All by the time I was almost 11 years old. Often more than one house per state.
I remember getting out of school one day in first grade and walking into a neighbor’s house, thinking I was home.
Then only thing I really believed about home was that it was temporary. I was never sure I fit in.
Oh, that, and the fact that my dad would always plant tomatoes. I’m pretty sure it’s genetic!
Growing tomatoes has been a bit more of a challenge in a 21st Century, Metro Atlanta suburb than I remember it being when I was a kid.
The sun is in my front yard. My back yard is difficult to access for one with my history of knee and back issues.
When I put raised beds out front — also known to some of you as horse troughs with holes drilled in the bottoms — the city administration informed me that I had “un-permitted lawn ornaments.”
We had some accessibility conversations and decided that the world would not come to a screeching halt if I grew veg in the front yard.
I didn’t actually plant tomatoes this year. The little guys in the picture are the last of the volunteers, triumphing in their own tiny way over heat and lack of water, and even over squirrels. They are, somehow, still home.
Thirteen years ago, my dad walked on to the new home where we couldn’t follow. I like to think that, if Heaven is remotely what it’s cracked up to be, there must be Liars’ Poker. And tomato plants.
These are for you, Great Grampie Harry.
I’ll try to plant some for real next year. But first collard greens.
Normally, when I show you food from my kitchen, it’s all nicely lit and carefully plated and, on good days, garnished with a bit of flair and garden herbs.
Tonight is a bit different. You see, what’s on the plate you’re seeing is, in many senses, garbage.
(Don’t run off… it gets better!)
This particular plate of crab shells, also known to many as the smelly part you throw away, started this morning with one of my trips to the Farmers Market for a bit of intentional walking and shopping.
Except that, really, it started in an Intentional Creativity workshop yesterday, with a question I didn’t quite answer well enough.
We were talking about the notion of intentionality. In art. In eating. In shopping. One woman asked something to the effect of how things could be free and healing and perhaps even fun, if they were also “intentional,” which I realized later carried overtones of “externally expected” for her.
We talked about choosing things intentionally, in a positive sense, but there was still a piece of the puzzle missing. One I didn’t have a conscious connection to in just that moment.
If you’ll hang in there with me, I’ll get to the connection. I promise. But first, grocery shopping.
I went to the market primarily hoping for figs. I have an old friend and art sister coming for brunch tomorrow and my favorite frittata recipe was just calling out for a side of organic Black Mission figs, macerated in really good balsamic vinegar.
So, about 10:00 on this hot, humid morning, I tied on my seriously groovy walking shoes, gathered my various leaving-the-house essentials and headed out for a bit of baby waving along with some hunting and gathering.
An Arab woman, veiled in black, offered me her grocery cart in the parking lot when I waved at her charming baby.
It was blessedly chilly inside and I spotted gorgeous organic figs right away. I scooped them up first. Then, a few tiny organic mushrooms, some baby arugula, and some miscellaneous bits and pieces for the raw fed dogs who will reappear from Camp tomorrow and sleep like rocks until dinner time.
I needed dinner, too.
I also needed a bit of celebration.
You see, on Monday I finished the biggest of the big Intentional Creativity workshops for my Color of Woman graduation. The last required one is all planned for Friday. (The rest are the kind of play that our souls do when we set them free.)
And, I’m leaving for Italy in a few weeks to paint with my teacher and my art sisters, eat some fabulous food and wander in the presence of the Holy Mother.
So, I found myself drifting in the direction of crab claws, as is my habit when celebration is in order.
About a pound of Alaskan King crab legs, and a big bag of ice wound up in my cart and I made my way home.
Here’s where the intentionality part comes in.
Crab legs are, to be sure, an abundance sort of choice and I believe in living in a mindset of abundance rather than scarcity. I also believe in stretching the abundance as far as it will go.
It is, finally, about living in integrity with my values.
Among other things, I value rejoicing. And enjoying fabulous, natural food with a sense of respect and gratitude. And investing my financial resources rather than just spending them.
So, the crab shells in the picture above are already in my freezer, ready to become broth that will turn into 4 or 5 more dinners at our house.
(The Instant Pot helps a lot!)
No finger shaking or shaming or blaming involved.
I so deeply want to help my girls know this.
Just a bit of celebration and a powerful boost to the things I value.
Food can be creativity, too. And I’m being intentional.
I would imagine that, at some point in your journey, you have hoped for something very much.
Perhaps it was a puppy. Or a baby brother. Or a new first grade teacher. Or a beloved child.
Perhaps it was knowing, deep in your soul, that you are loved.
(Feel free to fill in the blanks!)
Or, perhaps, it was hoping beyond hope that you could accomplish your dream, which is a bit problematic, assuming, as it does, that there is only one dream.
Sometimes, hoping is terrifying.
Tonight, I have decided not to be afraid.
I have decided to hope.
Not just emotionally or mentally, but with as much of myself as possible.
Which reminds me of a story…
One of my dearest friends is the guy who was my seminary pastoral counseling supervisor, my business partner, and still is one of my partners in trying to inject a bit of hope into the institutional church.
He has a granddaughter named Mary Elizabeth, which was, by chance, my grandmother’s name.
When she was learning to talk and interact with her world, she frequently insisted, “Mebbit doodit,” in the face of all the tall people trying to do things for her.
Tonight, I am channeling Mebbit.
I am taking care of the dogs. Making dinner happen. Painting prayer dots in thanks for an old friend who is marking 3 years free of cancer. And hoping against hope for an amazing opportunity for newness that I didn’t think would be available for me.
Many things have to be sorted out.
There isn’t much time.
And yet, I feel capable, calm, and ready for a new adventure into an ancient and totally new place.
There are details to work out.
Nothing is certain, yet.
And, in this moment, this Mebbit could use a bit of help dood-ing it.
But Mebbit believes, and so do I.
So, a bit of dinner.
Some more dots. (OK- lots!)
The risk of hope.
And 3 big dogs snoring gently on the floor while I try not to run over their toes with my fabulous wheeled painting chair in which I make the particular kind of magic known as art.
In the land of Cosmic Cowgirls, where I’ve been hanging out for just about a year, it’s step nine of the Intentional Creativity Method: The 13 Steps.
Integrating: Mediums and Risky Glazes.
This is often a scary step – and there can be lots of resistance, so make light of it and at the same time let it be in the good kind of fear – where we are walking to the edge.
– Shiloh Sophia McCloud
It’s the next step for my painting project known as Alchemist on this vision quest and, as I “suspect” the wizard-teacher intended, the next step for me, as well.
She/they dragged me out of bed at 2 am insisting that it was risky glaze time, just as soon as I got this blog post finished to explain the signs of virtual risky glazing you may be noticing on this website and my Facebook page.
You see, glazes are meant to, well, integrate elements of a painting (and the painter, herself!) into a new whole. And that’s what the new images and language you’ll find in my world are meant to do, too.
First, a story.
I joined, as my son proclaimed, the blog-o-sphere about three years ago. Clueless did not begin to describe!
Tools for the Journey, it was called in those days. Bits of my books, tips on boiling bones, the occasional political opinion when I was feeling really brave. Book reviews. Poems, prayers, and pictures of the garden. Quilts. Lots of them. Inspiration, especially aimed for folks about the business of grandmothering.
My girls would have been about 5 and 7-ish at the time.
Then, in January of 2017, helped along by the amazing author and artist, SARK, I found language for what I thought I was doing.
I was The Fiercely Compassionate Grandmother.
Oddly enough, I found that language… at least the fiercely compassionate part… in a book illustrated by Shiloh Sophia McCloud. Yep!
And the puzzle pieces of my life began to come together.
A new website was born. New images. New language. New business cards. Even t-shirts!
Before too long, there began to be blog posts about painting, amongst the more usual ones, for I set out on a pilgrimage.
No one was more surprised than I!
What was even more surprising than the realization that I could actually learn to paint something other than walls, was the stunning awareness that I had wandered into a cosmos in which I discovered an amazing new tool for doing what I so longed to do… helping those who identified, in whatever way, with the Grandmother archetype to become one of those five people for their kids and, maybe, for the world.
And that requires another story, which you can read here. Just come right back, because we’re getting to the exciting part!!!
Have you ever made bone broth?
It’s a lot like life! Bits and pieces of things, not all of them terribly appealing on their own, a magical container, and the addition of energy over time. Depending on your particular container, lots of time.
And some help along the way. Especially if, like me, you happen to have a stock pot so big you can’t lift it all by yourself!
Which is a lot like realizing I can’t be The fiercely compassionate grandmother to the whole world. (Duh!)
The world needs lots and lots of fiercely compassionate grandmothers. Literal ones. Community ones. Thrilled ones. Reluctant ones. Archetypal ones. Young. Old. Women. Even men, if they’re very brave. Appalled, passionate ones who care deeply about things like justice and self-expression and an honest-to-goodness global community, ready to set about making stardust soup out of the situational angst of our world.
Everything I’ve ever learned has led to this moment.
My calling is to call the circle. To support and encourage as many fiercely compassionate grandmothers as possible. And to teach those who are curious about the miraculous ways fierce compassion and our own dreams can be set loose with magic wands like paintbrushes. And dots. Lots of dots.
So here we are. Fiercely Compassionate Grandmothers. Welcome!!! If you want to be here, you belong. (We might even make some new t-shirts!)
Honestly, I’m still sorting out details like emails and domain names and exactly what to change, when.
There will be lots of opportunities ahead. Bowls of stardust soup. Working with me individually. Workshops. Even videos, once I figure out the technology!
And retreats, like Grammy Camp. I can’t wait!
Soon. After that little business about literal risky glazing. And, perhaps, a nap!
Six fabulous, creative women signed on for an Intentional Creativity journey deep into their own hearts and the heart of the world.
We passed the red thread and pondered stories and painted new reality into being.
We also snacked and laughed and cried.
And prayed in dots. Lots of dots.
And got to know ourselves just a bit better.
Today, I’m pretty tired. And happy dancing in my heart.
(It’s easier on the knees that way!)
Watch for more details as time goes on. And opportunities to join in!
For now, here’s what I learned:
Talking and painting at the same time is a bit of a challenge!
Definitely can’t do both of those things and munch as well, so I ended up pretty hungry.
And I can, indeed, paint bee wings!!!
Many of you have been curious about what I’m up to so I wanted to share this video with you. It’s my teacher, Shiloh Sophia McCloud, dancing with paint and talking about Intentional Creativity. I hope you’ll be as amazed by the possibilities in it as I am.
You’re joyfully invited to visit my Facebook Author page to check out some new art and meet my own Tree of Life painting. Would love to have you “like” the page if you haven’t yet, and share with your friends.
And meet me back here Wednesday for an adventure… we’re remodeling!
Thus begins a favorite Spring Forest Qigong meditation.
My Rabbit Hole journey, which is drawing to a close, changed things, as Rabbit Holes generally do.
A magnificent space. Stunning gardens. Music flowing with peace. Gentle gongs keeping fascinating people on a journey together. (Or mostly!) Delicious food, elegant in its simplicity.
And as close at it seems 10 people might come to a virtual absence of inner critics!
Just people gently making space for each other to take care of themselves. No shame. No blame. No pressure.
It feels rather like a miracle!
Healing of a powerful sort, thanks to old friends and new from Learning Strategies.
I knew when I signed up for this particular Rabbit Hole excursion that it would be a stretch for me, activity-wise.
And it was.
I also know that stretching is how we get stronger. More whole.
There have been times in the past when I wasn’t sure I could stretch any farther without breaking. Until I tried.
And then, just in the last few weeks, the painting, above, was born inside me.
Two perspectives, different on the surface, encountering each other on the path called Color of Woman.
This weekend, image and language came together. An unexpected combination of Intentional Creativity and intentional movement. Plus a bit of geography!
I am in the universe.
The universe is in my body.
The universe and I are one.
Words I’ve known for several years.
Now I know what it looks like. I am changed. And my world feels a whole lot bigger!
Come back here Wednesday to meet the frogs. And the wonder of contentment!
Just before Thanksgiving, last year, I shared a bit about a case of what my wise friend, Yasmin Nguyen of The Joyful Living Project, refers to as FOMO. Or, Fear of Missing Out. Rather like the fear of not being enough, with which many of us struggle, at least occasionally, FOMO is a plague that returns especially in times of stress or impending change.
I seem to have had another attack.
In one sense, I’m not all that surprised. In a rather odd way, my recent FOMO symptoms may have been both the result of “a bit” of stress in our world and the outcome of a lot of newness.
Here’s what I can tell you… I got all wrapped around the axle again about what to eat, which is kind of ironic, all things considered.
I know a lot about food. Especially the local, organic, sustainably raised kind. I’ve written a couple of food memoirs/cookbooks. I’ve gotten quite adept at juggling some fairly diverse eating patterns in our family. And I’m determined to model food sanity for my girls!
Nonetheless, I found myself hunting, not for new strategies or ingredients so much, as for the answer. Which, in many ways, is generally a trap.
I forgot that we’re all different. I forgot that there are actual limits to what can be accomplished with a magic wand.
And, I forgot that just about everybody with an opinion on the subject of food is trying to sell something.
Supplements, often. Magic fat-melting tea, inexplicably full of things like xylitol. Miracles claiming to make everything easy. Miracles that are often far away from being actual food.
So, I read a lot of books. And spent some money. And got oddly less connected to myself.
All the while, I was learning other door opening things. Things having to do more with paint than with food. With physics and deep wisdom. With the created world. And with profound connections between past and present.
And then one day the new things I was learning began to heal my FOMO plague.
I picked up a book I’d read 10 years or so ago. In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan who, to the best of my knowledge, is only selling books.
Pollan has written a couple of more recent books. I’ll report back when I’ve read them. But, for tonight, Pollan’s three point plan for turning down the shaming, blaming chorus that lives in so many of us about food. Are you ready?
Eat food.
Not too much.
Mostly plants.
That, I can wrap my head around.
Now, before you run screaming to the place with the golden arches, Pollan is not anti-animal protein. (Which would be difficult, to say the least, at my house.)
His focus in on real food. As close to nature as possible. We’re pretty good at that, except when we’re not.
He also makes a strong argument for variety, which way works for me.
And, at the same time, his work is a good reminder that too many absolutes tend to make us cave in and lust after brightly colored things that are a very long way from food and much closer to science projects.
I feel back on track again.
Centered. Calm.
Back to making choices that have integrity for me. That fit with my values. Many of them all at once.
Things seem clearer again.
There’s an enormous pot of bone broth on my stove and all those veg I bought during my well-invested hour on Wednesday have actually been eaten and enjoyed.
Tomorrow, more hunting and gathering.
Tonight, gratitude for things to be learned, even from outbreaks of FOMO. And dots to make!
ps – Just in case you’re intrigued by the Intentional Creativity stuff… here’s a link to a new course I’m really excited about! www.codexcourse.com
Growing tomatoes has been a bit more of a challenge in a 21st Century, Metro Atlanta suburb than I remember it being when I was a kid.
It’s the next step for my painting project known as Alchemist on this vision quest and, as I “suspect” the wizard-teacher intended, the next step for me, as well.
