The Oops! Sculptures...

On the first warm day since onset of winter (March 1, 2011, it was), I got back into my habit of creating "Oops Sculptures" -- so-called because I buy whatever paint colors are available at paint stores (those cheap ones where the tint was misdone -- oops!), and then look around for something to paint. Of those I've created over the years, none but this most recent one remains… nor will this one last. Such is their fate.

NOTE: Gone. Only lasted a month. As soon as we left town, the same "over-zealous man with a wheelbarrow" who destroyed "Vishnu/Lakshmi" and "White Bird..." took exception to this Oops Sculpture, too -- had it hauled off as part of spring cleanup, I suppose. Just empty ground when we returned from our journey. Not a word spoken. Not to worry. I have plenty more paint and plenty of downed trees. Robert offered to find a really interesting piece and set it up vertically in the yard, for greater visibility. Offer accepted.

What I loved was seeing a troop of neighboring kids make a little expedition to this suddenly-appearing colorful whatsit. That's why I do this! Such playfulness with simple, accessible objects can open up creative energies in others....

Now... since they are all gone, here is the elegy to former Oops Sculptures:

Farewell to "White Bird in a Golden Cage" -- inspired by a vivid dream, I painted long, curved branches gold, and set them in a circle (anchored by a tire hub) to form a cage. Inside was a stick, painted white, which rose from the center and took an abrupt 90-degree bend as though forming a perch. Destroyed by over-zealous games of catch between humans and dogs.

Farewell to "Universe in a Rabbit Hutch" -- I painted the abandoned 3-cage rabbit hutch a deep red on the outside, and a deep purple inside. Within those three cages were (1) The Sun; (2) The Moon; and (3) The Stars. Each of these was represented by found objects from around the yard (a hubcap, and various other shiny objects). A friend asked for it, so she could raise rabbits. There it sits in her yard, with its fallen sun, moon and stars -- and nary a rabbit.

Farewell to "Vishnu/Lakshmi" -- Now this one! I have a photo of this one. Any modern person familiar with the Hindu pantheon and symbols would see what once was, with the staff of Vishnu, the crown and feminine bow of Lakshmi, the offering bowls at their feet… Destroyed for "being in the way" by an over-zealous man with a wheelbarrow. I really loved this one...

On the Dirty Devil...

This is a crayon drawing based on a photo--

That's me, dragging my boat along the shallow water of the Dirty Devil River in Utah... I've just about reached a portion of the river that will float my boat, in all senses of that phrase. These sections of the river that had sufficient flow were, unfortunately, somewhat rare..

In fact, we took to saying that the water was "a foot deep" -- meaning that it was JUST enough water to reach up to your ankles--precisely one human's foot deep.

Today, on this cold snowy day in February, I got to remembering this cold snowy outing on the Dirty Devil... We were told that the temperature would hover the 80s at the coolest, so I brought shorts and t-shirts and sandals. To the surprise of us all, it snowed with a horrific headwind for almost ALL of our multi-day camping adventure..... I learned on that trip that I am a trooper! I would shake the snow off of my sandals in the morning, and get out there and brave it again.

Did we love the trip? Hell, yeah! Spectacular red-rock beauty abounding, including wild hikes through Robber's Roost (google that), wildlife, camaraderie.... all in exquisite wilderness.

(Note: JUST as I was tearing this drawing out of the book--the dang thing ripped in half.... you can see the tear. Part of the charm... I guess.)

WINTER FOLLIES OF WINTER FOOLS

That's me on skis, Robert on snowboard.
Yeeeeee-ha!

From weird sounds in the night, dear Lord, deliver us...

Was it 3am? I woke suddenly to what sounded to me like death screams, or at least very badly wounded screams. "Robert! What's going on out there?"

Our house is at the bottom of a wild hill, the terminus of a long ridge that leads directly into the wilderness. We are in the curve of a mountain stream. Thus, our hill is the trail down to water: deer, elk, bears, coyotes, mountain lions, raccoons, all kinds of wildlife (birds fly in of course) traipse through.

And SOMETHING was having trouble in its traipse. I was up and out of bed and at the window in a flash -- seeing nothing of course. It was nighttime, after all.

"Probably a raccoon," he said sleepily, and rolled over.

He was right, but I had to see it for myself -- visions of a grievously injured creature needing help? What did I think I would be able to do for it, anyway? (Here I insert the welded-in memory of childhood, when I arose in my nightie and raced outside to comb our neighborhood, seeking my cat whose cries had awakened me... do we ever change?)


This time, it being full-on winter, I pulled on my long undies, sweater, fleece pants, right over my silk pajamas, then tugged on my snowboots, coat, hat, mittens -- grabbed a headlamp AND a large-beam flashlight and headed out.

The cries were so distressing, so regular, so high-pitched. I slipped and fell on all fours repeatedly as I clambered up the steep hillside in deep snow. The cries were very close by.

Just there, on the other side of a patch of weed trees! A humongously huge furry thing -- and yes! the tell-tale-banded-tail of a raccoon -- was hunched over something furry. The screams continued.

A short time later, the furry thing underneath was flipped over onto its back, revealing -- yes! the tell-tale-banded-tail of a raccoon! A much smaller one. And the screams continued... despite two bright beams of light focused directly on them. Their backs were facing me, if that made any difference.

I watched in fascination -- until the screaming stopped a moment and the humongous aggressor seemed as if it just might be turning to check me out. I did NOT scream, but I was slip-sliding back down the slope as fast as I could....what HAD I been thinking to venture out so vulnerably? My mind was racing with visions of razor-sharp teeth in my calf from one humongous furry thing....

But that did not happen.

Once I was safely back inside, the screams began anew -- but from farther away, up the hill somewhere.... Robert, who grew up right here, and has been attuned to the natural world all his life, mumbled something about it being a dominance fight. The big guy, all fluffed out for winter warmth (and not ALL as big as he looked), was just letting the intruder know who owns this turf. As an afterthought, he mumbled, "That coon wouldn't chase you. He wasn't cornered." Then he was snoring again.

Robert can do that. He can respond to any interruption in his sleep in perfectly coherent, and correct comments, and be back asleep in seconds. I lay awake for some long time... taking it all in.

The next morning (THIS morning), I showed Robert the site of the fight. No blood, just ruffled snow. He marveled at how close to the fight I had been standing. "Well," he said with a laugh, "you had a front-row seat -- to something that was hair-raising." And off he went to shave and begin the morning.

Come! Celebrate Life with Light, Laughter, Song...and an Enigma

Amid winter's thrall: a fire in the hearth, lights glittering within, reflecting back, and paradoxical yellow flowers to remind us of spring!

And here -- a closeup of just one facet of this improbable radiant jewel of wintertime.... but:

The Enigma! ...for the "woo-woos" among you: Click on the first photo and look more carefully at the reflections in the windows. Yes, in the window on the right, the flight of birds can be explained: a mere reflection of a metal sculpture hanging on another wall. But who is that man with longish-hair in a light-colored gown--just THERE!--between the tree's top and the star in the other window? WE don't know.... but we like it.

Honoring Edith

It is with great sorrow in my heart, tears in my eyes, that I post this photo. Here is Edith, and her beloved son Gustavo (renamed Luis by others). I took this photo in the happy times... when she would drop by our porch every day. Together we watched Gustavo graduate to crawling and toddling -- a mischievously delightful child, dearly loved and watched over by his mommy. Edith was so proud of him, and so proud to BE a mommy, and she took a job in the village doing laundry to support him....

I do not know why she left the village. I presume she wanted to do even better by him -- to earn more money and provide him with a better home than the one she shared next-door to us, with her brother and her grandfather.

I do not know, really, what happened -- though I suspect her birth-father across the road from us knows, along with his wife. It's hard to write this. Did she fall under the spell of drugs and alcohol, the fear of poverty, the prospect of a better life, the tyranny of a lover? The lover, by whom she was pregnant again, DID say he would not raise that boy-of-another-man. Edith was pregnant by this lover, and so she gave up her beloved Gustavo, back to our village -- back to her grandfather (little Gustavo's great-grandfather). He was renamed Luis.

Luis was initially horrifically traumatized -- yet he and I resumed our daily joyfulness together -- though now, he would not speak. Nevertheless, daily he came to me, and in pantomime, asked me to play my dulcimer, and then he would roll up in a blanket and lie silently for long stretches of time. He loved my toys, especially the truck that honked....

And then he was gone. But it was GOOD! He'd been adopted in Zihuatanejo by relatives of his who longed for a son. They have two daughters. The mother runs a daycare preschool, the father apparently has a plant nursery. They love little Luis. He loves them. When he visits the village now, he is a normal, active, mischievous, talkative, creative young lad. He remembers me. Posted earlier in this blog is a drawing he gave me (as well as a photo of him drawing it) -- a smiling golden heart. I had always called him "Corazon del oro." He was listening.

One day, Luis was visiting, and so was Edith with her little toddler daughter. Luis showed no indication whatsoever that Edith had ever been his mother... but he was happy and very busy playing. Edith, on the other hand, was utterly changed. No longer the joking, happy, and loving woman -- dear friend -- that we had known. She said not a word when we sat down beside her. She seemed dull and lifeless. Her daughter played nearby, dressed prettily in red velvet. Edith sat with us a short while and then silently got up and walked out of our lives forever....

Not long afterwards, we got word that she had been brutally murdered -- by a gang of men, probably from the bar where she served drinks. It was late at night and she was walking home when they assaulted her. All we know, all I know (I have not asked for details beyond those given me), is that her body was found, naked, slashed brutally about torso and face -- floating in the river.

Her sweet daughter -- there is a happy ending for her too. The father is apparently out of the picture -- but she has been adopted by her blood-grandfather who lives across the road from us and he and his wife have two small kids close to her age. She is completely bonded to them, now -- to a loving and close family. She is happy here. She even loves ME! Walking alone (at age what, 3?) down the village street, she just might catch a glimpse of me in my ramada up the hill -- and she will sing out a happy greeting with a wave to me. I pass by her house -- again, she calls out with a big smile and a wave. She is at ease visiting my playroom... And from time to time, Luis and family drop by as well.

I would love to hug Edith, to tell her that her children are happy and well -- and that she has wonderful children, and that I loved her very much, and that I know her heart was that of a deeply loving mother, and a playful happy soul.

Photos to Augment Previous Entries

This is the most frustrating exercise in futility -- simply trying to add photos to previous blogs. Now I have opted to put them ALL on, but even now, I cannot control in what order they appear, nor have I the patience to upload them ALL at once.

So, gentle reader, enjoy the scroll through rather randomly added photos... Not all that I tagged for uploading even showed up!

To begin with -- the above photo is me, inadvertently dressed to match our house!

And above is the finished bowl -- one of a number of Robert's woodworking projects of beauty.
While here is modernity in Mexico -- listening to Hamza Al Din's "Waterwheel" in a hammock.

A glimpse of this year's (2010) Halloween crowd, in our ramada. Annual tradition, this.
...and a heart-stopping warning! My first day this visit, merely wending my way down to the river, I encountered this cheerful message
"CAUTION! CROCODILES IN THE WATER".
I proceeded watchfully down to the river-crossing only to find mothers calmly bathing their children, not a care in the world. The story is in this blog somewhere.

But here we have two of three intended photos of Robert working on a wooden bowl. The photo of the finished bowl is above this. His work is beautiful, and as you can see from even these two photos -- a great deal of work. Not pictured: seeking out and transporting the logs from which these bowls are revealed within.... no mean feat, believe me.

For instance, one afternoon Robert disappeared with the car to get a log he'd been eyeing along the highway and came home in the deep dark of night. Guille and Sara shared my concern (accident? arrest? ambush?) as the hours ticked by. He arrived grinning, with his prize tree trunk practically tipping the car's nose in the air!


No photo album is complete without at least one beautiful sunset over the sea. Here's one now!

Meanwhile....

The above photo depicts Sunday Tiritas! Every Sunday, Guillermo and Sara, and their three at-home kids (Memo, Sandra, Ariana) come over bringing the feast with them. Guille catches the fish and prepares them with lime juice, and they arrive with fruit drinks and utensils. A great tradition.


Below, you see one of the many beautiful flowers that delight us daily. This one grows IN the stream itself. I have no name for it, but beautiful:

And in keeping of "every man 'neath his vine and fig tree" -- here is Robert holding just-plucked figs from our fig tree, and crouched beside our blossoming jamaica bushes (hibiscus, to you).
And here, another taste of how sweet it is. Village kids love to drop by, even that young some of them are brave enough to come alone: and pick out their favorite toys and play with them in our ramada. Here they play with Noah's Ark.