Archive for the Category »planet jeanne «

May
16

looking for that bridge over troubled water

Haze

be a good girl.
think about others first.
don’t be selfish
or stuck up
or conceited.
play nice.
share.
wait your turn.

it’s your turn now.
go for it.
who cares what other people think?
if it pleases you, that’s enough.

i’m so confused. i’m so damn confused.

write the book you want to read.
comes a time when you have to consider your readers.

so which is it?

if i do something just because i enjoy it, that’s okay, right? well, what if i want somebody else to like it, too?
what if i want somebody else to value my work, my creativity, my contribution?

back in the days when i was trekking around speaking professionally, some high falutin’ fella made money hand over fist by saying something like you can accomplish anything – anything at all – as long as you don’t mind who gets the credit. to which i always thought: bullshit. i mean maybe that’s true on paper, but if i do the work, make the effort, create something that didn’t exist before, by golly i want credit for it.

then somebody throws “ego” into the mix and scolds me for having one.

they remind me that i’m supposed to look the other way, turn the other cheek and all that but hey, let me tell you something: according to my cousin who is Somebody Who Should Know, to turn the other cheek was actually a call to civil disobedience back in the day. it wasn’t rising above and refusing to wallow with pigs knowing that you’d both get dirty, it wasn’t letting yourself be a doormat or a booster seat for somebody else, it was a means of entrapment.

maybe it’s supposed to be enough that i value my own contributions, but maybe that doesn’t always play out in real life. maybe that’s why i’m so angry lately when i get to stewing about aging and leaving a legacy and not having one to leave on account of i’m supposed to be downright giddy with happiness that somebody else took the credit for something i did or said pffffft to something i created or overlooked me cause let’s face it, unless it says something real cute, how many people actually look at the doormat anyway?

sigh.
whoever said aging isn’t for sissies
sure knew what she was talking about.

Category: churnings, planet jeanne, ruminations  Tags: , , ,
 3 Comments
May
15

i’m so vain, and yes this post is about me

Hhi1

last week
i noticed that my arms now
look more like my mother’s
than my daughter’s.
and that set me to thinking a lot about aging.
wondering where my life has gone
how it’s been spent.
i find myself spending a lot of time
pondering (and fretting a wee bit, truth be known)
about getting older.
about leaving my mark.
about life leaving its marks on me.

today i walked along the beach
noticing the beautiful variety of ways
the passage of time
leaves its mark on nature.

Hhi8

Hhi9

Hhhi6

Hhi11

Hhi2

Hhi10

and honestly, i can’t help but wish
that mother nature was as kind to my skin
as she is to the sand.

Category: naturiature, planet jeanne  Tags:
 9 Comments
May
13

For As Long As I Can Remember

MomWBabyJeanne1

Dear Mother,

Though we are drastically different, we remain connected in ways I am only beginning to get my heart around . . .

You love to entertain, and you amaze me with your ability to whisk a few things from here and there and over yonder then group them in the center of the table – atop that tablecloth you embroidered when you were younger or the tablecloth you got on that trip to southern California or maybe the tablecloth that once belonged to your mother – to create a fetching table that invites folks to come, eat, stay a while.

You love to cook, and in all the meals I’ve eaten at your table, I only remember one inedible dish – a meal that’s come to be known as The Night The Gravy Went Horribly Awry. After a full day of work followed by grocery shopping followed by cooking and setting the table, you were too tired to notice us pushing the gravy around on our plates. You were too tired to notice all the leftover gravy as we cleared the table, scraping all leftovers into a communal leftover vessel that was put down on the floor to treat the cat. You were too tired to notice how the cat sniffed the gravy, then turned around and began to try to cover it up by raking bits of debris from the floor.

(Whatever happened to that cat, anyway?)

Though we each have our favorite foods we never tire of having you prepare for us, you delight in collecting cookbooks, stretching their spines as you put colorful gem clips on pages of recipes you want to try out. They line an entire bookcase in your home, all these cookbooks picked up as souvenirs from trips or accepted as gifts given, and you can (and do) tell the story of each one . . . sometimes offering it before we even think to ask.

The original social butterfly, you never letting a birthday go by unnoticed. How you have the time to keep up and stay in touch with so many friends is beyond me. But you do, and it’s not an obligation – you enjoy every minute.

Through the years, you’ve saved your money and purchased some fine furniture pieces – some I sure wish you still had so I could put my name on them. Whether it’s furniture or lamps or rugs or accessories or wall color or even switchplate covers, you create rooms that invite comfortable gatherings sprinkled with food (of course) and conversation and laughter.

You never met a plant who didn’t thrive in your care. The birds can’t wait for spring to come to your backyard, plants race to break through the soil and vie for your loving attention, your flowers provide color that dazzles and pleases even the most contrary and grumpy eye. You are one of those rare gardeners who doesn’t have to pay attention to the growing zones. Even the most neglected or out-of-place plants want to do you proud.

You taught me how to tell time . . . not with a watch or numbers written in a circle, but with clothes. Always one to keep up with the latest fashions, you have a knack for buying clothes and accessories that never go out of style. You dressed me in clothes that gave me confidence and that can’t-touch-me feeling, and though I can’t tell you what year anything happened, I can sure tell you what I was wearing at the time (and probably where we bought it).

Beauty.

That’s what you taught me: beauty. You taught me the importance of beauty, of surrounding myself with it, of acquiring and enjoying it without apology. You taught me to have beauty in mind at all times, to always keep an eye out for beauty, to appreciate it when I see it, and to create it every chance I get. And the best part? you didn’t teach me by having me read a book or by telling me things and following up with a test. You taught me by living it – living it every day in every way. And that, more than anything else I can think of, is what I thank you for today.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you more than that set of encyclopedias you petitioned Santa to bring me that one year.

J-one
a.k.a. Jeanne,
your Favorite

MomWithBabyJeanne2

Category: planet jeanne, tribute
 8 Comments
May
12

Life’s Toolbox

TJTheGraduate

Dear TJ,

You’ve built a life for yourself at Woodward Academy over the past twelve years, and for the most part, this basic set of tools you’ve acquired will serve your well. As you go from here, however, you will encounter other situations that may require other tools. You’ll pick up and accumulate the other tools you need, acquiring them from all sorts of places. When in doubt about tool selection or if you need to acquire a tool you don’t have, ask advice and/or help from someone you trust, a wise person who has your best interest at heart more than their own personal agenda.

Be careful who you loan your tools to. If you loan your tools out and they are not returned, don’t hesitate to march right over and demand your tool back. Some people just won’t value your tools, and that’s okay. Sure, it can sting a bit, but that’s just the way it is. They can go get their own tools. Or not. Just don’t make it a habit to loan your tools to people who don’t value them.

People may tell you that for every job, there’s only one tool that will do. Pffffft. Don’t you ever be afraid to try different tools – you might find that they work just fine. Some things come with step-by-step instructions that are clearly written and easily understood, but many things you’ll just have to figure out yourself through good old-fashioned tenacity, open-mindedness, and hard work. The best things you will ever build are worth the effort, and though it may be messy and difficult and frustrating in the middle, if you stick to it, you’ll finish with a sense of satisfaction, memories of the fun you had, and a well of confidence you can draw from for the rest of your life.

If you take care of your tools, they will last a lifetime. Oil your tools and store them properly so they will not deteriorate from non-use. Sharpen your tools when needed, and remember that some tools need to be recharged periodically. Take care of your tools, and they will always be ready to take care of you.

These tools will help you deconstruct, build, and repair some things. For other things, rely on your heart, your bones, and the people you trust. Remember that sometimes things must be torn down and taken apart before you can begin, and that now – more than any other point in your life so far – YOU are the one responsible for the life you build.

I love you.

I am proud of you.

Now, go. Scoot. Build yourself a life you can be proud of.

And don’t you ever forget that I love you more than my cutest shoes,

Jeanne

Category: planet jeanne, tribute
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May
10

i told you stupid things. thanks for not listening

AlisonRedDress1

when you are young
i tell you to hold my hand
when crossing the street,
and you do.

i tell you to eat your vegetables
and you do.

i tell you to put your coat on
before going out in the snow
and you do.

i tell you not to run with a pencil
and you don’t.

you get older
and the lines blur.
things get more confusing,
less clear . . .

i tell you how to flirt,
but you’re not interested
in silly games
designed solely to capture the attention
of boys.

i tell you that you have to invite
everybody in your class,
but you don’t because
you don’t like everybody in your class.
you don’t want to spend time with them in class,
and you certainly don’t want to spend your life outside class with them.

i tell you to wear comfortable shoes,
but you wear those shoes with 3″ heels
because they make you smile.

i tell you not to run for political office,
but you run for state legislature
and wind up in a runoff with the
career politician
because you love this country
and want to make a difference.

i tell you that you can’t save every stray cat,
and you make cat food your american express -
never leaving home without it
because while you might not be able to
bring them all home,
you can at least feed them.

i tell you that when on a small budget,
keeping yourself in fresh flowers is an
extravagant and avoidable expense,
and you surround yourself with them anyway,
in pretty vases throughout the house
and scattered in every patch of sunshine
in your yard
because you find them beautiful.

i tell you nobody needs that many silk robes
even if it does cost $5 at the thrift shop,
and you get it anyway
because it feels good against your skin.

moxie . . .

for all the times i confused
keeping you small
with keeping you safe,
when what i really wanted to say is
take up as much room as you need.
for all the times i sounded for all the world
like i want you to be like everybody else
when what i really want more than anything
is for you to be you, regardless.
for all the times i said anything that implied
i want you to let other people define and determine your worthiness,
when all i ever wanted from day one is for you to listen
to your own bones and let them tell you every single day
in a myriad of languages
“you are talented
you are beautiful
you are worthy,”
i apologize.

over the years,
i told you these things (and more)
in a variety of ways
subtle and dramatic.
when i really meant to tell you
just the opposite.

the minute you were born
i became a mother
and a switch flipped
way down deep inside me,
routing my heart to be concerned
with your safety
and that safety became its own language
that sounds for all the world
like i want to keep you small,
like i want you to blend.

i guess i turned stupid because
i never wanted you to be hurt
(i still don’t)
and yet i know that i can’t protect you every minute of ever day.
and even if i could, i wouldn’t deny you the opportunity to be hurt
to learn who to trust and who not to trust,
to learn who to call
and who to never speak to again.
to learn at the hand of pain
just how strong and resilient
and beautiful and worthy
and powerful
you truly are.

so

for all the times i said stupid things
(even though they were said with the very best intentions),
thank you for not listening to me.
thank you for always dancing to your own internal orchestra
to dressing to the tune of your own internal stylist
to singing to the tune of your own internal mother who was,
so many times,
much, much wiser than i.


[::]

p.s. “all” is figurative, you understand.
for example, when i tell you to slow down when driving,
i still think you should listen to me.

p.s. 2 that woman, that “mental health professional” who once drew up a dress code for you?
i should’ve punched her lights out
instead of wasting my life trying to talk to her.
people like that one don’t understand ordinary language.

p.s. 3 again, thank you for holding onto your self
even through all my stupid.

p.s. 4 all these things are quite true,
but please
don’t make me regret saying them.

p.s. 5 in case it doesn’t come through:
i adore you.
i absolutely adore you
and am honored beyond description
to be your mother.


happy birthday, my precious daughter.

now let’s go shopping and spend that birthday money!

Category: planet jeanne, tribute  Tags: , , , ,
 43 Comments
Apr
27

riding out the storm

DSC06955

DSC06978

DSC06972

Hail4 26 12

yesterday
Mother Nature and I
pitched a hissy fit.

in perfect harmony.

today we are
cleansed.
refreshed.
hoarse.

~~ :: ~~

Takingitasitcomes

today’s altar: weathering

More about 365 Altars

Category: 365 Altars, churnings, planet jeanne  Tags: ,
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Mar
12

In Our Cute Shoes

Today I’m honored to be a guest blogger over at Angela Kelsey’s place where she’s celebrating Women’s History Month by asking women to share stories about women who educated and empowered them. Though I count myself incredibly fortunate to have a long list of women who have supported me, nudged me, shored me, I chose to use this opportunity to tell you about Fran and Marcia and how they wore their cute shoes to step right into my life without waiting on an invitation. May we all have them, may we all be them.

~~ ::: ~~

And today’s altar is dedicated to storytelling from the inside out . . . to letting our loose threads, our frayed edges, our scratchiness show . . . to removing our masks and veils . . . to undoing the ties that bind and hide and silence . . . to stepping out of the darkness and into full bloom as we crack ourselves wide open and sparkle.

Insideout3

///

365 Altars: honoring our deepest sumptuous selves. 52/365
Perhaps you’d like to get the 365 Altars Newsletter.
And share a link to your blog so we can drop by and say “Hey.”
And join the 365 Altars Facebook community
and the Flickr community.
and wave to us by using the hashtag #365Altars on twitter.

There’s room for everybody at this table,
so join us if and when and as you will.

Category: 365 Altars, planet jeanne  Tags: , ,
 6 Comments
Mar
10

today rocked – from start to finish, it rocked

It was a sunny spring day atop the mountain,
the sky too blue,
the breeze too gentle,
the temperature too temperate
to stay inside doing paperwork.

So we didn’t.

With no particular plan,
we hit the road,
and before long,
we found ourselves
submersed in history
all kinds of history,
some older than ancient . . .

If walls could talk,
imagine the stories
the graffiti-laden walls of the old jail
located in downtown Franklin, NC could tell.

Jail2

Jail1

Jail8

Jail9

Geologists say that rocks remember.
Of course they can,
so just imagine the stories these rocks,
part of The Gem & Mineral Society of Franklin, NC amazing collection
(located in the aforementioned old jail)
could tell:

Rock1

Rock2

Rock4

Crystals grew inside rock like arithmetic flowers.
They lengthened and spread,
added plane to plane in an awed
and perfect obedience
to an absolute geometry
that even stones –
maybe only the stones –
understood.
~ Annie Dillard

Rock5

Rock6

Rock10

Eggs have no business dancing with stones. ~ Italian proverb

Fluorescent3

Fluorescent2

Then we came home and went to walk where we spied these rocks:

Longfalls

Oldwall

Mossyrock

If it weren’t for the rocks in its bed, the stream would have no song. ~ Carl Perkins

Falls1

Study how water flows in a valley stream,
smoothly and freely between the rocks.
Also learn from holy books and wise people.
Everything –
even mountains, rivers, plants and trees –
should be your teacher.
~ Morihei Ueshiba

I tell you what, Sugar:
at this end of a day like this,
there is only one thing to say:
Amen.

Category: earth's art, naturiature, planet jeanne  Tags: , ,
 14 Comments
Mar
07

frolic

Play2

(true: they look more like birds, these jacks scattered around the red rubber ball, but squint your eyes and remember that i never, ever professed to be good at drawing.)

~ a ~

play. it’s so very important, so vital to health and well-being, so essential to creativity. my childhood years were spent in a culture that looked down its nose on play. play was synonymous with laziness. only sorry, no good fools played. fine, good, upright people worked, and let me tell you: they worked hard. that was the prevailing attitude.

~ b ~

my grandmother worked – not outside the home, but make no mistake: she worked. in addition to babysitting the grandkids, cleaning, keeping the lines of communication open with family, planning menus, grocery shopping, cooking, and doing the laundry (washing the clothes, hanging them on the line to dry, ironing them, mending them, putting them up), every spring she planted a big garden, and every summer she harvested the crops, cooked daily meals, and preserved food for the winter.

yes, my grandmother worked long, and she worked hard, but my grandmother also played. she developed new recipes and entered cake contests. she made quilts as meditation. on more than one occasion, i saw her sit on the floor with my brother and cousins staging battles and beating the snot out of their plastic army men. and she played the piano – boy howdy did she ever play the piano.

~ c ~

“Deep play is an absence of mental noise — liberating, soothing, and exciting. . . .We spend our lives in pursuit of those moments of feeling whole, or being in the moment of deep play,” says Diane Ackerman.

~ d ~

“we need to structure our weeks so that we have a weekend,” i recently told my husband who joined me in working from home full time last november. doesn’t have to be a saturday on the calendar, but we need to build in some play – whether that’s having a reading day, going to the library, going to the nearby arts center to view the exhibits, joining the local hiking club, fingerpainting, shopping architectural salvage stores for recyclable materials to use in the construction of what will one day be jeannedom (my studio). doesn’t matter what it looks like or what day of the week it falls on, we just need to escape, and we need to escape regularly.

~ e ~

karen caterson shares an epiphany with us today: “Play is where ideas live.”

~ f ~

“There is evidence that suggests the forces that initiate play lie in the ancient survival centers of the brain–the brain stem–where other anciently preserved survival capacities also reside. In other words, play is a basic biological necessity that has survived through the evolution of the brain,” says stuart brown, m.d.

dr. brown goes on to explain why this “nonproductive activity can make one enormously more productive and invigorated in other aspects of life.

dr. brown goes on to explains why this “nonproductive activity can make one enormously more productive and invigorated in other aspects of life” with scientific evidence and full of interesting anecdotes. it will persuade you not to feel guilty pursuing your dream or enjoying your life because it will make you and your kids more successful and happier.

~ g ~

i wholeheartedly believe in the power of play, don’t you? do you have a steady diet of play, and when you play, what does it look like/sound like/taste like/feel like?

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Harmony3

This morning over on Facebook, Sunny Howe posted a plea for positive, fortifying, anti-bullying (a.k.a. playing nicely together) energy, so to conjure that energy, focus, and direct it, I created an altar. I may be showing my ignorance here – maybe it’s a huge faux pas to invite others to create an altar dedicated to a particular theme – but I’m asking anyway: Perhaps you’d like to create an anti-bullying altar and share it with us on the 365 Altars Facebook page? We’d sure love to see them if you are so inclined. That’s where I met Sunny, you know. She creates beautiful altars and posts them there regularly.

365 Altars: honoring our deepest sumptuous selves. 50/365
Perhaps you’d like to get the 365 Altars Newsletter.
And share a link to your blog so we can drop by and say “Hey.”
And join the 365 Altars Facebook community
and the Flickr community.
and wave to us by using the hashtag #365Altars on twitter.

There’s room for everybody at this table,
so join us if and when and as you will.

Category: 365 Altars, altar cloth, planet jeanne  Tags: , , ,
 6 Comments
Mar
07

and goodwill to all

I say to my husband (hereinafter known as Mr. Thrillenity) (I’ll tell you later) “Let’s go to the thrift store,” and I get:

(a) a blank stare
(b) an audible sigh
(c) silence that he’s hoping I will interpret as he didn’t hear me
(d) all of the above.

If you answered “d,” do a happy dance.

I say to my daughter (let’s call her Moxie, why don’t we) “Let’s go to the thrift store,” and before I get the “ore” out of my mouth – you know, the one that follows the initial consonant blend – she has her keys in hand and is warming up the car. Last week we went to the thrift shop four consecutive days (one day was a storewide 50% off sale) (yes, really) (and actually, I went five consecutive days cause I went back to the second day of the storewide sale to snag something for a friend who will get this goodie only if she ever gets around to sending me her mailing address) (ahem).

Well, today we (my daughter and I, of course, cause hubs – well, you know) take ourselves to breakfast then cross the street to what we thought was a Goodwill store. Turns out it’s a Goodwill drop off. You’re exactly right: they’re not the same. Disappointed but undeterred, we go back to our last-week-favorite store, only to find it closed for restocking after last week’s big blowout sale. Wouldn’t you just know. Now we are Motivated – kinda’ like when somebody says you can’t do something and you are totally compelled to do it just to show them that you can – so we drive to what we hope is a Goodwill store in a nearby town.

Good news: our perseverance pays off, and to our huge delight (and equally huge relief), it is
(a) an actual store
(b) open
(c) well-lit, orderly, and filled with things for sale.
(d) Perfect.

(That one isn’t a question.)

I show a pocketbook completely covered in sparkle to a little girl (because I cannot bear to leave this one unadopted), and after having her model it, I strongly suggest she do whatever it takes to convince her mother (who seems horribly unimpressed with the sparkle factor) (and actually seems to be shooting me daggers) to get it for her. And when the tot becomes upset at the relocation of three sparkles to the floor, I tell her “That purse isn’t shedding, Sugar, you’re just leaving sparkle in your wake cause that’s what sparklettes do. They can’t help it.” then I tell her her to put on a pair of those brand new tap shoes and dance on over to her mother . . . which she does on account of:

(a) I’m bigger than her
(b) she is smart
(c) as anybody can see, it is a fine idea
(d) all of the above.

If you answered (d), do another happy dance. We’ll wait.

I see an adorable white plastic bathroom trashcan with silver dooras on it and convince a nearby shopper how absolutely delightful it will look with a candle burning inside of it. Then I point out the Coach-brand clutch bag to another woman and assure her that the $10.18 price tag is, in fact, a deal.

Goodwill

That’s when my daughter hears them announce over the intercom that today is Senior Discount Day, and that, my friends, changes everything.

I send Moxie to the front of the store to fetch a grocery cart while I make haste to the women’s section and find 7, 12, 17 – never mind, it’s not important – dresses, blouses, and skirts made of cotton and linen, perfect for the quilts that will parade through my imagination. Eventually. Then I spy a sparkly pink cosmetic bag that zips almost all the way; a straw-covered wooden anteater (at least I think that’s what it is. I was out the day they taught anteaters.; a crockpot with no cord; and a nativity set with plenty of room at the inn cause there’s only Mary, Joseph (who’s ripped his gown), and an angel. I go back to the shoe section and pick up a pair of tap shoes for Moxie, and though she’d really rather higher heels, she quickly agrees that she can wear these to practice in the garage . . . if I’ll spring for some shoelaces, of course.

There’s a little Buddha that’s fallen off his platform (and lost his head in the process). It goes in the cart along with two gallon-size bags filled with keychains bearing the words “go-drive” and an 800 phone number, a pair of sunglasses with one arm and several rhinestones missing, a mostly-complete 1962 set of encyclopedias, and a world atlas that still shows Russia and the Berlin Wall.

Spastuff

By the time we leave, I have all the aforementioned delectables AND some partially-used footcare products, a reindeer with three legs; one lavender-scented hand warmer, a hoola girl who’s lost her grass skirt and eyes, a cup of shells, a fabric-lined-with-only-one-stain drawer, and the cutest saucer you ever did see.

On the way to the checkout register, I grab 37 washcloths and a pair of fingernail ciippers for my husband. At first I consider them bait, thinking hubs will surely change his mind about thrift shops once he holds these puppies in his hands . . . but on the way home I come to my senses and decide to save the fingernail clippers for his birthday and use the washclothes as gift wrap instead cause I ask you: where would we possibly put all the useless stuff he’d insist on buying with that Senior Discount?

Drawer

Category: planet jeanne  Tags:
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