somepinkflowers

art house co-op, the jar project and me

Those wonderfully creative folks over at the Art House Co-op!
One just has to love their way of thinking about the world & life & art...

Those lovely people are always sending something most*interesting up my front walk.

Last year I did The Sketchbook Project with a TON of artist from all around the world.

This ENTIRE project traveled all around the US of A.
I ventured out myself to view The Sketchbook Tour 2011 in Seattle with two fun friends.

Last week I submitted a photo--as part of The Meal--to help the Art House Co-op focus attention on Action Against Hunger.

This month, along with 199 other artist from all over the map, we are filling little glass jars with stories.

{{ this is NOT a drug test,
so poppy seeds on my bagels will cause me No Harm ...
i am just saying ... so do not even make a comment about THAT ...}}

Yes.
I am thinking now of a story to tell in my jar
as after I return it there will be a Big Display for the multitudes of Boston & the surrounds.

Making a wee world in a jar should pose no problem for moi.

I am a Collector of Things Common & Free
which I carefully & with very little thought what-so-ever
preserve in jars of all sizes & shapes for scientific observation & artistically*correct sketching.

My Cabinet of Curiosities.

{{ Before I return The Jar would you like to see my story?
I am thinking
Of the Sea     OR     From My Heart
hummmm ... }}

well, hello there, new year!

Outside my morning window this New Year's Day a bird sings: Chewy-chewy-chewy-chooowy.

I do not know this bird. Most likely he is just passing through. Just like me.

Just like you.

Last night I sat with friends on the end of the dock. Our tummies filled with exotic cheeses, cod*snacks from Newfoundland and local oysters opened by a golden campfire.

We watched, looking to the south towards the pier, as fireworks blossomed into red and gold chrysanthemums over the dark and seemingly silent sea.

Girl*pals {{ or as this dear one calls them: chums }} everywhere have been sharing their New Word for 2012. A single word to focus the year, to guide each day and give it special meaning.

I love this idea of word selection. A best~friend word as an angel on ones shoulder for 365 days. I feel the power in such a specially selected word. A totem word.

I listen in wonder at the selection friends have made, thrilled to hear the story behind the choice.

grace     strength     patience     acceptance

I get it.

I can never pick one word. Most words taste yummy inside my head. All are filled with possibilities. Each one could suit me to a T.

This clever one tells me, "Just pick a word for a short time and not for a whole year."

I mull it over.

So, I have selected my word for the week.
It is a rather long, hyphenated compound word, which maybe you do not know.

Are you ready?
--------->

periwinkle~Sorrento~saltwater~owl~forgiveness.

 

 

tourist tuesday and goats in trees, africa

See goats in trees was not on any of my To Do Lists.

While I do fancy goats, especially these ones, I normally do not go out of my way to find them.

Yet, when traveling down almost ANY of life's highways, I have always found it to be a good idea to Stop The Bus from time-to-time.

You know me.
I never want to miss a thing.

So, on the way to the coast, even though it looked like rain was approaching & eventually it did arrive briefly, we stopped for the goats in trees.

Sceptical me did wonder...
Many trees all around and only one with goats.
Goats in trees attended to by several smiling men.

Each goat, thought not bound to the tree in any way, seemed to be standing on a little platform of natural tree branches.

The goats seems well cared for.

Although, one or two did seem a bit puzzled...

All seemed to be waiting patiently for a bus.
And I guess they were...

Fortunately for us, our bus contained a goat*whisperer of the soft~spoken sort.

While none of the goats in trees left their perch, one of the offspring did appear by the magic of given Moroccan dirhams.

You will never know just how hard it was to persuade the goat*whisperer to leave behind this lovey baby goat.

I know for a fact she did whisper in its soft ear a soothing phrase.

See goats in trees was not on any of my To Do Lists but I plan to stop there abouts the next time I am in the neighborhood.

May there always be a gentle goat*whisperer on any bus I might ride--in Morocco or else where--as I travel through my life.

Here is hoping.

halloween party because we cannot wait

Last night we did a halloween party over here with these psychedelic guys and it was stellarly fun.

Today it is you and me and the crew over at Vanessa's  having a halloween party so do pop in! Then follow the links there for even more F U N !

Oh. Yes. Sign my guest book and leave a wish. It might come true.
Who is to say?

 

somepinkflowers and the mad tea party 2010

You are invited to

The Mad Tea Party 2010
Annual Festivity of Madness

hosted by
A Fanciful Twist

Pop 'round to Vanessa's
and
follow the links!

Everyone is welcome!

You will not want to miss a thing!

{{ I may be late
whilst I obtain my parade permit. }}

travel tip for charles de gaulle international

When popping off the airplane in Paris, should you need to use the facilities, never overlook the comfort and friendliness of the unisex children's restroom before you queue up for customs.

The small room will be discretely tucked away immediately at the end the long hallway after disembarking because, well,    kids     can     never     wait     long, you know.

If you decide to use the sweetly decorated restroom, please remember to change the F~stop on your camera should you decide to also take snap~shots.

If not, your photos may end up suffering a bit of jet*lag like mine here but these things happen even to Jet Setters, I have been told.

Not that I know any Jet Setter myself.

Do say hello to my friend Gustave here, who was such a life~saver for me personally.

Happy travels to you!

tourist tuesday and the endless garden of surprises

You know how these things go.
You are in town for 2 weeks and your hotel is just off the main drag .

Every afternoon, after early~morning walking and touring, you pop in here for some little treat to get your tummy past siesta.

Dinner time is not until deep into the night, until it is practically the next day.

You are bound to meet someone who works nearby. The same person everyday picking out his own fruit. You know how these things go.

"There is to be a cultural workshop," he explains.
"You should be a guest presenter. I will take charge of everything."

"Come early and meet me in my office," he continues. "After there will be a gathering with cheese and wine."

I could see he has it planned. Clearly someone else had canceled at the last moment or why else would he want me?

Because I did not speak the language  I had my concerns.
In the end I was charmed into acquiescence.
I blame it now on intense solar activity.

Two days later I arrived too, too early.
I poked my nose into things because I could. It was a cultural arts center, after all.

You know how I am. I do not like to miss a thing.
I became lost in my back~stage good fortune.

"Who will attend?" I had asked, looking for appropriate loop~holes.

"Students yearning for information," he had dismissed with a shrug, leaving me large in my own world of possibilities.

"They love all things American," he explained. "You will see."

So too, too early here I was. Ripe with excitement. Wearing a dash of fear of the unknown tossed around my neck like a scarf flowing, I was ripe with ambiguous feeling.

I poked around and peeked. I walked high and low inside this near~empty building.

Looking everywhere for a sign telling me to do this thing, this presentation, I walked on.

I still had time to bale.  Options can be such a comfort in times of ambiguity.

And then I saw it.  My 'sign' painted on the wall to the right in the next room...

Was that a silhouette from Charlies' Angels?

Yes. Yes, it was! Three American can~do~it women, I must say!
I could not let Charlies' Angels down.
I would do the presentation.

Then straight ahead what did I see?
Students were already here. Looking.

And more people came in. And more. And more.

I looked up and saw this on the wall: somepinkflowers .

"Quick!" I thought to myself as people looked back and forth from the~me~on~the~wall to the real me standing there, "Quick! Run through that door! It is not too late to escape!"

But you know I did not. I did not escape. I did not run at all.

I had fun. I had vivid fun of the near~spontaneous type.
And after there was a gathering with cheese and wine.

You know how these things go.
You are in town for 2 weeks and so you just go ahead and live your life.

everybody has 2 B somewhere

Yesterday I ran smack*dab into Steven Seagal. He was at my market picking up jars of Barilla Tomato & Basil Spaghetti Sauce which were buy 1, get 1 free. I was tempted myself but Barilla is not my usually brand.

In an obvious effort not to stare, I looked down and happened to notice Steven also had this is his shopping buggy and this, too, which surprised me a bit but with stars you never know.

Even though I can not name one single movie Steven has ever made I was beside myself with secret pleasure at my star*sighting.

Steven Seagal! In my market here in St. Augustine, Florida!

What were the chances?

Well, the chances turned out to be slim-to-none as it turned out NOT to be Steven Seagal at all, which I realized after about 2 minutes, AFTER I had memorized the entire contents of his shopping cart FOR NOTHING!

Then I realized this guy looked way too young to be Steven Seagal. Plus, no offense, Steven, it happens to the best of us, but hasn't the real Steven Seagal porked out a bit lately?

This guy pushing the cart in my market was so kick*ss fit I was ready to go on the Steven Seagal Barilla Tomato & Basil Spaghetti Sauce Diet.

This guy looked so much like the Steven Seagal of, say, 20 years ago, it almost made me think I was possibly looking at Steven Seagal's son.

It might have been. Who is to say? Does he have one? This would have explained everything.

If it HAD been Steven Seagal's son most likely I would not have even looked into his shopping cart. But I might have as I am nosy that way.

Does this ever happen to you?

You see some one or something and your personal schemata yells out one thing when you KNOW on some level it is not that thing at all.

When I say apple do you see this? When I say apple I am thinking this.

Are we seeing the same thing when we talk of apples?

When I see a fit man with a certain bearing wearing dark, combed back hair, maybe I just see Steven Seagal. I do know know why.

When I think of pirates I see this one, don't you?

The hole in my retina has all healed up and the healing bubble has dissipated. My vision is now20/30 and getting better all the time. When I look around, I name the things I see with a certain degree of confidence.

When I see Steven Seagal in my market, it is not due to poor vision. I simply view life sometimes with my stellar imagination. That is all. I bet you are the same way. I hope you are.

Did I I tell you? Last evening I ran smack*dab into this one at the pond near my house. I was beside myself with secret pleasure at my star*sighting.

i am treating you {{with help from my friends}} to a bit of one-eyed halloween magic

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~I am needing all the help I can get over here!~~~

My recipe for one-eyed Halloween fun:

* one mini-me somepinkflowers witch by Susanna Sketchbook
who was inspired over here {{ don't i look fabulous!}},
* crows by Martha Stewart at Michaels yesterday,
* candy corn by Brock at Target last week,
* owl box by Punch Studio at Marshall's last year and
* little magic trees from over here.  {{ i so love a good recipe!}}

And  for an amazing & evocative adventure go here and for another witchy tale pop in over here and for a Haunting Treasure Book sublime go here and for a seasonal taste of Orange do drop in here and so on....

a hauntingly magical celebration

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

If you think life is grand, if you do not want to miss a thing, then go to Vanessa's Hauntingly Magical Celebration.

She was so thoughtful to dream up this stellar event. We all do love her so!

Then pop in here and here and here and here...

Oh. Yes. Sign my guest book and leave a wish. It might come true.
Who is to say?

looking up for a sign

Last evening before the gloaming took its turn at the day, I charged up the 12V for my Black & Decker Quantum Pro cordless power drill and sent out a silent plea to the green~flash Florida sky.

A screw needed minor adjustment inside my white jeep, Blue, and nothing satisfies more that the use of a good power tool. Especially a tool long time rested in a dusty case sitting on an even dustier garage shelf.

Even though a simpler tool might have accomplished the job, it was the heft of the B&D I wanted. If you know what I mean.

All week it has been one thing after another for Blue with her persistent little needs.

New tires, new alignment, new valve gasket cover -----> new this, new that, NEW EVERY THING.

Never wants, always needs with my Blue.

Was it time? Was she trying to tell me something I did not want to hear?

Then to make matters worse, and isn't that always the way, I received an unsolicited letter in the mail.

"Now is the time!" the uninvited notice did shout, " Every one qualifies! 0% APR for 72 months on selected models! Step right up for your 'Cash for Clunkers' trade in!"

What?

What? What? What?

Cash for Clunkers trade in ?       What?

CLUNKER? 

Say it is not so! Not my sweet, ten~year old ride!   My Blue is practically pristine and she takes me every where I want to go that does not require air travel.

No! Not a clunker, my white jeep named Blue!

Confident with the solid weight of the B&D in my hand, I sent out a question to The Universe.

"Oh, heavens above, tell me what to do, please." I sent out my question in a clear and precise manner. No dilly~dally here.  "Should I purchase a new car or should I soldier on with my aging Jeep?"

"Grant me wisdom." I requested. Then I paused and searched the sky.

The sky said nothing so I fixed the wobbly screw.

I put the Quantum Pro back to sleep in her sturdy black case.

Then I felt someone looking down at me.

Then I felt 2 someones looking down at me.

"Are you  my sign?" I asked each someone as they sat watching me from the tree tops.

"Whoooo?" they both replied.   {{ Like I did not see that coming... }}

"You!" I answered somewhat impatiently, all the while reaching serendipitously for my beach camera, my some~what sandy point & shoot as it sat there waiting--as always--on the passenger seat of my car.

"New car? Keep the Jeep? Which will it be?" I remained calm, patient and beaming with hope as I waited for the reply.

The light was fading fast. I got off a few sneaky snaps.

Each someone looked at the other someone.

Clearly, neither someone wanted to commit.

"Tell me what to do," I pleaded but did not grovel one little bit.

With blithe unconcern both someones flew quietly away. To snack on a snake, for all I knew.

A single feather drifted down and landed on my Blue. One feather. Bright white tinged with light brown.

On Blue's roof. Back near the bicycle rack.

My sign.

sweets on pine street and an invitation, too

I don't know about over there at your house but over here we believe strongly that enchantment is good for the soul.

In the same way I know that biodiversity is good for the pond, I know that logic and magic hold hands and take turns pushing each other on the swing.

I just know it. For a fact. We should all dip our toes into many different oceans.

Or something like that...

About enchantment. I am not saying that unicorns frolic down by the creek but from my front porch everyday I see dogs walking around smiling to beat the band.

Clearly their eyes twinkle, they look at me and they smile. All dogs just know things.

Do not even get me started on the mystical ways of my cat...

I do not have a fairy~godmother but I do have several friends that are sharp with needle and thread and could whip me up a ball gown in the blink of an eye.

If I should need one. Which I do not.

Those that live among us have their super powers and their wondrous ways...

If you have been out and about over here or over here or over here you might have noticed the invitations to Vanessa's Mad Tea Party.

When Vanessa is not sharing her amazing adventures and painting yummy treats, she gives the best parties, I must say!

All sorts of cutie creatures zoom in from miles around.

Why, even her cupcakes will make you swoooon....

Last year at the Mad Tea Party we had the best time visiting each other. Sharing festive tea~time snacks and colorful sweets. Some folks dressed to high heaven and some did not.

Here is the best part---> You are invited. I know. Isn't it wonderful!

Vanessa is an equal~opportunity, come~one, come~all, kind of hostess...

 

Over here on Pine Street we are getting ready for the party.

Mark your calendar, please. The Mad Tea Party is next Saturday and this social event will not be complete without you {{it never is}} so do join us.

I would find it so enchanting if you did...

tourist tuesday and which museum is this

"somepinkflowers, what are you up to, my little blossom," mother called lightly from the other room.

Momma was in the kitchen doing something with a pressure-cooker which meant her cooking skills were mixing with science. That is how it was done before the micro-wave. Women cooked with high heat and extreme pressure and, if not handled properly, a pressure-cooker could leave string beans hanging from the kitchen ceiling. I have seen such things in my lifetime.

"It sure is quiet in there, missy," my mom went on fishing for clues from afar, casting her words about innocently.

Being both busy and guilty, I said nothing.

I didn't realize at the time that a child alone in a too silent room can be a magnet to a wise mother.

Clearly I was up to no good.

I knew I could not use Crayola crayons on the walls but no one had said a thing about putting this on my mother's vanity mirror.

Now that I think about it, this might have been my first blush with pigment-play, watching how smoothly color could flow onto the right medium.

What is it about putting designs on a vertical surface? The way you can stand back and admire it so easily.

"Whoa, Nelly! Look what I just did!" I  thought to my 5 year-old self as the lipstick slid--waltzed--across the cool glass. "Will you look at that!"

I am most fortunate to have been raised in a patient, tolerant and encouraging family.

Growing up, I never wanted for art supplies. When most Florida moms grabbed candles and canned tuna to prepare for an on-coming hurricane, mine added a big box of new crayons and a huge stack of newsprint to the list. God love her!

We might not have power for days but my sweet sister and I had books and art supplies.

Keep those little hands and creative minds busy and maybe they will not notice the wind howling, the tree limbs breaking, the worried look in a parent's eye.

Art created where it was not intended calls my name as quick as cinnamon scones baking.

I know what you are saying, "This is so NOT gentle pink flowers and muted green leaves. How can you enjoy this shocking, some-what-ugly stuff, somepinkflowers? How?"

I would not want this art framed and hanging over my couch but the mystery surrounding it does pull me in. While I enjoy the graffiti, finding it unexpectedly here and there, it is the artist that holds my attention.

I am curiously hungry with a journalist's list of who, what, when, how and why.

I want answers I will never have.

So, I just imagine process. Process in the quiet, secret hours.

On my most recent trip I was blessed with product.

Some pieces seem quickly executed with no thought. Others demonstrate balance, leading line and presence of forethought.

Do they work in teams, these artists, I wonder? Are they young with loose pants hanging down to their knees? Do they have meetings? A secret hand-shake? Do they purchase their paint in quantity with a discount?

I have such questions for them, the graffiti artist I will never meet.

Is it about color or control or both, this drawing on the wall thing?

Is it about leaving a mark, art work, design and color where it should not be? Extra points given for succeeding, for getting away with it, for how long it stays uncovered?

Is it about filling up empty space just because it can be done, if no one is looking? Is someone going nani-nani-poo-poo! in my face?

Inquiring minds want to know, please.

Featured here is graffiti I captured this spring in Barcelona but the work could be from anywhere in the world. Street art in Chicago looks much the same to me.

Spray-paint colors in a fast moving world. Black-outlined cartoony figures, some jivey enough to make Walt Disney pause, if he were still out and about.

Icons giving birth to baby iconettes. What goes around, comes around, and so on, and so on.

Edgy. Angles. Art.

What I really want to know is ----->How can the artists hold down that little spray-can button-nozzle-thingy for such a loooong time? How?

I hardly have the endurance to spray-paint one small, tin bucket. My pressing finger gets all denty and red.

Whatever. Here they are. Some graffiti fashion from my spring collection.

I did not pay for a ticket or stand in line. I just walked around and looked up.

You know me. I do not want to miss a thing. I have such strangest tastes. I like this and this and now this.

I am nothing if not an equal opportunity art appreciator.

My favorite was this guy.

I called him Mr. Green-pickle-nose-man and I passed his way several times during my visit. He always caught me by surprise, wanderer that I am. Every time I meandered past, looking up, he was staring down that little alley so I walked down there to see what it was all about.

It was all good.

Mr. Green-pickle-nose-man stayed in my mind and rolled around there. I thought about the artist who created him. I thought about the artist's mom and hoped she was patient, tolerant and encouraging. When I returned home I discovered a strange thing.

I had seen Mr. Green-pickle-nose-man's funny face before I had even left Home-Sweet-Florida. I had seen him over here.  Isn't that the funniest thing!

Well, here he is, Steph. For you. Do you see any changes? The ivy has grown a bit and other artists have added their little touches but it is the same guy, months later. My Mr. Green-pickle-nose-man. What did you call him?

I just love how life turns out sometimes.

in my blood

Slowly I opened the narrow door to the small, secret room and peeked inside. It was dark within. A strangely shaped room without windows.

Overhead the air-conditioner droned on and on in this impossible heat.

How many times had I walking past this plain green door thinking that it lead to the broom closet? Even a neat and tidy library such as this one needs a proper place to prop a broom.

But no.

This was no ordinary broom closet.

This, my friends, was the small, secret room that very few folks talk about and even fewer have ever entered.  It was the small, secret room located behind the library's 24-hour book drop slot.  

Maybe you have wondered about this mystery your entire life. Where does your library book go when you slide it down the shoot? Are little elves with white-gloved hands waiting to catch each volume? Is each book gently placed into a down-filled basket until properly checked in and shelved again?

HA! Do you really think I am going to tell you secret library tricks of the trade?

Only those with Special Library Card Magic can stand to know the whole truth.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness in the small, secret room, I began to make out the shape of a single book. One thin book waiting there all alone for me,  waiting for my hands to pluck it up and take in back into the light.

As I stooped and picked up the glowing book, it seemed to pulsate in my hands and, then, out tumbled a few magic cards featuring beautifully dressed woman and mysteriously dressed magicians.

The cards had fallen out of a secret pocket, hidden deep within the book.

Suddenly the small, secret room started spinning. I was covered by a blanket of fog. As I looked down at my hands, they became more child-like. I realized I was traveling back in time.

I found myself standing on a thick, burgundy carpeted stairway and around me on tall, papered walls there were many, many posters of Houdini. Each one featured the King of Magic doing one of his world-famous magic tricks.

Tall, brightly-colored posters of floating woman and intricately knotted ropes surrounded me as I climbed the stairs. I saw everything with such detail: the flying doves, the top hat with flowers, a huge tank filled with water. And still I climbed on until, back in real time, the book dropped from my hands and landed with a thud, bringing me rubber-band-like back home to the small, secret room behind the book-drop.

I knew imediately this was no dream, no magic trick.

Clearly, I could only do one thing.

Quickly I grabbed up the book and checked it out. I took it straight away with me to see my mother.

"Look at this!" I pointed out the magic cards as I plopped the book on her lap. "I have seen many visions such as these before! But where?"

My mom, who had never even seen the book, turned to the bibliography. "Look!" she exclaimed and pointed to a name, as if to explained it all.

The name you ask? The name my mother pointed out there in the bibliography?

Milbourne Christopher!

 

And while this name will mean nothing to you, it was the name of my mother's first cousin. I knew this name well for Milbourne Christopher had been on The Johnny Carson Show.

My mother's first cousin was a magician himself and had lived years and years ago in a huge house in Baltimore where, it turns out, original Houdini magic posters lined the stairways. A house where, as I soon discovered, my mother and father took me only once before my sweet sister was even born so I must have been only 4 years old at the time.

"Look!" my mother said, "The books  by your first cousin once-removed were used as reference for this book!"

"Well, I'll be! " I said.

"Well, I'll be!" my mother said.

And, then we had some Earl Grey Tea.

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

All the illustrations shown here came from the book Hocus Pocus by Paul Kieve who is in no way related to anyone I know.  If Mr. Kieve finds this posting I hope he will leave me a message or drop in for some Earl Grey tea with me and my mom. I think that would be nice, don't you?

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

invited to a mad tea party and the living is easy

There is to be a Mad Tea Party  {of the costume variety} over at A Fanciful Twist.

Everyone over here at my house is so happy to come up off the beach and get creative. Scissors are snipping and glitter is flying. That is all I can say.

You know me. I don't want to miss a thing!

We adore blog parties and have not been out to one in sometime. I cannot tell you what the costumes will be as that is Top Secret but let me say this:  There will be somepinkflowers involved! You can bet your bottom dollar on that!

Anyway, you are invited, too. Next Saturday, June 28. If you can make it. Lots of people are gonna be there with bells on. Go here and go here and see more.

Please come on back and visit here on Saturday, why don't cha?

a little summer job here in florida

 

I started to walk into this store on Saturday to see about obtaining a part-time, retail position selling brightly-colored beach towels and palm-tree covered T-shirts to the tourists from one of the  the O states.

I don't know what stopped me.

Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was some sort of bad vibe. Maybe it was just me. 

I could not  make myself go inside the air-conditioner-is-humming-along cool shop to inquire. Ended up at the beach in the sea with my amazingly lazy friend, Lethargy, instead. We floated around there in the warm surf and kept an eye peeled for lightening storms.

Summer must be right around the corner. I can feel it's steam on my neck, forcing me to purchase long, cool drinks, forcing me to slug-walk through jello-humidity with my flip-flops melting into asphalt at each street crossing.

I love this time of year and the expectation of accomplishing nothing. When I achieve the smallest goal I still have tons of daylight left to go out and brag about it.

Thank goodness.

this door

 

on one side i am wild and woolly
                                                               nature,
salt water smells with a hootchie-momma
yellow beaded anklet.
i am rain & all things sleeping outside
under the star rockets and pregnant moo-moo moon.
red tail-lights for eyes the gators smile on my rockin' rumba,
                                                                             on my silver seahorse flip-flops.
then i push my way on through
                                                                the door.
on the other side i am baptized, Republicanized
by the patient hummmmmmmm of A/C air
out of sight, out of mind, out of place
                                                       but there you have it
                                                       here you have it, have it both ways,
                                                                                                                  have it.
i am hymn-singing, angels-winging
{no sweat running down between my shoulder-blades now, sweetie}
covered-dish bringing
                                        good*girl.
momma be so proud, i am not too loud,  fit with the in-crowd.
amen to the door! brothers, sisters,
                                                                             amen
                                                                                          to
                                                                                               the door!

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

This posting is my participation in Doors , a Bloglandia World-Wide-Happening. Photography. Drawings. Prose. Philosophy. Doors. Follow the links, pass through more portals,
be a little bit Alice-In-Wander-Around-Land, a little bit Walk-This-Way. Just go explore the Door.

Visit the Marrakesh Doors  and the  Mexican Doors and the Doors of Light and Shadow. We have Telluride Doors  and  Doors Open to Receive and A Door in Time. Step Through the Snow Doors, admire the  Harlem Doors, share Memories of English Doors. Oh, here are Viennese Doors!

More Doors from around the World added throughout the day. Do not miss a one as you might find your magic door, the one that transports you to your own place in time. Behind Door # 3 your dream awaits: a 60" plasma TV, a trip to Paris, matching luggage. Who can say?

thank you, thank you so much

Mr. Handson walked into the stacks  while I was attempting to bring order out of ciaos in the James Patterson section. Knee deep in the prolific writer's works,  I was a trapped audience. I worked here and could not slip out the back door. I provided new ears for Mr. Handson's exhaustive, yet amusing, tales. I didn't mind at all. This was the library after all, I had to take what I could get. What ever walked in the front door.

"I lost my cheek in the Korean War," Mr. Handson explained. Looking at his face, I could see both cheeks, present and accounted for, so I was confused. Which one was missing? Maybe Mr. Handson was  referring to a cheek he used for sitting.

"Oh, they replaced it with pig skin in China," Mr. Handson went on, touching his left cheek tenderly, or was it his right? I cannot remember now.

" I was never the same," Mr. Handson went on, not the least bit winsome or sad or anything like that.

"Oh, dear," I replied "That must have been very unsettling for you!"

And so began our library relationship.

Mr. Handson had it in his heart to build an airplane in his back yard. I located book after book on airplane building. Tons of build-an-airplane-in-your-backyard books. Finally I sat him down at a public computer to download his final plans.

I taught Mr. Handson how to click, double click, drag and google. Took my entire lunch time plus more.

Then I left him alone. Before I made it back to the check-out counter bells and whistles sounded from Mr. Handson's  PC. Bells and whistles. Sounded like maybe the president or the pope was coming through. Then a yellow and red banner flashed angrily at the top  the screen: WARNING! WARNING! CLASSIFIED MATERIAL! CLASSIFIED MATERIAL!

Then an official looking FBI badge came onto the screen.

Man. I though the police were going to come running in. I had only left Mr. Handson alone for about 5 seconds.

"somepinkflowers, you put Mr. Handson on the computer?" each librarian asked me in turn when they showed up to check out the commotion, everyone of them rushing. "Mr. Handson? On a computer?? Mr. Handson???"

In February Mr. Handson brought me a gift. Hand-made. He was so proud. It was a small, table-top easel complete with adjustable and sliding this and that for holding a canvas.

I thought he had been working on his airplane.

"I made this for you, somepinkflowers," Mr. Handson said, pushing the wooden treasure into my hands. "It did not cost me a thing. I was going to put a drawer in the bottom but that would have made it too heavy for you to carry."

He would not let me give him any money, or even trade a drawing, as that would mean, if the easel became broken, then 'he would be obliged to fix it.'

I think this is going to be one of those pay it forward things. We shall see.

I have been so fortunate lately.

French Paul, one of my library volunteers, gave me a bottle of his homemade limoncello. We share a love for hiking in the Cinque Terre and like to outdo each other on the dangerousness of each leg of the public footpath overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

"The famous Via del'Amore, between Riomaggiore and Manarole is easiest to walk but take care with  your heart, somepinkflowers," warns French Paul, wading through his accent as if it were limoncello itself, thick from the freezer.

Truth is, I left part of my heart in Vernazza under a bright yellow umbrella in a seaside piazza. Who knew anchovy pizza could taste so yummy? I ate the whole thing.

I put the new copy of the Sam Cook CD on Tom's request list at the library. So then Tom made me a mix for my Bose wave. That is how these things happen.

Creative Debbie awarded me with this last month because I made her day. That is such a nice thing to say, I think. Her roundy-headed art folks always make my day, too.

And nature photographer extraordinaire Janson honored me this way. I am embarrassed but honored by such thoughts of kindness, such demonstrations of appreciation. When people do things like this I am proud to be human.

No matter how hard you try, you cannot get away from the generosity of people who want to share.

You have to just let them.

Last month while biting down on a piece of dark chocolate-covered nuts I cracked a crown. Valentine candy cracked my old tooth. That crown had been in my mouth for years. We were old friends. That piece of dentistry had been preformed before my nephew was born and now he has a teenage daughter. Time sure can pass by, dentally speaking.

Plus, I nearly swallowed the hunk of enamel.

"Happy Valentine's Day to me! " I thought, savoring the chocolate still. A new crown would be, what, $1000? Airplane fare to Athen is what that is. Counting the taxi to the airport on this end.

Ha!

Little did I know.

Like cleaning one little spot on the wall in your living room can force you to paint your entire house and then buy new carpet, things tend to escalate. One thing leads to another. A tooth implant cannot be done until there is strong bone. All God's chil'ren gotta have strong bones.

I am sitting here now with a bone graft in my jaw. Bone from some person I don't even know.

I want to thank this person for his/her bone but I don't know how. The bone-donor is no longer around to enjoy Valentine chocolates, limoncello or anchovy pizzas. The bone-donor can no longer enjoy the feel of an honest and heart-felt 'thank you so much.'

So I am thanking everybody else.

I am thanking Jenny for sending me the beads and charms you see up there in the three green dishes. She found out I was into beading and sent those my way. I have been making bits of jewelry like they were Johnny Depp dripping with bobs and trinkets.

I am thanking Steph for the copy of Mondays with Maxine  she sent my way. Pulled from her blog, Steph's book is about nature's  marriage to hope.  A gigantic pumpkin named Maxine grows a personality along with her bulk. I KNEW it would make a great book and I so love when I can say, "I told you so!" about something that turns out cool.

I am thanking Glenn for the ship-on-a-bottle painting he did for me in honor of my favorite beach. I am his library go-to person when he needs reference photos for his sign business. Last week we were all about photos of shrimp. Before that it was locomotives. I just never know.

I am thanking my sister for the silver hoop bracelet and the little  herb pots from here. My cat and I both  love the the little pots filled with rosemary, basil and more. I am thanking Janet for the  magazines on beading. I am thanking Carol for the flat of pink petunias which I will be planting tomorrow.

I am thanking Debbie, Janson, Paul, Tom, and Mr. Hanson. Thank you all for thinking of me and sharing.

No offense, Mr. Hanson, but I am glad my bone graft did not come from a pig. Your cheek turned out fine but I don't eat pork and would rather not be wearing  any either.

I think I am the same, Mr. Handson, even with this otherness inside me taking root.

Maybe I am more thankful these days for people who share.
Thank you, thank you all so much.

petal, a passport and a polar party, please

Come visit petal and somepinkflowers at The Bloglandia Polar Festival.
You do not even need a passport.
Just click here  for party venues.
Click  here and  here and here and here  and here and so on ...

 

bloglandia polar festival

In my heart I know there will never, ever be enough parties. Never, ever.

Other people feel the same way. That is why you are invited to the Bloglandia Polar Festival  because, after all, spring will be here before you know it. I have seen signs.

Who had the big idea? Guess! And that is her polar baby up there telling you to come on over. Turn yourself into a Snow Queen or a Party Animal or Both. Write a poem or sketch a picture of your favorite polar thingy. Whatever. Details here.

That eb, she is one party animal I am thinking!

Follow the links on Saturday to the Bloglandia Polar Festival  as we say, " So long, Mr. Winter. It has been nice knowin' you. Now move on over, why don't cha?"

I plan on going as I don't want to miss a thing. But, just so you'll know, I am looking ahead.