Peace, Love & Squam

kinda catchy, eh? sweatshirts for next year? so okay, the brain is starting to take bits and pieces from the overwhelming days, and letting the mind examine them - just a pinch at a time lest a circuit blow. on a superficial level, it was a fabulous bunch o' days in a fabulous location with fabulous people, making somewhat passable art (not the fault of the instructors! and not for lack of their trying). to have come away with just that would have been great. however. it would have been impossible to leave with just dirty paintbrushes and smudged aprons and a hankering for some private bathroom time. so. as the eyes remember to tell the brain something they saw, and the brain collates it and allows it through to the mind, the fingers will faithfully translate as best they can. women have the ability to make deep, lasting friendships that, i think, men cannot understand. men do not have man-crushes. they don't hold hands and kiss each other just for the appreciation and love of the other's spirit. (hang on - i'm cracking myself up here picturing my hillbilly husband and our neighbor standing in the road with their chainsaws having "a moment" before clearing the trees that fell in the wind storm. oy. *wipe tears* ok better now). but to have 100+ artists all in the same area, all there with the same goal, the same spirit, one heart...it all was so overwhelming. no dramas. and it even feels wrong to say that...as if a group of women can't gather without SOMEthing going askew & awry. but okay hey, here's the thing...there is a subtle something yet unidentified in me that has changed. has shifted. it's like learning you have X-number of months to live - the unimportant seems to fall away. i have a quote on my studio wall that says "And what if you were told One More Hour?" indeed. so apparently, the brain has only released a part of a portion of a thought, because really i'm still not able to pinpoint. i think instead, i'll take my diva dog for a walk through her woods, over the turtle bridge, through the echoecho tunnel, past the monkey tree, by George's house and the mariachi dogs. i'll breath the cedar pines and pop jewelweed pods and watch late bumblebees squeeze their fat buzzing furry butts into the last nectar of the snapgragon blooms and listen as my ravens and crows and woodpeckers and hawks all announce they've been waiting for me to return....welcome home. L.