I Love Making Lists and Finding Them Years Later

Today I rearranged my little office/studio space in Spanaway.  I have to say that I am very lucky to have space to work.   

Even though it's a small space, every couple of years I like to give it a facelift by putting the furniture in a different place.   In the process this morning, I found a list from May 1, 2017 where I listed 18 things that make me happy.   

It made me laugh!  

Two of them I have already written about--my convertible, and a good cup of coffee--and the list served as a reminder of things I can continue to write about.  But ...  what struck me was how it made me feel.  I see how my love of things like "a cat in a window" or "winning a contest" are still true, and that I am still that person.  I like the person that made that list!!

Lists like these hold many truths and they seem to be seeds of my dreams and goals.  Many of them belong in a family of thought.  For example, "a clean floor" and "a beautifully-made bed" and "a beautiful cut flower arrangement"   make for "a good yoga practice" in my home practice while yoga studios are still closed or limited.   "A delicious cup of coffee" with "writing a good poem" or "finishing a song" that helps me in "winning a contest" also go together.   It's really quite fun to group them into meaningful experience.

With all this time alone or limited contact, I really do think that life is a series of moments, and it's what we do with them that counts.  These simple things "make me happy" and I am glad I have a record of them to encourage me to keep going.

I Love Jigsaw Puzzles

I put together a lot of jigsaw puzzles.  Even before C-19, I had a habit of putting them together ever since I fell in love with a 1000-piece puzzle of zebras.  It was so challenging, and it took me almost a month to put together.  That was 2012 ... and I loved it.    Now, I usually do a puzzle each month that celebrates the seasons or the month.  Depending on the difficulty of the puzzle, it will take anywhere between three days to a couple of weeks.  

Puzzles are funny things in that I find that I don't want to stop once I get started--especially if I love the picture.   When I like a puzzle, I will stay up until the wee hours of the morning (great for audiobook listening!)    

Over the years, I have noticed how puzzles help me figure things out.  I have also noticed that I have become a snob about the kinds of puzzles I put together.  I have to like the picture that I am working to see.  They have to have an artistic quality about them too, that will hold my interest, and that I believe I will enjoy seeing complete.   

Sometimes I think that these C-19 times are like a box of puzzle pieces.   Every day we seem to be trying to figure it all out. Only with time do I believe we will see the full picture.  

I Love My Old Work Shirt

To anyone else, this shirt may look like a rag, but every stain, rip, and drop of paint on it tells a story.  It’s why I love this old denim work shirt, and why I pay tribute to it today.   

 

In the spring of 1998, one of the wholesale houses had a huge stack of 100% cotton denim shirts on sale, and I bought an XL one because I was pregnant with my daughter.   As my belly expanded and I became increasingly awkward, I found leggings to be comfortable, so the shirt became something I wore every day as a light overcoat because it was big enough to go over my t-shirts and around my middle, and long enough to cover my backside.  It was practical, easy to wash, and held my cell phone in the left pocket.   

 

After the birth, the shirt took on different responsibilities as it helped me keep my clothes clean from baby spills and burping, and the pocket became a place where I could store a small bottle of food.  It also became very useful in the garden, protecting me from the sun while keeping me cool.   During those years, I suppose I got so used to wearing it every day, that that’s why it became one of my go-to items of clothing.   When I look back over pictures, I can see I wore it often.   

 

As the shirt got older, it graduated to another job of protecting my clothes as I painted the house and tackled small home improvement projects.  It got a lot of different colors of paint on it over the years because I love to paint a room.  I love the way paint changes the feeling of a room, and I am always curious what a room will feel like when painted an odd color.  Most of my paint came off the ‘Oops’ clearance paints, and I learned a lot about color and light because of that.  Of course, my trusty work shirt was right there to support my painting habit.

 

When I see all the paint drops on the shirt today, it reminds me of all those happy times of painting. and I see how the shirt is a record of all the love and hard work I poured into making my home a place I love to be. 

 

Last year I found a couple of denim shirts to replace it, and this year, my lovely friend, Melissa sent me one she embroidered.   I love them just as much.   Eventually I will have to retire my old work shirt to my paint rags, but until then, it will remain in my closet, a faithful friend, and ready to help.  

 

I Love a Good Cup of Coffee

Coffee has been part of my life since the 1970s.  My coffee habit started with Sunday morning coffee hours after church services.  I would make a ridiculously sweet concoction with a scoop of Taster's Choice, 3 scoops of sugar and two scoops of coffee mate--then add the hot water.  Adults (not my parents) would scold me, "Coffee will stunt your growth!", but I didn't care because the taste of the coffee out-weighed my fear of being 'stunted', and my parents didn't seem to mind.  I loved watching the coffee crystals melt with dry ingredients as I stirred them with wooden stick, and I loved sipping that sweetness as I watched the adults enjoy each other's company with cups in hand.  It was happiness.

There is something wonderful about sharing a cup of coffee with someone.  Making coffee takes time and the experience of preparing it touches all the senses--the smell of the roasted beans, the whirr of the grinder and then pouring the coffee into the cup, the heat of the cup in hands, the sight of the beautiful, rich liquid in its various shades of brown, of course, the taste--and finally, knowing that the other person is experiencing a cup of coffee in a similar way.  

There are so many ways to make coffee, and there are so many kinds of coffee beans to choose from.  Everyone I know who drinks coffee has a preference (Starbuck's has capitalized on that!)  Of course, I want my coffee to taste good, but for me, the real point of making coffee is the  ritual of preparing it and drinking it with someone. 

Over the years, I have tried various ways of making coffee-- with percolators, Mr. Coffee machines, drip coffee, pour overs, cappuccino machines, but my favorite coffee maker is my husband, Doug.  He makes great French Roast coffee in a stainless steel French press.  Also, just as delicious are the cups of pumpkin lattes my daughter makes ... I also love it when someone surprises me with an oatmeal milk latte from a coffee shop!!  

When I think about it, a "good cup of coffee" is the moment I spend drinking a cup with a person I care about and love.  It seems to suspend time, and those moments are made special because with cup in hand, they encapsulate the conversations, laughter and sorrow, the sharing of stories, and dreams--all the stuff that life is made of.

I love Audiobooks

Hearing a good story seems to do my heart and mind a lot of good. With the isolation, I have found the voices of the readers to be good company, and through them, I have gotten to know writing styles, met amazing characters, and taken myself to new worlds with every story.    Even before C-19, I made a habit of listening to good stories--downloading them from my public library.  As a resident of New York, I am fortunate to have access to the Monroe County Library System as well as the New York Public Library.  Between the two, I can usually find a good book to listen to at any time.  With the online system, the library is always open.

As my daily artistic life moves from creating musical scores (both classical and theatrical) into the realm of the visual arts (drawing and illustrating), I often put on an audiobook while I am working.  It seems to go well with the activity.  Because of the audiobooks, it is interesting to observe the differences between the two creative disciplines.

When creating music, I actively listen to something from another realm.  I create that sound, and then make choices about the way it should be notated for its future re-creation.  The movements of my body and mind are working together with my hearing (both internal and external) and sight.  This process takes my full attention and I try to avoid any distraction that would take away that focus. 

With the visual arts, my mind is engaged in a completely different way.  My mind directs the hand as my eyes take in the information of what the hand creates.  Once a mark is made, my mind judges it and directs the process.  Like music, there is no outside auditory stimulation in its process, but still I am listening and hearing my inner thoughts.    

Visual arts require patience.  Often, I must make repeated brush strokes and layer color,.  The repetition takes time and my mind must wait for the strokes to happen; it is ahead of what my body can do.  While I am making marks, this leaves time for other thoughts to enter as I am working.   When this happens, one thought may wander into circles of thought, and if those circles of thought are positive ones, all is well.  If destructive, then I do myself harm. 

Audiobooks seem to solve the problem, and listening to stories seems to help me focus even more on the physical work at hand.   I find it's double the enjoyment--making beautiful art and listening to stories.  Over the months of listening, I also notice that my listening skills have improved.  I seem to pay more attention to what others are saying in real life, and it is easier to remember names and details.  

What amazes me even more is of the marvelous and varied talents of the great readers.  

Some of my favorite stories of late have been from Young Adult series.  I love the Phillip Pullman, Sally Lockhart mysteries.  Oh my goodness!!  The reader, Anton Lesser, is absolutely amazing!  I have never felt such fear as he takes on the voices of the evil characters, and I always wonder if Sally will survive.   It's great!  

Alan Bradley's Flavia de Luce series, read by Jayne Entwistle, is also excellent.   She recounts the inner thoughts and tales of a young English girl enamored with chemistry and solving mysteries.  The character is delightful and Entwistle is brilliant.

I also just finished and loved the Enola Holmes series by Nancy Springer.  Netflix made a recent movie of this character, but the story Netflix tells doesn't even come close to the wonderful stories of the books.  The books are intriguing and so smart, and anyone who liked the movie will probably enjoy the books even more.

All in all, audiobooks are wonderful.  My life is better because of them.  It makes me so glad I have my library card and this time to listen.   

I Love the Rochester Public Market

 

Saturday mornings are busy at the Rochester Public Market.  It is open year-round, and during the summer, stalls are filled with beautiful produce brought in by farmers fromall around the Upstate New York area.   During the winter, farmers also bring in their stored root crops, and other fresh vegetables that grow in their greenhouses.   Food wholesalers are also there.  The market is an amazing place, and I love it.

 

Last March, I started going to the market regularly on Saturday mornings.  I was inspired by Alice Waters, a chef who is passionate about food, and advocates for "buy local".  She claims that seasonal and local produce tastes best.  Because of the Rochester Public Market, I tried her idea, and I believe Alice Waters is right.

When I consistently began buying food that was grown within 50 miles of my home (and produce in season), At first, I noticed it all tasted so delicious, and I ate a tremendous amount.  Food was so satisfying and I stopped feeling guilty about eating.  After awhile, I noticed that I started eating less, and that the seasonal aspect started to meet my nutritional needs.   Food is beautiful.

Later, my goal each week became to find something I had never eaten, and I began to experiment with whatever was available--jerusalem artichoke, fiddlehead fern, celery root, scapes, trumpet mushrooms, etc. My meals transformed, and after a year, I find that I have become a food snob ... for several reasons.  Here are a few:

• The produce is fresher--often within a few hours from having been in the earth.
• The food is less expensive, 
• and better quality than the grocery store.
• There is less plastic packaging.
• It supports local farmers and local businesses.
• It contributes to the community of Rochester.

Every week, I photograph the bounty and the beauty of the food.  Every time I do, I feel the privilege of having such a wonderful place to go--even during a pandemic!!  It's why I love the Rochester Public Market.

 

I Love Birds

 

 

In second grade, I drew a cardinal.  It was my first bird drawing, and I was so proud of it because I hadn’t traced it.  When looking through old pictures and past drawings, I notice many of my images are birds.  So, I think it is safe to say, I love birds.

 

In 2019, I started drawing them in earnest, simply because I wanted to get better at drawing.  Birds are a great subject, and I found a really wonderful bird artist on-line, John Muir Laws, who has a fantastic blog with all kinds of helpful information to improve bird drawing.  His tips are practical and easy to follow, and I noticed that my drawings get better every day that I practice.

 

During the first few months of the C-19 shutdowns, I was alone in my house in Rochester, and it was the birds who kept me company, so I drew them.  All kinds of birds came to my yard—a wood thrush, a dark-eyed junco, a hermit thrush, a rose-breasted grosbeak, even a woodcock and a wild turkey! 

 

All About Birds and the National Audubon Society were great resources that helped me identify the birds, and with the information in hand, I felt a deep connection to the bird I was drawing.  As the winter changed to the early spring, I observed that no matter what the weather, a bird is always energetic, alert and in the moment.   Every posture expresses something, and a bird changes and adapts to every condition and in every moment.

 

Sages tell us that our past is only a trail we leave behind, and that life is generated through the energy of our present moments.  If this is true, then birds are a good example of how to live.  

 

A bird doesn’t seem care if I see it; it flies away if I get too close.  A bird doesn’t have to have an audience, or have a need be admired when it sings, dances in the leaves, or flies. Instead, birds live their lives.  They simply do what they do: fly, look for food, feed, build their nests, have their babies, and teach their babies how to fly and sing.  It is through the process of living in present moments that they bring beauty to the world and with it, a simple by-product called joy.  

 

I wish the artist in me could be more like that … showing up and living in every moment of creation without expectation … and just like my drawings, maybe that takes practice too.  Until then, I will keep admiring these little creatures, keep being reminded, and keep saying: I love birds!

  

 

 

A Garden Shrine

I love nature, and I love gardens … especially when gardens seem to blend in and work with nature.  When I walk around the yard in Spanaway, I love to pick up sticks and rocks and feathers, and I have vases of found feathers around the house, and a sizeable collection of birds’ nests.   To me, these are Nature’s treasures--Mother Nature’s handiwork--and I struggle to find places for them in my house.  That’s why I made my garden shrine.  

 

The shrine took me a long time to create—a little over ten years.  Its form started from the bottom of an old fiberglass shower stall.  When we re-did the bathroom 2010, I created a walk-in tiled shower with a concrete floor, and struggled with taking the fiberglass to the landfill.   However, when I saw the bottom of the shower on its side in the yard, waiting for the trip to the dumpster, I decided to keep it.   

 

For almost ten years, it sat under the cedar trees along the side of the yard.  I waited, partly to see where it wanted to live, and partly to decide how to make it work.  Later, I found a spot on a bank under the hazelnut bushes near the stone labyrinth.   It lived there for a few more years and started to deteriorate; moss began to grow on it.   

 

What finally made me finish the project was something my husband’s grandson said, “Oh!  She’ll never do that!”.   I laughed SO HARD!!!  I HAD BEEN CHALLENGED by a 10-year-old!!!  ... and set about to tile it—good or bad—ugly or beautiful!!  

 

I think what had stopped me from working on it was not knowing how the mosaic or design would look.  Even when I drew out my ideas, I felt that the shrine would never be able to blend with nature in the way I felt about it.  But, when I just gathered all the materials and started working with the monochromatic tiles of white and off-white, magical things began to happen.   I realized that all the shrine needed to be was this neutral space to make the treasures become the focal point.

 

The tile work also strengthened the integrity of the form and allowed for the outside coating of old towels in concrete, which created a rough surface on which the moss is growing.   To me, it is a magical place, and I love the things I find even more because they have the space.   The squirrels seem to love it too … they steal the feathers!