Handmade paper meets photographs

I got brave. I put a tiny amount of rubber cement on the edges of my handmade paper and placed them onto  a sheet of card stock. Then with hands folded in prayer ran the whole works through the printer. It worked!!! Soon pages of my photographs on HANDMADE PAPER were forming up on my work table.

I could hardly contain myself. I couldn't stop there! I had to create a book.

It is due in part to Velma Bolyard of Wake Robin blog.

She came out from New York to give a lecture

and workshop for the Puget Sound Books Artists in Tacoma. 

I so clearly remember the excitement with which she shared her joy

at being able to make every aspect of her books -

the dying, the paper making, the shifu spinning, the weaving, the binding.

She shared her knowledge and joy with others and they in turn shared later

all the beautiful papers and projects they had

made in and as a result of the workshop. 

May the ripple continue to travel outward.

Seaweed Messages

Mother Nature left me a message on the beach. Help me figure it out.

I think I get the happy note,

but what do you think the rest means?

Maybe it's some sort of ancient calligraphy?

To think she did this without any hands...simply by pushing water around.

Isn't Mother Nature amazing!

Hearts For Me!

I see hearts

in places where it seems impossible.

There's hardly anything there.

It usually starts with scruffy ones...

or ones that require you to use your imagination.

Some of the hearts have had a rough time.

Poor little heart - someone took a bite out of you!

Once you start noticing ... hearts start popping up right out of the sand.

Little hearts, big hearts, sometimes the hearts are made of wood.

I strongly believe they are messages from Mother Nature 

left here and there for me to find.

She speaks to us in such interesting ways.

Next blog I will share what she wrote to me on her sand tablet.

Sand between my toes

“I have always loved the beach. The smell of the salty water, the wind in my face, the gentle roar of the waves all combine to create a sense of peace and calm.”
                                                                                                                                              --Anonymous

 When shared with a kindred spirit... who doesn't seem to mind me

stopping to photograph every

pile of sticks and stones or heap of bones.

But do you find it as peculiar as I do to see a bird shadow

 reflected off the bird bones?

 It is almost as strange as the ocean spelling out the number 4.

Maybe I should go buy a lottery ticket? 

Gifts for the Mowing Goddess

After a very, very long week without, the goddess was once again astride her mowing machine. She wasted no time in restoring order. It was hard to imagine that in such a short time how the edges could become blurred and the wildness take over. Some noticed her absence and had gifts for her to find as they knew it would be a long and challenging task.

She discovered the first gift as she raked the mole hill down. (No longer can she 'afford' to just race over them in the interest of time.) The delicate pattern caught her eye, made her heart sing. A gift from the earth!

The second gift was from the sky. So delicate and fine, sitting on top of the greenery. The breeze moving each little wisp in unison. Is it an owl feather?  See the delicate coloration and banding. If not an owl, what else could it be?

The last gift was from the maple tree who was obviously grateful the goddess was reducing the visual competition. Those nasty weeds had grown so tall even she, mature maple, looked smaller by comparison. It was obvious at first glance this was no ordinary robins nest that had been laid at maple's feet so gently. 

The cup stood above the straw making it very easy to see the details on the edge. Looks braided to me. And one could not miss the hole in the bottom.

I do know it is Native American tradition to put a hole in the basket or pot when the maker has died. This lead me to believe that perhaps there was more to this gifting than first thought.  Humm... pottery shard, feather of an owl (symbol of death), and weaver of clay and straw. Could this be a message concerning someone I know? It is best to be aware. And yet, each gift a lovely thing to behold. So the mowing goddess is grateful because she is and probably always will be a "collector." 

What is red and round and runs down your arm?

Sweet and juicy pie cherries!

2 cups makes a cherry cobbler.

Normally the pie cherries ripen around the 4th of July.

We've waited and waited...

to see this classic cherry image.

I was going to take a picture of the baked cherry cobbler, but

we got so excited we sat right down and ate it.

Oh, Fiddle Sticks!

I’m going to tell this just like it happened. There I was sitting on the back porch steps with a bowl of homemade granola heaped high with blueberries and bananas. My cats, Frizz and Stitch were sitting next to me on our mossy perch. Between bites I surveyed the yard, thinking about my heroic efforts of last week. While not Sunset magazine quality it was still better than it had been.

Yee Owwww!!! What the #*!! I turned sharply to face Stitch who had just BITTEN me on the shoulder. It wasn’t a skin piercing bite, but hard enough to get my full attention! He stared at me as though I should have understood “the look.” I stared back hard, my lips puckered into a scrunch. In disgust he stalked off sitting a few feet away with his back to me. What? I asked him petulantly.

Then deep within, like a bubble rising up in a mud pot, unbidden this question popped into my mind. Could you be happy if you never became a ‘famous’ artist? I heard myself gasp at the question. Where the heck did that come from? Without hesitation a dark cynical voice quipped back. “Well, who thought you could ever become a famous artist anyway?” I stammered, nearly cut in two. But then heard the voice of the small child within answer a tiny little “me.” I realized the young me had dreamed it. She was the one who read all the adds for the Famous Artist School and how in 6 easy lessons you too could become a Famous Artist!

Oh, how sad. Guilt washed over me. Have I let her down? Cripes… my latest project was making marks on carved sticks. "Oh, how the mighty (dreams) have fallen," I said to myself and my other selves in attendance (sister, daughter, mother, MIL, grandmother, worker, friend and wife). I explained I don’t think you become famous by carving sticks and making sharpie marks on them. We all agreed. In my own defense I said that it wasn’t that I didn’t try. “I mean,” I said in my most convincing tone, “I have given it a good go every chance I got but becoming ‘human’ seemed more important than becoming famous.” While life was molding and crafting me I drew and painted, carved and knitted, pasted, cut, and folded, stitched, wove and spun back. I shrugged my shoulders to my other selves and explained, “I guess as the years passed it was less important to become famous and more important to become real.” I finally understood how important it was to nurture the creative, spontaneous, joyful child within me. In response, little me stepped out in front of my other selves with a great big smile. She did not appear to show dismay over our current play, crafting yard waste sticks into teabag banners and relay sticks with a message. Smiling out at me, she reminded me there is still hope. After all don’t forget Grandma Moses she shouted! Oh, we all had a good giggle at that. I ask what she thought about turning some of those sticks into a book like the ancient Chinese did? But with a turn she was gone. Last seen chasing the cat.