Earth Day 2019

 Mother Earth, this day

may all that dwell upon you

 

 

venerate your name. 

~delayne.

Yesterday's Commute

 My walk to 'work' yesterday was filled with magick....

I witnessed a little mob of starlings in a treetop and enjoyed their crazy, freeform mutterings.

I did not slip on any ice! (Hooray!)

Everyone I passed ignored me completely, even after I said 'hello' (what's up with that??), except for a wizened man (who looked like he was a hundred years old) who stopped me with his toothless smile, pointed at ducks on the river, said, "Aren't they BEAUTIFUL?", grinned and wished me a happy new year, and then shuffled on. (He was a gnome, I'm sure of it.)

There was a man and his dog in the snow, playing with a frisbee, and the dog was having the time of its life.

Leaves, leaves, leaves.

And clouds!

And the sounds of dripping, melting icicles.

And shadows....

And a studio that hasn't seen me for a bit.

And some FaceTime with this faraway grandbug. 

Due to a sudden poor connection partway through our computer visit, my face was frozen on her screen, and it remained so until the end of our conversation. 

As we said our goodbyes I was hesitant to throw her a kiss (as is our custom) because I wasn't sure she'd know when to catch it. And when I told her this, she just laughed and said,

"Oh, Yaya! I will catch anything you throw at me!" 

See? MAGICK.

...

And the Envelope Goes to....

Me and my Avery rocked the Crawl. (Thanks for your help, Avery!)

In my last post I wrote about my preparations for the North Artists Studio Crawl. And in this post I'll tell you how it went. (Spoiler: it was magickal.)

As prepared as I was for it, I got very little sleep the night before, as until nearly 5 a.m. the morning of the Crawl my head was a big old mess.

I'd decided earlier that day to try something unusual, something I first tried at Fest last season wherein I let people take Leaflings home with them for an exchange of whatever they personally thought was fair. Because I didn't want them to feel judged for their donation, I offered them a plain envelope at the time of the exchange and asked that they put in it whatever they wished and I wouldn't open the envelope until after the weekend. Also, I assured them that I wouldn't know which envelope they were responsible for because all the envelopes look the same and would get mixed together in my take-home bag so I wouldn't know whose was whose....

As you can imagine, the Fest 'experiment' was eye-opening. The Leaflings folks could choose from at that time weren't framed or anything; they were loose leaves that I'd individually embellished and carefully protected with a sealant. Each weekend after Fest I'd go home with about a dozen envelopes, and James would open them for me, mostly because of my rule to not personally take money for magick, but also because I was afraid to be disappointed.

Many of the envelopes contained single dollar bills. And many contained much more. As promised, I didn't know who was responsible for which particular envelope, except for the time a well-dressed woman chose four Leaflings and paid me in pocket change, and I only know that because I could hear it jingle as the coins were dropped in the envelope. At least two others refused to follow my rules and instead forced me to take their money (which happened to be a significant amount). And the only reason I could think of was that they didn't want their generous donation to be anonymous; they wanted me to know exactly who was responsible....

These delightful folks made my socks go up and down!

At the end of the Fest season, I was surprised at the amount my Leaflings brought in. What would have been just another ordinary year for me was significantly up for a change, and it was all due to the Leaflings and their magick.

It was then that I began to wonder what a whole year of similar exchanges would be like. Which is how I decided to make this year The Year of the Experiment.

The Art Crawl would be my first opportunity to try it out. But with only a few hours before the Crawl began, my head was all over the place about it. I wondered: what if no one 'got' what I was doing and why I was doing it?, what if I try to describe to people why it is that I make my Leaflings and my words don't make sense?, what if the Crawl goes by and no one takes a Leafling home?, or what if they're popular and afterward I discover that all the envelopes are empty??....

Friends visited. (Love you, Sue and Aina!)

I knew what I needed to make monetarily from that Art Crawl to break even, and I was confident that the Universe did, too. That morning as I hung the framed Leaflings on their display grid and fanned the individual ones out in their antique display case before the Crawl began, I made eye contact with each one. We had an understanding. And they had jobs to do. I trusted that each would make a connection with THE person meant to take it home, and in so doing that person would make a fair exchange.

I wasn't sure what to expect from an Art Crawl as I've never been part of one before.... I assumed a Crawl was meant to be more of a 'meet-and-greet-the-artist' and less of an opportunity to make a sale. Yet sales were made. A number of people understood how much my Leaflings meant to me and why I was creating them. And by the end of the day I had a dozen envelopes and some very rewarding memories of some very magickal interactions....

And more friends. (Love you, Suzanne!)

The next day was the same. Once again, friends visited to help me celebrate my first ever Art Crawl. I confused them with the whole envelope thing, but in most cases they obliged and indulged me.... My eldest grandbug, Avery, was there to help me that day and I was more focused on entertaining her than I was on selling my work. Still, at the end of the day I was surprised to discover that there were as many (or more) envelopes in my bag as there'd been the day before.

I crashed on Monday, as usual. And it wasn't until sometime that afternoon that I felt human enough to begin sorting through things from the weekend. And there was the stack of plain brown envelopes, waiting to be opened....

Just like after Fest, I planned to have James do the dirty work when he arrived home that evening. But then it occurred to me that I was separating myself from a very important step in my experiment, the part where I personally accept the exchange. If this was something I was going to do in future, I'd have to learn to carry the whole thing out from start to finish.

This classy lady made my day! (And this sassy kid did, too.)

So I poured myself another cup of coffee and sat down to that stack and prayed aloud over it. I promised the Universe that I'd be grateful for whatever came out of those envelopes. And the first envelope I opened made me cry. Not because it was so bad, but because it was so generous.

Opening the envelopes was humbling. There were a LOT of tears. And, not surprisingly, there was the Empty Envelope. I seem to recall an Empty Envelope last season at Fest, too. It was like a physical reminder to me to accept the bad and the good without judgment.

When I'd opened them all and tallied everything, it took my breath away. I was stunned. And so dang grateful that I cried. Because of those leaves and the effect they had on my visitors, I did more than just break even.

I also learned a LOT. And I was filled with hope.

Now as I look back on my experience, I can't help but read the signs and determine that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be right now, and doing exactly what I'm supposed to do. I couldn't have imagined this a year ago.

And it stuns me to think that this all began with one leaf.

And one wish.

...

The Leafling Story

I don't have time for blogging today, I really don't. But it's time to talk about this. I just hope I can do so without sounding too stupid....

Not long ago, I had an emotional crisis while watching news reports about terrorist attacks and police shootings and Donald Trump, climate change, parents murdering their children, floods and fires and fill-in-the-blank. The whole world was in chaos and needed help, and here I was with nothing at all to offer.

It was about that time that I began creating my leaflings. I'd go for a walk, find a leaf, take it home, and draw on it; wash, rinse, repeat. Faces, mostly. Sometimes I'd write a wish on the back -- "Mother Earth, may your heart be healed" -- things like that. Then I'd release them on the wind to work their magick.

Doing this helped me. In my head I saw each leaf go on to spark a little change, even if all it did was fall to the curb and decompose. Then I began imagining that each was discovered by the one person who needed it most, someone who looked down at the earth and saw the earth looking back. I liked to think that that person was suddenly kissed by magick and began seeing the wonder and beauty in everything, and they began paying it forward. In my head I was changing the world one leaf at a time....

I know that my few friends and fans on my Facebook page like to know that I'm being creative, so I shared what I was doing on social media. Thankfully, it all got the reaction that I was hoping for. Nothing crazy, mind you; just a few folks being charmed by my efforts. The fact that I'd spent time creating these leaflings only to let them blow away was a big part of what charmed them.

It was suggested to me that I add a hashtag or my email address or my website URL on the back of each leaf, so I can hear when and if one was ever found, and also because people will want to know who the artist is. But the idea made me uncomfortable. I didn't want anyone to see my work and wonder about me; I wanted them to see my work and be filled with wonder.

Occasionally someone would comment. "I wish I lived in your neighborhood; it would be so exciting to look down and find one!" A friend wrote that he saw a stand of old milkweed with clusters of empty pods still clinging to their stalks and thought to himself, "Wouldn't it be cool if Delayne drew on one of those?", then went on to say that he'd simply walked away with a smile, telling himself that I'd drawn on them all. When I read that, it was like everything came Full Circle.

My leaflings were making their magick.

But it wasn't long before other comments surfaced: "I hope you're weatherproofing them somehow so they last." (But then they won't decompose; I'm trying to commit a random act of wonder, not poison the earth....) Or, "I live half a world away; I'll never find one!" (How do you know this? They're MAGICK.) Or, "Can I commission you to make one of these for me?" (You're talking about ME taking MONEY now, right?) Or, "Where do you sell these and how much do they cost?" (Yeah, you're talking about money....)

Here's the thing:

I'm just the delivery system. Mine is just the hand that helps the Other Side make contact. Some of us are already 'awake' and familiar with the divine, but others need a miracle, a bit of serendipity, something completely unexpected (like seeing a leaf that sees you back) to make eye contact and kiss them on the heart. To me, it's magick of the highest order.

And I sincerely believe that by working this way -- with fallen leaves and their impermanence -- the message is rather like a glamourbomb (look it up), free to decompose and release its wonder-filled stardust in the air like a perfume. Does that make sense?

That being said, let me repeat that I am just the delivery system. I'm assisting the Fairies, let's say. I'm a minor part of the team. And the thought of taking money in exchange for the small thing I'm doing gives me hives. Money is Donald Trump. It's greed. Yes, yes, I know that I call myself an 'artist' and that I try to sell my work so that I can live to do it all again another day, but don't think it doesn't bug me to have to do this. I've written dozens of blog posts (like this one) about my aversion to being paid for what I do and how bad I am at business so I won't repeat myself. Let's just say that if there was a way to do what I do every day, share my work with others, and still eat and pay my mortgage, I would do it.

But no. Money factors in here, so I deal with it as best I can. I sell my artwork. But this? This is different.

Because others have asked to see my leaflings in person, I've chosen to bring them with me to Fest this season. They're in a display case on my counter, and when people appreciate them I tell them the whole long story. Some get it, some don't. Some lecture me. Some roll their eyes.... I understand. In a place where NOTHING is free, where tickets for a family cost a fortune, where costumed street characters roam the grounds with tip baskets hanging from their belts and seed money tucked in their cleavage, where the smallest of interactions come with the expectation of reward, where food booths have tip jars on their counters next to the napkins, where you can't request a song without waving a five-dollar bill first, what I'm doing is so dang dumb that I can hardly type this without shame.

And smarter heads remind me that it's dumb. Like they did, repeatedly, this past weekend. "This is a business. Take peoples' money." And I really do listen, I swear; I'm just trying to take their advice in a way that is comfortable to me. And I think I've come up with a solution. Maybe.

For the moment, this is where I'm at:

• All the leaflings I create, starting today, will be gently coated with a water-based solution to protect their tiny faces and keep them looking fresh. (This way, should one find its way to you, it will weather the trip, thus allowing you to frame it, gift it, repurpose it, or release it.)
• And if you live 'half a world away,' you can still 'find' one of my leaflings, because I'll mail it to you.
• And you can commission me to make one if you need some magick in your life (or know someone who does). How much do I charge? I don't. (Read on....)
• And if you're at Fest and one of my leaflings 'calls' to you, then you're obviously the one meant to 'find' it. Give it a good home. (Read on....)

I never meant for these to be 'free.' (Magick isn't free; there's always a price.) But in this case I'll let you decide what this is worth to you and what you want to give in exchange. All I ask is that if you wish to pay me in real money, you do so without putting cash or coin in my hands. Give it to me in an envelope and I promise someone else will open and deal with it; I won't know if you think my work is worth 50 bucks or 50 cents or 50 paperclips, so there's no humiliation factor for either of us. Or make a donation on this site (I'll link a Paypal button or something here if/when I can figure out how to do so). Or do something else like rescue an animal, donate some books, read to a kid, fill-in-the-blank. Just move the magick forward, 'k?

Because the Fairies have given me a serious job: to begin their work in this little way and make sure it continues -- without pause -- to heal the Earth and its inhabitants one magick leafling/one kind deed/one act of wonder at a time.

And if you so choose, it can be your job too.

And we can heal the Earth together.

...

Thank You, Flower Fairies

Some days it's all about hanging in there. And about leaning heavily on those little golden things that make getting out of bed worth it.

Today's been one of those days, and this week's been one of those weeks....

That being said, I'm grateful today for Facebook friends, crisp autumn leaves, a rattie handwarmer in the front pocket of my hoodie (thank you, Max), some sunshine and exercise, a new haircut with bangs again, and the surprise this afternoon of a second heavenly-blue Morning Glory blossom at my mailbox.

I love that shabby chipped paint around my window, too....

It's a surprise because I didn't plant heavenly-blue Morning Glories. I planted Grandpa Otts Morning Glories. And this week when I needed them most, the heavenly-blues arrived in all their wonderfullness.

Thank you, morning glories.

So grateful.

And now I share them with you.
...

Magickal Moments

Life is overwhelming right now, and there's little time to write. But I can at least direct you to some magick that occurred earlier today, right here in my kitchen. I love these little pauses in my busy day. They give me hope. :)

This first little video is of one of my monarch caterpillars finishing up the process of molting. It includes a first-time event for me (even after all these decades of caterpillar raising):

And the second video shows a monarch caterpillar making its chrysalis. Such a wonder!

Enjoy.
...

Lesson One

After Monday's post about stepping sideways off the pathway I've been keeping my eyes peeled. Paying attention....

And on today's walk I watched for clues. Messages from the Universe about what it is exactly that I'm supposed to be learning.

I kept my mind open. Loose. I engaged my senses....

I noticed robins in the rowan tree.

And snowdrifts etched by the wind into the diamond skyscrapers of miniature ice cities.

I heard the over-wintered leaves of an oak tree applauding my progress, the tinkle of a windchime caught up in the breeze, the 'cheeseburger!' call of chickadees, the trickle of snowmelt as it collected at the curb and laughed its way to the storm drain.

I smelled woodsmoke, perfumed dryer sheets, someone's barbecue, spring.

I felt moisture on my cheek and tasted road salt on the air.

And I discovered these on my path: a fancy paperclip and a silk maple leaf from someone's autumnal arrangement.

The message (as I interpret it):

"Lost your place? You'll find it in Nature."

Let the learning begin.
...

A Leprechaun Tale

A couple days ago I mailed each of the beloved grandbuglets a handwritten note.

The note explained how 'Grampa James discovered a leprechaun hiding in his sock drawer and how he'd agree to free it if it gave him a gold coin for each of the grandbugs, and so it DID, but the next day when he checked on the 'gold' in his pocket, it wasn't gold any longer.' And enclosed with the note was proof: a fat plastic coin with a shamrock stamped on it.

On Saturday James and I FaceTimed with our local 'buglets, and the first thing the 4-almost-5-year-old did was muscle her little brother out of the way in order to hog the camera and demand, "Grampa, did you REALLY see a leprechaun? How big was he? Was he the size of a crayon? Did he have a little green vest? Did he look like this?" And she held a grocery store ad with a Lucky Charms character on it up to the camera lens....

I'd made up the story, but now poor Grampa had to confirm it (oops). To his credit, he winged it beautifully, describing in grand detail how he'd bargained with the leprechaun, and how it begged for its freedom, and how surprised Grampa was to discover the next day that what he thought was gold wasn't gold after all.

All the while he talked, she listened intently with eyes wide, eyebrows high, mouth turned down at the corners. Very intense. And there was a long pause afterward while we sensed the gears turning. Then, in a stage whisper: "Grampa?.... Did you fall for a leprechaun TRICK?"

(We were so delighted by her response that James and I roared with laughter; I hope we didn't embarrass her....)

I suggested we could all set a trap for the sneaky thing, but how would we do that?? And she flew off on a Rube Goldberg tangent: "We could hang a cage from the ceiling and run a wire from it over to the wall and then run the wire across the floor and then when he walked by he'd trip on the wire and the cage would come down and catch him and then I'd grab him and say, 'Give me TWO GOLD COINS -- one for Grampa, one for Gramma, one for Miss Lily, one for Boo, and one for those cute little birds that always try to snackle your fingers off.'"

(SO generous. And to those horrid piranha birds, too, bless her!)

And there you have it: a tale about my brush with the gold at the end of the rainbow and the magick it made one Saturday night. And now I hope some of it's rubbed off on you.

May all your Erin Go Bragh-ing go well today, my friend. And may 'snackle' forever be a word in your lexicon.

Slainte.

...

Winding Down....

Princess Ariel (aka my eldest grandbug) meets a real mermaid

As always the season has been an emotional rollercoaster. It began at "I'm not sure I can do this", quickly roared along to "What do I think I'm DOING??", and now the final stretch is saying, "I'm glad this ride's coming to an end! (But I think I'd like to do it again. Just give me a year so my heart goes back to normal, 'k?)"

Seriously, halfway through the run this year I wasn't sure how I'd feel at the end of the ride. 

Even though I've willingly gotten on the thing annually for nearly 30 years, it still scares the poop out of me. But it also thrills me, makes my heart beat faster, opens my eyes wide, and gives me that feeling that 'if I can do THIS, I can do anything.' 

Granted, in the Grand Scheme of Fest, what I do personally is the equivalent of the Tiny Tots Coaster at Father Hennepin Days. But I look around at all the other crazy-ass X2 riders and feel like I'm part of this group of daredevils, some of whom willingly do this all year long.

And Ivy the Faun, too

This year I really thought long and hard about my role at Fest. About whether or not selling my art was what I'm supposed to be doing, because I don't do it very well. Time hasn't given me a handle on it like it should. I look at my time spent at Fest proper and even in my own head I don't see myself as an artist selling art. I see myself as a human connecting with humans (which is something I don't do very often just because that's the way I am). I see familiar faces, folks who return year after year, customers who've become friends, Fest friends who've become customers, the offspring of each who now visit me, too, only now everyone brings their friends. And I look at that filmstrip in my head and I think, "What's wrong with this picture?...." and I say, "Absolutely nothing. But there is something missing, and it's the selling of art."

And just as I typed those words, all of a sudden the picture in my head stood on its head. Everything I thought about Fest did a flip-flop. And I thought, "What if this isn't about the big You and what I can sell to You. What if it's about me and what You bring to me? What if -- in my little world -- this isn't about selling art so much as it's about me learning something from You?"

And with her brother (far right) making music with Alan-a-Dale

Hmmmm..... Head went all 'splodey there for a second and I had to step away from the keyboard and refill my coffee.... But now I'm back.

So, let's just say that if Fest (for me) isn't about the art, then it must be about the connections, right? And if that's the case, then guess what? Fortunately for me the Universe has seen to it that while I'm busy stepping out of my comfort zone talking to people each season, I'm also selling enough of my work to allow me to ride the ride again next year. How cool is that? (So dang grateful, Universe; big thankyous!)

And that works for me.

Each year I'm sure I come to this conclusion in some way, shape, or form, so forgive me if I've just repeated myself yet again; it takes multiple times of the Universe hitting me upside the head for things to sink it....

And I also think it took a walkabout with my Minnesota grandbugs for me this year to see the situation from another POV. There's not enough magick and wonder in the world is how I see it. And being a part of this wonder-full Village allows me to introduce all my 'buglets to creative and magickal folks who still see diamonds when they look at the stars.

And that's a Very Good Thing.
...

It's August Eve and Magick Abounds

I'm stalked by sparkles today! Amazing things are everywhere and all I have to do is open my eyes. Check out this little bit of Who Knew?? that I encountered just stepping out the front door to collect my mail:

Did you have any idea that strawberry leaves weep dewdrops at dawn?? I didn't!

And then right next to the strawberries was THIS -- the special geranium that originated with my maternal grandmother -- all abloom. My mom started this one for me from a single slip. And see? Each blossom unfurls like tiny fairy bride bouquets of roses.

And then there was this beautiful fellow who was visiting my garden milkweed as I was retrieving the day's mail. :)

And if all that wasn't enough, there was a delightful letter from a friend waiting in the mailbox for me! So I dropped everything, sat down on the warm front step, and leisurely read to my heart's content while the afternoon sun shone down on my head and insects buzzed in the garden around me.

A dipped-in-wonderful-gold (and I mean 'wonderful' as in 'full of wonder') day and I'd hardly even stepped away from my sketchbook. All I had to do was open my eyes.

But then when I went back inside again, there was THIS:

Bless it's heart and cue the happydance! -- one of my coddled and pampered monarch caterpillars went into chrysalis mode when I wasn't looking.

Awesomesauce.

...

The Magic of Mail

The folks at Punchbowl (who supply the info for my Let's Party! blog widget) tell us that today is 'Thank a Mailman Day,' and you can read all about it by opening this link or scrolling down the righthand side of this blogpage.

Learning about 'Thank a Mailman Day' today made my heart do a little wiggle. Because I seriously love mail. Love it! Even the typewritten word gives me palpitations; it suggests handwritten secrets and sparkles and surprises. :)

Ever since I was little, mail has mesmerized me. I realized its awesome potential even before I could write my own name....

WHOA!

Something's happening.

Something weird and magical.

It's a good kind of weird and a Magickal kind of magical. And I'm not sure where it's going, but it wants to go there FAST.

Poor Clueless Me has it by the foot, trying to slow it down or something... keep it grounded. Because it's frightening.

But the thing has wings. STRONG ones. Strong-and-getting-stronger ones. Soon I'll either have to let go and watch it vanish forever, or hang on and let it pull me into the scary Unknown.

I don't do Scary well. And I steer clear of the Unknown. I do things ssslllooowwwwwww. I do my research, I weigh my options. I'm not big on surprises. I want to know what's coming, what to expect. I hide. In every way. And I hide well.

But this Something doesn't care. I think it created itself just to drag me screaming out of my comfort zone. And the dang thing doesn't look like something I can reason with. It's bigger than me. It has a no-nonsense expression. And scales.

And it wants to leave NOW. Right this very minute what am I doing sitting at the keyboard no time for typing we must be on our WAY!

I wish there was time enough to change out of my jammies and put on some Superhero duds. Because this feels Life Changing. And not just for me.

(*Cringe*) SO not sure about this! What if I let go? Fail? Heck -- what if I FALL?? Fall on my face!?

Wait, waitwaitwait! I've got stuff on my plate! I've got a routine! I take MEDS. I'm OLD, I take naps now, I hurt when I get up in the morning. (And dang it! I hate that it's just looked over its shoulder at me and given me the laser stare -- apparently it thinks what I've just written here is a crock.)

From my experience (this soul has read a lot of fairytales), when Magick says It knows what It's doing, we mere mortals find out the hard way that It's RIGHT.

SO.

(*Gulp!* Grabbing my robe at the neck and holding on TIGHT)

Here we go, I guess!
...