The Daring and Beauty of "Dear & Yonder"

Surfer women are the subject and the stars of a charming and inspiring new movie I went to see last night. "Dear & Yonder: Daring Stories of Ladies United by the Sea" had its Pittsboro, North Carolina premiere at Pittsboro General Store Cafe.

This inland village(pop.2525), 20 minutes from my house, is where one of the auteurs grew up. Andria Lessler came back to town with her movie (three years in the works) and it played to a crowded and delighted house.

It's rare that a piece of art feels all at once sunny and delightful and seriously inspiring, without being sentimental. Dear & Yonder, the story of women in surfing all over the world, manages this feat.

If you want a glimpse at some role models for daring, athletic skill, careful artistry in any field, or the creation of a new category/identity, watch the trailer here or go to the Dear & Yonder website. (DVDs will be available in early December.)

This film is also a tribute to the gorgeousness of people, the ocean, and the planet. Next showing is in Portland, Oregon.

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Why We Should Celebrate Failures

From Success Magazine this month:

"When is the last time you rewarded yourself for failing? Probably never. Instead of mentally punishing yourself for not succeeding, buy yourself an ice cream cone and say, 'Great job! I'm one step closer to success!" On the surface this sounds silly, but celebrating failure is one of the best ways to stop letting no have a negative hold on your thoughts and emotions."

--from "YES Is The Destination; NO Is How You Get There" by Richard Fenton and Andrea Waltz

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Baby Blue Courage

A young couple who live down the other fork of my dirt road had a baby a few weeks ago. Their first one died in infancy a couple of years ago and it was very, very hard. I'm so proud of them and their courage for starting again.

They have one huge celebratory blue bow on their mailbox in the otherwise nondescript row of boxes out by the main road. Possibly the biggest and perkiest looking baby bow I've ever seen.

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Boldness in Crisis

I'm watching a friend go through a crisis and handle it in a manner that is thoughtful and purposeful and yet emotionally in touch.

This same friend gets into a fury if she misplaces her sunglasses.

I'm impressed. And I'm also encouraged by the thought that real trouble may call up resources we didn't know we had. I happen to get unhinged if my email doesn't do right. And I hate to think about a proportionate response to a crisis that's many times larger.

Maybe we expend our furies safely on the little stuff and haul out our best in the face of the most daunting.

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Several Reasons to Seize the Day

Hyper-alive today. Partly the blue sky and October air. Mainly it's being reminded by the waiting-for-news friend I posted about yesterday and then seeing last night another pal who is increasingly disabled. I'm worried for both of them and yet overwhelmingly glad we're all three alive.

And one more thing, I just left the reunion of participants in a June writing workshop at Meredith University. (I led the fiction-writing group that week.) Today people read from what they're working on--and reported an impressive number of stories and poems accepted for publication. Hearing all that also felt enlivening to me: plus, of course, there was the fruit/cheesecake tart and the cookies, the gustatory equivalent of blue skies and fall air.

So to recap, reasons for seizing the day:
*weather
*good buddies
*cookies and other pastries
*art
*progress
*time is short.

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Looking for Meaning

A buddy got some worrisome news. And now has the anxiety of waiting for more info.

Maybe the worrisome-news category of events exists to put things like email problems into perspective, for all concerned.

However, I can easily conceive of a universe in which there's never a bad biopsy and no vexing computer problems either. That would do a lot for my perspective.

I guess the bold thing, though, is to "get" in a gut way the fact that that universe isn't the one we currently have. And then figure out how to manage, moment by moment, as gracefully as possible in the one we do have.

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Feeling Like the Only One?

An English professor of my acquaintance was teaching a freshmen class on a day that fell on Halloween. She assumed that surely the students would dress for the occasion. And so she rigged out in witch regalia, including silver mask and tall blue diaphanous cone hat.

None of the students dressed up. She swears that she didn't flinch, just proceeded comfortably teaching the class as a witch.

Obviously she has magical powers.

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Feeling Timid?

Standing in line at lunch today at one of the hip green lite fast-food places called Evo's, waiting for my low-fat chocolate shake, I picked up one of their hip magazines, Paste, which carries the slogan: "Signs of Life in Music, Film, and Culture."


"African Queen" was the story I started browsing, and then seriously reading. This article about Malian singer and businesswoman Oumou Sangare had not a trace of jaded attitude to it. It was old-fashioned dazzlingly inspiring (well-written to boot.)

This woman sings in the language Bambara about justice and reform. Doesn't sound like a money-maker to me, but she has become an international music sensation (though without my having heard of her before.) And she truly "speaks truth to power."

Here's an example of her courage:

"She once sang an anti-polygamy song to the King of Swaziland—'he had three wives on one side and four wives on the other!' Sangare laughs before getting serious. 'Polygamy is the worst thing that anyone can possibly do to a woman. I respect the choice of women who say they know what they’re doing and want to jump into the fire, but often they don’t have a voice. Their opinion isn’t asked for. For 20 years, I’ve been singing directly to women in Mali and Africa, telling them what’s really important is to have self-confidence. They can become autonomous and independent.'"

Feeling inspired by her example? I am. Paste is right: she's definitely a sign of life.

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Halloween Is a Holiday to Lift the Spirits

Do you have your Halloween costume yet?

I found mine by happy accident a couple weeks ago at a local Goodwill. I'd already been invited to a party. And then a few days later what do I see on one of the acres of racks but a sparkling floor-length red number, tagged Sultry Devil. It was $6 and amazing: a strapless sheath shining from top to bottom with see-through red bat sleeves and a small hooded cape as a wrap.

I've been so excited about this that I have the feeling I've posted about it already, though I don't find it on my blog.

If you want to add an enlivening tidbit to your schedule this month make a fun little to-do this year about this paradoxically playful celebration.

(My husband Bob has a pair of glittering red devil horns he always wears on Halloween in his office all day while seeing patients.)

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Self-Actualizing Bouquets

Flower arranging once seemed to me an impossible art. That was back when I tried to make the posies fall into the places I had in mind.

I gave that up.

Now I let the stems pretty much have their way. And I put in some of most everything that's blooming. This approach produces a sort of oddness, and doesn't reach levels of doing weddings or of ikebana, but it's a great pleasure to me and keeps a little something live on the table.

That big round thing on the right is a mock orange, BTW, a wonderfully eccentric plant. The fruit has the fuzz of a peach and the size of a plum, smells like an orange, and maybe I'll get emboldened and taste one.

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Creative Doodling: Three-Dimensional

A piece of anonymous folk art was standing in front of my drugstore Saturday when I pulled into the parking lot.

There on the grass was an edifice built of plastic knives. I think the elements might have already have pushed it a little out of shape. Nonetheless, it remained luminous, a nice little discovery to happen upon.

I like the idea of turning disposable knives into a bit of art. In general, I like evidence of people looking at things in more than one way.

And after all, I live in the area that recently became famous for the Barrel Monster, the late night creation of another imaginative person who created a national sensation out of some traffic markers.

Once one person opens the door, all kinds of stuff starts happening.

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Enraged and Obsessed

With the email horrors that I've been having increasingly for months now, TRULY BOLD would be thinking about anything else.

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A Bold Man

Today is the birthday of Gandhi, a man who faced unending heartbreaking frustrations and yet changed the world radically and for the better. He was also notably nice to people, including his jailers, most of the way. A sterling example of bold living. This sculpture of him sits three blocks from my office.

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A Recommendation for Writers

You know that website called Publishers Marketplace? You can get a lot of info at no charge there, including a free newsletter about the publishing industry, what book just sold by what agent to what editor for what price level.

I've generally ignored the $20 a month membership option for additional info there, thinking that one way or another I could find what I want for free. That may be true, but it takes a long time.

I just ponied up the $20 for a month and, goodness gracious, it was worth it. Want to know who's representing who and what the email is? I don't know of a faster way to get it. I was amazed. And membership is month by month, so you don't have to keep paying once your need is past.

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Who's Bold Now?

At moments before two o'clock this afternoon, I decided to close my eyes for a moment on the little fainting couch in my office. I woke up shortly after six pm when my husband called.

In the meantime, my office partner Carrie was working busily in the next room, as she had been since early morning. Here's the clincher, she'd traveled 40 hours to get back from South Africa yesterday, arriving less than two hours before doing an evening reading at a bookstore. Well, one hopes she'll crash tonight.

Maybe I was doing compensatory sleeping on her behalf. Generous of me.
I tell myself as others also tell me: must have needed my sleep.

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Bold Living: the Aftermath

Sometimes the tricky part of a bold move is what comes next.

A very minor example. I wrote an extremely odd short short, a bit of what is often referred to as "flash fiction", which is to say, a story that's very short.

I wrote it in the form of a style sheet, the list of definitions of an editor's markings on a manuscript. As in, stet means "keep as is." The action unfolds in this list of editorial symbols, which grow increasingly fanciful.

I already admitted it was odd.

The story, "Writers' Handbook of Editorial and Proofreading Marks (WHEPM, 17th Edition)", included in an anthology out this month: Long Story Short, edited by Marianne Gingher, published by UNC Press.

So tonight I'm to join Gingher and two other writers published in the collection (Carrie Knowles and Angela Davis-Gardner) at Raleigh's famous Quail Ridge Books & Music to read our stories and talk about them.

My story cannot be read aloud. It's more like a cartoon, not so entertaining when you try to explain it. Carrie's story is 96 words long, including the title, and she's flying in from South Africa today, will no doubt be in flight-dazed condition after 15+ hours in the air. This should be an entertaining evening.

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Back to Maslow, Self-Actualizing

Two courage quotes from Abraham Maslow on the power of confidence:

"The history of the human race is the story of men and women selling themselves short."

"We fear to know the fearsome and the unsavory aspects of ourselves but we fear ever more to know the godlike in ourselves."

Advice for the day: Don't Punt. Take a Look at the Godlike in Yourself.

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Gardening Guilt

After a summer of neglect, my flower garden was full of reproach when I started a bit of weeding this afternoon. It's just too hot here to enjoy such activities in summer, plus I'd rather be on the water then. (Or lounging in the AC reading a novel.)

So I expect a garden to look after itself during the hot months. And what I encountered this afternoon was: bugs and blight and drought-damaged plants and the creeping trails made by moles and voles. Plus, some flowers. I would like to be able to focus on those flowers--and the oranges on the mock-orange. But it's hard not to berate oneself while standing knee-deep in weeds, dead stalks, and the accusing survivors.

It's a hobby, I tell myself, not a moral obligation.

Also, I'm convinced that the only true waste of time is berating one's self--or others, for that matter. But it's very hard to stop.

So I kept weeding and pruning. Didn't yield to the impulse to simply toss the clippers and give it up. I give myself credit for that.

This is one more example of a garden as teacher and provocateur. I've always liked the saying: if someone wants to rule the world, let them first cultivate a little plot of land. It's humbling.

My bold goal becomes simply to keep going, to fix what I can.

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Bold Living: at Parties

At a party last night, I had a talk with the hostess, a woman in her seventies whom I'd never met before, and was impressed by the fact that she seemed entirely "for real" through the whole conversation. I asked myself what gave me that feeling. She seemed:

* relaxed, but not ostentatiously so
* forthcoming yet not eager to entertain or impress
* free of any sign of anxiety
* mildly flirtatious with the men who happened by
* in the moment, rather than orchestrating the coming moment
* and interested in the conversation

She, like almost every one else at the party, was a group psychotherapist, and perhaps in her case that played a part. But I also know that there are plenty of therapists who are shy as rabbits.

I mentioned to my husband my view of this woman. He agreed and said: Isn't she gracious? and she doesn't just blurt out whatever comes to mind.

My own party style has evolved: I used to talk until I was giddy and had a fine time. Over time, without meaning to, I've slowed it down quite a bit; regrettably though, I haven't liked parties as much since, which is sad.

I think last night's hostess has somehow found what the Buddhists call "The Middle Way." Best of all, it seemed to come naturally. I think it can come naturally for anyone. But a lot of us need help getting the conversation started: a search turned up hundreds of thousands of websites on how to start a conversation.

My mother, a pure example of extroverted, calls the process "finding their topic."

On the other hand, I get tired of my topics. I like it when someone steers me into an interest I didn't know I had.

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Following Bliss--Down the Highway

Driving to work one day this week, I found myself following the most delightful "trailer" I ever saw.

My cellphone photography while driving on Interstate doesn't do it justice, but maybe you get the idea. It's about the size of a large pup tent, has potted plants on either side of the door and a lace curtain at the window. Likely inside there's a nice little library, a couple of reading chairs that convert to a bed, chocolate, and hot water for tea.

It's not every day you see an Alice-in-Wonderland cottage rolling down the road. Just think of all the interesting things we could see rolling down the road if we got a bit outside the norms.

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