Observations upon returning from Squam

morning fog on Squam Lake, Holderness, New Hampshire

• My fight or flight instinct is stronger than I realized. I tend to want to jump ship as soon as I get frustrated. (Thankfully, my painting teacher talked me through it and kept me from ripping up my painting and fleeing for the safety of my cabin.)
• I loved being around so many artsy women and gleaning fashion tips from them. I want to start layering shirts, wearing dresses over jeans, piling on the necklaces, wearing my hair in pigtails (which I did), and being just as fun and funky as I've always secretly wanted to be been, without worrying that anyone will think I look "weird."
• Almost everyone deals with personal doubts and gremlins.
• New Hampshire is beautiful.
• I should take bug spray with me next time.
• Several of my blog crushes know who I am!
• I underestimate myself.
  
• I now know what matte medium is and how to use it.
• Getting a cold while in the middle of the woods is not pleasant, but neither will it kill you.
  
• Having your ears completely clog on the plane is very, very, very, very frightening, especially if you're claustrophobic.
  
• Being stuck in a tiny water closet in a cabin is also very frightening.
  
• Listening to your body is some of the best medicine.
• I'm ready for Autumn.

There's so much more I could -- and should -- say about my experience at SAW, but I'm still processing. Getting sick while I was there is making it harder than usual to jump back into life after being away. But I wanted to peek in and say hello. I'm back. I'm here. The rest of me is just trying to catch up.

Where (and how) are you?

It's All Happening: Mondo Beyondo Update

heart in Union Square, San Francisco

At the beginning of the year, I wrote a retrospective on 2007 and a Mondo Beyondo Prospective for 2008. (Find out more about the Mondo Beyondo concept.) I named 2008 my year of Opportunity, Abundance, Prosperity, Plenty, and Creation, and made a list of intentions for how I want to live and what I want to do. I also named and claimed some Mondo Beyondo dreams for this year and beyond. I'm amazed and joyful and humbled and pleased to see several of them coming to fruition.

I wanted: "to start creating mixed media art and find my own path as a visual artist." Next week, I'll go to my very first art retreat, where I'll take a painting and mixed media class. I'm also taking a travel journaling class and attending the Superhero Life workshop. I'm particularly excited about this last one, as it's being taught by the Super Duper Andrea Scher of Superhero Designs. I met Andrea very briefly at the BlogHer Swap Meet this summer and can't wait to learn from her. Plus? Her lovely assistant will be Jen Gray, who I "know" through blogging and a few emails. (It's hard to know if the word "know" is really the right verb in these cases, isn't it?)

And as if that weren't enough, Jonatha Brooke will be providing camp fire music, Boho Girl Denise will be running around taking artist portraits, and Kelly Rae Roberts, one of my favorite artists, will be hosting a discussion about living the creative life.

But wait! There's more! I was serendipitously connected with Kelly Barton of Camp Indigo Soul to share a rental car between the airport and the camp. After connecting with her, I realized that she is the woman behind one of my favorite Etsy shops. And speaking of serendipity, I'll also get to meet the inspiring Liz Elayne Lamoreux of Be Present, Be Here and The Little Room Etsy shop. (Remind me to tell you the funny little story about how we "met" online.) I'm also looking forward to meeting Kirsten Michelle from In the Land of the Lovelies.

I have a feeling that once I get back from New Hampshire, I'll be gushing about all of these women and more, as well as the whole Squam experience. (fair warning!)

I wanted: "to uncover and be at peace with my decision about having a child." Although I haven't reached a decision or a place of total peace yet, I have had a major epiphany in this realm, which has helped me to understand the swirl of emotions surrounding this issue for me. I'm not ready to tell that part of my story yet, but the plot is definitely taking a few twists and turns.

I wanted: "to spend a week at a writers' retreat somewhere beautiful, comfortable, and nurturing." Earlier this year I reconnected with a writer friend from college (hi, Jamye!). Several months ago, she asked if I would be interested in joining her and some other women on a writing retreat. The details are still unfolding, but it looks like this little dream will come true the first week of November.

At least one other Mondo Beyondo dream is in the works and looks like it will become a reality. And that's just what I can see. What if all the others are unfurling in their own way and time? I don't know where my dream cottage is yet, but I'm sure it's out there.

There is more of the year behind us than in front of us, but there's always time for dreaming and scheming. What are you up to lately?

M'aidez, May Day

photo by jam343

There's a springtime snowglobe swirling outside my window. The pear trees lose more tiny white petals with every gentle gust of wind, leaving behind fresh green leaves in their wake. These flower faeries swirl in the air, carpet the lawn, and dance along the street's blacktop. From a distance, they look like little marbles or those supercold ice cream pellets called Dippin' Dots.

A lone, cream-colored daffodil keeps watch in the mulch against my house, refusing to bow to her age. But she'll soon sleep until next spring. The lavender lilac bush is already in full bloom, begging me to come out and cut some branches and signaling that summer is around the corner.

Everywhere I look is green, green, green. The promise of nature is best this time of year, when everything is new and delicate, not yet wilted or withered by hot summer sun. Autumn is my favorite season, but spring holds a close second in my heart. Both are lovely because they are the gentle seasons before the extremes of southwestern Pennsylvania's snowy winters and humid summers. I like warm (not hot) days, followed by nights that ask me to pull on a sweater or a zip-up hoodie when the sun goes down. And I like explosions of color, be it the deep reds and flaming golds of maple trees in the fall, or the pale pink blossoms of cherry trees and the glowing yellow forsythia of spring. Autumn and spring embody both ends of the spectrum, at once temperate and extreme.

* * * * * * * * *

Today is May Day. May day is a pagan celebration, a day of public protests, and an international distress signal. M'aidez: French for "help me."

Today, the occasion of May Day helps me to remember what I want. For you see, I've forgotten to water my dreams.

That statement is both literal and figurative. Let me explain.

Over the past year, as I've recognized my hunger for ritual and tradition, I've begun to mark the passing of the seasons. For the Autumnal Equinox, I took a page from Jen Lemen's ritual for letting go of things that weigh me down. I wrote the names of my personal albatrosses (albatri?) on stones and leaves. The stones I tossed into a lake, and the leaves I let fly out of my moonroof as I drove along back country roads.

For the Vernal Equinox, I decided to do the opposite. Instead of focusing on what I want to lose, I looked at what I want to grow. As it was the 20th of March, I wrote a list of 20 things I want to cultivate in my life.

And then I burned the paper they were written on.

And mixed the ashes with some seeds and soil.

The seeds were old; little packets of blue cornflowers and white Shasta daisies that I got for free from a gas station, years ago. I didn't have much hope that the seeds would actually sprout, but they were all I had on hand. I was running out of daylight and time, and it was either do the rite with old seeds, or not do it at all. I decided that the symbolic act of the ritual, complete with prayer and private poetry reading, was more important than the viability of the seeds.

So I planted the seeds, put the pot near a window in my studio, and have forgotten to water them ever since. This is not only bad for the seeds, it's bad symbolism. I forgot to water what I want to cultivate in my life. Not good.

On May Day, I want, as my friend Allyson put it, "to do elaborate, lush things, like May baskets and May poles, picnics and flower crowns." But instead, I'm busy with a major project deadline and figuring out what to eat for supper. So today, the extent of my ritual will be to water my little pot of dreams, not worrying about whether or not anything physically blooms there. I welcome today as the reminder that time moves forward, nature rejuvenates itself, and there's always an opportunity to nurture my soul, symbolically or practically.

Practical Kindness (update on Jen Ballantyne)

Last month I wrote about Jen Ballantyne, a woman who is living bravely and honestly with stage-four colon cancer and the knowledge that she may have fewer than three years to live. One visit to her blog and you realize that Jen, also known as Jenni, tells it like it is: the fear, the pain, the confusion, and yes, even the joy.

In my last post about Jenni, I wrote about the "doctrine of substituted love" and encouraged us to bear her burdens of fear and pain. I truly believe that such metaphysical efforts translate into physical results. But it's good to go beyond the mystical and into the tangible realm. Several wonderful women, Bella at Beyond the Map,Meg Casey, and Jen Lemen are orgainizing a practical way that you can help Jenni. They are working to set up an eBay auction. A PayPal donations system is already in place. (See the donate button in the sidebar.) The money will be used to help pay for Jenni's treatment and those forms of care and pain management that will not be covered by insurance, such as acupuncture, massage, and naturopathy. The funds will also help to create a trust for her six-year-old son. These are things Jenni desperately needs, but can't afford. This is help she won't ever ask for, because she is too worried about everyone else. Get the full details on how you can help here. Donated items for the auction are being accepted until April 18, 2008. I'll post an update when the auction goes live.

A friend recently asked me how blogging ties in with my business as a freelance writer and editor. I said that this blog is a place for me to write regularly and showcase my writing style to my potential clients. Some posts, like this one, are more personal than others. Then again, even my essay-like posts usually revolve around a personal topic.

In many ways, I'm not very good at separating out the personal and the professional. My husband, who has mastered his emotions in a way that I sometimes envy and sometimes pity, reminds me that certain things are "just business." And while I try to take this to heart, that's just the problem -- I take things to heart.

I work and play with words because I love them. I tell stories -- yours, mine, and others -- because I love them -- the stories and the people in them. When I edit a manuscript for a client, I want that book to be its absolute best. I take it personally. When I write an article for a publication, I want readers to care about the issues. When I post on this blog, I want to connect with you.

Where does the personal end and the professional begin? For me, the line blurs a little more each day.

So if you're new to this blog and wonder why I'm posting about the story of a woman with colon cancer in Australia, it's because I truly believe that we're all interconnected. Our stories matter, because ultimately, they're all part of one larger story. And I always invite you to tell yours in the comments.

photo credit: icy beauty by josef.stuefer

Green Birds of Your Youth

photo by babasteve

To A Daughter with Artistic Talent

I know why, getting up in the cold dawn
you paint cold yellow houses
and silver trees. Look at those green birds,
almost real, and that lonely child looking
at those houses and trees.
You paint (the best way) without reasoning,
to see what you feel, and green birds
are what a child sees.

Some gifts are not given: you
are delivered to them,
bound by chains of nerves and genes
stronger than iron or steel, although
unseen. You have painted every day
for as long as I can remember
and you will be painting still
when you read this, some cold
and distant December when the child
is old and trees no longer silver
but black fingers scratching a grey sky.

And you never know why (I was lying
when I said I knew).
You never know the force that drives you wild
to paint that sky, that bird flying,
and is never satisfied today
but maybe tomorrow
when the sky is a surreal sea
in which you drown...

I tell you this with love and pride
and sorrow my artist child
(while the birds change from green to blue to brown).

~Peter Meinke

I love this poem, even though it ends with a sense of loss. Meinke envisions the girl growing up and losing her childlike faith and wild abandon. The fantastical green birds change to a more subdued blue, and finally to a common brown.

Why do green birds sound so outrageous? Maybe it's because those of us who live in the Northern Hemisphere don't see a lot of green birds. Perhaps we picture sparrows and robins when we think of birds. But green birds exist! Some parrots are vivid shades of green. Even the more common male mallard duck has a brilliantly metallic green head. No, green birds are neither impossible nor improbable. Green birds are real. As are red, blue, and yellow birds.

So what is Meinke getting at?

All too often, the artist that lives within us fades away as we age, consumed by responsibilities, self-consciousness, and well-meaning —- as well as ill-tempered —- adults. We let fear, social propriety, and the search for perfection stand between us and our natural desire to create.

Although the poem ends with sorrow, I take it as a cautionary tale and a reminder that it doesn't have to be this way. The gift of creation -— whatever form it takes -— is an enigmatic present. It is a gift that is given to us, but also one that we are delivered to by way of our choices. Like a muscle, our creativity strengthens with use and atrophies with neglect. Creativity is like a language: the more we use it, the more we can understand and the more we can say with it. Like the ideas of faith and love, it is simultaneously an intimate and elusive entity.

What are the green birds of your youth?