Shelagh's place

I have just read the smartest thing. It applies to how I've been thinking lately and I thought it might apply to you, as well.

 “There is a story of a woman running away from tigers. She runs and runs and the tigers are getting closer and closer. When she comes to the edge of a cliff, she sees some vines there, so she climbs down and holds on to the vines. Looking down, she sees that there are tigers below her as well. She then notices that a mouse is gnawing away at the vine to which she is clinging. She also sees a beautiful little bunch of strawberries close to her, growing out of a clump of grass. She looks up, and she looks down, she looks at the mouse. Then she just takes a strawberry, puts it in her mouth, and enjoys it thoroughly. Tigers above, tigers below. This is actually the predicament that we are always in, in terms of our birth and death. Each moment is just what it is. It might be the only moment of our life; it might be the only strawberry we’ll ever eat. We could get depressed about it, or we could finally appreciate it and delight in the preciousness of every single moment of our life.”
― Pema Chödrön

I found this perfect philosophical paragraph at Shelagh Duffett's place. I call it a place, rather than a blog, because Shelagh has carved out an internet space of such rare and bright beauty that I feel I am a guest in her splendid Nova Scotia home, not just a reader lurking on a blog.

Today I went to her Alice in Paris Loves Art and Tea site to see what was new and when the page opened my mouth actually opened up in a completely round circle and I said "oh" out loud. For there, in front of me, was a painting of such high exuberance that a smile washed over me from head to happy toe. 

I am such a fan of Shelagh's paintings. I bought one of her calendars and it hangs in my office at work. Sometimes when stress gets the better of me I look at it and just have to smile. Such brilliant, colourful splendiosity. Yes, I made up that word because there are no words that accurately describe how her work makes me feel. 

While I was visiting Mizz Duffett I sat in a lawnchair surrounded by forget-me-nots and went to a trendy coffee shop which sold decadent homemade chocolates, beautiful cappuccino from Italy and tiny, strange and beautiful skeleton dioramas. We visited an art gallery together and talked wildly about a dress made of steak, then had lunch with her mum. Finally I sat with her at the edge of the Atlantic, hearing grass whispering in the breeze and watching impossibly blue waves crash against the shore.


Shelagh, it was such a nice visit. Please, let's do it again soon.