Sunday, September 13, 2009


To rummage, or to ruminate, that is the question.

Whether to pilfer through attics and cellars for the mere assumption that a piece discarded into a box or a corner might be a treasure worth a pittance to another is a subject of great irony. If, by chance, I have chosen to place it in such box myself, then why should I anticipate that another would want it, presumptuously for a price? I ask myself, why do I spend so much time and energy worrying about these kinds of things. Handling and dusting and washing and ironing, this is servant's work. All to end up giving a large portion of these trinkets away? What am I thinking...? At least there may be a tax deduction in the cards.

The best joy I got out of this experience was to unload the giveaways to the thrift collectors, to trade select items with my friend and to paint the battered frames and experiment with the colors and finishes and then have the zap of inspiration to make paintings to go in to said frames.

Otherwise it is an exhausting trial of deciding what to do with this stuff. I am an admitted junk collector. So is my husband. So was my father. So was my grandmother. So was my Aunt Ruby. Where do you think it all came from? I know I am in need of counsel, but with each revelation such as this, I start to realize the things that are most important to me. I do believe that it is time to eliminate the vast quantities of stuff and concentrate on the paint and the pen, my friends. I will, however, need support and encouragement.

painting: Edisto Marsh I

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

September. Oh Happy Day!

I walked out the front path through the morning glory garland and through the length and breadth of Claude's Cove choking on tears of joy and a hefty smile.

That baby boy is here!

As fate would have it, he made his mamma wait until September for his arrival. Could be he wanted a brand new month for his brand new day to start out his life.

He is the third great great grandchild of Claude. This weekend another one of Claude's great grandchildren will marry, and with the new year another great great grand will come. And so the family grows.

I stand on the dock and call out to the spirits waiting there that he is here. The cool breeze on my skin feels as if it could lift me up and send me soaring over the waters like a big blue heron. Crows call out from the treetops to spread the news.

On my walk home, a russet canna blossom lays on the pavement and asks for a drink. Shards from a broken coffee cup are strewn across the red clay shoulder.

I return to the chore of the day, and happily wield my paintbrush to whitewash the kitchen where grandma made us many meals of fried chicken, macaroni and cheese and fried apple pies.

I pull out my paint box of many colors and continue to work on tiny studies of cove paintings and tiny furniture painted in bright colors. I see things in tiny perspective and long to hold that baby and kiss him.

I am thankful for a new season coming round the bend, a new life in our family and a new season of change.

painting: Star of Yelta