Tag Archives: creativity

This week my to-do list lassoed me around the neck

Creative Story #1.  This week my to-do list lassoed me around the neck, hog-tied me, and threw me in the closet.  The to-do list looked like a demon, you know, wearing red Christmas long underwear and sarcastically humming, “God rest ye Merry Gentleman” whilst brandishing a silver key and bottle of brandy.  While I wept on the closet floor, the to-do list partied around our Little House in the Big Woods, tossing Christmas lights asunder and making snow angels on the deck.

I wouldn’t have escaped from the locked closet at all until after Christmas, except Barry found me.  He didn’t seem to believe my story about a demonic capture by a to-do list, though.  Do you believe it?

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“And I thought you were JUST a housewife from Michigan!”


Dear friends and gentle readers,

As promised, here is the blog entry which, edited just a tiny bit, vacuumed its way into Suzi Banks Baum’s “An Anthology of Babes: 36 Women Give Motherhood a Voice” published in 2013.  If you’ve saved a few shekels, do consider buying the book. I promise you’ll hear some delightful, sincere, authentic stories.

Originally posted on Lake Superior Spirit:

Me. Pregnant. Housewife. Smirking. Gosh, that hair DOES look red, doesn't it? Aww, look at little Chris...

OK, OK, you gleaned the truth from that title, didn’t you?

There is a tiny part of me–just a tiny part–that still, after all these years, feels insignificant.  As a creative blogger, I am still trying to soothe the indignant inner housewife who is still, yes STILL, upset that I was once labeled as “just a housewife from Michigan.”

(Get over it, Kathy.  There is nothing wrong with being “just” a housewife.  A housewife is a wonderful occupation!  Husbands and wives attempt to quit their 9-5 jobs daily, begging one another, “Can’t I please be a housewife?  Can’t I please be a house husband?)

Nonetheless, you shall have to remember.

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The great and powerful longing



I awoke this morning thinking about–and feeling–longing.

The longing, like a swirling snake of energy, which has lived with me since I was a wee putter-snapper.  

Do you live with longing?

Oh, she can be a challenging guest, that one, with her slanted green eyes and endless desires which circle round and around and around.  

She lives at the center sometimes, an ache which can’t be filled.  Oh, how I’ve tried to appease her all these many years!  How did I try to appease her?  Let me count the ways.

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A non-apologetic manifesto about being weird.

Weird?  Not weird?

Weird? Not weird?

First, let’s get the definition straight.  If a person is weird, what the heck does that mean?

A Google search revealed these synonyms:  strange – odd – peculiar – quaint – uncanny – bizarre.

Now that we *almost* know the definition of weird, let’s explore this phenomenon further.

May I suggest that those who are not labeled weird by society do the following thing very well:  they fit in.  They eat the same as their peers, dress in the same clothes, act in appropriate ways, speak without being *too* strange or offensive, are friendly, polite and well-behaved, or at least act acceptably bitchy, raunchy and amusing.  They act “normal”.

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Thank you for four wonderful years of blogging here.

The very first photo I published.  Our house creatively shining in the woods.

The very first photo I published. Our house creatively shining in the woods.

Yep, my friends, it’s been four years of blogging on WordPress come Winter Solstice.

Will you forgive me a post down Memory’s Lane?

My first WordPress blog started after lighting a grand solstice fire on a snowy night out in the woods on December 21, 2008.  A daily blog called Opening the door, walking outside followed for an entire year.  After less than a ten-day break, Lake Superior Spirit opened its blogging doors on January 1, 2010.

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Fare thee well, fallow fields and yet another blogging break

Time to leaf you…

And now…it’s time for this one to take another blogging break.

Yes, you knew this would happen, didn’t you?

You recognize the pattern, don’t you, even though I’ve tried to deny it?

Some of us create, create, create, create…and then our fields must lie fallow as we renew, as we build up the soil of our creativity.

As the chill of November deepens, as the winds whip to a frenzy on Lake Superior, as the snowflakes scurry and spin…some of us heed the call to turn inward, to dream, to listen to the deepest inner voice whispering between pine needles, between scurrying autumn leaves scuttling on the frozen earth.

Last time I took one of these regular breaks a couple of you expressed concern, worry.  No, my friends!  Never worry about me while on retreat.  I am happy, somehow, at these times.  When the computer mostly turns off, when the emphasis turns inward, something in my soul sings like a cheerful chickadee.

(It sings in outward creativity and sharing, too, but it’s a different kind of song.)

As we turn toward the Thanksgiving holidays, I give thanks for all of you.

For your steadfast presence in my life.

For all the gifts you share with others.

For the gift of sharing your precious self, your unique thoughts, your individual gumption, your brightness, your magnificent beauty.  Your gorgeousness…

In my absence, please feel free to peruse my New and Revised blog roll.  Finally, after months and months, I’ve added new names & faces for you to enjoy.  I’ve deleted those who’ve passed by the wayside or remained silent so long that they’re composting into new friends.

Evergreen blessings!  May our hearts open further in gratitude in this upcoming season…

Life’s patterns…

P.S. The comments are turned off, dear readers, because we’re not saying goodbye, are we? We’re saying fare thee well, ye fallow field, ye. We’re shouting *over the river and through the woods* “Until we meet again! Fare thee well! Fare thee well!”

When a legally blind man calls you “Gorgeous”

Life is really super-duper absolutely inarguably funny.

Two days ago I wrote a Farewell for a Little While post.  See ya @ Thanksgiving, readers, because creative fields must lie fallow.  (Oh how Munira and Lisa and I love the word “fallow”.  Isn’t fallow the coolest word?)

I was so happy about my upcoming blogging break.

But the Universe had other plans.

Drum roll, please!

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Blinded by the light

Blinded by the light

Apparently, once I wrote a blog post called Blinded by the light.

It must have been a long, long time ago because the memory of writing this is now covered in darkness.

On Monday morning I quickly signed into WordPress before going to work, re-read the previously written blog about Dying on Facebook, and skipped over to the stats page to discover who might have visited previously.

Turns out four people had visited this ancient long-ago Blinded by the Light post.

I noted it, duly forgot, and headed to work.

A deer grazing by the side of the road caught the bright glare of the car’s headlights and stood frozen.

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The art my camera liked in San Diego

Something about these little Mexican ladies–I love them!

Before I quit posting photos and stories about our recent trip to San Diego for the wedding of our eldest and his bride, may I show you some pictures of art that my camera liked in the streets among farmers markets and art shows and Old Town stores?

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Four in the morning


It’s four in the morning.

Blackness outside the window, peppered by lightning streaking the sky, revealing skeleton trees and lone patches of snow.

Thunder rumbles incessantly in the distance, clearing its throat, mumbling of possible rain showers.

I dreamed restlessly as lightning and thunder negotiated in the dark of night.

In dreams Creativity wrote, wrote, wrote.  In half-awake tossing and turnings, words rose like phantoms creating St. Patrick’s Day nattering, full-sprouted paragraphs arising like chattering ghosts, endless talk, talk, talk.

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