Among Women – My Board

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When I had included this as part of my reflection on the Gospel Women readings, I found that it just didn’t flow the way I wanted it to, and I realized that it was due in part because it really should have been more of a bullet point or list of what I chose and why I chose it. Looking at the original bowl of items and board to use for the collage, I am struck by how it went from nothing to something so magnificent. I really love the finished product. Despite being unfinished in some ways, adding more would take away from what it’s expressing.

In looking back at the process, I can safely say that I practically put it together in the order that I gathered the items. Not entirely, and in my “first draft”, I did move things around, although, again it is nearly identical to the original concept that I laid out before the adhesives.

1. Our board choices were very simple: white, black or reddish-brown. As you can see I took the reddish brown one. I thought that white was too stark and black was too dark, and I usually stay away from reds. I took that one to be a bit bolder than I usually am. This retreat house is where I do most of my artistic work, from the mandala weekend to an illuminated initial at the most recent weekend; it is where I always bring my sketchbook and colored pencils. I think the space is welcoming so that I feel that I can attempt art safely whereas I can write anywhere.

2. I wasn’t sure about the butterfly wings. They are real wings, taken from the Conservatory where the butterflies lived their whole lives. No butterflies were harmed in the collection of their wings. My mother used to love butterflies, and I would get her some sort of butterfly thing – pin, notebook, trinket box for her birthday, Christmas/Chanukah, and Mother’s Day. Consequently, when she died, I got her collection, and seeing butterflies makes me think of her, so I’m drawn to them. In the little plate, there were beautiful, bright blue ones that I believe come from the Karner Blue Butterfly, a local variety in the Albany Pine Bush. There was also a bright orange and black dotted one that I think was a Monarch. The one I chose was yellow with black. Everyone thinks bumble bee with those colors, but for me, they are Hufflepuff, my Harry Potter house. They speak to me of loyalty, and friendship, perseverance, and strength. They are courage and truth. They are also a visual reminder of my being brought back to writing and the internet community that held me, supported me, and welcomed me, and who continues to give me the gift of friendship and creativity. So much from such a little wing.

*One thing that struck me about my collage was that I am a very symmetrical person, and there is nothing in this grouping that is symmetrical. I chose one wing rather than two. In my mind, it seems odd, but looking at it, it is perfect.

3. I glanced at the pile (very large pile) of magazines and newspapers taking up a third of the table. The word travel caught my eye, and that was all I was going to take, but then the subtitle, 4 Life-Changing Journeys drew my eye. I was going to take travel and journeys, but then the whole phrase – 4 life-changing journeys – really grabbed me, not only as something I’ve been feeling this year and last, but also as a fantastic writing prompt to use in future days. What four life-changing journeys have I been on in recent years? What a perfect way to organize some thoughts, and so I took the whole thing. I tore the small rectangle out and put the magazine back in the pile. Before I could move off, I noticed another article about 50 tips to feel amazing. It had to do with getting healthy and avoiding chronic illnesses such as diabetes and high blood pressure, but it was the 50 that took me by the hand. I will be turning fifty at the end of the year, and one of my goals is to write weekly reflections. I’ve been somewhat neglectful, but the number, bold and in red, needed to come. I tore off the whole cover and thought to look at it more closely. It wasn’t until I was back at my seat that I noticed the tagline of the magazine: Real Possibilities. I cut out possibilities and I had all the words I thought I would need.

4. Wherever, whatever I’m doing, I’m attracted to my favorite color green, and the puzzle pieces had them in abundance. I didn’t look at the finished puzzle on the box cover, but I took a few pieces that might fit together; they probably wouldn’t but they only needed to look as if they might. I like puzzle pieces. They come apart easily, but also go back together just as easily. They connect, and if connected the right way, they create a path to a finished product. I took a few, and then went back for a couple more, having six in all. There was no meaning to having six, and one was more yellow than green or blue, but it was something I needed to have for my board.

**My board was supposed to be a reflection of the two Gospel women we’d thought about all week. I was drawn to a different suggestion by Sister Sue and that was how I was related to them, how I saw myself, and this became more of a vision board or a me board – things I am, things I want to be, things that can be, a positive meditation.

5. When I excitedly approached the Scrabble tiles, I was looking for a K, my first initial. When I got there, I began to touch the tiles, turning them over to see which letters were available. I stopped looking for the K, and began to think about the reflections and the readings, and I don’t know why but I wanted Writer. It wouldn’t let go. It wasn’t until I returned to my seat to lay out the board that I moved the R off to the side. The question arose in the design: Am I a writer? Is it more important to be a WRITER? Or is it more important to do the writing regardless of status? Being a writer is something important – being published, being liked, but the writing calls to me. It is always there; it has always been there.

6. The foam stars and circles were just fun. I definitely only wanted green and yellow. The foam is squishy, and somehow childlike. I am also reminded of the stars and the moon in the sky. I have a real affinity for the full moon shining down on me as I sleep.

*** Last summer I tried to do something like this with my two youngest kids. I picked out fabric and doodads. I had them pick some out as well. We did it on cork with pushpins. It was nice for about a day and a half, and then they all fell apart. After this experience, I may try and do it again with them using glue instead of the tacks. They enjoyed it, and it expressed who they are and their likes and dislikes.

7. Of course, I found some butterfly cutouts from a greeting card. The same as the wing, they are for my mother, and the nature of the butterfly. Their freedom, their color, their strength amidst their delicateness.

8. The fabrics. The blue bud surrounded by the green spidery leaves matched one of the butterflies on the card. I knew I only wanted two buds. I don’t know why. I usually take things in threes or fours. The green fabric had leaves and sticks crisscrossing each other. I began to cut out a pile of sticks in that crisscross, campfire pattern when I noticed that the sticks made a K. I had found my initial after all, so I cut it and placed it in the upper left hand corner. I toyed with the idea of outlining it in a green Sharpie, but I decided to simply leave it as is. I knew what it was. Most people would notice the letter K. I liked it’s surprise and it’s simplicity. I added one larger leave in the lower right hand corner from the same fabric.

****When I got home, there was a parcel waiting for me – my always keep fighting shirt. This one offers to love yourself first. Much like on an airplane when the oxygen mask comes down, you put it on yourself so you can help others. It’s also important to not forget that we are important. Me. I am important and I am valued, and deserve some time to take care of me. That is why I go on these retreats, these reflective workshops. I have also been reading Pope Francis’ The Joy of Love, his newest exhortation and in around the third or fourth chapter, he expresses this very thing – love yourself first. That isn’t to say be selfish, but be who you are and love that person.

9. To the fabric, I added the green feather. I’m often attracted to feathers. They fall off birds, they are added onto Native American garments and mean many things. I have some feathers on my dream catcher that my friend gifted me with. Feathers are also used as fletches for arrows and as a Sagittarius, I try to follow the bow. The arrow is also known for flying straight, finding its mark, and not leading us astray.

10. I don’t think there was a concrete reason for taking the green straw. I hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to glue down, but I wanted it. Maybe it is something of nest building. perhaps it is taking something that is not much of anything and turning it into something of beauty and reflected joy.I don’t know, but I also don’t think the the board would work without it.

****So much from so many littles.

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As Holy Week Ends

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It’s full of run on sentences but that just adds to the breathlessness of writing about Wales. I’m really happy with what I did in my travel writer’s class in the twenty minute exercise. Like, really happy with it. Homework is to continue the piece, which I’m very excited about.

Excellent Walking Dead finale! Can’t stop thinking about it. I’m writing great meta in my head, but it won’t transfer to the page. Still working on it. I also loved the April Fool’s from Stephen King about writing an episode. It’s funny how I don’t read his books, but I like everything else about the man.

Excellent Supernatural! Loved every bit of it. Cas jumping into the playground door to heaven was badass. Crowley standing up to Rowena. Rowena’s face when she didn’t kill Dean. Dean and Crowley having a drink together. The séance. Bobby. BOBBY!

The Flash (SPOILERS) had the best moment on so many levels with Mark Hamill playing The Trickster. He leans down close into the copycat’s face and in telling him why he chose him, had a longish pause, and then says slowly and pointedly (and what I guessed was coming), “I am your father.” It was the perfect homage without the shark jumping cliché. I find that’s the best thing about The Flash. It’s really the one thing we love to watch as a family. It has a great pace, full of humor and adventure. Great cast, great story, and as I am the non-comic book reader of the family you don’t need to read the comics to really enjoy this show.

The Easter Vigil is tomorrow night. All throughout this week’s services and masses, people keep coming up to me, asking how I feel, patting my shoulder, hugging me, reminding me that it’s my first anniversary. I’m both excited and non-plussed as I don’t feel that different today than I felt a year ago after the vigil. This church is only becoming more of a belonging space for me. I’m asked to hand out papers and cards after mass. The ongoing support is continuing and welcome.

My son is on his school trip overseas, to France. Several of his close friends are also on the trip. It’s hard to believe he’s already 18, and he’s graduating this spring/summer. He’s just a wonderful person in so many ways.

The other two are fighting like cats and dogs and today is only the first day of spring break!

Last fish on Friday til next year and then turkey dinner for Easter. What should I make for dessert?

We’ll be visiting my mother in law next week. Many of you know that she was hit by a car in 2013 and has been recovering ever since. She is back in the rehab because of a slight set-back, but she is strong and feeling better. This rehab center gives her confidence; they are a good caring place.

I was originally going to write a reflection here on how I was feeling this Holy Week, but when I began to write this (more or less) social media update, I realized that it really spells out how my Holy Week is going and how it’s making me feel. While I didn’t do as much introspection and meditation as I would have liked this Lent, I think that was my own fault for committing myself to a daily reflection. Instead of being a spiritual release, on some days (not many), it became a burden, which was totally not my intention. I’ve never been a questioner about my conversion, but this Lent felt much more comfortable for me with a better direction and reasons for doing things. I found it easier to talk to my kids about Jesus and being Catholic, which was not something that I found stress-free in the past. This morning when I said that I wanted to bring them to the Good Friday service, they didn’t want to go, but when I explained that it was the day that Jesus died and I really wanted to attend, they understood the importance of that, and agreed to go with very little disagreement. They were also very well behaved and my son in particular joined in the group readings and sang along with the hymns. Not exactly something he does, so it made my heart warm. My daughter took out her Kindle and began drawing pictures of churches, steeples and crosses. That was her way of showing her respect and I thought it was right for her. (When I saw her Bike Race app however, I told her to put it away.)

The Supernatural family is still my family and The Walking Dead has sparked my creativity as has this new workshop for travel writing.  Currently, the television is off, although the kids are on tablets, but the house is quiet, which is always a good thing. I did one weekend retreat in February, one day retreat in March, and in May I have plans to do an overnight at the same retreat house. They are very welcoming and accommodating with my money situation. I am also hoping to go again to Spring Enrichment with the Diocese.

I know it seems as though my little world revolves around my church, but the church seems to have brought all of the me’s together to form the birth (or re-birth) of an authentic me, a genuine me, a me who I should be. Add into that my writing, my travel, my faith, history and advocacy, justice and beauty, motherhood and mothering, family and camaraderie. All of my belonging spaces coming together to create my loft house in the woods where I am the only one who can see how the paths converge and spread like the threads of a spider web, catching all of the ideas, all of the wants, all of the being that I long for.

I wasn’t looking for a new religion when I went into my church initially. I wanted quiet; and comfort. Receiving both of those I looked for nothing else. My skepticism held fast, but when Jesus came to me in a bright light, no words were needed; indeed the words are already there through the Gospels. He needed no words to lead me to His salvation, or mine I suppose; the light was enough to open my eyes.

For me, the first half of this is no different from the second half. What I do in my daily life, whether important or insouciant, it is all with the basis of faith; with the foundation of belief; with the heart of Jesus.

Forty Days of Writing

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As I finish my first Lenten season, I decided that with two days left I would look over the writing commitment that I made for these forty days.

I was pretty impressed with myself, and while I will pat myself on the back, I want to recommit to writing more and consistently.

So far (and I hope to add to this before Monday), I’ve written 31 things – some essays, some random prompts, some fan fiction and meta analysis, some religious context. They break down as follows:

1 multi-vignette improv writing for a subfandom of the Harry Potter fandom (this is a quick fire, random prompts, write as many as you can in two – three hours. I wrote about 1600 words)
1 homework for my Memoir Workshop (this does not include the assignments in the class, only what I did outside of class)
4 Others – one was a writing resource for my class, one was a birthday letter to my friend that I shared here, one was a random prompt from my collection from Sarah Selecky and one was a riff on a jacket I found and how it made me feel.
16 either fan fiction or meta for the Supernatural fandom

Total words: 33,137!

The theme for this season’s Memoir workshop is transformation, something that you know I have been going through for a long time now and expect to continue to go through for a while to come, so I am very excited for not only the in class prompts, but for the homework as well. I expect to share most of that here.

ETA: 4/1/13: Including my last writing for the Lenten season (Easter Sunday: The Journey Continues), my word total is: 35,179. I am very pleased and hope to keep it up.

Strands of Silver

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My son wanted to know why my hair was all of a sudden silver. Well, Mommy can’t afford her ‘real’ color.

And yes, my hair is not grey; it is definitely silver. And that’s not vain. And it’s been turning silver since I was about 17 just like my Dad.

The thing is, I like the silver. I really do.

But……..

When I was dating my husband, we went to a Halloween party and I dressed as Poison Ivy, so I decided to dye my hair red for the party.

I looked at my (short) red hair against my brown eyes and sallow, yellowy skin and I realized that I was supposed to be born a redhead, and I have been ever since (a couple of decades now).

It makes me sad when I pass by a mirror and see the silver shine and sparkle because that’s just not me.

It’s not vanity or age; it’s just not me.

It’s very much the same feeling I get from Wales. Having not been born there or having any kind of Welsh heritage, I still feel ‘from there’. It feels as though I’m being given the feelings and images of who I’m supposed to be and I just need the courage to take those steps.

I’ve been to Wales and it is embedded on my soul.

As for my hair, sure I’ve never let it revert back fully to silver until now. People tease me thinking I dye it to ‘cover the grey’ but that is so far from the reason that it truly pains me when it’s pointed out.

I am sad that I can’t afford something so small that feels so good; that lets me be me.

My hairdresser helped me pick a cheaper over the counter dye until I can go back to her, so I will hope for the best and dye it back tomorrow.

Because while I do love the silver, I’d rather be me. Redheaded me is a different person, and actually perhaps reverting fully back to silver and starting my color over again is a good metaphor for my life and what the rest of this year is going to look like.

Sometimes It Takes a Lifetime to Find Your Voice

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(Note: This was originally written for my family who had begun to complain on Facebook about my ‘political’ postings and opinion pieces. I re-read it and kind of still liked it, so I’ve included it here even though I’m working on a newer version as I continue to find myself.)

For someone so quiet it may seem strange – my posts, my links, my commentary. I’ve always been quiet; listening silently, agreeing or not, but remaining silent and mostly following. Even though I felt this starting in education and parenting because of my kids, I’ve been online for almost four years, and it’s created an even greater voice I didn’t know I could have. That’s probably why I go kicking and screaming to each new social media, but I still go, looking for the one that fits; the one that will give a meaningful platform to my words.

I don’t know how someone goes from silently watching and taking notes hoping for change other than speaking out; for something, whatever that something is to being an actual activist. That was always a word I was afraid of, but the reality is that is what I feel like. The old cliche of “if I don’t, who will” has never felt more true.

As I said, it started by questioning teachers and administrators, and school nurses when I felt my kids were not being treated in the way that I thought they should be treated. My excuse was that I was old and cranky, and people would laugh, but it’s laughable that I needed some kind of excuse to do what was best for my kids.

I came very naturally to It Gets Better and The Trevor Project. Children should not be killing themselves. They should be playing and going to the mall and fighting with their parents about their computers, Xboxes and cell phones.

The Human Rights Campaign and Marriage Equality and Transgender Remembrance happened for me when I saw something first-hand and knew it was wrong, but didn’t know how to fix it. For me and for others, a lightbulb goes off and it’s always been there in front of you, but you’re too afraid to see it or too afraid to speak up or you remember times you’ve made mistakes from not understanding and then you do understand; some of it anyway. Besides a personal story that is not mine to share (more than one actually), I’ve also realized that my ‘tolerance’ was validation for someone else’s life, and the people living the life don’t need my validation or approval; just my love and support.

I started speaking out against domestic violence and abuse in all its forms when my closest friend was shot and his roommate, who would have been my friend eventually was murdered.

I’m starting to talk about and link to the topics of mental illness. Just the phrase ‘mental illness’ has negative connotations and everyone shudders and hugs and finds the pill to make it go away. But mental illness isn’t always illness and it isn’t always negative; sometimes it’s just different.

I’m also starting to post about Autism. My interest began with my own children and looking for warning signs, and reading about vaccines and other causes, but knowing more people and interacting with them and seeing different sides of a word opens it up to talking about it.

These things, whatever you want to call them – causes, projects, undertakings – they’ve come to me naturally and speaking out is hard; it’s the hardest thing I’ve done. I don’t want to embarrass myself or my husband and kids by either saying the wrong thing or speaking too loud. I still care what people think of me. I still don’t like a spotlight on me. I really don’t like the center of attention, especially if it’s extremely positive or extremely negative, but as hard as it is, it is still easier than what the people I link to are going through.

It may look a bit like follow the leader, but if I didn’t believe it, I wouldn’t do it or talk about it. The one thing I found from this summer was that I was in my element with mapping and media lists and urgent cares and updating the website. I’d like to do it for something that’s not a grieving process, where I won’t feel guilty for enjoying the parts that are enjoyable; where I can help people and still do it for me, too.

And I want to write about it. There’s an essay coming about college and careers and writing and a long talk in a far away place, but for now this is what I want; what I need. And this is who I am.

At 45, I expected less change, but as physically lazy as I can be, all I see ahead are continuing changes and reaching out and touching the edge with my fingertips and pulling up and moving slowly forward, but never back; and then writing about it.

It scares me.

Activism. Living my life. Writing. Something.

Happy New Year!

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It’s catch up time.
🙂
I’ve read all of the wonderful comments left for me by all of you. I’ve responded to all of them except for the essay Unrequited Love, which I will begin answering this afternoon.
I am so appreciative of the response to not only that piece, but to some of the others that are published here.
I also have a Facebook page for those of you who are on Facebook, although I’m still working through how to use it with this blog.
I have another post this afternoon that is similar to Unrequited Love in that it talks about some of my philosophy and needs for speaking out and writing, but I am still working on one that explains ME better.

I think the two main things that I’ve been focused on and will continue as a theme in my life this new year are my ongoing recovery from depression and anxiety and my religious/spiritual awakening. Both are subjects that most people shy away from, hide in the dark and don’t discuss. My aim for both, but especially the subject of depression and mental health issues is to bring it into the light as I have been brought into a lighted part of my life. I also speak about the journey I’m on.

So thank you for joining me on this journey.

Kb

Day 1: Retreat

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Cool wind on my face as I step off the porch. Fall leaves swirl all around me. Deep breath. And a smile. What a difference one year makes. And so it begins.

This is what I tweeted/facebooked when I walked out of the door first thing this morning. It was a wonderful feeling. At the moment, I’m attempting to organize my six days of writing. Of retreat. It’s funny, that word: retreat. When the military use it, it’s a bad thing, but when an artist or a writer or just a vacationer uses it, it’s a special occasion, a special time to rejuvenate, to reinvent, to be reborn in something else, someone else. The English language is a funny thing.

So begins my retreat. Or whatever it is. I still can’t pinpoint what I’m doing. I just know that I miss my writer’s conferences. I miss the creativity that fills me from my friends. I miss the poking and the petting that I need, but am so afraid to ask for. I miss the feeling; a feeling. I miss Wales. Actually, that’s not true.

I long for Wales. In the Fall, the hiraeth is strong, so strong. I even enjoy when my friend E talks down about his hometown near Bangor because then I can extol its virtues and the top one hundred reasons why he should also love it too. I know deep down he does, but it’s his hometown and he knows all of its intrincasies, which are boring and sheep filled.

Last year, I went to Denver and got some of this. Plotting a trip for spring perhaps, but this year, I can barely afford to go to Starbucks, but I need something. Not want.

NEED.

I’ve decided to give it to myself. I still have appointments. I still have bills. I still have family obligations, but I’m spreading MY TIME out among the next two weeks and if I can manage my goals, you will be hearing about most of it (some of you more than others), and at the end of the two weeks, I’m hoping to have a foundation for the next year to carry me through with more goals and successes and growiing and journeying down this path; this seemingly new path that has always been a thread in my subconscious that I’ve followed haphazardly.

I’ve planned the family’s menu for this week and done the grocery shopping this morning after Mass. About fifty dollars. I may or may not be home for dinner, and my husband and teenage son will be in charge of cooking. I’ve packed the freezer with waffles for breakfast and I’ve promised not to leave before all the kids get on their buses.

I have also, believe it or not, labeled all the boxes and wrappings of the food with the day of the week that they’re supposed to be eaten on. I thought my husband would be insulted that I did that, but it thanked me. Hopefully, our daughter will stay away from the cheese until after grilled cheese night!

So meals are planned.

Shopping is done.

There will be a lot of introspection and reflection and the things I’ve lost and the ones I’ve found in the last year, but especially in the last ten months, and always harking back to the good and the lessons learned and who I am today rather than who I never was.

Today, I’m at the library in a quiet corner by the window. There is a waterfall, and a frog and trees of just the right color and height (that’s a joke – if you’re reading this in the future, Google: Romney, Election 2012, it might still be amusing).

Today, I organize and plan and prepare. There will be index cards and workshop homework and creating a new blog and a dedicated Facebook page.

I will get back on track for my self-imposed assignments and all the while, not so much finding myself as becoming myself.