“South End Sunset,” Gouche on Panel © 2021 Donna Lyons

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2023

As I look at the beauty of the November sunsets, I’m reminded of a quote I heard years ago: “November sunsets are the dividends paid by the year before closing its books.” How true that seems to me.

These sunsets along with the beautiful colors found in the sunrises, should we be awake to see them, are reminiscent of stained glass. When I created several stained glass pieces years ago, their amazing colors provided much to be admired. Whether pastels or brilliant oranges, rusts, red, complemented with blues, their patterns appeared endless and unique. So too do hues of green which appear in these morning and evening spectacular shows.

Beyond the beauty found in stained glass, nature gives us other colorful displays in the patterns found in granite. We learned this in visiting two showrooms as we looked for something new for our kitchen countertop and bathroom floors and shower. Here again, like stained glass, the immense array of pinks, blues, greens, brown tones and more became mind boggling. Who knew about these incredible color schemes let alone the wave, swirl or other patterns unless on the quest for a home remodel.

While I don’t understand the science behind the colorful skies or what makes granite so varied and impressive, I can appreciate them both. Most likely, sky gazing is the least expense of these options for admiring nature at work.

Why not take a stained glass class and enjoy the challenge of cutting, shaping and soldering your piece which you’ll have for years of enjoyment. Or, if you’re looking to remodel, treat yourself to a showroom visit to find just the granite. Although it might cost a tad more than the other works of nature, it will be enjoyed daily for years to come as well.

What is your favorite display of nature’s colors at work? Regardless their location, all are priceless in their own unique way.

November 2024

“Abundance and Scarcity,”  “9” x “6” Watercolor and Gouache, Copyright © 2019 By Donna Lyons

“Morning Reads”

By Marty Coffin Evans

Each morning, unless I’m heading out for a breakfast meeting, I pour a cup of coffee, settle into my blue chair and reach for the books/booklets which help ground me for the day. Before opening the first one, little white poodle-mix Simon assumes his position on my lap for a post-night nap.

During our pandemic months, several friends emailed requests for quotes, recipes, along with suggestions for meditations or books, all in a chain-letter type format. I respectfully declined, believing my stash of six meditation books/booklets adequately helped me begin the morning.

The first book I reach for, Today is Mine, remains the oldest, having been given by a friend April 2007. When I opened the book, its April 25 meditation and title, “Just Enough Obstacles,” totally fit my circumstances. Mine included the months-earlier passing of my husband, mother’s death and my own cancer surgery, coming within nine days. Regardless the intervening years, Today is Mine still provides timeless, thought-inspiring meditations.

Next, I move on to three faith-based booklets with messages for each day. On occasion, I’ve copied or removed pages to pass along to others.

My two remaining books, both volumes of Cherokee Feast of Trails, complete my morning reading before I move onto the daily newspaper. I don’t remember how or where I found the first volume of this small daily meditation book.  Even after acquiring volume two this year, I’ve kept reading the first one. Both focus on family, seasons, friendships, life’s challenges and more.

All of these books have provided inspiration for my own writing, often after reading their different meditations. Selections about the seasons of the tree or reaching back to take another’s hand in support have been shared with different groups.

Might you have a morning stack of books to begin your day? Or, do yours end the day?

Copyright © 2023 By Marty Coffin Evans

October 2024

“Sojourn’s End,” 5″ x 8″ watercolor By Donna Lyons © 2015

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2016

They’d been separated for years. Now an arranged phone call connected them to loved ones many miles and a continent or two away.

Perhaps one was in refugee camp while the other, safe in another country. Perhaps one was exiled waiting for release and freedom. Whatever the circumstance, a long- awaited call would soon arrive.

The phone connection’s length – three minutes. “Hello. I am fine. How are you?”

Two minutes fifty nine seconds remain to tell, ask about and capture life since they last saw each other. What did they talk about – family members, health, livelihood, the political situation or…?

Thinking about having only three minutes to talk with a loved one, knowing the call would disconnect soon, raises questions for us. Would we talk about the trivial or mundane such as weather?  If it were a major factor in our dislocation from each other, we just might.

I remember making a phone call to my mother when she was living in California. Given the long lines at the terminal phone booths that September 11, 2001, I made a ship to shore call to her.  It’s cost – $48; its value – priceless.

We had sailed out of New York City, by the World Trade Center, on September 7, headed up the East Coast on a Fall Foliage cruise. We’d passed Boston and were in Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia when vacationers nearby asked if we were from America. “Have you heard the news?” Finding a gift shop, with its radio playing, we soon learned “the news.”

No doubt connecting with family members during a time of tragedy can be major. We know that to be true given the stories of those on the doomed flights, in the Trade Center or Pentagon, who called home one last time.

Did they have three minutes to make those calls? While the length may be unknown, the impact of the connections remains timeless and invaluable. Who would you call? What would you say?

September 2024

“Smoke Fire,” 6″ x 9″ Watercolor Copyright © 2015 By Donna Lyons

By Marty Coffin Evans

I remember two calls that day. “Marty, do you know that Claraboya’s burning?” A little later another called, “Do you know Webb Canyon’s on fire? Is your home okay?” In both cases, I said “No” thinking I surely would have heard something from my husband or someone else about a fire in this California hillside area.

With growing concern, I left work not knowing what I’d find. When I reached the intersection to head up the hillside to our condo, the blocked road prevented me from going further. Several police and fire personnel routed concerned residents away from the hillside.

Knowing my dogs, Beau and Brummel, were in our condo, I became frantic. I wanted to go to my home and see if my dogs were okay. About that time, as my voice escalated in desperation and frustration, my husband David appeared “convincing” me to leave. I could say, he hauled me away!

Having no ability to get to our home, we went to nearby Tugboat Annie’s for dinner and waited for the closed road to re-open.  That night was also the first meeting for my advanced degree program. With no reason not to attend class, I headed to the college campus after dinner. I don’t remember much about that first evening as concentrating became difficult as I worried about my home and dogs.

When the class ended, I headed home grateful that I could drive there unimpeded. It all smelled very smoky outside and around our condo. Because of how we always secured our place (Fort Knox like we used to joke), no smoke had made it into our home. It smelled fresh without a hint of the fire.

The next morning, we looked out the back door on a charred landscape. Webb Canyon, behind our backyard, had functioned like a chimney moving the flames and smoke up and above us. Our two units would have been destroyed had the fire changed direction moving directly over us.

Had we been there during this fire, what would we have taken when asked to evacuate? What would we have grabbed as we frantically headed out the door?

Where were those special photo albums? Were any of the pictures on a computer? Did we have time to grab sentimental items – jewelry, anything small? Where did we keep those important documents?

What items held the most value – real or sentimental? Which of our things defined or described us?

We didn’t have to make those hasty decisions that day. Our condo, contents and furry friends remained unscathed.

Years later, friends talked about the strange items they grabbed when evacuating their home as the flames approached. She took a curling iron and hair dryer.

Later she commented their detailed evacuation plan remained on their computers. It became destroyed along with all the contents of their home.

Mother Nature provides us with unexpected challenges when natural disasters strike. Ready or not, plans or no plans, we’re confronted with what we would take as we flee our homes not knowing what we would find upon our return.

If I had to live our own California hillside fire experience again, I’m not sure I’d know what to take. Would you?

Copyright © 2018 By Marty Coffin Evans

August 2024

“Prediction,” 9″ x 10″ watercolor By Donna Lyons © 2010

By Marty Coffin Evans © 2023

“I don’t look like the other angels,” the littlest one said mournfully floating in the westward sky. “My shape isn’t the same, my wings don’t match and my halo isn’t round. My right wing looks long and stubby, my middle part is lumpy plus my other wing looks stringy,” the little angel lamented.

This little angel knew what they were supposed to look like. After all, having floated around for years in the clouds, the angel had seen many others and had a pretty good idea of the most right appearance.

The wise old angel knew this little one hurt because of being different. “Just because your wings don’t match and your halo isn’t round doesn’t mean you’re not special. You are very special, just wait. You’ll see, and, you’ll begin to change ever so slowly.”

Even as the little angel’s shape began changing, looking to the south, at least three, four and more, smaller angel-shaped clouds were forming. They were even more unique than what the little one’s had been.

“I wonder if they’ll begin to look like me,” pondered the little angel. By now, happier with a halo more round than oblong, the little angel floated happily along in the blue sky.

Slowly an opening in the right wing revealed a beautiful contrail with its two bright white streaks headed skyward toward the larger clouds above. “Maybe these clouds were adult angels whose shapes didn’t matter anymore,” mused the little angel.

Sure enough, the wise old angel’s prediction had come true. Even passing motorists had pulled over to watch the angel-shaped cloud’s transformation. While the little angel’s feathers had always been beautifully full, soon the wings filled out and became more symmetrical. “Just remember,” as the wise old angel had said, “Symmetry is over rated!”

This little angel happily floated ever closer to the large cloud, satisfied that being different was okay. Maybe that was especially so if others began looking like you. “The wise old angel was right after all,” said the little angel with a sigh.

July 2024