Archive for May, 2010
Cindy on May 28th, 2010
The windows of my soul I throw wide open to the sun.” — John Greenleaf Whittier
Dear Friends,
If you’ve been reading my blog for a while, you know I spend less time hanging out here in the Home Office when it’s warm outside. The laptop stays indoors and I don’t.
In summer, I try to limit my time online to less than an hour daily, mainly to check e-mail for work-related issues. (I still work on other writing projects year ’round.) This officially qualifies me as a fair-weather blogger, I know. Not only does summer coax me out to my garden and the bike trails, it also brings more opportunities to work as a background extra in films. (So far, I have four bookings for shoots in June and July.)
But I won’t disappear completely. While I’m cutting back to three posts per month this summer, I still want to share some things with you. For starters, I have permission to share an excerpt of my new garden essay that ran exclusively in Victoria magazine. And since a couple of my essays are included in some brand-new story collections, I’ll plug the books when they’re available. Come Father’s Day, I’ll run a favorite Daily Tribune column about my dad and a special photo taken on Father’s Day before he died in 1992. And later, I’ll post a photo essay featuring one of my crazier passions — garden junk!
Meanwhile, if you enjoy the short essays I typically feature here, I hope you’ll track down a copy of Writing Home in bookstores or on Amazon. I’ll miss you, and would love it if you’d stop by to say hello. But I’ll understand if you can’t. I hope you’ll be outside in the sunshine, too, taking a break to read a novel in your lawn chair, or pausing to admire what’s growing in your own garden. Warmest wishes for a happy summer, Cindy
P.S. Look for my monthly “Somewhere in the Middle” column at Michigan Women’s Forum — and watch for a special giveaway at the end of May.
– Photos (copyright 2010 by Cindy La Ferle) were taken last year in my garden. –
Cindy on May 24th, 2010
If you search the world for happiness, you may find it in the end, for the world is round and will lead you back to your door. ~Robert Brault
A blogger pal recently introduced me to the happy list. Like a gratitude list, a happy list cheers you when you’re in a funk. But unlike a gratitude list, a happy list isn’t supposed to include major events or life-affirming essentials like a close family, work you enjoy, lifelong friends, or a negative biopsy result. No, a happy list is all about simple pleasures, cheap thrills, little luxuries.
A happy list can be scribbled in no particular order. Happiness usually shows up randomly and in places where we least expect it — so let your own happy list reflect that.
As Ben Franklin wrote, “Human felicity is produced not as much by great pieces of good fortune that seldom happen as by little advantages that occur every day.” I’ve edited my list down to a few highlights — and I look forward to reading some of yours. — CL
*A stack of new books and a pending beach vacation
*A great haircut that lasts for more than four weeks (thank you, Patti!)
*Hearing my husband play his guitar while I write in my office
*Leon & Lulu, a gift shop with a sense of humor in Clawson
*A bag of pretzel nuggets from the local Dollar Store
*The text message from my traveling son that reads: “Just landed safely in Chicago” (… or Toronto or Little Rock or …)
*Dressing up and heading out to dinner with my husband, midweek, without the crowds and long lines
*Donna’s savory Greek salad and grilled garlic pita bread at Niki’s, my all-time favorite local diner
*The effortless ease of ballet flats, anytime
*Sunsets on Lake Michigan
*A free hour and a book of Billy Collins’ poetry
*Picking fresh herbs from my own salad garden while the cats look on … there’s catnip in that garden, too
*Finding an extra quarter for the parking meter in the bottom of my purse when I’m in downtown Royal Oak
*Paul Simon singing “Graceland”
*Silver jewelry coming clean while I polish it
*Feeling at home in my skin, no matter where I am
*Reading fashion magazines on the beach — the only time I have time for them
*The sparkle of crystal chandeliers
*Re-reading the first chapter of Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine the first week of summer
*Shopping at the flea market and finding exactly what I need for an art project
*Hearing pride in the voices of my students when they read their writing aloud
*The cheery scents of citrus and lemon and grapefruit
*Unexpected thank-you notes
*Freshly laundered white sheets and ironed pillowcases
*Finding the perfect cards for my best friends at a card shop
*Shopping for groceries at Trader Joe’s, because the food is fun and so are the people who work there
*Long, rambling bike rides with no particular destination
*Unlimited free time in the aisles of a well-stocked garden center
*The first glimpse of my home when I’m returning from a vacation
– Random happiness photos by Cindy La Ferle –
Cindy on May 20th, 2010
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning.” — John O’Donohue
It started off as a horrific week. My Web site was attacked by a malicious virus, requiring several days of tedious repairs (and I’m still not finished with the archives yet). Later that same day, my dermatologist removed five pre-cancerous patches from my skin. It got a little worse than that, but I won’t go there. It’s enough to say that everything seemed to be eating away at me all at once, or was trying to shed itself.
Regardless, I was making plans for my garden this morning when I was struck with an overwhelming sense of grace and peace. Which shouldn’t surprise me.
My worry list always seems less significant when I breathe deeply in a garden. Working the soil, I forget about midlife health issues, household chores, film bookings, aging parents, unfinished projects, and what I should try to publish next. I forget about blogs, Facebook, LinkedIn, and Twitter. I forget about all those outdated magazines piling up next to the bed, unread. I turn off the endless loop of chatter from the outside world.
Weeding the Zen garden, I am fully engaged in the moment. Clearing space around the stepping stones, I consider summer’s possibilities. I feel the green stirring of something new, though I cannot name it yet. This Celtic blessing says it all. – CL
For a New Beginning
by John O’Donohue
In out-of-the-way places of the heart,
Where your thoughts never think to wander,
This beginning has been quietly forming,
Waiting until you were ready to emerge.
For a long time it has watched your desire,
Feeling the emptiness growing inside you,
Noticing how you willed yourself on,
Still unable to leave what you had outgrown.
It watched you play with the seduction of safety
And the gray promises that sameness whispered,
Heard the waves of turmoil rise and relent,
Wondered would you always live like this.
Then the delight, when your courage kindled,
And out you stepped onto new ground,
Your eyes young again with energy and dream,
A path of plenitude opening before you.
Though your destination is not yet clear
You can trust the promise of this opening;
Unfurl yourself into the grace of beginning
That is at one with your life’s desire.
Awaken your spirit to adventure;
Hold nothing back, learn to find ease in risk;
Soon you will be home in a new rhythm,
For your soul senses the world that awaits you.
–Reprinted from To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings by John O’Donohue, Doubleday Religion, 2008. Special thanks to Sharon of One Woman’s Life in Maine for sharing this beautiful poem with me.
Cindy on May 15th, 2010
At commencement you wear your square-shaped mortarboards. My hope is that from time to time you will let your minds be bold, and wear sombreros.” ~Paul Freund
A blog pal recently asked if any of her regular readers had a few pithy words of advice for new graduates. I was reminded of an earlier column I wrote when my only son graduated from high school in 2004. I tucked it into his suitcase when he left for college, then dug it out of the archives the week before he walked across a stage in a black cap and gown at the University of Notre Dame.
Like most moms I know, I spent years drilling my kid on the importance of working hard, keeping his integrity, writing thank-you notes, and ironing his dress shirts. But I overlooked some things along the way. And besides — there are a few infallible pieces of advice that a parent simply cannot overemphasize. That’s why, six years ago, I wrote a list of “survival tips” and included them in the newspaper column. Here’s an excerpt:
A SURVIVAL GUIDE FOR GRADS
*Relationships, like cars, need regular upkeep or they won’t keep running. Maintain the good friendships you’ve made as surely as you forge new ones. Treat your old friends with as much respect as you’d treat business clients you want to impress.
*Learn from your adversaries. The people who push our buttons tend to reflect qualities we dislike in ourselves.
*Encourage others to talk about themselves. You’ll make a great first impression and learn something new. Unless you’re on a job interview, the talk should never be all about you.
*Don’t be too proud to ask for help when you need it.
*The notion that everyone is having a better time somewhere else is one of the world’s dumbest illusions. Refuse to believe it.
*Losing is a great character builder. If your best effort misses the mark, ask yourself what you can learn from the loss.
*Be a community builder wherever you go. If we can’t make peace with our neighbors, there’s no hope for the rest of the world.
*Be thoughtful. Good manners were designed to make others feel comfortable.
*Handle money with respect. Never let it run your life, overshadow your career, or spoil your personal relationships.
*Strive for decency and compassion, and accept nothing less from everyone you hang out with.
*Get enough sleep; take care of your body. Pay attention to what you eat, where it came from, and why you’re eating it.
*Make good on your word. Show up on time. If you promised to bring the salad or move furniture, follow through. Return what you borrow.
*Keep your faith, but learn about the great religions of the world. Self-righteousness is a huge turn-off.
*Spend time outdoors. A walk in the woods is the best antidepressant.
*Spend time alone. Creative ideas and solutions are sparked in solitude.
*Never leave your underwear on the floor. As every good room mate will tell you, neatness is essential in cramped spaces.
*Don’t wait for holidays to tell people how much you appreciate them.
*Always take the high road. Admit your blunders and apologize if you’ve hurt someone.
*Find your inner compass and stop seeking approval from others. Be too busy to wonder what other people think of you.
*Don’t limit your shopping to chain stores. Support local businesses and discover the heart and soul of every new location you visit.
*Travel is the best way to learn about the world, but stay on the lookout for a place to set down roots.
*Savor your memories but don’t live in the past. Anyone who insists their high school or college years were “the best” is stuck in a rut. Life gets richer and juicier as you move on. Enjoy every minute.
*Never forget how much you are loved. Phone home when you need a reminder.
– Cindy La Ferle
–The full version of this essay originally appeared in The Daily Tribune (Royal Oak, Mi.) and is reprinted in my book, Writing Home –
Top photo: My son Nate (the tall guy) and his Zahm Hall buddies. Bottom photo: Andrea (Nate’s girlfriend) with Nate, Dad, and Mom on graduation day, 2008. Both photos taken on the University of Notre Dame campus.
Cindy on May 13th, 2010
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination.” — Mary Oliver
“Wild Geese” is another favorite by our old friend Mary Oliver, whose Pulitzer Prize-winning poetry we’ve explored in previous posts. Listening to Anne Lamott’s Word by Word, an audio CD on creative writing, I learned that Lamott posted this poem near her desk — and advises all writers and artists to do the same.
“Wild Geese” touched a tender place in my soul. Like so many friends of mine, I was taught as a child to obey the edicts of the organized religion my family practiced. I was terrified of making mistakes — and terrified of disappointing a punitive, unforgiving God. (Not to mention disappointing my parents and teachers.) No matter how “good” I was, or how closely I followed the rules and colored within the lines, I still felt unworthy. A nasty inner critic took up residence inside my head, too, sitting right next to the punitive God.
Today, I follow a strong code of ethics and my own faith, but no longer allow fear to constrict my life or narrow my view. As Mary Oliver reminds me, we were all made to shine our creative light, and to dance freely in this gorgeous world of ours. — CL
Wild Geese
By Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
– Reprinted from Owls and Other Fantasies, by Mary Oliver; Beacon Press; 2003.
