Beautiful Hallowe’en…

28 Wednesday Oct 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Art, Hallowe'en, Trees

Tags

Charcoal drawing, Eerie tree drawing, Hallowe'en, Poetry

_{© Joan Currie – My charcoal tree sketch.}

Hallowe'en, This Year
by Joan Currie

The night seemed to creep in
earlier this year,
yanking the last bit of light
and plunging us into darkness.

Lost cat signs appeared
on telephone poles,
as packs of coyotes
began their rounds,
earlier and earlier.

Warty pumpkins and gourds
jammed the doorsteps,
flanked by life-sized monsters
and skeletons.
Tiny orange bulbs strangled
the trunks of trees.

In a few days,
raucous children
dressed as devils, ghosts,
and superheroes
will scamper through the streets,
demanding treats.

That will be lovely!

Beautiful Textile Art…

25 Sunday Oct 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Autumn, Crafts, Needlepoint, Poetry, Summer, Winter

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Elizabeth Bradley Design, Needlepoint, Poetry

_{© Joan Currie – My needlepoint Summer canvas, still in progress.}

No Spring by Joan Currie

For fifteen months,
hours upon hours,
I have labored to finish
a needlepoint called Summer.

Its gloomy palette
of beiges, muted pastels,
and a black background

turned out to foretell
a summer that wasn’t
what it ought to have been.

My fault, in part.

I should have chosen
a lovely azul blue wool
for the sky.

Instead, I felt compelled
to follow the pattern,
matching Summer
to the completed canvases
of Autumn and Winter.

Duty over joy!

Now, struggling to finish
the last few stitches,
I vow there will be
no Spring!

_{© Joan Currie – My Autumn needlepoint finished into a decorative pillow. The Black background works here.}

_{© Joan Currie – My Winter needlepoint. The black background works here, too. But, I might have chosen navy blue.}

Beautiful Mourning Doves Migration…

20 Sunday Sep 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Art, Birds, Poetry, watercolor

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Mourning Dove, Mourning Dove Migration, Poetry, watercolor

_{© Joan Currie – My watercolor of a mourning dove outside my window.}

Mourning Doves Migration by Joan Currie

Every morning
I hear the persistent cooing
of mourning doves.

They line up on a telephone wire,
like a chorus of maidens
calling to their lovers
who have gone off to war,
fearing they won’t return.

This morning I spied
three doves outside
my kitchen window
and was taken aback
by their heavy bodies,
ferocious eyes and beaks.

Were these the same doves?

Shortly after,
I stood beneath my oak tree,
raking leaves,
when an explosion
of a hundred or so doves
burst from its branches
straight up into the air.

The sharp, metallic clatter
and whirring of wings
seemed almost sinister.
I instinctively ducked.

The flock swept up
my three doves
as it headed south
toward Texas or Mexico.

I hope the maidens
find their mates.

Beautiful Smashing Chestnuts…

04 Friday Sep 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Art, Autumn, Father, Poetry, watercolor

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Chestnuts, Conkers, Fall, Poetry, watercolor

Smashing Chestnuts by Joan Currie

My father loved teaching
us children tricks—
how to

walk the dog with a yo-yo,
split an apple in half
with our bare hands,
carve an Ivory soap bar
into a fish for the bath.

Best of all,
how to make
horse chestnut conkers
ready for battle.

In the fall,
we walked through the park
to a grove of chestnut trees

and gathered up their mast–
shiny burnt-sienna nuggets
spilled from
green, spiked husks.

We filled our pockets
with the biggest ones.

At his workbench,
Father drilled a hole in each.
We scouted around for
old shoelaces
and threaded them through.

Our driveway was our playing field.
Father taught us
the art of flicking the wrist,
the arc of attack.

We took turns
trying to smash
each other’s conkers
with strategic blows.

Yesterday, I came across
horse chestnuts in my park.

I think I’ll make
some conkers again.

Father would get
a kick out of that.

P.S. An episode of Escape to the Chateau, Autumn, on YouTube shows conkers at 0.23 into the video.

Beautiful Letting Go…

27 Thursday Aug 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Father, Reflections, Relationships, Winter

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Decluttering, Hockey, Hockey skates, Letting Go, Poetry, Skates, Skating, Winter sports

Letting Go by Joan Currie

I came across
my late husband’s
hockey skates

in a box with several pucks
and his leather gloves.

I had kept them
for more than twenty years–
remnants of a sport he loved.

I asked my daughters
if they remembered
skating with him.

“No, but we must have.”

We searched the photo albums
for evidence.
Nothing.

Worse, I had no memory
of skating with him either.

Surely, I must have.

I remember watching him
at hockey practice
at university,

but I wanted a memory
of the two of us
skating hand in hand
on a crisp winter night.

There wasn’t one.

So we let the box go–

the skates,
the pucks,
the leather gloves–

and kept
the memories of him
that were ours.

Beautiful Summer’s Over…

18 Tuesday Aug 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Autumn, Poetry, Reflections

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Autumn, Fall, Poetry, Reflections, Signs of Fall, Summer's Over

_{© Joan Currie – White linen drying on the line.}

Summer’s Over by Joan Currie

I knew summer was over
well before the usual
signs appeared:

maple keys settling
on my patio stones,
squirrels digging holes
for forthcoming acorns,
school supplies
flooding box stores.

The sheets on the line—
still damp by mid-afternoon,
not the iron-pressed heat
I’d held against my face
only a day before.

Many of the things
I had hoped would happen, did,
but not in the way
I had planned.

Still, I want

more!

So much more!

I heave a little
self-indulgent sigh,
and look forward to
what the fall
has to offer.

Beautiful Going With the Flow…

05 Wednesday Aug 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Art, Birds, Painting, Poetry, Relationships

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Duck, Family, Painting, Poetry, Summer, watercolor

_{© Joan Currie – My duck watercolor/gouache painting.}

Going With the Flow by Joan Currie

I spent most of this summer
visiting my family.
My favorite place to be.

To be part of this tribe,
I have to abandon
my carefully curated diet,
exercise routine,
and sleep schedule

for

s’mores at bonfires on the beach,
slushies at action-adventure movies,
peanut butter and jam picnic
sandwiches,

sleeping in tents beneath the stars,
splash pads,
paddle boarding on the Sound.

No contest.

I know
these summers
may not come again.

Despite my longing
for control,
routine,
consistency,

when the call for a new
adventure comes,

I look into the eyes
of my marvelous family

and say,

Let’s go!

Beautiful My Mother’s Afternoon Tea…

22 Wednesday Jul 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Baking, Daily Life, Food, Poetry, Reflections, Teacup

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Afternoon tea, English china teacups, Mother, Poetry, Teacup

_{© Joan Currie – Some of my mother’s teacups.}

My Mother’s Afternoon Tea by Joan Currie

My mother served
afternoon tea
at four o’clock
every afternoon
of her life.

When I was growing up,
one neighbor or another
would show up
for some orange pekoe tea,
poured into fine English teacups.

But mostly
they came for her baking:

lemon tarts, raspberry Danish,
sherry cake, and
chocolate fudge brownies.

They never seemed shy
about taking
a second helping,
or a third,

rarely leaving enough
for our family.

When I was older,
I asked my mother
why she was never invited
to tea
at their homes.

She smiled.

“There are two kinds of people
in this world:

givers
and takers.

I want to be
a giver.”

Beautiful Girl With a Rabbit…

14 Tuesday Jul 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Animals, Art, Depression, Mother, Painting, Poetry

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Tags

Art, Durer, Mother, Poetry, van Aelst

_{© Joan Currie – My painting of my mother with a rabbit in her lap.} _Acrylic.

Girl With a Rabbit by Joan Currie

When my mother
was a child,
she sat for an artist
with a rabbit on her lap.

The pose was very formal–
the rabbit, Düreresque;
the roses beside her,
worthy of van Aelst.

When she saw the finished portrait,
she begged her parents to buy it.

The Depression allowed
no such extravagance,
nor the Church
such vanity.

The painting was forgotten

until my mother nearing
her ninetieth birthday,
asked me to find it.

It was all she wanted.

Alas, art dealers
and auction catalogues
yielded nothing.

I could not grant
her last wish.

Years after she was gone,

I painted

a girl with a rabbit.

She looks like my mother.

I hope she can see it.

Beautiful Eau Sauvage…

08 Wednesday Jul 2026

Posted by Satin & Sand in Aging, beautiful, Father, Poetry, Reflections

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Christian Dior fragrance, Eau Sauvage, Hospice, Poetry

_{© Joan Currie – My father’s aftershave}

Eau Sauvage by Joan Currie

On a trip to Paris,
after a college year abroad,
I bought my father
a bottle of
Eau Sauvage aftershave.

I don’t know why.
Perhaps I was seduced by the
elegant Christian Dior
fragrance counter.
Or was it a friend’s urging?

He wasn’t a man
who wore cologne.

But after receiving that gift,
he wore its fresh lemon scent
for the rest of his life.

Even in hospice,
after my brother handed me
my father’s shaving kit,
a daily ritual
became a final sacrament.

I drew the razor
across his three-day stubble.

He always said
I had healing hands.

I ran tepid water
into a stainless steel bowl,
rinsed his face clean,
and dried it gently
with his well-worn terry-cloth towel.

The final act
was pouring a few drops
of Eau Sauvage
into my palms

and patting his smooth cheeks
just as he had done
a thousand times before.

I felt he knew
I was there,

in communion with him

one last time.

Amen.