If only all our warzones could be played out on a skateboard park.... 

I got a new washing machine. Thusly, I got new hoses. I think these metal hoses are so cool. Somedays I wish *I* had a non bursting bendable casing so I could deal with life better. 

Bud Upright 

bud 

I remember being totally convinced as a child that when my mother called these flowers eggs and butter, they *must* be made of eggs and butter. I also remember thinking how very odd it was that the roads along the highways were all smeared with eggs and butter. 

Another revealing moment in nature. The Just-Bursting quality of flowers is almost erotic to me. The gentle folds starting to open to the light, petals about to reach into the world with their glory... 

Another moment in time, captured. As this pod began to dry, I misted it with water, to slow down the process. There is something very intimate about this object, allowing me to peek inside to see the delicate structure, the vulnerable and sexual core of it. 

Wish Pods...my daughter collects them. We make wishes and stomp on them in the woods. This one came to me this morning, and I was awestruck by the beauty of it. 

Early Fall has the most amazing colors! And textures. 

"Sitting With It"

The new neighbors moved in. And the sound of the HUGE Saint Bernards, Molly and Ben, is staggering. "Huh HUH HUH HUH HUH", the continuous pull of their breathing as they pace the new boundary that is the fence. That cadence, that pulling, is echoed from within me as I continue to face the Sysphian Task that is searching for gainful employment. Pulling. Pulling a tractor with my teeth. Coming home from interviews that string out time like really, really bad dates. Feeling that there is just about as much luck in finding the Right Job as finding the Right Partner. Thankfully peeling out of Work-Type clothes, slipping of the Silly Shoes, and sliding into baggy shorts.

Wondering...pondering if I am worthy...enough.

Harder still, is "sitting with it". Staying calm in the center of Not Knowing. Feeling the pinch of poverty and the fear of the IRS burgeon underneath the exterior jocularity that is my mask. Wondering how many times my kid will eat the .99 cent Spanish Rice from Save a Lot.

Sitting with it. It involves Grace. And some Trust. I sense a slimy film of Trust on the surface, just enough to make those around me calm their fears about maybe having to support me in my thrashing. They see that I am not, they don't look much deeper. They have their own chaos to manage and train into something workable.

I have love, Great Love. And I have my art. And I have my health and so many other valuable things. But the crack in my cup is leaking Faith these days, and the spillage pools into shiny puddles of twinkling malaise. I tire of waiting, of trying, of mailing resumes and making calls. I want to work. I want to feel the clear outline of Is-ness, identity, that comes with Doing Something.

"What do you do?" , my least favorite question.

I wait. I try. I sit with it. Somedays better than others.

Buddies 

Crystal 

Fun with textures. 

Pink!! 

Smooth. Shiny. Silver. Solar. 

Marigold 

So sad.... 

Another wonderful face in the crowd... 

King Richard's Faire. So many lovely faces. And me, unfortunately, without a digital SLR. The day was frustrating, but I *did* get a few good ones. This one moves me. In the way that old statues do sometimes. 

My Neighbor has fruit trees in his garden. The pictures of apples, peaches and flowers I have taken this summer I have taken mostly from his yard. He comes from Poland, and speaks little English. He is frail, and just had hip replacement surgery. I met him for the first time yesterday. His daughter translated for me while I thanked him for letting me take pictures of his flowers. As he was tottering away, I asked if I might take his picture. I got one shot only. After working with it for most of the afternoon this is what I came up with. Sometimes I amaze myself. 

My Bad Day: Part One 

Bad day part two 

Bad Day part three 

Beauty in Destruction...My Toyota. 

Ask me about my TOYOTA...

Tomorrow, some big, bruiser-guy is coming to take my baby away. My 1989 Toyota, which met it's death on a rainy afternoon after having anal sex with the car in front of me. Yes. You heard right. Needless to say, that kind of intimacy is best approached gently. Also needless to say, that sort of gentle approach was unavailable to me at the moment. Or moments. Those lonnnnnnnnnng three seconds as I slid in sloooooooooooow motion into the SUV in front of me. Yipeee! EyeOh. Kaiay....

Not often does one need to confront members of the State Police after a sexual encounter. Unless of course there is glass strewn about, and twisted metal, and heaving sighs of steam forthcoming from the, um, orifice in question. As was the case with my illicit mingling in the rain, in broad daylight. The shame! The horror!

Oh. My favorite auto...and now I look at others, each one having identical rust around the wheel wells, and the boxy shapes and I sigh.

So Mr. Billy Brusier TakeAway is coming tomorrow to make her gone from my driveway. And from my life.

I shall spend today searching under the seats for lost coins. And claiming receipts from long ago...(don't want "them" finding any credit card info about, ya know) and being brave enough to actually dig under the seats for pens and such.

Then she will be gone...and I will have only memories and photographs to remember her by.

Le Sigh....

Trembling Gods...

I can feel the Powers That Be trembling. It can almost be seen, just beyond the flickering leaves. It can almost be heard in the slowing cadence of the crickets, harbingers of cooler temperatures. The season is on the cusp. Change is afoot.

It feels like coming out the other end of a kaleidoscope. In the beginning, summer felt heavy and wide open beckoning to be filled with sleeping in, reading late into the night, sand filled shoes and tingly hot skin, cool machine-made breezes and the lack of definitive schedule. I worried about what to do with all the open time.

Now I worry about what to do with the lack thereof. And yet, I hunger for routine.

I spent the summer creating a large body of artwork. Honing creative process. Spending time teaching my daughter how to dive from the dock in the pond.

Already I contemplate baking bread. Stews. Quilts and hot cups of coffee.

The Gods are waiting, tapping their feet, anticipating the Dance of Father Time, and the cooler whispers of Mother Earth as she heads for the Rotation Towards Darkness.

Listen. Can you hear them?

Sometimes the clarity just hits you from behind the lens...some depth is reached and a human moment is captured, forever.