Moving Day

It's moving day!!!!!! All my content that I created while at blogger will stay here for now at wanderwonderdiscover.blogspot.com.

Wander Wonder Discover is now found here at Wordpress.

Hopefully the address has successfully been mapped by now, but if not the wordpress address is:

www.wanderwonderdiscoverdotorg.wordpress.com

Thank you friends and see you on the other side!!

xoxox

when we see the inevitable truth

The inevitable truth is that it is time for me to migrate. I am taking photos, I am writing, I have hoards to say, but I am not inspired to share it here. I look at my Blogger page and I feel like "blecht." I think I have squeezed everything I could out of Blogger. I am done--- NOT with blogging (though my absence may suggest otherwise), but with Blogger. I have been complaining to myself for about a year now and it's time I packed my thoughts, words and photos and switch over to Wordpress.

I will forever be grateful to Blogger for giving me the platform and courage to capture and cement the words that ping pong around my head onto a published screen. Change is always afoot and I gladly open my door when it arrives.

Meanwhile have you Unravelled 2013 and chosen a word for 2014 yet?  If not, the workbook can be downloaded here. I have been doing Susannah's annual reflections for 3 years now, and there are two words I can say about this process: it works. I look forward to sharing my new word with you on Wordpress soon.

So with that I say goodbye to 2013, goodbye to Blogger, and Happy Happy New Year!!!

xoxox

Skywatching

Words are few in this space these days. I find that the more I write in my journal the less I write here. Whether that's good or not doesn't matter I suppose, as long as the words that mingle in my brain find an exit hatch somewhere. I'm also skywatching endlessly. Clouds have been my muse and I never tire of them. The last photo is of a Florida sunset when we were there last week for Thanksgiving. I do miss those....FL sunsets, I mean.

But here in Boulder today, it's more like this:

It's strangely quiet and bleak, there is no wind, and the air has razor sharp teeth that dives deeply for bone. We are in for a big storm tonight, perhaps up to 15 inches of snow. We will hit lows below zero and highs only in the teens over the next few days. There is nothing like a fierce winter storm to wake up the nerves and charge the senses. All the moisture my skin collected while 9 days in FL has now been sucked dry by this Colorado air.

Damn, and I am still so happy to be here...

Happy December friends...

xoxo

I love.

I love dreamcatchers, feathers, and watching birds do what they do.

I love the colors of Colorado sunsets, shades of blue and green much like the sea.

I love big, clunky rings on my fingers, especially those of turquoise and silver.

I love Reese's cups still.

I love tea at night with a bit of honey.

I love alliterated words that pop unpredictably into my head like platypus, pitter patter, and panacea.

I love everything about books, the way they smell, the way they feel in my hands, the way a page sounds when it turns, and the way I can get lost without ever leaving home.

I love random acts of kindness, the way someone opens the door for you, gives you a smile, or brings you something you need without ever having asked them.

I love hearing my daughter call me "Fluffy".

After he's all tucked in at bedtime and should go to sleep, I love how my son tries to get more hugs and kisses by calling from his room "Mom, can you come back here?......Mom! I'm bleeding.......my finger's broken.......MOM, I'm paralyzed!!!!!"

I love microns and sharpies in a jar.

I love journals, old, new, handmade, lined or unlined, floppy or hardcover, they all make my heart do cartwheels.

I love the smell of verbena and lemongrass, pine and cypress.

I love soy lattes in the morning.

I love kale sauteed with olive oil, garlic, lemon and a little bit of soy sauce.

I love paper calendars and planners, despite the invasion of iCal and Google.

I love fall weather for soft, oversized cowls and knee high boots.

I love the sound of silence in the woods.

I love how leaves say goodbye.

I love crisp November skies, so clear that every cloud sculpted and feathered by the wind is a gift to the eyes.

I love that in 10 minutes I can write without hesitation just a smidge of what I love so much.

I love the promise of all that we have yet to discover. The unknowing makes anything possible. The burning hunger and passion to keep seeking, keep learning, and keep dreaming. To never forsake that we still have so much to love despite knowing that we may never quite fully possess all that we are capable of.



much love to all of you

xoxo

Glittering eyes

October faded in a blink. Pictures are all that I have left of that spirited month and even now when I see them, I still daydream about the in-between. I do kiss my life and I do watch with glittering eyes for all the magic this plane and the plane beyond can muster. I step knee deep into the clouds and glide across the pages of my life leaving trails with my fingers and pen. The magic that we create ourselves is often the magic we miss because we find it easier in others--other lives, others' gifts, others' haves, others' accomplishments. October, as fast as it moved through me, brought me face to face with some of my own fears, as well as some of my own gifts, and even, some of my own magic. How lucky we are to even just catch a glimpse of our own cosmic luminescence. Vast and expansive, every last sparkle is our own to give.

Much love to you friends...

xoxo

Pushing limits

The banjo. Why I chose this instrument to begin learning at 41 is still an enigma to me. I enjoy bluegrass, but am not necessarily an enormous fan. No one in my family has ever played the instrument. I didn't grow up anywhere rich in bluegrass or banjo history. No country or bluegrass radio stations blasting from our old, yellow Dodge Aspen (what a fabulous car that was) when I was 10. In fact, years ago when I did imagine myself playing anything, the piano was the frontrunner in all my dreams.

But that did change, and here I am with a banjo and three pics fumbling my way through strings, chords, and strange looking music. At least once a day I curse that I didn't begin sooner, that I didn't have to squint and refocus my eyes just to see the strings 10 inches from my face. But I didn't begin sooner. An offer to borrow a banjo brought me to this place 7 months ago and surprisingly now it's not reading that is pushing me to get my old lady glasses, but the burning desire to play the banjo better.

Passion is a simple thing. If we love something enough, the idea is that we will stop at nothing to go for it. Even if it means we have to suck for awhile (a long while) before we get any good at it. We will give up having nice fingernails, develop ugly fingertip caluses, and endure our own crappy music playing just to get to the heart and meat of it all. It means that our comfort zone is not the endzone and frustration is actually a sign of self deconstruction and evolution. It means realizing that standing beyond our limits actually feels good. It means that in these moments, we are becoming something that not long ago was only just a dream.  That, I think I can do...

Happy Friday to you...

xoxo

Let them fall...

Tears, tears, tears. My eyes are leaking a lot lately. Some good things, many stressful things, sad things, sometimes regretful things. I have learned to be friendly to my tears and not shut them out when they want to visit. Not that I have any control over them anymore. Maybe this happens as we get older. It's far too much energy to not cry than it is to just let them fall away. Powerful moments of gratitude, sadness, solitude, love and exhilaration take their long, delicate fingers and curl them around my heart, squeezing until the water flows.

I cried while dancing in my class last week. That shook me by surprise. I was in the music, moving this body and stretching my arms up, reaching for things beyond what was in that room. Then, a wave of emotion climbed up my spine, through my lungs and throat then out my eyes, flooding, cleansing and washing out whatever they yearned to define. These were happy, overwhelming, completely immersed-in-what-I-was-doing tears, tears of feeling connected with things that I could not see, only feel, and feel very deeply. Maybe that is why when we cry, our vision gets blocked and blurred. In that moment, we aren't meant to see anything.

Wishing you a wonderful Thursday, tears and all...

xoxo

Never get tired

I never get tired of deer in my yard, of how they just blink blankly at me while I awe at them. I never get tired of searching the skies for some special surprise~ a red-tailed hawk, clouds scattered like feathers, hot-air balloons roaming at dawn.
I never get tired of watching the old Chevys putter around town. I covet them, especially the one that is colored Robin's Egg blue.  And I never get tired of Fall or Halloween, or the excitment this time of year brings to the little faces around me. Together we relish in the cozy smell of burning wood, crispy leaves, pumpkin spice and caramel apples, sending me into a feverish frenzy of baking, decorating, and buying scarves I don't need.  We are in earth's annual call to huddle close and celebrate the last gifts she has to bring before she goes quiet for the winter. May I never tire of or take these gifts for granted :).

Much love to you this Friday

xoxo

Chasing light

Light:

1) A cat on a harness and leash. We didn't declaw our cat, we adopted him that way. Yet I couldn't help feeling so badly for him as his howls begging to go outside just squeezed my heart so earnestly. And so now he has supervised visits and he beams :).

2) A losing team winning an entire tournament. It's true, up until this weekend, my son's soccer team has lost every single game. This weekend, they played 4 teams in two days and left undefeated, with medals and a trophy. And yes, we all were beaming :).

3) Signs to push forward. Ever since I wrote that post last week on writing, I've been getting signals beginning with this in my inbox the very next day. That knot in my stomach has always been the edge of the precipice, an extreme feeling of discomfort like I'm going to gag any minute, and the compelling desire to fiercly protect my fragile ego. It is the bondage to being human we are all born with. I have failed so many times, I wonder why it never gets easier? The good news is that I am here and I am still writing and for me, that still counts.

4) Art retreat!!!!  For anyone that loves making things, from novice to expert, art retreats are balms for the creative soul. If you have been reading here awhile then you may remember how Squam had a significant impact on me over a year ago.Well how lucky am I that a woman named Ali decided to create an art retreat for those of us here in the west. The Makerie art retreat was founded here in Boulder a few years ago and this Spring, I will be attending. If you are a tiny bit interested, there are 3 opportunities to attend, including one in NYC. And if you do sign up, please let me know!!!

5) In the same vein, a longtime blog friend Claudine of Becoming Claudine is hosting her 2nd annual Gladsome retreat in the Great Lakes region. Claudine is one of kindest, most down to earth bloggers I have met out here, and I can only imagine that her retreat will be full of creative spark, warmth and connection. She had wonderful success last year and I wish her even more this fall. I will be headed to Florida so I won't make it, but it is my great hope to attend one day :). Lots of love to you Claudine!

Wishing you a great week...
xoxo

“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”
~ Brené Brown

Weekending....

Heads or tails? Thoughts on writing...

On my mind:
the snap in the air-- the kind you can taste between your teeth and feel in your nostrils.
Blazing yellow and fire-red leaves, pumpkin spice bread, writing, and Stephen King.

Stephen King, I saw him speak and read the other night here in Boulder to promote his new book Dr. Sleep, the sequel to the Shining. Raw inspiration is the least I can say about him. Some of the greatest stories have come out of this man, and to hear him speak about writing is enough to fuel any fledgling for months, maybe years. This isn't the exact quote from the other night, but it's still a quote of his with the same message (one that we've all heard before most likely):

“If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. There’s no way around these two things that I’m aware of, no shortcut.”

He also said something else (I paraphrase)-- "if you aren't compelled to write everyday, then maybe you aren't meant to be a writer, which is fine because it just means you were meant to do something else."

I've been thinking about this last part ever since. Lately, I have been falling into the category of not being "compelled" to write. It's certainly not because I have nothing to write about. It's been the opposite actually. My days have been filled with a variety of things, both terrific and trying, and certainly worth telling. But I've held onto most of it for inexplicable reasons. Maybe it's a privacy reflex--a need to keep things to myself for awhile (that happens periodically I noticed). Or something else. There's a jagged edge that's been gnawing at the fringes lately for awhile. A sobering thought: perhaps I'm not meant to be the writer I once believed I could be.

So perhaps I should just leave it at that. I'm a fair-weather writer and write when the muse sings or when the "genius" arrives, or when I feel like it. No pressure to perform, no blocks to hurl, no deadlines to dread, no insatiable need to leave my pawprint on paper. The truth is, I've never had a gigantic urge to be published. To just be decent was enough, and to have touched a few with the words I share was miles above what I ever expected. 

Or.

Is there a deeper truth? One grafted with "fear of failure" and "insecurity", infecting the growth of bigger dreams? Ego fiddles with my self-assurance, gives me a smirk and tosses me a coin saying "is it heads or is it tails, cause you can't have both." As I clasp my fingers around the coin, I can feel the burning hot truth turn to ash, leaving me still with nothing but a thought.

"I am what I am what I am." ~ Popeye

When I do unravel, when the words flow, they organically wind towards truths that have been haphazardly flung into an ocean filled by time past and present. Once recovered, when the fingers fly and when words collide, writing can unearth hope and possiblity, and plant seeds of courage. Here, writing finds the person I could be and though I admit she scares me, she is the bait that keeps me hungry every single time.

I think what it comes down to is the belief we hold in our hearts, and there are no rules to what we want to believe. Today, I am enough as a writer, and I find hope in words that show up when they feel like it. And every now and then when I cast a line out into the ocean, something special nibbles on the other end, reminding me that the courage to break any walls that stops the flow is out there, whenever I am ready. 

Monday love

xoxo