The wind shows us how close to the edge we are

In a world with a million possibilities I find myself in wonderment.  Fall has arrived, and although the temperatures aren’t much colder than they have been all summer the winds have picked up and stirred themselves into a howling banshee, a mournful spirit that wails into the darkness of the night.  I wake up to this hollow sound as it rattles through the trees and sends the damp brown leaves swirling – swept up in their own little tornados.  The accompanying rain pounds like automatic gunfire on the windows soaking the world and  rousing every creek into a torrent of frothy angry water.  I wonder that my Chicken Little can sleep so peacefully through the storm.

He grows in his sleep like a weed, a resilient and hardy little presence in my life.  I find myself holding him close staring through the sheets of water running down my windows.  My stalled mural project all but forgotten, my quilt abandoned mid stitch in the sewing machine, my latest watercolour nothing but a green smear on paper, shelved with the rest of my art supplies....  but as I stare and hug Chicken Little a bit closer my mind flourishes, a light in the eye of the storm, a thousand bits of inspiration waiting to bloom forth.  I’ve got the motivation, and the flashes of insight needed to bring forth at least a dozen projects...   and finish the ones currently on hold.   In all this miserable weather my inner light has begun to pulsate, and now it is up to me to put what little time I have at my disposal to good use. 

Here are a couple photos.... one of my stalled mural project, the other my very first attempt at a sewing project. 

a stalled mural project... 

but progress on my first sewing project... 

surely there is no such thing as boredom...

Motherhood has consumed my immediate world.  I’m out of touch not only on world politics and current events, but even the basic goings on in my own tiny community where gossip flows like a river in flood. Where if you so much as sneeze someone across town can be heard to say “bless you”  - however - cut off and out of touch as I may be, my heart bursts with love and although born in a violent  storm of lashing winds and pelting rain that bombarded us for days, Chicken Little has proved to be a calm little presence in my life.

Along with motherhood I’ve taken on another exciting new venture. They tell me that in the latter weeks of pregnancy that mothers-to-be with their cumbersome gait and swollen bellies are possessed with what is know as a “nesting” phase – where with a burst of previously unheard of energy women take to cleaning closets with a vengeance, purging unwanted things, tidying, and organizing along with cooking up a storm and otherwise preparing for the new family addition.   Although excited by this prospect of  energy, coupled with the desire and motivation for a clean home and freezer full of casseroles and baking… I waited in vain - this mysterious “nesting” phase never occurred. 

Instead, as I applied drywall filler – patching a hole in the wall following the replacement of bathtub faucets I got the brilliant idea to take up a new hobby….   As if my half finished mural - pottery projects, watercolours, 3 partially painted acrylic canvases, an unfinished commissioned ink portrait (abandoned for the past 4 years), wrinkled silk only partially dyed, and bin filled with the horrific half melted disasters of my last attempt at making soap were not enough in terms of hobbies…   This brilliant new idea involved investing yards of fabric and putting to use (towards something more substantial than hemming jeans) the sewing machine I inherited from my grandmother following her purchase of a much newer and fancier model.   And so my first ever sewing project was conceived (hemming aside) a small rag quilt for my Chicken Little. (a project possibly stillborn before it could get off the ground….)

I’m not sure when I thought I would have time to cut fabric, or sew it into something appealing to the eye… let alone take the time required to get all the little corners to line up…   but yesterday I found myself pushing Chicken Little in his stroller through a sprawling fabric store selecting flannels bedecked with images of same fish that fill my freezer, along with plaids, turtles and frogs. If anything ever materializes…I’ll post photos!

Each day comes bearing its own gifts.

On Friday I officially became a mother.  Chicken Little was a bit late, but he eventually showed up and  after some serious stabbing of his feet with a glucose monitor he was given a clean bill of health.  Amazing how you can check yourself into the hospital.. and a few days later.. there are 2 of you checking out.   

Friday also marked our first wedding anniversary, we’d even booked a nice romantic dinner for two at the same restaurant we’d dinned at a year previous.   But when I woke up with rather significant labour pains in the wee hours of the morning...  all thoughts of a romantic evening went out the window.

While the anniversary of my marriage to DH passed ensconced in the local hospital with all attempts at modesty abandoned and a storm brewing in the background – the forecast calling for unabated monsoon style rains and high winds. I still did manage to gift DH with a token to mark the occasion.  (no I’m not talking about Chicken Little... although he is the very image of love personified.)  

Two years ago while DH and I were living on separate islands, and I was slowly filling his home with my art work, he asked if I could do a painting just for him.  One where the Chinook chased the herring in the kelp. Ack... I thought.. I’m not sure.  It’s similar to what I do. But I worried it wouldn’t be “real” enough for a guy who’s spent his life admiring , studying and chasing salmon...  Animals in the world and dinner on the plate.  Catching these majestic animals never fails to put a huge grin on his face.  I never painted that image he described....  not that I forgot about it.  Somehow something always kept me from doing that for him. 

Finally Two years later this is the painting that I gave him for our anniversary.  It measures 22”x 30” unmated or framed and is painted on 100% cotton rag 140lbs cold press paper.   While the original will hang above the sofa in DH’s den,  I plan to have prints and cards made so that others can enjoy the image that took two years to emerge from the paper. 

“Silver Bright”

an Original Watercolour

© RiverWalker Arts

An anniversary is a time to celebrate the joys of today, the memories of yesterday, and the hopes of tomorrow.  ~Author Unknown

the stored honey of the human soul

Looking like I had swallowed a large watermelon in it’s entirety and armed with a note from the Clinic indicating my fitness to travel.  I set out for a final jaunt on the airplane to visit my family, and watch the annual sailing regatta. 


The plane was full, and decidedly uncomfortable, but fortunately only 2 hours long  - allowing me to grit my teeth, stuff my earplugs in and survive the journey.  There is something about airtravel, or maybe it’s the combination of having to catch a bus, to catch a ferry to get the air terminal in the first place in combination with the actual flight that makes me irritable.  But as much as I enjoy watching people do the things that people do there is something about air travel that gets under my skin and I am always so very grateful when I can slide into some blessed silence when I arrive at my destination.  Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me… in fact… don’t talk at all, and turn off the radio too would you?   

The feeling fortunately is short lived, and I whole heartedly enjoyed my visit.  I played with my one year old nephew for hours, I sat on the deck with my book and floated in an alternative reality where nothing could possibly go wrong in my life.  I soaked up warm weather and watched the sailboats go by.  It was an inspiration to life to be there, the kind of feeling where you are suddenly inspired to just live your life in the moment. To be who you are and enjoy all you’ve been given and more. 

DownWind Leg

©RiverWalker Arts 

I’m back now in the land of rain and fog.  The chill air that sucks the life out of summer and has caused my poor flower garden to rot rather than bloom.  But it is good to be home too – a few more days of work and then a year’s leave to focus on my newest family member.  The world is filled with adventure for those who are open to appreciate it. 

Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can.  ~Danny Kaye

a new career illustrating children's puzzles???

A quick update on the Mural...

Namely.. after some effort.. I’ve got a bit of a cartoon look going on –  maybe I should take up drawing for colouring books, or maybe designing children’s puzzles..  that being said I think overall this project will lend a splash of colour to the side of an industrial building.  

There is still work to do on it. But the fundamentals are all there.  This is a totally new medium for me.  I’m a watercolourist who dabbles in Pen & Ink.  So to take a whole new approach using something as absorbent as smooth plastic coated plywood... and an opaque medium like household latex  and I’m WAY out of my element...  now add to that the fact that the pigments aren’t very pure... meaning that the binders and fillers change the chemical reflection and absorption patterns which affect the final “colour” of the paint – making it difficult to mix colours or get the look one is going for.  Or maybe I’m just making excuses for myself.

I’ll let you decide for yourself. 

Panel 1 of 4...  

Side effects may include...

This is a pregnancy post.  

RiverWalker at 8 Months

©RiverWalker Arts 

At eight months pregnant I look like I’ve swallowed a full sized watermelon whole.  When people in the community look at me I get knowing smiles, from folks with twitching hands, and even the men ask me when I’m due  -  “it must be any day now”  they say.  I don’t mind the stares, and most folks are good about keeping their hands in their own personal space and off of the domed surface of my t-shirt stretched taught over my burgeoning belly.   However what I don’t understand is what people want to hear when they ask how pregnancy is treating me??  

Pregnancy is a bodily function.  Like most bodily functions it is not really the type of thing that is fit for decent company let alone casual conversation with a stranger over the grocery cart.  I’m really not sure what they want to hear?

 Is this like asking someone “how are you?”  where you should answer “I’m fine”.  

-          - “how is pregnancy treating you?”

- 

I am convinced they don’t want a list of bodily symptoms.  I.e. “My pelvis is slowing separating, it hurts”  or  maybe  “Oh pregnancy is good to me, I’ve managed to get my retching mostly under control, my ankles are only moderately swollen, and my fingers are too fat to wear my rings but it’s really cool... like having my own personal parasitological experiment growing inside me”

Really... pregnancy comes will all sort of gastrointestinal delights and a series of discomforts the websites call “symptoms of pregnancy”  - many of the lists read like the nasty quickly hurried through side effects listed on television pharmaceutical advertisements - things like – "Ask your doctor if Pregnancy is right for you... Side effects may include: nausea, vomiting, water weight gain, lower back pain, hairloss, tight itchy chafing clothing, high blood pressure, blood clots, uneven tire wear, urinary incontinence, increased attention from your in-laws, mild to severe discomfort, constipation,  diabetes, cluttered drawers, low resale value on your home, anxiety, sleeplessness, poor gas mileage, tooth decay, split ends, chest pains, clogged drains, hemorrhoids, dry heaving, and baby brain .'

Or maybe the answer is:

-        -    “how is pregnancy treating you?”

-        -  “not too shabby – How is your GI tract these days? “

But all silliness aside... please clarify for me.. what on earth are these people after when they try to initiate small talk about my obvious “Condition” ???

If men were equally at risk from this condition - if they knew their bellies might swell as if they were suffering from end-stage cirrhosis, that they would have to go nearly a year without a stiff drink, a cigarette, or even an aspirin, that they would be subject to fainting spells and unable to fight their way onto commuter trains - then I am sure that pregnancy would be classified as a sexually transmitted disease.

  ~Barbara Ehrenreich

Well I started Panel one... of my mural project.  Four blank white sheets of 4 x8 foot sign board (kind of like shiny smooth white coated plywood) were stacked in an abandoned industrial storefront.   A grubby place that had once served as a supplier of  industrial provisions and equipment for mining, forestry, oil and gas, industrial, and community businesses.  The rambling place had a grubby little office with fake wood paneling complete with some sort of yellowed floral print, and orange carpet.   The door to the office cut in half led out to a huge warehouse like space with an uneven  dust covered concrete floor and an assortment of peg board, cement block and aluminum sheeting walls. The maze continued through a door into a large empty and windowless room long enough to install a bowling alley but without any lighting.  Through a gap in one wall I wandered next to an old fashioned half broken Coca-Cola machine and through a crumbling pegboard hallway where I found the bathroom... a cramped little white room in behind the water heater half a step up and wedged tightly behind the door I even found a light switch.  The well stained sink looked perfect for washing brushes...

So I moved the panels around trying to figure out the best configuration for the mural I had yet to plan out...  but lifting and relocating 4x 8 sheets of plywood at a meagre five feet tall and 7 months pregnant  is no small feat.   Finally I got the panels all propped up and was ready to sketch.  Which I did in pale blue paint. 

However the project got stalled as I took off to look for some sunshine... something that we in the rain soaked north haven’t seen yet this year.  But then not many places in the Province have...   Dh and I loaded up the Car, threw the dog in the back, packed about with camping gear and a cooler full of dead and frozen fish.  We set out... 7 hours later the rain went from constant to torrential and the road was no longer visible for the water  sheeting down.  By hour 9  (and four bathroom breaks later) we rolled into the parking lot outside my brother’s abode... complete with “FOR SALE” sign on the door.   But it wasn’t until the next day several hundred kilometres south we finally hit sunshine.

It was lovely to finally arrive at MIL & FIL’s place and just sit out on the deck in the sun, in the full comfort of a jersey knit sundress pulled taught against the basketball sized lump that is my middle. 

We dropped off the dead fish, and headed out to the lake.

We camped, we swam in the lake, we threw sticks for the dog... and we toured the wineries of the Okanagan Valley....  Which if you ever decide to do – and it’s fun I do recommend it.  I would advise you wait until such a time as you are not pregnant, so that you are able to take full advantage of the wine experience – rather than having to watch your husband swirl wine in his glass, and sip while you look on with an expression much like your black lab might have while watching  as you ate a juicy rare steak.

It was fabulous to see the sun, to feel it on my skin and to wake to warmth each morning.  Sadly it all does come to an end, and I am now back in a rain soaked world, in long pants, socks, and fleece sweaters waiting for the elusive sun to show it’s face.

On the positive side I am now able to get back to my mural. 

But wait... the panels were gone, my key no longer able to turn the lock on the door...

It appears that in my absence my panels were moved into the basement, a place even grubbier than the upstairs, with a barnlike door, leading into a windowless place where piles of pink insulation littered the cracked and broken concrete that ended in a dirt floor piled with broken bits of unidentifiables  along with a few ancient computer monitors, and some metal bits which looked to me like metal tops off oxy-acetylene tanks.  A bucket in one corner filled with glass sample jars, containing bits of soil, the back wall stacked with an assortment of white bathroom fixtures, a fibreglass tub, porcelain toilet, urinal etc.  Once again I hoisted the panels stacking them against walls and beams to the best of my abilities in an effort to maximize the available light.   I poured my paints, and found to my disappointment that despite the plethora of bathroom paraphernalia, there was no actual functioning toilet.  Although a single tap stuck out of the wall - right next to some electrical cords  - no drain in sight. So at least with buckets and I was able to wash out brushes and move forward some with my latest project. hopefully I will avoid electrocution .

First of 4 Panels.

                                                                                       

Weather is a great metaphor for life - sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, and there's nothing much you can do about it but carry an umbrella.  ~Terri Guillemets