A Dark and Stormy Night

"The backyard is looking pretty magical during the power outage all dressed up in fireflies."

A final post to Facebook before I settled in for the night as the sun went down and it got dark. Well and truly dark. I cannot remember seeing such darkness for awhile. It was a moonless night. And a bit cloudy, so there were no stars.

There were only fireflies lighting the trees.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. 

Unexpected Sabbath

Always interesting to type one-fingered on my phone during a power outage. 

The windows are open and the sweet music of the neighbors’ generators fills the air. I’m generating this writing and thinking about going to bed early. The street sounds quiet as the kids go in for the evening, and my work languishes on the table in my kitchen

At Twilight

The other evening as I was driving back from Princeton just after sunset, two young deer crossed the road in front of me. They jumped the split rail fence that borders the greensward near the woods at the edge of the river. As they stepped onto the grass, they disappeared into a mist that rose suddenly.

It was pure magic.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

Medicine For the Earth

Summer seems to be a season that I'm up for a challenge. Or Eight.

I've got seven projects going for the summer. Things that percolated over months and crystallized into a plan in May. Things like daily blogging and creating a collection of short fiction from material I've been working on for several years, scheduling and teaching workshops and classes, finalizing and releasing my poetry book, completing the prep work for a Soul Collage facilitator training, setting and holding boundaries at work in order to create more balance, dealing with home and life clutter.

It's an ambitious plan. 

I've also got energy around all these things. And I'm not obsessing over them. If I need to let go of something or step it back, I'll be able to do that. But I also have discerned that their time has come. When we're ready, it's possible to do the things we set out to do.

I got really clear with myself that I am complete around these projects. They are enough for the 100 days I committed to them. So I was surprised to find myself easily committing to an eighth project. And it's probably the most difficult of them all. Mainly because I don't know that I'm ready to do this. 

My yoga studio, Yoga Love in Yardley, PA, put out a challenge to its community to stop buying single-use plastics for 64 days - July 1 through Labor Day. A bunch of yoga teachers were sitting around a table one night talking about the plastic in the oceans and decided to put the idea out there and see what happens. The studio owner, Amy Spicer, a woman who walks her talk, offered two levels of incentives (one for those who complete the challenge and one for those who give it a really good effort) and people flocked to the desk to sign the agreement. Every time I'm in the studio, there's a line of people waiting to sign up. Now there's a public Facebook group where people can share their ideas and ask for help. I met a woman the other day who knows a lot about this stuff and I offered to put together an event to support people who are probably feeling like they are over their heads with this.

Sometimes, even if we're not ready, events conspire to give us an opportunity we might not otherwise have taken.

I went shopping today and noticed that I buy a lot of things in plastic. The awareness around this is becoming a little intimidating, but I'm trying not to think about that. Don't want to get lost in it. I'm simply putting my head down and immersing myself totally in the experience. I think we can do pretty much anything for 100 days, 64 should be even more do-able.

Ultimately, it's about choosing. And there's something freeing about making an empowered choice and living into that.  

So, I'll make my own hummus and will find a butcher that will let me put what I buy into my own containers. I'll pray that I don't run out of shampoo and deodorant and laundry detergent and dish washing liquid for the next two months. I won't buy berries but I will buy peaches. I'll cut up my own watermelon. I'll move through my days with more awareness. I'll notice how convenience is one of the biggest temptations of our times and how the oceans and land are suffering as a result. I'll learn that there are a lot of things I can live without and that I can make choices that have a positive impact. And I'll remember that I have forgotten that I have more power than I think I do to affect the big issues. That I can do more than I think I can do. 

My life and my choices will be medicine for the earth. 

And those five yoga classes I will be gifted as a result? I'll practice with the intention to embody wise choices going forward. That, too, will be medicine.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. 


If you're interested in being part of the challenge, or learning more, go to www.liveyogalovelife.com for more information and to sign up. If you sign up, you'll be invited to join the FB group.

     

Tiny Frustrations and a Breath of Fresh Air

It's one of those days when everything seems to irritate me.

I'd like to go out for a walk but it's too hot and muggy and I'm surrounded by concrete and asphalt outside these walls. So I'm taking a break from work and listening to Steely Dan while sipping homemade chicken broth. I bring a thermos to work to help stave off the mid-afternoon hungries. I'm not sure if I actually get hungry. It's likely just a dip in blood sugar and my body's reaction to being inside and sitting at a desk doing administrative work.

I probably need a vacation.

It's been awhile since I've headed off to some wild place.

There's my medicine. 

Running on Empty by Jackson Brown just came up on the Amazon playlist I'm listening to. I've fast forwarded past that and it's now Take It Easy by the Eagles. 

Message received.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

Mothercraft

I went out for a cup of tea this evening to get out of the house and enjoy the evening sky. There's a great little open-air patio attached to a Mediterranean grill in Princeton that I like. They make a delicious cup of Turkish tea and a perfect pistachio baklava.

The patio tables are close together, so it's impossible not to hear the conversations of other diners. My table sat between a table where a woman in a straw hat and sunglasses had her laptop open and was on the phone having a business meeting and that of a mother and daughter nibbling on an array of appetizers. Both were strikingly dressed in black and had painted toenails. Both had long, dark hair and dark, beautiful eyes. The atmosphere was companionable and I could not help being drawn to them. 

They were talking about what the daughter was doing at school. She was sharing some of what she was thinking about and what she was learning through her research. It felt very familiar. I've had many conversations with my own children about their academic discoveries and ideas around how to apply them.

The mother began to struggle with comprehending what her daughter was trying to communicate. She did not yet have enough mastery of her material to explain it simply. I could see that there was much that is still in process for her and that she is trying to figure out. The daughter began to feel a little frustrated from the look of things. They were not connecting around what she was sharing. A couple of times, the mom glanced over at me and smiled uncomfortably. I got the sense that she was reaching out for understanding. 

And then the most amazing thing happened. Something shifted, and the mom just relaxed and became so perfectly attentive that she was completely present to her daughter. With no need to understand what her daughter was talking about, she simply gave her daughter what she actually wanted. Presence. Attention. Connection.

It was an inspiring interaction. And as I sit here writing about it, I'm wishing that we could bottle that kind of wisdom. But, of course, that kind of wisdom comes only with long experience and is its own kind of magic.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.  


Photo: Jennifer Louden

Photo note: This photo popped up on my FB feed today and was the first image I saw this morning. It inspired me so much, I decided it would be my writing prompt for the day. Little did I realize, as it worked on me throughout the day. that I would find this kind of inspiration in the deep and abiding presence of a mother's love, so grounded and expansive at the same time.

Kitchen Magic

More internet funk today so I distracted myself with cooking.

A friend posted a brilliant recipe -- salmon, grains, vegetables, fruit, and aromatics. I did not have all the ingredients, so I had to get creative. It was fabulous. 

There is something about our creativity and cooking, and the beauty of ingredients and the ways they ignite our senses that makes cooking, and then eating, so satisfying. I was completely absorbed in the experience. It felt like Sabbath time. Deeply restorative and nourishing. 

The experimentation, and taking my time to luxuriate in each step, each fragrance rising from squeezing or sauteing, or slicing, or crushing, or grating. All of it enabled me to disappear into a presence that was so deep it felt like another dimension. It reminds me of the kind of presence I shift into when I am hiking a wild desert landscape.

So here's the method. I took a lime and finely grated the zest. Mixed that with a bit of sea salt and set it aside. A splash of extra virgin olive oil in the cast iron skillet, a clove of garlic grated into that and slowly heated. Sliced a summer salad onion thinly and added it to the pan. Browned the onions until they lightly caramelized  and reduced in volume. Measured two teaspoons of oil into a glass and fork-whisked in a bit of ground ginger from my spice cabinet since I did not have any fresh in the house. Set two small wild salmon filet portions on the pan and rubbed the zest-salt into the fish and drizzled the ginger oil on top. That went into a preheated 400 degree oven. 

Meanwhile, I prepared a half cup of rinsed quinoa with a cup of homemade chicken stock and to that added some of the greens from the onions, chopped, along with some diced roasted red pepper that was left over from something I made a few days ago. Cento has a good preparation of that in a small, reasonably priced jar. And some sliced almonds. Tossed that together and added it to the pan after removing the fish and onions so that the quinoa pilaf could absorb the pan juices. Set the fish and onions back on top of the quinoa and allowed everything to rest a few minutes before serving with a generous squeeze of lime over the top. That was the best part of the whole preparation. There is something beautifully refreshing about freshly squeezed citrus. 

It atomizes and offers the explorer of wild gastronomic landscapes a final gift for the senses.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. 

A Little Bit of Chaos

i'm writing quickly tonight.

It's a race to the finish. I'm competing against Comcast. My service has been frustratingly spotty lately. Actually, it's been going on for a couple of years. Here and there, at first. I've noticed a definite decrease in quality. Sometimes I think I spend more time on the phone with their customer service than I do on the Internet. I have trouble with connectivity and outages almost every day. It's been so bad lately, they gave me a $40 credit on my bill yesterday.

I honestly don't understand it. And I know I'm not the only one. The customer service reps have a script. The script seems designed to keep people calm and encourage them to not move their service to Verizon. I've got to say, though, the $79.99 introductory price at Verizon is looking pretty good these days when I'm paying more than $200 a month to Comcast for the "triple play."  And that's for the step just above basic cable with no premium channels. And crappy internet service. 

I had not exactly intended to rant about Comcast, but almost every time I sign in, there's a problem. To have my chief tool and shipping method on the fritz almost constantly, creates some stress.

And it contributes to the chaos I've been feeling lately.
  
As I'm thinking about it just now, I'm wondering if there is some good that comes with this kind of chaos. Is there a resilience I cultivate as I work with this situation? Or is it merely an annoying frustration that serves no real purpose? 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. 

Two Words

The energy has definitely shifted. 

I can feel it. 

I've published this writing and come back to it. There is more I want to say, And nothing I want to say. I find myself feeling ambivalent about writing today. I keep coming back to one of my writing teacher's wisdom. Natalie Goldberg says of writing practice, "Keep your pen moving. Don't stop writing." If you can't think of something to say, then write, "I can't think of something to say." Keep writing that over and over again until the thoughts start moving again.

She says that writers digest experience. 

I've been digesting today. Even if I've not been writing. Or perhaps I am censoring my thoughts. 

I wonder what I might write if I allowed my thoughts to flow freely onto the page.  

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.


Art by Aliaussie

The Sun Stands Still

We had all the weathers on the summer solstice today.

I woke to muggy, misty, sticky, heavy moist air and thick cloud that flowed into light, and then heavy, rainfall. The storms moved off and suddenly the dark clouds cleared and gave way to crystal blue skies and big, puffy white clouds. Soft breezes and cooler air. 

The sun stands still for three days as sunset falls at the same time today, tomorrow, and Sunday. It's why we call it the solstice. 

Because the sun appears to stand still in the sky, neither increasing the light of day or diminishing it.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

Adventures in a Tiny Kitchen

My son tells me I should start a food blog.

"I already have a blog," I tell him.

"I know," he says. "You should have a food blog."

He's probably right. For a long time I've had this fantasy that I would have a cooking show. I think I'd be really good at that. And it would be fun. Sometimes when I'm cooking, I role play the cooking show I would have. 

I'm not sure that I want to create another blog. One blog feels like enough, especially when I am writing daily. But I could think about it. And maybe dream it a little. One day I might decide to do it. That's usually how new things begin.

So today I decided to try a new recipe. It was a real departure from my usual fare. Not that I'm not adventurous when it comes to cooking. I am. But these days I've been eating very simply. Very clean. I've been concerned about what I put in and on my body with the toxic load we seem to be carrying these days.

But a friend sent a photo of a recipe she loves and it intrigued me. So I spent a lot of money on ingredients I did not have in my pantry. Like coconut butter. And preserved lemons. I had not known there was coconut butter. It tastes like other nut butters. I need Nigella Lawson's vocabulary to describe the flavor and texture. I need it also to describe the taste of preserved lemons. I had actually watched Martha Stewart make them on her PBS television show a few months ago. What an interesting synchronicity that they should come up in a recipe I want to make. I remember thinking, "This is interesting, but I can't imagine actually using this in a recipe."

Never say never. 

What I remember most about making this recipe is the mystery of watching the dish unfold. It sounds like a strange way to describe a cooking experience. Pastured chicken browning in coconut oil. Removing the chicken and browning sliced onions. Adding fragrant spices one at a time and watching the color and fragrance change with each new element. Ground turmeric. Ground ginger. Ground coriander. Saffron strings. Adding the chicken back in with some stock and putting all that in the oven, covered. The experience of handling preserved lemons and tasting them for the first time. Trying to get them out of the jar. Noticing the not-quite-acrid flavor and wondering how that could possibly taste good in the recipe. Worrying I'd spoil the sauce if I added them. 

I uncovered the pot when it came out of the oven and I was stunned by the beauty of the sauce. Adding the coconut butter and thin strips of the preserved lemon made it exquisite. I served it over quinoa with some sliced almonds, ate slowly and savored every bite. The flavors are complex, delicious, and so surprising.

It's become one of my favorite recipes. One of my most cherished culinary adventures. One of my most beloved gastronomic landscapes.

I divided the recipe in half to make it and have half left over. It will be interesting to see whether it is better the second day. Some recipes are.  

I love adventure, and some of my favorite adventures are in the kitchen. I have a tiny kitchen, very low tech, and am often stunned by what I am able to produce there. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

Flight

The tiny firefly flew up to my kitchen window tonight.

It was an extraordinary flight, considering my kitchen window is on the second floor of the house. How curious it was to see her there.

Perhaps it was curiosity that drew her, and called her to fly so high.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

Peace and Wild Things

My friend Sandy Grobelny is an extraordinary nature photographer. She has such sensitivity for her environment and I think it's her ability to be deeply present that enables her to capture such striking images.

I enjoy her photos on Facebook, where she shares the beautiful images that emerge as she simply lives her life.

Today, as I was relaxing after a day that was hijacked by an anesthesia hangover from a dental procedure this morning, I found my inner critic busy at work. Giving me a hard time for not being able to manage my day well after the unexpected reaction to the anesthesia. I picked up my phone to escape the relentless battering of my mind and saw this image with these words...

Oh what a peaceful lunch we had at the lake. This fella stayed with us, teaching us to just float around and relax. What a gift!








These were exactly the healing words and image I needed in the moment. The time-out from my own unhelpful thoughts that pulled me back from the edge of unpleasantness. We never know when what we say or what we do, what we put out into the world, will become a moment of healing for someone else. The path forward is to live authentically as ourselves. That authenticity includes both moments of struggle and vulnerability and moments of peace and clarity. Moments of struggle and vulnerability can lead to insights and awareness that, when shared, help others in similar circumstances. Perhaps to feel seen, heard, and not judged, perhaps something else that is needful. Moments of peace and clarity, when shared, can become lifelines in others' times of struggle.

It takes just a moment to transform something. To spark a new reaction, a new relationship, a new thought, a new emotion, a new way of being. 






The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

The Fragrance of Ordinary Days

It's been a few days since I've walked on the canal. Unexpected work commitments and weather kept me away.

I was stunned to find the path pristine and clear as I crossed my threshold. This led me into wondering, since only a week ago it was covered in the feathers and scat of Canadian geese. But, except for a pair slowly swimming on the other side of the bridge, there were none in sight. It was curious and got me thinking.

About how the path can suddenly and unexpectedly clear and open the way for clear and unhindered movement. 

I noticed the duck mama and her brood down at this end of my daily journey. Usually they are closer to the end of my walk. It had been about a week since I'd seen them and the ducklings look more like miniature ducks than like ducklings. The fuzzy down is gone and feathers have come in. Soon, they'll be off and starting their own adventures.

The air is heavy and moist today. Large droplets of water are suspended on the leaves of plants and trees lining the path and the water. Sunlight is diffuse as it passes through mist. 

But it is the fragrance that is striking. 

I don't recognize it, but I am lured nonetheless. It carries me into timeless presence as I walk along. It seems that no time at all goes by and I see the familiar landmarks ahead that tell me it is nearly time to turn around. Looking down, I am startled out of my reverie by feathers and shit.

It seems the threshold has moved.

And I notice that the decision to extend my distance is upon me. I've been thinking about it for a couple of weeks, but time and the lure of tasks and accomplishment always seem to pull me back from the edge and drive my turning around at the same endpoint.

I've gotten really good at recognizing a threshold though. And decision always comes with it. Go back or go forward. Stand still or step over. This is always the choice at the threshold. 

I don't even think. I keep walking.

A curious thing happens as I return some time later. I pass the threshold I'd just crossed earlier in my walk and notice ahead of me a whole gaggle of geese feeding on either side of the path. As I approach, they look up and step into the path. Now normally, as people approach, they move. Adjust their foraging. Let them pass. But these seem more guardian at the gate than simple geese feeding on grass. There is something I need to see. To learn. To remember.

Thresholds move. They're unpredictable. You may think you've got it down, but life has a way of surprising you. And me. And so often, that movement propels us on to the next part of the journey. Or the path. Or our growth.  

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. 

Longing to See Clearly

We're hours away from a full moon and the sky is full of clouds.

Here, we can see the light of the moon but the form, the shape, is diffuse.

This is so much the way life can be at times. Longing to see clearly, but not quite able to. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

Practice

She sits atop the windowsill against a backdrop of trees and the sounds of rushing water below. I find my seat and sink into the ground beneath me as I lift my hands to my heart in a prayer posture and bring my awareness to my breath. 

I continue the practice and find myself creating space within.  

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

Digging In

A beautiful Friday afternoon.

I am tired from a long week of work and am still trying to figure out how to incorporate daily writing into my schedule, but I am doing it. I've raised the bar this summer since I'm also working on a short fiction collection and, so far, I've read through some material I wrote a few years ago that I'd like to work into a new piece of short fiction. I haven't decided yet whether it will be part of the collection I'm creating or whether it will need to stand alone. I'm hoping it will work for the collection because that means I will need only to create one story to complete it.

Now, that might sound like I've got an easy summer in front of me. I don't. The other three stories are in various stages of completion. They're all at least at the second draft stage. The problem is, once I start ripping apart stories I write, they seem to become confused and I don't know what to do with them.

A few years ago I participated in a year-long fiction workshop to workshop a long short story I wrote. I like the original better. So, when I get to that one, I'll need to put all the versions side by side and really think about what it needs. And what it wants. Two of the stories are complete and about as good as they can get. One of them needs a new title, but I can't think of something better than I've got - and I don't like it.

I'm beginning with the new material. Then I'll go back through the other three stories. Finally, I'll write the new one. I think I have the subject, but I am still discerning the direction I'd like to go. 

These stories are past their time to be collected and given to the world. And there's something exciting about settling in and completing this.  

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. 

The View from Above

It was an unexpected day of work for me today and a late meeting. A quick bit of writing as I forgot that I am the columnist scheduled for this Sunday's paper. I write as part of a team of columnists and forgot to put the date in my calendar. My mind has been on my own writing projects and it simply slipped my mind. 

That's never happened before.

So I wrote a beautiful column in about an hour and sent it off with an apology. I hope there's time to include it. 

It's funny how when I know I have time, the writing process feels more heavy. I question myself more. Doubt myself more. Wonder overmuch about whether it's good enough. When I am under a deadline, or seriously past the deadline, suddenly all that worry, doubt, and fear disappear and there is only the writing and the sending the writing off to find its way into the world.

There is some kind of wisdom in this.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. 

Ordinary Day Blues

Feeling a bit flat tonight as I think about writing. 

I spent a good day at work, but it is nothing to write home about. It was just one of those normal days when nothing terrible happened nor did anything spectacular happen. It was just a calm, even, easy, simple day.

Maybe that is something to write home about after all.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

Sometimes It's Best to Leave the Sentence Unfinished

How is it that a really good day of work can be followed by a day of complete 

I didn't even finish the sentence. Just at the moment of near defeat, I looked out the window and up at the sky. The colors were glorious. Absolutely glorious. And as the brilliant color fades into a soft grayed periwinkle, I remember again the simplest lessons are found in the natural world.

Don't look back. Don't look down. Look out. And up. Be inspired.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. 

Nothing in My Head But the Impulse

I spent the morning going through material for some short fiction I am turning into a collection to publish. I was stunned at the beauty of what I read and the way my creativity seemed to be a fountain flowing over pages and filling the entire notebook. 

I am thinking that it may even be a stand-alone project. I'll decide when I type the material and see how many words I have. How many pages. 

It's funny to look at this material, writing from a week away a few years ago. It's been marinating. Or maybe I've been marinating. 

It's stunning to notice how focused and beautiful my writing is when I am away and not distracted. Here, I write every day. But I am writing around my life. Around work. Around the many projects I'm working on. Around stress. Around paying bills. Around thinking about what's coming next. What I am forgetting. What needs to be done. 

It's been awhile since I took myself away to write. And dedicated my time and my focus just to that. To reading. To thinking. To slow walking in nature. To writing and then writing again. And again. Until there's nothing in my head but the impulse to put pen to paper and mark its passage.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 begins. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.   

Thank you, Jericho Brown

Belly laughter rang out in my car this morning for 45 minutes, beginning at 7 a.m.

I was listening to On Being, to an interview with the delightful Jericho Brown. He's a poet. He feels like my twin. So much of what he talked about resonated, but the question of sending his book to his mom struck home.

He spoke with such humor about the interesting relationship between poets and their mothers. I relate, completely. I remember asking, a few years ago, if she'd like to hear some of my poems. I'm not sure that she said, "yes," but I found myself reading some of my favorites and really wanting her to hear them. I think that might have been the last time I was so enthusiastic about sharing my poems with her.

"Why can't you write nice poems," she said. 

I think I might even have hung my head, there, on the other end of the phone.

I look back on that and laugh now, especially having heard Jericho Brown's interview with Krista Tippett.

He told a story about the time one of his poems appeared in Time magazine. He said that it was one of those rare occasions when something good happened and he sent the magazine to his mom. She was very happy, he said. 

"Oh, that was nice. Now you're finally writing nice poems," he said she said.

I was stunned. And I laughed out loud. For a long time. Later when I told my mom about it, she laughed out loud too.

"See?" she said.

So much of what resonates are the ways he spoke about the vulnerability of poets. And how that vulnerability catches him by surprise most of the time.

How excited he was to know his latest book was coming out. How he was really looking forward to it. Until he remembered the poems he wrote. So many of them had to do with rape, and with calling rape, rape. He began to wonder what he had been thinking. Being a poet. Writing poetry. His kind of poetry. The kind that speaks powerfully about truth with vulnerability. And putting that out into the world.

I think about that often. The way I think about it is captured in this tiny poem I wrote a few years ago. While thinking about these things. And procrastinating around my poetry book, the one that is weeks away from release. Procrastinating because I felt vulnerable. 

I write poetry
Take the clothes
Off my soul

I think I've forgotten more than I can remember about the interview. But the feeling of being known remains. It was one of those exquisite moments in life when you know you're just where you're supposed to be, doing what you're supposed to be doing, writing the poetry you were born to write.  

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 riffs off of a Natalie Goldberg retreat I attended a couple of years ago. Every day, we wrote from prompts and then shared what we wrote.This series is my second annual 100 Days of Summer Writing Practice. I'm writing whatever comes to mind and not editing my ideas. So, writing and putting that writing out into the world. Every. Single. Day.

A Glass of Rose and Joseph Campbell

I sat on the patio at the Yardley Inn on an achingly beautiful day.

I went late in the afternoon, missing both the lunch and dinner crowds. Dazzling blue skies framed the swiftly moving river. Lazy breezes caressed my skin. Bikers revved their engines as they stopped at the three-way stop. A man in a fancy pick up truck blew his horn. When I looked up, he blew a kiss.

I'd gone to enjoy the day. To read. To sip a glass of rose.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 riffs off a Natalie Goldberg retreat I attended a couple of years ago. We wrote from prompts every day and then shared what we wrote. This series is my second annual 100 Days of Summer Writing Practice. I'm writing whatever comes to mind and not editing my ideas. So, writing and putting that writing out into the world. Every. Single. Day.

Feathers and Shit

The Canada geese hang out on a small stretch of towpath where I walk. The narrow greensward between the path and the water is blanketed with feathers and shit. Once I get past that threshold, the way is pretty clear and the walk is beautiful.  

It's a daily reminder to let go of what needs to be released.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 riffs off of a Natalie Goldberg retreat I attended a couple of years ago. We wrote every day from prompts and then shared what we wrote.  This series is my second annual 100 Days of Summer Writing Practice. I'm writing whatever comes to mind and not editing my ideas. So, writing and putting that writing out into the world. Every. Single. Day.

Ghosted by Google

I signed in to write the first post for this summer writing series a few days ago and discovered that Google deleted me from my own blog.

That's right. Once upon a time, on the right-hand margin, there was a whole screen filled with information. There was my picture. My name. My bio. People who read my work would know who I am.

That's gone now. It's disappeared into thin air. Or the equivalent in cyberspace.

I think my followers disappeared as well. 

I've been ghosted by Google.

I remember hearing about ghosting for the first time a few years ago. The concept was impossible, it seemed to me. But I hear of it happening often. Read articles about it. Recently there was an article in a respectable business publication about ghosting in the workplace. Employers ghosting applicants for positions. Employees ghosting employers when they quit their jobs. I've even been ghosted a few times by people I thought were friends. 

You'll notice I haven't replaced the bio yet. Or the picture. Or my name. 

As I think about it now, a slow realization dawns. I have an opportunity to rewrite my own story. The one I tell the world about myself. And maybe I don't want to rush that.

So, for now, I'm cogitating. Musing. Considering. Contemplating. Reflecting. 

I am the disappeared woman. And one of these days I'll reappear. Newly clad in words.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 riffs off of a Natalie Goldberg retreat I attended a few years ago. We wrote every day from prompts and then shared what we wrote. Part of my second annual 100 Day Summer Writing Practice, I'm writing whatever comes to mind and not editing my ideas. So, writing and putting that writing out into the world. Every. Single. Day.

Settling In

I almost forgot to write today.

I was getting ready to power down the laptop and decided to scroll through my Facebook timeline. Good thing I did. Otherwise I would have awakened in the morning and not gotten over it. Every. Single. Day. means every single day.

I remember last year becoming concerned over the daily writing as I considered my travel schedule. I'd been having lunch with my son and was thinking out loud. I've told this story before . . . but I'll repeat the bones. He pulled out his phone, pushed a few buttons (so to speak) and the put the phone away. A few days later I received a tiny bluetooth keyboard that works with a smart phone. It really is quite an extraordinary invention. I don't have to lug around my laptop with me when traveling and can go back and edit later if I need to. 

But that doesn't help if writing slips my mind. 

I wonder how that could be possible. And then I think about a scenario like today's. Up at 5:30, morning journal, meditate, walk, breakfast, do the dishes, pack my lunch, put on a crockpot of chicken broth, do more dishes, get ready for work, drive to work, work, drive home, work some more, make dinner, eat dinner, do more dishes, show up for an online class, do some more work, finish my registration for Yoga Alliance, look into yoga teacher liability insurance, do some emails, look at the time and decide I might have time to read a bit before bed.  

That's how it's possible that the writing slips your mind.

Tomorrow I can write in the morning, but I'd rather go to the Farmer's Market in Princeton, so I may be writing at night again tomorrow. One of these days I'll figure out how to shift that but, for now, as I settle in to this 100 day practice, I'm . . . well . . . settling in.

And giving myself a break about it.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 riffs off of a Natalie Goldberg retreat I attended a few years ago, where we wrote every day from prompts and shared what we wrote. Part of my second annual 100 Day Summer Writing Practice, I'll be writing whatever come to mind and not editing my ideas. So, writing and putting that writing out into the world. Every. Single. Day.

Another Day I'm Writing at Night

I'm hoping I'll get into a rhythm or hit my stride soon. 

Right now I'm struggling to show up. It must be all this night writing. I started this way simply because of my other commitments the first few days and I think I might have created a little bit of a habit.

Time to change that.

Hopefully awareness is enough to motivate me to change. But as I look at my calendar, I see that tomorrow is another day I'll be writing at night.

How do we fund the energy to make the changes that we know will enable the things we want to do?

As I begin to think about this question, my mind becomes suddenly flooded with all the things I'd like to change. It's not a very change-friendly mindset that has come upon me, and I wonder if this is a defense mechanism designed to maintain my personal status quo. 

Human systems love homeostasis. We're built for it. That's why change feels impossible at times. But I know also that we humans are built to change. If we can't adapt, it is likely we won't survive. And I know that somewhere embedded in my "little grey cells" (to quote Hercule Poirot) I understand the mechanisms of change and can figure this out. After all, this is what I do for a living. Help people and organizations to discover their own power change. But...

It's a lot easier to help someone else to change than it is to change yourself.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 riffs off of a Natalie Goldberg retreat I attended a few years ago, where we wrote every day from prompts and shared what we wrote. Part of my second annual 100 Day Summer Writing Practice, I'll be writing whatever comes to mind and not editing my ideas. So, writing and putting that writing out into the world. Every. Single. Day.