Tag Archive | perspective

Joy Anyway

Jul21

I’m grateful for ripe tomatoes (not grown here) and Olathe Sweet sweet corn, salt, pepper, mayonnaise, and homemade bread.

I’m grateful for a couple of days of reprieve from the smoke, and that the teams have most of the fires somewhat contained, and that they have stayed safe. Despite the heat, I’ve been able to get some work done in the garden mornings and evenings, including covering the remaining cabbages with screen cubes, and thinning carrots which grew even though their tops got munched.

I’m grateful it was cool and clear enough on Friday to leave the house open overnight, which made it cool enough inside on Saturday to cook. I threw together a potato-pepper-onion-garlic-cabbage-corn-black bean fry with Penzeys Arizona seasoning to use in burritos for the next few days, and dug out a specialty tool I bought last summer to slice the corn off the cob. My first time using it lacked precision but was effective.

It was cool enough to make a batch of apricot jam, but still too hot to process it, so I gave away a few jars and froze a few. I’m grateful to have learned that apricot jam freezes well.

Wren’s been a bit put out that she hasn’t shown up here for awhile, so she took a break from frog hunting to pose nicely this morning. So did a big frog, right by my feet, but then she sensed Wren coming!

It was hot early again today, so when the sweetest neighbor stopped by on her walk to pick up her jam, I invited her to cool off under the sprinkler. Then I went inside for breakfast, two little waffles with the last of the sweet cherries I picked up on Thursday, some yogurt, and of course, real maple syrup.

I’m grateful there have only been a couple of bird strikes against the windows this summer. But today the total doubled with two in a matter of hours. They both hit the south windows, despite the fluttering prayer flags. The first was a young female Bullock’s oriole, whom I set in the shady apricot tree; the second, a young house finch who might have been drunk on apricot mash. I put her in the juniper near the feeder where they all hang out. I’m grateful that both birds recovered.

I don’t live an exciting life. It’s not like I’m wallowing in active joy all day every day: far from it. I spent most of today inside, too hot to do much of anything besides read, meditate, and clean the kitchen. But I do cultivate contentment by practicing gratitude every day. I’m aware of horrors happening the world over: there are at least 35 wars going on which are devastating people, cultures, and the environment. The US government has lost its moral compass and spun off in an inconceivable direction. The planet is burning, flooding, quaking, drying, crying, aching from our species’ misuse of it.

And still life goes on. Everywhere, all the time, life is hatching and dying, growing, playing, eating, aging, changing. I’m aware of this, also, and of my good fortune to live this simple life, this rare and precious human life, immersed in nature. Sometimes it’s pretty hard. It’s been a rough ten days with the heat and the smoke, and the mental poisons that still trouble me despite mindfulness practice. In the midst of all that is naturally tedious or trying in this human life, almost every day I experience moments of joy. Maybe not many, and most of them small, but by remaining receptive and aware, I find them everywhere.

Though the reason for it is harsh, the smoky sunset light is lovely. On our stroll the rescue horses next door thundered up to the fence to greet us. After a mutually curious visit, they moved on and left us in pensive, contented silence, grateful for a weekend enriched by many bright and colorful moments of joy anyway.

Patience and Compassion

Jul15
Before sunrise the smoke stayed low and south.

“Indeed, I see heartbreak as the most proportional response to the state of the world – to say I love you is to say my heart breaks for you, and this sentiment resonates within all things, bringing a clarity to both the world before us and the world beyond the veil. Sorrow becomes a way of life, part laughter, part tears, with very little space between. It is a way of conducting oneself in the world, of loving it, of worshipping it.”

Nick Cave, Red Hand Files #331

But by the time I wrestled myself out of bed it had begun to disperse northward.

I’m ever more grateful for connecting with Ted Leach, and for his eminently readable daily blog. Today he shared a link to this essay, You Can’t Love Jesus and Hate Immigrants, which sprung the first tears of the day just after noon.

More tears bubbled up reading a story on Daily Good about a woman rescuing cats from flood debris along the Guadalupe River. I chose to spend some work time reading about humans doing wonderful things, and weeping with awe.

A friend texted midafternoon from northwest across the valley to see if I was ok, because from his perspective it looked like Crawford was enveloped in heavy smoke. I drove up to get the mail to get a wider view myself, just to be sure, and sent him a picture looking north toward his mesa. It’s deceptive when you’re inside the smoke cloud looking out. Perspective is everything.

I harvested the last of the Katarina F1 cabbages when I watered this morning. Looking them up online I see that mine are just about perfect: they’re billed as “impeccably uniform, light green, 4 inch globes on compact plants” that mature in 45 days. I’m grateful I’ll know how to grow them next year, and how to thwart the grasshoppers.

Aside from stepping out a couple times to water plants and shake off demon grasshoppers I spent the day inside, still not getting things done. When I went out in the morning I wore a wet mask, and later in the day the oxygen as well. For lunch I enjoyed a sandwich with the last of the chicken half I didn’t freeze, smoked Gouda, Drunken Woman looseleaf lettuce from the garden, and coleslaw from the first of five perfect little cabbages; while reading Dottie, a novel by 2021 Nobel Laureate Abdulrazak Gurnah.

Zen wisdom: “When you’re eating, know that you’re eating. When you’re reading, know that you are reading. When you’re eating and reading, know that you are eating and reading.”
“I have just three things to teach: simplicity, patience, compassion. These three are your greatest treasures.” Lao Tzu

Today’s daily guidance from the Mindful Life Community really spoke to me. This smoke roulette could go on all summer. Keeping patience and compassion alive is essential to a healthy perspective. It’s hard enough living with a biblical insect plague and apocalyptic wildfires. It could be so much worse: I could be an immigrant, or a pregnant teen in Texas, or a trans child almost anywhere in the country. May we all grow in compassion for ourselves, for each other, and for our precious planet.

A red ball sun well before sunset.

Evolution of a Rainbow

Jul13

It takes so little to excite me. When I saw apricots glowing in the lowering sun against the grey storm sky I dashed outside. Then it just kept getting better. Fortunately, the smoke wasn’t bad here today and the fire didn’t expand too much. I was grateful that the air was clear enough to spend sunset outside.

It was time for supper but it was too nice to go inside. Refreshed by a cool breeze and a smattering of raindrops, undaunted by the mellow distant thunder and feeble cloud to cloud lightning, I went up on the deck to enjoy the kaleidoscope.

Hungry, I almost came in, but saw a rainbow beginning to the south. A few minutes later a hint of color appeared in front of Saddle Mountain. So I waited.

Minute by minute the rainbow grew, intensified, first at one end then the other. A hint of double appeared first in the east and then in the south, and then nearly met in the middle. It went on and on. I was breathing colors.

Even in the last light, a hint of rainbow remained. And then I turned around.

Another Day Alive

Jul12

The Fire Moon, or as some would call it, the Buck Moon, full on Thursday night through the smoke haze.

I’ve got onions protected from grasshoppers in two net cubes, and this morning while it was still cool, I wore a wet cloth mask outside to remove the cube, thin the onions, and replace the cube.

Later I trimmed the onions and divided them into proto-bulbs to use instead of leeks in some vichyssoise, coarsely chopped greens to make into pesto, and finely chopped greens for garnishes and salads this week.

I grated one of the two little cabbages I’ve harvested, and some store bought carrots, to make coleslaw and put some in a sandwich with leftover roasted chicken.

The air by then was clear enough to eat lunch outside, though I could see smoke billowing from the South Rim fire beyond the apricot tree. Black Canyon of the Gunnison National Park Facebook page shared several photos of the fire, and reassured people that the Visitor Center had not burned, and also that the fire had not jumped the canyon: they’d gotten a lot of calls from people on the north side worried about the thick smoke. Here are two of those images from the park’s page.

It’s startling to see that it’s spotting down into the canyon. It would take some precision water drops to put out those fire spots. It could easily spark from there to the other side with a few exploding embers. I started packing pet supplies into go-bags this evening just in case.

The smoke continued blowing due east rather than northeast, so by evening the air quality here had improved from 150 to 50. We were able to visit the tadpoles and spiders at the pond for awhile, and leave the doors open until bedtime to get a cooling breeze through the house.

For dinner, I used up some frozen corn that was open making this cheesy grits dish, sautéing a few of the onions in butter, adding the corn, then two cups milk and two cups water, and when it boiled stirring in slowly a cup of grits. When that had cooked into a creamy porridge, I added more butter, grated cheddar and parmesan and topped with a dash of homegrown paprika and chopped onion tops.

After supper, we drove up to get the mail, and a better view of the sky. Above, the South Rim smoke cloud settled over the West Elks, while below, the Sowbelly haze colored sunset, resulting in gorgeous clouds overhead. It was just another full day alive, for which I’m profoundly grateful.

No Buy New Year

Jan3

No Buy New Year got off to a rough start: I spent $500 at the vet yesterday. But that’s ok, veterinary and human health care is exempt, and so are absolute necessities. The goal of No Buy New Year is not deprivation, but it is a type of renunciation.

Now that I have this fine, manual bread (and other foods) slicer (bought in December), I can finally be happy!

Like many Americans, I have more stuff than I need. I’m getting older, death is certain, time of death uncertain, and I’ve been trying to pare nonessentials from all facets of my life for years with limited success. Why is it so hard to winnow things? Because our American culture (now, tragically exported to most of the world) insists that we need more things, and that having more things will make us happier.

Beautiful uniform slices without the effort or the danger of a dulling bread knife.

I know for certain that this is not true, after five years of dedicated mindfulness practice. If you want to know how you can also know this for certain, you’ll need to take the Mindfulness Foundations Course I teach online. It is so much more than can be summarized in a few paragraphs: but trust me, getting and having more things will not make you happier. Some things have uses, some carry important meaning, and many are not “just things”; but some of the things I have I don’t even remember where they are, and when I run across one I may not even be able to recall why I bought it.

This happened awhile ago with a kitchen tool. I couldn’t figure out what it was for, so I passed it on to another kitcheny friend, assuming she’d make some use of it. Only when I bought a new iteration of a corn cutter did I realize that was the purpose of the tool I had given away. I don’t cut that much corn off the cob, but on the rare occasions I do, I prefer to have the right tool for the job. This new one looks like it will be easier to use, but maybe I should label it anyway, summer corn is a long way off.

Listening to this marvelous podcast with Noelle Oxenhandler on the drive home from the vet added yet another layer of meaning to No Buy New Year. Partly, I just want a more streamlined space to dwell in, but I also want less to clean, less to care for, less to care about. So I’m trying to thin my things, and at the same time let go of attachments. Noelle’s interview gives some insight into the cultural conundrum of continually buying more things while at the same time contending with clutter. You don’t have to believe that everything is Buddha, but her discussion around the true nature of things might help me let go of more of them.

I will, of course, still be buying flour.

Here are my No Buy New Year Rules:

1. Keep a box for things to take to the thrift store, and put something in it every day: clothing, kitchen tools, pantry items I’ll never eat or use, knickknacks frippery and ornaments I can bring myself to part with, anything I can let go of.

2. Letting go also includes cleaning out the three spice locations (turntable, rack, and drawer) and composting everything I haven’t used in two years; same rule applies to the pantry. I’ll check the freezer first before I make a grocery list, and buy groceries only twice a month, making sure to use up or compost as much as possible before buying more groceries.

Tonight’s zoom cooking with Amy is a great example of this strategy: instead of buying new onions or tomatoes, I dug through the freezer to find a bag of frozen roasted homegrown tomatoes and some of last year’s onions, and some pesto. We threw together a simple and delicious puréed tomato soup with white beans.

There was also puff pastry in the freezer, cheese in the fridge, and spices on the shelf. We each created our own version of a pull-apart flower. Mine was filled with pesto, cheddar, and Parmesan cheese, and brushed with egg white which I had in the fridge leftover from a custard I made the other day.

A simple supper with ingredients on hand that will provide several more meals.

3. No new clothes. I have enough clothes. I buy more because I covet a certain color or texture of sweater or pants, or style of shirt. I have enough clothes, enough hats, jackets, coats, gloves. Other people don’t. I have too many clothes. Unless an essential clothing item becomes unwearable from age I won’t replace it; and no succumbing to tactile temptations.

4. No new tools. I have enough tools. Any kitchen, household, or garden tool I ever imagined a use for, I have already. If a new use arises, I will make do with an inventive application of tools I already own.

Full disclosure, I did prepare in advance for No Buy New Year. I bought a couple of high-value items after the election. I don’t think the president-elect will be able to enact all his nefarious plans that will bolster the billionaires and create suffering for the rest of us, but I do think he’ll succeed with some of them. I certainly don’t expect the price of imports (or groceries, or gas, or taxes, or anything else) to go down in the coming year, and I personally prefer not to support whatever economic agenda comes out of the incoming regime.

I think that about covers it. At the moment, I can’t think of anything else I’d be liable to buy this year — oh wait! Plants! Seeds! But I firmly believe that I either have all the seeds and stock of plants to propagate any more plants I could desire or need, or I’ll be able to trade for them. So, I’m ready for No Buy New Year. Wish me luck!

A laugh for the day: the doe is fascinated by Wren pooping. Wren is wearing the donut of comfort to help her recover from an infected scratch.

Perspective

Nov23
Wren enjoys an eagle-eye perspective of the canyon.

Little Wren has been so patient, for so many months. She hasn’t enjoyed a proper long walk for at least three months, and barely any for many moons before that. I’m grateful to Ellie for accompanying me to the canyon rim yesterday for the first time since before surgery. Winter weather is coming again next week, and who knows what will happen after that; I certainly don’t. So I wanted to be sure and visit our little canyon before deep snows might limit our walks. Our jaunt yesterday went so well that Wren and I went back alone this afternoon. I felt so strong that we did the medium loop, but on our way back south along the rim I kind of wished I hadn’t been so ambitious. No matter. I rested. She ran around. We made it home safely just after sunset.

Our sun just one of multitudes…

I’ve been playing around with my new phone after dark, keeping things in perspective, ever since Dawn shared a photo she got with her iPhone of the Aurora Borealis some weeks ago. I missed that event, but the stars the past few nights have been incredible. Orion has always been my favorite constellation, maybe because I learned it first at a very young age, so I have been trying to capture him and his faithful dogstar Sirius. the past couple of nights Sirius wasn’t up yet when I played, but Orion was (above: near center, below: lower half), and the Pleiades (below: top center).

Looking at the stars and remembering my place, our place, in the cosmos, has long been a comfort to me. Knowing that some of the ‘stars’ are actually multiples of stars, or nebulae, or galaxies filled with multitudes more stars, helps me keep things in perspective. On the one hand, my little life is utterly insignificant, and even this whole planet is no big deal in the universe. On the other hand, as far as we know, for certain, Life is only on Earth. We don’t know that there aren’t other planets alive with biodiversity; we simply don’t know that there are. We could be on track as a single species to eradicate ourselves and decimate the miracle of life on earth, and in so doing, destroy most of the life in the entire universe. Who knows? So, looking up into the vast space of night helps me remember to savor all life, as well as my own life, but also not to take myself too seriously.

I’m grateful there are people in my orbit with far better cameras than mine who know far more about the universe, and sometimes share their pictures with us, including R. Hubbell, who has taken to offering a Daily Dose of Perspective in his newsletter on Substack. His image above is a gazillion times zoomed in on the middle ‘star’ in Orion’s sword; the one in my photos that looks a little bigger and more blurred than the rest of Orion’s stars. Now that’s perspective! And perspective can help those of us fortunate enough to have the luxury of it, to navigate the next couple of years in this country. Death is certain, time of death uncertain. Breathe. Love who and what you love. Help wherever you can, however you can. Savor each precious day you wake up alive. Practice gratitude.

Another great perspective provider is living with a cat. Dear Topaz, sitting sweetly on my lap one minute, slicing my hand with her claw the next. In ancient Egypt cats were worshipped as gods — and cats have never forgotten this.

How Many Frogs?

Aug17
Almost finished!

Wren and I have had so much fun the past couple of days. Yesterday the end was in sight. This morning I almost finished cutting back the rushes, but left a little more in the middle clump than I intended, because everywhere I turned there was another frog.

After the morning’s work was done, I rested with the frogs and watched dragonflies zip around hunting and mating.

I’ve ordered a net to skim the surface and a special shovel to scoop the sludge from the bottom. We’ve got just under a month to get the pond shipshape, including rerouting drainage and shoring up a soggy corner, and then everything will be ready to rest through winter and keep up maintenance starting in spring. I’m so grateful I finally tackled this massive project, and am having so much fun doing it. All it took was a simple shift in perspective, from “too much” to “why not?”

Find this frog in the video below, and enjoy…

23,795 Days

Mar10

I’ve so much to be grateful for. These little irises going strong through snow and cold and sun all week exemplify the fragility, beauty, and resilience of life. They show up day after day, year after year, just like the rest of us. Even as their blooms fade and their leaves grow tall, then brown and die back, their little bulb hearts keep beating underground all year, even when they lie dormant through winter.

After sharing the dramatic photo of tumbleweeds in Utah over last weekend, I noticed the new weedpile stacked up in the corner fence of the neighbors’ field along my driveway. Mostly weedy tall mustards, but that darker spiny blob toward the west is a tumbleweed… and there are several more along the fenceline. I can only be grateful there are not more, and then turn my attention to find gratitude elsewhere.

Like in this perfect loaf of sandwich bread. Because sourdough is a living thing, and bread is an art, I have yet to get utterly consistent results, but I continue to practice. I have to laugh at my attachment to my contentment ritual, which includes a cheese sandwich for lunch while watching one TV show, and then another show or two after the workday is done, with another meal or snack. So when I don’t have bread I can get a little flustered about what to make for lunch. When I don’t have TV, well, that was a new challenge last week. It worked out pretty well, as I had to focus on a project early in the week and spent the evenings on the computer. But the second day of no TV, the first day of new bread, I broke the mold and made a sandwich for dinner and streamed RuPaul’s Drag Race España All-Stars episode 5 so I didn’t get behind. I’m grateful for ample technological options in this first-world entertainment emergency.

I’m grateful always for drag queens, and to RuPaul who has brought this art form into the mainstream, introducing many of us who were raised in rigid, self-righteous, judgmental, narrow-minded and bigoted families and subcultures to the expansive, fabulous creativity, humor and diversity of the drag world. Any given week, I enjoy watching whatever current English-language Drag Race season is airing, and usually an episode from one of the many international franchises available. Once I finish España All-Stars I’ll start Drag Race Belgique Season Two.

Tonight I enjoyed the latest episode of the current season of the original Drag Race, an episode whose time has come. At last the drag queens are stepping up their political presence! In this episode (S16E10, available on MTV or for purchase on Prime), their main challenge was to write verses for and perform this song encouraging gay people and those who love gay people, as well as everyone else, to register and vote! It’s no secret that one presidential candidate will continue to advocate for LGBTQ+ people, and the other will persecute them mercilessly, implementing more hateful laws that will cause even more suffering. I repeat, if the sexual orientation of you or someone you love is anything other than straight, YOU BETTAH VOTE! And there’s only one viable candidate:

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen on another night, because I can’t eat a cheese sandwich for dinner every night, I made Tofu Musubi. I mixed Dijon mustard with a little water, and added some spices and baking powder to flour, then dredged the drained tofu slices in those and fried them until crispy. After cutting the Nori wraps to the right size I tried a scrap on Wren, and she loved it.

I was grateful I could text my Portland sister to remind me what I was forgetting in the construction of the delicious snacks and it was the Furikake, which I located in the tertiary spice cabinet. Then I scooped some Hoisin sauce into a little bowl and sat down to enjoy an incredibly messy supper listening to Radio Swiss Jazz. On account of no TV still.

“You BETTAH not try to take my seaweed!”

Days continued to pass, and spring bulbs to open. Spring again. I got to thinking, Realistically, how many more springs might I get to experience here? And the number shocked me. Maybe more than ten, or maybe in the single digits. That got me thinking how many actual days might I have left, which also didn’t seem like many, and that led to wondering how many days I’ve been alive. I am supremely grateful for each of the 27,795 days of this one precious life so far.

Different day, different cheese, different condiments; same perfect bread.

I could start wondering how many cheese sandwiches I’ve eaten in all those days, but I’m not gonna go there. I will say, I’m grateful that they seem to be good for my teeth! Or at least, not doing any damage. I went to a new dentist this week, got a new set of x-rays as those haven’t happened since 2012, and got a kick out of the newfangled full-mouth x-ray, which shows no worrisome abnormalities in my mouth and jaw. Yippee! I’m grateful for a clean bill of dental health. (But yuck, look at all those amalgam fillings from the old days, which are starting to crack some of the molars.)

I’m grateful for another lovely sunset inside the kaleidoscope last night, and for a fun playdate for Wren this afternoon. The new neighborhood puppy has learned some restraint since his first encounter with her, and they had a blast chasing each other around the yard. She showed off all her favorite places, and then she showed off her long jump. We were down by the pond, Deb and I minding our own business, and seconds after she told me “He loves the water,” Oso ran right into the curly rushes edging the pond. Which led to him splashing into the water in the middle and paddling to the near side where we stood. He needed a little lift to get out. As we laughed he shook off and took off again. A few minutes later, Wren ran straight for the pond and leapt, clearing the full width of it. What was she thinking? Was she showing off? Was she teaching him? Was she trying to trick him into the water again? He ran after her, right up to the edge, and stopped; stood there for a few seconds puzzling out how to get to her, then ran around. And off they went again. May I find as much delight and gratitude in each of my remaining days as I have in the past five.

Perspective

Feb11

This wide-angle perspective of Wren shows her complete ownership of me. I love how she seems to experience me as a convenient piece of furniture to give her a higher perspective one moment, and another moment as though I am an extension of her very self, or she of mine.

Wren and I did something today that I haven’t done in a few years: we went to a Super Bowl party. We took a bacon-cheddar-cream cheese dip, topped with avocado and the first two tomatoes of the season! That little vine in a bag that I brought in last fall? Its tomatoes ripened through December, and then it didn’t quit: I gave it one dose of full-spectrum plant food, and a couple weeks later it made a few flowers, and then a few more. I picked the first ripe tomatoes today, and there are half a dozen more green tomatoes on the vine. They’re small, just barely bigger than a cherry tomato, but still! I’m grateful for this pertinacious little plant.

The party was just across the living room in my recliner, and we were the only guests. Topaz stopped by for a few crunchy treats. Our team didn’t win, but we had a good time, and the event gave me plenty to reflect on. I was grateful to swap perspectives with a friend over zoom after a halftime show that NPR called “chaotic.” I’ll say. I couldn’t make a lick of sense out of it after the first few minutes. I kept waiting for Usher to sing a song. But I watched, and I wondered, How is there still racism in this country when so many Americans of all colors and political persuasions celebrate the Super Bowl? It’s not a white sport. At least half its megastars are Black. The halftime show was a celebration of Black artists and cultures. How do some people revere Black football stars or performers, and simultaneously hate their Black neighbors?

The ads, which for some years were actually clever or artistic or surprising, this year struck me as even more materialistic, banal, depressing, and alienating than ever. I don’t even remember seeing a single Clydesdale, but maybe I blinked during that one. I’ve been studying human beings from the moment in college when I learned I could get a diploma in people-watching, and I barely understand them any better than I did when I embarked on my Anthropology degree. What I do understand, though, is that our predominant American culture is tragically alienated from one thing that is essentially real and true, the natural world: soil, water, trees, non-human animals, and the interconnected cycles and systems that regulate this fragile spinning globe we live on. For all we know, “Life is only on Earth… and not for long.” (Justine, in Melancholia.)

On the political front, here’s another hopeful, clarifying, and inspiring perspective, recommended by Jessica Craven, from Mike Lux Media with the headline “The 2024 election will be determined by two things. Neither one is Joe Biden’s age.”

Picasso’s Studio

Dec20
A peaceful morning coffee with potica and Salman Rushdie’s latest novel… Followed by a day with ample free time to finish the puzzle. This was actually yesterday, but nothing wrong with being grateful for yesterday. I’m grateful for today, too.
I worked the floor first, and the rest of the more colorful parts in random segments, which left the hard blue part for the end. I was a little sad to complete it while there was still an hour of jazz on the radio, but resigned myself to moving on to the next thing. Before I did, I decided to slide the puzzle up to the center of the board to get a better picture of it…

My strategy with Picasso’s Studio as I sorted pieces out of the box was to put all the mostly grey pieces in one corner, all the largely white pieces above them, and all the rest above that. I’ve started lining up all the flat edge pieces along the edge of the puzzle table and it’s more efficient than sticking them up in the top right corner as I used to do. I continue to arrange the whimsy pieces along the right side of the table, bottom to top according to genre from geometric to objects to human figures to land animals to flying creatures. And so I began to assemble this one on Sunday morning, and finished it yesterday.

One of the joys of these puzzles is finding the most improbable connections from the most subtle clues, like placing the swirling cloud over the window with just the hint of a brushstroke.
As I attempted to slide the finished puzzle it caught on the felt and buckled… puzzletastrophe!
I was able to salvage most of the assemblage with some gentle shifting. Only two pieces landed on the floor, and it wasn’t too hard to put the puzzle together again. I was grateful to get to spend some more time on it while my friends on KVNF were giving their blues show over to a rare jazz theme, including Vince Guaraldi’s pivotal album ‘A Charlie Brown Christmas.’

And then, about the time the jazz ran out, this gorgeous puzzle from a Damian Elwes painting was finished. Liberty has six artists’ studio puzzles from Elwes, and this is the fifth to join our scattered communal puzzle library after Matisse, Gauguin, Monet, and Frida Kahlo’s. They’re all as scrumptious as this one. I’m grateful to Cindy for breaking the blue barrier and buying it: Sarah and I had qualms about all that blue, but that turned out to be, on my part anyway, an unnecessary bias. This was so lovely to do. The sixth studio puzzle is Basquiat’s, which is brand new and doesn’t appeal to me at the moment. Perhaps my perspective will shift someday about that puzzle also.

Meanwhile, here are some details from Picasso’s Studio, just because they are so delightful, not even considering the whimsy pieces that make them up. You might be able to make out in this image a pair of eyes, one above the easel and one above the white table. This is a hidden layer in the puzzle, a portrait of Picasso himself revealed more clearly on the back side of the puzzle. Another stroke of genius from the Liberty Puzzlemaster.

And finally, as I began to disassemble the puzzle this afternoon, I noticed yet another precious combination of whimsy pieces, which had escaped me as they came together on the board: the guy riding a bike with a cat on the back. I’m grateful for Picasso’s Studio.