A New Sport

When I left art class about noon, it was downright hot outside. Beach weather! After taking care of my duties, it was two before I got to the always beautiful South End. The tide was low making the moss covered jetty visible down to the rocks in the deeper water. Seagulls and pelicans gracefully swept the blue sky. And there is always something interesting happening in that beautiful place. Today a group of six men in black wetsuits were in various stages of getting their kiteboards up in the air or sailing them along the water. I had wondered what the correct term was so I asked the guy who was pumping his up. He said it is a kite but also sort of like a parachute.
From the looks of the equipment, there was a "real" photographer there, too. Maybe he got a better shot of this kitesurfer getting an aerial lift. Or is it Spiderman?

And another shot.

Book Club

When I moved here, my aunt Margaret asked if I would like to join her book club. I was flattered and of course said I would love  to. It is the oldest book club in Wilmington, she told me, and as a member I would have certain expectations. Barring death or other calamities, I am expected to attend all meetings. I must have it at my house once a year, and on the day that I am hostess I am to give a book report. Along with other protocol, that is the way it is done. I have been flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants for the past oh so many years, but since my life has slowed down, I figured I could handle it. Today was my turn, the (underlined, red letter) day to have the ladies over. I had worked at almost perfecting a Black Forest(ish) cake and made the final version yesterday. I studied Van Gogh: The Life as if I were taking a final exam. I feverishly got the house clean and mess free this morning. Margaret, my co-hostess, arrived with her candy and nuts in good time, and we were ready for the guests when they arrived at 2:30 on the dot. The cutwork tablecloth, the silver service for coffee or tea, and the good china gave a look of class to the dining room table that usually holds whatever I happen to have dropped there from the store or art class. My book report could have been shorter, but for the most part I held the attention of the women with tales of Vincent's life. It was work, but it was good. It reminded me a little of what life used to be like, maybe about the time the Book Club was organized. Here is the cake, not fully unwrapped but still pretty enough.

February 17

Happy Birthday to my son Peter. While we were reminiscing yesterday he asked, "How much did I weigh when I was born?" He knew it was a lot but didn't remember exactly. Peter was a solid ten pounds eleven ounces when he took his first few breaths forty-four years ago today. He was ready to come into the world, and the delivery was a decent one. In the nursery as friends and family were gathered around the window gawking at all the newborns during viewing time, some would point to my baby and say, "Look at that one!" Swaddled in the little blanket with only his head showing, he did look twice as big as any of the others. I was so proud to have given birth to the manliest - and most beautiful - baby in the nursery.

two weeks later

The second really bad winter storm of the year came by Wilmington on its path north. We didn't get snow like much of the Carolinas did, but the steady hard rain created too much ice for some trees and power lines to bear, and many places are still without electricity. My house fared pretty well. No outages and only one fallen branch that did happen to knock some siding off the back of the house. But I know that when February comes, spring is not far away.

I still have to pinch myself (figuratively) sometimes that I am here. The whole lengthy transition was such an ordeal, and one never really knows how change will work out. In this case, it worked out just fine. I am thankful daily.

Life is in the head. It is what we think and believe it is. Therefore I have been making some deliberate changes in my head. I am putting the past in its proper place, mostly behind me, and am thinking toward the future. One step I have taken is renting an art studio. Wilmington is an arty place. I see the awesome trees here, the water, sky, and big sun, and I think Mother Nature lavished the city with beauty from the beginning. Now creative folks in all disciplines are attracted to it, filling it with man made lovely things.

My as yet unfinished studio space is in an old factory across from Greenfield Lake. A man named Jim bought it for another purpose several years ago, but now has a new vision for it. He wants it to house an art community, and he's off to a good start with the gifted and hard working artists who have already set up shop. He didn't seem to be concerned that I had no idea what I will be doing in my studio. "I will find something," I told him. I thanked him for making my dream come true. I have always dreamed of having an art studio.

Won't that be fun!