Archive for January, 2012

Bear cubs sound remarkably like human cubs.

Still working.  Last night saw the final brushstrokes of paint applied, minutes before the stroke of midnight.  It’s a lovely, calm shade of grey, matching perfectly the subdued, otherworldly light pouring into that North-facing room.  It was with much intention that this paint was chosen and applied.  Wave (of Focus) is what it’s called, the parenthetical being my own addition.  Can laying the groundwork for calm, sustained work, leading to fruition of certain goals be as simple as mindful painting?  Time will tell.  It certainly bodes well that this work was done during the new moon, a phase reputed for great success in achieving one’s intentions. Which was pure luck on my part, not due to clever planning, but I’ll take it nonetheless.

 

Have you been keeping up with Jewel, the Black Bear in labor?  We’ve been checking in from time to time and just this morning discovered that she had two bear cubs on Sunday morning.  Oh. My. If those newborn cub sounds don’t sound so much like newborn baby sounds… It’s almost eerie.

Happy Babymoon, Jewel.  I don’t envy you the intensity of life with (two!) newborns.

 

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January is for…

quiet.

renewal.

purging.

hibernating.

new life.

We’re not so very different from bears, are we?  This weekend’s Prairie Home Companion mentioned a black bear momma-to-be in Ely, MN who was on the verge of giving birth.  You can imagine how that got our attention, especially when it was also mentioned that we could potentially witness it via the web cam in her den, outfitted with an infrared (night vision) lens.  We’ve been checking in with Jewel intermittently and to my knowledge, she’s not yet had those cubs.

Thankfully, I’m not expecting literal new life – human, lamb, or otherwise – but I am on the verge of rebirth myself.  I’ve undertaken a major overhaul of my studio.  I’ve bought paint for those studio walls that we’ve not yet made our own.  I’m coveting chippy old step back cabinets to replace the plywood and bracket shelves that formerly organized my stuff.  This is so much more than previous purge fests; I’m reconsidering every single thing crammed into that space, making it justify its existence.  And I’m letting go. I’m letting go of the things I know I’m not actually going to make.  I’m letting go of the ideas (65 million and counting) that are not aligned with my overarching goals.  I’ve re-adopted that mantra which flew out the window the minute we moved into this new life:  just because I can make something, doesn’t mean I should.

All of this requires a balanced vacillation between thinking and doing and resting. And lots and lots of purging.

Back to it.

 

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This Moment

(via SouleMama)

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.

If you’re inspired to do the same, leave a link to your ‘moment’ in the comments for all to find and see.

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Kitten

Thus it was written by Isadora in 2011.  Using the brush of artistic license, she lovingly shaved months off their age when referring to the pair as “kittens” but such is her right as author.  The story, however, has gone from charming school work, pinned up for all to see, to historical record.  It seems we no longer have two cats at all.  It seems, with each passing day spent anxiously scanning the grounds from the window, that Cat Stevens has not joined us in the new year.  He’s known for not being ever-present, like his partner Ruby is; after we returned from Christmas parties away, we anxiously awaited a glimpse of him.  A strange showing of blood in the Sheep Hotel greeted our return instead.  Perhaps entirely unrelated, it remains unexplained.  A day later we spotted Stevens curled up in his favorite cushion in the basement.  That was the last we saw of him.

Perhaps he’s been invited into some warm house and kept there.  Perhaps he’ll come strolling home any minute.  Perhaps that’s all a bunch of naive, not-very-farm-realistic hooey.  Perhaps we’re down to one cat now.

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Knitting interlude

Meditate on this, whilst I crawl a bit deeper into my cave.

Does it look like those rows are a bit off in places?  Nah.  That’s just you – better adjust your screen.

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A forced whisper

I’ve been wearing the same pair of wool socks, without interruption, for the entire year; the same pair of jammies – 2/3rds of the year.  I trust that 2012 will include plenty of articulate discussion but this I take on faith alone; I’ve been without my voice since last year.  It’s a whopper of a cold that’s battered me into a (unwashed) (phlegm-y) (Marge-Simpson-sounding) sorry pile of blah.  I’m at all times within arm’s reach of Osha Root tincture, to keep the sinuses from exploding.  A while ago, I rallied and managed to haul in a pile of firewood; Cold knows no reprieve for the sick.

The Boy and I are snuggled up by that hard-won fire, sipping tea, listening to the radio.  I plan to take out my knitting and bunker down for a while, whispering my way through another day.  I may or may not change my socks and jammies.  Probably not.

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