The Match
Chad Davidson
The burner and the blackout crave you: pilot
of heat, purveyor of the innocent
candle and cigarette, light we tamed
then fed to the night. Cupped, inviolate,
a winter moth, a prayer we never sent
away, you live in seconds what we name
a life, a sudden cleansing. You Prometheus
come as toothpick, the false fire lent
to our fingertips, lightbulb of the lame
idea: may your phosphorus forgive us,
old flame.
I suppose all that any of us need when we've lost our way and need to find our way forward is a flame to light the way .
What I Made Today: Gemstone and Crystal Glam Necklace
Assembled semi-precious gemstones, pearls, with vermeil findings,To be completely honest, I made this last week. In any case, of late, I've been combining metalwork and beading. Even though this project was satisfying to create, I'm ready to get back to traditional metal work in 2011. I have a few projects in the works and will post them when they're completed.
January Crows
Crows in the cornfield January 2, 2011.Early Sunday morning a murder of crows were in the field behind my home pecking out the last frozen corn kernels. They flew off to the east when I approached, but soon were back perched in the Honey Locust tree.
Favorite Holiday Images
Amaris in the dining room.
Amaris with the snoozing grandparents.
Christmas Day.
On Willow Pine Lane with Chatlin, Ellie, and Harley.
Chatlin.
Amaris and our Charlie Brown tree.
Farm animals during snowstorm.
Harley Christmas Eve.
The Coffee Project - December 16, 2010.-January 5, 2010
January 5, 2010.
January 3, 2010. Happy 83rd!
January 2, 2011.
December 31, 2010. New Year's Eve on the comfort zone.
December 30, 2010. 
Afternoon coffee.
December 29, 2010. Coffee at the mall.
December 28, 2010. Although he looks like he's busy with his phone, the man seated us next to us could not resist interjecting opinions into our conversation.
December 27, 2010.
December 26, 2010.
December 24, 2010.
December 23, 2010.
December 22, 2010. Jamie and Cecil flew in from Georgia for a surprise visit during morning coffee at Grannie Annie's.
Afternoon coffee at Einstien's with Ronnie and Cecil.
December 21, 2010.
December 20, 2010.
December 19, 2010.
December 18, 2010.
December 16, 2010.
Poem Therapy at 11;26 A.M. January 3, 2011 - Ted Kooser's A Happy Birthday
A Happy Birthday
Ted Kooser
This evening, I sat by an open window
and read till the light was gone and the book
was no more than a part of the darkness.
I could easily have switched on a lamp,
but I wanted to ride this day down into night,
to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page
with the pale gray ghost of my hand.
It is my father's eighty-third birthday today. Eight decades is a very long time. In his lifetime he's seen the world reinvent and turn itself inside out countless times, dictators, despots, and great leaders, come and go, he has witnessed wars of such atrocity that only the twentieth century could claim, and technology contain the world and offer up its bounty in a hand held phone.
My father got out "from under the tub" and travelled "over the mountain" in his lifetime, and has compressed more experience into his eighty three years than most ever will.
My father is a reader and passed his love of books to his children. He is a storyteller, and in another life, I think he would have been a writer. Or a boxer, such is his spirit.
The final page has yet to be turned in the book of Daniel, and like the speaker of the poem, I prefer to think he will ride the day down into night.
Ted Kooser
This evening, I sat by an open window
and read till the light was gone and the book
was no more than a part of the darkness.
I could easily have switched on a lamp,
but I wanted to ride this day down into night,
to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page
with the pale gray ghost of my hand.
It is my father's eighty-third birthday today. Eight decades is a very long time. In his lifetime he's seen the world reinvent and turn itself inside out countless times, dictators, despots, and great leaders, come and go, he has witnessed wars of such atrocity that only the twentieth century could claim, and technology contain the world and offer up its bounty in a hand held phone.
My father got out "from under the tub" and travelled "over the mountain" in his lifetime, and has compressed more experience into his eighty three years than most ever will.
My father is a reader and passed his love of books to his children. He is a storyteller, and in another life, I think he would have been a writer. Or a boxer, such is his spirit.
The final page has yet to be turned in the book of Daniel, and like the speaker of the poem, I prefer to think he will ride the day down into night.
What Are You Afraid Of?
What Are You Afraid Of - Darla Jackson alfalfalovesme.etsy.comI picked up a ceramic rabbit sculpture at a vintage store a few months back, completely oblivious that the new year would be the year of the rabbit. I debated purchasing it for my totem shelf on top of our vintage barroom piano, mainly because I usually think of rabbits as timid, fearful, but instinct won out and I placed it right next to the she-wolf of Romulus and Remus renown, and the rhinoceros and crow sculptures. Yes, the collection is eclectic and interesting, and also something of a window into the workings of my psyche.
Rabbits are beautiful and pleasant, but I've never really considered them to be totem material. My mother had a pet rabbit named Harvey, which she kept in the backyard. The rabbit was enormous, and the backyard/pasture vast. I could always locate Harvy as a big white spot in the landscape. I have no idea how Harvey came to live with us. The rabbit has been gone for years now, but I remember what a source of delight and humor Harvey was. I was the one who discovered him when he died, and buried him under the tree in the pasture next to a multitude of graves for other pets and small livestock.
I love this sculpture by Darla Jackson, and especially the title. Here the timid rabbit has donned a crow mask to ward off conflict or enemies, just like all of us do on some level. I've always loved crows, and on a deep level identify with this bird. After coffee this morning a murder of crows, probably fifty birds were in the wheat field pecking out a meal.
What are you afraid of?
Good question. Here are my top fears/confession time:
1. I'm afraid that my procrastination and perfectionism will keep getting the best of me and I'll never finish my novel, the one I've been "working" on for years and years. My goal for 2011 is to finish it. I mean it! My goal is to write without judgement, write every day, just write, then clean it up, and send it off. My goal is to put it out there and give it a chance.
2. I'm afraid I won't say the words that have needed to be said for the past three years. No one will die if I say them. Yes, things as they are will change dramatically, but for the best, I believe. I've been waiting for the right time, the right circumstance, and honestly, the time has always been now. My goal for 2011 is to say them and get on with it.
3. I'm afraid I won't allow myself to be who I am meant to be, and honestly, this is the easiest to change. I've already started getting out of my rut, revisioning where I'll be, what I'll have accomplished, what I'll be doing, how I will be in the world by this time next year. My goal for 2011 is to stop distracting myself being the jack of all art trades and focus on living my life on my own terms and this ultimately means sitting my ass in a chair and getting the words on paper.
Yes, for a brief time I considered myself on the artist's path, and I am artist, but it's not my life path. I used to have shows, some I suppose were important in my small pond, but what I've discovered is that my art fuels my writing, and I've been using taking classes and focusing on painting, sculpting, jewelry making, glass making, and even publishing a journal, etc. to keep me from writing, so instead of fueling my real work, it's sumblimating. I really have been a rabbit, fearful of putting my writing out there.
In retrospect, some of the fear was warranted. I really was working on my novel, but when I got to the heart of it, something terrible, like stroke, heart attack, death, accident happened and I got sidetracked. The sky was falling, but it wasn't because of the novel, it just was, but of course I connected the two and ran for cover back to the arts, but really only half-heartily. I was asked to participate in a show a couple years back and the whole thing fell through, although a piece of mine was purchased and was to be exhibited, but it wasn't. I've been asked to participate in two shows and declined because I wanted to work out sculpture details. I really think all of this was a test, and the truth is, my heart wasn't in it or I would have moved heaven and earth to make it happen. The same for almost every venture the last three years, including a journal I dearly loved. My printer going bankrupt, a key editor's accident, and the failing economy shifted everything,not to mention I made every amatuer mistake possible, and now I realize I should have gone digital rather than print from the beginning, but the past can't be redone.
Honestly, I think all the problems were connected to waiting for the time to be write, so the focus would be spot on. That time is now. I have no idea where the writing will take me. I do know I am starting from scratch, from the very first word.
The last three years have been years of stripping the bone clean so I could finally see what matters most. Although 2011 is the Year of Rabbit, it is the Year of the Hermit for me. I will sit in a chair and write. Period
So, what are you afraid of?
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