Author: Maria

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I Have Succumbed to Bird Watching

Merlin App capture. Enjoy the Red Junglefowl.

I don’t often ruminate about getting old, but when I do, it seems I run to this often-neglected blog to regale you, kind reader, with my meandering thoughts. Thank you for indulging an old lady.

The truth is I don’t think much about aging throughout my day. I get up, stiff and achey, and get moving. By the time I get to the bathroom, I’ve stretched and my knees have stopped creaking. Focused, as I am, on avoiding a stray slipper that might trip me in the low light, I forget about the knees, and focus on the coffee.

There must be coffee.

That leads to a delightful early morning on the back porch with my husband, where morning prayers are often followed by lingering in the increasing heat and humidity. Silly conversations, and distractions from hummingbirds and obnoxious squirrels fuel our desire to stay put, and soon enough, the whole yard is awake and filled with birdsong. Idyllic, if not stereotypical of our season in life.

Naturally, we downloaded the Merlin app so we could identify the birds that keep us company in the mornings. It has been such fun to learn to identify the birds by their songs, even if we can’t see them. The app gives us a picture of the bird, so that has been helpful. Otherwise I couldn’t pick a Carolina Wren out of a line-up. I know bluebirds and cardinals, and that’s about it.

And then there is the rooster that lives somewhere on the other side of the creek. He’s a noisy bastard, but the Merlin app calls him a Red Junglefowl so I have decided to treat his loud interruptions as the call of an exotic jungle bird. This, in the forests of northern Virginia.

Framing is everything. It’s especially useful in the second half of life (at my age that’s rather generous). But it’s true. I don’t dwell too much on thoughts of limitations. I should note that I am highly aware of my age on the pickleball court and don’t lunge for a shot I probably would have returned with ease as a young woman, but short of avoiding an orthopedic emergency, I am still active, still curious, still wanting to pursue adventure. I do it with gusto, just at a slower pace, and I am fine with that.

Right now, the birds have my attention. I probably need to dig out the binoculars and find one of those little field notebooks to start recording the birds I discover. I’m going to embrace this season with joy and gratitude, and perhaps a little bit of sass, like my friend the Red Junglefowl.

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Creative Practices to Boost Your Writing Journey

I just completed the first month of The Stafford Challenge, writing a poem a day for a year. Reminiscent of the now defunct NaNoWriMo, this creative challenge requires fewer words in a day, but extends the challenge across 12 months.

Once upon a time, I produced a lot of poetry. Some of it was good; most of it was trite. I can’t say that it has gotten any better, but I am enjoying the challenge and surprising myself with some progress. I may not be winning the Ruth Lilly Poetry Prize, but I look forward to my mid-afternoon cup of tea and a sheet of paper to see what jumps out of my fancy fountain pen. If nothing else, this challenge has given me an opportunity to ponder my world and I’m grateful for the experience. 

Many years ago, I came across Julia Cameron’s creativity-retreat-in-a-book, The Artist’s Way. It was sometimes hard, sometimes enlightening, and always encouraging as I worked through the exercises and figured out what fed my creative side. 

I learned a few things that carry over to this day:

  • I need to write a little bit each day. ideally, I write several pages in a journal, but some days look more like several lines, sometimes copied from scripture. The point is that I show up to the page.
  • I need to embrace activities that feed my creativity. Over the years I’ve done acrylic and oil painting, photography, needlepoint, jewelry making, mosaic and tile work, puzzles, sketching and watercolor, and my newest hobby, 3D puzzles. I always feel refreshed when I return to the page.
  • I go on dates with myself, to see and do new things on my own schedule because I deserve it!

Perhaps these things have helped me be a better writer. I can say with certainty they’ve made me a writer that comes to the page with a joyful heart.

How do you feed your creativity?

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Christmas Eve Thoughts

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; Upon those who lived in a land of gloom a light has shone….

This morning I’m sitting quietly by the Christmas tree with its lights casting a warm glow in the room. if I had a fireplace, it would be on, but I am cheating a bit with one of those fancy candles that have a piece of wood for a wick. In the early morning silence, I can hear the occasional crackle of the wood. It could be a scene out of a Hallmark movie except I’ve never really lived in a “white Christmas” setting with roaring fires and cider at the ready.

I think it’s interesting that I mark time from one Christmas to the next rather than the new year, with all its resolutions. The passage of time is felt in the way I’ve celebrated Christmas through the years.

Whenever I see “Frosty the Snowman” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” pop up on the tv line-up, I get a little giddy with anticipation. Surely “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas“ will soon follow, and so begins the build-up of anticipation I felt as a child. I still delight in the joyful celebrations of hot chocolate and candy canes, and while the noise of a commercialized holiday rings everywhere I go, my heart yearns for the “peace on earth” heralded in song and colorful displays.

Christmas, as the Grinch observes, is not about the “noise, noise, noise!” that distracts, a bait and switch that promotes consumerism over peace. No, the good ole Grinch ponders, “Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas… perhaps… means a little bit more!”

What the Grinch hints at, Linus captures beautifully at the end of “A Charlie Brown Christmas” when he reads the nativity story in Luke.

The birth of Christ is what I am anticipating.

A flicker of light punctuated by the subtlest of pops from my candle brings my attention to the little statue of the Holy Family. The bible in my lap is opened to Isaiah 9:1-6 where I read

For a child is born to us, a son is given to us; upon his shoulder dominion rests. They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.

And know I have found this “little bit more” alluded to in the noise, but found in silence.

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