Since our reading at Hubbard Hall, I’ve basked in a warm glow. Today, as the sun shone golden, filling a cerulean sky that reached downward to kiss a green world, my life seemed a sunny haze. I’ve been on the move, traveling to appointments and to the airport to fetch my father, but all this seemed secondary compared to the sun and warmth and color.
I had some new business cards made up a month ago in anticipation of Blogpaws and the Creative Sparks reading at Hubbard Hall. The new cards not only feature graphics from my blog, but also a QR code that when scanned take people to either a reading of the story I shared at Hubbard Hall the other night or the animation of my Dogs Dancing at the Carousel collage. Here, is the card that leads you to the story and a video of what you see if you scan the code. This way those of you who were not able to come, will be able to share in what I read.
Heaven will be a little bit like this. People I care about will be there – mingling, laughing, sharing. My nieces and nephews will be running about, doing cartwheels in the grass. Dogs will dance around us. The light will shine brightly, the sun warmly. We will burst forth with creativity. I will speak about what is meaningful to me and people will listen. I will have a voice and delight in it. We will swap stories and guffaws with equal gusto. I will soak it all in.
Our reading at Hubbard Hall last night was a little bit like this for me. My mother, sister-in-law and my niece and nephew followed my best friend and me, the two-and-a-half hours to Cambridge, NY. My other friends, Joan and Jane, traveled from Waitsfield, Vt. to be there. Our friend, Leslie, who owns two of Joan’s pugs, and lives in Cambridge came out for an evening to hear me share a story about Joan and her pug puppies and letting them go to new homes. Six writers read posts from our blogs that we have been working on over the past year with our mentor, Jon Katz, as part of the Hubbard Hall Writers’ Project. Jon read an excerpt from his forthcoming book, The Second-Chance Dog: A Love Story. We exhibited our artwork, photographs, poems, stories, animations and writings at a reception prior to the reading. It was a night to shine and bubble forth, because in sharing our stories we encourage others to share theirs.
When I finished, I received high praise from my 12-year-old nephew, who rushed to tell me that I was very descriptive. “I could picture everything you said. I could see it,” he said. What other acclaim could I need?
Some called us brave. And, I admit my heart was thumping as I approached the podium to read my work. But, to me this was a moment to relish – a chance to be heard. I think everyone wants a voice, although not everyone wants to stand up in a room full of people to hear it manifested. The night before the reading, I had the opportunity to eat dinner with Jon Katz and his wife Maria. Jon said he doesn’t get nervous in front of crowds and that a child he dreamed of an opportunity to express himself in such a way. I understood what he meant. I have not dreamed of crowds, but of being heard. I have craved it.
When I studied religion in college, I was drawn to the image of John the Baptist, the solitary voice crying in the wilderness. The beginning of my Master’s thesis addresses this image, asking, why John the Baptist? This is what I wrote:
“Always I return to "the Voice." It is the thing to which the gospel authors return as well. Laden with symbolism, it cries out in the pages of the New Testament long after the man himself has disappeared. Can I reconstruct a man from his voice? Can I hang bones and skin and IDEAS on the words "repent, and be baptized?" Sometimes, I think, I resist telling his story, my story of his story, because I am content with his voice...the echo of his voice...the IDEA of his voice..."
It was my own voice to which I was drawn – the need to have one.
Last night, I shared my story of Joan and her pug puppies and was able to capture a moment of the love and melancholy, compassion and stewardship I have seen present in her life among pugs. I spoke about her unconventional lifestyle – transforming from concert pianist to a widow living on a mountaintop in Vermont with 10 to 14 pugs. I spoke about my respect for her in-your-face ability to live life her way and my desire to do the same. My fellow writers shared actual love stories and equally compelling tales of love manifested in parenting and caring for parents or patients, coming out as artists and poets.
Like a prophet, proclaiming his truth, we tried to share ours. Perhaps our stories weren’t revolutionary, but for the five minutes that I read and the hour that I listened to the others share, it felt a little bit like Heaven. There are many reasons to be nervous about speaking up in front of a crowd, but I think there are many more reasons to be nervous not to speak at all. Words give birth to creation. They are creative sparks.
The Hubbard Hall Writers Project met tonight to rehearse for our reading tomorrow. We sat in a still, barely lit room listening to each other read. We each spoke too fast or mumbled a bit or looked down at our papers too much as we worked out our nerves and prepared to share a taste of what we had been writing this past year. Some of us were more nervous than others; some are more used to the spotlight, but we shared “a creative spark” for which the reading is entitled, and a desire to give it voice. I was struck by the diversity of the pieces and how differently they sounded when read aloud by their authors, than the blog posts we are used to seeing online. Themes ranged from a love story to memories of the year Kennedy was shot to the state of healthcare, today. The voices were distinct, the writing sound. We have much of which to be proud.
I lost Waffles today. For a whole half-an-hour my baby was missing. I always call her my little Pugdini and today she made good on the name, disappearing right before our eyes. We were preparing dinner – my father grilling steaks, my Mom setting the table, and me as quickly clearing it of my paperwork. Dad had the back door to the fenced-in-yard open and I had just run some files upstairs with Alfie and Waffles in tow. Next thing I knew I saw Alfie peaking around from in back of my father’s legs, but no Waffles.
Up to no good again, I assumed and shouted her name. Typically, she comes running, stopping short at the baby gate that she hopped over to get up the stairs, but which impedes her journey back down. This time, she failed to show when I called. I called again – trying first my high-pitched excited voice, followed by a sterner cry, and then back to nervous screeching. When she didn’t appear, I ran to the backyard searching for her and then back up the stairs, tearing into my nephew’s room, my office and bedroom to no avail. I ran back down the stairs and to the car declaring her missing. I drove up and down the street looking for her, by this time in tears. Logically, I couldn’t figure out how she could have gotten out. In the past she had escaped through a hole in the gate on two occasions, but the hole had been repaired and even when she had gotten out she usually just sat outside the fence trying to find a way back in to be with Alfie. She had never wandered off. I pictured someone nabbing her from the backyard, envisioning horrors like animal experiments being performed on her. When I calmed myself enough to deem this vision unrealistic, my next thought was of a big eagle sweeping down while we weren’t looking and flying off with her. “I’ll never get her back either way,” I thought.
Beside myself, I returned home only to learn that my parents hadn’t found her yet either. Another search of the house ensued and then I heard my Mom’s voice calling to let me know she was found safe-and-sound in what we assumed was a locked bedroom. I should have realized. The door was shut because of the bathroom renovations, but I had noticed that she had found a way in the other day. The problem is the door swings in to allow her entrance, but just like the baby gate, once it closes she can’t get it to swing out, impeding her exit. In my terror, I hadn’t thought of this, however.
I scooped Waffles out of Mom’s arms and held her close. She wiggled and wagged her usually stoic tail, while Alfie did the same. The two, sensing my excitement, got all worked up, like two children on Christmas morning. They didn’t know why I was so happy, but I could tell they both hoped it meant something tasty for them. In the end, it did. I placed both Waffles and Alfie securely in their pens with a bite-sized morsel of the grilled filet mingon. And, as she ate it I think Waffles was as happy as I was that she hadn’t gotten permanently lost.
If there was a rock star at BlogPaws it may well have been Norman, the scooter and bike-riding dog. It seems Norman is a bit of a celebrity, so when he appeared at the hotel, he was rushed by a crowd of fans. When the time came for him to perform, it was raining outside, so a a circle formed in the hotel lobby and Norman entertained the crowds by scooting across the floor first on his scooter and then on his bike. Pretty impressive. I can't even teach Alfie to sit or Waffles to stop knocking over trashcans!
This had to be among the cutest critters at BlogPaws 2013. This little guy was happy to pose on top of tables and chairs for just about anyone and believe me, there was a long lineup of photographers and cameras vying for his attention.
I've been busy this week pulling together my work for the above event. I, and a number of other writers who have been working under the tutelage of author Jon Katz for the last year, are giving a reading and showing off our artwork this Friday at Hubbard Hall in Cambridge, NY.
I've also been trying to settle back into everyday life following a working vacation in DC last week in which I attended Blogpaws and visited with an old college friend. I came home to a house torn up by renovations to the upstairs bathroom, so reentry has been challenging to say the least. As a result, I haven't had much time for serious work and hope you have been as entertained as I was by some of the great pet photo ops from Blogpaws.
Those of you in the Cambridge, NY area please consider attending the reading on Friday and don't forget to say "hi." I'd love to meet you!
One of my favorite red carpet moments at Blogpaws 13 was when this little lady decided it was time to check out this passing gentleman. She wanted an up close and personal introduction and found a way to get it! The only thing funnier may have been the way the swarm of bystanders, myself included, stormed the couple in an effort to capture the moment.
When I was ten years old I took art lessons with an art teacher who lived up the street. She eventually moved to a nearby house, built an art studio and opened her home up as a gallery and teaching space. I remember wanting to emulate her – not only her art, but also her lifestyle. Maybe someday I too, could draw, paint and work out of my home.
It seems to me that for many artists, the title is about more than a profession; it is about a way of life. Most artists I know are trying to carve out a living doing what they love. Most want to be surrounded by beautiful things. Many want to live a simple life, close to nature, close to the work they love.
I have been trying for most of my life to create such a life for myself and in many ways I’ve achieved it. I am a professional writer and teacher. I have managed to eschew the 9 to 5 grind. But, the term starving artist exists for a reason and I have yet, to establish the home that I have always dreamed of having as my own creative space. I’ve set out and tried a couple of times to build one, but money always proves an obstacle. Still, the dream is strong, which is why perhaps I am so enchanted when I see it realized by others.
Several years ago, I wrote an article for Upper Valley Life Magazine about two potters, Becca Van Fleet and Nathan Webb. Theirs was a love story, both as a couple and as artists. Recently married, they were building a kiln and creating their own artistic dream. I fell in love with their story and watched as they finished their kiln and set out to build a studio. Each open studio weekend I am there, purchasing a fine collection of their wonderful pottery. Today, when I stopped by with my mother and sister-in-law Leah, to introduce Leah to their work, I discovered not only their completed studio, but also learned the news that they are pregnant. Another unfulfilled dream of mine, but rather than feeling jealous I find myself delighting in seeing this deserving couple’s personal and work lives expand.
These two potters, and their dog, Lego, short for Legolas of Lord of the Rings fame, make their home not far down the road from my own property, so after visiting them today, I walked the winding dirt road from my brother’s home to my land. Though chilly for May, the world was green and lush and rich with possibility. Becca and Nathan placed a chalkboard in their new studio, welcoming visitors and instructing them on how to negotiate the space. At the bottom, they wrote “a dream come true.” The words are a sweet reminder, but not necessary – the space and property is so infused with art and love that any visitor quickly becomes immersed in the dream that birthed it. You celebrate it as your own. And, so in this spirit, I stare out at my empty meadow and dream a dream large enough to fill the space. I continue my artist’s journey and envision where it will lead.
