Category Archives: Uncategorized

Still chanting the same one, another version tonight

my new meditation seat and cornerCLICK BELOW TO LISTEN:
metta day 7
May you be safe
May you  have happiness
May you have healing
May you have ease and grace all hours of the day

…. i know there’s not much of an audience for this kind of thing (so far) and that’s okay. recording these is life affirming and a joy!

photo by mary macgowan, my new meditation seat 

LOVING-KINDNESS MEDITATION IN SONG, DAY 6

CLICK HERE FOR A GUIDED LOVING-KINDESS MEDITATION IN SONG (ambient vocals and all):
metta day 6

First, for yourself:
May I be safe.
May I have happiness.
May I have healing.
May I have ease and grace all hours of the day

Then for someone whom is easy for you to love:
May you be safe.
May you have happiness.
May you have healing.
May you have ease and grace all hours of the day

Then for someone neutral in your life:
May you be safe.
May you have happiness.
May you have healing.
May you have ease and grace all hours of the day

Then for someone difficult in your life:
May you be safe.
May you have happiness.
May you have healing.
May you have ease and grace all hours of the day

Lastly, for all creatures on this Earth:
May we all be safe.
May we all have happiness.
May we all have healing.
May we all have ease and grace all hours of the day

music by mary macgowan, late at night in her living room having a great time

We’re All About It Here at Plucky Umbrella

DAY #5 “Compassion meditation” research
A few recent psychological studies suggest that loving-kindness meditation may impact health and well-being. One study done at Stanford University suggests that a short 7 minute practice of loving-kindness meditation can increase social connectedness. Loving-kindness meditation has also been shown to reduce pain and anger in people with chronic lower back pain. Researcher Barbara Fredrickson at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill found that loving-kindness meditation can help boost positive emotions and well-being in life, fostering the personal resources that come from experiencing positive emotion. CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW TO PARTICIPATE IN MY LOVING-KINDNESS-IN-SONG. YOU CAN SIMPLY LISTEN AND BENEFIT FROM THAT. AND NOW THAT I KNOW ABOUT THE “7 MINUTES” RESEARCH, I’LL DO A LONGER VERSION NEXT…
metta meditation day#5 with piano

Continuing Loving-Kindness Meditations – with a tweak and harmonies

Loving-Kindness meditations all have the same basic “script.” Since I’m doing something new by putting it to music, I figure I can also tweak some of the words, so here’s what I have so far; I haven’t gone too far astray from the “script” most meditators use. You are invited to click below to hear it in song.
yay metta meditation day#4

First, for yourself:
May I be safe.
May I have happiness.
May I have healing.
May I have ease and grace all hours of the day

Then for someone you find easy for you to love:
May you be safe.
May you have happiness.
May you have healing.
May you have ease and grace all hours of the day

Then for someone neutral in your life:
May you be safe.
May you have happiness.
May you have healing.
May you have ease and grace all hours of the day

Then for someone difficult in your life:
May you be safe.
May you have happiness.
May you have healing.
May you have ease and grace all hours of the day

Lastly, for all creatures on this Earth:
May we all be safe.
May we all have happiness.
May we all have healing.
May we all have ease and grace all hours of the day

Lovingkindness Meditation For All Beings Everywhere, Let’s Do It

Greetings from Plucky Umbrella!  You are invited to join me in a daily practice of Metta (Lovingkindness) Meditation.  Starting today, December 18, 2012 to January 1, 2013.  Anyone may participate and whatever day you wish to start is the right day! This simple, straight-forward meditation requires as little as a few minutes each day – or you might find yourself taking much longer. It is up to you. Metta is an altruistic attitude of love and friendliness. The benefits of Lovingkindness Meditation can be enjoyed regardless of your spiritual beliefs or practice.

Here is a “script” for your use.

INSTRUCTIONS:

Find a way to sit comfortably. This is very important!  You are to cultivate compassion and lovingkindness for yourself, so begin by choosing a seat that feels good to you.  No rules here except that you be comfortable! Also, if you begin to feel uncomfortable during your meditation, you may make changes, you may move, you may adjust.  Please do!

The Metta / Loving-Kindness Meditation uses 4 key concepts that will be repeated throughout your meditation:
• Safety
• Happiness
• Physical Healing
• Peace and ease of well-being

Some people have them printed out and hold them in their hand as a kind of “cheat sheet.”  That’s a good way to start!

You begin by repeating these concepts in the form of a wish for yourself…..okay, here we go!

a)  YOU
Start the meditation by taking a moment to cultivate a loving feeling.  Close your eyes, and bring your attention to the center of your chest, your heart.   Sometimes it helps to imagine a small kitten or puppy you could hold in that area, and feel the love and tenderness that arises naturally.

Silently repeat these phrases in your mind:
“May I be safe.”
“May I have happiness.”
“May I have physical healing.”
“May I have peace and ease of well-being.”

At first, it might be easiest to repeat these phrases just once and then move on.  As you meditate more often, you might choose to repeat the phrases twice, or three times.

Sometimes you might find yourself confused and the words might tumble around in your mind. That’s okay. When you remember, gently bring yourself back to the basic 4 phrases.

b) SOMEONE YOU LOVE
Choose someone who is easy to love. You might find yourself with some mixed feelings toward this person, but if you feel mostly love toward them, then this person is a good choice.

Silently repeat the Metta phrases in your mind. You might want to include their name with each phrase.
“May you be safe.”
“May you have happiness.”
“May you have physical healing.”
“May you have peace and ease of well-being.”

As for yourself, repeat the phrases as you wish. Once, twice, three times, it is up to you.

c) SOMEONE NEUTRAL
Bring to mind a “neutral person”, someone you are aware of that perhaps you do not know very well.  This person does not bring up strong emotions for you. You might find it easiest to choose someone you see everyday, such as a store clerk or someone you see walking their dog.

Silently repeat the Metta phrases in your mind:

“May you be safe.”
“May you have happiness.”
“May you have physical healing.”
“May you have peace and ease of well-being.”

As for yourself, repeat the phrases as you wish. Once, twice, three times, it is up to you.

 d)  SOMEONE WHO IS DIFFICULT
Bring to mind someone who brings up feelings of negativity in you.  It is most compassionate for yourself to start with someone with whom the difficulty is mild.  Give yourself permission to work at this gently and gradually.

Silently repeat the Metta phrases in your mind:
“May you be safe.”
“May you have happiness.”
“May you have physical healing.”
“May you have peace and ease of well-being.”

As for yourself, repeat the phrases as you wish. Once, twice, three times, it is up to you.

e)  ALL BEINGS
Begin to generate a feeling of loving-kindess towards all beings, all creatures, all individuals, all those in existence. 

Silently repeat the Metta phrases in your mind.
“May all beings everywhere be safe.”
“May all beings everywhere have happiness.”
“May all beings everywhere have physical healing.”
“May all beings everywhere have peace and ease of well-being.”

Continue to radiate these feelings of loving-kindness until you feel complete.

Print out this page if it would help you to remember.  The process seems complicated, but at its essence it is quite basic:  
Four phrases for you,
for someone you love,
for someone neutral,
for a difficult person,
for all beings.

I’ll post a re-cap tomorrow. Bring on the love! (Comments are welcome!)

3 Days Called Days of Grace

pretty, pink and spindly

A, B and C Rent a Pasture Together (a found poem from Hagar’s Common School Arithmetic)

Two boys were employed
to measure the length of a ditch.
An officer is in pursuit of a thief
who has some miles the start.
If you should leave home
and travel ’til your watch
is 35 minutes fast . . .
Rules for estimating hay,
in mows, well-settled,
divide by 550 for clover,
or by 450 for meadow hay.
Three days
called Days of grace
are usually allowed.

watercolor painting and poem by mary macgowan

Learning Tom Dooley on Guitar

(G chord) Hang down your head Tom Dooley. Hang down your head and (wait, wait for it, get the D chord ready, and…yes!) cry. Hang down your head Tom Dooley.  Poor boy he’s bound to (Okay, think fast, get that G chord in place and…yes!) die.

 

The 6th grade me. Tom Dooley was my first song. And, hey, remember those chairs!

The 6th grade Me. Tom Dooley was my first song. It was a classical guitar. And, hey, remember those chairs?

Lucy Finds Her Thumb and 10,000 Joys

Lucy finds her thumb

Hey, Lucy, what’s that on your toe? — My 3-month-old granddaughter, Lucy, sometimes accidentally pulls out her pacifier and then manages to find her thumb to suck. It goes like this – She starts to fuss, pulls out the pacifier, finds the thumb, loses the thumb, cries, I give her a pacifier, and so on… Sometimes I show her: Here! Here is your thumb! And thus, within the microcosm of one baby, we find the macrocosm of joy united with suffering. Little girl, I give to you: 10,000 joys, 10,000 sorrows.

Illustration by Mary MacGowan, pen and watercolor pencil and a collaged butterfly
10,000 Joys, 10,000 Sorrows is an old Buddhist saying

Random and Romance

“Random” is the instant a horse at full speed has all four hooves off the ground, unbridled galloping love that flies. So, human beings: Gallop! Be glad for every day the word “love” has been spoken in your presence. It ends, you say. Disappointments, you say. So what? Love gets you off the ground. Receive love, give love. Continue thus. Fly your way through your life, I tell you, go for Random!

i

Photo on 2012-12-03 at 19.16

She clutches it

as if it has answers.

Email

to email to facebook to word
to blogs to email to email.
She knows she’s doing it
while she’s doing it

but can’tstopcan’tstop.
She falls asleep with
one finger

pressing one key
until it fills the page.

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

There was a man
in the nursing home, no word
remained for him except one: i.
All day he looked at her blankly
saying i i i i i.
This is a true story.

She’d move him to the hallway
for relief, a distant i,i,i,
quieter,less insistent

less.

a morning poem

 

Driving you home,

traffic lights blink
early morning (night)off.
A car goes steady past
then two joggers,
an up-down flashlight.
Conversation weaves mystic.
If we thank God when things
go well
then we must blame God
when they don’t.
Let God be.
The old saying, Be
here now, now a joke.
But still.
It’s still night, really.
Stille Nacht.

Last Night


Hay flies out
from the truck before her,
bats hurrying a cave.
She swigs Debris of Twister,
turns mistakes
and crashes
into tall red pines.
Dry dandelions
breaking loose.
Paper wings
crinkle-laced
with winter green
needles flap an origami
peace crane
swift away
on her last exhale.

– poem by mary macgowan

– photo by lori, hippie peace freaks fb page

The Three Difficulties

In my words, as remembered from Pema Chodron: May I practice The Three Difficulties. May I see what I do. When it happens, may I do something different. And may this be a way of life for me. We say this in the mornings, and then in the evenings, as we get ready to sleep, we review the day with compassion. The elusive “When it happens. . .” My interpretation is that when you act and feel neurotic, when you have difficult feelings, when you have the urge to act in an unhealthy way, try something different. It works. It really works. So elegantly simple. I recommend using it this holiday weekend. Families can bring out the best and the worst in us! Let yourself try something different this time and may your Thanksgiving be Happy!

A Proper Cup of Tea

Sad Heart, a good dog.

OUR WHOLE LIFE COULD BE A RITUAL
“We could learn to stop when the sun goes down and when the sun comes up. We could learn to listen to the wind; we could learn to notice that it’s raining or snowing or hailing or calm. We could reconnect with the weather that is ourselves, and we could realize that it’s sad. The sadder it is, and the vaster it is, the more our heart opens. We can stop thinking that good practice is when it’s smooth and calm, and bad practice is when it’s rough and dark. If we can hold it all in our hearts, then we can make a proper cup of tea.”
(Wisdom of No Escape) – Pema Chodron

4 Spider Lakes

Just arrived, fresh from Whitewash & Co . . . 4 sets of letters (spelling Spider Lake) creatively collaged, using my photos, poems and O’Keefe’s decorative papers & maps & whatnot. To be given as gifts. Can’t begin to describe my pleasure with this bunch of beauty! Every time I look at them I see something new – so, so lovely! You can find them at http://www.facebook.com/WhitewashAndCo?fref=ts

More On Lost Keys and Angels


Thinking deeper after my last blog. What if my hearing the story of the woman & angel (or whatever) (the vision who told her she should have more faith) — what if my hearing it and then your reading about my hearing it — what if those are messages meant to reach you & me? Just . . . what if? 

self portrait photo by mary macgowan

Lost Keys and Angels

A woman told me this today: “I left my keys on a shelf in a big department store. I was in a panic and worrying about what to do. I looked up and down every aisle. Suddenly this woman appears out of nowhere, hands me my keys and says ‘You need to have more faith,’ and then she disappears.”

She told her story very sweetly, but I wonder if she missed a magic moment. Maybe we used to pay more attention to things like this – small miracles or angels or visions who give us important messages.

Things like this used to change lives.

Imagine the angels and miracles and visions, frustrated, scrambling around, trying to get our attention, trying to reach us while we hurry past. They say, Stop, look, I can show you the way.

First Snow


First snowfall yesterday morning… I found myself saying ooooo, so pretty over and over again. Such a silly simple thing to say… But it was ooooo so pretty! This is a photo of the island across from me.

Snow Champagne

Ice becoming itself
crystal clusters
kirigami trees silhouetted
against the last light
too late, too late
we watch snow fall
through picture windows
candles and matches
within reach
should all else fail
Come quickly, brothers,
I’m drinking stars.

Pulling Up Mint

The mint has to go. It’s appeared in poems and songs. . .but now it has become an invasive species. As Rob and I dug and pulled these stubborn far-reaching plants with their spindly strong vine-root systems, I said my good-byes and thank-you’s. But I want my sandy beach back. Something about mint and sand and water; a perfect storm of sorts.  Still, we enjoyed the physical labor and the rewards of a job well done.  So much better than a gym.  Working hard at a job that needs doing.

Speaking of storms, how are all of you who live in Hurricane Sandy’s path doing?

Regarding bad days…

Recently I had a God experience. My God moment, which would be impossible to describe, was powerful and uplifting.

After, I was exhausted.

I found several examples from the bible (don’t even know if I should capitalize “bible,” that’s how non-religious I am) of people who were exhausted after God experiences. So…..sometimes I have a bad day and I’m exhausted and feel like I’ve been wrestling an alligator naked. And I’m wondering if that kind of day is actually God rattling my cage to get me to notice?

Is having a “bad day” really a “hard God work day?”

My hand is hesitating over the “publish” button. God’s name tends to make people go nuts about religions and belief systems and wars. To me, God is simply an infusion that is always there (inside all of us) if we take the time to notice.

Guess I’ll go ahead and publish. I can always delete it later.

Oh, and I think that God moments get blurry afterwards, like an Impressionist painting; I doubt anyone can paint a clear picture of it, or describe it with words.

And I wasn’t drinking or anything like that.

What She Thought vs. What Was vs. What Will Be

from a friend…

Boyfriend Whore

She thought she was a Serial Monogamist
and that as a middle-aged woman
she was dating wisely.

Turns out she’s been a Boyfriend Whore.
She doesn’t know if her children call her Boyfriend Whore,
but she has learned that many young people do
regarding their dating mothers.  She is
Amused – and
Boyfriend Whore Embarrassed.
It is true.
So far she has been a Boyfriend Whore.
She hopes if she says Boyfriend Whore
often enough
she’ll get used to it.

Invisible Fences

Bailey’s invisible fence ran along quite close to the cement steps pictured here. She used to veer off to the left of the steps to avoid getting “buzzed.” When the railing got installed we moved her invisible fence line way over to the right to give her more room – but at first she didn’t believe. We had to coax her and sweet talk her over and over, up and down the steps until finally she was a “convert.”  Still, it took guts for her to believe.

The invisible parts of our lives; believing in them, or not.  Trust. Fear. Taking those first steps. Avoiding pain. Pain that seems to come from nowhere – an “invisible” fence!  How very much this mirrors our emotional experiences of our lives. And yet, still, every day, Life asks us to keep walking up and down steps.  To believe we won’t be hurt.

Lurching About

Yesterday I lurched about, creatively.  My “creativity slave driver” buzzed around me all day…

First thing in the morning, went next door to my dear friend’s house to have tea, both of us still in jammies. It was delightful!  Creativity slave driver: Tsk tsk you didn’t write in your journal.

Went home to clean the house just a bit.  Creativity slave driver: Hurry! You need to start typing up those poems!

Made soap.  This has been an ongoing project. It turns out that to make soap you have to melt soap! This made me laugh!   In my case the creative part is this: I had muddled mint (with a mortar and pestle) from my property and slow-cooked it in oil to create a kind of “essence of mint.”  So I yesterday I put it all together and made mint soap.  I’m making the soap to give as gifts at Christmas/Hanukah. Creativity slave driver: You are spending too much energy and time doing a tame task, not creative enough!

One of my dear daughters called. She was baby sitting a 4-year-old.  She had been telling this young girl about her mom (me!) who used to sing and perform children’s music.  She asked me to sing to the 4-year-old!  I loved it!  Creativity slave driver: Go back to children’s music! You could make a lot of money! You are so good at it!

Saw a client. I’m an art therapist and I see a few clients each week.  “Creativity slave driver” was okay with that, no scolding.  I like being thoroughly present during sessions; being as attentive as I can be.

A hurried dinner and then I went to my jazz vocal ensemble rehearsal.  Creativity slave driver: You should sing just jazz! Practice jazz theory more! Put together an act and perform, become a jazz singer! 

Visited a wonderful friend after rehearsal. We talked about how we lurch about creatively! He has the same “Do this! Do that!” voice in his head!

Went back next door in my jammies for a late night cup of tea. Delightful! Creativity slave driver: You promised to start typing up those poems. Are you going to start tonight?

Got home a little before midnight. Got an email with a song attached that I might like to sing.  It’s a great song about  Spider Lake and Traverse City!  It got me happily excited, and then my creativity slave driver:  Do it! Put your local songs together, package them up and sell them next summer! You could make a fortune selling songs about Traverse City to Traverse City vacationers!

Got ready for bed, etc.  That dang creativity slave driver was still trying to get me to type out at least one poem!

I over ruled.

 

A thought about . . . my day yesterday

Yesterday I played guitar and sang songs with young children celebrating Sukkot, a jewish holiday. Then I had amazing french toast made by a wonderful friend. We had ice cream for lunch. Napped. Had dinner with neighbors who are cherished friends. Watched a movie that was beautiful to view, with a mysterious and unsatisfying ending (Meer’s Cut Off).

For most of my fairly long life, I would’ve felt irritated with myself about that day. Didn’t get any creative work done. Didn’t try to “make it” as a songwriter, as a poet, as an artist… Believe it; I can be Extreme in that way.

As a friend recently put it, yesterday I was a “human being” not a “human doing.” And it was a wonderful day!

A day’s small activities, though each one may seem insignificant, can add up to a really great day. Just sayin’

The Best Most Wonderful Story Ever!

How to make a personal book for your much-loved newborn granddaughter…THIS POST WAS JUST TOO LONG, SO I DITCHED A LOT OF THE PHOTOS…

Items to gather or buy:

A board book to completely cover each page and make it your own
Strong-quality wrapping paper in decorative colors and designs that match your passion for the subject of your book
glue
scissors
several greetings cards to cut up into decorative pieces
personal photos printed out on plain paper (glues better than photo paper)
a simple story line, told like a fairy tale

Tips: Allow yourself to be messy, let each page be slightly flawed, just have fun and be filled with love!

 

Include several pages of photos of loved ones…..and then on the back, paste on a “made by…”

And, this is very important: Don’t be afraid to make a mess…

The End!

Passion, p.10

This is a continuing series from my new workbook . . . If you contact me, I will send you a pdf file of the whole thingajig!  As an Art Therapist, I see so many clients searching for meaning in their lives.  My hope is that this workbook will help others in that search.

Climbable

From TUT’s daily emails:
If you knew of a spectacular mountain that was very, very tall, yet climbable. And if it was well established that from its peak, you could literally see all the love that bathes the world, dance with the angels, and party with the gods. Would you curse or celebrate each step you took as you ascended it?

Right-o!

Mary, life is that mountain and each day a step.

Perspectives change everything,
The Universe

[I don’t always read my TUT emails any more – but this one is a fresh drink of nice cold mountain water!]

You Can Find Your Passion p9

A REMINDER: THESE “PASSION” PAGES ARE FROM MY NEW WORKBOOK. YOU CAN DOWNLOAD THEM TO USE THEM, OR I CAN EMAIL YOU A PDF COPY. THIS WORKBOOK IS JUST SOMETHING I WANTED TO MAKE AND I OFFER IT TO ANYONE WHO WANTS IT. THERE’S BEEN SOME CONFUSION – SORRY.

Look, I Made This!

 

This is the cover of my new workbook . . . If I’m computer savvy enough, I’m going to wordpress it here  page by page over the next few days . . .

If you’d like a full copy just let me know.  No charge, this is just something I created that I want to share.  You know.  Like, “Look, I made this!”

Everyday We Forget That We Are Still Afraid

Thing is, the victims of 9/11 didn’t “give” anything. The people in those airplanes? The people in the towers? Their lives were stolen, taken, abducted, ruined. Do I want to remember? I can’t NOT remember. The memory is seared into my brain. 

We watched the smoke for days from our little town in nearby NJ. I waited while loved ones walked home from Manhattan. Madison NJ mourned the loss of 7 citizens. That first week, one child hung around our house, tired of gathered relatives awaiting news about his father who was one of the 7. One of those days, I asked him if there was anything I could get for him. He asked for a glass of water.

Please, no statues. We remember in our hearts. It was a terrible terrifying time. The crashing of the towers, the Pentagon, tore open our American soul. The fear on those airplanes, fear we can only imagine, poured into that hole. We forget almost every day that we are still mending, still afraid.

I Was Once the Boy’s Bunny

Hello. I used to lie down with my boy. We’d sleep. And he carried me around with him. We’d do stuff together. Climb up and down the stairs. Eat ice cream. Now my boy’s mother has me and keeps me because I was once the boy’s bunny.

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

Chair, Window

Porch scene found in Long Valley, NJ. Entire house beautiful in its decay. I imagine fleeing a house like this, leaving a favorite chair sitting on the porch, and I see confusion and hurrying, maybe a fire, the law, a murder, a birth.

Regarding the My Year of Mindfulness theme.
I’m in transition about how I’m thinking it through. In a way, mindfulness is what my blog has always been about, you know? And yet a few weeks ago I set about consciously being mindful and practicing mindfulness. Well, regardless of what this blog has always (or has not always) been about, I began to feel preachy in my MYOMs, so I’m going to stop labeling which posts are all about MYOM and which are not. It is all the same.  Seeking harmony.

– photo by mary macgowan

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

MYOM #9: Kisses

This cartoon was posted many months ago, but I’m reblogging it because it fits
in well with My Year of Mindfulness.

Bailey licking humans’ faces (or any body part) is a subject frequently discussed earnestly.
Most human dislike it. Bailey has learned the term “NO LICK!” which she hears often.
I’d estimate that she successfully restrains from licking about 75% of the time.
No, make that 50% of the time. Maybe even less. Some say a dog’s desire to lick
stems from the behavior within a dog pack. The submissive dogs supposedly
lick the ears of the alpha.

For me to be fully in the moment with Bailey, I occasionally let her lick my
face as long and as thoroughly as she chooses. It makes her happy.
Which makes me happy. But now I’m discussing my cartoon which really says it all.

– cartoon illustration by mary macgowan

MYOM #8: Gold Cracks

My Year of Mindfulness #8

This cracked bowl still knows how to be a bowl. It can’t be anything else. Look how beautiful it is. I’d like to hold it in my lap every day; I’d like to feel its heft and listen to its story. We could be mindful of each other, my bowl and me. We could sit together and just be there, in the shade of a cherry tree, bowl and woman. I’d like that.

MYOM #7: Blue Heron Dock Standing

My Year of Mindfulness #7

Today this blue heron was me. Quirky poses and full of herself and firmly positioned on the end of my dock like me and my tea most mornings. Is it okay that I’m full of myself too?  I am, I confess. Full! of! Myself!

Tonight I stood in her place. It was late, after midnight. The moon was full of itself, so bright it was almost annoying to this woman who had walked out to stand on her peaceful dock.  As I stood there, adjusting to the streetlight moon, I wondered what it’s like to be a blue heron on the end of my dock.  I can never really know.  

I wish I had such awesome funky wings.  Thank you Blue Heron for this wondrous pose!  I suspect she’s welcoming in breezes, sunshine and, well, whatever slips in unawares. Love, maybe. Love, I hope.  

Year of Mindfulness #6: Rock Writing


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rock writing discovered on Old Mission Lighthouse Point.

When I first saw these names and signs (there were dozens of them), I couldn’t discern what some of them were. Most of them looked like hieroglyphics or some ancient language. It wasn’t until I looked through my camera lens that I could recognize most of the words and names. Through the camera lens I also discovered that I’d been looking at some of the words upside down.  At first I felt confused and foolish.  Then I was captivated by the effect of the camera.  And then I started thinking. . .

How we long to be seen. How we yearn for permanence and recognition.
I felt this.
I am here today at this place.

And sometimes with only a subtle shift in point of view – like me looking through my camera’s lens – we can then see what’s really there.

Each day now I take time to see if I can see.  

Year of Mindfulness #4: While Taking Self Portraits for Match

 

– Unedited photo by mary macgowan, who loves it when a mistake makes magic

Mistakes. Being alive is a messy business. Oh heavens, all day long – plans go awry, change, switch. How to be okay with that?

This photo, where the sun entered the camera lens in an unexpected way, shows me how wonderful mistakes can be. Look at the clarity of good dog Bailey – so beautiful. And Bailey seems to be saying to me: Stop looking at Match! I love you! Me! Here I am! And she is right. Everything I need is here.  

Bailey is right near me all day and sometimes I scarcely stop to notice her. So, yes, I can appreciate a “mistake” that shows me what is true.  I can be such an idiot.

More Overheard Dialogue

counterman talking to customer: oh sure i know walter! we go way back. he’s my cousin!
customer: no way! he’s my best friend!
counterman: (pause)…(typing sounds)….uh . . . he died, didn’t he?

– overheard by redmittengirl . . . You MUST visit her blog it is EXCELLENT: http://toomuchaugust.wordpress.com/2012/08/21/upon/

Year of Mindfulness #3: Blueberries and Mint

(It’s a 23 second song)

Blueberries and mint
Blueberries and mint
Mint and blueberries
Blueberries and mint

This is it, folks. Blueberries. Mint. They’re growing on my beach. I could fight against them, pull them out and clear them away. Or I can celebrate their solid being-ness.

I wrote this song to remind myself to keep to the basics. No sense in trying to be something I’m not. All I can do is be me. Blueberries can only be blueberries. Mint can only be mint. You can only be you. I can only be me. So natural it almost seems silly to write it out! But we humans are pretty good at NOT being ourselves.  Or is it only me?

– song and photo by mary macgowan
– blueberries and mint from mary’s property

The Overheard Dialogue Project

Woman: She knows 10 ways to make potatoes.
Man: She is so Indiana!
— Daniel Proudfoot

Readers are invited to submit Overheard Dialogue. There is only one rule: Your submission must be something you overheard someone saying, for real, no fiction. Here are some more:

A young man walking past me on a college campus. This is what I heard as he passed:
. . . She was from, like, the time of Christ . . .
— Mary MacGowan

Two women talking in the women’s locker room at the gym.
One says: Rick and I are going to have bacon on Sunday.
— Mary MacGowan

Two women sitting at sushi bar at King of the Roll in Portland, ME.
Woman1: Was she always a lesbian or is it a back and forth thing?
Woman2: It’s back and forth. Sort of an Anne Heche thing.
— Mary Colangelo

I’m leaving the grocery store at the same moment two men are walking into the store. One is reading aloud from a list, and says:
. . . Diet Coke, condoms . . .
— Mary MacGowan
———————————-

Okay, two rules.
The 2nd is that it has to be interesting in some way.  
And I am the judge of that.
Submit to this plucky umbrella blog as a comment.
I look forward to hearing from you!

(In)Constant Ocean


Really, this is a good song, have a listen…

(In)Constant Ocean

The constellations fade and sigh
the trucks roll long and gray
like noisy children playing hide and seek
they pass, retreat,
pass, retreat…
one more time, those trucks fall behind

So many times I’ve gone this road
Orion swings now to the west
but we’re all mixed up
Are we there? Almost.
I lay down my head on a pile of old coats
and pretend I’m asleep in the old rowboat.

Stillness before all motion
in my midnight deep (in)constant ocean.

And sisters sang the old fight song
A while back there had some rain
With mom and dad
in the front I had
this funny feeling that I’d never left home
and I sat down later and wrote down this poem.

Stillness before all motion
in my midnight deep (in)constant ocean.

Even Umbrellas Can Get Political

Wake Me When It’s Over – a political poem from the last election

Things bump along fine
without me. Early presidential
candidates mocked, Colbert
shows I can’t watch because
I don’t know truth from comedy
that’s how far from the hula hoop
I’ve wriggled. Volcanoes, draughts,
firestorms, the miseries of war.
A hurricane promoted to excite
the masses, gas prices, negotiations.
Photos of a female candidate
filters through on FB. The
tip of a long corn dog in her mouth.
We can’t be nice to those we love
so don’t bother watching wars.
The world sucks its own dick.

– poem and pastel painting by mary macgowan

Hello Plucky Umbrella

Hello Plucky Umbrella Blog, I’ve missed you.  I’ve been busy doing other things lately.  I’m sorry.  I’ll be back soon.  To amuse you while I’m gone, here is a clown guy my daughter Rachel made in art class many, many years ago.  Clown guy hangs on my living room wall and sees all.

The hole in his head. Well. What can I say except that I love him even more because of it?  Rachel’s art teacher insisted upon the hole. The hole was meant for hanging, and his pants were meant for holding keys. Then I went and framed him.  Ruined the whole concept.  [Couldn’t help myself.  He’s too sweet to hang there all by himself, unprotected.]  [See framed fellow below.]

Bye for now Plucky Umbrella. I won’t be gone much longer.
Love, Mary

Year of Mindfulness Day #2: A New Water Lily

A new water lily

curls upward like birthday ribbon
‘til the tight white bud reaches the surface.
Then it leans over on the lake
and rocks itself awake.

The tight curl believing in what-is. I am so often like that corkscrew curl….but I forget to believe. I forget to believe that I have the right to grow; that my “curl” will smooth out over time; that I am allowed to do what nature wants me to do: Enjoy and thrive.  Isn’t that ridiculous? How could I deny myself the privilege of enjoying and thriving? What was I thinking? Or was I thinking too much?

– photo and poem by mary macgowan

Year of Mindfulness Day #1: The Sweet Release of Giving In

This day begins

My Year of Mindfulness…

Fought the lake weeds for the past 5 years…

…until I realized, heck, let the dang things grow.

Give in!

Maybe I’ll end up with water lilies, like my neighbor:

and Monet will come for tea.

If not, at least the battle is over.

It began with lakeweeds. I’d been engaged in battle with them for the past 5 years, since I’d moved to this sparkling lake haven. Pulled the weeds by hand, used a lakeweed “mower,” used a lakeweed cutter, poured chemicals into the water to kill them. This is the day when I sat on my dock in the morning, as usual, when it came to me. I could simply accept them. I could even welcome them. And thus began my year of mindfulness. My year of accepting what-is. My year of seeing what-is. My year of being okay with the changeable always-growing creature that I am. The glory of my me-ness.

Mary’s Morning Glory

Love this!

garyschollmeier

This photo is for Mary MacGowan, at the Plucky Umbrella blog, http://pluckyumbrella.com/ .  She deviously implanted this song in my mind and whenever I walk past these wild morning glories the play button clicks and like an 8 track just keeps looping.  This file is yours Mary, if you want it. If you have not heard the song yet click here.     http://pluckyumbrella.com/2012/07/17/morning-glory/

View original post

Wild Colors Housing

Such a beautiful photo. Could it have been photoshopped? Does this neighborhood really go wild with color like this? Do they have meetings about the colors?  A color president?

Would it be a delight or a chaotic nightmare to live amongst such bursts color?!

– photographer unknown, grabbed this photo from FB

I want to paint my house like this!

Cry For You House


Cry For You is one of my songs…Click on Play – above

She sighs.This might be the saddest
house in the world.
He sees her: a cloudy wind drifter on high.
He says, I don’t know how you got to such a leave-you place.
She leans back on the bed. Saddest song, too.

yes, beauty in the decay
yes, photo and song and poem by mary macgowan

Michigan’s Back Alleys

This scarcely feels fair, she says, so easy to find the loved
the abandoned, the swingsets, the trash cans.
It’s fair, he answers, everyone’s back yard.

They drive back and forth
behind all the bright front porches.

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

– photo & poem by mary macgowan

The Best “Good Dog Bailey” Story Ever

Here is Good Dog Bailey, and below is First Island…

Bailey and I often swim out to First Island. It’s pretty far, right?
So yesterday we swam out there and after a few minutes I couldn’t find Bailey
but I figured she was playing with some dogs who were also visiting the island
and I was chatting with some folks who were there.

When it was time to swim back home, I couldn’t find Bailey girl. I called and called her.

Then I saw her SWIMMING FROM HOME BACK TO THE ISLAND!
How amazing is this dog?!

She missed me, so she apparently swam back home to find me…….then when she heard me calling her, she swam back to First Island to find me…….then she swam back home with me.

The kisses she gave me!

Such a good dog! Love that girl!
(Lots of exclamation marks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) (See “Miserly With Exclamation Marks” post for explanation!)

Grey Eyes

“Tavern,” poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay, adapted to music and sung by Mary MacGowan

I’ll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill’s crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
May set them down and rest.

There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.

There sound will sleep the traveller,
And dream his journey’s end,
But I will rouse at midnight
The falling fire to tend.

Aye, ’tis a curious fancy—
But all the good I know
Was taught me out of two grey eyes
A long time ago.

Morning Glory

Oh go ahead, click on “play,” you know you want to . . . and it’s worth it just to hear the legendary Jerry Friedman play his heartbreakingly beautiful lead guitar. This might have been his last studio gig. His playing made me cry . . .

Yes, this is me, and one of the songs, Morning Glory, from my CD, Morning Glory.
Not to brag, but I love this song, I just do.

Squeaks When Disturbed

The Walnut Sphinx Moth On Very Old Wall

Insectidentification.org  sizes this moth by portraying it as a large orange square placed on the same page as a quarter (25 cents). The orange square would, by my guesstimate, hold a couple dollars’ worth. Ross says it was about 4 inches wide not including the wingspan. He thought at first that it was a bat. Ross also says that the moth is not on a wall but a windowsill.

A quirk of the Walnut Sphinx Moth caterpillar: It may make “squeaking” sounds when disturbed.

This moth is very much alive; the wall (or windowsill or whatever it is) is surely wasting away which qualifies it for The Beauty in the Decay Series, attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things; how nature will have its way. The captivating presence of the process.

– beautiful photo by Cathy Sevensma

The Movement of Planets

Dad tried to explain,
giving me a grapefruit,
Mom an apple and he was
the flashlight sun. I
was never going to get it.

Sun bright
on my revolving moon.
Black-eyed crows
and Susans still banging

from a blue sky.
Grape jelly
in a hollow half orange,
bird watchers below.
An apple planet
bobs above.

– poem and photo (at Chicago’s O’Hare) by mary macgowan

The Boat Was In An Old, Old Room

“Someone should fix this up,” she said.
They walked through poison ivy (maybe) and tall grasses to see up close.
“Look in this window,” he said.
She looked. There was a boat.

The boat was in an old, old room.

The old, old room was in a house.

“If this were France, there’d be people living in it,” she said.
“Yeah, all peeling paint and that French elegance thing.”

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

– poem and photos by mary macgowan

Broken House

Broken House

She considers quilting.
Ripped cloth  / / /
splayed
zippers exposed, a blank     /   /   blanket
one slice of  /  /  /  orange
in a  /  /  /  / mold.
/ Almost wrong.

It must have something  /  /  /  song.

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

– poem and photo by mary macgowan

Hidden In the Poem

  Hidden inside an Elizabeth Barrett Browning poem is the loveliest few lines:

Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware…

These few lines have oft been quoted.  The entire poem, Aurora Leigh, fills a large  book.  Seems to me she was an early Whitman – if you keep reading Aurora Leigh it winds around and around and glorifies herself and God and all the richness of humanity.

I’m wondering about today’s poets. We all strive to be so compact, concise. Brevity is usually our goal. Getting to the point and to the negative space within in the shortest way possible. An editor nowadays would select those 5 lines and advise Browning to leave it at that.

#86

TRUTH, so far, in my book;—the truth which draws
Through all things upwards,—that a twofold world
Must go to a perfect cosmos. Natural things
And spiritual,—who separates those two
In art, in morals, or the social drift
Tears up the bond of nature and brings death,
Paints futile pictures, writes unreal verse,
Leads vulgar days, deals ignorantly with men,
Is wrong, in short, at all points. We divide
This apple of life, and cut it through the pips,—
The perfect round which fitted Venus’ hand
Has perished as utterly as if we ate
Both halves. Without the spiritual, observe,
The natural’s impossible,—no form,
No motion: without sensuous, spiritual
Is inappreciable,—no beauty or power:
And in this twofold sphere the twofold man
(For still the artist is intensely a man)
Holds firmly by the natural, to reach
The spiritual beyond it,—fixes still
The type with mortal vision, to pierce through,
With eyes immortal, to the antetype
Some call the ideal,—better call the real,
And certain to be called so presently
When things shall have their names. Look long enough
On any peasant’s face here, coarse and lined,
You’ll catch Antinous somewhere in that clay,
As perfect featured as he yearns at Rome
From marble pale with beauty; then persist,
And, if your apprehension’s competent,
You’ll find some fairer angel at his back,
As much exceeding him as he the boor,
And pushing him with empyreal disdain
For ever out of sight. Aye, Carrington
Is glad of such a creed: an artist must,
Who paints a tree, a leaf, a common stone
With just his hand, and finds it suddenly
A-piece with and conterminous to his soul.
Why else do these things move him, leaf, or stone?
The bird’s not moved, that pecks at a spring-shoot;
Nor yet the horse, before a quarry, a-graze:
But man, the twofold creature, apprehends
The twofold manner, in and outwardly,
And nothing in the world comes single to him,
A mere itself,—cup, column, or candlestick,
All patterns of what shall be in the Mount;
The whole temporal show related royally,
And built up to eterne significance
Through the open arms of God. ‘There’s nothing great
Nor small’, has said a poet of our day,
Whose voice will ring beyond the curfew of eve
And not be thrown out by the matin’s bell:
And truly, I reiterate, nothing’s small!
No lily-muffled hum of a summer-bee,
But finds some coupling with the spinning stars;
No pebble at your foot, but proves a sphere;
No chaffinch, but implies the cherubim;
And (glancing on my own thin, veinèd wrist),
In such a little tremor of the blood
The whole strong clamour of a vehement soul
Doth utter itself distinct. Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,
And daub their natural faces unaware
More and more from the first similitude.

– watercolor painting by mary macgowan

28 Sew-On Snap Fasteners

28 Sew-on Snap Fasteners

Rust-proof
Assorted Sizes
For bulky fabrics
For medium fabrics
For light fabrics
Made in England

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

found poem, photograph by mary macgowan

We Don’t Have Enough Pleasant Hours Clubs

#40

Grandma attended a one-room school house. They sat on benches. No slouching allowed. She didn’t mind when we gently teased her: Grandma! Slouch for us! She couldn’t do it. She’d slump a wee slump, then she’d giggle.  When I was 5, she wore an angel costume for Halloween.  She floated out the door on her way to Pleasant Hours Club, wings unfurled.

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

– photo and memoir by mary macgowan

Or Willewingulagulin


from Spaceship Under the Apple Tree, by Louis Slobodkin, as remembered by a 10 year old girl

Or Willewingulagulin

Marty arrived, a tiny Martian
senior scientist in tight uniform,
orange willewingulagulin
and a tiny black typewriter.

Eddie befriended Marty
and was allowed to see
Zurianomatichrome (green).
Marty slept hanging upside down,
his shadow right side up.

Skip pages, adventures,
Grandma’s cookies;
proceed to Marty and Eddie
hurrying to the spaceship,
red footprints running behind them.

At the door, Marty confessed,
frowning: I’m only a junior scientist.
I’ve failed my Earth mission.

But Eddie gave Marty
his brown Boy Scout manual.
Marty emanated dashes
indicating pleasure &
success after all.

Next day, gray twigs and leaves
lay randomly scattered
in a circle of watercolor hues
where the spaceship had been
by the old apple tree

and this is my poem to you,
illustration of trees and branches
falling in my yard, a chainsaw
revving and resting, revving
and resting, which is as much
about orange, green or love
as it is about trees or art

or hovering spaceships
or two men who thank me
for writing about them,
boy or martian, which has
as much logic as you or me
or you and me together
which is to say it makes
perfect sense in a
willewingulagulin kind of way.

– poem by mary macgowan

Awesome Blog Content. Thank you Philippa from http://seascapesaus.wordpress.com/ !

as per requirement:

Always loved getting mail
Blueberries grow on my hill
Can’t catch balls, baseballs, beach balls, any of ’em
Darned a sock once
Eats every couple of hours
Fish, I like to fish, don’t much like to eat fish
Gracious
Hapless at times
Impulsive
Jarred
Kicks water at fish
Loves Love
Mint grows on my beach
Never mind
Over the hill
Plays and prays
Q-tips, love ’em, love a dry ear
Retired
Sidestroke, my favorite way to swim
Travel – don’t much like to travel unless it’s to see friends
Up late at night
Ventures out to the dock after midnight
Wishes lots of wishes
Xwhatever
Young, my maiden name
Zippy

When I figure out how to link to other blogs, I will spread nominations with great good will.

What Was the Plan?

#39

What was the plan? she asks. The dream?

You’re sad, he says.

I just wish they could see
how beautiful it looks, now, from afar.
Years, decades, from across the field.

– photo and poem by mary macgowan

Friends, I changed my blog address: pluckyumbrella.com, but I think you can still get here the usual way: 57andthensome.wordpress.com.  Still.

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

Mama Bird

#37

A bird house used to be here.
According to this mama, it still is.

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

– photo posted by a friend on FB, not sure who’s the photographer. If it is you, please let me know. And thanks.

Or…(regarding Runaway Truck Ramps)

Call the Department of Transportation

Cancel Mary’s appointment.
Her heart needs to runaway more
and more.
No ramp, please.

So much to love.
The petite pine cone that came inside with a beach towel.
Hafiz and Rumi, who are Joy Clowns.

When her water bottle catches a bit of wind
just for a moment
and says hooooooooooooo.

That she has a cellar door
to slide down.
She hasn’t yet, but with no runaway heart ramp
there’s still a chance.

Runaway Truck Ramp

Call the Department of Transportation.


Tell them Mary’s heart is a runaway. That she
needs one in her own
back yard. Or her kitchen.

The trouble she gets in
rolling down hills with the gear shift
broken. (In her medicine cabinet?)
(Her bed?) Perhaps an operation is required,

implant a mini ramp in her rib cage
to stop that foolish thing
from falling all over the place.

– photo and poem by mary macgowan

Treehouses

#36


Wow (by Hafiz)  

Where does the real poetry

Come from?

From the amorous sighs
In this moist dark when making love
With form or
Spirit.

Where does poetry live?

In the eye that says, “Wow wee!”
In the overpowering felt splendor
Every sane mind knows
When it realizes – our life dance
Is only for a few magic
Seconds,

From the heart saying,
Shouting,

“I am so damn
alive.  

Let’s build a tree house!”

– photos by mary macgowan, poem by hafiz – last line added by mary macgowan

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

Ridiculous, the Charioteer

Ridiculous, the Charioteer.
She can’t see the man, his chariot.
Hercules looks more Crooked-Deer-Jumping than Hero.

Great Bear and Little Bear? Dippers, easy.
Some study the stars
as if they have meaning,

as if they matter. Terrifying word,
Joy. A still
and silent rock.

She dives into dark water
the bright soles of her feet
last to go.

– poem and photograph by mary macgowan

By An Open Window

#35 or so

Flower me in stories, count me in sheep
I sleep curled up in a morning glory.
Warm french bread, sleepyhead,
jellied and buttered by an open window.


The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

poem and photo by mary macgowan

Night Flowers

A Land With No S

Some people write in complete planets.
Characters. S-free.
If she lived there
would she still lisp?

S is a whisper sliced open
insistent from the throat.

Tongue, teeth, lips:
all untouched,
an empty river rushing.

Teachers give it
for Satisfactory.

As if
it doesn’t break our hearts
every time we say S
and know it can’t be.

Tongue. Teeth. Lips.
All untouched,
empty rivers rushing.

More Disappearing Stairs

She sighed, This whole stair thing . . .
I know, he said.
Eaten up, she said. Look at them. Vanishing.
It’s beautiful, one of them said or maybe both.
So beautiful it hurts.

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

Disappearing Stairs

Beautiful Decay #33

She said, It scares me, these stairs fading, being eaten by the world.
He said, Yes.
I don’t think I can write about it, she said.
You don’t have to, he answered.

– poem and photo by mary macgowan

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

Still Life in an Open Field

Beauty in the Decay Series #32

Still Life

Movies on our broken television
with closed captioning
stuck “on.”
Later, when it got fixed,
how I missed

sounds of birds flapping
gurgling water
heels tapping on a hard wood floor

The Beauty in the Decay Series
is attentive to the intersection of nature with human-built things;
how nature will have its way.
The captivating presence of the process.

– poem and photo by mary macgowan