portland, oregon on a saturday night...

I am still happy as a clam after a wonderful weekend in Portland. Visiting my brother, Powells, meeting Laini, Jim, and Alexandra, seeing Kelly again and meeting her husband, going to the Saturday market (on Sunday), eating some good sushi, driving home in time for The West Wing...a perfect weekend.

Jon and I stopped by Alexandra's house on the way to have dinner with Laini, Jim, Kelly, and John. Her house is simply adorable and she is as amazing in person as you sense she is reading her blog. We could have sat in her living room and talked and talked for hours. And we almost did! but luckily Laini called when it was time for us to head over for dinner. Laini and Jim are the cutest (sorry guys, there is no other word), and Jon and I quickly felt like we had been friends with them for a long time. It was so fun to meet Kelly's husband John in person since I had heard so much about him during our long talks at ArtFest. John has a delightful sense of humor; all three guys had us cracking up quite a bit. There is nothing like wine, good food, great conversation, and laughter. Visit Kelly's blog for some pictures from the night. Alexandra joined us for dessert and the laughter continued. I cannot wait to invite myself for another visit soon (and I do mean soon!).

On Sunday, my brother took us to the Saturday Market (I really think they call it that on Sunday too), and I tried on some hats and channeled Denise and found one (pictures to come after I charge the battery for the digital camera). We bought some bath bombs at Lush and ate some fantastic sushi. Then we headed home and I worked on my laptop in the car and then brainstormed what I wanted to write for Sunday Scribblings (that post is to come yet today).

Oh and I wanted to share the books of poetry I bought at Powells:

Harvest Poems: 1910-1960, by Carl Sandburg
My Name is William Tell, poems by William Stafford
Poems and Sketches of E.B. White
Carslaw's Sequences, poems by Lisa M. Steinman (we heard her read at the poetry reading and several times Jon and I both laughted out loud)
Broken Knuckles Against Knives Cutting The Food To Feed Me Through This, poems by Brittany Baldwin (we heard her read as well, and twice I started to cry as she read her words with courage and conviction)

And one more note about Powells (it was that great people. I can't stop talking about it for a reason). They have the new and used books TOGETHER. This is also the case with their online store...so start exploring my friends. A wonderful way to afford to buy more books!

a poem for a sunday

Portland. This is some kind of town. Powell's. What more could a girl want. Truly, I am ready to move in. All I need is a pillow and I would be good to go (they have yoga mats, food, coffee, and more books than I could read in six lifetimes...but I sure would like to try). They had a poetry reading while we were there Saturday afternoon...I walked out with five new books of poetry...more on all of this soon, but I wanted to share a poem from a poet my brother introduced me to this weekend.

The Vintage Man

The
Difference
Between a good artist
And a great one

Is:

The novice
Will often lay down his tool
Or brush

Then pick up an invisible club
On the mind’s table

And helplessly smash the easels and
Jade.

Whereas the vintage man
No longer hurts himself or anyone

And keeps on
Sculpting

Light.

Hafiz

(from The Gift: Poems by Hafiz the Great Sufi Master translations by Daniel Ladinsky)

I am grateful for:

the emails and comments I received this week after I wrote about my grief and the anniversary of my grandmother's death. My friend and I talked about this idea that you sometimes wish you could wear a sign that says, "I am grieving today." This way people could be gentle with you. My blog became my way to do that on Wednesday. Thank you for understanding and holding me in your strength and friendship. I am blessed to have each and every one of you in my life.

that my brother was born 25 years ago yesterday. We are in Portland visiting him this weekend. It was great to have a quick glimpse into his "rock start" life when we were able to stop in and see him in action recording a band at Jackpot Recording Studio. And great to catch up over dinner and meet a couple of his friends. You can check out some of his projects here (though you won't exactly find him on here because even though this is his site, he is that behind the scenes guy a lot of the time) and here (this is one of the bands he is a part of; he has recorded, mixed, and done all that other stuff I don't understand to all the music you will hear here) and here (he is the new drummer for this local Portland band). This morning he is already back to work, so Jon and I have the day to explore Portland which leads me to...

that we will be spending the afternoon at Powell's Books TODAY!!! I have been hearing about Powell's for years now. And. today. is. the. day. when. I. finally. will. visit. this. incredible. book. store. Stay tuned for more...

the connections I am making in blog world that are becoming friendships in the real world. The emails, and phone conversations, and "meetings" in person are just making my heart so happy. A few:

• Being part of the justBe creative team! I am having so much fun talking with Melanie (aka Melba) on the phone and emailing with the rest of the creative team.
• Last Sunday I connected with Letha. Words cannot describe what it is like to have that moment when you connect with someone in a heart-full, soul-full way but you know when you do. Her artwork is gorgeous, and it was a joy to listen to her explain her pieces for the show she has in August. And the stories behind the vintage fabric she is using for the clothes in her new boutique...very cool. We are going to get together for our own little mini-artfest days and I can't wait!
• Today I hope to connect with Alexandra at Powell's. And tonight Jon and I are having dinner with Laini and Jim and Kelly and her husband John. I am so excited to connect with everyone that I popped out of bed this morning when I remembered we were in Portland (please note: after a very late night...well, late for me) and couldn't go back to sleep.

that so many people are sharing poetry on Thursdays!

that I gave my dad the link to my blog a few weeks ago. Hi Dad. Thanks for reading...

poetry thursday

I am moved to share one of my own poems today. In eighth grade, we had to create a book of poetry as a project for English. As I looked for old pictures and postcards to take with me for a class at ArtFest, I stumbled across this book of my own poetry. Here is one that resonated in this early morning hour.

The Awakening

Across the sky

The colors vividly awaken

All that is around

The trees seem to stretch

As the sunlight fills the air

The birds begin to flutter

And sing sweetly as the sun rises

It is another day

A new beginning

No matter what happens today,

Tomorrow

The sunrise will always be there

Waking up all of nature.

Elizabeth Morgan (age 13)

A thanks to Kat for suggesting people create their own poem this week and participate in Poetry Thursday. Please leave a comment with a link to your blog if you did write a poem as part of Contagious Creativity!

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I also want to share a link to a wonderful site I discovered tonight. Some of you have either shared and enjoyed poems by William Stafford. This is a site dedicated to raising awareness of the power of poetry in Stafford's memory/honor. I have only just begun to explore this website, but it already speaks to my heart. It is very inspiring...

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And as always, if you would like to participate in Poetry Thursday, please share a poem on your blog. You can leave a comment here to let everyone know that you have posted one today. Also, if you want to be added to the list of participants, please send me an email (and if you sent me an email but you are not on the participant list, please send me a friendly reminder).

Happy reading!

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Poetry Thursday was a weekly poetry project that I created and then co-ran with another blogger back in 2006-2007. The site is no longer online.

april 12

A year ago today, I lost one of my dearest friends. My grandmother. As the flowers bloom everywhere, as Spring reminds me that the circle of life continues, as I give myself the space to grieve and laugh and cry, as I wish with every fiber of my being that I could hold her hand, as I say with conviction that the pain is not any less, as I cannot believe that I have not talked to her in over a year, as I wish I could rewind and hear her laugh loudly, as I remember that through the grief her death invites me to experience I might be finding myself, I put the words I read at her funeral out into the world once again.

I had some time in the Atlanta Airport to write down a few things that mean Grandma to me. Grandma is:

the smell of Pond's Cold Cream, hummingbirds, walks around her yard as she points out what is growing and blooming, knee-high nylons rolled down around her ankles and cropped pants before they were back in style, cranberry juice, cherrios stuffed with peanut butter to make little tiny sandwiches, stubbornness, jumping on the bed, walks on the beach in the early morning so you could find the best shells, a book lover, always there when I need to laugh, cry and cry some more, chasing each other around the kitchen to put ice cubes down each other's shirts, beautiful, Spring, lily of the valley, forsythia, little notes in the mail, sugar cookies and date pinwheels, sloppy joes, trips to one price clothing, how she always remembers the littlest things you like-for me-warm socks, riding Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, when I call - Grandpa saying "I bet you want to talk to your Grandma" and then her voice saying "hello," sitting outside in the sun drinking pink lemonade, my oldest friend, crotchety at times but also honest, dependable, and silly and that sense of humor and indescribable strength, a safe haven, my mom saying "your Grandma is a bit of a stinker," so very smart, how proud she is of her children and grandchildren, gardening, the moments when her patience could be infinite - her children may not have seen this but her grandchildren did every now and then, cooking tips, relationship advice, how important the birthdays of others were to her, her amazing memory, her smile. A wife, mother, grandmother and friend. We all have our own memories and these are just a few I could let myself reflect on. I think something we all know is that with Grandma, what you see is what you get. She was always Real and didn't shy away from her convictions.

A Storyperson by Brian Andreas
Landscape of the Heart
It is still so new and all we see is the empty
space, but that is not how it is in the landscape of the heart.
There, there is no empty space and she still laughs
and grapples with ideas and plans
and nods wisely with each of us in turn.
We are proud to have known her.
We are proud to have called her friend.

Thank you Grandma.
Thank you for teaching me and for always, always being you.
Now Grandma, listen closely. Your husband wants you to know how much you are loved. By him, by your children, by your grandchildren, and your friends.

Peace to you my friend.

Day 4 continued

Saturday morning of my ArtFest adventure brough a workshop with Anahata Katkin. I was happy to have a few people from my previous workshops in my class and I finally got to really connect with Elizabeth.

In the morning, we went down to the beach to create nature altars (as I described in my previous post). Here is a picture of mine.

After we finished we walked to each person's altar. Each of us shared what we wanted to about creating the altar, what it represented, and so on. It was beautiful. There is so much more I could share about this morning...but for right now, the sacredness of the experience needs to stay there on the beach as I continue to soak it all in and realize all that I have learned.

After lunch, we met up again to create a mixed-media piece inspired by our altar. Anahata had us each take a polaroid picture of our altar on the beach so we would have something to work from.

This was a very inspiring class, but I was out of my comfort zone for the entire time. Until, really, the last few minutes of class. I am getting used to this idea of building layers in a piece. I am so mystified that I am actually creating something and I fall in love with the "background." I forget that I am creating texture for the piece and not the actual finished piece. (This problem has followed me home. I love the techniques I learned at ArtFest, but I am still not able to move forward from the background sometimes.) We used inks, water-soluble oil pastels, gesso as a paint layer, charcoal, and other things that I had never used in this way. I felt frozen for a good part of the class. That feeling of wanting to jump out of my own skin. I described my internal self talk in last week's SPT post. By the end of class though, I found my words. I wrote about what was going on in my mind. And then I realized I could use the lines that the dripped black ink had created on my page as lines for more words. Suddenly I was moving quickly, letting go, finding my way. Of course, time was up then...

I am still not done with this, but here is how it looks right now.

The words across the page:
The beauty of the fear is that anything you do will be the right thing. To do nothing is to stay in the frozen moment. To do something, to move, is to live.

Saturday night brought show and tell and the end of ArtFest. I was able to spend more time with Kelly, talk with a few other new friends, and have one more conversation with Kristi Steiner.

I take a breath. My heart has grown. How blessed I am to have had this experience. I am forever changed.

senses. artfest day 4, morning.

{feel}
i reach down into the sand and feel the smooth rocks of all different shapes and sizes. i turn a round one over and over in my hand. the air is cold against my face. rain drops onto my head, cheeks, nose, shoulders. i reach down again and pick up a rock with a sea plant attached to it...long dead. the rock and plant together look like a human heart. a human heart. i feel the sand as it sticks to my fingers. i rub them together trying to remove some of it. then i feel the cold water as i put my fingertips in to wet them and wash them off. the rain again falling on my head, my nose. as i find the spot to build my altar, i decide to put my fleece gloves on. instantly, my hands are warmed.

{smell}
i take a breath and inhale the dampness and the cold of the fresh, wide, open air of the sea. at some point, i am so cold that my nose starts to run. i smell very little during this adventure.

{taste}
as i work on my altar, i pause to take a drink of water. the clean taste of the water cleanses my palette and my mind. just for a moment.

{hear}
the water laps quietly as the small waves roll in and out. seagulls cry around me. high in the sky. along the edge of the water behind me. i am far enough away from everyone else that i do not hear any human voices. as i move rocks, i hear my own breath as some of them are heavy. one makes a loud curplunk down onto the sand as i move it yet again and drop it. i walk back down to the water and hear myself gasp as i find another rock that looks like a heart. this time in the shape of a typical heart. later i hear a voice. though no one is around. the voice answers a question i have just thought aloud in my head.

{see}
the beauty of the beach at fort worden. low tide. so much to see. rocks, plants, kelp, shells, empty bodies that once had crabs within them, sea gulls, people, water, islands, seagrass, the twisty shapes of medrona tress, a pair of ducks, so many colors within all of this sea life. oranges, pinks, greens, greys, whites, blacks, purples, greens, reds. as i walk, i pick up the pieces that draw me in. the rocks, shells, plants. i find a spot that is to be my spot for the next hour or so. the place where i will create a nature altar. i first draw in the wet sand, but i can't find what appeals to me. i look to the right and see another large rock that almost have a cave underneath it. i move to it and look around. as i find a few larger rocks to add to my little pile, i decide to stack them. i also create little pile of multi-colored rocks.

then an idea comes to me and i create a circle of black rocks that all look alike around this stack of rocks. on top of the stack goes my human heart rock. this is me. in the sea of things that are alike, i feel lost and alone and stripped down to my heart. i move the heavy large rock that has a little indentation in it where water has pooled...i move it to the left of this little mountain i have created. and i put some little plants in this small pool on the top of this rock. and i create a circle around this big rock. a circle of all the little things that i have picked up as i walked to this spot. the small rocks of all different colors, little plants, funny fuzzy stuff that looks like hair but is really a sea plant, shells of all different sizes. the heart sees this land of funny creatures and wants to be a part of it. so i must figure out a way to get it there. i try to build a bridge but it does not seem to work or to be the right addition to this altar. how will this heart rock climb off of this mountain? i think to myself, "i don't know how to get there. how will i get across this valley between the two?"

{and know}
when you suddenly hear a voice say, "you have wings," take a breath and hold on. you are about to visit places you only let yourself dream about...

bloom

I am off to Seattle for my yoga teacher training weekend (I do come home at the end of the day each day). I can't believe we are done in June. People begin to share their projects today, so it will be a day of learning all new aspects of yoga and the meditative life. (I don't share my project until next month. Phew.)

And yes, more on ArtFest soon. Thank you all for your kind comments and for reading that entire long post!

This is a picture of the tulips Jonny brought with him when he came to stay with me at the B&B in Port Townsend last weekend. They are from our yard.
The tulips really know how to BLOOM this year. Incredible.
We have jars of them all around our house now and they are all blooming like this. And every jar has one little wayward tulip (seriously, it is so much fun) trying to get a new view out the window or of the room it is in.

Take a breath. Open up. And bloom.
This is the phrase that keeps running across my mind.

What would happen if we let ourselves bloom like these gorgeous tulips?
What are you afraid of? What is stopping you?