Author: swansroost

One fabulous winter not too many years ago I was hanging out with my then new friend, Dedre.  We were enjoying all the winter delights:  XC skis, snowshoes, snowmobiles, warm fires, hot toddies, pretty lights, cold beer, colder toes, wet mittens, snow removal, icy roads, more snow removal…..all in celebration of living in the great Northeast during the winter months.  One event in particular stands out in my memory.

Dee’s friend Dotty lives on a sizable farm with hills and valleys perfectly suited to the making of ice runs for inner tubes.  After many years of development and design the runs just kept getting bigger, higher and more complex.  Four wheelers tow the tubes and carry the “riders” up the steep hills to the top of the run.  The run has sloped sides of hard packed snow and twists and turns comparable to an Olympic bobsled run.  At the top one is expected to belly down on the tube and plunge oneself head first off a steep takeoff into the deep winter darkness and an unknown decent.  All in the name of good fun.

Prepping for the party – hookers in a bubble bath. LOL

I was, and still am in many ways, an unworldly girl.  Even in my 50th year I had not yet ridden the back of a 4-wheeler up a narrow snowy trail in the dark.  I was unsure of my perching abilities and balking at the prospect, determined to walk up the hill.  How hard could it be?  Dedre, the bold and daring, told me that I’d never make it up the hill on foot and assured me that the ride was a piece of cake.  The ten minute ride, while holding on for dear life, assured me that her assessment was correct; I would not have made it on foot.

Prepping for the party.

After the vehicles dropped the two of us at the top and their sound faded away we stood surrounded by trees, in the deep silence of a winter wood.  The stars shone like diamonds in the clear sky.  It was magical.  And then we moved to the top of the run and I looked off into the abyss and again I balked.  And I was thinking maybe I’d wait for that cake ride back down the hill.  And Dee, the bold and daring, said, “Oh, Sue, I’m afraid.” and “You go first.”  I thought we could go together and so saying to my new friend, set myself up; belly down, head first, inching forward and waiting.  And then Dee pushed me.  And I think I screamed.

This story deserved the telling to illustrate what compels the spirit to leap into the dark.  The faith that is placed on self to carry one into new experiences and accomplishments.  In the above tale I was pushed on to the ride.  And a ride it was!  It was thrilling and scary.  And at the bottom of the run I was laughing so hard I could not stand.   Pushed yes, but only a little nudge.  I put myself on the ready at the top of that run.

A few times I have chosen to step off that ledge into a new beginning.  And last Saturday night was one of them. Together with Donna, my friend of 30 years, we began a venture in sharing our love of creating with others.  We have combined the discovery of creating with high spirits, comradery, and delectable delights.  In doing so we hope to open eyes to new possibilities and share the sincere happiness that that brings to our hearts.  We have partnered with my youngest daughter who herself is leaping into the new.  Her life long love of baking has manifest into Casey’s Confections, Global Sweets Locally, which are served along side the canvas. 

Saturday night Casey made her wonderful gingerbread with a chi spice caramel sauce and whipped cream.  I’m sorry Casey.  It was SO good that we ate it before I could get a picture! Trust me.  It was as pretty  as it tasted.  Our beverage was a Merry Moscow Mule.  It was my take on the 1940’s cocktail traditionally served in a copper mug.  Tracey from TracingGraceArts on Etsy provided these adorable copper color vintage mugs. Imagine 1970 as being vintage!  Imagine too what a little vodka and ginger beer can do for a paint brush and canvas!

The laughter was loud and the smiles were genuine.   It is my and Donna’s hope that everyone went home with a new piece of themselves discovered and shinning for display.  Please continue to follow my blogging for updates into our journey of creating and discovering and the power of sharing happy!  And maybe you can join in.  I promise not to push.  

Let me just start this post by saying that my house smells like just baked cookies  – snickerdoodles to be exact.  My grandson’s favorite cookie.  I put Heath Bar bits in them to take them “over the top. ”  I’ve often wondered where that phrase comes from?

 “Going over the top“, a military phrase derived from the trench warfare of the First World War. – Wikipedia

Media has been saturated with comment or criticism on what seems every breath that the big news makers take.  In this season of “silent night,” “all is calm,” and “how still we see thee lie” nothing about it is silent, calm, or still.  Authority is being abused in truth at Standing Rock, and in theory by our highest leaders.  And I want off this ride.  I want to go over to my happy place.  Just for a little while.  Just long enough.

When September 11th happened to the world I was working for the New York State Department of Corrections in their central fiscal office.  I had access at a key stroke to huge funds to move and spend where ever they were needed to provide whatever was needed during this monstrous tragedy.   My very first response was to surround myself with family.  To keep them close and closer and to clean house – literally.  I sat in a chair with my daughter on my lap until I couldn’t sit still anymore.  And then in defense of the helplessness I felt I cleaned my house top to bottom.  That was my happy place.

And then I went back to work and was plummeted with the calls for urgent response and emergency supplies, and news reports of death and darkness.  And I remember a few days afterward just lying spread eagle in the grass on my back in the yard.  I felt Mother Earth absorb my grief and the grief of so many others.  I felt the sun’s warmth on my face and deep into my soul and I was renewed to go back into the world and do what I could all over again amidst the reports of death and darkness.  I hadn’t cried, or screamed profanities, or ranted and blamed, or rioted.  I just kept going in and out of my happy place, somehow renewed.

And why would I compare what is happening in my world now with 9/11?  I am most certainly as helpless today as I was back then.  But I cannot seem to find my way to my happy place. To find that recharge and renewal.  There are no cookie crumbs to follow.  No candle light at the end of the tunnel.  That wave of unity that I felt with my fellow man in the aftermath of 9/11 has not happened.  As a Nation we have lost our purpose.  We are a shattered people.   This too is a great tragedy.

Weeks after 9/11 the truth of it finally came home.  I was at work, a seemingly normal day and suddenly I started sobbing and could not stop.  My boss escorted me to a more private place, gave me a box of tissues and a closed door and I cried for three hours.  Heart wrenching, soul deep keening for the loss of all those lives and the sorrow for those that are left to carry on.

Now I fear the future for so many, my children and my grandchildren, who have so much life ahead of them. So many lives will be impacted by the decisions that our leaders make in the coming days.  I used to be excited for the prospect of the future but right now I am just afraid.

I thought I had my happy place secure, locked in and well stocked.  Seriously, I have a message on my cell phone with my 4 year plan on it.  Call me:  518-322-5266.  Chances are if I don’t recognize your number I won’t pick up and you can listen to my game plan.  But I have discovered that for some reason I am caught in a limbo, unable to move forward or even for a little while into my happy place.

I know that it is there. Waiting for me to find my way via whatever avenue I stumble upon.  And I will recharge and get back to the game plan.  There are letters to write and Facts vs. Fictions to decipher and sort.  And, of course there are cookies to bake, dogs to walk, and family to hug.  Perhaps there is how my path must lend – over the river and through the woods.  Trust the horse.

This weekend I spent at/in what is called reunion.  It has been a bit more than 40 years since, at 18, I graduated high school and moved into the bigger world.  I was then considered an adult and was expected to make my way, one way or another, in a gigantic world full of choice and opportunity.  It was assumed that I had been given the tools by my familial upbringing and my public school education to build a happy and successful “rest of my life.”  And for the most part I believe that I have done just that.

It has not been a straight line from Point BC (Bethlehem Central) to Point S (success).  I seem to recall that some folks might have tried to instill the idea that following the E(effort) + DTRT(doing the right thing) = S(success) formula was a guarantee to S. They may have even believed it themselves (my church leaders come to mind).  But being one who has never been able to draw a straight line, even with a ruler, my life line has taken many detours.  One has only to look at my palm to see the hills and dales, bumps and divots, dead ends and U-turns blending with callus’, scars and arthritic fingers that have made up my life.

This reunion, like Face Book, has given all that attended a glimpse into each others journey.  And, like FB, the brief encounter showed only the straight lines.  Palms were not exposed to reveal the miss directions, road blocks, and detours that many or most of us have traversed to become the persons we carry today.  But the 25% of our 1976 class that was present at the event carried the journey well.

Whether this was a result of E + DTRT = S or simply just putting the best foot forward I don’t know.  I believe that I have reached Point S although not necessarily  by way of E + DTRT.  Or, has it always been DTRT for me?

When I was in high school circa 1975 my BF, Susan, was sporting silver bangle bracelets crafted by a brilliant silversmith, Ed Levin.  His small collection was sold out of the local ladies shop, Town and Tweed.

I coveted Susan’s bracelets and was, after scrimping and saving, able to buy  myself a then very expensive pair of silver earrings.  I loved them and wore them constantly.  Sadly, at some point I lost one.  

Recently, in my post retirement clean-out, I found the single still fabulous earring.  In the vast reaches of the internet I found that the Ed Levin workshop still exists in Cambridge, New York and that they had all the original designs on file for re-creation.   The website sent me to a local dealer to have my earring sent for “refurbishment” and a copy made.

A few days ago I picked up my “new” earrings.  I paid twice for one what I had paid for the pair 40 years ago – not so bad really.  But, I am sorry to say I was disappointed.  The match is okay, but not even close to perfect.  I will wear the earrings; the original in my left ear, the copy in my right.

The artist can be copied but never duplicated.

When my niece paid me the great compliment of saying that I was up-cycling and re-purposing before it was the “in” thing to do I laughed.  But, in fact I have been doing the “in” thing for years – out of necessity.  My junior prom dress a few years later became a maternity smock.  An old wooden cable spool became a bistro height table with stools for my first kitchen and an old oak dresser became the buffet with tiled top.   Which, by the way, I still have, although it has seen better days.

One of my favorite re-purposes was my grandfather’s old suitcase that I casually threw into the back of the car and used as a storage container for jumper cables, umbrellas, or any other little thing that needed corralling in the huge cavern trunk of my ’77 T-bird.  Eventually that old thing, abused and neglected, became moldy and sadly beyond saving (the suitcase, and eventually the car too).

Recently I determined that it was time to revisit the old suitcase.  I am in sore need of someplace to store all my fabric remnants and bits of this and that and the suitcase seemed ideal.  They are sturdy, stack-able, and come in a variety of shapes and colors.  But, they also stink!  Seriously;  much like musty attics, moldy basements, and stale perfume.

And what is a girl to do?  I sure don’t want my bits of this and that to smell like a long forgotten trip to Great Aunt Bessie’s house!  So when I stumbled upon these fabulous wooden screens (on clearance of course) at the craft store I KNEW what I had to do.  Out came the Dremel and this old suitcase had a new ventilation system.

But then something happened….The project took on a life of it’s own, (not the first time this has happened) and I try always to follow where the spirit leads.  I suddenly realized that this old suitcase needed a new purpose in life.  More than just storage on a shelf, it needed to become useful again, recognized for it’s past and celebrated into it’s future.  It needed to become a picnic basket!  NOTE:  This is the 3rd case from the top in the first picture.

As I worked on duct taping the tattered sides, and using yellow India ink to brighten the panels I kept seeing flashes of Gene Kelly singing, “Gotta Dance” from Singing In The Rain.  You know, that guy with the too short (plaid?) jacket and the funny hat, carrying a tattered old suitcase to the big city?  And then I remembered that I had some handmade paper with sheet music embedded in it, and an old poster from my daughter’s dorm room days and it morphed.
     Interestingly this suitcase like many, has a monogram, R. R..  At first, being a warm blooded woman of a certain age I thought “Robert Reford,”  but then it dawned on me, “Richard Rogers.”  So now this picnic basket has a name, The Richard Rogers, complete with musical notes flowing from a summer wine….sure is funny how things just flow when you allow it.

I made an insulated bag for food and an insulated ice bucket for beverages out of fun fabrics – storage of left over scraps still TBD!  And  I used reclaimed straps, buttons, and buckles to hold them in place.  Happy Summer Solstice!  Let the picnics begin!

NOTE #2:  The next case (bottom of the stack) is Miss C.C..  The stories she could tell.  I can’t wait to get started.  Also, this one of a kind picnic basket is for sale.  $125.

This Monday marked the tenth year since my father passed away.  The events surrounding his passing profoundly changed my life.  I was witness to his struggle with the process.  His planning; when weeks before his death I sat with him on a sunny afternoon and he said, “this is a good time of day to die.”  And he did, at that time a few short weeks later.

His acceptance; when my daughter presented him with a new shirt and tie she had purchased for him to be buried in.  She told him it matched the dress we had buried my mother in three years earlier.  He was deeply touched and accepted them gratefully.  Then he said, “don’t forget my long johns because I’m going to be cold.”  When he realized what he had said, much to his chagrin, he laughed at himself and my daughters and I laughed with him.

His fear; when deep in the night very close to the end he struggled to stand and said in anguish, “I can’t find my way.”  I told him to look for mom, that she would help him find his way and like a child he settled and slept.

And finally, at that very moment when he took his final breath I held his hand.   And I felt, no I knew more surely than anything I have ever felt or known in my entire life, except the love for my babies, that he and my mother were together again and I smiled through my tears and very nearly laughed out loud for the joy of it.  Today, as I walked in a beautiful wood a blue jay crossed my path to sit on a tree ahead at a fork in the trail.  These ten years I have “seen” my father come to me as the blue jay in times when I need direction, guidance, and support.  Today I took the route marked by that blue jay and I came upon this beautiful old tree standing on a carpet of forget me nots.  Message received Dad.  With Love, Susan

Monday morning.  Rain on the windows.  Coffee on the table.  Paint brush in hand and I’m still in my pajamas.  It’s all good, except maybe the possibility of (more) paint on the clothes.

I wake up prone to jump into whatever project my brain has been ruminating on all night.  Many times that pondering has kept me awake most of the night.  I’ve been known to get up in the wee hours and hit the sketch book just to transfer the images from the head to paper.  Often this does the trick and I can finally sleep.

But come morning there is that scheming little voice that says, “I’ll just take a peek” and then, “I’ll just pick the right brush,” or “gather the right colors,” and it leads me down the path of no breakfast (and sometimes lunch), a grumble in my belly, and inevitably, paint on the PJs.

Today I woke up to gray light and the sound of rain on the roof.   My bones and joints ached and I felt incredibly grateful that it was Tuesday.  Because Tuesday in Tai Chi day.

I have started a Tai Chi class at the local community center.  This morning’s class was week three.  In those weeks I have learned 3 poses that build upon each other to ultimately create the final 22 pose form.  The instructors teach in a way that I can relate to and remember:  putting a box on a shelf, holding a beach ball, opening a curtain.  When taught this way it is exciting  and leads me to believe in my ability to remember and learn.  No old dog here!

One continually repeated instruction during class is “remember to breath.”  To breath.  Seems simple enough.  Yet oddly it is more natural to hold my breath when trying to do something new than it is to breath through it.  But from experience I know deep calming inhalations and exhalations are the most refreshing, relaxing, and energizing of things.  Breathing deeper into a pose in yoga or stopping in the middle of any task and simply taking deep breaths puts me in that moment at that time and allows me to continue with my task.  It steadies my hand and focuses my mind when I grow impatient or start to flit away.

Today, in the quiet of a rainy day, I look at the drenched flowering shrub outside my workshop window.   And I know that Mother Earth breaths.  She rests and focuses.  She gathers her thoughts and her strength to continue on with the beautiful birth of this thing called Spring.

I am sitting in my studio on this beautiful sunny morning watching Chip or is it Dale?, decimate my sunflower seed feeder.  Even the threat of taxidermy doesn’t scare these stout-hearted buggers.

I am thirty days into my new phase of life.  I have watched the changing light of Spring travel my windows and walls.  I cultivate this fabulous show with strategically placed re-purposed chandelier crystals and “framed” CDs.

I have celebrated with loving family and friends.

I have completed a small project that has waited ten years to start…..

and finish.  

I am off to a good start.  But still I feel my mind and body are in the fast lane of this commute.   I am struggling with the transition to living in the slow lane.  Maybe I need a change of scenery.  Maybe I need a vacation?

 Insert large smiley face here.

Retirement is:  being in the present.

It is:  recognition of gained wisdom from the past.

It is:  not living for the future.

Live for the now.

The future is now.