endless summer

THIS SUMMER has been an unbalanced liquid mixture of emotions which tilt to one side or the other and give me the feeling that I will never regain my sea legs. I've been thrown off balance like never before through a lost relationship and other surrounding turmoil. That's why I haven’t posted on my blog for a while. But with time as our most constant and dependable friend, things have a way of finding equilibrium and balance again. One really finds out who their friends are during times like these. I've realized that instead of giving all my love away, I have to begin with a good portion for myself. It's definitely one of life's hardest lessons to learn (and relearn). Once again, I'm finding my way back, finally. And again, I'm sure I'll forget, because when I love, it's from a deep place in my heart and soul and I lose my head in the clouds of what could have been.

BEACH BEAUTY | This festive tree combines a beach-inspired assemblage of mercury glass shell ornaments; starfish ornaments of all shapes, colors and kinds; glittered "sea creatures"; mother-of-pearl covered orbs; and tiny mercury glass ornament punctuations of teals, greens and gold.

EVEN THOUGH I haven't made a trip to the beach since last November (to Mexico), the abundance of the summer rain this year has been a welcome relief from the heat of a landlocked city. Fortunately, an effect of this seems to be that there has been a cleansing of souls all around. Astrologically speaking, June and July this summer were dominated by what is called the Grand Water Trine. According to Michael Lennox, a newly discovered astrologer I've enjoyed reading (and watching), it’s an astrological configuration created by Neptune in Pisces, Saturn in Scorpio, and all of the planets that have recently been in Gemini entering into the early degrees of Cancer—the three water signs. When the planets line up in this way, they create a harmonious flow between them, offering up the benefits of such a flow of energy. And water simply moves around and over any obstacle instead of getting trapped. This so-called Grand Water Trine assists us in finding the flow.

SEASHELLS by the SEASHORE | A thoughtful mixture of sea-themed ornaments creates a magical memory of the beach.

THIS BEACH-THEMED TREE celebrates a shift toward a much-needed matriarchal softness in the world that the recent astrological events are supposed to bring. My previous posts entitled Under the Stars and Heartstrings were mostly laments. Ironically enough, this post’s tree was planned well before either of the former posts, as I've carefully gathered the elements for it for many months, starting last autumn. It has been a process-oriented gathering, which I could never get to come together because I always felt something was missing. What was missing was me, and my ability to pull myself together—I had all the elements in place all along, but I have to say that a few key items were added to the mix along the way that made a symbolic difference. This tree has the bright magic of a subdued summer Christmas, which is entirely appropriate—at least figuratively. 'Tis the season.

LUCKY STAR | This pressed tin star (Hecho en Mexico) is a symbol of my last trip to the beach in Tulum, Mexico last November. One of the last additions to my gathering of decorations for this tree, I bought it at Atlanta's High Museum Shop during their fantastic Frida and Diego exhibit this year (now closed). Associations like this give resonance to the ornaments I use to create a tree.

BOOK of DREAMS | Available here.

The preface of the summer section of my book based on this blog still resonates and amplifies the metaphors I associate with the ocean. Memories of childhood trips to the beach, riding the waves and soaking in the summer sun have replayed in my mind all my life. Reality has caught up with me again and I'm metaphorically (and astrologically) riding the waves created back to solid ground again. Devin literally saved my life when I was overwhelmed by the ocean waves in Tulum, Mexico one day last November, and now I've found myself having to save my life all on my own. It's funny how reality can become metaphor again. Here is the preface of the summer section of my book in its entirety (as adapted from my original blog post):

ONE OF MY FIRST MEMORIES is of pointing to the ocean. Throughout my life my parents told me that the first word I uttered was “see” as I pointed out to the sea. A trip to the beach with my parents and siblings was a yearly summer ritual. In true road-trip fashion, there were few finite plans made before hitting the road. The drive to the beach would begin before the crack of dawn to ensure we could find a place to stay before nightfall. Since I was the youngest of four siblings by a ten-year gap, it was always a middle-of-the-backseat trip. I would lean with my elbows on the back of the front seat between them. Daddy's Lincoln Continental was like a smoothly cruising land yacht sailing to paradise. Because he was so anxious to reach our destination, it was almost impossible to get my father to stop during our trip. Once there, we would check out the scene at the beach before finding a motel with a vacancy. The limitless horizon of the ocean and the rhythm of the waves never cease to lull me back to that place where the breezes cool even as the sun warms my face. Recalling and projecting in my mind's eye the flickering Super 8 movies my father made of our summer vacations, I can ponder the limitless possibilities in life and death. In my dreams, summer never really ends.

SUMMER SPREAD | The opening spread of the summer section of my book (which gathers decorating ideas for celebrating the four seasons).

TOP SHELL | I simply removed the cap from one of the mercury glass shell ornaments and turned it upside down to produce a unique tree topper.

READ IT AND WEEP | Remember the 2010 Gulf Oil Disaster? Still buying gas at BP? Read this scathing article. 

Please revisit my original post lamenting the BP disaster if you missed it in 2010 or have forgotten about it (I refused to ever call it a "spill"). In a season of beach-themed trees for The Decorated Tree, it's entirely appropriate to get mad about the BP cover up all over again. I hope the beauty of the beaches you visit and the lull of the ocean springs you back into action to do something to raise awareness to keep this sort of thing from happening again. (Regretfully, the stickers my friends and I made—detailed at the end of the post—to remind people about the devastation that was happening are no longer available). 

©2013 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

collecting, photography and styling by Darryl Moland

a bluebird and a butterfly

WINGED CREATURES are understandably associated with transformation, freedom and an unencumbered ability to soar. That's something we earthbound humans have long held a jealous fascination with. Imagine being able to quickly dart around in thin air, ride the wind and come back down to earth whenever we wanted. It would certainly give us a different perspective of the world—a bird's-eye view—if you will. From that vantage point, I'm sure we could all see things a bit differently. We could see the awesome wonder of nature in it's entirety instead of a tree or a leaf at a time and we might have more of an appreciation for being a part of it.

MEMORIAL DAY, to me is not just about fallen military war heroes or the beginning of summer. It is also a time to reflect on what being a citizen of the world means, regardless of military affiliation. Although my father was a U.S. army veteran of WWII and came home safe, I knew his life was marked by the atrocities he saw during the war. At that time my mother worked in a manufacturing plant, taking over jobs that were usually dominated by the men who were off at war. Essentially, she was a “Rosie the Riveter,” which has become a strong symbol for feminism. These formative parts of their lives forged an amazing strength and fortitude. They met upon my father's return home from WWII, by my father seeing my mother with a girlfriend who turned her down for going to see a movie that night. My father stepped in and told her he'd go to that movie with her. And the rest is history. If they had lived another year, they would have celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. I miss hearing them tell this story, but can hear the intonation and love in their voices when I remember this.

THESE UNUSUAL jobs for their time bought claim to a proud part of history. They wouldn’t recognize our country as it is now and I’m not sure they would be entirely sold on the ideals (or lack thereof) that we seem to fight wars for these days. They were a part of the Greatest Generation—they were a part of fighting the "good war" in ending Hitler's reign. My mother and father were both “war heroes” in the battle for the ever-elusive American dream. I don't think it's because of them though that we're in the shape we're in as a country. I think our overall values have been maligned since then by corporate greed and a lack of respect for Mother Nature.

Enlarge image to a legible size by clicking on it twice.

THESE ORNAMENTS are symbols of my parents. The bluebird represents my father because of his sparkly blue eyes and the pink butterfly represents my mother because it was her favorite color. Of course both of these ornaments also represent in them everything winged creatures do, as noted in the first paragraph of this post. I bought four of each, one set for myself and the others for each my three siblings as Christmas gifts in 2007. This was two years after my parents had died. I designed a card (shown at right) to fit in the bottom of the box made for keeping them.

REMEMBRANCE is the best way to bring them close now. But I also remember the simple gift of hope for living “the American dream” that was instilled in all of us. It seems in the world we live in today, that dream is becoming distorted for more and more people as the classes divide disproportionately, leaving the middle class, of which we were a part of struggling to just get by. There's no room for dreams within that scenario. But I'll remember what my parents represented and keep plugging along. That dream was simply goodness and learning to fly.

  

WINGED FLIGHT | (Top): These glittery ornaments were both from the 2007 holiday collection at Z. Gallerie and were Christmas gifts to my siblings representing my parents. Blue was the color of my father's eyes and pink was definitely my mother's signature color. Flight was something they acquainted all of us with, even in spirit.

WINGED VICTORY | (Above): I remember seeing this several years ago when in Washington D.C. and being overwhelmed with its beauty. One of the most beautiful and symbolic memorials to the Greatest Generation, four American eagles hold a suspended laurel wreath in the Baldacchino sculpture that is only one part of the beautiful National WWII Memorial in Washington, DC. The memorial is classically-designed as it should be for the era. It was only opened to the public on April 29, 2004. Photo by Richard Latof. 

©2011 DARRYL MOLAND, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Collecting and styling by Darryl Moland,
Photo of the WWII memorial by Richard Latof, 
sculpture by Baldacchino.

summer immortal

These are the days when birds come back, 

A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.

These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June,
A blue and gold mistake.

Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!

Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,

Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!

        —Indian Summer by Emily Dickinson 

AS  SUMMER days come to an end this year, I remember my father. Born September 18, 1922, today would have been his 87th birthday. This day seems more significant to me now than the day he died—a day that is strangely all-too-easy to remember. He won't be here for the day I die, but there's always the feeling he's somewhere nearby. I have living memories in my head. The immortal wine has been tasted. 

GROWING  UP, it was a rare occasion to have wine in our house, except for the time around Christmas. My mother was old-fashioned in her beliefs and frowned upon "the drink." Grape juice was passed around with the communion crackers at the local Baptist church we attended religiously. Mother would relent and my father would ritually buy a bottle of Mogen David Concord Grape once a year which would be used to soak the fruitcake she made. As a small act of defiance, daddy and I would sneak a sip or two when he thought I was old enough. It was my first lesson about the hypocrisy of the church—no matter if Jesus' turning water into wine was only symbolic. We would be washed clean by our actions, not by our thoughts. We were all taught to do what's right, whether we thought about it or not. Mother and daddy grew up during the depression and knew that when times got tough, everyone should pitch in and help those in need, not hold tight to what was "theirs." They worked hard and were the give-you-their-shirt-off-their-back kind of people. And I loved them for it.

A  ROAD  TRIP to the beach was almost always our summer vacation. The drive to Florida would begin before the crack of dawn so we could find a place to stay before nightfall on our travel down the Atlantic coast. Our destination was usually Daytona Beach, but one time I remember we rode almost to Miami. Since I was the youngest of four siblings (by a gap of ten years), it was always a middle-of-the-backseat trip. I would lean up on the seat between my parents in my father's Lincoln Continental, which was like a smoothly-cruising a land yacht floating down to paradise. I think my father favored the beach at Daytona because it was so wide you could actually drive your car on it. It was hard to get him to stop until we reached our destination, when we would head down the beach in the car to check out the scene before we found a hotel vacancy. It was always exciting to me. From the quarter-fed Magic Fingers vibrating beds to the sand dollars and starfish I would find, I loved the beach and everything that came with it.

BEFORE  my parents even met, my father was an Army paratrooper in WWII, distinguished by being a Sergeant in the 101st Airborne Division. It was late summer and autumn of 1944 before Adolf Hitler made a last effort to hold his terrible German reign, and on Dec. 16, 1944, German troops surprised and overwhelmed American forces in the Ardennes Forest in the crucial Battle of the Bulge. It was a pivotal moment that ended the tyranny of Nazi rule. The Germans lacked the troops to maintain their success and within two weeks, my father (and the other American soldiers), commanded by General George S. Patton, stopped the German advance into Belgium.

DEFENDING the world’s freedom in the good fight of World War II, as part of America’s Greatest Generation, my father felt this was his utmost accomplishment. He owned a part of  history. He learned to conquer fear. He was a hero to all of us. We became a family of teachers of one sort of another. My sister Donna taught American History. My brother Ronald coached tennis, taught math and eventually became a high school principle. My brother Mal continues to teach unselfishness, kindness and love (like my parents did). And I like to think I'm good at teaching others about art, design and beauty.

THEY WERE MARRIED soon after daddy's arrival back home after the war. They went unceremoniously to the courthouse in Decatur, Alabama on December 23, 1945, so the holidays were always wrapped up in an anniversary. My parents had 59 years of wine-soaked fruitcakes before they both died in 2005. My father led the way, as always, in February of that year, and my mother died soon after that in July. Our family was witness to a boundless love that connected two people at a level that transcends separation. 

MOTHER AND DADDY always gave me a Whitman's Sampler on Christmas Eve every year after I figured out who the real Santa Claus was. It nearly always was placed on the sofa across from the tree in front of the living room picture window—the sofa where I always sat and stared and dreamed, until my eyes blurred with the sparkle of  lights, ornaments and tree melding together. I was hooked.

I RECEIVED another Whitman's Sampler this past Christmas Eve from my friend Jon. Ironically, it was the first year since my parents death that I had completely forgotten to buy a box for myself. And it reminds me every year that life is [truly] like a box of chocolates—and Santa does exist—if you believe in the magic of Christmas as I was taught to do.

ONE OF MY very first memories is pointing out at the ocean. My parents always told me I used  the word "see" when I pointed to the sea. The limitless horizon and the rhythm of the waves never cease to lull me back to that place where the breezes cool, even as the sun warms my face. And, I can ponder the limitless possibilities of life and death, recalling and projecting in my mind's eye, like the flickering Super 8 movies daddy made of our vacations. Summer never really ends.

SEASHELLS AND STARFISH | (Top) Collecting sparkle from the sea, these ornaments (above) evoke a trip to the beach. Like a ship's figurehead, a carved wooden mermaid with wings takes a flight of fancy all-her-own, and a blown mercury glass seashell from Homegoods sparkles like the water. Two glittered starfish from Martha Stewart Everyday Sunshine Celebration line from Kmart and five conical seashells are cast to form a single golden star from Margaret Furlong designs. An antique stretch glass plate serves as the blue of the ocean.

PRIDE AND PALMS | (Second from top) A photo of Hubert L. Moland, my father (above, right), taken before redeployment in 1942 after ending a tour in Africa before advancing to Germany. The flag is one that flew on his grave for a short while. The Sears Craftsman pocket screwdriver was carried on his key chain for years—always at-the-ready to fix something.The coins are ones he collected and represent different eras of American history—from a 1921 Buffalo nickel, a 1979 Susan B. Anthony dollar, a 1976 Bicentennial Eisenhower dollar with the Liberty Bell in front of the moon, to a 1971 Kennedy half dollar. The seashell was one that daddy kept in his medicine cabinet for years, "probably only because it had a hole in it" my brother Mal told me. And the ring to the left of the seashell was the second wedding ring my father bought my mother because her first wore through after years on her hardworking hands. It's the one I always remember her wearing since I came along so late in their lives. 

©2009 DARRYL MOLAND | ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

collecting, photography and styling by Darryl Moland