Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts

Thursday, August 25, 2016

Succulent Centerpiece at the Farmette

This year I have started teaching more succulent and creative writing workshops. I'm calling them Ink and Stem for now. I led an in-house retreat for Kathy Davis Studios in January, a private event for barre3 Cherry Creek in June, and a Succulent Centerpiece workshop at the Lyons Farmette in August. (We were going to call it Succulent Pot but considering we live in Colorado we had to re-think that one. Haha.)

It is so rewarding to bring people together and open up an opportunity to explore our deeper selves. The plants are a way to connect with nature and beauty, and the poetry, group reflection and individual writing offer people a chance to pause and reflect on what actually matters to them. I love to start each workshop with a quote from Jane Austen, who said, "We all have our best guides within us, if only we would listen." We are all so busy and our world is so loud that it's hard to hear our inner voice. Again and again, I keep finding that people who would not call themselves "creative" are actually brimming with ideas they want to share and explore, but everyday life doesn't give them a chance.

During our introductions, one woman told us that as a child she was taught never to write anything down because if you wrote anything negative someone could find it and hold it against you. She said she's in her late sixties now and has never kept a journal or written anything down, but she signed up for the class because her daughter invited her. She told us she might have a lot inside her, especially at this stage in her life. At the end of class, she came up to me with tears in her eyes and said that during the contemplative scavenger hunt writing exercise, she thought she had nothing to say. But at the end of the exercise, she discovered she'd written page after page, and she couldn't believe that all of those words had spilled out of her. She said she's going to keep writing, and I really hope she does.

It's small moments like this that make the hours and hours of work that go into these workshops feel worth it to me. I'm honored to be part of providing a safe space where people can open up their own inner world and glimpse the creativity and wisdom waiting inside.

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

A little darkness

I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you're in it all the same.

so why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro.
Bless the eyes and the listening ears.
Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.
Bless touching.

You could live a hundred years, it's happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.


Mary Oliver | "The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac"

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

no crystal stair

This morning, in order to stem the tearful flood of "Why can't I stay home?" and "I hate school," I decided to give a little history lesson about some very brave brown-skinned boys and girls in a place called Little Rock. My kids' reaction: "I don't understand, Mommy. Why couldn't those kids go to school? I don't get it." This, from the boys whose way to tell their Auntie Dee (black goddess) from their Auntie E (pale redhead) was that Erin has curly hair.

I didn't even get going on the kids I met at Mi Refugio in Guatemala, who live in the city dump and whose wildest dream is to wear a uniform and learn to read and write. Or the kids working the fields near San Rafael, whose "homes" make our chicken coop look like a palace. I decided not to bring up the kids I taught in Quito, who faced prejudice every day for being "indios." I left out Daniel's stories of working at a mission hospital in middle-of-nowhere Angola and how patients had to scrape together their own medical supplies so they could have surgery.

Now I'm home, behind on work and surrounded by the detritus of days of no school, pondering that conversation. How do I protect my children's color-blind innocence while also teaching them how to fight for what is right?

I don't want to shovel out guilt-trips or worse, harden their hearts to the fabled "starving children in Africa." When I went on my first mission trip to Ecuador at age 15, I witnessed poverty I'd never imagined. I was shocked. I was right to be shocked. But after many experiences working and volunteering in poor communities, I quickly realized that the tearful histrionics of poverty-tourists don't help the person suffering. Rolling up your sleeves, actually talking to the person, supporting local, grass-roots efforts that are led by people who live there and understand the socio-cultural nuances: these are ways to really help.

Nice musings, but on a practical level, how do I raise my boys to be both strong and sensitive? On the one hand, I want them to recognize the blessings and privileges they take for granted. 
On the other hand, I'm not a fan of shoving adult issues in children's faces. I don't think children should be listening to NPR updates on ISIS or watching news flashes on hurricanes and Ferguson. I'm all for teaching children to do something practical for the poor, needy, and oppressed. As a Christian, I believe Jesus calls us to mercy and to action. However, I think we destroy our children's innocence when we expose them to world problems so young. If I feel crushed by the injustice and violence of our world, how will my children--with developing brains and hearts on their sleeve--navigate that avalanche of information?

Part of what bugs me is that some of their complaints about school are 100% valid: exhausting standardized tests, recesses cut short for more desk-work, a highly academic environment with not enough hands-on learning, not to mention the extra challenge of doing everything in a second language. At the same time, I don't want to raise kids who will end up like some of my college students, two of whom wrote me today to complain about my "unfair grading" and "vague" paper assignment. Interesting, that strange notion that I might expect a student to actually read and respond to my assignment prompt. And I must say, it's a mystery to me how a 500-word description of essay assignments, a 300-word essay prompt, individual feedback for your proposed thesis, and a 500-word, detailed sample rubric (all for a 500-word paper) can qualify as "vague." From what I can tell, today's college students spend about 20% of their time throwing up crap on a page while simultaneously checking facebook and texting friends, and about 80% of their time whining about life being unfair. These days, the only reason I keep teaching is because of the noble few who do the work honestly and surprise themselves by learning to love literature. Perhaps I should send this to my students. My point? As a mother, these are not the kind of young men I want to send into the world.


As an educator, I do want my children (and my students) to love school. I want them to be challenged and I want them to have fun. I feel sick to my stomach when they say they hate school. I worry that boys are falling through the cracks of our educational system. I re-visit our torturous elementary-school decision, going back to the drawing board where I find some high-paying job (good luck with an English degree) and we take out personal loans to fund an uber-progressive, expensive school. Or I decide I should cancel my modest career aspirations, put myself on Zanax, and start homeschooling. Or we move to a farm, start weaving our own clothes and eating homegrown sprouts and we un-school. I want them to love learning! 

As I swirl away into panic zone--all before 8am, mind you--I hear Daniel's voice telling me something I find truly shocking: Not every child is a school-loving bookworm like me. On the whole he didn't love school either; the best part of his day was going home. And yet my husband is clearly a smart and well-educated man. Public school taught him how to get along with people from lots of different backgrounds, how to be true to his beliefs, how to discipline himself, and of course, some facts that proved useful along the way. But for him, the best learning happened in conversations around the dinner table, summers in Muskoka and on mission trips, and playing outside in nature.

And before I overhaul our entire life, let's be honest: the main reason my boys are whining about school is that they haven't GONE to school more than three days in a row in weeks. Who wouldn't want to cozy up at home, play with Lego, and eat cereal all day while Mom cleans up after you?

I want my boys to have inner resilience and courage. I want them to be men of integrity, like their Dad, like their grandfathers and their uncles. I want them to have a spiritual foundation and relationship with God that gives them strength when life is hard, that teaches them how to "do justly and love mercy and walk humbly with their God." Some days this task seems far too hard for little old me.

I just taught this poem in my online literature course. Maybe it's time to read it to my boys (and to myself).

"Mother to Son" | Langston Hughes

Well, son, I’ll tell you:
Life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.
It’s had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I’se been a-climbin’ on,
And reachin’ landin’s,
And turnin’ corners,
And sometimes goin’ in the dark
Where there ain’t been no light.
So boy, don’t you turn back.
Don’t you set down on the steps
’Cause you finds it’s kinder hard.
Don’t you fall now—
For I’se still goin’, honey,
I’se still climbin’,
And life for me ain’t been no crystal stair.


Friday, June 27, 2014

Darling

lifeofjules32

I recently discovered a new magazine (and blog) called Darling. I'm absolutely loving what I've read so far. How lovely to come across a magazine for women that goes beyond the typical How To Lose 10 Pounds in Two Days, celebrity gossip, or pseudo-smart self-help. It's also refreshing to catch a break from uber-intellectual writing that can be downright boring. (I'm peer reviewing an essay for a prominent Victorian journal right now. I keep wondering when the writer will give me a reason to care about her topic. Maybe I've been out of academia too long, but the perennially touted raison d'ĂȘtre--that some obscure literary detail is "interesting"--fails to ignite my passion.) 

As someone who likes clothes, design, and fashion, I find it hard to read magazines or blogs that consistently leave me feeling not enough. Not attractive, thin, clever, stylish, individual enough. In a home that's not quirky, organized, welcoming, clean, green enough. There's always this subtext of lack underneath, surely correlated to the fact magazines are typically selling me something. How refreshing to find print and digital media that celebrate beauty and style in ways that feel more poetic, more unique, more flexible.

Thursday, June 26, 2014

for Katydid

A song to put a smile on your face today.



These sisters remind me of my own sister and me. Kakers has been my best friend from the moment Mom brought her home from the hospital and put her in my arms. I'm pretty sure I believed Katie was my baby.












Walking along, lost in some joint imaginary reverie.
"Tink..." and "Cheers to Good Day!"
I am happy whenever I'm with my sister, holding hands and dreaming up a beautiful world.


She has always reminded me of the old Italian paintings of the Madonna. Even as a child, she had a quiet grace about her, a completeness, a serenity. Now she is a beautiful woman, and I still love her dearly.

All the words of this song are for you, Katie!


Thursday, March 6, 2014

a poem

The Red Poppy

The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.


 { Louise Gluck } 

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

announcing...

...a new teacher at the Makerie: yours truly. I'm so thrilled!

Follow this link to read about the retreat and my class, "Living Frames."

It's a creative writing class with a gardening twist. Here's a preview of what we'll be making:




I will also be teaching an Intro to Lit class online at the University of Baltimore this fall. Exciting! In honor of these new ventures, I have a website, too.



Wednesday, December 4, 2013

can't get enough of this sound!

A little something to get you in the Christmas spirit. (They have a Christmas MP3 album for sale.)


Wednesday, November 27, 2013

windows


One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.


--Dale Carnegie 

Thursday, November 7, 2013

one of the most amazing things i've seen in a while

I can't figure out how to embed the video here, so you'll have to pop over to Huffington Post to watch this incredible video! The power of dance, and of the human spirit! 

the art of weekend rest

Click on this link to read a short, inspiring essay from Kinfolk on ways to actually relax this weekend!

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

more from the Makerie

Another picture from our magical day at The Makerie back in early August. You can tell something's really special when it stays inside you for a long time and makes you smile to yourself in the middle of doing dishes or walking the dog. I keep thinking about it.


I've decided who Jonalee reminds me of: Elizabeth Bennet, the heroine of Pride and Prejudice! She's got this feisty zest to her that takes people off guard and makes them laugh. She is perceptive and personable. As long as I've known her, she's had a deep faith in God that grounds her life and guides her decisions. But she doesn't take herself (or anyone else) too seriously. Daniel and I are still laughing over her impersonations; the one of a bear attacking a camper is particularly memorable. This girl is insanely organized and energetic. She's a fantastic mom who works hard to love her family well and to surround them with beauty, laughter, and order. Jonalee has an incredible eye for detail and is one of the most creative people I know. She wrote about her experience at the Makerie here and I love her gorgeous photography. 

Now, if only there were a way to go again next year....


Friday, August 23, 2013

in love...

...with this blog I just discovered. It's called Sehnsucht. I love how he does a variation on a theme with words, photography, and video. Inspired.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

artists at work


These boys LOVE to make art--draw, paint, work with clay, anything. But especially drawing. Grandma has given them a couple of awesome books that teach kids how to draw. They really love these little vintage drawing books by Ed Emberley. We have Birds and The Farm, and they adore them both. 

Few things in this world make me happier than watching my boys fall under the thrall of creating. I can just see them melting into an imaginary world. Madeleine L'Engle calls it kairos time, time out of time, just pure being. I love this excerpt from Walking on Water:


Kairos. Real time. God’s time.

That time which breaks through chronos with a shock of joy, that time we do not recognize while we are experiencing it, but only afterwards, because kairos has nothing to do with chronological time. In kairos we are completely unselfconscious, and yet paradoxically far more real than we can ever be when we’re constantly checking our watches for chronological time.
The saint in contemplation, lost to self in the mind of God is in kairos. The artist at work is in kairos. The child at play, totally thrown outside herself in the game, be it building a sand castle or making a daisy chain, is in kairos. In kairos we become what we are called to be as human beings, co-creators with God, touching on the wonder of creation.
This calling should not be limited to artists, or saints, but it is a fearful calling. It is both Mana and taboo. It can destroy as well as bring into being.
In Our Town, after Emily has died in childbirth, Thornton Wilder has her ask the Stage Manager if she can return home to relive just one day. Reluctantly he allows her to do so. And she is torn by the beauty of the ordinary, and by our lack of awareness of it. She cries out to her mother, “Mama, just look at me one minute as though you really saw me… it goes so fast we don’t have time to look at one another.”
And she goes back to the graveyard and the quiet company of the others lying there, and she asks the Stage Manager “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?” And he sighs and says, “No. The saints and poets, maybe. They do some.”

Sunday, August 4, 2013

the Makerie

Double delight: a day of creative retreat at the Makerie, and doing it with one of my oldest friends, Jonalee! A day to be inspired, looked after, rejuvenated. 

My first clue to how the day would go was meeting the founder of the Makerie, Ali. We got stuck in traffic (miles of Ironman cyclists--thank you, classic Boulder) and arrived a few minutes late. Ali, a tiny woman with a huge heart, greeted us with hugs, as if we were long-lost friends. I needed to run back to the car to get something I'd forgotten. I was scurrying off when Ali gently told me, "Don't run. Walk slowly and enjoy the morning. There's no rush."

Our day of creative retreat was part of the Summer Series of modern crafting & homesteading workshops. Our retreat's focus was "In the Home."



For our morning session, Jonalee and I did a photography class with Alessandra Cave. We focused on how to capture everyday beauty in our homes. We worked on curating a scene, manipulating camera settings, and capturing natural light.  



The professional photographer at work. Check out Jonalee's photography website. She also has a wedding floral design business, Simply Flowers.

Isn't she loverly?


Just when our tummies started grumbling, it was time for a picnic lunch catered by Eat
 


The food was delicious, and the exquisite packaging made me grin like a kid opening Christmas presents. While we ate, we listened to inspirational talks from small-business owners Alicia of Whimseybox and Indea of Lillabee, creative women who have found ways to make a living doing what they love.



After lunch, we headed off to Bird Dog Press to learn some letterpressing skills with Allison. She was a little jumping bean of creative energy and feisty humor. It was a treat watching her manhandle her big, clunky vintage letterpresses and teach us how to make some simple coasters and notecards.



 Samples of our handiwork. So fun! 

Back on the farm, we were greeted with tasty watermelon cocktails, gorgeous appetizers, and lively conversation. Next it was off for a tour of the Farmette with the vivacious, white-haired, Kentucky-drawling Betsy. While we meandered among tidy rows of fennel and Swiss chard and admired the happy hens and goats, a little fairy wonderland was being prepared for our farm dinner. Crust prepared incredible wood-fired pizzas with flavors like prosciutto, mascarpone, fig and honey. Mmm.


Ali, the founder of the Makerie, is the woman standing up, in the white and yellow dress. Her parents and husband were there, too. They seem like such a kind and supportive family.

 I loved the welcoming words on our table settings:

Draw your chairs in close. 

Sitting down for dinner is an intimate experience--it's about sharing, building community, nurturing & building everlasting relationships.



Dessert (by Lillabee) was so yummy: a coconut pecan ice cream sandwich with coconut caramel and Palisade peaches.

What an experience! I left feeling so blessed by the creative passion, generosity, and joy poured into every detail of the day by all the people who made it happen. What a luxury to spend a day with like-minded people, from different walks of life but all eager for more creativity, joy and purpose in their daily lives. 

The snippets of conversation, the tears in the eyes of a woman who talked about releasing the "suppressed artist," the zest for life oozing out of the farm's owners Mike and Betsy, the older woman beside me at dinner who asked me point-blank, "So what exactly do you have to lose by dedicating yourself to finishing your novel this year?," the sense of community and connection to earth and land and place, the possibility of teaching in a venue outside academia, the idea of life being too short to plod along without realizing a dream: it's all resonating inside me. We'll see where this new energy takes me. In the meantime, I'm grateful.