Chaos vs. order

hertableweb
Her side

Order is the shape upon which beauty depends.

Thanks PearI Buck: I couldn’t agree more. Order clears my mind, calms my soul,  and pleases my eye.

histableweb
His side

Unfortunately, the forces of chaos are powerful. There’s even a word for it: entropy, which means that systems tend toward disorder.

I live with three people and two cats who are just fine with that. I don’t think there’s anything malicious in their disregard; they simply don’t see a problem till I freak out.

Then, of course, I’m the bad guy. Someone might even say bitch.

But is it too much to ask that people rinse their dishes and put them in the dishwasher? I don’t think so.  Is it fair that I straighten up after everyone else? No way. Is it likely to change? Not if entropy has anything to do with it.

So chaos, you win. But don’t even think about messing with my studio—or get ready for WAR.

Think process, not product

cover1edMy birthday present: going away with Sam, leaving everything else behind, taking an art class, and making a very cool journal. I can’t think of a better way to turn 65.

greenwomanI’m talking about two and a half days of making art, instruction from mixed media artist Pam Garrison, access to every art supply you can imagine, great food, and good company.

In other words, heaven.

Pam taught us how to bind a unique book and use mixed graffitimedia in new ways.  She encouraged us to get out of our comfort zone, try new things and remember “it’s about process, not product.” Besides,

“We can always fix it!”

The class was at Donna Downey’s Studio in Huntersville, NC (just outside Charlotte), which is a spectacular place for art play.

The classes are not cheap, but you get what you’ve treestencilpaid for: learning from national artists, getting support for your art, and being treated like royalty.

donna
Donna Downey observing our class

Donna provides everything you need and then some: a  room full of tools, materials and supplies; breakfast, lunch, snacks and drinks; and her overflowing spirit, humor and graciousness.

So if you live anywhere nearby, do yourself a favor and register for a class. And if you live far away—register for a class, too.  You deserve it.

Autism is not a disease

autistickidcropNo one showed up for this boy’s birthday.

I get it. He’s autistic. I can just hear the teachers talking about his “social skills deficits,” parents whispering that he’s “out of control,” and kids calling him “weird.”

I know because that’s how it was with my son. Although Ben didn’t have the same experience, he experienced the same pain: not understanding the social conventions, what he was doing wrong or why he was being picked on.

I remember one time driving to his therapy group when he told me the tortures he’d endured that day. (The minute I dropped him off, I went straight to the neighborhood bar for a scotch, something I’d never done before—and haven’t since.)

Somehow Ben made it through all this to become the young man he is today—beautiful inside and out.  People love him wherever we go,  because he’s so there when he’s with you. He looks at you without pretense or judgment and really listens, and responds thoughtfully.

No wonder Ben is pissed when people refer to autism as a disease. He sees it as his identity—and wonders what’s so great about being “normal.”

But getting back to the other little boy. His mother posted something on Facebook and the town’s fire fighters, adults, and children all turned out  to celebrate.autistic-firemen

It’s such a pleasure to hear about people doing the right thing, we ought to pass it on.

Where are you going in such a hurry?

skatingw“Debbela! Where are you going in such a hurry?” Grandma Rose often asked me.  But I was too busy zooming around the house and crashing into things to answer.

Now I’m the age she was then, and I wonder the same thing—about everyone else.

I know our world keeps moving faster, but still…Do we really need to run around like crazy debcastwpeople? Stay perpetually busy? Check everything off the list?

I don’t think so. In fact, I’m pretty sure we need just the reverse: more time to do little or nothing, to stop being so productive, to get bored.

Bored?! I know. It sounds shocking, backwards, wrong. But apparently we need long stretches of empty time to tap into the creative part of the brain, let new ideas emerge and combine old ones in new ways.

I’m not the only one to come to this conclusion, by the way. Diverse thinkers from Soren Kierkegaard to Virginia Woolf and Van Gogh have recognized the value of boredom (or “idleness,” if the B word offends you).

Brenda Ueland, author of the classic guide, If You Want to Write, put it this way:

The imagination needs moodling—long, inefficient happy idling, dawdling and puttering.

So do yourself a favor today. Ignore your to do list. Do nothing purposeful. Get bored (or idle). And I think you’ll find, in the words of mindfulness guru Jon Kabat-Zinn:

When you pay attention to boredom, it gets really interesting,

Moving sloooowly

sloow_edited-1
Marker on huge newsprint pad.

I know that Continuum Movement has been a healing practice for my friend Susan Fowler. But I didn’t know why until last weekend, when I finally took a class with her.

Before I explain, let me set the stage. You drive through the countryside, arrive at a beautiful, renovated  old school, and enter a world of white walls, 14-foot ceilings, hardwood floors, big windows, and lots of light.

Then you walk into Spanda Studio and meet the teacher, Sabine Mead, a shining spirit who lets you know that it’s okay, you’re okay, and whatever you are called to do is okay.

I was totally ready to love the class, Diving To Write.

Sabine coached us on ways to go deep into the body to escape the internal censor and write from the heart. My favorite movement was “sloshing.” You lie on a mat and let your body lead you to make small, organic movements—very slowly—and feel what’s going on inside you.

Slow is not my normal pace, so I was surprised by how much I liked it.  My writing surprised me, too: it s-t-r-e t-c-h- e-d out, just like me.

Please post a comment (now that you can)

havefunweb1_edited-1I just fixed my technology problem, which means you can finally post a comment on my blog! I love your comments and have missed hearing from you.

The solution turned out to be simple: uncheck two boxes on the Settings/ Discussion page. That’s it. No problem—if you know where the page is and that Discussion means Comments. (I didn’t.)

The real obstacle, though, was internal. I’d heard that WordPress wouldn’t let you do that; subscribers had to “register.” It didn’t sound right, but it was easier to do nothing and besides, an inner voice was shouting, “You can’t do it! It’s too hard! You’ll screw it up!” and so on.

Fortunately, Lynda reminded me of the problem yesterday, and I finally dug in and figured out how to fix it.

“Aren’t you proud of yourself?” Margaret has often asked me, and I’ve always said no. Until now.

Finding my way back to the artist’s way

1998jrnlsI can’t believe it was 1998 the last time I did The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron’s 12-week program for recovering creatives. Seventeen years later, it’s a very different experience.

It’s not just that I’m older and at a different stage of life; I’m also approaching it differently. This time I’m in a class—a group of six fabulous women led by Marlene Pelligrino—at Sertoma Arts Center.

The group dynamic changes everything for me. I’m not alone. I get to experience this through my peers, as well as my own private practice. I’m both supported and accountable to the commitment I’ve made.

Basically, that means writing morning pages (three pages fast, unedited, every day), taking a weekly artist date (doing something special on my own), and doing some or all of the exercises at the end of each chapter.

On a larger level, though, this is an opportunity to dream, to dare, to fly. The question is, Can I get past my fear? My self-doubt? My self?

It’s got to be easier than it was 17 years ago. I’m amazed that I took this on when I was at the peak of my career, raising two teenagers, taking care of Mom, managing a house, and keeping our marriage together. (Just writing that makes me want to go back to bed.)

When I finished the Artist’s Way last time, I wrote some stories about my life and my fantasies. Wonder what to expect at the end of these 12 weeks, just as I’m turning 65…

In Which Deb Falls Into Victoriana

dollhouse

What Our Heroine Does While She Can’t Do Much…Or, The Powerful Impact of Chance.

OK, enough of that. The point is, I’ve become somewhat immersed in the Victorian era, about which I know nothing. It all started with—this is embarrassing—A Victorian Dollhouse sticker book. Really.

The “rooms” in the book are evocative of another time, but the stickers, well, they’re just kind of dumb. So I cut up a couple of cheap picture books to make my own house and found some Victorian paper dolls to inhabit it.

At the same time, I started reading some Victorian classics, and was surprised to find how similar that era was to our own. Just as technology has transformed our world, industrialization created a new economy, increased the gap between rich and poor, and upset the old social order. For instance:

  • The protagonist in Anthony Trollope’s The Way We Live Now, could double for Bernie Madoff.
  • In The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, by Anne Bronte (I didn’t even know there was a third Bronte sister) tackles issues of domestic abuse and gender roles.
  • In North and SouthElizabeth Gaskell presents cogent arguments for the engines of commerce on the one hand, and the rights of workers on the other.

Oh yeah, and they’re great stories, too.

It’s all relative

bluecast purplecast

I thought the first splint was bad till I complained and got a new, bigger one.

After wearing the purple one for a few days, I put on the blue one and guess what? It was suddenly much more comfortable. (If the doctor didn’t do this on purpose, he should have.)

That’s how I see relativity: our experience is shaped by the context.

Einstein’s definition (even the colloquial version) is much more elegant.

“Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That’s relativity.”

My conclusion: things happen, but the way I experience them is all in my head. This would be a good season to remember that—and let go of my righteous indignation, no matter how justified it seems.

What about you?

Looking up

 

rainbowweb1“If you don’t believe in God, just look up at the sky,” my mother-in-law used to say.

Ruth Averitt knew what she was talking about.

I mean, is there anything grander than the show above us? More awe-inspiring? More beautiful?

Nothing except a rainbow, like this one we saw yesterday.

I was too slow to get a photograph of the whole arc,  and maybe that’s how it should be. Because this is obviously a gift from the heavens, a harbinger of good things, and an opportunity to practice gratitude.

Thank you Adonai/God/Goddess/Allah/Great Spirit/Higher Power/Universe, for this amazing planet and all your creation.