Category: Grandmothers

A while back, I read a book called When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams. I chose it mostly because Anne Lamott described it as, “Brilliant, meditative, and full of surprises, wisdom, and wonder.”

I think it was the “wonder” that hooked me most. I am a fan of noticing and wondering.

And of Anne Lamott!

Anyway, the book had wandered home with a friend of mine, as books so often do.

Last Friday, it wandered back, along with Phoebe’s new eye medicine. As soon as I had it in my hands — It has a very sexy cover! — I knew exactly where it needed to go next. But first, I needed some page flipping.

And there it was. On page 100, Ms. Williams wrote:

Muriel Rukeyser asked the question “What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open.”

Just in case you’re where I was, recognizing the name but sketchy on the details, Wikipedia is happy for us to know that:

Muriel Rukeyser (December 15, 1913 – February 12, 1980) was an American poet and political activist, best known for her poems about equality, feminism, social justice, and Judaism. Kenneth Rexroth said that she was the greatest poet of her “exact generation.”

Wikipedia will gladly tell you more about Kenneth Rexroth, too, but it’s almost time to feed the dogs and I’m on a roll.

Never mind for a moment that being the greatest poet of one’s “exact generation” sounds like a really cool business card to have, I read on, already knowing where we were headed.

Reproductive choice.

Birth control. Surgical pregnancy prevention. Abortion. The Supreme Court.

(Well, that last is my addition.)

A little more than 100 pages later, the book nears its conclusion with these words:

The world is already split open, and it is in our destiny to heal it, each in our own way, each in our own time, with the gifts that are ours.

If telling the exact truth of our lives — women’s lives — or painting that same truth, or quilting it, or baking it into a loaf of bread, or using that truth to run for Congress helps heal the splits in the world, I’m in.

And I’ve made a bit of a beginning.

The books are here.

The artwork, here.

And, very soon, more opportunities to join with me in workshops with the power to help us live into our own sacred assignments and to help out with the world splitting thing.

ps… in many places in the US, it’s about to be voting time for run-offs, which just might help heal the world, too.

pps… one of my granddaughters finished a race yesterday which included a 400 meter swim, a 20 km bike ride, and a 5 km run, in 1 hour and 35 min! She and her younger sister are counting on you, too!

ppps… if you haven’t already subscribed to this blog, please do. It’s the best way to keep up with the new stuff!

It’s been an odd summer in our world. I suspect it has been in your world, too.

I used to love back-to-school time. The anxious expectation of newness. New shoes. New haircuts, which were decidedly my mother’s idea. The hope for good new teachers. And, depending on my age and whether we’d moved in any given summer, longing for friends, old and new.

The school part was the easy part. And no masks were needed.

This year, of course, will be different for so many of our scholars. Including my girls.

This is the part where I leave space for you to fill in the ranting, raving, or rejoicing of your choice: ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

If you’ve been hanging around a while, you’ve already realized that I filled that space with prayer dots for mine and yours and all of ours.

Here are some more:

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Those are for the future.

I spent a chunk of yesterday listening to a politician. Yes, on purpose! Raphael Warnock is the pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church, which implies some very large shoes to fill. He’s also the democratic candidate for the unelected Georgia seat in the US Senate.

An encouragingly large herd of folks showed up in Zoom-land to explore volunteering with the campaign, which faces many of the same challenges that schools are facing just now.

We chatted about phone calls and text messages. We learned more about Dr. Warnock’s experience and his views on pressing issues. And we pondered the legacy behind this particular campaign.

And we did all of that in the shadow of loss.

The Rev. Joseph E. Lowery. The Rev. C.T. Vivian. Congressman John Lewis. All since March of 2020. All close advisors to Dr. King and leaders for civil rights in the USA.

We have lost more than iconic leaders, though. At least I hope so. I hope we’ve lost the notion there is one history in our world that tells the story of everyone. That there is one teller of that story. That there is one next chapter.

Rather, we each have a piece of that historical story to tell. And we each have a piece of that story to write. Now and in the future.

And, if I’ve learned anything at all from the last three years, which I’ve spent increasingly spattered in paint, it’s that we have the power to live and write our stories with intention.

It’s 100 days until the national election in America. This is my intention:

At least once each day I will take action toward a nation, and a world, in which everyone’s story matters.

I have no idea what all that will look like yet, but you’re invited to join me. Each of you in your own way.

Today, I’ll make dots for real peace on the canvas which will eventually be home for my painting known as Dance of the Critic and the Muse. (She appeared in my head this morning but I’m still sketching.)

And, Bill and I will eat chicken wings for dinner.

How, you may be wondering, are chicken wings an intentional step toward a world in which everyone’s story matters?

It’s like this… those chicken wings will help to pay several of our friends who are attempting to cope with the pandemic in ways even more immediate than new school shoes. They’re feeding their families. And paying their rent. And working to keep a small, local business afloat.

And, since we’re being honest, eating those chicken wings – and the extra-crispy fried okra that goes with them – will also let me rest a bit more so that tomorrow I can head off to see my favorite physical therapist so that my hip will get better so that I can do even more things toward the world I believe is possible.

Just in case you’d like to join in and are looking for some inspiration, your version of chicken wings counts, too!

When I got up this morning, I did what I normally do. A favorite sunny yellow mug with half an organic lemon and hot water from the magic little faucet in the kitchen. (Love that thing!)

Feet up. Check for messages. Mostly the usual. And an odd one. Which, even more oddly, I actually opened.

What, inquired my mystery correspondent, did you accomplish yesterday?

My first, un-pondered, not for public consumption, response was, I survived!

Then the other voices in my head chimed in… that’s not an accomplishment!

What does accomplish mean?

Like finished??? Or, made progress on??? Or possibly even, showed up for??? Well, you get the drift. In fact, you may be familiar with some of those voices!

Then another voice kicked in. According to whom?

Now we were on a roll! The next voice in my head belonged to famed teacher and author, the late Stephen Covey. You’ve probably heard of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, and perhaps even my favorite, The 8th Habit.

I reached for my markers and paper. Never mind for a moment that my memory does not store things in neat file folders like Habit #Whatever. What I was looking for was right in my head. And here:

But first, my list. Well, some of it…

• I did, in fact, survive, despite my current spell of very cranky joints. Let’s just say I’ll be really glad to see the physical therapist Monday!
• I/we got Phoebe’s eye medicine done three whole times! And her exercises twice.
• I helped a new artist with some of her questions and assured her that she could, indeed, put a handprint in her painting even if that particular symbol hadn’t been covered in the official guidance. And I grinned almost as big as she did when the hot pink handprint actually appeared!
• I soothed my soul by adding lots of prayer dots to my own Work-in-Progress painting. And I did them with my fingers which is even more kinesthetically empowering than with a brush.
• I also finished a prayer scarf and rolled the yarn and cast on the stitches to start knitting the next.
• I helped a friend work through some of the stuff on her own list.
• I took a moment to celebrate, despite my creaky hip, letting Luther in the door, at his request. This big guy found his voice just after he lost his sight.

The email people who, as it turns out, were trying to shame and blame me into hiring them to make choices for me, probably wouldn’t be impressed.

That’s okay. Stephen Covey taught me that any individual thing on my list is two of the four categories, above. And it’s up to me to decide which two.

You can play, too!!!

And I’d add just one more question to the list analysis. For things that haven’t gotten done yet (In case you’re anything like me!) just ask yourself:

Could you______________________? Would you? When?

Then, go for it! (Or cross it off the list!!!)

ps… In case you didn’t know, today is the Feast Day of Mary Magdalene! Really, really dark chocolate???

On Friday July 17, 2020 America lost a giant when Congressman John Lewis (D, GA-5) passed on after a battle with pancreatic cancer.

I’ve cried a lot. I didn’t know Congressman Lewis in person. He was elected to Congress in 1987, the year I began my studies at Columbia Theological Seminary, which is located in Georgia’s fifth district. He felt like a neighbor.

A neighbor with whom I sometimes disagreed. We agreed, though, on the big things. Peace. Justice. Racial equality. Fair elections. Human dignity.

Also the current occupant of the oval office and the importance of the 2020 elections.

I’ve remembered a lot, along with the crying… Dr. King. Bobby Kennedy. The Freedom Fighters. The March on Washington… the first one. Worshipping at Ebenezer Baptist. Peter Paul & Mary. Dr. William Barber, II. Hank Johnson.

Those who have walked on and those who march, still.

And of all the words I know from the “Preaching Politician,” the ones loudest in my head and my heart are these:

Sometimes you have to find a way to get in trouble, good trouble.

I’ve been practicing my good trouble more lately. Somehow the notion of fierce compassion has taken root in my heart. My grandmother heart.

I have lots of friends along the way. Preacher friends and grandparent friends. Writer friends and rescue friends. Plain old good people friends. And artist friends. Lots of them.

So it really wasn’t much of a surprise when my tears drew me to my canvas. You’ve probably seen this one before. I smeared tears on it and mixed a new color. The one my painting was asking for in this moment.

It was a riff on my Intentional Creativity grandmother, Sue Hoya Sellars’ recipe for “black” paint. I didn’t have the right colors on hand – though I’m ordering them tonight – so I read a few labels and listened deep and came up with Lewis Black.

A couple of ounces of Van Dyke Brown. About half as much Payne’s Grey. And 3 drops of a good, clear orange… no cadmium at my house.

I shook the magic, perhaps more ferociously than strictly required. And then I sprayed the canvas with water and a few more tears. I got out one of my favorite big sash brushes and I drummed the paint on the canvas.

Slowly, at first. Sadly. Gently.

And I watched the drips.

And I turned the canvas and sprayed, and drummed harder and louder, and watched drips some more, until I was flooded with an image that, while it is likely to say more things in the future, said for me, in this moment, black lives matter.

Just like the sign in our garden. And the other signs for current candidates, most of whom John Lewis endorsed.

Those signs may be my current pathway into good trouble, for I have been informed that I have exceeded the allowable square feet of yard signs in our particular piece of the planet.

I’m okay with that. Every one of them says something I believe needs to be said and so they stay. I imagine I’ll need at least one more when a new candidate declares for the GA-5. (Don’t even ask me about the opposition!)

Sometimes fierce compassion means swimming against the stream. And painting the truth of our hearts. Because we’ve all got more generations growing up in this world and that’s worth standing up for.

Later, dots for comfort and hope. Now, thanks for each one of you on the road.

I lost another pot of bone broth this week.

The last time it happened, it was because the predecessor of the swanky new stove died in the middle of the night and my huge, magical broth cauldron was cold when I woke up. This is not a good thing with bone broth.

This time, there’s what was a lovely pot of broth sitting in the bottom of my fridge which is, blessedly, working just fine. I created this pot of magic with some help from my InstantPot, as I haven’t quite figured out the gas stove/ broth thing yet. (It has to do with timing.)

Anyway, gorgeous pork hocks in the InstantPot with onions, garlic, bay leaves, etc. Then, the place where things fell apart.

While said broth was still very hot, my hip decided to do some random, painful, twisty thing while I was minding my own business, walking down the hall, and it’s been both painful and untrustworthy ever since.

All of which means that the Legendary Husband has been busy doing more of the daily living stuff around here than usual. Somehow, we figured that we’d put the broth in the bottom of the fridge and weed all the chunks out in a day or so.

Yep. You guessed it!

It’s now about 10 days later and, well, that’s too many. So, I am now the sad possessor of a pot of difficult to dispose of garbage and I really wish I had soup.

Now, I wouldn’t blame you if you were wondering why I’m telling you all this and/or whether I’ve taken up writing about appliances as a new mission.

No, on the appliances, though they do, in some cases, become useful metaphors.

You see, the next thing you need to know is that I was chatting recently with a very bright young woman who was doing some pondering on the things that “good Christians” do — or don’t.

The last thing on her list, which she’d obviously learned really well, was try to avoid mistakes.

That thought kept bugging me, rather like a case of poison ivy, at which I am, unfortunately, something of an expert. You know you’re not supposed to scratch it but it itches!

Then, early this morning I figured it out.

I have been trying, not quite successfully, not to feel guilty about that pot of broth-turned-garbage in our fridge. I used really good food to make it. Food that’s not always easy to come by. And I could have used it to feed others. And, at the moment, my hip hurts and I have no soup and I want some.

And, just between us, there was a voice inside me wondering if, just perhaps, this was the sort of thing good Christians don’t do.

Thankfully, there are some other voices inside me as well.

One of them is from the guy I think of as the Prophet, Steve Glenn. Steve is the Developing Capable People creator who said, There’s no such thing as failure. Only experience to be learned from.

And another is a voice that is, essentially, mine. At least the part of me that’s been learning new things again. Many of them from Shiloh Sophia McCloud and the Intentional Creativity® gang.

It’s even written on an index card, as most of the really important things around here are:

Intentional Creativity is what helps the struggles become art… and new possibilities!

Thus, the painting with which we began. It wasn’t “doing” what I wanted it to, so I followed the inspiration to pray. In dots. Teal colored dots, which the Feng shui folks I hang out with would say are for clarity. A couple of hours worth of prayers for guidance, with the canvas turned so I could sit!

Now, here’s the tricky part. All the layers under those dots weren’t mistakes to be avoided. They were learning along the way that brought me to a place where I realized guidance was what I needed in the moment. Which seems, at least to me, like the sort of thing Jesus/Yeshua would have been in favor of. And totally what I want my girls to learn.

Next, big scary glaze! And throwing out the stuff in my InstantPot so there’s room for actual soup.

Blessings on your journey!