"Some people hear voices.. Some see invisible people.. Others have no imagination whatsoever." - Author Unknown.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Thoughts for the day...

'Trust in what you love, continue to do it, and it will take you where you need to go''.
~ Natalie Goldberg

I am an artist, not necessarily a 'good' artist.  In fact I would say that I'm mediocre at best but I do enjoy making 'art'...well, maybe the term 'enjoy' is not quit accurate; I 'need' to make art in some form, be it greeting cards, jewelry, marker renderings and even sometimes writing very bad bad poetry.... I am compelled to make art. When i'm not making art I am restless.

I've been wanting a Lightbox for years. I kept telling myself that I would make one...and I could too -But- I never got around to it.  Always something got in the way...

So yesterday...

I went to The Joann's Fabrics website typed in my zipcode and then 'Lightbox' in their search engine and up popped a pretty nice Lightbox on sale for $35.99.

So I went to Joann Fabrics.  Turns out...

They- did- not- have- that -Lightbox.   In fact they didn't have ANY Lightboxes because they no longer carry them. Nice huh?

So  I drove to the opposite end of town to Michael's.  Michael's had one Lightbox. Just. One. Lightbox.  It was $99.99 -but- I was armed with a coupon for 40% off....so....my beautiful Lightbox ended up costing me approximately the same as the $35.99 would have after factoring in the shipping cost.    
So yesterday I went to Michael's Arts & Craft Store and I bought a 'lightbox'.  

Maybe I will make a Lightbox and take this one back...

Nah, the spirit is willing but the flesh says: 'Nah-uh'.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

The Giving Tree ~by Shel Silverstein

When I first read this story it made me cry:  There are disputes as far as interpretations go.

I have my own interpretation:
The Giving Tree parallels our beautiful 'life giving' planet; a living organism.
The Boy parallels Mankind; takers, exploiters, destroyers.

The ending~ The planet has been stripped of 'life'. Mankind will die.

Someone not a morose as myself could interpret The Learning Tree as a story about 'unconditional love'.

~The Giving Tree~
by  Shel Silverstein

Once, there was a tree…
And she loved a little boy.
And every day the boy would come
And he would gather her leaves
And make them into crowns and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
And swing from her branches
And eat apples
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree… very much…
And the tree was happy.
But time went by,
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then, one day, the boy came to the tree and the tree said:

~”Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy!”

~”I am too big to climb and play” said the boy. “I want to buy thing and have fun. I want some money.
Can you give me some money?”

~”I’m sorry”, said the tree,”but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in city. Then you will have money and you’ll be happy.”
And so the boy climbed up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away.
And the tree was happy…

But the boy stayed away for a long time… and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back, and the tree shook with joy, and she said:

~”Come, Boy come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.”

~”I am too busy to climb trees,” said the boy. “I want a house to keep me warm”, he said. “I and want a wife and I want children, and so I need a house. Can you give me a house?”

~”I have no house”, said the tree. “The forest is my house”, said the tree. “But you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy”.
And so the boy cut off her branches and carried them away to build his house. And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time…
And when he came back, the tree was so happy she could hardly speak.

~”Come, Boy” she whispered, “Come and play”.

~”I am too old and sad to play”, said the boy. “I want a boat that will take me away from here. Can you give me a boat?”

~”Cut down my trunk and make a boat”, said the tree. “Then you can sail away… and be happy”.

And so the boy cut down her trunk
And made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy…
But not really.
And after a long time the boy came back again.

~”I am sorry, Boy”, said the tree, “but I have nothing left to give you – My apples are gone”.

~”My teeth are too weak for apples”, said the boy.

~”My branches are gone”, said the tree. “You cannot swing on them”.

~”I am too old to swing on branches”, said the boy.

~”My trunk is gone”, said the tree. “You cannot climb”.

~”I am too tired to climb”, said the boy.

~”I am sorry” sighed the tree. “I wish that I could give you something… but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry…”

~”I don’t need very much now”, said the boy. “Just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired”.

~”Well”, said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, “well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down… sit down and rest”.

And the boy did.
And the tree was happy…

The end.


Saturday, November 19, 2011

What A Wonderful Way To Look At Our Lives....

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

- Desiderata, Max Erhmann


Friday, November 11, 2011

'Life' ~So Many Questions, So Few Answers....

Having been caught up in life's chaos and drama I haven't posted much at all lately.  Truth is that I haven't been feeling well either.  I've recently been diagnoses with Fibromyalgia &  Hoshimoto's Disease along with dealing with chronic pain from my previous back surgeries (which now is actually manageable).

This week I've had wee 'scare'  My PCP send me to an ENT Specialist. I have a huge lump under my ear at my jaw-line.  ENT Specialist informs me that he thinks it could quite possible me a malignancy.  I have an appointment in the 15th for a CAT Scan w/ contrast.  We shall see...

-but- prior to this news I've been doing a lot of thinking over the past year or so:

  • what has my life meant?
  • what have I ever done to make this world a better place ? 
  • How will my Son's remember me?
  • do I have enough 'time' left to make even a modest contribution to this beautiful planet?
As a result of my cares & concerns about The Human Condition, the destruction of The Planet, the brutal way we treat our Non-Human brethren...My family thinks I am 'crazy' and this makes me sad....not because they think I'm crazy, for I care nothing about that -but- for the fact that the concept of treating this beautiful planet and it's creatures with Love, Respect & Dignity is thought of as 'crazy'. 

That's what  breaks my heart.

'Life' is Sacred and deserves to be treated as such.

Even though it's cold outside right now...I am going to get dressed, go outside and sit on the ground, rest my back against a tree and let her vibrations heal my mind & body.....

okay...so maybe I am a little crazy *wink*


In Flanders Fields


In Flanders Fields

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (
Canadian Army

In Flanders Field - Copy of Signed Original
Courtesy of Bee MacGuire
Obtained From TheMcCrae Museum of The Guelph Museum

McCrae's "In Flanders Fields" remains to this day one of the most memorable war poems ever written. It is a lasting legacy of the terrible battle in the Ypres salient in the spring of 1915. Here is the story of the making of that poem: Although he had been a doctor for years and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here, and Major John McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.
As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900 after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans -- in the Ypres salient.
It had been an ordeal that he had hardly thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it:
"I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done."
One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station, and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.
The next day, sitting on the back of an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser, just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical texts besides dabbling in poetry.
In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe, and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines of verse in a notebook.
A young soldier watched him write it. Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave."
When McCrae finished five minutes later, he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read:
"The poem was exactly an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."
In fact, it was very nearly not published. Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London, rejected it, but Punch published it on 8 December 1915.
Thanks to Mack Welford for reminding me of this great poem.
Updated: 12 November 2008 Updated: 9 November 2009

Friday, November 4, 2011

Creativity In Action

A good read.
An old Italian gentleman lived alone in New Jersey . He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult work, as the ground was hard. His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:
A good read.
An old Italian gentleman lived alone in New Jersey . He wanted to plant his annual tomato garden, but it was very difficult work, as the ground was hard. His only son, Vincent, who used to help him, was in prison. The old man wrote a letter to his son and described his predicament:

Dear Vincent, I am feeling pretty sad because it looks like I won’t be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I’m just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. I know if you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would be happy to dig the plot for me, like in the old days. Love, Paopa

A few days later he received a letter from his son.

Dear Papa, Don’t dig up that garden. That’ s where the bodies are buried. Love, Vinnie

At 4 a.m. The next morning, FBI agents and local police arrived and dug up the entire area without finding any bodies. They apologized to the old man and left. That same day the old man received another letter from his son.

Dear Papa, Go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That’s the best I could do under the circumstances.
Love you,
---------------- via Maher Zain.
The moral of the story is: Wherever there is a will, there is a way - so never lose hope :)