She was black and sleek with slitted yellow eyes that stare but never blink on silent feet she prowls like a shadow in the night piercing cries, unearthly yowls nemesis to mole and rat this tiny stalking panther is my very own black cat
BLACK CAT COCKTAIL
1 ounce vodka 1 ounce cherry brandy 3 ounces cranberry juice (more or less as needed) 3 ounces cola (more or less as needed)
In a highball glass, add ice, pour vodka and cherry brandy over, add equal amounts cranberry juice and cola. Yes, it really does turn black. 😉
So, I finally got my new computer up and running and have some updated software. Shall we play a game? *insert best computer voice* I’m having fun lately making digital art compilations and memes and thought I’d share a few.
If you do digital art, feel free to leave any words of wisdom or links in the comments and I will happily check out any inspiration I can get 🙂
In the early morning I step outside. The air is already heavy with heat. Summer is in full swing. Blackberries and blueberries hang gravid with sweet juice, begging for harvest. Yellow squash and bright red tomatoes peek through verdant leaves. Wild roses are faded and dry in the heat while marigolds and buddleia proliferate wildly much to the delight of the cavorting swallowtails. All the sweet abundance of Summer.
But with the sweet, comes the bitter. Sweltering heat brings fatigue, enough to crush the body and soul. Discontent and maudlin anxiety taunt me with reminders of all I can no longer do. I step outside into the heat of afternoon and see the dull haze, the bane of forest dwellers everywhere, wild fires. It is hard to breathe through the acrid smell that fills the valley. There will be no evening stroll along the river tonight.
This is deep summer for a Spoonie. Equal portions of bitter and sweet, joy and sorrow. I cannot change the heat, the fatigue, or the fires. All I can change is how I react to it. So for today, and probably tomorrow, I will stay sequestered indoors with windows closed and A/C on until the smoke passes. I will read, and write, craft, and rest. And I will be grateful for the precious, magical moments of my life. I missed so many moments, days frittered away in anger and impatience, back before I knew that life is lived in those tiny moments of grace, filled with joy and laughter, and strung carefully together into the journey of a lifetime.
In a few days we venture on to our next destination but for now it is enough to know that we are still relatively safe from the distant fires, my health will return, and the berries will make an excellent topping for shortcakes.
Approaching the Cincinnati Airport (this is just the outskirts of the area)
We are traveling right now. It’s lovely and also challenging. This is the first time I’ve been away from my tiny home in over 18 months. We spent the first few days visiting family including sister, brother, daughter & grand-daughters, son and grand-sons, grand-daughter and great-grandkids. It was great fun but also exhausting. I was mostly fine those days, got up, did my abbreviated magic morning routine and went from there. It’s very overwhelming for me to be surrounded by cities.
Jungle Jim’s grocery store — half groceries, half amusement park
Then we moved across the river to Ohio for the final training of our replacements. So many people, so many different energies, it’s very draining for a magical introvert. Now there is an office to be at, people to deal with, goodbyes to be said. Now it is a business trip, get up, get dressed, have breakfast meeting, tour factories, have lunch meetings, work with factory, have dinner with managers, discuss days findings, finally get back to hotel, collapse. Get up next morning and do it all over again. I am physically exhausted, emotionally spent and spiritually bankrupt. There is no magic morning ritual to ground me and more and more days are ending in pain and tears.
Barbed wire fencing suits the mood around here ** stay away — stay away**
I lived in this part of the country for over 25 years, I have relatives galore here and yet it has never been my “home.” I am much … less here. To borrow from “Alice in Wonderland” I have lost my muchness. I am hiding my magic. As a result, I have abandoned all of the practices and rituals that are so much a part of who I am. Here I am not “JP” or even “Pahriza.” I am in short, not myself. I have reached the point when I have to ask myself that important question “am I a human being trying to live a spiritual experience; or am I a spiritual being trying to life a human experience?” Time is a finite resource and I can no longer afford to allow the mundane to take precedence over the magic of life. It is time to take a step back, break out the candles and incense, do a cleansing and relax. How terrible would it be if my children and grandchildren knew me for all that I really am? After all, sometimes I believe in as many as six impossible things before breakfast.
It’s easy to love a sunrise. The promise of a new day, bright, vibrant colors transform ordinary clouds into enchanting abstract patterns. Yes, it’s easy to love bright colors. It takes a special kind of soul though to love a lead-gray sky. I do because I see. I see the divine in a tiny bit of clear quartz among the gravel bed. I see the promise of eternity in the monochrome grayness of a cloudy day. I spend my days trying to be open to everyday epiphanies, the magical mundanities, of an ordinary life.
In nature I find gray everywhere, perhaps because it makes such a perfect backdrop. Perhaps because it’s everywhere. Perhaps because it is the middle of the road, half way between black and white, like the color of my hair, old enough to know better, but still willing to take a bash at it.
Here gray concrete paving stones provide a backdrop for a young black swallowtail with brilliant wing stripes in Jiujiang, China
A white-faced Heron stalks his shadow in New Zealand
Gray mist hangs over the pavilion at Lulin Lake on Lushan Mountain, China
Vast gray depths and composition of a cloud formation in Rapid City, SD, USA
“Tall buildings no bigger than blocks on the floor Wellington afloat on the harbour haze: You think of how most men spend their days In offices as cramped as elevators…”
Well weathered words of wisdom on faded gray planks of Wellington NZ waterfront.
If we were having coffee this week, I’d confide in hushed tones that I’ve never liked the color black for a wardrobe choice *insert shocked gasp*. Black is technically the absence of color and frankly, it washes out my already pale complexion. Then, I discovered all the infinite possibilities of gray. It has become a staple neutral of my wardrobe.
Ah well, I’m off to ponder the questions of the universe including the antics of the gray dove outside my window.