Monday, October 29, 2012

Storms a'brewin'

It's all static and energy outside. The crows, who are always flying to roost at this time of night are speeding by, coasting on wild winds and looking for all the world like frenzied, happy things. It's exciting to be on the verge of a good storm. I'm sincerely afraid that our roof, or at least large portions of it, will blow off. I'm hoping we don't lose our electricity, or more importantly our heat! But if we do...there are candles, and the oil lamp, and neighbors to laugh with.
So, Bring it Sandy. I'm ready. Mostly..ish.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

ornamental anticipation

The weather has turned. Cold, rain, and grey grey grey. And i love it. The house is aglow with candles and soft light. There is a feeling of comfort and refuge from the weather. I am full of anticipation for Thanksgiving, and the magical season it ushers in. Nik and I are already singing caroles and talking about where we'll put the tree. I, of course, am slighty preoccupied with finding one that is NOT infested with aphids. I was a little traumatized by that last year and have No desire to repeat the great aphid tree experiment. *shudder*

I have two shows lined up for the holidays, too. And have begun making ornaments! Here are a couple of my favorites..

They are both currently at Studio Hart on Allen Street. But here is my absolute favorite, which I may not be able to part with..

Monday, October 22, 2012

want want

I have the travel bug. I want to hop the pond again, and I want to see Prague. I want to see Paris. I want to navigate and ramble and pick through flea markets and marvel at the history and revel in the food. I want to hear another language. I want to feel shaken and cranky and amazed. I want to feel so outside of my comfort zones that its a safe ish way. I feel nostalgia and longing for places I've never been and for cultures I've never experienced. I want to feel foreign countrysides the way I feel forests when we go hiking. To see trees I don't see here, and to touch their bark and feel their beautiful, strong root systems and feel connected and grounded and present.
Want want.
But then, I want lots of things. Our homestead. My chickens. A house that isn't leaking and neglected. A hammock in the woods, complete with mosquito net. I want smaller pores. Longer hair. A lobster tail and veuve cliquot. another pair of wool socks.
For now...I will eat supper with my love, and be present and appreciative.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

Remembering Walter

I accidentally deleted this, an am posting it again.
Life has been full of motion and work and love of late. But I wanted to pause and remember my Dad today. It's been 25 years since he died, which just seems impossible. It's been so much was so much more recent...depending on the day. I've thought a lot about the day he died, 7 months after a cancer diagnosis. I thought of his choice not to have chemotherapy after the first couple of treatments. I've thought of the last few weeks of his life. But what I want to say here, is that in my child's memory of him, there is just so much love. And it feels unconditional when I recall it. And that is important to me, even if I am mis remembering. Even though my older siblings had much more difficult relationships with him. I realize that he mellowed a great deal, and I am grateful that in the path of my life I had his gentle, reassuring love for 14 years.

Saturday, October 20, 2012

brave monkey.

I read somewhere that if I don't blog for awhile, I'm supposed to jump right in as though no time had passed. Which seems impossible. Too much has happened. More than a month of days and nights of living and adventuring and creating.
I have not written, in part, because of a life event that has felt personal, and tapped into some of my bigger fears as well. It's incredible how my heart can beat harder as I write this, as I skirt the issue, full of tremulous anxiety. *deep breathe, and just say it..* My sweet dad in law has had a cancer diagnosis. It feels simultaneously manageable, beatable, and terrifying. What is to come will not be simple, but I feel confident that it will be all right. Yet my history makes me feel utterly tired of the word cancer and all of it's nasty implications. I feel like death is all up in my face, poking me in the chest and claiming every person I love as it's own.
But there is the fact that death is what makes life feel relevant, and beautiful, and precious. It is the thing that makes us say 'carpe diem' and drives us to create the lives we want to live. It's what makes loving sweeter, and joy brighter. The inevitability of loss urges us to be vigilant, loyal friends, to strive toward healing and growing as people. It encourages leaps of faith into our dreams.
Or does it? It can also make us isolate ourselves. To choose to live small, comfortable, familiar lives that don't invite the fear of the unknown. It can make us shut out the potential for deep friendships, deep loves, deep commitments in order to spare ourselves loss and grief. The irony is that loss happens. Whether we love one person or many, one pet or many. And when we lose one who we love, we are faced with grief. That great open space in us that feels unfillable by any but the friend, the beloved.
And it is that deep darkness that makes joy feel so miraculous when it returns. When sun bursts through black clouds and just brilliantly illuminates us for a moment. And through our healing and grieving we experience more and more moments of light. And then there is the blessed day when we can feel joy and love and gratitude while thinking of our lost loves. When their memory brings us comfort, and not pain.
It is cyclical, and fluid, and ever changing.
So. I finally said it. Which in some ways means having to be a brave monkey and accepting it. Pappy's diagnosis makes me feel afraid, but strong too. Knowing that I will lose so many people who I love in this lifetime reminds me that I Love. That I am capable of caring for, loving, losing, grieving, healing, loving more, and celebrating the lives of everyone around me. I'm so grateful for that.