Early Riser

"I awoke earlier than usual this morning, came down to the kitchen for coffee, and was greeted by the sun spilling beautifully across my kitchen table. What a wonderful way to start the day!"

by graceoverus

Everyday Gifts {Courage II}...

{Unfurling} by Amber Aiken

Everyday Gifts {Courage}...

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a
bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.
~Anais Nin

Sunday Shops

everyday gifts may be

soft . sweet . sharp . smooth . subtle

SEAL MAIDEN

JAM GEEK

MISSISA

COCO AND CHIA

VEDA ART

click on the links to enjoy
see you next week in the shops
as we continue celebrating everyday gifts

Red or Gray Art

Everyday Gifts: Trust

my ancestors first came to this little valley six generations ago...

everyday was a struggle to survive and be self sufficient...

i often wonder how they carried on...

the calling to become a steward of the land and His creatures, to me, is one of the greatest...

each day there are trials...

each day there are doubts...

each day we face similar struggles as those who came before...

but each day we are trusted...

trusted with His creations...

and we carry on...

Gift Without a Bow

Art has the power to change lives.

Please picture this ~

A young, college student on a traveling scholarship walks into a museum exhibition hall.  The walls are white and illuminated by a warm glow streaming down from skylights.  The paintings on the walls are by the French Impressionist, Claude Monet.  They depict flowers, landscapes, and garden scenes; captured in amazing, vivid, vibrant hues.  

The young women is awestruck.  Her heart races as she marvels at these masterpieces.  She studies the brushstrokes..... the color combinations..... and tries to hold all these images in her mind and heart ~ forever.

She already knew that she loved all the ingredients that made great art;

 pattern, line, design, form, texture, and color. 

But, at this moment color became her muse.

A muse that she would walk hand in hand with along the path of art.

Forever.

This young woman was me, a zillion years ago.

  And yes, the gift of art does indeed have the power to change lives!

Has art touched your life in humble or profound ways?

Wishing you, always, a happy and art-filled life,

Weekend Gifts

simplicity


four corners design

Friday Gifts

light and branches above dance off the smooth wood of the guitar
as happy red boots pause to celebrate the gift of a work week ending

a gift given ... giving again

last weekend at a local music production

i was delighted to see my dear friend becky chinn

becky and i met years ago while taking a watercolour painting class together.

this gentle soul, with equally gentle brush strokes

fills my heart at every meeting ...

in herself she is a gift to me

as a classical violinist and teacher

she shares her gifts of music

and art with many

after we embraced, she excitedly asked if i had seen her painting in the foyer ...

go see, she said ... go see!

{the foyer held a gallery of local art work}

i slipped back out to look, but her work wasn't hanging ...

her little watercolour painting was sitting on a table

with a note beside it

the story on the note goes something like this ...

when becky was 10 years old, she had a little japanese friend

who gave her a set of japanese stacking, or nesting dolls

as a gift

time passed and the two young girls, now women, lost touch ...

when tragedy struck japan march 11th

becky felt a strong urge to reconnect to her friend,

to find her gift of long ago ...

she wasn't sure when she went searching

if these dolls had survived

her two daughters playtimes

but ... she did find them ...

in tact ~ paint still as vibrant

as she remembered.

and then she did what becky does ...

she picked up her paint brush

and painted lovely little studies

she made prints

and was offering them that evening for ten dollars each

in efforts to raise funds to help

the people of japan ...

her little friends gift 

given to her

is giving again.

the seal is becky's chinese signature stamp

every day

there are gifts

about us that reach

further than we can imagine

xo

.

let your little light shine

.

Inspiration and Dreams: On the Potty

Yes, I know. I’m taking the I-Studio’s lofty, soulful, inspirational theme and throwing it straight into the gutter. Immense apologies, but I can’t help myself.

I have entered that the dreaded world of potty training. All my waking moments seem to be consumed with three things: wees, poos and doing laundry. As much as baby poo seemed to have a magical ability to go EVERYWHERE, it didn’t smell, nor arrive in huge quantities. As costly as nappies might be, they do deal with things quite efficiently. Changing one takes only three minutes. Two, if I’m in a hurry.

But potty training...wow! On Saturday, it took me three hours to get dressed and out the door. During that time, I wiped one small bottom about seventeen times and generated an entire load of a laundry out of miniature Hello Kitty knickers and leggings.

One would think things were finished with that. But, no! Still to go was an al fresco poo on Eton Bridge and one colossal accident in a pair of white tights right by Windsor castle’s royal stone wall. In situations like this one does what one must.

My advice, above all, is to not make eye contact with the hordes of passers-by wearing shocked expressions. Feigned ignorance is your best defence.

It is only at the end of the day that I get some relief as I put my daughter in a nappie for her sleep. For the next eleven hours, I would rely on Pampers to do the job I had been doing. I could put away the portable potty, the baby potty and the many packs of wipes. I would tidy up the multiple books scattered around my bathroom and fold the laundry into strategic stacks, ready for the next day’s onslaught. I would get some sleep.

Until last night.... At 2:30am....A small voice says, ‘Mama, wake! My wee-wee’s coming. Please help.’

Oh no. It seems potty training has made it inappropriate to wee in one’s nappie. How much I wanted to ignore her call. Instead, we troop to the bathroom in the dark. My daughter’s hair is soft against my face. Her hand is small in mine. She puts her arms around me so I can lift her to the potty. Quietly, in the night, she says, ‘I love you SO much, Mama.’

A gift....of the best sort.

Ps. And no, there was no wee for the potty. It was already in her nappie.