2013 Arts on Fire Festival

May 22, 2013

Yesterday's walk took me back to the grove that my parents built when we were younger.  There were many a nights spent back there camping, roasting marshmallows, putting on talent shows with the 4-H club, and good old fashioned fun.  We used the creek as a refrigerator, drinking water (didn't even boil it back then), and for cleaning (let me tell you it was COLD).  This was taken near where we used to build our dam every summer; probably not the same stones, but it's fun to think they might be.

A fern still awakening from the long winter.

The new cabin that my brother-in-law built.  We never had these comforts as kids - kind of a benefit of being a grown up I guess.  He modified the old out house too!!

Some mushrooms along the path.  Notice the little visitor on top?

Harlee pauses to make sure I'm still following her.

Black cherry blossoms.

Peeking through the trees at the big red barn at the Homestead Golf Course.

An old chicken shed looking better than ever.

Lilacs in bloom!  So nice to see after so many years of their succumbing to the frost.

The creek nearer to the farm.

Moss on the rocks.

A view under the bridge.

Inside out.  Looking out from near the trunk of my mother's favorite Japanese Maple tree.

www.brookvalleyfarmpa.com

Equality

Equality. 

The word itself, according to Merriam-Webster, means "the quality or state of being equal."  So why would we fight for equality for one or some, but not for all?  Isn't the selective fight the very antipode of equality?  Shouldn't all of mankind be afforded equality?  And if so, why do we label it?  Why do we insist on creating the means  by which to propagate discrimination and inequality by discerning one group's right to equality over another group's?

Should we continue to seek equality for one population, one majority or minority, some people, but not all?  Should we base the right to equality on the fact that one voice carries further or louder than another, or because one speaks more eloquently or demands more attention?  Should it not be simply because we are all in this together fighting for the same things, the same unalienable rights, and the same opportunities by which to achieve them?

Are we not all equally, unilaterally, and simultaneously privileged and disadvantaged?  Is any one man so great as to consider himself judge and jury over all?  To determine the ultimacy of right or wrong, acceptable or unacceptable, life or death?  To determine which labels will be shunned and which will revel in glory?

Should we not all be free to determine our path, to choose our fruits or our poisons from the same garden knowing that when we take the next step it will be with equal chance of succeeding or failing, dependent only on our own ability, inability, determination, or weakness, and not the predetermined destination of society or the law?

Should equality not be equally my equality, your equality, their equality...our equality.  Human equality.

Crumpled and Dirty

I'm posting this for safe keeping; I want to remember this to share with my future classes:

A well-known speaker started off his seminar holding up a $20.00 bill. In the room of 200, he asked, "Who would like this $20 bill?" Hands started going up. He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this."

He proceeded to crumple up the $20 dollar bill. He then asked, "Who still wants it...?" Still the hands were up in the air. "Well," he replied, "What if I do this?" And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe. He picked it up, now crumpled and dirty. "Now, who still wants it?" Still the hands went into the air.

"My friends, we have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20. Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way. We may feel as though we are worthless. But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value.

Dirty or clean, crumpled or finely creased, you are still priceless to those who DO LOVE you. The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know, but by WHO WE ARE.

You are special-Don't EVER forget it." If you do not pass this on, you may never know the lives it touches, the hurting hearts it speaks to, or the hope that it may bring. Count your blessings, not your problems.

What if...

A response...

And, oh the power of hindsight! Had I succeeded in school on my first attempt almost 30 years ago, things could possibly be so much better for me financially! But, and I almost put that in capital letters, here is the big question - would I be as happy, content, or learned as I am today? Here comes the parental speech. We all make choices in our lives that we have to deal and live with, and we all, hopefully, learn something from those choices along the way. Would going back and doing things differently really change who we are? I truly like to think that it wouldn't. Despite the choices and roads we travel, I think that ultimately we cannot escape our own destiny and who we were meant to be. Life's lessons are as much a part of our knowledge base as the information on a page, and regardless of whether or not we ever enroll in a formal institution of higher learning, learning is something we succumb to everyday. We cannot escape it for the simple reason that it is as inescapable as breathing. Regardless of the task, activity, or leisure we are always introduced to something new, something fresh, and something that we have never known before. Pay attention - what did you learn today? What sensation, small fact, or intricate formula did you come across for the first time? Did you see a new face, a different shade of blue in the sky, read a bestseller or the newspaper (even if it was on your phone)? Did you hear a bird call that you've never heard before? Did someone reach out and touch you unexpectedly and make you smile or cry? What was it that made you react, and what did you learn? Harness it all when you enter the classroom, whether it be the classroom of life or otherwise. Even in this virtual one - bring everything you are and everything you hope to be with you to class!

A Writer is Born - Start Here

            Start here – an empty bowl, a canvas, a mound of clay, a blank page.

            Add one part desire and two parts inexplicable necessity to express your innermost thoughts, your subconsciously inspired, and often sacred, visions via the written word. 

            Stir carefully. 

            Add a dash of creativity, patience, dedication, and aspiration.  The mixture may be lumpy.  If so, add a dash of persistence, and adjust patience as needed.  If lumps still exist, carefully remove the darlings – you probably don’t need them anyway.

            Mix well. 

            Fold in a lifetime of experiences, ideas, and dreams.  They may seem small and perhaps individually insignificant, but they will grow to unimaginable heights of aesthetic and linguistic beauty when kneaded, molded, and given proper time to rise. 

            Cover and set aside.

            When enough time has passed to allow for objective appreciation, carefully observe.  Look deep within your creation.  Identify its beauty.  Nurture its weaknesses.  Fill its lifeless gaps.  Weave plot and drama, and emotion throughout.  Leave it in its most naked, most glorious and exposed and endearing state.  Then watch as it bakes, filling the air with the aroma of success and completion.  Glory at the sweetness; the flower of contentment and satisfaction equaled not even by that of the rose.  When visually golden and linguistically clear, remove it from the heat.

            Let it rest.

            Baking, painting, molding, writing.  The artists’ outlets can take on many forms.  It’s a passion.  A curious and demanding need to express the demons and angels that live somewhere between our subconscious selves and the medium of our choice.  What will they create today?  What will I create today?  Tomorrow?

            When this journey with pen and paper, keyboard and screen began, it appeared as a seed.  One simple seed placed somewhere within the depths of my mind.  Sometimes rattling, sometimes lolling, or rolling from space to space searching for the right place to be embed, to extend roots and grow.  Many times, it failed.  And many times it tried again.  Until finally, after many years of relentless determination, it took hold and flourished.  At first I didn’t notice.  I couldn’t believe that something so limitless could exist in a mind so simplistic.  Someone had to show me.  Someone had to open my eyes to see the light that it needed to grow, the light that I needed to grow.  I noticed, and I cultivated.  Keeping it healthy has been a challenge.  Much like the maintenance of a philodendron, regular attention is essential to keep the writing alive; to keep it growing, sprouting new petioles and unfolding new leaves.  Though agonizing, at times it is inevitable that a piece of it die to be born again at another time or in another piece.  This process of nurturing the life of a page, a chapter, poem, or novel has been enchanting.  It has drawn me into its arms, caressed my words with green tipped thumbs, and watered my imagination.

            This plant, this infiltrating mass has consumed a part of me and I will never be free.  Nor do I want to be.  Collections, essays, drafts, and debris have all been gathered.  Some destined for dissemination into the minds of many, some amassed into boxes to be ground into the flour of another existence.  A circle.  One life feeding another, and fueling an infinite existence through biology and ink.  Pines, wheat, berries – pulp, flour, dye – paper, bread, life.  All existing to co-exist.  All dependent one upon another for survival, and to complete the circle that is science and art, life and death.

            The fruits of this effort have been many.  Harvested at just the right time, they have become the elements needed to produce a more complete artist, a writer.  While I may never truly feel that the title is appropriately bestowed, it is, nonetheless, fact.  I must write.  I do write.  Therefore, I am a writer.  Perhaps never an author, perhaps never a poet, but a writer, nonetheless.  The seed has been sown, the flowers spent, and the bounty reaped. 

            Looking forward, this journey must continue on its simple path.  This is not a difficult task.  A quite simple one really.  Write.  Every day.  Gibberish, nonsensical ramblings, words that flow from the pen as water tumbling, splashing, gushing over cliffs, pooling at my feet, and washing me clean of the pages of the past and leaving me washed in color with a fresh pallet.  A novel without words, pottery lacking form, brushes absent of paint, or an empty wooden bowl.  The process begins again.

            Start here.