The things that make up a life

I love how inspiration will find its way in when I least expect it. I marvel at how I can be wiped out, dried out, seemingly emptied out and then (when my guard is down or more accurately when I have stopped the seeking, the efforting) unexpectedly something wonderful and magical pops up before my tired eyes.

Or should I say my ears?  Preparing for a holiday fair, I was in a beading frenzy making bracelets to sell.  I was wondering about the sanity of having said Yes to this event as overwhelm was taxing my energy reserves. Keine Lust as they would say auf Deutsch.  One soothing balm for me is the voice of On Being podcast host, Krista Tippett.  To the archives I went!

When you are seeking inspiration, who do you turn to?  I listened to several shows that immediately filled my tank:  Ellen Langer and The Science of Mindlessness and Mindfulness; Atul Gawande, What Matters in the End; and James Martin, Finding God in All Things. But what really rocked my world inside and out was illustrator/writer Maira Kalman's interview: The Normal, Daily Things We Fall in Love With. 

Obviously, I was beading for a very, very long time ...

But Kalman's conversation on how our lives are comprised of all these moments of wonderment and worry, joy and angst, sorrow and delight and how she embraces it all in her art and her writing ... it just sung to me.  Her work evokes a deep curiosity and appreciation for all of the details that make up one's world, one's life. That she loves and celebrates dogs in much of her work was a huge hook for me. ("They are constant reminders that life reveals the best of itself when we live fully in the moment and extend our unconditional love. And it is very true that the most tender, uncomplicated, most generous part of our being blossoms without any effort when it comes to the love of a dog.”)  But this!



 Oh my.

Okay, first thing ... I totally know my mother is smiling down upon me, nodding her head in agreement over utter wonderfulness of this all.  I have no doubt if my mother was still alive, she would have read about Maira Kalman and then clipped the article to pass on to me.  

I also know that my mother's closet was HER artwork, her opus, her masterpiece.  I understand now why cleaning that closet after her passing was such a monumental task ... and I weep right now with the realization of all that it meant to her and in turn all it means to me as the one who stood witness to its message.

I look around my home and I see how I am my mother's daughter.  I see the same love of things ... which is really a preservation of memories, a cherishing of events and experiences and a celebration of richness IN living.  The objects we hold on to and cherish speak to who we are and how we love; they bear witness to our hearts and our dreams, our hopes and our aspirations. My mother's closet was filled with shoes and clothes lovingly lined up and organized. She would joke that for a girl who grew up with one pair of shoes, she did pretty well for herself. It wasn't just that she loved nice clothes after a childhood of lack; she didn't merely survive the conditions of her upbringing ... she thrived. And she thrived because she was determined to do so. 

My mother never went to college but a university professor once told me "Your mother is the most educated person in this room."  And it was true. She read voraciously.  She learned through books and lectures and listening to others. She returned to work in her fifties so she could use her money to travel.  And did she travel! Stashed away in boxes in her closet were the many postcards and brochures collected on her numerous trips abroad.  I also found the letters and cards from the many friends she made while traveling - friendships she maintained over the years and across the sea.  I even found tucked away in a dresser drawer the application to renew her passport. It broke my heart to consider her filling it out, hopeful for one last adventure.

My mother was insatiable in her quest for the perfect shade of lipstick.  My entire life I have been fascinated by the variety of colors and creativity in the naming of those many tubes of coral and pink hues. She was always put together, clothing, jewelry, makeup and shoe wear flawlessly coordinated. I think it spoke to her sense of self sufficiency and her pride in a life lived fully and with no real regrets.

As I sit with all these memories I find myself considering what - or how - will I be remembered? How am I honoring my life?  I've pulled out my sketchbook and once again filling it with images of the things I love, the small things from my day, my life that spark immense joy and love within me.  If I know anything, it is that the details will end up being the most treasured pieces of my life and in turn it is in through details that I will be remembered.   The stories we create from the details of our lives, that is where the magic and the artistry can be found.

I think of my mother and I remember her morning ritual of a cup of instant coffee (Sanka, thank you) in a china tea cup always ALWAYS with a saucer and a a Stella D'Oro brand Breakfast Treat.  Elegance and practicality. I think of her crossword puzzles (which I now do every morning, but never could I aspire to the Times puzzle which she completed ... in pen of course ...) and I am grateful she taught me to be so fiercely myself, to love with no excuses, to follow my curiosity and sense of wonderment and to always, always bring home a souvenir from my journeys.

Once again, I feel the warmth of my mother's love and her encouragement reaching out to support me.  I do what fills me with love - my art and my teaching and my home life are all one and the same -  but I also know my mother loves all that I do.  She is smiling ... and so am I.

my nature journal practice

It seems my life consists of many practices. Or more accurately: living an engaged life IS a practice that encompasses many threads weaving together into a rich, colorful and  abstract pattern that is wildly unique and personal.  Over time the individual elements will shift and change - sometimes it is all I can do to commit to one note - but the beauty of it surfaces when I can stay curious and open to the natural flow. 

This isn't my habit. I like completion. Or perhaps I was trained to view accomplishment as a long list of items carefully and methodically checked off. Complete A and move onto B. But I am learning life is never so tidy and that I am not so much returning (starting over/starting again) as I am circling back around for a deeper dive in. 

It was over a year ago that I began a nature journal inspired by a course I was taking with writer/mythologist Sharon Blackie called  Reclaiming the Wise Woman (the material for that offering is woven into her inspiring book If Women Rose Rooted).  So much of the course material shook me wide awake - how the struggle to feel I belonged was/is rooted in a disconnection from Nature and more specifically from landscape which is my current home. 

The sense of knowing our place is fundamental to developing the rootedness, the grounding, which is necessary to progress down a path of Wise Womanhood. It’s all too easy to get stuck inside our own heads, to live out of our imagination. But the deep, honest, authentic ancestral wisdom we’re looking to reclaim is the wisdom of the land, the wisdom of place, and in order to develop that wisdom we need to get out of our heads and out onto the land.

 - Sharon Blackie, "Becoming Native to Place" from Reclaiming the Wise Woman

Just a mile and a half away from my home is a nature center/park with over 6 miles of trails around a lake.  When we first moved here, I used to take Cowgirl there for mini nature explorations but we never ventured further than a half mile from the parking lot. Wedged in between the interstate and local highway, you can hear the hum of traffic and signs for the truck stop (a large and wonderfully kitschy coffee pot) hover over the distant tree line. For years I considered it too tame and I stewed in my envy of others living in wilder places. 


Thankfully my impatience is yoked to stubbornness (or a stick-to-it-ness) and if there is one thing I KNOW about any practice, it is to show up consistently and with an attitude of open readiness. (Yoga Sutra 1:14 Practice becomes firmly grounded when well attended to for a long time, without break and in all earnestness.  Two out of three ain't bad!) When I first ventures into the park, I saw robins, blue jays, geese, dandelions and clover. Returning day after day, season after season, a wider and more varied world emerged as my senses adjusted. Taking pictures, I return home and research the unfamiliar plants and birds (who are totally familiar!) and then I transfer the information to my journal. 

Slowly, I am learning.  Trees and bushes  challenge me still (other than the most common ones - Cottonwood, Mulberry, Blue  and Black Hill Spruce, Ponderosa Pine, Sycamore, Staghorn Sumac and Dogwood) but my eyes and brain have gathered up quite a few of the native flowers. As I take time to learn the names and the faces of the locals, so I find myself welcomed into a community that reveals itself to me more and more as my willingness to show up earns me the gift of presence. Mine and theirs.

Here is one truth I've uncovered about myself (and which is a personal mantra whenever I find myself retreating into seclusion): my relationship with Nature is the foundation for all my relationships. 


 


Nature Journal on Vimeo

hello hello! (it's me again ...)

Truly, honestly, hopefully ...

I'm bahhhhh ...ck!

I won't lie, it has been a bitch of a season ... or two, or three.  I was probably (read: absolutely!) in denial of the depths of my funky-funk and so I kept myself moving forward by thinking Tomorrow I will be back on track and ready to dive into my life. 

Oh, I was deep into my life, just not the version I wanted to be my normal. But somewhere along the way I realized This is it; this IS my normal. That was my surrender moment. Of course, a whole slew of gifts manifested once I accepted my new snail's eye perspective.  When energy is low, it becomes really easy to discern the essential from the inessential.  My world narrowed down and that afforded me opportunity to dig deep and anchor myself with the basics.   I returned to my yoga practice (stretching, breathing exercises, relaxation) which in turn has brought me back to teaching.  

My art making practice has also been an exploration of why I feel the need to create and what that process nourishes: slowing down, looking, seeing, celebrating and remembering.  Back to line drawings, back to quick sketches just as my asana practice has been a return to the fundamentals to keep things fluid, open and moving. 

I had cause this morning to search back through this blog (it really is a form of memory holding for me) and I was inspired by the color, by the play, by the childlike joy in creating and sharing.  I've missed that connection with myself ... and with others.

So this is my humble return.  

We took a family camping trip at the beginning of the month to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area in northern Minnesota. It was my first time canoeing! We rented our gear from an outfitter who took us to an entry point, loaded up our canoe, handed us a map and compass and with a wave sent our little family off on a 4 day, three night adventure.  We had no set agenda other than a rendez-vous point down (or was it up?) river at a take out point.  We started paddling and pretty much were immediately lost in the sense we could not discern distant shoreline from the many small islands. We had to find a portage point (the first of many) and I admit, there was almost a mutiny among our grumbling crew.  In such matter, listen to the children. The Girl pointed out other boaters and by following them, we found our first portage.  (There is nothing more obnoxious than a preteen lording over her parents the fact she was right!)

The rest of the trip (after the long portage carrying heavy packs up and over rocks, through mud and through a rainstorm; after the thunderstorm brewing up while we frantically paddled in hopes of arriving at an empty campsite; and after the mosquitoes that feasted on any and all body parts bared no matter how brief the reveal) was an exquisite adventure. Few people, no devices, moonlight over pine trees, night time serenades by the loons, daily Bald Eagle visits, campfires, s'mores, fishing, tent time and laughter and stories and snoring.  A.Very.Good.Time.Indeed.

preparing our first night's dinner

Our second campsite came with a resident turtle and 2 fearless chipmunks

Now I am settling into the summer routine here. The Girl has been in art lessons and now a horse riding camp.  I have been putting in extra hours at the equine therapeutic riding stables where I volunteer, due to a health crisis (new virus) that hit the horses. It is winding down now, but it was intense and scary and one sweet horse was lost. I've had the horses on my mind and want to return to sketching portraits of the herd.  I know for myself such "projects" keep me on track while also stretching my muscles and honing skills.   

sweet Lucy, who is truly in the sky with diamonds now

Speaking of projects ... I also am slowly making my way through the creation of a final deck - Fire! - of Inner Alchemy Cards (a project created and mentored by Mindy Tsonas)  It all of my own creation (my other decks were created during a online class) and it is challenging and rewarding to be determining the concepts that evoke Fire for me.

Of course it is the absolutely perfect subject for me to be working through as I make my way back ...

What sparks, motivates, and inspires me to action? What qualities provoke change, growth and transformation?  

How could I forget?! I know you want to know about Moose! After a long struggle with various and minor ailments (but none-the-less frustrating AND costly) I am happy to report he is a new boy and living life with the bowl half-full-of-kibble attitude. The very high tech "button-therapy" (sewing his eye shut with a real button on the lid to keep the skin smooth, the eye closed so it could heal) was a miracle treatment.  He is back to both eyes operational although he chooses to rest them frequently (the key to his longevity: lengthy and multiple naps through the day and night).

Moose, with his button (his left eye)

And that, my friends, is all for now. I will return soon-ish. I promise :)

for the ♥ of horses

Can you feel it? Spring IS coming! I can see tender green shoots shaking off the sleep of winter and pushing up through moist soil towards warm, sunny skies. I too find myself slipping outdoors, sitting on the stoop and turning my face towards the warmth, towards the promise of hope and growth.  

Winter has been an emotional and physical grind. For me anyway. But the gift of challenging times is discovering what truly supports me and leaning fully into it.  Community. Yoga and meditation practice. Music. My sketchbook practice.

And the horses. 

These past few weeks I have committed myself to painting portraits of some of my favorite horses in the Hetra herd: the very first horses I worked with as a sidewalker, Charm (pictured above) and Smokey (shown hanging with his buddy, Red);

the Dude of the herd (and last year's Horse of the Year) Waldo;

and the youngest (and wildest) member, Tenneson (with another herd newbie, Georgie on the right.)

Drawing and then painting each horse has allowed me to perceive the differences in  breeds but also in the wide array of personalities. After completing a portrait, I return to the Hetra barn with renewed appreciation for the contribution of these amazing creatures to the healing process for all involved in the therapy sessions. Yes, the riders are the clients served by all, but all - sidewalkers, horse leaders, therapists, client family members -  are impacted by the spirit of the horse working in the session. 

To date I have painted close to half the Hetra Herd. (If you follow me on Instagram, I have been posting images there.)  As part of the Horse Penny Race (a yearly event focused upon raising funds to support the exceptional care of these hardworking therapy horses) I have created a set of 11 postcards depicting 10 of the Hetra Horses (one card is a horse image I created before this project started.) All proceeds (after printing and shipping expenses) will be donated to the Hetra Horse Penny Race.

I hope you consider supporting these amazing creatures by purchasing a set of cards (cost includes shipping.)  Quantities are limited, so get 'em while they are fresh off the press!

Thank you for all your support!  Over $400 was raised through the sale of these postcards - Way to go!
My plan is to complete all 22 of the current herd (including the mini horses) sometime this Spring.  I am not sure if I will create more postcards, but then again seeing the entire herd spread out upon my table may be more than I can resist :)

poems with wings

Perhaps I conjure up what I want to avoid? Each April I cannot help but hear echoing throughout the gradually warming days:

"April is the cruelest month, breeding

lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

memory and desire, stirring

dull roots with spring rain." 

- T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

Spring rains accompanied ceremonies of grieving and celebration. The month began with a fire ceremony marking the passing of one friend ...

and ended at our city's botanical center with a memorial for our neighbors whose unexpected deaths while on vacation has me stumbling pass their house in continual confusion and disbelief.  Witnessing the rawness of grief in their daughter's eyes has stirred up emotions that had settled to the bottom of my own heart. Each new drop of sorrow and loss is added to a swelling pool: my mother, my aunt, my friend, my neighbors ... the list swells backwards and forwards.

I suppose that is how it is in middle age. The longer my tenure here, the more I will have to say goodbye. It is the balance to so many hellos. What has become apparent to me with the loss of my neighbors is the urgency to making each hello count. At their memorial service I was made aware that I really hardly knew them. I mean, we would often meet while walking our dogs and talk of neighborly things: the dogs, the weather, our gardens. A little residents gossip and updating on local events. We each had busy and full lives and our worlds intersected in a narrow margin at sidewalks and driveways. 

Hearing their children, grandchildren, lifelong friends and colleagues share their memories was a privilege. For it gave me pause to consider: What will my legacy be? What do I hope to create with this, my "one wild and precious life?" (Mary Oliver) For my neighbors certainly lived full, attentive, loving and passionately engaged lives.

By opening myself up to the vulnerability of deep grieving, I discover within that dark pool immense inspiration. Listening to person after person talk about my neighbors what slowly emerged was a picture of life anchored in love and purpose. That purpose was to nurture within each individual their unique passions, interests and gifts. 

Assisting me in uncovering purpose and meaning are my art journals and words. My own words, yes (scribbled in more notebooks) but also the bountiful collection of words, insights and meaning found in poetry. As David Whyte so astutely noted, all poets eventually become philosophers.  So I gather close by those books, those writers like Oliver and Whyte who offer so many thresholds into deeper meaning and living.

"One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting 

their bad advice--"

- Mary Oliver, The Journey

I lay in my bathtub listening to David Whyte recite the above poem along with other favorites (like Wild Geese) ... the water and the words soothing aches of the body and of the heart.  (I believe what I've found is an excerpted segment from a longer recording of  The Poetry of Self Compassion.) 

Still feeling raw and tender, I am easing myself back into everyday routines. I don't want to lose these gifts of insight. Considering what would be the most loving action I could offer myself, I headed out for a long walk.  Inspiring me is the work of Sharon Blackie and these words which I had read the night before from her new and immensely powerful book If Women Rose Rooted:

"We spend out lives searching for meaning in ourselves ... trained to be ever-mindful of what is going on inside us -- our breath, and our thoughts and emotions -- when so much of the meaning we need is beneath our feet, in the plants and animals around us, in the air we breathe. We swaddle ourselves so tightly in the centrality of our own self-referential humanness that we forget that we are creatives of the Earth, and need also to connect with the land. We need to get out of the confines of our own heads. We need -- we badly need -- grounding; we need to find our anchor in place, wherever it is that we live. Once we find that anchor, so many of our problems fade away. And once we find that anchor, so often we uncover the nature of our true work, the nature of the gift we can offer up to the world."

On this day many winged ones greeted me. To truly grasp I share the same space with these powerful and magical creatures is to crack open some secret chamber of hope and possibility within. The fullness of life - life with stunning and unexpected hellos and life with heart-wrenching good-byes - flew up before me. And it slipped quietly below me. All around me ... and within me. 

 

 

my promise

So in one year I racked up 169 hours volunteering with the therapy horses and riders of HETRA (Heartland Equine Therapeutic Riding Academy). I have no idea how many buckets o'manure that means I scooped but I know it resulted in two pairs of jeans worn thin and a second pair of boots purchased (oh, the joys of Muck Boots!) not to mention worn leather gloves, frayed sweatshirt and some t-shirts that should only be worn, well, in a barn. 

I apologize to all who work beside my rumpled self!

It has been quite a journey and I almost forgot the motivating force behind it: riding lessons. Finally, Cowgirl and I started our lessons which have become the highlight of our week even on some rather muddy and cold nights! I ended up investing in helmets for us (pure joy NOT having to adjust straps!) and boots, of course. Now Cowgirl and I wear the same size shoe and every week she inquires whether I wore her boots on the days I volunteer. 

I earned some free lessons but after we blew through those sessions I just couldn't imagine a week not riding. Sigh. As a wise and dear friend pointed out to me, when it comes to this equine habit "It's never. Ever. Practical. Ever." But if master Yoda were here, I have no doubt he would say "Must you do."

Indeed. We must. The last night I was with my mother, I was able to tell her I was doing this ... returning to my childhood passion ... knowing she always supported me in following my heart, following the path of love. So I feel like I am fulfilling both a promise to myself and a promise to her. 

finally, a chance to visit Beau!

 When I was considering the cost of continuing our riding lessons, I realized that a very subtle and subversion voice within me was whispering "Ah, you can do it next time around." Like, in my next childhood. I realized the part of me that holds back does so seduced by the  lie that there will be another time, another opportunity. It is a variation on the equally soul-numbing delusion of "A Better Day/Better Time." 

There is no better time than right now. No next go round, only this round, this time for this mama and her girl. And the horses. 

I try my best to greet each day with my heart open to remembering what truly matters. What are the promises I would hate to leave unfulfilled? What is in my power to fulfill on this day?

As the weather turns towards warmer, I am heading outside more and more. To observe, converse and learn from the many teachers around me ...

the trees, the plants, the birds and animals.  I have spent half my life in this place and only now am I greeting my neighbors and making new friends ...

Putting down some serious roots. Making vital connections.

 

grounding (spring fever & link love)

It's like a switch was flipped and suddenly, it feels like Spring is goosing Winter to get out of the way. Temperatures shifted from single digits to mid-sixties in days and right now strong winds put me in mind of Van Gogh's mistral or "the devil" as he referred to it and its challenges to his working outside. (He resorted to  lashing his easel down: "My easel was fixed in the ground with iron pegs, a method that I recommend to you. You shove the feet of the easel in and then you push a 50-centimeter-long iron peg in beside them. You tie everything together with ropes; that way you can work in the wind.")

In addition to the winds disrupting everything and everyone (I was awoken in the middle of the night by the rattling and blowing) there is the matter of mud. Everywhere.

So besides finding it difficult to think or focus  it is also impossible to move!  

This is the time of year (any period of transition is tricky) when I lean into practice to help carry me forward. I've been neglecting this space because I am consumed by another. Year after year I seem to forget that running an online offering is hard work. I have to show up daily, pay attention to what is happening, think and write. But it is the very best way for me to get unstuck. 

Taking action, applying effort and exercising discipline ... it is what the Yogis call Tapas which translates as"heat" or "fiery disciplines that burn away impurities."  Tapas is balanced by introspection and surrender ... applying that discipline towards self understanding, development and growth.

My discipline these days centers upon study. Or rather, curiosity. (If you haven't watch it yet, this talk by Elizabeth Gilbert on living a life driven by curiosity speaks to the multi-passionate soul.)  My focus this year is upon learning new techniques and  ways of working with favorite mediums (watercolors, drawing, pen and ink, mixed media) which afford me a broader creative vocabulary. I am loving these online courses:

 Scribble Art which is way harder than it sounds! I have a long way to go in terms of really working with shading and creating a wider range of values using the scribble to express volume and the sense of an object in space. Being loose and making meaningful marks takes loads of practice.

Then there is this course on watercolor and mixed media called Creative Girl: Land of Light and Shadows.  

I am eyeballing a few more (but not until I finish what I have started!) including Reflections: An Art Journaling Workshop  (this bit caught my eye:
"unraveling your own story and creating authentic art that only you can tell") and All Creatures Small and Lovely (hello? Watercolor AND animals?!)

Not that I am lacking in things to keep my head and heart busy. There is a pile of books by my bedside. Currently immersed in Dreaming the Eagle by Manda Scott, the first book in her trilogy on the Celtic Warrior Queen Boudica.  The Tao of Equus: A Woman's Journey of Healing and Transformation through the Way of the Horse was recommended to me by several wise friends. And then I won this new title The Other Side of the River by Eila Carrico which I've started and realize is a book to be slowly savored and enjoyed. 

Oh, and then there is this fun and insightful course on developing a personal approach towards working with and interpreting the Tarot ... which had me adding to my Tarot collection with these lovely cards (The Anna K Tarot)

It seems staying stuck may not be in the cards for me ... as long as I find my footing with all this creative study and keep moving forward in practice. Action grounded by consistency and regularity is what supports and anchors me when both the winds and the mud threaten to upend me.

  
Meanwhile, fundraising for the therapy horses of Hetra.org continues. To date, my creative communities both online and at home have rallied in support and close to $800 has been raised for Team Star.  It is pimping I do willingly as the horses deserve every dollar, every oat for the incredible work they do week in and week out.