Red Mountain

This is a painting of Red Mountain, a mountain near where my brother and his bride live. They have hiked it several times and I decided that I would paint it for them for a wedding gift. I painted it based on several pictures I had. None of them were quite clear, or from the exact angle I was going for, so I mismatched it a bit, but I was told it was recognizable as the appropriate mountain. It was fun to do, not my favorite though. It doesn't have very much going on it, and I sort of got bored at times while painting. I did paint the mountain redder and the sky bluer then I think they typically appear, but I thought that would make it interesting. One interesting tidbit is that after painting most of it I asked for my sister's opinion. She said she saw a lion's face in the foothills on the left. And after that every time I looked at it I saw the lion too. I had to do something about it. So I had to repaint that area. But no, I won't tell you exactly where it was, because then maybe you would see it too, even though I fixed it.

Regency Romance

Due to a combination of circumstances I recently had access to several books of a subgenre I was not even aware of previously. You can probably guess from the title of the post what genre that is: Regency Romance.  Four authors: Elizabeth Gaskell, Georgette Heyer, Julianne Donaldson, and Sarah M. Eden. Seven books: Wives and Daughters, Venetia, The Grand Sophy, Edenbrooke, Seeking Persephone, The Kiss of a Stranger, and finally Friends and Foes. As the name implies they are romance novels set in the regency period, the early 19th century. I have of course previously read the original authors of Regency Romance, Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters but I didn't know that there was a whole group of other authors that wrote similar style books. I have decided that I enjoy the genre, although of course there are disadvantages to it. Most of the authors seemed to mix the manners and propriety of Austen, with the mysterious fastness of the Brontes with an added touch of extra sappiness and kissing of modern romances (which I haven't read much of).
The time period is fun. I have always enjoyed the subtle tension that cannot be directly addressed in this type of book/movie, for example when Elizabeth and Darcy are dancing. Also they are clean, and overall I was impressed with the variety of characters and types of relationships that developed. Venetia and Damarally for example had a relationship based on respect, and a commonality of looking at the world. While Sorrel and Philip's relationship from Friends and Foes was based superficially on teasing with an underlying concern, respect, and understanding of the other person. Anyway, they have been interesting, and fun mostly quick reads.
On the other hand, they were often slightly silly, romances in general seem to run along those lines. Some things were absolutely far-fetched, especially Eden's stories with wolves and deranged uncles around every corner, and an amazing disregard for the familiarity of Christian names. And there gets to be a certain amount of predictability. Plus an amazing lack of communication between the couples that could have solved several problems. But for the most part they all ended cute and happily and the characters are fairly well developed and interesting.
I think my favorite out of all these was Edenbrooke though. The relationship between Marianne and Philip was meaningful and deeper then some. Also I loved how not only did their relationship give each other the love each sought but it helped them overcome other issues that they had. For Marianne of understanding her own worth, and for Philip for learning that his family and Marianne loved him for who he was and not what he was.
Overall I have enjoyed discovering this new subgenre and will continue to read books from it as I get the opportunity. If you like a good romance now and again, you may enjoy it as well.

Consuming and Creating: Part 1: The Importance of Creation

This is a dilemma I am faced with far too often. There is a myriad of movies, books, tv shows, computer games, etc that are so easily accessible. And I enjoy watching, reading and playing them. I also enjoy painting, drawing, writing, and other sorts of creative activity. Unfortunately, I feel that I frequently find that the first choices seem easier or more enjoyable. Then, at the end of the week I find that I have not done anything really interesting. There is nothing to show for my week. That gets depressing. Creation is by far more rewarding in the long runs. Sometimes I wish that consuming wasn't so easy.
It seems to me, that in previous generations, the pioneer era for example, was easier in that way.   Survival, or at least daily work, was literally a handmade craft. That's why people won ribbons at the country fair for their jams, quilts, harnesses, wood furniture, and whatever else. They were proud of the works of their own hands. They didn't even have to look up how to do it on Pinterest!
In this day and age creation seems to be more of a hobby, a bonus rather then a necessity. My problem is I struggle is to make it more of a hobby then reading (all consumption). Wish me luck before I return to school and I won't have time for hobbies.

Tarts of the Harts

So I've been slacking lately (vacation and getting sick) but hopefully things will return to a little more normalcy again. But here is a story I wrote quite some time ago. A type of my own retold fairytale/nursery rhyme.

The Queen
“Five cups of flour, three eggs, four apples, a pinch of yeast. . . what else is there?” the slender, refined woman mumbled to herself as a young serving girl handed her another container. “Oh yes the sugar,” she exclaimed as she swiftly poured it into the mixture.
It was a fine summer's day. A rain storm the night before had cooled it off nicely. A heavy footfall soon interrupted the women's business, however. The liveried footman entered, glanced around in confusion and then returned his eyes to the refined noblewoman.
“Excuse me, your Majesty.” He saluted. “Your Majesty, the King requests your presence in the throne room.”
The Lady dusted her hands on her floury apron and then untied it with a girlish grace. She placed the apron neatly on a counter and followed the footman out of the kitchen. She watched the leaping red hart dance before her on her companions brown livery as they made their way through several winding corridors that she still couldn't get right. When they arrived at the throne room doors the footman announced her presence, and the young Queen entered. She curtsied prettily before her new husband and then went to sit by his side.
“What were you doing madame?” He inquired politely.
“Oh, I was just trying my hand at baking tarts.” she replied with a smile.
Taken aback the King cried, “Why ever so?”
“Oh, you see, one of our knaves said he was a relation through my Grandmother Stella's sister. He said that the recipe for the tarts has been passed down since then, so I thought I'd try them out.”
“What madness to converse with servants. And if you desired tarts why not ask the cooks?” he cried, distressed at her self degradation.

The Knave
Seeing the queen sitting on a bench looking out on the courtyard a young man approached her respectfully. “Excuse me, your Highness, but are those tarts in the kitchen the first efforts of your labors from the recipe?” asked a young man.
“Yes, my friend, and thank you for giving it to me. I think they shall be my last however. The King has forbidden me to bake again and I dare not talk to you much more, answered the Queen while seeming to look past him.
“I'm sorry to hear that, but may I be so forward as to bring some to my father. His health is failing and he would dearly like to taste these tarts baked with the same touch as his mother. That touch is only passed through the women's hand.”
“Of course you may, take as many as you want, but you must excuse me dear cousin, I must now return to my duties. I probably shall not be permitted to talk to you again,” The Queen said looking downcast, as she arose to depart.
“I am dreadfully sorry if I brought you misfortune or ill favor my Lady.” the knave said as he fled to the kitchen. He gathered up the tarts in a handkerchief stacking them with precision and then flew from the castle at the first opportunity. He ran down the city streets choosing smaller and dingier paths until he reached a neat but old cottage near the outer wall.
“Look Mother, the Queen made these tarts, the first she ever made!” The knave cried as he hurried into his father's house.
A weary man lay listless in a decrepit bed surrounded by several children. A care worn woman rose from the man's side and went to meet the boy as he entered.
“Truly, my son, and she really is the direct descendant of Stella from her mother's side!” said his mother.
“Yes, I asked her specifically,” he cried joyously, “but I'm afraid I may have gotten her in trouble, the King does not like us peasants and servants to talk much with the nobles.” he continued, much subdued.
“She is a bride of only a couple of months, and the King seems to be a good man, do not worry too much.” The woman said as way of comfort.
Their talk ended, the man closed his eyes in tiredness and the boy hastened to open the handkerchief. He took out one fresh tart and placed it in his father's hand. The old man brought it hesitantly to his mouth and took a small bite. His wife gently encouraged him and he took another. Color began to return to his wan cheeks and the children grinned or gasped, breaking free of the silent spell that had encircled them.
A few joyful hours later the knave returned to the castle. In his excitement he impetuously sought out the Queen once more. He found her in the vast gardens and sprang upon her.
“Oh, your Majesty. Thank you so much. My father is better and it was all because of those tarts, thank you, thank you.” He cried kneeling at her feet.
“Oh cousin, I am so glad to hear that. But why are you thanking me!” She said graciously at the same time as she stood glancing over her shoulder.
Aghast the boy looked up, “Of course it has everything to do with you, Milady, and those wonderful tarts, have you not heard the tale of Great Aunt Stella?”
“Come let us sit a moment cousin.” the Queen raised the knave from his knees and led him over to a partially enclosed set of benches. “Yes I have heard Grandmother Stella's story, she was a baker's daughter who fell in love and married the prince, but what has that to do with tarts?”
“What has tarts to do with it? Why everything” The knave began, astounded at his Queen's ignorance of the whole thing. “Here, I will tell you the tale as I have always heard it:
“Long ago there lived a superb baker, who had two sons and a daughter. He taught his sons how to bake but his wife and daughter had no interest in such things. Instead they took care of the house and the customers. In fact, Stella spurned anything to do with baking. Her father's bakery, however, was known far and wide throughout the kingdom. He often had nobility and occasionally even royalty buy his goods.
“One day the oldest prince came to the shop and took a liking to Stella as she was serving him, soon he was courting her, and although the King was not overjoyed with the arrangement, he accepted it.
“That same year a dreadful sickness plagued the land. Almost everyone was sick, and many people died from the disease. The oldest prince became very sick and was close to death. Desperate, Stella went to an old wise woman, who some said had magical powers, and asked her what to do.
“Do something you would do for no one else, and that you have never done before.” the woman said. Stella returned home to ponder the strange advice. She could not think of anything, finally her brother, my grandfather, came to her and asked her what was wrong. At first Stella refused to talk, but after some time, and the persuasions of my grandfather she gave in. Together they thought long and hard, with no solution. After a while Grandfather was called back to work. “That's it.” he cried, “bake something! You have never done that, and you've always hated the idea of it.” Not overjoyed at thought, but willing for her Prince's sake Stella conceded. That evening when the days work was through Stella entered the kitchen, a foreign domain. With her brother's instructions she baked for the first time in her life. And true to her suspicions she found the task miserable. Early the next morning she went to the castle with the tarts she had made the night before. The very first tart healed the Prince and soon after they were happily married. Ever after the women in her family are said to be able to make healing tarts on their very first batch.
“And it worked.” The knave exclaimed, finishing his story. “They healed my Dad. And I can't believe that you hadn't heard the story before. Well anyway, I thank you again Milady but I best be getting back to my duties now.” With his farewell and gratitude the boy left the Queen sitting in thoughtful silence.

The King
The library was silent but the King could still not concentrate. His thoughts kept drifting from the maps in front of him. Not two weeks ago his little sister who he fawned upon, had been caught outside during a rain storm while she was out riding. Soon after she had fallen sick with fever. He had called all the physicians in the land but no one could do anything to help her. He visited her often, but any talk of her illness made him nervous. The servants and nobles were sympathetic to his wishes so it was rarely talked of.
Sun shone through the high window, glaring on the side of his face. Still he did not move, he had just been to see the princess and she was doing worse. Helplessness flooded through him, what else could he do? His heart ached at even the thought of loosing his dear sister,
The door creaked open. Still he did not move. The Queen padded through the doorway and knelt by him placing her hands upon his knees. He glanced up and gave a brief smile to the one person who brought him some comfort during these hard weeks. She began to speak encouraged by his smile, although it was weak
“Milord, I spoke to the knave who is my cousin again. I am sorry to disrespect your wishes but, he told me something that might help your sister.” The King's eyes brightened and he began to listen intensely. “It's those tarts” her voice quickening, “he said that the tarts I made healed his father. He said that because they were the first I had ever made they had magical healing properties just like my Grandmother Stella's,”
“They heal. They heal anything?” The king interrupted her.
“I- he said they healed his father, that was the tale-” The Queen's voice faded out abruptly, the tale suddenly seemed totally implausible. She hated to raise her husbands hopes like this just to drop them again if her plan didn't work.
They were interrupted then by the door opening again. The palace physician stood leaning against the door frame. “Excuse me your Majesties, but the Princess seems to be failing fast, would you come to her?”
The King sprung from his chair and plunged through the door and down the corridor away from the Princess's room, a new fire in his eyes. The physician was left looking confused, as the Queen stately departed in the opposite direction to go to her sister-in-law's side.
Running through the palace the King finally saw the boy he was looking for in the courtyard. He rushed outside.
“Halt, boy.” he called. The knave stopped and bowed.
“You're my wife's cousin?” He gasped.
“Yes your Highness. . . how may I serve you?”
“Where are the tarts?”
“I- I brought them to my father's house.”
“All of them. You took ALL of them.” The King raged.
“Yes, forgive me My Lord, if I did wrong-”
Furious, the king swung his fist and hit the knave fully on the side of the head, he crumpled to the ground. The king, nothing but a protective brother, kicked him once more and yelled “Bring them back to me, thief” as he stormed away.

The Knave
The knave gingerly unwound himself and spat blood from his wounded mouth. He got stumbled to his feet and then plunged through the crowds towards home. He barely spoke to his worried family, only enough to assure them that he was fine but needed the tarts. Their joy was broken with worry by the rapidly appearing bruise on his cheek and the slight limp as he ran.
He returned to the castle, and desperately he tried to find the King. Finally, a friendly footman pointed him towards the Princess's chamber. Outside the door stood two soldiers.
“Please, will you bring these to the King or Queen?” he asked them screwing up his courage.
“You're a stable boy, what are you doing up here trying to get into the King?” One soldier answered not unkindly.
“The King wants them, please just bring them to him.”
“The Princess might be dying do you really want us to interrupt the King just now?” the other guard questioned.
“Yes, I do” said the boy, at last understanding why the king wanted the tarts. “I'll take the blame sir, just let me in.”
The guards exchanged glances. “Alright boy, you can take them in.” The first guard nodded to him as his companion eased open the door and called inside. “Excuse me, your Majesties, there is a stable boy here who wants to give you something.”
The boy timidly pushed the door half open, the room was dark and a pale girlish face shown on the pillows of the fine bed. The King held her hand tenderly. The knave hardly recognized the man who had so recently left him lying in the courtyard dust. His face was so consumed now with pity and compassion, as it had so recently been filled with rage. His eyes never once turned from his sister.
Then the boy's gaze shifted to the Queen, she beckoned him closer, and took the handkerchief of tarts from him. Placing the bundle on her knees she unwrapped its sticky contents and broke a piece off of the uppermost tart.
“This really does heal?”
“Yes, Milady.” he answered, hardly daring to break the sickly silence.
She handed the bit of pastry to her husband. For the first time since the knave had entered the King lifted his eyes from his sister's fevered face. He tenderly placed the tart on her tongue while murmuring unheard words. After the second bite her eyes opened wider and a sparkle returned to them. With a glad smile the Queen handed the rest of the tarts to the King and beckoned the knave outside.
“Thank you. You have repaid your gratitude, and returned the princess to our midst not a moment too soon.” The Queen said, sincerely grateful.
In later years the tale and the magic was lost. All that remained was the mocking song that only children wanted to hear sung.

The Queen of Harts she made some tarts all on a summers day,

The knave of Harts he stole the tarts and took them clean away.

The King of Harts called for the tarts and beat the knave full sore.

The knave of Harts brought back the tarts and vowed he'd steal no more.