“It takes as much energy to wish as it does to plan.” –Eleanor Roosevelt
“If you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for a moment.”
― Georgia O’Keefe
Yesterday a friend gave me yellow tulips. Thanks Anna. Resting on my kitchen table was an eight-day-old bouquet curling, turning brown, and dropping petals.
I just had to photograph them. Damn, I find decay so tragically beautiful and mysterious. You might get tired of my fading flora images, I’ll be posting many more in the near future.
Moving thousands of miles away from the security of family and friends, settling or cultivating unfamiliar land and trying to create something out of nothing is what many of our ancestors did in order to create a new life for themselves and their families.
- PIONEER noun: a person who is among the first to explore or settle a new country or area
- HOMESTEADER noun: someone who acquires or occupies territory as a homestead
I believe my heart and mind are new territories meant to be explored continually—expectations managed as circumstances dictate. I’m a pioneer on my very own emotional homestead, granted the privilege to manage exactly as I choose.
Excerpt from The Homestead Act of 1862
“Claimants were required to “improve” the plot by building a dwelling and cultivating the land. After 5 years on the land, the original filer was entitled to the property, free and clear…”
“The Homestead Act, enacted during the Civil War in 1862, provided that any adult citizen, or intended citizen, who had never borne arms against the U.S. government could claim 160 acres of surveyed government land. Claimants were required to “improve” the plot by building a dwelling and cultivating the land. After 5 years on the land, the original filer was entitled to the property, free and clear, except for a small registration fee. Title could also be acquired after only a 6-month residency and trivial improvements, provided the claimant paid the government $1.25 per acre. After the Civil War, Union soldiers could deduct the time they had served from the residency requirements.”https://www.ourdocuments.gov/doc.php?flash=false&doc=31
I’ve had a really hard time getting out of my own way lately. So, I asked myself this very question.
OK, Lisa, are they real or imagined?
Damnit, I had to answer honestly…most of them, of course, are imagined.
They aren’t barriers per se, they’re just excuses—everyday run of the mill, tried and true excuses I’ve used for years and years and will continue to use far too frequently. However, now I have to face at least a little personal accountability, especially around my creative goals.
So, what barriers are you willing to bust through to reach your goals?
I’m staying in my childhood home in Burke, South Dakota. Today I got up very early to write. I made coffee and stepped out on the porch for some fresh air. I was dumbstruck by the beauty of the sunrise and the moonset in unison over the east-facing field.
Left: today’s sunrise/moonset Right: last night’s sunset.
The moon was so seductive to me that I actually felt a little “witchy”. I hopped in my rental and headed east on gravel roads to get closer to the moon. Deer. Stars. A light wind. Birds chirping. Lovely.
NOTE: Speaking of “witchy”, I was born with an extra finger on my left hand (as was my daughter, Lucy). I’ve been told that it’s the sign of a witch, although from what I’ve read, it was mostly the patriarchy and the churches afraid of women who used herbs and other methods of healing. Oh, men, always so threatened by powerful women.
Once thought to be a sign of witchcraft, extra digits are actually the most common developmental abnormality found at birth. About two children in a thousand have extra fingers or toes.
Marilyn Monroe didn’t have extra digits, urban legends notwithstanding, but Anne Boleyn and Winston Churchill both did. And Atlanta Braves pitcher Antonio “The Octopus” Alfonseca was born with six fingers and six toes.https://www.futilitycloset.com/2005/02/10/a-great-big-hand/
I don’t have a telephoto lens or the patience for long exposure images, but I was able to capture these images. A perfect October experience in South Dakota…chasing a waning crescent moon.
My mother always told me that I looked a lot like Winston Churchill as a baby. Now, I know why—Lucy and I share a rather unique trait with him.
Last week I posted photographs of fabric fraying with this quote: “Once the fabric of a just society is undone, it takes generations to weave it back together.” —Deepak Chopra
Well, it sure sparked some interesting dialogue. Right now, I do feel that it could potentially take generations to weave our society back together. However, as a rather optimistic realist…I wholeheartedly believe we can. Don’t we all want to feel safe, loved, connected and purposeful? What if we focused on our similarities, not our differences? Threads.
Humans need threads—tight, loose and in-between to other people, places and groups. How we choose to connect our threads is up to us individually.
Are we going to weave from a place of FEAR or LOVE?
When we’re anxious or fearful we tend to look outside of ourselves to make sense of our feelings. It’s so much easier to scan for someone or something else to blame than to be self-reflective and take responsibility for our emotions and actions. I would sooooo much rather blame someone else than acknowledge my own bullshit. I’m working on it. It’s a process.
Right now, it seems to me that politics are filling some sort of identity gap where other threads should be continually and carefully woven.
WHY? Why now?
Our party affiliation won’t ever bring us homemade soup when we’re sick, pick up a middle-of-the-night call when we’re in distress or just show up, even when we don’t understand what we actually need ourselves.
Last night we had a wild storm—tornado warnings, wind, heaving rain, lightning and thunder. I’ve always loved storms. After it passed, the neighborhood was eerily quiet. My daughter, Willa and I stayed up until things settled down.
I get up really early, always have. I don’t like to get up in the 4s…however, anything after 5:00 works for me. I fed our cat, Karen, headed out to get a coffee at Dunkin’ & listen to my book, City of Girls by Elizabeth Gilbert—sooooo good, and survey the storm damage. We only had leaves covering our deck and a few small branches here and there, nothing major to report.
I ended up at the bottom of the hill at Town Neck Beach. I was the only one in the parking lot at 5:25am…rare actually. Another car pulled up, a man got out and walked onto the beach in the rain. There was just something about him that I found quite intriquing. He didn’t seem sad, but clearly he was in a thoughtful mood. A fisherman wondering about his day perhaps? A visitor seeing his long-planned day at the beach with his young kids thwarted? Or perhaps just a guy on his way to work who likes storms as much as I do.
He took pictures of the stone sculpture that somehow survived the storm. I can’t imagine that someone built it in the dark between 11pm and 5am. It’s design is structurally mighty impressive. Damn.
I waited for him to get into his car, then I got out to get a shot of the sculpture as well. Walking the beach I found myself looking out at the exact spot a friend’s ashes were scattered a few years ago in one of the most sorrowful and stunning moments I’ve ever witnessed in my 52.8 years.
The beach reflected the generous spirit and remarkably unique inner wildness of her this morning. I know she would’ve loved the images in this post and be grateful that I didn’t mention her by name. That was simply not her style.
I just finished reading Main Street for the third time. First, I was 20 (college), then 25 (just married) and last week at the uniquely tender and remarkably nostalgic age of fifty-two.
Lewis’ character, Carol helped me understand both why I had to leave South Dakota and why the prairie is so doggedly a part of my identity (and my art)…even though I left nearly three decades ago.
“The days of pioneering, of lassies in sunbonnets, and bears killed with axes in piney clearings, are deader now than Camelot; and a rebellious girl is the spirit of that bewildered empire called the American Middlewest.”
― Sinclair Lewis, Main Street
ego death and then about a bunch of stuff I’m interested in right now. I find myself wanting to post less and less lately. For what it’s worth, here’s a list of my recent sparks. I see patterns emerge when I look at what’s taking up most of my thought time.
Sarah Blondin’s mediation on the INSIGHT app: Our Warring Self vs. Our Infinite Self. The time I showed up as a warrior for far too long when what was require of me was heart space. I noticed. I hope I can keep noticing. https://insighttimer.com/sarahblondin/guided-meditations/our-warring-self-vs-our-infinite-self
I really miss my Dad...the term Fatherless Daughter just hits me at the oddest times…especially with my girls are home from college now. Damn.
You Tube discus throwing videos, The National Senior Games are really soon. This is also about my Dad and connecting with my inner young athlete again.
Bowen Family theory https://thebowencenter.org/theory/eight-concepts/
Addiction is a primary, chronic disease of brain reward, motivation, memory and related circuitry. The brain uses an equal opportunity reward system, unable to distinguish drugs from behaviors or thought loops. https://www.asame..org/resources/definition-of-addiction
Low residency MFA programs, writing workshops, retreats where I could write, do some chores and go horseback riding out west. Any suggestions would be most welcomed. (Most google searches now.)
Patti Smith, Robert Mapplethorp, Andy Warhol, Janis Joplin, Sam Shepard…1960-70s New York City photographs.
New York Times Persian Food recipes I want to make, but probably won’t.
I want to go horseback riding out west and in Iceland.
What’s dominating your thoughts and google searches today, this week or year?