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Friday, December 25, 2009

May angels attend thee

this was one of the first pictures taken several years ago, when i bought my fabulous digital SLR camera.  taken at the annual christmas tree festival, in the small town where i lived at the time.  beautifully decorated trees are donated, and sold by silent auction, to raise funds for the palliative care facility at the local hospital.  a worthy cause, and a very pleasant event. 

my students and i would set up in a corner, and play christmas music for the event.  a pleasant gig. i confess to a little nostalgia.  the months before christmas were a blur this year, with none of it having to do with christmas, and not a single christmas gig all season.  my family drew names this year, so i did my christmas shopping in an hour, after i closed the ReStore @ noon on christmas eve, and before i went home to make tourtierre for the traditional family christmas eve feast.  tourtierre is a french-canadian meat pie, best known in quebec.  we have no connection to all of that -  i tried a recipe one christmas eve on  a whim, and we all loved it, so it became a family tradition.   i think the name drawing may become a regular thing too.... it was pleasant to  have just one gift to come up with. i hate shopping
















merriest of christmases to friends in blogland.  may your christmas be one of peace and fulfillment, surrounded by those you love.  and may we all find new gifts and ways to give them, that we may leave the world a better place for having been here. 


 

Monday, December 14, 2009

When Flora met the Elephants

i have this artist friend, named Flora. i wrote a story about her a while ago.  there are many stories about Flora. she's a fascinating person with a fascinating background.  a gifted artist with a constantly questioning mind.   
Flora was also a teacher at that time. she taught classes in our local fine arts centre for years.  though she's highly proficient in many media, her greatest love is for clay - especially hand built, raku fired clay.   some of my most satisfying memories involve standing in the cool and dark of a northern summer evening, gazing up at the stars while warming to the red heat of an outdoor barrel kiln.  cautiously peeking in to see if the pieces inside were ready.... then fearfully grasping them with long tongs and plunging them in tubs of dry leaves, grass, newspapers - anything that would burn quickly - to smoulder and transform into magical irridescent and metallic  textural colors and bottomless blacks.  but that's another story.
on this particular September day, Flora was at the pottery studio waiting for a class to walk the several blocks down the street from the nearby elementary school, for their clay building class. it was an unusually warm day, for September in northern Alberta.  she was having a quick smoke out back, finding the inner stillness to face a room of 20 pre-adolescents.  there was a tennis court, enclosed by a chain link fence between her and the town's arena, across an alley.  
and between the tennis court and the arena was a teenage boy, with 2 elephants. one was standing, the other lying quietly on the grass. elephants, whether standing or lying down, are not what one normally expects to see in the alley behind the local arena in a northern Alberta town.    so, Flora, being blessed with an overabundance of curiosity, and no less nerve, dropped her cigarette to the ground, crushed it beneath her beat up tennis shoe to extinguish it, and took a stroll in their direction.   
approaching from the opposite direction - from inside the arena, was a man.  an agitated man.  by the time Flora was close enough to hear the conversation, the man and the teenaged boy were engaged in a heated argument. it went something like this.  
"..... that elephant a bath.  she's a mess.  can't i trust you to do one simple job without...."
at which point, the boy,  by now equally, if not more agitated, replied, reaching down to grasp the ear of the prone elephant, who was not in the least agitated. he shouted, "look at these ears!  do you see these enormous ears?  with ears this size, you'd think she'd hear me, but she doesn't. she won't LISTEN to me, Dad! i've been telling her to get up for half an hour and she IGNORES me, Dad!   
so, while the gentleman spoke firmly to the elephant, who immediately, though unhurriedly rose to her feet, Flora, masterfully stifling the grin that she feared would insult the boy, cleared her throat and waited for them to notice her.   
it was a circus, of course, that she'd not known was coming to town.  run by this family - father and mother, several teenaged sons, some aunts, uncles and cousins.   the elephant in question was called Bella, and she had her own ideas about how the universe should be run.   
Flora is an amazing teacher.  this means she is also a lifelong student.  she sees everything that happens around her as an opportunity to learn, and to teach.  having real, live elephants in back of the studio was something too good to miss, so she persuaded the gentleman in charge that she could bring the class of kids now arriving at her clay studio to meet the elephants.  he made it clear that the children must be inside the tennis court's chain link fence at all times. there could be no risk of injury to anyone on either side.  this was agreed on.  it amused Flora that the humans were to be in a cage, while the 'dangerous animals' were able to move freely outside of it.  
20 pre-teen kids spent an hour touching (through the chain link fence) stroking, smelling and listening to 2 elephants. The Alberta kids queried the world-wise boy, and his younger brother, who soon joined them. they watched them bathe Bella, asked them what it was like growing up in the circus.  when they got more confident, they pelted the boys' father, who was the circus ringmaster, with questions about the animals, how they were cared for, where they lived in the winter, what they ate, how they were trained....  and they learned more about elephants than they thought they'd ever want to know.  they were surprised to learn how important foot care is to an elephant's overall health.  a small foot injury can mean death to an elephant.  they learned about elephant families.  these two were mother and child, though both were adults.  they timidly touched the elephant's trunk and saw, from inches away, how dextrous and gentle it was.  they learned about the intelligence and faithfulness of elephants.  
and, best of all, they got to watch an elephant take a dump.   bombs the size of cantaloupes.  
so, after the kids had all been herded out and sent back to school without so much as opening a package of clay, Flora  pointed to a warm and most fragrant lump of steaming green. a monstrous elephant pellet.  she  asked the gentleman,
"what are you going to do with that?"
he gave her a strange, sideways glance, and replied, "I'm going to clean it up."
"Well, yes, but where are you going to put it?" 
"in the garbage bin over there"
"Can i have it? I'll clean it up."
another strange sideways look.  "sure, lady.  come on back after the show starts."
so, a few hours later, Flora wiped the clay from her hands as she stepped out back for a smoke.  she listened to the music and the swell of applause, as she went back inside for some big green garbage bags.  there was enough to fill several of them, but she had to use more. the stuff was too heavy to fill a bag with. she didn't want  to end up wearing it as she carried it to her van.   
Flora lives on a quarter section of land outside town.  country life was a lifelong dream of her husband, but it was a new experience for all of them.  they'd been joined on 'the farm' over the summer by a couple of sheep, a riding horse, and a big, friendly dog.  Flora had planted her first garden.  it hadn't done well.  from all the work she'd put into it, she'd harvested a few salads, a handful of peas, a few carrots the size of her little finger, and enough potatoes to las a week, tops.  the beans were a complete bust.   the farmer next door told her the soil was depleted. she needed to get some manure.  
Flora smiled as she lugged the bags from the van. well, had she EVER got some manure! She dumped the gift from the elephants around the garden, spread it a bit with the shovel still stuck in the ground in the corner of the remains of the pumpkin vines. well, maybe they were pumpkin vines. they hadn't produced anything resembling a pumpkin before the frost turned them to mush. then she went up the hill to the house, got on with things and gave not another thought to the garden till spring.  
the first snows came early that year.   and the snow just kept coming, month after month.  this was good, because the previous year had been very dry.  in spring things melted slowly. the thirsty earth took a long, slow, deep drink and there was hardly any runoff.  Flora noticed one warm spring evening as she drove up the drive on her way home from teaching, that the neighbor had been by with his cultivator and done the garden for her.  "i love living here," she thought.  we have the best neighbors. the leaves were just beginning to unfurl along the drive. she'd be planting the garden soon. maybe this weekend.  
the phone was ringing when she walked in the house.  it was Joe, the good neighbor.   
"thanks for doing the garden, Joe. it looks great. is it too early to plant the potatoes this weekend?"
"naw. should be fine. you're welcome.  that was one heckuva job, tilling your plot.  stunk to high heaven.  and there were these huge lumps of stuff. what did you put in there?  elephant s***t?"
then she remembered.  grinning from ear to ear, knowing full well he wouldn't believe her, she answered, "well, yeah!"
true story.  

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Our hands describe who we are

i have a thing about hands.  one day, i'd like to do a series of portraits of hands.... fresh, pudgy baby hands, gnarled and twisted century-old hands... and every variation between.  

so, i have this friend who's a photographer, and i asked him to take some pictures of me.  the thought was, i'll need something professional looking for a portfolio to leave here'n there, in hopes of getting some paying gigs in the city, now that i live here.  pleasant work, and on my list of things to accomplish - making a portion of my living through playing music as well as teaching it.  after all, i'm getting a bit old to be hauling refrigerators and couches around for a living.  much as i love the ReStore Manager job, i know it's either got to morph into something less physical or be replaced by something less physical fairly soon.  

and i have these 4 grown kids, raised by a mum who, when outside help was not forthcoming, said, "well, dammit, then i'll do it myself!"  so they take me pretty much for granted. it never occurs to them that i might ever need help with anything.  and that's o.k. mostly, because i'm pretty independent and i like it that way.... or at least i've become accustomed to it, so it feels normal.   

i take most of the family pictures ..... which means i'm seldom in them.   not a big deal for me; i'd rather look at pictures of them than pictures of me anyway.   but it occurred to me at about the time that i thought i'd better get a portfolio together, that there will come a day when i'm not around, and my kids won't have any decent pictures of me.   and they might be sorry about that.   we've decided to keep Christmas as down-to-earth and hype-free as we can this year, so i thought a nice gift might be a photo of their mum in a nice frame.  

and it's occurred to me that, much as we focus our attention on faces, it's hands that say so much about us, and to us.  it's the hands of a parent that comfort and nurture. that provide food and shelter, that write down the stories, draw the pictures and, in my case, make the music.  i'm tempted to give them a picture of my hands.   

not that i will, because i just don't think they'd get it.   but i'm tempted.

Monday, November 30, 2009

November 30

it's been a blur..... the trip to Kansas City was memorable in many ways. i made some friends, strengthened my ReStore manager network south of the border, ( i was the only Canadian there) and learned some things. one of the big lessons is not to keep all I.D, money, passport, etc. in one place. my wallet disappeared @ the airport moments before my flight, and i wasn't allowed to leave the country. it took nearly an additional week in K.C. to pull it all together with the Canadian Consulate, and get home. my first conversation with them went something like this.....

after explaining that my wallet was missing, with all I.D., money, credit cards, passport, etc. in it, and the airline wouldn't let me fly home, the gentleman on the other end of the line (who was at the nearest Canadian Embassy, which was in Dallas, Texas) said,

"Well we need to see you in person to make a positive I.D. you'll have to come to Dallas."

"how am i supposed to get to Dallas?"

"just take the next plane"

"i'm calling you because they won't let me ON a plane with no passport or I.D."

"oh. well, then, you'll have to drive."

"how am i supposed to drive with no money, credit cards, driver's licence or identification?"

"oh. well, if you could get to the Canadian border, we could probably get you across."

"even assuming i can GET to the border with no money, credit card, driver's license or identification, that still leaves me @ the border.... how many thousand miles from home....? with no money, credit card, driver's licence or identification....!"

"oh. well then, you'll have to get passport photos taken, and have someone verify who you are, and mail them to Dallas with your flight itinerary."

so, K, i did that. this was friday evening, so the consulate wasn't open again till Monday.... after a weekend of fretting, i got a call from the consulate saying they had the photos but they needed my flight itinerary.

"i sent my flight itinerary with the photos."

"no, that's your old flight itinerary for last Friday. we need one for your return trip this week."

"how am i supposed to book that when i don't know when you're going to let me out of the country?!"

it was an entire week of beurocratic indigestion. added to the international beurocracy was the fact that possession of the townhouse i'd bought was supposed to be that monday.... so i was faxing and phoning and this-ing and that-ing with realtors and lawyers and insurance companies on top of trying to get the paperwork together to get home.

but the Habitat for Humanity and ReStore folks in K C incredible, and the hotel put me up for almost an entire extra week, with many hours of long distance phone calls every day, at NO CHARGE!!!!

and while i was there, the Playing For Change bus pulled up right under my window!!! they were staying at my hotel for the KC concert. so i immediately found out where they were playing (at the very cool Uptown Theatre) and took myself to the concert. even got my granddaughter the t-shirt.

but boy, was it good to be home. even with the rotten cold and ice. and i've been moving and unpacking and sorting the new house ever since....

....and getting the final work done on an upgrade to the ReStore that was started before i left. hysteria has it's use, though.... at one point in KC i spoke with my staff, asking if the gasfitter had come to set up the new furnace yet. no, he hadn't even called back yet.... (this had been ongoing for more than a month) i told the fellows.... "here's what you're going to do. you're going to call him right now, and you're going to tell him that if that furnace isn't installed and operating by the time the manager gets back, he'll be dealing with a hysterical woman who's been stranded in the states for a week. it could get ugly." within a half hour i had a call back from them.... "he's here, and he's got a quote for the work." he was finishing it up as i drove into the lot on my return.

i may still be a bit hysterical.... things haven't slowed down since i got home.....

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Kansas City MO




spending this week in Kansas City taking ReStore training.  beautiful city, and there was a foot of snow in northern Alberta when i left.   no contest

Thursday, October 15, 2009

My Madonna

My Madonna

Robert Service

I haled me a woman from the street,
Shameless, but, oh, so fair!
I bade her sit in the model's seat
And I painted her sitting there.

I hid all trace of her heart unclean;
I painted a babe at her breast;
I painted her as she might have been
If the Worst had been the Best.

She laughed at my picture and went away.
Then came, with a knowing nod,
A connoisseur, and I heard him say;
"'Tis Mary, the Mother of God."

So I painted a halo round her hair,
And I sold her and took my fee,
And she hangs in the church of Saint Hillaire,
Where you and all may see.

Monday, September 7, 2009

i'll call her Flora

Susan @ Phantasythat posted about a marvelous teacher.  i think really gifted teachers are a rare thing.  far too often we see people molding our children with hands that are rough and harsh, with no care to the tender matter they shape, nor to the damage they do.  a very dear friend of mine is one of the gifted ones.  i'll call her Flora. 

Flora has been through the wars, so to speak. not the 'great war' or anything involving invading armies.  her wars were waged within the walls of impeccable upper class residences. Raised by an aristocratic and cruel mother, she has some issues.  Self confidence has never managed to take root in her troubled psyche.  Though she has a brilliant intelligence and a sparkling wit, without fail, she defers to the opinions of others.  she often recognizes that those she submits to are dull and uninspired. she can even say so, to a trusted friend.  but she cannot stand up to them, or stand her ground.  she lives in constant fear of recrimination.  she cannot bear criticism, and she she cannot assert herself.  

what she can do, is art.  she's a gifted and prolific artist.   what she cannot say in words, she speaks most eloquently in clay.  she's especially fond of raku.  she loves the unpredictability of it, the excitement of pulling white-hot pieces gently from a fire and nestling them, through clouds of smoke, in combustibles.   her life's breath is the suspense of waiting for them to cool, and the miracle of wiping soot-blackened lumps, to reveal  hidden secrets - brilliant, gleaming irridescence that can never quite be duplicated.

and Flora is a gifted teacher.  she discovered this gift with an after school program for 'problem' kids, run through the local fine arts program.  Flora understood these kids, because she was one of them.   she could look into their eyes and see their hearts.  there were bullies and troublemakers in that class.  and in the seat across the table from the bully, was the victim of bullying.  how does one spend 2 hours, twice a week, in close confinement with predator and prey, and not let anyone get hurt? Flora knew how.  and no one was going to hurt anyone else on her watch.  Despite her outward lack of confidence, Flora knew she was an exceptional artist.  she knew that there were people who admired and respected her ability. i think it was this knowledge that enabled her to find,  somewhere in the folds of self-preservation and caution she wore,  the courage to say to those troubled teens, at the beginning of her first class, 

"this is an art studio.  We are all artists here." she looked bullies and victims alike, in the eye, and said, "every one of us in this room is an artist. real artists treat each other, and themselves, with respect. nothing less than that is acceptable while you are in this room. that means there will be no put-downs, no poking fun, no negative remarks of any kind about the work anyone does here. that includes your friends, people you don't like, and yourself.  and that's the only rule here."  

it took some persistence to make them do it, but Flora was not backing down this time.   she treated them with respect, and gave no indication that she expected anything but respect from them.   when they forgot the one cardinal rule, or thought they could sneak some sly retort by, she corrected them, gently but firmly, and made them rephrase the comment.   because she sincerely liked them and obeyed the rule herself, because she taught them using the materials and techniques that she used herself, they came to sincerely respect and trust her.   and they produced good stuff!  parents and teachers were incredulous at some of the results. one teacher accused her of doing the work accredited to a particularly difficult boy herself, and letting him put his name on it.  but she hadn't.  she would have considered that sort of behavior an insult to him. when the class term was over, they held a show in the art gallery that the clay studio where she worked was affiliated with.  every item had either a price tag on it, or a tag saying "Not For Sale. from the collection of_______."  nothing was priced at more than a dollar or 2. the day of the opening gala, the gallery was filled with bodies of varying sizes and shapes. siblings, cousins and friends of the artists were delighted to learn that they could afford to buy real art from a real art show in a real gallery.   money raised went toward purchase of studio materials for the next session.  i think they made something in the neighborhood of $56.25.  

Flora's first class, those many years ago, with all of the town's 'bad' kids, was such a success that it evolved into a 10 week session for every grade 4, 5 and 6 child in town. the program continues to this day, as part of the local school system's art curriculum.  they all go to a real art studio, are taught by a real artist, and their end-of session show begins with a gala in the art gallery.   

the first thing kids taking their first class hear their teacher say  is, "this is an art studio.  We are all artists here......"