Some of My Favorite Things
All through school I doodled on the margins of my note paper. Funny people, flowers, horses and cats filled the edges alongside notes on history, math and science. I once was reprimanded by a teacher for my doodles—she said it showed lack of attention. Oddly enough, this was in a drawing class, in college.
Lately I’ve used my doodle experience to create some sweet little note cards. Many art fairs don’t allow reproductions of art (prints and cards) but many people can’t afford or simply don’t want a large painting. Kids especially enjoy art, but even a $30 or $50 painting is beyond their allowance.
So I sat down recently and drew some of my favorite things on blank note cards. Each one is a small piece of unique, original art, hand drawn and colored. There are kitties, bunnies, sheep, and lots of flowers. Tea pots and bird nests with little blue eggs. Bright colors guaranteed to raise ones spirits. A real live piece of art for the low, low price of five bucks (or three for $12), ready to send to a friend or slip into a frame and enjoy. These cards will only be available at the shows I attend and at my home studio during the Brown County Studio and Garden Tour in June. See the events page for where I’ll be next.
March 30th, 2009
The house had undergone extensive remodeling before it became ours—some good, some not so good. A bit of its history and character was lost, but bits remain. I love discovering clues to former owners—like the single men’s wing tip shoe we found in the space under the eaves upstairs and the shards of pottery and glass that are continually turning up in the yard.
The shoe I tacked up on the wall of our shed and stuffed it with straw—thinking it would make a good birdhouse. The birds happily removed the straw, but never occupied the shoe. The bits of pottery and glass I keep collecting, thinking of doing a small mosaic table top. I noticed our predecessor liked blue and white china and green Depression glass, as do I. There are bits of thick crockery—perhaps from a mixing bowl, and some delicate china with roses. One small piece is the corner from a dish shaped like a playing card—the ace of spades. I’ve found aquamarine pieces of canning jars, and a thick chunk of amethyst colored glass. The chickens are a great help in turning up these finds, with their endless scratching.
A clue to an even earlier person, pre-house, was the beautiful little arrow head I found while planting daffodil bulbs on my mother’s birthday. I like to think of it as a present from her. We’ve also found enough rusty metal to start a scrap yard, some small rubber wheels, and a rat poison bottle, empty but with a raised relief image of a rat on the side.
Further out from the house the artifacts get larger—a chassis of an old truck and an entire Massey Ferguson combine. This was once a working farm, with cows and pigs, and machinery that worked the surrounding fields. I love living in a place that has history.
I spent the day—in between medicating various cats—painting bird feeders. Okay, so it’s a little early to have real flowers outside, no problem. I had fun painting roses and daisies to brighten things up. I love color! 
Despite some heartbreak in my life, I’m basically an optimistic person. Hard times may be around the corner, but good ones are too, and they’ll each be dealt with one way or another as the time comes.
The decorative grass (I don’t know what it is, it just appeared one year and has been getting bigger ever since) was tall and dry, and needed to be cut down to make way for this year’s growth. Midway through, I discovered a perfect little bird nest in the middle of the clump. This year’s, or last, I wondered. Not sure, I chose to leave some reeds still sheltering the nest—okay, it looks raggedy, but I don’t belong to any garden clubs, so who cares.
The bluebirds have been flying around, checking out all the painted birdhouses I have up. The female prefers one, while the male likes another. Some of the houses have been up for a few years and are starting to fall apart, prompting my brother to call me a slum lord. “Paint new birdhouses” I add to the list that is already covered with notes—buy mulch, paint shed, get ready for chicks. Yes, we’ve ordered more chicks (only eight) to add to our menagerie. We’ve got quite a few people hooked on our farm fresh eggs, it’s hard to keep up with demand.
At night we can hear the peepers courting, sometimes a sign of rain. This sound, along with crickets chirping has become so ingrained in my mind, I hear it even in the dead of winter. Some of the daffodils were hanging back, not sure if it really is spring now—but they’ve apparently been convinced, because there’s a burst of intense yellow in the garden now. I’m impatient to get out and plant things, I have to keep telling myself—it’s only March, the frost date is mid-May! I settled for planting a few pansies, which are somewhat cold-tolerant. Sigh. Patience is a virtue, it builds character.
A couple years ago a young mama cat and her two kittens showed up in our barn and I started leaving food for them. They were all extremely shy, but I felt in time I’d be able to win their trust. But one day the little family was gone. Two weeks later, the two kittens came back, alone. Where they had gone, and how they found their way back, I’ll never know.
When I brought them food, I could see one of the kittens had an injured lower jaw. It was so infected, the flesh had rotted through the bottom of his mouth. I managed to catch the kittens and took them to the vet. She held the little kitten in her hand and said “Hhmmm….” in a resigned tone of voice, looking in his mouth. He purred the whole time. “Well,” she said, “I can put him to sleep right now, or we can do surgery and he still might not make it, and it may cost hundreds of dollars.” Turned out his lower jaw was crushed into tiny pieces and was terribly infected, probably due to a bite from a raccoon or possum.
I named the kittens Fred (now more often called Freddy) and Ginger—while they were small they were inseparable, now they are more independent. More on Ginger next month. (Can you believe some people have no idea who Fred and Ginger were—even if I elaborate and say “You know, Fred Astair and Ginger Rogers!”). Freddy is a sociable cat and has shown an unusual tenderness towards any cat that is ill. Lately Rosie was sick with a bad cold and Freddy got in the cat bed with her and curled himself around her. When she got better, he went back to his old perch on the top shelf of the linen cabinet.