Road Trip…

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© Joan Currie

On the road again,
Just can’t wait to get on the road again…
Willie Nelson (song)

Today I set out for Southern California from San Francisco armed with maps, compilation CDs (Howlin’ Wolf  – Built for Comfort, Stevie Ray Vaughan – The Sky is Crying, and Johnny Cash – Walk the Line), and a cooler packed with fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and lemonade.

The photograph of the biomorphic undulations near Bakersfield is reminiscent of Gottardo Piazzoni and Arthur Mathews’ landscape paintings. The other images were shot at Pyramid Lake where I would have liked to water-ski!

Bittersweet: Love Letters…

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© Marc Virata

How hard would it have been to say some kinder words instead… Patty Griffin

Every now and then when I find myself alone on a Sunday afternoon I settle into my favorite wingback chair and place a jewel-encrusted box in my lap. In a ritualistic fashion, I reach inside and withdraw a bundle of letters held fast by a pale pink satin ribbon, untie it carefully and gently press open the pages of the first read.

Some of the letters are penned on elegant gold-edged stationary while others are on thin blue airmail sheets. They are manifestations of a sweet, naïve young love. Within the pages are poems of shameless yearning, devotion and imaginings of a world where all things seemed possible.

My fingers trace the tender words whose power has not paled over the years on reading after reading, rather they pull at my heartstrings more now than on first consideration. I truly appreciate the sentiments, knowing how rare and lovely a feeling it is to feel valued, prized – even worshipped.

I wonder how different my life today would have been if the spell of a particular suitor had not been broken. But broken it was and it is a pity that the lovely words memorialized here had been confined to these pages alone.

© Joan Currie – My Love Letters

Model – Lauren DiMarco

Handmade Gifts…

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© Joan Currie - Necklace by Lauren Currie

The only gift is a portion of thyself. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Knowing that I appreciate handcrafted gifts, my daughters love to make me jewelry and ceramics for special occasions. The very first offering from my eldest was a necklace fashioned from plaster of Paris cylinders painted red, blue and yellow and strung on a red shoelace. The necklace still graces my bureau and every time I look at it, I am transported back to that tender time.

Over the years, all my daughters have created unique presents for me. The jewelry has evolved in both materials and design from simple single strand beaded bracelets and necklaces to more complex ones with silver wraps and Murano beads or pearls and organza ribbons.

The first ceramic and pottery gifts were primitive tangerine pots and sky blue vases, but they, too, became more interesting featuring multiple colors, textures and new patterns. I continue to wear and use their gifts because they are beautiful, but also to show how much I value them and honor the artistic effort that went into their creation.

I am particularly delighted when the creations serve as touchstones for my daughters’ childhood memories. We have wonderful conversations about how their interests and preferences have stayed the same or changed over the years. They are astonished when they find clues in their early art that inform who they are today.

© Joan Currie - Plate by Caren Currie

A New Landscape…

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© Joan Currie

Now I really feel the landscape, I can be bold and include every tone of blue and pink: it’s enchanting, it’s delicious. Claude Monet

I recently attended the Birth of Impressionism exhibit at the de Young museum in San Francisco. Of all the works on display I found myself first drawn to Snow at Louveciennes by Alfred Sisley, one of the fifty snow-themed paintings that he completed during his lifetime. Because of my northern sensibility, in part from being raised in Canada, I favor winter landscapes with a limited color palette.

Alfred Sisley

My home decorating choices reflect my love of blues and whites with a touch of chamois. These colors, throughout my adult life, have made me feel as if I were in a cool, calming sanctuary, thus helping to form an atmosphere where my creativity could flourish.

Lately, however, I have wanted to shake things up a bit – make a few changes. As an experiment, I started injecting some new colors into my own landscape. I added sofa pillows, blankets, floral arrangements, and candles in richer more sumptuous colors: royal purple, fuchsia, chartreuse, and gold. With these little additions not only has there been a change in the mood of my living space, but there has been a change in my outlook as well.

Suddenly, I feel like having a dinner party, dancing the samba, and singing Brazilian love songs! I am composing poems in turquoise ink, painting my nails mauve, wearing new earrings, and embracing life in a whole new bold way.

It took such a small effort to begin tripping the light fantastic! Imagine the possibilities if I were to paint a dining room or bedroom wall a Corvette red…Watch out, the day is still young!

Torschlusspanik…

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© Joan Currie

The hourglass is almost empty.
L. Frank Baum – The Wizard of Oz

The literal translation of the German word torschlusspanik is door-shut panic. It is an anxiety that time will run out before we can achieve our life goals. The word was first used in reference to young women who were nearing an age where they were no longer considered marriageable and then, more recently, to women whose biological clocks were winding down.

I associate torschlusspanik with a middle aged angst and aging in general. In my view, time is not the Wicked Witch of the West with hourglass in hand and we are not the terrified Dorothy Gale, rather I envision the word written on a neon Post-it note from the universe reminding us that there is still time to realize our dreams.

It is true that what was once a life of limitless opportunities and horizons has become, for many, a life in which many doors have been tightly shut. Bucket list items such as trekking deep into darkest Africa, skydiving,  and earning a Ph.D. in the Icelandic language may no longer be realistic for many reasons. However, there is no need to panic as the door is still wide, wide open to many possibilities.

There are countless other wonderful activities that we might chose to make the most of our remaining years that do not require us to be alone, spend inordinate amounts of time and money, travel or even to be in perfect health. The point is, torschlusspanik can keep us fully engaged in our lives – lives filled with beauty, passion, pleasure, curiosity, and gratitude for all that is still available to us.

I remember what my father said when he was about my age now, “I’ve had a great life. If I were to die tomorrow, I would have no regrets. It’s just icing on the cake from here on out.”

Time for Tea…

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© Joan Currie

Would you like a little more tea?
Lewis Carroll – Alice in Wonderland

My best elementary school memories in Canada are associated with the daily communal singing of “God Save the Queen” to a picture of Her Majesty wearing a lovely diamond tiara and ermine stole, and having tea with my mother – a reward for a scholar’s toils well done. After mother inspected my penmanship, arithmetic, and spelling papers, we would move into the living room and the ritual of taking tea would begin.

Unlike today, where people pop in and out of coffee shops whenever they feel inclined, having tea at four o’clock required a certain restraint. It was a demonstration of good breeding to reign in one’s desire and wait until the appointed hour. If anyone wished to call on my mother, it would be at tea time.

Visitors would be offered a cozy chesterfield or armchair in which to sit and could look forward to an hour of bliss – excellent conversation, orange pekoe tea served in English bone china cups with pink cabbage roses and plates laden with scones and clotted cream, crumpets and maple syrup, or thumbprint cookies and strawberry jam. It was a gentle, genteel, and feminine ritual of hearth and home. This activity punctuated the day with pleasantry, allowed for pause and reflection, and taught a young schoolgirl about one of the niceties of life.

Nothing Ventured…

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© Joan Currie

And the trouble is, if you don’t risk anything, you risk even more. – Erica Jong

There is a crosswalk on a busy street near my Post Office. When I need to cross the street to reach the bank there is no alternative but to use this crosswalk. Cars and trucks barrel by at alarming speeds and do not stop for pedestrians.

Not long ago when I was waiting at the crosswalk with crutches and in a leg cast following an injury, a police officer approached to explain that cars do not have to yield to pedestrians standing on the curb. Rather, the law requires them to stop only after the pedestrian has stepped off the curb and begun to cross the street – entered into the stream of traffic as it were. From a risk management perspective, does the cost – the potential loss of life and limb outweigh the benefit of going to the bank? I still crossed the street.

There are many cost-benefit situations in life that aren’t so obvious. What is a reasonably risk-averse person to do in those situations? The answer is simple. We have no choice but to proceed. We may do it with caution, but still we have to do it. When we throw ourselves out into the road of life, there are perils – we gamble and sometimes we win and sometimes we lose.

Despite our hopes, dreams, and expectations that might be for naught, we still must proceed. The beauty of it is that when we do proceed we are open to all sorts of new experiences and landscapes.

A Beautiful New Day…

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© Joan Currie

Tomorrow is fresh, with no mistakes in it.
L.M. Montgomery – Anne of Green Gables

I love to walk early in the morning, mostly because as I circle round the neighborhood, uninterrupted by sidewalk traffic, I set my intentions for the day. With foolish optimism, I envision all the incredible tasks that I plan to complete by nightfall and the cosmic gold stars I will receive for doing so. These fancies are as fleeting as the clouds pictured above and, by the time I am within a block of home, I have already given up on them.

Goldfish…

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© Joan Currie

I think there’s something great and generic about goldfish. They’re everybody’s first pet. – Paul Rudd

My youngest daughter bought a feeder fish from Walmart over three years ago. Pepper was named after her childhood pet that had the misfortune of being cannibalized by a larger tank mate. This Pepper has turned out to be a particularly hardy fish. He survived a journey to San Diego from the Bay Area sloshing about in five ounces of water in a Starbucks coffee cup, nine days without food when my daughter was evacuated from the city due to raging wildfires, and a multitude of odd-sized bowls and aquatic environments. He is now over three inches in length and happily swims (backwards mostly) in a large aquarium surrounded by lovely rainbow ornaments.

I’m still baffled that some feeder fish are so fragile that they die within minutes of leaving the pet store and others, like Pepper, thrive for years despite one insult after the other.

Garden of Delights…

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© Joan Currie

All gardeners live in beautiful places because they make them so.
Joseph Joubert

My father’s garden is a lovely mix of annual and perennial flowers. I have always favored perennials mostly because of the way they change the look of the garden season by season: the clusters of white snowdrops, yellow daffodils and red tulips in the spring; the purple irises, lavender, and Johnson’s Blue geraniums in early summer; the pink tea roses and peonies in middle summer; and golden Black-eyed Susans by late summer. I like the constancy of the plants blooming year after year at the same time, in the same way when everything else in my environment is changing so rapidly.