Wild, Wonderful, Crazy Art

I have missed writing here, but I have been writing, and taking some online courses which I have loved.
Story Circle Network chose a piece I had written  for Story of the Month for October.  I am posting it here with an apology for being absent so long from the blog.


Definitions of "art" vary widely in focus and scope depending on the research source . I like the wrap-around description that art is "the quality, production, expression, or realm, according to aesthetic principles, of what is beautiful, appealing, or of more than ordinary significance." This approach to thinking of any field using the skills or techniques of art., or skill in conducting any human activity broadens our concept, especially of ourselves as artists.


When my 70th birthday arrives, this year, I am thinking I will look back on my 60's as the most creative and productive period in my life...in my poetry, in my family narratives, in the widening of my circle of interest in literature and gardening and art (I do consider gardening an art!). BUT my twenty somethings were my forte for forging a foundation of education, shaping my choices for how I would spend my life, and with whom. My late twenties and thirties were my most creative and productive in bringing wonderful, unique, and precious human beings into the world. Nothing I ever write or read or experience will ever rival those moments of birth and breastfeeding and mothering.

My forties found me moving all over the world and increasing the most in my world view and understanding of other cultures. I grew a great deal in tolerance and understanding and navigating the rough rocky waters of teenage rebellion and spousal crisis! Did I get tired and throw up my hands at times? You bet. And I still do. But in my marriage, in my mothering, and now my grandmothering and in my relationships with my son's wives, I am crafting the most crazy and wild and wonderful art in the world...and I revel in being a woman. Whether I am gathering herbs I have grown to create a delicious and "work of art" meal, or bringing roses in to grace the table and fill my home with fragrance, caring for a husband recovering from surgery, managing a business, gathering people around my dining table, or building a memoir, I am filling my life canvas with rich color and depth of imagery and story.


I know I have choices. I can say no to keeping a two year old and her 4 year old sister for a week (I said yes to that last week). But when I say yes, and it means putting a story on hold or not blogging for a week, I don't feel like I have made a bad choice or that I am somehow deprived of my "real" work as an artist. It is just all part of my life, and my relationships. If I didn't have that I am not sure I would have the "want to" to write, craft or create And when I sit with those little girls and read book after book, sing with them, chase butterflies with them and help them learn about growing and picking and cooking with herbs from the garden, I am not only having the time of my life, I am passing a torch. If I never finish the memoir, I have written it. Making the memories is even more important than recording them. Who knows, Skye may be the one who eventually publishes an audiobook and podcasts about the filtered images of a grandmother. This week, she is enjoying learning to chain stitch with a crochet needle that belonged to her great grandmother. Maddie could be the one who composes music that we started making together. When she sits in my rocking chair and sings to me, the chair that holds her once held my mother and grandmother as they rocked me and sang to me. Jordann may paint many more works than my odd canvas of color. She cradles her doll, not knowing at all how many nurturing women, her grandmothers long generations back, have done the same. Lauren went to her first prom this weekend and came by for me to see her in her finery. Already, a beautiful young woman who is headed into choices that perhaps hold a part of me in the story. She wanted to see pictures from my high school proms, and pronounced me beautiful in the dress my mother made for me.

Just a note, though, I may pass the torch, but I am not quitting the race. And I am excited about every tomorrow I will have. What have I said? Maybe, just that it is in relationship (with my Creator, my family, my friends) that I experience the deepest level of creativity and the wildest surge of motivation. In the weaving of this rich tapestry of relationship....wild, wonderful, crazy art.

More Blessings

More blessings, in the form of additions and corrections for my previous post, are due to being married for 46 years.  We really do finish each other's sentences and fill in each other's blanks.  Joe remembered Sean Burke well, and reminded me that Dr. Sean Burke was a professor at St. Mary's College in San Antonio. He had a Sunday morning radio program that we liked.  And we agreed that his sign off was always the Irish blessing as sung by The Priests in Armagh Cathedral,  with the ending:  "and may you be in heaven a half hour before the devil knows you're dead!"

An Irish Blessing

In 1967, as the birth of our first son approached, Joe and I were fond of a San Antonio radio announcer who signed off each day with this Irish blessing.  Although I can't remember his surname, I do remember his given name because that is the name we chose for our son, Sean, who is now a father himself and still loves all things Irish.  Signing off for now...

Texas Spring

In late March and early April (late this year, but with conditions perfect for an unusually lavish display), our Texas Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrush spread over fields and roadsides in a vivid blanket of color.  I love the mounds of Bluebonnets stretching as far as I can see.  I love the contrast of  fiery Indian Paintbrush.  Looking for the first spots of blossom has delighted me each Spring for as long as I can remember.  When we moved to California, and then to Indonesia in 1987, there were 5 years when Texas Spring was only something to read about or remember.  After my son Jeremy came back to the U.S., he sent me a letter with 2 small pressed flowers.  Underneath, he wrote "Texas Spring".  I framed the piece of folded paper with his words and the dried wildflowers.  The paintbrush and bonnets have gone to seed for another year, but I still have that 20 year old reminder.  Thank you, Jeremy!

Who Is Happiest?

When our sons were growing up, one of our Spring things was purchasing little net bags of damp straw holding hundreds of ladybugs to set free in our garden. This project had double benefits:  the ladybugs would feast on some of our garden pests, and the boys loved dancing in the swarm of the lady bug launching, letting them land on their arms and hair. The tradition continues as their daughters experience the joy of releasing something created to fly away free.  I think Maddie's smile answers the question, "Who is happiest?"

What Is Your Name?

It is a cool cloudy day following our rains yesterday, so I planted the pepper plants Joe and I bought a few days ago. 19 of them!! Green and yellow Bells, Gypsies, Anchos, Habaneros, Cayennes, Mucho Nachos (giant jalapenos)  and Chili Pequins (tiny, but 8 times hotter than a jalapeno)...all levels of the Scoville scale.  We already have tomatoes setting fruit.  I like planting heirloom varieties.  This year we put in Paul Robesons, Tliacolula Pinks, Black Cherries, Money Makers, Cherokee Purples and Juliettes.  The only hybrid plant I put in is a Better Bush.  It may give me a more predictable harvest but I love the different shapes and colors of the heirlooms.  Truth be told,  I love the names, too.  Whether it is a rose or a vegetable, the name calls me first.

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

My Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow bush is not yet blooming like this, but it will be soon.  This picture is from last year (Yesterday).   Its current season of blooms (Today) will bless us all these different colors as the blooms appear and fade.  It will bloom again. (Tomorrow).  My dear friend Debbie brought me the bush the week before they moved from Texas four years ago, as a reminder of enduring friendship.  In this week after Easter, I am grateful for past and present and future Grace.  Everlasting.

See the land, her Easter keeping,

 Rises as her Maker rose.
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
 Burst at last from winter snows.
 Earth with heaven above rejoices.”
        ~Charles Kingsley