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 :)

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.  

abiding ... (finally, friday)

Patience is not my default setting. Yet everything seems to be conspiring to force me to practice patience (which means bouts of raving impatience followed by the exhaustion of temporary and grudging surrender.) I don't believe there is some script I am following, so much as life offers me the opportunity to create meaning out of otherwise random and indifferent occurrences. I am in charge of choosing which pieces I will use for this jigsaw puzzle. Case-in-point, observing a baby grackle bird being fed by its mother reminded me I too must remember to receive nourishment and more importantly relax my hustle to bring it to me.  Beautiful message, right? 

Well, a day or two later, Cowgirl came to tell me a baby grackle was caught in a bush. Or it was hanging dead in a bush, she was a little uncertain and I immediately told her to leave it alone. My experience has been when I rush in to "help" I often bring about the very outcome I am hoping to avoid. Now, it did pass through my mind "What the hell message is that about trust and support?" But quickly I let it drop. I mean, it may not be the same baby bird (but probably is) and it might not be dead but temporary stuck. Which is fitting for how I have felt these past few months (stuck, not hanging dead although the image of the hanged man in the tarot deck has been with me a lot lately.)

So I let all notions of ill-omens drop and continued through my day.  The next day I went out and looked for signs of the baby bird and except for a little poo, there was nothing there. So either he was stuck, but freed himself (the version of the story I'm going with) or an animal in the night cleaned up the crime scene which has a poetic message of the circularity of life in there somewhere.

Where am I going with all of this? Honestly, I'm not sure why this story bubbled up today. I admit being in a space where there is much on my mind, but lacking the words or the desire or need to excavate any meaning. Which is perhaps the point: sometimes there is no message, no meaning. Sometimes you have a leaky dishwasher that floods under the cabinets and floors and you don't realize this until the mold starts to grow and then you discover a mighty black mold situation on your hands (and in your kitchen) and now you dance around a giant hepa-filter fan that blasts the pictures off of the walls never mind the sound and the floors get ripped up and the cabinets emptied and no dishwasher so drying dishes stacked over the remaining counter top space that isn't cluttered by the contents of the cabinets now homeless and it is such a giant mess that forces you to either descend into full depression or laugh your ass off at the way life is stranger than fiction and no one could write this without it sounding hokey but it is all true and it IS my life. Right now. 

So I give up and relax into this cluttered flow. I stop trying to make sense of my life right now and instead decide to start living it again. Baking pies (in disaster kitchen no less)

and sewing Owl pillows (because owls started the whole chain of events in my reconstructed history)

 and joining Cowgirl at the neighborhood pool (oh yes, school got out a week ago? Isn't that crazy?) 

and I even accepted that our kitchen will probably stay this way until sometime in August as that is the earliest date a contractor can fit us in.

Accept. Surrender. Relax into what is ...

And then marvel when out of the blue (honest truth) a contractor stops at our house because he was the one who had installed all the wood molding and shelving and he always liked our house and thought of it as unique and now is looking to build his own home and was wondering who did the design or if we designed it ourselves and hey,he saw us home and he had a moment to stop ...

And now he may be the one to help us repair our kitchen and we are to contact him in week and he even sees a way to repair the cabinets without having to rip everything out. So we have a contractor and he has our spare set of home plans.  

Circularity of life ... 

Trusting and waiting for whatever is forming out there to make its way here while I abide in my own slow simmering so I am ready to meet it. Which is to say, meet Life.

Meanwhile ... I keep my eyes, ears, and heart open for the next piece I wish to add to this puzzle of mine.

the a-ha moments keep coming (summer camp reflections)

It's hard to believe but this was the fifth year of Chinese Heritage camp for Cowgirl and myself.

My, how things have changed! 

And yet some things, sweetly, appear to be eternal.

Every summer we make the 500+ mile drive to Colorado for Cowgirl to spend time with old and new friends.  Camp is not only about crafts and field day and songs and goofing with your friends (although that all is a big part of the fun) 

It is also about exploring Chinese heritage and culture ...

Camp is also a place where we explore what it means to be a family brought together through adoption. While we attend camp for our kids, I know for myself it is a place where I can share freely with other parents the gifts and challenges I experience raising my girl. It is also a place where I find and pass on valuable resources and perspectives.  (I've shared in past years the role camp plays for both of us in cultivating a sense of belonging.)

I shouldn't be surprised, but I always am by the a-ha moments that arise, especially in ripe and emotionally rich situations like camp. It is a time when I see my girl through the eyes of other families who understand. 

While I strive to share here the experiences of my life that help me learn and grow, the details of my girl's story are hers to explore, define and share should she choose to do so.  Trickier is knowing when my story - or rather, my wounds, my triggers -  have become entangled with hers. The a-ha moment (or duh! as I have come to think of such realizations) came to me in an adult workshop entitled Will the REAL Mom Please Stand Up?  

Presented by a family communication scholar/educator Beth Suter Trautman, who is also a camp parent, this workshop considered the deeply rooted assumption that authentic motherhood is typically viewed as stemming from a particular set of biological processes which are believed to induce an irreplaceable, biologically-based mother-child bond. U.S. culture continues to remind us: real mother = biological mother. (Beth Suter)

One important tool I've gained through camp and presenters like Beth is to make obvious the assumptions. While The Husband and I were waiting for Cowgirl, many people gleefully would say "Now that you are adopting, you will get pregnant." While the intention was harmless the underlying assumption is anything but.  I finally pointed out to a friend why that comment was so hurtful: it implied that what we really wanted was to get pregnant -  to have our own child (another injurious assumption; as if our adoptive daughter would be something other than our own) - and that adoption was our second and less desired, alternative.  The reality was we felt in our hearts, and then actively chose, adoption as the means to build our family.  

A particularly painful experience happened shortly after we had come home with Cowgirl. A woman came over to my home to show me some educational materials and she brought her young daughter. Cowgirl was napping when they arrived but woke up during the visit.  She saw the two strangers in her space, the girl playing with her toys, and Cowgirl reacted with an epic meltdown.  As I tried to calm her down, the woman remarked that having breastfed her child meant she was better able to soothe and comfort her child. What went unstated - but implied - was my deficiency and lack.  If didn't give birth to my child, I couldn't be a full or authentic mother.

While I have been aware of reassuring my girl that I will always be here for her - that my bond and commitment to her is and always will be solid and eternal -  I have failed to fully acknowledge my own anxieties.  The a-ha for me was to realize that my wounds require tending to -  or at the very least -  must be recognized in order for me to parent my girl from a place of love and strength. Otherwise, I will forever and always be tripping across my own shadows and triggers.

I belong heart and soul to my girl.  But the fear that lies hidden way way way deep within is that I am replaceable; that I am somehow deficient, not a real mother.  The threats to my "realness" come not only from the assumptions of a culturally idealized monomaternal motherhood form  (the assumption we can have only one true mother - Beth Suter) but from the deeply embedded roots this ideology has woven within my own consciousness.  My girl is on her journey of identity involving a complex and emotionally charged set of ideas to understand, reframe and claim, but I am also on a journey of my own. 

One exercise we did in another workshop (Taming Your Triggers) was a two minute silent meditation.  The point of the exercise was to become aware of how easily we give in to reflexively reacting rather than witnessing what we are feeling/experiencing and holding all that in spacious and nonreactive awareness.  It was also a chance to sit and become aware of all that was bubbling underneath the level of consciousness. For me, I was aware of immense fatigue (from a long drive), sadness over my own short fuse that morning (rushing to get to camp), and the harsh criticism I leveled at myself. 

The a-ha for me was recognizing that while I often consider the underlying factors at play in Cowgirl's reactions (she is hangry - hungry angry - or tired or stretched thin emotionally or confused, overwhelmed etc.) I rarely give such consideration to myself.  My eruptions (yes, I know all parents have them) are seldom due to the circumstances that provoked them - Cowgirl dawdling when we need to get going - but fueled by the toxic pool of unexpressed, unacknowledged  or uncared for feelings, fears, and misguided beliefs that have been simmering within me for days/weeks/decades. These weeds, as my friend and mentor Nissa would point out, leech vital nutrients from the soil of my being, depleting me and my ability to nurture my child and myself. 

Every year at camp I take in the beauty and power of my girl finding herself in her community, blooming and thriving under the love and care of this village of virtual sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts and uncles.  

For both of us, our journeys represent a widening of this circle of belonging: acknowledging and fostering polymaternalism (the reality that my child is connected to and has two mothers) which is an essential piece in the larger picture of connection and identity. For both of us it will require weeding out limiting notions and beliefs about who we are, who we can be and how we will co-create family, community and connection.  As I tend to the small plot that is my garden - myself - I  hope and trust that by clearing my weeds, sunlight will fall more evenly upon the patch of soil that is my girl's so that she can see clearly where the blooms and where the weeds lie. 

May the a-ha's and the bright moments keep coming!

summer sketchbook camp (preview)

Couldn't wait to share ... something fun, easy, and deeply satisfying amid the busyness of summer play time ...




Details and sign up available HERE.  It is designed to be easy to follow and on the wallet, and crafted to give lots of inspiration, ideas, support and encouragement for what is a simple, but profoundly rewarding practice.

Start gathering your pens, pencils and paints! Camp begins July 21!

butterfly girl (August Break)

A summer tradition now ... The August Break ... pictures snapped amid the breezy days of August ... our last gasp of summer (school starts in two weeks - how can that be?) and there just isn't time to linger ... fun to be had ...

friends visiting and the requisite trip to the zoo 

the butterflies were rioting ... 

 

everyone of us receiving butterfly kisses and while I've never heard of this said, I'm choosing to believe that every butterfly extends to us a wish ... 

 

we were granted many, but mine will be for summer to live on in our daily pace and in attitude as we prepare to shift gears all-too-soon ...

I have something I've been incubating for some time now ... you can take a peek over here to find out more ...

yes, many butterfly wishes ... many, many, many!

hanging on tightly ...

As  a yogini, I'm suppose to practice non-attachment but seriously ... a 70 degree midwest summer day?  Hell YES I am holding onto this day!  And with less than three weeks until Cowgirl heads back to school (I never will adjust to this calender that has school out before Memorial day and in session before Labor day) we are doing our best to squeeze the most out of each luxurious, spacious, sun-filled, lavender-scented day.

Today we are celebrating ...

Cowgirl passing level four swimming test.  I believe it was her fourth try?  I couldn't pass it - it requires front crawl, back crawl, butterfly and breast strokes among other skills - and my stroke is the old lady not-getting-her-hair-wet breast stroke. I call it froggy swimmin'. In our house, ramen noodles are a very acceptable form of celebration.  Note the sudden and newly embraced use of chopsticks.

Staying on a roll ... we have fruit popsicles prepared and ready for the festivities to continue into the evening.  Nanny McPhee Returns arrived via Netflix and we are set for a girls night in the recliner chairs.

Yes, I am squeezing tightly onto every minute of these blissful days ...

and relishing every single drop of goodness that spills my way.

reframing "significant"

I found myself writing to some friends:

Life inside a mix master blender: the Universe hits puree randomly and unexpectedly.  Such is my life! 

I admit, I foolishly imagined this summer - and my time unencumbered by a day job - as a fertile period of creative work bursting the seams of my life.  Today I realized I needed to let go of the notion that any significant work would take place while home with husband and child underfoot (the dog at least sleeps quietly and comfortingly at my feet.)

But maybe my attitude is wrong; perhaps a chance of perspective is all that is required.  Summer time is crazy with spontaneity: lady bugs hatching, fire flies beckoning, swimming pools, bike rides and patio time all vying for attention.  Much of significance is happening, just not in the manner that I had expected which is par for the course and far more exciting, enlightening and nourishing when I can remember to adopt a more spacious attitude.  

One thing that keeps me riding the waves of my life is the structure of practice.  It is a huge concept for me.  It began with my yoga practice and has spilled out into life off the mat.  It is how I connect with growth, learning, change and insight.  Practice frames my relationship with living:  I want to be learning, expanding, connecting and embracing my life and I see all my action as effort expended towards that intention.  I don't think it is so much about Practice make Perfect; I think it is Practice makes me more attention and aware.  Practice makes me more flexible, and not just bendy in body but in mind, attitude, heart and soul.

I am working on an offering to share this fall entitled The Gift of Practice: Nurturing & Nourishing Creativity. I am curious to delve into the role of practice in creative expression and a significant part of what I want to explore is the way practice is experienced by other creatives in various expressive forms. (There is significant again!) Of course my hidden agenda is to strengthen my own unique expression of creative practice!

I am excited that one of my favorite creative lights -  mentor, sister, guide and friend - Pixie Campbell has created an online version of her Shamanic Painting Program to launch July 29.  Visual Quest is a five week course running through August 31 although course content will remain available until March 20, 2014 (yeah!) so while it is perfectly timed to coincide with the fiery energy of summer, inspiration and action, there will be plenty of time to snuggle in with the material and squeeze all the juicy goodness that Pixie always provides in any of her programs.

Visual Quest is a five-week online art workshop that integrates
the creative process with profound spiritual discovery
and healing through the unique, holistic and shamanic approach
developed by artist and modern medicine woman,
Pixie Campbell.

Imagine a painting class that goes far beyond teaching mere
technique, delving into the inner realms of the psyche to
forge powerful links between you and the canvas—and then
imagine that intuitive richness spilling out to transform and
enhance every aspect of your life. This wild, transcendent
creativity is at the heart of Visual Quest. Utilizing the millennia-
old practice of shamanism, Pixie will guide you on a journey
into your deepest Self, enabling you to connect with the
Source of Creation within you, and interpret it artistically.

Visual Quest is a sacred, nurturing space where you can
meet yourself—and be met—where you are right now. It is
authentic growth and revelation, the convergence of passion,
art, and the divine feminine. Allow Pixie to show you how to
access Nature’s symbolic teachings and gain a deeper understanding
of the song within you as you explore artistic
mediums and express your soul’s truth
 

Once again, the Universe shakes me up so I can see with fresh eyes the gifts and opportunities extended towards me.  I asked to do significant work and fertile ground appears. My brushes are ready, how about yours?  

 

Visual Quest: An Online Shamanic Painting Exploration from Pixie Campbell on Vimeo.

magic brews

I do love the lolling pace of summer ... the hours and days slip by me and I loose track of time.  Today is a holiday here, but another day for me to fill with work and play.  Cowgirl and I each have our "studies" to review and then join together for some Chinese character practice which I find so fascinating.  The character for big (da) 大 looks like a person with their arms extended wide open.  It actually is the character for person (ren) 人 with a line through the center.  Put a line on top 天 and you have sky (tian).  Cool, isn't it?

One of my new summer routines is to put out a jar of herbal sun tea each morning allowing the light and the heat of the day to steep it.  The next day I strain it and enjoy it "straight" or with a little lemonade mixed in.  I don't follow any recipe; rather I use this practice as a means of cultivating intuition.  I pull out my basket of dried herbs and pick whatever calls to me.  Lately, I have been snipping some fresh mint from my herb pots, tossing in a spoonful of rose hips and a sprinkling of red leaf raspberry.  Another favorite combination is mint with a pinch of licorice root for some natural sweetness.  I prefer the mints right now for their cooling properties.  I also like to add something for calming like catmint or lemon balm.  (A hand full of fresh lemon balm steeped in a cup of hot water with some honey is my new favorite bedtime tea!)

I learned this method of making teas (or herbal infusions) from a generous and wise herb mama, Latisha of HerbMother. Her website is a treasure trove of information on working with the plant people with lots of fun activities for kids. She is my go-to when I have any questions regarding herbs and their properties and the various ways to work (or play!) with them.  (She offers many free tutorials here and a basic recipe for summer brews is here.) What I love is her encouragement that we all hold this wisdom and that the work is really about cultivating a relationship with the plants.  Taking time to select my herbs, mixing them, setting them out for the entire day to brew is an act of engagement and commitment on both our parts.  Rather than mindless grabbing a box off of the shelf, this practice brings me into relationship with myself, my inner guidance and the plants around me. 

I follow a similar tactic when visiting the farmer's market.  Rather than having an agenda (recipes/list in hand) I go and seek what calls to me.  This is a way of strengthening my ability to hear my inner guidance (when we listen to it and respond, we strength it; when we hear, but disregard, we weaken that connection) and respond to the wisdom of my body and what the yogis call Prana or the life force.   

Interestingly, the Chinese character for tea (ca - long a sound) 茶  is said to represent  grass, wooden branches and a person between the two, signifying how tea brings us into balance with nature. 

Happy magic making!  I would love to know your favorite summer drink recipes.