and soon, the world around us will explode with flowers. and spring ephemerals will rise out of thawing ground. crocus follow on the heels of earliest rising snowdrops. and then daffodils and tulips and maybe even hyacinths sneak into view. skunk cabbage joins the fray of the dance and trilliums send up their periscope stalks. jack-in-the-pulpit stands righteously in the savanna underbrush, sharing energy with jill-in-the-pulpit. and the mayapples…those mayapples wait to burst their canopy umbrellas up, protecting their delicate white blossoms. all together, it is a community of the transitory, sharing space. all thorns are set aside to regale the world with beauty.
george told us on the trail that many, many – most, he ventured to guess – do not look about as they hike. he said that it is rare to see someone stop on the trail to really notice, to pay attention, to ponder. he was pleased to see us – two strangers – standing and photographing.
for us, it is most-of-the-time impossible to hike and not pay notice. but, i can tell you, it is very difficult to hike – and really, truly pay attention – if there is something heavy on our hearts. i would think it impossible to hike – and wander in the fields of flowers – if there are thorns in your heart.
as far as i know, thorns in your heart may preclude your seeing of any beauty at all. they may predispose you, color your view, cloud your eyes to what-really-is, ruin any chance of you experiencing the ephemerally blissful moments of this life.
because – in terms of this world, this universe – we are really more like spring flowers than any other. we emerge and are quickly fading. we are gifted with ever so little time.
and, just like we are like spring flowers, we are also unlike spring flowers. we are not perennials. this moment – now – is our chance…to grow and bud and bloom.
how much better to wander in fields of flowers – of beauty – than to squander time and languish in thorns.
in direct contrast with the front door we pass on our way to the trail – the one that says “go away!” – there are many, many “welcome” signs at the front doors, on the front stoops, propped against the porches of other homes. big wooden signs, rubber door mats, hanging signs – all varieties of these ‘you are welcome here’ messages.
we make assumptions about other places. we believe we are welcome – at grocery stores, in bistros, in boutique shoppes, in schools, in religious institutions, in galleries and museums. they don’t really need a sign because we believe that the whole purpose of their existence is to encourage people to come in, take part in what they offer – whether it is shopping, dining, browsing, studying, being in community – whatever their mission. and we believe that we will be welcomed with open arms, open hearts.
but there are go-away-ers out there, even those without signs of loud proclamation. they are uninterested, unmoved, closed, uninvolved, unquestioning, passive, complicit. they are not with open arms, open hearts. their apathy is clear; their aloofness is cold.
we passed the magical heart entrance to a tiny home inside the trunk of a tree. i was drawn to it, for – as we know – hearts are sometimes where we least expect them. but here it is…the way in, through a heart-door.
there are people each of us know who are heart-door people. the people who are always happy to see you, the people who never turn away from you, the people who hold you when you need holding, the people who listen when you need to talk. heart-door people are not found in one particular place – they are not simply gathered, waiting for you. instead, heart-door people keep their eyes open, their minds open. theirs are doors that open into empathy and compassion. they are the comfy quilts of our lives, the steadfast longtimers, the warm newbies, the balance-givers, the standing-by-you folks, the speaking-up-for-you truthtellers.
there is a big disparity between the go-away-ers and the heart-doors. sometimes it’s easy to see the difference. sometimes it’s not.
it’s important to learn good discernment.
and then, it’s important to be grateful for your heart-doors.
somewhere around 3:30 this morning i really wanted to flip on the cuisinart. i was pining for a good strong cup of coffee. i was awake and i was suddenly hungry and most-definitely coffee-deficient. i laid awake for a few hours, thinking, thinking, thinking, as is not uncommon these days.
and then i got a text. my dear friend was up in the night holding her brand-new one-day-old beautiful baby granddaughter and wrote to me about the joy of the moment. i could feel her amazement. a new little person in the world and it was happening at that moment that jen was gently holding her, swaddled and warm.
i thought about my own children, picturing the last time i saw each of them, hoping they are both sleeping, hoping they know – in a tiny corner of their minds – they are still gently held.
earlier – somewhere around 2:30 or so – i had pestered d and we watched a trail or two. there was some new footage of everest and, though a little rough on the video front, we tuned in. it occurred to me that somewhere out there – high in the cold himalayas – roughly twelve hours ahead – at that moment – there were perhaps porters in the khumbu valley moving supplies into their towns or to market with yaks and – incredibly – on their backs.
and maybe some scientist was out studying volcanoes in indonesia or glacial movement in the arctic.
and there were people in the sierra nevadas dealing with blizzard conditions and avalanches and exorbitant wind and others in texas dealing with unchecked wildfires.
there are people in mexico city, worried that fresh water will run out.
and somewhere there was someone holding tightly onto the last moments of life, maybe memorizing the last details or reaching and touching a loved one.
somewhere – in too many lands under siege to count – people were wondering if their home, their town, their region would survive the next day.
and somewhere – someone was sitting, meditating, peace in their soul.
everything going on…all at once. the tutti of life everywhere – the whole orchestra.
and now – in the morning – birds outside our window and sun streaming in – dogga at our feet – i sip hot coffee out of the hydroflask our daughter gave us a few years back – and think about the concurrence of it all.
and i realize – once again – there is no one person who is “all-that”.
i guess it’s true. you don’t know what you don’t know.
the only thing certain is change and, i suppose, the most important thing about that is being able to remain an amorphous blob, malleable enough that you can bend and wriggle and twist and turn and do somersaults and cartwheels in all paths heading forward.
because there will always be a curve ahead. because nothing is guaranteed. because life is kind of like some sort of mash-up cross between the cupid shuffle, the disco hustle, the electric slide…no dull straight lines. you can’t return to before, so you might as well allow lift in your wings to carry you on, to embrace the turns. because we are constantly reminded: “welcome to the present moment. here. now. the only moment there ever is.”(eckhart tolle)
and because – well, yes – you really don’t know what you don’t know.
so in this moment, i will clap my hands, put on my sunglasses, have another sip of my coffee and face forward, flap my wings, and get ready to cartwheel.
in a bag inside a box on a shelf inside the closet i found this. a hug coupon.
there are coupons on the back for an automotive a/c inspection and a fuel injection cleaning. they expire in 2009. so that would mean i’ve had this hug coupon since 2009. fifteen years.
my sweet momma sent it to me. she was the world’s best letter-writer. always sending mail – since we lived long-distance – i’d open an envelope to reveal a handwritten note or a letter she typed on her word processor and printed. maybe there’d be newspaper or magazine articles she thought i’d like to read. maybe an astrological horoscope she wanted me to see. and coupons. always coupons. she and my poppo would sit and clip coupons and then divvy them out – anticipating the needs of various members of the family and mailing them off – in business size envelopes or big brown envelopes or even envelopes they repurposed from other mailings. mail from my momma. i could count on it.
today is hug day. (so, i also read, was january 21st.) no matter. each day should be hug day. cause there really is nothing that can get you more back on track than a good hug. hugs to and from your children, your partner, your parents, your dear friends, your new friends, your posse, long-lost pals, your beloved pets. we – d and i – are pretty smushy. hugging is par for the course. i know, even in the worst of moments, our hug will change the air around us. i can count on it.
i’m continuing to go through the bags and the boxes, the shelves and the bins and the things tucked away. some items will be harder to figure out – what to do with them.
i found this hug coupon and instantly thought of my momma sending it to me. i photographed it, knowing that is at least the first step in letting it go. and then i showed david. and then i got lost in all the memories of mail arriving at my doorstep.
so what do i now do with this sweet gesture that expires the day after eternity?
well, it’s still redeemable. maybe i should just save it and put it on the fridge.
*****
❤️feel free to copy this image and print it out to give to all the people you want to hug. ❤️
though not as existential as ‘what is the purpose of life?’, when i read this question – “what’s the purpose of a blog?” – in our website email i admit to sitting and staring at it for awhile. good question.
since you are reading this, you must find some value in a blog. somehow it must resonate with you. something we are saying must find a spot to linger a moment in your mind or heart. or maybe we are dear to each other and you are staying in touch – albeit virtually – with what’s going on in our lives. maybe we have never met but you are walking this path of living for this period of time with me, with us. i’m not sure why you have clicked on this, but i am curious and, mostly, i am grateful.
this is part of what i wrote back to the question:
“we originally published our mutual website and blogs as a way to draw attention to our varied artistries. david is a painter and writer and i – well, you know.“ (the question was posed by a person who was quite instrumental with encouragement for my first full-length original solo piano album.) “but i was also doing a lot of writing (the written word) and we developed several cartoons and products. it was a mélange of artistic mediums, hence the name – the mélange.
as you know, being an artist presents many challenges, not the least of which is to earn money. people turn to the arts for sustenance, for comfort, for reassurance, for insight, to celebrate their bliss. but, as in the music world, for example, that is often derived via “free” formats…formats that pay the artists little to nothing: spotify, pandora, apple music etc. in an effort to hold true to our artistries, our site – developed a few years ago – combined all of what we do under the bigger umbrella of ‘the arts’ and put it out there.
theoretically, the purpose of a blog is to draw attention to product, to establish credibility, to perhaps be inspiring, to share thoughts, to form a community, to connect with like and not like-minded people, to ask questions, to drive engagement, to repurpose old content that still has life to live.
our blogs are read in over 80 countries – according to the stats. it’s a delight to see that anyone at all is reading what i or david have to say. even better is when they share content – outside our concentric circle – that means something to them or respond because something we said or posted or generated resonated with them.
many artists (and others) blog or vlog (video blog) now. they include ways to help support them. in our case, we have a BuyMeACoffee link (that’s the QR code on the blog pages) which is like a tip-jar website. others have patreon which is a subscription to which people can sign up and regularly support the continuing creating of artists whose work they value. it is simply an effort to continue to be artists in a financial world that doesn’t value artists in a financial way. sigh. with the encouragement of others, we will likely open a patreon account one of these days.
david and i sit and write each morning together. we choose images for the week and post them. then we sit – side by side with our laptops – and write our blogposts, not peeking or sharing until we are done. this process is truly meaningful to us and brings great joy as we read what the image has brought up for each of us – often quite different. david is much more esoteric than i am and my blogposts are usually thready, really from the heart. it’s a good balance, particularly in relationship.”
so, what’s the purpose?
the person who posed this question is an actuary. i suspect that a blog seems somewhat frivolous to them, maybe even out of the realm of pragmatic, certainly not sustaining or financially rewarding. and – though having millions of followers or subscribers could be very lucrative – i suppose all those other points could be true. and yet, there is this imperative we both feel – to write – that we answer, each and every day. it’s both the blessing and the curse of being an artist.
i can’t imagine that there are readers who read each and every of our six-days-a-week postings. but to think that someone in a different US time zone, in africa, in south america, in the EU or indonesia or the middle east or australia or canada or ukraine is sitting with coffee and taking time to read my words is humbling. it’s how i feel about listeners spinning my music. the same. humbling. shy of being in the same room with me or having some kind of live exchange or sharing time together, my music and my words are the closest you can get to me, to what i am thinking or feeling, questions i am trying to answer, the way i parse out what it means to live. it is relationship on the relationship target circle – the circle a couple circles in, where you are not only acknowledging existence, but you are paying attention, responding, even if silently.
we don’t know what would happen if we stopped writing. all of sudden – boom! – full stop! we don’t know if there are those people who would miss these ramblings. we don’t know if there are those people who might just notice, a tad regretfully, our blogs were no longer there. we do know there are those people who would never even know we were gone. it’s a funny thing. and as an artist you must be careful not to let ego and its attention-seeking behavior stand in your way. you just keep on. until you stop. and then, because imperative is – after all – imperative, you do something else. artistry is a living and breathing thing.
i hardly think that the words i write are gloriously wise or the smidgiest-bit funny or new thoughts in an old universe. i just know they are uniquely mine and, for some crazy reason, i am open to being vulnerable enough to share them.
maybe one day you and i will have a conversation about this. and you might be able to tell me what the purpose is of writing a blog.
“people start to heal the moment they feel heard.”(cheryl richardson)
it is not likely we always know. moments when people are sharing something with us – something raw, something of import, something life-changing. no, we don’t always know. because these things of significance – along with great gravitas – don’t always come with drumrolls or prologue announcements. they are stammered out, with some reticence and a side of fear. and we have a choice – an opportunity – as someone standing nearby or walking alongside, someone close-in or someone peripheral. it matters not – in humankind – our interconnectivity supersedes our concentric circle.
as we stand – in the fire – with someone who is sharing, our presence acknowledges their pain, their angst, their experience, their feelings. our being-there shines light into dark, into the fog.
in our indifference, we yield great power to hurt others, to walk on, to overtly turn our attention away from the sharer, to underplay this very part of their journey they wish to share.
she said, ” it is vitally important how those around react to the news of trauma, for that is powerfully profound in how a person heals.” both the overt overlooker and the covert minimizer add to the burden one is already carrying, the burden that will likely be buried further and further inside – more and more difficult to excavate, heal and release.
instead, we can choose not to perpetuate the pain of others. and they can aid us in transforming the place where our own pain may be held. we can each reach beyond silence – for the other. we can hover with each other and offer wisps of hope.
we can bear witness.
it doesn’t take much. we are all together in this big world – full of the potential not only to delight us but to devastate us. we walk together. we can support others in feeling heard. it’s really the least we can do: listen. really listen.
my niece sent me a text. it was a video of her turning her heat down to 60° and saying, “i…am becoming you.” yup. we are not – well, i am not – a toasty-warm-house person. now, don’t get me wrong. i do love to be cozy. but not toooo toasty. and radiators – as in our old house – retain their heat for a long time so you have to be a teeny bit cautious about how high you put the thermostat…the temperature in the house won’t go down for a while with those radiators radiating – their job in life.
regardless, we just layer up here. with energy costs as they are, we are more likely to have on baselayers (even inside) with thermals and vests. and at night – that window is always a wee bit cracked. there is nothing like sleeping with a little cold fresh air.
but, that’s not really what i was going to talk about. “warmth looks good on you” from stio – a very cool company based in jackson, wyoming – is on page 58 of the “deep winter 2024” catalog. and, despite all the exceptional gear this company sells, the inordinately courageous influencers, the gorgeous photography, it made me stop and consider it from – yes – another point of view.
warmth looks good on you.
approachable, open, inclusive, inquisitive, embracing, warmth does look good. it looks like a conversation waiting to happen. it looks like a friendship on the cusp. it looks like generosity of spirit and compassion. it looks like community. like support. like loving one another.
it has been in the most likely and the least likely of situations i have made new and dear friends over the years. in classes. at a job. in the ‘hood. in a studio. at kids’ soccer games, baseball games, cross-country meets, tennis matches, colleges. after a concert. on the wood floor in the hallway of a ballet class. in an airport car rental line. in the fitting rooms of a white house black market store. on a trail. online. i can’t imagine life without these people. and yet, had i or they not been open – had there not been a bit of warmth exchanged between us – we would have missed. and the possibility of friendship, the chance of a relationship would have glanced off. and, for me, that would have taken away from my being better for knowing or having known them.
it’s kind of a cold world out there. it’s not that hard to layer up.
warmth looks good on you.
it’s as simple as a decision.
*****
*stocking face created by my sister waaaay back in the day
“you are not only responsible for what you say, but also for what you do not say.” (martin luther)
january 8. we are a week into the new year. we are in the thick – in the territory of resolutions – things we will do, things we won’t do, things we wish to change.
in the way of good conversation at dinner the other night, 20 showed us a photograph of martin luther with this quote. we all shook our heads in agreement. moral silence, not speaking truth to power, not speaking against injustice or wrongdoing or marginalization – a key figure of the protestant movement (and even more specifically – what became the lutheran church) had a few things to say about that. we spent a bit of time swimming in this.
because we are in the thick.
we just passed by the third anniversary of the insurrection of our country’s capitol. white christian nationalism has upped the ante on the lack of moral responsibility – with silence, divisive words, blunt negation of the events of this day. where are the martin luthers of the day? seems a bit antithetical…with a big dollop of hypocrisy to boot.
but we need not be in the nation’s capitol to witness irresponsible words or irresponsible silence. we need not be traipsing down pennsylvania avenue to be in the thick – to be complicit, to be implicitly consenting, to actively perpetuate that which is dangerously wrong. we need merely to look around – closer in – at our own state, city, community, the organizations in which we are involved.
we are in the thick – of the new year. it would seem the most important things we might do – as we start down the 2024 road – is to be certain to be aware, be informed, ask questions, avoid making assumptions or just believing what we are told. it would seem important that we speak up, speak out, speak for, speak against injustice, wrongdoing, marginalization, agenda, a lack of transparency, discrimination, abuse, evil.
for in speaking up or out or for or against – in seeking truth, advocating for truth, insisting on truth – as citizens of this land, our states and our communities, as conscientious participants in organizations and institutions – we would be doing the responsible thing.
and in not? the converse – irresponsible.
martin’s words remind us to think about where – in the thick – we resolve to stand.
and today – after last night’s eve – we’ll turn on music. we’ll light all the twinkling lights and maybe have breakfast in the living room by the trees. i’ll remember our walk last night – all around the ‘hood – admiring lights and decorations and christmas trees in front windows. i’ll smile thinking of us standing in my candlelit studio singing carols together – in lieu of a church service. and then, a few luminaria on the deck in temperatures unseasonably warm for a wisconsin december.
and sometime this morning we will open all the cards that have made their way to us. in the last years we have started saving them – waiting until christmas eve or christmas day to open the greetings from far and wide. it is like a visit from each family member or friend then as we sit – in no rush – and read cards and letters. we know that time is precious these days and that it takes some of that precious time to sit and write cards, to select gifts, to craft messages and mementos. we are so happy to be thought of, to have community near and far.
the shiny brites are on our big lighted branches in the living room. they, too, are like a visit – specifically from my parents. i had a blue day last week in the midst of preparations – a little shopping, a little shipping, a little planning. because in my mind this year i’ve spent a lot of time on my growing-up long island. with all that remembering, it’s brought me back to 1960s and earlier 1970s christmases – times of unfettered bliss – of being a child and then young teenager in the middle of a family creating simple christmas magic. it made me miss my sweet momma and poppo. our holiday was never anything really fancy – it was just about being together. my mom didn’t plan activities for us nor did she prepare mountains of food ahead of time, except for krumkake and spritz cookies. dinner was always a turkey and all the trimmings for christmas day. christmas eve…well…my solidly norwegian grandparents would drive their gigantic beige and brown was-it-a-buick out from brooklyn, laden with the christmas eve fish pudding and rum cake. and yes, that meal is really as eh as it sounds. fish pudding, boiled potatoes, cauliflower and a white sauce with crabmeat – it’s a monochromatic meal that would horrify any child’s taste buds in the midst of christmas eve’s glimmer. we’d all survive it though and the very-frostinged layered rum cake was the reward. we lounged around and sipped eggnog and sang christmas carols while i played the organ or piano in the living room and my brother played the guitar. and then, as it got darker we’d go outside to walk around the neighborhood in the candlelight of luminaria, still singing. hot cocoa later and off to the 11pm service to ring in christmas. simple. nothing grandiose. most of it was predictable. but it brought a sense of comfort in its familiarity, just like the shiny brites on the trees in our living room.
these last years have had a different rhythm. sans advent and christmas directing, time has burst open. for those decades of immersion in church preparations yielded little extra time – and, for most years with the chaos of those responsibilities, brats on the grill were christmas eve fare. it was only on christmas morning that it was possible to – finally – take a deep breath. it’s a different season now.
today we will go to our son’s home in chicago. we’re excited to spend christmas with him, bringing his gifts and ever-present stocking, sharing in the making of dinner. we will sooo miss our daughter, but we shipped her gifts and will facetime with her after her travels out west. the rest of our families all also live out of state, so we won’t be posting those wide-angle holiday photos with scads of people posed in front of the tree. but we hold each of them close.
and tonight, on our way home from downtown, we’ll take the backroads, as always. we’ll go slow in appreciation of the beauty of the route, the festive lights, magic lingering in the air. the waiting is over.
and we’ll nod our heads together, agreeing that simplicity has been the real gift.
reverse threading 