Manito

Manito Park

I'm up, I'm off, I'm on my way.
I'm in my tennis shoes,
I'm heading straight to Manito
to chase away the blues.

The back packs full of this and that
to make it an event,
I think I thought of everything,
just left out the tent.

Jalapeno quesadillas
wrapped up in a paper towel,
roasted peanuts and fig newtons
I can hear my stomach growl.

Big thermos of alpine cider,
use two packets, make it strong.
picnic blanket, book and glasses,
lifting spirits with a song.

Loaded with my pack and lawn chair,
I'm headed out for fun,
if it weren't so cumbersome
I could break out in a run.

My pond it is so beautiful,
with ducks swimming about.
Manito is mine today,
a whisper is a shout.

Open my chair and settle in,
with cider in my mug,
sitting here on such a day,
is like a big God hug.

An ever-young comes walking up
with helper at her side.
She loves the ducks and makes them fly,
her joy she can not hide.

This is not the Grand Canal
or the Pantheon in Rome,
but it's just as beautiful
and just think-we call it home!

Vinyl!

Oh what fun, what a delight, the studio was messy with fabric tonight!

I bought this bit of red vinyl at the fabric store a month ago, and have been waiting to finish the walkers to break out the sewing machine. To be truthful, the other bag was supposed to be the lining, but was way too big, and I just liked it too much to hide it inside a bag.

The only things recycled on the red bag are the button that I bought at a flea market in Paris, and the very thick black thread. It is a very old spool of Lyseth thread that I rescued from Grandmothers sewing box. Now the other bag is all up-cycled from upholstery samples, and a bit of our wonderful vinyl.

I might do a couple more bags before I start painting Giuseppe.

Happy spring friends, Jill

Paris Stroll

This was a very fun painting to paint!
So happy to be breaking in the new studio.

open today

Hello my artsie fartsie friends. The studio is open today, come on over with your supplies, and play! Give me a call. Jill

Too many ideas

I wonder if you ever have so many good ideas wandering about your head, that you just can't get to any of them. There are so many interesting, creative things to get involved in, where does a person start? Oh, if there was someone to actually pursue my ideas, we would have a much more colorful world!

About the poems

These poems are from my journal that I wrote on my journey this fall. I wrote an email home most every day for five weeks to 75 friends that couldn't go with me. Along with some of the emails, I wrote small poems to give more of a flavor of what I was going through. These are some of the poems that I sent home. They are in reverse order, so it is probably better to read them from the end to the beginning. Not sure how to fix that. Have a great ramble..
Ps, if you just want to read the poems, click on the right side under "trip poems" It will leave out all the other artsy stuff.

going home poem

Home poem

My bra's all worn out,
my sox have gone crusty
my great new black coat,
at the least, it is musty.

My eyebrows, their bushy,
my mustach is thick,
and my lone chin hair,
long as half a toothpick.

But oh the pictures,
that go through my head,
when tonight in Spokane,
my head hits the bed.

Of kayaks and alleys,
from Venice to France.
Of shutters of green,
the Jewish round dance.

Of my dear camel,
she carried me around,
of my daily falaffel,
of sweet organ sound.

Of tears that flowed freely,
at the wailing wall,
of climbing monk hill,
I treasure it all.

So Is it all worth it,
this wandering about?
The metros, the hostles,
my back about out?

My life's more alive,
I'll enjoy the small things,
I'll laugh when life laughs,
and sing when life sings.

Oh yes it's all worth it,
it's worth every dime.
Thank you for reading,
we had a great time!

Time is almost through

Friday

Friday, oh it's Friday,
My time is almost through.
Oh my dear, dear Paris,
Oh, how I will miss you.

I'll miss rocking on your metro,
and wandering around.
I'll miss searching out your alleys,
the wonders, they abound!

Oh my friends I've laughed with,
and the tears whem I goodbye.
I have no plans to come back soon,
but o-o-o-oh, someday, I'll try.

Ladies of the Tapestry

The Ladies of the Tapestry

The ladies of the tapestry,
they stitch and stitch all day.
One lady lost her finger,
In the tapestry to stay!

The ladies of the tapestry,
like pretzels they do bend.
They're on the floor all twisted up,
to reach, and stitch, and mend.

They go to school for five long years,
to learn about the trade,
of fixing cloth, feather,and shoe
in history, was made.

The ladies of the tapestry,
they work on things so old,
when they sat and stitched in silence,
oh the stories fabric told!

It told of men, many years past,
who stitched on these same threads.
Their eyes were sore, their bodies ached,
twelve hours before their beds.

These men of old, not well paid,
Tied to the loom all day,
had no idea the things they made,
hang on castle walls to stay.

Thank you dear ladies on the floor,
repairing thread by thread,
those tapestries from long ago,
to enjoy for years ahead.

Gallerie La Fayette

Gallerie La Fayette

The Gallerie La Fayette
with a stinky loo,
What, oh what, can a fine store do,
with a loo that stinks-floor two?

With Prada, Vitton, and Armani too,
beautiful clothes to sell,
but what to do with the stinky loo,
story we know too well.

It's just a slight reminder,
regular people wear those clothes.
They function just like you and me,
clothed in Prada, head to toes.

Paris metro

Metro

Travel the metro, and those kind of places,
for people with smiling eyes on their faces.

There are very few, I do not know why,
but you surely can find them, if you really try.

When we are all cramped up, in those metro cars,
why do they look down with their heart behind bars?

I give them a smile, and they remain blank,
eighty people all riding, to work, shop, or bank.

But here comes a lady, who smiles at me.
She's not given up, at age ninety three!

Goodbye my Jerusalem

Goodbye my Jerusalem,

Goodbye my Jerusalem,
the center of the world.
The sights the sounds the smells the tastes,
All that you've unfurled.

A place with heartbreak in each heart.
The troubles they abound.
"don't go here, watch your way there,
but oh, the jewels I've found.

In the heart of Noa,
and her neighbor too,
They follow God with all their heart,
in all the things they do.

In the heart of Jochen,
and his Marielle,
he tries with everything he has,
to bind the wounds that swell.

He meets with these, he meets with those,
on both sides of the wall.
He hopes for just a bit of peace,
no matter if it's small.

Goodbye my Jerusalem,
if only you could see,
Your God has sent his only Son,
sent him for you and me.

Goodbye my Jerusalem,
Goodbye my dear friend,
I will be praying peace for you,
until the very end.

Darios Birthday

Darios Birthday

Today was Darios birthday.
He has been gone these three years.
But we will have a party,
and my Robbie will shed no tears.

We have made the dips,
cheaned up the yard.
The maid really did,
all that was hard.

So, I'm ready for fun,
and much Italian chatter.
I won't understand much,
but what does it matter?

Regatta day

Regatta Day

My calves were sore,
then they're not,
because my arms
they went to pot.

Now my feet are
sore on top
I can not run
I sure can't hop.

There is a happy
noise I hear,
it is quite loud
it must be near.

I never thought
I'd meet the day
when accordions
call me out to play!

So put on socks
loosen my shoes
head out the door,
later I'll snooze!

My Burano

My Burano

Burano, Burano,
there's no better place.
I whiz past Murano,
to see your bright face.

Only an artist,
could paint as you do,
in red, pink and yellow,
and periwinkle blue.

Your colors, they call me,
from far, oh so far,
by vaporetto, and plane,
by train, and by car.

If I could paint just as simple,
as bright and as true,
I'd be a rich lady,
and come yearly to you!

Milan

Milan

Puffy eyes, unblown hair,
wear the same clothes everywhere.

Wake up to the noisy street,
bug bites on your sandaled feet.

It makes my ride on "twenty-five"
not such a chore. I'm more alive.

Wake up by four, be working by six.
Put on a smile; I've toast to fix.

Bus at three, with a sure knee
and in the door by quarter to four.

But when you've gone from there to here,
to there, to here, to there,

your more content when your at home,
and in your old pink chair.

YOu think about the ladies, on the bench in Levanto.
You wonder how much laundry they did fore they could go.

You think of all your hostel friends, from Paris to Milan,
and wonder if their traveling with all the same clothes on.

They're back at work in their own town,
a little more content,

Remembering all the things they saw,
and wonderful places they went.

The Fisherman of Monterosso

The Fisherman of Monterosso

At six he ventures out,
"ciaos" his 80 year old dear,
with his rod and bucket,
he's off to Monterosso pier.

Looks across to the village,
so wonderfully alone,
this is the time of morning,
Monterosso is his own.

(another very old guy comes slowly out to the pier to meet my fisherman)

Old Giuseppe shuffles out,
to be with his good friend.
They stand, the two, and talk of fish,
and of the nets they'll mend.

Giuseppe stops to talk to me,
with four good teeth inside.
He is the sanguine of the group,
his smile, he smiles wide.

He decides it is a poem I write,
so he tells a poema too.
He quotes it clear and loud and strong,
in Italian, it is true.

So full of big arm gestures,
with a glimmer in his eye,
He tells of old time Monterosso,
of many days gone by.

(Giuseppe slowly walks away)

Slowly, oh so slowly,
my fisherman warms up.
He realized I was staying,
so he better just give up.

So we sat and watched the wiggle,
at the end his fishing line.
He would tell me his word
And I would tell him mine.

We cheered as much as he would cheer,
with every fish he caught.
I took it's photo, and he would grin,
before squirming in the pot.

So there's my special morning,
before I catch the train.
My fisherman, I'll miss you,
but I'll be back again!

Day One Poem

day one poem

The day has come
the time is here.
I will be far
but have no fear.

I will be safe
oh it is true,
and I will write
each day to you.

If you could see
my silly grin,
from ear to ear
from eye to chin.

Oh you would want
to hop the plane,
the bus, the bike,
or hop the train.

Sit tight my friend.
enjoy the ride,
my joys, my sorrows,
I will not hide.

So if I die
fore I return,
don't bury me,
my body burn.

Upcycled blanket!

Oh what fun, oh what a delight, to crawl under a blanket I made tonight!

This is actually a new/old living room couch blanket I made from bits of old fabric. You may see a bit of a purse you have, or some of a tablecloth, or the back is just an old faded curtain from a garage sale. It is amazing what comfort there is in creating even the most basic of things!