Sustainability

I ask myself what is possible and also what I can sustain. I don’t have an answer yet, but I am listening for the wisdom within to speak.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Refreshment

Even 36 hours of real solitude, rest, and some fun can work wonders. I feel clearer, have regained my focus, restored my vitality. Still, I can see that I can't return to the patterns I've fallen into for the last few months. This week I begin to reorient and establish some new patterns. Not sure what they're going to be, but I have an idea where to begin.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single Day.

Showing Up Differently

Every. Single. Day.

That's the promise I made to myself. To show up every single day and write for 100 days this summer. I broke that promise in order to keep a bigger promise to myself.

A couple of days ago I set out on a 36 hour vacation. I know. I know. Thirty-six hours sounds almost laughable, but it really was the best thing I could have done for myself. I'd been overworking and unable to disconnect even on my days off. I was feeling scattered and unable to focus. I was on overload. This was my promise to myself for that 36 hours -- absolutely no work. That meant no emails, no text messages, no phone calls, no reading for work, no checking work-related websites or web groups. No summer writing projects. No thinking about classes and workshops I have coming up. No thinking about my book or what's next with that. I did not take my laptop with me. I didn't take my Raydem mini blue tooth keyboard. I rested my one finger that sometimes types my blog posts on my cell phone.

I didn't just promise myself there would be things I would not do. I made a few other promises to myself. Of things I would do. Like discovering what might be fun about my destination. Seeing the drive to my destination as a threshold between one way of being and another. Taking the beach read I've been trying to get into all summer and diving into that. Taking myself out on a few dates. Sinking into lots of baths and pampering myself. Putting myself to bed early and getting a good night's sleep. Walking a lot and being outdoors. Scheduling a spa day if I could find a good deal. (I did.) 

The first promise might have been difficult. My destination was not my first choice, so I had to adjust my attitude. I'd really been looking forward to a different kind of experience and I didn't think it would be my kind of place, but for many reasons it's the one I settled on. I allowed myself simply to be there and to enjoy what was. And I had a ball. I did everything I promised myself I'd do. Mainly I slowed down and disconnected from work overload. That felt great.

Still, the two days of not writing and publishing sat in my craw. What do we do when we've made a promise to ourselves, but circumstances require us to pivot and reorient ourselves, let go of that promise and make a new one? 

Sometimes in order to show up for ourselves, we need to show up differently than we'd first expected to. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat begins again. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day. 

The Songs of Cicadas

Don't feel much like writing today, but I am enjoying the open window and sound of cicadas, the soft, cool morning breezes and the warmth of the teacup in my hand.

Sometimes a good sentence is a work unto itself rather than an opening to something else.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Lighter

I've been feeling heavy lately. So I went today and got about 500 pounds cut off of my hair. I looked down at the black floor and saw all that silver hair discarded, sat in a different chair and felt the warm water wash away whatever was left. I came home and felt so light I sat in a third chair and fell asleep. I'm just waking up now. Lighter. Every moment, lighter. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.   

I Notice Magic

There is so much I want to write about. But my head is filled with distractions and my hours with other work. Nevertheless, I notice magic in unexpected places.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Every Day I Write

Why is it that when you book a hotel room online, your Facebook feed becomes saturated with posts about hotel rooms that are less expensive, and nicer, than the one you just booked? 

It is as if the culture is set up to try to make us feel dissatisfied with that we have.

Every day I write in my morning journal three things I'm grateful for. Each night before I go to bed I think about the day and what was wonderful about it, what was challenging, what I want to remember.  

Gentle resistance. Good medicine. The last word.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

A Retreat Called Desire

This morning I woke up and discovered I was on retreat. It was a gift from a friend. I did not realize it was as over until I woke up tonight, in the middle of the night, and remembered I’d forgotten to write. Again. So I’m burning the midnight oil before going back to bed.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Learning a New Skill

Here's the thing. I tend to leap. Sometimes I don't think about it before I do it. Or I think about it and underestimate the challenge. But would we do anything new if we knew what it would take?

Maybe I've simply taken on too much this summer. Maybe I overestimate my available time and my available mental and emotional bandwidth. I think I just like to learn, to expand my horizons and skills, my experience, the things I'm able to offer. 

I have a fortune cookie strip taped to the keyboard of my laptop. "Nothing dared, nothing gained." It seems to be my mantra these days. 

I was having a conversation with someone today. She took on a huge challenge and hit a wall and was questioning her choice. As I listened to her, I wondered if there comes a point, a point of no return, where we're in so deep that we can't step back but we wonder if we can fund the energy to finish? Or if we go into things with a vision, but the minutiae of the process clutters our energy field so completely that the vision somehow eludes us and we forget why we took on the challenge in the first place? 

At this point, I'm simply taking it a day at a time, a lesson at a time, one question at a time, trusting that I will be able to do what I've set out to do. And remembering - nothing dared, nothing gained. Life is all about risk. And we learn as much from our failures as we do from our successes. Truth be told, though, I was raised to understand that I'd better not fail. It wasn't really tolerated. So the thought of failing creates incredible anxiety for me. I'd like to think I taught my own kids something different, but I'm not sure that I did. Those early lessons run deep. At least now, I think I've softened enough that when my kids are struggling with something, I'm a softer place than I once was. Awareness is a powerful thing. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Writing Practice...Again

Keep your hand moving. Don't think. Don't cross anything out. Be specific. Do not judge. Don't worry about punctuation. If you don't want to write about it, write anyway. Write what you really want to write.

The rules of Writing Practice, exactly as I wrote them in my notebook on August 15, 2016 at The Great Summer Writing Retreat with Natalie Goldberg. I'd taken off for the wilds and turned off my phone. Opened my notebook and held my pen. Made it scratch its way across the page. Again and again and again. And over the next eleven months, working in spurts -- August, October, November, June -- I filled a notebook with beautiful writing. And there it sits, like so many beads waiting to be strung into a necklace.

The memory came up in my Facebook memories this morning. And got me thinking about the powerful writing practice I learned there. I'm working with that material this summer to see if it can become something more than words in a notebook. It's been slow going and the words on the page feel like they are alive for me, but the same words typed in to a Word document in my computer feel flat. Lifeless. That may be why the work is slow going and I don't feel drawn to it. I may be approaching the task in the wrong way. But it felt like the place to begin. There may be another place in this to work.

And instead of simply beginning, I may just need to jump.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day. 

Creating Space

On long days days at work, when I won’t get home til late at night, I’m grateful for my smart phone and one fingered typing. I’m grateful for being able to connect to the Internet in unexpected places. I’m grateful for the will and the courage to write and publish  even when the circumstances aren’t ideal. There’s something about showing up for yourself that entrains a muscle you might not realize you have. It’s all about realizing what is true for you, setting a boundary that creates space for that truth to be expressed, and creating a discipline that enables you to hold that boundary. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Almost Home

I’ll go to bed at home tonight for the first time in days. I love travel and adventure, but I also love my bed. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll be able to type with ten fingers and look at a screen that shows all my writing at once. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Nourishment

There’s this dance my mother and I do when I’m visiting. I go into the kitchen to cook dinner and she follows me in because the dishwasher needs to be emptied that very minute. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Tech Famine

Still traveling and the internet around here looks like a dry river bed. So I’m typing once again one-fingered on my cell phone. It feels impossible that there can be such a tech famine these days in a major metropolitan center.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Noticing the Contrast

I wore dress shoes today for about ten hours. I don’t feel like  I’ll be able ever to walk again. I’m sleeping in a hotel tonight in a gigantic bed that feels like sheer luxury. The contrast is unavoidable to notice.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Cultivating Beauty

On July 17, I posted a photo of this plant with tiny buds. This photo was taken a few weeks later. I looked today and the plant was covered with lovely purple flowers.

Sometimes beauty takes a little time to cultivate.

The Great Summer Writing Reteat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.


Typing  one-fingered today on my cellphone while traveling. Late night musings from The Sheraton.

Yesterday's Blog

Last night before bed I had this nagging feeling I was forgetting something, but for the life of me I could not remember what it was.

This morning has been beautiful. Kate Bilo says it will probably be the most beautiful weekend of the summer. I've got the windows thrown open. I'm sipping a good black tea. Writing in my morning journal.

And there it is.

Ugh! I forgot to write my blog yesterday. Can't believe I forgot. Well -- just relax. Did I really? I really did. And it is funny because I went to bed with the nagging feeling that I'd forgotten something. Well, I forgive myself. And I'll make it up before I do anything else this morning (and write a second one tonight) Just delayed a bit. Exhale.

I notice my self-talk is kind for a change. Mind you, I almost went to the dark place, catastophizing. I see where the beginnings of panic started to creep in. And where I pulled myself back from the edge. I realize that my daily writing practice may have become a point of pride. Showing up. Every. Single. Day. It's those places of pride that can bring us down. 

As I type and re-read the excerpt from my morning journal above, I could almost miss it. But I don't.

Well, I forgive myself.

Where did that come from? Who could possibly have said that? So easily. So effortlessly. As if self-forgiveness is the most natural thing in the world.

I may have to think about this. Or not. Maybe I need just to notice this bit of grace and move along with my day. As if grace is the most natural thing in the world.

Later in my writing this morning, 

Looks like I made a mess again. No. You just need to process what you've pulled out. What was once in one place needs to go someplace else. We can do that. And that bankers box will find a temporary home and there might be a bin in those DVDs future. Neater temporary measures. I'm doing what I didn't do last summer -- The Summer of Self-Love planted seeds. 

And, no. I didn't plan that. 

So. Some context. I am working through some belongings at home that need to be de-cluttered. There's too much stuff in my tiny apartment. Yesterday I went through the unit on which my television sits. It was crammed and stuffed with DVDs. Stuff I've loved to watch over the years, but it's too much. It needed dusting as well. And as much as I've loved those programs, I haven't gone near them in about three years. Their situation discouraged participation. So I went through it yesterday. Kept out only the things I absolutely adore and a small pile of DVDs I haven't opened yet. Then got busy with other things from a crammed and stuffed to-do list and went to bed with a stack of DVDs on the floor near the shelf I'd just cleaned. There were other small piles of recently de-cluttered corners.    

This is usually where I frustrate my de-cluttering efforts. I go through something and then don't know what to do with it, so it stays piled up and becomes a new kind of clutter. But I'm happy to report that my living room floor is clear as I type. Between handwriting my morning journal and typing this blog post I've loaded a bankers box with the excess DVDs. Uncannily, they've fit exactly and filled the box. I stacked the box beneath a box of CDs facing a similar fate -- a three month check-in to decide whether they stay or go. Sometimes you need temporary measures to get from one place to the next and I've figured out a way to give myself neater temporary measures. I've also broken through something that has frustrated me for a long time. 

And I've been kind to myself in the process. That's probably why I was able to break new ground.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day. 

Contraction

Contraction follows expansion. It's a function of homeostasis. 

I notice today I've been having a few second thoughts about the podcasting course. Of course, this will pass. But I notice myself questioning whether I'm up for such a quantum leap in my skills and in possibility. 

Possibility, while exciting, is also a little intimidating. Possibility almost guarantees change. Change is an unknown. The unknown is anxiety producing. Anxiety does not feel good.

What is good is to notice and to stay conscious around all this.

The Great Summer Writing Retreat continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Derring-Do

I'm really stretching myself. I don't think a lot about these things before I do them. I tend to just jump in. If I think too much about something, I'll never do it. 

Starting this blog was like that. So was last year's 100-day The Summer of Self-Love series. So is The Great Summer Writing Retreat, come to think of it. It's a daring thing to commit to showing up every day for 100 days and then actually to show up. It's daring to put your work out into the work. The kayaking course I took, striking out alone in the desert (more than once), signing up for yoga teacher training and then teaching my first yoga workshop at the new studio, getting into the pulpit, writing for the newspaper. Being interviewed for a friend's television show about my book, auditioning to be in an opera premiere at Princeton. There are a lot of things I've done that have stretched me.

So here's the new one. I signed up for Seth Godin's The Podcasting Fellowship. I'm already shaking my head at myself. I am tech-challenged and just the pre-course information has my eyes rolling around in my head. I fell down the rabbit hole for about two hours this evening.

It might be the best thing I've done recently. 

I was poised to say this year, but there was that concert with Sarah Cunningham in Philadelphia and the yoga workshops at Yoga Love in Yardley, and the other workshops I'm teaching, and the invasion of my publisher during Holy Week to get my poetry book back on track. And probably a few other things I'm not calling to mind just now. 

It's important to continue to learn and to grow and to expand yourself. To transform, and to heal the nagging voices within that try to erode your sense of self. Transform all the shadow pieces that hide away deep within and try to undermine. Or hold you back. Keep you from stepping into the world more boldly and expressing your individual genius. 

If you don't do it, no one else will. Essentially, that is the conundrum for the hero. Usually, that person is the one who has the skills or talents to do what needs to be done and is there, where and when the intervention needs to happen.  

Cultivating the spirit for heroically brave exploits in your own life is some of the best spiritual work you can do. It's a muscle that needs exercising in order to be able to pick up your sword and swing it. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day. 

Route 66

The extreme heat eased a bit today. There was a breeze. I'm grateful to have a few days off to work on some projects. It's stunning to me that it's already August. Just a few months ago, the summer seemed to stretch out before me like a long, lazy river. When I think that I'm writing the 66th day of this 100-day series I can scarcely believe it. Friends are commenting that the trees are already starting to turn. I begin to think of a poem in my collection that talks about the surprise of the early changing leaves in high summer. 

But the cross-quarter day has passed and we are in the slide toward the fall equinox and the darkening of days. Soon the heat will soften into cooler fall days and the air will feel fresh and crisp again. 

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2019 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion. And showing up. Every. Single. Day.

Love Speech

There is a disturbance in the force. People dying. Gun violence. So much talk about hate and hate speech and hate-inspired action. 

I drove to church this morning feeling heavy. I would need to climb into the pulpit on a Sunday morning following another Saturday shooting. Two of them, actually. We would be sharing prayer and peace and Holy Communion, blessing and sending a young woman off to college, and then gathering for a meal and discussion around the work we've been doing together which is coming to a close. The work I do with congregations in pastoral transition looks at who they've become and who they are becoming, and the kinds of leadership needs they need to manifest the vision they have for their communal life. 

I arrived at church and moved through my preparation time. There was a conversational Spanish class going on in the chapel. People gathering to learn how to speak with neighbors who might come to the church but not speak the language. The idea took form in our council meeting a few months ago when one of our leaders lamented a hospitality gathering the month before and not being able to speak with the father and son who walked in to join us for a meal. Shortly afterward, four of our members got together and created the class. Ten people regularly attend. They've produced a help sheet with phrases people in church might like to be able to say to welcome and bless and share the peace with someone who is Spanish-speaking. I've noticed the papers disappearing off the table and have made more copies.

Our church is in the most diverse zip code in the city of Philadelphia and in the state of Pennsylvania. The neighborhood is a vibrant community of current immigrants and German immigrants who came in the last mass wave of immigration to the United States in the late 1800s and early 1900s.  At that time, people spoke against European immigrants when they came en masse much the way some people today disparage immigrant populations. 

Some of the same people whose families found a welcome here are speaking against those who now seek refuge, freedom, prosperity -- a new life here.

I did not preach what I had prepared this week in anticipation of today's service. Instead I began --  "I look out into this congregation and see all of you -- who look so different from each other, all the different skin colors and cultures and languages and ancestries, and I feel so blessed to serve in a community that is so diverse. But others might look out upon this congregation and not see the beauty that I see. The richness. Might not feel as blessed as I do."

We talked frankly about what is going on, how powerless we feel, how powerful we actually are, and what might be possible when we step more fully into the situations we'd rather turn away from. We talked about the ways that the most outrageous behaviors of Christians are the ones that get noticed and talked about and how we in mainstream Christianity need to be more visible with compassion and peacemaking.

How our love speech has to be louder than the hate speech. 

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

Gifts to the Soul

This morning I went to yoga class, sat on my mat, and started to cry.

My teacher sat on her mat and began to talk. The tears streamed down my face.

"Just be where you are," she said. "Don't judge it. Just be here."

And I did. Breathing was hard. I felt a bit self-conscious. My first downward facing dog was impossible. I could not hold myself. I had to come out of the pose and sink into child's pose. I was barely breathing. 

"If you haven't been feeling supported this week, use a lot of props today and let yourself be supported," she said.

And I did. I learned that lesson long ago, but the reminder was a beautiful thing. 

The balance poses were impossible. I kept falling out of them. Literally. I wanted to give up. I didn't. I moved through it. I don't think there was a single asana that I did well, except maybe warrior II. Oh, and trikonasana. I did my very first perfect trikonasana. That pose has always been one I did not even attempt to complete, understanding that that is not one I do well, or think that I can do, But here I was, failing at everything and yet doing what I could never do nearly perfectly.

My teacher hugged me at the end of practice and said, simply, "I'll be sending you love today." 

Love. The perfect ending to a surprising practice. 

On the drive home I looked up into the sky and recognized the signs. An achingly beautiful day. Every sense came alive. I pulled the car over and spent some time looking at the sky. It was soul medicine. 

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

Plum Jam

I found gorgeous plums at the farmers market yesterday. The only problem was that most of the quart was overripe. Not so good for eating but wonderful for jam making. I cannot remember the last time I made jam. It might have been when I had small children at home. I remember the year I was pregnant with my son -- we discovered an ancient blackberry bramble on the property where we lived. The berries were big and beautiful and sweet. People knocked on our door to ask us if they could pick. The year before I said yes. That year I said no. 

That August I must have made gallons of blackberry jam. I gave it for Christmas gifts a few months later. Best gift I ever gave. I also had jars of it for two or three years. The year before, I made strawberry jam. It was my first jam-making experience. The ladies at the church got together and made it for a Strawberry Festival. After that, I made freezer jam as long as I could find good strawberries. I didn't want to go through the whole boiling jars thing. The year of the giant blackberries I was all in. The next year we moved.

Over the years I've made cherry jam and peach jam, apricot jam and raspberry-apricot jam. I think I've also made blueberry jam. I'd like to try my hand at rose hip jam.

I'm usually up for a good adventure. Whether it's learning to make jam or learning to kayak or striking out into the desert for the first time. And my life is always the better for it. 

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

The Beginnings of Endings

August 1st is the earth-based festival of the first fruits and wheat harvest, the earliest of the grains to be harvested. While I was meditating upon its themes this morning, a question emerged.

What are the first fruits I'm gathering from my efforts?

A strange phrase came to me almost immediately. The beginnings of endings.

The first fruits I am gathering from my efforts are the beginnings of endings. 

It seems to me that that's exactly what first fruits are. Harvest represents the end of the seed cycle; the seeds for the next cycle are contained within the fruit and those gathered first mark the beginning of that ending. Seeds eventually will be planted to make a new growth cycle possible. Seeds are discarded (planted), either by the fruit rotting on the ground, where the seed is left behind and eventually works its way into the soil; or by transport -- birds and other creatures are well known for carrying seed far and wide to be discarded through excretion; or intentionally planted by people after the fruit is consumed and the seed retained for planting.

There's something mysterious about this when it's applied to our personal work, both our projects and the inner work of the soul.

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

 

New Moon

It's just past 11:11 pm and the balsamic moon has just shifted into the new.

I usually feel a palpable shift in the energy when the moon shifts phase. Right now I'm feeling relief from a heaviness that has been building for weeks. I'm feeling light and contented. Three good things happened today. They stand out in my thoughts as I'm reviewing the day. 

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

Almost

I'm tired of waiting.

The painted cabinet sits on the drop cloth on the wood floors of my bedroom. It feels dry to me. But it has to sit. And I have to wait. At least that's what experienced painters have told me. Not only does it need to dry, it needs to cure. To develop what painting experts call a "hard dry." 

That means that when I set something on it, the cabinet will be able to hold it and that the paint job won't collapse under the weight of whatever I put on it. While researching it, I learned that it takes 21-30 days to cure. And day after day, I walk into my bedroom and look at the drop cloth and the unused cabinet and the painting detritus and I feel frustrated. 

So today I spent a little time getting ready. It was something to do. 

I pulled out the old night table and re-purposed it to another part of my home. I vacuumed the floor and the baseboards. I took all the stuff that had accumulated in that corner and organized it and put it away. I notice that it and other places around my house can end up being collection points for clutter and stagnant energy. And before I go to bed, I'm going to move the cabinet in place. There are still two weeks I can't use it, but at least it won't be sitting in the middle of the room, a constant reminder that I must wait.

Waiting can be a powerful spiritual practice, but it can also lead to feelings of stagnation. 

If you can't do what you want to do, do something. The next, best, right thing.  

The Great Summer Writing Retreat of 2018 continues. One hundred days of writing unedited ideas and following a prompt to its sometimes illogical conclusion.

So Many Things

I've been looking at what I was writing last year for the 100-day summer writing project and what I'm writing this year. As I compare them, it strikes me that I need to step back from judgment. Last year I was writing deep and full pieces, and this year I'm doing all I can to show up and write a few good sentences.

There are things to notice, especially around what else has been going on and how my rhythms take shape. How many projects I'm working on -- for example, this summer I'm in the end stage of my poetry book. Truth be told, I was last summer as well. But last summer all the projects were on hold by the publisher because of a merger. This summer everything is active. I'm also working on a short fiction project. All told, I've got seven projects going. They are all juicy and alive for me. And as I think about myself, I imagine myself as a jongleur, moving between roles with deft elegance.

Itinerant entertainers of the Middle Ages in France and Norman England, the repertoire of the jongleurs included dancing, conjuring, acrobatics, juggling, singing and storytelling. Some were skilled at playing musical instruments. Some composed their own material. Many collaborated with troubadours. They had incredible reach. Performing at public holidays in market towns, in abbeys, in the castles of nobles. They held competitions for lyric poets. They sometimes morphed into menestrels (minstrels) if retained by a wealthy patron and focused on literary creation. The role of the jongleur reached its height in the 13th century and began its decline in the 14th, as the various facets of this complex role began to disseminate among other performers who began to specialize. 

Specialization. Single focus. I know these things can be important at times, but I think we lose something if we don't develop our multiplicity of talents. Over a lifetime, we can certainly develop many interests and talents and become quite good at them. I think about my young years when I think about this tendency toward being a multiverse rather than a universe. My favorite badge when I was a girl scout, the first one I earned, was The Dabbler. I was interested in so many things and loved to do so many things. I still do.

My mother tells a story of my earliest years when I was a tiny girl with very early language skills. The way mom tells it is this. Bursting with energy in the morning I would say, "What can we do today, Mommy?"   And she would say, "Well...we can do this and we can do that and we can do this other thing..." She'd start naming things and I would prompt her when she slowed down, "What else, Mommy? What else can we do?" She'd keep going until, finally, I would say, "We can do so many things!" And I'd get so excited about about all the possibilities before us.

That's still my orientation. 

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

The Edge of Seventeen

I sat on the deck by my friend’s swimming pool this evening in Ocean, New Jersey. A familiar tune came on the radio, the introduction to Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road.”

I could have been 17 again.

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

Back Into the World of Reason and Mystery

PBS is on in the background tonight. Much better. A similar subject to last evening's Ancient Aliens but much easier to listen to and take in. Ancient Skies explores the relationship between humankind and the skies.  The sun and the moon and the stars, seasons and cycles -- all those things I find so interesting and mysterious. And I'm loving how they're talking about it. A gorgeous blend of science and mystery. Like life is. 

It's nice to have my feet back on the earth, even while exploring the mysteries of the universe and our relationship with it.

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

Friday Night Thriller: The Return of the Reptile People

I miss the one-fingered-typing-on-the-cell phone writing. Of course, I could have pulled out my phone and continued with that practice. But it seems a little silly once I'm back home and have electricity again, storm and power loss in the rear-view mirror. 

Ancient Aliens is on in the background tonight. I thought I'd been half-listening to a show on the human brain. The reptile brain was being discussed. Suddenly, the script changed and experts began to discuss a theory that posits that our reptile brain is the result of reptilian aliens who came to Earth in the distant past and manipulated the DNA of ancient hominids. We are the result.

The show, actually, is interesting. Great views of beautiful and wondrous sites. A lot of discussion around archaeology and artifacts. I'm not convinced by their interpretations; much of it is a huge stretch. But the discussion is interesting and entertaining. If I were a cynic, I'd wonder how the scientists and scholars featured can say what they do with a straight face.

"Is it possible that a race of reptilian aliens still lives deep within the Earth and, if so, why don't they make their presence known?" This cliffhanger entices us to return after the commercials. They tease a biblical connection, and sightings, so I'm curious.  

My mind wanders into a memory of Friday nights in college, when we'd watch the late night horror thriller on the local station and order a Domino's pizza. Pepperoni and green pepper. There was an actor in costume introducing the movie each week. The plot was often reptile people coming to Earth for some kind of misadventure. 

The late show I'm watching this Friday night puts forward the idea that the reptile people have returned and are living among us. They've infiltrated human society to determine the course of human events and to create an advanced human through further experimentation. The late show has come off the screen and into our lives, they tell us. And I wonder if I will be visited by aliens in my dreams tonight.  

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

Note - Some days the conclusions are more illogical than on others.

Home

The drive back was mercifully uneventful. And fast. Not like the drive down, with the constant and persistent lane closings for road work that doubled the length of the trip. It’s quiet here. Arriving just before midnight to a sleepy street and still energy in the house, I notice my footfalls on wood floors and the texture of the grass rug and the cool refreshment of water from the fridge.

I think about the home I’ve left and the place I’ve come home to and the home that resides only within me. I know where I live.

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

Continuing to type one-fingered on my cell phone. A whole different sort of discipline.

Surrender

There are days when you just have to say, “Okay. Here I am.”  And simply be available for what shows up. Today is one of those days.

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


Note: whether for power outage or travel, I’m writing these days with one finger and a cell phone, and showing up nonetheless.

Just a Thought

Twenty-seven hours of power outage and a two hour and eight minute drive to go eighteen miles. Makes me wonder if someone is trying to tell me to slow down and be still.

What’s the lesson in delay?

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

Hello Storm — Good-Bye Electricity

There’s a symphony of chainsaws and generators out there. They follow a prologue of howling winds that brought the trees down before a drop of rain fell. Thunder and lightning so close, I thought it might strike inside. 

The sun behind the clouds has gone down and it is suddenly dark. And sweltering from the heatwave that clothes my neighborhood even now.

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


Note - writing again with one finger and a mobile phone. 

Crouching Tiger

I use a font called Trebuchet for this writing.

Just for fun, I asked my search engine to define it and was stunned by what I discovered. A trebuchet is a catapult used to fire projectiles, probably rocks and boulders, favored in medieval siege warfare until the advent of gunpowder, when I suppose canon began to be the preferred projectile thrower.

A catapult used to hurl projectiles toward a fortress to break down the walls. 

There is some humor in this late night exploration of fonts. 

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


Note - The Crouching Tiger is a Chinese design. Pictured, a 15th century depiction of a counterweight trebuchet.