Kate and the sand fairy

“Kate and the sand fairy” painting by dcrelief

One of my nieces gave me a call
“Do me a painting to hang on my wall.
I want lots of sand and a beautiful sea,
And a castle that’s small with a fairy for me.”

Large floating clouds that hide the great sun;
Reflecting its beauty and playfully done.
An ocean that threatens to wash into shore
And take the small castle with each foaming roar.

“And paint me in purple; I’ll lie on the beach.
Just like ‘Mona Lisa’, a slight smile in peach.
Can you place in my hand a fairy so small?
And make her have wings, though not very tall?”

I searched family photos to find that sweet face
To paint in the setting of a magical place.
Yet when I was done I really could see
That sweet little face looked so much like me.

And she saw it too and thought it was great
That she looked like me, and I looked like Kate!
“Aunt D, it’s amazing that we look alike,
so for our next painting, let’s paint it at night.”

In the quiet of my night

In the quiet of the night, I can contemplate the most marvelous things or the most pitiful sorrows. I can make them as big or as small as I choose. With only the low hum of my fan, I sit here and type away. Sometimes I wish I could type away the misery of my own and other people's lives; yet I cannot. It is then that I feel so small. And I type and I type.

In the quiet of the night I can type chapter after chapter of my life, which may never be read, save by me; chapters that I've written that never a tear was shed until I reread them. It is only through the growth of my spirit that I am able to look in hindsight and weep in sorrow or in joy. Yet when the pain of too much sorrow or too much joy would overwhelm me I move to the quiet of the night and I type.


In the quiet of the night I can know when I'm sad. I can know when I'm joyful. I can know when someone else feels those same feelings. I can offer a shoulder, a smile, or both. Indeed when tears are shared and mingle together with someone who understands, they offer comfort… in my quiet of the night.

The Pink Forest

“The Pink Forest” painting by dcrelief

Every year I wander home to Pennsylvania to visit with family. I find my self surrounded by nieces and nephews for whom I have written children’s books over the years. Now they are old enough to have children and it’s, “Aunt D, can I get another copy of ‘The Red Bird’, ‘Grandma’s Teapot,’ or ‘The Wooden Horse’?” Funny but I didn’t realize that my books would be so loved. Is it time to publish them; with my dual fear of failure or success… I can only wonder.

I always take my paints and canvas and carefully trek into the woods or some other quiet spot and record with brushes what I see. Last year was no different but I wondered what to paint in the dismally cold rain. Before the week was out I had my answer; the rain cleared and an overcast sky began to snow. Huge flakes began to fall as if someone was standing on the mountain top and shredding paper; nice large flakes! The ground covered fast and I could tell there was going to be a painting. But it continued on through the night and I began to doubt I’d ever make the walk through the large drifts.

It was around seven in the morning that two of my oldest nieces woke me, “C’mon and see the pink forest.” I hurriedly dressed, we grabbed my painting gear and I followed, not knowing to where. The youngest, at 21, talked fast, “Oh you’ve got to see this. It happens every year when it snows. We call it ‘the pink forest’”. Pretty soon we came upon a clearing and… the painting from above is what we saw. No words could really describe the beauty. Enjoy!

Looking for the negative

volcano: Hawaii National Park

Emotions flow
From long ago
Never trusted and I know
I seek the negative

Reject the wealth
Of my very self
Placed on a shelf
I was taught the negative

It’s been the norm
Since I was born
I’m often torn
And doubt the negative

Ones who care
Have bid me dare
Come from the snare
Forsake the negative

The question starts
Within my heart
Could I dare part?
And trust… and trust…
Not looking for the negative

Home is where the heart is

Artist unknown, photo: Hoodoos Drumheller Canada

No matter where I go I take myself. No matter where I live I keep every problem or secret that hides in my head… in my heart. I can no more be me without them, than I think I might be with them. All of my shortcomings will live with me, where I go, until I choose to let each one go. But today those same shortcomings do not define me. I can ask my heart to release kindness and empathy for my head that would lead me astray. I can seek others that give me hope that my life can continue and reap joy, understanding, and yes, love. And along the way I hope to give back during the clear moments to someone else who finds that they take themselves wherever they go. And may I help them to understand that home is where the heart is; not of a physical location, but within the hearts of others who share.

Appreciate All Life

The painting: “The Diver and Sea Slug”, by dcrelief

After many years of a medicated life and feeling numb to anything or anyone, I finally chose to come off of the medications and take my chances on finding some normalcy again. Yes I had some issues that had plagued for a long time that needed addressing. And I also found out that I had an illness called Fibromylagia which had induced my original depression. I wasn’t clinically depressed; however the damage done by the medications left me without a life. My mind fought hard to regain the cognitive abilities and my body, so racked by side effects, would never be the same.

Along came the day I decided to take up painting again and I wanted to do a study in black backgrounds. Reflective of my feelings at that time, black was invisible, which is how I felt. Since then black has come to be the very show piece for allowing my paintings, pictures, and photos to “pop” off the page.

This first painting called, “The Diver and the Sea Slug” was so easy and yet I spent three days fighting my insides, screaming at me, that I could not do a painting. I decided to just blank out my thoughts and let the brush and colors flow as they would.

I did the painting for a friend and his wife, using a combination of photos they had. I listened in amazement as they told of the things they had seen underwater; the precious view they had developed for all life. From the tiniest sea creatures and larger mammals traveling great oceans, to the very divers in their group, they knew each form of life has its own place of play and refuge. Each form of life has a place in the great cycle of existence. Though some may disappear and new ones come along, it behooves us to appreciate all life.

Hmm, each form has a place? I wasn’t sure of mine but this was a beginning thing to do to find me and see what I could be… again… anew.

Love at first "write"

I was sitting alone and typing away and along came this person named “Klahanie”. I had just finished posting “Just One Voice” a story in miniature of some pain I’d experienced. Thinking to hurriedly cover it with another post, bearing less soul, I found “Klahanie’s” comment: his wish for me to embrace the word empathy, and his expressing the idea of “promoting my writing to a wider audience.” Ironically it was not a wider audience that I desired, but an occasional comment from someone who was actually reading along. So I answered yes and went off to explore some blogs of his that he’d asked me to read.

Love at first “write”? Not only was I captured by his writing but also by the writings posted by his friends and companions, within the comment boxes. What wonderful people! What mutual appreciation and sharing they exhibited, and I wanted to be a small part of that “love”. So I wrote my first comment, followed by many other comments on other blogs that I read. And I grew to understand a bit of how they were able to “be” free of the pain I was sitting in. Could they help me; would they help me? I live so far away.

To a commenter on Klahanie's blog, “David” who asks if there’s a bit of romance between Klahanie and I? Romance from across the great pond… wow! But when I view the dictionary it tells me “no”. We are not impractical, we are not unrealistic, and we are not preoccupied with the idealizing of love. Now if you’re talking about the Romance style of literature or art that emphasizes imagination and emotion, you’re closer. Klahanie being a known “challenger of his inner critic” inspired me to begin thinking in a different manner; in a manner of positive affirmations, but so did the various other writers who were leaving him comments. So by all means, it was love at first write.

Tired...

Do you ever get to the point where you tire of writing? There’s no thought, no idea that entices you enough to sit here and type. It may be time to hang it all up and leave the blog world for good. Or maybe the stomach flu is winning.