Monday, May 11, 2009

A Weekend of Connection



My weekend was truly one of connection and gifts received. After a day of munching on cinnamon rolls and a grilled feast, my family and I ended our day beside the creek, where my sons practiced their "fishing" and caught several "whoppers."




We watched in awed silence as the last light of the day caught the barn swallows as they swooped above the water catching bugs for their dinner feast. They dove down to the creek in swift arcs, skimming the water's surface. Then they launched themselves upwards and began the dance again, their scissor tails silhouetted against the sky.




* * * * * * * *




I also want to share another weekend experience of connecting with a slightly larger group. On Friday and Saturday I attended a lecture and workshop given by Gene Campbell, a former Waldorf teacher. Campbell spoke on the topic of "Raising Loving Children."


Campbell is a down-to-earth speaker, and she emphasized the importance of establishing "loving authority" over our children: setting boundaries that cannot be crossed and enforcing family rules and responsibilities consistently and without anger. She observed that modern society seems to put control into the hands of children rather than parents, and this ends up just confusing children who are developmentally unprepared to handle such choices.


I went home late that night to find the kids still awake, and I immediately put Campbell's suggestions into action: those kids were in bed in record time!


Saturday's workshop was informative and challenging. It shifted the focus from the child to adult cognitive and emotional development. I know that I often focus on my children's emotional development without much thought to how my own development affects how I parent. We used movement exercises and music to identify our own emotional strengths and challenges.


We started out the day by moving together as a group. We formed a circle and moved towards each other and back out again. This simple exercise helped us to connect with each other as a group.


Then we worked on simple individual movements. I tend to carry stress in my body, especially in my shoulders and lower back, so I know how emotions can play out physically. We loosened up by feeling how our feet connect with the ground. We were encouraged to then let our heels carry our weight, our shoulders relax, and our abdominal region settle into a centered position. I could immediately feel a difference in how I carried myself and a welcoming release of tension. One point that Campbell made hit very close to home for me. She pointed out that if we consistently hunch our shoulders or carry them in a strained way, we are blocking the circulation to our arms and to our hands, the center of our creativity. How I carry myself physically is essentially blocking my creativity!


Another simple movement exercise involved moving our bodies in different "planes": up and down, forward and backwards, side to side. The movements looked a bit like the smooth flow of Tai Chi.


Campbell suggested that the forward and backward movements can be seen as a metaphor for our past, present, and future. She held her hands up beside her head, forming an imaginary plane separating front and back. In back of us, she explained, lie our past experiences. In front of us are our present and future. We can selectively pull wisdom from our past, like plucking fruit from a tree, to inform our present and future development. But if we allow past experiences to puncture that imaginary plane and intrude on our present, they effectively limit our vision of the present and our imagination for our future path. I know that I often let sad memories from my past weight me down, and I can see how effective it would be to bat those feelings away and put them back behind me where they belong.


We then explored how movement, music, and touch can be incorporated into our parenting. Kundry Wilwerth, a former Waldorf teacher, puppeteer, and an absolute Living Treasure of songs, presented simple, poetic songs and finger games to play with our children. Wilwerth and her husband Lyn Wilwerth and son have translated the work of Wilma Ellersiek from German into English. Ellersiek was a Waldorf educator in Germany who developed games in the 1960s that captured the innocence of childhood. They were a conscious attempt to resist the increasing academic demands on the very young child.


The songs were absolutely enchanting and so engaging to perform. The words and concepts presented were rooted in nature and in the everyday activities of children around the home. They presented challenging vocabulary in a concrete way. For example, one line ended with the word "repose," and the song had the children bow their heads like a flower drooping down to rest for the night. Another song worked with the hands. Each hand became a fist with a different name, and they wound wool yarn into an "enormous" ball, complete with arms circling a huge sphere.


Ellersiek's touch games allow parents to teach the very young child and transfer their love through song and touch. One song started out on the toes ("Mama me, mama mo, . . . the great big toe") and ended with a "great big hug." I had the privilege to try out this song with Lyn Wilwerth himself, and it was a very special moment of connection for me. I can see how powerful this game would be between a parent and child. The Wilwerths' translation of Ellersiek's songs can be ordered through WECAN (Waldorf Early Childhood Association of North America) Books.



After lunch came the most challenging exercise for non-musical me: learning to play the recorder, an important instrument in a child's early music education in the Waldorf schools. Campbell taught this exercise not so much as a musical experience but as a lesson in creating a loving, supportive group environment. As each of us learned the notes and how to create a pleasing sound on the recorder, we listened attentively to each other and tried to create one "crystal" gift of sound in the middle of the circle. Then, as each person individually presented a simple group of notes as a gift to the group, we focused our loving attention on listening to that performer and receiving this gift of sound. No matter where we were on the learning curve, each of us presented what we could to the group.


The recorder session was also a lesson in self-awareness: how we responded to the challenge revealed something about ourselves. For me, it was a real challenge to put myself out there in front of the group and try something new and difficult in a way that expressed something of myself. However, Campbell's guidance had in fact helped create a circle of trust where judgment had been suspended.


It was a tiring and emotional couple of days for me, but it was an essential exercise in stretching myself as a parent and as part of a larger community. It reinforced my growing sense that the body is an essential component of learning, creating, and loving. For myself, I know that I have a lot of work to do in this area so that I can be a healthier person and parent. In the meantime, though, along my developmental path I also have the responsibility to share my gifts, meager though they may be, with my children and my community. This blog post is a start in that direction, and I welcome any feedback and guidance along this path.

Sunday, May 10, 2009

Happy Mother's Day!



It seems to have happened so quickly, but already the springtime seeds are bursting from their pods. They will soon scatter around their mother plant to form the next generation.





Plants have such a small window of time when the temperature, moisture, and light--not to mention the all-important bees and other pollinators--are just right to set their seeds. It really seems a miracle that they accomplish this complex task year after year.




This miracle does not happen in isolation. If you look closely at the earth, you'll notice that nature does not respect the boundaries of the scientific classifications we have created to understand them. In fact, nature knows no tribe.




Vines and wildflowers grow in a happy tangle.




Green moss embraces gray stone.




Tree roots wrap around buried boulders.




Young shoots break through a tangle of decaying leaves from the previous season's growth.




And all are part of this cycle of birth, growth, and decay that eventually returns everything to the fertile earth from which it arose.


On this Mother's Day I wish these gifts for you all:


a sense of curiosity and wonder for the life around us;
an appreciation and acceptance of where we each are in the cycle of growth;
a sense of tenderness for the fragility of the Earth and its creatures;
a willingness to connect with others to nurture our fragile selves and share our gifts with others.


To my mothers (mom Sylvia, stepmom Jenny, and mother-in-law Donna), who have given these gifts to me in their different ways: thank you, and I love you. I hope to pass along these gifts to my own children.


Happy Mother's Day!

Friday, May 8, 2009

The Ferns Have Emerged




Looking up from the creek bed where I was taking some photographs, I noticed the well-worn path that I had climbed down. It criss-crosses a shaded cliff face and emerges into the light above. Energized by the view, and the hope it implied, I clambered up the rocks and continued my walk.


The creek was my second stop after visiting the wildflower garden to check on the ferns' progress. The ferns I wrote about in my previous post have passed their tender infancy and emerged as clusters of fancy fronds. Their long stalks grow closely together in tight fairy rings.



The tender green sporophytes of the Interrupted Fern have matured and darkened.




Another Fern has emerged as well. Resurrection Fern's snail friend, Fern, has come out of hibernation. Margie has returned Fern to the garden, where s/he (how can one tell?) has already made some new friends.


Fern's emergence happily coincides with my recent return to a work-in-progress. This felted covered stone, called Earth Stone, is the second in a series of stones that I have been making for Margie. Each stone is loosely inspired by one of the four earthly elements from ancient lore: Earth, Water, Air, and Fire. The first one, Air, can be seen, as photographed expertly be Margie, here. (More about the background for Air Stone in a later post.)


The stone underwent a transformation last night. (You can see my original conception in my previous post and on my Flickr photostream.) I pulled out the side stitching and added some "earth" stitching to ground the figures. I also added a mushroom with an appliqued cap. The fabric is from a vintage quilt scrap that Margie had sent me in a swap last year. Fern will soon be getting a bit of a makeover as well, to capture his/her cinnamon swirls.

I'll post more about Earth Stone and the transformative experience that inspired its makeover next week.

Have a great weekend!

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Fern, Interrupted



Wandering around the wildflower area at the arboretum last week, I noticed a lone fiddlehead emerging after the night's rain. It was still partially coiled, and its curved fronds cupped the droplets like loving hands.


Once my eyes had picked out the first fiddlehead, I noticed that they were in fact all around me beside the path.



This particular fiddlehead is known as the Interrupted Fern (Osmunda claytonia). A furry cloak surrounds the young fiddleheads, warming and protecting this early spring riser.



The emerging fiddlehead gradually sheds its shaggy coat.



Two kinds of fronds emerge. The smooth leaves form the non-fertile fronds of the fern.



These tender, bumpy leaves are called sporophylls and produce spores that are the fertile part of the plant.



Later these fertile fronds will darken and fall off, interrupting the pattern of fronds on the mature fern, thus giving the fern its name.


I suspect that somewhere among these clumps of Interrupted Ferns is a baby fiddlehead born without its protective cloak because of a chance mutation. Perhaps the unseasonably warm spring day on which it emerges allows this mutant to survive without its covering.


Unlike its protected neighbors, the naked Interrupted Fern feels every drop of rain like a blow. The sun pierces like needles into its raw skin. The wind chafes.




And yet.


The unprotected fern survives. Its fronds unfurl to reach out to the world, its early sensitivities replaced by wonder. It takes nothing for granted. In fact, its delicate fronds feel more keenly the warm slide of a summer raindrop along its stalk. It arches to catch the last pure light of the day. The wind becomes a caress. Sensitivity becomes its strength.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Maya*made's Coffee Sack Workshop

I had the privilege of taking maya*made's "Anatomy of a Coffee Sack" workshop. Maya gave me all the tools I needed to make a version of the medium round bucket that she sells in her Etsy shop, designsmayamade. When I got home, I literally wanted to call up my mother and say, "Look, Ma, I made a burlap bucket!" I'm so proud of my little creation!


Maya did a wonderful job explaining how she chooses coffee sacks for their weave and graphics. One sack that she had carefully selected had such a fine weave and fun image and graphics that it could have been framed as a funky piece of textile art. I think that's part of the appeal of Maya's coffee sack buckets--they're a form of found art that is utilitarian and upcycled to boot.

To get me started working with the burlap, Maya had me cut out a plain rectangle and sew it up into one of her popular garlic sacks. As I learned, burlap is not an easy material to cut and sew. For one thing, little fibers fly everywhere as you cut the fabric, and the edges easily fray. Neat, it isn't, but an oilcloth tablecloth under our workspace kept the fibers contained.

Maya shared several important tips for how she achieves such a polished result from this rustic fabric. For example, it was quite amazing to see how the burlap was transformed with a simple topstitching into an almost sculptural vessel. (Maya is going to add a garlic stencil to my sack, so I'll show that once I get it home.)

I've discovered that there is something very satisfying working with this rugged material. Jute, the fiber that burlap is woven from, has a very high tensile strength compared to other natural fibers. It lends itself to sacking material that can carry many pounds of coffee beans or other products. The durable fabric withstands the wear and tear as coffee sacks get tossed about onto loading docks and forklifted onto ships. The fairly open weave of the fabric allows air to flow through it. The natural fiber is moisture-resistant, keeping mildew at bay.

These qualities make burlap a utilitarian fabric. Yet, for all its rough-and-tumble qualities, there is also a delicacy to it. Held up to the light, burlap appears almost gauzy as it filters the sun's rays. The burlap bucket I made, for all its double-stitched durability, is remarkably lightweight. It recalls the delicacy of its flax-made cousin, linen.


I don't think I would have gotten past the messy fibers if Maya hadn't shown me a straightforward way to work with burlap. She was the perfect teacher, offering just the right amount of guidance when I needed it. She also let me blunder along on her sewing machine without hovering over me more than I needed. Lucky me that I got a chance to preview the class that Maya will be teaching again at Squam Art Workshops in New Hampshire in early June.


Best of all, of course, was the chance to have some relaxing crafting time with my friend in the light-filled barn studio. Now that's what I call great therapy!


Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Seeing Yellow

The phrase "seeing red" captures the cartoon version of anger. A character's eyes bug out. Veins bulge. Bursting blood vessels color vision crimson.



I have a much sunnier alternative to that phrase: seeing yellow. Another component of my ecotherapy involves seeing and appreciating sun-catching yellows everywhere.



Sometimes they stand out alone against a green backdrop.


Other times a red barn or other building makes them pop.



They are energy, shimmering flames of a happy blaze.



They spur me on.



But add a little red, and yellow becomes stern: it spells caution.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Dream Time

"Waking from a dream, . . . I determined on enveloping matters of fact in allegory. . . . The frequent recurrence of the word dream . . . in the book is in accordance with the origin of the work, and is intended to remind the reader of the author's intent."
--Cao Xueqin, The Dream of the Red Chamber

Dreams hold such power. Our hopes and anxieties play out on their stage, directed by our unconscious mind. Vivid colors and lively music seeped into my dreams when I was in a particularly creative period in my early 20s. Dream characters in unusual settings have inspired the beginnings of several stories. In the last few years, a recurring dream of mine involves an addition to our house that we somehow keep forgetting we have. The rooms and furniture remain the same in every dream, and yet they don't exist in reality. Scary dreams--these days of my kids in peril--can still wake me up in a cold sweat.


I won the lovely dream journal and cover shown above in a giveaway at Quince and Quire. Written by a poet and artist, this relatively new blog features exquisite musings on home, family, crafting, collections, and creativity. Q & Q chronicles everyday beauty in photos. Her words draw out the invisible connections that spin an even more beautiful web around what she sees. In turn, her fluid calligraphy, done in gouache, makes her words tactile. I run my fingers across the word "dream" on the journal cover, and the letters whisper like magical runes.

The dream journal arrived tucked inside the pocket of a fabric sleeve sewn by Q & Q. Kaffe Fassett's Clouds Pattern fabric recalls the gold-woven silk brocades of Nanjing, China. Produced for more than 1500 years, the Nanjing Yunjin ("Cloud Brocade") fabric has clothed emperors, nobles, and concubines. Cao Xueqin's Dream of the Red Chamber, one of the classic novels of Chinese literature, is set in Nanjing in the time when thousands of looms produced the brocade that the Emperor demanded as tribute.

The spiral-formed clouds were--and still are--a dominant motif in the richly colored brocades. In Fassett's interpretation, each cloud is rimmed in gold in the Charcoal colorway shown here. The other colors add depth to the spiral pattern, drawing the viewer inward. On the journal, Q & Q's rendering of golden clouds outlined in white echo the fabric and issue a sweet injunction to "dream."


I've set the journal beside my bed. It will hold my dreams. Thanks, Q & Q.