Fascinators Are Rarely the Answer

Mid-February and sleep continues to be brutal, off-and-on. The back-and-forth of it reflects the irritating classic model of shuffling progress, so. It's been long enough that as much as it *sucks*, life just has to go on and I'm mostly managing to take care of business. I delivered new cards a few weeks ago and a couple random animal characters popped into my head this afternoon (sparks for new designs). I'm a bit more irritable than I would like, as evidenced by a recent conversation with my almost- five year old:

"Mom." She has just emerged from her kiddie gymnastics class.

"Yes."

"I have noticed that you are very crabby in the mornings, but you get weller later on."

I am in a period of intense love for her these days, and that one got me. More on the side of goodness-she's-observant! vs. internal guilt tripping. I couldn't disagree. I haven't been a monster, but I have snapped a handful of times. I apologized and said I would keep working on it. She nodded and asked after snacks, which is usually the top topic of conversation.

on more whimsical side

As I emerged from the sleep craziness, Rick & dove into wedding planning. We have managed to avoid this for quite some time (see also: 5 y.o.), but we fell for a hotel in Buffalo last summer, and after the Winter holidays, both of us were suddenly struck with OMG IT'S COMING UP WE NEED TO NAIL THIS STUFF DOWN NOW/YESTERDAY.  My parents & sister live a few states away, so they can't be super involved with the planning, but my Mom and sister skyped with me about headdress/tiaras/whathaveyou and that was simultaneously serious and fun. I was mystified how to handle this piece of it, as I feel most designs are made with long flowing locks in mind, and I am happiest with super short hair.

things briefly took a crafty turn

Gratifying to see my Mom, who can be waffly about most things in daily life, has not lost her strong opinions around fashion and style. Fortunately, they were aligned in their opinions, so the feedback honed my decisions. They categorically shut me down about a few things I felt were splendid, which paradoxically made me trust the process.

getting sucked into a fascinator at Peacock Room

"We *like* this headband," my sister began, "it's really pretty, we just feel like it competes with the dr~~"

"THIS! does not work! With THAT!" Mom broke in loudly. "NOOOOO."

There's still a surprising amount which has NOT been nailed as of this writing, but tastings have been set up, a visit is around the corner, and somehow it will all come together... I feel the freedom to be excited about it, and also to breathe again.

***

I returned to one of my favorite yoga classes this morning. I gazed through the glass door and saw a stage in the teacher's spot. Fabric covered, a buddha or two, unlit candles, etc. A coffee mug. Was some kind of retreat happening?

I paused while signing my name at the counter: "Oh is something different happening?"

"Some people are better with change than others," the business owner replied, none-too-helpfully.

I went in and took my normal habit (creature of habit, change-resistant) and murmured the same question to my row mate. "Ohh, there's a flyer out there, I didn't read it." I relayed the interaction I had just had and she snorted. Our instructor walked in, laid her mat out just in front of the huge stage. She had us begin to stretch and noted, "I'm NOT sitting on that. I prefer to be on the ground." Gratifying, all of us stunted, stuck-to-sameness. And what's really so wrong about clinging to a few basic, seemingly solid things, when we all know that even the most basic building blocks -- like sleep -- can be significantly, unceremoniously altered and color all our days?  

Focus Not Upon the Spider

Blah, blah blah, yadda yadda yadda. Let blah equal self-recrimination and despair over infrequent posting and yadda equal defensive justification via anecdotes of normal levels of chaos. That was easier than I thought!

Breathe in, breathe out. During a punishing* Vinyasa class this morning, I perspired, fumbled a bit, and recovered. A tiny spider picked its way across the wooden, sunlit floor between yoga mats. I forgot it almost instantly, but moments later a nearby woman shrieked and collapsed mid-contortion. Hopefully she didn't pull anything, because collapsing at those moments is especially dicey. Which would be why I have only tried home yoga twice in the presence of toddler daughter, who felt compelled to climb me during downward dog; launch herself onto my back any time I looked somewhat table like; and slither herself beneath me moments before I had planned to lower myself to the mat. Back at class, the shriek brought matters to a halt. I was happy for the disruption, as our fabulous and challenging teacher had just proposed something which made me guffaw. In case you're a super yogi, I laugh at yoga when the thing proposed is barely comprehensible, much less attemptable**, by myself anyway. The proposal involved fire breathing while doing a plank, but also hopping straight up from one's hands and feet, in the plank stance, SPROING! Huff-huff-huff-huff! SPROING! I huffed, but failed to sproing; and quickly collapsed. A whimper/whine came from the front right corner of the class, over the idea that maybe the teacher had offed an insect.

"Relaxxxxx," soothed the teacher, exiting the room, with her hands cupped together. She returned: "Now it's survival of the fittest. Though the spider will probably die from the cold." Why did that cause me to laugh? I guess I'm working on compassion, wish to be more openhearted; but there's still a part of me which derides what I perceive to be "soft-hearted." Is this derision/dismissal an indication of how far I have to go? Or is it just an acknowledgement that there will always be boundaries between what one finds acceptable and not ? Look out! This is what happens, when I have a few hours away from my child, and I can swim about my head.***

Rick and girlchild are home now -- little feet thud above me. Short-lived protest crying sinks through the floorboards. I'm hiding in the basement, which I hope to do more frequently, as it gets colder. It only seems appropriate. I'm sitting at the tool bench, next to the furnace, with printmaking cards in various stages, all about me. My back is kinked up in weird ways; I slouch and straighten like a loopy cartoon character at odds with his barstool. The muscle twitches are due to a.) hanging the picture book exhibit at the library yesterday, b.) raking, mostly for toddler amusement and c.) aforementioned yoga class. 

from @aadlgram

But back to A! All 46 pieces in "No Cake is Safe" are now on display in the multipurpose room of the Ann Arbor downtown library. Woohoo! It was my first time hanging any show and boy-howdy was I grateful for the experienced help from Val Mann****. It has been interesting to see how the exhibit feels in its different venues. At the University of Michigan hospital, it felt expansive, in its open atrium, glass ceilinged space. At the Dexter Library it meandered along halls. Here, it's almost cozy. Self-contained. It feels quite nice to be in the space. I look forward to returning there for some quiet time. So far, manuscript submission and agent searching for picture book publication has been full of waiting and uncertainty. But here is this thing I have made, and I can sit and be with it. Lovely! And, as always, it's great to be part of a larger exhibiting program -- to have the privilege of seeing what other artists are exploring. So many things to be happy about.

ALSO at the downtown library, I'm super excited to be selling prints and cards at next Saturday's Tiny Expo. SO, come visit me, if you like what you see, go one floor down and swing by the Cakeasaurus exhibit. Two birds, one stone. Ayyyand see all of the other great vendors and make something cool in the Secret Lab, whaaaat. So really, three birds. 

BUT no... it winds up being FOUR birds, one stone. As Tiny Expo is part of the fabulous Winter Art Tour. So, get or print your passport, get it stamped at 4 venues Dec. 8-10 and maybe win something fabulous! Shop local, support creativity, have fun.

Hope to see you next Saturday! Here's a smattering of what will be at my table:

Happy December, All.

* nay, cleansing and fulfilling.
**what is impossible today may be fully realizable tomorrow! 
***I'm not a very good swimmer. But I love being in the water. 
****who probably could have hung it all, blindfolded, with one hand tied behind her back.

Here comes the wave/be the ocean

Hey-ho, it's February! That indecisive time of year, likely to be dampish cold, and then up to a heartening 40 degrees, leading one to sit outside of one's own free will, for an afternoon break, followed up by BAM! Winter storm! Due tomorrow afternoon, during which time I am supposed to briefly be in Canada. Though again, this is not a Buffalo-amount of snow, nor is it weeks of time with -- literally -- no daylight, so I have no reason to complain. The minimal point being: mid-Winter, it buffets us all about, tossing in just enough good for us to yearn and hope, before giving into another storm and more dark days. But slowly, slowly.

As my yoga teacher cautioned us against this evening -- don't think of life events as waves crashing upon you, happening to you. Think of being the ocean. The waves do not change the essence of the ocean, and their every motion is equally balanced by the opposite motion; it merely continues endlessly. So what seems to be so huge/insurmountable/shattering is only one small passing facet of life. Which does not stop me from being sick of the cold or irritated by all those things which get me, certainly. But I will say I was quite happy to return to yoga tonight. Life has been really hectic and this time last week I believe I was still at work; and the number of curses I have muttered to myself over the past two work weeks could have been impressive, except that they were merely run-of-the-mill invectives, hurled at devious powerpoint charts, or in disbelief at innocent instant messages which undid hours of work ~~ and whew! ~~ how easy to suck one's self back in, eh?

Anyway, Sondra was tremendously happy and chatty this evening -- she and her family are bird-sitting and the visiting parakeet is adopting the shrieks of the home-reigning cockatiel, rather than the mellifluous canary and she expects the owner is going to be less than thrilled by this. She also started talking about boisterous relatives ("I told you guys about *him*, right??" which, alas I had missed a couple classes, so I was in the dark.) These remarks were threaded throughout the practice, with us flowing through our sun salutations, downward dogs and hovering/trembling with our noses inches above the ground. A guy, who I haven't seen before, crashed to his mat with a loud thud. "Ohh, this feels SOOO GOOD!" said Sondra. She was clearly enjoying all the stretches, in between relishing more pet-sitting (burmese up next). "So! good!" Sondra exclaimed as we extended one leg behind, with the knee being the highest and the foot dangled off on its own. "Remember, if you're concentrating on your breathing, that's still Vinyasa. You're still practicing." The guy laying on the floor snorted. He laid there for most of the class, before graduating to sitting and standing. The rest of us attempted various pretzelly configurations; as usual I kept losing track of my breathing, and my mind spooled out daydream fragments before I pulled myself back in.

Who would have thought simple, concentrated breathing would prove so difficult after a few years, on and off ? Regardless, even such an uneven practice as I give it seems to make a big difference. It does seem to be one of the few things that really could benefit almost anybody who were to encounter it (with the likes of Ginger aside, who sports an irrational dislike of yoga, despite never having touched it with his pinky toe). My Mom shocked me a couple weeks back by saying they had signed up for a modified yoga class -- my folks, who have not done any kind of exercise class in decades, if I'm not mistaken -- so, hopefully, there will be more yoga converts in my family. Now, we only have to rope in the Sister...

It's a simple truth that the point at which we most need things like yoga, we feel caught in the hectic vortex of our daily lives. And too, sometimes it's a fabulous vortex, an exciting whirlwind. And so it is, with this neglected blog. When I came back from New Orleans with Compatriot a year ago; and then from China in August, I returned with a wealth of new experiences, plus hundreds and hundreds of photos, very few of which have made their way online. I could write about this! And this! And this! And life continues on, and your water heater breaks and the report needs to be redone and noooo, this other person has left the company -- as you wish to reflect and process, in order to boil things down a bit. 2013 has been quite surprising and rich so far! But not so much time to ponder all the new experiences. And I haven't discovered the magic formula to slowing down amidst the speeding up.

In lieu of that, a few happy snaps:

lilies that open a day later.

plus tiny little white flowers that bloom within the purple ones!

A super-extravagant package from (Magpie and) Collector of Words

...also including heady vanilla beans

and pretty, nostalgic notebooks!

innocent lemon dough, waiting for baptism of fire.

still sparkly on the other side.

Grimm Tales, Posh Grounds

What a chill, pleasant Sunday.

Before coffee this morning I ran through my newly received yoga video -- the same one that I had been repeatedly renewing from the library -- with the extremely calm narrative guidance of Marc Lewis, who tends to offer too many choices when the work out is at its most trying:

"Now. If this is good now, keep it right here. If you'd like make it...a bit more challenging, extend to the tips of your feet."

I stay where I am and continue trembling.

"If you'd like to...take it down a little...Bring your right knee to the floor."

I refrain from bending my right knee. One could say the trembling is closer to shuddering. I try to clear my head, which doesn't clear. Readers, you know I'm cluttery.

"Now," he opines, almost as if he were proffering a small gift -- if only his voice carried that much emotion -- and he throws in another gravity defying variation in movement. I attempt it before collapsing onto the floor, like some fool who has played past his Twister ability. I snort derisively and glower at the carpet.

This is pretty much how it goes. I usually boycott minutes 56-58, before he returns to sensibility and some delicious stretches.  Ultimately, I feel good about it. Ideally, I'll alternate this with running and work an actual yoga class back into the mix. I'm surprised to say that I miss the group chants at the end of prior classes, and the OMs. Marc Lewis at the end invites the viewer to OM three times to finalize the practice. Somehow doing this in a group is especially satisfying; sitting alone in your living room? Not so much. One even feels a bit nutty. I wondered if the Jehovah's Witness who banged on the door also heard my OMing. But what matter? Takes a nut to know one, or so they say.

(Cashew Nut. Macadamia Nut. Pine nut.)

In any case, a good start. I padded into the kitchen, set the water to boil for coffee and turned on a burner for a few strips of bacon, tossed some cherries into a bowl. I finished reading The Monsters of Templeton outside, settled on a few recipes for the day (broccoli and potatoes with curry leaves, amchoor powder; rice noodles with cauliflower; sweet potato salad with tamarind). The sky feels heavy and I'm hoping there will be a summer rain when I start cooking later, with front and back door open to feel the breeze...

Yesterday Stone Bridge and I drove out to the Edsel and Eleanor Ford house to submit my woodblock triptych to the Grimmly Inspired exhibit.

This was the coloring I decided on:

The White Snake: A Nutritive Triptych: One

The White Snake: A Nutritive Triptych:Two

The White Snake: A Nutritive Triptych: Three

Story refresher in case you need it.

I haven't pulled enough to make editions of any one yet, but will add them to my Etsy shop after more studio time.

After encountering numerous slow-downs, ramp closings etc., we were starving by the time we inhaled the posh air of Grosse Pointe Shores. Since this exhibit had grown huge in my mind, I anticipated a long line of fidgeting artists, hefting artwork of various dimensions. I regretted my unusual lack of snacks. But no, when we arrived at the appointed place, we were greeted by a single juror and her assistant. A cool oil painting lay to one side on the padded display tables. A cool book artist -- a shoe-in for the exhibit if there ever was one, as she has a long-standing project of imagining Red Riding Hood at all ages of her life -- reported significantly more activity when she dropped off her submission(s?) on Friday.

Both women were very pleasant and called over to let the soon-to-be-closing restaurant know or our imminent arrival. Not bad! Lunch was delicious and while we were not intending to dawdle, we talked about the role of art in our respective families, growing up; and wound up missing the last house tour by 8 minutes.

"Well ladies! What did we have for lunch?" inquired the gift shop woman. We told her and asked about tour tickets. "Oh, noooo, "she murmured, "The last one just left. You certainly took your time for lunch! I guess they didn't close at 2:30." She beamed at us. We smiled back, thanked her. It's hard not to appreciate the myriad ways bitchiness can be conveyed. Impressive, isn't it?

It was fine. We were both content to wander the grounds, snapping photos of architectural details.

The ivy was lovin on the house.

We lacked the magic key.

Photographer/artist who takes much better photos on her iphone than I do on my camera.

As we turned this way and that, a sparky five year old raised his hand in greeting. "I want to be at MY house now."

Valid. "Oh, I bet you'll leave soon." He considered this.

"Why are we still heeerrrrrreee?" He jutted his chin at his parents. He did not whine, but elongated his words. They seemed unconcerned. They wandered around one corner of the building.

Complicated by summer dresses and purses.

At this point, the five year old run happily past us. He announced triumphantly: "I need to catch the bus! We're going to take the bus." 

"Oh good, where's your Mom and Dad?"

He halted. "They're in the other direction!"

"Well maybe you better wait for them." He paused, but was clearly dismayed at this interruption. Luckily they rounded the corner. We wandered on.

The spout figures (technical term) were disturbingly servile.

What IS he?

Also mysterious. But he looks like a mensch.

The formal gardens and carefully laid out vistas reminded me of Edith Wharton's  Mount

This was her summer home, in Lenox, MA. First job out of college: tour guide.

Just beyond the gate, where we were also parked.

The restored models faced the front gate, but were separated from us by two lanes of traffic. I had to wait for current cars to stop streaming past and, closer still, pedestrians to stop shuffling through. An older person wearing fuchsia pants proved to be quite the lens louse*.

"Do you like Model A's?" inquired a voice to my right.

Oh yes, I said. "They're mine," replied the woman. She and her husband have been restoring them for some 40 years. They drove them up from Hershey, Pennsylvania! The above pictured are models from 1929/30/31 and are Tudors and Fordors. Fuchsia pants was one of their party.

*Favorite term of my Dad who would rather not photograph people in front of his trains/trolleys/model cars. Also used by my sister, when she is foiled by straggling people, when she is in the zone. Many years ago when she was traveling, Kevin Kostner, then prominent for his Dances with Wolves film, managed to ruin several otherwise good shots. Lens louse.

So, it was a lovely day! We did wind up going into the "playhouse" -- an actual house, built at little girl scale, with diminutive everything. The adult tourists lumbered through in our ungainly fashion, bumping into ceilings* and rounding our shoulders to take up less space.
We were both tuckered by the end, well fed, well wandered and stimulated. A fine way to spend a Saturday!