I'm back now

Sometimes there are frantic intervals in our lives that utterly absorb us and take us completely away from ourselves and the people we love. Maybe I mean this figuratively. We have not necessarily disappeared in these moments, but the distance and the disconnect are palpable. In these periods of perpetuity, it often feels that in order to survive, we must abandon our bodies, put our sense of humor in a drawer, and forget, for a little while, the ease of breathing slowly. These are not easy times, and our energy must be carefully rationed. We cut off; we retreat; we become dormant.

When we're caught like this, often we'll enter long dances with insomnia through the night, and even after we've refused her, time and time again, she keeps reaching for us, dragging us away from our dreaming like a crazy, caffeinated ghost. 

If we're lucky, our lives are merely punctuated by periods like this, but not comprised of them. I am lucky. I am coming back alive again.

Some things are very different from a year ago: We bought a home together by the park--our most favorite park--which we love, and I am talking to all of our plants, promising things will indeed be okay in these new windows. When I do this, I'm quietly begging them to keep their leaves upright, to in fact hold onto their leaves for that matter, and to let me know in a reasonable fashion if they need to be watered or re-potted. Wilting or drinking water very quickly are good ways to communicate this to me. This is what I've told them. So far, we're on the same page. And I'm writing again more, which is essential.

This is what it means to re calibrate, to recalculate, to come to peace with the old and invite into my life the very new: the words, ideas, people, and visions that bring a sense of hope, empowerment, and creative vitality to this world. 

I'm back now. I'm going to try and stay a while this time.

Peace,
Marianne

Photo credit: calmingcalamity.tumblr.com  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.)

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)

On Gratitude

I had a rough time of it yesterday. I was feeling icky and tired, missed my mid-day workout, which usually helps me feel a little better, and when I got home from work, I spiraled into a messy, useless train of thought: naming all of the things I desire to be different, but which I feel helpless or powerless to change at the moment.

What came next is probably no surprise: I felt guilty for feeling down, because I recognized that there are huge limitations to this way of thinking. Sure, there are improvements and changes to be made, moves that I do want to make in my life {and all of this is very general, because the list itself is not what's critical here and now}, but lost in the din and tedium of wishing and planning is the quieter, more intentional act of acknowledging and finding joy in all the good work that has already been done, personally, professionally, physically, spiritually.

Reflecting on the present moment is something we talk about a lot, but practicing mindfulness is sometimes much harder to achieve on a daily basis when we're just plain exhausted and run down. Of course there couldn't be a more critical moment than these fitful, anxious ones, to consider the good stuff and climb out of the spiral.

In my angst last night, while I could recognize that there were irrational and over-wrought thoughts in the mix, and a huge lack of gratitude happening in general, the reality was that I was very emotional, very tired, and it was difficult for me to engage very deeply in a meta-cognitive exercise in that moment.

But today I can, and in the spirit of mindfulness, I'd like to devote a day each week to celebrating awesomeness in my life and in the world around me. Because I *do* have so much good in my life, and I am truly thankful.

Everything is still new here in this {blog} space, so I'm going to try out a series in which I reflect on the truly remarkable things in my life or around me in the world. I want to name my gratitude and give it a place to spread out, to really spend time with it, and share it here.

Today I am thankful for my body, for its ability to recover from pain and sickness, for its strength, flexibility, and endurance. I'm thankful that I can move through discomfort and struggle by walking, running, through yoga and hiking outside, by feeding myself good food, by resting in quiet places, and by hugging and holding the people I love. I'm thankful to be in a body that is healthy and can go to new and different places, a body that allows me to explore. I'm thankful that my body experiences the sharp chill of bright winter days, and the soft warmth of wool sweaters. I'm thankful to be warm and safe as I write this, and to imagine the places my body will go in the coming hours, days, weeks.

What are you feeling thankful for today?

Thrifty.

Okay, this top photo is not my home, but it's the most perfect writing space I can imagine right now, so clean, uncluttered, retro and lovely. Perhaps some of the items were even thrifted, too, which is exactly on topic, because today we're talking about just that: thrift store magic.

I love to thrift, and I know there are many kindred spirits out there who feel the same way. It's one of several go-to stress relievers I'll employ when I need to get out of the house, or when I feel the need to shop, but without the attendant shopper's guilt that sometimes follows. It holds my focus (most of the time), gives me a goal (depending on what I may need or want), and when I find something for my home or for my closet, it feels like I've discovered a secret treasure.

But thrifting is political too. Because the truth is, as a bunch of humans on this earth, most of us have more stuff than we need. There's stuff everywhere--clothes, electronics, furniture, dishes, toys, all of it. In fact, a trip to the local thrift store reminds me of exactly how much we all tend to accumulate. Now I happen to love my stuff, don't get me wrong, but in an effort to be more green and more conscious of how goods in my home are produced, I've found that buying second-hand often yields wonderful and useful items, ones that are not only less expensive, but which also come into my life with a little history and not straight out of the factory.

The thrifting gods have been good to me, and not simply in terms of sweaters and dresses, but I've furnished a good portion of my home with finds from either second-hand stores or garage sales.
And most of it I hope to hold on to for many years to come.

I've taken a few photos of my favorite finds over the years and I've included a few words about why they're special. (There are many more that didn't make an appearance for this post, but which I hope to feature soon.)

First off, this plaid chair. I found it at the Goodwill a week after I moved into my place. I love it because of its shape, its color, and its kind spirit, and I do believe a chair may possess such a thing.

This little brass elephant. I found him at the Goodwill as well, in a section of the store that housed primarily electronics, which I took to mean that he was hiding in his secret spot, waiting for me. 

He sits by the window and he's perfect.

Three special dishes, two from the thrift store, one from a local ceramics artist, all on top of a silk polka dot scarf, also thrifted, and a table, which my mom found at a thrift store, as well. I suppose I must inherit some of these tendencies. The tiny dish is from an old friend, and there's a tiny lady and her gentleman dancing together. Love.

The bottom of the table is home to most of my scarves.

Aerial view of the living room. Many of these things were thrifted too--the coffee table I made (with a little help).

Vintage Buffet. Also rescued from Goodwill and one of my favorite pieces.
Also home to the loveliest brass swan family.

A framed print of a street in San Francisco (where I spent some good years of my life), and which looks identical to Union Street or Church Street, interchangeable I suppose, but both of which are near and dear to my heart. I found it at Goodwill and it had a companion piece that I left behind, because I suppose it felt like two too many at the time. I sort of regret not buying both--but just this one makes me happy.

This mirror, found at an estate sale in San Francisco on a morning spent with two lovely friends. It's actually convex or fish-eye--not sure this is so clear in the picture.

Lamp and hairpin-leg side table. Thrifted from a local vintage shop that has since changed names to Tossed and Found. I enjoy the bright colors, and this is the first lamp I've ever really loved.

Bookshelf for some of the overflow. It was thrifted and it fits perfectly in narrow spaces. Lots of English teaching texts hang out here. It's hard to let them go, so I keep them for now.

And more to be continued, I'm sure. Also on the subject of all things thrift, I have a little Etsy shop called Loved & Lovely, where I sell mostly sweaters, dresses, shoes and boots. Please feel free to stop by, if you'd like. I'll be talking a little bit more about it this week as well.

And finally, thank you for allowing me to indulge you with a little show and tell! I do so love the old stuff and I'm ever thankful for an audience.

(top photo via middlechildcomplex.tumblr.com)

'Tis the Season for Pie

What you see right there is a Black-Bottom Oatmeal Pie, or a Poor Man's Pecan Pie, as it's dubbed by Brooklyn-based sister pie artists Emily Elsen and Melissa Elsen, co-authors of Four & Twenty Blackbirds Pie Book. This book was gifted to me by my ever-thoughtful brother-in-law, and I've made exactly two of them so far. My sweet beau has made one. All three have been delicious. 

The truth is, I'm not really a pie person. Don't get me wrong: I will never say no to a bite or a slice of pie, if that's what's in front of me, but in all candor, I'm more of a cake gal myself. Chocolate cake. Flour-less chocolate cake to be exact. The Black-Bottom Oatmeal Pie was the first recipe from this book that I tried because as you can imagine, the black bottom refers to a chocolate ganache layer, and I kind of assumed that with the toasted oats, it might taste like an oatmeal cookie. It didn't. It tasted like a pecan pie with oats, which is precisely what the pie sisters suggested would happen.

This was a trial run for the pies we would eventually present at Thanksgiving dinner--a job I was tasked with at one of our more recent family dinners, and which I happily accepted.

Now, back to the "I'm not a pie person" comment. The thing is, I love making pie for other people. Pie is a very special gift when it's brought to the table, and I take the job seriously. It's truly labor intensive (I'm not one for laboring too much in the kitchen, so anything that takes more than 45 minutes qualifies as such), and it becomes in this sense, a labor of love.

While the flavors were intense and the pie worthy of consumption, we agreed that it wasn't quite right for a Thanksgiving dessert. We also realized that pie is truly intended for sharing among a group of friends. The two of us put a good dent in it, but it was more than we could handle in its entirety.

There is nothing more tragic in the culinary world than tossing leftover pie. Duly noted.

Come Thanksgiving Day, we decided on two pies from our new pie book. I was in charge of the Cranberry Sage, and Joe tackled the Egg and Grog (a boozy pie that tastes like egg nog!). 

'Twas divine.

The ingredients smelled delicious! A combination of spices, including sage, shredded apple, fresh cranberries, dried cranberries, sugar flour and all the rest. As I carefully folded these ingredients, I knew this was definitely the right pie for the occasion.

I'm still working on my lattice skills--but I'll get there!

Both pies were well-received by our family and friends, and now that it's been a week, I'm ready to start plotting my next pie. What I love about this book is that the pies are split up into seasons: There's a smattering of options depending on what fruit is available in the markets, and I must say, this makes for a far less-daunting pie book. It's good to know that we can pace ourselves. Some pies may wait until Spring.

As for the pie sisters, they run their own pie shop in Brooklyn--aptly named The Pie Shop--and their book is inspired by memories of home cooking, their family, and of course the pies they've created for their local community. 

Read more at birds black to check out their pie book and to learn about some other cool pie projects theses sisters are cooking up.

Also, they take beautiful pie pictures--perhaps the most photogenic of all desserts. What's your favorite holiday/winter pie?

Holiday Cheer Sans Le Tree

I live in a relatively compact space. I wouldn't call it small, because I still spread out and live comfortably in all the ways that matter: my legs have plenty of room on the couch, I can chop my vegetables without banging elbows against a wall, there's enough space for books, extra chairs in corners, plants here and there, and all of this feels just right. 

Still, it's an apartment, and there's not a lot of room for Christmas decor. Full disclosure: I'm not sure how far down the rabbit hole of holiday sparkle and flair I'm willing to climb. 

This isn't to say that I don't admire a decorated space--I truly do! I appreciate tiny details, and even in my own space, little white fairy lights twinkle year-round, but I've never had a tree. And I don't necessarily want to make room for one, either. I'm also not sure I want an extra box in the storage space devoted to holiday cheer--not just yet, anyway. What I do want are hints of the season and, nothing against jolly St. Nick, but I'd prefer to keep Santa in the shopping malls.

So, when it comes to decorating, while I'd like to bring a little winter whimsy indoors, for me it's all about the frost that sparkles outside, it's the narrow shaft of light that pierces through the clouds right before the sun goes down at 4:00, it's the way tree branches create intricate patterns stretched out across the sky, like lace covered in ice crystals. I think the frozen, quiet stillness of the season is enchanting, and bringing little artifacts of winter indoors is a way of appreciating the warmth and comfort of home in the depth of cold and darkness.

I've been considering different ideas for my home--craft ideas, little treasures from outside, bits of pine and twine--objects to inspire reflection and gratitude. Here are a few:

Rosemary Candles

Berry Branches

Pine Cones

Candelabara

Pinecone Kissing Ball

Hanging Stars

What are some of your decorating tips? If you celebrate Christmas, would you consider doing without a tree? I'd love to hear your thoughts.


(top photo: thetotalblamblam.tumblr.com)

Monday Musings: Sleepytime

It's a gray-blue, chilly November morning, and though my wake-up time came and went hours ago and I've been plugging away at work, it's still the kind of morning that inspires daydreams of sleeping in, which, thanks to the holiday gods, is sure to happen in just a few short days.

As someone who struggles to fall asleep and stay asleep for a healthy number of hours, I've developed a particular interest in all things that connect back to the elusive, unconscious state: sheets, pillows, bed size, mattress consistency, extra blanket, objects on nightstand, pictures on walls, color of said walls, rug on bedroom floor, curtains, darkness, nightlight, on and on...

In a fit of sleep deprived curiosity, here are a few bedrooms that make me wonder: Could one find sleep here? (Fellow insomniacs, this one's for you!)

                                             (northernmoments.tumblr.com)

(ginandbird.tumblr.com)

(middlechildcomplex.tumblr.com)

(homedecorobsession.tumblr.com)

Maybe it's less about the bed sometimes...

(homedecoreobsession.tumbr.com)

                                                  (ollebosse.tumblr.com)

                                                         (lessalice.tumblr.com)

Happy Monday and sweet dreaming!

Late Autumn Strolling

One of Spokane's truly beloved little spots is Manito Park--a sprawl of green grassy hills and trees, a sweet little pond for the ducks, discrete paths and plenty of space for kiddos, walkers, joggers, picnics, gatherings, solo drifting, frisbee golf, and even a little larping action (when the weather's nice).

I find myself at the park at least once a week, sometimes more than this, depending on my mood and how much I'm in need of the quiet refuge. I'm a runner, so it's perfect for this, but to really appreciate how serene this spot is, walking is my favorite mode.

Even better when I'm with my favorite walking companion.

The evenings come much earlier these days (around 4:45, it seems), so today we stole away for a late afternoon walk and followed the sun's fast fade into twilight. I love how even after the sun was gone, the park still glowed in this soft blue light.

A few lingering patches of gold and yellow to kick up along the way

The park is so still at this hour--the gloaming. My thoughts quiet down, my breath freezes and hangs in the air for a split second before it disappears, and my nose goes numb, so I pull my scarf a little higher across my face and we make it back just before night falls. So grateful for this place.