Someday my prince will come...
A rainy night on my front porch. I am sure there are a dozen good tag lines for this picture I snapped of a tree frog who happened into a little mirrored metal cabinet. He was undaunted by the flash.
looking up to see the sea...
A friend loaned John a blue BMW convertible for the weekend so we took off for the beach for the day yesterday. No, that is not where I found these darling seahorses, though it may have given me the inspiration to dangle them from my chandelier.
This afternoon while I sat with John for his 4th chemo treatment I reviewed my day and I felt discouraged. I hadn't really accomplished much of anything other than shopping at Home Goods for an hour. I wanted a little table to put on my front porch next to my turquoise chair and ended up leaving with nothing. I couldn't make up my mind and I felt too tired of stuff and of spending money. (Come to think of it, leaving empty-handed is quite an accomplishment for me.)
So, while reviewing my day, I realized the highlight was hanging these bronze seahorses from my chandelier while I chatted with Natalie. When John and I got back from the cancer center, she had made us chicken parmesian with peanut butter pie for dessert. As I was enjoying the meal and the company, I looked up to see the seahorses hanging from bubbles of chain and my heart did a ever so little leap of joy. Maybe I accomplished more than I think, or maybe accomplishing a lot isn't all it's cracked up to be. For now I'm glad for another reason to look up.
Feeding time at the zoo...
Zuzu likes her supper almost as much as I like mine. She defers politelty to Chloe. Not on film is her dart to Charlotte's bowl in the kitchen where she steals a few bites of our Aussie's kibble.
State of the garden address...
John has started chemo which is no picnic so it has been hard to do anything creative. Mostly I feel paralyzed. I sat in a wrought iron chair and wrote the other morning, so I will share that picture with you even though it is made of words and not paint or glass. Here is a photo to accompany it.
From my journal:
I am on my front porch, a stoop really, the covered landing at my front door that measures a cozy 5 by 5 feet. I am in my pajamas, turquoise flannel pants dotted with hugging penguin couples and a black sleeveless cotton undershirt since it is really too warm for flannel. Beneath me is a potted poinsettia, the red so vibrant it fairly warms my behind. Its color creates a happy contrast to the wrought iron garden chair that I spray painted turquoise. The chair and I match.
I brought my breakfast out here in hopes of seeing the morning birds squabble over the bird feeder when they aren’t chewing me out for invading their space. Before they arrived, it was quiet and I looked at my shabby garden which hasn’t been mowed down by freezing temperatures yet. My poor leggy basil plant is covered in some kind of fungus spots that make it look like a bus just hit a pothole and spewed it with mud. It looks a little pissed off as well as unhealthy, even itchy. There are sunflowers randomly pocked in-between the mums that are going dormant. I hope they get to bloom before we get a freeze.
The birds have arrived, so it’s much more entertaining. A little Carolina wren, all ruddy brown has just tried to light on a two foot tall cosmos plant that could not bear its weight, so the little bird ended up taking a catapult ride down and then springing off when the feathery top of the flower’s stem brushed the dirt. The cosmos are completely out of season but I took a chance on them, or the weather, or both.
Creating a garden is a sculptural endeavor for me with an anxious moving about of containers to create varied heights with a sense of balance measured in my gut. I move lanterns, shepherd’s hooks, plants and pots around until they approach some kind of intuitive order. There is no plan. I step away, my back to the garden, then do a quick turn-around-glance, and measure my stomach anxiety. I know it is ‘right’ when I no longer have a stomach ache, when I can live with the layout.
For height, I poured soil into a screen dome-shaped cover I stole from our fire pit. (No worries about unchecked sparks; the fire pit iron bowl is planted with succulents on the back porch.) I perched the repurposed screen onto an old column resulting in a birdbath shaped planter that teeters, but has settled into a comfortable while tentative balance facilitated by a bulge of soil to the back. A rusty garden angel stands in the middle of the dirt bowl, her brittle skirt buried deep enough to keep her from tipping over. Her wings, the right one lacy from decay, embrace the space. Having dug in her heels, she opens her fractured limbs in praise of morning.
I planted sunflower seeds in my tippy contraption but, in less than time it takes to say ‘scat’, I returned to find hulls opened like Easter eggs in a tidy circle around the angel. Perhaps the pinks and purples on the horizon distracted her from shooing away the squirrel that helped himself to my efforts. Thankfully the squirrel was a sloppy eater or the angel shoed him away before he polished off his snack; four or five cast offs have managed to fight the odds and sprout on the ground below. They are now over a foot tall, one of them almost two feet and leaning a bit precariously under my birdbath/ planter configuration. I am pleased and amazed that you can identify seedlings from their earliest push into existence, “Every seed after its kind” yields for me a comforting and joy-filled continuity from one season to the next.
After the squirrel incident, I transplanted some three inch tall cosmos seedlings I had started in a clay pot. They circle the angel, standing upright like members of a choir. They, along with the rest of the garden, tilt slightly to the rising sun, tentative, anticipating, singing.
Everything leans forward a bit. That is what I notice most in my front garden, in my dish of succulents on the back porch,and in the orchids that climb down from the edge of a giant pot then touch the ground like little leaguers stealing second, rebounding into a sharp midair ‘u’. That is where they flower, in midair. Imagine that. With no visible means of support the succulent and the orchid flower spikes reach upward like my whole garden reaches. Leaning toward the sun, toward who they are, then reaching up and flowering handfuls of confetti that defy gravity. The trees mirror this activity too, arms up, always reaching. Reaching in praise, or maybe reaching like little children wanting to be picked up.
Happy New Year garden...
This little nativity rests in my succulent garden. I didn't know the plant blooms! I thought it was wilting and upon closer inspection realized it was flowering just in time for Christmas. Everyday the blooms seem to do something new, hanging with impossible faith like little decorative lanterns out in mid-air. An orchid my friend Susan gave me added its voice to the holiday celebration.
My Buddy the Elf alter ego...
I thought I was finished with my back porch Florida snow storm , but true to my nature I had to add just a little bit more. I was thinking of suspending paper snowflakes, store bought because my paper snowflakes and accordion folded paper doll chains always end up looking like shredded paper napkins. I found these LED snowflakes at Costco, what John calls my 'happy place.' Serendipitously, we ended up watching Elf last night for the millionth and not too many-ith time. Although we did not dine on spaghetti with maple syrup, I did awaken with a hankering for crumbled poptarts and chocolate syrup on my cereal. 
Let it snow!
We ate at a little cafe in town that had a ceiling loaded with a variety of twinkling lights. John and I put up some colored light strands on our back porch to get that feeling, but it was a tad blah. I went to Lowe's to get some inspiration and decided we needed a little snow Florida style. The photo doesn't do it justice, nor does the broad daylight, but icicles and snowflake lights are hanging from the ceiling.
My ceiling reminds me a bit of a scene from one of my favorite movies, Strictly Ballroom. Now I feel the urge to hang some lanterns and streamers, and take up the Pasodoble.
If you feed them, they will come and speaking bird...
My front garden is becoming my tropical version of the birdie day spa I created in Maryland. The thistle seed feeder has attracted what I confirmed to be a purple finch, using my trusty Peterson's Field Guide (and a teensy peek at the internet.) Peterson's was a staple of my youth. Growing up,we kept a running list of all the birds we spotted from our deck in Massachusetts. Maybe I am easily amused, but I crack up at the field guide's descriptions of the bird calls. I already speak Cardinal, Nuthatch, Titmouse, and Chickadee. Here are some languages I hope to pick up:
The Rose-breasted Grosbeak features "metallic kick or eek." I'm already proficient in 'eek,' just ask my family. I'm pretty good at kick too. The Cardinal has a short chip, but I have not mastered the finer idioms of "what-cheer cheer cheer or whoit whoit, etc." (Yes, the guide specifies 'etc.' Cardinals have a working knowledge of Latin. Who knew?) The Indigo Bunting and I share the occasional "sharp thin spit."
Peterson distinguishes between the Warbler's tory-tory-tory and churry-churry-churry. The Louisiana Water-Thrush is know for "clear slurred whistles," probably a New Orleans influence, a little too much rouler les bon temps at the birdbath. I will close with the Oven-Bird's 'chertea, CHERTEA, CHERTEA' because I need to get into my studio and quit this entertaining of self. Peterson notes that in some regions, Western Virginia for example, the "song becomes monosyllabic with little change of emphasis TEACH, TEACH, TEACH etc." Those Virginians are big into education even if they can't pronounce house. My poor mother still endures our mimics of her "get oh-oo-t of the hoh-oo-s." Virginian is like Canadian with serifs.
Dalmatian drama...
I'm recovering from knee surgery with our poor dogs who will never get acclimated to Florida thunderstorms. Charlotte shakes and drools, while Zuzu finds solace by wedging herself between the bed and the night stand. 
Is she praying? Holding her breath?
Comfort food, best muffins ever, protein does not comfort me...
Lots of stress so not many blog posts. John was diagnosed with a very aggressive not-your-grandpa's prostate cancer. He is recovering from surgery and we are figuring out his next treatment, probably hormone therapy with a side order of unknown.
Though I don't enjoy cooking (unless it's glass or PMC), when I am stressed I find the rhythm of it soothing, so I have been cooking: mac and cheese (the recipe on ronzoni box rocks), soups, dumplings, potato casserole, John's mom's sugar cookies, and the list goes on. My friend noted that I needed more protein items. I responded: "Protein does not comfort me."
Above is the yummiest muffin recipe my friend Beth discovered and Susan baked and delivered to my door. (I have to give everyone credit or they won't bring me any more treats.) It has 2 1/2 Cups of those anti-oxidant packed blueberries, half of which you mash before you put them in the batter. I zapped them in the food processor.
Zuzu chilaxin', hippo color pop...
Zuzu and I have been tuckered out. She was very happy to see me after my six weeks away. She licked me for a solid 15 minutes. Now she doesn't seem to realize I was ever gone.
John got me these oh-so color popping flowers for our anniversary. I love how they look with the Metropolitan Museum's hippo that Heather got for me a few years ago. In fact, I like how that hippo goes with just about anything. Maybe I should wear it around my neck....
Hope with feathers...
I found the perfect home for a beautiful glass vase Danielle bought me from our favorite Baltimore haunt, Trohv. She gave it to me at the rehearsal dinner and said, "hope is the thing with feathers." When I was in elementary school, my class went on a field trip to a farm. In the gift shop they had a set of blown glass mallard ducks and my mother bought them for me. When we got home she pulled out an oval cosmetic mirror and we grouped the duck family swimming on the 'water' and I was entranced. I put a mirror under this collection of birds my grandmother made. Under each ceramic bird is her trademark, a birdhouse.
Ahoy!
We have a niche in our bathroom that you can only see when you are looking in the mirror so it is the perfect place to put a surprise. I went to Marshall's and created my version of a Chihuly shipwreck. Now all these shells and globes are on my dining room table for my upcoming Birthday Open House.
I'm heading down to Sarasoata to visit my parents and assemble lots of new stuff. I can't wait to tinker with my new glass and my new brass.
Bottle Stoppers Super-sized! Silly enough for you?
Philanthropist Harriet Lake is a big fan and supporter of mine. As a thank you, I decided to send her one of my bottle stoppers. If you know Harriet, she is all bling and over the top, so I made her an over the top stopper using a two-liter bottle instead of smaller water bottles. The result was so ridiculous I laughed out loud and so did Harriet. She LOVED it! I am a convert. I only make the gigantic kind now. Each stopper uses at least three recycled bottles. I use high grade corks. (Did you know there was such a thing?) You can see more images on my etsy site. And I am putting them back up on my site as well.
Today I heard from a friend I made at ArtPrize. She has gone to town making chandeliers. She posted pictures on my facebook page if you would like to see her creations (and 'like' me while you are at it!) It is so fun to hear from people all over the country using my method to make all kinds of cool stuff.
Purchase $25
because Seven ate Nine...
You know the old joke: "Why is 6 afraid of 7?" because 7,8, 9. Our bride-to-be was home for Easter and we took on a couple of projects. She found an idea for table numbers that struck her fancy and mine as well. We had Lowe's cut up some lumber for us, primed it in black, then sprayed them blue. Danielle created the number shapes using a million little brass stampings that we spray painted silver.
Alouette, Monet, and the dalmatian may lose her spots...
I read somewhere that Scandinavians varnish their window sills in the spring. The comment was made in reference to spring cleaning and it made me feel woefully inadequate as my spring cleaning usually amounts to putting away the winter clothes. This year, however, I find myself ruthlessly de-cluttering and I dyeing and painting everything in my path. I just finished dyeing a bedspread turquoise after successfully changing a boring crocheted ivory tablecloth to chartreuse. My dark imposing china cabinet is now sunny yellow, a smaller armoire is light blue, inspired by images from Claude Monet's house. I painted a Victorian chair black and spray dyed the upholstery to match. Pardon my francais, but it is bad-derriere. (Only after the fact did it occur to me that Zuzu sheds her white hair. Spray dye anyone?)
James says I watch too much TV and he is right, but I was further inspired by the new 'Alouette' Target ads. Here's what I made whilst humming the tune! That's all for now. My favorite show is on.
Purchase Alouette in Red Necklace, $325