thank god for vacations.

I woke up this morning blogging in my head. I dreamt I had 4 dogs, one of which was a St. Bernard and we were trying our best to be evasive of our landlords. So, when little Louie jumped up in bed in the wee hours of dawn and started licking our faces goodmorning, I was trying to remember what kind of dog the 4th one was while, at the same time, blogging a post about how thankful I am that, beginning at 6pm this evening, I will be on vacation. In my mind I kept repeating over and over: thank god!!

And, yes, I am thankful. I haven't left town since Christmas and, even then, it was only for a few days. Now that I'm actually awake, the words are not flowing so smoothly. My back is out--in a serious way--and I think it is hampering an even flow of thoughts through my brain. I tweaked something trying to take the back seats out of the car. Great. By the time I was done with work yesterday, I could no longer bend at the waist. Today it is no better, only more stiff. I'm hoping that floating in northern Minnesota lakes and rivers takes care of it. Right now, that seems like the perfect medicine for everything.

We're going home for vacation, but we'll be hiding out. I love hiding out. The only visitors we'll have will be my mom and maybe my long lost cousin who will also be in town. I'm not going to step foot in public because, I know if I do, I will have a list of social engagements a mile long. Not that it's a bad thing to see all the people I know from the town I grew up in...but I'd rather spend my time at the lake either laying on the dock or in a hammock reading books. Quiet. Sweet, blissful quiet. What will it be like without the constant hum of traffic and airplanes and sirens? I'm afraid I might never want to come back. And stars? Oh, I remember them. I look forward to seeing the few that will be sharing the sky with the full moon. Maybe I'll paddle the canoe out into the middle of the lake for a nice long moon bath. Maybe I'll never be seen again.

I don't know if it's the pain in my back or the stress from the week, but I am feeling rather emotional about going back home. It has been nearly a year since we moved away and if I were to describe to you where I am going I would probably end up in tears. It's strange because, in many ways, I don't miss it there at all. Still, it is the place that holds my heart. It will always be that way. Don't get me wrong...I love the city too and I am glad that I live here. I feel like I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. But, man, there are things about Northern Minnesota that I truly love and look forward to going back to for the next 5 days. India taught me about this love. Funny how one love informs the other.

Anyway...this is just a bunch of gibberish. Never mind that I'm writing just to write. Mostly, I came here to say hello and to let you know that I'll be away from for the next 5 GLORIOUS days. No work. No computer. No phone. No house hunting. No noise. No nothing except sweet relaxing.

Later alligators!!
:)

Love,
Jessie

coookooo for cocoa puffs...

I am thankful to be sitting in a coffee shop. 40 minutes to closing. Write fast. Something Arabic playing. The ceiling fan has a tick. The sky has turned windy, serious, and pink. The thin, thirsty leaves of the trees move calmly in the warmth.

Today was an interesting nightmare and so I have come seeking a bit of peace. Just enough quiet to let the tension out of my shoulders.

You see, the garden shop that I work at is for sale. This is a bit unsettling in itself, but the owner wants to retire sometime in the next 4 years and so she is giving herself ample time to find just the right person to take over her store. She wants someone that will keep it as it is: a little funky and a whole lot eclectic. And she wants someone who will continue to contribute to the community. Sometimes I think I would be a good candidate to buy it except that A) I don't have any money, and B) My parents owned a flower shop. I have no intention of following in their footsteps. Owning your own business is a lot of work. Hard work. I like the idea, but I am also aware of the realities. And I'm not necessarily interested in living those realities.

Anyway, I'm getting off track. You see, there are a lot of people that would like to buy the place, but no one (so far) that has actually committed to it. That is, until yesterday when some lady came in (in the middle of an hour long power outage. Is this darkness symbolic?) and declared that she wanted to buy the place and that she has the funds to do so. She was serious. Very. She didn't know any of the details, but she wanted it. Her and my boss shook on it in a silly sort of way and then the woman continued to babble on in her own wonderful, hopeful, deeply meaningful sort of way. She talked about finally discovering her dream after 20 years of searching and yadda, yadda, yadda. What a great store. End of conversation.

Then she shows up again this morning, a half hour after we've opened, with her dog and several paper bags full of stuff. She hands me her dog and tells me to watch her (um...excuse me?), puts her purse behind the counter, then goes to get more bags from her car across the street. She then begins to unpack them. My boss comes and goes a couple times and chats briefly with her about nothing in particular (not noticing the bags). Of course, I'm leaving a whole bunch out...but it doesn't really matter, does it. The part that matters is that this woman is redecorating the store with her ugly angels, faded prints, and beat up topiaries while I stood there holding her dog. Meanwhile, my heart is beating wildly because I'm thinking that my boss and her have worked out some sort of deal in the night. My body felt vibratey and wrong. Instant headache. I knew right then and there that I did not like this woman and that A) I would lose my job due to the business selling, or B) I would quit before working for that woman for even a minute.

I start watering plants, even though they don't need it, only because I don't know what else to do with myself. By this time my boss is gone and working in her office. So I ask the woman: "So...is your stuff for sale, or....?" She says: "Oh, I don't know. I suppose I never thought about how this would work." And at this point something starts feeling even more wrong than before and so I wait approximately 20 seconds to make a graceful exit...then head straight to the office where I walk up to my boss and ask: "What is going on?! That woman is upstairs redecorating the shop with tacky paper mache angels from the 80's. " My boss: "What?" We exchange bewildered looks. Me: "Do you know anything about this?" My boss: "No." Me: "Well, it's your deal, not mine. I'm going to the bathroom." At this moment I am very glad to be the underdog. Do you blame me? And so my boss goes upstairs to tell the woman firmly, but nicely that this isn't how it works. The lady asks: "Oh, have I over-stepped my ground?" Um...yeah?

To make a long story short, a potential buyer was lost--or at least that is what the crazy lady told me to tell my boss. Let me just take a moment to say: THANK GOD!!!

In summary: the woman is a nutcase and thought that the shop was hers just because she said she wanted it. Oh, the mind. It is an interesting thing. I mean, she seemed relatively normal at first. I work for a woman who can lift anything and is intimated by nothing--but I think it's safe to say that both of us were feeling completely frazzled for the rest of the day.

Right now I'm just looking for a rock to hide under and this coffee shop is that place. Geez man...can't I just have a normal life? Even just kinda normal? I've been trying to ignore this impending lack of job security and have been doing a very good job of it...until today.

Before leaving, the woman bought $130-some dollars worth of stuff, left some of her own things, and put her half dead roses upside down in the vase that she also left behind. Right now she's probably at home crying over the loss of her dream and casting voodoo spells on all of us.

My question is: when is the ground going to quit shifting under my feet? Gah. I need a break. Please, Universe?

pre-writing.

Once again I feel the need to blog even though I'm not sure what I'll say. What is this curious desire to write? What is it that pulls me back, over and over again, to this little blue blogger box? I suppose, in part, it is to make sense of the thoughts rattling around in my head and, in part, to connect with the people I now consider my friends. Asking myself "why do I write?" is sort of a stupid question, but it is one of those questions that most writers/artists/thinkers seem to enjoy (including myself). It is like asking: why do I eat or breathe or shower? Well...there are worse addictions one could have.

At the moment I am sitting outside. The twittery sound of birdsong is louder than the whir of distant freeway traffic, but just barely. The dogs are asleep at my feet and I can feel the grass between my toes. It is hot out, but I am sitting in the shade of 3 pine trees. The cup of coffee sitting next to me is holding down a stack of essays that I am about to start working on. I know I've already written about this scene--but it is becoming such a familiar one--this probably won't be the last time I describe it to you. This here, is what I call "pre-writing." I thank Peter Elbow for teaching me this, and Natalie Goldberg, too. But anyway...

Yes, I am still working on my thesis. It seems hard to believe that I have not finished it yet...but it is not so bad anymore. I am almost done with it and, these days, I actually look forward to the time I am able to carve out in order to work on it. This is my sacred time (Mondays) and, despite difficulties, I let nothing get in the way of it. As another writer-friend likes to say: I'm on "sacred cow time."

Sometimes I wonder what I will do when I am finally done with my thesis. What will I write about when I no longer have a destination for my writing? In daydreams concerning topics such as this, I usually imagine myself writing short nonfiction pieces for publication (or not for publication (whichever). I am no longer bent on proving myself). In writing my thesis, one thing that I've learned about myself in terms of writing is that I am truly in love with the genre of creative nonfiction. Often, when applying for grad school, you get to choose from one of three categories: fiction, nonfiction, or poetry. I've always waffled back and forth between poetry and nonfiction, never knowing where I best fit. Now I realize that I am a healthy combination of both--but my first and truest love is in creating prose. I derive great pleasure from crafting a good sentence. I am in love with punctuation and word choice, rhythm and rhyme and long stretches of syllables that extend from one side of the page to the other until, finally, an entire paragraph is formed, and then another and another and another. In this way, I am able to transform miniature moments into something that can be shared. I don't really care about getting published so much as I like the idea of my writing having a place in the world, a destination. After all, it feels good to have a purpose in life, don't you think? It feels good to have a "home," a place for things to rest or be received--on more levels than one.

Completing my degree will, in many ways, take the weight off of things--but, without grades or deadlines or the incentive of finally attaining a diploma, what will drive my work? From where will I excavate ample amounts of focus and inspiration? Frankly, I find this thought mildly intoxicating. I am excited to see where I end up once on my own. But let me not forget:

"The journey is the destination." ~Dan Eldon

urban ninja gnome:

(or: life at the garden shop on a slow day)

spectacles of nature.

The tree outside our house, the one that stretches its limbs over our roof and far into the sky, is in full bloom right now. I came home for lunch today to find hundreds of butterflies feasting on its blossoms. They flitted and fluttered through the air all around me. They rested on the ivy covering our house, opening and closing their wings, so softly. They danced circles around one another. They took my breath away. I have never, in my whole life, seen such a spectacle.

Neither has Louie.

When I returned home again after work, the tree was quiet...until I looked more closely and saw that all of the butterflies were still there...only sleeping.

Or perhaps waiting for the storm?

The rain eventually came in big drops.
And I stayed outside to enjoy it.

Sunday Scribbings: Eccentricity

I sat down with nothing to write about. I am outside, once again sitting up to the old wooden table that graces our backyard. Next to me is a coffee cup, a book on writing, and a whole row of potted plants. My favorite is the chocolate mint. Louis runs full speed across the yard with a pine cone in his mouth and water from the kiddie pool spraying out like a burst of broken crystals behind him in the morning sunshine. Pure beauty. Happiness. My wolfie lays lovingly at my feet. This is a good way to start a Sunday morning. It is how I've been starting every day.

To have a lack of blogging topics is extremely unusual for me. Actually, I don't remember the last time that I was at a loss for things to say. I even went so far as to ask V. last night: "What should I blog about?" Gah. What a ridiculous question. Anyway, he was no help. This is what it feels like to swim the surface of contentment. There has been an even-ness to my days brought on by large doses of heat. Life at the garden shop has been truly enjoyable, but working in upper 90 degree heat takes its toll not only on the body, but the brain (is the brain really separate from the body??). I feel my brain cells cooking like all those hot house flowers I keep watered all day long.

Needless to say, I feel a part of my life. And that is worth the physical discomfort. Being outdoors has always had that effect on me--my whole life. Yes, you could say that I'm a bit of an eccentric in that way. In the past I've taken this love to extremes--and I'm willing to do it again in the future. Someday, I'll be the old lady in the woods that lives in the crazy looking shack without running water or electricity. The one with lots of dogs and cats, a ferret, and hopefully a wolf or two. There will be a raven named Edward that comes to my window for food scraps and conversation. I'll have an painting wall outside where I'll hang large canvases and paint strange paintings. When I'm finished with one, maybe I'll leave it hanging there to look at, maybe I'll sell it, or maybe I'll just put them out in the woods (and other unexpected places) for someone else to find and ponder over. The rest of the place will be covered in a mosaic of homemade tiles, crystals, and broken glass. I've already started the collection. ;) I'll wear old flannels from Minnesota paired with sparkly fabrics from India. I'll swim in rivers and lakes. I'll collect herbs and fruits and berries from the woods. I'll sing out loud with the birds and recite Shakespeare to my dogs and take long, long walks with no particular destination. I'll ride a bike with a banana seat rather than drive a car. I'll talk to myself and enjoy the conversation. I'll collect things, pretty things, and line them up on the windowsills. I'll smoosh wild flowers in my journal, strange journals, and I will have lots of them filled with maps and drawings and words. When I die, someone will discover all of this and make a documentary about my life and work. Or maybe not--anyway, this is not the point. My hair will, most often, be messy and standing on end.

I will collect rain water and build a tree house and learn the time table of passing trains. I will have strong muscles and a big heart and I will take care of animals that need my help. In the winter, I will listen to the sound of snow until I learn to understand its language. I will make things for people to help them remember who they are. I will share pots of strong coffee and, when I laugh, I will laugh down deep from the bottom of my belly. I will sing in public and ask people what they dream about. I will learn the rotation of the stars, take naps on the bare ground, and sit on the roof and read books.

This strange life as an old lady is easy for me to imagine (a little too easy?) and, assuming that I outlive my husband (as most women do), I don't doubt that my life will end up an unusual one. My great grandma lived to be 105. I have great faith that I will live to be just as old. I've never said this to anyone before, but I've always felt like my great grandma and I have a lot in common. She was the story teller of the family, the adventurer, the one who found the most contentment in life. And that was her secret to old age: happiness. She was a good role model and I am grateful that she was a part of my life well into adulthood. I've always believed that I would grow to be a very old woman--but I definitely don't want to spend all those extra years playing golf or bridge (or whatever old ladies do), that much I know! But wait a minute....why wait to be an old woman to live an eccentric life? Middle age eccentric? Definately.

"I will not die an unlived life. I will not live in fear of falling or catching fire. I choose to inhabit my days, to allow my living to open me, to make me less afraid, more accessible, to loosen my heart until it becomes a wing, a torch, a promise. I choose to risk my significance; to live so that which comes to me as seed goes to the next as blossom and that which comes to me as blossom, goes on as fruit." ~Dawna Markova

Find more eccentrics here.

dog life:

Bucket Head

Anu and I--she's still my biggest baby.

"You people make my aaasss twitch."

My wolfie, Anu.

Louie and "Pinky," his favorite new "girlfriend" that he picked out for himself at Petsmart. Poor "Lucy" is but a distant memory.

coffee brain

My brain feels scattered. I drank too much coffee and I feel nervous. I accidentally went to work 2 hours early because I was thinking of next week's schedule. Anu got attacked by a raccoon in the back yard last night and got bit on the nose several times. She isn't current on her rabies shots because she wasn't feeling well a few weeks ago when we brought her to the vet. She seems fine, a little rattled, but fine. Still, I'm worried. Louie is oblivious to everything and is asleep at my feet. He's just happy that I came back home so unexpectedly.

I'm also nervous that my hours are going to be cut at the garden shop now that the busy season is coming to an end. Maybe they won't--but, like I said, I drank too much coffee and I'm nervous...about everything. I paid my bills this morning and that always makes me nervous. One thing that I am learning about myself is that I am fearful of money. I am afraid of not having enough. I'm afraid of having too much. Money makes me feel disoriented. Yet, these days, I feel the need to think about it and to find ways to improve not only my relationship with money, but to find new ways of bringing it into my life in a healthy way--through endeavors that make me happy. I'm only writing because it feels good to write. It's therapeutic. It calms me. Maybe it's not the coffee...maybe it is a lot of things.

Really, what it comes down to is that I need to take a few deep breathes and return to center. There are incredible opportunities opening up for me, but in order for them to materialize I need to believe in myself--truly believe. Not only do I need to believe in myself, I need to start taking action.

I read a post today by Jamie about "leaning into it." And that's what I need to do. I need to devise a plan of attack and then I need to just lean into it and see where it takes me. I have a vision....and it is very specific. The only thing I am not sure of is how I will get there. These days, I feel like I am working on a very deep level. It is hard to explain. I am shifting molecules within myself, within the universe. It requires a lot of periphery thinking. It requires a lot of oxygen and sunlight, journaling and art making.

I attempt to move confidently forward with my heart wide open. It is scary and thrilling all at the same time. I feel vulnerable to the elements of life--yet I am focused on perseverance. This feeling...it reminds me of biking day after day cross-country against winds so high that, at times, it was difficult to stay upright. I focused on the road just beyond my front tire and, in this way, moved forward, a thousand miles. It reminds me of the day I crossed Thorung La Pass high in the the Himalayas--step by step, one foot in front of the other. It was a slow ascent, but with each step I felt myself travel deeper towards my center.

These days I am climbing another kind of mountain; I'm crossing another kind of country. Giving up is not part of the repertoire, but moving forward requires a great deal of postive focus...not to mention, large doses of faith.

He won't quit growing!!!

Just think...last week he fit in this little bed perfectly. Little Louie aint so little anymore! Oh, but I LOVE BIG DOGS!!! :)

the questions on my mind...

I've come outside to be with my wolfie and think. It has been a hot, strange, and windy day--but just now the temperature dropped. Storm weather. Dark, oily clouds fill the sky, mixed with patches of blue and white, cloud-filled light. One thing that I've noticed through my writing is that, once again, I have taken to watching the sky. I started doing this when I lived out in the country and it seems to be something I do often, especially when I need to figure out my place in the world. Something about the sky helps me to better place myself in the grander scheme of things. The sky grounds me.

Today I worked at the bookstore. Since the job shift several months ago, I cut back to one day a week, plus doing all of their artwork. Between working at the garden shop, the bookstore, working on my thesis, and doing design work. I have been extremely busy, but happy. Today, however, sucked. And so did last week. I want to write about what is on my mind, yet I don't know where to start. If I were to try anyway...

The bookstore I work at is a truly magical place. It is a children's bookstore filled with art and animals and unusual surprises at every turn. I have loved every minute of working there...and yet...lately, it has left me feeling very unfulfilled and, at times, downright irritated. The days drag by so slowly that my shifts have been starting to feel the approximate length of eternity. I love my co-workers. I love being surrounded by books. I love the community. I love the animals. I love a lot of aspects about my job...but, lately, gah... It has been so incredibly BORING!!! To be chaotically busy and bored at the same time is a very evil mix--and, with summer now here, the chaos will only grow.

I only work there once a week because it is all I can afford. The pay is HORRIBLE and so, in the end, I feel like I've done little more than volunteer my time. Volunteerism is great in theory but, let's face it, it's still retail.

One thing that I am grateful for is that the bookstore has kept me actively involved in art making. If it wasn't for my job there, it would have been all too easy to let art fall by the wayside. I've never wanted to be the kind of artist who doesn't actually make art (and this is something that happens all too often), but the bookstore kept that from happening. All the times that I felt like I was too busy to paint or draw or create, I would end up with a request for a mural or a poster or a chalkboard drawing or something....something that got me into my studio...something that "forced" me to put my other work aside, put on some music, brew a fresh pot of coffee, roll up my sleeves, pull out the paint, the pastels, the colored pencils, and CREATE. Yes, the bookstore kept me connected to that part of myself.

But now???

I don't know. Working there less has had the unexpected effect of disconnection. I feel out of touch with all of the new books coming in and I don't have time to actually keep up with the reading anyway. Even if I did, these days, I would rather be reading adult books. Picture books are great...but lately I am so hungry for a deeper level of content. Not to mention, I rarely even see the same customers anymore.

This past year, children's literature has been the balm that helped heal the wounds caused by grad school. But, oy...I think I feel another transition coming on. The question is, when will I allow this transition to take place? When I moved to Minneapolis, I made a list of "dream jobs." They weren't jobs that would make me rich or successful, they were jobs that I felt would make me most happy. Oddly enough, those are the two jobs that I got. Yes, I believe in the power of letting the universe know what you want! And, yet, I never intended either of those jobs to be my "forever" jobs. They were the jobs that I wanted to help me "decompress" from a rough patch in life. And so they have.

If I were to be honest with myself, I would admit that what I really want to do is return some of my time and energy to the making of art. Not chalkboard drawings or window murals or silly posters for kids--but real art--my art.

I felt a not-so-subtle shift in myself today. I was talking to another artist about her work when it happened...when I realized that it was time to return to the work I need to do. Really, what I felt was bitter and a little bit angry, jealous and inspired all at the same time. The feeling was short-lived and intense... but these sorts of emotions are a serious sign of something important going on under the surface. I mean, come on. The problem is that it is the bookstore's busy season and we are already seriously understaffed. Granted, the reason they are understaffed is because they don't pay enough. But despite low wages I am still in love with the place and I still feel a sense of commitment to it and to everyone that I work with.

I can't do everything--even though I am trying to. I know it is not possible to do all of the things I want to do. But how do I gracefully move on? Is grace even possible?

My questions are: HOW? And WHEN? And will my choices ever amount to anything in the end, anyway?

Louie's First Day of Work

Today is Louie's first day of work. The first Thurday of every month is "Dog Day" where Vinny works. The place gets packed out with dogs of every kind, size, and shape. Oh, my little Louie...what a little man! :)-

Sunday Scribblings: "The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse"

It used to be that whenever I bought a Sunday paper I would go straight for the travel section. Only after thoroughly absorbing the photography, articles of interest, and airfares would I move on to the arts section and, finally, the pet section of the classifieds. These days, however, I go straight for the realty section. As a matter of fact, today I didn't even look at the travel section. It still sits, untouched, on the dining room table where it will probably stay until the next recycling day rolls around. It has been this way for weeks, maybe even months.

I'm not sure when I traded the idea of travel in for real estate, but it seems to have happened when I wasn't paying attention. It might even be due to the accumulative effect of too many white walls that surround me in this rented bungalow. I don't know, but one thing I am sure of is that Vinny and I want a house that we can call our own. I want to paint and garden and do the sorts of things that make me feel like I belong to a place. And that is something that we do not feel here.

These past two years have been made of transitions. I moved from the country to a small town and to a small town to a big city--and, with each move, the only thing that I have been sure of is the loss of stars.

You see, I come from a place where the nights are so dark that the stars alone are thick enough to swallow you whole, a place where the Milky Way ropes itself through an impenetrable firmament, a place where the effects of a dancing aurora borealis is enough to steal your breath away. I come from a place of pine and poplar, sugar maple and giant oaks. I come from a place of mist and marshes, dark soil and blue lakes, from a place of owls and moon dogs and glacial moraines and walleye and white-tailed deer. I come from a place with a short growing season, a place of extremes. And sometimes...sometimes I wonder why I ever left that place at all.

But then I remember: I left for a lot of reasons.

Since moving to the city I feel like there is a part of me that is only observing myself from the outside. I am lucky because we happened to find a house in the city that is bordered by woods. Daily, I walk the ridge and see myself placing one foot in front of the other. The unpaved terrain is rougher up there and there are fewer people. That is, of course, what brings me there. It is the place that feels the most like "home"--the place where, for a moment, all of my selves merge back into one.

Last week, while working at the garden shop, I met an elderly gentleman from New York. We started talking about life and books and writing and I ended up telling him about my project and how I was trying to write about the ways in which we struggle to find our sense of place. It turns out that he is working on a book of his own and, although his is photography, there is a common thread between our projects. Maybe it is even a common thread that runs though all of us. He shared with me quotes from his journal. One of them, by Scott Russell Sanders, read:

"I cannot have a spiritual center without having a geographical one; I cannot live a grounded life without being grounded to a place." ~excerpt from Staying Put: Making a Home in a Restless World

These days I haven't quite figured out where I belong. Or maybe I haven't figured out where it is that I want to belong. I lack a geographical center. I live in a house that is not my own, in a city I do not yet understand. I work and walk and eat and breathe and do all of the things that I need to do--and yet I don't quite belong to any of it. Vinny and I go back and forth between wanting to find a place in the city, somewhere close to the center of things, and a deep desire for the privacy and space that we once knew. With one, we lose the other. Despite our best efforts, there seems to be nothing "in between." There are the suburbs but, no. I cannot stand even the thought of the dumb-numbness of strip malls and chain restaurants and developments that all look the same.

And so I continue to search. Meanwhile, the newspaper's travel section goes untouched. I've spent nearly an entire life consumed by a desire to travel--and I did just that. But then, one day I found a place where my spirit felt at home. It was late winter when I found it. I drove a long ways, to the very end of the universe, and then tromped across a snow-crusted field until I stood looking out towards a valley of black spruce and bare-boned tamarack. The spine of the ridge beyond was punctuated by an unbroken cover of trees that, before long, I would end up falling in love with over and over again. I never imaged myself living in a field, but that particular expanse of space was as mighty as an ocean--full of fireflies and sunsets, wind and wolves and wildflowers. I have since left that place and, maybe it is because of this, it seems that roots have become more important to me than wings.

"Tell me the landscape in which you live and I will tell you who you are." ~by Belden Lane, excerpt from Landscapes of the Soul

*Find more "town and country" here.

slow starts...

It's 10 am. I feel greasy, I need a shower, and I have to go to work soon. I pour myself another cup of coffee because it feels good to be actually still sitting here. Once again, I am surrounded my all of my sleeping animals. When this happens I feel like there should be angels singing. Or maybe it is just my heart singing.

There is a woman who parks outside of our house every day to take her big yellow lab for a walk in the woods. A few weeks ago she met Louie and gushed about how she wished she could get a puppy too. She pulled up a few minutes ago and guess what jumped out of her truck. Yep--a puppy! I had to laugh as she struggled with her jumping dogs and an over abundance of tangled leashes as she set off down the trail. I bet I look just as comical trying to get my own dogs to walk straight. I had to hold myself back from running outside to meet her new little one. She looked like her hands were full enough. Anyway, my hair is standing on end--I would hate to scare her with such a bad case of bedhead.

It's cloudy and I'm not feeling very energetic today. I want to stay home and read books while laying out in the hammock. Lately, this is my constant desire. I am currently reading a half a dozen books and want nothing more than to finish even just one! Oh, but they are some good books. I love working in a bookstore for this reason, but my stack of "to-read" is getting dangerously high. When will I ever have time to read this many?

Oh books, sweet books...puppies and books. What would life be like without such sweetness?

interview me!

ok...this was fun. I've seen the "interview me!" title on several blog posts and when I finally figured out what it was all about, I asked Bella to interview me. Of course, it's a perfect excuse for navel gazing (like I needed an excuse--ha!). Thank you, Bella, for the great questions!

When did you get married? Was it a big wedding or an intimate affair? Did you go on a honeymoon? If not, what would your dream honeymoon be like?
Vinny and I will celebrate our 4th wedding anniversary in October. We chose autumn because it is our favorite season. We got married on the North Shore of Lake Superior in a small outdoor chapel alongside a creek. It was a spiritual ceremony, but not religious; we wrote our own vows; and it was supposed to be a small wedding--only close family members and friends but wasn't because, you see, way back when, my grandpa's brother married my grandma's sister (no, nothing incestous--2 brothers married 2 sisters) and the size of our family doubled as a result. 2nd and 3rd cousins feel more like 1st cousins. If we invited so-and-so, then we couldn't leave out so-and-so...and that's how our wedding grew from just a few people to just over 70 people. Small, I guess you could say, by my family's standards.

I honestly have never seen the sky as blue as it was on our wedding day. I'm not kidding--it was in technicolor! Maybe it was just my nervousness or maybe it was the yellow and orange leaves of the turning trees but, I swear, I have never seen a sky so intensely blue as it was that day. Getting married within a circle in the woods surrounded by family was very important to me. Geesh, I'm getting all misty eyed just thinking about it! In some ways, our marriage was a painful time. Vinny and I got married just as my parents were getting divorced. But when I saw Vinny waiting for me at the end of the aisle (well actually it was winding trail), the whole world fell away. Everything but Vinny fell away. It was as though we were somehow in our own glass bubble. Everything and everyone else was there--yet it was only us. Really, honestly--it is the most incredible moment in my life. Maybe someday that will be rivaled by the birth of a child...but so far, standing in that circle of poplar and pine, holding Vinny's hands, was a moment really unlike any other. I believe deeply in strange occurrences of the universe. A cosmic shift? I don't know, but love is a powerful thing.

A couple weeks later we headed to Italy for our honeymoon. I know that sounds extravagant but, in reality, my parents gave us their frequent flyer miles as a wedding present and we used the meager amount of money from wedding gifts to fund our trip. At the time, I was finishing my Senior year as an undergrad and Vinny was in his first year of grad school. I was preparing for my Senior Exhibition for my art degree and we were, well...extremely busy. I'm glad we decided to go on a honey moon anyway. We went for a week and a half and didn't even have enough money to go inside most of the art museums. But we didn't care. We kept our travels simple and opted to spend our time mostly in Rome and Florence rather than tiring ourselves out with constant travel. We both fell in love with Rome in a way that we never expected. Our first night there we ate the best pizza I have ever tasted under a full moon with a street musician serenading us (it's not just in songs!). We tried every day to find the restaurant again--but we never did. There are so many details that I'm leaving out, but we believe that it was a moment of magic carved out of the universe especially for us. Some things are best savored only once--but, as for Rome, someday we will return.

Why did you go to India and how long did you stay?
When I was 6 years old I knew I had to go to India. At the time, I had a Hello Kitty journal and I remember once writing: "Dear Diary, if I could go anywhere in the world, I would go to India." That desire never left me and in my early 20’s I finally made it there with an empty backpack, an open-ended ticket and no real plan. In truth, I never knew why I needed to go there so badly, but I returned with an experience that has altered my life forever.

I ended up staying in India for 9 months. Before I came home, I used to wake up from dreams that I had gone home too soon and couldn't get back to India. I would wake up in a panic and only calm down when I saw with relief that I was still in India. However, I know I came home when I was supposed to because the day after my return I got very sick and ended up bedridden for nearly 2 months. It turns out, I got a very bad case of Hepatitis A. It is scary to think of what would have happened if I had not returned when I did.

Lately, I have been dreaming of India often. In my dreams I am always at the airport, about to board the plane--but, for some reason, am prevented from it. Usually it is because I lost my passport. The other night it was because I was trying to gather my bags, but I had lost a shoe. I think my dreams will tell me when the time is right for me to return. And I will--because India is my home away from home. It is where my heart lives. It is where I feel a part of me belongs.

What do you love most about living where you live now?
I love it that I look out my writing room window towards endless acres of forest. I look out the kitchen window and see the Minneapolis skyline. I know I've said this before...but we truly have the best of both worlds here with an equal combination of city and nature. I'm not sure I would have adjusted very well to the city without having such a huge park across the street. Now we are spoiled. I spend more time in the woods now than I did when I lived in northern middle-of-nowhere Minnesota. I love walking the woods with my wolfie. And I love all the good restaurants, bookstores, and interesting people of the city!

What are you top 5 favorite movies?

1. Herald and Maude--and old favorite. Herald inspired me to learn to play the banjo in my early 20's. I have since forgotten everything I learned.
   
2. The Journey of Natty Gahn--A girl and her wolf hop freight trains. How could I not love this movie?!
3. Gorillas in the Mist--I used to want go to Africa and study gorillas like Dian Fossey. Well, actually, I still do. ;)
4. Coffee and Cigarettes--short, strange vignettes in black and white. I especially like the conversation between the two old men on the rooftop.
5. Capote--I'm a sucker for movies about writers and artists.
   

You have a day off and you're not spending it on your thesis. How will you spend the day?
This feels like a somewhat theoretical question since I am beginning to wonder if I will ever be done with my thesis. Someday though...I will finish it and, when that day comes, I will truly have a day off. With nothing nagging me at the back of my mind to get done, I would get up when I felt like it, maybe around 8 (or 9 or 10), drink a cup of espresso, and take the dogs for a nice loooooooooooong walk. Then I would come home, take my journal and a fresh cup of coffee outside, and write until my heart's content. After that I'd take a wonderfully long, hot bath, make a light lunch of fruit and cheese and bread and I would spend the rest of the day simply lounging in my hammock in the back yard with my dogs sleeping in the grass next to me with a tall glass of iced tea with fresh mint and a good book. No interruptions--just books and dogs and good food, long walks, bubble baths, little naps, and nice weather. Yes, this is definitely my idea of heaven.

***
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Sunday Scribblings: "Simple"

It's been a long time since I've participated in Sunday Scribblings but, believe me, it is not because I haven't wanted to. Actually, I have a yellow post-it stuck to my monitor with words like "rooted" and "second chance" written on it--but time sneaks away from me and, before I know it, the initial inspiration gets lost in a barrage of unrelated occurrences until, finally, my thoughts pile so high that I can't remember where I wanted to begin. Ether thoughts. Poof! They disappear before I am able to make sense of them, let alone write them down. I'm sure that this is a common phenomenon for many bloggers. I doubt that I am alone.

Tonight I took my first step towards simplicity by visiting my Bloglines account and hitting the "Mark All Read" button. Let's face it: I've fallen irreparably behind in my blog reading. This fact has been dogging me for several months, but now I can breath a sigh of relief in having taken my first step towards simplifying my life. Creating clean slates are not usually so easy. I know, I cheated. But it was sort of liberating all at the same time.

Lately I've been finding myself daydreaming about organized closets and drawers and shelves. My mind drifts over and over again to the built-in cabinets in the breakfast nook of my parent's old house. "The nook" was where my mom kept all of her linens and napkins, fancy silverware, and an extra set of dishes. That little room was the epitome of organization. Never was there a single thing out of place--and that also went for the rest of the house too. I do not have such grand expectations for that level of orderliness--but, I admit, I've caught myself in daydreams about perfectly folded napkins and imaginings of what my life would look like if it were organized into trendy labeled boxes. Of course, I know that inside those boxes my life would still be just as messy as ever. The linen napkins (if I actually had any) would still be unnecessary clutter that I would be better off getting rid of.

I sat down to write about the notion of simplification. Instead, my thoughts keep veering towards what lies beneath our need for simplification in the first place. For some reason, the words "simple" and "organized" keep getting cross-wired in my brain. I am aware of the fact that the simplest (and significantly happier) times of my life were also the times that I had the least possessions. In this way, my life became organized, even in all of its randomness. Life was simple.

And, with this, my thoughts shift away from my childhood memories of folded linens and towards the contents of the backpack that I carried with me through India and Nepal. Once, in Kathmandu, I laid out each individual item on my bed, weighed its necessity for my journey, and decided what to keep and what to get rid of. I was so pleased with the results that I even drew a picture of it. Simplicity perfected.

I think that this is how Thoreau felt when he word-sketched the image of the day he cleaned his cabin on Walden Pond. It is an image that has always stuck with me. I am in love with the simplicity of being able to remove the contents of your house, give it a good clean, and then put it back together--all in one fell swoop. I went so far as to find my own small shack in the woods, with no water or electricity. I carried everything I needed in on my back. I cooked my food on an open fire. I bathed in nearby lake. Life was simple. As it was when I traveled abroad, as it was when I hopped freight trains, or rode my bike cross-country, or lived out of the back of my truck with my old dog Japhy (named after Japhy Ryder from my favorite Jack Kerouac book, The Darhma Bums).

Maybe it was the crispness of those linens that sent me off towards the unconventional life that I ended up living. I never liked the formalities of my parent's house. God forbid, I should ever have a formal dining room of my own. Never mind that I now live in a regular house in a regular neighborhood with a regular overabundance of stuff. Like many, I daydream of shedding the excess weight of accumulation.

If I were to pack my life up to fit in a backpack once again, what would I bring with me? And, stretching these musings out even further, where would I go?

What would I bring?

• my big, fat journal
• the accordion moleskine (the one that I never use because I don't take the time to doodle, but want to)
• 1 pair of jeans (the new, very comfortable ones that I just bought yesterday)
• 3 books (because 1 is never enough--I haven't decided which ones)
• a box of colored pencils, a tin of watercolors, and some paint brushes
  
• a pen
• 1 nalgene water bottle (because I drink a lot of water)
• insulated coffee cup (because I love my hot coffee or tea)
  
• 1 flannel
• 1 wool sweater (better than North Face any day)
  
• rain jacket and pants
• a couple changes of socks and underwear
• sleeping bag
• 2 t-shirts
• 1 long sleeve shirt
• my stretchy black yoga pants
• little Buddha statue (the one that has traveled with me everywhere for good luck)
• my dogs (for sure)
  

Where would I go?
Oh, this is the hard part. I don't know...but I see myself heading for the Canadian Rockies. I imagine deep greens of pine forests, the thin air of the mountains, and plenty of solititude to write, hike, contemplate, and draw.

And if I were to draw a conclusion from my babblings...I would have to say that to simplify is to put things into perspective. To simplify, is to live deliberately. As ol' Thoreau used to say:

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan- like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

Find more simplicity here.

brief musings before work.

I only have half an hour before I have to leave for work, but I have so much to say. It has been a week of long hours of physcially demanding work in the heat, the cold, the rain. It has also been a week of art-making, puppy love, and contemplation. I have barely had a minute to myself, my head hurts, my body's tired--but, still, I feel like I am exactly where I'm supposed to be right now. I have still not gotten used to this feeling. I am afraid that it is going to slip away before I make sense of it.

My life feels transitional right now. I wrote about that feeling last year. And I wrote about it the year before that as well. Looking back, I am amazed by the subtle and not so subtle changes that have occurred in my life in just these past 2 years.

Lately I've been thinking a lot about what I want my life to look like. I like the way it looks right now, but I feel that this is only the beginning. I've been thinking a lot about my "Mondo Beyondo Dream." I learned this term from Kristine, and seeing her make her Mondo Beyondo dream become a reality has been a source of endless inspiration for me. So I've been asking myself: What is my Mondo Beyondo dream?

And this is the part where I wish I had more time to write. There is so much that I want to record with words. Why the desire to do this? Why do some of us feel such a deep need to write or paint or do whatever we do to record our lives, our thoughts, our place in time and space? I've always felt a great need to write about the daily-ness of my life--both inwardly and outwardly. When I neglect to do this, I start feeling my world spinning slightly out of control. When I am unable to write or paint or express myself in meaningful ways, it becomes difficult to process my day to day experiences.

It feels good to be sitting here right now--even if only for a few minutes. Anu is asleep in the cool grass outside, the puppy is asleep in his bed next to my chair. My little cat is asleep, pressed up against my back. My old cat is asleep at my feet. These places of containment--this is what it is that I am always searching for.

Lately I've been wanting to write about the weather--the way the heat and humidity feels on my skin when I work outside, the way I come home so dirty that I need to take a shower, and how good it feels to cool my dry skin and sore muscles with peppermint lotion. I want to write about the way it feels to work in a garden shop when it rains and how it feels when a cool, wet breeze comes in through the front door and leaves through the back door; the way it makes the paper lanterns that hang from the old wooden ceiling rustle and bump; the way the sky deepens into dark bruised blue and is punctuated by lightening and sirens. I want to write about the old man from New York. I want to write about the way my puppy comes looking for me when he wakes up with such sleepy eyes that it absolutely melts me. I want to write about painting a mural on the bookstore window at night with only the glow of street lamps to illuminate my progress. I want to write about the small crowds that gathered to watch me on the sidewalk, while the store cats gathered along the window to watch me from the inside. As a painter, I used to be completely unnerved by people watching me paint. I've come a long way in the past year. I want to write about how exhausted my body and mind feel when I finally crawl into bed long after midnight and about how I try so desperately to read before falling asleep, but never make it beyond a page or two....and then sleep deeply.

Mostly I just want to record a little bit of myself so that these words can remember who I am right now. Because, these days, I am happy. There is a small bird jumping from branch to branch in the chestnut tree outside my writing room window. And I am happy.

I trust words to remember this time--even if I am likely to forget.

kindergarten graduations...

This weekend we went to my niece's kindergarten graduation. Little did I know that I should have brought a box of Kleenex with me(oy!). They put on an end of the year concert and, well, let me just say that my auntie-heart was nearly BURSTING with love. Both my niece and nephew started Montessori school at the age of 2--and, while not many people celebrate the completion of kindergarten, I'm tellin' ya: a good (worthwhile and meaningful) education is worth celebrating. But hey, they celebrate half birthdays too--what can I say?!

I spent the entire first half of the program in tears. I am so proud of my niece, Ara, for who she has already become in her short 6 years of existence on this earth. I don't know what happened...but she walked out onto the stage with all of those other kids and I was just absolutely overtaken by such a huge bout of love that I didn't know what to do with it! My sister was sitting in the seat in front of me; I tapped her on the shoulder and, with big tears blurring my eyes, whispered: "Oh my god! I love her so much and she's not even mine!"

One of the biggest reasons that we moved to this city was to be closer to my niece and nephew while they are still young--and, every day, I am thankful for that decision. Sometimes V. tells me with a funny smile that I am totally over-emotional. I prefer to think that I love deeply. Sometimes that love scares me. I mean, my god, it reaches into my very core! How does that happen? When does love like that begin? Filaments of emotion strung so deeply that there could never be an end. This kind of love--it is such a strange and mysterious thing.

My niece, Ara.

And some more photos from the evening:

Preethy--the Montessori's founder and school principle--
such a beautiful woman, both inside and out.

Madame Montessori,
You have very truly remarked that if we are to reach real peace in this world, and if we are to carry on a real war against war, we shall have to begin with children and if they will grow up in their natural innocence, we won't have to struggle, we won't have to pass fruitless idle resolutions, but we shall go from love to love and peace to peace, until at last all the corners of the world are covered with that peace and love for which, consciously or unconsciously, the whole world is hungering. ~Mahatma Gandhi, 1943

You should have seen the boy in the black bibs sing!
Oh, I've never smiled so hard in my life!

world peace please.

If there is to be peace in the world, there must be peace in the nations. If there is to be peace in the nations, there must be peace in the cities. If there is to be peace in the cities, there must be peace between neighbors. If there is to be peace between neighbors, there must be peace in the home. If there is to be peace in the home, there must be peace in the heart. ~Lao Tzu (570-490 B.C.)

The power of song.

Ara reciting a quote by John Lennon (flawlessly!). :)

All we are saying is give peace a chance. Imagine all of the people living life in peace. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us, and the world will live as one. ~John Lennon.

There is something to be said for the innocence of childhood. To love so purely, to sing and dance and laugh with such abandonment--perhaps it is the young ones who are the true teachers of the world.

They were all so beautiful--each and every one of them.

I love you, Ara.

brief musing.

I am so tired that I can barely think, but it just dawned on me that I haven't even picked up my journal in an entire week. That's just not right.

stress relief.

ok...I promise I won't post photos of the puppy every day--but maybe not. I mean, really, how could I not share moments like these? This photo was taken about a half an hour ago, but don't let him fool you. He is now awake and chewing on my slippers! (and the rug and the cat and the table and...)

Anyway, it's been another eventful evening. You know that "new" car we got? Well, it was a dud and we had to bring it back. Why do these things always happen after you drive it off of the lot??? Well a whole bunch of stress later and we've decided to upgrade to a newer car with a lot less miles, a longer warranty, and (the best part)--the same payment!

I'd go into the details, but I think it would bore you to tears. We almost got royally screwed but all that matters is that, in the end, Vinny and I ended up getting a practically brand-new car for the same monthly payments as the original car that was older and already had a lot of miles on it. This is a good example of the way that problems are sometimes blessings in disguise. Now all I need to do is incorporate this way of thinking into a few other areas of my life!

Needless to say, Louis was VERY happy to see us after having his schedule rearranged. Geesh! I swear, he is the sweetest, most sensitive little puppy I have ever met. Not to mention, no matter how much stress my day involves, he is always the perfect cure. Definitely. I am just trying to soak in as much of his puppiness as possible. Did you know that he has DOUBLED in size in just the past few days?! We should have named him "Dandelion" or "Zucchini" or "Miracle Grow" or something. I mean, seriously... it is truly amazing.


ps.
I just want to say thank you for all of your really wonderful comments on my last post. I appreciate them--beyond words.

i promised myself i wouldn't write about my thesis anymore, but this is where my life is at right now.

I am frustrated with myself today. I had the day off and it turned out to be a perfectly warm "summer" day. My husband also had the day off and, get this, we FINALLY got a new (well, new used) car!!! I should be excited (and I am), but I spent most of the day being frustrated and stressed out because the whole car shopping and purchasing thing took pretty much the entire day. Rather then enjoying the fact that we were in the process of getting something that I've wanted for a very long time, the only thing I could think about was the time I was losing out on to work on my thesis. Yes, I ruined a perfectly wonderful day because of the endlessness of this project. I only get ONE day a week to really work on it and the past THREE WEEKS I have not gotten to do so because my (very scarce) time has been interrupted and interrupted and interrupted.

I sort of feel like just sitting down in a heap and crying because I'm sick of every last detail in my life revolving around this THING that I am not accomplishing. I look out the window and see our shiny black automobile glowing in the light of the street lamp and it restores a little of my happiness. But then I get cranky again because I know that I won't really get to drive it much anyway. I work and then I feel like I should be at home trying to write. I can't tell you how much I crave freedom in my life right now. Even just a little.

But this is why I'm glad we finally got another car. Despite my frustrations in not getting any work done today, this car is what will afford me certain freedoms that I have not had in way too long...like TIME ALONE. Working more has made me realize just how important it is that I have some breathing space--even if only an hour here or there. I want to be able to do something on my own schedule and I don't want to have to explain when, where, and why in order to do it.

Really, when it comes down to it, I think I might just be a little bit mad at myself for ruining what could have been a good day. Vinny is happy that he found a car that he likes. I am happy that we are in complete agreement. I am also happy that I can actually go somewhere without having to spend half of the day walking, riding my bike, or taking the bus to do so.

It's just that I'm starting to think that my thesis is never going to get done and it is beginning to drain the joy out of everything!

Complaints aside, there is a deep part of me that is amazed by the things that have come about through the Finding Water experience. You see, 12 weeks ago I started thinking about the way I wanted my life to be. I started making lists and writing out my desires. Then I started putting my energy into materializing those things. And in the last 3 months I have:

1. started making more money (through an altered work situation).
2. got a puppy (the one I have been waiting two years for!).
3. got a car (something we've wanted but have been inconveniently living without for the past year).

There are only 2 more things on my list right now--but for some reason "finish my thesis" has never consciously become a part of that list. In my Morning Pages I have written about my desire to finish my thesis EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. since I started Finding Water. Actually, it is the topic of nearly every page. I truly believe that if I want something, I can make it happen. So why can't I make my thesis happen? Did I lose belief in myself? Have I ever truly believe in myself when it came to this project?

At this point, what's one more lost day? This "not producing" is wearing me thin and brittle. So here's the deal: Tomorrow I'm going to take my big dog and my little dog for a ride in our shiny new ride before work. I'll open the sunroof and the windows and I'm going to just drive and drive and breath deep. And right now? Despite the late hour, I'm going to stay up and work on my thesis. The day is not completely lost yet. There are enough things in my life right now to make me happy. I am tired of my thesis getting in the way.