Paint, Poems and Ponderings

Alone in Winter

2012-02-17T14:04:00.003-05:00

Birds search for seeds in frozen turf.

The driveway is thick with mire.

Hidden ice tricks me, flings

me forward onto hip, thrusts

my head against the breezeway frame.

The sky writhes, the ground grasps

my shoulders, my hands weep

crimson. I'm a child again, fearful,

thirsting for a friend's soothing voice.

update: after about 5 days my minor symptoms from the

fall went away. i think i am back to "normal" now! Thanks

for everyone's concern. Suki

Playing with paper

2012-02-15T08:39:00.005-05:00

Inspired b yMim's bowls made from dry paper (as opposed to making ones own handmade slurry) I made this bowl. Years ago I made many bowls using the handmade paper method (wet) and sold them at craft fairs. Scraps of paper, dryer sheet, matte medium, acrylic paint.

Began a book made from tissue paper. Theme is France. Cover is a map of Asnienes from a 1913 Baedecker guide I purchased on-line. The map is embedded in a layer of tissue paper.

One of the inside page decorations, not glued yet. The cathedral post card is waxed. Tissue paper pages are two layers of tissue glued with matte medium. This creates a semi-transparent sheet of paper. Surprisingly sturdy.

PS I have tried to comment on several blogs with comment thingy enabled and been unable to do so. I cannot see the words I must type in. So I used the audio but you have to type all 5 words and this is more energy than I want to expend so until bloggers changes the method you won't be seeing my comments. Also sorry couldnt seem to link to Mim.

amaryllis

2012-02-10T07:18:00.002-05:00

All things come to she who waits. The flowers on this Christmas present are 8 inches in diameter. After two months plus in my cold house, they finally opened. A spot of cheer in mid-winter.

Stuff

2012-02-07T09:43:00.003-05:00

Seems like a winter of not much going on. I did decorate this folder with some painted (by me) tissue paper.

Stenciled words on the back. This is for my poems for the poetry class.

I bound a new notebook for myself using tissue paper again for the cover.

Set aside the first sweater I tried to knit and began a new one. This is merino wool and cashmere. A much nicer yarn that my previous sweater which was a grey acrylic.

I slipped on the ice and hit my forehead on the door jamb. The next day, I went to the ER and they said no concussion. My eyes felt funny, I felt a bit ditzy etc. but they said that was normal for the situation.

A few days later I still feel cross-eyed and light headed and tired. All just to a minimal degree. But I cancelled a five hour driving trip just to be sure. I tend to over-protect myself at this point in my life cycle. Although I dearly need and will miss the people contact I would have gotten had I gone on my trip.

Outermost

2012-01-27T07:59:00.005-05:00

A few posts ago I wrote of my process and inspiration in writing a poem about two cottages. The above "Outermost House" on Cape Cod and the little cabin I see out my window here in the NH hills. (see banner photo). To read my previous post click here.

Here is the finished poem.

I.
Outermost

Between dunes and sound
he built a cottage
where, seated on a blue
beach scavenged chair,
he wrote of shore and sea
bird and fish, with a poet's
fervor, a naturalist's eye.

Books leaned on a bank of shelves
a wood stove seared the chill
the old pump stood sentinel
over a narrow cot for dreams.
Vanished in the waves
one February storm.
The hiss of wind
the plover cries.

II.
Fayerweather Farm

Landlocked
tangled in vines
a north country cabin
perches on the hill.
The roof is limned with snow.
The door, nailed shut, mourns
the pair who failed
to cross the threshold.

Books rot on barn board shelves.
In a broken window rusted
wind chimes clack.
Silent, the cabin
endures wind, ice, snow
shelters feral cats.
Sunlight dazed the windows
mirror the white beyond.

photo of dune shack thanks to Debora Rosen, used with permission

Wasp paper

2012-01-20T09:39:00.003-05:00

I discovered this falling apart wasps nest in a tree a few days ago. I returned today to photograph it.

Before today's snow I gathered some of the wasp paper. Wasps make their nests by chewing wood pulp and sometimes other stuff they find lying around like plastic. I have often used wasp nest paper in my creative projects.

Of course you want to wait till fall or winter before collecting a nest. Be sure no wasps are in there. LOL.

Lentil Loaf

2012-01-17T08:58:00.007-05:00

This January I am returning to a semi-Vegetarian diet. When I moved up north I started eating a lot of meat. I don't know why. Most of my old cookbooks are for vegetarian menus.

I am not fanatical about the diet. If I go to someone's house I eat what I am served and am grateful for it. Or if I have a craving for a roasted chicken I will cook it.

I first came upon this recipe in a British cookbook written in WWII when meat was scarce. Basically the same as a meat loaf using lentils instead of hamburg.

3/4-1 cup lentils
1 onion, chopped
1 large garlic clove, minced
2 TBS oil
1 tsp thyme
4 oz ground walnuts or almonds
4 oz breadcrumbs
1 tbs tomato paste (I use ketchup)
1 tbs parsley
1 egg
salt and pepper to taste

Cook lentils in water to cover 40 minutes or until tender. Be SURE lentils are tender or you will have a crunchy loaf. Drain water.

Fry onion and garlic in oil till tender and lightly browned. Stir in thyme. Remove from heat and add lentils, walnuts, bread crumbs, tomato past, parsley and egg. Mix well.

Place in loaf pan. Cover. Bake 1/2 hour for a small loaf.

For a larger loaf increase lentils to 1-1 1/2 cups and bake 45-50 minutes.

Note: a small loaf is enough for a two person meal. For me it makes about 4 meals.

To make a roux type gravy. 2 TBS butter melted. Whisk in 2 TBS flour. Add one cup warm liquid such as milk, vegetable broth or water. Whisk until thickens. Add various extras such as a dash of soy sauce, minced onions, herbs whatever you like to flavor the gravy.

Notes for a Poem

2012-01-12T14:12:00.005-05:00

Poems sometimes come to me all in one gulp. I write them down and there they are. But more often I just get bits and pieces over time. I jot ideas down in my handmade notebook, cross-out, add in and so forth.

A recent idea started to come together for me in this way:

Inspiration: A greeting card depicting Henry Beston's outermost house in Eastham, Cape Cod, washed away in 1978.

Photo of Henry Beston's cottage by Debora Rosen used with permission

Rereading an older poem of mine in which I mention the book The Outermost House by Henry Beston.

Looking out my window at the cabin across the field. "My own" outermost house. (see header photo)

Jotting words and lines in my notebook:

in the field
my own/an upcountry outermost house
no ocean but a man-made pond
roof crusted/limned? with snow
windows stare in surprise/like mirrors
awaiting residents/people/visitors who never arrive
the door awaits the couple who never arrive
inside the floor is uneven/dirt/pitted and........
no ladder to the loft
lost ladder to the loft
a stack of books rots on barn-board bookcase/shelves

snow instead of sand
pond rather than ocean
birch rather than beach grass
frogs rather than whales/seals

different yet both hold a sense of mystery, anticipation, solitude
facing the elements
offering protection
Henry/stray cats/snakes

one washed away in a Nor'easter
one still stands sentinel, slowly disintegrates from lack of care

Well, I don't have the finished poem yet. And maybe revealing this process will kill it, I don't know. But if it comes out I'll post it.

More information about Henry Beston Here
Photos of the outermost house Here

Up Country Women

2012-01-07T15:07:00.003-05:00

Up Country Women

These up country women
the ones with long grey hair
been here since the sixties.
Dorothea Lang faces
patched corduroys and hand knit sweaters
hiking boots and rattletrap Volvos

or young sustainable faces
compost, recycle, home school
four wheel drive
green as the mountains
self-- assured.

I am not one of them.
I do not chop wood
nor carry water
fear ice and snow
the imperious mountains
can't ski or kayak
don't know the birds.
Misplaced limestone nugget
longing for shore and sand
in a serious hard scrabble land.

Walking Meditation

2012-01-03T15:24:00.002-05:00

My form of walking meditation is to sometimes walk with my hands in prayer position. When I find myself hurrying whether in body or mind, placing my hands in this position slows me down, slows down my thoughts and slows down my fast walking self. A helpful hint from Suki.

The table was made by an uncle on my Mom's side of the family. The praying hands were a gift from a friend. The plant was given to me over thirty years ago. Actually this is a baby off the original that I had given to my mom.

Almost

2011-12-29T11:14:00.003-05:00

Almost

November
fog hovers over the pond
snow recedes like a hair line across the field
ice melts in rhythmic drops
it could almost be spring

He calls on the telephone
chronicles his world
asks about hers
"I'd like to come up," he says
it's almost love

Silk long johns
alpaca sweater
hot water bottle, cup of tea
window seat in the sun
she's almost warm

Ink stains on fingers
words phrases lines
images sounds
almost a poem

December
she stands by the pond
a few leaves blow like prayer flags
the arrow whispers through the air
pierces a trunk
misses her heart by a narrow foot

almost

Suki 12/2011

The Best of Holidays to All

2011-12-22T08:16:00.002-05:00

I thank you dear readers for all your warm and loving responses to my humble postings throughout this year and years past. I love reading your words and thoughts, sharing ourselves across many miles. In some cases, across oceans.

May these final days of 2011 be filled with love, laughter and wassail. May 2012 be filled with joy and good health. And may we all live in peace. Love, Suki

Top card from lilacrobin. Second card handmade from a fern tip topped by a magic marker dot. From CW a friend since high school and nowadays that was a looooong time ago. Thank you both and to all who send cards. I love them all.

Grandmother's Diary

2011-12-17T12:41:00.005-05:00

In 1915, my Grandmother sailed on The St. Paul from New York to Liverpool and thence traveled to London to marry my grandfather. He was an American but worked in London for awhile and had gone over on the Lusitania in December of 1914.

Recently I reread Grandma's diary. Almost every night they went to plays, seeing Sarah Bernhardt, the movies to see Charlie Chaplin and Mary Pickford, or they played cards.

Almost every morning they ate breakfast "at the same old place" which was Lyons Corner House. Often dinner was at Pratties or Simpson's. They lived at the Savoy Hotel.

A few quotes:

"... taking a ride in Henry, I drove for awhile, I love to drive but George gets so impatient with me..."

"To wake up in Cheltenham on a beautiful morning is swell. We had breakfast at the Hotel and after I went all over the place. I spent the day in the stores and looking around the pretty little place."

"...out to Islington to buy a knock a bout hat..."

"...coming home we were held up by a centry, at the point of a bayonet, for our lights and told to put them out."

They returned to New York mid-1916. "...then went to the American embassy for an emergensy passport..." Spelling errors are my grandmother's. the pink in top photo are just stick it markers I inserted.

Feathers in the Wind

2011-12-15T10:17:00.001-05:00

Feathers in the Wind

The dark woods beckon
clouds drift thick and low
acorns are buried
turkeys slaughtered

Do not despair
leave your hut
begin the journey

The tattered world awaits
volcanoes spew
ice storms howl
big bellied children suck
their fingers beside muddy roads

In the stratosphere
a meteor descends
the moon burns
a black hole lures planets
into its dark eye

Do not despair
continue onward
the universe embraces

maybe too grim for the holiday season?? although to me it speaks of hope and redemption

Animal Wednesday

2011-12-14T08:15:00.001-05:00

Bibbitty contemplates the meaning of life. Sitting in MY chair.

Peace.

Flourish

2011-12-08T08:15:00.004-05:00

Flourish

Ducks ripple the pond
this wet April morning
the blue heron
rises from the mist
a lone turkey
struts the field
and the grass
green as Ireland

Alone I reap the years
when I squandered
my bankroll of compassion
guarded my solitude with fangs

No one to fling his arm
round my neck
draw me close
No one to share words
in coffee steam
no your shirt is misbuttoned
comb your hair
where are the keys

Turn it all around
begin again

Wrens fly from nest to worm
squirrels chitter and chase
I press seeds into soil

a bit off season but there you go

what big eyes you have

2011-11-30T06:07:00.000-05:00

i met these guys at a local alpaca farm. their eyes do not show that well, but they are large and seductive. LOL.
they were as curious about me as I about them.

HAW

the perils of a new knitter

2011-11-29T09:12:00.003-05:00

a pair of fingerless gloves from merino wool. I knitted them on #10's because smaller needles are difficult for me. However, they would be tighter on smaller so hope soon I will "get" knitting on smaller needles.

basically i went from knitting scarves in garter stitch, to trying to knit an easy sweater. the yarn store didnt have the recommended italian yarn. the proprietor gave me this part acrylic part wool yarn which i dont really like but oh well. the sweater is knit in four pieces. i am almost done with the front. I have to pray all four pieces will fit when it is time to sew them together.

i made a gauge but it came out half an inch too small. however, since i had just purchased new #15 needles, i didnt want to drive for an hour to buy some # 17's so just proceeded. ( if your gauge comes out too small you should go up in needle size). i am knitting a medium size sweater which seems gigantic despite the too small gauge.

onward.

Yankee Swap and poetry

2011-11-26T09:11:00.005-05:00

Week before last I spent a few days on Cape Cod at a friend's house. I went thrift shopping for my winter wardrobe, went to an open poetry reading at a pub, and participated in my friend's Yankee Swap event with her poetry group.

We had pot luck dinner, we read our poems and they were critiqued, and then we each placed a wrapped gift in the middle of our circle and chose numbers. I got number one. My gift turned out to be a set of flamingo lights. Then others chose. If someone before you gets a gift you like you can take it and give them yours.

Since I had number one, I got to choose again at the end from the unwrapped gifts. The first person to get this quilt exclaimed so much about it that I could never have taken it from her. But then my old time friend D. took it from her. And I took it from D. I felt guilty as I only come to the group sometimes. I was an "interloper" and I got the best gift! I almost didnt take it but then I did. And I love it.

I had a bamboo pole so hung it immediately on coming home.

A brief hello

2011-11-15T12:25:00.003-05:00

I have been away from blogging for this entire month. I have been reading blogs and commenting though. Don't know why the lapse. I have been blogging since 2006. Need a rest I guess.

Knitting, writing poems, reading, practicing yoga, watching movies. A decadent life.

a quote from poet Gregory Orr: "...what is really important is just to be here, to sing songs, to see what is beautiful in the world and be sad about the fact that we die."

Going off now on a little trip. Back soon to have a Thanksgiving all alone. Well, it has been that way before and will be again no doubt. People seem to forget the single women. Just wanted to let you all know, dear blogging friends, that I am all right. Have a great Thanksgiving. Love, suki

photo: my Dear Miss Emily Dickinson, meow

At the Millay Colony

2011-10-30T18:11:00.004-04:00

At the Millay Colony

Discouraged,
up the road I pace,
then down to the pond
where ice forms like fat
rising in chicken broth,
where the cherry tree,
fallen one thunderous night,
spans the water.

There, straddling the trunk,
wrinkled mastodon
awaiting the caretaker's saw,
when he gets to it,
I watch the four-toed
salamander lap the cherry's shadow,
watch my mutable self
mirrored below the sky,
darkening
without fire.

Across the dry-grassed meadow
the poet's cabin stands: woodstove,
childlike desk, pen,
blank notepad. Blank
as the rain-streaked window
until late that afternoon
framed in a pane of glass
the setting sun's reflection burns
bright as the light
on my typewriter's rim
signaling on.

an older poem, date unknown

for more poems in response to this prompt see Magpie Tales.

Thanks to willow for the photo.

Someday--Poem

2011-10-25T13:05:00.005-04:00

Someday

" Someday you'll be without a room."
Her voice came through my open window
at the Latham Hotel
4 East 28th Street, NYC

Below, she wandered the sidewalk
repeated her refrain
foreign
this underbelly
this face of failure
this outcast
and yet not foreign

Today, my own stubborn nature
shakes me from my tenuous shelter
sets me wandering the woods, streets,
desert

one bowl, one robe, reluctant
mendicant

Melange

2011-10-15T15:13:00.004-04:00

It took me a few days to recover from the thrill and excitement of the Willow Ball 2011, but I am finally grounded in everyday life again! A friend treated me to a birthday lunch and gave me a bouquet of these plus a gift certificate to a local bookstore. What a dear! I have known her since the mid-70's so a long relationship.

Purchased more yarn. Am knitting the black, alpaca with glitter, into a scarf. The red/pink I am not liking so well. Too thin. I hope the black scarf comes out well as I would like to make a few for Christmas gifts.

Still tearing up old journals. For many years I wrote in cheap ring-bound notebooks and decorated the cover. This cover I will keep. A collage of pictures of me. Am I ego-centric?. More like eccentric. LOL. I put the journals in the recycling bin however have to tear off the metal ring swirl thing. So, time consuming.

Six years or so ago I took a lot of paintings off the stretchers and rolled them to save in less space. I got them out and am deciding to keep or not to keep. When I turned 50 I went through a figurative stage and painting from old black and white family photos. This is me and Aaron even though it is not a portrait of us, ie doesnt really look like us. It does in spirit.

This I painted of myself from imagination and also looking in a mirror I think. No photo. As you see it honors the two parts of me, the painter and the writer/reader. I am in the room with the eaves at 217 County Road.

Leslie Avon Miller has honored my poem "Gravity" with a spot in her current blog post "Painting and Poetry." Thanks Leslie. I am touched. To be heard and seen means so much. click here for post.

Ah, a day at the Manor

2011-10-12T06:07:00.000-04:00

My hostess gift. 50 pounds of Burdick's chocolates. (or I could have gone to Paris for a week)

We arrived in the Maserati. How did we all fit? Don't ask.

My feet were bare, Cinderella without her shoes.

My gown elegant. Let's just hope it stays up. My figure is reminiscent of Twiggy's.

And I had and am having a divine time with my four dates, see sidebar. As last year, I danced and danced until my little head turned dizzy. Then I ate and ate until the scale showed five extra pounds. I met many fascinating people. And wandered the halls of the manor to my heart's content.

Thank you dear Willow, for a memorable time.

Anticipation

2011-10-10T14:45:00.003-04:00

My new "do" and dye for the ball this Wednesday. Excitement mounts. See you there!