The Show is Set Up at the Bellefonte Art Museum!

One of my favorite necklaces!

We'll be hoppin' at the Bellefonte Art Museum on Sunday, October 4th come rain or shine. Come see us, show's open from 1-4:30.

The photo above is one of my favorite necklaces, made of hand-carved African sandalwood beads. I have a necklace similar to this one that I've worn for years, and the sandalwood beads just get more beautiful with time. This one was extra fun to make because as I chose each sandalwood bead I soon discovered there were about five different artists who made them. I could tell by the shapes. One of the artists was a true perfectionist, and his or her beads are perfectly round, smooth, sanded, and the holes were cleared out nicely. Another carver's beads reflect their maker by their shape, which is a little bit like a cone, fatter on one end than the other. Some carvers may have been young, because their beads were a little bit unpredictable, and the holes were full of wood shavings. It is like the artists left fingerprints as they created their beautiful beads. It was like working with friends to string them.

This necklace is punctuated with African hand-carved bone beads that have been dyed beautiful, soft colors, and different types of silver metal spacer beads. It's strung on FlexWire, and crimped three times for strength. The best part of it that I get a kick out of is that I was having such a good time I kept stringing until it reached 106 inches! So you can wrap it around several times, giving you many options on its length as you wear it.

The other fun part of this necklace is that when I finished it around 2:30 in the morning, I got all inspired to tea-stain it. So there I was in the kitchen, tip-toeing around to get hot water and several tea bags - used PG Tips, "England's best tea since 1930" for its gorgeous dark color. The beads gently soaked up the color after I stirred them around for a little while. Delicious.

The brown hand-carved beads that you see on the glass in front of the earrings were fun to work with too. Same artists - these beads started out unfinished and I took them down in the basement last year and dipped them into a can of rich, dark wood-stain. I stirred them around and let them sit to dry on cookie sheets. Went downstairs several times per day for days to roll them and change out the parchment they were sitting on. I let them dry for a year, cause I wanted to make sure they were dry inside the holes before using them. When I strung them, again on FlexWire, I mixed them with beautiful hand-carved, dyed long bone beads that have the rich dark brown and a bit of beautiful gold in them. This necklace goes around about twice.

I made an effort this year to design earrings that could go with my necklaces, but not be too "matchy-matchy." Let me know how I did.

Pure unfinished sandalwood

There's also a much lighter colored pure unfinished sandalwood necklace mixed with beautiful hand-carved white bone oblong beads. Very lightweight - this one will only get better with time as it's worn, especially if next to the skin. Wraps around about two or three times.

Hawk Inspired Petrified Wood Necklace

The necklace above includes a tea-stained sun/moon face cabochon and a lovely petrified wood cab below it. The design was inspired by a recent nature walk, where we were followed by a beautiful hawk. It includes peyote stitch, stop stitch, and seed beads of glass, tiger's eye, and jasper. A very earthy piece. The earrings I made that go nicely with it are of bronzite. I have a pair of bronzite earrings I wear all the time and the energy they impart is very uplifting, helping me to concentrate and get things done.

The Fun Corner

I'd bet this little harlequin doll gets up and dances around when the museum is closed at night. This is the fun corner, full of color and fantasy. It includes the Mad Hatter necklace from The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland, and WonderPrayers, a necklace designed around one of my favorite Mucha images. There are a couple of Rainbow Catcher necklaces and lots of colorful earrings.

Cloisonne Bracelets and Necklaces

I made 11 sets of the ever popular cloisonne bracelets, this time they're a little bit larger than before, including 15 cloisonne beads rather than the 14 I used to use. Makes them a bit more comfortable for those with medium sized wrists. AND I made two cloisonne necklaces, since people have been requesting those. I have a necklace which I like to wear a lot - and it wraps two or three times around. Come try these on, they're way cool, and very affordable.

Heaven and Earth Necklace and Blue Dichroic Cabochon Necklace

The Heaven and Earth Necklace is on display and available AND I made a pattern for it. Be sure to take a peek through the pattern and let me know how I did. The images in the pattern are hand-drawn cause I'm still tinkering with the bead pattern software, but the pattern's been reviewed and approved by one of my master beader friends. It'll give you an idea of what goes into making a piece like this, aside from just the pleasure.

Handmade One-of-a-Kind Lampwork Beads with Fluffy Dangles

The two necklaces to the right are also my very favorites. I wanted to WEAR them! I wanted to KEEP them! But I said NO, you have too much jewelry and now you have to share! So here they are. I wanted to keep them affordable so they come on dark black lace leather, which you can make any length you prefer, with a simple knot in back. I LOVE these and I think you will too. Lots of earring choices to go with them. The pink one on the left reminds me of the fascinating ebru painting we learned at the museum a while back. Very cool.

Bottom Shelf - Choose your own cab and have your necklace custom made!

This year I'm trying something new. On the bottom shelf of the display case on the right is a whole lot of fun. I've brought in a ton of cabochons for you to choose from to have a necklace custom made. You can choose from three styles - the style like the Muchas that includes a peyote stitched border and fringe and seed bead necklace chain, or a simpler style with just peyote stitching and border on a black leather necklace, or one in-between with the cab, the peyote stitching and border, and fringe, on black lace leather. Comfortable price ranges - GORGEOUS cabs. They include square summer cabs, fairytale cabs, and some really beautiful Madonnas. Turnaround time should be about two weeks and I can contact you to discuss colors. Don't forget to ask to look through these cabs, you might just fall in love. Options rock!

It's glowing....

There will be 15 artists at the museum doing book signing for the launch of the "Landscapes of Central Pennsylvania" - get your copy signed and meet the artists. This book makes a great Christmas gift.

Check out our new sculpture that's been installed in the tiny magical Sharon McCarthy Garden, "Warrior Knight Seeking Balance" by Jeanne Stevens-Sollman. It's absolutely enchanting.

Warrior Seeking Balance by Jeanne Stevens-Sollman

Hope to see you there!

Namaste,
Jen

Two Worlds Pen and Ink Drawing

Two Worlds, My Daughter and Me

Last night I picked up my lovely black ink pens and played for a while with an image my therapist described to me when I told her "I'm happy, but the death of my daughter permeates everything."

She said she could imagine me painting it. She said "The feeling is like black smoke, and at first, in the early weeks and months of grief the smoke is very dark, and it permeates everything--your thoughts, your emotions, your activities. Then as time passes, the smoke begins to thin, and it becomes easier to carry on."

I agree. I've experienced several levels of healing that I recognize when I think back to the beginning of Jessie's new beginning, and all the trauma involved in receiving the news, making arrangements, travel, scattering her ashes, taking care of distributing her things, and coming back to my home to learn how to wake up and make things matter again. There is healing there. So my black smoke cloud is beginning to dissipate.

Me, Mom.

In the image, I am the Mom who is left holding lots of love (the wilted hearts in her hand) that I didn't have a chance to give to Jess while she was alive. Not that we didn't have great and wonderful love between us, just that it doesn't "turn off" when someone dies. Also in this image my love is wafting out of my heart and trying to reach her, but it's also piercing my heart because the worlds are separate and I can't really see her. I have a warm blanket around my shoulders for protection.

Jess is dancing in the celestial realms.

This detail of the image shows Jess dancing and flying with her new wings in the celestial realms. She is able to see me, and she's sending out lots of love everywhere. She's healed and happy and celebrating her arrival in her new home. She's facing me, because she still loves me, and always will, but she has new freedoms now, and can go wherever she wants to. Her body is facing me to show that she will always remember me, and will come and visit in my dreams and meditations.

Detail of my face and the love wafting out of my heart.

Detail of Jessie's delight.

The veil that separates the two worlds.

On the left is the spiral of life. The darkness around me dissipates if I walk towards it. It is marked with a zig zag pattern that shows we are connected but separate. When I become not solid, like the little triangles, but synthesize into my own celestial self, I can follow the path to the tip of the triangle and cross over.

I will paint this image soon. Will post when it's done.

Namaste,
Jen

Tree Book Short Chapter 6 - In Which I Learn I Am Not Alone Even When I'm Alone

My Mama Tree - In Which I Learn I Am Not Alone Even When I'm Alone

I was about 14 years old, yet again the new kid on the block, as we had returned from England and moved from our wonderful old yellow house with the beautiful birch tree, sycamore trees, and apple trees, to a new house that my parents had loved for years from afar. They were thrilled when the new house came up for sale, and happily set about purchasing it and moving the family to the neighborhood across town.

I was sad to leave my friends but happy to explore the beautiful park that sat across the street from the new house. I discovered a gorgeous elm tree way down at the end of the park, a tall and stately tree with rough textured, soft grey colored bark and pale green tiny leaves that shimmered in the sun.

I would go there and put one arm around it, always greeting it when I arrived, and saying thank you when I left though I didn’t consciously know why at the time. It felt like a friendly, strong supportive being that was nurturing to be with during a time when my life was full of changes. I went there many times throughout my high school years and enjoyed the constancy of it.

The feeling I got from this tree was its ability to contain, listen, absorb my emotion-- and give back a sense of serenity--it had a strength that took all I gave and gave me back room to breathe. What magic. A gift.

Years later the city redid the roads around the park and in the process made the park smaller, cutting down my beautiful tree and paving over the land where it had grown. That was sooo upsetting, but I will always have the love of that tree and the times with it in my heart. They gave me strength and peace that continues to be a part of me today.

I hope that tree now lives in the “Big Garden in the Sky” that is one of the places I plan to inhabit when I leave this world. What a joy it will be to see it again.

Tree Book Chapter 5 - Rhododendron Hammocks, In Which I Learn to Breathe and Dream

When I was about 8 years old, I was uprooted from my elementary school and all the friends I didn’t make along with the wonderful smelly-ink purple dittos we used to love to sniff (you have to be old to understand that one). We moved from our familiar American neighborhood and beloved yellow house with the perfect yard to a great old estate in Wimbledon, England. From the new backyard, whose acres contained a peach orchard, an apple orchard, and two long glass greenhouses, we could see the Wimbledon tennis courts, and hear the balls being hit back and forth along with the rise and fall of the crowd’s reaction.

I was lonely then, and spent hours by myself under the old overgrown bushes that fronted the property. I dug in the soil with a little shovel and was convinced I’d found a buried village when I chanced upon a bunch of old red roof tiles buried deep in the earth. I also uncovered lots of antique bottles--hand-blown, of various colors, which I unearthed and brought into the house for rinsing. They sparkled in the sunlight after decades of burial. I didn’t know their history, or how they got there, only knew they were treasures to me, stacked along my windowsill all clean and shiny in the sun.

On our property grew two very old, huge rhododendron bushes. They were as tall as trees and as wide as a house. Of course, as children do, my little brother and I took our adventurous explorations of the property under the embrace of those beautiful branches—discovering a world dappled in sunshine, fragrant with the years of fallen leaves making a soft underworld that cushioned our bare feet in spring. Outside the flowers blossomed and buzzed with the activity of happy, fluffy bumblebees, and inside we found an oasis of peace, a place to be for a while where nobody knew where we were.

We took sheets from our mother’s linen closets and brought them down the hill and into our sanctuary. Tied them hammock-like and laid in them swinging gently back and forth, talking of all things imaginable.

To me, being in that sundappled sanctuary meant freedom from obligations, a chance to breathe, a chance to dream, cradled in Nature as only she can do, with one of the beloved people in my life.

We spent many hours there, and a part of my soul was born and fed, swinging from the underbranches in the dappled sunshine and wafting, beautiful fragrance of Earth.

Tree Book Chapter 4 - Our Gnarly Apple Trees - In Which I Learn about Duality

When we lived in the butter yellow house on Longview Avenue--the one with the best backyard ever--one of the things that made it most special was a trio of apple trees that grew in the back corner and along the side yard. They were sisters, gnarly and old as all get-out.

Their trunks were strong and thick, and their branches were as big around as our legs and they twisted all over the place. They were perfect trees to climb, which we did all the time. We hung upside down from one of the lower branches, or sat in the perfect turns and twists of the branches, swaying with the breezes in spring and summer, and huddling in the fall. Their branches were full of stubs which would either poke me as I leaned on them while sitting, or prod and scrape as my hands grabbed to pull myself higher up into the canopy.

Their fragrance in the spring was divine and sitting among the blossoms and bees as the buds slowly opened in the sunshine was a world unto itself. Soon firm round fruits would start to grow, at first hard, tiny and green, then swelling and ripening into blushing, juicy apples that we could pick and crunch on in the fall.

Playing in and among these trees is when I began to have a sense of the duality of this world, when in the fall, the trees would shed the apples that were not collected or eaten, and the ground would be covered with them. This became true Wellington territory, as some of the apples rotted and became mostly applesauce--brown and gushy, that we had to slush through as we did our father’s bidding.

He would send us out with brown paper grocery bags to fill with the fallen apples. This was in the days before they made plastic grocery bags; paper was all anyone had and it had its very own wonderful crunchy brown smell. My sister and I would pick the apples up one at a time and drop them into the bags. We didn’t have gloves, which would have made this process much more efficient, so we were careful to pick them up just between one finger and a thumb, with the other fingers of each hand stretched out to avoid the rotten spots and worms and bugs getting on us. The juice would drip over our hands and up our sweater sleeves to our elbows making us feel sticky all over.

The fragrance around these beautiful apple trees at this time of year was sweet and strong--a bit past ripe, and the soft summer breezes had turned to chilly winds snapping our hair across our faces and putting roses in our cheeks. Sometimes the apples would drip so much juice into the brown paper bags the bottoms would fall through as we dragged them across the yard over to where my Dad would prepare them for disposal. Those times we’d have to pick them up all over again and plop them into a fresh paper bag, shaking the juice off as we went and examining the worms and bugs left in the bottom of the bag once we’d gotten them all transferred over to the new bag.

Sometimes our reward from our father for a job well done was a shiny new dime per bag – we’d get about five to eight bagfulls; the trees were fruitful indeed. I liked to spend my hard-earned money on bazooka bubblegum because I loved the comics enclosed in each piece, and I could get 10 pieces for a dime. I loved to blow huge pink bubbles and chew to my heart’s content. I learned that duality has a silver pink lining, yum, and that this kind of work is GOOD.

Celebration Chart Upstages Stages of Grief Chart

Depressing but Helpful Stages of Grief Chart

In the process of coming to terms with the death of my sweet daughter earlier this year, I came upon this chart during one of the rare times I looked through online discussion groups on grief. I was pretty discouraged, encountering women who had lost children and as a result became pretty stuck in depression, even up to 25 years later - unable to love their children who were still very much alive, unable to engage in spousal relations, and just plain unable to experience pleasure and happiness. 

I understand this, but since I'm already 56, I want to avoid spending the rest of my life depressed, so I've found and created some good tools to work with in creating happiness, even though the grief is also present. Integrative thinking, which my therapist has taught me, helps us to allow ourselves to be sad, yet happy at the same time. One of my favorite quotes that illustrates this is by Kahlil Gibran, who says, "Your deepest sorrow is but a reflection of your greatest joy." What a magnificent joy I have in my daughter, and my son, and my wonderful husband, as well as other members of my family and friends.

The chart above is helpful in determining where we are in the process, but the design could use some updating, since the truth of how it plays out, as expressed vehemently in the grief group comments, is that we are usually in more than one place at a time, and we bounce back and forth between all of them, sometimes several times in a day. Our healing is not "progressive," where we one day reach a point at which our grief is "behind us." We carry it with us like a boulder every single day. But we can lighten the load by focusing on the good.

In order to do this, I decided to spend some time creating a new chart, which I call my Celebration Chart. 

Click on the image to enlarge it.

Isn't it pretty? I love how the connecting lines make a sort of geometric design. 

As I designed this chart I thought about the story of the two wolves inside us. It is a Native American story that teaches us that where we put our energy and focus, we create growth. This applies to the "bad wolf" (negative emotion) as well as the "good wolf," (positive emotion). In the story the little grandson asks his Grandpa which wolf wins, and Grandpa's reply is: "The one you feed."

So with my chart I was thinking of how we come together with others, and why. It is a reflection of our society that we've become much more isolated as a result of the Internet, global travel, husbands and wives both working, and consumerism taking center stage. There are plenty of scholarly articles out there exploring this phenomenon. We "think" we're connected, but unless there's some real social interaction, we don't get to feel real, abiding emotion behind the communications - the kind of emotion that supports and encourages us, a sense of true community. 

In my chart, I explore what gives us a sense of love, accomplishment, satisfaction, and connection. As I bounce through the original grief chart, I'm aware of what I'm experiencing, but now I spend more time focusing on applying the activities in my Celebration Chart. We can apply these to ourselves in a very personal way, or we can take notice of others that we care about and reach out to apply them to our loved ones.

My little chart is a work in progress and I'll likely update it, but for now it's feeding my good wolf (grin).

Along with my other Lovies, I celebrate my sweet daughter - the time we spent together, her accomplishments, her beauty inside and out, her emotions, all of them, her joys and her challenges. Such love.

Another step in the journey.

Namaste,
Jen

Peyote Rainbow Ruffle Bracelet

Learning new stuff!

I decided to teach myself how to do a peyote stitch cuff bracelet that would be lightweight with no backing. I've seen a lot of these in my research on what other beaders do, and one thing I wanted was a soft, ruffly border, which I hadn't seen. The border on this bracelet probably includes more beads (and more time) than the interior part of the bracelet itself. I was happy that it turned out just how I imagined it in my mind. All fluffy and ruffly and beautiful.

Then I wanted something to make it special, so I looked through all my cabochons and this little clay face one appealed to me immensely. I had no idea how it would work, stitching her onto this lovely bracelet without any stitching showing on the back side. I didn't know if the beads would align so that I could stitch around the cab properly. It was a big leap - and it worked! Yaybers!!

Little Clay Face with her floral headdress and garden leaves.

After I sewed the little clay face cab onto the peyote stitched background, she let me know she wanted some flowers on her headdress, so we picked some out and stitched them on. And then she wanted to be surrounded by some greenery that would suggest she lives in a beautiful garden. So I chose two lovely green agate cabochons and anchored them onto the rainbow background.

Voila! We have a little garden sprite among rainbow colors and I now know how to do a whole peyote stitched bracelet. Only takes 32 and a half hours, lots of good music, and some old movies.

There she is, little rainbow sprite with her garden leaves.

This bracelet includes a nice strong 5-loop magnetic clasp of sterling silver. It's secured with wire guards, and I've gone through each loop four times, to give it a lot of strength. It's sewn with 4 lb Fireline, so the ends have about 20 combined lbs of strength to hold it with no worries. Length is 7 inches. It's drapey and soft on your wrist, not heavy, not hot. Very cool, in fact ; )

This bracelet will be on exhibit at the Bellefonte Art Museum through the month of October, then for sale in Dreamkeeper Creations, if she doesn't find her forever home before then.

Thanks for visiting!

Namaste,
Jen

Tree Book Chapter 3 Love on the Run - I Learn that Sycamores are Touchstones for Joy, Laughter, and Love

I was about 7 years old, living with my family in one of the homes where I was happiest—the butter yellow house with the wonderful backyard. This was a time between countries, between travels, when we touched down in the U.S. for a little while, and felt, for a moment, what it was like to have a real home.

My Dad rarely had time to spend with my sister and brother and me, so when he did, we treasured it. One evening Dad decided to toss grownup pursuits aside for a while and he came outside where we were playing in the warm soft breezes of early summer while Mom spent time in the kitchen cooking one of her nourishing dinners. She was a great cook with Southern roots (Virginia, with family there going back to the 17th century, let's not talk about the flag; we were tobacco farmers who supported freed slaves, a dangerous perspective in those times), so dinner was always tasty and rejuvenating, with lots and lots of butter. On everything.

We knew to leave the biggest pork chop for Dad, or the last of anything left in the serving dishes for the grownups. We knew how to set the table with the proper number of forks and knives and spoons in all the right places next to the china, water glasses and wine glasses just so, and how to clean all the dishes afterwards (no dishwasher, and if we chipped or broke anything Mom took it out of our hides).

This evening Dad decided we would play kickball so he got one of our big round plastic balls and brought it into the yard—purple and white marbled patterns decorated our ball. We huddled while he taught us the rules, making each of the bases a sycamore tree.

We kicked and ran to each sycamore—our compasses in this game filled with competition—my brother, sister, and I. I can remember the sound of my bare foot hitting that ball like it was yesterday—bop! It was a time of joy, running with our little tan summer legs pumping under our bodies in the warm sunshine, our bare feet tickled by thousands of slim, short leaves of grass, stomping across the strong roots of the sycamores which wound their way underground and overground beneath their leafy canopies. We hollered as each runner made the rounds, eyes twinkling, arms waving, mouths shaping their way around shouts of encouragement. Each strong colorful tree trunk was a solid touchstone as we ran around as fast as we could.

It was rare to be able to play with Dad. It was rare to see him happy and carefree. The sound of the ball being bopped across the yard was music to my ears, as was the revelry around this activity. 

The sycamores dropped what we called “ballies,” little round seed balls with spikes that could last through several seasons. On bare feet they weren’t all that gentle—kind of ankle twisting and sharp and nut hard, but we ran anyway, round and round, tagging the beautiful trees along the way.

Sometimes love hurts, but we do it anyway.

It was never about winning. It was all about playing. 

These were the good times that now make me able to spot a sycamore half a mile away no matter where I am, and remind me of pure joy and the love and laughter of my family while I was growing up.

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My Tree Book Chapter 2 - In Which I Learn that Sometimes when I Think I'm Doing a Good Thing I Can Be Quite Wrong

I was about 7 years old, living with my family in one of the homes where I was happiest in the U.S. The color of the house was a rich butter yellow and it had several apple trees across the side yard and a tall and stately birch tree in the far back part of the yard.

This house had the perfect yard for children to grow up in, with a swing-set and sandbox that my father made, three apple trees, the birch, and three huge sycamores out back. Many hours were passed in the sandbox, pouring, patting, burying things, and digging them out. My Dad had made this beautiful sandbox out of 2 x 4’s, painted them green, popped triangular red seats across the corners, and filled it with the softest whitest, most glorious sand.

My sister and I would adjust the swings on the swing-set so the seats were hooked about four inches from the top bar, and we’d climb up and wiggle our legs through to sit on them. Feeling on top of the world, we'd sing our lungs out for all to hear. I still remember some of those songs. We’d also perform plays with the swing-set as our stage, swathed in sheets for theatre curtains, with a row of grown-ups arranged in folding chairs across the back lawn as our audience. They had to pay a nickel each to see one of our shows.

One time I was doing a showy twirl around the sidebar of the swing-set but miscalculated and tumbled to the ground, knocking the breath right out of myself. Ugh, it felt an eternity 'til my body recovered, and I think my neck bones still wear the scars of that fall. Another time I lost the amethyst and pure gold ring that I’d been given for my birthday, which led to days and days of looking for it—but it was never to be found. I miss it still.

When my sister and brother and I played out front, I got to ride my cool red tricycle up and down the driveway, and we’d play king of the hill with the neighbor children using a nice sized boulder for the “hill” that sat in the yard next to the driveway. The king would stand imperiously on the rock and the peasants would knock him or her off, taking over the position of power. Jolly times.

My sister and I played dress-ups, prancing around in the yard all decked out in some of my mother’s beautiful old party dresses. My favorite was a red chiffon creation that flowed with the slightest wind, while my sister preferred the sequined strapless cream and pink floral gown or the glorious soft purple chiffon that poofed around her like cotton candy.

At this house, my very favorite times were spent alone under a big beautiful birch that grew at the far back of the yard, next to a wooden fence that went all the way around. It was an open fence, so I’m not real sure what it was good for, other than hanging onto when practicing my flirting skills with the boy that lived up the street in back, or singing a song, or spreading dress-up clothing upon for choosing.

The leaves of this birch tree by the back fence were small and a delicate shade of lime green, and they’d flutter in the summer breezes, singing their song to my soul as I spread out soft quilts and hauled all manner of entertainment from the house, including books, my mother’s biggest spaghetti pot, the bottle of dish soap from next to her kitchen sink, and a huge collection of Barbie dolls and their associated paraphernalia, stored in a bunch of old-fashioned hatboxes.

I‘d turn on the hose and fill up the spaghetti pot with water—the pot was almost as tall as the dolls, then squirt a ton of dish soap into it and swish it around to make bubbles. Some of the bubbles would float up into the air, reflecting the iridescence of dappled sunshine and I’d catch them on wet fingers and wave them around 'til they popped. Of course the dolls had to be dressed properly in their swimsuits; dressing them was half the fun.

I’d spend hours bouncing these dolls across the quilt over to the spaghetti pot and give them each a big jump into the water, then twirl the Barbies back and forth so their hair flung streams of water everywhere.

Sometimes they’d plunge headfirst into the spaghetti pot, coming up for air and plunging down again like dolphins, and sometimes I’d hold them way high up over the pot then let go so they plunked down with a great splash.

After I tired of dunking Barbies I’d set them out in a line on the quilt to dry in the sun and sit with my back to the thick trunk of the birch, scooching around so its gnarls didn’t bite into me while I read a storybook. I could feel its roots under me, stretching out across the grass, making humps under the soft quilt. I’d read for a while, eventually melting down into a prone position, book laid out in front of me, soft quilt under me, the pure white of the birch bark winking in the sun, tagged with dark black lines that gave it shape and character, almost as if its eyes were watching over me.

I often drifted off to sleep, entranced by the flutter of a thousand tiny green leaves against the robin’s egg blue sky, feeling the warmth of spring sunshine dappling through the delicate branches, and these were the best kinds of naps.

Sometimes when I woke I’d find ladybugs joining my little party. They made me feel lucky.

One time, in the early evening when I’d returned to the house with my dolls, I decided I needed to dry Barbie’s hair and held her head very close to the light bulb of a goose neck lamp in my room. Good thing that in those days they didn’t have smoke detectors, else I’m sure they’d have gone off and warned the whole household that I was putting us in dire jeopardy.

Barbie's hair began to smoke, the smoke curling up past the lightbulb and infiltrating the air in the room, and I soon discovered that I’d made a nice bald spot on the back of her head—note to self: don’t hold Barbie so close to the light, for she will burn and you will get in big trouble….

I thought I was doing a good thing, but young as I was, I learned for the first time how trouble can start when you least expect it and you think you’re doing a good thing…. I managed to put her smoking hair out and hide her til I could fix her. That was back in the days when we had three heads for one Barbie and we could change them out. I secretly buried the one I’d burned in the bottom of the kitchen trash can, and popped on the one with the painted on plastic hair, which was probably better for spaghetti pot swimming under my beautiful birch tree anyway, even though it didn't fling the water quite as well.

Ah, those were the days....

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