creativity this week.... quilt challenge with a yellow parasol, mixed media, and watching paint dry... and a story for you

 The Guardians 

a painting, just a quick painting to see colors dance with each other on paper, moving, spreading, blending and creating lines. 

I might be superfluous in the process

I lift the paper, let water guide the lines as it will, amazed at the life in a painting. I think of how life moves and blends and resists too, how the colors so pretty on their own, look when next to other colors and that each living thing has it's own colors, and how each living thing changes a bit when it's near another.

will they blend or clash? Does it matter really? What if we patiently wait to see instead of rushing to judgement? What if we look for the beauty in each one? 

What if all the colors are our favorites?  

I look at my painting and see things I didn't purposely paint, I see the magic show up. 

I see faces, on the left a man's nose and mouth, center a woman and below her a crone in profile, on the right is a swirl of energy they can use to protect. 

The painting is small, merely 4" X 6" and innocently painted with no motive in mind, but look at the richness created by getting out of the way and letting the art make itself

 Judy sent me a wee notebook at Christmas and I keep it next to the computer... this week I did morning paintings, including parrots inspired by a bosso nova video playing at the time...

and a message on another video... I stopped the video on this scene... one I needed to see

sometimes our eyes see shadows that tell us it's three d but how to paint it? I tried...

I like that when I tried to paint the frothy surf with white posca pen acrylic ink. It splurted a big blob, so I dabbed in the nib and spread it, and dotted it, and moved it thinking it might be ruined. It looks great but since it's a happy accident can I reproduce it?   (shrug)

We are getting to the quilting, keep going! 

 

Joy's table scraps challenge this month was to make something with yellow scraps and include umbrella

I pulled out this book of patterns and copied the paper piecing parasol.

It printed a tiny picture on the pattern, so I tore it off the paper, glued it down, then painted around it... to get in the mindset to do my quilts

I didn't know how it would all do with watercolor, but I liked the way the torn edge accepted the color, and then inked in some bits. 

The fabric umbrella"  but kind of plain...

finished at 7" and so sweet I want a real one!

I love pretty paper parasols, especially one with sparkly dangles, so beads to the rescue

oh, so pretty in person

I went on to make three. yellow, pink and purple, and they will hang from my summer mantel

I may have dismantled a necklace for this top carved metal bead

How I love the fabrics in the pink one. 

This is what they look like after sewing around the outside edge and turning right side out before quilting

Tiny golden balls adorn this one, another carved one on the tip top. You should be able to click on all images to enlarge them

thank you to my friend Joy for suggesting this challenge... 

a few stories written (one included in Thur I Like post HERE  )  physical challenges threatened to derail me, but making art heals too.

 linking with

https://thejoyfulquilter.blogspot.com/2024/04/april-2024-table-scraps-challenge-link.html

https://superscrappy.blogspot.com

patchwork Sunday   

oh Scrap Sundays

 slow stitching Sundays

https://melvalovesscraps.blogspot.com/

design wall Mondays at smallquiltsanddollquilts

https://songbirddesigns.blog/

http://www.inquiringquilter.com/ Wednesday wait loss

Midweek makers wednesdays  

http://www.myquiltinfatuation.com/ 

https://confessionsofafabricaddict.blogspot.com/

finished or not

https://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com/

https://beadwright.blogspot.com/

Roots....

 

 

There is an online challenge to create art daily... on an index card with a prompt and a weekly style

this week the style is pen/pencil/marker... a line making tool and today's prompt is "root" 

I drew my from seeing a pic online... just pen and ink (pigma .05) in black. 

On the back I wrote my thoughts on roots and realized we have very shallow roots here, almost forming them "in a pot" so we can pick up and go. 

 

New roots being formed

 

My roots are airborne roots, spread around the earth to women I admire, and love, share life with, who's talents I enjoy... spreading my tendrils so that I can hold on to them when we are all so distant.

thanks y'all

Tenacious Roots... growing in rocks

 

I'm finding that I can do this size art each day, while having coffee, before getting dressed.

 I can also write this much daily, like a tiny journal offering of the moment. I am noticing as I go along that my daily writings are more lyrical but also personal. I would not have thought of this format myself, but now love it. 

Old roots go deep

 I've had dairies but the space seemed so limiting, even as a young girl. Somehow this is just right because I write my thoughts on that word, and the day. 

so today the prompt prompted me to think about roots, and here I am sharing with you... thank you for reading my words, and seeing my art with kindness.

 

Friday stories... comparisons

 

the prompt for writing this week is to rewrite an old poem or at least write a new piece and link back to an older one...

my older writing was a story of my beloved boy Cole titled

 "Cole-dilocks and the three chairs"

https://lapaylor.blogspot.com/2015/08/cole-di-locks-and-three-chairs.html 

Cole's poor  body wore out at age 14, leaving his mama bereft. I got a strong message one day that he wanted me to move on and love again but would always be with me the only way he could, in spirit. I asked if he could bring another poodle to love into my life. 

Milo says, always cast a big shadow

Milo

Milo is smart funny opinionated and his own dog. He would stand up for his tiny self when told no, he threw doggie tantrums when we took rocks out of his mouth on walks, he persisted in peeing in the house unlike Cole the good who never peed in the house.

It's hard to resist comparisons. 

Milo also taught me that touch can be okay. I survived my childhood abuse with emotional scars and sometimes I am reluctant to allow touch. Cole was like a British diplomat, orderly and reserved. Milo is like the romantic lead who always means well, and is content to spoon you all night long.Cole's humor was sardonic and carefully written puns. Milo is Lucille Ball.

curiosity overcomes his good sense

Believe in yourself!

  He believes self control is overrated.

He brought joy, belonging and connection to me. I believe Cole sent him to me, to continue my journey of love lessons.  

 linking with  https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/

 

Friday Writings "Landscapes"

Today I am here to share my words and thoughts... the new to me link party for writers offered us a prompt of the word "landscapes" The above image is from my sketchbook, a lesson to remember a place in photos, paintings and words. 

the landscape within...

not visible to others, not even to the individual always, is our internal landscape.

it's said what we see is often what we look for... or look at. I see patterns and shapes in tree trunks because I look at them. My husband sees a tree, because his focus is different.

who is right?

how we view the space around our lives is as individual as fingerprints or snowflakes. 

I grew up looking at the beach landscape but remember staying each summer in the appalachians and being struck by the gentle view change of seeing distant mountains with clouds circling them like necklaces. As a child my world view expanded with the excitement that there was so much to see.

We are affected by our views and must never forget a world view can change with a shift in perspective, sometimes just a move across the country or around the room. I learned this from painting what I see.

so how can we as humans communicate with each other when we see differently?

different views can enlarge our worlds... my husband is entranced often by what I see and point out to him because he missed it. My world view expands when I am shown a new way to see something, or a solution I never thought of...

we need to communicate with each other, since we live so closely,   we need to find common ways of seeing.  Maybe just knowing we all see things differently will bring about a respect of this individuality and with that peace.

linking with  https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/

Sunday Stories plus tropical postcards for my round robin

 

The prompt for this row of our do it yourself  round robin quilts this week is shoo fly blocks. I don't want to do that so I took the block as inspiration and fussy cut fabric "post cards" to do on glamingo

still figuring out a layout and making it all fit... 

 in a return to my Sunday Stories... this prompt is from the Sunday Whirl, my story follows...

she stopped weaving for a moment, rubbing her temples to ward off the headache she felt building. Luckily there was a ghost of a breeze coming through the open window. Her loose hair fluttered around her eyes, and she pulled it back to look at the growing yardage she had made so far.

Spring was coming, she felt it in the slight warmth, the scent of the air and a faint sound of birdsong.

suddenly she remembered a story her great aunt used to tell her about the  bluebird who flew right in through her open door one spring. She heard a scuffling and stepped to the door, opening it to see who was there.

What a surprise and excitement that caused ! Her relationship with Great aunt Leela was precious to her and she smiled just thinking of all that they had shared over the years.

boom! the sky was blue but a thunder bolt woke her from a reverie and she returned to her weaving.

and for today's love song...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RRNKZcQZTMU&list=RDRRNKZcQZTMU&start_radio=1
 

linking to

sahrr

sunday stories

the words for this week's story prompt come from The Sunday Whirl
There are emotional jails too...





she was the storyteller, the keeper of secrets and the author of what -might -be.


It was a role she liked, unlike "dutiful wife" or "quiet woman" or even "nicest friend"


She was known by her roles but she slyly wondered if people who thought they knew her, would be shocked to know who she really was.


probably.


oh my but it was cold today. Yesterday the heat and humidity of the farm curled the little tendrils of hair that escaped her ponytail, and made her imagine she was an ancient healer, living in prehistoric times. As she bent over a fire, steeping a tincture of herbs in a stone pot, she worried about the future for her people.

poof!

 Back in today's world, she fingered the chain around her neck that held a heart pendant. She was given it by an old boyfriend, long gone but not forgotten, back east where she grew up. He gave it to her and said he wanted to always see it hanging around her neck, then he was drafted and never returned to see her still wearing it. She told herself he would come back, that he was  a POW but even she didn't believe her own story, so she eventually agreed to dance with another boy who gave her a ring instead.


she was the storyteller, courageous in her imagination, and brave in her tales of strong women.

She felt tiny though, and kept her gifts to herself mostly. She played her roles daily, and everyone was happy around her, but inside the  spirit of her heart yearned to savor more.


She saw herself as a wee colorful bird, in the jail of a pretty cage, but still with a song to sing. She would call out to other birds who answered her but couldn't come closer than the cage. The wee bird was a storyteller in it's heart, weaving and blending stories that only other birds understood. Stories of great flights, to far away places, places that took the wee birdie away....

poof
she was back again to this life, and heard the rumble of her man's truck coming on the dirt road. He would be hot and tired and hungry, but he would pull her up to his heart and hug her off her feet, and make her giggle as he nuzzled her neck. He would say, you are the prettiest little thing I ever did see, and my life would be empty without you in it...

poof.

she'd better get up and have dinner ready

linking to

https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/ 

sunday stories... a writing challenge

The challenge words for this week's story are from sundays whirligig
feelings, dirt, metal, many, clock, stuck, turned, one, meal, forty, lint, let

My story is:
                                               The clock on the mantel
 
 How quickly the dust piles up, she thought. Seems like I am always chasing dirt.


the clock ticked loudly on the mantel, tick. tick. tick. Time ticking by, minutes turning into years, as if turning forty wasn't reminder enough.


She felt stuck at the same time she felt carried along the timeline against her will. Like a solid crowd of people so close, she can lift her feet and be carried along wherever they are going.

tick tick tick.

She wiped the metal table with her dust cloth and looked out the window at snow. Why did she feel like this? Like she was stuck between time stopping and rushing by?


Her feelings were often too strong and too many for her to understand, even if  they came from her.


Chime!
The clock sent out a loud reminder that it was one o'clock. Fine she thought, fine. now what? It's one o'clock what does that matter now that the days felt long and lonely. Cleaning the house gave her a sense of control, but she couldn't control the movement of time, or the disconnect she felt, or how her only son had just left for university.

Seems like he had always been with her.  She had her only child when she was just 19, and now she had to let him go into the big world with his own clock to tick tick tick.


She lifted the dry towels into a basket and cleaned out the lint tray of the dryer. Less clothes to wash, but she still had laundry. And dust, meals to fix, a dog to let out to play.


Nothing was different and everything changed, tick tick tick.


Can you relate to my words? To a fictional story that comes from my imagination and heart? I never had children but this is how I think one might feel. I am a woman who struggles with loneliness, and wants her time to matter, to create something larger than myself, to relate to others.
What do you think? I'd love to know...
LeeAnna

Linking to

http://sundayswhirligig.blogspot.com/

all seasons

Sunday Stories

THIS WEEK'S WORDS come from "Farm Wife" by R.S. Thomas: clean, sweetly, coaxes, island, apron, humble, corners, daring, seas, body, quiet, embroider

 

Moira wiped her hands on her apron after cleaning the counter off.  The bread was quietly rising in the warm oven, the soup was simmering on the stove top, and she just cleaned the last of the flour off the old countertop. 

 

She'd cooked in this kitchen for so long now that she couldn't remember the first time. It must have been with granny, helping her make biscuits. Moira would have been about 3, and wanted to play with the dough like granny did. 

 

Granny said she learned at that age from her granny, how to make a little dent in flour before pouring in a bit of buttermilk. The secret to  good biscuits was in paying attention to them and how you handled them.  

 

You had to love them, same as people granny said. You had to coax their best from them too, just like children.

She leaned against the new kitchen island her son had installed in the big open kitchen, and looked around. Her humble farmhouse kitchen now had a new fridge and island but it was the same view out of the same window she had always seen. 

 

She loved the view, and knew when her great great grandfather immigrated here from Ireland, he had looked out on this corner of the world and seen the future.  He came here hoping to find a better life for his future kids, and their kids. He looked stern in old photos but the stories she heard were of a sweet man who loved deeply and worked hard. He had to endure a long trip across wild seas, wrapping himself in daring visions of the adventure he was on in that life.

 

The bread was scenting the kitchen with the perfume of abundance, because what is more enticing that the idea of a mouthful of warm bread and butter. One could go to a 5 star restaurant in a big city, but nothing was as comforting as a full tummy of warm bread and butter. It meant comfort and abundance. 

 

She wiped her hands on the apron again, feeling it's softness of age, looking down at the embroidery along the edge, remembering when she learned how much fun it was to make as a young woman. Her baby asleep in the corner of the kitchen as she kneaded their loaf for dinner.  Stitching that red thread onto an apron had provided a moment in the quiet evenings when things slowed down and she had time to think.

 Her body was old now, and often as not her hands and eyes were tired in the evenings but she remembered other times. 

 

The soup  was simmering, melding all the flavors from meat and vegetables. She turned on the oven and knew the bread would be perfect with the soup. Her grandchildren would be home soon from school, and walk over to her house across the field. Her granddaughter wanted to learn how to make an apple pie so she would pull up the old stool to the counter for her, the one with the painted rooster on the top. The one her daughter had used.  Things change, but the important things continued to be the connection between people. 

 

She sent up a silent prayer that her family would remain close and be safe. She prayed for the great great grandfather's soul and for her grandchildren. Then she went to find the stool and pull it up to the new kitchen island.

 Linking to 

http://sundayswhirligig.blogspot.com/ 

all seasons 

sunday stories on Monday

Someone left a sweet comment on one of my posts, so I followed her back to her blog, which was wonderful so I signed up to get posts delivered to my inbox. Then to another blog, and another. Writers all! I found some peeps!
Enjoy some pretty music while you read! (French Christmas waltz)

This prompt was for short stories, a prompt a day for December, and I couldn't resist it!
You should use the prompts as the first line in a little story, so here goes

After the Ball
after the ball, tired and just a little tipsy, she sat waiting for her friend to come out of the restroom. She crossed her legs, pulled off one sparkly shoe and massaged her foot.


Just think, her pal had to convince her to come in the first place, I mean who goes to a ball these days? Then she needed to find a ball gown, so much tulle and sparkles, she felt like a princess.

Especially with the tiara pinned into her hair.  She knew how to waltz from ball room dance classes years ago, and loved the feel of  centrifugal force as she was spun in circles around the dance floor in some strong arms.


She loved the tables set with glittering plates of finger sandwiches and small tidbits for dancers to grab between songs. The champagne was lovely in the tall thin glasses, how she loved champagne!

It was all so pretty, the whole evening was pretty, it was balm to her spirits that had been so low for so long. Amazing really how just being taken out of the mundane world of worry, into a moment where lights swirled with each step, where she felt protected in a basket of arms, smelling men's cologne and feeling the scratchy tux coat sleeves as she was held. It had been a long time since she had been held. She wanted more.


More worry free evenings, more beauty, more safety, more gentleness.


She put the sparkly shoe back on and stretched her leg out in front of her admiring the light caught in each glittery edge.


Bump!

She quickly glanced up to see a tall man who had just bumped into her outstretched leg.


"oops, sorry" she smiled into his face, "we danced together earlier" she said, momentarily lost in his eyes.

" I know. I bumped into your leg because I was looking around for you"


"oh!"  could this be real?    "I'm glad you did"

He pulled off his scarf, and sat down close to her, took her hand gently in his and said, "I'd like to dance with you again sometime"

Yes, she was glad her friend dragged her here.

Linking to

       https://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com short story prompts!  

snowy sundays and Sunday stories

Sunday Stories
the  challenge words are from sundayswhirligig  and it's not easy to use them all in a little story but here goes!

bleak, stable, hay, lamb, frosty, worship, bliss, part, moan, milk, give, shepherd

                                       A different kind of worship

He planned his words to her, the prettiest girl in the whole county. 

her name is pretty... Ashley... ashley.... Ahhhhh-shley....

He bought her a necklace with her name on it to give her for a Christmas gift. 

He planned the whole event, it would happen out in the barn while sitting on the hay bale. He had milk to go with the cookies. He spent a long time getting the part on his hair just right, picking the right jeans and shoes and stuff to make her think he was cute. 

Oh no! it was frosty out here, she might get cold...  but it was the only way to get away from his little brother. He moaned thinking of how hard he planned this to make sure his un-stable brother would be too busy to interfere.

His dog, a big german shepherd was looking at him funny, "what's up buddy?" he asked the dog.  Buddy seemed to answer, "you're crazy brother, she's hot and you're bleak and this is messed up" 

Awe, he's right thought Jimmy... she's almost 2" taller than I am, and in advanced math, and her parents drove a nice car not a run down truck like his did. 

He looked at the sad little hay bale with it's red placemat and snacks. He looked at the barn and his shoes, and the dog and thought, I better call and cancel it before she walks over. He felt something tickle his ear and brushed away a fly. 

Buddy stood up and wagged his tail as Jimmy bent to pick up the cookie plate, then heard

"Hi handsome" 

he turned slowly, smiling blissfully and said, "hi lambie... " 

enjoy this new "twist" on a Christmas song...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bys-OE_C7lQ&list=RDQMs5mxXeUdfG0&index=28


and this modern version of let it snow

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xPvZEogTgY&list=RDQMs5mxXeUdfG0&index=28

Linking to

https://magicalmysticalteacher.wordpress.com/

sunday stories

I wasn't going to do one of these but the words captured my senses. Does that happen to you? A song, a phrase, a pretty sight captures your senses and makes you want to create?


(THIS WEEK'S WORDS come from "Bell Birds" by Henry Kendall : moss, cedar, light, sing, fear, fairies, woodlands, wayfarer, pebbles, childhood, keep, glimpses)

The childhood wayfarer


she packed her school lunchbox with a thermos of juice, a sandwich and some chips. Then she gathered her book, her crayons and paper, and a little blanket and took off after saying she'd see her mom later.


It was Saturday, and she lived in a time when kids were encouraged to explore and come back before dark. Luckily she enjoyed her own company and imagination so she headed to that magical part of the trees where she felt magical herself.


It was warm today, as usual, and the trees were shady with lots of oak leaves and hanging moss. She looked up to see sunlight dancing with the moss swaying, and wondered if the movement was from fairies flitting from leaf to leaf. Yes she decided, definitely fairies, but good ones who were pretty and liked to laugh.

She liked the idea of woods, the protected shady areas where you could be alone to play. She sang her favorite song, one from a movie, and imagined herself as a grown woman singing on a stage because she was going to be a famous singer and an actress an everyone would love her.


Looking around she found a nice place to put the blanket and lay out her supplies for the day. Her lunch box would keep her snacks cool on the side, while she played with the tiny dolls she had in her pocket. They had names and stories and lived in the rocks and pebbles next to the blanket, so she started up a storyline with them. Her favorite thing to play was making up stories for little objects like these dolls. Her mother hated to hear her talking for them, and told her to be quiet but noone here would say that.


After a bit, she noticed a squirrel was crawling near her lunchbox, and he looked like a little old man! How funny! she turned her head and he ran off back up a tree, where she glimpsed some piece of red fluff stuck to the rough trunk. Looking closer she thought it must be a message to her... and she imagined she was an explorer, tracking a lost girl through the woods, and this was a bit of the girl's sweater. She would be the one to find her! She tracked slowly and quietly from tree to tree til she glimpsed a car through the trees. A tiny fear ran down her back... so she turned around to return to her safe little blanket in the middle of the exotic woods that held a castle and a princess and a handsome knight who was in love with the princess.


She sat down and started eating her sandwich, while imagining she was at her grown up own house and sitting with her husband and kids at a table. She sat her dolls up nicely and put a little sandwich in front of them, and talked for all the players in her little imaginary scene. Sipping her juice that was still cold, from the red cup off the thermos, she knew her dishes would be delicate. "Margie! stop fiddling with that fork and eat your dinner! " she said to one doll, and coquettishly she looked at her husband and whispered, "children!"


After her snack she picked up her book, the one she got from the big library, and started to read. The grass was kind of prickly under her blanket and a bug crawled onto it as she read. Circling her forefinger and thumb she flicked it off and turned the page. She felt like she was in the story... yes she was the girl in the story and felt what it must be like. She hummed to herself as she read and imagined and flicked bugs.


OH! what was that sound? she put down her book and stood up, and saw a bike going by. How could that be when she was far far away in the magical woods??? It was Joey from four houses away from hers, but luckily he didn't see her. Whew! what was he doing here? She looked up and saw the light was different and she thought it might be getting darker and one didn't want to stay in the woods after dark right? In all the stories that's when trouble started so she packed up her stuff, put the little dolls in her pockets, closed the red lid on the thermos and closed the lunchbox with the empty waxed paper inside.


Her Mom would ask where she'd been, when she got home to the boring old house. She would say just playing because she knew her mom wouldn't understand all the places she'd gone, and the things she'd seen and felt. Her mom didn't understand magic.

Linking to
http://sundayswhirligig.blogspot.com/

sunday stories wandering

THIS WEEK'S WORDS come from "You and I" by Stanley Moss: wanderer, create, guilty, particle, painter, potter, mercy, straw, end, follows, clay, all 

Joe found himself wanting to create again.


He went on this trip, because he was bone tired of his life. He needed a change, to be refreshed, to see life with hope again. It was very bold, this move he made, but he felt he'd fade into the background unless he colored himself in.

He had quit his job, which seems irresponsible on the surface, it was steady and paid his bills. It also drained him. He heard his father's words in his head, "son, you don't have to love what you do, you do need to take care of a family though" Thing was, he didn't have a family yet despite wanting one, he didn't own a home yet or even a dog. If not now, when?


Is there ever a good time to wander looking for meaning? He supposed  as scary as this was, now was his time, so he went. In his car, with his savings. To see what he could see.

It had been hard to leave his mother though, only a year after Dad died. There was guilt as he looked into her sad eyes, but he knew if he didn't risk now,  he would never be able to go.


Following the road ahead, with the idea of seeing as much as he could along the way, he watched his mother's waving hand get smaller in the rear view mirror. He wanted to meet people, and feel what it was like to let the moment lead you.

He didn't anticipate missing his potter's wheel so much.

When he read about people doing this kind of trip, he never heard of one who missed their creative sides. If he painted he could take along supplies and paint on the road. But he was a potter, and didn't realize how empty his hands would feel without clay oozing under his nails, and how calming it was to watch the wheel go round with a piece of mud rising with just his hands to guide it.  He was a "potter" but no one he encountered would know that now that he was a "wanderer" . He didn't realize how much identity mattered when meeting people. He didn't realize how much being creative meant to his soul.


Mercifully he knew one day he'd return to a more stable life, one where a studio had dust particles floating around in shafts of sun, one where he could lose himself in making. He couldn't go there yet as he was not settled inside himself.  To be content was a goal, to know one had made a choice to be in one place over another.  To be sure one hadn't  settled there because it was expected was his goal.  He had something to experience, something to learn but not knowing what made it unnerving..


He suspected he'd find it though, and one day return to his wheel, to a home, to himself.

Linking to
http://sundayswhirligig.blogspot.com/

Sunday Stories

THIS WEEK'S WORDS come from "The Loft" by Richard Jones: bed, river, room, burned, listened, weaving, empty, dreaming, final, calm, spoke, arms

Audie listened to the calming sounds outside the open window as she went about the room dusting.
How did so much dust accumulate so quickly?

 She lifted the tiny jewelry box gran gave her when she turned 10. There was a clean spot under where it had sat for years, holding her special things. Wiping the area clean, then wiping the box and sitting it back in that spot, she thought about gran.


A bird chirped outside, she glanced up and saw a pretty little yellow bird on a branch near the window. She guessed it didn't see her, as it sang loudly calling to it's friends.


Sometimes she wished she understood what the birds were saying. Then she felt sheepish at the thought, because her practical mother would have laughed at her for it.

She was who she was, a sum of her experiences and that little magical inside part that was just special to her. As she got older, she cared less about what people thought about her, and it felt good. There was a burning need inside her to relate to the world around her, not just swim through the days but make sense of them.


She turned to the bed,  lifted the woven blanket of many colors and remembered the day she bought it. It was made by a local woman who moved to her town from the East.

She took a moment to hold it close to her, feeling the soft wool against her bare arms, and remembered the woman saying the colors were inspired by a river running near her studio. The weaver went to the river each day to empty her mind of life's worries, and wanted to capture that feeling in art. Yes, she caught the feeling of moving water in this woven piece that Audie wrapped around her for a moment.

 Audie folded the blanket and carefully placed it on the bed, giving it a final pet before turning to dust the nightstand.

She wanted some order in her life to balance the current changes.


Audie didn't regret moving back to the farm, it was her heritage, her land now, and her safe place.

When gran passed away, she and Sam gladly took on the challenges of running the place, and she put aside the burning desire to do something momentous in life.
 For a bit at least.
A need like that doesn't disappear, it sits patiently while life takes place and when the time is right, it reminds you of your dreams.


She spoke aloud to the empty room, "I haven't forgotten, I'm still here and will figure this all out" and there was a tiny flutter of excitement in her heart.
(c)LAPaylor

Linking to
http://sundayswhirligig.blogspot.com/

good morning Sunday... stories

just a closer walk with thee... from New Orleans

"don't just play the music... feel the music
don't just write the story, feel the words
don't just paint the picture, feel the colors
join in, it's where the magic happens "
                                            LAPaylor

things I noticed while watching this group:
these people all came together to form something great
they are all talented but beyond that they work together
each person relaxes into their talent
they allow others to shine in their moments
they are happy


as workers walk by, they dance by. Imagine living in a place where you hear music as you go to work.

each band member does his own thing, taps their foot their own way, plays their chosen notes yet they all come together to make compelling music. They feel passion for their chosen instrument, have learned it's abilities and joined with it to work in unison to make a song.
What do you feel passionate about? Do you learn all about it and become one with it, becoming more than a sum of parts?

a group of all trumpets would be good, but a mix of diverse instruments  is more interesting, right?
Then someone breaks into song.... the music too compelling to ignore, they must use their own God given instrument too!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XigSlWve_A0

If you saw one of these people sitting on a bench without their instrument nearby, would you step aside, and judge them as unsuitable? Imagine all the talents people have, all the interesting stories, all the riches to share, that we walk by daily..... missing....
People like to judge others, and find them lacking, but do they know the people they judge?

The people who go to a different church or none, and yet seek God. People who try to love and contribute but are  told they look wrong. People who seek to belong and are rebuked because they don't have enough money to dress well. Know what I mean?

My musical talent only extends to a study of piano and clarinet, time spent in marching band in high school, but  I am an appreciator. My talents lay elsewhere but I wish I could be part of a group like this.
now dancing... dancing I know. This is another song with some mighty fine swing dancers and worth a look at the sheer joy they feel dancing
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUwE-yXHbsE

Forgive me if this sounds Pollyanna-ish.... but it struck me while watching this group play... and it's Sunday so this is my Sunday story for today.

Real life.

Sunday Stories a moment in the rain

From a prompt on The Sunday Whirl

A Moment in Time

They sat on the front porch, listening to the gentle summer rain. Safe and comfortable,  listening to the drops hitting the tin roof, like they'd done for years.


Listening together, sitting together, still together.


Her mind wandered a bit, as her hands shelled the peas in her lap. She remembered stories of adventures they'd shared through the years, and smiled to herself. Did she know in her youth, that she'd find a mate and go through life's changes with him for so long? Probably not, since those lessons can only be learned over time.


She was still her, maybe more so now that she had lived and loved so long.


The long pea pod in her hand had 7 peas in it! She had 3 peas in her over the years, giving her 3 precious children with this lovely man next to her. Now her children were off changing the world, developing their stories, learning and living and growing in their own humility after life taught them their own lessons.

Where are they today she wondered. Deb was doing a craft show in her hometown, Rob was no doubt running for his tranquility, and Dan was writing the great American novel in his little studio space.


They were safe, as safe as could be in today's frantic world. They were grounded and decent and cared about others. She was so proud of them. She was also proud of her life, her choices mostly reflecting her values. She worried a bit about today's greed replacing the adage "do unto others the way you'd have them do unto you"  She knew respecting others was the key to accepting herself, that there was room for all, and recently learned about energy flow being circular, much like a long string winding around a ball.

Rain was letting up, the smell of ozone was past them, she saw a rainbow forming over the tree line.

Her husband reached to hold her hand, making her feel included and loved as only he could. She turned to see his eyes seeking hers.


"well darlin', let's get going on this day!"

Sunday Stories

the writing prompt is from the Sunday whirl

I do these like I paint or quilt... as a creative opportunity. My goal is to use the words, and my mind to create a little story that is complete in itself
enjoy.

He held the tail end of the rope in one hand, and struck a match with her other.

He thought, I will get camp set up before dark, and suddenly everything became priority. He was the kind of guy who could not let down his team, who would do whatever was needed to make something work. This exercise in bonding was no different.


He held the rope taut while his teammate drove in the stake, and touched the match to the pile of kindling for their fire. It was getting dark, and they were running low on energy, their tank was running dry. He searched for words in his mind that would encourage the others, and wanted to create an atmosphere of excitement not panic. None of them were outdoorsy but the big boss had decided they needed to build camaraderie, so here they were.


Hungry tired in the heat, with a task in front of comfort. The air was tense with the collective worry and exhaustion.  He'd felt this energy in the workroom before, when they were working into the night on a task and attention started to splinter off into individual needs instead of creative group think they needed to finish.


The current need was to build a safe place to spend the night, and they needed each person to contribute their all. So like their daily work, he now understood the reasoning behind this exercise.

He looked to his team, and knew he must ignore the mosquitoes biting into his veins, and pull his attention back to the tasks, and inspire his group to get this done. And do it with humor and cooperation.
No man is an island, we must pool our knowledge and resources to tackle a problem together. We must respect other opinions and learn to best use each other's resources in order to succeed. We have to see the value each person brings to a task, so that we are stronger as a whole. We are all important.

 To be truly strong we must all see that and acknowledge each other.

Some bosses never understood it isn't about their own power, it's about the power of the group that matters and is lasting. Each person must know they are important to the whole, or they wouldn't follow a leader.


Building a camp, designing a program, finding a cure for cancer, or running a country. It's all built on respect and cooperation among each other. It's all the same isn't it?

The fire caught, and blazed up, the rope held on the stake keeping the tent firm and steady. A team mate yelled that they got all the sleeping bags into the tent and another said they had the items ready to put on a grill when the fire was at the right height. They were doing this. Together and he was proud.

Sunday's Stories Courage!

Today's Sunday story comes from The Sunday Whirl (creativity prompts whether painting, writing or quilting challenges all  make us more creative)


There was no magic way to talk herself out of this situation this time. Nope.


Lean into the truth, her soul advised her. Have courage! 


Why is it a struggle to be vulnerable? Isn't it human nature to be vulnerable? To be real even though it's messy?


Be-real-be-real-be-real, the words repeating in her mind like a mantra.  It will be okay, he'll understand, you'll handle it together, he loves you, words to accompany the mantra like condiments.

She didn't like the tendency she had to worry, life was to be lived in the moment right? No worries of the future. Just trust the universe to support you if you're striving to live the right way.


Still, as she walked, she made up a story in her mind of what might have happened... there could be enough truth in it to carry the moment right? wrong... she was never happy stretching the truth, it was wrong and she knew it, and it never helped a situation to lie.


Nope, nothing to do but admit that she lost the phone again. The expensive phone that she begged her Dad for, the one with pink crystals on it. He didn't want to buy her one, and said she was too irresponsible for, even said she'd probably lose it. Oooo, she hated to admit he was right. Nothing to do but tell him now, just pull her courage around her like a coat.


"Dad? Can we talk?"

"Sure, but first, look what I found under the cushion on the sofa... it was lost and hungry, I heard it beeping at me... what's say we feed it while we chat? Now what did you want to tell me?"

"you're the best Dad, that's all!"

"I love you too honey"

sunday stories

From Sundays whirligig, these words:

dance, need, care, tumble, salt, yet, best, dead, bind, dread, crying, wind

He found himself crying by the tree in the front yard. How embarrassing as a strong man. Or was it?


Loss is universal.


Salty tears tumbled from his kind eyes. Eyes that had witnessed many moments of love and grief over the years.


Now the tears were being dried by the wind swirling around the tree and the steadfast man who stood there.


His best friend was gone, not just dead but gone from his life. He would no longer feel the soft touch of that little nose pushing into his hand as he walked.

 He had no little dependent creature to take care of, no one to greet him and care that he came home.

He swayed a bit while keening inside.

It felt unreal still, even though each person knows there is a limit to time on earth, they dance while here, dance with the feeling of connection and joy.

That is all we have actually, the moment, then the memory of that moment.
 

Sunday's Stories

the prompt comes from Sunday's Whirligig again

waltzing, drink, catch, billabong, shade, glee, alive, ghost, tree, shoved, pass, come

Memories were dancing around her head like little fireflies... she heard the music in her heart if not her ears. How many times had she waltzed with Jim at the town dance? So many that she knew where he was going before he did, and she followed him as smoothly as day follows night.


People used to say they looked like they were in a movie.


She stopped under the big elm tree, in it's shade, to catch her breath. Truth be told she had a little less energy these days in her real body, but her mind's body longed to dance again. One's body never forgets what it feels like to come into the arms of a strong man, be carried along with the tune, just feel the movement to the music.


Closing her eyes, June felt like she was swaying with Jim again, Jim and June.... the music. She realized she was swaying, what must people think, seeing her from a distance. "Miss June's having a fit out there!"


She opened her eyes, and saw the day as it was but she longed to see Jim instead, looking down at her in his arms.


A squirrel shoved past her on his way to the tree, a bird chirped above her head, a child cried over near the swing sets in the park. She was still alive and so was Jim although his spirit had moved back to Heaven. June still went to town dances, and danced with men who would be happy to become her new partner. She knew it was okay to find a partner to spend time with here on earth, but somehow she just wasn't ready.


She was still June, still the baby who learned to walk, the girl who learned to love to read, the teen who learned to drive, the young mom who learned to hold a baby, the wife who learned to compromise, the gramma who learned to guide children with love. That's what really young people missed, that we are always us, even when we slow down and grow silver hair.


Deep breath... she pondered deep thoughts this evening, about how life just goes on. The spirit moves on after the body is worn out, and other people continue on as they must, with the next breath, eating, reading, brushing one's hair, dancing with a new partner. Amazed to feel happy again eventually because happiness is part of life. Surprised when tears fall unexpectedly when one remembers the glee of finding one's mate and knowing they want to spend their life dancing with you.


Drink it all in, all the sensations when they come, don't miss any for thinking of what's gone.

 She was open to living life fully.
This was her life and to do any less than experience it would be wrong.

A ghost of a smile grew on her face, as she smelled a hint of jasmine on the breeze. It was lovely, and she was still June, and there was a dance tonight in the pavilion with fairy lights up in the rafters and a live band.She would waltz again.

Sunday Stories

This week's writing prompt comes from The Sunday Whirl  


I don't often use their prompt because it comes up on Sunday, and I want to present my stories on  Sunday mornings, however the words lead me to add a bit to my novel. I write from imagination, but this is a feeling I know well... enjoy




Audie looked out the kitchen window while washing up the prep bowls from the casserole she put in the oven.   It had an hour, so she had an hour.

Funny thing about time... we all have 24 hours in a day, some of them are free and some of them are spoken for, and sometimes we feel we've been given an extra one to play with.


The sky was turning that late afternoon kind of golden color.
There was an alchemy, a seemingly magical process of transformation, about it.
It looks different from all the other times of day, and somehow feels quieter, and slower than all the others. The birds knew it would be dark soon, and they were quieter too, but still chatted to each other from tree to tree. Their bird whispers were kind of soothing like the background music she played while painting.

She knew the sky would start a color show in a few minutes, so she fixed herself a glass of iced tea and threw in a sprig of mint, and decided this free hour was hers. She would not waste it inside, or miss the cloud show. She felt the pull of emotion more at this time of day, not that she understood it totally.  Her heart seemed to swell with feelings of meaning and some undefinable need that she didn't feel during the day. There was a sort of longing, and meaning just beyond her grasp, that she knew was important to feel even if she didn't understand it.


This time of day, she often felt like singing the old song, "down in the valley" (listen) to herself, as she sat on the back stoop. The sky began to pink-up... pink and lavender peppered the blueness, blending, swirling in a dance to entice the moon out. "Come, dance with us... ", they seemed to say. Colors mixed, as she turned off thoughts of the day, with their mixed demands to take action or wait. A person didn't always know whether to make plans or live life in the now.

Now. This is too important a moment to waste, her spirit begged. Chill out, in the growing chill of the air. Feel the air, smell the jasmine on the vine, listen to the quiet and hear it, look at the mix of colors as they change against the backdrop of the sky. Let your heart rejoice. This moment and it's feeling will pass in another moment... and you must not miss it.


She noticed the moon now, glowing white through the cloudy sky colors. Not the super moon, no, now it was a quiet moon but it was there. It shone and glowed whether humans looked up or not. It did it's thing, always changing to our eyes, yet steadfastly always there the same. It did not depend on petty human actions to continue on it's path. It didn't care about our disagreements or stress or the sting of tears at some slight we felt.

It shone on all creatures here, the same warm caring glow on deer as they quietly fed, on children catching fireflies in the evening, on babies and oldsters, on bugs and on trees.


The darkness surprised her with a tap on her shoulder. It had sneaked up on her from in front. It was slow and quiet, the night, almost unnoticeable in it's stealth. Her tea was gone but she didn't really remember drinking it. A breeze tickled the baby hair around her ear. An owl hooted from the distance.


Oh no, she thought, the moment is almost over... her favorite time of day.


Time, like the moon, always there, always there. But like the moon, it  changed in it's own way, and how we perceived it. Now it was pulling her thoughts... she didn't want to hear the timer's shrill noise in this quiet, so she must rise to turn it off in a minute.

 Just one more minute.