Still Here

I've been far from the keyboard lately, up to my neck in the busy-ness that is summer here at Tumbledown.

There have been big blissful grandbug moments and hot sunny days plucked from a Calvin-and-Hobbes strip. And, of course, I'm still trying to digest my recent Trip of a Lifetime, put my impressions in order, make wonderful magickal sense of it all.

It's butterfly season, too, and all is in full swing here. Stacks of caterpillar-filled plastic beer cups line my kitchen countertops right now -- a MUCH better season this year than in the recent past. My days start and end with milkweed as I try to save the world one monarch butterfly at a time. It's not much in the grand scheme of things, I know, but I like to think I'm making a difference somehow.

Plus, the Renaissance Festival is just a few short weeks away. So much to do and prepare for, set up and consider! I see it in my head and feel both anxious and eager.

So much on my plate right now. And then there's YOU-- in my thoughts every day.

The last time I wrote was a while ago, wasn't it? A whole month has passed without a post.... I was in a mood then. And after pressing the 'publish' button I backed away from the keyboard and had a hard time returning to it.

Sorry....

As you know, the post was all about 'losing friends and negatively influencing people,' and I was feeling somewhat unloved....

But as one awesome Facebook friend would later put it, "...if some people come and go, be grateful for those who will always stay!" So I know now that my focus was in the wrong place, on the wrong people. There are folks here who are devoted, constant, steadfast, willing to take my bad with my good (bless you!; I'm so grateful that you're here that I want to go there and give you a big hug), and they're the ones I should be focusing on.

Wonderful people.

Like you.

I heart you, my friend; I hope you know that.... And plan to hear from me again soon, OK? Because lots has happened. And I have lots to tell you.

Love,
...me.

Doing the 'Unfriend' Fandago

Know what's funny? I always draw myself as a kid. What's up with that??

You know who's good at losing two Facebook fans for every single fan she gains? This girl.

Each time I think I'm hitting my stride, I go and share something that bugs a few folks and they leave me.

Most of the time I find it hilarious. Unless I'm in one of those frames of mind -- you know the kind; the low-esteem, full-of-self-doubt kind -- and then I worry. Why did they 'unfriend' me? What did I do to make them decide not to be a fan any longer? Did I sound too honest? Did I sound dishonest?

And yeah, I'm making it seem as though they run away in spades when really it's only a few at most. But, dang it, they do it all at once and I panic when that happens.

It seems like I begin losing fans when I post something that sounds 'less than perfect.' Like maybe about struggling with a creative block or doubting my artistic abilities. I get that posts like those aren't fun to read. But they're Me being Honest.

And I think honesty's important. There's nothing worse than reading an artist's blog that seems too good to be true. It makes me wonder what's wrong with me that my creative life isn't that perfect. And eventually I begin to dislike the blogger, as if they're responsible for making me feel bad about myself....

But do I continue to follow them? Of course! Even if it's not 100% true, their life still seems to be pure MAGIC. Every thing they do works out, looks great, sells immediately, gets rave reviews. Creative blocks? Never!

And I want that.

However, now I'm also on the lookout for that chink in their armor. And when I find it, there's that "A-hah, I knew it!" victory rush inside and I'm suddenly able to cut myself some slack. "Hey, we can be friends again because they're flawed, too, just like me!" Only I admit it -- up, down, and sideways....

I'm always admitting it.

It's one of the first things I tell people about myself, actually.

And maybe that's my problem....?

...(*crickets*)....

Anyway -- (*gives self a good shake*) -- in the case of my own blogging, time passes. I pick myself up. I tell myself that it's OK to feel what I feel, it's OK to have doubts, it's OK to express them. I don't have to apologize for what's going on in my head. It's a struggle in here! Some days are creative gold; I think I'm making progress, learning big carved-in-stone things about myself, finding my definitive voice. And then moments later I question it all.

I can't be the only human bean on this rock who rediscovers herself anew each day and wonders just who the heck she was the day before. My layers-upon-layers are painful to peel sometimes, but it's fascinating to see what each uncovers. Some things stay the same (sort of) and just get more antiqued and beautified (or just more weathered and less sharp and pokey). Other things just gradually wear away. I'm never the same, never 100% the bean I was yesterday, not yet the interesting one I'll be tomorrow.

That pleases me. I like my layers! And I guess those 'unfriends' are gonna miss all the fun of the future.

Bummer for them. :)
...

Adrift in the Space Between

Courtesy of Grandiloquent Word of the Day

I caught the clock switch itself to 11:11 today and I made my wish.

I wished that I'd get my groove back....

Since my return, I've repeatedly sat down to paper and pencil, and -- nothing.

Nada.

Zip, zero, zilch....

Not a doodle. Not even a word....

*sigh*

It's not that England wasn't supremely inspirational. (Holy hedgehogs, was it inspirational!) And it's not like I've really had time to draw since touching down again in Minnesota. But time is critical now. Fest is just minutes away and I've got art to create! LOTS of it.

But if shutting down and immersing myself in my memories is so important, can't I do both?

Apparently not.... I've tried....

My big plan was to bring art supplies with me to the UK. Sketch on the plane, do a drawing-a-day, photograph my quickly scribbled impressions and share them with you via social media. Didn't happen. There was no TIME, for one thing. Paper and pencil felt foreign to me, too, like trying to draw with a rock on the water.

And you saw how well I kept in touch.... Even if technology had cooperated, nothing I did -- write, draw, even photograph -- made sense to me. It was all so feeble and disappointing and not a bit like the amazing extraordinariness that I was trying to capture! It was as though some strange force field was scrambling my skills and preventing me from expressing my experience. And since my return I've yet to figure out how to shut the damn thing down....

I've had creative blocks before, and I've worked them out. But this still feels different. Foreign. Like more than just a block. A wall, maybe. Something BIG. Something not-see-overable....

This morning I opened an email from My Inner Pilot Light (go here, sign up, do it!, you'll thank me). It mentions the magickal place it calls The Space Between:

"...between where you were last and where you are going. It’s important to stop here to get crystal clear on some specifics before you can continue on."

I doubt that my creative block is what it's referring to, exactly, but the poke I felt as I read it seemed important....

And then just moments later I was gifted the word 'hiraeth' -- it came at me from multiple sources at once. Friends used it in a sentence, shared it in a comment, and then it came up in my Facebook feed. The site Grandiloquent Word of the Day (follow the blog HERE, 'like' the Facebook page HERE, do it!, you'll thank me again) gives this definition:

"A Welsh word that has no direct English translation. The University of Wales, Lampeter attempts to define it as homesickness tinged with grief or sadness over the lost or departed. It is a mix of longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness, and the earnest desire for the past."

And that's when an a-ha moment began somewhere in my very busy head. I've yet to sort it out and make sense of it, but it's getting clearer as I write about it now. I am still processing, obviously. And missing the magickal heck out of my English visit.

But I can't just recall it fondly while otherwise forcing myself to get back to Minnesota Normal -- frantically cleaning, weeding, unpacking, grandbugsitting, fill-in-the-blanking, all while trying to force myself to be creative, too. Time to seriously unplug and immerse myself. Time to imagine floating on a still and glassy sea, adrift in the gently rocking boat of the Space Between -- where nothing can happen, really, until the tide comes in again.

Makes sense. Plus just imagining it now feels safe and comforting and right, like it's all part of the plan.

And if it helps, who's to say that's not the case?
...

Gathering the Ingredients

Been home nearly a week already and every day has been full-to-overflowing. There are pets to reconnect with, gardens to weed, grandbugs to wrangle, Mayfaire biz to take care of, suitcases to unpack (still), and big thoughts to think....

The list is LONG and I can only address one thing at a time (because I've forgotten how to multi-task, apparently), and the more that queues up for my attention, the fainter my England trip grows.

I've become the kind of human bean that experiences even the simplest of events with every sense available (and I'm not kidding, I think I grew some extra ones over the years; it might be my mutant X-Men power....). And afterwards I almost have to shut down, go far into my head, mix the ingredients of my experience, bake them, taste them, savor them, and enjoy their leftovers x 100 in order to feel like I've Been There, Done That.

But that hasn't happened yet with my Trip Of A Lifetime, and my memories of England are growing a little stale....

My body has ways of dealing with stress -- it waits for the first sign of a lull and then pulls the plug -- and this morning I woke with a Mucinex® commercial playing out in my lungs. It was a phlegm Frat Party down there! And verbally evicting the celebrants was out of the question as I'd even lost my voice. :(

However, today began with rain and shadows. It's the American twin of Derbyshire out there. No lawn work for me today. So my plan is to unplug even further and go within. Mix the heavy ingredients of my English recipe and steam them. Baptize the results with a sip of spirits so they stay moist and tasty forever. Then indulge at my leisure.

And share in little bits, of course. Even the smallest of servings is rich beyond measure.
...

Feet On The Ground Again

I'm back....

This is both a happy and a sad thing, as I didn't realize how much I was going to miss England until I had to fly away from it. (Nor how much I'd missed Minnesota until I returned to it....)

My original intention was to take you with me: get off the plane in Manchester and stay connected by updating my posts often, blogging at least daily, and otherwise filling you in on every moment as it was happening. But seriously, my mind was boggled! And wi-fi opportunities were spotty at best. Things just didn't work out the way I'd hoped.

And it was a good thing they hadn't. I see that now. Because right from Square One I realized how monumental this trip was for me and how lifechanging it would be, and I began to tuck it in my heart and protect it.

It all felt so singular and holy, for one thing; like it was meant for my eyes only. How was I going to share that, I wondered?, and not make it sound like just any other Trip To England....

Since my return, I've hit the ground running and have been kept way too busy to really process my experience. I immediately got sick, of course. (I knew this would happen, but thankfully the whole fibro flare nonsense stayed at bay until I at least touched down again here at home.) As a result, I have yet to unpack, flesh out my notes, or even look at my photo cards.

But I'm hoping now that being back at my computer keyboard once more will help. Writing is a comfort. And I'm desperate to wrap my head around this trip and nail down what is already beginning to feel like a dream....
...

My Epic Dream-Come-True Adventure

England was on my Bucket List before I even knew what a Bucket List was. 

It started with the Beatles (I was six when Ed Sullivan hosted them on his show; I'd never even heard of England....), and then just grew from there. I fell in love with 'Sherlock Holmes', read 'National Velvet until my copy fell apart, learned to like hot tea. I dreamed of riding a pony in full English kit. I swooned over Mr. Darcy. I stalked Prince Charles from afar.... I read about quaint villages, thatch-roofed cottages, church fetes, and steeplechases. I used 'gymkhana' in sentences. I asked Santa for jodhpurs.

In high school, my Poetry teacher and I discovered we shared a love of All Things England, and she and I became close friends. Gretchen encouraged my English interests, and over tea we often talked together about our individual dreams of going there someday. She shared with me a story about her best friend from college and how the two of them planned to visit England together, but then their youthful travel plans were shelved as the two enjoyed careers, got married, raised families. Still, they continued to dream together about their trip of a lifetime. Until her friend died unexpectedly....

It broke my heart when I heard Gretchen's story, but I told myself that would never happen to me. I was young! I had YEARS to make my travel dream happen! But after graduation those years barreled along. I got married, worked a bunch of jobs, and started a family, and during that time I began a correspondence with a woman in Derbyshire by the name of Maureen. At the time that we became 'pen pals' we were both young mothers with two small children, and the two of us had a lot of common interests. I looked forward to her letters, and over the years she and her loved ones became like Family to me. She was my connection to England.

Time passed and our friendship deepened. Maureen and I exchanged long detailed letters as well as cassette tapes on which I heard her voice and the voices of her children. Then e-mail became our mode of correspondence, followed by Facebook. I think all that somehow worked to mollify me, to make me think that through the miracle of ever-fancier technology I was somehow fulfilling my dream of meeting my friend.

I never forgot Gretchen's story and she never let me forget it either, often ending our visits by reminding me NOT to follow her example and put my trip off until it was too late. I kept insisting to myself that I was going to be smarter! I was going to make the dream happen! But in reality I was afraid to. I was afraid to travel alone, yet I didn't want to do the trip any other way! And it's one thing to write to someone over the years -- editing and honing and choreographing my words until those paper 'visits' were Just Right -- and another to spend a week in their company. Plain and simple, I was afraid I'd get to England and Maureen wouldn't like me....

Our kids grew up. Our lives changed. I got divorced. My nest became empty. Money was tight for me, so foreign travel was out of the question and never seemed to be IN the question. Still, every year Maureen wrote asking, "Do you ever think you'll visit England?" and every year I'd answer, "Maybe this year, who knows??"

Well, this year I know. I know. And when she asked me again for the umpteenth time and I told her, "Yes!," I think we were both so surprised that neither believed it at first.

I'm not sure what, exactly, prompted me to finally make it happen. I do know that being 'unwell' not long ago got me thinking Big Time. It was a serious and dramatic kind of unwell (at least to me), one that I'm sure was just the flu, the kind a person should annually get vaccinated for (I hadn't, but I've never missed an opportunity since). I've never experienced anything quite like it. It made me fear for my life.

As I suffered in the throes of that flu, drifting in and out of fever dreams, I thought about what all I’d regret if I somehow didn't recover from it. What were the Important Things? What was I doing or not doing with the remainder of my one wild life (that felt like it was hanging in the balance)? What were my regrets?.... As it turns out, there were LOTS. And one was having never met Maureen proper when meeting her was (and still is) so dang do-able.

So, not long afterwards I went online and booked my own tickets, to hell with the expense. And I'll be leaving soon! Like SOON soon. My big wish is to keep you abreast of this Dream Come True experience by posting photos and snippets here, but I have yet to figure out how to do that exactly from so far away. If I do, you'll be along for the ride! And if I don't, I'll tell you all about it once I return, 'k?

Wish me luck. I'm a big Travel Baby! But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't over-the-moon excited about stepping out of my comfort zone and taking myself on this Epic Adventure.

(P.S.: And if I can do it.... Well, just imagine what YOU can do.)
...

Making Magick

It's perfect today -- sunny, breezy, kite-flying weather! -- so I took a break from my yardwork's spring-cleanup schedule to take a leisurely stroll. It's one of my favorite things to do, even when my walk consistently takes the same route. Things change from moment to moment -- the angle of the sun, the growth of the grass, you name it. There's always something new to see, some bit of wonderment to encounter....

For instance, today I happened upon a blue Micron pen dropped neatly at the curb (what will it draw?, must open it and find out!), waves of blue Scilla blooming in a friend's front yard, and an open egg at the base of a tree. Not just any open egg, either. This one was robin's-egg blue, a leftover from the holiday, perhaps something gone undiscovered at an Easter Egg Hunt. It was so perfect, posing there at the base of the tree, that I half-imagined it to be proof of an extraordinary hatching, and I pondered what sort of ethereal creature could have muscled its way out of it.

Clearly, 'blue' was the word of the day and the Universe was encouraging me to draw. :)

As I walked along, far away in my head, I passed a house just as its garage door opener engaged, and out walked two elderly ladies hauling between them a cat carrier inside of which was a huge orange tom, clearly disgruntled at the thought of embarking on an Adventure. We women waved to each other and I called, "Just a checkup, I hope?" to which one replied, "Poor baby has a bad heart. The vet is putting him on a monitor to see what can be done...." I said I'd keep my fingers crossed. And suddenly thoughts of magickal eggs hatching magickal creatures were no longer in my head....

It's funny what ideas come to a person when they're outside, letting their thoughts play and fly free. My head was all over the place. All around me was sunshine and springtime, all within me was once about flowers and fairies. But now I was focused on those women and their concerns for their curmudgeonly cat. 

As soon as I got back to messy, crazy Tumbledown, I hauled out the art paper and wrote the ladies an anonymous note of encouragement. And I'd meant to draw a pretty flower fairy on the front of it, too, one hatching from an Easter egg and wearing a blue Scilla bonnet (and I still intend to draw this; the Universe demands it), but I changed my mind and instead affixed a pic to the card of my Moustache Cat, looking all debonair and bow-tied and gentlemanly. It just seemed right. More uplifting, somehow. 

And as I sealed it up I couldn't help but smile; if nothing else, this spontaneous gesture has uplifted me. And my hope is that those good feelings have been sealed within the envelope, to work their magick upon release.

So mote it be.
...