Sinking In

So fellow travelers, one of the things I value highly from being part of a creative community are the moments when one person’s contribution generates another work.  We call it the ripple effect.  Jackie Campbell,  a friend and fellow haiku writer (she posts one almost daily in her thoughtful blog) shared a story with a photo that caught my attention right away.

JackiesDock

Photo courtesy of Jackie Campbell

The image matched a haiku I wrote a few months ago but had not posted  because I had yet to capture an image to match the words.

Tide rises waves come
Hold fast to the shore my friend
Light and love are near

Most of my haikus are created out of the experience embedded in an image I capture, so the visuals usually preceed the words.  This haiku came out of some challenges another friend was experiencing. When I composed it, I sent her a copy on a hand decorated card and kept the original words in my blog drafts waiting to snap the right photo to go with it. Then this morning while wrestling with another post that felt heavy and awkward, I came across Jackie’s candid story and photo. Often when I feel I’ve hit creative quicksand, I will take a break and scroll through my WordPress Reader’s feed or check in on Instagram if only to lift my mood. Most of the time savoring the creativity of others not only raises my spirits, it sparks my own process and I get back into the flow of writing, just as Jackie’s piece gave me the boost I needed today.

Jackie’s honesty about feeling daunted by the process of learning to “get out of manual” mode when using her camera reminded me of how easy it is to doubt our ability to acquire new skills, particularly when technology is a component of the tools we are using. I’ve had my digital slr camera for several years now and there are still settings I have not ventured to experiment with. In fact on my last trip to the Pacific Northwest I chose to leave that camera behind and rely on my phone for photos. With trips planned to two national parks, it was an almost unthinkable choice, one made only because I know I will return to those those parks again in the next few years.

On recent trips I have felt burdened by the bigger camera and noticed most of the photos I like best were ones I captured with my phone. This trip I felt more present in the adventures I had, letting the experience really sink in without the requirement (admittedly self imposed) of capturing it “on film.” There were only a handful of moments when I missed the capabilities of my dslr and the depth of experience I gained by being present without it were well worth the trade off of less impressive shots taken by phone.

20170826_120556.jpgMt Olympus from Hurricane Ridge in Olypmic Natl Park.                                                         One of the moments I missed my dslr and extra lenses.

The fear we have of not creating work that is “good” enough, not getting it “right” comes from self imposed expectations. We just don’t give ourselves the benefit of making mistakes which are after all how we learn to do things better. Our expectations and tendency to compare ourselves to others not only in creative endeavors, but in many, too many, areas of life, fabricate quagmires of doubt. This is why I am grateful for the creative community I am part of.  Encouragement, advice and even an inspirational challenge from time to time (more on that in an upcoming post) are lifelines along a sometimes rocky journey to creative growth and deeper self expression.  We may not always walk side by side, but we are never truly alone. It’s a blessing beyond any measure of perfection.

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

 

The things we take from ourselves

Writer, photographer, fellow seeker of awe in the sanctuary of nature Jennifer Bowman puts the impact and losses into solemn perspective. I am grateful her friendship and recommendations guided me to find Punch bowl Falls on our first trip to Portland four years ago. That and a few of the trails in the Gorge are experiences I am grateful I gathered before they were lost to this season’s wildfires.

The Trailhead

Eleven years ago today, I spent my birthday at Glacier National Park. That was back when I owned a house in northwest Montana, and I spent every possible moment there. And because it was my birthday, I wanted to go to Glacier, because I love Glacier. I looked back at my ancient blog Trailheadcase (I’ve been blogging continuously at one site or another since 2005), and was reminded that it was chilly enough up at Logan Pass to require a coat on my almost-four year old (now almost 15), but warm enough to play in Lake McDonald in shorts and a t-shirt. Such is life at elevation.

1416192024_9c3b301464_b St. Mary’s Lake at early afternoon, during the 2003 fires.

Tonight, eleven years later, Glacier is on fire. A lot of it is burning. The venerable Sperry Chalet, one of Glacier’s famous backcountry lodges, was overtaken by flame. I’ve been watching this beloved…

View original post 625 more words

The Wrong Donations – Some Tough Words on Disaster Relief

Gracious humor, gentle and direct.

My Best Laid Plans

I need to make a statement. I want to say it as kindly and gently as possible, but this message really needs to get out there. It’s important. Please hear me with as much grace as you can, because I mean it with all love and gentleness.

My children and I spent hours yesterday sorting the donations that are pouring in. That picture is the mountain we were faced with, and it was still coming. We’re not the only ones. Hundreds (thousands?) of volunteers all across our state are doing the same exact thing. Why? Because your hearts are in theright place.That’s why.

I want to make that abundantly clear. It is beautifully apparent that you are thinking about us and that you want to help us figure this thing out. You are doing anything you can, and that has brought such profound joy to our hearts. I personally…

View original post 1,093 more words

All the Beautiful People

From creative friend and fellow blogger Denise Gainey. Moving words full of compassion, grace and acceptance, all of which we need to raise up even more in these troubled times

The View from Here


I was the only white person in the treadmill room at the Y yesterday evening, pretty typical for our wonderfully diverse Downtown YMCA in Birmingham. The television was turned to the news, and as we all listened to the madness of recent events, I listened to my friends around me react and discuss- men whose parents and grandparents very well could have been a part of the Civil Rights Movement here in our city that was Ground Zero for so much of that sad time in our nation’s history. A few minutes later, a Jewish man came and stood in front of the tv, listing earnestly. What must they be thinking? How must all of this make them feel?

I had gone to a rural middle school earlier that morning to help new beginning band students try the clarinet to determine if it would be a good match for them…

View original post 534 more words

Finding the sunshine

Gentle mindfulness from a friend who lives there. Her perspective zooms in beyond News to the hearts at the center. May peace come to all affected .

Quilt of Missing Memories

“I’m crabby,” I told my pup Rex early yesterday, but he wasn’t listening.

He seems to know when Sunday’s rolls around again, and that day is his fun day.

Rex wasn’t going to let my foul mood and gray skies get in the way of his plans.

He knew an extra long walk was already on the morning agenda for just the two of us.

Just like we do every Sunday.

With my senior canines softly snoring in some kind of post breakfast bliss, Rex and I quietly snuck out the back door.

As we got closer to the lake where we typically walk, my mood was still heavy.

The heat and humidity generated during the week hadn’t come from just the weather.

Ignoring his usual stop to smell sweet cinnamon bread cooling from the oven at the bakery, Rex’s nose instead led me to a display of flowers on…

View original post 514 more words

Thoughts on Being Lost.

While I am weaving the threads of images and words from my recent road trip leave it to my friend Tom to find words that set the tone for whats to come.

Quarry House

IMG_1685_resize

I am sitting in a little diner called Nicks in downtown Athol, Massachusetts.  It is a bustling place, with people coming and going and all talking to each other as I sit in the corner and write.

I am in Massachusetts every week now. The woman I love, my new bride, lives and works here. So until she finds good work up in Vermont, we are sort of a migratory couple. I spend 2-3 days a week down here, working out of diners and her apartment, and she spends three days or so up in Vermont over the weekend.

It’s not ideal, perhaps, but having her in my life, day to day, each morning and night, is worth the extra driving. Fortunately for me, she seems to feel the same.

So, every week for the past couple of months, I’ve found myself in Athol.

Athol is one of those Mill Towns…

View original post 668 more words

Thoughts: Homer’s Garden

Funny (or serendipitous) how the Forces fighting for us toss out those lifelines at the peak of necessity. This morning when frustration had just about hit peak implosion, Tom’s moving post appeared in my reader feed. Reading his thoughts which echoed many of my own I felt a wave of relief pushing back at those time eating demons. I no longer feel so isolated in my fight to reclaim what my spirit keeps urging me it needs. Thanks Tom for the connection and the reminders. If we reach out and listen, we will hear the Truth; none of us is ever truly Alone.

Quarry House

Homers Garden 2

I spent some time in my studio yesterday. It’s the second time in a week I’ve cut aside some time to paint.

The woman I love is always concerned when I am not painting. She knows the bigger story of my life, and how, many, many years ago I got so involved in a busy life that I let my creative life get pushed aside and how, after years of letting it evaporate, I slowly came undone.

Was that the reason for my undoing? Not alone. Other things, in particular, my marriage, were also coming undone at the same time, but the lack of creativity was the sign I have come to understand, of something else, something else.

The lack of expressiveness.

In the end, I have come to believe, creativity is less an end to itself than a method of expressing ourselves, of opening ourselves up, of getting things…

View original post 1,511 more words

Undiscovered country

It is indeed “easier in the woods” Shared with profound gratitude for Jennifer’s ability to glean wisdom from grief.

The Trailhead

This afternoon, I received the news that my friend died this morning. I’ve known for some time that he had a deadly and rapidly progressing condition. So the news was not unexpected, but it was still surprising in how ferociously piercing it felt. He told me last week it was about to happen, but there was a part of me that clung fast to denial. That’s the part of me that sits here, now, and wonders how someone can send me a message one day and be gone on another. It’s perfectly plausible and entirely common, and yet it still seems amiss.

During these last few months, I strained to minimize the gap that had opened between us, the one that inevitably appears between one person who belongs very much to the world, and another who is preparing to exit it. It was important to me that we remain on…

View original post 658 more words

Guest Post: It’s So Much More Than a Dream

So fellow travelers, in the space of these two weeks since January 20th,  I have taken on the role of moderator for two new groups.

20170202_171123

One is a labor of love, for a crew of local rescue volunteers (more on that perhaps in a future post, for now a few photos  of my recent overnight guests will have to suffice) and the other was born out the desire to support a small yet determined group of fellow local activists in these challenging times.

I know~ as one of my cherished blog followers messaged me recently~the beautiful photos and heartfelt haikus have taken a back seat recently to more pressing matters.

Because to me kindness, liberty, diversity, justice all matter.

Because All of Humanity matters to me.

All humans~ ALL ~not just people who look or think or believe or act like me.

Accepting people with opposing views does not mean I have to agree with their views to be respectful. It means I expect the same and as I wrote recently, I’ve been disappointed in that regard.  Accepting another person’s right to believe differently from me does not give them the right to force their beliefs on me or on people I know and love.

As I work my way through the actions needed to help put in place my piece of this global movement to secure liberty, diversity, justice and kindness for future generations I will be sharing the work of other writers who are crafting pieces which resonate with my heart.

And don’t worry~  there will be images and heartfelt haikus from me too.  I promise.

For now this Guest post from: Author Nadine Jolie Courtney

“There is very little I can say to change the mind of people who don’t understand why separating immigrants and refugees into “good” (white-skinned Christians) and “bad” (dark-skinned Muslims) is wrong and against everything that has historically made America wonderful.

But I’ll try anyway.

People saying “but we need to put ourselves first” and “Make America Great Again” seem to be missing the point. A crucial part of what makes America great is a unique ideal: the first amendment in our Constitution. It guarantees protection for the very freedoms now under attack, the very freedoms denied in totalitarian countries: religion, speech, the press. I’ve seen arguments online saying that America needs to only welcome those with similar cultures and beliefs, which–again–is missing the point. We are rejecting the singular ideals that lifted us up and made us great in the first place. We are rejecting humanity itself: the humanity of those suffering around the world, and our own humanity, too.

Refugees fleeing war-torn countries like Syria are trying to escape the terrorism that our troops and intelligence services fight against. They know its evils much more than we ever will. They have seen the ravages of war. They have buried their children. They seek a clean, safe place to lay their heads and raise their families and pursue their own version of the American Dream.

Things have gotten so politically ugly and divisive recently that it’s easy to forget we’re ultimately on the same team (even when it doesn’t feel like it). Those of us who are horrified by the direction of our country under our new President–and heartbroken that he chose to sign this executive order on Holocaust Remembrance Day–don’t support terrorism. We don’t want people coming to our beautiful, beloved America and hurting it or us. We’re not blindly bleeding-hearts…but we do *have* hearts. Our concern for human dignity doesn’t end at our front door.

We shouldn’t abandon our founding principles when the going gets tough: we should embrace them tighter. The Statue of Liberty reads, in part, “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” They are beautiful, poetic words–but they have long been so much more.

These words on Lady Liberty signify that those in their hour of need can look to America–the country of immigrants, the country of possibilities–and we will swing the door open wider, rather than slamming it in your face. We welcome all faiths, all cultures, all countries. Yes, Syrians. Yes, Muslims. We are a melting pot, and ours has more than one color and more than one flavor.

It is a scary world, no doubt. There’s a lot of darkness out there. But there’s light and goodness, too–both in foreigners and in us, on both sides of the political spectrum–if we can dig deep and be open-minded even when fear and anger is the easier option. Let us continue to lift our lamps beside the golden door.

Last thought: this is a photo that hangs in our house. It’s my Muslim Syrian grandmother hugging my Episcopalian nun mother-in-law at my wedding. It is an immigrant hugging the descendant of immigrants at an interfaith Muslim-Christian celebration of family and love.

THAT is the American dream.”

You can find more of Nadine’s work at this link

Walk gently on the path my friends and may adventure find you ready.

the first present

So fellow travelers, on my annual holiday road trip to distribute gifts and hugs to my side of the family, we drove from windswept snowbound vistas through freezing drizzle in the Poconos arriving at last in not-quite-as-Sunny-as-the-show-claims-Philadelphia. Warm hugs, cheerful banter and hearty meals quickly dispelled the gloominess of grey skies. I woke this morning to find this post from my good friend Kate in my blog feed. This has been a holiday season with too many empty chairs at the table. It is good to have friends who keep the embers in our souls alive when the winds of change seem hell bent on extinguishing hope. As I read I could feel her rich tapestry of words wrap around me like a soft warm blanket. May peace and comfort bless us all.

Life With Horace

there are trees here too
grown out of deep soil pockets
heads above the hardy root dug
mountain friends of home
this gathered woody host a nest
to hold a house containing
every one I love
still sleeping as the light
creeps up all cloudy
through the rain
a christmas only minds eye white
with clear skied sunrise
catching tree tops
by surprise
red bronze briefly
glistened with strings of
love and memory
from those gone ahead
beams creak awake
almost the hour
for letting loose small bodies
counting moments since last night
behind me thumps and sighs
two sets of eyes meet mine
my patient dogs
the first gift of the day
belongs to them
and we are kitchen bound

_____________________________________
a small gift of words, a time filled with more love than things, christmas as it should be. my heart is very full.

View original post