This is my favorite painting in the world. i found it at a Goodwill or Salvation Army store and snatched it up like i was afraid someone else was going to take. i absolutely love it. There is no signature but it says $40.00 on the back. I think it is acrylic or gouache on a board. The stars are a metallic paint.

i have been writing about this painting even though i don't have a clue what the story is. The bride on the left seems like a ghost but maybe she's just not finished. The long ribbons of color make it magical realism to me. The trees, the moon and the stars are so prominent; they are like characters in the story.

DOES ANYONE KNOW THIS STORY? It may be my favorite painting in the world but i know it is probably more like folk art and not valuable. i don't care. But i really want to know the story. And i want to know if the painting is finished or is the bride on the left really a ghost?

i love to write but i'm not very good, so please be gentle. i am copying in a part of a story i am trying to write using this painting as inspiration. i guess the reason is to get your comments about any ideas in the story that you think relate to the painting.

So, mi amigos, mi chickies and roos, and especially mi Guerreros de la Luz, please help.

The Ghost Filled Moonlit Weddings of Two Brothers

The crescent moon watches the goings-on ready to add to the rituals in any manner helpful. She has seen this many times. It has it's place in the cycles. In her wake the people ride the seasons of learning, working, playing and resting. This wedding, one of so many others like it, did have it's curiosity. Moon looked again at the smaller of the two brides.

Had no one noticed her translucence or her not quite erectness? Moon tried to catch a few more of Sun's rays to reflect on the little bride's face. She wanted to get a better look but she was also confident her reflected light would compliment the bride's inner glow. The wake and the indirect light; that is what Moon could add to the rituals.

Moon was sure now. The little bride was well on her way to becoming a ghost. Fascinating, she thought.

The brides wore their moonlit gowns with all the reverence of their mothers before them.  Celesta and Menea could not have known the night’s shimmer was a gift from Moon but they felt grateful for the moon’s seemingly special glow.  The gowns were well worn, having been used by mothers and aunts before daughters, sisters, cousins and granddaughters.  

The aunts have disappeared.  They moved around the village busily doing their work but now they have gone. The moonlit wedding began with the two brides and two grooms pairing up and strolling arm in arm toward the village church. The aunts had colored the pathway giving the impression of ribbons stretching out toward the church plaza and into the church itself.

In dusk’s remaining light, full-sailed clouds tack across the sky without obscuring the star’s view too much.  Stars were warming up for the evening’s festivities and giggling like school girls.  The old mother oak and her sisters looked down on the red tiled roofs of the village and dug their roots a little deeper to ground the events.

The brother grooms have recently returned after years away and were still re-adjusting to life in the village.  Perhaps it was because they had been away so long and had forgotten, somehow, the dreamlike quality of evenings in the village, but the two men were surprised to find themselves walking in the real and the unreal. They wondered how they could have forgotten that the village was like this and they wondered why they had stayed away so long. How could they have forgotten how their feet felt so solidly on the ground here?

A Lovely Sunday

i'm still in my jammys, taking it easy, watching the hens and hummingbirds and the weather. The forecast was for snow, maybe. Well, that's enough in Portlandia to get everyone all a twitter. i over reacted by putting the warming lamp on in the coop unnecessarily. Tonight it may actually dip below freezing (not 0, just freezing) and is probably the night to put the lamp on. i try not to put the lamp on more than one night at a time. The girls get a little whack when there is a light in their coop too many nights in a row.

It did finally snow a few flakes for about ten minutes, then repeated about a 1/2 hour later. Nothing stuck tho.  Then, what do you know, the sun came out. Nice! And now the grey skies have returned and it is about 15 minutes before noon. Oh, and as i type the snow has returned.

You would be correct to get the idea that snow is a news event here. One of my favorite things to do is to turn on the TV to the local news when there is a hint of snow. It is big news and everyone gets very excited; the grocery stores empty out and tire stores get a spike in sales of snow tires.

i used to laugh at this, being from Montana where winter lasts more than 1/2 a year, but it can get very serious when it stays at freezing for a few days, followed by rain. The rain falls through very cold air and freezes or freezes on contact with the frozen ground. Now everything is covered in ice and road surfaces are like ice rinks. Of course, if this happens i immediately turn on the TV and watch the local news personalities slide around in front of cameras. Portlandia loves a snow day. Kids get out of school and lots of people stay home from work. It's a totally spontaneous holiday.

Oh, damm. i've got to upgrade my phone and i can't figure it out. i must sign off and deal... love all!
C

What I should be doing and what I am doing.

http://nyti.ms/uxTYiP

Happy Birthday Mr. President... and i want to apologize

Happy Birthday Mr. President.

i have been pretty mad at you lately and more than a little disappointed over all. That said, the email i sent you a few days ago re: the debt ceiling bill was too harsh.

i really don't regret anything i said except that i used the word coward or some form of it. I regret that word and i am sorry for using it. The word shameful would have worked better. i was trying to email you as well Rep. Blumenauer and Sens. Merkley and Wyden on my lunch break so i didn't have time for picking my words.

Also, my brilliant son reminded me that the Congress has become a fascist institution (government that is corporate controlled) and that you, Mr. President, are indeed dealing with terrorist (Oh, sorry. In the spirit of toning down the rhetoric, i'll refer to them as "hostage takers").

And i do believe you are doing your best. It may not be good enough though. You are dealing with people who have been stealing or manipulating elections for decades. They are shutting down voter's rights in several states, conducting misinformation campaigns and blocking people's rights with legislation. i want you to call them out and call them what they are (take your choice: traitors, greedy, beholding to corporate masters, hypocrites).

We have suffered enough out here while you tried to be statesmen like with hoodlums and racketeers. You say you believe in compromise but i see capitulation. i believe in compromise too but i also know you have to stand up to a bully eventually.

Mr. President, i love you but i'm having trouble liking you at the moment. i am a proud lefty so you will just have to deal with me pushing you, pulling you, shoving you as far left as i possibly can. i apologize now for any future ill-chosen words i might say in the heat of my efforts to make you see the logic of progressive ideas.

So, Happy Birthday Mr. President, sincerely.

Red Rover, Red Rover, Send Cynthia Right Over

Red Rover, by Deirdre McNamer is my new favorite. Granted, my favorite book changes frequently, but this is what i will be recommending for awhile.  My Dad has also read it and Mom will be starting it soon.

It's a historical mystery based on true events in the author's family. She had been researching a family story for years, realized she was not going to be able to write a non-fiction book out of it, so she fictionalized the events.

You are drawn along by her prose as much as for the curious events she details. McNamer knows the landscape like so many Montanans do, with their quiet, easy respect for place, and her prose reads that way.

Being a Montanan myself, i felt like these characters were my shirttail relations. Their stories, their habits, their stoic, steady, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other manner in the face of adversity. i recognized their stubbornness, their self-reliance, and that pride-of-self that isn't bragging. And i recognized men and women who held secrets. Weather out of shame, guilt, pride or honor, my people can hold secrets.

Not since Ivan Doig's McCaskill family have i felt this kind of kinship with a novel's characters.

Enough book reviews for now.  Love to all.

Is it memory or imagination

Back to work tomorrow, mi amigos, mi chickies and roos. i found this piece i wrote a few years ago and find that i still like it. i might take it out, dust it off and expand on it. Let me know what you think.

I remember the beat of the drums driving my soul back to the time when I easily talked to Mother Moon and Father Sun. The pulse of the drums seemed to match my heartbeat; or did my heartbeat match the drums? My legs pounded the ground and shuffled the dance I had been taught. Later, I lost touch with the present and went to the other world. Wolf always met me and we danced together. 

I remembered my life with Wolf and began to tremble. I couldn't talk. Tears began to fall from my ashen face. I leaned against a nearby wall for support. What was happening to me? 

Then I knew. I was torn away from my tribe and enslaved. I never danced again. I could never perform a purification ritual again, let alone lead my people to Mother Moon and Father Sun. I tried to call for Wolf to help me but she was gone. I didn't see her again until I died. 

She was waiting there for me and I cursed her for abandoning me. I cursed my people for abandoning me. They hadn't rescued me. Wolf had not even come to me in my dreams. Why? I turned my back and then I became the one who abandoned. 

For a few centuries I didn't look for Wolf. I wandered in and out of lives, never really caring about myself or others. I was bitter and turned my back on others who tried to love me. When I was a man I was mean and when I was a woman I was cold. 

Once when I was orphaned, a woman took me in. She was kind and patient with me and she waited for me to soften. She taught me to be a daughter of the moon and to heal the people in our village. After some time I realized that my healing work was healing me too. She taught me for many years and the night she died I heard a wolf crying in the woods. That was when my soul recognized her and I cried and cried. I cried away all the mean things I had done and I cried for all the love I had denied others. 

A short time later, another daughter of the moon came through our village. Her name was Wynd and she had always been a traveler. We became fast friends and she decided to stay so we could learn from and teach each other. The villagers grew to depend on us to birth their children and to guide their rituals. My heart grew and grew. 

Then the priests came. I knew these men would bring harm to our village but as much as I tried I could not protect the people. It didn't take long before the villagers began avoiding us. When the women stopped coming to us to help them give birth I knew the worst was about to happen. Wynd was always an optimist and I couldn't convince her to lay low. 

A day came when she was surrounded in the square. The priests accused her of working for the devil. They said her herbs were poison and that she seduced men to pay the devil his due. They beat her and raped her and cut off her beautiful hair. When they burned her at the stake they made the village watch. 

I hid in my house in the woods but they found me before I could escape. I called Wolf to help me. Wolf entered my body and we fought against them so well they were forced to kill me. Wolf told me it was for the best. We had denied them the opportunity to use me to make the villagers more fearful. 

I wanted to stay with Wolf but I needed to be with Wynd for awhile. I would help her ride out her anger and bitterness and fear. I wanted to help her like Wolf had helped me. I would be patient and kind and when she was ready we would be fast friends again. 

Now Wynd is an optimist again and I miss my tribe and Wolf. Wynd wants me to grow old with her. She wants us to be old crones together. My soul is tired and I need to dance with Wolf again. So I am torn. I am ready to die and start anew. I have lost faith in humanity. Modern man has not improved much from the slave traders and priests. 

I am not an optimist but I believe in the soul. Our souls will live on one way or another. When I have danced with Wolf and refreshed my soul I might decide to move to a new garden. Gaia's garden needs a rest too. First I need to find my tribe. Wolf and I want to dance with them and call on Mother Moon and Father Sun.

Stacation ending, hand holding, book reading, bread making and a crocus

i have really enjoyed my vacation considering i spent the multitude of my time cleaning and organizing. The sun should come out today so i can get back outside. The plan is to get my potatoes in the ground by tomorrow afternoon.

my grandson has been over every day, all day long it seems. He is exhausting, i must say. Add one of his friends and i get jittery. Oy.
i walked him to school every morning and home again in the afternoon. i love the way he is still unembarrassed about grabbing for my hand and how he runs excitedly to me when he sees me. i know this innocence will be gone in another year or so, so i am enjoying it while i can.

i finally started watching season two of Nurse Jackie and had to make myself turn it off at 1am. i never stay up that late. i can barely make it to 10pm. OMG, this series has several quirky characters and i do love the quirky.
The characters grow on you but one character, nurse Zoey, hooked me immediately. Merritt Wever, is the actor's name and it's probably not surprising to learn that she has a long resume. The character is so beautifully self-conscience and emotive. The self-conscienceness is not from a critical space so much. She wants to be like Jackie and measures herself against her desire to become more like her idol. She sometimes skips like a child or will twirl on a dime to leave. She truly is an adult child; with the best qualities of both. She is open and honest, sensitive and spirited but capable with a good bullshit meter. i just love her and want to hold her hand and go skipping.

i made scones yesterday and bread the day before. The bread recipe i am trying to perfect is getting there. i managed to make a nice golden brown loaf with a crust that is not too hard.  my scones, on the other hand, are not so great. i may look for a new recipe. i'd like them to be a little fluffier for a start. Today i need to make quiche. i have some nice asparagus and will add turkey ham (don't laugh, it's low-cal and low-fat and cheap) and parmesan cheese. The grandson loves it and so do i but i get tired of it before i can get it all eaten.  It is best eaten right away and not reheated but there are always leftovers.

The spare room got cleaned out and organized, i took some stuff to the Goodwill, recycled some phone books (i wish they would quit delivering these to me) and went to Burns for chicken feed. The baby chicks are in, so i took Lincoln and his friend so they could check them out.  Burns also had baby ducks, turkeys, quails and rabbits. Kid heaven. As soon as we were done looking at the babies, the boys started begging for candy. God/dess, i hate that. So, i got the hell out of there. How quickly they turn from cute little boys to annoying beggers.

i discovered a crocus budding in my front weed patch.  i'm going to try to get a picture later today. The bud is closed now (morning) so i hope it will open later. i know about crocus' growing through the snow but i don't think of them growing in Oregon. Perhaps it is not a crocus afterall.  i'll post the pic later.

Big day ahead and i'm excited. i will hate to see my vacation end but i know i can't live in this kind of luxury forever. For me, luxury is kicking around the house and yard, watching the critters come and go and getting some reading done. BTW, The Unbearable Lightness of Scones, by Alexander McCall Smith is as good as i anticipated.  i love all his books but the Scotland Street series is beguiling. You can feel yourself relaxing and you lose track of time.

i started another book, Red Rover, by Deirdre McNamer. It's a mystery that takes a lifetime to solve and it starts in 1920's Montana with two young brothers riding out to have a couple days fun on their horses. Can you imagine, a nine and thirteen year old being allowed to ride their horses into the the wilderness alone? Perhaps. i remember my grandpa telling what seemed to be tall tales when i was a child. They seemed like tall tales to me but he told them as his own experiences. This book spans the same timeline as my Grandpas life. i'll let you know how it goes.

Later mi amigos, mi chickies and roos.  XXOO