Gone Fishin'

It is beautiful here. Sparkling, golden, ringed with green, sun-dappled, hot as hot. I'm standing in the Caney Fork River in Tennessee. The very cold waters rush by my ankles, thighs and hips in such a way as to feel like I'm submerged in wildly whirling and fizzling soda water tickling my skin and chilling my bones. I've never felt anything quite like it as the powers-that-be release more water gently through the dam this late-June morning.

For the first time in my life I catch out of the corner of my eyes the silvery flashes of trout: browns and rainbows. I gasp with exhilaration...I've seen them!

I'm here to fish and to paddle my way from below the dam to the take-out, and I'm savoring every moment of the natural beauty, trying to focus and regain control over my thoughts which have been torn away since I returned from Spain. I'm constantly aware of the bobbing & turning of brightly colored kayaks around my own, like so many floating crayons strewn into the river by the hand of a child playing on the muddy, sandy banks.

It is beautiful here.

Mist and fog rolled and lingered just above the water last night as I watched, breathless, the deepening silhouettes against peach-pink sky and craggy trees. My friend held his line in one hand, rod in the other, motionless as I traced his dark outline with my eyes and snapped a photo, then another. The scene here today is different, changed. Alive. There remains mystery on the river today but of a different sort. The trees hold no secrets this morning- only the water does. It is deep green and thick with wonder, the excitement of the chase, and nourishment- and the meeting of the three.

The Caney is dotted with men in waders, only their hips to head visible, all strung between flickering lines and flapping fish. Some have handsome hats with chin strings, others baseball caps, but all heads are tipped slightly chin-down toward the water. Some flash their wide smiles at me and my friends floating by and offer kind words and tips, others grumble, still others indicate where we should go and blame us for their tangled lines and poor luck.

I make my way downriver in a jumble of tangled thoughts, moments of peace, muscle flexion, exhilaration, resting. Sweat pouring down my back, my hands grip my paddle then exchange it for rod and reel, slippery yellow powerbait or the corn floating in the little cup-holder. I take in as much of the beauty of water and sky as I can. I power through, then rest. I catch up with my friends, then let them float ahead. I can't decide; I am mixed. I find myself as often as I see the flash of the trout before it disappears out of view. I'm fine with this. I know I am fully here, and that's all that matters.

I try casting into riffles, runs, and pools, with no more luck in one than the other. Many bite, some bend my rod as I reel in, but none hangs on long enough for the #6 hook to embed. I repeat my anthem all day long: "AH!!-aaaoooohh."

As the sun beats down I'm seeing a few things more clearly. I am addicted to this new activity, fishing. I'm addicted to the thrill of reeling in bluegill after bluegill, and now the attempt at trout. I am addicted to the sensation of nibbles on my line, the subtle tug, the connection between nerve endings, woman and fish. I seek the Salvelinus fontinalis, the species grouping for any trout I might found in the eastern U.S. (so says genetic testing). For the moment, I choose to discount the Scottish study concluding that rainbow trout feel pain (it is hotly debated, anyway). For now, my quest is not merely for the thrill or for the rich aroma of my dinner over the fire, but for answers:

How long do you let one fish nibble away and play at your precious bait, potentially sucking it off your line leaving you empty-handed and worn? When do I cut and run?

How can I distinguish between kelp and a keeper before it rises to the surface?

What bait is best? What color? Type?

With what body motion, wrist flick, hip twist am I most likely to reel in a trout?

How much muscle do I use? Does this fish want gentle subtlety or a hearty tug?

Does sweet-talking help in any way?

(Sound familiar?)

Should I go after the plethora of troutling because they're there, or wait it out to try for the Big Brown in deeper waters?

I am quiet, and mark my observations. Moment by moment the water plays tricks on me, mimicking the precise sensation of a nibbing trout as the current drags the sinker along the bottom and plays catch-and-release with the kelp. And then something bites- tears fast and furious at my hook- and in an instant is gone, disappointed with my measly bait, only to leave me wondering just how big and beautiful it was, and what my friends would've said had I muscled it up to reel it in. Did I not have what it takes for that one?

And karma seems to have little to do with success on the river; the guy who behaved so badly at camp last night has caught a stringer-full today. Woman keeps her dignity but no fish.

My friend turns to me and says, "This one just bit the whole hook, line and sinker down to its belly!" He has dinner. That fish wanted the bait so badly, liked what it saw so much, that it went in fully committed the first time- no doubts, no question, and got the bait. You could say, despite the obvious implication of an impending fish fry, that they both won.

Now it must be obvious where I'm going with this. I'm a girl who loves connection, as you know: connection to people, the feel of my nose against the roses in my garden, connection of my hands to my food, and to that subtle nibble on my fishing line extending from my fingertips through my forearms. I even love to hold the freshly-caught fish. But while I so enjoy the gentle sensation of a first touch or initial nudge, I am a bigger fan of the thrill of the catch- whether it be face to face time with friends, or capturing the attraction and love of a special person.

They say patience makes a great fisherman, patience brings you dinner. At least that's what they were telling me on the Caney today. So I suppose my answer is not in how to dress a hook, what color bait to sport, or my motion, but in what I'm gonna do with all that time on my hands while I wait.

I'll let you know. Share

Goodbye Spain

It is nearing time for me to say goodbye to a place I've spent more time planning to visiting than actually visiting. Not easy, but it does come naturally to wind down, stop walking, and contemplate. 

My mind wanders to the many facets of life in Spain that I'll miss. What first comes to mind for me is the Catalan lisp. I realize no one here considers that delicious sound a lisp but, well, there's no better way to communicate it to english speakers. The hard "c", the "z," and the sedilla "c" (I think I'm correct) are all pronounced in such a way as to produce a wet, lusciousness in speech rather than a sound for which to apologize, as Americans would have it. In Nashville when I want to go salsa dancing, I head to a club called "Ibitha." not "Ibiza." I won't correct you when you say it the latter way, but I would rather remind myself of how Spaniards pronounce the island name. Look at me funny, snicker behind my back, but it shall remain. The sound creates a soft richness of speech which makes my eyes linger on the lips of the speaker. And now I'm at a loss as to say more. Come to Spain and you'll know.

The hot, bright sunlight slathered over every person and landscape I will certainly miss. This should have come first. what my friends know of me is that I'm first a sunlight addict, if anything. I would retire in southern France or Italy or anywhere in Spain to chase the sun til my last breath if I could work it out. Just as my daughter was reaching her limit of heat on the beach I was just beginning to feel perfect. Even now I'm situated as close to the sunlit balcony as my chair will allow, my legs cramped against the permanent half-window sealed here for safety. Last evening as we sauntered down the sidewalk to Placa de Reina (say "Platha"), the evening sun was so bright as to defy anything I've ever known of the 9pm sky. (Sunset is 10:30 in June). It blinded us so that we had to cock our heads to the side to make our way to our destination. It is this sort of sun that cheers both psyche and soul and warms the skin. I want nothing else.

With only a few moments to finish before dragging our bags on the 20-minute walk to the train station, I must admit that I have enjoyed far more than expected the unexpected nature of our travels. Up until my trip to St. Martin last summer (which was nearly derailed despite rigorous planning), I was studious before any vacation, determining before departure my chosen haunts, best routes, and the recommendations of seasoned adventurers. The St. Martin trip taught me that sometimes reality works against a plan, and that my stubbornness nearly unraveled my joy. Perhaps that left such a mark as to cause in me an inexplicable inability to plan this current trip to Spain. Up until a week before I felt frozen.... I could not so much as look at a guidebook, map, or train schedule. I had only our flight confirmation to and from Europe, and the desire to see and spend time with my daughter who is studying for one month on the Spanish coast. The impromptu has proven incredibly satisfying, indeed freeing for me. I've been able to follow the momentary whims of my thirteen-year-old daughter who is my travel companion, the late notice of group plans in a hostel, and other surprises along the way. I can honestly say that this is now my preferred way to travel.

I must go. Time to hike it to the train station, back to Barcelona, and to the airport tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, enjoy the unexpected.

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Simple Pleasures Abroad- Vital to Any Big Adventure

Sometimes we allow fear of unknown to keep us from following our sense of adventure. This is particularly true of traveling abroad, seeing the world beyond one’s familiar borders.

I know a number of people who will forego a trip abroad because packing up one’s life for even a few days and planting oneself in a foreign country feels too complicated to be any fun. Did I consider before traveling that that something could go wrong medically, politically, or otherwise beyond our control in unfamiliar surroundings? That my 13-year-old daughter/companion might grow irritable? That the French language with which I’m proficient would hold minimal sway in attempting to explain my needs to a Spaniard? That a few days without my Honda scooter might incapacitate me psychologically? While the answer is a resounding YES, I consider these worthy risks for the level of joy and fulfillment that new life experiences and global education impart.

I would add, though, that being cognizant of the power of a few simple pleasures improves one’s travel adventures remarkably and evokes a joyfulness that no environmental complications can outweigh. I’ve kept track of a few, both photographically and in jotted notes, but find that sitting here in a breakfast nook overhanging Alicante’s La Rambla is the perfect time to share some of them. Without camera or notebook, let me see what comes to mind in this peaceful morning moment, Spanish music softly filling the background….

Well, firstly I note that I’m surrounded by people whose mere proximity to open water seems to have kept them relaxed but passionate about life. Romanticism and bonding are ever-present everywhere I look. Here on this “White Coast” town of Alicante, Spain, most couples hold hands…. particularly the elderly. Friends hold one another’s arms when crossing the street and ascending the metro station stairs. As I’ve seen on other European beaches, entire families play together- and they do so half-naked- with such ease and delight as to make single people like me utterly jealous.

.Coffee. Café con Leches. Espress. Call it what you will, European travel for the coffee lover is palatary fulfillment. I’m coining the word, so just add it to your spell-check. Opaque walnut brown, nutty, smooth, with the mouth-feel of velvet, fantastic coffee in white demitasses can be found on every corner and every nook at any hour. And I hate to admit it, but even the little packets of European Nescafe instant coffee make an amazing cup unlike any American attempt. Our first Barcelona hotel room was outfitted with a chrome hotpot that boiled water in 30 seconds flat- I kid you not- and three of these packets. While not as delectable as the espresso downstairs, that first cup of coffee after an unimaginably long day of travel was a simple pleasure that rocked my first day in Spain.

Columbias. Not a typo- these are my shoes of choice. I brought one pair of heels, tennis shoes, and my Columbia flip-flops. One can’t appreciate other simple pleasures while traveling if one’s feet aren’t happy. Comfortable, fashionable in that “world traveler” sort of way and indestructible, they’ve supported me for two full years before this trip and are keeping my feet and back happy every day in Spain. I’m going to write the company as soon as I get home.

Sunshine. My friends know I am a sunlight addict, the sort who runs home not to catch happy hour but the last few rays after work. Daily long doses of pure, hot sunlight (illuminating my keyboard) just make me feel great inside and out. (This is no health blog so I’ll skip over all the implications of exposure other than to comment that my fair-skinned Irish/Cherokee daughters slathering themselves with SPF 50. This outstanding and fee pleasure lasts from 6am to 10:30 pm.

Piping hot bubble baths: Eight hours of touring Antonio Gaudi’s fantastical architectural sites in Barcelona and your body is bound to ache. (This was the day I chose not to wear the Columbias- silly me). Our hotel came fitted with a short bathtub, a large hot water heater, and shower gel. Three cheers for the massive mounds of bubbles and piping hot bath one can produce with those simple ingredients.

Free wifi (say “weefee” in Spain). The best decision I made in planning this trip was to forego other hotel room niceties to find free high-speed wifi. Suffice it to say that very little of the effort I put forth to ensure I had the correct hardware would have made any difference in Europe had I not had a place in or near my room to log on. With a child asleep during my best blogging/ photo-uploading /emailing hours, I could never have visited distant internet cafes for web-time. H10 Hotel on Las Ramblas in Barcelona also offers two computers- enough for the clientele-which became immensely valuable after my computer charging fiasco. Hotel Rambla in Alicante provides me with free fast wifi in the breakfast area, stairwells, and for a huge bonus- in my room.

Computer technology: What naturally follows is a comment on the simple pleasure of the correct adaptors, converters, chargers, batteries and upload cables, without which little of my contact with friends back home could have been possible. Sure, I could email people from an internet café, but where are those and how long is the line and how much will it cost me? Besides, owning my technological comfort is so much better. Beyond that, I am convinced my friends would have been more silent had I not been uploading photos. Their comments on my Face Book photo albums have been a lifeline for me since I’m traveling without adult companionship. One heartfelt note for the Mac owner, though: Insist that your Apple store clerk SHOW you how to connect every blessed part of your European converter/ adapter / laptop system before you leave town. I jumped for joy four days into my trip in an Alicante student apartment when my daughter’s roomie casually pointed out she was using the same adaptor I’d brought from Nashville. She had pulled apart a certain segment and connected the adapter.....otherwise, one would never intuit how it connects, and may lose one’s temper at a random Apple store clerk.

Carry-on luggage. I am both a petite and savvy traveler. I pride myself in my equally petite luggage- usually. But I lost my mind before this trip, and bought the biggest red suitcase I could find for my stuff while reminding my child to pack light. After I finish typing this, Big Red (that blasted back-breaking suitcase) is headed to the shipping store, “Correos,” for its trip home- stuffed and alone. The simple pleasure? My 19 year old who is studying here brought an extra carry-on at my suggestion, and has handed it over to me for the remainder of my trip. Associated simple pleasure: The bottle of Woolite for sink-washing the outfits I will now need to repeat.

There are so many hundreds more simple pleasures I’d like to relate, but for now must get outside and experience them. Blogging is such a joy for me, but here I am in Spain indoors with only four days left to romp. Here is a short list with more to come:

Friends and family back home

New friends

Croissants

Drinking chocolate

Millefeuille

La Boqueria or any other open-air market

The Mediterranean- it really is blue-green!

Train tickets

Tilework

Patterns

Beautiful wood-carved doors

The abundance of beautiful Spanish men (hey- I’m from Nashville, where women outnumber the men! The streets in Alicante are positively lined with men who smile and call out to me!)

The Mercadona: where I bought five bags of groceries including two bottles of wine for 21 euros- which, with the ailing dollar, was only about $35!

Anchovies- thanks Pere!

Watching Kelli windsurf and kayak

Watching Katie on her photographic journey

A 16-pack of AA batteries- good suggestion, Dad! So much better than rechargeable.

An Agatha Christie compilation (Katie’s choice)

Familiar music on my laptop and iPod

iPhone: I recommend AT&T’s World Traveler plan for a few text and phone calls only, and following their advice on phone settings to avoid using data at all. Their web sites and customer service have been exemplary.

OK I’m sorry but I must run outside. It is sooo late in the morning. Enjoy your day- wherever you are and whatever you do and whomever you’re with. There are simple pleasures everywhere!

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"+Food +Hot +Man +Cooking"

http://www.twitpic.com/191zn

Frombecca posted a photo of a marvelous-looking paella with the caption: "A man's job to cook paella?" (See URL above). Her tags, even more telling of the thought process, caught my attention:
Tags: +food +hot +man +rice +cooking +prawns +gas +paella +heat +cooking class.

I, for one, think these words stream so beautifully together. Starting with "+food +hot + man +cooking"....pick your word order. While I do Tweet with Becca, I can't speak to what intrigued her about paella and the tradition of men preparing the dish. Nonetheless, I am quite certain these ideas run together for many a female foodie and non-foodie alike. I know because I have been involved in numerous conversations in recent weeks exploring the simple concept of men and cooking. What intrigues us about an act so simple, so traditional, so unsurprising as men being personally and physically involved in food preparation?

I come bearing no answers, but do have an idea. We could pretend that the intrigue generates from the age-old conflict that gender roles have demarcated segments of our lives. Can we not move past the stereotypic "female in the kitchen" even at this point? You need not look past the kitchen door of pick-any-restaurant-in-your-city to find a number of males who are utterly food-savvy, yet when we peer through a home kitchen doorway we somehow still expect to see a woman standing there. While this does present a conflict, it is not what has my attention, or < I think, the attention of many women in my sphere.

Here is what I believe to be the real intrigue over men in the kitchen: I'd like to say it aloud (as loudly as one can on a blog page):
Women love to see men cooking.
Give me a man preparing paella and I'll show you a dozen voyeurs who'd gladly lean in to observe, giggling, oohing and ahhing, and not over the paella. Where the art and science of preparing food become alchemy in a man's hands, where he can be seen caressing ingredients, nurturing them, magically creating something delicious for a woman to taste, you've got a scenario more titillating than a paperback bodice-ripper.

Give me a man who loves to discuss how he culled radicchio from his garden and carefully incorporated it into a dish, or who had to rush to the herb sale for purple basil for a Thai dinner with his girlfriend that night, and I'll show you a swooning handful of ladies just drooling to meet said man. Regardless of looks or education or property or success in other areas, a man who can cook- better yet, a man who talks openly about cooking with a glint in his eye- comes very close to having any woman he wants. Let this be a lesson to my male readers: A man who cooks may cover a multitude of sins with his kitchen skills- provided that he exercises them often.

Forget whether it is a woman's job or a man's job to do the cooking. Do we really care any more? It's a relationship thing. Explore the pleasures of food through preparing it, talking about it, sharing it- and you'll find it can lead to a multitude of other pleasures. You can make your own list. Today, mine will simply be "+food +hot + man +cooking." Share

Sun, Sun, Sun

Let’s face it. April is just a teaser for spring. What do you long for in the depths of cold, dark winter? Sunlight, of course! So do we all. But even here in mid-April I feel teased and tricked by the sun as it ducks and hides behind dreary clouds and covers its warmth in a blanket of drear. Other April days may well be ablaze at sunrise as every icy dew drop catches a spark of sunlight and magnifies it in orange-red...but the truth is that days are still feeling short and it just ain't summer yet. So we are sun-starved.

In sitting here frustrated at not having something to write that anyone else would care about, I recognized something. While my inspiration was sapped by the dreary morning, by the lack of sunlight bursting forth, I am nonetheless quite warm, comfortable and content. The source of my comfort is two-fold: my morning spiritual studies and my $200 Alaska Northern Lights lightbox. I won't go into the former as this blog isn't my spiritual platform. Yet. But I would like to talk about my beloved Lightbox.

I'm a huge fan of sunlight. No, that won't do: I'm an outright sunlight junkie. I can't get enough of the sun. In my cubicle, a vast distance from any window, I can sense when a cloud moves over the sun. Honest. I am one of the masses who become downright depressed when the wintry days of drear pile up, one after another, in a meaningless, undefined shapeless mound of, what's the word? BLAH. Thoughts won't take shape, sentences don't congeal, feelings are muted- particularly happiness. There is a "vacancy" sign parked in the space that my sense of life's meaningfulness ordinarily occupies. But when that beautiful moment comes and sunlight streams sharp and bright-hot through the dreary gray- I'm suddenly alive- spiritually, cognitively, emotionally. Can you relate in some way? When the real thing hides, enter The Lightbox.

This miracle Lightbox is bursting with happy energy from special bulbs whose light mimics the sun's rays, sans the harmful ones. Mine is a 26"x18"x4" rectangular idol sitting directly before me on my desktop, just beyond my Mac Book. I plant myself before it daily in ritualistic fashion, my eyes lifted to it in awe, to re-energize my life force, my feelings of joy, my sense of purpose. Really- no joke. I've never experienced anything like it (well, outside spiritual pursuits) and wouldn't give it up for anything. And yes, I can feel it working on me right now.

I won't try to relate to you the sense of desperation and dread that blanketed me the moment I dropped my first Lightbox and a flick of the switch confirmed that The Light had left me. For those of us with Seasonal Affective Disorder, the fix of sunlight is worth any price, so I sprung for another as fast as my fingers could pound out the correct combination of credit card numbers on my keyboard. In a few days, my wonderful friends at Alaskan Northern Lights had shipped me my new idol. My face reflects its glory every morning and sometimes late evenings as well. My family, friends and neighbors see that The Light has come, that I am changed. And my inner experience? Peace, man. You'll just have to try it for yourself and see.

Of course, the sun is on its way, today or tomorrow, to lavishly spread its hot fingers over us, warming us inside and out, healing the pangs of winter blues. I can't wait. No other brightness can compare; not the glorious flash of lightning in the pitch-black of a furious spring storm, not the flash of a camera at a loving family Easter gathering; not even the sweet flickering flame of a candle lit by lovers. No, I wait for the real thing. But I wait in front of a Lightbox. Amen, and Amen. Share

My New Favorite Elixir: Frends, Food and Art with a Twist of Lime

Sometime this morning in the twilight between sleep and wake, I decided this: when I experience an event that I refer to as a "highlight of my life," I should not only blog about it but titrate out the intriguing elements so I can repeat them-often. So here I am. I have for years maintained that nothing could be better than getting together to eat with friends. (Before you protest, please note that only certain material is appropriate for the blog platform). This morning I must add one component to that aromatic elixir of friends and food: Art.


What could have been a nice little art show opening, a few supportive friends drifting in and out on their way to fulfill bigger and better Friday night plans, transformed into an evening I'll never forget. Last night, a calligraphic art exhibit, "Words," opened at Centennial Art Center in Nashville's Centennial Park. Three pieces of mine were hung (actually four, but the declined nude painting will save for later discussion) among the gorgeous works of my colleagues- not enough pieces to merit much attention, but enough for me to celebrate my recent overcoming of artist's block. Thankfully, I decided to celebrate my overcoming of more than a few difficulties of late by inviting nearly everyone I call a friend to this, my fifth art opening. The results absolutely bowled me over.

When I arrived (a moment late, as my daughter was home feverish), two friends, Christy and Jim, were already perusing the works of art. From that moment until after the show ended two hours later, I could barely catch my breath for all my friends arriving and commenting. The room seemed filled to the brim with only my own guests- a real coup-and was bubbling over with warmth and joy. Did anyone else see that, or was it just that I felt so loved? I do have pictures....

Admittedly I did not have opportunity to contemplate the works of my uber-talented calligrapher friends, but I will go back and do so another day. For now, forgive me for enjoying the sense that it was "all about me." (OK, me, and the free wine...).Terrible, this self-promotion, I know, but P.T Barnum said, "Without promotion, something terrible happens- Nothing!" So I am learning to promote my art and my writing and today am luxuriating in the love and attention of many wonderful friends as a result. Sometimes- many times- that is precisely what we need. Providing a venue for my outdoor buddies, dance partners, and FaceBook friends to co-mingle made sense; but somehow I'd overlooked the fact that many of my friends really do enjoy the art.

And there was plenty beautiful art covering the walls of the venue. From manuscript lettering to gilding to contemporary italic texts, the calligraphy displayed was lush and varied. Surrounding ourselves with beauty and inspiration moves a gathering of friends up a notch in terms of experience. Everyone is jovial, inspired. Two friends offered to buy one of my painterly works (which was commissioned, so no sale). Even better than those offers, I received heaps and gobs of soul-nourishing, ego-building compliments to my work, which is an intimate reflection of my heart and soul, joy and grief. There is nothing else so sweet as that compliment.


As the reception was wrapping up, we re-congregated at Fiest Azteca (one big shout-out to the staff) around the longest, most hyper-extended table one could possibly fit in the room. We slurped margheritas from icy pitchers of ruby red and wan green, downed basket after basket of crisp tortilla chips and bowls of chunky salsa, and relished the companionship of friends. There was talk of the huge group of paddlers meeting tomorrow at Old Hickory Lake, of baby "Snap" due in May, of a group gathering for Easter dinner, and of the poor use of grammar rampant in the U.S. Then, of course, there was talk of this and that person's desire to paint, write, draw, or photograph, peppered with the assumption that one is either born with talent, or without. I disagree, by the way. Everyone- to my house for art therapy! A joyous throng- that's how I can best describe our group last night. Therefore I postulate: Friends+art+food must = wonderment, joy, love, life.




Forty. That's how many years it took for me to really "get" friendship. Regrettable. I grew up painfully shy, then overcame it. But it still took years for me to understand that friends come in many different packages and have different roles in our lives, that no one ever really completely "gets" us, and that, while it is up to us to love ourselves, friends make life so full and beautiful.

Like the works of art at last night's reception, every friend I have is a unique work, a beautiful expression of his or her experiences, and possessing a nuance of life and love that noone else does. I'm grateful for each person who took the time to come out to "Words" whether in support of me or to be seen or to be inspired by art or to catch up or just for the free plastic cup of wine (you know who you are). I still carry the scent of the perfume of each person with whom I came into contact last night. It would be assenine of me to lump my friends together as "the group," although together we made a sumptuous and fragrant bouqet. So I would like to take time to thank each of you as I would write in your school yearbooks since we don't have those at our age:

Kurt A.: What a true friend. Thanks for getting us all together! It was amazing, thanks to you. Your encouragement goes a very long way.
Ginger: My best girl, you are a wonder in all ways. Sweet, Loyal, full of integrity, intellect and wisdom, and a heck of alot of fun! Thank God our senses of humor match so we have an outlet in each other :-) You have the best laugh in Nashvegas. Snap is so lucky!
Christy O': You are a delight. Always smiling and encouraging. I've never heard a negative thing from you!
Jim: You are everywhere! You make me smile. When will you dnce with me?
J.C. Jones:My favorite EVER cajun, contra and waltz dance partner; looking forward to next Saturday night! Thanks for stopping by.
Bryan & Mary Laurens: I love you two! But I love Zim and 'Liza more...JK. You are amazing friends and I'm grateful to have some o dem cajun cousin' raht down de street, cha! Looking forward to Easter dinner..thanks for coming out!
Chris J. T.: I can't believe you came! So glad you did. You are a kind and good soul and a real encourager; love your quick sense of humor. Here's to bluegrass and bluegill!
Michael T.: CONGRATS on finishing your e-book! You are a great friend and such a cheerleader- thank you for coming out! See you for the non-fiction writer's meetup!
Marsha B.; A true friend and kind soul. I love you! Hope you had as much fun as it seemed.
Susan N.: You're so beautiful! Smart as a whip. Thank you for all the uplifting words..they make me strong. BTW, I can neither walk a tightrope nor play the bazouki. (Are you scoring for grammar here?) When will your cover for "Nashville's Most Beautiful People" contest be out?
Chris Highfield: You never fail to uplift and challenge me spiritually, and are a wonderful example of the best sort of man. One day may you cook for me when you are not so busy...
James H: You're so sweet to come to the show! I look forward to catching up with you soon.
Jennifer G: I look forward to getting to know you- it was great to see you. Let me borrow that jacket...
Logan: Man, I LOVE your fashion sense. PLEASE teach other guys or open a shop. I love the way you look people in the eye when they speak to you. And I gotta tell ya,' your grammar is sheer perfection ;-) Glad I met you. Let's hike!
Mark A.: Another fine example...you are the kindest soul and a true friend. You have the second best laugh in Nashvegas, and you make a great dad.
Bryan T. My GOD how does that keep happening! You're one of my closest buds yet you aren't getting invites..I'm sorry! Let me make up for it by riding in your convertible.. you know I love you! Thank you for coming to the show :-)
Ann W.: A truly inspiring artist. You're lovely and kind and supportive and..I could go on and on. Great to see you!
Jenni P.: My love! You are a shining example of friendship... and such a loyal bunny mama. How was Mindy last night?
Theresa: You're such a creative woman- thanks for your friendship! Let's do fire again soon...:-) Enjoy your new job!
Fran P.: Glad to have you as a new friend. I enjoyed hanging out with you last night and hope to hike with you soon!
Jason D.: Your sense of humor has gotten me through many days. Send on those jokes, buddy! When are you coming for your first calligraphy lesson? You have a great heart, btw.
Beth C.: You're a wonderful friend and great woman. Thanks for being there!
Jay N.: CONGRATULATIONS! You finished your masterpiece! Will this be your magnus opus? Surprise us... I want a, autographed first edition, of course. You inspire me.
Doug F.: You looked like you were having a great time last night! Thank you for coming out. See you on the next hike? I barely spoke to you..look forward to catching up.
LaRae: Please tell me the story behind your uber-cool name! You are a ray of sunshine and I'd like to spend more time with you! Only I my bike can't keep up with your bike... Thanks for coming!
Lori/ Laurie: We didn't discuss your spelling... Thanks for coming out..it was a pleasure to hang out with you!
Susan B.: Always a happy laugh even when times are tough. We have some kindred spirit in us... You're an amazing woman and I'm glad I got to hang with you again. Looking forward to the lake tomorrow and to Rock Island later this summer!
Susan P.: What a sweet friend. Things are developing behind the scenes for you, chica..you'll be amazed you ever worried! I can't wait to see what's next for you and know it will knock your socks off!
Steve H.: You inspire and challenge me- thank you. Congrats on your exciting gallery deal! Thanks for coming out.
Michelle O.: You're a lovely and brave globetrotter and I'm so gald you came out last night. I miss your company! Let's travel together soon.
Ingrid: You are a beacon of hope:-) Amelie is such a beautiful little pea pod- congrats! I can't believe Lelo is your mom...she's the best we've got in Nashville.
Yvonne and Frances: Your compliments were stunning. Thank you for taking the time to encourage me! London...really???
Valerie C.: A huge thank-you for being the hands and feet of the show. And for letting me down easy about the nude figure....
Dan C. My real estate agent (this begins to sound like an Oscar speech): One day we will buy that house! Thank you.
Gary W.: An inspiration on many, many levels. you are a kind heart and great man. See you on the lake..or dance floor...or trail... or flying through the air... or ziplinging....
I know I haven't covered everyone, but there were two margheritas last night and my brain's a bit foggy.

Here's to what art each of us shares in some way. Share

Art Show Opening- Friday, April 3, 2009

Friends,
I'm thrilled to have four pieces in an upcoming exhibit later this week. The show will hang for two months at Nashville's Centennial Arts Center. This is the first year I've had a large mailing list to which I've sent the announcement, and I look forward to having my friends represented at the opening this Friday evening. Difficult times are high-yield times for painters and other artisans; I've been a prolific painter, writer and baker of late!

The first image ia close-up of "Blood Red," a piece based on a poem written by a friend of mine, Phil Ciampa, M.D., after one of his earliest experiences performing surgery. I was entranced by the imagery. This piece is about 18x22", clayboard with acrylics, gouache, and sumi ink.


The second image is a close-up of a piece I did on 24x24" clayboard for a photographer friend who did my PR photos. She is fabulously talented and equally fabulous to work with! Look her up: Kristina Marie Krug, www.Siren Studio.net. The words are from a poem by Carl Sandburg.

Thank you for stopping by. Please let me know if you have any questions by e-mailing me at:
Laurie@letterdancer.com.
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