Monday, July 25, 2016

More Things

Yes, 2016.  Cotton thread on cotton canvas. 2" x 3"


Almost every evening...



Homemade ghee.  Sometimes not having everything at your fingertips is a good thing.

Friday, July 22, 2016

These Days

When I arrived, I made a Master To-Do List.  When I gave it a once-over yesterday, I was pleased to see that I have made some progress.  Here are a couple of things going on:

524 yds, Portuguese Merino, 2 ply
I have been participating in the Tour de Fleece this year, having a lovely reunion with my dearest Suzie Pro wheel.  Why oh why did I ever leave her behind?  Beside all the dyeing and spinning up my mother's yarns, I have been working on this skein.  Portuguese Merino is not like Merino Merino.  It is not as fine so it is not as soft - I would put it somewhere between BFL and Shetland.  Like Shetland, it has a kind of inherent integrity that makes spinning it pure delight and knitting with it even more delightful.

Last time I spun it, I made a shawl, which I promptly lost at the Sunnyside Post Office the second time I wore it.  It still causes a pain in my heart to remember it.  I am thinking that I will make that self same shawl with this yarn, just because.  Apparently Portuguese Merino is no longer available through any wholesale suppliers so it may well be my last time working with it.  I'll try not to lose this one!

Yes, that is a space heater in use on July 21st.
My other big, executive decision was to change the so-called Guest Room into my studio.  As I have been unable to convince anyone to come visit me here, the room mostly has been empty except that I use it for my yoga practice.  There is another space in the house that, on the face of it, seems like the best place for a studio - the "dining room" between the kitchen and my bedroom - but that space has never felt comfortable to me.  I don't even like standing in there for very long.  Not sure why...maybe I need to burn some sage or something in there to scare away the ghosts.  Anyway, there do not seem to be any demons or unhappy ghosts in this room, which is technically in the basement but still gets lots of natural light and has tall ceilings.  It also tends to be cooler than the rest of the house, which in this cool July (we have had two frost advisories recently!) means the heat is on.  It is a blank slate and I am excited to see what happens in there next!

A fresh start all around.

Sunday, July 17, 2016

Problem Solving

Every Wednesday morning, I participate in an online yoga meditation class led by my yoga mentor, Chase Bossart.  People log on from all over the place and, for a half-hour, Chase leads us through some movement, breathing and a visualization.  It isn't a huge commitment in time or money and I find it to be an interesting compliment to my usual meditation practice.  It provokes all kinds of questions and offers another way to see things.  I highly recommend it!

Every other week, he also hosts a longer class immediately afterwards where we talk about the classes and how they were constructed and we share our experiences (this class is geared to yoga teachers).  This is my favorite part because it is so interesting to learn how other people receive the instructions and how what seems so simple and straightforward actually is quite complex.

This past Wednesday, after some moving and breathing, Chase asked us to picture ourselves on the peak of a mountain with a clear view for miles and miles.  Then we did some more moving and breathing and he asked us to think about an issue that is unresolved in our life, something we have confusion about.  The thought that came to my mind was, "Should we really be using meditation to fix things?"  Personally, I would say no.  It seems quite important that meditation have no goal.  Let's face it, we often accept ourselves as so small.  We eagerly create little boxes and jump right in them!  Why would this be any different with our so-called solutions in meditation?  I feel quite strongly about this point.  In the second class, following the meditation, we had a really interesting conversation about this that was very helpful, especially as I consider ways of offering meditations to my own students and clients.

This morning, I was still reflecting on Wednesday's conversation but thinking about it in terms of art making.  Art that has an expressed goal to solve some problem suffers from the same limitations and for the same reasons - we generally aspire to so little when actually we have the whole universe at hand.  When I look at my publicly engaged projects, the ones that were most successful - some continue to spur dialogue - were the ones that were the most open-ended, where I proceeded without much of a clear idea of exactly where I was headed.  The ones (and I think mainly of one, in particular) that fell flat were the ones where I had an idea and I tried to force the situation to fit that idea.  Even when I framed it as a question, in my head, I already had the answer.

Those kinds of projects interest me less these days I think, in part, because I found my own limitations too confining.  I still love conversation and hearing people's stories.  I definitely still love getting people to try new things that put them back in touch with what it means to make things by hand, but those are not the driving forces behind my work now.  Or perhaps I should say that I am trying to make work that has that same kind of energy and contains all those possibilities without needing to overtly ask the questions out loud.  Problem solving without answers.  Or questions, either.

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Contrasts

Sometimes the road less travelled is the Trans-Canada Highway.

Quiet has come to my house.  My mom, who is about as spry as it gets for 89 years old, is a talker.  As soon as she heard me stirring in the morning, she would pop out of her room and start talking.  The conversational flow would continue until we went to bed, unless of course you count when we both went silent while watching the first season of Downton Abbey.  As the last person on Earth who had never watched it, I had my reservations.   Of course, I am totally hooked now.  Between the storyline and the amazing clothes and Maggie Smith's most excellent snide comments, one would have to be semi-conscious half-wit not to be sucked in.  And so I am (sucked in, not a semi-conscious half wit).

But watching Downton Abbey is not daytime work.  No, it is doled out like slices of delicious cake in the evening when the sun sort of goes down.  The list of daytime work is getting longer each day but, while my mother was here, it looked a lot like this:


I showed my mom how to paint fleece with acid dyes.  She has rather a reputation when it comes to painting based on the way she uses as little paint as possible when she works on her canvas boards.  Perhaps as a child of the Depression she has scarcity issues but for whatever reasons, her paintings always look like studies in how to create a picture with as little paint as possible.  As a conceptual framework for an art piece, this is not the worst idea but I am pretty sure that is not her motivation.  In any case, I was quite curious how she would react to pouring dye onto fleece and to the general chaos of the whole endeavor, which is the high point for some of us more wasteful kinds of people.  Turns out she had no problem with color.  Witness above.  The brightest ones are her's.

This daytime work allowed me to put my Downton Abbey time to good use and spin up some of the painted fleece as quickly as possible so that she could take the yarn home with her.





I have two more skeins to go.  Fortunately, there are five more seasons to watch.






Saturday, July 09, 2016

Chase the Hace

Just minutes from the ferry (Wreckhouse)

Have I awakened from a dream or did I just fall asleep?  It feels like one or the other as it seems like I never left this beautiful place.  Yet, it's been a good, long while as evidenced by the amount of effort it has taken to get the house up and running again.  We are almost re-connected with the world (phone is still out) but, given what is going on out there in the world, being out of reach and out of touch might have its merits.  

For the past several days, the most important thing has been getting running water again and taking care of the wood that resulted from cutting down the apple tree in the front yard.  As far as the split pipes were concerned, our generous (and skilled) neighbor did some excellent plumbing work - for the price of a lemon meringue pie.  The apple tree is taking more time to manage as it was "very branchy" or so said another neighbor.  Lots of valuable firewood to be had but it is no small task.

This year, I was coming up alone for the first time ever.  In an act of brave spontaneity, my mother accepted my invitation to join me when I stopped by her place on the first leg of the journey.  I had an extra bunk on the ferry and she needed to get out of her senior housing while some complicated drainage projects were worked on.  A match made in heaven!  Pretty sure she was regretting her decision when we discovered the cracked pressure valves and such.  But things are quite civilized now, as I write this and drink my tea while looking out at the sparkling bay and deep green mountains, a pleasant breeze passing by.  My mother will return next week and then I will be alone.  It is exciting and a little scary.  But mostly exciting.

** Chase the Hace is a fundraiser that the next town over, McIver's is hosting.  It is really called Chase the Ace but in local parlance, it is pronounced Chase the Hace.

Monday, June 27, 2016

Until Next Time, Nashville!

There's more than one way to say good-bye!
One more module to go before we become certified yoga therapists!  Things are getting real.

Thursday, June 23, 2016

The Body is Willing

Hello.
It is hot in Nashville.  The temperature has been hovering the mid-90s since we arrived for the fifth of six modules of our yoga therapy training.  The training itself is heating up - we are past the halfway mark and the long days build towards a kind of energy that both sustains and exhausts.

At this point, we are spending a lot of time meeting with clients who volunteer to allow us to work with them, referred by the Osher Center for Integrative Medicine at Vanderbilt University.  We receive a very short description of the person - two or three sentences about who they are, their age and what their problem(s) are.  There has been a fair bit of debate about whether this information is helpful or gets in the way or totally useless.  Each day, three of us meet with our client while being observed by a faculty member and a group of about 6-8 other trainees.  It is a pretty unnatural situation but there really isn't any way around it as it is so useful to get the feedback that everyone offers and, as an observer, to be able to see the many ways that issues can be addressed.  There has been incredible synchronicity between the seemingly random assignment of client with student therapist - somehow most of us have been matched with people who are just right for us.

Yesterday was my day to meet my client for the first time.  It was an amazing experience and a challenging one.  If I had allowed myself to have any kind of expectations beforehand, I quickly tossed them out the window.  I had to be present with the person in front of me and all the theories about this or that tool or practice pretty much went out the window with the expectations.  But we had the most important thing - a real and immediate connection.  The whole experience was beautiful and I can only express deep gratitude to my client for coming in and sharing their story and life and letting me enter it, just a little.  We will meet again on Saturday for a follow-up.

After the client left and we debriefed as a small group and then with the whole group, I could feel a pain begin to rise in my left eyelid.  It is almost comical!  In the moment, I was (mostly) not stressed since my job was (relatively) clear.  Or so I thought.  After the fact, it is also clear that the added piece of being observed and having everyone in the group hear about and analyze my performance (hard to call it anything else) caused me more stress than I thought.

This morning, as my eyelid was about double its normal size, one of the faculty was discussing the role of breathing in our practice and our tradition.  She said that the body might be willing but the breath won't lie.  Meaning that we can force our bodies to do things that take it a little too far or override our sense of what is best for it but that pushing or overriding will always show up in the breath immediately.  It is a true barometer of what is really happening in our system.

I might add a little caveat that the body is willing - for a time - but the chickens will come home to roost eventually.  Perhaps, like many of the clients we have been seeing, the pushing and overriding has been happening so long and has been pushed so hard that the chickens are coming home in a big way that can no longer be ignored.  Or, perhaps like me, they show up immediately.  A little reminder that just because you can't see it or feel it in the moment, things are happening on subtle levels.  Indeed, it is this very fact that gives yoga therapy its power.  We don't know everything of what will happen or even exactly why.  It is lovely that scientists and researchers are starting to confirm what yoga has known for millennia but even with all that, there is still some mystery to it all.

And I say, thank goodness for that.  Swollen eyelid and all.

Sunday, June 19, 2016

Everthing is Waiting For You


Everything is Waiting for You


Your great mistake is to act the drama

as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.

Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into

the conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.

  -- David Whyte

     ©2003 Many Rivers Press

Friday, June 17, 2016

Personally Speaking

A few months ago, I was telling my Zen teacher about how the new cat at the Monastery ran towards me and practically leapt into my arms.  He said, "Yeah, you almost want to take it personally."

Ouch!  Man, talk about hitting a girl where it hurts the most.

This is Tika, the Temple cat.  She sometimes leaps into my arms too.  So there!

I was recounting this story to a friend a couple of days ago, who also happens to be a Zen monk, and he said, "It's true.  We take everything so personally.  Like it's all about us!  Nothing is personal.  Not even our breath is personal!"

Not even our breath is personal.  Double ouch!

I know what he said is correct because I actually started to cry a little when he said it.  Still....

Not even our breath is personal.

Saturday, June 11, 2016

Every Now and Then, Practice Works

Things have been winding up and settling down.

There have been many sleepless nights as I worried about some of the choices my two teenagers have been making.  Trying to find the balance between guidance and support and the teenage equivalent of shouting angrily - STOP! - when your toddler appears to be about to run out into the street.  When the toddler is 19, one must take another tact - more subtle and yet still as startling and forceful.  No one said it would be easy.

But we are getting there.  When I see Finn gently and eagerly care for Lucy's pet rat (yes, she has one!  She is named Violet), I feel hopeful that this sweet, gentle side of him is the underpinning that props up the rest, even the less than sweet parts.  And when Lucy points out some aspect of how I am deluding myself, this time with clarity and directness but also compassion (versus when she just sticks it to me like a dagger in the back), I marvel at her innate wisdom and try to trust that when she tells me that her summer plans are to go live on a commune in rural Tennessee.

Neither of my two are taking the traditional post-high school graduation route.  I see and hear other parents talking about university and scholarships and accomplishments and it gives me pause.  Did I do something horribly wrong?  Then a friend said to me, somewhat impatiently at my dimness, "What did you expect?!  You raised them to think for themselves and now they are!"

D'oh.

Still, as a parent, I want some sense of security, some sense that they will be, not just alright, but good - really good and happy - in the world.  Of course, I want the impossible.  Maybe in six months time they will have found a direction that will guide them for the coming years and it will feel more settled, but it's never really settled.  It's never settled.

The only thing that can be settled is our mind.  The slings and arrows will just keep coming - this is guaranteed.  Are you running around in a panic, trying to avoid them, dashing this way and that?  Or are you calmly watching them land, stepping aside as needed?  Maybe getting hit as needed too.  It is becoming more and more painfully obvious to me that the only way we can approach reaching that second state of mind (the calm one not the dashing around one) is with practice.  By this I don't even mean yoga practice or Zen practice but I do mean some kind of regular, daily practice of engaging with discomfort.

I am talking about a practice that challenges us to face up to the little things that might send us racing about - a momentary itch in our nose when we are trying to sit still or the frustration of trying and missing an attempt to do an āsana (posture) that we do every single day.  Small and unimportant things.  And that's exactly it!  So small and so unimportant that we can practice them and the consequences of not meeting their challenge (I hesitate to say fail) are equally small and unimportant.  Ok, I scratched my nose during meditation.  Or I fell out of parivritti trikonāsana again.  Again!  These small experiences are the drip of water that creates the hole in the rock over time.  Day by day, they are not a big deal but check back in a few years, or a few decades.  These small practices matter.

A few years ago, I went to an Ashtanga primary series class led by Sharath Jois (Pattabhi Jois's grandson and heir to his school and role as "guru").  It was early in the morning and very crowded with people who all seemed to know each other and all seemed to be very fabulous and all seemed to have very advanced practices.  I totally freaked out - I felt surrounded by a thick air of competition and was overwhelmed by feelings of being inadequate.  It thoroughly infected me and my response was to make my practice so aggressive that, by the time I finished, I was completely depleted.  I honestly thought that I would not be able to walk to the subway without collapsing.  I remember being really scared about how I would get home.  It was something of a wake-up call.

Sharath is in town again now.  After that horrifying practice a few years ago, I vowed never to do that again.  Yet, for some reason, I signed up for three of the six days of practice that he is offering.  This morning was the first one.  The crowd was even larger this time - 350 people!  We filled the gymnasium at a local college, with our mats just inches apart.  Normally that alone would make me very anxious as a long-limbed person who needs a fair bit of space but this time all I could feel was a kind of awe that we were all there practicing together.  It felt beautiful, not anxious.  I actually had the best, most relaxed practice in months.

My working myself to exhaustion last time was not about Sharath or the bevy of gorgeous 25 year-olds (male and female) in their Lululemon outfits who could float through the practice barely touching the ground.  All that crazy was my crazy.  Like the water dripping on a rock, several years later I am pleased to see that I am a little less crazy.  No worries - there is plenty of room for improvement but, as one of the monks at the Monastery likes to say, "practice works!"

Finn and Lucy are launching themselves out into this horrible, cruel, beautiful world in ways that I never imagined.  There will be trouble ahead.  There will be moments of poetry.  Those are certainties.  The rest is up to me to create.

Saturday, June 04, 2016

How To Be Satisfied

Satisfied, 2014.  Porcelain and wash, 5" x 12"

Coreopsis, 2016.  Organic matter, size varies.

Graduate (Lucy and Wendy), 2016.  Fills the universe.


Saturday, May 28, 2016

That's The Thing

Eight AM through the eyes of a 19 yo.


Sometimes the truth of impermanence is easy to forget and sometimes it insists on being right in your face.  Of course death makes it ever so real and clear.  But so does children growing up and taking on adult roles in the world.  Ok, scratch that...I just went up and took a gander (and a sniff) at Finn's room and he still has a way to go on the adult front.  But, the truth is, he is slowly getting his act together and seems poised to go on another international adventure, this time far outside his comfort zone.  Although I suspect he has no idea just exactly how far outside.

Then, on Thursday, Lucy will officially graduate from homeschooling.  That era of our lives will be officially finished.   I was never very big on anything official as it related to homeschooling, but if you count it the way the state of New York counts it, then I did it for 13 years.  When I said this to Lucy, she said, "More like six!"  (That's her assessment of how I participated in the endeavor - such is the gratitude of a 17 yo.)



Zen onion skins at work.

Napatree Point, Watch Hill, RI
Our opinions about how things are flowing through our life are just, like, our opinions, man.  

If you think this yarn is excessively hairy, you would be correct.  I carded my friend's hair into the wool and she is going to make her boyfriend something with it.  We'll see if he appreciates this gesture.

Or as a wise person recently said to me when I was telling him how one day I feel one way and the next day, I feel another way - that's the thing about feelings.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

A Good Man

How to make the world a better - and funnier - place for 97 years.
My former father-in-law, James W. Allen, died on Monday night at the age of 97.  For nearly all of those years, he was healthy and sharp - Jack the Needle, he sometimes called himself.  A heart attack five months ago was the beginning of a decline in his physical health but, for the most part, he defied all expectations about what a person in their 90s was supposed to be like.

He was a walking piece of history - in the picture above he is re-visiting Anzio beach in Italy, where he landed as a 19 yo foot soldier in WWII.  He did many, many things in his lifetime, including, at age 40, get married and start a family, eventually having six children in the space of ten years.

I knew him for 31 years, first as one of his son's girlfriends, then as a daughter in law and then as a former daughter in law.  Men of his generation aren't really the type to be warm and fuzzy so I felt his affection from his teasing and the way he enthusiastically took up the minutia of the local geography of my hometown in Massachusetts and, later, Newfoundland.  Indeed, one of the first questions he would ask anyone he met was, "where are you from?"  I honestly never saw him not be able to pull out some obscure geographical reference in reply to their answer, "Oh, that's about ten miles from Sioux Falls on Rte 29?"  leaving the rest of us standing there wondering how in the world he knew that.

How do you measure success?  Money?  Houses?  Flashy accomplishments?  How about creating a family of very good, smart, funny people who love you dearly and devotedly?  By that measure, Jim Allen was a stunning success.  He also was a decent, good man who will be sorely missed by all who knew him.