Six Senses Sunday #44

Touch:
• The textured end papers and smooth ribbon of a new book
• Clingy old cobwebs in the attic eaves where I've been organizing
• Layers of sticky rice plastered on my palms
• Tongue burnt on hot french fries

Taste:
• Sweet Potato casserole topped with pecans sauteed in butter, maple syrup, and fresh ginger
• Marinaded tofu salad: sweet chili and sesame oils, soy sauce, red cabbage, peas, carrots, peanuts and squares of tofu
• An Ethiopian Platter from the Blue House Café. Collards, kale, ginger, lentils, some kind of flat bread, lots of spices...delicious. I am loving being a vegetarian again.
• Soy milk, banana, and chocolate shake
• Almonds and Sea Salt in Dark Chocolate

Hear:
• The muffled crunch of snowshoes in the heavy woods
• The rush of a cold river
• The clattering of rice, many, many pieces of rice, raining down on me at the health food coop. Like a rain stick without the stick. Darn you, overhead bulk goods dispenser!
• Groans as my boss begins to make one of his infamously inappropriate toasts

See:
• A tall, pileated woodpecker chopping away inside an enormous blond hole he'd carved for himself
• Perfect icy snowflakes glittering beneath the outdoor light
• The full moon, catching me by surprise
• Striped trees

Feel
• Nervous when the sky turned dark, the moon rose, and j still wasn't home from the mountain
• Excited about finally starting a series of yoga classes at their very beginning

Patiently Waiting

I went out for a drive with my camera yesterday, hoping to take photos of a nearby river, frozen and snow covered. But along the way I happened upon this beautiful barred owl, watching for prey in the field below. He was unfazed by the car stopping, the sound of the window going down, the excited person behind the camera interrupting him.

There turned out to be no place to park by the river, the already narrow road made more so by the walls of snow on either side of it. By then I was so excited about the owl I didn't mind missing the water, and I had the opportunity to take more photos of him on my return trip.

What luck to have had the rarely used telephoto lens on the camera!

Frank Llyod Wright once said, "I believe in God, only I spell it N-a-t-u-r-e." Yesterday it snowed all day and through the night, replacing Wednesday's snow that was lost in Thursday's rain. Nature is dressed in white this morning.

This seems to be the way of New England winters now — a slow, cold start with the heaviest snowstorms waiting until at least late February.

The year we bought our house, stubborn clumps of ice clung to ground until April when I finally grew impatient, all thoughts on spring, and attacked them with a metal rake.

Which is nothing compared to the man I spotted last week, scooping all the snow out of his front yard with a full-sized bucket loader, a gray cloud of exhaust gathering over his house. And yet, despite our complaints, wishes, and heavy machinery, winter is winter until it's spring, and summer only lasts until it's autumn. As my mom said when she was in the hospital last winter, "this is the cycle of life." Nothing to be done about it but throw another log on the fire.

Soggy, Grateful Thursday

Yesterday's driving snow has been replaced by bucket loads of rain today, and this evening winds of 50mph plus are predicted for the area. In fact I can already hear the gusts picking up outside, and in the basement the sump pump is making a gurgling racket as it attempts to displace some of the frigid, muddy water pouring in through the stone foundation. Only one year did the basement flood until we had to call the volunteer fire department to pump it out. Men with big muddy boots clambered down the stairs, dragging hoses behind them, the flashing red lights of their idling trucks swirling on the walls. That was exciting.

I know many of you set aside Thursday posts for being grateful, so despite the New England gales and torrents, I thought I'd take a moment to do the same.

Tonight I'm grateful that it's Thursday, which marks the start of my weekend. I'm grateful that I have nowhere to be tomorrow except at home. I'm grateful that I had a safe car to commute to work in today, because the slushy, rutted, slippery, winding, hilly roads that take me to the office definitely required it. I'm grateful that I wore a waterproof rain coat and waterproof boots today, despite the raincoat making me look like a garment bag with a head. I'm grateful to have had a mom who would buy me such a practical item of clothing. I'm grateful that J beat me home tonight and kindled a fire in the wood stove, then listened to my rants and raves about work day frustrations while I warmed myself in front of its heat. I'm grateful that everyone seemed to like the rice balls I made for the bridal shower. I'm grateful that despite their popularity, there are still plenty left for dinner. After watching "The Loneliest Animals" on Hulu.com last night, I'm grateful that there are people willing to make their life's work saving endangered species. Finally, I'm grateful that I can come home from work and sit peacefully in front of my computer thinking about what I'm grateful for. There are far worse things I could be doing.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It...Whoah!

 Today would be a wonderful time for our friend to visit with his truck. And his plow.

 Snowed in at home, I've nearly been snowed into the house by the 12+ inches of snow that's fallen in the past 24 hours.

I look disappointed, don't I? Actually I had things I needed to get out and do today, namely pick up the ingredients for the spinach balls I'm supposed to be bringing to work for a bridal shower tomorrow. Instead I'm donning my Nanook of the North hat and wading through knee-deep snow to the woodshed to retrieve more fuel for the fire.

This afternoon I received approval for not just the intended 4 but 6 of the card designs I've been working on, along with a request for some more. So phase 2 of the project continues, the tweaking and perfecting phase, along with yet another phase 1, the creative design phase. Phase 3 will be getting all the files ready for the printer. I just hope everything will continue to go smoothly, as I have two meditation retreats coming up in March and I don't want to carry work worries with me to either one. At least I have this snow day to do a little catching up.

Stay warm in the snow, fellow New Englanders, and if anyone knows of any very (very) simple vegetarian appetizers that don't involve Parmesean cheese (the missing ingredient I won't be able to find at the local store) please send them my way this afternoon!

You Are What You Eat

 Woah. This kind of movie is scarier to me than Psycho. I've been working on designing a simple brochure for an upcoming film festival my company is sponsoring, and watching the trailers has certainly increased my appetite for all things local and organic. In the next couple of weeks I'll be posting many of the trailers at the work blog, and will let you know when that happens so you can sneak over and have a look.

What's your body trying to tell you?

One of two hands painted on the top of a small black cabinet that my first art director gave me for Christmas many years ago.

This weekend a friend and I were talking about her recent experience with a energy worker who listens to one's "inner healer" to discern valuable information about their state of health. I find this concept fascinating, as I often feel compelled to add or subtract a particular food or supplement in my daily routine, not because I feel ill but because of a subtle feeling that my body is trying to tell me something (though I don't always know exactly what). I never considered the possibility that someone else might be able to tap into my inner healer too. I wonder what they would hear?

This winter I feel the messages have been coming fast and furious; cut out the meat, put down the beer, take 2 Turmeric capsules at night, drink 2 oz of Aloe Vera juice daily (a new habit prompted by this post), take 3mg of Melatonin and a cup of Chamomile/Valerian tea before bedtime, buy a Netti pot and use it daily (inspired by several of you who have recently posted about your own  good Netti habits.) Not to mention the chanting, mediation, a new yoga class starting Monday...

I'm all about listening to my sixth sense right now because it was there for me when I needed it in November, prompting me to drive to RI one fateful day early. How many times do we ignore our intuitive natures, too busy to listen or act, too fearful of what others will think of us? Have there been instances when you feel you've benefited, physically or otherwise, by listening to your intuition?

This is where I am tonight - care to chant along with me?
Dave's website is here.

Six Senses Sunday #43

See:
• A bright red plastic bag spinning carelessly along over white snow
• Thin red fox sneaking into the underbrush
• Hearts and flowers, all week long — the freelance assignment continues on...
• Last night I was a ghost in my own dream, lingering around my mom, who was still alive but couldn't see me

Hear:
• "I'm so blissed out I can hardly talk" (a friend after her first kirtan)
• An inspiring Shivaratri talk from Caru Das (via his podcast on iTunes)

Smell:
• The scent of meals wafting out from the opening and closing doors of crowded and brightly lit restaurants
• Sticky sweet hair products at the salon

Taste:
• The crunch and buttery ooze of fresh garlic bread
• Creamy Green & Black's chocolate ice cream
• Aloe Vera juice, which tastes like I've just grazed on my houseplants
• Curried potato salad with raisins and spinach
• Strawberry banana walnut pancakes with a drizzle of local maple syrup
• Kale chips

Touch:
• A hint of warmth in the late winter air
• Slippery black walnut salve
• The rough bristles of a new body brush
• Warm water in, warm water out. The story of the new Netti pot.

Feel:
• Turned so far inward I think I'm inside-out
• A bit disappointed that I lost some hair length on Friday
• Horrified to find two moth damaged pieces of clothing in my closet on Thursday
• Alarmed, but also relieved, that in the course of the past month I've lost my taste for both beer and meat without consciously trying to give up either.

Where are my words? Lost between the pages of a book. Tangled in a quilt. Crackling in the wood stove, sending up only a silent trail of smoke.

The Length of Winter

Ahhh, winter. You get to me every year. Though I'm not as blue as I sometimes am during these dark February days, I'm definitely beginning to struggle against it, and as I pay my visits to your blogs I see that some of you are too. Remember to keep moving, keep a good stack of books beside you, keep breathing (as Karen reminds me), keep planning those summer gardens, keep a warm mug of something delicious within reach, keep in mind that in only one more month we'll be turning our clocks ahead, relishing the longer days, welcoming back the birds, the peepers, the light.

How are you hanging in there?

Six Senses Sunday #42

touch:

• the smooth curves of my wooden heart, made by J
• feet stuck to sticky yoga mat
• the odd sensation of my own fingernails piercing my palms when I make a fist. Tomboy (and nail biter) that I am, I've never grown them out before
• gritty Neem and Dead Sea Salt salve, the texture of beach sand that's closest to the water and the color of fertile dirt


smell:

• I can smell a hint of spring in the air, even if snowflakes are still blowing up my nostrils when I sniff
• the dusty pages of old books, dry and fragrant, hinting at the polished wooden shelves and sunny library rooms of their past

taste:

• spicy sesame pasta topped with sauteed baby bok choy, broccoli, red peppers, and fresh ginger

• spinach salad drizzled with chipotle honey mustard, walnuts, local goat cheese

• freshly baked chewy coconut macaroons

• veggie burritos and guacamole
• warm brown rice salad topped with fresh greens followed by...
• a chocolate frosted chocolate chip and cream-filled chocolate cupcake

see:

• lotus blossoms on a dressing room curtain
• brightly painted classroom walls, crowded with children's artwork, glowing behind night's windowpanes

• the gas station attendant's pairing of a florescent green sweatshirt with tan carhart overalls
• lone hawk flying across the field, a flash of white underbelly


hear

• I did, in fact, hear the sounding of horns
• studded snow tires crackling against dry pavement
• a singing voice strong enough to move the heart
• j's whistling, a sound that follows him around the house and yard


feel:
• what was Valentine's Day even like before I met J? (Yes, that is me with long red hair, which I'm trying to grow out again though the in-between stages are downright frightful)
• a calmness after chanting as if I were a giant sponge someone had wrung the negativity from
• nervous about the freelance assignment I agreed to complete, protective of my free time
• gratitude for sweet online friends who keep my email box filled with positive thoughts and encouragement. Happy Valentine's Day to you all.

Shivaratri

Thursday night I celebrated Maha Shivaratri for the first time. An auspicious day that falls on the 13th night/14th day of the waning moon during the month of Maagha in the Hindu calendar, it's believed to be the night Lord Shiva married Goddess Parvati. Devotees also believe that on this night Shiva performed Tandava Nritya, the dance of creation and destruction that I described a bit here. All over the world people fast and visit temples on this day, chanting throughout the day and night.

In our observance we chanted the panchakshari in the Siddha yoga tradition, which you can listen to by clicking here and playing the audio sample. Also known as the five syllable mantra, the panchakshari is Om Namah Shivaya, "I bow to Shiva" the supreme reality, the inner Self or Consciousness that dwells within all of us. There are other meanings contained within the 5 syllables that perhaps I'll attempt to explain in a future post. While I knew what we'd be chanting, I didn't anticipate it being done so slowly and deliberately, each syllable drawn out. Beautiful, a little challenging to sing, and quite different from the kirtan I've been doing daily.

About 15 of us silently settled on folding chairs or sat cross-legged on the floor, facing the Shiva Nataraj statue decorated with flowers. The lights were turned off, candles were lit, a harmonium began it's breathy drone, and soon the sound of Om Namah Shivaya materialized like a calm lake stretching to an edgeless horizon. 3 hours later I emerged from the studio as if from a dream. The chanting continued inside and probably met sunrise, but as the heavy oak door closed and clicked behind me the sound of all the voices but my own fell silent. Unseen wind chimes rang in the trees like tiny church bells. Along the curving, wooded path a string of white lights lit my feet, and through the branches overhead winter's bright stars lit the sky.

What's special about chanting a mantra? It's said that "Mantra is that which protects the one who repeats it." In his book Where Are You Going? Swami Muktananda explains that that the influence of mantra can completely transform our inner being.

Our inner state is created by the thoughts and feelings that continually arise in us. Outwardly we may appear to have fixed identities — one person may appear to be a lawyer, another an engineer, another a doctor, another a professor — but inside, we are a continually changing mass of Consciousness. When we project the beam of mantra into this fluctuating mass, it stabilizes it and focuses it in one direction, the direction of the Self. The sages have said that only the mantra can help us transcend our confusion, our fantasies, and the constant changes of the mind.

As for the power of chanting, the poet Tukaram Maharaj wrote, "Not only the heart, but the entire being is rejuvenated by chanting." Swami Muktananda promises that chanting purifies us inwardly as well as purifying the atmosphere around us.

I'm only 3 months into my quest and these particular practices are new to me. But I will admit to noticing changes already, a steadying of my mind, better control of my actions, much better control of my thoughts and emotions, including grief. I'm sure there's a long way to go, but right now I feel as if I went from being stuck in choppy water in a rowboat without oars, to having a paddle with which to row myself to a calmer place. Having this bit of stillness makes it easier to appreciate the view.

How to Get Freelance Work

What do you think was one of the first things to happen after I transformed my clean and tidy downstairs graphic design office into a messy art studio? After a year of no freelance design work whatsoever, my favorite client called offering an assignment I couldn't refuse. So tonight, instead of cutting another lotus design into the new Staedtler Mastercarve blocks I bought this afternoon, I've plugged in my Wacom tablet and am dusting off my Illustrator chops.

Of course I'm surrounded by scraps of handmade paper, tubes of ink, and linoleum chips. And oddly enough, everything I draw ends up looking like a lotus...

Hey, Isn't That...?

Remember when I agreed to model for this book last March? Well, it's now hot off the press, and here I am in 4-color, below. Seeing myself in photos fills me with more amusement than pride. We all tend to be our own worst critics, and I'm no exception. I actually hate having my photo taken (unless it's a self portrait) but agreed to do these for three reasons. First, for my mom, who encouraged me to grab hold of every opportunity I was offered, even if it took me out my comfort zone, as this photo shoot did. Second, it was a nice day out of the office. And third because if I make it to be an old woman I can use this book as solid evidence that I really was once young(er).

Isn't it strange how much changes in the course of one year? My mom didn't get the opportunity to see the finished book, though I did share bound pages with her late last summer when the project was still in design and nearing completion. Still, I know she would have had a lot of fun hunting down the finished copy in bookstores and telling everyone, "that's my daughter!" I show it to you in her place.

Pretending to knit a scarf. My hands had to be molded into this position by the author since I've never held knitting needles.

Tiptoeing towards the tulips and trying hard not to appear as flat-footed as I am.

Giving myself a little hug...I actually like this photo, and the Kangaroo mittens were amazing, though they're hard to see here.

Headless once again...hmmm, are these close crops a bad sign?

Reading a vintage copy of Rabbit Run in a scarf far frillier than anything I would ever wear (though the Angora fabric was delightfully soft).

I should add that this book provides amazing directions for hand-dying yarn using a variety of techniques, and the step-by-step photography as well as the overall design of it is simply stunning. I think many of you would love it — and of course if you tell everyone who sees it, "That's Winnie Jolicoeur's daughter" my mom, wherever she may be, will smile.

We are the Witness

I guess it's going to be a slow week on the blog. But I wanted to share this brief clip from the Werner Herzog documentary "Encounters at the End of the World." A strange and beautiful film about a strange and beautiful place.

Filmmaker Werner Herzog takes you on a wild and woolly journey to the South Pole in this Oscar contender — from the National Science Foundation's headquarters on Ross Island to some of Antarctica's most remote and dangerous terrain. With a keen eye for the wonders and sometimes hilarious peculiarities of this icy land's animal and human inhabitants, Herzog offers an astounding look at the world's most inhospitable landscape. (Netflix.com)

If you can get past Herzog's sometimes cranky commentary (calling the arobics and yoga classes offered at the South Pole research station "abominations" and wondering aloud why society indulges silly "tree huggers" for example) Encounters is a mesmerizing glimpse into a strange and beautiful place. Follow researchers as they peek into an active volcano, shuffle out onto an iceberg the size of a continent, dive under the ceiling of arctic ice and observe an ocean floor full of strange life forms, listen to the sonic music of seals, crawl inside the tunnels of a naturally formed fumarole. In addition to showing us the natural beauty of the South Pole, Herzog introduces us to some of the fascinating people who have gravitated there, including Dr. Gorham, a physicist involved in a neutrino detection experiment.

What are neutrinos? According to Dr. Gorham they are "the most ridiculous particle you can imagine." But in addition, these elementary particles are responsible for the creation of the universe as we know it. And, he adds,

Neutrinos seem to exist in another place...in their own separate universe. As a physicist, even though I understand it mathematically and intellectually, it still hits me in the gut — that there is something here surrounding me that is almost like some kind of spirit or God that I can't touch, but I can measure. It's like measuring the spirit world or something.

You can watch this particular segment here.

Certainly this was way more than a nature flick.

Lotus

If you were looking over my shoulder in the studio this weekend you'd have seen this lotus print (here with its pink ez-carve block). I'm about ready to cut a second, more refined version in harder and more durable linoleum. Bloody fingers, here I come! It's been a couple of years since I sliced into linoleum, and I forgot how much I like the messy, sometime painful process.

Here's a version in cut paper that hasn't been glued down yet. I made all the paper (except the nubby blue background) years ago, recycling junk mail and outdated letterhead from a former employee. Tall stacks of white, green, blue, pink and gray sheets emerged, and I've been using them for art ever since.

With the door closed and the heater on the temperature in the studio becomes very comfortable, which is more than I can say for the rest of the house. If the thought of being warm doesn't motivate me to make some art, nothing will.

Six Senses Sunday #41

Taste:

• A soft powdered-sugar donut from the supermarket. Biting into it, I'm once again a 7 year old sitting in front of Saturday morning tv with my donut and cold chocolate milk, drawing along with Captain Bob. Remember Captain Bob?

• Herbal cough syrup from Wiseways Herbals, a local natural products company. An infusion of herbs and roots in a thick honey and glycerin base, this syrup was not only very effective but absolutely delicious, and free of the disturbing chemicals and red dyes found in commercial cough syrups.

• What the local deli calls a spectacular meal: tofu, kale, cashews and mango over jasmine rice. Spectacular indeed!
• Roasted potatoes and a bowl of warm lentils with 5 sweet spices

Hear:

• Barred owls cackling and baby owlets screeching, both recordings that J took in the yard last summer

• Mice scuttling in the walls

• Gusts of wind trying to sneak in through the windows
• Vixen sighing and grunting in front of the wood stove


See:

• The road clouded with a thick haze of winter's drying salt and sand

• A gift of heart-shaped cookies covered in colored sugars. Almost too pretty to eat.

• Fluffy snow cascading from the roof of a yellow school bus as it passed by
• Paint tubes, linoleum cutters, scraps of paper...the studio is slowly coming together

• Unmistaken Child, a documentary about the Tibetan boy who the Dalai Lama named the reincarnation of Lama Konchog in 2006. Amazing and available to watch instantly on Netflix.

Touch:

• Smooth shell earrings from Ecuador

• My nubby wool teddy bear from Ireland, who must have been vacationing beneath the bed

Smell:

• Sweet Bay Rose hand cream

• Popcorn
• Rubber cement

Feel:
• That there's a place for everything and everything in its place - eventually

• Cabin fever

• Like I'm approaching a crossroads

• That the 38 year old me could learn some things by reflecting on the 18 year old me

A Fascinating Discovery...

Patient 'locked in' by brain injury answers questions using thoughts alone.

Edible Alphabet

If you haven't seen these online already, I just wanted to show you these fabulous Helvetica cookie cutters from Beverly Hsu.

Oh, the possibilities. Combine these with a couple of the decorating techniques in this book and one could have a very nice-ooking, edible alphabet.

Speaking of cookies, last night J and I sat at the kitchen table with mugs of steaming tea, dreaming of cookies. 7:30 pm is "lights off" at our one local store. Afterwards any culinary cravings need to be put on hold until the following morning. Or else (shudder) made from scratch.

J: I wish we had some cookies.

M: (Glancing at the clock) We don't have cookies, or even any good ingredients for cookies.

J: There are sunflower seeds!

M: Sunflower seeds aren't chocolate.

J: There are raisins!

M: Raisins aren't chocolate either.

J: (Sounding hopeful) There's baker's chocolate!

M: What would we do, sweeten it, melt it, and form it into chips?

I have a very limited concept of what cookies are, and it definitely involves chocolate chips. After a few fruitless moments of opening cabinet doors expecting chocolate chip cookies to materialize on our shelves full of dulse flakes and canned beans, we abandoned hope and headed for the non-fat comfort of the electric blanket and Netflix instant movies.

A more domestic person than I probably could have concocted something delicious from the ingredients in our chip-less pantry. I have friends with enviable, practical abilities like that. Personally, I depend on cookbooks as sacred kitchen scripture, and even with instructions you'll find me pouring wet ingredients into sad, unready crusts; furiously gobbing up the mixer until it emits a smokey smell; assailing a ball of sticky dough until it's wound so tightly against the rolling pin that J has to be called in to rescue it with hands full of flour.

Maybe I'll make it to the store in time to get cookies tonight. I hope so.