The Bloom and The Interview

"I just got the summer issue of Soul in Bloom in the mail today.

Stunning! Whimsical! Inspiring! And that's just the photos! 

Can't wait to find some quiet time to spend with it.

Thank you again for your gift of creativity."

Cathy 

A heartfelt thank you to everyone who took a chance

on my summer issue of  The Soul In Bloom.

If you'd like a copy of your own,

you can find it HERE.

And the lovely Bella of 52 Photos Project

asked me to be her photography interview for the week!

I'm thrilled and honored. Thank you, Bella!

To read the interview, go HERE.

52 Photos Project~ July 20th

"The table at mealtime" for 52 photos project.

Of course, I'm cheating.

This is no table setting of the week for me.

No surface that has held my food of late

~ the floor, the counter top, the computer desk~

is worth documenting or sharing.

They're barely clean, those make-shift tables.

And what's so interesting about

carrots and blueberries and nuts?

No, let me cheat and show you a table

I dined at almost 2 years ago

on the edge of the Marmara sea.

A table that made a memory and held a fantasy

and changed the course of my days.

52 Photos Project~ July 13th

My new favorite summertime treat.

Bellowing bullfrogs and

sleeping alfresco at the edge of the lake.

I'm headed back for more.

For Bella's 52 Photos Project~ summertime treat.

blue and black

Again, it was morning.

There was me and my tea,

the birdsong and the ceiling of blue.

There were 8 crows and a ruckus,

and gravestones across the way.

There was death amid the already dead.

They were at it once more,

that heart-tugging ritual of sacrificing

another baby for their own.

It was a chipmunk or a rabbit

that was tormented and shredded

while a look-out stood watch from a stone.

I did not turn away.

I did not turn away.

It was morning.

The sky was blue

and the feathers were black

And there was life.

the way

The robin and me, we shared a succulent  breakfast in the early hours of the day. Black raspberries have taken root at the edge of the yard~ all their own doing~ and they have multiplied, as gifts from the gods tend to do. And gifts they be, each honey-combed berry morphing from green to red to eggplant purple. They are a burst of nectar on the tongue, said the robin. They are subtle sweetness. They are reward.

They are also the way, for they are nature, and nature leads should we humble ourselves to follow. The way is letting go, is releasing what has been to allow the birth of the next phase in the full cycle of life. The seed must let go of its casing in fertile ground. The bud must release itself to the bloom. The bloom must shed its beauty to bear fruit. The fruit must give forth its seed to fertile ground for the sake of the vine, the stalk and the tree.

It is the death of each phase that gives birth to the new. Holding a phase, a season, longer than the sun and the wind would advise leads only to stagnation and rot of potential, however safe it may feel to be held. In the letting go lies the gift. The next phase will be vastly different from the one before and will hold its own rare beauty in ways impossible to predict.

The robin, she knows of letting go and takes her rewards as they come. I will humble myself to follow and hold open my heart to the gifts of the seed, the bloom and the fruit.

52 Photos Project~ July 6th

 

What the garden revealed.

For Bella and her 52 Photos Project.

Lit on the 4th of July

stress management

with apologies to anyone within earshot of me,

 i can't seem to help myself.

stress management has taken on a life of its own. 

i can't stop swearing.

and it isn't the polite form of swearing in public

like,"oh, crap" and the occasional "dammit".

no, it's the drunken truck-driving sailor type.

the kind that can get me fired and

in a heap of trouble in an instant,

especially if mothers are easily offended.

i can't seem to help it.

i'm sorry.

but it feels really, really good.

it's hard to say if the amish were aghast

 at my mouth the other day.

but they should have been,

what with all  the profanity being spewed

every time i let the perfect photo dissolve into oblivion.

lisa, my amish-country companion,

seemed to appreciate my tirades of expletives,

even as she was advising me to swear more quietly,

lest we be barred from following the amish trail ever again.

all the swearing led to the laughing that completely

renewed our brains from the enhanced oxygen intake.

and any stress that either of us had felt for,

oh, the past year, was relieved.

so, forgive me. 

plug your ears.

in the world of stress management,

swearing is the new meditation.

off the map in amish country

there was hay and horses.

there was blue and white laundry

strung across porches and lawns.

there were jars of jam

and wooden toys

and hand sewn quilts.

 there was me with my camera

and the irrepressible urge to take photos.

but the amish don't like themselves to be photographed.

i didn't want to be invasive or disrespectful.

i failed on a few accounts.

because when, when do you see

hay being harvested by hand and horse?

but the discreet and distant photos

are nothing, nothing compared to the

shots i didn't take~

the ones of the barefoot toddlers in bonnets

and short brown dresses

that waved from their gardens.

the matching boys in blue shirts and hats

walking together along the dirt road.

the 2 women in  blue skirts and bonnets with the toddler~

a miniature version of themselves~

in a perfect triangle on their open buggy

in front of the perfectly weathered barn

where blue laundry soared above their heads,

strung from the house to the top of the silo.

it was an impromptu  masterpiece

of texture and placement for the taking.

and i left it.

i left it.

with admitted artist's regret mixed in the respect.

Raising the Stakes

Good bye, Neil. Good bye, Sir Elton. Farewell, Hot Tuna. Janis. David. Stephen. Graham. It's time to shift out of neutral and you're all taking up valuable space. I know, I know, we spent years in each others company. You all fed my soul when it was starving. And I've hung on, out of gratitude and sentimentality, but it's time. Forgive me. This is good bye.

It's not that technology left you all quickly in the dust. I still have the means to access your magic. I still know how to sift through songs on fast-forward. But I don't.You know it's been years since I have. And that drawer you all live in? It's being re-purposed. Because, you see, I'm raising the stakes. I'm envisioning freshness, I'm leaning towards passion, I'm putting up with less bullshit and I need your drawer. It's part of my plan to purge the staleness and sameness and servant's attitude out of my valuable life. I hope you understand.

No, no you did not see me stash those bootleg cassettes in a secret corner. I promise, I swear Jerry and Bobby and Phil are headed out the door right behind you all. They're as good as dead. (No, that is NOT smoke you smell. My pants are NOT on fire.) Yet.

I tell you, I'm lifting and lightening. I'm going to let the (freak) flag fly. It's what you taught me to do, all those years ago.
 
Forgive me.

I'm burning it down to raise it back up.

the god of yellow

I pray to the god of yellow. It is my least favorite god. We have avoided each other for a lifetime. But now, right now, this god and only this god can save me. From myself.

The yellow god is instructing me on the ways and means of personal power and the un-importance of gaining approval from outside sources. It is assisting me in making firm decisions on pivotal issues. It is teaching me how to be my own sun.

The god of yellow is a warrior. I have been a servant, serving myself least of all. But the sword of self-empowerment is being fitted to my grip. Inscribed on the handle of the yellow sword are the words, "Know thyself without shame".

I carry yellow and I wear yellow and I tape its vibration to my walls. I visualize myself infused with the radiance of ripe lemons. In that citrus glow, esteem rises, things get done and the sword of the god of yellow feels light in my hands.



{Yellow snuck its way into the summer edition of The Soul In Bloom. The god is quite pleased and proud.}     

The Soul In Bloom~ summer issue

It's here. It's ready.

Just as spring says good-bye and summer arrives.

This is a labor of love.

This magazine has been a balancing point

for me in an unsteady year.

All the essays I included between the covers are 

needful reminders for me on how to keep my spirit buoyant.

My wish is that they will offer the same for you.

The photos, all original, are filled with color,

as summer ought to be.

I've featured my beloved stray cats from Istanbul, and flowers.

Always flowers.

I design with them for a living, you see,

and in this issue, I've begun to share the relaxing 

pleasures of making a centerpiece right from your garden.

This summer issue of The Soul In Bloom is the second

in a series of four keepsake magazines.

This series evolved from my deep desire

to add beauty to this world,

and to encourage one of the most

beautiful expressions of nature~

the compassionate human spirit.

I would be honored of you felt compelled to buy a copy.

I would be thankful if you shared this

information with anyone that matters to you.

To purchase a copy of The Soul In Bloom,

  the spring and/or summer issue,

go HERE.


{Thank you to the talented Kelly Letky
of The Blue Muse for her outstanding
graphic design assistance in making this
issue everything I wanted it to be.}

zoo therapy

For our mother-daughter mental health day,

she wore her shirt with the giraffes on it.

And she cried happy tears just to see them.

52 Photos Project~ 6/15

Outside the window
at my favorite church
in northern Germany,

"the little church by the sea".

For Bella's 52 Photos Project

happy is what i need

The honey bees and me.

We've been busy.

There is still much to do.

Indecision and messes abound.

But in the whirlwind,

late, yet hopefully on time,

a magazine was created about

the glories of summer.

I like it.

It makes me happy.

Happy is what I need.

If the proof proves worthy,

I'll release it to the winds.

And to you,

if that would make you happy.

Coming soon~ The Soul In Bloom, summer issue.

the iris are done blooming

It was a blue fleece and bare toes morning.

Rose petal tea and a bench in the backyard.

Cool for summer, perfect for me.

Dogs barking, school buses dieseling their last duties

before the kids are set free.

Cobalt skies. A breeze.

The drowsy squirrel who perched on the

edge of a broken limb to watch me and to bathe.

I waved and offered a blessing~

be safe, be warm, be fed.

The iris are done blooming,

and the robin's nest went undetected by crows,

leaving the little speckled breast to

race across rooftops twittering for food.

The raucous call of blue jays.

More squirrels, chasing each other on tip-toe

over the points of the picket fence.

The scent of June~sweet, earthy, satisfying.

And then,the red belly.

Laughing in flight between the trees,

pronouncing that all will be well

and all will be well.

And so, did goodness begin.

rain

i confess.

i like the rain.

no.

i love the rain.

in spring, in summer.

especially in summer

with the added peace and thrill of thunder mumbling through.

the flashes of light that split the sky, they too,

bring a sharp sense of peace that

grounds me and lifts me at once.

it is the patter of rain,

with its uneven pallor and distant scent of the lake,

that gives me permission, like little else can,

to sink gloriously, lavishly

into the secret caverns of my soul

where everything makes sense

and life in its sweet purity can be lived.

because tucked into a dry space,

porch-vast or umbrella-small,

just on the edge of the drops,

shoe-tips spattered with wet, shins still dry,

safe yet almost not,

there does joy overtake me.

there, yes there~

i am.

to witness and embrace

to the 2 deer that stood in the middle of road and the red fox that crossed it a little further on, to the lilacs still blooming, to the rolling green grasses of western new york state, to the summer-tinged breeze and the tangerine ball of fire that hung on the edge of the hills, i thank you, one and all.

my heart thanks you. my soul thanks you. collectively, you have done nothing short of restoring my understanding of what i love best; to witness and embrace the beauty of the natural world.

and so today, i can return to the projects that stir me, and work them just for me. i can smile as i drip in the sudden heat. i can breathe to the floor of my gut. i can remember the gestures of love.

let glimpses become steady sight

little church face, northern germany

i have not known whether to stay or go. there is turmoil and there is uncertainty and yes, nothing is certain. there is doing for others and there is the almost-loss of self in that doing. balance has tipped to the left. i forget who i am and wonder, if indeed i ever knew. i catch glimpses of my soul, lit and luscious, and i run towards that light like a woman being chased. but the glimpse is pulled sharply into shadows and i remember i have forgotten how to shine just for me. how to shine just for me.

i start projects and get tangled in wanting to please and do right and make a difference and i forget that the only difference that matters is if my own soul is pleased. it is hard to unlearn the giving away and the silent begging for approval. it is hard to stand straight in my own truth and my own version of justice and peace. i slouch so much i know very well what crawls on the ground and so little of what flies overhead. look up, i say, look up.  then, look straight ahead and shun the advice, well-meaning and bad, from voices along the parade route.

everything comes together in the allegiance to my self. i have forgotten that pledge, but today is as good as any other to remember. to start over on those projects and stay. to start over and go, as well. let glimpses become steady sight. let the pleasing be just for me.

evening rehearsal

When you stay with an accordion player,

there's bound to be a little music in the air.

and there were sheep

 

If you can imagine, I have more pictures of sheep than people.

The Land Of Thatched Roofs

 

Despite the cost of installation, repair and staggering insurance rates, in Nordfriesland, the thatched roof~enduring symbol of fables and old-fashioned romance~ lives on in all corners of the land.

40 irreplaceable seconds

My grandmother's sisters

Often, it is only when things are finished that we can see and feel the fresh beginnings of a heart, usually our own, expanding outward. When great effort has been made and there is wondering if it could have been any different that what it was, in the end, there are  cherished surprises and stalwart connections and 40 irreplaceable seconds of singing  in low German.

Of all the moments in Northern Germany, 18 days of moments, it is the ones filled with open-hearted energy that rise like cream to the surface of recollection. It is the people, always the people~ in their raw exposure of wanting what every other person alive wants at their core~ that affirm the finished journey unfolded as only it could have, as it was ordained to be.

in the sun and great wind

There have been deeply meaningful moments here in Germany I cannot put into words. This trip is not for me, I say, it is for my mother. Yet, amid the daily schedule, the endless visitng,  the bread and potatoes, I carve out  places for myself and this journey becomes almost mine.

Then, this morning, the invitation. The retired police officer (related to me in some manner) suggested we go for a ride on his motorbike. Harley Davidson? I think not. BMW, if you please.

Of course.

And so, with helmet like an astronaut, I am riding on the back of a cold wind and I cannot feel it. There are waves of simmering yellow flowers, green fields against blue. There are mountains of clouds. There are sheep on the dike, the steel grey of the sea and we follow its edge. We follow its edge. It is cold and I cannot feel it. It is windy and I open my mouth to taste it.  The bowl of my body finds its longed-for balance and leans easily, so easily into the curves of the road. At speeds beyond normal, I relax.

This trip is not for me, I say . But for 50 minutes in the sun and great wind, where land meets the sea, freedom found me at last.

Tuesday In Nordfriesland

2 horses clopped up the driveway after breakfast.

The large meal of the day was at 1pm- 3 vegetables, 1 meat. The first dessert was vanilla ice cream mit whipped cream (real, of course), topped with hot, fresh cherry sauce. The second dessert, yes, the second, was 2 hours later. Coffee, tea, and 6 different kuchens.

Then, came the singing. Songs of the North sea in low German.

And now, being Tuesday evening, it is time for accordian practice. 2 women; 1 with a red box, the other with a black. Traditional German songs squeezed into the glooming light, making it impossible to be upright without swaying. Impossible.

Soon, a slow walk up  the lane and around the bend to pet the sheep as the sun sets. Then to follow the owls home where surely a neighbor will wander over sometime after the stars are out.

So, to bed.

I Am In Northern Germany

I am in Northern Germany where the daylight is brighter and lilacs are everywhere.

There is wind. Oh, there is wind. It rolls off the North sea in hair-lifting gusts,  cleansing the mind and dervishing pink petals over the grass.

There is candlelight for breakfast and new birds to be found- kohlmeise and amsel and stork.

There are narrow roadways and very few stop signs and often, no limits to speed.

There are tears.

There are small deer and large rabbits  and sheep. Everywhere sheep.

There is low German spoken o nthe right side of the table and high German spoken on the left. Sometimes both, in a single conversation, in the middle.

There is limbuger cheese (surprisingly good) and fish and fish and fish.

There are owls; carved, stuffed, painted and live ones flying off at dusk.

There are draft horses.

There are brick houses and thatched roofs and doors upon doors on the inside. Walk out of a room, close the door. Remember to close the door.

There are small refrigerators and composting is serious and nothing goes to waste.

There is, at times, English spoken and bonding with relatives not previously known.

There are full hearts. Brimming, loving and full.

Have Gnome, Will Travel

My beloved Oma was partial to garden gnomes. When she died last October, I rescued 5 of her gnomes and gave them prestigious plots in and around my home. Because Oma can't come with my Mom and me to Germany this time, I've invited Cedric to come along as her proxy. Luckily, he's the traveling sort with an over-sized passport and sensible suitcase.

Oma, I think, would be pleased. Cedric, for sure, is excited. Marzipan, warm ale, and a taste of smoked eel are high on his culinary list. And he's itching to sway to an accordion's lilt while wearing short, leather pants.

Wir ist gonna have some fun.


And on another happy note, my magazine, The Soul In Bloom~ spring issue, is on sale from  now until Mother's day. Who doesn't love a sale? To order your cheaper-than-usual copy, go HERE.

The Shores Of The North Sea

There is an inn with thatched roof on the shores of the North Sea; an inn that once belonged to my great grandmother, Frau Thomsen. We are going there, my mother and me, because my mother is ill and  a journey back home is what her soul needs. She is scared. And I need to be at my best. So, I will be.

This journey is one of the most important things I will do in my life. Because fellowship, love and care are the hallmarks of living well. In living well, untold gifts are given back to the Universe and more light presses back on the dark. My secret wish is that this trip will heal my mother. I know for certain it will heal me.