Flower Power

After writing yesterday's blog about flowers, it made me realize nature's magnificence. I thought back to 1997 when flowers restored my hope in humanity. It was late August of that year when Britain's Princess Diana was chased by paparazzi and killed when her car crashed in a Paris tunnel.

Like millions of people around the world I mourned for this lovely, young princess who oozed love and compassion for others.

Draped in my recliner, I was glued to CNN and watched hour after hour of devastating coverage.

"You didn't even know the woman," my husband said.

You'd never know that by the way I spouted facts and details about her life. I felt like she was my personal friend.

Hubby, too, got sucked into the coverage and when our bewildered children asked, "What's for dinner?" Daddy tore his eyes from the television and said,

"Who cares? Diana's dead!"

After Diana's funeral which I attended via CNN, I sensed my children were upset by the adults' upset. 

I decided we all needed some tranquility, so I took them to Dahlia Hill

 

I remember when I first saw Dahlia Hill. I had just covered a disturbing trial in Midland, Michigan for my job as a reporter. A few blocks from the courthouse my photographer and I ran into a hill spattered with colorful flowers beyond my comprehension.

"Pull over!" I shouted.

I ended up doing a feature story about Bill Fisher and Charles Breed, retired friends who created a special spot of beauty in their town.

They planted 3,000 tubers which erupted into 500-thousand blossoms in every size, shape and color you can imagine.

And, some only nature can imagine.

The blooms can grow to the size of a dinner plate.

or the size of my niece Andrea's lovely face.

The flowers bloom in late August and last until the first frost.

That's when Bill and Charles dig up ALL the tubers which are thick roots like potatoes. 

The tubers are carefully divided and catalogued by color and size. Every May, the friends plan and plant a different layout of color and spectacle.

Surrounded by the astonishing flowers we felt healed, happy & hopeful again.

The world IS a good place.

Thanks to everyone who creates patches of beauty

and, renews us...

Spring has Sprung

Spring is early this year in Michigan and this afternoon, I was exhilarated to get outside and walk the trail behind our house. With the sun shining against the azure sky, I noticed the flowering trees had burst into blossoms, seemingly overnight. I rushed home to grab my camera.

I didn't get much walking in because I spent most of my time stopped and stooped, but I got in some squats while zooming in on various spring glory.

The magical beauty of flowers

But the real reason I ran to get the camera was this field of yellow

Yep...when dandelions are pretty...

My children taught me that weeds can be beautiful. I remember the moment of realization. I was on my hands and knees in the kitchen cleaning some crud by my stove when the doorbell rang. I could hear the kids laughing and was irritated I would have to get up from my grungy gig to check out the giggles.

I opened the door to this:

I started to cry.

They had ventured into a neighboring field to pick gorgeous flowers for their mama.

I grabbed my camera to capture the moment.

Then I framed the picture.

It still sits on a shelf in my family room.

I cherish the lesson.

That same spring, I put a hummingbird feeder outside our kitchen window. We were enchanted when we saw our first hummingbird.

Then this pretty fellow showed up.

We learned on the Internet this puff ball is called an Oriole and feeds on nectar like hummingbirds.

My son was especially enthralled with the bird feeder.

One day, I found him in the family room.

He made this:

Thanks, God, for giving us kids so we can see the world in a different way.

Flowers will always smell sweeter with children

So, in a few weeks, when the dandelions look like this:

I will remember the joy in my daughter's eyes as she blew the seeds into the wind...

And, when my husband said,

"Don't blow them into OUR yard!"

It's Easy

I spent the last two days trying to be something I'm not...an artist. It reminded me of a column I wrote long ago.  The last five years of my broadcast news career, I was a feature reporter. I loved exploring people's talents and usually ended up participating in some way.  That's when I wrote this:

                              It's Easy (November 27, 1994)
The best part about my job as a television news reporter is I get to meet a multitude of people with a variety of occupations, hobbies and interests. Usually these people are great at what they do, and always try to make me do it, too.

An Olympic-quality ice skater wanted me to take a spin with her around the rink...on camera! I inwardly cringed at my total lack of athletic ability. I imagined myself next to this graceful creature with both my ankles flat on the ice, bear-hugging her around her slender waist. I tried to beg off, but she was persistent. I was rescued when the camera guy slipped on the ice and cracked a chunk off the camera.

These talented people always urge me to "Try it...really, it's easy!" One man owned a log-splitting business. He hoisted a two ton tree trunk onto a bench and buzz sawed right through it.

"Go ahead, it looks harder than it is," he prodded. I thought I could maybe handle flipping the switch on the saw, but I was too afraid to get near it.

Then there was the woman who deftly painted a porcelain plate while explaining about her years of training in some foreign country. She had to learn the language to learn the craft. Then she handed me a white dish and a paint brush.

"Give it a try. Anyone can do it," she said. I made a few dabs around the edges with green paint. She plucked it from my hands. "No, the strokes must be sweeping. Don't move your wrist so much."

A clown tried to teach me how to ride a unicycle during a five minute break in his show, and wanted me to ride onto the stage after him...like that was going to happen!  I fiddled around with a fiddler's fiddle but couldn't create any meaningful music.

A 90-year-old wood carver thrust a block of wood into my hand and said, "Wood carving doesn't take any skill. I've been doing it all my life." He didn't realize that 90 years is a LOT of practice.

Then there are the stories where I really think I CAN  do it, or should be doing it.  Like the walker who walked around the United States seven times.  "Anyone can do this by simply hitting the pavement on their lunch break and getting into shape." He was inspiring.  I tried to walk around the block during my lunch break but got winded. Maybe I couldn't even make it to the next town, much less Utah.

I envied the woman who devoted her life to weaving. I could do that, I thought. Then she showed me her library of books she used to hone her craft and her degree in textile and fabric analysis. Her many cumbersome looms would fill my family room, kitchen and breakfast nook. My interest in weaving waned quickly.

I wanted to use fabric paints to create elaborate Christmas sweatshirts for my 150 extended family members after watching a demonstration for a news story. It looked so simple as I watched the artist add her flourishing touches.

I could have time for this if someone will write my column for the next eight weeks. Anyone want to do it for me?  It's really easy!

                      The Moral to this Story

A few years after I wrote that column my news director came to me with a set of three sticks. He held two of them in his hands and tried to use those sticks to twirl a third one in the air.  "A Twirling Troupe from Canada is coming in August, and I want you to do a story with them," he said.  He snickered as the third stick fell to the floor. "This is hard," he declared.

It was my hair-brained idea to secretly try to master the sticks and shock them all. I took them home and kept them on the floor of my family room. Every time I passed them that summer, I practiced twirling that dang stick. I spent more time bent over picking it up. I just couldn't get the hang of it.

Not to be defeated, I persevered and I still remember the moment...when it CLICKED!  Suddenly, I was spinning the stick in the air. I had mastered the feel...a true feat for a non-athlete.

I ran screaming from the house and my husband flicked off the lawn mower fearing the house was on fire. Right there in the front yard, I performed for all the neighbors to see. Once I got the feel, it was like riding a bicycle...I was a twirler FOREVER!

When the Canadian Twirling Troupe arrived at the station in August, we shot the news story in our studio.

I was right there performing with them!

I was proud as punch!

My co-workers were floored by my Twirl ability especially since they knew about my lack of physical skill. Yet, that story won me a regional Emmy nomination.

I now offer to perform at all our parties, barbecues, get-togethers, gatherings, and reunions. Everyone groans. They are dizzy from my one trick. 

You may think the moral to this story is: Stretch yourself and learn something outside your comfort zone. That is a worthy moral.

But, what I really think about all this is: Every single one of us came to this earth with an innate talent.  Something that comes easy to us, and brings us abundant joy in doing it. For us it's EASY, but only because WE have the talent. I have witnessed this through many years as a reporter. The earth needs every single talent to make it glisten. 

I hope everyone will embrace the talent that makes THEM special and share it with the world. 

We will be wowed. 

An Artist Emerges

Since I last wrote (yesterday), I hate to admit this...but I've become a sicko!  If you read yesterday's blog you will remember I was inspired by my friend Dianna's innate photographic artistry.  She was participating in a "The Week in the Life" project and awed me with her artistic pictures. (Scroll down to yesterday's blog for details.)

I tried to think up equally artful photos to depict just one stinkin' day in my life, and as you will remember...I discovered ART as I was cleaning my toilet bowl.

With a little cropping as I have seen creative Dianna do, I felt like an artist for the first time in my life.

Imagine my total dismay when a kind blogger named Melinda on bloggerengage.com commented on the photos: "The toilet art is hysterically beautiful."

That bit of flattery sent me racing to my bathroom. Maybe I was really onto something.  I swirled the blue cleaner around in a spiral and snapped a picture.

                          I flushed to clear the slate, then tried stripes.

                                 Then I just squirted a bunch in there.

"Who keeps flushing the toilet??" Hubby called from the family room. My son just wanted to get in and GO.  "Well, I'll HAVE to clean it again," I lectured. My son had never seen me so gleeful.


I used up an entire bottle of Lysol Tidy Bowl then retreated to the computer to crop my pics. I fiddled with the effects buttons in Photobucket, and....OMG!!!

PEOPLE!!  Are you seeing what I'm seeing?  This is freakin' ART!!! I'm

thinking I have a new title:

Journalist, Author, Toilet Artist, Sicko

I'm so proud...and my toilet is immaculate!

A Day in My Life

All this week, I have hurried to my computer each morning to check out my friend Dianna's blog. She is one of the most creative & artistic people I know which makes her an awesome photographer.  She even had her own photography business.

This week, she is participating in a project called "A Week in the Life" where she snaps pictures throughout her day. I am so drawn to her photos which are like works of art.

This pic makes me HAPPY!

The Princess & the Pedicure (Di's adorable caption)

She crops photos into ART!

And, she's even in some of them.

These are just a few of her pics showing her creative genius. You can check out the rest on her amazing blog: http://www.learningtotaketime.blogspot.com/ 

I really admire and appreciate artists like Dianna...especially since I am NOT an artist myself. I do adore taking pictures and have always thought I was pretty good at it. But true artistry is inborn.

Yesterday, I tried to imagine myself capturing a day in my life with pictures. The bran flakes I ate for breakfast weren't very interesting, so I thought of taking a picture of myself sitting at my computer in my jammies, which I do EVERY morning.  But that would require me reading the camera manual to figure out how to use the time delay...then running into the pic and trying to be centered.

My shopping trip to buy new sheets at TJ Maxx was fun and colorful, but would require the time delay again.  That's why I was thrilled when my son returned home from school. I could get him to snap a pic of me doing laundry.

"Honey, grab a shot of me removing lint from the dryer trap," I gushed. Finally, my day was being captured. Our laundry room is small, so he had to shoot me from behind and my behemoth behind bending over the dryer pretty much filled the whole frame. You couldn't even see the lint activity. I could not bear to share that picture here.

By late afternoon, I was bummed I didn't have a single picture to share. I knew my final task of the day of cleaning the bathroom would not yield art. I squirted the blue cleaner into the toilet thinking, "WHY did I not get the artistic gene???"  when all of a sudden EUREKA!!!  There it was....right in front of my eyes...ART:

  Do you see how the cleaner created random squigglies? I grabbed the camera and shot.

HOLY CRAP!  I rushed to my computer to CROP!

I'm selling posters of my toilet art. Anyone interested?