reading poetry in the bathtub and an author i adore {poetry thursday}

For me, when I read a poem aloud, I find a rhythm as I let the words twirl in the air around me. This can be a powerful experience as waves of new understanding often happen. When I first started reading poetry regularly a few months ago, I had a poetry reading in the bathtub. I was moved to even write a poem about it (not a great poem, but it captured the experience). Now, I know Lynn does not like the idea of reading poetry in the bathtub because she might get a book of poetry wet (she takes special care of her poetry books, which I appreciate), but I say go for it!
 
I decided to have another reading in the bathtub this evening. I spent time with Kathleen Norris as I read a few poems from her collection Little Girls in Church. This book has been on my shelf for a few years now next to several other books by Norris, yet I had only opened it once or twice. Reading it tonight, I discovered the poem All Saints, All Souls that was written in memory of William Stafford. At first glance I thought, "oh this is interesting...in Stafford's memory." But then, in the second stanza, their relationship of teacher/student/friend became apparent. And this line punched me a bit in the gut: "But you kept me on your radar, Bill—Kneel down, you said, explore for the poem." Then I cried my way through the rest. I have cried my way through it several times now. I want to live inside this poem, this memory, this relationship for just a few minutes. And through this poem I can.
 
In finding the link to the poem, I discovered this incredible project. Had I read this poem when I first purchased this book, I would not have made the connection because I did not even know who William Stafford was a few months ago. And now I feel like I have known him my entire life. How I love this journey into poetry.

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I discovered Norris my senior year in college when I read The Cloister Walk in a philosophy class called Education of the Spirit. This book is one of my favorites...ever. My copy has beendog-earedd and has passages underlined and notes throughout. If you have not read it, put it on your library list. The same year I took this class, Norris spoke at St. Mary's College, and because St. Mary's is right across the street from my alma mater, I headed over there to hear her (something tells me we probably got extra credit). She was so darn cool. She spoke about this small book, and I regret to this day that I was too shy to stick around and have her sign my copy. She also received an honorary degree from ND during my graduation ceremony. My college graduation day was a tough one for me because I didn't have a lot of friends who attended my school and the ones I was closest with had graduated the previous year, so I actually sat by myself. Having Kathleen Norris up on that stage just reminded me that I really wasn't alone. And tonight, as I read her words again, and discovered her poem about William Stafford, I took a breath and remembered this once again.

Other Kathleen Norris links:
Another poem.
Norris in a conversation about CS Lewis's The Screwtape Letters (scroll down to #5) that occurred on NPR.
An interview with Norris.

me from a to z {self portrait challenge}

(this photo was taken by lynn at a booth at the university district street fair earlier this month.)

accent: not so much (in my opinion). i just sound like everybody else (except when i say button or mitten...comes out like budden and midden. not sure why).

booze: why would you not? a full-bodied red wine will do the trick. but i also never turn down frozen, fruity concoctions. my favorite way to drink them is in a cabana on a beach in maui. and martinis are never a bad idea. oh and sangria...you get my point.

dog/cat: yes, one golden retriever named millie.

essential electronics: my laptop, my phone, my dvd player (which of course means that i must include my gigantic tv), and my new heat gun that i use to dry things when i am in art land.

favorite perfume: i love anything that has a hint of lily of the valley. i am also drawn to scents that invoke thoughts gypsies and bizzarres and twirling and magic carpet...i know these scents when i find them (philosophy used to make one called soulmates. loved it. still looking for a replacement.)

gold/silver: silver...and, well, i never turn down platinum.

hometown: south bend, indiana

insomnia: not too often, but when i do it is the worst. sometimes i have bad dreams that seem quite real and i just get up because going back to sleep is too scary.

job title: yoga teacher/freelance editor

kid(s): (see dog/cat)

living arrangements: a little house in the pacific northwest that i share with my dear husband and millie.

most admirable trait: my open heart and fierce loyalty.

number of sex partners: hmm....just enough.

overnight hospital stays: i think there has just been the one about 30 years ago now.

phobias: i do not love bats. but if faced with spending the night with a bat or a shark, i would choose a bat. i do not love deep water and i do not love it when it is pitch black around me. i guess i have a phobia of things being out of my control.

quote: "god bless america"

religion: i appreciate ritual in my life and i believe there is a power, an energy greater than me. i believe i touch at the bottom of the hem of the skirt of this energy when i experience moments of grace.

siblings: one. my baby brother matthew.

time you usually wake: 7:30 a.m.

unusual talent: i can tap dance.

x-rays: too many. lots of bouts of bronchitis and pneamonia as a child. and these darn teeth. and my knee dislocations always brought about a few moments in the x-ray room.

yummy foods: grilled cheese and tomato soup. this is the food that comforts me most of all (well, and yellow cake with chocolate frosting...that isn't too bad either). and summer is coming so this means many a caprese salad (slices of mozzarella and tomatoes with basil and a balsamic vinegar and olive oil drizzle)...yummy indeed.

zodiac: i am a gemini (just like my jonny...so really, there are four people and a dog in this house...very interesting).

thanks to KP for this meme.

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updated in 2011: Self-Portrait Challenge (SPC) was a website that encouraged people to take and share self-portraits. I am sad to report that it no longer has an active website, so I have removed links that appeared in the posts connected to my participation in this project.

mrs. lewis {sunday scribblings}

i was going to write about the time my father took me to see out of africa. i was in fourth grade, and now know that i probably didn't understand many subtleties in that movie. but watching that movie with my head on my dad's shoulder, i fell in love with robert redford. the way his blond hair fell across the forehead of his wise face. his voice and the rhythm in which he said his lines. the way the skin creased around his eyes when he would laugh. while watching that movie i also learned the valuable lesson that if robert redford plays the male lead, the movie may not turn out as you want. this is code for: he might die. and when he did, i didn't quite understand. i leaned over and whispered to my dad, "but he is alive isn't he?" he shook his head no. and i cried and cried. the first big love of my life breaking my heart. all in about two hours.

i was going to write a story about a 13 year old falling in love for the first time. she would be sitting cross-legged on a blanket under a tree in the backyard of her family's home, her hair in a long braid down her back. and she would be in the arms of mr. darcy as she turned page after page of the book on her lap. mr. darcy, could there ever be such a man as her mr. darcy?

but during this brainstorming, i talked with my father, and he told me that eleanor had passed away last week. she was the woman who took care of me during the first few years of my life. i remember her dog peaches and the cookies she would make and that the table in her kitchen was a booth. i remember that there were sometimes other kids in the house to play with. i remember that her husband bob had a huge cookie jar collection. and i remember love. i always felt love at eleanor's house. i think she understood me in ways i didn't even realize.

i was blessed to have the love of my parents during those first years, but also the love of two other women: eleanor and my grandmother. and as I think about this idea of first love, my mind has turned to the idea of someone who taught me about love and acceptance: mrs. lewis.

mrs. lewis was my pre-school teacher, and i loved her with the fierce determination of a three year old wanting to mirror her every move and the sound of her laughter and the calm of her presence. she taught me to love the sound of someone's voice reading aloud, and in turn, to love reading books aloud when i could read. she taught me the importance of sharing and how to always tell the truth. but most of all, she accepted me in a moment that could have been full of shame. and for this, i will always hold her deeply in my heart.

as a child, i was terrified of the dark. i always slept with a bright night light and my bedroom door open. my pre-school class was at a play or maybe even a marionette show and the theatre was pitch black. mrs. lewis had me on her lap because she knew how scared i was of darkness like this and how any hint at an "evil character" would cause me distress. and in the midst of my anxiety, i did the unthinkable. the thing that i hadn't done all school year. the thing i watched another student do every day during naptime while i would wait and then think, "why does he do that every single day? i would never do that." but i did. i wet my pants. and even worse, i wet my pants while sitting on her lap.

she just scooped me right up and took me to the bathroom where she cleaned up both of us. i don't remember the logistics of all of that, i just remember that as i cried and cried worried she was going to be mad or not like me anymore or not let me come back to school, she soothed me in a way that let me know that she was not angry. how this happens when we are afraid sometimes. how i was not going to be in trouble and that no, my parents would not be angry either. she helped me know that it was okay. i was going to be fine. and she was fine too.

no one but my parents and mrs. lewis knew what happened. how she kept it from the other students i do not know. i am sure i was quite a story in some ways, but she never invited me to feel any shame. she never brought it up again. even now, to this day, she welcomes me into her classroom with a huge hug and introduces me to her students. i try to visit her every now and then. and when i do, i am always reminded that love is when you invite a person to become even more than they already are through encouragement and acceptance. love does not invite shame.

happy birthday my love

Today is Jonny's birthday. We have spent the day eating (Red Robin) and doing a little shopping and talking and trying to prevent him from getting too upset that his new iPod isn't working (we might have to take it back...ugh) and eating some more (sushi at Blue C) and yet again (ice cream cake from baskin robbins) and now watching a movie (Wings of Desire).

Here is the little creation I made for Jonny. I scanned it so it doesn't quite come across like it appears in real life...but here it is...(the words say: she granted him one wish and he opened his eyes and he lived in his life)

I am working with these little winged girls and some words and stories. More to come.

Thank you for all of your kind words about my day yesterday. I am so grateful for every single comment and email and virtual hugs and healing energy you sent my way. How blessed I am...today is better...as I said to a friend: the quiet sadness is still there but a little softer today.

quiet thoughts

it feels quiet today. one of those mornings when i had the thought, "oh, i will call grandma and tell her that." then almost immediately the mind and heart realize together with a punch in the gut that i cannot. i hate this. i don't hate much, but i hate that moment when i realize. the tears tap on the back of my eyeballs as the rain drips outside the sliding glass door. my nose congestion begins in anticipation of tears that do not fall. a pile of books seems to sit on my chest and as i take a breath they slide off but then stack up again as i exhale.

the thought that prompted this was my excitement about my new sewing machine. i am excited and overwhelmed by this new beast that sits on my dining room table (an early birthday gift from jon's parents - i am blessed). the last time i set up thread and bobbins and needles in a sewing machine was almost 20 years ago when i as in 4-H for a summer. i am sure i will figure it out this weekend, but my heart wishes my mom or jon's mom or my grandma or my great-grandma would knock on the door, right now, and say "hi honey, i am here to help you. let's make something." i just wanted to call my grandma and say, "wish you were here." indeed.

the seesaw of excitement to quiet feelings. back and forth. this is how it is.

i am excited to have had some creative energy surging through me. but i am not so sure i like anything i have created. though i try to own the fact that the only way i will find my way is to play and paint and glue and try new things.

i have ideas flowing, but i don't feel capable. i. know. i. am. yes, i know i am. but that doesn't mean that i know it in every moment. all the books i will write and the creations i will paint and glue and sew together and the booth i will have at the fremont sunday market full of all of my creations and the yoga workshops i will give and the and the and the....when will it all begin? when will it jump from my heart into the world?

it is a rainy day. the kind of day when i want to just go shopping and find something wondrous. i need a dress for two weddings i have this summer. i wish i had someone i could call right now and say, "want to go shopping for a new dress...then have tea...then sit in the poetry section at barnes and noble and take turns reading poems out loud?" i wish you were here so we could do that. wish you were here.

the sewsaw of the mind and heart.

since you aren't here today, i am going to curl up and watch the movie chocolat, then read a few pages of may sarton's journal, then maybe turn up the indigo girls really, really loud and put more paint to a canvas. anything to balance the seesaw just a bit.

warrior {self portrait challenge}

I am a woman on a journey of healing. And as I heal, I grieve, laugh, sing, dance, cry, giggle, roar, open my heart, let go, dance again, chant, paint, howl, sob, yell, sit in the quiet, write, bend, stretch, move, let go again, write some more, and allow myself to crack open.

I am finding the warrior within. There is only one real battle: to be the warrior who can live in her life. Live. In. Her. Life. I stand tall with my heart open, my head high, my feet planted firmly beneath me. I feel the strength in my body, in my heart, in my mind, in my soul. I take a breath. I feel the energy within me as it radiates from my fingertips to the ones who passed before me and walk beside me, from my eyes to the future in front of me, from my shoulder blades to the world that is around me, down my legs and through my feet into the earth below me, and from my heart to you.

You are finding the warrior within. I am not alone on my journey; you are there with me. You are learning how to stretch and stand tall with your feet beneath you. You are feeling the power of the front of your body open to the world around you. You are allowing your heart to crack open with each breath. Each inhale cracks your heart open a little more. Again. Again.

We are side by side on this journey. We are learning how to heal, how to find the joy, how to rock gently in the pain, how to throw our heads back with laughter, how to let go. We are standing tall as warriors. And I believe that we are in the midst of a movement. A movement that is going to change us all as we change the world.

I am a woman on a journey. And I am not alone.

(For Denise who gave me a little homework assignment that inspired this. Thank you my friend.)

See others who are taking the self portrait challenge here.

i do and i do not

Last week (or was it the week before?) Thea tagged me with the do/don't meme...I am finally sitting down to write a response:

I do love dairy products more than any other food group.
I do not love the way my body sometimes responds to dairy products and the way my thigh holds onto ice cream and cheese to remind me, forever, of this fact.

I do wish I could swim with humpback whales and sea otters.
I do not love deep water or putting my head underwater...in fact, they both terrify me.

I do think that there is a power, an energy, that is greater than me.
I do not go to church and currently have no desire to attend any kind of organized Sunday morning service other than my teacher's yoga class.

I do love being the passenger on a nice long car ride to a favorite spot.
I do not sit quietly (unless I am asleep) and often try to tell my dear husband how he should be driving (this happens during the interludes when I am not in concert).

I do stand in front of people every week and invite them to love their bodies and take care of themselves.
I do not love my body all the time and I often forget to take care of myself (but when I am teaching yoga I forget how much I do not love my body and just live in my own skin).

I do believe that expressing gratitude is one of the most important things you can share with a person.
I do not tell people thank you enough (this changes today).

I do know that my heart already has all the answers I need.
I do not listen to my heart enough, though I am trying to sit in the quiet more each day.

I do think about writing a book (and I have started talking about it).
I do not spend time actually writing it. This needs to change.

I do the way our garden looks in the summer and I love eating the tomatoes and fresh herbs we grow ourselves.
I do not like weeding or general garden upkeep and wish little gnomes would come in the night and do it for me.

I do love the song "Galileo" by the Indigo Girls because it reminds me that I am not the only person who wonders "how long 'til my soul gets it right?"
I do not love that I cannot answer this question (but appreciate that Blue Poppy had similar thoughts about this last week).

Please share any do/do nots that come to mind...I would love to hear them...

wishing {sunday scribblings}

I remember my mom telling me a story about her teenage years when all she wanted was to be 21. She thought everything would change for the better on her birthday. She would tell her grandmother this, and Grandma Eide would say, "don't wish your life away." My mother would tell me this story several times when I was younger. To be honest, I don't remember the context. If it was a "lesson" moment or rather a time when she simply wanted to talk about her grandmother, a woman she loved deeply. The next part of the story involved the sadness my mother felt when her grandmother died before my mom turned 21. Maybe it was a lesson in irony. I don't know.

When I was about 11 or so, I wrote a poem that was really a song in my head about this story... the lines I remember:

I was sitting next to grandma braiding her long hair
and I asked her 'bout the good old days when she was twenty-one.
She laughed and smiled and asked me why I wanted to know.
I told her that I could not wait until I was twenty-one.
She looked at me and said,
"don't wish you life away dear, don't wish your life away."

I had not thought about this story or these "lyrics" in a long time. And somehow those words are in my head because I can hear the melody that accompanied them.

I am struck by the images of wishing that appear in fairy tales...the young girl wishes for her handsome prince...and all the drama that happens before her wish can come true. I always related to this story. I wanted my prince. I wanted to be old enough for my prince to come and rescue me and take me to far off lands where I could eat cake and wear pretty dresses and dance at the ball. I imagine my mother was having similar thoughts when she was wishing to be twenty-one. As though all would change when she became an adult at that magical age.

It is easy for me to get caught up in the magical world of wishes and fairies and castles and talking animals and creatures you thought existed only in your dreams. But then there are those moments that jerk me back into reality. When my serious nature kicks in and plants me firmly in one spot. Maybe today I can give myself permission to travel to those far off lands and share three wishes...

I wish you could see my wings, the ones I feel along my shoulder blades, the ones that whisper to me and move me forward; they are deep, indigo blue with shades of purple, and they are soft and full of strength and fearlessness. If you come a bit closer, they can envelope you and for a moment you will be home.

I wish I had a companion in the form of a golden furry, friendly beast who would remind me that everyday I can find the courage to share all that is spilling open in my soul (and maybe it could also warn me when the scaries are coming or help me look out for other bumps in the night).

I wish I had a magical power that would let me: step into books and wrap myself up in a quilt and sit at the feet of kate chopin as she wrote The Awakening, or live, just for a moment, inside a painting of a little girl wearing a backpack, holding a fishing line and ask her where she is going, or lie down inside the words of William Stafford until our hearts beat with the same rhythm.

If a fairy princess appeared with a magic wand today, I would ask her for these three things...

(to read how other people might wish or think about wishes head over to sunday scribblings)