Orange You Glad It's Halloween?

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It's not one bit difficult: draw an outline of a cat, draw a circle around it, and cut the space between the cat and the circle. Add a candle inside, wait until dark, & light a match.
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This humble halloween instruction is dedicated to Robin, who should have carved this very pumpkin if only she had not become so obsessed with making cupcakes at midnight; Marie Segal, who is the #1 teacher in the universe of step-by-step directions; Prudie1 just because she so loves Halloween; and Mr. Ryan and Baby Mr. Drew, with whom this pumpkin has taken residence.

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Happy Happy Halloween!

3O in 3O

not mine, attribution uknown

robyn, is it yours?

to teach

within reach

I would beseech

no breach

no screeech

no keetch

no speech

definitely not

bleach

preach

impeach

beneath

or incomplete.


I strongly prefer myrtle beach

white peach

curled beech

figure of speech

and a damn good reach.


I've decided
to tri-ed
30 poems
in november
one a day
if i remember
so this may be a practice shot
i could not do it
but whywhy not?

Witnessing

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"There must be those among whom we can sit and weep and still be considered warriors" Andrienne Rich

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I never thought of myself as weepy until a couple of years ago.

The circumstances of all that are almost to the point of boring even me, but it's a funny thing to continue to carry an indelible permanence especially when the general consensus seems to be that it's far time to have moved on, to appreciate what is and to cool it with the dwelling in the past.

In my case, I am reminded frequently how very lucky and very loved I am. And it's true, every word of it. It is no stretch to look at my life and see and maybe even envy a wonderful enduring relationship, a precious family, a meaningful job, amazing friends, a cozy house, money in the bank, competence and talent and skills, even a quirky playfulness and wit that sometimes I find myself enjoying my own company.

And yet count me among those who sit and weep. I have no justification for why I can not wrestle the past to the ground. It's not as though I don't do the work, don't help myself understand that sometimes things are just the way they are. It's not as if I'm unable to accept that the heart decides who will reside in its chambers.

I've now written four paragraphs and I haven't yet explained why I am writing any of this today.

This is why: it's hard to witness and support the pain of another over and over again. It's especially hard when it seems like the person isn't doing much to help her/himself. Even harder when you can see that holding on to some one or some thing is emotionally, physically, or spiritually harmful to that person. It's hard to hang in, be patient, be willing to hold and honor and listen to what another cannot yet do for her/himself. It's hard not to judge.

When I was in New Orleans three weeks after Hurricane Katrina, I was on the neighborhood streets of Saint Bernard County when families returned to their destroyed homes for the first time. Many spent all day digging through 12 to 18 feet of mud and sludge to retrieve what little might have survived: a glass vase, a Tuperware bowl--something, anything--that was part of the life they had.

I was there, on those streets, and all I could do was to bear witness. I looked at the pictures they showed me of their former back yard, the flower beds, the kids sitting on the front stoop of their modest brick home. I handed out water and I witnessed the life they had lost. It wasn't much, but I knew then and I know now that being there counted for something.

I am so grateful for the special people who care and listen and allow me to wallow again and again. I hope I give that back. But sometimes for my own reasons I have to say 'enough'. Sometimes I become concerned that I enable. Probably those who become impatient with me are concerned about that too.

But mostly, in the past couple of years, I have learned that listening is a far greater treasure than solving; and witnessing is far more helpful than advising.

The worse criticism my little Mr. Ryan, age 3 almost 4, will ascribe these days when he's upset is that someone is a Bad Listener!

Indeed.

Love kj

JB's Sunday Morning

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There were a few additions in my household when I woke up on Sunday morning.
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It is autumn here and the yard is giving way to leaf covers and waning flowers. Soon the first frost will come and then the first snowfall. There are no more tomatoes in the garden and except for the pines, the towering trees are almost bare.
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JB is not one to miss last chances. So when I shuffled to the kitchen for breakfast, she and her scissors had completed a run through of the yard, and in her lovely style, flowers were everywhere I turned.
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Mostly flowers. But also, one froggie light and three silly monsters.

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Sunday morning at # 9 was a colorful thankful wonderous affair. One more lucky duck moment in an otherwise complicated world. :)

To Live Awake

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Yesterday I went to an annual writer's conference called Write Angles with three of my writing buddies. We are all writing memoirs and part of this event was the opportunity to sit with an agent, get feedback, hope that he/she has an interest in seeing more than a one page query letter.

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I've hit a roadblock with book # 2. It's been too personal, too painful, too difficult to write the truth because of my own privacy and the privacy of others. I've put it aside for awhile. Most likely I'll spend the winter on Renee's Book of Love.

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The bottom line for me is that the agent looked at the jacket of my first book, The Light Stays On, and asked for a copy. This means she will consider whether she wants to represent the distribution of the book to larger publishers. Be still my heart.

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I can't rightly explain what it felt like to be in the presence of writers all day; and this conference was all about the craft of writing.

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I thought of many of you, because whether your medium is writing or painting or photography or knitting or whatever else, seeking, wanting, living the creative life is TO LIVE AWAKE. We are in this one together.

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Here are some of my favorite quotes from the day. I read them to JB, who is an artist but not a writer, and we both agreed that it's not hard to apply these quotes to any one of us.

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Writing a memoir is the struggle of memory against forgetting

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The world needs writers, not entertainers

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Answers are not always necessary: a realistic exploration of doubts is just as good

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You have to do the scene and tell the story before you earn the right to reflect on it

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Adverbs can be the sharpest or the dullest tools. Sometimes you should skip the adverbs and just say it! For example:

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"I'll call you later," he said halfheartedly.

vs.

"I'll probably call you if I have time but I'm not sure."

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and my favorite:

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"Goodbye," he said angrily

vs.

"Goodbye asshole."

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Make your characters round by including revealing salient details, such as:

"He bought her a soft serve ice cream and asked for a receipt."

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And from the incredible writer and guest speaker, Andre Dubus III:

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"When I read I want to be taken somewhere that isn't me but gives me me"

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Art is transferring feeling from one heart to another (Tolstoy)

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The most important thing about writing is not the main question a newspaper asks (What happened?) The storyteller doesn't ask 'what happened' but "What's it like, what's it really like, to be in thing that's happened?" (Mike Nichols)

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It's a mystery why stories feed our souls so deeply

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The work is divine, but the tools aren't

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"There's a certain grain of stupidity the writer can hardly do without and that is the quality to stare

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Writing is about expressing yourself before you're dead

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If you think that you are thinking when you're writing, think again.

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The writer does not choose the subject.

The subject chooses the writer.

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Everybody gets an imagination. Everybody.

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The job of the writer is not to write about the character but with the character

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The number 1 enemy of any artist is self consciousness. It's hard to do the thing when you're watching yourself.

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This is my one time to be me on this planet. I'm writing my truth because I'm gonna die.

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This conference is called Write Angles and yesterday was it's 25th conference, my first. It was astonishing.

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Love

kj

Imagine: A Day Around the House

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Imagine a friend who travels across the ocean, her mandala paintings in hand, a gift for you complete with totem explanations, complete with her amazing 11 year old boy, complete with the comfort of new-old friends spending time and giving thanks, now glowing in the front hall
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Imagine being three years old and being invited into a wild wheelbarrel for a wild ride around the yard, first alone, then with your brother, giggling while the the silly wind slaps your face

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Imagine sitting alone on a quiet morning watching the leaves fall in slow motion, one falling after another
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Imagine planting a crop of lollipops and harvesting them just in time for afternoon snack
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Imagine watching Cloie in the garden while she shows you her new dance steps
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And imagine stepping out your back door and being greeted by a single brilliant leaf, reminding you that where you fall is where you're supposed to be.
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Happy weekend, all.

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Love
kj

The Weathered Look of Whethered Weather

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What should I write

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on this quiet night?
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I ask my friend
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to help me fend.
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Weather, she said.
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Weather instead.
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Weather and Whether
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straight from your head.
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Okay, okay

it's weather today.
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Ode to Weather
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Am I insane
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to love the rain?
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To let my feet
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Get soaked complete?
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Keeping dry?
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I don't even try.
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Do I get toasted
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When I get roasted?
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I let sunlight through
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And when I do
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I'm cozywarm
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in a sun filled storm.
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I love to see a saucer moon
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Just above a sandy dune
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I like the glow
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It helps me know.
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Hello Moon, here's the deal:
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I love those beams that aren't quite real.
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And when the wind whistles
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I feel grand tickles

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Even if I blow away
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I'm confident I stay
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Planked to ground
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Lost but here--found!

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Whether weather
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is a feather,

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a piece of leather,

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a trendy setter.

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I love it all

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spring or fall

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snow or sleet

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Whether complete.

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So my friend

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I'm at the end.

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Weather I tried

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I hope I complied.

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♥

If I Were Choosing Now.....

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I would paint scenes on buildings!

Like this!

Even though I'm afraid of heights!

To You From Me

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Hello there first grader, how adorable you look, even through those serious eyes.

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You don't know me yet but I was there when you were born, when you came home to the lane from the hospital, during all the times when your Mother didn't know how to handle your brother's jealously and your need to be heard, when you tried every which way to state and restate your needs.

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I was there when you got sick every day in kindergarten and had to walk home for a quick change of clothes. It was so great that your Mom told you how brave you were before you headed back to school, and it was so great that you believed her.

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I was there when you charmed every teacher, when your class of 660 kids voted you Most Popular at your high school graduation, when you aced your first job and started your own business and when you earned all that respect in your work.
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You've become a solid grown up. Sometimes you are too sensitive and you take things too personally and sometimes you carry this confusing ache that feels like lonliness, but just as often you appreciate the many wonderful people in your life, people who love you, who aren't perfect all the time but who like you do their best.

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I am so proud of your resourcefulness. Sometimes I think you can do anything when you put your mind to it. I don't think your two broken hearts could have been avoided. You were pretty confident and oblivious to any difficulty like that until you turned thirty. That was the first time when you had to honestly face that you couldn't change things, couldn't make them better.

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The second time is still too recent and too hard to figure out, partially because I think that a surprising part of your broken heart belongs more to this little girl staring into the camera and less to you the adult who is learning how to bounce back. It is what it is: you let yourself trust fully and you never imagined you'd be even thinking about issues like abandonment & betrayal.

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And you know what? I'm working hard to help you out here, because in time those are not the words or the feelings that I want you to remember. I want you to remember that you are capable of deep love, that things happen that aren't your fault, maybe fault isn't even the most important part. I want you to remember that you don't need to understand things in order to grow from them.

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I want you to remember that love is worth it.

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You are six years old. I am the woman you will become, talking to you from the future. You will grow up wise and anchored: honest, loyal, bright, creative, playful, passionate, astonished even. Still determined when you put your mind to it. And loving. You will grow up loving, vulnerable sometimes, but sometimes that is the sometimes the price of love. That's okay.

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You can handle it. I'm beside you and I will protect and nuture you. You make sure that we take the time to play and I'll make sure you heart makes room. I am you, and I thank you for those serious eyes. They serve us well.

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Love

Me

National Breast Cancer Month: A Tribute to Renee

“There are things that we don’t want to happen but have to accept,
things we don’t want to know but have to learn,
and people we can’t live without but have to let go.”
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I have spent today and part of Monday writing a grant for partial funding of the writing and publishing of Renee's Book of Love. If you happen to be unfamiliar with Renee, you'll find the background below, part of an attachment I just finished so that the grant reviewers can better understand why Renee's story should be written.
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This is a fitting privilege for me during National Breast Cancer Month. Because I will be required to be accountable to the grant administators (I'm requesting $ 2200.00)I know that if this money is awarded, I will write this book in a form worthy of Renee and her family.
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I will include Renee's beloved illustrations and art, her family's favorites of her posts, her thoughts and observations about cancer and living and dying, and love letters from us, her blogging friends, who learned from her how to say 'I love you!" outloud and for real.

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I had planned to direct you to Yahoo Shine!, where there is an article on twenty wonderful purchases you can make that will also contribute to breast cancer awareness and research. Please find your way there if you have the means and ability to do so.
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But mostly today, I want this to be about my friend Renee. I haven't written my own love letter to her yet; I've tried and it's been too hard, but I'm glad I could write this background.

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When I need guidance or a special favor these days, I ask my Father and I ask Renee. She called me one time when I was grieving my own loss, and she told me none of it was my fault. I'll never forget that.

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Background
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In her third year of a very terminal illness, Renee Khan of Winnipeg started a blog.

She was determined to leave her voice behind for her family and for the grandchildren she feared would not remember her. Almost daily, she would write stories about them on their birthdays and anniversaries; share her ‘Then and Now’ journals about cancer and dying and marriage and angels and goddesses and ‘those fucking bats’ that refused to leave her stomach alone. Once a week she would select and offer up three paintings or illustrations, calling them “Breakfast, Lunch, & Dinner’, and she would encourage her visitors to interpret them. Periodically she would print rules from a 1950’s book called How to be a Good Housewife, and she would delight in demonstrating how she failed in every single catagory.

It was not unusual that Renee would receive a hundred or more comments on the blog posts she wrote. But was unusual is that so many of her commenters literally and completely fell in love with her. In some amazing way, her legacy is that she taught them how to love, and how not to be afraid to say so.

Renee did not know when she started her blog that it would be followed and embraced by several hundred blog-friends throughout the world, and in her irrepressible and loving way she would befriend each one of them, individually, through back and forth blog comments, emails, letters, cards and little gifts. She also did not know that she would give and receive such comfort and astonishment in the relationships she formed.

Renee also did not know that in the fifteen months from the day she began her blog to the day the fucking bats took her down for a final time, her twenty-five year old nephew would develop and die from a rare form of stomach cancer; his Mother Jacquie, who was Renee’s sister, would days later be diagnosed with and paralyzed by inoperable brain cancer; and, weeks before Renee agreed to go into the hospital for the last time, their Mother would be dying and die, all this while Renee and Jacquie were knee deep in their own illnesses.

For all this unfathomable tragedy to happen to one family was almost beyond belief. Still, Renee never stopped talking about living and loving. All of it, every test, every crisis, every moment of temporary reprieve was followed and felt by a blogging community that came to love this woman named Renee Khan in ways clearly magical if not logical.

Renee’s remarkable story and spirit is embedded in the pages of her blog; in the comments and letters to and from her to hundreds of genuine friends, and through her children. Hers is a story that is too rich and too real to not be shared.

Easy People

I love this song. It was written by my writing guide, the occupant of the Big Yellow House, my friend Nerissa Nields, who performs it here at the Iron Horse in Northampton with her sister Katrina, who sings like an angel. They are known as the Nields and I am glad I walked into Nerissa's house one evening a few years ago, to begin to write.
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The song makes me want to cry, I think because I wish Easy People for myself and for everyone I love and for that matter for everyone.
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I'll let Nerissa and Katrina say the rest.

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Note: why I cannot figure out how to properly copy paste a video is a small mystery, but this is the best I could do. Forgive me, Nerissa, for being left of center. But thanks to Marianne, I can advise you to double click on the video and you will have the pleasure of a full screen!
http://

Children

Mr. Ryan: Will you stay with me in the dark, Gram?

Me: Sure, I'll stay for a few minutes while you fall asleep.

Mr. Ryan: Okay, let's talk.

Me: Okay, what shall we talk about?

Mr. Ryan: Oh! You decide, Gram.

Me: Okay, let's talk about what we'll do tomorrow.

Mr. Ryan: That's good.

Me: I could make pancakes for breakfast.

Mr. Ryan: That's not playing.

Me: Oh, we should talk about what we'll play.

Mr. Ryan: Yes, Gram, that's good to talk about.

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These days I did not expect to have children front and center in my life. I have loved my daughter Jessica for thirty plus years now, and then, now, and always I would die for her, no questions asked.

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I have two grandchildren, Mr. Ryan, age 3, and Drew (Drewbie), age 19 months. I also have children clients: ages 4, 5, 7, 10, 11, 14, 17, & 18.

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I like kids, always have, but I did not expect to ENJOY them so much. I am sitting on the floor, moving blocks and wooden circles around, looking for hidden pictures, coloring Thomas and Henry (trains) and I am sure I am a grown up kids like to be with.

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For one thing, I have genuine respect. And I listen. And I don't mind being silly.

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So today JB and I picked up Mr. Ryan and little Mr. Drew and we headed for the Ashfield Fair.

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It is fall in New England and where I live is quite beautiful this time of year. Slightly north of me there are about ten small towns called the 'hilltowns', and each has its own autumn fair. Ashfield is the best.
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We ate cupcakes, sat in a firetruck, an ambulance, and one some-kind-of fire motorcycle, painted pumpkins, found a giant green balloon, used the port-o-potty, ran in a field, found mushrooms that looked like poo, visited chickens and goats, ate pasta and salad and cookies, stacked blocks, cleverly conquered one puzzle twice, watched Scooby Do, brushed teeth, & snuggled in pajamas.

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These boys run to JB and me when they see us. They love being at our house. They have their own books in the lowest bookshelf in the living room and they have their own flashlights and keys and locks and stackable boxes and wiry thing-a-ma-gings.

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We live almost two hours apart. That means I am not a Grandmother who can quickly slide into help mode when there are late nights at work or run of the mill colds and fevers. I try hard to juggle and prioritize so I am there for Jess and Mike and Ryan and Drew when needed, but I am not a Grandmother whose second career is caring for her grandchildren.

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But. I am a good Grandmother, and I am good with children. I've found it's so easy to love children, to learn from them, to want to show them the wonders of the world, to be willing to giggle at the best and the right times.

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Right now they are sleeping like angels.

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I just love that.