n. pl. o·va·ries
1 The usually paired female or hermaphroditic reproductive organ that produces ova and, in vertebrates, estrogen and progesterone.
2 Botany. The ovule-bearing lower part of a pistil that ripens into a fruit.
3. Another word for bawls. That determination to thrive inspite circumstance.

Mom had Ovaries.

She had sustenance, endurance and loved life with her whole heart. I dedicate this first section to her.

Mom was a singer at heart. She had a voice the quality of an opera star and loved to laugh. Yet, she dreamed of being a nurse. Dad moved her from St. Louis to remote rural Missouri(a) in 1959.

You had to be born in rural MO to be accepted and pronounce it correctly. Ten households shared a single phone line. The first year was with an outhouse. Mom dug in as she believed in roots. Over the years she developed health issues that interferred with the quality of her life. She taught me to (( never give up )) Me.

How did you spend 9-11?

I was at Treasure Mt. Middle School that day. After a special meeting we went to work prepared to offer our students time to accept the horrible events of the day and possibly grieve.

I was working with Mrs. Hage's art class. Taking photos for the school district web site and to make a I-movie for Parent Teacher Conferences. When asked, our students chose to continue to paint their Olympic dreams. Park City was one of the venues for the up and coming 2002 Olympics. Mrs. Hage's class worked with local Artist Paul Jabwousky to create murals to be hung in the park during the venue.

The students kept painting as the horrible events of the day unfolded. I happened to capture the second tower falling in the background on TV. I made an imovie entitled Sarah Says Art is Life to Enya's Wild Child. And then I noticed that song was used by so many to depict the moment.

Navajo Grandmothers are in a Class of their Own.

Last fall I had the opportunity to volunteer with the Native American Elder Program. A new form of respect developed for those warm loving smiles, joyous laughter and fierce determination to Have The Time of Their Lives

Navajo Elders believe that their four sacred mountains keeps them safe. The elders range in age from 75 to 94. Travel for some takes place over several days. Leaving the sacred land and four mountains required days of prayers and ceremonies for these elders. Some still live alone in hogans on the desert without running water and electricity. Daily they tend their sheep and weave. Most understand English as they were forced to leave their lands as children to learn white man ways at various boarding schools. 

Weaving is life. It begins with preparation and ceremonies. This prepares the artist to allow the art to come through them. Each piece is a spiritual quest. The geometrically intricate rugs are woven without any patterns except the one formed in the mind itself. I was amazed as several rugs had many color changes on each weft line. More amazed to find out that after weaving the pattern it was woven in reverse from the top. Also, the Navajo weave with four closed ends. (This means there are no fringe like in a persian rug.) This gets very difficult toward the end of a rug. Some artists tradionally weave a route of the rug for their spirit not wanting to be trapped inside the art. This is usually a small line going out of the rug in the NE corner.

Woman That Run With Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes

This book is dedicated to all woman everywhere: the artist, poet, writer, dancer in us all. That indestructible essence that says yes to living our dreams.

A warm loving thank you!!! from one desertcrone.

Wild Wolf Woman of the Web

Annie, inspired by WTRWW, created this website ten years ago. A den of wild women. Here they come home to themselves through the telling and retelling of their stories. Through the sharing of their lives: their hopes. dreams, fears, longings, and pain - the howling of their bones.

Over the years the number of woman who find this pack have created the need for a waiting space - The Springs. A gentle space of warm waters and sharing of soul.

I found this magical site of sisters two years ago this June. Just a note of thanks Annie.

With love and appreciation.

desertcrone