 It arrived! The box of books. MY book! The Amazon delivery guy had barely stepped back into his van when I was out the door, lifting the fairly heavy box of 75 books as if it weighed nothing. But, of course, it was everything! Inside was 10 years of work, and 15 years since The Power of Bread's story began. All those years packed inside a 19.5 X 13.5 X 7.5 box, waiting to be opened. Just beyond the cardboard flaps lay a finished product, a celebration; yet I stood, momentarily, unmoving. Reflection seemed in order, for cups of tea and pondering the process. But not now... later – when I'd pull out the file folders of first, second and fifteenth drafts and re-live it all.  I cut through the tape, and there they were! There they were... The title My name Madeleine's beautiful and inspired cover The story! Yes, I did. I cried. The next day I drove to Little Rock (30 minutes away), with books wrapped in bows for family. Drew already had his copy in California, daughter Katherine and family's copies were in the mail to Maine. I was on my way to share the book with my first, and most important, in-person audience. It felt like a gift I was giving myself.    We met, socially distanced and slightly shivering, in Elizabeth and Ben's (behind the camera) backyard. I presented them each a book and began the story. "Tomorrow is our Breads of the World Festival," said Ms. Goodwin..." The Power of Bread was at long last where it belonged – in the hands of readers. Dedication To my dear grandchildren ~ Luke, Nate, Ruby, Anna, Robert, Matthew and Hazel~ and to children everywhere, the world's best hope for peace. ***************************************************************************** Back cover with summary... 
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I slowly, carefully – so as not to damage a single fragile page – removed it from the plastic.  Little Women, one of my favorites, given to Grandma (May) by her older sister, Carrie. |
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As a teacher, planning and preparation were as stimulating to me as the projects themselves. But I quickly realized that planning in the age of Covid added a new layer to the cake, and I was just planning for two separate groups – not 15-20 individual students. No longer could I put a jar of paint brushes, scissors or markers in the middle of a table and say, "Share." A yard allows plenty of space to spread out, but how could I have duplicated that in a classroom? I began to appreciate, on a practical level, the daunting job that teachers would soon be facing, of teaching and keeping students safe at the same time.
In the shade and relative coolness of Sunday morning, all the art choices were ready to go by 9:30. Only one needed direct sunshine, Solar S'Mores, not exactly an art project; but who can concentrate without snacks?
In the shade and relative coolness of Sunday morning, all the art choices were ready to go by 9:30. Only one needed direct sunshine, Solar S'Mores, not exactly an art project; but who can concentrate without snacks?
"Here are the choices!"
 Matisse cut-outs |  Beading using UV (ultraviolet ) beads |
 S'mores soaking up sunshine. (Flies not invited.) |  Graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows! |
Lots of space
Our Gallery!
Luke, Nate, Anna, Ruby and Matthew had fun, as children/adolescents do; but so did the adults. Alongside their children, they blew bubbles that popped and splattered into designs, created bracelets, painted Tic Tac Toe boards/rocks, and fashioned construction paper cutouts into Matisse-inspired designs.
The morning lifted my sagging spirit and helped me realize that I don't have to accept a stretch of days that flow endlessly into one another. I have choices. I still have control of my situation, not as much as I did five months ago, but neither am I powerless. Creativity and connection, practiced safely, with a dose of FUN from time to time, not only sustain but energize me.
Whatever fun looks like to you, I encourage you to go for it! And If you can have CDC-approved fun in community, all the better.
As me for, I have all the left-over art supplies.
Guess what I'm doing after I finish writing this blog?.
Art idea credits:
Popped Bubble Art
Painted Branch
Solar S'Mores
UV (ultraviolet) Color Changing Beads
Rock Tic Tac Toe
Matisse Cutouts
The morning lifted my sagging spirit and helped me realize that I don't have to accept a stretch of days that flow endlessly into one another. I have choices. I still have control of my situation, not as much as I did five months ago, but neither am I powerless. Creativity and connection, practiced safely, with a dose of FUN from time to time, not only sustain but energize me.
Whatever fun looks like to you, I encourage you to go for it! And If you can have CDC-approved fun in community, all the better.
As me for, I have all the left-over art supplies.
Guess what I'm doing after I finish writing this blog?.
Art idea credits:
Popped Bubble Art
Painted Branch
Solar S'Mores
UV (ultraviolet) Color Changing Beads
Rock Tic Tac Toe
Matisse Cutouts
Until one minute ago, I had no ideas for a blog posting. But within that 60 seconds when I was looking down at my blank computer screen, my neighbor put up a flag. You might think it would be an American flag to celebrate July 4th, but it's not.
Rather than ennumerating almost 4 years of specifics about why the sight of that flag causes me such distress, I'll instead show you the sign on our front window, directly opposite.
While I sit here wishing that the winds from the impending thunderstorm would dislodge the flag and send it sailing into the murky waters of the nearby Nature Preserve, something tells me to stop and breathe. Deep, calming breaths. So I do. (And that something also reminds me that a flag of any kind would not be environmentally friendly to the a–political turtles, snakes, ducks and fish who call the Preserve their home.)
As almost impossible as it is for me to fathom that my sign might be equally distressing to the neighbors, I suppose it is a possibility. Yet we each have the right to display flag and sign, and to allow the other to be displayed.
In one of my favorite movies, The American President, Michael Douglas who plays President Andrew Shepherd, delivers an impassioned speech. The screenwriter, Aaron Sorkin (The West Wing) penned the words, which have remained with me since I first watched the movie in 1995 and several times since.
"America isn't easy. America is advanced citizenship. You've gotta want it bad 'cause it's gonna put up a fight. It's gonna say, 'You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours.' You want to claim this land as the land of the free? Then the symbol of your country cannot just be a flag. The symbol also has to be one of its citizens exercising his right to burn that flag in protest. Now show me that, defend that, celebrate that in your classrooms. Then you can stand up and sing about the land of the free."
He's right, it isn't easy. Freedom never is.
As almost impossible as it is for me to fathom that my sign might be equally distressing to the neighbors, I suppose it is a possibility. Yet we each have the right to display flag and sign, and to allow the other to be displayed.
In one of my favorite movies, The American President, Michael Douglas who plays President Andrew Shepherd, delivers an impassioned speech. The screenwriter, Aaron Sorkin (The West Wing) penned the words, which have remained with me since I first watched the movie in 1995 and several times since.
"America isn't easy. America is advanced citizenship. You've gotta want it bad 'cause it's gonna put up a fight. It's gonna say, 'You want free speech? Let's see you acknowledge a man whose words make your blood boil, who's standing center stage and advocating at the top of his lungs that which you would spend a lifetime opposing at the top of yours.' You want to claim this land as the land of the free? Then the symbol of your country cannot just be a flag. The symbol also has to be one of its citizens exercising his right to burn that flag in protest. Now show me that, defend that, celebrate that in your classrooms. Then you can stand up and sing about the land of the free."
He's right, it isn't easy. Freedom never is.
I've been spending even more time walking the labyrinth lately. Those of you who read my blog regularly will recognize this photo as my adopted labyrinth on the campus of Hendrix College, about a 10-minute walk from our house. It's a shared adoption with the community. But I rarely encounter others, until recently when I discovered messages they had left in the center. I'll get to that later.
Circling the labyrinth is a meditation for me. I trust that the single path will take me to the center and back, so my mind can rest from needling questions such as "Am I doing this right?" or "What if I get lost?" In fact the longer I walk, the more my mind and body typically begin to calm as I concentrate on one foot in front of the other. Yet recently, Worries follow me every step of the way, nipping at my heels no matter how vigorously I shoo them away.
What's different about these worries is that they are not mine alone; they are shared. You have them, too. First, it was (and still is) the pandemic and now, the unconscionable murder of George Floyd and its unfolding – often violent – aftermath. Covid-19's nagging health anxieties have been compounded by fear, anger and outrage at injustices too long endured and rarely redressed.
As a labyrinth facilitator, I offer opportunities for people to learn about and walk labyrinths. However, I don't walk with them. I stand at the entrance and hold space as the walkers enter, circle, then exit. I am present for them. Wherever they are on their journeys, whatever emotions they may experience during the walk, they know I am there – not to intervene, fix or critique – but to provide a calm, caring environment. It's a unique opportunity for me to quieten my own swirling thoughts and be a compassionate presence to others.
The more I try to be intentionally present to people in my daily life, which may simply mean talking less and listening more, I find myself gradually regaining a hopefulness that has faded over the last three months. Holding space for myself as well, with self-compassion, mindfulness, and acceptance of what I can and cannot control, gives me renewed energy to find meaningful ways to connect with others.
And knowing that people with similar worries are holding space – being present for me and one another – is sustaining, which brings me back to the messages in the labyrinth.
Painted rocks keep showing up in the center, with no clue who left them, and they often disappear by the next morning.
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One day when I was feeling particularly discouraged, a rock greeted me with the word, Strong. Another day, Courage..
I placed the Gratitude rock in the center early one morning, and it had vanished by the afternoon. I like to think it's a word someone needed at just the right moment, and that it's now perched on her window sill.
We can be present to those we know, and don't know, in endless and creative ways. We are limited only when we forget to try. May we move forward with increased compassion, perhaps leaving painted rocks along the way.
I placed the Gratitude rock in the center early one morning, and it had vanished by the afternoon. I like to think it's a word someone needed at just the right moment, and that it's now perched on her window sill.
We can be present to those we know, and don't know, in endless and creative ways. We are limited only when we forget to try. May we move forward with increased compassion, perhaps leaving painted rocks along the way.
Front Street, in downtown Conway (Arkansas), was deserted as I fast-walked along the sidewalk. Not surprising since it was 8:30 on a Sunday morning; but you could pick any time and day of the week – for the past 10 weeks – and the street would look the same. The Mexican restaurant on the corner moved the week before COVID-19 became a household word. The New Orleans style restaurant closed until June 1. The jewelry store and clothing boutique closed until further notice. What remains is the glass storefront display by the Conway League of Artists.
I slowed down to browse the watercolors, oils, glass sculptures and photographs; then stopped in front of a colorful scene, which I couldn't distinguish between painting or photograph. Touching my nose to the glass and squinting as closely as possible, I decided it was a painting. The artist's name was taped to the glass. I was in the process of snapping a photo when the front door of the gallery opened.
"Need some help?" a man asked.
"Well...sure." I said, looking around to see if anyone else noticed a man pop out of nowhere. But the street was as empty as ever.
"I was just looking at this painting." I commented, tapping my finger on the glass.
"Oh, the cardinals? That's not a painting. It's my photograph."
As we stood at a social distance on the sidewalk, Don Byram explained that he was working on the display windows when he saw me stop.
"It's got a story behind it," he laughed. "I call it Decisions because it looks like the female cardinal in the middle is trying to decide which of those males she finds the most attractive. The joke is that there was a bird feeder a couple of feet off camera to the right, and they were intently waiting for me to get out of the way."
On that drizzly, gray morning, I needed those splashes of red in my life.
"How much are you selling it for?" I asked.
He quoted me a price. I accepted, but then realized I had no money with me.
"Just take it with you," he said. "Drop me a check in the mail."
Only in a small town, I smiled to myself.
"Or better yet, I can drop it off on your porch later this morning so you don't have to carry it,"
he offered.
I smiled, again, and thanked him.
Don arrived two hours later and we exchanged art and check.
The cardinals have found a home above the bed in the guest room. Each time I pass by, I half expect them to start singing. But they remain silent, allowing me to quietly ponder the opportunities presented by doors, which open unexpectedly.
Prior to the pandemic, my TO DO list was top heavy with "shoulds" and "musts." Even in retirement, when much more of my time is my own, it's hard to break the habit I started during thirty years of work while multitasking as wife, mother, and (co)-chief cook and bottle washer. (My grandmother was fond of using that expression.) No doubt I was creative – Halloween costumes and wallpaper swatches come to mind – but I never was intentional about it. I never realized the importance of creativity, until recently, when many shoulds and musts have gradually fallen by the wayside.
What is left is time for reflection, to ask myself, "What are you going to do with this day, followed by the next, with hours to spend as you wish?" Like a gift bag dressed up with glitter, bows and stuffed with bright pink tissue paper – empty – until I decide how to fill it. It is a luxury, I fully realize, that many do not have.
What is left is time for reflection, to ask myself, "What are you going to do with this day, followed by the next, with hours to spend as you wish?" Like a gift bag dressed up with glitter, bows and stuffed with bright pink tissue paper – empty – until I decide how to fill it. It is a luxury, I fully realize, that many do not have.
With my mind open to possibilities, I was recently flipping through the spring edition of the Magnolia Journal. I skimmed an article, ready to turn the page, when a series of questions asked me for answers.
What thrills you?
What do you talk passionately about?
And what could that look like if it were distilled into a single word?
Searching for answers beyond the obvious, "grandkids," I put down the magazine and soon found clues all around the house.
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All are pictures of things I've created or am in the process of creating. Just the thought of writing, arranging flowers, journaling, working a puzzle, shoveling soil around color-coordinated impatiens, and outlining a hopscotch game for our neighborhood's chalk drawing event...excite me! They (and others) light the proverbial spark inside my spirit which makes me feel alive, healthy and moving forward.
Yet there is nothing magical about any of these particular activities, and none of them, except writing (for me), requires a stretch of time. The bigger picture involves paying attention to whatever our personal creative nudges may be, and choosing to follow where they lead. The upheaval of the past few weeks has amplified those nudges for me. When less is predictable, the more we need creativity to bring new life to what we find in front of us.
To honor my new mantra –Create! – and keep it as intentional as my morning cup of coffee, I've written it on our kitchen chalkboard. It will stay in place as COVID-19 restrictions are gradually lifted, as the temptation increases for creativity to become eclipsed by the ever-present shoulds/musts...and return to the predictable.
Yet there is nothing magical about any of these particular activities, and none of them, except writing (for me), requires a stretch of time. The bigger picture involves paying attention to whatever our personal creative nudges may be, and choosing to follow where they lead. The upheaval of the past few weeks has amplified those nudges for me. When less is predictable, the more we need creativity to bring new life to what we find in front of us.
To honor my new mantra –Create! – and keep it as intentional as my morning cup of coffee, I've written it on our kitchen chalkboard. It will stay in place as COVID-19 restrictions are gradually lifted, as the temptation increases for creativity to become eclipsed by the ever-present shoulds/musts...and return to the predictable.
I joyfully left my wipes, gloves and hand sanitizer in the front seat of the car. The sign in the parking lot said, "Lock up your valuables." That directive used to refer to my wallet.
For the next hour or so, I wouldn't need them. I could touch anything I wanted and never have to protect or sanitize. It was a new definition of freedom in a world that feels like one big germ.
For the next hour or so, I wouldn't need them. I could touch anything I wanted and never have to protect or sanitize. It was a new definition of freedom in a world that feels like one big germ.
I stepped onto Huckleberry Trail and breathed deeply of freshness. This 3.5 mile hiking trail begins 30 minutes from our home at one of my favorite Arkansas state parks, Woolly Hollow. The name and place sound backwoodsy, in the best possible sense, where Nature immerses the visitor in her peacefulness.
Yet, as I strode farther into the woods, I found myself dragging along worries and concerns of the day, at a pace that felt more like a workout than a saunter (one of my favorite Thoreau words.) Finally a robin caught my attention with its rebuke, "Slow down; take notice."
I stopped. The silence caught me off guard like suddenly closing the door on a noisy party. I looked for the nearest place to sit down.
A perfect sitting rock lay right in front of me. For the next 10 minutes, 20 minutes, or perhaps just 5, I sat and listened with eyes open and closed, feeling morning sun on my back and hearing the sound of stream, bird and breeze. And when I continued sauntering, I paid attention.
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At the end of the trail, I reached out my hand and touched a tree, a parting connection to a place which felt like the normal I miss more every day.
Its texture, smell and calming spirit were still present when I returned to the car.
I did not wipe them off.
I did not wipe them off.
Welcome!
After finishing my book, Labyrinth Journeys ~ 50 States, 51 Stories, I knew I wasn't finished writing or journeying.
Please join me as I continue both and see where they lead me (and you!)
~Twylla Alexander
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