tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15049859496911196992024-03-14T05:34:04.398-07:00Melissa Ann GoodwinAuthor, poet, yoga teacher, and perpetual student. Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.comBlogger467125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-45966389724147107332023-12-04T10:03:00.000-08:002023-12-04T10:03:35.433-08:00Reading a Passage from Candles in the Windows<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: large;">Here I am reading a short passage from my new book</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>Candles in the Windows, A Christmas Romance</b></i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Enjoy!</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jKzpNWPS8uY" width="320" youtube-src-id="jKzpNWPS8uY"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><p></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-33984764945387349152023-11-26T07:11:00.000-08:002023-11-26T08:09:45.333-08:00Candles in the Windows is Available Now on Amazon!<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0EvvY0A9RChMEXmkroKVWwxvrJze1uBf2-MZJeWvUED0unJNcZHp4gyIWl5pipnCpRLgMmSll2ECKrq6fqiE8SkerRK7kjfqSUodAxiIyEx5lbel7B6qehcBr1AW_bgWsAdSIXLJoiSgfepJdvdP4faSHJelZYFP7OqVTpY14D7t_YnDAPLb8OaN-Ycs/s959/Melissa%20BL3A.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="959" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX0EvvY0A9RChMEXmkroKVWwxvrJze1uBf2-MZJeWvUED0unJNcZHp4gyIWl5pipnCpRLgMmSll2ECKrq6fqiE8SkerRK7kjfqSUodAxiIyEx5lbel7B6qehcBr1AW_bgWsAdSIXLJoiSgfepJdvdP4faSHJelZYFP7OqVTpY14D7t_YnDAPLb8OaN-Ycs/w320-h302/Melissa%20BL3A.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><b>I'm so excited to tell you that my new book</b></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Candles-Windows-Melissa-Ann-Goodwin/dp/B0CNSP5W3V/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1701014954&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Candles in the Windows, </a></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Candles-Windows-Melissa-Ann-Goodwin/dp/B0CNSP5W3V/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1701014954&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>A Christmas Romance</a></b></span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span>is now available on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Candles-Windows-Melissa-Ann-Goodwin/dp/B0CNSP5W3V/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1700951795&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Amazon.com </a> i</span><span style="text-align: left;"><span>n paperback, </span></span><span style="text-align: left;">eBook</span><span style="text-align: left;"> for Kindle, and hardcover. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Just click on the <i>title </i>above or the <i>cover image</i> below to go directly to the page on Amazon. </b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b>AND...</b></span></p><p>Please join me for my <b>Virtual Book Reading</b> on <b>November 29th at 7pm ET. via Zoom. </b>The Event is sponsored, hosted, and moderated by The Yoga Sanctuary. I'll read some excerpts from <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Dancing Script;"><b>Candles in the Windows</b></span><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Dancing Script;"> </span></span>and take your questions. Read the full event description below the image. I would so love to have you join me for this fun celebration of the launch of my book!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Candles-Windows-Melissa-Ann-Goodwin/dp/B0CNSP5W3V/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1700951795&sr=8-1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="2757" data-original-width="1840" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJk_TXVwzPYQsw3wFrNQ8miuRYcKK-wshMRmbkfKVTFQYmz7m6MXifpRSVe-WqwOPUAdpIpDnvBT-79jj5sTT9pw-TJTRxcxSDbLx3KWUXaVY5Dmk-endnoEn8hsl66mI5gYpJ55murrW6EUINlCDHMFIT_ThG_Cx2fSTLcElSjUF-jJcGkARuVYdmnkSK/w214-h320/Candles%20in%20the%20Windows%20front%20cover%20for%20Reveal.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><br /><p><i><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Here's the event description and the link to register. It's free of course! </span></b></i></p><p><i><b><span style="font-size: medium;">The Yoga Sanctuary is very excited to share with you a first of a kind event for us - A Virtual Book Reading with our own Melissa Goodwin, who is not only a yoga teacher, but also a published author and award-winning poet!</span></b></i></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">This will be a one-hour, complimentary, interactive online event via Zoom. Melissa will read excerpts from her new novel, </span><span style="color: #274e13; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;"><b>Candles in the Windows, A Christmas Romance,</b></span><span style="font-size: medium;"> and from her poetry chapbook, <b><i>The Brook in the Woods Behind Our Old House</i></b>, give insights on where her ideas came from, and take your questions.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">If you know Melissa, she is easy to listen to and lots of fun, so the event is sure to be fun too! She's willing to share with you not just her written words, but also insights on the creative process. Stay as long as you like, and leave when you want. The event is open to everyone, so tell your book-loving friends, your writer friends, your wanna-be writer friends, and anyone you know who wants to share their creative gifts with the world and is looking for inspiration. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">The online event is FREE and OPEN TO ALL! </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Registration Link</b>: <a href="https://www.theyogasanctuary.biz/the-yoga-sanctuary-class-schedule/" target="_blank">Virtual Book Reading with Melissa Ann Goodwin</a> </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>I hope you will come - it will mean the world to me to share this celebration with you!</i></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-65322943033871012142023-11-19T05:47:00.000-08:002023-11-19T06:05:49.395-08:00COVER REVEAL!!! CANDLES IN THE WINDOWS<p><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: large;"><b>GOOD MORNING!</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;">Today marks another exciting step toward the release </p><p style="text-align: center;">of my new book,</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b style="color: #0c343d; font-family: "Dancing Script"; font-size: xx-large; text-align: left;">Candles in the Windows, A Christmas Romance</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It's time for the </span><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>COVER REVEAL!</b></i></span></p><p>But first, a few <i>tidbits</i> about the release and an invitation to my virtual book reading!</p><p>My book will be available for purchase on Amazon.com in paperback, hardcover, and as an eBook for <i>Kindle. </i>You can also ask any bookstore to order the book for you.</p><p>I'm targeting <b>November 25th</b> (Black Friday) for the release date - fingers, toes, and eyes crossed! The final, final, final proof is being final-proofed, <i>finally</i>, even as we speak...</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><i>AND.</i></b>..</p><p>You are invited (please, please, please, please, please come) to my <b>VIRTUAL BOOK READING</b> on <i><b>November 29th at 7pm ET. </b></i></p><p>It will be via <i>Zoom,</i> courtesy of <b><i>The Yoga Sanctuary.</i></b> I will read a few tantalizing excerpts and take your questions about the book, the writing process, or anything else!</p><p>It's being hosted by my beloved friends at <i><b>The Yoga Sanctuary,</b></i> but it's for <span style="color: #0c343d;"><b><i>EVERYONE!</i></b></span> (Yes, <i><b>YOU!</b>)</i> </p><p>It's <i>free,</i> and all you have to do is register and show up! Here is the registration link - just click on it, then follow the arrows to November 29th, scroll down until you see the event, and VOILA! So easy!</p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.theyogasanctuary.biz/the-yoga-sanctuary-class-schedule/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Virtual Book Reading with Melissa Goodwin</span></a></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><i><b>And now, without further ado...</b></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><span> </span><span> </span>Well, maybe a little bit of ado...</b></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b><i></i></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><i><b><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>and a drumroll please....</b></i></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b>Ta Da !</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b>The cover and back cover text for</b></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b>Candles in the Windows, A Christmas Romance</b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB0CvGviA6W-9oIPiz9QQgbFPNYX-cCBhUDXwYsDDV4cwMnBxNC0yNQiiyGb5ywtQdhLneHbhob_OPvrYtZIpcbBwxwX1pYzb8wHVQTH7rUAp_O1qvPAeMZguwOWr-fj0z2-fCjepcRC-bM-tR3KZ-iwevNyCHTxRIDmyDdVgFkKlq_EnLk4WGGIgpm-I/s2757/Candles%20in%20the%20Windows%20front%20cover%20for%20Reveal.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2757" data-original-width="1840" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicB0CvGviA6W-9oIPiz9QQgbFPNYX-cCBhUDXwYsDDV4cwMnBxNC0yNQiiyGb5ywtQdhLneHbhob_OPvrYtZIpcbBwxwX1pYzb8wHVQTH7rUAp_O1qvPAeMZguwOWr-fj0z2-fCjepcRC-bM-tR3KZ-iwevNyCHTxRIDmyDdVgFkKlq_EnLk4WGGIgpm-I/w428-h640/Candles%20in%20the%20Windows%20front%20cover%20for%20Reveal.jpg" width="428" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; text-align: center;">This beautiful cover was designed</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"> by my niece, artist Olivia Hart</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; text-align: center;">Storyline</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Thirty-two-year-old interior designer Michelle Gordon has returned to her New England hometown for a fresh start<i>.</i></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i>But her homecoming is bittersweet</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Her parents are gone. The house she grew up in looks unloved. The town is changing.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i>And they're planning to tear down her beloved Stone School, where happy and carefree childhood memories were made.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Michelle's childhood classmate, Steve Corbin, now runs his own construction business after realizing that a job on Wall Street wasn't for him. <i>Ever since his wife's death three years ago, Steve has been living a quiet and lonely existence.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Michelle makes it her mission to save Stone School, and enlists the help of old friends, neighbors, and classmates, including Steve. <i>But with Christmas just around the corner and the demolition clock ticking, do they have any chance of succeeding?</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">The attraction between Steve and Michelle is obvious and their affection deepens as they work together to save their school. <i>But will Michelle's feelings for an old crush come between them? And is Steve truly ready to move forward and open his heart again to love?</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">Join Michelle, Steve, and their families and friends as memories of Christmases past bring new hope for love in the present.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br /></p></div><p><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Dancing Script; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-38370705155857521132023-11-12T06:03:00.000-08:002023-11-12T12:59:22.773-08:00EXCITING NEWS - My New Book Will be Out Soon!<p>I'm excited to share that my new book, <span style="font-family: Dancing Script;"><b>Candles in the Windows, A Christmas Romance</b></span>, will be released at the end of November! </p><p><i>Today, I'm sharing the storyline as it will appear on Amazon.</i></p><p><b>NEXT WEEKEND</b>, I'll do a <b>COVER REVEAL</b>! (Very exciting - the cover was designed by my niece, Olivia Hart, who is an art major at Pratt Institute School of Art.)</p><p>And on the evening of <b>Wednesday, November 29t</b>h, I'll be doing a <b>VIRTUAL BOOK READING EVENT</b>, <i>online via Zoom courtesy of The Yoga Sanctuary</i>! </p><p><i>Mark your calendars for 7pm and stay tuned for how to register.</i> It's free, of course, and just like a regular book reading event, only online! I hope I will see your face there!</p><p>I am so excited about this book, which is different from anything I've done before. It's a wholesome cozy romance, and something of a love letter to my hometown, the people I grew up with there, and one very special school we shared. It's light and fun, current but nostalgic, and I hope, will move you in all the right ways. </p><p><i>Here's the description that will appear on Amazon:</i></p><p>Thirty-two-year-old Michelle Gordon has returned to her New England hometown just before Christmas. She's thrilled to be back after a long absence and eager to reconnect with old friends, reboot her interior design business, and make a fresh start.</p><p><i>But her homecoming is bittersweet.</i></p><p>The untimely passing of both her parents five years earlier means she has no home base and no one to welcome her back with a warm, embracing hug. The house she grew up in looks unkempt and unloved by its new owners. The Main Street storefronts have all changed, a restaurant is moving in where her favorite bookstore had been, and the old Post Office is now a bank.</p><p><i>To top it off, the town plans to tear down Michelle's beloved Stone School, where happy and carefree childhood memories were made. The thought of it breaks her heart, and she vows to do everything in her power to save the school. </i></p><p>Michelle's childhood classmate, Steve Corbin, now runs his own small construction business after realizing that a job on Wall Street wasn't for him. When Steve and Michelle bump into each other, the attraction between the ruggedly handsome construction worker and the dark-haired beauty is obvious.</p><p><i>But the path to falling in love is not clear.</i></p><p>Ever since his wife's death three years ago, Steve has been living a quiet and lonely existence. And the presence of Tom McNulty, a charming and successful architect who was Michelle's childhood crush and is Steve's lifelong best friend, complicates the situation. Even as their affection deepens, Steve worries that Michelle will succumb to old feelings for Tom, and Michelle has doubts that Steve is truly ready to open his heart again to love. </p><p><i>And with Christmas fast approaching, time is running out for Michelle and her friends to save Stone School from the wrecking ball.</i></p><p>Can a small group of determined former classmates save their beloved old school? Can broken hearts mend and love again? Join Michelle, Steve, Tom, and their families and friends, as memories of Christmases past bring hope for new love in the present.</p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-25622012869528706522023-09-28T16:12:00.004-07:002023-10-08T13:38:10.107-07:00525,600 Minutes<p style="text-align: center;"> <i><span style="font-family: georgia;">525,600 minutes</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">525,000 moments so dear</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">525,600 minutes</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">How do you measure, measure a year?</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>(</i></span>Opening lyrics from <i>Seasons of Love</i> from the musical <i>Rent</i>)</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Today I walked the length of Old Silver Beach in Falmouth on Cape Cod. It was a perfect late September/early fall day, with cool air warmed by the sun. Just right with a light sweatshirt, though a few diehards (my kind of folk) were in their swimsuits. The summer people are gone and the gulls and I, and a few other kindred spirits, have taken back the beach. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">A year ago today, we cowered in our home in Florida while Hurricane Ian pummeled us with wind and rain and tore at our roof for almost 10 relentless hours. That day, and the ones that followed, were some of the most traumatic of my life. I'm not going to dwell there. Suffice it to say, it was awful. And awful doesn't begin to describe how awful it was.</span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">As my bare feet squished through the sand and the sun warmed my face today, I reflected on all the miracles that have happened between </span><i style="text-align: justify;">then</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> and </span><i style="text-align: justify;">now </i><span style="text-align: justify;">to put me here, in a place I have longed to be, </span><span style="text-align: justify;">walking the beach. It is so hard to believe, that I am close to tears of gratitude, joy, and amazement, whenever I think about it. </span></div><p style="text-align: justify;">In the six months we've been here, we have settled into a nice little home and a rhythm of our days. I have published a book of poetry and a picture book, and am close to finishing a Christmas romance novel that I plan to have out in time for Christmas: </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b style="text-align: left;"><i><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Candles in the Windows, a
Christmas Romance: </span>A young woman returns to her hometown just before Christmas and reunites with a childhood friend to save a beloved old school.</span></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><i>I'll be sharing more about that soon!</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">I have been to my 50th high school reunion, seen friends I hadn't seen in years, (I mean, we're talking 40 - 50 years in some cases), and seen my brother and sister twice each. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsCCDL83Ll4nc555myp2pYf018cwkY1GtV-tvMyCuRw_Os6wKm-8Jf6Zpza0oQF9Uksn7hLfscNjfycFWPTW06dpfOCxCnj7EdFI8QwYcqg-fMiFk83P6kWcACQwc62GD2HdaODrYISiEBCqFmRzeyqUX7f39Q9JVA5rZC3Df5Dn3MVBS48irjniUhLqi/s1171/Sid%20White%20Girls2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="1171" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJsCCDL83Ll4nc555myp2pYf018cwkY1GtV-tvMyCuRw_Os6wKm-8Jf6Zpza0oQF9Uksn7hLfscNjfycFWPTW06dpfOCxCnj7EdFI8QwYcqg-fMiFk83P6kWcACQwc62GD2HdaODrYISiEBCqFmRzeyqUX7f39Q9JVA5rZC3Df5Dn3MVBS48irjniUhLqi/s320/Sid%20White%20Girls2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">High School Chums at our reunion - we all worked together </div><div style="text-align: center;">at the Rose Glen Dairy aka Sid White's </div><div style="text-align: center;">in the early 1970's </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: justify;">Dick paints nearly every day, and we have found excellent speech and physical therapy for him. I've taken some classes and we've been to some lovely little concerts and seen a couple of musicals put on by the College Light Opera. I've been in touch with the CLO about volunteering for them this winter, which I think will be really fun.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-align: justify;">By the grace of Jennifer French, I am still able to teach a weekly online meditation class for the Yoga Sanctuary, which is a lovely way to stay connected to the students I knew there, and also with some I have never met in person, <i>and </i>to continue teaching. I don't know what the future of my yoga teaching looks like right now, and that's okay. I'm willing to let it evolve. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Our life is simple and simple feels like such a relief. We cannot travel, and it's okay. I'm so glad to be back here, I really just want to be <i>here.</i> </p><p style="text-align: justify;">So this is what I really want to say: If you are sad, worried, depressed, downhearted, or scared, and think that things will never be "okay" again, think of me, walking a beautiful beach on Cape Cod, a year to the day after one of the worst storms in history blew our world apart. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkn4s6Zcrl6BORlZR3nU1a459_y0xlqxy0mFjeTwMpptkfVUW-vCJgfCrnCGUaE52_EOEET2DVLz4xPW-Ufw7QCfjLQvn-fdxkVJdTD3-osA0CZB5dfRKCn43B8C43h3-49_r4bXFjOaPUgwWOr_ITZzIHI23WjvwzKAUWXjVztxT97Utn0TBj3r-yN6DU/s2048/Old%20Silver%20Beach.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkn4s6Zcrl6BORlZR3nU1a459_y0xlqxy0mFjeTwMpptkfVUW-vCJgfCrnCGUaE52_EOEET2DVLz4xPW-Ufw7QCfjLQvn-fdxkVJdTD3-osA0CZB5dfRKCn43B8C43h3-49_r4bXFjOaPUgwWOr_ITZzIHI23WjvwzKAUWXjVztxT97Utn0TBj3r-yN6DU/s320/Old%20Silver%20Beach.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-33405294989529404322023-07-30T11:21:00.003-07:002023-09-29T05:18:48.919-07:00Here, Now<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPb3CAwwdku9yqHj-6PnGa6djPmf3cbTWt9TVG06xktfumNBA3LbzDrjVTr9Ub1SARKq6BqX5nsmGu_YGVc1IrKrZsJ5Ygvq-K6ZaRUedV_69V9tFDZnKc1ahDWBmjy9S5z5r24ollll48drUXUnkAP3BujCd_E6BPOe6Vdf49yqvQuDO8bsUX3_wEGqI/s4032/Mail%20box.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPb3CAwwdku9yqHj-6PnGa6djPmf3cbTWt9TVG06xktfumNBA3LbzDrjVTr9Ub1SARKq6BqX5nsmGu_YGVc1IrKrZsJ5Ygvq-K6ZaRUedV_69V9tFDZnKc1ahDWBmjy9S5z5r24ollll48drUXUnkAP3BujCd_E6BPOe6Vdf49yqvQuDO8bsUX3_wEGqI/s320/Mail%20box.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Our first family vacations were to Falmouth on Cape Cod in the early 1960's. At the age of five or so, I fell in love with this place and I never fell out of love with it. So living here, now, is a dream come true for me. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPb3CAwwdku9yqHj-6PnGa6djPmf3cbTWt9TVG06xktfumNBA3LbzDrjVTr9Ub1SARKq6BqX5nsmGu_YGVc1IrKrZsJ5Ygvq-K6ZaRUedV_69V9tFDZnKc1ahDWBmjy9S5z5r24ollll48drUXUnkAP3BujCd_E6BPOe6Vdf49yqvQuDO8bsUX3_wEGqI/s4032/Mail%20box.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">We made our decision to move from Florida back to New England about this time last year, and I was already well into packing up the house in anticipation of selling when Hurricane Ian blasted through in late September. Just one picture because we don't want to have to relive that too much...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRZX24VCSmCcM4SkEYfz9A2irAJ-zUbApbiRsEszOrwYA3FwmNdwKyBYQDZ72ctxq7CdD_sgkM7uZ_PwIAL0E8zmWVNJEr2aJjWSgeN2pRJwmUKZ1WyVKWxPXoXOCEVmvyEJAU9l5crG0zikCRuHN5PH8-piTpzE727qEJ4WgEJfHVCVyHHL0ce-m_wVA/s4032/House%20before%20tarping%20front.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRZX24VCSmCcM4SkEYfz9A2irAJ-zUbApbiRsEszOrwYA3FwmNdwKyBYQDZ72ctxq7CdD_sgkM7uZ_PwIAL0E8zmWVNJEr2aJjWSgeN2pRJwmUKZ1WyVKWxPXoXOCEVmvyEJAU9l5crG0zikCRuHN5PH8-piTpzE727qEJ4WgEJfHVCVyHHL0ce-m_wVA/s320/House%20before%20tarping%20front.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I realize now how lucky we were to come away just needing a new roof and some ceiling repair and painting, but it was very traumatic and felt overwhelming at the time. I thought perhaps Ian had blown our move plans out of the water.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">But step by step we did what we needed to do to fix the house, and by the end of February everything was done. We immediately listed and it sold in a day - with closing and occupancy in 30 days. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Our angel-hero Annie Cool Hart (my sister's sister-in-law and Cape Cod realtor extraordinaire) found us this ridiculously perfect place to rent within two days. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I organized the move and we landed here on March 29th. We were staying at an inn, waiting for the movers to arrive and move us into our condo on April 7th. I'd had my first two good nights' sleep in months,...when suddenly, everything fell apart...</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Five days before closing, the <i>sale of our Florida home fell through</i> because the sale of the buyer's home fell through. I was devasted, terrified, petrified. I went numb emotionally - sort of shell-shocked - like after Ian, but maybe even more so because since all the pieces had seemed to fall easily into place, I had thought the universe was on our side and supporting us. This felt like a cruel trick.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">My sister, Jess, said, "There's a silver lining to this; we just don't know what it is yet." I knew she was probably right, but boy, it was hard to have faith in that moment.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Well, she <i>was</i> right - there was a happy ending so I'll make the long story short. Some very dear friends who were in a transitional situation of their own decided it would be a smart move to buy our house and live there while they sorted out their plans. Also their 3 cats specifically asked if they could live in the house with the pond so they could watch the ducks and bunnies. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">By mid-April, we had closed on the sale and I could finally breath again. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I didn't share this part of the story until now, because I simply didn't have the juice. Everyone was happy for us getting back here, and I didn't have the emotional energy to talk about it - happy ending or not. I was utterly exhausted and depleted and it took me a while to come out of it.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Still, good things were already happening...My brother, Tom, came and helped us unpack. Jess came and helped me get things to storage and to give away. I hadn't seen either of them in over three years, and then I saw them both within two weeks. Without their help, I'd still be unpacking.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And suddenly, we LIVE here! We discovered that we are four minutes from Old Silver Beach - an absolutely gorgeous beach on Buzzard's Bay. All through April and May, I walked it daily in every sort of weather, letting the wind and crashing waves knock the accumulated stress, anxiety, and grief out of me. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFl8H8XLjPHkpI68uBVuTrtCbMtBzGYYi79mbf6jScu-0pirTGKqSxzbCj44qE3iovnW4ZNwvvqDi52k-8jky6w7Kz5IZvvSbsHj_PXyIaLotcL5nZUQ7OqNULoqK1_SnspclHeMYFwG73t6BV2QjIedfkDBZmJFgYScVC3u5h0E5uRcCiRQ_9KxCcC_s2/s4032/old%20silver%20beach.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFl8H8XLjPHkpI68uBVuTrtCbMtBzGYYi79mbf6jScu-0pirTGKqSxzbCj44qE3iovnW4ZNwvvqDi52k-8jky6w7Kz5IZvvSbsHj_PXyIaLotcL5nZUQ7OqNULoqK1_SnspclHeMYFwG73t6BV2QjIedfkDBZmJFgYScVC3u5h0E5uRcCiRQ_9KxCcC_s2/w400-h300/old%20silver%20beach.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;">And now, four months in, I can tell you that I feel the the happiest I have felt in a very long time. My heart swells with the morning birdsong (a pair of Cardinals greeted us immediately upon arrival), the profusion of summer flowers, the shingled Cape Cod homes, the food, the cool air, summer concerts, winding roads, Boston accents, the smell of sea air. There are far more <i>Peace</i> and <i>Save the Planet</i> bumper stickers on cars here than...well, <i>you know.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Here are some pictures around our condo and neighborhood.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Our back deck</i></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBPH1kyBKWk_XW_fjeXfbBBPQFaZ8k8gDtkiwItD40vB-sR2f0a0EDh_1ot0nQgaasd_b18qVjOJd7HXhcMXYLxON_fvMVAoZ5eY-HYZe9WudiWpp_DuV6FWf9eItH7uvG2lhFTW3Fi4Pq1eXi_ChPcL7Kg-cWWZf4HGcLZLeEGDCpMOagjkzj__WkyF7/s4032/deck.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitBPH1kyBKWk_XW_fjeXfbBBPQFaZ8k8gDtkiwItD40vB-sR2f0a0EDh_1ot0nQgaasd_b18qVjOJd7HXhcMXYLxON_fvMVAoZ5eY-HYZe9WudiWpp_DuV6FWf9eItH7uvG2lhFTW3Fi4Pq1eXi_ChPcL7Kg-cWWZf4HGcLZLeEGDCpMOagjkzj__WkyF7/w400-h300/deck.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p>And back yard...</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vhXce2FW0UcT9kiIVcYoG_M82IIqRImU-ROLZAYrT56oh0WapsB1LdGXV0vXohjbHXdJ_lbixxNN-I1h5Rit6ML5sOGPT3Ct97qGf0WygePreN8OD47-jROvoPCQ5fRjE7lWFtZPDu8gbiWZo3Kg6j86o08htoLuYw-S9fODazsU-9nwKg-bnlx7GTwc/s4032/garden.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vhXce2FW0UcT9kiIVcYoG_M82IIqRImU-ROLZAYrT56oh0WapsB1LdGXV0vXohjbHXdJ_lbixxNN-I1h5Rit6ML5sOGPT3Ct97qGf0WygePreN8OD47-jROvoPCQ5fRjE7lWFtZPDu8gbiWZo3Kg6j86o08htoLuYw-S9fODazsU-9nwKg-bnlx7GTwc/w400-h300/garden.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p>There's a bike/walking path across the street</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uv-VS7oUN4u7FJkupE5Szxe_aarVW76NCkhCwTFKfGYaTR5uBWuSgLfstqGn2SCyeOmkVldDp26B2307rcUPt1lHZYD_8qxMlooAmLdOca26a_6YYXEOs8Q9ccIHEDq1bP5QIOKZFn5qu_ZMWfVtGsNA8ufKwDyiSAtkllUcRrGPeGCX2GXh7M2yHrT1/s4032/bike%20path.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9uv-VS7oUN4u7FJkupE5Szxe_aarVW76NCkhCwTFKfGYaTR5uBWuSgLfstqGn2SCyeOmkVldDp26B2307rcUPt1lHZYD_8qxMlooAmLdOca26a_6YYXEOs8Q9ccIHEDq1bP5QIOKZFn5qu_ZMWfVtGsNA8ufKwDyiSAtkllUcRrGPeGCX2GXh7M2yHrT1/w300-h400/bike%20path.jpg" width="300" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>We live near this Cheese Shop...(<i>waaaaay</i> too near!!)</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5wcoh28XsOjZjiVct-bXQeSV_-9NCAQxeAX14-F6XZSFI2QJqTQWZ6f2D1vFed7XKv5n2qFUyKO6YnwMSM4BQXIOAdMMkv6S9JzumwPYfhckvWfFASqtuBapo9_vQT9lvO9uE7DWcIAD2yzB01UNMZrNwgRbm6G7P2c27xUi_pcpyRHjpb3jO9Hokab0/s4032/cheese%20shop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH5wcoh28XsOjZjiVct-bXQeSV_-9NCAQxeAX14-F6XZSFI2QJqTQWZ6f2D1vFed7XKv5n2qFUyKO6YnwMSM4BQXIOAdMMkv6S9JzumwPYfhckvWfFASqtuBapo9_vQT9lvO9uE7DWcIAD2yzB01UNMZrNwgRbm6G7P2c27xUi_pcpyRHjpb3jO9Hokab0/w400-h300/cheese%20shop.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>And this restaurant...</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeIV-ZCb_ZLn9xHSW1Bz2xF9XLDbk59UuSU5Vael6p6nGQ3Pfze3sfji7C6TyZwUDHr8w77I39ihQyYnY4jlCufmHDfhhHI3wasT7JRFHfY2K8HldlM2tmHguOOfmFgllZzqXp0OjpC2iJFZXw74ypwcsNUJKp-fODe24xWCcM_TuxcJUsHrF2s92Yw0-/s4032/silver%20lounge.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeIV-ZCb_ZLn9xHSW1Bz2xF9XLDbk59UuSU5Vael6p6nGQ3Pfze3sfji7C6TyZwUDHr8w77I39ihQyYnY4jlCufmHDfhhHI3wasT7JRFHfY2K8HldlM2tmHguOOfmFgllZzqXp0OjpC2iJFZXw74ypwcsNUJKp-fODe24xWCcM_TuxcJUsHrF2s92Yw0-/w400-h300/silver%20lounge.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>And this excellent church thrift shop...</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQxYZafo3iMLp879C3aCCsPraPNRlvQoNpYuE1Xxr1L10j06H3sW1iFipYJKJu9oJPVL009FwERVWTDMzsf-5OP3LlppSGOcDxzYhXjGvOrgEsxni4-wYw0-qKR-9eP2AZhbwN6N5RJp72Cwg0wdSQ-mBAgO5k5n9edb2Y8jqX8Zld8FT0mD7_d-ac2Y7/s4032/thrift%20shop.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQxYZafo3iMLp879C3aCCsPraPNRlvQoNpYuE1Xxr1L10j06H3sW1iFipYJKJu9oJPVL009FwERVWTDMzsf-5OP3LlppSGOcDxzYhXjGvOrgEsxni4-wYw0-qKR-9eP2AZhbwN6N5RJp72Cwg0wdSQ-mBAgO5k5n9edb2Y8jqX8Zld8FT0mD7_d-ac2Y7/w400-h300/thrift%20shop.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>After Ian, I wondered if I would ever be okay again. And it took some time, but it's such a lesson in that whole "this too shall pass" business. This is my blog, so it's my story. But almost everyone I know has been through hardship and suffering of some sort this past year and more - storms, crashes, the loss of parents, partners, pets, or other loved ones, devastating diagnoses - you name it. No one escapes; we are all in this together.</p><p>So we just have to hold hands and take one step and then another, even as we have serious doubts that things will ever be "all right" again. I've learned over and over in my life that they will be, but I had to learn it again, because when you're in it, it's hard to remember and to believe. The wheel of life will turn as it always does. But I'm <i>HOME</i>. And I am very, very happy to be here and I'm not going to worry and fret this time away. I'm just enjoying being Here, Now.</p><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-83069106252284961082023-06-17T10:39:00.004-07:002023-06-17T11:09:24.402-07:00Come Fly with Me<p style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="color: #674ea7;">Come Fly with Me</span></b></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Take my hand and fly with me,</b></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>the wind will whisk us o'er the sea</b></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>We'll float above the clouds so high,</b></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>and soar across the evening sky</b></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>Like meteors and shooting stars,</b></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>we'll zoom past Jupiter and Mars,</b></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>We'll sail forever and a day,</b></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><b>until we touch the Milky Way</b></i></p><p><br /></p><p> <i>So....</i></p><p>I have one more post in the <i>"What I did during the Pandemic"</i> category...something a little different from what you've come to expect from me!</p><p>I've published a <b>rhyming picture book for the little ones</b>, called <i><span style="color: #674ea7;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Come-Fly-Melissa-Ann-Goodwin/dp/B0C51W78XS/ref=sr_1_1?crid=RNA4VIPXZDU3&keywords=Come+fly+with+me+goodwin&qid=1687022576&sprefix=come+fly+with+me+goodwin%2Caps%2C99&sr=8-1">Come Fly with Me</a></b></span>. </i>It's the poem above, for which I created illustrations.</p><p>How did this come about, you ask? I'll tell you! During the pandemic, I led an online summer yoga for creativity workshop series for <i>The Yoga Sanctuary</i>. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.theyogasanctuary.biz/classes-wellness/workshops/?options%5Bids%5D=1512&options%5Bsite_id%5D=2338" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="686" data-original-width="960" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgy7gD86mtuO3_oOj0qlsBJY-opzC-DisOrwqJRFdW3iZt3y-LSqzy_ftHvW9UPyTvFUz84gWnAtFF8gVsz2vKQMfY8Vluw5Hphav_L-W91EHSj-OzUf0kNKlH-304x_-BHotBl5yXI5OJOMQI83PvxnOcHRTZ8QeslBxbt8tIkPTOktNH2VaEcJvCy5w=w200-h143" width="200" /></a></div><br />One of the challenges we used to stimulate creativity was doing something other than our main creative activity. So, a painter might decide to try writing poems, a musician might try calligraphy, a sculptor might try painting...or gardening...or cooking...you get the idea!<p></p><p><b><i>My </i></b>challenge was to see if I could create illustrations to go with my poem, so I sat down at the dining room table and started sketching...badly! But I played with it a little every day, and after a while, things started to take shape. The characters started flying around, and from there, I just had fun with it! </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBG4VTXOzPszO_tNpJu3_Wdnd-N9sSJplwLChOz-Lwb5ZtVAdttWRoWb48KatrKxLeEXgo6hY3IgKlcV5YdGi4btYj9qAFVXsl4Gnw996s2CqHJHzZl9SdGE241qHWhNSkdcpVhHd6oUor47y7p-s4Yxe5gZtsbNzEUhob5fPo2nLg17Vc2fMFMYWEyg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="117" data-original-width="320" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBG4VTXOzPszO_tNpJu3_Wdnd-N9sSJplwLChOz-Lwb5ZtVAdttWRoWb48KatrKxLeEXgo6hY3IgKlcV5YdGi4btYj9qAFVXsl4Gnw996s2CqHJHzZl9SdGE241qHWhNSkdcpVhHd6oUor47y7p-s4Yxe5gZtsbNzEUhob5fPo2nLg17Vc2fMFMYWEyg=w400-h146" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Dick suggested using watercolor pencils, which was a great idea because it gave me the chance to color like a little kid. Then you use water and a paint brush to blend the colors and it comes out looking like a watercolor painting. Very cool!<p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEili5O8wisDWGePNVPjQ_In7s-rUH8cJl2ERgVyD5boLy4DKAYeKB3ewFBo78o51gg291c2dOATSiM8JrcB6QhSKrfXDZwa6maFjWVKu59699BmQIby6BJT76h3xC7OTPPqVZoCHiu89718PvN0zOAaPFfALFRXcCKxA4_ZmYoCPPILEdv817wlnFs8qA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEili5O8wisDWGePNVPjQ_In7s-rUH8cJl2ERgVyD5boLy4DKAYeKB3ewFBo78o51gg291c2dOATSiM8JrcB6QhSKrfXDZwa6maFjWVKu59699BmQIby6BJT76h3xC7OTPPqVZoCHiu89718PvN0zOAaPFfALFRXcCKxA4_ZmYoCPPILEdv817wlnFs8qA=w320-h240" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Once we were settled back home here in Massachusetts, I decided to take the leap and put my work out in the world again. I started with my poetry chapbook, <i><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Brook-Woods-Behind-Our-House/dp/B0C5YTH4RD/ref=sr_1_1?crid=107QGHY80UG64&keywords=the+brook+in+the+woods+behind+our+old+house&qid=1687022793&sprefix=the+brook+in+%2Caps%2C117&sr=8-1" target="_blank">The Brook in the Woods Behind Our Old House,</a></b></i> which was the topic of my last post. That worked well, so I kept leaping and tried making the picture book - and this is the result! </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Come-Fly-Melissa-Ann-Goodwin/dp/B0C51W78XS/ref=sr_1_1?crid=RNA4VIPXZDU3&keywords=Come+fly+with+me+goodwin&qid=1687022576&sprefix=come+fly+with+me+goodwin%2Caps%2C99&sr=8-1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2534" data-original-width="3378" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjb6XeIWNVXkX5bOL5XS0i31vPo4xf8CvdttKfP0CP9ihzxzYYSm49YH9ZUj2FDEdakSvH5e8bVh1f2jU2Kx8_v2-N8gBEC4leJsYkkoekZNNl8E_s0kIHk-nQp0MTSo2_sVIdQBGmOsQqkTtvGJtws0ZGdxIJH9YdhzBn3t6c1NtUidxyzJuCcVweA/w640-h480/FWM%20photo4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b>A little sample from inside:</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmW9V2m9PcGPm0jGUdreGsqZpQwSfFOhtKza049C_gUozcbJ4Svd5B2X75z-rSebH9siXyxaflPfCmjZtSuu0LUoGTDJudZOOT4IeOxTvFIXafCc1oUi4ZMliOBC9FiTDUXztnWZC_PodBI36Zh98l3eW0Ozq7QyHeBnx3_JrXe6azqPK9OGvb9OUIIQ/s3574/FWM%20photo%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2411" data-original-width="3574" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmW9V2m9PcGPm0jGUdreGsqZpQwSfFOhtKza049C_gUozcbJ4Svd5B2X75z-rSebH9siXyxaflPfCmjZtSuu0LUoGTDJudZOOT4IeOxTvFIXafCc1oUi4ZMliOBC9FiTDUXztnWZC_PodBI36Zh98l3eW0Ozq7QyHeBnx3_JrXe6azqPK9OGvb9OUIIQ/w640-h432/FWM%20photo%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuOtoiLz3KTICqAykDh179LHgnw1jHJdoOtV5t9LZucsYelEP64wUSyeUMJZ9nYyr56Jbamle_E4EdOjA9BrLUPfbeOipgAGR_sBajJtvFrNandfzBUM-ifAqSi1PwWYc2QFehTgOn8IUUUX4NH2GYOR6l5OEJpBenrFuA14U-5F6ZZ3SZlY4LYLw-A/s3625/FWM%20photo%203.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2119" data-original-width="3625" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFuOtoiLz3KTICqAykDh179LHgnw1jHJdoOtV5t9LZucsYelEP64wUSyeUMJZ9nYyr56Jbamle_E4EdOjA9BrLUPfbeOipgAGR_sBajJtvFrNandfzBUM-ifAqSi1PwWYc2QFehTgOn8IUUUX4NH2GYOR6l5OEJpBenrFuA14U-5F6ZZ3SZlY4LYLw-A/w640-h374/FWM%20photo%203.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><i><b>So this book is for the little ones. </b></i>If you have kids, or grandkids, or nieces or nephews, or friends with kids, grandkids, or nieces and nephews in the picture book age, I hope you'll consider my little book for them. It's available in paperback on Amazon, 6" by 9".</p><p><i><b>I have a beautiful and sweet great-niece named Goldie Elizabeth Goodwin,</b></i> whom I have yet to meet. She is the first grandchild of my siblings (the daughter of my brother Tom's son, John, and his wife Jill).) So I dedicated this book to her. I will meet her at Thanksgiving and can't wait!</p><p>Here is the link to the book on Amazon: <span style="color: #674ea7;"><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Come-Fly-Melissa-Ann-Goodwin/dp/B0C51W78XS/ref=sr_1_1?crid=RNA4VIPXZDU3&keywords=Come+fly+with+me+goodwin&qid=1687022576&sprefix=come+fly+with+me+goodwin%2Caps%2C99&sr=8-1">Come Fly with Me</a></i></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-44867573450989268612023-06-10T08:09:00.000-07:002023-06-10T08:09:49.843-07:00Coming Home<p><i><b>I have created a poetry chapbook, The Brook in the Woods Behind Our Old House, which is now available on </b></i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=the+brook+in+the+woods+behind+our+old+house&crid=12YORU3RUVE5D&sprefix=the+brook+in+t%2Caps%2C95&ref=nb_sb_ss_ts-doa-p_1_14"><i><b>Amazon.</b></i> </a> The "chapbook" approach honors an old tradition in which poets handed out small handwritten pamphlets of their poems on the street. I don't really want to do that, so I made a little paperback book instead! Read on for background and more information. At the end of the post is a video of me reading the title poem, because poetry is always meant to be read aloud.</p><p><b><i>Coming Home</i></b></p><p>I am home again. To me, "home" means pretty much anywhere in New England, but we have landed on beautiful Cape Cod. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjClTX4fOdpwuiMtjAC38Ki9B7owZ-xLptBrJWDheGCIgHp1hn7HAwmGI4xcfDyvh5R5rYbHEOjB8bTpTHcMsCDolynTO6HWG1-vnaY2mDdeqhc25nFIKBUV5HQwVNqUFuo10-VCBqk8gxvfNUwv2kYotrsjrlixmfhJsSM7_i85xM7LvQfM8lgtkdu-A" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjClTX4fOdpwuiMtjAC38Ki9B7owZ-xLptBrJWDheGCIgHp1hn7HAwmGI4xcfDyvh5R5rYbHEOjB8bTpTHcMsCDolynTO6HWG1-vnaY2mDdeqhc25nFIKBUV5HQwVNqUFuo10-VCBqk8gxvfNUwv2kYotrsjrlixmfhJsSM7_i85xM7LvQfM8lgtkdu-A=w200-h200" width="200" /></a></div><br />I am grateful for the journey of the past 20 years, which took me to the Sonoran Desert of Arizona, the high desert of Santa Fe, New Mexico, all over the place in a motorhome, and for the last 10 years, to the palm trees, beaches, and hurricanes of Florida. This unexpected journey (I <i>never</i> thought I would move so much!!) helped me grow and evolve in ways I never imagined for myself. And, like every life journey, some of it was extremely challenging and some of it was wonderful. <p></p><p>The road took me where I needed to go, and now it has brought me home again. Of course there is no "geographic cure" for life's challenges, so we bring many of those with us. But now I feel like I can face them with my feet planted on familiar ground. </p><p>My new poetry chapbook,<i style="font-weight: bold;"> The Brook in the Woods Behind Our Old House, </i>is the culmination of an exploration of poetry writing that came during the forced isolation of the pandemic. Like everyone else, I was looking for things to do with my time, so I challenged myself to write a poem a day for the whole month of October 2020. That effort produced a <b>lot</b> of <b>gibberish,<i> </i></b>along with a handful of poems that won awards in international poetry competitions in 2021 and 2022. </p><p>The title poem won second prize in the 2022<i> Oprelle</i> <b><i>Coming Home</i> </b>competition and is about a place that was special to me in my childhood. The love of this place was shared by my brother Tom and sister Jessica, so I have dedicated this book to them. My niece, <b>Olivia Hart</b>, who just finished her first year at <i>Pratt Institute School of Art</i>, created the cover for me. So, a family affair :)</p><p style="text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Brook-Woods-Behind-Our-House/dp/B0C5YTH4RD/ref=sr_1_1?crid=12YORU3RUVE5D&keywords=the+brook+in+the+woods+behind+our+old+house&qid=1686404764&sprefix=the+brook+in+t%2Caps%2C95&sr=8-1&asin=B0C5YTH4RD&revisionId=&format=4&depth=1">The Brook in the Woods Behind Our Old House</a></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjf7sWPW67w3Tsa7kowV0a_s1RehwZ5Q48QcFLltETp6STuO-CyqH253qe8VOdQDd1sHb8sWbJ-fFoSzjpguqoGyCXUNXoJoHJ21edgIuidWOyriRjmzyCk0OC4wGs6bTMJHawXi9UmnPAhoY6HCWYRW55c7KbDldrTG3al3S-uN6JEAXw5L_fMpWOQ_g" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjf7sWPW67w3Tsa7kowV0a_s1RehwZ5Q48QcFLltETp6STuO-CyqH253qe8VOdQDd1sHb8sWbJ-fFoSzjpguqoGyCXUNXoJoHJ21edgIuidWOyriRjmzyCk0OC4wGs6bTMJHawXi9UmnPAhoY6HCWYRW55c7KbDldrTG3al3S-uN6JEAXw5L_fMpWOQ_g=w214-h320" width="214" /></a></div><br /><p>The book is available only on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=the+brook+in+the+woods+behind+our+old+house&crid=12YORU3RUVE5D&sprefix=the+brook+in+t%2Caps%2C95&ref=nb_sb_ss_ts-doa-p_1_14">Amazon</a>. If you've been moved by the poems I've shared, perhaps you'd like a copy for yourself, or for someone you know. If you would like a personalized note to go with the book, I have created cards on which I to do that, so contact me through Facebook messenger and I will be happy to send one to you.</p><p>Click on the book title to go to the page on Amazon: <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=the+brook+in+the+woods+behind+our+old+house&crid=2HBW078OZ47ZA&sprefix=the+brook+in+%2Caps%2C114&ref=nb_sb_ss_ts-doa-p_2_13">The Brook in the Woods Behind Our Old House</a></b></p><p><b><i>YouTube video: </i></b></p><p><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ULJs9vQBo9Y" width="320" youtube-src-id="ULJs9vQBo9Y"></iframe></b></div><b><br /><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></b></div><br /></i></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1.2in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><b><i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Brook-Woods-Behind-Our-House/dp/B0C5YTH4RD/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3SHSY70LJIRB&keywords=the+brook+in+the+woods+behind+our+old+house&qid=1686409597&sprefix=the+brook+in%2Caps%2C129&sr=8-1">The Brook in the Woods Behind Our Old House</a></i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1.2in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Walk up the dirt road that runs alongside our old
house. When <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">you crest the hill and the road curves, step into the
brush. Plow <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">through a mess of sumac and blackberry brambles, then
down <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">a small slope and into the trees. It’s cooler here under<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the cathedral of limbs and leaves, where sunlight,
only now <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">and again, sneaks through to sprinkle stars in the
brook. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is where I came when I was small, to play. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is where I came in teenage years, to cry. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And this is where my brother came on a bitter January
day<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">to bargain for Grandma’s life, even though the <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">thermometer read nine degrees and he had to wade, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">half-blind with tears, through deep snow, the wind
biting <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">his face, and the thorns on the dead <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">blackberry canes tearing at his sleeve. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Don’t misunderstand – all favors won’t <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">be granted, or all grandmothers saved. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But the trees will shelter you while <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">the brook’s pulse lulls you to sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Open your sticky eyes to sunlight weaving a path <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">through the leaves, just to caress your face. Wash <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">away your crusted tears and let the soft breeze dry your
cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.2in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Fill your empty pockets with acorns when you go.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p><p> </p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-34994883101896036562021-12-21T05:40:00.003-08:002021-12-21T08:13:24.081-08:00Life is Beautiful, Life is Hard - The Movie<p> Following up from last months' Life is Beautiful, Life is Hard post....</p><p>So many friends have been expressing the struggle and sadness they feel at this time of year. Memories of Christmases past can remind us of our losses - people, places, traditions, togetherness. At the same time, we are being prodded to be "merry and bright." It's hard.</p><p>But we also know that life is still beautiful. We all have something for which to be grateful - people to love, ways to make a difference in the world, sunlight on water, the full moon rising over snow, food and shelter, the grace we are shown daily.</p><p>Can we find a way to cherish and honor our losses, while also appreciating what is good in our lives <i>now</i>? Can we accept that every life holds <i>both</i> deep suffering and great joy? If we <i>truly</i> embraced that understanding, would we treat ourselves - and each other - with more kindness?</p><p>I created this short meditation practice video to help us find our way. Sit comfortably, breath naturally, and listen. I hope you may find it helpful.</p><p>Wishing a peaceful Christmas and holiday season to all, and may the new year bring you many blessings.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ung_eIl-Ji8" width="320" youtube-src-id="Ung_eIl-Ji8"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-30480005958549027682021-11-14T08:52:00.001-08:002021-11-14T10:49:54.478-08:00Life is Beautiful, Life is Hard<p>Life is beautiful. Life is hard.</p><p>A friend said those words to me recently, after reading a Facebook post in which I described two consecutive days in October. On the first day, my husband, who is 81 and has Parkinson's, fell, almost first thing in the day. Now mind you, the Parkinson's makes him very unsteady when initiating movement or turning, so he falls several times a month. For a slim guy, he bounces pretty well, and hasn't really hurt himself. But when it happens, it's always a shock. Sometimes, we just laugh and say, "Phew! Close call!" Other times, like that day, it upsets us and hovers over the day like a dark cloud, portending an imagined future doom. </p><p>The next day, I received word that one of my poems had done well - for the second time - in an international poetry competition. For me, this was a sign that I am not wasting my time when I sit down to put words on paper. That among my gifts is the ability to put words together in a way that moves people. A sign that I should keep going, keep working, keep playing, with words. </p><p>Life is beautiful. Life is hard. One day you fall, the next day you get good news.</p><p>Life is beautiful. Life is hard. I practice living with this daily now. Not just in my meditation practice, but in my thought process throughout the day: </p><p>Can I hold in one hand the knowledge that things change, that everything is temporary, including our loved ones and ourselves, that bad news can come at any moment, that we can be laughing one minute and crying out in pain the next because we've taken a fall, the mind fearful of what might come next,</p><p>and in the other, hold</p><p>the joy of watching ducks float by on the pond, simple daily rituals, a chat with a friend, a laugh with my brother or sister, an appreciative word from a student, a handwritten note in the mail, a 50% off sale, sun sparkling on water, having a home and all I need to live, getting up again after a fall with only a bruised knee and ego, a bit of good news about my writing?</p><p>Life is beautiful. Life is hard. This is my practice now. Allowing for both, without clinging to one or denying the other. Holding one in my left hand, and the other in my right. Bringing my hands together in front of my heart. Allowing them to mingle and co-exist.</p><p>Life is beautiful. Life is hard. </p><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-52504899841470467122021-08-22T08:10:00.000-07:002021-08-22T08:10:24.630-07:00It's ALL Art<p style="text-align: justify;">Dick came across this quote and said he wanted to use it in his end-of-August blog post over at his painting blog, <a href="http://painterofthesouthwest.blogspot.com">Painter of Southwest Visions</a> (click on the link to see some of his work - painting is <i>his</i> art form). When he read the quote to me, I cried, "That's <b><i>PERFECT</i> </b>for my next blog post too!"</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhWqLKdG2zxAVpj5aE5xUOuBYEhApf4gQos_CwRGXseGu_LvIeOU3Xup9zAeZ7TZo975VxzpmcLHExdNfJpBWYcivVWt7ts4lcGRU7zMMh3qyemFrEG0C00JbRATCNW2SGMK1-R9gxCmC/s818/Seth+Godin+quote.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="818" data-original-width="650" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQhWqLKdG2zxAVpj5aE5xUOuBYEhApf4gQos_CwRGXseGu_LvIeOU3Xup9zAeZ7TZo975VxzpmcLHExdNfJpBWYcivVWt7ts4lcGRU7zMMh3qyemFrEG0C00JbRATCNW2SGMK1-R9gxCmC/w318-h400/Seth+Godin+quote.JPG" width="318" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">From the beginning of our journey in the <i>Live Your Creative Life class </i>series, we've reinforced this idea that "art" and "creativity" can relate to <i>any aspect of life</i>. And that expressing ourselves creatively takes courage. It's risky to show our real selves, especially in this time of social media, where cruelty can hide in anonymity. Even the judgement of friends who just don't have the same taste as we do, or don't "get" what we are going for (or who are jealous because we are honoring our creativity and they aren't - YES, this is a real, and very human thing!), can dampen our joy and make us not want to share ourselves so openly. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">But we must have <i>courage</i>, because it's's <i>absolutely necessary</i>. As Godin says, art is in our souls. We must not let other voices get in the way. We must speak clearly and confidently with our own voices. When someone doesn't appreciate what we've done, we don't have to feel bad! We can just say, "It's okay, you do <i>you</i>, and I'll do <i>me</i>!" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">As we end the class series, we look ahead to maintaining our stamina, courage, and commitment to living our creative lives, in every way that speaks to us. How we dress, wear our hair, decorate our homes, plan our gardens, care for our loved ones; how we paint, write, sculpt, sew, arrange the pillows, sing, play. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Here's a photo of me as I continue playing with the illustrations for my children's poems. This has been more <i>FUN</i> than I ever imagined - I find myself smiling at the idea of it, while doing it, and at the perfectly imperfect results. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TJGDxZKfd9tlQZtJinK_86S9wvpcpa8R1gARVAXNHecToFMagF13-Hasw95ymg_T5OqEU_BteRULWadAaY9yZZCSGrHBtjIrp0DcLX4kB6GBqVJkymYWrvI6ulo77EiUmQ5p1Y4bhwfz/s2048/Me+painting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1416" data-original-width="2048" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TJGDxZKfd9tlQZtJinK_86S9wvpcpa8R1gARVAXNHecToFMagF13-Hasw95ymg_T5OqEU_BteRULWadAaY9yZZCSGrHBtjIrp0DcLX4kB6GBqVJkymYWrvI6ulo77EiUmQ5p1Y4bhwfz/w400-h276/Me+painting.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">After this, I plan on posting monthly rather than weekly, though I will post in between if there is something I really need to share! Thank you for joining me on this journey, and I look forward to seeing your souls shine through whatever art you create!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Much love,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Melissa</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-74148301727169280612021-08-15T08:36:00.000-07:002021-08-15T08:36:22.626-07:00Train Your Heart to Listen<p><i>"Each time I write a book, every time I face that yellow pad, the challenge is so great. I have written eleven books, but each time I think, "Uh oh, they're going to find me out now. I've run a game on everybody and they're going to find me out."</i> <i><b>~Maya Angelou </b></i> </p><p><i>MAYA ANGELOU!</i> Wow! If <i>she</i> felt that way, no wonder the rest of us often feel inadequate to act on our creative impulses! </p><p>Continuing to follow our theme of overcoming the o<i>bstacles and barriers</i> that arise as we undertake our creative journeys, I'm taking inspiration this week from <i>Sarah Ban Breathnach</i>, author of <b><i>Simple Abundance </i></b>- a book that changed my life when it came out 25 years ago and has been my dear friend and constant companion ever since. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBHZRwECpo4nEw07QFR27rgUqmHxVGYg6oDluhpMGfRbFyG9vm-4UtyaVqkELmliXSpgp-HgDsfIREyJZwKFVX7zfo99aHcCd3Kl6vWvARfN1HSgskRj2SCrVwF1ahNVamcErTosntNIc/s2048/Simple+Abundance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1498" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWBHZRwECpo4nEw07QFR27rgUqmHxVGYg6oDluhpMGfRbFyG9vm-4UtyaVqkELmliXSpgp-HgDsfIREyJZwKFVX7zfo99aHcCd3Kl6vWvARfN1HSgskRj2SCrVwF1ahNVamcErTosntNIc/s320/Simple+Abundance.jpg" width="234" /></a></div><br /><p><b><i>In her August 13th entry, Breathnach writes:</i></b></p><p><i>"Many of us have unconsciously erected seemingly insurmountable barriers to protect ourselves from failing or succeeding. We may think we're protecting ourselves by ignoring or denying our creative impulses, but really all we're doing is burying our authentic selves alive."</i></p><p>She goes on to say that we must learn to "remove the rubble of the opinions and judgements of others," including our our internal censors, and tune in to a higher harmonic, a greater universe of creative inspiration that will immediately come to our aid and boost our efforts.</p><p>I particularly like this passage: </p><p><i>"Spirit speaks to you constantly throughout the day. You may experience a hunch, perk up at the suggestion of a friend, or follow an urge to try something new on a whim. <b>Train your heart to listen.</b> Today, adjust your spiritual satellite. Tune in to the higher harmonic frequency for help as you continue your authentic, artistic pilgrimage to wholeness." </i></p><p><b><i>This week,</i></b> I switched my creative efforts from illustrating my children's poems to preparing to teach a chant class. It's interesting how we tend to assign the label <i>"creative"</i> to certain activities - writing, painting, sculpting, decorating, acting are all <i>"obviously creative."</i> But we tend not to assign the creative label to things we do for our jobs - that's "work" and we tend not to think of our work as creative! </p><p>But for me, every class I teach is a creative effort. Every class is different, unique, and my hope is always to share my experience and what I've learned in ways that will be meaningful to students. <i>So,</i> though I was excited to share this practice with students, it still brought up anxiety for me for several reasons: </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>I have not taught a class with <i>this</i> particular focus before and didn't have any previously tested approaches to fall back on - I had to develop it from scratch</li><li>I had a vision in mind for the experience that I wanted to come through in the practice</li><li>Having been the one my family described as "<i>not being able to carry a tune in a bucket</i>," any time I put myself in the position of having my musical voice heard, I have to overcome those old (no longer valid) judgements.</li></ul><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxmt56FGEBrUUiH95uU7VJca-nXwNqV8FR1u_DmYnR9ixLZECPpAlFfEIBVsRBI6iSmsHaIbK-iokPvdI5RgnHZDo-fVBBiZNlcdx-USXMI9D60mHxCW28l3ldc0OajnnGN1On1I7dseA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="952" data-original-width="736" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkxmt56FGEBrUUiH95uU7VJca-nXwNqV8FR1u_DmYnR9ixLZECPpAlFfEIBVsRBI6iSmsHaIbK-iokPvdI5RgnHZDo-fVBBiZNlcdx-USXMI9D60mHxCW28l3ldc0OajnnGN1On1I7dseA/" width="186" /></a></div><br /><b><i>But</i>, </b>just as Breathnach described, the moment I took the leap, a <i>cascade</i> <i>of ideas</i> and an <i>intuitive sense of how to put them together </i>presented themselves. I listened, played around with it, let it evolve, practiced it, and landed on something that I loved and which felt good to me. Then, I crossed my fingers, toes, and eyes, and hoped - no, <i>trusted - </i>that it would also work for the participants. </div><p></p><p><b><i>Let's end with this quote from </i></b><i><b>Joseph Murphy</b></i>:</p><p><i>"Infinite riches are all around you if you will open your mental eyes and behold the treasure house of infinity within you. There is a gold mine within you from which you can extract everything you need to live life gloriously, joyously, and abundantly."</i></p><p>Open the door of your heart and <i>train it to listen</i> - everything you need is already there, waiting for you. </p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-41830212177565783832021-08-07T09:44:00.002-07:002021-08-07T13:45:55.196-07:00Do Something That Doesn't Matter<p> <i>"Be brave enough to live creatively. The creative is the place where no one else has ever been. You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. You cannot get there by bus, only by hard work, risking and by not quite knowing what you are doing. What you will discover will be wonderful: Yourself."</i> </p><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>~ Alan Alda</p><p>In the context of this little blog and the summer creativity series I'm leading, Alda's words really resonate. It takes courage to be creative, because it means putting our true selves on display in the world, and that, of course, opens us to being judged. Even if it's only about the new haircut you decided to try, or changing up the way you dress, or the new drapes in your dining room, (which I'm still not sure about!) showing our real selves to the world is a courageous step. </p><p>Last week's post encouraged us to <i>set goals</i>. A day later, I got a small stye in my eye, which is always a sign that I am tired. I felt tired even though I didn't think I had any reason to be, but the stye was physical confirmation of my intuition. </p><p>Having encouraged us all to set goals for August, I then wondered how I could live up to them, given my sore eye and general feeling of lethargy. I reflected on this for a while, and decided that I would conserve energy by putting myself on a sort of creative retreat, in which the <i>ONLY</i> thing I did was work on one of my goals - one that didn't really <i>matter</i>.</p><p>Now I need to explain what I mean by <i>not mattering,</i> because why would you work on something if it <i>doesn't matter</i>? </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbhouFBWaDryLtgVS6RwyRlshcypkQRtI1rcba2Hm3vdb_1X4KMfnrFDKhgxAxmKSLO9V7GCDkcvZNB61SyFeM49r3c2wz6bfTB01EKOrc6F8-opUcQa3UXhawisVCwqGSt1a3pSF4o8_/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="679" data-original-width="632" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbhouFBWaDryLtgVS6RwyRlshcypkQRtI1rcba2Hm3vdb_1X4KMfnrFDKhgxAxmKSLO9V7GCDkcvZNB61SyFeM49r3c2wz6bfTB01EKOrc6F8-opUcQa3UXhawisVCwqGSt1a3pSF4o8_/w125-h134/image.png" width="125" /></a></div></div><p></p><p>I have a few different creative projects - a novel I've been working on for five years, developing a collection of my poems, and illustrating some children's poems I wrote a long time ago. </p><p><i>The book</i> carries a lot of <i>weight </i>in terms of my creative goals. I've been working on it longer than any of my previous books. It has a personal connection and there's a good story that I want to tell. I'm well invested in it, 31 chapters in. I want to finish it and then figure out how to get it into the world. I have <i>dreams and desired outcomes </i>for this book.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLhel6nd2CwZvjBLYnBlC2yuA0o1eZh1ZeGb-oY0D4Uyq8y82AYnDrssx6CtvK8XTA4ukHrG-PLSVfJ1QEYkjbYnu7dYacVqBsclLexhv7PYUIS1BxVEJxPj3qDmuiq54CIM_SvCnXjdW/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="101" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLhel6nd2CwZvjBLYnBlC2yuA0o1eZh1ZeGb-oY0D4Uyq8y82AYnDrssx6CtvK8XTA4ukHrG-PLSVfJ1QEYkjbYnu7dYacVqBsclLexhv7PYUIS1BxVEJxPj3qDmuiq54CIM_SvCnXjdW/w153-h101/image.png" width="153" /></a></div><br /><i>My developing poetry collection</i> carries less weight - I finetune my work, scribble new thoughts as they come, occasionally submit to competitions. There's no timeline - you can't rush poetry.<p></p><p><i>Illustrating my children's poems</i> is simply something that started with our creativity class - a way to be creative outside my comfort zone. This project really <i>doesn't matter</i>, because I haven't invested in any particular outcomes from it, and look at it as <i>playing</i>.</p><p>I've spent all week at my dining room table with paper, watercolor pencils and brushes, having the loveliest time. I didn't <i>think</i> too much about what to do, I just starting sketching and then painting. I lost myself for hours in the joy of doing something we did as kids. It was simply <i>FUN</i>. I had <i>no idea</i> if what I was doing would look good or be totally embarrassing, but I took comfort in the idea that even the incomparable <i>Alan Alda</i> sometimes didn't know what he was doing!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJy6bXNzAUzxKtkxndgXOJspc-TYujKAc0Am9p5C6vXjYeXaj6nKb4sBjVbNSX4pXAxvuZ2oIJx7zL9ak7iUTbKVL6alIWZxOJJF7mNcysZpeHSqMAGQKbauJ_2gL_7ISVNuVZMYItXg3u/s2048/Playing+with+Art.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1387" data-original-width="2048" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJy6bXNzAUzxKtkxndgXOJspc-TYujKAc0Am9p5C6vXjYeXaj6nKb4sBjVbNSX4pXAxvuZ2oIJx7zL9ak7iUTbKVL6alIWZxOJJF7mNcysZpeHSqMAGQKbauJ_2gL_7ISVNuVZMYItXg3u/w400-h271/Playing+with+Art.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><p><i>And</i>...I really love what I came up with! The scenes are fun, whimsical, and <i>perfectly imperfect</i>. Who knows if anyone else will ever see them? <i>It doesn't matter!</i></p><p><i>(The drapes that I'm still not sure about can be seen here - the ones anchoring the window. Also, no one will be eating at the dining room table any time soon!)</i></p><p><b>So what does it mean to be creatively brave?</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Listening to your own intuitive voice</li><li>Ignoring all other voices - whether they be critical <i>or</i> filled with praise</li><li>Giving something a try</li><li>Doing your best without expectation of any particular outcome</li><li>Expressing the <i>unique, perfectly imperfect you</i> that you are</li></ul><div><i>This coming week, just listen to your own voice and do what YOU want - at least some of the time! Preferably, something that doesn't really matter!</i></div><div><br /></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-46263405484302758662021-07-31T14:21:00.001-07:002021-08-02T09:01:30.789-07:00Dog Days of Summer<p>I always thought the expression <i><b>Dog Days of Summe</b>r</i> referred to those days we'd get in August that were so hot and humid, even the dogs just wanted to lay around and do nothing. </p><p>But the saying actually comes from the bright star, <i>Sirius</i>, which in late July into mid-August, aligns with the sun. Sirius is the brightest star seen anywhere from earth and is part of the constellation, <i><b>Canis Major, or, The Greater Dog</b>. </i>Who knew?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQE9-uRsnb2c3ztrco2OSOlbGzfAT7MhhfSmGyaVnkZg9tICI42YLBqlk7EbxjrVIF_p7l981pTI2FikdIuslbfRPqowmPixL3FtqMdTzEIIg0A3hodHeMtp7qM9hn9BV3sTuOziuiwop3/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="156" data-original-width="198" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQE9-uRsnb2c3ztrco2OSOlbGzfAT7MhhfSmGyaVnkZg9tICI42YLBqlk7EbxjrVIF_p7l981pTI2FikdIuslbfRPqowmPixL3FtqMdTzEIIg0A3hodHeMtp7qM9hn9BV3sTuOziuiwop3/" width="305" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;">In New England, where I grew up, we moaned about those hot, humid, dog days. There, August is like the end of summer. Things start to wind down with Labor Day, and you know you can expect September to bring cooler nights and days with delightful temps. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now I live in Florida, where August is more like <i>mid-summer</i>, with a lot more hot, humid weather to come, and no real relief until late October or even November. The idea of it can really drag you down if you let it....</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>So, how does that relate to our summer creativity class?</i> Well, we're two months into it now, and our last meeting is at the end of the month. Right about now, you might be running out of steam and it can be hard to keep the momentum going, especially if you are feeling any sort of dog-day-drag. Time for a little re-boot coming into the home stretch.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0auJArzigSV5SvbW7D9k41jdLqLssUN3oUS5huNotxBMoPoH_R4ULm51rbjz0n6KyBOXYAqUB3wWPhE7fHO5voSvMAn_WNEmaCqxg3gmo_UUEQu_0PoeJuRsLgIyRE97K6yt5lMOUB_4/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="437" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0auJArzigSV5SvbW7D9k41jdLqLssUN3oUS5huNotxBMoPoH_R4ULm51rbjz0n6KyBOXYAqUB3wWPhE7fHO5voSvMAn_WNEmaCqxg3gmo_UUEQu_0PoeJuRsLgIyRE97K6yt5lMOUB_4/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>My suggestion for August is to set some small, achieveable goals to keep you motivated</i>. This could be just one small thing each week that stirs your creative soul or moves you forward. It could be as simple as reading a book that inspires you, taking walks in nature or meditating. Dreaming and planning are creative endeavors too....</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Or, you can set some goals that really challenge you! The main thing is that by setting some kind of goals, and particularly, <i>writing them down</i> - you hold yourself accountable - for listening to and nurturing that creative flame inside you - the one we reignited in our first class. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b>These are the goals I'm setting for August:</b></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>By month-end, have completed the final versions of the sketches to go with the first poem in my collection of poetry for kids.</li><li>Spend time quietly revisiting the notes from my David Whyte seminars, and see what inspiration arises</li><li>Write a rough draft of the next chapter in my book. It can be a messy first draft, but that's okay.</li></ul><div><br /></div><div><b>Since our last class focused on overcoming obstacles that can block our creative paths, I'll end with this quote from dancer <i>Martha Graham</i>, who reminds us how important every individual's creative contributions are:</b></div><div><br /></div><div><i>"There is a vitality, a life-force, an energy, a quickening, that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost. The world will not have it."</i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div><br /><p></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-5777057054668529502021-07-24T12:05:00.007-07:002021-07-26T08:28:43.438-07:00Breathing is an Art Form<p> I'll start this post by letting my creativity workshop group know that I realize I forgot to do the "What is it?" exercise I had in mind, so we'll start with that when we meet next month! </p><p>As a creative exercise in between now and then, I invite you to try <i>drawing the negative space</i>. This is an approach that artists use - they draw the part that isn't there! Even if drawing isn't your creative realm, it can be a valuable exercise for stimulating the imagination, seeing beyond the obvious, and loosening the constraints of perfectionism. </p><p>Try it with something that has simple lines and shape, like this jar. Just start sketching in the space <i>around</i> the jar....</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGU8kB3ul7feFWlouydTLyYHDKXMWtmyEsM00frh8MwMnhqj176w4UE7QKD8W1RpdUXlCpesnLKZcqgDw0NFrn1i5KObVjdFwklEeGuIItj2HzJv7moUIoe6J-xBpU3eBW-nRgwx8wssT6/s2048/Green+Jar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGU8kB3ul7feFWlouydTLyYHDKXMWtmyEsM00frh8MwMnhqj176w4UE7QKD8W1RpdUXlCpesnLKZcqgDw0NFrn1i5KObVjdFwklEeGuIItj2HzJv7moUIoe6J-xBpU3eBW-nRgwx8wssT6/s320/Green+Jar.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our class this month focused on identifying the <b><i>blockages</i></b> that arose for us as we tried to move forward with creative pursuits. Our yoga practices focused on <b><i>reinvigorating our voices </i></b>- literal and figurative voices - with confidence and authenticity, through physical movement, breath, and chant.</div><p>I think we tend to think that famous creative people are different from us - that they don't experience the same obstacles we do. So I was blown away by this quote from Georgia O'Keefe. Turns out that she experienced having her voice shut down in a variety of ways, but ultimately <i>used</i> that frustration to fuel the fire of her authentic artistic voice:</p><p><i>"I found myself saying to myself...I can't live where I want to...I can't go where I want to...I can't do what I want to. I can't even say what I wanted to. I decided I was a very stupid fool not to at least paint as I wanted to...that seemed to be the only thing I could do that didn't concern anybody but myself." <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>~Georgia O'Keefe</i></p><p>With regard to ways of dealing with barriers that arose, a wealth of helpful insight and wisdom was shared by students. Here are just two examples, with thanks to all participants for their courage and honesty in sharing their experiences and learnings:.</p><p><i>"Breathing is an art form. Give yourself the time and space for what you need." </i></p><div><i>"This pandemic has caused me to realize that I need to redesign a whole new way of living, which reminded me that life itself is a creative process."</i></div><div><br /></div><p>Here's a list of the common obstacles to creativity that we identified. Feel free to add your own!</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Time (lack of)</li><li>Energy (lack of)</li><li>Difficulty balancing responsibilities with creative pursuits</li><li>Too many good ideas! In ability to focus in on one thing.</li><li>Fear of being judged</li><li>Fear of being silenced</li><li>Fear of success</li><li>Fear of failure</li><li>Perfectionism</li><li>Forgetting that everything we do can be a creative endeavor!</li><li>The tyranny of "should" and "ought to"</li><li>Getting started</li></ul><p></p><p>And some of our practices to move past, through, over, under and around those obstacles!</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i>Find even just a little bit of quiet time to just let things be</i></li><li><i>Try mind quieting techniques like meditation and focusing on the breath</i></li><li><i>Distract yourself - do something else for a while</i></li><li><i>Do what you're afraid to do (like getting feedback! Like sitting down at the desk or easel!)</i></li><li><i>Do something creative that has nothing to do with your primary creative goals. Try a new recipe, dance, draw if you write, write if you draw, rearrange the pillows!</i></li><li><i>Give yourself credit for being creative with the small things of daily life</i></li></ul><div>It helps to remember that creativity doesn't have to be BIG and that sometimes it's okay (and necessary) not to be creative at all! I'll end with this quote that speaks to just that:</div><div><br /></div><div><i>"One must also accept that one has "uncreative" moments. The more honestly one can accept that, the quicker these moments will pass." </i>~ Etty Hillesum</div><div><br /></div><div>So, to reiterate the wisdom of one of our participants: <i>Breathing is an art form. Give yourself the space you need.</i></div><div><br /></div><p></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-66370665920187121172021-07-15T15:18:00.009-07:002021-07-15T15:58:17.026-07:00Open and Listen<p style="text-align: justify;">For this week's inspiration and encouragement, <i>Open and Listen</i>, I'm sharing another excerpt from Jack Kornfield's book, <i><b>No Time Like the Present</b>.</i> These thoughts pick up where we left off last week, with the idea of <i>trusting the process.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>From </i><b>No Time Like the Present</b><i>, by Jack Kornfield:</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>"Creativity is a way of allowing the ever-renewing energies of life to move through you....</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>"When you open yourself to creativity, faith in life's wellspring grows. This trust allows you to listen, collaborate, fail, discover, explore and see anew. <b>As you open and listen, something new will be born</b>.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>"Creativity needs letting go, an attentive releasing to allow something new to be born. Follow your instincts, your feelings, your senses, your body. let a small feeling of irritation become a rivulet that leads to a poem...Let a jiggling foot or a tense shoulder make a movement that grows into dance....</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>"Initiate wildly, break up, build up, try deliberate errors, circle, get down, get over your ideas, get over yourself, and above all, trust..."</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Here's a photo of my husband, Dick, breaking into spontaneous dance while packing up our house in Santa Fe, NM. It's an old photo, but it always cracks me up. Be like Dick!</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnM_U_0uESUKj4CVBmIFapasIy9aGOqFmVQuBp1PhuEsJG17La648TDH-ymHYOkm9K107K0n0c1p0_QxDfFjeAdR2-unvo-7lgJgKIHgPuQw52VSkHy5uFdxBKqB0H9VYWjHSUtMmZFvmg/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="1880" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnM_U_0uESUKj4CVBmIFapasIy9aGOqFmVQuBp1PhuEsJG17La648TDH-ymHYOkm9K107K0n0c1p0_QxDfFjeAdR2-unvo-7lgJgKIHgPuQw52VSkHy5uFdxBKqB0H9VYWjHSUtMmZFvmg/w400-h266/image.png" width="400" /></a></i></div><i><br /></i>We talked a lot about intuition, listening to and <i>trusting</i> our inner voice, during our first class in June. In fact, the whole class focused on this idea of bringing our intuitive feelings and our emotional feelings into alignment, so that when we express our creativity - in whatever form - it will reflect our <i>own authentic voices</i>, unaffected and uncensored by the ideas, opinions or voices of others.<p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">As we move through July, I invite you to continue listening - not just with your ears, but with your <i>inner</i> ears - your intuitive, emotional and physical senses. What <i>feels</i> right to you?</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>I like these suggestions from Kornfield for activities to help us on this journey:</i></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: justify;">Take walks, without friend or phone. Look at the sky, the trees, nature with all its subtleties. Listen.</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Imagine that you are starring in the movie of your life. See your role, your part in the story. Much of it is already written, but you choose what happens next, and how to play your part.</li><li style="text-align: justify;">Envision your whole life as a work of art. What might you add to make it more interesting, more stylish, more beautiful, more fun? </li></ul><div style="text-align: justify;">In our July class, we'll be talking about obstacles that get in the way of expressing our creativity. I suspect that one we might all share is one that Kornfield mentions above - <i>getting over ourselves!</i> I experienced this very thing last week, and I'll share more about that when we meet. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Our inspiration for this coming week is <i>Open and Listen</i>...and I also love Kornfield's suggestion of making <i>deliberate </i>errors, so I think I'll give that a try!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><p></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-86124012278157409832021-07-09T14:52:00.000-07:002024-02-08T12:34:30.412-08:00Trust the Process<p>This summer I'm leading an online workshop series called <b>Live Your Creative Life: A Yoga Workshop to Help Your Creativity Blossom and Grow</b>. Our class meets once a month in June, July, and August to explore yoga practices and fun exercises geared toward re-igniting and nurturing the flame of creativity that lives inside us all. </p><p>Between monthly classes, we'll use this blog to stay connected and motivated. On a weekly basis, I'll share ideas, quotes, tips, and anything else that I come across or experience that might help keep that flame lit, especially as the journey proceeds and inevitable obstacles emerge. </p><p>Of course, <i>anyone</i> who happens to stop by here is welcome to make use of what is shared too!</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUI6RfZw0_WBnuWYunUuDC48JIiuRJ163GJi6PODc23TMA1yF-SdJVBa1KJb5Jcpmijti4DJYjTk7QK8Azrv_D0n3TMG05T20gMd6w_l9Qr4pCeO4Q4-pPm259z9ae6HYH_IiDrs8E3grn/s2048/No+Time+Like+the+Present.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUI6RfZw0_WBnuWYunUuDC48JIiuRJ163GJi6PODc23TMA1yF-SdJVBa1KJb5Jcpmijti4DJYjTk7QK8Azrv_D0n3TMG05T20gMd6w_l9Qr4pCeO4Q4-pPm259z9ae6HYH_IiDrs8E3grn/w150-h200/No+Time+Like+the+Present.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br /><p><b>This week</b>, I offer an excerpt called <b>Crafting Your Life, </b>from<b> <i>No Time Like the Present</i> </b>by<b> Jack Kornfield:</b></p><p><i>"You may think, I'm not an artist or even a creative person. But you are, and the canvas is your life.</i></p><p><i>Your life is a creation, whether wild or small, whether limited to a chair in the corner of a room or to a hospital bed, whether traveling to Timbuktu, having a fabulous family, or six generations of family dysfunction....</i></p><p><i>Every life is a visionary journey, a creative palette. Wherever you are, step back and reflect. What is the most beautiful vision you have for your life's canvas, <b>starting just where you are</b>?"</i></p><p>As you consider these words, which might present a different view of creativity from how you've thought about it in the past, reflect on these questions Kornfield offers:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><i><b>What is the vision of your life?</b></i></li><li><i><b>What limits your imagination?</b></i></li><li><i><b>What is your style?</b></i></li><li><i><b>What kind of "art" do you want to make?</b></i></li></ul><div>Perhaps choose just <i>one</i> question, sit with paper and pen, and freely write down anything that comes to mind. Try not to think too much, just let words flow onto paper. You may be surprised at what reveals itself!</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>My own <span style="color: red;">AHA Moment</span> from this past week:</b></div><div><br /></div><div>My creativity goal this week was to start sketching scenes to illustrate some children's poems I've written. I envision the result as being a picture book of read-aloud poems for young children. There are four poems, each quite different from the others.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58FVjG6icMK-O41W4doTv3vXCGhewNL8xtDkrYNx8aGCi5QZwmRGge92if1LzTCKbuuww-cx0cWssCZ4Q1PuLWANTYzHqV3fz8ro_64WoaajffL-GjchvbEgR91BlmkZvyrMHRNMpxtWe/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="512" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58FVjG6icMK-O41W4doTv3vXCGhewNL8xtDkrYNx8aGCi5QZwmRGge92if1LzTCKbuuww-cx0cWssCZ4Q1PuLWANTYzHqV3fz8ro_64WoaajffL-GjchvbEgR91BlmkZvyrMHRNMpxtWe/" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Got my coffee. Got my colored pencils. Got my blank sketch book. Got my candle.</i></div><div><br /></div></div><div>I played around with scenes for the first poem, and couldn't believe how gleeful - almost giddy - I felt as I remembered how much fun it is to draw! I gave myself permission to scribble and play and let it all be messy and amateurish. To just let the ideas come through the pencils and not worry if the drawings were "good."</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCqqFXopIdBzDibJi8B5Y3bZtkKJUDi7nlmYm48EyPm0he8xlPY6ZuS0X0X0g8kxS_X7uKZUo03DH0tGskfkL7g9NnqCpuYAKW504H3-N3NV9YhMRolYkLFVMz5dp-CG2S7yLHwdtTMrD/s2048/sketches.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1279" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrCqqFXopIdBzDibJi8B5Y3bZtkKJUDi7nlmYm48EyPm0he8xlPY6ZuS0X0X0g8kxS_X7uKZUo03DH0tGskfkL7g9NnqCpuYAKW504H3-N3NV9YhMRolYkLFVMz5dp-CG2S7yLHwdtTMrD/s320/sketches.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Scribbles and sketches</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">But my </span><b style="text-align: left;">Big AHA</b><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><b style="text-align: left;">Moment</b><span style="text-align: left;"> actually had </span><b style="text-align: left;">nothing</b><span style="text-align: left;"> to do with the drawings themselves! </span></div><div><br /></div><div>The drawings for the first poem use a girl and boy as characters. As I re-read the other poems and began thinking about the images that might accompany them, I realized that, for kids, it would probably be most enjoyable to have the <i>same two characters</i> be the "stars" of all four poems. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXV9NJAhlGzenMgrYRetZrAjvB7eeZXwoBEUjC9iCVOMvU-JU47k7Z0dlFDUe6LIfT9yPxv7HSorkU0nAHpA3JfFbDL7wVCR7eDpr1S2iRPTIZ1NCXGIV45iXUG1smreLdBknnvT82GmYy/s2928/Take+my+hand+and+fly+with+me.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="2928" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXV9NJAhlGzenMgrYRetZrAjvB7eeZXwoBEUjC9iCVOMvU-JU47k7Z0dlFDUe6LIfT9yPxv7HSorkU0nAHpA3JfFbDL7wVCR7eDpr1S2iRPTIZ1NCXGIV45iXUG1smreLdBknnvT82GmYy/s320/Take+my+hand+and+fly+with+me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>An idea emerges...</i></div><br /><div>It's one of those situations where, once the <b>AHA</b> comes, it seems so <i>obvious</i> that you wonder why you didn't think of it before! For me, it's a great reminder of how the creative process works - by simply <i>engaging in it,</i> the door opens for new ideas to present themselves - or ideas that have <i>been there all along </i>and just needed to be invited to speak up! </div><div><br /></div><div>I suddenly feel like this little book idea has a direction, a <i>cohesion</i>, that wasn't there before, and which makes me much more excited about it!</div><p></p><p></p><div><i><b>So my own tip for you this week is</b></i>: <b>Trust the Process!</b> Trust that if you do even <i>just a little something</i> toward your goal, there will be a shift and something new will be revealed!</div><p></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-38755911519362236362021-04-06T05:55:00.005-07:002021-04-06T12:46:23.104-07:00K is for Kuan Yin and Kilts<p> I really had a hard time feeling inspired for this K post, so I decided to just go with a few things that popped into my mind. It's not that there isn't plenty of inspiration out there, it's just that I didn't feel drawn to writing about any of it!</p><p>Kuan Yin is the Chinese goddess of compassion. You'll also see her name as Quan Yin and Guan Yin, but this is a K post, so.....</p><p>Her story is that she was first born a man, whose mission was to help lost souls be reborn into a better life on their way to enlightenment. But he drowned in anguish under the weight of their suffering, and in despair, shattered into a thousand pieces.</p><p>From his remains, he was reshaped into a woman, better equipped to bring compassion and mercy into the world. Kuan Yin has a thousand arms and eyes in the palms of each hand so that she can see people's suffering and reach out to them in comfort. </p><p>She is depicted as a calm, gentle, middle-aged woman who radiates serenity, and is known as the protector of sailors, merchants, those who are imprisoned, and women. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoQpfO49ArCZ6EsnqZ51pDN7m7YW_KBceQpB-H8MnqhoPLM8-ZyDY9TJz5m8hcfHfuXAfwxGsAqS-gw7n9BNu6_4J-YFiAahyphenhyphenal63rjvJJe-0znOW3Jj4WZLpzkF00NBUkr31dbk0CwAo9/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1192" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoQpfO49ArCZ6EsnqZ51pDN7m7YW_KBceQpB-H8MnqhoPLM8-ZyDY9TJz5m8hcfHfuXAfwxGsAqS-gw7n9BNu6_4J-YFiAahyphenhyphenal63rjvJJe-0znOW3Jj4WZLpzkF00NBUkr31dbk0CwAo9/w298-h400/image.png" width="298" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Okay, so now about kilts. </p><p>When I was growing up in New England in the 1960's - 1970's, kilts were popular. Beautiful, soft woolen plaids with the large gold pin to hold the flap in place. I thought they were fabulous. The Clan MacPherson, which marched in our town parades and played bagpipes, wore them.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BchT2PnfvQY" width="320" youtube-src-id="BchT2PnfvQY"></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lately, we've enjoyed watching Men in Kilts, with two of the stars from Outlander (Sam Heughan and Graham McTavish) taking us on a road trip through Scotland and sharing its tradition and history. Ever since watching the series Shetland during the pandemic, we have been in love with Scotland. The show is interesting, funny and educational. And these guys look great in kilts, just sayin'. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cheers!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJdvHXPtdF40M2iYaKkApTNYuY9LyCRrjMVYFyiSJxAyIkCC6HHOfcl793xKYSanVGCPSJOg3DFu2LcxGDEUBX8m2Hascl5O7vrbo97jIxt_7aak7wvPt0jRlpCcdPs6toFtpkPr7lSuc/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="1200" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJdvHXPtdF40M2iYaKkApTNYuY9LyCRrjMVYFyiSJxAyIkCC6HHOfcl793xKYSanVGCPSJOg3DFu2LcxGDEUBX8m2Hascl5O7vrbo97jIxt_7aak7wvPt0jRlpCcdPs6toFtpkPr7lSuc/w640-h322/image.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-26518349170194644042021-03-20T14:51:00.004-07:002021-03-20T14:51:43.182-07:00Jungle Gym<p> This meme has been around for a while:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgk6cZ_98tZeAFli2q98VHLtuGl3crJVTzIjm6-ejOvipnTtzs0rLpy50tIp5Dfn8Ec9sD3fG-VmyFC-KNNfxZcO7rjnvpOvnozuDdd4kie1yD8gSKfjmluQ4fYwVI3kVch7ylK9Z2I5Xf/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="543" data-original-width="563" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgk6cZ_98tZeAFli2q98VHLtuGl3crJVTzIjm6-ejOvipnTtzs0rLpy50tIp5Dfn8Ec9sD3fG-VmyFC-KNNfxZcO7rjnvpOvnozuDdd4kie1yD8gSKfjmluQ4fYwVI3kVch7ylK9Z2I5Xf/w356-h343/image.png" width="356" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I love this picture and think it's hilarious. When this meme goes around Facebook, almost <i>everyone </i>claims to have been like that girl. But see those other four girls - the ones paying attention, being good, and wanting to do it right? I was one of <i>them</i>. And I definitely envy that girl on the right, and everyone who says they were, because she is definitely having more fun. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then, I remember this....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When I was in Kindergarten, we had a jungle gym in the playground, over behind Stowe School. I loved playing on that thing, and spent all of recess on it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It looked like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU7Ctwiybq9etAdd-cDBHpNtWDJCEQ1cGpMwJjggTd3HGmnTDEf82AChKcBtM4EUC52a8DdWxyBOEUuXaLu_o3kV2nPBfIj_mmjL6wwOZPRFfsuhd7_o_ywOgyiWRZbCm4vK03tqhASMr/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="457" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU7Ctwiybq9etAdd-cDBHpNtWDJCEQ1cGpMwJjggTd3HGmnTDEf82AChKcBtM4EUC52a8DdWxyBOEUuXaLu_o3kV2nPBfIj_mmjL6wwOZPRFfsuhd7_o_ywOgyiWRZbCm4vK03tqhASMr/w458-h640/image.png" width="458" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>One day, I was dangling from the bars when I saw my beloved teacher hurrying toward me with a strange look on her face - a kind of combination worry and relief. Turns out, recess had ended and everyone had gone back inside. Everyone but me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In my own little world, I hadn't even noticed. Hadn't noticed the cacaphony of children's shouts and laughter had stopped and the playground had gone completely quiet. Hadn't noticed them all run off back to our classroom just below. Hadn't noticed that I was all alone on the bars, all alone on the playground.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Teacher wasn't mad. I think she was relieved that I hadn't gone missing and was okay. I think she was amazed that I really just hadn't noticed that recess was over. I was amazed too. She was very kind. I didn't get in trouble. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And when I think of it now, I have to say that I feel strangely proud of this. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't really want to be that girl over on the right. She's funny, she's having fun, and I admire her free spirit. But you <i>know</i> she gets annoying after a while....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Still, I hope we all have SOME of her in us - that ability to be free and funny and disobedient and completely in our own little worlds. And I like remembering my jungle gym moment and knowing that I do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-25998501455427734692021-03-08T10:43:00.006-08:002021-03-08T18:04:29.642-08:00Impossible<p>I'm a week late for the "I" blog post, but I have a good reason. Dick and I spent almost all of last week working on what I thought might be an IMPOSSIBLE task.</p><p>Because it's too hot and humid here for my neighborhood walks in summer, I decided to look into getting a Nordic Track treadmill. I thought they might be too expensive, but was surprised to find that a home model was affordable, especially with their 0% two year financing. </p><p>So I took the plunge and ordered one.</p><p>Problem is, with The Covid, they do not have their assemblers assembling before shipment and they can't send assemblers to your house to assemble it. The fellow who took my order over the phone assured me that it was pretty easy to do and that there are videos you can watch that help a lot. So, I took the plunge.</p><p>I guess a lot of people have been investing in home fitness equipment during the pandemic, so the treadmill was backordered and finally arrived end of day last Monday. The two delivery guys huffed and puffed and shoved the GIANT, 10,000 pound box into our guest room where the treadmill will live. </p><p>Just seeing that box made my heart sink. Then we opened it and this is what we saw:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqy9dHvGnBrrjLBWbEmNwuKPWFm3mx3IzABqoN65WpbQ8yuhQBlrSUZZ5PQcJTnNawhJCC-dLqRDtgqKgOeAo5AQSWapfwudzNMrmA010vrCEdIF0d_aOxIwmwKiFp9P-bqL3GHlUxoSz/s2048/Treadmill+as+arrived.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqy9dHvGnBrrjLBWbEmNwuKPWFm3mx3IzABqoN65WpbQ8yuhQBlrSUZZ5PQcJTnNawhJCC-dLqRDtgqKgOeAo5AQSWapfwudzNMrmA010vrCEdIF0d_aOxIwmwKiFp9P-bqL3GHlUxoSz/w400-h300/Treadmill+as+arrived.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Honestly, I almost cried. <i>Impossible</i>, I thought. <i>I can't possibly do this</i>.<div><br /></div><div>Over the years, Dick and I have assembled many, many things of varying sizes and degrees of complexity. He is very handy and did the bulk of it. My role was generally to stand by to "hold this" or "fetch that" or "steady this for me please." </div><div><br /></div><div>The typical process was that he'd work on it by himself and I'd go and do something else until summoned to assist. I'd hear all sorts of banging and clanging sounds, along with strings of swear-words. Listening to this without knowing exactly what was happening, I'd get anxious and think things weren't going well. It was only later that I learned that despite how it sounded to me from the other room, he was having FUN!</div><div><br /></div><div>Invariably there was a point when I would hear these words: "<i>THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE</i>!" Often there was another, quite expressive word before "impossible." I'd think <i>uh-oh, we're in deep trouble</i>. But also invariably, this was a turning point in the process. </div><div><br /></div><div>Apparently these words are the key to opening some cosmic door, because the moment they are uttered, the tide turns and everything falls into place. It became a standing joke with us that until some completely exasperated person screams, "THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!" the project is doomed. It is only by uttering these magic words that things will come together. Feel free to test this. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because of his Parkinson's, Dick has lost muscle strength and dexterity, so this monster project was going to be mostly on me. This time, he was the holder and the fetcher - total role reversal. Though he is still the only one of us who knows the difference between a wrench and pliers, or basically, how to do stuff.</div><div><br /></div><div>It took us a full two hours to unpack that box. The pieces are large and quite heavy. I laid everything out neatly on the floor, and watched the video three times.</div><div><br /></div><div>That was enough for day one. On day two, I attached the uprights, pulse bar and armrests. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPRBkJoTkzfFLept0mhCbdZHGHS4spAliwUQmhuG5vdd62k9KtG8XtbQbm7n7XiQmwxEHNkE0Y7QhokAxbZ3gMaQZgFHiQ_BDnnHkJfgCOPfgdEPxE120eNCuEWuLM24k_13a6Z7Jdoy6/s2048/Uprights+attached.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSPRBkJoTkzfFLept0mhCbdZHGHS4spAliwUQmhuG5vdd62k9KtG8XtbQbm7n7XiQmwxEHNkE0Y7QhokAxbZ3gMaQZgFHiQ_BDnnHkJfgCOPfgdEPxE120eNCuEWuLM24k_13a6Z7Jdoy6/w400-h300/Uprights+attached.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div><br /></div><div>The large pieces went together easily using bolts and socket wrenches - I like those. But the smaller pieces, like the pulse bar and the arm rests, required me to line several things up just <i>perfectly</i> and screw them together using teeny-tiny screws, from underneath, in a contorted position. At one point, I had to do Navasana - boat pose - for about three minutes per screw, because it was the only position that would allow me to see what I was doing and have the right angle on it.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Not only that, but the holes were not threaded - I had to create the threading by screwing in the screw. This took every ounce of my strength and a very long time. Inhale. Exhale, turn screw tiny bit. Inhale. Exhale, turn screw tiny bit. Good thing I practice yoga and know how to move on the exhalation....</div><div><br /></div><div>It was around this point in time that I began to refer to my new toy as <i>The Monster.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Day three was attaching the console - also quite heavy and awkward to position. This was the hardest part. <i>NO</i>, it did not just slide and snap into place like the video and instructions show. Dick steadied it and I must have tried TEN TIMES to get the runners to line up with the slots in the arm rests. I didn't want to push or pull too hard on it - after all, there's a computer in there! </div><div><br /></div><div>THIS was the point at which I screamed, "<i>THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!</i>" and believe me, I really, really meant it.</div><div><br /></div><div>We took a break. I said, "Okay, now I've said it, so when we go back and try ONE MORE TIME, it's going to work." </div><div><br /></div><div>And miracle of miracles, it did.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ouqLLuBsrKpBhWA5hj8Ric0a0Neme4C3Isz2S8O-GRSSxAoA2iiyBKwleWx9F-9xnkuoAQ7YFw2DMI4U1tj5evqachXkUuI2Tk_DUxGlqTT0cJopXQ2Ykvj1vPmoq83gljIXW3mOh7Zu/s2048/Console+on.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ouqLLuBsrKpBhWA5hj8Ric0a0Neme4C3Isz2S8O-GRSSxAoA2iiyBKwleWx9F-9xnkuoAQ7YFw2DMI4U1tj5evqachXkUuI2Tk_DUxGlqTT0cJopXQ2Ykvj1vPmoq83gljIXW3mOh7Zu/w300-h400/Console+on.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>On Final Assembly Day, I attached the crossbar and the storage latch, which is what holds the treadmill in this upright position so that we can still get around in the guest bedroom. I can't believe it actually works.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMM4-0-gQoRNZmWZestXGUBy4Xf-wf7r3j-FM4lIYvOxO0izqJ1tP0o2kv-rHEu8Ie9LsqlsO1XeqoQB5gQTlMldcrtFl2njIP4a5746povPiK6cpvWi0DUG_Enq5svQfSGR-WDtC9RVl/s2048/storage+mode.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMM4-0-gQoRNZmWZestXGUBy4Xf-wf7r3j-FM4lIYvOxO0izqJ1tP0o2kv-rHEu8Ie9LsqlsO1XeqoQB5gQTlMldcrtFl2njIP4a5746povPiK6cpvWi0DUG_Enq5svQfSGR-WDtC9RVl/w300-h400/storage+mode.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I waited several hours after that before turning the machine on, because I was terrified that after all that, it wouldn't work.</div><div><br /></div><div>But when I summoned my courage to plug it in and fire it up, it did!</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, we had a treadmill way back in the day, but it wasn't a COMPUTER like this one is. This thing knows my name and offered me guided workouts based on information I provided when I registered the product online. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first workout I did was a 22 minute walk on a beach in St. Lucia, with a pretty lady named Stacie. The second one was a walk through a medieval walled-city in the south of France. The scenery is beautiful and they give you a lot of information about the places too.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxq5O_Eo6aejrc_BcvIgvbty4ho8Rq6Jst5ul9I1RWVGouilOo_2IntYMqUGtbIh40q2tgxEM7_2sul3l57WQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So, there was a HAPPY ENDING. YAY! We worked on it Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, took Friday off and finished it Saturday. It took every ounce of my strength, stamina and determination, plus Dick's experience and know-how, without which I would have taken many wrong turns. More than once, I really did think it would be IMPOSSIBLE to do ourselves. I figured, if that was the case, I'd just let it sit there until the pandemic was over and then pay someone any amount of money to come and finish it for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>But it wasn't IMPOSSIBLE, and I am pretty amazed at what a 65-year-old woman with two trigger fingers (affects grip strength) and an 81-year-old man with Parkinson's could do.</div><div><br /></div><div>We have, however, agreed that we will NEVER DO ANYTHING LIKE THIS AGAIN. </div>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-26909629936639656522021-02-22T06:20:00.006-08:002021-02-22T18:11:43.164-08:00Home<p>I grew up in the beautiful town of Andover, Massachusetts. I lived on Central Street, which is a main thoroughfare and one of the loveliest you'll ever find. In fact, a few years back, a magazine named it one of the 10 prettiest streets in New England. </p><p>The top section of Central Street is lined with large, traditional New England homes, and a few mansions, like this one. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUj-nAFkwkZXdJJ2AKfbBknBv5h3y8OJlX9TH70GmdHQdQPC6_M_-N60I5mNnl3jH1SzXqaGM8FfO3Ve4BwkZ3qiBKtO8KiVy87bS7IiirVUTciHQSgtmLRnmwdmVwnBQ-8uWfMwdPnyXA/s2048/Mansion+on+Central+St.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUj-nAFkwkZXdJJ2AKfbBknBv5h3y8OJlX9TH70GmdHQdQPC6_M_-N60I5mNnl3jH1SzXqaGM8FfO3Ve4BwkZ3qiBKtO8KiVy87bS7IiirVUTciHQSgtmLRnmwdmVwnBQ-8uWfMwdPnyXA/w400-h266/Mansion+on+Central+St.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Once you crest the hill and head down toward the Horn Bridge, the homes become smaller, and shall we say, more normal. Ours was a Cape Cod-style house. It sits on a curve, at the foot of one hill and the top of the another. Everyone of my generation from town knows our house, because you see it the moment you crest the hill coming up from the bridge, and because sometime in the 1960's, my mother got the idea to paint it red. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Now, red </span><span style="text-align: left;">Capes were traditional in New England in Colonial times, just not in the 1960's. At that time, the only red houses in town were the brick ones. </span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">My mother didn't usually color outside the lines, but in this case, she knew what she wanted - red with white trim and black shutters, and she went for it.</span></div><p></p><p></p><p>People freaked out at first because the primer that had to go under the red was pink, and for a while the neighbors were worried we were painting the house pink. That was kind of fun, because sometimes some of the neighbors could be snobbish. I remember Mom having a bit of a giggle over yanking their chains.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivc0UXR3EkgmFZtNTYu5o5hjPxBdD-fi9mtw8j5SFXoQMWN1RAuO1Q8fw5TTRxLd2o1SckQ_yKDqikyF_-flWNRKHjLQbhuH53w1LbXWmgf3ZrEqPsegiY6cKPZaCRNLj9_B3tGtA4XvHf/s600/snob.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="537" data-original-width="600" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivc0UXR3EkgmFZtNTYu5o5hjPxBdD-fi9mtw8j5SFXoQMWN1RAuO1Q8fw5TTRxLd2o1SckQ_yKDqikyF_-flWNRKHjLQbhuH53w1LbXWmgf3ZrEqPsegiY6cKPZaCRNLj9_B3tGtA4XvHf/w200-h179/snob.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>My parents bought that house, new, in the early 1950's for $14,000. All three of us Goodwin kids grew up there and Mom and Dad lived in it for 54 years. Mom eventually had Alzheimer's and then Dad had a stroke, so we had to sell around 2006. Since then, it's been bought and sold a few times, and painted a rather pretty shade of gray-green. </p><p>Everyone who knew the house when it when it was red is upset that it isn't red anymore. </p><p>The house is for sale again. The price is $569,000. It's only about 1600 square feet and has no garage. But that's what you can get now for a house on one of the 10 prettiest streets in New England. </p><p>Here's the photo from the listing. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UIBrsnQ6YjSAcBnFoF1sffbLI0bN1ksIGZ6dYwICCGsDOHeK8vIHiyTlqUjtJAmZiQB22tFQp8VfEnuyBeW_e-ZIMh4pXgcbxY-20dI6iPGJXXsValtY6Xzaa_OR6iK0lQv6-sSrumLI/s1024/82+central+street.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8UIBrsnQ6YjSAcBnFoF1sffbLI0bN1ksIGZ6dYwICCGsDOHeK8vIHiyTlqUjtJAmZiQB22tFQp8VfEnuyBeW_e-ZIMh4pXgcbxY-20dI6iPGJXXsValtY6Xzaa_OR6iK0lQv6-sSrumLI/w400-h266/82+central+street.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">So, this "H" post turned out to be basically about this house. Even though I really wanted to live in one of the big houses up the street, this house was very much a <i>home. </i>We were a nice little, generally happy family. My parents were, like all humans, imperfect. But they were kind, they loved us, never mistreated us, and kept us safe. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I remember the feeling I always had when I'd come over the top of the hill after walking past all the big houses and imaging what they were like inside, and then glimpse our little one below. My heart would swell with love and joy and almost burst with the word, <i>Home. Home. Home</i>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I remember being shocked when I got older and discovered that not everyone grew up in peaceful and safe homes, including some who grew up in those big fancy houses up the street. I always joked about what an uneventful childhood I had, but I see that now for the gift that it is. I hadn't realized how lucky we were, in our cozy little Cape, where the cabinet doors never stayed shut, the windows stuck open, and nothing ever seemed to work properly.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">If I had money to burn, I'd buy the house and get Chip and Joanna Gaines to do a fixer-upper on it. Then I'd have them paint it red again. Because even though this new color is pretty, it's very <i>ordinary.</i> The house was a <i>home</i>, and it was <i>ours</i>, and that made it <i>special,</i> and when Mom painted it red, it was like saying that out loud. She knew what she was doing.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">****After I put the post up, a friend was able to provide me with a photo of our house in 2005, about the time we were selling it. It was still red then, and you can see the bay windows in front were still there, and Mom's little greenhouse window on the side. I remember when she had that window put in.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGP6MiWV67e5Ul6K__kep2Kp7uq7uTf7VXTPNIHWBpr9pFYq19ytKe_YhAeeJjWL8fatAFsePkMysphjjtgZRGXUspgx3cNdmSznkSMtVTcnmjZRpnCTTnp7xhfWDDpywU8mWGrPFKhOP/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="183" data-original-width="253" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkGP6MiWV67e5Ul6K__kep2Kp7uq7uTf7VXTPNIHWBpr9pFYq19ytKe_YhAeeJjWL8fatAFsePkMysphjjtgZRGXUspgx3cNdmSznkSMtVTcnmjZRpnCTTnp7xhfWDDpywU8mWGrPFKhOP/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-62383578441944660222021-02-15T13:25:00.003-08:002021-02-18T09:00:29.110-08:00Going<p>I picked <i>going</i> for my G post, because I have a little secret to share: </p><p>I really like not <i>going</i> anywhere.</p><p>Shhh...don't tell anyone.</p><p>When we were first together, Dick was our trip planner. Back in the day, he used a travel agent - remember travel agents? Our top destinations then were Caribbean islands and Quebec. In particular, we fell in love with Aruba and with Old Quebec City, which we call "Our Paris." Pretty much all our free time (and some work-hours time) day-dreaming dwelt on our next visit to these places. We simply couldn't wait to <i>go</i>.</p><p>Here are a few pictures from the last time we were in Quebec:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipQiv-4DRaYCKh2OeNS46hUp5_GUXCncqPeuGm59D5GuchEmq26zieZnFy4TzuvX_F7HRAuOYwhCY9v2NK5_ld5oiHEB4VqeAE9rX2IV-sucUUXhfjXV6G1krUL_8PCaAMCxhrpGPPoyVF/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="461" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipQiv-4DRaYCKh2OeNS46hUp5_GUXCncqPeuGm59D5GuchEmq26zieZnFy4TzuvX_F7HRAuOYwhCY9v2NK5_ld5oiHEB4VqeAE9rX2IV-sucUUXhfjXV6G1krUL_8PCaAMCxhrpGPPoyVF/w184-h320/image.png" width="184" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17fN-akxlGRGpsxgj9iiV-XpbiEP-kBJ-IZG2JyBkqo6KQPwmQ1n9S1wKxCyrAYsrDG6NzQ_WI8CD1LmWh2eKJZN_LOm26uIFg6MLr9CE6sfN-ig-nGXhj8fhYTy34qr_zpf2oKiOQE90/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="800" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi17fN-akxlGRGpsxgj9iiV-XpbiEP-kBJ-IZG2JyBkqo6KQPwmQ1n9S1wKxCyrAYsrDG6NzQ_WI8CD1LmWh2eKJZN_LOm26uIFg6MLr9CE6sfN-ig-nGXhj8fhYTy34qr_zpf2oKiOQE90/" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3LXmZfWyyodk6XMuALfajr4ytHA1botDxYb_LJjGaA9FpFu2NOVxbg2Ofi1AgrFeLTLvA9OaGZCBjSMpdDW1uk9L4Pz_MlPtKmAImhEweMGqVxM6gZn1rqkLHxjVKzuBy-1gI3ja_zMBI/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="800" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3LXmZfWyyodk6XMuALfajr4ytHA1botDxYb_LJjGaA9FpFu2NOVxbg2Ofi1AgrFeLTLvA9OaGZCBjSMpdDW1uk9L4Pz_MlPtKmAImhEweMGqVxM6gZn1rqkLHxjVKzuBy-1gI3ja_zMBI/w282-h188/image.png" width="282" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAozwvyyKY46hJDEK6LAhTfFqsdJf73u6j_Jt9kbVl096MHHS2KtJ31A33zzRD2FBwWHD8AlSTJUu9FDgsMF0J64t43QsXIyThlcM9zekSKXZFR6ioaGlARVgcfPntFB7GPIQCZr3nyMvm/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="532" data-original-width="800" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAozwvyyKY46hJDEK6LAhTfFqsdJf73u6j_Jt9kbVl096MHHS2KtJ31A33zzRD2FBwWHD8AlSTJUu9FDgsMF0J64t43QsXIyThlcM9zekSKXZFR6ioaGlARVgcfPntFB7GPIQCZr3nyMvm/w269-h179/image.png" width="269" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAl0JsCla2wgX4MMQDLsB_FwDRBCUMMmNNj4qM80S28hFm0RVweFOwKaJ1PPXABAzTkdRN9p2SXYnfzo6j9OaHcWgFYvT6_Cs-Qe54JvaWhWgDKQoDKJvdH6JqUnN52_ruiMe-Spm4Igp/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1358" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZAl0JsCla2wgX4MMQDLsB_FwDRBCUMMmNNj4qM80S28hFm0RVweFOwKaJ1PPXABAzTkdRN9p2SXYnfzo6j9OaHcWgFYvT6_Cs-Qe54JvaWhWgDKQoDKJvdH6JqUnN52_ruiMe-Spm4Igp/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div></div><p></p><p>In recent years, we were lucky to be able to revisit places we love in the southwest and northeast. On our trip to Santa Fe, NM in September of 2019, Dick realized that his Parkinson's makes it too difficult for him to travel - it's very disruptive to his nervous system. So we knew it would be the last trip we would take anywhere far, or by air. </p><p>These are from that Santa Fe trip:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4yUZ1Z-QCus3qVWetJ57rNBWlHkb3wtDK91P_rXgYRNVuRcfphltneyrQFThwOWYxQF75fTH_vg_eaKcVzjkpmm-vztzTbMiZ6x6pX1UqK9EH-LxJ4ASRtXUFZIYTxUmDZgIaKUy6hSO/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1204" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4yUZ1Z-QCus3qVWetJ57rNBWlHkb3wtDK91P_rXgYRNVuRcfphltneyrQFThwOWYxQF75fTH_vg_eaKcVzjkpmm-vztzTbMiZ6x6pX1UqK9EH-LxJ4ASRtXUFZIYTxUmDZgIaKUy6hSO/w292-h219/image.png" width="292" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOI3Ih6Cr9Os8CohC_cAFQehqfWccBIs4VwCWHA9C5YgQN3vKSqSYDb2mS6JAY8KUTB-mczvvGwYWU4r5SZ67pgsD1x0RvRnDRCGOqPHYlv2nN1pJyYNncYldJmYSNRaNTZYUNfu6xBjf/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1204" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIOI3Ih6Cr9Os8CohC_cAFQehqfWccBIs4VwCWHA9C5YgQN3vKSqSYDb2mS6JAY8KUTB-mczvvGwYWU4r5SZ67pgsD1x0RvRnDRCGOqPHYlv2nN1pJyYNncYldJmYSNRaNTZYUNfu6xBjf/w295-h222/image.png" width="295" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQydlISzk8lSV5vCpkmYDK3oSZ0kdeKTp6nYunrLEOKXgDbKmmY5wOw_HnUxsbzbauTwTYXFnIODn8-R_4_PL_up4tRXCF02gSvYrfJpKYCETBKEsWFkGQjUUGe1P2hdhQV4WX5O0Rxh1/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1204" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdQydlISzk8lSV5vCpkmYDK3oSZ0kdeKTp6nYunrLEOKXgDbKmmY5wOw_HnUxsbzbauTwTYXFnIODn8-R_4_PL_up4tRXCF02gSvYrfJpKYCETBKEsWFkGQjUUGe1P2hdhQV4WX5O0Rxh1/w279-h210/image.png" width="279" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6S7BLDlJcJCH6lAy8JM6NCC8Q5FjYZQfLLyeTx1hwg9LrrxdrmQqrb6X0l04BnQGoULFwiUhWhQN-AJ2LMbL28on7x5AaAeZD3hMkOhnaDje02n1nvgP4y6mNHwwtTkUan-hKOnze1tA/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="926" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6S7BLDlJcJCH6lAy8JM6NCC8Q5FjYZQfLLyeTx1hwg9LrrxdrmQqrb6X0l04BnQGoULFwiUhWhQN-AJ2LMbL28on7x5AaAeZD3hMkOhnaDje02n1nvgP4y6mNHwwtTkUan-hKOnze1tA/" width="246" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC8Dk7UPXM55VYlBrhAuRH4kO7E8lyfV_d4USHwUd8zYIdp_XfwrU6YPr8Ldi452PBHBP1xBWoFRXh-tUcxvUv2M5x8Qx_wAFM5vQGUoFO0ZyM7FzvqroQ3m14C-nbOWJJ14cwisEXmMYn/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1152" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC8Dk7UPXM55VYlBrhAuRH4kO7E8lyfV_d4USHwUd8zYIdp_XfwrU6YPr8Ldi452PBHBP1xBWoFRXh-tUcxvUv2M5x8Qx_wAFM5vQGUoFO0ZyM7FzvqroQ3m14C-nbOWJJ14cwisEXmMYn/w271-h212/image.png" width="271" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrz1VKgBA3Qi0zx7-WW8MQ46S8DQo3OOIMid4ZD1QHQyy_rsDAWs6SLi-F5UR7SSJz_M8sJ4A9xWPSepD4UA4qZ8zC1ArW02irJIOfiRUBtXYAStq3bfOGEqeaHnwetszYpNxUnCAWNXM/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="903" data-original-width="1056" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTrz1VKgBA3Qi0zx7-WW8MQ46S8DQo3OOIMid4ZD1QHQyy_rsDAWs6SLi-F5UR7SSJz_M8sJ4A9xWPSepD4UA4qZ8zC1ArW02irJIOfiRUBtXYAStq3bfOGEqeaHnwetszYpNxUnCAWNXM/" width="281" /></a></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYhmFQQFFU1GF0bxn8NU6qpjGJo6ESv6kdLQP39iVC3YKmLyJ8jMPK-zfgNL3FTDMwBhA6MbHLmYKAR7rJzXDwe9LwXnap6MVJgHNWe3VBh-mbc-DFWeDHioUMriCGDmreti_zDVUYlXLO/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">It felt a little sad, but we also knew we'd been fortunate to go to so many wonderful places over the years. So it was kind of like, "Well, we had a good run!" And part of me was relieved, because the traveling had become stressful as the result of its effects on Dick. </span></div></div></div></div><p>Then 2020 hit us with a pandemic, and suddenly everyone was in the same boat. No one could <i>go </i>anywhere. Whatever sting might have lingered over our inability to travel was mitigated by the fact that, had we planned a trip, we wouldn't have been able to go anyway!</p><p>Now we are closing in on a year of no-go, and I have moved into a rhythm of my days that I really cherish. Some might call it dull, but I call it simple, abundant, and peaceful. The less I have to go anywhere, the less I want to go anywhere.</p><p>Some people are chomping at the bit to get out there and GO! I don't blame them, and it <i>will</i> be nice for the world to move forward again. But just living each day without always making plans has been nice, and I'm not wishing the time away. I'm happy just hanging out here with Dick and the ducks.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PjU1fnpxbgk8-acAjoN7Tq3mOXC6ARPsYsZKm3rFnknv0h4vmZl8tePkyHyRRzyO3GXMAIygyRP2rRUVPHrBKpHWlk6fo8abDPABDvN0bVOU4mTRPONkVEh9AIRNyo-Si2gFAVBMxL9M/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1440" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PjU1fnpxbgk8-acAjoN7Tq3mOXC6ARPsYsZKm3rFnknv0h4vmZl8tePkyHyRRzyO3GXMAIygyRP2rRUVPHrBKpHWlk6fo8abDPABDvN0bVOU4mTRPONkVEh9AIRNyo-Si2gFAVBMxL9M/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-70953715663624335772021-02-09T13:34:00.004-08:002021-02-09T13:35:47.129-08:00Fog<p>This week, I have to draw my inspiration from the letter F. Well, I don't <i>have</i> to, but that's the challenge I've given myself. Nothing was coming to me, though occasionally the word <i>fog </i>did come to mind. </p><p>I thought of a number of other F words (hey - I'm from Massachusetts and F words are about 90% of our vocabulary), but none of them felt like anything I really wanted to delve into. Polite F words like forgiveness , family, friendship or fortitude seemed too <i>big</i>. Ugh - who wants to delve into all that bigness? </p><p>There was a layer of fog hanging over the pond when I got up this morning. <i>Ahhhh</i>, I thought, a message from the universe. <i>Fog must be the word.</i> </p><p>I took a picture, just so you wouldn't think I made it up about about the fog.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJeabebMbNjfMPGuONcS5SrYeXP1WHvk1xGyWRGfkKO1DgUPCeCRjhsVcqWcYMF9Sg2Qx2-RrkF0UhI7CFYW1D6dI5y_i8VBZip4Xlh5QgkvGpOdpNKsReQl2NhbdvgHKnZuffgOtR8AQh/s2048/fog.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJeabebMbNjfMPGuONcS5SrYeXP1WHvk1xGyWRGfkKO1DgUPCeCRjhsVcqWcYMF9Sg2Qx2-RrkF0UhI7CFYW1D6dI5y_i8VBZip4Xlh5QgkvGpOdpNKsReQl2NhbdvgHKnZuffgOtR8AQh/w400-h300/fog.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><p>Despite the universe's nudge, I didn't feel inspired to write about fog. My brain felt too tired. That's when another F word came to mind: funk. I think I'm in a little February funk. Last week, I was all bouncy and full of inspiration. I worked on a poem, sent off an article query and taught a workshop. But this week, <i>I got nuthin'</i>. Maybe it's the weather, which suddenly turned warm and humid. I liked our cold spells better. </p><p>Maybe I used all my inspiration last week and need to let the well fill back up. Geez, even that metaphor was dull....</p><p>The fog was gone by 9 a.m. I went for a walk, trimmed the Aricas and vacuumed the lanai. All that made me feel less funky, a <i>lot </i>hungry and wanting a nap.</p><p>So, there it is., a not very fabulous F post. In an effort to insert a smidge of insight, I'll go with this: It's okay to be in a fog or a funk and not very inspired sometimes. It'll pass.</p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-52269357607120815962021-02-01T07:30:00.001-08:002021-02-01T07:30:35.476-08:00Expectation<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">A few days ago, I flipped back through my journal to the entries I made this time last year. It was interesting to revisit what I was thinking about at the start of 2020, and particularly, the expectations that lay beneath.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1WkH04zPWeUE8ihA-MkfR_Gnc7kZw7zxMjJSMrgltl7PdKJ01gV8mEdR7QE8_TkaPg8GIbunQWf0uMg48mpg48H4yOVnjmRGMXvJmNOLjec5hI-JJHC_Lw6O2yKxwfVEFssRSAwhIhTme/s2048/journal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1567" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1WkH04zPWeUE8ihA-MkfR_Gnc7kZw7zxMjJSMrgltl7PdKJ01gV8mEdR7QE8_TkaPg8GIbunQWf0uMg48mpg48H4yOVnjmRGMXvJmNOLjec5hI-JJHC_Lw6O2yKxwfVEFssRSAwhIhTme/w153-h200/journal.jpg" width="153" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My sweet, innocent little journal</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: left;">I had hopes and a few plans for how I would steer my life and what I would accomplish. Underlying those aspirations was one key expectation: </span><i style="text-align: left;">that the foundations of daily life would, more or less, continue as they had been</i><span style="text-align: left;">.</span></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">By the beginning of March, all of our expectations were out the window. But I think we all hoped, and innocently thought, that the disruption of our daily lives by the pandemic wouldn't last long. A few months and we'd be back to "normal."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Closing in on a year later, we - I - couldn't have been more wrong. Normal is gone. Daily life is completely different. So much has changed. And we're still in it.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkgmUdvhody31PRh4ArZfryiXxXSzsISX9Pq7rGOu-xzYdsHM6Sqi5YSzbOl_CpUS1etAARZIMuF7XsImhyphenhyphenGdhLuviPCxpQYHkpPCprcebNPZu0Rbsb6rGI9vxZYc8DYkvN1KfTuiTLod/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="564" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkgmUdvhody31PRh4ArZfryiXxXSzsISX9Pq7rGOu-xzYdsHM6Sqi5YSzbOl_CpUS1etAARZIMuF7XsImhyphenhyphenGdhLuviPCxpQYHkpPCprcebNPZu0Rbsb6rGI9vxZYc8DYkvN1KfTuiTLod/w400-h365/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">As a yoga teacher and long-time practitioner, I practice with and teach the concept of impermanence on a regular basis. It's at the heart of yoga, this idea of coming to accept that, in time, everything changes, everything ends, and something new begins. The practice of not clinging to - or rejecting - what is. The practice of acceptance. But it's an intellectual exercise until something comes along that forces us to <i>really</i> put it into practice - like a pandemic! </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think back to the many expectations I had for my life - hopes, dreams, plans. I worked hard to make many dreams come true. I implemented many plans quite well. But <i>nothing</i>, not one single thing I had imagined, was as I had <i>expected </i>it would be.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I expected that when I realized my material dreams, I would be happy. <i>I wasn't!</i> </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">I expected that my parents would live to a ripe old age, safe and happy in the home they raised us in, and die peacefully in their sleep. I never saw my mother's Alzheimer's or my dad's stroke coming.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When we worried about Dick's health, it was about his heart. His dad died of a heart attack in his early 60's, and Dick had a small one at the age of 49. He's had no heart issues since, but what we never expected was Parkinson's.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">2020 may have brought you many changes that have been and remain extremely difficult. Or, it may have caused you to look at how you were living and make changes for the better. Either way, I guarantee your life over the past year was not a bit like what you expected. <i>Mine either</i>.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Once we emerge from the pandemic - which we <i>will,</i> because this too shall pass - I don't think anyone could blame us for wanting to feel "safe" again, even if safe is an illusion. We never know what will happen. So we have to find a way to incorporate our newly heightened awareness of impermanence into how we go about our daily lives, without it being limiting or debilitating.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">2020 gave us a lesson in non-attachment and acceptance that we won't soon forget, and I don't think that's a bad thing. I know that I feel a much greater sense of what Pema Chodron calls, "the comings and goings of things." And I am <i>deeply</i> reminded not to take anything for granted.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">When thinking about my "E" post, I kept thinking about elephants. In yoga, Ganesha, the elephant god, is the remover of obstacles and the bringer of abundance. So, here's a picture of cute baby elephants and one of Ganesha.</span></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJeF5e8ceJ4sZdo_MVMkZ9Rrf1F3UoFynQ6763OhSo30ft54TCKxP6g1XIBEwIhr2LyCX2o6Drn-SnjtGi3jw6Fl4561Ecn_a_vjA3EDwCvBO1keIumoiPvVlG5ZpPyl920-Rluh8xLMFJ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="813" data-original-width="1220" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJeF5e8ceJ4sZdo_MVMkZ9Rrf1F3UoFynQ6763OhSo30ft54TCKxP6g1XIBEwIhr2LyCX2o6Drn-SnjtGi3jw6Fl4561Ecn_a_vjA3EDwCvBO1keIumoiPvVlG5ZpPyl920-Rluh8xLMFJ/w400-h266/image.png" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2xl-CpbXXcmLNHi4PFi-IIqcn1Tr7cOsbB7sjC0uJaxrpS-BbdQeu8NpYvRriD1xdZGojZ-tN_WnukNWwIDDHiB-Y_Ba8uPUqVR_1_ambAqxTZ76c9vTAH4NyeKKFe09kw4tGFTJALMY/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1780" data-original-width="1500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2xl-CpbXXcmLNHi4PFi-IIqcn1Tr7cOsbB7sjC0uJaxrpS-BbdQeu8NpYvRriD1xdZGojZ-tN_WnukNWwIDDHiB-Y_Ba8uPUqVR_1_ambAqxTZ76c9vTAH4NyeKKFe09kw4tGFTJALMY/w337-h400/image.png" width="337" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1504985949691119699.post-7765136675600478552021-01-25T08:34:00.007-08:002021-01-25T10:20:51.109-08:00Distance<p> For this "D" post, my first thought was "Ducks," because the flock of Whistling Ducks that makes its home on our little pond has entertained and kept us company throughout the pandemic. </p><p>But even though the ducks are delightful, I landed on the word "distance" instead.</p><p>For almost a year now, we have been asked to keep our distance from each other. The last time I taught a yoga class in the studio with students present was on Thursday, March 19, 2020. A week later, on the 25th, I taught my first online class from the studio, with no students in the room. Soon after, I began teaching my classes online from home, and that's how it has been ever since.</p><p>This is a photo of me ending the last class I taught at the studio on April 2, 2020 - online and alone, except for the owner, Jennifer, out of sight, at a distance, and Anna out at the front desk.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2_CROE1DPySNeSCzUnPS0AMRYJYclaaD3RPR7PIQo1Rge7do28gOsWGOFalkPyOEbwdNs_i4-XJZ_15BVmPC-iPrqdiIh1y7GCFwssScyRd0Zho4h_eqs8IlRL52gC3dtrrmuBVaAx07I/s2048/Last+class+at+TYS.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2_CROE1DPySNeSCzUnPS0AMRYJYclaaD3RPR7PIQo1Rge7do28gOsWGOFalkPyOEbwdNs_i4-XJZ_15BVmPC-iPrqdiIh1y7GCFwssScyRd0Zho4h_eqs8IlRL52gC3dtrrmuBVaAx07I/w300-h400/Last+class+at+TYS.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">April 2, 2020</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>At first, our hearts were very tender, as we worried about the future of our studio and our yoga sangha. I had tears when we greeted each other at the start of class - tiny faces on a computer screen, connecting from a distance. And again, at the end, when we said goodby. Overnight, so much had changed. We were suddenly dispersed, each to our homes, many hundreds, even thousands, of miles apart.</p><p>But then, some interesting things happened. We continued to show up in front of our computers to teach, and students continued to show up in front of theirs to practice. Snowbirds, who normally would not have been with us in summer, came to our online classes - many every day, often more than once a day. </p><p>One student took classes from Taiwan - when she came to my 7pm ET Restorative class, for her, the next day was dawning on the other side of the world. </p><p>My dear friend, Deirdre, over in Bath, England, whom I haven't seen in person since 2012, made it to class too, despite some technology challenges on both our ends.</p><p>With the passage of a bit of time, many of us discovered that we very much enjoy taking classes from the comfort of our homes! I joked that I used to have to be at the studio, all fixed up and ready to go by 9:15 for my 10 a.m. class, but in the new situation, I could have wet hair and still be in jammies at 9:15, but all ready to teach by 9:45. </p><p>My sister in Massachusetts took my class all summer. I called her immediately after each one, because, for once, we knew we'd be available, with time to talk! We live at a distance, but we have never talked as often or felt closer. </p><p>I've talked with my brother more often too, and "seen" several dear friends more often via Zoom than I would see them in person in any given year.</p><p>The word distance is a constant drumbeat now with our reference to social-distancing. Being at a distance is hard, even heart-wrenching, for many who long to be in the physical presence of loved ones. But thank heavens for the internet and Zoom and all the other platforms that have allowed us to be together, to see each other's faces and hear each other's voices. </p><p>I do miss being with friends, family, students, and my fellow teachers. But I do not feel now, that there is "distance" between us. In many ways, distance has brought us closer. When we talk, it is without distraction or the time constraint that comes from busy-ness. We listen better, interrupt less, and are much more present with each other from a distance than in person, and that is an interesting thing to think about as the world, does, eventually re-open.</p><p>Now, even though distance became the topic for my post, our ducks really are entertaining, so here is a short clip of ducks doing their duck thing on our pond.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwfD0QNQKUGrn3uPzuQGVRAg8YW5Oxt7eoSJhe5BemtymJM-HUOcU20pGr2Zq7FyWXfaSwAB46mzqzYxD1w-Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Melissa Ann Goodwinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13454907380469372468noreply@blogger.com14