gratitude this evening.

today i am grateful:

that i have almost gotten my home office/studio organized. almost.

for my husband who takes care of me and millie.

for an early birthday present that will be coming next week from jon's parents (a sewing machine!!! now...which one of you crafty ladies is coming to visit to give me lessons?)

for all of the new poems i read yesterday. i love poetry thursday. and yesterday i discovered some that just made me sigh out loud (and feel my wings).

for the way blogging has brought some incredible people into my life.

that many of the shows i watch have had season finales so i will maybe start reading more and watching less television (three hours of grey's anatomy this week...it was good...but that is a lot of tv).

that virginia woolf and sylvia plath walked into my life this week and don't seem to want to walk out. stubborn women.

for the flowers i bought at the tacoma farmer's market yesterday. they smell so good! though i think they are making my nose run a bit.

for a package of doo-dads from sacred kitsch studio. so. much. fun.

for some ideas that are percolating in my head after reading this book by Lynne Perrella. (stay tuned.)

that i discovered a wonderful store yesterday that sells crafts and other "stuff" made by senior citizens. this is how these seniors make money...they also sell other random things like a big bag of buttons for 50 cents and a bag of rick rack for 25 cents (the great old school, soft, cloth rick rack).

that this weekend will bring time with friends. i. have. friends. here. finally.

for moments of contentment and wonder and silliness and strength and laughter and calm and awareness and balance.

and i am also very proud of my husband who got a summer job teaching physics at a community college (during the school year he teaches high school physics). he has also started a blog, but he isn't ready for me to share it with you yet. hmmm...hopefully soon.

hope you are finding moments of gratitude in your life today as well.

lost in the poetry section {poetry thursday}

On Wednesday afternoon, I got lost in the poetry section at Borders (not my first choice for poetry, I must admit, but I had a $5 gift card. Of course, I was so distracted by the fun I had that I didn't remember to use it).

I pulled a few books off the shelf and settled into a comfy leather chair with my iced mocha (with whipped cream!) and began to read the pages of the poems of Sharon Olds, Sylvia Plath, Jack Kerouac, and Naomi Shihab Nye.

I discovered something that people who have visited poetryland for years now already know. There is a rhyme and reason to the order of poems in a book of poetry. I suppose on some level I understood this. However, I didn't really "get" this until I started reading this book of Sylvia Plath's poetry. This is the collection of her poems that was published by her husband, Ted Hughes, after her death. When he published them, he, as her daughter explains in the foreword of the book, "left out some of the more lacerating poems." It seems he did this in an attempt not to alienate the reader or hurt her friends and family. Some of you may be familiar with this story. I was not. Freida Hughes (Plath's daughter) explains some history here that may be eye opening for some. Again, I am new to Plath's poetry and this story, so I will not even try to speak to all of this here. I am simply intrigued by it all. (And on a sidenote, I didn't realize until I came home from the bookstore to read my email that netflix has sent the movie Sylvia to be delivered tomorrow. Another layer of the story will be given to me I suppose. Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath...walking across my life this week. I guess since they sit beside each other on my bookshelf they must have decided to cook something up and get me to start really reading them.)

This edition includes all of the poems Plath intended for this volume of poetry. It even includes facsimiles of her typed pages in the arrangement she had planned. There are other interesting surprises in the book as well. For example, the hand-written, then typed, drafts of the poem "Ariel." A tiny glimpse into the thought process of this woman. I loved this. Knowing Sylvia Plath had many drafts of one poem. I sat there and took a breath, reminded once again that I am not alone.

As I began to understand that, to the poet, the order of poems is significant, I turned to this book and started to read from the first page. I read the first few...then skipped to the middle and read a few in order there. Ahhh...how interesting.

Of course, these two books came home with me, so that I can continue to read and contemplate and curl up in the words of these two insightful, questioning, courageous, brilliant women. And I suspect that sometimes, I will have to shut the book and sit, with eyes closed, and try to take it in...because these two poets will invite me to look at aspects of my life that may not be as comfortable and question if I am really living or just watching my life.

Click here to read "Morning Song" by Sylvia Plath (from her collection of poems in Ariel).

Click here to read "Streets" by Naomi Shihab Nye (from her collection of poems in Words Under the Words: Selected Poems).

Happy reading...maybe you will feel invited to head to the poetry section and get a little lost yourself.

brave {self portrait challenge}

some brave dreams...

to swim with the humpback whales
to write a book and send it off in a package to a publisher who will say yes
to have a child
to spend a month in paris
to live in italy
to move to maui to be closer to the whales
to sing and dance on broadway
to get a tatoo
to be a back-up singer for james taylor
to write more poetry and then one day to read it to others
to forgive a bit more
to help others know they are not alone
to own my own sexiness
to remember that i am only in charge of myself
to own the joy i feel as i put paint, glue, color, crayon, ink, tape, and other stuff to a blank canvas
to rescue another dog
to go back to school and get a masters degree
to let go of more guilt
to read more books
to take a road trip by myself
to own that i cannot save everyone and do all that is asked of me
to remind myself of who i am in those moments when i forget
to worry less about money
to listen to my heart more and follow what it tells me
to climb a tree
to manifest more peace
to learn to speak a foreign language fluently
to have more faith in myself
to love, for the rest of my life, the man i was looking at as i took this picture

{this was a prompt from Sabrina Ward Harrison's book The Truth and the Questions Journal.}

we all have a story...

Tonight as I watched the movie The Hours I was reminded of this idea: every monster has a story.

All the people we meet in our lives have a story. The people who love us, entertain us, hold us, these people, it can be easier to recognize that they have a story. Partly because you may know pieces of it. But then there are the people who devastate us, leave us, hurt us, and behave in ways that are unimaginable, these people all have a story too. With all the people we meet along our journey, we can never really know the full extent of their story. We never really know why people behave the way they do.

We can be quick to judge and assume, but we really never know. We fill in the blanks but we don't know the real story behind a person. The baggage people carry and pull behind them and need a cart with wheels for because it is too heavy to drag.

I balance all of this with the idea that this baggage, this reality, does not give a person permission to contribute to the not-so-good-parts of another person's story. But when we glimpse a page of their story, we are given a context. An understanding. Yet, it does not erase their chosen action. But it might...it just might...give us a little space...a tiny, little space to begin to heal.

Tonight, as I watched The Hours, I was reminded of a book called There Is a Monster at the End of This Book. And the monster? Well, its just fuzzy, blue Grover.

Every monster has a story.

i would write {sunday scribblings}

The books I would write...

I would write a book about a little girl who packs up a backpack with Anne of Green Gables, a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich, her favorite stuffed dog, a thermos of apple juice, crayons, and a notebook. She sets off into the woods behind her house, knowing a grand adventure awaits.

I would write a book about a young woman who finds herself living in Paris at 20. Alone. Scared. Riding her bicycle to the little bookshop where she works, her long brown braids blowing in the wind behind her. In chapter 2, she, of course, meets an older man who will eventually break her heart and lead her to the realization that she can only be happy if she first looks in the mirror at her own reflection, alone. In the last chapter, she will meet him. The one. The first person to take care of her and give her space. At the same time.

I would write a book about a mermaid who swims with the whales in the warm blue water off the coast of Maui. And each summer, when her friends leave her for the cooler waters of Alaska, she weeps. Her tears become the sea glass that washes up on shores around the world. And when human women pick up this glass, they feel a deep connection to its opaque color and smooth texture and an undercurrent of understanding that they are not alone of their journey.

But the book I would write,
the one that is living inside my soul right now,
the one that grows and takes a breath with each beat of my heart,
the one I would write would begin something like this:

The room was quiet except for the clip clop of the pink flip flops I wore on my feet. My mother had questioned me when I walked out to the car, "Are those the only shoes your brought with you?" "I don't think she'll notice," I had replied. She was on the far side of the room, and as I saw her there, I remember having the thought, "this is what love feels like." I suddenly had clarity and love was no longer an indescribable feeling. In that moment, walking up to her, I knew that this is what it is to love someone and know that person has a piece of your heart. And as stood there and looked at her I also knew that this is what is feels like to have your heart broken. The blinders were ripped off, quickly like a blast of cold, air rolling across Lake Michigan in winter. My heart cracked open. My soul would be forever changed.

(visit Sunday Scribblings to read more responses to this prompt)

poetry thursday

Click here to read one of my favorite William Stafford poems called "You Reading This, Be Ready." And if you haven't already spent some time exploring this website, I hope you will take some time at some point to pour yourself a cup of tea and read some of Stafford's words.

After reading this poem several times today, these are the words I am drawn to write...

Pause and take a breath;
sit in the quiet for a moment.
Do you hear it?
Try again.
Now?

Does it sound like the cry of a warrior ready for battle?
The whisper of a lover's sweet words?
The chant of a goddess standing atop a mountain?
The giggle of a baby in her mother's arms?

What would happen if you let it out?
Let it live and dance and hum.
Let it roar and weep and laugh.

Loosen your clutching fingers, and
shed the layers of your fear,
dropping them like clothes onto the floor of your bedroom.
You will discover,
this is the song your soul has been singing for centuries.
It is waiting for you to let go
and sing along.

*****

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

show and tell

Alert: spoilers ahead!

I signed up to be part of Tara's creativity exchange a couple of months ago. And I am finally, FINALLY, ready to send my part of the exchange to my partner. And I have finished another piece of art for a swap I am doing with another blogger.

I am having fun trying to incorporate fabric into my art. And I am also working through feeling frozen sitting at the dining room table staring at a blank page and all my art supplies. After Artfest, I felt a bit overwhelmed by all I had learned and seen. Frozen in front of the blank page. So, it actually has taken me since Artfest to complete these. Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday have brought a new surge and excitement!

If you are not one of the previously mentioned bloggers, you can see what I have created here and here. If you are one of those two bloggers, please resist the temptation to click on those links. But, if you can't, at least you won't know which one is yours. (hee, hee)

Now, here is what I have already received from these two amazing artists:

This is from Chest of Drawers for the Creativity Exchange. I smiled from ear to ear when I opened it. And I was so touched that she chose to use the words from this post.

And then today, I was almost late for my senior chair yoga class because I had to open the package from Vicci before I zoomed out the door. This photo is not as clear as I would like, but there is a great photo at Vicci's page and some more on my flickr page.

With both of these you can click on them to see them upclose (but if you gave them to me you may not want to because you will go to my flickr page that has the abovementioned photos of the items coming your way).

Thank you for sending me such inspiring creations ladies!

I hope to share more soon as I keep exploring and creating as I sing away to the Indigo Girls.

a quest {self portrait challenge}

I am on woman on a quest...
and I am seeking this little girl
who danced
and posed in front of the camera
without a care in the world
she didn't worry about
appearances,
the size of her thighs,
her mismatched barrettes,
letting people down,
not being enough,
not living a full, big, deep life.
She dreamed
huge, fun, crazy dreams.
And believed that she
could do anything she put set her mind and heart to do.
Anything.

And as I search for her
I am beginning to realize
she has been living in me all along.
She is already home.