I see my living room is turning into my studio. Surrounded by
ancient black and white photos of companions and teachers, new watercolors from Lopez Island,
a table of basic color studies, open windows and doors, a camera filled with clouds.
I have retired. A genuine miracle.
Have time to bounce around and attend to what's front and center:
Gardening with landscape fabric that glows gray at twilight.
Setting up a trip to Portland on Amtrack.
Polishing off the spinach ricotta pie.
Splitting Mother's Day coffee chocolates with Bob.
And trying to learn those few main chords.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Friday, September 16, 2011
Few and far between
You would think someone who kept a journal for 50 years could find time and subjects to write about. OK, maybe not the time.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Bands of Rothkoesque clouds hanging over Puget Sound and reports of snowflakes to the north and ice storms to the south have people here at work watching the windows. Joking about scattering. Waiting for a sign that it's time to head home. Doing the work that HAS to be done before they leave. Packing more to take home.
I'm layered. Got the wool long underwear keeping me toasty, even in the wind waiting for the bus. I like to dress as though I'll be forced to walk the three miles home. Recall I once flew to an Alaska wedding in hiking boots, with gloves and hat in my purse, just in case the plane went down. Fortified with the Inuit knowledge that if I had to sit in the snow, I should make myself a little platform and sit on my gloves. Pull my hands inside my jacket. Was met at the airport by locals in high heels. Idiots stepping into slush, but so fashionably. We laughed at each other, but not yet ourselves.
Facing cutbacks here at work, people say the good news is this will force us to focus on what's most important. It has been our focus for over a year, and continues. Intensifies. Can't you feel it happening everywhere? You think about buying something and realize you just don't need it. You look around at the things you own and realize you can't sell, eat, or burn them. Not quite true--I could stay warm for weeks with my books. Twisting pages of Shakespeare, DK Goodwin, etc. into paper logs, like the Ingalls family in "The Long Winter" twisting straw into fuel.
What's most important? Friends and family. The sweetness of life. Encouraging and helping each other. Creating and sharing--because imagination and need are two things, at least, that are unlimited.
I'm layered. Got the wool long underwear keeping me toasty, even in the wind waiting for the bus. I like to dress as though I'll be forced to walk the three miles home. Recall I once flew to an Alaska wedding in hiking boots, with gloves and hat in my purse, just in case the plane went down. Fortified with the Inuit knowledge that if I had to sit in the snow, I should make myself a little platform and sit on my gloves. Pull my hands inside my jacket. Was met at the airport by locals in high heels. Idiots stepping into slush, but so fashionably. We laughed at each other, but not yet ourselves.
Facing cutbacks here at work, people say the good news is this will force us to focus on what's most important. It has been our focus for over a year, and continues. Intensifies. Can't you feel it happening everywhere? You think about buying something and realize you just don't need it. You look around at the things you own and realize you can't sell, eat, or burn them. Not quite true--I could stay warm for weeks with my books. Twisting pages of Shakespeare, DK Goodwin, etc. into paper logs, like the Ingalls family in "The Long Winter" twisting straw into fuel.
What's most important? Friends and family. The sweetness of life. Encouraging and helping each other. Creating and sharing--because imagination and need are two things, at least, that are unlimited.
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