My Blog

  I just received an email from Danny Gregory with very exciting news. He is going to be teaching a three day drawing class in the Berkshires at the end of this May. I've already signed up. He has had an enormous inspiring influence on me and many many others through his published books and videos of illustrative journaling and drawing. He is Executive Creative Director of a major NY ad agency, and author of six books (so far). Everyday matters is probably the one he is best known for, and I've gotten into the habit of regularly giving it as a gift, along with my handmade journals, to people interested in drawing and writing.

http://rowecenter.org/events.php?event=189

I finally got inspired to do a little drawing. I think maybe the drab days of February have gotten to me. I feel as though i have to force myself to do anything, but this little project rekindled my creative spirit. These are my favorite travel watercolors...actually they are the only watercolors I use. I love them because they can fit anywhere, even into my already overloaded pocketbook when I'm on the run and traveling light. 

 

This winter's weather is wild and fickle...but I wasn't complaining on this beautiful calm & sunny day that followed the howling & blowing winds and snow.

WINTER DAY AT THE BARN

A cold winter day at the barn, with George, right after the the early february blizzard. Loving my instagram App on my iphone. The only downside is that I haven't been writing or drawing in my journals.   

I drive by this doggie day care window every tuesday around 4:30, and this is what I always see...an adorable mix of anxious loving eyes waiting for their owners. I LOVE instagram, and now I can order my pictures on the APP called postal pix. I order the 5x5 inch square print for 89 cents each, and they are professinal and quick. 

 

 I wrote letters today, and escaped to another place, combining images and words...reminiscing on my yesterdays, and suddenly noticing in my quiet reflection that the natural world was resting as well, beginning the transformation of its energy to its roots deep within. The warmer days had migrated alongside the geese without a sound. I turned on the paper lanterns and the kitchen's dim lights to balance the achromatic scenery of the outdoors, and felt at peace. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"The idea is not to be going back to a time where things were better," Mr. Smith said, "but where the richness of each day is defined by the food you eat, the company you keep, the work you do." 

 

 I had a really nice lunch today with a dear friend, and then spent the afternoon working upstairs at the barn. For dinner I finished off my daughter, Sarah's, delicious healthy squash stew in the company of my two crazy dogs, and later on took an instagram photo of this beautiful orchid recently given to me by another friend. Today felt rich. 

 

 

I started playing around with instagram. How does anybody get anything done with all these fun distractions???

I was on the Vineyard for two nights with my mom and her friend, Joanie. We took a wonderful afternoon drive out to Chilmark, absorbing every moment of every stretch, wherever we were. I could have stopped and taken 100 photos, but instead I gave in to the easiness of simply enjoying the ride. It was the natural choice, to not disrupt the moment, with such familiar company and peaceful scenes. I did make mom pull over for this wonderful red gate.    

 

Three of my photos were hung in the window at the barn today, so after dinner I drove by to see how they looked at night. Amazing what lighting does. 

After an early start to my day that began with feeding the horses and cows, and then a good head-clearing walk through Bradley Palmer Park with a friend and our dogs, I spent the afternoon upstairs at the barn making journals. It seems recently that I've struggled to get going, so it felt really good to be productive. I have so many things I want to do. Lack of inspiration is not the problem. I have a zillion ideas...it's just the follow through that seems to be a challenge these days...moving beyond the daydreaming. Maybe tomorrow.

This is one of my favorite photos I took of my dad, with Charlie, 15 years ago.

I can't imagine my life without photographs.

I feel so blessed that I have people and places in my life who I know and love so well that I can close my eyes anywhere & anytime and feel so deeply & warmly connected to them.

I don't need a photograph to remember my love, but the moments they capture are confirming. 

 

"To see a world in a grain of Sand, And heaven in a wild Flower,

   Hold infinity in your Hand, And Eternity in a Hour."  

            - Billy Blake

"A SUSTAINABLE COMMUNITY BEGINS WITH SUSTAINABLE RELATIONSHIPS", my younger son wrote to me in a letter, emphasizing that this was at the core of what he is learning in his KROKA gap year semester. My children are teaching me something every day by having the courage to ask questions and take risks. My older son and I were talking after my father's memorial service, and we got into a discussion of the writings of Jim Harrison. If not for him I would never have discovered these lovely inspiring words: "I hope to define my life, whatever is left, by migrations, south and north with the birds and far from the metallic fever of clocks, the self staring at the clock saying, 'I must do this'. I can't tell the time on the tongue of the river in the cool morning air, the smell of the ferment of greenery, the dust off the canyon's rock walls, the swallows swooping above the scent of the raw river." - Jim Harrison  

We have to allow our children to slow down and reflect in order to move forward. We may be pleasantly surprised by what they can teach us.  

SLEEPING CHILDREN

I was rushing back to NJ after getting news that my dad had just been readmitted back into the hospital, and I knew it didn't sound good. I looked for a writing guide book thinking I might need an outlet, and when I randomly opened it up to one of the pages to look at the format, the instructions were to write a good-bye letter to someone you love. I wrote this letter to my dad, who died peacefully on September 29th.  

Dear Dad,                                                                                                               October 10, 2012

     I was looking out the widow thinking about you, and I noticed a doe standing in the distance, looking back at me. I thought of Tinkerbell, the abandoned fawn that was brought to you when we were living at the Camp Peary Army base in Williamsburg, Virginia. I was only two at the time, but through your stories Tinkerbell became my earliest memory of how deeply caring and loving you were. I remember you describing to me that she was weak and covered with ticks, and I was so proud of you for being able to heal her. You could fix anything, dad...our stuffy noses, screen doors, our worries, and even our attitudes just by simply being the patient, gentle and yet firm dad you always were. You use to tell me how Tinkerbell would wander into our homes on the base looking for food and attention, and how after she had returned to live in the wild, when all the other deer in her flock would lift their white tails and take flight, she would remain behind and affectionately look back at us. Maybe you were responsible for sending me that doe to look back at me. 

     What child understands the responsibilities and pressures of an adult, but especially with a father like you who made everything seem so easy and natural. You loved to learn and you worked hard at everything you did. You always said if we were going to do something, do it well. We all remember falling asleep night after night to the sound of you driving golf balls into the thick old quilt you had hanging in our basement, and your hours in the darkroom trying to master the black and white photographic zone system, and it wasn’t uncommon to find you in bed late at night reading through one of your medical journals, whose graphic photos, by the way, we loved looking through with friends. They were far better than any rippley’s believe it or not. 

     You selflessly loved your family and friends and devoted long days to taking care of your patients, and if you were on call, long nights as well, but we never heard you complain. You would arrive home in the evenings, and we would be so excited to see you, even when we were in trouble with mom, and out of desperation she had cautioned, “JUST WAIT UNTIL YOUR FATHER GETS HOME!”  I think mom even knew that wasn’t really a viable threat. You would walk up the stairs into the hallway, and with a twinkle in your eye tell us to reach inside your suit pockets where we would find pens and pads and little trinkets, and even once, to our great surprise and excitement, a furry little guinea pig who you had rescued from the lab. 

     You lived life to its fullest, dad, and so generously cared about everyone and everything, maintaining such a high standard for yourself, but never judging or discriminating. I loved going to the hospital with you on your nightly patient rounds. I can still remember your patients’ faces lighting up when you entered their rooms. I watched and listened to everything you did and even as a child i remember being aware of how friendly and outgoing you were. Moving from floor to floor we almost always took the stairs because you said it was good exercise. I was so proud to be your daughter, and it was because of you that I became a nurse. 

     In highschool you pierced all of our friends’ ears at the kitchen table. You were so cool. You would carefully mark the spot by making a little indentation on our ears with the tip of your cross pen. I remember that awkward earpiercing contraption getting stuck on either Sandra or Lynn’s ear, and being so relieved it wasn’t mine. Otolyrngology had it’s scarey moments for David, Anne and me, like when we had stuffy noses and you would insist on taking us over to your office to suction us clear, or the time you brought home your new laryngascope and tested it out on Anne’s poor, unfortunate boyfriend who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. But it had many more wonderful moments like the time you and Charlie Bippart operated on our golden retriever, Tammy, when she was having trouble breathing. You even put a tracheotomy in her. I’ll never forget the anxious wait outside the operating room which happened to be our Van Beuren Road laundryroom. 

     My mind is skipping, now to the Vineyard, clamming and watersking and making macrome belts, and hooked rugs and fishing...you would be pulling the fish in over the bow and Anne would be releasing them off the stern. Remember the week mom was away, and after a successful day of fishing you cooked up a huge pot of bluefish chowder...Anne said you added in at least a six pack of beer. The first night it tasted pretty good, and the second still not bad, but dad, by the fourth day we were really missing mom’s cooking.   

     You and mom were a team...married 60 years. In a letter you wrote to her, on her 80th birthday, you recalled your life together, from the first time you met at Peddie School in 1945, to your college courtship, hitchhiking back and fourth between Providence and New London, the lighthouse...which I’ll have to ask mom about later on, and all the way through to becoming snowbirds, surrounded by your dear wonderful friends and blessed with ten beloved grandchildren. You said you were the most lucky guy for having mom by your side. Well, let me tell you dad, it goes both ways. Watching mom’s amazingly tender and loving moments by your side in the hospital were some of the most beautiful I will ever remember. Thank-you for being so easy to love and for bringing such joy into so many people's lives. I know YOU know, more than any of us who are left here missing you, that this isn’t good-bye, just see you later, alligator. 

I love you. Barbs 

http://www.kroka.com/ WHERE CONSCIOUSNESS MEETS WILDERNESS. Charlie writes in his first letter home, "We rise early, work hard, eat well and have alot of fun. I couldn't think of a place I'd rather be right now...besides Palugo, Ecuador." I had to read Charlie's letter over and over again because his enthusiasm was so contagious, inspiring and meaningful. Charlie's semester group of 14 students will be departing from their farm community in Marlow, N.H. ready for their 3 month expedition in Ecuador on September 27th. Go to the website and read about Kroka Expeditions, and spread the word. The founders, Misha and Lynne, had a vision and because they dreamed they could make a change, they did.   

Charlie brought this hammock home from the side of the road not so long ago, and nestled it in between these two birch trees. The location is perfect, and despite the fact that the hammock is a bit ragged and torn in a couple of spots, I layed back in it this evening and felt completely connected to all the important things in my life. For the first time Ollie and I have no children at home. The dogs breathed close to me, resting in the grass underneath, and in the golden-green field, lying nearby, I photographed Star just before the sun dipped below the trees.