It's Okay, I'm a Beginner

Watercolor by Crow of Tim Henderson
 based on a photo by Susan Roads,
requested by Marian Henderson.

Do you ever wish you could explore a field you've never tried? 

 I admire watercolor artists and pen and ink sketches, but.... (I have long list of reasons I couldn't ever consider it.)  

 If my cow resembled a potato supported by four breadsticks. I would say:

1) I can't do that. I obviously don't have any talent.

2) I'm too old. It would take 20 years to get good.

No one wants to feel a FOOL. So, seriously, why is it foolish to begin something you don't already know how to do?  Why do we expect the results to be perfect?  And what is perfection?

 My first sketch of Tim had his twinkle, but his face proportions weren't quite Tim. About half of my friends thought it was nice drawing but couldn't tell who it was suppose to resemble.  So I went on Youtube and looked for demos and pointers on perspective and proportion.  I found suggestions, tried them, and improved. 

my first try to sketch Tim

Giving myself a break, I now repeat, "Hey, It's okay. I'm a Beginner".  I get to experiment, learn, and play without apologies.  Fearless learning is a thrill. Crescent Dragonwagon's Fearless Writing Workshops can apply to any form of expression.

Maybe I'll use, "Hey, It's okay. I'm a beginner" for every minute of this amazing life. 

Hugs y'all...

Just because it's a plan...

Caught up in the lists of things to do and running between the gates at 85 mph., I came to a halt yesterday.  I realized that although my plan of action was well designed and great fun, my feelings for the destination have changed.  Instead of a rainforest treehouse in Borneo, my initial dream goal looked like a faded 1951 postcard from Galveston. Why has it take so long to figure out?

The more philosophical among you might say that although we meander we are never truly off the path. But I gained a giant gift in the process.

For a couple of decades, I've felt I should write my wild and crazy story. Six months ago I organized my journals from the Ice Age and Tah-Tah  wrote the first essay (chapter) of the book. Awesome. It was accepted by The Penmen Review.  Success, but

There's often a bold italicized "but".  My joy comes from writing, puzzling, piecing together..trying different textures, sounds and colors to express the visceral experience of a story.  How could I vividly share my fabulous times without acknowledging the horrific parts? Pull one and you move the other. They are connected.

So let's go one step further and imagine the hypothetical book is finished. Would I want to read it?  How about traveling around to book signings and talking about it for a year or more? I can just hear it, "my mom used me to attract..."         Not so much.

Yesterday, I gleefully set the memoir project
aside to make space for projects that... well....that just make me happy. I'm convinced that what needs to come out, will--either in a short story or essay.

If you have trapped yourself into a journey that needs tweaking, I hope this post will nudge you to reconsider the course.  As Crescent Dragonwagon quotes to her students, "Nothing is wasted on the writer."   Good road.


(You can find Crescent on FB Crescent Dragonwagon's Writing, Cooking, & Workshops)  or www.dragonwagon.com 

Surrender?

Sometimes I have to hunker down and ride out the storm. When I smell dusty rain on the wind, my instinct is to outrun it. Faster. Faster.  A good friend can ease the panic.

The worst choice I can make is to deny the gathering clouds and then become incensed at the arrival of the inevitable. Of course, I’m referring to the turbulent crashing waves of emotion that swing between the uncontrollable abyss and fleeting glorious heights. 

My first thought yesterday was “surrender” to being engulfed by my own disturbing, crazy dialogues. My second spoken out loud guidance was  “Patience, Crow, things always work out.” However, knowing that the pendulum will obey the laws of physics and swing back to the other side, doesn’t help. Sometimes my logic and my gut-knowing are lost to each other.
   
Do we all try to control gravity? Arrest the natural arc of that emotional pendulum? Do we all joyously surrender to the bright side of our moods and reject the rest. I think some people may cling to consuming depression as a badge, the adult award for "facing reality."

Today the sun is out, and I feel refreshed, emptied of chaos. I am humbled in the realization that these storms are as natural as the turning of the earth---and sometimes (like yesterday) surrendering takes all the will power I can muster. 

The wise saying is that we all have our demons. If I don’t acknowledge their existence, how can I invite them to leave?

During the Still Parts

During the Still Parts   

I remember to notice with all my senses as if waiting...... 

waiting for the rain or the "ah ha" of a great giggle or the taste of an illusive insight.  I've been spinning yak and silk by hand. So smooth and natural.  It reminds me of this photo and others taken in China on the Tibetan Plateau.

Here at home the still parts are stolen from the "ought to be doings" like the dishes, sweeping--all the busy things we imagine ourselves doing to imitate the kind of person we think we are.

In an amazing effort to just keep things going, I can ignore important skirmishes on the periphery of my awareness.  Its an old habit like thinking I need gas money to get to the next gig, keep pedaling or the bike will fall over, wondering if someone will say I can't camp here, or if 'it' will be okay.

It's ironic to be in the sweetness of my years, not needing the worn smooth survival tools I carried close.  The still moments don't last forever. I understand that everything is moving.

During today's still patch, I think I'll quit arguing with myself about having a part in the big crazy thrilling dance.  In stillness I'm just a compassionate, creative, and awed being...grateful for the stillness to notice.

It's about time...

In Ecuador on a birding trip. 

It's about time. Three years ago, I had these clever guys set up a great website...that I have not updated! The lack of activity worried some people into thinking that I was not well or maybe that I'd left the planet. 

   I'm healthy, happy, creative, and walking 3 miles a day.  The truth about my web silence is that I'd rather be writing, spinning, weaving, knitting, dreaming, walking in wilderness or adventuring somewhere with my husband (the fabulous Art Evans). Learning how to do techie things can be crazy making.

Grey haired me wearing
Writers' Colony at Dairy Hollow
in Eureka Springs, AR t-shirt.

   Our mothers did pass on after living with us until they were 92 and 90. It's taken a year and a half to get my bearings and begin writing again. Each mom felt that she was the only queen mother and openly squabbled with the other one. I think I could write a sitcom. Quoting one, for example, "I'm not gonna die first because she'll get my room!"  I think they enjoyed the hostilities that kept them fired up and righteously indignant. They passed within 3 months of each other. 

These are alpaca gloves I knitted.  I gave them to a woman on the
Tibetan Plateau when we visited wilderness in China.

I'm not touring but have had the honor of appearing with
 Kelly and Donna (Still on the Hill) as my band

Arthur and I have run away on bird and critter watching trips to India, Ecuador, Madagascar, China, Peru, Brazil, Argentina, Uganda, Borneo, and a few others. Journals, pictures, videos, and those magic moments, like tigers in the wild.  

Arthur on the Sacred Way

I guess I can't put everything on this space right now. I'll try to figure out more of the blog stuff.  Hugs, Crow

I LOVED writing this book.