Tending the Roots

The resident sweetie has caught a bug. He’s in its grip, and he hasn’t been able to shake it. You might even say it’s been taking over his life.

The bug? Genealogy!

A month or two ago, we went to a church breakfast at which a guest speaker talked about his passion for genealogy. He warned us about the dangers of getting involved, that once we dipped our toes into that water, we just might become addicted. I didn’t need another addiction...fabric and writing are enough to keep me on a high. So I wasn’t tempted.  But Al didn’t listen.

When we got home, he pulled our family history books off the shelf and revisited them. We are blessed to have 3 bound books covering three of our four branches of ancestry. The fourth branch is written up in a list of begats, stretching back to the 14th  century, assembled by a cousin. We also have a book written by my dad, a memoir of his life written when he was in his 70s. When we acquired these books and lists years ago, we thought they were pretty interesting. But being younger then, we didn’t dig much deeper.

And then we had breakfast with the genealogist. Before you can say “Bob’s your uncle” (or “Bouke’s your Grandfather” if you’re Dutch), Al was registered with www.myheritage.com, a genealogy research engine on the internet. The internet has changed everything in this field. With click of a mouse and the flash of a credit card – ching-ching! – you can find all kinds of information without poking through thousands of dusty church record books.

This record of one of Al's forefathers is now digitized on line. 

 
Using the books as reference, he began filling in little boxes online with info he’d gleaned. 

Those little boxes led to everything else, including the fever that grips him now, the kind that has him muttering, “Just one more ancestor before bedtime” or wondering how he’s going to solve the mystery of someone on the tree who was born in 1749 and appears, according to the records, to have been baptized twice, five years apart.

I’m glad Al is doing this, but filling in the blanks is not my cup of tea. I’m much more interested in the stories behind the information. The stories tell me not so much about who I’ve come from, but rather about who I am right now. These stories reveal my ancestors’ passions, beliefs, characters, struggles and joys – the characteristics that formed the roots of my family. Roots are vital to a tree, and so are they to a family. Roots nourish, support, and anchor both a tree, and a family. The older I get, the more I understand and appreciate this.

Images of trees are important to me. This is one of many I've created.

When I was younger, I couldn’t understand my dad’s rigid loyalty to a conservative brand of Reformed religion. But when I read in my dad’s story that a great-great grandfather joined other tenant farmers in a court case against the rich landlord who thought he had the right to choose a a more liberal minister for the parish church, I begin to understand. Those were the roots he grew out of. (And, by the way, the farmers won their case.) When I read in a great-grandfather’s life story that his dad, a merchant of dry goods, was still peddling his wares door-to-door at the age of 80, and refused to retire, I begin to understand the pride of calling and the Calvinist work-ethic that is ingrained in our family.

My Great-great grandfather Lammert Lammerts Hofstra who died in 1900.

 “We do not choose to have roots,” writes Gilles Cusson. “We accept those we grew out of.” Ah, yes, acceptance! First we accept so we can appreciate, and then we can thrive and grow.

Four years ago, our family visited the grave of my grandmother, who died when my own mom was less than a year old.

I told my children and grandchildren a little bit about her story, a story I’d learned from my grandfather, and also my great-grandfather, both of whom wrote it down. She was dying of the Spanish flu, leaving behind a loving husband and a beloved child, yet on her deathbed, she told my grandfather, “Now darling, no crying today. It’s a day of celebration, put on your best clothes!” As I told the story, the grandchildren got to work, picking away at the moss that was covering the gravestone’s writing, then decorating it with little wildflowers they found in the grass around it. They were both listening and honouring, and absorbing the story into the fibres of their being.

“Just think, Oma,” said my oldest granddaughter, 11 at the time. “If she had not lived, we would not be here.”

Genealogy: the RS takes care of the logistics, and I will take care of the stories, so that our roots remain strong and well-tended. I like where this team work is taking us.

I Choose to Weave

The Crow holed up last week, conserving energy until Snowmageddon was over.

It’s over! The sun is shining, the snow is melting fast, the days are getting longer, and I think it’s safe to pop my head out of the hole and get on with life. Or is it?

What do you see when you look out at the world? There’s the good, the bad, and the ugly – but mostly, it seems, we tend to be bombarded by the bad and the ugly in our news feeds. Maybe I should just turn right around and turtle back into my hole. It’s just too much.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this because of an op-ed article in the New York Times, written by moderate conservative David Brooks. (See link, below.) Brooks says he hears stories of pain every week, stories about bullying, racism, hateful words and angry acts directed at anyone who is “not my tribe.”

“These different kinds of pain share a common thread,” he writes. “Our lack of healthy connection to each other ... results in a culture of fear, distrust, tribalism, shaming and strife.”

The social fabric – the glue which holds a society together, the bonds which people share – is tearing apart, leaving big holes for us to fall through.

Over many centuries we’ve carefully woven this fabric out of tradition, spiritual values, and civility, trying to form a culturally rich and socially cohesive community.

Over the last six decades, however, Individualism has gone front and center as a social construct.  We place high value on freedom, self-expression and personal fulfilment, all good things. But the pendulum has swung too far: we have forgotten to balance that with community, working together, civic duty, and the common good. And that’s dangerous. It’s not the way it’s supposed to be.

“We are born into relationships, and the measure of our life is in the quality of our relationships. “We” precedes “me”,” says Brooks.

But not so much anymore. Stereotyping, verbal assaults, abuse of the powerless, angry vindictive rants – it’s everywhere you look, sometimes even glorified. Freedom of self-expression can look pretty ugly. This is perhaps when we want to hide our head in the sand, crawl back into our holes.

But Brooks decided to escape from his hole and check out what else is out there. He looked beyond the forces that rip apart the social fabric, and found what he names Weavers, people and organizations that are not motivated by power, money, status, and a me-first mentality. They want to live in right relation with others and to serve the community. With their deeds, they are mending the social fabric.

Their stories abound. Look around you, which is what I did, and this is what I saw, just in our small community:

A fundraiser for 17 families who had lost their possessions and their rented homes in a flood was successful beyond anyone’s wildest dreams. Rotary clubs in our Valley have raised the money to build miles and miles of trails enjoyed by all. People return dropped wallets containing vital documents and lots of money. The local Grannies are tireless in holding fundraisers to support grandmothers in Africa. Compassionate volunteers staff the Cancer Agency that one of my friends has needed lately. A neighbour uses his snowblower to clear the driveways on our street. An organization here in town pays expenses for families whose children need medical treatment in larger urban hospitals. The Coldest Night movement sends out teams of people who walk the streets in solidarity with those who live there, while raising money for our local shelter society. An anonymous thank-you note arrives in the mailbox of a committee I work on. A downtown church is open 7 days a week, hosting AA groups, a soup kitchen, food bank, clothing depot, toy lending library and more. If you look around, I’m sure it will take no time at all to make a list of ten people or organizations that are Weavers in your community. Try it! There, doesn’t that feel better?

“Being around these people has been one of the most uplifting experiences of my life,” says Brooks. “... it’s made me want to be more neighborly, to be more active and intentional in how I extend care.”

It’s very easy to be a ripper of the social fabric. I know, because too often I find myself tearing down rather than building up. It’s very easy to chime in with the loud voices that cry outrage, derision, shame, and fear. We don’t have to follow, but it’s the easy road to take.

But if being a ripper is a choice, then so is being a weaver. When we accept that we are all in this together, then it makes sense that we come together and work together, that we talk together and walk together.

And the more we spread the good news that Weavers are working in our communities, the less room there is for Rippers to do their work. So what am I waiting for? Time to crawl out of the hole.



You can read more about this at https://www.nytimes.com/2019/02/18/opinion/culture-compassion.html  and hear him talk about Project Weave at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uKcrGvQXJII

PS: If you want some eye candy to go with this post, check out the art of Lillian Blades at http://septembergrayart.com/artists/lillian-blades/

 

The Fine Art of Holing Up

From sea to sea, our great nation is suffering under the siege of Snowmageddon. It’s brutal out there.

It’s snowing here on the island, too. We are calling it the Big Snow at our house. It started snowing steadily last Sunday morning, depositing about 18 inches of white stuff, forcing school closures, causing accidents, delaying travel plans, and even causing shortages on the shop shelves: shortages of shovels and salt, shortages of dairy products and breads because the delivery trucks can’t get through. This is serious business.

When we first moved here we believed the propaganda about Vancouver Island, Canada's banana belt: cherry blossoms and daffodils in February. Balmy climes. Ski in the morning, golf in the afternoon.  “Sure it rains, but you don’t shovel rain,” implying that we could leave our snow shovels behind forever when we left the Prairies (hence the shortage of shovels on Canadian Tire’s shelves now). But it’s not so. Fake news. The first time it snowed, our new neighbour, an ex-Albertan,  exclaimed, “Wait a minute. This isn’t what we signed up for. I’m going to write a letter to my MP, complaining.”

"At least you don't have to shovel it," they said. Ha! Fake news.

Personally, I think we should build a wall to keep snow off the island. It’s invading our territory, and it’s not funny. There should be a law against it.

We were just fine without it before, but now here it is, sneaking in without a green card, taking over our roads, wreaking havoc with schools and businesses, causing unnecessary stress on hospital emergency wards. Who knows where this will lead? Perhaps we should follow my neighbour’s lead and begin writing letters of protest to our members of parliament, agitating for stricter barriers between us and the mainland.

Just kidding. Sure, we can fight it, but we will never win this battle, so may as well make the best of it. That is why, this week, the week of the Big Snow, I’m practicing the fine art of “holing up.”

The dictionary defines “holing up” in various ways: to hide out in a hole or cave; to stay in a particular place as a refuge from something; remain secluded or in hiding. Apparently, some word police (very snooty ones, in my opinion), think we should not use this phrase – it is too slangy. Instead, we should say, “concealing oneself” or “secreting oneself” or “taking cover” or “sheltering.” Bah humbug to the word police, I say. Holing Up is a fine, earthy, robust phrase full of meaning and nuance beyond those hoity-toity phrases.

It’s an earthy term because it comes out of the animal kingdom, where some animals pass the winter in a state of hibernation, retreating to a cave or hole and snoozing away until the worst has passed. Scientists tell us that hibernation  “is a process of lowering an animal’s body temperature and slowing down its heartbeat in order to conserve energy during times of scarcity and stress.”

In winter, humans also may pass through times of scarcity and stress. Snow shovels are sold out, grocery shelves are bare, the kids are tearing up the house because school has been cancelled, so what do you do?  Hole up! Hibernate.

To me, Holing Up means that you have decided to kiss the world goodbye temporarily. Holing up means you choose to ignore what’s happening out there, and instead enjoy the comforts you have at home. Holing up may mean that you take the phone off the hook, stay in bed till noon reading umpteen books, and cook calorie-rich comfort food. You choose to do the bare minimum to keep body and soul together, but no more than that. Holing up is something you choose to do for your own good until the danger has passed.

Now some people choose to hole up in a warm, sunny climate like Florida or Arizona where they can golf and hang out with other escapees. Last year at this time, the RS and I did just that. Or they hunker down for the duration on a cruise ship, pretending there’s no such thing as winter – “Look, ma, I’m playing shuffleboard and hanging out in the pool,” they write on their postcards. And that’s all fine and good, but my theory is, and I am sticking to it, that, if we can’t get away, the good Lord means for us to use these times of severe weather to take a little Sabbath rest. It’s not only animals that hibernate; in the plant kingdom, many plants go dormant in the winter, conserving their strength to emerge from the snows stronger than ever. The daily clock ticks through its diurnal and nocturnal rhythms – hours of sunlight for growth and activity, and hours of darkness for rest and recovery. Ditto for the seasonal calendar. Everything living needs a time of rest.

And I’m taking mine, right now, so that’s the end of this blog post. Talk to you later when I emerge from my hole; if I see my shadow, it may be a while before you hear from me again.

Gobsmacked by Wonder

I came across these rules for living, and included them on my first blog post of the year, January 5:

Less than two weeks later, the poet who had written these words, Mary Oliver, died at the age of 83, having lived a life that fulfilled these rules admirably. She was the mistress of paying attention, noticing amazing things, and then putting her astonishment into words. Oliver’s verses had a power to evoke feelings of wonder and gladness as she contemplated simple things, like a blade of grass, or a goose flying overhead, or a grasshopper.

On a sunny morning shortly after Oliver’s death, I decided to pay attention...really, really pay attention... as I set out for a walk in the woods nearby. My camera was ready to capture what I might discover.

So many shades of green and brown, with flecks of red and yellow!

The sun’s rays shone through these dead leaves, so that they looked like gold.

And if I hadn’t been paying attention, I probably would have missed the tiny mushrooms just springing out of the earth.

I probably wouldn’t have noticed this enormous tree, with bright limey green moss at its base.

I would not have seen the woodpecker holes tapped into a trailside tree.

I came away astonished, invigorated, so much more appreciative of the beauty surrounding me. I felt at one with the natural world. The whole experience reminded me again that paying attention was good for growing the soul.

But why does it work that way? What is it about the tiny act of paying attention that enlarges you? Why wouldn’t it be just as effective if, instead of spending time in contemplation, we directed our energies toward meaningful, productive work? We live in a world with so many needs crying out to be heard. Shouldn’t we be up and about, contributing our gifts towards healing, reconciliation, and justice-making? Isn’t meditating on a blade of grass or watching ants build a nest just a waste of time? 

These are questions that do creep up and pounce on my conscience. I should be doing more, I should be more active, I should march for those things in which I believe. I should, I should, I should...

So it was a relief when I picked up a book that addressed these questions and more in a series of essays by leading environmental activists and philosophers. The book is called Hope Beneath Our Feet. What a great image that title conjures up; wouldn’t we all like to stand firmly planted in hope?

In her essay “Wonder: a Practice for Life”, author Munju Ravindra considers why paying attention and being astonished is so very necessary in these times of turmoil. She spent many years in the “sense of wonder” business as a Canadian park naturalist. That moment of wonder or astonishment that happens when you pay attention, when you really, really look, is a moment of transcendence and grace.  Wonder and astonishment, she writes, “re-instills in each of us a sense of what is ‘true’, thereby enhancing our resilience in time of crisis” and “connects me to something larger than myself, giving me the energy I need to keep agitating. It also gives me the reason.”



This strikes me as both a profound and practical truth. We need astonishment and wonder like a car needs fuel to run; without these essential ingredients, we will soon be running on empty and getting nowhere fast.

Ravindra goes further in her essay: she suggests we intentionally need to find ways daily to create these moments of wonder, since our busy world doesn’t encourage us to do so. We need to practice our wonder muscle, exercise it daily. “Especially when I am down or blue or lost, I just buckle down and practice wonder.”

How? Ravindra’s “wonder workout” suggestions include some simple things, like keeping something curious in your pocket to touch regularly, like an interesting pebble or an acorn; laying on your back in the grass and looking up, up, up; closing your eyes and sitting still for 10 minutes while listening to what goes on when you’re not looking; going outside at night and checking out the stars; and deliberately get uncomfortable – have you ever let a slug climb up your arm? If possible, go outside, alone, for 10 minutes every day.

And this one, which sums it up pretty well, in my experience – “Spend the day with a mystic, lunatic or writer. Or for that matter, a child (who, if schooling and society don’t manage to weld shut his door to amazement, will no doubt become a mystic, lunatic or writer). These people have their heads screwed on sideways and hobble around gobsmacked by the beauty and despair of the world. If you opt to spend the day with a child, try to find a small one, preferably raised by hippies on a commune on the coast, but really, any child will work, if you actually pay attention to what they have to show you.”

Our son so was so excited by what he saw at the seashore at age 6, he became a marine biologist!

My wish for you, dear reader, is that you are gobsmacked this week, full of wonder and astonishment at the beauty and despair of the world!

Word for the Year

Choosing a word for the year was on the list of topics to think about a few weeks ago, when I was doing my retreat. Last year’s word, SUBTRACT, was based on the quote by Meister Eckhart:

And how did subtract work for me, you may wonder. It was a good word – I thought about it and lived by it when I decluttered my clothing shelves, my book shelves, my art supplies. Marie Kondo, the decluttering queen, would have been proud of me. I noodled on it when my life was too busy. The KISS principal (Keep it Simple, Stupid) saved my bacon more than once. It reminded me that life was way, way more than just an accumulation of more...more things, more experiences, more production, more commitments, and yes, even more creative ideas to explore. The essence of life is a gift, but it’s easy to forget that when I am distracted by a pile of clutter. How can I grow spiritually, when I am so preoccupied by material things?

But now it was time to think of a new word. For a while, I thought about the word REFINE, with a view to setting down, once and for all, what my values and beliefs are, writing a personal creed by which to live. If I typed it up and printed it out, a creed would be so handy to refer to when I was puzzled or indecisive! But somehow that word just didn’t seem to tickle me, to make my heart sing. It was too much of a cerebral exercise!

It was while I was working through the second day’s retreat objective – Taking Stock – that a lightbulb began to flicker on and off. I was creating an art piece around the following idea:  what if there was a box under your bed full of treasure to discover this year? what might it contain? As I filled in the empty spaces on my fabric background with symbols and pictures of those things I treasure, I was overwhelmed by the bounty. But I also realized that there are so many boxes of treasure that I haven’t even opened yet. They’re all sealed up, gathering dust. Subtract, refine: they’re good words, and we can learn from them, but there’s a whole world out there, and once we’ve subtracted the non-essentials from our lives, we might just discover new treasures to enjoy.

And so, this year, my word is ... TA DA! ... Explore. 

Checking out the dictionary, I read this: Explore means to travel in or through (an unfamiliar country or area) in order to learn about or familiarize oneself with it (Wiki).

Yes! I like it. To explore means to set aside your preconceived perceptions and be open to new ways of looking or thinking. To explore means that I can immerse myself in a creative process without knowing if it will work out. To explore means I will try things I might not have tried before – travel to new destinations, eat different cuisine, communicate with people I might not have a lot in common with. To explore means I will open those boxes that are still all sealed up, to see what might be inside. The corollary, after all, of Explore, is the word Discover.

Wait a minute, wait a minute. I’d better count the cost of making Explore my word of the year. It means that even when something new frightens me, I at least have to explore my fears; I will have to jump over that border wall into foreign territory where signs warn, “There be dragons here.”  Or, I might decide to try something I really don’t like at all (pole dancing, anyone? Maybe I won’t open that box quite yet!) I may have to listen to someone saying things that I can’t agree with – and then exploring that conflict. Why do I turn off right-wing news on TV or snooze negative posts on Facebook, for instance? Why do I dismiss zealots out of hand? Oh, I can see already that this year may not be all fun and games; on the other hand, it will be enriching. It will be about enlarging my world. And there is no time like the present to get started.

for info on this art medium, google resin art

So let me show you what I have been exploring this week in the studio. The members of our small quilt art group were each asked to choose a small abstract poured resin art piece; the challenge was to create art based on what we saw. We could focus on colours, shapes, associated ideas, or just about anything that occurred to us. Explore the options, in other words, then get to work. This was my chosen “pour”:

What I saw was a crow. (Of course I would!) Was the crow sticking her head out of a hole in the tree? But crows don’t nest in holes. And trees are grey, black or brown, aren’t they? After exploring pictures of juvenile birds on google, I found one of a nest full of pileated woodpecker babies. Hmm. And maybe trees can be green with splotches of red and yellow. But how do I do that? And so, off I went, to my decluttered shelves (sort of) to find fabrics, threads, ribbons, tulle, organza, and dissolvable stabilizer.



I started working with a technique I hadn’t used before, layering all these fibres on soluble stabilizer to create a new fabric. And this is how far I’ve gotten:

Collect yummy eye candy to start with...

...layer the bits and pieces on a framed piece of soluble stabilizer...

... cover with a layer of tulle and stitch down.

Cut finished piece from frame. Soak in water to remove glue.

I think I have enough pieces to create a tree trunk, but how do I stitch these pieces together? How do I make a background? How do I create a nesting hole? How do I create a juvenile woodpecker? Questions, questions, questions...and I will be doing a lot of exploring as I attempt to answer them.

My word Explore is off and running through uncharted territory, and my heart is singing.

Be Well

It’s the beginning of a new year. Hope springs eternal in the human psyche. This year, I hope, will be even better than last year. But only if I change a thing or two about my life.

So, when a New York Times article caught my eye, I was in like a dirty shirt. Take the thirty-day Well challenge, the writer, Tara, urged readers. Only a few minutes a day to a new, better version of yourself. I push a key on the keyboard, and I’m enrolled.

The program is all about 4 words: Move, Refresh, Nourish, and Connect. “The science is clear,” writes Tara. “If you move your body a little each day, you will be far better off than if you are sedentary. If you nourish your body with real food (the kind that doesn’t come in packages loaded with sugar or via a drive-through window) you will be healthier than if you eat junk food. If you allow your mind to take a break and refresh from time to time, you will feel better. And if you regularly connect with loved ones and friends, old and new, you will be both happier and healthier.”

Each day, an assignment is sent to your email box, and if you complete it, you can click the “I did it!” button. It’s like pulling a handle at the slots and getting a sack full of gold coins. Tracking your progress is a good indicator of finishing the program, says Tara. Tell your friends that you’re doing it. That’s another good sign. So that’s why I’m writing this.

The program started Monday morning. I awoke with great anticipation and clicked on the link. A video with instructions for my first Move Assignment appeared on the screen. Oh, oh!  I was in deep trouble. The model who would demonstrate the moves looked like this:

I look like this.

The voice-over told me I would be doing 30-second intense workouts, followed by 15 seconds of rest, through a set of 4 exercises repeated twice: Jumping Jacks, Forward Lunge, Bent Knee push-ups, and The Plank. Yup, I was in trouble. Obviously, these exercise were not designed for me, with my arthritic knees and my carpal tunnel wrist problems.

Still, I wasn’t about to give up on day one. Maybe I couldn’t do those exercises, but I could still move in 30 second intense segments. I could maybe chase the resident sweetie up the stairs, rest for 15 seconds, and chase him back down again. On second thought, maybe not. Jack and Jill fell down the hill, and Al and Jess came tumbling after. So: 30 seconds of intense vacuuming, followed by 15 seconds of rest. Repeat, repeat, repeat till you’ve done the 6 minutes. That should do it. Hey, look at that – visitors coming tomorrow, and the floor is clean! This program works!

Day Two: The assignment is labelled Refresh. Hmmm....maybe a nice nap? Or a long hot bath? Nope.

illustration New York Times

This assignment is called Toothbrushing Meditation. Toothbrushing Meditation?

Today, chirps Tara, we’re going to take one small step to help you quiet your mind. Today when you brush your teeth, try this challenge:
When you're ready to start brushing, close your eyes. ...Now listen to the sound of the brush on your teeth, taste the toothpaste....Stay present....Now, slowly, stand on one leg and keep brushing. You might wobble, but try to stay present and focus on the moment — the sounds, tastes and feelings throughout your body. Feel the ground beneath your foot. Feel your strength. Be present.

I admit, I am skeptical. This sounds way too whoo-whoo. But, I’m a good sport. I will try it. To my horror, I find I cannot even stand for 2 seconds on one leg while brushing my teeth with my eyes closed. Aghghg. I’m a failure on day two!

(The next day, my sister reminds me of the Yoga Tree Pose. This adaptation helps tremendously. But still? Do you brush your teeth for 6 minutes twice a day? You do? Oh.)

Day Three: Oh, no, not another Move day. Apparently Move assignments will appear on three days each week. A new model is demonstrating the moves, and the exercises are marginally easier than the first day. At least, they looked easier. Another failure notch on my belt.

I look forward to Day Four: A Connect assignment. Tara greets me cheerily: “What say we make a love connection today?” The assignment is to Reinvent Date Night. Apparently, planning an outing or social experience that is different from what you usually do with a partner or friend will enhance your connection to each other. Like go to a restaurant you don't usually go to -- A&W instead of McDonalds. Or, maybe instead of watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, we could try watching a new show? We could even hold hands!

Day 5: Groan. Another Move assignment. Enough said.

Day 6: Nourish. That means food, eh? Tara tells me that it is time to snack. Good, I can do that. She tells me that potato chips and chocolate brownies are not good snacks. Oh. I need to arm myself with good things – carry them in my purse, have a supply in the car, put a container by my reading chair, for instance, so when the growlies attack, I can ward them off with good stuff. The good things are .... ta da! ... nuts. Boy, does that make me feel good! Nuts have been my go-to snack for quite a while now. Finally! I’ve succeeded at something. I can even click the “I Did It” button.

Six days down, 24 to go. At the rate I’m going, I may get the thirty day challenge done in a year or so. Well, it will keep me out of trouble.

And it gave me something to write about!

In Search of Solitude

One morning, in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season, I snuck upstairs to my studio to be alone. I love my family, and I love people, but I love my solitude, too. Sometimes we need time alone to get re-energized. I turned on the computer, and began writing:

“I’m in my studio, alone, taking a break from people, but....(those dots indicate an interruption)...the resident sweetie has come up the stairs and plopped himself on the sewing chair. “Whatcha doing? Writing a blog? What’s it about?” I tell him that I’m writing a blog about being interrupted, about how I need to get away from people occasionally. He grins, “Oh, it’s about me again, eh? Aren’t you glad I give you something to write about?” How did two people who are so different ever got together in the first place? What’s with that?”

Al says he needs solitude too. But his idea of solitude is different from mine. For him, solitude means being relaxed with no expectations placed on him; it could be in his den, with the classical music pouring out of the speakers, or it could be taking a drive around the peninsula, finding a bench that overlooks the water, and sitting there for a while. Solitude might include me being with him, enjoying his version of solitude.

Not that I don’t enjoy that, but my version of solitude includes stillness which promotes a kind of listening to the divine (or God, or the Universe or whatever you choose to call it.) When I am in the listening mode, my mind and heart are open.  It may or may not involve writing, reading, and artistic pursuits as well as walking and taking long warm baths. The operative word is alone, so I can “hear”, so the channels are not blocked.

V Chanev Photography

Do I ever “hear” anything, you may ask. For sure, but often not something I can put into words. I just read this quote which sums it up pretty well: “I don't ask for the full ringing of the bell. I don't ask for a clap of thunder that would rend the veil in the temple. A scrawny cry will do, from far off there among the willows and the cattails, from far off there among the galaxies. - Chet Raymo.” And I would add, “a whisper from my work table will do, a sense of something true that calls through the darkness urging me on, that too will do.”  Sounds a bit whoo-whoo, but that’s who I am.

Does this scenario sound like a horror movie to you? Not in your worst dreams would you want to get away from people so you can maybe hear a faint signal from the great beyond? You’ve been to retreats, sure, but they involved lots of people learning about things together, with some free time for relaxing.  Fascinating, isn’t it, how we are all different, with different needs? I’ve had someone tell me that retreating from other people, carving out space for yourself, is selfish, but I no longer apologize for who I am, and neither should you. Vive la difference, I say.

It was silly of me to think that I might be able to have some solitude in my studio when people were coming and going, laughing, playing games together. So I made an announcement to my significant others: January 2, 3, and 4 would be my Retreat Days. They have been good about it. They know wife/mom/friend is no earthly good without her periodic times of hiding out. I did come out of my hidey hole for a few hours every day, at mid-day, and for the evening as well, sharing time with the RS. It’s been a good experience.

My three-day self-directed retreat consisted of Day 1: Review (look back); Day 2: Take Stock (look around) and Day 3: Project (look ahead.) Coincidentally, I’d also signed up for a 30-day drawing challenge posed by our local arts council, which started on Day 1. Each day I get a topic in my mailbox which I am supposed to use as a drawing prompt. I decided my drawing would be done with my sewing machine – thread-sketching, it’s called. So I have been incorporating these thread sketches into my reflections. They aren’t great works of art, but they are “creations” and I have had to listen to my head and heart as I worked on them.

The first assignment was to picture the Earth in 2121. I'm not even sure the earth as we know it will be here in 2121, especially not with the way we are treating it. So instead, I created a spiral galaxy with a small dot in the center. The earth, I think, will be whirling through space in some way shape or form.

My second assignment asked me to imagine what was under the bed. (Besides dust bunnies?) I changed it up a bit: if there was a box under the bed full of treasure to explore this year, what might it contain? I began by thread sketching an empty box on a piece of fabric I'd rust printed this summer. All those circles looked like dream bubbles.

I filled the dream bubbles with the things I treasure in life, and put some scraps of fabric, thread and ribbon into the box. It's not finished yet -- I wonder what other treasures I will find to add to my collection this year.

The third assignment was to draw the lyrics to my personal anthem. If I could teach the world to sing, what song would I teach? And this is it, folks... a song fitting for you and for me: "The earth is holy, and everything in it...that means you, too." Don't forget how precious you are.






I am so grateful for this time that I got to myself, so thankful for the support of people I love, so excited and inspired by the gifts and treasures I am uncovering, so curious about where it all will lead.




 In the meantime, another quote I came across during my days of solitude might give you food for thought and inspiration for the continuing journey as we move into 2019: