Dear blog flock,
 |
| Do you too you sense the presence of ectoplasm here? |
Did you follow the smoke signal? We were a little fascinated by the rituals around the conclave choosing the big man with the big hats and the all those continents to walk. Evidently, new Francis is not big into the the papal pomp and vestments, he rides the bus to the hotel. We'll see if he can resist the shoes:
 |
| Red said to symbolize the blood of Catholic martyrs over the centuries who have died following the footsteps of Christ. But let's face it, the tint hints more toward fashion. And who wouldn't like to sport some hand made red Italian shoes? |
 |
| Compare Old Constantine of Helena's shoe color of holiness |
This week, Art Ranger learned some life lessons from Mario, the gas station owner at the end of our road. Mario's gas is at least a dollar and a half more per gal than anybody elses gas, but you get your windshields cleaned by Mario who wears an apron and chomps on an unlit cigar while he works. We were having an almost-out-of-gas type of week, so we stop at Mario's because we aren't sure we can make it to another station and we are, of course, short on time. This is exactly when Mario shows his most industrious and perfectly personable self as he cleans the blue Prius in front of me, front, back, sides, mirrors, front some more .... The glass gets impeccably and pridefully cleaned, including pointer
finger granmotherlike attention to say a squashed bug or bird doo speck. Then, he carries the credit card inside to process with a small clipboard and a
Bic pen dangling on a string. Old-time Raybans, cigar, smile, apron. We can't just leave in a huff, because it's Mario and he knows us and we were his son-in-law's teacher once.
Finally it is our turn. We're cheap and we ask for $20 worth. By now, we've been doing yogic breathing, trying to fill our entire diaphragm with enough oxygen to muster the patience. Mario, she says "why do I always come to your fine gas station when I am in a hurry and I can't really enjoy having my windshields cleaned?" "This is life - you in a hurry, you no gas, this go together." Even
more so, he carries on admirably. Spray spray spray spray spray. We try to relax into the perfectly mesmerizing and rhythmic windshield wiping ritual, letting go of our temporal stress defect. A series of deliberate liquid strokes, spare like brush painting upon crackly sunshine. The way the drips are caught, the even pressure of the squeegee swipes, the uniform 1/2 inch overlap of rows. Pheww! We are finally ready to roll again, after exchanging beautiful day type pleasantries. Driving away, we realize that Mario is
the only person in months who has actually asked about
her art. Along with your windshield, you can get your clarity, your purpose in life back, heck, you are really
ready to go somewhere ....
 |
| Captivating book title from rack at Kinkos |
To top it all off, Homeland Inspiration mailbox was graced by some images from one of our correspondants from the home front that we haven't heard from lately: Maggie Stewart, a.k.a. Aunt Madge:
 |
| "A well winterized piece. Maybe my plants will grow like they're on steroids!" |
 |
| Giant Lily Pad (nearly steroidal in sturdiness) from Denver Botanical Gardens. |
Extraordinary design and texture. A lovely serving platter, or ...
Row row row your boat
gently down the stream
...................... ..................... ...................
and along the way please send some art like moments to FAF@homelandinspiration.org
