First Snow

Sure, the world as we know it has been turned upside down since the super storm hit.

But there is still something magical about the first snow of the season. It blankets the earth in quiet, muffling the high-pitched sounds of sadness, guilt, loss, fear. And creates a fresh, clean canvas on which we can lay down new brushstrokes, and begin again.

Saturday

Summer went to waste. Cooped up indoors, sanity dependent on the non-stop hum of the dreaded air conditioner, I experienced the hot-weather equivalent of cabin fever. Hair and skin and hope wrung dry, I longed for September to come and save me.

And oh, was it worth the wait! A week's worth of crystal blue skies, curtains billowing in the breeze, sweaters tossed across shoulders, and flowers glowing in the bright sun, have erased all memory of summer's misery. And lured me outside to play.

Handle With Care

The project is called Liberate Your Art. And when I took the plunge last year and signed up to participate, it was all about that for me. Liberating my art from the confines of my studio and, for the first time in over 30 years, sharing it with the world.

Five post cards. That's all it is. Transferring an image that reflects where you are in your creative journey onto five small rectangles. Mailing them to the marvelous Kat Sloma. And waiting to receive five postcards from other artists in return.

But that's NOT all it is. Not for me, anyway. It's about courage. Being brave enough to tear off five tiny pieces of my soul, put them in an envelope, and send them to the mysterious Kat Sloma--a complete stranger.

It's about trust. Trusting that Kat will keep her promise to stamp them and put them in the mail. Trusting that she'll handle them with care, knowing what they represent. Trusting that, like those chain letters from my teen years, miniature works of art from five other courageous souls will magically appear in my mailbox. And trusting that each participant will hold the souls of the others in safe and supportive hands.

This year, in the absence of the fear and anxiety that accompanied last year's effort, I've realized that Liberate Your Art is also about something else. It's about connecting. Sharing. Being part of an incredible and inspiring creative community. The anticipation, the waiting to see what shows up next--and the "oh, wow!" as each treasure arrived--are like nothing I've ever experienced. And each card was like a voice in my ear saying, "Keep making space in your life for self-expression!"

That's the reason I decided to be part of this amazing project again. My deepest gratitude to Kat & to everyone who has shared their (he)art. Can't wait 'til next year!

Like Riding a Bike

No pressure. No promises. No uttering the “C” word. Just a short post about where I am right now.

In an effort to reconnect with the joy that has been my blogging raison d’être, I signed on for Susannah Conway’s e-course, Blogging from the Heart. This is week two, and our first writing assignment is to do just that. Write.

So this is where I am right now: exhausted and stressed and battling like hell not to give in to the urge to pull the covers over my head and stay in bed. All day. Every day.

And: excited by the prospect of re-immersing myself in the world of amaze, surprise & delight. Coming regularly to this place that celebrates what sustains me. And gives my life meaning. And gets me out of bed each day.

It’s just like riding a bike, right? You never forget how. No matter how long it’s been since you donned your helmet, put air in the tires, and took off down a shady, tree-lined path. In search of nothing more than what you encountered along the way.

It shouldn’t be that hard, should it?

Foolishness

I love a good joke and I love to laugh.

But April Fool's Day is one of those I'm-happy-when-it's-over holidays. Like New Year's Eve. And Halloween. The less thought and energy I put into them, the more quickly they'll pass.

So when this blog post by Jamie Ridler showed up in my Inbox this morning, it sort of caught me by surprise. Not because it contains information that I don't already know. But because it puts a fresh spin on what it means to be foolish. And it couldn't have come at a better time.

I've been taking myself and my work way too seriously lately, and it's taking a toll. If, like me, you've been struggling to find the light and joy in your day-to-day, Jamie's insights may resonate with you, too. Or at least remind you to be more open. As she says, the gift of letting go of knowing is the opportunity to learn.

Luck of the Irish

It's St. Patrick's Day, and Jim and I spent the afternoon on the boardwalk in Point Pleasant.

Please keep in mind that the date is March 17. This is the Jersey Shore we're talking about. And I wasn't wearing gloves.

There was no green beer. No Shepherd's Pie or corned beef & cabbage. No shamrocks pinned to our jackets. Instead of celebrating a saint I know nothing about, we celebrated the end of another dark, dreary winter with a few brisk rounds of Skee-ball, a bucket of hot, crisp french fries--perfectly salted--and our first-ever deep fried Oreos (they won't be or last!)

The sun felt amazing. And so did the sand between my toes as we stripped off shoes and socks and strolled along the beach. In the middle of March. Feeling lucky to be alive.

Daydream Believer

Davy Jones died yesterday. He was 66.

Whether you loved the Monkees or not, if you were alive in the 60's you knew who they were. I saw a clip on the news where Davy said the Monkees would live on for a very long time. That people underestimated the impact the band would have on people's lives. It would be easy to accuse him of believing the daydream a tad too much, but history has proven him right. For better or worse, the Monkees are woven indelibly into the fabric of pop culture and the hearts of the millions who loved them.

As for Davy, he kept the daydream going. Although the made-for-TV band was often accused of having no real talent, he built a career on singing the songs that fans knew by heart. Belting them out with joy and passion. By all accounts, he stayed cute until the end. And died while indulging in his other lifelong passion: tending to his racehorses.

Today is my birthday. I'm 58.

Just as I was a bit shocked to realize that Davy was 66, I'm not quite sure how I got to be this age, this fast. And I have a tough time sticking to my guns when it comes to indulging in my passions. But I do know this: his death is a reminder that I may not have all the time in the world to live out my daydreams. He died doing what he loved. Will I be able to say the same?