Posted in Musings, Photography

Ascend (a photo challenge)


I would love to know what squirrels think, when they see a person walk by, who suddenly stops when they hear their chatter above; stop, dig, reach in, snap, stare and stare and stare. Move along… For any length of time, no doubt, that squirrel is surveying an escape route. But you must question why the squirrel said anything to begin with, if he did not want company?

Not to worry, I did not ascend that tree.

Posted in Musings, Poetry, quotes


I quote as if I know,
claim her strength -my ego varnished
as i fall off my master’s shelf.

Ego is as ego was
and ego is no more.
I fail to see what lie ahead
someone settles the score.

Unfairly treated -confined to being
each of us guilty
the fate of insecurity.

For who’s safety
do we cut our hair
thoughts sheltered beneath coverings
seek to tear us bare.

Do hold the babe
serene -complacent
Mother’s shadow to outgrow.

Days change, a wind,
obedience to self
guidance as belief
what sorrow exists in grief.

When time brings favor,
the ripening of fruit,
we are allowed to pick the juiciest.

George Bernard Shaw, like Shakespeare, Mark Twain and Leonard Cohen, were fascinated by Joan of Arc. As much is knowable in the veil of unknowable, her short hair and pants, what were they to hide? Ego security to forge ahead as God’s voice…aghast!


Posted in Memoir, Photography, quotes

Roots (a million dust particles)

Collage  Have you made yours?  Written your book of life?  It will serve you well.


Childhood school 3rd-5th grade.  It is now for sale. 

Memories are stepping stones to future endeavors and concurrently sticking points to moving on.  I would go out on a limb and say most of us have recollections somewhere tucked away, perhaps yours in the back of the mind.  Memories are the collage of  life and when painted, varied and unique.  Mine would be a mixture of social responsibility and natural endeavors.

“For myself, the only way I know how to make a book is to construct it like a collage: a bit of dialogue here, a scrap of narrative, an isolated description of a common object, an elaborate running metaphor which threads between the sequences and holds different narrative lines together.”  Hilary Mantel

I am a country and city girl and one without the other would be unacceptable.  One scenery fulfills the needs the other could never replicate.  My father was a farm boy, the middle child and the first to do many endeavors.  He was the first child in his family to be bused to school, was a terrific student but with a will to be independent he took off to explore.   He worked odd jobs to buy his first piece of cool transportation.  That car triggered his solo flight to somewhere, anywhere, leaving his mother to mourn his departure.  My mother was a city girl who touted education as a way to success.  Their individual outlooks on life seem to clash but it worked for them.  They eventually sharpened the other to be respectively educated and likewise garner a love of the natural world.

The foundation of life was set long ago, centuries to be exact.  The million dust particles are but the sand dunes we are destined to crawl through.  I believe it is education and a love of reading, inquiring philosophically, psychologically and spiritually, regarding man’s destiny, that serves us well.  And when we need a break we can rely on the beach waves to take us far, far away.

“Suppose within each book there is another book, and within every letter on every page another volume constantly unfolding; but these volumes take no space on the desk. Suppose knowledge could be reduced to a quintessence, held within a picture, a sign, held within a place which is no place. Suppose the human skull were to become capacious, spaces opening inside it, humming chambers like beehives.”  Hilary Mantel, Wolf Hall

Click here should you like to hear Hilary Mantel’s five Reith Lectures, Resurrection: The Art and Craft.



Posted in Musings, quotes

Natural Beauty

Production 4-29-2017

Ooh la la!  My garden is more than eye sex.  The extracted essential oils of my Lilacs, Lavender, Rosemary, Roses and Peppermint  perfume the natural beauty products produced at home.  I had yet to make chlorophyll and yesterday I did.  Well, I started the process as it takes several days and if I continue to add grass it can go for weeks.  I am creating a summer skin spray and chlorophyll is known to neutralize odors, hence the production.  I am unsure how strong to make the chlorophyll but I will determine that by smell since I am not inclined to understand the chemical or biological properties.

 Citrus Summer
2 T vodka
1/2 cup witch hazel
1/2 t liquid chlorophyll
3 drops bergamot, orange and/or grapefruit oils
Add a small amount of almond oil if your skin is dry.

This is a solar-powered sea slug that feeds on algae, extracting chlorophyll.  It is born a clear gray as seen in these two short movies and as it eats you notice the chlorophyll enter it’s body.  The slug is able to continue to produce chlorophyll for months and lives off this one meal. Note its cute black eyes.

If interested here is a general understanding of chlorophyll which is quite interesting.  (Robert Woodward, Nobel Prize 1965, a giant in the chemistry world and my husband’s hero, synthesized chlorophyll in 1960.)


Flowers always make people better, happier, and more helpful; they are sunshine, food and medicine for the soul.  -Luther Burbank, environmentalist
The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul. -Alfred Austin, poet
Posted in Poetry


i don’t trust myself
fog on the mirror
won’t disappear
into the night i am forced.

this doubt of what you’ll bring
peace or broken glass,
these girls i have become
weaving blades of grass.

some i know -their
flowers in your eyes
the others only dirt
and dreams of better days.

Posted in Musings


I was excited about The Daily Post word, Criticize, and it dawned on me why.  The moment “criticize” entered my thoughts, thanks to my eyes, this heavy head sank deep into my heart. The past five weeks has shown up as an overzealous person who takes offense towards my Job-like attitude. She wanted to appear caring but she came across disparaging. All my devotions wet. The paper torn by tears. I was only being honest. She was only being pious. Today, I face my fears as only a true survivor can. 😊💛

Posted in Poetry

design (mystery)

Santa Fe, 2016

Mystery door, locked to keep her coming back for more. A heart not of stone, he wore it well, a letter he kept, close, to savor her scent

Oh! Just noticed the Daily Post word scent could fit well in my thoughts from yesterday, so a small edit and here is my contribution, republished and polished. 😉