Dispatches from the Road – Common Threads on the Road

Give-a-Way Photo by Jon Katz

Some things, like this month’s give-a-way photograph by author Jon Katz of Bedlam Farm, are worth the wait.

This month’s give-a-way was postponed a week due to several members’ summer travel plans.  Now, Jon is giving away a photograph of his two most famous donkeys, Simon and Lulu.   The photo is signed by Jon and matted to fit into an 11 x 14 frame. The  title of the photograph is “Simon and Lulu.”

To enter to win leave a comment on Jon’s wife’s site, Full Moon Fiber Art, hosted by Maria Wulf, a gifted fiber artist and regular participant in the Common Thread Give-a-Way.  Jon’s site does not accept comments, so just comment on Maria’s. A winner will be chosen at random from those who commented and announced on all the participating sites on Thursday.

Once you’ve visited Jon and Maria take a moment to visit the other participants in our group as well:

Jane McMillen of Little House Home Arts

Kim Gifford at Pugs and Pics

and me at Picking My Battles.com

Dispatches from the Road – Down time

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Something about dropping everything seemed to open the floodgates. We’ve been on the road for almost 2 days now, and, except for posting a few photos to friends and family, my digital life has gone dark.

My creative life is exposing as page after page of my notebook is filled. It’s not just about having time either. It’s about the fresh perspective that comes from crawling out of our cave and getting to know different cross sections of the planet.

Dispatches From the Road – Romance and Better Things

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At five in the morning after a night of trying to stretch out while still fulfilling my duties as pillow-in-chief to six-year-old Thing2, the train seemed a lot less romantic than when we got on the night before.  The rosy glow was gone, but what remained was better.

We had planned an elegant evening meal in the dining car but, realizing we would need to bring our bags or leave them unattended, decided to take turns foraging at the snack bar.  In the time it took each of us to find some microwave pasta and sandwiches, Thing2 had befriended the four-year-old in the seat in front of us, scoring himself a box of crackers in the process.  

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It wasn’t late, but it was dark by the time we all finished snacking and eating, and Thing2 and his new friend had little trouble snuggling against their respective pillow-moms for a short summer’s nap.  They said goodnight to each other, and eyes were closed in a few short minutes.  It wasn’t romantic, but it was cozy. 

Seeds

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“Tara, I hear a baby!” cried the curly-haired toddler sitting on the church lawn. Her neck stretched as she searched a far section of the audience. I  turned my head, trying follow her intent gaze to its destination on our left.  Then I saw it.  I’d seen it earlier, dressed in a unisex-colored onesie and trying to crawl over it’s mother’s knee, then wobbling like a Weebil  on a too-small picnic blanket.  I had spent a few smiling moments trying to guess if the baby was a boy or a girl, but one thing was clear.  The infant was barely old enough to sit up without help, but his or her delighted squeaks were telling on of my stories. 

A few short years ago, I was the mother lying on a picnic blanket with an alternately curious and hungry infant.  A few years ago, it was my baby who crawled over his mother and brother and father as the sun began to set behind the mountains that provided much of the backdrop for the annual play put on by the Mettawee River Theatre Company.  He was the one squeaking with delight as the players in primitive masks emerged from behind the papier mache rocks and giant puppets appeared above them.  He was the one who settled into nurse for a few minutes, glancing occasionally back at the scene unfolding in front of him.

It happens at the same time every summer. This tiny company of players and producers bring their puppets and props to this sleepy Vermont village, and on the field in front of the mountains, they bring Euripides and Aristophanes, Shakespeare and the tales of poets long forgotten to life.  They touch on serious themes unlikely to entertain small children, but every summer they do even more than that.  They enthrall them.  They plant seeds of curiosity and creativity because for all the things that were seen and forgotten in my babies’ first years, these were the few moments they would take into the next.

Now their summers are littered with these moments.  We’ve found a host of free outdoor productions that introduce our kids to new thoughts and new thoughts about their parents.  Tonight, sitting with both my babies (one now bigger than I) in lawn chairs around our picnic basket, I can’t help but smile as I see another seed being planted near by.