Women's History Month

This gorgeous woman was sitting on the bench outside the People's Food Co-op in Ann Arbor when I drew her. I imagine she was writing on her Mac. To her grandchildren, her PhD advisor, her lover. A column for Mother Jones, a treatise on women in Afghanistan, a memoir. Such a marvelous scene, inspiring storymaking. Has she always been so connected? Her hair was long, tidied carefully into a braided bun, with butterfly clips at the ears. Had she burned her bra in 1967? Do her children live nearby, speak with her, share her passions? Can she ski in that long skirt? Is she content with who she is? Can I share that contentment?

Man's Best Friend Is Who?

Sweetgrass Writers Group rendezvoused for a retreat at my matriarchal stronghold on Drummond Island the weekend of Sharon's birthday in 2009. It was a short trip, full of long lovely memories. At a rest area on the way up, I saw this scene on the dog run. The look on the dog's face! I laughed out loud. I could see the conversation balloon over his head "hey, hold up here - I'M the good boy!"

Great Grandmother Mariah

This is my great-grandmother Mariah Matilda in the summer of 1969, just before she passed on at 93. A psychic told me years ago she is my spirit guide. At the time, I laughed. So that's why I wasn't getting messages - Great-Grandma only spoke Finnish. Now I know she doesn't need to speak to me to shepherd me through. She showed up in meditation last week. We (many women unknown) were sitting in an icy wilderness around a huge fire. The wind shifted; my meditation partner and I both coughed. I had a bearskin covering me, and the other women were appropriately bundled against the cold. My great-grandmother sat in a lawn chair, in her short-sleeved summer house dress, with her white socks and broken-down shoes, watching me, as she is in this pencil sketch. I felt loved and still do.