I'm Open to Suggestions

I'd hoped that I could narrow my focus here.... I'm so full of interests that I can't think straight, and they all preoccupy me, often at the same time; the thought of limiting myself to just one subject gives me a big old case of Writer's Block.

Not long ago I began the Mayfaire fan page on Facebook. I tried limiting myself there to small posts about my art and about art-related stuff. After a while folks commented, and when nothing bad happened I began thinking about a studio blog. And I thought: If I combined my various interests with my love of writing daily and my need to share my art, what would a blog like that be like? And what would I write about? Just creativity? Just my art? Just art-related stuff in general? And why did I have to choose?

Then I recalled an idea of mine from way back in my high school years. At that time I'd purchased a spiral notebook full of blue, thin-lined paper and had begun passing it amongst my few friends in a 'round robin' sort of way. I'd write an entry in morning Study Hall and pass it to the next friend who'd read it, add a Little Something, and pass it, etc., until it came back to me.

Most of the time our contributions were of the 'so-and-so doesn't know I exist' variety: the usual teenaged angst about boys and cliques and the curse of unpopularity. But occasionally something fun would happen. A silly post about pretending to be a maple tree in the meadow might spark pages of handwritten flotsam that would amuse us with its 'out-there'-ness.

So with that in mind I quickly made my decision. This blog will be about... something.
:)

To Fairyland and Back Again

I haven't written in a bit because I've been away.

For a whole wonder-filled week I was on a grandparenting adventure. I'd wake every morning to a vista view of skyscraper pines and distant snowcapped mountains, and spend long morning hours rocking my newest grandbug and enjoying girl talk with her mama. We 'grown-ups' enjoyed huge cupfuls of fancy coffee, and breakfasts of hot bagels and homemade pancakes, and sweet moments spent listening to the wind in the trees and little Abigail sighing in her sleep.

Abigail is a fairy child if ever there was one in my family. Little and long, with laser eyes that look right into my soul. Every time we walked past a window together she'd arch her back and look out at the forest, as though remembering that that's where she came from. And if she was fretful, all that seemed necessary was to lay her down by a view of the trees. (Changing table right next to a window = best idea ever.) 

Three days into my visit and we were already on an adventure together as her parents drove us high into the mountains for a picnic. I closed my eyes to avoid seeing the narrow switchbacks and plummeting ravines, but Abigail rode peacefully in her carseat, staring out at the world with wise eyes. This was her turf. Such a nature sprite couldn't have found herself in a better situation, and I suddenly suspected that she'd be leading her daredevil parents on even bigger adventures than they were already used to. (And they're used to big adventures.) 

My daughter and her husband live in a sweet little California town full of quaint shops and cute cottages, and every drive down the hill towards it brought new discoveries: Clouds of roses billowing over a cheery picket fence, or chickens pecking in a cottage garden. The place was right up my alley and I couldn't help but ponder a move there, until I thought of my other grandbugs back at home, and then all plans went out the window. I'd just have to be that grandma. The one that travels and likes it. It'd mean buying some rugged shoes for the constant stepping out of my comfort zone.

Before my arrival I'd imagined that sitting in a chair and staring at that beautiful baby would last forever, but Time fast-forwarded through my week there. As was predicted, I didn't want to leave. The tears began days before my flight home again. Leaving my baby and her baby was enough to send me into a tailspin. I said goodbye and rode the tram to the airport terminal sobbing my heart out, surrounded by businessmen who openly stared at my tears. How could they not know what was going on inside me? My daughter, the one I suspected was too daredevilish to tie herself down with a child, has embarked on The Adventure of All Adventures.

And now both my Girlz have children of their own, families to raise, lives to live. My work here is ending.... Suddenly I realized that Time had fired a starter pistol and begun a mad dash with me roped to it unwillingly. And dragging my feet was not slowing us down....

I've been home for over a week now, and sometimes I wonder if my trip to California even happened at all or if I just dreamed it. My days are full once more playing catch-up with all I've got on my plate for the summer. There are drawings to do and gardens to weed and thoughts to think. And another trip to plan for.

Because I will see that fairy baby again while she's still tiny enough to hold in my hands. :)

  ...

Best Easter Ever

Happy birth day to my sweet new Easter grandbunny, Miss Abigail, whose birth this morning reminds me of just how much I love this stage of my life.

Not that I didn't enjoy being a mother (or, in my case, an oddmother). It's just that being a granny oddmother is completely different. It's like motherhood with fairy wings, I swear.

I've been hearing for years about just how special this stage of life is and I have to admit I was a little afraid of it. I'm not a kid person. I thought I'd made an exception for my own offspring when they appeared way back when, but perhaps they could even tell. I was probably only fooling myself into thinking I was capable of being someone's mom....

Giving birth is hard enough. But mothering is the hardest thing any woman could ever do, I'm pretty dang sure. There are the small victories and the larger-than-life doubts, the ups and downs and joys and sadnesses. The comparisons -- gawd! Mothers everywhere with their my-way-is-the-only-way opinions. I thought for sure I was wrecking my Girlz more than I was raising them. And I wondered if the Universe knew what It was doing when It put them in my life.

But sometimes I half suspect that all those difficult paths led to HERE. Right here. Right now.

Because being a granny oddmother suddenly defines me to a T. I like this role. It has character! And magick! And scene-stealing dialogue one can sink their teeth into. And I can play it until I'm a hundred and ten and not have to worry about fitting into the ingenue costume or losing my part to someone younger or better suited for the role. Because there's no one better suited for the role! At least not on this stage.

And, bless us, grandmothers everywhere are like a big sisterhood. We can do what we do without worrying about other grandmas getting in our faces and saying, "it's wrong to serve dessert for lunch," or "rocking a baby to sleep does more harm than good," or "letting a child stay home from school just because it's snowing outside for the first time this winter just leads to more bad habits." We know that Life is all about the little things that are really big things in disguise.

And maybe we suspected as much back when we were mothers ourselves. But all the other things on our plates blinded us then. Supervisors and doctors and peers and even perhaps our own mothers urged us to toe the line and conform. Act like responsible adults. Use tough love.

But no one tells grannies what to do. We've got wisdom and experience on our side!

And cookies. :)
...

Fairy Post

All you need is:

faith,

trust,

and fairy dust!

~*~

Love and sparkles,

the Tumbledown Fairies

Happy Spring!

Artwork copyright Patrick McDonnell

It's the wonder-full first day of Spring! And this sweet artwork by artist Patrick McDonnell has it all: birds singing, flowers blooming, butterflies butterflying, puppies and kittens doing the happydance together. Plus, it gives me an opportunity to share with you an artist who inspires the heck out of me. I could study his line work until the cows come home.... (sigh)

Here at Tumbledown, all is in pleasant chaos. Some would say I'm spring cleaning, but I'm not sure that's it. I'm in a state of flux, inside and out.

Since I wrote last I've been knee deep in books. Still. Only this time I'm culling and organizing the herd, making space, rediscovering old faves and unearthing books I didn't know I even had. Hours and days and weeks have passed during this time and I've been happy to let them. This needed doing and it's pleasantly clearing my head.

And anyway, I'll get back to it. But I wanted you to know I'm still here, I haven't forgotten about you, and I hope you're enjoying this fabulous First Day of Spring!

:)
...

PLEASE check out more of Mr. McDonnell's work here and sign up to receive a daily Mutts email that will put his delightful and heartfelt art in your in-box every dang day. What a sweet way to start the day, right? :)

Crazy Book Love!

Books are SO important!!

I can't write two words without one of them being about books, can I? But today I've got a great excuse: Yesterday was World Book Day in the UK and Ireland, and today is NEA's Read Across America. Two very good reasons to write about curling up with an old favorite or a new discovery.

 

In case you hadn't noticed, here at Tumbledown EVERY day is Book Day. And you wouldn't have to get far inside my front door to have that all figured out. Books take center stage here. They cover all horizontal surfaces. They stand two- and sometimes three-deep on the shelves. They're stacked waist high on each available stair step. There's a tower of them tottering within inches of my side of the bed. They concern the heck out of my parents, who I'm sure imagine my body one day being unearthed from beneath a stack of them, squashed completely but with a smile on my face. And, for the record, it's not unusual to find more than one copy here of my personal faves.... It's like I'm saving them from something. Giving them a good home. OK, hoarding maybe, but let's not call it that, 'k? At least not in a paragraph that includes my folks who would love to see me admit it in writing.

 

Do you remember the books from your childhood, the ones that paved the way for a lifetime of book love?

 

An older neighborhood friend of mine took 6-year-old me to a book sale at her school and I used the 30-cents in my pocket to purchase two grade-school readers: The Wishing Well and Three Friends. I read them up, down, and sideways, and studied the watercolor illustrations until my eyes fell out of my head. I still have those books. And rereading them now takes me back a million years....

 

And I can recall a spring weekend in Third Grade spent curled up with Felix Salton's Bambi, gleaned from a shelf in the Monroe Elementary School library that the Librarian there cautioned me I was still too young to read from. A chapter away from the ending I stopped and had a good cry. My mom discovered me and asked about my tears. I said, "Have you ever read a book so good that you didn't want it to end?"

 

And then there was Enid Bagnold's National Velvet, read semi-annually since the day I first discovered horses until the day I first discovered boys (and picked up again almost immediately, as horses were way more interesting -- :->). I learned to draw from its illustrations. I learned to love England from its text. I dreamed of being Velvet Brown and even wrote away to the stewards of the Grand National for race maps and particulars. I learned to like tea with milk and loads of sugar.

 

I didn't make friends with Louisa May Alcott or Lucy Maud Montgomery or discover The Secret Garden until I was a young adult, all married and away from home. They nurtured my soul when my soul desperately needed nurturing, and I think they were put in my hands at just the right time. (And I'm still a little embarrassed recalling the moment a co-worker walked into the office and caught 20-something me at my coffee break, sobbing over Little Women's 'Beth.')

 

*Sigh* 

 

I taught myself to read as a child, then read the days and weeks and months and years away. I do so still, and can think of no other way I'd rather spend my time. It even trumps drawing (but only just). And, in case you haven't already guessed, I could bore you forever with my fond book-related memories. SO -- I'll simply end here and ask: 

 

What were your favorites?

...

Finally -- a Snow Day for Unsnowy MN

Yesterday's beautiful storm

Leap Day did a number on us here in the Village. It definitely wanted to be noticed. It was!

 

After a night of heavy rain on Tuesday, all turned to snow; snow that was gorgeous but amazingly difficult to shovel. I rarely regret not having a working snowblower, but about the time my arms were falling off I was giving one some serious dang thought. Returning inside afterward to the comfiness of my chair and the promise of hot tea and a good book was especially appreciated.

 

And now today I'm feeling the effects of that bout with the storm. I only thought I'd been victorious! Threading my arms into my coat sleeves this morning was 'interesting,' to say the least. But all felt better once I ventured outside and greeted the day.

 

My usual route was compromised by puddles and plow trails and meant navigating lawns deep in snow just to get to the street proper to begin my walk. Ankle-deep water rushed along both curbs on its way to the storm drain, bubbling and whirlpooling there as it overwhelmed the narrow grates. Leaping over it all just wasn't in the cards for me, sore as I was.... 

 

Branches overhead -- still heavy with snow -- occasionally dropped slush in my path, and off in the distance droned the buzz of a chainsaw as the occasional homeowner dealt with old tree limbs unable to bear the weight of it all. It made for an interesting walk: in spite of the chaos left by the winter storm, all was white and pristine and made brilliant by the sunshine and singing birds. Even the chainsawers in their flannel shirts and rolled-up sleeves seemed to smile as they went about their work.

 

I rescued leaves rushing by in the torrent. I took pictures of an already melting fort dug from a sodden snow bank by school kids happy to call yesterday a Snow Day. I greeted a man shoveling waves of water down his driveway. I dodged snow 'bombs' and soaked up the sun. I smiled.

Smiled. Smiled smiled smiled.

Doesn't sound like much, I know, but this face noticed and was monumentally grateful.

...