what I wish for

It's easy to wish for the tangible things. A blender, a new phone, our own home with a mountain view.... These things I can handle having or not, things I can control with a click of a button or a slide of a card, or even follow with a gaze accepting that I may never know its touch. Will these tangibles find a fiber of memory forty years from now when I am almost 82?

Maybe....but as I sit and listen intently for what I want, the wishes that come are nothing I can hold, nothing that can be bought with a warranty for an additional $12.99. More real and alive to me than a fancy pair of jeans, the intangibles are what I ache for. With a simple wish I dare them to sustain or bloom again just as spring and summer are promised to come. Knowing how change is a fixture congruous with time, I hold my breath and wish for the consistency of happiness that I find spattering my days. I wish for the continued health that resides in all whom I love, I hang on to bliss that exists in my closest relationships, for friendships to endure and for love to remain...I wish for the unveiling of dreams, for pathways that I have not considered, for patience, for awareness, for humility, to trust when all I want to do is scream....

It's a lot to ask, I know. I have been a lucky girl and maybe a new blender is on an easier list to cross, perhaps more of a sure thing than all that I hope for. Yet how will I know unless I try? I see 42 walking my way and though I am shy to raise my eyes I will not hide, for if these are the best days of my life, let it be so and may I never ever forget them.


xoxo

Tick, tick, tick...

Time passes and I watch it go. Funny how I don't ever see it coming, only leaving. It moves fast and slow without prejudice, and I ponder the winding, paradoxical nature of it all. Time's inescapable vine propels us forward effortlessly, while I dawdle with little wishes to pause, and sometimes, rewind.

Lately, I have been list-making to organize my time and prioritize what's in my mind. Busy hasn't stopped since we moved, but Time has trained me well to be more efficient , effective, and accountable by making lists. And let's just face it, if I don't write it down I don't remember it.

But oh the irony!!! The lists never, ever end. It's a dangerous place to reside inside lists as they have been known to steal my time quicker than the belief that I have saved any by making them. It's a simple fact, the faster I move, or the more I fill my lists, or the more I cram into a day, the quicker the day flashes, leaving me to wonder where my time has gone. Sometimes I feel the satisfaction of my efficiency, and other times I wonder if I am afflicted with an addiction to busy-ness. And at the end of the day, with a fresh list of horizontal slashes dressed in perceived success, I see a skeletal recording of the hours of my day, like a bony rib cage worn by the passage of time. Yikes. *Sigh*

Unless.

I blast Mumford out loud and dance in the kitchen, I hike amidst my long-limbed brothers (sharing their first fists of green lately ;), I take snapshots of my boy, now with braces, and my girl with her bangs finally growing long. I paint my workshop, and now make its curtains. I drive my husband to the bus station for a meeting in Denver, and I sit to write down on my list that I need to get the snow tires off the van. Time has never been something to fear, not as long as I remember to fill it with heart. The ticking that goes by does not discriminate between snow tires and a smoothie, between laughter and stress, or accomplishment and procrastination. We are our own judge and jury to how we spend our time. Lists or not, I decide where joy plays a part. I decide when to dance or when to drive. So it's only with the trick of the mind and the flick of my wrist how I perceive whether my day is long or short. That is just how foolish we humans can be. Just ask the trees, they know what I mean :).

Mucho love...

xoxo

All too brief

All too brief are the moments that hold me still. I sweep by the cat knowing he begs for my attention. I turn and see him gazing at me with those large green eyes. Soul gazers... that is what they are.

As I sat and watched you in your piano lesson, I didn't see a 10 year old. I saw a 2 year old, with the same eager smile, the same playful energy, the same long lashes that would soak with tears if I left your sight. My own eyes begin to well and my vision blurs--"No!" I thought, not here, not in front of your piano teacher, you would be so embarrassed! But you must know, I won't tell you now, but one day you must know, that my heart bursts with love and pride for the boy you have become, for the man I know you will be...
I look away until I'm sure my eyes are dry, pull out the checkbook, and write.

So much to hold, so much to embrace, all of it, far too brief.

xoxo

ps. Thank you all for your comments of support and experience on my last post. I am grateful for every single one...


If I Were

There are lots of ways to dance and
to spin, sometimes it just starts my
feet first then my entire body, I am
spinning no one can see it but it is
happening. I am so glad to be alive,
I am so glad to be loving and loved.
Even if I were close to the finish,
even if I were at my final breath, I
would be here to take a stand, bereft
of such astonishments, but for them.

If I were a Sufi for sure I would be
one of the spinning kind.

From A Thousand Mornings, Mary Oliver

Good

Sunset shot, courtesy of the boy...

I found it amusing to look over and see the kids studiously reviewing the cards as the flight attendants were doing their safety routine.

We've only been back for a day and Mom has already taught the kids how to make a mini Japanese container garden. They loved doing it and I loved watching them together...

And it was then that I felt a pang of---what---is there a word for that?  A feeling that holds not regret or sadness,  maybe sentiment? Where I don't regret anything, but still miss what could be? If there isn't a word for this, I/someone needs to invent one as it will surface often this week.

It is good to be back in Orlando. It's good to feel the love from family and friends who are eager to make time for us. It's good to be on familiar roads and look forward to familiar restaurants. (Sidetrack: Did you know that Orlando has a large Vietnamese population and in my humble opinion, has some of the best Vietnamese restaurants I've ever had? Nothing in Colorado compares so far).

Yesterday I ran into an old friend that I use to work with 10 years ago, it was good to see her too.

As hard as it can be sometimes, it's good to miss something isn't it. We appreciate them better, and make the time we do have more meaningful. The kids are learning this and it brings me so much joy to see them with the ones that love them so much.

I know I state the obvious, I'm good at that. It's good to be good at something ;).

Have a good- fabulous weekend...

xoxo

I am...

from the sketchbook

"If you hear a voice within you saying, 'You are not a painter,' then by all means paint... and that voice will be silenced, but only by working." ~ Vincent Van Gogh (in a letter to Theo Van Gogh, Drenthe, 28 October 1883)

How easy it is to tell ourselves what we aren't. It's true, I hover briefly over definitions, categories, titles and names, knowing well enough the power of words and the emotions we place behind them. As logically as I can tell myself that I don't need a title to want to be good at something, that little piece of ego would still like a more distinctive coat to wear, one that I can recognize self in. Artist, Photographer, Writer, Creative...I lightly run my fingers across these coats and with a sidelong glance, wonder how much "good enough" would actually cost me. Years of schooling? A bucketful of failures? A tubful of heartache and desire? A lifetime of chasing?

Or how about just one "fuck you" to fear? Sorry for the language, but the dubbed version of "flip you" just doesn't cut it when we face fear does it?

"Becoming Van Gogh" still sits with me--this tortured soul who waited until 27 years old to say F.U. to fear and finally commit to becoming a painter. He only lived ten years of his dream before he died, creating some of the most amazing work we have ever seen. He was mostly self taught, he was obsessed, and became the instrument of his creative passion.

Ok, so I am no Van Gogh, this I comfortably know, but what his story has given me is permission. Permission to be driven by passion and grow creatively unconditionally-- without excuses, without promises, without expectations. Whatever this passion might evolve to years from now,  it's still an evolution from where I am standing at this very moment.

Honestly, I feel like I am preaching to the choir here. You all are why I am here. You, who write, knit/crochet, photograph, draw, paint, work with metal, make music, sing, sew--you who can't live without being creative....YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!!

Or do you?  

Do you let yourself wear that lovely coat that declares fearlessly and without judgement what you love to do? 

from the sketchbook

Be the dragon.
Let yourself hang out and expose your dreams.
Call yourself a creative being.
I am. In all the flawed ways I see myself, I certainly am.

xoxo

Weekend hues

do you see a face too?

Fox Games by Sandy Skoglund

I am wooed by color, completely. I am enchanted by the hues that have seeped into memory this weekend via optic sponges. The contrast of blues on greens, the fearlessness of red and its ability to change with just a smidge of light, the yellows and browns, and even the black and whites gripped my visual attention, inspiring. The Van Gogh exhibit opened this weekend at the Denver Art Museum, and I have to say it was mind blowing, truly. A Jedi master of color is what he was...

I've also been playing with the polaroid and Impossible Project's latest film. The surprise of color, the wonder of what will surface makes me feel like Charlie opening a chocolate bar...Yes, I am still addicted. And now something new...bookbinding. To read books, to write on inviting white pages, to  hoard collect them, to be obsessed by love them, yes, it's a lifelong affair that never gets old. But now I have taken the relationship a step further and have learned to make them. The craft of stitching them together lovingly, carefully, intentionally, yes, we have reached a new level, books and me :).

So enough about my weekend...how was yours????

Monday love
xoxo

with Amanda...

p.s. Thanks Petra for introducing me to Alex Winston--LOVE HER! Samples in the sidebar :).

Renewal

As the hours drip by and descend on 2012, I am left feeling changed, grounded and hopeful with what 2011 has given me. I have been shaken through to the fine fibers of my bones, with older creases mending and new creases forming. This is how we learn. The past year has not only given me new passions, new friends, and new experiences, but also a new perspective on what primarily has been known to me as familiar. Thanks to writing and recording in this space, embracing the now has meant more to me than it has in recent years. I have seen that "letting go" has become a repetitive ritual among all of us, allowing me to never feel alone in my quest for spiritual and emotional renewal.

So with reflection, deep gratitude, and excited anticipation, I raise my virtual glass to you and say "CHEERS!" I am truly honored and humbled to travel this road with you :)...

With love and light, may your dreams come true in 2012...

Happy New Year....
xoxo