Saturday, January 7, 2017

zero and beyond


My granddaughter told me this morning that her doll is zero. She is referring to its age of course. Zero. Poor dolly; so young she doesn't even register on the Richter Scale of aging.
I was zero once too. And then I was one. Oh happy day. Then I was big enough to ride the wonderful galloping horse that was pastured in my grandparents living room. It was an amazing contraption and took up nearly as much space as a real pony. I think it really belonged to my cousin who lived downstairs in a compact suite. Too compact, and so the marvelous steed was stabled upstairs. It looks like my grampa made a small modification to the joy ride. A pretty stout two by four allows equestrian spirited toddlers to mount and dismount all by themselves. It is good to fan the flames of independence.

This is one of my favourite photos of myself.
I remember the horse.
It was a Palomino.
And I remember the wool rug with kaleidoscope flecks of color.
And I can even remember glancing over my shoulder warily as I rode grimly onward.
It was because of the cuckoo clock high on the wall.
I was scared of the little bird that lived inside.
It was so unpredictable......

But still I rode ever onward into two and three and four and beyond.

Thursday, January 5, 2017

gathering dust

My littlest granddaughter asked if she could have a bath.
She happily sang as water filled the tub.
She called for toys.
And more toys.
Her big sister arrived from school.
In a blink she had joined her sister.
They played 'otters at the aquarium' and 'otters in the sea.'
They splashed and rolled and splashed some more.
Their long hair turned into seaweed.
Waves lapped.
Soon they were huddled under fluffy towels and pointing toes into pantlegs and socks.
Hair was de-tangled while we debated braids and ponytails.
We settled on the blow dryer.
It has been gathering dust in a bottom cupboard.
I plugged it in.
There was a loud bang.
And a puff of awful, acrid smoke.
I don't know if I threw it down or if it lept out of my hand on its own.
We fled to the fresh air of the living room.
My poor blow dryer has shuffled off this mortal coil with a flourish.
Hey...doesn't it give new meaning to the old expression, 'going out with a bang.'?

two little chickadees

Two little chickadees.

Tuesday, January 3, 2017

monarch of the mountain

My grampa the skier.
He learned as a boy in Norway.

There he is,
perched on the edge,
surveying his vast kingdom.

in winter


More than half of the long ago photos my mother took in Blue River were frozen in winter but then again, more than half the year Blue River is frozen in winter.

Sunday, January 1, 2017

fast away


Snow fell,
salt shaken over a plate,
sawdust on the wind.
Afternoon light faded to night 
and flakes became a blanket 
ever thicker
over all, 
softening edges, 
outlining branches. 
A great silent whiteness. 
Fast away the old year passes,
and the new born year awoke 
fresh and silent
Silver bright and silent....
Until the bells of St. Dunstan began to ring,
And I had a Courier and Ives sort of moment.

Sunday, December 18, 2016

white paper

It's pretty fun to paint winter. Especially watercolor winter. Lots of white paper that way.