two kitties

More Recent Scenes from Flathead Lake.

Feeling guilty this morning because I never go down to the beach in the winter. Part of is that we've had unusually warm weather, bears are awake, and I'm afraid of bears. But I sucked it up and went down the hill.

 

Lots of big timber around.


I love the way the water polishes the roots of the trees along the shoreline and the way the icicles build up where the creek meets the rocks. In summer, snow melt from the top of the mountain will bring the level of the lake up to cover these roots.

I collect things from the beach and stack them up on the dock. Just checking on them. Confidential to the neighbor kids: I WANT MY TURTLE SHELL BACK.

Recent Scenes.

Iron and Wine: Naked As We Came.

 

She says wake up, it's no use pretending
I'll keep stealing, breathing her
Birds are leaving over autumn's ending
One of us will die inside these arms

Eyes wide open
Naked as we came
One will spread our
Ashes round the yard

She says if I leave before you darling
Don't you waste me in the ground
I lay smiling like our sleeping children
One of us will die inside these arms

Eyes wide open
Naked as we came
One will spread our
Ashes round the yard

 

*Music for painting.

To Cure the Winter Blahs.

 

Christmas at Our House.

We've done a lot of work on our house this year, and we thought it looked especially pretty this Christmas. I just thought I'd share a bit of our Christmas Eve.

I had dinner for ten. The menu was:

Baked Brie with Spiced Pecans in Balsamic Caramel Sauce.

Prime Rib Roast with Horseradish Sauce;

Smoked Pork Chops with Cranberry Sauce;

Salmon with Lemon Caper Butter.

Spinach Salad with Goat Cheese, Tangerine, and Pomegranate.

Stuffing; Mashed Potatoes and Sweet Potato Crumble.

Pecan Pie with Fresh Whipped Cream.

Chocolate Peanut Butter Truffles and Chocolate Peanut Butter Pillows.

 

The menu seemed worth a whole bunch of capital letters.

This year was different.

We did not go to church.

We wrote everyone in the family a check.

Except my sister, who got a heated cat bed from Delta Airlines SkyMall.

I did not call my mother.

I only managed to send about 10 Christmas cards, which is really stupid, since I had "Noel 2010" printed on them.

We wore jeans.

We stayed up late on Christmas Eve laughing and playing cards with our friends and family.

We slept late on Christmas Day and then went visiting.

We celebrated our 6th anniversary with our friends by going snowshoeing in Glacier National Park.

I think it was one of the nicest Christmases I've ever had.

 

 

Chico's Chalet Faux-Fur Trimmed Wrap: Send me one.

Listening to the beautiful music during T's Christmas concert, I had an epiphany: I should order this wrap from Chico's. It would be perfect for Montana! Why didn't I act on the impulse sooner? Maybe just the whole emotional transition of leaving J. Crew for Chico's (a change of life=a change of fashion?)? Anyway, if you see one in a store, I'll buy it off ya.

Danny MacAskill, "Way Back Home".

 

Hamster Ball Dance

 

 

Happy Monday.

The Shangri-Las - Past, Present, Future.

Drove home from town in a dark, cold, rain and then this song came on the radio. The ultimate melodrama.

Lyrics:

"Past, Present And Future"

[The Past]
Past - well now let me tell you about the past
Past is filled with silent joys and broken toys
Laughing girls and teasing boys
Was I ever in love?
I called it love
I mean - it felt like love
There were moments when...
Well, there were moments when...

[Present]
Go out with you?
Why not?
Do I like to dance?
Of course
Take a walk along the beach tonight?
I'd love to
(But) Don't try to touch me
Don't try to touch me
Cause that will never happen again
Shall we dance?

[Instrumental]

[The Future]
Tomorrow - well... Tomorrow is a long way off
Maybe someday I'll hold somebody's hand
Maybe somewhere someone will understand
You know - I used to sing: "A tisket, a tasket, a green and yellow basket"
I'm all packed up and I'm on my way and I'm gonna fall in love
But at the moment it's doesn't look good
At the moment it will never happen again
I don't think it will ever happen again

MyShape.com Online Clothes Shopping to Fit Your Shape.

I just found a great website and I wanted to share it. Randomly searching for "leopard cardigan" yesterday, I came across MyShape. Basically, you put your measurements in - lots of them! This is not for sissies! - and a few preferences about the clothing you like to wear and how much you usually spend on clothing. MyShape then presents you with hundreds of things to choose from - in every price range.

NO. I AM NOT GETTING PAID TO POST THIS. I'm just hard to fit. I mean, I really struggle - especially with tops. So when I saw that I had been presented with a selection of bras, ONE OF WHICH WAS THE ONE I WAS WEARING and took me months to find- they had my attention.

I've been glued to it for two days. I haven't bought a single thing but I'm totally enjoying it. Here is a snap of some of the stylist-created outfits that are supposed to fit my body.Totally cute.

If MyShape doesn't think something will fit, they'll let you buy it, but they flash you a warning that it ain't gonna fit.

I'm really anxious to try it but I've decided to make it my reward for a month of healthy eating and daily exercise. So - early November, I'll give you the update.

 

Knickerocker: Custom Underwear via Etsy.

Today's blog post is about underwear, which means it is intended for ladies only. I suggest the man reader head over to Dude Craft to see what's happening. 

[short break while we wait for the men to leave.]

.......

But just saying the word "underwear" in the same sentence as the word "ladies" is

a) basically asking for a whole lot of SPAM in my blog inbox;

b) a train wreck blog post that men will keep on reading, anyway; and

c) probably going to make my husband really mad at me for talking about my underwear on the internet.

But then again, maybe it's o.k. Because when I wear this underwear, it's going to look A LOT less attractive on my body than on the models in the photos below. Trust me.

Anyway. If you know me, you know I have a big house and it's a b**tch to clean. For some years now, I've subscribed to the FlyLady way of thinking. It's kind of a housekeeping strategy for those who weren't born with organizational skills. If you keep up with it, it works. 

I keep up with it, if you consider reading the daily emails "keeping up." I have learned some helpful habits - the dishwasher must be emptied every morning or the kitchen will fall apart every day; return everything to its place; make the freaking bed. And de-cluttering. A constant battle for me, but manageable using the FlyLady strategy of 15 minutes a day, every day.

So, I've been watching this show, Tell Me You Love Me, on HBO via iTunes. You don't need to watch it, because, literally, all I've taken away from the first two episodes is that I need to spend some money and upgrade my underwear. [Hang in there, this is all about to come together.]

So, by coincidence, today's FlyLady mission is to go through your underwear drawer and get rid of all that worn out, ugly, old stuff. Perfect opportunity, right?

Until I found out that ordering underwear online might cost me upward of $30 a pair. I'm just not there right now. So, because I've got a healthy balance in my PayPal account, I checked out etsy.com.

And hey...I think I'm going to love these! I ordered two pairs from Knickerocker! Check it out!

Smokin', huh?! Kind of hard to have a bad day when you've got Wonder Woman undies on!

The Bird Man Cult of Easter Island.

  

Several thousand petroglyphs can be found on Easter Island, 2300 miles west of Chile. Most of them carvings of the mysterious "bird man" orTangata Manu. 

Tangata Manu's followers have become known as the "bird man cult." Each year, the bird man's followers performed a ritual. First, islanders traveled to the village of Orongo, where a member of each tribe was chosen for a competition.

These men were in a race to collect the egg of a sooty tern bird. They had to race down treacherous cliffs, swim out to the island, find the egg, and then swim it back to the main island (and back up the mountain) without breaking it. Many died.

The first man to return an egg -unbroken - secured special treatment for one year. He went into seclusion in a hut built on risers, grew his fingernails, and watched the village from above. 

The bird man cult and the ritual survived until the 1800s, when small pox and slave ships decimated the indigenous population on Easter Island.

Passengers by Billy Collins.

Poem: "Passengers," by Billy Collins from Picnic, Lightning © University of Pittsburgh Press.

Passengers

At the gate, I sit in a row of blue seats
with the possible company of my death,
this sprawling miscellany of people—
carry-on bags and paperbacks—
that could be gathered in a flash
into a band of pilgrims on the last open road.
Not that I think
if our plane crumpled into a mountain
we would all ascend together,
holding hands like a ring of skydivers,
into a sudden gasp of brightness,
or that there would be some common place
for us to reunite to jubilize the moment,
some spaceless, pillarless Greece
where we could, at the count of three,
toss our ashes into the sunny air.
It's just that the way that man has his briefcase
so carefully arranged,
the way that girl is cooling her tea,
and the flow of the comb that woman
passes through her daughter's hair ...
and when you consider the altitude,
the secret parts of the engines,
and all the hard water and the deep canyons below ...
well, I just think it would be good if one of us
maybe stood up and said a few words,
or, so as not to involve the police,
at least quietly wrote something down.

The painting is from an altar piece at St. Ignatius Mission, in St. Ignatius, Montana.

Drinking Buddies and Lifestyle Skills.

Henri Rousseau, Portrait of a Woman (the Polish school teacher), 1895. Musee Picasso.

So, I've lived here for six years now and I pretty much have just the one local friend. I mean, there are others, but it's really only Sue that understands me, or at least , laughs at my jokes and can get together with me even without a bottle of wine.

When I go home from My One Friend Sue's house, I've genuinely enjoyed my time there and I feel like I got to be 100 percent myself, which is altogether too rare in these parts. 

Can you call someone your "friend" if, after six years of get-togethers, they don't really know anything about you? I mean, don't know you're an artist? Or that you own your own business?

In that case, I think you're just a "drinking buddy." A friendship that is organized like that doesn't go deep, and it doesn't include any of the things that are really important about you. Your job is to be the audience, you've bought a bar stool ticket to watch the drinking stories of the past being performed night after night. If you're lucky, they allow some measure of audience participation.

Back to the point. The problem with My One Friend Sue (MOFS) is that she's only here in the summer. An amazing opportunity opened up this summer, though, when MOFS' husband decided to start his own company, thereby opening up the possibility of relocation from big city to here. 

I lobbied hard. I even offered to home school their children, given their worries about high school graduation rates on the Reservation. I know the limits of my expertise, and I made it clear MOFS would have to find someone else to teach the Maths part.  My course units were organized around "Lifestyle Skills:" 

Lifestyle Skills Class Syllabus

1. Makeup for Camping; Makeup FOREVER!

2. The Miracle of Spray Paint.

3. Hair: Brush Styling for the Masses.

4. Found Objects/Functional Art.

5. Baked Goods 101

6. Nothing Unconnected Ever Occurs: Reading, Writing, Going Within. 

7. Girl, In Landscape: The Art of Writing Personal Narrative.

8. Burqas for Art and Farm.

9. Are High Heels Ever a Mistake? 

10. The Psychology of Theme Parties, Considered.

The painting above, Portrait of a Woman, was completed by Henri Rousseau around 1895. It is said to be modeled on a Polish schoolteacher, Yadwigha, his lifelong, unrequited love. She is said to be the inspiration behind and model for his very famous painting, The Dream. Worth viewing alongside Michael Traister's Sock Monkey Dream. Just one of the insights I would have pointed out to MOFS' kids if she'd allowed me the chance to shape their young minds.

At the end of summer, MOFS promptly loaded up her children and took them home - to their swim team and their AP Math classes. You knew that was coming, right?

Wordless Wednesday.

 

Ninepipes Museum: Charlo, Montana

Yesterday, M. and I visited the Ninepipes Museum in Charlo, Montana.  I'd read an article earlier this year about financial difficulties at Ninepipes Museum so made a special effort to visit on our way home from Missoula. I'm embarrassed to tell you how many times we've driven by without stopping, even though I'm an arts consultant and even though small, rural museums are my absolute favorite.

I love small museums for lots of different reasons. One is that [often] they show everything they have. They don't have the same hang ups that big city curators do - and that makes the display all that much more interesting -- and appropriate. The Flathead Indian reservation is actually an amalgamation of several different tribes that were relocated to this area - the Salish, the Kootenai, and the Pend d'Oreilles.

So, instead of rows and rows of carefully catalogued embroidery from the same area, you get a wall of cradle boards from a diverse group of tribes. I loved that I could compare the embroidery styles and materials side by side.

I apologize for the poor quality of the photos - I only had my cell phone camera with me.

Here is a collection of rawhide saddles. The one in the center had a breast plate made of aquamarine sequins that looked a lot like the sequins made of gelatin in the 1930's. But I couldn't be sure. Definitely not a practical saddle in that case (gelatin sequins can't get wet).

The Ninepipes Museum had a very informative display about trade beads. You can see some of the trade beads used on the Flathead Indian reservation on the museum website. This basket is made of deer hide and decorated with hooves and trade beads.

And, unlike a big museum, much of the collection has been donated by locals, many of whom have saved these items as family heirlooms or personal collections. Many of the tags listed names from the valley that were familiar to me.

The clothing was amazing. This is a pair of trousers, sewn from a red wool Pendleton blanket and and embellished at the cuff with bead embroidery. The embroidered shirt has ermine skins on each sleeve. I think this was made in the 1930's, but I'm not 100 percent.

There is a much better photo of the ermine sleeve garment on the Ninepipes website. 

I also appreciated seeing this dress. Cut from a wool blanket and embellished with elk ivories. Elk have just two ivory teeth and are very difficult to get. By wearing this garment, a woman would have been showing her skill as a hunter (or that of her husband or other family member.)

The Jesuit mission is an important part of the history of the Flathead Indian Reservation and it remains predominantly Roman Catholic. 

Here, Chief Charlo is talking with Fr. Taelman, who first came to the the area in 1890. Salish Chief Paul Charlo was bitterly opposed to the land allotment policies the U. S. Government assigned to Indians. I learned that he made many trips to Washington, DC to speak with representatives.

Fr. Taelman was fluent in Salish and translated the Latin Mass each day. He spent most of his life working on this reservation. He died in 1962 and his last rites were said at St. Ignatius Mission. Several items from the early Jesuit years were on display at Ninepipes Museum.

The embroidery on these vestments was pretty amazing. Next visit, I bring the good camera. 

Finally, let me share a beautiful parfleche, or carry bag, made of rawhide. A parfleche was most often used to carry food.

I really enjoyed my visit. And I appreciated seeing all the hand made items in the gift shop. I regret not purchasing a pocket-sized parfleche. I may go back for it.

Today's challenge: Identify a museum or community space that you have passed by many times without visiting.  Stop in - even if it is only for twenty minutes - and report in.

 

Meoto-iwa.

Meoto Iwa shrine, Japan. According to Shinto, the rocks celebrate the union in marriage of man and woman. The rope, made of rice straw, weighs over a ton and must be replaced several times a year in a special ceremony

The Huckleberry Blah Blah.

We woke up yesterday to the cool breezes of fall. No idea if this weather will stay or go, but we don't really care. We embrace this change like no other. To us, fall means no lawn mowing; no beds to make; nothing to get ready for. Weekends stretch out before us with plenty of options for good times. In other words, fall means that we're both in GOOD MOODS. At the SAME TIME. Best not to waste it.

Earlier this week, M. took the plane up and found some roads and trails in the Swan Valley he wanted to explore on foot. This was a great trail because the altitude gain was completed in the car (great for foot injuries, like mine)! And oddly groomed for such a remote place. Most of all, we liked the fact that there wasn't anyone else around. Here we are at 6,500 feet. Click on it. Make it bigger.

So, we get about 1/4 of mile in and we start seeing huckleberry bushes. At 1/2 mile, we start seeing scads of huckleberry bushes that haven't been cleaned by other hikers.

Now, a huckleberry is something special. They only grow at altitude, they are small, and pretty time consuming to pick. They are about the width of your pinky fingernail and they hide under the leaves. A good bush will maybe give you fifteen berries at most. It takes a long, long, time to fill a ziploc.

My sister snapped this photo when we picked a few weeks ago. On that trip, the temperature dropped to 40 degrees and it hailed or rained on us the entire evening. You know, after about five minutes, hail HURTS, you know what I'm saying?

Anyway....

We had gone up with the intention of hiking, but walking past a huckleberry mother lode is like walking past a whole bunch of $100 bills scattered all over the ground. Can't be done. I don't care who you are.

We picked until our backs were sore and then we decided that bears know how to do it best - we sat down on our butts and, you know? That really is the best way. You're eye level with the berries.

(I pretty much ripped this photo off the internet because it makes the point.)

Hands down, sitting at bush-level picking berries with my husband -  having the entire day in front of us to do what we wanted - will go in the books as one of the best H & M moments on record. We talked about the randomness of how we met and wound up in this completely unlikely second location, picking huckleberries on our butts in rural Montana.

Two hours and four hands YIELDED half a ziploc bag of hucks.

This morning, I made a huckleberry coffee cake with vanilla crumb topping. Loosely based on this recipe from Cory Schreiber. The main ingredients in this cake are butter and sugar, with a lot of butter and sugar on top.

After eating what could be described as "fistfuls" of the vanilla crumb topping, I finally dished out some cottage cheese and Kashi Go Lean cereal so I'd have some protein in my body before the cake came out of the oven.  Check yo'self before you wreck yo'self type of thing.

Happy Sunday.

 

 

Isa Moskowitz: Vegan Chocolate Fudgy Oatmeal Cookies.

Bulge.

What can I say? It's been a long summer of [relatively] clean eating, but I finally broke down. So, basically, I ate five of these, but at least I spared myself the animal fat, i.e. lard.

I whipped up these Chocolate Fudgy Oatmeal Cookies from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar by Isa Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero. Mmmmmm.

And Ugh. I'm definitely, definitely, going to the gym tomorrow. Actually, my trainer is going to love the fact that I ate oats, ground flax, and almond milk - the "cookie" part she's not going to hear about. 

Finding this recipe also saves me from having to invent a special looks like "bear scat" cookie for the Gelber family. This recipe has lots of dried cherries, so it works for the bear scat theme AND tastes delicious. Enjoy, Sue!

Chocolate Fudgy Oatmeal Cookies

from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar by Isa Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero

2 cups quick-cooking oats.

1 2/3 cups of all-purpose flour (I used white whole wheat.)

2/3 cup cocoa powder

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 tsp. baking soda

3/4 tsp. salt

1 1/2 cups sugar (I cut the sugar back to 1 1/4 cups.)

2 T. ground flax seed

2/3 cup nondairy milk (I used almond milk)

2/3 cup canola oil.

1 1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract.

1/4 tsp almond extract.

3/4 cup chocolate chips.

1 cup dried cherries or raisins (optional).

Preheat oven to 350 F and line two baking sheets with parchment. Mix first six ingredients in medium size bowl and set aside. In a large bowl, beat together sugar, flax, and nondairy milk until smooth. Add the oil and the extracts and beat until well mixed. Fold in half the flour mix to moisten and then dump in the rest. Fold in the chips and dried fruit, if desired.

For each cookie drop 2 generous Tablespoons of dough on the cookie sheets, leaving about 2 inches of space between each cookie. Bake 10 to 12 minutes until firm and risen. Let cookies rest 5 minutes on the cookie sheets and then transfer to wire racks to complete cooling.

Embroidered Felt Baby Booties; Deep Thoughts.

I realized the other day that one of the reasons I never go work in my art studio is because it feels like a gallery of unfinished projects. Like this one. A pair of embroidered felt baby booties that I completed - with the exception of the ties - one weekend back in February.

Officially, this was what I call a "felt warm-up project" - something simple and satisfying that I use to get my MAKE juices flowing. I knew early on that I would never crochet the ties per the directions but, somehow, buying a yard of velvet ribbon seemed to be the beta blocker to completion.

So here they are. Complete. And so is my old friend's baby girl, Iris Irene - born last month and totally beautiful, as seen on Facebook. I like the fact that the last time I remember hanging out with her Mom, we were 19, likely drunk, and rocking out to Crosstown Traffic on her Jimi Hendrix cassette tape.

Now, we've both got careers and husbands, accomplishments and deep thoughts to discuss [electronically], and that amazes me and makes me thankful - so few high school relationships ever get past high school in the mind. I still really like her and everything she does impresses me so I'm going to send her baby these freakin' booties.

Back when I started this blog, I was making things all the time. Just having the blog motivated me to get things done so I could share it with the universe - didn't matter what it was. I had all of these thoughts that had no place to land, and no one ever read them. I was lucky to see fourteen hits a day - most of them from my own computer, checking to see if anyone had read my blog yet. I was never going to be one of those bloggers who eventually posts a goodbye/thanks for everything/I won't be posting anymore type of post.

And I'm still not. But I'm aware of how much has changed in my mind over the last few years of writing. All this is? An anthropology of the way my own mind works, the things that inspire, take hold, take over my day. I used to crave connection with the world outside of my every day life. Now I find myself craving a little more anonymity so I can write about the things that are on my mind without offending the people I love and those that love me. I probably do that anyway, but even so, I'm still holding back.

I'd love to go all Brooklyn on your a**, and use words like motherfucker, kind of like Fashionably Late to the Party who gave me the word in the first place but really more like Jive "Eating prunes at my desk, who wants to do me?" Turkey but with a cherry orchard slant. 

If I had that veil over my identity, I'd tell you the truth about myself - the unattractive parts; the sins, the memories of *not* being around a campfire with my parents, the long list of hurts I have intentionally dealt to others, mostly out of fear that I was un-loveable. But you're not supposed to do that. I do some of that on this blog anyway, but you do learn the hard way not to be honest with coworkers, neighbors and even some friends.

Sometime, substitute "Tell the truth" for "I love you" and see what happens. 

Eating 300-500 calorie breakfasts and protein at lunch will prevent chocolate binges later in the day. 

Iron your thread before you hand sew or embroider - it makes everything go more smoothly, motherfuckah! 

Put a lemon down your garbage disposal and your drain will freshen right up.

Hello Kitty: The Inspiration of Shintaro Tsuji

I never thought much about Hello Kitty until, one day, I read an article that told the life story of Shintaro Tsuji, the Founder and CEO of Sanrio. Tsuji had a lonely childhood. In the article he said:

"I felt that the most important thing in your life is to have someone whom you can open up your heart to and talk about anything; to have many friends whom you can talk with your heart is the most blessed thing in your life. Then I asked myself how can you make friends -- in what way people can make a friend with those people. That is not just to avoid behaving, which makes people uncomfortable. But do something, which makes people happy. In this way people can make friends.

For example, when people are ill, you can say something to them, or when people did something for you, you say thank you to them. For those kinds of occasions, you send a small present rather than an expensive gift. It is important to show your appreciation since you are able to make good friends in this way. This idea has formed as a business. As a result, Hello Kitty was created. Hello Kitty has become known among everybody and it means that people are becoming friends. I am pleased with this phenomenon."

I will always remember this story.

Passion: Less Living

Last night, while floating in the bath, I realized that the missing piece I've been searching for is that feeling of falling in love. Not being in love. (I am in love. I have plenty of love in my every day.)

I'm talking about that feeling of falling. Specifically, falling in love with a thing, or an idea, or an experience.

You know what I mean? That can't get enough of this I could do it forever type of passion for something.

The reality is, I just don't have time to look for it, be with it, take care of it. I bounce from moment to moment, always two steps behind, always offending someone I haven't had time to get in touch with. Paintings wait two, sometimes three, years to be finished.

I'm caught in a pattern of imbalance which, according to Marcus Buckingham, is not only the condition of life, but it's goal. Buckingham says,

When you are balanced, you are stationary, holding your breath, trying not to let any sudden twitch or jerk pull you too far one way or the other. You are at a standstill. This precarious, motionless state is not worth striving for. It's the wrong life goal. Strive for fullness instead.

Buckingham says to cradle your "strongest moments" and seek to create more of those moments in your week. I'm meditating these ideas right now.

Painting: Elmer Bischoff, Nude in Chair, 1960, Watercolor and Gouache on paper.

Cherry Orchard: Scenes from the 2010 Harvest.

Orchard manager Rod and his daughter Bernie strap the bins down for the ride down to the processing facility. 

A wall of cherry bins lines the road in front of the processing plant. Our harvest is checked in and the bins are counted.

We think our fruit was exceptionally lovely this year.

 

After the bins are counted by the Growers Association at the processing facility, the cherries are washed in a cold water bath. The temperature of the water is about 33 degrees. 

The water comes through this pipe from inside the enormous metal shed on site. The shed is a place of great mystery to me. It's, like I said, enormous - but there is nothing really in it.

 

Except for one year, the Growers Association had donuts out for everyone. So I always go inside and check everything out - just to make sure I'm not missing out on anything. 

And that's it. Twenty minutes of processing and you're done. The cherries are on a truck headed for Yakima, Washington, where they will be sized, sorted, and shipped to supermarkets.

We have 180 trees (considered a "small" orchard in these parts) with a yield of 57 bins this year. (I got that word "yield" from my friend Sue.) Each bin weighs about 300 pounds so we guesstimated that we had about 17,000 pounds come in yesterday. Several thousand more than our last harvest.

Depending on the market - which always sucks - we should get anywhere between 50-75 cents per pound for our fruit. After expenses, we'll probably net about $5,000 after expenses - our first profit on the orchard in...um...five years. So, in orchard terms, we're only a bajillion dollars in the hole -  less $5,000! Things are looking up!

New Young Pony Club: Ice Cream

I'm too old for jeggings. That's what I was thinking yesterday at the gym. I just can't do the 80's again. But I like this song. I like the retro sound but I also like that it reminds me of this vintage 1980's Dairy Queen commerical:

Kind of a lifelong career fantasy for me. To be the set design person that would build a chocolate syrup river running through an ice cream cone forest. Maybe some black licorice gorillas in the mist....

What was your dream job?

Pimp My Ride: Custom Art Bicycles of Aspen.

We just returned from a week in Aspen, Colorado. Like Miami's South Beach, Aspen is a bike town. Unlike South Beach, those vintage "beach cruisers" have been pimped to extremes. I'm glad I don't live there, because I don't have room for all of the vintage bicycles I would buy just for their awesome-ness.

 

We also saw a few of these wild and crazy outdoor elliptical bikes or ElliptiGO. You can buy one for $2199.

Albert Einstein Quote.

Feathers in Fashion: Goldstein Museum of Design

The Goldstein Museum of Design at the University of Minnesota is currently showing Flights of Fancy: A History of Feathers in Fashion.  This hat, c. 1940, was a gift to the gallery from a private donor. It is made of blue felt and has (quite obviously) a wing attached to the crown.

It would take a special woman to wear this hat.

Loy Krathong Yi Peng Festival Lanterns

Read about the festival here.

Things That Make Me Happy.

The short list.

Sometimes, I'm jealous of the unwavering support and encouragement others receive from their parents. My parents were not those people. But looking back, I'm glad I learned how to take care of myself, and I'm glad it happened early in life. It makes me happy that I can earn money if I need to.

My cats make me happy. My mother didn't allow pets because of the "work." I swear to you that my sister and I would have grown up a lot more balanced and confident if we'd had steady pet love in our lives as kids. They are true friends. People make fun of me for this, but you know? Cat love is so much less complicated than human love. It's so worth taking care of them for what you get in return.

I love good mail. The surprise envelope - sent or received - is a rare and beautiful thing. It makes the world a little less lonely, doesn't it? You know, for sure, that someone is thinking of you. Email doesn't have that same effect for me - why is that?

The change of seasons never disappoints. I love that transition to winter - the first snow, the darkening skies, the soup. And the gentle, warm, surprising sunshine of Spring. Summer cherries. Gold leaves in the orchard and the smell of wood smoke when summer turns to fall. 

I love it when my constantly hardworking husband chucks it all in and takes a day off with me. The other day we put our chairs right in the lake, sunned ourselves and swam all afternoon. In six years, we've maybe done this - three times. It was awesome!

Every once in awhile, you stumble on a good book - the kind you just can't put down. I love that feeling! Of settling in to the story and eating it like a piece of pie. This also counts for art work - the every once in awhile feeling that you're on to something, and you're getting it right.

Riding a bike around Sunriver is definitely a happy-making activity. 

I'm happy I learned how to be happy, all alone. I love being with friends and family, but I am not dependent on them to make my life interesting or to feel fulfilled. 

It makes me happy that some of my friends have put up with me for decades, or longer. I just had a visit from a friend who has known me for 20 years - through many stages of awkwardness into present day confusions. It makes me happy that my BFF and I have known each other for ten years this year - never underestimate the value of sharing a cabin at Haystack!

Making campsite coffee, in the old fashioned percolator makes me happy. Nothing like getting up early and having a cup under the mountains.

What's on your happy list?

Letter from Buddy!

Six months ago, I gave my dog away. It was extremely difficult for me but it was the right thing to do, I think. I still think about him all the time. It's hard not to miss your best friend.

I've wanted to check in with his new owner but I also wanted to give him time to settle in without "hovering" in the background. He's her dog now, not mine. Not checking in also meant I could imagine him living the life I hoped he'd find there - playing with his new cat, dog, and horse friends and getting all the love he could handle from his new owner. My fear was he wouldn't make the adjustment.

But this morning I got a note from Buddy's new Mom - and it was so nice to hear the news! I thought I'd share it:

Buddy has been with us 6 months.   We hope he is as happy to be with us as we are with him.   My husband says if tail wagging is an indicator, then Buddy is always happy.  He gets along great with our other dog and even our cats seem to like him  ( just tolerate the other dog).  Buddy quickly became involved with our routines, up and out in the morning and evening to take care of horse chores.. going on walks or going in the vehicles at every opportunity. And Buddy is the only critter in this household that will hang out for house chores such as vacuuming, dusting, etc.  all others quickly disappear.  Buddy has known a lot of love and care in his life and that made him ready to return that love in full measure.   You've no doubt missed him when you could be home, but know that he is cared for and I believe living a good life.

You couldn't ask for more than that.

Huh.

30. That is the number of subscribers who broke up with me after I wrote this post. Harsh.

Hidden Symbols in Renaissance Art; William Shakespeare.

Many Conservatives argue that contemporary art, music, and theatre do not represent "family values" and should not receive support from government entities. "Old is good. We need to get back to it," they might say. 

And that is why, whenever I think of the NEA's Shakespeare for a New Generation initiative, I have to have a little private chuckle. I mean, bawdier material has never been written. The vocabulary of the time was so complex that it often masks very dark and difficult themes.

What's a middle school teacher going to do when some kid asks what Bill meant when he said, "her breasts were dun coloured...?" Homosexuality, cross-dressing, promiscuity, drugs, murder, suicide -  it's all in there. Hopefully, the teacher's study guide provides some helpful resources.

I'm not saying Shakespeare isn't worth studying, I'm just saying I don't think it anyone that has really read it would argue that it upholds "family values" the way the Bush administration believed. I have to wonder the new Endowment chief extended the program last year because he, too, gets a big private chuckle out of the deal.

Speaking of language. At Georgetown, my old school, the athletic teams are known as the Hoyas, a shortened version of an old Greek and Latin chant, "Hoya Saxa!" that was popular in the 1870s. Loosely translated, this means "What Rocks!"  Wikipedia suggests that "rocks" refers to a rock wall on campus, but in my heart of hearts, I have to wonder.

There is an amazing fresco by Pierro della Francesca in Arezzo . Open up your browser in Explorer and you can explore the San Francesco, Arezzo church in 3D. This is an amazing piece of work, not just for the beauty of the painting but for the way the physical structure of the church is used to tell the story. It's like a "pop-up" book of renaissance art, telling a story known as the "Legend of the Cross." 

Here is a great detail from the Pierro della Francesca fresco at Arezzo:

You are correct. That is the scrot of a Roman right there. No doubt it's inclusion in the painting was intended as a symbol of the slattern behavior of Romans back in the day. All the same, from a kid's perspective, that's showing BALLS IN CHURCH, people. 

Old is good, but things are not always as straightforward as they seem.

Rainbow Carrots.

Tonight I had planned a special "Jersey Shore" (Jersey-licious?) dinner: "Boardwalk" oven fries, sausage and peppers. Nothing to do with the TV show - more a memory of family trips to Ocean City and Cape May that we made when I was a kid.

And then I went to the store and found these beautiful rainbow carrots and radishes and completely changed my mind. I fell in love with the colors and brought them home. I wish I could have captured the vegetables in their full glory, but somehow it just didn't translate 100 percent. 

"Meat Man" Mike wouldn't touch them. 

 

Recycled Felted Sweater Dogs for Sale!

I updated my shop, Wiener Mania, if you are interested in purchasing a felted sweater wiener dog for that special someone...

Weekend in Glacier National Park.

Do you see anything interesting in this photo?

What about this Mama Bear, half way up a tree? I'm getting really good for a girl from the city. I spotted her from 1/2 mile away going 50 mph. By the way? You can click on all of these photos to make them bigger.

This big black bear seemed to be patrolling the area and we think he probably ran the sow and her two cubs up into the tree.

I couldn't get a photo of the cubs who were hidden in the top branches, but Mama is obviously worried about them and trying to keep an eye on what's happening up above and down below.

Four bears in one day is pretty special. We rolled on to our campground and were greeted by a black bear munching grass on the side of the road.

Not to bore you with bear stuff, but I feel like I have to share some photos of a five bear weekend. We saw lots of other animals - moose, mountain goats, bighorn sheep - but I forgot the charger for my camera battery so I had to be very selective on this trip.

I did get a few photos of the West side of Glacier National Park (our favorite part of the Park) and the fairy tale weather we had over the weekend. As usual, we parked our camper in our favorite spot.

This is Two Medicine campground. Base camp for our hike to Pitamakan Pass a couple of years ago - the scariest hike I've ever done. 

Still recovering four months after rupturing a tendon in my foot, I can't help but reflect on that hike and the fact that I made it up and around this pass -- a 19 mile loop five months after major surgery -  but I can't even walk a mile down a flat road right now.

It was kind of nice to experience the Park in new ways. We took a tourist boat ride on Two Medicine Lake and drove over to Many Glacier to see what was happening there. Not much. Just gorgeous sunshine.

On a drive, we ran into a beautiful wild mare and her yearling but they turned away before I could get a full frontal. Here they are shakin' bacon for the trees.

Aromatherapy for Depression: Valerie Ann Worwood.

When I lived in Scotland, my flat was just around the corner from the Stockbridge branch of the Napier Herbal Dispensary. Napier sold various remedies and many of them smelled wonderful and were very pleasant to use - even if they didn't entirely cure my insomnia or acne.

At some point, I found a book of aromatherapy recipes by Valerie Ann Worwood called The Fragrant Mind: Aromatherapy for Personality, Mind, Mood, and Emotion. The book includes recipes developed to deal with anything ranging from insomnia to schizophrenia.

I know. And I bought it for precisely that reason. It's a little bit funny. But then again, why not? If you're suffering from lack of confidence, how nice to have something like the "low self-esteem blend" to beautifully scent your environment and make you feel better. Here is a mix I thought almost all of you would enjoy.

Aromatherapy Blend for Light, Lethargic Depression.

5 drops grapefruit oil

10 drops rosemary oil

15 drops eucalyptus citriodra

Put all drops into a clean, dark brown glass bottle. Roll (do not shake) the bottle between your hands and gently turn upside down and back again. To use: Place 2-3 drops in a small bowl of hot water and diffuse into a room. You may also put 1-2 drops on a tissue and inhale or add a few drops to a small amount of grapeseed oil for massage.

Montana Grizzly Bear.

Later that same evening..."The Dude" stopped back in our yard. He's lived on our property for longer than we have and, until last summer, we never saw him. We just saw his...stuff. He stayed away from the house and we looked away when he went on his pre-hibernation binge eats in our cherry orchard.

But last summer, we noticed he was more relaxed about keeping his distance and he's clearly very hungry because he starts wandering the property during the day.  Yesterday, he checked out the bird feeder in front of my door. Today, he walked all over the yard, under the gazebo, and then on over to the orchard to see what he could see. It's not good for him (or for us) to be so close to one another.

The Meat Man is going to call tomorrow and see about getting him relocated. You can read about and see photos of grizzly bear "relocations" at Montana Fish, Wildlife and Game Department's web page. 

Thugs of The Wilderness.

When I lived on Miami's South Beach, the balcony of my apartment was directly across from the front door of a small-time drug dealer and right next to the orthodox synagogue. It was a period of deep contrast in my life.

The dealer, a kind of doughy-fat white guy,  made it about a year in that apartment before his arrest, largely because he was a passably nice enough guy and all the neighbors (just like me) looked the other way. Late-night pickups, deliveries - even the iron grate on the front door with a hole just small enough to fit a hand through - went unreported. Why? We were afraid of one of his friends, who always made it a point to behave in a threatening way whenever he stopped by. That guy was just scary, and no one wanted to get in his way.

I've had that feeling here lately. Like I'm being watched.

And if things don't go the way some people want them to,

There will be consequences.

And there are other threats. This thug watches us through the trees.

Apparently frustrated by the lack of cherries over in the orchard, he mauls my swim noodles and poops out my beach floatie toys. He checked out the bird feeder last night and then headed over to the neighbors' deck to lick their barbecue.

Are they working together? It's hard to know. Being the handy type, I always keep a tub of plaster-of-paris around. I'm waiting for these footprint molds to set as we speak. They won't be great - I need to get some alginate mold for that - but at least I tried.

What's bothering me is the feeder is right next to our front door. Which means "The Dude" (as we call him) is becoming "habituated" and as a consequence - much more dangerous than a bear who is scared of humans and tries to avoid them. That never ending supply of orchard apples and cherries probably has something to do with it. He's hooked.

The Best Gift You've Ever Received?

GiversLog is helping Ladies Home Journal with an article about the best gifts ever received. What comes to your mind when I ask this question?

When I was 6 or 7, I had a birthday party for friends at our house in Michigan. I believe this was the very party when I chugged a giant 2-liter bottle of cherry-flavored Faygo and then puked it up later that same evening. (If I don't tell you that, my sister will via the comments, so I'm just putting it out there the way I remember it.)

My mom didn't allow any sugar in the house, and that's basically where my bad relationship with the white powder begins - TO THIS DAY, if I can get my hands on sugar, it feels like a wicked, wicked treat. But that's another blog post.

Bueno, en resumidas cuentas, my neighborhood friend Ruthie brought a gift to my party that I would call the "best" gift I've ever received. It was a shoebox filled with small toys and surprises. There were crayons, jacks, play money (my favorite!) and one of those rubber balls attached to a paddle that you smack around for five minutes until it breaks. In essence, it was a box full of things that I'd see at the grocery store, always wanted, but my mother would never buy for me. 

I found a great tutorial at IndieTutes that demonstrates how to turn an ordinary shoe box into a pirate's treasure box for kids.  These are photos from the IndieTutes site. My box looked a lot like this. 

Interestingly enough, I don't remember playing with anything in the shoebox. The real moment of excitement was the package itself - the feeling of surprise when pulling the top off, wonder at each item and the feeling of being suddenly toy rich.

I have received many wonderful gifts since that time but this one comes to mind as the first, best.

What is the best gift you've ever been given? GiversLog is collecting stories for an article in Ladies Home Journal. You can email your story to AmberLee at the address noted here.

Seven Fires of Francis Mallmann: Zucchini Salad

I've been reading and cooking from Seven Fires for the past year. I found this gaucho grilling menu in Food & Wine magazine and was hooked. It reminds me of my years in Miami.

I love making Argentine barbecue for guests here in Montana, and they love my Chimichurri. I serve this tasty herb sauce and allow a choice between meat or a vegetarian main course of grilled vegetables.

Other favorites with guests have been the griddled goat cheese with spicy olives, which I serve with a crusty, hot bread. Eventually, I will work up to grilling over the open fire, but so far, I have modified the recipes for the barbecue.

The Meat Man gave me the Seven Fires cookbook for my birthday, and this Zucchini Salad is a recipe I'm looking forward to serving this summer.

The Nursery: Baby Cows in Montana.

Driving home the other day, I took a spontaneous right turn instead of the left that would take me towards home. It's my favorite time of year - calves are finding their feet in field nurseries all over the county.

I've always loved cows. They are peaceful and predictable - but interested. The gals watched me, the crazy lady with the camera, concerned that I would wake the babies.

   

No worries, mama. The sun is gentle and warm and the only sound in the valley is the raven.

It's nap time in the nursery. The babies lifted their heads to look at me...

And then hit the "snooze button."

Spring in Montana.

Felted Sweater Wiener Dogs!

 

These felted sweater stuffies are $23 for Cashmere or wool. Dogs may be purchased through my shop.

Green Monster Smoothie Recipe

I've been eating healthier the last couple of months. Except for today, maybe. When I locked myself in the art studio, pulled the blinds, and ate six of these.

I'm not sure why that happened, but, according to Oprah's favorite book "Women, Food, and God" it is because - short summary - I hate myself and don't see any possibility of changing the things I don't like about my life, most of which were lived in my past, not my present. Apparently.

According to this book, the answer is to go off, find god - the one with the small "g" - love yourself, and eat what you want until the weight magically drops off. [Now you've read the book, too.]

ANNNNNYYYYWAYYYY.... I actually enjoy eating healthy. The part I don't like is adding more cooking to my already burgeoning to-do list in the home. Which is why a pureed meal, like "The Green Monster" comes in so handy.

I found the recipe via Iowa Girl Eats. There are many variations, but I've found this one tastes the best. The dominant flavor is actually the peanut butter. You don't taste the spinach. Bonus!

1 scoop vanilla protein powder of your choice

1/2 scoop chia seeds (or flax!)

1 frozen banana

1 cup vanilla almond breeze milk (or other milk of your choice)

1 T. peanut butter

2 handfuls baby spinach.

A handy mini-meal with lots of protein, fiber, and vitamins.

Spring in Montana.

Last night, I sat out on the deck and read my book after dinner. The air is perfect right now. I listened to the birds chirping and the creek is rushing with melting snow and thought to myself, "I am the luckiest girl in the world."

Patchwork is Personal: History and Quilts.

Photos: Library of Congress

The thing about old time patchwork is that its personal. By the time a quilt's binding is complete, every little piece of that old time fabric has been worn by a loved one, then washed, pressed, cut, arranged, and stitched, sandwiched, quilted and tied by someone's hands.

I have two quilts made by my great-grandmother that have been part of my life longer than any other thing I own. I remember taking naps underneath the blue one during preschool and holding it up to the sun so I could see the light coming through all of the different fabric "envelopes." Much later in life, I learned that it was a variation on the "Flying Geese" pattern. My mother says that the patches were cut from dresses she remembers her grandmother wearing.

In her retirement, my grandmother volunteered with "Helping Hands"; a group that stitched lap and bed quilts for people in nursing homes. She brought my sister and I to one of her old lady quilting bees, down in the church basement in Indianola, Iowa. I was about 10 years old and I remember a bunch of women working together around a big frame. The quilt was yarn tied, and my grandma had us help tie the yarns in knots because we had small, nimble fingers.

There might have been lunch, but there was definitely church basement coffee.

Fabric of Survival: Needle Art of Esther Nisenthal Krinitz

Holocaust survivor Esther Nisenthal Krinitz stitched her stories of the war into a series of embroidered panels. I first saw these on exhibit at the American Visionary Art Museum in Baltimore and, like the AIDS quilt, is a work of needle/art that has moved me to tears. 

The story starts with Esther's girlhood years in Annapol, Poland. She remembers the happy times when she was at home, surrounded by family, climbing cherry trees, and exploring the family farm. The Nazis arrive when Esther was still a young girl, separating the family and leaving Esther and her sister to fend for themselves.

You can see the embroidered panels and hear recordings about them on the Art & Remembrance website, founded by Esther's daughters.

I love Max the most. For everything Esther does share, she doesn't say much about her husband. But here, he is remembered in a panel made of scraps from his suits and ties.

I love that.

Skin.

 

Nothing scars the human psyche more deeply than severe acne during the teenage years. Too many of us believe that a boy wouldn't love you because of the shape of your nose, the kink of your hair or the curve of your hips - but those are things that, with careful discipline, can be shaded, masked, smoothed and straightened. It might take hours, but it can be done.

But skin? Skin is meant to be what protects the body, not makes it vulnerable. It is the jacket we wear for others.  The thing we look at when we are trying to decide whether or not to love someone and it is the thing someone sees, first, when they are trying to decide whether or not to love us.

If your skin is good, you don't even think about it. If it isn't, there is a constant liturgy of questions: Can I take off my shirt in front of everyone when we go swimming? Eventually, we might get married and she'll see me naked. I'll have to let him touch my back when we're making love. In his memoirs, writer John Updike openly admits that he married the first woman who loved him in spite of his skin.

I don't think teenagers appreciate the dramatic improvements in over-the-counter cosmetic treatments for acne. Back in my day (which doesn't really seem like it was that long ago), there really wasn't much you could do. A trip to Walgreen's might yield a giant-size plastic bottle of Sea Breeze Antiseptic, Clearasil with .05 percent benzoyl peroxide and - maybe towards the end of high school - Neutrogena with salicyclic acid.

Our parents - who had to endure their zits with no help at all - patted us on the back, assuring that the acne would eventually disappear. They warned against the traps of vanity, and gentle suggestions that, in the meantime, perhaps we should consider avoiding greasy foods and chocolate. Friends with more-than-pimples and helpful parents went to dermatologists but, for the most part, came back disappointed. You had choices, but they weren't good ones. In the 80's and 90's, there were antibiotics and there was Accutane.

Missy was the first person in my high school to try Accutane. She went through a phase so awful it made you crave the burqa. At lunch we'd watch the skin peel off her face in chunks (literally) and, because we loved her, we sat through it and didn't say a word. However horrible it was to watch, we knew how much worse it was for her to go through it in front of everyone. Our inner trolls were all right there, sitting at the lunch table right next to us, talking loud enough so that we could easily overhear what they were saying.

There has to be an answer, we told ourselves. I'll try harder. I'll buy this new thing. I'll drink more water. A just and loving universe would create a solution to this problem. Luckily, Missy pulled the arm of the cosmetic slot machine and won.

In adulthood, when the pimples are [mostly] gone and the science of dermatology can put our kids' zits on the moon, the experience of severe acne still bubbles under the surface. Give a 40 year-old a couple of glasses of wine and mention "high school" and you'll find that the scars are as tender as if they were made yesterday. 

Truth and Beauty.

Ten years ago, I moved back to the United States with a shipping container full of makeup and a dream. (OK - the part about the dream is a joke.)

Like many women, perhaps more than most, I believe that cosmetics - liberally applied - will lead to a dramatic life transformation. It's not exactly vanity. More of throw-your-hands-up-well-at-the-very-least-you'll-stumble-through-your-miserable-little-life-looking "put together"-sort-of-thing. A belief in the possibilities being sold across the counter. A solution to every problem. Or, at minimum, an everyday enjoyment of some nicely scented stuff.

My first makeup artist was Gary at Charles Ifergan in Chicago.   The gay Carmindy of his time, Gary knew what he was doing and he made me not only look, but feel beautiful. He provided me with a take-home Xerox copy of a face, with all the colors brushed right on. A kind of road map to beauty. Though I don't wear the "face" anymore, I still have all the relevant cosmetics (and the map) in my drawer. I can't bear to throw it away the memory of what beautiful felt like.

The origins of this life approach can be traced back to my youth. By 7th grade, I was spending my entire weekly allowance at Walgreen's on Noxema and nail polish, trying to sneak into the house without my "not even lip gloss until you're in 8th grade" mother hearing the crinkle of the paper bag in my hands.

You know what I'm talking about. That internal, teenage feeling of hideous-ness that has relatively little to do with how you actually look on the outside. Where does that come from? One day, you're happy enough and the next the inner troll just appears - whispering comments in your ear as you cross the lunch room: that boy will never love you; if you just had the right jeans with a Goody comb in your back pocket things might be different.

And, just often enough, hair, makeup and clothing does change life on the inside. Ask any fan of TLC's What Not to Wear. The most dramatic transformations are those we watch happening on the inside - the TV client looks in the mirror and usually, for the first time in a long time, sees their own worth. A person worthy of being taken care of, a body and a spirit that has been given permission. A person that deserves time, care, and respect. Maybe a stronger person doesn't need to wear makeup to feel all of that. But that person wouldn't be me. 

Tell me about your experiences with (or without) makeup.

The Beauty Myth.

This morning, New York's Bergdorf Goodman posted this photo on Facebook to advertise an upcoming Marchesa trunk show.

A saavy Facebook follower commented, "This model needs a hairbrush and a sandwich!" and [so far] dozens of others have been quick to agree.

In The Beauty Myth, Naomi Wolf argues that women in Western culture are pressured to conform to ideal (often unattainable) standards of beauty, and that this ideal is politicized - it is a way of keeping women under control by the weight of their own insecurities. 

What do you think?

We'll be talking about beauty all week on Two Kitties for a brand new category on the blog, "Cosmetics Build Character."

Poetry of Glenis Redmond.