That sort of day.

I am making my cabinets out of rough cedar.  They look really good, in my opinion, when they are finished.  Not everyone has my taste though.  I recognize that.  They are very 'campy', as one person put it.  Another referred to it as lodge like.  A few years ago, my husband and I had the good fortune to stay in a rustic cabin whose trim and cabinetry were made of rough cedar.  I've always loved cedar, though it irritates me if I get it in my nose or eyes.  My husband was really taken with the cedar, though we both agreed that if we did it in our home, it would have to be a little less rough.  We have, and it is.
The process is a long one.  The boards must be cleanned off and sanded down.  Then they must be sized.  Right now I'm using two basic sizes of board. 2.5 for the frame and 5 inch for the backwood.  I'm using dowell pins to join the frames, though I'm using small brads to join the back wood to the frame.  Of course both require a good strong bond of glue.  Then when assembled, the door receives another light sanding and is brought into the cabinet with it's hardware.  Once in place, the door receives its first wash of oil and then is rubbed to a light sheen.  Once dry, it is oiled again, and rubbed and oiled again, etc.  Eventually the sweet rubbed finish begins showing off the grain and color of the wood, which in cedar is very dramatic and varied.
I am also using straight frames instead of mitred corners.  That I borrowed from my grandfathers work.  He was a cabinet maker in the old welsh style and as a child I watched him on more than a few occasions.  That's another story that's already been told.  But I still have pieces that he made and cherish them much.  On my kitchen, I used antique bronze hinges and homemade knobs of wood and glass. On this shower room, I'm using satin nickel hardware to match the fixtures in the shower.  I'm not decided if I will continue with the satin nickel or change to some other fixture in the powder room.
My designs integrate form and function.  I want a certain look to serve a certain purpose.  I expect the effect to be aesthetic and functional at the same time.  Because of this, often my methods follow a different path than is normal in building and renovating.  In my experience, if the construction method I devise is not followed, the end is not aesthetic or functional or it's just not the design I came up with when it's complete.  I like to solve problems, but those solutions must stay with the job, or it doesn't work.  So far, the wedding of solution and design is working well in the bathroom.  There is still a lot to be done. 
I have two other projects running parallel to the bath room.  I am screening in my studio porch and creating room for plexi panels to eventually be installed for coldest weather.  This will keep the clay from freezing in the wet cabinet.  Last year I made frames wrapped them double in clear poly and it worked passably, but of course without much aesthetic.  This year I have put in kneewalls of brick and glass - with one section left to do yet - and have screened it in.  Once the treated lumber dries well, I will paint it to compliment the porch.  I redesigned and resized my old screendoor when I found that I really didn't care for most of what was on the market and what I did care for was terribly expensive and didn't come in my needed size without a commitment from my firstborn child.  I decided to just rebuild the screendoor.  How hard can that be?  I'm laughing right now.  But in the end, the product is something I like and will use with pride.
I'm putting stucco on the garage/port (another design that we are enjoying) and preparing for a stucco fence to go from that structure down to a gate that also will be an original.  The porch and stucco are complimentary jobs.  I always make up way more mortar than I will use and use strengthener in it -yeah strong wall.  That way I am able to use the excess on the garage/port when I've come to a stopping place on the porch.
Living with three incomplete rennovations at the same time is a bit of a strain at times.  But if it gets too hectic, there's always facebook and cardio salsa to capture a little time.  Today, I reached a bit of a milestone in a couple of places.  I didn't get any stucco laid, but I probably will tomorrow morning.  The screen door is sort of in -sans trim that will eventually stop it's forward motion.  It has about the effectiveness of locking your car doors with the windows down.  The second section of screening is also in sans trim.  And the plastic is out of the area that will be made solid to block the airconditioner's noise and heat in the summer.  I still have to deconstruct the frame boards and prepare it for concrete board that can be finished out with an artistic application later.  And I have the last small section of kneewall to put in so I can finish the screening.
I am tired, but satisfied.  I'm excited to get it finished, but am relishing small milestones knowing that each brings me closer to a desired end.  It was that sort of day.

Deconstruction

I have gained much from the effort of this past two weeks.  It's only been two weeks???  The physical gains are obvious.  I've lost a few pounds.  My clothing is loose, my joints are moving normally.  The pain I have from time to time is totally doable.  I am not in constant pain.  I sleep better - except for the occasional cramp that sends me hopping and moaning about the house at various hours.  Even the cramping has lessened the past two nights.
But the side effect is that I've had a lot of thinking processes being pulled at as well.  I wake with a much more positive outlook and a physical drive which is not always matched by strength in this somewhat depleted state.  I've become much more aware of the space about me.  One side note in all this was to avoid bruising.  I've seen why.  Each time I bang my body into something, it forms much larger and more intense bruising.  The program is referred to as a whole body cleanse.
I am now considering it a deconstruction process of sorts.  In taking things out for renovation, there are two processes: demolition and deconstruction.  In demolition, we just whack and tear without much regard for what we are taking out.  It will be discarded and time is much more important than the stuff we are taking out.  Deconstruction takes more time.  It salvages as much as possible knowing that some loss will occur, but that reclaimed items save in the long run.  Deconstruction uses caution knowing there are things that must not be destroyed.  It respects pipes and wires and structural elements that will be retained or reused.  Demolition is initially more rewarding, but deconstruction is eventually more rewarding.
In these past two weeks, my body has been deconstructing.  Toxins have been being pulled out of my bones, joints, blood vessels and digestive system.  I feel that.  But I realize that I am an empty space so to speak.  I want the new me to be quality work and durable. 
I have learned that the main battle in any battle is the battle of the mind.  For me this battle was a no brainer.  For several years, the pain and disability within me has been growing.  I had gotten to a place where my knees and hips hurt so badly, it was very hard to sleep at night for if one was comfortable, the others were not.  I had to have a thick pad to kneel at all and then getting back upright was quite difficult.  The stiffness of my joints made balance a tricky thing and a sudden move or unexpected change could easily sprawl my body across the ground or floor.  But I was enduring and making the best of a bad situation.  Suddenly there was no best.  The pain and stiffness was something I couldn't even push through.  I could not just get on with it and ignore the pain.  I saw a lifestyle of pain meds and steroids as a non-option.  So when this was presented to me, it was worth my best effort.  I was fresh out of options.  That's not always a bad place to be.
Another thing I learned is that taste is acquired and deceptive.  I learned that to a clean palette, tastes are more defined and more enjoyable.  Why do I need to use copious amounts of salt and butter?  Because I can't taste or don't like the taste of the food.  But this week, I have learned to appreciate the taste of an ear of corn without the additives.  I've learned to season vegetables with other vegetables and herbs in a way that have delighted my tastebuds.  By having to work with whole raw fruit and vegetables only, I have gotten creative and learned a lot about my own desires and how they can relate to my success and failure in life.  I made the choice that success is more important than gratification.  Success lasts, gratification ends quickly.  If it had not been for the time cleansing my taste buds of their demand for spice and salt, I might never have known.  The implications go much further than food.
I learned that food is a means to an end.  Uncontrolled, the end is undesired.  Controlled, the end is rewarding.  Sometimes what goes in doesn't come out.  It stays and causes pain and deterioration.  My eating had become more of an amusement park experience.  I had fun, waited for the next fun, and then waited again: always impatient, always wanting more.  I was getting nowhere but unbalanced and tired, yet not ready for reality.  Don't get me wrong, I love to cook and I still will love to cook.  But maybe my definition of 'good' has changed in the past two weeks.  This also is perhaps a life lesson.
I have seen that on the best days, there will be temptation or roadblocks when you aren't watching carefully and sometimes even if you are.  I've seen that on the worst days, there is good to be enjoyed if you will allow it.  Needing to be able to laugh at yourself is more important than being able to look like you have it all together.  Some things are worth whatever you've got; somethings are not. You must choose.  What you avoid with dread can sometimes become a legitimate purpose, but you will never know unless you decide to act on your faith.  We seldom walk in faith without crisis.   We should not create a crisis, but when faced with one, we must use creative faith.
I learned that guidelines are just that.  No life plan will fit all people perfectly.  You must use intelligent wisdom along with creative faith.  When faced with unchangeable facts, adjustment is better than abandonment in almost every case.  Considering how my body reacts to certain things allowed me success in what could have been disaster.  The result leaves me with hope instead of defeat.
Now the process of rebuilding must be addressed. I enjoy designing and I enjoy building.  I am a creative person; I get to decide, within limits, how I will design the new me for function and aesthetic.  I have guidelines, I have information and I am gaining more whereever I find it.  Within those guidelines I will search for truth.  One thing I know, what ever I build, I will probably live with for the rest of my earth life.  It must be effective.  It must be doable.
These are my thoughts on this last day of my cleanse.
Blessings.

Honor

“Honor your father and mother”—which is the first commandment with a promise— 3 “that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.”
Ephesians 6:2
We are all very human, very flawed.  I've heard people say "My parents had no virtue worth honoring.  I felt sad for them.  I have parents that are flawed, to be sure, but full of reasons for honor.  As a 'grown-up' I've had to reconcile my belief and personal experience with the teaching of my childhood and at times, I showed less than ultimate honor for my parents and their personal values.  Yet I've always felt an honor for them individually and as 'parents'.  It's not always a comfortable place to be.
In the past few years, I've received a barrage of sourced information bites that contradicted things I was told over and over and eventually, I decided to believe the stories passed down through multiple discussions and sharing.  What if I'm wrong???  I choose to honor my father.
Recently I've had a conflict arise in my heart and soul that has had me questioning my mother's honor.  I've made a conscious decision to honor my mother.  What if I'm wrong???
This honoring caused me to be dishonorable.  I became so enraged that I reacted dishonorably.
For those I injured, I apologize for your pain. For those I involved in my rage, I apologize for involving you in my anger.  My anger may have been supported, my action was not.  I stand with my mother.  I honor her heart and her intention.  I will choose to believe her words.  That is not meant as an accusation to anyone.
No person owes me anything.  Sometimes we can disagree without harboring resentment.  If you must say that this means I continue to accuse, I don't know what to do about that.  The pride that made me yell 'You had no right!!' when I was angry accomplished no good.  You may return that same statement if you wish.  I'm not sure what that will accomplish in the end.  If you hurt my mother trying to justify yourself, shame on you.
I want this to be done and over.  I want there to be peace in my heart and yours.  I will not dishonor my mother.  I will not speak disrespectfully of her.  This is the last I will say of it.  I guess at one point, I did harbor malice in my heart.  I beg forgiveness for that and for saying anything at all.
I want no pound of flesh.  I want no apology.  I want no concession of any kind.  It is not necessary.  I only want the right to honor my mother.
For any who have joined the conflict or stirred the pot for personal reasons - shame on you.

A busy hand, a busy mind

An old saying came to mind while I was working on the knee wall on my back porch yesterday.  You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.  My mind being what it is, I started analyzing the statement.  Why would you want to catch flies?  Why would you want to foul the honey?  And if the main goal is just to kill the flies, how does that work with the saying?
When I was a kid, my parents and I went to the Black Canyon of the Gunnison, drove up the canyon road a ways and camped.  The next morning, my mom made pancakes for breakfast and at the end of the meal when we were sitting about talking and the bees started buzzing around us, my mom held out some syrup on her finger and a bee landed on it and ate the syrup.  We all laughed.  She went on about living in harmony with nature and stuff like that for a bit.  The bee came back several times to get more syrup.  Then it was time to clean up and travel on.  The bee wasn't convinced.  It got angry that the syrup was no longer being offered.  In the end, she had to kill the bee. 
There's got to be a moral in that story somewhere, but I have none to share.  Such were the wanderings of my mind while I finished laying brick and glass in the knee wall of my studio porch.

Hiding Place by Jars of Clay

Hiding Place


From the Album 'Redemption Songs' which is a collection of old hymns done in a new setting.

Unprofitable

Titus 3: ⁹ But avoid foolish controversies and genealogies and arguments and quarrels about the law, because these are unprofitable and useless.
My history and origins are now in doubt.  It makes me a little queasy.  The issue is: what to do with all the stories and bad information I grew up believing.  The accessibility of information has now erased huge chunks of viability from my memory.  I'm not sure if it matters or not.  I'm not one of those creative people who can just say "Hey I am royalty."  "Hey, I was an indian princess."  "Hey I am a daugter of the revolution."  I need something a little more substantial.
We were a family of story tellers.  My dad was a story teller.  My mom was and is a story teller.  My father's parents were story tellers.  I grew up on stories of the opening of the Oklahoma territory, and the deportation of the jews and the immigration of the Welsh common people.  I grew up on stories of infidelity and abuse and great honor and funny occurrences.  They are part of my mental legacy.  But recently I learned that my father's stories of his brother coming home from the war when he was a small child and carrying him about on his tall shoulders for days and then going away to die in the conflict we call World War I was some kind of fabricated impossibility.  He would have been a young teen when the war ended according to the fastidious collections of public documents. 
My father lied to me.  My grandmother lied to me.  Why would they do that??!  Why would my grandfather fake an accent all his life when he was born and raised on American soil?  Why would he tell me stories that could eventually be proven lies?  Was it just because he didn't understand how wise and knowledgeable people would become in my lifetime?  Or was the story so good that it's veracity makes no difference.
Some call to inform me of my error, some call to supply themself with greater understanding and then walk away saying "That was useless, for sure."  I stand and say, "What do I do with my heritage now that you have amassed your tub of resources against it?"  I am troubled.
Do I now discard a lifetime of the same stories built on similar stories that fabricated my sense of who I am?  I'm sure if I hunt through the 'historical documents' I will find the same information you did.  But what do I then do with my mind full of errant facts provided time and again by people I trusted?
I have not yet decided what I will do.  It's like I'm coming upon a cosmic age of accountability.  Shall I walk in light or live in fantasy.  My heart is saddened by the whole thing.  I've lost my love for story telling for now.

Thou Lovely Source

Thou Lovely Source


The video isn't really what I would have chosen but all others were either other artists or cut off before they finished. This song has been going through my mind. It is from the project Redemption Songs by Jars of Clay.

Change is a-comin'

The temperatures have suddenly changed. A month ago, we broke the all time record high for the state of Arkansas.  This morning we set an new record low for this date.  We've not been below 70 at night since June I believe.  So the past two mornings seemed very cool.  Yesterday I had my devotion time with mom on the deck wrapped in a blanket!
Along with the change that will now usher our world from hot-hot to cold, this fall also must see a change in my physical body if I am to continue functioning.  I have certain things I must do differently, or I will not be doing at all.  There are many more than I will mention here, but physically, three basics must take place in my life.
First, I am going to start a body cleanse.  That's something I used to do regularly, but over the years I abandoned it except for extreme times.  For four days I will live on juice, bouillabaisse and water.  The suggestion is water only, but my hypoglycemia won't do that, so I will drink juice three times a day for strength and sugar control with water in between, and once a day I will have bouillabaisse for a minimal protein level, which my condition requires.  Days 5 - 10 I will add one meal of veggies and one meal of fruits to this equation.  After the 10 days, I will include one small serving of meat or other protein.  My regular supplements will be included the whole time. Though the plan says to abandon them for the 15 days,  I don't think that is wise.  It may slow the process some, but I believe it would have repercussions.  My belief is that neglecting the basic supplements I take for my joints and blood chemistry was part of my 'fail'.  Even after the 15 days, I must change the way I eat and think about food.  And I must observe a day of cleansing each week.
Second, I must structure time for relaxation and fun.  I realized the other day that the only time I structure enjoyment and rest is when others are here.  Last spring, I had my grandchildren here for a few days and I structured fun time into each day along with the work I needed to get done.  It is a possible scenario.  My life seems to revolve around work.  I have some long range goals that will never have a chance if I don't change this and the work will never be done enough to leave my time free.  My studio is very important to me. But if every opportunity is squashed because I need to teach or prepare, I will lose my abilities without ever knowing it.  No, I'm not likely to lose perspective on this one.  I actually love what I do, but I see that I am making it a limitation that can rob me of my joy and physical accomplishment. However, I will not be taking applications to have others restructure my time and life.
Third, I must find a way to do what exercise I can on a regular basis.  The idea that I am working therefore I am exercising is not productive in the arena of degenerative arthritis.  The doctor gave me a list of exercises.  Most of these are doable.  The stationary bike time may not happen, but I will try to find a pool to walk and swim in through the winter months.  I want to dance in the moonlight on New Years Eve.  Right now I couldn't dance on a padded spring floor.
There are spiritual, social and emotional changes that are just as important as these -perhaps more.  But I am realizing that change must be embraced, planned and executed or it will not produce the effect I desire.  I also am accepting that this change is personal.  I cannot depend on anyone else to bring the needed changes into my life.  God must be the author and power for discipline as well as revival, yes.  But without faith there will be no effort and without effort, there will be no change. 
In all these things, I can be a conquering warrior or I can be a sniffling recipient of the ills of life.  I choose to give it my best effort.  Will it turn out like I plan?  Who knows.  Probably not.  Life is what happens while we are making other plans.  Yet without orchestrated change, I will only have what I have now - deterioration, limitation, and frustration.

A personal treasure found.

I love to write.  I have since I was a child.  Stories, prose, poems.  It was deeply engrained in me. 

My grandmother wrote poetry and stories, but she was my mother's stepmom.  Yet the Bible says that the Lord sets the solitary in families.  I believe it.  Our adopted daughter had so many familial characteristics. 

Several years ago, a group I was part of raised money for a trip partly by creating one of a kind Valentines.  I found this today among some things I was going through.  I remember liking the way it was back then and as I read it today, liked it again.  So, I've put it here.  You may or may not appreciate it.  That's good with me either way.  It was written and illustrated for a time and person.  Blessings.

You are my rock.

When success flowed over me like rays of sunlight, when

my accomplishments came, you stood firm while I basked in the warmth

of the moment, taking it in with joy.  You always allowed time for me to stretch out and

 savor those bright happy moments knowing that other times would come when I would need

the memories.

And when the times of trial and disappointment blew through my life, You were my rock:

a strong fortress against the wind and rain of discouragement and defeat.  You offered me a

constant place of protection where I could regain my strength and resolve and emerge again

ready to face the challenges of life.

Even as I reached for my own values and ideas, your firm, stable foundation of truth, selflessness

and integrity under girded me, sustaining my will and guiding my development. 

You are my rock.

And in this uncertain, changing world, your creative teaching and well placed example have

been like stepping stones allowing me to go on with confidence where others hesitated

or turned back.  You are my mother, my joy, my best friend. 

You are my Rock.