To Connemoira on a perfect day

Today would have been Connemoira’s birthday and she would have celebrated at that lake high in the mountains she loved so much if she hadn’t hated life just a little bit more.

Oh wait … she tells me not life. Just the machine. The clogs.

I’m not sure what she means but let’s on, shall we?

Why … has been a puzzle for a long, long time…

The machine Jan. The machine!

I continue: She was born to loving parents, the eldest of five siblings, a rollicking group prone to taking off in pirate ships (aka rubber rafts) and looting the peaceful villages along the river looking for gold.

This much is true, she says with a smile. We were best when we were wild.

20 thoughts on “To Connemoira on a perfect day

    1. No – three of the pieces were done by Connemoira and the last one I did years ago after her death. It’s been way too smoky down at the teahouse to paint. Might get down there those this week.

    1. Her birthday hit me hard this year because everything is so crazy now – the weather, the fires, the plague, the election, friends battling cancer … it just all got to me. I longed for those wild days on the pirate ship.

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