First Five Fragments for Friday

1. That moment upon waking when there is no thought, only the feel of cotton sheets on bare legs and the sound of breath.

2. Early spring means morning sounds are different: birds are louder and so are the sniffles from my allergy-suffering daughter.

3. The first road trip since Thanksgiving: bare trees, still-dead grass, bits of snow still piled in shady places, and air warm enough to wear a t-shirt.

4. I want to have a bonfire, but our wood is wet with the early spring that has turned our yard into a swampy place.

5. Irish whiskey at the ready because this is part of my heritage.

And your fragments are....?

Happy St. Patrick's Day (one day early).

Cairn on Croagh Patrick. Photo by Kathleen Cassen Mickelson.

Artist's Way Check In #10 - Focusing on Things I Love

This may be fatigue talking, but this last chapter of The Artist's Way didn't engage me quite as much as other chapters in the book. Chapter 10 is titled, "Recovering a Sense of Self-Protection." I'm already pretty clear on who I am and what to watch out for when I find myself doing everything but my work.

So, did I get anything out of this chapter?

Actually, yes. But not until I got to the tasks. There was one task that asked what my happiness touchstones were. Here was a task I could have fun with: focusing on things I love.

So, on this rainy Monday in Minnesota, a partial list of things that makes me happy is worth writing down:

1. a fat mug of fresh, black coffee
2. a new package of sour gummy worms
3. old, comfy blue jeans
4. smooth stones that I can hold in my hand
5. the first new leaf that pops open on our oak tree in the spring
6. the leather bookmark I brought back from Ireland
7. a wineglass full of zinfandel
8. my Frye boots
9. my silver peace bracelet that matches my daughter's
10. the drawing my son made for my birthday a couple of years ago

One of the things about making a list like this is the realization that I am lucky. There is a lot that makes me happy and, as I look over the list, I can see that they are mostly simple things. Things that are easy to come up with when I need a little jolt of "happy".

And those little jolts are part of what keeps the work going. You might have guessed I'm sitting here in my comfy blue jeans with a fat mug of coffee in front of me while I write.

What are some of your happiness touchstones?

First Five Fragments for Friday

1. When you wake up to a sunny morning that completely clouds over and snows an hour later, you know you are looking at a metaphor for how to adjust your dance steps. Are you following or leading?

2. What have you done lately that you aren't all that proud of?

3. Some dogs bark. Some dogs sleep on the bed. Some dogs steal your socks. And some dogs eat an entire leg from a pair of pantyhose and then you have to induce vomiting.

4. Who has actively disowned their childhood nickname and reclaimed the name on their birth certificate? Besides me, I mean.

5. If you could carry a gun anywhere and shoot anyone, would you?

And your fragments are....?

Photo fragment bonus:

Happy Friday.

If you like these fragments consider checking out the fragments at Life on the Periphery by fellow poet Constance Brewer.

Artist's Way Check In #9 - Compassion and Toys in the Office

This week's work was supposed to focus on recovering a sense of compassion. I felt inexplicably silly about being reminded to stop yelling at myself and wondered how this really applies to where I am in my life right now.

Then something happened that reminded me that, yes, compassion towards self really does matter.

This week, I took a leap, spread-eagle through the air without a net. Without a solid plan, for that matter. It happened over wine with my friend Patricia, with whom I share a long history of launching big things over wine. One summer, we hatched a Julia Child cook-off with our respective families. The cook-off resulted in a ton of great food that loaded down Patricia's dining room table on a hot August night and a chance to trade my usual jeans for a little black dress. Another time, we decided a September road trip to the Badlands was exactly what we needed to help us combat a simmering sense of invisibility. We thundered across South Dakota, stayed in a cabin situated along the Badlands loop, and hiked our hearts out while we reclaimed ourselves as strong women. This past week, the leap was a brainstorm for a poetry reading with a Tucson-based poet Patricia knows (haven't heard his answer yet, so he shall be unnamed for now), a friend of mine who is planning on visiting from England this fall, and myself.

This is the scariest leap I've made in a while. Me and stage fright…..ranks right up there with war, famine, and bees. And what will the other poets think of me? Oh, yeah, my confidence shakes. Then add that the three people I've told about this idea so far haven't exactly responded with, "Great! I'll be there!" but a response more like, "oh, that's nice". I have to remind myself that poetry readings don't get the same sort of enthusiasm from the general population that a Madonna tour does. Or a great dinner that involves wine.

So, what was that about compassion? I need to remember that offering art to the world requires that we be kind to ourselves and that not everyone has the same desire to be around the type of art that engages me. That's okay. It isn't personal.

Where, then, do the toys come in? Ah. There was a sentence in Chapter 9 of The Artist's Way that stuck with me as much as the part about compassion. This is it: "In order to work well, many artists find that their work spaces are best dealt with as play spaces." As I'm bumbling through any given day, be it reading other people's work or making my own, there are all kinds of things in my office that I can reach for to give my mind a playground recess. I have a squishy skull on which the eyes bulge if I squeeze it hard enough, a stuffed Kokopeli my husband brought back from the Southwest (Where, exactly? Can't remember.), a deck of Goddess Knowledge Cards with the best spacy artwork ever, a gargoyle that holds pencils, a crystal ball, an Indian brass bell, crayons, a Buddha Machine, and a set of binoculars. I love that I have all these odd little things in my office.

The toys remind me to laugh. And I am highly amused that what I felt silly about was the reminder to be kind to myself rather than that I have toys in the office.

Go figure.

First Five Fragments for Friday

1. The thing about planning an arts event is that it takes on its own life immediately so all you can do is hold on to your hat.

2. I don't wear hats. Need handles.

3. A loving partner is one who walks the dogs on cold winter mornings through slush, snow, ice, and garbage trucks that sneak up from behind.

4. I have never wanted to travel to Brazil.

5. I'm too old to worry about stage fright, so why doesn't it go away already?


And your fragments are.....?

Welcome to March.

Photo Fragment Tuesday is Ending

Welcome to the end of the run for Photo Fragment Tuesday. This has been a fun exercise in visual writing prompts and I hope you've had fun, too.

I may pop the occasional photo into First Five Fragments for Friday. You never know.

All photos by Kathleen Cassen Mickelson.



Where does your vision take you?
 

Artist's Way Check In #8 - How Can I Make This All Work?

"How can I make this all work?" is a phrase I try to get my daughter Abby to put into action as she struggles with balance around homework, activities, boyfriend, friends, and family. I thought about that a lot this past weekend, as she had a terrible time figuring out how to fit everything together during a state fencing tournament that she was part of. She is an introvert at times, which doesn't help. I can see her shutting down before my eyes when she hits some internal wall of overload. Communication then becomes a huge challenge. To pull her back, I try to ask the questions about what she can do right now, what she can put off, what she must let go of, how she can structure her time to fit everything in.

I try to teach her that balance is a strength.

This is similar to the challenge of keeping our art going when life is, well, life. Today I am already chanting, "How can I make this all work?" because of the unplanned morning phone call from my son asking for help with his nine-month-old daughter Camille. I chose to say, "How can I make this all work?" instead of, "No, I'm busy," because I see this as a call to put my own words into practice. I still have writing time. I can be on my laptop while Camille plays. Her presence will force me to take breaks I'd need anyway. And she will probably make me laugh while her family all gets to do what they need to do.

Maybe this is why the sentence that stood out for me last week in Chapter 8 of The Artist's Way was this one: "Art is the act of structuring time." The biggest challenge for most of us who do creative work out of a studio at home, besides getting paid, is structuring our time. There are loads of articles about that talk about drawing boundaries and making appointments just like any other business. And those would all be correct. Still, there are discussions to be had around this issue that recognize gray areas and tap into ways we draw on the strength of all our connections to make a life that integrates our artist selves with everything else. Being disciplined is a good and necessary thing to get the work done. Balancing that discipline by asking, "How can I make this all work?" is the other piece of the equation that allows us to have a full life.