Fusion

Where two obsessions meet.

For a very long time I confined my photography solely to the outdoors, as a way of honoring -- and spending time in -- the natural world. The summer after The Great Unraveling, once I was able to pick up the camera again, I started photographing other things. The string lights in my new screened in porch. Frozen, blanched tomatoes. My dog. Other people's dogs.

This afternoon I was working on a quilt, and I saw the light hitting my pincushion just so, and suddenly in front of me was the opportunity to fuse two of my passions. It's all the same, really -- color and light. Sewing isn't about sewing for me. It's about color, design, and texture. Engagement of the senses.

It's a nice blend.

Blueberries and priorities

These blueberries are now freezer jam, thanks to careful time management.

I finished a big and stressful work project last week, and was eagerly anticipating having some free time this week to indulge my other activities, which I felt had been languishing too long (also known as my "creative side"). Which is why, come Monday, I found myself stewing in anxiety over the fact that I didn't really want to do anything. I did a bit of cooking and managed a pillowcase for The Boy* and a few other things, but I wasn't wallowing in the things I wanted to do, as I had so clearly envisioned.

And then it occurred to me that I have a lot of things I want to do, and a lot of things I have to do. I have to do all the paid work available, which is often a lot. I'm a single parent. I have a pretty big house to keep on top of, which is no small thing because I am somewhat neat. Unfortunately, no one else who lives here or spends time here is.

And then there are the discretionary items. I planted a large garden because I love the idea of my own food. I just discovered my bread machine. I bought a riding lawn mower because a) I love mowing my lawn and b) I can save myself a few hundred dollars doing it myself. I want to sew, do photography, travel and write. I have a dog. There are two kayaks in the garage.

And then there's the minor fact of my relationship with a guy who is starting his own business while still working full-time at a job an hour away.

And all of you who know me are aware that I require substantial idling time. Time to lie on the grass and stare at the clouds. Time to wander the internet. Time to walk around and work out knotty problems. It takes a lot of idling to support an active life. And that is clearly what was missing on Monday. But what to do, when limited to a scant 24-hour day?

I guess you can't really have it all. Or maybe you can, just not at the same time. So I've decided to ratchet down my list, which, because I am me, has been difficult, but necessary. I have decided that the garden is the lowest priority. The peppers were giving me the finger anyway, so screw 'em. I'm tired of coaxing their finicky green asses out of the carefully amended soil I planted them in.

I informed T this morning that, because neither of us ever has any time to actually put clean clothes away, we will henceforth be living out of (neatly placed) laundry baskets. Because T is not the kind of guy for whom domesticity is particularly resonant, this edict was greeted with all the resistance of someone who'd just been told he won the lottery.

The Kid will be getting more chores. He has mastered the art of cleaning mirrors, and for a buck to spend on piddly junk that will further clutter my house, he'll be willing to clean the dog snot off the sliding glass doors.

That's a start, anyway. And a good one, because today, blueberries are my priority. Freezer jam, muffins, and perhaps ice cream. We picked five pounds of them last Sunday and they are languishing in the refrigerator. And we can't have that.





*New vernacular, just to be clear. My son is still "The Kid". "The Boy" and "The Girl" are T's son and daughter. Collectively, we refer to them as "The Onions" for reasons that might take too long to explain. When we are all together, we constitute "The Murder." As in, a murder of crows.

More chewing, less nibbling

Damn it, I miss blogging.

I resisted Facebook until the bitter end, possibly because I knew it would creep in, with it's chatty format and it's snappy status updates, and slowly obliterate the longer, more reflective space of a blog. But ultimately I caved, and got on Facebook so I could flirt with a guy. Well, that task is finished - we're all but shacked up now, though I haven't stopped flirting with him.

And then something happened to a friend that made her revisit her own, more reflective space. I had been considering packing it up and moving it all back here before then, but now it's definite. I'm coming back.

I am, first and foremost, a cud chewer. It's what I do. And you can't chew cud properly on Facebook. You can nibble cud, but there is no chewing, and your audience is limited. On Facebook, the friends part comes first, then the reading. I like the reverse. It's how I met so many of the best friends I've never met. (And some I have.)

Blogging is how I got through the implosion of my 15-year marriage. It's how I spent my time during my long and lonely four-year exile in a second-floor home office. It's where I turned after a morning in the mountains, or an afternoon spent watching bears.

I miss it. And I want it back.

So here I am. More chewing, less nibbling.

Celery Bog frog

We found a friend at the Celery Bog last night. I love the frogs there.

"A tent on steroids," and perhaps more.

A yurt is unlike other spaces. The cornerless but windowed environment offers the closest thing to 360 degree views without actually being outside (and having eyes in the back and top of your head). There is a sense of largeness in a yurt that doesn't exist in a comparably sized structure with traditional corners. The circularity of the yurt drew my eye around, and around, and eventually, up:



In a yurt, you are at once sheltered and yet integrated into the natural environment.

There are fewer compromises required in a structure like this. After staying in the yurt, I have a theory that the mind, like a watermelon grown square within the confines of a box, will take on the shape of its environment. As the hours passed, I could feel the corners of my own boxed-up brain smoothing and stretching out. Thoughts, words and feelings bubbled up more easily. It was a magnificent place to do creative work.

Bear Lake

See the yurt in the lower left hand corner? That was my home for three days this week.

Cedar Tree

I suppose it's foolish to try to write anything of substance with two boys, age 7 and almost 13, playing pool and air hockey downstairs. I keep hearing unidentified crashes and bangs -- and honestly, I prefer to keep them unidentified. It goes something like this:

***CRASH***

Almost thirteen-year old: "My Bad!!"

All righty then. At least we have accountability.

We started out this weekend on a ten-mile trail, and got about a mile and a half of it done before the sole of The Boy's boot detached almost completely. We hiked out, sought duct tape, and drove to the Hocking Hills and did day hikes.

We hiked first at Ash Cave in the Hocking Hills complex. I felt, for a moment, as if I were back in Oregon. The trail back to the falls was lined with fragrant cedar and coated with pine needles. A short hike led us here: