(no title)

The Difficult C-word!

Posted on September 26, 2018by sue boardman

I’ve been pondering change, lately.

Well, pretty much forever.

I grew up in Florida. During my senior year in high school, our advanced biology class was given the task of setting up, balancing, and maintaining a salt-water aquarium for the school year. No filters or heaters or lights. Just whatever you and your partner could haul home from the beach, along with 20 gallons of seawater and a little fish food.

Gathering was fun.

Setting up was fun. Like underwater interior decorating, with just the right shells and rocks.

Balancing and maintaining were more of a challenge. The fish were all gorgeous until one of them got just a little bigger and started eating all his friends. When it was dark and chilly all through Christmas vacation, some sad sights awaited us when we returned.

Along the way we flushed a lot of dead fish. And made lots of trips to the beach for more suitable companions. More oxygenating weeds. Shells without things dying in them.

Some of my classmates decided to take a C at the end of the semester and quit worrying about it. My partner and I hung in there.

I’m glad we did. I didn’t know it then, but what I was learning was that one little change in any system affects everyone and everything. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that 20-gallon system through the years. Usually when things are changing.

Things have changed a lot in the last year while I’ve been engaged in the journey known as Color of Woman. It’s been amazing. Also hard.

Change is always stressful. Even if it’s the most longed for of changes. It’s always stressful.

My friend, Henry Close, who was trained in Ericksonian Hypnotherapy by Milton Erickson, explains that, before we can change something, we first have to love it. Not hearts and flowers love, necessarily. Just a tiny crack of openness to the possibility that there are huge, often unconscious, things that hold us all back from real relatedness, and yet are, in their own way, trying to help us.

If you’re anything like me, it’s a pretty big challenge. You go ahead and name the folks on your list. Unless they were clinical sociopaths, suggests British psychologist, Donald Winnacott, they were probably doing the best they could, however inadequate or misguided it was. Experimenting with this idea still doesn’t mean that their behavior was acceptable. Or that people weren’t badly hurt. It’s ok if it takes a while.

Now, for the big leap!

The same is true for ourselves. Decisions that turned out badly. Temper tantrums we might have been better off without. Stretch marks. Fear. Nightmares. Anger. Hair we’ve always hated. Opportunities passed by. Self-esteem issues. Actions that haunt us still. We were, in all likelihood, doing the best we could.

Accept yourself, your journey, your body, your dreams. Intentional Creativity is one powerful way to experience that kind of acceptance.

The very best thing we can do for our families is to begin to love the things we hope to change or move past in ourselves for the survival strategies they once were. Like my fishy friends, all those years ago, as we change, everything in the system will change. Eventually for the better.

Excerpted from my book, Grandmothers Are In Charge Of Hope

The art is is a bit of the portrait of my underwater Muse, 2018.

Art Journey Contemplations Garden Grandmothers

House of the Heart

Posted on September 23, 2018by sue boardman

When I was growing up, we moved a lot.

Minnesota, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri, Illinois, Florida.

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.

And more Intentional Creativity home-work.

Art Journey Contemplations Grandmothers

Intentionality and Grace

Posted on September 20, 2018by sue boardman

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.

Tomorrow, more paint!

Art Journey Contemplations Grandmothers

Hoping in the Face of Uncertainty

Posted on September 16, 2018by sue boardman

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.

May your magic abound also in the world.

And, thanks, Mebbit, for teaching me well!

Oh, parli Italiano?

Contemplations Grandmothers

Second Hand Wisdom

Posted on September 12, 2018by sue boardman

Dear Ones,

It occurred to me, several years back, that second hand wisdom is a bit harder to hold on to than the Life is for Learning kind.

Recently, I realized that sometimes they bump into each other in particular moments. Now, I think, is one of those times.

And, I suspect I’m about to butt in. So be it. I’ve traveled far enough in my journey to take the flack.

In the words of Michael Pollan, Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.

Recycle. But, better yet, buy less stuff that comes encased in junk.

Register to vote. Yes, you. Now. Even if it means going online and wrestling with abysmal government websites. This is how we win! (And my girls are counting on you.) If you happen to live in Georgia, you have just less than 30 days. Now would be really good.

Pick up a paint brush. Or a wild purple Sharpie marker. Or, what the heck, some strawberry jam. Draw. Paint. Smear it around. Make big shoulder motions. Laugh when it gets on your clothes. Make loose, swirly, integrating motions. Good comes from adventures like this.

Go do something for somebody else.

You are healed enough. Really!

And make room for the possibility that you can do something for you, too.

Yes, you’re going to have to grapple with fear.

Newness is always that way.

What has been, can be changed.

Honest.

For you and for those you love and for those on the far corners of the planet who long for peace as much as you do.

How do I know?

Not simply because I remember Simon and Garfunkel from back in Central Park in the dark ages when I was a kid, though that helps.

Rather, because I have known a lot of change. Have longed for a lot of change. And have ventured into a lot of darkness to find change.

As the old song goes, it’s a lot about vision.

The kind that looks beyond the places we’ve always been and into the options for the future.

Yes, the journey is scary.

But it’s better than staying stuck. Better than giving into the machine. Better than setting down our paintbrushes.

Does it matter?

Do you matter?

Absolutely!

You just have to show up.

And, just between us, I’m counting on you.

So, as I mentioned, are my girls.

And the rest of the people on the planet with us.

Luther, for one, will be glad you jumped on board. He comes from a long line of fiercely compassionate peacemakers. And is more than willing to adopt you!

Contemplations Grandmothers

The miracle happened!!!

Posted on September 9, 2018by sue boardman

Friday night, I slept!

Perhaps, my chatty, opinionated paintings organized a field trip and went to the beach. Or the mountains.

Or, perhaps, I was just pretty tired. (Truth.)

In any event, I slept and dreamed the sort of dreams that don’t compel me to get up and write or paint or watch paint videos long before the birdies sing.

Mostly, I dreamed about vision. The kind I’m gaining as I go deeper and deeper into Intentional Creativity.

(Which is a pretty big thing for someone who hasn’t routinely “seen the pictures”!)

And the kind that’s more about intuition than it is actual eyesight.

Which may have had a lot to do with Luther’s visit from our dear friend the vet yesterday.

Luther, it seems, is not seeing so well as he was before, and he didn’t see all that terribly well back then.

Which was, for me, a bit of a blast from the past.

My grandmother noticing, the year I was in 5th grade, that I squinted at books and sat very close to the television.

A teacher concurring but reluctant to speak out lest she be, you know, wrong.

Stepping out of the eye doctor’s office with my first pair of glasses, and realizing, as many of you have probably also done, that I could see actual, individual leaves on trees.

Which seemed quite a miracle!

Sadly, dogs aren’t so known for wearing glasses. And, if he had some, Luther might well eat them.

So, research.

It’s a bigger question with this giant breed guy than one might imagine. We’re going to need a veterinary ophthalmologist who is pretty open-minded as to process.

Luther has been through a lot of trauma and I am, it seems, his transitional object.

Rather like Old Bernard.

Old Bernard was Dave’s beloved, and essential, stuffed St. Bernard puppy, complete with crushed pecan shell legs which I spent a fair amount of time suturing up over the years.

Old Bernard got us through many of the tribulations of a small child with a student/working single mom. Daycare. Doctors’ visits. Mom’s exams in nursing school. You get the idea.

And I am, it seems, Luther’s Old Bernard.

We’ve tried stuffed animals. He consumes them.

So, we need a specialty vet in an office as small and calm as possible. A lavender oil diffuser would not be out of order! A little Wholetones music!

And we need a vet who will let me participate.

Did I mention that Luther weighs about 130 pounds?

And definitely sorts for same?

It’s likely that much of the conversation will focus around protecting Luther’s considerably stronger vision in his right eye.

We’ve lived with a blind rescue dog before but wee, Bischon-esque Albert weighed about 18 pounds.

This is a whole different world!

Honestly, I wouldn’t be too surprised to find Luther and Albert and Old Bernard romping around in my dreams tonight.

Until then, I have more prayer dots to make.

Tomorrow, sushi and dumplings at Noodle in Decatur. A fabulous local, pasture raised chicken headed for the Instant Pot. And a huge tray of roasted veg. Maybe two trays. It’s a great way to make easy, real meals on busy days as the week goes on.

Oh, and CODEX (my new painting class which is, perhaps, more of a thinking class) starts tomorrow!

Deep breaths… in and out and in and …

Oh, and the art for today… signs are everywhere, if only we’re willing to see. Even in my bathroom! Complete with a lovely angel from the Southern US folk art wizard, Flack.

Art Journey Contemplations Grandmothers

“Mediums and Risky Glazes”

Posted on September 5, 2018by sue boardman

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!