Love is ...

Dear Friends,
Last weekend I was in Columbus, Ohio, for a bridal shower for Casey, the fiancé of my nephew Nick.  

I wrote this poem for Casey and made it into an accordion book.  Welcome into our family, Casey!

Love is a kite

that flies the wild wind

with a string you can barely hold onto

Love is a seed

that grows silent and slow

then suddenly bursts into blossom

Love is a look

that nobody sees

except the one it was meant for

Love is a night

when you cry in your sleep

then you turn and his arms gently hold you

Love is two hearts

tangled aloft

claiming a piece of the sky

Love,

k

Art to relax the heart

Written last night: 

Dear Friends,
This afternoon was another "Don't mess with me" moment. Don't ask me why, but my smile turned into a straight-lipped line, and my hobble became a stride. It seemed like people stepped aside for me on the sidewalk, and even Zing moved a little farther away down the sofa.

I'm sure you have such times too.  I just want you to know you're not alone.

All's good now. People have been jumping into my path and smiling, talking, joking. And the drawing class this afternoon swept me into a story. We are making picture books. Here's my ditty:

Alexandra lives in a house by the sea.
She sleeps 'neath the moon and a tall palm tree.
She dreams of a fish.
She dreams of the sun.
She dreams of a boat that sails like a song.
When Alexandra wakes up
Her dreams are  done,
But she still has the boat/ and the fish/ and the sun.

Today I had art to relax my heart. I hope you are as lucky.

Love,
k

Here are some working sketches:

Routine in the making

Written last night:

Dear Friends,

Nothing happened today. I am getting a routine — well, not really, but trying out things that might or might not become routine. Today, errands (CVS pharmacist wears a hijab and she has the sunniest disposition. I wrongly thought women in such clothing to be reticent), put together a new sweeper (Thanks for the advice, Rachel! Aside from the directions having no words at all, it’s great!), started a new drawing class at the Crocker Museum, and did prep work for a leek quiche for tomorrow evening. I’m hosting a potluck for friends from the building. Oh, and I didn’t draw my apple right — the top should be flatter, said Faith, my friend the artist.  And the crust for the quiche looks homemade — irregular — but the leeks sautéed sweetly. Tomorrow I’ll put them on the crust with cheese and eggs and cream. No one will care that the crust is imperfect. 

Love,
k

We made quick drawings to illustrate the principles of art, like balance

Don't mess with me!

Written Wednesday:

Dear Friends,

Do you ever get in one of those “Don’t mess with me” moods? Today that’s how I felt. I think it’s a sign I’m coming back to life. Clark would applaud. He said I let people take advantage of me. (I hear you saying he should know! But please: Don’t mess with me.)

Around noon I gave a dollar to a woman playing a flute on the corner of 8th and O, near here. It was beautiful, and I said “Thank you.” 
“Don’t put that money here,” she said, pointing to her basket of dollar bills. “I can’t take your money if you say ‘Thank you.’” 
Huh??
Part of me said to myself everyone deserves respect. You’ve got to learn respect, Kathleen. She’s got her reasons. Walk a mile in her shoes.
And the other part of me put my money back in my pocket and said (silently), “Don’t mess with me!”

This morning I started drawing class at the Crocker Museum, and everyone else had perfect lines. I cannot and do not even want to draw a straight line, so when I showed my work it was all squiggly and imperfect. My eyes said to the women around the table, “Don’t mess with me.” 
“Oh, that’s very free,” said the teacher. Careful, teacher. Don’t mess with me.

And this morning I asked Zing if he likes the Treat&Train machine I bought him at the suggestion of UC-Davis vets. He jumps back at the sound it makes — I push a remote and “ZZZZ… click … whoosh!”  It releases a treat Zing hates it, and he told me so. I agree with him that it’s a stupid machine, even if it was invented by a genius veterinarian. I checked Amazon’s return policy and packed it up. So far and no farther, vets. Don’t mess with me. Don’t mess with Zing either.

It’s International Women’s Day, and I may be going overboard, but even if I am … you know … don’t mess with me!

Love (really!),
k

Notebook

At Mass Saturday I sat behind a man with a head so linear, so taut, that I had to draw it. I saw the back of him only; even his ears were muscular. Oh, well, I had no paper or pencil. I must try to draw him from memory. Now, don't ask me if I also remember the readings or the sermon, because I was mostly paying attention to the lines in the faces around me. I have found a place where people sit still.