Karma Counter-September

Sept 23-OUT
by 2 Kiwi's and a hug, arrived by freecycle : 4 drawer metal filing cabinet (good riddance ye hoarder of space!)

Sept 25-IN
from family- owl pellets, Miracle berries, MadMen dress, short hipster dress, several books, 2 Old Navy dresses, clothes for Kingfisher, 2 formal dresses for Mockingbird & Bowery Bird, new Grandma handmade dress for Bowery Bird--needed.
Sept 25-OUT
for family; 6 handmade lavendar sachets for the dryer out by plane (so sad to see them go-of course I'm talking about the family, Sheesh!)

Sept 27-IN
keyboard for Bowery Bird's piano practice--arrived by silver Honda (this is a loan, but so generous I break the rules to include it)

Sept 28-OUT
1 large garbage bag of misc. toys, Avent baby bottles, binders, women's and children's clothing to my favorite Vintage Charity Donation Boutique (Deseret Industries thrift store).

Sept 29-IN
4 lovely autumn-colored skirts--I'd previously admired-- arrived by doorbell with friend attached! (is this good karma already or what!)

The Man Who Planted Trees

We recently went to a unique play done by the Puppet State Theater Company of Scotland.

The Man Who Planted Trees is based on a children's book of the same title, and while not a true tale, you wish it was. Essentially, it is the biography of a man whose mission is to reforest an area by personally planting each seed, with no other motive than just doing what needs to be done.

This 2-man (and minimal puppets) show masterfully and repeatedly broke through the fourth wall at the onset continuing intermittently throughout the performance to an audience of 307 school children & chaperons. An adept actor took us unnoticeably from a witty repartee with Dog his real name), to the subtle narration of his hut's host, then bridge to the next scene. With the aid of Dog playing the straight man, each participant was immediately drawn in by not only the punch lines, but also the expert timing as we all awaited what we delightfully knew was coming.

With muted palette for both background and costumes, a tone was immediately set for this thought-provoking and unconventional hero's story. By its  contrast, the colorful birds swinging above, wafting scents of a lavender field, and actual spritzing of a forest's rain left all us literally reaching for more.

Habit Cards for the Refined

I got the idea from Our Learning Journey: A Journal for habit cards made with images from works of art and laminated.
If I were really cool, I'd have mine up on Google docs too. But i don't. Maybe someday.

So I scoured the Internet for pictures our family would like, my thinking being that if it's something we like to look at, we'll look at it...more.

So, the first day they were up the kids were very interested in reading the artist and titles. I still am.

Albrecht Durer was someone we had studied, and his detailed Praying Hands work perfectly here. Personally, I love his Rhinoceros more, but couldn't find a way to fit it into our day...

The Last of the Mohicans by N.C. Wyeth was a family favorite because we are part Mohawk (but those of us over 2 don't normally dress like this.)

Vincent Van Gogh makes a tidy Bedroom at Arles--even if his life was not.

We had recently read a children's version of Hamlet and found Ophelia's imminent death hilarious when paired with personal grooming. (insert carefree humming) And I wanted a Waterhouse...that wasn't topless.

Cezanne's Still Life with Compotier is a skewed and disheveled table--not still at all-- and appropriately, needing clean up.

The Wreck of the Covenant by N.C. Wyeth (from Kidnapped) makes bathing seem a delightful option, especially if you are recently shipwrecked.



Jessie Wilcox Smith of course, found her way into the mix more than once.

"But why do you have the Mona Lisa for 'Brush Teeth', mom? She isn't showing any teeth."

"And why not?...Because she didn't brush them and they look terrible--Let that be a lesson to you!"

In-A-Godda-Da-Vidda, Baby

 

"An expectant hush fellover the crowd. Strong men stared and shook their heads in wonderment that any rational person would so tempt fate as to eat something everyone knw was poisonous. Women held their breath; tehy say one faitnted. A medical doctor stood by. He had already advised both the crwd and his client that this mad act would result in frothing and foaming at the mouth, acute appendicitis, brain fever, possible stomach cancer, and , in all likelihood, certian suicide. The date was September 26, 1820; the place, the courthouse steps in Salem, New Jersey; teh principal actor, the eccentric Colonel Robert Gibbon Johnson; the mad act, eating a basketful of raw tomatoes."

--from You Say Tomato, (quoted from The American Magazine and Historial Chronicle, Winter 1987-88)

Love IT. This year we planted our first garden.

Lest you think this is one of those deals on a drip system out back that I can shew the children in the general direction of for an afternoon snack--think again. This is our city's community garden. Nestled in a neighborhood that boasts it's own police outpost, cozied up against the tracks (116 cars in 8 min one day, Bowery Bird filmed it), within a padlocked, chain-linked fence--is our little haven of a garden. I know, pretty idyllic.

But it really has been. The fence means both I don't have to worry about animals and can let my children run free to make forts in the untamed areas once we are safely locked in. We've harvested much more than I thought possible from two 4x16' plots and really minimal effort aside from planting and watering. That's the nice thing about the high desert I guess--even weeds don't grow much here.

This little place has reminded me how much I love the smell of tomato plants. My parents tell of when I wasn't old enough to talk and crawled over our deck railing, and down a 7' 4x4 support to eat green tomatoes from our garden, then walk around to the front door and knock so my baffled mother could open the door and let me in.





My children, who have seen a lot more manicured lawns than I ever experienced, find it a place they can get filthy and dig and dump and let loose. I don't know who loves that more--me or them. It's a good place for us to be.

So I am pretty proud that this summer I've been able to follow-through with my first full-on garden. In all honesty, my Visiting Teacher (a.k.a. The Best Babysitter Ever, because she made root beer with my kids, took them to a pet store, told them to choose their favorite spool of ribbon to keep, and let them chase her cat) suggested I join her in doing a garden and really showed me how. She moved in August, leaving me literally to reap the rewards. She  became a friend and I truly miss her.

These are not just balloons-they are works of art!--he cried

Mr. Owl & I went to the opening reception at BYU for an exhibit of Andy Warhol and some other guy.
I had a friend who remembered his art collecting father  pulling something out from underneath the bed whenever they needed money- like an Andy Warhol silk screened shopping bag.

This was my first thought as we walked up to the BYU Museum of Art. Mr Owl's first thought was, "WOW, I shouldn't have forgot my hipster glasses and skinny jeans at home." I haven't seen such a concentration of trendy since my last Neon Trees concert at Velor. The lobby was packed. Clustered flower balloons above, and live music beneath.

Downstairs we picked out our favorite Marilyn Monroe run, admired the Man on the Moon, and smiled at the film of Nico projected on the wall. I don't do much talking...Theeese days...cough, cough.

A later visit in the mystic room of Mylar.

As I was both taking notes on trendy and vaguely wondering what those banging noises beyond were, a suited older gentleman swiftly cut through the crowd. I plucked Mr. Owl's sleeve, "Let's go watch some kids get chewed out."
We made our way to a room filled with a dozen huge Mylar balloons gently sailing up and down,  just in time to witness him march in with authority and demand, "Where are your Parents!!" to the children punching and jumping on the balloons unlucky enough to be on their way down. The parents were 3 feet away, of course, chatting. "These are not just balloons-they are works of art--paid for by an endowment!" he cried indignantly.
He was exactly right, and phrased it beautifully. How else would anyone describe an unadorned four foot Mylar balloon?
You can bet I'm going to quote him at the next--and probably every birthday party I ever attend.