Grave Robbers Point ~ 2

 Birds were singing, tree's swaying softly, it was a beautiful day. And there I stood unable to enjoy it over the glare of my impending doom.

 So we waited.

  Neither one of us willing to budge or flex on our opinions of this matter.

 After the customary eternal wait time the cop showed up. Stepping out of his car, the officer looked a bit perplexed. The Sexton hobbled over and spoke to the man in blue, recanting my crime and the harm that it "may" inflict on the populous. Several times throughout the rant I noticed that the officer checked his watch and shifted his weight. It looked as though he found this whole affair as annoying and wasteful as I did. However he had no choice but to do his job.

  He came then to listen to my side. I told him everything just as it had happened, and again offered to put the flowers back, volunteered my services for an afternoon, anything to keep this from going further. Looking hopeful at the sound of these options, and the thought of less paperwork, Johnny Law took my offers to the Sexton. . . . and was met with the same stone response that I had hit. I could see he was giving this his all, and I did catch snipets of their conversation...

"She has apologized for her mistake........"Clearly this was an innocent misunderstanding"....

 But I could see that he was having no more luck than I in reasoning with this rigid fellow. Bearing a face that was a mix of frustration and sympathy the officer walked to his car and got out his little back book. (The one with all the tickets in it.) I thought to myself, well, a ticket can't be that bad, I mean they aren't arresting me, so I can deal with this, right?

 "Alright Mam, I am going to have to give you a ticket...for petty theft."

Petty Theft?! Are you nuts?!

 "I am sorry about this, however I have been informed that this is a real problem in the cemetery." He explained. "So, if you'll sign here, thank you, then all I need are a few pictures of the stolen property in your trunk and you are free to go."

  I reluctantly signed and stared at the large mark on my perfect record. Fuming and stunned I watched as my car was photographed for "evidence", and it's contents (ten flowers) were triumphantly removed.

 "One last thing Mam, if you fail to appear on the date printed on your ticket, a warrant will be issued for your arrest. "

Bloody Brilliant. 

Grave Robbers Point~

  The cemetery has long been, if you'll excuse me, a favourite haunt of mine. I find it very soothing, especially in the fall. I love to walk the narrow tree lined paths, and read epitaphs or talk to my little sister. Heck I even taught my twins how to ride their bikes on this holy ground. (No traffic)
 
  In an odd and ironic twist my tranquil retreat has become a minor nightmare. It began after Memorial Day. I was taking my weekly walk and noticed several people picking up flowers off of graves and depositing them into their vehicles. They weren't being at all shy about it either. Most were just strolling down the lanes and nicking the ones they fancied. I thought to myself 'What a great idea! Rescuing these flowers from becoming compost! They are set to be discarded in a day or two, and my beds could use a bit of sprucing. Besides, I have spoken to the sexton in the past, he let me have a bag of dirt for my garden. And if all these people are just blatantly retrieving them, what could be the harm?'

  So, the next day I loaded up the twins and off we went. When we pulled in I told them the plan. We were going to collect ten flowers and give them a good home. They were excited at the prospect of helping plants and they love the graveyard as much as their mother. We went about choosing colpimentary colors and varieties that would suit our front yard. (We plant our beds in orange, white and black for the Halloween displays) Once we had selected our rescues and were on the way out I saw It. The most beautiful dark purple climbing clematis. It was so striking against the lush green backdrop I thought it would be a shame to let it perish. So, against my better judgement I turned back to fetch it. After collecting our last edition and while singing The House Of The Rising Sun we made for the gate. . . and were cut off.

  Out of an authoritative white truck hobles the Sexton. Mumbling something to the effect of '. .don't think all those flowers belong to you. .' and a vague '. .do you know how many people come crying to me. . ' Then, he pulled out his cell and dialed.
The call I caught clearly. "Yes I need an officer to Mountain View Cemetery right away. I have a young lady here stealing flowers."

Stealing flowers? Are you serious? As we waited for the law to arrive I tried to reason with the keeper of the dead, but he would have none of it. I told him I would put them back, I told him I have a perfect record. I mentioned that we had met before and he liked me then. However with each comment he grew more to resemble the monuments he watched over.  Eventually I took my own cue from the dead and fell silent.

Chance

 Today is one more example of how life is connected in the most unusual and continually surprising ways, and also of a reminder to FOLLOW YOUR GUT!

  I have been building a Scarecrow, in my head that is, for about a year. A terrifying creature who will soon be a member of my Halloween treasure trove, and today I met with The Man who will help me bring him to life.

  Last year I was running late for an appointment and by chance drove by a house I see everyday. On this day I saw someone unloading the most realistic Frankenstein and Bride I had ever seen. I pulled over immediately and began to make inquires. The unassuming gentleman in the black was obviously the mastermind so I tried to engage him. He was busy and distracted so our conversation was brief, something along the lines of ."..busy, find me in January..". At this point I had no clue who I was really talking to. Mildly dashed, but determined I waited and in January attempted to work my way into his schedule. Now it is very close to that time of year and finally This Man, who has sent countless one-of-a-kind masks, and props all over the world came and sat in my studio today. It was a wonderful meeting with all kinds of thoughtful connections and interesting prospects. We exchanged stories, laughed about the stifling community (Holy. A LOT Holy.) and did a bit of collaborating. So with a connection made, and projects on the horizon I went about my day and did a bit of research. Guided by a tip or two I made a few more useful contacts and connections. (Also discovered that the other prop I want to build is sold by a friend of The Man in my studio) Then, at one website I saw an interesting conversation and upon exploration found several insightful comments and thoughts.

By sheer chance I clicked on one of the comments.

 Continuing to read I noted that the author lived in            , and was from                   !?! (That last blank equals 20 miles away) Wow! There began another conversation and connection. From this conversation came yet another connection of "You know who?" and "You could do that for me?" followed by "I have been thinking of that person for a long time and need to call.."


How neatly things fall.

How sublimely simple it all appears when laid out in front of your face.

These moments in life that appear to be chance, are never chance.

To Sleep

...Perchance to dream-ay there's the rub."

  I haven't slept in years, decades really. I don't know precisely how come, and neither does anyone else. Ever since I can remember I have been awake at times when everyone else was not. It was scary when I was a small girl, attempting sleep in a narrow and growling basement. Even more so since my bed was placed facing a hall closet. This closet was home to my Mothers most beautiful dresses, each one of them was long and full. So full in fact that when the hour was right, and in a manner most sinister, they would seem come free from their hangers on a mission to devour me. Soon I would learn much about the placement of closets and the presence of things that are to keep me forever wakeful. But in the mean time I decided to make the most of the hours. I sneaked chocolate chips from the kitchen drawers (they were the quietest ones to open.) and if I was feeling brazen, I would help myself to a handful of my Fathers Wheat Thins. Armed with snacks and my beloved books I faced many a dark night and uneasy feeling.

 I knew early on that I was not alone in this basement. Not counting my snoring smaller sister I had company. I tried my hardest to ignore it, or get to sleep before it wanted to come out and play. However most nights I was unsuccessful and at the mercy of the unwanted antagonist. It seemed to be concentrated in the center of the house and interested only in me. It was loud and heavy and didn't show until everyone else was asleep. For a long time I never saw it, I could only feel something scary. Then one night my life was changed forever.

 Laying in my bed, my sweet dog sleeping at my feet I woke up with an overwhelming feeling of dread. Upon opening my eyes I discovered I was surrounded by a thick, heavy red mist. It was everywhere suffocating me and enjoying it. I was trapped in my bed, unable to move or cry. I reached down to get a hold of my dog, hoping that would shake me out of my nightmare. Finding her I was in for a shock. She turned to me with bright glowing red eyes and snarled, nearly biting my hand. I quickly covered my head and hid in the sheets. It seemed as though the mist was laughing and taunting me. This was the longest night of my life.

 The next day I tried to tell my parents about it, they dismissed me as someone with an over active imagination. Nobody believed me, so the thing in the basement continued to harass me. It did so until we moved. I never brought it up again while we lived there, and the mist only reappeared twice. 

 Years later my husband and I bought our first house, a block away from my childhood home. One summer night I took my dogs for a walk past the house. I was sure that whatever was there had to be long gone. But as the dogs and I got nearer to the house they began to bark and growl. Determined to face my fear and triumph I walked through the gate and looked into the windows (the house was again for sale).

I felt the thing. It resides there still, and it remembered me.

  

Channeling

 
  I didn't know how often it would come into play. I had no idea what my mind and soul were capable of building. Nor did I realize how deeply it would impact me. I suppose that everyone does it from time to time. Some on a more conscious level than others.

  I notice it when I am painting, and working with stained glass. Or when I garden and smell the vegetables growing under my care. Or when my daughters and I are singing at the top of our lungs. Even when I am cursing and saying things a bit to plainly I feel Them. But it took someone saying to me "That is where you get it" to realize what I have at my disposal.

  My first passion (artistically speaking) is stained glass. It was a neighbor who turned me on to this beautiful form of transparent art. I fell in love pretty fast and knew it was something I would do for the rest of my life. What I didn't know was that I wasn't the only person in my family to see this challenging art form as something to pursue.  I remember mentioning it to my mother and she told me to talk to Granny. So I did, and soon after she came to my house with an astonishing revelation and a box full of tools and patterns. Granny, (who gives NOTHING away) wanted me to have these things. They belonged to my grandfather.

 Painting is a more recently acquired passion. My home is full of original art. Paintings, drawings, sculpture. It has been my good fortune to know many gifted artists who share their talents with me and my family. Due to the nature and depth of their talent I have always been hesitant to try my hand at those mediums. All the art in my home means something to me, but one or two pieces have a higher place in my heart. In my bedroom I have a painting hanging that is the first thing I see in the morning and the last at night. It is a sunset on calm water  with small waves breaking against rocks. And in the sky are two birds, one of which was slightly smeared. This is one of my dearest treasures. It was painted by my Nanna. She found this passion late in life and painted until she died.

 The girls and I sing, a lot. Loudly. We sing everything from The Dixie Chicks and GLEE to Disney tunes and Blue Oyster Cult. In the morning the ipod comes on and is on all day. We sing in the car and the shower. My Dark Hair got several smiles when we went to a pool and she laid in the shallow end singing quietly to herself. (She is the one with that fantastic alto voice) Ocasionally a song will come on and the girls will start to sing, they will harmonize and groove and I will start to cry. As I watch them dance and listen to the sweetness of their voices I see my little sister smiling and dancing with them. She had a voice from heaven. She died before they were born.

  In so many ways every day I channel the spirits of my loved ones. When I pick up a brush and glance at Nanna's painting, when I break glass and use my grandfathers tools, when my daughters sing and dance. I feel them, I hear them, I smell them. They come to life again.

This is true immortality.

Airborne

  Those thoughts that travel faster than the speed of light. No need to breath, these waves spread like wild fire. Then they infect my brain and spread into my life. Not all of these thoughts are bad, nor are they all good.

Quilting, climbing, painting, driving, Sanctum.

They fly faster into my head when I take off the Yoda Hat.

On goes the hat then as I walk out the door. Keep your thoughts to yourself~

No Rainbows

  I have always watched the sky. Since I was a small girl and bought my first telescope I have starred upwards as far as my eyes could see. Day or night it didn't matter and it hasn't yet. I feature the sky in most all of my paintings, I also have both the sun and moon tattooed on my body. Over the years the heavens have taught me many a cunning trick to grow my plants, and have shown me tell tale signs of trouble on the horizon. Often I may be caught gazing as if day dreaming, when in truth I am watching for signs. 


  This year the one spring sign I am missing is rainbows. My collection of rainbows is vast. But here we are, near past May and my portfolio remains empty as I have yet to catch sight of  a sensational stripe across the blue. Shimmering in the rays to show me that rain has surrendered. Raised as I was the absence of my beloved rainbows in combination with current meteorological, geopolitical, and astrological events gives me pause. 

 Perhaps we should hold tightly to something/one.