(photo courtesy of matthew)
billie hinton’s camera-obscura:
life and lessons on November Hill Farm
Saturday, March 03, 2007
lunar intrigue
"Set aside some time this weekend for sky watching. On Saturday night,
March 3rd, there's going to be a total eclipse of the Moon. This means the
Moon will glide through the heart of Earth's shadow and turn a beautiful
shade of sunset red. Totality can be seen from parts of all seven
continents including all of Europe and Africa and the eastern half of North
America.
Here in the United States, you have to be in the eastern half of the
country to witness totality. At the end of the day on Saturday, go outside
and face east. As the sun sets behind your back, a red Moon will rise
before your eyes--fantastic! Maximum eclipse is at 6:21 p.m. EST. Moonrise
is at 5:54 p.m., and sunset is at 5:59 p.m.
Visit www.spaceweather.com for observing tips, maps and links to live
webcasts.
Lunar Eclipse Gallery (photos from a similar eclipse in 2004):
http://spaceweather.com/eclipses/gallery_27oct04_page2.html
March 3rd, there's going to be a total eclipse of the Moon. This means the
Moon will glide through the heart of Earth's shadow and turn a beautiful
shade of sunset red. Totality can be seen from parts of all seven
continents including all of Europe and Africa and the eastern half of North
America.
Here in the United States, you have to be in the eastern half of the
country to witness totality. At the end of the day on Saturday, go outside
and face east. As the sun sets behind your back, a red Moon will rise
before your eyes--fantastic! Maximum eclipse is at 6:21 p.m. EST. Moonrise
is at 5:54 p.m., and sunset is at 5:59 p.m.
Visit www.spaceweather.com for observing tips, maps and links to live
webcasts.
Lunar Eclipse Gallery (photos from a similar eclipse in 2004):
http://spaceweather.com/eclipses/gallery_27oct04_page2.html
Friday, March 02, 2007
between places
Like the moments just before night falls, or dawn breaks, or the sweet anticipation just before something wonderful happens, the creative process has between places -- space and time where nothing seems to happen, and yet that nothing blooms quite suddenly to magic.
These moments pass by lightning-fast if one isn't paying attention, but once noted and watched for, they grow longer and more useful. Letting the moments be silent and undirected seems to make room for solutions and revelations and synchronicity.
Honor the quiet empty times and prepare for the good stuff to come.
These moments pass by lightning-fast if one isn't paying attention, but once noted and watched for, they grow longer and more useful. Letting the moments be silent and undirected seems to make room for solutions and revelations and synchronicity.
Honor the quiet empty times and prepare for the good stuff to come.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
best birthday present ever
This is a portrait of my horse, Keil Bay, given to me last night for my birthday. I was stunned - it is absolutely gorgeous and captures the essence of Keil, whose nickname is The King. He is powerful and brilliant and kind and wise, and oh so expressive. I see him every day, of course, but the photograph is very special and I will always treasure it.
Thank you, Matthew.
Monday, February 26, 2007
more metaphor
One of my earliest memories of the creative process at work was watching my grandma sew on her Singer machine. She wasn't a seamstress, but she had two Singers and used them regularly. I don't recall anything she made - mostly I remember her figure, seated, working the treadle with her foot and holding pins in her mouth.
The little drawers in the machine's table were like treasure chests. One held scissors and measuring tape and various other little tools, the oil can and oil for the moving parts.
One held her buttons, the drop-down drawer held a rainbow of threads. Another held needles and the red tomato pincushion so full of pins it barely showed through.
Well before she died, she gave me the table-top and its ancient instruction manual. I actually figured out how to work it and made simple things like pillow covers and curtains.
Later, she gave me the Singer in its own cabinet, with all the drawers still stuffed with the things I remembered from childhood.
Sadly, when my own children came along, I was not vigilant enough and many of those little treasures were spirited away and used in various and elaborate play scenarios. But a few things remain.
I have the machine in my writing office here at home. I frequently think of weaving silver or magenta or iridescent threads through my novels, and something about the treadle and the beauty of the machine itself, and those treasure chest drawers across the room is inspiring.
It also reminds me of my grandma, who I stayed with quite a bit as a young girl. She was wonderfully inventive. There are no photos of her sewing but there are photos of her swimming and posing and standing on her head, and inside my head are many cherished images I wish I had on paper: her long and pale blond hair catching on fire one morning as she burned the trash - and promptly put the tall cylindrical trash can she'd just emptied on top of her head to put out the flames. Carefully plucking very large garden spiders from their webs in an effort to show me they were harmless. Sitting on the edge of the old porcelain bathtub in her house after my grandfather died, crying, while I patted her on the shoulder. Mixing Tang breakfast drink and spices and black tea and calling it "Russian Tea," which she served in fancy china cups on her red kitchen dinette table.
She wrote postcards and letters but to my knowledge she never wrote a story. And yet she didn't need to - she walked around with stories draped across her shoulders like scarves. A treasure trove I have not even begun to tap.
One thing I intend to do this week: go to a sewing shop and buy a new rainbow of threads to fill the drop-down drawer, and maybe some notions to fill the empty drawers.
The little drawers in the machine's table were like treasure chests. One held scissors and measuring tape and various other little tools, the oil can and oil for the moving parts.
One held her buttons, the drop-down drawer held a rainbow of threads. Another held needles and the red tomato pincushion so full of pins it barely showed through.
Well before she died, she gave me the table-top and its ancient instruction manual. I actually figured out how to work it and made simple things like pillow covers and curtains.
Later, she gave me the Singer in its own cabinet, with all the drawers still stuffed with the things I remembered from childhood.
Sadly, when my own children came along, I was not vigilant enough and many of those little treasures were spirited away and used in various and elaborate play scenarios. But a few things remain.
I have the machine in my writing office here at home. I frequently think of weaving silver or magenta or iridescent threads through my novels, and something about the treadle and the beauty of the machine itself, and those treasure chest drawers across the room is inspiring.
It also reminds me of my grandma, who I stayed with quite a bit as a young girl. She was wonderfully inventive. There are no photos of her sewing but there are photos of her swimming and posing and standing on her head, and inside my head are many cherished images I wish I had on paper: her long and pale blond hair catching on fire one morning as she burned the trash - and promptly put the tall cylindrical trash can she'd just emptied on top of her head to put out the flames. Carefully plucking very large garden spiders from their webs in an effort to show me they were harmless. Sitting on the edge of the old porcelain bathtub in her house after my grandfather died, crying, while I patted her on the shoulder. Mixing Tang breakfast drink and spices and black tea and calling it "Russian Tea," which she served in fancy china cups on her red kitchen dinette table.
She wrote postcards and letters but to my knowledge she never wrote a story. And yet she didn't need to - she walked around with stories draped across her shoulders like scarves. A treasure trove I have not even begun to tap.
One thing I intend to do this week: go to a sewing shop and buy a new rainbow of threads to fill the drop-down drawer, and maybe some notions to fill the empty drawers.
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