A Tale of Two Cups

The three of us traveled together to Crescent City to celebrate our brother's life 

and mourn his death with the people he spent his days with. When we stopped for 

coffee on that rainy day, Jill noticed these beautiful cups. She said "let's get two of 

these, so when we are home we can call each other and drink from them and have 

coffee together." Bob bought them for us. 



Once we returned home, we talked on the phone more frequently than we had in 

many previous years. We discussed some of the difficult things about growing up in our

family, about losing two of our brothers only six months apart. About some of the fun times 

we had together when we were young and best friends and roommates. 

She in her early twenties. I in my late teens.



We sang Caberet on the phone together one afternoon; our theme song from those days. 

We used to talk about showing up at Denny's in Costa Mesa at three in the morning and 

breaking into that song, dancing in the aisles and waking up those seemingly dejected 

humans who found themselves there. I wish we had done that, but even planning it was 

good for our spirits. It acknowledged that it was ok to consider doing something outlandish,

and that calling attention to yourself for being different might not be a bad thing. 

Two sisters discovering who we were. 




Sometimes we would just text "I'm having coffee with you this morning" with a picture 

of the cup. We had coffee together through Hugh's heart surgery and her cancer

diagnosis. Through her illness and her move to Placerville for those bittersweet two months 

when again, we saw each other every day and were best friends. 




I keep both cups here now. This morning I pulled one down as I sometimes do, 

to have coffee with Jill. 









©2017Sheri Hoeger

Loving Myself

This month, I'm participating in Quest 2017 with Tracking Wonder at http://quest2017.com. Participants will answer twelve prompts from visionaries and thought leaders in preparation for 2017. This is the second prompt, from Susan Piver:

Do you love yourself enough to stop working on yourself yet?

Who would you be in that case?" #loveyourself

When I was young, I frequently heard girls demean other girls as being fake. I remember thinking that it was impossible to be fake. Fake what? A fake person? If one tried on the values of others for size, or to impress someone, isn't that also an expression of who they are in that moment? Isn't that fakeness part of their genuineness?

I feel the same way about Susan Piver's question "who would you be in that case". One would be a genuine person who has struggled through some tough questions that one had the courage to ask ourselves. The act of working on ourselves IS part of who we are. 

That said, because some of us don't formally seek guidance and information about self realization does not mean it isn't happening. It happens day in and day out as you live. Life is the best teacher.

In my family, there were few expectations. Not for grades, education or for careers. Not for great or even mediocre accomplishments. There were only expectations for religious faith (which I eschewed, much to my family's dismay), and general good citizenship. We were expected to behave and be kind. We were told to be true to ourselves, but that got sticky when we did so and they were not in agreement. 

When I got out into the world, I realized how unusual that was. As I spoke to high school students and young adults who were attending college and getting degrees and planning careers that were sometimes scripted by their parents, I wondered why mine didn't care about that. It seemed like they just wanted to get us "settled" as soon as possible so they wouldn't have to be responsible for us anymore. There were six of us, so I'm sure that was a consideration. We were encouraged to develop some skill that we could "fall back on" but there was never any focus on having something to leap forward with.

The scripting in our family was more subtle. I remember my mother's rage when I broke off my engagement to an older man when I was in high school. She was furious, most likely a reaction to her fear that I would not be able to take care of myself. But, I did know how to take care of myself even then, as evidenced by that decision. It seems so odd that not marrying the wrong man was one of my first rebellious acts. 

A few years later when I was ready to marry a young man they didn't know well and didn't particularly like, I made another rebellious act. (Just that statement seems funny because I am a mild-mannered, quiet person and the thought of my being rebellious is ludicrous, but revolt it was.)  We decided that we would not get married in the Catholic Church, in which we both had been raised. We did not believe in the doctrine or the social restrictions and it felt hypocritical to get married in the church solely to appease our parents. You may imagine how that went over. But again, I knew how to take care of myself--my true, authentic self from an early age. Out of the six of us, ours was the only marriage that has endured the test of time. I believe it is in part because we knew our own minds and stood up for that. We set a precedent for ourselves and our families that became part of the fabric of our lives. To our families' credit, they eventually accepted our decision even in their disappointment. It is powerful to know that you can love and be loved without having to walk the path someone else envisions for you. 

The self-confidence these experiences inspired gave me the courage to trust myself and my abilities. It has made me become more compassionate and empathetic to the struggles of others. My life experiences have been varied and profound. I have never really struggled with who I am, I have just always known. The very few times someone told me I couldn't do something it made me even more determined to do it. I have spent some time and energy wondering if my lack of interest in questioning myself meant that I was bereft of depth somehow, but have decided to just accept it. I have lived my way into the question of why and how I want to share those experiences, and the lessons I have learned from them. Over the last year or so I have explored reasons for and ways that people tell their stories in preparation for the telling of my own.

Perhaps my parents' seeming neglect of setting expectations was intentional, inspired wisdom. It allowed for exploration of creativity and knowledge and connection for its own sake. I know it would please them, but it was never to please them. For me, the question is do I love myself enough to keep working on myself, to never become complacent or so arrogant that I don't think I can learn from others. My answer is yes. I will behave (mostly), be kind, and be true to myself.

Missing Me

 
We lived for 10 years on two acres of gently sloping land in the Sierra Foothills, forming an intimate relationship with the many plants growing and living and languishing there. Since we downsized to a small house on a small lot in town, people have frequently asked if I miss it. There are some really great things about living smaller, especially within walking distance of our historic downtown. It was time to simplify our finances, our workload and our stress. For those reasons and more, it was the right decision. But the answer is yes. I miss the privacy and the space but mostly I miss the relationship to the flora and fauna that thrived and waned and expired there. I miss living so fully in the midst of her cycles. I think that place misses me too.

The following was written in response to a prompt last December when participating in Tracking Wonder's Quest 2016, a thought-provoking group writing experience. Her lessons comfort me, gently recalled by leaves in the breeze, the rainbow twinkling in a back lit drop of rain clinging to a branch, the cacophony of frogs croaking along the side of the road in early March... 

 

They miss my daily stroll, my checking in on them to see and feel and smell how they have changed. The wild flowers miss my knowing where they will come up in each year's spring and how I make the rounds looking for the first signs of them. The Japanese maples miss my hand-picking every single pine needle out of them, some of which have pierced their leaves, impaling them as they dropped. I removed them even though they were adorable, like miniature icicles hanging there suspended. I enjoy a disordered order, but the maples must be allowed their grace. They miss my loosing their helicopter seeds from the porch to watch them twirl down and down. They even miss my shears--sometimes delicate, sometimes ruthless. The paths miss my rake, unearthing them every fall even though only I really knew or cared that they were there. They miss my boots slogging through the meadow so that I can relieve the labyrinth of fallen branches after the storm and walk it's circles once again. 

The hydrangeas miss my clippers and the chance to come inside to stand in all their glory. The bamboo misses my vigorous shake, oak leaves tumbling over me with a rattle. The moss misses my touch, so dry and scratchy in summer and spongy-wet after rain. Their impossible green misses my gaze and my wonder at its brightness. 

The ponds miss my contemplation. The wisteria misses my drinking in her intoxicatingly sweet fragrance. The trees miss my excitement when they rain leaves in the fall breeze all across the yard or when the steam rises off of them in the morning sun. The acorns miss my annual collection, especially the ones with the velvet golden hats. I know they all miss me even though they are being taken care of properly. No one could have loved them quite like I did. 

 

 www.arttoliveby.com
www.madstencilist.com

William Morris Revisited

Much of art is about the process. Sometimes you already know the process you will use for a project. Sometimes you have to invent one to accomplish your goal. This was one of those projects. I wanted to create a reproduction of a William Morris tapestry from the early 1900's. I have always loved this style of design, and planned to display it in my own living room.

 

I started with a large panel, painting it a muddy purple color. After measuring out exactly where my tapestry would be placed, I taped off and applied Proceed Smooth Absorbent Texture and dragged a wallpaper brush through it vertically and horizontally to create the texture.

The trouble was how to transfer the design. There are a lot of ways to do this, but the rough surface complicated things. My solution was to cut a stencil of the darkest dark throughout the whole design. I used a product called QST for my stencil, which is similar to interfacing material available from fabric stores. It can be cut with either an xacto or a stencil burner, which will remove a slight amount of material. Perfect for the fine lines I wanted.

 Did I mention it was large? I wasn't dubbed “The Mad Stencilist” for nothing. It took me about 3 days to cut the stencil. Here you see it layed out on a 3 x 6 foot table.

When it was finished I aligned the design and used my airbrush to apply raw umber paint through the stencil to the tapestry surface. Once that was accomplished, I painted the various elements using a limited palette of Yellow Ochre, Oxide Green, Red Oxide and Raw Umber, all in Proceed Slow Drying Acrylics. These are paints that were formulated to have open time, which allows one the ability to move the paint and pull off some paint before it dries. That was very useful in revealing the texture as needed. The panel was sewn at top and bottom to accommodate rods for hanging and stabilization.

This was an unusual project, and though it was laborious, I have enjoyed the results for a number of years. I hope you enjoyed seeing my process for it, and can use some of the information included for your own projects. Happy painting!

Www.arttoliveby.com

www.madstencilist.com

Gems of Santa Barbara

After a long absence, we visited Santa Barbara last summer and discovered two amazing places 

not to miss on your next foray to the Central California Coast. There is a lot to see in 

Santa Barbara, with beautiful beaches and a great zoo. The historic downtown is 

beautiful, with Spanish architecture, tile walkways, and those wonderful red tile roofs.

When our B&B hosts said not to miss the courthouse downtown, we said "Sure, why not! 

We are going to be right down there anyway." Little did we know what we were in for, 

especially this mural loving traveler who has spent much of her career studying, admiring and 

and executing decorative painting and mural techniques. 

This building was dedicated in 1929, and I will let their website tell you more about specifics. 

I'm going straight to the eye candy! 

 

 

I am always so astounded at art 

and architecture of this scale

and so enjoy seeing unusual treatments, 

such as that of the sky in this mural. 

The underlying diamond pattern was

a unifying factor, and even though the 

brushwork was so apparent, it completely 

reads as sky when you are in the room.  

If that wasn't enough, we spent an entire afternoon enjoying the Santa Barbara Botanical Gardens.

Contemplating a joyous balance of planted and natural foliage, we embarked on a 

wonderful walk through a creek-fed ravine, sat for long periods on private benches and sketched 

to my heart's content. It was just what we needed to decompress after a busy weekend in LA.


 

If you're in the area, these are definitely worth the effort to see. Happy travels!

Sheri Hoeger  
www.arttoliveby.com
www.madstencilist.com

Symphony of Wonder

“Find a quiet, private place. Then, follow these instructions for the first day:Imagine your best possible self at the end of a specific day in late 2016. See yourself in a specific place where you can reflect upon the day and the year. A favorite chair, a deck or balcony, a mountainside. (This is only a portion of the prompt from Jeffrey Davis of Tracking Wonder, but it is the part I latched onto.)

 

It is late September and my quiet place has a symphony of its own. I am sitting in the shade of an oak on the edge of the river, the sun glistening off of its currents, it's water rushing around rocks and boulders, trying to catch up with itself. At first it sounds like one big roar, but the longer I sit, the more nuances I notice within it. I start to play my game to find how many individual sounds I can detect. The gurgle as it wraps around stones that are close to me, a trickle here, a plunking there, where the water underneath is a little deeper. A sifting where it meets the sand. A bird calls, another calls back. The breeze lifts the leaves and clatters them above me, sings beyond me in waves that I can see coming. And going. 

The full experience of the symphony is auditory, olfactory, tactile and visual. All of my senses are engaged, especially my sense of wonder. I am concurrently observing the colors and textures and light. Movement that makes me a little dizzy if I track the water in a certain way. But the urge to drift along with the flow is irresistible. So many reflections. It is darker and bluer in the slope to the white foamy crest. I choose a favorite patch and try to determine what color is caused by the rocky bed, and what is caused by the reflection of trees and sky and clouds. Of dirt and stone above the surface. They are inextricable and exist only in that moment. There is always a surprise. A hue that seems more vivid than one would expect. It is my favorite. I savor it, and try to imprint it on my brain, as it will soon change with the light. 

It is only after this initial revisiting, this reconnect with my life's metaphor, that I can recline and let my mind drift over the last months and consider how and where I have done my best work, and what it has meant and to whom.

 __________________________________

During the month of December and into January I participated in Quest 2016, conceptualized and beautifully executed by Jeffrey Davis of Tracking Wonder. Jeffrey gathered 13 visionaries, thought leaders and individuals widely recognized in their fields and arranged for them to give us a prompt to consider, and respond to in whatever creative way we chose. As they days flew by, over 300 of us struggled to keep up with the pace of the schedule, as a lovely comraderie developed. Each of wrangled and wrote through our own struggles with the questions we were asked. Struggles with responding and with examining the life experiences that demanded attention and recognition as we worked to articulate how we envisioned our best work and our best selves for 2016. After the initial guest prompts were delivered, Jeffrey presented us with some exercises for synthesizing our responses for clarity and some additional prompts. It is not too late for you to join Quest 2016. I found it very thought-provoking and it has helped me to clarify my purpose and my direction for 2016. It did not lead me to any resolutions, (which have never sat well with me) just to deeper understanding and some lovely new connections with like-minded people. 

My word for 2016-CONNECTION!

Sheri Hoeger

www.arttoliveby.com

www.madstencilist.com

Thank you very much, Mrs. Abbott

When I was a girl of eleven, it was somehow arranged that once a week I would go to the home of Mrs. Abbott down the street in order that she might teach me how to sew. By hand. 

Mrs. Abbott had just one child, a teenaged boy.  She had an English accent and a very tidy home, with her sewing kit neatly stowed at the end of the sofa. 

Mrs. Abbott showed me how to cut the fabric with the pattern pinned to it so it wouldn't slip around. Each week I stitched a white apron with big brown polka dots, a gift for my mother. The fabric had a little waffly texture to it, and I remember adding some lace trim to the pocket and the hem. We sat mostly in silence, Mrs. Abbot and I, as she showed me how to keep my stitches even and how to tie a knot that wouldn't show or pull through. It was the first time I realized how lovely sitting and working in silence can be. As the 5th child of six, I was used to noise and chaos from morning to night. I didn't know until then, that there was another normal. A tidy and quiet normal where you could hear yourself think. 

I was thinking of her last week as I sewed an apron for my granddaughter. I use a machine mostly, but can still whip up a stitch when I need to. My home has never been as tidy as Mrs. Abbott's, but I still love to work quietly alone or alongside another. You never know what lessons are learned when you offer your time and expertise to another. I still hold those unintended gifts, like buried treasure.


www.arttoliveby.com 
www.madstencilist.com

Synchronicity and Camp GLP

I went lookin' for some sweet inspiration-Joni Mitchell
 

Last August I traveled to New York to attend Camp GLP, a summer camp for adult creatives and entrepreneurs who want to align their work and personal lives with their common mission of making the world a better place. This is the great effort of Jonathan and Stephanie Fields of the Good LifeProject. Three days of immersion into presentations by "thought leaders", artists, authors, teachers, shamans, business people, yoga and mindfulness practitioners. This event was held at a beautiful location, was well organized and even the food was good. 350 or so attendees came from all over the globe to connect, to discuss, to collaborate. One of those attendees and I connected immediately in that way that makes you wonder about previous lives. We were fast friends. 

What my new friend could not have known when she snapped that picture of our clasped hands at the talent show, is that the reason I came was to try to find my reset button. To rejuvenate my soul after so much sadness and my business after neglecting it for so long. To find a clear direction for my art going forward. She could not have known that I have lost three siblings in less than two years, and that as two of them lay in their hospital beds asleep, I snapped secret pictures of our hands clasped in love and pain and support, knowing their time here was not to be long. 
 

She could not have known that I put those pictures away, in my files and in my mind, telling myself that some day, when I'm ready to do my serious artwork, I will paint them. She could not have known that her picture was the synchronicity I was looking for that day, having been guided by Shaman Monica Kenton in her morning workshop to be on the lookout for it. She could not have known it would wake me to the fact that it is time for me to do my serious work. My straight-from-the-gut-through-my-heart work, that will include those photos but not stop there, but continue to explore the touch of hands and the energy and the experience and the love that they hold.
 

And so I started my Touch of Hands series this fall, and it has unfolded in ways I did not anticipate, as I am allowing it to pull me rather than pushing it. I have completed six paintings so far, many of which have been gifts. I have plans for many more, and am exploring different mediums for their expression. 

As an interactive branch of this heart-based project, I have created a Facebook group, 
A Touch of Hands, where anyone who is so inclined can post their photo and story of this simple, common human act that means so much day in and day out. It is a celebration of all the things a touch of hands can mean. This photo was posted by Rick Charlie, and you can see his story about it there. I would love for you to join. 


My Artwork: www.ArtToLiveBy.com
Stencils: www.madstencilist.com
Find me on Facebook too! 

Sedona, Red Dirt and Energy

I have spent many years studying art and color. This just naturally makes me a student of the world and all of its wonders. Or is it the other way around? On my recent trip to the Sedona area, I was so enjoying hiking and just being with the amazing rock formations, feeling lighter than I had for a long time. We spent two days in the area, exploring a few sites deeply rather than frantically driving around trying to see everything. We came across a little-used short path to a wonderful red boulder just perfect for sprawling on and enjoying the view of the Courthouse and Bell Rock. It was the perfect setting for some stream-of-consciousness thought, observation and conversation...




If you look into the daytime sky and let your eyes relax (like one of those magic picture books) you will see what appears to be tiny energy particles (white with tails) dancing in all directions. One theory is that these visible particles are ORGONE, also known as prana, life force, ki, chi, mana, universal energy...etc.  Another is that it is "just" an artifact of our eye, a physiological response to conditions and not "real".
Either way, that makes it no more or less real than color, which only exists in light and is perceived as an artifact of the cones in our eyes. The tree isn't green, it is only made up of a material that reflects green in light. 



Interestingly, there are other responses to color that occur without our awareness. We as humans respond to beauty and color. We are touched by a beautiful sunrise or ocean view or landscape. We are calmed by certain colors, invigorated by others. This response is not just psychological; there are also physiological responses. Check out these articles for further exploration at About.com and The New York Times.

I was pondering this as I hiked around Sedona, surrounding myself with the fabulous red rock and dirt, the contrasting plant life and the happy accident of wonderfully cloudy almost-stormy skies. We are absorbing color as we are absorbing light. 

In a place like Sedona, we are exposed to more red and orange wavelengths. I think this absorption of color is part of why it has long been a place people have migrated to for healing. It is not just beautiful to the eye. It is healing in other ways we can't explain. In addition to that, it is known for several vortexes, or places where the earth is at it's healthiest that have an energy that can be felt by people.






So much is going on around and inside of us all the time that we forget to be aware of.  We can surmise that there is much more that we just aren't aware of. It tickles me to be reminded that there are so many wonders and forces at work. And by the way, those little particles looked denser in Sedona than at home in CA. Imagine that! Better yet, see for yourself. http://visitsedona.com/

In My Right Brain

The closest I get to a quiet mind is when I do blind contour drawings. This is something I learned quite a few years ago when I attended a drawing class based on Betty Edward's book Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. It was pivotal for me as an artist and has the beneficial side effect of disengaging the verbal left side by presenting the brain with an exercise that the right just takes over and dances through while the left brain relinquishes control and waits. Not always patiently, but it waits. And with practice you can train it to wait quietly and patiently with the added benefit of not only becoming a better artist but also increasing your powers of observation related to pretty much every aspect of your life. You don't have to be an artist to do this, and you will still benefit from it. 

Here's how:

Get a piece of paper or sketch pad. I like to use a big one so that I can scale the drawing to what I'm seeing. If that page looks too big and empty it is ok to draw yourself a square or rectangle that doesn't make you nervous. Use a soft, sharp pencil like a 2b 3b or 4b or one of those fine point pilot pens that glide along the page. If you don't have those, use whatever is available, but NO ERASER. You'll see why in a minute. 

Set something out to draw. That can be just about anything-it's great to just do drawings of opportunity. Place a flower in a simple vase or get a coffee cup or whatever interests you. Get comfy where you can easily see your subject and access your paper. Find a spot you want to start and place your pencil on the paper. You are going to follow the contours of the object with your eye and match what you see with your pencil. You are going to look only at the subject. Never at the drawing. Imagine that your eye is an ant crawling along the surfaces of your object, and you are following it with your pencil. If possible, try to do this in a quiet space. Someone talking or even a TV in the background will bring your left brain to attention. The point here is to engage the right brain fully. You will lose track of time and finish with a marked sense of well-being. 

At first, it's really hard not to cheat. You will want to sneak a peek. You will giggle. Go right back to not looking, unless you have traveled around that object for a while and are completely lost. Find your place and resume.

The more you do this, the more you will see. Follow whatever you see. You can set an order of things or travel randomly, it doesn't matter. Your drawings will look funny. Some of them will look really funny. Even your left brain can't judge that too harshly because, after all, you weren't even looking while you drew it. 

If you do this regularly, you will notice more about whatever is in your environment. An object will never be quite the same to you when you have observed it so closely, and that extends to objects that you come across and imagine drawing. This can keep you entertained in long check-out lines. As you develop your practice, try drawing your family when they are still or sleeping. Draw people in public. You will notice more about their demeanor, be more in tune with body language and facial expressions. Your drawings will be in better proportion, and will have a style that is just naturally you. Your essence will be present on the page, beautifully unfiltered by your own judgement. Your right brain knows how to do this, it just needs the opportunity. 

Seems I'm not the only one, and it looks like art as meditation is gaining attention and popularity. Have you noticed all the cool adult coloring books coming out recently? There is a great trend in giving yourself permission to just play. Don't think of it as wasting time-it may be one of the most important things you do for yourself. A recent article in the Washington Post explores this trend and some of the benefits of practice here.

And here's a great opportunity  

if you want to explore in paint! 

Barbara Ferrier, an artist whom 
I recently met at Camp GLP and online, 

has just launched her  

Mindful Painting Class 

that you can enjoy for free! Check it out.  

Wishing you a quiet mind, a little every day.

To see my artwork and creative business,  

check out www.arttoliveby.com

                 www.madstencilist.com

                 Find Me On Facebook!

What I've Learned About Grief

I wanted to share with you some of what I have learned through my recent loss of three siblings within a period of less than two years. It is my hope that somewhere in these observations, you may find a bit of comfort. 

Grief is a normal human emotion. It is as basic to us as love, and it has been said that the depth of our grief is equal to the depth of our joy. I have found that it underlies everything I think and do for a while. I try to lean into it and allow it to be with me while I move through my daily activities. I also give myself permission to not be as productive as I normally would be. Some days to not be productive at all. Cry when you need to cry. Reflect when insights strike you. 

Appreciate and find beauty, even if it is to touch a leaf. If you can get out into nature, it is so helpful, especially where there is moving water. Surround yourself with color that you love. Make a little shrine to the person that reminds you of the joy in your relationship. Let it shift and change as the weeks go by and be ok with putting those things away eventually. That will mean that their comfort is internal rather than external. Be exquisitely aware of the simple fact that you are here, experiencing the full range of human emotions. Allow the joy in your heart when you see something wondrous to coexist with the grief. It is not a betrayal.

I am an introvert, and am more comfortable avoiding social situations where I feel I have to either pretend things are ok or explain why they are not. Especially when it's raw, I tend to go where I can be anonymous or with only my closest friends. Be aware of your social comfort zone, and honor it as you are working through the grief. Spend time with people who love you and understand and support you.

Allow the loss to put things into perspective in your own life. It helps us realize how much time we waste on trivial matters and petty differences. 

In grief we intensely consider all of the lost persons qualities. We don't want the world to lose those qualities we admire so we try to hold onto them through integrating them and making them our own. We will not be the same. It makes us more fully human, and better humans for emulating them. 

Tell their stories. They have touched many lives in many ways. Let younger generations and loved ones know them through your eyes.

It is crucial to healing to forgive ourselves for the thoughts, words and deeds that we regret. Without that forgiveness, their memory will hold extraordinary pain. It honors them to forgive them and ourselves so that the warm memories and qualities you admire become the prevailing emotions you feel when you think of them. It allows their essence to be the part you carry with you, along with the sadness for missing them. 

If you are responsible for dispersing the belongings of your loved one, hang onto only what serves you, honors them and brings you comfort. Release monuments to pain. Getting rid of their stuff is not abandonment of the person, even if it is an object they loved. Do what you reasonably can to find good homes for things and let the rest go.

Be gentle and patient with yourself and don't expect to be able to shake it off.  Grief will take its own time. It will eventually be less painful. One day you will realize that for a few moments you "forgot" to be sad. Those times will become more frequent, and they will last longer. Your memories will become more bitter-sweet with time. You will never stop missing them, but there is something exquisite about loving so deeply, in realizing how important that person was to you, and experiencing the full range of human emotion.   

The Ripple Effect

We grieve together in the wake of the attacks on Paris. We grieve for the victims, but we also grieve for our loss of innocence. For our loss of trust. We are reminded that this kind of violence is happening all over the world and that all of these lives matter equally. We react even more strongly because it happened in "our world". The world where we can easily relate, where we frequently visit, where this kind of tragedy is a surprise. It was an attack on the culture of Paris, a culture we admire and many of us emulate. Somehow it feels close to home. Naturally, we want to "do" something.  

How we react is governed by our conditioning and our personalities. How we respond is a choice. I believe that violence begets only more violence, and that the calls for peace and love and compassion even for those who carried out those heinous attacks have some impact on the future. That what we can collectively "do" about it is to comfort one another in our grief, and to show kindness and generosity to those people displaced by recent horrifying events. To show compassion to one another as we grapple with the emotions such an event evokes, even if we disagree with their conclusions.

We must use the experience to be more mindful of where best to direct our own power. For some, that will inspire a great change and focus of attention, and I applaud those who feel so called to action. However, each of us has our part to play.

What we can do individually is to be more fully open to opportunities now and in the future to make a positive difference in the lives of others. We can educate ourselves more thoroughly about the causes of this great discrepancy in thought and beliefs, but we may never understand it. We can raise our children with greater tolerance and less prejudice than we have. We can be more attentive to the qualities of our potential leaders and place our votes with those who most closely reflect our own conscience. 

The greatest power I have is to make a difference to those I have access to. I can use that power by continuing to appreciate beauty and connection and to share that perception with others. I can teach with my words and my actions. I can comfort with my thoughts and compassion.

I know that what I can do is a drop in the bucket in the overall scheme of things, but I have seen and experienced the ripple effect and know that millions of drops in that bucket by millions of people, day in and day out, creates the wave that keeps the balance between peace and destruction. That wave reaches "my world", "your world" "their world" and all the world. It all matters, and it is all too close to home. 

Ode to Priska

Priska Hoeger-Rogers
June 13, 1918 -- July 13, 2009


Priska had all the time in the world. She had time to raise four children, and to watch them become loving, productive adults and raise families of their own. She even got to see some of them as they are raising their own families, and took great joy in knowing that more are on the way. Her constant love and support have been a source of strength and has bound us to one another.

Priska walked this earth with an open mind. Though she had her own beliefs, she understood and honored the beliefs of others, and respected their choices. There are so many lessons she taught us, and those she knew we had to find out for ourselves. She was always ready to help, but had the wisdom to let us make our own way.

Priska had time for her friends. A cup of coffee, some apple cake and a little chat to brighten the afternoon. On her daily walks, she always had a few minutes to stop and talk with those she met along her way. Step by step, smile by smile, she endeared herself to those who were lucky enough to have been on her path.

Priska had time to visit her family in Germany, strengthening the family ties across the continents. She had time to really enjoy her grandchildren. To read and play and swing and laugh and play Bumpa Rider and to just cuddle for a little bit. She was never afraid to look a little silly, as she wore a crown of balloons or danced a little chicken polka on a Sunday afternoon.

Priska had time to nourish a garden and to crochet beautiful blankets stitch by stitch, until her hands would no longer cooperate. She loved flowers and nature and she knew that while things can make you more comfortable, what makes life worth living--the fabric of your life is woven of the love of your family and friends, meeting the challenges of life with strength and humor, enjoying all of the little blessings, and in how you spend your time. Priska had all the time in the world, and I'm so grateful that she spent it loving all of us.

Improvisation

We have a saying around our house that there is no situation, no matter how dire, that cannot be improved if it comes with a free taco.

Stuff happens. When I got the message from Pascal that the workshop we had planned would have to be postponed (through no fault of his own) my heart sunk. Two of his eager students were sitting at the table across from me, and I knew that others had driven or flown in that day from far afield, and were settling in for the week at local lodgings, filled with anticipation for the opportunity to study with one of the best regarded muralists in our field.

We met at class time the following morning to discuss our options, and decided that since we had a well stocked studio, a beautiful day, a lot of food, and time set aside, we should take the opportunity to explore some of the techniques that I have come up with in my 20+ years of painting, and possibly share tips and tricks with one another--a paint jam of sorts. Still getting over our initial disappointment, we started going through boards when the whole group was drawn to a sample--Can we do that one? Yes, yes I think we can. And a demo on this? Yes, that should be fine. And this one other technique? Ok, we'll start here and see how it goes. No whining. Resignation turned to curiosity, interest peaked. This may not be so bad, even if it's not what we came for. Eerily, there were primed and even pre-textured materials just sitting around the studio that were perfectly suited for the tasks at hand, in quantities just sufficient to the number of students attending.

And so it went. We were all sorry that Pascal couldn't make it, and our hearts went out to him because he didn't have the benefit of the wonderful time we had once we got over the disappointment of his impending absence. This amazing group of people came and learned, laughed and generously shared their insights and their knowledge and created a synergy that was a gift to all participants. With it came an unexpected bond, touching every heart in what might easily have gone awry had the participants not had the openness to let things unfold into the painting-eating-wine drinking-birthday party-music making conversation fest that emerged.

It came with a free taco.

Chat to Pick Ratio

New Year's Eve brought us a gathering of many of our best friends in the world who are also some of the best musicians we know. It used to be that we would get together with other musicians frequently and play until our fingers fell off and our heads were nodding. We would visit in between songs and when we took a break to eat, but then back to the reason we came together-great pickin'. The raw enthusiasm and intensity of those times were wonderful, but have now given way to a greater interest in the purely social aspect, to the point where our chat-to-pick ratio is sometimes 100-0%.

That's a little embarrassing, somehow. But I don't think it's really from a lack of energy, but rather a shift of focus. We know more of each other now--the selves outside the music. The selves that drove us to play and to write and to travel and share that and other parts of ourselves with other people around the world and at home. And the more we know, the more we want to know of these amazing people we call our friends. And the opportunity for them to get to know one another was too great to spend on making music.

I'm grateful to have them for any day, doing anything, but next time, we really should pick!

Harmony in the Key of Bee

A gorgeous day in Northern California, I was out trimming and raking and hauling pine needles, enjoying the sun and the fall foliage. I like to stand under certain trees in the yard because the bees like them, and I love the sound of their buzzing. They used to scare me, but not anymore. Usually they are many in their numbers between the branches, and so form a sort of eerie chorus. But this morning there was just one... and then another. The first was honey-bee sized with a medium pitch buzz and when joined by a larger variety who's bumble-buzz was lower and deeper, it created an amazing musical harmony. Then one buzzed off and I was left thinking...

I've oft wondered about where our music goes when it leaves us. So many living room and campground jams-- sending our notes into the night. (Even when our songs are morose, the notes we send seem somehow joyful.) I like to think it has an elevating effect on our cosmic collective consciousness--or something greater than we. I know it feeds the souls of the players, the singers and the listeners. It crosses all of the (ab)"normal" human barriers of gender, race, age, economics and social status. Music is the bond, and the average jam is equally likely to have a lawyer, a truck driver, a doctor, a teacher or a hairdresser. We can jam for countless hours with someone we "run into" and never know anything more about them than that they are hot on guitar and know a lot of tunes. We come together, sometimes at complete random. We play, and then we buzz off somewhere, and it leaves me thinking...

So many times every day we come together for a common reason, or some symbiotic relationship like a checker and a customer in a grocery store. We might chat a little, but rarely do we know the stories of the people we run into in our daily routine. Still, we quickly connect with a smile or a glance, using humor and anecdotes even though we may not cross paths again. Living life is the bond, and most of us have more in common than we do not and at least some compassion for our untold stories. I like to think it, too, has an elevating effect on the greater scheme of things. Another kind of music-- harmony in the key of be.