Grasping

March 26, 2016.  This is my mother’s birthday, and I have spent it (somewhat oddly) thinking about another’s mother – Mom Kendrick.   This began in the wee hours piecing together how various rooms connected in the house I grew up in – yielding a flawed floorplan – but the sketching helped connect some dots of memories sabotaging sleep. For example, in the back bedroom helping Mother put up new wallpaper; and in the living room gleefully lending a hand the day a wallpaper pro pulled down the stained red roses that had covered those walls as long as I was old.

It fascinates – how memories overlap and create a loosely-woven backdrop for what’s going on in the present.  Foorplan struggles were followed by not knowing where the pretty crystal near the kitchen door came from.  I’m getting older, forgetting more!  What to do?   Gary’s mom zooms to mind, her habit of labeling everything.  On the surface, her labels seemed foolish.  But perhaps essential to her?  How many were created in sleepless fits?  I’m not about to label every souvenir rock, but here’s a nod to Mom Kendrick for aging and recording her own way – poetry serving as my way to record life.

The image (a collage) assumes a bit of poetic license – the floorplan  (not true to scale) and the crystal are not in true proportion.

 

Fringe

March 16, 2016.  The weather is perfect for being out-of-the-house.  But I’m inside, waiting for A/C repairs to complete.  Sitting.  Carried away by assorted sounds and associated visions.  So often difficult to distinguish the real from the imagined.  How splendidly the two tangle!   Suddenly I am “seeing” the fringe on the altar at Red Corral Ranch – noticing the gaps between clumps.

Sponging

March 12, 2016.  After too long without rain, when it finally began falling a sense of elation rose.  Ground like a sponge, and it seemed the trees were plumping up.  I find it hard to stay indoors during such elemental transition, and our Labrador easily persuaded me, ushered me to the back porch, covered but letting damp air gently blow through.  I stood out there until the rain let up enough for a few pics of dripping-wet poppies.  The image below is a collage of poppies – each poppy a collage of raindrops.