Persevering through February

The nice thing about writing a blog is that I can re read it myself, even if no one else does! I can revisit previous years and remind myself of past scenes and insights, so often still relevant. This February seems to have been very gloomy, our weather, and local and world wide events as well as my mood. Looking back over previous years I realise that February can often feel that way for me.

This time last year I was exploring Wendel Berry’s poem which starts “When despair for the world grows in me…” even though at that point we did not know what lay ahead, (probably just as well!) But reading it again today reminds me of his answer to “come into the peace of wild things”. Some of our daily walks recently have been wet, muddy and slippery, but we have encountered some wonderful natural beauty in spite of the gloom, and felt some of the freedom Wendell Berry writes about.

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

During the grey days I have also been glad of my continuing participation in an online Stitch Club. The most recent workshop by Jude Kingshott included a stitched fabric book made from scraps and recycled cotton lawn. I found hand stitching on very thin almost translucent fabric quite a challenge. It felt so insubstantial and unstable. Flimsy was the word. It felt like my hopes for the immediate months ahead, unpredictable and uncertain. But stitch by stitch I plodded on and I have now finished a little booklet of bright cheerful flowers, albeit flimsy.

The cover…

And pages…

“Perseverance” is the name of the space craft which has finally reached Mars this week. I have not achieved anything quite so remarkable, but it is a familiar theme. Even my art journaling echoed it.

Perseverance seems the order of the moment, so let’s keep keeping on, stitch by stitch, step by step, flower by flower, and we will get through the February mud and gloom to more solid ground and clearer skies.

Following the thread

Two years ago today on this blog I started a January of reflections. I decided I would look through my January posts from the previous seven years and select one for each day to carry forward for the year ahead. Little did I know what that year would bring, or indeed the following one, and probably best that I didn’t know!

My friend Niki commented on that post for January 1st 2019 “Perhaps it is as well we don’t know what our journey in life will entail … as both sunshine and heavy rain experiences are best appreciated or tackled as they come without anticipation or dread, and past experiences bring both the appreciation and strength needed to get through.” How right she was!

This was the view from my window on January 1st 2014

The view this morning, different weather, different cars, the same window!

A lot has happened since that first photograph. I have had the joy of getting to know my first grandchild, and the sadness of losing another before there was a chance to know him. There have been happy get togethers and reunions with family from far away. There have been the difficult recent months of distancing and being apart, staying connected only briefly or online.

It is often only as we pause and look back that we realise just how far we have travelled. As we take in the view behind we see things from a different perspective and find our priorities changing. But some things remain the same, and they are often small. As I reflect on my blog and journals I notice how often it is the garden, the seasons and growing things which recur constantly, and with a steady regularity.

A poem I have recently copied into my personal anthology is “The way it is“ by William Stafford

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

This unchanging thread is what sustains us through the changes of time, but it is often hard to explain what it is. Mark Nepo in a lovely book I received for Christmas describes it like this. “To discover the thread that goes through life is the main reason to listen, express and write” Drinking from the River of Light

So, hard though it often is, I am going to attempt to find a time each day this month to pause, and listen, and then express in some way what I have seen or heard or noticed. Express can be defined as “to squeeze out” and I guess it may sometimes require some effort rather than be an easy flow. So I will keep it small. I have made a little journal, ready for a doodle, a quote, a drawing or even just a splodge of colour. Who knows! Watch this space.

Writing gifts

It was a special moment for me when the postman delivered an envelope the other day which was handwritten. So many of our letters these days are printed, but this was not only written by hand, but I knew whose hand had written it. A five year old, whose every letter is painstakingly and beautifully formed. He writes with such care, the process of addressing the envelope becomes an act of love. The writer is our grandson, who has made us an advent calendar this year, complete with numbered flaps and little surprises to discover each day. What a wonderful way to show his love, it will be treasured and enjoyed by us every day.

My grandson’s handwriting is much better than mine was at age five, and, dare I say it, more legible than mine often is today! There is something magical about handwriting, the action and feel of the pen on paper, the slight resilience to the smooth flow, the shape of the pen in our fingers. And handwriting is in some way unique to each of us, an expression of ourselves, and can be a gift to the reader.

I have also been enjoying a different kind of writing gift from Beth Kempton, author of Calm Christmas and a Happy New Year. Her Winter Writing Sanctuary course, which she offered free, has been a gentle way to remind ourselves of what’s important in this season, and in this particularly difficult year.

Writing doesn’t have to be hand writing, or even on paper, as Beth says in her Winter Writing Sanctuary. “To write is to pay attention to your life and to open up the channel for magic and mystery to flow out. Writing is about so much more than putting words on paper with a pen or typing into a laptop. It’s about listening. It’s about opening. And it’s about spilling so that your ink becomes stories and lessons for yourself and for other people. “

Recently I received a birthday gift of writing in the shape of a book. The writer is someone whose listening, observing and spilling not only helped her through deep depression but is an encouragement to others. The Wild Remedy by Emma Mitchell is an expression of her feelings and insights, as she takes up her pen and pencil after her walks in nature. It is a joy to read, and has encouraged me to make walking, looking and listening (and writing about it) a part of my daily routine.

Whether the words come from a five year old grandson carefully writing an address on an envelope, or a published author who is a stranger to me, the act of writing is a gift, and can be a source of great healing and joy, both to the writer and the readers. Keep writing everybody!

Deep down we knew
there were better ways
to show our love
than spending more money
on more stuff
that would get lost under a bed
or sit in landfill
for fifty thousand years. Beth Kempton

The rain spoke to me…

It’s been a while since I last wrote here. Things have happened – a joyful family wedding for example, with some unexpected fun and surprises despite all the restrictions. When I last wrote we still didn’t know if it would go ahead… But it did.

And now in mid August the garden is dry and parched, and the colours as well as the temperatures are hot, with a few white spots of relief.

Flowers in the garden yesterday.

It has become more and more difficult to sleep at night in the continuing high temperatures, and during the days we have been preoccupied with finding shade and keeping cool. Other areas of the UK have had heavy rain bursts and flash flooding. Apart from a few thunder rumbles and short showers here we have had no reprieve from the heavy and oppressive atmosphere. Energy has been depleted, and it has been hard to stir myself from overwhelming lethargy.

But today we woke to mist and murk, with low cloud outside the windows. And then a steady fine drizzle rain. The kind of rain which wets, but does not bash and break. In fact I was drawn outside by the beauty of it. The gentle touch on my skin was refreshing, but it was the patterns it revealed which delighted me most. Cobwebs made visible like festoons of fairy lights, lacy designs on leaves and flowers, and tiny mushrooms peeping through the wet grass.

Raindrop fairyland

A few minutes paying attention to such beauties has moved me from my stupor, at least enough to write this post. And it reminded me of some words from a poem by Mary Oliver

Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,
what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again
in a new way
on the earth!

Stories with and without words

A week of contrasts in the media. The aftermath of last weekend here in Dorset was one of horror, and disgust at the chaos caused by tens of thousands of day trippers who crowded in to local beauty spots. The folly of a few caused life threatening injuries to themselves, and in addition put their rescuers lives at risk too. And then there was continuing distress in the days that followed as the clear up operation revealed the foul deposits and overwhelming volume of rubbish left by those who appear to take no thought for the consequences of their actions.

Then more events which have unfolded in the media before our eyes in America have continued the theme of horror, disbelief and repulsion. The brutal destructive actions of some, as others stand by and watch, has convicted us all of our complicity in this injustice and irresponsibility. Now there is a rising international outcry at patterns which we know are deeply entrenched in our culture, hearts and minds.

In the face of horrible media news I find it hard to know what my response should/could be. This week I have been following a pattern of writing Earthellos each day, using an acrostic form HELLO. Discover more here.

The first step is to check in on myself starting with Here I am…. I have been aware of emotions or anger, disgust and fear, all contributing to an agitation and tension.

The second line starts with Earth you are… This stages invites me to observe and become aware of the earth, the environment around me. It changes my perspective completely as I find myself looking outwards. I have been surprised at what I see through my own window which helps me become aware of the continuing beauty of the earth inspite of the losses of setbacks and destruction. And TV has helped too. BBC Springwatch this last week has provided wonderful glimpses into environments I cannot access from my own doorstep. Try watching some of the 90 second “Mindful Moments” videos for a different take on the world. They require no explanation or commentary.

In our garden we have suffered the ups and downs of losing a beautiful clematis to “wilt“ and reddening cherries to “June drop”. Roses and peonies bloom and then lose their petals, but the seed heads remaining are interesting in themselves when I take time to look. Recently for an online textile arts group I made some little seed containers to hold some the seedcases that litter the ground in our garden. They remind me of the continuing story that seedcases tell in themselves.

Seed containers for pine cones, clematis head, beechnuts, a peony seed head and a rose after its petals have dropped.

Once again I am brought back to the awareness of the inadequacy of words to tell the whole story. Sometimes it’s better just to stop, look, observe and say nothing. But even so I’ll offer you my Earthello for today.

Perfidy and perfume

At the bottom of our garden is an important area where sometimes there are smells which might not be pleasant. At my husband’s compost bins this rarely lasts long as the worms get to work, and his frequent turning and aerating helps the decomposing process, producing an almost sweet smelling, essential and richly nutritious growing medium.

This week I have been thinking about smells, pleasant and less so. Early in the week it was the rank whiffs of treachery and untruth in our national government which were troubling me, and even keeping me awake at night. I found the political rumours and statements, with media quick on the scent to hunt out lies, were very upsetting both emotionally and physically.

Covid 19 is now known to affect our sense of smell, even blocking it altogether. Unpleasant odours are often an important clue warning us that something is “off” or not quite ok. What our noses can detect is not as sophisticated as most other animals, but they are very sensitive, literally and metaphorically none the less.

https://medicalxpress.com/news/2020-03-coronavirus-loss-smellbut-wont-permanent.html

It feels to me like some of us are infected not just with a physical virus which stops us smelling, but metaphorically too. We are being encouraged to not only cover our mouths and noses to avoid spreading disease, but to hold noses and twist our tongues to obscure and hide dis-ease, and whiffs of untruth.

It was a friend from our allotment site, with a life time of growing experience as well as political wisdom, who described this week’s political stink as perfidy. I have certainly found the smells of betrayal and distrust, utterly sickening.

However the compost bins teach me that the waste, mistakes and difficult clippings of our lives don’t necessarily have to decompose into this kind of a foul stinking mess. With acceptance, honesty and TIME even apparent nastiness can produce healthy growth. In fact other parts of the garden prove that the very plants fed by a natural decomposition produce perfume extolled through out history. This week I picked our first sweet peas, and my husband made fragrant elderflower cordial from flower heads in the garden. We picked sweet strawberry fruits and crushed aromatic catmint leaves from the allotment. Every step brings new smells, from delicate jasmine, to the heavy scent of roses.

This coming week I am joining in with Satya Robyn’s Dear Earth e-course. I am already finding that her idea of writing “Earthellos” is a process which is helping me acknowledge where I am, lean into the wisdom of the earth, and breathe the deeper perfumes of Life. Perhaps you too may find it encouraging to sniff out some sweeter scents among the horrific stinks which pervade our global atmosphere, and allow the longer deeper processes to begin their work in us all.

Re-read, re-root

A journaling course I am following recently suggested that at a time of crisis it is good to return to favourite books and re-read them. Sometimes the predictable and familiar can be a comfort when things are uncertain. The first book I selected from my book case was The Scent of Water by Elizabeth Goudge. My copy is old and battered, and the story of a successful business woman who leaves her London life to live in a house left to her by a cousin she met once, never fails to remind me of unchanging truths. It is not modern in its content or language, but the theme of the book is that the past can often be the key to the present.

In the front of the book are these words….
For there is hope for a tree,
If it is cut down, that it will sprout again,
And that its tender shoots will not cease.
Though its root may grow old in the earth,
And its stump may die in the ground,
Yet at the scent of water it will bud
And bring forth branches like a plant.
Job 14 v 7-9

This image was made very real when the weather broke this weekend and we had some heavy rain. I ventured into the garden and the scent of water was everywhere, the damp earth releasing pungent aromas, full of living promise. The plants seemed to be responding by drinking deeply and standing tall, their roots reaching deep and strong.

And then I pulled another old favourite off my bookcase. Journal of a Solitude by May Sarton. It starts, “Begin here. It is raining”, and as I opened it further at random I found more words about trees and roots.

“ I think of the trees and how simply they let go…and go deep into their roots for renewal and sleep…. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover and remember that nothing stays the same for long,not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go. “

It was the words about sitting it out and letting it pass which spoke to me at this time. We have been told lock down restrictions because of the deadly coronavirus will continue for at least three more weeks. This process cannot be hurried, horrible and painful though it is.

On the same page May Sarton quotes words from another old book I have on my bookcase T.S. Eliot’s Collected Poems. The words she quotes are from his poem Ash Wednesday. On paper yellow with age, they were underlined by me probably four decades ago. I don’t know what was in my mind back then, but the words “teach us to sit still” spoke to me powerfully when I re-read them today.

Sit still, let go, return to the deep places, and re-root to find peace. That seems to be what my old books are saying to me this week. Easier to read than to actually do, as always! But I am trying to hold these old truths in my mind as I walk my garden circuits, and pick posies of flowers and buds fed by the scented rain.

Shadow quilts, comfort blankets?

Just recently I completed another quilt, or comforter as some call them. Two layers of fabric sewn, stitched, tied together with an insulating layer, a source of warmth and comfort. A member of one of my writing groups (we are now sharing on line) remarked that this was a time for comfort blankets, because it is a time when we are all feeling very anxious and uncertain.

This particular quilt is known as a shadow quilt where dark black frames create a 3D effect and enhance the individual coloured squares. I found quilting the black frames a particularly tedious part of the process, but without the dark shadows this quilt would look flat and offer no sense of depth.

At this moment when we are encountering deep shadows of fear and disease in an unprecedented way in our life time, it is hard to accept that the dark times may be part the process. Right now sources of comfort become very important. The meaning and origins of the word comfort is to “strengthen very much” Latin; confortare – strength, support, consolation

As we go into this time of shadow and uncertainty, connecting with each other to comfort and strengthen will become crucial. Let’s maintain that physical distance and stay home, but reach out a social media comfort blanket. Yes it includes those dark shadows, but it offers warmth and strength.

This weekend is the equinox, where days and nights are equal length, a time of turning and transition in the seasons. A reminder that it is the balance of shadow and light which maintains our life on this earth. So let’s pay attention to the earth’s continuing steady daily journey through darkness and light, and the seasonal beauty unfolding around us. And be comforted.

From our garden today

Journaling onwards

A new month, a new year and a new decade. Happy 2020 everyone.

Last year I wrote very little on this blog, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been journaling. My journaling has been continuing and changing. Yesterday I sorted through my notebooks where I scribble regularly, if not daily. A kind of “morning pages” as suggested by Julia Cameron in her famous book The Artists Way, this is where I record events, and feelings about events. Here I unravel the tangle of my thoughts and emotions onto safe friendly blank pages. There are now 10 rather boring looking hard back books lined up on my shelf. But their outward appearance is deceiving and I found it very moving flipping through the pages of the last decade as I labelled and sorted them. They contain so many moments I had forgotten about, and chart a journey of ups and downs, tricky and sad times, frustrations and achievements. Some pages are illegible even to me, and the emotion can be felt more in the appearance of the scribble than the reading of the words!

I have been journaling in other ways too. In 2019 I have been experimenting with journaling in paint, collage and other “art”. Just as with my written scribbles the focus is on the process of making pages to express what’s going on for me at the time. Over the year I followed Wanderlust 2019 offered by Everything Art. The weekly prompts offered me ideas and a range of skills, with the main intent of experimenting and playing. At the end of the year I have a fat volume of pages created weekly, as well as several mini art journals recording events and moments through the year.

And I hope to continue journaling, both in writing (scribbling) and mixed media art (playing), and also perhaps in my stitching and sewing. Even though the final product is less important than the process of creation, I will endeavour to share some of my “work” here.

On this day – January 31st

The last day of my browse through seven years of January posts. I have enjoyed reflecting on my past moments, captured in words and pictures, and sometimes seeing them in a new light now time has passed. Two years ago I was reflecting on my experiment of drawing things instead of describing them in words, but discovering that I still liked words too…

Recently I came across these words of Marcel Proust; “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes”.

And, perhaps, new ears and new awareness of sounds, smells, tastes and textures all around us…

Keep paying attention, my friends!

January 31st 2017

If I’m honest I have to admit I sliced open this watermelon because I thought it might be good to draw, not because I particularly like water melon. Won as a part of a fruit basket raffle prize, it is not a fruit I would normally buy to eat. 

I was not disappointed with the bright pink flesh hidden inside the green skin, but I didn’t find it easy to capture the shape and colour, and the juiciness of the fruit. In fact after I had finished I realised that the slice was sitting in a little puddle of its own juice, and I had missed that altogether on my picture. 

I have spent a month looking and drawing what (I thought) I could see in front of me. It has been an interesting challenge and changed the way I look at things. I have loved exploring the line and shape of my surroundings, and watercolour is such a quick and delicate way to capture shades and tones. 

But when I took a spoon to the melon I discovered it was much juicier and sweeter than I had expected and distinctly fragrant! There’s more to life than what we can see… 

More senses (and artistic mediums/media) needed. 

https://weaversjournal.wordpress.com/2017/01/31/not-just-a-pretty-face-small-stone-31/