April is always a transformative month. Snow hopefully gives way to rain. Brown lawns and branches start to become dotted with green buds and shoots. Azaleas pop with purple blooms and Forsythia shout yellow streaks. Winter gear gets put away, mostly--since it often gets pulled out again at some point before May.

​Being a gardener, I need to hold myself back. Let the leaf litter lie. I suppose that could be some sort of wise, old adage, "Let the leaf litter lie." Sometimes what looks like a pile of leaves is really a mound of miracles all taking place beneath the surface. All sorts of insects are continuing their life cycle unbeknownst to us. Things that look absolutely done for--will start breaking through the surface in a month. It's crazy!!

This April, while it seemed that so much was coming to life around me in the natural world, there were many instances when things felt like they were coming to a close. And, I guess that makes sense. Life is a cycle. Things end and things begin--and, so often, things cannot begin until other things end. I won't go into all the examples of this in history.

For me, The Room to Write, the non-profit I founded 9 years ago, is coming to its end--of sorts. I suppose it's like that pile of leaves in spring and, really, all kinds of things could be coming to life beneath the surface. We just can't see it. The hope is that some of the programs we have brought to the community can live on in some form. 

My favorite event that became an annual highlight, though it took a pause after Covid--as so many things did, is the Young Writers and Illustrators Meet, Greet & Create event that we planned in collaboration with the Boys & Girls Club of Stoneham and Wakefield (now BGC Metro North). It was always so inspiringto give away so many wonderful, locally-written books to kids of all ages--toddlers to teens--and to offer youth an opportunity to meet the author of each book and feel good about liking to read or write or be creative! We hope that event continues into the future as well. 

The writers critique group coordination has already been passed on to Marc Olivere to keep going and I look forward to submitting to that more regularly when I have time to get back to some of my writing projects. The quarterly Writers and Illustrators Meet & Greets aren't likely to live on, but there are two neighboring writers' communities that have programming that can serve a similar purpose: FYACS's Writer's Studio in Melrose & Writers Collaborative Learning Center in Reading. 

Sometimes we just have to let go. We can't control what happens after that, but we can be hopeful. Sometimes things happen differently from our expectations, but that doesn't mean our efforts were wasted. ​Heraclitus, a Greek philosopher, is quoted as saying something along the lines of, “change is the only constant in life.” Ironically, this quote was found as a fragment of a book he wrote that was destroyed. And, it certainly has value and has lived on despite being only a piece of the complete work it was originally presented within. 

For now, The Room to Write's Board of Directors has decided to let the leaf litter lie for the rest of the year and so TRtW will slip into a sort of hibernation to be sure any new life still trying to emerge has a chance to do so. Whatever happens beyond that--I'll always be grateful for the community I found, the lessons I learned and the opportunity to unabashedly advocate for the art of writing!

Sooo . . . this was not the poem I thought I was going to borrow from my collection when I saw "February" and thought Valentine's Day and love--and typed the title "Love is in the air." Though, that does feel even more poetic as I imagine birds in flight.

​I planned to post a poem I wrote about my husband before he was even so much as my boyfriend. But--as life would have it--I clicked on the first poem in my folder: "A Mother's Vigil" and read it. It's a poem I wrote specifically for my first long project, my young adult novel: Lucy Bound in Lyrics. So much love is wrapped up in motherhood. Some is pure and simple. Some, complicated and frustrating. But, all of it originates from the right place, even if that's not always where it seems to end up.

This is a poem that has the ability to make your head hurt trying to sort through the various shades of love, but love refuses to present itself in one, predictable, solid color. As far as mothers go, Robins are some of the most impressive! This poem was inspired by a true story as it played out beyond and framed by my kitchen window in my back yard. A Robin stood vigil over her injured hatchling all day and beyond dusk. I worried about her, as well as her other babies still in the nest in the tree outside our dining room window. 

Love can be so tragic and yet beautiful.
Here's to all the moms.

A Mother’s Vigil
​
Among the twigs and discarded twine
four Tiffany-blue eggs lay, too humble to shine.
Mama bird sits protecting her nest
from the chill of the north, the scorch of the west.
Warming, padding, tending her hatchlings
feeding when hungry, when lonely—she sings.
Each day the necks stretch, they feed and they grow.
Four birds take to flight, but one meets a fierce foe.
Chirping and trembling, knocked from the sky,
Mama tends the fallen while her other babes fly.
Vulnerable, heartbroken—a guard at her post,
Keeping sorry vigil by the bird who needs her most.
While the other birds soar, swooping strong and free
The injured bird lay suffering--
in the dirt 
beneath the tree.

Can I be honest? I hope so. In times of tumult, I am grateful for my faith. I know having a faith at all can be controversial these days, but faith in something far bigger than myself has been a light in my life. Whatever your faith may be, I implore you to cling to or sail toward it when feeling lost at sea.

National politics can be overwhelming. Let's face it, these days--even small-town, local politics can be a bit ruckus. It's hard to have an opinion these days, but I do have one. Take it or leave it. Amid the divisions, don't retreat completely, and conversely, don't get so distracted and consumed by it that you forget the gifts right in front of you. There is always something to be grateful for, and there are so many tangible ways to help your immediate community, family or friends.

In early November, as I contemplated how to meaningfully focus my efforts and attention in the coming years, I came across this passage in my handy dandy daily devotional: Our Daily Bread. The reading is included below. I decided I needed to start simply and tend to those within reach rather than get too wrapped up in so much that seems beyond my own personal control. No matter who or where we are, ask: How can we serve the community we're in?

The Room to Write and the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield teamed up for a second time in 2024 to bring words and art together in one exhibit. Writers don't often get the opportunity to publicly display their words on a wall as art, so TRtW jumped at the chance to be part of a second exhibit. The first time around, artists made art available, then writers selected a piece of art to inspire their words. This exhibit flipped the order and writers offered their writing for artists to select from as inspiration for creating their artwork.

A poem that I wrote this past summer, had the privilege of acting as inspiration for and being displayed alongside a piece of art by Kendall Inglese as part of the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield's October Exhibit & Sale: Elements: Earth, Water, Air, Fire. Of course, being the overachiever that I am--I wanted to weave all four of the elements into my poem, rather than pick just one, though I do love me some wind (aka: air:). Perhaps not picking just one element was to the poem's detriment? I'll let you decide.

Either way, my poem was inspired by the partial quote, "Where flowers bloom, so does hope." I am a passionate gardener and absolutely love that image, which is carved into a bird bath behind the summer cottage we stay in. That optimism was displayed by a lone Balloon Flower (Platycodon grandiflorus) bloom, pictured, that was showing off its purple hue for all to enjoy in an area where it was not planted and had no business surviving, let alone blooming.

The hope exuded by that singular flower so struck me that I took a photo and wrote a poem titled, "Where Flowers Bloom, So Does Hope." The writer and artist pairings from the October 2024 exhibit will begin posting to view on the North of Boston Writers Network blog in December 2024. The prior exhibit, "Tell Me a Story," pairings were featured on the NBWN blog from April to August 2024, if you'd like to look back at those. Read more about the October exhibit by clicking here.

Where Flowers Bloom
​by Colleen Getty

After the fire.
Flood waters retreat.
Embers cool.
Soil dries solid beneath feet.
Winds bring respite,
not fuel for flames.
Earth slowly shrinks and sleeps, but
world unrecognizable remains.
Give time.
Take heart.
The End
simply must precede
The Start.
Life insists on living
below the surface of
her skin, its shell, his eyes—that dirt.
A cell, an egg, the idea—one seed
can soothe our hurt.
Have patience.
Imagination.
Alpine Asters survive on the steepest slope,
And where flowers bloom
–so does hope.*

--This poem and artwork posted on the North of Boston Writers' Network blog, found here:
​Where Flowers Bloom by Colleen Getty, which served as inspiration for the art of Kendall Inglese | North of Boston Writers Network

* Quote from Lady Bird Johnson’s at the Annual Convention of the Associated Press Managing Editors Association, Oct. 1, 1965.
“When I go into the poorest neighborhoods, I look for the flash of color - a geranium in a coffee can, a window box set against the scaling side of a tenement, a border of roses struggling in a tiny patch of open ground. Where flowers bloom, so does hope - and hope is the precious, indispensable ingredient without which the war on poverty can never be won.”

It's Good Friday on Easter weekend and I am feeling, well--good! There are rumors that the rain is actually going to stop today and when I asked my son to pack for a weekend away to visit my aunt for the weekend he claimed he did and declared, "I brought two of everything!" Perhaps with all the rain lately, bringing two of everything makes sense. And maybe I should build an ark while I'm at it, too.

There is something about spring and Easter, in particular, when it feels like the real "new" year. Could be that the prospect of getting into the garden again makes me buzz with anticipation. Watching small green sprouts pop up from the ground is exciting. Renewal is emerging all around us. Even indoors, a plant category I usually don't excel in, is showing another flush of blooms emerging on my mother's Christmas Cactus that just bloomed in December. Perhaps going along with my New Years feel for life right now.

I have tulip, daffodil and allium greens popping up all around my house and I pray the bunnies don't eat them all, helping my prayers along with some sprays of Repels All to round things out (prays and sprays--haha:). The bunnies are really only interested in the tulip greens. This past month has been a busy one for The Room to Write with our Young Writers and Illustrators Meet, Greet & Create event finally making a comeback after four years and all sorts of fun plans for April. In particular, I have been busy with details of a collaboration with the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield's April exhibit at the Albion Cultural Exchange titled "Tell Me a Story." If you'd like to see all about the event details, check The Room to Write's events page!

​We have a writer/artists exhibit where 13 writers write about 13 pieces of art. There will be a table with 20 books by local authors and their information. We are highlighting picture book authors with six authors reading their books during the day on three different days so that parents and caregivers of young children can have a fun activity for their kids and time to enjoy the art off-peak exhibit hours. Lastly, we are holding our quarterly Meet & Greet at a local ice cream parlor and then strolling over to A.C.E. to see the art and one of the very kind artists, Joy Schilling, will be touring attendees through the art and talking about the various art techniques.

Even more like a New Year's celebration is that Easter is on March 31st and so the next day is April 1st! I'll be so happy to land in April knowing that May won't be too far away in the future. Warmer weather, greener landscapes, and knee deep in my garden. I have 6 raspberry bare-root plants on their way along with a River Birch tree, my second attend to plant that in a roughly similar spot as the last time, but with the knowledge I gained from the last time I failed. I haven't started any seeds, but I look forward to getting them going sometime next week. I hope:)

Hopefully spring brings renewal to your life. Brings you a sense of starting again and hoping for the best!

Happy Easter!!

Here I am--another last-day-of-the-month . . . and year . . . blog entry. 

The bare minimum blog requirement that I gave myself in 2020 was that I do one entry a month. When anybody first starts out on anything like a blog, podcast, video series--whatever medium is chosen to express themselves--there is usually a big wad of pent-up creativity resembling second-graders in a line at school all wanting to be first, all smooshing into each other if the line slows, and all eager to get to wherever it is they're going. There is a sense of urgency. Temper that.

Telling yourself to do something as infrequently as once a month, which boils down to 12 times a year, well--that seems too low a bar. It's like limbo with the stick still over your head and you think, "I got this! I am going to outlast every person in this limbo line." 

Your smile is eager, but you haven't had to bend your back in the opposite direction that it's used to bending yet. The music has you energized, there are enthusiastic people all around you in line, and you just tip your head back ever-so-slightly when you reach the limbo stick. Easy peasy!

Then you cycle through a few times and the sweat starts. There are less people in line, but the crowd is still feeling the music and now you need to act energized rather than actually feeling energized. The limbo stick is below your shoulders and let's face it--that's low for a middle-aged woman who hasn't done back-walkovers with her friends on the front lawn in about something-something years. ​

The point is--you're confident and even cocky at the beginning of any quest whether it's a blog, a plan to get organized, a vow that you'll make more time for your friends, or a limbo line. I have said it before and I'll say it again, "The key to happiness is low expectations." Bite-sized pieces can be very helpful. We've all seen The Great Outdoors and what happens with the Ol' 96er (if not, you should see it and have a good laugh in 2024). Don't make the same mistake our beloved John Candy made by letting other people set expectations for you, by going outside of your comfort zone to please others. Letting others dictate your actions can not only cause avoidable stress but it can sow resentment. And resentment is, unfortunately, the gift that can keep on giving even after the stress has been eliminated.

​Think simple.

Case in point: this blog post. I told myself to just sit down and write something quickly so that I would get a blog entry in for the month, the last day of the year. Here I am still droning on and now looking up clips of John Candy eating the Ol' 96er and figuring out how to wrap this up and wondering what my point was to begin with. I guess my point is set the bar low and just begin. Say you'll only write a few sentences and perhaps you'll walk away from a few paragraphs instead. Give yourself the possibility of a victory, no matter how small, and you may just exceed your own low expectations. If you make goals too lofty, too intimidating and too stressful--you risk sabotaging the whole thing.

Gratitude plays an important role as well.
If you set a small goal then you are more easily grateful when it is reached.
Gratitude is integral in life, to love and to growing in your faith. 

Start small and be grateful.
Happy New Year!

This morning I walked the lake as I've been doing consistently two days a week since the new year. I suppose that is my resolution. I'm not sure if I knew it was at the time, but apparently that's how resolutions are made and kept at my age: make it small, tangible and achievable.

Baby steps.
​
Today the fog seemed to tell me something similar.

Usually while walking the lake, I have a clear view of the opposite shoreline. It's only about 3 miles around, so it's not difficult to see the whole thing at a glance, but not today.

​This morning the fog was so thick--like pea soup, as they say--I couldn't see the water, let alone the other side. It was very striking, beautiful, unusual--other worldly. At certain points it seemed as if I was staring off into the ends of the Earth.

As I walked I wondered what the lesson was because it felt like the fog was telling me something. The Universe was whispering in my ear and it struck me: focus. Focus on what is right in front of you and don't think or worry about the other stuff in the background. Fog forces this to happen.

​On a clear day the branch of a tree can be so easily lost among the colors of the water, the distant trees, the bird flying by at that moment, etc, etc. Fog erases all of that from your vision and the branch that never caught your eye before, stands boldly against the backdrop of the muffled grey mist. An ordinary blade of grass pops. The empty boat has never looked so desperately alone.

The Universe pleads, "Slow down. Focus on what is right in front of you."

Don't waste time thinking of the stuff off in the distance. There may come a time when you are there, but currently you are here. Forget "over there" for now.

Appreciate, worry about, tend to, take pleasure in, suffer through, deal with, savor--what is right here right now. 
Be present.

Let everything else fade off behind the fog.

At long last, two years after I was originally supposed to sit down with the wonderful Joy Nelkin Wieder, author of The Passover Mouse, we finally got to chat mask-free in the WCAT Studios this past Monday. I got to follow Joy on her journey from spark of an idea back in 2002 all the way to this moment twenty years later to celebrate her picture book just before Passover begins April 15th. 

The Passover Mouse came out two years ago, just before the pandemic, and so Joy has had to endure a two-pronged form of perseverance with not only a long wait for her story to become a book and reach the eyes of children, but also to connect with those children once the book was out there. So much was cancelled and so two years later she looks forward to reading it to kids in the classroom, at libraries and bookstores to see their reactions to a story about a mischievous but adorable mouse.

​Joy said it best during her interview when she said, "Don't give up!"

It's been a while. Since, the writing--in here.
With a blog titled, "Dear Diary" I wanted to write, "Dear Diary, my mother passed away less than a month ago and I'm finding it hard to write. Why does grief take up so much room in my head? Why does it feel like such a relief to write what I'm thinking in my paper journal with my pen, but when it comes to typing in this Diary---I just don't want to?"

And that's a problem, for a writer. "Writer's block" seems to take on a whole new, debilitating strength after the loss of a loved one. It makes me think of the children's book I used to read to my children called, Sometimes I Like to Curl Up in a Ball by Vicki Churchill & Charles Fuge. For some reason, when I'm sad or overwhelmed, I want to get as small as I can. And, in an effort to get as small as I can I pull in my arms and legs and tuck my chin down. 

It's hard to write when you're in a ball.
Writing is an extension of who I am and I suppose stretching myself out so publicly on a page is simply unappealing. It's the last thing I want to do because, well--when you lose someone you love you really don't want to do much at all. But I'm still a mother, wife, sister, friend, neighbor, volunteer, citizen and, still, I am a daughter--with all that continues to come with such a role even without the mother to show for anymore.