In my notebook: Calm

Spring snow and ice has contained much of my time to our house.  I had to take a drive just to get out of town, just so I could see beyond the houses that make up my skyline.  I drove out towards Sheep Mountain on Hwy 230. My sister and I used to take the same route when we were going to school at the University of Wyoming so we could escape life and have a few hours with good music and beautiful surroundings. 

The evening was cloudy with evidence of another spring storm on its way.  The unrest in the sky matched my mood, but I was surprised at how calm I began to feel just as I left town and the view of the plains and the mountains opened up.  Those “university days” drives my sister and I would take were years away, but the familiar feel of escape and freedom, if only for a quick drive, were easily found.

I drove just over 20 miles out of town and stopped at a little lake surrounded by cottonwoods.  The water in the lake, the stones around the shore line, the trees still lifeless from winter all seemed gray.  I related with thoughts of upcoming knee surgery, recovery, along with other stressors in life.

But there were hints of green below the pale grass that covered the plains, and the surrounding mountains held on to the last snow storm and stood out against the dark sky. 

Calm- was the word I thought of as I drove back home.  Nothing more than calm…

Words in the Week: Quote from an interview with writer Doris Lessing

Here is a quote on writing that I enjoyed finding this week.  The quote is one Doris Lessing said during an interview that was originally published in The Paris Review.

"... I think a writer’s job is to provoke questions. I like to think that if someone’s read a book of mine, they’ve had—I don’t know what—the literary equivalent of a shower. Something that would start them thinking in a slightly different way perhaps. That’s what I think writers are for. This is what our function is. We spend all our time thinking about how things work, why things happen, which means that we are more sensitive to what’s going on."

~Doris Lessing, The Art of Fiction No. 102, The Paris Review

Small Stones #18

Today I heard the chickadees. 

It has been very cold (-20 and below) and finally it warmed up to around 23 degrees Fahrenheit.  The chickadees sang their "chicka-dee-dee-dee-dee-dee" song, a very welcome verse to hear during the silence of winter.

Our snow has settled and the days stretch a little longer, as do the pink hues of the sun rises and sunsets along the mountains.  No longer does the very dark seep in to stay.

I'm sure more snow will come, but for now what rests is best kept silent, and our lives continue on.

Sometimes being a writer can be, in a word, frustrating.  Trying to release the stories in your mind, the action, the inspiriataion, can become overwhelming.  And then I read a quote like this, one that helps explain the reasoning, the desire to press forward.

“What did I want?
I wanted a Roc's egg. I wanted a harem loaded with lovely odalisques less than the dust beneath my chariot wheels, the rust that never stained my sword,. I wanted raw red gold in nuggets the size of your fist and feed that lousy claim jumper to the huskies! I wanted to get u feeling brisk and go out and break some lances, then pick a like wench for my droit du seigneur--I wanted to stand up to the Baron and dare him to touch my wench! I wanted to hear the purple water chuckling against the skin of the Nancy Lee in the cool of the morning watch and not another sound, nor any movement save the slow tilting of the wings of the albatross that had been pacing us the last thousand miles.

 I wanted the hurtling moons of Barsoom. I wanted Storisende and Poictesme, and Holmes shaking me awake to tell me, "The game's afoot!" I wanted to float down the Mississippi on a raft and elude a mob in company with the Duke of Bilgewater and the Lost Dauphin.

 I wanted Prestor John, and Excalibur held by a moon-white arm out of a silent lake. I wanted to sail with Ulysses and with Tros of Samothrace and eat the lotus in a land that seemed always afternoon. I wanted the feeling of romance and the sense of wonder I had known as a kid. I wanted the world to be what they had promised me it was going to be--instead of the tawdry, lousy, fouled-up mess it is.”
― Robert A. Heinlein, Glory Road

Mountain Blue Jays

A Mountain Blue Jay, and friends, have been landing in our backyard over the past few weeks.  Their vivid blue color speaks out against the drab brown and yellow grasses that are poking up from the remainders of our snow.  I'm hungry for their color, such a stark contrast from the white I am used to seeing, that my eyes follow wherever they fly.

On a drive up the valley along the Wind River mountains they zig-zag and fly across the road.  So many!  Even when we get a spring snow storm they stay, unalarmed by the sharp change in temperature and the ice that gathers in the corner of my window.

Small Stone #16

"The red-winged blackbirds are back," she said, making small talk in the post office.
The red-winged blackbird, I sigh. I can hear their throaty talk, see them perched on a willow.
They are our mountain sign of spring, of running water, of life under the sun with a song.
"I hope they know what they are doing," she said.
So do I.

#15 Small Stone

I have enjoyed the project of writing "small stones" through the month of January.  Although I might not have shared each on here, I do have a wonderful notebook filling up.  The process of finding a "small stone" for each day has helped me to be aware of my surroundings- people, nature, weather- and keep my mind focused, leaving the negative out, and bring the most important moments in the light to be remembered and savored.  As the year goes on I plan on continuing to capture fully engaged moments in my life and share them here as a normal part of my blog.

As for now...#15

Stirring two cups of hot cocoa I realize,
though at times mundane and monotonous
with dishes, laundry, cooking, and cleaning,
that I am here where I want to be
and for this moment life is as it should be.

#9 Small Stone

Snow is finally here and I am alone this white expanse.

How can something that is so beautiful leave me so vulnerable?

#6 Small Stones

A Saturday visit with neighbors reminds me of when I was young, of the people who lived close to me and became so much like family.  Hot chocolate and friendly exchanges, my kids running circles around their house, one that does not have little feet running around other than a small dog and cat.  A few lessons in manners- no jumping off of the couch, no interrupting, leave the cat alone, don't wipe your boogers on the window, don't make the dog growl- and we left under blue skies, content that my kids will have some of the experiences I did.

#5 Small Stone

ice reflecting moonlight
illuminates a path
one i could even follow
without straying or losing the way

#3 Small Stones

Conversations with my sister,
an extension of myself.
A seperate set of eyes she understands
without explanation,
knowing what I do, having been there too.
In the morning or in the afternoon,
it's me and her figuring out our worlds.

#2 Small Stone

My little boy zooms by me
pushing his Tonka truck.

His noises sound just like one,
as snow boots and little legs

glide over an icy road with
ruts.The sun shines down upon us

as our daily chores are finished.
He leads us back up up up,

rosy cheeks from such exertion,
bright eyes from such excitement.

Beginning Small Stones

Even though a couple of days of January have already passed, I am going to join in the Jan '12 River of Stones by writing about a "small stone" each day.

What are small stones?  A short piece of writing that captures a fully engaged moment, as described on the Writing Our Way Home website.

To me it's a bit of poetry out of my day and life that will become a memory, my own stones I find along the way.  My hope is to publish most of them here throughout the weeks ahead.

The first small stone....

I walk along the twilight snow
towards horses dark bodies.

Their breath and mine intermingle
as I touch their thick coats.

Silence. No words. Understanding.
Only the sound of their hoofs as I walk on home.

Thoughts on Monday

Getting away from daily life is a good way for me to re-focus, relax and re-energize myself. I often times become far to engaged in the worries and troubles of life. Am I doing enough? Will I ever succeed at what I truly want? And so I work and do, just as I have been taught. Then doing, doing, doing, begins to take away from life and I forget to enjoy each day. I begin to live just get by.

When I arrived home from a brief vacation, someone had e-mailed me the link to this video. I don't usually watch much YouTube, but this short story reminds me of taking each day as it is, and, perhaps, dancing more often.

National Poetry Month

April is National Poetry Month, and although the days in April are coming close to being completed, this does not mean the celebration of the prose should cease. Here is a list of a few websites you might want to browse:

The Poetry Foundation- offers exploration of modern poets and poets of the past; learning tools and in depth look at the meaning of certain poems.

Narrative Magazine- online magazine with poems for each week and an archive of contributors.

Poetry Out Loud- promoting the oral art form of poetry.

Poets boil down thoughts, seasons, experiences, life, with a concentration of words, making the reading experience rewarding and memorable; taking your mind and emotions into descriptions you may not have felt before. Try reading one poem a day. You may find the practice gratifying.

My March Madness

As I hear of other places where the temperature has risen to the point where the grass is greening and the buds on the trees are coming out, I can't help but look outside my window and see my six foot mound of snow. In fact, my lane, on both sides, has a continuous mound at least four feet tall. I can still cross country ski around our small pasture; which is a good thing, I guess.

But I'm ready for the spring cleansing to begin; to open my back door and let the fresh air move through my house; to hear the river water running.

Alas, there has to be some way to fix my situation, and I don't mean a plane ticket.

With a Jack Johnson radio station on Pandora- mixed with 311, Bob Marley, and Jason Marz- I think I'll put on my Bermuda shorts and my tank top with palm trees on it. Some flip flops and a pair of sunglasses will be needed. I'll make a smoothie with mango, banana, frozen blueberries and yogurt. I'm sure I have a little umbrella I can stick in it, a blue one. Then I'll turn up the heat, sit in my chair and read my book.

With an imagination like mine, I can be anywhere I want in seconds.

Pep talk

Nerves are high today, as I am headed off to the Jackson Hole Writers Conference. I am excited to learn, but intimidated by the "great ones"- writers- that will be there. Really, I shouldn't be, as it is an opportunity to meet them and find out their keys to success.

But I am still nervous.

I did find this quote which I will keep in mind as the conference goes on:

Excellence is aspiration with a higher goal in mind, to trust in God and reach for things of a more rewarding kind. ~Jill Wolf.

So, I have packed my briefcase bag with plenty of pens, pencils, and paper. The bag was my grandfather's and his name plate is still on the bag. He was a very successful person in life, one who knew his heart's desires and worked very hard to see his dreams come true. I'm not superstitious, but it can't hurt to carry a bag that once belonged to a person who achieved much in his lifetime.

As I head off, his story is my inspiration too.

"The sun illuminates only the eye of man, but shines into the eye and the heart of the child." ~Emerson, from his book Nature

My little boy walks in the sunshine, the light bouncing off of his golden hair. He carries a little wooden car with one wheel missing, but his grip is so tight he won't let go of his treasure as he walks down the hill. His small stature makes the hill seem like a mountain.

My little girl meanders through the dandelions looking for her own treasures as she picks a few, hoping I'll be happy with the gift from her. To her, the dandelions are as impressive as wildflowers and deserve to be loved as much. The sunlight dances on her hair too.

They are in search of a few adventures, enjoying worry-free moments of childhood.

Burdened gray clouds rest over our mountains; rain escapes, as though the seams holding the clouds together are weakening. The thankful Earth soaks up the water, but we are trapped inside- unable to enjoy the day.

A trip to the library refreshes the little kids souls, and mine, searching for books to take home and read our way through the socked in storm. We find a treasure- a book on poetry of the North American Indians for children, but I know I'll like it too.

Reading the carefully chosen words of people long ago, we find a poem that changes our outlook on the day:

You, whose day it is,
Make it beautiful.
Get out your rainbow colors,
So it will be beautiful.

Nootka

Passing storms

A storm settled in over our valley last night.

We stood in front of our window and watched the clouds hustling across the sky, right in front of the mountains. The speed in which they moved was amazing.

The horses kicked and bucked as the temperature dropped and the winds picked up.

Lightning flashed close and the thunder echoed over the mountains, as if the sound touched each peak. Soon a mixture of hail and rain pelted our house and cars.

With the fast pace the storm moved, we hardly knew what had happened. Our minds had to adjust to the quick change in atmosphere, and then move on as quickly as the storm passed.

What amazes me, is how much our life parallels the storm I just described. Changes come quickly and without warning, leaving us to move along with whatever happens. At times I wish we could see the changes coming, so we could stand back and be prepared.

Even still, watching the storm move in and move by was powerful. Maybe there's a good reason why the bad storms pass quickly.