May your season be blessed

 

pagan-christmasMay your spirit be joyful, your hearts full of love, your families and friends warm and safe.

May the spirit of God help heal our world with abundance and health on this Christmas day.  Amen

The magnificant Ya Ya’s

Last night presented me with the marvelous chance to read palms for a  beautiful, dynamic group of five women, They call themselves the Ya Ya’s, in honor of the intense friendship they have shared for years!

The setting for this small gathering was in the home and garden of one of these fabulous friends.  Her home was simple grace, replete with warmth, peace, fulfillment and lovely heart.  Her home presented a sense of cherished space

Doing a night of reading for a particular group is an interesting experience,  always a theme.  These women share not only their love for one  another but also the traits of humour, strength, and determination that have allowed them each to travel through independent lives with amazing spirit.

If all my evenings were so blessed!

Memories

   My friend from high school, Irene is a major proponent of memories, Irene was the most awesome girl I knew back then, she introduced me to LIFE.  She did things, knew people, and although she had her own problems, she continued to grow and live.  I missed Irene, and am so happy to have her back in my life through the medium of social networking. Reading her posts, looking at her pictures, I understand the full, active , and most important honored life she has lived.

I am part of a facebook page, postings of memories from people from my home town.  Reading them, I have an opportunity to remember my own past and in that way, reconnect with the little girl that left home in a head long rush towards freedom.  I love having the memories. Mine have not been so complete.  Memories can heal. After over four decades of forgetting, it is wonderful to begin to regain them.

Here are a few of my own;

The town square and stuffing myself on watermelon during watermelon days. and the best carnival a child ever did attend.

An easter egg hunt downtown, I won a silver dollar in a pink plastic box from Doctor Byram’s office.

My more than pitiable attempt at archery down by the old elementary, ( also remember a bad experiment with copper tone that day)

Comic books bought at the 5 and dime.

An equally pitiable attempt at golf in high school, I have never understood while we hit the balls toward the windows, did Ms Ahrens just know we would all miss?

Stumbling going up the steps during graduation and Bruce Robinson telling me I would be fine, (forever grateful for that  Bruce)

Walking miles on country roads

Canoeing at Hanon Lake.

Eating at the maid rite, french fries, cherry coke, and ketchup

My first pack of cigs at Old Style Tavern I was 12, they cost 20cents                         

Riding the square and honking horns

Just some memories….Love memories!

A tribute to Sweet Annie

Sweet sweet Annie

of many faces.

hippie,cowgirl

earth-mother, gypsy.

Gardener, provider.

 

Sweet sweet Annie

Kind of heart,

fair of face.

She does not see

What I see.

Sweet sweet Annie

Sexy,Vibrant.

Savior to critters.

She does not see

what we see.

Sweet sweet Annie

Beauty. Lover.

Mother,Sister

Lover,Wife.

You should see from these eyes.

Judy is Joyful

I have known Judy for oh about 100 years, she is my heart sister, a woman who I can be separate from for a long, long time, and we are together again, it is as though only 5 minutes have passed.

Judy lives in nature along the Mississippi River,  Judy lives for nature, her soul saddens when she is too long in the city, too long from the woods and plains of her beloved countryside.  She is funny, cracks me up with just a gesture, and although so very different from me, is nearly the same as me.  We are like bookends on different shelves.  She gets me, and I get her.  It is good.

Judy is strong, independent, feisty, faithful, irreverent, gentle, peaceful, and sometimes a glorious crank.  She is a role model to me.

And Judy is a poet, a wonderful crafter of words.  She has an amazing ability to evoke images with her poems.

Here is one she just sent to me.

When Biking                                                                 

lose yourself
in the breeze
in the sky
in the green

name the wildflowers
along the trail…

marsh marigold
butterfly weed
Indian paintbrush
wild blue phlox

see the turtle cross
the Paul Bunyan trail,
see the spotted fawn
walk thru the sun-dappled woods

be startled by the screech
of the red-tailed hawk,
watch the young eagle
take flight

ride along with the dragonflies,
take in the vast open field,
the sea of wavering grasses,
the song of the red-winged blackbird

break at the edge
of Molly Lake,
stand cattail-still,
hear the loon call

immerse all of you
in the surrounding calm

J

Pat’s glorious gardens

My friend Pat gardens.  She says that gardening keeps her sane, gives her peace, and gives her an opportunity to meditate on life.  Well I am sharing some pics of her mediation.  You gotta know that this woman is well grounded!!!

Mara the Magical Gypsy

Once upon a time in a small Hamlet, there came to live a magical gypsy woman, my friend Mara.  She brought light and joy and adventure into my life.

I met Mara when she moved into the same small town I used to live in.  Actually she, with her partner, Rob purchased the old harness shop building that contained my upstairs apartment.  She evicted me…nicely. Well, if I were continuing this as a fable, I would say she freed me from my tower.   And we have been friends ever since.

She has many talents.  She writes, produces events, creates web sites, journals for herself and others, and is the mosaic mistress, the guru of gluing, the creator of craft, the original and only true tile gypsy.  Her work is truly art, so much so that she was asked to create a how -to book of mosaics.  Which she did wonderfully.  Making Mosaics with Found Objects

Mara makes magic, she picks up a small bit of china and in that bit sees an entire work of art.  While I was still living near her, she enticed me to go out in the evening streets of our small town, and fill in the cracks.  We filled cracks, corners, and walls, sidewalks with delightful whimsy of china bits, and pieces, little knick- knacks, pennies, anything that caught our magpie eyes; treasures brightening the town, and healing some old pains.  We have been told, by some, that if their spot did not have a Mara mosaic they felt left out.

I think Mara arrives at her small hamlet to heal some parts of it.  This town has a long history of pain, hushed secrets, all hidden in those cracks and crevices, and down the skinny, sometimes clutter filled alleys between the buildings.  Mara shines light where she goes, and opens eyes,  allows thoughts expressed.  Her conversations start others conversing, thinking.  She positively shakes up the status quo.   Her laugh and love embraces the town.

I love to visit Mara’s building.  225 Water Street.  I have watched it change from a rather sad, rickety building haunted by old standards and old hurt, to a lovely warm environment.

Mara gardens; she has created a wonderful land of flowers and growth in her own alley, full of laughter, bees, and happiness.  She has healed her alley.

Her small hamlet will never be the same, and that is perfect.

When I am old.

When I am old, I believe I will hibernate until spring thaws our land.  I will peek out my window and see the crystals forming in the air, then snuggle back, under my downy quilts, with a book, hot tea, and a warm fireplace.

My friends will come to call and try to cajole me to enjoy activity out-of-doors, dog sledding, snow shoeing, walking across crispy lakes.  I will say no.

Well perhaps if peppermint schnapps is included at the end of the snowy day, then I perhaps will agree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Des is desirable

We have a marvelous friend, Des. (Some of you call her Peachy) Des is a dastardly pirate, Des is a rooten-tooten cowgirl, Des is a gentle spirit, and Des is a strong, strong woman.

Des lives in Oklahoma, in a comfortable home filled with old west memorabilia, piratey plunder,  pictures of her many friends, mementos of her incredible adventures and a lot of pink stuff.  She cracks me up with her multitude of personalities and interests.  The thing is, she does all of her interests fully, nothing partial for her.

Last year Des acquired a small pull behind camper, that she has named her pink armadillo.  At this writing she has spent the winter rebuilding the inside, complete with pink walls, a hand pump for water, screen doors, pretty curtains, and in general a lot of froo fra.  It fits her, and it is magnificent.  In the summer she will begin the outside, and personally I think we her friends must start a pink armadillo fund, so that she has all of the where with all to complete this amazing monstrosity!  Every highway needs a giant pink armadillo roaming its lines!

Des loves with all of her heart, and she is so easy to love in return.  She shines love from her eyes.  Des walks into a room of strangers, and leaves that room with life long friends!  My admiration for this talent of hers is unceasing.

We here in the snow packed plains of Minnesota miss her, and have not nearly the amount of time spent with her that we need for our own spirits growth.  Des brightens our lives and is an important person to have here on earth. Her desire to live life fully inspires us to fully live.

Zau has Zest!

My friend Zau is from Angola, born there during a war-torn period.  My understanding is that he grew up in a pretty normal environment, had a loving father and mother, siblings, cousins; a complete life.  His normalcy changed at the age of 12.  At that age he was removed from his home and impressed into the Angolan Army.

His normal existence was still that, normal I mean, a new normal.   Brutal relationships replaced loving ones, his companions were still similar in some ways, and childhood friends grew with him into strong soldiers.  Normal became a tough, unyielding, day by day process of staying alive, staying healthy, living under a shadow of fear.

Zau’s spirit stayed strong through this all, continued to grow, perhaps overwhelmed by the meagreness of his existence over the years, but his spirit prospered.  He continued to love and honor relationships…

When Zau turned 18 his closest companion was killed during combat.  Now understand that the normal procedure for fallen comrades was to bury them at the site.  Zau did not want that for his friend, and did not want the family of his friend to always wonder what had happened to their cherished son.

So, picking up his friend, he left the battle field, making an irrevocable choice to truly believe in compassion and freedom.  He carried his friend home, and left him in the village of his heart and life.

With that choice he also made the choice to leave the war, and the control and sadness that he had lived under, unwillingly for his past years.  He left the county of Angola, and traveled, eventually ending in Rio de Janeiro, where he earned a living creating wonderful jewelry and leather work, and fathering the child of his heart, Zinga.

It came to pass that while he was selling his art in a city bazaar in Rio, he met the woman of his heart, my friend Karen Sorbo.  They recognized the correctness of their love and he eventually left Rio to come to live in Minnesota with Karen.  I had the honor of performing their wedding ceremony a few years ago, and it was right.

Every departure has some grief, and Zau was not able to bring his daughter home to Minnesota, she to this day remains in Rio with her mother.  They live in a destitute area of the city, filled with gang fighting and drugs.  He is unable to convince her mother to move.

At this time Zau visits her as often as he can, supports her and her mother.  He wants to bring her home with him, but is not allowed by our governments to do so; he has no real rights as her father.

If any story I write has a goal, the goal of this story is to send out waves of love to Zau and  Zinga,  to send out waves of hope, and compassion and awareness.  It is my goal to help Zau bring his daughter home with my words, and hopefully with the spirit and heart of you who are reading this.

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Tilly Evan Jones

“I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable and beautiful and afraid of nothing as though I had wings.” ~Mary Oliver

Lost Creek

Old West Lore, Old West Leather, Chuckwagons, and More