Dandelion Seeds and Dreams

abiding in discomfort

2012-02-01T09:10:00.005-06:00

I ask of you, dear readers, to assume with me a pose of some discomfort; to resist the natural impulse to move away from that which is uncomfortable and attempt to rest and stay present for what such an act may stir up within you. I promise a a payoff of sorts at the end here.

I must confess, I am not one to watch or read the news. I scan headlines, look through the online new feeds and stay somewhat abreast of current events but in all honesty my approach is a bit like an ostrich with her head in the sand. I tend to get overly emotional and then wallow in the overwhelm of "What can I do?" or "What should I do?" So my defense is one of avoidance.

Why I chose yesterday to read the news article about an Afghan woman being murdered by her husband and mother-in-law is a bit of a mystery. But reading it was like removing the one brick that had been holding up the wall guarding me from overwhelm. Why was this woman murdered? Because she had given birth to another daughter.

I was then reminded of the documentary It's A Girl! set for release sometime in 2012. I posted the link to the trailer a few months ago when I first learned about the film from artist Soraya Nulliah who has written some powerful pieces and interviews on her blog specifically addressing the issue of gendercide in India. (Soraya's two-part interview with gender activist Rita Banerji is must-reading for anyone wishing to understand the complexities of this issue. It should go without saying we all need to be informed.)

I watched the trailer again, my shock and dismay as fresh as it was with the first viewing. In December 2011 ABC News aired a piece by reporter Elizabeth Vargas about the situation in India and I was recalling the chilling interview with a mother - a physician - whose husband (also a physician) threatened and tortured her in an attempt to force her to abort the twin girls she was carrying.

Here are the statistics: according to the UN, 200 million girls are "missing" meaning aborted, murdered or abandoned by their families. The problem isn't confided to India and China, although they are two of the worst offenders (combined, the two countries eliminate more girls than those born in the U.S. each year); Pakistan, Taiwan, and South Korea are other countries contributing to the above staggering figure. It is estimated that 9 million more females are demographically missing than the total number of people believed to have been killed in all of the conflicts and wars of the 20th century.

Let that last statistic sink in ...

Are you feeling as overwhelmed, frustrated, angry and helpless as I am?

Not knowing what to do with such intense feelings, I decided to post the link for the It's a Girl! trailer on Facebook. I know, what was I thinking? But I was feeling outrage and I wanted to ignite some kind of fire if only for discussion and support. There were a few comments but not what I craved. I then posted a photo of Cowgirl and within minutes a flood of people took note.

I wallowed in disgust for awhile. Then I delved into guilt over my behavior: how I squander my attention and resources on what feels like frivolous matters in the face of such horror and injustice. I mean, earlier in the day I was pondering a pair of earrings from Etsy and cutting out magazine pictures for a dream board collage. I know, this is harsh and unproductive thinking but there I was. (Consumerism may be the opiate of the masses ... but I digress ...)

Two things emerged as I sat with all the discomfort of my heart, head and feelings: first that my frustration with others not responding to my outrage merely points up the fact that I too find it necessary to turn my head away from matters too overwhelming to grasp let alone take on. I know I've see similar posts and not knowing what to say or do, move on. I prefer placing my attention upon that which is positive and uplifting. Who wants to dwell upon pain and suffering, right?

I also realized my initial instinct - to guard myself against emotional overwhelm - is a healthy one. I recently received some "medicine' from Seal which involved swimming through my emotions and not becoming trapped or entangled in them. My response may be an emotional one, but action must come from careful thought, proper understanding and clarity. Change will result when the two - fire of emotional energy and fluidity of thinking and understanding - unite.

Besides the obvious distress of this reality is my personal connection with China and India. China's history and practice of favoring boys over girls is part of our family story. I struggle with my feelings for on the one hand, I am eternally grateful to that country and its people for allowing us the privilege of adopting one of their daughters. Yes, she may have been devalued, but there is no mistake that the Chinese people love children and they view Cowgirl as one of their own. I do know that many are unaware of the practices that result in the death or abandonment of female infants. (The book Messages from an Unknown Chinese Mother by the reporter Xinran is excellent account of the various pressures and situations that lead to child abandonment in China.)

But my heart aches knowing one day my girl will want to know why her birth parents did not keep her. We know no details of their story, so we can only make informed guesses as to their situation. That being abandoned was probably the greatest gift and act of bravery possible to her birth mother is a truth that sits like a stone upon my heart.

And then there is India and my lifelong love of the culture and the teachings from its rich spiritual heritage. I turn to my yoga practice for solace and direction uneasy in understanding how to completely trust the teachings. (Although I suppose this dilemma is nothing new to any spiritual aspirant; as one teacher wisely told me "The teacher may be fallible but the teachings are never wrong." At least the teachings at their core and not the interpretations and manipulations of those teachings to serve another agenda.)

Exhausted by it all, I did drag myself to my yoga mat. As I lay down, I remembered that each time I practice I do so accepting myself as I am in that moment. That means moving and stretching within the confines and limitations of the body I inhabit. There is not some mythical right pose I am aiming to achieve; I am working instead to experience the pose as fully as possible as I am right now. So I eased myself into a forward bend - head nowhere near my legs - and accepted this is what I can do. And I surrendered.

What can I do right now? I can continue to inform myself. I can continue to share information with others. I can more mindfully use my resources - disposable income and time - to support causes I believe in. My practice teaches me to go within and reconnect with the source of strength that is always available to me. That strength is not rigid or hard, but soft, fluid, moving, adaptable. That source is feminine power that moves through creativity and love and emotion to bring about change.

I am becoming more mindful about turning away from what is difficult to hold. I know I can rest in uncomfortable positions for a long time and find comfort, softness and ease and in doing so, discover my abilities are always greater than I initially realized.

I do believe our actions cause ripples to move out and impact others; that peacefulness, compassion and justice begin in our homes and in our relationships with those around us. And with ourselves. For I must take care to honor and value myself as a daughter, as a woman and pass this attitude onto my girl.

are you still with me? small reward i suppose,

but here is how i chose to find comfort amid

the turmoil of my day yesterday ...

test film for The Impossible Project

Seeking more advice, I turned to that wise man who knew a bit about the discrepancies between Spiritual truths and human practices:

As far as you can, hold your confidence.

Do not allow your confusion to squander

This call which is loosening

Your roots in false ground,

That you might come free

From all you have outgrown.

What is being transfigured here is your mind,

And it is difficult and slow to become new.

The more faithfully you can endure here,

The more refined your heart will become

For your arrival in the new dawn.

- John O'Donohue from For the Interim Time

I will be seeking that new dawn with all the passion and energy I can muster. I would love some company on that journey.

what am i really holding onto?

2012-01-27T10:42:00.007-06:00

One of the more daunting tasks I face on a semi-regular basis is the sorting and clearing of Cowgirl's clutter. Make no mistake about it, this girl's a hoarder-in-training. She has gone through phases of saving bottle caps, the plastic packaging from her Hot Wheels cars, pictures from magazines or newspapers (yes, I created this habit - "Mom, we can put it in my art journal!" Of course little makes it into said journal) and now piles upon piles of cut out dragons, sharks, and monster truck drawings.

And I haven't even gotten to her room and the squirreled away plastic gee gaws masquerading as party favors and "rewards" for Caught Being Good. I find these items in boxes, baskets, in drawers and scattered throughout the many grottos of treasure in her closet. I curse you Oriental Trading Company and your cheap plastic junk!

I have no problems shedding these items - of course I must do my dirty work whilest the girl is at school. So far, she hasn't noticed anything missing. She must have some Squirrel-with-memory-loss as a totem.

No, for me the difficult task is shifting through old clothes and toys. Each little outfit seems to have one memory per stitch and I find myself tucking things back into boxes. I mean, clothes don't take up that much room, right? Toys are a bit easier probably because Cowgirl really didn't have that many toys when she was little. We seemed to have exercised some restraint which now that I think about it, was probably due to the fact that Cowgirl didn't express much interest in specific toys. So I was surprised by my reaction when it came time to part with this item:

This plastic Noah's ark was the very first toy I got for Cowgirl. I bought while we were waiting to receive our referral so I didn't even have a specific child in mind when I picked it out. I think it was the first time I had read online reviews and actively researched this toy deciding it would be the perfect toy for my child. Well, for the child who would become my child.

And there is the clue as to why this little Noah carries so much upon his tiny plastic shoulders: for while this toy does hold memories of early days with Cowgirl, she played with it sporadically and found it far more enjoyable as a target for the many sticky stickers mysteriously deemed appropriate for small children (yes, there were stickers on furniture, car seats, walls ...) than as an object to exercise her imagination.

Weeping as I washed each tiny elephant, leopard and zebra I realized my attachment to this object was due only in a small part to the memories it held about Cowgirl. No, the bulk of its meaning for me centers upon the dreams I held for myself and the kind of mother I hoped I would be and the relationship I would have with my girl. You know, dreams of abundant patience, attention and love; golden afternoons spent baking cookies (I don't bake), playing tea party with stuff animals, dancing, singing and in general just floating happily about my clean, cozy, love-soaked home with my happy child.

We do have wonderful times together painting, playing board games, drinking cocoa, snuggling at night and reading Harry Potter out loud with all the proper voices and accents. But the sense of myself as always confident, always generous and loving with the right words, the right advice and solution to any problem - no, that ghost up and left long ago. Yeah, I bought into the whole Buddha Mom ideal for myself and Noah and his ark full of peaceable animals reminds me of the hope-filled if not naive ideas I so ardently believed in.

Not that I understood all of that as I bravely pushed on, packing up the ark and each animal to send on to a dear friend whose little boy is the appropriate age to enjoy this toy. In the back of my mind I knew I could always change my mind even while waiting in line at the post office to ship it off. I even debated holding onto one pair of animals as a memento but my inability to choose one couple suggested I needed to send the whole lot off.

Once it was mailed off, I felt better. With its absence I came to understand what it really represented and somehow the act of letting it go has allowed me to face what it was I was holding on to but had not confronted. I recognize my ideals for myself as a mother are not going to magically manifest, but require awareness, effort and a willingness to keep trying. If I've learned nothing else from years of yoga practice it is this: there are our aspirations, our intentions and then there is the action of attempting again and again to bring who we are into alignment with who we want to become. And just like any balancing posture, we come into and then fall out of the pose. Perhaps holding it for just a split second which is all we need to have a taste for how such balance feels. But that is all we need to inspire us to try again. And again. And again. Hopefully each time staying in our center a little longer, until it is no longer a practice but a way of being.

And now Noah and his friends have found a new home and my friend's boy apparently loves playing with his new toy. Which means one day my friend will have to face the dilemma: does Noah stay? Or does he go now?

dragon celebration

2012-01-24T16:33:00.006-06:00

Xin Nian Kuai Le! Happy New Year!

We're pretty excited as it is the year of the water dragon which means change. Cowgirl has been drawing - and cutting out! - dozens of dragons in preparation ...

each one is double sided - colored front AND back

Dragons are protective spirits, so we are hoping for some support and guidance as we move through the watery times ahead. Having just gone through a 500 year flood year, I am hoping this isn't a literal prediction! I guess the water aspect can signify flowing abundance or natural disasters ... kind of wildly different interpretations?

I suppose I should wear my jade bracelet for added strength and groundedness. Apparently Tigers (my sign) are to take care to not be too emotional or stubborn (yikes!) this coming year. As I am a water tiger, I guess I am to expect an "average" year although I may have a some unexpected wealth opportunities. Hmm ...

Hello, Monkey (my Cowgirl) is also warned not to be stubborn this coming year. (Ah, the center of the Tiger/Monkey conflict! We are not compatible signs; my Chinese teacher explained "In China we have a saying 'In the forest where there is no tiger, monkey can be king.'" And that explains everything!) Cowgirl is a wood monkey, so she will have to take care in the coming year (which means I will have to take care for her - and for me!)

i know, you are thinking "This child? Stubborn?" Believe me, it is so

We cleaned house (swept away all the bad luck making room for good fortune to flow in), smudged and blessed each room, hung lanterns, put out fresh flowers and then enjoyed a festive meal.

Cowgirl filled red envelopes with candy to give out to her classmates at school and we made sure her silk jacket was ready for the big day.

I've informed her that we both have to watch our stubbornness this coming year ... she wanted to know what would happen if she warned me and I didn't listen to her. She is ever ready for that mythical time when she can discipline me. I've tried to explain to her: mommies don't have any privileges worth taking away. Although I may be going about this all wrong; perhaps I can spin laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping and cooking as activities I would be shattered to be denied.

Then let me misbehave!

May all our dragons be helpful and friendly ones. And if there is any doubt, well, my teacher also informed me we can wear red underwear for extra luck and protection.

No photos available.

show & tell: journaling adventures

2012-01-19T09:34:00.000-06:00

There have been some really fun discussions bouncing around the internet airwaves on journal practices. I can still remember my very first journal - a spiral "flip" notebook like secretaries used to use to take dictation (back in the day when there were secretaries and shorthand) which my father brought me from his office (probably pilfered from his secretary whom he called "Lollipop" - just to complete the picture of which era I am referencing here).

I have kept a journal on and off since then but what I find interesting is the types of journals I have moved through in my attempt to find THE journal practice that best suits me.

So I decided it would be fun to share my journals with you in a video format. Okay, truth is I was feeling lazy and not in the mood to write about my experiences - which in itself I find telling as I am exploring the concept of maintaining a regular journal practice.

After recording my thoughts, I spent a little more time looking through my old journals and it occurred to me that the real issue isn't what kind of journal I keep - written or diary form; scrapbook; art or image based - that I am confusing the signpost with the destination. What brings me to a journal is the desire to know or understand myself in a deeper way. To unravel my thoughts, beliefs, feelings and hopefully come to a place of insight or clarity. The best way to go about this self excavation will change as I change.

Anticipating the collective gasp of shock as I muttered something along the lines of "I really finding journaling irritating" I want to explain that at this point in my life I find writing as my initial means of digging in less effective than other forms of self inquiry. The thing is, I know what I know; I know the common motifs - my basic thoughts that direct my life - and given paper and pen I will rehash those ideas over and over. Or rather, I will filter my now experiences through the lens of those ideas. And I find this process fruitless.

What works for me now is to practice intuitive creating; to focus upon process and reacting to what arises moment by moment as I create with little fore planning. Then I might return to words to consider what occurred as I allowed my subconscious free rein. It is here that I find the real insights and juicy tidbits that help me come to a new way of thinking, seeing or understanding myself or my world.

As I poked through my old journals, what popped out at me were the images. In a flash, I was returned to that point in my life. I could flip through and see the changes occurring, something that is more difficult in my older journals were there is just written text.

And maybe one day I will have the patience and the interest to go back and read the more wordy journals? I've also considered tossing them, as I recognize their value resided in the actual process of writing, not re-reading. Maybe. Maybe not.

The historian in me packed them back up, chronologically. I noticed the gap in journal keeping coincided with the period when The Husband and I were trying to start our family and then those early years with Cowgirl. Although that's not completely true as for 2 years I kept my first blog - a baby jelly beans blog for her - and then started this one. So add to the above list of journal types blogging.

And yes, I am now licking my chops as I ponder all these forms and how this record of my record keeping will be interpreted one day far, far into the future. Because that who I am: an archiver, a collector, an analyzer of lives and I suppose a trained and degreed voyeur.

So if you are so inclined, here is a little peek into my journals, my inner life.

Vimeo has a perverse way of always capturing my most goofy facial expressions!

For a peek into other journals, check out the ongoing discussion happening over at Liz Lamoreux's blog here and here and Jen Lee's contribution to the subject. And here is the original post about my best-idea-ever: my To Remember book. In the end, that notebook may hold the best record of my inner and outer life.

Eight Days a Week

2012-01-16T16:25:00.006-06:00

After a languorous Winter holidays, returning to business as usual has been exhausting. I am attempting healthful habits such as rising at 5:30 am to do some yoga and meditation which means I shouldn't be vexed (but I am) that by 8:30 at night this girl is ready for a tuck in and a story.

Which isn't to say that I haven't also felt mellow and slow moving like a crust of ice has me held in some kind of mental stasis but I can tell deep, deep within much is gurgling and moving.

this is beet and apple juice - i couldn't resist this shot in the bright sunlight. it certainly looks like it should give me an internal jolt of something!

I've been settling into some good habits like dusting off the Juice Man and imbibing in some energy-filled tonics. Although, truth be told, perhaps I am needing an elixir more in line with the Baldwin Sisters' Recipe?

I am loving the return to a daily photo taking practice which has infused a level of mindfulness and attention that I've experienced in meditation retreats. I am finding that by practicing deep looking, the internal chatter shuts down. I am finding myself less verbal and more often in day-dreamy mode. Which is lovely when one has time for creative endeavors; but the busyness of family and work have left me feeling tugged in two directions.

But it's a new year and how's this for a new perspective? I am surrendering to the experience and moving with the flow which is at times turbulent and jarring and then it smooths out and is relaxing and magical in a golden-light-at-the-end-of-the-day kind of way.

So here's what I've been up to which I realize pretty much boils down to attempting to capture memories in a jar. Or rather, a camera.

So many details to share ... I will do my best to swing by and fill you in on all the excitement! I am off to unravel two knitting projects that went awry in my exhausted state. Ripping out hours of work puts a whole new spin on the notion of unraveling oneself. Life lessons lurking everywhere.

breathless

2012-01-09T16:36:00.003-06:00

No time to write ... there is only so much good daylight available and I am loving this film!

Unfortunately, I don't know if what I'm using is this film as what I purchased was called PX100 Test Film from The Impossible Project (Is it just me, or are the names of their products infinitely confusing and forgettable?) I have 11 shots left and am torn between slowly savoring it, or going whole hog.

I am remembering a story my German language teacher told me about growing up in Hungary during World War II. Butter was rationed to one pat a month and people would use the tiniest amount possible to stretch it out for the month. But my teacher proudly shared that she would put the whole thing on a roll and eat it in one go!

There is savoring, and then there is full out indulging.

Off to find some more light ...

insights and an epiphany ...

2012-01-06T16:21:00.009-06:00

I am easing into the new year, attempting to coax some Clarity into myself and my life. I am reconnecting with those practices that support me in slowing down and settling in and hoping to reestablish some healthy routines. Why do I drift away from what I know nourishes and supports me? It's almost as if feeling in alignment is too intense a sensation for me to maintain for any length of time. Or, perhaps being centered feels "off" whereas the Dionysian frenzy I so often find myself in has become my understanding of normal?

Slowly, slowly I've been returning to a morning yoga and meditation practice. I feel so much better when I give myself that hour before my day starts to stretch and empty out. A sense of spaciousness is created and I am able to more mindful dance through my day rather than the above mentioned frenzy. I've headed back to the kitchen after the holiday break and am juicing, making smoothies, gathering fresh produce for soups and stews. It is all very satisfying and supports me physically and mentally as the process of chopping, sauteing, simmering, cooking all force me to slow down and be present. And then enjoy the fruits of my labor.

I also have returned to a daily photo taking practice. I had forgotten how much pleasure I derived from pausing in my day to notice the light flooding the front room of the house, the patterns camouflaged within the clutter and the beauty of my girl. I am enjoying Susannah Conway's Photo Meditations course for the reminders to slow down and really look at the slice of world that is my life. I love looking at other photographers' work and seeing how they translate their love and curiosity and excitement into an image.

But here's the hazard for me - here's were Clarity can slip away: I am easily distracted and find myself wrapped up in another artist's world, in their way of conveying their passion for life into art. I see things I want to try, techniques I want to learn and that is all well and good as Possibility is palpable in those moments of discovery. But the danger for me is becoming enchanted with a world other than my own and measuring myself against those whom I admire. Too easily I get overwhelmed and discouraged.

I realize I take the pictures that I take in order to clearly see and understand the beauty and the joy that lives in my world. I take pictures because the act of looking helps me to see and know how much I truly love my life.

Big epiphany there. The act of documenting my experience, my world, makes manifest the deep love and gratitude I hold for this life I've been gifted.

I look at my photographs and I see a thought or a feeling captured, a memory collected and preserved. I share my pictures with the hope that some small flash of the love I feel is conveyed, but I have to know that what excites and thrills me in my images is inherently subjective for I am seeing my work through the lens of my heart, my life.

If there is anything we are rich in, it is images. We are a visually obese culture. Years ago I met an artist from China who told of riding his bike 100 miles to another village just to see a postcard of a Monet painting. I think about this story often and wonder if I have become lazy. A whole load of looking but very little seeing.

I also know I tend to trivialize my offerings when faced with a Flickr photo pool brimming with hundreds of images. I begin to question whether there really needs to be another photograph of a sunset or hands holding a flower or the clutter of a home? It is easy to discount one's work as one more in a long line of the same-old-thing.

But of course, such comparisons are merely distractions. I return to my intention and with Clarity I understand it is not a competition. My intention for doing what I do is intensely personal and vital and therefore necessary. To me.

And your images, your artwork are necessary to you AND me because the love you put forth invites me to step forward and make my offering. It not the what but the why of what we do: I create because I believe in connection, I believe in clarity, I believe in understanding, and I know all are essential for Love to expand and thrive within myself and within my world.

So for me, the moment I slip into comparing and judging my work against another is my signal that Clarity has become obscured by foggy thinking. Foggy maybe fine for a landscape, but not for living a life.

Ultimately, it is about how we choose to show up in our lives which for me includes my art. How do you insert your heart into your life? Where will we find traces of your one, wild precious self?

So far, so good ...

2012-01-03T20:10:00.005-06:00

My year so far

Began a new journal ... a 5 year journal (yikes!) where you write just a line or two for the day and each page has space for 5 January firsts. If I stick with it, I will be writing entries for both my 50th and 51st birthdays. Yikes!

Are you ready to play some UNO ... Roboto style? Cowgirl is an avid UNO card playing fan and we are having fun with this little guy. You record your name into his belly and then sporadically he will issue commands or challenges which mixes up an already mixed up game. We have fun recording our nick names ... for some reason our voices sound like 4 year old munchkins which makes it all even more absurd (especially as Cowgirl likes to give me names like "Big Mama".)

And after a luxurious winter break, we all headed back to school today. Which means back to our routines and an eager face greeting me as soon as I walk in the door.

Speaking of routines ... I'm attempting another photographic 365 challenge with my Unraveling buddies. I'm also in Susannah's Photo Meditations class, am loving Effy's Book of Days and am contemplating Em's journal challenge.

Did I say something about Clarity and Simplicity?

If I had to choose one intention for the coming year, it would be to live life this way

From my dreamboard for "Radiant Me" ... I may or may not wear purple when I am older, but I definitely want to be "having a good squeeze of life" like this woman. Now that is how to be a true Joy Warrior. Will you join me? (Just be warned: when I go sledding I scream - very loudly and all-the-way-down.)

year- end inventory

2011-12-31T17:06:00.000-06:00

On this final day of the year I found myself hustling out the door to attend a yoga center meeting. I was hoping for a quick outing into town although the piles of papers - coupon for Dick Blick's, holiday checks for the bank, knitting pattern in case I hit the yarn sale - and the two packages to post (yes, my final holiday gifts completed and ready to ship!) should have clued me in that this would be anything but a brief jaunt.

As I drove down the highway I noticed a dozen or more wild turkeys foraging on the side of the road. If this year has taught me anything, it is to welcome such signs and receive the message with a wide open heart. I cannot think of a more appropriate symbol for my life right now than turkey; the abundance of mother earth is so strongly evident in my life right now along with the experience of moving fluidly within the circle of giving and receiving. Shared Blessings is one way Turkey's medicine can be described and it is a beautiful description of the year that is passing as well as a suggestion for what I know lies ahead.

"Less is more" is one of my favorite directions to offer when teaching yoga. Recently I had a new student attend my class and when he was in a seated forward bend, I gave him this advice while straightening his spine and moving him more upright than forward and down.

After class he thanked me and then said he was confused about what I meant when I said "less is more." Initially I was perplexed; it seems like such an obvious concept. I also like to tell inflexible students that we don't have to work as hard as flexible students as we feel the pose sooner. We don't have to go so far as we come upon our edges much faster. (Contrary to urban myth, all yoga teachers are NOT super bendy pretzel-types) Less is more in the sense that when we avoid pushing past our edge - which is when we risk compromising the structural integrity of the pose such as collapsing the spine in order to reach the toes in the forward bend - we inhabit the place where insight, understanding, opening, change, or transformation can occur. We gain more by doing less when doing involves force and ignorance of one's reality.

Less is more. I have said this so often, but only now do I see it is more complicated than I initially thought and in fact I too fail to practice my own advice.

Ask me to describe my day and most likely I would say I am spinning my wheels. My perception is I generate a lot of energy, but very little happens. I have this image of myself as not getting much done; that I squander my time and my resources and at the day's end see only what I did not accomplish.

Earlier this week as I sat at my sewing machine,finishing up the second of two last minute holiday gift projects, I had an unusual moment of clarity and honesty: I do a hell of a lot. I was thinking about the recent rash of sewing projects and then a parade of projects from the past few months flashed through my mind.

I do a hell of a lot of stuff.

In no particular order here is an inventory of my various crafty works - the ones I can remember:

3 felted holiday crowns
3 pennant banners and 2 felted banners
1 tent

1 sock puppet
6 pairs of knitted, fingerless gloves
9? 10? zippered pencil bags
7 paintings for charity (raising over $1400)
100 holiday postcards mailed
21 poems in 21 days
3 sets prayer ties (hanging in Omaha, Sedona and by Squam lake)
various SouLodge craft projects including meditation stick, smudging fan, protector spirit
49 postcard sized paintings
numerous other paintings in journals, notebooks, posterboard
6 painted journal covers

Spinning my wheels?!

Yes ... you may bitch slap me now.

Perhaps I have slapped some sense into myself. For I am ready to put to rest - nay, drive a stake through the heart of this phantasmagorical delusion that has colored my perception of myself far too long.

Less is more. Perhaps what I really mean by this is when I am focused upon what I am doing, intent upon where and how my energy and attention is directed, I am able to fully appreciate the fullness and depth of the experience. I am conscious to the scope of what I am creating or offering and in turn I am aware of the gifts of inspiration, insight, play, joy, or pleasure that my work affords me.

I am seeing and experiencing abundance as it extends to me and in turn moves through me. I don't necessarily believe I want to be doing less; I just want to be appreciative of all that I do do and to fully enjoy the process and myself.

Less is more in the sense that whatever I do, I pay attention to what is created or generated rather than fixate upon what might have/should have/didn't happen. There is so much to value and appreciate in the smaller moments which when viewed with some perspective take on a great fullness of being. Those little "lesses" add up to one huge something - in my case an outpouring of love and gratitude in felt, wool, paint and paper.

This is a first step in my embracing Clarity for the new year. Today I saw the abundance of wild turkeys and I heard their message loud and clear: my life - and your life - is nothing but one of many gifts within an abundance of blessings. It's time to celebrate and give thanks.

And because I am bad with beginnings and endings ... and because Mr. O'Donohue excels with them both (and all the words in between) ... and the discovery of his work is a true treasure of this past year for me ... I offer his blessing At the End of the Year for us all:

As this year draws to its end,
We give thanks for the gifts it brought
And how they became inlaid within
Where neither time nor tide can touch them.

The days when the veil lifted
And the soul could see delight;
When a quiver caressed the heart
In the sheer exuberance of being here.

Surprises that came awake
In forgotten corners of old fields
Where expectation seemed to have quenched.

The slow, brooding times
When all was awkward
And the wave in the mind
Pierced every sore with salt.

The darkened days that stopped
The confidence of the dawn.

Days when beloved faces shone brighter
With light from beyond themselves;
And from the granite of some secret sorrow
A stream of buried tears loosened.

We bless this year for all we learned,
For all we loved and lost
And for the quiet way it brought us
Nearer to our invisible destination.

Blessings and love and gratitude from our hearts to yours.

Happy New Year! See you 'round the corner ...

our winter break

2011-12-28T13:59:00.009-06:00

The entire family is off this week and we've been busy enjoying ourselves. There have been many nights spent in a pup tent ...

A bounty of Christmas cuddles ...

and high jinks ...

Despite the cheeky expressions,
these two "good" kids received a remote controlled helicopter
which has logged in hours of flight time already

Last minute sewing (it seemed like a good idea on Christmas Eve to "whip up" a couple more holiday crowns ...)

I followed this tutorial for our crowns

I avoided last minute holiday shopping by becoming obsessed with creating the latest addition to our family - Sock Moose!

inspired by the puppets by Katherine Dunn
who so wisely noted in her book
"Puppet making is the antithesis of creative block."

I can just imagine the adventures he will have in 2012.

The usual arting and crafting has been taking place. Cowgirl has expanded her repertoire to include sharks (they have teeth) and whales ...

Cowgirl brought home from school
over 2 dozen of these cut-out aquatic creatures!

Along with her perennial favorites, Monster Trucks Blue Thunder and Grinder.

I've been taking the time to reflect upon the year behind me and setting my intentions for the year to come using this great workbook.

I've also created the cover for my Books of Days project inspired by the free year long workshop with Ms. Effy Wild. I've settled upon my word for 2012: Clarity and marinating in all the possibilities it implies.

In these final days of what was my year of Shine, I am celebrating what was while calmly anticipating what is to come - another year to stretch myself, roll up my sleeves, get messy, have fun, and seek out Joy.

Of course I am also finishing up a couple of gift projects which I have every intention of finishing before the year end. I see some nights of sewing ahead of me ...

Santa brought Cowgirl a Shark kite

... unless the sharks get hungry and eat my supplies. In which case, I will just keep Wassailing!

solstice blessings ✸

2011-12-23T14:12:00.007-06:00

I had planned on writing about my process in preparing for The Mother of All Releasing Ceremonies ...

How Cowgirl got the ball rolling on releasing the night before when she lost her other front tooth ...

How I had been keeping a list for a month now of what I wanted to shed in order to step into the New Year ...

How that list kept growing and growing ... and then how I sat with it on the night before my private ceremony and realized my "baggage" could be honed down to some key obstacles: doubt, fear, resistance, denial, regret and my life-long companion, perfectionism ...

I planned on sharing my thoughts on this whole idea of releasing and why I don't necessarily believe we then need to open or bring in anything else because once we shed these layers or false beliefs we are in a sense clearing the lens to perceive the truth of who we already are: Love, Beauty, Wisdom, Compassion, Truthfulness ...

I was going to write about how we don't need to change so much as we need to let go ...

But the real story begins the morning of the Solstice when I drove to a nearby park to burn my bundle in one of the grills. It had snowed the night before and it was cold and windy (although I was in denial about all that) but I was just going to pop in for a quick little burn before heading into work ...

But the grills were in the open and I couldn't get my bundle to stay lit ...

So I moved inside a shelter and tried burning it on the concrete floor ...

And instead of a satisfying, mighty flame to purge all that I was ready to release what happened was a slow, erratic smoldering/smoking ...

Which I feared would alert a park ranger to what may or may not have been legal activity ... so I moved back to a grill and proceeded to develop a blood blister on my thumb from repeated use of the lighter ...

And did I mention the cold and the wind? And my impatience with the whole thing (and my knowledge that impatience was one of my slips of paper inside that very bundle) ...

So what was to be a fire ceremony turned into a hour and a half long smudging ceremony ...

And I knew somewhere Coyote was laughing her ass off knowing I was receiving the first lesson of the new season which was all about surrender and the folly of expectations and releasing attachment to how I want things to happen and the time frame in which I believe my journey ought to move ...

All the while (in that very long hour and a half) geese were circling around the nearby lake and as I heaped some lavender and sage over my still smouldering bundle (because by then I had given in to this being a Process unto itself and outside of my deluded notion of timeliness) a flock broke off and flew directly overhead and I could hear the flapping of their wings and I tried to take a picture but by then my hands were so numb, my fingers could not get the lens cap off ...

But I knew in that moment this coming year would be a time for Clarity and Surrender. And feeling completely exhausted, emptied and inspired I got into my warm car and headed into work.

Only two hours late ... but for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be. I felt like I was exactly how I was supposed to be: tingly alive, exhilarated, smokey and satisfied.

So what I want to share is that while releasing can be frustrating and challenging and exhausting it does offer the possibility of a clear and fresh perspective and a sense of beginning anew.

Blessings of the new season to you. In gratitude for all my sisters. Aho!

my story

2011-12-20T11:18:00.009-06:00

Yesterday I received one of the best gifts ever

I'm not really sure where to begin or how to explain the magic of it all. But here's a start:

A year ago I met a beautiful woman - a painter, a story teller, a bright and shining being who immediately became a sister-of-my soul. We have been Fearless Painters together and more recently have journeyed round the Medicine Wheel twice in SouLodge. From those journeys, I knew Jane was full of wisdom and love and that we shared many similar aspirations including mindful parenting, creative living and a desire to express ourselves through artistic means. And I think we both are dissent daughters unraveling our preprogramming, striving to live the lives of our dreams and learning to love ourselves with all our imperfections.

Oh, and we share a love of Seinfeld dialogue, particularly the very quotable Kramer.

When Jane created her Reframing Your Story project I knew immediately that this was something I wanted to do. As a lover of novels, stories, fairy tales and film I often find myself feeling like I am a character in a narrative thread - quasi comic and dramatic with just a dash of wistful melancholy. Perhaps a little bit Steve Carell or Jim Carrey in a drama? So the idea of restructuring my story line to fit the Me I am learning to believe I am was too delightful an opportunity to pass up.

In addition to writing a new story for you, Jane offers a variety of package options with artwork to accompany your story. I will admit, I was excited for my story but was thinking the real treasure was going to be Jane's artwork.

The entire process is so lovely - there is a guided meditation to help you uncover your story and some questions to answer to assist Jane in crafting the story and the artwork. Once you've done this prep work, you Skype with Jane to flesh out the ideas. In my case, my ideas were pretty bare-boned ... I was more like Skeleton Woman with bones of ideas and images scattered all over and I handed this heap to Jane and said "Here, see what you can do with this mess!"

With great excitement and little idea of what to expect, I opened my package from Jane and this is the first treasure that greeted my eyes:

And then this:

It was my own private Christmas and Jane was a personal envoy from Santa himself!

Then I picked up my story ...

I started to read and the tears began to flow. And flow. And flow.

Once upon a time a baby was born.

She came into an ordinary family in an ordinary world. But she was extraordinary. This girl had a light that was so bright it was almost blinding to those around her. It emitted from a place deep inside her ...

It felt like my soul was thawing and emotions raged. It was totally unexpected and I cannot even begin to explain or understand it all but this I do know for certain: by witnessing myself in a story written with love and sensitivity and deep wisdom, I felt whole and seen and loved in a way I'm not sure I've ever fully experienced. There is something incredibly powerful about having another person listen to your words, look deeply into your eyes and your heart and then present back to you their experience of who you through a story that describes your struggles, aspirations, and gifts.

We are all living in stories. Stories handed down to us by our parents, our society, our culture, our heroines and guides. I know I had a story line in my head compromised of those 7 basic thoughts that Mr. O'Donohue mentions - the thoughts or narrative that shape my life and my choices. One of those thoughts is "It has to be hard" with the subtext "for me." Another thought "There is some piece missing and my task is to find it."

In my story, what I learn - what I've known but not allowed myself to believe - is that all I've ever needed and will need is within myself. The key to unlock my light has been in my grasp all along, I just didn't know I could use it.

Sometimes all we need is the chance to see ourselves inside a different possibility and then change starts to happen.

- Jane Cunningham

I now have a new story and a list of suggestions to transform this story from paper into reality - into the life I was born to live.

Yesterday I received a number of gifts in the mail ... but the real treasure is this new vision Jane has given me. And the treasure of Jane and her friendship and support.

Wow ... it really is a season of angels ... and Joy Warriors extraordinaire.

And I'm seeing things - myself included - with fresh eyes. The very best gift of all.

*all painted images by Jane Cunningham with the exception of the first "doodle page." Photographed by me in less than ideal conditions for the paintings are truly radiant. *

yikes!

2011-12-17T14:10:00.006-06:00

Count down has begun ...

Still painting ...

Still receiving support and inspiration from my angels ...

Still knitting ...

Still writing cards ...

Contemplating drinking ...

Miles to go ... it's the North Pole or bust!

How's your holiday season going?

For some inspiration (rather than desperation) check out my offering for Margot's Love Gift series. Each essay is the perfect balm for a holiday weary soul.

all my angels ...

2011-12-12T14:45:00.008-06:00

Well, I am embarrassed so many old friends turned up for my pity party post ... but thank you all for the concern, sympathy and virtual tea! I'm not sick often so when I am, I tend to become a tad - ahem - dramatic? Although it doesn't help that today a colleague shared with me a story about a man who ignored a tooth ache because he couldn't afford dental care and the infection went to his brain and killed him! And as misery loves to seek me out, another colleague had a similar sinus infection caused by an infected tooth and had to have it pulled (the tooth, not the sinuses). Unsolicited he shared with me the dirty details about the pain and discomfort of it all.

So, yeah, I am feeling much better on antibiotics AND I have an appointment to see the dentist next week.

While I'm not 100 percent, I am trying to draw upon decades of training that tells me to recognize any experience or sensation is just one of many that flow through the field of my awareness. And that my awareness of sensation, feeling, or thought is constantly shifting and changing. In any given moment a multitude of experiences fills me and I can expand to encompass it all. (I am loving this mini-version of a yoga relaxation practice which has guided me in cultivatiing the above teaching.)

In other words: I can feel tired, cranky, achy AND be energized, enthused and contented. If I allow myself that space, but of course I am pretty good at wedging myself into tight corners and believing I have to stay put.

That is when my angels come to bail me out.

I used to be perpetually waiting for a sign of angels presence in my life. I would listen over and over to the songs Calling All Angels by Jane Siberry and U2's If God Would Send His Angels" acknowledging "I sure could use them here right now."

Much like the old joke about a man pleading for god's help as he stands trapped on a roof top with flood waters threatening to drown him, I believed the benevolence of the Universe would appear to me in a mystical manner. I always tend towards the more complicated and intricate in everything.

Then one day I was sitting in a circle of 50 people listening as each shared their story - their fears and triumphs - after an intensive first week in a month-long yoga teacher training. In that moment of witnessing their honesty and vulnerability, I realized that circle of people were my angels for they inspired me to believe I could be equally as present for all of my imperfections and aspirations.

The signs are everywhere if we choose to see them. The tricky part is to believe we are worthy of the seeing. That is where I get hung up. I believe angels are everywhere but that I am somehow undeserving of their presence.

Or so I used to believe. Of course it is hard to experience the blessings of angels when one has trouble with receiving in general but I am getting better with practice. Today I received my Giveaway gift from a SouLodge sister:

We each shared a piece of magic or medicine with another in the lodge as a practice of releasing and receiving; ultimately connecting with the sense of abundance that is always present in our lives when we are able to open to it and allow it to flow.

What could be more fitting than this piece of medicine for a weary joy warrior:

This is what I am coming to believe: that whenever we listen to our hearts and act upon that guidance, we are following the guidance of our angels. Each time I give from my heart, I am acting on behalf of my angel and when I receive your gifts - your words, smiles, hugs real and virtual - I am receiving the blessings of angels.

As the days grow darker and we near the Solstice, I am thinking about the Me I want to step into as we transit into the period of increasing light. I am ready to shed doubt about the worthiness of my offerings and any question about my right to receive. This doubt has been such a heavy burden and as I've said before, my tendency is to believe releasing it will be a complicated process.

Ah, but then another of my angels passed onto me this piece of medicine about releasing:

just to be clear: that white "thread" is a trail of poo falling in the air

It can be that easy. Just lift tail and drop that crap!

Seasons come and go, I change and yet I don't change. My intention for myself - much like these prayer ties covered in frost - hangs in there. It's not so much about wanting to change myself; rather I want to know myself as being vast enough to hold all the contradictory aspects of my being. And then be okay with that.

Yes, today an angel whispered in my ear and she said the one word that could shake me back into myself: Joy.

Hands together in humble gratitude for all of my angels. And yes, I'm talking to each and every one of you.

If you haven't heard about it already, Pixie Campbell is hosting the Mother of All Releasing Ceremonies for the upcoming Solstice. Details to construct your own releasing bundle are here. Do add your flame to the light.

it's really bad when ...

2011-12-09T12:50:00.009-06:00

... I dissolve into tears before the Walgreen's pharmacy clerk.

Actually, I knew things were headed down a dark road when I found myself eating cold cereal for supper a few nights back. And really REALLY OFF when The Husband declared his intention to have cold cereal the same night (unaware of my Dickensian dinner) and I told him he couldn't because there wasn't enough milk for breakfast.

I lived on cold cereal as a kid. I probably ate more cereal than any other food item as I was a picky eater and my mother didn't have the fortitude to challenge me. Water goes around the rock and milk flowed liberally into a bowl of Frosted Flakes or Cocoa Puffs.

Given my overindulgence in the flake food group, I rarely eat cereal as an adult. To decide upon cereal as a viable option for my evening meal is a sign of total decline in spirit, imagination, energy and self worth. My father often ate cold cereal for supper. He would state his intentions with the subtext being "no one really cares enough to cook me a dinner so I must settle for this." Sitting at the kitchen island eating Wheaties in the fading light, I was aware things were spiraling downwards.

I don't know if I have a sinus infection or a dental problem, but I have had a low, dull headache and irritation in the upper part of my mouth for the better part of a week. My tendency is to ignore discomfort and hope it wanders away. But today I accepted defeat and went to see the doctor. Of course, she couldn't see if there is anything wrong with my sinuses so I am to take an antibiotic and if afterwards I still feel bad, then I need to see the dentist.

By now, all I can think about is my head - or more exactly the left side of my head which is feeling progressively number and achier with each passing minute. (Did I mention that while I avoid going to the doctor, I do not avoid worrying about the multitude things that could be wrong with me ... much like I worry about my car whenever a new noise becomes apparent.) I wanted relief and eagerly arrived at Walgreen's for the possibility of relief that is my prescription.

Of course, the clerk informed me there was nothing in the system for me. He proceeded to tell me I hadn't received anything from that location in over a year and a half - basically implying I was woefully misguided, as if I were Miss Havisham arriving to collect her wedding invitations. I told him indeed that was the last time I needed a prescription filled. He then searched the general database and no, nothing for me anywhere.

At this point hot and bothered - bundled in woolens, down jacket and purse bearing down upon shoulders weakened by holiday fatigue and woe - I started to crumble. "Can you call my doctor's office?" Of course I didn't have the phone number in my cell phone. I could barely remember the name of the location and for a moment I couldn't even remember the doctor's name.

I mean, it had been over a year and a half, right?

That is when the tears started to roll ...

He gave me the number and I tried calling only to be told the doctor was now at lunch and I would have to wait until she got back in to straighten things out. Clutching my cellphone with snot (hopefully infected) dribbling out my nose, I waddled out of Walgreen's and now am home waiting for a call back.

And that is my holiday wish: that my sinuses that are the cause of my general malaise and discontent and not a decaying tooth which would have to wait until Monday to be seen by my dentist. Oh, and that the doctor will call back sometime today? I mean, when I finally decide I need to see a doctor then know I damn well want my drugs - NOW! (I've been waiting now for over 2 1/2 hours ... still no call.)

All of which is to say ... I am proceeding one step at a time. Head down, just inch forward - pause - repeat. Oh, and it's been snowing here which is really lovely but adding to my headache and fatigue as I gingerly make my way about on icy sidewalks to walk the dog and then crawl into my car and clutching the steering wheel creep about on slushy streets.

Thank god for online holiday shopping.

Two books I meant to mention in my review of inspiring titles are children's books but I love the message that they share about creativity and making art. They both are by Peter Reynolds and the first one is called The Dot and the second one is Ish. Cowgirl and I love both books and find they inspire us equally.

Yes, there have been pockets of inspiration ... as a reminder of better days ... some play from last weekend - my barnyard is filling up while Cowgirl is working on holiday themed pieces for school.

a very BIG pink pig

cowgirl's holiday tree with presents ... a project for her Chinese class

for some reason, in Moose's fantasy life he is French!

For a healthy dose of real inspiration, I encourage you to check out the beautiful series "The Love Gift" being offered over on Studio Margot. (I have contributed a piece that will be up sometime this month.) It is like an advent calendar of love and joy!

I may be down ... but I'm not out (just not having as much fun as my girl ... but holding out hope for the drugs ...)

double dog dare ...

2011-12-02T11:42:00.010-06:00

This is how I am feeling these days:

Not sure what my challenge is other than to stay steady in a season that always leaves me feeling like I've been tossed out of the raft and into the white water. Crazy fun? Yes. Exhausting and hazardous to my nervous system? Undoubtedly.

I seem to be finding my center in the chicken coop these days.

I am having a blast playing around with line, color, and my tub of watercolor toys. My working technique so far is to do an initial contour drawing using pencil -

Then go back over the lines with an ink tense black pencil.

I then use a small brush to wash in those lines before going back in with color. I've been experimenting with all my supplies: watercolor pencils and crayons, ink tense pencils, and pan watercolor paints.

So perhaps my dare is to pull out your stuff and see what it wants to tell you?

As it is the time to be making lists, I thought it would be fun to share a few of the books that have been especially inspiring to me. Perhaps there is something you might want to add to your Amazon wishlist? (I seem to be the only one who ever looks at my list!)

1. Drawing Lab for Mixed Media Artists by Carla Sonheim.

The Bodhi Chicklet turned me on to this gem (thanks Kim!) It is my to-go book whenever I am feeling sluggish creatively or when I get overwhelmed by what I want to do. It takes me back to basics - drawing - but it is anything but simplistic. I could spend a year exploring any one of the 52 suggested exercises and techniques in this book. Yeah, it will keep you busy for a long, long while.

2. Creative Illustration Workshop for Mixed Media Artists by Katherine Dunn.

I just got this book so I haven't gone through it completely ... which is to say I am savoring each page, each illustration. I love hearing about an artist's working practice - where their ideas come from and how they evolve into a final piece. I also appreciate technical tips (such as applying a little gel varnish with a finger tip over written text on a piece to prevent it from bleeding) and this book seems to be full of both.

If becoming a patron of the arts is a possible holiday gift you'd like to make, then consider sponsoring Katherine's Kickstarter Project Misfits of Love )

3. Painted Pages: Fueling Creativity with Sketchbooks and Mixed Media by Sarah Ahearn Bellemare.

This was the book that inspired the pieces Cowgirl and I made for this year's Painting with a Purpose campaign. I love seeing how Sarah uses her sketchbooks to capture the details of her life, as well as being a place to explore and play with ideas, themes, and designs. The play of image and words is strong in Sarah's art and she introduces how she works with blending the two together. This book is both inspiration and a kind of manual for creating mixed media pieces.

4. The Creative Habit: Learn it and Use it for Life by Twyla Tharp.

The title says it all. Hands down, this is my favorite book on creativity and how to support and nurture it. A practice I have committed myself to ... and it is exactly that: a practice. For me, discipline is needed but always, always discipline and work transmute into joy and exhilaration. Always.

5. The Artistic Mother: A Practical Guide to Fitting Creativity Into Your Life by Shona Cole.

What I love about this book is how Shona breaks down the projections into smaller segments and suggests ways we can gather the material, the inspiration for several pieces over a period of days and weeks. I tend to go whole hog on a project and burn myself out trying to get everything done in one go, so this way of working has taught me how to integrate my work into my busy schedule. And unlike many other books, I've actually done most of the projects in this book! Ironically, the sewing project which I initially resisted resulted in my delving into other sewing projects. I created a number of larger sized totes as gifts based upon the Poetry Tote project in this book. I also loved the Altered Storybook project (which reminds me ... I had planned to do another one!) I don't believe you have to be a mother to enjoy this book.

I'm sure there are others I am forgetting ... and I would love to know your favorites for my holiday list!

And now I am anxious to get back to my pads, pencils, paints and papers. So many ideas, so little time! As if things don't feel speeded up enough, Cowgirl has lost her third tooth in less than 3 weeks! This one had to be pulled and she was very brave. While the fairies have the baby tooth, she continues to wear the plastic tooth given to her by the dentist as a kind of medal of honor. Meanwhile, her other front tooth is hanging on by a thread ... no rest for the tooth fairy.

But plenty of rest for my other muse.

Go on ... be naughty AND nice. I dare you ...

gratitude and goats

2011-11-26T15:26:00.009-06:00

I've never been able to keep a gratitude journal, not that I don't love the concept of one. I'd like to believe years of attempting mindfulness have made me sensitive to recognizing those moments when my attitude should be deep appreciation and thanks.

The Thanksgiving holiday naturally brought about a questioning: What gifts have I overlooked? For what - or whom - am I overdue in giving thanks to for impacting my life in a positive way?

A little over two and a half years ago, I created this image for Susannah Conway's Unravelling: Ways of Seeing Myself:

At the time I had just ventured back into this dream world of creative exploration and expression and I felt very alone in my immediate community. I feel very tender towards that me of not-so-long-ago. I wanted a friend to join me in my escapades, to share my dreams and fears, leaps of daring, skinned knees and bruised ego. I didn't know how I would ever find anyone who would really get me.

I sit here and pinch myself for this Lucy hasn't just found an Ethel - I have a whole tribe of Ethels! And if you are reading this, then you are in that tribe.

I once read that what we all crave is to be loved and to feel understood. If we are loved but not understood, then we doubt that love. If I am grateful for anything in my life, it is the fact that I am so deeply seen and understood by this community of creatives I am fortunate to know in the flesh and here, "in the matrix."

I am grateful for all of you who fearlessly share the experience of your life in written and visual forms for it inspires me to pick up my brush, pen or camera and capture my world.

I was talking with one of you about this Brave New World of creating for personal fulfillment and how it is so hard for people to wrap their minds around this concept of creating just to create. In our consumer driven world, it is consider just plain odd not to be actively engaged in trying to sell something. But what I think is even more threatening is the notion of putting oneself first; daring to say "my needs and happiness matter" when the work ethic we've been taught to embrace is do do do and one day you will be rewarded for your efforts.

I ask: who is going to reward me if not myself? Not that I am advocating blatant disregard for the care of others and the responsibility to give of ourselves for the betterment of our community, our world. But how often do we deny ourselves the small gift of time and attention to cultivate our dreams? How often do we put off to tomorrow doing what our hearts yearn for today?

And now I've wandered down an unexpected alley when my intention was simple to say thank you. Thank you moon, thank you stars, thank you geese on Thanksgiving day,

thank you poppies,

thank you Tooth Fairy,

thank you goats,

thank you Cowgirl,

thank you kitten (whom we can't take home but oh-how-we-wanted-to),

thank you to my family who embrace Cowgirl with all their love,

thank you Moose dog,

Thank you everyone and everything that brightens this world. A humble but heartfelt thank you.

And a special thank you to The Husband who watches me paint goat after goat and never question "why?" (He too knows and loves me.)

I am also grateful for the opportunity to share my "out there" thoughts over on the blog of the always inspiring Jen Lee. She is birthing some amazing projects which have supported me in believing there is a place for my perspective, my voice in this world. Goats and all.

we believe ...

2011-11-21T14:02:00.008-06:00

"Do you believe in fairies? … If you believe," he [Peter] shouted to them, "clap your hands; don't let Tink die."

It's been an event-filled week here. There was this exciting development:

This tooth was hanging on by a single strand for days. Cowgirl would not let us touch it but she gleefully would shove her mouth in front me, displaying the torment twisted tooth. She bumped it and it was bleeding but still we could not pull it. Then, to her amazement and surprise, she sucked in really hard and the tooth popped out.

She is very proud of this feat of dental daring and repeatedly informs us "I can't believe my tooth came out!"

Cowgirl scored a hundred percent on her spelling test this week. You may remember that studying her spelling list is one of the more odious tasks in our daily routine. I would rank it up there with scrubbing out the poo from a monkey's cage - a thankless job with the added risk of one's self getting smeared by an angry (and caged) simian. The fact that I drilled her and coached her every day might have earned me a smidgeon of gratitude but no, instead she informed me that the Fairies assisted her. Apparently they are able to hide in the folds of her skirt or in her hair, whispering the correct answers to her in her moment of need.

We've been talking a lot about the Fairies lately. She has told her other friends at school and to her amazement "They don't know about the fairies mommy!" Her good fortune in knowing and cultivating a relationship with these handy helpers is just dawning on her (but does she thank me? Noooo ...) and she is sharing their secrets with her best friend who "trusts me and believes what I tell her."

So with the perfect spelling test and $1.50 from the tooth fairy (you've got to get a crisp bill AND some silver) the Fairies have been busy at work in our home. I'll admit, I was feeling left out of their magic when this friend appeared in our backyard:

It was a cool, but sunny Sunday early afternoon when I spotted Fox napping in our garden bed. Her appearance was nothing short of a wish come true. Two years ago I spotted a fox crossing the road in our neighborhood and I have been thinking about Fox in recent weeks. That first visitor gifted me a lesson about taking chances and daring to pursue what calls to my heart. Working in the SouLodge I have been greeted by many guides in dream form but I will concede, I had been hankering for some concrete proof of, well, magic in my life.

So I had been thinking how seeing a fox right now would really seal the deal on my faith in such matters. I've been watching the roadside, scanning the nearby fields and farms for a creeping presence. To have Fox curled up and napping in my yard waiting for me to discover her is fairy magic indeed!

Perhaps I need to give credit to my latest guardian and guide birthed last week during our time in the West in SouLodge.

Like me, my Spirit Protector is wearing the signs of her hard won faith. Her heart bared for all to see and she reminds me to love my life is an act of fearlessness and trust. Thank you fairies, thank you Fox for helping dissipate any doubt.

Fairies ... we believe! We believe!

About a girl

2011-11-17T13:54:00.006-06:00

Have I mentioned how much we love using disposable cameras in our house? (I know ... just typing the word disposable makes me feel guilty and robber baronish.)

But Cowgirl loves having her own camera to use and so it has become a kind of tradition that for every major event, she receives a camera to document the day.

She has also misplaced many a disposable and I've had to run out and buy a new camera when we couldn't find the camera that always seems to have 15 pictures left.

Which is how we came to discover TWO partially used cameras - the contents of which were a mystery to us. A few days later (after no apparent event worthy of documenting in film) Cowgirl presented me with one camera ready to be developed.

I think my favorite moment is when I am sitting in my car holding the packet of just-paid-for developed pictures. I always hesitate for a moment - should I wait and let Cowgirl be the first to gaze upon the wonders?

I never wait. The temptation is too great; the experience is akin to lifting off the top of her head and seeing exactly what lurks inside her mind. I mean, what parent doesn't gaze upon their child and wonder "What is going on in that brain?" (I guess I could say the same about the dog, although I have a good idea it revolves around food and tummy rubs.)

This is what lurks inside:

Some facts about my girl (those tidbits I think I will never forget but have discovered do quickly slip away as they are replaced by equally fascinating and often bizarre new tidbits):

In her next life she will be a cheetah. (I know that is a jaguar; she loves all big cats and I imagine this homage was made with the intention of commemorating her passion for all wild things.) She has directed me, upon dying, to "wait for her" and then we will come back together as cheetahs. I guess I am suppose to go into limbo or perhaps be a friendly ghost until she joins me? (In subsequent lifetimes she will be a Transformer. I have not been invited into those lives.)

She loves her friends. She continues to amaze me with her very social nature. She is outgoing, adventurous, generous and forthcoming in ways I could never have imagined myself being at 7 let along 37. (At 47, maybe ...)

She loves her dog. He is the only little brother she will allow in the family. She tattles on him ("Moose is licking the floor!"), bosses him about, dotes on him (when she is in the mood) and in general ignores him in person and celebrates him in her artwork and stories.

Cars are people. Cars have complex lives and adventures. She wishes we had named her Hot Wheels.

She must have been a penguin in a previous life. She has a penguin baby now and I am its grandmom.

And the biggest mystery and greatest miracle of them all? That this is what she sees every day

and she still loves me immensely. Yep, just as I am.

I dare you ... peering into the mind of a child you love ... it's a wild and wonderful place.

But be prepared to be baffled and a little concerned ...

(a prize for the best guest as to what this is?! I have a set of 5 newly printed postcards from some of my paintings which I will give away next week for the best answer. Help me unravel this mystery! Comment or email me: lishofmann(at)novia(dot)net.)

FYI: the camera developed had pictures from her birthday party last year; the top photo is her using that very camera!

a friday soup

2011-11-11T15:33:00.011-06:00

Background & disclaimer: I love making soup. For one thing, you can add just about anything and as long as it cooks awhile and there is proper seasoning, it usually comes out tasting delicious. I love making soups because they allow me to clean out the refrigerator and pantry; they are my go-to meal especially when I am trying to avoid the grocery store.

Fact: I hate grocery shopping. I hate figuring out what I will want to cook and eat 5 days from now; I hate making the shopping list and I hate the trek to, around and from the store. Grocery shopping is the stone I roll every week to 10 days. Actually, the experience is more akin to Prometheus's fate of having his liver eaten out day after day after day ... So, I make a lot of soup.

My soups are usually well received but when I find myself reaching for the can of navy beans because, well, navy beans are all that's left in the larder, I suspect I may have a problem on my hands. And getting to the point (you suspected I might wander back to a point) this post feels a bit like one of my soup meals. Tossing in bits of things I've been meaning to share and hoping it will all come together into a tasty offering. But ... there was that navy bean soup incident (with corn ... yup, pretty grizzly even for me) so consider yourself warned.

I realize I haven't shared this yet:

My painting from Pixie Campbell's workshop Back to the Wild at Squam. I cannot believe I haven't been bending your ears about the marvels of molding paste. Look at the texture! I loved the experience of making this piece - it was a very physical event. I slapped the paste down, shoved it around, pressed things into it. When it dried I sanded it, scratched and basically assaulted the surface with any handy sharp object. I mixed paste with the paint and build up new areas. I smudged paint in with my fingers, drew with my non dominant hand and basically experienced a lusty tango with this piece.

I find it fascinating and mildly disquieting that the horse here (drawn with my non dominant hand mind you) is very reminiscent of the many horses I drew when I was a girl. I can't help but think about that version of me enthralled with the essence of horse - power, strength, passion and independence and the person I am now returning once again to claim what I seemed to have abandoned out of fear or uncertainty.

One thing I love about this piece is how I grabbed a section of map off of the table of clippings only to discover it contained the section of the U.S. that included Nebraska and South Dakota. The issue of my identity with my adopted home has been a slippery one for me. Part of my process this Fall has been to embrace all aspects of who I am now: I no longer consider myself a transplanted Easterner - I am a Midwesterner.

I also have been thinking about the changes in my relationship with Cowgirl. As she matures and demands more independence, I have had to renegotiate my role as her mother. What seems to be required is a quality of strength or power coupled with gentleness and compassion. So horse seems evocative of the changes in both our worlds and speaks to what needs to be nurtured: Power with grace.

Cowgirl and I were invited to contribute a piece for a fundraiser benefiting a local art alliance. We had planned on painting penguins but somehow a dragon appeared:

Cowgirl has been making many dragon images over the past couple of weeks which I find fascinating as the coming year will be the year of the Dragon according to Chinese astrology. I've also been sitting with the energy of fire and the South in the Medicine wheel for SouLodge and I love the appropriateness of dragon, fire, creative action and the phrase I penciled in at the bottom: playing with fire.

That's how I'm feeling right now ... in a frisky, muzzle snorting way!

(I am only mildly freaking out about the possibility that no one will bid on our work. I understand many people won't be interested in mommy/daughter artwork and I feel torn between wanting it to sell and having it come back to us. Now I understand why I haven't felt compelled to try to make marketable art - my heart isn't strong enough yet!)

Okay, here's where I go reaching for the navy beans ...

Other developments include a new found passion for ... goats?

I discovered the art of Katherine Dunn and her amazing blog Apifera Farm. Her art work and photographs of her beloved farmyard friends (the inspiration for my drawings) have me bewitched. Okay, so my fantasy life is living on a small acreage with goats, a donkey, a horse, some chickens, barn cats and dogs. There would be space for me to have a real art studio, a tire swing for Cowgirl, and our animal family to inspire us all. And since it is a full fledged fantasy, we would be in Ireland or Scotland and okay, I would allow Ewan McGregor to be there as well.

So I am contemplating a profession as a animal portraitist.

I've also been decorating art journals (the simple brown Moleskine journals) as gifts.

Perhaps a dual profession? (Seriously, I am thinking about a small sideline offering of personalized journals ... looking into the details but do tell me - would you commission one?)

Well, it's back to my informal painting studio for now. No idyllic scenes of sheep or pigs, but there is a pink dragon in the making.

I think it augurs well for the changes being ushering in today ...

Dragon AND snake for Cowgirl. My guides are more bucolic.

(All my contour drawings/watercolors of goats, donkey and sheep were inspired by original photographs by Katherine Dunn as seen on her blog and flickr photostream. My works are not intended for sale but merely for my enjoyment and practice!)

finding my rhythm

2011-11-08T11:53:00.009-06:00

I wish I could say the absence of any sustained writing appearing on this blog was due to my pounding away at other projects.

Alas, I am here to confess: first grade is whipping my butt.

I know, it is meant to be challenging The Girl and it is - but in order to keep her moving along this mama is having to run alongside her much like a third base coach yelling his runner into home base.

First there are the weekly spelling tests. Because my child is "gifted" and honest, she tests out of the A-list (the "easier" list as she knows it) and is thus burdened by the onerous B-list. (She is honest - or naive - as she doesn't fail the pretest on purpose as a friend's son has figured out to do.)

So B-list it is. And I am wondering about the relevancy of that list. This past week she had (and misspelled) the word splint. Do doctor's still use splints? And even so, how many 7-year olds come across the word splint in their reading? So far, no splints in Frog and Toad or Little Bear.

But each week we blunder on. blunder ... that would be a good B-list word.

Then there are the craft projects which you would think this crafty mama would enjoy. Well, no. First of all, the project slips come home with usually only a week's lead time. As we live far from the craft store, a visit for supplies requires some planning and no small amount of mental/emotional preparation on my part. Perhaps we will reach a state of stasis whereby we will have all the pipe cleaners, popsicle sticks and raffia required?

We have made scarecrows, pet portraits, and animal habitats among other things. I actually assigned the last project - the creation of a shoebox habitat for a robin - to The Husband. (Not that I wasn't involved; knowing he would put it off until the final day, I was prompting Cowgirl through the week to tackle elements of the project like drawing a robin and gathering sticks.)

They are both pretty proud of it:

It was a two fingers-injured (The Husband's) affair. Advice-that-one-apparently-does-have-to-state-to-Husband: do not let a 7-year old handle a hot glue gun.

Have I mentioned the social events of a first grader? Bounce gym, bowling alley, dress-up shop parties just to name the most recent few.

This what I remember of first grade: Mary, Mike and Jane books; worksheets matching rabbits with the correct number of carrots; wearing pants under my skirts as one never knew when petticoat day might be happening (that's when boys pull up your skirt to see your underwear - a phobia I am just now realizing has affected me quite profoundly); parties at home with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; and a mock election to teach us about the upcoming Presidential election: Nixon versus Humphrey. (For the non-American reader: let's just say the Beatles were still a band that year.)

All of this mama-business aside, I have been able to poke my head above the clutter of elmer's glue, tissue paper and bottle caps and make some useful observations about myself and my life. The biggest revelation is an understanding of the cycles and rhythms that I move through as well as an awareness of how the larger cycles of the seasons and life move through and affect me. Ironically, I am coming to understand all of this as my own body shifts out of what had been a very regular rhythm and lurches into the erratic.

Initially, I was disturbed by the unpredictability of my cycles. But what I have learned is to be more sensitive and alert to feelings and sensations of my body and my emotions. The dialogue with my body has deepened and I am learning to be more attentive to its needs. Equally important is understanding my emotional/creative cycles. This piece of wisdom came as a gift from a very plump little caterpillar.

#44 in my series 49 by 49

I was walking the dog when I noticed a jolly green caterpillar making his way across the sidewalk. Caterpillars always put me back into the mindset of a child. I paused and watched as he methodically made his way across the concrete and into the grass. I started thinking about a book Cowgirl has called "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." It then struck me that I have been in a caterpillar phase: gobbling up everything I can to feed me in preparation for the time in the cocoon. While I had been thinking I was directionless - dabbling in too many mediums, gobbling up ecourses and dining in multiple social sites like ning groups or secret Facebook clusters - what I have been doing is fattening myself up creatively in order to move into a period of gestation and transformation.

So as we move deeper into the stillness of Autumn that threatens to merge prematurely into Winter, I am feeling the pull to cocoon myself and I'm okay with it. Perhaps there will be some new growth, but within a safe space.

Meanwhile, we girls continue to play. Or are we feeding ourselves?

Munch, munch ...

Cowgirl's trademark "Blue Thunder" monster truck;
that's "Hey man" at the bottom (well, Hay man!)

considering a sunflower series

Happy cocoon building!

where i am ...

2011-11-04T16:54:00.005-05:00

Spending a fair amount of time chewing my cud.

Dreaming.

Scribbling notes to myself. Lots of lists.

Listening to messages from my angels.

Been here ... but haven't.

I am giving myself the month of November to write my heart out, create the handbook I want to share with you all.

Of course, still painting and playing. I learned from Spider that what I need in order to live in trust is to stay connected with the practices that place me in flow.

Challenging myself to think outside of my box.

Gotta roll ... I have things to do.

Pretty miraculous this life. Ups and downs, yes. But overall there is so much that renders me speechless.

So nothing new to report. And yet ... everything is changing.

birthday moments

2011-10-29T12:15:00.012-05:00

It was a quietly grand day. I got to sleep in late. The Husband walked the dog. I had the morning to myself which I needed as I had one more painting to do in order to complete my 49 by 49 series. Yes, I thrive on deadlines.

I had one moment of panic when I thought I had miscounted and only had 48 pieces completed. One was hiding. I also realized I had painted two Kuan Yins (one can never have enough compassion I guess) although I am thinking the second one (painting number 48) might be my own goddess - Moon Goddess who has brought about all the major miracles in my life.

I debated who should be the last painting (of course, in essence my guides and guardians will continue expand as long as I continue to open to guidance and growth in my life.) Krishna or Shiva? I like the idea of Krishna - the lord of devotion, love, Bhakti yoga. Wooing the gopis, the cowgirls, playing his flute and invoking inspired dance and singing, he is a groovy god.

Alas, my path - my nature - is more closely aligned with Shiva. The cycle of creation, destruction and transformation - that seems to be the major theme of my life. Dedication, commitment, practice and the challenge to these principles - I call them Life's pop quizzes - these principles are the framework to how I live. As I end one phase of my life, I am opening to the next cycle. So Shiva (who is also Nataraja - "Lord of the Dance" so there is a little funky groove in there) completed my series.

My gratitude to all who made my day so bright and full of love. Truly, I feel blessed in my life to have so many bright lights illuminating my world. I felt a huge cosmic embrace yesterday. I know my mission in the coming year is to be sure and add my squeeze to that almighty hug.

As it was also the day of Cowgirl's school Halloween parade and party, I decided the best way to honor myself and the day was through pictures. Some taken with my new Lens Baby, my gift from The Husband.

Cowgirl's gift to me: one of 2 paper snowflakes
(she excels in the art of Chinese paper cutting!)

a bounty of unexpected gifts

a fluke shot - but it accurately captures the mood of a Halloween parade
(Cowgirl and her buddy are black cats this year)

party activity: decorating graham cracker houses -
not for the tidy at heart!
(look at that radioactive frosting! and there multiple shades of orange, blue and purple)

Cowgirl's Gaudi-inspired house - love dem bones!

funny, we can't say the word vampire in front of her ... but she can pretend to be one!

Halloween, here we come! The question remains: who will I be this year?

Whomever I choose to be!

a dollop of joy on a gray day ...

2011-10-26T17:16:00.007-05:00

Deep in the thick of compiling my handbook for Joy Warriors ... found I needed a little self care and discovered this video:

I'm not sure I've ever mentioned this before - but I am a huge George fan. I probably wouldn't be practicing yoga or meditation if not for his example. His music deeply inspires me - I consider him and myself bhakti yogis. So, on this day I've been thinking about George, spirituality and, naturally, ukuleles. Thank you George.

I'm blaming my introspection upon the weather and not the impending birthday. Another year coming at me ... is it just me, or is time speeding up?

[Shaking her head ] Excuse me ... um ... oh, yeah ... Beatles ... What about you? George, Paul, John or Ringo? What music do you listen to when your joy tank needs replenishment?

(I once heard a writer say that most women over 40 have their hair cut in some form of a Beatle-do. I suppose my style is reminiscent of their druggy Sergeant Pepper days ... perhaps its time for an update?)

archive edition ... reoccuring thoughts ... joy warrior tips

2011-10-22T09:17:00.006-05:00

I am a bit of a crazy quilt these days ... random ideas and actions stitched together haphazardly but I think I come together in some fashion. So I had a huge A-HA! moment while listening to Lucy Pearce on goddess leonie's Worlds Biggest Summit because I discovered my archetype: the Rainbow Woman. And guess what her shadow is? Yuppers - the Crazy Woman. Frankly the honest assessment is I suffer from creative bipolar disorder. The key is understanding the cycles and managing them.

Usually I am pretty good at that balance. My recent funky funk was a perfect cocktail of coming down off of the high (I visualize myself on a rollercoater: the highs are me with my arms in the air screaming "Weeeee!" The lows are me back in line wondering if I really want to bother with the wait, never mind climbing back into the car), hormones and seasonal change.

Actually, a big part of my mood was brought on by some necessary decluttering and a fear for Cowgirl decades in the future sorting through the boxes and bins of my art journals, painting, sketchbook, etc. Will she be drawn to excavate these artifacts, eager to unearth clues bearing witness to the full identity of her mother? Or will she think "Hoarders: the art edition"?

Having moved my mother cross country, these are the things that worry me. (My mother's home was a treasure-trove of 60s and 70s memorabilia some of which I saved, much that had to be tossed.)

And speaking of clutter ... I am hopeless when it comes to organizing the bazillions of image files stashed away on my computer and backup drive. One project eating at me is to collect my poetry with accompanying photographs into a single location: a book. No small task as I am a human squirrel with my nuts buried in hundreds of virtual nooks and crannies. (Except the squirrel remembers where it buries its treasure which I guess makes me a creative rodent with amnesia.) So here is my testimonial for Flickr as thank god I've uploaded and occasionally used tags as that is the only way I can find anything. (I find the image in flickr and then from the date can locate the original on my computer. Yes, I am a librarian by trade, but a reluctant one hence my refusal to follow consistent standards!)

vintage me - my mommy face - circa spring, 2009

I guess part of the fun of my organized disorder is to stumble across things I'd completely forgotten. And to discover the reoccurring themes in my life. So pulling myself out of my funk this week involved music and nurturing myself through small acts of joy (yes, Joy Warrior behavior is a must for a Rainbow Crazy Woman.) Then I found these videos, made for the second Unraveling course - a year old but still relevant:

Ewan by the lovely Jane

And wow ... when I am feeling blue, who better to turn to?

Another project I am excited about is a handbook for Joy Warriors. I know the above tips will be included for the section on care and nurture of the Joy Warrior spirit. As is this advice, always timely, from the Universe:

When you look into the mirror, Lisa, do you look for what you love most?
Do you look for me?
Do you smile?
Did you just ask, "Is there any other reason to look into a mirror?"
Smartie,
- The Universe

p.s. Please tell your friends, Lisa, to never look into a mirror without smiling!

And for the record: I am proud she loves my paintings but more importantly, that she loves her own. Oh yeah, really, really, really stoked about that one! (okay, and I am thinking my own concept of "a little Ewan for my day" is also pretty brilliant.)

snake skin struggles

2011-10-18T10:20:00.006-05:00

I had a quaint and homey kind of tale to tell. It was going to start with Cowgirl cooking us her first big girl dinner using a recipe from the kids cookbook we gave her for her birthday. So I am going to apologize up front because this story is going to go awry. But first, the homey part:

I told Cowgirl to pick out some recipes for her meal and I would buy the ingredients. She settled on chicken fingers and frozen fruit pops for dessert. Her chair was pulled over to the counter, the measuring cups and spoons all set out. I was sous-chef and she a diminutive Gordon Ramsey. Yes, I got a tongue thrashing for screwing up the dipping sauce (the Husband informing me that "salad dressing" is code for mayonnaise); she enjoyed wielding the rolling pin (crushing cheese crackers for a shake n' bake coating), dipping the chicken into buttermilk and shaking everything up in a zip lock baggie. I don't eat chicken, so I didn't get to sample the flavors although she tempted me by disclosing "the special ingredient is Love!" The fruit pops (watermelon, raspberries and lemon juice) were the clear favorite of the night. "Next time, let's make MORE!" she proclaimed.

When I bought the cookbook I was knowingly recreating a memory from my childhood. One of the many things the Husband and I have in common is we both loved our Betty Crocker's Cookbook for Boys and Girls.

I still draw upon it when I have leftover pizza sauce and I make myself english muffin pizzas (which called for American Cheese - a flavor combination that immediately takes me back - gulp - 40 years!)

I was also thinking about the first meal I cooked for my family out of that cookbook: Mad Hatter Meatballs. At the time it felt like a pivotal moment, as if preparing dinner was a statement about my contribution as an individual, that I was no longer a mere child. I was very serious about that meal and wanted it wow my family.

And then, right before my meatballs were to be served, I learned my brother was not staying for dinner. I was devastated. I remember I hid in my parent's bathroom and I cried. I am not and never have been a pretty crier. My face gets all red and blotchy, snot pours out of my nose and these effects seem to linger on long after the emotional storm has passed. So before coming out of the bathroom and facing my family I did what became my habit: I covered my emotions. I actually took talc powder (scented!) and blotted my entire face in the hope of masking the red blotches.

My brother came up to me and asked me if I minded him going out and yes, again I buried my feelings and told him I didn't care. As I type this, I realize what I was really saying then (and for years to come) was I don't matter. My feelings, my desires, my emotions are not important, are not worth voicing and certainly not deserving of asking another person to consider or respect. (To be fair, my brother is 8 1/2 years older than me and at that time was almost out of high school and busy in his life; we had not had much time together and we didn't really know each other at all, so he had no clue as to what was going on and I chose not to communicate this with him.)

My brother did ask "what's all over your face?" I quickly lied and told him it was flour from cooking. I marvel now at how adept I was already at subterfuge.

Why this story has returned to me in full emotional color is not clear to me. I have been thinking about how sad it is that at an early age I was already hiding my feelings away, as if they were something to be ashamed of; as if they were somehow wrong and unacceptable. I do not know where I learned I did not have the right to ask for my wants or needs to be considered.

I guess I still hide how I feel. Which maybe is scary because people do think of me as an "emotionally liberated" person. But there is still much I tuck away, poke under the carpet, bury in the backyard.

Right now I am going through an unexpected dark patch. It may be the change in weather. I love Autumn but am aware of the effects of less sunlight upon my inner landscape. But I know there is more. As I drove home yesterday I had the realization that what I am feeling is what Anais Nin meant when she wrote "And then the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." This emotional discomfort, this sense of being tightly squeezed has become increasingly intolerable and it is forcing me to change, to move, to ... well ... grow.

According to Sun Bear my birth season is ruled by snake. This is how I feel: like a snake caught between growing a new skin but still lumbering around in an old, tight, restrictive casing. I don't know what that expansive new skin will feel like - I only know right now I feel stuck and am struggling but that somehow the struggle is my sign that things are okay. I just have to hang on. And wriggle a lot.

This post helped me immensely today. Borrowing from it these words of Pablo Neruda:

"All paths lead to the same goal: to convey to others what we are. And we must pass through solitude and difficulty, isolation and silence in order to reach forth to the enchanted place where we can dance our clumsy dance and sing our sorrowful song - but in this dance or in this song there are fulfilled the most ancient rites of our conscience in the awareness of being human and of believing in a common destiny."

So I paint, I cry, I despair over creating anything of meaning or worth, of my words and my art mattering. I realized first I must value myself. Really, all this wiggling wriggling discomfort is about that - honoring myself and my experience enough to be present to all that I am and placing it before me, and saying "this does feed me." All of this, a meal to enjoy. A meal to eventually share. Skin and all.

postscript: hello ...it occurred to me later that I have been painting images of Snake Goddess ... and then I found the above journal page from a year ago which seems pretty wise advice to me right now. I wrote this post earlier today and by this evening I've discovered tiny seeds of ideas poking their heads into my consciousness. Ideas that excite me, that suggest open doors and ways to deepen into myself and my life. Go figure, I was busy being distracted by my feelings which allow this new growth to emerge unhindered. A highlight from my day (which somehow captures the whole experience) was me yelling into my cellphone "Spirit World? Are you there?!" Yes, I got a response. (Okay, so I was trying to talk to a friend, the connection was bad, and I was hoping she was at the deli - Spirit World - waiting to meet me.)

my three c's (and lots of p's)

2011-10-14T16:49:00.008-05:00

I've been pondering these questions posed by a in a special SouLodge circle gifted to SAW attendees:

What do I most want for my loved ones?
What's behind every gesture of love that I make everyday?
What three qualities describe who I am as a contribution to this world? How do I incorporate those qualities into my life and how do I extend those gifts towards myself?

In the shower (the best place for ideas - you know, water, flow, being in the body ...) I came up with my three c's: cherish, curiosity, and connection.

Cherish was obvious to me - it is my style statement (I am a cherished creative!) When I think about my loved ones, what I want most for them is to feel and know themselves as beloved for who they are. Cherish conjures up the sense of appreciation and celebration for the individual. To cherish someone or something is to honor the qualities that make them unique. When we feel cherished, we feel seen and loved; we know we are held deeply within another heart.

Curiosity has become my favorite quality. To be curious is to engaged fully with life and all its adventures and magic. To be curious is to be an explorer, open to the unknown and eager to discover new things. When we are curious we believe our understanding of the world is meant to be always changing, growing, and expanding.

Connection for me is about honoring individuality but recognizing the bonds that unite us. Connection is knowing we are participating in something larger and that our lives extend outward in waves of influence and empowerment.

Empowerment is a HUGE concept for me, but it seems when the other elements are in place it just naturally flows.

What I find challenging is to consider how I weave these qualities into my own life - how do I nurture for myself being cherish, curious and connected? I think I am pretty good about supporting the last two ideas, but harder is knowing how I create or support the act of cherishing towards myself?

Things that make you go "Hmm ..."

There's the very likely chance I am being hard on myself. I mean, I have been making time this week to yes, paint more poppies!

(Seriously, they are addictive! They must be related to increased levels of serotonin or some such bliss hormone.) By honoring my need to have time for pure pleasure and joy, I am acknowledging and cherishing my joyous self, aren't I? I've been painting myself bouquets of poppies - watercolor love notes perhaps?

I know, I'm crazy with this whole poppy thing. But what it has opened up in me is an adventurous side, a me that is feeling frisky and playful and wow! creative.

So much good stuff happening. I am totally digging a practice called "dropping ink" which Leah Piken Kolidas shared on goddess Leonie's World's Biggest Summit. (While I could not find the exact video, here is another variation Leah offered):

I have been playing with ink, watercolor crayons, water soluble oil pastels and whatever is handy in the moment. I also have been drawing with my non-dominant hand (and painting with my dominant one so often I have both hands going at once!)

this was just india ink on untreated paper - i went back in with watercolors.
some kind of crazy turtle woman and angel/magi keep manifesting?

my picassoesque horse.
hmm ... here are those flames again ...

total WTF? a zoo nightmare? rhinos and tigers and monkeys ... Oh My!
(yes, yes ... a pink elephant ... sigh ...)

no clue. strange lady in a cavalier's hat?

Not sure how to tie this one all up (other than to hope no one is trained in psychoanalysis ... je suis un Surrealiste!) I know there is more for me to ponder and just to offer these ideas out to y'all because, well, connection is my thing.

Along with adopting new accents it seems ...

Sleep tight my friends. Know that I love and cherish you all.

what my angel might say ...

2011-10-12T09:58:00.000-05:00

As a recovering perfectionist, it probably isn't surprising to say that when I was in school, I was pretty much a straight A student. I didn't always get A's but I tried and I believed that was what I was supposed to be doing: earning the grade, pleasing the teacher, achieving excellence. Which oddly enough, I did not extend to myself: I might receive the A, but a good grade did not translate into self esteem.

So my dark secret - the one time (yes, one time) I did not receive an A or a B but gasp! a C grade was in a college watercolor painting class.

I found myself recalling that bleak moment in my life as I enjoyed a leisurely afternoon yes, painting with watercolors. On a total lark (and because I cannot resist at least checking things out) I decided to look into this whole poppy madness:

October is Poppy Spree Month!

Now I should give a warning that if you are a total art materials junky and are trying to go cold turkey, then don't look! Because once you watch a few of these joy-filled lesson videos, you will find yourself making an art supply list (and also praying to Mr. Blick to please send out another 40% off discount love note ... I mean, postcard) and heading out to your car, debit card in hand.

Wanting to just indulge myself today, I decided to paint some poppies. I mean, poppies to me evoke a kind of light-hearted freedom and bliss. Maybe it is the French association - Monet and all his poppies - but I think poppies and I think countryside jaunts, wine, flirty skirts and lots and lots of sunshine. Total joie de vivre.

So while I was digging the juiciness of the whole poppy/watercolor experienced, I remembered that C grade. What was particularly galling about that grade was the fact that I so thoroughly enjoyed the class. I went to college where we took one class at a time for 3 1/2 weeks, so every day for hours at a time I was in the studio painting.

I mean, I was experiencing the life of a painter!

I was learning by studying and copying the works of great watercolor artists. To really learn about technique there is no better practice than to study a work and try to replicate the technique. Look at Andrew Wyeth's paintings and you will learn volumes about the color white. Winslow Homer taught me buckets about suggesting forms through the barest of brushstrokes. And Cezanne? Oh man, let me tell you about his apples ...

It was heaven.

And then I got that damned grade. I knew my final project was not the best work I had done but it was what came out of me in those final days. I had learned and grew and developed and I was pissed to receive what amounted to me as a failing grade. The whole experience felt discounted because the professor rated me so low.

In an unusual move for me, I went in and fought the grade. The fact that the professor rarely showed up in class and that Mr. Wyeth and Homer were my main instructors discredited any authority that gentleman had in my opinion. (He also retired at the end of that year which speaks volumes right there.) I stood up for what I had accomplished in the course and argued that I had worked really hard (which I do not believe qualifies one for an automatic higher grade, but others who came in with talent did very little to improve their skill) and that my grade did not reflect that. At the time I was fighting for my GPA but now I see I was also fighting to preserve my memory of the experience. I mean, I loved painting! And how dare that old man rob me of that!

I must have been convincing (or he was old, tired and close to retiring and probably figured in the larger picture, did it really matter what grade he gave me?) because he changed the grade to a B. (Side story: years later when I T.A. my first art history class I had a student who was borderline B+/A-. He was an engineering student and was way outside of his normal way of thinking within the class. In the end I gave him the A grade because I knew that would seal the deal on his new-found passion for art. I was not in the office when he picked up his final exam and saw the grade, but other instructors told me "He was the happiest student we've ever seen." I'd like to believe he still loves art.)

So what does all this have to do with angels? Before going to bed last night I was listening - again - to my mentor Mr. O'Donohue and he posed this playfully wonderful question: At the angel bar in heaven, what stories might your angel be telling about you?

I believe my angel would be saying this (over a good pint of hard cider because that's how my angel must roll): The dear lamb ... she often gets it, really gets it and then she goes wandering about again. Sigh. (another swig) I keep at her though because she so damned amusing! I mean, I've costumed myself as a blue coyote for heaven's sake! I just let her go because one day she will tire of these antics and then, oh then it will be magic!

i mean, i don't even care that my poppies look like blooming tomatoes -

they are just so much fun, nay, JOY to paint!

Perhaps a whole room filled with fat, juicy, red poppies would be a place to start? (Although - and here I go again - I am thinking about Mr. Van Gogh and his affair with sunflowers and wouldn't a whole journal of sunflowers be grand?)

Don't be surprised if the next time you hear me, I am speaking with either a French or Irish accent. Just feeling that way these days. And there is sooo much more to tell ...

re-entry is challenging ...

2011-10-08T14:46:00.005-05:00

This entire week I have been wandering through my days in a total fog. Actually, I feel a bit stoned with the accompanying munchies - so I guess my body is calling for some intense grounding through food, sleep and inactivity.

Well, on the surface I things seem stilled. I tried to dip my toes back into creative waters and this is what my mind looks like these days:

actually, a wide angle lens is needed to capture the scope of my chaos

It seems an internal earth mover has been churning up my consciousness. Rocking my mind these past few weeks are the words and ideas of John O'Donohue. (Thank you Liz and Mel!) Before traveling to Sedona, I downloaded 3 of his talks recorded during the Greenbelt Festival and when I wasn't painting, I plugged into my i-pod and entranced by the poetic expression of his hugely vast and captivating mind. Seriously, the best $10 you will ever spend are these talks. (Just go to the iTunes store, type in his name and look under the audio books.)

In his talk "Imagination as as the Path to Spirit" he counsels that if you want to change your life, you first must change your thoughts. He goes onto suggest this exercise: take a piece of paper and write on the top of it "The 7 thoughts that shape, guide and determine my life." It may take months to figure out what those thoughts are, but if you really want to know yourself, then you need to determine what are these major thoughts/themes that govern how you interface with your world. After figuring out your list then he suggests that you consider how you have been married to these thoughts your entire life and what are the thoughts you haven't even flirted with or considered?

Yeah.

Another exercise he offers is to make your journal writing something more vital and deep and he suggests taking a new journal and titling it something juicy like "The Journal of My Most Dangerous Thoughts."

Double wow.

One of my 7 thoughts is this: I am not ready yet. Whatever it is that I am in deep love or conversation with, I am not ready to take it further. Usually this revolves around me taking whatever I am passionate about and sharing it with others. I'm not ready to teach, talk, instruct or share with others. I lack the words, the expertise, the experience to do so.

Dangerous thought for the day: What if I am ready now? What if holding back is no longer an option?

Coming down from the high of a weekend of Fearless painting and dancing in community with like-minded sisters/souls I found myself thinking this dangerous thought: It CAN be this way all of the time. I can choose to engage with life from such a deep, passionate, heart expanding perspective all of the time.

How about this: It must be this way all of the time.

Today Cowgirl was coloring with some new markers and she was excited to show me a new magical marker. There are regular markers but this one pen transforms their colors into new ones.

Consider the possibilities of that - a magical marker for our experience! We can transform our lives by sweeping over our days a new perspective, new attitude, new thoughts. Dangerous thoughts that flip the mundane into the magical, that turn lack into opportunity, that uncover the possibilities available to us in each moment.

And think about this: can we afford to not think these kinds of thoughts on a daily basis? Why would we choose to do otherwise?

I am scaring myself these days. But then I remember the title of an amazing autobiography which I would love to lay claim to: "I Shock Myself."

What dangerous or shocking thoughts dance through your imagination? It's time to give them room to move.

transformed

2011-10-04T14:50:00.016-05:00

I am back from what I hope will be a yearly pilgrimage to Sedona and Connie Hozvicka's retreat Total Alignment. I went thinking it would be a tune-up for my creative spirit, but what I received was a total overhaul of my soul.

I went knowing I would be surrounded by some amazing spirits, but what I discovered was a tribe of women audaciously giving what my favorite Irish mystic would say a "mighty squeeze" to life.

I may have been in the desert, but I journeyed into the Emerald City and discovered I can no longer reside in a black and white world.

My intention was to shed some layers of self that I had long outgrown. In doing so space was created for a new way of being in this world - open, receptive, trusting and yes, in alignment with what I believe with all my heart: that life is the experience of love unfolding and that we are love creatively forming, spreading, and dissolving into and out of this crazy and miraculous Universe.

I am struggling with words because this experience goes beyond the verbal, rational, linear mind. It is of the heart and so beyond language or description. It must be felt to be understood.

So here is my feeble attempt to capture magic.

This is what happened to me: I went to the desert to paint. I traveled in a pack of juicy art mamas and we soaked up the energy of this sacred land. We opened ourselves to the place and we allowed it to work it's magic upon us.

I am actually holding onto the ground;
photo by Christine Graziano Miner

We ate food lovingly prepared for us and under a vast Sedona sky; we shared the contents of our hearts; we welcomed the rain with a tribal dance; and we painted.

dancing to the Black Eyed Peas in the rain;
photo by Tracie Hanson

We were given a stern but loving talk by our Fearless leader. The time was over for playing it safe, for painting pretty but empty paintings. It was time to dig in, get messy and dance with the demons. Get it all out and onto the paper. Liberate what we had kept caged or hidden or protected.

I had been painting on an easel, close by the group. Fire was there, but I was leaping over it, afraid I might get burned and unaware of the wings that could have carried me back out.

There was a passage, but it was blocked. Rock solid and seemingly impenetrable.

I have been struggling within the iconic roles of Mother and Daughter. My sense of myself was static and frozen, but another possibility was yearning to emerge. The path to that third possibility was through emotions, through fluidity, through movement and creativity.

On the last day - my last chance - I moved off of the easel and onto the ground. I taped two pieces of paper together and retreated to a distant parking lot to paint. I splashed and spun and poured paint onto the paper. I circled around the paper in a kind of maniac tango. The painting and I wound our way further and further out into the parking lot. The experience was like a desert storm: active, frenzied, pure energy and release. I found myself panting and pausing to catch my breath and then leaping back in for more.

Then the dance slowed down, the rain abated. Just a steady, calm trickle of action. And then the spacious calm afterwards. My inner landscape was washed clean and fresh. The painting ready to reveal itself; my senses and my awareness open to receiving its gifts.

I stood in the gap of waiting and did just that: wait. Previously my way would be to force, grasp, reach for and make something appear. But this day I was patient. This day I knew I would receive if I would simply trust.

I waited at the forest's edge and slowly the animals began to appear. First a bird, always a sign that I am in the right place, that I am home. Then the large female figure tumbled out of her cave, out of the fire of creation; myself being birthed into this new world, this new way of being.

Fox quickly followed - reminding me of what is most valuable only occurs when we are willing to take chances, expose ourselves to risks.

Horse leaped out - the girl I once was who believed that one day she would be free to live her dreams.

Blue Coyote crawling over the mountains reminding me that my journey may be to take the most arduous route but that is my process and to no longer doubt or deride it.

Rat was a surprise. But now I remember in the Chinese cycle of years Rat signifies new beginnings.

Otter - my favorite - slipped in; feminine, playful, moving with the flow of things - all qualities I wish to claim as my own.

Then people appeared: the praying woman,

the mermaid (living in 2 realms, not having to choose one over the other) and finally the 3 magi attending this miraculous birth.

There so much more but this is what I know right now: I visited the Emerald City and the wizard gave me my gift: myself fresh and new and ripe with possibilities. Ready to step fully into my life.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and
death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
(- T.S. Eliot Journey of the Magi)

being seen

2011-09-28T20:27:00.000-05:00

me by Cowgirl

I wasn't planning on writing this ... I am in the midst of packing for yes, another quickie art retreat trip and I am feeling a tad guilty for all this pleasure heaped upon my faded and chipped plate. But as I ready myself - lists for the Husband made, plans for Cowgirl in place, dog walker for Mr. Moose scheduled - I struggle with the anxiety that travel and new places and faces evokes within me. This gathering will be much smaller than Squam and while I thrive on intimate, I also squirm at the sense there will be no place for me to hide.

Being seen is uncomfortable for me and yet I crave it. For so much of my life I felt unseen and misunderstood although in hindsight I have to wonder if perhaps I let myself be misrepresented? When the name-callers bruised my tender child self did I speak back? Of course not. I gathered all their words and wounds and patched together a crazy coat of false identity. The task of my adult life has been to shift through all the notions I have about myself and toss away those that are no longer true or blatantly false.

My word for 2011 is Shine and I'm not sure how well I've embraced that concept. There still is a layer of scum clouding my perception of myself. But I had a mini-epiphany at Squam while listening to Jen Lee talk about the care and keeping of our creative selves. Hearing Jen tell her about her experiences, I realized that it is impossible for me to truly see another until I can clearly see myself. And part of that process is putting forth for others my true, shiny, vulnerable and uniquely-flawed-and-therefore-beautiful-and-imperfectly-perfect self.

There is a vulnerability in letting others see me; we talked about this in Jen's workshop. It's scary stuff to put one's tender self out there and perhaps be ridiculed or disregarded. But to hold back is to devalue myself. I think the thing about being seen is it hurts more when we refuse to see, honor and befriend ourselves.

me - holding onto Squam

So as I pack, I am aware of not packing a mask or a uniform or a disguise - not to be dwelling upon who it is I want others to think I am, but to just be myself. Comfortable, eccentric, sometimes mismatchy, but cherished, honored, resilient and wiser for all my experiences. Still unfolding, still in process and hopefully sitting more comfortably in the mystery of not knowing, but trusting. Trusting myself to be my own best friend.

Now we are seven ...

2011-09-26T09:52:00.006-05:00

Somehow - and without my permission - Cowgirl went and turned seven on me. Seven. No longer a tubby toddler or dumpling-faced preschooler but a little girl. A little girl with BIG attitude and personality. Sass central resides our house. But I am learning to see all that fire and spit is just her way of establishing independence and laying claim to her space in this world. From day one I declared Cowgirl to be my wild mustang and that is still true at seven. I don't want to break that spirit, I just want to help her learn to channel it in positive and loving ways.

Feeling all sentimental about the seasons moving 'round the carousel of time, I delved into my vast photo archives - not a task for the faint of heart! (Lesson one: use tags! Lesson two: be consistent in titles! Lesson three: Create folders!) As a photographer, it was interesting to see my eye change along with the changes in my girl. I also noticed threads or themes developing as I chronicle our life as a family. And I saw where my attention got deflected and gaps appear. Not to be hard on myself, but gaps in my taking photographs does translate into lapses in my attention as a parent. A useful flag for me to heed.

As I collected these images (but no means all my favorites, but the ones I could find as I haphazardly opened folder upon folder - my images organized only by the date they were taken - hello?! Pure madness!) I was thinking about a recent conversation with a friend considering whether she wants to try to have a baby. I remember well that dilemma: pondering the life I knew and loved versus a life hidden like a prize behind door number two. Do I stick with what I know or take a risk that what lies behind that door is not a goat tied to a stake but something big and shiny and exciting? A vehicle to a wider and wilder world?

And I know families that have been shocked by what was unveiled ... although they still might make that choice knowing what would arise ... but it is a gamble. I cannot know what my life would be without my child but I do know this: my Cowgirl has blasted open my heart which had been pretty wide open beforehand. For me - and I do not want to sound like those people say "you just don't know the scope of your love until you become a parent" although in my case, that is true - being a mother has mentored me in the experience of being vaster than my mind could ever comprehend; loving more deeply and fiercely in a primal, wild animal sort of way; knowing a love that is eternal and unchanging and dare I say, as close as humanly possible to knowing how god or the goddess or Great Spirit loves each of us.

This is the gift my daughter gives to me: inspiring me to dig in deep and nourish all that is within me because to do so makes me a better parent and a better person. Her trust and confidence in me has healed wounds and doubts self-inflicted; her belief in me has helped me realign with my understanding that we are all love folding back in upon itself and flowing outward in communion with the world.

And she keeps me moving, growing, expanding, learning and never, never lets me rest in what is easy. Did I mention the wild mustang and the need for sharp, constant awareness and presence?

my sweet angel from Lisa Hofmann on Vimeo.

(music by Jonatha Brooke "Sweetest Angel" from The Works)

Happy Birthday my angel. You are the sweetest and most demanding guru I will ever know.

But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world ..." (Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince)

lingering (Squam memories)

2011-09-23T20:52:00.009-05:00

prayer bundles made by our cabin

While I've returned home and hit the ground running (Cowgirl's birthday is on Sunday and tomorrow is the party with all of her friends + my mom gets out of rehab next week) in my mind I'm still in the woods.

Care to linger with me?

Suzy, here is the proof of your early morning swim - before the rain!

Missing these people:

Suzy and Karen

Brandi & Daniel

Pixie

Jen Lee

Sarah and Ada

bonus! got to meet Em at the art fair

Definitely the world between worlds ... I mean, the mushrooms were crazy beautiful! We were surrounded by fairy folk!

Lots of space and time to sink deep within:

And to answer Kerry's question: yes, I did swim in the lake - twice! It was cold but refreshing. Frog medicine for sure. I did not go in the dark so I was wearing my granny bathing suit. Perhaps next year we can take another moonlight dip? (Missed you my friend!)

Clues and hints were scattered throughout the woods that weekend:

And I still have to unpack my paintings and supplies ... but I am resting in the lingering moments for the time being.

the experience that is Squam

2011-09-19T14:09:00.006-05:00

Traveling home from Squam yesterday I was thinking about another return trip. When Cowgirl was not quite 3 years old, we took our first family trip to Cape Cod. Flying out, one of us went through the airport security screening and then waited on the other side while she walked through by herself. On the return trip home, it was just Cowgirl and myself as the Husband dropped us off at Logan airport to continue onto a workshop.

Arriving at security, I wondered how I would get my young child to go through on her own. I decided to make her go first and told her to "Go ahead of mommy." She gave me this uncertain look as if to say "You want me to leave you?!" On the other side of the screening station there stood an older, somewhat grumpy looking and stern female TSA agent. Pointing to her and in my most cheerful voice I told Cowgirl "Go to the nice lady!" Cowgirl looked at me, hesitated just a moment, then turned and ran full throttle through the gate. She headed straight for the agent, flung her arms around her legs and hugged her as if she were a beloved auntie. The woman's reserve visibly melted and she announced "You have no idea how much I needed that!"

The experience of Squam is like that for me: one continuous series of unexpected hugs and the surprise of realizing each time "I really needed that."

an excited meeting of my bunny sister, Brandi Marie

Squam is one big hug-fest. But the sense of being welcomed, held, and received extends beyond the act of a physical hug. The experiences and the encounters with old and new friends, teachers and classes is a repeated series of homecomings. Weary from the tasks of parenting, family, and work, the 4 days of Squam represented a space and place of returning to myself and discovering the pool of inspiration and joy to be very deep. When life gets demanding, that pool can feel frozen or lost. But in the embrace of Squam I found myself thawing out. What is unimportant is more easily shed and what is left behind is what truly matters: love, enthusiasm and a sense of connection radiating around and within me.

another sublime hugger: Pixie Campbell

I return home refreshed and fortified; I return home ready to fully receive the hugs of those whose love lies deepest in my heart. Squam is about caring for myself so that I can be a better mother, wife, daughter and friend. I return home fully committed to what I see is the most important task at hand: to create for myself and my family a beautiful and art-filled life.

I have more pictures, art work and stories to share but this is what floated to the surface of my heart.

Thank you Squam. Thank you Elizabeth for the very best hug of all on the final morning as I scurried to the airport shuttle. Your words and your mama bear hug reinforced the newly formed intention to be gentle with myself. Always.

Squamward bound ❋

2011-09-13T20:38:00.003-05:00

I'm off early tomorrow morning ...

and I am ripe and ready for an adventure!

I will be back next week and promise to share the secrets I learn from the woods.

It truly has taken a village to make this trip a reality and I will carry all that love and support with me. Listen for the howls and the laughter ... and join in!

xo Lis

Quiet space

2011-09-08T10:46:00.006-05:00

In the past week I've dropped several dishes but only shattered one; was an hour off for an appointment and spaced off another; taught Cowgirl a "new" and "funny" word (it rhymes with duck and apparently was shouted when the above mentioned plate was broken); broke down crying in front of another mom at martial arts class (and the next time I saw her - before she could ask me how I was - I asked her "how do you spell cuckoo?"); shifted through my mother's underwear drawer, refrigerator, filing cabinet AND cracked open her previously un-openable safe.

Thankfully this week in SouLodge we are to be sitting in the North - the place of stillness, reflection, integration and celebration for the wisdom gained in working the Medicine wheel. This place reminds me of savasana or relaxation pose which is the final pose of any asana practice. Often the one pose students want to skip is that final period of rest and integration. After a vigorous practice the act of nondoing is challenging - they are ready to move on to the next task. What I understand for myself is the deep need to integrate into my day this period of time to just be still. In my tradition of Kripalu yoga we often say it is like the snow globe: you shake things up and then you sit and watch the snow settle.

If you shook me up I'm certain dozens of scraps of paper would come flying out of every nook and cranny ... I am nothing more than a vessel for all the accumulating "to remember" lists. My calendar is like a pink flamingo there are so many post-it notes attached to it. The first few moments of sitting still and all I am aware of is the spinning of my thoughts like a mouse frantically running in its wheel, trying to go somewhere and getting nowhere.

But the medicine wheel reminds me that in any given period or cycle there must be this space of quiet and calm. A place to re-balance, integrate, regroup and also a place to acknowledge the work that we've done. Living this life as a Joy Warrior I seek out those flashes of magic and inspiration in my day, but their beauty exists in relationship to the heaviness, the darkness and the challenges that also rise up to meet me. It is necessary to also acknowledge the difficulties, the suffering, the heartache and to give myself the space to sit with it all. To hopefully touch upon compassion not only for myself and all that I must do, but come to understand in a heartfelt way that which everyone juggles within their heart soul in any given day. To touch the sadness, the feelings of overwhelm and by honoring them, let them go.

Every morning I make my way to my yoga room to meditate. This room is the place where I touch upon the quiet space inside myself. I then try to carry that space with me ...

Hopefully remembering throughout my crazy day to pause and rest there again, as needed.

My quiet place is when I remember to be present for all that moves through me. My guru waits for me every morning and takes me out for a mindful morning stroll. This routine is my touchstone ...

and a wagging tail reminds me of all that I need to carry within myself - a light and open heart.

(For 52 Photos Project)

No words for this ... but we must speak out ...

2011-09-06T21:31:00.000-05:00

My dear friend Soraya is offering a giveaway of one of her art prints on her blog as part of her efforts to raise awareness and gather names for a petition in protest of the continuing genocide of women.

It is hard to wrap one's mind around this fact. In India and China the number of girls are aborted or killed is greater than the number of baby girls born in the U.S. The practice of killing an unwanted female child stretches back throughout history ... and it continues into the present day.

It's a Girl Documentary Film - official trailer

The United Nations estimates that over 200 million girls are missing due to sex selective murder. I recently read Xinran's book Message from an Unknown Chinese Mother which outlines the cultural, political and economic pressures that lead women to the heartbreaking decision to give up their children. Even more difficult to swallow are the stories of female babies killed upon birth because the family wanted/needed a male child.

As unthinkable as it is, we must understand these realities in order effect any positive change. Please visit Soraya's blog for more information on what you can do to speak out for those who voices have been silenced.

a day of grace and gratitude ♥

2011-09-05T17:36:00.008-05:00

I've been carried aloft by the wishes and prayers of so many this past week. To say "thank you" seems insufficient. But that is what I offer: a heartfelt thank you for hearing and understanding. My mother is much better and is out of the hospital and in rehab to build up her strength. In many ways, this little crisis was a blessing for it prepared me for what may lie ahead. Questions were raised, issues confronted that one is never ready to face but now I know how to proceed and what answers need to be determined.

It's a strange role reversal: checking my mother into the rehab facility was like setting her up for summer camp but with some very dark twists. By the third time of hearing "in the event ..." you are primed to expect that there will be some kind of event occurring. If not now, soon enough. How many of us know what funeral home we would like to use "in the event"? CPR or no CPR? And then there was me filling out my mother's "life story" to better help the staff care for her. Her religious beliefs? Thorny at best. How would I rate her marriage? Her relationship with her children? I can tell you her about her appetite, favorite foods and general habits but her marriage? (Do I even want to know?)

our neighborhood Labor Day bike parade

The long weekend has given me the space and time to be with my family and to tend to myself. I even had a pocket of time today to start a few sewing projects! It sounds trite, but I am learning to take it one day at a time. Learning to be soft with myself and my expectations, knowing that all that I want to get to will still be there later on and perhaps I don't need to do all of that anyway. It is a day of rest from labor and a day to reflect upon how it is I labor unnecessarily in my life. Today was that suspended moment between the inhale and the exhale - a rest, a break, a lingering pause ...

It is with immense gratitude that Cowgirl and I thank you for the support of our August Art Bash. Officially we raised $1275 for Half the Sky foundation although the final tally is to be determined as we await a few checks in the mail. Not only did we blow past our goal, but we got to play artful elves and experience the joy of sharing the wealth of creativity that has enriched our lives and shared some amazing artwork with all you amazing people. And with that - here is our final winners: Owl Magic: Kathleen D; Painted Pages: Kelly W; Strawberries & Pansies Print: Emily. Congratulations everyone!

And so Cowgirl and I say goodbye to summer and hello new school year (first grade!) New adventures await and I for one am looking forward to the journey. I know there will be some unexpected dark alleys (hello? is there some major developmental phase occurring between 6 and 7 that I unaware of? Symptom: excessive sass and attitude coupled with exaggerated eye rolling? Please enlightenment me ... or send info for appropriate support group) - I welcome it all because, well, I have no choice. Resistance is futile!

gentle teachers (or teacher, please be gentle ...)

2011-09-01T17:24:00.000-05:00

Owl which hung in my room when i was a child

My mother has been in the hospital for the past week.

I write that and then pause. I want to add a big BUT ... to temper this reality with what? Something easy to hold? Easier for the heart to carry?

My mother is in the hospital and the outcome is uncertain. And without the illusion of certainty (is anything truly certain in life?) I find myself walking a tightrope over a deep canyon of fear.

Fear is tricky; fear masquerades as some kind of solid reality albeit a reality we don't want. The mind wants something to hang onto and fear slyly slips itself into the mind and says "Here, let me fill the empty space for you." But to push away from the experience of fear is to empower it through our resistance.

The truth is my mother is 86 years old, has enjoyed good health all of her life, is sharp as a tack, is still finding humor in the midst of dark uncertainty and is not ready to give up. But she is tired. And she is grappling with her beliefs about life and death, a conversation I try to interject my thoughts into but which ultimately is a hers alone to articulate and rest in.

While waiting (hospitals are nothing if not a place to practice waiting) I dipped into Anam Cara by John O'Donohue. " When your senses open out to the world, the first presence they encounter is the presence of your soul." Huddled in a freezing room, my body curled in for warmth but also to protect myself from the palpable presence of anxiety circulating through the captive patients and family members, I became aware how we shut ourselves off when presented with fear and uncertainty. Open, present, aware - I was none of these. I was oblivious to the power and presence of the soul; I caught in the trap of resistance which causes me to contract inwardly while support and guidance reside in opening myself up.

"It is a startling truth that how you see and what you see determine how and who you will be."

Today I saw the morning mist upon the window. I noticed small bird feathers in the grass. I saw a rainbow on my daughter's pillow. I took in the unexpected delight of my morning glory plant finally blooming. I saw beauty, I beheld hope and the gift of life evolving and unfolding in its own manner. I held my mother's bruised hand, I wiped away the blood that seeped from her fingertip, and I witnessed and shared her tears. I look upon her and I acknowledge the fragility and immense stamina that living requires of us.

Bhumi or Mother Earth - #33 for 49 by 49

Life is a series of teachers presenting themselves to me. The challenge is to stay open for the lessons and not contract or resist what comes before me. Because come, it will.

I've been thinking about the presence of Rabbit in my life. Often I see them huddled in the grass, temporarily frozen as they attune to what is lurking at the edges of their awareness. I used to think they illustrate the notion of being frozen by fear. I am beginning to think they are still and present, awaiting more information before responding. Rather than run around reacting to a perceived threat, they sit in that space of unknowing and wait. It is a difficult place to be and my habit is action but I am seeing the wisdom in abiding. My tendency is to give out, but I am learning to wait, listen, and receive. And to look with a softened gaze that takes in a fuller view.

In this period of acute waiting, I am drawing upon the practices and teachings that have guided me thus far for strength; I take comfort and gain insight from new practices I am learning in the SouLodge. I attempt to keep my gaze clear, my heart open, my mind calm.

I am being comforted by Bear - her appearance in my life coinciding with the realization that sources of mothering can be found around and within myself;

bear - #34 for 49 by 49

I am cleansed and fortified by Rosemary and other plants who remind me to tend to my emotion and physical needs;

my medicine staff reminds me to keep my balance and that on this journey there is much sustain and hold me;

I meditate with Selenite and receive the gift of acceptance and welcoming for all my teachers.

I feel the support of my sisters in the Lodge, my Painting Tribe, and my friends here who provide this circle of space that affords me the opportunity to be witnessed and understood.

This is all I can do. It is a tough task. I am finding that to bow to what life presents me, honoring the flux of emotions and reactions that well up and then wash out, I am able to stay on my tightrope and not fall under the spell of fear. Not that fear isn't my companion right now, but I am still leading the way, allowing the wisdom and healing power of my heart to speak to me.

hello goodbye (this party's almost over!)

2011-08-29T09:27:00.002-05:00

Where did the time go? It's been a monster art bash and while things are winding down, we aren't finished yet! To date we've painted 5 paintings and given away 10 bonus prizes while raising $1200 for Half the Sky foundation.

Each dollar raised will be used to purchases art supplies for preschool children living in welfare centers in China. Each dollar donated represents our collective belief in the healing power of art. Each dollar represents this community's commitment to connect, share and empower ourselves and others through creative expression. We painted and you showed up and I cannot begin to express the gratitude, awe and pride I have in what has been accomplished here.

Yes, we're this proud:

I am really excited to present the final prizes for this week. I cannot think of a more appropriate special guest to close out our party than the artist whose work was the inspiration behind the collaborative pieces by myself and Cowgirl - Sarah Ahearn Bellemare.

When I first saw Sarah's work, my immediate reaction was "I want to create paintings like THAT." There is an evocative, playful, poetic quality to her work that continues to inspire and fascinate me. I was able to attend a day long session with Sarah at Squam last fall and discovered she is both a gifted artist AND instructor. Her teaching style encouraged spontaneous play, invention and a welcoming of the unexpected.

piece created by myself and Cowgirl using Sarah' s 2 minute prompt activity

Last Spring Sarah's book Painted Pages was published and it became my immediate go-to book for those times I need to recharge the creative batteries. It is also the inspiration behind the works Cowgirl and I created for this art marathon. So I am really excited to announce that one of this week's prizes is a copy of Sarah's book!

Sarah is also donating a print from her Etsy shop and she let me pick - not an easy task as I have 3 of her prints hanging on my walls, her calendar AND an original piece (did I mention I love her work?) - but it seems only fitting to offer this symbol of the fading summer season:

strawberry and pansies
6 x 6 inch print matted on 8 x 10 inch mat board
more information here

The final piece by Cowgirl and myself is inspired by some nocturnal visitors who augur the impending change of seasons ...

Owl Magic
6 x 6 inches mixed media on gesso board
(in honor of my mother who my father & I called "Owl"; she entered the hospital last Thursday night but should be coming home this week. Thank you all for your prayers and well wishes.)

So here it is, our final giveaway! If you've already donated, then your name is in the hat to win. If you haven't made your donation yet, well ... what are you waiting for? Head on over to our pledge page and then be sure to either leave a comment here or email me: lishofmann(at)novia(dot)net. Be sure I know how to contact you in case you win.

The party ends this Friday, so get your comments in!

Congratulations to last week's winners: Hummingbird Joy: Amy; animal cards - Mandy; Pink Fox print - Kim.