Laundry Line Divine

Walk to the well.
Turn as the earth and the moon turn,
circling what they love.

Whatever circles come from the center.

Rumi

There is a tumble of information flowing through me right now.
And, in the event of an emergency, please know, right now, that I love you coming to visit the Laundry Line. I am thrilled for all your support that is helping me birth my first book, “Laundry Line Divine: A Wild Soul Book for Mothers” and the ‘Out of the Mouths of Babes’ blog series and event.
I am not planning on dying any time soon, but it is important to me that you readers all know how vital you have become to my momentum. Not that I need you to write or create, but knowing you are out there improves my diction.

FeMail for KA-S 2008 by Suzi Banks Baum

This weekend, JNB and I visited the Norman Rockwell Museum, which is only about 20 minutes from my desk. Our friend Laurie Norton Moffat is the Museum Director. The museum houses the work of one of the wonders of the Berkshires, Norman Rockwell and also hosts a steady flow of intriguing exhibits highlighting illustration art and the people who make it.

this is part of a diorama the Reys created in visualizing a book.

This season NRM features “Curious George Saves the Day” which originated at The Jewish Museum in New York City. I am a huge fan of Curious George, having had those stories read to me, reading them to my little sister and to the kids I babysat, then lately, say in the last 17 years reading them and often quoting those passages to my kids for whom the ‘Man in the Yellow Hat’ and George himself stand for a certain kindness and rambunctiousness that is particular to that sweet faced monkey. Plus, we all share a fondness for bicycles, travel and paper hats.

I heard of this exhibit on my area NPR station, WAMC, where Joe Donohue hosts a daily interview show called The Roundtable. Joe is the best interviewer I have ever heard. Ever. I don’t know when he sleeps because he talks to his guests with such confidence about their work, having read or seen their creations. His personal experience and curiosity sets the guests at ease. So many of Joe’s guests say at some point in the interview, “Thanks Joe, great question, I never thought of that”. When I heard Joe talking to the curators of this exhibit, the story of the Rey’s life as it is reflected in the stories of Curious George and their other books fascinated me. I will tell you more about Joe another time, but if you’d like to hear him at his best, this interview of Michael Feinstein is quintessential Joe.

The exhibit of the work of H.A. and Margret Rey included personal papers, the few of which survived their swift immigration from Europe right ahead of the Nazi invasion of Paris in 1940. The paintings, illustration plates and photographs tell a story of great courage and enormous levity at a time where people like the Rey’s where loosing their lives, their livelihood and family members. I won’t tell you the whole story, because you must see the exhibit or see this timeline about their escape online here.

Something Joe said struck me. He reflected that though the stories and art of Curious George don’t tell the saga of the Reys fleeing Europe, their art stood as an antidote for what they were going through. Art does that. You may not actually depict the storms of your soul, but by expressing yourself, the passion of your inner life gains balance and equanimity or in the very least, your art work stands as a placeholder for your sense of self while all other aspects of your being are washed overboard by life events.

I love the handmade stamp Rey used over his signature.

I know most of you aren’t in a place to see this exhibit. But, you are near a bookstore, library or your own bookshelf, where that curious monkey is cooling his heels until you flip open the pages to see his lively and engaging antics. When you look at the pages knowing that the creators narrowly escaped Paris by bicycle and were assured exit visas by virtue of the illustrations and text they carried with them to prove they had gainful employment, you will realize that every work of art carries the heart and soul of it’s creator, no matter how cheerful or merry it appears.

During the next months here on the Laundry Line, we will be talking more and more about creativity.

Sending you splendid hours,
S

There is some kiss we want

There is some kiss we want
with our whole lives,
the touch of Spirit on the body.
Seawater begs the pearl
to break its shell.
And the lily, how passionately
it needs some wild Darling!
At night, I open the window
and ask the moon to come
and press its face against mine.
Breathe into me.
Close the language-door
and open the love window.
The moon won’t use the door,
only the window.

Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

I wish you a beautiful week.
The first week of Advent.
The week leading up to Alchemy Initiative’s Handmade Holiday Festival for me and FeMail.
A week that welcomes the Moon back in to the night sky.
Looking at you,
Love,
S

I just realized that all the visitors to this page today were termed Spam. That means that no one who really wanted to read stopped by.
Probably because there was nothing new to read.
Probably because you knew that I am six days away from the anniversary of Mom’s death and just a teensy bit gray and quiet today.
Probably because you, dear reader, know that I just got back from sharing my FeMail at the Museum of Motherhood in New York City on Monday.
Perhaps because you figured I’d be tired and tender and not write anything today.

Well, you are mostly right, as usual.
But, I have been writing.
I am on a self-imposed deadline to complete my non-fiction book proposal for Laundry Line Divine A Wild Soul Book for Mothers by next Tuesday.

A few minutes ago I wandered over to Paige Orloff’s blog, Tales from the Park Side. In a post about grieving the loss of her old boyfriend, Paige pointed me to Marion Roach’s Memoir Project. And then I headed to The Sister Project, to Marion’s post about writing about grief. In it Marion asks the writer, as a jump-start, to complete a set of three lists with these headings: What I brought. What I heard. What I said.

So I did.
I love lists.

What I brought:

1. My daughter.
2. My husband.
3. A black outfit.
4. Lavender oil.
5. Comfortable clothing to sit next to her in.
6. My camera.
7. A few photographs.
8. Phone numbers.
9. Surety of her release.
10. The calm of the oldest daughter about to become matriarch.

What I heard:

1. The raspy shallow breathes of my mother.
2. Incessant noise of the nursing home.
3. Sticky shoes padding along the hallway.
4. Other elders, once the pillars of this small town, moaning in the hallways, calling out for help.
5. My aunts saying my mom’s name in just that Chicagoan way- “Joanne?”
6. Resolve in my stepfathers’ voice.
7. Wind whipping fall leaves past the single story building, wind on the roof, teasing leaves into small tornadoes in the parking lot outside the window.
8. My own strong heartbeat.
9. The silence of my husband’s calm presence.
10. All the songs we sang- from the “Weenie Man” to “What a Friend We Have in Jesus”, all the dear partings from the staff members as they came in to say farewell to Mom, and the absence of those who did not come for this moment of gray blue death swinging in to the room.

What I said:

1. What I wanted, which was to stay by her side as long as I could.
2. That it did not matter if I was not there for her last breath exactly.
3. That I needed a break, a rest and would sleep with my phone under my pillow.
4. Hello, I am here. I will be there in 5 minutes.
5. Will you come with me?
6. Do you want to sleep longer?
7. Mom is dying now.
8. She has gone.
9. No, she is still here.
10. Now, she is gone.

Gaining ground in handfuls today, all because of Paige and Marion and the desire to write it out for you, so you can know how it is for me and by the dearest chance that that will make a difference in your day.
All my love and thanks to my writing friends,
S

Here is the second new thing I did today.

See the other on my new page.

Deliberation (2)

Constant slow movement teaches us

to keep working like a small creek

that stays clear, that does not stagnate,

but finds a way through numerous

details, deliberately.

Deliberation is born of joy

like a bird from an egg.

Birds do not resemble eggs.

Think how different the hatching out is.

A white leathery snake egg, a sparrow’s egg,

a quince seed, an apple seed.

Very different things look similar at one stage.

These leaves, our bodily personalities,

seem identical, but the globe

of soul fruit we make,

each is elaborately

unique.

 
Rumi

 

Sending you love for the last night of summer,
S