Tomorrow is the first day of Spring 2013!  The forecast is for fifty degrees colder than the first day of Spring last year.  34 degrees in 2013, 84 in 2012.  Something in between might be nice.  But I see the sun and that is hopeful.
Being the delinquent blogger that I am, afraid to post anything without proof-reading and re-writing a dozen times, I hope to be bolder in the coming months.  Why not share more than just words?  I've been enjoying the blogs of friends and acquaintances who show their handwork.  There's a good idea.  Inspiration coming and going among kindred spirits.  And while a  theme would be nice, maybe just coming, as I had intended in the first place, with childlike amazement, humor and eagerness for discovery is enough.  
So....more will be coming....Happy Spring!

2013

Christine Vaulters Paintner, the online Abbess from Abbey of the Arts, put out the challenge to ask for a "word" for the year.  It sounded reasonable, and I am a "word" person, being a writer, reader and language teacher.  So I put my own wisdom and directed thought processes aside and "asked for a word."  Here is what came next:

INFINITE:  That is the word that gave itself to me.  Funny how in awaiting a gift my expectation is for something small, humble, manageable.  How can I embrace this huge and generous word?  Maybe God knows my tendency to pull my petals inward in self-protection, to sift all the possibilities through my screen of self-imposed limitations.  Here I go, trusting in new ways, standing open-armed beneath the night sky ready to be gifted limitlessly with enough stardust to make each day sparkle in unexpected ways.

Word Picture

Word Picture by Kathie Houchens 8-18-12

Peaked tentlets huddle
     along a busy thoroughfare.
Traffic police help the flow of cars
     to side streets and parking lots.
I walk faster as I approach
     the already busy market scene.
          I am not late, am I? 
          8:59 and it opens at 9:00.
A long line snakes out of sight from the peach truck.
     The best available, I am told.
A dollar bin offers over-sized squash
     and over-abundant cucumbers.
Red beets catch my eye and I can't resist.
     Two dollars ninety-one cents, please.
          Wait, I have a penny.
Too early for apple butter.  Come back in the Fall.
Ah, the pervading fragrance of basil.
     I imagine the ratatouille later when it blends
          its savory gift
               with onions, zucchini and tomatoes.
Friendly faces, a familiar voice,
     joining a friend to peruse the abundance,
          a passing chat with a former student,
               a social as well as sensual experience.
Fruits, vegetables, breads, jams and jellies, cheeses
     flowers, and more!
A Farmers' Market Day excites my soul with its
     sights, sounds, tastes, fragrances and tactile pleasures.

Farmers' Market

Essay on a Farm Market experience 8/18/12

Reading Joan M. Erikson’s Wisdom and the Senses, The Way of Creativity, awakened me to awareness of the sensual experience I was having as I plunged into the sea of sounds, fragrances, colors, tastes and feelings that engulfed me at the Saturday morning Farmers’ Market.  It was my first experience at this local venue and I was surprised by my level of excitement and joy at being in the heart of a scene of fresh, ripe abundance.

Erikson relates the work of Rita de Lisi in Cambridge, MA, in the 1960s.  She conducted preschool creativity classes that always began with a fully participatory sensory experience like visiting a local garden and freely exploring and investigating it.  Then upon return to her storefront studio the children were free to create whatever they wanted and the results were vivid and varied, imaginative and amazing in their creativity.  I felt that way today.  I left the scene with my creative heart pounding at the visions of possible paintings, or the thoughts of how to describe the experience in prose or poetry.  It is an exhilarating experience to feel so pregnant with potential. 

The first impression I had was sheer thrill at the bounty spread out along High Street.  I had no idea the stalls would extend along several blocks, nor that the parking would be a challenge.  I found a spot several blocks away on a side street where an enterprising family had set up their young daughter’s lemonade stand.  At 50 cents for about four ounces it wasn’t a bargain, but I felt obliged to buy since I had parked in front of their house.  I am sure she made out well, even though it was not a hot day.

As I approached the first cluster of tent roofs I could smell the peaches, my main purpose for going, and then I heard someone say, “The line is already a block long!”   And indeed it was, maybe longer, winding behind an automotive store’s parking lot.  As I was headed toward the end of it, wondering if this farm’s peaches were any better than the ones at a closer stand with no line, I heard my name called out, “Kathie!”  I looked over and spotted Virginia, who must have come plenty early to be at the front of the line.  Sheepishly I asked her to buy me a box of peaches, too, hoping not to offend any in line who might consider me a “cheater” for cutting in.  Apparently it is a good-natured crowd as I heard no objection to our exchange of money and my walking with her to the front to pick up my heavy, luscious-smelling prize.  We each bought the large box, $15, half a peck maybe, I didn’t notice.  We both quickly figured out that they would be heavy to lug along for the rest of the shopping experience.  Virginia parked hers with a vegetable vendor across the street so she could move unencumbered through the packed stalls.  I carried mine, and they were manageable, but cumbersome. 

My eyes were popping to see bright piles of tomatoes, rich purple eggplants, a bucket bursting with bright gold sunflowers and pails of brilliant-hued zinnias.  I could not resist a big bunch of cockscomb celosia, knowing it would dry and provide a punch of bright burgundy in a winter bouquet. 

There were samples galore.  I resisted until the scent of basil, so wildly pervasive, drew me in to sample a pesto on small pieces of baguette.  The intense green color, the smooth garlic-oil-cheese taste and the just-right texture of the rough bread was a morsel of delight.  The pesto was not for sale, only the basil.  I made pesto last year and it was a time-consuming process.  I still have some frozen away, so maybe I won’t be making my own pesto this year.  We’ll see.   I have two productive basil plants in my garden.

Among the voices and faces I passed I recognized a former student who had moved to Columbus from Florida and was in my winter class last year.  She rode her bike almost every day, and continued her Florida-habit of wearing flip-flops throughout the winter.  I admired her hardiness.  She stopped to chat briefly and was pleased to let me know she had passed the qualifying test to move into advanced Spanish classes.  She was one of the most proficient students I have ever taught.  Seeing her today added a layer of pleasure to the already happy experience.

“Please do touch the produce,” or at least no admonishment not to.  The peaches gently give to the touch, a sure sign they have ripened on the tree unlike the rock-hard object sold at the grocery chains.  I anticipate the rich, full flavor that really says “PEACH!”

Of course, in the midst of sensory overload I am like a child in a toy store.  I want to grab, to touch, to taste everything in sight.  My adult response would be to photograph the beauty of it all and have it to keep that way, but I had not brought a camera.  In retrospect, I could have used my phone, but it is a relatively new acquisition and I forget that it has a camera built in.  Those sunflowers would have made a gorgeous photo.

Whether or not I set up a still life of the beets, yellow patty-pan squash, zucchini, onions and peaches I bought to make a sketch or painting, the design of the rest of the day will tell.  I have other projects that await my attention.  Whatever else I do, the sensual pleasure of this short outing was a refreshing splash of creative energy. At least I have set down in words some impressions of the morning’s experience.   I have no doubt I will treat myself to this pleasure again, and arrive much earlier next time.

Today's Quote

Children do live in fantasy and reality; they move back and forth very easily in a way we no longer remember how to do.
Children who fight back, children who are full of excitement are the kind of children I like.
I don't believe in children. I don't believe in childhood. I don't believe that there's a demarcation. 'Oh you mustn't tell them that. You mustn't tell them that.' You tell them anything you want. Just tell them if it's true. If it's true you tell them.
Max was a little beast, and we're all little beasts. That was what was so novel.
You cannot write for children. They're much too complicated. You can only write books that are of interest to them.
There are so many beautiful things in the world which I will have to leave when I die, but I'm ready, I'm ready, I'm ready.

All from Maurice Sendak, 1928 - 2012

I found this lovely quote this morning....going to re-read his "Ragamuffin Gospel."  


“If we maintain the open-mindedness of children, we challenge fixed ideas and established structures, including our own. We listen to people in other denominations and religions. We don't find demons in those with whom we disagree. We don't cozy up to people who mouth our jargon. If we are open, we rarely resort to either-or: either creation or evolution, liberty or law, sacred or secular, Beethoven or Madonna. We focus on both-and, fully aware that God's truth cannot be imprisoned in a small definition. ” 
― Brennan Manning

From Shalem Institute

This captures perfectly the theme of my blog.  I have not been courageous in attempting to explain it myself, although it has been my ever-present awareness for over twenty years. I have often made notes in margins of books and articles when I notice another pearl of truth related to retaining the openness, curiosity and willingness to be one with the universe that children seem to model best. Perhaps with this shared piece of wisdom I can step up now and expand on the concept in future postings.  Thanks to Sue C. and the Shalem Institute for this piece of inspired writing.

Childlike Wonder

by Sue Czarnetzky 

Metropolitan DC was experiencing its third day of 97-degree-plus temperatures.  The heat index stayed stuck in triple digits.  I longed for the coolness of a mountain stream shaded by the overhanging boughs of giant hemlocks.  I imagined myself moving across the rocks in the streambed, nimble and surefooted, like a mountain goat.  On a chosen rock, I would stop to sit and dip my toes into the cool water.  The swiftly moving current would massage my feet.  My entire body would relax and be renewed.

I ventured out into this suburban desert to tie a surprise thank-you balloon on a friend's door. No one was home.  Selfishly, I hoped for their delayed return.  Across the yard in clear view, I spotted my oasis, a suitable substitute for a mountain stream.

Quickly I removed my socks and sneakers.  Barefoot, I skipped across the lawn, stopping where small puddles had formed in the grass.  Stepping into one, I disturbed a swallowtail butterfly that was "puddling."  Softened soil oozed between my toes.  I stood perfectly still-waiting.  Soon my oasis moved directly overhead, forming a 90-degree angle with the earth.  Gracefully, it slowly lowered itself to the ground, wetting everything in its path.  Sunlight made rainbow colors cling to descending water droplets.

This arc of water continued to move back and forth across the lawn.  I felt my body begin to move, too.  The motion of my outstretched arms resembled that of the butterfly's wings that had just taken flight.  There was no particular rhythm-no syncopated beat to which I danced with the sun, a cloudless blue sky and the gentle breeze that whispered through a canopy of leaves high overhead.  My feet simply carried me in and out of the path of the sprinkler.  In the grace of the moment, oblivious to everything around me, I experienced a sense of a newly found freedom.  It seemed I was one with the universe.  When I finally stopped moving, my water soaked t-shirt clung to my body.  Now matted and limp, my hair begged to be combed.

I found myself scanning the horizon for witnesses to my childlike behavior.  What would the neighbors think?  Would they be quick to report the sighting of an adult whirling and twirling with abandon beneath the spray of a garden sprinkler?  When I spotted my saggy, soggy reflection in my car window, laughter replaced any questioning thoughts.  The joy of the spontaneity of the moment returned.  All that mattered was that I had permitted myself to be alive to the world around me.

How easy it is to keep wonder and awe, the gifts given to us as children, buried beneath the busyness of living out each day.  We forget that God created us in the image of the One who loved life.

Sue is a graduate of Shalem's Leading Contemplative Prayer Groups & Retreats Program and a former Shalem board member.

© 2008-2009 Shalem Institute For Spiritual Formation.