Danish artist Anna Ancher, a 19th century painter who painted the every day lives of the people around her.

Despite conventions, she continued to paint even after she married.


spring visit

just a few pics from this last weekend.
a visit from the folks.
and seeing some new things, as well as seeing them new through their eyes.



the blanket weaver, by edward curtis

The Navaho-land blanket looms are in evidence everywhere. In the winter months they are set up in the hogans, but during the summer they are erected outdoors under an improvised shelter, or, as in this case, beneath a tree. The simplicity of the loom and its product are here clearly shown, pictured in the early morning light under a large cottonwood. (Description by Edward Curtis)


casa nueva, en Mayo

future bedroom 

we found a place to move to.
for awhile we've been talking about moving out of Taos, to a house with land & trees & quiet.
and we found one.

a year ago I put my house on 200 Allison on the market so that I could move here.
it was exciting. and sad.

the little adobe we've been living in the past year has been fine. but too small. too old. and too close to so many people.

come May 1, we'll be able to move a little north, just 15 minutes outside of town, to a tiny place named Arroyo Hondo. to a house full of tiled floors, white adobe walls, high ceilings and windows everywhere. and just outside, a acequia runs, making little waterfall sounds.

so once again it is exciting (setting aside all the anxiety I get just from the act of moving...I'm by far better suited to stay in one place for long periods of time--change just upsets the sense of stability I try to create in my world). and this time it is not sad.

we'll be there soon little house in Hondo.


great things list #25

the two of us loading up a truck full of piƱon and then unloading it at the new house.
anticipating the cozy feel of a warm fire keeping our home warm.



Self-Portrait, Mendocino, 1965

Imogen Cunningham was born in Oregon, April 12, in 1883.
She bought her first camera at age 18, and majored in Chemistry after being advised it was the best degree for a future photographer. Her first job in a studio was to assist Edward Curtis. Later, at the invitation of Ansel Adams, she worked as a faculty member at the California School of Arts.

Amaryllis, 1933

Three Vegetables, 1946

Papaver Orientale, 1965

The Unmade Bed, 1957

The first photo of hers I'd ever seen was the Unmade Bed. As a teenager, I bought it as a postcard and kept it on my wall like a piece of art. 


little plant

sometimes I see a little plant that needs some attention ASAP.
and I buy it. even if it is from the grocery store, where it wasn't taken care of.
and was probably headed for the trash.
but this little guy was only $2.50. 

and I gave it a friendly new pot & fresh, good soil. and pulled out some of the dead leaves.

and it sits with above my kitchen sink. and I do occasionally ask it how it is doing.
so far, not great.
but we will keep hoping.




Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours--your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.

Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,

Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,

Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

-excerpt from, On the Pulse of the Morning, by Maya Angelou, 1993

(poet, author, survivor, activist, playwright & teacher, Dr. Maya Angelou was born April 4, 1928)


great things list #24

when the seedlings begin to pop up, a great thing each year.


april spring

book cover, Gwendolyn White, 1936

this morning was my first in feeling like Spring is truly on its way.

though we still get close to freezing at night, I've placed a few plants outside. so they may soak in the much missed sunshine.

and the seeds I started are starting to do things.

on Friday, I drove by a crowd on the lawn of Our Lady of Guadalupe (which is down the street from where I live). people dressed in dark respect, with heads down, praying. a few men holding a cross with the body of crucifixion. There, on that street, at la iglesia de Nuestra Senora de Guadalupe, a crowd has gathered to honor the days of Easter for 200 years.

it is the ceremony that catches me. that it is a time for people to come together. and the older I get, or maybe the further from home I am, it is that time of togetherness that gives me pause.

Spring, with its tiny budding plants and warmer air, its message of rebirth, is itself a Book for Happiness.