Monday Musings: Things I love lately

The last two days here in Spokane have been gloriously, inexplicably warm and sunny. In fact, the sun is pouring through my window as I write this, and I'm tempted to whisper, ever so quietly and just to myself, that it feels like...shhhhh: it feels like spring.

But alas, I can't say such things in January. We all know better. Still...we'll take the sun any day it wants to be here.

In addition to the sunshine, here are a few little diversions / projects I've been enjoying lately:

>> Weekend walks and thrifting: Saturday was foggy all day--a dense, wet, lingering fog--but we took a long stroll through Manito Park, peaked at a few houses that are for rent (we're keeping our eyes peeled these days!), and then we hit up a few of our favorite thrift stores, where I found a super oldie vintage skirt that's now mid-face lift.

>> Super oldie skirt project: Currently learning how to do a blind hem, realizing that I may not have the right presser foot for the project, and while it drives me a little crazy, I'm glad for the opportunity to practice my sewing skills.

>> Transparent: One of the most honest, witty, well-cast shows I've seen in a long time. It snagged a Golden Globe a couple of weeks ago, putting it on our radar, and truth be told, we blew through all ten episodes in a week. Beautiful writing, complicated, challenging characters, hilarious family drama.

>> Rittenhouse Old Fashioned: Because Joe is an amazing bartender and I've recently discovered that sewing projects pair well with whiskey.

>> Sasquatch Hunter's Almanac: The newest novel by one of our beloved local writers, Sharma Shields, whose book launch is tomorrow night at Auntie's Bookstore, and I can't wait to hear her read.


>> Good, long talks with good, kind peeps: Yep. They're the best.


>> Sunday jogging: Running through sunny Riverfront Park while the sun sparkled --gorgeous.


>> And...the Internet: Seriously. Take a peak at these inspiring photos of tree and flower canopies all over the world!

I want to visit every single one...

What do you love lately? Would love to hear!

Cheers, xo


{Top photo: Charley Zheng; canopy images via Bored Panda--thank you}

I dream of Santa Cruz ...

Because, you see, I went to college there oh so many years ago, and around this time of year I feel waves of nostalgia for the little beach town I once called home.

It's a sacred place, this northern pocket of California, and while it's been some years, I still have vivid memories of long walks through the redwoods on campus, spending an afternoon curled up with books on the beach, or sipping coffee downtown, jotting notes and people-watching.

Santa Cruz was also a magical place because of the winters there, which are absolutely beautiful, and on certain days, unbelievably mild. There was something transformative about growing up in the Northwest, knowing winter to be a season filled with rain and snow, sharp, dry winds, and a grey that only breaks on the coldest, clearest days, to then discover that California offers a much gentler version of the season.

Sure, I knew there were folks living in warmer parts of the world--people who were not in the habit of layering with so much wool during the winter months--but to actually experience this shift was something else entirely. I woke in the mornings to sun drenched fields stretched out across campus, fog burning off the tops of the Eucalyptus trees, and the bay glittering below us.

Oh, Pacific Ocean, how I dearly miss you.

These are the days that I daydream of visits to the beach, warm sun against my skin, and I wish, hope, and pray that I'll find my way back someday soon.

And while it may be some time before we take any big trips south, here are a few sweet ideas and inspired objects from our friends at Etsy that help bring the ocean a little closer.

{You've got to keep the daydream alive!}

Ocean Waves Pencil Case

This sweet little pouch: Home to your favorite writing or sketching utensils and a reminder of the waves, the surfers, the sand and salty mist.

Sleepy Sailboat: A tiny wooden boat that actually moves over its tiny waves. A reminder of sunny days in Santa Cruz when the bay is sprinkled with open sails.

A pretty planter: For filling with jade and placing near the sunniest window to keep the memory of lush coastal succulents alive.

Seven stacked whales: A print to remind you of that one afternoon you saw dolphins (!) swimming in the ocean, and to recall how very wide and deep and full of life that big body of water really is.

Beach glass mobile: Whimsical piece to catch the light and remind you of the faded, sun-washed colors of the town, and the ocean worn relics of the sea.

Wavy mug: Lovely vessel for sipping coffee and tea and remembering all the favorite haunts around town: Lulu Carpenter's, Cafe Pergolesi, and the Buttery--good coffee & amazing baked treats.


What are your favorite ocean memories? Do you have a place you hold in your mind's eye?
I'd love to hear. Happy Thursday to you!

Cheers, xo


{Photo credit: stylishlyme --thank you!}

So many colors in a winter sky

 

It's been a few days, with a nice, long weekend in between, and I've been away from this space for a bit too long. In an effort to reconnect, I come bearing photos of bright, wintry sunshine, and a gentle reminder to us all that these dark days are perhaps not so monochromatic after all. 

In honor of Martin Luther King, Joe and I went for a hike up to Big Rock, which overlooks the gorgeous Palouse. This was one of a few adventures we took over the long weekend, and we made it to the top of the hill just in time to catch the sun as it dipped into the horizon. 

{Note the snowy trail and dubious smile}

We've seen tiny rabbits on this hike in the summer months (someday we'll catch a photo of them), but for this walk we were struck by the utter stillness of the forest, the loud crunch of snow underfoot, knowing as we climbed through the quiet, that so many creatures are napping this time of year.

And so it is with the animals: Silent and sleeping in the winter months, still so much life breathes, burrowed deep in dreams as we walk amidst their slumber.

More inspiration to come this week, so please do come back to visit.

Tomorrow I'll share a little something I've been daydreaming about lately, and before you go, words of reflection from one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, as she remembers her beloved.

Also, here's one of my favorite Oliver poems--words to hold onto:

Don't Hesitate

If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,

don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty

of lives and whole towns destroyed or about

to be. We are not wise, and not very often

kind. And much can never be redeemed.

Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this

is its way of fighting back, that sometimes

something happens better than all the riches

or power in the world. It could be anything,

but very likely you notice it in the instant

when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the

case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid

of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.

                                                         (Via Brain Pickings and Structure and Style--thank you.)

Do not be afraid by what is obscured by a tree

It's Thursday morning, precisely half-way through the month of January, and approximately 30 degrees Fahrenheit outside my office walls. Chilly, sleepy, but happy to be here. 

These are some words I found on one of my favorite sites, lunch poems. 

They are a gentle push, a knowing nudge into something a little more human and alive on this winter's morning. These come from Activity Book, a chapbook by poet & musician, Kelly Schirmann, and I'm ready to read more.

>>>>  Here's to good vibes and inspired words on this winter's Thursday.  <<<<

Cheers, xo

Good Reads

I'm lucky enough to be a member of the world's coolest book group. Why the coolest, you might ask? To be fair, I've never been a regular participant in any book group until this past year, but the consistency and accountability alone make this group one that works really well for me. We also have some lovely ladies who bring their humor, insight, and great energy to our meetings.

The structure is also very simple: We pick a book for each month, we read it over the course of the month, and then we take turns hosting the group, meeting, and chatting at our respective homes. We're a group of about ten, sometimes fewer when one of us has another commitment, which is always okay. We are not a stressful group. We allow for life to happen and flexibility is always generously granted. We have, on occasion, been known to meet in a wine bar, and this worked out nicely as well.

I suppose that, in all fairness, it's hard to say anything is the best when I've very little ground for comparison, but let's just say that being around this lovely group, chatting with them about what we've read while sipping a little wine and nibbling cheese, is exactly what I need in my life.

It's also a once a month commitment, which is about all I can comfortably sign up for these days, as my free time feels a little stretched after work. But even when I'm looking at the clock on book group days thinking, 'how am I going to have energy for two more hours of talking?' (I already do a lot of talking at my job to begin with), I always feel like something in me has been restored or validated after I meet with these ladies.

Maybe it's just the chance to talk about good writing, how a narrative is built, how lines move us into a new perspective, all of it reminding me of grad school and the work we are all so deeply invested in, and that this very important work isn't so very far away from us. Many of the women in our group are also writers, so a shared appreciation of the craft is indeed a happy addition to the experience. And usually our group meets on Thursdays, and I happen to like Thursdays quite a bit.

Tomorrow we will gather to discuss Nobody Is Ever Missing by Catherine Lacey, a novel about about a young woman who essentially runs away from her life and husband in New York and flies to New Zealand, where she hitchhikes from one town to the next, without a plan or any sense of when or where she'll land. She frequently moves in and out of  haunting memories from her past, fixating on her relationship with her mother and her husband, her sister's tragic death, and as she travels, she makes attempts at unraveling the mess that's followed her up to this point in her adult life, but rather than find a sense of peace in her escape, she seems to only be descending further and further into a very dark, fragmented reality.

While her emotional and mental stability are tenuous at best, making the narrative one that becomes a bit surreal at times, as readers, we desperately want her to land, to find safety and human connection, even after she repeatedly tells us that human connection for her is impossible. And it's so good. So very dark and so very good. I'm excited to hear what others in my group have to say.

In case you're curious, here are a few of my favorite books that we've read and discussed over the past few months. I have to say, if you're considering joining a book group, or if you're already in one, you may agree that picking the books is often the hardest part. We've found that bringing a list of options to the meeting (often books we've been wanting to read or that we've been reading about) is a good way to lay all of our ideas in front of us, and then decide which one sounds right for each month.

We've been pretty happy with the results so far:

               

                                                        The Waves, by Virginia Woolf

                                            Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Stone Mattress, by Margaret Atwood

                                The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher, by Hilary Mantel

We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, by Karen Joy Fowler

Are you or have you ever been in a book group? What have your experiences been? 

And what are you reading? I would love to hear.  Cheers, xo

Emotional Excess & Creativity

The students have returned from their long winter break, and things are very busy around the University this week with meetings and appointments throughout the day. It's been difficult to steal away, but I wanted to give a little update to last week's post about setting aside writing time as part of my Daily Routines, and my hope pledge, to commit more time to my creative life this year.

Here's what I observed about last week:

The evenings after work are tough. While I did make some time to go back and read through work I've already written, making small edits and tweaks here and there, it was also the case that two of the evenings last week were devoted to other obligations--a much needed haircut, cleaning the bathroom, and a few other perfectly unglamorous, but necessary tasks.

I also learned this: I am good for an hour at most after work and then I need to be done for the day.

But, the good news is this: I wrote on both Saturday and Sunday for a stretch of time (even longer on Sunday--about three hours), and I believe I have a piece (one that's about a year old now) finally ready for submission.

And this feels very, very good.

In my ongoing pursuit of words, voices, conversations and advice about how artists find balance and nourish and nurture their craft, I stumbled upon some of the coolest pieces collected by Maria Papova, the author and curator of all things creative at www.Brainpickings.org.

Maria devotes quite a bit of page space to creative collaboration and the meditations of artists on the practice of feeding one's mind, heart, spirit, and creative energy. There's so much good stuff on this site (I'm excited to keep exploring), but one piece that really stuck with me is from Anais Nin, called, "Why Emotional Excess is Essential to Creativity." Yes! Because it is. This is a beautiful excerpt from the fourth volume of Nin's diary:

You must not fear, hold back, count or be a miser with your thoughts and feelings. It is also true that creation comes from an overflow, so you have to learn to intake, to imbibe, to nourish yourself and not be afraid of fullness. The fullness is like a tidal wave which then carries you, sweeps you into experience and into writing. Permit yourself to flow and overflow, allow for the rise in temperature, all the expansions and intensifications. Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terrors, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them. If it seems to you that I move in a world of certitudes, you, par contre, must benefit from the great privilege of youth, which is that you move in a world of mysteries. But both must be ruled by faith.

Check out more brainpickings here. Hope your week is off to a happy, inspired start.

Cheers!

(top photo: www.workspaces.tumblr.com--thanks!)

Shadow Play

When Joe and I were recently in our favorite coffee shop to pick up some thank you cards, I also discovered this beautiful collection of art: Kinfolk Magazine's winter issue. I know I've seen Kinfolk before, I believe I've admired their work online at some point, but never had I seen the publication in person, and let me tell you, in case you're new to Kinfolk too:  it's so very lovely. 

On this particular outing, the sun had already set for the day, it was dark and cold outside, and I was feeling a little sad that my short winter break was nearing its end. But alas, I stumbled upon the perfect cards and this magazine, and felt a wave of caffeinated excitement, often attendant with any Atticus visit. The people in this cafe are welcoming, funny, and easy to chat with, and the space is super sweet and cozy. 

Picture this: exposed brick walls, low lights, the smell of good espresso, and (mostly) good natured, local Spokane folk milling about, reading, or sipping drinks with friends--it's a warm sight to behold. And yes, under its influence, I tend to enjoy more flights-of-fancy purchases than I might anywhere else. 

It's okay. I love the owners and I love what they do for this town.

But I'm not actually writing about our beloved Atticus today (okay, I am, but not exclusively). What I didn't notice until I began leafing through the magazine at home, is that probably three quarters of the way through there's a feature on Solstice traditions and folklore--specifically surrounding the mysterious, dancing lights that certain northern countries witness during the coldest, shortest days of the year:

“They believed the aurora was caused by the reflections of light off the scales of large shoals of fish”

The thing is, I have a fascination and deep admiration for the art of shadow puppetry--its stark, silvery nature feels both haunting and arresting--and in a lovely pairing between folklore and this ancient form of storytelling, the fine editors of Kinfolk share the varied origin stories for how the Northern Lights came to be. Here are a few:

Finnish

This northern nation still calls the aurora borealis revontulet, which literally translates to “fox fire.” Legend says that an arctic fox dashed across the tundra swiping snow up into the sky, while others claim his bushy tail caused sparks when brushing the peaks of tall mountains.

Norse

According to Norse mythology, female spirits called Valkyries chose who lived and died in battle. They escorted the most heroic who fell to Valhalla, the “hall of the slain,” which was overseen by Odin. The Vikings believed the lights were the reflection of the Valkyries’ armor and shields as they led the dead to their final resting place.

Danish

Danish legend speaks of the swans that held a competition to see who could fly the farthest north. Some birds became caught in the ice and tried to escape by flapping their wings. This flurry produced the waves of the aurora borealis.

See the gorgeous slide show and read a few more tales here.

I have a dream of playing with shadow puppetry and pairing it with one of my own or one of my favorite short stories some day. I've witnessed it before at an AWP (Associate Writing Programs) Conference a few years ago, and I was truly moved--it felt like such a breakthrough for adding this gorgeous element to one's narrative.

Seeing it here in Kinfolk is a treat, and a source of renewed inspiration for giving it a try someday soon.

Happy Friday to you! May you enjoy a restful weekend.

(top photo: indypendent-thinking.tumblr.com)

Scatter: Artist Reflections

19. Never!

                                Image credits: Korneel Jeuken

Salman Rushdie has these words in response to Wednesday's attack on the offices of Charlie Hebdo:

Religion, a mediaeval form of unreason, when combined with modern weaponry becomes a real threat to our freedoms. This religious totalitarianism has caused a deadly mutation in the heart of Islam and we see the tragic consequences in Paris today. I stand with Charlie Hebdo, as we all must, to defend the art of satire, which has always been a force for liberty and against tyranny, dishonesty and stupidity. ‘Respect for religion’ has become a code phrase meaning ‘fear of religion.’ Religions, like all other ideas, deserve criticism, satire, and, yes, our fearless disrespect.

Other artist responses:

2. Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow

        Image credits: Banksy

15.

         Image credits: Orgulloy Satisfaccion

23. Without humor we are all dead

    Image credits: New York Times

See more powerful reactions here.

As I reflect on yesterday's attack and the tragic chronology of violence we've witnessed over the years in the name of religion, I have many questions--indeed many more questions than answers.

What I know and believe is that this work--the socially engaged, critical expression of all artists--helps to keep us from turning completely inward, from shutting down and retreating into the narrow confines of our own limited thinking, helps us stave off complacency, and does ultimately promote change.

I stand with Charlie Hebdo and I hope for peace.

(Images via www.demilked.com--thank you.)

Daily Routines: Part Rant / Part Plan

I've been mesmerized by this chart found in Mason Currey's book Daily Rituals: How Artists Work. What I find admirable {and hopefully imitable} are the incredible blocks of time these artists devote or devoted to their "creative work." Look at all of that pink! Perhaps even more interesting is when and where the green "day job" time takes place. Some of these artists weave their day jobs into their schedules in bursts of a few hours at a time, others manage to make their creative work their full-time job, Okay, duly noted. This will be my next book purchase.

It's often said that one of the most important skills to hone as a writer has little to do with the craft itself, but the sheer discipline to devote time to the craft everyday.

And it's the real kicker of the trade: how does one call herself a writer if she doesn't make time to do it? Ouch. There's truth in this of course, but there's also the truth that no single artist is going to have exactly the same creative rhythm as another, and there may be large gaps here and there. I take comfort in this. I think it's also important to be kind and patient with one's self. There's really no other option when thinking about time, the passing of it, and the unfinished story or novel that sits, waiting for us to return...

While I'm not one who typically fixates on New Year's resolutions, there certainly is something to be said for periodically taking stock of what's working and what's maybe not working so well in a daily/weekly/monthly routine, and determining where change might take place.

As a writer and the occasional crafter, the question of how to find balance between the work I do for money from 8-5, and the work I do to for me, is one I face everyday. It's true for me that when I work on my stories and make a little headway, or particularly when I start something new and feel the first few lines pulsing on the page, a narrative slowly unfolding, sometimes three, four hours of writing tucked under my belt--this is when I know through and through that I've done my day's work. I sleep better, I feel lighter, happier, and more peaceful. I feel like me. When I write, I know that I'm nourishing a very important part of myself, which is a way of honoring who I am.

What is also true, is that at the end of a work day at my 8-5 job, I don't have much left in me for creative output. What I crave is a glass of wine, reading my current book group book, catching up on my favorite blogs, and most importantly, eating food and sharing my day's stories and experiences with my partner. And this is just fine. It's wonderful in fact. The balance of my current workday can easily be broken up into the following pattern: wake up, work, exercise, work, come home, unwind, sleep (hopefully). One could look at my pattern and say, "Yes. That's what it means to be a contributing member of society. You do those things in that order." Fine and good.

But something big is certainly missing for me when my creative time is absent.

Our daily rhythms are essential to our sense of well-being. When key elements such as sleep or food or say um, creative release, are thrown off or are suddenly removed, we often don't feel like ourselves. We don't recognize ourselves in the sequence of our own day, which can be a very, very disheartening experience.

Sometimes I imagine it like this: If someone were to hold a mirror up to me at any given point throughout the day, how many times would I see my reflection and say, "Yeah, totally. This is me. This is what I do. I love this," and how often might I respond, "Oh, yeah. This doesn't really feed me, you know, spiritually, creatively, or otherwise, but it's what feeds me. I earn money for this."

All of this to say that when I really take stock, it's evident to me that weekends and holidays, and anytime maybe in the middle of the night when I'm not sleeping (because perhaps I'm restless and feeling as though my day's work isn't quite done), are all times when my creative self needs some time. And this isn't simple. Truthfully, I'm kind of a busybody, and when I've been at my desk for long stretches of time during the week, what I crave less than anything, is more time at my desk, even if it's for writing this very important-to-me thing.

But alas, this becomes the challenge: How can I add some additional writing hours to the week so that I'm feeling just a little more balanced? Drastic changes aren't easy to follow, nor are they very sustainable, but what about an hour in the evenings? What about three hours on Saturday? Maybe three hours on Sunday?

Maybe just start with an hour on the weekends and see if I can turn it into three? This might be a manageable task just to see what carving time out does to my sense of well-being as an artist/writer. I'll keep you posted (and keep myself accountable) here in this space, and as far as timeline?

In true new year spirit: I'll begin today (as soon as I'm home from the day job).

Please feel free to stay tuned for updates & a very happy Tuesday to you!

(thanks to Colassal and calmingcalamity.tumblr.com)

Adventures in the New Year

Spokane was engulfed in a gorgeous snowstorm yesterday, and the above photo was taken from my apartment window at sunset. This view is such a balm in the cold winter months--a sight that is still a marvel to me every year.

Speaking of the years, sending each of you very warm and happy wishes for 2015. I am excited and hopeful for these brand new months ahead, and ever grateful to be here writing and sharing words, ideas, discoveries, and projects.

Here's how the turn of 2014 into 2015 has looked these past few days:

 

This awesome backpack was a gift from my older sister for Christmas. It holds everything from books and notebooks to gym clothes and my lunches. 

{It also has an adorable grimace, which I discovered the other night.}

One of the very first meals of the year was from this amazing cookbook, Toro Bravo, a collection of recipes inspired by and also served at its namesake restaurant in Portland, Oregon. Joe and I were lucky enough to eat there last October, and we absolutely loved the cocktails, the grilled flat bread with arugula and truffle cheese, and some amazing seafood dishes, including the Paella Toro--beyond delicious!

Joe made the flat bread and he also found a new recipe for us to try: sauteed chard with egg--both were perfect. We're excited for more tasty new recipes in 2015, and I'll keep doing my best when it comes to the baked goods--pies and breads ahead, methinks.

This adorable couple greeted us when we arrived at Manito Park yesterday. Apparently not all the ducks have flown south, and I'm not sure what this means, but they were pretty cute.

{So is this guy.} 

 

There were dozens of cross-country skiers and sledders in the park, too. I've never tried cross country skiing, but this looked like a wonderful way of getting around yesterday--far better than driving, for sure. It was one of the busiest Sundays we've ever seen, and the snow just kept coming for hours. *Breathtaking*

And more ducks. It's a mystery to me, but it looks like they're here to stay through the season. The snow was here for a day and was replaced by rain in the middle of the night. We woke up to sloshy puddles and a lingering fog, which isn't nearly as thrilling, but alas, it's probably just right for a Monday. I hope you're starting your week off in good spirits and with happy memories from the holiday weekend.

Before I sign off, here are some older, but still very relevant words from writer George Saunders on kindness in The New York Times. This is one of my favorite passages:

Some of this “becoming kinder” happens naturally, with age. It might be a simple matter of attrition: as we get older, we come to see how useless it is to be selfish — how illogical, really. We come to love other people and are thereby counter-instructed in our own centrality. We get our butts kicked by real life, and people come to our defense, and help us, and we learn that we’re not separate, and don’t want to be. We see people near and dear to us dropping away, and are gradually convinced that maybe we too will drop away (someday, a long time from now). Most people, as they age, become less selfish and more loving. I think this is true. The great Syracuse poet, Hayden Carruth, said, in a poem written near the end of his life, that he was “mostly Love, now.”

Cheers, xo