Here for now - to go into the Artwork blog as works in progress

Here are a few of the pieces I've been working on - experiments as always, and fun as fun can be.

They're works in progress, texture going onto the cedar shakes from that 100 year old house. They'll get acrylic and/or metallic, depending on what they want when comes the time to finish them up.

This one will most likely want acrylics. The exact same paints are going to look different when applied to the wood of the cedar shake and to the texturing, so we'll see what comes of it. The good news is that if it turns out to be something i don't like the looks of I can always paint over it and start fresh!

  I have a feeling this one will end up being something of an abstract. Although the foundation is there to go with a 'traditional' landscape/skyscape, I don't think that's what Destiny has in mind for it.

And this one ... ah, this one might end up being quite an interesting little piece, although it certainly doesn't have to go that route.  But what I'm seeing is a background of stone with a sort of futuristic 'city' in the foreground. Is the city protected by the stone or held captive by it? That's a Story the might have to find a way to tell itself as I have absolutely no idea at present! Part of the Story might emerge as the paints go onto the piece, so ... be ready to see this one when it's complete.

Part of the fun of it is how the pigments and/or metallics react  and interact with the different textures of the wood of the cedar shakes and the smoothness of the texturing.

Remembering ... Miscarriage ...

This Curtis Wiklund Sketch (please click on the link; it's a powerful sketch) touched a chord in me that's been buried deeply for a long time. 

It's not the loss of my sons that's been buried because that's frequently on my mind - they are the angels on my shoulders, with me all the time - no, it's the actions/reactions of their father that I've tried to keep way down in there somewhere out of sight out of mind.

Unlike the couple in the sketch my husband and I did not grieve as a couple.

No I don't particularly want to talk about it.

But I can at least make the effort to remember.

He it was who, knowing I was supposed to be on bed rest, railed at me for not carrying the 2x4s upstairs where we were working on creating a room for this our third child. He it was who mocked me with scorn in his voice for not getting that sheetrock upstairs for the child I was carrying. He it was who told me that if I wanted a place for this child I'd better get off my fat ass (I weighed in at barely 100 pounds at the time) and get that stuff up there where it was supposed to be.

And so I did.

We didn't need that room for our son after all.

Standing over the bloody bed of the death of his son, this father shouted derisively at the mother of said son, 'Killing your baby! You're killing your own baby - some mother you are!' 

Laughing, he started down the stairs and I listened to his footsteps pause when from out of me came a sound I never knew was in me. I've learned since the sound of keening, but at the time it took me by surprise. And it stopped that father in his tracks for only a moment. He stopped laughing but continued on down the stairs while his oh-so-very-tiny son's body flowed from me in a rush of blood.

The act he must have put on for the hospital staff had to have been admirable; they were shocked and appalled when I, still under the effects of anesthesia, had a sort of panic attack at the sight of him approaching my recovery bed. I was told, 'He needs your support and sympathy right now. Try to understand what he's going through.'

They never did get the body of that son. I myself buried him before I turned the rest of it over to them for analysis.

Whether or not that father ever thinks of his sons I have no idea. I have to kind of doubt they cross his mind very often.

Me, I'm never really without them.

As I say, they are the 'angels' that ride my shoulders.

And So It Begins, This New Life Of Mine Own, With Mountains and Melons

It's been one heck of a journey already, these past few months. There have been good things and there have been not-so-good things. One day, if ever the day comes that I have time to sit down and patter for a good long while, I'll go through the whole of it from 'beginning' through wherever this path takes me.

Meanwhile, for the first time in over a week I'm sitting at my keyboard instead of driving. I've put on well over five thousand miles in that time: two round trips and a final one-way trip between North Dakota and Colorado. It feels almighty good to know I'm done with that particular part of my journey. 

The 'extra' miles have been due to my driving up from the Arkansas Valley into the mountains. They are healing for me, as is the Valley itself - and I've been in dire need of a great deal of healing, and did not want to take on the next parts of this journey without it. And so up into the high hills I went, almost two miles up - to ten thousand feet.

This view isn't at ten thousand feet - it's probably around nine and a half, but has a handy pull-over and is a pretty place near Victor, Colorado. If you turn around, the view is somewhat different.

There's a gold mining company hard at work revising the topography of the area.

There will be scads of photos of the high hills coming up (since I don't have to leave Colorado again any time soon!) but next up for the moment is this one:

It's the Arkansas River near Rocky Ford, Colorado. The Arkansas flows down from up near Salida somewhere, through the Royal Gorge, and on down into the Valley. 

To look at it, a person might have a hard time wrapping their head around the fact that this is the same river that carved the Royal Gorge - it had to have been exponentially bigger and more powerful than it is now to have accomplished such a task. From the bridge across the Gorge you can see how far down the remaining river is. At any rate, the above photo is of the river further down in the Valley than either Salida or the Royal Gorge.

The anticipation of starting a new job in a few days is moderated somewhat by another sort of anticipation that revolves around yet another new job, one that I get to start tomorrow.

In addition to having to have a 'real job' in order to keep the bills paid, I'm going to be busy in between doing freelance feature articles. This weekend there's an event going on in Rocky Ford, the Second Annual Dove Fest. It's based on this being the opening weekend of dove season, something I never thought about or even quite realized existed.

My own emotions are a bit mixed here, needless to say. I love the doves. They represent something pretty important to me. So writing an article about the hundreds (at least) of hunters who are in the process of shooting as many of them as possible seems maybe a little off kilter to me. On the other hand, from the people I talked to earlier today I learned that in reality hardly anyone actually shoots many of them, so we can celebrate the survival of the majority even while congratulating the hunters who manage to take down the few. At least that's going to be my working hypothesis.

So I've got that to look forward to, a respite from the stressors of this past little while.

Another 'something to look forward to' AND to thoroughly enjoy right now has to do with this next photo:

These melons are incredible. You might be able to find comparable watermelons, but you will never find cantaloupe to match these anywhere in the world. There's something about the climate in the Arkansas Valley that has led to the world famous Rocky Ford cantaloupe. If ever you get the chance to taste one of these fresh from the field you will know exactly what I'm talking about. Even if they've had to travel a bit of a distance (or a very long way) to get to you, you will most likely never again in your life settle for anything less.

On my way to my cousin Bill's house in Las Animas I saw that somebody had set up a stand along highway 50 right in town. It was a no-brainer. Back I went to buy some of those melons, oh yes indeed, with not the slightest glimmer of guilt about spending some of my too-few dollars. I kid you not. The flash of flavor from childhood hits like a sledgehammer in no uncertain terms and life is sweet and good. 

Lest you think I'm sentimentalizing the impact of the sweet memories of early years, let me assure you it is not just me. Rocky Ford Cantaloupe is literally world famous. If I could I would give you just a taste of the ones I bought a few hours ago. Too bad ... I might eat 'em all before you get a chance! Am I sorry? Not really, to be honest. I'm going to be a glutton with nary a regret. I might feel sorry for you, but 'it is what it is' to quote my daughters.

It took the winding roads of the high hills to unwind me from the tension of the past months; and the sweetness of these melons totally clears away the bittersweet, leaving only the sweet after-taste to carry me into good dreams and peaceful sleep.

Here's one last photo for this post:

It's the sunrise of the day I finally came HOME home knowing I won't have to leave again. For this final one-way trip I chose a different route from the one I've generally taken in the past. Half the time I wasn't absolutely positive about which state I was in and I wasn't altogether sure when the road I was on was going to intersect with the one that I was heading for, but I knew I was going in the right direction so I just kept on going until I got to where I wanted to be.

And here I am!

Getting ready to begin a couple of new jobs and search out the exactly right home for me and Duke.

Okay, one more photo.

Duke is one happy dog and that's a fact. He's a great traveler but is also (pretty sure about this) happy for all of those miles to be behind us. At the moment, while I'm home-hunting, he's hanging out with a grouchy old dog called Cockroach and a hyperactive young one called Flower, having the time of his life. A place in the country with no fences, no leashes, no cables ... my cousin Scott isn't griping about having Duke on board at his place so I have time to look around until I find the right home for me and Duke. While I'm working I definitely don't have to worry much about whether or not he's fine. He is in his own version of heaven. I have no doubt that I miss him more than he misses me when I have to be elsewhere for these times.

Many and many a time as we've journeyed I've dearly wished he had opposable thumbs and was a biped instead of a quadruped. HIS travel seat is fully reclined so he's got room to stretch out while I'm stuck in my little driving seat. How fair is that, I would like to know! Ah, it's totally fair. I'm the one making him put on all those miles, without asking him if he knows and agrees with what I'm getting him into. He's gotten really skilled at drinking while I drive, and I've gotten skilled at pouring his water into the bowl while I drive (never around curves or in traffic though, let me tell you). 

And so ... that's about it for this bit of our journey. Tomorrow is another day, and the next day, and the one after that!