Twinerik came out and took me to dinner and the clouds lifted! At several points I had the opportunity of feeling his very masculine, inscreasingly bulgy muscles, which gave me the idea to make the silly collages on the side.

The power of a kind word - or outrageous flattery!

Okay, okay. I admit it. I'm a sucker for a compliment. I like giving compliments, and I like receiving them. Which is a not-so-subtle lead-in to the compliment of the week - (Twinerik wins for the month, and there are still three days left to the week, so he could come up from behind . . . ) - to wit:

I had to head over to Verizon for the third time about my new phone, and after the issue was resolved, I decided to pick up some things at the Shoprite in the same mall. As I was leaving, the manager was coming in from the outside. He was a middle-aged black man, wearing what for all the world looked like a tux, with a tux tie, and smiling. I smiled back at him, appreciating his get-up and feeling happy that the world has people in it who enjoy dressing up. He smiled wider, held the door open for me, and said, "What a beautiful smile you have! If you're single, I'll marry you today!" Well, I am single, and it's true he was dressed for the occasion; nonetheless, I replied "My loss!" at which he started laughing. I must have had a Cheshire Cat grin on my face for at least half-an-hour, thinking of what he said.

As I have noted many times before, possibly ad nauseum, I am constantly amazed at the power of a few kind words. What does one have to lose? The worst case scenario is that you say something nice to a stranger who either ignores you or makes a face indicating that you are obviously a dangerou maniac one step away from involuntary commitment to an insane asylum. I can live with that, because the best case scenario is that you change someone's day, week, month, or even life, all for free and with no effort. Okay, end of Pollyanna platform rant. Until next time, that is.

Ballroom Bliss

My guy and I started taking ballroom lessons together last week. Tonight was our second lesson, and I am totally blissed. I have danced before, but it has been something like seven or eight years since I have had a lesson, and I have missed it horribly. Twinerik is such a good sport: these so-called beginner lessons are anything but. The teacher is excellent, but actually believes in teaching technique to beginners who have enough trouble just staying upright! But I am so happy when Twinerik and I are dancing together and things go well for several steps in a row. I love the non verbal communication of lead-follow dance; that mysic tuning in on the other persons smallest signals and movements. I'm not that good at it, mind you, but I love it nonetheless.

We have done some Tango, and now some ChaCha. Who knows what the future will bring?

Last Year at Marienbad - more like an eternity!

Just finished watching the 60s black and white classic, Last Year at Marienbad. It seemed to last an eternity. I think I'll get a copy to put on when I have trouble sleeping. I realize I am identifying myself as a troglodyte of mammoth proportions, but c'est la vie, as they would say in the movie - ou peutetre pas - je ne sais plus.

However, I want almost every dress in the movie.

In the interests of truth in advertising, I must reveal that I write this entry in haste so my pal Lydia can log on and post a comment. How craven can one get?

Later - or not. (The movie has definitely affected me. Probably. I'm not sure. I don't remember any more . . . )

Wonderful weekend - lots of time spent with my dear Twinerik - some walking, lots of talking, laughing, hugging, attacking each other with wadded-up paper towel balls, and collapsing on the floor in hysterics. I may not have gotten enough work done, but all I can do is repeat - wonderful weekend!

Spring has sprung, and already the initial flush of blooms is fading, making way for the roses, peonies, and iris waiting in the wings.

I know it is a cliche, but I really do love this time of year. I never fail to be awe-struck by the beauty that surrounds us. Not the distant, melodramatic beauty of the Grand Canyon or Yosemite or Niagara Falls, but the unearthly beauty of a spray of roses or a lush peony right in one's own backyard. It is almost inconceivable.

My first rose bloom popped open the weekend of May 9; my old traditional red Blaze climber. Just in time to cheer me up and get me over the loss of my weeping wisterias and fragrant lilacs, which are drooping and losing color as well as petals.

This is the time of year when I hatch extravagant fantasies about what I would like to do in my bakckyard, which is, by the way, quite compact (read "tiny"). Build a very small house nestled in the roots of my fragrant honeysuckle, and people it with vintage ceramic gnome figures. Build a small castle turret out of stone with spaces to look out from the inside and enough room for a chair and a ladder to the top. Build a pergola for climbing roses and wisteria. Build a treehouse (note to self: small problem - no trees in backyard). Actually, what I need to do is tidy up, weed, prune, and water, but those are so humdrum and tedious . . .

Snow everywhere!

We have had several snows already this winter, the first on December 6th, I think, but most of them were puny things, scarcely covering the ground. But a few days ago, we had a beautiful snow storm which left about 4 inches (not bad for our area of the country, although I can imagine the sniffs of disdain from some of you who live where 4 feet isn't unheard of!) and layered everything in sparkling white. It was so beautiful, I was stunned and just stood looking out my window, transfixed. I have been sick, and couldn't go out in it for more than a few minutes, but I did sneak out to take some pictures and drink in the scene. I always try to look at everything so hard, as though I could burn the memory into my brain indelibly, but alas! the immediacy of the image is lost with time, and so too, its real beauty.

I'm glad I took the photos, because the next day the coating on the branches had already diminished considerably. I hope we have more snow this winter - especially on Friday night, melting Sunday night!

Happy Birthday to my dear brother

Today was my brother's birthday, and we gathered at his favorite Indian restaurant to celebrate. We had a lovely time, and I thought again how important my tiny family is to me, and how despite the occasional snit or disagreement, they become dearer to me every year. I hope there are many, many more family birthdays to celebrate. Post-dinner, my brother set off to go country western dancing. I hope he will have the energy to do the same decades from now, when G-d willing, he hits 100!

Well, the long cold stretch of Winter is under way, unleavened by any holiday festivities, unless you count Valentine's Day, about which I am quite ambivalent, depending on whether or not there is a valentine guy in my life at that point.

We definitely need more winter holidays to help us through the dark and cold.  I personally think Groundhog Day could be built up a bit more. After all, it celebrates Winter and the possibility of Spring as well as furry cute animals, quite a fetching combo.  There could be marzipan groundhogs for special holiday treats, and little pastries shaped like groundhogs rolled in pinenuts to recall the groundhogs' coat.  There could be special groundhog carols -

Oh, groundhog dear,
Oh groundhog dear,
Winter prognosticator!


Oh, groundhog dear,
Oh groundhog dear,
Make Spring come soon, not later!



We wait to see
What you behold
No shadow please,
We're tired of cold.



and etc., sung to the tune for "Oh Tannenbaum."

And definitely, for anyone with a backyard, the ritual offering of some chopped lettuce and dried pet food left out on a plate for any groundhogs in the vicinity who need a snack after their grueling day.

Admittedly, this is all silly, but I think a little silliness is just what I need to get through the long dark nights of winter. I will be making up other winter holidays as the season progresses - how about a "first significant snowfall of the year holiday", with ritual snowball fight, snow person building, and then warming up indoors in front of a blazing fireplace, with roasted chestnuts and hot chocolate? I can hardly wait!