Sixteen robins.

That’s what I saw outside my bedroom window this morning. I think there were probably more, but the flock flew away before I could finish counting! 

I then crawled back into bed to hopefully sleep off the bug that is making the rounds. I’m up finally, feeling much better, and my Fitbit says I slept sixteen hours!

Today is brought to you by the number sixteen.

I’ll let you numerology people unravel that one. 

Now for some watercolor sketches of robins. Spring is upon us, friends. 

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Give light and People will Find the Way.

“On Friday we wept, on Saturday we marched, on Sunday we rested. Today we get to work. What will you do today?” – Valerie Kaur

I live in the very, very Southwest corner of Florida. Not near Miami, or Orlando, or Tampa, where you might find some blue dots in our red state. No. I live where it is not weird at all to see a dude driving his pickup around a parking lot with a shirtless dude in back waving a flag larger than my garage that says “MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN.” Totally normal. Totally happened in my local Ace Hardware parking lot.

Because of this lack of blue dots in a very, very red area of the state, I almost didn’t attend my nearest sister march for the women’s march. I was certain that it was going to be me and the usual twenty aging white hippies who usually show up at these things.

Illustration based on a photo posted on Facebook by the baby’s mom Jenny Sowry. This is #wokebaby. Marched in Charlotte, NC on Saturday with her crayon-scribbled sign. Can you handle the cuteness? (Follow my instagram @100daysofhope for daily art like this.)

I WAS WRONG.

As I approached the march location there was a fair amount of traffic. There were tons and tons of cars parked on lawns illegally. There was no way this was because of the march, I thought. Not in this long-established republican stronghold where the last democrat to win the county was Adlaid Stevenson II in 1952.  (Source: Wikipedia.)

It turns out the crowd, the traffic, it was in fact all for the march.The organizers expected 300: At least 2,500 people showed up.  

YES, that is right. Over two-thousand people in our sleepy little vacation town showed up to march. Thousands of people marched and chanted past the tony vacation homes and high-end boutiques. The retirees in sports cars gawked. The passer-bys on their way to brunch bristled.

It. Was. Amazing. 

There were elderly marchers being pushed in wheelchairs, young marchers being pulled in wagons. Families, singletons, teens, twenty-somethings. Men! Women! And yes, a lot of white sixty-something women. But not just the aging hippy-sisters-who-paved-the-way oh-so long ago. We couldn’t have been here without them, but we need more than just them to move forward.

The best part was that the tone of the crowd wasn’t angry (though we were angry, yes); it wasn’t sad, or defeated or gloom and doom. No, it was…joyful. Jubilant even. It was downright spiritual: we were transmuting our pain with art, with dancing, with music. And levity! (The signs were hilarious, no?)

(And in case you missed it, the baby marcher with her crayoned-protest-sign. THIS. This is what we need.)

Let’s keep doing it. Let’s keep showing up for each other. Let’s keep giving light so others will find the way. And let’s do it with much rejoicing.

Did you march, sisters? (And brothers!) Tell me your stories! 

3/100

They thought they could bury us

They didn’t know we were seeds.

How will you feed your soul? What will help it grow? 

2/100

Things are brewing (but not coffee)

I have drafts in my head that I want to put on page but instead I’m painting so the words will have to wait just a bit longer.

Things are brewing. Not coffee of course. Welp. I made it three hours into the morning and legitimately thought about throwing in the towel. That is how much I was missing my coffee. But instead I brewed lots and lots of hot water with lemon. Then I stared at piles of vegetables and decided to figure out a Plan for them later.

Until my next post–some bird friends I dreamed up and painted yesterday. Birds don’t do cleanses. Smart birds. (Of course they don’t drink coffee either so nevermind.)
 

No words, just art

Two days in a row now I’ve sat down in the morning with my coffee and an intention to write…and two days in a row I have decided to draw and paint instead. Either way, a very good way to start the day, and I am grateful for that! I am sure the words will return soon.

I created this little Florida scene and thought I would share with you all. It features (one) of my favorite little birds, the Ibis.  These cool little birds are common place where I live. Isn’t that just amazing? Not exactly a bird I saw growing up in the Midwest, I will tell you that! Anyway, ibises are a hoot to watch. They typically travel in groups and peck at the ground looking for bugs. It isn’t uncommon to see a group of ten or twelve of them crossing the yard en masse. They make themselves quite at home, too. They don’t seem to mind sharing the space with the odd squirrel or a few mourning doves.

Well, with one exception. Beagles. They are spooked by two old, loud, barking beagles running toward them, and I certainly can’t blame them for that.

img_4272

artwork my own. Copyright Sarah Osmer Dimattina

 

Update: after posting I went outside and what did I see but a small flock of ibises! Well played, universe.

Take time to remember

End of the Beginning by James Northrup

Someone said we begin to die
the minute we’re born.
Death is a part of life.
Who knows why the Creator
thins the herd.
Another old saying says
we must all be prepared
to give up those we love
or die first.
Take time to mourn.
Take time to remember.
Everything happens in cycles.
The pain you feel was once
balanced by someone’s joy
when that baby was born.
The loss you feel today
will be replaced by good
long-lasting memories.
Is there a message here? Yea,
treat others like this
is your last day above ground.

James Northrup 1943-2016

(artwork my own- full image can be viewed here and was inspired by this post.)