Charming Gardeners

The Charming Gardener

.............

A little on this piece.  

I've been hoarding this stone for my Mother for almost a year, promising her at every long-distance conversation that something grande was in the works...something she could wear everyday, something she could brag on, something that fit her. well. And that was a lie, at least in the physical form.  Sometimes It takes more time than you think to watch an idea come to fruition. And I've really only had a chance to get my hands dirty with silver here in the last few weeks, after recuperation of my little surgery and the tricklings of the rest of my crazy summer season. It's all I could do for awhile, really, was sit...try not to stretch funny, and try not to breathe too hard.  Pain killers make your head fuzzy, made me so tired, and so it felt like absolute freedom to FINALLY walk into that happy little studio, bathed in yellow light, and create something after a full week on the couch... crystal clear and overwhelmingly free. It was both perfect and introspective, that time to sit, truly sit, and become part of this promise of something awesome.

 It's been a real dose of reality, that in fact, we are all so fragile, yet so very tough too. 

And It's a surprise, but this piece will end up in her hands after my plane lands in Denver next week.  I never want to make my mama cry, but I know her well enough.....that this might just do it. 

I know not everyone is blessed with a great relationship with their parents, and so this makes it all the sweeter, because my Mama is really a dear confidant and friend. As the years between us matter less and less, the obvious gene pool we share is more a common core than a battlefield.  No doubt, the mirror that is your mother can truly be separating, but for now, I revel in our common denominator. 

Love you, mama, and Happy Birthday. 

We.

Oh the bee bee. 

He's gone for a Month,

for work, 

for this home,

for us.

It's not easy, 

missing your best friend.

But it's better that you know the marrow of your bones 

miss this man

than glide lightly through the next decade

without him.

Missing on him.

But for now,

my bed is a cocoon of heavy blankets

sketchbooks and reading material,

journals and late night drawing sessions.

A pile of Rolling Stones stack up near my knees,

and I promise to devour them all before his return.

And don't tell, but there's an old stinky yellow lab

right next to me

whose blonde hair will surely give me away.

No dogs in the bed is a stupid rule anyway. 

It's a great morning, a great time for thinking about the next adventure,

to dream in a singular term,

only to enrich what *we* are. 

I dig my toes to the bottom of these sheets,

and stretch to his side of the bed,

which he would argue,

isn't more than a foot or so.

I am a notorious bed-hog,

and I revel in all the space this morning. 

But the dog keeps me on my side,

and I feel a bit guilty for shoving him out of my elbow's way.  

I do wish someone would bring me some coffee,

but I fight the urge to close my eyes a little longer,

and get up to make the coffee myself.

The house is chilly, 

the October air sneaks through the cracks in our drywall.

The barely-sunrise air calls me back to bed as I force a teapot to boil.

My nose is sniffly from the chill,

but the slippers keep these feet off the icy floor. 

That's what you get for tearing off half your home

at the sign of fall's first frost. 

I've never been more appreciative of an already-built fire in our wood stove,

roaring before the sun was up.

And insulation.  Yep.  Insulation is awesome. 

I swear I just saw my breath condense. inside. 

I believe it's imperative for a couple to spend time apart.

I really think it's easy to loose touch of your roots.

of who you were before there was a *we*.

And it's important for me to know it,

feel it in these slippered toes,

that yes,

I am a better version of myself than I was last year,

and the year before that. 

I am good.

Strong.

Happy. 

I could be alone. 

I am not afraid of it.

I could build that fire and warm up our home. 

I made that coffee for myself,

and I'm going to work on what I can of our construction project

today. alone. too. 

But I am better with him.

No doubt about that. 

This home is warmer with him here. 

I am a better me when he is here. 

The teapot crones it's whistle,

I jump out of this bedding nest,

startle the dog,

and start today.

But it's the *we* that I start today with,

And it makes me crack a quick morning smile. 

up and at 'em. 

On the Pass, In the Clouds: Catching up on September

It started out a sunny and blue day up on the pass....

But the clouds had other plans. 

Not every day you get to walk through the clouds....

....

From the Boardwalk, at the top of Logan's Pass,

in September.

My Mama in the cute hat, her man, and I.

Fish: Catching up on September

........

There is nothing better, really, 

than a late afternoon on a gorgeous river,

rod in hand,

stalking the next silvery one under gurgling and rocky-mountain-cold waters.

The only way it became better,

was the distance the boys kept

from my fishing,

and my independence as a fisher-lady.

I'm glad the boys let me tag along,

don't get me wrong.

It feels good to walk among men who think like fish,

act like hunters,

and react like guides.

It's an honor really,

to even be invited.

They were there for the float goo you put on your fly so it floats along just so,

and they were there when the beer I nursed needed replacing.

But they kept to their own rods,

and let me just do my thing.

I fished, drank barely-cold PBR, and was in charge of myself.

No babysitting.

No coaching.

No pressure.

For the most part, 

my fishing line was entirely my own business,

and was entirely my own responsibility. 

Which is truly a great feeling.

One fish on, lost....

mostly because I'm out of practice.

But it was not someone else's fault, 

just mine alone.

It wasn't a failure.

In fact, it was a celebrated cheer along the bank....

along with laments that "that bugger WANTED what you had there, girl!"

not some indication that I were a somehow inferior female,

crashing a dude's weekend of ripping river-monster lips.

Setting a hook is something I have yet to master, 

but was glad to have the chance to practice on these hungry fishes.

And for a fairly manly fishing trip,

No pressure...

well......

that's saying' something. 

So thank you, boys, 

for just letting me. be. 

plains and such: Catching up on September

A Gorgeous day on the Bison Range,

just south of us,

a few weeks ago,

in the last of September's heat.

I'd never been, 

even though I have probably driven by at least 300 times.  

So this time, with family in tow,

we stopped, on our way from Whitefish to Missoula.  

An absolutely awesome chunk of land, this bison range, 

set aside for some of the most awesome and revered western animal icons. 

And just for the record:

It ain't a buffalo, folks.  

These babies are BISON.