“The way to get over creative block is to simply place some constraints on yourself. It seems contradictory, but when it comes to creative work, limitations mean freedom.”
― Austin Kleon, Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative
Most of my creativity juices come by way of chance, so I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I were to put some constraints on myself.
I won’t share the list yet, but I am curious to see what happens.
“ I breathe at the open window above my desk, and a moist fragrance assails me from the gnawed leaves of the growing mock orange.”
-Annie Dillard
“Be thankful for a breath of fresh air to be alive and well. Allow love and happiness to penetrate throughout your mind and soul. Take time to relax and live in the moment, the now, the present. Enjoy today.”
~ Amaka Imani Nikosazana
We spend Sunday with the kids, helping them trim up some tress. Their five acres is like a secret oasis of peace and quiet. I am not so good at hauling huge cedar branches and volunteer to weed the garden beds a bit and chase the chickens with my camera. I hear laughter from the corners of the property as light rain falls off and on, understanding there is no other place I would rather be right now. Later we order take out burgers and chicken yakisoba from the tiny market by their house, eating on their screened in porch. I come home full of love and gratitude for these wonderful humans who I get to share my life with.
"Do you bow your head when you pray or do you look up into that blue space?
Take your choice, prayers fly from all directions."
— Mary Oliver
Today I will run some errands and go to the post office.
Today I will sit on the floor in the children’s section of the library and choose some new books for Percy.
Today I will do my best to be kind, and pleasant, and upbeat.
Today I will live with that lump in my throat and try not to cry.
Today I will ponder just how much of the world I will have to shut out to protect my well being.
“A tomato may be a fruit, but it is a singular fruit. A savory fruit. A fruit that has ambitions far beyond the ambitions of other fruits.”
― E. Lockhart
I stand among the vegetables at our local food co-op watching the young man place these beautiful tomatoes in cardboard baskets. He offers me a bright red one to taste and I slide it into my month and taste summer. I reach for a paper bag and ask him to slip a couple baskets inside. He empties two very full baskets into the bag and hands me two baskets to place them in once I get home.
I can’t resist taking their picture.
And the wind upon its way whispered the boughs of May, And touched the nodding peony flowers to bid them waken.
- Siegfried Sassoon
I tied them up with a nylon, which I had him pickup at the pharmacy one day a few weeks back.
The rain, while constant and unforgiving has not broken them down. They stand tall in the front garden, the bush full of buds, ready to open any day now.
Their season is far too short, so I will visit daily now, and do my best to capture them at from every angle.
Sometimes Arthur sees me and yells “Nana!” in the way some people might say “ice cream!” and others say “shoe sale!” No one else has sounded that happy to see me in many many years.
- Anna Quindlen
We take a snack and head down to the bay for a couple of hours. He digs in the sand, does his best to throw rocks in the waves, laughs at the seagulls and feels brave as he peeks through the slats on the bridge. He spots a crow, a few tiny crabs, a big cargo ship (he is sure is full of dinosaurs), and several dogs, all of whom he calls Bob. I try my best to get a few shots of him, but finally tuck my camera away and give him my whole attention, admitting to myself we both have more fun when I am fully present.
The weather is perfect, the constant rain we have had over the past several weeks has let up and it finally feels like we might be heading into summer. We sit on a bench and eat the strawberries we brought with us and watch the people. The playground is full of children and he watches with interest but is not ready yet to mingle among them. He sits, his small fingers stained red from the strawberries, not missing a thing as he kicks his feet back and forth. We talk about the rock he has in his pocket and all we have seen. I ask if he is ready to go home and he says yea. Gamps scoops him up and puts him in his carseat and I buckle him in. He talks all the way home, telling me over and over that we had fun at the beach today and I agree wholeheartedly, knowing enough to hold on to these memories with all my might, as time is flying by way too fast.