I’m just back from a week at the John C. Campbell Folk School.

LOVED it! But there’s way too much to tell to fit in one blog, so here’s part one:

I flew into Chattanooga, Tennessee, on a balmy Saturday afternoon. Half an hour later I was in my rental car, driving along the Ocoee Scenic Byway, struggling to keep my eyes on the road as flashes of waterfalls rushing down the steep green walls of the Ocoee River Gorge kept grabbing my attention. It was only mid-February, but here spring had definitely sprung. I was on my way to Murphy, North Carolina. I would move into my lodging at the Folk School in neighboring Brasstown on Sunday afternoon, but Saturday night I was in Murphy, where my mom and her husband, Dick, have a little place to get away from the worst of the Indiana winters. They met me at my hotel, and we headed to Parson’s Pub for an early dinner.

Well, we thought it would be early, but an hour after ordering we were still waiting for our food. The place was hopping and the kitchen couldn’t keep up. It didn’t matter to me. I was still on Colorado time. The bartender and his wife, our server, were apologetic, but we were fine. We had wine, live music and plenty to talk about until the food arrived.

Mom told me the church on the hill above my hotel had some tie to the pub, which piqued my curiosity. So the next morning, since Mom couldn’t meet me until about 12:30 and I had to be out of the hotel by 11:00, I thought maybe I’d check out the church. I don’t love new situations, especially walking into rooms full of people I don’t know, so I was still undecided as I drove slowly up the steep drive and parked on the far edge of the parking lot, facing away from the front doors, hoping the tinted windows rendered me at least sort of invisible. I turned off the engine, but then just sat there in the car. I almost bailed, but what else was I going to do? Finally, I had a little mini-conversation with God: Okay, fine, I’ll go in, but I’m only doing this for You. And immediately heard back: Actually, I’m doing this for you.

Okay, then. I may not always slow down enough to hear it, but when I do, I try not to argue with that still, small voice. I went in. And it was great. There were a few appraising looks, but a number of people introduced themselves and didn’t seem at all fazed that I was a one-time drop-in and would likely never be back. Before I had been there long, in walked the pub guy and his wife. He turned out to be the “Parson” himself and the former pastor of Shepherd Church. They immediately started telling everyone how patient we had been at the pub the night before. There went my hide-in-a-corner plan, but at least they were saying nice things. Never mind that I didn’t really deserve such lavish praise simply for not being rude. Anyway, they insisted they wanted to sit with me if I didn’t mind, even though I was lurking in the back row. So much for my quick getaway, but I didn’t really want to leave anymore.

Then the current pastor, Chris West, got up and said something I hope I never forget, “If all your prayers were answered tonight, would it change the world or just your world?”

Excellent question. He went on to introduce a new outreach the church was going to be undertaking, fundraising and giving to Charity: Water, which funds wells to provide clean water in developing countries. The whole morning was thought-provoking and motivating.

I came out of there warmed by the human connection, cheered by this unexpected gift from God, and inspired by a possible avenue toward making a difference. I’ll be looking into Charity: Water. You may want to, too. Either way, I promise going in was way better than sitting alone in a rental car at the edge of a random parking lot.

So here’s wishing you boldness to go where the still small voice of God may be inviting you. May the experience warm you, cheer you, inspire you, and provide you with a way to make a difference.

I’m still stretching my creative wings as much as possible. It seems to be how God is leading me most fully into engagement with life. I’m doing a bit of piano improv (sort of). It’s really more writing music over a given chord progression, which I don’t think is quite the same thing. Improvisation, in my opinion, should be natural and spur-of-the-moment. And what I’m doing is only spur-of-the-moment for a hot second; then I figure out what part of it I like and write it down. Lexi says this is completely acceptable and in fact is how you learn patterns and motifs you’d like to use and build on. I’m choosing to believe her!

On the fused glass front, my second version of the fall trees piece was slightly improved, but not enough, so I’ve added a bit more and it will go in for another firing this week. After that, no matter what, I’m calling it done. It is only my first effort, after all. I have also put together my Ile de Ré inspired piece, so here it is with all the frit (smashed glass bits) piled on approximately where I want it . . .

. . . so that will also be fired this week. This one is much more a mixture of opaques and translucents, so guess we’ll see. It’s all a learning process. I’ll take a photo with the light behind it when it’s done.

I haven’t done a lot of writing lately, but thought I’d share with you one of the final assignments for the last session of the writers workshop, the end of September.  We were instructed to write a portrait, or rather to describe an actual portrait or self-portrait, so I decided to do both. You can probably guess what I chose first:

David at the Anchorage

              It was a quick snap across the table as we waited for our drinks at the Anchorage bar in the harbor. He’s grinning, flashing his dimples, looking off to the side, out at the boats, maybe, so you can’t quite see the changeable blue of his deep-set eyes, but fish are teeming across his shirt in shades of aqua and azure, cobalt and cerulean. There’s a chunky silver chain at his neck that gleams against his sun-kissed skin, echoed by tiny highlights in his eyes and on his slightly uneven top teeth. His hair is still mostly dark, but there are hints of grey at his temples and on his unshaven chin.

            He is completely still and sharp, caught in this moment of perfect contentment, but the background is strangely distorted, not out of focus exactly, more like a double exposure, giving a sense of movement to everything but him. And if you look closely, you can see the faintly golden reflection of a Windsor chair just above and to the left of his head, oddly seeming almost a sort of Byzantine halo, and beyond that the dim red glow of the word EXIT. If this were an album cover, there would be endless discussions of the symbolism of these images, in light of his death a few years later, but there was no awareness of any of this at the time.   

              When I took this shot, I had no idea how important it would be, how ubiquitous it would be. He’s not even looking at the camera, and yet it turned out to be everyone’s favorite shot of David. It was first on public view in my blog post wishing him a happy 64^th birthday. Less than a month later his cancer was diagnosed, and I chose it as his profile picture for the CaringBridge website updates. Since I was on the site so often, Google kept a thumbnail photo icon on my Chrome homepage, that I saw every day until suddenly new graphic icons replaced the screen shots a few days ago. I felt strangely robbed and maddeningly impotent in the face of this unwanted update. But I also used this photo for the celebration of David’s life and I have a stack of extra programs on his bedside table and the 18 x 24 foamboard poster on an easel in the vestibule, so it’s not as if I can’t see it whenever I want. 

              But he’s looking away. He’s happy, but he’s not quite with me completely. At the time he was, but now forevermore he’s looking away, beyond the blue.

And this:

Sunny at the Rio

              Of course, it’s not an actual self-portrait. These were the days before selfies were hourly occurrences. David took this shot, trying out my new phone’s camera. A quick snap and it has been my favorite picture of myself for years. I love the way the afternoon light is streaming down at just the right angle, make Sunny seem even sunnier somehow. And although I am not especially happy to have my picture taken, I’m obviously happy to be with David, happy with my new phone, happy with the margarita almost out of frame, but ready and waiting.

              If you look closely, you can sort of see the large graft on the side of my nose where the cancer was removed, and you can certainly see that my nose is a bit cockeyed as a result. “Picasso-esque” David and I called it. But that’s not what draws my eye. I see the glint in the green eyes and a smile so big, I can almost pretend I have dimples.

             Mostly I see joy. And sunshine. And I know I am still that person.

********

True. I absolutely do know that, but by this time last year, David was on hospice, so those memories are a bit more on my mind than usual. Also, tomorrow (Sunday the 18th) is the 40th anniversary of the day we were wed, so that’s got some emotional weight as well. I’m trying to learn to let go of random markers like that, at least as a source of regret. I’m choosing instead to be grateful that we did have almost 40 years together, even if it was almost. 

And I’m looking forward to lots of time with family and friends coming up over the holidays. We ALL miss David so much, but he is a part of all of us, so when we’re together and reminiscing, somehow he’s present and it is good.

Also: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HELEN! Forty years ago, she let us co-opt her birthday for our wedding day. Thanks again, Helen! She turns 91 tomorrow and is still going strong. The rest of us can barely keep up! If you don’t have her contact info to send a birthday wish, leave it in the comments and I’ll be sure she sees them.

Wishing all of you rich times with your dear ones! Bless you!

A few weeks ago, there was an artists’ studio tour here in Fort Collins, and I definitely took advantage of it. I visited three on Friday afternoon, another ten or twelve on Saturday, plus a few more on Sunday. What a treat. I’ll leave a few links for you at the bottom. If I give them to you now, you may never come back to finish reading this post!

One of the studios I visited was that of Cole Thompson, a photographer working entirely in black and white. His work is stunning and he very kindly talked with me, rank amateur that I am, about various aspects of how he produces his images. I love his work and he has inspired me to learn more about photography. One of these days, I may even do a post with black and white images, but not just yet. Although I love the drama and the artistry of black and white, I have to admit color feeds my soul in a way I seem to need right now. So for the moment, I’ll take my black with a splash of vibrant color. Like this . . .

During the studio tour weekend, I also stopped by to see Sibyl Stork, whose work I have loved for years. She’s the artist who taught the watercolor class I took (and LOVED) just before our 2016 road trip out to Portland, right before David’s cancer was discovered. It was good to talk with her again and to check out all her fabulous new work.  She doesn’t have a class available for me right now, but I’ve got a lot going on at the moment anyway. Another possibility for the days ahead.

Today is ten months since David’s been gone, and I’ve had a few rough moments recently, times when the irrational questions resurface. Questions like, What?! Really?! Forever?! (here on earth, anyway). But as I wrote in the last post, I’m making a concerted effort to be present in the here and now and to let the day’s own troubles be enough for the day.

In fact, I’ve been so open to trying various creative things, in my efforts to come back to life, that I’ve gone a bit overboard and now have to reevaluate and maybe scale back a bit. Pro Tip: You know you’re not listening quite well enough to the still small voice of God when you have to get life advice from a Dove chocolate wrapper: “You can do anything,” it said, “but you can’t do everything.” Hahaha. Okay. Got it.

One of the activities I’m keeping for now is Kathi Dougherty’s fused glass open studio on Thursday afternoons. Hers was another studio I visited, and her work is an absolute celebration of color. For my first project, I wanted to play with the hues of fall foliage, since that has always been one of my favorite things. Kathi has done some gorgeous pieces on this theme, but of course I didn’t want to copy hers, so was a bit paralyzed at the start until she directed me to begin by collecting my colors. THAT I could do. I definitely also wanted sky and water. You know how much I love blue, even aside from how it reminds me of David.

Since for this first project I wanted to work primarily with crushed glass, called “frit,” I then smashed larger pieces to create a pallet of colors with which to work.

I could have made a plate or bowl, but I chose to do a flat art piece (using the term “art” VERY loosely). Mostly the point for me was to play, experiment, create. I read this yesterday in Girl, Wash Your Face:

Creating is the greatest expression of reverence I can think of because I recognize that the desire to make something is a gift from God.                                                                                                                                 — Rachel Hollis

I agree and I am grateful for that gift. And as much as I would love to effortlessly produce truly beautiful things, the chance to try is enough, and the learning that comes from mistakes is a bonus. Here’s version one of my first piece →

Not horrifying, but not fabulous. I love how the light comes through, but I didn’t realize the small black “branches” would be as prominent as they are, showing through the translucent glass, as you can see. That was not what I intended and they bug me. Fortunately, it’s possible to add glass and fuse?/fire?/heat? it again. I don’t really know the lingo yet. But onward — and hopefully upward — to version two. I’ve added some opaques and I’ll see next Thursday if it’s improved or not. Here it is awaiting a second turn in the kiln:

My next project is inspired by this photo looking west from Île de Ré, the beautiful island just across a bridge from La Rochelle.  This is possibly my favorite photo from our various trips to France, so I don’t expect to improve on the photo, but I’m super inspired by the colors.

Here’s what I’ve done so far:

I think it’s therapeutic for me because there are no rules, except reasonable caution for the sake of safety, and there’s no hurry. Kathi and the other regulars I’ve met are kind, so that’s a welcome change from the news, anyway. And I do think there’s something transcendent about the simple act of creating, that somehow taps into the image of our Creator God, put in each one of us.

Here’s a bit more from Rachel Hollis:

The freedom to carve out the time and have a safe place to create art is a blessing of the highest level in a world where so many people are unable to have either.  

I am grateful for both the urge and the opportunity to create. Wishing you both as well!

I’ll leave you with a colorful October family photo from thirty years ago. Yikes. Half my life!

Please leave a comment if you have a minute, even if it’s to tease me about the enormous eighties red bow in my hair! I love hearing from you.

And don’t forget to check out these websites:

Cole Thompson — Sibyl Stork — Kathi Dougherty

Enjoy!

There’s a weird grief inertia thing that makes everything take four times a long as it should, so I’m finally getting around to finishing the post about the visit of our dear friends Pascale and Jacky from La Rochelle . . .

They came to stay with me, along with Pascale’s daughter Anna, and were here from May 31st until the 12th of June. Here it is more than two months later, so high time to publish this post about all our adventures!

Although  Anna is completely fluent in English, neither Pascale nor Jacky is, so lucky for me we spent the entire time speaking French. Or rather they spent the entire time speaking French and I spent it trying to keep up (and having my mistakes corrected — which I had requested, to be clear, but a bit discouraging at times to find I’m still so very far from fluent). Still, I have come a long way!

I had planned to cram as much as possible into the time and it’s true we did a lot. They arrived a bit late on Thursday night the 31st, so Friday we took it easy, strolling around Old Town Fort Collins and lunching on the Rio patio, because . . . margaritas! I love France, as many of  you know, but the one thing you cannot find in France, or at least not often or easily, is Mexican food. Avocados, yes. Margaritas, sort of, sometimes. Mexican food, not so much. I love the story Courtney tells of her trip to France in 2014, when she was so discombobulated with jet lag she ordered a margarita . . .  at an Irish pub . . . in Paris. We were laughing so hard I never got around to asking how it was. But here? We’ve got margaritas nailed. And nail them we did, so then had a stroll up Mountain Avenue to walk off the tequila and introduce them to other dear friends, Tom and Christy, then home to enjoy a low-key evening.

Saturday we headed up Poudre Canyon. By the way, pronouncing it Pooder Canyon, as we do around here, is a bit startling to actual French people, but they coped. We made it up to Arrowhead Lodge and the Poudre Canyon Chapel, then came back down a couple of miles for burgers at Archers Grille, a favorite of David’s and mine. Then back down the canyon, stopping at Hewlett Gulch for a bit of a stroll.

The day was absolutely glorious . . . ↓

We had been on the go from early morning,  but they rallied later for drinks, tapas and jazz with Mark Sloniker in the Sunset Lounge at the top of the Elizabeth Hotel.

On Sunday we headed to Denver — the Denver Art Museum, a walk around all the usual highlights of downtown (with a bazillion other people), then a stroll through the historic district near the botanic gardens, then . . . something I did not even know existed. Anna had read something about this place online . . .↓

. . . and wanted to see it. Not really my thing, but it certainly was colorful. A little creepy the way the lights hang out of the eyeballs of the animals on the ceiling, but maybe that’s just me.  😉

All three of them came ready to see or do anything I suggested, and they were up for any adventure. Certainly Anna had done her research and had things she wanted to see, but they were easy and friendly and grateful for whatever I offered in the way of entertainment. Despite my ambitious to-do list, we also had to be sure to fit in time with Wendi, my former student and now friend, as well as their former exchange student. Wendi is the reason David and I met them in the first place — Thanks Wendi!

In the time they were here, they managed to fit in, not only the above, but a BBQ at Wendi’s house, and then a three-day side trip to Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon. Then back here for the summit of Trail Ridge Road, plus Estes Park, then dancing at the Sundance Saloon . . . ↓

. . . then a dinner at Tom and Lexi’s (whom they’d met last year in La Rochelle). Then a few very hot hours in Boulder . . .

. . . then another BBQ with Wendi’s family before flying home on the 12th. Whew. Fortunately, they were indefatigable.

But the most important thing for me was that they had traveled all the way from France to see not only the sights of Colorado and beyond, but specifically to spend time with me and with Wendi and her family. Of course, we had all hoped David would still be here and well enough to be able to host as he loved to do, but it was not to be. His spirit of joy was with us, though, and so many memories of times together with all our treasured amis. I hope for many more!