the artist and the farmer

A Sign

2011-03-02T15:53:00.000-08:00

I was bringing in the garbage cans, thinking about God and a podcast I listened to yesterday about signs. Mid-thought I looked up and saw an enormous hawk circling in the sky. He looped above the hill behind my house; his circles getting smaller then larger again as he took in the ground below. I watched standing still as stone, until I remembered there were groceries in the car that needed unloading. I took several steps away, then looked back. The hawk was now following me, each circle bringing him closer and closer to where I stood. He circled directly above me. I could see his head angled in my direction, taking me in; almost a reflection of my own gaze. I feared momentarily that he would notice I had no great talons or teeth to defend myself with. But, after a 3 or 4 seconds his curiosity was satisfied and he took his leave of me. I stood dumbfounded, wondering if this had been a sign. I sign for what I wondered?

Spinning Dreams

2011-03-01T16:57:00.001-08:00

I remember one of the first conversations I had with my housemates when I lived at Wildhorse Canyon (now Washington Family Ranch). I was eager to make friends and find common interests. I heard two of the gals sitting at the table talking about their spinning classes and how they loved spinning (or something to that effect).

My ears perked up and I grew excited. I knew about spinning! I quickly offered that my mom spins and that we have sheep. The girls looked confused momentarily. "She spins their wool," I clarified. I didn't know where I had gone wrong in this conversation. Kindly, they explained that spinning is what you do on exercise bikes. I simply had no idea.

I've never come to terms with the dual use of this word. To me, spinning will forever be what you do when converting a fiber into yarn. Recently, this has become one of my interests. I had the radical idea that I could start a business making yarn. I don't know if it's possible, but in true Johnson fashion, I've purchased a book about the topic and have been thoroughly enjoying it. There are lots of pictures (plus!). The book is called Spin Control.

I've also been researching spinning wheels and this is the one I'm dreaming about owning...

Beautiful, isn't it?

Timer

2011-02-27T21:16:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot lately. Mostly about the future and what I want to be when I grow up; two hard topics to contemplate considering my general lack of future knowledge. If I were able to know how one event would effect another and in turn effected myself, then I might be better able to make a decision and stick to it (in regards to what I want to be).

I watched a movie today called Timer. It's a sci-fi romance, featuring the actress from Buffy the Vampire Slayer who played Anya (Emma Caulfield). At the time when this movie takes place, most everyone has a timer. The timer is a devise which is attached to your wrist that will count down to the very day you meet your soul mate. On that day, when your eyes meet, the timer beeps and you just know.

I see the allure of such a devise. Not only do you know that an event will happen, you also know how many days until said event (unless, of course, your soul mate does not have a timer). I know this is a bit abstract, but I wish I could simplify my decision making process in choosing a profession so easily. I would just buy a devise, it would read some sort of scientific, hormony level...then poof! I would just know. All doubt erased.

I wonder if anyone would like to act as a timer for me? What is a career that you think would fit this artist and farmer?

I'm Max!!!

2009-10-03T11:42:00.000-07:00

Further thoughts on Harry Potter

2009-09-28T08:27:00.000-07:00

*There is some information in this post about books 4 & 5. Nothing that would spoil them, but information nonetheless.

I was ruminating a bit more on the bravery shown in the face of fear throughout Harry Potter. In their most terrifying of accomplishments they usually survived on sheer nerve. Harry used all the resources he had and faced the fear. The one point of weakness for Harry was in his mind.

I would rather face a dragon than face what's going on in my mind. At least the dragon is straight forward. "Accio Firebolt!" I would cry, then see where my wits would take me. Hopefully I would survive, but it's a dragon I'm facing and let's face it, I don't really know how I could prepare myself beyond the survival instincts I was born with. You might be able to store a few tricks up your sleeve, but in a case like this you're just going to improvise then it's done. Pretty straight forward.

In the mind you have to grapple with things you can't touch or strangle. One of the hardest books for me to read is The Order of the Pheonix, because it has so much to do with the mind. Harry's scar prickles then his mind is assulted. He can't detach himself from it. I don't know how you can. My mind is always at work and sometimes it feels like it's working against me. It's as if I have my own Lord Voldermort spinning lies and deliusions that I (for reasons beyond me) believe. It is this mind of mine that creates obstacles and fear. How do I fight my own mind?

I either need to learn Occlumency (does any one know how to do this?) or fight by other means; with the love in my heart and the memory of those who care for me.

Greetings!

2009-09-27T09:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I finished reading the Harry Potter series for the second/third time. I actually finished the last book on Friday, but it was just too hard to put that seventh book back on my shelf. So, I re-read the last 200 pages slowly, soaking in all the wonderful details.

It's become quite plain that I am in awe of J.K. Rowling. Her stories are so intensely filled with imagination and heart. I cry and shout in triumph right along with the characters. Neville Longbottom is by far my favorite character to cheer onwards and I often throw my fists up in victory as he accomplishes something he once thought out of his reach. By the seventh book I am utterly filled with pride as I read about Neville and his dedication to the people he cares about.

Yesterday as I put the book back on the shelf, I felt a real sense of missing. I felt apart of the story and with it gone, so went that part of me. In the story they do sometimes foolish and daring things, but always with a drive to either content their curiosity or to work out a solution to fight the darkness invading their world. I was challenged as I looked at myself and realized how often I am discouraged by the simplest obstacle and often give up as I pursue my curiosity or drive to ward of the darkness in my world.

I say this often, but I will say it again--I want to be brave. I want to go beyond the obstacles. I want to do the things that frighten me. I want to be able to throw my fists up in victory as I face my fear head on; kicking, punching, and screaming at the fear if need be.

As Seen On Mt. Tabor

2009-05-30T15:51:00.000-07:00

A large man riding a scooter sized crotch rocket.
A mid-twenties surfer boy on a long board hanging out with a forty-something woman in a leopard print leotard on roller blades.
A man that looked like Dr. Emmett Brown (Back to the Future) riding his long board (I wished it was a hover board--but I guess they don't take those out into public yet).

Cannon Beach

2009-05-25T13:48:00.000-07:00

Dave and the ocean

Molly and Kate

Artistic shot of me

Artistic shot of Dave

Molly finds a seashell!

Molly, Alexis, and John walk in the big bath...

Yoda Likes Grass.

2009-05-18T20:39:00.000-07:00

Yoda occasionally makes the great escape. These rare adventures into the wild come after months and months of sneaking around by the door and waiting for a moment when we slip up and leave it open for a second too long. His small head has almost been smashed by the door because his speed didn't quite match his desire to be outside (poor thing).

On the rare occasion that Yoda does get outside, he is really cute to watch. He'll stare at the sky for long lengths of time; smelling the air and basking in the glory of sweet freedom. He rubs his face in all the plants and chews on grass. He'd probably be a great cat for Wendell Berry.

In an effort to make living inside more appealing to our not-so-street-savvy cat, I went to the Portland Nursery to purchase grass. The place is so monumentally huge that I had no idea where to even begin looking for edible grass. I wound up stalking one of the Portland Nursery employees until he noticed me and asked if I had any questions. "Yes," said I, "Do you have grass that my cat could eat?" He told me that there wasn't any in the potted section but that they had some Cat Grass (or Oat) seeds in the main building.

Cat grass??? Grass just for cats? You betcha! It even boasts of being good for them and reducing hair balls (which it has). So, I purchased some seeds and planted them. Now, every morning Yoda gets a grassy treat and a small taste of the great outdoors.

Pizza!

2009-05-11T09:04:00.000-07:00

I'm in a "do-it-myself" stage right now, that I probably should have grown out of when I was 5, but whatever. This stage has lead to making weekly loaves of homemade bread, a clothing line of my very own, and some other great revelations that I can do it myself!

To your left, you can see with your own eyes, a beautiful pizza. This pizza was not delivery or Digiorno for that matter. It was made from scratch, dough and sauce.

It's not the perfect pizza, yet. I need to let the crust cook longer before I put the toppings on and the sauce could use a little tweaking, but aside from that it's good to eat. And really, what else can you ask of a pizza?

Quilted T-shirts

2009-05-07T08:13:00.000-07:00

A few months ago I went through my closet in an effort to downsize. It's always hard for me to do this. I'm a sentimental person and as I pull out clothes that I've had for what seems like forever, I tend to think back to "that summer when" or to that person who gave that piece of clothing. It's these thoughts that make me put t-shirts I haven't worn in ages back in my closet.

I had four such t-shirts that had made it through round after round of elimination. Each of these t-shirts had been worn and washed so many times that the cotton knit had broken down, leaving the fabric softer and more pliable than when it was originally purchased. It takes time and dedication for a t-shirt to make it to this stage and I just couldn't part with all that effort easily.

In a moment of great inspiration a solution came to me. I could make them into something else. I pulled out the t-shirts and noticed that their colors went well together, which meant I could cut them up into pieces and sew them back together to make a quilted fabric. I also thought that it would be wonderful to have a skirt made from this soft material. So, I went to work.

I cut the t-shirts up into 5x5 inch pieces, then sewed them together. After I had my quilted fabric, I pulled out one of my favorite skirts, the one that fits just right, and used it to create a pattern for my new skirt. I had just enough quilted fabric to accomplish the desired skirt! I cut the pieces and sewed them together adding a light weight white cotton lining to it and a hot pink, velvet, elastic binding to the waist.

In the end, I had to add more elastic to the waist because the binding wasn't strong enough to keep the weight of the fabric up. Aside from that, this skirt is great. It's the best on sunny days, because it's light weight and breezy. I usually wear it with my brown Birkenstocks and my favorite soft yellow cardigan. Sometimes I even gussy it up a bit and throw on a few strands of pearls. It's just a fun skirt to have in the closet!

Grocery Shopping is Fun.

2009-05-04T10:35:00.000-07:00

Today commemorates my first ever 99.9% plastic free shopping trip! It would have been 100% but I had to buy garbage bags for our kitchen's trash can. One day that won't be a necessity, but as it is, I had to buy them. The great thing about the trash bags I bought, is that they are biodegradable and will decompose in 18-24 months. That being my only plastic purchase, I feel very good about my groceries!

At the beginning of my shopping extravaganza I ran into my friend Libby, who truly inspired this epic event. When she found me I had a plastic bag of pre-shredded mozzarella in my hand. I complained to her of not liking to shred mozzarella and tried to justify making such a purchase. She put a finger to her chin and began letting her mind work out my dilemma. Within a minute she ran into the New Seasons deli (where she works) and started pulling shredded mozzarella from a bulk bag. She weighed it and gave it to me in a biodegradable paper container! The great thing about her brilliant plan was that I was able to get the exact amount of cheese I needed. The plastic bagged mozarella was short by 2 oz., meaning I would have needed to buy two packages and wasted 6 oz of cheese. Thanks Libby!

Another highlight from my shopping trip included buying barley. I know, I'm really living on the edge. But, catch this...I went to the aisle where you normally buy beans in plastic bags, but they didn't have any pearled barley. I scratched my head and pondered where to get barley, regardless of its packaging, if it wasn't in the bean aisle. I thought it might be with the flour. So, I wandered in the direction of flour. On my way I happened past the bulk aisle and there it was...with a choir of angels singing and bright lights illuminating it. I was so pleased.

In case your wondering if all my no-plastic purchases increased my grocery bill, I'll tell you it didn't. As I would make one decision that would be more pricey, the very next decision would inevitable offer me a savings. In the end I walked out of the grocery store spending at least $30 less our normal grocery bill!

Look Mom No Plastic!

2009-05-03T11:03:00.000-07:00

Last weekend my Grandma sent me home with a large paper bag filled with freshly picked rhubarb straight from her garden. My Grandma picks the rhubarb so that it has some of its root base still attached, this helps it to stay fresh longer. This is good for me, because I'm always slow in finding a good use for it.

I've had some delicious rhubarb dishes in the past week and a half, so I decided to freeze the rhubarb my Grandma gave me and make use of it later. As I mindlessly went about the kitchen in search of a plastic freezer bag, I ran across two large Ball jars with old fashioned glass lids. They're really quite cute and I love having them on display in our windowed cupboards. But, it struck me that these two Ball jars might be put to some industrious use.

Without even really considering it, I made a plastic free decision. It's incredible that there always seems to be an alternative to plastic. I'm truly excited about this plastic free choice, because once I use the rhubarb I just need to throw the jars in the dishwasher and they're ready for another use! I may need to stock up on these Ball jars...

I'm so excited for this!

2009-04-19T12:33:00.001-07:00

My Clothes Don't Match.

2009-04-15T20:18:00.000-07:00

As always, I woke up this morning. My days usually start out this way. I like the predictability of it. It took me awhile to actually get out of bed. I think I spent about 15 minutes convincing myself to get up and get moving instead of resetting my alarm. I reset my alarm anyway and got out of bed 30 minutes later.

I swung immediately into action and started on the 3 hour process of baking bread. During the first rise, I showered and attempted to dress myself. "Attempted" is the best word I can conjure up for what happened this morning. I spent time looking for clothes that I couldn't find, putting on and taking off clothes that didn't quite fit the way I wanted them to, and feeling utterly frustrated by the amount of time it was taking me to get dressed. I stomped my foot and exhaled loudly. I threw my arms up and threw my clothes on the ground. I couldn't do it. I couldn't dress myself. I walked away from my closet wearing a shirt and pants that didn't match. In my brain I fumbled about, letting self-destructive thoughts take hold.

It was then that I found myself standing in front of Dave; mismatched with my hair dried funny. He looked at me with the complete acceptance of a person who loves you so much they see past your awkward moments. Unaware of the temper tantrum I had in the other room, he asked how I was doing. I fumbled around in my brain again, then confessed "I'm having a bad morning." He asked why. "I can't dress myself," I replied.

I can imagine it would sound silly to hear a grown person say that they can't dress themselves, but Dave didn't laugh. He walked towards me and pulled me close. I cried as he held me. There's something about being held while you're crying, it's like someone else takes the responsibility of making sure you don't burst apart physically while you're bursting apart emotionally.

Even though it was a silly thing to cry about, it meant a lot to me to have Dave there. I just wanted to take a minute to thank him and all my friends who have loved me even when my clothes have not matched. I love you.

Floo Blah Tutu Le Blah

2009-04-13T21:09:00.000-07:00

"Bonjour! Comment ce va?" I exclaim with my red beret smartly positioned on top of my head. "Ce va," the kindly French person says in response, smiling at me--an American who took the time to learn her native French language. I walk on, feeling as though I made the world a better place through saying "Hello, how are you?"

This is how I envision my time in France; me wearing cute little French outfits and speaking with a perfect little French accent. I see the French people looking at me adoringly and accepting me as one of their own. I sit at a cafe and tut along with them as a woman with large hair waves her arms and speaks with a southern drawl.

In my imagination I am quite the snob, which is not like me at all. That's why I like my imagination. I get to try on different people and test out different scenarios. What I don't like about my imagination is that it can make some things seem more important than they really are.

The reason I want to go to France is to see the Louvre and the many other lovely buildings filled with art and history. I want to sit in a cafe and sip tea while drawing the people that pass me by. There is a romantic quality to France that I want to capture, and it has nothing to do with the people or fitting in. It is more about being mysterious and wandering around in unfamiliar places.

I would dearly love to go to France one day, and while it would be helpful to speak French for the two to three weeks that I'm there, I don't know that I would find any other use for speaking the language. I might find a lost French woman in Portland, but she would inevitably speak English and I would sweetly smile at her as she said, "Hello, how are you?" with her cute French accent.

It's hard for me to admit, but I can't justify learning French right now. I will just have to settle for the French-gibberish I speak in my imagination. It goes something like this, "Floo blah tutu le blah." It's really quite elegant in my mind.

Supermarket Folly

2009-04-01T08:51:00.001-07:00

I just stuck my finger in my eye. That wasn't the bad part, it was the stinging that came afterward and wondering what I had on my finger that could sting my eye so much. As I walk through the morning I remember clearly washing my hands after using the toilet, but not after applying my make-up. Make-up should not sting your eye like that, but I can't think of anything else that would.

Alas, I didn't sit down to write today because of my eye (that just happened as I sat down to write). I am writing to ask for solutions. Does anyone have clever ideas on how to avoid plastic? I'm wondering where to find tortillas that don't come in plastic bags? Does vegetable oil even come in a plastic-less container...or should one completely convert to olive oil (that always comes in fancy glass containers)? Is there a way to make one's own sour cream and yogurt so that one might avoid the plastic container that it comes in? And I just thought about one's cheese!

Why does everything in the world have a plastic option, but not everything has a plastic-less option? This to me is folly. If plastic and disposable culture are causing the damage that I'm told think they are, why is there not some larger change?

I was thinking about McDonald's yesterday and how many fast food meals they've served (they brag about it on their signs). Then I thought about all the waste that has been created from a restaurant trying to come up with a cost-effective solution to not giving out proper plates and silverware to every Tom, Dick, and Sally that come to the drive through and expect their meal served in under 3 min. That is a lot of waste, but it's a waste that will biodegrade quicker than plastic.

When I look down the aisles at a a grocery store and see the amount of food being sold and the amount of plastic used to package it, I wonder about attacking a cooperation like McDonalds. Our grocery stores shelves are lined with plastic. I feel like I'm being dramatic. I don't like to feel that way, I want to find a solution and not blame the man. So dear reader, what ideas to you have?

Cupcakes!

2009-03-31T10:57:00.000-07:00

I love, love, love cupcakes. There is a great shop on Belmont called Saint Cupcake that is dedicated solely to the making of scrumptious cupcakes. On days where it just feels like a treat is needed, I head there.

Today, I felt like making my own scrumptious treats. In an effort to remain plastic-less, I had to make them from scratch (both cake box and frosting container make use of the dreaded plastic). I again referred to the greatest baking book there ever was: Baking Illustrated, by Cook's Illustrated.

Here's how they turned out! (I added the doily for a fancy effect.)

Vesty vest

2009-03-30T18:21:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting a black vest for awhile now, but the vests that I would try on where not quite right. Some were too puffy, some were bulky around the shoulders yet tight around the waist, and others were only available in white (white outerwear is just a bad idea). I had an idea in my head as to what this vest would look like. It needed to be feminine and also outdoorsy. I finally found the vest, but the price was around $200. (See below)

At one point in my life I would have dropped that, but I no longer have the talent to justify spending money in that fashion. So, being crafty I thought I might be able to make one for myself and I might even be able to do it using thrifted fabric. I started by cruising the local Goodwill (Broadway). There were some great options there. I landed on this sweater, then took off to Fabric Depot to get some coordinating fabrics and notions.

After all the fabrics were found, I just needed a pattern. I pulled a jacket out of my closet that had some similar design details along with a wonderful fit. I then pulled out another jacket that has a hood that actually functions. Using tracing paper I traced the pieces of each jacket that I wanted to copy. Then I started in on the hard part--making sure each pattern piece would work with the others. This part of the project took the longest.

Once the pattern pieces were ready to go, I started cutting. It's always nerve racking to cut into something that already functions (like the sweater). I almost didn't, because I had started to grow attached to the idea of owning a frumpy sweater to wear around the house. I hemmed and hawed about it for a day or two before I took the plunge. In hindsight I'm glad I went for it. It added the perfect touch to my vest. Check it out!

Plastic-less

2009-03-29T15:28:00.000-07:00

I am trying to live plastic free. I've always thought of plastic as bad and wasteful, but I have also used it without a flinch of guilt. I suppose that is the result of being raised in a disposable culture. Now, I am trying to live without it.

Unfortunately, it is everywhere. Upon opening my reliable cardboard box of Cheerios, I discovered a plastic bag and a plastic Guitar Hero toy (loads of fun). I had teriyaki chicken for dinner the other night and it came to me in a plastic take out box along with a plastic fork. It is hard to live plastic free.

I am uniting with a group of people to live plastic free for three months. Knowing that they might be living successfully without plastic draws me to believe that I too can do it. I am no where near successful right now, but I want to keep working at it and try to make it a sustainable change in my life; hopefully one that lasts behond the three month commitment.

One thing I've learned is that it is difficult to buy bread packaged in anything but plastic (excepting artisan bread, which does not work well for PB&J). So, I am making my own bread. Last night I made bread sticks to accompany dinner and today I made a loaf of buttermilk bread (thank you Cook's Illustrated). Here is a picture of the beautiful loaf of bread. I'm so proud. One less piece of plastic consumed.

Yoda in Paris

2009-03-28T15:57:00.000-07:00

I have been home sick and stuck on the couch for the better part of this week. It follows to reason that I might be a bit out of my mind. On several occasions I've tried to convince others that I was not sick, so I might leave the couch and be with the real people, but to no avail. I am sick and it is not disguisable.

Today I am on the couch again fiddling with my blog (that I've been neglecting), and in my current state of sanity I thought it best to expose the follies of the day. One such folly is of my cat; whose apparently been to Paris (without my foreknowledge). I think Yoda looks quite dapper in his sailor suit.

I also took a facebook quiz today and decided not to publish the results. The quiz lets you know which Jane Austen character you are most like. I've always wanted to be like Elizabeth Bennet. So, I should have been excited when the 7 question quiz decided that I was indeed like her, but I was too frustrated by the quizzes non-manipulative format to feel anything about its ability to define me. I couldn't figure it out and had to just answer honestly. I like knowing the format then being able to choose whether to answer honestly or in an effort to reach the results I desire. I felt off my game to not be able to dicifer a simple 7 question personality quiz.

I need to be around real people....

Little Beastie.

2009-03-20T21:29:00.000-07:00

Our cat is part siamese. He looks like he should be elegant and a bit snoody, but truth be told he's a little off. Right now he's perched on the back of the couch looking out the window as a ship's captian might look out towards the horizon. He does this sort of thing; tricking me into looking at him as a cat and not the silly beast he is.

In the time it has taken me to describe the previous scene, he has already done several things to make me shake my head at him and feel a tiny bit sorry for his sweet little efforts towards being a real cat. In my head he's like Pinocchio, always wanting to be a real boy. The selfish part of me, the part that likes to laugh at him, is glad that he hasn't been granted his wish by some merciful fairy.

I think he would be insufferable, like many cats are, if he didn't occasionally loose his balance and fall off the couch. I like that he has a nightly routine that he depends on us to keep or else he starts to loose it. He's our little man and whether it be the sexy poses he does by the door to convince us not to leave or that he follows us everywhere in the house (including into the bathroom) so he can simply be where we are, we love him.

I love that just a few minutes ago as he was cleaning himself he tipped over, like an invisible hand came up and shoved him. I love that when I laughed at him, he indignantly looked at me as if I had been the one to push him even though I was sitting across the room. He does stuff like this all the time, yet still tries to convince both Dave and I that he is sophisticated; as he is now, sitting like a gargoyle on our ship's desk. Precious little beastie.

Leave No Plastic Behind

2009-03-15T12:28:00.000-07:00

Today's Project

2009-03-08T13:42:00.000-07:00

I work at a child development center with infants and toddlers. One of the room's I oversee is embarking on an animal curriculum. I was inspired to bring in something new for them, so I went to the craft store and bought some felt (eco-fi, made from recycled plastic bottles) and played around for a bit. These masks are what I came up with... The designs are simple, to keep with the school's philosophy. Our learning materials are to be open-ended to promote each child's ability to create and imagine. There are no eye holes yet, because I'm not quite sure where to put them.

Recycled T-shirt Bird

2009-01-31T18:05:00.000-08:00

I made this yesterday from some scrap pieces of t-shirt (click on the picture to see the details). I'm pretty excited about it...but I don't really know what to do with it. Any ideas?

Oodles of Pearls

2009-01-23T16:34:00.000-08:00

Today I bought three strands of fake pearls and a pair of fake pearl earrings. The earrings are huge and verging on obnoxious, but so are the three strands of pearls. The longest strand goes nearly to my belly button and the two others are just inches shorter in length.

This pearl fest was inspired by the Sex in the City movie (which I'm not proud to say I've watched two and a half times). There is a scene in the movie where Carrie and Big are laying in bed, reading. Carrie is wearing barely anything (just a silky little something and underwear) but she manages to accessorize it with a long strand of pearls. As she sits in bed reading a book of love letters to Big, my thoughts drift from their interaction and go to the strand of pearls she is wearing. It occurs to me then how very lovely it would be to have my own strand of long, elegant pearls.

Of course a long, elegant strand of pearls in not a very practical thing for a girl to go out and buy (unless you're Carrie and drop it like it's hot). So, I resigned myself to not having a long, elegant strand of pearls...UNTIL...the other day when I was digging around in my jewelry box (a recycled cigar box filled with costume jewelry) and found a strand of fake pearls I must have gotten as a kid. Yippee! In that moment I was delighted with the fact that I am such a pack rat. I sported my fake pearls happily knowing that they didn't cost (present day me) any money.

Then today I found the mother load. In the horrid process of finding jeans, I happened upon oodles of fake pearl accessories at American Eagle. I gleefully bought the longest strands they had and a ridiculous set of matching earrings, knowing full well how silly I was behaving. I now sit on my couch (without regret) feeling very pretty with a long strand of pearls dangling around my neck (wearing considerably more than Carrie).

On Occasion...

2009-01-22T21:22:00.000-08:00

On occasion I feel brilliant. Today, was such an occasion.

I am by nature a shy person. Not in the sense that I shy away from opportunity, but shy in the sense that I know people have many important things to do and I'd rather not interrupt them. When I am called upon to interrupt people (i.e. have a conversation with them), my heart starts to beat quicker and the air thickens. I feel pressure to say something worth the time I am stealing--to awe them. But I find that when I open my mouth, I am just me and our conversation is no more than usual.

Today though, was not a usual sort of day. Today I led a workshop. I excel at workshops. People elect to come to workshops. There is no stealing time from anyone. They seek to hear what I have to say. So, I spoke. The things I had planned to say came out of my mouth in the correct order. And the questions I had planned to provoke thought did just as they were told to do.

In the end I was very pleased with myself. I sit here now still thinking about how brilliant I was. Today was an occasion.

The Snow in Portland Keeps Falling

2008-12-22T09:12:00.000-08:00

Snow Day

2008-12-14T15:28:00.000-08:00

So, I'd been wanting to make a crown and some dress-up stuff for my niece for Christmas. She's almost 2 and about to hit that magical age of imagination. My idea was to knit a crepe paper crown with buttons and fun ribbon, then to make a robe out of fuzzy, super soft material. Unfortunately it snowed today, making it impossible to gather the needed supplies. As I sat trapped in my house, I wondered what I could possibly make out of the craft supplies I had on hand.

I dug through my fabric box and found a scrap of pretty pink taffeta and a complimentary calico. I cut the taffeta to the (estimated) size of a two year old robe. I used the calico to make bias tape for the left and right side of the robe. It also worked as a pretty ruffle for the top and bottom of the robe!

Lucky for me, I am a fairly frugal person and have saved the ribbons used to tie various bouquets together. I had several sizes and colors saved up (pinks and purples mainly...PERFECT!). I took the longest piece of my "thrifty" ribbon and sewed it to the top of the robe. After I had stitched the ribbon in place, I thought that it would be fun to pour something down in the opening left between top and bottom stitching. I found some glitter (that was passed down to me from my Mom) and poured the entire bottle into the space between the ribbon and taffeta. The space was too large and the glitter sagged into one place. I took a deep breath, spread the glitter out evenly, then took another deep breath before sewing on top of the glitter. I had no idea what it would do to my machine, but I had visions of the needle breaking and flying into one of my eyeballs. Thankfully, I was able to keep both of my eyeballs and the stitching worked to keep the glitter evenly distributed!

The final touch was the crown. I had a tiny piece of gold felt left over from an apron project that had gone awry. It turned out to be just the right size for a fun princess crown! I took some more of my "thrifty" ribbon and stitched it around the bottom, so that the crown could be tied on. I added a complimentary light pink ribbon (accidentally purchased for a project because I thought it was white) and a button that had fallen off a pair of pants that used to fit me. It looked a little plain, so I cut out a few diamond shapes and sewed fabric (left over from the robe) to the back side of the felt. The fabric peaks through the front (reverse applique) and makes a whimsical looking crown.

Just for fun, I coaxed Dave into modeling the crown and robe.

I felt like writing a poem

2008-12-12T15:48:00.000-08:00

To linger on some singular note,
And find it sings my soul.

To lose the note,
Then my soul,
My mind has lead me astray.

Clarity so rarely reached,
So easily driven away.

What once was found,
Now is lost,
How quickly it fades to grey.

Oh, Christmas Tree

2008-12-08T20:34:00.001-08:00

My sister and I have always decorated the Christmas tree together. Its a tradition, like sleeping by the Christmas tree once Christmas break started or racing to move the mouse on our advent calendar every morning. The biggy was to move the mouse on the 24th. Whoever moved the mouse on the 24th was the winner. I remember my Mom once tried to make the other days just as special. She would stick Bible verses and candies in them. But, the 24th reigned the supreme prize no matter how my Mom tried to equalize the days. It was the last day on the calendar, the last move. There were no more moves for an entire year. To make the last move meant you were the winner for an entire year. It was great.

Christmas was great; chopping down a tree with my family, digging out boxes of Christmas decorations, and hanging ornaments while bickering with my sister about which ornament belonged to which of us. Last year we divided up the ornaments one last time. My Mom sent mine with me to Oregon and my sister's with her to Texas. My sister called today to let me know she had hung her ornaments. It was a little sad to think about. I left mine in their box this year and instead hung handmade snowflakes and strands of cranberries (see picture at top). It's a simple tree, but pretty and festive.

This will be my first Christmas away from my family, so I'm feeling a bit nostalgic. I have a feeling I'll sleep by our Christmas tree at some point this December and I might even buy an advent calendar (the cardboard type with chocolate). We'll see.

Mr. Poopy Pants

2008-12-07T18:20:00.000-08:00

Hello world. What is wrong with you? Not everything. I find that some of your shops are nice and that massages are quite pleasant. Those aside, I can find some fault.

For example, stolen car windows. Why steal the window? Why not the twirly heating/cooling nobs (those are cool) or the emergency brake? I like the emergency brake, but I'm not completely confident that it does anything except make a great cranking noise as I lift it up.

I need my car window you, Mr. Poopy Pants!

I know that times are hard, but of what value could the car window be? You took nothing else. In fact you left more than you took. Your rusty hatchet, bent hanger, and half smoked cigarette, were they left as a trade?

Forgive me for blaming the whole world for what you did. I have no face to put with this act. I am lashing out and will find time to do breathing exercises later (and I promise I will do them--this will be a non-thing by tomorrow).

Thank you for listening.

Story

2008-11-26T07:27:00.000-08:00

I love story. I love the places it can take you to. I love the people you meet in it. Story is a passage way into my imagination. A well written story invades my mind and my imagination comes to the rescue. It makes sense of the parts that my mind doesn't recognize. My imagination constructs wild animals that I've never seen the likes of. It collects the descriptors of a place written about and builds it; either city or small house. I love story.

As I flip through the pages of a book, my imagination either thrills at the entries or sighs and says "I've seen this before." The last book I read made my imagination thrill. There were people "graced" with special abilities, powerful women who charged themselves with fighting for the weaker of their sex, and a romance that wove throughout. This story I couldn't put down. I rushed through it; from front to back. My imagination screaming with delight.

As I drew to the end of this story I felt as if I was about to loose something. Like the last day of a vacation, I couldn't really enjoy the last pages of this book, because I knew it was about to end. Reluctantly I finished. I then searched the few empty pages at the back of the book. I read the front and back flyleaf. I closed the book and turned it over and over in my hands (maybe hoping that a certain amount of turns would open a secret door back into the story I'd just left). I found no hidden messages or doorways, only the tease of a prequel to be written at an unknown time in the future.

This is somewhat ritual whenever I read a great book. I search for the hidden track, desperately looking in the folds of a page or at the bottom of a flyleaf. One or two books have satisfied me in providing a hidden something and thus encouraged this obsessive behavior (Fablehaven and Artemis Fowl). If you recognize those titles, you now know something about me. I read Young Adult Fiction. A genre whose audience is often looking for the prize at the bottom of the box.

This just in...

2008-11-23T11:53:00.000-08:00

We're staying in Portland.

Some People Wander

2008-11-09T14:43:00.000-08:00

On my first day of kindergarten I wore my hair neatly in braid. It was a long blond braid that cascaded down my back and ended shortly past my bottom. I had on my first day of school outfit, a new backpack, and a look of utter bewilderment. I held my Mom's hand tightly as the yellow school bus slowed to a stop in front of us. I turned and in an act of desperation wrapped my arms around my Mom and began sobbing. My Mom acted with grace in a moment that was potentially embracing for us both. She managed to coax me onto the bus and talk a 5th grader into taking care of me until I found my class.

It is almost scary how little I've changed since then. I have moved from home, traveled, and tried many new things but never without the last act of desperately clinging to what I know. I like to be comfortable. I like having things around me that make me feel safe. I like having people around me that make me feel safe. In the same breath, I recognize the tremendous amount of growth available to me when I move beyond the comfortable and the safe to seek the new and the challenging.

I bring this up because my husband and friends have started discussing the possibility of moving to New Orleans. The need there is still great. With 40% of the homes abandoned or destroyed the neighborhoods look less than inviting. My husband, Dave, looks at this as an opportunity to build community in the places that have been abandoned. He and our friend Kate see it as an opportunity to live out the faith we profess. I see it as another opportunity to find something to cling to and sob.

It's a conflicting feeling, much like the one I had while waiting for the bus over 23 years ago. I am scared. I like my home, my job, and my current community. I'm not looking for adventure, I am not a thrill seeker. But, there is a part of me who wants to go and see. I want to try this out, because there is a potential that this could be good. I mean kindergarten turned out alright. My teacher did yell at me for not knowing how to tie my shoes, but learning how to read was pretty cool.

Beautiful Quote

2008-11-08T09:15:00.000-08:00

"There is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost." -Martha Graham

Lone Black Bird

2008-11-06T15:26:00.000-08:00

A saw a lone black bird flying through the drizzly Northwest sky. An infinate blanket of grey clouds hung behind him. He seemed to be heading for something that was more important to him than his personal comfort. For a few seconds he appeared to be alone. Then, slowly the rest of his flock came into view.

While he was alone I imagined that his life was like the weather; dreary, sad, and hard. As his flock came into view, my perspective changed. He was now the leader. He flew out ahead of his group to charge the weather and be the first to confront any dangers. While I watched, part of me wished I was the bird.

Kruger Farm

2008-10-26T19:56:00.000-07:00

Dave, Libby, Molly and I had our Kruger Farm adventure today. Here are some pictures to document the occasion.

Dave and Molly head into the pumpkin patch.

Molly is in the barn. Molly sees...

Calves!!!

Libby uses her map reading abilities to help us through the corn maze.

Thanks Libby!

Molly likes the leaves on the ground. She sets one on the bench

near Dave.

The End!

A Mariner's Life for Me

2008-10-09T20:30:00.000-07:00

Swimming in front of my eyes was a large sea bound ship. It bobbed up and down, nodding affirmatively as I questioned it about my future as a mariner. It seemed my only option. I looked around the pier wondering if anyone had followed me to this potential get-away. Something moved in the shadows and rather than wait to distinguish what had moved, I scampered up onto the quarter deck.

I stepped into a crowd of others who had also accepted a life at sea. A tall man stood to my left with long, greasy, brown hair. He smiled at me, revealing a set of yellow, broken teeth. On my right, a collection of red-haired men stood together looking comfortable with each other. They laughed and reacted to each other knowingly. The tall, greasy man nudged me and said, "The Riley clan." He smiled widely and bounced his head up and down. He kept starring at me, smiling. I smiled quickly then turned away from him. He nudged me again and extending his hand to me said, "They call me Boris. What do they call you?"

"Ah..." I responded. I looked over my shoulder and into the shadows. I was feeling increasingly anxious about the movement I had seen in the shadows. Boris grabbed my hand and began shaking it. He repeated his question to me and I muttered to him that my name was Milo and that it was a pleasure to make his acquaintance. At that, he stopped bouncing his head and instead looked at me curiously.

"What part of London you from?" he questioned me.

"No part, I'm not from London." I said and looked back over my shoulder. Something moved again. This time I saw the rising sun reflect off what could only be a silver-plated pistol held in the hand of a man wearing a long black coat that brushed against the bottom of his knees. He looked at the ship from under his dark bowler hat. I turned my back to him and held my breath. Had he seen me?

To be continued...

The DMV

2008-08-06T16:37:00.001-07:00

My third trip to the DMV should have been successful. My purse was bursting with papers stating that I am the person I say I am. I had my passport, marriage certificate, an official letter from the social security office, my driver's license, WA registration, proof of insurance, a pay stub, and credit card bill (with my current address). You would think that this coupled with $200 would have gotten me what I wanted. But, my first trip to the DMV had already foretold that things like this don't come easy.

My first trip to the DMV was at the tail end of a long line of errands. I pulled into the parking lot and noticed a sort of exodus happening from the building. Someone walked to the door and made movements like they were locking the place up. This baffled me, because my clock said it was only 5pm and I clearly remembered writing that they would be open until 5:30pm on a lime-green post-it note that I stuck neatly upon my desk at home. So, I came home and decided to investigate this discrepancy. I had indeed written 5:30pm as the closing time for the DEQ, not the DMV.

On second trip to the DMV, I had all my ducks straight in a row, or so I thought. I had gone over the on-line DMV checklist several times and had even conferred with Dave about needing to bring anything else. He suggested that I bring a pay stub. So, I brought one along for good measure. I walked in and was summoned immediately to the counter where the helpful people sit. It took the man less than 1min. to dash all my hopes of getting anything accomplished within that trip. He looked at my pay stub with contempt and spelled out for me the specifics of what they were looking for as "proof" of my identity and residence. I left with yet another checklist of things to bring.

One obvious thing I had neglected to bring with me on my second trip was the title of the vehicle. I've owned the car since 2002, but I don't actually know what the title looks like. I have one--someplace. I looked for it. I thought I had found it. I drove back to the DMV, with all my documents and strode up to the counter. The helpful man at the counter was a bit feistier than I was in the mood for. He told me that the document in my hand was not my title, but rather another registration form. I sighed and asked, "Does it at least look like a title?" He hesitated and it seemed to me that he was processing whether or not I was jesting with him. I wasn't. He arrived upon the conclusion that I was. We came to an impasse and I was not happy with the feisty man posing as someone helpful. I got in my car and drove back home.

I don't feel like an intelligent being right now. I feel as though I should have a dunce hat sat upon my head. It should be my task to guard a doormat and keep it from a life of crime. How hard is it to get a driver's license and plates in the state of OR? What level of intelligence does it require?

Sewing in July

2008-08-04T20:46:00.000-07:00

Sewing in July is thought to be good luck in Ireland. It is said that if you sew two things during the month of July your luck doubles. I made that up. But, honestly I did sew two things in July. Here they are:

a. a purse I sewed and embroidered (pattern from Bend the Rules of Sewing)

b. a skirt I sewed from old pajama pants, my high school graduation dress, a t-shirt, and a pair of pants from goodwill (pattern from a skirt I bought at Saturday Market)

2008-07-08T20:43:00.000-07:00

New necklace,
Pretty necklace,
Brown, turquoise, and silver.

I bade ye,
I made ye,
Without a bow or a quiver.

On Hawthorne,
Busy Hawthorne,
That great cement river.

I bade ye,
I made ye,
With a laugh and a shiver.

Running...

2008-06-16T18:51:00.001-07:00

Once I was deceived into thinking that running was fun. I believe it was my third grade teacher who convinced me that running was so fun that I should actually pay to do it. You see, my elementary school held an annual "Fun Run" that the students would raise money to be apart of. And believe it or not, we were all very excited to get together on a Saturday and run. That's it. We would just run.

Looking back, I could only sigh and explain it as a part of my gullible youth. That was until yesterday. Yesterday, Dave and I went for a run with some friends (Kate, Libby, and Molly). We had been talking about it for awhile, but it took their initiation to make it happen. It was hard; we huffed and puffed. I think I walked more than I ran. But, we did it! And if you can believe it, I enjoyed myself!

Today, after Dave got off of work, we went on another run. It feels good to get out there and just run; heart racing, breath painful, and sides aching. We are talking about making it a regular thing that we do every day. We've even discussed the possibility of signing up for a 10K...and paying for it. It's primarily for the cool t-shirt, but you know what...it might just be fun.

A Vacation with the Johnsons

2008-05-31T23:16:00.000-07:00

Today Dave and I said good-by to his parents. We drove them to the airport early this morning. The farewell was sad, as most are when family and friends are involved. We both hope that one day there will be no farewell and no end to their visit to Portland. Until that time it is up to us to continue showing them all the wonders that make up our fair city.

Some of the places we highlighted on this trip were: Powell's, Saturday Market, The Screen Door, Flying Pie Pizzeria, Mt. Tabor Park, Montavilla Antique Mall, IKEA, Genies, and Cannon Beach. Each day was so full that we needed a mid-afternoon nap in order to gather enough strength for the next item on our itinerary. I was so exhausted from our trip to Cannon Beach that on our drive home it took less than 20 min. for me to fall asleep; my head bobbing up and down, swaying gently with curves of the road in the soft heat of the car.

While we rested well, we also ate well. I don't think my stomach ever had a fair opportunity to realize that it might be hungry. We estimated that while we were at Cannon Beach we must have spent over $20 on candies alone. I found one candy shop that had the most amazing caramel. It was soft and chewy, buttery and slightly salty; it was everything one could desire from a morsel of caramel. Originally I bought only one--silly me. Shortly after I ate my caramel I realized that I most certainly needed another. I went back to the candy shop and showed more restraint than I thought possible and bought only two more.

This morning all the candies and mementos were packed up in suitcases, then loaded into our car. Dave and I watched as the suitcases were checked and then as his parents walked away through the security check. I have to be honest, I am not a fan of good-byes.

*In keeping with Johnson Family tradition, all photos posted on this blog show people walking away from the camera.

A Day with Mom

2008-05-10T21:51:00.000-07:00

My Mom made the long trip from Ferndale, WA down to Portland, OR this weekend. She pulled into Stumptown, USA around 2:45pm on Friday and left around the same time the next day.

Along with her she brought her dog Bo, sometimes called Bo-Bo. Bo is a min-pin/pug cross. He is a small, excitable dog that bounces rather than walks.

My Mom, Bo, and I enjoyed chit-chatting until Dave came home from work on Friday. We then ventured into downtown Portland, which is something that Dave and I rarely do. We walked along the riverfront and ate a delicious meal at Macaroni Grill. For the first time, I ordered something I liked at Macaroni Grill. It was the Marsala Chicken Ravioli. It was mm-mm-good. Coming home after our meal was necessary, as we all ate so much, we were getting sleepy.

We started off the next day with tea and berry muffins. We talked over music as we enjoyed our breakfast, then went for a morning walk up Mt. Tabor. Bo came along and wheezed and gagged as he pulled excitedly on his leash, nearly choking himself at times. My Mom couldn't move fast enough to satisfy his enthusiasm so, Dave took charge and ran him up the many stairs that go to the top of Mt. Tabor.

At the top of Mt. Tabor you can see most of the city. The view includes Hawthorne, the Steel bridge, and the West hills. We sat on a bench and enjoyed looking over the city as we caught our breath before we heading back down the mountain.

At home, after the walk, Bo collapsed with exhaustion. He laid limply on my lap as I played with his ears making them stick straight up and then flipped them inside out. He was so tired that when we put him in his kennel he merely curled up and fell back to sleep. With Bo all tucked into bed, we decided to make our way down to Saturday Market.

Lively music and the smells of spices and fried foods greeted us as we walked into Saturday Market. Of course, we stopped for food first. Dave and Mom ate Philly-steak sandwiches. I choose a piece of pizza, that wasn't fully cooked (the crust was still doughy). I have bad luck with food at Saturday Market. But, Mom and Dave loved what they ordered!

There were some amazingly creative merchants at Saturday Market. One merchant made hooks, bracelets, and clocks from recycled silverware. And another merchant made antique handkerchiefs into cap sleeves for tank-tops. Mom bought organic toys for the pets. She found a dried sweet potato chew toy for Bo and bought a cat-nip body pillow for Yoda.

At home she gave the presents to the pets. Yoda sniffed and caressed his new body pillow. He curled his body around it and cuddled it. After about a half an hour with his cat-nip body pillow, Yoda started dry-heaving. We are pretty sure he over-dosed on the cat nip. We now regulate how much time he can spend with his new toy. Bo also enjoyed chewing on his dried sweet potatoes.

Happy Mother's Day Mom! Thanks for coming.

Virginia Woolf

2008-05-01T20:19:00.000-07:00

Virginia Woolf, the name sounds epic. I breath it in and out once more, Virginia Woolf. This name has been elusive to me.

In college, I knew little about who Virginia Woolf was or what she was about. Whenever I heard her name, I thought about The Brother's Grimm or some other fairy tale writer. I pictured her writing the story about the dancing shoes that made the child wearing them dance until they died. A gruesome story, but one I thought befitting to someone named Virginia Woolf.

I didn't know who Virginia Woolf was.

I happened upon a book she wrote last November. Dave and I were flying back from Omaha and we stopped at a bookshop in the airport. I picked up A Room of One's Own and turned it over in my hand. The back cover talked about Virginia Woolf's theory that, "women must have a fixed income and a room of their own in order to have the freedom to create." What a devilish book this must have been when it was published.

In 1929, the idea that dedicating a room to a woman for creative purposes, would have been seen as extraordinary. Virginia Woolf mentions how little was invested into a woman's education. She laments her own lack of education and pines for a college with wealthy donors, whose walls were built from the coffer's of kings, such as the men's colleges. She states that the mind of a woman held less creative and intellectual value than that of a man. Not because a woman couldn't possess creative or intellectual genius, but because they were not afforded opportunities to develop either of these attributes.

When asked why she wrote A Room of One's Own, she says, " I wanted to encourage the young women--they seem to get fearfully depressed."

Virginia Woolf.

Things I learned Today From Wikipedia

2008-04-25T17:38:00.000-07:00

The Strand: is a street in the City of Westminster, London, England. In the Victorian era, the Strand became a fashionable address. Many avant-garde writers and thinkers gathered here, among them Thomas Carlyle, Charles Dickens, William Makepeace Thackeray, John Stuart Mill, Herbert Spencer, and the scientist Thomas Henry Huxley.

Skittles: is an old European target sport, similar to bowling. In the United Kingdom the game remains very popular as a pub sport in England and Wales.

Coffer: in architecture, is a sunken panel in the shape of a square, rectangle, or octagon in a ceiling, soffit or vault.

Soles: are flat fish of various families, the most common being of the flounder family. In European cookery, there are several species which may be considered 'true' soles, but the common or Dover sole Solea solea, is simply called the 'sole', and is the most esteemed and widely available.

Counterpane: an embroidered quilt or bedspread

Retinue: is a body of persons "retained" in the service of a noble or royal personage.

As Seen On Mt. Tabor

2008-04-19T12:08:00.000-07:00

-A girl, age 6 or 7, running behind her father. She is steering him like a horse with a jump rope she has fastened around his waist. The father trots, gallops, and turns as she directs him.

-A girl, in middle school or high school, wearing all black. In her hand is a walking stick that she absentmindedly pokes at the ground as she walks up the path. She peers over her shoulder at me and gives me a look that says, "I know who I am and why I am here, but I don't understand your presence in my journey."

-Later, I see the Girl in Black, cradling the walking stick in her arms. She picks at the bark and grooms the stick.

-13 dogs, 12 big and 1 small.

-A thousand small white flowers emerging among the million blades of grass.

The Artist

2008-04-13T21:03:00.000-07:00

I am nervous to introduce you to someone. She is a timid creature with wide eyes and a fragile soul. She is an artist and she resides within me. I barely bring her out. She is scared.

I am going to attempt to be brave. I am going to expose her. She, is me. I am an artist.

That is a hard word to claim: Artist. When I think of artists, I think of people who have worked their whole lives to obtain the title; the people who are scattered throughout my Art History text books like Van Gogh, Warhol, and Cassatt. Yet, what about those people who simply see the world through a different lens? Those rare souls who try to capture every remarkable thing that they see with a camera, a paintbrush, a crayon, a pencil, a piano, a violin, a clarinet, a written or spoken word? These are artists, whether recognized or not.

Artist is a word that has to be claimed if you are to believe it of yourself. I guess that's what is hard. You have to believe in yourself. The Impressionists were laughed at when they introduced the style. Duchamp received criticism for Fountain, a urinal displayed as an art exhibit. People naively remark that they themselves could easily recreate works of modern art or say that their 2 year old could have done something similar. In college, I learned about countless artists who barely made a living during their lifetime. I wondered what they thought of themselves. Did they claim the word artist or did they hide that aspect of their life fearing that they would be seen as a failure? I would like to think that the artist was so much a part of them, that they never questioned themselves. They just were. They were the artist, whether or not someone else dubbed them so.

The small creature inside of me, who blushes at the word, is an artist. She is dying to come out. She wants to play with paint, arrange words, and tell stories. She wants to sing and dance. While she hopes no one will see her, I fear it's inevitable. She must be exposed. She, is me. I am an artist.

The Cow

2008-04-13T14:16:00.001-07:00

This is The Cow. The Cow is a painting I have been working on for the past two weeks. This is her first appearance on the blog.

In this painting, I am trying to emulate the style of an artist named Marie Laurencin. Marie layers on white paint to wash out most of the detailing of her subject, while working in splashes of color through out the piece. What remains are simple and elegant figures that entertain the eye with the lacing of white in contrast to vibrant color.

I started my project by layering brown and gold paint over the entire canvas. Behind the brown and gold, there is another painting. You can still see faint traces of the previous painting in the left bottom corner where the color is a bit darker. There was once an ocean there. Now it will be a field.

After the background color was done, I needed to pick a subject. So, I did what any artist would do and I picked up a copy of the Pottery Barn catalog. I wanted to see what was currently being hung on the trendy walls of America. Bright yellow canvases and black and white pictures of exotic animals seemed to be the rage. I could get behind the idea of hanging pictures of animals on my wall. I like animals. But exotic animals? Where's the connection between me and an elephant?

So I thought about animals I was connected to, and I remembered that Dave has had a picture of cows on the background of his computer for a few months now. I was connected to them! They were a regular part of my life. Anytime I want to listen to music from Dave's computer, I am greeted by these cows. So, I picked one and drew it onto the canvas. On the right side of the painting you can still see the sharpie marks for the shoulder blade and the rib cage.

The painting is far from done. While color has been blocked in and the style chosen, it still has many phases to go through. I hope to post the painting in its various phases and to tell you more about the subject as it progresses.

The Polar Bears

2008-04-09T16:15:00.000-07:00

I'm worried.

This is actually a common feeling for me. I get tense and concerned about things that have not actually happened. Right now, I am worried about the current state of our environment. I am worried that our world will look very different in 2050, which isn't too many years off.

A week ago I picked up a National Geographic that declared it contained a "Special Report". Let's start there. The words "special" and "report," combined together cause my breathing to become irregular. I start to feel like I need an inhaler. It's the same feeling I get while I am watching an episode of a Law and Order: SVU. I am scared and I feel helpless knowing that I can in no way change the outcome of the story--even if I really, really wish it.

I started to read this "Special Report," feeling tense and wondering if my throat has always been this dry. It starts out with an ominous, "It's here." I can only guess they are referring to the arrival of the new spring line-up of melting ice caps, changing weather patterns, and the end of civilization as we know it. Of course they are. I continue on. My thought process leads me to believe that if I read a bit further, maybe the writer will have some nicer things to say. Maybe the writer will know that it's me reading this article and that I am afraid. Maybe he'll write in a "happily ever after" ending for me. I do so wish it.

But, that's not what happens. The writer tells me that "warming has hit polar species the hardest," and that "we cannot restore their habitat." He says that, polar bears are having a hard time getting enough to eat, because their environment has changed. He describes them as emaciated. Then he introduces Professor Bob Steneck. He quotes Steneck as saying, "It's a modern Dr. Strangelove moment when you see the Artic melting at record levels and the Russians planting their flag on the seafloor so they can extract more oil."

I stop reading. I no longer want this writer, Joel K. Bourne, Jr., to tell me any more. I am sad and worried and I want it to stop. But, it doesn't. My thoughts keep revolving around what I have read. I have this scene in my head of a man dressed in a suit, running his flag to the point where land meets ice. I see him plant his flag and it transform into a oil refinery. Then the bears, from their icy vantage point, look over at the black smoke issuing from the the man-made fortress, and decide their time is over. I watch them walk away and vanish.

I am worried.

Gaining Ground Farm

2008-04-06T19:09:00.000-07:00

Earlier this morning six friends set out to see a farm. This is the usual thing for the friends to do: gather together at a coffee shop in the morning then take a long twisting and turning road out to a farm. We spent our time trudging around in mud and letting drops of rain fall on our heads. This is what we call fun.

Let me explain. As friends, we have started to entertain the idea of becoming farmers. I like the idea of having bees and a few sheep. My husband is planning much more. He dreams of running a CSA. He lights up when he talks about the earth, Wendell Berry, and how we can become more community oriented. Our community of friends share his enthusiasm.

We gather together most every Sunday to discuss our plans of owning a CSA and living together as an intentional community. Our discussions cover how we will run our farm, the ideals we want to uphold, how we can live debt free, and what we will do to maintain a healthy lifestyle. Not all of our talk is about the future; some of it we can immediately apply to our lives. For example, we are trying to eat less fast food and eat locally grown food instead. John and Kate decided to participate in a CSA so that they could receive locally grown vegetables throughout the summer. Dave and I thought we would take advantage of the Portland Farmer's Markets.

Our dream of owning a CSA, along with our interest in subscribing to one, brought us out to Gaining Ground Farm, the farm John and Kate are now community members in. The farm is beautiful. We walked through muddy fields that will transform into bountiful rows of barley, garlic, onions, etc. The owners, Mike and Jill, toured us around and showed us their sod house, their Cornish-X chicks, and their new tractor.

This trip encouraged the idea of being a part of a community larger than the six of us (John, Kate, Dusty, Cara, Dave, and myself). Kate and John are now participating in a farm with almost 100 other people from the area. Mike and Jill are no longer just faceless farmers - they are people we know and would love to know better! After our trip out to the farm, Dave and I decided to become members of the CSA too. We were inspired.

The life Mike and Jill live at Gaining Ground Farm is the life we aspire to live. On our way home, we stopped by an Italian restaurant and debriefed. Kate talked about her role on the farm. She talked quickly about how she could help with an intern program and how she could organize the community members of our farm. Dusty and Dave talked about their year-round schedule, fixing machines and fences in the chilly winter and breaking ground in the warm summer sun. The rest of us aren't as sure of what we'll be doing. As we learned today, there is a lot that goes into running a farm. No one is absolutely sure what skills will be needed. So, as we draw nearer to the purchase of land and as we learn more about what the farm will need, I am sure each will find his or her place.

Thank you to Gaining Ground Farm!