calling this “River House”
A quick note before bed to say we were in the White Mountains camping for most of last week and I am slow to returning here.
campfire
smelling bacon
Jack enjoyed our interlude in the woods.
Glen Ellis Falls, NH
a view
Brook near camp ground
Hope to catch up on blog reading this weekend!
Three days ago, the ‘exclaiming’ heart (below, right) seemed to me a little bit cartoonish, funny, just this side of ironic. . . reminding me of Lynda Barry‘s work somehow (if even a little).
heart exclaiming
Today, it looks stunned. Vulnerable. And we are, with news that Jack has lymphoma. Either Stage III or IV. There is so much to say about it, and him, but I am at the tail end of a day that featured one thing after another, just about every hour and a half (most of it good) and the pull toward either my book (DeLillo’s “Libra”) or ‘the crap out zone’ (TV and a snack) is too strong.
I’ll leave you with two images — the first of one of the amazing catalpa trees towering in our yard. This time of year, the orchid-like blossoms tumble down the roof of our garage and litter the walk and plants below. Until they turn start to stink in rotting piles of brown, I feel like royalty… walking the petal-strewn path!
Catalpa blooming
And, one of the places I like to sit and read.
perfect height off the floor!
Jack looking dashing back in April
Jack today
kitty made of recycle pant material – frayed too much!
doorknob makes for feeling of welcome
Scratch disks are full, or I might have cropped out the shadow of my head (above).
But such things are minor in light of a visit (the fourth in three weeks) to the vet with Jack. I will know just how bad the news is tomorrow or the next day, but it appears that he has cancer.
straight base translates as flat; roof line doesn’t match up with house
This white house emerged months ago as I pieced up muslin for what would become the “Red House”. I was immersed in barn raising at the time.
pin board
roofline better; perspective created with a single strip of blue floral slanting up from front corner to back corner
Two different green plaids are used in the roof. I think another piece is required to overhang that right rear facade.
real rooflines – earlier in season, many years ago
There are flash flood warnings here. My phone actually honked to tell me so. Based on the rain and wind, I would not have guessed there to be any danger (and maybe there isn’t).
Speaking of phones, when I took my failing-to-connect-to-the-internet iPhone to the Genius Bar, everything operated just perfectly. The ‘genius’ took notes (on his tablet, naturally), but I could tell he thought I was a technology-challenged moron (and maybe I am). However, I came home and all the same problems reasserted themselves. And I don’t see how it could be an issue with our router, because everyone else in this household is connecting to the internet just fine.
As maddening as these tech issues have been — for weeks now (Photoshop crashed twice while posting yesterday — one time recovering; one time not) — I really could use some perspective there as well.
What is the emotional equivalent of a blue strip of fabric lightly laid, just so, to make the line of the foundation travel back? What perspective would ease getting through a series of technology issues that show no sign of easy resolution and that undercut my ability to stay connected (and THERE’s the psychological metaphor for one of the mechanical failures — it’s always there).
“WALK AWAY FROM THE SCREEN, Dee” isn’t going to cut it for much longer. I should take Michelle’s comment from yesterday to heart: “Breathe”.
“Dreaming is the psyche itself doing soul-work.” J. Hillman
Although it shouldn’t be, it is amazing to me how much the thoughts and images of other bloggers become part of my inner life. Here is a tiny window into how that happened yesterday.
Michelle’s recent post reminded me of how much I have drawn from psychologist/author James Hillman…
Which prompted me to pull down my ragged and yellowed copy of Hillman’s “The Dream and The Underworld”:
… if we think back on any dream that has been important to us, as time passes and the more we reflect on it, the more we discover in it, and the more varied the directions that lead out of it.
As the dream is guardian of sleep, so our dream-work, yours and mine, is protective of those depths from which dreams rise, the ancestral, the mythical, the imaginal, and all the hiding invisibilities that govern our lives.
Dreams are… watchmen of that coming night, and our attitude toward them may be modeled upon Hades, receiving, hospitable, yet relentlessly deepening, attuned to the nocturne, dusky, and with a fearful cold intelligence that gives permanent shelter in his house to the incurable condition of human being.
“relentlessly deepening” and “fearful cold intelligence” — these are words that an introvert with Pluto on the ascendant (who has kept notes on dreams since she was a girl) can hold on to and embrace!
I went to sleep last night knowing I’d quote some Hillman today, thinking if I remembered a dream, I’d share it, in part because I was inspired (am always inspired) by Grace’s recent post in which she shares a dream about the Dalai Lama. (I forget mine).
And yesterday, Joe, through a series of facebook posts, re-connected me back to this amazing blues singer, Chastity Brown, whom I tried to draw and kept JUST missing freezing the YouTube frame where I wanted it, but drew away anyway, listening to that amazing song, over and over.
And, right now my collar itches, because after months of thinking about it, I cut my hair this morning. This was inspired in no small part by Saskia whose work, storytelling, abode, and spirit are the primary drivers of my interest in her, but she happens to also have a great HAIRCUT!
All of this weaving and intersection of thought and effort and words and art and music creates a fertile jumble. It crosses media, politics, gender, and geography.
What better cauldron for noticing and using synchronicity?!!
And let me end with this flourish. Mid afternoon yesterday, I picked up a little applique crow I’ve started, with a determination to finish it, when the ca-ring of an incoming comment jingled my nearby phone. It was Mo Crow!!! Can you stand it? All the way around the world in Australia, Mo, who keeps monastic hours in an opposite season, was chiming in. The evening found me ripping out the incorrectly aligned crow’s legs in part because I want the thing to be good enough to share with an artist (and I mean Mo, of course) whose body of work revolves around and celebrates crows.