She's a Regular Balabusta

Summer in the mid-section has been hot, dry, and a little oppressive. Other than a few wild thunderstorms, there has not been much to distinguish one day from the next. The garden mostly languishes without my tender care. A squirt of water is all I can manage. I try to keep the back yard fountain full and flowing for the sake of the birds, but I've spent little time lately tending the beds, enjoying our gazebo, or even cutting bouquets for the house.  The basil plants are liking the weather (at least the ones whose pots are hooked to the automatic watering system), and I need to set aside an hour for turning them into my favorite condiment, pesto.

The last time I picked flowers for the gazebo was in late June. After the vase blew over in four storms in three days, i decided to give up. Maybe it's safe to try again.

One plant that thrives in the heat is this gorgeous portulaca. The "snowball" bush behind it got decimated in the storms. Happens every July, and yet we love it!

I've even given up a standing invitation for water aerobics and/or "noodle" floating in a friend's pool. The first time I did that I wrenched my back from walking backward in the water, and got a rash from the sun. The second time, I got a headache and nausea from too much bobbing. I figure I am not cut out for water action. Instead I have been spending hours curled up in quiet concentration on the couch stitching my reverse applique projects, or at my dining room table, craft knife in hand, carefully cutting stencil after stencil. For the first time in many a summer, I wouldn't dare question the absolute need for air conditioning to keep me sane and productive.

One of the finely detailed stencils I have been cutting. This one is a template for ribbon embroidery.

Beside my obsession with balancing input (food) and output (exercise) "points" and weighing in at my weekly Weight Watcher's meeting, I am lately taken with the back-to-basics desire to simplify my expectations of what life is all about. Maybe the dieting has focused me unnaturally on food and clothing, but there has been a sort of "aha!" return to what is (and has always really been) important to me. While my human relationships with family and friends seem to grow more complicated and distant with the passing years, my relationship with my own life seems to find clarity and ease itself into something I can understand and hold in my hand. There is definitely less regret and longing, and more "just living". I worry less about making my mark or fitting anyone else's expectations of me and surrender to the day. Every day seems to be a new adventure, full of promise, even when the list of activities involves the most mundane of "housewife" activities of cooking, laundry, personal care, or sewing alterations.

Every Saturday (and sometimes Fridays, too) is coffee date with Dave at Starbucks. Lately, less drawing and more doodle journaling is going on. One week the heat made me "prickly", the next we got to try some great new cooling beverages. Like the "Where's Waldo" puzzles, Dave is usually somewhere in the doodle.

The other day as I was pulling a beauteous but simple dessert pudding from the oven, admiring its pockets of bubbling red berry juice amidst the golden dome, a long forgotten word came to mind: balabusta! You, Cheryl, are a balabusta! In case you are sitting there with a perplexed look on your face, this is a Yiddish term often overheard in conversations of my youth, from my mother or grandmother, while commenting on some woman of their acquaintance. It hadn't been a part of my life for so many years that I felt the need to do a little Wiki research. The written definitions and oral explanations on this resource page confirmed my thoughts: this term, basically meaning the female head of house (and there is a male counterpart) is meant, then and now, with no facetiousness or irony, as genuine praise for homemaking well done.

Both clafouti are baked puddings with fruit, eggs, dairy and flour. The top one is made from milk with mostly cherries and some berries. The bottom one gets a slightly different texture from yogurt as the dairy, and mostly strawberries. They are low fat, not too sweet and taste great when reheated slightly. A dash of cream on top never hurts.

Since childhood, cooking, sewing decorating, and entertaining--these have always come easily and added pleasure to my life. But in the late sixties and beyond as I came through college, a first marriage, and the work world, we were fighting to be liberated from gender defined roles and given the choice to have careers outside this "limited" scope of expertise. I felted less inclined at that time to make this my calling, even though I loved those things so well. Now, twenty years after retiring early from a brief teaching career, I realize this was my best career choice after all.

Two views of my first Alabama Chanin garment that is made with a complex cloth. This is stencilled, then reverse appliqued. As a poncho with one point, it can be worn front, back, or side for a variety of looks.

Another stencil design currently being worked in reverse applique to make a tied wrap. The bottom layer that shows through the cuts will be black.

The progression from stenciled to finished took about two weeks.

So with a life partner who joined me at those crossroad years, who is both indulgent and appreciative of my "Martha (Stewart)" tendencies, I am finally settling into who I really enjoy being. This "love of my life" who has had to put up with a steel mill career for most of his life, comes home from a hot, dirty, chaotic day, and puts up with my current dual obsessions of Weight Watchers and Alabama Chanin, never says an unkind word, and actually encourages and helps me with my goals in both. He recently bought me an air brush and compressor to paint my stenciled designs on cloth, and even takes patterns to work to enlarge for tracing.

 Most days, even though he has been out in the oppressive heat all day, he still comes home looking forward to a walk after dinner. So we do, and this has kept me on my exercise track, when alone, I would have made excuses. And then we come back to our very pleasant front deck, have a beverage and cool down as the sun casts lengthening shadows, and sinks to a cooler place in the sky. And some nights, after we return to our air conditioned oasis, I proffer a slice of that golden fruit clafouti with a bit of cream on top.

So, am I still striving to become an "artist"? Yes, I am still studying and exploring and practicing in different media. I am letting my imagination wander, I am not taking any of it more seriously than it deserves. I have no real expectations of starting a new career or looking for glory. But "balabusta"--that role in life I joyfully hold in my heart.

Let the Sun Shine

This week is all about a love story. Yes, I know that terrible things are happening in the world, there is sadness and fear and people are hurting. But even so, side by side with this reality are the wonders of life, ongoing. I say, if you are fortunate to have the good things happening, then you best show your gratitude and enjoy every blessing. We never know what tomorrow will bring.

Spring Cycle--a story in weaving and embroidery
 of the earth coming alive in Spring.
The embroidery is done, and currently being sewn to my favorite jean jacket.

The newest member of the hippo clan wanted to say "Hello."

I found my first love in the early days of finding myself, when all was new and intense, we (the country) were at war (as always), society was in an uproar of competing ideologies (as always), the economy was difficult (as always), but young people had love, and hope that peace and prosperity could become a reality. Well, that first love came and went. We know what happens with the cycles of social change (they come and they go). Once again I found love, only this time his vows were for the long haul, and two weeks ago we celebrated our 20th anniversary. 

Two loves: My Man and the energy of the city

Of course I'm smiling at him (and maybe the view from
 the Corner Bakery at Michigan and Wacker)

What is it to be in love at the dawning of...what to call it...the second act? The time in life when you realize that you still have one more chance to reinvent yourself, make good on the promises you gave that young hopeful you, to do something special, to live up to a dream. Well having that person to make those plans with and look forward to every day yet to come, that makes the next act ever more satisfying than going it alone.

One of the most breathtaking, fabulous, ornate, old time theaters anywhere.  (Not that I've been everywhere, but I'm just sayin'.)

Too bad it had such a short visit.

The weather had not been kind this winter (finally officially past!), and we were not able to spend our usual romantic overnighter in Chicago for Valentine's Day. Now that we are planning for a spring vacation, it seemed best to put that on hold. By the strangest of coincidence, we were able to celebrate instead by attending the 40th anniversary Broadway revival of the play "Hair", which has begun it's national tour with a very brief stop in Chicago. In my hippie days, (and oh, yes, I was there for it all) I certainly couldn't have afforded these tickets, although I got to see it as a Penn State student (on March 13, 1971) almost exactly forty years ago. One factor which makes our romance so unlikely and so wonderful is that in those days I was that hippie girl searching for utopia, while my husband-to-be was a U.S Marine, trying to survive in the jungles of Vietnam. Had we met at that time, it is certain we would not have ended up together. But  we both survived those years of craziness, found each other somewhere in the middle, and hopefully will continue to write our story for a long time to come.

Hair Joy

I just recently acquired this fabulous book from 1974,
by Jacopetti and Wainwright. Original cost $7.50. I paid $50 on Amazon. 

The production was very enjoyable. "The Tribe," as the cast of friends is called, was performed by extremely talented and enthusiastic young artists. The usual fourth wall is broken throughout the play as the actors interact with the audience, speak directly to us, come down off the stage and crawl over and around us, and during one entire song, the main male and female characters, Berger and Sheila, sat next to us, with actor Steel Burkhardt's arm around my David! At the end of that surreal moment he ruffled David's (ahem) hair, and during the course of the play so did two other female characters. (He loved it!)

A man who loves his home and cares for it entirely on his own
 (note the torn, muddy knees.)

You may recall a watercolor sketch not so long ago
 of a certain snow-covered bench.

But something bothered both of us even in the midst of our good time: the tone of the action. Where was the mellow, where was the true belief in the causes? The message of the show, something I lived and understood, was terribly garbled in a sort of showoff style of performance, and a staging that had the actors all acting all the time, (and often in crude sexual role play) rather than bearing witness to the message of the moment. For all its pop culture hit songs and fun antics, the play has the potential to tell a very serious story. Moment somewhat missed.

First Happy Hour of 2011 on the front porch: celebrating spring

Fragile, wonderful, perfect

The second important story of my week will already be known to many of you: Spring has finally arrived! Sure it promises to take a road trip around here at the end of the week, but we are refusing to let winter back in. The flowers are popping, the lawn furniture and fountain have been uncovered, the first happy hour celebrated on the front porch. My relaxed shoulders tell the story, a permanent sly smile always on the lips. While I am able I must declare it: Life is Good.