kstreetjournal | A pony a day keeps the money away —

~:: More Helpless Talk ::~

Posted on November 8, 2012 by K

If you’ve come here expecting photos and crafty things and cheeriness, please go to the entry after this one, which is actually before this one, but below. There you will find cuteness. If you want how I feel now, which I am certain is all you are interested in at the moment, go ahead and read.

I’ve already gotten myself in trouble today, writing publicly and with abandon. So I’m going to make it worse.

A member of my family went to the grocery store the other day, and as he walked into it, two people came out of it. These two people were, not to put too fine a point on it, exceedingly heavy. So much so that one of them was riding in one of those little motorized sled things. And each of them was happily carrying a gigantic ice cream cone, the kind you have to turn upside-down into a cup to carry it.

The observer of this said nothing to them at the time, of course. And when he related the circumstance to me, he said no more than to have told me these particulars. But the moment was so striking, especially for me in my present state of mind (I’m eating chocolate right in the face of the universe – like the universe is the one who’ll get fat) that I am going to go right ahead and say what I think right now. And I think that human beings, including myself (if I may be so bold) are stupid. Deeply, screwed-uppedly stupid. And I think those two very heavy people pretty much encapsulate The Whole Human Problem.

They say that rescuers after shipwrecks sometimes had to literally pry the fingers of the survivors off the piece of soaking flotsam they’d grabbed to save their lives – no matter how cold the water, how warm the rescuing boat, the person in trouble would not let go, not reach out, not do what he needed to do in order to be saved. Why? Why would he act that way? Preferring the devil he knew, I suppose, to the risk of trying something different? Or so shell-shocked, his mind could not conceive of anything outside his little circle of misery.

Ask those people from the grocery store what they want – what their dreams are. I wonder if they would say, “I want to stuff my body so fully of useless and harmful fat that my heart, lungs, liver and stomach are infiltrated and I have diabetes that I don’t even recognize and I can’t dance or run or otherwise kick up my heels, and my joints ache and I have sleep apnea!!! I SO want to make it so that I can’t get up the steps to my own front door, and my blood pressure is through the roof. But most of all, I want to live about forty years less than I’d otherwise have to!!”

If you ask them WHY they are letting themselves get sick, will they blame their hormones? Or the advertisers of large ice cream cones? Or their parents? Or George Bush or Barak Obama?

Nobody has to buy a gigantic ice cream cone. Ever.

And what has set me off on this, you may wonder (assuming you’ve even gotten this far). Or perhaps the better question is, what has set me off THIS time?

It was the TV news. On the news, they had a fifteen second clip of two older people (older than me, I wonder?) sitting in their dark – and very cluttered – house, probably in New Jersey – trying to keep warm at a table with a big Corning Ware thing full of candles burning in it.

Whether the house was cluttered because of storm damage, or these were just messy, hoarder kinds of people is not my business. What is my business is what the woman said. She started by stating their condition – no lights, no heat for days. She noted her health problems, then her husband’s problems, all in a despairing Jersey accent with which I sincerely and distressedly sympathized Then she said, “We’re freezing here. And nobody cares. NOBODY CARES.”

Which is what set me off.

First of all, plenty of people care. They were on the frigging news, for heaven’s sake. Have you ever been on the news? No, right? Because nobody cares about your normal little life. So somebody cared about these people’s story, or there wouldn’t have been cameras in their living room. And I care. Who wouldn’t care, hearing this?

But it had made me angry. Because she made me feel guilty, like me, standing on my treadmill in my nice warm house, should be doing something to PROVE that I care about her.

I wanted to say to her, “Do not judge me like this. Up to this minute, I never even knew you existed. I have been caring for WEEKS about the people on the East coast. Worried, glued to the news, watching the whole thing helplessly. But I don’t KNOW you, lady. I don’t know your name. I never met you before. I don’t NOT care about you. But what am I’m supposed to do??

“You’re on the freaking other side of the continent. And you are two people among thousands and thousands and thousands of distressed people. I am one little person. I can’t make electric go back on in my own house, let alone in a house on the other coast. If I could afford to do it, I’d try – but not even money can make the power come back up. And if I could do it with money – assuming I had any – I’d have to do it for EVERY person who doesn’t have it, because they ALL want to be cared about.

“I can’t fly out there and find you. I have so many people right here where I am, that I’m responsible for – their welfare, their mental health, their futures – their lives – and then people further out, some of them on the other side of the planet – so many people I gotta worry over and do stuff for and remember, and think about and give to.

“If I had all the money in the world, I couldn’t change this for you. And what money I do have, I gotta save for when I’m old myself, which will be in about five minutes here as it is – because somebody is going to have to feed us then, and we’ll have the same health problems you do, and I’m not going to expect anybody to suddenly show up and pay for all that if I can’t. And I save for my kids, who I also care about and worry over because they work so hard in a time when working hard is not paying the rent. And frankly, We have always given more than we could afford, sending to the kinds of organizations who are equipped to use that money effectively and compassionately. There isn’t enough money IN THE WORLD to fix this for you and all the people who are like you right now.

“It isn’t your fault this freaking storm came along. Not your fault that the ocean came roaring out of its tame little cage and slapped your life all over the street. Not your fault that this other storm is freezing you – or that Con Ed is out all over the place. It’s not even Con Ed’s fault. It’s NOBODY’s fault. But now you said this thing, you make me feel guilty. Like I messed up – like I’m responsible for all this, and I’m having to get angry so I can realize that this is NOT my fault. Not MY fault either.

“From the beginning of time, life has been hard. This last maybe eighty years, things have been so safe, so provided, we feel cheated when suddenly something like this happens. People have always died in storms, always suffered – but not us. Not us. When we were born, God guaranteed us toilets and light bulbs, tame running water and full grocery stores.

“This is why I have put by a little food, a little money for the future. You may not have expected the ocean to wake up one day and decimate the limits of your sense of reality, but we live in Earthquake country. They tell us every month – it’s not IF you have an earthquake – it’s WHEN. So every day, we have this shadow of exactly what’s happened to you (minus the sea bass) threatening us, to the point where we don’t believe in the danger anymore. And when it does happen, WHO KNOWS what conditions will result? You can’t prepare for everything. I am in no way prepared for that day. But it will happen. And nobody will give us enough warning we can drive inland, away from it.

“And we may be sitting in the dark, freezing living room of our cluttered house with no clean water and no flushing toilets, just like you. And I’m going to expect somebody to show up automatically and change all that for me?

“I care about your situation. I care about you. But I am helpless to save you from this. I’d say, I can pray for you – I can pray that somebody can suddenly decide to drive down your road, suddenly choose your house, suddenly give you a generator. But praying sounds like nothing to somebody who’s cold. And it doesn’t guarantee anything. And if it did, what about your neighbors, and the people the next block over? I can pray for a generator for every house in New Jersey and Staten Island and everywhere back there. But you know it doesn’t work like that.

“So what do you want me to do? I’m telling you, you’re wrong. I, personally, do care about you – in an I-don’t-know-your-name, one of thousands of people sort of way. Because I don’t have any power to do more than that, here where I am. I care about every child who is neglected or hungry or disappointed. I care about every person of age – like me – who doesn’t know what to do – like me. I care about the abused, the frightened, the sad – I care. I honestly care. But there are too many people – too much need – and if I grieve over everything and every person, I will lose my ability to function at all.

“And honestly, most of the time, most people are helpless to do anything BUT care. I know that people of my faith who live close enough have bussed in by the thousands to help. And other people, not of my faith, the same. But not everybody can do that. And we will all take our turn being in trouble. And take our turn helping in the sphere in which we can.

“So don’t think nobody cares. It’s just not fair to think that. And it’s not right. Plenty of people do. Knowing that isn’t going to make those candles burn any hotter, and I’m sorry about that. I’m so sorry about the ocean. And the cold. And the fact that you are aging. All those things. I am deeply sorry for your situation.”

I guess what I’m saying to myself and to those I love is this: I told my kids a long time ago, over and over again: if it means a lot to you that you have a great birthday party, then be sure you plan it yourself. You cannot expect other people to be as concerned with your life as you are, or to read your mind, or to have the time in their lives to be able to dedicate to some special thing that’s all about you.

This is why we are taught to pay attention. To make wise choices. To listen when people say, “Get out of there now.” This is why we try to prepare to have enough food and water for an emergency – to have a plan – not to dwell on the inevitability of disaster, but just so, if we lose a job, or something unforeseeable happens like is happening now to so many – we can eat or drink or stay warm as long as it takes till the world rights itself. That we know how to turn off the natural gas if we have to. Or give mouth-to-mouth or unstick a piece of steak from somebody’s throat. Maybe that we have enough, we can share. But even then, the sharing won’t reach far enough before everything you’ve saved is depleted.

There are just things in life that, if you do not do them, nobody can do them for you. Like the pioneers, crossing the plains in freezing times – if you do not pick up your own foot and put it down in front of you, you will not move forward. You cannot expect other people to take the responsibility of carrying you. I cannot expect that. And I don’t.

And when you don’t expect it, you either live like a person who knows you have to plant onions in order that you should have onions later, when you want them – and then you are gifted with the seeds for the next planting too. Or you don’t live like that and you end up not having any onions. In which case, it is not fair to be mad at everybody else because you don’t have any. If everybody lived like they had to depend on themselves – planting and working together, then when something happens to one person, the other person can step up and be there for them.

It’s hard to make that last bit work when the situation is so global. But it’s good in theory. Good for local.

If you need people to care about you, you build yourself a community – a bunch of people who care about each other, so when one is weak, another is strong. You invest in other people, take care of them, make them laugh, be there when they need you. Like a family, where people are different, but determined to like each other. Or a neighborhood, where people don’t judge, but really care about all the people up and down the block and do things like take each other’s garbage cans out to the curb, or bring dinner when people are sick. Or a town, where people get together and think about plans to keep everybody safe, and pool their resources to do that.

And then you have courage and gratitude, and you can afford to have faith. And you will not believe that nobody cares, because you will know that everybody would be there for you if they could. And if they’re not, it’s because they can’t. That’s what kind of people I know. And if they weren’t there for me, I’d have to be worried about them.

This thing on the east coast. It’s so big. So big.

If caring means crying, then you guys out there have mine.

You have mine.

Posted in Epiphanies and Meditations, IMENHO (Evidently not humble), Just talk | Tagged caring, connection, love, people, preparation, storms | 24 Comments

~:: Let’s Change the Subject ::~

Posted on November 7, 2012 by K

Well, rough night. Wild year. Nothing deep to say. (You know that’s not true – the not having anything to say part. Nothing deep – eh – that part’s probably true.)

Evidently these last months, the passion and nervous energy de moi has come out in the making of cute stuff. Actually, it has been so for the last year and half or so. And seeing that making things is actually a sort of performance art, I have to show you. There’s no value in the making of the stuff unless I do. Feedback. Exclamations that indicate that the exclaimer has been seriously charmed. Communication. Interaction. Bonding. YAY!!! Anyway, I don’t seem to be able to stop doing things like this. I’ve tried.

This is the beginning of October. During conference, actually. Guy oiled the saddles and the tack. I sat on the floor surrounded by bells, beads, felt, ribbons, needles and all other things useful for the dressing of camels.

The strange thing is that I always have ideas. If I were a marsupial, my pouch, now Joey-less, would be full of Things I Have Always Wanted To Try. At this point, I introduce the magical fact of Sticks Furniture, something Rachel and I discovered in a Park City gallery that was packed like grandma’s attic with the stuff. We fell in love instantly. Not the least, for me, because their designs are very close to the motifs I’ve been doing myself since high school. Very reminiscent of illustration. CUTE illustration, not funky, philosophical illustration.

The basic idea here is wooden furniture that has been “drawn” on a la wood burner, then painted and sealed. Who couldn’t do that, right? After I’d found the gallery, I “found” a heavy duty wood burner, then did nothing with it for years. But this year, being what it is, I finally bought myself a very basic, light weight wooden picture frame and broke out the Very Dangerous Burner. It’s a dual pen, heavy duty, hoity toity thing that is probably wasted on me. And I began to doodle – on the back of the frame, as I was terrified to venture onto the front.

Turns out that cheap frames aren’t that easy to work with. They’re kind of “hairy.” But sufficient for experimentation. So I did this. Acrylic paints do just fine. And I have always loved spar varnish.

But the project I’d been wanting to do for ages had to do with a tiny kid’s stool we’d had since the kids were wee. I’d never even finished the wood. And the poor thing had gotten dirtier and rattier as the years went on. So THIS year, I cleaned it off, considered the surfaces, and got brave enough to give it a go –

My motif. My baby stool. Finally done.

Chapter 2. I know I always do too many things at one blog. But I only blog in frantic spurts or not at all.

Once upon a time, Ginger brought this really, really cool sparkly glittered star to the Christmas party. Chaz won it. I wouldn’t let her have it. Not till I figured out how to make one myself. So I sat out on an Autumn afternoon, using the stool to sit on, and started encrusting wooden stars with the glitters I’ve been collecting since Ginger did hers.

I couldn’t find hers at first, so I was just going from memory. You wrap a wooden star with yarn, I remembered – bright yarn with metallic touches. Then you add a bunch of glitter. (the pine cones are coated with micro beads. The most important thing about them is that they came off the Stone’s trees, and we all love the Stones. Micro beads are not that fun, it turns out, and they cost like crazy.) So here are the stars – which I thought were encrusted.

Then I found Ginger’s star. And realized that my concept of encrusted was pretty sad. I also realized that she’d done the glitter encrustation first. Too late for me. But where I couldn’t do it first, I could OVERdo it at any point.

So I did.

They’re still not as good as Ginger’s, but here’s the thing: I scratched that itch. I did it. Mark it off the list along with the pine cones and the sticks and the camels. Making progress in my life. And bonus: I got a bunch of glitter-ridden stars.

Chapter 3: I should be able to make a kid’s dress from scratch. Really.

I shouldn’t need a pattern for a tiny little jumper. Right? All I’m really trying to do is make something one flipping quarter as cool as all the stuff Wabi does. Yes, I am a big fat copy cat.

So I found this cool Fall corduroy and bought it, thereby committing myself to the project. Then I borrowed a couple of Andy’s dresses for size and basic construction.

Long story short: after several drafts in muslin, I got this little jumper. Which ended up no more than two sizes too big. But I made up for that with details. Above, on the very left side of the neck line, there are three little leaves appliqued onto the neckline. This was an attempt to keep the bias tape binding from flopping over – sort of tacking it down. And it almost worked. One of the little leaves is just kind of a dangle.

And I added a little round pocket. It’s there, where the red ribbon is leaking out. The ribbon is there because the pocket has a secret – a ribbon tethered tiny bird.

The bird. Actually shot upside down. Fits in the pocket. Andy loves to pull it out and show people, which unfortunately usually means she is also showing off her tiny girl underwear. Unintended consequences.

Beautiful day. Not to my credit.

These pictures are me, trying to Wabi-ize my world. Son and his daughter. In small construction hat.

Without hat. With bird in hand.

I did not make this. I do take credit for some little part of the pattern, however.

Final Chapter: the gourds.

I found some cool, painted gourds Christmas ornaments in a gift shop at the airport in Santa Fe. And then I came into possession of a bunch of jewelry gourds. This project is kinda related to the Sticks project. And once again, answering the call of the Year I try Everything, I just up and tried my hand at it. They’re pretty crude and folksy – but I’m kinda happy with them.

And that’s it. Better than listening to me howl about elections and end of the world, eh? Maybe? And I promise, I’m going to run out of these long-held ambitions. Really I am. Pretty soon. And now I’m finished. Thank you very much.

Posted in Fun Stuff, Making Things, Pics of Made Things | Tagged Andy, Bench, dress, Ginger, glitter, guords, painting, stars | 24 Comments

~:: Small Existential Break ::~

Posted on November 5, 2012 by K

Tomorrow is election day for us in the US. I can’t shake the feeling that tomorrow may be the beginning of the end of the world. I’ve been blogging a lot of warm fuzzy things these last months, partially because I’ve been living a warm and fuzzy life. But I’ve been thinking too, thinking about a lot of things. I’ve even had a few epiphanies, none of which I’ve written down here (which is on my own laptop, in my journal file) or there (my blog).

Tonight I am thinking that freedom is not a right. It’s an undertaking, a job. And I am thinking that most things that end up being important in a human life are like that: living, loving, religion – a job, something you take on, something you accomplish. Over and over again. Every stinking day.

I think that you get more freedom or less freedom with every choice you make, every minute, a supply that’s constantly fluctuating, and that has little to do with governments. I’m not going to enlarge on that idea, though it would be easy to do so.

I can’t help but feel that we would be better off, we humans, if we still had an honest life – had to grow our own food, build our own houses – because we would learn from the beginning that you can’t wait around for someone else to do it for you. You can’t just do the one thing you do well – honest or dishonest – and then throw slips of paper or little discs of precious metals (or their digital equivalent) at other people, so that they will do the building and the planting and the harvesting and the butchering for you. We’d learn that if you do NOT build it, you will, in fact, have nothing. That if you don’t cause, you won’t get effect.

As they said in the movie ET, “This is reality, Greg.”

And we would be the stronger for our primitive and inconvenient situation, simplifying the problems, boiling them down to you either do it or you starve. Maybe that would teach us entitled, fit throwing adults a little something. Humble us. Cause us to concern ourselves with real things. Not that I want to lose my toilets and refrigerators, beloved running faucets and computers. Not that I really want to live that way. It would be too good for me. But if that were the way things were, I probably wouldn’t live to find out if I’ve inherited my mother’s Alzheimer’s.

There is a lot of noise in this world.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. Heck, I don’t even know what will happen tonight. We could go to sleep and wake up with the ocean in our basements. And it got honestly dark tonight at five thirty, a thing I would not find so disturbing if whoever bosses us hadn’t decided to play odd games with all the clocks all these years.

I hope that tomorrow will bring hope.

I know that I already have love. And since I never throw clothes I like away and I’m old enough not to give a hang what people think of how I look, I have enough clothes to ride out a rough time. And the sky will still be the sky. Which, by end of the week, will be weeping white.

I am afraid. Tonight.

I’ll get over that. And I’ll somehow solve this problem with the ward Christmas Party conflict. And Christmas is a-comin’ and the geese are getting fat (that’s an English Christmas song). I still don’t know what I want to be when a grow up, but lately, I feel like I’ve been trying on a lot of hats.

I envy otters, who are born on land and move awkwardly there, but who, when they finally stumble into the water, suddenly come alive, shot through with knowledge of what they are and how to be it. I am still on land, and there is so much precious to me here, I’m not sure that finding my own self would be worth losing anybody else’s self. The people I love are really the air that I breathe. And I won’t lose them just because an economy implodes. Unless we all starve to death, which – from a spiritual point of view – would not be that bad a thing. And we certainly wouldn’t lose ourselves if we were all gone together.

I am expecting one heck of a party on the other side. And no conflicts with that.

This is not an essay with a point, it’s a meandering musing, and it’s finished now. Thank you for tuning in.

Posted in Epiphanies and Meditations | Tagged the meaning of life | 60 Comments

~:: All Hallows Eve ::~

Posted on October 31, 2012 by K

Okay – I had a lot to say. I wanted to write about October (which I still will), and about Hallowe’en – (sneaking in the fact that I love the yellow moons and the black cats and the pumpkins and cornstalks and harvesty things – and the jack’o’lanterns, and people dressing up in fantastical costumes and orange and black and purple and green and spiderwebs, the natural things for this time of year when the darkness comes earlier and the harvest is done – but I DO NOT like the gruesome and evil-ish junk and blood and guts – which I don’t consider part of the traditional celebration) – and other things. But I don’t have time if I want to get this thing out before the goblins come to the door.

So I am telling you a long story in images –

Getting the decorations out. In time. Not at the last minute. Bought the pumpkins and the corn stalks from a farmer up the road a ways. The horse blanket is NOT part of this.

The lovely iron pumpkin bought at Swiss Days. A local guy. Woo-hoo – we can get as many as we want whenever we want. But then, how many iron pumpkins do you need?

One crazy black cat.

Another crazy black cat.

The scary porch.

The scary dog on the scary porch.

I love, I love, I love to shoot this scene through this door –

This door –

This door.

Scary fish on scary porch.

After the front came through and the leaves came down like shredded heaven.

The sweet scary dog.

Through the living room window. My mom taught me to put black cat and pumpkin silhouettes in the window. I loved it – back in LA when I was little and dressed as a fuzzy cat. I still love it. These are the same cats and pumpkin we’ve had for the last twenty eight or so years. A little delicate now, but still serviceable.

Do not ask me about the scary deer. I don’t have time to explain.

But there – now you can see them better.

Bats, hung from the porch roof. Look closely at the one on the left. He looks like he’s spinning in a high wind, but really, he’s absolutely still. Somehow, his fishline tether froze at this amazing angle, and there he stays.

The terrifying spider on the front gate.

Oy – the cats are back.

And here’s Bob. I did not make Bob. I bought Bob. At the Farmer’s Market. Because I loved him. Actually, I bought him for Meridee because it’s so much easier to spend money if it’s for someone else. But I knew, with every step I took homeward, that I had NOT bought him for Meridee – and that, now he was bought, I could admit this to myself. Which I did. Tucker is not impressed. I bought someone else for Meridee. The next week. Not Ralph. I can’t remember his name, darn it =-

Actually, Tucker is not that impressed with the corn either. I tried to explain that it’s actually INDIAN corn and that, when you discover the little cobs hidden on the stalks, they come in all kinds of dramatic, pearly colors. He didn’t care. But I LOVE it.

Scary man doing something in the scary dining room.

Scary TV.

Scary front hall.

Scary front window. With dog bowl.

Bob, when he’s home.

This is not a sign in my house. None of the signs in my house say anything close to this. Not even the ones in the kitchen. I shot this when we were at a youth conference in the Los Alamos LDS ward building. This is an actual sign on an actual custodial closet in an actual place. I do not believe there is another city in the country that has signs like this. Maybe in the world. I hope nobody ever has to open this closet. Scared yet? Yeah. I am.

On to the finer things. This is Chaz, as a sort of puck person. She carries it off, jah? I am showing you this as a segue-way. We are moving on, here, to Chaz’ birthday, which is associated with Halloween for two reasons: it happens in October, and her party was a costume one. An AVENGERS costume one.

Before the party, last minute seaming and adjustment to costumes. Remind me to tell you the story this reminds me of.

Thor, who is actually Chelsea, with extra attitude. Captain America, who is actually Captain America. At least, we think he is.

See?

And here is Dani, as Kid Loki. Kid Loki is evidently not a Wild West character. That’s how old I am.

This is our dear Kathy, bringing the cake she made for this party. It is a cake in three costumes: Thor, Iron Man and Captain America. The middle layer has no cherries in it. In case you needed to know.

Kathy is a brilliant artist. She has done every major cake in our family’s history. The wedding ones were a bit more elegant and a little less tech-y.

And finally – the BIRTHDAY GIRL. Who is actually Loki, or the other way around. She is very intense, and every tiny piece of metal detail on the lapels? Individually attached. This costume is NO JOKE. See the face? Not joking.

But she can’t hold it for long.

Trying again. Serious. Misunderstood. Tragic.

Yeah. It’s not going to stick.

Here is Dr. Who. Don’t ask me which one. I have no idea.

And I know that the girl in the scarf is not Rose, because Rose didn’t run with a guy in a bow tie. But he has a sonic screw driver –

Chaz opens her presents. A LOKI My Little Pony.

I know. We’re a weird family.

But how can you argue with that face?

Okay – is this so COOL? This is just a regular old yellow ball. But the way the sun hit it – SUPER HERO stuff.

I think Kaitlyn’s The Hulk. (Spelled your name wrong, right?) Whatever, I’m not going to get on her bad side.

Here’s the whole crazy bunch. Ah – brave new world that has such people in it. Wait, where have I heard that before?

Big brother Thor. Nemesis Loki. And Dani, who stuck her face in there at the last second.

Our own four heroes.

And Melissa, there at the end of the line – costumer to the Great and Marvel-ous.

CHAPTER THREE: Meridee’s Witches’ Tea.

I am not a witch person. In fact, the concept of witches makes me wince. But I unbend for this Tea, because the ladies who come – having designed their own magical hats – are so far from being dabblers in darkness, we hardly have to turn on the lights. Here are just few pictures out of many – a sample of the fun:

The founder of the feast. The head hat-woman, herself. And a crazy black cat.

Melissa, who dabbles in literature, children and culinary arts.

Don’t let this sweet face fool you – this one is a spit-fire!

Chelsea – how neatly the thief becomes a witchy-type. I knew that about her.

The cake maven. You wouldn’t want that look turned on YOU, would you? Uh-huh. Thought not. So sit UP.

One of my personal favorites. I give you two pictures of her. Another eye I’d just as soon was focused on someone else, thank you very much.

And remember this sweet thing? Double, double – boil and bubble –

Another very elegant Loki, which isn’t technically a witch thing – but – you know. Why not?

Meridee’s house is a study in Halloween. Wonderful things in every nook and cranny – a woman who knows how to keep Christmas as a Lord Mayor’s household should. So to speak.

This woman does not eat children. She showers them with books. She IS books. Full of wonder.

This woman DOES eat children. No, she doesn’t – she TEACHES them things.

And this woman? She pounces. Now THAT’S a look that promises a lot of fun.

This is the dignified version. The original image was a little sassy, I gotta say.

Come into my parlour, says this lady – an elegant hat, but what intent lies under it?

This is the tea part. Except I think it’s hot chocolate in that cup.

The Maven and the grasshoppers.

Terrible shot, I know. I was going around the house, recording all the lovely details, so I wasn’t focused on the table, which was full of delights.

Especially loved this wall. Not the skulls, though. I prefer my faces a little more fleshed out.

Daughter of the maven. One Be-bootiful hat. And there were more wonderful hats and faces and terrific witches – as I said, just a sample –

CHAPTER FOUR: today, the eve of All Hallows.

Melissa throws a party, and Andy the Ladybug shows up there.

And so does Obi-wan. He’s only in it for the food.

We used to carve so many pumpkins – but now it’s down to two.

Carefully done.

The pumpkin carver.

We’ve lived in this house for thirty four years. Some of the trick-or-treaters who show up on the porch are the children we knew when they were small, who are now bringing their own children to knock at our door. This moves me. And here are our own grandchildren, being shepherded by a ninja and a lovely medieval lady. I wonder how they met.

We snuck out, one at a time, to visit our children’s houses. Chaz had rented a cotton candy machine, and here Loki and friends serve up the stuff.

I had a flash shot of this, but the ghostly blur is so much more evocative.

Captain America ran me down in the street and offered a photo op.

At Cam’s there was a scary tunnel filled with ghostly smoke. We brought these children up right.

And last of all = I thought I’d gotten out of the witch hat photo shoot by being the camera. But Meridee cornered me in my OWN house and made me put on my plain old hat, ordering me to give it up for the camera. So I did my best. Do I look scary?

Yeah. Maybe a little too much so.

Anyway, there we have it – another October closed out and in the books.

And I think I’m pretty well satisfied.

Posted in Events, Fun Stuff, HappyHappyHappy, holidays, Pics of Made Things, Seasons, The g-kids, The kids | Tagged Autumn, bats, birthday, Black cats, cake, Chaz, costumes, cotton candy, dogs, fall, ghost, Halloween, jack'o'lantern, Kathy, leaves, ninja, party, porch, pumpkins, witches, yard | 22 Comments

~:: Camels, royally dressed ::~

Posted on October 27, 2012 by K

I am not sure that I would consider a man wise—one who drapes and binds his camel with fancy bits that do nothing to make a subservient life more pleasant for the poor creature. But as these camels, every one of them a star-chaser, were dressed by kings, then the shining baubles and shimmering cords and bells and beads might be considered, if not natural, at least appropriate and seemly.

So here are the camels (Alan Dart design), every one guaranteed to have at least one terrible knitter flaw, for your viewing pleasure. I am trying to figure out which one I love the best, but I cannot do it——any more than I can figure out which of my horses or dogs or children is the dearest.

Here they are, the whole gaggle. Or were, before they were subjected to decoration.

I am not sure they look happy about the whole thing. But then, they have no eyes, so it’s hard to tell.

But here they are after: eyes and bridles and saddles and hoopla.

Evidently, I can’t tell which are my favorite photographs of them, either.

I just love the way they look, corralled in that basket.

Yep. I shot every possible angle.

I kept expecting them to start wiggling around and leaping out.

So, here they are one at a time. Yes, I realize that this is not a very deep and philosophical entry. And aren’t you glad. Which do you prefer – too many words, or too many images? And which camel do YOU think is worth reproducing?

#10

#11

#12

#13

#14

#15

#16

Ha. I bet you can’t choose just one either.

Posted in Christmas, Fun Stuff, holidays, Knit Stuff, Making Things, Pics of Made Things, Seasons | 36 Comments

~:: Horses and Camels ::~

Posted on October 23, 2012 by K

Both excellent for dashing across the desert. Which is pretty much apropos of nothing. I seem to do a great deal of dashing, but not really across anything, that would assume coming out the other side. As far as I know, there does not seem to be an Other Side to life, except for the obvious one. Which is not what I’m after.

As I write out this next part, I’m going to sound like a ratty little cover band (a garage band that only performs other people’s hit music). In the coupla decades I’ve been writing this stuff (used to be personal essays sent out to a mailing list), there were times when I had so much to write about, I could hardly keep up with myself. Sometimes it was just philosophy, sprung full-grown from the head of whatever Greek deity is famous for having things spring thusly. Sometimes it had to do with things that had happened. It was usually sporadic. But I have never had a year in which so much seemed to have happened, and yet I have been so – unable – to sit down and put words to even part of it.

I can’t figure out why. I always feel like I never DO anything. Like I’ve been sitting around watching soap operas and eating cheap chocolate. And yet – well. Okay. Here’s where I start the post.

You may, if you really love me, remember that I have shared images of the Alan Dart camel I fell in love with a couple of years ago. This picture is not of that camel, but of one made expressly with Christmas ornament in mind (see those little touches of gold in the yarn?). I made him in February. And somehow – over the next five months – he turned into the convocation of camels you see in the header up there. I don’t know why.

I think I started out meaning to make a couple of him. He’s not that hard to make. Takes me a couple of evenings. Maybe three. Or five. Depending. But then there were all these different kinds of yard that wanted to be part of this thing. Including some yummy self-striping sock yarn that G gave me for my birthday. And suddenly, one camel became a prodigious family of dromedaries.

I shooed them out onto the deck for a family portrait, but couldn’t get them to settle down.

Guess which guys are the ones I made with G’s present?

Finally, I corralled them all. I know how. I own herd animals.

This is not the last I will write about them. At this stage they are naked and humble, also without eyes. But three months later, they will have been dressed in the wild silks and dangles appropriate for the mounts of foreign and mysterious kings.

And remember this? The evidence of about six weeks of messing about with shapes and muslin, looking for the right pattern for my hugging ponies?

The first to see the light of day. He was not made for this girl. I made him for myself. And I still got ‘im. But I made another one, because another one was needed. Another very fuzzy, soft, comfort pony.

But then, yet another pony was in order. His mane didn’t turn out the way I meant it to, but he was of good heart. And went to a good heart.

Then I went to Santa Fe and, after seeing a Joann’s ad in my in-box, trotted off to the store down there, looking for a specific fleece I’d seen in the ad. This was not the fleece. But I had to have it. Just the ticket for a delicate situation.

And danged if a delicate situation didn’t arise.

Two delicate situations.

This was one of the fleeces I meant to get. Note the owl motif. No situation arose for this pony – only the insatiable hunger this person has for nocturnal birds with huge eyes and very flexible necks.

THIS pony is a situation all in himself. He is a Loki pony. The Norse Loki. The Avengers pony. Chaz’ alter ego. But with only four legs. I had an awful lot of fun, figuring this one out.

In the end – or maybe just, up till now, there were eight ponies. See the spotty guys? THAT was main reason I got myself lost in Santa Fe, looking for their Joann’s. Giraffe colored fleece. I have a dear buddy who is a giraffe person, and the second I saw this stuff, I had to have it. Turns out I got enough for more than one. And what does one do with several giraffe-colored horses? Well, you’d be surprised how absolutely, beautifully appropriate they turned out to be in for some different places and people. So you never know – sometimes you do something that doesn’t make any sense to you at all – only to find that there were holes being filled in the universe as you did it.

I’d meant for so very long – years – to figure out how to make them. Ponies with a purpose, these are – perfectly shaped to serve as a surrogate embrace. I suppose, part of the surprise of this year was that I got around to doing something instead of meaning to.

And if you’re wondering how a silly fleece pony could ever be useful?

Yeah – this is what they’re for.

I’ve got an awful lot to put down here over the next weeks, bouncing back and forth in time. As we point out over and over, the blogs have taken over as our journals, the history of our families – and for a year that I keep thinking has been strange and without much direction, an awful lot of kind of significant stuff has happened. Stuff I don’t want to forget. And somehow, even jumping back into summer in retrospect seems appropriate as the wind grows sharper and leaves come down across the lawn like golden snow –

Posted in Fun Stuff, Knit Stuff, Making Things, Memories and Ruminations, Pics of Made Things, The kids | 22 Comments

~:: Fire on the mountain ::~

Posted on October 16, 2012 by K

First, may I say that if any of you are paper-cut aficionados, you will be interested to know that in order to get a true Class A specimen, all you need is a corn stalk. A dry one. One you’re trying to ferret cool little Indian corn ears out of. That’ll do the trick.

This weekend, we had a bang-up time at the Mormon Arts Foundation retreat – Friday and Saturday with some of the brightest hearts and minds and imaginations on the planet. I used to be invited. But now I only get to go, tagging along with G, who helps Judge Dave (he’s an actual judge) set up all the media tech stuff. It’s a spiritual/emotional/informational feast, and I was almost too tired to go this year. Fortunately, I went, albeit late.

I drove up through town, north toward the canyon, then up the Sundance road (Donna, you will remember all this) onto the Alpine loop. Cam and I had driven up that way a couple of weeks ago—I wanted him to see the color. But it was all gone then, red blown to brown and gray. The autumn dull and dead. So when I drove that way on Friday, I had no expectations and DID NOT TAKE MY CAMERA.

What an idiot I am. I had defined “color” in my head by the maples and the sumac – the reds. I’d forgotten the oak and the aspen – the wild, flaming yellows and oranges. Every corner I turned on that snaky, narrow little mountain road opened a shock of brilliance. I nearly drove off the road three times, reaching for my sad little iPhone. One time, I just yelled – all by myself, shouted with shock coming around a corner where the aspens rose out of the dark, wet pine like rockets. And the rock outcroppings at the peaks were literally shrouded with rags of torn and shredded cloud.

On Saturday, I brought the camera.

G., following me down the canyon after the retreat. I think he was trying to make sure I didn’t drive off a cliff.

Do you see that tiny little flame of red back there in the middle of the aspens? Do you wish that cabin was yours?

This shot, I took out the window as I drove, holding the camera with one hand – one eye on the road, one on that orange bush right up on the left hand side, just on the other side of the pines.

The retreat was just this colorful, full of faces dear to me – like a family reunion (with some cousins I’d never met before and some I don’t get to see half enough).

On the way down, we were invited (all right – I’ve been begging for this) to see a dear friends’ cabin. This is a family I adore. They are brilliant, loving, deeply spiritual, hardworking and full of wonder. I will tell you that these parents raised their kids by hand, shared with them their skills, their ethic, their vision and their love – of beauty, of God, of life and education and each other.

I want to be them when I grow up.

So I’m going to show you pictures of this “cabin,” (really a cottage in the wild mountain woods) because I want you to share in this heart.

I’m trying to figure out where I am standing, looking at this place. Bavaria? The forests of Germany? A fairytale?

The over-all design knocked my heart out. But look at the detail.

The quirky setting of the stone.

The gingerbread trim – wood, not cookie.

Even the rocks are pleasingly covered with lichens.

And the leaf mast lovely in shades of crimson.

Even the most mundane bits are blessed with characters.

I loved this front stoop – stone with leaf patina.

A door very like the one in a fifteenth century Norman church we visited just outside of London. I’m kind of sad we didn’t get to knock on the front door so that someone would open that little window, peering out at their visitors.

Deep walls and aged timber – how old IS this place.

G wanders the place. Rustic, carved balconies everywhere.

See? I worked in a self-portrait.

This fireplace front is carved with characters. The motto carved into the mantle is latin: Believing is Seeing.

They didn’t miss a chance to fill every niche with fire for the imagination.

A petite and perfect kitchen. Look close at the cabinet doors, the upper ones leaded and spangled with red, the lower ones hand painted.

I want to live here. I want to write here. I want to have my grandchildren visit here. I want to BE a grandchild visiting here.

See? Every opportunity for delight. Handpainted tiles, brought over from Europe – probably by magic cabinet. I saw doors upstairs that could very well hide such a thing.

Guest bedroom. A circular chamber with a (not quite finished) mural – an enchanted forest, – and a ceiling painted exactly like the one we saw in the ancient Saint Chapel on the Isle de la Cite in Paris.

A window – I love the touch of colored glass framing an expanse of clear.

Upstairs. Downstairs. Are we in England? Actually, it feels JUST like England felt.

See? See the door? This is not the one for the magic cabinet, but I promise there is one, just to my left here.

To sit in this window and look out at the mountain –

To wake in the morning and take breakfast on a lovely balcony, looking down into the forest below.

Owl’s nest under the eves. (WHO WOULD THINK OF DOING THIS?)

The owl, a newel piece where the stair turns. Carved in situ.

Every window looks out on glory.

The magic here – you stand on the drive and look up, and you know you are home. You expect everybody you ever loved to come running out of that door to embrace you. And the leaves fall on your shoulders, and there is dinner waiting on the table – with pie.

I don’t live in this place. But I’ve always lived there – in every book I’ve read, every story I’ve dreamed up. This cottage feels like my grandmother’s house always felt to me. How wonderful, just to know that such a place actually exists. And to know that the people who built it have hearts that utterly belong in such a place. I don’t know what delights me more – seeing the cottage or knowing the family. But then, I think those are two are actually the same thing.

And now, I’ve shared this place with you. I hope it has made you just as happy.

Posted in Fun Stuff, HappyHappyHappy, holidays, Seasons, The outside world | Tagged cabin, cottages, dreams, leaves, mountains, yellow | 31 Comments

~:: A Ghost Story ::~

Posted on October 6, 2012 by K

A few years back, when I had no barn but was big as one, my mother came, as mothers often do when their children need them. It was October, and it had been a long nine months. The weather was finally cooling off, and the holidays just beginning. I couldn’t climb up on things, so my mom dug the ghost out of the halloween box, and with the help of the two very small people living with us, made sure he found his traditional place on the porch.

This was my mom. These were Gin and Cam. I don’t know where any of these ancient people have gone. It’s been a very long time since we’ve seen them.

Mom climbed up on the chair. G helped. It was The Hanging of the Ghost. And it has happened at the beginning of October, within a week or two of this very day, every year—a ritual, for a very good reason. Same ghost. Same place. Same memory. I was taking this picture, probably balancing the camera on my ample person. That very night, just after midnight, one of my life’s sweetest moments happened, and my Chaz entered the world.

I had no idea, as I stood there pointing the camera at my little family, who was coming and what an impact she would have on my life – full of humor and outrage, brilliance and passion – the guardian at the gate and the puppy voted Most Likely to Bite. She would careen around my life, bashing through windows, singing at the top of her lungs, exploring the outer reaches of the universe. Scientist, artist, dancer, singer, writer, teacher, anthropologist, calligrapher, seamstress, scholar—a burst of presence guaranteed to lift the hair, blow the hat off, any quiet.

She is the salt of my life. The free radical. The untamable frequency.

She is one of four. Four powerful winds. Four children of light. Four who have given me the great gift: their lives, their faith, their trueness. Their love.

And so we hang this ghost again. And when we do, I smile.

Happy autumn. Happy birthday. Dearest Chaz.

Posted in A little history, Family, The kids | Tagged Chaz, fall, ghost | 34 Comments

~:: New Buddies ::~

Posted on September 30, 2012 by K

Two weeks ago – almost – Donna Lohr flew all the way across the country to spend a few days with two crazy women: Rachel and me. There are plenty of people who are suspicious of relationships that are started over the internet – and there are good reasons to be cautious. But there are also wonderful blessings and great friendships that are formed in words over this sort of magical crystal ball, amazing friendships that are as real as the ground under our feet.

We met her at the airport, and within about – oh, say – thirty seconds, we were talking like we’d known each other for years. Which, as a matter of fact, we had. And all around, we were pleased to find out that what we’d seen in blog and on Facebook was very much what we were getting. Donna is every whit as kind, charming, pure-hearted and creative in person as she is in writing. We only hoped that we could be discovered to be the same.

We’d planned a mad girls’-craft-weekend. And it just so happened that G had to fly to Nashville for a session at the very same time. So the mouses played and that house I’d spent two weeks cleaning up for this very visit? Yeah. We made a grand mess of it again.

First, Donna taught us how to make a basket. Basket Weaving 101, right there on the river deck. We had a kit full of already cut material. Here, Donna demonstrates the ease with which you un wrap all the supplies.

See? Easy Peasy.

Exciting easy peasy. You can tell by my arm, there, that I am standing clear of all this.

Then you soak your material. But not for long.

Next step, you make mouse ears.

Then you set out your base strips, which sounds easy, huh? But those strips, even after soaking, are still curved and opinionated.

And then you start weaving. My basket is the one closest to the camera.

I’m not sure what brought on this face, actually, but the mosquitos drove us in closer to the house, and we just kept weaving like mad things.

Then we took a break and made little rattan reindeer. See mine? Standing against the basket. Donna knows how to do all kind of magical things.

This is what kind of people we are. A single, dogged pear hangs from the lower branches of the tree, and it becomes a seductive still-life—

while the dog-captain of the universe guards her from the picnic table.

Focus. On so many levels.

The pear does have character. You have to admit that.

Yes, this is another picture of the pear. But I loved it. The pear and the hands. The pair of hands.

Leaning dog of Pisa.

It got dark, so we repaired inside, turning the dining room into the basket finishing studio. While M, who had come to take away our very nice hand-made all wood drafting table, worked away in pink pants on the driveway, sanding the surface of it till it was perfect for his honey’s beautiful work.

I had a flash shot of the almost finished baskets. But I liked this yellow/tungsten one better – mostly because of the warmth and the hug M is getting from his Other Mother Rachel. Then I drove him and the huge drafting table home across town. And helped him carry the thing into his house. Did I mention that it’s huge? And solid? And heavy? May I note that his house was built without doors that anticipated huge furniture? And on my way home, for the first time ever in my adult life, I actually got lost in my own town. Well, it was dark, and I was way on the south side.

The next morning, Chaz hauled us off to our city’s very first renaissance faire (evidently, when you wear a costume to the thing, adding that “e” on the end of “fair” is a cultural imperative). Here are Chaz in her renaissance elf ears, Dani in her renaissance forest spirit costume and Donna—who is a very correct Flemish merchant’s wife—and B, who is welcome to wear that armor around here any day of the week, and Chels, who is a sort of harlequin bandit, and charming as heck.

Donna is renaissance. I am medieval.

There was a fine, brassy Irish band at the faire, complete with Uilleann pipes – which is how you know this band is the real deal. That and the lovely Irish lilt to the piper’s talk.

And are these two cute as anything? In renaissance tartan, evidently.

Dani did a lovely job with her mischievous character, at once fascinating and terrifying small children.

There was fighting and all sorts of mucking about.

Chaz carried a blue dragon on her shoulder. It’s actually a puppet that she controls with – ummm – I don’t know how, exactly, but it moves and seems very life-like. The creature was a tremendous hit with pretty much everybody. Chels has one too, a griffin.

There were all sorts of vendors – stained glass, jewelry and clothing, food, wood working – all hand made. We ran across our very favorite potter, working in bare feet.

Ed was giving demonstrations and making pots right there in front of people.

He is so very good.

And while we watched, random people would just come up and ask Chaz and Dani to pose for pictures.

Chaz, watching Ed make her a bowl.

Then he made one for Dani.

The children were sometimes brave enough to want to talk to the dragon, but few had the courage to pat him.

And there were madrigal singers. Here, they sing, “Now is the month of Maying,” without really understanding what the lyrics are all about. Yes. Yes, I DO happen to know what these particular Thomas Morley lyrics are about. I’ve read Shakespeare and Chaucer and am very well versed in what this period’s songs about spring are all about. Any period’s songs about spring, as a matter of fact.

Another request for Char to pose. And there wasn’t even one Japanese tourist in the place.

Afterwards, Chili’s. You are not seeing grace here. You are seeing the application of hand sanitizer.

That night, we had a girls’ night (G was gone, remember). We watched the newest Jane Eyre and ate sugarfree pudding that tasted like mousse. This was Donna’s elegant dish.

This was Rachel’s dish, butting in.

She’s made it just for me.

Another day, we turned our hand to needle felting. We were really, really good at it. As you can see. We were doing hippo-bunny-dogs.

Mine was green.

Needle felting was so EASY. Simply a pleasure. Maybe we’ll do it again in five years.

Sunday dinner with what family we could round up. That’s part of the tradition: rounding up family. Not so hard if there’s food offing.

Donna with her two new buddies. They spent four days hugging her and lying on her feet. This morning, however, there must have been a squirrel. I got much better shots with Donna’s camera, but, since I don’t have her camera here, you’re getting mine.

On the way to the airport, we took a last-ditch run up the canyon to show her our hills. It was a dignified, mature sort of side-trip.

I didn’t expect to see much. I thought the leaves had peaked that day we were up there on the horses. Boy, was I wrong. We looked up the canyon and began to – umm – exclaim. Shriek, more like. The hills were on fire. Out came the cameras, all three of them, and the image orgy began. These first shots are Rachel, madly shooting my camera through the dirty windshield as I tried to drive and gape at the same time.

This is when I began shooting. We’d made it up to Sundance. We pulled into the parking lot and jumped out of the car, cameras blazing.

Then we headed even further up the canyon. Yes, on the way to the airport. But, you know, we’d left early.

This is a very narrow, winding, two lane road. We just kinda pulled off and hoped nobody’d run into us. Then we started jumping out of the car and running up and down the mountain.

The girls, demonstrating our dignified style.

This was a wonderful scene. But hard to shoot. To get the canyon, I had to blow out the sky. To get the sky, I had to lose the canyon.

So I decided to try a composite, but I was also running a rather wild party in the back yard (details at ten) at the same time, and I just didn’t have the focus for the job. So here is the awfullest, slap-together composite ever:

Looks a little like a canyon being swallowed by a middle-eastern sand storm.

I give up.

You need to see Rachel’s piece about this visit. It’s a lovely bit of writing punctuated by elegant shots she got by squatting in the weeds. We are still picking burrs out of the car upholstery. You have to hold very still when you are stalking wild mountain botanicals.

If you look very close, you might see the adorable little mountain stream tumbling down the hill in the shadows behind her.

We drove through Salt Lake City on our way to the airport – we’re maybe ten minutes from the runways here. And stopped to take in Temple Square. It’s a beautiful place, draped in flowers, perfectly kept, like the garden of Eden. But what are these girls shooting?

The door knobs. The door knobs of the temple. Rachel will show you. If you go to her blog and look.

Obviously, the door knobs were the most interesting part of this boring little building.

The truth is that temples are all about relationships – about bonds of love that last for eternity. And this is a fitting place to end the story – with love and friendships that were proved true and dear, and that are going to last a long, long time.

Posted in friends, Fun Stuff, HappyHappyHappy, Light, Making Things, Pics of Made Things, Rachel, Seasons, The outside world, Visits | Tagged Autumn, baskets, Chaz, Chelsea, costumes, deer, dogs, Donna, Ed Ham, fall, family, felting, leaves, mountains, pots, Rachel, ren faire | 64 Comments

~:: Time, Space and Red Leaves ::~

Posted on September 17, 2012 by K

Last post it was May. Now—it’s now. Again, I’m playing ping pong with time.

You know how they say that a really good photographer can get beautiful results out of the simplest camera? Because he – she – knows how to work with what she has. Me, I get so-so results out of even good cameras. But on this ride into the hills—simplified by dent of substituting the old tiny Cool Pix for the large, lens-cap-shedding, bouncing-off-the-saddle SLR—I define myself as something less than an artist.

Big camera or little—off the back of an impatient horse, nothing is under control. But add the odd sky—there was a sort of pall over the mountains, haze—smoke from far away fires? High pressure air full of the detritus of civilization?—and a teensy, tiny, ten-year-old-tech lens, and my hope of showering you with Marilyn/Ginna quality images of what we saw on our ride is just another grim shortfall.

But does that stop me from publishing them here? Of course not. And you are welcome—again, I limited the number of images to something under 200, all for your viewing pleasure.

On the way up the south fork.

More of what we have to watch out for as we drive up this narrow, winding road – a favorite with bikers like . . . G!!! They’re all nuts, with rigs like ours raging up and down, and like me in college—young, frisky and driving a sports car—whipping around these mountain curves with the confidence of immortality.

As the passenger, I try to grab glimpses of bucolic charm, but the tiny camera doesn’t think as quickly as the car can go.

What if you lived here?

You’d see this out your back window.

We headed up early on Saturday, knowing that there’d be phalanxes of horse trailers jamming the parking at the foot of the hill. If you aren’t careful, you could end up locked in all day. Some of these trailers have launched very long rides, rides that last two days or three. Campers and hunters. But we aren’t that kind of adventurer. We’re short term trekkers.

You’ve seen this road before. And so have these ears. It’s early in the ride, and the ears are forward, ready to go.

These ears are eager also. G is not on Dustin because there is a story to Dustin. But Sophie is glad, I think, to be up here. She went nose to nose with Zion several times—without pitching a fit even once. Just sweetly, as though they were finally, after almost ten years, making friends, trail buddies.

Looking down on the high little valley where the trailers wait.

The ears are beginning to look around.

That tiny camera just can’t gather enough light to capture anything along the path sharply. So we are left with abstract impressions.

So many colors. The same tree – like that middle one – can be red, yellow and green all at once.

G, knowing my sadness over the images, captures a wild leaf and holds it still.

This was supposed to be a portrait of that orange tree. But Sophie kept inching forward. G is trying to tuck his face back, but he’s no match for her inching.

And they inch past –

This looks like: “So – how do drive this thing?”

This was the most astonishing place. The leaves aren’t so much red and orange as fuschia and intense pink. Some leaves are ghostly and pale, some are vibrant, burning. In this one little place there is a tiny creature trail and the leaves around it are of every crazy shade.

So many maples, but they change so differently. Does it have to do with species or soil? I don’t know.

Sometimes the scarlet is intertwined with the green—

It’s always a surprise to come around this corner and catch sight of the grassy valley below.

You can’t drive here. There are locked gates on either end. The one time we saw a vehicle up here was the time we were almost all killed—about eight of us all at once. That was years ago. But we remember it sharply at the oddest times.

Zion just has to make this a self-portait.

He and I have so much in common.

Having come down the side of the mountain, we enter the valley.

Sophie is a water horse. Not a hippopotamus; a stream-walker. Not all horses are. The first time we tried to take Hickory across the water, he stopped dead, puzzled by the moving surface. He put his nose down to the water, jerked it back up again in surprise – put it down again and began to strike at the water with his hooves, splashing all of us.

But Sophie just walks across it. And Zion will, too, as long as she goes first.