the blue muse

It’s ridiculously cold, and my naked garden is not amused.

Losing the nice blanket of snow that had been covering it is not really a good thing, if you’re a plant.

The sun is shining, though, and it’s hard to complain about that, especially in January. I have work to catch up on, paperwork to finish, and each night, a cozy fire to sit before. It’s hard to complain about that as well.

The naughty kitten is complaining, not being a fan of snow or cold temperatures, he is bored and housebound. He sits at the window watching birds and waiting for spring. We had bad news about our oldest cat yesterday, not unexpected, but still, she is nearing the end of her time with us. For now, we just make her comfortable, feed her all the tuna she wants, and wait. We’ve had her for 18 years, my husband still remembers how, as a tiny kitten, she used to climb up his pant leg all the way to his shoulder to sit there while he washed the dishes. I brought her home right around the time that we met, and she has always been part of our relationship.

And so it is.

Next week, there will be another Wednesday.

And another the week after that.

And each day in between will be a gift.

Red keeps finding me. Or I keep finding it, I’m not sure which.

In general, I’m a cool color lover, but suddenly, the color of
life keeps moving through my line of vision.

Perhaps it’s a sign. Perhaps it’s because, so far this winter, I feel
invigorated rather than sluggish, I feel content rather than restless,
I feel open rather than closed.

I am quiet. Listening. Absorbing. Inhaling.

Holding my breath for one split second
before releasing it back out into the world.

Red is my armor. Red is my amour.

I’m not sure which.

I’m not sure it matters.

I am loving the color in my cheeks.

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Wishing you a Monday filled with color.

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Linking up with Kim Klassen’s Texture Tuesday, stop by and join the fun!

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clean and cold

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hanging on

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still

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I’d taken dozens of photos of this little downy woodpecker as he spiraled around the branches he clung to, searching, I suppose, for a January snack.

I never got a great shot of him, too many branches, he was too quick, turning this way and that way, hopping from branch to branch.

And I didn’t know I had recorded his take-off until I loaded the photos from my camera onto my computer.

That was worth a big smile.

He was not at all afraid to fly.

This weekend, what was left of all the snow we had melted.

On Saturday, I went for a two-hour walk through the heavy mushy remains in a light Spring jacket. My husband was able to ski in the morning and golf in the afternoon. This was a big thing for him, a bucket list dream.

On Sunday afternoon, we grilled burgers and ate outside, picnic style. In January. I’m pretty sure that was a first. According to my computer, it was 68 degrees.

It was a weekend filled with family. Lazy time spent together in front of the fire, low-key dinners, visiting and catching up. It was one of those times when everything clicked together just right.

I didn’t give myself anything to do, nor anywhere to be. We lived in the moment and simply enjoyed each other’s company.

Sometimes, the simple things really are the best.

And sometimes, all you have to do is show up.

Even though I was quite far away, he heard the camera shutter click
and turned in my direction.

I felt bad for disturbing his breakfast.

But he held on as I held my breath, hoping I wouldn’t scare him away.

I wanted to move closer but I knew he would fly.

Instead, we exchanged smiles, and went on with the day.

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Wishing you a Friday filled with smiles.

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When you can’t decide

which way to go,

try up.

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A year ago, there were red holly berries and green grass outside my window.

And sunshine.

My garden was a tangled jumbled mess of mess, I was still 49.

Naughty kitten was soaking up the sun on the picnic table. He was happy to be outside in January.

These days, he is out for five minutes, in for fifty. The landscape is white on white, my garden buried beneath a deep blanket of snow.

This year, I have no holly berries. Apparently, a long summer drought is not good for producing that kind of color. Maybe next year.

Parts of my garden are still a mess, but I can’t see them just now. And the truth is, parts of my garden will probably always be a mess. I seem to have a penchant for letting things go a little wild. Sometimes, you have to compromise with Mother Nature. Otherwise, she gets a little cranky.

I took all the holiday decorations down this past weekend, which feels a bit like boxing up last year and packing it away.

Just now, it is snowing again, almost invisibly. I am cozy and warm and cocooned in my studio, the only red to be seen is the gang of cardinals at the feeder.

And everything is quiet, the only sound is the furnace blowing, my fingers typing, the squeak of the kitchen table as a cat jumps up to get a better view of a hungry bird.

2013 is an empty canvas, and I won’t know what I have painted until next year at this time when I look through old photos and writings and out this same window at what the year has grown.

I’ll remember the snow, and the quiet.

And I can’t wait to see what else.

It’s a blustery day, and the poor birds have to
hang on for dear life just to get a snack.

I want to build a fire and curl up on the couch with a book and a blanket.

First, there is work to be done.

But later, there will be that fire, that book, and I will read and listen
to the wind as it howls around the corners of the house.

I don’t have to venture out today.

It’s a perfect, proper hermit Friday.

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Wishing you a weekend filled with coziness.

2013 has declared itself to be The Year of Ordinary Magic.

Because you don’t have to be a child to see the world through the eyes of one.

All you have to do is remember.

I hadn’t really chosen a word for this year, though I had thought about declaring it the Year of Simply Being. You know, no agenda, no plans to lose this or gain that, just being.

But then, just as last year declared itself the Year of Discarding, 2013 quite suddenly decided to be the Year of Ordinary Magic. Which is not just any kind of magic, but rather the simple, everyday kind. The magic in the firefly that dances outside your window. The shape of a shadow that does not reveal its source. The flower that only opens in the moonlight. The joy of falling backwards in the snow, not caring if you get some down your neck, up your sleeves, in your hair.

There is wonder all around us. But sometimes, we forget to remember to look.

It all started with a a post my friend Graciel did, about letting go and rolling in the grass, to which my response was: “It’s too cold to roll in the grass just now, but if we get enough snow, I promise to make a snow angel.”

She held me to that promise, and we made a plan to make snow angels and then post the results. And then we had to wait for the right weather, and then for me to get over the flu. And then we invited another friend, debi, who lives a magical life in Texas, to join us by making her own kind of angel, because, well, snow isn’t easy to come by in Texas.

And there it was: “We should do this periodically throughout the year.”

So yesterday morning I donned my husband’s big old gold and purple hooded puffy Vikings coat and a pair of red and black ski pants and my purple rain boots (yes, I looked like a dork) and I went out to the front lawn, (yes, the front, where everyone could see) and made a snow angel.

I can’t remember the last time I did that. Perhaps when my son was a child, twenty-some-odd years ago.

And it was fun. It was snowing big, fluffy snow-globe flakes. The snow is so deep that it caught me gently as I fell backwards, and I lay there looking up at the grey January sky, and giggled. And it was magic. One tiny moment of ordinary magic.

So here’s the thing: we want you to join us. Look for the magic, all year long. And then share it with the world.

It doesn’t matter how you choose to participate. With a photo, a blog post, a tweet or a status. It doesn’t matter how often. Once a week, once a month, regularly, sporadically, or only just once.

Because it’s magic, remember? And there are no rules in magic.

All you have to do is keep your eyes open.

And every so often, let it catch you, looking.

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Here is an image you may download to display as a button if you so desire…
(I will try to work on making it a functional button, for now, it is just the image)

We have also started a group Pinterest board as a place to record the magic we find.
If you’d like to be added, just let me know, either here in the comments or via email at bluemusejewelry{at}gmail{dot}com