Mother’s Day

My Mother’s Day gift to myself is to focus on one thing at a time today. No multitasking.

I listened to Marianne Williamson’s lecture on A Course in Miracles without exercising or checking email as I frequently do.

I read my students’ papers in silence and noticed the growth in their thinking and  writing.

I sent out Mother’s Day texts and read each response with undivided attention.

I made biscuits (a treat!), measuring out flour and salt, baking powder and sugar, lard and milk slowly, enjoying the change in texture with each added ingredient. The dough’s stickiness yielded to a malleable shape little by little. Each biscuit has its unique presence and potential yumminess.

The wind outside sends leaves skittering across the yard and into the air with a periodical humpf! of sound against the windows.  A turmoil of motion greets me when I step onto my deck. The post-rain air feels refreshingly cool as I walk to the compost bin. I add food scraps to the pile, taking my time, feeling the outdoor breeze.

Today, I am grateful to be reminded of how fulfilling tasks are when you simply pay attention to each one in its turn.


The First of May

There is something about the first of May that makes me think I should do something significant. This particular sentiment immediately makes me feel like crawling back into bed and pulling the covers over my head. Or binging on Netflix. Or spending the day reading a crime novel. Now sleep is significant, especially for someone who rarely sleeps enough hours to feel rested. Reading is a good activity, often educational and entertaining. I have on my night table Michael Gruber’s The Book of Air and Shadows. It’s tempting to spend the entire morning reading it. Though I’ve tried, I can’t come up with an upside to binge watching Netflix, so I accept that activity as a blatant waste of time.

Wondering what I would do with my day set into motion thoughts about this blog post, which led to thinking about writing prompts. Why? Because as a writer I am always looking for places to land, emerge from, move away from, grab onto. How about you?

Writing prompts are not intended to produce “something significant” so much as to get you to write. Anything. Instead of actual prompts, I came up with categories. Here are four:

  • First thought: What is the first thing that you thought when you woke up?
  • First sound: What is the first thing you heard when you woke up?
  • First sight: ditto
  • An item across the room

It is difficult to really know the first thought you had when you woke up because it is difficult to know when you slipped from a dream state to being fully awake. In all likelihood you will filter out thoughts, sounds, and sights and choose what you believe constitutes “firsts.” That is perfectly acceptable.

I spent time debating with myself about which sound came first: the air vent clicking on in the bathroom or the patter of rain on the window (eventually, I chose the air vent). The first sight was the red bench next to my bed, whether it was or not. The item across the room? The window through which I saw gray trees backed by cloudy brightness. I have told you about my first thoughts, though I cannot determine which came to me when I was fully awake. I chose doing something significant today as the first thought. The fact that today is the first of May is coincidental. What has become clear is the desire to shift away from procrastination, which these meanderings represent, and get some writing done. Now I have four phrases from which a story, a poem, a scene might emerge:

  • Do something significant
  • The air vent clicking on in the bathroom
  • The red bench next to my bed
  • The window through which I see gray trees backed by cloudy brightness

I’m looking forward to seeing where these lead.


Two days ago, I went to my local library to pick up a book. As I walked through the door, the librarian gasped, throwing her hands up to her face as she stared at her computer.

“Oh my God! Prince is dead!”

“What?!” I and a patron said.

“He just died. Prince is dead. He’s dead.”

Now you have to understand me to get my reaction. I said,

“That’s unbelievable,” in a flat unemotional voice. The librarian was in shock, eyes wide with distress and sorrow. I kept going through the motions of getting my book checked out. I did not know how to react because I did not know how I was feeling.

“This is a real loss,” I said. This I knew to be true, intellectually.

“Were you a fan?” a man asked the librarian, as he busily punched his cell phone.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.”

My book checked out, I headed to the door.

“I’m so sorry to give you such bad news,” the librarian said.

“No. No,” I answered in a meaningless way. I drove the four miles to my house, parked in my garage, unloaded my groceries and book. I went directly to my Facebook page. Here is what I was thinking:

What if this isn’t real? What if this is one of those Internet hoaxes? What if he is really alive? Even as I write this I keep thinking that he is still alive.

He isn’t.

I have only felt this devastated about the death of an entertainer on two occasions: when Otis Redding died in a plane crash and when Marvin Gaye was shot by his father. I was very young when Redding died and quickly got over it. However, to this day whenever I hear one of his songs, I wish Marvin Gaye was still alive. This is not because I think he would have continued to produce brilliant music (though he probably would have), but because his death left a hole in the fabric of the world, one that has never mended. I suspect the same will be said of Prince.

After posting on Facebook an experience I had seeing Prince perform in person, I went on YouTube and found a video of Prince performing “Purple Rain.” That is when my sorrow broke. I sobbed and sobbed. As I thought about this brilliant performer, I kept wondering where he was now at the moment. At times like these when a person’s essence still remains in the atmosphere, death seems an impossibility. There cannot be a time when a person no longer exists. They must go … somewhere.

I have felt this way about my mother for years. It doesn’t seem possible that she could no longer exist. I think about her, dream about her, quite often. I hear her talking to me. Though she has been gone for over 20 years, I have only recently stopped feeling depressed in October, the month of her birth. Oddly, I never dreamed of my father until last night. In my dream, I was lying in my bed crying. He came into the room, put his hand on my back and asked me,

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m lonely,” I said. He patted my back in a tentative way and I felt comforted because he tried. He tried in that moment to make me feel better. It was a vivid dream, so vivid that I was crying as I woke up. And I felt loved as I emerged from sleep. I felt loved and peaceful.

Was this dream somehow connected to Prince’s death? I don’t know. Understand: I was not a huge fan. I had lost sight of his recent career accomplishments. From what I have gleaned, he continued to produce music with exuberant skill. It is clear to me that his music is a valuable gift to the world. He was a role model for artists: keep innovating, keep practicing your art, no matter what.

Looked at from this perspective, my sorrow shifts into appreciation for life and the ability to greet yet another day with joy and the music of being alive. I am smiling as I write this.


Coyote, Hyena, Jackal

I’m taking + Acumen presents Elizabeth Gilbert’s Creativity workshop through Udemy. The course supports +Acumen. Acumen is a non-profit venture fund with a vision to help build a world beyond poverty through investing in companies that deliver critical goods and services in water, health, housing, energy, agriculture, and education; leaders who are paving the way for new approaches to fighting poverty; and the spread of ideas that will give the world the knowledge and the understanding to change how the world tackles poverty.

One of the creativity prompts is:
What was the last thing you really wondered about?

Here is my answer:

The last thing I wondered about was what is the difference between a coyote, a hyena, and a jackal. I wanted to see the differences among them, visually. In my mind, I was pretty clear about how they looked, although after I googled them, I realized that a hyena’s ears are much rounder than I recalled from seeing them on nature shows. I remember thinking that hyenas are very odd looking creatures and I wondered why God made them so odd looking. What is the purpose of their appearance, evolutionarily speaking? This leads me at this moment to wonder about giraffes and rhinos and hippos. What is the evolutionary purpose of their appearance? For example, I can see that a whale and a dolphin, their appearances have much to do with their being water animals. They are sleek looking and their bodies seem aerodynamically suited to the watery environment.

If I stretch that thinking to hyenas, I might get a sense that their coloring is almost like camouflage. Jackals, I suppose, could be seen in a similar way.

This curiosity emerged from seeing a coyote in a show that I was watching. It recalled to me that I had seen coyotes on several occasions when I lived in Charlotte. I heard them as well. Since I’ve moved to Bristol, I have heard coyotes once but not seen any. The coyote is about the size of a German Shepard. Yet when I looked them up, their statistics seemed to suggest that they are smaller. I am sure that the coyotes I saw were larger than 50 pounds, which is the upper limit stated as their weight.

Like dogs, coyotes have that wondering, longing and welcoming look about them. I’m not sure why it is, but I consider them canines in the friendlier vernacular of that term. I like dogs and am not usually terrified of them, though skittish around them until I get to know them.

I know nothing about coyotes except that they are wild so I assume they are feral and mean. It is a paradox that they look so much like dogs that I feel they are friendlier than they probably are. I would not feel the same about a hyena or a jackal because they don’t look like domesticated dogs.

I met a woman who has a coyote as a pet. She used to have a wolf also but it has since died. She talked about the coyote with love and about its habits that are endearing to her – nesting i.e., tearing up her bed or other furnishings, for example. We didn’t talk about the wolf, though I got a sense that the coyote and wolf got along.

I do not want a coyote for a pet. I would probably want a wolf if I thought I could control it.

As I re-read this, I begin to wonder if a coyote, a hyena, and a jackal could get along with each other. Is this the beginning of a story? Under what circumstances would these three animals be in the same place and not fighting each other?

Fall Writing Workshops

Each workshop offers a strategy that opens writers to their imaginative selves. All genres and levels welcome.

Come explore your creative edges!
Sundays, 1:00pm – 3:00pm
Open Sky Studio; 8B Main Street; Bristol, VT

  • September 27: Meditation on Art: A Way Into Writing*
  • October 18: Movement, Music, Writing
  • November 15: Writing the Discovery Draft
  • December 13: Discovering Meaning Through Revision

RSVP to Ruth Farmer at Your RSVP helps to ensure that I bring enough materials.

Oftentimes we begin a poem or story by reflecting on familiar situations or imagery. In this workshop, we will meditate on art, allowing our words to emerge from listening as images speak to us. Participants will be asked to share their writing (though passing is fine, too). Come explore your creative edges!

Ruth Farmer has taught writing and literature in colleges, universities, and community organizations. Ruth’s poetry and prose appear in various journals and anthologies. Her most recent publication is Transformative Language Arts in Action (co-edited with Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg; Rowman & Littlefield, 2014).

Writing Your Story, Sharing Your Words

Poetry, fiction, nonfiction, mixed genre: Your story can come in many forms. Do you have a story longing for completion?

In this six-week course led by writer/teacher, Ruth Farmer, you will learn writing and revision techniques; develop and maintain a practice; share your words weekly with other writers; and build a supportive writing community. The course will cover:

Falling in Love With Your Story

Finding the Narrative Core

Discovering Meaning   

Rediscovering Your Story

Keeping it Real

Sharing Your Words

Wednesdays 5:30pm–7:00pm April 22 through May 27, 2015

Open Sky Studio: 8B Main Street Bristol, Vermont

Bring a journal, pens, and an open mind.

All genres welcome!

$120 for the series if you register before April 15

$150 thereafter.

To register, email