Sacred Space and Solitude

Sacred space. Solitude. We all need it.



I recently visited a home where a large family resided. There was plenty of space for everyone, as the home had more bedrooms than it had people. However, the energy was heavy, moving, dense.

Everyone was bent on occupying the same exact space, even the children. Rather than play or spend time in the vast expanses that were thier bedrooms, the den, or the family room, this family all seemed bent on cramming into the dining room and kitchen, much to the detriment of harmony. Children raced through the kitchen, played loudly in a corner, opened and shut the refrigerator, brought family pets to the dining table and handed them to unsuspecting adults. The adults paced, sat. or hovered in the same general area watching television or trying to converse with other adults. Teenagers sat at the kitchen table, playing with technology that would have been much easier to enjoy in a quiet space.

It was disconcerting. So many rooms, and yet everyone was seemingly bent on occupying the same one.

Enjoying sacred space we created on our patio.

I've never been one who saw the need for space that was not going to be used. If a family is only going to use one primary room of the house, then live in a one-room flat and save the 5 bedroom homes for those who actually need, and will use, the space. Space is sacred, or rather, it should be. Our personal, private spaces are where we go to replenish and nourish ourselves. Sacred space is where we go when we need to sit in solitude, to simply be without moving, talking, or doing.



Though you can share sacred space in a home environment, it's important for each family member to have thier own. It's important to enjoy solitude in that space, to be at peace with it. To look forward to it. For most of us, this space is our room and enjoying it begins in childhood. But often, the appreciation of sacred space is not realized until we become adults, and for many people, like the family I visited, it's never realized at all. There are many reasons why people avoid solitude, but the most common one is this: it can be frightening if one has never experienced it in a healthy setting. An adult who had self-involved parents and felt abandoned as a child will often avoid solitude like the plague, but even children with loving, attentive parents are not often taught that time alone in sacred space is a viable, valuable tool for happiness. Instead, we can fall into the trap of feeling that we need other people's presence near continually, spending every waking moment communicating either in person or through the use of technology.

The good news is, if you've never enjoyed solitude in a sacred space, it's not too late to start. Create your own sacred spaces throughout your home, even in high-traffic areas like the kitchen and den. Sacred space does not need to be an entire room, it can simply be a corner of a room, or a mini-altar of sorts set up on a coffee table or even a bookshelf. Sacred space can look many ways. Begin with clearing away clutter, including objects that you don't actually use in that space. Add only items that you resonate with and that are deeply important to you. Live flowers, natural stones, an object that is precious to you, a photo you connect with...sacred space thrives on minimalism, so a less-is-more approach is a good place to start. But every space in your home can be made a little more sacred with the right touches.

Fresh flowers, a special piece of art, and a
basket from our beloved lowcountry
create a little sacredness at our

busy kitchen table!

So, with the energy of a full July moon approaching, ask yourself how you can generate a little sacred space in your home today where you can enjoy not the hustle and bustle of family life, wonderful in it's own right, but a little quiet, reflective time. If you have children, talk to them about the importance of sacred space and only keeping in our possession the things we actually use, need, and/or enjoy. There is a flow of abundance in passing on what is no longer essential; it opens us up to receiving new blessings. Try to create a little sacred space, or mini altar, in each room of your home by clearing out unnecessary items. You can study Feng Shui or research creating sacred space online, or simply go with your own intuition and instinct as to what looks and feels right, and why. 

Then sit, alone, for at least 10 minutes a day, and occupy the space. Enjoy it. Breathe in it. Be in it. If you have children or share your home with family members, this may be difficult, but it is not impossible. Teach your family to respect your need for this time, and encourage them to do the same for themselves. Be patient if this is a new concept for your spouse/children/family. In time, with dedicated practice, it will become part of your daily routine, and the peace it can bring to you and yours to enjoy solitude in sacred space will be worth it.



Sunflowers in patio pots reminds me of Finland...
it doesn't matter why, but it makes my space feel more sacred
in summer. What do you do for yourself in your home
that nourishes your soul?

 Bright July blessings! For more information on creating sacred spaces, email me at amialley@hotmail.com



Lords a' Leaping

I’m not much for news and often find myself not in-the-know when it comes to media-sensationalized current events. However, at the beach this week, I was caught up on the Paula Deen scandal/drama by friends who explained in detail the situation to me. And because I am certainly no fan of cooking shows (or cooking in general) I’ve never watched hers; never had dinner at her restaurant; never bought any of her cookbooks or merchandise. As a matter or fact, my non-relationship with food and cooking is so understood that a co-worker once saw me drinking coffee from a borrowed Paula Deen restaurant mug and burst into laugher. So while her fall from grace does not inspire any real reaction in me beyond disbelief, witnessing it has been a profound reminder that nothing, not even a hard-wrought personal empire, is guaranteed to last forever. That's the whole premise of living in the moment.

It’s easy to live in the moment when one is at the beach; the moments are awesome. Amazing. Wednesday, in water up to my waist, I saw, for the first time in my life, about 10 feet away from where I stood, a slick grey fin slide up, cruise along, and then disappear again into the water. For a moment, I was frozen. I grew up in the era of Jaws, and could hear the theme music in my head. Before I could react, however, something amazing happened – bursting forth from the water came the fin’s owner - a sleek, beautiful dolphin. She leapt up then plunged underneath again. And she was not the only one. For the duration of our time on the beach that day, the dolphins leapt and played nearby.

What a blessing. That my son got to see the dolphins as well multiplied the blessing for me. A beautiful memory. A beautiful day.

I’ve moved away from the aspiration of life being about creating professional personal empires. As Paula Deen and many before her have shown us, empires can crumble. I want to live as big and full and rich of a life as possible, not live primarily to achieve some sort of fame or distinction in my field. Not anymore. Standing in the ocean while dolphins leapt before me was a sweet, sweet moment. Everything was perfect. There was no fear, no hurt, no worry, no concern. There was just the present, and it was pure joy.

That evening, at my friend’s home, my son found a cicada. Remembering the cicada buzz of two years ago, I was reminded of the first time one landed on his face. I rarely take pictures, but I have photos of that. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open in laughter. Pure joy. Remembering that picture, I take another. My son will be nine in December. On the drive home Thursday he sighed in the backseat, remembering the long-awaited vacation. “It goes by so fast,” he frowned. And he’s right. It does.

A new mother wails to me about loss of sleep and adjusting to her changing role, and I listen, because I know it is so hard, and she needs someone to listen. I remind her to be present for all of it, even this, because childhood does not last forever. Nothing does. Our lives are composed of moments. When we are at the top, it’s glorious, but we are not the empires we build or the children we have or the trips we have taken or the reputations we’ve established. We are not what we own, what we make, what we’ve done, or what others think of us. Watching another’s world crumble as a result of poor choices makes me want to hold tightly to my own little empire, but of course, this is impossible. As Robert Frost so eloquently stated, nothing gold can stay. Backing out of a driveway at the beach this week, I hit a post, leaving dents and streaks of paint down the side of my still-new-to-me car. I shrugged it off. “It’s why I have insurance,” I say. Years ago, it might have ruined the entire trip for me, but not now. I've grown up.

I was once told it takes an average of 40 years for a human being to mature. As I approach this landmark birthday myself, I am inclined to agree, although I thought I was plenty mature at 20 and 30. Now I realize there are many ways in which we must grow up, many trials we must face and some we’ll fail but it is only when we cease to leap that we cease to live. And there are little maturities, too. I trade my Nomadic State of Mind hippie rope sandals for sleek Sanuk flops, my hobo bags for elegant purses. I am grown, and I want to be grown. I am an adult; I can do whatever I like. But watching Paula Deen sob on television, I’m reminded that there is one emotion that seems impervious to time, that persists beyond moments and memory: regret. We can do what we like, yes...but we can never undo what has been done. I can’t undo the moment I looked away and hit the post. I know the damage to my car is my fault, and no one else’s. I can accept this, because when it comes to things I know I’ve wrecked, chances I’ve blown, mistakes I’ve made…paint and dents on a car door is nothing.

Wanting more beach time, I book a cottage at the Isle of Palms, not worrying about expense, but trusting that all will be provided. A few hours later, the phone rings. A job offer. I accept not only the job, which will more than pay for the cottage, but the knowledge that like the dolphins, I too, need to leap from still waters in order to breathe, to live. We’ll end our summer on the island because I leapt, and the net appeared.

How many dolphins have I missed seeing because I didn't do this more often?

Graduation Day

Graduating happens this way: slowly, like a small bird picking away at the inner parts of shell. It moves clumsily - it is the first time it has ever sought this form of freedom. Until this moment, life just meant existing in pure, exquisite balance, a place of being and non-being, soul tucked away safely inside of a shell that was warm and happy and home and love and all things good and right with the world.

Then that world, without warning, became too small. The bird couldn't breathe. There was no choice; the shell cracked, was chipped away at; broken. Light came in, and then fresh air and cool breezes. The senses were flooded all at once. Though life had actually begins some time before, it is the moment the bird escapes the shell that we'll call birth.

“My mom made me collect those Care Bears,” my son says to an acquaintance, explaining the bucket of stuffed animals under his bed and disregarding – with one sentence – all those years and months and days and hours we spent playing with those stuffed bears, reading about them, and watching Care Bear movies. They grow up this fast, the children we love. Or at least it seems this way. It’s only later we find out that growing up is a much more grueling process. Maturity comes along at a different point in time for everyone. I thought I was grown at 16, when I became engaged to the then-love-of-my-life. We planned to marry when I finished college, but the cute classmate who sat beside me my first semester pretty much thwarted that plan.

This past Saturday, I watched my niece graduate from the same high school that I attended. When she was born, I was 21, there at the hospital with a new love-of-my-life, who happily made many runs to get cigarettes, drinks, and food for my family as we waited for the birth.

The 21-year-old me holding Rhiannon

Two years earlier, my sister’s first child had died at 7 weeks of age. My mother’s first child was stillborn, as was my grandmother’s. In my family, birth seems to ride in with death alongside. My brother died the day after his daughter was born. In silence, we ate, drank, and smoked, because back then, it was still allowed on hospital grounds…and we waited. We knew all too well sometimes bad things happen when you’re expecting good ones.

Fast forward eighteen years, and it’s an auditorium, not a hospital, where my family is gathered, waiting on my niece to arrive. We are not the family we were two decades ago, however. We don’t sit together because my mother is in the wheelchair section and my father has to be with her. The current contender for love-of-my-life cannot be by my side at this particular event, but my son is. Without food, drink, or cigarettes, we wait. My sister and her youngest child arrive; an aunt and a cousin show up later. But the auditorium is filling up. We end up spread out all over, my family, but still we know who's here. That means something.

2013

Afterwards, we lose and find one another in the crowd, and I occasionally catch a glance of some familiar face from the lifetime ago that I attended high school. I don’t make small talk; there is little to say beyond hello to someone you once knew, but are a stranger to now. I push through the crowd, find my own people, and figure out the next leg of the journey, because this is a big deal, this graduation. I wonder if my niece really knows how big, but caught up in her circle of friends, I’m sure she doesn’t. It takes some living – real, actual living – to understand the definition of the word ‘graduate’. At this point in her life, school is just followed by more school. Give it a fancier name and charge ridiculous rates to attend it, but it is still school. And she has a lot more of it to go. These friends here today will fade away, new ones will take their places, and it will happen over and over again. But right now, she doesn't know that… nor does she need to. She is happy in this crowd. These friends are her people. This day marks a change in her life.

The graduation passage marks us, too. Perhaps more than the children in our worlds who are actually graduating, it is us, the adults on the sidelines, who are marked by the knowledge of how much time - the one thing no force can stop - is now behind us. There are many types of graduations. “I don’t believe in fairies anymore,” my son blurts out over dinner a few weeks ago. So I tell him tales of a dark fairy king who is big as a man and lives in the shadows, searching for wayward little boys to kidnap and create an army of darkness with. “Who will they fight?” he asks. “The forces of good,” I answer. “Who are the guardians of the good?” He's a lover of fantasy films and knows the plots of all such stories are generally the same. “The trees, the flowers, all that grows and thrives and looks towards the light," I answer.
He scoffs. “How can a tree be a guardian? It can’t move!”

“Not in the daylight,” I say, making it up as I go along. “But that’s why people sleep at night, you know. So that the guardians can do their job while it’s dark and no one will see.” I want to say, ‘Just believe sometime, don’t always look for logic,’ but I don’t, because he will seek out the rational and logical in every situation; it is his way. I want to ball up the magic that has been his childhood and hold it in my arms, never let it go, but I can’t. There were so many more stories I wanted to tell, so many more things I had planned to do make his childhood amazing, but he’s growing away from me now.

Growing away from me now...

Later, on an evening stroll, he’s debating the brand new fairy information I’ve bestowed upon him. At the edge of our road, he stops and turns to me.

“Mama, will you be mad if I tell you I still don’t believe?”

I could say anything right now, but I shake my head and give him the truth. “No. No one, not even me, has the authority to tell you what you should believe. They also do not have the right to tell you what you shouldn’t believe. Always remember that.”

He plays with the neighborhood boys as I sit outside, a cup of coffee in hand. At 21 I drank coffee in the evenings in funky coffee shops because it was hip, but nearing 40 now, I do it at home just so I can stay awake past 9pm. ‘Going to bed at granny o’clock’ my friends and I will joke when the urge to give in to sleep at the same hour we used to be heading out for the evening is just too overwhelming. A text from my niece informs me that while she has selected her college, she continues to change her mind about her major. I laugh at this announcement; I have four college degrees, and have had twice that number of full-time jobs.

I’m a thinker, prone to over-think, searching for metaphors and analogies for things in life when I should be in the moments, enjoying things in life, but there is a pencil in my mind, always scribbling down things for later, when I’ll come back to them while knitting or gardening and know I have to stop, write it down on paper, save it because it’s important, and it might help someone someday. At graduations, the talk is always abuzz with what one is going to be, planning to be, hoping to be. My niece asks me questions about this next phase, as I’m the only family member who attended a university campus, and I think long and hard about my answers. These are the kind of conversations we remember having with family, so I’m careful what I say. I want to tell her to be selective with her major, that there is a risk of burn-out when you make your passion your daily work. It’s a lesson I’ve learned the hard way and have struggled with for the better part of a year now. The old adage rings true – what you spend all day at work doing is the last thing you want to do at home. I now move towards new passions, new hobbies, and new experiences. The shell cracks. Light seeps in.

I want to tell her that part of the point of college is not to already know what you want to do, but also to discover what new thing you might want to do. I didn’t do this. I entered college as an accounting major who dreamt of law school one day, but listened to well-meaning folks who kept imploring, “You’re too creative for that kind of work; you need to do something artistic or you’ll waste your talent.” I was 17 and had been taught to listen to my elders.

I want to tell my niece that I spent a hell of a lot of years striving to be something phenomenal, creative, outlandish, radical, famous (insert your own adjective, it’ll probably work) in my field, because deep inside I felt that just being me was not good enough. I know better now…but it took a very long time. The shell is stronger than we think. It can and will withstand being dropped a few times because it has to be opened from inside.

I want to tell her not to streamline her definitions of herself by saying “I have be this because I like it’ or ‘I need to be that because I’m good at it’. We are capable of being so, so much more than our strengths, hobbies, and interest limit us to. It’s a dangerous game to let them define us, especially so early in life.

I want to tell her that sometimes bad things will happen when you are expecting good ones; that even when your family is spread out, knowing who’s still there mean something; that no one has a right to tell you what you should and should not believe; that loves-of-your-life will come and go with the marches of time, each offering a different life, a different you, a different destiny, a different pain…but you have to try, because we are nothing but puppets without love. The intense joy of having it and the agonizing pain of losing it are the only two emotions in life that are perfectly equal in intensity, the first being impossible to attain without risking the second. Nothing shatters the shells we build around ourselves like love. It throws us off balance, yes, but it is the light that pours in and opens our senses to the wonders of the world outside of the safe, secure familiar.

Instead of saying any of this, however, I give typical, basic, bland advice, as do most adults in these situations. We mean to offer more, we really do, but we’re tired, and children, no matter the age, always seem to spring the deepest questions on us at the precise moment that our brains have shut down for the day. But maybe bland answers are what one needs at times like this. They take the pressure off, make us feel that we have lots of hours to dwell on useless metaphors and analogies; that time isn’t marching on; that we’ll never slip, but always stand tall, secure and safely in balance; that our shell will never grow too small, break, and fall away, causing us to go through birth again and again and again with our eyes closed, because we learned long ago that death can easily ride along on the same wind.

Sitting on my den floor early this Sunday morning, legs crossed, mind deep in meditation, I’m suddenly struck by the question my son asked almost 24 hours before, when we were sitting in auditorium, family all spread out around us, but still there, waiting to see my niece arrive in cap and gown.

Waiting on the big moment...

“What does it mean to graduate?”

I open my eyes slowly. For almost a year, I have been pecking at this shell, until now the final piece, that last remaining vestige of who I thought I was, falls away. I feel exposed, open, and vulnerable. I'm both lost and found.

But I remember graduating. I remember vividly who I intended to be, who I always was, before the ideas and opinions and dreams others had for and about me found their way into my life, my soul, my psyche, building me up and breaking me down simultaneously, defending their intentions with same kind of logic used by foresters to justify the destruction caused by controlled burns. It has taken time, my shadowy fairy kings were many, but my guardians have done their job. I may have broken the shell myself, but they have preserved the balance of what was inside. I grow and thrive, turning my face towards the light.

“What does it mean to graduate?”

I’m sure I gave him the dullest of answers at that moment. But in the not too distant future, when it is him in cap and gown and he no longer asks me questions because he thinks he knows all the answers, I’ll tell him that these passages mark all of us; that birth and death, even as metaphors, are bedfellows; that like me, he will spend many years making it up as he goes along, pecking away at dreams and hopes and goals because he’ll think he needs something external to validate his existence. Then one day he’ll learn that nothing shatters the illusions we build around ourselves like love. It throws us off balance, yes, but it is also the light that pours in and opens our senses to the wonders of the world outside of the safe, familiar shells we’ve been living in. It leads us out of ourselves and into the world, blinking, wondering what we’ve been doing all of this time, inside our own heads, forgetting to come out and play.

Then we feel the warmth of the sun on our faces, the way the trees seem to sway with the breeze, and the way we seem to be a perfect part of this dance just by showing up.

And we smile, knowing that finally, we’ve graduated.

Empowered Fashion

Well, my experiment lasted 6 months.

Beginning in December, and going until May, I did not purchase any new clothes. My plan was to do this for an entire year. I even pledged to give away much of my existing wardrobe, though that was primarily because I was tired of it and/or many items no longer fit. I had several reasons for this experiment, all noble and very liberal-conscientious-almost pretentious sounding.

But by May 1st, I'd quite had enough of opening my closet door with zero enthusiasm. So I went shopping.

Why?



In pink silk, fresh from the salon...

 Because I like clothes. Alot. And shoes. And jewelry. Does this make me a shallow, lemming-minded person who has no depth or real life purpose?

Hardly.

Back in fall, when I wrote a feature article on fashion for a local online magazine, (http://www.greenwoodtimes.com/content/fashion-forward) a friend asked me how it felt to write about something so trivial as high fashion. I'm not sure why they asked me this; fashion is hardly trivial. It's an industry, a lifestyle, a huge part of how we define who we are. I have read fashion magazines since I was 12 years old. And though from time to time I like to explore my own ideas about style, blending thrift store jeans with department store shoes, a hand-me-down jacket with a DKNY blouse, vintage gemstone jewelry with brassy finds from the $1 jewelry shop, I've come to realize is this one, simple thing - when we look better, we feel better, no matter what our style.

New shoes, new hoodie, new hair - because kids like to look good, too!!

At 39, I've been through many phases of style, but now prefer a more sophisticated look. And why not? I'm a grown up, and I've waited a long time to dress like one. During my shopping hiatus, I took a critical  look at my wardrobe, and thought, for the most part...bleh.

Ugh...that's all I'm going to say.

I took a good long look at a few items and asked myself, "What were you thinking?" Then I got a big black bag and filled it up so much that Stacy and Clinton (of What Not to Wear fame) would have been proud. I think it's the typical mom thing - with the kid comes the desire to go for ease and convenience with clothes and in the end we realize our entire wardrobe is composed of beige, wrinkle-free garments with lots of elastic. In the far back, somewhere, are designer jeans and strapless dresses but who has time for that now? When I did want a little flair in my style, I went back mentally to my post-motherhood days, when I shopped over-priced vintage clothing stores on the streets of Ann Arbor and sewed sequined things onto the legs of my jeans. I don't know why. It just seemed to fit.

But that all changed during my 6-month shopping hiatus. I noticed fashion more once I wasn't purchasing it, and I realized that I had no real, authentic desire to dress like the 23-year-old art student whose most prized posession was a pair of perfectly faded 501 jeans with a sequined rose vine climbing up one side. And because I had given away most of my wardrobe, come spring, there was no other choice...I went shopping.

I love these shoes so much, I want to marry them...

And it was so glorious, I did it again.

And again.

My man friend laughed, saying he knew I couldn't do it, go a whole year without buying clothes, but he's a trendy Euro-chic guy who would not be caught dead in public wearing sloppy jeans and/or a baseball cap himself, so he can't throw stones at my love of clothes. (He even has a Nomination bracelet like the one he gave me, but without the dangling silver star, of course!) And wise soul that he is, he never saw the point I was trying to make in my no-shopping mission. It just took some time before I realized I didn't really see the point in what I was doing, either. He laughed when I explained how I had chosen to end the vow and buy some spring tops. It's both frustrating and warming to the soul when someone knows you better than you know yourself. And I also realize that a love of fashion does not negate any depth or originality in person's soul. I've learned that the best things about a person are the things you get to see when you take time to get to know them, and even the most enlightened person will make a quick judgement based on a person's style - or lack of it.  We all need work in this area. But I've decided if I'm gonna be judged, I'd rather it be because I'm overdressed for an event rather than looking like I got dressed in the 1990s for it.

So did I learn anything else from my 6 months off shopping?

Yes.

I learned that the department stores miss you when you don't visit often. They send out the big guns, with amazing coupons and discounts and something-for-nothings for cardholders that make me wonder how they make any profit at all. But I'm not going to complain; I refurbished my wardrobe for near pennies by saving these coupons up. I learned some things seem more noble, but they really aren't a big deal to most of the world. I learned that feeling good and looking good are often inter-connected. I learned there is no shame in loving and desiring quality, pretty things. I learned that my entire attitude changes when I slip on my D & G sunglasses and purple (faux) snakeskin pumps. Does it change who I am inside? Of course not. But it does make me feel empowered when I know I look stunning, and that's a pretty damn good feeling.

And that, my loves, is the entire purpose of fashion.

Go get some.

The Trouble With Gurus

There's an innate danger in getting too close to someone whose life and lifestyle you admire. And that is watching the illusions that you've built up around them completely dissolve when they suddenly become human.

This can be a blessing - you realize that they are human, like you, and prone to human actions and emotions, like you.

But it can also be unsettling to realize how willing we are at times to put those we admire onto pedestals, trusting thier wisdom, judgement, and intuition completely. At times, even over our own.

It's a danger, this. Because in the end, we are all human, prone to human actions and emotions, exceedingly imperfect...even the gurus we hold in such high regard.

This I realize as I watch the trajectory of a former-guru-cum-close-friend's life spin into a total 360 from what it was when we first met.

And the thing is, they seem deliriously content to keep letting it spin, because apparently, the wonderful life they'd presented for years, the wonderful life I witnessed and occasionally felt envious of, well....let's just say I've now learned was really, deep down, anything but wonderful.

They were far from satisfied...

But it's okay, because now they are really coming into themselves. Now everything is moving along as it should be. Now they can finally cast aside the mantle of who they were and delve head-first into who they were meant to be. If it hurts someone else, that's a shame, but other people just get hurt sometimes. In the end, we have to consider ourselves and our happiness and what is right for us, even if it seems catastrophically selfish to the outside world. Forget all that other stuff and listen to this new wisdom they have to share. Because it's the real deal. And they want to celebrate every step of it with all the people they love...except maybe the ones who aren't speaking to them anymore but whatever, they'll come around and if not, well, everyone is not meant to be in our lives forever and sometimes we just have to - forgive the cliche - let go. Perhaps they just can't accompany us into this journey to our higher selves. Bless them anyway.

Funny, watching these things as they unfold, wondering what happened, and how much of this person's current actions conceal the deeper reality that for much of the time I held them to such high knowing and regard, they really were not any wiser than me...and clearly, not happier.

It makes me a little sad to think I was thier friend, and yet could have missed something that's now so glaringly obvious, but to my credit, the persona was quite convincing.

And there's the trouble with gurus....

Honey Pot Karma

The honey pot!

For the past year or so, I’ve had the goal to replace all of my dishware with handmade pottery pieces. I accomplish this slowly, a piece or two at a time, acquiring them everywhere from yard sales to pottery sales to being given a piece or two as gifts. But the pottery sales are my favorite, because I get to take my son along and pick out a piece together. At the student potters' sale at a local college, we perused items that were decorative, functional, and beautifully one-of-a-kind. But we settled on a honey pot, something I've wanted forever and was delighted to see  priced well within our budget.

On the way home, we discussed the importance of supporting the arts, from my own perspective as an artist. "If we want other people to support our creative efforts," I explained, "then we need to support the creative efforts of others, by attending shows or buying things from artists and artisans when we can." We were vending at an art festival the coming weekend, and as I explained to him, could hardly expect other people to support our work if we did not support the creative work of others.


Jewelry display, festival ready!

I’m a firm believer in karma; I’ve seen it at work in my own life and in the lives of others. If you aren’t familiar with the term, let’s just say it makes for some good common sense to believe that we tend to get back what we give. Karma also extends to the reasons we have for giving – is it a true wish to do good from the heart, or is it based on the idea people will think we’re an ass if we don’t do a particular thing for someone else? There is one truth to karma…the desire to do good must be sincere in order to attract good; there is no place in giving (as there is no place pretty much anywhere else) for the ego. And everything, from the way we treat friends to the way we spend money, has a sense of karma.

All set up and ready to sell! Free trees, diplaced by our garden tilling, at the bottom of display; proud to say we gave them ALL away!

My son is 8, and not so much into art-making these days, but he’s got no choice but to tag along with mom to the fairs and festivals where I vend. So when he asked, “Can I sell stuff at the festivals, too?” I thought, ‘Oh, yes!’ This will make it more fun and meaningful for him, and also, hopefully, teach him a thing or two about karma.

Eric with some of his festival paintings. We had so much fun!

My fervent desire on the rainy drive up Sunday was that people would support his work. He’d toiled over making several small paintings and collecting smooth river stones that we washed and turned into ‘blessing stones’ by writing inspirational words on them with a Sharpie. I wanted him to see the cycle of it all, how our giving support to the student potters by attending thier show and making a purchase would culminate in people visiting our booths at the festival and making purchases.

Festival goers did not disappoint. By the end of the day, my son had sold 3 paintings and over half of his blessing stones. I sold many of my greeting cards and made a trade with another vendor. It was a fun and prosperous day for both my son and myself, and on the way home, we talked about how well we had done.

A quiet moment...me knitting during downtime at the festival

“Did we earn back what we spent on the honey pot?” He asked, and I had to smile.

“Oh yes,” I replied. “We got that…and then some.”

Which is typically true…what we put out there, into the world, we get back, and then some, whether it’s kindness or dysfunction, love or jealousy, the idea of giving freely or holding tightly to money and possessions.

Sunny day fun in the garden...

In the garden, as in life, we reap what we sow. In some small way, this weekend, my son got to see this theory in action. For this lesson, I am so grateful.

Sow love.

Earth...Day????



On litter patrol...

 I had to laugh when a friend asked me if I was doing anything special with my son for Earth Day weekend.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” I responded, amused by the question. Not that I am undermining the importance of the holiday – it’s one of my favorites, after all. But when I look at the things that people will choose to do in order to honor the earth on this day, I am often amazed that they aren’t doing these things every day, as we do. Maybe we’re just blessed to be able to live in a way that intentionally honors the not only the earth, but also its rhythms and cycles, but it’s simple and easy, once you make a few minor adjustments to your lifestyle.

If you headed this weekend out to attend rallies, pick up trash, take your child to a festival where they planted a squash seed in a milk carton or planted trees, kudos to you. Let it be a kick-start to a permanent commitment to honor the earth and her cycles through daily lifestyle practices.

Here are a few suggestions for making every day Earth Day...

1. Unplug and get outside. It’s impossible to appreciate the earth, and nature, if you spend no real time enjoying her. And get your kids out, too. Be outside with them, together. At my house, the television could explode and no one would care. Games and gadgets given to my son by well-meaning family members – who assume he will like them because other children in the family do – gather dust on shelves. One of the highlights of our day is outside time, and unless it’s raining, it’s built into every day’s schedule. I take ‘outside time’ into consideration even when planning how long I will stay at work that day. Gardening, woods walks, or just playing, being outside is good for the body and soul in so many immeasurable ways. You don’t have to go anywhere extravagant; you can take a hike in your own neighborhood; camp out in your own backyard. Children are essential to the continuing the conservation of our earth’s resources, and if they are not taught to value nature more than television and technology…well…prognosis negative, if you know what I mean...

Sometimes I think we spend more time outside than in...

2. Eat local and what’s in season, and eat less meat and dairy. Of course, ideally, eating no meat would be a far better goal, but the indoctrination to eat meat starts early in many people, especially males, and it becomes too precious of a habit to give up. “He’s a meat and potatoes kind of guy” is a common term used to describe men in the South, and it also – falsely – implies that the eating of meat makes one more rugged and strong, just like the idea that human beings need cow’s milk/milk products for optimum health. It’s a lot of dogma to battle, but the greater battle is fighting to keep industrial meat and dairy farms from destroying more wild spaces in order to graze the ever growing herds of cattle human beings are determined to consume. So while Michael Pollan, environmental and dietary author (and one of my absolute favorite men in the universe) nails it when he says, “Eat. Not a lot. Mostly plants,” eating meat and dairy has just become such a mainstream habit, it seems impossible to many families to imagine giving it up. So rather than say no to it all, let’s just agree to eat less of it all. (And maybe, in time, you’ll not have a need to eat any of it at all.) And not enough can be said about the benefits of eating locally verses eating foods from God-knows-where. When you feel compelled to argue that ‘such-and-such says this is an important source of this-and-that and therefore we must eat it year-round’, remember that such-and-such may be on the provider payroll…it’s called kickbacks, it’s a huge part of marketing, and the food industry is one of the greatest abusers of suggestive advertising to ever hit the planet.

You can't put a price on a dinner this fresh..spinach from my own garden, not a state across the country.

3. Complain. And not on Facebook or to your buddies, but to the powers that be whenever you see wild spaces being destroyed. You can’t make people care, but you can let the world know you care, and that will attract to your circle more people that care, and soon you’ll have a small group of people who are determined to change the world…and we’ve all heard the saying that’s the only thing that ever does! Write letters to the newspaper editors, people in government, and environmental organizations. Ask how you can help.

4. Freak out your neighbors and plant a garden where your lawn once was. I mean, what is the point of growing a tidy plot of grass? Unless you have a small herd of goats, there isn’t one. More and more people are waking up to this concept. If you live in an apartment or townhouse complex and only have a few feet of lawn, plant a community garden in a common area, or look for ways to grow things in small spaces. Often there are grants funds available for community gardens; explore those options. Involve your children, too. Chances are, they will remember a garden where food grew far more than they’ll remember the grass at the house where they grew up. And it will serve the added purposes of eating local food that’s in season and spending time outside.

I do love our community garden. So glad we did not move and leave it behind.

5. Reduce, reuse and recycle. Yeah, it’s become a catch phrase, but it’s a good one. A few months ago I started an online group that exchanges children’s clothing. Since then I’ve given away two loads of my son’s clothes and been given several bags of sizes he can wear next fall. I’m a known garbage picker who will haul a good side-of-the road find home and turn it into something useful any day of the week. My philosophy here is two-fold: the less need I have to spend money, the less time I need to spend working, and the more time I can devote to following my passions…like being outside, planting gardens. Also recycle food scraps into compost bins. Between recycling and composting, I may toss one bag of real, actual garbage a week. And that's a 13 gallon bag. It makes a difference.

6. Turn out the lights when you leave a room and unplug appliances that are not in use. A given, but I visit homes all the time where every light is burning and no one is in the room.

7. Walk or bike whenever you can. Not just weekend-warrior style marathon excursions, but just for daily life, if possible. I gave away my bike a few months ago, an impulsive decision I now regret, but I walk everywhere I can, my son walking or biking beside me. His tax-time treat was an uber-expensive cycle that will grow with him, and he rides it every day. I’m often amazed at his stamina on hills and long treks. As a comparison, a friend of his got a new game system as a tax-time treat, and when he spent an afternoon with us, he could not keep up when we walked to the store, which is just a few blocks away. So there is a two-fold purpose to using our bodies to get us from point A to point B.

The toddler beds that I recycled into zucchini and cucumber beds. Big basket in front, since painted red, was picked up off side of the road. :-)

Well, I think I’ll stop here because otherwise this could go on forever. I’ll leave with the advice to believe what old folks say about honoring the earth’s cycles. Buy a Farmer’s Almanac. Listen to what Native Elders believed about how all things are connected. Think outside of the box about how you can make a difference for the environment. Teach the children well.

And love your Mother.