Heartfelt Haiku - "Serenity"

I'm longing for blue

Waves and tides and beach campfires

The October cape.  

Serenity, Shipwreck, & Sea, .

Once upon a time, in a land - not so far away...

A shrimping boat named the "Donna Kay" made her last voyage and came to rest on the Florida Panhandle. There are several accounts of how she came to be at Cape San Blas - "The Forgotten Coast".  One story says she was abandoned, another says the captain fell asleep or nets became entangled in parts of the ship making it lose its steering capabilities.  Whatever the case, it was jostled about in the Gulf until Hurricane Michael finally ran her further aground on Cape San Blas.  Hurricane Michael made landfall on October 10, 2018.  Since that time, the Donna Kay delighted locals, tourists, artists and photographers with its maritime romance and annoyed local residents who viewed it as maritime refuse.  I strongly disagreed with the latter.  Sadly, the Donna Kay did not stand the test of time.  She was dismantled and removed in August of this year.

A stunning capture of the Donna Kay by Kathryn Stivers
www.DistantLightStudio.com
She can be found on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/kstivers
and Instagram https://www.instagram.com/distant_light_studio/?hl=en

My husband and I visited the cape with our children in 2012 and 2013.  Last year (2020), we were able to visit the cape with just the two of us.  We walked miles of shoreline and collected countless souvenir shells.   It is a magical, "Forgotten Coast".  Aside from one Inn, which appears to be quite small and quaint, you'll need to rent one of the homes or condos that line this beautiful shore.    

Most of our vacation last year was spent lounging or walking on the beach.  We have always loved the cape for its peacefulness and serenity.  We made an occasional trip to Port St. Joe and dinner out a night or two - and that's it.  This is the exactly the way our vacation was planned. We wanted to relax and simply shut out the rest of the world. We succeeded.  

We went to see the Donna Kay on one of our walks.  We parked near "the stumps" and started our trek.  As we walked, I turned to John and said, "We're about to do something very, very tourist-y..."  We both laughed.  Neither of us cared - but I did think I should warn him.  We're just not in the habit of following the crowd or doing anything just because it's trendy - except this.  It trumped our quasi-commitment to not following the crowd. We walked alone and saw parts of the cape most visitors don't get to see.  It's wild and untouched there (relatively speaking).  We found later that alligators and snakes are more frequently seen on that part of the cape...  I'm glad I didn't know that or I'd have been more reticent to take that hike!   We were mostly alone on the way to the Donna Kay and back.  The weather cooperated too.  Hurricane Zeta was just to our west and made landfall on southeastern Louisiana.  We had occasional showers while we were walking, but the sun would break out from time to time.  I won't lie, the first glimpse of the Donna Kay gave me a little chill.  It was just an old, broken-down shrimping boat with faded paint, rust and broken/missing parts.  But I immediately saw the romance in her presence and fully understood the desire to leave it where it rested.  We stayed for some time, taking photos, making Forrest Gump jokes and just being in that moment.  We're both so thankful to have taken this hike.  It was, without a doubt, the highlight of our vacation.     

There are at least two schools of thought pertaining to the Donna Kay.  Most property owners wanted it be to dismantled and removed.  There had been one or two failed attempts to tow the boat out of the area, but it was embedded too deep in the sand.  Local government and the military are not happy about its presence - it rested on Eglin military property.  People visiting the Donna Kay sometimes chose to climb aboard and then it became a matter of liability.  There is also the matter of the ship being vandalized.  Many items in and on the ship were removed and became souvenirs.  None of this was the right thing to do - on the part of the visitors. But the owner of this boat was seemingly not in the picture to claim or guard his property.  So, it appeared to be fair game. 

The other side of this coin is the romance associated with this boat.  It rested in an unpopulated and beautiful spot on the cape. The Donna Kay made a wonderful subject for photographers.  Kathryn Stiver's photo is one of the loveliest I have seen.  So lovely, I felt compelled to include it in my post.  This "Hidden Gem" brought visitors from all over and for many reasons.  In March of 2020 a couple was married at the site of  the Donna Kay.  I'm sure if I researched longer than already I have, I would find many other stories of why people visited this simple, red shrimping boat.  

I do feel there could have been other options to have the Donna Kay remain and insure the safety of those who visit.  But this was not my battle and the point is now, moot.  As John would say, I have no horse in this race.  I'm just lucky girl who spent a beautiful afternoon with her husband hiking along the shore - dodging the surf, weaving in and out of and over and under trees and marveling at our surroundings...all to see the Donna Kay.  It was absolute bliss.

Just starting out.  Somewhere near the "stumps" I believe.

Even a cloudy, blustery day on the cape is a beautiful day.

Shells adorning driftwood

Explorers decorate palm trees with shells along the way

One of several shots from that afternoon.  The weather was very unsettled due to Hurricane Zeta!
 

Zeta - Just a tad close

He's pretty cute.  I think he said something Forest Gump-ish when I shot this..
"This is mah boaat!"

At the site of the Donna Kay, looking east.  So beautiful there!  

I'm a happy girl!

Just us, after our hike <3

"If It's Gable, I'll take him!" and other Gram-isms

My maternal grandmother, Ruth Francis Lewis Kirby was born on December 14, 1901 in Paris, Kentucky.  For as long as I can remember, she left a fragrant trail of Tuvache's Jungle Gardenia perfume wherever she went.  Her beautiful white-gray hair was piled on top of her head in a sweet and grandmotherly way.  Her fingernails and toes were neatly painted and manicured in her signature fire engine red polish.  Her blue eyes shone through her glasses like aquamarine gemstones. She was a lively and feisty girl with a great sense of humor and a quick wit!  I loved her dearly.

She lived with her parents until her father's death in 1911 - which meant, at the approximate age of ten, she and most of her siblings were shuffled off to an orphanage. I understand these things happened in families where there was not sufficient income to care properly for children.  I get that.  I know very little about my great grandmother and I wouldn't want to judge her unfairly.  But the fact remains - she gave my grandmother and her siblings away to strangers - and that breaks my heart.

As far as I know, Ruth was never adopted or fostered and left the orphanage when she became of age.  She married my grandfather - Harris Breck Kirby, III.  He was a railroad man-tall and handsome with blue eyes like her own.  The one story I remember about Gram and Grampy as a couple, was when they made a long trip to the home they would both share after they were married.  At the end of the day she was tired, and lay down on a sofa to rest.  She awoke to a goat licking her face... I remember her telling this story laughing.  I'm fairly certain farm life was relatively new to her.  But being the girl she was, she made the best of every situation with what she had...and with a smile on her face.  

Gram & Grampy's 2nd wedding day-nearly 30 years after their first! 
Oh, that's my sweet brother trying to stay out of the shot <3 

My sweet Grampy reading to me. 
I'm pretty sure I thought I was a Winnie the Pooh character... 

But while she was apart from her Harris, she lived in Chicago.  One day, while riding the bus to work in the downtown area in the 1940's, the bus driver called out "Clark" as in  Clark Street.  Above the conversation in the crowded bus, my grandmother shouted out "If it's Gable, I'll take him!"  I'm sure those morning bus riders had a good laugh.  I know I did, and I wasn't even there!  Ruth had such a great sense of humor, fun and adventure!

Here is Ruth with my mom and her brothers, Harris Jr. and Frank.
There were four children all together. Elvira (not in this photo) passed away as a child.

My two grandmothers!  They really liked each other and included Ruth at family events

Ruth wasn't a girl with whom one would trifle... She was kind and funny, but we pitied anyone who crossed her.  A fast forward to a few years later, she was watching my two older brothers- who were then, just little people.  Gram asked them to do something- get ready for bed,  finish their dinner, etc.  Now... I don't know which one said it - I can only guess.  But the reply was "I'll do it when I'm good and ready!"  Gram walked in the room and gave them that look - "What did you say?"  To which he replied... "I'm ready, I'm ready!"   I laugh to myself when I replay that scene in my head as I have done for many years.  It never gets old.  

These are the sweet little monkeys who challenged my grandmother!

I rarely saw my grandmother seated, without some manner of needle work in her hands.  She was talented in so many ways.  Ruth was also an accomplished seamstress.  She worked sewing car upholstery for a time while living in Chicago.  She certainly used her love of fiber arts to her full advantage!   She made my mom's simple and elegant wedding gown!  

Mom & Dad - Aren't they beautiful...

Chicago - January 17, 1948

Gram knitted, crocheted, tatted, embroidered and cross-stitched, sewed, and probably more things than I will ever be aware.  I have many cherished items she made during her lifetime and am absolutely certain; this is where my love of fiber art and needlework was borne. 

This is just one of Gram's sweet handmade items.  I love this little apron...

That's me!

Sam and Mable were a pair of House Sparrows who nested in the eaves our our home in Chicago.  Gram visited often and we talked about these little birds.  All these years later, I see in this apron, just how much my Gram loved me.  

To date, I have learned many different fiber arts.  Primarily, I spin, knit, weave, felt, dabble in natural dyeing, crochet and sew.   I teach most of these skills to other like-minded souls who, almost always, become life long friends. 

I also write, draw, paint in oils, acrylic and now watercolor.  My right brain is apparently developed to a much greater degree than the left...  Many years ago, a friend told me it was simply a natural progression for creatives to "try" everything.  Some things just seem to stick with us longer.  She was definitely right.  However,  I can with great certainty, say - everything I have learned and continue to practice, will be with me as long as I'm around.   I can be a flaky artist or a focused program director.  I just always hope the days are appropriately distributed. 

Beautiful hand-dyed yarn purchased in Georgetown, Colorado at The Quilted Purl
It started out as toe-up socks...(this was before I learned to knit two socks at the same time!)  It was taking way too long to finish even the first sock.  I frogged this sock (knitter terminology for take-apart.  Rip it, rip it..)   and decided to make this lovely "Roller Coaster" scarf!   Life is too short to be frustrated by socks.  

The Roller Coaster Scarf!  

 

Look at all those tiny little cables!  Need to finish this little baby vest!

Essential beach vacation supplies!

A warm pair of alpaca socks for my son

Twill table runner

"Orange Peel" overshot table runner
My sister has two of them! :)

Knitting on a hot day, in my booth at a local festival.

A cheeseball photo of me at a Willow Oak painting party.  I was truly enjoying the evening!
I like very few photos of myself - My friend and coworker Lacie took this one.  I would probably only smile like this for her...  

My little writing nook is a beautiful and usually sunny spot.  It sure feels good here!

There's so much to do, see and learn in the future.  I don't want to miss any of it. 

Thanks Gram 

and

Thank you to anyone who ever helped me along the way to fulfil a goal or dream.

💗💗💗

A reintroduction. Who are we, really…?

 I am a wife, mom, fiber artist, program director for an art center, teacher of fiber arts, writer, painter, starter of projects.  I have actual moments of clarity.  I aspire to do many things and even accomplish a few of them.

When I was twenty-something, I told my sister I was going to move out of state, change my name, live on a hill and learn to spin wool from my own flock.  Well, I did just that.

I didn’t set out to do any of these things on purpose.  When I originally made that statement, I hadn’t considered marriage as  part of the scenario.  I planned to change my name in the metaphorical sense and not the way it happened.

I felt adrift.  My mom passed away when she was 56 and I, 21.  I was in the midst of several job/career changes.  I was unhappy dating and frankly, didn’t want to be married.  I couldn’t stand the thought of telling my life story one.more.time.  I was restless and wanted to run away and become someone else. 

My home was in Chicago (and a suburb).  Quite by happy accident, I met a man from Tennessee and fell in love.  I told my life story one more time.  We married, I changed my name, moved – to a house on a hill – and bought my first two sheep in 1992.  I learned to spin a year before that, and weaving came shortly thereafter.    It’s rather unnerving how this happened in retrospect.  However, it wasn’t simply a passing thought.  I wanted these things to become my reality.  I spoke my life into existence…

Vintage photo of my first sheep Anddie and me

Sheep aren’t a part of my days anymore.  They all lived happy content lives until, one by one, it was their time to leave.  I work as a program director for a school of art and humanities.  I teach fiber arts there as well.  Our children are grown.  We have time to focus on each other and the things we wish to bring into our lives.  Life is full, but there’s room for more.

Today, “Berta’s Flax” brings me to the page.  Berta’s Flax is a new Facebook group to which I belong.  Quite simply, a wonderful Austrian woman named Christiane came into the possession of two large chests filled with sticks of flax and linens.  They belonged to an Austrian woman named Berta who married in the 1940’s.   She has passed  away and her son wanted his mother’s belongings to go to a good home.  The chests and their contents were Berta’s dowry.  Christiane soon realized she would not be able to spin all the flax in the gifted dowry chests and began to give it to other spinners for only the cost of shipping.  She is a kind and gentle soul I wish I knew in person. 

Christiane.  

Christiane with a bridal chest.

The last time I checked, Berta’s Flax has grown to an amazing 745 members!  I have not requested a strick from Christiane yet.  I want to wait until I feel she has caught her breath.  My experience spinning flax is minimal and poor at best.  I do think, with the addition of this wonderful group, I may learn many useful tips… 

I read stories daily about Berta’s Flax members receiving their stricks and more stories of dowry chests lovingly handed over to Christiane - and some not.  I find myself thinking of my Austrian grandmother Anne and great-grandmother Barbara - both with the last name Rostan.  My paternal grandmother Anne was wonderful.  She was warm, loving and always armed with a hug.  In regard to fiber, I never saw her with any kind of  kind of needlework in her hands.  She was a busy girl – a wonderful cook, she kept a beautiful home and always had time for family.  Anne had arthritis in her hands and that may very well have been the reason she didn’t do any kind of fiber art when I was a child. 

Truly little is known about my great-grandmother, Barbara.  She and my great grandfather, Lawrence were married against her family’s wishes. Barbara came from a wealthy family and Lawrence was a farmer - with what I can only guess, was an austere lifestyle.  Together, they had a large family with twin boys being the last of their children. 

There are several stories surrounding my great grandmother.  The most logical one I have been told is Barbara passed away giving birth to the twin boys.  This would have happened somewhere in the late 1800’s.  After her death, Barbara’s family came to the home to take the twin boys and “furniture” belonging to Barbara.  Lawrence then traveled to the United States and later sent for his children.  Lawrence remarried very quickly upon coming to the states to a woman named Mary who was also from Austria.  Together, they had many children as well.

Until last week, I never considered what the “furniture” might have been that was so important, Barbara’s family would come to retrieve it after her death (along with two precious baby boys).  I’m nearly convinced now; part of the furniture must have been her bridal chest(s).  I wonder what they contained.  Was it flax and linens?  It’s doubtful I will ever know. 

When I think of Barbara, I am in awe of her strong and courageous spirit.  Against her family’s wishes, she married a man whose social and financial standing was beneath hers.  She married into a life of hard, physical work, but also full of love for the man who made her want to leave a much easier life behind – and not look back. I want to know more about this woman, from where she came and what she was like.  The church that held the records regarding this family burned, so all recorded information was lost.  Somewhere in my soul, I feel I have family in Austria who were borne from the lineage of my twin great uncles.  I could have distant family in Berta’s Flax.  They are most assuredly my family in fiber.  I am grateful to be part of this group that ties together my love of fiber and the culture that is part of my heritage.  Here’s to you, Barbara and Berta!

My grandmothers - Ruth and Anne on my parent's Wedding Day!

Christiane's photo of an Austrian morning.  
I feel strong ties to this part of my heritage. <3

White Stuff is Falling from the Sky!

I was sitting at work looking out the window the other day.  It was snowing with gusto.  It's a rare commodity where I live and work.  At one point, I found myself with my hand propping up my chin, staring wistfully at the snow.  I'm 58 years old and I've never hated seeing the white stuff fall from the sky - and pile up on the ground.  It turns me into an 8 year old.  

I have lived in the midsouth for many years.  Snow that sticks to the ground opens a whole new Pandora's box here. Most people here don't really drive all that well in the white stuff...and the hills and hollows can make a slippery road, one hundred times more dangerous.  Most people just don't have much experience with it. However, the weather is routinely (mostly) predictable here regarding snow.  It rarely gets that bad.  The roads had been brined and all will be well.  

But still, I'm looking out the window watching the giant flakes dance and fall soothingly from the sky - only to melt as soon as they touch the ground.  In the distance, I hear a train whistle - another sound I love.  It was definitely a zen moment.  Somewhere inside me, I'm wishing for hot chocolate, a fire in the hearth, a cat beside me and my knitting in my lap.  I'm either a little kid or an old woman (inside), waiting to play. 

I hope you get a snow day soon, to simply enjoy.   

The Tale of the Christmas Carousel - 1985

Once upon a time, in a land far far away (Illinois), there was a girl (me), who lived with her dad (Dad).  They were getting ready to have the family over for Christmas the next morning.  It was late.  They had just come home from midnight mass and had a few last minute things to accomplish. 

Dad was vacuuming and I was downstairs working on something else.  I heard Dad saying something upstairs but couldn't understand exactly what he was saying.  I went up to see what was happening.  When I got there, I saw his thing was more important that anything I could have been doing.  The Christmas candle carousel was on fire!  Dad was attempting to put the fire out with a towel.  Within a few seconds, the fire was out and all was going to be well.  But all the while, he was kind of laughing and said "Fire in the hole!" a couple times.  When the fire was out, he was still laughing - we both were...  It was a small fire and nothing was destroyed.  All was well and we had a good laugh.  

Several years later, Dad was thinning out his decorations and asked me if I wanted "our" scorched Christmas carousel.  I immediately told him yes!  It is now in my possession and one of my treasured holiday decorations.  Dad has his own permanent reminder of that night.  There is a burned ring on the wooden divider where the carousel was sitting. I like knowing that little ring is there...

Now, every season, I unpack the Christmas carousel and proudly display it.  Most likely I have told the story behind it every year.  When our kids were younger, they may have rolled their eyes a little each time it was recited.  That's ok.  I want them to have the memory of this little item that I so strongly associate with their grandfather and those few minutes in my life.  I don't want them wondering why I have this thing they, or even other people might consider junk.    

It's not that I have become the custodian of Dad's Christmas carousel ... It's so much more than that.  It's those 5 crazy minutes their Grampy and I shared on that Christmas Eve somewhere around 1985.  It represents his character as a father, protector, teacher and friend.  He put the fire out and made it amusing at the same time.  He didn't become angry, fearful or any other negative reaction.  I was in my mid 20's and he was still teaching me - to not freak out and make the best of a bad (or what could have been bad) situation. But he didn't do it intentionally. That's just Dad.  Even to this day, that's my Dad.  I sure hope to be just like him when I grow up.

So, when the carousel comes out for all Christmases in the future, I hope they remember this story.  I hope they remember the kind of man my dad is - and what kind of human they want to be in this world.  I also hope they bicker just a little over who gets the carousel when I'm not here anymore.  

You see, it's just not about the thing - it's about what the thing means to you.  

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

 

I had a nostalgic thought several months ago.  It literally brought tears to my eyes - I miss Christmas.  I miss everything about it.  

Simply thinking about Christmas, I am immediately transported to a time when people are happier, friendlier - more joyous.  Strangers wish me Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Happy Kwanzaa or Hanukkah too. I miss the gentle lights that frame my mantle. Their warm glow brings me actual warmth and happiness. I miss the twinkling of colored lights that illuminate my windows, the snowflake light my dad gave me.  I love every element of this season. The Christmas tree, the manger scenes, the advent calendars - I miss Christmas.

It's not the commercialization of the season that I miss, but the coming of a baby-everything I do has to do with Him.  Even within the hustle and bustle of the season, every present I purchase, every candle I light, every time I sing Jingle Bells- it all goes back to the little babe, lying in a manger. 

I’m the ebullient little toddler on my mom’s lap.  I’m sure there isn’t a thing wrong in my world.  We are all together (Dad is behind the camera), and it’s Christmas Eve. I was two years old in this photo, but it’s how I feel every Christmas season.  At two years old, I don't think I had much of a grasp on what this time was really about.  But I was a happy little girl here.  I may not have her expression that was captured in this photo, but it’s inside me - just below the surface. 

We are just a short time away from my favorite holiday.  I go through my days with a happy, fluttery feeling inside – it feels like anticipation – as if something wonderful is about to happen.  It could be all the caffeine or maybe adrenaline …but probably not.  Christmas is about to happen!  The tree is about to go up!  I'll be burning Paine’s Balsam Fir incense in its little log cabin holder and decorate to my heart’s content, write out my Christmas cards and say Merry Christmas to complete strangers. I think we need to make some wassail too!  Man, I'm excited!

 If you happen to see me in February, July or September… I’ll be thinking of Christmas then, too.  I will be silently counting down the days until I can decorate without hearing the whine "It's too early".  You see, that feeling - it lives in me every day of the year.  

So, Merry Christmas my friends!   Live in the moment, it’s what it’s for.  

Thoughts this morning.

The wound is the place where the Light enters you. 
- Rumi

Greg

Yesterday marked the first year without my brother Greg.  He was born October 28, 1948 - which was nine months and eleven days after my parents were married.  So sweet.  I sure did love this guy.  It's been a very rough year.  His death came without much warning - maybe three months.  He was only 69 years old. We, as a family, were devastated. 

This quote from Rumi resonates with me for several reasons.  I've felt like an open wound for the last year and  broken by circumstances around me.  Clearly, I'm not the victim.  It was my brother.  But after someone you love passes away and their suffering is over, to a degree we assume the role of victim.  That's just grief.  It's the big hole in your heart - the wound where that someone used to be.  They're still in your heart, but gone at the same time. 

I'm still waiting for the light to enter. Perhaps it has already begun- but it's happening at such a slow rate, I'm not noticing the darkness is dissipating.  I can look at a photo of Greg now without completely losing control - and that's huge.  I can find joy and beauty in my surroundings.  I've laughed so hard, tears flowed.  I didn't allow myself to feel these things for many months.  It wasn't a conscious decision to deprive myself. When a fun or joyful opportunity presented itself, I didn't want any part of it. 

Thanksgiving was pretty hard.  Greg often came to visit over Thanksgiving and the following weekend.  I cried as I prepared his favorite pie-mincemeat.  I cried again a week later when we had to throw most of it out.  Greg and I were the only ones who really loved it.  When Christmas rolled around, I had to make a conscious decision to make things happen.  Decorating and shopping were the hardest they've ever been.  Even enjoying a simple glass of wine seemed like celebrating- but at least by the holidays, I could allow myself to enjoy that!   

If life had been a color, it would have been gray - not bright or dark, not happy or sad, just devoid of interest.  Clarity of thought is something I have also missed - not that this has ever been my strong point.  But I'm pretty sure my coworkers have missed this as well.  So, I have to assume I'm making my way through this process.  It has been a year of incredible stress and loss.

I'm with my theoretical friend Rumi.  I'm looking for the light.  Waiting for it to shine even brighter through the gaping wound grief brought when my brother left this world. 

My message isn't particularly cheery this morning.  It's a gray, rainy Good Friday.  However, my hopefulness for even brighter, happier days ahead, is certainly not gray.  I'm looking forward and my energy is returning.  The gray funk is receding. 

If you're grieving for any reason, I hope you're able to see your way though it.  Find a way to grow from the pain -even if it's developing a blog and spilling all your misery out on a page for people you don't know, to read.  ;) 

Thanks for reading!

Greg & Bobcat last Summer
We lost Bobcat, Bobby, Bob, last week. 
I like to think this is what they're doing right now.  :)

Better Late than Never

An Irish Weaver’s Blessin’

-Denise A. Rostan-O’Haley

 

May your shuttles always be full 

when you need ‘em

and

empty when ya want to fill ‘em.

May your warp never tangle while you’re dressin’ your loom.

May the sun shine on your work and not in your eyes.

I pray ya have no floats 

and 

perfect be your web.

May your drink be at hand, 

bare be your feet 

and 

swift be your hands as you throw

for the next beat!

May God’s blessing shine upon your weavin’ 

to bring joy to all who it touches!