Ornamental

last of july reflections

  i know i said i wouldn't be back here until after the weekend, yet here i am once again.  i cannot help myself; it is, truly now, the final day of july, and with all of this rain we've been having, i feel as if this month will float away in an image of complete and utter reflection.  this photo was taken last evening, as walter and i went out onto the deck in search of a nonexistent rainbow (the sun had come out, for a few brief moments, but the rain began to fall again as soon as i walked outside in my bare feet); and i post this image today for my british friends holly and cathy, the two folks who seemed most enthusiastic about the reflection of the sky in collected water.  (cathy, perhaps you could make a doll with a reflective surface for a face, so that when one looks at it, one sees one's own face?).  meanwhile, i just may set out more plates to capture the rain and the reflections; this one was full of birdseed until the squirrels came and whisked the seeds away, and now all that's left is the sky and a fluttery mirror of clouds and trees.  perhaps that is a wonderful thing, after all, for the birds:  sky, clouds, trees in water.  i'm sure they wouldn't disagree with me.
are any of you experiencing this kind of rain?  the sort that settles in and rains and rains and rains, so that everything in the house - if your windows are blessedly open to the elements and not closed tight with "conditioning" - is damp and limp with the feel of sodden ground?  i have, as you've seen, several pair of shoes just inside the front door, and at this point every one of them is wet from the multitudes of trips i take outside in the grass with walter each and every day.  i walk barefooted out onto the deck and love the feel of the water under my feet, the reflection of the light on wooden boards.  walter likes it too, and wants to stand and lick the freshness over and over again.  see how he has grown?  all legs and ears and paws, i think - a true measure of how quickly all of our time flies past.  they don't call it "the past" without a reason, i now see.
i thought i'd share with you the finished pair of earrings that i sat quietly last night and completed as the rain continued to fall; the tiniest little faceted briolettes of dark citrine dangle and sway from the bottom of those evocative words, and i'll be wearing them all the way to atlanta this afternoon.  yes, a change of plans: ben had an extension of difficult work to complete by today, and i'm headed down to atlanta for the weekend.  as i said, it is raining and raining and raining between here and there, and i'll be packing up walter and all the necessary puppy accoutrements for the trip.  picture this - a starry-eyed, school girl nina navigating down a rainy, shining highway, two words dangling from the lobes of my ears, dangling and catching even the most subtle of light that comes with the rain.  i'll be reflecting; and so, i think, shall ben.  see you again, upon my return. xo

and for everyone out there looking for rainbows, my brother's favorite song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=caRI5y43Nxg

suspended...

  it is, as i'm sure you already know, the very last day of july (i just glanced at the calendar.  lord.  at least i got the month right...).  i glance back at all of the many photographs i've taken this one month alone and see a vast panorama of my life as it has become just in the last six weeks:  there are countless images of walter, quite a few of the boys, some of my parents, many of nature, a few of my hands, face, and feet, and a lovely selection of photographs of ben.  we were talking, ben and i, of high school days one late night on the phone this week - remember, we knew each other back then, so long ago - and he made the comment that there just weren't many photographs of that time period in his possession, that people didn't have the access to digital wizardry and technology that we do today.  i think back to my college days and can recall perhaps ten or twelve photographs - some of a rare snow, a few at a nearby waterfall, one of me standing with my hair in a braid, seashells in my hair (although you can't see them, they were there), my tongue sticking out to the person behind the camera's eye.  there is one of me with delicate baby's breath tucked into my long curls, another with me dressed up for halloween.  beyond this i draw a blank.  but now?  now, there are so many photographs that i have them filed here under months, or things like "self portraits" and "artwork" and "jewelry".  my life has aged, and in that singular act it has evolved, become more finely tuned, full of details and observations that can be found right here for all the world to see.  granted, i don't share all of the photographs with you - scandalous! - but i think i can truly say that you do see most of my moods and emotions and milestone events smack dab on my sleeve, right here before you on your screen, shining with an electric light behind the sundry imagery.    i show you rain, and leaves, and puppy dog feet, skylines and sunsets and reflections in the water left behind after a storm.  i show you soft smiles and sideways glances, dreamy morning views of fog, birds perched on railings with raindrops on their backs, my feet propped up before the sky.  i show you the sunshine spilling in my western bedroom window, just so.  i talk to you of sorrows and joys, confusions and clarity through my photographs; i talk to you of life.  and you, in turn, respond with your own feelings that bubble to the surface when you see the things i see, when you share the emotions i feel.  i love this room where we come to visit with one another, where we give and take and give again, where we read and laugh and weep together as one.  don't ever go away, my friends, and i'll promise to try to be here always, as well.

  do any of you remember the scene (of course you do) where E.T. is hiding in drew barrymore's closet, staring out from a sea of doll faces?  does this remind you of that?  and can you appreciate the mayhem through which walter plunders and swims, from day's beginning to day's end, every day here on firefly road?!  notice the netflix stack, unwatched now for over a month.  notice the books stacked under the table, one of which is a very fine artist's book i created (do you remember True Colors?) that was dubbed "Heavy Metal" by everyone in the collaboration, adorned with many dangling charms that attract a young pup's fancy.  and just to humor you, i will show you how all tabletop surfaces look at present here in my lovely home, so full of jetsam and magic:  that's right.  go ahead and laugh.  it's bad.  any of you who've experienced babies or young pets will be able to relate.  i had no clue, i really didn't, what destruction could ensue.  and it has only just begun.  why, you might ask, are so many pairs of my shoes out in the foyer on top of the table?  the baby gate across my bedroom door prevents me from entering and exiting that room without a good bit of trouble.  but look - there is one netflix envelope, sealed for weeks now, ready to be mailed.  there are the latest cds to which i've been listening (can you guess, mystery man?).  there are the sculptures created for me by roy so many years ago, now obscured by bundles of yarn unraveled, mail that has been chewed, shoes that have not.  not yet.  and i dare not show you the studio, which i've not been able to use since mr. trouble came to live with me last month.  i have, though, been working from a tray in my lap, here in the living room, when i could find a snippet of time here and there (so rare); but walter has learned how to jump up on those gangly long hind legs of his and reach for things that used to be out of his grasp.  i doubt that what remains of my sanity will last through all of this.

i thought i'd share with you a couple of previews of some jewelry that i'll be posting in my etsy site sometime early next week.  ellen was here for a week, and left yesterday at noon, leaving me standing there on the stair steps waving her down the road with a heavy, wriggling puppy on my hip and wondering how the time so quietly evaporated into a distant vapor without my having noticed.  yesterday evening i managed to sit quietly while walter napped and work on some more of the trinkets that have been silently waiting for me to come back to them again.  being limited to lap work has turned my pieces into simpler designs, inspired i think by the rosary-style necklace i fashioned for the italy workshop i'll be teaching next september, 2010 in orvieto.  i love the repetitive nature of twisting sterling wire 'round gemstone beads in various colors, the counting and the alternating of sizes from bigger to small.  i'm reminded of zen, and find it there, whether the tray rests on my lap out on the deck or here in the living room.  sadly, those trays are no longer safe; when i can find a larger pocket of time (key word being "when"), i'll be tackling the studio and puppy proofing things in there.  this is no easy feat;  the mountain on top of my work table patiently towers, as it grows larger and takes over like southern kudzu.  below is a necklace that i've not yet completed; the resin charms began while i was demonstrating and teaching resin charms at valley ridge when i was there at the beginning of june.  they were created when i found a couple of random words in an old dilapidated book of poetry - dusk, dawn - and placed them atop some tea stained wallpaper a friend had sent to me.  the charms made it back home with me, and now they will be transformed into a necklace that one can wear in the early morning and through the afternoon and on into the night.  i'll make it so that the word charms are interchangable, to suit the mood or the time of day.  or night.  right?  picture another of my gemstone tassels, perhaps of smoky quartz teardrops mixed with tiny, creamy baroque pearls.  dark and light, beginning and another beginning, not an end - rather,   a continuation of beauty and life.  into the night.  i like that my life is blossoming into my jewelry, or the other way around; i like that i can wear my life as ornaments, glittering and strung around my neck or wrist, dangling from the lobes of my ears.  i like that you want to wear the pieces as well.  "How do you part with each piece?", i am often asked, and the answer - quite simply - is that it is my living, this bending and twisting and assembling into decoration for the heart.  my art books are that way as well; i've never sold a single one, other than the miniscule little metal-covered journals that i sold back sometime before christmas.  i do, sometimes, leave bits and pieces of jewelry trimmings behind for myself, and - again, sometimes - i'm surprised by the serendipity of how apropro these pieces can be for me.  the pieces above were also begun at valley ridge, and will sometime today be transformed into a pair of earrings for me to wear when ben comes to visit again tomorrow.  i'll make them for myself to wear with ben, because all hours with him are my sanctuary, and because we live so far apart, are also very sacred.  yes, they are.  i hope you find your hours to be sacred times as well.  right now i swear i feel like getting down on my knees and thanking the universe for the sacredness of these things.  perhaps you might for yours, as well.




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-dT6PEHzBA

see you next week. xo

this is

this is nina being calm and collected. 
this is nina beginning to freak out.

this is nina thinking about the slower pace.
this is nina trying to remember what slow was like.

this is nina maintaining peace in her world.
this is nina scrambling to find her center, again.

this is nina taking one deep breath at a time.
this is nina trying to remember to breathe.

this is nina, supposedly full of grace (or so the meaning of her name says).  this is the woman who recalls what it was like to be a child.  who recollects the long summer days when the ice cream man came riding his bike down the middle of the street - bell ringing - music playing.... and remembers the large woman lumbering down the sidewalks of july calling out in her sing song voice that dewberries were for sale.
this is the little girl, inside of the middle aged woman.  inside of the woman who is supposed to be wise and calm and intuitive, who is supposed to know her own rhythms, her cadences, her ebbs and her flows.  she doesn't always know. 

bless her heart.

bless her hectic, frenzied, frazzled heart.

this is nina wanting to run into the dusk and play after dark.  she wants to look for shooting stars, for lightning bugs, for shadows of tree branches that stand darkly under the moon.
she wants this, very soon.

this is nina, and nina, and nina.  this is nina, again.  this is nina, the friend, the sister, the daughter, the mother, the lover, the little girl, the woman, the baby, the dreamer, the blend.

xo

lovely

the days are full, and rich.  i'm trying very hard to take them one small moment at a time, to look at each detail that lies before me with tender observations.  this life makes that an easy thing to do - the embracing of it, the mental recording of the finest moments.  they are all finest moments, it seems, of late. i'm grateful for the color that surrounds this house, thanks to becky and to the woman who first built and owned the place - so much beauty in an explosion of petals and stamens and stems, every color i would hope my dreams to be - no black and white there, i remember my dreams and they are vivid and beautiful and hopefully dreams that can come true.  i love the late afternoon sun that comes in through my bedroom window, dancing in patterns of leaves across my body, my legs as i lie there with a book and with my dreams.  i feel as if i lie in tupelo honey.  and i do.  i call the sunshine honey.  it is sweet, and soft, this late afternoon summer sun.  it feels like leaves whispering and tiptoeing across my flowered bed.  and when the morning light comes streaming in (thank you, jackson browne), i walk across bare wooden floors still cool from the night and see the sunshine smoothly flowing over everything like honey again.

around every corner lies a treasure, in this house; i forget that the treasures are there, until a moment shifts and the light changes and there it is before me once again, beautiful and quiet and waiting to be discovered, just like that.  hello, treasure.  hello, sunshine.  hello, house.  hello.   i glance down at my hands resting here on the table before me and am thankful they are mine - thankful for the work they do, thankful for all the many beautiful things that i have touched so recently.  i love to touch.  i love to feel.  it is a good thing to caress, to hold, to reach out.  and to have someone reach out and hold me in return.  it is a good thing, too, to work with my hands, to envision a dream and shape it into something ethereal to wear.  i have dreamed of ferns dancing in the shadows of the trees; i have watched ferns swaying at my feet.  i dream of this, and there it is, something to wear that reminds one to look down and to see.  i see my dreams.  is that what you see?  perhaps you see your own dreams lingering, there.

and here we have my beautiful sister's hands, cradling the colors of the world that bloom at our feet.  we hold the colors of this earth in our hands, we put the colors down so we can reach out again and again.  we hold our feet up to the sky, and think about the way the clouds dance by, kissing our toes in the sun.  we live to dance, to walk, to run, we live to waltz through the warmth of the tupelo sun.  xo

coming up for air

i've been away from the fish bowl for nearly a week, and so much has happened (or so little, depends upon your point of view - my view is huge) that i don't really know where i should begin.   i've been sitting here staring blankly at the table top, staring at my hands, staring out the window, for a solid two hours, trying to regain some energy after what has been an exhaustive day.  where to begin?  where to end?  where to draw you in?  i begin with this, then:
last wednesday my close friend kathy van kleeck came over from asheville to rescue me from my own insanity for a couple of hours; i'd been spinning my wheels in preparation for all the family coming my way, and she offered to come for a quick and helpful  visit.  she brought lunch, she brought things for walter, she brought jewelry that i had ordered for her to make whenever she had the time.  and she made that time for me.  folks think that i don't want to wear anything other than my own jewelry, as i am a designer and like to dress myself with things that are original, that are not seen in every department store or corner gallery.  i'm absolutely wild about her work - i love the way it feels around my neck, dangling from my ears, rattling like slender bones or dry hollow twigs wrapped in stacks around my wrists.  her work is primarily in precious metal clay, and kathy was the first instructor who introduced me to the world of PMC; she was by far the best teacher i've ever had, and i was lucky enough to have quite a few one on one sessions with her, out in the middle of a meadow at a wooden table there in her little log cabin kitchen, so many summers ago.  she was patient, thorough, innovative, generous to a fault, full of imagination and heart.  i love this gal.  we've come a long way since then, both kathy and i, and when i look at this jewelry i am reminded of her beauty as a friend, her talent as a jewelry designer, and of all the years we've come and gone throughout each other's lives.  for everything she's done for me, i bow in gratitude.  thank you, dear one, for helping me to feel like a very lovely queen. 

(lovely wine/juice cup by stepanka, on etsy)

this long weekend has been very very full of many wonderful toasts - to life, to one another, to the weather, to walter, to my father on his 87th birthday.  i've raised my cup, my glass, my arms, up to the sky in earnest gratitude for all things good in my life of late, and o! there are so many things for which i am utterly, overwhelmingly grateful.  my parents were up to their cabin, an hour's curvy mountain road drive from here, and i spent a couple of nights off and on with them, before and after the boys had left to go back to their separate corners of this broad state.  while roy and robin were here, we dined on the deck, we laughed under the stars, we sat out back by a fire and welcomed the night, just as the clearest, most vibrant of birdsongs were making themselves heard from the woods that surrounded us there behind the house.  i lifted my glass and nodded to the sky; i drank the sky, and the trees.  and it was magic all over again.
we danced around the campfire as light fell into dark.  we smiled for one another, we told stories from old days and new.  we sat; we flew.  and it was magic, yes, again.


i watched as my older son worked his own magic with the fire - my son who never used to like to sit outdoors, to sleep under the stars, to tend a fire, to cook, to create things with his hands.  i've witnessed this child, named for a bird, unfold his wings, stretch them, and soar.  i watch him now, sitting beside me, sitting beside my parents, sitting next to his younger brother, and i am amazed at the sturdiness, at the strength, at the power and grace of this man, my child, this man.  that he would come without my beckoning to spend two weekends within three weeks with me is testament to the closeness of this little family of three.  we passed through times both poignant and tough, and like the ancient phoenix, we have risen above the turmoil and the fire with tender memories.  i would not have had it any other way, looking back today.  to the sky, i raise my cup, my open hands.  to the sky, i offer my thanks for having come through the fire, for having blossomed, all of us, the three.













and then there were my parents, driving all the way up from montgomery, alabama to celebrate my father's birthday - all of us, without saying, so very glad that he is still around to celebrate his special day again.  i think that my parents are quite beautiful - even more so, now that they have years and experience and wisdom to light their beautiful eyes.  i see myself, i see all of us, reflected in their light; can you look into your loved ones' eyes and see yourself shining back to you?  i suggest you try; i think you'll like what you see. 

i loved this weekend, the time spent with loved ones, with the boys, my parents, with walter... and with ben.  ben, who drove up from atlanta again on thursday expressly to cut the knee high grass at the cabin, to set up the internet, to bring chocolates and cheese and fresh cherries for my parents, to meet them (again, after 35 years) and to sit, southern gentleman that he is, and keep daddy company while mama and i caught up with one another in the kitchen.  i'm not sure when i last felt so full of love and happiness for the ones so closely surrounding me.



walter went a little nuts with all of the attention he received from the boys, from my parents, from me, me, me.  i look back at the month of july and am amazed at how many different shots i've taken of this one little dog, how he's doubled in size (doubled!) in the four weeks i've had him.  his personality, feisty as it is, continues to develop and bloom; he is bright, loves his crate, wags his tail a great deal.  and he is mine.  walter trouble bagley - it is good to have you in this ever-widening life of mine.

who does he look like here to you?  he does to me, too.  and they both look like the sphinx, when lying like this then and now, imagining themselves to be a magical, lion-like creature, out in the desert sand, waiting for the big next adventure.  i'm waiting for mine to begin; we all are.   ben has invited me down to atlanta in august to see, at his side, monet's radiant water lilies at the high museum of art.  my sister ellen is due up tomorrow, we're joining kathy for a trip to the gem and mineral show on thursday, and will most likely venture to cashiers south of here on friday for an antique show.  i'd like to make a trip across the state to see roy in his beach town surroundings, to visit with robin in the higher mountains.  there are blackberries to pick, beautiful brunches outside on the deck to enjoy, books to read, stories and poems to write, movies to see, one person in particular to hug and laugh with and hug over and over again.  life is one grand and glorious adventure. i'll see you there.  xo

workshop updates

 as you can all surmise, my head's been spinning with the immediacy of what is unfolding in my corner of the world; my heart, as well, has been puffing up, spilling over, and allowing me to dive in full force to the joys and wonders that this life, this universe, is so generously providing for me.  it is difficult, at best, to sit and work on jewelry of any sort, while walter is dancing in circles around my feet, and the studio door is currently shut to keep tiny teeth from finding all manner of flotsam and jetsam upon which to chew.  there are a few happy workshop announcements that i do need to make, before the day and the week get the best of me again (my parents are headed up to their cabin tomorrow, ben is driving back up to help me with the grass cutting and general "fluffing" of the place, my friend kathy is bringing lunch and puppy fixings so i don't have to leave the house to shop, and both boys are coming for a long weekend on friday). 

 today, i'm quite proud and excited to say, is the registration opening, at 12 noon pacific time, for a brand new retreat called "an artful journey" in the santa cruz mountains of california, held by someone very near and dear to my heart.  cindy o'leary has been working with her incredible organizational skills and astute moxie in the art community for many years, and is now going out on a limb to begin her own retreats there in beautiful central california.  i'll be teaching there in february - i'll let you click on the link here, or check my workshop schedule there to the right, to share the info about the peaceful beauty of the place, the loveliness of the retreat itself.  my workshop is a solid three days, and judging from the ones i've held in recent past, they do fill up quite fast.    i can't herald enough the joy of teaching an extended workshop, one in which the students and teacher are allowed to get to know one another, to bond in a beautiful way.   creativity is unhurried, and there is ample amount of time for each student to have one on one time with me as i show various ways to work around a piece of jewelry.  i'm very proud of cindy, of all the help she's given me in years past, and am delighted to be a part of her new and exciting adventure.  please, do join us!  it is in february of this coming year.

i've been working off and on this summer, as time has provided, on a lovely, lovely piece of artwork that is the basis for a workshop that i'll be teaching under the keen and gentle guidance of kristi and bill steiner in heartbreakingly beautiful orvieto, italy next september, 2010.  i've visited that lovely hilltop town once, for the day, and am excited to be returning there to spend the week teaching an extensive, brand new workshop, limited to ten students.  from what i've seen and heard, the venue is quiet, beautiful, perfect for what my students and i will be working on for the week.  picture a shadowbox that echoes the memories of a trip to the hills of umbra, in italy.  picture the soft, weathered, worn colors of the area - the ochres, blues, terra cottas, the siennas and creams, the mossy, olive greens.  picture creating a small vista of your dream within the world of a small shadowbox, using a vintage container of your choice and incorporating tiny little porcelain or pottery houses handmade expressly for me by none other than my dear potter friend julie whitmore.  too, picture a lovely rosary style necklace, with a bronze gate (from my private custom charm) as the central, focal piece.  imagine combining the two pieces of artwork to be one beautiful display to hang on your wall once you return home and are dreaming of your days spent languishing in orvieto.  the dates for that are september , 2010, and i'd love to have you join us there.  my sister ellen is coming along with me, i'm thrilled to say, and we hope that the two of us will continue on to london, via train, to visit the flea markets of portabello before returning home again - fuller, richer, happier for the splendid experience of italy.

i've not yet been able to send photographs of my work to bill and kristi for their adventures in italy website; who knows why it is easier for me to load them here into my blog, rather than send as attachments in email; but i'll be driving tomorrow into town with my laptop and doing a number of things online before heading out to the cabin.  life keeps on marching right by, doesn't it?  artwork and puppies and tenderness, all.

 

lastly, i've a dear friend and student whose husband has suddenly lost his job, which means she will no longer be able to attend my SAW three day workshop in september.  i know the class is full, and that at one point there was a waiting list; but in case you live on the east coast and relish an opportunity to go play in the woods of new hampshire alongside beautiful squam lake (site of the film On Golden Pond), you might want to go here to see if there is, indeed, an available slot.  you won't be sorry - it is a gorgeous venue, full of creativity and energy and love for life.

here's hoping your summer days are providing you with as much joy and beauty as mine have been for me.... xo

after the rain

  i've never felt such cleansing, changing rain as i do here in the summertime mountains of carolina.  i'd gone to bed the night before last with thunder and lightning rattling the windows, with walter sitting upright quickly from a deep, sound sleep.  he heard the rumbling and i felt it too - the rolling of the elements that brought with the rain  a sweet, cool breeze that smelled headily of earth and plant and soil.  do you know what it's like to lie in bed and gulp in long draws of deepest breath on a summer night in july?    can you sleep with your window open to the sounds of the night?  i do.  lucky me.  i am a part of the elements that wrap themselves around me, morning, noon, and night.  i wake damp from heavy storm air, i walk outside barefoot on the wooden walkway, i glance down as skies clear and see the raindrops scattered on flowers, on grass stems, hanging from branches and leaves.  and then i raise my arms to the sky as if to say, yes.  i'm here.  thank you, yes.  and yes.  and yes.     for this day of beauty, i thank you.  for all things fresh and new, i thank you again.  and again.    for a day full of love, of changing light, of dancing slanted late afternoon sun, of dappled things and shy four legged friends, i thank you.

for poetry in a cup of tea, i humbly and gratefully give you my deepest thanks.  your heart is poetry, contained.  for that, i do thank you.

 

for water after thirst, for sun after rain, for the sweet quiet moments and the ones in between after all of the pain, i thank you.  for evening peace, for lingering shade, for all things patient and good and true, i wordlessly thank you.

 

for thinking sweetly to bring me a cup of wine late in the afternoon, as the sun danced in dapples on roses and across the reflecting glass in the room, i'll always say thank you; so, thank you.  and, to you, a toast - to love and all things new.

the rain came, the rain cleansed and cleared, the sun came out again.  i cut a bouquet of still-wet flowers and brought them in, feet still wet from the grass, a bundle of sunshine in a fanciful pitcher. 

and, so it is:  the sun is out again.  xo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6tV11acSRk

stardust

 

how can one simple flower on a vine, woven in nature with a bit of tall grass, bring so much beauty into this big world?  it grew so quietly there at the foot of the deck, at the foot of the towering sunflowers, at the foot of everything.  quietly it grew, and shared its intricate color, the star in its face, if anyone wanted to stop long enough and take note.  i share it now with you.

 

if you'll look closely enough, deep into the face of the bloom, you'll see how the morning kissed it with the dew.  one tiny little drop, on the cheek below the star.  and that's for you, too - a drop of dew, or a little morning tear, from happiness.  that too.

funny, how stars shine out from everywhere - from the night sky, yes, if you are fortunate enough to live out beyond the city lights, if you can stand and stare up into the dark and spot the sprinkles of brightness beaming down on you.  and if not, look into the eye of a bird, shining in the sun.  it shines as a star, and your life - if you let it - gives this to you.  don't be afraid of anything, under the light of a star.  let your life be bright, the light of a star that you pass on again to someone new. . .

 

let a star burn brightly, shine blue.  it burns for me, from me to you.

 

let the beauty we love be what we do; let the things that we make, we spin, we bend and break, shine through.  this is a beautiful star, wearing a piece that i made, and beaming brightly with what she calls "preciousness" around her neck.  this is a bright star in her own right, miss jonatha brooke, and i love her for the sparkly light that she has brought into my quiet life.  burn bright, shining star.  your light comes back to me, ten thousand fold, again.

 

while i was making the earrings to go with the necklace that she bought, i sat waiting for love to come knocking at my door last monday morning; i stood up from my tinkering, walked out onto the deck, saw ben drive up below, and watched as he got out of the car, arms outstretched, and sang "won't you come out to play (dear prudence)".   the necklace was made in the honor of new beginnings, was begun before the magic unfolded, first back in the hazy days of june; the earrings were an extension of my waiting for love to begin.  begin, bright love.  twinkle, shining star.  begin.

i can't ever write these days without a mention of my little meteor walter, a comet blazing his trails of frisky, playful light through my life.  the light in his eyes is bright, and i like to think that it shines for me.  shine on, little lightnin' bug.  shine sweetly for me.

 

okay, my friends, here is your assignment for the day:  go out and sprinkle some of your own stardust on something, someone, some moment.  some thing.  no time like the present, like today.   it doesn't matter if it gets in their eyes, or yours:    it shines for you, without and within. 

shine on, little star.  i wish may.  i wish i might. i wish i'd have this wish tonight.   and just like that, poof! my wish is granted.  see you tomorrow, then, sweet ben. xo

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tFyKAUBkdOs

gifts

 the universe has given me many, many things in this life of mine, and recently the gifts seem to have been much more frequent, and significant, in coming.  we all know the obvious ones:  my new little companion named walter trouble bagley, my new bigger companion named ben (what a beautiful, beautiful name that is, and what a beautiful heart), the gift of summer, the gift of healthy parents and beloved sister ellen, the gift of many many loving friends.  it is the less obvious ones that take me by surprise:  the gifts of lessons, of patience, of the ability to forgive.  the gift of empathy, and of understanding, the gift of staying quiet long enough to listen.  and when one is quiet, one can hear so very much more of the whisperings.  i cannot possibly thank you each and every one, those of you who took the time to write me both here and privately yesterday; i do want you to know how deeply i appreciate the outpouring of encouragement and support.  thank you!  thank you one hundred times over. 

 one of you wrote a comment here to say that i obviously have issues with my ego, that i have "needs for adulation and unconditional acceptance which not only are not very realistic, they are probably somewhat narcissistic"... to which i wholeheartedly say, no shit, sherlock.  one whole part of journaling, which is a large part of Ornamental, is to openly and frequently voice my insecurities as well as my goals and my pride, and i believe i mentioned that yesterday as well.  i'll always receive the occasional comments and private emails that sit ill with me; such is the nature of being somewhat of a public person.  that i choose to bring the negative comments out into the light, that i choose to process them however i wish, is completely my right as the owner and author of this blog.  for comments such as these, no matter how sour they may seem, i am grateful as well, as they teach me strength and fortitude and a sympathetic patience i never before knew i had.  and to those of you who sent your true good wishes, your beautiful love, your appreciation, i want to again give you my deepest thanks, and to share with you a few little bits of beauty that graced my hours throughout yesterday.  it is here that the clenched hand opens, extends, reaches out, and reveals.  and maybe after revealing, it touches somewhere down in your heart.

 

what a tiny little creature jumping through the wet blades of grass there at my feet - one step away from being blindly crushed, he was there for me to glance down and see, to pick up and share with all of you today.

 

colorful leaves, prematurely transformed in their different shades from green to yellow and red, twirled in the breeze and fell to the ground.  i pick them up, and hold their singular beauty in my hand, for you on this midsummer day.

 

luck in a five leaf clover that reminds me of a star that grew up into the world, rather than looking down on the world below.  i give you this star, and the luck that may follow with it.

there is the color of the sky that lands on my deck, light as air, and the glint of raindrops scattered across the sky's back.  there is the light in the sky after the storm, the color that i see reflected back at me when i look into someone's dusky eyes of clearest twilight blue.

 

 

 

and there is the light, the beautiful light, that shines back at me from the eyes of my four legged friend... the one who came to me in the time he was meant to be, who had been waiting for years to come into this new life of his, and of mine.  let that light shine, for a long long time. xo

the mind is an enchanted thing

is an enchanted thing
like the glaze on a
katydid-wing
subdivided by sun
till the nettings are legion.
Like Gieseking playing Scarlatti;

like the apteryx-awl
as a beak, or the
kiwi's rain-shawl
of haired feathers, the mind
feeling its way as though blind,
walks along with its eyes on the ground.

It has memory's ear
that can hear without
having to hear.
Like the gyroscope's fall,
truly unequivocal
because trued by regnant certainty,

it is a power of
strong enchantment. It
is like the dove-
neck animated by
sun; it is memory's eye;
it's conscientious inconsistency.

It tears off the veil, tears
the temptation, the
mist the heart wears,
from its eyes—if the heart
has a face; it takes apart
dejection. It's fire in the dove-neck's

iridescence; in the
inconsistencies
of Scarlatti.
Unconfusion submits
its confusion to proof; it's
not a Herod's oath that cannot change.

                               - marianne moore

fish bowl

  i have been writing this blog, been tending to this little room called Ornamental,  for almost four solid years.  i live my life wide open, aware of every little detail that surrounds me here in the quiet surroundings of remote firefly road, and share with each of you who choose to read these words my feelings of joy, of love, of happiness, and also of knee buckling fear, insecurity, grief, loss, deepest despair.  i've dictated these emotions shamelessly, laying myself wide open in a vulnerable state to those who wish to speak their minds on whatever subject i may have addressed.  i never cease to be utterly amazed at the variety of emotions that my readers radiate back to me, in response; most of you, sweet people that you are, write words of understanding, support, and empathy.  you encourage me, you applaud when life has swooped me up for another wild ride, you shake your heads when issues are tough, you reach out and touch me with words of kindness and grief of your own when i suffer a devastating blow.  but, sadly, once in a very blue moon comes a letter or a comment that is so full of venom that i feel a need to pull in the shutters, batten the hatches, to yank my connection to the world beyond this computer screen.  what is wrong with these people, i ask to myself; why would they want to drag me down so far to their own bottomless, bitter levels?

 so, stop writing so openly of yourself, you might say; quit posting entries to a blog that is free for all the world to read and criticize, others might smugly reply as well.  take the criticism, handle the bad with the good.  and the answer to that?   maybe i should.  maybe, too,  i ought to shut this thing down, this long invisible telescope into my inner sanctums of life and begin to write that book you've been asking me so long to write.  i do not publish these words to expose my heart to those who wish to be cruel, although that is the risk i take every time i hit the publish button.  i do not write it to weave quiet words between the lines, in hopes that one or two or four of you might interpret things as you will, in a less lit corner of the stage.  i do it for me - you see - i do it to lighten my heart and to loosen my load, i do it as an expression of love for the life that i live, for the incredible, bittersweet gift of life that's been graciously granted to simple little insignificant me.  why would someone bother to inject me with venom, at all?

this morning out of the blue i received a very hurtful letter from someone who claims to be a regular reader, stating that she was "utterly shocked and horrified that a person of your loving nature and sophistication would even consider buying a puppy from a breeder." she sent this letter three weeks after walter came home to live with me, and it seems as if she sat waiting for what she deemed the prime opportunity to get her point across.  she went on to say she "was disturbed that the breeder allowed you to take him at 6 weeks old and that you evidently did it to save yourself a trip back down to pick him up two weeks later when he would have been old enough to be adopted. "  huge sigh here.  clearly she does not recall my mentioning two calls, not one, to the breeder, stating that i'd been told several times six weeks was too early, that perhaps i should wait?  she assumed, wrongly again, that i would have received countless letters with opinions mirroring hers.  wrong.  wrong, wrong, wrong.  you've all been nothing but delighted with my adoption of walter, with my choice to get a puppy so soon after the devastating loss of aspen, with the good measures i am carefully taking to raise walter to be a lovely, fine four legged companion.  in her final paragraph, she stated that "I guess I just feel I need to somehow punish you by voicing my disdain - I can't explain why else I feel I need to say this to you.  I know it is none of my business and I have no right, but I am just so disappointed and shocked."  whoever she may be, i simply cannot understand her need to send these negative words to me this bright and shining morning, just when i have finally come up out of a very sad and difficult period of my life, just as i've discovered the exhilaration of a relationship with a beautiful, loving, kindhearted soul named ben.  and a sweet and tender one with little walter as well.  shame on you.  shame. on. you.

i'm loving this life.  i'm delighted that little walter, no matter the delivery, has now become such an active part of my life; it gives me great reward and pleasure to be single handedly guiding him as he romps and chomps and pounces his way through each and every day.   it isn't right for someone who does not know me beyond this forum of Ornamental to brashly take the liberty to write and judge my actions by her own narrow standards, or for anyone else with an axe to grind to sit down at their computer and pound away at the keys as they issue what they feel is an overdue airing of their own cheap observations.   i am human, i am real, my heart is open and tender and soft, and yes, i do expose it right here, in hopes that those who may not happen to agree with me, no matter the emotion or topic, might have a little respect for a fellow human being, who might decide to keep their heated agitations to themselves, for the simple act of sparing this particular ornamental writer one single ripple in the calm but beautiful waters into which she now blithely and unbelievably sails. xo

firsts

  i try in vain each time i grab the camera to focus on walter without there being a blur.  this is not possible, unless he is fast asleep:  this little puppy is constant motion, whether chasing a butterfly, eating a flower, or dancing after my feet.  i'm reminded of the pokey little puppy when i watch him wandering around out in the grass, scuttling after a morning moth - not by his speed, but by those brown and white spots, by the moth that is fluttering so close to his nose on the ground.  we had a quiet independence day celebration together here - his first - and after he'd gone to sleep for the night, i sat out on the deck in the dark as the lightning bugs hovered, and watched some distant fireworks spread their colorful, fleeting light out over the closest mountains.  it was a dark and quiet but wonderful time.  how we spent the day?  like this.  a blur of motion, circling around inanimate objects, over and over again.

 

 

and then, just like that - bam! - he is out for an hour or two.  and then peace comes temporarily back once again. 

it is an overcast day here in the mountains, cool and quiet, no noise save the crickets deep in the woods and an occasional family of titmice at the feeder.  there is a multitude of flowers popping up around the house, first planted by the woman who built this house in the 50's, then by becky who lived here for seven years and who is now my landlord and friend.  there are dozens of fuschia cone flowers just beside the steps that lead to the upper back yard, and down below the deck are a smattering of sunflowers that were planted by my resident birds who flung and scratched at seeds as they ate in the spring.  i have a beloved pitcher that sits here always on my little blue green desk, one made for me by my talented and very sweet potter friend julie whitmore (for whose work i suffer quite an addiction!); i try to keep it filled with flowers, whether purchased or snipped from the yard, and this morning i carried walter with me outside to run about as i cut and arranged long stems of gladiolas, queen anne's lace, butterfly bush (just a snippet, becky, i promise), sunflowers, black eyed susans, blossoming mint, and cone flowers.  it was a vain attempt at introducing walter to the floral world, and i failed.  or maybe not - he relished drinking water from the top of the pitcher (so much better with flower stems, outside, than drinking from his indoor bowl, you see), and i told myself it mattered not that the stems were shortened or broken when he toppled the pitcher over on the ground.

  

 

another first for today:  walter and i had our first dance, to the tune of "i feel it all" by feist (thank you gypsy girl alex, for introducing me to this), and he seemed to follow my lead quite well, other than the nips on my hands and his stepping on my feet just the tiniest little bit; it was when i left the room and the tempo changed that he came running and whining for me to hold him close.  music startles him, and i'm trying to introduce him slowly, to gentle things like clair de lune, one tiny, stumbling step at a time.  we've come so far, little walter and i; he sleeps in his crate through the night and past 8am now, he stays in his indoor Xpen here during the day without too much of a fuss, he naps and i can tiptoe about moving a nina mess from one room to another.  the mess never goes away, but at least i can shift it about without wearing myself down, you see?  xo

green mansions

 

Long ago, when I was an early teenager, I read a book called green mansions – the contents of which I cannot recall, but what I do remember is the sensation of looking up into leafy ceilings of verdant green and feeling the protective natural shelter as a room.  Now, every summer when july rolls around, when the blackberries are plump on the vine and I walk around outside in the grass with my tender bare feet, when the evening breeze smells damp and sweet, I go back to the summer days when I lay sprawled out across my four poster bed with the book that spoke of these things.  As I walk about out in the back yard with walter, I watch the breezes flip whole poplar treefuls of leaves to their tender back sides, exposing shades of waxy, paler green that flutters and shimmers in a sea of waving leaves.  I remember these things, in other forms, from the days of my younger years and am grateful for a set of parents who exposed me to the joys of books, and the joys of absorbing the beautiful world that envelopes me.

"Here Nature is unapproachable with her green, airy canopy, a sun-impregnated cloud--cloud above cloud; and though the highest may be unreached by the eye, the beams yet filter through, illuming the wide spaces beneath--chamber succeeded by chamber, each with its own special lights and shadows." w. h. hudson, Green Mansions

 

I’m feeling more and more of a bound connection between how I spend my days in awe of my natural surroundings and the way my ornamental trinkets are resembling the voice with which I speak.  At this stage in my life, I cannot help myself; I spend my days absorbed with observations, with arrangements of words, with rearranged objects of beauty.  And I can’t complain; it is a privileged life that I lead, out here in my quiet and gentle solitude of the woods.

 

Ever since I placed the wrought iron table over in the corner of the deck, under the dancing fronds of the little walnut tree, I’ve savored taking my jewelry makings out on a tray and sitting in the shade of late morning and early afternoon, listening to the birds, looking up from time to time to see the clouds overhead, loving the green, green, green that fills up so much of what these blue green eyes of mine can see.  Blue for the sky, green for the forest, that is how my eyes now look to me.

 

  I have so much to share with you here – so many photographs of little walter, so many stories from recent travels that time has not allowed me to bring back to light again.  Walter turned eight weeks on Wednesday, that magical number that seems to be the height of fresh puppydom; I’ve had him here with me two weeks today, and I’m spending many a moment staring at him in disbelief of the rate he is growing every day.  I remember once when I hugged a very young roy good night and told him to stay just like he was, to not grow up, to stay as he was forever.  “well, it’s right too late now”, he earnestly said; and so it was.  I feel that way about walter.  Wait!  I want to cry - don’t go!  I’ll eat you up, I love you so! (thank you mr. sendak); but walter just says no…. and is bounding up the stairs like the best of big dogs.    His muzzle has grown longer, as well as his legs; he’s beginning to sprout the feathery fur on his legs that older spaniels have.  Time moves so incredibly fast; I have a feeling that I’ll wake up tomorrow and it will suddenly be autumn again.  Don’t go, sweet summer; please don’t go.  I’ll write long, beautiful, tenderly bittersweet stories about you, I love you so.  please don't say no.

see?  i live in walter world.  forgive me the proliferation of photographs, the stories too sweet to be real.  but they are.  and i love him more and more every day; aspen, i think, would be proud.  he shares all my hours with me as i sit and create, as i sit at my desk and write down my thoughts, as i twist and twirl together feelings and memories.  with walter nipping at my feet, i’ve relished pulling together all the shapes and sizes and shades of green that I could muster from the tiny drawers and trays within my studio; out of a small bin came a snippet of embroidered vines from a swatch of fabric that beloved Lesley gave to me a few years ago, another from a strip of woven kimono sash silk from the collection of dear sweet Katie.  More tatting crops up in the form of a packet from my sweet friend Lorri, along with a lovely creamy crocheted panel of love birds.  I pull out bits and pieces of things I worked on as samples when teaching at valley ridge just a few short weeks ago:  into the beautiful cast silver bezels of pal susan lenart kazmer  go tender blades of valley ridge grass, sealed with resin as I taught to grateful fellow artisans; out came a small square bezel with the words I’d pulled from a small vintage book I carry with me everywhere I go to teach:  “green robe of her summer”, and “dream”.  Onto strong, delicate strands I slip pearl after tiny green pearl, mixing the lot with small sterling wired gemstones of peridot, amethyst, prehnite, chalcedony.  The words sound like faraway green places in themselves, places like peru and machu pichu, Katmandu.  The whole world loves green; no wonder.  It is the color of life, of growth, of distant lush horizons foreign and familiar all at once.

  Ah well.  It is to you that I wish the best of the summer, the best that times of leisure or work have to give.  When you sit out of an evening and sip wine or iced tea, think of me; when the last of the day’s birds are singing their bedtime lullabies to one another, remember  my name.  they call my name, they call yours as well, they sing songs of this green world for everyone to hear.  Just take the time to listen, and you’ll hear them singing to the rhythmic beating of your own heart most of all.

                           Recognitions

Stories come to us like new senses

a wave and an ash tree were sisters

they had been separated since they were children

but they went on believing in each other

though each was sure that the other must be lost

they cherished traits of themselves that they thought of

as family resemblances features they held in common

the sheen of the wave fluttered in remembrance

of the undersides of the leaves of the ash tree

in summer air and the limbs of the ash tree

recalled the wave as the breeze lifted it

and they wrote to each other every day

without knowing where to send the letters

some of which have come to light only now

revealing in their old but familiar language

a view of the world we could not have guessed at

but that we always wanted to believe

                                    w.s. merwin   (thank you dearest sharron)

 

farewell, beloved june

   last evening i stood out on the deck in the lingering deck and watched the final day of june's soft light fade into the distant west, and felt the cooler evening begin to descend like a filmy, gossamer cloak of twilight blue.  goodbye, sweet june, i wanted to say, and wanted then to stand and wave farewell with a wispy white cloth of ancient threadbare linens or of clouds, thin as air, woven into a small square of evaporating cream.  goodbye, goodbye, i said to the sky; goodbye to the soft days of june.  hello, july, and all the hearty middle of summer promises you hold.

i love it when it feels as though the keenly tuned music of the spheres is in complete sync with me, when the cogs and wheels turn as freely with my train of inspiration as a well oiled piece of petite machinery.  for days i've worked on a necklace that has quickly become one of my all time favorites, wiring the tassel while i was still in alabama, wiring those glittering falling star beads as the overhead fan spun around and around overhead.  i cut the sterling back piece and hammered the border in the middle of last week, and only yesterday late afternoon did i sit down in the disheveled studio and hammer the back message letters one by one.  i had wanted, initially, to create a design that was homage to the beautiful blue skies of north carolina, the azure that consistently has sheltered me at the upper edges of my green summer mountains here at home.  i wanted as well to use some words from A Midsummer Night's Dream, a play that has been haunting me in all the right ways of late.  but in slowly leafing through the onion skin pages of my trusty old bartlett's quotations, where throughout the years i've liberally penned asterisks in the margins and pencilled circles around favorite lines, i fell upon these beautiful words from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet: 

"When he shall die, take him and cut him out into little stars and he shall make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night and pay no worship to the garish sun." 

  beautiful, yes?  i thought so, too, and the necklace transformed itself with my own inspired words that i hammered onto the back... transformed it from an object of blue skies and white, white clouds to one of dusty blue twilight and glittering stars.  i love this job; i do.    it allows me to sit and gaze into the evening skies, to flip through words of shakespeare, to hammer out words of my own into silver, to gather dozens and dozens of pearls and topaz and aquamarine and transform them into a cascade of stars, dripping out of a velvet sky.  stitch by stitch this piece transformed itself before my widening eyes, and by this beautiful blue dawning morning as i wired the last fine pearl into place, i was aware that something very magical had occurred.  why, hello there, july.  let the mysteries keep on coming, let the love of all things summery wrap its sweet, strong arms around me in a season's gentle embrace. xo