Incense and white tea...

After a busy week of left-brain thinking, it was time to do something more creative and engage in some right-brain stuff. So, I got out my Ciro Marchetti “Gilded Tarot”, lit some incense, and brewed a mug of white tea. It was time to complete a tarot reading for an on-line friend.

The cards were shuffled, re-shuffled, and then shuffled once more for good measure. The seven of swords was drawn. This can be a challenging card at the best of times, but when drawn for a single-card reading it can be even more daunting. To add a twist to this exercise, the reading was to be given in the form of a poem, a song, a drawing, or painting. Since my favourite form of poetry is a sonnet, I decided to write one for her based on this card.

What I ended up with was something quite amazing. Hopefully my friend will enjoy her reading and consider all the possibilities this card offers as she contemplates her next professional move. It was good to use my creativity and to play with pictures and words. Now my tea is gone and the incense is out, but the satisfaction of this time spent with the tarot still lingers.

Vincent and the felt hat...

Vincent Van Gogh painted many self portraits but this is one of my favourites. When at the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam recently, I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon enjoying his art in its full range, from his first clumsy drawings to the massive paintings which showed how far he had stretched himself.

The Borinage, where he lived and ministered to the miners and their families, gave birth to his early sketches of the working poor with their odd-proportioned limbs. The drawings of the peasants in sombre colours show the hard, difficult side of life, a life shortened by dangerous work. When it was time for him to leave, Vincent sought the invaluable guidance of a mentor.

Over the ten year period in which Vincent painted, his paintings became more colourful and bright, with bold, frenetic strokes, which convey the energy within him as he painted fast and furious before madness set in. He was afraid that it would consume him and he would not get all of his paintings done. Though he studied the dotted Pointillist technique, he added his own flair. His style was of more coarse, broad strokes with a swirling movement to them. He developed a signature style that endures in its beauty to this day. His work was damned when he was alive and then celebrated in his death.

It is hard to believe that such a tortured soul, who endured such profound melancholy, sadness, and a sense of worthlessness, was able to paint such vivid, brilliant works. Surely inside, deep in his soul, there was a voice that was screaming out “I can do this”, “I can be a success”. Vincent was a bit different: quiet, sullen, private. He felt as if he was a burden to his family, all of whom were successful at their chosen vocation. It was as if no one but his younger brother, Theo, understood him.

It is suspected that Vincent suffered not only from an unusual form of epilepsy, but also from depression. So difficult to live with, and so socially unacceptable, many people with mental illness suffer in silence while their brains work their black magic to alter their lives beyond imagining, sometimes to the point that death is the only way out. Mental illness can also bestow gifts, such as mania, which allows for the creative spirit to soar to such heights, while the depressive episodes that follow can be crippling and paralytic. In this regard, Vincent suffered greatly.

Sweet Vincent, somehow you knew your life would be short. Your irises have brought tears to my eyes. Your starry nights shining above the cypress trees has stirred my imagination. Your works have brought this young woman much joy and cause to reflect on this life. As your brush strokes touched the canvas, your work has touched the lives of millions. It was not all in vain dear, sweet Vincent.

Rainy blueberry morning...

Winds are chasing across the fields and a chilly rain is soaking the gardens. A great morning to stay indoors. For a bit of morning cheer I made one of my famous breakfast smoothies. Just place ½ c. yogurt, a banana, some blueberries, a splash of orange juice, and a teaspoon each of wheat germ, flax seed, and uncooked oatmeal. Whir in a blender until it resembles a milkshake.
I serve it in a thermal mug because it is very frosty and will stay cold while I enjoy it. The bendy straw adds just a touch of fun! The blueberries and banana remind me that summer is just around the corner. After all, without the rain there would be no flowers.

A Dutch fairytale...

I do believe the strawberries in Amsterdam are from heaven. While there recently for business, every morning for breakfast I had fresh fruit, a buttery croissant, and on Sunday even added a splash of champagne to my orange juice to turn it into a mimosa for no reason at all. The waiter was a bit flirty, called me ‘Miss’, and even winked at me. Likely he treats all the ladies this way to make them feel special. It worked!

The conference was amazing, but after sitting and listening for nearly three days I was dying to get outside and see more of Holland. A tour of the countryside was needed, so I travelled to Volendam just north of Amsterdam, which is a picturesque fishing village along the shores of the former Zuiderzee.

Volendam looked like some place out of a Dutch fairytale. Even under pewter skies, a light rain, and bracing North winds, it was absolutely beautiful. The row houses were tidy and the little village seemed suspended in time. The canals and gardens were a palette of broad, vibrant colours, neither washed out nor hidden in shadow as they would have been under a hot, brilliant sun.

While in this fabled village I stopped in at a jewelers shop and bought a silver watch with a mother-of-pearl face and a necklace that seemed to have been made just for me. It was as if it were waiting for me to come along. It is made of a silver hammered rectangle that has within its boundaries a moonstone, as pretty as the moon herself, a grey-black pearl the colour of the sea, and a twinkling blue topaz just as clear and bright as a new day. Topaz is my birthstone, so you see, it was truly meant for me.

Volendam was such a striking contrast to the bawdy, raucous ‘red-light’ district of Amsterdam. I doubt the women in the windows under those red lights, or the men who buy their services, understand that the brain is the largest sex organ. Nor would they understand that a deep, lingering kiss or a touch as light as a whisper can be far more erotic than the hard-core sex that was so explicitly promoted. While the crowds, the smells, and the shocking sites in Amsterdam were too raw for me, I fell in love with the countryside of Holland.

Now it is back to the “everyday ordinariness” of my life, and I must say I am happy to be home.

This knitter grows up...

Tomorrow I have a nine hour journey to Amsterdam, via Frankfurt. I refuse to check any luggage, so my clothes and ‘essentials’ have been packed in my little ‘wheelie bag’, which I usually use to transport my laptop. I can get by with very little as I have done lots of business travel and know how to mix and match, and some items can be hand-washed, so packing for a week in one small bag is no problem. But, my concern is what will I take to knit?? Socks? A shawl? I have some lovely black kid silk haze, but am not sure I will be able to see it in the dim cabin lighting of the overnight flight to make sure the lace pattern is correct. I might make another pair of Fetching, sweet little cabled fingerless gloves, like the ones I made in the photo. That would be easy and fun! Strange to find that my worries about what to knit far outweigh my concerns of dressing professionally (including outfit for gala dinner!). Maybe I have really become a knitter.

Making time...

Sometimes it is important to take a break from life and do something fun. Well, my idea of fun is knitting! It is also relaxing. I belong to a group called “Chicks with Sticks” and the members are awesome people who are bright, articulate, and uber-creative. We meet regularly at a local coffee house and spend the afternoon knitting and talking. Well, I guess technically we spend our time talking and knitting.

It is amazing how the conversation can meander from such simple things as planning our summer BBQ get together to how many months must one go without sex to be considered a ‘born-again virgin’. The group consensus was that the BBQ would be held the last Saturday in June; and apparently it takes 12 months without sex to be considered a born again virgin.

That’s one of the many things I love about this group- we have been together for nearly a year and it is so easy-going and everyone has a voice. In this busy world, it is nice to know that you can count on the simple pleasure of getting together with friends and gabbing. Oh, and there really is a little knitting thrown it, just to make it an official meeting!

Grrr...

Tigger is one of the cats in my life. He is orange, overweight, and a bit of a bully. No one loves him but me. He has moments when he looks so innocent, but they occur only when he is fast asleep (note his "Royal Bigness" sleeping on my desk). He is kind of like the heavy-set bully that blusters around the playground, terrorizing the other kids, but is the first one to hide under the covers at the first sign of a thunderstorm. Or so I thought.

Today he decided to sit on the window ledge above my desk and watch the weather. After awhile he began to growl at something, but I ignored him. After a few moments, he growled again, so I got up to look outside to see what he was growling at but found nothing. I resumed my work and then again, he growled. It was at that point that I heard the low, distant rumble of thunder. When the thunder stopped, that darn cat growled again. Thunder rumbled louder, announcing a storm was coming, and again, there was the growling of Tigger. His growl was growing more menacing the louder the thunder sounded.

Then, without warning, there was a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder! Tigger bounded off the ledge as if he had been struck. Papers and books went flying off my desk as he ran down the hall and into the bedroom to hide under the bed. My brave, growly cat was suddenly nothing more than a fraidy cat. But I love him anyway.

Half way there...

Happy May Day! A whole day to celebrate the coming of spring! It is a cross-quarter day and marks the sun’s midpoint journey between the vernal equinox and the summer solstice. There is much to celebrate, give thanks for, and to look forward to as the earth is slowly warmed by the sun (at least for those living in the northern hemisphere!). Due to city fire regulations, there will be no bonfire here tonight, only a small, private prayer ceremony to commemorate this day. Part of the celebration tonight includes making an ‘Oatmeal Honey Applesauce Cake’!