Five Good Things

1. John of John might genuinely be one of the best books I've ever read. The writing, the internal dialogues, the story, the extraordinary sense of place...all of it felt perfect. These characters absolutely stole my heart.

And I especially love a book that makes my brain wander off into some completely unexpected corner of the world. This one sent me down an entire weekend-long internet rabbit hole about Harris tweed. That's one of my favorite things a book can do: make its world so real and interesting that I don't quite want to leave it when I close the cover.

2. The seasonal shift is upon us. I can’t believe I could anticipate Autumn even more than I typically do, but this summer has been disgustingly humid.

3. The Bands That Raised Me. I've decided that one of my projects for the next decade is to see one more time the bands I've loved for most of my life while and if they're still out there playing. I'd love to see the Cure, Tears for Fears, Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, and others whose music has somehow followed me through all the different versions of myself. (I heard there was an amazing Smiths cover band in Mexico City, so I am all over that for our trip in November.)

It's hard to picture myself at 70, dancing in a crowd at a concert; although I'm absolutely not ruling it out. So there is something about this particular window of time that feels worth paying attention to.

I'm serious enough about it that I'm starting a little travel fund specifically for this purpose; the Fuck It, I’m Going Fund. If a final tour means getting on a plane to Estonia, I want to be able to say, Well, I guess I'm going to Estonia.

There are only so many chances to stand in a crowd and hear a song you've carried around for 40 years played by the beautiful humans who gave it to you. I don't want to miss them.

4. I saw a post recently that said, “I think I’m going to take a break from my healing journey and focus on being a bitch.” Amen sister, that resonates.

5. The garden, apparently, needed me to leave it the hell alone. After a summer of feeling guilty about how little time and attention I've given it, the garden has positively FLOURISHED with neglect. Which feels like a useful counterpoint to all the messaging about constant tending, nurturing, optimizing, healing, and growth.

Apparently we do not need to be endlessly coddled and cooed over to succeed. Sometimes we are perfectly capable of finding the sun, putting down roots, and getting on with it.

The garden and I may both be entering our bitch era.

 

sunday grace: trust

once again, this book.

the colors of winter

are the colors of writing, resting, nourishing, adventuring, reading, painting and healing.

grace, lately

when i was in new york earlier this summer, i purchased some flower tea balls at pearl river.  i forgot about them until this week.  i dropped one in hot water and watched it slowly bloom.  it was completely meditative.  i chilled the tea then enjoyed it in the backyard on a very sultry evening.  i love how ethereal it is.

the sign of a great story for me is when i read a line and have to put the book down to breathe and "recover" from the electric current shot from the page to my heart.  i opened this book a week ago and i'm slowly making my way through.  i'm only on the third story, if that gives you any idea of how many times i've set it down to breathe.

tiny memoir: summer reading

the summer of 1973 was the first summer both my parents worked and i was able to stay home alone.

each morning i would wake to the scent of the gardenia blooming outside my open window, the sound of a dove softly humming in the distance and the click-click-click of the neighbor's sprinkler.  summers in central california meant it's already warm (if not hot) by 8am.  i would lie awake and listen for the front door to close and lock and the cars to start up in the driveway before crawling out of bed.

there was a list of daily chores and i would complete half before i pulled on some shorts and a halter top, drank a glass of grapefruit juice and ate a bowl of life.

i was signed up for the library's summer reading program just like every summer; a quiet and safe activity that i'm certain made my parents feel somewhat comforted as they imagined how my day would go without their supervision.  the library supplied a mimeographed chart on which i meticulously recorded the author and title of each book i finished with a no.2 pencil.  the usefulness of the list was greatly enhanced by my own star rating system added to each line.

each tuesday and friday, i would pile my borrowed books into the wire basket on my red huffy and pedal the quiet streets to the wilson road branch of the beale memorial library.  i parked my bike in the rack, grabbed my books and my little wallet from mexico with the tooled leather image of a senorita on one side and a giant flower on the other.  inside the wallet were a few quarters and my only piece of official identification:  my library card.  my signature on the back was neat and precise, signed with great ceremony two summers before with my dad's fountain pen.

the walkway to the huge glass library doors was made of aggregated pebbles and it felt smooth and warm on my bare feet.  inside, the librarian gave my chart the once-over before applying a tiny star to each newly completed line and accepting my books for return.  we chatted briefly about each one and i felt very important because she really seemed interested in my opinion about the story and characters.  i then retreated to the children's room for an hour of browsing and the careful selection of my next round of books.

once my business at the library was complete, i walked my bike around the corner to the thrify drug store and purchased a single-scoop cone of rainbow sherbet for 5¢.  i sat on the bench outside the store and ate my ice cream as i watched people come and go, slightly intoxicated on my own independence.

back at home, i completed my afternoon chores of watering the garden and lawn.  then i pulled out a book and curled up with my dogs in the window nook in the den to begin reading.

and there i would stay; sometimes until i heard my mom's car pulling up in the drive.  i read over thirty books that summer.  the form only had room for ten so i had to have multiple copies, each carrying the soft scent of mimeograph ink and meticulously completed in no.2 pencil.

i've not traveled so far or so well since.

sunday grace

this sunday morning there is snow and sunshine and coffee and sleeping dogs and a husband who went to a 7am yoga class (endless love and admiration) and this book:  the family of woman.  it's vintage, from the late seventies, photographs and words of and by women (a sister to "the family of man").  i crack it open when i need inspiration, clearing, grace, wisdom.

i had a beautiful week.  i set bare feet in (very cold) sand and let the (very very cold) atlantic wash away the final dust of last year.  i shared amazing chana masala and many stories with my dear friend/poet/artist donna wynn and we both noticed the way we can go a year and a half without seeing each other and then just pick up right where we left off.  i love that.

feeling living the love.

oh serendipity

don't you just love it when little bits of previously random love end up having everything to do with each other?

you know how i went on about harvest table a few posts back?  last month, while driving country backroads, taking a break from the interstate on work travel, i was compelled to stop at the deep raspberry and tiffany blue storefronts in little meadowview, virginia.  inside i discovered the most lovely farm-to-table restaurant complete with adjoining country store.

the food is amazing.  the vibe is comforting.

this morning i was listening to an interview with barbara kingsolver discussing her new book flight behavior.  something in the interview sounded vaguely familiar which prompted me to do a little research only to discover that she owns harvest table and that her farm from animal, vegetable, miracle (one of my all-time favorite books) is close by the restaurant.

i love love love this.

on future trips (there are many), i will be carrying my copy of a, v, m, with high hopes of a signature and some conversation.

dear sugar

i am loving your book.

here's why:

• radical empathy.  thank you for defining empathy on every single page and for showing that empathy is not the same as sympathy.  sugar knows it's really about being there, bearing witness, being humbled by the degree to which we can fuck things up, hearing and speaking truths. 
• your writing is unparalleled.  your stories have the remarkable ability to become shared experiences even when the exact details were not experienced in the same manner or context.
• i expected to raise my eyebrow at some of your advice.  i was wrong.  your keen observation of the flawed and miraculous human spirit and bold willingness to speak the truth with love are amazing.  i've worked with seasoned professionals with advanced mental health/social work degrees who get it way wrong.  you get it right real.  dead on real.
• i've just left my career of two decades partly because the truth (and speaking it) had become softly exiled and replaced with well-intentioned-but-not-entirely-honest-positive-thinking-strengths-based-agenda-driven practice that is not truly helping very many people.  i was constantly amazed by the use of this oversimplified approach and the ability of some of my colleagues to euphemistically twist words and make the biggest pile of complex and dangerous crap all good in the course of two or three sentences.  i feel oddly validated by your relentless celebration of the transformative power of reality and truth.  the truth is not punishment.  it is a gift.
• your approach to understanding and acceptance feels very genuine.  thank you for understanding that true emotional support is necessary and important, but that it's not the end of the helping story.  i think it's brave the way you offer up the whole possible story with alternative endings. 
• you remind me of a friend i am lucky to know.  she always tells the truth and calls me on my shit in a safe, accepting and forward-moving way.  i know that not everyone has a friend like this and (sadly) not everyone wants a friend like this.  for those who don't have this in their lives and want it, sugar fills the role in the best possible way words printed on paper can.
• three hundred and fifty three pages dedicated to raw honesty, love and genuine optimism.

with deepest respect,

waving not drowning

some thoughts on wild

i enjoy reading.  but it seems that i am truly moved by a book only every other year or so.  i don't know if this says something about me or the state of literature.  regardless, since i am an avid reader, this causes me some sadness.  i would like to be moved more often, to be consumed and inspired by another's story.  when i am in the grip of a story that is changing my life, i am at once elated by its presence and mourning its inevitable departure. 

a few days ago i read the last few pages of wild, by cheryl strayed.  it's about a young woman who hikes the pacific crest trail by herself.  i had been reading it for weeks.  i can always tell when i have one of those life changing books in my hands because i move slowly through it, paging back and rereading passages.  i don't want the end to come.  i think about the story throughout my day and wonder what certain characters would do with the details of my life.  i begin to incorporate elements from the story into my life.  books have inspired me to learn and do many many things, from making mexican cocoa to choosing a career.

wild inspired me to go to the woods, to return to walking trails.  in my twenties, i discovered that i loved hiking, but as a single mother i never seemed to find the time to really commit to it.  we've lived thirty minutes from the blue ridge mountains and appalachian trail for eleven years now and just recently started to explore the many amazing mountains, forests and waterfalls that we are blessed to know.

but it's not just about the breathtaking scenery and fresh air.  it's about the solitude that happens on the trail, even when you are hiking with others.  it's about you, small and vulnerable in the woods but powerful beyond measure in spirit.  it's about trusting that something (bigger, better, different, unexpected) is just around the bend.

my words do not do her story justice, so i will use hers:

"it was all unknown to me then, as i sat on that white bench on the day i finished my hike.  everything except the fact that i didn't have to know.  that it was enough to trust that what i'd done was true.  to understand its meaning without yet being able to say precisely what it was, like all those lines from the dream of a common language that had run through my nights and days.  to believe that i didn't need to reach with my bare hands anymore.  to know that seeing the fish beneath the surface of the water was enough.  that it was everything.  it was my life--like all lives, mysterious and impeccable and sacred.  so very close, so very present, so very belonging to me.

how wild it was, to let it be."

picnic {№13}

a day off.

the best story i've read in a long time.

sunny and seventy-five degrees.

a girl and her backyard.

perfection.

speaking of bookstores

in north beach, at the corner of columbus and broadway, a flock of books descends on the city like spirits of the words and ideas and blue moods and voices of a generation.

city lights sits nexts to vesuvio, separated by kerouac alley.  there is history here.  and you can feel it.

inside you will not find hordes of students taking up browsing and reading space with free wifi and lattes.  you will find a poetry section beyond imagination that invites exploration of the soul written down. 

it's tiny and cramped and old.  the wood and paper and tile and glass hold subtle energy of years of seekers of knowlege, inspiration, respite from a world moving too fast and too slow.

i could have stayed here for hours.  every single book seemed important and worth a look.  there was nothing here that betrayed the spirit of the written word and its true intention.  {there is actually a 'muckraking' section.}

if you find yourself in san francisco and you love books and history and ideas and a part of you holds on to a youthful memory of struggle and a desire to make a difference, you must come here.

{also, the beat museum is right around the corner.}

bibliophile

I am a lover of books. my love for other people's stories astounds me. most days, my favorite part is is at the end of the day when I am fini with the real life characters and can get lost in lives where I don't have to make decisions, fix things, coddle, confront, know. I can float through the murky waters of someone else's story without the need to navigate. all that's asked of me is that my imagination be alive. wow. let me write that sentence again: all that's asked of me is that my imagination be alive. now that's some good love.

currently in bed with:

I just finished the school of essential ingredients. it's nicely written, and I love the food/emotion connection. I definitely recommend. what stories are you getting lost in?

a creative life

to experience life like an artist is one of my bold dreams. how about you? the lovely jacqueline is hosting a reading group for julia cameron's the artist's way. the journey begins on sunday. please join us.

desire

oh how I love menu item #3 on the joy diet: desire. I have zero challenge with thinking about things I desire. restraint and selflessness are really not a part of my make-up, so I spend a lot of time thinking about what I want, be it material, spiritual, emotional or who I want to be. I could happily pine away for hours stacking up want after need after lust after goal after wish. an expert dreamer, that's me.

where I struggle is organizing desires; parsing them out to determine which are pure fantasy, which are silly and which are within my reach. I will not indulge the superlong list here. this chapter of the next chapter book club was very timely in that it coincided with week one of mondo beyondo for me.

I do have one desire to share here now: I desire for this space to be a place of color, connection and camaraderie.

I'm glad you're here. I ♥ you guys!

moments of truth

reluctant as I was to purchase and read the joy diet for the next chapter book club, I am happily finding that the unfortunate title {I have a little ptsd from the "happy for no reason" debacle of earlier this year} is just a cheeky grab-in to a beautifully written book filled with smart and relevant cognitive-behavioral techniques to guide one on the journey to a life well lived. whew! that was one long sentence.

we are on chapter two, which deals with the concept of truth. I fancy myself a girl who is honest, mostly based in reality and certainly seeking the life authentic. sometimes this causes me psychic confusion as I feel I operate in a sugarcoated culture of delusion and subterfuge with other individuals who are not interested in and actively suppress what is. the chapter provided much guidance for me to focus on just living my own truth regardless of the environment that truth finds itself in.

the concepts of "clean pain" and "dirty pain" resonated with me. simply put, our clean pain {or clean truth} is the observable, objective experience; our dirty pain is the emotional and mental story we tell ourselves about that experience. the author suggests brilliant techniques to separate these two and practice being with the clean and minimizing the dirty. I won't get too much into it because these things tend to be very personal and individual issues. I highly recommend that you read the book.

I'm allowing myself practice with little clean truths before I tackle the mack daddy truths lurking in my subconscious. some of my moments of clean truth this week:

• my hands are bruised from clapping so hard last night at the u2 show.
• my throat is raw from singing sunday bloody sunday at the top of my lungs with 50,000 other voices under the direction of bono.
• my heart is full of memories, music, love for this band.
• I am a girl in transition.
• my house desires organization.
• I have a lot of questions and curiosity about life and plan to keep on exploring.
• tiny golden leaves are falling outside my window.
• I really like grilled cheese sandwiches.

simple truths. it's up to me to examine and manage the emotional chatter (positive and negative) that accompany each.

in or out

it's that time of year when I can't decide if I want to play outside with the dogs in the last days of sunshine and green or cozy up inside with a cup of chai, cashmere socks and a good book* (or do some art). which do you choose?

*thanks to a friend from camp, have now moved into my second go 'round with young adult literature. let's hope this one ends better than twilight.

mosaic monday

books are the best salve for a girl worn raw by the world. I am so grateful for those who take the story from their head and conjure up a pool of words so that I can dive into its deep end and forget, release, escape, heal.

{flickr love here.}

brains + beauty

these penguin classics illustrated by ruben toledo make me all swoony.

happy wednesday

writing makes me happy. learning to write better makes me happy. not having enough time to write does not make me happy. this is what I'm faced with this morning. so I'll be back later to fill the space...

...I'm back with a free moment that I'd like to spend here with you all for happy week. I've been playing around with the concept of story in recent months. I love to read and listen to a good story; I've always wanted to tell a good story. throughout my life, I've had multiple characters and plots take up residence in my head and make themselves comfortable. I want to move them out to the world. but in a way that they maintain the magic that is theirs. I always hold back, partly because I feel a weird connection to them and have a strange desire to keep their confidences and partly because when I've started a storytelling endeavor in the past, it comes out different than I want. the story is there, it's the craft I need to work on.

earlier this summer, I received the best compliment ever. I was talking with a friend/colleague who is brilliant (not only in her heart and humor but in her smarts...the girl's getting a judgeship any day now!). I was blabbing along and she was staring at me with a weird look. I stopped talking and she said softly, "you speak like a novel." I was floored. I almost cried. no one has ever said anything like that to me before.

I am not one to take something that I felt so profoundly and dismiss it. so I want to see what's there; to see if I can nurture this thing, this energy, into something people might like to hear or read. I'm taking two storytelling workshops at squam and have been reading a few books here and there to create a bit of scaffolding in which to dabble.

I'm open to producing, but still feel protective about my stories, so I'm going to take this nice and slow. the process of learning and fine-tuning and spending more quality time with the beautiful, tragic and amazing lives in my head and heart is making me truly happy.

p.s. the art in the background is by the lovely sabrina ward harrison. it reads "more joy and metaphor" and "trust".

signs, messages, telegraphs from the universe

remember when I told you that in the midst of my weird funk, I started to see very clear unmistakable signs about direction? saturday's yes, yes, YES signs were one, here is another.

I impulsively purchased this book because it has a graphic multicolor spine and I thought it would look good on the bookcase (I know, I know, but that's just me...). seduced by its rainbow stripey goodness, I didn't even open it or read the back in the bookstore; just bought it.

some days ago, during what I affectionately call the "awakening", when I was desperate to purge all traces of twilight #4 from my psyche, I grabbed it and flipped open the cover.

oh god how I love a mandate.