I hear ya. I was a fast runner, but that was it. Never did learn how to do a backbend or cartwheel, and I still can't throw well. But, hey, I wrote a book. "A gift guiding us to our gifts."
I love the discussion your note engendered. Rod Stewart (?) sang, “Every picture tells a story, don’t it?” Drawing on today’s Clip2Comic art. Events from our childhoods leave signatures in our being. Several outcomes are possible. 1 Bury those memories. 2 Carry them painfully in our hearts and minds as sources of shame or limiting beliefs. 3 Decide to let them remain where they belong-in the past-and explore new ways of being. In the present. Thank you for being an excellent cheerleader!
Writing came to me as my way out. Many times I’ve written about memories (like quitting the flute right after my dad bought it, and asking my neighbor for a candy from her dish and being scolded by my mom).
Writing it out opened space for me to see, be, and do differently.
I did squeak onto the pom squad as an alternate. 🤭 Then somebody got hurt and I was awarded a permanent position.
Love the image today and the quotes. Thank you Gail. This brought up a memory for me as a kid learning how to twirl the baton. My friend and I would practice together and make up routines. Fun memories.
I also remember getting a skateboard for my birthday… with metal wheels?! It was so loud! I hated it and was so mad at my parents for not getting me a “nice” one.
I think that might have been the year my mom was dying. I’m sure “quiet skateboard” was low on the list of priorities? I didn’t have the capability to understand.
I continue to learn to give myself grace.
Becoming a parent myself opened my eyes in so many ways to the challenges my own parents faced.
I am sure that year they tried everything to make memories for you. Even a loud skateboard was a memory. 🩷🩷🩷 keep giving yourself GRACE. I think back to the nonsense that made me mad when I was a kid and I can see how hard my parents tried.
I was one of the “liability” kids for sports games, where some team got stuck with me at the end of the picking. My father (hoping that at some point a miracle would happen and I would turn into a jock like he was) made me go out for football my freshman year in high school; I was in for 21 plays the entire season, most of those in the last game where we were getting massacred anyway. Still reminded of those days every time my knee (injured in practice, not a game) acts up in my old age. <sigh>
My dad never pushed me toward anything. I think he had enough other concerns. In 7th grade I had arole as Tom Sawyer. In high school I had roles in 3 musicals. It felt good.
Then… I allowed a caustic comment to infect me and I walked away from theater until I was in my mid-forties and tried out for a community performance.
I have no regrets and harbor no ill feelings for the commenter. In fact, the experience, in retrospect, perhaps taught me to be mindful about tossing out put-downs. And yet… I’m aware of times I’ve trampled on other’s dreams with my judgements. 🤷♀️
Memories! Images! I didn't need to read a word. From deeper recesses came the image of Lois. Lois was the "drum major" baton twirler virtuoso in my high school class. I dated here for much of our sr. year. She was simply a whiz with the baton. Dating her gave me status that while un deserved I relished. She dumped me later in the sr. year for an "older man". In a sense, she did each of us the favor of "twirling" along different paths. I never thanked her until today.
Great questions. A while back I was encouraged to treat music with more care than the “background noise” position I’d given it. Since I have been employing my AirPods and exploring different songs… I now turn to music to turn myself.
I love words, and thinking, and connecting…
Yes, and!
Our senses touch our emotions in a way that words, sentences, and thinking do not?
All that you describe feels like so much "noise" to me. Is there a "space between the notes" a "refuge of silence" where all things meet? Rilke always finds his way into words that create images that find "silence"
“My life is not this steeply sloping hour,
in which you see me hurrying.
Much stands behind me; I stand before it like a tree;
I am only one of my many mouths,
and at that, the one that will be still the soonest.
I am the rest between two notes,
which are somehow always in discord
because Death’s note wants to climb over—
but in the dark interval, reconciled,
they stay there trembling.
And the song goes on, beautiful.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke
Rilke was quite a poet! Several of his thoughts and shares live inside of me.
I lived a life of loneliness that transformed into solitude. This silence gave me lots of space between notes, which is where I met — and continue to meet — my creator.
Now that I stand in faith and trust, I’m curious about what I will be asked for next.
I seem to have acquired an unhelpful habit with social media posts in general and 3MM in particular. First a quick read/look to get the general message. Then return later for an in-depth read. Sometimes I forget to return until much later. Today I overlooked the “song” below your art, LoveLetterist.
The young twirler in “Concentration Made Visible” was truly that. I liked her “I should smile now” expressions. Soon the smiles will fit her twirling like a glove. I searched for the Clip2Comic emblem but saw nada. Is there a toggle to switch it off from the completed art? I become sidetracked by minutia. 🙃
Cal’s comment “we have our own team now” prompts thoughts on team building. Sometimes the still wounded heart is attracted to gang membership. To feel a part of, as well as to act out anger and aggression to pay back the sources of their hurt. Others, using the compass of heart and soul, look for people/groups that strive to support one another. An opportunity for rebirth. I like Rumi’s comment on “The wound.” Brava to the four of youz.
A note from LoveLetterist:
As a kid...
my physical prowess
was...
lacking.
I didn't learn
how to properly
throw a ball
until my son was learning.
I still have lots
of misfires
with
Henny's toys
in the yard.
Funny how childhood hurts live in our brains?
A gift
guiding us
to our gifts.
I hear ya. I was a fast runner, but that was it. Never did learn how to do a backbend or cartwheel, and I still can't throw well. But, hey, I wrote a book. "A gift guiding us to our gifts."
And what a book it is! And now you are recording it, too.
In our conversation with Cathy, she shared her admiration for your gumption. She sees you as an inspiration for what can be. ❤️
Me, too!
Aw, thanks, Gail! And I'll have to thank Cathy, too. I doubt any of the three of us ever dreamed of being an author. Yet, here we are!
I love the discussion your note engendered. Rod Stewart (?) sang, “Every picture tells a story, don’t it?” Drawing on today’s Clip2Comic art. Events from our childhoods leave signatures in our being. Several outcomes are possible. 1 Bury those memories. 2 Carry them painfully in our hearts and minds as sources of shame or limiting beliefs. 3 Decide to let them remain where they belong-in the past-and explore new ways of being. In the present. Thank you for being an excellent cheerleader!
Writing came to me as my way out. Many times I’ve written about memories (like quitting the flute right after my dad bought it, and asking my neighbor for a candy from her dish and being scolded by my mom).
Writing it out opened space for me to see, be, and do differently.
I did squeak onto the pom squad as an alternate. 🤭 Then somebody got hurt and I was awarded a permanent position.
Purple and gold lead on!
Amen to that. I played field hockey. The baton was more of a weapon. I could not get the hang of it.
🤭
I love the girl in the clip… her mix of concentration with an awareness that she needs to toss out some smiles. Priceless!
Love the image today and the quotes. Thank you Gail. This brought up a memory for me as a kid learning how to twirl the baton. My friend and I would practice together and make up routines. Fun memories.
Ha! I’m sure I had some fun with my baton, too.
I also remember getting a skateboard for my birthday… with metal wheels?! It was so loud! I hated it and was so mad at my parents for not getting me a “nice” one.
I think that might have been the year my mom was dying. I’m sure “quiet skateboard” was low on the list of priorities? I didn’t have the capability to understand.
I continue to learn to give myself grace.
Becoming a parent myself opened my eyes in so many ways to the challenges my own parents faced.
I am sure that year they tried everything to make memories for you. Even a loud skateboard was a memory. 🩷🩷🩷 keep giving yourself GRACE. I think back to the nonsense that made me mad when I was a kid and I can see how hard my parents tried.
Becoming a parent opened my awareness in many delicious ways!
A friend once gave me a comment when somebody was criticizing things that happened in history.
*sign of the times*
Learn better, do better?
My childhood is littered with cigarettes and beer bottles, but love was there, too. ❤️
I'm right there with you Gail. Why is it so hard to give ourselves grace? I'll keep practicing. And yes I resonate with "becoming a parent..."
I was one of the “liability” kids for sports games, where some team got stuck with me at the end of the picking. My father (hoping that at some point a miracle would happen and I would turn into a jock like he was) made me go out for football my freshman year in high school; I was in for 21 plays the entire season, most of those in the last game where we were getting massacred anyway. Still reminded of those days every time my knee (injured in practice, not a game) acts up in my old age. <sigh>
My dad never pushed me toward anything. I think he had enough other concerns. In 7th grade I had arole as Tom Sawyer. In high school I had roles in 3 musicals. It felt good.
Then… I allowed a caustic comment to infect me and I walked away from theater until I was in my mid-forties and tried out for a community performance.
I have no regrets and harbor no ill feelings for the commenter. In fact, the experience, in retrospect, perhaps taught me to be mindful about tossing out put-downs. And yet… I’m aware of times I’ve trampled on other’s dreams with my judgements. 🤷♀️
{*{*hug*}*} 💚💚💚
Memories! Images! I didn't need to read a word. From deeper recesses came the image of Lois. Lois was the "drum major" baton twirler virtuoso in my high school class. I dated here for much of our sr. year. She was simply a whiz with the baton. Dating her gave me status that while un deserved I relished. She dumped me later in the sr. year for an "older man". In a sense, she did each of us the favor of "twirling" along different paths. I never thanked her until today.
I’m so grateful for my visit to The Well Within Workshop where I was bit by the create-visual-art bug. 🙏🏻
Her dump made way for Maxine? And the beautiful family you built together?
Are we more likely to be connected by images rather than words to our inner recesses?
To each other?
Great questions. A while back I was encouraged to treat music with more care than the “background noise” position I’d given it. Since I have been employing my AirPods and exploring different songs… I now turn to music to turn myself.
I love words, and thinking, and connecting…
Yes, and!
Our senses touch our emotions in a way that words, sentences, and thinking do not?
There’s much you can do be said for combining?
All that you describe feels like so much "noise" to me. Is there a "space between the notes" a "refuge of silence" where all things meet? Rilke always finds his way into words that create images that find "silence"
“My life is not this steeply sloping hour,
in which you see me hurrying.
Much stands behind me; I stand before it like a tree;
I am only one of my many mouths,
and at that, the one that will be still the soonest.
I am the rest between two notes,
which are somehow always in discord
because Death’s note wants to climb over—
but in the dark interval, reconciled,
they stay there trembling.
And the song goes on, beautiful.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, The Selected Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke
Rilke was quite a poet! Several of his thoughts and shares live inside of me.
I lived a life of loneliness that transformed into solitude. This silence gave me lots of space between notes, which is where I met — and continue to meet — my creator.
Now that I stand in faith and trust, I’m curious about what I will be asked for next.
Often a line or two of Rilke's will just jump out at me.
There are a couple in "I Am Much Too Alone" that I am sitting in silence with now:
"I want to be with those who know secret things
or else alone."
and
I want to unfold.
I don’t want to stay folded anywhere,
because where I am folded, there I am a lie.
and I want my grasp of things to be
true before you.
As my friend Susan Scott says "Most conversations are with myself. Occasionally they include others".
I seem to have acquired an unhelpful habit with social media posts in general and 3MM in particular. First a quick read/look to get the general message. Then return later for an in-depth read. Sometimes I forget to return until much later. Today I overlooked the “song” below your art, LoveLetterist.
The young twirler in “Concentration Made Visible” was truly that. I liked her “I should smile now” expressions. Soon the smiles will fit her twirling like a glove. I searched for the Clip2Comic emblem but saw nada. Is there a toggle to switch it off from the completed art? I become sidetracked by minutia. 🙃
Cal’s comment “we have our own team now” prompts thoughts on team building. Sometimes the still wounded heart is attracted to gang membership. To feel a part of, as well as to act out anger and aggression to pay back the sources of their hurt. Others, using the compass of heart and soul, look for people/groups that strive to support one another. An opportunity for rebirth. I like Rumi’s comment on “The wound.” Brava to the four of youz.
I ponied up the $ for clip2comic — since we’ve decided to stick with girl/pup imaging for a while. Paid subscribers can remove the watermark. 😁