I never dreamed of being a tap dancer, so I was surprised, a few years ago, when the listing for “Tap Dance: Beginner” caught my eye. The schedule was good (Saturday mornings from 10:00 - 11:00), and the price was reasonable: $12/lesson for drop-in, less if you sign up for the full eight week session, and shoes. Shoe prices start at $25, though for beginners smooth-soled shoes were acceptable.
But I wanted the shoes. It took three orders to get a pair that fit properly and I was ready. Or at least I thought I was. I was dizzy after the first class, excited after the second, and felt doubt creeping in after the third. The fourth class was the best. We learned new steps and the routine at the end brought things together nicely. I felt like I was starting to get it. But it didn't last. Partly because the class moved too quickly for me to keep up, and then the pandemic hit. Starting a new hobby is an exciting adventure. But it can also be rife with doubt, confusion, and questions. • What does it cost to get started? • Are you willing (or able) to make the investment? • Can (or will) you commit the time it will take to master whatever it is? All of these questions are important, but what I've learned is, we can't know until we try. And when we do, it may just lead to something else. Is tap dance for me? I don’t think so. But I'm glad I gave it a go. And the shoes? I haven't parted with them ... yet. ------- Are there hobbies you've tried that have or haven't worked out as expected? I'm working on a series of field guides ... interactive workbooks to help you explore new hobbies and interests. The first is slated for next month: all about summer. Ideas to feed your curiosity, help you step away from technology and explore the world around you. What do you look forward to when summer arrives? Tell me about what it is and why you enjoy it.
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Alarm bells sounded high and low, all around the pond. From a distance we heard the persistent screech of the blue jay, then the urgent squawk of a duck, and as we neared the pond, the bong-bong call of the frogs. What, we wondered, was going on? Stopping at the edge of the pond, we scanned the water, the trees, and the sky, listening and looking. And then we saw it. A big owl, a Barred Owl (yes, we had to look that up when we got home), perched in a tree on the edge of the pond. I'm not sure if the frogs were sounding an alarm, mating, or doing what frogs do, but the duck and the blue jay were visibly agitated. The ducked paddled frantically from one area to the next squawking all the way. The blue jay, in full screech with fanned tail, was swooping down at the owl ... from the left, then right, again and again and again. But that owl. Talk about composure. It flicked an ear and spun its head at the bluejay's aggressive fly-by graze, but otherwise it remained still. Focused. Fascinating stuff ... and the final entry for the day in yesterday's good things journal: 3. the owl in the woods I started the good things journal last month. A list of three good things I see, experience, do, or feel during the day. Every day. It's a matter of semantics, really. Like me, you've probably seen the prompts to keep a gratitude journal (and maybe you already do), but somehow that never materialized for me. Until I read about a "good things list." It's simple. I keep a small notebook and pencil within ready, on a table in the living room. The idea is to make a list of three different good things you experience every day. Short entries, a few words each. Here are some of the entries I've made (with the original numbering): 3. clean sheets 4. trip to the library 5. takeout pizza from Otto 2. raking the yard 1. the sun is shining 2. almond flour chocolate chip cookies 4. Wordle in two 1. a good night's sleep 2. got the laundry done 3. the own in the woods Like the owl, despite the unexpected swoop of outside influences, I've remained focused. One entry at a time ... on the good. And yes, it feels good. Sometimes I write one thing at a time as it comes to me during the day, other times I write my list at the end of the day. And more often than not, once I get started, I'll remember something and add that to the list, coming up with not just three, but four or five, sometimes six or seven good things about my day. Not monumental, over-the-top exciting things, but small pleasures that, in remembering and recognizing them, make it a better day ... today and tomorrow. It seems I just can't help myself. Every time I make pancakes, which isn't all that often, I use the end of the batter to make heart shaped pancakes ... for anyone who's getting a plate. Doesn't matter how old you are.
Last week I made pancakes, and when I put the plates on the table (for just the two of us), there were smiles all around, including mine. It's a silly thing and I sometimes say, nah, don't bother ... or, that's for kids, don't be so goofy. But then I do it anyway ... because even though it's silly and a bit corny, it shines some extra light on the day. So let's not worry about being silly or corny or sappy(!) and do it anyway because it feels good ... no matter how old you are. We never had a dog when I was growing up. There were a few cats, a snake even, but never a dog. I can't even recall knowing any one dog all that well, but there came a day when I wanted one. So I went looking for one, talked about getting one, did my research on bringing a dog home, and finally got one. A basset hound. Why a basset hound? I think it was the ears. They have big, beautiful ears. Velvety ears. And they are solid dogs, well-tempered, and laid-back. Unfortunately, they are not great about walking in a straight line, moving along from here to there ... at least not Agatha. Nope, she'd walk a few paces and stop. Sniff, move on, and stop again. After reading the most popular and recommended books about having a dog, I understood the importance of daily exercise, and made sure we went out. Every day. We went in the woods and around the neighborhood, but it was always the same ... a herky-jerky trek from here to there. Now, granted, I wanted a dog that was easy-going, but when it was time to get her out for some exercise, it became an exercise in frustration. For me and the dog. The frustration, I realized, came from expecting Agatha to power walk, get moving, and do what I wanted her to do ... to go against her nature. Bassets are after all, scent hounds. Sniffing is what they do. Once I figured that out, I enjoyed our time outside. What I learned I learned to take myself for a walk first ... alone. And to accept what Agatha was teaching me ... to slow down and notice things. In the coming weeks, I'll be releasing a new picture book, Things I Notice When I Walk The Dog. It's a picture book memoir. Agatha's legacy ... and part of mine. Think memoir's not for you? If you think memoir is not for you, think again. People love stories and you've got some good noes. Stories you can share in a collection or how-to book. Remember, memoir is not an account of your entire life. It's the account of an experience or event where some kind of understanding, lesson, or insight occurred. How did you get started doing what you do? What does someone entering the field you're in need to know? What do you wish you knew? Share it and help someone in the same position. Have you completed a self-initiated challenge where you learned something you didn't expect? What do you do in your spare time? Are you a mast chef, a marathon runner, or member of a band? What's that like? Let us know. Your insights and experiences are unique. And that's why we want your take on how it's done and why it matters. Once you get started, you'll be surprised a what you can share. If you're working on a project, hang in there. Try something different. But most of all, don't give up. Give it time.
This cactus is my only plant. I'm fairly certain the only reason it survives is that it is a cactus and it doesn't need a lot of water. And that's a good thing, because I forget to water it. All the time. Dry as a bone when I take it down off the shelf. So I water it and talk to it and earnestly try once again to remember not to let it go so long. It was a little starter plant when I brought it home. Just a few sprigs. But it was healthy. It blossomed and flowered ... and maybe even more than once a year, I think. Is that possible? When it grew too large for the starter pot, I re-potted it ... and then again when it outgrew that pot. It did well and continued to flower. Year after year. Until it didn't. It just stopped flowering and I don't know why. I talked to it, I paid more attention to watering and fertilizing, and did some research. But nothing. For years. I tried moving it from one room to another, some with more light, some with less, but it never made a difference. Last year I put it in yet another location, high up on the top of a book case. And something shifted. It came back to life with a whole bouquet's worth of flowers. More plentiful, joyful, pink, and beautiful than ever. Was it a fluke? Would it flower again? I wasn't sure. It was not a fluke. It blossomed again this year with another round of fireworks ... new blossoms opening day after day. I'm not sure what made it stop flowering, and I'm not sure what made it blossom again, but it reinforces the idea that we have to hang in there. Keep trying different things until something clicks. I heard the train this morning, just like I hear it every morning.
It rumbles through the woods at the end of the street at the same time my alarm sounds ... 5 o'clock sharp. Every day. Some days I wake before the alarm and hear the train, some days I hear it after the alarm. But they always sound within seconds of one another. This morning it made me think of New Year resolutions ... and how I've decided I'm not going to make any. No, instead, I'm going to make like the train and create a schedule. And stick to it. There's a schedule when the train leaves and when it arrives. No vacillating. No saying, "Eh, I think I'll hang here for another hour or so and leave when I'm ready." That's how it gets from one place to another. There are places I want to go (literally and figuratively) and hobbies I want to try, and the only way to get there is to stick to the schedule and the plan. Sure, things may change and adjustments can be made, but once it's decided, the train will leave the station when it's suppose to. Are there places you want to go? Let's get there together. All aboard! Our local meteorologist makes visits to local schools ... often very early in the morning. Last week he made an appearance at one school at 5:30 a.m.(!) and gathered a group of shy, sleepy, hands-in-pockets grammar school students and asked them, "What do you like most about Thanksgiving?" The first few weren't sure what to say and simply shrugged their shoulders. The next student, one ... who had a minute or two to think, said "family," which was followed by, "all the food." The next few mimicked the previous answers, but the last kid in line ... the one who had the most time to think, had the best answer, "I like wishing on the wishbone." I love that he said that, I love how he phrased it ... and I love the sentiment behind it. Whether you'll be wishing on a wishbone or giving thanks in some other way, I want to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving. And as Thanksgiving week gets underway, I want to say ...
I am thankful for you! It means so much when you write comments, open my emails, and like my posts. If you're interested in making note of what you're thankful for this Thanksgiving, click on the image above or right here, to download and print the "Today I Am Thankful for ..." sheet. There are two to a sheet so you can print extras for yourself ... and others. What's your favorite thing about Thanksgiving? But does it hold water?
I can't remember the name or subject of the class, but when I was in high school, one of our assignments was to give a demonstration speech. One boy brought in a hockey stick and explained how to put a curve to the blade. It was a hat-trick* presentation ... 1) he was prepared, 2) he delivered his presentation with enthusiasm, and 3) with before and after hockey sticks on hand, he had relevant, engaging props. Even though I've never played hockey, I enjoyed the presentation. When it was my turn, I initiated a hands-on origami exercise. The class followed along and we all folded a square sheet of paper into a cup. I recall some murmuring and a few moans and groans when I passed out the paper, but I won them over when I poured water from a pitcher into my cup and demonstrated that it would in fact, hold water. It was the start of an origami obsession. My next goal was to fold an origami crane and when I had that figured out, I challenged myself to fold one without looking at the directions. Still can. Today is World Origami Day. If you want to ease into the art of origami, learn how to fold a cup that holds water: get your instructions here. *In hockey, a hat-trick is when one player scores three goals in a single game. That kid put it in the net. Some still hang
like ornaments, bright and red and shiny others make like polka dots, red on green, beneath the tree. The ones that fill the gutter line up like bowling balls in the automated return. Is it the imperfections, or it it because they're not already picked, in a bag, in a store? I wish it was my apple tree. Off to a good start? Do you make your bed? I know my mother encouraged it when I was growing up, but it was my grandmother who found a way to make it happen ... and I think of her still when I change the sheets. There was no pestering or pleading, she simply set the scene ... with new bedding. It was the best after-school treat I never imagined I might crave. It was mid-afternoon when I arrived home from school and found the mismatched jumble of pillows, sheets, and blankets I'd left on the bed earlier in the day replaced with perfectly plump pillows and coordinated sheets tucked under a matching comforter. I was spellbound. Nothing but the bedding had changed, but there was new order to my small room, and I was all in. The 11th of this month is Make Your Bed Day (get your calendar of days through the link below). Some do, some don't ... some only when company's coming. But there's evidence that suggests it might be a good idea. It was also a key point in Admiral William H. McRaven's popular commencement address delivered to the 2014 graduating class at the University of Texas. "If you make you bed every morning," McRaven says, "you will have accomplished the first task of the day. It will give you a small sense of pride, and it will encourage you to do another task, and another and another." He goes on to say that even if you have a miserable day, when it's time for bed, you will be reminded that you did in fact accomplish something that day ... you made your bed. I made mine. Did you? (Tucked or untucked?) p.s. The same could be said for any project or goal you're working on. Try to work on it early in the morning, at the same time of day, or the same day every week. The routine/scheduling can help you move forward. Try it and let me know how it goes. Window boxing and a place to write all about it
Though I don't do a lot of gardening, I do love my window boxes. They're really railing boxes - a lot like window boxes, but they sit on the porch railings. They have transformed my not-so-green thumb into a pale, almost green thumb. Because I walk by the boxes every time I leave or enter the house, I am reminded to water them. It's been a week of bird sightings and activity.
I found a nest in the yard the other day. It was after a few days of strong winds ... winds that must have released it from its perch. This morning we walked through the park and saw a group of people (a gaggle, or maybe it was a congregation) grouped together, all facing the same direction, looking up at a pine tree. They were mesmerized by the great horned owl perched high above, with her two owlets(!) all fuzzy and huddled close together. In other words, a parliament of owls. Amazing. And then there was the paddling of ducks down at the pond. What's gathering in your neck of the woods? - a convocation of eagles? - a stand of flamingos? - an ostentation of peacocks? - a wake of buzzards? - a peep of chickens? - a muster of storks? - a host of sparrows? - an exaltation of larks? - a colony of penguins? - a wedge of swans? - a party of jays? I made this collage from old maps and a cancelled stamp. It occurred to me that when we look at a map, it's like looking at the world with a bird's eye view. I think we'll always need paper maps ... after all, what if there's no wifi? December marks time like no other month.
Tomorrow the winter solstice brings us the shortest day of the year followed by the longest night ... and days later, the end of one year and the beginning of another. I’m thinking about how I can add light to my days and mark new beginnings. Not just new beginnings on the calendar, or the light from longer days, but the light and change that comes from doing things differently, seeing things in new light, and being curious. Last week we had a snow storm ... a big one. Most of us got anywhere from 18 - 24 inches. And as it so often happens, the next day it was glorious. Sunny and bright and fresh. After the storm, we took a ride ... uptown to State Street, left at Longfellow Square ... and there it was. A rainbow. Shimmering in the windblown snow hanging in the air. This week's calendar ... Thursday is Egg Nog Day. Are you a fan? You'll also see that today is Poet Laureate Day. Because the statue in the rainbow photograph is poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, I want to share a post I did a while ago on blackout poetry. Follow this link to read more about Longfellow and blackout poetry, and give it a try. Use it to create a poem. Stick it to the refrigerator or mail it to someone. It may add new light to your day. After all, you could be a poet and don't even know it. Even if you don't want to try the exercise, click through to read Longfellow's poem, Holidays anyway. It's fitting for this holiday season ... one that is so very different from so many others. Read it and let me know what you think. And if you create a poem, share it with me. I'd love to read it. p.s. There's also a link in the post to Robert Frost's poem Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. You can read the poem and find out why it's one of my favorites. Don't miss this special event:
Sunday, December 13th at 2:00 EST Letters Live celebrates the beauty and wonder of letters in a moving and altogether new way ... live readings. From their website: "Letters Live has brought to the stage letters written by people as varied as David Bowie, Marge Simpson, Mohandas Gandhi, Elvis Presley, Janis Joplin ... and has seen the likes of Benedict Cumberbatch, Juliet Stevenson, Ian McKellen, Kylie Minogue, Russell Brand ... and Sir Ben Kingsley deliver unique and extraordinary performances." --------------- On Sunday, December 13th, they are offering two one-hour screenings of previous performances. I'm planning to watch (and listen), will you? When I met two friends at the arboretum for a walk and a bite to eat, we decided to keep it simple ... each of us was to bring our own lunch.
We walked along the trails and through the fields, past the larch and the lilacs, to a clearing where we discovered a picnic table. We pulled lunch from our bags, and one by one described what we'd brought ... each offering to share what we had. When we started eating, I realized not only did I forget a napkin, one of my friends had upped her game and brought a cloth napkin. I realized in that moment if I had packed lunch for all of us I would have taken more time to consider things like napkins, and maybe a tea towel for the center of the table. But because I was packing just for myself, I rushed the process. It was a sharp reminder that what we might do for others, we should consider doing for ourselves. The first edition of Tinplate No.1, the summer edition is coming soon. It's an activity book ... and yes, picnics are included, along with a checklist(!) of what to pack. The activity book is my way of reminding myself, and you, to do more of what we enjoy this summer. To take the time between the things we have to do for the things we want to do ... and make the most of it. I think you'll like it. When I met two friends at the arboretum for a walk and a bite to eat, we decided to keep it simple ... each of us was to bring our own lunch.
We walked along the trails and through the fields, past the larch and the lilacs, to a clearing where we discovered a picnic table. We pulled lunch from our bags, and one by one described what we'd brought ... each offering to share what we had. When we started eating, I realized not only did I forget a napkin, one of my friends had upped her game and brought a cloth napkin. I realized in that moment if I had packed lunch for all of us I would have taken more time to consider things like napkins, and maybe a tea towel for the center of the table. But because I was packing just for myself, I rushed the process. It was a sharp reminder that what we might do for others, we should consider doing for ourselves. The first edition of Tinplate No.1, the summer edition is coming soon. It's an activity book ... and yes, picnics are included, along with a checklist(!) of what to pack. The activity book is my way of reminding myself, and you, to do more of what we enjoy this summer. To take the time between the things we have to do for the things we want to do ... and make the most of it. I think you'll like it. We went for a walk at the Audubon center this morning. It was an overcast day in an autumn landscape. At first glance, aside from the sweeping views of the field and the river beyond, it seemed there wouldn’t be much to see. At least not when compared to earlier in the season when so many birds flitted one way then another, flowers were blooming, turtles skimmed the pond, and the grasses grew tall and green. Today the only green offered was harbored in the pine trees on the field’s edge. And it was unusually quiet. We spotted just one crow, another (unidentifiable) small bird, and in the distance by the river, a flock of seagulls. So many of the birds have migrated, the flowers and grasses have gone dormant, and there’s a chill in the air that seeks and settles in the gap of an open collar. But there is beauty and intrigue to be found. Close up and at a distance if you look for it. Red berries on bare twigs. The lilt of the marsh grass. And scat deposited on the edge of a well worn path. Yep, we’re talking poop. Pretty sure it didn’t come from a dog because they’re not allowed. And with all the berries in it, it was most likely fox droppings. Two sightings ... of poop, not the fox, unfortunately. The walk was a bit of forest bathing; immersion in the natural landscape. Even though we weren’t in the forest, we focused on the landscape, the sky, the air, plants (and yes, poop), and nothing else. No worries about what to cook for dinner, the news, or impending chores. In return, we found what we were looking for ... calm in an otherwise hectic world.
We may not be able to visit or travel these days, but if we get out and explore what's close to home, there’s no telling what we might see and share ... in a letter, a phone call, or Zoom event. Is there a park, walkway, stretch of beach, or field where you can go to get outside? Where you can watch, listen, and let nature wash over you? Go. It will make you feel better and give you the scoop on new things to talk about. A while ago I was feeling out of sorts, a bit edgy, and bored with myself. I didn’t know why and I didn’t know what to do about it. All I knew was I wanted to shift my mood and stop the creep ... I’d already spent much of the day feeling off and I didn’t want it to creep into what remained of the day. So I decided to do something. Something I enjoy. I sat at my desk with my collage materials. I like collage work because it’s easy to pick up and put down without taking up a lot of space or having to do a lot of preparation. After I got going, I realized, once again, it feels good to do. Was it because I was working with my hands? That may be part of it, but I think it’s more. I think the doing activates a shift. A shift from a passive, unsettled state of mind to a state of being active and engaged. It's why I'm such a fan of having hobbies, passions, and pastimes. It works when I write letters, when I clean, or cook ... just about any activity, really. The challenge, always, is getting started. For the collage work, I started by sitting at the table. I didn’t know what I would do or create, but knew just pulling out the materials would help. And it did. It's so simple ... yet so hard sometimes. Why is it so hard? Sometimes it’s because we’re so busy doing for others we forget to tend to ourselves. To take some time (not a lot of time, just some time) to do what we want, instead of what everyone else wants or needs, or demands. Other times, we're just overwhelmed. By our work, our circumstances, and these days, the pandemic. When I sat down, I wasn't sure what I'd collage, but felt better just sitting with my materials. It was then I realized, it feels good to do. So I made this collage. This is not the first time I’ve written about stopping the creep. Read my post about the recipe that saved my life and let me know what you do to stop the creep. I'm starting in on my next book: Birds & Birding.
As I decide what to cover in the book, it occurred to me a mind map would be a good idea. I'd love to know what you'd like to see in a book about birds and birding. Send an email, or post a comment and let me know. And what about you? Do you create bird art, go birding, or have some other bird related activity you might share? I'd love to hear about it. A different way to connect We won't be visiting in person this Thanksgiving, so I'm serving up a side of snail mail. I've decided to make a small batch of handmade collage cards to send and give thanks (there's still plenty to be thankful for, even if we're apart). Now that I have the design figured out, it's a matter of cut and paste. The process is a meditation of sorts. Cutting and arranging, cutting and arranging some more. It's the mindless act of doing that's relaxing. I sometimes work with no background sound, other times there's the television in the background, or music, and sometimes there's a conversation happening.
These patterns happened by chance. Well, at least the first set. I was trying to keep count of how many pomegranates I'd cut, so I started lining them up. I liked the pattern and took a photo. The first image was so compelling, I decided to do it with the next batch. The green leaves were all a jumble until I thought to arrange them in a sunburst pattern. Much better. This is interesting ... creating parallel designs as I work. It's also a good way to visualize my progress. Are you a pattern maker? Do you have ways to track your progress on projects? |
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