2011

I am waking each morning to the darkness of pain in my shoulder and elbow and back. It is starting the day in this way that has me bothered, as if some black Bell tolls out another step toward my Body crumbling. I am feeling as if my strength is ebbing and my spirit is flagging. These times I carve out a hole for hiding and rest from fears that I will stay stuck in this dreadful rut of SElf-Pity.
I will believe and honor this day that I am just gathering and recooping my strength, find my favorite quilt and sleep a few moments without guilt or worry that I am never going to get my creativity back. I have decided to spend each day trying to make someone else happy and be happy myself by acting from a place of Love. there are no other resolutions. may you be Happy, May you be healthy, may you be peaceful, may you be safe and may you be free from Suffering. May I also. happy 2011. There is nothing that can seperate us from the Love of God.

I would like you to help me welcome a few newcomers to the world of the baggaraggs. Ada Boffit and Norma. Both dressed for Christmas and available at my Etsy. I am sorry I have been MIA. My Mother Board has been Down and I had to buy a new computer.

Happy Thanksgiving

Just wishing you all the Happiest of Thanksgivings. I am working at the hospital today.
I have been very busy trying to get ready for the holidays. I have been neglecting my Blog and my story. Please forgive me.

Here are some of the things that I have been working on that you can find at my Etsy. I hope that you have a magical Thanksgiving.

been a while

So today I had to appear in court, as I was a witness to a traffic accident that happened on I-75, this summer. I watched in helpless Horror as a driver of a furniture truck switched lanes without apparently seeing the car next to him. He drove his truck over the side of the car, ripping the car to pieces and causing the car to loose control. I yelled out "Jesus help them." The car served to the right shoulder and came back into the right lane and collided again with the truck. They then parted again and the car veered into the palmetto off of the highway and I seriously thought that the people inside that car were dead.
The car was shredded.
I stopped and with shaking hands dialed 911 before getting out of my car to see if I could assist them in some way.
No one was injured. Not the folks in the truck, or the people in the car.
I could not honestly understand how this could be but I was thankful to God that it was so.
Today, I had to confront the driver of the truck in front of a Judge, who claimed that the people in car drove into him instead of vice versa. Not so. The driver of the truck was found guilty, and was angry by this verdict. After we exited the court room, he was quite hostile, yelling at me that I had lied and done so in a court room. REALLY? He was quite intimidating, and to be truthful, I was a little afraid. I did feel calm. I did think there was something that I should say, but I said nothing.
I did feel peaceful. I am sorry that the driver was fined and that he may have lost his CDL license to operate a truck, but everyone was alive and uninjured. That was the most important part of the whole thing to me. It seemed a fairly simple conclusion to come to.
The driver of the truck was so angry. I struggle to try to understand how he thinks lying about any of this would make it better.
I have lied before in my life. I confess to this. I am not much of a liar now adays.
To lie about something so very serious though is to twist your spirit into a hunk of shredded metal, not unlike that car totalled on the highway.
Please be careful driving. This is an unusual post for me. This episode occurred the same weekend that my friend Debra of Monniebean witnessed another terrible accident many states away in New York. She also stopped to render aid.
Please be a helpful citizen. Even if you have to go to court, do your best to try to make things right.
Please try not to lie. Your guts might get twisted up as a result and that would leave you in pain.
Please handle your anger appropriately. I don't know what to say about that. Claim the gift that is meant for YOU. If its not yours don't accept it.
Thanks for reading. Peace out.

My Visit

I recently had an opportunity to visit with my sisters in Vermont. It was LOVELY. I love my sisters so much. We had a great time.

Bennet acts.

Startled by Grace's fall and her thrashing about, Bennet found his feet in motion, full throttle through the meadow toward her. Doves launched from the field, rising hastily on their squeaky wings to get out of his way as he tore down the hillside and reached her yelling "Grace, what is it, what is it?"
Hysterical laughter mixed with tears was all that Grace could respond. She was reaching up inside her skirt hem batting at herself.
Bennet decided this was his time to act. he grabbed the offending dress bottom and heaved, rending the seam at the waist, and revealing , to his acute astonishment Grace's Pink under panties with tiny cranberry roses on them. A large green grasshopper sprang out and ricocheted off his left shoulder, bounding away.
Grace angrily covered herself and them tried to rescue her torn clothing from Bennet.
"Look what you did," she cried.
"I'm sorry, "he stuttered, horrified.
Grace glared at him, until at last a ting hysterical giggle issued forth and they both dissolved in laughter, slumped in the long grasses of the field.

The Romance begins.....

Grace Tenderstitch gingerly picked her way up the path through her field. She wondered if she should have worn a hat, and briefly chided herself for lack of confidence. She was aware that Bennet watched her progress, aware that her feet were sweating in her good shoes and that they pinched her bunion. She was admittedly nervous and felt the hem of her slip catch irritably on a patch of leg hair that she had missed while shaving that morning. She tried hard to look like she was walking in a relaxed fashion but the heels of her shoes dug in the ground and threatened to topple her. Never the less she held her head high and made great progress, sauntering along like she was use to going to a breakfast picnic at 7:30 every morning. She would normally watch where she put her feet but today she felt like a model on a runway, albeit one that wound through a tall grassy field. Her filmy flowered dress shifted off a shoulder, and dipped down causing Grace to pause and slip it back where it belonged. She was smiling in the direction of Bennet Wimmer when the grasshopper took aim at her thigh and flipped itself inside her dress, coming to rest on her inner leg close to the place where the elastic from her underwear gathered itself in the crease of her leg.
Grace Tenderstitch leaped into the air as if she was launched by an  unseen trampoline. She grabbed at her crotch, and made  wild shooing gestures to get the offending creature off of her inner thigh. The raspy legs and feet of the grasshopper tickled her unmercifully and Grace let out a squeal that was with her contortions and gyrations difficult for Bennet to interpret. He smiled nervously and then chuckled hesitantly, thinking that Grace was having a bit of fun, until Grace actually fell to the ground, swatting at her lower body like it was biting her.

Interview with Debra of Monniebean

 I am I confess a copycat of sorts, Maybe.  But maybe Debra of Monniebean and I are kindred spirits, close enough in a very deeply spiritual way that we have similar ideas, and similar happenings. So when she suggested that she interview me for her blog I thought that I would interview her. I wish I had thought of it first...the idea that is.  I do know a few things about her  that I will share with you. Her WORK IS FABULOUS.  Debra and I met on Etsy, we were both enchanted by bugs. We got to chatting and it became clear that we were ....kindred spirits.Some folks get some skills but Debra (I call her Bean and she calls me Baggy) has alot of Talents. She is a gifted Artist, Photographer and Designer.                                                                                                                                              Here are the questions I asked her: Tell us a little bit about yourself: 1)I am married to my sweet husband Geoff. We just had our 21st anniversary! We have one child, a son, Micah.


Is there anything significant about the name  MONNIEBEAN?                                                                   2)My business name, Monnie bean Folk art came form my great-grandmother. Her first name was Cora-how it got changed to 'Monnie' is a story I don't know, but I love her name anyway. I needed to identify my art with the name, so I put 'folk art' at the end. I like the way it looks and sounds. I think names are very important for a person or a business.

What excites or inspires you Bean?                                                                                                            3)I am very excited by prim art and folk art, but I really don't think I am very good at either. I think my real talent lies in design. I used to do silk screening and the designs were bold and funky. I wish I still had all my old equipment for silk screening, but I donated it years ago. I'm sort of returning to it in the stencil work I'm doing on burlap.

I am inspired by: magazines, color combinations, clouds, childrens' art work, old clothing, wool, primitive artists that can really pull it off, like-Baggaraggs, Vermont Harvest, Middleburg, all the great ones that I follow on my blogs-there's so many out there that make me say "Wow!"
How do you know when you are finished with a piece of ART?
4) I'm getting better at knowing when I'm finished with a piece-but I did have the bad habit of working something to death that was just NOT working to begin with, thinking I could make it work somehow. That's not a good idea. Now I stop at the first sign that things are not coming out right. I have a huge pile of rejects. I recycle everything though, and rejects always make you learn something!
What are your BUsiness goals?
5)My goals for my business are to make 100 dollars a week. I would be very excited over that.
Favorite Quote or saying?
6)Favorite quote: "Lord, please make me the kind of person my dog thinks I am." When I saw that hanging on the wall in our vet's office, it actually brought tears to my eyes. We had to be extremely patient with our dog, Cheyenne, when we got her because she had been abused. I learned a lot from a dog! But sometimes my rotten attitudes and actions grieve me so much! My dog loves me anyway...
What are your goals for your Business?
7)I'd like to see my business being settled to two or three things I am good at, and not so many that I don't have a cohesive look. I want really nice business cards and a great logo, tags, the whole thing. In five years I'd love to have a write up in some magazine, or have work in a gallery somewhere.

Where would you like to see your work Published?
8)Well, if my work was in a magazine-I think I'd love to have it be in "Where Women Create," which I am just gaga over. I drag my copy everywhere I go and have been so inspired by every issue. If I could make it in that publication, I would think-"wow-my art must inspire someone."

Ok the island question,what 7 items would you take (there is food and water) for two weeks if you were stranded on a desert island ( I prefer dessert island)
9)OK-the island-first of all-there are no snakes, spiders or creepy things on that island...but the seven things I'd take would be my Bible,lots of dark chocolate,sketchbook and pencil,the latest issue of Where Women Create,my camera,coffee and coffee pot.
Any classes that you would like to take?
10) A class I would take would be water color painting.

Bean What is your Fav color?
11)My favorite color is rusty orange.
 And your Fav Bible verse.
12)My favorite Bible verse is Psalm 118:17 "I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord."

No ONE does Birds like Bean. NO ONE. She has a love for Nature that is apparent in her interpretation of BIRDS. Debra has also started a new Etsy Business called BeanBaggs. She makes fabulous Purses and pillows. Aren't they fabulous? Well Bean. I think we will meet one of these days. I hope so anyway. Keep on inspiring others with your Beautiful Photos at Sparrowgrass.

 -http://www.etsy.com/shop/BeanBaggs

Coming SOOON....

I am interviewing the Brilliant Folk Artist DEBRA, the Creator of Monniebean Folk Art and the Photographer and writer Behind Sparrowgrass. Stay Tuned...

I took this photo at Bellingrath Gardens in Mobile. It beckons with the light at the end of this covered wallway. I was captivated by it.

Hortense Hopp

I had to laugh at this Glamour shot that Hortense wanted for her Etsy Picture.

Angels watching over you.

on this day, the anniversary of 9-11,

I am thinking of those people in this world who have lost someone the day we were attacked, and praying for them. I hope we can all learn to live in peace and respect each other's faith.

Madly Working...

Hillie.Flights just zoomed out of the studio. I know I have left Bennet waiting for Grace. I am WORKING ON MY STORY>>>> Sorry its taking me so long....

Companions

Halloween is COMING!!!!

Halloween is COMING!!!!!

Bennet's morning

Bennet Wimmer rose early that morning. The sunlight coming through the eastern window of his second story room fell on a rag rug lying on the wooden floor. Bennet sat at the bedside and struggled to get his socks onto his feet. He watched  as the sunlight seemed to illuminate the rug, where thousands of tiny threads reached up from the rags to connect with the dust motes in the air. He wondered what the connection meant, and instantly thought of the unusual connection he felt to Grace. For the one millionth time, he wondered also about the invitation that he had offered her. He was not really a spontaneous personality type. He thought things over and liked to think that he made decisions with careful planning. He wondered if this new behavior was born of grief over the recent loss of his Mother, and the awareness that time was moving on.
He climbed down the narrow stairs to the hallway below, his hand familiar with the places on the wall of the stairwell where he reached out to balance himself descending. He did not need to watch the steps in his descent but did so out of habit, aware that the color of the wood had faded in the center of each riser. He was oddly comforted to  acknowledge that his Mother's feet had made this path going up and down.
The old red wagon that his Mother had used to pull him as a child stood filled with most of the makings of the morning picnic that he hoped to have with Grace. He needed to add a carafe of Hot coffee, and a container of cream, then all would be ready to go. He glanced with some doubt at the ball jar filled with flowers he had cut from his Mother's garden. The gangly stem of a dill flower hung out of the back of the wagon, somehow dislodged from the bunch. he pushed it down into the water of the jar with its companions, wondering if he had over done it. He was aware that he felt slightly foolish, and had lost some of his enthusiasm over night. "Well, hope she shows up" this he said aloud to his Mother's cat.
Bennet left early, pulling the wagon gingerly behind him. He was patient with the readjustment needed to its contents as he bumped over the paths and up the hill into the woods. He was sweating by the time he reached the top of the field where he was to meet Grace, and he was aware that somehow a butterfly had fluttered into his stomach and beat its velvet wings against his diaphragm.
He spread an old quilt upon the ground, and recoiled in horror as he realized that he had selected a double wedding ring design. "Now she will think I am trying to get married...Oh my Gosh, what am I doing?" he made a silent wish that she would not notice the faded design or associate it as he had with some kind of commitment.
 He set the breakfast as best as he could with the jar of flowers sitting slightly off kilter in the middle of the blanket. He was not aware that his friends the trees seem to incline their trunks and branches toward the scene and make a bougher with their leafy arms.
The sun was shining brightly, and the birds were singing when Grace Tenderstitch stepped out into the morning. She swallowed nervously as she picked her way through the garden, wondering if she had used enough deodorant, wondering if she looked ok, wondering if her hair was right, wondering if she had over done it. She nervously glanced at Murray who was at her side, escorting her as if to an altar.
Bennet Wimmer nervously glanced at his watch for the one millionth time. He watched as she emerged from her back door into the garden, shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. He stood with his own hands clasped in nervous anticipation and felt a surge of delight as the butterflies in his stomach beat wildly against his ribcage.

The Upstairs Mending Maid

She was fired from her job as the Upstairs Mending Maid for whirling about the Ballroom.

The MossThread Museum

I am beginning a new venture. Its called The MossThread Museum. I have started a new Blog and a New Etsy shop. It will feature vintage lace and linens with manufactured provenances...made up ones. the stories will be told by the curator and prisoner of the MossThread Museum, whose name is Ledley Barbour. I am excited about this new endeavor and hope to offer some new things for Halloween, Bugs and such. Wish me LUCK. truly your Friend, Robin

Grace makes a Decision

Matters of the Heart are sometimes complicated. The heart has its history in every person after all. It has a memory of tenderness and yearning, reaching out for another and being brushed away like crumbs on a shirtfront. It never completely hardens, don't ever let anyone tell you that. I won't believe it, and I hope you don't either because that means that the hardness has crept into your own heart. But that is your story. This is Grace's story.                                                                                                                                        Grace's heart had become fearful of hurt and did not trust. She loved her animals, thought of them as people. They were her people. But some time long ago, Grace had really stopped trusting Human Beings.
She had accepted this, binding herself to her land and her animals with years of work and care. She was therefore somewhat surprised to find a tiny creeping feeling of interest in Bennet Wimmer.
Have you ever found something unexpected growing in your garden. Something that just popped up? Besides weeds, of course. My Mother use to call these little surprises "Volunteers." That is what Grace felt popping up in her heart, a "Volunteer." A tiny, tender shoot of emotional greening. I can tell you right now, she was tempted to stomp it out like some people grind out a cigarette butt.
As the day wore on, this feeling of ambivalence simmered in Grace's gut, making her feel slightly flu-ish.
Murray waited and watched her. Stewing.
He was relieved when she finally spoke later that afternoon. "I am not going up there tomorrow morning Murray."
Grace spoke her thoughts as if Murray had shared every thought she had processed in her brain all that long day. There was no prelude. She did not talk about her preoccupation and knew it was not necessary.
Murray knew his part in this kind of exchange and only grunted in response. He knew it was best to try to let Grace work this out for herself.
"I think its best to not start something like this with him, that Bennet Wimmer."
"Of course, I am not sure what THIS really is Murray." Murray nodded and grunted again, wondering what there was for supper. This process with Grace could take a while and he was hungry.
"Maybe I should go tomorrow morning, see what he has in mind...just be neighborly...maybe it would be rude to not show up at all. Afterall, he has just lost his Mother, poor man."
This one sided conversation went on and on. Murray never actually did more than grunt and shake his head in what he thought might be an appropriate spot.
Grace finally concluded "Ok Murray, I am going to meet Bennet Wimmer tomorrow morning. No expectations. Just the neighborly thing to do."
 Murray nodded and rolled onto his side. He was exhausted.

Butterfly Angel

A Windy Day

Murry's senses

Murray was a good dog that did not get on the furniture or chew up Grace's Shoes. Like all dogs that I have known, he was present in the MOMENT of Now, and much of this was based by how in tune he was with all of his senses. He trusted his nose, his eyes, and his ears. His interpretation of behavior was something processed through all of those senses as well, and as a result Murray had instantly liked Bennet Wimmer. He did not smell like fear or aggression, or anxiety. Bennet smelled vaguely of bacon and that was GOOD. Murray liked Bennet's voice. It was not deceitful or angry or Frightening. And that was Good. Bennet had also stood his ground when Grace had angrily advanced upon him. He had been calm, assertive and confident. All that was Good. In addition, he had invited Grace back the next day for some further meeting, which may or may not mean sharing food...and that may be Good too.
And so it was that Murray had a hard time understanding why Grace would be so agitated and angry with Bennet. What was her problem?
Murray laid on a rug made of leftover strips of Grace's sewing and old clothes. He laid his head on his out stretched paws and breathed in the scent of the rug, comforted by all the familiar smells of his own SPOT. Grace's movements in the Kitchen disturbed his mind, and his ears twitched as Grace jerked open the silverware drawer. Its contents nearly scattered all over the floor.
Murray did not comment. He knew that if he waited with patience that Grace would tell him the Why of her anger. In the meantime, he formulated his own opinion based on her smell. She smelled angry, anxious and...interestingly enough...aroused.

Tibbet

Endive Buckley

She pronounces her name ONDEEVE. Just so you know.

Fish Sticks

Lavender and grapefruit Turnovers

Ok so here is a recap. Bennet Wimmer is kinda spying on Grace, she confronts him , she is MAD, he is calm, he insults her then invites her to meet him at the gate the next morning....OK Right!

If we had Bennet's monocular and could train its lens upon him, this is what we would see...Bennet sat at the base of an old oak tree and seemed to be speaking out loud.
"So, I should just be myself, and when the time comes that seems appropriate I should just tell her about my secret," at this he stumbled a bit like the word "secret" had cleverly tripped him.
he plucked a blade of grass and stuck it in his  mouth, glancing upward and leaning back into the hard ridges of the trunk.
The tree seem to cradle him then, and if the branches could nod "yes" in a singular fashion, then they did, as if to affirm his suggestion.
"Ok , well that's a plan then..." He stood up, albeit not as sprightly as he was as a boy, and the tree seemed to try to gently lift him to his feet as an afterthought, with an outstretched limb.
Bennet gently touched the trunk and said "Ill talk to you later."
At home , Bennet Wimmer stood in the kitchen and thought a minute. He would make a breakfast picnic for them tomorrow. He would make his favorite breakfast treat to share with Grace. Hopefully it would help assuage her anger towards him.
Here is what he made:
Lavender and Grapefruit Turnovers
one sheet of frozen puff pastry
one block of cream cheese, softened
one egg
3/4 cup of raw sugar
one large tablespoon of sour cream
one tablespoon of lavender buds
one teaspoon scant of grapefruit zest
two tablespoons of grapefruit juice
Roll out the sheet of frozen pastry dough and cut into 6 equal squares. Set aside.
Beat the next ingredients until light and fluffy.
Heat your oven to 400degrees. Butter a cookie sheet and place all six squares on it. Place a heaping tablespoon in the center of each pastry square and fold inward, pinching the center points together. Bake for approximately 20 mins or so...but check at 15 mins. especially if you have a fast oven.
If these pop open during baking, not to worry, they can be reshaped when cooling. Dust with powered sugar, and serve with nice hot coffee.

Petals

Ever wonder where all the Petals go to as they Fall upon the ground? Petals sweeps them UP, and gives them to the Fairies for their Fragrant beds at NIght.

Bennet's Thoughts

Bennet Wimmer watched as Grace flounced off. His mind was swimming with ideas and possibilities and he felt excited. The experience of Grieving can have as many impacts on Folks as there are Folks. The recent passing Of Bennet's Mother had introduced a kind of soul searching that Bennet found vaguely uncomfortable. He had spent his life teaching, and that had been satisfying, but Bennet knew that he had passed up a number of opportunities to develop an intimate relationship with another human being. He had chosen to be closest to Trees, and he had been guarded but professional with his students.
As he made his way back across the field to his home, Bennet thought about his interaction with Grace, and felt a kind of intimacy that her anger had established. Standing before him in what was clearly her pajamas, with her hair a bush of grey flannel upon her head, ranting like a lunatic...Bennet smiled.
He liked her.

The Blue Pidgeon Guardian

The Blue Pidgeon Guardian will have to have a new Tag, I spelled his name incorrectly. Its Pidgeon not Pigeon....LOL

Jasper, The Threader

My Friend Debra of fabulous Monnie Bean Folk Art http://monniebeanfolkart.blogspot.com/ suggested that I make a few more Threaders. For those of you who do not know what a Threader is....he or she has the job of threading the needle on the Thread pusher as nothing is sewn with a threadless needle. Threaders usually have uncommonly large eyes for seeing into tiny places. jasper has ONE large eyeball that he uses to magnify the tiny spot where the thread goes.

A word about fellow bloggers: I appreciate you all, your links and comments are the lifeblood of this blog. I thank you for reading these stories and, as does Grace Tenderstitch and the other creatures in the Land of Baggaraggs. Have a lovely DAY. Robin

Spelling BEE

Buster lost his place in the Finals at the Spelling Bee when he was asked to spell the word "Insecticide."

More Meeting

Grace stopped. Her eyes searched his face then cast themselves sideways to recollect. "Bennet Wimmer," she said questioning her memory. An image of a boy in the top of a popular tree came to her mind. He was swaying at the top of the tree, gently at first, riding the branches back and forth. One hand was held up to the sky, as if to balance from the very clouds above. The wind picked up and the rocking became more exaggerated. Beneath the tree, other children cheered him on in his recklessness. It wasn't long before the young poplar gave way to his weight in the wind. Grace remembered how she had watched in fascination, as the tree had bent itself in half and how Bennet had clung to the top most branches, dangling 15 feet from the ground, before he had dropped into a heap on the ground.  She had run across the field to join her peers gathered around him to see if he was dead. It was child's memory, and made her giggle out loud in discomfort. 
All of this ticker-taped vividly through her mind in a manner of seconds. This was Bennet Wimmer, she said to herself, That Bennet Wimmer. This was the son of Mrs. Wimmer...who had gone off to some weird college in Florida to become a tree specialist or Botanist...or something...
Grace was aware that her face had gone a bit red. Her neck felt welty. Hot. He waited for the connection with his hand thrust between the rungs of the fence.
Bennet watched as all of these images swam before her eyes. The seconds passed and he considered withdrawing his hand, and was about to that very thing, when Grace grasp it.
"I remember you Bennet, I remember you now. You were the boy that was so crazy about the trees." Grace smiled. "I do remember you."
"And you were the Girl that heard the voices," blurted out Bennet. He knew in an instant that he had said the wrong thing.
"Heard voices?" Grace snapped. "HEARD VOICES? What are you talking about? I never heard any voices. Voices? Like I am Crazy?" she queried.
"No, NO, sorry, I didn't mean it that way. Look, I am so sorry. I didn't mean that I thought you heard voices, it was just a nasty rumor that the kids would spread about you...back when we were kids...you know." He back pedaled but felt the more he said the worse it got.
"OTHER kids SAID that about ME?" Grace said as she brushed at some stubborn crumbs that seemed to have been glued to her chin.
"I never knew that. Well, thanks so much Bennet. Its been such a pleasure seeing you again."
"Well," began Bennet, "Hold on now, kids said terrible things about me as a child, and I knew what they said. At least you didn't...until now," he finished lamely. "Grace," he began again, "I wasn't spying on you, I carry my monocular with me, I saw movement down below, and well, I just wanted to investigate. I was not trying to spy on you really. I apologize for what seems now like a creepy thing to do."
Grace recognized his contrition, his attempt to make things better, but it barely soothed her ruffled feathers.
"Thanks Bennet. Look, I am sorry to have heard about your Mom. This is awkward. I should have gone to the service for her, the funeral, but I just couldn't make it." Grace offered all of this with starch in her voice. She was being polite, she did feel bad for him just on principle, but her mind dwelled on the earlier remark about the voices. It had explained alot about why her peers had acted the way they did. She wanted now to hurry away and dissect those memories, and put them back together in a manner that made sense to her.
Bennet just felt bad. His first contact with a neighbor, and he had screwed it up. "That's OK Grace." This was all he could volunteer, all he could think of to say to the woman who stood before him on the other side of the gate.
Amends, he thought to himself. Make amends.  He argued silently with himself, why do I care, he thought?   
 "Grace, can you be here tomorrow at say around seven thirty?"
""Here? I live here Bennet. I am here all the time," she replied cantankerously.
"No," he replied with great frustration now, "Here at the gate, tomorrow morning."
She shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. She turned to walk down the path, and said over her shoulder, "Yeah sure. seven thirty. At the gate. Tomorrow."
Grace had no intention of being at the gate at seven thirty. With out looking back, Grace flounced down the path through her pasture.
"Voices," she said under her breath to Murray who was trotting at her side. "Do you see what people say about me Murray?"
Murray looked up at Grace with an expression of disgust. He had never regretted for a single day the gift of communication that they shared. He said nothing.
When Bennet called after them "See ya tomorrow," Grace just waved her hand in a backward sign of farewell.

The Meeting

Bennet Wimmer watched in horror as Grace Tenderstitch came full speed up the pasture towards him. He was absolutely transfixed, couldn't have moved if he wanted to. His toes tried to curl in his walking shoes around the bottom rung of the gate. He was vaguely aware that he was holding his breath, and part of him thought the best thing to do was to turn around and high tail it. The  chin of her face seemed to lead the way, but mostly his eyes were fixed upon her breasts which unbound in her undershirt, bounced like two partially inflated umbrellas upon her chest as she flew up the path.
Grace was in a rage, that was a certainty. All of the anger and despair of the past months gathered themselves with unbelievable force at this perceived intrusion, and Grace felt an energy that she had missed as the adrenaline surged through her brain. Gone were the arthritic movements. Grace was shot like an arrow from a bow of Outrage that hurled her without her good judgement at the Target of Bennet Wimmer. Murray hurried along at her side, saying quietly "Grace wait a minute...wait Grace...wait." He had seen Grace lose her temper before and usually the outcome was ...poor.
She bounced on,  breasts bobbing, and slipped on a patch of mud, momentarily doing a wild kind of split. She caught herself and trying to recover some of her dignity, tugged her pajama bottom up, as they had slipped more than what she thought was prudent.
She had almost reached her destination when Bennet hopped backward from the gate, putting that firmly between them. He was not sure of her intentions. He had heard some stories about Grace when growing up, something about her hearing voices. He hadn't paid any attention, he was more interested in remembering the names and places of the trees, then participating in silly rumors about GIRLS. He found that he was smiling vaguely, sheepishly, and that his heart was beating fast in his own chest. (Run,he thought, RUN AWAY)
Grace stopped about six feet from the gate to her pasture. She glanced down and was aware that a few muffin crumbs clung precariously to her undershirt. She brushed then away, then self consciously crossed her arms over her breasts.
"What are you doing? Who are you and what do you mean spying on me like that? " Grace did not give him a chance to answer. "I know all about people like you. Voyeurs aren't you? Isn't that the name of people like you?" Her chest heaved. He started to speak but Grace cut him off. "If I ever see you train that ....monocular on me again I will Have you arrested. Do you understand me?" Grace spat this last part out like it was an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Her face was red. "The nerve of you...stalkers. I will set my dog on you if you dare come round here again." Murray looked at Grace doubtfully and hung his head.
Bennet Wimmer looked at Grace and could not help his smile. It was fixed to his face like he was born that way. He was mortified. Not knowing what else to do, he stuck out his hand and said "Hello, I think you are Grace...do you remember me? I am Bennet Wimmer, your neighbor."

Spying

Bennet Wimmer's scrutiny of the Tenderstitch Farm drew his gaze to the garden gate of the home where Grace lived. As he watched he saw movement there and he fished in his pocket for his Monocular. He liked to think that this single lens spyglass was something left over from playing Pirates as a child, but it came in handy. He trained the glass upon the form of Grace Tenderstitch and adjusted the Focus,  upon her face.
Here is what he saw. Grace stood in the garden in the late morning in her pajamas, Murray at her side. Depressed people have a sometimes difficult time getting going in the morning and this was true for Grace. She was at best disheveled. Her hair was mopped above her face and caught in an elastic, from which hanks of gray shot out like ropes that had unraveled. Her mouth drooped at the ends, Curled downward in an expression of dissatisfaction that lined its way over into pouches at her chin line. Her eyes were half mooned underneath with purple, and puffy. A cup of coffee rose to her mouth and she sipped, choked and sputtered. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and Bennet could see that she spoke, but could not hear her words.
Meanwhile above him the bird that he thought was a hawk, but was in truth an Osprey, called again and glided down the pasture to hitch itself up on the Gate post near to Grace. He watched as Grace seemed to speak with the bird, and turned to look up the pasture to where he stood spying on her with his Monocular. He had a full view of her face, now angry, in his glass before he hastily pocketed it in his trousers. Much to his dismay, Grace Tenderstitch started through the gate and took a northward path through the pasture, and toward him.

Visitors

Ok this summer I am hanging out with a few friends, working in the Garden, and drinking  fruit Nectar. Grace tenderstitch is going to Fall in Love this Summer and get over her Depression. Nothing like a little Limerence to get the Dopamine going!

Bennet Wimmer

Bennet Wimmer rose early as was his custom. He glanced downward at his wrinkled trousers and made a half hearted attempt to smooth the horizontal lines. He reminded himself that his appearance was not as important as it use to be. He was ambivalent about that as well as the decision he had made to return to his Mother's home, and assist her as her health  failed. She was gone now for several weeks and he missed her. He also missed his old life as a professor of Botany at the Mosswood College in Littletwig, Florida.
Bennet stood before the bathroom mirror in his Mother's home and realized that it was his home now. He was not entirely comfortable with his inheritance, and felt like a child who had been given a set of hand me downs, and was expected to be grateful.
That was not exactly true,Bennet thought to himself. He loved it here. Truthfully, the property where he had grown up was almost sacred to him. The inspiration for his vocation had come from climbing in the trees, eating the wild raspberries and pruning the apple trees. There were so many things to be sorted out, not the least of which was the direction of his own life in "Retirement."
Bennet slipped his feet into his walking shoes, and headed out the door to survey his property. It was time to make some decisions about where to begin his new life.
The spring had come and was about to exit into full summer. He climbed the gently sloping yard to the field beyond. It had once been plowed and produced a great deal of garden vegetables; tomatoes, corn, and squash. He made a mental note to check the seed catalog for short season vegetable seeds. A hawk called over head and Bennet looked up. He watched the bird glide to a distant tree and light there, looking down at him. He hiked his long legs across his field in the direction of the trees, and hawk and the fence to his neighbor's property. The hawk called noisily from the tops of a maple, as if to summon him . "I am coming," thought Bennet as he crested the slope. He wondered momentarily at this thought, fanciful as it was. "I remember this place," Bennet said aloud. He climbed the wide gate that joined the ends of an old stone fence. The fence had crumbled in some places but was largely intact. It neatly hemmed an emerald patch of pastureland. The morning sun illuminated the green and it seemed to glow golden. Bennet Wimmer, stood like he did as a child, with his feet on the bottom rung of the gate and looked at the northern pasture of the Tenderstitch farm.

Here's what we did today. We went to Marie Selby Botannical Gardens. Its here in Sarasota. It is one of my Favorite Places to go...ever. Here are some photos I took today while we wandered along.

Sale on MY ETSY

Sale on My Etsy. Althea and Willa are greatly reduced! See my Etsy on the LEFT. Have a lovely DAY!!!

THE WINNER IS.....

I used the above HIGHLY Scientific method for the Apple angel drawing, and DAH-DAH!!!!!
Blueberries in the Field
is the WINNER. YAH!!!!!
Happy Mother's Day to everyone!

GRACE'S DREAM

"Moths do Not sting?" thought Grace as she stumbled back into the house. "That was supposed to make me feel Better? How about if I take a flyswatter to her overconfident little wings?...ManMOTH? Hmmph!"
Grace wanted to sulk. Maude had hurt her feelings that was certainly true, but there was something that Maude had said that had let a thought  flutter loose in her head. It wandered just out of touch, ahead of her grasp somehow. Grace tried to calm herself enough to review the words that Maude had uttered. "Martyr" echoed down the halls of her self esteem. Well, I don't think so, thought Grace...but then again...she considered.Grace retreated from the thought and felt her own cheek, hot with anger.
Anger. real and right there at the surface. Maude's remarks and careless retorts had made her feel angry, or had she been angry before then?  Angry. She had been so angry. And Anger realized made her feel Frightened and Anxious. Like she was going to take a ride on a wild beast, romp about and destroy the Garden. That  night Grace had a dream. It was dark and there was something dripping on her head. She realized that she was covered by leaves and lay at the bottom of a large and suffocating Pile. The earth was gathered round close to her, pressed to shoulders with its rich loamy odor. At first, she panicked and  tried to sit bolt upright, struggling for a bit of air. The leaves were gentle hands that pressed her down , down , down until she was sure she lay in a cave. All the while, there was something that dripped and dribbled on her head. Squinting she looked up to catch bits and pieces of her exchange with Maude, dribbling down through the ceiling of leaves above her. "Martyr" was the last thing that dripped through the mass, splashing coldly across her forehead, before she slept.

GRACE SPEAKS

"What is depression," began Grace. "What is it? I wish I could define it singularly, sum it up in a word, but its Bigger than a word, more invasive than a word and has ugly roots in the corners of my Being..."
"It is a Bad feeling. Complicated and malignant. Its like a sucker fish that travels unwelcome right upon the back of any good mood you have. Leeching the very light or Joy out of moments that are meant to be happy. Depression is sadness, Maude. It is grief, doubt, and anger suck in your gut, tunneled down deep. It is anger at yourself for Not doing something about the things that you can do SOMETHING about. It makes all the world look flat and the colors look faded. It makes all ideas seem either too big to actualize, or too trite to try or to stupid to begin. Its negativity Maude. Self defeating Negativity. It makes pain worse, and sleep a nightmare."
Maude looked up at Grace and said simply "Go on Grace."
"What is worse is I am not sure why I feel this way."
"Well, I hear there have been some goings on around here Grace. Something about an attack of the pie-rats and Prunella Fig-Pink melting into the floorboards of your own Bedroom? Is it true she wanted the Baggaraggs for herself?"
Grace thought for a minute and replied  "Yes, I guess that's all so, but I think that's not what is really bothering me Maude.."
"Well, what the hell is it THEN???" Insisted Maude, who was not a patient Therapist.
"I am Tired. Tired of ..." Grace thought a minute. "I am just tired." She finished resigned to leave the end undiscovered. She knew what she was tired of but saying it would make it even uglier, like exposing a terrible and shameful wound.
"I think you'd better out with it Grace," said Maude. "Otherwise we will be here all NIGHT !"
Grace drew an imaginary line in her palm with her forefinger, and let out a sigh. "Jeez Maude, ...you are coming up a bit short on the sympathy."
"You don't need Sympathy Grace, you need a can opener from what I can see."
"I take care of everyone. " Grace said at last. "I am tired, and no one takes care of Me."
Maude rubbed her antennae together and smiled. "That's because you never let anyone take care of you Grace. I am going out to get myself taken care of right this Minute, find myself a nice big Mothman." Maude giggled and added "See ya tomorrow night and you'd better look up Martyr in the dictionary because your picture is right there next to it. Hahahaha"                                                                                 Maude Fluttered off Leaving Grace with her mouth hanging open.

BAGGARAGGS GIVEAWAY

Please sign up and leave a comment to be a part of this giveaway. Its Apple Angel, and she is looking for a home. Apple Angel celebrates the Life of  Johnny Appleseed, an American Pioneeer nurseyman who introduced APPLES into large regions of Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. He was a living Legend because of his KIND and generous Nature, encouraging others to Plant his APPLE seeds. Oh, I almost forgot about the date of the drawing....HOW ABOUT MOTHER"S DAY?  Doesn't give us too much time, so HURRY up and SIGN UP!!!! 

Conversations with Maude

You have heard curse words before I am sure, so I do not need to use any here. What Grace heard interspersed with the tapping noise were the curses of Maude the Moth as she bammed, bammed, bammed into the Light on the back Porch.

"Would you (bam) mind turning (Bam bam) that Damn (bam) thing OFF? " This was Maude's request and Highly directive remark to Grace.
Scrambling, Grace ran for the switch that brought a partial darkness to the porch. The Moonlight leaked through the tree branches, and illuminated the spot where Maude rested exhausted on the silvered leaf of a pothos.
She cursed again, and said "OK Grace, what is it? You turned on the light and called me. Now what is it? Jeez, I have a headache." She rubbed an antennae over her tiny head.
It was Grace's turn to curse, which she did quietly. "I am so sorry Maude. Really. I didn't think...hadn't remembered that leaving the light on like that would send for you...I mean...I have been so ..." Grace could not finish. She stammered and did not finish. To say that she was depressed was an acknowledgement of something she did not wish to face.
Maude peered over at her. "What's wrong with you Grace? You cocooning?"
"Cocooning?" replied Grace bewildered.
"Yeah, the word is you can't get out of Bed. I thought maybe you were going into a cocoon, transforming yourself... You know like we Moths do. I thought maybe you called me to show off your new wings. I was going to congratulate you."
"I am not Transforming, Maude." Grace replied sadly. "I am just depressed," she admitted.
"Depressed? What is "depressed" Grace?"
" I don't really want to have this discussion with you Maude," began Grace in an agitated voice. She stopped herself. Who would listen to her? Who did she wish to have share in this problem? This burden.
"Look Grace, you ask me to come here. Summoned me with the light. I don't know what Depression is, I ask a simple question  because I don't know.What is Depression?" Maude looked up with an earnestness that Softened Grace's anger. Maude's antennae were crossed at the tips, and there was concern in her voice.
Grace looked at her hands. She took a deep breath and felt the skin tingle around her chest.  She felt a rise of sadness in her gut and the tears fell. She began to speak.

Tapping

There was no Breakfast that day in the Baggaraggs. No lunch and No Teatime either. Grace stayed in Bed with her eyes closed and drifted, with the annoying awareness that an Abba song intruded non stop in her ears. Her mind seemed to play an endless round of Super Trooper.There was a puddle of saliva that crusted onto the side of her mouth and dribbled over onto her pillow.
She did not care. At times she was hot, and then she was cold. The covers flapped back and forth to adjust to her temperature.
No one disturbed her and had they tried Murray would have issued a growl that would have sent them scurrying.
The Evening came. The light faded and the shadows in the corners of the room were melting into darkness. Grace realized she has spent the entire day in bed. There was the niggling sense of guilt over time wasted, friends not fed, chores ignored.She righted herself at the bedside and sat with her head drooping. Murray rested his head on her knee, and under her hand. They did not speak.
Grace unfolded her self into a stretch. Tentatively searching the spots at the limits of her joints where the pain would come. Trying to avoid the hot discomfort. Arthritis.
An awareness of an unfamiliar tapping sound intruded. Grace momentarily considered ignoring it, but somehow drew a line against her apathy to investigate the noise.
The back porch light was on, had been since the night before. Grace hiked her pajama bottoms up with a hand and held them at her stomach. like a sleep walker, stiff and uncertain, she walked towards the light, and what seemed to be the source of the tapping. The rest of the house was dark.

I am working on this Young Lady. She will be a Pretty Face. ..not my normal eyes ascew, Raggedy Rompus. Does anyone  want to know how to make a doll? Here are some Photos of her progress. I have boxed off the bottom so she will sit nicely.