Grace Notes #18 — July 2024
Dear Friends of Grace Street,
As I’ve driven this spring through the absolute riot of blooming trees and gardens, I’ve had the thought, Well, if spring in New England doesn’t make you wonder if God is a girl, then I don’t know what to say!
Irises blooming in Western Mass.
The reflecting pool at The Clark, Williamstown, MA.
We were just out in our beloved Berkshires for Memorial Day weekend. In my family that means flowers to the cemetery. Usually my friend Kate and I go together, flowers in hand, to visit our parents, some grandparents and aunts and uncles, and we visit Kathy. This year the weather intruded on our plan and we missed going together, so Kate sent a photo later in the week of the flowers she had left on Kathy’s grave for me.
Kathy’s gravestone features a small statue of a cat and an engraved Red Sox symbol. And it’s funny how the mind reacts with some objections sometimes, even to things it “knows” are true, like that Kathy died. Because on some level looking at the gravestone and seeing her name is still sort of shocking.
Mary-Frances O’Connor writes in The Grieving Brain how the work of grief is that the brain must create and learn a new map of life, a map that no longer includes this landmark person, and that this learning can take a long time. Thus, looking at Kathy’s name on the gravestone, I can still have some sense of “Wait, that isn’t right, is it? That can’t be, can it?” Even after two decades, I still always miss her. That feeling of “She should be here, she’s an elemental part of this lifetime,” never completely goes away. She would, I know, be so proud of how we’ve all carried on, and of her sons. I know that to my core. But—she should be here, the heart still calls out. And this is the long path of grieving that we are all—sooner or later—on.
In addition to our personal griefs, we are living in such fraught times—especially now in this moment. We each find ourselves challenged to sort out how to respond, how active to become in working for change, how to restore and replenish worried hearts. For me the first prescription, always, is turning to loved ones and nature. The second is writing, which always helps me find my way. And in the meantime, we are looking forward to lots of small people coming to visit and light up our hearts in the next few weeks, and the soul-filling time of summer vacation on Cape Cod. And later, getting together with friends to make the work of the coming months a “many hands make light work” sort of thing.
The fall will also bring two Grace Street events. Stay tuned. And we are in active conversation about possibly creating an audiobook. This entire experience is a Mega-learning curve!
Any thoughts about whether you think there is a place for Grace Street, the audio book, in the world? Feel welcome to leave a note in the Comments section below.
And: What are you reading this summer? I am just winding down The Creative Act by Rick Rubin. It’s a fascinating take on what he’s learned and how he thinks about the creative process. And much of it is in line with the teaching of my original mentor and teacher in the world of creative play and making, Kate Ransohoff, though her teaching was presented in a more expressive, whimsical way, as in this page from her book, Elijah’s Palace (KRQ Publishing, 2008).
But anyone who gives encouragement to lean into our innate creative urges has my vote. Making things, in all the ways, shapes, and forms that humans have discovered to do so, is the life-saver, the life-enhancer, the juicy-juice of living. So, however creativity may be showing up in your life, my encouragement is: More, Please!
Vincent Van Gogh, Roses and Anemones (1890), Musee d’Orsay, Paris.
I am seeking.
I am striving.
I am in it with all my heart.
—Vincent Van Gogh
What calls you to be “in it with all your heart?”
Take heart and enjoy these long days of warming light, farmers markets, bike rides, ocean trips, and great books.
Sending love from Grace Street!
