Leaping into Life

"it takes courage to be who you really are” e.e. cummings

The above words providentially graced the promotional postcard for my first public book reading last Saturday night in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Wow! It took more courage than I ever dreamed I had to put myself out there and LEAP into a wild new world! It only seems appropriate that on Leap Day I choose to commemorate that magnificent jump into the public limelight.

Even now my heart beats quickly and tears form in my jet-lagged eyes as I think of my precious time away. The fullness of the whole experience resonates deeply and I know that for a few moments in time I was a shining star spreading my magic into the world.

Leap Day 2008, I sat solo in a Paris café (surprising even myself) and this year I recall perching on a bar stool in the spotlight and glow of my own dreams surrounded by a rapt audience (yet one more surprise). Saturday night was amazing – terrifying – exhilarating – complete. It was absolutely perfect with the finest spectators I could imagine. This shy girl who has been known to sprout hives just thinking of speaking in public loved being on that raised stage. Woohoo! As I entered the coffee house and took my place on the platform flashes of failure and stage fright flew through my mind and body. Freeze? Flee? Or become FREE? Those seemed to be my choices... To free myself, I turned to As I Lay Pondering and offered Anyone There?—one of my most vulnerable pieces.

Will you read my work? Hold my hand? Laugh at my jokes? Kiss my lips? Notice my hair? Anyone there? Are you paying attention? Do you see me? Is it possible I still carry the look of a 1-year-old standing in her crib, reaching and searching for connection? Anyone there?

With a deep breath, I read and they were hooked. I was fully present as I slowed myself to the pace of thoughtful words. My pulse began to steady as my heart connected to my soul... and theirs. Courageously I sat all sassy in my red crocheted dress and cowboy boots surrounded by friends, family, and strangers listening to my story, and as the evening magically flowed on, “my” story became “our” story. It was an iconic event.

Who could have known I was destined to perch on a coffee house stool in Tulsa Oklahoma and launch a book that touched the heart of everyone in that room... especially my lovely sisters-in-law who became so mesmerized in the moment that they forgot their assigned tasks of photography and time-keeping, as well as my young nephews who sat tucked behind electronics? The friend I had known for over 50 years was to my right and various acquaintances and newfound soul mates filled out the audience. Even the barista offered his accolades when I finished.

It was a LEAP comprised of steps bigger than anything I could have imagined earlier in my life. One – that I would (or could) write a book; Two – that I would develop the nerve to speak in front of a crowd and become thoroughly entranced by the magic of it; and Three – I would return to the Oklahoma roots I left nearly a quarter-century ago to begin this new phase of my journey! Poet David Whyte writes, “What you can plan is too small for you to live.” How right he is!

In this special year of the Leap, what do you plan for yourself? What would you do if you had the courage to be who you really are? What does bravery look like in your life? My personal plan is to strap my parachute on tightly, ‘cuz it feels like this leap is a giant one... and I don’t want to miss a moment of it fearfully flailing away!!!

MY NEW BOOK: As I Lay Pondering: daily invitations to live a transformed life by Kayce S. Hughlett Available here and at Amazon.com. Get your copy today!!

Multi-generational Mojo

Hey, Friends. This week I am hanging out with the amazing Jennifer Louden and a whole bunch of really fantastic writers. Before I took off for Taos, one of my rockin' new friends, Kanesha Baynard, invited me to share the tale of my recent multi-generational jog at her delightful blog, it's a full nest. Pop on over and check it out!



Diamonds in the Soul - helping high-functioning, under-living people uncover & maintain personal delight & joy in life.

Shared Memories

Earlier this evening I found myself responding to a post by Sunrise Sister reflecting on her recent experiences with her 50th class reunion. While she and I grew up in the same family, we had vast gulfs in our own experiences beginning with an age difference of several years. She and I continue to be amazed as we’ve entered adulthood and ultimately friendship, how life has shaped us in similar and different ways.

It was my distinct privilege to travel with her for the event of a lifetime – the gathering of friends who spent 12 years together in school – many of them still living in the same district from which they graduated. Even though I was just a tot when they graduated from high school, they influenced me as they orbited around my sister who seemed larger than life to her baby sis.

Attending a reunion breakfast with SS one morning, I was amazed at the memories that flooded back to me. In front of me sat the gregarious twins who I’ve never seen apart from each other – they were chattering bookends with my sis in the middle as I recalled those years. They lived around the corner from us and their house still stands just as I remembered it. Speaking with them I recalled falling off my bike and scraping my knee only to confirm it was their caring mother who scooped me up and tenderly patched my bleeding wound. Her act of tenderness has never left me.

I also encountered the tall prince who I gazed up at with star-struck eyes when he came to pick up my sis for a fancy banquet (I always thought it was a dance, but learned there was no dancing allowed in the provincial school.) He smiled at me in present time and became a little teary as he remembered his own little brother, my age, who died when he was just a boy. And then there was the prom queen – a little worn with age, but recognizable nonetheless as she opened her mouth and spoke to me in Southern drawl of yet another brother, my age, who passed away just last year. For many of my sister’s classmates, I was a mascot of sorts – a reminder of their mothers who birthed children in their 30’s (almost unheard of in that day.)

One other neighbor introduced himself and we both gave our descriptions of the circular path in front of his house – to me it was a giant driveway on which to ride my bike endlessly; to him a small sidewalk nearly forgotten. Who knew all of those memories would tumble out of a woman who was barely 4 years old when they were created? The emotions these individuals evoked in me were surprising, tender and pretty remarkable.

It’s funny how I started to write this post about my own reunion that occurred on this same trip. Today, however, it feels important to honor the people who grew up a little before me. Like my sister, I cannot shake the awareness that each of these encounters both past and present has marked my life with indelible ink.

People (& things) seem pretty darn big in the eyes of a four year old. Are there those you recall who were bigger than life? The handsome prince, a gentle caregiver, the beautiful queen? Your adored sibling or parent? How do they still impact you today? If it's been awhile, I invite you to take a stroll down memory lane. The path to get there may be shorter than you think.

lucy circa 1960
the "giant" driveway - photo 2010

Choose Your Playmates Wisely

"While riding in a convertible bug I update my friends via iPhone that I will be eating sushi and choosing the varieties off a conveyor in seattle yes I am livin the life!" SB 7.15.10

I am in the midst of a grand adventure. My young charge, SB, (the 14 year old son of my husband's first cousin) and I are taking on Seattle like never before. Imagine combining the enthusiasm of a boy born in this fabulous city and transplanted to Bozeman, Montana with the delight and competitive nature of a grown woman who loves to play. Toss in the fact that he thinks I'm the coolest thing since sliced bread and I have four days to prove him right. What you get is a whirlwind of laughter, cheesy tours and pretty much nonstop activity.

We've been planning this trip for nearly two years. The excitement and disappointments have risen and dropped as plans were made, delayed & ultimately tickets purchased. When we chatted on the phone a few nights before his arrival and he gave me a list of things to do while adding a few of my own, I had to ask myself, "Am I up for the task?" It's a good thing I've been in physical training and consider myself in tiptop shape - little did I know this week would be the ultimate test of my stamina!
While I'd love to describe the extensive attributes of my young friend in great detail, let it suffice that he is a smart, engaging, kind of goofy, well-read, articulate, fun-loving kid. I hope he grows up to be the same! He's easy to be around, does not whine, tells you what he thinks, but also defers when I say, "Enough." (Now... his own mother might laugh at this description for she may not receive the full compliance I have, but I'm sure she will be proud to hear this as well she should be!)

Our adventures are numerous and I'd love to elaborate, but for the moment I will simply say "Life is grand." Today offers a bit slower pace - I'm taking my buddy to yoga (a first for him), we'll probably stop off for Starbuck's, maybe grab a little lunch, visit American Eagle, hop a bus down to Seattle Center where we will visit the Pacific Science Center before our 5:00 p.m. reservation for the IMAX theatre... and that's a slower day. I have to say, it felt a bit of a victory last night when he blinked his heavy eyes first and headed for bed before I.

It's been a long time since I've played with this level of intensity... I'm not sure which one of us is having the better time. SB keeps expressing his gratitude for the adventures and attention, but this girl is immensely grateful too! I love playing and find great satisfaction with my own antics most of the time, but this is a whole new level. Like I said, Life is Grand.

I hope you can take the opportunity to play today. Who would you choose for your playmate?

rhythms and rest

"...whatever you see your soul to desire according to God, do that thing, and you shall keep your heart safe." - the desert fathers

is it appropriate to follow the desert fathers with an Aaarrggh? i've already written this post once, and it disappeared into thin air... no wonder i'm computer-resistant these days!! (note to self - breathe.) ok...early this morning i was sitting here pondering which way my day might flow and an e-mail popped into my inbox. it was from a reader who i've been in correspondence with, and she was wondering if i'm alright and might perhaps be struggling with something i need or want to share. as i responded to her, i realized she had prompted the post for which i was looking these past couple of days. thus, i'm sharing a synopsis of those words here (so in reality, this is the 3rd time i've written this post. Aaarrgghh). one more deep breath.

i find myself to be in an interesting place of internal stillness (i.e. things are quiet not only externally, but also internally as the mindless chatter has slowed to a near nonexistent pace). my husband is out of town for a couple of weeks and my 17 year old daughter requires minimal attention from me, so i have some spaciousness in life and seem to find myself just being. aslan has also attached himself to me like velcro, and it's rather difficult to be "productive" with 9 pounds of purring fluff planted in your lap. consequently, i've chosen to surrender to his masterful spiritual direction and settle into the rhythm.

if there is an overarching struggle, it may have something to do with the multitude of feelings around my young son being incarcerated. it's a challenging road to navigate and one that few (any?) people i know personally have walked. my beautiful boy turns 21 next wednesday, so as i write to you i realize i may be experiencing solitude in solidarity with his solitary confinement.

in contrast, much of my days are spent giving and listening to others which truly feels like gift to me (and hopefully them as well) - so i am listening to my own rhythm as i have the time and it feels perfect. yesterday, i felt like i had a little spa day - i went to yoga early in the a.m., followed by my exercise routine, a stroll in the misty rain, my favorite hot latte and a few hours curled up with zen kitty while finishing a great book.

so, there you go... i hope you don't mind sharing this e-mail response/stream of awareness with me today. it's always such a delight to find a writing prompt through cyberspace. now, it's my turn...

how are the rhythms of your days falling into place? is there spaciousness to experience internal and/or external rest? what would your private "spa day" include?

mother's day - aaarrrghh!

"Nothing else will make you as happy or as sad, as proud or as tired, for nothing is quite as hard as helping a person develop his own individuality especially while you struggle to keep your own."

--Marguerite Kelly and Elia Parsons, The Mothers Almanac

what can i write for a blog post today? words don't feel especially pretty here. i hate mother's day - a strong sentiment, i know. And lest, anyone think I'm totally cold-hearted, I wish all of you mother's out there a joyous day. i especially send my condolences to those who grieve because they aren't mothers (i know this day is hard for you, and it's yet another reason for my disdain of the 2nd sunday in may.)

mothers... what can i say? mothers love. mothers die. they hurt. they mess up and they do the best they can. they are loving, hateful, compassionate and cruel. they are the most important thing in the world to us, and we discount what they have to say because "they're just our mothers."

today is a gorgeous day outside. my husband has already brought me coffee in bed and breakfast is on the way. my son sent and created the beautiful card you see here, complete with an original poem. my daughter is still sleeping soundly (which is what a 17 year old girl should be doing on sunday morning). i have lovely plans for the day - some just for me and others spent with my family.

i have already shed tears for the loss of my mother who died 6 years ago today on mother's day. i have been angry at her and myself. i have grieved for friends who i know also struggle with this day, and i have rejoiced with those who relish what it means to be a mom. before 8:00 a.m. i have felt a full range of emotions including laughter, tears, anger and grief.

And... i believe that's what being alive is all about - it's about feeling our feelings. i recognized quickly this morning the pull between the radiant sunshine and warmth that greeted me outside and the tug inside my body that screams "I hate this day." it isn't one or the other. it's both, and the more clearly i can name it, the more i can be present to this day - or any other. so regardless of your mother-status or gender, i send you warm wishes on this sacred sunday.

may you feel your feelings fully and celebrate the beauty of who YOU are!!!

Madrona means Mother

Oh my, do I have lots to share this morning?!??! So much to say. So little time! There is so much gloriousness floating around in the world, I can hardly stand it. Yesterday, I was greeted by this blogger for the first time. She mentioned how our blogs have much in common and when I read "What a beautiful mess this is", I thought she had borrowed something from me. I went searching to find some profound words about the madrona tree, thinking they were posted somewhere in this site. Alas, I had only penned them to my son back in December.

So, in a rush and without further adieu, I share with you these beautiful words about this amazing piece of nature.

“When a madrona branch withers and dies, it is not in the nature of the tree to allow it to rot or drop off. Its mother tree refuses to abandon it. Rather, as the young, healthy wood and bark grow, they creep up around the aged gray appendage like a bandage, a second skin, covering and protecting it, welcoming it back to tree-ness. No wonder the word “madrona” means “mother.” -- Luci Shaw

So, tell me... what do you think of the madrona? Nurturing? Co-dependent? Fabulous example? What images come to your mind?

A Letter to Mary

Today is not only the beginning of the New Year, a new decade even, but also the feast day of St. Mary, Mother of Jesus. Mary has been with me more than ever through this holiday season and several times I have attempted to write a post in her honor – really in honor of all mothers. So, it only seems fitting that today before I step fully into 2010, announce my word for the year, or recap 2009, Mary deserves her day.

How fitting that a mother would have to share her feast day with one of the most unavoidable holidays of the year. Whether we want to acknowledge it or not, we have entered a new year and it affects us all in one way or another. So by sharing this day, Mary has most often gone unnoticed, as mothers are prone to do.

“But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” Luke 2:19

Mary was a ponderer. (I love that!) She bore the Son. She bore God. She bore MUCH! How much must I as a mother be called to bear? My own mother used to say, “There is nothing that can compare with the love a mother has for her child.” The range of emotions is huge and even if we aren’t mothers, we all had one! And, so I write to this ancient mother for my own peace of mind.

Dear Mary -

What was it like to be the mother of a perfect child? Were you without worry? I think not. Both you and he were human, after all. How did you hold up, Mary? How did you bear all that God gave you? Your “yes” was only the beginning. Your years had to be excruciating. Consider the weirdness following his birth – all those strangers showing up with extravagant gifts while you hung out in a dirty stable. The flight to Egypt as Herod threatened to kill your only son.

And those middle years – what happened then? Was Jesus ever rowdy as a boy? Was he arrogant as a teenager? Your mother’s worry had to be huge. Did you hover and overfeed him? Did you try to encourage him to eat his vegetables and study his Hebrew? Did you tell him to be careful when he went out at night? Even your mother’s love was not enough to save his life. You had to stand by and watch him be crucified to death. How did you handle that? How helpless you must have felt!

Mary, you have been with me this season. I am grateful for your presence. You offer me hope and I will carry you with me into this New Year.


Today’s Advent reading ends with … “this was the Mary whose soul was pierced by a sword.”

No matter who your kid is, being a mother is a really tough job – one that pierces in more ways anyone can imagine. Today I honor Mary and all the mothers of the world – Saints or not ☺. Won't you join me?

For another wonderful view of Mary, pop on over to the Mind Sieve.

photo © lucy - paris, 2008

Did you celebrate well?

December 25 has come and gone, and today I sit pondering…what is this thing called Christmas and can we celebrate it well? The world tells us we are to be filled with joy and wonder. We are called to celebrate the birth of a Savior. How does one honor a Jesus who has been lost amidst the shopping bags and the self-importance of the “chosen” few who claim to know THE Christ.

At Anchors and Masts, Tess speaks of Christmas as a time for families. As I spent the weeks leading up to the holidays listening to individuals who struggled with going home or not going home, I became increasingly aware of the damage we do to each other and ourselves in the name of family and in the name of Christ. We seem to forget that Jesus’ own genealogy was filled not only with God's faithful, but also “adulterers, murderers, rebels, conspirators, transgressors of all sorts, both the fearful and the bold.”*

We seek impossible perfection. We say, Put on a happy face. Go to church. Celebrate with your family – even if it hurts. So, I ask again...what is this thing called Christmas and can we celebrate it well? My family experienced a fabulously messy Christmas this year with lots of tears and gales of laughter. I had a little meltdown in front of a visiting nephew - surprising and amazingly good. It opened our hearts to see and know that we’re all human and no one is exempt from life’s hard times. My ancestral crew doesn’t fit in a Norman Rockwell portrait (although heaven knows we’ve tried at times!). We are a messy, wonderful, wild, American family complete with our own rebels and transgressors, both fearful and bold!

One relation would give anything to be with us and can’t. Another holds a perpetual scowl in our presence. A devout Christian refuses “real wine” communion, then ladles on spoonful after spoonful of Port sauce at dinner. We make small talk. We cry and shout. Laugh and play games. Show love and gratitude. Display our rough edges.

Christmas Eve, I oohed and aaahed over the sweetness of the Christmas pageant, then wept sobbing tears, because it was too much to bear. A brief while later I was bursting with gratitude and joy for the gathering around my table. My heart was filled to the brim and broken wide open all at the same time.

Obviously, Christmas brings up LOTS of emotions (at least for me!) It is a great metaphor for life. The mess and the beauty. I love it and I hate it. I overflow with joy one moment and I burst into tears the next. Bottom line – Christmas is hard and Christmas is wonderful. I think I felt every emotion possible in the last three days. It’s no wonder I’m exhausted today and just a little bit weepy with no solid answer to my own question… what is this thing called Christmas and can we celebrate it well?

*Kathleen Norris - "God with Us"

The Ripple Effect

“…I know in my bones the ache to find the words, I know, as well, the ache of uncertainty about which words.” --Scott Cairns

Since my return from Ireland on October 26, I have been struggling with this “which” of words. On the heels of one of my most incredible life experiences, I was greeted only moments after arrival in Seattle with the news that my beloved beautiful boy was in jail, charged with a very serious offense. Needless to say, I was (and am) devastated.

In both events (Ireland & 'the news'), my world has been rocked. I sit and wait during this season of Advent to see where the ripples might land. Can that be enough? Yes – for me, for now – the waiting must be enough. Still…I ache to find the words, so today I share a few regarding “the crime.”


I am ever so grateful no one was physically harmed – no death – no hospitalizations – no rape. But, laws were broken. Stupid, careless, foolish mistakes were made and now a young life – my son’s – will be imprisoned for as many as four years. They say it could have been much worse – 15 years or more. Can I be grateful? Perhaps later.

No one was physically harmed… the words linger and I am struck with the ripple effect, because the emotional toll is high. I can’t begin to process the damage for myself, so how can I weigh the cost to the rest of my family or anyone else? The ripple is high. It is exhausting. Like the waves of the ocean, even the gentle ones leave me with a queasy feeling if I stand or float in them too long. And, then there are the rogue waves that come out of nowhere and pick you up and thrash you to the ocean floor where all equilibrium is lost. Which way is up? Where is the bottom?

I once danced with a rogue wave in Hawaii. Even after I was safely out of the water and had survived the experience, I could not accurately assess the damage. Removing my swimsuit, the sand came out of nooks and crannies I didn’t know existed – little grains of evidence that the wave had had its way with me. Later, I walked by a mirror after showering and caught sight of a giant bruise disguised as an enormous eggplant tattooed on my butt. I don’t remember how long it took before I could sit comfortably again or when the ugly mark finally faded away.

Today, I have more questions than answers – many of them surrounding this season of Advent, as well as the circumstances of my life. It’s odd, but there is a simple peace in knowing that today waiting can be enough. I am grateful for this space. I have struggled with the words and will continue to do so. Your loving witness alongside makes the waiting a little easier.

Blessings to you and yours.

bermuda waves ©h3images.com

Leveling the Playing Field

Last week at the "Honoring the Ancestors" retreat, I was greeted by these images during an experience of walking the labyrinth. My oh my!

Giggling little girls – full of joy and eager to greet me. “Come on. Come on,” they say. “Come play with us.” The years fade away – the hurts – the sorrows – the weight of life. We are girls – skipping – laughing – tumbling. Full of joy. Generations cascading together. Somersaulting like acrobats. Walking a tight wire without fear. Taking each others’ hands and holding – caressing. We raise each other upright with our laughter – lightness and light. A puddle of puppies, but we are giggling girls – all of us. Grandmas. Aunties. Mothers. Nieces. Daughters. Tumbling together on beds of feathers – light as air. Pure goodness – All else dissolves into fits of laughter.

“Come play with us.” We are little girls even in our death. Those who have gone before and those who come after share in the joy. Let it out of the box for all to see. Anne. Daisy. Myrtice. Audrey. Addie. Morgan. Janey. Stephanie. Kari. Ainsley. Dianna June and Kayce Dee. Come play with me. Auntie. Glenda Jo. Vicki. Carolyn. Barbara. Marilyn. Little girls, all. Their beauty glows.

Little girls. Aunts. Cousins. Daughters. Mothers. Grandmas. Sisters. Blonde. Raven-haired. Straight and curly. Giggling girls. Our laughter and compassion will save the world. Little girls, come dance with me. Little girls of wonder for all the world to see. Communion white and taffeta red – pink – yellow – golden girls. All tumbling into giggle pie.

Little girls skip and scuff their shoes. Giggling precious girls. Generations of them. Embracing me. Touching me. Our blood flows through from Eve. Transformed girls. How can anyone be angry with them? Look through the wrinkles of gray and death – into eyes of laughing girls. Full of hope and compassion and JOY! Amen. Blessed be.

"laughter" © lucy 11.11.09

Invitation to Poetry

My senses overflowing - saturated, really - after almost two weeks in Ireland, followed by a retreat to honor the ancestors. I was grateful this morning for Christine's Invitation to Poetry. It is a welcome entry point to "step across the threshold" back into my blogging world. The invitation made easier since I have a poem already created from this past weekend. It came out of an intuitive process where we poets were asked to include a given word line by line in our poems. It never ceases to amaze me what pops out when I choose to get out of my own way.

Titled, Healing Women, this creation turned into a tribute to my mother and two grandmothers. Our history is not one where loving care is the first thing that always comes to mind. However, something shifted this weekend as I honored the women - the girls - they were. The pictured shrine came later in the weekend as more pieces fell into place. The young girl is my mother, Daisy Ernestine. The top photo, her mother, Myrtice; and my father, "the sailor", holds the arm of his mother, Anne.

Stepping over the threshold,
what story wants to be told?

Shafts of silver light illumine my world,
spreading bare the winter of my soul.

Anne, Myrtice, Daisy step into the dance
as we let go of the stone in our hearts.
Je t'aime, mes amis.

The breath of God has washed us clean &
Jubilation rings the bell
as we return Home together.

I hope you'll join in the fun and join this week's poetry party. To get you started, here are the 10 prompts used this weekend. Let me know when you create your own poem!

1. threshold
2. story
3. a color
4. winter
5. names of ancestor(s)
6. stone
7. a foreign phrase (perhaps from your country of origin)
8. breath
9. an emotion
10. home

Bon chance, mes amis!!

how do you define violence?

..."violence is not just a matter of dropping a bomb on someone or shooting a bullet at them or hitting them in the face. Violence is done whenever we violate the identity and integrity of the other. Violence is done when we demean, marginalize, dismiss, rendering other people irrelevant to our lives or even less than human. Violence is done when we simply don't care or don't look hard enough to evoke our caring for another." -- Parker Palmer

I share this quote today, because my daughter experienced this kind of violence first hand this week. She is a member of a class of citizens known for their extreme "meanness" - that of the teenage girl. Unfortunately this time the 'violence' came from someone who should know better. He is supposedly a role model. He is a coach.

Torn between wanting to rake this man over the coals and also wanting to be compassionate because I cannot know what has brought him to this place, I shall keep my public statements to a minimum. My private journaling, however, includes lots of spewing. I am livid to put it mildly.

How can the next generation grow into positive citizens when their role models daily inflict violence on them? How can we stop violence in the world if we do not stop it in our own homes & neighborhoods? So i must consider... How do I dismiss others without a thought? Where do I inflict violence by simply not caring? I hope you will consider this for yourself alongside me.

"headless" by lucy 7.08.09

Do Not Drop

I am feeling restless lately. Have for several days. I want to write and can’t seem to string two coherent sentences together. I have volumes to say AND absolutely nothing at all. Life feels full with lots to do AND I have spaciousness that sits like a parched gully waiting for the rain to fill. I feel edgy and restless. I have tried everything. (My inner monk says, “Stop trying.”) Meeting with friends. Taking naps. Walks. Yesterday I danced. Now, that was fun and cool and removed the restlessness for awhile (and I hope to come back and write that little story ☺.) But for now…

Today would have been my father’s 90th birthday. Happy Birthday, Daddy! He was a long-distance truck driver and I believe had a bit of the wanderlust in him. Last year at this time I took off on my “Baby Road Trip.” I have felt the same call recently, but cannot quite bring myself to do it. It is so odd. I don’t feel blue or sad or empty or any of those other things. I just feel restless. I wonder if that is how my dad felt? I wonder if this is the time of year where I sense his presence stronger and somehow inhabit his restlessness. I imagine that might sound a little kooky to some of you. I’m not talking about channeling my father like a Whoopie Goldberg impersonation from “Ghost.” I am referring to an embodied sense. His blood flows through my veins. Perhaps he had DNA that drove him to hit the road and that DNA stirs up in me around his birthday which also happens to be a few short weeks before the anniversary of his death – September 12.

Who knows? Maybe it’s all in my head, but you know what? I don’t think that’s totally it. It didn’t even dawn on me that any of this was happening until I was out for a jog a couple of days ago with my i-Pod shuffling away and Jimmy Buffett’s song, Big Rig*, came on. I stopped in my tracks and had another “moment” with my dad. Crazy? I don’t think so. Connected? Restless? Present? You bet.

Like I said, I am having trouble stringing two coherent sentences together, but it still felt important to put this out there for myself and for my dad – and maybe even for you? Do you ever feel sensations like restlessness or grief or something that you can’t quite put your finger on? Have you experienced “anniversary dates” in your body before they popped into your mind? Have you ever thought about something like this?

*"I wish I was a big rig
Rollin' on home to you
I wish I was a big rig
A big rig baby
Rollin' on home to you"
--Jimmy Buffett

"Do Not Drop" - lucy, late 1960's

How do you raise an artist?

You never know when memories of life will take on new meaning and perhaps shift into deeper understanding of yourself – or someone else. I have just finished reading Sunrise Sister’s recent post about an obscure artist – Orren Mixer. It is a story about art and her mother – who happens to also be my mother.

Art and my mother. Somehow the two pieces do not seem to fit, yet after reading SS’s post, I am filled with an overwhelming sadness and grief. Perhaps it is in the lack of understanding I have for my mother (who died in May, 2004) or possibly I understand in this moment more than I ever have before. I seem to feel the deeper sadness of my mother and renewed compassion. She never showed her sadness through tears. It was disguised in her perfect appearance, her critical nature and her adamant statements about good & bad, right and wrong. Was she covering a broken heart? Vanquished dreams? I have often wondered who stamped the joy out of her. Her mother? Her mother’s mother? Her children?

As I think of those women, I see scraps of fabric. Pieces of quilts and remnants of cloth cut from McCall’s patterns. I have a flash of thought. Did I pick up my love of art from these women - women who never spoke the word art with anything but scorn? For years I knew I wanted to quilt – needed to quilt even. Sunbonnet Sue –the little girl with the hidden face - called to me. Could I relate to her? I have never made my own Sunbonnet Sue, but when I began to quilt I found something that had been missing deep inside. I was passionate about it and spent hours on end precisely cutting squares and piecing them together. I love the feel of the fabric between my fingers and arranging colors like the rainbow. No one taught me how to do that. It came from an instinctive place inside.

Ah, but my mother taught me how to sew. One of my favorite places at my grandmother’s house was underneath her old pedal sewing machine. I felt safe there. I have fond memories of Mother sewing for me. Lovingly piecing together multiple patterns to create the dress of our vision. Was this her craft? Her art? Did she come alive when she created? (I am sorry to say I don't recall that joy about her.) If she was joyful, why did she stop? Why the staunch refusal to support any career for her children that was not practical? Rumor had it, our mother wanted to be an English teacher, but she married the day she graduated high school and began a family shortly thereafter. I considered a degree in Fashion Merchandising, but ultimately graduated in accounting, pushing aside a dulled vision of anything more creative.

I have been told I have a strong sense of style. I don’t know from where it came. No one taught me. I have a good eye with a camera. No one taught or encouraged that either. I am a decent writer even though the art was nearly pounded out of me with demands for perfect sentence structure and footnotes to reference “real” writer’s work. So, I wonder who pounded the art out of my mother. Because as I read my sister’s post, I know it was there. I’m not even sure my mother knew it was there. 'Fabric Arts' was not in vogue in her lifetime. It was simply sewing – something often done out of necessity. Does necessity take the fun or beauty out of our craft(s)? If my writing becomes work will I love it less?

The stakes are low as I post a few words here on a blog; and they are very high, because writing brings me joy. My soul is at stake here. My life breath depends on doing what I am called to do. So what was my mother called to do? Perhaps it was to raise three brilliant children. I wonder though if a little piece of her didn’t die somewhere along the way. Was there a spark inside her that needed air and instead got suffocated? We weren’t raised to appreciate art, but there are traces of it all throughout our lives. Tiny little seeds planted somewhere along the way, sprouting now in the children she inadvertently raised to be artists. Along with those seeds comes my hope for growing compassion and understanding of a woman who was an artist in her very own way.

You never know when a memory of your life will take on new meaning.

my mother and sister
sunbonnet sue
"reading at an early age" - me

Teen Power

Wow! I am amazed at the power of one brief teenage interaction (as mentioned in my last post). I mean think about this…that post contained personal information about the great author Kathleen Norris, coupled with photos filled with innuendo, talk of French food, soul experiences and other adventures. Good stuff, all!! So who warrants the conversation in the majority of the numerous comments?? The teen, of course! Hmmmmm.

Just a little update. The “outburst” seemed to kind of clear out her pipes (or “whatever”) and she morphed back into a reasonable human being for now…Oh wait, she’s sleeping now...and it is a moment to cherish! Anyway, I really appreciate the camaraderie and thoughtful comments shared by so many of you.

My son (who is swiftly nearing the end of his teen years) has turned into quite the man of wisdom. Here are a few of his words on the topic of children…

“Well, you know, Mom, that’s just the way it is. Having kids is really hard. People think it’s gonna be fun and it is for…well, however long it’s fun for…and then it’s just hard.”

Teens. They really are powerful!

self-portrait by my girl

a thinning veil

this weekend has been one of both beautiful and still celebration as well as deep sadness and grief. sometimes i wonder how i put one foot in front of the other and other times the joy grips me and i am overcome with delight.

one of this weekend's blessings came in the form of this picture of my mother. it was sent to me by my sister and to my knowledge i had never seen it before. there is something about the photograph and the caption that my sister wrote, "she just wants to be a little girl," that has brought me a sense of peace and connection with my mother that i have not felt for quite some time.

mother died almost 5 years ago and mentally left several before as her mind was taken over by the dreaded alzheimer's. this weekend as i have spent time near my little altar, it has felt like the veil between 'here and there' has indeed been thin. something about this weekend reminded me of these words from richard rohr's daily devotion:

"surrender is something that is done to us.

you can't pick ahead of time which dragon you'll slay. the opportunity always sneaks up on you, and then all you can do is be ready."

am i ready? who knows? i think that is all i can share for now. it may or may not make sense to you readers. i am not totally sure it makes sense to me, but i do know that i wanted and needed to further mark this honoring of ancestors and the beginning of a new year.

there may be more later...or not. wishing you peace.

Opening the door to a new year…

There was a time not so long ago when I would have considered that thinking of the new year on October 31 would be rushing things just a bit. Through this crazy world of blogging, however, I am daily introduced to new people and new ways of thinking. I am grateful for the opportunity to learn of new celebrations and ways to think of “old” holidays from new (and ancient) perspectives.

One of the lovely introductions this year was to the Celtic New Year called Samhain. (I learned of this celebration in Crossing the Threshold: New Year, New Beginnings by Christine Paintner). One of the significant features of Samhain is the honoring of ancestors…particularly those who have gone before us into the spiritual realm upon leaving their earthly bodies.

Throughout this week, I have been thinking of those people and beings who have "gone before me." I had great visions of ways that I would like to honor them on this day. Alas my time and technical abilities (artistically speaking) are somewhat lacking and so my celebration has been simple…and possibly all the sweeter because of that simplicity.

Today I made the simple altar featured here. In it (from left to right) are photos of my mother and father, my mother’s family of origin (she is the blonde girl in the center), my husband’s mother who died the same year as my father and, last but not least, my beloved Curry. This afternoon after arranging the photos, I sat before them and played Sarah MacLachlan’s beautiful song, "I will remember you." It was a sweet time and I could feel the presence of each being—including my mother-in-law who I never had the privilege of meeting.

This evening just as the sun was setting, I lit the five candles—one for each photo. And so, as the trick or treaters have come and gone throughout the evening, my husband and I have sat here with our ancestors—feeling their presence and honoring them in our own way.

Throughout the week, my brother and sister were kind enough to share some memories with me of our family. As the youngest sibling by several years, I have often felt like some memories slipped away before I had the opportunity to know they even existed. Tonight I shared one of these vignettes with my husband. It was a new story for me and one I delight in about my mother’s father, Birt (he sits to my mother's left in the group photo.) Here is the story as told by my brother:

A story I remember about Grandpa (Birt M.) regards the reason he
dropped out of school at about 8th grade. (It might have been 6th grade.)

When he started first grade, he figured that he knew just about
everything there was to know. Each year he found there was more that he
didn't know. He decided the best course was to abandon school before he
found out that he didn't know anything at all.

I recall a story of his arrival in Bethany with not much but what he
could carry. He found a job as a carpenter, but had to borrow a saw for
his first day on the job. He earned enough to buy his own tools, and
built his livelihood from there. He did well. Maybe it's a good thing he
didn't keep going to school to find out how much he didn't know.

My grandfather went on to be quite the entrepeneur and land owner as well as from what I remember a pastor of sorts. Although he died when I was about 12 years old, his story reminded me of my own tag line here @ Diamonds: The more I learn the less I know. It is no small wonder how the blood of our ancestors runs through our veins.

Wishing you a happy new year and hoping you might share a few of your own memories here with me & mine ☺.