"Art is the creative expression of the human spirit, and it cannot- it must not, for the sake of the human community- be limited to those few who achieve critical acclaim or financial reward." -Pat Schneider
Note: All of the words first used in that magical year of my high school graduation and meeting the guy I would eventually marry are bolded.
He walks in the room, sporting acid washed jeans, his bluest of blue eyes piercing through me.
My middle sister who set me up described him as "short, but with really pretty blue eyes," but they still took me by surprise . I wanted to take a deep dive into those pools. Love at first sight? Maybe. Maybe not. But, definitely an instant attraction despite him being about 5-6 inches shorter than my normal type.
Not to diss my sis, but we weren't exactly BFFs at that point. She was a wild child with much different taste in about everything, so I doubted her match-making acumen.
I sat there in my off-label blue plaid skirt and jean jacket, hoping his attraction was as instant as mine--and also that he wasn't a complete and utter asshole. (Forgive my potty mouth.) But, as the night went on and we talked, I thought, Welp, this might just go somewhere.
Later, I will find out he did actually think I was "hot" from the start (even without beer goggles), but he didn't really love the skirt (and finally told me after I wore it on numerous dates).
Fast forward 33.5ish years and here we still are. I've heard all his dad jokes, immuned to most of them since my dad fed us a steady diet of them and "entertained" our friends with his "comedy." We entered our thirtysomething years with two small kids and became empty nesters in our early 50's. We are still in love, still have fun, still laugh (and cry) together, still aggravate each other at times, still kiss goodnight. It's been a loonie ride, but this is one time travel adventure I'm happy to be on!
For giggles, here is a list of all the first used in 1987 words.
I ran across it a couple of months ago, and loved it. Hope you love it, too.
I will introduce using the words from Poets and Writers magazine, which provided the inspiration:
"Alt-rock, barista, codependent, designated driver, e-mail, G-spot, home theater, multitasker, spoiler alert, wordie. What do all these terms have in common? They are all listed as "first known use" year of 1982 according to Merriam-Webster's online Time Traveler tool, which allows users to see what words first appeared in written or printed use in each year from the Old English period to 2020.
Prompt: Choose a year that has particular resonance to you, perhaps one that marks a turning point or a significant event in your life, and browse through the words that are listed as first recorded that year using the Time Traveler Tool
Let the words inspire a piece of writing suitable for the "language of the time."
Unfortunately my mind has been a different kind of blue lately--not the calm, serene place I'd like it to be. But, I did clear a couple of days on my calendar for our good friends' recent visit and caught some great images of the great outdoors--albeit on a golf course. One photo of the sky resonated so much with me, it became my Facebook photo:
As I look at it again, it reminds me that the sun is always behind the clouds. That the clouds themselves have their own special beauty--even when they're concealing the light.
Epiphany
The white glow in the center of it all
reveals the burst of bright blue---
bringing a sense of wonder,
a sense of peace.
The bottomless blue sky peeking out around the edges
A quote that helped me during the darkest time of my young life.
The river is everywhere at the same time, at the source, at the mouth, at the waterfall, at the ferry, at the current, in the ocean, and in the mountains, everywhere, and the present only exists for it not the shadow of the past, nor the shadow of the future. Life is also a river -- a boy, a mature man, an old man, are only separated by shadows, not through reality. Previous lives are not in the past and death is not in the future. Nothing was, nothing will be, everything has reality and presence.
1.
Drinking a Pepsi by the Rocky River 1973
It's got to be a river.
That winding, flowing water that goes
where it seems it needs to go
Memories upon memories of rivers
beginning with floating plastic boats
in the Rocky River
and many days just splashing around
jeans rolled up
Canoeing the Mohican
Partying at the bars on the Cuyahoga
The New River, the second oldest in the world
that was a huge part of my life for so long, its mythology, its preservation, its petrified logs
its rapids, its flooding, its morning light
Then to Fort Myers and the Caloosahatchee
Sailing boats and sunsets
2.
And my travels
A hotel room overlooking the Chicago River
flowing into Lake Michigan
Sitting on the banks of the Cumberland River
taking in the Nashville skyline
Eating barbecue by the French Broad in Asheville
The Potomac where history breathes
Taken to the tragedies real and imagined when on
a bridge over the muddy Tallahatchee River
Standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon breathing in
the sparkling Colorado so far down, it's work continuing
The silvery Suwanee, song of folklore
The Flint River where Ray Charles music plays
So many rivers
Blue mind is always present by a river.
It can't be any other way.
3.
Art is produced by the river
Mississippi River Blues
My favorite novel, a boy on a raft
in the Mississippi
Langston Hughes wrote "Negro Speaks of Rivers"
on his way from Cleveland to Mexico at the
moment his train crossed the Mississippi
Poet James Wright was informed by the Ohio
in his hometown of Martins Ferry,
a place I spent a weekend and was
the setting of my 2003
novel draft Fire on the River.
Bruce Springsteen sings
We'd go down to the river
and into the river we'd dive
Oh down to the river we'd ride
Coming of age takes place on rivers.
Joni wanted one to skate away on...
4.
Then I read David Kirby's poem
"All Art is the Blues"
and there is this line:
It's beautiful to paddle your canoe in the river,
sublime to go over the waterfall.
And I write this:
For years I was paddling my canoe as a teacher
but this year it's the waterfall over and over again
Nothing sublime about it -- but...
maybe?
Maybe that's the high feeling
I'm getting from this experience --
practicing being resilient, powering through,
keeping my ability to breathe
and not drown.
Maybe the waterfall is where it's at?
5.
Because waterfalls have been places
of blue mind and prayer
Most notably Brandywine Falls
where I often went to settle my mind
and find my way
And a beautiful afternoon at
Looking Glass Falls in North Carolina
6.
Michael Meade says a teacher has to
stand in the waterfall with her students.
This year I feel we're all carried to the falls
over and over, rather than floating down the
river together. I can't see the future.
At all.
Usually by now I know our direction
I know where the bends in the river are
Looking Glass Falls, North Carolina
the rocks we might encounter
Not this year.
Not at all.
Every day is about helping them breathe
Not letting them drown.
Meanwhile I often feel I'm going under.
And I'm exhilarated every time I bob up to the surface.
I started reading a blog that I subscribe to today and it led me from one thing to another and another, until I stumbled upon the book, Blue Mind by Wallace J. Nichols. I was thrilled to find it in my library app, and will begin reading it as soon as I finish posting this prompt! In any case, I read an article with the author and it inspired this prompt. I swiped the questions right from him!
Nichols wrote and talks about the blue mind and its counter red mind. In concise summary, the blue mind is the meditative and calming state we feel when we are near water. Think relaxing by the beach, floating in the pool, vacationing at an oceanside resort or on a cruise, taking a walk by a lake or fishing in a pond. The Red Mind is the anxious, over-connected and over-stimulated mind of our everyday lives. Think work, social media, streaming, searching the internet. I can't wait to read more, because this fascinates me. (Just in case you were wondering, the author doesn't claim to be the founder of such discovery. He speaks of long known research about the positive effects water has on people for sustained happiness.)
Anyway... the prompt. Thinking about your blue mind, consider these questions Nichols likes to ask people when he meets them for the first time:
What’s your water? This essentially means, What’s the first water you think of and what’s the water you dream about and long for? What does it feel like, smell like and look like? Contemplate your relationship with water. I invite you to do some journaling, even scrolling through your photos (I for example, realized I take a lot of water photos!)
Write what inspires you. Poetry, a memoir, a narrative, or a piece of fiction. Go with the flow. Get it? 😉
Last spring I was having a hard time focusing on
reading, so I found myself looking for the easiest possible text to keep my
habit in play. I came across a book I had never fully read, one by a Florida
college professor and mystery writer James W. Hall. It was recommended by Dr.
Joe Wisdom when I was taking his Florida Writers class at FGCU. It’s called Hot
Damn! Alligators in the Casino, Nude Women in the Grass, How Seashells Changed
the Course of History, and Other Dispatches from Paradise and contains
about 40 bite-sized essays. I recently saw in one of my journals
this book was given to me as a gift from Jim on my birthday in 2003, but it
appears I had only read a handful of the essays.
This was the perfect book to help me get back my
reading mojo. The essays had the right amount of depth, but were short and
sweet, like a little square of chocolate. I consumed a lot of them and then
stopped when I was able to get back into longer literature.
On Sunday I saw the book sitting there and
discovered I only had nine more essays to go, so vowed I would just get them
done. And that is when everything changed.
Have you ever read something that was so
profound, so perfect for the moment you were in you cannot believe it is
happening? You get done and sit there quietly whispering Wow Wow Wow? It
was one of those moments when I got to page 196 and completed reading the essay
“Anniversary.” The subject was the anniversary of the death of Hall’s
father, whom he wrote about earlier in the collection. This was not the
anniversary of the death of my father -- that wasn’t what struck me. It was the
content.
Hall posits that we have three acts in life. Act
One is being the young person on the threshold to adventure. Act Two contains
all the struggles. Act Three is resolution. (Yes, you may recognize this cycle,
as it is sometimes called the Hero’s Journey or Initiation.) It wasn’t that
this was anything new to me. It was that for the first time I allowed myself to
acknowledge just where I am standing.
Now it is Act Three. The
time for resolutions. Tying up all the loose ends. The final third of this
drama is the time when the wisdom collected on the journey so far must begin to
pay off. If peace can be achieved, this is the last stretch of time to find it.
If there is to be joy or understanding or enlightenment, they must come very
soon. (195-6)
This caused me to think about my three acts,
which are different from Hall’s:
Act One -- when I got divorced at 25 and finally started living my life
with purpose, pursued a new dream of being a business owner, began working with
young people, and spent two years raising a troubled teenager.
Act Two -- Moving to Florida, getting three college degrees, becoming a
teacher
Act Three -- present time, even though it looks like I’m still just being a
teacher. Which was the baffling part.
Yes, Act Three was confusing. I’m still a
teacher...right? My plan all along has been to keep going, keep doing the work
I love. Yes, it seems a bit in jeopardy right now, but I was unwilling to make
a move in my thinking.
In my puzzlement, I thought about my recent
mudlarking journey, the one that now seems almost prophetic. There were things
I rediscovered that I had not necessarily forgotten, but it was nice to find
them and nail down their exactness. It has to do with my tendency to always see
my life metaphorically as a book or an act of literature.
Case in point:
March 16, 1988. I was frustrated with my job as a sales and service rep for
Zee Medical because it lacked creativity. One morning I woke up and felt like I
was “a blank page” on which I could write anything. A big part of that was to
find a more creative way of working. A couple months later I was on my
way to California to train for the direct mail marketing franchise I had
purchased. My creative work began.
December 22, 1997. I was falling into depression and restlessness. I
considered my age (42) had something to do with it. I went to the library and
found a book called Listening to Midlife by Mark Gerzon. In the first
chapter he described exactly how I was feeling. He said the anecdote was to see
this time in life as entering Chapter Two, and the job now was to go back to
what I loved as a teenager and see how I could develop that love in this second
half of life. On that very day I discovered my long buried dream of being a
teacher.
August 2, 2020. “Anniversary” pointed out clearly to me where I am right now. It
helped explain why now it has seemed easy for me to clear out journals, folders
from my college classes, and mountains of National Writing Project stuff I’ve
never used. It’s aided me in releasing the unnecessary that I’ve let hang
around too long.
But it was even more than that.
Hall’s essay focused on what he had learned from
his father, and how this led him to understanding he was in Act Three. And that
made me think about my dad in his 60s.
In my journal, I discovered my parents came to
visit one weekend in the early 90s, and explained that my dad’s company
(General Color) had decided to move him to a different position which meant
quite a cut in pay. To Jim and me this was ageism, and we were furious. But my
dad continued on, even bypassing his retirement age of 65 and kept working (to
my mom’s dismay.) I used to think my dad didn’t have a role model for retiring,
and that is why he wouldn’t make the move. He ended up dying at 68, working
right up to the last few weeks of his life, and his pension set my mom up for a
comfortable life as an elder.
But after reading “Anniversary,” I suddenly saw
everything differently. My dad drew meaning from his work as a ceramic engineer
-- a very specialized career -- and his side life as a musician. I now see what
he was doing. He was living the life that meant something to him, and he knew
that is what he must do.
I still recall the many young people from the
plant that came to the funeral home, many with high praise for my dad. I
remember one guy in particular, probably in his mid-20s, in jeans and a gray
t-shirt with cut off sleeves, standing in front of my dad’s casket for the
longest time, just staring with the saddest look on his face. To my knowledge,
he didn’t talk to any of us, except perhaps my mom. I wanted so badly to ask
him what my dad meant to him, because it was so obvious it was something. I
didn’t have the nerve to disrupt whatever was going on in his head. I probably
started talking to another guest, and by then he had disappeared. I have always
felt that was one of the greatest missed opportunities in my life.
But what this told me was that my dad was having
an influence on those around him, one I’m sure he felt fulfilling and wasn’t
willing to give up.
When I think of my adult life, it breaks down
like this:
20s -- the first half a royal mess, making unwise decisions because I
didn’t know who I was, then awakening and starting to live as myself.
30s -- a time to prove myself during the first half, then entering
into more spiritual studies later.
40s -- the beginning of a freeing feeling, no longer thinking I had
to prove anything, went to college, moved to Florida
50s -- surprisingly wonderful. Still feeling like there was a lot of
life to live, a lot of time to accomplish great things, fully in my element as
I had my profession going strong
60s -- outlook more positive than ever. Feeling better physically than
I have my entire life. (evidence in journals, constant remarks about headaches
and stomachs, respiratory infections, etc.) Truly my authentic self,
still being creative, still wanting my profession to never end.
But then...the big changes of 2020. And turning
65, the age we are conditioned to think of as “retirement.” I’m supposed to
want to end my previous life, and do...what? I don’t know.
I was pretty much ignoring this, until a couple
things forced the issue. First, this damn pandemic and the vulnerability of my
age and the facts of school buildings. I went from ignoring the idea of danger
to understanding how real it was. Second, people who assume I can just “retire”
because I'm 65-years-old.
Uh, no.
And it isn’t just the money aspect.
Finally I can say, I get you, Dad.
And all of this may have just bypassed me,
except then they pushed back the school year. My sister said, “Well, now you
don’t have to work on your birthday.” I had gotten so used to working on my
birthday, I hadn’t even realized I would have that day until Margie said it. In
that space I started thinking of celebrating the day in a small way with Jim.
We plan on getting out and doing something together since we have done nothing
much beyond haircuts and Costco since January.
The triple gifts of time and space and
“Anniversary” brought me to acknowledgment of Act Three. James Hall ends his
essay in this way:
The curtain has gone up.
One third of the play is left, a final chance to transform ourselves into
individuals worthy of the parents we lost. (196)
I have not changed my mind about teaching until
I can’t teach anymore. What has changed is my understanding of my purpose. I
think of those young men in Minerva, Ohio celebrating my dad and what a kind
and knowledgeable soul he was. It made me realize I have just so much time left
to make my life fully worthy of my dad and all he meant to everyone who knew
him.
The most wonderful part about all of this is
that all the fear I have had for months about the upcoming school year is
completely gone. I now know, and am 100 percent sure, that whatever happens it
will provide me with what I need to complete my life in a way worthy of my
upbringing. As my journal project showed me, I have not always made the best
decisions, and I often operated from a place of fear.
But not anymore.
When Natalie posted this prompt, she referred to
the film Alice in Wonderland. As if “Anniversary” wasn’t enough on
Sunday to move me to fearlessness, I read this on Monday morning:
Just fall, like Alice, down
the rabbit hole. And don’t worry about falling down; it’s also topless,
sideless, and centerless. Fear not. Centuries of saints and bodhisattvas who’ve
gone before have shouted loud and clear. Jump right in, the water’s fine (161)
*(The Zen Commandments: Ten Suggestions for a
Life of Inner Freedom (2001) by Dean Sluyter.)
Not sure why, but here are the two songs that came to my mind and led me through this thought process and eventually my poem:
Love is a Verb by John Mayer
Keep on Loving You by REO Speedwagon (wait util you see this video... haha!)
II. The Thought Process (ok, more like a ramble)
We know grammatically, love is a verb or a noun. But it's not really either-or. It's both. You can certainly give love, or feel love, or long for love. These would all be examples of the noun love, a thing. But true love (by true I mean real not necessarily sappy romantic love often connoted by the phrase "true love") which again sounds like a thing, cannot exist in absence of the verb to love. You can't just give someone love, drop it off like a package or a gift, "here you go." The essence of the love you give is in continuing the feeling, acting, loving that you are doing even after the person feels or knows they have received it! Ultimately, love is seen and felt in the actions of the giver. Love the noun exists because of what we do and feel for, to, and because of another (or even ourselves).
III. The Poem
Love is
opening your heart, your mind, your soul honestly and vulnerably
listening actively even when you're not interested
looking through the eyes and into the heart
Love is
sharing your favorite dessert when you'd rather have it all to yourself
remembering the hidden details in the personal stories
The day Annmarie posted this prompt, I had just watched a Delfest concert from 2019 with Sierra Hull. During her set I was reminded of a song she sang at the end of her show the last time I saw her at the Lyric Theater. Immediately I knew I wanted to create a story around the song, because it fits this prompt so perfectly. I think it is one of the best love songs ever written. (It is posted below the story. Please watch to get the full effect!) What I can't believe is how long it took me to pull this together. At first I thought it was pretty simple, but as time went on, I just couldn't find the right way in. It finally started to pull together these past five days or so. I hope it works!
Right On Time
Ted and Trudy met in 1950 when they were seniors
in high school,
and they married shortly after graduation.
I’ve often heard Ted say he met Trudy “right on time,”
as he was planning on joining the army
Now, that’s not a bad thing. But Ted has proclaimed
more than once he loves his life just the way it turned out.
Let me introduce myself.
I’m the grandfather clock that has graced
Ted and Trudy’s living room ever since their
5th wedding anniversary when Ted surprised
Trudy, giving her me, an unusual version of the
traditional clock. Most clocks like me play
“The Westminster Quarters”
every fifteen minutes.
I only play on the hour and half hour:
Da de da dum
Da de dum dum
Yeah – I know it's weird.
I suppose that made me somehow defective,
although I never felt that way.
Ted and Trudy love me a lot.
And I love them.
About the time I came into their lives,
so did their son Gerald.
He was the only child they ever had.
Of course, he’s all grown up now, and had a son
of his own along the way.
Joshua.
Who is also all grown up.
Now it is Christmas, decades later,
and the grandson and new bride have come to visit
for the holidays. Little did they know that the night
they arrived, Ted would have a stroke, putting him
in the hospital, and leaving the young couple here
to take care of Trudy.
The sad part about Trudy these days is she has
advancing Alzheimers, and she fades in and out.
Joshua and his lovely wife Shiane are musicians,
so they spend a lot of time playing and singing
various instruments: guitars, banjos, and mandolins.
Joshua even plays the fiddle.
Trudy loves when they play “Jingle Bells.”
She is able to sing along, every word.
It was wonderful having them here for a week.
I was grateful there was someone to look after Trudy.
It could be the last Christmas here,
from all indications,
and so the future looks mighty uncertain for me.
March
Hospice has been here taking care of Ted.
His days are numbered.
Gerald has arranged for Trudy to go to an
Alzheimer’s facility after Ted passes.
Joshua and Shiane take time from their
busy schedule to come and say goodbye.
While they are here, I notice Shiane keeps
picking out on her mandolin the chime
I play twice every hour.
It was kind of surreal to hear my music
being played back to me. She seemed
to be forming a song around it.
Listening to her create was balm
for my pendulum soul,
as I know Ted is dying in the next
room, and everything else is so somber.
Joshua treats everyone with such tenderness.
I’ve known him all his life, and he has grown
into an exceptional man.
This was reinforced the night
I heard Shiane say to him,
The way you love your
grandmother, makes me love you even more.
If it had been possible,
this old clock burst into tears.
June
The house has been quiet and empty since Ted
passed in late March.
I continue do my chiming duty,
even though no one is around to hear.
One day, to my surprise,
Joshua and Shiane arrive.
They have suitcases and instruments
lots of boxes, and groceries.
They spend the days going through
Ted and Trudy’s personal stuff,
tossing things out,
setting aside other items.
I overhear that most of the
good furniture will be given
to a resale shop.
Every evening, they fill the house up
with the smells
of delicious food,
something I’ve missed so much,
being here all by myself.
And music – of course they play music.
One night Shiane plays the song for Joshua
that she has finally completed, the one
she was working on in March, the one
called “Father Time.”
When she is done, they go into a very long hug.
I kind of felt like I was eavesdropping but hey,
what could I do?
It happened to be 7:30 in the evening,
and so I struck the time,
and they both turned and looked at me.
Shiane was still staring at me when she said,
Do you think we could
take the grandfather clock home with us?
It seems like it
should stay in the family.
It didn’t take long for Joshua to arrange it with Gerald,
and the young couple started looking up YouTube
videos on how to dismantle and transport me.
The whole time I was in a bit of a daze. I mean, just
yesterday I wondered what would become of me.
Now I know.
I will be living with the next generation and,
with any luck, generations after that.
Ted and Trudy’s legacy.
But even better, I will continue to be surrounded
with peaceful and gentle love, as well as incredible music.
My fear of being shipped off to some dusty antique shop
is gone because
Joshua and Shiane showed up in my life.
Love in all its forms--romantic, friendship, familial connection--is the only way to cure the divisiveness humans seem to love to engage in.
"If you're not with me, you're against me!" they shout.
"My side is the right side! Period!" they insist.
"What I value is more important than what you value!" they claim.
This is the sickness. Here's my cure:
How to Love--Really Love--in 3 Easy Steps
Step 1: Get rid of your preconceived notions--
your biases only serve to cloud your ability to empathize
and kill any sense of true connectedness.
Step 2: Be patient with those who most annoy you--
they are the ones who have suffered things you can't imagine
and use their pain to push everyone away.
Step 3: Approach relationships with an open mind, heart, and ears--
we don't always have to agree with each other to love each other,
and we might just learn something when we stop to consider different perspectives.
I'm going to admit something: I had to do a little internet searching for ideas. The threat of heavy rain (that never came) cancelled the morning walk on which I had planned on gathering some inspiration.
I ran across a prompt that challenged writers to create a love story based on all three of these quotes about love:
You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not.” (Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper)
"We accept the love we think we deserve." (Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower)
“We’re all a little weird... And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness—and call it love—true love.” (Robert Fulghum, True Love)
This feels a little too restrictive for the Trailbrazens. I mean, we thrive on doing our thing the way we want to do it, and it yields some pretty kickass writing. Well very kickass writing. But, it did get the wheels spinning, and the title to a popular Heart song in the 80's kept playing in my head: "What About Love?" Here's the lyrics and even a video if you want a refresher. It was hardly my favorite band and not my favorite song from this duo, but I think the question is worth answering--in your own kickassy Trailbrazen way, of course.
Just tossing some ideas out:
Find your own quote about love to springboard song lyrics, a poem, a short story, a micro (or not-so-micro) memoir, an essay.
Use your favorite lyrics about love to inspire a piece of writing.
Use a situation you've been in or a pivotal experience you've had and write about how love in any form would have changed the outcome.
Conjure up a perfect world where love rules supreme and write about how a day-in-the-life of the character of your choosing would look in this world.
When I wrote this prompt, I was looking forward to getting
hella creative with it. I had all kinds of fancy plans, although nothing was
really sticking. I was certain I didn’t want to write about the past two months.
At. All.
But then, the Trail Brazens started posting. And I read
Laurie’s promises, Annmarie’s power statements and guiding poems, and Natalie’s
reclamation. Then I knew I could not avoid it. I knew I needed to lend my voice
here as well, as we continue to document our journey together on this blog.
I’ve tapped into the four things that helped stabilize and
regulate me during this time. For a while emotions were running so high and
low, I sometimes didn’t feel like I knew myself at all. I am happy now to
document the things that I have found most helpful, although there are
certainly others. I’m keying in on the top four, but I could also add exercise,
fresh food, and solid sleep.
I am including an added dimension: the meaning of the four
directions in Native American culture as a connector.
EAST:asking for wisdom and understanding, seeing
things as they really are.
Ye Tang Che
I’m aware I already wrote a blog post about this, but I have
to state it again: in times of my greatest despair, this is repeatedly the
thought or philosophy that helps me through the most. I am still grateful for
the day the Pema Chodron’s book When
Things Fall Apart dropped into my lap. I cannot get enough of Chapter 7,
where Ye Tang Che is explained in all
its balanced wisdom and frank talk. It helped me just let things be what they
are. Once I grabbed onto that once again, I found everything stabilizing for
me, and I haven’t shed many tears since then – except for the day I went to my
classroom.But that was a blog
post, too!
SOUTH:warmth, growth, the sun’s rays
Music in different forms
Anyone who knows me knows music is a huge and significant to
me.Early on in this quarantine, I
purchased a vinyl record player. Its presence in my life has added a dimension
I didn’t even know I was missing.
Slowly, and deliberately, I have listened to many of my old
vinyls. I even bought a few new ones. The best way for me to deeply listen is
to lie on the floor with the speakers on either side of my ear, just like I did
as a young person. Revisiting the album covers and inserts proved a delightful
treat as I rediscovered things I forgot were even there – such as James
Taylor’s handwritten words to all the songs on Sweet Baby James.
But even more than that, it is what I am finding in the
grooves that uplifted me. I found the roots of everything I love about music. I
heard artists, such as Phoebe Snow, from an entirely new perspective and
appreciation. Albums I thought would sound dated or weird have surprisingly
held up. They are all intricately connected to a time in my life when I was
forming myself, so to hear these songs now is truly finding pieces of myself
that went missing in the name of electronics.
But that isn’t the only music. The other delight in my life
is the Saturday night live stream broadcast of The Grand Ole Opry, albeit an
empty auditorium, but artists who are pouring their heart and soul into keeping
the circle unbroken. Vince Gill, Marty Stuart, Keith Urban, Terri Clark, Amy
Grant, Kelsea Ballerini, Garth and Trisha, among others. I fell in love with
Ashley McBryde. I gained appreciation for Lauren Alaina, Trace Adkins, and Luke
Combs. There have been many fine moments in this show, but my ultimate favorite
was during the final moments of the Garth and Trisha edition, when Trisha
launched into an acapella version of Patsy Cline’s “Sweet Dreams,” her voice
echoing through the Opry hall, moving me to tears. That was a music moment to
remember from this unsettling time.
WEST:introspection and insight, source of the water
of life
A Lamp in the Darkness by Jack Kornfield
Every morning I wake and read something inspirational. About
four weeks into the quarantine, I became disillusioned with the text I had been
reading. It was striking me as shallow, and not helping me at all.I tried a couple of other books I had
here, but nothing was doing what I needed it to do.
Then something came up in Facebook memories: a book I
studied in 2012, and used to create inspirational messages for my seniors that
year. The full title of the bookis A Lamp in the Darkness: Illuminating the Path Through Difficult Times. At
the end of the school year in 2012,I
wrote various quotes from the book on index cards, then had the seniors choose
one randomly. We then sat in a circle and they talked about why they felt that
message was for them.
I obviously passed one of these messages on to my coworker
Natalie, because that same day she sent me the text of the message I had given
her eight years ago. It meant something to her that day, and then I knew that I
had to pull Jack’s book back off the shelf.
Good move!
This wise and wonderful book provides gentle instructions
and enlightening stories for getting through difficult times. After nearly
every chapter there is a meditation (a CD is also included for verbal
guidance), and even though I have yet to actually do any of the meditations,
just the illuminating text has helped me find something solid inside myself
that I deeply needed during this ordeal. Or, should I say, helped me light my
own lamp. It, along with Ye Tang Che,
is bringing me back to a level of equanimity and peace that had been eluding
me. It also helped me form a vow, at Jack’s suggestion:
I vow in the midst of difficulties to listen deeply and love.
As Laurie and Annmarie stated on this blog before me, I am
willing to keep a promise to myself, beyond the chaos, and see what is helpful
and real. This is the ultimate liberation.
North: cleansing, endurance, patience, receiving energy
Write Around the Corner
When my friend Laurie mentioned starting an online writing
group, I had every reason to say yes. I love writing and I love talking about
writing (duh!).She opened it up
to invite others, and I invited quite a few people, three who have accepted and
stuck around. Two are people I knew in high school who still live in Ohio– one
whom I had just seen in February and she asked me about what kind of online writing
group she could join. (Synchronicity!)I also invited a rather new friend from work, and it has deepened our
relationship being in this incredibly safe writing space.
[Disclaimer: this absolutely does NOT replace the awesome TB
group – EVER!]
Laurie has done an inspiring job facilitating our 90-minute
Zoom meetings. Please know, I can barely tolerate Zoom in many cases. But in
this context, it works just great. There are people from all over
participating, and there is no way we could all get together. So this is
perfect.
The group has its own FB page, Padlet, and some other fun
outer activities.Each week I find
my love and gratitude for this group growing. Last weekend is a case in point.
I came away from the meeting totally rejuvenated, and by the next day I had
developed an idea for a writing project I am super excited about!Considering I haven’t had much of an
interest in pursuing a project in over two years, this was something.
There are three more things I want to add in this regard.
Write Around the Corner is a perfect title for this group,
because when we started we had no idea what was around the corner. As we
proceed, we still don’t know. But we are navigating together.
This group has become a North Star for me – leading me to my
best multi-dimensional self. What more can I ask?
And finally, the interactions in this group have helped me
dream again. And that, my dear friends, is the ultimate healing power of
writing.
These video seems to sum up quite a bit here. This is Trisha singing "Sweet Dreams" in 1999 when she was inducted into the Grand Ole Opry. She begins acapella. Try to imagine no audience noise, no other instrumentation. The power of music. The power of dreams coming true.
