Le Mazel! (Part 2A-first full day)

The first week at the farm was full of adventures, new characters, breathing deep the mountain air, being present in their stillness, and basking in the extroardinary light; it prepared me well for the end of the week, that brought some sadness, and a difficult decision.

Brigitte, my host, is full of energy. As I was struggling to switch over to thinking in French again, it was both good and challenging to have her as my main conversation partner. She speaks very fast, even by French standards, and is also often on the move at the same time. It forced me to concentrate(!), and move a little faster myself to keep up! I could tell the first full day that she was thinking about her son, and feeling his absence keenly. It seemed a good day to listen, too.

After a brief introduction to some of the chores and the kitchen/pantry, and the chestnuts in the freezer (oh, the chestnuts!), she took me to the garden and showed me how to cut off lettuces already big enough to eat (frisée, and oak leaf? - that would grow back!) that we would use in our meals. This was something I ended up doing often. Along the path to the garden, I saw a purple patch of grass, thick with spring violets (at the end of February, they were a welcome sight!). Brigitte told me they were edible. I tried one. Mmmm... like eating a bite of pure Spring. Fresh and alive, tangy-sweet. Violet. :-)

(Need I say... it was the first bite of many! There were big patches everywhere I walked often.)

We had lunch outside in the courtyard that day, after I got settled in a little and played with the dogs, and I could tell that she was thinking of her son. After lunch, we went to look for an internet connection. She got a call from her son, and long story short - she had another opportunity that evening to spend some time with him, and needed to go. It was strange to be on my own that night already, but there was a hiker who had come in and was staying there that night. It was nice to be trusted, and as Brigitte suggested, I invited her down for a sit by the fire. It was a great conversation - she lives in Nantes (in Brittany), where I was a student, and we had many things in common.

I went to bed that night thinking how good it was to be where I was, how happy I had made this trip happen... and how wonderful it is to have a friendly place to lay one's head on the journey.

Le Mazel! (Part 1)

I took my first TGV ('train à grand vitesse' - high speed train) trip of the journey on February 28th, and that took me to Nîmes. Home of ancient Roman ruins ('Les arènes' - the arena - among others) and the most fabulous gardens: 'Les jardins de la Fontaine,' built around the foundations of the old fountain, and encompassing the ruins of the temple of Diana. I went there from the train station, with my backpack and rolling suitcase, as I had some time before my bus to St Jean du Gard.

I saw men playing pétanque (a game sort of like bacci, but more subtle, using metal balls), and let myself be enchanted by the sunlight of the south, and the way it played off the water. A group of older people on benches, having an afternoon chat, started talking to me - warning me (over and over) that I should be careful walking around with my luggage like that. People were not to be trusted...! (I thanked them - many times! - for their concern, promising to be careful... and went on being enchanted... and, carefully, amused :)

Once I got on the A12 bus, destined for St Jean du Gard (costing an amazing 1 euro 50!), I relaxed and enjoyed the scenery of the little towns we passed through on our way (and the amazing skill of European bus drivers, to maneuver such huge buses down the narrow little pictoresque streets). The landscape was pretty flat most of the way, until we reached Anduze. This town, known as the 'Porte des Cévennes' (Door to the Cévennes) straddles the river called the Gardon (that later becomes the Gard), where there is a steep window cut through the mountains by the river, as it washes out onto the plain stretching all the way to Nîmes.

As we drove into Anduze, with its breathtaking scenery, the sun was setting, and I got my first peek at the mountains. My face was glued to the window, and I knew I was going to like being in this area. By the time I arrived in St Jean du Gard, it was dark. Etienne, the son of my farm host, Brigitte, was there to meet me at the bus stop. We took the winding drive up to the farm (called 'Le Mazel'), while conversing about many things. It was his last night there after 2 months - he was leaving the next day, returning to Russia (and a somewhat uncertain future).

Dinner was good, I got to chat a little more with Brigitte, meet the animals (2 dogs, 2 cats) and learn the routine for feeding them, and then slept in the room for the 'gîte' (sort of like a hostel/bed & breakfast, but on a smaller, more familiar scale) that night... it all felt good. I felt I had arrived in a good place. :-)

I got a good night's sleep, which was good(!) - I had a full week ahead of me...

Paris! 2/24 - 2/28

The first time I arrived in Paris by myself was also a challenge, when I was a college student, and in lieu of the expected meeting up with other people from my program, I had to use the French I knew to navigate the transport system, and find my way to my hotel (which had changed, since I didn't make it in time to keep my previous reservation!). After making my way through all that (and learning in the process that people really cared more about understanding you, than whether or not your grammar was perfect), I felt like I could do anything.

Well, many years later (I won't say how many!), it was a special treat to be met at the end of the journey from the airport by such welcoming and familiar faces, my former host parents from so long ago. I was touched by their generosity and welcoming spirit, even though it has been so long since the last time I've seen them, and I haven't been as good at keeping in touch as I'd like to have been. The time at the apartment with them, and visiting their daughter, Dominique (and her kids), was spent talking, and watching tv programs on history and archaeology, news, and indigenous cultures around the world. They told me of their travels in the States, and to the little town of Monpazier, where I was headed to do a volunteer work camp one summer (one of the last times I saw them).

I took most of my meals with them, and spent several of the afternoons off exploring and wandering in the City. This time, in lieu of the old haunts, closer to the Gare de l'Est, the Île de la Cité and the Seine - the 'Quartier Latin' - I was situated near the Champs de Mars and the Eiffel Tower. My wandering took me by Les Invalides, and by the Musées Branly and d'Orsay. Along the park next to the Seine in between, and among the little streets behind. Also around the Tour Montparnasse, and up through the length of the Jardins de Luxembourg.

When I did make it to the Student, or Latin, Quarter - I got a crêpe from the little corner bistro, and was welcomed by the sounds of a brass band playing in the Place St. Michel (eventually will have a video here!). The man who made me the crêpe said (aptly!), smiling happily, motioning toward the music and bopping along - "Nous avons de l'ambience aujourd'hui, eh?!" (We've got a good ambience/atmosphere today [because of the music], don't we?!)

A Paris! (2/24)

After leaving the airport in Birmingham (where the Coventry clan saw me off!), I flew into Charles de Gaulle airport in France. I am lucky to have mostly flown into Orly airport the times I've arrived in France by air… let me just start by saying that I chose to fly into Paris because I got a good deal on a ticket, and it seemed worth it to fly in lieu of a more expensive Eurostar (Chunnel) train ticket (or having to make it to London again, and then the train station at a very early hour).

Well, it turns out if you do not check in online and register your checked bag that way with this discounted airline (FlyBe), it costs you a whopping £30 (that's about $54 USD). This is a cautionary tale - don't let it happen to you!

So… I make it to CDG, with a few Euros that my Dad gave me, and start to look for a bus that will take me to the 'Aérogare des Invalides' that is apparently very close to where my old host family now lives (in the 7th Arrondisement, right next to the Champ de Mars - and the Tour Eiffel). It turns out there is no direct bus from CDG, only from Orly. Well, ok - the nice man at the information window gets out a map of the transit system and shows me how to get to Invalides on the RER (local trains).

I get to the where the RER station is in the airport, and go to buy a ticket at one of the machines. It costs about 8 Euros, the machine tells me, to get into Paris (although that seems high?)…and then it refuses to take my bank card. Or bills. Just Euro coins. So, I go to the information window near the RER station to talk to a person - and they are not too helpful. I go to buy something at the newsstand store to get change (meanwhile, I'm lugging all my luggage around with me!)… only to be told that there is a change machine nearby (hidden from view from the machines by a big pillar), and he cannot make change for a 5 euro note. It turns out, the change machine can't, either!… So, finally (after calling my host family, who awaits my arrival patiently, which was estimated as being about a half hour before this moment), I just go and get money out of the ATM (and pay the outrageous $6 fee my bank charges me), and get my change and ticket…and I'm off on the RER and walking adventure that finally gets me to 46 avenue de la Bourdonnais, Paris.

(Whew!) In the end, I think it might have been better to take the train…! That's what I'm going to do on my way back to England, for sure. Before I say more about all of the really great things about being in Paris again - I just have to say how frustrating (and funny) it was to be able to speak the language, and still have so many problems getting what I needed, figuring out the 'system' at work. It's times like those that you think it's set up to be frustrating and to make you feel inept and culturally maladjusted if you're not 'from here'. I've felt like that in Boston when I first arrived, and sometimes in other big cities in the US, when I use the public transport system for the first time. I can't imagine how much harder that would have been if I didn't speak the language(!)...

(Next, Paris adventures...then the WWOOFing! Pictures when I can upload them...)

Coventry and environs! (2/16-2/24)

After leaving Charney Manor, I took the train to Coventry, where I was met by my brother Adam, and we dropped off my luggage, and went to a local eatery/pub where we 'tucked in' and had a beer. He was not having the best of days, unfortunately (re-organization at the university where he works, uncertainty about the future), but it was great to see him, and in the end, it seemed I'd arrived at a good time.

Coventry is a funny mix of old and new - charming medieval buildings (and extensive history) juxtaposed with modern (not so built-to-last or aesthetically pleasing). So many parts of the city are not so pretty to look at - but what I love about Coventry (aside from the fabulous people who live there - people in my family - and yes, I am a little biased! :) is that there is so much history, so much to discover. The sense you get of how impressive the town has been…(and maybe could be again?).










The name, if I remember correctly, comes from the fact that it was originally a meeting place in the countryside, where people would gather, by a big tree. A church (and later a cathedral?) was eventually built there - and one can see the foundation of one of the churches to follow, and the story of Coventry's beginning, in a park in town.

Being in the middle of England, it is where a lot of old (and current) roads and transports intersect, which helped it to grow in size and importance. It has been known for many industries over time (especially automotive and bicycles), and had some massive cathedrals. The smallest of which, St. Michael's church (still impressive in size), famously blazed after Coventry was bombed in WWII (after Dresden). The next day, when going to survey the damage, the priest found two timbers in the rubble, in the definitive shape of a cross. He found this to be a sign from God - that bombing Dresden had gone too far, that a different way must be found.









Coventry was the first town in England to welcome German students after the war - and as a testimony to the destruction of war, and what that sign meant to Coventry, the old Cathedral was left a ruin. The new Cathedral was built right next to it, and is a place dedicated to reconciliation. It houses a Center for Peace and Reconciliation, and many important pieces and objects within it were donated as symbols of solidarity in peace and reconciliation efforts, from different countries, and representing different faith traditions.

What really struck me on this visit was how many different types of industry Coventry has had and been known for - and that they have, pretty much, all left. How hard-working, skilled, and down to earth its people are, and have been - over centuries. (And the sadness of that talent and industry going to waste). It is really an impressive history. In such a small, and unassuming town.

I have benefitted from the fact that between my brother and my sister-in-law, they know almost everybody in their neighborhood. Having children in the school there, and knowing a lot of other parents, they have managed to become a part of the fabric of their part of the city. I felt like I got wrapped up in it while I was there. And the comforting (and often hilarious! we laughed a lot) fabric of our own family, too.


Before I finish talking about Coventry, I just have to say a little bit about how great it was to see my nieces and nephew there, too. I had so much fun spending time with them - they are the coolest people(!).


We went to Birmingham, Stratford-Upon-Avon (the butterfly farm and Shakespeare's Birthplace), and to Museums and attractions in Coventry, too. They were good guides, and knew so much! We had fun laughing, and learning some things, too. Thank you Claire, Jessie, and Eddie!

It was bittersweet to leave… so great to be there, and be wrapped in that warmth of family (although the weather was not so comforting :), and sad to have to go... but ready to head to France, to reconnect with the part of my heart that I found when I was a student there so many years ago.

Adieu, Coventry, and my dear family there - may all your dreams come true …
Bonjour Paris, where my old host family (and all those good old memories) await!

(Apologies all - I am at the WWOOF farm now in France, without internet access, so the update time is more lapsed than usual..!)

Oxford on the way to Charney Manor - 2/14

From London, I took the train to Oxford, on the way to a retreat I signed up for at a place called Charney Manor. I had a little time in between when my train arrived from Paddington, and when I had to catch the 66 bus to Southmoor (where someone was going to pick me up).

Thinking getting a postcard of Oxford would be a good idea, since I would need a postcard anyway - and thinking that I might find a map of the center of town in the same place - I went to a little shop at the train station. One postcard in particular caught my attention: it said 'Oxford Botanic Garden.' That sounded like someplace that I wanted to see.


The nice woman behind the counter was kind enough to tell me what she could (it was near 'Magdalen Bridge' and there was a bus line that went by there), and let me take a look at a map without buying it. I had a plan, and I figured, enough time. I set off, with my big backpack on my back, and my rolling suitcase in tow...

Someone did tell me what bus I could take, and in the end, opted for that, as it would save quite a bit of time. The bus driver told me what stop to depart the bus, and it was an easy walk from there. The gardens were just lovely.















Spring was arriving there already...


















And the ducks came over for a chat.








Ahhh.... What a lovely way to bide my time.









Then I caught the bus, and got my ride, and arrived at Charney Manor in the late afternoon. The light was breaking through some clouds, and was really something magical. What a great day. (What a nice place to end up, with a cup of tea and friendly conversation waiting.)

Charney Manor - Art & Prayer Retreat 2/14-2/16

Charney Manor is a Quaker retreat center in Charney Bassett, Oxfordshire, England. Near the "Vale of the White Horse" where there is a lot of ancient human history, the oldest part of the building dates from the mid-1200's and was originally used by monks of the Abbey of Abingdon; the rest of the main Manor house is Elizabethan. It was given to the Quakers by the Gilletts during the 20th century, and now it is used to run study and retreat programs.

I went for a retreat focused on 'Art and Prayer.' This was a fantastic experience. I will not say overly much about it... I think the pictures will do some justice to the quality of the light (and Light), and the place itself. The peacefulness, and quiet; the gentle way we were led into exploring our artistic sides by way of creating a prayerful space. In the hope of sharing something of the atmosphere of the program, and the place, I will share a poem (or two?) that I wrote while there.

The people were lovely, and respectful, and willing to try out exercises the leader had prepared for us. And the food (the food!) was wonderful. Hearty, home-made traditional fare - and typically followed by at least three kinds of 'pudding' (dessert)! - served up in the 'undercroft' of the 13th century hall. I was told the food was excellent - and I was not disappointed! Plus, there were plentiful opportunities for tea (and coffee, and hot chocolate - Cadbury's, of course, originally started by Quakers).

(Written after drawing each other with charcoal by candlelight:)


Daliance...

shadow plays
across the faces
facing candlelight
with grace --
we capture what we can
with strokes and smudges,
charcoal dusted,
and focused in:
on that indelible mark
of the Light
reflected


(ˆnormally formatting would look like the silhouette of a face, but that's apparently too fancy for the blog)





















'The barn' where we did our drawings (my room is on the right...)
The view from the sitting room, sipping tea...

The view from outside the sitting room (once the sun came out)...





:-)

Remember to take some time to be still, and pay attention to the light... it is always there. We only need disperse what distractions, noise - darkness makers - obscure it, to see...

Feb.13th, 2011 - International Inner Puppy Day (5th)

Five years ago (February 13th, 2006), I met up with my friend Anthony McCann in Sheffield, England, where he was working at a University. He was a lecturer there, and was not happy with the way that people in his kind of post were being treated. It was a very discouraging situation. He had also recently had his heart broken, and the approach of Valentine's Day was not a happy prospect. I, too, was recovering from a difficult time - and so we very quickly decided to pronounce the 13th of February "International Inner Puppy Day." Why not? (Why 'Inner Puppy's? I will tell you... but first, a bit about Anthony).

Anthony is a scholar, songwriter, watcher and interpreter of good popular tv shows, lifetime student of the paranormal, social theorist, and all-around encourager of gentleness in the way we live and treat one another. In fact, he is making this last bit his life's work now (see Crafting Gentleness). He hails from Northern Ireland, and has been teaching at the University in Derry. When at his best (which is most of the time), he is always quick with a smile, a quip, an encouraging word (or 20), and full of enthusiasm and creative energy - especially for do-gooding (and some silliness). He has been a friend for some time, from the days where we played music amidst the musical community that gathered in the living room at my old house in Takoma Park. It was a gathering of great talent, generosity, and kindness.

Inner puppies? Well, a few years before the occasion of the first International Inner Puppy Day, I was telling Anthony about a dream I had. In my dream I had a puppy, and somehow had left it in the car when I went about some other things, and woke with a start when I realized that I had forgotten to feed it! I felt terrible, as I woke up. After my retelling, Anthony promptly said - "I know what that dream means, Katy!" I said "what?" He told me I needed to feed my inner puppy. He was right. I had let myself get too stressed out (preparing for grad school, dealing with my Mom, who was starting to have difficulty), and wasn't doing enough to recharge the playful, lovable, happy-go-lucky part(s) of who I am.

It became a kind of way to check in with each other as friends: Are you feeding your inner puppy? How's your inner puppy doing? So on that bleak day in Sheffield, we needed to do something big - and in the typical fashion of Anthony McCann, something encompassing a wider range of people than just ourselves. International Inner Puppy Day is intended for everyone who doesn't have a sweetheart for Valentine's Day; but also, more importantly, an occasion to remember and enjoy all of the friends and fun we all do have in our lives. A holiday for all.

This year, we had arranged to both be in London, to celebrate the holiday together once again. The first time since its founding. He is the one with a new sweetheart (mentioned in the previous post), this year in time for Valentine's Day...but I can't hold it against him! She seems to be doing a good job of helping him feed his inner puppy, from what I can tell. :-) And seeing him, and meeting her, has indeed fed mine.

So when going forth and being creative, everyone - remember to feed your inner puppy while you're at it! And next year,

on February 13th, when the world seems drear and gray,
and spring's bright cheerfulness so far away -
remember to celebrate International Inner Puppy Day!

Across the Pond; gardening adventures begin!

Friday I made it to London Heathrow, early in the morning - and despite having plenty of time, managed to spend far more money than necessary...to arrive late to my first rendez-vous here in England. It wasn't entirely my fault; my friend had said simply that we'd meet up 'in Central London'...but then, I hadn't thought to ask for further details until that morning (! - and his mobile phone wasn't working properly for some reason). At any rate, I was humbled and ready to take a load off by the time I made it into London to meet up.

Refreshed with a spot of good pub brunch/lunch, amid much good cheer (including meeting his lovely new sweetheart), I made my way to meet up with my sister-in-law in High Barnet and to the rounds of picking my niece and nephews up from their respective schools. It was very good to see them all - and I was indoctrinated into the important sport of foosball (sp?? - table-top soccer with spinning rods of attached 'players') after arriving at the house. My brother Will arrived not long afterwards, and after a good dinner, cleaning up, and watching a show on the telly, I was ready to drop into a profound slumber, which I did promptly when my head hit the pillow. I did not wake up until the next morning, when everyone was sitting down to breakfast. (After nine hours of sleep).

Happily, the weather was on the warm side, if a little damp and cloudy. As far as I was concerned, this was all right. Especially since that next morning (Saturday) I got to have a somewhat unexpected early start on my gardening adventures(!). It turns out that my brother and his wife had just had a number of trees removed from their back garden (newly acquired with their newly purchased house in August), and the remaining brush pile from this operation was impressive - taking up an entire corner of their future garden space. I was a timely extra pair of hands, and we all set to work that morning breaking down as much as we could into manageable bits to fit it into the bins. Much of it was holly, and prickly, and because of the dampness in England - fairly mossy, too. It was fairly monotonous work, but we fell into a rhythm, and managed to put a big dent into it. I was quite happy to help get the garden down to more of a 'clean slate' state - and will feel good about that contribution when it starts to take shape, and grow into their outdoor retreat in suburban London. (My sister-in-law - who is fairly new to garden design and gardening on this scale - is in good hands with this project, as she has joined the local gardening club that gives support, advice, and encouragement.)

In the midst of this enterprise, my 4-year old nephew started talking to us about how boring it was doing what we were doing. So then I began to tell him how things that can be monotonous (but are necessary) are easier and take less time the more people there are doing them. I mentioned how talking with people can help to pass the time, too, and makes it that much more fun. Then I realized that talking to him had helped the time pass more pleasantly, and when I mentioned that, I think he may have understood what I meant (...maybe? :-).

One night at dinner, we joked about how I was adding another kind of gardening exchange to my adventures. In the typical love-of-word-play fashion of my family, we came up with several possible acronyms for names (as opposed to 'WWOOF'). The favorite (and most appropriate to share here) being "BURP": 'Barren Urban Regeneration Program.' I'd say this new scheme went well, and is quite satisfying for both parties - any help there at this point makes a difference, and I'm sure is much appreciated! So, will there be another BURP in Katy's future, when she passes through London again on her way back at the end of March? What other outdoor and gardening adventures will she find along the way? Stay tuned, good readers, to find out... !

And....she's off!

Here I go... !

This morning I awoke to the first dusting of snow in Virginia (where I've been staying with family) that I've seen since arriving in early January. Pretty exciting... as I prepare myself to travel to the lands of winter rains. It has felt a bit surreal to finally be leaving, after preparing for so long.


I stayed up late to finish packing, and got up early, to run over and say goodbye to folks. The snow melted quickly...but left an invigorating nip in the sun-streamed air. I was ready.

On the way to the airport (flying out of Washington, DC, so we drove up from Richmond, VA) what was striking were the number of things strewn in the road. I'd never seen so many in one trip! First, there were the bits of rubber that usually mean someone's tire has blown out on the highway. Then, we saw some bits of wood - wood that looked like it had been broken, with some ragged edges, and the possible occasional nail (yikes!). Then, all of a sudden, there looked to be someone's vacation wardrobe tossed all over the highway (quite an obstacle course, that - good safe driving steering us through, Dad!). We saw someone pulled over with a large load of luggage on their car a short distance further on... And, finally, just before our exit (a good thing! I was getting a little concerned) we were passing a big truck that made a bang/bump sound, and expelled more than a little grey dust of some kind...and there was a burned rubber smell. Whew.

So, I was very happy when we made it to lunch, and then the airport, without any mishap of our own! I said my goodbyes, and wrote my first postcard(!) of 365 (see postcard gallery), and boarded the plane... aaahh.

:-)

Why postcards?

Why choose to write a postcard a day for a year? Well, as I said, I want to keep the art of hand-written correspondence alive - but I have also always loved postcards. Sending them - and receiving them. My Mom had the most clear and tidy handwriting, and she could fit an entire letter about whatever trip it was onto a single postcard. She would usually send postcards that were educational or exemplary of the places they were visiting. My brothers and I have an ongoing tradition (although it's slowed in recent years) of sending each other the most ridiculous (cheesy) postcard we could find from any place we visited. A friend from college, who knew of this, would try to outdo them - and sent me some of the best bad/strange postcards I've ever seen from her travels in Africa and Italy ('St. Catherine's Head in a Box' was a memorable one...).

What's fun about a postcard, too, is that it's kind of like poetry. You have limited space, and have to try to distill what you would want to say down into fewer lines. And the postage is cheaper (typically - and if things haven't changed since I was a more prolific postcard writer!) than letters. I have always picked up postcards where I go... some are just beautiful images, that you could put in a frame, or pin up on a board...and some have reminded me of good times and places that I've loved. Many make me laugh, or smile. A postcard says 'I'm thinking about you' - and has traveled some distance to deliver it's sentiment; it is a kind of snapshot that you get to hold in your hand.

I used to be a really good, consistent correspondent - I unearthed a box full of letters that my friends and I wrote to each other in the 80's when we were in high school, and starting college. It was a big part of our friendship, and we became closer through the things we shared in those letters. I have always felt that what you say in a hand-written letter, or even a postcard - is different than what you write in an email. More of your true sentiment, more of yourself, is present. It is personal and evocative - it has a kind of presence and soul that email lacks. I can't help but wonder what kind of a difference it makes to today's teenagers and college students, that they do not write letters, but email and text instead?

Because I have always been so excited to receive postcards, I decided that one way to receive more could be to follow through on my good intention to write them more myself!...and I know myself well enough to know that if I make it a daily ritual, a promise to myself, in this way - that is the best way to make it happen.

As sustainable living is becoming something I'm more and more interested in - I can't help but wonder what kind of environmental impact international mail services have? It seems a good question to ask - and one that could unearth some enlightening information.

So - long live the hand-written postcard! And long live our ability to connect to each other in meaningful ways...

Something creative...every day

I want to mention something 'cross-pollinating'-ly fantastic that an old friend in Richmond, VA (and beyond) is doing, and promoting. His name is Noah Scalin, and he is the founder and director of a socially-conscious design firm, ALR. Noah started a personal daily creative project back in 2007: making an artistic skull every day for a year - the 'Skull-A-Day' project. What happened next was remarkable - leading to a great interactive following online, a Webby Award, a book, and even such crazy things as a spot on Martha Stewart's t.v. show! As he has talked to other people who have done their own daily projects for a year, too, he realized how important and transformative connecting to your creativity, every day, can be.

This eventually led to his next big project, a book designed to guide people through their own daily/regular project. The book (and blog - where you can submit what daily creative project you are working on, and see what others are doing) is called 365: A Daily Creativity Journal. The book is designed to be used, and to give inspiration.

It has already inspired my artistic and creative sister-in-law, Heidi Rugg, founder and Director of Barefoot Puppets (and writer of a blog herself), to start her own daily project: a puppet-a-day! It will start on Thursday - you can follow it here.

She has also called to my attention a related article (mentioned and linked to on her blog), that points to a disturbing trend in America - it appears that creativity in American children is on the decline. And this at a time when we are going to need to be perhaps more creative than ever, to face the challenges of peak oil and climate change; according to the research cited in the article, creativity is a bigger indicator of success than IQ. (Heidi suggests we all start to make puppets! And become puppeteers!)

Reading Noah's book (and this article) has encouraged me to be more dedicated to this project (doing it, not just conceptualizing...!), and to think about what other (purely fun!) creative things I could do every day for a year. I have an extensive post card collection, a love of receiving and sending 'snail mail' - and a desire to keep the dying art of hand-written correspondence alive.

Does anyone want a postcard? Please post a comment and let me know if so - I'll write to get your address (if I don't have it already) and put you on the list! Who will be first?

Happy creating, everybody! (And remember - it's important, not just fun! Spread the word!)

Preparing for the next adventure...

When I left my job before heading to Costa Rica, I was dreaming of doing the WWOOF exchange - in France! Since I have become so interested in gardening and sustainable urban living, and love France (I was a French major, speak it pretty well - and have many fond memories of times spent there; studying, volunteering, working, traveling), it seemed a great way to get some more experience growing things, have my own intercultural experience (what I am trained in helping others to navigate), and to practice my French and learn some new and useful vocabulary.

France is also a place where people are passionate about what they do, and how they live their lives. I have no doubt that I will meet people who are really inspired to be living in a way that is not only gentle to the earth and the creatures that inhabit it - but very much in tune with the natural world, too. It should be a time filled with vitality and richness of experience; of true exchange (of different kinds).

I'm going to try to keep my costs down as much possible, and may even blog about that (any interest out there?). To start with, I have a free round-trip ticket on Virgin Atlantic (thanks to voluntary delay in trip across 'the Pond' in 2009!) that I must use by April 8th. So, my departure is set for February 10th from a Washington, DC airport. I have to fly direct and non-stop, so I'll go to London (where I have some friends and family), then go on to France from there.

There are some friends that I have made over the years, and friends of my family, too, that I hope to visit along the way in France. I am in the process of figuring out which farm (or 2?) where I will stay as a WWOOF participant - but I know that it will be in the area known as the 'Gard'. This is home to Nîmes, Montpellier, the 'Pont du Gard', Camargue, and the Cévennes National Park that I have always wanted to visit. I love the south of France, and have loved what little I've seen of this particular area. It is also traversed by some of the old Pilgrimage route to Spain, and contains Cathare history (where Mary Magdalene is said to have settled).

I forget sometimes, having so much to do to get ready, that I am excited! And don't want to forget to write... I will let everyone know that I'm posting again. Please tell me what you all want to hear about, and that will help me to keep it up!

Allez...! (Let's go!)

Message In A Bottle

On Friday, December 17th, 2010 at approximately 7:20pm, a poem I wrote was titled, signed, contact info/blog link given, safely sealed into a bottle - and tossed into the waves off of Plum Island, MA, USA. You can read the poem here. [I intend to create another site with a link here - and that may come soon - but it has proven problematic, and I wanted to get this up as soon as possible(!). Meanwhile, try to read it in the picture I've posted].

Since my apartment has been sold, I have been saying goodbye (or at least - see you later!) to places and people that have become a part of my Boston area home for the last few years. It's funny how places come to mean something sometimes... almost like characters, in their own right, in your story. Boston has been full of some places like that for me. My old neighborhood, Allston/Brighton, has a quirky kind of edgy, creative, culturally diverse grit to it. And now, a garden carved out of gravel that feels like a tough, if also somewhat fragile, friend.

Plum Island, on the North Shore of Massachusetts, has been one of those places for me, and was someplace I felt I wanted to say goodbye to. I have known it best in the winter and very early spring, as a snow-covered, cold-blasted, wind-tossed magical moonscape. It has been synonymous in my mind with one person, the first person with whom I ever visited it. I wanted to honor that connection, and create a ritual that would also be about transforming that into something more...universal. Where does this fit into my blog? Well, it's a poem... and a kind of scattering of art and purpose. And, hopefully, something that will find its way to a connection to someone else's story.

This idea started as a personal goodbye ritual, and then transformed itself into a fun kind of experiment, as well. As often happens to things that spring from inside you, and you turn over to the world and others, to have a life of their own. I look forward to seeing where this bottle has ended up; maybe just down the coast a mile or two - or maybe somewhere far away? Hopefully with a good story, either way. I hope that whoever finds it actually looks up this blog online - and that we hear from them. What fun to be reminded in that way, that as far apart as we might be geographically, the world is still not so small a place, and we are still connected to, and by, the natural world. In all its wind-blown, water-washed and tumbled wonder.

[Author's note: I am going to start filling in the gap between my Costa Rica trip, and the here and now; realizing that I was in danger of losing my momentum altogether, I decided that the best way to proceed would be to begin doing both. A little about reflection, a little living in the now. This last year, it seems to me, has helped me to embrace transition and uncertainty as more of a constant in my life, seeing where life leads me - and also about documenting that experience for others. Somehow that last piece feels like a big part of its meaning... and I can't see where this is going if it's not going at all! So, bear with me readers (whoever you are), and - bring on the nomadic life! I'm feeling as prepared as I'll ever be...and hoping that sharing these stories may prove useful and enjoyable to some of you out there.]