Category: Grandmothers

ContemplationsGrandmothers

A Holy Thing

Posted on by sue boardman

You may recall, if you’ve been hanging out for a while, that I went to Hungary in the winter of 1989. Six students and one of our professors from Columbia Theological Seminary in an Eastern bloc nation where none of us spoke the language, eating pig jello and waiting for our toes to actually freeze.

Mine very nearly did!

The memories and the things I learned that I never imagined on that trip tend to bubble up for me when things are shifting in my world.

This is one of those times.

I don’t recall seeing any Legos in Hungary but I think my current adventure with making new things out of old and shifting bits and pieces of what is into what is about to be have had me wandering, in my imagination, through those days again.

Today, I was sorting bookshelves.

This is a monumental undertaking in my family.

I started with two of the six-foot tall IKEA variety in the room formerly known as the living room.

Mostly foodie stuff and professional things… worship and counseling.

And writing books. Lots of those.

A couple of boxes for things that can be stashed in the basement and things that can be passed onto other homes. More than a bit of dust.

Suddenly, there I was in Hungary. I didn’t remember exactly where we were, except that, by pushing a couple of buttons on my phone, I found out!

The University of Jewish Studies is in Budapest and was established in 1877.

What I did remember was that it was the only rabbinical seminary in the Eastern bloc to survive World War II.

Also that it was cold.

We could still see damage from bombs to the building.

All the students were men, which made restroom issues a challenge for the three women in our group.  Let’s just say there was a moment when I feared I had broken every ritual purity law ever written!

The thing I’ll never forget, though, is the library.

We weren’t allowed to enter but I stood in the hall for a couple of hours, awed by the experience.

Our guide explained that they had no books printed since the war, which made a bit more sense when I realized that this was part of the reason we’d all packed as many bibles as we could fit into our luggage. (We might have forgotten to bring some of them home.)

The students removed their shoes before entering the library.

Removed their shoes in a building with no heat to stand, as it were, on holy ground.

And the silence that seeped out of that place literally vibrated with the wisdom of the ages.

So it is, I suspect, no real surprise that I didn’t get rid of too many books today.

Miracles of marks on paper, spreading stories and questions from hand to hand around more and more of the world.

Shoes off, though probably for other reasons as well.

There are a few diet books, cloaked in misplaced optimism, and a few more dusty but really sexy volumes full of bread and pasta we rarely eat these days.

(I’m still working on the food thing but those are pretty clearly on the list of things somebody else can use more than I will.)

Anne Lamott stays, of course. And SARK. Buechner and Brueggemann. Jean Houston. Kaffe Fasset. Alice Waters and Alice Walker. Shiloh Sophia. The guy from The French Laundry whose name I can never remember. A very cool book of symbols compiled by somebody named Taschen.

And four new friends, pictured above.

I’ll keep you posted.

In the meantime, make yourself a cup of tea and spend some time with paper and ink.

And a small child or two if you have any handy.

It is a holy thing.

 

 

 

 

Art JourneyContemplationsGrandmothers

A Changing World

Posted on by sue boardman

Yesterday was hectic. All the usual things, plus a big dog food delivery complete with lots of time hanging out in the freezer, a really helpful conversation with a friend, and — drum roll, please — my Muse painting, my inspiration toward my own best self, now has hair!

I suppose you had to be there, but, trust me, it’s been quite a bumpy journey so far.

I’m celebrating.

She has bio-photons, too. And one of these days she’ll be camera-ready!

Finally, though, the time for feet up and Chopped arrived.

Somewhere between my Facebook farming and a cup of hot water with lemon, I think  the contestant chefs were cooking with something called cricket Bolognese, which seemed to involve actual bugs.

The next thing I remember noticing was an ad for some technical college.

You’ve probably seen it. The young cartoon mother works and works until all of her co-workers have been replaced by machines.

Of course, the day arrives when she, too, is made, as the Brits would say, redundant.

Off she goes to learn Information Technology and we viewers are left to assume that she and her family live happily ever after.

I hope so.

Here’s what struck me, though.

The tagline on the ad is “Reinventing yourself for a changing world.”

I can relate.

Somehow, though, this particular Grammy seems to be headed in a different direction.

(Which is probably just as well when it comes to natural skill sets!)

Having developed just enough talent to text my kids and squeeze blog posts out of my laptop, I’m spending most of my time growing leafy green things, boiling bones, and learning the ancient arts of essential oils and putting paint on canvas.

There’s more to it than that, though.

There’s the vital notion of intention.

When I garden and cook I am acting, enormous though it may seem, out of the intention of healing the planet and those with whom I share it.

When I paint, I am acting out of the intention to learn about myself and what it means to heal and be human and create.

(It’s probably about other things, too, but I’m new at this and still working on the big concepts!)

This learning isn’t about gold stars on my permanent record.

It’s about my two girls who are growing up in this world. And your kids. And my neighbors’ kids. And kids in places that have had five new names since I took geography in the 7th grade.

It’s about justice and community.

And the radish I had for lunch yesterday. Just picked. Tiny. Ruby red. Crisp. Peppery. Real.

I’m not saying that all the old ways were good and the new ways are bad.

I am suggesting that we’ve wandered too far from some of what matters.

Perhaps we might intend together to wander back a bit.

For now, another radish or two for lunch and a chapter of Alice Waters’ fabulous new book, Coming to My Senses…the making of a counterculture cook.

Then, more paint. Apparently the Muse wants earrings!

ContemplationsGrandmothers

Luther and Philosophy 201

Posted on by sue boardman

For those of you who have joined us more recently, let’s start today with a bit of history after Wednesday’s post about having another go at philosophy.

Luther is our most recent Newfoundland rescue. In addition to Sarah and Phoebe, he makes three in residence, for a total of about 350 pounds of dog. Much of it hair.

In the 14 months this big guy has been with us, he has become one of my greatest teachers.

Luther came from a puppy mill in Michigan. He was estimated to be between two and three years old at the time.

Clearly, it was not a healthy existence.

The poor guy was terribly thin. He had scraggly, patchy hair, poorly developed eyesight, and, to add to the indignity of all that, had just been neutered.

Beyond those challenges, he was terrified. Of people. Noises. Cars.

Did I say noises?

Basically, he was terrified of everything.

The therapist-type in me who is conversant in the DSM-5 realized quickly that he was frequently dissociative which means that anything or anyone new triggered his only survival strategy… literally trying to disappear into the floor.

To say that he is a whole different dog these days is the understatement of several centuries!

He loves everybody and is always ready to join the wave of dog-ness that washes over people at our door.

He rides happily in the car and is thrilled to go to Camp. He even wags all over when the Vet comes to visit.

Sometimes I forget how far he’s come.

Like when I’m tired and pissed at him for not quite having figured out “No”, which happened, as you may recall, just this week.

Tonight I got a huge reminder of all the ways his spirit continues to triumph despite all he’s been through.

Tonight, he let me trim his ears. With scissors!

To say that Luther’s been reluctant to come on board with the notion of grooming is yet another huge understatement.

We’ve taken it slow. Microscopically slow.

Petting was a first start. Touching his toes and ears. Hugging.

Eventually, we got to brushing. Along his spine only, at first. Slowly. Oh, so slowly we made it to towels, which are still an if-fy proposition some days.

His ears have remained the big issue. We’re talking lots of dog with lots of hair on the inside of his ears where it causes lots of trouble.

Perhaps it was the phase of the moon, but tonight he was ready.

We got one ear all cleaned up and the second (far worse) one about 75% done. I’m talking scissors and everything!

The ironic thing is that I almost didn’t try.

I was going to be happy with just some general brushing and bonding, complete with a small truckload of dehydrated beef liver treats.

Instead, we even got a bit of hair trimmed around the edge of the ear leather. He’s in no danger of winning Westminster but he doesn’t look nearly so much like his mama dresses him funny.

Perhaps you’re wondering why I went for it tonight.

I am, too!

It kind of reminds me of Dave’s first hair cut.

I suspect it has something to do with a recent Zoom meeting that reminded me of the theory that virtually all human choices are made out of either fear or some variation on love/passion/enthusiasm.

I’m trying hard to choose love.

I’m also hoping Luther and I are both going to sleep better tonight.

He looks pretty tired right now. After all, teaching is hard work!

Maybe next week we’ll work on the philosophy thing some more. And the second ear.

Many things are possible!

ContemplationsGrandmothers

Ready For Another Go!

Posted on by sue boardman

I took a course in Philosophy once.

Thirty years or so ago.

I wanted to love it.

Our professor loved it and I thought him a miracle of wisdom and kindliness.

I wanted to know what he knew. To glimpse what he loved.

In that moment, though, I did not love philosophy.

My mind, raised as it had been by mostly modernist world views, wondered alternately how we as humans could have been in a place when we did not know this or that and how we might ever have questioned thus or so.

In my defense, I was also consumed at the time with the seemingly more urgent matters of baby Greek, putting groceries on the table, and a document we Presbyterian types refer to as the Book of Order.

Lately, I have begun to expect that the mere mortal intellects among us cease to be philosophical somewhere around the age of four or five and, if we are lucky, find ourselves ready for another go at it somewhere on the far side of fifty.

Which might suggest that we wonder a bit about the usefulness of conventional American Kindergarten and many of the survival skills we take for granted in our world, though that is, perhaps, an issue for a different day.

Another professor of mine said much the same thing when he called to us to be poets. If you don’t know Walter Brueggemann, there’s an episode of The West Wing that covers this nicely. I think it’s the one about the late night flight to Portland.

In any event, I found myself in a philosophical mode this morning.

I started out pissed.

Actually, I started out tired but, in my experience, tired often leads to pissed.

In this case, the immediate cause appeared to be Luther.

The same Luther who went out, with the four-footed girls, for his last stroll around the back forty about 11:00 last night.

I knew, when he barked at precisely 6:45 this morning, that he had no urgent personal needs. He simply wanted to go lay outside on the cool, damp ground and feel the world come alive.

Now, I’m not opposed to such a wish, in principle. On this particular morning, though, it coincided with a long night full of two paintings clamoring for my attention and nowhere near enough sleep.

Luther, however, has not yet developed a neurological circuit for, “I’ve heard your message and the answer is, ‘No.'”

I caved, reluctantly, justified by the other relevant factor that Bill’s shoulder hurts and he hadn’t slept well either.

About 20 minutes and a brief visit to my paintings later, I sat curled under a favorite quilt in my magic chair with a steaming cup of lemon water in my hands, listening to the birds sing the garden awake.

All the while, I fumed.

“Rotten, no-good dog! When is he going to learn?”

“He’s never going to learn if I keep caving in.”

“How am I supposed to get anything done today if I lost another hour’s worth of sleep?”

Feel free to fill in some more blanks, if you like. You get the drift.

Suddenly, though, I heard two of the more philosophical voices in my current universe warming up in my head.

“Expectations are the root of suffering,” said Qigong master, Chunyi Lin.

And, with a throaty California sort of accent, “In this moment, nothing is wrong,” from actor, author, and teacher, Samantha Bennett.

Frankly, it’s taken me a while to get on board with Chunyi. And, at the risk of plunking a detour in the midst of your own philosophical journey, I’m going to leave you with that one to chew on in your own way.

Sam has been a bit easier for me to wrap my head around.

It has a lot to do with here and now. And with a bit of relief from the shoulda-woulda-coulda routine that calls us to the past or the future, neither of which is actually happening.

Except in the sense that it’s really all kind of the same and Dave was right about time!

That, however, is a bit ambitious for morning, so I decided to notice, at least for a moment, that I was warm and safe. There were crows playing in the garden and roses peeking through the dawn. My world was filled with the happy scent of lemon. And there were three big dogs snoring gently at my feet.

All of whom I love.

Usually.

When I took my glasses off and squinted just so, I could almost see Ben grinning.

 

 

 

 

Art JourneyContemplationsGrandmothers

Of Golden Acrylics & Empowering Filters…

Posted on by sue boardman

It is 2:46 pm, EDT in Atlanta. Just in this moment, a day that began chilly, breezy, and gray turned instantly warmer and brighter, helped along by a gizmo in my ceiling called a Sola-Tube.

It’s a sort of sky light, really, but much easier to install than the more traditional versions in a pre-Seasonal Affective Disorder urban ranch house.

There’s a thing in the ceiling that resembles one of those toys kids love called a dragon fly’s eye with all the prisms in a circle. This, according to the manufacturer, is called the filter.

The filter is connected through your attic space by a thing that looks a lot like a very shiny dryer vent hose.

The shiny vent hose then connects to a light collector placed on the roof and aimed to gather southern light.

These things are magical. We have five of them in our house, spread out over a couple of major remodeling projects. I’d take at least four more in a minute.

Most of the time they just quietly hang out, not making a fuss, and adding very welcome, gentle light to a house that would be way too dark even if I wasn’t a quilter and painter who grew up in Florida.

On days like today, though, they remind me of the power of the filters through which we all experience the world.

Brighter and more hopeful, in what seems like an instant.

Or flashing with lightning on a dark and stormy night. (Ok, I’m a writer, too!)

I’ve been thinking about filters a lot lately.

It has a lot to do with a painting I’m working on. Or, perhaps, a painting that’s working on me.

The class is called Apothecary. As in the old-fashioned word for a place we might go to find medicines or other aids to healing.

We’ve been rooting around in our old stories. The ones that have defined us. The ones through which we filter our day-to-day experience. Many of them, hard ones.

Discovering symbols for those stories which changes, in the moment, the ways we relate to those stories.

And, each in our own way, claiming all of those stories in bringing us to this day.

Yep, all of them.

An old friend of mine has been singing along in the background while the drips of paint and scrubby brushes and vestiges of shame fall to the floor.

His name is Ken Medema and, if you don’t know it, his story is fascinating. I hope you’ll check it out.

For this minute, though, his music…in the midst of whatever day you’re having in whatever place you are.

 

 

ContemplationsGrandmothers

To everything turn, turn, turn…

Posted on by sue boardman

For a few years, while I was writing my dissertation, I did a lot of weddings.

That meant I did a lot of pre-marital counseling.

And a lot of marriage counseling after that.

I spent a fair amount of time trying to help starry-eyed brides and grooms grasp the notion that there were more important things to think about than whether the bridesmaids’ shoes matched the punch.

(Go ahead and laugh. This was a while ago and I’m from the South!)

I also spent some time gently suggesting that obsessing over the perfect song for the first dance might possibly need to take a back seat to being able to tell a soon-to-be spouse what you really need and want and love.

I can’t tell you how many women clutched Kleenex and tea cups while they explained that confessing their deepest longings was just too scary.

The logic seemed to run like this…

If I don’t admit what I love, and don’t get it, I’ll be heartbroken. 

If I do admit what I love, and don’t get it, I’ll be heartbroken twice. 

Two things are true about those conversations.

As reluctant as I am to say this, I get it.

And, I never heard a guy claim the same dilemma.

(I won’t presume to guess what that means.)

I wish I’d known more about Rumi in those days!

Then again, “…to everything there is a season,” and I understand turning toward what I love in a different way than I used to.

And, while I’m still sleeping off their visit, my two best teachers are back to their regular worlds.

I, of course, am still finding crayons and pins and a very stylish white denim jacket which needs to be mailed home to its wee owner.

I also have a new context in which to listen and learn.

Or, perhaps, a vivid, fresh reminder of my chosen context.

At the risk of sounding like I’ve come a bit unspooled, my writing and painting and even my plan to actually go get my hair done are all echoes of “turning toward what I deeply love”.

And, in this season, a reminder to claim more of what I love.

I might not get it all but it seems way better than not trying.

Maybe the girls will watch.

 

 

ContemplationsGrandmothers

Curiouser and Curiouser!

Posted on by sue boardman

When I was very small… about two or three… I spent a day with my friend, Sue, who was just about my age.

I don’t actually remember that day. At least not consciously.

What I do remember is my mom telling about what Sue’s mom had to say at the end of the day. It went something like this:

Why? When? How? Why? Why? When? Why? Why? Why? 

Apparently, we curious toddlers asked questions until poor Betty thought she’d never make it through one more question.

Curiosity is a marvelous thing. It can also be exhausting!

There’s been lots of curiosity at our house this week with the girls here for Spring Break.

We spent much of our time making first quilts.

If we’d been recording our conversations, you might have heard:

Now? When? Why? When? How? It’s in a knot again! When? Why? 

Etc., etc., etc….

We talked a lot about the notion of muscle memory and why Grammy’s hands knew from ages of practice how to thread the sewing machine and put in pins and all the other challenges for new “drivers” of such miracles.

We started with lines they drew on paper and no thread in the needles so they could get the hang of the foot pedals and the all important “needle up/down” process.

They decided they were ready to start “sewing for real, Grammy!”

First, we needed a plan. Make that two plans.

They made all the design decisions.

We began with the magic cupboard, aka my stash.

The girls picked fabric and decided on one patch squares.

I did the rotary cutting.

Next came arranging. Checkerboard style for Kenzie. A somewhat less predictable pattern for Taylor.

Then, we started actually sewing.

And, predictably, we started un-sewing. (Fortunately I have two seam rippers!)

We learned piecing and basting and a couple of options for quilting. We learned to make binding and attach it. We also learned that Grammy would help with the hand-sewing part!

IMG_2680Yesterday they headed for the airport with finished quilts. And suitcases full of unending curiosity!

It turns out that they’re pretty great role models.

Today, along with some painting buddies, I am pondering curiosity, as well.

What happens when we become curious observers of our lives?

What do we notice? (An old favorite!)

How do we turn stories into symbols?

And, why are we here?

Really!

I suspect that one may take a bit longer…

It somehow seems timely, though, in these days of Passover and Easter.

With all the blessings of the season,

Sue and the big dogs…