Friday, December 30, 2022

Wednesday, December 28, 2022

December 28, 2022: Sabir, Hajir, Fatna and Jeffrey and Mandala #75 / December 28, 2006: "Sleepless Woman With Moon And Birds



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Today I had the pleasure of meeting Sabir (12), Hajir (10), Fatna (8), and Jeffrey (6).  The first three children came with their parents a month ago from a refugee camp in South Sudan.  They seemed to be relaxed and happy, talking with each other, often smiling shyly and then broadly throughout the visit.  It turns out that they do speak Arabic rather than Swahili but in a dialect that the local Arabic translator has great difficulty understanding.  Jeffrey grew up speaking Spanish and English and is a lively playful 6 year old.  My friends are teaching Sabir, Hajir, and Fatna to spell their names.  English will be the first language in which they learn to write and read.  All the children wrote their names and three of them drew pictures.

All were fascinated by my autoharp and took turns playing it for the most of the two hours that I visited them.  Sabir and Jeffrey spent the longest time with the autoharp.  I left it for Sabir, Hajir, and Fatna to play with while they and their parents are staying in my friends' downstairs apartment.  Jeffrey was just visiting for the day. 

Early this morning, I finished non-dominant hand Mandala #75:


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That drawing from 1983
 was inspired by this photo of Sara and Bob Dylan:




Monday, December 26, 2022

December 26, 2022: A family from South Sudan / Rerun: December 26, 2006: "Nothing to Say in Black and White"


Local friends of mine have made their downstairs apartment a temporary home for a Muslim refugee family of five from South Sudan.  The family arrived here at midnight on December 3.  My friends had been told that the family spoke Arabic and had arranged for a local man to act as translator for them.  It turns out that the family speaks Swahili.  They do not read or write in any language.  Google translate has given them all the ability to communicate, albeit slowly.  The parents and oldest child, a 12-year-old boy, had been in a refugee camp for ten years.  The two sisters were born in the refugee camp.  On Wednesday, I will meet and draw with the children while the parents are being helped to sign up for English language classes.  I'm going to bring one of my autoharps.  Art and music are universal languages.  My friends, in their early 70s now, have made their downstairs apartment available for numerous refugees and people needing shelter in the seven years I have known them.  The intriguing drawing above was made this week by the middle child, a 10-year-old girl.  

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"Nothing to Say in Black and White" (drawing from 1982)


Sunday, December 25, 2022

December 25, 2022: Celebrations For A Grey Day / Rerun: December 25, 2006


A neighbor saw an otter walking around in the cattails and onto the frozen pond we can see from our porches.  Hope to have photos to show sometime soon.

As a friend wrote today, "Merry Everything and Happy Always."
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Saturday, December 24, 2022

Rerun: December 23, 2006 on December 24, 2022 (Somehow I skipped December 23) / December 24, 2022



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The snow has melted.  It's a dark windy rainy Christmas Eve.  I used to dread the days between Thanksgiving and New Year's Eve.  Those days are gone.  Now I experience late November and the month of December as a quiet peaceful renewing time, deeply grateful for the simple joys of life.

In my family, presents were opened on Christmas Day but in other families and in "A Child's Christmas in Wales," the presents are opened on Christmas Eve, as in this movie version of Dylan Thomas' prose piece:


"Go on to the Useless Presents.

... and a painting book in which I could make the grass, the trees, the sea and the animals any color I please, and still the dazzling sky-blue sheep are grazing in the red field under the rainbow-billed and pea-green birds..."

Friday, December 23, 2022

Rerun: December 23, 2006 / Ghost amaryllis, beginnings of Mandala #75 (non-dominant hand series), and snowy view from my porch on December 23, 2022



(Update note:  I made a mistake.  This is what I posted on my blog on December 24, 2006)

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December 23, 2022

When I checked my hall closet to see how my amaryllis bulbs were doing under their black plastic bucket, I found these ghostly leaves.  One year, a ghost amaryllis bud grew in the dark.


The beginnings of Mandala #75


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Getting ready to go out and check the mail.


By tomorrow, all this snow may be gone, as the temperature rises to the 40s.  Rain is predicted until at least January 6 with night temperatures staying just above freezing.


Wednesday, December 21, 2022

Rerun: December 21, 2006 / Winter Solstice: December 21, 2022



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December 21, 2022

Crescent moon rising in the east

Sunrise

Bald Eagle appears in cottonwood tree (cellphone camera)

Zoom in with digital camera (didn't realize it was set to black and white)

Zoom in closer