My mother loved paper dolls. She had many fond memories of making her own paper dolls as a child and encouraged us girls to do the same in our house growing up. There was sort of an elemental pleasure in playing with either our own homemade versions or the store bought ones, even though it was kind of irritating that it was so hard to keep their clothes on with those little tabs.
When Mom died, we discovered that she had a whole box of paper dolls, apparently finding them irresistible all through her life. Some are in boxes, already cut out and ready to play with; others are still new and uncut. But does anyone play with these anymore? It seems like a hopelessly old fashioned “toy” in these days of computer games and smart toys.
I decided to bring a set with us the last time we visited our children and grandchildren to see how it would go with our little granddaughter. She was surprisingly interested and engaged for a time. We set everything out and figured out which clothes should go with which doll and then tried to put the clothes on them. As I remembered, the clothing only barely stayed on and that only if you put it on the dolls and left them alone. Gee, there must be a way to fix that problem.
It was a journey into the past. I think I’ll do it again sometime with her just to keep the tradition alive.
I had a suggestion to embellish a mushroom with a gnome sitting in its shade.
That’s a really tiny gnome or a really huge mushroom – take your pick.
I wanted to paint some fish for a card, but didn’t really like either of my efforts that much, so I ended up doing a drawing and coloring with pencils (as above). I might share the final result at some point, but here are the ones I rejected.
The Rejects – I might still do something with these
A friend asked me if I’d do a painting of the beautiful poinciana tree that grows in her neighborhood. I’m used to painting in small dimensions, so this would be quite a challenge! I decided to start with a sketch from the original photo.
As you can see, the perspective is a little off – I need to make the trunk and branches skinnier with a canopy that size. And the canopy needs to be a little wider. Back to the literal drawing board! I’ll do a bunch of sketches before attempting to paint this.
Last and least, I’m still plugging away at the book of drawing lessons that I received for Christmas (50 Ways to Draw Your Beautiful Ordinary Life).
The wicker chair looks really odd to me, but that’s pretty close to the original in the book. I’m still determined to do all the lessons and hoping I’ll get better along the way.
I wish I could see all the things that you are working on: gardening, sewing, knitting, decorating, furniture making or refurbishing, baking… Everyone has a workshop of sorts!
Time to go nap under a mushroom and dream about deleting this in the morning.
Genoa, Italy – August 2016 (a note about the bad quality of the photos with these Italy posts thus far: I have been unable to find the digital originals from this trip, so I’m taking photos of the photo book I had made. Ugh! The hunt for the photos in the labyrinth of old hard drives continues.)
We walked on, admiring the beauty of the architecture and reminded of how young the United States is by looking at an ancient city.
At some point we had wanted to go up to a higher part of the city to a scenic overlook, so we found a shady spot to get a fix on where we were and where we needed to go next. We depended on the combined use of the map on my phone (with that handy pulsating blue dot that tells you where you are) and the map we had gotten from Giovanni. We discovered that we had wandered much farther west than we needed to and had to backtrack in order to find the place where we could catch a funicular up the hill. The street signs in Italy are not placed right in the intersections as they are in the U.S., so it requires a little bit of hunting each time you come to an intersection to find the building on which the small sign is placed.
As you walk down each street, you pass many little side streets that are exceedingly narrow and dark; I found them somewhat intimidating looking, but still rather quaint. Every block or so, we’d stop in a shady spot, get out the phone and the map, and check to see if we were still headed in the right direction. It looks so simple on a map, but the reality is less clear, especially since there are so many piazzas with roundabouts and multiple streets funneling in and out of them.
We finally came to a very busy street where the funicular station was supposed to be, but couldn’t see anything that looked like the right thing. Hmmm…. We crossed the street, hoping for the best. I was feeling very determined not to walk up that steep hill! I saw a little shop on the corner and went in, hoping to get help. “Scusi, non parlo Italiano,” I started off, thinking it best to get the facts out on the table right away. “Dov’e funicular?” The young woman behind the counter responded with friendly enthusiasm, apologizing for her poor English, which was of course many times better than our Italian. “It is by toonel,” she started out. Kris understood that this meant “tunnel,” which helped (I was still trying to work that one out – toonel?). “You go left, is two shops from toonel.” Perfetto! We said our “grazie’s” and walked over there, a very small and understated entrance – no wonder we hadn’t seen it. We were confronted by a machine to buy the tickets and this is definitely Kris’s domain, so I stood back while he figured it out: three euros for a round trip that gave you 100 minutes up at the top. We had to wait a few minutes for the funicular to start its trip up the hill and there was another one at the top waiting to come down. They started up simultaneously and although it appeared that there was only one track, it split in the middle, allowing the funicular cars to pass each other. Here’s a photo of how it looks:
I grew up singing the song, “Funiculi, Funicula,” so I couldn’t help but think of that as we rode the Funicular. “Some think the world is made for fun and frolic..and so do I, and so do I…”
At the bottom looking upAt the top looking down
Once at the top, we were feeling the need for a little cold liquid refreshment (did I mention how hot it was?) and stopped in at an outdoor ristorante for a birra and an aqua naturale. Ahh… Now, to find the panoramic vista! Well, that turned out to be easier said than done. I think we both figured that once we got up there, we’d see a sign and a bunch of tourists with cameras. The view was obscured by buildings and trees where we were so we walked for a bit in one direction but the elusive panoramic vista did not appear before us and it seemed we were getting father away from the action, so we turned around and pursued the other direction. It always seemed just beyond where we were. I was beginning to lose heart, but Kris spurred us on with the thought that we should persevere and it would be worth it. We walked on and eventually did find a place that gave a beautiful view of the area further up the hill and a better partial view of the rest of the city below. Good enough for me!
We turned around and headed back, still well within our 100 minute limit, and boarded the funicular to go back down the hill. Here we are, waiting to go down again:
‘Tis the season for thinning our apple trees. I head out with my handy little scissors in the morning and for every bunch of apples (usually 3-5), I cut off all but one. They’re still fairly small at this point. Lots of times it’s an easy decision when one brute bully beast of an apple is surrounded by puny little fruits that are barely making an effort. Sometimes, though, there’ll be 2-3 good-sized apples in a bunch and it seems like cold-blooded fruitricide to send some of these hurtling to their doom. I keep reminding myself that it’s good for the tree, good for the fruit, good for the harvest and therefore, good for us. Every apple I remove gives the tree more energy to pour into the ones that are left. It’s a useful image to contemplate when I think about what the Lord has to do in my life to make me more fruitful and to give me a better harvest. I don’t want to get in the way of what the Master Orchard Keeper is doing, even if it means removing what I think is good fruit.
I can only do so much at a time before my arm starts complaining, the old tendinitis giving warning: stop now or you’ll be sorry.
To read about a dark time in the life of our apple trees: Woe Has Come
I might have to thin this post out in the morning.
This is a glorious time of year. There’s fresh green color everywhere that makes you glad to be alive; things are growing, budding, fruiting, and teeming with life. Glory to God in the highest!
Roses at the grocery store caught my eyeThe Michael planter (named after my uncle) with moss rose hair this yearThe Betty planter (named after my aunt) whose moss roses are in bloomThe Mary planter (named after my mom) with buds ready to bloom
Whatever else is going on in your world, spring always tells the story of life after death, of green and fresh resurrection, of budding hope and of a Savior who died so that you can be fruitful and teeming with life. Glory to God in the highest!
We drove to Sanders, Arizona, staying at a little mobile home unit behind somebody’s house out in the boonies. It wasn’t a very long drive, so we stopped at Monument Valley to do the driving trail tour.
Many western movies directed by John Ford have been filmed in Monument Valley, by the way, including, “The Searchers,” “Cheyenne Autumn,” and “Stage Coach.” John Wayne referred to Monument Valley as “God’s Treasure,” which from my point of view is mete, right and salutary.
Evidently part of Forrest Gump had been filmed there, too, since we saw a signs for Forrest Gump Hill shortly before arriving at MV itself. I’ve only seen Forrest Gump once and it was about a thousand years ago, so I don’t remember much from it. Next time we watch it, I’ll be on the lookout for Forrest Gump Hill.
Forrest Gump Hill is on the right
Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park is owned by the Navajo Nation, so it isn’t considered a National Park.
You could get guided tours, but we figured we’d get as much as we wanted out of it by doing the self-guided driving tour on something they were calling a road. This kind of driving is apparently called “off-roading.” Oh my goodness – I’ve never been on such a bumpy road. If my head hadn’t been attached, it would have fallen off. I could hardly wait to get off that road, but it was one of Kris’s favorite experiences, so “vive la difference.”
We stopped at all the turnouts, as well as taking the side spurs to places of interest. The East and West Mittens, as well as the Three Sisters, were probably the most iconic sights.
A mitten – let’s call it West Mitten since I don’t remember which was which.And this is East Mitten – looks like a teapot to meThe Three Sisters! (I’m confident about this one)
One of the places we stopped along the driving trail was called “John Ford’s Point.” A very sad looking horse stood out in the sun waiting for people to hire it for a short ride. I exchanged a sympathetic look with the beastie before we moved on.
John Ford’s Point with a rando posing on itThe price options are hilarious (to me)An iconic western scene – the bird wheeling in the sky
We bumped and jolted our way along the rest of the trail, stopping at the Rain God Mesa and Spearhead Mesa and a couple other places to do the Tourists Taking Photos routine.
I think this is Rain God Mesa – don’t quote meSpearhead Mesa?
It took us about 2 hours to do the 15-mile trail, partly because of all the stops and partly because we had to drive very slowly over the sandy, rocky and rut-filled road.
Thanks for joining us on our Southwest Tour – more to come!
It’s a mush with a room; It’s a pale little ghoul; It’s a fungus amongus; It’s a toad with a stool. Some of them fill you; Some of them kill you; What odd little critters To put in your fritters.
Paintings copied (more or less) from things I found on Pinterest. The whimsical poetry is my own, for better or for worse.
The third place on our ticket wasn’t going to open until 6:00 p.m. so we consulted our maps and decided to make our way to the port. Have I mentioned how hot it was getting? There was no air conditioning at either museum, so as we made our way to the port as soon as I saw a sign for “La Cremaria,” I veered off without even warning Kris. Gelato is my friend.
We wound our way through more narrow streets and eventually came out to a large, busy and festive-looking section of town at the port. We walked over to the famous aquarium and decided to give it a pass for the time being. The tickets were fairly expensive and we were both feeling a little bit of “tourist fatigue” after the two museums. I walked over to a shady spot to rest while Kris looked over the information about the aquarium. When he rejoined me, he mentioned that some guy had tried to give him a little carved item, which he had to refuse several times. That seemed mystifying and we joked about how it was probably some sort of hidden drug cache that he’d track to our home town to reclaim.
We walked farther on down the port and while Kris went over to look at large reproduction of an old ship, he was approached by another man trying to give away a little carved item. Kris refused a few times, but this guy was more persistent and managed to find out that Kris spoke English. Kris was making his getaway to return to where I was when the fatal mistake occurred: the man turned around and saw me. “Oh, is that your wife?” he said cheerily, and you could almost see the thought bubble forming over his head, saying “I have found the weak link!” He came over and pressed a small wooden elephant in my palm, saying, “This is a gift for you – I am just giving it away today. I am from Kenya and we are here raising money for our country, but today is our last day and I am just going to give this to you.”
I was a little dumbfounded, but said thank you, uncertainly. He then pressed a little wooden turtle into Kris’s palm with the same speech. We were trying to make the best of an awkward situation, but didn’t really want to take these “gifts.” He asked where we were from and when we told him the United States, he beamed with pleasure. “Oh, I love America! I live in New York and I love it there!” He was all smiles and pleasantness. “Yesterday I was selling these for 35 euro each, but today because it is our last day, I give them to you free. No charge. Do you have children?” We told him yes, and this sent him into another frenzy of activity with little decorative strings that he tied around our wrists with a strange little ritual involving each of us blowing on the string, kissing each other and then him tying it on. Awkward! How do we get out of here?
He reassured us many, many times that all of this largesse was absolutely no charge, just out of the kindness of his heart. We were getting restless and trying to move away, when the other shoe dropped. He got out a third carved item and said, “And now I give you this last item, no charge, but if you could give us something, anything, to help our country we would appreciate it. It doesn’t matter how much – anything will help.” I was desperate to get out his clutches at this point and began to open my purse, thinking it would be easiest to give him 5 euros as a fee for letting us go. But Kris stepped in firmly at this point, taking us the harder, but better route of refusal, stating that we weren’t going to take the items since it now obligated us to give, rather than making our giving be something we chose to do freely. He was nonplussed and continued to look cheerful, saying “Don’t be vexed with me – these are gifts, no charge, no obligation. Just give whatever you want, no matter how much!” Kris eventually took all three carved items and placed them carefully in the man’s palm. The man looked at me, as if to say, “Are you really going to let him do this?” but we broke free at last. It was really an unpleasant interaction, as it always is when you feel forced to appear impolite. It hung over us for quite a while…
The previously planned post petered out due to gardening activities. I’ve got a few random photos that have been sitting around in my file, so let’s see what I can make of them before I toddle off to bed.
For starters, I like it. Not sure why I left it unused in my blog photos file. Let’s just admire it and move on.
Fake snow geese are like fake news, except for the obvious differences. You should know what they are (the differences, I mean).
The frog sits atop the be-flowered hand and spews forth a fountain of flowing water. I can see why this one has lingered in the forgotten photo files. Not much to say.
It’s confirmed: your cat sleeps most of the time. Also, just how complex is a cat’s brain? I’m thinking that a creature that sleeps 70% of the time hasn’t very many complex thoughts.
Prickly stickly. Did I mention that I’m tired?
Finally, a thought worth sharing: GOD is a REFUGE for us. Amen and Amen. Good night and good night. May all your blog posts be deleted in the morning.
I went lap swimming today and decided to commemorate it with a sketch.
Stick figures are underrated, aren’t they? When you can communicate so much with a stick figure, where’s the motivation to draw something more precise?
Someone gave us some morel mushrooms recently (the first we’ve ever had). I thought I’d do a hasty sketch of a couple and then paint it, but the hasty sketch took me a long time – morels are fairly complex little dudes – and it became a full-fledged drawing. (I feel like writing a story: How Drawings are Born from Sketches. But I digress. As usual.)
Tomorrow I’ll follow up with a charming poem about morel mushrooms. Stay tuned!
Story Idea: How a Blog Post Becomes Deleted in the Morning.
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