Unphotogenic O-phail-ia, the ScaerieFaerie

Poor unphotogenic Ophailia! She's the epitomy of a ScaerieFaerie. Even her kickass, funkycool wings couldn't soften her fiercesome gaze. Poor Ophailia (that's oh-fail-ya, sort of like Ophelia, but a "fail")!

Bless her Munster-meets-Tinkerbell-in-a-dark-alley heart, she did teach me a few things, though! First, those kickass wickedwings should have had a hole punched in the middle of them before they were shrunk in the oven. Glue by itself doesn't seem to want to hold Shrinkydink material in place, since I easily removed her wings today while thinking about how to salvage them. Two, tattoes can be cool on a scaeriefaerie, but they will smudge when you first apply them. Third, inspiration and ideas come from every project, fail or no fail... and ScaerieFaeries have been born in my imagination, as well as a few ideas about how to adorn them!

So, dear Ophailia, I know I said I couldn't wait to write your story, but now I'm busy working on the next attempt. Please forgive my haste, and please accept my thanks :)

Sunlight Faerie Trap

Seen any sunlight faeries flitting around these shorter and darker days lately? I haven't caught them, but I imagine the time is drawing near when I'd like to lure a few of them to sprinkle sunlight beams here and there.

Think they might be drawn to the brightness and shimmering pretties in this faerie trap?

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Hope all is well with each of you! Shorter daylight hours, more kiddo homework as the school year progresses, etc. have given me excuses to not sit downstairs and write in the blog lately. I use the smart phone to keep connected to facebook friends... phones are easy to carry around the house and yard. Anyway, hope to catch up with everyone soon!

11.11.11

Auspicious numbers? Special lucky days? What do you think? I understand attaching symbolic meaning to particular numbers, but I'm not sure how much numerology means to me. I tend to think dates and numbers are the same in life as they are in baseball-- for any given situation, there is a special meaning or statistic to be recognized. Still, it's hard to argue with the "hey, I was there, and it won't happen again until the next century" sentiment.

I remember the year one of my friends turned eight years old on the eighth day of the eighth month. At least, I think I "remember" it. Probably, I remember everyone talking about it once we returned to school after summer vacation! It was a pretty neat happening in the eyes of a third grader, I can tell you that much!

So, what do days like 11.11.11 mean to you? Signing the Armistice on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month made the ceasing of hostilities with Germany an easy date to remember in the timeline of WWI. I'm sure the people who arranged such things gave some thought to details, such as this one, which would lend even more gravity to the momentous occasion. We all do it when we can, don't we? This attaching special numbers to momentous occasions in our lives? How many people were married today? How many people hope for children to be born on a birthday they'll share with grandparents or other family members? I'm sure you can think of more examples.

For 11.11.11, I choose to be reminded of the number "one," instead of "eleven," when I consider its symbolism. In the end, at least in my view of the world, we are all one. We may be scattered around the globe, separated by oceans and centuries, defined by our current physical bodies, but we all come from the same source... and we all reach in the same direction, all feel pulled back to the same things, all are one.

Insert Witty Caption Here

Hmmm. Should I go with "Get Your Nest Made" and talk about phrases used by grandmothers and mothers? How about "Let the Bells Ring" since this shape reminds me of a bell, and then I'd segue into... well, I'm not sure what I'd segue into from there.

You know what this photo makes me think of every time I scroll past it on my phone? It makes me think of a National Geographic spread about those temples covered with vines, the ones in Cambodia (is that where?) that look as if they're carved into cliffsides and have been overgrown by giant trees. Ha! If you can understand that last sentence, you are either clairvoyant or similarly memory-challenged like myself. Let me see if I can find the name of that lost place and give you an interesting link or two. Be right back.

Aha. Found it, at least I think this is the place I was trying to recall. It's Angkor Wat, a lost city of Cambodia. Maybe it's the color of the wasp nest, or maybe it's the shape and openings, whatever it is, this wasp nest makes me think of grander things than stinging insects building their homes on my rose bushes. The almost shimmering gray paper is gorgeous, if you can look at it only for its texture and color. It makes me want to create with paper clay, except that I already know I won't achieve the same delicately smooth, papery look.

Hmmm. Now, I'm wondering whether or not it's cold enough that the wasps are out of their bell-like temple. Would it be fair, or prudent, to swipe their nest and use it in a creation? I'm guessing not so prudent, but the wondering does lead to inspiration, right? Inspiration, I got covered... just ask all the never-started and/or never-finished inspired ideas surrounding me!

So, that's my blogging bit for today. Lately, I find myself avoiding the basement "dungeon" (where the computer resides) in favor of reading or sitting outside in the late autumn sunshine. Anyway, I hope this finds you each well and happily enjoying your own sunshine (be it autumn or spring where you are)!

Rain or Shine, I Love This Tree

It isn't a grand tree in size, not like the hedge apple tree you see in the distance. It's a rather small tree in comparison to others that have survived along the roadsides and in the fencerows here in the flatlands. It is, however, a grand tree. Every time I drive this particular road, which is many times each week, I slow down to marvel at the way this tree stands out against the backdrop of broad midwestern sky. Spring, summer, fall, winter... rain, shine, moonlight... this tree has a presence that I find captivating.

I don't know what kind of tree it is, except that I'm pretty sure it isn't a maple, oak, or fruit tree. Its leaves and bark are nothing showy, but there's something about its shape that draws your eye. The branches are lovely fingers reaching up into the wind on a late autumn day, and snow shadows stack prettily upon them in winter. Spring's new leaves create a tease, and summer's full regalia simply poofs out a brilliant shape.

I love this tree.

November in the Northern Hemisphere

November.

Northern hemisphere.

Roses still blooming.

Probably not that unusual.

Still a little befuddling to the brain... and welcome to the eyes.

The Veil Draws Thin... and Where Have I Been?

They say the veil between the worlds draws thin at this time of year. "They" being mostly a mix of all manner of Pagans and Christians who believe in the reality of the spirit world. Ghosts, haints, unsettled spirits, they try to reach us this time of year.
You know me, skeptic extraordinaire, fascinated nonetheless by any and all things spiritual and mysterious... and I think there must be a reason, so old it has been forgotten, behind the connection of ghosts and spirits with Halloween. All Hallow's Eve, All Saints' Day, all these things must surely have been recognized at this time of year for a reason. I imagine there are plenty of theories about this, so I'll just tell you about my quick Halloween afternoon ramble on the backroads.

It's a beautiful autumn day, sunny and crisp. I don't have a lot of time between work and time for the kids to be home from school, but there's some time. Today, I felt drawn to an old cemetery I'd seen on one of the backroads in our area. When I first drove by this old graveyard, it was a little scruffy looking. It has no gates, no drive, no signs (nor any "no trespassing" signs). It probably wasn't meant to be right off the side of a county road, but how could people in the mid to late 1800's predict where horseless carriage paths would emerge? The reason I point out the lack of a "no trespassing" sign is that I'm trying to justify intruding upon it without asking anyone whether it is public or private. It now appears that someone, whether an owner of the land or an employee of the county, has begun tending and cleaning it. I've wanted to stop and walk up into it many times. Every time I've driven slowly alongside it but not stopped.

Today, I picked the last of the marigolds growing in my hapless garden of weeds and tied them with a tiny slip of leather. I grabbed a pretty gourd from the basket my mom sent home with me, and I grabbed my keys... and took off straight toward that graveyard with the feeling that today was the day to step into it.

I've been thinking a bit about Halloween celebrations, trick-or-treating, fanciful witches and monsters and bats, and the secularization of Christmas. Wait, did I mean to type "Christmas"? Yes, I did, because I wonder why it is that no one laments the trivialization of Halloween the way we do the commercialization of Christmas. I will tell you that I am not a Christian, that I celebrate Christmas anyway because I love the family togetherness and traditions, and that (strange as it seems coming from me) I prefer Christmas hymns to Rudolph and Frosty. I'm starting to have the same type of feelings about Halloween. I don't think it's merely a candy-buying, fake-witch-t-shirt-wearing, monster-mashing kind of holiday. It's okay by me to have trick-0r-treating and fun and parties, but I feel the growing need to recognize more than the commercial part of the event, ya know? I'm not sure yet what that means, except that I'm thinking more today about the veil and whether or not this is the only time of year it can be lifted. I'm thinking about showing thanks and reverence to those who came before us, and not only at Thanksgiving or Memorial Day. I'm thinking about the goodness and kindness in the soul of the person who started what looks to be a reclamation of the place. I'm thinking about the four gravestones I saw lined up next to each other, each bearing the same name at the bottom of the writing (maybe a parent?). I didn't read the last one, but the first three were children. One was a baby, one a toddler, and one an eleven year old who died ten years after the baby and toddler. What was childhood like for that eleven year old? Did he or she expect to die young? Did he or she feel the presence of those siblings when this time of year came? Was anyone left in the family to pass along these stories? I wish I knew.

I left the marigolds and gourd with them.