Monte Verdi Lampwork

Life on St Martin's Hill Spring 2009

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30 April 2009

Cliche

Windows flung wide open.

Houses, cars, and offices.

Faint shouts of children playing drift in.

Boys, girls, and dogs.

Yards are raked into neat little igloo piles.

Bags, curbs, rows.

Wind is breezy, scattering traces of floral fragrance.

Daffodils, violets, crocus'.

Women wear pink frosted lipstick.

Youthful, shiny, shimmering.

And they buy new handbags.

One, two, three.

Every one is smiling.

Here, there, everywhere.

It really is in the little things.

Yes. It. Is.

* * *

24 April 2009

Goings On

First official Day of Spring here! The high southern winds blew all the ice out to sea yesterday; yes, ALL the ice. Miracles never cease.

Everyone is busy!

Cleaning up dog doo-doo in their yards.

Big Foot Recovery Project is this weekend!

Have you any evidence or a compelling story?

You must, you simply must bring it by to the Moose Lodge!

Now, I shall go and get ready to become the soon-to-be-famous

B'Yeti Rubble.

Complete with a fur crown!

Nordic style comin' attcha folks!

(and the very first flowers from our yard!). . . . .

* * * * *

21 April 2009

White Ties, White Bows, White Shoes

Class of 1901

Mr. Wendall Addison, Headmaster

Class of 1901

Suit, posture, and composure all befitting.

Genevieve Walkin, Richard Paytin, and Mortikie Helms all posed in front of the scenic velvet curtain.

Mortikie is the one with filthy hands.

Students unmarked.

Scrubbed, starched and smoothed,

all awarded just the same.

More unmarked students.

Sisters?

Exact same dress, shoes, eyes, demeanor, lovely all.

Faces of countenance show wisdom beyond their years.

Knowledge has transferred from one set of hands to another.

Every class has one of these.

And one of these.

The mother who viewed this photo was probably mortified.

Ah, she probably thought, all those years of training. . .

Right over left, ladies,

Keep it neat,

and Tidy.

Yet, nonetheless, that spring day must have gleamed brightly on so much white.

* * * * *

17 April 2009

Haiku

Stars that carry you,

Upward to a higher place,

Find a path back home.

yours truly 1996

* * * * *

15 April 2009

Conserve Energy; Be an English Setter!

6:20 am. Let the dogs out.

6:27 am. Dogs get back into bed.

7:05 am. A dog is kicking me in the back, like a rabbit.

7:31 am. Sleeping in is useless. Get up.

7:32 am. Dogs chasing each other 'round the house for 26 minutes. Racing up & down the stairs for another 12 minutes.

Barking ensues for 20 minutes after that. Get two LARGE cooking pots from the cupboard. Smash them together. Loudly. Barking stops.

8:31 am. A dog is standing by the Biscuit Cupboard.

Waiting.

Yeh, I'm ready for a nap.

* * *

10 April 2009

Portrait

Powerful.

Preeminate.

Presented.

Prepared.

Pieta.

Perfect ending.

* * *

9 April 2009

Quiet Reflections

Just sharing one of my favorite icons.

* * * * *

7 April 2009

Lovelier Yet

I found this earlier this morning in the back corner of my closet. I don't know what possessed me to bring it out today.

There are things that one owns that conjure a multitude of memories.

Like touring London after spending a week in Germany, Ronnie Sue was newly pregnant and it was her birthday. There was this little shop, somewhere between Basia Z. (the one & only Basia Z, and I'll tell you that story another time) and Cadigan's Square, that sold the most exquisite wares.

And yes, this is where Cadigan's name came from.

Racks of beaded velvets out frontside. Multi colors of beads and sequins, glinting off the rays of the sun made it impossible for us girls to just walk away. We gawked in amazement at the spectacle, and since we had developed an instant case of cross-eyed-ness, we knew the only cure was just to buy something.

I insisted that Ronnie pick out a skirt (after all, it was her birthday), and she settled on a short and sassy little thing that now Cadigan has hidden away in her special box.

And I got this handbag.

Little did either of us realize the changes that would take place a mere six months ahead.

Having a baby & diagnosed with breast cancer. All at once.

I remember taking care of the baby, holding her almost the entire time she was in my care, as Ronnie made her rounds of doctors' opinions. Tears dropped consistently endless as I wondered over and over how this scenario would play out.

It seemed impossible. The worst seemed impossible. And the impossible became worse.

So since, I have kept this beautiful velvet hidden away in the dark confines of my closet. Never used. Never enjoyed. The pain of her absence still collapses my breath, still catches me off guard, and we that knew her best are still in denial. How could this be?

I don't know how the grief will end. I am told that sometimes it doesn't, and that there really is no cure for loss.

So be it.

If I can, I'll reach back into the darkness and try to pull out, yet again, something beautiful.

* * * * *

2 April 2009

There's Art in My Drawers

A fabulously shabby desk from the thrift shop.

Five dollars and ninety-five cents.

Minus twenty percent.

And it's really, really shabby. But you know, you just can't pass up stuff like this, especially when it has fantastic rusty hardware.

Currently, it's a sideboard in the dining room.

But my favorite find? Check out what's hiding in the bottom drawer!

Ain't it awesome?

I think it's a happy cat-ant. With a tail.

Or something.

So always be sure to check your drawers.

For art.

* * * * *

28 March 2009

Piano Bird

It's back to basics, my mother would announce every spring in her sing-song voice.

She'd emerge from the music cabinet with stacks of books, plunking down the dusty pile next to the piano.

Back to basics. That meant that she'd spend the next several hours playing every single piano lesson from the very begining.

Yes, starting with Middle C.

I remember being delighted at the first few lessons, recognizing them made me feel as though I were as good a pianist as her.

Yes, such goodies as Up in the Sky, Ever So High.

And Sandman's Lullaby.

And Pumpkin Pencil Pies.

And then she'd lose me somewhere right around two-handed Jingle Bells.

From that point on, my imagination took flight.

I would never, I confirmed to myself, ever go back to the basics.

Why would I, when I'd be such a great piano player?

Yes, when I am all grown up, I'll play for the social ladies down at Woodside Church.

In the fancy hall with carpeting.

And the wall lined with crystal lamps.

I'll appear in a show-stopper of a dress from that store The Pink Lady. I'll wear high heels and a Titantic-sized hat dripping with frippery. And daring red lipstick.

And the ladies. They'll be standing around in small groups exchanging their pleasantries, their china tea cups clinking together. I'll walk right through them,

straight up to the grand bird itself with its one black wing raised.

I'll begin to play, softly at first. Then I'd use all my fingers, my feet would be working the pedals, and heck, my whole upper body 'twould be playing that thing! I'd look around and smile as I was playing (since I don't need to even read music 'cause I'm so good), looking like a fashion plate, and all the women would smile and nod knowingly at each other as I soared on the air of praise.

My, she is an excellant pianist!

Oh yes, and beautiful, too! I wish I could play that well!