essentials ...

The first half of this year, I had been grappling with the concept of Simplicity and how to translate it into every day living.  A challenge for me as my natural tendency is to spin towards complexity. Even as I try to embrace less, I find ways to make that process, well, intricate.

My antidote to all the ills of modern living - especially energy draining distraction - is camping.  There is no other process that pares life down to the core basics: traveling, eating, sleeping, keeping warm (or cool or dry or shaded), potty matters, and most important of all ...

Clean water.

On our recent camping trip I was the camp water pumper. We were given a simple filtration pump which - while easy to use - was not the speediest process.  Filling pots for cooking, pots for cleaning, and our water bottles meant I was perpetually crouched down by the water's edge pumping and pumping ... and pumping.  (Note: after pumping your little heart out to fill a large water bladder, it would be wise to stay squatted just a wee bit longer in order to screw on that humble but essential cap on lest you knock the whole thing into the lake, thereby requiring the entire blasted procedure be repeated.)  It was refreshing to have one vital task to perform.  And once I took care of that chore, I found it infinitely easier to sit back and enjoy all the adventures happening around me.

The habit to create Home is fascinating to me.  Within minutes of setting up the tent, the area around it took on a feeling of intimacy and comfort.  The few things we brought with us were all that we needed to complete this transformation, motivating me upon return to tackle storage spaces well over due for some decluttering. (Over this past weekend, I spent 3 hours clearing and cleaning out the kitchen pantry - it is a thing of beauty. Now to dive into the basement!) 

I learned about determination from this fellow:

We found him on the trail to the campsite, quite a fair distance from water.  At the time we thought (foolish human thought!) he was lost and so Cowgirl carried him back to the water.  The next evening I noticed him bobbing in the water at the edge of camp, looking to see if anyone or anything was lurking about.  

A few minutes later, I was startled by his presence on the camp trail!  He was more peeved to find me and quickly turned tail, scuttling and sliding back down to the water.  He returned several times and we finally realized the space by the fire pit was his nighttime sleeping spot, so we hurried our evening events.  After all, it was His Home. 

Like turtle, I can carry and create Home wherever I go and it need not be overly elaborate or intensive.  It is more about intention and presence, rooting in and settling down, utilizing and appreciating what is available and honoring those gifts. Unlike my usual habit of working to create simplicity for myself, the way in is through nondoing: tapping into what is truly essential for well-being and opening to that. What follows is a relaxing, receiving  ... and enjoying. 

 

just love.

This first full week back to school has had a topsy turvy kind of vibe to it.  Trying to find a rhythm with this new schedule along with mandatory wake-up time (no snooze button for me - that is a hardship!) has me shuffling through my days annoyed by any and all requirements placed upon me.  Dinner? You all want dinner?  I mean, isn't it enough I packed you a lunch? 

Given my mood, I don't know why I was surprised to find one of my favorite horses at the barn acting peevish of late. Usually she is very sweet with me. I am a horse-lover but I am not a horse person. I do not know all the ins and outs of their behavior so my assessments are pretty simplistic and I keep them to myself (my job is to know their poo, not their minds.) This horse I feel needs lots of reassurance and when I am around her, I try to give it to her. When we are alone, that is. 

But lately there have been others around and I realized today that we both have felt rushed. In that space, feelings are often brushed aside and dismissed. The equivalent of being told "Get over it!" With this horse, I've found it has always worked best when I've acknowledged her responses. "Oh yes, that big tractor IS strange and scary, isn't it? But I am right here and we will walk by it together."

I know some of you get this (please tell me you do!) And I am recounting all of this because I recognize for the horse and for myself, being pushed on without time to acknowledge our feelings is a guarantee for upset, outbursts, nips, and all sorts of unhappy and unloving responses.  

Today I had time to slow myself down and just hang out with her for a bit. Not expecting her to act a certain way nor trying to make her behave (according to human expectations) but holding space for her to be, well, her.  And very quickly, the sweet horse I knew emerged.

This got me thinking. 

Earlier in the week, a mother with a special needs child said to me "He is scaring me right now ... I don't know what to do for him." Not to diminish her situation, but it struck me that as a mother I know all too well the squeeze of wanting so much for my child and fearing myself not equal to the task. Perhaps too this is how the horse felt: the burden of expectations making her anxious, overwhelmed and acting out. I wanted to wrap my arms around this mother and let her know it was okay to feel scared. I wanted to tell her I see how much she loves her child and how she does so much for him. I wanted to make her feel better ... which is really a reaction to my discomfort with her pain. And in that moment, her pain was immense and beautiful. It spoke of the fullness of her love and it needed to be expressed.

Years ago, prominent yoga teacher shared with a group of teacher-trainees this advice: "You think you are here to teach your students yoga, but you are not. You are here to simply to love them."

Those are the words I would say to her now. Those are the words I need to remember myself.  My job is simply to love. My child. The horses. My family.  My friends.  My life.  This world. 

august memories ...

Summer is hard for me. I feel heat and humidity more intensely than the cold and it may sound perverse, but too much sunshine makes me grumpy. 

 

But summer has been bringing me some lovely moments which I record in my gratitude journal -

~the pleasure of sleeping with windows open after a long heat wave
~finding baby peppers growing in the garden box
~waking to bird song
~walking Moose in the coolness of night
~an abundance of marigolds
~fresh peaches from the farmer's market
~monarch butterflies on my walks
~an afternoon thunderstorm
~corn still warm from the sun and the fields

Ah, corn. I buy it from a truck parked daily in the corner of our neighborhood gas station. I buy 6 ears and they always throw in an extra "just in case" an ear is less than.  We usually end up with left-over ears and recently I have taken to cutting the kernels from the cob to use for soup. 

I am cutting a cooled ear when I remember cleaning out my mother's kitchen shortly after her death. In her freezer were six small plastic containers, each filled with corn. Individual meal sized portions of summer corn set aside for winter months when the taste of fresh corn would be most welcome.  I am struck by the hopefulness of that action and then undone by the reality that I held the bits of my mother's last summer. It felt sacrilegious, but I emptied each container down the disposal. There were too many memories to swallow in her stuffed apartment. Crackers of every kind (she was a cracker afficienado), canned goods long expired (stashed away for those rainy days that never arrived), spices I still use, and a half emptied bottle of Kahlua. (DId she drink it with friends? Or by herself? A solitary pleasure enjoyed as a daring gestures in her golden years?) 

I realize part of the weightiness I have felt this summer perhaps can be attributed to a growing list of bittersweet August memories. The last real season with my mother. The last time I saw my father was in August. He was in the hospital recovering from by-pass surgery and I flew out to help my mother for a week. When it was time for me to return home, I hung back from my mother and brother. I slipped back into his room.  I didn't want to believe I was saying good-bye, but part of me knew.  

My father asked me, "Do you think I will be alright?" I can't remember what exactly I said, but I know I reassured him. I reminded him he was going to have a new granddaughter and that he would be meeting her soon. He had to get better.

Less than two weeks later, the Husband and I flew to China to bring Cowgirl home. One month after I became a mother, I lost my father.  He never got to see Cowgirl in person, but at least he knew finally we had become a family.  He never said so, but I know he was thrilled for me to become a mother. 

This month will be our ten-year anniversary. Ten years as a family with Cowgirl. Next month will bring the ten year anniversary of my father's passing. As I get older, I become more fluid in the dance between grief and joy, sorrow and gratitude, loss and hopefulness. I store up memories like my mother put away corn. I feed upon the moments, the memories to sustain and inspire me. 

And we fill up our days with new moments, new memories. The imperative is to enjoy the Now because the future can be a long way out and all we have is right here, right now:  life rich and hard and heartbreaking and heart filling all at once.  

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.

new chapter

As you read this post, I will be at the end of a great adventure.

the night before departure: the lunar eclipse

 I know, I am sneaky. You didn't realize I was away, did you? Actually, as I type I am hours away from starting my adventure.  You see, I am headed to Bali.

When I first read about Soulful Escape to Bali I never dreamed it was something I would or could do. But here I am, bags almost packed, almost ready to walk out the door and begin the 36 hour journey across land and sea.

Unlike other trips, I really haven't done any preparation. I have read very little, I have no expectations other than it will be magical, it will be tropical, probably hot and humid but wonderful none-the-less because, well, it will be Bali! 

It is a trip made with money my mother gave to me just days before she died. My mother loved to travel and she loved to hear about my traveling adventures. So I am making this trip in part to honor her memory, to celebrate her life and her gifts to me. I am going to Bali to wind up a year of grieving. 

Right now, it is all ahead of me. I am still in my robe, I have changed all the bedding and am doing laundry. I've cleaned out the refrigerator and made lists for the Husband. I am feeling the anxiety expressed through all this compulsive doing right before I leave. (oh yes, I sewed that fucking quilt in the week before my departure!)

And yet, as this publishes, I will be packing up all the memories to bring home. 

There have been so many endings this past year, I feel I have shed so much of myself in grief and in change. But now I understand how I have emptied in order to fill anew.

I have packed what is essential and I carry with me all that I will need, both coming and going, emptying and filling.

See you on the other side!
 

 
 

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?