Nearly there

So I managed to write all 24 stories and copy them into my notebook.  Now I just need to do the drawings (about a dozen), and I'm all done with the Fiction Project. 

I'll start posting the stories here (one a week) in May.

And if anyone is interested, the arthouse co-op has just opened The Sketchbook Project 2012 for sign-ups.  ANYONE can take part, wherever you are in the world, no matter how old you are.  (I've heard of schools signing up and having children fill in a few pages each for example.)  You have until 31st October 2011 to sign up and until 31st January next year to complete.  PLUS, for this project, the sketchbooks are going on a World Tour (rather than just a US tour), which will include London!!  I wasn't gonna sign up for this, but now that I know the tour's coming to London - how can I not??

Oh look!

Dandy-lion siamese twins!

OM

It's a beautiful day.  The sun is out.  I did yoga this morning while listening to the Gayatri Mantra.  I heard about this mantra from my yoga teacher.  We don't chant it in class, but she wrote about it on her blog. 

Ever since I first heard monks chanting at a Buddhist funeral in Thailand, I've been in love with chants.  It's been a secret, shy sort of love.  I've felt all sorts of emotions about chanting - from awe to a deep sense of peace and joy to worrying that I'll look or sound silly if I follow suit to wondering if it's too close to that dangerous edge of euphoria-seeking singing that I did when I was a born again Christian, many many moons ago (the answer to the latter is, I think, that it can be - it all depends on what you cling to).  So I've never really chanted much.  Sometimes at the beginning and/or end of yoga classes, sometimes by myself at home, sometimes while listening to cds.  The most I chanted was when I was heavily pregnant with Jake and I was battling with my own fears, an unsupportive midwife and the stony face of the hospital when I decided to have a home birth.  In those last few weeks, I listened to chants of Om Mani Padme Hum constantly.  I love that that chant is sung.  That particular chant is said to invoke a Buddha of Compassion and it made me feel calm and helped me to believe that everything was going to be okay.  Sounds cheesy, but it helped.

Last night I did indeed watch Eat Pray Love.  It wasn't quite as cheesy as I was expecting it to be.  In fact as a film adaptation, I think they did the best they could with it.  It was already two hours long and yet felt like they'd condensed far too much for my liking, making a lot of difficult issues seem too simplistically resolved.  All that aside, the middle part of the film, when she goes to India, reminded me of my love of chants and this morning I did a random search for chants on youtube. 

I came across the Gayatri Mantra and reread what Hayley wrote about it on her blog.  I love the idea that it came out of a situation that began with a tortured moment.  That enlightenment can come even when you are trying to bash your head in with a rock.

Then I listened.  It's really beautiful.  I've been listening and teaching it to myself, and singing it all morning.  Even when I stop, I can still hear it going on in my heart.  And yes, it has been giving me a deep sense of peace and joy.  (And made me realise that peace and joy go together, or that joy seems to arise naturally out of peace).  Anyway, I just wanted to share it because even if you don't believe or believe in something else or are cynical about all things spiritual, there is something beautiful about singing a song with all your heart.  For a start, it's a wonderful way to Be.  And why not a song to invoke enlightenment that is thousands of years old.

What to do when you have 48 hours to spare...

Paul and Jake are away for the weekend.  Jake's visiting his "grandma and dad with white hair on" (as opposed to the grandma and dad he only sees through the computer). 

It's the first time I've had two whole days and nights to myself in...well, forever.  Some people have been asking me what I'm gonna do. 

So! What are your plans? 
Uh....writing? 
What, all weekend?
Um, yeah.  Sort of.
Aren't you gonna go out?
I have been out.  The garden IS out.

Ok, so my social skills might be in decline.  Big fat hairy balls.  If it makes you feel better, I will not be spending any much time on Facebook.  And, I really did spend 40 minutes sitting in the garden today.  Just sitting and being in the sun. It was bliss. I had my eyes closed for most of the time, just listening. I find it's easier to listen-observe than look-observe without thoughts and words interfering, without the need to identify and name. 

I've also factored in some time with Maggie O' Farrell, a chick flick (possibly Eat, Pray, Love - despite the fact that it is bound to be "cheese on toast" as my yoga teacher so wonderfully put it), and Pistachio kulfi.  No one needs to know that Maggie is a book.  Don't ask, don't tell.  Oh, and there are also some (dancing) prawns waiting for me, right this minute. Yes, dancing. And they're Mexican. Ok?

Sooooo....What am I writing?  How nice of you to ask.

Well....remember the Fiction Project I mentioned a few months back?  (The arthouse co-op website is being remodeled at the moment, so I don't have a link for you.)  It's the one where I had ooodles of time to fill a themed notebook (with words AND pictures!) then post it to New York by May 1st?  I don't know if I happened to mention that I signed up to complete two notebooks, but that is indeed what I have done. 

I've finished one (Nighttime Stories) and had just about decided that there was no way I was going to finish the second one (Jackets, Blankets and Sheets) on time, since I didn't even have any ideas on how to fill it.  Then I had the stroke (of inspiration).  I know, I thought, I'll write 26 24 micro stories (250ish words, maybe more), each beginning with a specific letter, each written to a random prompt and each mentioning a jacket, blanket or sheet.  Fandabydosy right?  YEAH!!!! 

Well, I've written 8 stories so far.  Not all today I might add.  Today I've managed two.  TWO!!!!  Did I mention the deadline is May 1st?  Except, that's a Sunday so really it's April 31st though the post offices are only opened for half a day on Saturday, so really, it's April 28th to be on the safe side, since there's some big shebang happening on the 29th and the post offices will inconveniently be shut.  Uh huh....better get to it then!*

In the meantime, I leave you with my cover for Nighttime Stories.

*If I somehow manage to write them all, I will post them on my blog - one a week for 24 weeks.  There you go, something to look forward to ;-)

No one told me mothers aren't omnipotent

In the last 24 hours...

Jake has learned a lot about my limitations as a mother. In the playground yesterday, he wanted to go home with strangers.

An unusually friendly and cheerful woman had come up to us and said hello to Jake, trying to get her son to make friends. We chatted a bit then her boys took her off to another bit of the playground. Even though Jake was his usual shy self when meeting new people, as soon as she left, he asked where she’d gone and then demanded that I bring her back.

“Mummy, want go bring lady here to talk to Jake! Mummy, go DO IT NOW!!!”

What do you say to something like that?

“Mummy can’t ask complete strangers to do whatever you want” was clearly the wrong answer because it was followed by this:

“Yes you CAAAAANNNNNNN!” and then eventually….

“MUMMY! DON’T make me grumpy!!” complete with wagging index finger.

Since Mummy was clearly incompetent, Jake decided to follow the woman and her boys to another part of the playground, but wasn’t quite brave enough to go up to them. I managed to distract him and we played happily for a whole half hour.

Then, as they were leaving, he piped up, “Oh no! They’re going!!” They overheard and waved at us, saying goodbyes and nice to meet you’s. Jake started getting really upset, saying, “No!!!! I want go wiv them!!!” and then when he realised that wasn't going to happen, he kept on waving over and over, waiting for the lady to notice and wave back. She didn’t.

~

This morning, we were woken by the door buzzer. I ran downstairs to answer it just at the moment that Jake woke up, screaming that he wanted to come too. I asked him to stay put, but he wasn’t having it. He ran down the stairs after me screaming, arriving just as the Parcel Force van was pulling away and I was shutting the front door. He grabbed the door handle, opened the door and literally screamed in RAGE because the van was pulling away. God knows what the neighbours thought I was doing to him.

After the feral scream came this:

“Make man come back Mummy!!!! I want man come back NOW!!!!”

When that wasn’t forthcoming, he grabbed the parcel out of my hands and put it outside, on the front door step, demanding that it stay OUTSIDE.

I didn’t know what to do so I left him to it, hoping he would calm down. He did, following me into the kitchen with the parcel, after having shut the front door. But then as soon as he saw me, he started wailing about the parcel being HIS and how it was his birthday and the parcel was his present. He continued to cry even though I wasn’t even trying to take the parcel away or tell him otherwise.

We then had an hour where he made constant demands and said no to everything I said, even when I was agreeing with him, interspersed with him telling me to do such and such NOW! even when I was right in the middle of doing said thing.

So, perhaps it wasn’t surprising that soon after this, we had a role reversal and I had a meltdown over the computer doing something weird. He watched me for about 5 minutes while I tried to figure out what had happened and how to fix it. Then he said, “Mummy, do you need a cuddle?” which was just what I needed and we had a lovely cuddle together and then I resumed trying to fix the computer and it didn’t work and I got annoyed and he said, “Mummy, do you need a cuddle again?!?!”

Since then, we’ve both had numerous grumpy shouty tantrums (one of which was a tussle over the mouse during a cbeebies computer game where Big had to try and brush Small’s teeth with foaming hot pink toothpaste and another was about a hole in my cardigan) followed by numerous apologies (offered on both sides) and cuddles. At one point, I retreated to the kitchen to eat chocolate. Then brought some out to Jake, to which he replied, “Oh! Chocate for Jake! Thank you.” A moment of calm before the storms resumed.

During one of my tantrums, I happened to shout jism. Shortly after that, Jake said, “Mummy do you want to eat jism?” whereupon I dissolved into hysterical laughter. I’m pretty sure that hysteria is where I’ll be resting comfortably for the rest of the day.

(Incase you’re wondering where my mindfulness was in all of this, I have two answers for you: 1) JISM, 2) Hysterical laughter)

Being & non-doing

It's harder to be than I thought it was.  That's what I'm finding.  I try not to judge, try not to react by lashing out at myself.  Try instead to just bring my attention back to the moment, or to my breath.  Stringing together moments of mindfulness.  It may be obvious, but trying to be mindful doesn't mean you suddenly become a different person - whole, holy, no longer flawed, no longer human.  It doesn't mean you cease to be you, or that you have to try desperately to be someone else.  And yet, what I notice is that I have this expectation that I must be different, better.  Even though mindfulness is about being who you are right now, accepting that.  But that's always been part of me, feeling like I must be better.  That whoever I am is not enough.  Taking up mindfulness practice brings this acutely to my attention.  And kindly gives me an alternative to hating what I see. 

I've stopped keeping my praise lists.  Not because I've stopped being grateful or stopped trying, but because the focus on my making the list was getting in the way of the reason why I was doing it in the first place.  It became one more thing I had to do, and so I stopped.  I am trying to focus on feeling whatever I feel, and seeing if praise naturally comes out of that instead. 

This is a struggle.  I wonder if I am failing somehow, not being able to keep to a practice that is good for me.  But I need to let go of shoulds.  And know that I'm not going to fall apart if I don't keep such a tight grip on all those things I'm supposed to be doing.  And sitting and being with whatever comes.

I haven't stopped writing stones, but I am deliberately not sharing them all because the process of writing the stone, crafting it, polishing it and then sharing it was getting in the way of my moments of stopping and looking.  If I know that I'm not writing stones to be seen, to be commented upon, then the process of stopping and looking will once again be the important focus, and not how the stone might be received.  But if I happen to want to share one, then I will.  Like this one...


Watching cherry blossoms fall, I step quietly over my wounds.

Being

The weather's getting warmer, spring is here, summer's on its way.  On Friday, Jake and I spent four hours out on the marshes.  So, I'm feeling like I need to spend more time just being, and being with my little guy, and more time outside.  So there's going to be less blogging.  Of course, it's probably gonna pour with rain tomorrow, but two entries every day was probably a bit much anyway. 

8th April ~ stones

apple trees abandoned of blossom
branches left with exposed stamens
bunches of bursting stars

~

the slender reflection of a coot
as it stretches its neck
towards the ripple
of Jake's pebble

8th April ~ praise for

New blooms everywhere ~

The multitude of daisies covering the grassy banks of the nature reserve ~

The cormorants we saw all day – flying here and there, perched on their nests, and the one we saw up close – taking a swim and sunning itself ~

The reddish flutter of a butterfly I later learned was a Comma ~

The presence of grass snakes on the marsh (I saw one swimming in a ditch) They are rare now and are considered a vulnerable species ~

This time, this age – when it is perfect joy to collect pebbles to throw into water from a bridge, to hear and see the splash ~

The lovely time Jake & I had at the café near Springfield Park, having the most delicious wholemeal tuna baguette, sharing a Calippo and chips and just being together ~

The friendly Indonesian lady from the next table who came over to say hello and have a chat (even though Jake refused to look at her or speak to her) ~

The tiny pink boat someone had made out of a used carton and some card that was floating down the canal ~

The grey heron in the water under the railway bridge (which flew off just before I could get my camera in position) ~

7th April ~ a stone / poem

stuffing snow foam down Jake’s top
I catch the scent of a free sample
I’d sprayed earlier, on my wrist
It conjures up a row of steel grey
matriarchs, sitting in pews
in florid horrors and paper skin
made superior by Elizabeth Arden

it makes me feel how far I am from that
rolling around on the floor
letting my toddler get a fistful of bra
for snow foam revenge
but every time I sniff
there they are again

faint now
but still hanging around

I feel a rant coming on...

Remember when I started all this gratitude/praise business and I said I knew there would be days when I wasn’t going to be feeling very grateful? Well here I am.  Today, I'm not feeling very grateful. Today I’d really rather rant about all the crappy things that got to me, especially about the stupid meltdown tantrums Jake and I had because we were both tired and because I personally, even though it is only April and I’ve been longing for warm weather all winter and it’s finally here and it's been sunny and beautiful and not even 20 frickin’ degrees, found the heat a bit too much today. So, I’m feeling just a little pathetic. How the hell am I gonna cope with summer when I can’t even deal with spring??

And as to writing stones, sure I have a nice one, a pretty poetic one, but the moment where I felt most painfully awake today was when I was trying to lie down and Jake was screaming his head off because he didn’t want me to. Just before, he’d been in a tizzy where one minute he wanted to go out and the next he didn’t. One minute he screamed at me to close the front door and then he screamed at me when I did. I told him if he didn’t stop screaming, I would go upstairs. He didn't stop.  I could feel myself getting worked up and needed to leave the room, so I went upstairs and tried to lie down and he followed me, wailing. When he found me on the bed with my glasses off, he came in and tried to make me put my glasses back on and I was holding his arms and trying to stop him because he kept jabbing them into my eyes and then, when he saw that I’d closed my eyes, I could feel his fingers on my eyeballs, trying to prise open my lids. And then he screamed at me to sit up, and went and sat where I’d been lying and pushed his feet against my back and kicked me and every time I turned around, he shouted and pushed at my back or my face to turn back again, shouting at me to not look at him. Then he threw my glasses at my back and some sharp bit jabbed me and I turned around and slapped him on his leg and he cried even louder and said, “Don’t hit me, don’t hit Jake!” and I felt like such a complete shit because it’s the one thing I’ve never done, have vowed never to do and there I was, being a complete hypocrite.

I’ve been reading a lot about mindfulness and meditation practices in Buddhism and in that moment, I could hear a voice saying, “Try to be mindful about whatever you’re feeling” and I could hear myself arguing back, “I don’t want to be mindful, I want to punish myself because that’s what I deserve.” “How will that help?” was the answer I got. I didn’t have a response to that. So Jake and I sat in silence and then I apologised to him and as always, whenever I say sorry to him for shouting, sorry to him for being mean, he holds out his arms and asks for a cuddle. I’d like to tell you that was the end of it, but neither one of us had had the nap we needed, so more grumpiness and shouting ensued, and then later, the smearing of yoghurt on my face and a fracas involving a roaring dinosaur head with snapping teeth. But no more hitting.

So now that I’ve ranted, do I try squeezing something to praise about, out of my day? Yes, the voice says. And make it 15 squeezes rather than your usual 10.

It has been positive you know, taking the time each day to sit and think about what I have received, what I have. It’s made life feel richer, and has made me happier – not dwelling so much on negatives. That’s not to say that I don’t ever feel anything bad anymore (obviously) – that would be ridiculous, but lately, I haven’t felt overshadowed by those feelings, they’ve been given perspective and for that well, I’ve been very grateful. I am grateful. So, here are the things I’ve appreciated / praised / feel happy for today…


A blossoming rosemary bush ~

Scrambled eggs with baby plum tomatoes and feta cheese ~

The fact that they sell gourmet jelly beans in Holland & Barrett ~

The sight of Jake laughing when I went to pick him up at nursery, even though he wasn’t with his key worker (whom he adores) but someone new, doing their placement ~

Getting to share Jake’s Calippo with him (eating what he left while pushing him on the swings) ~

The sunshine – even if it made me feel pathetic when I went out in it ~

Horse chestnut blossoms ~

Jake always forgiving me when I say sorry and having a cuddle ~

Jake singing, “I’ve got the choi choi choi choi down in my fart, down in my fart, down in my fart…” (original version is joy, heart) ~

The lovely man in the Londis who always gives Jake presents – today there was the snapping dinosaur head, and instead of his usual quiet shyness, Jake had a little chat with him about it. (I feel the need to point out that it is the man behind the counter, who keeps freebies aside for the little kids who come in with their parents, not just some random bloke hanging around giving presents to children on the sly) ~

Longer days (last night, I looked out the window at 7:38pm and it wasn’t dark yet!) ~

My sun hat ~

Getting ideas for stories while riding the red elephant in the playground ~

John Siddique’s poem Born Here ~

After the afternoon we’ve had, and after writing all the above, rolling around on the floor with Jake, being a crocodile eating him up, stuffing snow foam down each other’s tops, loud, unabashed belly laughter ~

6th April ~ stone

still this feeling, on such a beautiful day, that there’s something I should be doing, though I can’t think what – make another list, write it out, write through it? Still that need to contain, control.  Just stop.  Lie on the floor in corpse pose, breathe.      Oh look at that - silver birch against blue sky. There are new leaves swaying in the wind. It is spring. Finally it is spring. Oh, it is here. Oh.  Is this my stone for today?  It feels like it, something tearing straight out of me.

Why do we/I try to do so much? When so much arises from doing less, from paring down, from being still in the fear of emptiness, the pain of it. So much arises. So much springs up, blooms. Despite ourselves. We don’t disappear, we don’t shatter. Every year, softness breaks through dark wood, each tiny petal – a whole season.

6th April - Praise for ~

A beautiful, warm day ~


Jake back at nursery calmly, though quietly ~

Cotton wool clouds in the sky ~

Bulging fat red tulips ~

Time to use as I wish! ~

A small tree full of thin branches popping with tiny white blooms (not apple blossoms, but tiny tiny flowers) ~

The impending possibility of red sandals and impractical but pretty summer dresses ~

Holby City on catch up ~

Looking for a poem to match the colour of the day, and finding one about war instead, because life’s like that ~

Sharon Olds’ poem, Free Shoes ~

5th April ~ a furry stone and some conversations

I go upstairs and find the long-legged bunny rabbit wearing Jake's baby sandals, the soft ones with the tractors on them. Rabbit's fur is sticking out the top of the shoes.
~

Paul: What were those apples you wanted?
Me: Pink Lady.
Paul: I prefer cox myself.
Me: That’s the first I’ve heard of it.
Paul: What?
Me: It’s the first I’ve heard of it, that you prefer cox.
Paul: Yup, English cox.
Jake: What did you say Daddy?

~

Paul: Oh look Jake, it’s raining outside.
Jake: Oh, yes.
Paul: That means we’ll have to go out later.
Jake: Do you want to jump in muddy puddles Daddy?

~

Paul: I’m going out soon Jake, remember?
Jake: No, Daddy don’t want go out.
Paul: But I do, I’m going to watch football with my friend.
Jake: I want come wiv you.
Paul: I don’t think you’d like it Jake, you’d have to sit still for two hours in the cold. And then, you’d have to sit for another two hours in the pub.
Jake: (Nodding) I want to do that now.

5th April ~ Praise for

Paul taking the day off so I could have some time for myself (Thanks Paul) ~

Jake doing the soggy juice dance (singing the soggy juice song which goes like this: soggy juice, soggy juice, soggy soggy juice while jigging head, elbows, hips and shoulders) ~

Jake taking his doll pram upstairs to the “train museum” with Daddy ~

Nostalgia trips courtesy of Nik Kershaw’s Wouldn’t It Be Good (thanks Na!) and Howard Jones’ Like To Get To Know You Well ~

“what is looooooooooove anyway, does anybody love anybody anyway, whoa, whoaaaaaaa, woah oooooooooh….” ~

Ah, you tube. ~

The joy of following your gut while editing a story (and hoping your gut is right) ~

The expressiveness of Jake’s eyebrows ~

Completing my 8th flash on Show Me Your Lits – whether said flash is pants or not ~

My friend the till monkey, for putting me onto Show Me Your Lits and Duotrope's Digest – without which I wouldn’t be flashing every week, submitting work or had my recent pieces published ~

4th April ~ small stone / poem

Thai lukthung music takes me to a dark
air-conditioned restaurant
the taste of fried beef

the sound of Thai awakens
the dormant shapes
my mouth once knew
how to make

the almost familiar patterns
my body yearned
to know
unfurl from my spine
and snake through my hips
as I close my eyes
and dance

not the Thai way
but the only way
I know
now

4th April ~ Praise for

Jake mumbling in his sleep, “Mummy I need a cuddle”~

The 30 minutes I took to do yoga (and the cuddles Jake gave me during it) ~

“The Journey” by Mary Oliver (I’m reading a poem a day as part of National Poetry Month) ~

Making Jake smile ~

Greek salad & prawns for lunch ~

Mr Bloom’s Nursery (filed under things that shouldn’t work but do) ~

Music from The Sound of Siam cd ~

Teaching Jake to say Sawadee Krup (a Thai greeting) and him being able to say it after a few attempts come out as D-cup! ~

Finding snippets of time throughout the day to edit a short short while Jake kept himself entertained ~

Each breath ~

"The great work of awareness..."

"Nisargadatta: By being with yourself...by watching yourself in daily life with alert interest, with the intention to understand rather than to judge, in full acceptance of whatever may emerge, because it is there, you encourage the deep to come to the surface and enrich your life and consciousness with its captive energies.  This is the great work of awareness; it removes obstacles and releases energies by understanding the nature of life and mind.  Intelligence is the door to freedom and alert attention is the mother of intelligence."  - Nisargadatta Maharaj, I Am That

(As quoted in Jon Kabat-Zinn's Wherever You Go, There You Are)
                                  

3 April - small stones

through the playground
the smell of grilled
fish
and new rubber

~

Jake climbs up and flies
down the slide
one hand holding
an invisible teacup

3 April ~ Praise for

A Sunday morning lie-in ~

The pleasure of Jake’s company ~

The little girl in the playground that Jake took a shine to ~

Positive, supportive comments about my story ~

An ice cream cone wrapped in gold paper without labels ~

Jake holding a clementine to his chest and saying, “Boobies!!” ~

The film “The Malta Story” which I accidentally caught this morning ~

My shallot and aubergine omelette turning out nicely ~

The heart shaped sticker containing a smiley pig that Jake just stuck to my shirt ~

This paragraph from Sharon Salzberg’s book Faith ~ Trusting your own deepest experience:

“As we open to what is actually happening in any given moment, whatever it is or might be, rather than running away from it, we become increasingly aware of our lives as one small part of a vast fabric made of an evanescent, fleeting, shimmering pattern of turnings. Letting go of the futile battle to control, we can find ourselves rewoven into the pattern of wholeness, into the immensity of life, always happening, always here, whether we’re aware of it or not.” ~

The Mother's Day card Jake drew for me - with lovely misshapen balloons drawn round the border ~

2 April ~ Praise

Jake waking up happy ~

Jake standing on the pavement with his sunglasses on upside down, waving goodbye to me, not wanting to stop till I walked away from the window ~

discovering that my short story recently published in State of Imagination is in the same issue as a story written by the editor and founder of one of the most well-respected online literary magazines out there (my response when I found out?  HOLY F**K!!!) ~

Hayley's magic yoga class ~

finding edamame ~

being bought toasted corn snacks ~

being able to treat myself to (responsibly sourced) jumbo prawns thanks to a build up of nectar points, which were delicious stir fried with ginger and garlic.  The prawns weren't bad either. ~

when Jake heard yoga made my back better, his face lit up and he immediately asked for cuddles (I've been telling him lately that I can't carry him because my back hurts) ~

the sweet crisp iceberg lettuce leaves in my salad ~

"Black Snake" by Mary Oliver ~

2 April ~ Small wet stone

Jakey's ghost
skulks through long grass bent by wind
through a lane of dandelion flowers
he sniffs and stops
his hind legs drop and
his wee draws a circle
on the pavement

Pecking Order at State of Imagination

Issue 2 of the online zine State of Imagination is now up.  (And I'm in it!!)

Go take a gander...

One week later

One week away and we come back to apple trees in full bloom...

My writing up at The Pygmy Giant

Needle & Thread - a non-fiction piece I wrote is now up at The Pygmy Giant.

Go read it and maybe weep, maybe not.

Small stone

on the way to counselling
buds on trees in shadow
remind me of shrapnel
metal wounds blossoming
from flesh

~

I'm off on holiday tomorrow for a week.  See you on the other side.

23 March ~ Praise

The warm and sunny day

Being able to wear my spring coat

Our laundry hanging out to dry in the garden

The beauty of everything budding, the anticipation of blossoming

Paul taking the morning off work so I could go to counselling

My counsellor asking if I want to come twice a week (not because she thinks I’m not coping, but because she thinks I’m on the brink of something)

Discovery of a local Buddhist meditation group

Jake napping

An aisle full of honey in the International Supermarket, some jars containing chunks of hive

The work of bees

~
 
Does 10 things seem like a lot?  Does it seem excessive?  Does it seem like I'm showing off?  I wonder about these questions as I've been posting these lists.  But I'm reminded of something Fiona said in one of the exercises on Praise - to think of someone in your life, whether you know them well or not, whether you like them or not, and list 10 reasons why you are grateful to them. And if you struggle, think of 15. 
 
Why should finding 10 things to be grateful for / to praise each day be too much?  Is it because there is a shame in being "too happy"?  Is it because underneath it all is a feeling of not deserving to be happy?  There is something very British about grumbling and finding solidarity in moaning about something.  Being happy or showing it is almost looked on with suspicion, almost as being "too American".  I feel all of these things as I make my lists and post them.  So much so that I wonder if I shouldn't post them at all, but keep them to myself.  Because it makes me feel exposed.  But then again, if I'm not willing to take any risks about revealing myself, then why do I blog.  Why do I take courses like Writing as a Spiritual Practice?  Why do I go to counselling?  Why do I write?

22 March ~ Praise

The arrival of a book, a gift from a friend who cares

The kind postman who said have a good day and meant it

Turmeric & honey in my kitchen, a simple, ancient remedy for colds

Jake snoring on the sofa, breathing easier, through his nose

A phone call from another friend who cares

Rectangles of light on the floor, so I could lie in the sun

The view of blossoming cherry trees out our bathroom window

The way the see-through handle of a toothbrush captures and reflects crystal white light

Aubergine & chickpea stew

The refuge of bed

21 March ~ things I am grateful for (before puking, please read the post that precedes this - if you still feel like puking, then go ahead)

A piece of my writing, accepted for publication

Two of our neighbours, stopping to talk to Jake, and finding him charming, even though he pretended he was invisible and refused to look at them

A tube of hand cream for £1

Paul coming home early and making me a celebratory cup of tea

Dinner cooked for me

A heart-shaped anya potato, eaten with a smear of butter

Tempeh perfectly fried in soy sauce

Tenderness offered in an embrace, easier than I imagined

Words that open up possibilities

Praise ~ reasons to be grateful (don't panic - this is NOT a reverb10 flashback!)

It's the last week of my Writing as a Spiritual Practice Course.  I haven't written a great deal about the course as it's progressed.  Mainly because it's been hard to articulate how it's affecting me.  It is so personal and requires a lot more exploration, but I do want to write about this.

This week's topic is Praise.  This word has uncomfortable connotations for me.  It reminds me of the days when I was mired in fundamentalist Christianity and praising God was a given, something one had to do - visibly, vehemently, loudly, in order to prove what a good Christian you were.  Not praising God, not being grateful for every little blessing was so frowned upon, that I hid all my doubts and fears and negative feelings even from myself.  I'd had plenty of practice in doing so, so it wasn't new to me.  But over time, it came to bother me.  The need to always be in that place of euphoric exultation, the way that praising God became a way of proclaiming one's own rightness, one's own superiority over others who did not believe, or did not believe as fervently as you. 

Even away from fundamentalist Christianity or any religion or set of beliefs that demands rigid blind obedience, the concept of gratefulness has always well, grated on me.  Because it was something that was always forced down, from the outside, usually from parents or relatives who delighted in telling you how wicked you were for being ungrateful.  The hypocritical insincerity of it has always made me suspicious, and rightly so.

So I was relieved to be given a new way of thinking about praise, of being offered the possibility of having a different relationship with it.  Without regurgitating the whole of Fiona's essay on the subject, in a nutshell, praise is offered as an alternative to blame.  As human beings, we blame all the time when things don't go as we want them to - from the little things to the big things.  We blame others or ourselves or both.  And even though it may feel justified and absolutely right to do so, blaming does not change the situation, doesn't offer solutions or ways through it.  Holding on to blame means you hold on to hostility, anger, uneasiness, anxiety.  You hold on to suffering.  The suggestion is that you don't have to.  Of course this is easier said than done.  Knowing this doesn't mean you can practice it.  But being aware of it is a start.  And maybe the next time something happens, even something trivial that upsets you, and you blame yourself or someone else, you might remember that you don't have to.  You might remember that you don't have to slap yourself (literally or metaphorically) for not being perfect.  You might remember that you're human and that no blame is necessary.  You might be able to let it go. 

One way of practicing this letting go of blame, is to find things to praise in your life, things to be happy and grateful for.  But not in a rigid, I must do this because someone else told me I should kind of way.  This is tricky, because if you feel particularly resistant to it, then it might mean that it's something you could really benefit from.  But, how to reconcile that with not just doing what you're told?  I don't know.  But maybe there's a way, a middle ground you can start from, even if that middle ground is a patch that is only a few square inches wide.  If, however, this becomes an exercise in resentment, then stop. 

I'm writing about this because it's a practice I want to embrace.  The way writing small stones has helped me to see more clearly and keep me grounded and connected with something bigger than myself.  Because this resonates with me:

"Praise helps us to remember how interconnected we all are, and how much we receive in every moment.

It helps us to stay humble - to escape from the tyranny of me me me.  It reminds us that we need less than we think we do. 

If we can find enough to praise, we will want to offer something in return - to give something to others, and to the world.

If these noble reasons aren't enough, then listen to Mary Oliver*.  Holding an attitude of praise makes us feel amazing.  It kills us with delight."     - from Fiona Robyn's essay on Praise

*"Every day I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight."

The reason I'm writing all this?  I'm adding another practice to my repertoire.  In addition to writing a small stone every day, I will also be making a list of things I have received which I am grateful for.  In doing so, I acknowledge that there will be days when I don't feel very grateful, when I struggle to see what I have received.  Maybe those days will be a signal to me, to look deeper, or to ease up a bit, to try and find what's blocking me, what's getting in the way of seeing, or maybe to stop looking so hard.  Maybe I will be able to see through it.  Maybe I won't.  Maybe the best I can hope for on those days is that I might be able to sit with whatever I'm feeling, without judgement.

I named this blog the heartful blogger so many years ago.  It came about because the name I wanted to give to the blog, the artful blogger (tacky pun on artful dodger) was taken.  So heartful came to me instead.  It has always made me feel a little phony and pretentious - because it's something I wish I could be rather than something I believe I am. 

This week, reading about mindfulness, I came across the phrase heartfulness.  It was used to describe the attitude of mindfulness - of paying attention without judgement, in a gentle, nurturing way.  I don't know why, but it surprised me.  That it's okay to be this way, gentle and nurturing towards the self. 

So, this practice of praise is maybe an attempt, a step I'm taking, towards that heartfulness.

Some stones

he sleeps
his small feet in grey socks
like birds
huddled together

~

the whole day
my head in a book
a different way of seeing
unspoken truth
catching in my throat
choking me on its way out

~

Oscar sits across the street
his white tipped paws lined up
we wave, call his name
He twitches
but doesn't wave back

~

I lie down
on rectangles of light
letting the sun
seep into my skin

In the kitchen

a turquoise bowl
on the floor
pebbles in pools
on the counter

between the bowl
and the counter
the story
of small hands at work

Letting go

This is what happens when you let go of your need to keep that box of gouache paints you bought nearly a year ago pristine and unopened and let your toddler play with them simply because he wants to.

Gouache rocks!  Depending on how much water you use, it takes on a texture like acrylics or watercolour.

The top one is Jake's painting.  I love that it looks like a bird-breathing dragon.  The bottom one is mine.  Both were happy accidents, just playing with the paint with no end result in mind.  I used to think I didn't like painting, because I was so focussed on not being able to do it well.  Sod that!  I enjoy it so much when Jake and I are just playing.  Long may that continue.

What are zebra crossings for?

Two posts in one day?  Oooh, what a treat.  Lucky for you, I was verbally accosted today and feel the need to share...

Earlier, both arms laden with heavy grocery bags, I stood at a zebra crossing and waited. Cars don’t always stop just cos they’re supposed to. One finally did. Normally, I’d lift a hand up to say thank you. This time, my hands weren’t free. So I just walked across as quickly as I could. After I got to the other side, the driver shouted as he pulled away, “Say thank you, don’t you have manners?!” So I shouted back, “It’s a zebra crossing you wanker!”

Now if he’d said his piece while I was actually crossing in front of him, I could have stopped, put my grocery bags down, lifted a hand up / got my semaphore flags / I AM EVER SO GRATEFUL placard / megaphone out and said THANK YOU KIND MAN. But he didn’t. He waited until I was already on the other side of the road with my back to him before trying to teach me a lesson.

Funny thing is, a few months ago, I was waiting at the same zebra crossing when at least three cars sped by without stopping. Finally, one speeding car slowed down to stop, so I stepped onto the crossing. After I safely got to the other side, the driver shouted (as he was driving away), “Watch yourself, next time you could get yourself killed!” So I shouted back, “What do you think zebra crossings are for?!” In retrospect, I see where I went wrong. Such a question may have left a bit too much ambiguity for him to handle.

I don’t drive, so maybe there’s something I’m missing here. But – if you drive and you resent having to stop at zebra crossings so much it makes you shout at strangers, then don’t. Just give in to the impulse to drive on. Because most pedestrians can stand waiting a few minutes to being shouted at by ass-fungus.

Conversations with a toddler

I hand Jake a rich tea biscuit. He makes a dunking action with it, into an invisible cup of tea.

“Where’s my cuppa tea Mummy? For punkin?”


~

Jake asks me to please get the finger out for him. The big finger in Ni room. I go and see what he means. He points to a small Persian carpet my parents gave me a few years ago. One we rolled up and put away when he was a baby and spat up everywhere. I tell him it’s a carpet and ask him what he wants to do with it. “Want to dance on it,” he says. I smile because it’s the best reason I’ve heard yet to have a carpet. I lay it out for him and he dances across it saying, “Munch munch munch, munch munch munch. Come on Mummy, Come on Daddy, munch!” It takes a few minutes before I realise he’s marching.

~

Reading Winnie the Pooh. Pooh has gone to visit Rabbit and has eaten so much honey, he gets stuck on his way out of Rabbit’s burrow and has to be pulled out. “Pooh has to be pulled out!” I say to Jake. Jake says, “He done wee wee in pants?”

~

I’m eating soup. Jake runs up to me and says, “Mummy, have you wet your pants?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have.”
“No, I haven’t. I always own up when I wet my pants and this time, I really haven’t.”
“YES you have!! You wet your pants!!”

Sigh.

Some stones from the week

It's been a crap-infested, germ-filled week, with a nice juicy gum abscess thrown in just for fun.  Jake is all better now, Paul is hopefully on his way to being on the mend and my abscess popped by itself.  So there you go - it passes.  But it still sucks.  And I'm sharing it with you because this week on my Writing as a Spiritual Practice course we've been looking at clear-seeing.  And that means not editing out the nasty bits.  Lucky you!

And now, some stones from the week...

uneven ground
graves fixed on a sea
of broken earth
a bed of blue pebbles
disturbed
gaudy plastic blooms
tilt and bob in the wind

later, I pass a newsagents
a sign reads
All Spirits on Offer
I imagine walking in
and coming out
with a new companion
sticking to my coat

~

a week of sunny mornings
today
a paler shade of blue

~

new flecks of colour
join the crowd
in Clive & Eileen’s window box
English bluebells
Spanish bluebells
Lilac tipped freesia

~

Love, death, daffodils

~

Dad writes to tell us of a death of a friend, quiet and peaceful after a long illness and Alzheimer's, someone I used to call Uncle even though he was not.  I send my condolences and Dad replies, "it is one example where being dead is better than being alive."  It reads cold, but Dad's love has always been practical.

Some stones from the week

a pair of geese fly over the school
calling as they go
in the space above their wings
a break in the clouds
circle of blue sky

~

passing a bush of vermillion
pausing to look
not berries but flowers

~

last night
Jake unzipped his starry pyjamas
and stepped out of them
then lay down and placed
the soles of his feet
on his cheeks
then got up and danced
in circles round the table
looking up as he did so
his face watching
for my smile

~

listening, sinking and floating back up again

~
And...

A tiny little girl ties flowers to her wrists and bees come round to adorn her
All the time spent dreaming is never lost
Dreams come back through the bells of trumpeting horns
Souls lost out in the ether of death
come back wise in the eyes and the arms of newborns

Hearts can’t help but sing
Can’t help but ring

- From Ether Sings, by Laura Veirs (Carbon Glacier)

This post was going to have a fancy title on howling and how Allen Ginsburg ain't got nothing on toddlers but things don't always go according to plan

Never mind hubris, vanity, greed. Humanity’s actual tragic flaw is the ability to have a raging tantrum when your mother brings you a peanut butter bagel because you asked for it. Then, howling, refuse it and demand honey. And on being presented with honey, howl some more and scrape the offending honey off the very last bagel with your fingers and wipe it on the table. But don’t stop there.  As Mummy’s cleaning the table, hit her while howling at her to put the stains back. Just so there’s no confusion, the flaw here isn’t rage or untamed ego. It’s the temptation to commit infanticide. Might as well dangle a live chicken over a crocodile swamp.

To keep the chicken alive, I shut myself in the bathroom for a moment and opened the window.  It's a small window but it's a way out.  Cold air hit my face, dragging me back to February.  I breathe it in anyway and brace myself as I remember what I read last night in Fiona Robyn's e-book How To Write Your Way Home*, about why I've been writing every day for the last few months, what seeing and writing small stones actually means.  I opened my eyes.  At first - the same things I always see - the broken green plastic watering can, the puddle on top of Jake's overturned paddling pool, the roof of our shed, its skin peeling off in layers of black and grey.  To my left, the neighbour's garden.  A weathered wooden picnic table.  A patch of weeds.  An abandoned barbeque, still black with soot.  And then, a brick wall.  And growing out it, branches of buddleja.  Grey green leaves and last summer's browned flowers, still there, as if rusted in place.  The roots have made cracks in the wall.  And just like that, my mood shifted.

Even after I close the window, it is still there, growing under no one's gaze, according to no person's carefully drawn plans.  Somewhere else, a seed breaks open.  Somewhere else, a root pushes through and makes space.

This month I'm taking part in an e-course, writing as a spiritual practice.  I don't know what I'm going to blog about or how often.  I usually like to have a plan, to pretend to know what I'm doing.  This month my only plan is to do what feels right. 

* This e-book can be downloaded here for free. 

28th February ~ a small stone

another grey Monday
one too many
the aptness of
cake for breakfast

such perfect sponge
my mouth as well be
falling back into bed

~
I made red velvet cupcakes with chocolate frosting for Paul's birthday.  Totally vegan of course.  And it gives me hope.  Because it was, in my humble opinion, the best cake I've ever made. 

This morning I am bleary eyed from lack of sleep and Jake is fast recovering from his bug and is banging blocks on the table demanding my attention.  It's not quite working so now he's crying.  I don't know how much cake will be left by the end of the day.

Draw every day ~ February 28th

27th February ~ blood for a stone...

drops of food colouring
onto milk
red leeches out from red
veins from a pupil
a jug of disintegrating eyeballs

~

Draw every day ~ February 27th

26th February ~ almost a lack of stones...

sitting here stoneless
I turn to my right
and see the silver birch
blushing

the markings on its bark
a weathered face
one eye open
to the sunset

Draw every day ~ February 26th

25th February ~ a small stone

our Hiroshige calendar for February
bare snow laden trees
but outside our window
the first cherry blossoms

Draw every day ~ February 25th

Draw every day ~ February 24th

24th February ~ a small stone

eyes heavy from oversleep
the smell of a sodden nappy
a small boy’s demands for juice ~

steam rising from my first cup
all will be well

Draw every day ~ February 23rd

23rd February ~ a small stone

Rain darkened trunks on an avenue
of London Planes
In dampness
the patchy bark transforms
paper to peeling skin

Draw every day ~ February 22nd

February 22nd ~ a small stone

Jake pulls cds out and pushes them back in
slide-click, slide-click
stops at Daniel Johnston (Fear Yourself)
takes it off the shelf, opens it
a smiling skull on red
"Happy there," Jake says
flips it closed
a photo of Daniel asleep in a chair
"Not happy there"
Open, giggle
Flip, pause
Open, giggle
Flip
Daniel's dishevilled hair
his ample belly
his sleeping face
shut, click.

February 21st ~ a small stone

In the garden -
a ginger tabby
in a blue collar

from this distance
I momentarily forget
the impossible.

Draw every day ~ February 21st

Draw every day ~ 20th February

February 20th ~ a small stone

Reading the Sunday papers
that romantic past time
deflated
one fashion supplement too many
when did everything become
staged Lifestyle?

February 19th ~ a small stone

on the train to Brighton
for Claire’s birthday
champagne in plastic flutes
veggie sausage rolls
a toast, a song
and within 20 minutes
“clitoris”, “hairy nipples”, “tits”, “smeg”, “arse”

Sarah says, “I do not shave my armpits, I do not shave my legs”
“Is that a poem?”
someone interjects
sparking several compositions
about shaving
and sheds

Draw every day ~ February 18th

18th February ~ a small stone

dropped chicken doner
pitta bread stained with smears of red
even the pigeons leave it alone

Draw every day ~ February 17th

February 17th ~ a small stone

Lone swan flying
long arrow gliding
wings flowing on unseen currents

~

From my marsh walk with Jake.

February 16th ~ a small stone

A chorus of birds accompany a whiny saw solo reaching a crescendo. Outdoor DIY, a magpie with a branch in its beak, one tree sprouting dark red foliage on an avenue of bare ones. The coming of spring is ever more convincing.

Draw every day ~ February 15th

15th February ~ a small stone, and a few words on flashing

Daffodils

Sheathed green spears
tightly embraced buds
the promise of unfurling
into butter-yellow spring.

~

The eagle-eyed among you may have noticed that my posts are becoming shorter.  This is due to three things:

1) It's getting harder and harder to beat the toddler off the computer with a stick / promises of chocolate or even crisps.

2) I've started flashing.  Mainly between Sunday & Tuesday, but I find it's spilling into other days too, when I do practice flashing in preparation for the weekly parade.  It's okay, I've joined a great support group.  But it's taking up a lot of my time. 

3) I'm still doing the shitload of projects I impulsively signed up for way back when...the fiction project, drawing every day, stoning, shredding.  When will I learn?

February 14th ~ a small stone

Frying garlic, an alarm goes off in the street.  For a moment I think the garlic is shrieking, like lobsters in boiling water. 

~

The drawing I did today is appalling.  So I'm not posting it.  Suffice it to say, my mind was elsewhere.  In bed probably, where I should be now.  Night night.

February 13th ~ a small stone

Skyping Mum & Dad, we hear a wwhhhomp-wwhhhomp-wwhhhomp on the line. It repeats at regular intervals. My father says its construction work but it sounds closer, like it’s coming from one of us ~ the sound of a heartbeat through a monitor.

~

Draw every day ~ February 13th

Draw every day ~ February 12th

12th February ~ a small stone (in 100 words)

Making Jake’s jam toast, I notice a thicker blob being flattened by the knife.
I don’t look closely but file it away as a piece of strawberry.
When I hand Jake his plate, he inspects it and points ~
“What’s this Mummy, don’t like it.”
It’s just part of the jam Jake.
He looks at it again and hands me the plate.
“Don’t like it.”
Ok, I’ll take it off for you.

As I pick it off, I see it is the starry cap from the bottom of
the stem, darkened from green to black, looking like
a squished bug.

Draw every day ~ February 11th

I felt too cruddy to draw yesterday, so this was drawn today instead.  The control freak in me won out yet again in the need to label it as yesterday's, so there wouldn't be any gaps.  It's okay, I'm already in therapy.

February 11th ~ a stone

such relief, the sound of tiny snoring

~

And that's all I want to say today.

Draw every day ~ Feb 10th

10th February ~ ug!!!

aches and hot flushes
but I still have to be a Mum
(for at least half a day)
a mug of fevergrass tea
holds all my hopes

walking home in the rain
I wonder how it is possible
to be frustrated and enchanted in equal measure
by a small boy stopping to jump in every puddle
and pick up every stick and throw it in the stream
of water running along the sides of the road into the gutters
and running sticks along railings
oblivious to the wet in his shoes, socks, hair
and to his sick and tired Mummy
shouting “Come on Jake” a little too much

9th February ~ ooooh, a stone!

Listening to Mozart's minuet, symphony no. 39 in e-flat.  Goosebumps from my toes to my ears, knowing that Thomas Hardy heard this too, the very same notes.  Time travel on sound waves.

Concertgebouw Orchestra – Symphony No. 39 In E-Flat, K. 543: III. Minuet - Trio (link to Spotify)

Draw every day ~ February 9th



If I wanted to pretend that I was a serious artist, I could say that I left the object unshaded because I was making a deliberate statement about the ethereal nature of childhood.  (It's Jake's toothbrush).  But the truth is, I'm tired today and I was too lazy. 

9th February ~ a stone or not a stone (100 word question)

I’ve tried but it’s not happening today.  The eggshells in the bowl are just eggshells, holding nothing of my anticipation of buttery toast dipped in runny yolk, and the blue sky is just blue sky, indifferent to my dismay at another wall of grey this morning and my surprise when I looked up and it had changed.  Maybe this is a stone, a fully engaged moment where I feel my inability to engage.  Or maybe the engaging today is painful.  The flu-ey cold ache in my body dominates all.  It wants to drag me to bed and keep me there.

Draw every day ~ February 8th

I actually drew this today, but I'm anal, and because I missed a drawing yesterday, I felt the need to catch up and do two today and assign one of them to yesterday.  Welcome to my carefully categorised world.  I'm tired, and I think it shows in the drawing.

February 8th ~ a small stone (and 100 word diary)

Jake watches his shadow punch the air, carefree
delighted with himself, he turns to me with his mouth open
spilling out laughter

~

It's been a day of mixed blessings.  Gorgeous light, first sunny day since Thursday and I really wanted to take Jake out.  But we have both been tired-cranky-brittle and I haven't had the patience to be understanding about his toddlerdom, his frustrated hitting, his sudden loud crying when he doesn't get what he wants.  Although his naps are rare these days, he really needed one today.  After an hour and a half of cajoling / shouting / negotiating / persuading, he succumbed while I held him on my lap, his head falling onto my shoulder.  Finally too tired to resist.

Draw every day ~ February 7th

February 7th ~ small stones

A jewelled cross lies on the blue painted gate of the Baptist Church. It catches the light and sparkles. Someone has found it and placed it there to be rediscovered.

Jake looks up and stops. Big houses!! I follow his gaze and see a tuft of grass sprouting in a rain gutter. Against the blue sky, a floating island.

Draw every day ~ February 6th

Spot the mistake.  What happens when you don't pay attention.

6th February ~ 150 word diary made of stones

The first crocuses! Delicate purple petals shiver in the wind. I see them and squeak.

Eating my soft-shell crab maki rolls, I glance at the nature film being shown on a screen above our table. A scene of herons shifts to a mass of emperor penguins. I dip my maki roll into my soy sauce and wasabi and take a bite, looking up to see a fluffy grey penguin chick being pecked by a huge gull. The camera zooms in on the gull’s bloodied face and then to Momma Penguin lifting her beak to the sky. Even though the sound is muted, I can hear her keening.

At the Imperial War Museum, away from textbooks and movies and the Queen’s grave face on Remembrance Day, the carved metal and striped fabric becomes real. Even in polished, framed boxes, every medal becomes a story, the wounded skin of a person’s heart.

Draw every day ~ February 5th

5th February ~ 100ish word diary made of stones

There is no sky today, only cloud and dark grey light.
Although I know it isn’t pressing down, a part of me disagrees.

A small dog lies on green matting under a market stall. 
He trembles and the noises around us suddenly seem louder.

After yoga, such a tangible sense of space in my body
that I visualise it in a diagram, somewhere between the heart and lungs.

I forgot about the bubble wrap under the book on the floor.
Stepping on it lets off a noise like scatter-gun farts.
This time it makes me laugh.
Maybe because I feel lighter.

As I spread Marmite on Ryvita, I remember

kissing Jake's plump cheek, the taste of wet tear and peanut butter.

Draw every day ~ February 4th

My viewpoint: Hmmmm, my efforts at shading are not working very well, maybe I should leave these drawings unshaded.

Jake's viewpoint: Are you drawing fork Mummy?  Well done! (with applause)

There isn't much that feels better than that. :-)

4th February ~ a small stone (and some other stuff)

our silver birch tree has had a trim
I watched in anxiety as her witch’s hair was shorn
wanting to tidy a stray branch left straggling
wondering why I should feel bare

~
 
Today Jake and I watched a young man in a turquoise hard hat scale the silver birch trees on our street in order to give them trims. He had a rope and pulley system and special boots and his chain saw was hoisted up to him on a separate rope by his colleague. It was strange to see so much equipment used to scale a relatively skinny tree.

Last night on Human Planet, I watched in awe as a rainforest tribesman scaled a 100-ft tree to retrieve honey from hundreds of angry bees. He climbed up with his bare feet, using a single rope and a machete. He said, “When climbing big trees, you have to empty your heart of fear. If you have fear you will fall. Many good friends have fallen.” We also saw a group of children no older than 7 or 8 years old hunt enormous tarantulas and then cook them over an open fire as a snack.  What's normal depends entirely on what you are used to.

~

No shred today, did 40 minutes of yoga instead.  After the "Shanti practice", I added a core practice to my routine cos Jake was happily watching trains on you tube.  Thus ensued 7 minutes of the most hilarious attempts at "situ-ups" I've ever done.  Shiva Rea made them look graceful. I giggled through much of it, but definitely felt it.  I'm surprised at my response to all the ab work I've done this week.  I used to hate and dread it and always struggled through it, but this week I've enjoyed every single crunch - athletic or yogic, thrown at me. 
(100 word diary)

 

Draw every day ~ February 3rd

And here's my hunk of bread that looks like a brain. 

I now wish I hadn't coloured it in.  The tonal values are all wrong.  I wonder if it would've looked less brainy if I'd left it unshaded.

3rd February ~ small stones (my 1000th post!!)

long shadow of a lamp post
poised to take a photo
clouds erase my picture
~

thin shadows of reeds
reflect on water mirroring the sky but
a discarded can of Tennants spoils my poetic vision
~

A tall brown boxer walks by
Jake says, “Sad that doggy”
and turns his lips down in a perfect imitation

Draw every day ~ February 2nd

I was about to fill in some shadows so the leaf looks more like it does, but a certain little person saw it, said, "Oh look a leaf!" grabbed it and took it off somewhere.



2nd February ~ small stones

new shoots push through the earth
even under cloudy skies

broken glass from a mirror
leaves the shape of a gull’s head

a crow perches on the tail feathers
of a brass rooster weather vane

~

After a month of writing stones, I think I am just starting to understand what a small stone is.  Each time I compose one, I wonder if I'm "getting it right."  I've been very focussed on what I see, but have also been wondering if observation is more than that, some place between seeing and knowing.

Draw every day ~ February 1st

So the project I mentioned that I'm doing for February is drawing every day.  It grew out of my experience of writing stones and a desire to draw more.  The idea is to draw something ordinary that I see each day.  It is not about making beautiful or fancy creations.  I want to keep the drawings simple, to use minimal colour and to focus on what I see.  Because that process of seeing is meditative in the way that writing stones is and has been meditative, eye-opening, a way of being present and awake to the world. 

I will be using ink so that I can't rub out any mistakes.  Because the mistakes are part of the process, and the drawing will be a record of how I saw in that moment.

1st February ~ since I can't seem to stop writing stones...

...I'll continue to post them.  Here are some from today.
~

Jake's hair in morning light
neither my colour nor Paul's
~
green slashes on our hands and feet
aftermath of toddler creativity
~
one focussed boy
bright smears of paint
beautiful mess


The last stone was preceeded by Jake telling me to "go check something on 'puter Mummy ok?"  Since he's been so clingy (stalkerish) lately, I knew he was planning something "naughty" but I decided to let him have his space.  He was painting and I went and enjoyed an unexpected few moments of being on the computer without being harangued.  After 5 minutes of absolute silence from him, I heard the steady sound of water dripping onto the carpet.  So I went to have a look.

His paint pens were bobbing upside down in his water cup, which was now overflowing with blue water and was trickling over the rim, over his (gorgeously bright) painting (see photo below) and onto the carpet.  His hands were holding sodden tissues stained red.  He looked up at me with a big cheesey grin then went back to what he was doing.  I mopped up the puddles on the carpet, wiped away the excess water on the table then let him carry on.  He was just so happy, I didn't want to stop him.