Contemplations – Page 108

The Loss Box

Posted on June 6, 2018by sue boardman

For as long as I can remember, I’ve thought in terms of metaphorical boxes in my brain.

Kind of like myths of Granny’s attic, filled with dusty boxes and trunks full of old photos and yearbooks and clothes waiting for the day when someone would come and clean them out, dividing things with love amongst the family.

Only one of my grandmothers really had an attic and she was fond of shiny new things so she gave most of the things that would have been in the attic to generations of church rummage sales through the years.

And yet, in my head, the image persists.

As many of you know, I went to Hungary in the winter of 1989 with a group of seminary classmates. You’ve heard the stories… cold feet and homemade hootch for breakfast and Russian tanks “exercising” in the fields beside the roads.

One of the things that happened on that trip, which is a little harder to write about, is that all the boxes in my brain fell apart.

By the time I returned to Atlanta (and thawed out) it was no longer possible for me to live in a world with separate boxes for theology and economics and politics and health care and education, Christian or otherwise.

It all ran together and talking about one became talking about all.

This did not necessarily simplify life at that point in my journey.

I sure doesn’t simplify it these days!

There are a couple of boxes left in my mental attic though.

One of them, that seems to grow when I’m not looking, is labeled Loss in bold magic marker.

It’s an odd sort of box.

Every time I have an experience of loss and try to sneak unnoticed into the attic to slip the new bit tidily inside, all the other losses in there get riled up. They start trying to climb out of the box and run around the attic, demanding to be noticed all over again.

Which kind of means that all those I’ve lost are still with me, helping to make me who I am.

This week has been such a time.

It’s a complicated story, and not entirely mine to tell, so let me just say that an old friend was killed in a tragic accident.

The previous losses in my box are in full on riot mode, like tired toddlers wanting all the attention.

Loss, it seems, is loss. And it’s all hard.

Last night the attic dreams ran me out of bed and I spent some time with tea and my journal. Then I went back to making prayer dots.

Just in case you’re wondering what prayer dots are, they’re a tradition in the Intentional Creativity community with whom I am learning painting and a world full of transformative other things.

A bit like rosary beads, they’re a whole body-mind-spirit way of participating with prayers, which helps lots of us.

They also, as Shiloh Sophia would say, keep us facing the loss, the suffering, the love.

Ten lives lost in a Texas school shooting. A dot for each soul. Seventeen in Florida. And on and on.

If you wander back to the homepage here and click on the drop down menu for Artist, you’ll find a gallery of my quilts and discover that I’ve been hooked on polka dots for years.

Prayer dots are like polka dots, only better.

I make mine with the end of an old paint brush. Dip. Random-ish dots, each with a name or petition or simply attention. About four or five dots of varying sizes before it’s time to dip again.

Dip. Dots. Prayers. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Go back later and repeat some more.

Rage, if you need to. Cry. Give thanks.

Dip. Dots. Prayers.

I started with my very first painting, while a friend was critically ill in the midst of Hurricane Irma and I couldn’t get there.

The rhythm is somehow soothing for me.

My second painting is full of dots, too. Mostly for a friend going through treatment for breast cancer.

Those dots kindly made room for more last night and today. My friend. His family. Dip. Dots. Prayers.

Now, I was educated in what theological folks call the Reformed Tradition. As a flock, we’re not much for prayer rituals. Or at least we believe we’re not. And we’re pretty convinced that no number of polka dots in the world is going to change much. Which, in and of themselves, they’re not.

It’s the attention and intention that change things. Being conscious. Intending good. Reminding God, as the prophet Jeremiah said so long ago, of who God is.

Or, if you prefer, sending positive energy into the Cosmos.

Like getting thousands of people together to meditate for peace.

Dip. Dots. Prayers.

One day, I walk by one of my paintings and notice that what I feel is grateful. Grateful for all those I love, in this world or the next. Grateful for others making dots. Literally changing the world.

And I know that, one day, I’ll need more dots. Kind of like needing a bigger box in the attic.

And love will meet me there.

Art Journey Contemplations Grandmothers

Chickens or Eggs?

Posted on June 3, 2018by sue boardman

Which came first? The chicken or the egg?

I’m betting on the chicken because the egg would have needed somebody to fix a nest and keep it warm!

Oddly, I was pondering this yesterday, in light of the question of depression.

Depression, as the old saying goes, runs in my families.

Heavily genetic on one side.

Possibly more situational on the other.

I have been one of the ones who, in some wild DNA marathon, manages to out run it most of the time.

But, as my old friend Henry Close would remind us, If you’re not depressed sometimes you’re not paying attention!

Apparently, I’ve been paying attention lately.

Here’s what I’ve noticed.

I don’t usually realize that I’m feeling depressed while it’s happening.

What I do notice is when it stops.

Rather like one day deciding to put some new lights in the house because the time for dimness has passed.

Here’s the tricky part…

Do I change things because I feel better or do I feel better because I change things?

I suspect the answer is YES!

Which is to say that both of those things are probably true.

Even something simple like rescuing paint brushes from their canning jars of murky water and washing them can help.

Suddenly, they have hope again. They’re ready to do what they were meant to do.

Brushing the dogs can do it, too, but is a whole lot more tiring!

Lately, I’ve been eating a lot more bone broth. This is big on my list of things that, while they don’t necessarily fix things immediately, can’t possibly hurt.

And, I have a Qigong retreat/tune-up scheduled this summer.

If I had to guess, though, I’d say it was the painting – the Intentional Creativity process I’m learning – that is calling me beyond paying quite so much attention to all the sad, frustrating, infuriating news in our world and back into a place where I can attend to hope and healing.

Where, just for a moment, every now and then, I can actually be hope and healing.

Now, clearly depression comes in many sizes and colors with different chemical and genetic and contextual factors. There are lots of theories about “causes” and “cures”.

And, if we’re being honest, there’s probably some vested interest at work in some of those theories.

The amazing author and artist known as SARK is fond of what she calls radical self care.

Healing foods. Long, scented baths. Walking. Time to sleep. Comfort.

She’s convinced me!

And then, as often as possible, a tiny change for the better. (Susan calls them micro-movements.)

There are nearly endless options.

My Feng shui friends say it takes more energy to ignore things that aren’t working than it does to fix them.

Change the burned out bulb. (Ok, I’m on a lighting kick!)

Put some real food in a pretty bowl and skip the drive-up window.

Wear your favorite paint shirt, dried in the sun, all soft and fresh and friendly.

Be gentle with yourself.

Nobody ever got shamed and blamed out of depression.

Ask for help if you feel like it’s bigger than you can handle.

And, along with all the rest, create something.

Today, I will turn on all the lights and paint. (After I wash the brushes!)

More dots. A few words. Still, in many ways, background.

With the help of my new Instant Pot, I will take some crab shells we’ve been saving in the freezer and the fennel Bill’s kindly going to fetch from the Farmers’ Market, and experiment with broth.

There’s thyme in the garden, too!

And, assuming my painting cooperates, I’m planning a nap, complete with Spring Forest Qigong’s Six Word Chant playing softly in the background and enormous dogs snoring gently at my feet.

Chickens or eggs? Who knows?

Just gratitude.

Thanks, Greg Camp!

Art Journey Contemplations

Again!

Posted on May 30, 2018by sue boardman

Somehow, it’s Wednesday again. This really shouldn’t be a surprise to me, though Monday holidays, like Memorial Day, tend to confuse things.

It feels a bit hectic around here!

There are goose necks roasting in the oven for a pot of broth.

I think every UPS truck in Georgia is going to show up here today.

The dogs are headed to Camp Jabula in a couple of hours. Tomorrow my contractor friend, Greg, is adding lights to my new studio space and to the hallway.

People on ladders playing with electricity and three enormous dogs have the potential for disaster.

Sadly, my beasties are just too smart. The Camp taxi is due about 3:00. I try really hard to keep them from realizing that they’re off to their favorite place because they get all bouncy and excited and our house is pretty small.

They also race to the window and bark at every car door in a three-mile radius.

(This is not usual behavior!)

They figured it out about 10:30 this morning.

I was trying to get a jump on the packing while Sarah and Luther were on their walk.

Phoebe ratted me out.

All I did was write their names on a zippee bag and put their pills inside it at a time of day that we don’t usually rattle the pills.

Game over!

Am hoping to sneak in the ice chest part of the prep while they’re outside about 1:30, though it probably won’t work.

These guys remind me every day about the power of pattern learning.

Something — whatever — happens, which “absolutely means” that something else will happen next.

Mom put pills in a bag which means we’re going to Camp.

(It usually does!)

Mom stood up from her chair which means it’s happening now.

(Not usually!)

People, of course, have been known to process things the same way.

Every time I try to paint eyes, I mess them up.

Well, not quite.

Often, I mess them up and do them again. And again.

Eventually, though, I get happy with them, which is kind of the opposite of messing them up.

And I’m pretty sure that, when I pick up a brush to start eyes, it might work better if I was thinking that I’ve learned to paint eyes I really like — which is something of a miracle right there — than if I was thinking that every time I do this, I mess it up.

Now, Newfoundlands are smart dogs and they tend to have pretty large working vocabularies.

In fact, there are lots of words we have to spell to avoid enthusiasm riots. R-i-d-e is a good example.

C-a-m-p is the biggest one.

D-i-n-n-e-r is also a major deal.

Naming things is hugely powerful.

So is the perception of cause and effect.

Even better, though, is the notion of possible outcomes.

Whatever happened before. Then something else happened. Yes.

But, today, something else might happen. There might be new opportunities!

Today, the dogs are right.

I put pills in a plastic bag and, in a couple of hours, they’re going to C-a-m-p.

Hopefully, the wiring will get safely done tomorrow and on Friday they will come home.

(Bill and I are going crazy and having date night Thursday evening!)

It’s helpful though, at least to me, to remember that we not only have more options than what’s been true in the past, we can create more options just by remembering that we have them.

I’m not sure the dogs will buy it, but I appreciate all their reminders that it’s true.

At least I don’t have to sew their names in their underwear before they leave!

Contemplations Grandmothers

Be-ing Have

Posted on May 27, 2018by sue boardman

You know how most kids have funny things they say that aren’t anywhere near standard English but the family all gets it?

Dave had quite a few.

I had seizures when I was in labor with him.

We were blessed that a few vision and language challenges were the major things we had to deal with.

He wrote and read backwards for quite a while.

He also said things backwards. Some of my favorites were shake milk, fix car, and cut hay which was Dave for hair salon.

The best of all, though, was I be’d have!

This was his way of assuring me that he had, in fact, behaved at school or Grammie’s or wherever.

We’ll save for later the possibility that I may have overused my go-to question in these moments!

I was laughing about these memories on Friday.

Our herd of Newfie rescues aren’t too good at staying home alone. It’s complicated and there are lots of reasons for it and challenges in changing it but the short version is that since Luther got here about 15 months ago, I’ve stayed home a lot.

The last time Bill and I went crazy and went out to lunch on a lovely weekend day, we arrived home to find that the four-footed kids had eaten the pantry. Literally.

Someone (Sarah!!!) had swiped half a dozen chia seed muffins off the top of a big stainless steel rack in our kitchen that came out of a restaurant.

I’m 5 feet 8 inches tall and we’re talking eye level.

It was kind of her to share which meant that everybody got really sick.

I had to use a paint scraper to get the slimed kale and kelp powder off the floor.

It was not a happy day.

Lately, we’ve taken to carry out wings from our friends at The Corner Pub.

On Friday, though, a friend of mine was in desperate need of a soup delivery. I’ll spare you the details. Let’s just say half a gallon of turkey broth was in order.

After the dogs had eaten and were pretty much napped out, I snuck out the back door with my immune boosting magic and headed about six blocks down the road.

Hugs and drop-off complete, I hurried home, a bit anxious about what I would find.

They be’d have!

All was well with the full belly crowd and no paint scrapers were required.

I was hugely relieved.

I’ve also been pondering the notion of being have.

Specifically, I’ve been pondering those times when we behave according to possibly antiquated rules, instead of standing or speaking up when we need to.

Here’s an example.

Do you remember there being things we didn’t talk about in polite company?

Money, politics, religion, sex…

It reminds me of a particular Sunday in church when, according to the various calendars we live by, it was “the” Sunday for breast cancer, domestic violence, and stewardship.

I felt like there wasn’t anything I could say that would count for being have.

And yet, we need to talk about these things.

We need real, effective cures for breast cancer, and a great many other things, that are more about support for patients than profits for drug companies.

We need enforced laws for domestic violence and sex trafficking, and a realization that love is love.

We need accessible and accurate voting and the end to big money profit politics.

We need lots of things, but I’ll pause here for you to fill in a few from your list, too.

I know.

Some of you are thinking I haven’t be’d have just now.

And I’m going to do it one more time.

Maybe it’s not our job to simply behave according to outmoded standards that are mostly about not making anyone uncomfortable or keeping people in “their place.”

Maybe it’s our job to talk, calmly and respectfully, but clearly and with commitment, about the things that matter in our world.

Maybe it’s our job to say the things that desperately need to be said.

Maybe feeding the world is more important than knowing all the forks.

Maybe that’s what be-ing have is all about.

Dave was a pretty good teacher! My girls are off to a great start!

Contemplations Grandmothers

History Making!

Posted on May 23, 2018by sue boardman

My sister is a “social studies” teacher for middle school kids. Her favorite subject is American History. Especially things like colonial American trade and whether we might, in fact, fit in with the Daughters of the Mayflower crowd.

Her classroom is amazing. It’s like a little museum full of antiques and memorabilia. Things that many kids born in the age of Amazon and Facebook have no real frame of reference for.

We moved around a lot as kids and I vaguely remember learning the history of several mid-West states, which probably had a lot to do with taking my Gramma Elsie to see old log cabins and historic houses when she came to visit us.

Gramma was inevitably a challenge for the tour guides, wanting to know who made the quilts and what varieties of corn were growing in the garden.

(These did not seem to be things in the scripts!)

I learned a lot of history by reading.

I read everything I could get my hands on.

Lately, I’ve learned that, while I loved all those stories — especially the Broadway play, 1776 — there were other folks telling those stories in different ways.

Leon Uris’ Exodus is a good example.

One of the questions I learned to ask, rather late in my education, is “Whose voice is missing?”

It turns out that the answer to that question, historically, has often, sadly, been most of the voices.

There are lots of good people who’ve been working on that for a while.

(We’re going to zig a bit here for a moment to add in a bit of personal history and then wind up back where we are…)

I had knee surgery six times in nine years.

As a hobby, I don’t recommend it!

All things considered, I’m doing pretty well these days. I had a great surgeon, fabulous physical therapists, a Qigong master I cherish, a very helpful recliner chair and lots and lots of bone broth. Along with some new help from learning to paint, but that’s a story for another day.

One of those knees, though, still has a habit of buckling unexpectedly every now and then which causes me to fall down.

Falling down is not on the list of approved activities for people who’ve had knee replacements.

My surgeon yells when I fall down and wants me to do odd things like quit traveling.

We made a deal. I use a walking stick. One of those sporty looking ones that looks like I might spend my spare time hiking up Stone Mountain, but don’t.

The really cool thing is that it’s collapsible which is great for flying and also for granddaughters who like to make it their size and “play Grammy”.

The walking stick has led to another staple in my wardrobe.

A denim vest. (Well, it used to be a jacket but a good pair of fabric shears took care of that!)

It has lots of pockets. There’s room for everything from wallet and lip gloss and phone to tape measures and dog treats.

All of which means I don’t need a purse and, therefore, have an actual hand left over for car doors and other useful things, like shopping.

Why am I telling you all this?

Well, the denim vest also has lots of room for pins and buttons and purple ribbons and other statement sorts of jewelry.

One lapel has been empty for about a year now. It’s the one where my Bernie Sanders button lived for a long time. And, if we’re being honest, taking it off was hard. It took a while.

Last night, though, we made some new history in Georgia. Stacey Abrams won the Democratic nomination for governor with about 76% of the vote. Stacey Abrams is a black woman from rural South Georgia who worked hard for her education and experience. More importantly, she believes in things like health care access and education. She believes in the future for all of Georgia.

This morning I got online (More miracles of modern science!) and ordered a couple of Stacey Abrams buttons. It will take a few days for them to get here, but I suspect Bernie is quite comfortable with my new choice for his spot on my denim vest.

While I was at it, I ordered a couple of T-shirts, too. They’ll probably have paint spatters before too long but they could use a bit more color.

Our kids — all of them — are growing up in this world. We’ve got some more history to make!

Contemplations

More Dots and a Pot of Broth

Posted on May 20, 2018by sue boardman

A guy called Bill Harris, whose name probably means nothing to most of you, passed a couple of weeks ago from this world, where cancer exists, to the next, where it doesn’t.

I spent a weekend, years ago, in a workshop he was leading. I didn’t know him well. I might, at least back in the day, have been ok with that.

All of that aside, Bill Harris changed my life. And, just maybe, the lives of some of you who’ve known me a while.

You see, Bill Harris is the guy who taught me about filters and maps of reality and the ways people change.

He taught me some other stuff, too, but this, for me, is where it all comes together.

Bill made this chart that basically explained human perception — at least as much as we understand about it — and its relationship to the results we get in our lives.

I used to give my clients copies of the chart, with none of the words written in, and walk them through it so they could fill it in for themselves.

It has a lot to do with neurophysiology and quantum physics.

Here’s the link to Bill’s latest book, Thresholds of the Mind. It’s way worth the reading. The chart is in there and he explains it better than I do!

This is the short version.

There are 2 or 3 billion bits of information coming at us at all times.

On a good day, our brain can handle a couple of hundred in any given moment.

The way we survive is to establish a complex set of (mostly) unconsious filters to block out all the stuff we can’t manage.

What gets through the filters is, largely, what matches the map of reality we all have.

Which is a lot like seeing only what we expect to see.

That, combined with the choices we make and the context in which we exist, determines our experience of the world. The results we get in our lives.

And everybody we know is doing the same thing, all the time, and most of us have no idea it’s even happening.

This weekend is a good example of how it all works.

Ten lives were lost in a school shooting in Texas on Friday. Countless more were impacted in ways we can’t begin to know.

There’s been a wedding going on across the wee pond. A wedding that is, in many ways, groundbreaking.

The American political primary season is in full swing and many of us are wondering not only which candidates to support but what the odds are that our votes will be counted accurately and fairly.

And which of those things are getting through to us have a whole lot to do with our filters and our map of reality.

There’s no judgement here. Just hope.

I didn’t get up at 5 am to watch the wedding. I know a lot about weddings. And I was up late the night before making prayer dots on paintings for the victims in Texas, and for a very sick baby and his grandmother whom I adore.

Today, more dots and an enormous pot of turkey broth that will feed lots of people I care about and quite a few I don’t even know.

All the while hoping that the big wedding across the wee pond will somehow bring more tolerance and peace to a world that could use a whole lot more of both.

And a reminder that when we get conscious of some of those filters, and the fact that our maps of reality are maps and not concrete reality (Whatever that is!), things can, indeed, get different.

Bill Harris drew the chart.

The work is up to us.

Art Journey Contemplations Grandmothers

The Way We’ve Always Done It…part 67

Posted on May 16, 2018by sue boardman

Yesterday, as you may have heard, Sarah went for her summer spa day.

She came home hungry, tired, and looking like a very large puppy.

The voices in my head were squabbling.

I, who showed dogs for many years, seem to still have a case of the way we’ve always done it.

I say this knowing that there are an awful lot of other folks with different versions of the way we’ve always done it who think they’re just as right as I think I am.

Take, for example, Poodle people. Their always and Newfoundland people’s always look pretty different!

And there’s part of me that still hates having Sarah clipped short.

It’s also true that Sarah has allergies and an odd, wooly coat that mats about half an hour after you quit brushing her, which she doesn’t enjoy much anyway.

And so we clip.

And she looks like something Dr. Seuss dreamed up!

The voices in my head squabbled louder, though, when it came to deciding what to do for Phoebe on her spa day, today.

She’s really lovely and has a gorgeous coat. In the winter.

Right now, she itches. A lot.

And she’s blowing so much coat she could be an entire ad for a vacuum cleaner.

I asked my Newf buddies and got lots of good advice.

I still felt a lot like I did when Dave got his first “big boy” haircut and the ringlets went the way of history.

Then I remembered something I count on. (You may have those kinds of things, too.)

It’s all in what you’re trying to accomplish!

And, oddly, the Poodle people and the Newf people are trying to accomplish the same thing, at least historically. Protecting dogs from cold water!

I’m trying to accomplish comfortable, relatively easy care dogs who think of grooming as a good thing instead of torture. (Luther, too!)

It would also, if we’re being honest, be ok if I didn’t contribute quite so much money and energy to the Swiffer thing!

So, we’re letting go of the way we’ve always done it.

Also, I guess, we’ve never done it that way before.

I’m going with what I’m trying to accomplish.

I imagine it will be interesting!

As God is watering the garden today, I’m going to get really brave and start the next layer on my painting which is, when I think about it, another of those things I’ve never done that way before.

At least I’ll have less hair to pick out of the canvas!

Phoebe, as it turns out, is just right for her.

Sarah is a bit skeptical.

And Luther made it three whole steps into the new family room to find out what all the fuss was about.

Sometimes I guess right twice in the same day!

Category: Contemplations