Back Once More...

Lilacs and blank pages:
two of my favorite things!

The long Memorial Day weekend was full of busy and went by in a blur.

My dandelions grew to leggy and monstrous proportions and went to seed as a group. The rhubarb fanned out like a bouquet of elephant ears. The little finch babies fledged when I was too busy to pay attention, and now the bedroom window is amazingly quiet. (Although in the pre-dawn minutes I've heard wings going in and out of the old homestead -- nostalgic visitings, perhaps? Or do finches have more than one brood per season?) Clouds came and went on the wind and mornings were heralded by claps of thunder and the drumming of rain on the roof. James was home for four whole days and life couldn't have been better.

But now it's back to work for us both! Once again with the Morning Pages and the daily 3-mile walk and the keeping of some regular studio hours.

And I promise to post when I can. :)
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Morning Comes to Tumbledown

This is how I wake up now. And I love it! :)
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A Question I Might Not Like The Answer To

 

Does she know something I don't know?

Last Saturday was cold and wet: just right for a studio day. I managed to get the old television above my drawing table working and I listened to PBS for the afternoon while I sketched on watercolor paper. I want to say that it was a pleasant way to spend my time but I'm not entirely convinced. As it was, I took every opportunity to get up and walk away from the drawing table. And when Boo leapt into my lap at one point and pushed me away from my work, I was more than happy to take a break....

 

The neighborhood was up bright and early the next morning, taking advantage of the sunshine. I woke to the drone of chainsaws and woodchippers as someone somewhere eradicated the shade on their property.... I put morning glories in the ground and added manure to the vegetable patch. James cut conduit pipe and built a trellis for the peas, and I threaded it with jute. I sowed chard and spinach and mesclun, cukes and lima beans. Then together we surrounded the bed with chicken wire to keep out Bad Bunny, last year's little garden bandit that nibbled every pea-ling off at its knees.... By the end of the day I was beat. The knees of my jeans were caked with mud, there was dirt under my already too short fingernails. I felt sore and wonderful and eager to get back out there again....

 

And now as I look at those two paragraphs, I've begun to wonder: Obviously I'm avoiding my art. Is it just the advent of warm weather after a long Minnesota winter that has me way more interested in peas and dirty fingernails than in pencils and watercolor paper? Or does the idea of drawing seem like work to me, and frolicking in the humus and dandelions seems more like play?

 

Or is it something more?

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A Tumbledown Nursery

View from my bedroom window.

Just days ago I walked into the bedroom and noticed that the books and clutter on my headboard had been all pushed around. Some things had even been knocked to the floor. Obviously Boo had been up there, perched precariously while watching the finch, when something BIG happened. I could only imagine what. I looked at the window and the mother finch wasn't on her nest....

 

In a panic, I stood on the pillows and looked over the edge of the window moulding. From the bowl of the nest a tiny bird's head was stretching up and up on a threadlike stalk of a neck, its mouth gaping wide. And surrounding it were little dime-sized balls of fluff. All the eggs had hatched.

 

I know nothing about purple finches save for the fact that they sing like angels. (But don't take my word for it; I think starlings sing like angels, too.) For all I knew, Boo had frightened the mother away and the nestlings were now abandoned. I replaced everything on the headboard and pointed my finger at Boo, who sat on a pillow at my feet, and for the rest of the day I monitored the window activity as best I could.

 

I needn't have worried. All in the finch world is running like a well-oiled machine. And now this morning I'm happy to report that a handful of hungry nestlings woke me at dawn.

 

 Just as I anticipated, no alarm clock was necessary. :)

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Memories & Morning Pages

I'm sitting on the front step this morning, drinking tea and writing Morning Pages. A jar of sun coffee steeps in the warm brightness beside me, box elder bugs skitter at my feet....

The neighborhood is dewy and filled with birdsong and the hum of bees. I can smell tree blossoms mixed with... what, exactly?... perhaps lawnmower exhaust, and suddenly my head is filled with the memories of being Up At The Lake. Good times.

The idea that all is particularly content in my little corner of the world gives me a happy shiver. Especially precious and fleeting! I plan to enjoy it while it lasts....
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Spring's Siren Song

I dare you to resist.... :)

The dandelions are calling me to come outside and play! Since it's impossible for me to resist their fuzzy yellow voices (dandelions chatter, did you know that?) I think I'll spend today throwing together this spring's Studio Annex -- that little corner of the garden where I can sit and draw and dream.

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Updatesville

Ms. Finch-Feather, disguised as a Peep

The melodious Rose has been dutifully incubating her about-to-hatch brood. Last I checked, half-a-dozen little eggs huddled in the bottom of her nest like the dainty petals of a flower. (I've tried to photograph them but she rarely leaves her nest now....)

Boo has lost interest, probably because Rose now ignores her. No amount of crashing leaps into the windowscreen seems to jar her from her motherly duties. However, I can only imagine the giddy excitement that this next phase of HD Kitty TV will bring. :)
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5 Special Things About My Day (5/9/11)

1. Resident housefinch 'Rose Finch-Feather' (last name emphasis on the 2nd syllable, she tells me) sitting on her windownest like a Peeps chick in an Easter basket.

2. Checking out a nearby church rummage sale and finding Treasure: just-right clip-on sunglasses, a Jell-O jellybean mold perfect for some future jewelrymaking, a pair of big fat knitting needles, and BOOKS (of course).

3. Adding color to today's wardrobe selections and feeling almost OK with it. (Granted, we're talking brown here, so I should just settle the heck down already....)

4. Surviving the emotional thoughtfest that is Mother's Day and determining that I've got two amazingly well-adjusted Girlz, who grew up into gorgeous greatness in spite of me feeding them a steady diet of crazy....

5. The island of healthy tranquility that is my yard, all dandeliony in a neighborhood sea of toxic weedkiller.
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Night School

SCENE: The dark interior of an oceanside cave at low tide. A wooden boat appears in the shadows and rocks in the gentle surf there, impaled on stalagmites thrusting up through the gentle waves. Small white fish school at the edges of its wounds and struggle as if fighting for space. On closer inspection, these are human skulls shaped like fish: flattened and disk-like, with fins that flip and tremble. Their little jaws yammer and their little teeth nibble, silently eating away at the boat until nothing is left but its ribs. FADE TO BLACK....

When I told James about my dream the next morning, he listened with amusement before offering me his opinion. As usual, I was all ready to go somewhere scary with it, but his thoughts were that my subconscious was addressing my frustrating weight loss attempts. And that even though the weight's been 'falling off' me at the crazymaking amount of an ounce or two a week, those ounces are adding up in little bits. Or 'bites,' in this case.

Eh. Good enough. I'm sure if I'd thunk on it more I'd have come up with something 'deeper and disturbinger,' because deep and disturbing is just how I roll....

So fast-forward to a recent morning and a recent dream:

SCENE: Deep space as seen through the visor glass of an astronaut's helmet, accompanied by the sounds of human breathing. There's nothing but pinpoints of heavenly light for as far as the eye can see in any direction. Our main character is intently focused -- not on the beauty of the stars and galaxies, not on the peacefulness of the weightlessness and silence, not on the happy memories that fill their head and heart -- but on impending death. Will it be peaceful? Will it be painful? And just how alone can one person BE, anyway?? FADE TO BLACK....

James had already left for work and wasn't here to interpret this dream, but that's OK. I read it as this: Death comes for us all eventually, and no one accompanies us into the void. And so why spend what's left of Life focused on the inevitable when there's still peace to experience, and memories to make, and a whole dang universe of diamonds all around us?

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Ms. Rosamunde Finch-Feather Moves the Heck In

I've had the awning-style window in my bedroom open for weeks, and (as happens every year) a pair of purple finches has discovered it. For days now they've arrived at dawn with straws and twigs and have begun their puttering around on the ledge there, attempting to weave a nest into the gaping hole that is the window's hinge.

Over the years no finches have succeeded in building a nest there, but that doesn't stop them from trying. Their birdy mutterings are always the signal to Boo that spring has indeed sprung, and now once again she spends her days monitoring the progress. From dawn until twilight she perches on the stack of books that litter my headboard, pressing her nose to the screen while they pitter and chirp. The finches no longer care; I've even seen them pull her whiskers....

Just days ago I noticed that they'd managed to add a stick or two to the hinge that works the window, but I didn't have the heart to remove the screen and eradicate all their hard work. When it became obvious to us that the birds were serious about nesting there (and as you can see, they've been way more than serious), James said, "What will we do if they're successful this year?" And I said, "We won't need an alarm clock, that's for sure." :)

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