somepinkflowers

warning, warning, warning!

sometimes i do this

 Sometimes I pick up creamy*white seashells and faded dark grey ones on the beach.

I rinse each one off gently and then let them dry in the sunshine for a month or so...

I do not even care if they are broken or Have a History because they are just like most of the folks I know ...

Better with age ...

Then I glue these babies onto planks of old wood stashed in the scary store*room down under the rickety stairs...

Then I hang them up on the weathered walls to hide a few of the hurricane*cracks where they just hang around for 18 or 20 years ... or so ... chillin' out ...

Like these ones have been doing...

{{ no fooling }}

haiku my heart with cookies

dear sweetness of life,
i long to gooble you down.
pray tomorrow waits...

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

pretend you get credit
&
it goes on your Permanent Record
if visit us over here---->
with recuerda mi corazon
{{  real school should have been so easy  }}

collecting little red*wings

Clearly, clearly in another life*time I was a scientist who walked beaches collecting shells for naming.

I was a scientist who harvested seeds for drawing, not for planting.

I carefully pocketed acorns & seed pods & hoped for the best as far as insects were concerned.

I tried to stay away from poison ivy & poison oak & Certain Evil Snakes.

Audubon & Darwin were Great Friends of mine but I only wanted the cast off pieces of old nature.

I did not want the need of killing things to look inside.

And to this day my desires are simple.
I want to look Close Up at the beauty of seeds & shells & left~over nature bits.

I want to share them with you.

haiku my heart under the trees

held captive by her...
Dancing White Flower Blossom,
ghost child of some nymph

~~~~~~~~~~~~

it must be Friday!
please visit us
over here
with recuerda mi corazon  
if you have time
because
we would like it if you could...

what i wore to the oscars last night

I am nothing if not Fashionable over here in my north Florida home minutes from the sea.

After much FB chat yesterday concerning what I should wear to the Academy Awards last night, I fell into my old stand by...

Yes, as always, when in a pinch, I decided on Craft Casual for my Oscar watching attire.

After only 2 crochet lessons under my belt, I decided I was ready to take off on my own armed with Chain, Double Crochet and Shell Stitch.

Welcome to Miss Striped Afghan!

"...And who are you wearing? " Tim Gunn asks, leaning in for a closer look at the striped afghan placed seductively in my lap. I am sitting on the floor crocheting in front of my TV. It was so thoughtful of Tim to pop in.

"Well, Tim, I am wearing a silky soft bamboo blend by Caron in shades of ocean spray, dark driftwood and stormy blue," I answer breathlessly, holding my matching green~metalic Boye crochet hook, 5.50mm, delicately in my right hand.

My right leg slides out coyly from underneath the draped Project~in~Progress.

"I am so happy to be here!" I tell Tim honestly, reaching for another skein of green sheen.

{{  I think Angelina Jolie got that leg idea from me, but I could be wrong... }}

tourist tuesday goes back in time

Quickly, quickly take my hand.
We are going back in time!

Think sweet*granny historical thoughts
& mind the stairs as we go up...

Treasures hidden under mother's old bedside table.
I bet you want to look inside.

Maybe another day...

Turn left at the faded tulips which have seen a better day...

White  Cockatoo stands guard over precious water stained wood...

Willetta's purse hangs on the wall with a secret inside.
I bet you want to look inside.

Maybe another day...

Window to the World via London souvenir from 40+ years ago.
Big Ben chimes here on the hour.

My daddy's crossword puzzle dictionaries and reference, pages marked...

What story in the stamp guide?
Faded illustrations from a country no longer on the map.
I bet you want to look inside.

Maybe another day...

A wee,white-throated bird who longed to see his family left his pink cage & skipped town.

He flew plum out the Window to the World, leaving an email address with White  Cockatoo.

Did he fly to London? Italy? Madrid?

We will never know as White  Cockatoo is the strong silent type.

Well, that story is as old as the hills.
Remember, we turned the corner and are back in time.

You can rest a while, beside my grand-father's straw hat which was tailored specifically for him back in the day.

{{ No one can find you back in time. }}

Then click here when completely refreshed & you will be returned safely home. Maybe.  Until next time. ♥

haiku my heart at the end of the day

one postcard from me,
so far from you my heart bends.
{{ ripe, golden sun knows }}

~~~~~~~~~~~

for more haiku my heart
which takes you around the world
visit
recuerda mi corazon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

tourist tuesday and the natural history museum, london

Quickly, quickly come with me down Cromwell Road.

Imagine you are the great, great, grand niece of Audubon, or the far but fond cousin of Darwin.

Mind the small ones as we field*trip over here!

Fair warning:  If birds in cages give you grief, turn back!

Whilst we are not visiting all 90 million specimens housed at the Natural History Museum, remember this is no zoo.

Embrace the scientist that is in your heart and walk with me through the Bird Wing of the Museum.

The Bird Wing!

I know, I know!
But it is here that we learn to call the bits & pieces by their name.

Crissum.
Rectrices.

We look eye-to-eye with wondrous creatures from the past.

We get up-close-and personal with the everyday.

We watch future Audubons at work.

Maybe this one cannot travel to the jungles of Africa to capture her subject.
{{ Her water smuggled inside a recycled plastic bottle unless she paints with apple juice. }}

Here is the cousin of the ones that mate under the full moon near my own bedroom window.

Even in this state, the feathers call to me to touch.

Behind glass they perch and soar. They waddle and list.

I image that if I worked in London I would want to work here.

Unless, maybe, I could obtain a dream*job dressing windows down the road over here.

This place is a Noah's ark of dead things, I know.

Still I am drawn here time and time again.

It is here I think upon the poor dodo.

Also, I worry about the species that are disappearing even as I type this word.

Some birds I have at home but here they let me openly adore.

Another artist hard at play. This one with colored pencil.

I imagine how he spends his day.
Sitting in his own chair brought from home.
Coloring.

"On my way to draw the owls, dear!" he shouts out to his wife as she weeds her garden. Or maybe she is over at Hyde Park sketching the fresh & tall digitalis.

Down the hall school children are laughing.

But, here, now, there is the quietness of respect.

Always remember to look up and down the hall.
Here we could see everything, if only we had time.

I leave you with the blue-winged kookburra and dreams of northern Austrailia.

Diversity!
I am so in love with it.

 

{{ hiding in the studio but here is a hint }}

{{ I will give no more hints but this one --->
beeswax is involved in the nicest way! }}

a virgin a day and johnny depp

I watched this movie for the 3rd time this week-end.

Not because it is my favorite movie but because I had the DVD checked out from the library when I sprained my toe at a Christmas party last week-end but that is another story.

Whilst I sat with toe propped high and packed with a small, unopened bag of frozen baby English peas I needed comic relief of the Johnny Depp kind.

Could he BE any cuter running around the red-tiled roof tops of Venice wearing blue-striped pajamas? I think not.

Anyhoo, Angelina Jolie aside, the most glam star of the movie is clearly Venice.

I love Venice.
Who does not love Venice?
To love Venice is to love life in all its aging-and-no-one-is-getting-any-younger-over-here glory.

Nothing decays quite as well as watery Venice.

Standing proudly over the city is the watchful dome eye of the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salut, built to honor St. Mary the Saint of Health and Salvation. Perched over the entryway arch is Mother Mary, as seen in my photo above. 

It is here where I spent my coins lighting candles and making deals with God for the Good Health of all those I love.

I bet you do the same thing, somewhere...

BTW, no one I love has yet come down with a case of the plague.

If you go here you will see more Madonnas housed inside the Basilica. They will take away your breath and then give it back to you refreshed.

I would never lie to you.
Well, I would never lie to you about Mother Mary.

~~~~~~~

Meanwhile over here we honor The Madonna--
as an offering of beauty & light--
during the first 12 days of December.

I hope you have a moment to visit a few...

dia de los muertos, dia de bloglandia

Today on Dia de los Muertos I honor my father
who taught me many things.

How to make a fort of newly raked leaves & then jump in it.
How to ride a red two~wheeler on the hill of our driveway without falling.
How to catch a softball in a well~worn leather glove.
How to root for the Home Team and eat popcorn at the same time..

How to make a kite from an old newspaper with rags for a tail.
How to beware of over~head wires.
How to have patience when the wind would not come.
How to take turns with my sweet sister.

How to catch a blue~gill bream, to clean it
and to fry it up in a pan.

{{"Get it off, daddy!" my mother said I shouted
and then she wrote this
on the back of the documenting b&w photo
of My First Fish Caught Ever in the History of the World.}}

My daddy taught me how to rise early in the day--
whilst others were still sleeping--
to pick up the best shells along the beach,
a skill I find useful to this very day.

My daddy taught me how to stand outside under the trees--
on a little stool because I was so young--
to open oysters at a ricketty wooden table.
How to slide the salty blobs onto a saltine cracker
and eat them
on
down
even when my mom & sister would not.

How to spend vacations with family
even thought they might live 4 states away
and we would have to Make Time to travel there  to visit.

How to visit old people in the hospital
when I really only wanted to play outside in the Florida sun.

{{ At the time I had no idea he was training me
to care for him many years later, to care for my dear mom now.}}

Today on Dia de los Muertos I honor my father
who ate my first hard biscuits made from scratch
over and over again until I finally got it right
and he never once complained.

Then he turned around and did the same
with my powdery brownies too dry to swallow.

The scrambled eggs were yet another story...

Today on Dia de los Muertos I honor my father, Max,
with love and memories both overflowing.

I try to remember everything about my dad
but really it takes no effort at all.
None. What so ever.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{{ This posting is part of the Dia de Los Muertos celebration organized by rebecca at recuerda mi corazon and Stephanie at Mango Studio for Dia de Bloglandia. Follow the links for more of the Art of Remembering where we honor those we love who are no longer here. Hey, daddy! }}

dia de los muertos the art of remembering

today i am over here in my studio--
remembering my daddy
and
building his altar
for dia de los muertos

 

{{ every sunday in october please join us
in the art of remembering }}

haiku my heart away from home

a symbol of love
i climb her hard stairs alone
my tears speak in french

 

{{ for more haiku my heart travel here }}

sometimes i forget about it

Even as I sit here now typing this my life is in peril!

Well, maybe not in PERIL but I am certainly At Risk...

Yesterday, in spite of all that is Fine and Good in the world, I stumbled across my nemesis right here in my own back yard.

In my sweet kingdom of tropical palms and moss~drapped oaks one small & benign looking but quite formidable opponent strikes me down every single year.

Sometimes more than once a season if I do not respect Mother Nature, if I do not watch for the warning signs.

Believe me when I say my nemesis  strikes me down for I am put out~of~commission for weeks whilst I find rest in the hands of many expensive ointments and unsightly lotions.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

No matter how my eye counts the leaves before my hand touches, Poison Ivy rears its ugly head and smiles down on me with its contemptuous, poisonous oil.

""One, two, three! Don't touch me!""

I was not a Scout for 8 years for nought. I know IT when I see IT.

Still. Sometime I forget about IT.

Yesterday when the sun shone bright and the first touch of Autumn kissed the air intermittently I played in my gardens carelessly. Front and back yard. I traipse here and there innocently loving my day.

I have no one to blame but the sun and the air and myself.

Seduced by desire to prune & plant I forgot to be Mindful.

Isn't that the way with a nemesis?
One rolls along, strolls along taking Life in.

Weed the butterfly plants, harvest the fennel seeds, plant the new petunias and forget about Evil Personified.

A sudden, gentle thought:
What was that 3~leaf~thingie that whispered softly against my left arm just now?

Sometimes I get so caught up in the game of Life unplanned events occur.

I bet that happens to you, too.

Last night I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed.
Washing away my sin of carelessness.

This morning I waited for the tell-tell tingling-itchy sign, knowing I might not Really Know for days.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, I have decided to toss my Poison Ivy concerns into the compost pile along with the morning's spent green tea leaves.

I have a bigger garden to plant today.
Seeds of enjoyment to sow with my mom.

My mom and I play 3 games of cut~throat dominoes on Wednesdays.

There was a time when I could not beat her.
Now we are even~Steven most days.

We go for the best 2 out of 3.

Last week she beat me 2 to 1.

So many things in life can jump up and plum near scare you to death if you let them. When my nemesis spread into my ear 3 years ago I almost went deaf in that scar tissued ear.

I remember thinking, "Thank goodness I have two ears!"
Where does this Pollyanna reside within me? Why, I have no idea.

Over here, down here in my neighborhood, I shoot for the best 2 out of 3 on a daily basis.

Yes. I bet you are the same way.

haiku my heart ~~ wondering

feet in morocco,
heart floating over the full moon,
eyes searching for you...

haiku my heart ~~ and missing you

sitting Here i thought
of Past beach days & tan You.
how could we Know then?

{{ More haiku? go here }}

i must have been a happy baby

I do not mean to be all bragity-brag-brag but I wake up most every single morning all happy and childlike with obvious glee.

Well, if I must be off to the dentist or something like THAT then I am not very gleeful at all.

You know what I mean...

I bet you wake the same way.
Roaring to get out of the bed and On With Life...

For the past 2 months every morning, without fail, there was the smell of wildfire in the air here in my Florida studio.

What with the taste of smoke inside my mouth it darn near ruined the taste of living!

Besides being a constant worry, the smoke colored the way I saw my world.

What would I grab if I had to evacuate quickly? How much warning time would I have? What all could I fit successfully into my jeep? Where was my passport?

The state of things nearly drove me crazy until I realized I Had No Control Over Any Of It, Really.

Normally--when there are no wildfires dancing around my state, no hurricanes zooming through my neck of the woods--after making morning tea I open up my garage studio and look out onto my backyard of Benign Neglect.

Every day I am smitten anew with the color jungle~green.

So that is what I continued to do when the smoke colored my world an unappetizing yellow.

I just opened up my studio Normally and hoped for the best. Afterall, what can one do with Nature but sit back and enjoy the sometimes bumpy ride?

So,
in comes the yummy morning light and the occasional, misguided, twig~carrying house wren.

"Welcome!" I say to most who wander in, "Welcome! Come on in and get outta that unappetizing yellow smoke, for Pete's sake!"

Only twice have friendly snakes popped in for an unexpected visit. Only twice, I am thinking,  but, then, I have not looked too closely...

I would much prefer to live Large in a Perfect World but, lately, I am more & more content to live Satisfactorily in an Interesting & Somewhat Safe One.

I bet you feel the same way.

tourist tuesday and shakespeare & company, paris

Some of my favorite things in the whole wide world have a bit of Shakespeare in them.

I took these photos of Shakespeare and Company, a most interesting bookshop in Paris, for you last year and then I plum forgot about them.

This happens to me all the time.

I am someplace fascinating take shots of things I want to share with you.  All the while I am shooting away I am writing my blog posting in my noggin.

Then I come home carrying 10,000 images effortlessly across the border.

Then I upload for days to beat the band.

One thing leads to another. In my head I have already written a posting about this and that so I must feel my Job Is Done.

But life goes on. I forget to share. Pardonnez-moi, svp !

Before you  know it, I end up somewhere else, filling up Yet Another memory chip.

I don't want you to think I have a TON of cash & can travel anywhere I do please. That is NOT the case for if  this were the case I would not be sitting at home this afternoon writing this for you.

Oh, no, Buster Brown! Most likely I would be over here instead.

Anyway, I normally travel in May when airplane tickets are less expensive. I leave on a weekday and stay over a Saturday--preferable 2 Saturdays, sometimes 3--and I hop on one foot under a full moon. Magic stuff like that. Anything to save a euro.

Forget about flying in June or July unless you have won the lottery, I say. Or unless you are a movie star or a rock legion. So far I am neither. So far.

Plus, I am a Big Fan of American Express Reward Points and Frequent Flyer Points. I hope you are making the most of these useful systems.

So. Here you go.
This is my favorite book store in all the world , thus far.

I only get here about one afternoon every 5 years or so but the great thing is the place seldom changes. You just make yourself right at home, like you never even left.

On a good~weather day you can just linger outside and peek around.

You never know who might show up.

Worn suitcases filled casually with obsure books steal my swooning heart.

Three guards with healthy biceps are standing nearby so don't get any ideas about scampering off with the bound treasures.

Make you way inside and prepare to stay awhile, is all I can say.

I am not the first to discover this place.

All the best people hang out here.

And they have been for a long, long time.

Years and years ago writers would come here.

Some authors would come here, read from their latest book and then would spend the night there in the dusty stacks.

Every time I wander in here I hope to see a famous writer sleeping here but that never happens these days. I suspect famous writers now use their American Express Reward Points to stay somewhere more private up the street.

But still. It is nice to know writers are welcomed to sit a while & visit.

A healthy children's department waits upstairs, if you are so inclined.

Last week I saw a charming movie which reminded me of this special Paris bookstore and of all the important writers who have traveled to Paris to write.

Thank goodness they did.

I hope to see you here some time. Maybe in May 2015. Or  May 2020. You never know.

Whilst photo~capturing the artistically~worn patterned floor I noticed someone wearing my shoes and wearing my jeans was standing by the door.

It wasn't me. But it could have been. Was it you?

if i do not answer my cell very quickly these days

...it is because I am up to my elbows in plaster this week
thanks to Judy Wise and Stephanie Lee and their new book.

Plus, I have been reading Benjamin Franklin.
Today is all about Temperance...

I know, I know...
Nothing like getting plastered with one of our Founding Fathers on the weekend.

All things in moderation, right. But not art because today Art is My Paradise.

We will see about Mr. Temperance...