A less intimidating approach to journaling This is my second hand-made journal. The first was the October journal - 10 pages folded in half to make 40 pages. At least one page for every day of the month. I decided to create my own journal book because big, blank journal books are intimidating. So many pages to fill compounded with the idea that the pages should look good, my handwriting should be at it's best, and what I write should matter. But I've discovered those things don't matter. With a small, monthly journal, the pressure is off. Why have a journal? My goal is to write once a day. To mull over what I'm trying to get done, how it's going, and what I need to do next. To ask questions of myself. Writing helps me work through the tough stuff, make sense of what's baffling, and record my progress...and success. However small. And I get to create a new cover design each month. Steady progress
In the front of last month's journal I wrote two goals for the month. To finish my letter writing book and a book about birds and birding. I accomplished the first. Still working on the second. To be honest, I forgot that I wrote my goals in the front of the book. When I flipped through the book at the end of the month, it caught me by surprise. The other thing that caught me by surprise was that I wasn't disappointed that I hadn't completed both. I'm thrilled that I completed my first goal (I'm waiting for the final proof of A Snail Mail Guide to Cursive Writing Practice to arrive in the mail today), and I'm working on the second. The second book is underway, but far from complete. I think the reason I felt okay about it all was that I've been working on it. Making steady progress. It's hard to know exactly how long it will take, but I do want to push myself and try to finish it by the end of the month. What I'm discovering, though, is that working toward something is just as important as finishing it by a certain date. The work is the reward. It makes me feel productive, engaged, and ... just better. And that's why I wrote, "Just the beginning..." on the cover of this month's journal. Because after I finish the birds and birding book, I've got another idea, and another. And that means beginning ... all over again. Every day is the beginning of something. Maybe it's because something ended yesterday, maybe it's because we discover a new approach, trick, or method, and we're starting in a new direction. The key is to keep going. Plugging away at things. It's amazing what can get done. Every day we begin. We can toss aside a bad habit or distraction and focus on something we deem more important. Or not. If it doesn't work today because you're tired, or not feeling well, or someone needs something you can't put off, you can begin again tomorrow. It's up to us to do what we tell ourselves we're going to do. Because in the end that's what matters most. I don't want to disappoint anyone ... but most of all, I don't want to disappoint myself. What are you beginning?
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Last night we saw fireflies in the corner lot where the grass grows tall.
We stopped so we could watch for a bit. Again and again, we pointed and said, "There's one. Over there." And, "Wow!" Now I want to go back and see them again. At the end of the block on the corner there's a garden planted on the edge of the road. It's tucked between the street and a stockade fence. It's so small, and jammed into such a small space, it seems more than a garden. It's a declaration. A fertile sign of determination and grit.
Someone wanted a garden and they were not to be deterred. They wanted to grow peas, and tomatoes, and peppers. We know that's what's growing because they impaled the empty seed packets on sticks to mark what was in the ground. And we've watch them grow for weeks now. There's a tradition in New England ... peas and salmon on the Fourth of July. Why? The salmon swim upstream this time of year, just when the peas begin to sprout. I'm not sure the neighbors will pair salmon with their peas, but the garden's bounty is proof there's plenty to be savored when the seed of determination is planted. Figuring out what works Collage work has become my go-to art form. After trying a bit of watercolor, line drawing, pencil, and more, collage is it. It's the perfectly imperfect nature of collage that works for me. It's not that things are sloppy or unfinished. No, I pay attention to detail and form, but its more conceptual than precise. Finding the rhythm All of my collage work is done with painted sheet music. No other papers: no book pages, receipts, or found paper. Just sheet music. That, too, took a while to figure out. There are no distracting words on the page and I like how the music adds texture to the pieces I cut. And I've learned it best to keep a supply on hand. A stack of painted sheets. An assortment of reds and yellows, blacks, grays, and greens. Blues, purples, and pinks. Each with varied amounts of paint, rough edges, and dry brush strokes. Ready when the ideas are If I have an idea, I like to sit down and start in. If I have to begin from scratch, to paint the colors I want or need, I risk losing some of my enthusiasm, some of the spark that comes with having a new idea. Having an assortment of colors on hand helps me stay with the idea, to keep my momentum. I've been running on scraps for a few weeks now and I can feel it holding me back. Little bits of paper cut from larger sheets. Yesterday I ran out of the green I wanted. Lots of scraps, but not enough to finish what I started. It's time to take stock ... and restock. Painting the sheets has become part of the process. Part of the preparation. Be sure you've got what you need to get started. It could make all the difference. Three words on a signboard in front of a local church. Hope was at the top, coming soon sat at the bottom of the sign, referring I’m sure to the day they might welcome parishioners inside. The words weren’t meant to be one phrase, but that’s how I saw it. I like to think hope is all around us ... it’s good to know more is on the way.
Yesterday I became the reluctant fixer when the hose on the back of the dryer disconnected. I couldn’t get it reconnected and it started a string of lefty-loosey, righty-tighty missteps, YouTube videos, and a trip to the hardware store where a patient and far-more knowledgeable expert put and end to my cycle of frustration.
Are you handy? Most of the time I would say I am. But truth be told, it depends when you ask. Yesterday when I was in the middle of trying to attach that hose, I would have answered with a resounding no. Today, basking in the satisfaction of a job well-done (well, done anyway), I’m more likely to say yes. It’s a truth most of us can relate to. Doing something for the first time comes with unique challenges:
The key of course of course is pushing through. Though I wanted to give up, and nearly did, I knew it wasn’t an impossible task. Connecting a vent hose requires minimal tools and supplies ... there’s no rewiring of electricity or other element involved that would best be left to a professional. But I couldn't do it alone. It took seven YouTube videos, two hours of trial and error, and two trips to two different hardware stores before I figured out what was missing and found what I needed: A missing element and some guidance. It also meant letting go. Of a quick fix, of all I had planned for the morning, of perfection, and frustration. Though I won’t been installing dryer vent hoses on a regular basis, it’s a good, and constant, reminder that while there can be a quick fix here and there, it’s not the rule. We’re better served, it seems, to recognize things will take more time and effort than expected. That frustration is part of the deal, and a little help from an expert goes a long way. That even though what we’re trying to accomplish may not always be easy or fun, what we’re left is increased confidence, a bit more know-how, and a deep sigh of satisfaction. What to do when your thumb is less than green
Gardening takes time, a lot of time. There's the weeding and watering, pinching and pruning, bug patrol, and more weeding and watering. I like the idea of a garden, just not all the work that comes with it. I'm not sure if I want a garden or just what comes from the garden. The plump tomatoes, crisp lettuce, and striking magenta-colored potato skin on just-rinsed red potatoes. And flowers. Seeing what others do with flowers nearly makes me weep. It’s stunning. I don’t want to do the work, but I yearn for the look and the bounty of it all. Last year I found a solution: container gardens. Well, window boxes that sit on the porch railing. There’s a cut-out on the bottom of the box that fits the railing and holds it in place. It is, for me, the perfect solution. With container gardens, I satisfy an itchy, but less than green thumb. And having the boxes on the porches where I see them as I come and go ensures I won’t forget to prune and water, and water and prune what I've planted. But still, I keep it simple. Marigolds, some geraniums, and a small kitchen garden. Just herbs, really. Four plants: parsley and mint for one of my favorite summer recipes, quinoa tabouleh, along with thyme and oregano for good measure. Container gardens are the answer to small spaces, and small ambitions ... in gardening. Do you have a flower or kitchen garden? A more ambitious spread with rows of peas, potatoes, and varieties of this and that? If gardening is not happening in your world, remember, there’s always the farmers’ market. Green thumbs all around and plenty of parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. Sundials: fighting time and finding patience On our morning walk we passed a sundial and the urge to check the time was irresitible. The arrow (or the gnomon as the shadow-casting feature on a sundial is called) indicated it was just after 7:00. We were confused. It was, we knew, just after 8:00. It took us a split second(!) to realize sundials, of course, don’t recognize Daylight Savings Time. The sundial moved more than time Seeing the sundial made me think more about time. How we spend it, how we fight with it, and how it teases us. When I got home, I was reminded once again, that I need to be patient. That whatever hobbies, passions, and pastimes we choose, they need time to build and develop. Just a week after I started my illustrated journal, I decided to go with the sundial for a new page and collage. But I struggled. I sketched the idea and started cutting bits of paper, but it wasn’t working. The proportions were off and even though one of the things I like most about collage is that it’s perfectly imperfect, it still needs to look like something close to what it represents. I wanted to give up and walk away because things weren’t going my way. But I didn’t. I stayed with it, and the more I worked on it, things began to shift. The idea of the sun as a background element came, then adding the minute and hour hands seemed like a good idea. It was slow going, but with each idea, my confidence grew and I forgot about the time, and the struggle. Lesson learned When I was done, I knew there was a lesson somewhere, and it seems, the lesson is: things take time. When I sat down I was frustrated and wanted my collage to come together quickly. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen. My mind needed time to process the concept and figure things out. But that’s not all. The sundial set me on a course of unexpected curiosity, offering a couple of other lessons: You never know where something may lead When we got home, we were curious about sundials. We learned that sundials are the “earliest timekeeping device” and the element that casts a shadow is the gnomon. It gave us renewed appreciation for sculpture, the stars, the sun, and the moon. Hang in there When I started the collage I was impatient. Things were taking longer than expected and I wanted to give up. But when I finished, nearly two hours later, I felt better. More relaxed and (really) happy that I stayed with it. How often do you fight with time? Are there lessons you’ve learned from sticking with something? Tell me about it. For the love of books There is a brick and mortar library in the neighborhood, but still, just five blocks away, there is a Little Free Library, a “take a book, return a book” exchange. As part of our stay-at-home routine we walk around the neighborhood and every day we pass the Little Free Library box. Two weeks ago we put three books in the box and watched and waited to see how long they'd last. The day after we put them in the box, one of them was gone. But then it took over a week for the second, and today, two weeks later, the third book was gone. People love to read Started in 2009 by Todd Bol of Hudson, Wisconsin, the Little Free Library network has spread. In 2020, there are "100,000 registered libraries in more than 100 countries worldwide." People like to read. Though book exchanges are not a new idea, the Little Free Library keeps a registry of each through a community website. Build your own The project has inspired readers and carpenters alike. If you're interested in having a book sharing box in your neighborhood, the Little Free Library site has plans and tips for building and installing your library. Not sure? There is a delightful gallery of images on their Instagram site. Wondering if there's a book box in your neighborhood? The Little Free Library website includes a map page where you can look up your location. That’s where I discovered there are three within just a couple of miles of where I live. Maybe there's one in your neighborhood? Extraordinary but real
The first time I saw what I would later learn was a bleeding heart plant, I thought it was a fanciful creation. Imaginary flowers created by some skilled craftsperson with an affinity for hearts. We’d been invited by friends to join them for the weekend at the family “home,” a second home that went back generations. Though no one lived in house, it was occupied regularly by different members of the extended family, often in the way we were using it: a weekend get-away, a few days in the country. It was a grand old farmhouse with an eclectic mix of antique furniture, professionally painted portraits, pillow-soft sofas, a staircase off the living room and another in the kitchen, threadbare bedspreads, a large lawn, formal garden, and a hand-crafted lamp with bleeding hearts cut from tin. The bleeding hearts were a life-size decorative element at the base of the lamp. The tin hearts were painted pink, pierced, and threaded with wire to hang and sway like the real thing. I’d never seen such a plant and the heart shapes seemed too extraordinary to be real. It was only years later when I saw a bleeding heart plant growing in someone’s garden did I learn they were real. It’s clear the lamp was inspired by nature, but I wonder ... was it created to mirror a passion for gardening? After all, there was that formal garden. Or was it a way to explore the potential of cut metal? Maybe it was simply a one-and-done hobby project. Looking back It’s spring here in Maine and the bleeding hearts are in bloom. Seeing them always reminds me of that lamp. Of my doubt. How I admired the skill and artistry of the lamp, but scoffed at the idea of heart-shaped flowers. My ignorance colored my perception of what I was looking at. I realize now the artist must have been inspired by one or all of the elements that made the lamp what it was: the flowers, nature, their craft. And how, by creating a lasting reminder of the plant, they preserved a moment in time. Sharing matters I’m in the early stages of journaling, but I see that no matter what we create, the materials we use, or the subject we choose to represent, by giving it form, we’re able to share it and touch others in ways we’ll never know. The artist who created that lamp will never know how much I think about it, what I learned from it, what it means to me. Or how I wish it was in my living room. So share your art, your craft, your writing. You never know who's looking. What are you working on? So many of us are cooking more, and being one of those people who is cooking more, I can say there are days when it's a bit of a chore. The days I don't want to to cook are the days I want to be doing other things. When the time it takes to cook something takes me away from something else.
I like to cook, always have. Baking is one of my hobbies. But it's good to have a break. We cooked a lot the day before (different dishes for lunch and dinner). It wasn't planned, but the following day when we did a run-through meal plan, we realized we had leftovers for lunch and dinner. Lunch and dinner. Two meals we didn't have to cook. What a welcome break from starting from scratch. From the chopping, sauteing, peeling, measuring, and mixing. The piled up dishes, bowls, and pots and pans. It meant less time in the kitchen, more time for other things. So easy, it was like having takeout. It was a small thing, but a good thing. A reminder to notice when things are good. We noticed, and it felt good. So good we made popcorn. We had the time. And anyway, making popcorn is fun and not so much like cooking. And that was good, too. How about you? What simple pleasures are you noticing? We heard the woodpeckers, but couldn’t see them, so I had to do a bit of research to capture them in this collage.
It was late April when we took our woods walk, when the trees were still bare. The woodpeckers were on my mind because we recorded the sound of them drumming ... today I figured out how to extract the sound from the video. We're not sure if we heard a male and female, but I wanted to represent both in my collage because their coloring is different; the male has a red dot on the head, the female is pure black and white. The Downy Woodpecker is a small woodpecker: Length: 5.5” - 6.7” | Wingspan: 9.8” - 11.8” The Cornell Lab has a great site, AllAboutBirds.com for identifying all sorts of birds. Are the woodpeckers drumming in your neck of the woods? An Illustrated Journal
Early evening is when I get restless. I don’t like to read at the end of the day because most days I spend a lot of time on the computer. Sometimes a movie is a good fit, but more often than not, I find myself watching television or spending more time than I should scrolling Instagram. And that leaves me more restless. After thinking about what I could manage and what makes sense, I’ve decided to try journaling. It’s new to me and I want to experiment. I’m not interested in listing what I’ve done during the day. Instead, I want to focus on one thing that caught my attention during the day. One topic, subject, thought, or feeling. And I want to set some parameters:
This is the first collage. Last night I cooked a new dish, and when I was pulling the ingredients, I realized new recipes are what keep me interested in cooking. Sure, I have a few go-to recipes, but I like trying new ones. And I love my cast iron pans. Geez, I love those pans. They are the original non-stick cooking pans. And clean up? So easy. I use them for almost all my cooking. What about you ... do you journal? Do you set parameters? I’d love to know your process. Got any tips to share? Do you cook? With cast iron? I'd love to know. Morning I HeARd the CaRDiNal siNGing before I saw it PerCHeD in the BiRcH tree a CAt LOOkiNG At mE, LOOkiNG at iT And, ONe MoRe SaP BUCket tHat MaKes ThrEE This is a throwback: a collage and poem I created a few years ago. It's still one of my favorites. You can see I was starting to use sheet music in my work.
It's also got a bit of shorthand mixed in: that line with the dot below it. Do you know what it means? Morning. That simple line with a dot = a word. Shorthand Shorthand is a symbolic writing system used by office clerks and secretaries before voice recorders were available. I'm not fluent in shorthand. It comes from a shorthand instruction book I found at a secondhand shop. The book has an index, so it's easy to pull a single word. It's like code writing because so few people still know shorthand. Don't you think it would be great for a secret diary or message? One big drawback, though, you'd have to learn shorthand to make it work. And the poem? I don't consider myself a poet, but sometimes I like to combine words with images to tell short stories. I don't remember now why I used upper and lower case letters for the poem, but it does make it interesting. If you'd like to write more, short poems could be a starting point. Not my hobby. Even if you don't stick with it, a new hobby might lead to something else. I haven't done much more with poetry, but the collage was the beginning of a lot more collage work. I now work entirely with sheet music and really like collage. Do you have a hobby that started while you were doing something else? Not better, just different One idea, two versions. The birdhouse with the flowers is the first version of my birdhouse project. I really like the weathered copper top and the holes where birds can enter. When I was working on it, I didn’t like how the flowers and grasses were coming together. I made one mistake, then another, and couldn't find my way out. So I let it go and decided to create the image with collage papers. Looking at the birdhouses side by side, nearly a year after they were created, has me thinking. First of all, it's hard to compare them. The watercolor image has grasses and flowers which I like. The collage has a light green square behind it and wispy pine boughs that were added digitally. I wonder, now, if I should have given up on the watercolor. I had imposed a deadline on the project and was frustrated and running out of time. Collage is easier for me, so I turned to it to get the job done. In the end, I’m not sure one is better, just different ... what do you think? Today is World Book Day.
I thought of the library yesterday and realized, I miss the library. Going to the library is my hobby, my passion, my pastime. It's where I go when I need information or am looking for a particular book. It's where I go when I'm restless. Where I go to check out of this world and into another. It doesn't cost anything, nobody expects anything from me while I'm at the library, I get to pick and choose what I like, and I leave with stacks of books that make me feel as though I'm holding all I'll ever need. I'm hopeful the library will do curb-side pickup or find some way we can get books again. I miss the library. New work brings new perspective I was struggling with how to write and present an idea. Nothing was working and I was beginning to feel lost and frustrated. So I decided to go in a different direction. To combine my collage work and hand lettering and present it in a long scroll. When I finished, it occurred to me that we're all navigating new territory. Trying to find our way. There's no map to tell us which way is the shortest, best solution to get us from here to there. But maps can still guide us: Cartography and the coronavirus Map terminology as it applies to the challenges of staying home: GPS It's your internal guidance. If you pay attention to how you feel, you'll find your way. Getting tired? Maybe it's time to take a break. Frustrated? Take a left. Or right. Abandon course and do something different. Gazetteer This is where you map your survival strategy. Maybe it's creating a routine: getting up at a reasonable hour, getting dressed, and saving your comfy clothes for later in the day. Exercise. Because it helps. But does it fit better in the morning or afternoon? Work. Begin and end when you normally would, if you can. Meals. Keep it simple most days. But once in a while, make something different or special. Plan a three-course meal. Or a special dessert. Legend You've got a lifetime of experience, knowledge, and know-how. Make a list and run through things you've done, things you want to try, and things you miss. You may not be able to go hiking, but you could plan hikes for the future. Explore documentaries about hiking. Journal or tell stories about the hikes you've completed. What do you remember? Waterfalls, wild animals, blisters ... the heat? Not a hiker? Replace the word hiker with whatever suits you. I resisted the urge to try something different. It took three attempts at failed experiments before I convinced myself to go with hand lettering for the illustrated article. It took more effort than I initially wanted to commit to, and I stumbled more than once along the way. But I'm glad I did it. The project kept me occupied for quite some time and while I was doing it, that's all I thought about. (What a relief.) It's done, I've accomplished something, and that feels good. I hope you're able to find things that bring a sense of calm and comfort. To stretch yourself when you don't want to. And I hope this helps. p.s. When it comes to maps, one thing is clear. Maine has maps: At Garmin's Yarmouth, Maine, location, Eartha, the world's largest revolving and rotating globe gives visitors an up-close, topographical look at the earth. Garmin also publishes the Delorme Atlas & Gazetteers that cover highways and byways in cities and back-country destinations all across the country. In all 50 states. And the Osher Map Library in Portland, Maine, has a stunning collection of maps swimming with sea creatures and serpents, a rare collection of globes, and 3D views of the collection available online. This State of Mine: Animals Moose sighting The dinner party ended at about 9:30. When we headed out, it was in mist-laden darkness down a steep, winding, and all together unfamiliar road. With steady pressure on the brake pedal, we headed for the main road. But as I rounded the last curve, I saw movement just ahead on the right and slammed brake pedal to the floor. It was a moose. The car jolted to a stop, and we watched the moose cross the road in a slow-motion stroll, passing just inches from the car’s bumper. The moose had our attention; it was as if it had cast a spell. Our heads swiveled from right to left in unison, following the moose cross the road until it vanished into the brush. Gone as mysteriously as it had appeared. The moose never glanced our way. I can’t imagine it was unaware of us, it just didn’t seem to care. And with good reason. Moose can weigh upwards of 1,400 pounds and stand over six feet tall. It was big ... we were in its way. What is the Maine state animal? The moose. Visitors from all over the world come to Maine for moose sightings. My collage work started as a hobby and the moose was one of my early pieces. Did you notice the eye? After I added the Nike swirl of white to the eye, it seemed the moose was looking back at something, so I added the butterfly. This infographic came together shortly after the moose crossing. I was fascinated by its size and beauty and wanted to know more. Two things surprised me: 1) How many moose there are wandering about in the woods, and 2) The flap of skin hanging from the neck is called the bell. Easy to see why. What about you? Have you had an encounter with a wild animal in your state? Which one? If not, is there an animal that captures your attention? Think about different ways you could share what you’ve experienced or learned about the animal. Create a sketch, do a collage, do some research, or write a story (real or fiction). Maybe there's a book you could read. Learning is a rewarding distraction. It leaves you with information and knowledge you can use in so many ways. Something you learn may one day a question on Jeopardy! Craft Month From one crocus to another ... the art of craft and collage When I started doing collage, I worked with different papers, inks, and paints. The crocus above is an early collage. Lots of different papers, some watercolor, and some handwriting. I enjoyed creating the collage, but as I moved to other pieces, finding papers to match what I had envisioned became more and more difficult. And frustrating. So I set it aside. Until I discovered sheet music. Three big books of sheet music at a yard sale ... 25¢ each. It was the end of the day and the books were headed for the dump. My early attempts at collage somehow brought me to see these books as something other than what they were. And I understood: Sheet music would be the base paper for my collage work. When I got the books home, I painted full-size sheets in a rainbow of colors. Painting the sheet music gave me a full range of color and where the music comes through, I found unexpected textures. By limiting myself to these painted sheets, I focused more on the objects and image I wanted to create and less time searching for materials. I never would have expected to enjoy it so much. Collage is a forgiving art form. While there's something precise about what I create, there is a lot of room for interpretation. Like the bulbs we plant in the fall, our ideas may lie dormant for months, or even years, before we're inspired to take the next step. In my early collage work I see things I would change, but I still like it. It reminds me that there's a process. That it takes time to develop a skill. And that starting is the only way to get to something more, something better.
It may take a few seasons to get it right, but when it does, the project (and you) will blossom in ways you could never have imagined. March is Craft Month, a good month to start or revisit a project. What are you working on? Let me know. Maybe it's something I'd like to try! |
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