Wow.

Ólafur Arnalds - Ljósið (Official Music Video) from Erased Tapes on Vimeo.

Drink the wild air.

I love everything from thewheatfield:

I love this.

Our snow was not only shaken from white wash buckets down the sky, it came shawling out of the ground and swam and drifted out of the arms and hands and bodies of the trees; snow grew overnight on the roofs of the houses like a pure and grandfather moss, minutely ivied the walls and settled on the postman, opening the gate, like a dumb, numb thunder-storm of white, torn Christmas cards ~ Dylan Thomas, A Child's Christmas in Wales

Taken from here.

Reverb 10: Beautifully Different.

Prompt: Think about what makes you different and what you do that lights people up. Reflect on all the things that make you different - you'll find they're what make you beautiful.

I actually had to ask for help on this one. That's sad, isn't it? And I'm still stuck. Seriously, I opened this window five minutes ago and then went off to do other important things, like check my email and chat on Facebook.

Why am I so averse to writing about myself? I mean, I'm good at writing about the THINGS in my life, the circumstances, the people. But not me. It always feels so...self-indulgent...to say anything about myself, to make bold, declarative statements about who I am. Who am I to say anything about me is different or special? I feel like the second I say something about what makes me different, someone else can pop and say, "Actually, I'm like that, too. I have that." And the "lights people up" part of the prompt...? Can I say that I do that? I feel like I can't. I just don't know. I'm doubtful.

Somehow I'm convinced that this lies at the heart of the Thing Which Is Holding Me Back from all the things I want. The thing that makes me different from those who can take a look at what they want in life, then actually just GO AND GET IT, like it's that easy. I just don't really believe, deep down, that I have anything beautiful or different or illuminating to offer the world. And I feel like I need to - HAVE to - get past that.

The friend I asked for help on this prompt said that the fact that I seek out lovely things the way that I do makes me "beautifully different."

But....I don't know. I'm going to have to keep thinking about this.

What about you......what makes YOU beautifully different? Help me figure out the right way to think about this!

Butterfly Nebula.

From Time.com: Also known as the Big Nebula, the butterfly-shaped nebula consists of heated gas made up of oxygen and nitrogen, the whole of which tears through space at speeds in excess of 60,000 miles an hour. The dying star in the center is not unlike our sun.

Check out The Hubble Telescope's Greatest Hits and think about the vastness of space. It's a scary, beautiful thing, isn't it?

It isn't there; it's nowhere.

don't say anything, unless
you should open your mouth and say
here is gold, near the mossy crag
of winter, here are splinters
piled up near the cellar
where dark things grow and lissome
murmurings glow forever.

don't mistake them for embers.
here, the dirt pulse of mud and mold
stoke and choke the glimmers.

follow the river - magpies gather
your throes, the tender words you've
tossed, careless lost, and decorate
their bowers. who knew they'd love
every careful shade of gray.

love as in all things. where the river stops,
the sky stops, the trees stop, the animals
bow their heads and die. your fingers grasp
the threads and you don't know why.

Let us now praise you.

I love Helen Jane, and today she shared a poem from Samantha Bennett that made me want to cry, but in the best possible way.

An Ode To The Overwhelmed

And as you stand there
Late again
Because you forgot to allow time to park
And the elevator was slow
And you left 10 minutes late to begin with

With your shoes that pinch
And your pants that are a little too small
Since you started eating white bread again

And as you paw through your bag
Looking for the suite number
That you’re not sure you wrote down to begin with

Let us now praise you.

You, the untidy.
You, the careless.
You, the easily distracted by sparkly things.

The money you spend on late fees alone
Could feed a family in Africa –
Which reminds you that you meant to send in the kids’ Unicef money and
Forgot.

And that despite your best efforts,
You rarely eat a square meal,
You almost never get enough sleep
And exercise seems like a word that magazines have developed
Just to make you feel bad about yourself.

But you are good and brave.
You, flying by the seat of your pants
Making it work
Putting out fires
Saying your prayers
And dancing your dance of now and later and maybe and
I’ll–have-to-call-you-back-on-that-could-you-send-me-an-email-to-remind-me-to-call-you-back-on-that?

As innocent as each morning’s sunrise,
You are a fount of good intentions.
Your good humor is as graceful as a baby giraffe,
Even if that joke you were trying to make to the hotel clerk fell flat
And your toast at the wedding came out sounding a little….funny.

But you have gifts that no one knows about.
You have the strength to bend in the wind
You have the joyful spirit that loves a good belly laugh,
You have the wisdom to understand that everything will all come out all right in the end and
You have the faith to light a candle rather than curse the darkness.

That is, if you could find the book of matches from that romantic restaurant that you went to for your anniversary but since you didn’t have a reservation they made you wait at the bar for half an hour during which you had two appletinis and the rest of the night is a bit of a blur.

So much for the overpriced lingerie.

You are beautiful.

You are beautiful.

Frazzled and overworked and underpaid
You are the one who forgot your wallet
And forgot your receipt for the dry cleaners
And forgot your keys which you just set down five seconds ago, so where could they possibly have gone?

But you never forget to say, “I love you”
And you never forget to give a big smile to that nice parking guy
And you never fail to show endless patience when the
Too-tightly wrapped and overly-conscientious start to offer their
Oh-so-helpful suggestions about how you might feel better if you would just learn to alphabetize your spice rack.

You are beautiful.
So, wear the lingerie on Monday for no reason.
And why not just refuse to participate in the bake sale this year?
And give yourself a compliment for something you did well today.

Because you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.

Burgeon with life.

This past week and weekend have kind of knocked me flat in all ways, and any bit of inquisitiveness I have has been expelled in a gray vapor, and my brain is flat and buzzing, like wires that don't connect in the right ways. I am at present moment unable to cast a joyful sheen on anything, am unable to seek the big picture, or to count the ways in which I have lovely in my life. My eyes are straining and itchy and I just don't see it. I know my vision will clear. I'm actively wiping at the goggles as we speak. But for now, a tiny lovely from two weekends ago, when everything seemed a lot nicer. It's fungus growing from a decaying log, proof that even when things are ugly, there is always lovely: that something, as it dies, can burgeon with life, sustain other lives.

Except when I'm awake.

I can sing a little,
my throat clasps a golden beetle
that tickles and chokes
and is soft in the wing

I can dance a little,
my hips make proclamations
that sound sometimes
like grand gestures,
and sometimes whispers.

My teeth chatter when I speak
and the half truth is
my eyes are full of sand
and I can see everything.

The full truth is
I spend every day sleeping,
and my head is full of dreams
that quake upon waking.

Felled.

Gray to the south and the sky is parting, the inverse of flood,
cloudrafts bridge the distance. They are headed north.

Her children are laughing and gathering millipedes and
grubbing fistfuls of pretzels. The wagon rattles on the sidewalk.

She offers joy to the sky. Her arm extends from her body, a tender shoot,
and she grabs the first raft she sees.

Thank you, she thinks, and feeds the silent blessing to a thorny tree.
A stinkbug stranded on its back, apple-green legs waving.
The jacket wind.

Until a prickling sensation behind her ear says, If only.
She marks the space around her with a thumbtack.

And goes unraveling toward the gray.

:::

We hit the road just after 10 in the morning and the gray day spanned the miles, a large hollow pocket where everyone is alive but sleeping. To the north, we could see blue and the only chill came from a light wind that bit pink into our cheeks but left us wanting.

We would chase the blue.

Impossibly excited, the girls rattled along in the wagon and we listened to She & Him and Madeleine hummed along to "Thieves."

It was around mile three that it all hit me. We were passing the thorny trees and a family of roller bladers skated at varying skill levels around us. The sky was more blue than gray here; the wind was perfect and we were outside and we were moving. I thought, this is how every day should be, and for one brief moment I felt totally connected to everything. Everything was perfect.

And then: I wish I could do this every day. This is what every day should be.

And just like that, I lost the moment. It was tainted by the wishes and wants and shoulds.

This very breath I am taking right this second -- it's the wish, the want, the should. End of story.

Today, I am breathing. And that's enough.

:::

Curating Flickr: Joy

(Click on any image to follow it back to its source.)

Of you and you.

in the bowl a hand of dirt
in the dirt a speck of nothing
you see it charm the throat of worms
circling 'round the bottom.

in the bottom a shroud of seeds
in the seeds a speck of nothing
you see it sprout the march of stems
growing 'round the outside.

in the outside a fist of trees
in the trees a speck of nothing
you see it trick the port of birds
flirting 'round the blossoms.

in the blossoms an arm of branch
in the branch a speck of nothing
you see it flank the float of leaves
puzzling 'round tomorrow.

tomorrow, a wheel of you
inside you a speck of nothing
you see it face the swarm of stars
stinging 'round the galaxy.

in the galaxy a clutch of planets
in the galaxy a speck of nothing
in the galaxy a convocation of you,
of you and you, and nothing.

Lovely words.

Clishmaclaver: idle talk, gossip.
Lissome: easily bent, supple.
Lollop: to move with a bobbing motion.
Noctilucous: shining at night.
Pandiculation: yawning and stretching.
Poppysmic: lip-smacking.
Susurrus: a soft, whispering, or rustling sound, a murmuring.

More here.

The make it better muffins.

What matters is that the evening ended like this: kicking, hitting, face-pushing, screaming, crying. Over and over again.

When Madeleine finally fell asleep, curled into her blankets, face finally lax and sweet, I brushed her hair from her eyes and left a light kiss on her forehead. All I could think was: I need to bake something.

I wanted to bake something sweet and delicious, something vaguely healthy, and something that the girls could eat for breakfast in the morning. In the face of a trying, awful evening, I thought: This is something I can do. I can make the best muffins ever and nourish my girls with them. They'll be the make it better muffins.

I found a fluffy walnut apple muffin recipe and got to work.

Digging my hands into the crisper in the refrigerator I found three apples: two red, one green. I grabbed the peeler and sloughed the skin from the apples in small, bright strips until I held three bared orbs of fruit. I chopped the fruit into small pieces.

Sugar and butter and vanilla extract together in a big yellow bowl. I creamed them together until the mixture transformed from three separate ingredients into a grainy-smooth mix. I added two brown eggs until the mixture was thick and smooth, mixed into a yellow pudding.

In a separate bowl, I mixed the dry ingredients and mixed those into the wet batter. Folded in chopped apples and walnuts.

I made the crumble topping, abandoning the butter knife suggestion and mixing it with my hands until I felt the soft, smooth crumbs sifting through my fingers. Such a lovely texture.

Into the thoroughly buttered muffin pan: the apple walnut batter, crumb topping sprinkled on top. Baked.

Then comes the watching phase, monitoring how the tops brown, inserting a toothpick when you think the muffins are done to see if it comes out clean. And it does.

The house is warm, fragrant.
I offer Wayland a muffin with a glass of milk.
I eat one myself. It is delicious.

How soothing, to make comfort food in every sense of the word. Following instructions, completely involved in the process of making food to feed your family. Watching separate ingredients come together into something beautiful and sweet. The meditative quality of measuring and stirring and mixing and folding. Of immersing your hands in the crumbs. Checking for done-ness. If only life felt as easy it does here, carefully tending the recipe and being rewarded for it at the end.

I hope that the girls will enjoy these muffins; I hope they will sense the loveliness in the effort - of making something from nothing, even after the screaming and kicking and crying from the night before. I hope their day feels just a little sweeter for it.

Curating Flickr: Possibility

(Images grabbed from Flickr. Click any image to go back to its source.)

No Silver.

Oh my stinkin' heck. Chris Bathgate has a new song out, "No Silver," and a new album, Salt Year, coming April 26! Yayayayay! About the song, he describes being dead broke and then says:

"This is typically how close to the edge I have to operate as a musician. I eat biscuits, and people all over the world send me nice messages, explaining how much they love my music. When I was recording this song, that hopeless excited feeling came back. I dumped a few cracked cymbals on the floor of Jim Roll’s studio and started smashing away a kick drum, and a washboard. I wanted No Silver to sound broke, broken and exhilarated."

So inspiring. Click here to listen to the song and read the rest of what he has to say.

Curating Flickr: Solitude

I stole the idea to do a flickr curation from this blogger, whose blog is good, but (warning!) not safe for work. So...I scoured flickr looking for images that struck me in some sort of cohesive way. Today the theme was solitude. Click on any image above and it will take you straight to the user who posted it on flickr.

Reverb 10: Let Go

Prompt: What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why?

In 2010, I let go of a work schedule that allowed me to be at home for my girls and with my family. I traded it for a job that helps me feel more fulfilled, is expanding my skill set and offers a teeny weeny bit more money. Though there are many, many positives to this new job, spending less time at home and seeing the girls much less has been so, so difficult.

Back when I made the decision, I said this:

Basically, on Monday, I feel like I'm stepping into this grand experiment. I could fail. I could be miserable working the 8 to 5 grind and not seeing my girls as much as I would like.

Or it could work out exactly as I hope it will -- that it will be tough but rewarding, that life will be better when I'm not miserable in my work, the area of my life that zaps so much of time in the first place.

This was a tough decision, and it might not work out, or it might -- but either way, I know I will learn something invaluable, something I'm not yet able to put into words -- about myself, about what's important in life, about where I ultimately want to be.

I think all of it has been absolutely true. I have in the short time I've been here learned a lot about myself and what is most important to me - and definitely more about where I ultimately want to be in my life. And now that I am learning those lessons, there are next steps to take, things to do, and from where I am standing, I am a bit bewildered about what those steps are.

But what I do know is that over time, difficult things become easier to handle. They become routine. Maybe the difficult thing for me to make routine needs to be something that contributes to better for me. I need to make stepping out of my comfort zone become routine. I need to freakin' live there.

Reverb 10: Wonder

Prompt: How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year?

An easy one. Getting down at my girls' level and trying to see the world the way they do. This year, my oldest daughter brought me a dragonfly, perched on her finger. But she brought me more than that - she brought me that great note of excitement in her voice when she caught it, the spark in her eyes, that pleased smile. She brings me that all the time, how excited she gets about the things that most girls I know of do not - she gets me excited about them, too. The snakes, the lizards, the bugs, climbing trees, digging in the dirt, pretending to be an armadillo.

My youngest daughter inspires wonder every day, with her simple, sweet view on the world, the way she feels so acutely. Even when her eyes are welled with tears for the third time in an hour, and I am gritting my teeth in frustration at her emotional nature, I picture the inner workings of her soul as a ticking machine of the most delicate but sturdy parts, crystalline gears and shining cogs, gossamer strands of nerves accepting and processing everything. Once that tender machine has cranked out the tears, the switch flips to radiant, and oh, it is a thing of wonder.

They are both awesome sources of perpetual wonder.

Groups of things.

A group of ravens is called an unkindness.
A group of rhinos is a crash.
A group of jellyfish is a smack.
A group of cobras is a quiver.
A group of crocodiles is a float.
A group of eagles is a convocation.
A group of foxes is a skulk or a leash.
A group of goldfish is a troubling.
A group of nightingales is a watch.
A group of starlings is a murmur.
A group of trout is a hover.
A group of woodpeckers is a descent.
A group of storks is a muster.

I want to name groups of things! My quick try, based on things I see around me right this second: A group of desks is an undertaking. A group of photos is a benediction. A group of books is a posturing. A group of telephones is a shout. (Try it! It's fun!)

Reverb 10: Moment

Prompt: Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors).

I touch down in a ruined city that won't die, vivid colors poaching the gray and sad, flood washed streets. Houses vie for revitalization, identical twins of houses, one paint-chipped and sagging, the other freshly washed, painted, standing tall. The smell is musty, dirty and insistent, like sprouts pushing up in dry gravel, tiny plants blooming in cracked sidewalks. Everything is dirty and bright all at once, the energy of a city bringing everything to vivid light.

I step into a crowded old bookstore and sift through old postcards, eat seafood in restaurants settled into crags in alleys, walk the riverfront, dust powdered sugar from my fingers at the famous cafe up the street from the hotel. Oh, this sweet fried dough, nestled honey brown in mounds of soft white sugar, the crinkle of the plain white bag as I sift my fingers to the beignet.

Music burgeons from underneath a white tent on a street corner. Crisp, strident tones of jazz beat into the heat. At the farmer's market, a man tries to sell me a snake ring. Later I walk through a cemetery, roam the centuries-old tombs, note the Xs marked on the voodoo queen's grave.

The city swells and deflates, a strange inhalation and exhalation of movement, and I am so much a part of it, particles of the flood in my lungs, and out again, and in, and out, and the city lets me take the tiniest bit, even though it doesn't belong to me.

:::

Touching back down in Dallas after a long trip away, I am beyond thrilled to throw my arms out and accept my beautiful daughters into them. Their hair so soft against my cheeks; their grips so tight, so fierce. I didn't realize how much I missed them until I got back, and I feel the slow vise encircling my ribs, ever tightening while I was away, let go all at once, and I am flooded with love and intense gratitude for these perfectly beautiful, wonderful daughters of mine.

Good madness.

I like Neil Gaiman's benediction for a new year:

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.

(From here.)

Reverb 10: One Word

Prompt 1: Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you're choosing that word. Now imagine it's one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you?

Flux. Everything this year felt tentative and unsure. Wayland and I went through career changes that kicked off other changes in just about every area of our lives, and no lie, it’s been hard.

I think the thing is that we started the year in control – not exactly loving where we were in our lives, but dealing with the comfortable, regular, expected stuff. Then mid-year that all changed and I think that sense of control just kind of slipped out of our hands. The last half of the year, at least for me, has been spent first just letting all the control go, and in the last few months of 2010, working to grab it back.

I talk a big talk about dreaming little and focusing on what’s right in front of you – and I believe that’s important – but I think part of that was me struggling with the fact that I’m still not where I want to be in my life, and trying to be okay with that.

Well – not exactly. It’s a fine line between being happy with what you have and being complacent in it, I guess, and I think in the last half of the year I started drifting into that complacency, resting in something that feels (in retrospect) uncomfortably close to apathy.

I got a little jolt from reading Gwen Bell’s blog the other day, when she shared her systems, or processes, for creating goals/focus in her life:

“These systems allow me to be both connected to a vision greater than myself (a life of service) and the practicalities of modern life (rent's due on the last day of the month).

Life's not about lists and vision maps and goal setting. Although, as you see, I do all that.

I believe we all have systems in our lives from birth. Whether we're conscious of them or not. Nurses, and then our moms, put us on a feeding schedule. That's our first system.

Life's also about knowing when to drop the systems and the planning and be present. I believe well-oiled systems allow us to be present without that endless loop of aww dang I totally meant to...hmm? What were you saying!?

I'm sharing these systems in lieu of telling you about my goals for the year.

The truth is, although I have goals, those matter less than the systems that support them.

And the truth beyond that is the system matters less than the breath that supports it.”

It resonates, doesn’t it? The idea that we can have goals, big dreams, and create plans for achieving them, so that we can be happy and focused on the present? I’m starting to shift my view on this – that maybe the big dreams and goal-setting creates a kind of living, malleable framework for us to live within. It’s something to modify as we grow toward whatever that toward is for us.

So, as I consider what I want my word for be for 2011, I’m settling somewhere on clarifying. I’d like to have a clear vision for what I want in this life, and at least a certain solid idea of how to get there. I’d like to look back at this year and say: 2011 is the year I figured it out – how to dream big, how to make those dreams happen.

And though this is straying from the prompt a bit, I’d also like 2011 to be the year that I learn to get excited about life again. I want to believe that every day is something to be thrilled about, even if it is just a day of going to work, coming home, taking care of kids, going to bed. Maybe the second word I’m looking for is enchanting. I would love to be enchanted in 2011.

Maybe some good stuff will happen.

I've been down a rabbit hole of self-improvement links lately, all of them SO inspiring and motivating. It occurred to me that it would be helpful to have them all in one place.

It started at Reverb 10, where a group of well-known bloggers/media people offered writing prompts for every day in December. These prompts are focused on reflection, self-discovery, and cultivating a vision for what you want the new year to look like.

That led me to Gwen Bell's blog, and in particular, her post on creating a personal manifesto. I love the idea of vision mapping, and I really loved this:

"In closing, let's think for a moment about separating productivity from creativity. When it comes to doing life vision work, I find it helpful to separate the two. I am not trying to "be productive" when goal-setting. I'm working in a creative space and I'm not filtering. For instance, you may have observed that one item on my life list is to have a building named after me - at a higher education institution. Two things I don't do - I don't filter myself "oh, that will never happen, you crazy loon." And two - I don't go into productivity mode "oh, what's the first step I need to take to have a building named after me?" Both lines of thought distract you from the task at hand - really questioning what you want to do with this one precious life you have."

I also came across Chris Guillebeau's blog, The Art of Non-Conformity. He's got a ton of great stuff, but I'm most inspired to tackle "How to Conduct Your Own Annual Review."

As always, Dallas Clayton's site is a wealth of inspiration for a unique and fresh view on the world. He's posted a few things recently that I love:

Five Things. ("Today I’m going to think about five things I learned last year. Small things, big things, things of real value, skills, points of view, exercises, facts – whatever they may be I’m going to choose my five favorites. I’m going to write them down and use them as my reference card for the new year. Whenever I have any down time or if I’m ever at a loss or lacking clarity as to which direction to head I’m going to reference those five things.")

Good Odds.

Leaping.

Finally, "Allowing Dreams" by Susannah Conway. She says:
"What i'm starting to grasp is that this is it – this is my life – so why not have some fun with it? View it as a malleable batch of bread dough and see what shapes i can create. Because no one else is going to do it for me, and, heck, maybe some good stuff will happen."

(Click the pic to embiggen.)

Fruit.

The sound of pulling a clementine apart. The tangible sound of tenuous breaking, a whispered shhhhhh. A smell like how you want your soul to smell, if it had a scent: fresh, bright and strong.

The short, sweet burst of pomegranate seeds in your teeth. The tangy aftertaste.

Thick crunch of apples topped with a dollop of creamy peanut butter. Nothing is as decadent.

The clean, almost-nothing taste of a pear. Such a soft crunch, such a delicate scent.

Music for a new year.

Micky Adams at This from THIS on Vimeo.