Nanny's Irish Soda Bread

Vegetarian Fennel Stew

Vintage 47

This is the story of a young woman who loved to dance with abandonment. In spite of a knee injury, she never lost the joy of moving to beautiful music. She kept a journal and within it contained her dreams, forgotten loves and some tears. As many , many years passed, the world only saw her aging face and growing lack of grace. She joined the society of forgotten souls. The invisable women of “a certain age”. But within, always within, still lived this passionate spirit.

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The Process

Within an antique film viewer, I layered several transparencies. Included are my xrays, an old poem, and photographs of my original sculptures. Unplugged, one sees merely a worn wooden box from which some weeds are growing. When lit, the dancing figures ignite.

TAPESTRY

 

I was thinking about all the intricate stitches, colors and patterns that evolve from a long-term relationship. It's more subtle than a shared memory.  His childhood becomes yours. His pain has wrapped around your heart.  He knows when you ache.  You hear an obscure word and exchange a knowing look with him.  You know exactly when he will laugh in a certain film.

My grandmother once decided to wash an old tapestry I found at an estate sale.  I came home , looked up at her clothesline, and  saw long threads waving in the wind. 

I'm not ready to be unwoven.

Too Many Good-Byes

This is an oil painting I did of my Mom saying goodbye to her dog, Casey. I titled it, “Farewell” because it was the last goodbye. She bent down to kiss his old dog face and told him a secret. I noticed how white Mom's hair had become and her once beautiful hands bore the price of sun and hard work. I painted her sadness and my own. The bright Florida colors under the harsh sun seemed to mock the grey we felt inside...

Back then, she was still living at her house in North Palm Beach and would insist on driving me to the train station. Even though she said train whistles made her 'sad”, she always waited there until my train was just a speck in the distance. Then eight years ago, she was faced with the difficult transition to “assisted living”. (This is a woman who once was the Director of Public Health Nurses and continued to work well into her 80's.)

When she could no longer drive, she sat downstairs with me to await the taxi. Last year, Mom no longer went downstairs, but I looked up to see her waving from her terrace.

Then, this June, I looked up and her terrace was empty.

So was my heart...

The Magic Bullet ( or the Health Benefits of Procrastination)

It sits in its original packing box, mocking me. I can't count how many times, Nigel has passed it

 by without any notice. I could open it and put it on our crowded kitchen counter. There it

would live amongst the blender, an aging toaster, dead can opener, and a revolving cast of dishes, cups,

etc. Should he one day actually notice its existence, he will undoubtedly inquire as to its function.

There will be a pithy comment, such as, “Don't you already have something like this ?” My prepared

rebuttal: “ Well, no dear, this is the MAGIC Bullet”. (Not to be confused with the baby Bullet,

hibernating peacefully in a distant cabinet)

How proud was I to resist the 4 a.m. TV pitch ! “ If you act now, you will receive... BS”

It was my good friend who performed the evil task. Says she: “ I make these delicious., healthy

drinks and I have already lost 75.3 pounds in 5 days, and look, I 'm a natural redhead again..” I was

actually brainwashed into believing that a smoothie of kale, chia pods, salmon, swiss chard, seaweed

and bananas would be an epicurean delight.

So, now, every time I move the box to sweep, or manage a side glance as I go for mail, I

believe that I loose a pound or two. ( and aren't those golden strands amongst the silver ?)

10/20/2013

Big Mac Is Watching Me

No, I am not basking in the neon glow of McDonald's. I am having a silent argument with my computer. At the beginning of each line, he (must be masculine) insists on “capping” my first letter. I know, I know, all you savvy techies have a ready solution. It will make perfect sense to you, but I will attempt to pay attention while my eyes“glaze over”..(as per my computist husband)

Perhaps I could live with this one aggravating control issue, but how can one justify Mac's insistence that I have mizspelled (sp ?) and arrogantly suggest better options.? Well sometimes, I like to create words. Hey, I'm silly that way. Call me an artiste if you will, but stay out of my head and go bother a more compulsive soul. I am not such a dinosaur that I long for the olden days of ubiquitous Underwoods where each manuel erasure left an obvious hole. Nostalgically speaking, there was a comfort in the click-clacking of the keys; that is, until they ended up a jumbled stuck mess. And where was that box of carbon paper when I was rushing a last minute term paper ?

Simply, I long for a sensible medium. Leave me to my Thesaurus and spell and grammar check be damned ! ( Did I spell, “Thesaurus”right ?)

Big Mac, are you listening ? Wake up ! I need you.

Now For Something Completely Different...


This is one of my favorite Vegetarian recipes. (perfectly suitable for omnis, as well)

http://www.vegetariantimes.com/recipe/quinoa-stuffed-peppers-2/