How's My Breathing?

I woke up this morning with a lovely, precise memory of my grandmother's garden. She lived in an apartment, and her garden was a tall metal shelf of succulents that stood on her front "porch" that overlooked the apartment's common area. I'd sit way back on the deep metal seat of her lawn chair and rock, the chair back scraping the brick window sill. I watched my grandmother water the plants with a coffee can, pushing the stems aside with a gentle touch.

I loved the juicy spikes of aloe vera; the sweet rounded leaves of Adromischus; the deep green of the jade plants. The sprinkler that kept the rough St. Augustine grass green in the summer heat looked like a big silver grasshopper in the middle of the lawn. It hissed out an angry arc of water over a broad patch of grass. When the water reached the sidewalk, turning its edges a dark gray, the sprinkler tsked-tsked and reversed its arc.

Why did this memory come to me, so vividly and unbidden? Perhaps it was pushed to the surface of my consciousness by the showy yellow and red stems of bare dogwood that I have been admiring at the arboretum.

Perhaps also it's a memory-picture that holds the growing anticipation of my upcoming trip back home, to Texas, to honor the memories of my brother, my grandparents, and my aunt and two uncles who have passed away.

And I believe it was buoyed to the surface by a breathing workshop I took yesterday with Kath, a much-needed reminder to fill myself with breath, not just for life and health, but to fuel my creativity and hone my ability to focus. Especially helpful for boosting creativity is the breathing practice known as Nadi Shodana. I am so grateful for Kath's teachings, and for my writing teacher who constantly gives me tools to use in my writing and seeking, including bringing together a group of Wonder Women writers who are a joy to listen to.

Wishing you all a spring week of happy memories and deep breathing!

Spring Down South

I've taken two trips south to Maryland in the last two weeks, and spring has definitely arrived there. The forsythia is in bloom beside country roads. In D.C. proper, the tulip trees have shed their furry mouse-ear bud covers and are showing their delicate pink flowers on the Mall.




These recent trips, and the planning surrounding them, have kept me away from crafting and my blog for the last few weeks, and I have missed having this essential outlet for my creativity. However, the trips are a springboard for a major adventure I'll be undertaking with my family soon. We'll be spending a sabbatical year in the Washington, D.C. area, and we have just found a lovely sabbatic home in rural/suburban Maryland where we'll be able to enjoy nature and the cultural opportunities D.C. and Baltimore have to offer.

I'm eager to show my kids the wonders I experienced on childhood trips to D.C. Seeing Alexander Calder's mobiles and Henri Matisse's cutouts at the National Gallery of Art when I was 16 opened my eyes to shape and color and how the two components work together to transmit joy and movement.

We'll be sure to explore the newest addition to the Smithsonian: the National Museum of the American Indian.

Now that I have most of the school and house planning out of the way, I'm eager to turn my attention to shaping the contours of my own D.C. adventure. I'm hoping that I can merge three of my passions: writing, crafting, and museum-going into some form of paid employment. I'm open to considering any leads, tips, or contacts, so feel free to comment or contact me directly at editorana@gmail.com if you have any ideas.

Mud Season

Right now upstate New York is in that back-and-forth between spring and winter known as Mud Season, since the mucky stuff is about the only consistent thing we experience from day to day.

Last week we just about overdosed with sunshine, if that's even possible. We got our bikes out from the garage, dusted them off, and hit the bike trails a couple of times. Today was foggy and gray, just the kind of day we need to get caught up on laundry after a weekend away.

Digging Out

Blue sky and an intense late winter light that casts dark blue shadows across the expanse of snow. That's what I see outside my window, and that's what we experienced all weekend. Spring is near, and the cardinal pair hopping in the branches of the crabapple tree outside my sewing room window can feel its quickening.

I spent most of the day Saturday indoors at a native plants symposium, and then most of the day Sunday cleaning out my office and filing literally years of paper. But I finally found the files I was looking for, and look what else I was able to dust off and put together: my collection of covered stones from Margie Oomen (Resurrection Fern) and a woolen acorn brooch from Lil Fish Studios that feels right at home.

The crochet-covered vintage saucer that glows like the sun and the wise little owl that Margie stitched are telling me to go out and enjoy the sun while I can, and so I'll try to share more of things I uncovered in my pre-spring cleaning later.

Have a great week!

A Really Good Day

Today was one of those crazy busy days. I felt like I was running from one activity to the next without a break. What a full, beautiful day it was, though, beginning with snow-shoeing with a friend and ending with writing with an incredible circle of women.

At the end of the day, I started feeling regret at not getting anything tangible accomplished--our taxes are still not done, my office not organized, bills not paid, the to-do list still a mile long.

Then I chanced upon this video by Brother David Steindl-Rast, and I've listened to his words four or five times now.

And I am grateful for the day, for the people I saw and spoke with or just shared a smile with (especially Diana who crunched through the snow with me and Julie, who reminded me of Gratitude). For my children, unique and beautiful and full of energy and life. They sparkle, the three of them, as they wake up to the morning at the breakfast table. For the crunchy snow that dazzles my eyes with reflected light. For the red beets and deep green chard and other brightly colored abundance at the grocery store. For the caring and warmth of my children's teachers. For the chill of a winter's night, that helps me appreciate the spring when it arrives.

Thank you!