On, In, and Around Mondays: The Red, The Rose, The Coat

She concluded on a beach, noting that growth is a spiral process: what we don't manage today, we'll manage tomorrow, coming around again, if we are willing.

It was my third time going through The Artist's Way. A dear friend recommended this book long before I ever read it. I have her to thank, for being part of the spiral process that led me, over time, to a first, then a second, then a third reading.

Every reading has presented something new. I love that. This morning going back over the quotes I've copied, this stands out like it never has before...

To be an artist is to acknowledge the astonishing. It is to allow the wrong piece in a room if we like it. It is to hang on to a weird coat that makes us happy. It is to not keep trying to be something we aren't.

Maybe that is why I bought a red coat last year, its smooth outer finish sewn with subtle designs of roses. Maybe that is why I planted red begonias in the garden this year, when I usually plant pink.

These turning-points, where we stop trying to be things we aren't, do they not come with physical markers? The red, the rose, the garden growing something new?

I wonder, today, if there is some way you've been trying to be something you aren't. It's just a curiosity. And along with it, I wonder what that might mean for your coat, the beach treasures you might bring home and put in the "wrong" place in your house, your open books and your closed ones.

______

On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.

If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)



<a href="http://seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5083/5217906589_c7120874ca.jpg" width="308" height="69" alt="On In Around button" />

This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...

On, In, and Around Mondays: Willing to Begin

"It is this willingness to once more be a beginner that distinguishes a creative career," says Julia Cameron in The Artist's Way.

Maybe we think this statement is confined to our art. A writer becomes a beginner by trying a different form or a painter becomes a beginner by trying a new media.

I'm not so sure this confinement holds.

I say this because of the lawn mower.

It was a beautiful day yesterday. Perfect for yard work. And I determined to mow. But when I started the machine, it coughed out white smoke and a worrisome burning smell.

I shut off the mower and stood there. Maybe if I stood there long enough, it would fix itself? I turned the mower back on. More smoke. More terrible burning smell.

I shut off the mower and stood there. Well? Was I really going to give up my whole vision for the afternoon just because I know nothing about lawn mower care?

I was. I was going to give it up.

But then something inside me wouldn't let go. As silly as it might sound, I wanted this. I wanted the afternoon I'd pictured. Lawn mowing and all.

An image of my grandmother played across my mind. Grandma cared for ten acres single-handedly. She did this far into her grandmotherly years. I pictured her on her riding mower down by the lake. She must have had to fix a few machines in her time. She must have.

"Okay, grandma," I almost said aloud. "If you could do it, why can't I?"

So I became a beginner. I Googled "oil change Craftsman 6.0." I watched a video that proved to be the wrong method. I came back into the house and Googled it again. Now I was going to have to turn the mower over and let it drip oil into an oil pan. A Thanksgiving stuffing pan would have to do.

Maybe it was just an oil change, this moment. Maybe it had nothing to do with my art, my writing. Or maybe it was an important moment I'll look back on, because I took a question away from the experience...

"Who told you you couldn't do this?"

The past, yes. Training in helpless-womanhood, yes. But really? In the end, who told me I couldn't do this? Nobody but me. So, as it turns out, it was me who had to decide to stop standing there and start unscrewing the oil cap.

And that is a principle that goes across life right into the heart of my art.
______

On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.

If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)



<a href="http://seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5083/5217906589_c7120874ca.jpg" width="308" height="69" alt="On In Around button" />

This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...

On, In, and Around Mondays: Opening the Creative Door

She chose to frame it as a question of doors. Used a story from childhood, about how she had been afraid to turn a handle. The book club post was about Risk.

This morning I'm marveling. The imagery throughout this week's chapter of The Artist's Way is doors. (Was she prescient? Or had she read ahead? ;-)

I like this quote, for instance. Wrote it down... "Rather than allow himself to be blocked, he looked for the other door."

Sometimes when I am going through a big questioning time in my life, when I am feeling blocked or wishing for more, I end up dreaming of a huge house. It never looks quite the same, but it is always rambling. And it has a lot of doors, of course. With a lot of handles just waiting to be turned.

Cameron says, "One of our favorite things to do—instead of our art—is to contemplate the odds [that we won't succeed]."

I think what I like about my recurring dream is that it invites me to forget about "success" and the odds. Every door is a promise. I can't go wrong. Every room seems to lead one to the other, and every room is intriguing.

"Small actions lead us," reminds Cameron. Why yes. One little handle, turned, opens up a whole house of dreams.

______

On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.

If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)



<a href="http://seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5083/5217906589_c7120874ca.jpg" width="308" height="69" alt="On In Around button" />

This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...

On, In, and Around Mondays: Snip by Snip Approach to Goals

The thorn bush has overtaken its space in my front yard.

Prickly stems with teardrop leaves reach into the azalea, hover over hosta, poke the leaves of the chocolate plant.

I can't believe what it takes to tackle this goal of mine, to bring the thorn bush back into shape. First I must buy a better pair of clippers. Then find a suitable pair of women's gloves (the store only has semi-suitable, but I buy them anyway... leather on the palms will provide some needed protection). I need a sunny day when the spot is still in shadow, because I seem sun-allergic if I'm out in the strongest light. 

Then it's a job that requires patience. I can't reach straight to the heart. Too much in the way. I feel a bit daunted, as I begin snipping the outer rim, taking off no more than about 8 inches at a time. Snip, toss. Snip, toss. The detritus pile grows, the bush shrinks.

It takes a long time, but in the end, I've got what I wanted (despite also getting what I didn't want... a few well-placed pierces to the tender skin). Anyway, I have it now. A small thornbush, nicely rounded, looking like it belongs. In Fall, I'll get the red berries and the orange leaves. A lovely fire bush that will make me smile.
______

On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.

If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)



<a href="http://seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5083/5217906589_c7120874ca.jpg" width="308" height="69" alt="On In Around button" />

This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...

On, In, and Around Mondays: No Books, No Bread

Stop reading. (Just for a week.)

That's Julia Cameron's advice in chapter 4, for The Artist's Way journey.

I didn't do that, but I did something similar.

For the third week in a row, I stopped grocery shopping. This began accidentally. Things just didn't work out to go to the store.

Of course, we soon had no bread.

Then we had no milk.

Then no apples, no bananas, no broccoli, no lettuce or hummus or chips or cereal or... a lot of things that serve us as staple foods. I decided not to shop again, and again.

This sent me to the freezer, the basement cupboard, the back of the produce drawers. It sent me to the woods and the yard, to wild mustard and ramps, currants and dried figs. We baked bread. My youngest made homemade tortilla chips. Cashews suddenly seemed like an excellent breakfast when accompanied by frozen raspberries. Last night we had quesadillas with hot peppers.

My fridge is cleaner than it usually is, even spacious. My cooking creativity is heightened. What *do* you do when your staples are not available anymore?

I've done the "don't read" thing before with Julia. Reading is a staple in my house. She was right, of course. The absence of word-bread turned me towards play, hand-made things, even times of complete motionless silent daydreaming.

What's a staple you could veer around, just for a week? Going bookless or breadless, might you find yourself fig-happy and currant-creative?

______

On, In and Around Mondays (which partly means you can post any day and still add a link) is an invitation to write from where you are. Tell us what is on, in, around (over, under, near, by...) you. Feel free to write any which way... compose a tight poem or just ramble for a few paragraphs. But we should feel a sense of place. Would you like to try? Write something 'in place' and add your link below.

If you could kindly link back here when you post, it will create a central meeting place. :)



<a href="http://seedlingsinstone.blogspot.com"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5083/5217906589_c7120874ca.jpg" width="308" height="69" alt="On In Around button" />

This post is also shared with Laura Boggess, for...