Easy Christmas Earrings

It's easy to create some cute Christmas earrings from things you are very likely to already have on hand.

For these Christmas ornament earrings, you will simply need a pair of hoop earrings, small to medium in size, but not too thin or lightweight; to look good, the hoop needs to have a bit of width and substance to it.

Next, get a few sets of small (approximately 1" diameter or a bit smaller if your hoops are small) glass Christmas ornaments: you may already have quite a few that you use to decorate, but if not, they are inexpensive and available at almost any store this time of year.

Slide the ornament onto the hoop, and voila!  Instant Christmas earrings!  An assortment of colors of ornaments will allow you to match to various outfits; I have one pair of black ones, which is a bit edgy for Christmas, but they actually look great.

Have fun with this easy project!  And click on the link to my etsy store for gift ideas; priority shipping can get things to you in time.

The Coldness That Seeps In

A cold late autumn evening--the house is warm enough, but it has cracks and broken places that let the cold seep insidiously inward, chilling me deeply in spite of the temperature of the air, which is fine.

My heart, too, is broken, and the cold seeps into it as well, in spite of all I do to keep it at bay.  Indeed, my heart is fractured and fissured so badly it's a wonder it hasn't frozen solid and shattered into pieces.  Perhaps it has: it aches so.

The nights are long and somehow darker now; the darkness comes earlier.  The chickens go "to bed" in their coop early, when there's still plenty of fading daylight left: why?  Are they overcome by the darkness, too?

I move through my nights and days like Dickinson's very apt description:

"The Feet, mechanical, go round--

  Of Ground, or Air, or Ought--

  A Wooden way

  Regardless grown,

  Of Quartz contentment, like a stone--"

Mechanical motions, yes. Getting things done, but finding little meaning in them.  The coming of the holidays, once a cause of great joy, now are harbingers of pain--the "family" times with a broken family are quite changed.  And with a downsizing move on the horizon, all the holiday decorations will have to go to make way for a simpler life.  Less tinsel, but more substance?

If not more, at the very least, a refocusing on the deeper joy that sustains me in my heartache times.  I can still give thanks at Thanksgiving, can still rejoice in the entry of the greatest Love penetrating the darkness of the world at Christmas.

That Love, if I let Him, can put the broken pieces of my heart back together, and He, alone, can truly keep out the cold.



For the Love of the Dance

Imagine, if you will, that there was a way for you to easily, almost effortlessly, step back in time, and suddenly find  yourself dancing with charming partners to elegant music while exchanging glances and smiles with them (it is simply the custom in Victorian times, my dear!). Some people are dressed in Victorian attire, but others, like you, are still in modern clothing, yet no one seems to notice or be dismayed. You are spinning around a dance floor in the arms of a gentleman who is treating you like a lady, in every sense, or you are perhaps the gentleman, embracing and guiding that lady around the floor in a magic moment of grace and beauty.

 

While there, at a break in the dancing,  you also partake of delicious tea sandwiches and various sweets and savories prepared slowly and with love, and drink many cups of tea while listening to a talk about Gilbert and Sullivan.  Does all that sound rather wonderful and amazing? Time travel is not as difficult as you might think...

Every month I attend the Sunday Afternoon Victorian Dance Social, hosted by the Victorian Tea and Dance Society. I first saw this group when they were picnicking in period costume at the L.A. Arboretum, and was instantly enchanted.  When I found they were a group that not only wore Victorian costumes but also did Victorian dancing, I had to find out more.

This group of people all donate their time and energy to make these events happen--it's just for the love of the dance and the love of the Victorian period.  People give their time to teach the dances--everyone can learn and no one is left out as a "wallflower" if he or she wants to dance. Some people come dressed in Victorian attire, and though it is admired, it is not required. Each month, someone volunteers to make a feast for the tea itself, and each month it is different, but always delicious with lots of items to give plenty of variety.

When the tea is served, someone gives a short talk on some aspect of Victorian life.  Queen Victoria herself spoke to us on one occasion; I felt quite honored!

There are some splendid balls coming up that do require period dress, so I am going to try and find a way to do it.  There are also local historic re-enactment events where the group shows up in period dress and dances--more reason to extend my period wardrobe.

If you live in the greater Los Angeles area and this sounds like something you'd like to explore, look for the group on Facebook or go to their website and get more information.  If you don't live nearby, do a little searching for a similar group in your area.  

Shall we dance?

 

First Day of Fall

There's something very comforting about the return of autumn, something calming and reassuring in the cooling down of the season.  As summer's heat abates, so does a certain amount of chaos when the beginning of school ushers in a certain level of order and regularity.  

Many people have favorite associations with fall; one of mine is ripening pears sitting on a table, to eventually be enjoyed some evening with a glass of port and some good gorgonzola or cheddar.

Fall faves:

• Apple picking at mountain farms; baking pies with those apples.
• Wearing tartans, scarves, sweaters; wearing fall colors in shades of chestnut, pumpkin, garnet and gold
• Kicking my way through multi-colored leaves when I take a walk
• Snuggling in next to a fireplace with a nice cup of tea or hot chocolate
• Cheering on my alma mater's football team

The photo shows not only some lovely pears ripening in the bowl, but also a few pieces of luster ware, bright with coppery and gold decoration, rich in the fall colors of ripening, fruition and harvest.  The feel of history  glows under my hand when I pick up the luster pieces and use them, reminding me of autumns long past when they were loved and used by others. Fall reminds me that all things must end, seasons of life change, and I need to let them go and move on.  Acceptance with joy reflects the fullness of this season.

What are some of your fall favorites? 

The moon is waning tonight, and even perhaps rattling in the sky like a "fragment of angry candy." Another Friday night alone.  One of my friends who has been through a divorce told me how lonely the weekends used to be for her.  I get that; what should be a time to spend with my beloved has turned into a gaping canyon of nothing, a darkening horizon. One thing that the divorce has done is to bring forth a lot of poetry; here is today's poem:


Waning Moon, Wasting Love

World weary.
Though not the world's weight
Pressing on my chest
Pressing on my heart
That makes it ache so.

Heart ache:
So apt, the term, so apt.
A physical pain, a genuine hurt
That manifests itself
In every joint
That breathes from every pore.

My mind tries to wrap around the emptiness
As my arms once wrapped around you.
I love you still, but in yesterdays.

Blithe Spirits

My house is full of figural imagery, often women or girls with expressions of joy or peaceful grace, which I then seem to surround with flowers.  Interesting juxtapositions, but also classic ones:  people instinctively connect joy with blooming things--fragrance, beauty, fullness, openness: blithe spirits complete in their own lovely selves.

Flowers and people need to be nurtured though, or they fade and die.  True, the statues are like the figures on Keats' Grecian Urn that are timeless, forever smiling, forever young, and my china or silk flowers never fade, but they never grow, either.

I am struggling to embrace the growth that has been thrust upon me through circumstances not of my choosing, and know that I must grow or die.  I struggle with the dreams inside me that have already died, struggle to create and nurture new dreams.  I struggle to cut off the "suckers" that seem to grow everywhere in my life, weakening it and making me less fruitful, less blooming than I might be.  Of course, it might help if I remembered to let God do the pruning, as he's promised to do, instead of trying to do it myself, but I also think, if I get honest with myself,  that I often pull back from his celestial clippers!  Ouch!

I need some water, Lord!  I need some plant food! Let me be one of your blithe spirits: plant me right by your waters so my roots reach you always to be fed exactly as I need.  Put a smile back on my face and let me radiate, bloom with your joy so that others may see it.

And There's Always One More Story

When I was listing this storyteller for my online store today, I realized I love the Pueblo storyteller figurines for what they represent: the need to pass down the stories to the next generation.  The figurine in the photo is by Judy Toya, and though it's an older one of hers, she is still making them today.  The storyteller figurines feature children clinging to the storyteller whose mouth is open with the sharing of history and tales with those children.

I was reminded afresh of the importance of stories when I was on vacation with my cousins last month.  As we shared family anecdotes with each other, we were delighted to hear bits and pieces of family history that we never knew before, like finding threads in a tapestry that we never even knew existed, yet as spoken, those threads wove a new picture of family members for us--so wonderful!

Even more, the time I spent with my cousins wove new new experiences into the warp and woof of our lives, connecting us at a more complex and meaningful level, with new memories to share, new connections between us, threads of gold and silver that will shine forever.

Summer is a time not only for relaxation, but to spend meaningful time with family. Why not share some memories that will weave that beautiful "one more story" moment with them?

Drifting off the Coast of Spain...

As the heat sears my brain, thoughts wander in and out, perhaps not as coherent as they should be, but they gnaw into my consciousness and will not be denied.

On the news I see a couple celebrating a marriage 75 years, and now find myself thinking, “That can never be me,” when before I always would have thought, “That will be us someday.”  Divorce has caused me to lose expectations of all sorts, but sometimes the reality of disappointment grips my heart in unexpected ways.

Once a joke was shared between my husband and myself with just a word; just the slightest reference to a person or an event could elicit hoots of laughter, but now there is no one who shares that history.  Sure, my kids know some bits and bobs of it, but not the whole of it, not the deeper, longer parts. The one who knows it no longer desires to share it with me.

I cannot help but wonder, in the nights, in the days, in the distant place where he claims to be “happy,” if he misses that history at all.   Not enough, apparently.

Can I ever hope to find love again, to marry again?  Being the truly Romantic type, with the capital R, yes, of course; I am the true believer.  I believe I had a happy marriage for most of my married life, and I believe it can happen again—different, of course, but happy again.  

And so, to cool my brain and remove myself from this oven of summer-over-baked days, I am reading Patrick O’Brian’s Master and Commander, delighting to be off the coast of Spain when I am immersed in the pages, and wondering where I might find a man who owns the best qualities of both Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin.  And if I do, you can be sure I will “beat to quarters” immediately.

Fascinating Women of the Past: Ellen Terry

Women from the 1700s, 1800s and early 1900s fascinate me, with histories full of both day-to-day life and larger-than-life events that these ladies participated in, affecting others by their leadership in fashion, the arts, education, good works, politics--but above all, how they put themselves forward in times when it was not considered "proper" for a woman to do so.

Ellen Terry was one such woman.  She was born in 1847 into a family of actors, and started her stage career as a child, including Shakespearean works.  She married fairly young to a man almost 30 years older (sounds doomed from the start, doesn't it?), the famous Victorian artist, Frederic Watts.  His fame, however, did allow her to gain associations with many fascinating people, including Oscar Wilde,  Robert Browning, Tennyson, Gladstone, Disraeli, and many of the Pre-Raphaelite artists.  She separated from Watts in less than a year.

Returning successfully to the stage, she became involved with the architect/essayist/Aesthetic Movement designer Edwin William Godwin, and scandalously, moved into a home with him when her divorce with Watts, which took years, was not yet completed.  She had two children with Godwin but eventually their relationship faded and she went back to acting, and Godwin designed costumes for her, so they must have remained friendly.

She married again, briefly, but her acting career was soaring and seems to have taken all her attention by the time she was approaching 30.  She became the leading actress at Henry Irving's Lyceum Theatre in London, and was considered Britain's leading Shakespearean actress.  She toured America and developed a close relationship over the years with Irving.  

I came to know about Terry, however, when I was doing graduate studies of the works of George Bernard Shaw.  Her correspondence with Shaw was amazing, so much correspondence in fact, that it was published in a book after her death.  A love affair on paper only, they wrote for years without ever actually meeting and when they finally did meet, she was a bit surprised--not finding him quite as she had hoped or expected.  Nonetheless, they stayed friends and continued writing back and forth all her life and Terry worked with him in the theater, even trying to start a theatrical venture featuring Shaw and Ibsen plays.

I was reminded about Terry when my friend Heidi alerted me to this fascinating article about the restoration of one of her costumes.  Go have a look:
http://www.pasthorizons.com/index.php/archives/03/2011/the-archaeology-of-a-dress

The letters between Shaw and Terry are found in  Ellen Terry & Bernard Shaw: A Correspondence, 

http://www.amazon.com/Ellen-Terry-Bernard-Shaw-Correspondence/dp/B000IOK7SS

 

Read more about Ellen Terry: 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ellen_Terry

http://www.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/terry.html

Spring's Promise





We had a break between rainstorms yesterday and I was able to get outside to admire the new growth.  The chickens clucked, the rooster thought of attacking me, but then thought better of it (he took quite a beating the last time, but he just won't learn!), the clouds scudded overhead and the sun shone bravely on a bright landscape full of budding beauty.

The wisteria is not only in bloom, but has climbed high into the tree to join the morning glory up there. I need to cut it all out of the branches...some other day.



Love the pink edges on this bromeliad!

  The beauty, the freshness of the season is a visual promise of what God wants to do in my life--I know it, yet as quick as I am to embrace spring as a season, I wonder if I can embrace a rebirth in myself.  I think I'm like a little plant that hasn't decided whether it's safe to bloom again, or even to push up through the soil and look at the sun.


I feel the weight of the earth on my shoulders, it's cold here--it's very dark and death-like.  Tears/rain water the surrounding area so regularly that it chills and permeates everything.  Yet I know that if I'm not growing, I'm dying.  It's a choice, like so many things in life.


I can feel the work of the Gardener, coaxing me on, not letting me go, not content to let me stay where I am.  I need to grow beyond my boundaries, stretch, reach, believe there is something beyond this cold and darkness.



Deadly yet so very beautiful poison hemlock








 So I'm wondering, what is happening in your life?  How are you growing and changing?  I'll tell if you will!  Let's share what we're doing to get out into the sun!

Edging Towards Tomorrow

I haven't written anything here for a long time, but there are reasons for that.  My husband left me a few months ago and I was taken by surprise as much as if I'd been felled by a falling tree or hit my a meteorite, and similarly, something of my substance, my life, my breath, seemed to be knocked out of me.

Bit by little bit, I am crawling, climbing, pulling myself back on my feet, getting my breath again, and learning how to walk again along the forested paths of life.  At first I was fearful and angry, and it's not like all the anger has left, but the fear is largely gone.  I am learning to trust God at an entirely new level and letting Him be my comforter in the midst of this new and strange way of navigating life on my own. 

Of course it's not really on my own: I am lifted up daily in the prayers of and conversations with dear friends and family, and they have been a lifesource of love and encouragement and help in so many ways.  Too many women friends of mine have walked this particular path, but their pain has brought depths of wisdom and great kindness to share with me.

I don't know what the future holds for me.  My husband is not divorcing me "right now," so there remains the element of hope for reconciliation even though he is not speaking in a hopeful way at all.  I am in marriage limbo, but it is still a marriage, so there is still hope.  Some days my heart soars on this hope, but I must admit that other times I am mired in despair.  My wise woman friends who have walked this path tell that is perfectly normal.  I must admit that I hate this "new normal."

The magnolia in this picture perfectly reflects how I feel--trying to bloom again, not entirely opened to everything yet, and overshadowed by things that are beyond my control.  Yet like the magnolia, there is a sweetness to life, even so.