We were poor, only we didn’t feel that way when we were together. My daughter, then age three, and I were living in a tiny apartment above a shop on Main Street. It was all I could afford, as we two had left the comforts of our magical cottage in the woods, her father still living there. She and I still had each other, and Christmas was coming. He wouldn’t let me take any of my ornaments when we two left.
There, on the floor of our tiny apartment living room, stood the little, fake tree with lights her dad had purchased for her but no ornaments. I was appreciative of the tree, and he and I were determined that she never feel our animosity towards one another.
Still, that little tree needed ornaments. Enter, many colors of Playdoh and the cookie cutters I had purchased for $2 from the antique store right next to our building. She and I spent an entire afternoon rolling the Playdoh, cutting with the vintage cookie cutters, poking a hole at the top of each, and letting them dry.
Two days later, they became the most magical of ornaments as we hung them each lovingly with bent paperclips. Most of them have long since broken, but I still have five of them.
Each year, as I carefully unwrap each one, I am filled with the hope and possibility that she and I created that year.
Good Morning Mary - I read your response in bed before getting up - wanted to have coffee first before replying so I could more easily find the words to tell you how utterly beautiful your post is. From the first sentence I was hooked. What a precious scene - I imagine your daughter's sleeves pushed up, little fingers helping to shape the Playdoh - and of course, happy and all-in on a festive Christmas project. Even at 3, creating art while working through a transition - how that made the situation brighter. And how marvelous to still have five of them to hold and remind you of that precious afternoon together many years ago.
Nocapes, you take my breath away with your words, this scene so artfully constructed, and so spot on. Thank you, Dear One for your response and even more for your writing/love.
The first thought that came to me was O. Henry’s book, The Gift of The Magi. The love that is sacrificial, bent on doing for someone else. Poor in earthly goods you may have been. but oh, the love for your daughter sparkled in the heavens like diamonds! This was just so beautiful, Mary. Thank you for sharing your heart, here.
Beautiful Mary. What a precious memory, - and that five Playdoh ornaments can still be part of your Christmas tradition is indeed, magical. And thank you for invoking my 1960's memories! This morning, I could even conjure up the smell of Playdoh!
This makes my heart full. And the magic of unwrapping them each year. I will love unpacking the paper Christmas manger our son made in school and some other home-mades.
Thanks for sharing your memory Mary, it brought back one of mine-making those same ornaments with my best friend who died over 20 years ago. I love my Christmas ornaments, every year when I unwrap them I have a piece of her and my beloved younger sister who also died far too young..
Oh, Sheila, how joyous that we both share the Playdoh ornament handmade collection! May you feel the love of your best friend and of your little sister each year as you unwrap, hang them up and gaze on their beauty.
I really needed this story today, Mary. We are surrounded by so much negativity everywhere we look, that this memory of you and your daughter creating joy together is more than heartwarming. It's full of hope and pure potential. This is what I call really being wealthy. You described yourselves as poor, but in my humble opinion, that's a social construct. I know plenty of people who would be considered "rich" who lead impoverished lives. True wealth is in the little moments when you are filled with gratitude, appreciation, and love. And need I say it, but necessity is the mother of invention (smile)! When you had to get creative with the ornaments, you found the perfect artist's material. Well done!
Nancy, thank you. Your words here, are "hope and pure potential." You are so right and you put it so beautifully, "True wealth is in the little moments when you are filled with gratitude, appreciation and love." Hmmm...I think you have the first line for a book, Nancy!
Well, thank you dear Mary. And it's a bit ironic, but I just co-authored an anthology that was released in January called "Daring to Breathe: Stories of Living with the Foreverness of Grief," that may not say that exact line ver batim, but the idea of what true wealth is, and how to get hold of it, is indeed brought out in the book. And since you mentioned it, I'm already working on another book idea, or perhaps a multi-media project. A former student and new friend of mine are working on this currently. So stay tuned! Not everything is as bleak as it looks.
Nancy, I'm so excited about your book and (as it turns out), I need your book! I am just learning to navigate deep grief over the death of my mother...I am struggling. Thank you!
Closing my eyes, a moment comes to mind from nearly 50 years ago - Having just graduated from high school, I embarked on a solo trip to Europe stopping first in Milan to stay with my father's brother and his family, whom I'd never met, only seen photographs. My uncle was meeting me at the central train station and I only had photo images of him to go on. Hordes of people coming and going. Finally as a train pulled out it revealed a tall, handsome man dressed as only Italians can, standing alone on the next over platform, seemingly looking for someone - sartorially impeccable and photoshoot ready (buttery cashmere overcoat, suit, soft leather shoes - you get the picture). Our eyes met and it was clear we recognized each other. He nearly jumped up with excitement and rather than walk all the way down the platform and around to me, because he couldn't wait that long, stepped down and through the tracks to come embrace me. Both my uncle and father are long gone but that moment will live with me forever.
Oh, this..."buttery cashmere overcoat, suit, soft leather shoes"...I could see, smell the leather, feel the draw of "knowing" and I think you may just have the beginning of a book here!
HI Teri - I've never taken a writing class outside of college but it's time. It's just a 6 week workshop for all levels and I hope to be able to get unblocked and write out my grief, my loss, my ennui. Like you, I am troubled by the horrors of the news. In any event, I'm grateful that you're here with me, with us. Thank you.❤️
Yes, yes, yes!!! You are already a writer. How lucky for those in your class, to witness your talent and also for you to be surrounded by others who live and breathe writing. Wish I was there beside you!
That brought me tears!! His sense of excitement shone through, and I can imagine the joy & relief you must have felt! And, as Jacqueline said, to be seen and loved right upon arrival. What a treasure.
Growing up, we had a book of Best Loved Poems. This one was in it. My mum loved this poem - yellow was her favorite color, and when she died, we had yellow flowers for her rather than all white. Not too many months after, I went to Scotland and the daffs were in bloom everywhere. A sweet memory. Thank you.
This poem is one of the few I remember having memorized it in school. Another person walking in the world who is touched by its beauty and common touch is found. More daffodils to you 🌻🌷
Suleika, I looked up your upcoming exhibit. I did not realize your mom would be showing her works there too. How exciting. I will try to figure how to Frenchtown, NJ without a car if I possibly can.
Yesterday my husband encouraged me to go on our usual walk/run in Prospect Park (he runs, I walk and we meet somewhere in the middle). I was reluctant to go because it was raining. It was raining the entire time, but luckily the torrential rain held off until the last fifteen minutes of our adventure.
I was one of the only people on the road and was able to imagine that the park was my own personal backyard. There were daffodils and crocuses popping up all over and the flowering trees were starting to blossom in my favorite colors of purple and pink. I am not familiar with very many tree names, but I saw cherry trees, dogwoods, magnolias and who knows what else. The fog and drops of rain on the flowers made them even more magical. It was not very cold and I was able to enjoy breathing in the green smells and the freshness of the rain. I started my walk feeling a bit grumpy and came home sopping wet, but invigorated.
My hubby is currently interviewing for a DC role that would take us back to the east coast (from Austin). If that happens, I will make my way to this exhibit in June. Maybe we can have a group excursion. How fab would that be
A group excursion would be amazing. It seems impossible to get there by public transit from NYC. The good news is that the exhibit will last a few months so it makes it easier to coordinate.
My son Stephen, was a few months old and I was walking him in his carriage and talking to him and then I began making funny sounds rippling off my tongue. He began giggling and laughing and this was the first time for him. I kept walking him and making those crazy sounds just to hear his giggle and laughter. It touched me so in my heart, I could feel tears running down my cheeks.
This may be a selfish request, Suleika, but I hope you will share photographs of some of your reimagined paintings here at the Isolation Journals, especially for those who are unable to make the trip to see them “live”. The one I would love to see the most is your roseate spoonbill. I have been fascinated by both your painting and now the bird itself. Best wishes to you on your creative journey!
Week or so before Christmas. My mom would take me and each of my younger siblings, to Picadilly, a buffet restaurant in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, in the sixties. It was my turn to go. Wore a new dress, and the new shoes I got for Christmas. Just me and my mom. I could order whatever I wanted. Fried chicken, jello, mashed potatoes and pie. I felt so special. After dinner we would go Christmas shopping. I would buy my mom a set of handkerchiefs, which she would pay for at the counter. Come Christmas morning she would always look surprised and pleased with her gift. I carry that memory with me, and when things are scary or hard I take it out, and feel once again, the joy and love that was, once, mine.
he was a baby then; when we'd eat together, i'd slide his small body into a chair we'd attached to the wooden dining table, place his favorite books in front of him and finish preparing our breakfast. both of us barely awake, he'd be busy for several minutes, reading-but-really-turning-pages recalling how i'd last read the book to him. busy.
i think he knew. he knew his dad wasn't home all that much, he knew something was shifting, did he know before we did? i always wonder. it would be another year til it really happened, til he really left, til we made our deep lifetime of peace as separated beings.
and i, for the first time in many weeks, was relieved, peaceful; just my boy and me, breakfast.
Suleika - WOW. Sometimes you get exactly what you need. I am going to shorten it, “Don’t be afraid. Be brave.” This is beautiful and a lifeline. My art practice is suffering from a lack of confidence and a lack of reassurance from myself that it is worth my time. It feels self indulgent. I notice the familiar voice that has had years to develop that I am not good enough start to get louder. Good enough for who? For the same people who maybe told Jon not to play the melodica? To me, art is something that moves us and I think when we do that without fear it gives us the ability to move others ❤️ Also, I have not dived into the prompt, but I love it so much I might make it a daily journal entry.
Time to write down all the things you are proud of, including your ability to paint and to keep unleashing your magic in to the world! You have got this🎨🎯
Thank you @Eavan. I wrote down a list of accomplishments recently and also had my husband buy me @yungpueblo book Clarity & Connection. I realize what I loved about architecture was the studio practice. I love the dialogue:) That is what I want from my art practice… a dialogue. Maybe in a time when things have moved from the center, that is exactly what it can gift me:) Centeredness
Suleika, your courage to reimagine your paintings is inspirational to me. I also love your embracing of the irregular schedule, spoken by one who has had many 4 AM awakenings this week! Your prompt led me to a joyful this moment this week, when I unwittingly dropped the leash of my seven month old pup and all turned out well. The poem is called Unleashed, and while about the dog… It represents so much more!
When my children were young, we lived in a small town in a quiet, residential neighborhood. These were the days of children on bicycles, colored chalk drawings on sidewalks, neighbors visiting on porches. In the busyness of summer days, I remember a couple walking down my street, hand in hand. This man and this woman looked strong, equally built in stature. I’d always thought they must have been farmers at one point in their lives.
What struck me as beautiful was a sense of “oneness” about them. Something said to me, “ This is what Love looks like. Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, joyful with one another”.
All my adult life I’ve searched for that kind of love. A love that needs no words or grand gestures. A love that simply says “ Home”.
The world is full of headlines. Big and noteworthy moments. Yet, it is fuller yet of moments that take my breath away in their quiet beauty, their softly whispered hymns of praise.
I return my tears for yours - how vividly you drew this ; 'the children on bicycles, the colored chalk drawings on sidewalks, neighbors visiting on porches" - I could feel the summer day.
Thank you, Mary. At this late stage of life, I’m thankful for finding a different kind of home. Here. Not without yearning still, as you know. Yet, very soul satisfying. And I accept the gift.❤️ Have a lovely week!
Ah, this poem. Learned this in elementary school in a two room schoolhouse in Ireland! One of my very favorites, and the memory that sprung to mind just now is a beautiful scene I had the joy of witnessing. Some years ago, I hiked to Machu Picchu over 4 days. The Inca Trail route was sold out and so 14 of us hiked up thru a much more
remote path (Lares). Together with our guides, we only met about 10-15 other people in total over the course of that time. Villagers, and particularly, children, who came scampering over the hillsides as we trekked thru their valley towards sunset. We had been encouraged to bring some treats from the market at the start of the hike, lest we meet some locals. I gave two little plastic footballs and a hearty fresh pretzel and avocado to two 5-6 year olds.
As we continued onwards and I looked back, it was heart warming to just see the look of pure awe and delight in their faces.
A few years ago, in springtime, I entered a challenge here online - to write about spring NOT including any of the usual spring metaphors and tropes - daffodils included! I wrote a tongue-in-cheek prose-poem - and was lucky enough to win a much-treasured book of the writer's poems (there may have been only two or three entrants ☺️)
It was the very end of summer and they journeyed with him to the far west, and, bright-breasted as a flock of young starlings, descended on our hideaway.
Chattering as they came,
scattering indiscriminately
bags, books, bottles laughter and kisses,
they upturned our days and by night resembled a herd of baby elephants, making music in the attic.
And then, just as suddenly, they left and the attic became an haiku...
When he's gone...
Abseiling spiders
coffee-cup, abandoned book
and one forgotten sock...
The year has turned and turned again.
Hope, like all the other clichés, is springing-up all around. In spite of myself, I am restless, stirred.
I feel...what is the word?
I search my vocabulary.
I search the magnet-messages they left on the fridge for each other, for me.
As an extreme morning person I love watching sunrise. Living very close to Lake Michigan, I lay out my clothes, including shoes and socks, any necessary jacket and scarf the night before. Then I dash out the door so I can capture photos of sunrise on my iPhone. I have dozens of sunrise photos. My favorite is someone paddle boarding on a very rare calm day on Lake Michigan. I’m currently trying to convert a selection of my photos into watercolors. A friend of mine who is an artist is instructing me in this process. She told me I could have them made into cards and sell them at our Makers Market (a part of the summer Farmer’ Market here). Then I would donate the proceeds to the Greater Chicago Food Depository. Walking along The Lake in the early morning is very important for my meditation practice and my mental health.
I was a lonely child. It would be years before I understood why that should be. But my family loved animals. When I was 11 yo, my grandmother brought us a tiny, nearly dead, baby raccoon who's mother had been killed on the road. We took it to the Vet who gave it liquids and antibiotics but who cautioned us that this 5 ounce baby would probably not survive even if we bottle fed it every two hours like it's mother would have. "Don't get your hopes up" my dad said as I volunteered to be the feeder night and day. So, this tiny bundle of matted fur slept in a towel in my pillow so I would be certain to wake at the tiniest sound. I set my alarm for every two hours and bottle fed it with powdered baby formula. At first, it had little energy to even suckle but as the hours turned to days, he began to suckle with all the energy of a creature who was choosing to live. Somewhere during those first days, his eyes opened and his fur began to fill in. By the end of a month, he was snuggling under my chin and in my hair at night. It was the moment I first heard his voice that I am remembering - it was a churring sound, soft and musical and a sound of deep pleasure. That raccoon lived with us until his death 15 years later. To this day, when I see or hear a raccoon, I feel it as family.
"...he began to suckle with all the energy of a creature who was choosing to live." I love so much that you had/have the heart of a lion for this little one who needed just that.
Tranquility… a quiet and peacefulness that takes time, experiences that do not factor highly enough into the calculus of our daily lives. I suppose I’m saying that I need and want more tranquility, more time for reflection, more creative practice.
I am grateful to this community for the stepping stones our weekly times together lay. 🙏🏼
We were poor, only we didn’t feel that way when we were together. My daughter, then age three, and I were living in a tiny apartment above a shop on Main Street. It was all I could afford, as we two had left the comforts of our magical cottage in the woods, her father still living there. She and I still had each other, and Christmas was coming. He wouldn’t let me take any of my ornaments when we two left.
There, on the floor of our tiny apartment living room, stood the little, fake tree with lights her dad had purchased for her but no ornaments. I was appreciative of the tree, and he and I were determined that she never feel our animosity towards one another.
Still, that little tree needed ornaments. Enter, many colors of Playdoh and the cookie cutters I had purchased for $2 from the antique store right next to our building. She and I spent an entire afternoon rolling the Playdoh, cutting with the vintage cookie cutters, poking a hole at the top of each, and letting them dry.
Two days later, they became the most magical of ornaments as we hung them each lovingly with bent paperclips. Most of them have long since broken, but I still have five of them.
Each year, as I carefully unwrap each one, I am filled with the hope and possibility that she and I created that year.
Good Morning Mary - I read your response in bed before getting up - wanted to have coffee first before replying so I could more easily find the words to tell you how utterly beautiful your post is. From the first sentence I was hooked. What a precious scene - I imagine your daughter's sleeves pushed up, little fingers helping to shape the Playdoh - and of course, happy and all-in on a festive Christmas project. Even at 3, creating art while working through a transition - how that made the situation brighter. And how marvelous to still have five of them to hold and remind you of that precious afternoon together many years ago.
Nocapes, you take my breath away with your words, this scene so artfully constructed, and so spot on. Thank you, Dear One for your response and even more for your writing/love.
The first thought that came to me was O. Henry’s book, The Gift of The Magi. The love that is sacrificial, bent on doing for someone else. Poor in earthly goods you may have been. but oh, the love for your daughter sparkled in the heavens like diamonds! This was just so beautiful, Mary. Thank you for sharing your heart, here.
Jacqueline, said so eloquently! Thank you.
Beautiful Mary. What a precious memory, - and that five Playdoh ornaments can still be part of your Christmas tradition is indeed, magical. And thank you for invoking my 1960's memories! This morning, I could even conjure up the smell of Playdoh!
Thank you, Nancy! Oh, yes! The smell of Playdoh...especially when you first opened the lid, and plunked the new cylinder out to play with it. Magic.
This makes my heart full. And the magic of unwrapping them each year. I will love unpacking the paper Christmas manger our son made in school and some other home-mades.
Oh, those precious homemade items...so infused with the love, time gone by, and time well spent. Thank you, Eavan.
Thanks for sharing your memory Mary, it brought back one of mine-making those same ornaments with my best friend who died over 20 years ago. I love my Christmas ornaments, every year when I unwrap them I have a piece of her and my beloved younger sister who also died far too young..
Oh, Sheila, how joyous that we both share the Playdoh ornament handmade collection! May you feel the love of your best friend and of your little sister each year as you unwrap, hang them up and gaze on their beauty.
I really needed this story today, Mary. We are surrounded by so much negativity everywhere we look, that this memory of you and your daughter creating joy together is more than heartwarming. It's full of hope and pure potential. This is what I call really being wealthy. You described yourselves as poor, but in my humble opinion, that's a social construct. I know plenty of people who would be considered "rich" who lead impoverished lives. True wealth is in the little moments when you are filled with gratitude, appreciation, and love. And need I say it, but necessity is the mother of invention (smile)! When you had to get creative with the ornaments, you found the perfect artist's material. Well done!
Nancy, thank you. Your words here, are "hope and pure potential." You are so right and you put it so beautifully, "True wealth is in the little moments when you are filled with gratitude, appreciation and love." Hmmm...I think you have the first line for a book, Nancy!
Well, thank you dear Mary. And it's a bit ironic, but I just co-authored an anthology that was released in January called "Daring to Breathe: Stories of Living with the Foreverness of Grief," that may not say that exact line ver batim, but the idea of what true wealth is, and how to get hold of it, is indeed brought out in the book. And since you mentioned it, I'm already working on another book idea, or perhaps a multi-media project. A former student and new friend of mine are working on this currently. So stay tuned! Not everything is as bleak as it looks.
Nancy, I'm so excited about your book and (as it turns out), I need your book! I am just learning to navigate deep grief over the death of my mother...I am struggling. Thank you!
This is beautiful
So beautiful, Mary.
Karen, thank you. I am so lucky to have this and many other memories (and ones yet to come) with my daughter.
So Lovely Mary! And like others have said your words pull me in as different emotions and reactions swirl inside me. Thank you
Charles, thank you! This is a very high compliment and it means so much that you took the time to tell me.
Such a beautiful memory. A wonderful example of your resiliency❤️
JB9, my daughter, made me/makes me strong. Her existence pulled me into being myself. Thank you!
Thank goodness for the daughters 💖💖💖
Lovely piece of writing, like an ornament.
Susan, thank you! Oh,those precious pieces...I look forward to unwrapping them each year.
That’s a lovely memory Mary. I feel the love between you and your daughter.
Thank you, Laurie! I sometimes worry that I stunt her progress because we are so close.
Closing my eyes, a moment comes to mind from nearly 50 years ago - Having just graduated from high school, I embarked on a solo trip to Europe stopping first in Milan to stay with my father's brother and his family, whom I'd never met, only seen photographs. My uncle was meeting me at the central train station and I only had photo images of him to go on. Hordes of people coming and going. Finally as a train pulled out it revealed a tall, handsome man dressed as only Italians can, standing alone on the next over platform, seemingly looking for someone - sartorially impeccable and photoshoot ready (buttery cashmere overcoat, suit, soft leather shoes - you get the picture). Our eyes met and it was clear we recognized each other. He nearly jumped up with excitement and rather than walk all the way down the platform and around to me, because he couldn't wait that long, stepped down and through the tracks to come embrace me. Both my uncle and father are long gone but that moment will live with me forever.
Down and through the train tracks. A scene from a dream. ❤️❤️❤️
And, yup, I’m crying!!! Love, so unexpected, so free, so true. To be seen and loved!! Thank you!
I feel so much joy as I imagine the elegant man in the stylish clothes, unable to contain his happiness at seeing his niece. Love this so much.
Oh, this..."buttery cashmere overcoat, suit, soft leather shoes"...I could see, smell the leather, feel the draw of "knowing" and I think you may just have the beginning of a book here!
I enrolled in a writing class earlier today - 😘
Yay! You will do so well! You already have the spirit of a wonderful writer. ❤️
HI Teri - I've never taken a writing class outside of college but it's time. It's just a 6 week workshop for all levels and I hope to be able to get unblocked and write out my grief, my loss, my ennui. Like you, I am troubled by the horrors of the news. In any event, I'm grateful that you're here with me, with us. Thank you.❤️
I’ll be with you in spirit all the way as you work to improve the talent you already have. I hope you’ll share some of your efforts from the class.
Oh, yes!
Total agreement!!!!!!! You are a writer, Nocapes!
Yes, yes, yes!!! You are already a writer. How lucky for those in your class, to witness your talent and also for you to be surrounded by others who live and breathe writing. Wish I was there beside you!
That brought me tears!! His sense of excitement shone through, and I can imagine the joy & relief you must have felt! And, as Jacqueline said, to be seen and loved right upon arrival. What a treasure.
I LOVE this
Growing up, we had a book of Best Loved Poems. This one was in it. My mum loved this poem - yellow was her favorite color, and when she died, we had yellow flowers for her rather than all white. Not too many months after, I went to Scotland and the daffs were in bloom everywhere. A sweet memory. Thank you.
This poem is one of the few I remember having memorized it in school. Another person walking in the world who is touched by its beauty and common touch is found. More daffodils to you 🌻🌷
Lovely! Thank you.
Suleika, I looked up your upcoming exhibit. I did not realize your mom would be showing her works there too. How exciting. I will try to figure how to Frenchtown, NJ without a car if I possibly can.
Yesterday my husband encouraged me to go on our usual walk/run in Prospect Park (he runs, I walk and we meet somewhere in the middle). I was reluctant to go because it was raining. It was raining the entire time, but luckily the torrential rain held off until the last fifteen minutes of our adventure.
I was one of the only people on the road and was able to imagine that the park was my own personal backyard. There were daffodils and crocuses popping up all over and the flowering trees were starting to blossom in my favorite colors of purple and pink. I am not familiar with very many tree names, but I saw cherry trees, dogwoods, magnolias and who knows what else. The fog and drops of rain on the flowers made them even more magical. It was not very cold and I was able to enjoy breathing in the green smells and the freshness of the rain. I started my walk feeling a bit grumpy and came home sopping wet, but invigorated.
My hubby is currently interviewing for a DC role that would take us back to the east coast (from Austin). If that happens, I will make my way to this exhibit in June. Maybe we can have a group excursion. How fab would that be
SO darn FAB!!!
A group excursion would be amazing. It seems impossible to get there by public transit from NYC. The good news is that the exhibit will last a few months so it makes it easier to coordinate.
I thought it was NY. I looked it up. It’s a long drive but I’m on it.
My son Stephen, was a few months old and I was walking him in his carriage and talking to him and then I began making funny sounds rippling off my tongue. He began giggling and laughing and this was the first time for him. I kept walking him and making those crazy sounds just to hear his giggle and laughter. It touched me so in my heart, I could feel tears running down my cheeks.
Delicious!
This may be a selfish request, Suleika, but I hope you will share photographs of some of your reimagined paintings here at the Isolation Journals, especially for those who are unable to make the trip to see them “live”. The one I would love to see the most is your roseate spoonbill. I have been fascinated by both your painting and now the bird itself. Best wishes to you on your creative journey!
Week or so before Christmas. My mom would take me and each of my younger siblings, to Picadilly, a buffet restaurant in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, in the sixties. It was my turn to go. Wore a new dress, and the new shoes I got for Christmas. Just me and my mom. I could order whatever I wanted. Fried chicken, jello, mashed potatoes and pie. I felt so special. After dinner we would go Christmas shopping. I would buy my mom a set of handkerchiefs, which she would pay for at the counter. Come Christmas morning she would always look surprised and pleased with her gift. I carry that memory with me, and when things are scary or hard I take it out, and feel once again, the joy and love that was, once, mine.
I used to eat at the Piccadilly in Beaumont, Texas, with my grandmother. My favorites were the friend okra and lime jello. Loved it so much!
Such a special memory. I loved reading this.
The rich and sweet moments of childhood! Thank you.
he was a baby then; when we'd eat together, i'd slide his small body into a chair we'd attached to the wooden dining table, place his favorite books in front of him and finish preparing our breakfast. both of us barely awake, he'd be busy for several minutes, reading-but-really-turning-pages recalling how i'd last read the book to him. busy.
i think he knew. he knew his dad wasn't home all that much, he knew something was shifting, did he know before we did? i always wonder. it would be another year til it really happened, til he really left, til we made our deep lifetime of peace as separated beings.
and i, for the first time in many weeks, was relieved, peaceful; just my boy and me, breakfast.
Suleika - WOW. Sometimes you get exactly what you need. I am going to shorten it, “Don’t be afraid. Be brave.” This is beautiful and a lifeline. My art practice is suffering from a lack of confidence and a lack of reassurance from myself that it is worth my time. It feels self indulgent. I notice the familiar voice that has had years to develop that I am not good enough start to get louder. Good enough for who? For the same people who maybe told Jon not to play the melodica? To me, art is something that moves us and I think when we do that without fear it gives us the ability to move others ❤️ Also, I have not dived into the prompt, but I love it so much I might make it a daily journal entry.
Time to write down all the things you are proud of, including your ability to paint and to keep unleashing your magic in to the world! You have got this🎨🎯
Thank you @Eavan. I wrote down a list of accomplishments recently and also had my husband buy me @yungpueblo book Clarity & Connection. I realize what I loved about architecture was the studio practice. I love the dialogue:) That is what I want from my art practice… a dialogue. Maybe in a time when things have moved from the center, that is exactly what it can gift me:) Centeredness
Beautifully put, Maura. ❤️
Suleika, your courage to reimagine your paintings is inspirational to me. I also love your embracing of the irregular schedule, spoken by one who has had many 4 AM awakenings this week! Your prompt led me to a joyful this moment this week, when I unwittingly dropped the leash of my seven month old pup and all turned out well. The poem is called Unleashed, and while about the dog… It represents so much more!
When my children were young, we lived in a small town in a quiet, residential neighborhood. These were the days of children on bicycles, colored chalk drawings on sidewalks, neighbors visiting on porches. In the busyness of summer days, I remember a couple walking down my street, hand in hand. This man and this woman looked strong, equally built in stature. I’d always thought they must have been farmers at one point in their lives.
What struck me as beautiful was a sense of “oneness” about them. Something said to me, “ This is what Love looks like. Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, joyful with one another”.
All my adult life I’ve searched for that kind of love. A love that needs no words or grand gestures. A love that simply says “ Home”.
The world is full of headlines. Big and noteworthy moments. Yet, it is fuller yet of moments that take my breath away in their quiet beauty, their softly whispered hymns of praise.
This was one of those moments.
Bless you all!
Beautifully told — thank you for this peaceful, heart-warming image!
I return my tears for yours - how vividly you drew this ; 'the children on bicycles, the colored chalk drawings on sidewalks, neighbors visiting on porches" - I could feel the summer day.
Thank you so much.
Yes! I too have searched for that kind of love. You put it so eloquently in one word, "Home." I love the scene you paint with words above.
Thank you, Mary. At this late stage of life, I’m thankful for finding a different kind of home. Here. Not without yearning still, as you know. Yet, very soul satisfying. And I accept the gift.❤️ Have a lovely week!
Ah, this poem. Learned this in elementary school in a two room schoolhouse in Ireland! One of my very favorites, and the memory that sprung to mind just now is a beautiful scene I had the joy of witnessing. Some years ago, I hiked to Machu Picchu over 4 days. The Inca Trail route was sold out and so 14 of us hiked up thru a much more
remote path (Lares). Together with our guides, we only met about 10-15 other people in total over the course of that time. Villagers, and particularly, children, who came scampering over the hillsides as we trekked thru their valley towards sunset. We had been encouraged to bring some treats from the market at the start of the hike, lest we meet some locals. I gave two little plastic footballs and a hearty fresh pretzel and avocado to two 5-6 year olds.
As we continued onwards and I looked back, it was heart warming to just see the look of pure awe and delight in their faces.
A few years ago, in springtime, I entered a challenge here online - to write about spring NOT including any of the usual spring metaphors and tropes - daffodils included! I wrote a tongue-in-cheek prose-poem - and was lucky enough to win a much-treasured book of the writer's poems (there may have been only two or three entrants ☺️)
'Banned Words'
It was the very end of summer and they journeyed with him to the far west, and, bright-breasted as a flock of young starlings, descended on our hideaway.
Chattering as they came,
scattering indiscriminately
bags, books, bottles laughter and kisses,
they upturned our days and by night resembled a herd of baby elephants, making music in the attic.
And then, just as suddenly, they left and the attic became an haiku...
When he's gone...
Abseiling spiders
coffee-cup, abandoned book
and one forgotten sock...
The year has turned and turned again.
Hope, like all the other clichés, is springing-up all around. In spite of myself, I am restless, stirred.
I feel...what is the word?
I search my vocabulary.
I search the magnet-messages they left on the fridge for each other, for me.
Ah, here it is...
I am, I must admit "en-daffodil-hearted"
'en-daffodil-hearted' is still on our fridge'...
As an extreme morning person I love watching sunrise. Living very close to Lake Michigan, I lay out my clothes, including shoes and socks, any necessary jacket and scarf the night before. Then I dash out the door so I can capture photos of sunrise on my iPhone. I have dozens of sunrise photos. My favorite is someone paddle boarding on a very rare calm day on Lake Michigan. I’m currently trying to convert a selection of my photos into watercolors. A friend of mine who is an artist is instructing me in this process. She told me I could have them made into cards and sell them at our Makers Market (a part of the summer Farmer’ Market here). Then I would donate the proceeds to the Greater Chicago Food Depository. Walking along The Lake in the early morning is very important for my meditation practice and my mental health.
I was a lonely child. It would be years before I understood why that should be. But my family loved animals. When I was 11 yo, my grandmother brought us a tiny, nearly dead, baby raccoon who's mother had been killed on the road. We took it to the Vet who gave it liquids and antibiotics but who cautioned us that this 5 ounce baby would probably not survive even if we bottle fed it every two hours like it's mother would have. "Don't get your hopes up" my dad said as I volunteered to be the feeder night and day. So, this tiny bundle of matted fur slept in a towel in my pillow so I would be certain to wake at the tiniest sound. I set my alarm for every two hours and bottle fed it with powdered baby formula. At first, it had little energy to even suckle but as the hours turned to days, he began to suckle with all the energy of a creature who was choosing to live. Somewhere during those first days, his eyes opened and his fur began to fill in. By the end of a month, he was snuggling under my chin and in my hair at night. It was the moment I first heard his voice that I am remembering - it was a churring sound, soft and musical and a sound of deep pleasure. That raccoon lived with us until his death 15 years later. To this day, when I see or hear a raccoon, I feel it as family.
I can hardly express how much I love this. ❤️
Thank you, Suleika. I thought of you when I was writing it and how Oscar sort of saved you from loneliness.
"...he began to suckle with all the energy of a creature who was choosing to live." I love so much that you had/have the heart of a lion for this little one who needed just that.
Tranquility… a quiet and peacefulness that takes time, experiences that do not factor highly enough into the calculus of our daily lives. I suppose I’m saying that I need and want more tranquility, more time for reflection, more creative practice.
I am grateful to this community for the stepping stones our weekly times together lay. 🙏🏼