The Cottage on the Corner

Texture Tuesday

2012-02-07T19:53:00.000-05:00

Do you ever wonder what in the world to photograph? At times I find myself thinking that there's nothing left to photograph...at least not close by. I dream of walking the streets of great cities and snapping photos with wild abandon. I long to visit the elegant, yet haunting cemeteries of Europe filled with exquisite statues in poignant poses capturing their essence as this very talented photographer has. Instead, I searched the house for inspiration.

A sweet bracelet my mother wore as a girl rests in my jewelry box. Books and a bracelet...how romantic

I found four slim volumes in French with a 1925 copyright. There's something about the French language that invites romance, even when I have no idea what the actual words say.

Dreamy fabrics always catch my eye and once upon a time I had a small shop where I concocted delicious potpourris from the leftover petals and leaves of herbs and flowers. Sweet bags were sewn from the brocades and I recently found the box holding the leftover fabrics. The soft floral background is one of those brocades.

I added layers of detail via Elements. A gaussian blur and levels adjustments captured the soft feel I was looking for. Then it was time to layer with textures. I used Solitude by Kristy at Live and Love Out Loud. Kim Klassen's Sweet Treat texture was added twice using soft light mode.

The other two photos also have textures and I used a brush from the French Kiss sampler on the top photo.

I'm linking up with other photographers who are sharing their texture creations at ....

Poetic Winter Photography Challenge

2012-02-03T10:39:00.004-05:00

Bouncing about the Web gives ample opportunity to find inspiration. I stumbled upon a photo challenge that piqued my interest, Poetic Winter Challenge. A team of creative photographers: Rebecca of Bumbles and Light, Faith of Sweet Violet, Kristi of Love and Live Out Loud, and Project Alicia have laid down the gauntlet asking photographers to join them in pursuit of winter beauty. Each Friday in February a word for the week provides inspiration. This week solitude fueled the creative juices.

Winter hasn't spread her glistening white gown over nw Ohio much this year, but winter is still about. I took a walk outside this morning hoping to capture the sun rising in the east reaching pink, orange, or gold fingers out toward furrowed fields, instead fog swirled about a tree firmly entrenched in a hedgerow and I thought...this is solitude.

You'll discover how others view solitude at....

Texture Tuesday: Sweet Simplicity

2012-01-31T12:12:00.001-05:00

There's a sweetness about simplicity,whether it's a photo, a cookie recipe, the song of a robin, or a project.

It's been a couple weeks since I participated in any photo challenges and my but it feels good to join Kim Klassen's Texture Tuesday. The one criteria for this weeks photo challenge: use at least one layer of Kim's texture, simplicity. So here's my one layer-textured photo.

Yesterday I tried a new cookie recipe, Chewy Chocolate Chip and Oatmeal-Raisin Cookies. Oh man...they're a bit healthier, simple to make, but full of flavor. Check them out on the Delish website.

One morning last week I thought I heard a robin singing. I looked out the window to find robins perched in trees, hopping on the ground, and singing to their heart's content as if it was a spring day in May. I opened the door and listened to the sweet, simple melodies that I adore. Surely, I thought, these red-breasted fliers must be on their way to a warmer place. Yesterday, I glanced out the window and the berries still clinging to the shrubs across the street were being devoured by robins.

No, no it's too soon...fly to the south and be warm.

The little cookie bags make sweet, inexpensive party favors or gifts.

I cut out wax paper and folded it over leaving extra at the top. A quick sew up on each side created the bag. Hearts were cut from copies of my mother's handwritten recipes or red paper and then glued to the flap. I added a baker's twine bow. Use double sided tape to hold the flap down and there you have it...a simple bag for a cookie treat.

There's more layers of texture and beauty at....

Have a wonderful day!

In the Pink

2012-01-29T06:43:00.001-05:00

Can you believe it? January is winding down. It's been a tough month for me; one full of frustration. I had such plans for the newly turned page in the book of life. Instead of moving forward and acting upon my word for 2012, imagine, I've mostly been nursing a painful back. My plans to have a go at 365 just couldn't get off the ground, so I'm filing that one away for another year. As we head into the final days of January, things are looking up and I'm in the pink!

Frustration and yes, pain, are part of life, but that doesn't mean we must accept it lying down. Oh no...when life seems too dull and too cloudy there are pink roses...

With soft swirls and a deep center that invites us to imagine...

And bouquets in jars filled with conversation hearts because it's always time for a little romance.

Hey...just so you know

Thanks for the comments and well-wishes through this mean, nasty, no-good, awful, horrible start to 2012!

Red Tulips

2012-01-25T15:18:00.001-05:00

I've been nursing my back after a bit of a relapse. In between ice and heat I did my best to photograph the bouquet of tulips I purchased. This is short, but definitely sweet.

Soon, I hope to be back in the Cottage on the Corner fit as a fiddle and ready to go.

Take Care All!

I should have mentioned those Texture gods and goddesses that add layers of fun to my photos.
Kim Klassen
Shadowhouse Creations
French Kiss

Open

2012-01-17T15:30:00.000-05:00

I've been pondering the word open ever since Kim Klassen challenged photographers to shoot their vision of the word. I thought about open doors, gates, and windows and the old saying, When a door closes, a window opens. I truly believe in that adage, with the realization that when that window cracks open we darn well better crawl through quickly before it slams shut.

My thoughts turned to an open heart embracing love, the creative spirit, gratitude, and each inspiration that beckons us with promise. How to photograph a heart... the inspiration just didn't knock on the closed door.

Next came visions of open jars, bottles, cans, drawers, cupboards, and finally boxes. I can seriously say I adore boxes. I like them pretty, rustic, or plain. An unopened box whispers mystery. What could be inside? Like Pandora's box, is it filled with bad things and one shining speck of hope buried beneath the rubble? Or...as the lid is lifted,do possibilities burst into the world?

This is my take on open and I'm sharing along with many talented photographers for Texture Tuesday.

The photo was layered with two of Kim Klassen's Ben's Collection Textures simply titled #6 and #7.

Scavenger Hunt Sunday

2012-01-15T14:37:00.000-05:00

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A back problem threw me under the bus and I needed some inspiration to get me going after two weeks of doing very little, so I joined Scavenger Hunt Sunday. Ashley Sisk lists five topics for inspiration and challenges participants to share their views. So here's what I saw through the lens...

1. Stacked Up

I love simple, everyday things that can be turned into a lovely sort of thing like pink and brown ribbons stacked up on top of each other with trailing tails. Textured with Kim Klassen's Sweet Tart and Foamy Chocolate Milk from the Coffee Shop.

2. Winter Wonderland

Winter wonderland was a tough one. Like most of the US we've had very little snow here in nw Ohio. We did wake up to a skiff of white powder on Friday morning that's hung around for a couple days. Not quite ready for long walks down icy/snow covered roads, I grabbed the shadowy shot in the back yard.

3. Sweet

Marachino cherries, left over from Christmas baking winked at me from the 'friidge saying, "Oh come on...make us pretty before we spoil." So I did.

4. Hole

I have a hole in my sock, darn it! Nah...I don't darn socks. I added The Coffee Shop texture, Old Whisk.

5. Frozen

I cheated on frozen. I took this photo a year ago before we moved into a house that's tight and doesn't create beautiful frost flowers on windows when the world outside is frozen solid. I am fascinated with the feathery patterns that frost makes.

Take a jaunt to Ramblings and Photos: Scavenger Hunt Sunday and enjoy the views of other amazing photographers.

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Life is Like a Bowl of Cherries

2012-01-13T20:15:00.000-05:00

Electric Sex and More in Cleveland

2012-01-11T15:17:00.000-05:00

Hey! I"ve seen that house before! Hmmmm...but where? Any guesses? If you guessed you saw it in a movie, you're right! This is THE house that Ralphie and Randy lived in. Yep, this is where part of the cult-classic holiday movie, A Christmas Story, was filmed.

The house sits on 11th Street in Cleveland, Ohio, of all places. MJ and I stopped to take a few photos and then returned the next day so my daughter and grandson could see the major award aka "soft gleam of electric sex", standing ooo-la-la in the window.

Ohhhhhhh, fuuuuuuuddge.....

It's the car the that had the flat tire that had to be fixed that got Ralphie in a soapy situation for saying "THE word, the big one, the queen-mother of dirty words. The F-dash-dash-dash word!" "

Across the street there's a museum and.....

a gift shop where you can buy your very own pink bunny suit, mugs, ornaments, hats, sweatshirts, lights, games and yes...even the leg lamp in four different sizes.

The Christmas Story House has a great website that gives all the details of how, where, who, and what. So if you're ever in Cleveland I triple dog dare ya to check it out.

Now onto YOLO.

Not hungry enough to down a full dinner, MJ and I stopped at a new wine bar in Battery Park. Called YOLO, for You Only Live Once, we found the place perfect for sipping and nibbling. We had a cheese board with fig jam that was out of this world spread on a baguette slice and cheeses that ranged from pungent to creamy light. I do enjoy a good glass of wine, good bread, and good conversation...it just doesn't get much better.

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All quotes are from the movie, A Christmas Story, screenplay by Bob Clark

MJ photographed the car and the YOLO interior shot.

Rewinding to Cleveland

2012-01-09T12:36:00.000-05:00

Through the miracle of amazing technology I'm rewinding the days, setting the time for December 2011 and voila! Here we are just after Christmas, spending two wonderful days in Cleveland. The little man visiting relatives in Youngstown, my daughter off with a college friend too seldom seen, and MJ and I roaming the city.

I love Cleveland with its gritty, city dirt that whispers of past prosperous times while maintaining hope that a renaissance is just around the next metro block. While Columbus may be the Ohio urban trend, give me Cleveland with fireworks lighting up the cityscape after an Indians games and the Dog Pound with painted, rabid fans. I'll take the Westside Market...

Little Italy...

where one of my favorite vintage shops dresses up a historic church with joyful celebration. It's Heartstings, a shop owned by the talented Wendy Swindell who displays here myriad of finds with flair and eccentric exuberance.

The magic of vintage and retro doll furnitue on a shelf at Heartstrings. Photo taken by MJ

And the hard edges softened by the holiday lights...

Oh yeah, I'll take Cleveland any ole time.

There's more to Cleveland, so stay tuned this week for more Cleveland love. You just might be surprised!

A Quickie

2012-01-06T13:40:00.000-05:00

Just a quick note...I wrenched my back hauling the Christmas tree outside. Yes, I still believe I'm 25 and can do anything. The last five days forced me to live my chosen word for 2012, i m a g i n e.
As I downed Tylenol and laid with ice on my lower back I imagined what it would be like to not experience a new adventure in pain each time I had to pee. (Sorry, but that is the most painful position to be in) Because I wish the healing process to continue, I won't subject my back to long bouts of strain.

I can't wait to share with you all about the major award...

I'll be back soon and catch up with the backlog of posts I planned to share and visiting those haunts that inspire me, bring about laughter, teach me, and and make me sigh at the beauty shared.

2012-01-01T15:51:00.000-05:00

Reflecting on the past year and considering the year to come, I wanted to choose one word to give shape to the possibilities that lie in the future. Before one foot steps in front of the other, I must imagine where I'm going and what dreams to chase, for I have many. One must imagine before taking action to move dreams forward. So i m a g i n e it is....

What's your word for 2012? How do you plan to put your word in motion?

Happy New Year

2011-12-31T16:32:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas

2011-12-24T18:20:00.000-05:00

Bad Photo

2011-12-22T15:48:00.002-05:00

Sooooo....I didn't have a lot of time today to take a photo to use with Kim Klassen's texture, Rejoice. Nope, it was a rushed affair. I've been taking a photo everyday rather than delve into my stash. Anyhow...the photo turned out bad and it didn't fit with the texture at all. No matter which way I tried to spin it I had problems getting the look I wanted.

Bad photo, that's what it is.

So what to do... hide it in the trash, tell everyone a stranger grabbed my camera and shot this hideous photo, or go ahead and stick it on the blog saying to the world.... Hey I'm not perfect! I chose the latter.

So without further adieu let me introduce to you the Charlie Brown Christmas tree of photos...

Eeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww......

Now if you want to see photos that really make Kim's textures pop head to her website blog.

PS You will not find this photo on my flickr photostream.

Christmas Greens

2011-12-21T12:09:00.000-05:00

The fresh smell of pine wafts through the house when the tree is brought in to be decorated. It was an exciting time when we went off to find the Christmas, whether it was cut-fresh from a tree farm or selected from a local Christmas tree vendor it's what I imagine the bringing in of the yule log must have been like from the Christmases of long, long ago. The stories of ancient Christmas traditions fascinates me. I prefer to use fresh greens over artificial. Fresh white pine that reminds of me of spidery fireworks in shades of green creates a base. The legendary holly bearing plump red berries is so lovely to set upon window sills and add to garlands, wreaths, and in arrangements. And then, English ivy, the little evergreen with so much spunk that it will grow up stone and brick walls.

So I gathered a few greens and those bright berries that wink at me outside my window. Placed in an English trug the greens and berries could be from the Christmases of Eleanor of Aquitaine or Anne Boleyn. I love that about Christmas...the tradition, the legends, the lore, the memories.

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The textures used on the photo are Kim Klassen's new one for today, Providence layered twice, and then Edward to add a timeless look. You'll find more tantalizing textured treasures at....

Make a Joyful Noise

2011-12-20T14:18:00.001-05:00

Music has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Around the age of 7 or 8 I taught myself to play the piano. I was gifted with the ability to play the piano by ear. My sister, B, started taking piano lessons. She came home, sat at the old upright and practiced scales and songs. I listened closely and waited with anxious anticipation for her to be finished. Now it was my turn to pick out the notes through trial and error that she'd just played. It wasn't long until side-by-side we sat at the piano, B showing and teaching me how to read music. I never learned correct fingering, but I learned to play the piano well enough without ever taking a lesson from a teacher besides my sister.
I played trumpet and French horn in the band, but it was always the piano that enchanted me. Then one day I had a little girl of my own. She learned to play the piano through the instruction of several area pianists, but she wanted to play the flute.

And boy...could she play the flute. Her sound was rich with lush bravado. To this day I love the sound of the flute, the violin, and the piano, my three favorite instruments.

When I think back music enriched my life from the deep baritone of my dad's voice to the sweet lilting notes of my daughter's flute. My sister went on to get her degree in music and teach. I went on to play the piano in the solitary confines of the parlor, and my daughter...once in a great while she picks up her flute and makes a joyful noise that this mama adores.

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Oh that Kim Klassen! She's done it again with yet another lovely texture titled, Lola. The flute photo is layered with Lola and also Kim's Wonderful Magic Stars. Search for more textured beauties here...

More Texturizing

2011-12-19T13:52:00.000-05:00

I'm collecting each of Kim Klassen's textures, but I've not had time to put them into action so I'm behind. Here's a couple photos I with a couple of her textures.

The first one, Snow Globe, has been textured with first storm and then more magic scratches.

The second photo has a layer of storm also and then a layer of wonderful magic scripted, another charming texture created by Kim Klassen.

I hope each of you are making merry as the holidays approach on a fast sleigh of time.

Day 3 & 4: Ribbons & Bows

2011-12-16T13:06:00.001-05:00

There's just so much to do: gifts to wrap, cards to finish (yes, I'm late), gingerbread men to create, and more baking. With all this busy, I missed yesterday's 12 Days of Textures, but I'm using the two textures Kim offered on today's photos. I'm all about ribbons and bows. I've said it before: I love ribbons of all colors and kinds. One can never have too many ribbons.

This photo was layered with Look-Up first, followed by Edward, yesterday's texture.

I cross-processed With Love and then added today's texture gift: Zuzu. Kim does an amazing job creating these lovelies that adds to the story of each photo with depth and pattern. I'm so lovin' this 12 days of textures that I've challenged myself to complete. Wanna see more texture love? Click below...

I hope you find time to savor the moments leading up to Christmas with a cup of tea, a hint of serenity, and a heaping helping of love.

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Now a Rant and a Plea

For the last couple weeks I've been having problems viewing the blogs of others. Some of the images come through, but then others do not. I have no idea why I'm having this problem. It's frustrating to no end. I've researched the problem, followed the instructions all for naught...nothing changed. Anyone have any ideas why there are red X's in the corners where images should appear? Any solutions?

Also, I'm having problems commenting on some blogs. For some reason, I keep getting sent back to change my Google ID. After re-typing the information all ready there, I'm sent back again. I can't give different information because there's only the one. Any suggestions or ideas would be so appreciated.

Day 3: Of Inspiration & Red Berries

2011-12-14T12:00:00.000-05:00

Inspiration is all around, often in the most obscure places and things. The red berries that I see outside my window have been a source of inspiration and beauty through fall and still they cling to the branch as winter fast approaches. It's the color red, like a shiny object, that draws me in.

This is day three of Kim Klassen's 12 Days of Textures. I used two of the textures for today's photo. The first, Lily, was multiplied on to the photo and faded a tad. The new texture for today, Cosmos, was overlayed on top and faded to 42%. Do you see that light in the distance? That's the light coming from creative souls you can find at .....

Day 2: Mom's Recipe Box

2011-12-13T12:09:00.001-05:00

One of the happiest holiday memories I hold deep in my soul is baking with my mom and siblings. What fun we had frosting cookies and each other. Oh my the glorious smells that wafted through the house during the holidays...sugar cookies, gingerbread men, peanut butter blossoms, and many more. She was a passionate candy maker, too. Chocolate fudge, peanut butter fudge, penuche fudge, divinity, peanut brittle, buckeyes, caramels and taffy filled tins.

As we grew up and moved on with our own lives, we still came together to make candy. By the time each of us arrived the recipe box was open with a stack of recipes at the ready. We got busy kneading, mixing, dipping, and creating. Sisters and sister-in-laws came and went as life sent us in various directions, but the tradition continued for those who could make it until my mom became too ill to open her recipe box.

Now when I hold those recipes in my hands and admire the lovely handwriting that was my mom's I can hear the music of her kitchen; the deep, rich sounds of Bing Crosby singing White Christmas, the laughter of the ladies in my life, and for a moment she is right here once again.

*Blowing a kiss to the heavens above*

This is day two of Kim Klassen's 12 Days of Textures. Each day she's sharing a texture that can be downloaded for free. Here's your chance to give textures a try on your photography. Follow the cookie crumb trail here.

Celebrate Them Home

2011-12-12T10:59:00.000-05:00

I've not done so well capturing 25 days in December, but maybe I can get in Kim Klassen's Twleve Days of Texture. She's giving away a texture each day for the next 12 days. It's amazing how a texture tells a different photographic story.

The ornament hangs on my friend MJ's tree. It's one of those lovely retro ornaments that we hold dear and inspires to recall Christmas past. Each year as I decorate I am reminded how I got this ornament, where that Santa came from, and mostly of those that are no longer near by. Oh how I wish I could celebrate them home.

I fell in love with today's texture, Lily, by Kim Klassen. Find more texture love here.

Of Buckeyes & Holidays

2011-12-08T15:30:00.000-05:00

Here in Ohio we're all about buckeyes. Yep, we gather buckeyes, the nuts from an indigenous tree, and add them to our fall decor. My family cheers the Buckeyes on every fall Saturday, even through tough times. And when the holidays roll around...it's time to make...

It's a tradition in my family to spend a couple hours mixing the creamy peanut butter center, shaping into balls,and then dipping in chocolate leaving a circle on top. The end result looks just like a buckeye.

Mmmmmm....buckeye love!

Even if you don't live in Ohio you can give these tasty little treats a try. They're easy to make and oh my....it's melt-in-your-mouth, peanut butter goodness.

B u c k e y e s

1/2 cup of crunchy or creamy peanut butter

1/4 lb. of butter

3/4 lb (2 2/3 cups) confectioner's sugar

12 ounces of Nestle chocolate chips

A bit less than a 1/4 bar of paraffin

To a large bowl add peanut butter, butter, and confectioner's sugar. Mix ingredients with your hands until the mixture becomes well blended and creamy, but firm. Refrigerate for an hour or so. Roll into 1/2 inch to 3/4 inch balls and refrigerate until firm.

Pour chocolate chips into the top of a double boiler and shave paraffin using a vegetable peeler on top. Melt chocolate and paraffin until all is smooth. Using toothpicks dip each ball into the chocolate leaving a circle of the peanut butter middle showing on top. Place buckeyes on parchment or waxed paper and let set until chocolate is no longer sticky to touch. Do not place in 'fridge to set.

Enjoy!

PS There IS a difference between horse chestnuts and buckeyes.

Texture Tuesday: Celebrate Light

2011-12-06T12:01:00.000-05:00

When I think about the word celebrate a multitude of images comes to mind. Delicious foods shared with family and friends, shouts of Happy Birthday and Congratulations, laughter, witty banter, and light...yes light. So many celebrations bring out the candles from birthday cakes to romantic dinner tables to mantles dressed up for the holidays. For a romantic like me, candles say it all.

I used two different textures created by Kim Klassen. The first layer, added after cropping, was Look-Up. I faded it a bit. The last layer, Pour Vous, was also faded. The photo was taken in my light box. I picked up poster board and cut it to size for the background and what a difference it makes. Definitely smoother.

Kim Klassen hosts Textured Tuesday each week where a bounty of photographers add their textured beauties. Click the box belong and be swept away...

Holiday Shopping & Stuff

2011-12-02T13:42:00.001-05:00

There's something going on around here. Little shops are springing up and it's exciting! Last Saturday, MJ and I galivanted about Williams County visiting shops. To give you a bit of background...Williams county lies in the very northwest corner of Ohio bordered by Indiana to the west and Michigan to the north. With a population of less than 38,000 you just know there's room to stretch. The county was hit hard by the economic woes the country faces and as of October 2011 the unemployment rate continues in double digits at 10%.

So what's a rural area that relied on Detroit to do?

Get creative! Set up shop! And oh how imaginative entrepeneurs are grabbing on to the possibilities and making them work...

Our first stop was at a holiday shop in West Unity. You'll hear more about that shop in a later post, so let's travel down the road to Stryker, Ohio and...

The Green Awning

Yep, I've given you a bit of insight into the Green Awning in a previous post,but let me tell you...Kathy & Tom Short do it up right for the holidays. Everything was bright, cheerful, and beautiful from antiques & old stuff in the window...

to the clove-studded oranges beneath an old stove...

After catching up with old friends and laughing at Kathy's Christmas hat, with a wave we were on way to Bryan and the...

East Mulberry Gift Cottage

What vintage love is found within the whimsical vignettes of Sharon & Gary Gyurnek's shop. Birds in purses, perched on iron farm implement seats and everywhere creates a natural ambiance that pulls browsers and buyers into Sharon's world. Look up....

to find teacups hanging from twiggy branches on soft, silken ribbons.

Look down...

and there it is... a vintage suitcase just waiting to come home with me and be filled with dreams of far away places and crazy adventures.

Across the square sits Special Ocassions,one of my favorite stores in the area. I'm saving this little gem for another post, so let's hurry out of town and to...

Fox Farms Christmas in the Barn

A clutch of hens and roosters greeted us as we walked toward the big barn. Just outside the barn, a whimsical arrangement bid welcome and enter

Within the barn everlastings hung in huge bundles, ready to be crafted into wreaths, swags, garlands, and more.

A loft circled with tiny white lights held more drieds

Karin Fox takes the everlastings and fashions one- of-a-kind-wreaths-and-designs. The Barn is open every Saturday through December 10th.

The Green Awning Gallery

Tom & Kathy Short

106 Defiance Street

Stryker, Ohio 43557

(419) 682-7432

E. Mulberry Gift Cottage

Sharon & Gary Gyurnek

847 E Mulberry Street

Bryan, Ohio 43506

(419) 630-0100

Hours: Tuesday - Friday 10-6 Saturday 10-4

Fox Farms

Jerry & Karin Fox

09 319 Rd 750

Edon, Ohio 43518

(419) 272-2278

Open every Saturday through December 10th 10-4

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A December Photo Challenge: 25 photos in 25 days

December 1 Berries & Bokeh

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I'm not quite finished. Don't forget about the Holiday Planner under the Gift for You page. You're welcome to download, copy it, print it, and share it anyway and anywhere you like.

Have a delightful December Day!

Texture Tuesday: Gratitude

2011-11-29T12:32:00.000-05:00

November is coming to a close and this is my last gratitude post, so I'm once again joining the talented photographers that submit photos to Kim Klassen's Texture Tuesday. The inspiration behind this weeks' photos was gratitude. If you've never journaled your gratitude, you really should give it a go. Before you nod off for a night's rest, jot down five things that you're grateful for. There's a sense of well-being when we're thankful for the little things that make a life: the beauty of rain on a petal, the silly knock-knock joke your 8 year told you, the pretty ribbon found in the bottom of a box.

I took the photo in my homemade light box, but it's just not quite big enough, so I'll be constructing a bigger, better one soon. The photo was a little over-exposed and I left it alone. I typed in the text and faded it out some. I added Kim Klassen's texture, music lovin', and faded it a bit, too.

Now dash over to Kim's Cafe for more texture photos and become inspired.

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T06:11:00.000-05:00

Another great vintage image from The Graphics Fairy

Gratitude & a Gift

2011-11-22T14:02:00.000-05:00

I found memories and creation dreams left behind in a box that remained closed for nearly 15 years. Tucked inside were mounds of fabric, lace, ribbon, and of all things jingle bells. The luxurious sheen of a pastel brocade, the sweet fleurs on a French ribbon, and the delicate beauty of cream lace made my heart delight in simple things. I'm thankful that I found that box filled with such lovely textiles, but I'm even more grateful to be on this journey of finding those things I left behind, rediscovered, and still they bring so much joy.

This photo, taken in my homemade lightbox, has two textures adding a bit more vintage and age. I used Kim Klassen's Portrait & And then Some textures on the photo after using a sepia tone, faded a bit to bring out the color. If texture is your thing, check out more textured photos at Kim Klassen's cafe.

What's a Light Box?

If you're as curious as I was after reading this post at You'll Shoot Your Eye Out, then go ahead and follow the trail to Leavesnbloom Photography and just when you think you're there...follow me down the rabbit hole to Ramblings and Photos Enjoy the journey!

A Gift for You

I love messing about on the computer and I also love planners. So I came up with the idea to create a Holiday Planner. Time is flying and getting organized for the holidays just makes sense. So...you can download the entire planner in pdf form. Pick up a folder with pockets and voila! You'll have everything at your fingertips from gift list to menu planner to a calendar. You'll also find the websites of angels who offer some wonderful free images and recipe cards. I've included a sugar cookie recipe that is a family heirloom. These are the best sugar cookies ever! Just click on the Gift for You page and you'll find the planner.

Happy Holidays!

Gratitiude

2011-11-18T15:45:00.001-05:00

SOOC on a Frosty Morning

I've been struggling with my gratitude post this week. Not because I have nothing to be grateful for, but because I have so many blessings that I can't decide which ones to write about. So I'm doing a free thought writing exercise...from head to fingers to blog.

Early in the week I received marvelous news from a friend that the health scare he had a few weeks ago isn't so scary after all because a broken elbow is much easier to mend than a broken heart. My heart sings for CP and gratitude overflows for both the good news and the friendship we share.

If I had to describe my friend MJ in two words it would be this...loving heart. She is the most generous, loving person I know. I thank my lucky stars that we became friends those many years ago and have stood steadfast by each other.

This morning I took a walk in the yard soaking up the frost, in the air and on the ground. The yard was lovely, leaves clinging to branches reminded me of the gentle Fall of Freddie the Leaf,

and the little rose that's still budding and blooming spoke of the courage to keep on even when the odds are against you. For nature's subtle reminders I am grateful.

Have a lovely day!

Texture Tuesday: Who's Got the Button?

2011-11-15T09:34:00.000-05:00

Remember the rainy day game button, button...who's got the button? I do! I found these colorful bits of yesterday at The Green Awning in Stryker, Ohio. I may use them in a project, but before I do I just had to photograph them.

On second thought...I may just keep the little pretties in a jar.

You guessed it! This photo has one of Kim Klassen's amazing textures. This week it's all about Phoebe. I used the Phoebe texture twice after cropping, softening just a tad, and adding a bit of cross processing. Take a look at more textured sweetness, just follow the button below...

Homegrown & Handmade

2011-11-14T10:27:00.002-05:00

Off to a farm we went on Saturday morning.

There were sheep, alpacas, and smiling llamas

And the people who love and care for them...

Baskets filled with colorful skeins of spun alpaca yarn caught the eye..

What a journey...from alpaca to stylish hat

I hope readers join me in supoort of local growers & producers everywhere. Check out what's in your area and then stop in. You just might discover something delightful.

I realized that I forgot to include the information about the vendors and hosts of the farm fair.

Evening Star Farm

Diane & Terry Perkins

04917 County Road 22.75

Stryker, Ohio 43557

(419) 682-9137

One of the other farms showing their animals and goods was Winding Creek Alpacas and Llamas, please check out their website or blog for more information

November Gratitude

2011-11-09T12:19:00.000-05:00

Like the November rose I photographed on Sunday, I'm a bit ragged at times and bruised by life's hard edges, but I'm ever so thankful for joys and simple blessings.

I'm going to take Sarah Ban Breathnach's advice and share five things I'm thankful today...today when gray skies opened and rain falls on the chilled November ground.

1. I am thankful for family. They are the foundation that continually holds me up.

Photograph of my daughter and grandson by Nicole Lovins

2. There are two men who came into my life 8 years ago. One delights me every day with his brown eyes and silly antics. The other has encouraged and supported me through good & bad decisions. For these two special people I give thanks.

3. It's the small, unexpected blessings that are often overlooked, like the fact that I forgot to turn off the coffee maker before I left the house this morning. My negligence provided a hot cup of coffee when I came home chilled and damp and boy did it taste good.

4. Cloves, cinnamon, & nutmeg. Oh yes, I'm thankful for those three spices that add a layer of delicious to cookies, pies, apples, and my home.

5. I got my mojo back and oh how I thankful I am that I'm writing with passionate fervor once again.

So what are you grateful for today? Anything in particular? Wanna share?

Have a grand day!

Simple Gifts & Gratitude

2011-11-03T08:13:00.000-04:00

This fall I have experienced a renewing of my spirit through simple gifts that nature has bestowed upon me.

I've watched trees don brilliant gowns of orange, red, and yellow. Though rain fell heavy and the wind blew hard I found pleasure in watching leaves soar high before finding peace on the soft earth. There's been backyard hot dog roasting over an open fire and sticky s'more eating. Then for one evening the world turned magical as children came a knocking for treats.

I found myself lost in writing, once again, as I continue working on my first fiction novel determined to submit it to be published...somewhere...somehow.

How easy it is to take for granted the simple gift of walking until a knee is injured and walking from one room to the next brings tears of pain and frustration. And what elation when that knee bends with only a twinge of discomfort.

I am grateful for these small gifts and like diamonds on a leaf each one holds a treasure trove of wonder and possibilities.

Throughout November I'm planning gratitude posts much like the gratitude journal suggested by Sara Ban Breathnach in her book Peace and Plenty. She says, "The gratitude journal is a polite, daily thank you note to the Universe." Although I won't be posting daily gratitude thoughts, I will at least once a week.

Have a wonderful fall day and a may you find grace in your November days!

Texture Tuesday

2011-11-01T09:11:00.001-04:00

Today is Texture Tuesday over at Kim Klassen's Cafe.

I used two of Kim's fabulous textures: Cracker Jack first, the second layer is And Then...

In the mood for more textured eye candy? Just click on the button below...

Happy Halloween

2011-10-31T16:33:00.000-04:00

Leaf-strewn streets beckoned on a chilly fall evening

And out they came...

Witches and...

Goblins and...

And Costumed Creatures...

A lady with a feline dilemma made me laugh

And I admired the red shoes of a clown.

An unlikely pair strolled on by...

For the scene is set and the time is nigh for...

Witching You a Most Haunting Halloween Night!

Vintage Love at The Green Awning Gallery

2011-10-27T10:41:00.001-04:00

I'm a sucker for vintage and antique chachka. From thread wound on wood spools to 300 year old houses, I'm drawn into the story. Everything on this little planet has a story and though I might not know it or ever hear it, I tend to imagine what came before.

There's a shop, The Green Awning, owned by Tom and Kathy Short located in Stryker, Ohio. I've known Tom and Kathy since my kids started kindergarten many moons ago. I stopped by with camera in hand to photograph the shop that displays vintage niceties, antique and Amish-made furniture, candles, and a room full of mixes, jams and jellies.

If you've a moment, come along and I'll show what caught my eye in The Green Awning Gallery.

This table that drew me in right away...

Halloween will soon be here,but until the calendar says November 1st, it's still all about jack-o-lanterns, goblins, and witches.

Kathy has created vignettes using like items that tell a story....

The cream luggage topped with a sweet sheet set reminded me of my sister going away to college in the '60s.

I fell in love with this charming stove and would have it in my kitchen, if I lived in the right style of house.

And then there were the colorful dishes....

What an eclectic mix of colors that add vibrance to the table.

There are so many pretties in the shop with the green awning out front. The clear glass twinkled among fairy lights...

Kathy and I talked for about an hour as I snapped photos. I mentioned that I'd love to take some photos of the bicycle in her front yard. She sugested I not only photograph the bike, but walk around the yard and see how she decorated her back fence. Well...the photos of the bike didn't turn out like I'd hoped, but you have to see the whimsy of her back fence....

Yep, all along her fence on both sides are antique and vintage plates and platters; cracked, chipped, and still used for decorationg because each one is lovely.

The sweet cluster of flowers in the center of creamy white and the soft green edge of the plate against the fence called out, "Take a picture of me!" So I did!

The Green Awning Gallery in Stryker is a great place to visit. The prices are more than reasonable, the proprietors, Kathy and Tom, engaging, and there's so much to see. I'm planning to go back for the Christmas Open House, November 10th and yes, I'll have my camera with me.

The Green Awning Gallery

106 Defiance Street

Stryker,Ohio 43557

(419) 682-7432

Owners: Tom & Kathy Short

Across the street from the Green Awning Gallery stands a brick house that I've pined over for 30 years. I imagined creating an herb and flower shop inside and gardens outside. The house is empty now, needs lots of repair, but oh how I'd love to put out my shingle and welcome visitors to the door...

Just one more. The window above the door is framed in wrought iron and adds more character to the house.

Oh to dream....

Mom's Diner

2011-10-19T10:09:00.000-04:00

A week ago, we stopped at Mom's Diner for a bite to eat.

Located in Archbold, Ohio, Mom's Diner is one of those places that remains in the psyche because the burger buns are baked fresh in the kitchen, the milkshakes are thick and creamy, and the ambiance is 1950 diner.

I admit it, I'm captivated by the neon lights, vintage signs on the wall and the juke box...

It's a place loaded with memories of sharing pizza with friends after watching our little leaguers, grabbing a burger before viewing the Christmas lights, and stopping by for pie and ice cream just because.

Mom's Diner is one of those places that I'm thankful exists. It's a favorite of my grandsons and one of my favorite dining experiences, too.

Mom's Diner

213 N Defiance Street

Archbold, Ohio

419.443.5060

Of Autumn, Mums and a Tabby Cat

2011-10-12T14:51:00.000-04:00

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.

~ George Eliot

I do so love chrysanthemums. The flower of my birth month, November, and the queen of autumn.

Looks like a quick puff of colored smoke? he asked.

~ from the short story Chrysanthemums by John Steinbeck

Are the leaves starting to change colors where you live?

Above the chimney a tree is ablaze in orange.

And the tabby cat, Toadie, sitting on a pumpkin.

I hope you're savoring the glorious autumn moments that come your way.

Texture Tuesday: Gratitude

2011-10-04T09:58:00.000-04:00

I love what's happening outside right now. I love how nature slowly creates an autumn masterpiece that reminds me to show gratitude for the simple things that add up to a life.

Today is Texture Tuesday over at Kim Klassen's Cafe The inspiration for this photo was gratitude. I kicked it up a notch by using two of Kim's textures, Nature's Beauty and Portrait. I flipped portrait and used it twice for added texture. If you're fascinated by the use of textures and want to see more head over to....

2011-09-27T07:57:00.000-04:00

A mid-size house project is underway, so I don't have much time. I wanted to share with you two photos from one of the many fall celebrations that went on over the weekend. It seemed every small town in nw Ohio honored the autumnal equinox with a street fair. Even though the day was chilled with sprinkles and gray clouds hung overhead, my sister, sister-in-law, and I chose to walk the streets of Fayette in search of fall. We found gourds, mums, flea market items, home-baked goods galore, and one store selling retro bottles of soda pop just like when we were kids. (more on the soda pop in another post)

I found a few things I was looking for....mums

Yep, there were chrysanthemums 2 for $5.00. What a great price. And of course colorful gourds and mini-pumpkins, 6 for $1.00! Decorating for song.

A hear the call of a paintbrush so I must run. I hope you have a wonderful fall Tuesday!

Of Rain & Dreams

2011-09-19T11:52:00.000-04:00

It’s raining here this morning. A gray September day when lighting a candle is a must to inspire cheerful dreaming. And I am dreaming… I’m dreaming of gardens to come. Since the move we’ve spent most of our time concentrating on the inside with unpacking, painting, sewing curtains, organizing, creating personal pockets of home. A thank you and welcome to our new home party is in the planning stages, but I’m ready to take serious action under the ever-changing canopy of sunshine, clouds, and rain. Let me share with you places that need attention and my dreams for each area.

The entry way to our home is very simple, just a door painted a creamy white flanked by two boxwoods that I love. Yes, I am a big fan of boxwood shrubs. Beyond the boxwood are beds and yews. I am not a fan of yew, but for now the shrubs will remain. Unfortunately, the beds are full of weeds including a healthy growth of poison ivy. I do not like to use chemical weed killer, but dealing with poison ivy requires a hands-off technique. A cottage garden with a mixture of perennials, bulbs, and annuals would soften the line where house meets earth. There's a slip of grass between the bed and the sidwalk that I'd like to turn into bed. Imagining the walk edged in lavender and pretty bedding plants makes me smile.

Around the corner a hill adds angst to my mowing life. As I mow, I lean hard in the opposite direction in anticipation of the mower tipping over.

"Why not turn that nuisance hill into terrace garden?" suggested my former sister-in-law and friend. I've never done a terraced garden, but I think it's time to give it a go.

Cottonwood, pine trees, and a beautiful redbud create a shady back yard. The plan is to open up the backyard a bit by trimming trees. There's plenty of room for shady plants like hosta, heucheras, hellebores, and oh how I'd love a hydrangea or three.

Just beyond the fenced in part of the yard lies a square raised bed with a tree in the center. A dozen birdfeeders hung from the little tree and below a snarling quagmire of weeds. I envision a sweet little bed of shade plants surrounding a birdbath or one charming feeder on a post.

The house sits on a double lot and on the other side of the garage is plenty of open area for a vegetable garden, a strawberry patch, and a row of rhubarb. As I stare out the window I dream of having gardens filled with flowers again and I can barely breathe from the thought.

Textured Barn on Tuesday

2011-09-13T10:03:00.000-04:00

It's Texture Tuesday which gives me an excuse to use Kim Klassen's fabulous textures. It was photographer's choice this week: Use Kim's wonderful texture, autumn burst, or show how the word "DO" inspired your photography creativity using at least one of Kim's textures that she offers to subscribers. And by the way, did I mention, they're free?

A world lies within the walls of a barn. Neighborhoods of animals converse across rails while slits of sunlight cast a beam on yesterday's straw dust. Mothers cry for the young, owls scream in the dark, and stamping, snorting and cud-chewing provide a background. The laughter of long-gone children remains high above the floor bouncing from rafter to rafter. Oh yes, those four walls that make up a barn are a community, country, and world all its own.

I must admit...I did some heavy processing on this one. It has two layers of Kim's autumn burst texture, one upside down. I changed the colors by using a 60s app, fiddled with opacity and levels, softened it and turned the exposure up a bit. In short, I highlighted, softened, faded, twisted, colored, and added to this photo of a simple barn on County Road G.

Check out how others used textures for their inspiring photography at...............

Walking & a Winery

2011-09-09T15:29:00.002-04:00

I went walking this morning...something that I've been planning to do for the last week or so, but the rain kept me in. This morning, the misty weather be damned, I grabbed my camera and an umbrella and away I went down the country road. I didn't have a clear vision where I'd wander to,but in the back of my mind was Stoney Ridge Farm & Winery. It's a small winery that the Stotz family began in 2002. It's such a wonderful surprise to find this bit of cultural sophistication in rural northwest Ohio.

A few trucks and cars lined the drive and I wondered...could it be picking time? I sauntered up the drive and yes, lo and behold, there was a small group plucking grapes from bursting vines. One of the pickers was the owner, Pam Stotz. She gave me permission to photograph and so I did.

Picking Hands

Harvested Grapes

I heard it through the grapvine...

There is something so magical about the twisting, winding grape vine that looks like an ancient man barely able to wait for that first sip of the elixir of gods.

"What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes."

~Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Pam Stotz pointed out to me rows of grapes called Leon. I was amazed at how plump and full each cluster of grapes was. The little purple spheres were tightly packed as if held by an unseen hand.

I'm so very glad I went for a walk this morning.

Stitching

2011-09-07T11:17:00.001-04:00

Wanted: A needle swift enough to sew this poem into a blanket.

~ Charles Simic

Photograph textured with Kim Klassen's If Only. I used it twice flipping it and adding the second layer of texture so there would be stitching on the bottom, too. Oh what lovely, fun things you can do with photography!

September, Texture, and Tuesday

2011-09-06T12:10:00.001-04:00

August is five days in the past and it’s time to take a broom to the Cottage on the Corner. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here and there’s some maintenance to be done. The cobwebs in the corner sport little spiders that scurried in when the weather went from 90 to 65 within a day or so. I prefer to throw the windows wide open so I can hear the blue jay cry out to friends and foes even as a chilled breeze rustles my newly made curtains. Yep, my friend MJ helped me make curtains for my bedroom and office area…simplicity in linen-like fabric and I like them very much. The freshly painted white bookcases my dad built many years ago stand on either side of my farmhouse table turned desk. Yeats, Shakespeare, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and Winnie the Pooh all share space on the shelves. Have I mentioned how much I love the deep sills? Eight inches! That’s eight inches of space to set a glass hurricane candle with a shell-filled bottom, a place to display an apothecary jar or cloche, and plenty of room for photos, mementos, and cats.

I’m ready to get back to photography, too. I’ve missed so many opportunities, but there’s so many more to come. Today I’m joining Kim Klassen’s Texture Tuesday. I photographed wooden spools of thread inside an old Atlas canning jar. I did a wee bit of editing: cropping, saturate the color just a bit, gave it a cross processing and flipped Kim's crackerjack texture on to the photo. I lessened the opacity and called it finished.

May your Tuesday be all you want it be!

August Break 7 ABC 123

2011-08-23T11:47:00.000-04:00

I joined Kim Klassen's Texture Tuesday today with the theme Back to School. It's been awhile since I fooled around with photography, but I'm anxious to get back to it. After cross-processing the photo and adding text (ABC 123) I added a layer of Kim's Magic Scratches followed by a her 123 texture. I like the vintage look I achieved. Wanna see more textured treasures? You'll find plenty of links at Kim Klassen Cafe.

Have most marvelous day!

August Break 6 Soft Days

2011-08-22T18:54:00.000-04:00

Soft days are the ones when the sky beams blue and the wind touches your face whispering of changes to come.

Do you know what a lake buffer is? I didn't either, so I looked it up and I certainly admire the nearby farmer/landowner that joined the program. Curious? You can find out more here.

August Break 5

2011-08-17T08:54:00.000-04:00

Can't you see? I'm simply marvelous!

August Break 4

2011-08-16T08:30:00.000-04:00

August Diamonds

August Break 3

2011-08-12T10:29:00.000-04:00

On the street where I live...

Good Morning Glory

2011-08-02T10:14:00.001-04:00

The August Break 2

Good Morning Glory

The August Break

2011-08-01T19:46:00.000-04:00

I figure The August Break is a good way to ease my way back into blogging now that the big move is in the past. There will still be boxes to unpack and organizing to do, but I think I'm good for one photo a day through the month of August.

August Break 1

Toadie (SOOC)

On the Horizon

2011-07-26T10:21:00.000-04:00

“Throw your dreams into space like a kite, and you do not know what it will bring back, a new life, a new friend, a new love, a new country.” ~Anais Nin

And I might add…a new home.

Exhausted. Excited. Tired. Stressed. Hot. Anxious. Ready. Overwhelmed. Prepared.

What a mix of words that describe my current state. I am all these things and more. Moving is no picnic, but it’s a prime opportunity to reevaluate life from what’s in the back of the closet and do I…want it, need it, can’t live without it to what’s in the back of my mind that’s ready to spring forward.

I’m packing more boxes today and wondering how we accumulated so much ‘stuff.’ Yep, we’re whispering the toss, sell/giveaway, or save mantra with each item. A yard sale in a couple weeks will offer our cast offs to treasure hunters and it’s so true…one person’s junk is another person’s treasure, but I admit, I have problems getting rid of certain things, like….

Pretty cards sent by family or friends Pretty dishes covered in dainty flowers

Holiday decorations

Fabric Stationery and Paper Clay pots Shoes

AND

Tea accoutrements.

I have several tea infusers of various types, teapots, an assortment of teacups, and charming silver tea strainers. Now what do I need four or five strainers for? I have no idea, but I just can’t quite give them up….yet.

In a few days the furniture and appliances will be loaded and delivered. I’m so ready for this move that I can barely stand the wait. It’s good there’s so much to do and I fall into bed at night tired, achy, but satisfied. The next time I post, it will be from a new place.

Red Cottage on the Corner

2011-07-18T13:42:00.000-04:00

I am moving. For the sixth time in nearly twelve years, boxes line the edges of my existence. As I pack, I’m transported back to other moves…the move from small town girl to life on a farm. After twenty years and a divorce, I moved with my son back to town. Then came the great adventure of moving from northwest Ohio to Cape Cod Massachusetts. I moved from a single home on the Cape to sharing a home before I moved back to Ohio. Another move found me in yet another small town and now I’m moving once again, but somehow I doubt it will be my last move. For a lady who grew up in the same house in the same town and then lived in the same place for over 20 years of her adult life, I sure have been a wandering soul in the last few years.

One of the remarkable things about each of the homes I’ve lived in, with one exception, is that they were all on a corner. I wonder what it is about me and houses or cottages on corners.

So here I go again…the house I’m moving to is a charming red cottage that sits on a corner in what was once the tiniest of villages, but is now laughingly called a suburb of the county seat. My family has a long history in this wee place and the roots of my children’s heritage runs deep through the rich, farming soil of this area. As my daughter said, “It’s like coming home.”

Right now mature trees shade the back yard and lightening bugs flash a welcome greeting. There’s so much to look forward to…the woods across the street putting on a show of color when summer gives way to autumn, placing a pine wreath on the front door for the holidays, the lilac outside my window blooming in spring, and flowers….yes here I can grow all the flowers I want in beds, along the sidewalk, in the front and in the back. There’s room to grow, to create, and to bloom.

I painted the walls of my bedroom/office in the perfect color, dried hydrangea and you just know somewhere in that room there will be reminders and remembrances of Cape Cod. I have plans to build a screen and cover it in wonderful fabric, sew roman shades with a little help from a friend, and place my photography in artful displays.

There’s so much to love about this little house and much to do in the next two weeks. I’ll pop in when I can, I’ll relax by visiting your blogs, reading your words, sighing over the photos and artistic endeavors, and try to comment when I can.

Of Thank You & Changes

2011-07-05T10:06:00.000-04:00

I read a post somewhere about not apologizing for not blogging or something like that. While I get the idea, I do feel I owe faithful visitors some kind of explanation for extended lapses in posting or commenting. I value the readers who take time to visit The Cottage on the Corner and leave a comment. So thank you! You are much appreciated and treasured.

Change is a good thing. It's through changes that we grow, at least I do and I can feel it in my bones...a growth spurt is happening. This has been a busy summer so far and the busy is morping into busier! I'm going to try and be a better blogger in the coming weeks, but at this time The Cottage on the Corner must continue to take a place of less prominence in my life. A few weeks down the road, I'll likely be off the grid for awhile, but I'll be back to open the doors to the Cottage on the Corner and bid you welcome, but for now...

May your summer be as a happy as a sunflower

And as golden as a field of ripe wheat beneath a 4th of July sky

Boys of Summer

2011-06-06T18:40:00.000-04:00

“To be good, you’ve got to have a lot of little boy in you.”

~ Roy Campanella

We are surrounded by children and the wonder of it all takes my breath away. Since early May we’ve been ensconced in minor league baseball for 7-9 year old boys. The league that my grandson plays in takes the task of teaching impressionable youngsters the game of baseball quite seriously. Teams of nine or ten are formed so each child can play as much as possible, which has good points and bad. With a team of nine every boy gets to play the entire game, but if a child is sick, injured, or vacationing, a full team will not take the field unless a stand-in is found. As this mini-season wears on I’ve once again been experiencing the good, the bad, and the ugly of youth baseball.

Throughout this month of watching children play a game I enjoy immensely, I’ve seen the best of young and old. I’ve seen coaches give high fives and pats on the back, even when a child didn’t get the hit or missed a play in the outfield. I’ve witnessed teams encourage each other when the scoreboard puts them behind. I sighed as a second grader came to the park and played sick, because he didn’t want to let his team down.

Nothing feels better than when an entire crowd claps because a boy flew to third base as his splendid hit rolled to the fence or a double play brought an end to an inning. Then there are the first hits by the rookies on the team and the proud parents who beam from the bleachers. The patience of coaches who encourage a boy to continue playing, even though his challenge is different than the others on the team, sets me on a path of gratitude. And all those kids who stand at the plate, unafraid of that ball flying at them, take aim, and give it a good swat have my admiration, but it’s the ones who get hit, take a fall and get right back up and keep on playing while wiping away tears that bring tears of my own. Oh yes, there’s so much to celebrate when children play the all-American game of baseball on a warm summer night.

With so much to applaud, why must kids endure the ugly side of learning and playing a game? I’ve seen coaches scream at little boys who only want to do everything like the big guys who are paid millions. They can’t, of course, but if heart and soul counted more than size and age, these small guys would be the baseball heroes we read about in Sports Illustrated. I watched as an arrogant man, pretending to be a coach, threw his mitt at a fence out of anger at losing, setting a negative example for the boys in the dugout. How will he tell his players to not throw gloves, hats, or bats when something doesn’t go their way when he plainly showed the way? He should be forced to wear a T-shirt proclaiming, “Actions speak louder than words.”

What does one do when a parent or grandparent watching a game becomes filled with rage and disgust yelling at coaches, kids, and getting into arguments with other parents? Is it just too easy to forget that every one of those children playing wants to win? Every one of those young batters dreams of a homerun. Every one of those fielders wants to make the running, fly-ball catch or a double play. They want success far more than anyone watching from the stands, yet it’s seldom that mean, hurtful words hurtle like a 90-mile-an-hour pitch from their lips. Instead, these small fries dig deep and find a way to handle winning with grace and losing with honor…most of the time. After all they’re the ones learning to play baseball in front of a crowd of people who don’t always behave like parents and grandparents that understand these are just kids.

And then there was the rude comment that hit home…my home to be exact. Playing baseball is especially tough for a boy who struggles with some of the basic social cues that most children begin learning early in life. Yes, my grandson is facing the strong possibility that he is an Asperger’s child. Asperger’s Syndrome falls in the higher-functioning end of Autism. Oh how blessed he and we are…he’s very bright, very charming, and does have some of the social skills lacking in other children who suffer from this misunderstood challenge. He takes too much to heart his own errors, but rarely sees that his teammates strike-out, miss balls, and have much to learn, also. He struggles knowing what’s appropriate and is misunderstood by those who need to be educated when it comes to Asperger’s. I can see it in his face as he tries to overcome what he views as the personal tragedy of being tagged out, but the only thing onlookers see is a boy having a melt down and pointing out to their own children how awful temper tantrums look with words like, “Just look at the boy, see how he’s behaving? He’s acting like a baby. I don’t ever want to see you act like that in public.” It’s hard being his mom, mimi, and grandpa who want for him the same things every parent and grandparent wants for the children that grace their lives. He’ll be ok because he’s loved and protected and we’re learning that every snicker and negative comment offers a chance to educate the ignorant.

Baseball is a microcosm of the world all within the confines of an infield, outfield, and the surrounding area for fans. There are good guys and bad guys, except some of the bad guys wear the same kind of hat as the good guys and others are disguised behind masks of moms, dads, grandpas, and grandmas. There are lessons to be learned: who’s on first, where to throw the ball, how to slide into home base, and how to be a good sport whether you lose or win. As part of a team, kids learn bigger life lessons like trust, loyalty, and commitment. Ask any former little leaguer and he or she is likely to tell you how great it was to be part of a team. If only adults would allow it, young boys and girls across the land will someday have memories that are a little sweeter and a lot more fun because they were part of a summer ball team.

If I could speak to every mean-spirited, kid- baseball watcher, whether parent, aunt, uncle, or grandparent, I’d say this, “Please don’t spoil the fun and joy of kids learning to love and play a great game like baseball. Cheer all of them on. Celebrate their victories, understand their defeats, and encourage them to continue even in the face of adversity. Show gratitude to those who give their time to coach and do it with finesse and fineness. Lastly, watch what you say because words may not break bones, but they can wound the heart and soul and every little baseball player deserves to be treated with dignity."

Tea in the Garden of Emotion

2011-05-24T10:59:00.000-04:00

Monet's Giverny Garden

I dreamt last night that I was in a Monet Giverny type garden. The kind where pastel flowers all merge into one blended texture of color and a small bridge spans a pond with water lilies floating on turquoise-smooth water. Off in the distance flowery arches become bowers meant for long hours of introspection and daydreaming.

And there was tea poured from a pale blue pot into ringed-flower cups so translucent I could see clear to the other side.

Spread on the grass was a checked tablecloth in palest pink and cream with edges tatted in lace. The daintiest of sandwiches cut in diamonds held the creamiest butter and fresh cucumbers sliced as thin as a poppy petal. A bite of a tender scone sent crumbs falling to the earth to be collected by ants in waiting. Oh my the pudding, it outshone the sun, shining from the powder-puff-clouds sky. This was the kind of pudding my mother taught me to make from scratch, with a good cocoa and rich cream baked in ramekins made from fine French porcelain. It was a tea fit for fairies and gypsies, queens and thieves.

My dream was all so proper and refined, with special guests that populated the ever so pleasant party in the garden. Regret sat to my right, her corpulent self so overstuffed that she couldn’t tuck her thick legs beneath her, but sat ungainly with legs akimbo. Hope positioned herself on a nearby bench, her hands demurely folded in her lap while she peered into the distance. Curiosity, in a sprightly gown of yellow rosebuds removed a glove capturing the tears of Heartbreak that fell from behind her blue veiled hat.

Anger stomped across the garden in black boots mutilating blossoms and sending butterflies skittering to the sky. Gratitude sat to my left, her brown eyes softened by the ever-present smile of appreciation for all life’s gifts. Wearing a pink rose in her hair Inspiration sipped tea while creating a beautiful necklace of daisies and dandelions.

My tea party guest, Jealousy, wore a green frock and coveted the pretty teacup that Joy held, her pinky finger extended in tea-drinking delight.

I’d like to say that Fear and Contempt did not arrive, but of course they did with invitation in hand. Each wore a black dress accented with deep purple vowing that it would rain eventually and the party would be ruined.

The last guests to arrive waltzed over the garden paths with such grace that even Contempt could find no reason to spoil the grand entrance of Serenity, Humor, and Awe. The three twittered an apology for being tardy, while seating themselves at the grassy tea party.

I caught a glimpse of Love, her pink cheeks glowing as she smiled in my direction bringing me peace even as Grief wailed in the distance and threatened to storm. Such a mix of companions attended my dream party, all balancing on a tee-totter of life’s ups and downs. A faceless voice said, “It is as it should be, part of the magical mystery tour called living.” Contentment shook me awake as a new day opened before me

Wordless Wednesday

2011-05-11T08:40:00.000-04:00

To him...

A touch is a blow, a sound is a noise

a misfortune is a tragedy,

a joy is an ecstasy...

~ Pearl S Buck

Abandoned

2011-05-10T08:46:00.002-04:00

When I visit my brother and sister-in-law, I drive past a wee patch of land, abandoned years ago leaving behind the deep scar of a house and the gentle presence of past lives. I’ve no doubt a farm once graced this corner and I wonder what caused the demise of so charming a place. Could it be the railroad that slices through farmland like two, never-ending silver swords or was there some other catastrophe that befell the living, breathing homestead?

Amidst soft bird calls and the wind whispering through pines there's signs that someone once surrounded their home with the simplicity of country life.

Apple trees were planted that brought white petals falling like snow in May

I'd like to think that the freckled look of cherry trees blooming pink brought smiles of contentment and thoughts of cherry pies

I'm sure someone opened a window of the long-gone house filling it with a clean, sweet fragance from lilacs growing nearby.

The only structure left standing are the skeletal remains of a windmill that once upon a time, caught Ohio breezes with paddles whirring echoing a song over plowed fields.

There's something romantically haunting about abandoned houses, barns, and farms that invites wool-gathering moments. In my mind's eye I visualize how it might have been with chickens scratching, cows lowing in a nearby pasture, freshly laundered sheets billowing out like sails on a sea of green, and the laughter of children as they swing higher and higher, almost touching the sky.

The dandelions are reclaiming this bit of earth, but I'll be back for lilacs in bloom and another peek into the past.

They Color Our World

2011-05-04T13:28:00.000-04:00

Sunday I attended the second annual art show at Montpelier school and oh how they color our world. Viewing the tangible art of young imaginations brings such joy. As we walked the halls graced with so many mediums, from crayons to clay, a sense of gratitude coursed through me. I’m grateful that the school my grandson attends sees the magic in art and music and celebrates with exuberance, the too-often first to go classes in an economic down-turn.

Budding artists walked the halls with parents and grandparents in tow pointing at their precious work.

One proud artist stood next to his creation, while his Mimi snapped his picture

What shapes and color were found on this table..imagination in cubes.

And then there were suitcases, covered in magical patterns and vivid colors

"Love Luggage" was a service project created by Ohio art teachers and the beneficiaries are foster children. Because these children are often pulled from a situation on short notice, they have no way to carry their possessions except for in trash bags. This is certainly not a way to honor this person or their belongings. To remedy this, the art teachers came up with a service project that breathes new life into old luggage and turns them into prized possessions. The suitcases are given to children in foster care to keep and cherish forever." Want to know more? Check out Snippety Gibbet.

I was touched by such a beautful project where children bring love and art together for other children who face uncertain futures.

President Lyndon B. Johnson put it most eloquently when he said....

I couldn't agree more.

I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing

2011-04-22T16:42:00.005-04:00

I love this little blue planet and I don't want to miss a thing.

I don't want to miss bees gathering nectar

Or a cidada coming out of it's shell and singing it's late summer song

I don't want to miss birds on the wing or birds in my yard.

I don't want to miss seedlings wearing hats

Or snow on a dandelion

I don't want to miss weeds in tutus dancing in a breeze

Or the hot colors of gallardias shimmying in the garden.

I don't want to miss seasons that change....

F A L L

W I N T E R

S P R I N G

S U M M E R

Nope, I don't want to miss a thing so won't you please....

REMEMBER...

RECYCLE

REUSE

REDUCE

REFUSE

to let it all go, leaving our children's children

with nothing more than vague memories of the world

as it was...green, red, yellow, blue, orange and all the colors of the rainbow.

E A R T H D A Y 2011

Violets & Snow

2011-04-21T13:10:00.000-04:00

It snowed on Monday.

So I hurried outside to bring the Johnny jump-ups indoors. Of all the sweet flowers of early spring, none are more adorable than than tri-color violas that come in so many colors there's something for everyone from the deepest purple to the softest creams.

There are more common names for violas than any other plant in the flower world. The names often give a nod to love and romance, but all are charming: love-in-idleness, Cupid's flower, tickle-my-fancy, kiss-her-in-the-pantry, Kit-run-in-the-fields, monkey faces, peeping Toms, three-faces-under-a-hood, heartsease, and the name I've always known them by Johnny jump-ups.

Yes, even during an April snow, the sweet faces of pansies make me smile.

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Tomorrow you won't find a new Cape Cod post. Instead, I'm planning a special Earth day presentation. I sure hope it works!

Have a great day!

Cape Cod: Friend for a Reason

2011-04-15T14:01:00.001-04:00

Alone in my Cape Cod cottage, I toasted 2001 with a glass of wine raised to courage and success in this brand new year. With four months of Cape exploration behind me, it was time to file away 2000, the year of life changes, and put my hand to a clean page. I mulled over questions that plagued me. What about a job? How would I reinvent myself? Would I ever find friends on Cape Cod? All my friends were in Ohio, except one that I’d met in a new frontier.

Meet Aaron

Online chatting was a relatively new way to meet people of like mind. One day I met an extremely witty guy from across the US. Like me he was navigating the unknown territory of the separated or newly divorced. We shared the frustrations and sadness of living among the ruins of a demolished marriage. Through it all we laughed a lot and came to know each other well. He cheered me on from his California location when I made the decision to move to Cape Cod.

After I relocated, we began talking on the phone and the anonymous door of faceless conversation opened a bit more. Through the cold days of winter we kept each company via technology. Aaron suggested I start writing in earnest. He worked for a techie company and emailed me information that he needed written. He pushed me to give it a try. I worked on the assigned project with diligence and care. I wanted to make this happen and all I needed was to get this first step under my belt. I finished it and sent it through space to the west coast and then nervously awaited word of how my first attempt at professional writing fared.

A few hours later I received a response from Aaron. My writing wasn’t clean enough. It was too flowery for a professional, business piece of writing. In the email Aaron told me not to be discouraged, but I was. I closed the email, turned off the computer, and went to the ocean. I sat on the beach trying to understand why my writing wasn’t good enough. This was the first time I’d ever submitted my writing to anyone for approval. I’d journaled for years and written newsletters, but I’d never had to write to the expectations of anyone else. My bruised ego turned angry and for the next couple days, I ignored Aaron’s calls. I didn’t want to lose this new-found friend, so I finally emailed him. We talked about the piece and how I could improve it, but I was too hurt, too bull-headed, and fearful of rejection, so I told him he should write it himself. Instead of writing me off as a mixed-up lady with no common sense, Aaron understood, and we remained friends.

A Spring Visitor

The day was fast approaching…Aaron was flying into Providence for a visit. It was a warm spring day, gorgeous and wonderful. He got off the plane and with nervous trepidation I hugged him. I’d spent the time before his arrival fretting over his expectations, even though we discussed, at length, the importance of keeping it friendly with no romantic attachments. I tend to be shy when I first meet someone. Jumping into anything with two feet just isn’t my style. My preferred mode of operation is to stand back, access the person or situation, listen to my gut, and then proceed with caution. This way of acting and reacting has saved me much grief over the years. While I quietly drove back to the Cape, Aaron kept up a string of chatter about his kids, the flight, the New England scenery. He was and is witty beyond belief, blessed with a rakish sense of humor, a slinger of one-liners, and can charm the life out of a fruit fly. Once I warmed up to him, we had a marvelous time getting to know each other and we developed a genuine caring for each other. We laughed loudly, talked incessantly, and shared hopes and dreams. He stayed in my guest bedroom for a long weekend and then went back to California to sort through a tangle of thoughts. The one thing that was clear about Aaron, he longed to be back in his native New York. I don’t need to add this next bit, but I’m going to because it’s part of what made this special friendship so remarkable….we were platonic. There was never any romance between us, just a loving friendship that softened the hard edges of single life for two 40-somethings.

Aaron moved back to New York or rather just outside of the city in New Jersey. He was back in his element on the east coast, going into the city when he wanted to, and traveling up the coast to visit me.

Fourth of July

My daughter spent the summer od 2001 living with me, working and playing on the Cape. We had a few visitors and Aaron was one of them. He stayed with us the week of July fourth. What fun we had! As a passionate cook, Aaron played in my kitchen cooking up dinners. What a treat this was for me, always and forever the cook and chief bottle washer, I finally had the chance to sit idly by watching while someone else grilled and cooked.

Aaron was invited to a Fourth of July party by another friend who lived on the Cape. So off we went! It was one of those hot, sultry days of summer when the heat rises from pavement and thighs stick to seats. We found the house and knocked on the door. Cindy opened the door, obviously delighted to see Aaron giving him a big hug. She greeted me with a smile, “Come in, come in. I’ve got to finish up in the kitchen. I won’t be long.”

Aaron and I sat in the cathedral ceilinged living room looking about, appreciating the décor and style of the home. A couple children came through the room and ventured out the door. The house was quiet, except for the rattling of pots and dishes in the kitchen.

“I wonder where everyone is.” I questioned Aaron. “I thought the party was here, at her house.”

“I thought so too,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

“Would you like a wine spritzer?” Cindy called from the kitchen. “I’ll be done soon.”

I declined, but Aaron, hot and thirsty, asked for water. We sat in the room for what seemed like hours talking as if we were in a sanctuary, while she banged around in the kitchen. Whatever she was making did not need finishing touches, I have my doubts that it was even started.

Finally, Cindy entered the living room saying, “I’ll be ready in just a minute. I need to change.” She swept up the stairs and returned in a fresh pair of capris and a flowery, sleeveless top. She slipped on sandals and led us out the door sans carrying dish.

Aaron nudged me as we walked across the lawn mouthing, “Where’s the dish?” I shrugged in response, shaking my head with an awkward look on my face.

We stepped through an opening in the bushes that separated the houses. On the other side was a neatly kept Cape Cod. In the back of the house, the priest who owned the house, his mother, and Cindy’s sisters all gathered on the deck.

Cindy’s eyes sparkled with that undeniable, fawning look of I really like this man and hope he likes me enough to stay awhile as she made the introductions with a broad smile and then the afterthought, “Oh yes, this is Teresa, his friend.”

A couple more chairs were pulled out and we sat down. I scanned over the group of women situated around the deck. There was more bling on these women than on most of the rappers on MTV. One sister caught my attention with her skintight red jeans and white halter top barely supporting an ample bosom. Big hair, New Jersey style, framed her face and every once in a while, just for good measure, she’d shake her blonde flaxen locks like a model for a hair spray advertisement on TV. A storm of questions came hailing down on me as soon as it was known that I’d moved to the Cape from Ohio. Why the Cape? Why did you leave Ohio? Why did you get divorced? Did he cheat? After the final fully-loaded question, red-jeaned lady nodded in understanding, her gold earrings dangling from lobes caught the light setting off tiny, afternoon fireworks as she nodded in understanding awaiting my answer.

“No, he didn’t cheat on me and I didn’t cheat on him.”

Confusion bolted from one person to the next as I steeled myself for the obvious next question, then why are you divorced, but the question never came and I softly sighed in relief.

Twittering gossip about unknown parties prevailed between the women. Aaron leaned over whispering in my ear, “Good god what yentas.”

I’m a rural raised lassie where the most exotic person I knew was Dr. Patel, the town’s general practitioner who replaced the previous doctor who was killed in a car accident. The town where I grew up didn’t even have a Catholic church. How was I to know what a yenta was? We were white bread kids raised on green grass lawns, tree-lined streets, most of us with a mom at home, and the entire town in the same tax bracket, with only a handful of exceptions. I never had a reason to understand the culture of a diverse group and I’d never attended a party with a mix of one Catholic priest, his mother, a group of Jewish yenta, princesses, one joo boy, Aaron, and me…the only Protestant on the deck. Let me clarify that Aaron started calling me white girl at some point during his first visit. It was a fond pet name, so I adopted his name for himself, joo boy. We both found a lot of amusement in our very different lives and never under any circumstances implied disrespect to our respective heritages that we both embraced. He grew up in Brooklyn and me in a town smaller than his neighborhood. In any given 24 hours he might over hear languages from across the globe. In 40 years, the only language I regularly heard, outside of English, was pig Latin and bits of Spanish. I often teased Aaron that I would take him camping in northwest Ohio, if he didn’t stop picking on me. His response was usually something about wild animals like raccoon, skunks, and squirrels adding morbid thoughts of being done in by a forest creature.

The day became hotter as we sat on the deck. Finally, the good priest asked us if we cared for a drink. Cindy immediately jumped up to take our orders. Margarita? Daiquiri? Wine spritzer? What’s with the wine spritzers, I thought.

I chose a wine spritzer, of course, and Aaron did the same. Low on ice, the drinks came to us a bit warm, but at this point I was so thirsty it didn’t matter. I took a sip. A taste similar to what gasoline might taste like permeated my mouth. The taste was so bad it’s a wonder I didn’t spit it out in one forceful spray across the deck, instead I swallowed hard remembering my Midwestern manners.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Aaron take a big gulp of his drink. He looked down at the glass, his mouth askew as if he’d just sucked on a tart lemon. He turned toward me mouthing, “I can’t drink this.” He pitched the liquid contents over the side of the deck hitting the shrubs.

I sat cradling the warming drink in my hands, trying to get every last bit of coolness from the glass and taking tiny nips.

“Don’t drink that,” Aaron whispered, “toss it over the deck. That stuff is nasty.”

I shook my head and eventually drained the glass. When asked if I cared for another, I politely declined the fuel injected cocktail. Aaron switched to a strawberry daiquiri.

The sun beat down on the deck as the afternoon wore on. Lunch time came and went without a sniff of food. The picnic table on the lawn remained free of free of checkered tablecloth, potato salad, baked beans, hamburgers or hot dogs; not even a bag of chips or pretzels was brought out to munch on. Where was the food? Aaron and I came to the party under the pretense that this was a July 4th picnic. He’d offered to bring a dish, but was told it wasn’t necessary. Now I knew why…there wasn’t going to be any picnic, but my stomach didn’t receive the notice and started growling as I waited for someone to light up that big gas grill covered in plastic.

As people began to move in and out of the house, Aaron found a moment when it was just the two of us on the deck. “I don’t think there’s going to be food at this party. Let’s leave.”

I had been ready to skedaddle as soon as I’d finished the misrepresentation of a wine spritzer. Between the heat, hunger, and the drink my stomach tumbled in protest, sometimes loudly. Alan and I thanked the host and Cindy for inviting us and we made our escape across the lawn, back through the hedge, and into the now boiling car.

As soon as I turned the key, the air conditioner went into high gear, and we hurried down the street toward food and a movie, My Big Fat Greek Wedding at the Cape Cinema in Dennis. The drive was filled with laughter at the day, the characters involved, and the lack of food.

“Why did you drink that wine spritzer?” Aaron asked.

“I was brought up to be polite,” I answered.

“What’s polite about a really bad cocktail?”

We settled into our seats at the old theater and laughed more while happily nibbling buttered popcorn surrounded by blessed, cool air blowing from a magical machine.

Aaron and 9/11

M headed back to Ohio University for the fall quarter a week before September 11. On a blue sky morning in September I hopped in my car, the ocean calling me. I drove to the Coast Guard Beach, emptied of umbrellas, blankets spread in colorful patchwork patterns over the sand, and people. Alone on the beach I had time to journal and watch a fishing boat float between sky and sea.

The morning was so peaceful, a soft breeze wafted across the ocean whispering tales in my ear. The gentle waves kissed the shore making it hard to believe this was the National Seashore. Overhead, the blue sky set a brilliant backdrop to a glowing sun looking down on the lone lady on the beach. It was one of those moments in life when all seems right with the world. I took the leisurely route home along Route 28 meandering down the crooked road that led back to Centerville my favorite CD's playing.

As I pulled off my sweatshirt, I noticed the blinking light on the answer machine. I hit the button and listened to Aaron’s voice, “Hey, I just wanted to let you know I’m all right. My appointment was cancelled. The lines are really busy, so I may not be able to get through again today.”

Ok, I thought, wondering why he felt I should know that he didn’t go to his appointment in Manhattan. Next message, “Teresa, we’re worried sick about you. We’ve been trying to call and no one’s home. Did you go to New York, like you planned? Please call as soon as you get this.” The next several messages were from family members all wondering if I was in New York. The voices were full of worry and concern and I began to wonder just what was going on. Next message, “Teresa call me immediately, was a message from my oldest friend in Ohio. I dialed her number and she answered.

“Hi, what’s going on?” I asked. S urged me to turn on the TV, so I did while we were still on the phone. While I was basking in what I thought was a perfect moment, the world imploded, changing in the time it took for planes to smash into the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and Pennsylvania farmland. I was stunned watching in horror with the rest of the world.

I lived those frightening days post 9/11 alone wondering what might happen next. Fear and nervous frantic took over and I longed to get to Ohio and be with my children. I called both of them, the need to hear their voices overwhelming. We talked about the possibility of me making a trip home, but then decided it was best that I stay where I was. The world went quiet that day in a way I’d never experienced before. With no one else in the house, no planes flying overhead, and even cars staying put in driveways, my surroundings took on an unnerving surreal silence that at times became deafening with no one to talk to, no one to hug and hold as night fell. Unable to sleep, I spent the next couple nights on the sofa, the constant drone of the TV soothing me into an unquiet sleep.

Aaron, ever the concerned friend, called. The fear in my voice must have been palpable and he promised to come to the Cape as soon as he could. He took a bus to Hyannis and I picked him up. It’s strange how another person within four walls redecorates the room. Light returned in the form of my caring, fine friend, Aaron.

During his visit, we discussed all kinds of possibilities to supplement our bank accounts. Aaron had always wanted to write a treatment for a sitcom, so we started brainstorming. I’d never imagined doing such a thing, but why not give it a try? What did we have to lose?

The Wasbands

Aaron returned to New Jersey after a week, but came back to the Cape in October. We started working in earnest on the treatment for the Wasbands, an animated series about four divorced men living in the same apartment building. In case you’re wondering the word wasband blends the word was with husband creating a new name for a divorced man, wasband or was a husband.

Since neither of us were cartoonists, we needed a third partner. We researched artists online and found one that we both liked and thought would fit the needs of our blossoming concept. Enter a very talented artist and illustrator, Jack Pittman. Aaron explained via a phone conversation our concept and our plan to bring this idea together. Over the next week, we brainstormed. Characters were fleshed out on paper, possible scenes and storylines were developed and Jack began putting his vision to characters, while Aaron and I wrote the treatment. I have to give Jack Pittman huge kudos for this project because he worked totally on spec. He didn’t know us from Adam, but he trusted that we were going to take his artistic talents and not use them for own, but only as part of a three-way venture.

The three of us pulled the treatment to together in a professional bound booklet. Aaron went back to New Jersey. He pitched the idea to the first rung in the ladder at FOX. The treatment kept moving up the ladder and all three of us grew more excited at the possibility that this idea might become an animated sitcom on FOX. Then one day Aaron received the news, the top dog at FOX nixed the project. He didn’t like the idea of divorce. WHAT? He also felt the demographics that FOX seeks were not there. WHAT? In a flash, The Wasbands went from wannabes to neverbeens. Aaron pitched The Wasbands to other networks, but each one turned down the idea. One more pitch, a competition for possible new television shows, put us back into a hopeful position. We ended up receiving an honorable mention. As far as I know that particular reality show about how to get your idea on TV never made it to the air, either. Aaron was through pitching The Wasbands. I have the treatment as a fond memory of trying something new and adventurous; trying to grasp the elusive brass ring.

A Day in New York City

My plans to spend a few days in New York had been thwarted by 9/11. So Aaron and I made plans to meet in Nyack and then he’d drive into the city. Because I had only one day off work, we spent a whirlwind Saturday in New York City eating our way from Coney Island to Katz’s Deli. He showed me the house in Brooklyn where he grew up and the country bumpkin in me was shocked to discover that city kids run down tree-lined sidewalks, too. We ate cannolis in Little Italy and ventured into shops in Chinatown. I had my first taste of brisket and an egg cream at Katz’s Deli. Hitting the high points with someone who knew the city so well was such a treat. I felt electrified by the energy of the diverse masses of people congregating on the streets. The sounds, smells, sights, and tastes of New York City never fail to leave a mark on my soul. Little did I know that would be one of the last times I ever saw Alan again, but what a memory to savor.

A Waning Friendship

Aaron met someone wonderful and of course, I had to check out this fabulous woman. He brought her to the Cape for a fall weekend. She was perfect for him. They bantered, laughed, and loved so many of the same things. She was adorable and had a background similar to his. Yes, I believe Aaron met the love of his life.

Marriage has a way of dissolving male/female platonic friendships. The two were married in New York, blending their families into one. Over time I heard less and less from Aaron. First he stopped visiting. Then he stopped calling. Finally, even emailing ceased. He was busy with a new wife and a new life.

Aaron's Lessons

During a particularly rough patch in my life, after a loss of the heart, Aaron said to me, “People come into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.” He was there for me in oh so many ways and I miss his friendship, but I now understand that quote. Alan came into my life for a reason. He was an integral part of my life on the Cape those first few years. We supported each other emotionally when things fell apart on either end. He was there when I needed a friend and had the means and wherewithal to explore, with me, the layers of who I am, where I was going, and where I wanted to be. I hope I did the same for him.

It’s true I believed he would be a lifetime friend, but the lessons he taught me are good ones that have stuck. Aaron taught me to not always have expectations, but to go with the flow and revel in an experience as it happens. I learned to grow a thicker skin and not take rejection to heart or as a personal affront because sometimes it’s not about the soul of who I am, it’s about my actions and what others need. He taught me that it’s ok to take small every day risks that lead to fun and laughter, that the world won’t end nor will anyone chide me because I walked into Eros, a risqué shop in Provincetown. Through these lessons this dear friend for a reason remains a part of me. I will never forget Aaron and wish him nothing, but all the joys in the world

*******************************

The first photo is of a post card with a photograph taken by Alan Hoelzle. I searched for a website, but couldn’t find one. Here is his flickr photostream

I feel the need to reiterate that Aaron’s pet name for me and mine for him were not meant to be derogatory in any way. I feared offending someone and considered leaving that bit out. If I have offended anyone, please accept my humble apology.

Aaron had an appointment at one of the buildings within the World Trade Center complex on 9/11. It was cancelled the day before. I knew about the appointment, but not that it was cancelled which is why I was somewhat flip when I heard the message from him. Also, I had planned to spend a few days in NYC the weekend after 9/11, but my family wasn’t sure of the dates hence the frantic calls.

I don’t think I ever expressed enough gratitude, to Jack Pittman for how much I appreciated his part in our attempt to bring Reuben, Carl, Terrence, and Vic to life. It was amazing! If you have a moment please check out his website and blog. If I ever need a caricature or cartoon drawn and fleshed out, I know exactly who to hire.

I wrote a short article about Aaron taking me on a food-driven tour of NY called, A Day in New York City, that rusticgirls.com purchased. If you’re interested, you can read it here.

Thanks to all who have been following my escpadaes on Cape Cod. I so appreciate each of you! I'll follow up this post with another next Friday. Have a grand weekend!

.

Celebrate Moments

2011-04-12T11:22:00.000-04:00

Hello Friends! Did you have a good weekend? Did you find a wee bit of time to focus on beauty?

Every morning we wake up and there it is, your page waiting for you to write you day upon.

So we move through the day tending to daily tasks, at work and at home, creating a life as we go. Do we consciously choose how the day will progress or do we allow it to unfold, tripping over frustration and anger, and wondering how time disappeared? I prefer to live in the moment, not that I always do. In fact, too often I am the passenger in my own life rather than the driver moving in my chosen direction. Just for today, I'm going to steal moments.

I"ll read a poem about spring, daffodils...

or the dune poet, Harry Kemp's...

A Satisfactory Life

The sun, the wind, the moon; stars, birds, breasts about me;

O, this is the kind of life I want forever:

Thought by geographies; all details of pettniness

Erased by bright dune days,--

Days of good, new dawns; never-fogotten sunsets;

Nights when the sky is high as God with stars;

Times of the halcyon on brooding seas

Where joyous porpoises roll and prank like clowns.

My shack standing in the middle

Of all this, in the midmost

Of the leagues of sand, of the long,rolling leagues,

Next door to heaven andclose on the gates of sunset,

The opening of dawn;

I've got what few have,

I've got the life I want!

A sigh for Cape Cod

I'll embezzle time for Johnny jump-ups, the funny faces teared from the rain, searching for the sun.

Starting today, I will take a step forward and try not to glance back too far or too long.

Today, I'll celebrate moments.

How do you celebrate moments?

Cape Cod: Finding Friends

2011-04-08T15:40:00.000-04:00

The rumors that I joined an abbey to cloister myself from the world are totally false. Yes, it’s true I spent days alone, but there’s much to be said for quiet times. I’m in good company when it comes to believing a solitary life leads to a journey within, but even Thoreau walked back into society after two years on Walden Pond. Although, I was alone in this brave new world called Cape Cod, I needed to interact with people in some way. I had short conversations with my 7-11 friends, said hello to passersby as I power walked each morning and connected with a diverse group of characters that I met through the hand of serendipity. As John Donne wrote, No [woman] is an island and while I treasured my alone time, I hoped to make new friends.

Seagull Lady

The first year I lived on the Cape, only two things kept me from paying homage daily to the majestic power of the ocean…really bad weather or being under the weather. I ventured out in wind, sleet, snow, and sprinkles. The first winter after the temperature dropped into the frigid range, I’d pull into the parking lot of Craigville Beach joining the few cars lined up as if they were at a drive-in movie, facing the ocean and watching the ever-changing spectacle. Bundled in coats, hats, and gloves, a few brave souls ventured out of their cars defying the fierce ocean winds for a few minutes.

Every blustery morning that I was at the edge of the ocean, a woman crossed the parking lot toting a bucket. She’d dip into the bucket and toss bird seed into the winter winds. Before the seed touched the ground, frenzied seagulls transformed the black-top into a screeching sea of white feathers. Seagull lady and I formed an unspoken acquaintance. I’d wave and smile then she’d nod her head in my direction before flinging more seed into the air offering one more look at the crazy scene that followed. I met her hand raised in good-bye with a wave of my own and we’d each go our separate ways until the next time. Over the weeks, I looked forward to our morning meetings with an ocean view and bird seed. The seagull hullabaloo ended with the coming of the sun, light, cars, and people.

A Washashore Meets Harry

As soon as the weather warmed I resumed my daily beach walks. It was a late afternoon walk, the heat of the sun still penetrating the sand making it warmer than the breeze that swished my ponytail. As usual, I walked head down always searching for gifts left by the sea. In my lone strolls I often got lost in thoughts unaware of my surroundings. I came to a sudden halt after nearly knocking over a white plastic bucket of slithering blue-green creatures. I quickly looked up and there stood an older gentleman with a Red Sox cap pulled down to shade his eyes.

Whooaaa there,” he said holding a long fishing pole in one hand and between his fingers a wriggling worm. I apologized for nearly knocking his bait bucket over as he threaded the thing onto a hook.

“What are you fishing for?”

“A striper would be good, but anything works for me. Not from around here are you?

“No. I’m from Ohio.”

“Yup, I could have guessed the Midwest. What brings you to Cape Cod?”

My response wasn’t really an answer, just a bit of information. “I moved here in September.”

He suggested I stand back before he cast his line so far out that I lost track of the end. While slowly working the reel he asked me another question. “What’re you running away from?”

“I’m not running away from anything.”

As he pulled the line back in, he stopped for a moment and looked at me. In my long life of experience I’ve come to know that people who leave everything behind are running from something.”

I stood in my tracks for a moment, caught off guard by the question. I hadn’t expected an arrow to piece the armor I’d so painstakingly hammered together and it took time to conjure up a response. “I don’t think I’m running away from anything. Perhaps I’m running toward something.”

“Hmmm…you may have a point there. By the way I’m Harry,” he wiped his hand on his pants before offering it to me. A good, firm grasp met my hand and we both smiled. “I’d better move along and let you get back to fishing. Someday you’ll have to explain just how surf fishing is done.”

“We call it surf casting and there’s not a whole lot to it. Just throw your line out and hope.”

“It was nice meeting you, Harry.” I said as I stepped away the question posed to me searing my brain. As I moved further down the beach I thought about running away or running toward. I suppose some run toward a new job, a new love, a new life and the chance to begin again. Others choose to escape by running away from a life unfulfilled or too difficult to endure in its present state. Which road had I taken? I wasn’t sure, perhaps a little of each.

“Stop by and chat any time you see me on the beach,” he called out.

I turned and with a smile said, “I’ll sure do that.” And I did. Over time Harry and I shared bits and pieces about our families and what we did in life. I offered glimpses into Ohio and farm life and reciprocated with stories of the Cape before it became gentrified. He likened the demise of the family farm with the fishing life on Cape Cod, often bemoaning the state of the Cape in the new millennium causing pangs of guilt that I’d moved to this paradise he’d known as a child and through his adult life as his home.

One day, while walking the same sandy beach littered with tracks from earlier beachcombers, I glimpsed Harry fishing. He focused his attention toward a flock of gulls circling over the dark waters of Nantucket Sound. Like a pas de deux between sand and water, he moved down the beach in tandem with the winged birds hovering over the ocean searching for morsels of seafood. Where there are gulls feeding there’s fish. With a whip of wrist the line arched toward the shimmer of water and wings. It was a beauty to watch. Eventually, I caught up with him. He hauled in a small fish, dropped it into the bucket, and pushed his fishing rod into the sand as I approached.

“Hey there, washashore,” he said with a smile.”

“What’s a washashore.” I asked

“You,” he said with a smug grin on his grizzled face. “A washashore is someone who wasn’t born here and grew up somewhere else,” he explained.

“That’s what I am,” I agreed, “a washashore.” I never did find out if it’s a derogatory sort of name, but I like to think old Harry thought of me in a fond way, even if I was a washashore.

“How’s the fishing today?” I asked.

“Not too bad.” He said pushing the bucket with the toe of his shoe, drawing my attention to his catch of the day.

Like every other meeting, we scratched the surface of our lives and then moved on about our business.

Ladies of the Cape

I always thought of myself as a social being; someone who thrived from interacting with others. In my previous life, I’d been ensconced with the church we attended, my children’s activities, garden club, and starting a small business. When I was one of two, I entertained friends and couples. Now, I found myself hundreds of miles from family and friends and no one to invite for dinner.

Making new friends after age 40 is not an easy task. I never realized how children open the doors to adult friendships until I didn’t have to taxi my children to play times, sport events, and school extra-curriculars. I discovered as we mature, we develop solid friendships and tight circles of friends that share a common bond. New to the Cape without children in tow, no job, and knowing no one made forming friendships difficult. The truth of the matter is that in order to meet people we must walk out the door. The first year I lived on the Cape, I may not have walked out the door enough, but I did a few times.

While MJ and I were on our east coast road trip, we met a woman managing a shop on Commercial Street in Provincetown. We struck up a conversation and she offered loads of information about moving to the Cape. She gave me her phone number and told me to contact her if I ever moved to Cape Cod. She was the first person I met with after I was settled in. We had dinner one night at the iconic Lobster Pot in P’town. Having a real conversation with a woman seated across the table was such a wonderful event. We talked, had a few drinks and ate a delicious seafood meal. I thought we’d become good friends, as she understood me better than anyone because she too moved to the Cape alone. We had one more dinner, but by then she’d met someone and her time was taken up with work and a new love. I ran into her a year or so later and she was preparing to move. Her time on the Cape was over.

My landlord, an artistic woman with drive and focus, called one day to invite me to a get together of artistic women. I told her I’d think about going and let her know. I didn’t want to go, I didn’t want to join anything at this stage of my life, but after a day of pondering I accepted her invitation hoping to make a few acquaintances that would turn into friends. The Cape Cod women’s group met at an upscale restaurant with a pricey menu that I found off-putting as I cautiously counted every penny. The ladies, all dressed to the nines, didn’t seem remotely interested in a woman that moved alone from Ohio to Cape Cod. I stood to the side watching women hug each other, exchange business cards, and catch up on news. The longer I was there the more I realized that I was not ready to be part of the ladies that lunch. Had this invitation happened a year later, I believe I would have been far more receptive to the idea. This could have been a marvelous venue for networking and pushing myself forward, but I never went back. Instead, I remained cocooned inside my home.

My landlord, undaunted and persistent, introduced me to another divorcee who she thought would make a good friend. Unfortunately, this woman and I had little in common. After one lunch, I never contacted her again, nor did she ever phone me again. The wide berth of differences was too far to reach across. Perhaps I just didn’t have the energy to travel that distance at that time.

I believe, especially in those first few months after I moved, that I needed to go within to find what remained of me after years of putting myself on a shelf. Like most women, I was always there for whoever needed me. When cookies were needed for a bake sale, I said yes. When children needed a ride, I drove. When field work needed to be done in a hurry, I jumped on a tractor and helped. If family or friends were in need I was there. I married young, I barely knew who I was or what I really wanted in life. I’d not given myself time to explore the world, but remained in the places of my childhood. I took my job as wife and mother to heart, but the years slowly scratched at my being until I was no longer sure of who I was. So I hunkered down in my little house on Cape Cod, withdrew from the world for a time, and searched desperately for me.

The Whale Man

Loneliness can get the better of us and it certainly did me. In between exploring the Cape, talking to friends and family on the phone, and searching for a job, I chatted online and that’s where I met a whale man from Cape Cod. We struck up a conversation in a chat room and suddenly I felt like Meg Ryan in the updated version of You’ve Got Mail. There were no planned meetings to chat, it was a hit or miss sort of thing, but boy was I intrigued. Here was someone who could type intelligent, full sentences with proper punctuation. He was quick, witty, and not too far. Let’s meet!

Sometimes, common sense flies out the window. We met at Millway beach in Barnstable at night. This is the exact opposite of what should be done when meeting a blind date or an internet chat buddy. Keep it in public within full sight of people everywhere. What could have been a disaster turned out to be more than fine.

We greeted each other standing between our cars, shaking hands, and smiling. He asked me if I wanted to walk the beach under the stars. How could I say no? I couldn’t. So we did. It was a cool evening, but the stars shining so brightly overhead lit our way. He told me about his life and his life work with right whales. He described in detail the schooner he was building and that one day he planned to just sail away on it. I invited him back to my house, I know….not a good idea. Call it woman’s intuition or my ability to read people or maybe just plain dumb luck, but I knew I’d met a man with a sense of honor. We sat on the sofa, talking about everything from children to wildlife conservation. This was no washashore seated beside me. This was a born and raised salty, seafaring Cape Codder with intellect followed by all those letters of the highly educated. I was fascinated and he seemed captivated by this small town, Midwest country girl who knew how to drive a tractor and came searching for herself at the edge of his beloved ocean.

Did it go any farther than a mild flirtation? Yes and no. Over time the one thing I learned about this amazing man was that he tragically lost the love of his life and replaced her with whales. The need to work hard, long hours and always be at the ready kept me at a distance at all times. We shared intimate interludes, but always with the understanding that this was more a friendship with benefits than building anything that would come remotely close to a relationship. We met impulsively when he was near Hyannis or when time allowed. He remained a friend until I left Cape Cod.

A Few Others

I met others here and there. The bartender at Sam Diego’s who always set me up with a glass of merlot, on the house, was another interesting fellow. We’d banter about the Cleveland Indians and the Boston Red Sox and he’d fill me in on how his final year of college was going after putting his education and career creating on hiatus while he married and had a couple children.

I chatted with the cashier at Shaw’s and the librarian at the Centerville Library. I did find friends that first year, but not what I hoped for…a woman who I could build a relationship with. I longed for a female companion like I had in Ohio, someone to confide in, to go shopping with, take in a movie, or have lunch with. I met another friend who would play a significant role in my life for a few years, but his story is bigger than a mere paragraph or two, so I’ll save the telling for another day.

***************************
The photos I used were taken by my sister while she was visiting and me. The black and white photos were taken by my daughter. I scanned a post card I picked up while MJ and I were on the east coast. The whale photo on the post card was captured Alan Hudson, a Cape Cod photographer.

I'll have another chapter ready next Friday. Oh my....what direction shall I go?

Have a wonderful weekend!

April Musings

2011-04-04T10:39:00.001-04:00

Here we are beginning the second quarter of the year with April showers and a high of 65 and that’s this morning. Last week was busy with the little man on spring break. There were Mario Kart races, pancakes in the morning, and the Imagination Station.

I made this image dark on purpose using a texture by Distressed Jewells. I guess I was in a somber mood while processing.

It was cold, windy, and overcast a good share of the week. We didn’t get kite flying in, but anytime a breeze blows kites soar, but flying still happened.

I’ve been negligent with the 365 project and so far behind that I’m dropping the 365 and just calling it All These Things. I’d love those three words as a title for a photoblog, but it’s all ready been snapped up and yes, I’m rambling.

Do you have spring dreams? One of mine is to create a focus with my camera and writing.

Two weeks ago, B & J and I went on a Sunday photo expedition. We stopped by the home of a gardener I’ve known for many years. To call Joyce a passionate grower is an understatement. She lives and breathes growing. She is a consummate grower…she grows indoors and out. I’m guessing that it’s more about the plants then the overall garden design, but I’m going to pose that question to her. The only thing blooming in her garden were crocus, but the buds on her daffodils were fattening in preparation for the golden explosion of color.

Joyce’s garden is going to be my photo project for the rest of the growing season. My focus will be on photographing, at least every two weeks, what’s blooming in her garden. As soon as the rain stops this week, I’m heading to Joyce’s garden and I doubt I’ll be disappointed in what I find.

I'm ending with a processed photo of a poignant statue I found in a cemetery on the edge of Bryan, Ohio. Yeats' poem, The Stolen Child, just seems to fit the photo. The scrolling texture came from Shadowhouse Creations.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

~ W. B. Yeats

Yellow Daisy Apology

2011-04-02T00:00:00.000-04:00

I apologize for not being around much. It's been a busy week and blogging had to take a backseat. Things should get back to normal Monday. I'll have a new chapter of the Cape Cod tale to share next Friday.

I hope everyone is finding time to create something wonderful this weekend.

Favorite Ladies

2011-03-30T11:31:00.000-04:00

When friends gather the energy in the air becomes that much more electrified with laughter and conversation. So eight of us, at my daughter's bidding, came together to celebrate.

There were Rieslings and Reds passed around the table.

There were contemplative moments captured between shadows and light.

There were sparkling necklaces

sexy shoes

and capricious Fedoras.

Just one more glass, please!

Listening above the din of talking, laughing and glasses clinking.

Wringing out the last drop.

Oh my! What a time we had. It was all about getting together with a few favorite ladies and celebrating another year passing and the bonds of friendship.

Cape Cod: Finding My Way

2011-03-25T10:43:00.000-04:00

The first relationship I established after moving to Cape Cod was with the family that owned the 7-11 in Centerville. Nearly every day for two weeks I ventured out my door and into the crooked streets that baffled me in attempts to get acquainted with this new place and always searching for a grocery store. I drove south and ran into the sandy beaches of Craigville that met Nantucket Sound streaked with pink and orange sunsets. I drove truet north and met Millway Beach on the bay side. There was not one grocery store between the two bodies of water. There were mornings when I’d just drive, but instead of finding a Kroger or Stop & Shop, I’d find myself meandering past mansions with an ocean view, in the middle of residential neighborhoods with quaint colonial or cape cod style houses tucked off the street, or on a road lined with scrub pines, brush, and sand. I just kept telling myself, if I can find a supermarket, I’ll feel more at home. Since I couldn’t find a grocery store, back I went to the 7-11 returning home with my bag of groceries, and promptly missing the drive to my house forcing me to go around the block.
During one search and find mission, I discovered Lambert’s a market filled with fresh vegetables and fruit and a butcher and Deli in the back. This was more like it. Picking through the mounds of vegetables and placing just enough for one into a bag brought contentment. Standing in front of the meat case at the back, I must have looked perplexed as I chewed on my lower lip trying to figure out what prosciutto was, but ham and turkey were offered, too, so I was happy. A few days later I ventured into a place I’d never been before in my life….a fish market.

The Centerville Lobster & Fish Market, located among a strip mall of stores, became a favorite stop, but my first trip inside was like a kid stepping into a toy store for the first time. With wide eyes I read every label that accompanied every ice encased, stainless steel container filled with blue point oysters, steamers, fresh shrimp, quahogs, salmon, and fish galore. I was in seafood heaven. What to choose? I muddled over choosing something familiar like salmon or shrimp or should I be daring? I watched the fish monger wrap my chosen swordfish steak in paper. Never in my life had I purchased fish wrapped in paper, it always came frozen. I hurried home with my delicious treasure and drove right passed the driveway…again.

How would I ever tell my family that I still couldn’t find a regular, run-of-the-mill grocery store? Finding a supermarket became an obsession, but the embarrassment kept me from asking the cashier at Lambert’s, the fish monger, or the proprietors of the 7-11 for directions. I explored the National Seashore at great length traversing the boardwalk, wandering past mature trees on my way to Coast Guard Beach. I journeyed to the outer Cape and Provincetown, watched the tide roll in at Race Point and poked about in shops on Commercial Street, but a supermarket remained elusive. What was I doing wrong?

Anyone who knows me, knows that I struggle telling my left from my right and following directions is a monumental task. I get lost in parking lots and inside malls. One day I turned right instead of left and found myself driving passed the Cape Cod Mall that I didn’t know existed. I pulled into the parking area, turned around, and drove back on to the street and there it was, on the right side, Shaw’s, a real-time supermarket. It had taken me two weeks of wandering to find it, but at last I felt like I was home. I pulled into the parking lot and strutted right into the store without a list, purchased some much needed items and still beaming; drove passed the driveway to my cottage.

In between getting-to-know-the-Cape travels, I put my home in order. I selfishly delighted in another first. The first time I could arrange a home the way I wanted it without anyone else suggesting otherwise. No one told me the white on white of the bathroom was too blah. No one advised me to keep the table in the middle of the kitchen area instead of next to the window. I created my living space just the way I wanted, all the while a contented smile plastered on my face. When lunch rolled around, I’d sit on my white wicker sofa on the side deck, breathing in the salt air cooling into fall, satisfied and supremely happy.

Before anyone thinks these first few weeks were a bed of roses, let me explain. While I reveled in this new-found freedom, I was also lost, not just physically lost each time I got in my car, but lost in myself. I would go for days and not speak to another living soul like a monk who took a vow of silence. Every morning, I sat up in bed, grabbed my notebook and began writing. Surrounded by pillows, I’d pen my fears, frustrations, hopes, and dreams. So many pent up emotions screamed to be released and this is where I licked the wounds from two years of fierce battles punctuated by a bitter divorce. The time to mull over my life up to this point was a gift sorely needed, but at times loneliness seeped in.

My landlord had me nearly convinced me that I should just forget flying to Nantucket every morning to a job that I could find on the Cape. She put the fear into me, but I knew at some point I needed a job, so I called the flower shop on Nantucket. The manager and I played phone tag, never really connecting. When I’d ask if my messages had been passed on, the person on the other end of the phone always said yes. I stopped calling when I realized that the job had probably been filled. The disappointment of not getting that job weighed heavily on me. What would I do swirled around me like a spinning top. The bravado that had carried me across miles of landscape, failed me now. I began pondering what I was capable of doing and a negative mantra developed…no degree, no skills, no experience. I picked up the Cape Cod Times, investigating possibilities. I knew how to be a mom, cook delicious meals, garden, and arrange flowers. No one wanted any of those skills. I didn’t worry at this point; I knew I’d be ok even if I took my time finding a job.

October rolled around and an invitation came for a Halloween party my brother and his wife were throwing. Of course I can’t go; I live over 800 miles away. Desperate to be around comforting family who spoke like I did, without adding an ‘R’ to idea where it doesn’t belong and removing the ‘R’ from harbor where it does and talk in a normal volume compelled me to drive 14 hours straight, back to Ohio for the Halloween party. On the drive I thought about how much I needed to see fields of ripe corn waiting to be harvested and the stubs of soybeans left by combines. The longing for the old familiarity of rural northwest Ohio and to laugh with my children urged me on through the day. During the long drive I recalled another time a year before when the need for the familiar overwhelmed me.

A and I were spending our first night in the new house in Bryan. Everything was new and shiny. My cherry four-poster gleamed in readiness for my maiden voyage into slumber on the plush pillow-top mattress. Sleep eluded me and something didn’t feel right even though the bed was Goldilocks-just-right. Overcome with frustration and longing, I dampened the pillow with tears. The key to the farmhouse on the nightstand caught the light from the clock radio. Without changing out of pj’s, I grabbed the key, tiptoed to A’s room and found him sound asleep. I remember thinking, the wasband hadn’t moved back into the house, yet, so I’ll just drive back and take one last look. The car slipped into the country night with crickets chirping a welcome back. Without thinking, I got out of the car, unlocked the door and went up to what had been our old bedroom that looked out over my fenced-in garden, now home to decaying perennials and an exploding population of promiscuous weeds. I crawled in on my side of the bed and fell into a peaceful sleep. As morning broke over the eastern horizon, my feet flew down the steps and I drove back to the house in town, no one the wiser.

I left Ohio on Monday after the Halloween party, anxious to be back on the Cape where the air, thick with the ocean, smelled fresh and tasted salty.

A few days later, I stepped onto a November beach, the only person walking along the edge of the lacy foam created by waves chasing the bluster of wind. I pulled my hood up and walked, head down, searching for white shells. The ocean had offered up gifts for the birthday girl. Trapped in tangled wrack from high tide were countless shells. I picked through the brownish green seaweed pocketing the prettiest. Empty life guard chairs provided a place to sit and contemplate, but the bitter cold seeped into bones too fast, better to move on. Back at home I warmed myself by baking cookies as my birthday treat. This first birthday alone, although quiet, was a lovely day doing just what I wanted and with every ring of the telephone came a happy birthday followed by a concerned Are you ok? I was ok. In fact, happiness and contentment pervaded my being, whether others believed it or not.

The holidays approached starting with Thanksgiving. Will you be coming home? Please come home. Long talks to my daughter convinced me to drive back to Ohio, so once again I hit the road, Ohio bound. Thanksgiving at my brother’s was a merry event. Everyone was glad to see me and I was happy to be among family. The Sunday after eating turkey and all the trimmings I pointed the car eastward, but this time I wasn’t alone. My daughter, a student at Ohio University in Athens, Ohio, was accompanying me back to Cape Cod. This would be her first trip to the Cape and she was staying until after Christmas. A whole month of living with my daughter brought so much joy. I couldn’t wait until I could show her around my new home…the house, the area that included Barnstable, Hyannis, and Centerville, but mostly the ocean that I loved so well.

Fighting holiday traffic, made the drive back to the Cape arduous and slow. We took the northerly route through upper New York and onto the Mass pike. The further we went the sicker M became so that by the time we reached home, all she wanted to do was down Tylenol, drink liquids, and drift into fevered asleep. I was delighted to play nurse to her. The warmth in the house increased tenfold because she was there. Poor thing was so sick that she didn’t feel like doing much of anything the first few days, until one morning white flakes floated outside the window.

I jumped out of bed, pulled on clothes and hurried into her room. “You’ve got to get up!” I insisted, “It’s snowing. It’s snowing over the ocean. I’ve never seen it snow over the ocean. We’ve got to go now!”

Such a good sport, she dressed and we hurried to Craigville where we stood shivering on the hard sandy beach watching fat snowflakes pirouette from low, gray clouds and disappear into the dark ocean. We drove to the National Seashore on that frigid morning. The sound of waves crashing against rocks and sand lured us down the steps to the Coast Guard Beach. M ran along the shoreline like a little girl playing catch me if you can with rolling waves. One thunderous wave tagged her, wetting her jeans up to her knees as she shrieked with laughter into the wind.

During her stay, we took an excursion to Salem, Mass. Wandering in and out of witchy shops, having a witch read the tarot cards for M, and taking in the Peabody-Essex museum filled the days.

Back at home, we shopped for a freshly-cut Christmas tree. When the tree was wrapped and tied to the top of the car, we looked at each other grinning. The mystery of how we’d get a tree home without a pick-up solved. All the way home, we amused each with possible scenes of the tree falling off the car and landing in traffic, on the windshield, or dropping to the side of the road. We set the perfect little tree in the stand and it miraculously stood erect and solid next to the fireplace on the first try. We dragged out lights and ornaments decorating the tree, the mantle and setting the Santa Claus collection on the piano. My Cape Cod cottage felt more like home than ever before.
One day we discovered Mashpee Commons. One of M’s college friends was throwing an elegant cocktail party for New Year’s Eve. We shopped for the perfect dress. M tried on a gray wool, strapless sheath that hugged her body. She looked chic and so young. I had no choice, but to purchase the dress and give it to her for Christmas.

Christmas Eve was a quiet affair, just the two of us sharing tea much like we had in years past on St. Nicholas day. Plates of finger sandwiches, scones, and cookies spread across the candlelit table. Only one thing would have brought more contentment and that was if A would have been there, too. Christmas day was bittersweet. Getting together with family always meant a raucous good time that included good food and much laughter. Our Christmas day was quieter than any we’d ever shared. Instead of trying to recreate what we could not, we started a new tradition…a day of doing nothing.

A few days after Christmas, I returned home from the airport in Providence. The house echoed with silence and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’m terrible at saying good-bye. I want it over quickly, like yanking a band-aide from a wound. Then, I can find a place to curl up and let the tears fall.

In a few days it would be a new year and here I was in the place of my dreams. There was so much to think about, so much to figure out. I wrote the following in my journal dated: December 30, 2000…

I need to figure out the catalyst that will move me into the next cycle of my life. I made a move from Ohio, which I’d felt was stifling, to Cape Cod. I know no one here, but the surroundings are so beautiful, the ocean close by, and I am inspired.

*************************************

Those first few months were an easing in to a new life. Although, I’d moved I still had one foot in Ohio. When being homesick overwhelmed me, I went back to Ohio, but as soon as a day went by I longed to be back on the Cape in my snug house. I made more than two trips back to Ohio in the autumn months and looking back I should not have trekked back and forth, but hind sight is 20/20, or so it's said. Getting lost every time I walked out the door became a personal frustration and joke. I laughed at myself often during that time and chalked it up to my dyslexic directional challenge. After the new year I settled into a long winter of healing and learning.

Into the Country

2011-03-22T10:31:00.000-04:00

On Sunday, my brother and his wife accompanied me on a country photoshoot. We traversed the backroads in search of Fuji foto ops. I vowed a couple years ago that I would seek the beauty to be found in rural northwest Ohio and the search continues. Come along with me. Let me show you my corner of the world...

"Can you imagine an America without a barn on the landscape? Is that the America we want?"

~ Rod Scott

From B & J's back yard I could see this old, tumbling down barn, so I zoomed in and snapped a shot.

This old barn sits within a small country park called...Opdycke Park.

We journeyed down lettered and numbered side roads. Don't you agree...

"Horses make a landscape look beautiful."

~ Alice Walker

An old country school sits on the corner across from Opdycke park...

"School days, school days, dear old golden rule days

Readin' and writin' and 'rithmetic, taught to the tune of a hickory stick."

~ Lyrics to School Days by Will D. Cobb, 1907

What's a trip to the country without stopping at a farmhouse?

My nephew's daughter looks absolutely angelic holding one of the three kids born three weeks ago.

A race to the top...

"O for a horse with wings"

~ William Shakespeare

"I roamed the countryside searching for answers to things I did not understand."

~ Leonardo Da Vinci

In case you're wondering...Yes I tweaked every photo and some I added a texture or two. I'm still experimenting, playing with, and vastly intrigued by the effects created by textures.

Happy Spring!