Whip a shitty…

Recently, I heard this great phrase—to whip a shitty (re-articulated by TAD Hargraves from Marketing for Hippies.com ). In his take he voiced that when we get stuck simply start, begin. The word commit means exactly that—start, begin, and whipping a shitty is simply getting something down on paper— then from there re-write, recraft. This could be a sales letter, a life letter, a personal letter. Bottom line- get unstuck by beginning one letter at a time, one act at a time. The overall arc of anything can bog us ALL down and the only real way to move that stickiness is one action at a time.

When we “think” perfection first time around, drop it- whip a shitty—get “it” down and let go of anything resembling perfection. I often think of Brene Brown’s book—The Gift of Imperfection— and remind myself of the gifts of imperfection constantly as I stumble and pick myself up with so much of my life. When it arrives on my doorstep in lets say a blog, my website (write4health.ca) and I’m tweaking here and there looking for that perfection (which largely lies in my head), I am going to embrace the shitty, get unstuck, and remind myself that perfection is an illusion- because truth be observed- one persons perfection is another persons imperfection—so let it go and do your best.

That reminds me of a funny story I read once—tell me, what person woke up one morning and said today, I am going to do my worst. All the best or worst amounts to, is polarity. As human be-ings we all live somewhere within the split and it varies from day to day. My sense is that we, certainly I do, need to whip a shitty more often and release perfection into the outer realms of imperfection and embrace it.

A while ago my granddaughters (8 & 6) were waiting at the airport in the car for their mother to emerge from customs after a week away at a conference; they shot a lip synced video to the radio. They didn’t get stuck, they played. They didn’t care about perfection, they had fun. They didn’t over think it;  they whipped a shitty and I laughed at it on replay. It was great, imperfect and glorious.

This year-whip a shitty- I plan to!

 

 

Ice Circle

In October I was out in the garden beginning to build a stand with pallets for a water tote to hold rain water for my garden next year. I didn’t have a plan, I had an idea.

I have found that plans are a tad daunting—for me at least. Going out and creating from an idea is a wonder-full process—for me. I am invariably surprised at how well for example pieces of wood fit together that were without purpose for a long while, lying around—and how, with attention or perhaps trusting the process allows both opportunity and synchronicity to fall into form. I am no carpenter (as the last structure buckled under the weight of water will attest), no craftsman—but I do trust the process and allow its magic to reveal itself to me step by step.

It is that de-light-ful moment when they come together and there is recognition of that trust that makes me smile. It is a smile of remembering interconnection and knowing grace is there to embrace and evoke that memory. Training our eyes and heart to witness those links and moments is a life time journey; one of practice, one of miss-takes (my favourite), one of attitude. It is how our attitudes and perspectives have the capacity to influence and alter outcomes, and that our choices make it all possible.

The thin ice of the circle frozen on its container reminds me of fragility. In the time it took me to level the first pallet it melted one drip at a time. Its beauty and wonder held captive for an instant in its perfection. That fragility and perfection surrounds us. Recognizing it is magical.

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An Art of Noticing

“But then, Jane’s mother, seeing that her daughter cowered whenever they passed the tree, whispered in the child’s ear that the tree wasn’t about to devour them as they trotted by in the barouche. Nay, the gnarled old tree was in fact the manor house of the Fairy Lord—and instead of holding her breath as they passed, she should wave hello, and the fairies would lift the limbs of the tree, and it would wave back.”

An except from The Summer of You (2010) (The Blue Raven #2), Kate Noble—sited in The Emotional Craft of Fiction by Donald Maass

This excerpt from The Summer of You reminds of three people I recently celebrated at their memorials, and their capacity to notice small details that made a difference in the lives of others.

Each one different, each one possessing this unique quality; an art of noticing. One a former one-room school teacher; another an environmentalist and park warden; one a crossword-puzzler extraordinaire and poet. Each one filled with passions that guided their lives, and each one offering this gift via eye-contact, conversation, and connection.

I am struck by how each one of these kind souls expressed an art of noticing and how much it meant to me to be a recipient. Often in my day to day busy-ness I listen and do not pay attention, hear and do not connect.

The Art of Noticing is a practice. It is both hearing, listening and connecting with attention. In a sense it is looking at a person rather than looking through, or past a person. I can easily find myself half listening, or waiting to move onto something else without attention.

The qualities I observed from these three individuals were: they stopped what they were doing, looked directly at me, listened with attention, mirrored something in our conversation, and made eye contact during our exchange.

Much like a parent re-directs a child’s fear or uneasiness with kindness, respect, and offers an opportunity to reframe a feeling, it seems to me the art of noticing starts with both kindness and respect and provides an opportunity for the recipient to reframe—for themselves—their misgivings in a new light as with the mother and child in the passage above. This gift and practice will be missed. Thank you for awakening this awareness in me with your passing.

The Litle Things…

Working in the garden today, covering my hugabed (hugelkultur beds) for the winter and discovered wonderful ice art made by the first frost last night. This particular one caught my attention. Not having the ability to draw per se, I have to imitate what already is—which really is art isn’t it?

However, I am unable to take credit for its formation. That is the wonder of nature, it already exists. It is the human eye that is able to capture it—or not, and humankind that is able to preserve and conserve its wonder through stewardship—or not.

Stillness- a way of life…

Stillness is one of the twelve Vision Cards- a visual reminder and/or prompt for the Possibility PLAYbook to be published in July. The PLAYbook  is the final piece of the Health and Wellness Package– an outgrowth of the past seven years of recovery from a motor vehicle accident that changed my life on January 12, 2007.

In search of a way to climb into a new life with a TBI (traumatic brain injury) and multiple physical injuries, I sought PLAY (Purpose, Lightness, Action, Yes), once I was able. PLAY became my path. When I faced any challenge, I sought ways to play with it in simplistic ways. This was about eighteen months after the accident. Subsequent years have been about recovery, one step at a time, and exploring the tools of PLAY.

P: Finding purpose is essential to anyone, especially when something interrupts the flow of one’s life- be it an event, dis-ease, a physical and/or metaphoric death- anything that shatters and/or alters our life journey.

L: Lightness is an ability to bring “light” (and laughter) into anything and everything that we face on our life path. It is a capacity to find a gift of any traumatic event and reframe it in a lighthearted way in small and significant ways. It is about shedding “light” into the dark, and darkest places of our lives, and allowing that “light”—those tiny tendrils of grace— to filter down on us that offer choice.

A: Action, is about embracing those tiny tendrils of grace, however they show-up, and taking baby-steps along our life path—especially when everything in us, in saying “no”—taking any action, helps “stuck” energy to move, change and transform.

Y: Yes, is about simply saying “yes” to life.

YES I can…involve trust, seek stillness- two Vision Cards highlighted in this blog so far. There are ten more to go…

Today, I “pulled” the Stillness Card. I’ve just returned from a 1,600 km road trip. The good news is that I was able to do it, although it took two days going up and back- a total of four days- which is the good thing. Seven years ago, I could have driven one-way in a day- and three years ago I could not have driven half-way. I call that progress- slow and steady, just like the tortoise!  That is what health and wellness is all about- never say never, and, one step at a time.

For the next two weeks, I want to contemplate stillness in my life. While the image itself is static, it indicates constant movement- the sky, the sandpiper, the waves, the sand crawling with life. It is like much of our life—constant movement— and in many cases that unbroken demand is a mere perception. Taking time-out and finding stillness within in our daily activities comes from the inside out, and becomes an opportunity to ground ourselves, and move forward in equilibrium.  Join me…

Mary, Mary…Growing Possibilities

It’s the time of year all the passionate gardeners among us head out into our patches of various sizes, till the soil, transplant, plant and sow seeds…

Some of us started seeds inside months ago, others will make the annual trek to garden centres or friends who have too much, and are willing to see someone else “take it off their hands”. Others will build raised beds for veggies, plant pots full of flowers, plant starters, grow tomatoes, grow potato beds using straw bales, or discover container gardening in one form or another, each of us focused and full of intention.

Bottom line, it’s time to get outside under the sun and swallow up the rays as we willingly put in all the hours we can to help our gardens be plentiful, and bountiful—share our abundance with others during the plenteous period, and eventually stock-up again for the snowy season.

The below veggie advise for healthy living came to my inbox this morning (oh! so you’ve seen it before), and it made me contemplate all the energy we place to creation at this time of year. It also helped me witness how simplicity strengthens through the attitudes we carry with us all year round, not just during the growing season, and no matter where we look- in our own backyard and gardens, sage advice flourishes everywhere.  Our job is simply to listen and pay attention…
First, you come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses….

VEGGIES FOR DAILY LIVING…

PLANT THREE ROWS OF PEAS:

1. Peace of mind

2. Peace of heart

3. Peace of soul
PLANT FOUR ROWS OF SQUASH:

1. Squash gossip

2. Squash indifference

3. Squash grumbling

4. Squash selfishness
PLANT FOUR ROWS OF LETTUCE:

1. Lettuce be faithful

2. Lettuce be kind

3. Lettuce be patient

4. Lettuce really love one another
PLANT TURNIPS FOR GARDENS:

1. Turnip for meetings

2. Turnip for service

3. Turnip to help one another
SAGE ADVICE: GARDENS TAKE THYME:

1. Thyme for each other

2. Thyme for family

3. Thyme for friends
WATER FREELY WITH PATIENCE AND CULTIVATE WITH LOVE.  THERE IS MUCH FRUIT IN YOUR GARDEN BECAUSE YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW.

full of jam…

 

 

Thank-you to the anonymous photographer who captured this moment.

 

 

 

full of jam..   by Angela Simons

these women laugh, their music cacophonous in the woods, just like the cackle of jackdaws in the morning glow, their strings on fiddle, guitars and banjo strum, thrum, bleat to the sheep hidden behind hawthorn, rich with berries, ready to prickle, the dance buds of sweet wine as it sidles down throats rich in song- oh merry widows eager for the day, blossom sweet , your pluck full of jam strings into the light, coy with your joy in the dawn.

sickle of spring

to capture a moment in a frame, is to find a catalyst suspended, alert before an unveiled instant, and in its harness, a story unravels, not its own, of its interpreter which is the person behind the lens

take this twinkling- the grass bobbed in the breeze, gently rustled, shuffled in its dance to a background of shades, blurred by time and circumstance- and yet within that split, between shutter, lens and finger, the sward stood still- was it its intention to succumb to no movement, no- it simply was in the flow of its own journey, with only an intent to be, when the observer, behind the lens arrested this instant, and now is to untangle its mass

– a singular construal that is neither here nor there- simply an elucidation of perception, a tale of unfoldment, seen in hindsight and through the perceivers meniscus- a fragmentation and interpretation of her own sickle

so be the light… the blue and the green, the seizure and snatch—all is one, to the snip of spring

Beach Lizard

I watch myself get fussy with details; put on socks with shoes to walk the beach. I wear a sun hat, bring a key for the van, lip balm and I’ve doused myself in sun-screen. This unfamiliar open space does that; makes me what to find myself in the details; reassure myself that I am here amidst the blues, gulls and sand. I am on my first solo holiday since the accident, five years go.

It is important to retain routine in an unfamiliar environment. It helps ground me. I need that to locate myself some days. It is one of those things after an acquired brain injury. Maintain familiarity in the minutia. If that means socks and shoes for the beech, it simply means socks and shoes for the beach. It has no significance other than that. This morning when I was out, I had neither one of them. Somehow it was unimportant. Now it is important. To acknowledge that need is significant enough so I honour it, and go with it.

In my fanny pack, I have a little book and pen to scribble down observations. To waddle on the beach gives me great pleasure. Months on my back, has offered enormous appreciation for movement. The tide is out, and the sand damp and pooled. There are sand dollars; bevelled sand formations like waves thin, spread across the sand; shells, and minnows that dance in the warm shallows. I take off my socks and shoes, tie the laces, and hang them around my neck. I chuckle at my need for them only moments earlier. Now I could do without their dangle and weight.

I hike towards the dry sand and caste my shoes onto the beach like a Frisbee. I sit; settle into the warm sand and look around. I hanker to return to the edge of the ocean, and I will.

A guy with an English accent is looking after the dog, Juno he announces to the young woman half naked on the beach. It’s his son’s dog he claims, a large husky. The dog takes a huge crap in the sand while the man chats on.

Meanwhile his wife throws balls to another dog, a retriever. She sees the crap. He spies it too. He walks over to the pile, picks it up with his blue bag stashed in his shorts.

The naked girl yells, “You’ll smell it, or step in it first,” and laughs.

“Come here you rotten dog,” yells the wife. The dog lopes and bounds along the shore oblivious.

The half-naked girl smiles at me, and goes back to her book. Dogs and people disperse along the beach.

The sand is warm on my back; I want to rest my eyes, my back.

I hear voices at a distance. The half-naked woman’s children play in the sand, their voices blend. I know there is a para-kite flyer tracking the sea breeze above, and a float plane overhead; I hear its roar. I know sail ships face the head winds with their white masks against the blue- grey sky, and herons flap along the shore, lazy before they land to fish again. A bald eagle screeches.

I doze. My head rests on my socks and shoes, a perfect pillow; I’m glad I got fussy, my sunhat now over my face. I doze like a lizard…

fools day

look to this day, it’s shroud of fog

blocks the light. trees heavy with snow

fallen, light as prairie dust-

 

icicles cling to the roof where snow-melt

springs momentarily; transforms, runs free

down roofs; caught mid-stream.

 

and told to stay as temperature halts

escape back to earth’s crust-

 

now the light is dimmed

by unspoken rays trapped behind

cloud cover.

 

a silence dangles in density, unheard

by passing trucks. their roar unmuffled

 

by stillness, or hushed in unspoken

glamour, held in peace

brought by low-hanging haze

 

it will come, speaks the calm

to all that listen beyond proximity

 

it will dance with the light

of transition, no matter the instant

of transformation—

 

it will move in fluidity,

once more, with patience

 

at its core. from that centre

it will emerge freed

by sun’s rays and gleam.

 

©Angela Simmons 2014