November 30, 2009 by Guestwriter
By Buzz
for Rich, September 23, 2009
Hoops
Pass the ball Kansas
bend it low
like wind
hoops wheat
twin soles thrash old grain
splash window see the floor
cold ash burns with pain
twist sap from maple core
pour-sugar-brown syrup down
cough up crack in tree
shinny-slick draw-and-kick
school those milk-fed feet
don’t bubbachuck that shot
jack-brick hoes shuck corn
shoot silk breeze smooth round knees
rim-blown dust bowl storm
plain people use the back-door
farmers sense the rain
screen spills from its spline
but still the spine remains
drive faded Chevy off the blocks
pick-and-roll crash paint
sweat cuts thick in thin socks
gnashed gears slash years change lanes
lace sneaks between hard lumber
post sets wing on high
stolen prayer banks on glass
no free throws paid in life
juke the movie cowboy
look inside for dimes
slip time’s string past tin ring
thread the needle through the pine
score your game in limestone
spin leather seam from rock
drop it soft as chalk Jayhawk
echoes dribble out our clock
Chevrolet, photo © 2009 by Linda Lupowitz. All
rights reserved.
Shoes Homework, drawing © 2009 by Max Lupowitz.
All rights reserved.
Buzz is a healer, husband, father, and friend, etching ethers in New Mexico’s Rio Grande Valley since 1979. He wrote this poem in the fall of 2009, as a birthday gift to his good friend and fellow basketball player Rich Jamison. Buzz had this to say about the poem: Rich asked me to write a poem for his birthday. The poem is about basketball, which we both share a love for. It’s about the pass, not the shot. While the shot carries the glory, the pass, or the assist (“dime”) gives the game its rhythm. So it’s also a metaphor for healing, where the practitioner assists, steps back in the shadows, and allows life to flow.
Posted in Growing Older, Life, Love, Personal, Photography, Place, Poetry, Relationships, Wake Up | Tagged basketball, friendship, healing, plays in basketball, poems about basketball, poems by Buzz, red Ravine Guests | 12 Comments »
November 29, 2009 by sloWalker
Question Mark, Minneapolis Sculpture Garden, Minneapolis, Minnesota, January 2008, all photos © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
A few weeks ago, I watched an interview on Bill Moyers Journal and was mesmerized by the work of Anna Deavere Smith. It is tough work. She takes on controversial subjects most would not touch in our sanitized, politically correct language of the day. Her 1992 one-woman performance Fires in the Mirror explored the violence between Jews and Blacks after an August 1991 civic disturbance in the New York neighborhood of Crown Heights in Brooklyn. Her solo performance in Twilight: Los Angeles dramatized the 1992 riots that broke out in L.A. following the first Rodney King trial.
For her current one-woman play Let Me Down Easy, Anna Deavere Smith interviewed Americans from all walks of life about healthcare, medical, and end of life issues. After 9 years and 300 plus interviews, she chose 20 people; through their words, body language and speech, she transforms on stage into each one. I’ve only seen snippets of her 90 minute performance on TV. And from bullrider to politician to Buddhist monk, I could hear the voice of all America inserted into the healthcare debate, leaving little room for doubt — something has to change.
We are trying to bring disparate worlds together, not so that we can all get along, but so we can see out of the ‘me’ into ‘us.’
– Anna Deavere Smith
__________________________________________
Highlights
Below are few notes I jotted down while listening to her conversation with Bill Moyers. A few may seem cryptic, but will make more sense when you watch the interview:
- The title Let Me Down Easy came to her almost out of a dream. There are two songs with the name. Of the title, James H. Cone of the Union Theological Seminary said they are the words of a broken heart and can be interpreted as broken love. “Don’t do it harshly. Not too mean. Let it be easy.”
- Let Me Down Easy is a call about grace and kindness in a world that lacks that often – in a winner take all world.
- Death is the ultimate form of loss, the ultimate form of abandonment
- It broke her heart to know that we, with all of our money and technology, believe that we can afford to leave people so alone
- Are we afraid of being poor, afraid of losing, afraid of being sick? Is that why we distance ourselves from that reality all around us?
- She chose these 20 particular people because they are very connected to the life cycle – death and life
- The most important thing you can do is be with someone when they die
- Art comes in when the official language falls apart. When things fall apart, you can see more and you can even be part of indicating new ways that things can be put together.
What seems to be important to Anna Deavere Smith is the art of listening. And letting what she hears soak into each cell of her body. Words matter. People matter. She believes something she learned from her grandfather (who was also the inspiration for her method of theater) — if you say a word often enough, it becomes you. In a New York Times article Through 1 Woman, 20 Views of Life’s End she says, “I try to embody America by embodying its words.”
Near the end of the interview, Bill Moyers asked, “When did you begin to listen to people so acutely?” Anna said when she was young, she lived next to a woman who weighed 400 pounds. The neighbor would ask her to go to the store to buy her fatback and she’d love to sit on her porch and listen to her stories – that’s when she started really listening.
__________________________________________
Writing Topic — 3 Questions
How do we teach ourselves to listen? How do we get people to talk about what has meaning for them, moving beyond repetition or sound bites? In Anna’s words, “I say their words over and over. I listen and I wear the words.”
She said she also taught herself to listen by breaking up certain rhythmic speech patterns. She met a linguist at a cocktail party in 1979 who said she would give her 3 questions that were guaranteed to break the patterns and change the way people are expressing themselves:
Have you ever come close to death?
Have you ever been accused of something you didn’t do?
Do you know the circumstances of your birth?
And that’s the inspiration for this Writing Topic — 3 Questions.
Choose one of the 3 questions above. Write it down at the top of your paper. Take out a fast writing pen and do a timed 15 minute Writing Practice.
Maybe 3 questions, combined with the wild mind of Writing Practice, will break patterns in our writing and lead us to listen more closely to our own voices.
__________________________________________
Epilogue
Anna Deavere Smith is on fire. In pursuit of her mission to translate art into social commentary about race, poverty, and injustice, she’s won two Obie Awards, been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize and two Tonys, and is a recipient of the prized MacArthur fellowship. (Not to mention her role in NBC’s The West Wing, as National Security Advisor Nancy McNally.) You can read more about Anna Deavere Smith at Bill Moyers Journal. Or watch the full interview with Anna Deavere Smith and Bill Moyers at this link.
In November, the Moth Storytelling Awards in New York honored her as their 2009 recipient at the Annual Moth Ball. The Wall Street Journal blog Speakeasy covered the event which was also attended by writer Garrison Keillor. On the subject of healthcare, the blog references a compelling verbal account from Keillor that night about his stroke in September. He had the stroke while on a massage table, eventually drove himself to the ER, and waited 15 minutes in line before he was able to tell anyone he was having a stroke. Read the full story at Speakeasy: Jonathan Ames, Garrison Keillor and Anna Deavere Smith Headline Annual Moth Ball.
In some ways the most effective politicians are the ones who have the best verbal clothes that they manipulate the best way. And there is a gap between that type of clothing and where people walk and where people live.
Whitman was doing another kind of work for the country at that time. Speaking a different song. And I think the politicians can sing to us but I respect, in a way, the limitation of their language. I mean I guess it’s a part of our culture that goes back as far as Jefferson, that they have to be so careful about what they say. My only desire would then be that we would find other places in our culture to work out our differences.
– Anna Deavere Smith from Bill Moyers Journal, November 2009
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, November 29th, 2009
Posted in 25 Things, Art, Art of Rebellion, Body, Culture, Death, Dreams, Growing Older, Jugular, Life, Mandalas, Politics, Practice, Quotes, Vision, Wake Up, Writers, Writing Topics | Tagged 3 questions, Abraham Lincoln, Anna Deavere Smith, artists as muse, Bill Moyers Journal, breaking rhythmic speech patterns, courage, deep listening, differences between politics & art, end of life, fear & fearlessness, finding your voice, Garrison Keillor, healthcare, inspiration, interview questions, language, Let Me Down Easy, listening, living as artists & writers, love of words, one-woman plays, plays, playwrights, politics and art, speech, the art of interviewing, the politics of body, theater, Walt Whitman, wearing the words, Wheel of Life, words | 13 Comments »
November 27, 2009 by QuoinMonkey
Berth Of The Night Owl, outside Mickey’s Diner, St. Paul, Minnesota, November 2009, photo © 2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
drenched beads of lens sweat
black fog that spawns crusty rain
berth of the night owl
Sometimes the best shots are unplanned. A few weeks ago, Liz and I drove through St. Paul after going to see a music performance of Strange Attractors. It was almost midnight, rainy and foggy. We parked at different spots downtown and took a series of photographs. She stepped out into the rain; I stayed behind and shot from the car. I feel lucky my partner is one who loves the night (and art) as much as I do. It provides opportunities for creative sharing that might not otherwise take place. And we can spend downtime together in our art studio in Northeast Minneapolis.
The best part of this rainy shot of Mickey’s Diner through the windshield is the BlackBerry sitting on the dash. When the photo is viewed in its largest size, you can clearly see the raindrop reflections on the screen. They make it look like the rain fell through the glass. This time the photograph was not taken with the camera phone; she’s one of the stars.
Other Night Owl posts from over the years:
-posted on red Ravine, Friday, November 27th, 2009
-related to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), WRITING TOPIC — WINDOW
Posted in Art, Everyday Art, Food, Gratitude, Haiku, Home, Photography, Place, Practice, Vehicles, Vision, Weather | Tagged diners, everyday objects as muse, I love my BlackBerry, love of photography, making light of the dark, Mickey's Diner, night owls, Nightshots, photography as art, places I feel at home, places writers call home, running through rain, shadows & light, staring through windows, the practice of haiku, the practice of photography, vintage, windows as freedom | 11 Comments »
November 26, 2009 by ybonesy
The Turkey Who Lived, the story of Azul as told by the girl who loved her most,
© 2004-2009 by Dee. All rights reserved.
She was a blue so light she was almost gray. Jim got her at Miller Feed Shop in Albuquerque’s north valley after first buying and then losing a white baby turkey to a hawk. That turkey, we were later told, would have eventually grown so big that its weight would have broken its legs.
But Azul was a lean heritage turkey. She was made to roam fields. And roam she did. She had an easy relationship with our dogs, who seemed to know that she was as much a part of the family as they were. And she was docile with the girls, which put me at ease. A man I once worked with told me that you should never have turkeys around small children, as the turkeys would see the kids’ shiny eyes and peck them out.
Azul became famous ’round these parts. We lived within walking distance to the elementary school, and my daughters’ teachers regularly took their classes on field trips to our house. Twenty or so excited kids would stand at the fence around the bird pen to see Azul and the other turkeys, along with our chickens and Roosevelt the duck. We even had two bunnies, Diamond-in-the-Rough and Snowball, which if we could catch (they burrowed tunnels from the pen out to the yard) we’d let the students pet.
But Azul’s fame derived mostly because she survived an attack so severe that her innards were exposed. She had flown into the neighbors’ yard, not knowing that their dogs were unfriendly. Immediately a Bassett Hound and German Shepherd cornered and jumped her. The daughter was inside alone but had the wherewithal to call the police. She then went outside and chased the dogs away from Azul until Animal Control arrived and took the wounded turkey to the village offices.
Normally, with injuries that grave, Azul would have been put to sleep. But when the mayor of the village saw our daughter, who with Jim had pulled in seconds behind Animal Control, crying her eyes out when she saw how gory Azul looked, the mayor ordered Frosty, the head dog catcher, to rush the turkey to a local veterinarian. This mayor, who was also a sometimes-actor in Western films, then told Jim that the village would pick up the cost.
Lo and behold, Azul pulled through. She went on to live a relatively long life, giving birth to and raising three or four poults, a combined 20 to 30 turkeys.
Just a couple of weeks ago, however, Azul went missing. We looked high and low for her. She was always the leader of her flock, until this past year. We were down to four turkeys, one being Azul. The two males had plucked out large patches of her feathers. We let her stay outside the pen, being as how she roosted high in the trees to sleep.
One night we heard a commotion and chased off whatever it was that had come around. The next day Azul was gone. There were no feathers, no sign that she’d been taken or hurt. We searched for her for several days, thinking she might have laid eggs underneath brush and was hidden, safe and sound.
We still like to think she just flew high up into the trees where we can’t see her. But she was old for a turkey, and in our hearts we know that she’s gone for good.
Here is the story that Dee wrote about Azul back in 2004, just a few weeks after Azul was attacked by the dogs. Dee was 8 years old, and Azul was just over a year. I’ve corrected typos for ease of reading.
The Turkey Who Lived
One fall day, my dad, M., and me were shopping at K-Mart. We got a lot of stuff. Finally we were headed for home. When we turned on Mockingbird Lane, we saw the Animal Control leaving the road. My dad had a feeling something was wrong!
When we pulled up at our green gate, my dad saw a note left from the Animal Control which read “Your turkey has been attacked by some dogs next door. Sincerely, Frosty.”
My dad told us and I cried, but then I said, “I’ll kill those dogs!”
We met up with them [Animal Control] just in time. Before my dad got out of the car, he said Azul might be dead or dying. While my dad talked I could not tell if Azul was dead or alive, so I got out of the van and went to my turkey and cried when I saw her.
“We will put her to sleep,” the man said. “No!” the mayor said, “you will take her to the vet.”
So they did. The vet stitched her up. We had to put red medicine on her for a week. Now she is better, as if it never happened.
In Memoriam
Azul and her flock on red Ravine
Postscript: Even though she’s no longer with our flock, we are grateful this Thanksgiving holiday for having had Azul in our lives. She taught us that turkeys were not just some dumb bird you eat once a year. They’re regal and sociable. They’re funny, and most of all, they’re tough.
We’re also thankful today for our family (including the furry, feathered, and scaly), friends, our readers, for nature, writing, art, and all that inspires us.
Happy Thanksgiving, QM and Liz, and both your families!
Posted in Animals & Critters, Family, Fotoblog, Gratitude, Holding My Breath, Holidays, Home, Life, Love, Nature, Obituaries & Epitaphs, Personal, Photography, Place, Things That Fly | Tagged Azul, favorite turkey, Happy Thanksgiving, heritage turkeys, images of turkeys, pet turkeys, raising turkeys, Thanksgiving, turkey lovers, turkeys, turkeys as pets | 16 Comments »
November 24, 2009 by QuoinMonkey
Georgia Pine Over My Grandmother’s Grave, BlackBerry Shots, Augusta, Georgia, October 2009, all photos © 2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
visiting Estelle
gravestones outlast the living
markers for the dead
all that’s left behind
a letter, a horseshoe ring
lasting love and luck
face of a pine tree
warm thoughts of the Grandmothers
hover over me
It’s the time of year when I think often of family and loved ones, living and dead. One of the highlights of my October trip to Georgia was visiting my Grandmother Estelle’s grave for the first time. I did not know her well, had not seen her since I was 2 years old. I knew none of my blood father’s family. It was synchronicity when in 2007 my paternal aunts ended up in the insurance office of my maternal uncle and asked the question, “Are you related to….?”
It happened to be two weeks before Mom and I were scheduled to travel to Georgia. After 50 years apart, the question’s answer led them to me.
It turns out, my paternal grandparents are buried down the hill from my maternal grandparents in the same cemetery. I’ve been visiting the cemetery with my mother for years and never knew. These photographs are of the pine tree that grows high over their graves. My Aunt Annette told me that my grandfather loved pine trees. So do I. When I was a child, I would spend hours sweeping pine needles, the scaly bough of a branch curving to make just the right shape, a prairie-style home.
The thing about cemetery trees is that they are many times old growth trees, never to be cut. I like to think this pine is a guardian for my grandparents, its long roots extending deep underground, branches tall and proud (reminds me of another pine in New Mexico that I’m quite fond of, the Lawrence Tree).
There is more to the story — a letter, an obituary, a ring. Perhaps another post. This week I give thanks for all who live, and those who have come before.
Skin Of A Pine Tree, Pine Trunk In The Graveyard, My Grandmother’s Grave, Cemetery Pine, BlackBerry Shots, Augusta, Georgia, October 2009, all photos © 2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Post Script: the day Mom and I met my aunt at the cemetery, we also visited the Gertrude Herbert Memorial Institute of Art in Augusta. That’s where my Canon G6 battery died; I had forgotten to charge the backup battery. These photos are all taken with the BlackBerry cell phone camera.
-posted on red Ravine, Tuesday, November 24th, 2009
-related to post: haiku 2 (one-a-day)
Posted in Body, Bones, Culture, Death, Family, Gratitude, Growing Older, Haiku, Holding My Breath, Home, Life, Memoir, Obituaries & Epitaphs, On the Road, Personal, Photography, Place, Practice, Relationships | Tagged BlackBerry shots, cell phone photography, cemeteries, family history, Georgia, Georgia pines, giving thanks, granddaughters, graves, honoring life, honoring the past, honoring those who came before us, importance of grandmothers, influence of grandmothers, living the answers, living the questions, living with the past, researching memoir, The Grandmothers, The South, things I learn from my family, trees, visiting graveyards, writing about grandmothers | 12 Comments »
November 22, 2009 by QuoinMonkey
Liz Really Liked It!, BlackBerry Shots, vintage recipe card, November 2009, all photos © 2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
It’s almost Thanksgiving, a time of gratitude for our many blessings. And a time for good food. I walked over to the fridge this morning and under a Morton Salt “When it rains it pours” magnet was this faded recipe card for Chicken L’Orange. Liz’s mother (oliverowl) mailed it to us after a discussion on Memories, Writing & Family Recipes.
She told us that Liz’s maternal grandmother, Frances Oliver Biggs, loved that Liz liked the Chicken L’Orange. So much so, that she handwrote her comment on the back of the family recipe card she sent to Liz’s mom:
Does Liz remember the recipe for “Chicken L’Orange” that her Nana sent me? I still have the card in my recipe box. At the end is her comment, “Liz really liked it!” (Sent after Liz’s visit to CA.) It is probably similar to what you had on the Cornish game hens.
My contribution to yesterday’s meal was Grandma Caroline’s Green Salad (OLD family recipe) and a Cranberry Sauce that had orange juice and a whole jar of Orange Marmalade cooked with the fresh berries!
Now the recipe card with Liz’s grandmother’s handwriting hangs on our fridge. I told Liz I want to try Grandma Caroline’s Green Salad this year. It reminds me of my family’s version of Jell-O salad with whipped cream. Below is the recipe that Liz’s mom Marylin dropped into the red Ravine comments.
__________________________________________
Grandma Caroline’s Green Salad
1 large box of Lime Jell-O
1 8 oz. pkg. cream cheese
1 cup heavy cream, whipped
1 14-15 oz. can crushed pineapple, including juice
Take the cream cheese out of the fridge, so it begins to soften. Prepare the Jell-O, using 1 less cup of water than the recipe calls for. Chill it until it begins to thicken, but don’t let it solidify, or you’ll have a mess!
Since I only have one mixer, I whip the cream and place it in a small bowl. Then I cut the cream cheese in small chunks and place them in the mixer bowl and beat it well. When the Jell-O is a thick syrupy consistency, I add it to the cream cheese and mix until they are homogenized! (You’ll have to scrape down the sides of the bowl several times.) Next, the pineapple is mixed in and then the whipped cream, both at the slowest speed. Refrigerate until firm. Enjoy!
_____________________________________
We’re going to stop at the store today for last minute ingredients. What traditional recipes will you be sharing this Thanksgiving week? Are there any that have been passed down by your grandmother? Bob mentioned he’s making Aunt Annie’s Scalloped Oysters. ybonesy’s family always makes tamales for Christmas. And my family makes Southern Banana Pudding for almost every family gathering. Old recipes are invaluable to memoir writers. Family flavor.
Hope you enjoy Grandma Caroline’s Green Salad. And if you put together the two front and back photos of the recipe card in this post, you’ll have the Biggs family recipe for Chicken L’Orange — two great family recipes, one post. And any leftover turkey? Try Amelia’s Soft Dumpling Recipe.
Chicken L’Orange, When It Rains, It Pours, BlackBerry Shots, vintage recipe card, November 2009, all photos © 2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
Post Script: The Morton Salt girl has always been a favorite icon of mine. She’s officially called the Morton Umbrella Girl and according to the Morton website, the slogan, “When it rains it pours” first appeared on the blue package of table salt and in a series of Good Housekeeping magazine advertisements in 1914. The slogan is adapted from an old proverb, “It never rains but it pours.”
You can read more about the history of Morton Salt, view vintage ads, and see the transition of the Morton Umbrella Girl from the roaring twenties to the 1968 image that we still view on packaging today. They’ve also got a recipe section with Winning Kosher Salt Recipes.
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, November 22nd, 2009
-related to post: Reflections On The Other National Bird*
Posted in Family, Family Recipes, Food, Gratitude, Growing Older, Holidays, Home, Life In Letters, Memoir, Photography, Relationships, Seasons | Tagged advertising icons, BlackBerry shots, cell phone photography, connecting through handwriting, food memories, giving thanks, granddaughters, Holiday recipes, importance of grandmothers, influence of grandmothers, Jell-O salad, lime Jell-O, memories in food & cooking, Morton Salt, Morton Salt Girl, Morton Umbrella Girl, mothers and daughters, oliverowl, passing down family recipes, recipe cards, recipes, refrigerator shots, Thanksgiving, vintage ads, what's left behind, When it rains it pours | 18 Comments »
November 19, 2009 by ybonesy
Moms are the best
to hug and to nestle
My mama’s bad ass
She can arm wrestle
Bobbi versus Mom, in the First Annual Arm Wrestling Holiday Championship, December 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
And the winner is Mom!, photo © 2008-2009 by ybonesy. All rights reserved.
The holidays are just around the corner. We have tamales to make (after Thanksgiving) and biceps to beef up. Last year Mom beat at least five of us—my two daughters, myself, Dad, and my sister Bobbi—in a jolly game of arm wrestling. Mom is 83. (Did I mention she’s bad ass?)
What’s on your list of things to do before the holidays? And, what family traditions are you most looking forward to?
Posted in Art of Rebellion, Family, Gratitude, Holidays, Laughing, Life, Love, Personal, Photography, Poetry, Relationships | Tagged arm wrestling, bad ass mother, capturing the moment, crazy mom tricks, family memories, family traditions, holiday arm wrestling tradition, holiday traditions, humor, mothers and daughters, poems about mothers, things I learn from my family | 21 Comments »
November 16, 2009 by ybonesy
I have guided my two daughters—starting at about age nine—through Writing Practice. In both cases, my girls had graduated from chapter books to Harry Potter. Each was at the time steeped in weekly exercises for spelling, capitalization, punctuation. Each was heading into the season of independent school admissions, which would include a writing test. And each daughter wanted to spend time with me.
So I pulled them into something that was precious in my life. We whipped out our notebooks and fast-writing pens, grabbed a topic from thin air, set the timer, and wrote. And when the timer went off, we read our writing out loud.
I learned a lot about the mechanics of writing in elementary and secondary school. Mrs. Salisbury got me hooked on spelling bees. Mrs. Fiske, who wore her ginger-colored hair in a tight flip, walked us through the ins and outs of the paragraph. Mrs. Rhodes cried in class—overcome by the beauty of imagination—while reading The Hobbit out loud to us. But somehow I managed to get through twelve years without knowing how to simply compose.
And so it only seemed right that what took me until my late 30s/early 40s to figure out, thanks to the help of Natalie Goldberg and Writing Down the Bones, should become an early and natural skill for my girls. Like riding a bike or swimming.
How it works
- Start with three of the basic rules of Writing Practice–Keep your hand moving; Don’t cross out; Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, or grammar. These three are tangible. Any kid can understand them. In fact, they will be music to a child’s ear. I don’t cover the other three rules of Writing Practice, which are: Lose control; Don’t think; Go for the jugular. These ones are, in my opinion, meant for us adults, who try to be in control at all times, analyze our way through most everything, and are inhibited. Kids don’t need to be told to lose control. (By the way, I also have never had to say, “You’re free to write the worst shit in America,” as Natalie does. Children don’t seem to worry about lousy writing at this age, even though they already tend to denigrate their art ability. My theory is that they never write in school; thus, they have no basis of comparison. Not so with art.)
- Pick a topic that is easy to understand. It should be tangible, something like “Pickles” or “Socks.” The other day, I figured my youngest and I could use a recent topic from this blog, so I threw it out for consideration: I write because… “What does that mean?” my daughter asked. After trying a few times to explain how each of us might choose to write for different reasons, I went with something simpler. Apparently, she’s not in a place of needing to understand why she writes; she writes for the sake of writing.
- Start with five minutes and work your way up. This was a precaution I took thinking that my daughters might get bored after five minutes, plus it was a gentle start to a new concept. However, we quickly worked our way to ten-minute stints.
- When it comes time to read out loud, remind your child that we’re going to each listen to one another with full attention, otherwise you might find her scanning her page. Also, the first time we read, I took the lead. Again, that was probably an unnecessary precaution, as neither daughter hesitated to jump in when after subsequent topics I asked if they wanted to read first.
- Do Writing Practice with one kid at a time, at least to start. This is one-on-one time. Having someone else there—even a sibling—might change the dynamic. There will be no trying to impress, no worrying about someone being better. Moms are safe. Plus, it’s an easy way to bond.
- When your kid questions the part about Spelling—and, believe me, she will—tell her that she’ll continue to learn how to spell in school and by reading books, but that this practice is mainly for learning how to write, write, write. Spelling is important, but spelling will come in its own time.
- Be aware that your own writing might go in almost any direction if you, too, are following the rules of Writing Practice. I try not to temper my writing, and consequently I have written my politics and at times my petty minutiae. You can always pass on reading, but doing so might send the message that not reading is an easy out.
- Get your kid her own notebook and fast-writing pen, and encourage her to write on her own in this same way whenever she feels like it. Kids this age know what it means to practice, perhaps for sports or music, so instill the idea while it makes sense. And when she comes ’round and suggests, “Mom, can we do Writing Practice now?” be ready to pull out your notebook and see Beginner’s Mind in action.
_____________________________
Here are the Writing Practices (spelling errors corrected) that my youngest daughter and I did two weekends ago. Our topic was “Fall,” and we wrote for ten minutes.
Hers
Fall is when the leaves all fall to the ground. I like to jump into big piles of leaves. When the leaves start falling they change colors and they also crunch under your feet. Why is fall called fall? Maybe because leaves are falling. Another word for fall is autumn so I’m not sure why it’s called fall or autumn. The names have nothing in common. I also like sitting and watching the leaves fall off the trees. Sometimes all the leaves are a pain when you need to clean them up out of the pond and off the porch. Sonia likes fall I think because she has an excuse to stay inside. Otis and Rafie like to be inside too so they are happy when fall and winter come around. We have a lot of leaves to rake up so I’m happy because I want to jump in a big pile.
Mine
The trees outside the window make sure I know it is fall. They reach out over the window, and the sun shines behind them, shining through them, like light in a stained glass window. The colors are luminous, yellow shades and fading green shades. Even the dead tan leaves are beautiful, dangling in sparkling sunlight before letting go.
This morning I dress in a teal turtleneck sweater that I’ve had for ages, it seems. It’s too short from too many dryings, and it doesn’t keep my belly warm. Still, I head out to the corral with purpose, first holding my arms tight to try to keep the cold from hitting my core. But then I open up, drop my arms and swing them by my sides, in a sort of angry woman march. Except I’m not angry. I’m exuberant. It is cool but not cold. It’s early and the fall air feels new and fresh and good for me.
Dooley is waiting for me at the back gate. It’s a long walk down the service road, and the path is covered with leaves that have fallen from the trees that stretch like canopy over the path. Dooley is hungry for apples and grass and liberation. He will give a neigh and kick and run in a controlled run of his when I let him out.
I think all creatures must love fall. It is the best of times. The sun rises early now that we’ve set back the clocks, and even though it sets early, too, that feels right. Like it’s only natural that we would settle into our cozy homes, stews bubbling on the stove or a chicken roasting in the oven, and wait until it’s time to go to sleep.
Fall is also a time to prepare for the cold of winter. It’s a time to become more productive, less distracted by the never-ending light of summer. Yesterday I worked on my paintings for hours. I am finally becoming satisfied with Bush. He looks more real, red face and all, than he’d looked before. His eyes are scary, as you’d expect the eyes of someone like him to be. And his face has those plains to it that they have, a sharp face, pointy nose, pointy ears, straight lines for a mouth. He is an ugly man, as is Cheney and now Rove. Why is it that our lives get placed in the hands of such ugly men?
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Postscript: It is natural that parents want to guide our children, and usually in a more heavy-handed way than we might guide our friends or adult family members. When doing Writing Practice with your child, refrain from critiquing what she writes. Writing Practice is raw; it is not a final product. There is no good, no bad. It is what it is.
If you’d like to give your child feedback, use recall to do so. After she reads, recall a phrase or section of her writing, letting her know that those parts stood out to you. Try to do so without assigning value, such as, “I loved the part about …” If you can show your child how to provide input without labeling the input, you’ll also be role modeling how to listen deeply. It’s a wonderful skill to have.
Posted in 25 Things, Bones, Books, Family, Gratitude, Life, Love, Nature, Personal, Practice, Relationships, Structure, Topic Writing, Writing, Writing Practices | Tagged Beginner's Mind, deep listening, learning to write, motherhood, mothers and daughters, Natalie Goldberg, not being tossed away, recall in writing, teaching children to write, teaching children Writing Practice, writing about fall, Writing Down The Bones, Writing Practice for kids, writing process, writing with your daughter | 13 Comments »
November 15, 2009 by QuoinMonkey
Gothic Center, Minneapolis, Minnesota, September 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
ONE: Crystallization, Stage 9 of The Great Round, creates the opening in which seeds planted in earlier stages bloom into full flowers. The first mandala alludes to the rose windows in Gothic cathedrals, designs that continually pull the gaze back to the center.
Medium: Crayola markers, Portfolio Brand Water-Soluble Oil Pastels, and Rainbow Magic pens that erase and change color
Rule Of 8’s, Minneapolis, Minnesota, September 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
TWO: The underlying structure of this Stage 9 mandala is based on the number 8 which imparts order to the complex design (when you begin this mandala, give yourself plenty of time for the details). Derived from a Turkish design, it communicates the Islamic belief that all is held within the One, or Allah.
Medium: Crayola markers, Portfolio Brand Water-Soluble Oil Pastels, and Reeves Water Colour Pencils
Sri Yantra, Minneapolis, Minnesota, September 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
THREE: In this mandala based on the Sri Yantra, a sacred Hindu design used for meditation, the single downward-pointing triangle in the center is a symbol of divine feminine energy, the source of all creation. Expanding outward from the center, upward-and-downward-pointing triangles signify all male and female creatures coming into being. Lotus petals enclose the field of emanation; lines that represent the 4 directions, the 4 elements, and other ordering principles border the whole.
Medium: Crayola markers, Portfolio Brand Water-Soluble Oil Pastels, and Reeves Water Colour Pencils
Rule Of 6’s, Minneapolis, Minnesota, September 2008, photo © 2008-2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
FOUR: The overall pattern of this mandala is based on a Hindu design signifying creation. Based on the number 6, the interplay of lines brings one circle after another dancing into view.
Medium: Colored exclusively with Rainbow Magic pens that erase and change color, experimenting with color subtraction and complements
September Mandalas — Stage 9 -Crystallization
When you reach Stage 9 of The Great Round, it is time to pause and take a moment to stop and smell the roses. The Crystallization of Stage 9 is a time of fulfillment, satisfaction, and completion. It is opened by the adult experience of finishing a project or fulfilling an important commitment (such as raising a family) which creates a natural pause to experience delight and joy in what you have accomplished.
These mandalas are from the 9th month of a year-long mandala practice that began with the post Coloring Mandalas. Early in 2008, I made the decision to follow the twelve passages of Joan Kellogg’s The Great Round. According to Susanne F. Fincher, the healing benefits of The Great Round: Stage 9 – Crystallization are:
- a slowing of creative activity followed by a sense of balance and relaxed enjoyment
- completing tasks and finding deep satisfaction in what you have accomplished
- scattered puzzle pieces come together in harmony; seeds planted come to full bloom
- seeing through appearances to grasp fundamental structures of reality
- reviewing each facet of what you have created, you survey your labor of love, and conclude “this is good”
In later cycles, Crystallization is a time when you achieve mastery of a spiritual practice. It’s a sweet time, a moment of joy. I think that’s why many of the mandalas in Suzanne F. Fincher’s Coloring Mandalas 2 are based on the Crystallization phase. I was going to do another elaborate essay about color systems at the end of this post. But it’s been over a year since I posted Stage 8, Functioning Ego — August Mandalas (Goethe & Color) (my apologies). So I decided the most important thing I could do for our readers is to complete the publishing of the entire Great Round I completed in 2008.
I’ve learned a lot from the practice of mandalas. It’s moved out into my photography practice. I’ve continued on to Coloring Mandalas 2 and hope to start posting them in 2010. Anything we take on as a practice — writing, haiku, photography, doodling — takes us where we need to go. Whether we decide to take a practice to the next level, or abandon it altogether because it has run its course, the structure, repetition, and dedication prove to be excellent teachers. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to color a few mandalas while Liz watches the Vikings game!
-posted on red Ravine, Sunday, November 15th, 2009
-related to posts: The Void – January Mandalas, Dragon Fight – June Mandalas, Winding Down – July 4th Mandalas, and WRITING TOPIC – CIRCLES
Posted in 25 Things, Art, Body, Bones, Culture, Life, Mandalas, Practice, Spirituality, Structure, Vision | Tagged circles, coloring as practice, Coloring Mandalas, Crystallization, Sacred Circles, Susanne F. Fincher, The Great Round, Wheel of Life | 8 Comments »
November 14, 2009 by QuoinMonkey
Continuity, BlackBerry Shots, pool near Clarks Hill Lake, Georgia, October 2009, all photos © 2009 by QuoinMonkey. All rights reserved.
streaks of Southern light
splash across concrete pool deck
sink to the bottom
wading through memoir
old gravestones crack and crumble
worn secrets revealed
John Cheever lives on
fine art of the short story
distant memories
pool to pool to pool
we have all been The Swimmer
fighting for our lives
When I travel to Georgia with Mom, we stay at my Uncle Bill’s place on Clarks Hill Lake. Mom likes the wicker room on the first floor with a view of the lake and grounds. This year I stayed in the only upstairs bedroom in the wing of the house dedicated to recreation, exercise, and watching movies. In the past, I thought it a little strange to be the only person sleeping on the whole second floor. But this year, I grew to love the room. It’s quiet. No widescreen TV on the wall, no noise. And it looks out over a sea of Georgia pines on the shore of Clarks Hill Lake.
The dividing line between Georgia and South Carolina runs right through Clarks Hill Lake. I stay on the Georgia side with my uncle; my paternal aunts, Annette and Brenda, live not far from my uncle on the South Carolina side. I reconnected with my blood father’s sisters a few years ago after nearly 50 years. They had not seen me or my mother since I was 2 years old. Small world.
One morning I awoke and saw these streaks of light pulsing through the pool below me. It struck me how they hit the concrete first, then jumped into the water and immediately sank to the bottom. One thing I like about outdoor pools is the way the sunlight plays through the water during the day. Another thing about swimming — you get really good at holding your breath.
My grandfather had a pool when I was growing up. It wasn’t far from the bomb shelter he built outside his new home; it was the 1950’s. Among the things I remember clearly are the few sultry evenings when we swam at night. I also associate pools with John Cheever’s short story, The Swimmer. Ever since Natalie Goldberg had us read it for one of her Taos workshops, I’ve never forgotten it. Neither has writer Michael Chabon. In Salon, he calls The Swimmer “a masterpiece of mystery, language and sorrow.”
Who is your favorite short story writer? Have you ever written or published a short story? What do you associate with swimming pools? Exercise, relaxation, water polo, relief from the heat, family fun? Do a Writing Practice on Swimming Pools….10 Minutes, Go!
Lifeline, Lightbending (3), BlackBerry Shots
of pool near Clarks Hill Lake, Georgia, October
2009, all photos © 2009 by QuoinMonkey. All
rights reserved.
-posted on red Ravine, Saturday, November 14th, 2009, with gratitude to Natalie for all the writers she has introduced us to and made us read in spite of our resistance!
-related to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), PRACTICE — Holding My Breath – 10min, The Vitality Of Place — Preserving The Legacy Of “Home”
Posted in Authors, Bodies Of Water, Everyday Art, Gratitude, Great Places To Write, Haiku, Holding My Breath, Home, On the Road, Photography, Place, Practice, Short Story, Wake Up, Writers, Writing Topics | Tagged a room of one's own, art of the short story, BlackBerry shots, cell phone photography, Fall in Georgia, famous writers, Georgia, inspiration, John Cheever, lineage, Michael Chabon, Natalie Goldberg, pools, shadows & light, swimming pools, the practice of haiku, the practice of photography, The Swimmer, the value of staring into space, writers who inspire me | 3 Comments »
November 12, 2009 by QuoinMonkey
Sink Mandala II – Dragon Claw, Kohler Design Center, Kohler,
Wisconsin, October 2009, all photos © 2009 by QuoinMonkey.
All rights reserved.
fierce constellation
one dragon, many faces
all run down the drain
water covers fire
ouroboros alchemy
swallows no desire
shadow eats itself
raw prima materia
circle is complete
-posted on red Ravine, Thursday, November 12th, 2009
-related to posts: haiku 2 (one-a-day), haiku for Kohler Arts, Dragon Fight — June Mandalas
Posted in Animals & Critters, Art, Haiku, Mandalas, On the Road, Photography, Place, Practice, Spirituality | Tagged alchemy, balancing dark and light, befriending the dragon, Dragon Fight, Dragons, Kohler Design Center, Kohler sinks, Ouroboros, sinks, the practice of haiku, Wheel of Life | 7 Comments »
Older Posts »
My favorite thing to do in elementary school was Art. Even when I had pink eye in second grade, and my mom sent me to school because she preferred possibly infecting my entire class to having me around for the day, and the teacher set up two long tables like the ones in the cafeteria, and I sat all alone making my collage at one table while the rest of the class crowded around the other table, I still loved Art!
When you get people together, you gotta eat. It’s what you do. But when you get people together to play with Art, you gotta keep the Eating and the Art separate.
I like the idea of putting the common supplies at one table so that everyone can access them. For example, if you’re doing collage, keep together all the paper materials.
