Tag Archives: inspiration

My Timing is Perfekt

Inspiration came from this tree. I decided to make pear wine, a project I’ve only now endeavored to attempt.

I found a pretty simple looking recipe for pear wine at: CommonSenseHome. The tips were helpful and it looks like something I might have a hard time messing up. I began amassing the ingredients.

I put the first batch of pears up to ripen on the porch. I turned them daily. The tiny imperfections that I’d overlooked deepened in color, spreading like a bad relationship across the surface. I had to rethink my strategy.

I’ll purchase the pears! Two 3-pound bags of pears delivered to my door. With greedy anticipation, I waited. Alas, they only had one 3-pound bag available with no substitutions. Abuh.

Adjust the sails! Farmers market before a 10 am service? Sure thing. I dress for the occasion:

I didn’t chicken out!
I used Ulta’s Glitterally Obsessed to create the glittering effect on the sky and stars. Disco Lady (that’s a misnomer for me, but I can cut slack because:
My 58th birthday tiara is adorned with disco 🪩 I’m keeping it honest.)

Did you know that pears in East Tennessee come into season primarily in September. Did you know that I lost track of time for several months and learned it today? Thwarted, but not without hope. Now what?

I recently gained access to the family recipes from my client’s deceased mother. She had many duplicates of the same recipe for two-day pickles. I read it several times as I sorted through the recipes enough that I felt confident enough to buy pickling cucumbers and I like onions so I bought enough to make a gallon of brine.

Multiple copies of this same recipe

Crap. No dill. Good thing I had onions? Onward!

Fresh cucumbers. Fresh onions.
Ready for the brine in the 5 liter Crock
Brine ingredients coming to a boil

Now we wait. That was quite a few switchbacks to arrive at pickles from pear wine. Such is life. I’ll update when I’ve tested the goods.

I confess, I’m not typically one to experiment with an untested recipe, but no grits, no glory, right? Right?!

Bob’s backyard

Just after shooting this video, a goldfinch joined the party. A red-bellied woodpecker also came to enjoy the offering of black oil seed.

Bob returned home after 6 months of being gone. He’s in such a good mood I had to scrape him off the ceiling with a spatula. My Beastie and I moved everything out of his apartment and back to his house.

Mocha enjoyed a pup cup today with deep passion.

It was all over her face.

In other news, last year I asked to do an art installation in the local park frequented by people who walk, run, stroll, etc. on the paths. The city said no, they don’t allow any kind of signs along that pathway in the park.

I sent them samples of the signs I wanted to place. Like “If you’re here, you’re awesome!” “You’re amazing!” “Keep going, you’ve got this!” “You are loved.” But they still said no. That irritated me enough that I made and gave out over 300 1” buttons that said, “Be L❤️ve”.

Although that sated my thirst for a bit, I wondered if I was thinking too small. Turns out, I was!

As part of the Stewardship drive at my church, anyone who pledged for the year got:

I didn’t have permission to post this person’s picture so I disguised 🥸 them. But the SIGNS!

I designed them with a bit of editing and encouragement from my Bestie (Jen Stark suggested Live Joy) and input from Lóre Stevens (Create). Now, those signs will be all over my city all because I was told No. HA! Each one a stake of rebellion and I’m bursting with joy!

You can order here

Fishing

I entered the Anderson County Fair this with a wood art piece I call “Fishing”. Today I got news!

Fishing

Last year, I entered this piece made of paper and embellishments:

Durga

My confidence is accepting myself.

Whatever the Face

You don’t need permission to be angry with God
You’re not less of a human or any more flawed
It’s okay to yell, to scream, and to shake
To groan under your burden while your heart aches
To feel like you’re in it, totally alone
The weariness digging down deep in your bones
You don’t need permission to question your faith
To want something different than the cards that have played
You’re perfectly normal to deny what is true
The mistakes that were made that you can’t undo
Rejecting condolences because then “IT” is real
Bargaining, begging, willing to make deals
Wherever your God is, whatever the face
Know that you’re held in comfort and grace
The shoulders you cry on, the prayers that are offered
Are all given up to the ultimate Author

A hobby interest

I was chatting with my friend Professor Pudgytums about things we were doing in our lives. I was creating art, traveling, and working. He was working, traveling, and picking up new hobbies.

He has done fencing, trapeze, racquetball, and a variety of other interesting activities. His latest interest is book binding. He was interested enough to share some of what he was learning.

I sent him two books I have in storage and requested he practice on them. He didn’t feel confident enough to agree, but I sent them just in case.

Then I thought about it. I have an entire library of books primarily on death and dying. I have others, but I want to learn more about a topic I’m interested in like him.

To hold a book, yes I also have a Kindle, is to feel the heft of the words, the thoughts, the desires, the emotions, and entire imagination pinned down in time by someone who didn’t give up. It’s almost holy in a way.

Wait. I have two books that I sent to someone else. Why the farts couldn’t I do that for myself? What do I need to know to do this? I asked the oracle (YouTube).

It’s involved and takes skills that are a challenge. Is it something that I can figure out and learn? I think so.

The writing for one of the books is complete and the art is being created. The second book is complete and ready to go other than formatting. Yes, I’m really going to try it. I have a sneaking suspicion I’m going to love it.

May peace be with you wherever you are or go. You are loved!

Day Three

I’m having a hard time believing this is real. I’m really in Paris!

The Weekend has served me The Nectar of the Gods each day. I left them a tiny yellow duck, an Always Beautiful card and a Euro.
Each one of these locks have messages of love on them. Some of them are engraved, some are painted, others have been written on with markers. It was across the river from the Eiffel Tower. There were houseboats moored there.
One of the locks.
It’s a lot taller than I thought it would be.
The Jardin de Troubadour is filled with tourists, myself included.
A small garden had a butterfly enjoying the sunshine and flowers.
This was a sight to behold.
And finally for this part of the day, I took a stroll with a Parisian Pigeon.
Arch de le Triumph was massive. I got lost and ended up taking a taxi to the Eiffel Tower.

Navigating the public transportation has proven to be a challenge, but I found my way back to where I’m staying and most of the way to my meet-up.

The trains are clean and mostly not too crowded. The stops are lit in LEDs so you know where you are. Although I couldn’t figure out how to get on the train at first, I was helped by a tall security guard.

When I got lost, I lost trust in my navigation skills a bit, but, I got to see additional things because of my lack of knowledge. All in all, today has been a win so far.

In the Jardin le Troubadour

Left-hand turn

The loneliness isn’t in the silence, it’s in the absence of commentary.

My “Silent but Deadly” litany chants in my head

“Don’t open your throat, let the demons be fed”

I want to reach out. I want to be heard. But…

Reality isn’t where I want to be disturbed

My brushes lay colorless, lifeless as corpses

My observances from the corner, bodily divorces

I’m running like hell hounds know my name

The bridges start smoldering in fingers of blame

and they all return to me. Their rejection is plain to see

If I’m not them, I’m never good enough as me.

Meat Loaf

Did you know meat suits come with fragile halos and fierce wings?

You know, the ones hung on ideals, beliefs, but rarely on faith?

The halos may as well be bent together like pipe cleaners

fuzzy and limp if not woven together to be fuzzy or less limp

You probaby don’t even realize you have anything divine

in your very being

You lay around on the couch after an average dinner

watching programming so you become programmed

You walk the dog, feed the cat, check the kids, go to bed.

Alarm goes off, take a shower, wash around the halo

which mostly is a pain in the ass, but it remains.

Then, around half past ten, while heading to get coffee,

a young man steps from the curb while deeply involved

in a conversation on his phone that holds his attention fast.

The fierce wings spring from your average back, halo blinding.

Without thought or personal consideration, you grab the man.

The bus barely misses him. He grimaces at you for contact.

You apologize for saving his life un-sarcastically. Wings and halo gone.

Later, you lay around on the couch after an average dinner

watching programming so you become programmed

 

Aprons mingle

food-pizza-kitchen-recipe.jpg

When the aprons mingle, women clucking like hens

discussing ancestral wisdom from way back when

The ancestors live in gestured words

the matriarchal echoes of blood’s songbirds

Strum the butter pat to the rhythm of snipped beans

lower the babies down from the hips of Queens

biscuits on the table, floured dough, cut rounds

the mother’s mother’s hands knead risen dough down

No family recipes laid writ in tattered tomes

each muscle memory “how to” made the house a home.

Where the aprons mingle clucking women like the hens

granting the ancestral wisdom from times long spent