Yesterday, "The End" was added to the last page of our glorious, wondrous, magical twenty-two years of living on our five acres of woods and fields. Admittedly, my perspective had become skewed in the last years of holding together a aging mobile home, of children now grown to adult size people inhabiting the same space, of increasing restlessness for somewhere else to nurture my artist self. In my home, we talk often of wells running dry. It is the signal to move on, to find new sources of living. My well had run dry there. Yet still, that is home where we moved in with five children and birthed three and brought another home from the hospital. It is the home where we all grew up and found ourselves. Now that home belongs to another family. It is beyond comforting to know that three more children will now get to roam those woods and create their own adventures.
My oldest daughter wrote this:
"Today we are saying goodbye to our childhood home. These are just a few snaps of the memories that I had the pleasure of seeing my kids having some of the same many adventures I did growing up. We would tell people who had never been out to the Clacks, "wait till you see the tree bridge" and before even going to the house we kids, even as adults, would take off to show off our tree bridge. I remember hours of bike riding in teh woods. I remember spending endless hours working with Dad to cut the trail so we could ride bikes. PUtting up and fixing dog fences. Spending all day damming up the creek to make a swimming hole. Even thought there are so many adventures on the outside, that was only part of the magic. The inside was just the same. Snowflakes on the ceiling. My younger siblings grown chart on the wall. Books filling shelves from wall to wall. Home is always a place you came to laugh, to catch up, to heal, to be with friends and family. Though the location may have changed, this place will always hold a huge footing in my memories and heart."
Daughter number two wrote:
Tomorrow our childhood home will be sold. I still remember the first time (22 years ago) my parents brought us out to see the property before we had the house. There was hardly any grass, and there was a dead tree lying in the sand where we would later end up building a fire pit. They took us over into the woods and we first saw it! "The Tree Bridge!" I think we knew even then that those woods were full of magic. It is strange to walk through those woods and remember... Back when our imaginations ran wild, when leaves had the power to heal scraped knees, and fighting off pirates (and other such enemies) was our biggest worry of the day. Whether it was as the Lost Boys, The Swiss Family Robinson, Robin Hood, or good ole Tom and Huck... We were always on a grand adventure. The woods were like a map to our own land of fantasy: we had The Crows Nest, The Fox Hole, The Boneyard, The Big Ditch, the Bamboo Forest, Big Bertha, Swiss Family Island and of course our dearest Tree Bridge. If we weren't playing outside we were reading or being read to... Creating more worlds, more adventures, and mostly just having fun. It was a time of magic, and the memories we take with us could fill our own book. ----------------------------------- "Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it we go nowhere." -Carl Sagan
Now we take our treasured memories and keep them close to our hearts. Stories will be told for generations to come about the escapades we had out there in the woods. Now it is time to make new memories, to have new adventures, to create new stories.
from the what-not shelf
Gorgeous photography in:
"There are two kinds of people in this world -- the ones who loved diagramming, and the ones who hated it,"
I was one of the ones who loved diagramming sentences. What about you?
"What would happen if it wasn't so much about finishing but more about simply doint? What burdens can be put down when we redirect our energies not toward the goal but into the process itself, into each moment along the way? What treasures are waiting for us there?"
"What if I don't want to write a cookbook or build a six figure business or speak before thousands. But I write because I have something to say and I invest in a small community of women I care about and encourage them to love and care for themselves as well. Because bigger isnt' always better and the individual matters. She is enough.
n. the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore—that although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don’t understand, that don’t even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure.
"You don't get to control everything. You can wake up at 5 a.m. every day until you're tired and broken, but if the words or the painting or the ideas don't want to come to fruition, they won't. You can show up every day to your best intentions, but if its not the time, it's just not the fucking time. You need to give yourself permission to be a human being."
"There are two, directly opposing forces at play in the universe. On the one side we're told to be individuals, that we're all unique, and encouraged to express that individuality through the clothes and products we buy. This side is largely run and operated by the fashion, art and entertainment industry that banks on you buying (literally) into this idea. ON the very opposite side is the all-powerful normalizing force, it tells us that we should all be the same and makes us fear standing out from the crowd. It's that voice inside your head that tells you not to cut your hair too short, or deviate from your standard jeans and t-shirt uniform lest someone notice you for once. For the most part, the second force is winning, even as we continue to think we're individuals for waering the same shit as everyone else. Conformity is in our bloodstream, but it doesn't feel good. Frida Kahlo knew this instinctively, and saw that the only truly free people on the planet were those who were considered crazy. They got a free pass, because no one expects a madman to act normal or fit in with everyone else, that would in itself be crazy. She shows us that even these labels have their plac ein the universe, and that there is a freedom in being considered eccentric."
On the radio: