REDONDOWRITER'S SACRED ORDINARY

SoulCollage®: Feminine Freedom

In my SoulCollage® cards, I often find myself working in certain colors much more than others. Many of my cards are purple, although I personally don't wear purple often. The other colors I use a lot are red and black together. 

I'm not a color analyst or symbolist, at least not consciously. I find purple to be a mysterious color, but I know this color often connotes both nobility and spirituality. To me it has always meant freedom.

Using SoulCollage terminology, I am the one who often feels stifled, shy, railed in, particularly about my body--largely because of my own fears and more recently because of the limitations of age. I was the one who was always chosen last for sports teams and sat in the corner at dances because I was simply terrorized I'd be discovered as a klutz. I am the one who always needed a drink or two to really relax enough in public to dance decently. My husband and I often danced; he was a great dancer but I was too self-conscious. I am the one, when newly separated and divorced more than two decades ago, would turn up the stereo at home blasting my favorite rock music and dance until I dropped--alone. I found freedom in the dancing--and I haven't done that for a long, long time. 

I am the one who then loved Mariane Athey-Levy's Movement Expression and used to attend her Santa Monica Friday evening classes in the 1990s. The dance studio was darkened and people of every age gathered and we moved, each in our own rhythm, getting used to our bodies. And then I discovered Gabrielle Roth's method, which I assume Movement Expression came from. I often danced to my video of "Sweat Your Prayers." But, I am also one who tires of the discipline of such classes and Santa Monica was so far. And dancing alone at home gets old after a while.

And now I am the one who hasn't danced in ever so long, alone or in a ballroom or studio. I am the one who feels sad that I have reverted to the woman who is no longer at home in my body.

I remember leading a Progoff National Intensive Journal workshop long ago where "Dialogue With the Body" was one of the exercises. When people read back, I was so deeply moved, but I particularly remember a woman in a wheelchair who wrote about the dancer she once had been. 

I'm not even going to ask this card a question because I just want to prop it up next to my journal and next week I'll see where it leads me. It is really pulling at me and I'm just too weary right now to be insightful.

Anne Lindbergh's Gift From the Sea Still Relevant Today

Only those of us who are a "certain age" probably recall air pioneers Charles Lindbergh and his wife Anne Morrow Lindbergh. In my growing up years, however, both of them were household words. My dad worked in the aircraft industry and the kidnapping and subsequent murder of their first child in 1932 was a piece of history every American who lived in those times knew about. 

In 1955 Anne wrote Gift From the Sea--and in 1955 I graduated from high school, but I was too young to appreciate this book then. I never read it seriously until the early 1970s when I was raising three young children and wondering if I would ever have any private time again; the book really helped me clarify myself, motherhood, marriage and my relationships with others. I reread it periodically; I have a paperback, underlined, grungy to the max, from 1965. I often give this book to young women just entering the middle years of marriage. 

So, I was delighted when my book club chose this book for today. My book club is an unusual one; it was started by several young women as a spin off from my school's formation of The Friends of the Library in the mid-1990s. When I partially retired, I was invited to join. I am the oldest woman in the group. Today was a walk through the 1950s with several women dressing the part; all the snacks were '50s appropriate, and the beverages were served in those metal tumblers we all used then. The moderator had checked out several 1950s cultural books and we heard the highlights of those years, including the top literature of that decade. Another woman had done research on Anne and gave us the timeline of her life. Then we launched into the book. 

If you haven't read it, Anne shares her meditations on youth and age; love and marriage; peace, solitude and contentment as she set them down during a brief vacation by the sea. Drawing inspiration from the shells on the shore, Lindbergh’s musings on the shape of a woman’s life is relevant to men and women at any stage of life, but I suppose mostly women.

I was delighted to find an old NPR All Things Considered interview with Anne's youngest daughter Reeve after her mom's death in 2001 which was deeply touching to me. Half of my book is underlined, but in the section called Oyster, she writes about long-term marriages. This passage has stayed with me:

I am very fond of the oyster shell. It is humble and awkward and ugly. it is slate-colored and unsymmetrical. Its form is not primarily beautiful but functional...

But is it the permanent symbol of marriage? Should it -- any more than the double-sunrise shell -- last forever? The tide of life recedes. The house, with its bulging sleeping porches and sheds, begins little by little to empty. The children go away to school and then to marriage and lives of their own... What is one to do -- die of atrophy in an outstripped form? Or move on to another form, other experiences?

Married 27 years, divorced 23 years, I still mourn the idealism of what I thought marriage was. I still wonder if I just moved on to another form, or if I had been more patient, our problems would have ultimately resolved. But--I don't dwell on this a lot. I've had such a wonderful life, but a very different life than I had expected.

Gift From the Sea was written well over 50 years ago, but all of us in book group today were amazed at how relevant the book still is today. 

Sophia Challenges You to Name Ten Songs With Blue in the Title

 Yesterday I wrote about the Blue Man Group, my affinity for blue, my reticence to post entries on the blog, and introduced you to my nephew who looks great in blue. 

Simultaneously, I realized it was time to redress Sophia, my art mannikin, and at the Torrance Salvation Army on Saturday I found her a nice spring dress with shades of blue for $5. Yesterday at the Redondo Beach S.A. I found a gossamer blue scarf for $2. She likes blue, too. The necklace is mine and so is the flower clip in her hair.

She will continue to wear this outfit until Cinco de Mayo or whatever I find next at the thrifts or I recycle one of her six outfits. This dress is a size 4 and it's big on Sophia. I can remember when I dressed in those single digit dresses; it has been a very long time! 

When I first started dressing Sophia last fall, some of my family and friends thought I had passed over the boundaries of eccentricity. 

But, I'll admit, I'm far more comfortable being eccentric now that I'm 71. Who is going to refuse to hang out with me because I'm "Weird Grandma?" I don't live with a man although it is men who initially are jarred when they see Sophia. On the other hand, a few of them have asked for photos with my girl. 

Speaking of grandkids, I spent play time with Henry and Fritz, 6 and 4 1/2, yesterday afternoon and today I took Whitney to her college when her car wouldn't start and then we went out to lunch. She's 22. Afterwards, I went in to visit my grandson Anthony, now 20, and romped with Spooky and Justice, his pit bulls (which he did not have when he lived with me.) 

So, now here's the challenge. Can you name 10 songs with blue in the title? No fair Googling. The song going through my head doesn't actually have blue, but implies it: Mood Indigo. 

Be Prepared to Toast and Quiz on St. Patrick's Day

Be prepared to toast on St. Patrick's Day!

Sophia, my art mannikin, Cookie, and I will mix something or other up today.

Raise your glass and toast your Irish friends with one of these phrases from Slainte on the History Channel.

May your fire be as warm as the weather is cold.

Health, and long life to you
Land without rent to you
The partner of your heart to you
and when you die, may your bones rest in Ireland!

As you slide down the banisters of life may the splinters never point the wrong way.

May you get all your wishes but one,
So you always have something to strive for.

May your blessings outnumber
The shamrocks that grow,
And may trouble avoid you
Wherever you go.

Here's to your coffin...
May it be built of 100 year old oaks which I will plant tomorrow.

May your neighbors respect you,
Troubles neglect you,
The angels protect you,
And Heaven accept you.

May the best day of your past be the worst day of your future.

An old Irish recipe for longevity:
Leave the table hungry.
Leave the bed sleepy.
Leave the bar thirsty.

May you live to be a hundred years, with one extra year to repent.

May you never forget what is worth remembering,
Or remember what is best forgotten.

May you be in heaven one half hour before the devil knows you're dead.

May you have the hindsight to know where you've been,
The insight to know where you are,
and the foresight to know when you've gone too far.

May you have warm words on a cold evening,
A full moon on a dark night,
And the road downhill all the way to your door.

May God bring good health to your enemies enemies

May you never make an enemy
When you could make a friend–
Unless you meet a fox among your chickens.

And if you are still in pretty good shape after your toast, you might want to try this History Channel Irish Quiz. Let me know your results. I got 6 out of 10. My knowledge of Ireland mostly comes from my priest and nun friends--and my dear Mary Lou. 

Ready for Mardi Gras

You know Sophia, my mannikin, that I dress differently every month? Well, she's ready for Mardi Gras and she watched the Academy Awards with Cookie and me in her new clothes. 

This is her lovely face with her mask, purple and black hat dripping with black chiffon in the back, her funky necklace, and a peek of green satin dress. Every piece of her clothing came from a thrift shop or garage/estate sale. 

She'll be partying through Tuesday night, but knows she has to tone it down come Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. 

Here she is full length below.

She says she would be in a parade if she could, preferably in Brazil, but if asked, she'd catch a flight for New Orleans. 

Tomorrow she is going to get another pile of beads and hopes to listen to a little Preservation Hall's jazz. She indicates she wants her hat adjusted so you can so all the poofy chiffon in the back. 

Eat your heart out, red carpet walkers. She says she would either be at the Vanity Fair party or Elton John's tonight--at least in spirit. Instead, she waits silently downstairs. 

Cookie doesn't even give her the time of day anymore. I think she needs a dog, don't you? 

The Advent Before Valentine's Day

There is a magical, untainted-with-cynicism child deep inside who finds Valentine's Day a mystical experience, but the adult in me has long loathed this holiday because it oozes artificiality and commercialism. But, that child me has a valentine's box (written about a few years ago) and now I've dressed my mannequin for the holiday. We are in the advent before valentine's day and I've agreed to table my cynicism and remember that love comes in three flavors--eros, filial and agape. The eros part long ago dropped by the wayside (but don't ever think I've forgotten the peaks and valleys of those experiences) but the filial and agape are alive and well. By the way, when I looked back at my valentines entry at this blog, I ragged on this holiday all five years--which I had totally forgotten.) 

So, here is Sophia dressed for valentine's day. (Both my car and my mannequin are named Sophia.)

She is wearing a really lovely deep red taffeta dress with a hem I adore. Those of you who sew or know fashion can fill me in on the hem. The bottom of the skirt is attached to the lining inside making the skirt hang in a poofy way. The dress was $5.99 at the Salvation Army. Her felt hat trimmed with velvet and netting is vintage, something I've owned since those good old days when we had to go to Mass covering our heads. 

Her top is gossamer, see-through black trimmed with rhinestones (Salvation Army, $3.99). Around her neck she wears a beautiful set of red beads that my aunt brought me from Hong Kong, probably 35 years ago at least. Each bead is etched. The red bracelet I purchased from Bead for Life. 

The heart around Sophia's neck is my creation, made in layers and dotted with emphemera. Have I ever told you that my very favorite clothing color combination is red and black? 

When my friend Kathy came to visit this morning, I made a disparaging remark about older women who feel compelled to dress mannequins, but she said it was a great idea. Though, at our age, we rarely "dress" anymore, we can continue to enjoy dress-up clothing if we display it. My close friends "get me," that me who creates something out of nothing on a daily basis.

Here is a close up scan of the heart I made. 

If you click it, you can see it larger. 

As I've been saying, though, wait until you see Sophia dressed for Mardi Gras in a few weeks. 

So, this was one of my Creative Every Day creations for this month. 

Women Through the Ages Collage Video

Some friends recently sent me a link to Saatchi & Saatchi's UK gallery where there is an incredible video of portraits of women through the ages. I haven't found the embed code, so I include the link here: Saatchi & Saatchi Gallery. I have watched it several times and I find it so beautiful and inspiring. Wow. Egg Man, its creator, really tapped into the collective unconscious with this one. 

SoulCollage: Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest

I made this SoulCollage card today from elements I have been collecting. I call it "Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest." In Greek mythology, Demeter is Goddess of the harvest and is most notably linked to the growing, preserving and harvesting of grain.

As the grain Goddess she also became the patron Goddess of Millers and bakers.

She not only represented the fertility of the land but as a Mother Goddess she was worshipped by woman hoping to have a child.

Her struggle to save her daughter, Persephone from the underworld led to the creation of the seasons.

I am the one who spent some time in the garden today, trembling a little with the knowledge that spring is just around the corner. Mother Nature is fooling Southern California right now into believing it is already here, but rain and cool down is predicted for later this week. I am the one who never gave birth to a child but have three wonderful adult children we adopted as infants. I am aware that fertility is more than the actual ability to conceive and bear a child. I am the one who also struggled to save her daughter, but the Gods smiled; my daughter saved herself. I am the one, however, who has also gone into the underground (depression) more than once in my lifetime, but here I am at 71--coping and then some. 

I can't think of a question tonight for Demeter, but what would you ask her if you could? 

I am happy that I'm participating in Creative Every Day; it provides the nudge I need to create in some fashion every day. 

Our 1939 Trip to South America: Charles and Sonia Hammer-Housestead

As many of you know, I work part-time as an archivist at a private school. One of the really interesting “mysteries” is when you first open a box in deep storage and see its content for the first time. Last year I found a box with three photo albums and two scrapbooks, two of them from Ft. Reilly, Kansas. The few names that were written in white pencil on the black pages had no correlation to the school as far as I could discern. The date ranges were from the late 1920s through the 1950s. 

As it turned out, our photography teacher was given these albums by a former employee thinking he might be able to use the photos for teaching purposes. Instead, he stored them in the archives where they have sat for many years. There is no connection to my school as far as I can tell, which means I can decide their fate. Archivists share their materials so ultimately I'll find the proper home for them. But for now, I've gone into my story telling mode because as I was told from early childhood, "She has an imagination that won't quit."

Above you see a photo of a woman on deck of a ship and I was instantly taken deep into who she is and what she was doing. A chinchilla lap robe, a wicker chair, a cloche, furs about her neck. My only clues of this series are The SS Florencia, 300 tons; Chalet Suisse Iguigue, and the Antofagasta Part Works. With the exception of the latter link, I can’t find anything so far when I’ve searched. The albums date from the late 1920s through the 1950s. This series of photos seems to be in 1939 and are largely in South America. Many of them are of engineering projects underway and a series of men hiking, and these of a ship.

So, out of my imagination comes Mrs. Charles (Sonia) Hammer-Housestead whose husband is a civil engineer in the United States.  He and his colleagues are on a business/pleasure trip to South America and Charles brings along his wife and their shepherd King.

In this photo, King looks out to sea while Sonia holds up a treat.

This is King and Sonia posing for Charles on the deck.
 

 

And here a very proud Charles takes a classic profile of Sonia next to the Imperial.

This is a photo Sonia snapped of hubby Charles aboard ship with his suit, vest and fedora. 

If these were your characters you just acquired through photos, what would their names and their stories be? 

 

 

SoulCollage: The Super Mom

About once a week I have to reorganize my office/art room. All my computer equipment lives there, plus my fabulous art drawers and shelving, a queen-size futon, and a fold-up five-foot craft table from Joann's.

At this moment I have five SoulCollage cards in various stages of prep, plus the covers for a new journal, and various "maybe" projects for Creative Every Day. 

I finally had all the elements I wanted for this card tonight, so I pasted it down. This is Super Mom which is part of the Committee suit. 

Though I am no longer a mom of young kids, my own adult children are Super Moms and Dads and most of the parents I interact with are, too. I am using the collective first person.

I am the one who is grounded in the circle of life while time flies quickly by. I visibly wear my Super Mom suit when I'm nurturing and loving my children, but I wear it underneath my work clothes, my grungies, my pajamas, and occasionally beneath an evening gown. I am told I have an aura of pale blue around my head and that my power animals guide the way, even when I am not aware of them. It's true that I can fly myself, but more often than not you'll find me in the garden when I'm not driving carpool or taking care of a thousand details. I try hard to balance the anima and animus and occasionally slip into co-dependency. All Super Moms do sometimes. Once a woman has been a Super Mom she can never revert to not being one. I am the one whose super suit is thin with age and wear, but I'm ready to strip down and save whoever when I make the decision to answer a call. The difference between then and now, as an elder Super Mom, I'm far more discerning about when to swoop in. 

Tonight, when I was cleaning up my computer desktop, I decided that when I have time I will add a SoulCollage album at Sacred Ordinary. I scan every card I make and I have about 140 of them now. What a great process this has been for me the past years to get in touch with myself, particularly my creative self. Thanks, Seena Frost, for creating a tool that so many of us benefit from.