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Some lovely mornings here.

And early fall walks to tai chi. I seriously wonder if I am getting any better at this. Lately I lack the concentration. But I dare not miss a session in case I turn up hopeless the following week. I do think I am getting better with the chair yoga classes. Seems most of us are trying not to fall off the chair and keeping our right and left from becoming confused. The only problem with chair yoga is that it is at the same time as mahjong just beyond a screen wall. Their giggling competing is hard to tune out.  Women competing never get quieter while we try to simply get from one namaste to another and carry on.

Then a day of cookies….

Peanut butter and Anzac.  Just this morning I took some of the latter to the Australian running the bike shop. And because he has two small children, I gave him some Australian children’s books. Two of them illustrated by Graeme Base, a favorite Aussie children’s book illustrator. I never thought I would part with them. But the fellow who is making all new shelves and cabinets for the den came today to tell me everything will be ready to install next week. Naturally I got to emptying the old shelves that will go north with Patrick. I have way too many books still. It will be a job but all the shelves will be emptied and ready to wait in the garage till Patrick comes for Thanksgiving.

I voted this week. Number two in line for first day of early voting. I continue to wait for the trump-sign neighbors to get disillusioned and take their signs down. So far that is not happening.  WTF is all I can say!

And then burying myself in drawing and painting in my six-way book. Seems I am addicted while I listen to one audiobook mystery after another.

I heard from someone I knew twenty years ago. Her parents were both well-known wood turners in the town I lived in and came to an opening of a solo art exhibition I had at a local gallery. Her mother bought an egg tempera of a tractor and she bought a large collaged drawing of a hawk looking over her nest of young chicks. All the text written in part on this series of bird images came from my journal entries….small fragments of text.  Her mother died some time ago and the daughter who contacted  me wanted me to know she has the tractor and that the hawk still hangs over her bed. She has lived in different parts of the world and managed to take this work with her. I love that she did that and wanted me to know.

This evening I have been invited to an impromptu baked potato get together. It is my first. I am to do nothing but show up, drink wine (red, white or champagne) and eat a dressed up baked potato. Sounds fine by me.

The final proof of the Fairy Book came the other day and it is as good as it is going to get. Just the pictures in a book measuring six” x eight”. All I need to do is give the okay for it to be published. So in a couple of weeks it will be on Amazon with the others.

Tomorrow an Apple watch comes to replace my now glued together Fitbit. Also a new comforter for the bed. All my feathers that stayed put, decided a week or two ago to simply go to the edges. The part that is supposed to keep me warm is just two pieces of sheeting. It was quite old and simply gave up.

I will let you know about the potato party.

Til later…..

 

An evening sky.

The walk to tai chi yesterday.

And this morning coming home from coffee.

And now for getting back to illustrating.

What follows are all the little works that finally finished one-sixth of the six-way opening book. All wildflowers.

There are seventy pages, counting both sides, in each of the four smaller books on front and back of the larger book that holds two more.

So I turned the book 180 degrees to open the opposite side (left to right) and began a series of butterflies and moths.

I love the sound of turning these pages of thin paper I used to spin into paper threads for earlier works and workshops. The brushed on gesso in the middle sections gives me a place to draw and use watercolors.  The lack of a quality page to work on gives me a built-in excuse for poor drawings.

Here is another image of ways the books open….

I realized since I moved here, just how much I enjoy my own company. Morning coffee with the guys, three early mornings at the gym, weekly tai chi and chair yoga classes, monthly poetry critiques, and an occasional lunch out or wine with a neighbor are the only times I see people. Days can go by with no conversations and I find my voice is gone when I try to use it again. It is all gravely until it gets worked for a bit. And I like all this time alone. Now, thanks to the library setting up an audio book system on my Iphone after recommended by Ben (Amy’s partner),  I can listen to writer’s stories. It is such a good idea since I don’t like sitting still and turning pages. With these audio books on my Iphone I can get my steps in and listen while at the gym, working in the studio or walking through the house.

Someone asked who I walked with. No one. I prefer to be alone when walking so I can put my mind to something and work it out. Same way at the gym. I do my  workouts by myself keeping to my own time schedule. When I do go out to lunch, I am doing less talking. Just listening is enough any more. We all have our own stories and people have a need to tell them. The only time I get “talky” is here on the blog. And aren’t you lucky to be able to just shut me off anytime?

I can get 250 steps by starting at my front door and returning there after walking into every room, bathrooms and closets included. I liked figuring that out by circling the dining room table twice. Isn’t it odd what pleases us when we get older. So, if the goal is getting 8,000 steps per day, walking around the neighborhood is a nice 1,500 each time I make the loop. It is Friday so I have to do more laps around the house. Better get to it. Then a glass of wine.

Sounds like a good plan.

 

A beautiful morning coming back home from coffee at the corner.

I walked around the subdivision this morning and met a new neighbor. She was quite convinced that she was going to fit a garage full of books into her house. Her daughter was not. A pleasant lady with an interesting story. When she said we should get together for coffee, I asked if she drank alcohol. The answer was no, so I suggested I could have her glass as well when I poured her coffee, She asked which house I lived in, I said, the one with the Harris sign. A moment of dead silence before she continued on with whatever she was saying. I lost track.

But I did feel compelled to add my thoughts to the Philosophical Considerations Book.

Some are religious, some have flamingoes in their yards, and of course, Trump.  All before I find the place with an open bottle of wine and a comfortable chair.

The local grocery store is very low on food because the main warehouse east of Asheville was lost to hurricane Helene. It is the only thing we are missing compared to the immense losses of those near Asheville.

On another note….

I was thinking that The Fairy Book should be the smaller size so ordered two proofs to have a good look. Today they came and I have changed my mind. The book will now be the larger size…6″ x 8″. It feels nicer in the hand and the drawings show up better. So now I have ordered a proof of that size after making text corrections.

I will take one to the poetry meeting next week for when I read this:

The Woods Out Back

 

When I was young and alone

in the woods out back,

I’d find a moss-covered mound

and put down my sack.

 

Inside was my lunch, notebook

and pencil to draw

whatever magical things

I thought I saw.

 

Now all these years later

I sit in my chair

and draw from old memories

what I know was there.

S. Webster

Yesterday at the other poetry meeting, I took in this essay to see if it qualified as a prose poem. The answer was only if I reworked the paragraphs into stanzas, eliminated several words, etc. All agreed it reads like poetry but would remain an essay unless I made drastic changes.

I will put it here because it made me smile and remember…it will stay an essay.

Travel Journals – S. Webster

It is the journal that is indispensable when traveling. Not the camera or even the companions. The camera gives too much information, and the companions will not see nor remember it the way I do. But the journal with quick marks of local color, wines, foods, and notes, brings the entire trip back each time I refer to it. I see the place and smell the food. I taste the wine again and hear those sounds of being in the country, in the hotel, at an art opening, alone in an unfinished building with the soft sound of cane toad feet dragging across the floor toward my bed.  My journals are filled with a shorthand and economy of marks that preserve it all, and I can return anytime I want to.

Young Patrick is waiting in the pub somewhere in New South Wales to shout me another beer while I wait to be found. The Poets in Pubs group that meets monthly in Broken Hill are still seated around the table in the back room listening to me read their favorite American poet in an appropriate accent. I can smell the worn leather case belonging to an elderly former boxer as he removes an old black and white photo of himself “in the day” and the poem he wrote earlier that week.

There are travel journals from Japan, China, Bali, New Zealand, France and Italy but the outback towns of Australia are where I prefer to spend most of my return voyages. Our shoulders touch, our eyes meet, and we raise our Toohey’s Old and Stone’s Ginger Wine in remembrance.

Til later….