I am very curious about conversation.
I love to talk with people about more than the weather.
I want to know what you think, how you see the world and what strikes you as beautiful, memorable or important.
And I want to know what you dream of, where you’d like to adventure, what you care about, and where you see yourself in five years.
I’d like to be part of making that happen for you, if only by leading my life full out so you have someone else out in the world to bounce off of.
In my morning reading, I came across this passage by Jan Phillips in her book, No Ordinary Time. She writes about authentic conversations and describes being surprised by a conversation she started with a young man in a diner by asking where he gets his values.
“If someone doesn’t go first, how do authentic conversations ever get started?”
Then later in the day, I came across Seth Godin’s blog post titled, Go First. You can find it here. I cannot quote it because it is so short and to the point, I’d ruin it for you.
On Laundry Line Divine, I endeavor to share my creative life with you.
I aim to make sense of my mothering by expressing from inside my experience. I use my words, my images and what I see in the world and bring to you here as conversation starters. Perhaps we will meet in person or you will comment, but mostly, I imagine you might bring this conversation in to your own life and see what happens.
It is summer and I bet you’d rather be out picking blueberries, but since you are here-maybe it is late evening and the fireflies are out…maybe you live in Australia and it is a chilly winter morning and your gripped cuppa is sending up steam between these words and your eyes…maybe you are on the subway heading in to the city for work, these words and images slim in your palm…whatever and where ever you are as you read this, I hope you know how much I appreciate your attention.
I imagine that you may need just a bit of company and a tiny dose of inspiration to set your day right.
PPS Please stay current with your subscription to Laundry Line Divine. You can subscribe here on this site in the upper right hand corner of this page or via the AWeber email that you received if you are already on my list. Thank you! xo S
This past week, we saw this public art installation on the fence of the basketball court near Mayo Beach parking lot in Wellfleet, MA.
How would you fill in this blank?
Pick up a piece of chalk today and write it on your sidewalk.
Or, if you are in any of these cities, go find one of the installations to add your thoughts to this growing global list.
Share your photo in the comments section here. The Disqus comments allow you to share photos with me in the comment field below.
I wrote mine in pink chalk:
Trust that I am leaving this Planet better than I found it.
How is your summer going so far?
Mine is full and delicious, like the black currants which have mostly been savored by
the birds in my yard. Yes, I will be that lady shaking a broom at the birds to keep them off the elderberries when they are ripe.
This is the spot where I say something hopeful and positive to manage my sadness and excitement, my anticipation and sweet ache over his arrival home, our blustery fine times together, his packing effort along with dreams of cedar and birch, the waves of Lake Superior and the places we will be visiting on the tour.
I do have this poem I wrote about my son, which seems appropriate (again), since my husband and I just celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary.
This Beautiful Upheaval
After Anniversary, by Davi Walders
That you and I, I and you,
this twentieth year after
you tipped up your chin to
curb the tears falling onto the
cream linen suit I’d sewn for you,
as our best friend sang in his recently
cracking Broadway’s best voice, a song
he’d written about love for us, our parents,
half my set now gone, your mother, single then and
gone now, they tipped up their chins, wiped eyes with
significant hankies which now line my jewelry drawers,
as if all those tears and wet noses and lipstick stains could
comfort a woman and a man who have become, oddly and now
the matriarch and patriarch of our families of birth. Odder still,
our house has gained a tidiness not known for the nineteen years
of our son’s life. He, who rode in to the
world just off the Taconic and fifteen minutes
in to checking in at St. Vincent’s on Seventh Avenue,
where the long dead nuns murmured morning prayers
over the PA system, which no one uses anymore, except in
cloisters where the audio will never be upgraded, but there,
on the ninth floor, maternity wing, he arrived, just barely on the
delivery bed, our midwife arriving in time to scrub and curse you
for keeping me upstate instead of here in the Village, where my loins
parted easily, hips made for birthing, could deliver this bonny lad into the
whirling green cracked open world, where he would change our lives forever.
He, whose head and chest floated before us last night on my laptop,
he, whose voice cracked only a little and once, when I told him
I missed him, showed us his room, his mess, which seems
to follow him everywhere, like our love
sung in that high voice of Danny’s
here, is love, in this messy
@Suzi Banks Baum
September 16, 2013
I write from inside motherhood. I write other stuff too, but mostly this, because my life is full of living being a woman who is a mother. Just today, after a bare naked nasty moment with my now 20 year old young man, I stood outside without reaching for my phone to call a friend for comfort. I stood in the gusty moist air and felt it- the beautiful upheaval of mothering. It is a thorny slice of heaven.
And if you are new to Laundry Line Divine, I hope you subscribe to this site to receive updates and my monthly newsletter, The Delicates Cycle. You can subscribe in the box in the upper right corner of this screen. I am updating my subscriber list, so if you’ve gotten a notice from AWeber in your email to confirm your subscription, I hope you will click the link they provide to stay connected here.
These enchantments are medicinal, they sober and heal us.
These are plain treasures, kindly and native to us.
We come to our own, and make friends with matter…
Ralph Waldo Emerson Essays: Second Series Nature
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Yes, that message is from me.
And yes, I dearly hope you will stick around as part of the community of women and some brave men who see and celebrate the sacred in daily life.
Please fill out the subscription box on this home page of LLD or follow the links in that email.
Then go outside and see what you see.
Let me know back here in the comment section below.
I love hearing from you.