GIFTED Art

  I'm going with an old adage I've heard that says it's NEVER too late to say thank you.
  So, here goes..."Thank you, Mr. Brian Pardini!"

  Utterly whimsical and completely captivating, your gift to me was freely offered and spontaneously found.  It embodies the spirit of fun and your playful presentation itself, highlighted the surprise and lent to the magic of receiving. 

  To those of you have no idea what I'm talking about...allow me to explain:
  A few years ago I brought a few of my children into the Lincoln Center Community Library and was unexpectedly transported to a delightfully playful world of imaginative creativity.  I was, for the first time, encountering Brian Pardini's display of incredibly cool driftwood pieces, which formed fantastic creatures, ingenious animals, and insightful people.  Resting atop the neatly ordered book shelves and nestled into nooks and crannies these creations called to me...I simply couldn't get enough.  My children and I wandered the library, lost in the allure of inventive pieces fashioned from the kind of material we had undoubtedly walked by countless times on our trips to Presque Isle and other jaunts down to the shores of Lake Erie.  Now we were seeing natures gifts with new eyes- through the lens of possibility!

  I researched Brian's work but never got up the nerve to reach out to tell him how his work inspired me with it's light-hearted creativity and use of what was naturally offered.  Over the next several months I saw pieces of the collection move to the Raymond M.Blasco, M.D. Memorial Library and even read an article in the paper about him. 

  What I did not expect...at all...was to be presented with my very own Pardini original.  In keeping with his fun, playful style and much like the first time I encountered this art- I happened upon it.  I was walking the Karl Boyes Multipurpose Trail  at Presque Isle State Park with a friend, when something out of the ordinary caught my eye.  THIS very piece was sitting on a park bench.  I

Thank you Mr. Pardini!

immediately recognized the style but had no idea why it was there...unescorted.  How could this be?  Was it stolen from the library and discarded anonymously during a sudden bout of thief's remorse?  Was it forgotten during a lunch date on that frosty bench?  Was I being pranked or tested?  Whatever the case, I was not about to let this work of art sit out in the elements, which I suppose is funny since that's where it originated.  I looked around to see if anyone might have just stepped away for a moment with the intent of coming back for it.  No one fit the bill.  In a split decision, I snatched it up and kept on down the path, talking my friend's ear off about my fascination with these creations.  It's a signed piece- this was special!  I was determined to find it's rightful home.  I even considered a book I had read titled UNthink, by Erik Wahl, a graffiti artist/motivational speaker.  In each town he visits he hides an original piece of his art and leaves clues for it to be found as in a scavenger hunt.  Could I be that lucky?


  Days passed before I worked up the nerve to bashfully approach a librarian at Lincoln library to ask if she'd heard of a piece of the Pardini collection gone missing.  She laughed and conspiratorially leaned forward to reassure me, "That's what he does.  He'll randomly leave a piece of his work near an area he collects material as a thank you.  It's for the finder to keep." 

  I was dumbstruck in a sudden tumble of appreciation, relief, and inspiration. "HOW FUN IS THAT!?!," I thought.  What a cool way to pay it forward.  My family was elated that I would not be a suspect for thievery (whew! ha ha)...and that we were, in fact, the proud owners of a Brian Pardini original!  It's rightful home was mine and I was thrilled!

Legitimately ours: A Pardini original!

  Therefore, a very heart-felt and official THANK YOU, Mr. Brian Pardini, for the inspiration to see beyond what the eye sees and for the gift of spontaneity and generosity.  Your art and your spirit are themselves, a true gift to this world.


  Brace yourself for inspiration as you check out more of Brian's work here:
Brian Pardini: Art

**Make sure to read Brian's "STATEMENT" on the left hand column of his site...Intriguing!



 

Oops...

  Fiction could not be funnier than the truth during a recent car ride across town to visit my sister.

5 year- old daughter in a hoarse whisper: "JAAAMIE"

9 year old son distractedly turns his attention from the passing view out the window to his sister as he responds in a similar hoarse whisper: "What?"

5 year-old "You should have brushed your teeth before we left for Aunt Liz's..."

To which my 14 year old daughter chimes in from the front seat, "Guys, we're passing the poop factory," while gesturing to the Wastewater Treatment Plant on our left.

My five year-old daughter simply squeaked out "Oh," before sliding her eyes to her brother sitting a mere foot and a half away in the backseat and added, "sorry."

My nine year-old manages to catch my eye in the rear view mirror to express his exasperation with an understated eye roll before returning his gaze to the city whizzing by just outside his window.

Aaand...on we drive.

Pushing Through

 

  Overcoming obstacles is largely a mindset.

  The other night brought howling winds.  I hadn't gotten my walk in that day and I was determined to keep the schedule I had going.  Add to that, the text from my accountability partner telling me to get out in that stinkin weather.  She had run seven miles facing 50 mph winds.  How could I not walk my two measly miles?

  Dusk was due pretty soon after the motivating text came in so I needed to move it.  I sought the child most susceptible to pitying their mother walking alone in inclement weather.  Thank you dear sixth grade son:)  By the time we got to the Peninsula the winds were whipping the waves into a choppy soup threatening to splash if we got too near.  It was necessary to divert my son's growing apprehension in facing the creaking, thrashing limbs of trees lining the path. I tried to talk him into looking horizontally instead of vertically at the overhanging frenzied branches.

 Not even half way to our turn around mark, my son was reaching high-anxiety levels, complete with screaming over the wind, pleading, glistening eyes squeezed in fright, and hands locked over his ears.  "C'mon, we're almost there!," came my return plea.  "I want to go home!  Don't you hear how dangerous this is?," he shouted right before a branch landed behind us with a loud CRACK!  For the first time since I began walking this summer I began to add interval sprints.  "Hey", I panted during the recovery phase, "courage doesn't mean you're not afraid.  It means you feel the fear but do it anyway."  I don't know what reserve of strength kept my son moving forward in the darkening night as the wind screamed, branches yelled menacing threats, and dried leaves accompanied the desolation with their scratchy skittering for cover across the paved paths.  Our backdrop of the rolling water leapt into 3-D focus with intermittent sprays adding to the surreal evening that seemed to intensify in danger the further we went.  We continued on at a quickened pace while I yelled to myself as much as to my frightened boy, "Don't miss the beauty!"  Though justified in our wary state, it would have been a shame to miss the crescent moon taking center stage in the stormy sky.

  We did it!  We made it to the half way mark...now to get back.

  We were face to face with an onslaught of the wind's full force pushing back against our efforts.  My son's arms were aching from his effort to hold them against his ears the entire way.  He resisted my earmuffs and gave me a scathing look at the offer of my fluorescent pink scarf.  My legs were feeling the burn from unfamiliar exertion.  Our clothes billowed out as we held onto one another during the frequent burst of upscaled gales.  Anxious to be out of harms way, my son said, "C'mon Mom, let's run through this next part!"  I knew he wanted to quickly get through the tunnel of trees lining both sides of the next hundred yards.  We had already been stepping over downed limbs.  I felt the leaden weight in my legs and knew I had reached exhaustion..."I can't.  I just don't think I can do it."  Clearly, I had made an error of judgement in pressing on- but we had no choice but to get ourselves back to the car.  We had three quarter mile to trod and we would have to fight for every step.

  That was the moment I realized how brazenly I had encouraged my son about courage as I kept on in the face of his keen terror.  He had kept going...I figured he'd be proud of himself for overcoming his fear.  I hadn't  the extreme mental mountains he was climbing to get over that hurdle.  I truly believed we'd be fine- I had walked this trail in a downpour before though my son had not.  My son is a lean and lanky, natural runner...though I am not.  I looked at the path ahead and made the decision to push my legs and lungs hard!  If I could ask my son to keep going, in what appeared to be a death-defying situation from his perspective, then I better darn well give his request the same respect and push through my perspective which insisted I simply could not.

  I gained insight as we rounded the bend to the safe comfort of our car.  It's easy to ask others to keep going in the face of their struggle when we know the outcome.  It's easier yet if they are our children and we have authority that can demand it.  It would be very good for our appreciation of what we are asking of them if we but walk, or run, in their shoes every now and then.

Ticked Off

  You may have read in an earlier post, titled DUCK! And Cover, that we are in the midst of the hunting season making ducks fair game.  What you didn't read about is the young man in his mid-teens who eats, sleeps, and breathes hunting...and lives under my roof.  Yes, the clamor of duck calls regularly sounds off in my dining room, accompanied by a variety of camouflage paraphernalia everywhere the eye can rest.  Duck decoys arrive in the mail and are proudly displayed throughout...well, everywhere the eye can rest.  Thankfully those decoys took the loud hint and migrated to the hunter's bedroom.

It's time to go hunting!

  This past Saturday was a decent day for hunting.  I heard floorboards creaking rather early and knew my son was biding his time til he dared disturb his father's slumber.  This period of waiting has become a stressful ritual in our home.  Upon my husband's emergence from the bedroom, he is faced with non-stop references to the current hour and minute followed by intervals of hovering during breakfast.  The subliminal message permeating our mealtime is, "Who has time to eat?!?  There's hunting to be done!"  Thank heavens maturity and consistent working with our son has led to the message being subliminal...time has softened the full-on verbal barrage.

  The time had come and my husband put us all out of our misery by asking our son to load the vehicle, which of course had been done an hour ago.  A kiss from my husband, a forehead presented by my son for me to kiss, and out the door they went.  This was the perfect opportunity for me to grab my eleven year-old boy and head to our favorite trails at the Peninsula.  Yes, the same Peninsula the duck blinds are located on.


  We'd been walking about ten minutes when my younger son pointed to the road which leads back home and announced, "Hey, there goes our van!"  Perhaps the warning bells should have been going off in my head...yet, I've learned I'm never far enough, in cases of emergency, I can't be reached.  So, on we walked...even as the dreaded awaited call came ringing in.  "Yeees?  I said, trying to be as cheery as possible."  I don't wish to bore nor scandalize you with the tirade that exploded into my ear describing how they never even made it into the duck blind.  I won't fill you in on the unflattering and rather disrespectful picture, painted of my husband, with such hostile words.  My teen, who had been chomping at the bit for this highly anticipated moment, was more than frustrated with the hope that had gone dead in the water without firing a single shot.

I admit I did feel bad for the fowl-tempered fella and quickened my pace to get home...though not so much that I would catch the initial fall-out fireworks I imagined were going off.  I even texted a couple nephews looking for a stand-in hunting partner.  I automatically assumed my husband's back was causing him such pain that he bailed and needed to rest.  Therefore, I resigned myself to the rescuer's role and began to mentally prepare to wrap in a blankey and sit in the blind if imploring texts to my nephews didn't pan out.

  With the walk finally over, we headed to the car only to be let down by a deflated rear tire.  Great...what the heck kind of day is this??  I called my husband to ask if I should drive like that.  He said he'd fill the compressor and be right down.  As I write this I'm realizing everything happens for a reason...it's a very good thing he was home or my 11 year-old and I would have had a long, uphill, chilly walk home...after our long, chilly walk we just took.  I was briefly filled-in over the phone how our teen ignored requests to find a trail leading to the blind.  Instead, he stomped right into the tall grasses determined to find a quick route there.  There was something about ticks, which alerted me to my husband's rightful concern... Presque Isle, lovely as it is, is known to have a large deer tick population.  My husband had once been bit by a deer tick, confirmed to have Lyme's disease.  He was never at ease with spending much time at Presque Isle, let alone going off trail and into dense vegetation where they'd most likely be.


Deer ticks can cause Lyme disease

  After his arrival and quick fix of the tire, I offered to drive the van home while he'd take the car to the closest gas station and check the tire's air pressure.  That offer was quickly rescinded upon hearing that three large deer ticks had already been found crawling in the van.  Sure enough, our son had walked right into a hot spot for the buggers before his frustrated Dad demand they were going home due to lack of obedience.

Eeeew!

Once home, I was surprised by the calm I walked into.  I was certain there would  be arguing and pleading for me to fulfill my impatient hunter's plans for the day.  I was impressed to see his quiet resignation as he worked side by side with my husband to rid the van of these tiny, disease carrying, blood suckers.  I was relieved yet horrified that a total of eight ticks were discovered in our family's vehicle.  I listened to my 11 year-old ask, "Dad, what is the purpose of ticks in the world?" and wondered the same thing.  We didn't come up with much of an answer...likening them to mosquitoes and other insects that seem to do more harm than good.

  Perhaps, in that instance the tick's purpose was to provide a teachable moment.  Difficult as it was, there is more patience added to my young hunter's arsenal.  He has learned to pace the floors on Saturday mornings instead of bounding onto our bed...maybe he will listen to the voice that warns him to stay on the path and understand wisdom is born of experience.



Stormy Changes

  Time to hunker down.

  Last night I was tucking my two youngest into bed, and by that I mean falling asleep smack dab in the middle, when all three of us were startled by a CRASH*Bang*thumpthumpthump.  My littlest woke from a sound sleep, eyes popping open to mutter, "what was that?"  Her older brother clutched me from behind and whimpered his complete undoing during the windstorm.  He's had a phobia of strong weather ever since he was caught on the lacrosse field during a brewing storm.  Lightening had appeared on the horizon and seemed to stretch it's finger to the ground amidst a deafening clap of thunder.  That particular squall had blown in on a tremendously strong wind.  My husband and six of the seven children were present during that traumatizing event.  Most of the kids were coaching or practicing while I was less than a mile down the street...in the gym.  I saw no issue in getting a good workout in while the kids were doing the same.  The youngest wanted to go to the gym's childcare and we had every intention of  catching the last few minutes of practice. 

  Well, I never did have to run over to the field to see them...they came to me...and had my name announced over the loud speaker.  One look at my husband's face while a hysterically crying, little boy clung to his leg silenced my, "Wow...the wind has really picked u..." unnecessary comment.  Some of the older kids were shooting rain-soaked daggers at my flushed face while others were trying to disappear into the carpet to escape questioning glances and outright stares of passing patrons.  My family's sopping exhibition was a sight to behold.  I wanted to join the crew seeking escape as my husband's "exasperated" tone rose while reminding me I had the van...they had to walk in the howling wind and listen to shrieks of terror from my son, whose eyes were still glazed with unadulterated fear.  The gym's receptionist had the grace to appear oblivious to the nine of us gathered a foot from her counter.  The cluster of cubicles that lined the opposite wall hustled into a flurry of fingers dialing suddenly urgent calls and shuffling papers that were in dire need of...shuffling.   Perhaps that day the staff gained insight into my jubilant smile and joyful "hello" each visit; in a family this size there is ALWAYS some issue needing to be worked out with a sweaty gusto.

  So there we lie, in the wake of the "crashbangthumping" all six eyes wide open...bed vibrating from my son's tremulous quaking.  "Hey Hon, I think your saw just fell down the porch steps" I call out to the living room.  Nothing. No reaction til one of the kids asked what he thought it was.  "Uuuumph," he utters from the effort of closing the recliner then, "ooooach," escapes his lips while pulling his poor, injured, and degenerating discs to an upright position.  I hear low mutters about probabilities of the drying rods holding their hunting clothes falling.  The little ones and I hear the curtains being slid, door opening and the silence that follows.  Finally there's "How is that even possible?!?" followed by shuffling, grunts and the solid thump, thump, thumping of what I can only guess is the saw being hoisted back up on the front deck and into our foyer...next to the sizable treadmill we recently had our muscled teenager carry up from the basement with intent to sell.  Yes, my family and our home ARE a sight to behold.  Most likely not your average sight.  However, it's what is not written most days is what defines us.  The tender smiles, giggles, and tickles before eyes begin to close at bedtime; these are the nectar of goodness.  The quiet prayers (and sometimes not so quiet) offered in thanksgiving for all our day held and asking for the grace to draw us closer to Him through it all: these are the channels to the staying power that holds us together no matter what typhoon comes our way.  The days Dad calls all to the garden to witness the miracle of growth from a seed to produce: these are the life lessons that will hopefully instill wonder and knowledge as our children grow into adults.  And of course the thousands of inconsequential moments that ARE life...it's in the living, that we learn.  The lessons seldom come from the moments we get it right the first time...but how we learn from those and do it better when offered a do-over. The best do-overs are the ones where patience, mercy, and attempted understanding take place.

  I've not left my family stranded on a field while I drive off to better myself again and the bulky saw got wheeled down to a safer storage space.  It now occupies the treadmill's former home.  The treadmill does still sit there in the foyer... awaiting offers (hint hint)-- great working condition I just have my reasons ;) *please see post titled Trail Vs. Treadmill. 

  That night's howling winds were a warning that the weather is changing...kinda like this family.  Bigger storms are coming, no doubt.  Definitely time to hunker down and prepare for those storms and changes...and stormy changes. 

  Time to embrace the sleepy time snugglers while they still love lullabies and bedtime stories.  Seek out moments with the pre-teen who has been letting more nights slip by without asking me to tuck him in but still whispers, "I love you Mom," as he heads upstairs for the night.  And while I do appreciate alone time it's so important to remember that there are teens hungering for some alone time with me- even if they don't realize it.  A simple, "Hey, I'm going to the store do you want to ride with me?" opens the door to chatting, laughs, and perhaps questions asked that wouldn't be broached at the dinner table.  And of course there's that college boy...already out on his own, though never too far for me to text "Good night, we love you, God bless you. <3." 

   A good reminder from a bedtime story shared throughout the years:  the big, bad wolf did try to huff and puff and blow the house down...it was the solid foundation that remained intact.

Don't Miss It!

6 A.M. came early this morning.  My sweet husband woke me with a whispered, "Hey Sus, time to get up.  You gonna shower?"  My groggy mind picked around this question debating whether to beat my teenage daughter to the bathroom or dismiss the cleansing waters until I get my exercise walk in.

  I waffled interiorly even as I uttered, "Nah," to the shower, knowing I should walk.  I rolled out of bed onto my knees and gave my day to God.  I promptly got up, grabbed the towel hubby had left for me on the bed, and locked the door to signify I'm first in the bathroom line-up.  I'm not sure when I changed my mind to forgo the walk and prep for the day but it happened.

  Fast-forward one hour to walking the last two children to the bus stop.  Somewhere in the midst of a hundred yards the whispering winds and warm sunshine changed my mind for me again.  I MUST walk today.  This is an indication of just HOW BEAUTIFUL it is outside today- since I had actually curled my hair.

  I tricked myself with the thought this wouldn't be an exercise jaunt.  No, I would go to the Peninsula with the sole purpose being to soak in nature's glory.  Normally that trick succeeds in wooing me to the workout destination.  Once there I'm ready to break a sweat.  Today, I truly was mesmerized by Autumn's Last Hurrah.  Maybe I had been wooed for a soul purpose...

  I walked my familiar paths while warmed rays grazed my face.  I was surprised by the wind's insistence.  I had visualized serenity but discovered an urgency in the choppy waters that in no way lessened today's splendor.  In fact,  I became caught up in recognizing today's walk was not meant to merely delight my eyes.  This discovery came with the realization I had forgotten my sunglasses and needed to squint my eyelids shut.  Oddly enough, the wind had risen several octaves as I walked, gusting the leaves into a frenzy.   Undaunted, I walked on, blind and deafened by the gales that now rose and fell like a symphony reaching it's crescendo.  This is when I FELT why I was to be here this morning...

  My world slowed as the wind ran it's breathy fingers through my hair, caressing my face, holding my attention long enough to deliver the sun's quiet message of goodbye.

  Perhaps it was in handing over my day that I was afforded this GIFT that I had tried to pass up due to the desire to get more done.  I am so grateful I didn't miss it!  Not only was I walking in the wonder of warm weather and beautiful skies in November here in Erie, PA,  I was mindful of the seasonal passing on of the baton.  That moment woke me from my "meh" attitude of entitlement and spurred me to implore each of you to not let this day go by without lifting your face to receive the golden glow's kiss of parting.  It's not a final embrace, as we hardy Lake Erie-ites have learned.  Yet, in our town's remarkable setting, it's a thing of such concentrated beauty we are willing to hunker down through the extreme weather until it emerges once again in all it's glory.  Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is no laughing matter in these parts- let us drink in this elixir while we can!

Carpe Diem!
        

 

I LOVE this Town!

  I LOVE my town, Erie, PA!  I can't help it-- the thought bursts through me every single time I walk the Peninsula.  I started my strolls there back in August and the beauty is mesmerizing no matter the day's weather or season.

   This summer, my daughters and I were captivated by the varying reactions from fellow walkers, runners and bike-riders.  We revisit these responses regularly...mostly while convulsed in giggles. 

   If you've walked Presque Isle on any sunny day during the warm months you'd already realize that the Karl Boyes multipurpose trail is exactly that, multi-purpose.  This is a shared path, with equal privilege given to all.  There is a courtesy reminder painted on the walk every so often asking all to KEEP RIGHT.  For those who travel...well, faster than I (ie, bike riders, roller bladers, skate boarders, and anyone jogging even at a snails pace,) the word seems to have secretly spread that you are to say, "ON YOUR LEFT," to let me know you are approaching behind me.  There's an element of excitement that is inherent in the fact that I will be run over if I don't move.  I truly appreciate the relish with which some announce this phrase, a sort of giddy power that I have no problem respecting.  This "On your left" is not posted anywhere to my knowledge-  therefore, a huge Congratulations to the verbal trendsetter who made it wildly popular!

 I've also noticed a genuine joy emanating from those bike riders who like to use their bell to alert us that we are about to be speed bumps if we choose to not share the path.  My teen-aged daughter and I delighted in the bikers who were prepped and ready to ring the bell with the lever in position, fingers quivering with anticipation to let it RIIIING...when we hear them coming and move over before their arrival.  The let-down of the moment is announced in the deflated "ting" as they depress the lever and utter a sad and unnecessary, "on your left" as if we'd just stolen their glorious, metallic punch-line.  

  Then there are the wonderfully gleeful "Good morning!,"  "Beautiful day today," and "Hello"'s  that highlight what a pleasant microcosm of our town's friendliest folks I am sharing the walk with.  Of course these greetings have offered their share of mirth based on the level of exertion said greeter is in whilst exercising.  A+ for effort to the perspiring runner who tried extending a "Good morning" which morphed into a breathy, croaked out "Meeahh" with a two fingers raised in a tired salutation.  I could only giggle because my level of breathing was barely challenged at my slowpoke pace. 

   There is a sense of comradery, civility, and kindness that seems to be inspired by the beautiful environment.  And it's no wonder, the panoramic view of Erie's skyline is stretched along views of an ever changing Bay.  At times I'm energized by the stark white clouds that invade the bluest of skies over top choppy waters that reach up to tempt birds that dare fly so low.  In contrast there have been moments that seem to have read my mood and offer serenity in the mist that hovers over tranquil waters which lap the low stones in a soothing effort to offer compassion.  With all this beauty in one tiny corner of this place I call home- I recognize how blessed I am to have been raised here and returned years later to raise a family.  I LOVE my town <3