Coal Black was Pink not Blue

Back on June 12th, I announced the birth of my Coal Black Jack, who I named Cole. He's been a very demure little fellow compared to Wild Man Pete - quite shy & reserved and very petite. Where Pete runs around like a mad man, jumps on things like a goat and generally makes his presence known, wee Cole quietly minds his own business.

He was so timid that he refused to cross the brook that runs through the pasture. Everyone else stayed on that side all day - actually for days at a time, but he never would across.

Often, when I'd see him by himself, I'd feel badly that he was lonely & missing his Mom & his donkey friends, so I'd slip over to visit him. Any time I did that, the whole herd would look up & say to each other 'Hey - that woman might have treats, we'd better get over there.' And they'd all rush over & push wee Cole out of the way. But the mission would have been accomplished anyway - he'd have company.

A couple weeks ago when I tried to have a sneak visit with him, no one noticed and it was just the two of us. That's when I noticed that when he relieved himself, the water was coming from a different spot than it should have been. On closer inspection, yes indeedy, Cole was not a Jack at all. Cole was Colette. And it was perfectly fitting that he is demure & dainty - he's a lady.

Some folks connected in regard to a posting I had about having a little Jack for sale. It turned out that they really did prefer a little long-earred girl & I just happened to have one. A couple weeks earlier, that would not have been the case. We knew that it was the right match when it turned out that she had been born on their Anniversary, transferring the tradition of 'Special Days' to her new family. Today, our sweet little Jack-that-turned-into-a-Jenny left for her new home where I know she will be treasured & loved and will live happily ever after, befitting of the little Princess she is.

Lost October

There simply have not been enough. Enough 'Golden Days' this year to fill my deep and thirsty need. October is a Favourite Month. The earthy fragrances. The rustling sound from the ground or goose good-byes from the skies. The first crackling fires of the season. Crunchy Apples. Cozy Sweaters. Wonderful things, all of them, but none compare to an azure sky and the vibrancy of delightfully colourful fall foilage lit by an autumnal sun. It causes me to pause, to halt, to breathe it in, to absorb it and horde it to combat the dull, dreary, draggy days of November. Autumn is Art. Artumn.

We have had too much rain. Too little blue. Too few trees that make me stop in wonder & awe. Too many leaves have left without celebration and too many trees are bare already. So I was especially glad for Sunday - happy to be with dear friends, walking through a woods that did have the leaves & the colour & the glory that I have been so desperately missing. Without feeding my soul, without a single Golden Day, how would I possibly get through what is to come.

More than twenty years ago I clipped this poem. It is the only poem other than 'Flanders Fields' that I know by heart. It has caused me - or perhaps allowed me, to put off work but never play on such a day. Even at the best of times, there are simply too few.

LOST OCTOBER

There never comes a day like this,

All gold and shining like a bubble in the sun,

That I recall the time I told you I'd no time to play,

Work must be done.

Work must be done, and there that gold day wasted,

And there, the mellowness of earth and sky and leaf and air,

Went hour by hour untasted.

For scruples sown too well in such as I.

And there October's brightness faded, turning

Her dear enchantment into dull November.

Setting in my brain one question burning.

What, now what do I remember,

Of work I bent above that day until,

It was too late to climb the golden hill.

Is this not about Life in general? I most definitely subscribe to this philosophy. Anyone who knows me, knows that I never, ever turn down a chance for Play - for chat, for tea, for nurturing friendships & relationships. Indeed, the memories that keep the Golden Days glowing in my heart, come not from the 'work I bent above', but from the wonderful folks that fill my world.

Angel #1 is Eight

Eight years ago Brian and I stood right outside the labour room door while our first grandchild was delivered. I will never forget that feeling when I heard his first cry and I was moved to tears myself. I could not believe that my baby was giving birth to her own baby.

What a ray of sunshine that dear child has brought to our lives. He was a sweet baby, a darling toddler & an adorable little kid, so it goes right along with it that he's a incredibly awesome growing-up-boy. So loving and lovable. All-boy with his passion for every sport going, and cars and guy-things, but nurturing & sweet & wonderful with his sister and little children and especially babies. A real sweetheart.

He's often ran into the house, calling out 'NAN ... your Angels are here!!' When I said one day 'here's my kids', he corrected me with 'We are NOT your kids - we're your ANGELS.' He has proclaimed that they are the Little Angels and I'm the BIG Angel. A little too much emphasis on the BIG.

I phoned tonight and told him I needed to have one last conversation with my 'Favourite 7 year old in the whole wide world'. He was quick to offer his friend, Mattie for that position now that he is moving up to be my favourite 8 year old in the world. He told me 'I'm having my birthday at Chuckie Cheese and you'll be there.' I told him that I wouldn't, that it was going to be for his friends. He said 'Oh, but I want you there. I really like it when you're at my birthday.' I replied, 'That's so nice.', - such a thoughtful child. He said 'Do you know why I like it when you're at my birthday?' 'Tell me', I said, thinking that he was going to say 'Because I love you SO much'. He answered so sincerely: 'Because you always bring me a really nice gift.' Sweet AND honest.

In the Spirit

What a perfectly awesome show we had - even the weather co-operated, which was much appreciated after the Novemberish days that we've been having. The Little Church was filled with inspiring creations from 17 artists - paintings, pottery, designer purses, decorative gourds, carved Santas, creative chairs, floral designs, stained glass and garden art.

It's a very welcoming atmosphere & we were encouraged by the positive and enthusiastic feedback that we had. Quite a number of people came back both days. One dear soul said 'I just HAD to come back - it was so magical that I didn't want to leave.' She brought two car loads of people with her, to share the experience.

It was like one big giantic 'visit' - much different than so many of the shows that I've done where people parade past your booth & if you do get to chat, it's for just a brief moment. It was like each person who came was a guest in our home - we all felt that. It was such a delight to have so many friends come by - besides being fun, their support meant more than I'm sure they know.

We call the show 'In the Spirit' ... inspiration' comes from the word spirit. We find that being in the place, in that space, surrounded by so much creativity and commraderie that we are most definitely 'In the Spirit' ... a joyful spirit.

THANKS giving

What a blessed Thanksgiving weekend we had. There is nothing more wonderful & more important to me than to have all of my precious family together under one roof. Every single one was here for dinner - happy, noisy, boiterous chaos.

For a table centre, I stuck a candle in a wee pumpkin and had everyone add what they were thankful for. It was quite an extensive list. There was all of our family on it & the dogs of course, a donkey & cat & a couple of Scotty's friends, and sports & rain & trees & colour & sunshine & maple syrup & hair & life & the number 3. It generated a fair bit of discussion. It was little 5 year old Lauren who remarked that who really needed to be on it was God. We not only needed to be thankful TO Him, but FOR Him.

Out of the mouths of babes.

Halfy Birthday

Three of my four children were born within nine days of each in the Christmas season - on the calendar that is, of course. Some people would comment: "Isn't that terrible to have their birthdays then.' I would respond 'Not at all!' For me it was a huge gift, significant in the fact that my Mother had lost three children - the same combination, two girls and a boy - within a 9 day period at Christmas. It was never lost on me that I was given exactly what was taken from her.

There were lots of positive things about having Christmas babies. It made my favourite holiday season even more magical & memorable. There wasn't a chance for Christmas 'letdown', as the celebrations just kept coming. What some people might have thought as a negative, was just Reality in our house. 99% of the time, birthday gifts were wrapped in Christmas paper. We were (correction - I was) so over done with sweets & desserts, that the thoughts of a fancy birthday cake just seemed over the top & actually I had no money by that point. So when they were really little, my children thought that 'Sara Lee' cakes were really birthday cake. They were at a friend's house one time & when she brought out a Sara Lee cake, they said 'Whose birthday is it?!' Yeah, there might have been some times that I was a little over-spent those years - physically & financially, but I tried to make their day, THEIR day. I worried more that our one child who didn't have her birthday then was feeling left out.

It was a long time between celebrations for them though, so I instituted 'Halfy Birthdays'. On the day that they would turn the 'half' mark, we'd have a half of cake (again, likely Sara Lee) & we'd sing 'HALFY BIRTHDAY TO YOU'. No presents, just recognition & attention. Which was hard enough to come by being one of four, so it was greatly anticipated and enjoyed.

It's neat to see my daughter keeping that tradition going. Yesterday was my darling grand daughter's 'Halfy Birthday' - 5 and a half. And don't you be forgetting the half at this stage - it is of great importance. She was so excited, you would have thought it was Christmas. When I called her to sing 'Halfy Birthday to You', she giggled delightedly, then said 'Are you coming over to bring me presents.' I love the directness of children, it would be so refreshing if people kept that authenticity. I said 'We actually don't give presents for Halfy Birthdays - just Love.' She said 'It's good to get Love, isn't it.'

Ah yes, it is. And any day, any way, that we can celebrate someone we love is special day indeed.

Aprons

My Mother wore an apron. Always. She did take it off to go to church & go to town, but other than that, it was attached to her like a security blanket. It seemed that she couldn't function without it - it was like Superman & his cape, but lower. It was a wonder that she didn't slip into a phone booth to put it on. Maybe she did - I wouldn't know. I never saw her put it on, it just was automatically always There.

I was an obnoxious early-teener when I became aware of her curious attachment to her apron. I tormented her unmercifully about it. I'd start out with 'Why do ALWAYS have to wear that grubby old apron.' She'd dismiss me with: 'Because I do.' Now if she would have just come up with some story why it was necessary in her world, I most likely would have let it drop and moved on to something else. But oh no, she'd get very defensive & would clutch it it when I'd bug her to 'Take it off. Try it... take it off.', so I kept it up. Whenever I walked past her, if her back was turned, I'd undo the apron strings & if I was quick enough, I could be off with it as she chased me through the house, yelling 'Give me back my apron, you silly ass.'

There are some things that I made a conscience decision to steer clear of because my Mother did it ... like saving things 'for good'. And things that were perhaps unconsciousness - like never having worn an apron - probably ever. In the image of my Mother in my mind, she is always wearing her apron. That's not a picture that my kids would have of me.

It's not all that bright though - I have ruined countless shirts & sweaters & pants and even pajamas by spilling & splattering & wiping everything ... food, paint, ink, stain. I do have to admit, aprons actually are a very good invention.

On Monday, I came across one here - whose it is, I have no idea. It's one of those chefy things with the bib. I slipped it on. That's when all the memories of my Mother & her apron came rushing back.

Well, I've worn that apron every day. Four days into it, it's no longer pristine white - it has some wonderfully colourful permanent ink spots, which may not delight its rightful owner should they ever come to claim it. But but more than saving my clothes, I have found it to have a much greater function. Indeed, when I have donned that apron each morning, I have felt that I mean Business. I have stayed focused & productive. I don't go flitting off in every direction - like over to my cabin to have a wee 'sit', or out to the hammock to have a wee snooze. I'm Working. And the best part was, when someone dropped by unexpectedly, there I was in my apron, obviously looking like like I was working and that's why the house was upside down - not because I was slovenly and out having a sit or a snooze. I was feeling like I had a Real Job and that was my uniform.

Yep ... my mother might have had something going there. And I do believe, after all these years that I just may start to wear an apron every day. Well, every day that I want to look like I'm working. And I'll send her a little chuckle as I know she's up there feeling pretty smug about it all.

(These are some of the inked tiles that I've been working on ... so you can just imagine how pretty the apron is now:)

Stop Thinking. Start Doing.

Oh my ... it seems I lost a week:( I've been diddling & doodling around here for the past few days, not particularly in a rush about anything - just enjoying not having so many things on my agenda as I did last week. I was thinking that it was mid-September and I have a full month to get creating something for our 'In the Spirit' show. Well ... apparently a bunch of days slipped away when I wasn't looking. Which was all last week when I was moving too fast in a different direction.

I'm still in 'What should I make' mode. I need to spend less time in my head and more in my Studio.

TODAY. Today I'm going to stop planning, organizing, thinking ... and start DOING.

I am. I am.

Fast Forward

I have been home from Newfoundland for 7 days. In that time I have attended a wedding, a brunch, had all my family here for a birthday dinner, took & edited 500 photos, attended an organizing meeting for our upcoming 'In the Spirit' show, worked at updating the website, designed & printed invitations & started a Facebook group for the show, reconnected with lots of friends on-line, went to Kitchener, London, Toronto & Brockville (almost 6 hours away) and worked three full (2 nine hours & a fifteen hour) days at a Real Job (as in 'out of this house).

I have NOT unpacked.

So what is the relevance of the photos on this post? Just last week, which now seems like months ago, I kayaked out to the wee rockish island in front of our house. It was a remarkably beautiful evening - the water was calm, the sky was indigo and the sunset cast a magical glow over the harbour. As I offered my thanks to our Great Creator for such a gift - for just being in that serene & peaceful place, there appeared the most striking rainbow, directly above my friends' home. A Gift indeed. Especially since I happened to have my camera. (yes... in the kayak:)

Now that I'm back in Ontario mode, I desperately need to keep this East Coast feeling. Here, I am surrounded by the equisite beauty of autumn - the splendor of the colours & crispness of the air. It's just as much of a gift. I simply need to slow down enough to be awake & aware & grateful.

Gander, Newfoundland

It was Friday that we headed home from Newfoundland. Friday, September 11th. Of course, my thoughts, regardless of where I was, would have been on that tragic day eight years ago. But being in the Gander Airport, it was especially sobering. I envisioned that building bulging with people, and as I flew away, I thought of all the planes that would have been circling & landing in confusion and fear. Such chaos & panic that so many people would have been experiencing in that very spot on that day. Quite different from the rest of us who were watching it transpire. We were watching - they were doing. I wondered how the staff could even begin to handle it - quiet & ordinary one minute, frantic the next - so much emotion contained in that small space. On Friday, with not a single plane in sight, it was difficult to picture what it would have been like that day, when the population of the town doubled in a matter of hours.

There was no hoopla on Friday when I was there. I've actually been surprised over the years that there isn't some kind of public memorial in a predominant spot in the airport, recognizing the part that Gander & the area played on that historic day. Their efficient response & hospitality became legendary - the rest of Canada was certainly proud. I asked someone once why there was all kinds of other history on display there, but not that day. They answered 'Well, I suppose it's because we don't think we actually did anything other than what needed to be done - we don't have to brag about that.'

Very 'Newfoundlandish' in their humility & actually quite refreshing that they don't feel the need to re-live it or put attention on themselves. But for me, it was certainly significant to be in that place, on that date - remembering what was lost and being grateful for what we have.