Last week, I unintentionally took a creative retreat. That is to say, I got incredibly sick. I spent four days in bed. Occasionally, I would get up and shower, put clean pajamas on, and then get back in bed. I read five books. Wrote down fragments of fevered dreams in my journal. Watched a…
In the History of Music it is usual for composers to honor others. This is the case of a disciple paying tribute to the master. There are several examples of this coupling. In this post we will enjoy with the music of one of them from a living composer. Estonia is a country located…
The Old Magic of Christmas, pebble meditations, shopping locally, comfort food, and music to keep our fires burning in this week’s Love List.
One trend I have noticed occurring with people who purchase the book The Artist’s Way is the tendency to slowly let it drop or fall behind. I started following along in the book with a Facebook group. To be honest, I wasn’t sure of my commitment to the program in the first place which is…
Parenthood is a test of endurance. It can be both maddening and amazing at the same time. There can be a balance. Your art can still thrive as you wipe boogies and pull spaghetti from your hair.
It is cold and dark outside. I want to sleep under thick layers of blankets with warm, fuzzy socks and draw the blinds tight. I want to drink hot tea and coffee and an occasionally, hot cocoa. I want to eat soup for dinner and I don’t want to leave my house—but rather sink into…
In our society we eagerly embrace labor-saving devices and often pay people to do the physically demanding work of maintaining our homes, yards, and vehicles. To afford this ease, we work longer hours. Then we “discipline” ourselves to engage in strenuous exercise despite the evolutionary pull toward common sense laziness.
May we all find our way through the storms, even when the way is not known.
I am a morning person. I have always been. I love their secretive nature, the tone of possibility, the spaciousness.
Street lights, in a line
coaxing me to follow.
The blackboard of daytime activity
now empty with want—
summer heat its only companion,
kissing the air,
while clips of lightning
expose the night.
“Give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light.”
Yet, like fall into winter,
the hues of hope flew south,
their pull finding space in life’s migration.