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January on East 94th Street
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Remembering Lara Lee Calloway 1973 -- 2015

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Hello Everyone, So many of you knew my niece Lara.  I want to share this with you.  See you very soon, Linda Jo. Remembering Lara Calloway 1973 - 2015 May 8, 2015 MacLean Ballroom, School of the Art Institute of Chicago Guest Book "I loved her. I'll miss her. She exuded love and acceptance...." - Carrie Rubenstein View Sign More Photos View all 4 photos LARA LEE CALLOWAY  Funeral rites for Lara Lee Calloway will be at 3 p.m. Sunday in the village church at Canada de Los Alamos in the valley below her childhood home on the Old Santa Fe Trail. She died in her sleep on May 3 at home in Chicago. She lived in an artful world filled with colors and fabrics and images and fine trinkets and sacred illuminations and people with stories to tell. Growing up, she worked in Santa Fe galleries, ushered at the Opera and traveled often in Georgia O'Keeffe country. She graduated from St. Michael's High School in 1991 and received a ...
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Meet our new friend Ripple!

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So far we don't know too much about Ripple,  but here's how we met....... I was happening to glance to my left on the way up 5th avenue, when my pointless progress was arrested by an insistent and very demanding TWEET. I turned around, and there was the unmistakable puffy, tweety, happy presence of Ounce. Ounce hopped and tweeted, and off we went up 5th Avenue and into the Park near the Harlem Meer. I thought Ounce was after a favorite bathing bowl, but it’s too early for fountains. Before I knew it, Ounce was tweeting and fluffing and hopping, and who floated over but Ripple! Ounce introduced us, and off they went for a ride on the Meer! I tried to get a photo, but Ounce kept moving around, and then there was the glare of the sun. I can’t tell you how much fresh air can be packed into a walk. Ounce on 5th Avenue Ripple floats in the Harlem Meer
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Crestone DeerPeople

Light separates us from the ordinary world, guiding us into the spirit way, pulling figures away from the ground. It’s a blue jay morning in the pinion trees, the dry sun shimmering with feathers, then it's afternoon, with the white cold sun tearing through the mountain colors. Evening comes, and it’s feeding time, deer muzzled in frost and silhouetted. Then night again, with its half-lit rooms and profile faces shining in the firelight. It’s midnight now, and the sky is splintering with stars, each one watching while its being sleeps.
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