Wolf Full Moon

Postcard project, muffins, + simplicity

Dearest Readers,

I hope you are safe and sound, and so are your loved ones. I can feel our collective hearts burning with the fires in CA. All while NC is still reeling from the destruction of the hurricane. As this swirls around us, I write. I share my vulnerable heart here and through the books I am creating. I light my candles. I listen to the mountain, the stream, and the trees. I witness beauty and do my best to create beauty. I send my energetic prayers to the lands and beings who are hurting. I share what I can with others in need and trust I will have more to share in the future. I devote myself to harmony as a way to create deep, lasting change. It feels like our home, our Mother Earth, is asking for us to stay true, take care of each other, and take care of her.

In case you are in the LA area, Xenia from Myths of Creation created a resource list here.

Rianne of Aura Toning is offering a donation-based Aura Toning class for Wildfire Relief: “Calling The Rain.” All proceeds will go directly to those affected. More details on her Instagram.

The Spiral Path is offering to donate their flower essence Portal Protection to those affected by the LA Fires - for every essence purchased in January.

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Postcard Project

Through my Listening Practice, I heard the sound of creativity beckoning me back to put color on paper. At first, my mind went to that big, grand place. I went to listen to the ultimate dream of what this work would be at its most stellar, epic state, and then the dream toppled over as I wondered how I could make astounding art with little extra resources, no studio space, and fractions of time that are scattered and inconsistent for honing my painting skills and style.

After months of agonizing and not making anything at all, I remembered the art of simplicity. What if I made it so, so simple that I could begin?

I was rummaging through the garage one day, where most of my studio stuff is being stored, and came across a box I’ve moved many times at this point. About 10 years ago I bought a lot of postcard-sized paper stock from an older gentleman who was closing down his letterpress printing studio in Chicopee, MA. I spent $5 on the box and have used some of the stock here and there, but mostly, it has just been moving around from studio to studio, home to home, and each time I keep the box handy, hoping I will put it to use. I picked the box up and brought it inside to my kitchen table, determined to use what I had, and stirred with lightness at the thought of never having to move this box again.

As I began working on the postcards, I made the decision not to use watercolors—as much as I’ve been itching to work with my paint tubes, it wasn’t the right medium for the paper. I rummaged through our art bin to see what else I could use. Back in Boise, I bought a cheap set of oil pastels for the girls, and the lightbulb went off. Oil pastels are easy to use; I can work with them on my bed or on the floor; they produce rich color, and they are FUN to create imperfect patterns with. And so I’m committing myself to the Postcard Project. Daily, approachable, and playful art-making. The big dreams will come. Maybe sooner than I think. For now, this is just what I need.

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Ziggy the best assistant

In the kitchen

Having just moved to a mountain in Northern Vermont, I am not close to an assortment of restaurants like our last home, so I’m getting used to being back in the kitchen cooking three meals a day. My husband and I have always enjoyed making our own food, so we usually share the task, but now that ski season is upon us and he is working on the hill, most of the meals have landed in my lap. I don’t mind. Plus, I have my cooking assistant, Ziggy, to keep me company.

I’ve been a bit obsessed with these muffins since I first made them last winter in Idaho. Turns out they taste just as good here in Vermont. Actually, they taste better since I discovered the addition of a dollop of hazelnut cocoa spread layered on top, which I recently unearthed in the back of our cupboard.

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My nook

I am grateful for our rental house, but unlike any other house I’ve ever lived in, the furnishings here are not my own; they belong to our landlord. It’s like living in an Airbnb. In some ways, this feels releasing. In other ways, this feels strange to have no sentiment attached to any furniture or artwork or arrangement of things. And I have no designated desk or workspace of my own. This aspect has been both freeing and requiring an acceptance that I need to be able to work and write wherever I am.

What we do have is a room off the side of the house with a cozy couch, glass doors I can close, and windows that overlook our front yard. I continually find myself working there. The energy is quiet in this room, which is funny since there’s a giant TV on the wall. But there is also one wall of large windows that fill the space with light and beautiful views of nature. Now that it’s winter, I can see the mountaintop from here. I can talk to the tree that oversees my morning Listening Practice. There’s ease in this room that is peaceful and sets the tone nicely for the writing and dreaming I am meant to be doing while living in this house until June. I have spent a lot of time in this space wondering how to put all the pieces together, wondering where I go from here.

More and more, I’m realizing that, in a way, I’m starting all over career-wise at 46 years of age. And starting something new isn’t always easy. It’s so awkward at the beginning before you’re really in the flow. This liminal time has brought up my fear of being wrong, being imperfect, being in that state of learning (even though I'm always learning! You’d think I’d be used to it by now). A life lesson I am bumping up against: “healing” perfectionism. Yet again, I find myself returning to the art of simplicity. Beginning somewhere is better than beginning nowhere.

Simply yours,
CCR