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

    • 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.

    • 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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