Category: Grandmothers

Art JourneyContemplationsGrandmothers

True Then. More True Now.

Posted on by sue boardman

Our tribe is growing! More and more of us claiming the archetypal passion of Fiercely Compassionate Grandmothers.

I’m thrilled! I imagine us gathered around a campfire (in comfortable chairs!) telling the stories that make us who we are. The stories that hold us together, if for no other reason than because they were, and are, true. This is one of mine. One you may not know.

I cut my preaching teeth in rural Tennessee, the historical home of the KKK. A summer internship after my first year in seminary. It was not an easy time. A young and enthusiastic boss, finding his own voice. Told not, for the first intern, to come back with a student of the female persuasion. (I have cleaned up the language more than a bit!)

Then there was the whole thing about standing up in front of people who did not know me and doing my best to interpret the word of God. Not the word that seemed easy for that day. The word designated in a fancy calendar called the lectionary, which is a three-year plan for reading through the entire bible. A lesson from the Hebrew scriptures. One from wisdom literature, usually the Psalms. A gospel lesson. And one from a New Testament letter.

Read three or four, if you were new-fangled back then, and brave. Focus on one or two in a sermon. Forget Karl Barth, and leave the news entirely out of it, if you  hoped to survive. Or, pray hard and allow the Word to speak. A big job for a very new professional Christian.

And the vital presence of people of actual faith, opening their arms and their ears to a single mom and a really cute kid, trying to find their place amongst the people of God in an old southern Presbyterian church.

An old southern Presbyterian church in the late 1980’s that was somehow surviving a young pastor. The most liberal preacher they had ever known. Surviving an inter-racial family in the congregation. Surviving conversations they had never had before.

I learned a lot that summer. I am learning, still.

One of the biggest things I learned is that people of faith often confuse beliefs–theology, if you will–with things that feel safe because we’ve always done them that way. Hymns. Neighbors. Marriage. Politics. Neurologically, familiar equals safe.

It doesn’t always work, though, in the Kingdom, here on Earth. Sometimes we have to do new things.

Are you opposed to racism? Get to know some people who don’t look just like you do.

Are you opposed to sexism? Look beyond gender to see new skills and enthusiasm. (And, wow, did I need a reminder on this one this week!)

Are you opposed to injustice? Feed the poor. House the homeless. Shelter the oppressed. Defend the children. Protect the civil rights of all.

There’s the word that’s hard.

All.

Because “all,” in America, means all.

I remember when Dr. King was killed. We lived in Chicago. Riots rocked the city. Children were afraid. And nobody in my world had answers.

And yet, America was changed.

Dr. King led the March on Washington in 1963.

Fifty-four years later, my nine-year old granddaughter participated in the Women’s March on Washington. Once, when traffic stopped completely, my little one climbed on top of a bike to report to her mom and their friends about what was happening.

“The people don’t stop,” she said. “They just keep going.”

And you know, and I know, that change was in the air.

It is time to hold that change dear. To keep going. To honor the sacrifice of those who fought for a different future. To act as people who have been changed. To live as those who believe in dreams. Perhaps time, now, more than ever before.

The most important message in this moment comes from Dr. King:

Life’s most persistent and urgent question is, ‘What are you doing for others?’

The answer is, now, as it was then, and long before then, the way to change the world. And art helps!

It’s our turn.

ContemplationsGrandmothers

Funny About Food!

Posted on by sue boardman

Unless your family runs, say, a famous fried chicken franchise and you bring dinner home every night, you may have noticed that families have become funny about food. Read that, complicated.

Beyond the endless menu debates, lurk the stories. What we eat and when and why…

I had a vivid reminder of this yesterday when I was flipping through the day’s batch of nap mail, also known as catalogs. One that was new to me came from somewhere on the West coast and was chock full of “raw, healthy, natural” foods common to that region.

In addition to nuts and fish, there were pages of berries. Dried berries. Frozen berries. Good for you berries.

And, much to my amazement, gooseberries.

I’ve never eaten a gooseberry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one. They are, however, part of the essential oral history on my dad’s side of the family.

It seems they grew on the farm in Indiana. My Gramma Elsie baked gooseberry pies when they were in season.

Grandpa Frank, whom I never knew, was, as the story goes, not a fan of sweets.

Elsie, who raised six kids, two orphaned nephews, and enough yard birds to send some of those kids to college, plus the vegetables to feed them all, baked pies when the gooseberries were in season.

Apparently, every time she baked a gooseberry pie, Frank would say, “Nice pie, Else. A little too much sugar.”

Now, in order to follow this story you need to know that my sweet, quilt making, Baptist grandmother had a mind of her own and more that a bit of a sense of humor.

You also need to know that gooseberries are, according to those in the know, apparently rather tart.

One day, Elsie baked a gooseberry pie with no sugar.

Frank, as the story goes, took a couple of bites and, with his face all puckered up, barely able to talk, said — as he always did — “Nice pie, Else. A little too much sugar!”

Now, I must have learned this story along with those of Cinderella and Sally, Dick, and Jane. And there it was, in one big memory chunk, right inside my head when I read that somebody in Washington state was trying to sell me gooseberries.

I suppose you’re wondering what possessed me to tell you this story.

It’s really pretty simple. We all have stories about food.

What “we” eat. What “we” don’t eat.

Some of those stories are sacred family myths.

Some of them are sneaky marketing campaigns. Kind of like whichever kind of cranberry sauce your family eats for Thanksgiving, if you happen to live in the US. Or why you’d never eaten green bean casserole until you spent your first Thanksgiving in Scotland among friends who weren’t raised vegetarians.

It’s not about who’s right and who’s wrong.

It’s about vested interest and what really works. I mean, you’ve got to admit that it’s highly possible that the canned green bean people and the folks known for red and white cans of soup got together one night, tossed back a couple of martinis and — Bam! — “everybody” ate green bean casserole for Thanksgiving. I know my mom’s family did. (And I will admit to being hooked on the crunchy onion things on the top!)

But, to borrow back last year’s word… maybe we could be more intentional about food.

Not everybody will agree on the menu but maybe we could agree on trying to get what we need, even though that will probably not ever be the same for all of us. (Though leaving out GMO’s would probably be pretty universal!)

And, when it’s all said and done, perhaps it’s the relationships that matter more in the moment. With our families, of course, but also with the world we live in.

I’m working on approaching food with gratitude. (More to come…) Gratitude for local farmers and bone broth in the freezer and pasture raised eggs in the Instant Pot. Tomorrow, deviled eggs with wild salmon caviar. And no sugar at all!

Art JourneyContemplationsGrandmothers

It’s all in the labels!

Posted on by sue boardman

For years now I’ve joked, in the half fun — full serious kind of way, that my motto in life is, “When in doubt, go back to school!”

One of the times I went back to school was around 1999-2000 when I began an on-going study of Ericksonian hypnotherapy. It was fascinating, and just a bit difficult to explain. Let’s just say that it does not, these days, involve someone swinging a big pocket watch in front of your eyes, though it is generally relaxing, sometimes to the point of sleeping while learning.

Here’s one of the coolest things I learned…

Our bodies react in specific, predictable ways to emotional responses generated by our experiences. It’s a lot like the classic Pavlovian study of conditioning dogs to drool when they hear a bell ring by ringing bells every time they get fed.

(It’s worth noting that Newfoundlands, being exceptional in many ways, do not need to be conditioned to drool!)

Anyway, consider routine, manageable (not overwhelming) anxiety and excitement. For most of us, the physical reactions are the same. Increased heart rate. Sweaty palms. Butterflies in our bellies. You’ve been there.

Oddly, it’s the context of those reactions that causes us to label our feelings as either anxiety or excitement.

For example, if, like some people I know, you have recently encountered water in your basement and it’s supposed to start raining again, the sweaty palms, butterflies, and racing heart are probably anxiety.

If you’re getting on a plane to go visit your fabulous grandkids, those same symptoms are probably excitement.

Unless, of course, you’re afraid of flying, which might mean they are both anxiety and excitement.

Are you with me? The labels make a difference.

Well, I’m kind of in all these places at once right now.

After my recent graduation from Color of Woman and my nifty new membership in the Intentional Creativity Guild, I (predictably) went back to school, fortified by one of my words for this year. Learning. And it’s all happening right now!

New people to paint with. New workshops to prepare for. A video to make. New classes beginning. A new responsibility or two.

Oh, another thing about many of us is that the notion of “new” often activates the anxiety/excitement dance.

I’m going with excited. (Well, making the video may have been the exception!)

It feels a bit like the first day of Middle School. New teachers everywhere. Classrooms to find. Lists of supplies. Different kids in each class.

Middle School turned out pretty well, though. Well, on a relative scale!

And my new year of this Intentional Creativity journey has more art supplies than Middle School did, and way less math! Nobody cares if my clothes are spattered with paint. And it’s hard to have “un-cool” shoes if you mostly go barefoot!

I’m even experimenting with color coding my calendar so I don’t get lost. It’s all about living the things I’m passionate about, which is way different than I remember Middle School being!

Collage is also involved, which is big fun!

Today, the Legendary Husband and I are off to a lunch date and then to Michaels for 48×60 inch canvases. Three of them. (I’m hoping they’ll all fit in the car at once!) Then laundry and more bone broth. Plus paint videos and the next steps on Mamaw’s Farm.

Yep, I’m excited!

 

 

 

Art JourneyContemplationsGrandmothers

A Blend-y Sort of Wednesday

Posted on by sue boardman

You know that good kind of tired, when you really want to put your feet up and appreciate the things that got done?

Today is one of those days at our house.

It’s more probable than it was that the plumbing issue is actually fixed.

My afternoon paint peep and I got a lot done. We were practicing the fine art of blending. Toning down sharp edges where they don’t serve a purpose. Getting clear about what we’re trying to accomplish. The miracle of integrating glazes, also known as the big, scary kind.

And a bit of learning about which paint goes where, in which layer. And why the ratty looking, stiff little brushes are so handy. These are all very helpful things to know!

They’re not the only helpful things to know, but they are — literally and metaphorically — near the top of the list.

More blending is happening in the kitchen.

Leftover bones from our Christmas turkey. A package of turkey paws from one of my favorite farmers. Cold, filtered water. And a good slug of apple cider vinegar, “with the mother”.

We’re still in the sitting phase.

Next comes heat. And, eventually, skimming. Lots of skimming.

This is big batch broth, in the old-fashioned magical cauldron, complete with the spigot at the bottom so nobody has to lift it when it’s full.

Then, onions. Garlic. Thyme and rosemary from the garden. And about 16 hours worth of very gentle simmering guaranteed to have all three Newfies camped eagerly in the kitchen, having totally forgotten the five pounds of raw food they just snarfed down an hour ago!

It hasn’t been the kind of day that, in and of itself, is going to change the world.

It has been the kind of day that makes things that matter, even though they seem small, better and better.

For now, it’s time to turn the stove on and wait for the bubbles to begin.

And give thanks for blend-y magic!

 

 

Art JourneyContemplationsGrandmothers

The Muse Took a Night Off!

Posted on by sue boardman

The lovely lady in the portrait called The Eyes of the Muse spends most of her time hanging out on the wall in our room, keeping me up nights!

She’s in charge of dreams and brilliant solutions to painting challenges and workshop designs. Even blog posts. She’s hopeful and encouraging. The flip side, in a sense, of her harsher, but well intended, alter ego, the Critic.

With considerable help from my  Intentional Creativity teacher, Maestra Shiloh Sophia, and the very wise Susan Ariel Rainbow Kennedy, the three of us have developed a relationship that works pretty well.

The Critic, who exhausted herself in my earlier years, spends most of her time in retirement. She likes Arizona where her allergies bother her less and she has no need for boots she considers to be too Ugg-ly for words.

The Muse and I send her postcards, assuring her that we’re making lovely progress here, even despite recent torrential rain and soggy basements, and that extending her vacation is absolutely no problem for us.

Lately, though, we’ve been working overtime again.

The Muse, whom I suspect may be from Australia given the hours she keeps, has a tendency to lure me out of my comfy nest of flannel sheets and handmade quilts in the wee small hours of the morning with her latest fabulous notions about the next right thing.

In a blessedly frustrating sort of way, she’s generally right and apparently concerned that I won’t remember her genius suggestions until, you know, the sun comes up at least.

She’s been feeling especially creative this week and we’ve gotten a whole lot of cool things done.

Sleeping has not been one of those things.

Last night, though, she took the night off.

I slept for 12 hours, almost straight through! I’m not sure how she convinced the dogs to cooperate with this plan, but I’m grateful anyway.

And when I brought my first cup of tea, in my favorite sunny yellow mug, into the family room where my magical chair now resides, and looked at the commission painting I’m in the midst of, I heard her whispering in my ear.

The right one, if you’re curious.

And the next step is now clear. The big field in the upper left of this farm-scape needs fixing and I know where to start.

It’s worth noting that I managed both sleep and inspiration in the same night!

Realistically, we’re going to need another step or four after this right thing, but life — and art — are often that way.

In this moment, though, it is a sunny and miraculous 68 degrees in Atlanta and Bill and I are headed out to our back deck for lunch. The dogs can come, too, and we won’t have to wait for a table.

Later, fixing the farm field, and a bit of editing while the paint dries. Yummy soup for dinner. New calendar pages to set up. Perhaps even more sleep.

Tomorrow, plumbers. Again.

In the meantime, if you click either the link where it says The Eyes of the Muse, above, or the one just below, you will be magically transported to the land of FineArtAmerica where many of my paintings are available in everything from cell phone covers to shower curtains to, well, paintings. Love to have you visit! (The cell phone covers are really cool. Even the Critic approves!) Just click on any image that calls to you and the elves will pop up a list of all the options. It’s a miracle!

 

Art JourneyContemplationsGrandmothers

Word(s) for 2019

Posted on by sue boardman

Last year was the first time I had encountered the notion of a word for the year.

It felt different from a resolution which has always seemed to me like something one either kept or broke. (Mostly broke.)

A word feels friendlier to me. Less rigid. Something to which one can return over and over again.

Inspired, no doubt, by my journey with Color of Woman and Intentional Creativity teacher training, the word that found me for 2018 was intentional.

It was really helpful in the way that having a compass in a car is helpful for directionally challenged people like me. The whole notion of being intentional just kept pointing me in the direction I wanted to go.

Now that the fireworks have died down and the Prosecco has disappeared, it is clearly time for a new word.

I was beginning to think, much to my dismay, that my word for 2019 was going to be waiting. Not, of course, that it’s a bad word. It’s just kind of frustrating when what you’re waiting for is a plumber, whom we called on Friday and finally showed up today, which is a story for another day.

Inspired by the conversation going on among my paint sisters about choosing their words for 2019, I’ve been listening, contemplating my options.

I’ve finally come to a conclusion. It’s going to take two words!

The first is learning as in the quote from the fabulous sculptor, Michelangelo. (I’ve walked in the courtyard where he carved the David!!!)

I am still learning.

It’s been a favorite of mine for years.

Someone suggested to me that it might be an odd choice for someone who had just graduated from a teacher training program.

It makes perfect sense to me. I spent last year learning lots of things, among them some of the things I don’t know yet. So, the obvious next step is more learning.

The second is enough. Not only in the sense of needing two words to have enough but in the sense that I am enough.

More importantly, you are enough.

Wise enough. Creative enough. Worthy enough. Healed enough.

Which isn’t to say that there isn’t more wisdom and creativity and healing we might like. Just that we are enough, already. And worthy of pursuing our dreams.

Some intentional tech-y learning I’ve signed up for and my intentional walking shoes from last year will no doubt be helpful for my particular journey.

I also need enough time and space for my pieces of the red thread… for my callings in the world. And for me.

So do you.

Ponder a word if it seems helpful. Or two. Until you find your own, I’m happy to share mine. Especially enough.

And I’d love it if you’d leave a comment below, or email me, with the words that find you. Together, we are enough to make this year a better one in our world.

So be it.

(The art for today is a glimpse of my work in progress… an intuitive interpretation of a friend’s grandmother’s farm.)

Art JourneyContemplationsGrandmothers

What’s Up With New Year’s?

Posted on by sue boardman

Hi! It’s me, Phoebe.

Mom’s been pretty busy playing with the thing she calls a calendar lately. It seems to have something to do with the New Year which I think is pretty soon, though I’m not sure what’s up with that.

I’m pretty good at clocks but not so much calendars. There’s just a lot to keep track of!

I do know that I’ve been here for a little more than two years, now. A lot of things have changed!

First, it was just Sarah and me. She’s way bigger than I am and she used to chase me but doesn’t so much anymore, which is fine with me.

Just when I was starting to figure out how things worked around here, and believe that Mom and Dad would feed me every day, Luther came to live with us, too.

He was really scared when he got here. I think people were mean to him, too. He was so scared that he didn’t even like greeting people.

Greeting is one of our best jobs. Mom just let him get used to being petted and talked to in his own way and he’s gotten really good at it now.

Even though I’m the oldest, which I think is another of those calendar things, I’m also the littlest because Luther kept growing after he got here. Mom says she hopes he’s done!

Sarah and I help take care of Luther because he can’t see. I think he does a great job playing in the yard and going on walks. Getting in the car is hard for him but I’m pretty good at it so I go first to help him know it’s safe.

The last time Sarah and I went for our spa day, I got a makeover. I love my new haircut. I don’t itch nearly so much, which means I don’t need as much medicine, and Mom doesn’t bug me so much about the thing called grooming.

Mom has a new toy called an Instant Pot. I love it! Somehow, it means we get bone broth with our supper lots more often. I don’t really understand, but I think Mom was really glad to have it when I got hurt this fall. She said the bone broth would help me feel better fast and I feel great now.

I did have one of those things Mom calls learning experiences, though. Apparently, some dogs just aren’t nice, no matter how nice you are or how much you want to be friends with everybody.

Mom says some people are like that, too, but our job is to just keep trying to be kind to everybody and protect the people who need protecting. Newfoundlands are good at that. Mom says people could learn a lot from us.

I think we’re really lucky to have so many people to love us. It doesn’t make all the hard stuff that happened before we got here go away but it helps us remember that there’s a lot of good stuff in the world, too.

One of the new good things is what Mom calls painting. We started doing that not too long after Luther got here. We’ve done it more and more and Mom did a thing called graduating which seems really cool.

Sometimes Mom paints with just us. She plays music and sings along and tries really hard to make room for all of us on the floor. It’s fun!

Other times, our friends come to paint, too. Sometimes there’s crying and usually there’s laughing and there’s always a lot of talk about learning and something called healing which I think is like when my belly got better.

Dad is home more, too. He still works a whole lot but doesn’t go to the place called office as much.

I’m not sure what will happen this year. (I don’t think Mom is either, even when she writes in the calendar book!) I do know that Mom and Dad will love us and I hope our girls will come visit. They know lots about love!

We’ll all be hoping that your New Year will be full of the kind of love Mom calls Fierce Compassion. I’m pretty sure it makes the world better. We learn lots of things from her. Maybe she learned that from us!

Much love and a bit of toe licking, Phoebe