Cardinal in a Dogwood Tree

Cardinal in a Dogwood Tree / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68

Please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com if you'd like to buy this painting

THE CARDINALS HAVE BEEN FLOCKING to the feeder, and it makes me happy to see them.

The males catch my eye, always, but it's the females I find myself watching, and enjoying their subtle colors, the way their plumage blends with the still wintry, mustard-colored grass. In fact, thinking about them this morning, the way they flit and flash and tilt their heads, feathers showing orange and yellow and even a hint of green, thinking about them has spurred me to make another painting of a female. 

***

IN A WEEK, if all goes according to plan, I leave for Arizona for about a month. This is my usual winter trip to visit Dad and Paula, though this time, it will be different. 

For starters, I usually head out in late January. I've never been there in March and April, and am hoping to see the desert in a little bit of bloom, and the country, in fact, in a little bit of bloom. 

Usually, I choose my route to avoid snowstorms and ice storms. And while they are still out there, or were, this week, it will probably be spring storms, thunder and lightning, tornadoes, that I'll be trying to avoid.

My friend Carol is coming with me this time. I've never made the trip with another person in the car, and while I am a little hesitant about it, and about not having those long, lonely hours on my own, driving and watching in silence, I think it's probably good this trip to not have those long, lonely hours on my own, driving and watching in silence. 

We will stay for a few weeks, spend lots of time with Dad and Paula, and I will paint, on the way, out there and on the way back. I am not doing a formal painting trip this time, but will post the paintings and the story of my travels, here on the blog. 

I have a lot to do before I leave, but it will get done. I am so hungry to see and paint and drive through a different landscape, I can barely wait to go! 

***

Coda

"I am seeking. I am striving. I am in it with all my heart." 

- Vincent Van Gogh

Chicken

Chicken / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping

sold

LENT STARTED WEDNESDAY, and for the first time in my life, I am participating. The particulars of my journey aren't important, but in general, I am giving up my obsessions for the next 40 days.

My initial idea was to give up candy. That sounded sensible and like something that I could do. Difficult but not impossible, and good for me. I have a very addictive personality, and my craving for candy was getting a little out of control. 

Then I began thinking about Lent, faith, spirituality, the sense of and opportunity for renewal, here in the depths of winter, and I began to see a different path, a more sweeping one that could have more resonance. 

This morning, as I contemplated the next 40 days, as I thought about what obsesses me, and how to leave those things behind - or at least leave them alone - for the next days and weeks, I began to see the amount of time and energy they take in my life, and I was sort of stunned. So even in contemplating all of this, even before starting, I have received a gift - of vision and understanding and, honestly, of time. 

And so the other side of this is to figure out what to do with the extra time and space in my life. During Lent, one is supposed to give more, and give more of oneself in service, and so I am thinking about that, too. 

Are you on a Lenten journey? What are you finding out about yourself, your faith, your spiritual state of being? 

***

Coda

"The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves, too. All sorts of things occur to help that would never otherwise have occurred. A stream of events issues from the decision, raising unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, 
which no man could have dreamt would have come his way." 

-William Murray

Nuthatch, Perched

 Nuthatch, Perched / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping

Please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com if you'd like to have this cutie! 

IN THIS LIFE ALONE, and with the covid, and with the terrible memory I've always had, I've had to find ways to remember to do things. 

A calendar, of course, is a great start, but doesn't work unless I first remember to write stuff down on it, and then remember to look at it. 

I've come to terms with my Alexa device, and use her more and more often to remind me about things - including feeding the dogs. Peter always fed the dogs, and many times after he died, I couldn't remember if I had or hadn't. You'd think they would let me know, but dogs are all about the food. A second dinner would not be a problem for them. Any time during the course of the day, if I rattle their food bowls, they are ready and barking. 

I've learned to count the dogs out loud, not only when they come in, but also when I give them their we-came-in-the-house cookies. Yes, several times, I left one or two of them outside for longer than I should have. Same with leaving the studio. Poor Woody was locked in there for hours on several occasions. Luckily, he is pretty much blind and pretty much deaf, and sleeps pretty much 23 hours a day, so he didn't know - but I was in a panic. 

I have learned that when paintings sell, I should move them from one side of the studio to the other. From the drying wall to the sold wall. More than once, I've sold a painting twice, and have had to make amends.

Lately, I've developed a few tricks to keep myself more or less civilized. I leave the bathroom light on in the morning to remind myself to brush my teeth. 

I load my pockets with gloves and fresh tissues when I come IN from walking the dogs, since I can't seem to remember to make sure I have those things when I go out to walk them. 

But still, I lose things and forget. Months ago, I put my favorite coffee cup somewhere, and have never found it. Last week, I took out a can of potatoes (did you know they made such a thing? I didn't, but got a few cans a while ago for a recipe that required them. They did the job, but are really not very good, so I've been feeding them to Woody, who needs fiber in his diet.) I put that can of potatoes down somewhere and have yet to find it. 

What tricks have you all learned during this covid year, to keep yourselves from slipping off the edge? 

***

Coda

I Go Down to the Shore

I go down to the shore in the morning

and depending on the hour the waves

are rolling in or moving out,

and I say, oh, I am miserable,

what shall--

what should I do? And the sea says

in its lovely voice:

Excuse me, I have work to do.

- Mary Oliver

Magpie on a Curved Branch

Magpie on a Curved Branch / oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping

sold

I FIRST ENCOUNTERED MAGPIES when Peter and I moved to Idaho. They're such amusing birds! They're large - or at least the ones we had in Boise were - bigger than crows. They look quite formal, their coloring always making me think of tuxedos. The black of their feathers is a deep, deep blue-black, flashing turquoise and even a little green in the right light. 

And they're very smart - according to Wikipedia, one of the few non-mammal species able to recognize themselves in a mirror. Heck, some days, I can't even do that. 

They used to strut around the yard, squawking and carrying on, and they knew our schedules, knew the dogs, knew when we would fill the feeders and take out the trash. It was fun to remember how we laughed at and about them. 

***

Coda

Was It Necessary to Do It? 

I tell you that ant is very alive!

Look at how he fusses at being stepped on. 

- Mary Oliver

 

Hawk

 

Hawk / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping

sold

MY FRIEND SUSAN MCGUIRE and I are have launched a painting-project page on Facebook. Susan is a wonderful painter, who uses all media but mostly, these days at least, watercolors. So our page is called Oil & Water, and you can find it on Facebook. Everything on the page, her work and mine, is $68 including shipping - and for you bird-painting fans, there are some bird paintings there that I haven't posted here yet. Click here to go to Oil & Water on Facebook! 

Some of the bird paintings on the new page come from a challenge I gave myself, early in January - to paint 10 birds in a day. I did it - but just by the skin of my teeth (and that is an odd phrase, if you stop to think about it!) 

You artists might consider making some nearly unattainable challenge to yourselves, especially if you are feeling dull or blocked. I had been painting a lot, in November and December -  all commissions. I love commissions, but a steady stream of them - painting other people's ideas, other people's desires - can blunt my own ideas, and somehow shorten my sense of direction and flow. For me, at least, there's nothing like a huge challenge to kick out the jams. 

And it needn't be a challenge of numbers, of quantity. I've challenged myself to use odd colors, minimal colors, only yellows, only large knives, only small knives, only straight strokes, only curving strokes, only 30 minutes, only 60 minutes. 

Once I tried to make a painting with strokes that went in a huge spiral out from a spot that was off-center. My aim was to stick to the pattern, while putting the colors, light, shadow in the right places. It didn't work, but continues to interest me as an idea. I think it involves too much planning for me, and feels too much like math. One of you might like to try it. Please send me the photo if you do! 

***

Coda

An Old Story

Sleep comes its little while. Then I wake

in the valley of midnight or three a.m.

to the first fragrance of spring

which is coming, all by itself, no matter what.

My heart says, what you thought you have you do not have.

My body says, will this pounding ever stop?

My heart says: there, there, be a good student.

My body says: let me up and out, I want to fondle

those soft white flowers, open in the night. 

- Mary Oliver

Bald Eagle

 

Eagle / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping

Please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com if you would like to own this painting

SOMETIMES, I HEAR an eagle call, here in Wachapreague. They are around - I've seen them flying over the yard several times, and, many times, in the fields nearby.

 One Sunday morning, I watched one devour a deer that had been killed on the Wachapreague Road. He stayed there for longer than I could, and he was apparently unafraid of me - or at least, willing to tamp down his fear in the face of such bounty. 

The bald eagle was chosen as the emblem of America on June 20,  1782, because of his strength and good looks, and because it existed nowhere but on this continent. 

Benjamin Franklin derided the selection, calling the bald eagle a bird of "bad moral character." The bald eagle, Franklin wrote, "does not get his living honestly, you may see him perched on some dead tree, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the labor of the fishing-hawk, and when that diligent bird has at length taken a fish, and is bearing it to his nest for the support of his mate and young ones, the bald eagle pursues him and takes it from him..." 

Franklin goes on (you can read more here) and suggests that the turkey would be a better choice. 

Lazy carrion-eaters though they may be, their majesty always captures my heart. 

***

Coda

"A year from now, you will wish you had started today." 

- Karen Lamb

White Hawk

White Hawk / oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping

sold!

LAST NIGHT, AS I WENT TO BED, red lights started flashing on the tree limbs first, then the houses, then the street itself, and I watched as an ambulance and then a police car pulled up at the corner of Pearl and South streets. 

It instantly brought me back to the night that Peter had his heart attack, here, in the living room. The ambulance came - and was there a police car? I have no idea. EMTs came in and hustled to Peter, did things to him, put him in some sort of gurney chair. The lights flashed and flashed and flashed. Dave, a neighbor who has moved away, just walked in through the open door, and in the moment, I hated him, for intruding, for coming in uninvited, for offering to help. 

Last night, all of this rushed back and I turned away and went to bed, hoping only that whichever neighbor was in trouble would be OK. 

Today, I found out that it was a very nice man, Gene, and that he apparently had been badly dehydrated and would, indeed, be alright. Whew. 

***

Dad

DAD IS BETTER, after a pretty scary few days. He is still in the hospital, and is still far from well, but he was sitting up today, and I hear he watched football on Sunday. 

There is no talking to him. He has a phone in his room but it only calls out, and he apparently can't make it work without help. And there is little to no help. The hospital seems to be tremendously overloaded, probably with covid patients; it took my stepmother five hours the other day to get anyone to answer her call. 

Thank you for your kind words and for your prayers. I believe it all helps, and I hope you will all keep thinking healing thoughts for Dear Old Dad. 

***

Coda

Alone I Stare into Frost's White Face

Alone I stare into frost's white face.
It's going nowhere, and I -- from nowhere.
Everything ironed flat, pleated without a wrinkle:
Miraculous, the breathing plain.

Meanwhile, the sun squints at the starched poverty --
The squint itself, consoled, at ease ...
The ten-fold forest almost the same ...
And snow crunches in the eyes, innocent, like clean bread. 

- Osip Mandlestam

First Robin of Spring

 First Robin of Spring / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping! 

Please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com if you'd like to own this hopeful little painting

I HAVEN'T SEEN spring's first robin yet this year, but this week, I heard the songs of spring birds, sweet and warm on a sunny, frosty morning. 

Last week, I saw snow geese high above, calling to each other as they soared. I haven't seen a field full of them yet this winter, but I always look. It is such a miracle. 

And in the theme of bird miracles, there are two hummingbirds still in town. Honestly, I thought I was losing it a little when I caught a swoop out of the corner of my eye, but the homeowner came along and said yes, a pair of hummers was seeming to spend the winter in Wachapreague. Some trees and bushes still are flowering, and though it's been cold (to my now-wimpy-Southern but former tough-New-England-girl self), I guess it's not been cold enough to do them any harm. I hope they don't get trapped here and damaged by an Arctic blast. 

***

Coda

"Change your thoughts and you change your world." 

- Norman Vincent Peale

Carolina Wren

Carolina Wren / oil on black canvas/ 4x12 / $88, including shipping

sold! 

MY DAD IS 92, and right now, is in the hospital in Tucson. He has aspiration pneumonia - not covid, according to four covid tests, all of which have been negative. 

Sunday, he was doing better, sitting up, watching football. Today, he can't swallow. 

He is 92, and before this, was doing well. A couple days pre-pneumonia, he and his wife went out and walked a mile, and Dad said he was feeling great. Pain that had plagued him for the past few months had gone away, the day was beautiful and he was happy. 

He has had a good life, and neither he nor Paula, not any of us, is ready for it to be over. Who among us ever is? I am concentrating on how strong he is, what good genes he has, how remarkable his optimism and resilience are, and how he cherishes his life and his wife.

So, think a good thought, say a small prayer, hold your loved ones close and live every moment as fully and richly as you can. 

***

Coda

"Life isn't about getting and having; it's about giving and being." 

- Kevin Kruse

 

Ms. Cardinal

 Mama Cardinal / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68 including shipping! 

sold!

I'M UP BY 5, usually, and I sit here at the kitchen table, next to an east-facing window, and I write, and wait for the sky to lighten. There have been mornings, many of them this year, in which it seemed that, for sure, the sun would not come up. The night would stretch out farther and farther, and I would look at the clock and the sky again and again and wonder if today would be the day. And then, of course, the sky would lighten, and the world would be set right again. 

I like the time change, the earlier dawns, and even the earlier dusks. Right after Peter died, the days could not end early enough for me, and even now, there are many days in which I welcome the darkness, and I close the curtains and feel safe and shut in, and glad that the day is over. 

Here in Wachapreague, sunset starts to come later on Dec. 7. It is by seconds at first, two seconds, then five, then 12, incremental, unnoticeable, largely unnoticed. Sunrise, however, continues to come later - by large parts of minutes - until Jan. 7. 

So I will look out the window, those early January days, and surely, on one or two of them, I will wonder - is it today? 

My seat at the table. Koko is underneath, and Doc on the bed in the front. 

***

Coda

"One can have no smaller or greater mastery than mastery of oneself." 

- Leonardo DaVinci

Crow Flying

 Crow Flying / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68, including shipping! 

sold! 

THE ONE GOOD THING that I can say about the covid is that it made Halloween easier for me. 

It was Peter's favorite holiday, by a mile. He died last year on Oct. 10, so close to Halloween that I didn't even consider participating. Without the covid, I'd have had to think about it this year, and I am still not ready for that. 

Every year, we decorated for Halloween. With the help of our daughter, who often gave Peter Halloween decorations for Christmas, we amassed a pretty interesting collection, including a toaster with a skeleton hand that pops up when someone walks by; a suitcase with a glowing skull inside that lights up when people come near; and a variety of skeletons, including skeleton humans walking skeleton dogs; and a family of skeleton mice, one of which spent an entire year on a branch of a dogwood in the front yard. 

Peter himself dressed up on Halloween, and took great pleasure in scaring the kids, though he made sure to be gentle and sweet with the wee ones. He also bought all the candy, inevitably three times as much as we could ever give away. He ate it until Easter, most years, loving every calorie. 

I was often away on painting trips in October, and Peter would spend the month taping and watching all the scary movies he could find. I'd come home in time for Halloween to find the DVR filled with horror movies. 

I don't know if I will ever truly enjoy Halloween again. I hope I will. I know I'll never enjoy it in the same way, but that goes for so very much now. I am thankful that, because of the covid, I didn't have to decide anything. And I am thankful that I have the memories of so many Halloweens with someone who loved it so very much. 

***

Coda

"The person born with a talent they are meant to use will find their greatest happiness in using it." 

- Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe

Tufted Titmouse

Tufted Titmouse / Oil on black canvas / 4x4 / $38 including shipping 

Sold 

I HAD A ROUGH TIME last week, and it took me by surprise. 

I need a new laptop, and really want to see Peter's big desktop computer be gone. It took me a year to come to terms with that last fact, but I had. I'd looked for someone, anyone, who would want it, but though it was big and powerful and clear and bright, it was old, and nobody wanted it. So I decided to trade it in, to cut the price of my new laptop a little. 

I have backed up all the files (or at least, I believe I have), and I knew I wanted to cleanse the hard drive before I sent the computer off for credit. So I started the process, and as I sat there and watched it delete 14,000 files, my heart broke again. It felt like I was deleting Peter. Even though it was files, even though I'd backed them up, it still left me weak and weeping. All his art, all his writing, all his funny ideas and photoshopped pictures, all of it gone, in a long blink.

I called my counselor and she helped. Thinking about it and understanding it also helped. And I know there will be more moments like this, more surprise detours into the land of sorrow. I imagine they will continue to take me unawares. But I will get through. 

***

Dog of the Day

DR. COOPER AND I are starting dog school in a couple hours. This morning on our walk, we practiced with the nose leash. Doc didn't love it, but he tolerated it, sort of like all of us with our masks. 

He's a much better behaved dog now than he was a year ago, rarely snapping at anyone unless they have something in their hands or they are a golf cart or a truck with a trailer. Or another dog. And this last issue is the one I hope to solve at dog school. I will report back. 

***

Coda

From "The Weighing"

So few grains of happiness

measured against all the dark

and still the scales balance. 

The world asks of us 

only the strength we have and we give it. 

Then it asks more, and we give it. 

- Jane Hirshfield

Thanks to my friend Heather MacLeod for sending me this. If you want to read the whole poem, please click here.

 from Jane Hirshfield’s splendid poem “The Weighing”:

So few grains of happiness
measured against all the dark
and still the scales balance.

Egret in a Tree

Egret in a Tree / oil on canvas / 4x12 / $88, including shipping

 

sold! 

I WONDER, EVERY YEAR, about the purpose of fruit flies. Every fall, they show up, bothersome and difficult to control. They seem to come out of nowhere. They seem to have no reason for being. I can't imagine that they make anything better. 

I have the identical thoughts, every election time, about political TV ads. 

***

Dog of the Day

I hope this plays. I will also load it on YouTube, so click HERE if you can't play it right from the blog. Every morning on the walk, we take the dogs to the ball park, which is also sort of a dog park. Lulu, amazing, beautiful Lulu, races around the perimeter, just flying! Sometimes Doc goes with her, but lately, he's been staying in the infield and playing with Koko. 

***

Coda

"Color is my daylong obsession, joy and torment." 

- Claude Monet

Eastern Mockingbird

 Eastern Mockingbird / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68

sold! 

YESTERDAY AFTERNOON, I cheered on the sidelines of a neighborhood bocce game, on Wachapreague's new bocce court, over by the firehouse. 

I have no interest in bocce, but it was Jeannie's birthday, and I like Jeannie, and also most of the Wachapreague women (Wachawomen) who participate in these bocce things. And it was a beautiful October day, with golden sunshine and that particular sweet warmth that seems to come only on the heels of a crisp morning. 

And I knew that my friend Liesl - Our Favorite Austrian - would be there. I had a pleasant time, chatting with Liesl and the girls, and as I walked home, I thought about how instrumental she has been in my healing after Peter's death. 

She was one of the first to come by, in those early, awful days. She came with another neighbor, Anne, and they didn't insist on coming in, just stood on the doorstep and told me how sorry they were, gave me a pretty bag, and went away. In the bag was a sympathy card, a bag of chocolates and a bag of dog treats that instantly became my gang's favorite. 

In time, Liesl began to visit, walking into the house, completely unafraid, even though at that point, the dogs were still wild and undisciplined, and Doc responded to his fear of everything by snarling and snapping at people. 

She offered to help with them, and to my amazement, and out of necessity, I agreed to let her help. 

Early in the winter - and it was this that I remembered yesterday - she invited me and a few others to her house for dinner. 

To back up a little, a thing that happened after Peter's death was that I really couldn't see people. For weeks after he died, I didn't let anybody in the house. I drove to Maryland to do my grocery shopping, so that I wouldn't run into anyone I knew. I avoided the post office for so long that the postmistress, a truly kind person, called and asked if I would like her to bring me my mail. I said no, and she volunteered to stay late one day so I could come over after the post office closed, and get my mail, cutting down on the chance of running into anyone. 

I don't understand the mechanisms of my need to see no one. I just knew that I couldn't, and that especially, I couldn't run into people unprepared. 

Little by little, I came out of it, and so, in the winter, I agreed to go to supper at Liesl's. But as the day approached, I realized I couldn't. I could not sit at a table and make conversation with several people I knew only slightly - and, crying, I called her and told her. 

She was as kind as could be, and insisted that I still come - but she would uninvite the others, who all were neighbors, and would understand. And so she did, and so I did. 

I had known Liesl mostly from seeing her walking. She walked pretty much every day, as far as I could tell, sometimes with people, sometimes with people's dogs, sometimes alone - but her walking was a constant. I would admire her, straight and slim, striding - always with very good posture - through town. 

When she asked if I would like to walk with her and the dogs, I said yes, and that, as much as anything, has changed my life, and helped speed and strengthen my recovery. 

We have walked nearly every morning. The dogs have learned some manners, and have started to be socialized. The walks have brought me daily exercise, and fresh air, and have helped me start to be socialized again. They give me a way to start every day. A plan, a task, something regular and manageable. 

They have brought me a friendship, too, which is perhaps the most valuable. Liesl is a good listener, an interesting person, and she makes me laugh. She is an inspiration, too, being helpful to people and animals and asking nothing in return. And she is 80! Often on our walks, I am out of breath and hurrying to catch up, and Our Favorite Austrian is just there, striding along, looking at this or that, laughing at the dogs, enjoying the morning. 

Here is Liesl in the springtime, with Lulu and Koko. We walk three dogs most days, 

and Liesl always takes two. 

***

Grace Note

I Didn't Go to Church Today

I didn't go to church today

I trust the Lord to understand

The surf was swirling blue and white

The children swirling on the sand.

He knows, He knows how brief my stay,

How brief this stay of summer weather,

He knows when I am said and done

We'll have plenty of time together.

- Ogden Nash

Sandpiper in a Clam Shell

Sandpiper in a Shell / Oil on gessoed clam shell / about 6x4 / $68 including shipping

 sold! 

A FEW WEEKS AGO, I went out to walk the dogs in the morning and found my Mexican sunflower plant simply flattened. A storm had blown in the night before, and it looked as though a downdraft - the kind that, in larger events, bring down planes - had hit directly on my pretty plant. 

A later inspection found that the center of the plant was hollow and dried out, probably because of drought and wind earlier in the year, and maybe overwatering, which seems to be my particular plant-related demon of the moment. 

Last week, I heard the something falling, and thought that maybe the floor had actually fallen in somewhere in the house. I looked in every room, and the floors were OK. (Charlie is working on them, and making progress. He has assured me that I won't fall through.)

Later, I found that half of a very old dogwood - one that I knew was on the way out - had broken off, just like that. Inside the tree, the heart was hollow, diseased. 

The metaphorical significance of all this keeps hitting me, though I am not exactly sure what to make of it. I choose optimism, believing that I am being shown that even though the foundation is rotten, even if the heart is sick and sad and broken, even then, there is hope. 

The house is not falling down. The Mexican sunflowers have continued to bloom. The dogwood probably has another few springtimes. And so, maybe I'm being shown that I will be OK, too. 

***

A Note on This Painting

THE PAINTING ABOVE IS AN EXPERIMENT. I don't know how you will display it. I think you might be able to hang it with those Commando sticky hanger things. A plate hanger might work? A small easel? 

If you buy it, I would not advise using it as a place to store things, like keys or earrings or paperclips. I don't think the paint would hold up to use like that. 

All that being said, if you buy it and you're interested in seeing what happens, go ahead and store coins or thumbtacks or whatever in it! Just remember that it's oil paints, not ceramics. 

***

A Last Thought

"There was nowhere to go but everywhere." 

- Jack Kerouac

Cardinal

Cardinal / Oil on black canvas / 8x10 / $120 including shipping

 

DUSK COMES EARLY these days, a thin blue that sinks into orange near the horizon. 

Dawn comes later and later, the lightest purple today, with wisps of brighter clouds just above the treetops. 

The afternoons stretch into a joy of yellow sunlight, the rays low in the sky and warm. It is the perfect time to live here, along the Atlantic Ocean. The summer visitors are gone, and we who live here have the golden marsh, the golden sun, the golden light of October all to ourselves. 

My flowers are still blooming, some - gardenias among them - for the third time this year. There is no traffic; the dogs and Liesl and I walk in the middle of the streets. Cats rest, undisturbed, on sunny front stoops. Windows are open, and I hear someone mowing and smell the sweet scent of grass, for probably one of the last times of the summer. 

Surely, winter will come, with its gray sky and its bleak thoughts. But for now, the days are bright and warm and short enough to be treasured. 

***

A Last Thought

"Autumn... the year's last, loveliest smile." 

- William Cullen Bryant

Crow in a Tree

 

Crow in a Tree /oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68, including shipping

this crow has flown! 

I'VE HAD TROUBLE READING since Peter died. Well, even before "trouble reading," I've had trouble picking up, starting or staying with normal-sized books. 

After Peter died, I gave away his mammoth World War II tomes, his collection of books about the Vikings, his huge library of giant books on poker. Sometimes I teased him that he bought books by weight - the bigger and heavier they were, the more he wanted them. 

He died and I couldn't even open books. Eventually, I began to be able to open slim volumes. A friend lent me her Winnie-the-Pooh books and they started me reading again. 

Poetry pulled at me, and I could handle poems, and books of poetry, in much the same way that I could handle bird paintings. These things were small and manageable. I could see the end from the beginning, and that felt important. That felt like a lifeline.

This weekend, I borrowed a small book - "Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart " by Gordon Livingston. Its subtitle is "Thirty True Things You Need to Know Now." Yes, pop psychology/philosophy, I know. It is small, and fascinating. 

Here is a thought I encountered that got me thinking this morning, and which I wanted to share: "The three components of happiness are something to do, someone to love and something to look forward to." 

And I guess that encapsulates my "A Last Thought," too. 

***

Dog of the Day

Last week, Doc decided that I was sad and needed a toy. 

Red-Winged Blackbird

Red-winged Blackbird / Oil on black canvas / 5x7 / $68, including shipping

sold! 

SO, I MADE IT THROUGH. 

Made it through a year of firsts, without Peter. From the first Halloween - his favorite holiday - to our first wedding anniversary without him, to my first painting without him, my first show without him, my first trip without him, and what felt like a million more firsts, I made it through. I am so very relieved that this horrible year of horrible firsts is over and done with. 

Many of you helped, and I am, and will always be, grateful. 

Thank you.

***

A Last Thought

"The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief. But the pain of grief is only a shadow 

when compared with the pain of never risking love."

- Hillary Stanton Zunin

Hummer by Orange Flowers

 Hummer by Orange Flowers / oil on black canvas / 5x7, unframed / $68 including shipping

This bird has flown!

HERE ARE SOME FUN FACTS about hummingbirds, from Kaytee.com 

• They are the smallest migrating bird, but don't migrate in flocks. Typically, a hummer will travel alone for up to 500 miles at a stretch.  
• The name comes from the humming noise their wings make.
• They're the only birds that can fly backwards.
• Hummingbirds have no sense of smell, but have great color vision. Different varieties prefer different colored flowers. The ruby-throated hummer likes orange or red flowers best - but red dye should not be used in nectar as it could harm the birds. Instead, plant naturally red or orange flowers or use feeders that have red coloring in their structure.
• Your average hummingbird weighs less than a nickel. 
• They use their legs only for perching and moving sideways on a perch. They can't walk or hop. 
• A hummer drinks from a feeder by moving its tongue in and out - about 13 times a second. That hummer can drink double its body weight in a day. 
• The female typically lays two eggs only. They're about the size of jellybeans, and have been found in nests smaller than a half-dollar. Some varieties, like the black-chinned hummingbird, make nests with plant down, spider silk or other materials that can expand as their babies grow. 
• A group of hummers can be referred to as a flock, a bouquet, a glittering, a hover, a shimmer or a tune.
• There are more than 330 species of hummingbirds in North and South America! 

For more, see https://www.kaytee.com/learn-care/wild-bird/hummingbird-facts.

***

A Last Thought 

"If you have talent, use it in every which way possible. Do not hoard it. Do not dole it out like a miser. Spend it lavishly like a millionaire intent on going broke." 

- Brenda Francis

Great Blue Heron

 

Great Blue Heron / Oil on black canvas / 4x12 / $88 including shipping

sold! 

BENEATH THE FLOOR of my house, the beams and joists are crumbling. 

I found out a few months ago that this was happening, and I thought that the work I had had done had fixed it. But part of the living room floor started sagging when I stepped on it, and it turns out that the issue is far worse than I'd thought. 

The major load-bearing beams of the house need to be replaced, as do most of the rest of the joists and possibly even the sills. Ugh. 

For about a year and a half before Peter died, I had made a practice of being grateful. "In every thing, give thanks," is what I had aimed - and still aim - to do. At the beginning, it felt impossible, but I found ways. Saw glimmers of a new way to live. I lost the thread for a while after Peter died, but I have become grateful for many, many things about his death, including that it was as fast as it was. For me, perhaps, that was worse - but maybe not? Certainly for him, it was better than any lingering, awful demise. 

I am grateful that the house hasn't fallen down, and that I haven't fallen through the floor. I am grateful that I have the money to fix it, though it was money I was counting on having to live on. But I have some Social Security, and some savings even after I pay for all of this, and I am selling paintings. I have great faith that I will be OK. And I am grateful for that. 

After all, this heron doesn't know what the future brings, and he doesn't let it worry him. He just gets out there and goes to work. And that's what I shall do, too. 

***

A Last Thought

"Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers; pray for powers equal to your tasks. The the doing of your work shall be no miracle, but you shall be a miracle."

- Philiphs Brooks