My Little Butterfly

Here's a drawing I just did of Madeline in our hammock. But now I think it looks more like she's in a cocoon. And she is becoming a butterfly, so that's right.

She used to be just a baby. See? She couldn't walk, run, or play soccer at all. That was only seven years ago. Just a little sigh of time.

Now she sits in the hammock reading on her own! And plays soccer with her dad. Rides her bike around the neighborhood. Tells me what's what.

There's a beautiful song by Sweet Honey In the Rock

Your children are not your children

they are the sons and the daughters of life's longing for itself

they come through you but they are not from you

and though they are with you

they belong not to you...

She belongs to herself. And she's stretching her wings and will be stretching them for years to come. Preparing to fly. I hope I can be there for her in any way that helps. But in so many ways she's got to learn to fly on her own.

How do you see your children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews? How can we be there for them without getting in the way on their road to becoming butterflies?

The Rabbit Is Back

You may already know that I didn't do this wonderful painting. No, this one is by Albrecht Durer. Why do I love this painting? Is it because of the amazing attention to detail? This rabbit (or Young Hare) is as dignified as a king, as serious as the Pope.

And now it's illustrating my blog! to say The Rabbit Is Back. The one who scurries and scampers and munches grass in the yard outside my dining room window. We breakfasted (?) together this morning. Yesterday I watched him (or her) being chased by a cat. The rabbit was faster, of course.

Not that I never saw these kind of backyard animal shows in Brooklyn. I once saw my cat fighting a praying mantis, which definitely goes on my list of Strangest Sights Ere I Have Witnessed.

I stepped outside early this morning and so many birds were busy doing their bird-things. Mockingbirds, robins, sparrows, mourning doves.
Another post about spring. I can't help it, I'm so happy that terrible winter is over.
I bet you are too!

April is the Coolest Month!

That's what all the birds are saying. Hear them? They're right out my window, loving April.

Everything's budding. Our little lilac bush, that refused to flower for two years, decided her time has come. Hooray for lilacs! Forsythia, tulips, daffodils, the dogwood tree...

And soon the day lilies. And lots of other beauties.

So why did Mr. Eliot say it's the cruelest month? Because love is in the air? Because April makes you feel like everything is possible, everything is new, and then later on we still have to face December? Maybe your heart gets broken and your dreams don't soar quite as high as you hoped?

You know what I say?
I DON'T CARE!
It's spring and anything can happen. Life is new. My lilac bush is blossoming.

How does spring make you feel?

Do you find it very cruel?

Maybe you should go outside and smell the flowers.
Happy spring, everyone!

More Molly

http://www.sportsmansparadiseonline.com/Live_Owl_Nest_Box_Cam.html

I'm not kidding. You have got to check out this owl with her four owlets. Momma Owl is so exhausted, she's falling asleep on one foot. I remember those days!
And her babies look extremely un-owlish, to me. More like baby vultures. Then again Madeline looked like a gummy bear when she was a newborn. But cute!

And look how well she draws now. I think her owl looks so wise, don't you?

I'm learning alot from my daughter!

Constance, Is that You?

Who is that tough broad?

I did this painting in 1992, maybe. Back when I smoked cigarettes (unfortunately.) I hardly recognize myself in this painting. Then again, yes, I do.

I'm not going to apologize again for the smoking. We can get past that, can't we?

Because I like the way she looks so film noir. And like I'm not gonna take nuthin' from nobody. Or is it more of a melancholy lost in regretful thoughts moment? I paid my dues, now I want to sing the blues?

Or all of the above.

So reason #57 for doing self-portraits: to remember all the different parts of you that continue being you, even so many years after you've rolled your last cigarette.