A poem for you inspired by my last visit to Maui:
listening to the crash of the waves and the crackle of the wind in the palms
i feel an
overwhelming sense of gratitude and wonder
so many cares lost in the rhythm of life
the waves break again and again and wash the past from the present
the young woman looks to the sea impressed by the force of nature
the mature woman finds peace in the continuity
one can not only see eternal motion
one can feel it
the water advances then repeats
an ever-changing whole of blue possibility
Where do find your inner poet?
After reading Creativity Calls, several of you have asked me to post an image of my sweet masterpieces. I always keep them until the end of January, so I’m able to oblige!
Thanks for asking,
This cute little garage is attached to a cute little house in a cute little neighborhood in a cute little town. Sorry… couldn’t resist being so cute! But, seriously, I think “Paws Awhile” is good advice. No matter how much one enjoys an activity (or a person, for that matter), a little break can be a good thing.
I didn’t blog/write much during the holidays, but I did express my creativity in other ways. Our home was decorated top to bottom, the presents were wrapped in grand style, the gingerbread houses were sweet pieces of art, the table was set with my beloved collection of china and our doors were open to family and friends.
Today, I’ve returned to the page after having a restless night immersed in ridiculous, but unsettling nightmares. In one vivid scene, I can see myself frantically searching for my site. From the pink shed has disappeared. It is gone, because I have neglected it!
I’d say that is a very good sign that I should return to the shed to enjoy the creative adventure that is my blog.
I’ll talk to you again soon!
Six months ago I launched my blog. I felt confident that I’d never run out of things to say, but I was less sure about entering the world of the internet. If I’m going to write, it must be honest. So, would I feel that I was compromising my quiet, simple, private way of life? Would I regret taking this creative leap?
Short answer: NO! Long answer: so many lovely people have visited my pink shed and they’ve made my venture fun and rewarding!
I’m talking about YOU:
Kristin at 17 Mile Creative-I couldn’t have done it without you!
Courtney-Thanks for helping me get it together!
Laurie-You are the kindest, wisest reader any writer could hope for and you submitted an incredibly entertaining guest post.
Catherine, Marietta and Kimberlee-Your support means so much to me.
Mrs. Delwiche (Jean)-You were the “best principal ever” at Almaden Country Day School. My daughter raved about how much you cared about each and every student, as well as what a great witch you made every year at Halloween! You found my blog through Facebook and I feel like a star student when you compliment my writing style!
AND NOW…here’s to the people I “met” in the blogosphere:
Tamara at My Botanical Garden-You were one of my earliest readers and I was flattered. Now we are “pen pals.” Thank you.
Kathryn at Busy K-You are a young, cool, New York career woman. What are you doing on my site?
Alys at Gardening Nirvana-It’s been so nice to catch up with you.
Marie at Marie McLean-We share a love of reading and writing. Thanks for your comments.
Franziska at My Tree and Me-Thanks for your support…and, of course, the always useful health, travel and beauty tips.
Thank you also to the young woman expecting her first child who wrote to tell me that my post No Regrets may have “changed her choice and thus (her) life.” And to the many readers who have shared their experiences of loss after reading posts about the death of my brother, Matt. Finally, thanks to my girl for being my #1 fan.
Cheers…here’s to blogging!
I started another writing course this week through Stanford Continuing Studies; I’m having trouble with it. When I write to you, I decide on the topic. But, today, I’ve been given a writing prompt that I must adhere to! You, dear reader, now have the opportunity to read my first submission to the class: an essay about a “memorable kitchen” with a bonus recipe!
I’m not much of a cook, but I do love to eat so it seems appropriate that the only kitchen I ever really loved was a kitchen that I did not cook in. It was very small and it existed in a different time. One could move between the sink, table, stove and refrigerator with just a few steps. It was brightly lit with three windows counting the one that occupied the top half of the back door that led to the herb garden. There was no dishwasher or microwave, but the phone resided there on a tiny table adjacent to the stove.
This kitchen was alive. I can not picture it empty and yet, of course, it was …when Nonnie slept. I had many meals there and, without exaggeration or exception, they always satisfied me. I could tell you about the dough that was handmade, rolled and cut on the kitchen table or the sauce that simmered on the stove all day. I could try to convince you that a simple vegetable soup with a bit of pasta and meat could be a culinary delight. Or I might conjure up the image of crispels frying in a pan of oil until crispy and then covered in powdered sugar or warm honey and enjoyed with coffee.
My grandmother spent most of her days in this room. It delighted her to cook for family, friends and, of course, the clergy. She prepared meals for the priests at her church often and the bishop was thrilled when his visits coincided with her food deliveries. (Priests lined up to give the eulogy at her funeral!)
Her kitchen was akin to an artist’s studio, but she generously shared it. It was calming and reassuring to simply sit and watch her mix, roll, cut and fold. She completed these repetitive tasks with great joy and precision. She did not require participation in the task at hand, but she was glad to have you step outside to pick the herbs she needed or to allow you to take over the task of frying or filling. Often, I just sat, though, and fully appreciated the warm companionship she offered while she worked.
Truly, I loved everything Nonnie cooked and baked, but it is a small meal in a mug that I remember most fondly. I would love to share the recipe with you!
Nonnie’s Beaten Egg Breakfast
- strong coffee
- egg yolks
- brown sugar
- and a loving companion
Brew the coffee while warming the milk slowly in a small saucepan. Crack and separate the eggs placing a yolk in each cup. Add a bit of brown sugar and beat the yolk and sugar together. Slowly, while stirring, add the hot coffee to the eggs to temper them slowly. Finish with warm milk to taste.
I remember many mornings spent with Nonnie enjoying this simple, sweet pleasure. I lived with her for several months after my parents divorced and I started college. Those coffee mornings gave me the sustenance I needed to pursue my future independently and the love my grandmother gave me remains with me to this day.
Thanks for reading!
“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.”
Me, my tech consultant, Kristin and her daughters Gio and Julia.
From the Pink Shed was launched six weeks ago and yesterday we celebrated in perfect 75 degree California sunshine. My blog has reminded me how exciting it is to learn something new and how rewarding it is to live a creative life. More than that, though, and quite unexpectedly , it has been simply another reminder of the beauty of friendship. Thank you for reading, my friends, and thank you for the support and encouragement.
Courtney and family-I love all six of you! Thanks for introducing me to:
Kristin-Couldn’t have done it without you! Your family is as lovely as you are.
Beth-Thank you for your generous comments and photographic contributions.
Ann-YOU can cook…thanks for the delicious Thai treats.
Tom-You can rock a bright pink polo!
And, to the other partygoers who made my day: Marietta and Frank, Rosemary and Mary, Fred and Carol, Peter, Fred, Catherine and Keith, Franzi, Kimberlee, Christina and Odysseus and Malcolm.
Thanks also to Laurie, who could not attend, as she is still on Mars, and my daughter, Natalie, because she’s “proud of me.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson, I think, spoke truly when he said, “The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.” Yesterday, my home was decorated beautifully with all of my treasured friends.
Our “From the Pink Shed” hostess Michele asked me why I paint Barbies. The easy answer is, “ I just thought it would be fun.” But when pushed to consider the question a bit more deeply a few things come to mind.
For inspiration, I often take or find photos of subjects I might like to paint later. One of my largest photo files is the Barbie folder. Not just any Barbie, but the vintage original Barbie dolls that Mattel introduced back in 1959. For some reason, later Barbies seem frivolous and maybe a bit tacky to me, yet the original Barbies seem classic.
When my daughter was growing up in the late 1990s, I intentionally never bought her a Barbie. I felt that those unrealistically shaped, perfect glamour girls would be unattainable or improper role models for her. When friends or family members gave her a Barbie as a gift, I would go out and buy the doll a doctor’s outfit, a basketball uniform or an art studio in order to give her something productive to do, something that made her more than just a pretty face.
I think part of my interest in painting Barbie dolls (and other retro toys) is due to my 14-year career as an advertising art director. I created many a layout for clients’ products or services—hamburgers, soap, cameras, clothing. Paintings can turn objects into heroes. Think of Andy Warhol and the Campbell’s soup can. Painting a Barbie feels a little like creating an ad for her without the need for a headline!
Ironically, growing up, I never owned a Barbie. My parents gave me a Tammy doll with her very own carrying case instead. (I still have both!) I liked her and certainly had plenty of opportunities to play with my friends’ Barbies, not to mention Midges, Kens and Skippers. So am I now trying to compensate for my “deprived” childhood? My amateur psychoanalyst self says I don’t think so.
If I was to be totally honest —and I’m embarrassed to admit this—there’s a part of me that relates to this perfect long, tall gal. We both came into the world in 1959 — Mattel started selling Barbie five days after I was born. She’s long and lean and so am I, at 5’10” with a 33” inseam. She’s perfect, and I’m, well, a perfectionist. I’ve fought hard to let that label go, but hey, it’s a process! Who knows how many more Barbies I’ll paint. Perhaps she’s out of my system. We shall see…
“With my writing, I can still play inside an enchanted castle or live inside an old fort. I can run from ghosts or ride dolphins any day of the week.”
—Mary Pope Osborne