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Category Archives: writing

Talking Ibises and Art

30 Monday Nov 2015

Posted by judithar321 in art, travel, writing

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Anne Francey, Talking Art, Talking Writing

I am a reluctant traveler. Even as I long to break out of my routine, managing the details for leaving home is often like ripping a particularly sticky bandage from sensitive skin. But by the end of this past summer, I was ready go and that’s when a trip to Australia fell right in my lap.

The possibility of heading down under had been brewing on the back burner ever since our friends announced they would be spending their sabbatical there. The decision to go, however, wasn’t made until the last possible moment.

Yes, I have photos of kangaroos and emus and beautiful scenery, which I may eventually share here. But for now, I give you an ibis.

Ibis_Sydney

These beaky birds are as populous in Sydney’s public parks and gardens as pigeons are in New York.

And they show up in the work of artist and ceramicist Anne Francey. I have admired Francey for some time now — as much for her unshakeable grace as a person and a parent as for her art.

To learn more about her, please read my new “Talking Art” column, “A Mother’s Magic Shield.”

 

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Building a Framework

11 Thursday Jun 2015

Posted by judithar321 in aging, books, discipline, inspiration, writing

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

aging, art, dogs, Gail Caldwell, Kirra Jamison, Sally Mann, Swimming

Mission Pool

View out the locker room door, Mission Community Pool, San Francisco.

For the past month or so, I’ve been editing and critiquing a book manuscript for a couple of business consultants. The topic is ‘reinvention,’ as in how we can stay ahead of ongoing change in terms of our jobs and careers. There has been a flurry of articles recently about how technology is replacing human labor and about how the list of today’s top jobs will be transformed over the next decade. For a critique of how this impacts actual human beings, read Barbara Ehrenreich’s New York Times book review.

Reinvention as a more personal matter is also in the wind as my friend and fellow blogger, D.A. Wolfe notes in her Huffington Post piece, “The Age of Regret, The Age of Opportunity,” The theme of transforming regret into something positive is also picked up by writer/photographer, Heather Robinson in her post, “Heat Lightning.”  After recently celebrating my 60th birthday, regret, opportunity, and subsequent reinvention are on my mind as well.

While I have enjoyed the editing project, it has also left me a bit restless and frustrated with myself. After all this time, I still do not approach my own writing with the kind of purpose and drive that is present when I a) have a job that pays or b) have a publication deadline.

I am easily distracted and undisciplined, and all too ready to push my own creative work aside in favor of fulfilling other pressing and not-so-pressing tasks and commitments.

Hmmm, which comes first washing the dishes or doing some writing?

Hmmm, which comes first washing the dishes or doing some writing?

That’s the regret.

The opportunity and reinvention reside in my ability to change that. I need to commit to my writing with as much vigor as I have given my exercise regime. No one makes me go to the pool, yet for the past six years, even while commuting to a full-time job, I have been swimming at the local pool three times a week. This past winter, no matter how cold or snowy, unless the roads were impassable, or the gym was closed, I was in the pool every Monday, Wednesday and Friday between 1:30 and 2:15 pm without fail. It’s an addiction. I don’t feel right if I don’t go. If I pursued writing with the same discipline, it would become another healthy addiction.

A friend told me the other day, that with a few rare exceptions, she doesn’t follow people she doesn’t know on Instagram. As a busy person who spends plenty of time working in front of a computer screen, she has good reason for this. The Internet can be a huge distraction and time waster.

In her New York Times op-ed, “How to Find Your Place in the World After Graduation,”  Pamela Druckerman, advises that the creative process benefits from a little boredom,

You need to be blank, and even a little bit bored, for your brain to feed you ideas. … A lot of life consists in the dead time in between events. Don’t fill these interstitial moments with pornography and cat videos.

She is right about needing blank time as well as the pornography and cat videos — to which I can plead “Not Guilty!” with a clear conscience. Yet I do follow a lot of people I haven’t met on Instagram and in other places — Robinson and Wolfe among them. In fact, if I wasn’t such a busybody and cheerleader of other people’s work and ideas, I’d never have any subjects for my “Talking Art” column.

And, I would have missed out on this video, about Kirra Jamison, a Melbourne artist. It has reminded me of something I’ve known for a good long time and have heard from several other creative people, but have not done for myself.

As the video follows Jamison through her morning routine, which involves rising at six a.m., walking her dog in a nearby park, and then riding her bike to a yoga class — all before heading into her studio, she notes,

I’ve learned not to wait for inspiration, but to create a framework for it.

She says her routine grounds her for the rest of the day and gets her in the zone to start working, concluding that,

Having a routine and showing up day after day without fail is the most important thing.

Naturally this looks very appealing when done by an attractive 30-something who lives in a gorgeous live/work space and has no one else to negotiate her time with beyond her dog. But still, every writer and artist I’ve known or read about has this kind of discipline.

My close friend, Martha Nichols, who tops the masthead at Talking Writing, for example, has been an early riser for years, grabbing that quiet time to read and write before the family descends for breakfast. Another friend, the novelist Jane Ward is also an early riser for the same reason.

In her heart-wrenching 2010 memoir, Let’s Take the Long Way Home, former Boston Globe book critic Gail Caldwell describes her typical work day, which back then included a certain amount of desk time before a long afternoon dog walk with her (now deceased) friend and writer, Caroline Knapp. The book, by the way, is a beautiful testimonial to friendship and to dogs. I highly recommend it to anyone who cares about either.

In her new book, Hold Still, photographer Sally Mann describes a typical day in her studio, which has a specific sequence and involves long hours that often extend into the night.

Robinson, whose blog, Lost in Arles, has hundreds of loyal followers and garners a couple dozen comments for each post, recently told me in a comment that she pushes herself to post every Tuesday and Friday. Even if an idea isn’t readily available, that framework helps her make it happen.

In addition to a set routine, all of these people are self-driven and committed to their “own” work in a way that I am not.  Not yet, anyway. The concept of creating a framework for inspiration has captured my attention as something that I really could do. And now that I’ve entered my seventh decade, feels more important than ever.

Without changing my existing routine one iota, the first step is to set a period of time every day —no matter what else is going on — when both my phone and my Web browser are switched off. Step two is making that time my designated “frame” for letting my mind go blank before thinking, reflecting, and writing.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

What about you? How do you get yourself into the right headspace for creative work?

The Essence of Home

24 Monday Nov 2014

Posted by judithar321 in marriage, meditation, writing

≈ 3 Comments

essence of home

Thanksgiving is this week. As we enter the 2014 holiday season, thoughts of home — the good, the bad, and the ugly — are inevitable. I hope that all of my readers are able to relax into their own sense of home, whether the feeling comes from reenacting old family traditions, or from creating something new.

Today, I want to share my just-published “Talking Art” column, inspired by the work of writer and urban forager, Marie Viljoen. In it, I explore what it means to create a home, whether it is a physical space or an image that you hold in your mind and heart.

To read it, please click here.

Why I Didn’t Write

15 Wednesday Oct 2014

Posted by judithar321 in environment, mid-life transition, pets, travel, writing

≈ 4 Comments

I thought I was so clever back in July when I wrote “Postcards from Home.” I knew that at some point in the near future, my husband and I would embark on a cross-country road trip, and I thought that post would be the perfect segue for sharing photos from our journey.

I envisioned myself pulling out my computer after a day of driving and pouring my experiences into the blog. That didn’t happen — though I did post photos to my Instagram account.

I’m not sure exactly why not, other than fatigue, hunger, and bad Wifi connections made sitting down and writing unappealing. Plus, there was so much input, both when we were traveling and when we were staying put. I enjoyed living in the moment, and allowing myself to be swallowed by landscapes like this one.

Big Sky, Minnesota

Big sky in Minnesota.

But I’m sticking with my postcard analogy: This post and the ones that follow are postcards that don’t arrive until the traveler has already returned home. Sometimes the mail is slow or sometimes the cards aren’t mailed until the journey is over.

After driving from Concord to Detroit to attend a family wedding, we headed west, toward Portland, Oregon. In Minnesota we took a hike.

Great River Bluffs

The trail overlooked the Mississippi River.

Overlooking the Mississippi River

I should note that while the above scene was captured with an actual camera, I took most of the photos on the trip with my phone camera. As my friend in San Francisco likes to say, “The best camera is the one you have with you.”

From Minnesota, we pushed west through South Dakota toward Montana, hitting a corner of Wyoming along the way.

pushing westward

Not exactly sure where this is….

Little Big Horn

Little Big Horn.

Little Big Horn gave me chills, made me angry too.

in order to heal

Driving into Montana, there were purple mountains.

purple mountains

In Bozeman, there was a walk through town.

Oops! (ha ha)

Oops! (ha ha)

And a hike at Peets Hill.

View from the top

Peet's Hill, Bozeman, Montana

And have I mentioned who was traveling with us? She made herself right at home and cooled off in a little stream at the end of the hike.

Did I mention....From Montana, we skimmed the northern point of Idaho and drove through a corner of Washington State.

Idaho?

View from the car.

View from the car.

Philippi Canyon

As we got into Oregon, it started to rain.

zeroing in on PortlandWhy did we leave home in the first place and why did we drive? I’ll share more about that in a future post.

Spring into Summer

21 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, aging, environment, inspiration, mid-life transition, pets, writing

≈ 5 Comments

Bowl o'Sunshine

Scented geranium, aka bowl o’ sunshine.

The summer visitors have arrived. They show up all of a sudden, in an array of styles and colors that practically scream, “summer is here!” One day the landscape comprises a crowd dressed in varying hues of green and the next — well, see for yourself.

1-columbine

Columbine

Peony

Peony

false indigo

False indigo

5-clematis

Clematis

My “Little Miss Kim” lilac shows up in a burst of grapey color and then immediately fades to white, leaving behind a trail of sweet perfume that fills the yard for days.

4-lilacs

Little Miss Kim

Here in eastern Massachusetts, the transformation from late spring to early summer is a visually joyous one. In the woods, the air feels both lighter and fresher — a soft caress has replaced the chilly slap of April. I may still need a light jacket for my morning walk, but the knitted cap and gloves remain in the closet.

Rhododendron in the woods

Rhododendron in the woods

New ferns

New ferns

Yet underneath all the outward cheer, early summer leaves me feeling a little empty. As the weather warms up an old sadness resurfaces as its mid-June anniversary approaches. And as a young, working mother, the close of the school year, with its many festivities and fond farewells, was always tinged with melancholy. One more year of their childhood torn from the calendar.

My days of year-end band concerts, sewing on name tags, and packing trunks for summer camp are long over, but for me, June will always outrank January as an important marker of passing time.

Summer breeze

Summer breeze

The great thing about getting ‘older,’ though, is that I no longer have to concern myself with summer’s superficial branding. While I do pay attention to advice about protecting my skin, I can turn the page when I see headlines like, “4 Weeks to a Bikini Body,” because, really, who cares?

Instead, I’ll look beyond the sunny façade and shake things up. That warmer air and lack of weather-related obstacles frees us all to tackle something different, something hard.

Never finished Middlemarch? Maybe this is the summer to do it. Climb a mountain, learn another language, or try a new form of writing. Test the limits of your brain and your body.

Or—as my husband and I plan to do after decades of full-time work—give yourself a sabbatical.  Taking a road trip, living someplace new, and launching a project are all on our agenda.

So yeah, the summer visitors are here, let the season begin.

***

This post also appears today on Women’s Voices for Change. 

Through Words and Cake, a Writer Lives On

02 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by judithar321 in books, friendship, health, inspiration, writing

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

baking, chocolate cake, cooking, eating, Food & Fiction, Laurie Colwin

 

cake

My friend Jane, who blogs at Food & Fiction, is one of my most helpful kitchen advisors. Although we share meals several times a year in real life, our time together at the stove has always been virtual. Many of Jane’s recipes have become my go-to source when I want to put something delicious, healthy, and not-too-complicated on the table.

So it makes sense that Jane shared this New York Times article about Laurie Colwin on her Facebook feed, because it suggests that Laurie’s non-fussy recipes and conversational style were a precursor to food bloggers like herself.

Like Jane, Laurie’s friendly, matter-of-fact voice is also in my ear from time to time when I’m working in the kitchen. Her recipe for a simple chocolate cake (pictured above) is my hands-down favorite.

I wrote about Laurie and her chocolate cake a few years ago on my blog at Open Salon. My literary tastes have changed over time, and her novels may no longer hold my interest the way they did when I read them 20 years ago under extreme circumstances, but I’ve never lost my taste for that cake. The recipe is included in my original post, reprinted below.

Through Words and Cake, a Writer Lives On

 October 23, 2010

“You don’t feed me enough,” I joked to my husband last night as my stomach loudly and persistently announced itself. Apparently, the dinner of homemade soup and bread I’d made wasn’t enough. We needed dessert.

“Karen Edwards’s Version of Buttermilk Cocoa Cake” from, More Home Cooking: A Writer Returns to the Kitchen by Laurie Colwin is my go-to recipe when I want something quick and chocolatey.

According to Colwin,

“It is hard to encapsulate the virtuosities of this cake. It is fast, easy, and scrumptious. It has a velvety, powdery feel – the result of all that cocoa. It is not so horribly bad for you, because you use buttermilk, which is relatively low in fat, and cocoa powder is defatted anyway. Furthermore, it keeps like a dream and tastes even better after a few days.”

I became a Laurie Colwin fan almost 20 years ago while undergoing chemotherapy. My hair was falling out and I was nauseous and exhausted. For the first time ever, it was difficult to find solace in reading — I couldn’t focus.

Then my friend Julia gave me one of Colwin’s books. Her books held my attention. I cared deeply about her characters, and her tales about family life, which I, too, was engaged in, were happy ones. I needed upbeat stories — sadness and angst were for real life.

When I reported all of this to Julia, she responded, “Unfortunately, Laurie’s life wasn’t so happy. She died suddenly at a young age.” Not only that, she had left a young daughter behind.

All these years later, my story is the happy one. My children, who were aged eight and ten when I was diagnosed, are now adults living on their own.  My husband and I are both active and healthy, and we still share a special spark.

So now when I bite into that buttermilk cocoa cake, I silently raise a glass to Laurie Colwin. Her life wasn’t nearly long enough, but I am grateful for the gifts she left behind.

Here is the recipe as it appears in More Home Cooking.

Karen Edwards’s Version of Buttermilk Cocoa Cake
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. and butter and flour a 9- by 2-inch round cake pan.

2. Mix together 1 3/4 cups flour, 3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder, 1 cup sugar, 1 teaspoon baking soda, and 1/4 teaspoon salt.

3. To these ingredients add 1 cup buttermilk, 1/2 cup vegetable oil or melted butter, and 2 teaspoons vanilla. Mix.

4. Turn the batter into the pan, bake the cake in the middle of the oven for 30 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean, and let it cool for 5 minutes before turning it out of the pan.

 

Nature Girl

21 Saturday Sep 2013

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, aging, environment, inspiration, politics, writing

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

350.org, Bill McKibben, environmental activism, great horned owl, nature, Oil and Honey

Birches

Never mind what the dream was about. It could have been about so many things: my mother-in-law’s passing last month; my kids being far away; my own mortality, my husband’s, the dog’s… But in the moment of the dream I felt as deep and raw a sense of loss as I’ve ever experienced in waking life.

But then I woke up, and poof, the feeling evaporated. Soon after that, I realized that I haven’t heard the owl this summer. Usually I’ll hear him in the wee hours through the bathroom window, a muffled hoo, hoo, hoo, hoooo floating softly over the grass between our house and the woods.

His (her? their?) call has been a comfort these past 20 years. I first heard the owl a year after we’d moved in while I was in the midst of cancer treatments. That summer and fall, I found the nature here—the owl hooting from the woods, while I lay awake, feeling my poisoned blood pulsing in my abdomen, or a pheasant strolling across the lawn on a sunny afternoon when I was waiting for test results— to be comforting omens.

Being in nature grounds us. And, in fact, it’s good for writers. “Nothing coaxes jumbled thoughts into coherent sentences like sitting under a shade tree on a pleasant day,” writes Carol Kaufmann in last week’s New York Times, “With a slight breeze blowing, birds chirping melodies, wee bugs scurrying around me and a fully charged laptop or yellow legal pad at hand, I know I’ll produce my best work.”

I also heard writer and environmental activist Bill McKibben speak this week about why we must fight to prevent approval to complete the Keystone XL pipeline as one step in solving our climate crisis. He is so smart, so sensible, so inspiring, I hope everyone will join me in reading his new book, Oil and Honey: The education of an unlikely activist.

Nature is one of the things that truly matters to all of us, whether we know it or not. It is what binds us to this earth. We can’t live without it.

Now when I think back to that dream, I don’t worry about my mortality or my family’s — or even the owl’s, who if it was the same one, lived a good, long life.

No, I worry about the end of nature as we know it, and how little time we have to halt its decline. Not succeeding would be the greatest loss of all.

naturegirl

Meandering

31 Saturday Aug 2013

Posted by judithar321 in art, environment, inspiration, meditation, pets, writing

≈ 1 Comment

crooked road

This summer I’ve begun numerous posts and articles – ideas that haven’t quite gelled. This week alone I started one post on lipstick and another about a news story that I read back in July. I’ve always thought of myself as someone who is good at finishing things, taking a project and seeing it through to the end. When it comes to writing for myself, however, it’s not so straightforward.

This morning, Karina and I went for a walk at Mount Misery. As we wandered down its broad trails, we met a friendly, apricot-colored Cockapoo named Goldie. A little later we heard something big running through the trees. It was a white-tailed deer and Karina gave chase. I called and called, until she finally returned to my side.

A minute later, I heard the loud patter of rain hitting the  leaves above. Under their shelter, only a few cooling drops made it to the back of my neck.

The rain changed the look of the trail and for a few moments, I wasn’t sure which turn to take.  We backtracked, and then I realized we were on the right path after all. That slight change in the light and resulting misstep reminded me that meandering, both in life and in writing, is important—essential, actually.

Those unfinished pieces and half-baked ideas have not been a waste of time. You have to keep working, even when you feel as though you are going nowhere. Regular practice provides us with more opportunities to get lost and then pay attention when we find ourselves on the edge of new territory.

One of the projects I’ve been working on this summer is a piece about an artist I admire. I have learned much from her and her work. Among other things, she has reminded me that making mistakes and following false leads can force you to explore unexpected places. Meandering, wandering, starting and stopping: all good.

Eventually, something will take hold, and you’ll find your way home.

straight road

The Mystery of Memory

29 Monday Jul 2013

Posted by judithar321 in art, books, inspiration, meditation, writing

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

"We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves", family, Karen Joy Fowler, memory, psychology

My grandparents lived in a brick house with black shutters. It sits as it always has on a tree-lined street and maintains the solid address of 25 Cabot Street.

As you face the house, the driveway and yard to the right dip down at a steep pitch, flattening when they reach the back yard, making the lawn’s grassy slope a safe place for rolling or sledding, depending on the season.

The yard behind the house abuts a neighbor’s, and when my grandparents lived there, it was home to a couple of pear trees and my grandfather’s rose garden.

25 Cabot Street-photo-2

These are the facts as I remember them, and snapshots like this one verify my mental image of the place.

But the remainder of my memories of that house and its inhabitants — the scratch of my grandfather’s whiskers when I kissed his cheek, or the smell of the single rose he’d place in a vase atop a mahogany hutch in the living room — are mine alone. I don’t know what my brothers see and hear when they mentally walk through its rooms, if they do, or if that house haunts their dreams the way it does mine.

I loved my grandmother, but I adored my grandfather, and he adored all of us. Again, I have evidence: a photographic proof made in his basement darkroom with notes.

Poppy's proof

Poppy'snotes

Because he died a few weeks before my 11th birthday, my recollections of drawing with him at our kitchen table, or counting sidewalk cracks as we took our ritual Sunday walk around his neighborhood come in snatches like a crudely edited home movie.

My feelings connected with a time so long ago that ended too soon were reawakened as I read Karen Joy Fowler’s latest novel, We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, which explores the tricky terrain of memory.WE-ARE-ALL-COMPLETELY-BESIDE-OURSELVES-jacket_300x450-200x300

Rosemary, the story’s narrator, was five years old when her sister Fern was abruptly removed from their home. Rosemary’s earliest memories are of living on a farm, where she was heaped with attention, and where she and Fern were always together, a tangle of limbs on their mother’s lap. Until one day, Fern was gone.

What happened? The memories Rosemary has held onto for years are a quavery, incomplete version of events. Her older brother’s memories are another, more judgmental accounting of what happened and why. Eventually, Rosemary’s instincts reveal yet another story.

When an early connection is abruptly cut off, the depth of that loss is something one could spend a lifetime pondering and exploring. After years of tamping down some important truths, Rosemary eventually releases her memories and unravels the mystery of how Fern came to leave.

It is a fascinating read and well worth the tears that come during its deeply satisfying conclusion.

I’ve never had a sister, and I’ve never lost a sibling. Yet I understand what it means to lose someone important during your formative years. Their absence and your imperfect memories may haunt you. But you also might realize that some love is powerful enough to shape and sustain you long after time has reduced its face and voice to shadowy afterimages.

 

Dog World

03 Sunday Mar 2013

Posted by judithar321 in friendship, health, inspiration, pets, work, writing

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

dogs, Kathleen Volp, Moccatomic, Rhodesian ridgeback

reclining

It’s the weekend and after a busy week at the computer, I am taking the day off. There is so much I want to write about, so many thoughts crowding in, but none are yet ready to make the transition from brain to paper.

Instead, I’ll share a few photos from our mid-February week of dog sitting.

Zoe came on a Tuesday. She is a black and white dynamo and Karina’s closest friend. She is a year or two older than Karina and had a litter of puppies before Kathleen rescued her.

Being more worldly than Karina, Zoe likes to introduce her to new experiences. For example, she has instructed Karina in the fine art of humping (as I said they are very close friends) and demonstrated for her how to chew a carrot, explaining why that’s better than burying it in your bed.  

The two of them tussle constantly, even when they are at rest.

The Saturday after Zoe arrived, Kola was dropped off. She is an eight-year-old Rhodesian ridgeback. Kola is the dignified older sister we all wish we could have. She may occasionally act as though she is above the antics of her younger siblings, but in truth she hates to miss out on anything.

Being an older, bigger dog, Kola reminds me of our Hobbes when he was in his prime, and because of that she has captured a special piece of my heart. She is always eager to help in the kitchen and stands politely at my elbow when I’m cooking, ready to catch any stray ingredients before they slide to the floor. Whenever we return from a human-only excursion, Kola always greets us with a shoe in her mouth. As it happens, she comes from a family of shoe people. 

The morning after Kola arrived, the three dogs enjoyed Sunday breakfast together and then took a moment to sit for the camera.

breakfast Pose

After the morning walk, there were naps. Zoe and Kola commit to their daytime snoozes with every fiber in their bodies.

Zoenap Kolanap

While as hostess, Karina keeps an eye on things.

hostessatrest

In fact, she’s a diligent hostess, getting up each night in the wee hours to make sure her guests are still safely tucked in.

At the end of the weekend, Zoe went home and a few days later, Kola did too.

sunbathers

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