Old Days… Good Times I Remember!

The year I finished 6th grade, I went to summer camp for the first time. I thought I’d found Heaven in a Florida state park with a bunch of women who were passionate about community and ecology. And singing One Tin Soldier.

Just now, my girls are at “sleep away” camp for the first time. They’re a little younger than I was. Their mama is a bit anxious. I am crossing all my fingers and toes and hoping that they have as profoundly important an experience as I had.

I had counselors I looked up to. And a director who taught me a lot about following what she believed. In many ways, it was my very early introduction to the Divine Feminine, before I ever knew the words. I also had a crush on the gentle, encouraging guy who drove the camp bus and chased off obnoxious dudes from across the river.

Being Florida, it was really hot. The mosquitoes were everywhere. I got poison ivy. And heat rash. Jean, our director and head bugle player, French braided my hair every day to keep it off my neck.

I learned, when it was my cabin’s turn to sweep the dining room after a meal, to pick the trash out of the dustpan and put the sandy dirt gently back outside where it came from.

I learned ghost stories and camp songs.

Not much of a singer, I found my place, which went on for about six years more, as the one who remembered all the words to all the songs from one year to the next.

(I still remember most of them, though I have a bit of trouble in the middle of Rathbone the Ogre!)

There were no iPads or cell phones in those days, though we got pretty excited about postcards at lunchtime mail call.

And we learned to macrame!

I suspect things are a bit different at Camp these days.

I hope, though, that my girls are having a blast. I hope they’re making new friends that they’ll stay in touch with until Camp next year.

I hope that they’ll feel stronger and more self-sufficient because of what they’re learning.

And I really, really hope that they’ll learn at least the sense of  One Tin Soldier even if they don’t quite know the words.

Yes, the world is a very different place than it was 50 years ago. And yet, the things that were important then are still important now. Probably more so.

Relatedness. Respect. Interdependence. Peace on Earth was all it said…

And s’mores!

I can’t wait to hear all about it!!!

 

 

 

 

Old Stories, Trees, and Hope!

Remember, for a moment, learning to ride a bike. Probably your story includes an adult with lots of advice. It might go something like this…

There you are on the bike, perhaps without training wheels for the first time.

Probably, as you’re reading this, without a helmet. (So glad we know better, now!)

In my case, on a suburban street, somewhere in the midwestern USA. (Please feel free to substitute accordingly!)

So, kid, bike, driveway, and the concerned adult mentioned above.

You set off, wobbly and, perhaps, more than a little anxious, with the concerned adult jogging along, holding onto the back of the bike, who finally lets go.

Your plan is to proceed down the driveway, turn at the sidewalk and make your way in triumph next door to show your friend how empowered you’ve just become.

One tiny problem. The concerned adult, who is totally focused on the very large tree off to the side of the driveway.

(Nevermind that the tree has been standing very still, just there, for 80 or 100 years!)

“Watch out for the tree,” yells the concerned adult. About 8 times.

And, you, finally liberated, in an entirely predictable fashion, smash your precious bike right into the tree.

Or, as some of my meditation friends would say, Where the attention goes, the energy flows

Which is to say, that if you’re totally focused on the tree, you’re probably going to hit it.

Now, I’ve known this story for years, in its therapeutic sense. Focus your attention on what you want, as opposed to what you don’t want.

Frankly, it’s harder than it sounds.

And, just between us, I’ve been having a bit of a cosmic reminder lately. You see, lately I’ve been focused, not for the first time, on Don’t be in pain! 

There are lots of reasons for that.

Frequent flyer miles with the knee surgeon. A couple of falls that weren’t quite serious but came pretty close. Some losses in my life. More than my average amount of stress, lately. And a bit of fear, here and there.

And, you guessed it, I hit the tree. Anxiety. Difficult dreams. Trouble sleeping. The kind of loss of strength that comes from the notion that being still is being safe.

Frankly, it hasn’t been working very well.

So, I’m making a different choice. A choice I’m calling, with thanks to the amazing Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy, Radical Self Care.

A choice like this takes a bit of preparation.

A bit of inspiring reading. Some pantry weeding. An uncomfortable amount of self-disclosure and asking for support. And, a bit of shopping. Organic fennel tea, local grass-fed soup bones, and my most essential colors of paint, along with a painting called Apothecary.

I begin, officially, a week from today.

Except for the fact that I’ve actually already begun. You see, my eyes are already on my friend’s driveway, instead of the big, scary tree.

I’m headed for where I want to be instead of where I don’t.

It won’t necessarily be an easy trip, especially the part that involves NO dairy or wheat for at least 2 weeks.

Today, though, when we had lunch at Stiles Fish Camp in Ponce City Market, after picking up a couple of my paintings from their adventure with the magical scanning machine, I practiced eating fabulous oysters without crackers!

(This is not something that we folks raised in Florida are accustomed to, but it actually worked!)

And, I have granddaughters watching. And paintings to paint. And prayer dots to make. And hope to share. So, eyes on where I want to be!

May it be so for you, as well.

From Ghoulies & Ghosties..

and long leggetie beasties and things that go BUMP! in the night, good Lord deliver us!

Let me start by saying that I am allergic to bee stings. (Wasps, too, for that matter. Yellow jackets.  Ants. The whole nine yards.) The Epi-pen carrying kind of allergic.

And, for many, many years, I was very, very afraid of the whole crowd known to my biology teacher as Hymenoptera. 

Then, I became a gardener. I began to be very concerned about the growing global crisis of rapidly dying colonies of bees.

I read Braiding Sweetgrass (recently) and The Secret Life of Bees (about six times!) and, slowly, I’ve begun to have a much more vivid appreciation for the pollinators among us.

(Honestly, I haven’t quite worked it out with fire ants, just yet.)

Today, though, I had a close encounter. I was out in the garden, trimming back some rogue grape vines which were attempting to take over the porch and picking some cherry tomatoes.

A bee came to visit me. As instructed by Sue Monk Kidd, I sent her love. I actually thanked her for her presence in my garden and all her hard work.

And then, as she buzzed back to where I’m allowing some of the arugula to bloom, and hopefully re-seed, I took three slow breaths, inhaling deeply of the scent peculiar to tomatoes on a hot summer morning, and went to greet Auntie Maren who is the official chiropractor for the studio angels.

I’m glad to know the ancient Scottish blessing about ghoulies and ghosties. It seems that they abound, in many forms, in our world these days.

I would imagine it has always been so. And there are, indeed, a few lurking in my world just now.

And yet, the one thing I know for sure is that fear is rarely our most effective way to meet them.

Thus, the question for today, courtesy of the wise and ever-amazing Shiloh Sophia McCloud comes from a Zoom meeting yesterday about what I’m learning to call metacognitive drawing, which is kind of like changing things by drawing while thinking about thinking. (Stay tuned!)

What, I’m wondering, are the next steps in allowing creativity to bloom in my life? 

If you don’t have a question of your own for today, I’m happy to lend you mine!

PS… the art today is a snipet from Honey in Your Heart, coming soon to Sue’s Shop!

 

 

 

What goes around…

The magic streaming radio in my head woke up playing Chicago’s Old Days this morning!

It wasn’t really much of a surprise for this is a (mostly) good times I remember season for me. You see, 32 years ago this week, I started Greek School at Columbia Theological Seminary, just down the road in Decatur, Georgia.

I began equipped with a good knowledge of English, enough rusty high school Spanish to introduce myself, find the bathroom, and say good night, an especially useful phrase when I worked in surgery, and a bit of American Sign Language, mostly of the pre-school and 4-letter word varieties.

Also, a 7 year-old son.

New place. New community. New neighbors. New traditions. Not to mention a new ancient language.

Just between us, the first couple of weeks were a real stretch. Not only was I NOT getting the hang of the Greek verbs, but I had babysitter challenges and a kid with strep throat and new doctor challenges. Oh, and a trip to the ER with a neighbor kid who was riding her bike without a helmet.

Then, on the morning after our first quiz, which had done nothing to ease my growing anxiety, the lights came on for me.

The word was blepo which is Greek for “I see.” And suddenly, I did! Here was a word I knew. A word I connected with. You see, blepo is used in the names of several eye surgery procedures. Suddenly, I had a friend.

A couple of days later, I looked around my kitchen in The Village and realized that I was handing out cookies to kids in 5 different languages, 4 of which I didn’t speak, and it was all working!

No Greek School this summer. Just a painting journey that reminds me a lot of those particular old days. (Don’t even ask me about Hebrew!)

Along with a big canvas and my favorite squirt bottle, this journey came equipped with a 2 page long vocabulary list.

Things like Apothecary, quantum super position, imaginal framework, curious observer, and creative composting. Also, my favorite, biophotons!

(Spelling doesn’t count!)

The painting, above, is a whole bunch of the first “day’s” work, which probably took me about 3. One of my friends responded, understandably, with, “Cool! What is it?”

Well, in the Intentional Creativity ® universe, it’s a path along the road to turning tragedies into remedies. To releasing the things that hold us back from the future we wish to move toward.

Once again, I see! And I can’t wait to see what comes next!

Who knew watching paint drip, and not trying to control it, could be so empowering???

I suspect those cookie munching kids in my kitchen all those years ago would have been pretty good at the paint drip thing, too. I’m just glad I’m coming around now!

Winner! Winner!

This post was published in its original version on July 10, 2017. If you’re new-ish around here, you many not have run into many recipes, but tomorrow is Independence Day in the USA and, while I have indeed been busy reflecting on that in a deeper sense, pattern learner that I am, I’m also reflecting on fried chicken.

Don’t run!!! I’ve been busy recomposing my list of go-to ingredients over the last few years. It’s been a bit of a challenge, as most new things are. Then I remember how much better I feel and I get up and do it again the next day.

Growing past a few personal tendencies toward food fundamentalism has been the biggest challenge for me. I’m grateful to be discovering, deep inside, how to join together the new things I’ve learned and the individual quirks I bring to the journey, all in relationship with a nearly gluten-free, diabetic husband who’s fond of 1000 Island salad dressing in a jar!

Learning where it works to wander occasionally toward the fringes, and where it really doesn’t, in light of the future I long for.

We made a bit of a trip in the direction of the fringes on the 4th of July.

I wanted fried chicken. It’s probably a genetic thing. (At least a recent one!) I did not want belly aches and swollen ankles. I did not want carb cravings or chemicals or trans fats.

Homemade was clearly in order.

The best wings I could buy. A few extra for the stock pot. Some research and a new theory for the dredging part of the plan. An extra set of hands in the kitchen.

It worked!!!

Grammy’s Best Wings Ever

Serves 2-3 adults for a main course.

Preheat oven to 400 F.

1-1 1/2 pounds chicken wings per person. Local, pastured, sustainably raised, if possible. Either save the wing tips for the stock pot, give them to a friend with raw fed dogs small enough to eat them safely, or discard them according to ancient Chinese wisdom. It’s up to you.

1 c. organic brown rice flour. (Or white, if you prefer.)

2 tsp. aluminum free baking powder.

2 tsp. good Celtic sea salt, plus extra for finishing.

1 tsp. freshly ground black or mixed peppercorns.

1 tsp. dried thyme.

1/2 – 1 tsp. ground chipotle pepper, if desired.

1 – 2 tsp. lemon zest, if desired.

Good, imported olive oil or other oil of your choice for frying. (You really can fry in olive oil!)

About 1/2 hour to 45 min. before cooking, remove wings from fridge and bring to cool room temp.

Mix all dry ingredients, plus lemon zest, if desired, in a medium sized bowl, adjusting seasoning as desired.

Heat about 1 inch of olive oil in large skillet, preferably cast iron, over just less than highest heat, adjusting to avoid smoking.

Toss about a quarter of the wing pieces in flour mix to coat.

Place wings in sieve and tap off extra flour.

Using tongs, add wings to hot skillet. (Be careful. They’ll pop!)

Fry until nicely golden brown and turn to second side. Continue to fry until golden brown.

Remove to sheet tray lined with parchment paper and a rack, if desired.

Continue coating and frying wing pieces until all are finished. (I used 2 trays with racks for this amount.)

Roast wings in preheated oven for 10 minutes.

Remove, checking a larger piece for doneness. Roast an extra 1-2 min. if needed.

Re-season with good sea salt.

Sprinkle with hot sauce if desired. Or, if you happen to be in Atlanta, drizzle with Bacon Jam from my friends at Pine Street Market and The Chop Shop.

Enjoy!

This is not the way my mom made fried chicken. Nor the way my grandmother did. It is a way that meets all those same sentimental, emotional needs for me, and Bill loves it, too.

Juicy. Tasty. Oddly hospitable.

Serve with lots of veg!

No guilt. No belly aches. No hobbling around the morning after.

Or, as my Food Network buddies would say, recalling historic Las Vegas: Winner, winner chicken dinner!

This, too, is Intentional Creativity!

 

 

Grammy Becomes a Cheerleader!

I was not a cheerleader as a girl. I was the one stalking the sidelines of whatever the event, scribbling frantically in a spiral notebook and nudging photographers in the direction of the pics I needed, glad that the attention was on the stars.

I was a yearbook and newspaper kid. Also student council. Not nearly as cool as a star, perhaps, but much more me.

This week, 40-some years later, I became a cheerleader. A cheerleader stalking the edges of a community pool, clutching my cell phone camera, and joining in on cheers echoing from my own school days.

I cheered for my girls, of course. And their swim team members. I also cheered for the visiting team. And I cheered especially hard for the ones who finished last and still rejoiced in cutting seconds off their previous times or trying really hard.

I cheered for all the good sports and for the shy kids brave enough to leap in and give their all, whatever the process at hand.

And I cheered for the young man with the neon yellow tutu, a vibrant image of all-in, though I have no idea whether he won his races or not.

I cheered for paintings of Cosmic Cat and Daisy Dog and for baking and a fabulous first guacamole lesson.

It was a week of good reminders for me that we can all do some cheerleading in our lives, even if we’re not the pleated mini-skirt or yellow tutu kinds of folks.

Sometimes cheerleading involves jumping around, yelling, and clapping our hands sore.

Sometimes it involves a quiet Way to hang in there! and the awareness that we all need to feel seen and heard and significant.

Sometimes it involves a bigger-than-usual tip for the kind guy with the wheelchair who got me safely through the maze of trains and elevators and ramps at Dulles Airport, while beaming about his son in college and the one in med school.

Here are a few more glimpses from our week. May you find chances for cheerleading in the weeks ahead, wherever you discover yourself!

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Tea-m Time!

It feels a bit like the Olympics in Grammy-land this week!

Swim meets and practice. Soccer practice. Team pictures. All this activity has had me pondering.

When I was the age my girls are, there weren’t teams for girls to join. At least not that I knew about.

There was gym class which, frankly, I decided might not be my thing right about the time we were supposed to climb ropes.

Later, in my awful blue gym suit, early in high school, I convinced my teacher that it was remotely possible that I might be the exception to the notion that everyone can do a cart-wheel. (I’m pretty sure I was right!)

Frankly, I know a whole lot more about tea time!

This week, watching my girls, I’ve begun to suspect I might have missed a few things so I asked them if we could talk about their experiences as athletes. Here’s some of what they told me…

Both girls (ages 9 and 11), who’ve also done gymnastics, agreed that the best thing about being on sports teams is hanging out with their friends and learning cool new things.

Kenz says Field Hockey is her favorite team because the girls are really nice and it’s just a fun game to play. When asked about her coach, she grinned and said, “My mom is my coach so everything is awesome about my coach!”

Tay likes travel soccer best so far and thinks it’s cool that her coach helps with skills they want to learn. She also says it’s really hot if you play in the summer.

Kenz says it’s hard that sometimes everybody doesn’t get along and sometimes you wish you were a bit better at things like stick work.

Both girls are working hard at specific things and Kenz thinks it’s important to encourage other girls on the team. Tay says sometimes she plays defense when nobody else wants to and tries really hard.

I asked them what they’d say to other girls (and boys) considering team sports and the answer was a resounding, “Yes! Definitely do it!”

And, just for fun, here’s a pic of 3/5 of the family crab eating team!

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Sue Boardman, Certified Intentional Creativity®
Color of Woman Teacher & Coach