New necklace...Barn Bird

I am really getting used to this 'stay at home' working thing, up all night, sleep till 8:00...what's that all about...did someone say retirement?...NOT...I guess I just love what I do. Painted two pieces for Sister's yesterday, got two chandeliers ready to take up, redid my workspace and got my new Country Home magazine. Is it my imagination or is that magazine getting smaller...same with Country Living and forget Victoria, however much I love it, only six issues for the same price of 12 of the others, just turns me off. Never thought I would see economy hit those pages.

Anywho, back to the necklace...I love the look of the olive green sea glass, it always inspires me to flights of fancy, as do the little bird charms, especially the swallows. What is it with the swallow, that poets have always sung her praises? Is it her sweeping grace and elegance, the beautiful colors she displays, the very vision of summer she encompasses...I just think the elegance in form is what I love and the fact that they are barn birds, country birds. Sisters had nests glued to the porch ceiling at Bloom and these resolute gliders dive-bombed each new visitor, warning of things to come if nests were disturbed...yes, flights of fancy.

The small bit of steel, was found in an alley...something about it called my name...industrial, weathered, perhaps a cut-out piece of barn roof, so I thought it would be perfect to pair with the swallow...my 'barn bird'....I think it works. The little white beads are from an old rosary and are small seeds, very apropos.

Swift as the daylight

my brilliant hov'ring friend,

Sister of the sky.

In the wee hours...To Soar...

What is it about working at night that inspires the heart...Scratchy, who was having a bad hair day, begs to go to the upstairs...but I, the intrepid artist, must finish the project. Having dragged my new purchase into my already crammed living space, this beautiful oak farm table, now becomes my work space for the creation of 'The Wild Thing' jewelry. Lots of space to pile high, yet near a window for light and in my beloved parlor to add to my creative flow. My coveted oak Eastlake bookcase holds candles for sale at my home and odds n ends trinkets, also with price tags and of course, the dog...in her favorite window seat.

This is my latest inspiration, again using old rosary beads, recycled, golden sea glass, tektite pebbles and the beautiful flying bird charm. This too, will be displayed at Sister's Garden for sale, or you can email me. My haiku for the creation.

Flights to lofty heights,
sweet rebounds at Heaven's gate
are Earthbound no more.

Busy, busy...all in a days work...

All in a days work you say...never a dull moment...well I try to keep myself busy and out of trouble (yeah right). So this was my last necklace I put together. I love using rosary beads and elements of Nature, simple statements, with the use of old wire, not silver, not gold, just wire. It has the look of old fencing to me, I just love the organic feel of it, the look of capturing Nature.

So I finally got my behind a movin' and made some ol' timey soaps, lavender essential oil and buds, wafts through the air in my house...I love making soaps, especially when it is loved by so many others. These are great big uneven chunks, just like Granny would'a cut, wasn't important to be perfect, just handy.

Then the fall-scented candles, fireplace in a can, with the light hint of the fireplace and a sweet perfume, vaguely resembling a man's rugged, scented cologne, but the combination is wonderful and brings the warmness of fall into the shut-up home...'tis the season.

And lastly, two beautiful Cocker Spaniels...these beautiful brothers were a pleasure to groom, well-trained and dapper-dans, they know how to pose.

Ok...now can I play...I think I shall sit with my furry friend warming my lap and read an early print of a book I picked up at Good Will, 'The Secret Garden' by Frances Hodgson Burnett...at least till I fall asleep in my chair...goodnight...

The Mighty Miss...

Growing up on the banks of the Mighty Mississippi is something any child would've relished, as it's shoreline offered treasures galore. As kids, we spent nearly every weekend traveling to the sandbars in our trusty lil' v-hull aluminum boat...not the grand boats of our family friends, but the little fishing boat that would take us on those magical trips to the shores where exploration was our duty of the day...such treasures...sticks, stones and bones, everything a child could drag into our little boat to take home to display in our rooms. Once finding a cache of turtle eggs, I brought several home to bury in warm sand in hopes they would hatch into my river friends...well, we won't go into that story.

Always the explorers, my brother and I would run free on the beautiful banks, back in the fifties, not knowing the pollution that was discarded into her flow. Meat-packing plant, lumber manufacturing, city sewage, run-off from agriculture, industry, barge trash and just plain people, throwing everything of refuse into her swells, not caring what happened to the spoil.

Sadly today, I will not eat the fish from her depths, once teaming with catfish, sturgeon, walleye and carp. There is now mercury poisoning from coal-fired discharge, farm run-off from chemicals and animal wastes, lead and whatever else has seeped to her belly. Will our rivers and streams ever be pristine again. Sadly the toxins run the full gamut to the delta, where they're sucked into the Gulf of Mexico, causing dead-zones everywhere.

Sad scenario for what the Native Americans called the Big Muddy. But photos of her surface splendor, keeps my hope alive that some day we will be forced to give back to nature, so that species will thrive, not succumb. As flooding continues, year after year, we see changes in pattern, but the lore of the river remains.

Have we not learned...

At what price will we eventually learn that what we disregard today, will come back to haunt us tomorrow. Scratchy and I took a drive yesterday, hoping to capture the last vestiges of a summer, but by the end of the day, I was moved to write about the tragedies I saw intertwined with the glorious visions of Iowa farmland.

Along side the beautiful autumn trails, my path led to a hog confinement breeding facility. Now the thing that disturbs me the most, is the fact that this is placed in what they call 'the bottoms'.

This is directly above a nature preserve, a wetland, set aside for waterfowl and upland game bird breeding. I have seen flocks of wild turkey and whitetail deer in abundance among said farmers corn fields, to which massive amounts of herbicide and pesticides are lavished on the crops and drain directly into the sanctuary through drainage ditches.

Now if this isn't disturbing enough, let's toss in a coal fired mass electrical producing, polluting machine. I once lived near this fire-breathing dragon. They say it doesn't pollute, but why did my new white shingles turn dark grey after only a year...mercury dust perhaps and we all (I hope) know what a small amount of mercury will pollute in the river nearby. Did I mention that a Monsanto plant only a mile away...so let's not go into the purple soil and nature preserve that Monsanto shares with this power plant...perhaps to monitor it's toxic effects on the surroundings...hmmm...

But the topping on the cake, is the 'black storm', reticent of the dustbowl days...oh really...have we not learned from past farming experiences. If you look real close, you can see a barn and out-buildings in the shot. This happens every year on what is called 'the island', which is where I live, although I live next to the bluff, which is a ways from the river. The Island is the Mississippi river bottom, a huge, flat area protected by highly maintained levee systems. Perfect for growing potatoes, melons and veggies of all sorts, corn and soybeans. It is a sandy soil that drains quickly and needs irrigation systems or it will dry up, as sand naturally does. This black cloud was blowing for miles and happens every fall...does he not see his topsoil setting it's mark for the river and perhaps he wonders why the Mississippi is so full of topsoil, silted away by the prevailing winds...could it be the almighty dollar that pushes man to forget...

We all pay for this neglect...sooner or later...

The Creeps...Shadow Shot Sunday

An ode to 'the creeps'

may they never fade,

from my garden they flourish

with web-traps well laid.

My fear gives me bumps

a disease of the mind,

but if they ensnare me,

will I turn one of their kind...

Your beauty I see not,

as I'm fleeing away

there is nothing about you

that bids me to stay.

Oh, widow of darkness

will you bite off my head,

your mating rite binds you,

I'm so glad he's dead.

But what is this I see

hanging orbs all around

ghostly visuals of infants

soon cov'ring the ground.

My fear is engourged

by the 'willies' I feel

will my night ever end,

will I be your next meal.

A friend to the rescue

with biting tongue to your fate

Jack Frost you're my hero

en'tring through ol' winter's gate.

Though long times passing

till we will meet again

I in my garden

and your seed I'll call friend.

That time again Shadow Shot Sunday...tis the season of the creeps and I would like to dedicate this to the creature that shared my home all summer. Attached to my porch, web filled with bugs of all sorts, I chronicled her life till her last dying moments, hanging limp from her web she so laboriously tended. She truly gave me the 'willies' every time I gazed on her, but it's sort of a sad tale of woe, as the summer ends, so too her life, as she hangs at the end of her cycle...alone...dying...and thanks Willow for the 'willies'...HA...

Ahhhh...Sister's Garden...

I wonder through the peak holes of past lives, into a garden of accessorized flowers, all calling my name...pick me...pick me...oh, sweet, bright nymphs, you would do well in my home. A home where your fabrics and polished woods abound in the pink shelter on the prairie grounds, where farms and futures thrived, unfettered by....

Ok, I have a tendency to exaggerate...have you noticed, well good, but I can't help it, give me some mood music, allow me to roam free through the gardens of furniture at Sister's Garden and this is what you get...visions of loveliness awaiting your approval...OK...I want that pink chair in the last picture so bad I can taste it...a taste of decadence and the simple word of approval...MINE...PLEASE.

I am leaving most shots full on, so you can get close-ups of all the stuff neatly layered to attract your attention. As October is slowly leaving our doorstep, Christmas can be seen sprinkled here and there. It will not be one of imported fancies this year, but one of thought-provoking gifts...all MADE IN AMERICA...at one time or another throughout history. A Christmas of fancy, with lots of lights and sparkle and simplicity, one of natural beauty and humbleness...can we remember the true meaning of a simple gift of love, perhaps remembrance of love, a kind gesture...simple, yet thought provoking...the real meaning of Christmas...can you remember...

Can we talk...

I have something of a personal note to share with you, my friends. I can hear my Mother now, "I can't believe you said that"...

My brother finally helped me drag in my huge Eastlake cupboard to 'the chateau', the one that has held all the mementos of my married life to 'the X'...I told myself that I wasn't going to bring it to the chateau, because of my fear of losing my home and having to ask help to take it back to my Grandmother's house where I stayed after my move back from Florida. In these uncertain financial times, the economy has not been kind to single people, especially women...especially at this age...

But I have new confidence and I am releasing it to the Universe, I am staying and that is that! But coincidence moves me to share this with you. When we moved the piece, I also grabbed a box of the packed away contents of the cupboard, why this box, who knows, but this morning as I am reloading 'the stuff' back onto the shelves of this gorgeous, golden oak masterpiece...I opened this lil' music box and this note was in it. I vaguely remember writing it out of utter frustration with my Robert Redford look-a-like, philandering husband...a note, composed by me, that told me it was over...stashed away in a charming, little, gifted music box with my favorite ballet...Swan Lake. As I read the note and the message in the porcelain swan, I reflected on how the Universe works...for some reason I feel like I have come full circle. Me, the dog and my lil' pink shack on the prairie...now, can you tell me how I can top this...yes, new life, new hope and always looking skyward...and why Swan Lake...yes, there is a message there...and I get it.

Are we not formed,

as notes of music are,

for one another.

As I am listening to the CD from the soundtrack 'Elizabeth, The Golden Age' and the coincidental music of this soundtrack of destiny, betrayal, peace and promise...I have to say thanks, thanks for letting me go, as I look to new horizons...it's gonna be a helluva ride!

I luv u Ma...

UPDATE...Scratchy 3...mouse 0...

LOL

May I have the envelope please...

Awards on the blog, to me, are a wonderful sense of achievement by your co-writers out there in this quickly expanding blog-o-sphere, that you have been noticed. I have recently been given this beautiful award by Steph over at Incurable Insomniac. She is a writer and composer and my age, which I find rather rare in this blog world, most everyone I have met is my daughter's age. But there are so many of us soon to be 60 woman, reaching that milestone in our lives, it is so grand that we have met in this virtual universe of blog, sharing our daily lives and interests...you have all become my new best friends.

As I find myself staying home more and more, married to my keyboard, it is a pleasure to call upon you for advise, for beauty, for solace and love...and of course the laughs! Although, I find it impossible to pass the awards on to such a few chosen souls, I again give it to all my blog friends. You are all so deeply appreciated in my small world...the Lost Continent of Iowa. Without you and your words, given freely and encouragingly, I would still be approaching 60 and single and living alone (not that I don't relish it), but, it's like having coffee with the girls every morning and I want to thank every one of you for the pleasure of your company...cheers!

Thanks Steph!

What's in your junk pile...

I feel a change in the look of the antique market again. You know how Rachel Ashwell changed antiquing forever with her whimsical, romantic style of white, white, white furniture, well back in the day you could paint dirt white and it would sell, but today, I think we have a more sophisticated shopper. This new women is not afraid to take risks with architectural pieces, funky artsy pieces, metals mixed with woods, anything that adds focal point to a room. It's not all about having all golden oak or all walnut or all white. You're mixing all woods to create a palette all your own...a statement to who you are and where you are going.

I see it in the younger girls too, wanting to create their own look, to identify them from the masses. Retro mixed with Victorian, institution furniture, anatomy class pieces, anything out of the norm, taxidermy, even 'cracked baby doll heads'...aka Chippys and that wonderful Bohemian look of Magnolia Pearl. Sure it's not for everyone, especially if your're married to a traditional kind guy, but just go crazy with the look...if you dare.

But most of all, I think we are after that comfort zone, since more and more people are staying home, due to high gas and everything else for that fact, I think they want that zone where they can feel unfettered by the rat race on the outside...their comfort zone. Maybe they want that feeling of the olden days, when things were slower paced and gave you that close knit family feeling. I don't know for sure, but it just feels different to me...and frankly, I am just getting sick of painting white...gimme chippy old paint any day!

I sure hope so, cause that to me IS real comfort...my own lil' home to make me yearn to be inside, that 'can't wait to get home' kinda feelin', makes ya just feel all tingly inside...know what I mean.

Why Melancholy...

You ask why, why the dread...well, when you live in the Northern section of the United States, there are many things to be feared. Last years winter and it repeating itself this year, is something all of us in small business dread...every year. Snowfall after snowfall, always on the weekend too, when people suffering from cabin fever will brave the cold and impossible driving conditions to seek the companionship of another WARM human being, if just to complain about the weather. This year we have the added fuel to the flame with the cost of heating fuel...will we be able to afford it. A friend just had her propane tank filled, $700.00, and I don't know about you, but that would take me all summer to save for that one.

Ice storms that dump rain, quickly frozen, on everything. You can't get to work cause the roads are impassable, hell, you can't even get you car doors open, froze shut, if you can get to your car without crawling to it. Then the branches start falling off the trees from the weight of the ice, knocking down power lines, cable lines and when the computer goes...you know real isolation. Thank the Gods for my art, I always have something to do, albeit candle light.

But there is something...if you think far back to your youth, that makes the harsh reality somewhat sweeter. The days as a child anxious for the first snow, well, for one thing, you knew it would make it so much easier for Santa to get here...but braving the cold to flounce body, full on, into those wonderful peaks that Dad just shoveled into a nice pile out of the drive. Tunnelling into the igloos of winter, to seek that sense of comfort out of the frosted airs, blowing tornadoes of frosted breath at each other, enjoying each warmed puff. It made the frozen fingers and toes, the chapped legs from the boots hitting raw skin, the constant running nose, happily wiped on a sleeve and the slamming of a snowball, dead-center into your little brother's face...ahh, yes winter as a child...

OK, enough of that crap...it is hell on earth, a beautiful hell, but one of fear that we endure each year and this year with the added economic worries of the country...what will it bring to us. Financial devastation, as everyone tightens their belts. Loss of homes to bankruptcy, credit cards maxed to pay for food and heat, construction costs to pay for damages from storms, plowing out driveways from 10 inch dumps, one after the other. You could not get me to move farther North, if you dragged me...as a matter of fact...Florida is looking alot more accessible to me right now and having a Mother living there, sweetens the deal.

But as I write, melancholy, about the coming winters LONG months, you will get some sort of a sense of anxiety in my muse...it is real and it is nearly here. But the joy of walking into the white, with my little furry friend, as the snow on my metal roof slides down at the very moment I shut the door, burying me and the furry companion, you can't help but smile...just one more day in the life...

Shadow Shot Sunday

Stay My Friend

You are a late sun.

The afternoon wains through my window,

I catch your meaning on my wall.

Be quick, as I am fleeting

my message is fast passing 'way.

My winter's dressage, you will soon be wary,

as the warmth you so long for,

is a mere game of guessing...

you are getting warmer...you are getting colder...

but I am not fond of games.

This quiet creature

has not the affection for your riddles...

raw, cold and dull they become.

Do not seek to become overzealous,

I am not your foil.

I will seek the sea and salt-scented breezes

to calm my warm-blooded heart.

This is not my cage, but my longing...

I long for my true sun...

always.

SSS is here, how fast the days pass as winter approaches. Go to Hey,Harriet and check out the shadows, we have some really fun people joining in, won't you try.

Oh, Look at This Day...

These are the days of poets...

looking out to the nothing,

fogged days, when neighbors disappear.

I relish this thought and long to be home to write, to create

in the warmth of the hearth,

where my soul rests and feeds

on each new hour I possess.

Rushing off to my one day's work in the city,

art's desire unquenched, but duty fulfilled.

Ah, to be home, one single mind

lost in thoughts...

Does it ever stop, you ask often...

hoping not so,

my mind whirls in this one possession...

my fantasy and it's will.

Oh, look at this day...

Sister's Garden

Wonderful stuff and pure torture...Barb knows how to do it to ya! When I walked into Bloom, I was stopped dead in my tracks with this gawgus chandelier. Deb, that works the shop for Barb is trying to figure out how to stretch her normal ceilings to fit this huge piece...skylight maybe...or maybe handy for chips and dips over a dining room table. When ya just ain't got a 12 ft. ceilings...you drool alot more (welcome to my world)...

This drawered piece looks like a draftsman's chest for draft papers or paintings and prints, but how cool is that, filled to the brim with jewels...such a Christmasy flair, with the big silver mirror reflecting the sparkle.

Then there 's this awesome floral display piece, very old and in excellent condition and a steal...I checked the price. And as always, chippy white cupboards, I especially like the green underneath, what a statement and no glass in the doors, so many fun things you can do when there isn't any. Mine have old lace curtain pieces hanging in them...such fun we have as woman in today's decorating fancies.

Earth Girl

I love this new set, it's made from tektite stones and old green glass beads found rummaging through a box of old buttons. The necklace is also borrowed from an old rosary, it had the most beautiful cross hanging from it, I keep all of the crosses because the beauty and artistry just appeals to me. I call this set, 'Earth Girl', it just speaks to me of an earthly nature. My haiku for this piece...

Earth Girl, have known you,

you were my reality,

once harb'ring your strengths.

Man in the Moon

Each morning as I gaze through the steam

of my first cups brew,

the brilliant red torch of the maple

alights my neighbors yard.

Some day I'll arise and grab that first glow

of the apple tree,

it bares it's jewels in first hours light.

But only viewing through my window, small keyhole

at the side of my keys, I watch as nature

unfurls hidden messages

only my camera sees...a moon...

full in its splendor,

walking tightropes of man's folly...

you can't hurt me yet.

Your misguided notions are still a world away.

But I can gaze into your window,

typing and sipping

you follow your heartstrings,

a song of my Sister Nature

and me,

the Man in the moon...