Just today

Wow, the holidays apparently swallowed me whole and I admit, I rather liked the cozy feeling of snuggling up in the belly of that whale.

The entire family was home and I loved the rhythm of mornings together, lingering over coffee, then migrating from the kitchen to the living room to sit before the fire, pull out books and sip the final, lurk warm dregs of now-an-hour old brew. 

Much fun was had ... in the kitchen ... 

and in the snow ...

 Many good books were received this holiday season. I've long held a small, but bright desire to write my book but in the face of so many good books piled up to be read, I admit sometimes I wonder Why? Why take time away from such rich and well-made pleasures for what will be homespun and possibly/probably amateurish at worst and awkward at best? (I write this not to be degrading to my own ambitions, but in all seriousness there are folk out there who have devoted their entire lives to the craft of writing and I bow down in acknowledgement to such dedication to developing and honing of their art. Writing in this little blog knackers me, so I am realistic about my level of fitness for such pursuits!)

Oh, I'm not tossing in the towel ... just in this period of my life I'm not sure what exactly is calling to be birthed: writing? painting? an offering for my community? For me, a constant tension exists between private/public. A very strong part of me has little interest in creating for an outside world, and prefers to putter away in my secret creative lair. But then there is another voice - smaller, but a rather bossy gal - who does prod me to engage and share and teach. Sigh. I feel a bit like Alice in my own Wonderland.

I even printed out the ever-popular year ahead/year behind workbook which patiently awaits my attention. I've done it in the past and it is a wonderful process but ... but ... but ...

Yeah.  I cannot put my finger on it, but the space I am currently inhabiting takes up so much of my energy, there is little time or desire to think beyond This Day. This, for me, is a very interesting balancing act: resting squarely in The Now and not leaning forward into future What if's. Or future worries, anxieties, fears or phobias. Being at ease with what is and welcoming what is unfolding, that is all unfamiliar territory for me. A favorite metaphor which I invoke frequently, is the sensation of riding a bike with no hands on the handle bars. There is the slow, steady easing upright and the relaxing of the fingers from the handlebars ... then my hands float just an inch above as I shut off the internal chatter (what the fuck are you doing? chatter) and simply ride.

So while I totally embrace planning is priceless, plans are useless I am not feeling the pull to pen any plans, dreams, projects or Big Ideas. Not yet anyway. Perhaps this is truly a time for being a seed in the soil, resting and gathering energy in Winter's dark days and await (trust in) the energy/inspiration/spark of warmth that surely will come ... when I am ready.

Oh but I have a word (or two) inspiring me for this period (and perhaps the year ahead) and it is Embrace. I will add to it a thank you ... for everything comes in to assist me in strengthening, growing, expanding, shedding and learning. 

Making me immensely happy and content in each day ... 

And maybe, like this little fellow who I watched one day sitting so still and calm in his tree, I will feel the pull to scampering away from my nest and head out on a new adventure ...

Until then, I have been fattening myself up with the words and worlds of others. Favorite books du jour:  

Corrag by Susan Fletcher (depending upon where you look, this book has several titles: Witch Light or The Highland Witch) 
Secrets of the Sea House by Elizabeth Gifford (again, also published under the title The Sea House)

Both Cowgirl and myself are wildly in love with the Tiffany Aching series of books by Terry Pratchett: The Wee Free Men, A Hat Full of Sky and The Wintersmith. There are two more books in the series (I believe) and so I will have to space them out to make the pleasure last (although reading them out loud could be a lovely way to spend future nights before the fire.)

Oh yes, I have to add my vote for Elizabeth Gilbert's Big Magic which I just started last night but already am feeling the bubbly effects of her enthusiasm upon my hard seed shell self.

While I linger in this space of rest and receiving, invitations to bring in light and energy land in my mailbox. I may not pen yearly intentions but am seeking to understand and move with my own natural rhythms and cycles ... so the gift of The Moon is My Calendar from a moon sister is an exciting prospect!


New Moon Calendar from april mcmurtry on Vimeo.


So just today ... that is my mantra. This day what does my Best Self ask for? Just for today, what would nourish me? What would ground and support me in embracing my life, my self?

Okay, so maybe I will scribble a bit in a notebook ...

xo 

 

One of the things that has me scribbling - for myself - is this lovely and rich self paced offering on developing a personal relationship with the Tarot - The Alternative Tarot Course.  So much has been unlocked for me in just a few journaling sessions, I highly recommend it.

a dream-come-true

It has occurred to me that all our dreams do come true. Or at very least, the ones worth holding, nurturing, and carrying forward through the long haul of days, weeks and years. It is the dreams made way-back-when that perhaps slip the mind, so that when they finally do manifest, I fail to recognize their origin as a deep-seeded and heart-felt wish.

Thankfully, watching my girl often puts me in connection with my girl-self. And when I remember my child-self, I realize dreams really do come true. It just takes some time. 

But in the realm of dreaming, time is a very free form thing.

 

stitching together our stories

So I have to tell the story of The Quilt.  

Some of you know about it from my Instagram and Facebook posts. I also share some of its story in my offering for the upcoming Inner Alchemy Circle: Earth Coven that begins October 18.  

Like the actual quilt itself, its story is complex and somewhat scattered. Or maybe that is just me. Early on I realized that it isn't the quilt that is crazy, but me for attempting it. But that is perhaps a strength of mine as well. For I have learned it is best to dive right in when the inspiration strikes. Too much research and planning can overwhelm me or dull the motivation. As a yoga teacher once shared: planning is priceless; plans are useless. There is preparation, but nothing beats beginning and learning as you go, facing and solving the challenges as they arise.

Or in my case, making it up as I go along.

You see, I've never really made a quilt before. Okay, I did buy a hunk of fabric already pieced together - vintage Bali batiks - and I added the batting and backing, quilting it using a simple yarn tie technique. It is an over-sized lap quilt and it gave me false confidence.

So a few things to keep in mind as I tell this tale which turned into my own Moby Dick/Ahab adventure. Number one:   I am not a sewer. I cannot cut straight nor can I sew straight. I swear my sewing machine needs an alignment. It (or I) veer off to the left ever-so-slightly until I run up against the edge of the seam. 

What inspired me to make a quilt - a memory quilt I am calling it - is I inherited a box of quilt squares my mother cut out over 40 years ago. I hounded her for a quilt and one summer she decided she would tackle it. She cut out hundreds - probably over 200! - squares, all perfectly even and exact. She had fabrics with coordinating solids all cut out and organized and she even began to hand-stitch! the squares into triangles which she was going to stuff with filling. I think her plan was one she hatched herself and I believe what eventually stalled her was realizing her made-up technique would not work.

look at those tiny stitches!

So the quilt was put away and never mentioned. Oh, I would bring it up and she would flash me a stern look that implied If you want this bloody quilt, then you can make it! I realize now what thwarted my mother was her perfectionism. Which is why I have learned that perfectionism kills off more creativity than any lack of skill or talent.

In other words: better imperfectly realized and manifested than perfect only in my imagination. 

A few years ago I made a story scarf with the sewing/repurposing Queen Maya Donenfeld.  I cut up a few of Cowgirl's baby dresses for that project (I would have wept but I was too busy trying to cut straight!) and I loved having the sweet prints that reminded me of our early days transformed into this personal keepsake. I still had some fabric left and decided it would be fun to use it in a quilt for Cowgirl, along with the fabric that my mother had cut out for my never-realized quilt.

Last winter I began stitching scraps of fabric together. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but quickly discovered it was soothing to spend time matching pieces together, figuring out what to place where, adding or building up strips and blocks of patch-worked pieces and then matching those chunks of patchwork with other sections to create bigger and bigger chunks. 

I had about a quarter of the top done when I put it away. This is something new I've learned about myself after reading the book Refuse To Choose: I am a scanner (although I dislike that label and prefer multipassionate creative instead) which means what may appear to others as a constant and compulsive jumping from project to project, beginning but never completing; is instead is seeking my own "reward" for starting a project or process and when I've gotten that, I  move on. In the book Sher likens it to a bee who goes into a flower to get the nectar and once that happens, moves on. I enjoy the process of figuring things out - I love jigsaw puzzles! - and sharpening my skills and learning new techniques or processes is enjoyable for me. I like to see things coming together. But once that happens, I am less engaged and am ready for something new.

Unconsciously I've somehow figured out how to push through the less engaging stage and complete projects. I mean, I am aware of the boredom and drudgery but somehow I make myself finish. Well, not somehow; I give myself deadlines like Cowgirl's birthday and usually I don't allow much time for goofing off so I have to stick with it. 

In three weeks time, I had to complete the top of the quilt (the fun, rewarding activity for my multipassionate creative self) and then tackle the backing and quilting (18 rows of tedious yarn ties) at which point I began to think about Moby Dick and began to refer to the project  - in my thoughts only - as that fucking quilt. 

But I also began to realize how the quilt was piecing together all of our stories - my mother's, mine, and my daughter's. I was using the sewing machine that my father had given my mother after my birthday (which makes us twins I suppose) and I was using fabrics that I remembered she had used to make dresses for herself and for me, along with the quilt squares she had already cut out. 

Whereas my mother's squares represented her - neat, tidy, precise,  patient, loving - mine represent me - colorful, playful, a little chaotic and haphazard but with attention to the details, to the inner stories within the fabric. The quilt embodies what I've come to realize is my motivation within everything I do and what I seek to offer: cherished creative.  
 

I surprised Cowgirl with her quilt - there were still 4 rows of ties to add - and right away she asked me about the different fabrics, pointing to one's she remembered and asking about new ones. I see stitched together all of our stories, three lives brought together, repurposed and reimagined. Improbable and impossible coming togethers which did happen. The quilt I wanted when I was ten, I now have made for my newly minted eleven year-old daughter. 

And so we continue to add to our story which will eventually be stitched to another generation's.

 

celebrations

Today my girl turned eleven.

Eleven?!  How did this happen?!

I got up early this morning so I could steam dumplings for her breakfast. Yeah, I know. This is how I roll. The Husband groans at my celebrating antics.  He is the eldest of four, his mother having all her babies before she was thirty. Birthdays are not a big deal for him whereas I, on the other hand, was like an only child my brother being 9 years older than me. The Husband says my mother spoiled me and I used to get defensive about it, but now I say if showering someone with love and attention is to spoil, then spoil away!

So while Cowgirl is at school, I've been hiding her birthday presents around the house. She requested a scavenger hunt for her gifts and as I am still working on completing one, I am grateful for the extra few hours. Later in the day, I went to write up the clues when I drew a complete blank on where I hid her big gift! I mean for a good five minutes I could not remember where I stashed the-one-gift-she-really-really-really wanted!

It was both hilarious and horrible. A menopausal mommy moment of utter terror and angst.

So I walked around the house, retracing my mental dialogue (yes, I could remember the spots I chose not to use ... inside the grandfather clock ... in a desk drawer ...) until finally I stumbled upon it!

I got to take a break to go buy her a sub sandwich for lunch and then bring it to her at school. I love sitting with her classmates in the lunchroom and seeing her in her element. She sits with the boys and one new friend peppered me with questions. "Are you both from China?" I explained I was born in New Jersey and isn't that equally exotic? He then deemed it "cool" that Cowgirl got to live in China first.  

It is hard to remember those years waiting for Cowgirl, wondering about the child living in China who would one day be my daughter. Eleven years ago I stood outside under a full harvest moon and offered up my prayer for a healthy child. At that time, I had no idea we would be adopting. 

Eleven years ago, just two days before that same full moon, Cowgirl was born. In China the eight full moon of the lunar year - our Harvest Moon -  is known as the MId-Autumn Moon Festival or 中秋節 Zhong Qiu Jie. It is the second most important holiday and traditionally a time for family reunions and celebrations. It is said that under the full moon, we are reunited with all of our loved ones as the moon shines down upon us all.

In our family we talk about the Moon Goddess, 嫦娥  Chang-e, who brought us together as a family.  I tell Cowgirl that she was the one reaching out to me under that full moon all those years ago. As we celebrate her 11th birthday, this year we will celebrate the Moon festival just a few days later. We have moon cakes - 月饼 yue bing - which we've already tucked into. Cowgirl and I like the red bean or lotus paste ones; the traditional cakes have a hard boiled egg inside which we don't like; the Husband shuns them all!  

We combine these traditions from her birth country with new traditions of our own. This morning she chose to wear her Chinese Camp tee shirt. It could have easily been her beloved Kansas Jayhawk tee. She doesn't like cake, so I bake her a birthday pie. This year she wants a strawberry refrigerator pie.  She has also requested steak for her birthday dinner. Last year, it was sushi. That is how she rolls ...

So yes, I will spoil her on this, Her Day which actually is not all that different from other days. With the exception of me getting up early for the dumplings. 

I wouldn't have it any other way. For she has given me so much more than I could have ever imagined 11 years ago under that full moon. She is my reminder to leave open ended the manner in which I want my prayers answered. Why put limits upon what the Universe can conjure up? 

Eleven ... I still cannot reconcile how this little girl ...

turned into this no-longer-so-little girl?

 Thankfully, she is keeping me young-ish ... at least in body, if not mind!

horse play (and finally, friday!)

I can only laugh at myself and wonder at the crazy choices I sometimes make. To borrow a favorite german expression: I have a bird (in my head) [meaning, there is enough room in my head for a bird to fly around]

In a little over a week, I head for Bali. I know ... no whining here ... but lots of preparations to tend to and the packing! oh my god, the packing! (I have a little problem with making wardrobe decisions ... and book and journal and iPod decisions ....)

Then there is Cowgirl's birthday which is one week from today and not to put pressure on myself, but somehow I've decided I will make her a quilt ... even though I cannot sew or cut straight and I have never really made a quilt before and I have been making it up as I go along. I discovered long ago that it is better to have a dream imperfectly realized but manifested than to have it perfect but ever a dream.

I still have the backing and batting to tackle. May require copious cups of coffee or chocolate before I am done.

Meanwhile, I somehow ended up with a trunk full of saddles requiring repairs. Problem is, the nearest tack shop that will tackle these antiques is a 40 minute drive over to Iowa. So in a rainstorm, I headed off this morning (and thereby gave up precious quilt-making or Bail-packing time!) 

But saddles are a priority now. Beau has a buddy ... his name is Buck. 

Buck is a beautiful Dun - you can see a bit of the dorsal stripe 

We spent a glorious afternoon wandering around the pastures, fending off grasshoppers, acclimating behinds to worn saddles ...

And getting to know the many barnyard denizens ...

It was a family day and that is what it is really all about, isn't it? Time together making memories.

There is much to tend to, but I try to keep priorities straight.  Slowing down, being present for each other, honoring connection and honoring what we both love.

So maybe packing won't be so difficult? Pencils, pens, watercolors, sketch journal, bathing suit and sandals. Check check and check! 

On my must-do list before flying off to Bali is completing my Earth Alchemy card and written post to be sent off to Mindy Tsonas. I am honored and excited to contributing to her upcoming session Inner Alchemy: Earth Coven. Take a look at the amazing roster of presenters ... including my Bali-guide and inspiration in all things sewing (and crazy-making) Em Falconbridge. 

I am excited for this session as I all about finding myself some grounding guidance. And this deck will be very special for me as I am committing to sketching and painting all of my cards. 

Isn't there something about a frog in the hand being worth more than two in a pond?

 

choosing kindness

I was having one of those mornings.

Truth be told, I've been having a week or more of such mornings.

Part of it is readjusting to waking with an alarm. There is just no way any of us in this family will wake up in time for school without setting the clock radio alarm and somehow, that onerous duty falls upon me. Which means not only do I have to pry myself out of bed, but then I have the joy of waking up two other grumpy and ungrateful non-morning people. All before I brew the coffee.  Yeah, good times.

Factor in the fact that I am currently menopausal hormonally challenged. What that means is I tend to wake up around 4 am needing to pee (sorry, if that is TMI) and then I realize what really woke me was a hot flush. I call these power surges flushes as they aren't as extreme as what other women have described to me. And I hope by speaking nicely about them, they will be nice to me.

Not yet anyway. 

So now I have to cool off (ah, a dab of peppermint oil on the back of my neck works wonders!) but am fairly alert now (due to activity of getting out of bed, peeing, finding peppermint oil) so then I lay in bed and watch the rabid squirrels tear up the stuffing that is my mind.

The only thing that helps is to wander downstairs, turn on the living room lamp and read for awhile. I wake the dog up doing this, but he is the only one pleasant about waking up (probably because he averages 22 hours of sleep a day but none-the-less he is always pleasant about keeping me company). 

So I had been up at 4 a.m. reading and was feeling all manner of crusty edgy by breakfast time. Oh, and another important detail: that previous evening Cowgirl came home from playing with the neighborhood kids, slumped over the kitchen island and wailed. She had been hit in the face by a ball. It was a "soft" ball she explained, BUT the Rule was no throwing it into people's faces AND even though it was soft, it bumped her glasses which - she pointed out in case I wasn't understanding the severity of the injury - are not soft. 

But more than her physical injury, it was the fact that the injuring party "didn't care" and merely shrugged her shoulders when Cowgirl explained that IT HURT. (Poor Cowgirl is ever frustrated by the fact that most people do not mind the rules and notions of fairness that she champions.) Now, what my mother never told me was that when you parent, you have the added option of re-living all your childhood woes and traumas through the lens of your child. It is an option not to, but like waving a biscuit in front of a dog, I cannot help but take a wee nibble. (Which is progress over snatching, gulping, consuming without batting an eye.) 

So I struggle in these situations with separating my own fears and experiences from those of my daughter's. And while I have learned the wisdom of listening, acknowledging, and holding space for whatever my girl is going through, my impulse is still to find some finger-hold of hope for forward movement. I want to help her feel empowered to make choices other than giving up.

Too often I confuse doing nothing with giving up. Slowly I am figuring out that resting in the moment - waiting, relaxing, "doing nothing" - is actually the best way to allow solutions, answers or options to present themselves. The emotions of the moment make everything cloudy and confused. It is best to attend to the feelings and allow time to work its magic.

Okay, so back to my morning. I was still ruminating up the previous evening, frustrated by my inability to find the right words (read: Wise Words HA!) to support my girl and yes, swallowing all kinds of bitterness and anger at the offender (her only crime being an aggressive and competitive nature) along with sadness over what I perceive to be a decline in kindness brought about by what feels like an increase in hostility and aggression in our world.

Then my doorbell rang. As I neared my front door, I realized  that the two shadowy figures on the other side were Jehovah's Witnesses. Too late to retreat, I opened the door and prepared myself for the attack. Two women stood there smiling, the older one with her Bible at the ready, a copy of their newsletter (my Good News I sarcastically thought) extended towards me.  I honestly heard little of what was said, I was busy in my head constructing my blistering rebuttal for whatever hokum they might offer me. But I caught myself.

Okay, I cried. And I'm not sure why? But I suspect it had to do with the earnestness with which they addressed me, their clean and formal clothes, their plain and scrubbed faces, the way they looked at me right in my eyes. They seemed so proper and from another era, as if coming out to talk to me was deserving of their best (pressed and pleated) dress. As if I was deserving of this attention and care. And I was immediately brought up by the ugliness in my knee-jerk reaction to them, my desire to put them in their place, my intention to show my intellectual and spiritual sophistication and yes, to squash theirs.

I blathered something about having a hard day and apologized for my distractedness. As I reached for their newsletter, the older of the two gently took hold of my wrist and told me she was sorry for my day. They both looked genuinely concerned for me, and that unsettled me even more. I hastily thanked them and retreated behind my front door. 

"Good grief," I thought, "I've really lost it!" But here's what I realized: I could choose to be right, or I could choose to be kind. And I could choose to accept kindness even if it isn't in a form that I had wanted nor expected. I wasn't going to change their spiritual beliefs and they weren't going to change mine. But I could accept the energy behind the offering of scripture and interpretation; I could accept the care and kindness. 

This epiphany lead to another crumb of insight. When Cowgirl came home that afternoon, I told her about my visitors and I told her about choosing kindness over needing to be right. As gracefully as a waddling goose, I immediately brought up the previous evening's events and how we always have the option to align ourselves with kindness but then to extend to ourselves. Sometimes self-kindness is knowing when to walk away, when to acknowledge we cannot fix, alter or amend a situation.

But we can ask for support. And so then we talked about turning over our frustrations, turning over our not-knowing-what-to-do to God and ask that she help us to see and accept a solution when it is ready or when we are ready for it. Until that time, we can continue to seek out and support kindness beginning with ourselves. 

I recently heard author Caroline Myss explain Every thought is a prayer.  

I'm awake now.

mindfulness starts with me

Cowgirl and I just returned from Chinese Heritage Camp in Colorado. This year was our sixth year and as always, we come home exhausted but full. 

Camp is a family experience. While the kids move through activities and classes with their peers - this year Cowgirl had Kung Fu, yoga, Chinese dance, arts and crafts -  parents attend workshops of their own in addition to helping out in assigned volunteer roles. The workshops cover a range of topics specific for the adoptive parent: information on identity, race, grief and loss in addition to information on Chinese culture and heritage. (Heritage Camps offer 11 different camps specific to the adoptee's birth country such as China, Vietnam, Korean, Latin America, Africa and Caribbean) Camp is about family and community and we both look forward to the time reconnecting with old and new friends.

It is an invaluable opportunity to connect and share experiences with friends who understand without us having to go into exhaustive detail or explanation. Our camp friends know and understand and together we support and assist each other.  Every year I come home with a new insight, parenting tool or awareness often gifted to me through the stories of the adult adoptees who generously come to camp to share their insights and experiences. 

This year there was an emphasis upon understanding the pressures our tween and teens face. This is not exclusive to adoption; all children are under greater scrutiny due to social media.  The level of self-consciousness is immense and I've watched many an adult - myself included - struggle with the constant comparison to a picture-perfect news feed or styled webpage. When I think about my tender and still soft-as-fresh-clay daughter attempting to understand and define herself within this human fishbowl, my head and heart spin. Even the so-called experts - the child therapists and researchers studying the impact upon our brains and nervous systems -   acknowledged we are traversing unknown territory.

So what's a mother to do?

I begin with myself. The A-Ha moment I had this year was nothing I hadn't already heard or known, but I understood its significance at a deeper level. In a class on parenting with mindfulness, it struck me that while I have attempted to be present for my daughter - to seek to perceive the hidden issue within the surface storm - I wasn't doing the same for myself. Or rather, while I am aware of my reactive frustration, fear, anger or confusion that may be triggered by her upset underneath my reaction is an intense and immense discomfort that speaks more to my wounds than to anything she may be negotiating. 

This discomfort stems from a belief that I am to fix or find the solution to my daughter's problems. When she is upset, my mind is racing to find the right words to soothe the ache; when she is struggling I frantically turn over in my mind possible strategies or metaphors to help her find her way; and when she is overwhelmed or emotionally distraught I dig in my heels and attempt to reel her back to earth. 

Yet my responses speak more to my own insecurities than to being really present for my daughter. And then it struck me that that is all that she really needs from me: to be present for her. Not to fix her or offer advice or perspective. But to acknowledge her experience; to hold space for her to explore and feel what she is feeling; to honor her responses and emotions which include confusion, anger, sadness and frustration along with happiness, joy, and excitement. 

More than solutions or answers, my daughter comes to me to for security and to express vulnerability. I hurt. I am upset. I am afraid. What she needs from me is safe space to share all that is bubbling up within her. She wants to feel seen and understood and when that happens, often her own perspective shifts and broadens. She moves into a space where solutions are visible. She discovers she knows more than she previously realized. She learns she can trust her own knowing, her own instincts and intuitions. 

In turn, I sink into trust with myself: that my presence - which is my attention, my love - will be enough, will be equal to the task at hand. I don't need to have all the answers - an illusion I've spent a good deal of my life hustling to maintain - I simply need to hold space for what is and allow time for us to make our way forward. This is how we strengthen and empower ourselves. This is the true and transformational space of love.