synchronicity.

At this very moment everything is absolutely perfect. I'm nestled on my bed with a big pile of pillows. Several weeks worth of clothes have been folded, ironed, and put away. I've dusted and vacuumed. To celebrate this new found sense of order, I've lit candles and am burning incense that I reserve for special occasions like this. It comes from the Tibetan refugee camp where I stayed in the oh-so-green hills of Southern India. While there, they showed me how they make it. I remember the way the aroma clung to the air and even my clothes as they ground the herbs and spices in an old, worn mortar and pestle. The smell of this particular incense reminds me of the extreme peacefulness that I felt after many months of India's chaos. It reminds me of Tashi, the smiling monk who brought me to the camp and who, over laughter and puffed rice, became a friend for life. It reminds me of sunshine. And so, unsurprisingly, I always feel comforted by its scent--as I do now.

Downstairs, Vinny is baking oatmeal raisin cookies and as these two smells wrap themselves around me, I am fairly certain that I've died and gone to heaven. I'm listening to Norah Jones and Beth Orton and Rickie Lee Jones on Pandora; the lamp sheds a soft light; my cat asleep at my feet; and the ceiling fan moves the air so-softly against my skin.

I'm thankful for this moment--because, to be honest, it's been a pretty crumb-dumb past couple of days. I've been feeling overwhelmed and disorganized and like I'm spinning my wheels and sputtering for air, but not getting anywhere.

After last night's post, I have been slowly arriving at the realization that something needs to change in my life--for real. I've been drowning in my own over-scheduled life. When I woke up, my ever-lasting cold had returned in the form of a sore throat and oogly sinus stuffiness. I stayed in bed until 8 and, of course, this threw all of my morning plans out the window. I felt anxious and frustrated and, at some point (as I was putting away mountains of clothes), I found myself feeling very angry about my under-paid work situation. "Fuck it!" I snapped at myself and to the air and to no one in particular. Ok...so I guess that today is the day for a few deep-rooted frustrations to rear their ugly heads. Should I be surprised?

Time feels like an absolute precious commodity these days. Always, there is so much of everything all at once, I find that I am unable to concentrate on any one thing. Sometimes I feel as though I give my time away too easily. Well, actually, I know this about myself--but old habits die hard though, don't they? This morning, during my fuck-it-pinnacle-of-frustration, I felt something in me shift. It was strange and I wish that I could find words to explain it, but all I can say is that molecules shifted. Does that explain what an epiphany feels like?

...the weird part:

Not even 15 minutes later, the phone rang. And, for now, let's just say that my faith in the universe has been restored.

note to self: make a schedule (and don't forget to be realistic).

Already, I find myself craving to write morning pages (like all the time). Lately, it is the only part of my day that holds any sense of balance--when my mind is rested and it is quiet (both inwardly and outwardly).

It is already midnight and my day will begin again in 6 hours. I can't keep up! It dawned on me this morning that I need to make a schedule for myself--even just a temporary one. Between working at the bookstore, the mural project, my thesis, doing art jobs on the side, extra commuting time, and more hours at the garden shop about to start soon, I feel like I am working ALL the time! And, well, trying to keep it all straight has thrown me totally off balance.

There are so many things about my life right now that need to change. I suppose a good place to start would be going to bed and actually getting some rest. These days, I sort of feel like I'm running around in 5 circles all at once. Seems to me, there must be a better way of going about things.

5 beautiful things I've recently spotted:

1. when i got up this morning, i looked out the window to see gently falling snow.
   
2. my husband sitting in front of his computer in his robe and a big, geeky pair of headphones, looking generally content. i love sundays.
   
3. a woodpecker flying through the woods--feathers camouflaged perfectly by snow and trees.
4. my wolfie standing at the top of the hill scanning the scenery. i love it when she does this. we often stop and look together, taking in as much of our surroundings as possible. this is one of the things i love about her. she teaches me how to see.
5. a perfect cup of dark, oh so dark, coffee.
   

Day 1 of the next 12 weeks.

I slept late this morning...something that is relatively unheard of in the normal scheme of things. I got a full 11 hours of sleep and I think I needed it. Before I got up I was dreaming that I worked for a comical environmental-spoof game show. Just before waking up, the gorilla had thrown off his George Jetson costume and run away with the magic lipstick. Umm...yeah. I coughed half the night and I think my body is desperately trying to kick this sickness I've been carrying around for the past 3 weeks.

I've spent more time being sick since moving here, than I have being well. I suppose I should go to a doctor one of these days...but I have little faith in doctors. I've never found one that took the time to find out what is actually wrong with me. They usually just prescribe antibiotics and bustle on to their next patient. I'm also beginning to wonder if I maybe have allergies. If that's the case, then that causes a whole lot of mixed emotions because I have a feeling that it is the bookstore that's making me sick with its 2 chickens, 2 cockatiels, 2 rats, a lovebird, a dove, a ferret, a chinchilla, and 3 cats. hmmm...do ya think? But if that's the case, then what?

Needless to say, I slept hard this morning and woke up groggy. Two cups of coffee later and I am swimming my way to the surface. It is the first day of the next 12 weeks of Finding Water and I found myself dragging my feet to the couch, journal in hand, moving slowly and with reluctance towards writing morning pages. I think if finally dawned on me what I was getting myself into. But all it took to get me past my lack of enthusiasm, was sitting down and starting to write. I immediately felt better and am honestly looking forward to this.

Last night I sort of had a break through with my writing. I wrote all day, but the good stuff came out in all of two minutes. It might be soon to say, but I can see my writing evolving into something new with this. My body feels beaten, but my mind feels more settled than it has in some time. I am sitting with an idea...letting it incubate. It has been a long time since I've sat down in front of my computer with the intention of "playing" with words. It causes me to look forward to every little chance I get to write. And, my god, it is a refreshing feeling. I've needed that. More than anything.

beginning the creative journey...

just so ya know, there's a new post over here.

but, for now, it's bedtime.
g'night!
;)

absolute random. musings.

I took this photo a few days ago for absolutely no reason other than I like stumbling upon random art (even if it is ever-so-slightly disturbing). One of the things that I love about living in a city is that there is plenty of it--art, that is. The interesting thing being that, the more I look, the more there is.

Yesterday I dropped V. off at work and then had to drive across town in rush hour traffic to get to my painting job. It was cold out, but the sun felt extra shiny and warm as it bounced off a sea of salt stained freeway and glinted off the bloom of skyscrapers that I have come to call home.

When did it start feeling like home?

I sang along to the music as I drove while drinking coffee and eating a banana. It was still early and I had the whole day in front of me. I felt, well...good. Really good. And I realized the extent of my city-ease (it was such a finely orchestrated overlapping of newness and normalcy). The feeling reminded me of picking that first dandelion of the year and looking into its petals until finally being overcome by the notion of "oh wow! look, how y e l l o w it is!"

The last time I experienced that sort of perfect yellow light, it was early morning in a small town and I had just stepped out of the grocery story.

Sometimes I can't help but be amazed by the number of facets one life can hold.

As I drove home from work today I looked up into the sky and followed the flight of a hawk across the lake and then an intersection.

I often forget that I live in the middle of a city.

Lately I find myself looking forward to spring. Take note. That is the first time I've ever heard myself say (write) that out loud. Usually spring comes too quickly and too soon. After a winter full of darkness and quiet contemplation, the excitement of spring always catches me off guard--too noisy, too outgoing, too much everything. But not this year.

This spring I am looking forward to easier movement. Much of my winter movements have been spent walking in the woods, but now I find myself wishing for long bike rides and strange adventures. I want to wander this city and photograph its grunge. I want to watch the sun set and to capture the urban lines that interrupt its color--a bridge, a railroad track, a lamp post, a building, the glint of glass. I want to wander and watch and absorb. And then I want to paint.

I still haven't gotten used to living here and maybe I never will.

I love the fact that, even after 6 months of this place, there is still so much newness. I don't know why, but lately it causes my world to glimmer with strange varietied potential.

And, for unknown reasons, in the light of February, everything and anything seems possible.

I LOVE VALENTINE'S DAY!!! Who knew?

This is the first Valentine's Day in like a 100 years that I haven't been working 20 hour days in a flower shop.

I can't tell you how happy this makes me. This was the best Valentine's Day I have EVER had!!!!

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, FRIENDS!!!

okay. fine.

I got up early this morning and took V. to work so that I could have the car. I wanted to run errands and treat myself to a nice lunch before returning to the mural project. Lunch was supposed to be a date--just me and my journal at the Mysore Cafe. I was looking forward to eating (very delicious!!) South Indian cuisine and getting work done on my thesis at the same time.

But first I came back home to take a shower and get my stuff together when I noticed it was cold in the house. Very cold.

So I went down to the basement to check on the furnace and...

Goddammit!!!

The heats out.

I messed around with the furnace for awhile, but it being nothing that I could fix, I called the landlord. The repair person will be here sometime in the next 7 hours....which means that I have to sit around and wait for him (or her) if I want heat again.

Fuck!!

Ok. I'm mad. I don't know why, except that I am. Frustrated. Maybe that's a better word. I was going to get a lot done today, but now I'm stuck at home. Waiting.

Meanwhile I'm sitting here in front of a space heater in my biggest, thickest wool sweater trying to find the positive in this situation.

This is what I've come up with:

• I just finished a very wonderfully warm bowl of homemade curried squash soup. I put extra cayenne pepper in it to warm me up from the inside, out.
• The sweater I'm wearing is one that my mom knit for me when I was in high school. It's traveled with me a lot of strange places. I once lived the life of a Dharma Bum. Those were good days and this sweater reminds me of those times. It's been a long time since I've worn this sweater and it feels as comfortable as it always used to.
• I have a space heater. Thank GOD.
• I have two heat-seeking cats who are snuggled up next to me. Viscosa has my back and Moonshadow has my feet. I'm covered in cat warmth.
• I can't go paint which means that I have time to catch up with writing a few letters and emails to friends. Being busy all the time has gotten in the way of some really incredible friendships that I would hate to lose. Being home-bound means that I can redirect some of my energy in the form of letter writing. And that's good, because I miss my friends!!!
• I made a latte in my very biggest mug and put extra cinnamon on top. After that big bowl of soup, it is making me feel much calmer. Maybe I'm not so mad anymore.
• It is a balmy 14 degrees f. It could be worse, much worse.
• The sun is shining.
• They're coming to fix the furnace TODAY versus tomorrow. The temp. is supposed to fall below zero tonight.
• I can work on a story from home. Believe it or not, after painting and working for the past 3 days, I actually miss working on my thesis. Did I just say that?
• If it gets too cold in here I might be "forced" to bake a loaf of bread or something.
  
• We'll eat an extra warm meal tonight. Something that requires both the stove and the oven!
• If time, I might even curl up in a warm blanket and read the first chapter of Finding Water.
• I'm burning candles because it at least smells warmer in here that way.

Okay...it's not that bad. This is a better list than I thought it would be.

Work in progress.

I've started my new life as a muralist. Well, it's not quite Diego Rivera, but.... I'm having fun anyway. It feels good to get out of my head for awhile and just paint. I started work on the mural commission yesterday. And, to be honest, my brain is feeling a bit fried.

(click on the image to see more detail)

I still have a tiger, a mama kangaroo and her joey, a mouse, a frog, a bee, an elephant, and a quote to finish. I also have to finish the detailing on the pig, the duck, and the polar bear. Oh my! I was feeling pretty good about my progress...but now I'm not so sure. Eventually, it's meant to become a goofy hodge-podge animal parade.

Anyhoo...it feels good to paint these strange literature-inspired creatures. They're bigger than they appear. The top of the pig is probably 6 or 7 feet tall...and there are even bigger animals to come.

So this is what I've been doing. I doubled as a pet-sitter and got to hang out with Edgar (the great dane/shar pei mix) and Erwin (the chocolate lab) and the two cats (whose names I do not know) all weekend. Animal sitting and mural painting....hey, I could make a career out of this. ;)

I'd write something more intelligent, but my brain is absolutely empty (feels good).

G'night.
Sweet dreams.

Compulsive, but not crazy.

I've been doing the math and it's beginning to look a little bit more optimistic than I thought. After a lot of thinking and brainstorming and even decided to change my thesis topic, I went to Barnes and Noble last night to find books on Creative Nonfiction and Memoir and, as luck would have it, Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love was there. She must be getting around...because Leah heard her talk just the other day.

Eat, Pray, Love is one of the best books I've read all year (competing only with Sold), so when they announced over the loudspeakers that she would begin her reading at 7:30, I got an incredible rush that went shooting through my blood in an "OMG! Elizabeth Gilbert is here?!! Right now!?!" sort of way.

But when she started talking, I immediately became irritated. Well, excited and irritated. I couldn't tell what I was, actually. There I was, looking for books for my "NEW" thesis topic, trying to escape my self-imposed pressure/prison of writing about my travels in India...and goddamnit if Elizabeth Gilbert wasn't there!!!!

Oh...and now I laugh.

Well, it turns out that she has a lovely, sexy, energetic voice, she's beautiful, and funny, too. She was so very perfect that I decided to leave early. Gah. Despite the early exit, I spent the ride home thinking about how interesting and wonderful it is to find writing that is so deeply satisfying that you need nothing more than the words on the page. I didn't need to meet Elizabeth. The book itself had been enough.

Now that I seem to have crawled (at least part way) out of the very deep hole of thesis-depression, I am grateful for last night's synchronicity. And I'm grateful that I almost changed my topic. Because, in doing so, I came across this book.

I stayed up half the night reading it and then got up early this morning to read some more. I hope to write more about it soon, but basically she talks about writer's block, why we write, how we write, and the myriad of ways that writing is effected by our emotional, mental, and physical states of being. She addresses the deep need to write, what it feels like when one can't write, and explains creativity from a (very) scientific perspective. It makes me wish I had gone into psychology.

The best thing about the book is that the author, Alice Flaherty, writes from her own experience. I know that this probably sounds stupid, but I feel like this book has rescued me from a profound darkness. I have been struggling so hard and for so long over this thesis, that I have been all but frozen solid. For the life of me, I could not tell if what I've written is any good or not. But Flaherty has done something very simple to help me see my situation differently.

She acknowledges that writer's block is a very real thing. A physical, mental, emotional thing. That's it. That's all she did. She acknowledged that my problem is real. And this alone helps to lift the weight.

I'm not saying that I think it's going to be a piece of cake from here on out (oh, I wish). But what I am saying is that I've gained a new perspective of myself and my situation.

This allowed me enough breathing space to go back and read some of the stuff I've written in the past few weeks...and you know what? It's not as bad as I thought. I was dead serious about abandoning my India stories and going with a new topic (and I have piles of books and papers and outlines and ideas strewn across my room to prove it). But after reading a few pieces, I got out a notebook and started doing the math.

I have at least 6 stories in progress. Apparently, I get so far and then I lose confidence in myself. BUT--if I keep working with what I've already started, that means that I only need to write another 30-40 pages (from what I already have started!).

Ok. I can do that.

Needless to say, I ended up with a few very good books on the art of creative nonfiction and memoir, a necessary dose of deep rooted understanding, and a chance to see Elizabeth Gilbert in the flesh. I guess my trip to Barnes and Noble was worth something.

specific gravity.

Ok...let's face it. I'm not going to get any more writing done tonight so I might as well just take a break and blog. I think it's kinda funny that I take a break from writing to write. hmmmm....what does that say about me?

Well, according to my interpretation, it means that I'm taking my thesis writing much too seriously and if I approached it in the same way that I approach this blog, then I would have been done months, no, years ago. (But I've tried that...and it's not as easy as it sounds.)

I have to admit, it hasn't been going well. I've been dedicated though (too bad they don't hand out diplomas for dedication). I have successfully hibernated for the past 3 days, only taking breaks for walking Anu, half of a movie, and dinner at a Chinese restaurant with my ever-loving husband. In the past three days I've written roughly 4 or 5 pages. Half of that is usable material. And the other half is...well? It might make for a good place to start another day...or it might be met by a slow death in the files of Microsoft Word. Only time will tell.

Today, as Anu and I walked in the woods, my boots creaked in the snow. We were alone and it was quiet and, as I followed the snow-packed path, I was reminded of a word that I learned in India: pugdandi. It means “path.” But it is not just any path. It is a path made by feet. It is a path of need.

I've been thinking about that word, pugdandi, ever since it came to me as I looked at the cold, white path stretching out in front of me. The sun was so bright that the world felt bleached. For a moment, my vision felt clearer.

I went home and convinced myself to do a freewrite. I used to make my students do this to get them loosened up. And when things get tough, I try to take my own advice. I wrote the word "Pugdandi" at the top of the page and then I started to write. The first sentence out of the end of my pen was: "I think what a pugdandi is, for me, is a path that leads me to writing."

For months now I have been trying to tell the story of my encounter with India. But it’s too huge. I don’t know where to begin and I don’t know where to end. Don't get me wrong--I work from small moments. I know that I can't write it all at once and so I try to take it just one little piece, one little detail at a time. I have struggled and cried and, more times than I dare count, I have wanted to give up on it. But, despite my struggles, I keep returning to it. I don’t know why, except that I can’t leave it alone. India and her stories are in my blood and in my bones. She has coiled herself so deeply into my being that I cannot separate myself from her.

I have walked back and forth so many times between my memories and my writing that I have worn my own path. It has become a path of need. One that, no matter how difficult it has been, I cannot seem to walk away from.

Lately I've been pulling books off of the shelf like a girl might pull clothes out of her closet when she can't find anything to wear. I keep looking for something in all those books, but I know it's not there. What I'm looking for is inside of me. What I'm looking for hasn't been written yet. Eventually my desk got piled so high with all of these books that I finally had to do some mental house-cleaning and put them away. In the process, I ran across a book that we were required to purchase for a Creative Nonfiction class: Writing the Australian Crawl by William Stafford. I've never liked the book but, for some reason, have held onto it anyway. It's old and dusty and water stained.

I couldn't remember what I disliked about it so much, but out of curiousity I opened it up at random and started to read. This is what I found:

Just as any reasonable person who looks at water, and passes a hand through it, can see that it would not hold a person up; so it is the judgement of commonsense people that reliance on the weak material of students' experiences cannot possibly sustain a work of literature. But swimmers know that if they relax on the water it will prove to be miraculously buoyant; and writers know that a succession of little strokes on the material nearest them--without any prejudgments about the specific gravity of the topic or the reasonableness of their expectations--will result in creative progress. Writers are persons who write; swimmers are (and from teaching a child I know how hard it is to persuade a reasonable person of this)--swimmers are persons who relax in the water, let their heads go down, and reach out with ease and confidence.

My god. I've been so goddamned tense, it's a wonder that I didn't drown a long time ago. I didn't find anything else in the whole book that I liked. But that paragraph spoke to me.

It's the same story over and over again. I sit down to write this blog post and I'm miraculously able to do it in one breath. When I sit down to work on my thesis, it may take me 12 hours or two months to write the same amount of material. This feeling of tension is a very real sensation. My words and my sentences get constipated. I feel a tight knot form in my stomach.

One summer a few years ago, I used to go down to the Mississippi River with my dogs and a few friends to go swimming. We had to drive way back into the woods down old logging roads to get there. But, once there, it was always quiet and peaceful. The river was fairly narrow, but deep. The bottom was sandy and there was a current. I'd go there every day after work and was always tired and tense from the day's stresses. But then I'd dive into the river somewhere upstream and float on my back all the way down to the rope swing. Then I'd get out and do it all over again. In the water, I'd let my arms float outward. Relaxed, absolutely relaxed, I would look up into the sky. I felt like I was floating with the clouds. And I was.

I keep returning to writing like my life depends on it. And, in a way, I guess it does. But I picked up too many insecurities while in grad school. If I could do anything, I would sit down and write as though I were swimming. I would forget about gravity. I would set aside expectations.

The funny thing is...that's what I'm doing right now. I guess it's just a matter of letting go.

Next week I will be starting Finding Water and I've already decided what I'm going to do on my first artist's date. Yep, you guessed it--I'm going swimming.

Day 2

Day 2 of hibernation and I woke up to snow. How lucky can I get?! As the morning progresses, the snow continues to fall and I've just returned from a walk out in the woods. The ski-trails haven't been groomed yet, so we were able to walk wherever we wanted. We saw no one. But it is still cold (-9 degrees F with the windchill). We walked until my eyelashes grew icicles and my hat and scarf frosted over to the point of uncomfortable. I was wearing my slippery snow pants so we took the opportunity to do some impromptu sledding down one of the big hills. Anu loves it. And, I swear, dogs really can smile.

As I slid down the hill on my ass with my dog flying through the air behind me, I was aware of the fact that I am seriously not like most adults. But, I admit, I find great satisfaction in the actions of my weirdness.


ah-em...anyway..........................
(back to work)

Hibernation.

Our windows have been covered in ice crystals for days. I like to pretend that our bedroom windows have transformed into frosted forests; and the others are covered in intricate layers of sparkling lace. This is a morning photo that Vinny took. Our world is brittle and cold--even by my standards. Things break easily in this weather. Last time I checked, it was -35 degrees.

Having worked all day, it feels especially nice to be home. We ate big bowls of homemade chili with freshly baked cornbread for supper. The furnace runs almost constantly, trying to keep up with the cold outside. These old houses are not insulated well, but I have a healthy dose of candles and incense burning to complete the perceived sensation of warmth.

Lately, I've been catching myself looking forward to summer. This catches me off guard, because I'm a winter soul at heart. Whether I'm walking the dog or waiting for the car to warm up, for some reason, I find myself daydreaming of green grass, easy walks, and hot humid afternoons spent napping under the ceiling fan in the bedroom.

Winter in the city has been harder than winters up north. I feel more isolated here. It's strange, but it is harder to get places. You would think the opposite would be true--but, in my case, it's not. Even walking Anu in the woods has become more difficult. They've turned all of our favorite trails into cross-country ski trails--walkers are not welcome. Because of this, our routes have become limited and so, lately, these woods have been making me feel bored and irritated and like I'm going to get in trouble for something.

Last year, I spent much of the winter running with Anu on the frozen lake. Out in the middle of all that big-white-nothing, we were happy as could be. I don't miss that town, but I miss the lake. I miss the open space. And I miss all those acres of ski trail-less, people-less woods. It is space that I miss having the most. I have space here...(lots of it, actually), but it's different. It is easily interrupted.

These past few weeks of winter have been oddly unsatisfying. And now this cold...it is intense. But I've decided to use it to my advantage. I've taken the next week off from work to get some real work done. It's too hard to accomplish much with only a day or two here or there. I need a chunk of time and decided to take it. I wish it could be more than 5 days...but I'll take what I can get. Anyway, 5 days is a lot like heaven--and I'm grateful for it.

Winter is the symbolic time of "going within." And, while many people can't stand the idea of all those cold, dark months, I've always looked forward to it. For me, it is a time of hunkering down, a time of of reflection. It is a quiet time, a time to focus inward.

And because there is nothing else I can really do about it...I've decided to renew my appreciation for winter.

I'm going to spend the next 5 days:

• writing
• wearing big, wool sweaters
• and fleece pajamas underneath
  
• and fuzzy socks
• and slippers
• burning candles
• and incense
• and more candles
• writing
• enjoying the ice crystals that form on the windows
• getting up in the early morning dark to write
  
• drinking large amounts of coffee...including lattes and mochas (because the colder it is, the better they taste)
• snuggling my cats
• and my dog
• and my husband
• writing
• taking long hot baths before bed
• eating warm, home-cooked food
• not answering my phone
• hanging out in my office with the door closed
• with my star lamp turned on
• wrapped in soft, warm blankets
• and yep, you guessed it...writing

For the next five days I do not exist to the outside world. I'm not going to leave the house except to walk Anu. I might allow myself to go to a coffee shop or an Indian restaurant for inspiration and sanity. I've alerted all family members that I am not available for anything. Period. I'm going to wear pajamas until well into the afternoon--or maybe all day. I'll take long baths instead of showers. I'm going to listen to music and stretch and stay up late or get up early. I probably won't talk much. Life will revolve around writing.

In short, I'm going to hibernate.

It has been a long winter. But, despite such extreme cold, I've decided to use it to my advantage.

Oz and other workings of magic.

At the moment, I'm waiting for my brother to pick me up so that we can size up the fish tank situation and then go to the pet store to get whatever supplies we need for cleaning it. I'm actually looking forward it. Excuse me? Looking forward to it? Yes, that is how badly I need a break.

And in case you're wondering what I'm going on about, I'm talking about the fish tank at work. The one hiding behind the 2-way mirror in the bathroom. It's a very cool set up, actually--because if you look in the mirror without turning on the lights, you see swimming fish instead of your reflection. The mechanics of the fish tank are completely hidden in the wall. Needless to say, feeding the fish in the morning before we open makes me feel a little bit like the wizard in the Wizard of Oz. Pull back the curtain (or, in our case, open the cabinet door) and you might be disappointed by what you find. And so, a full-on (and horribly over-due) cleaning of the fish tank takes me (and my brother) to a whole new level of magic making. Magic is not an illusion. There are very real janitorial duties involved. And I suppose this goes for anything we do. Whether we keep fish behind our bathroom mirrors or paint or write or raise babies or work for the circus... let's face it, the manifestation of magic requires unfeigned effort.

This past week has been a rather difficult week of writing. I feel stuck and unsure of where I'm headed with it. I want to get done with this thesis because I can't seem to get the censors to leave me alone. Despite my best efforts, I still have Thesis Committee Members hanging out in my head every time I sit down to work on it. They're all nice enough people...but (in my imagination) they impose too many demands on my writing--one is a stickler for commas, one must have a reason for everything, and another...well, I just can't tell with her. Then there's the Grad office. That censor takes the form of a secretary who will only accept standard formatting. Period. In the end, I write for myself. But, my god, such terrain I must muck through to reach the end of each sentence!

I guess you could say that cleaning fish tanks is a little like cleaning out the quagmire of my writing-mind. I need a break and I'm willing to clean fish tanks to get one! Has it really come to this?

Afterwards, we're headed to a new Indian restaurant, the Mysore Cafe. It just opened and I've been looking forward to eating there ever since I saw them putting the sign up. I watched from the windows of the bus as they hung precariously from ladders in the Minneapolis cold. M.Y.S.O... mmmmmmmmmm...did someone say dosas? I've recently decided that I'm going to spend the next month eating nothing but Indian food, listening to nothing but ragas, and watching nothing but Bollywood.

There's more than one way to work magic, you know.

snow globe with a view.

At the moment I'm sitting in my favorite coffee shop. These past few days (weeks?) my life has fallen into an inefficient pattern of taking on more than I can possibly get done. Maybe it's the moon, but I seem to be a magnet towards people who need help (yes, and I'm a broken record too). There are times that this becomes incredibly frustrating. But there are other times that I find myself wrapped up in some very odd and enjoyable endeavors. Of course, finding a balance is important...something that I still haven't learned how to do.

In the coming week, I've somehow gotten myself involved in helping my (very wonderful and helpful) brother clean a big, nasty, neglected fish tank. My brother is the volunteer; I'm his assistant. After that I've been commissioned to paint a mural for a baby's room. The mural alone will take up much of February. I already feel panicked and stressed out about time. But painting a mural? How could I pass that up?! I wouldn't want to. But every day it is something--so many distractions--fighting for time and space in my mind that I don't have.

Thesis, be damned. I won't give up...but, my god, I am getting so tired of thinking about it!

Last night I craved so badly to just sit down and write about the haphazard thoughts that have been crossing my mind these past days. Lately I've been plugging away on a story that I just can't seem to get to the end of. It is becoming much longer than I anticipated... and for the life of me, I can't tell if it is any good. It feels flat and lifeless. It makes my face feel like stone when I read it...and yet I laugh and cry as I write it. In those rare moments when I actually feel like I'm in "the zone," I am enjoying myself and the writing immensely. But the second I step back to look at it, for the life of me, I can't see what it is. My brain shuts off; my eyes glaze over. And then V. comes home from work, I cook dinner, and no matter how hard I try, I can't get back into it. I tell myself to write without looking back...but then, two seconds later, I look back.

Yesterday, while staring at the bookcase by my computer, I picked up a book that I don't remember reading--Safekeeping: Some True Stories from a Life by Abigail Thomas. I had forgotten about it. I bought it for a Creative Nonfiction workshop with Robin Hemley a couple years ago. The workshop was awesome, but I never got to the book. I want to read it now, but I don't' feel like I have the time. I paged through it though and, goddamnit, it feels like I am barking up the wrong tree with the direction my writing has been taking.
~~~
Right now it is snowing outside. What was a few fat snowflakes has turned into half a blizzard. I feel like I am sitting in a snow globe of Minneapolis--a wonderfully grungy snow globe.

I prefer this random world. And that's why Thomas's book caught my attention. It is written in short vignettes, "[s]etting aside a straight forward narrative in favor of brief passages of vivid prose, Thomas revisits the pivotal moments and tiny incidents that have shaped her."

These days I feel confined by my own story....the story I'm working on, that is. But I've already invested so much time into it. I feel like, at any moment, it might break open and come undone in all the right ways. And maybe it's that "almost" feeling that I love so much about writing and art. But, as I write this, I find myself beginning to feel anxious...like I don't have time to deviate, when deviating is exactly what I should be doing.

Aaargh...but that's why I've come here. I'm deviating from the pattern that seems to be forming. I'm stopping long enough to write these thoughts and then move on. And as I write this the sun has somehow decided to show it's face, despite the thick dose of snow that continues to fall.

Wolfie is happily asleep out in the car...and I'm going to get a refill on this cup of coffee. This time I'm going to return to my story with an open heart and an open mind. On a Wednesday afternoon...the possibilities are endless--at least, that is the perspective I have decided to take.
~~~
and a random writing thought for the day:
...silence speaks as eloquently as what is revealed.

The Finding Water blog is ready!

If you want your name added to the Finding Water Blogroll
please leave a comment here.

Here's to moving forward in our creative lives.
I'm looking forward to it!

Finding Water: an invitation.

At the moment I'm listening to music on Pandora...tonight it is musicians like Vienna Teng, Catie Curtis, Sia, The Be Good Tanyas, Niyah, Hem...some are old favorites, some are new finds. I can't help but be addicted. These days, it's not unlikely to see me connected to a big goofy-lookin' pair of noise canceling headphones. I'm in love with the extra layers of sound...

...oh yeah, but that's not what I sat down to say.

A few weeks ago, my dear friend Ruby sent me a copy of Julia Cameron's new book Finding Water: the Art of Perseverance. I had to laugh when I read the title because, well...if you've been reading my blog for the past year or so, you probably already know just how perfect the timing is for this book! Do I believe in a supportive universe? Yes!

Last January I joined Leah and a large handful of others in blogging The Artist's Way. Let me just say that it was an incredible experience. Being a part of that group has impacted my life in more ways than I expected. It helped me survive grad school with my Self intact and, through a growing circle of connections, it is how I came to know many of you. For both of those things, I am thankful.

In many ways this past year, for me, has been a lot about overcoming fear. It has been about perseverance. And it has also been about finding a supportive network of friends and fellow artists. Because blogging The Artist's Way as a group was such a positive experience, Leah and I would like to ask you to join us in journeying through the pages of Finding Water: the Art of Perseverance (and in case you're wondering...Finding Water is a 12 week commitment very similar to The Artist's Way in terms of morning pages, artist's dates, ect).

We will be starting the book on Saturday, February 17th

...and you are cordially invited to join us!

If you're interested, please check back (and in the meantime, go get your book!). There will be a Finding Water blog link coming soon where, as Leah pointed out in her post here, we will be creating a list of blog links for anyone who is participating (along with an occasional post or group announcement). We'll let you know when it's ready.

ok, but right now the *t word is whispering my name rather loudly. ah-em! I think it's time to get back to work...

*yep--thesis.

knees...

Apparently, Virginia Woolf used to write standing up. These days, I can understand why.

My knees hurt from so many hours of sitting here. I feel restless and am wishing for a little cottage to escape to out in the back yard.

Two hours behind me with only a paragraph and a few revisions to show for it, I find myself wanting to write a little bit more prolifically. But, for now, I need a break and I've come here to take one...

Virginia is on my mind today, and I don't know why. I've been thinking about how she would follow the path between the main house and her "writing room" in the back yard and write in that beautiful long-hand scrawl while standing at a raised table that functioned as her desk. It was made of dark, thick wood and was splotched with ink stains, dented, scratched, and nicked from previous uses. I don't know why I think this. Maybe I learned this in the Virginia Woolf class that I took last year. Maybe Virginia's sister, Vanessa, painted a similar image. Or maybe I just imagined it.

In my mind I see her resting her chin on the heel of her hand. She is bent slightly forward at the waist, leaning on her elbow. Shifting her weight from one leg and then the other, she lets her mind drift. Her eyes look in the direction of the window, but she's followed her mind elsewhere...

She goes back and forth like this...thinking and writing, shifting her weight, leaning forward, standing up straight, writing, thinking, writing...

Writing Fuel: a recipe

Chai!

• cinnamon
• peppercorns
• cardamom
• cloves
• ginger
• milk or cream
• sugar
• black loose tea

Boil it all up and wallah!

mmmm...chai writing power!!!

*last image borrowed from here.

Horse Beauty, Opus 1.

def. beau-ty (noun): the combination of qualities that make something pleasing and impressive to listen to or touch, or especially to look at.

As a kid I used to ride with my friends on their pony. His name was River Boy--and, with him, we played out many great games of escape and intrigue. Maybe it was while racing bareback through the fields near their house that my love for horses began. In my late 20's I biked halfway across the United States in search of wild horses (...and when I found them I nearly peed my pants with joy!). Let's just say that my love for horses runs deep. But, despite this love, in my adult life I've only ridden or handled them a half dozen times (if that). So when my aunt called to ask if I would take care of her horses and dog for the weekend I jumped at the opportunity. It wasn't until after I hung up and told my worry-wart husband, that the reality started to sink in. The dog, an Irish Setter, was no big deal. But horses? My adventurous, self-confident, horse-loving side had spoken before I even had a chance to stop myself. Ummm, yeah...I know pretty much nothing about horses. So how the hell did I all of a sudden become responsible for the care and feeding of these FIVE magnificent 3/4 ton animals??

Last night Vinny and I hardly slept. Vinny was worried we'd get trampled. Without an alarm clock, I was worried we'd sleep in and upset the horses' usual routine. We were both a little cranky with each other because driving all the way out to my aunt's house also meant that we ended up having to give up our tickets to the orchestra. Not to mention, we had to figure out how we were going to take care of our own animals without spending our entire weekend driving back and forth. This, of course, is a classic example of how I over-schedule myself.

Lately, I've been spending all of my time either sitting in front of the computer trying to write my thesis or working at the bookstore. I was looking forward to another orchestra experience--especially after the last time. I was more than ready to give my thoughts a break and hand myself over to an evening of music. But then we realized how much time it would take to drive there and back and that it meant we wouldn't have time to get ready or eat dinner and so...we didn't go to the orchestra.

Instead we ate chicken pot pies and watched TV (although this was also a luxury considering we don't have one!). We snuggled with KC (the dog) and then headed to bed. Ho-hum. Hard bed and worried thoughts--morning came too quickly.

When I got up it was still dark outside. I made a pot of coffee, put on my aunt's horse-smelly jacket, and took a few deep gulps of my black brew before heading out into the cold snowy morning towards the barn. Vinny followed, not far behind.

When we got there I leaned my body into the barn door and slid it open.

Complete darkness.

And the deep rumbling of those five massive animals. Huffing and breathing. Stomping and stamping. One kicked at his stall door. I felt their hungry, low-pitched neighing travel up my legs and through my body. From the ground up--the sheer vibration traveled the lengths of my bones--and the first thing that registered in my mind was absolute, saucer-eyed fear.

The next thing that registered was AWE.

In the cavernous shadows of the barn, I couldn't see anything except white puffs of breath. I stood there. Motionless. And in that moment...I couldn't have cared less that I had given up my chance to go to the orchestra. My god--those horses were an orchestra.

We entered. Reluctantly.

I walked back and forth past the stalls trying to find a light switch while the horses continued their low-cello-whispers. Such sound. Such darkness. They didn't know me and I didn't know them... It took awhile to find the lights. Heart pounding. Everything unfamiliar.

As I opened the door to the first stall, it felt a lot like the moment before jumping into a cold lake. And it wasn't until I stepped past that threshold that my fear fell away. Instinctively, I reached out and ran my hand down the lengths of his neck, then cleaned out old hay and gave him his feed. One at a time--I stepped into one stall and then the next and then the next... They brushed against me gently, nuzzling for their food and to see who I was. They softened with my touch...and I softened with theirs.

After they were finished eating, we needed to get them all out into the pasture. Again--one at a time--Vinny opened the doors and I put the rope loosely around their necks and led them out. I couldn't help but be nervous to be in charge of such incredibly big, powerful creatures. But the horses showed me what to do. They showed me that I could trust them and in turn, they trusted me. Bo, the biggest, was also the most gentle. Stepping into his stall took my breath away.

Vinny and I didn't really talk much until we were all done. Standing out in the pasture with all five horses, I turned to him and lamely exclaimed: "That was cool!" Yes, I'm a dork (but you should know that by now).

All I can say is that this has been one helluva morning.




...definately worth missing an orchestra for.

Crow Medicine.

It has started snowing again and I've been drinking out of the mug that Leah sent me for the mug swap since it arrived on my doorstep this past Friday.

At the moment I'm drinking a mocha complete with whipped cream and cinnamon that my 5 year old niece grated and ground all by her little self. This is the sort of thing that feeds a person from the inside out. ;)

I feel content and am loving my new cup--not just because it is a beautiful color or because it feels good in my hands or because it is just the right size--but also because of the letter that Leah sent along with it explaining her connection with crows and her reasons for sending a little crow energy my way.

Synchronicity occurs in strange and wonderful ways. And I say this because last week, as I walked in the woods, I was accompanied by a crow the entire way--from the time I left home until the time I returned. The crow cawed until it had my attention, then silently watched, flying from branch to branch as it followed wolfie and I down the path (up and down and through the woods and past the pond, over the ridge and through more woods...). I stopped and stood a few times to appreciate the persistence of this particular crow and wonder what it was trying to tell me.

And then came Leah's package....
She wrote that crows are an omen of change.

Sometimes I think there is much more going on than we could even begin to realize. And so thank you, Leah. I couldn't have received a more perfect mug.

almost noon:

what i'm doing:
working, working, diligently, happily, working...and drinking coffee out of my new crow cup.

what i'm feeling:
inspired, hopeful, determined.

what i'm seeing:
sun and snow out my window...and a sleepy wolfie watching squirrels.

what i'm smelling:
sandalwood incense...oh, and i love it.

what i'm hearing:
my old snoring cat sleeping at my feet and the soft sound of warm air coming from the heat vent.

what i'm thinking:
i miss it here! i'll be back. i promise.

Visioning.

I've been very focused these days (or, at least, trying to be). But, like most people, my life feels very hectic. Just when I think I've got my days organized in a way that will temporarily give me time to concentrate, it seems like the rest of the world comes knocking at my door. Everyone has a favor to ask of me or wants to stay with us for the weekend or is wondering if I can take on extra hours at work or... (yeah, you get the point). Hmmm...interesting. What's up with that? More times than not, I watch the time I had so carefully carved out for myself get swallowed up before I can barely blink. And so this is why I sometimes dawn my metaphorical blinders, hunker down, and try my best to disappear. It rarely works.

Right now, time feels especially sacred to me. There are days when I feel like I can hardly keep my head above the water (do I sound like a broken record?). But still, I try my best to listen to my instincts and keep my priorities clear. My attempts at staying focused have resulted in less blogging--both reading and writing. In some ways, this is highly unfortunate because there have been some really incredible things going on over at Create a Connection this month. I've wanted to participate more than I have...but the truth is that there is only so much time in the day and what I want more than anything right now is to finish my thesis. Go figure. Why does all the best stuff always happen at once?

Anyway, this afternoon I decided to take a break from writing and spend some time Visioning. There have been a lot of thoughts and half-formed ideas floating around in my head and sometimes making their way haphazardly into the pages of my journal, especially when I write my morning pages. These same thoughts have been lingering around the edges of everything--when I dream at night, or walk the dog, or work on my thesis, or do the dishes...

I feel like my life is headed in (an) unexpected direction(s). That is, I feel like it could, if I just let it.

Today, in response to Leah's invitation and Swampgrrl's recent post, I took some time and made a list of all the things that I envision for myself in the near future. Basically, I just wrote down all the things that have been swimming around in my head, those daydreaming thoughts, the ones that have been making themselves more and more apparent. For now, I've tucked that list safely away in the incubating pages of my journal where, during the dark hours of this morning, I wrote about how I am happiest when living to the very edges of my life.

*Hint: My list looked a little like this:


You see, I've wanted to teach for as long as I can remember. I've always known that is what I want to do. I did it and I loved it and I want to continue. And sometimes, when I listen really closely to the whispering of my heart, I hear it telling me to go off on my strange adventures and to follow those dreams that aren't going to lead me directly from point A to point B...because, if I do that, I will end up exactly where I want to be.

I have never doubted my purpose in life. But I am keenly aware of the ways in which each choice I make leads to the next, leads to the next, leads to the next (yes, there's that connection thing again). Each choice creates a reality and each reality creates more choices. I am creating my future. By limiting the vision of mySelf and my future I feel like I am also stunting my life's potential. I believe that extraordinary (and unexpected) things can happen--even when taking the most unlikely of routes (especially when taking the unlikely routes!). Anyway, my life was never meant to be typical (eeh-gads, I can't stand that word!). So I'm sitting here wondering: what would my life look like if I let go of my expectations of what I thought it would look like?

And you know what? When I pay attention to the thoughts and feelings that float to the surface with that question...

I kinda like what I see. :)

faith in magic.

When I look around me I see stacks of books. I love books and I can't even tell you how much I look forward to reading them. And at the same time, for possibly the first time ever, I don't want to read them right now. Wary of distraction. I am enjoying the concentrated feeling of my life these past several days. I am writing--working on the "T-word" (yes, my thesis). Eeking out one slow sentence at a time. And loving every second, every minute, every day of it.

I generally write my blog posts pretty quickly. I don't know what it is, but whenever I sit down to work on a serious project I slow down to the approximate speed of molasses. However, I already know this about myself. I've been writing like that for as long as I can remember and, as long as I'm moving forward (even a little), I'm ok with that.

A couple days ago I read my horoscope after following a link on Jamie's blog. It felt especially fitting for my life these days, but one thing that stuck with me the most was a quote by Carl Sagan: "If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe." Wendy Guy goes on to explain:

You are currently not only collecting the ingredients to create something wonderful in your life, you are also gathering and assembling the bits and pieces that make up those ingredients. Therefore, this is probably a much bigger job than it seems at first glance! Put another way, whatever you'’re aiming to achieve, reach or manifest in your life right now has some quality to it that is far greater than the sum of its parts, and therefore requires more effort, focus and faith than you realize.

Yesterday when I took a break to take Anu for a walk it was extra cold outside. The lines around everything seemed especially clear (a branch, a car, a curb). The ice and snow was particularly loud beneath my feet. The air felt thin. I walked through a favorite part the woods thinking about how long it's taken me to get started (really started) with this project. I found myself wondering why I hadn't just written it months and months ago. If I had started then, I would have been done by now. I rolled that thought around in my mind and then decided to let it go because...you know what? Things don't always work like that.

These days I am putting all of my energy into weaving together the strands of my life with words. I have been creating a universe, baking pie, dream weaving. And with each sentence I return a little closer to my Self.

I have faith in the magic that it takes to create anything.

**image borrowed from Science@Nasa

ok....looks like everything has normalized. :)-
if you're subscribed to bloglines and noticed that i've had like 60-some updates in the past 24 hours...i have no idea why.

ps.
oh...and i owe emails to a few of you. oy...where has the time gone these past few days??

pss.
better post coming soon. well, hopefully. :S

Still here!

Well, that was kinda fun dropping off of the face of the blogosphere for a day. When I woke up this morning my blog had turned into a bunch of gibberish and I thought: "Oh s#&t!"...but it turns out that it was my husband's doing. He was backing up my blog by transferring files last night (like he said he would) and, in the process, something went a little haywire with my template. So, until he gets around to fixing it, I get to enjoy a change of color with this generic template.

Yeah...so anyway, I'm still here.

A few poems and ALL my paragraphs got condensed and it's possible that I've lost my links...but right now I'm just glad that I didn't lose any of my content to Blogger's bitchiness.

I just got home from work, took Anu for a walk, and filled a nice thick mug with some yerba mate. I'll be back again later...once the tea's effects actually kick in. :)-

Today's poem:

Today, upon arrival at the coffee shop for a morning of writing, I opened up a book that I recently recieved from Ruby and read this:

"The Quiet Animal"

Oh quiet animal, sleeping,
What dreams lie within your cells?
What ages brought you here
Through coal and ice?
Eye twitch, lip curl--
Blood dreams again.

Blood is always dreaming.
Scheming to move us forward and take us back,
Dreaming the dark places,
Caves and the backs of stars.

Your ivory bones are the tusks of time
Who eats with all our mouths.
That crescent moon? It's just a bone
Thrown beyond our reach.
The stars at night were someone's baby teeth.

The blood remembers
What the mind forgets.
The soul is a quiet animal.
Given less to thought than memory,
More to dreams than plan,
The soul owes more to half-remembered God
Than waking life as man.

~by Julia Cameron from Finding Water: The Art of Perseverance.

paper lamps and bright stars...

I should be in bed right now. But instead I'm listening to Pandora (thanks to Vesper), drinking a warm cup of chai (thanks to Sophie), and celebrating the fact that I have finally entered my first story in a very long time.

I've been traveling the pages of my old India journals, piecing together memories, reconstructing a self from a not-so-distant past, and feeling much more alive and real than I have in quite some time.

Funny how writing has a way of doing that.

Christmas in January.

This is my nephew, Willem. I love him beyond words.

morning thoughts.

Once again, it's been several days since I've last posted. Geez...that sounds like going to confession: "Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been ___ days since my last confession." Gah. But, to be honest, I don't feel as guilty as I sound. Although I am definitely on the mend, my back has been out for the past 3 days. Tuesdays and Wednesday I could barely move, let alone breath. Today, despite lingering pain, I feel like something of a new person. Last night I even went so far as to give the house a nice deep cleaning. I was up until almost 2 am in my pursuit for a fresh start this morning. It worked.

I got up and came downstairs to a clean kitchen, made coffee, and then took Anu for a longer walk than she has had in the past several days. She was happy to burn off some of her excess energy as well. At the moment, I'm writing here instead of in my morning pages because I was starting to miss my blog. Funny how that happens. Blogging, like journaling, like walking, like brushing my teeth every morning has become such a deeply rooted habit that it becomes uncomfortable to function without these actions in my life on a daily basis.

And I must say that it feels good to return to my morning pages. I've only been doing them for a week or two and, already, I am amazed by how much more freely my words come. I thought that I would end up filling my big fat journal with a whole lot of garbage...but I've been surprising myself. What is it about morning pages that cause life to break open? I don't know...but I love the feeling and so I will continue with it.

Ever since moving to Minneapolis I've been collecting fortunes from fortune cookies. And I've been taking them seriously. Last night in my cleaning frenzy I went so far as to not only clean floors, toilets, dishes counters, and junk piles... but my closet, purses, bags, and jacket pockets, too. Now I have a small heap of fortunes that read:

• You will have wealth.
• You will be successful in whatever you do.
• You will be doing something new at work.
• Keep an eye out for an opportunity.
• You are your wisest counselor.
• Accept the next proposition you hear.

Lately, I find myself focusing on the 2nd and last one. They're in a pile next to the colorful prayer beads that Kristine made to remind me that all I need to do is tell it one word, one sentence, one paragraph, one story at a time. I have them sitting on the silk orange and gold brocade from India that my computer monitor sits on. All around me I have these sacred little objects--little pieces of artwork, a tiny glass box, a postcard from far away, rocks, trinkets from India, photos of my husband--these things surround me. Splashes of color in an otherwise white-washed grey day.

While walking in the woods New Year's Eve, I thought about magic. But I also decided that something I want to do this year is to read one poem every day. I love poetry...but, for some reason, it seems to have fallen out of my life. Completely. How did that happen? It has been a long time since I've written any poetry of my own and almost as long since I've really read much of it by anyone else. While in Bemidji over Christmas I had a short, but wonderful conversation about poetry with my former professor, Mark. I complained about my lack of narrative talent and he said something simple like: "You should be writing poetry." So I started thinking about that. And it's an idea that's been growing inside of me.

Reading a poem every day is my invitation for poetry to enter back into my life.

This morning I read "Different Ways to Pray" from 19 Varieties of Gazelle: Poems of the Middle East by Naomi Shihab Nye (one of my very favorite poets). It's a long poem, but I want to share with you just the first stanza:

There was the method of kneeling,
a fine method,
if you lived in a country
where stones are smooth.
Women dreamed wistfully of
hidden corners where knee fit rock.
Their prayers, weathered rib bones,
small calcium words uttered in sequence,
as if this shedding of syllables could
fuse them to the sky.

...oh, but it's hard to stop there. Go out and find this poem. Really. I promise that you will smile when you get to the end of it.

Crumb-Dumb Day

Something to whine about:

• My back is out. Day 2. I can barely move, let alone breath. Broken. No, not literally, just feels like it.
  
• My ipod won't shut off and the battery is draining rapidly. Broken. Or well on its way.
  
• My cell phone hasn't gotten reception in a week (and we don't have a regular phone). Broken.
  
• I've spend the past two hours on a borrowed phone trying to get said phone replaced. Frustrated.
  
• Our tv quit working a couple weeks ago. Reason unknown. Broken.
  

Basic summary:
No phone.
No music.
No movies.
No car.
No movement.

In other words, Jessie is not happy. I mean, WTF? It's almost noon and I haven't even taken a shower yet. But I'm going to right now. And, hopefully, it will fix me enough so that I can head to the coffeeshop and get some writing done. Or something. Anything. All I know is that I need to get out of the house. Seriously.

Belief.

Today has been one of those days that I wish could last forever. After last night's snow storm, it is something of a winter wonderland out there. Of course, you all know how happy that makes me. Not only is there snow, but also a bright sun (now setting) to make it all the more beautiful.

In the middle of the night, Anu and I went out into the woods. The combination of light from the city and the snow created a glow that seemed to radiate somewhere from within the forest. I kid you not, I stepped out my (front) door and into the world of Narnia. Once we were deep enough into the woods I let Anu off of her leash to run while I simply sat in a heap of snow and tried to drink it all in. When we first left the house I was slightly disgruntled that no one else was adventurous enough to join me. But once we got out there I couldn't help but be glad we were alone--just Anu and I.

There was a part of me that was nervous about being in the middle of the woods alone at night (we live in the city, after all). But there was a bigger part of me that felt like the luckiest person in the entire world. I'm really not sure if I have ever experienced such a beautiful winter night. Maybe. But I doubt it. The trees were heavy with snow from top to bottom. We had the woods to ourselves except for the deer and fox who make their homes there. I found myself wishing I had a way to communicate what I was seeing. But, really, it was just too incredible to describe.

It's been a peaceful day. My mom headed back home after lunch and, since then, I've just been enjoying the natural pace of the day. The whole world feels a little bit happier today. Or is it just me? I don't know...but I'm beginning to believe deeply in the ripple effect of our moods. Today my neighborhood is happy (or seems to be). When we see each other we exchange waves and hellos and even a few hugs. Today is a day for new beginnings and the trickle effect it is having feels good.

I think I was starting to feel like this place was never going to "fit" quite right. I don't know why, exactly; that's just the way I've felt. But over time we've started to grow closer to our neighbors; the waiters at our favorite restaurant and neighborhood coffee shop recognize us and are glad to see us; I met a really incredible fellow artist yesterday (we recognized each other from running into each other somewhere else); I'm beginning to learn my way around; and in this big, big city it is starting to be the sort of place that when I go places, I see people I know--people from the bookstore or the garden shop or my neighborhood or (like yesterday) just someone I randomly met somewhere else...and, well, it feels good. I like being able to be anonymous once in awhile...but I also like feeling like I belong to something, too. Slowly, slowly I'm beginning to find a balance here.

Last night, while my mom sat on the couch writing a letter to a friend and V. did whatever he does on his computer, I sat down in my chair with a cup of tea and made my yearly list of accomplishments for 2006. It's been another big year of change in my life and, although the list was not necessarily as exciting as the lists I've made in past, I decided that I am happy with the progressions my life has made. It has been an interesting year, full of new heartaches and stress and happiness. It has been a full year--one that has provided me a lot of room for GROWTH. And yeah...I guess with growth comes growing pains.

In some ways I've been struggling with the idea that I am not moving ahead far enough or fast enough. But the truth is that this is exactly where I need to be right now. This is it. Right here, right now. I have beat myself up more than a few times for only working in a bookstore and only working in a garden shop. I feel like I am meant for something more, something else. But the thing is that before I got either of these jobs I decided that I needed to slow my life down enough to heal the things inside of me that needed healing. I needed a break from life as I knew it--and I've gotten it. For that, I am thankful.

About 10 years ago I decided that I wouldn't make New Year's resolutions anymore. I felt like they did little more than make me feel bad about myself. That was the year that I started making a list of accomplishments instead. I've carried on the tradition ever since. But, last night, when I was walking out in the woods, I decided that this year I want make a list of intentions to accompany the experiences of this past year. As I was walking there was one thing that came to me, strong and clear:

This year I want to allow magic back into my life.

There was a lot more that went along with this thought but, for now, that is the most I am able to share. With too much school, magic somehow got buried under too much critical and cynical thinking. Actually, I buried a lot of important parts of myself. I used to believe in a lot of things. After awhile I began to notice that I didn't really believe in much of anything anymore. Maybe it wasn't just school or the people that I was in contact with on a daily basis that made me feel that way. It might have been a combination of a lot of things that simply caused too much stress in my life. My spirit just sort of shut down for awhile. But, these days, I feel myself reawakening. It's a process, but there is a part of me that is opening back up--like a door in my heart; I feel it opening.

And so this year I dedicate to Magic. In all its forms.

...because I can feel it--this year is going to be unlike any other.

Coffee Cup Swap!

Happy New Year everyone!!!

Just wanted to pass on the word that Melba asked me to be a guest host for Create a Connection. Hell yeah! It's a good excuse to get to connect with fellow bloggers and get something cool in the mail! Come on...you know you want to! Sign up on the Monday, Create a Connection post if you're interested.

Go to the post at Create a Connection for a more thorough explanation and guidelines. I hope you'll join in...because, you know, a person can never have too many coffee cups. ;)

Pass the word on! And may your first day of this 2007th year be wonderful!