cf bookchick Don't ask me to send a song to you -- I dump them as fast as I buy them.

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Music is the universal language of mankind. ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Posted in photofriday posts on Dec 18, 2008 at 7:37 PM

Communication

Music expresses feeling and thought, without language; it was below and before speech, and it is above and beyond all words. ~Robert G. Ingersoll

You would not think that 'communication' would be a hard subject for me. I struggled with this one and took photo after photo Friday and Saturday, finally giving up last night in frustration. Yes, I could have taken a photo of a phone, but there is not real challenge for me in photographing a telephone. I actually took a photo of an antique crank phone that still did not suit me. This is not the best photo I have ever taken, but I was taken with the child in this one. The player gave him his banjo pick and was showing him the strings to pluck as the fiddler played alongside.

To play along, go here:

http://fotofriday.multiply.com/journal/item/152/Picture_Perfect_-_Communication

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Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow. It's what sunflowers do. - Helen Keller
Posted in About me and mine... on Oct 06, 2008 at 4:19 AM

for everyone

Mellow Yellow

Ah! Sunflower

Ah! sunflower, weary of time,

Who countest the steps of the sun,

Seeking after that sweet golden clime

Where the traveller’s journey is done;

Where the youth pined away with desire,

And the pale virgin shrouded in snow,

Arise from their graves and aspire;

Where my sunflower wishes to go.

William Blake

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It is not down in any map; true places never are. ~Herman Melville
Posted in About me and mine... on Aug 28, 2008 at 2:21 AM

We fill our days, trying not to think too deeply otherwise the sorrows still have the power to cut like a knife. This weekend Mom, Samantha and I filled the hours with a long trip to the east side of the state into the flat lands of Michigan’s thumb region. The trip would not have been so long, but for the ill-fated plan to take US131 north into Grand Rapids then to M-57 east to the far side of the state. Ill-fated, you say? Well, after traffic back-ups, construction, detours and an accident or two around us, what should have taken an hour and a half to go the first 90 miles, took almost 3 hours before my frustration reached a boiling point and I took my own detour winding down the back roads I once knew so well. We left the house at 10:30 am and finally found ourselves in Bad Axe at 5:30 pm as dark storm clouds started to roll in, the skies looking ominous indeed. I pulled into the first lodging I saw, the façade of Holiday Inn Express beckoning to me.

The dire clouds soon proved themselves worthy of their color and we stood in our room, just dropping our bags as the wind began to howl and the tree in front of our window bent sideways. The storm traveled east toward Lake Huron and later on, while the lightning lit the skies for us overhead and all around, Samantha and I enjoyed the pool while watching through the glassed in enclosure - probably not the safest thing I have ever done, but enjoyable nonetheless.

Sunday morning and we were on our way north on M-53 to Port Austin. There is a marked difference in the beaches on the west side of the state and the east side. The Western beaches are clotted with humanity, not a square inch of sand uncovered by a sweaty human form, the dunes surrounding them stacked with condos and executive homes perched precariously over the sandy ledges.

The Eastern shores have their share of dwellings littering the edges, however there are actually trees and grasslands in between. The beach parking lots are free of cost and mostly free of cars. On the beaches, the sand rules. We shared our beach with one mother and her toddler busy building a sand castle. Samantha and I walked the pier, passing 20 or so fisherman, none of them having much luck (don’t they know that fishing is poor right before and right after a big storm???). The waves were white capping and the water was a lovely shade of blue that I just could not capture on a photo. We took some time as we walked our way back down the pier to climb down a maintenance ladder to play in the rocks, looking for fossils and some special stones for my dish of stones. There are many stones along the pier further from the natural shoreline, and less sand. The rocks are rounded though from years and years of waves pounding them and grinding them into the gritty sands, smoothing edges. There is so much solace to my bruised soul when I am near the water, wind blowing my hair, far from the phone and this day ws no different. I hated to leave, however we had an appointment to the south of us in beautiful, downtown Frankenmuth.

Bronner's. The world’s largest Christmas store. It really is.

It has fascinated me since I was a little girl and we would travel from Bad Axe, east to visit family near Grand Rapids. Back then it was a smaller store right in town on the corner, but oh! To see the Christmas lights, the ornaments, the trims right in the middle of summer. Magic to a girl of 7. Bronner’s is very large now. Tour buses abound in the parking lots and all around you as you browse the thousands and thousand of ornaments, lights , trims and everything else Christmas, you will hear accents and languages from around the globe. It is fascinating to me. And the store is still magic to this 41 year old girl as I look at the trees sparkling with hundreds of lights and blown glass ornaments from around the world, the nutcrackers gleaming in the their wooden shelves, the holiday villages and choo -choo trains on lighted displays throughout the store, and the endless loop of Christmas songs playing throughout the store. As usual I spent too much on the 6 new ornament I bought for my tree this year, but they are will worth the cost to me as I look at their jewel like sparkle and tones as they grace my tree this winter.

Lunch at the Bavarian Inn was as per the usual, over-rated and over-priced, but since this was Samantha’s first visit, she was going to get the full experience. Alas, we did miss Raus Old-fashioned candy shop and it was a big disappointment for me (again, the 7 year old within).

And next the trip home. We left Frankenmuth at 5:30 and were home by 9:00 pm. Yes, only 3 ½ hours home. We took our normal, instead the scenic route and I cruised at 75-80mph, gas-mileage be damned.

Today was my second day with the library and I fear I shall be bored out of my skull. But I do not miss the long commute and high gas prices associated with my former workplace. Next time you’re in town, just look for the woman with her nose buried in 14 books; it’ll be me….

We found this tiny Stonehenge on the beach during our walk back from the pier.

TRIPLES with EMMA

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I know well what I am fleeing from but not what I am in search of. ~Michel de Montaigne
Posted in About me and mine... on May 18, 2008 at 2:47 PM

My life is taking a different course. I am leaving tonight with the children. We will be gone for at least three weeks. I am tired. Tired of the fighting. Tired of the stress. Tired of it all.



I don't know what I am going to find.
I don't know what will happen.



I just know it is time.

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“Magic becomes art when it has nothing to hide.” Ben Okri
Posted in artwork on May 02, 2008 at 3:10 PM

Aria, 1983
Painted Steel
Collection Frederik Meijer Gardens and Sculpture Park

Magical. There is magic in art. Art as literature. Art as dance. Art as photography. Art as music. Visual art. Art lets us transcend the mundane lives we must lead. It calls to our eyes, our ears, our hearts. Every single aspect of our lives involves art, from the painting hanging on the West wall of the great room, to the design of the laundry hamper in the upstairs bath, to the newest ring-tones available for our cell phones. Art programs are attacked every single day in our public schools as being unnecessary, as taking funding away from the sporting programs. And every single school that loses a bit of that funding loses a bit of magic. The average sporting career of a high school athlete is four years -- high school. The average art student uses those talents his or her entire life, spreading the magic around, delighting our eyes, our ears, our hearts.
Whether we realize it or not, art is a integral part of our lives. Without art in any one of it’s forms, life as we know it would not exist.

Life without ART, by Darlene Lewis

Can you ask a baby not to cry?
can you ask a bird not to fly?
can you ask a flower not to bloom?
life without art is death after doom
life without movement still and content
worthless meaningless time is spent
idle just slumber just plain and bland
no strokes no pens or pencil in hand
no music no prose no blisters on toes
no broken hearted dancers no shows
only true artists understand and know
how life would be so grey and dark
life without love is life without art
rehearsals and go sees and cattle calls
no models no musicians at all
no mp3s or mov's nor any html
no lyrics lost no cds to sell
no beats no bangs no blues no rock
no jazz no reggatone no not
museum walls crying for frames
artifacts unknown fossil names
markers paint oil and lead
art cannot live if it is dead
Art is a baby waiting to be
nurtured and loved eternally
Art is a Rose in full bloom
Life without art is Death after Doom

The Picture Perfect theme for this week is Magical. Please visit Picture Perfect for more details on this wonderful theme and past themes as well. Immerse yourself in a bit of magical art as you scroll down through the post and links left by my fellow artists.

http://fotofriday.multiply.com/tag/magical

I am tired. I am having a hard time caring about anything. I don’t care much about my marriage. I don’t care much whether my house is clean. I don’t care much about sleep, about work, about much of anything.

I force myself to connect with a few of you here, though one of you in particular I do have my worries for. But in truth, being here is a chore. I am having a hard time connecting with my own life, let alone with you.

Is it this endless winter with it’s endless cold, endless snow and rain, endless clouds?

Is it my age, my body, the changes it is undergoing?

Is it my grief?

I don’t know and I don’t have the energy to figure it out. I only have enough care for my children and my mother right now.

Good night.

glitter-graphics.com
I drive every day. It is something most of us do. We drive to the grocery store, to the school to pick up our children, to go to dinner and a movie, to work. I drive just over 49 miles each way on my daily commute. The first 9 miles is driven on a two-lane state road with two traffic lights along the stretch. The next 39 miles takes me West on Interstate 80/90. The final four miles bumps along another two-lane state road pockmarked with dozens and dozens of potholes and broken up by 6 more traffic lights, then ends with 6 lanes and a left hand turn into the parking lot of the mall where I work inside.

The commute is generally boring. I start it by tuning in my local NPR station on the car stereo and waiting in my driveway for a red car, a semi truck, a white car, a black truck, an Amish buggy then maybe another red car before I can back out. At this time of the year there is not much scenery to interest me on the nine mile length of road. Just dirty snow at the roadside deposited by our considerate snow plow drivers, a mailbox or two listing to the side - another gift from our snow plow drivers, bare trees and my windshield wipers slapping back and forth in a vain effort to clean the road muck that keeps splashing back from the driver ahead of me who insists upon driving 40 miles per hour in a 55 mph zone.

The second, and longest, stretch gives me a four lane interstate, 70 mph speed limit which I drive at 75, cars, trucks, semis. I count how many UPS trucks, Fed Ex trucks, Con-Way trucks I pass by. I count the license plates from various states. I count how many times I see vehicles - red, then white, then blue. I see fields of the brown skeletal remains of last summer’s corn stalks. I see RV factories. I see broken guard rails left over from drivers who are convinced that their cars and trucks can handle the patches of black ice that are spread out along the flat stretch of road. Today I followed a silver Dodge Caravan from Illinois. I could see two adults in the front seat and two children waving their arms in back. Were they on their way home after the funeral of a loved one? Getting a late start home after a week end wedding? Coming home from a trip East to look for a new home in a new town? We passed semi trucks together, slowed together as we saw a state trooper playing hide and seek in the median, the family no doubt anticipating the return home; me bored enough to make up an imaginary life for them complete with joy, heartache and a dog waiting at the kennel. They left me at the visitor plaza, maybe for a Starbucks, maybe to fuel up on a bit of Burger King. Back to counting cars…

The final stretch. Four miles dodging potholes my car is already intimately familiar with and getting acquainting with newly formed craters which may have formed during the sub-zero temps of the wee early morning, or even just 5 minutes ago when a Frito truck jarred the road by precisely .00005 degrees. The traffic lights are timed so that five of the six will be red by the time I bump and rattle my way to each.

The parking lot: In the morning a scattering of cars, slowly cooling, litters the parking lot as their owners walk lap after lap in the mall concourse. The afternoon commute brings two or three trips through the lot in search of the elusive "fabled parking space".

After eight or nine hours it is time to reverse the trip: Stop at five of six traffic lights, dodge the same potholes and an additional five, count more cars, no silver Caravan to share my ride East, just aching feet that I yearn to stretch out. If it is a late trip home, no one will be on the final nine mile length of road but me and a few rabbits or a possum.

Finally, a sigh of relief as I turn the key and shut off the car engine. I look through the window to see my daughter smiling at me and our white cat standing on her hind feet, stretching, meowing “Hello” to me. Wishing I did not have to make the commute again tomorrow morning, knowing that I have to. Two hours of my life each day, spent with NPR and strangers whose faces I will never see.

Alice came to a fork in the road. "Which road do I take?" she asked.
"Where do you want to go?" responded the Cheshire cat.
"I don't know," Alice answered.
"Then," said the cat, "it doesn't matter."
~Lewis Carroll


glitter-graphics.com