Meet my Psychiatrist

Last week James, Bean and I escaped for a spontaneous camping trip.  Four days in the woods and I'm a new person.  Okay, not completely new but certainly refreshed.  It seems that surrounding oneself with trees and sleeping next to a burbling stream is good medicine for an overworked mind.   More to the point, the elixir was no electronics.   No WiFi.  No cell phone.  No TV.  No radio. 

For the first time in months, and I do mean months, I worked in my art journal.  I painted, wrote, mused and dreamed.   I read The Creativity Book: A Year's Worth of Inspiration and Guidance and found myself enormously inspired, which led to more journaling, musing and dreaming. 

We watched in silent awe as a mother black bear with three cubs passed through our campsite at 5 a.m. one morning.  We adopted "Chuck" a precious little chipmunk who ate from James' hand.  We  swam in the chilly mountain lake, took long walks in the cool woods and talked about everything under the sun.

It was good.  Very good.

I foresee another therapy session before summer's end.

And Now for Something Completely Different

1961
Rosemary aged 15
Elizabeth aged 4
(I didn't become Liz until later)
Paul aged 12

This one, I let her win.

I spent several hours last night working on photographs of my oil bottles for the website.  I carried the bottles into the kitchen where the light was best, set them on a beige square tile, added a white background and snapped away.

For the rest of the night, Musie wouldn't leave me alone.  She kept poking me in the brain, insisting that the pictures weren't right - that they were flat, boring and, above all, they weren't me.

When I got up this morning, I rummaged around my dresser drawers and found an old cotton quilt with pretty appliqued flowers.  I set the quilt on a table in front of a bright window, smushed it around then rested the bottles on the soft fabric and took a picture.

Musie approved.