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.”

Have I mentioned my belief that the key to happiness is low expectations?

So, adjust your expectations and you may just enjoy this poetry. For me, a polished piece of poetry has the potential to be something to fear from the writer's point of view--because I'm saying, "This is perfect! There is nothing more I can do with it, so don't bother to look. Just sit back and enjoy this symphony of sounds." [Chef's kiss into the air . . . mwuuaahhh]

It's so much less intimidating to open up my rough and tumble sketchbook (no, I don't often--ever?--sketch, unless doodling counts. But, taking a break from writing and making time for art of the more visual sense was the intent of the workshop where I received my sketchbook and, like that prized pair of jeans in the closet fitting a little too snugly, I am leaving the sketchbook open to the possibility of being sketched in at some point in the future.

Ok--the poems. That was what this blog post was all about before my sketchy sketchbook swooped in and distracted me, but I have to admit digressions are such fun! So--how did these unpolished poems come about? Well, long story short: this past summer: two adults three teens and a tween = 6, plus cat = 6.25, two weeks later: minus three, subtract another one unexpectedly = 2.25 (a mom, her boy & a cat:) = the ability to hear myself think. Combine this with a collaboration between The Room to Write and Arts Collaborative of Wakefield special art exhibit requiring 12 writers to pair with 12 artists + one summer slumber for all + deadline = 9 writers + me = 10.
So, I had to write. 

At one optimistic point, I told myself that I would write a poem a day. No big whoop! But, I also had a cottage to paint, a garden to rehab, an uncharacteristically angsty teen, and a boy to spend the tail end of summer with. I started with the poem that ended up being paired with a piece of art for the exhibit. Next day a revision of that first poem. Then two poems, rough and ready. Then two more poems with two different pens. That was a challenging day, which is reflected within the poems. The next day, one poem while life simplified. Five days in a row: nothing. I was too busy kayaking, bike riding, beaching, painting, reading and allowing my mind a rest. Then one last poem on the last day of vacation. And, as Pa Ingalls always said, "All's well that ends well." And it did. There was a lot to love about our family's summer vacation, but that last week was a slice of serenity that was something to be savored.

April was such a busy month! Everything that was usually quarterly and staggered so that each quarterly happening doesn't fall within the same month--all fell on the same month: April.

I'm still trying to catch my breath. Something I'm so glad I said "yes" to was the collaboration between The Room to Write, the non-profit that I founded and direct, and the Arts Collaborative of Wakefield, a local arts organization. So, in addition to all the quarterly things, TRtW also had a month of art programming to plan, get the word out about, and carry out. Artists and Writers featured together. Yay!

I always say how nobody goes out to a gallery to look at 8x11 white pieces of paper with words on them, but this time they did because the pieces of writing were accompanied by colorful, unique art. The writing was also colorful and unique in its language and format, but it helps to have some eye candy to draw a reader into words on a wall.

There were so many other things that happened--regular programming at the Senior Centers--a great lineup ending with Stephen Puleo this afternoon--as well as two local author interviews at WCAT Studios and the usual critique group meetings: Multi-genre, Kid Lit and the Senior Group. There was a board meeting, a Writers and Illustrators Meet & Greet as well as six local authors visiting the art exhibit to read the books they authored aloud to kids and parents, there were exhibit evenings and afternoons and various discussions here, there and seemingly everywhere. More about that and photos can be found here:)

May is usually very busy, but I think compared to April it may be calmer. I'm looking forward to that. After spending three and a half hours of one day this month trying to bunny-proof my back yard by blocking all entrances, I am looking forward to some uninterrupted garden time. And some Z-zz-z-z--z-z-z-z-z-zzzzzzzzzzz . . . 

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!

​A few weeks ago I was out raking. It was a beautiful, surprisingly mild, fall day and I was happy to have an excuse to get out into nature. Aside from raking leaves into a pile for kids to jump into, I take more of a "leave it alone" (pun intended?) fall clean-up stance. After all, letting leaves sit over the winter is vital to the life cycle of so many insects, a food source for birds, as well as a cheap and easy insulation for my plants. These compelling arguments for letting go of that rake conveniently appeal to my lazy side. I long to hibernate for the winter.

But, I put off hibernating for one more day to bask in the sun, rake in hand, clearing the sidewalk and driveway to ease pedestrian passage. Anybody who happened to see me in action that day surely wondered, "Why is that crazy lady raking leaves off of the sidewalk and into her yard?" Yes, no bagging or Dr. Seuss vacuum cleaner required, just into the garden they go. This menial task gave me a closer look at the trees and plants nearby. That's the magic of nature--it helps me focus and offers endless avenues for contemplation.

Being mid-November, the garden was almost completely under the sleeping spell of winter. I began to notice how so many of the "bad" things are illuminated when everything else starts to die away around them. Creeping Charlie was green and going strong and a person could lose a whole day pulling at its never ending stems that snake through the garden and pool around my plants. Whatever that other creeping vine was (Virginia Creeper?) had turned a brilliant red and looked magnificent . . . but it's a bully to all the plants it strangles out and tramples over during the growing season.

Then I saw my clematis vine looking all withered and worn out compared to something strong and green growing right up beside it--a weed easily hidden in the growing season. It was one of those tall weeds that are yellow with the fluffy seed heads that spread everywhere when you try to pull it out of the ground. It's like the awkward, lanky cousin of the dandelion called Sowthistle (a name I found thanks to a quick look-up on the 'puter). Add to that Common Burdock, one of my top arch nemeses of the garden. Dun, dun, dun-n-n-n-n--​

That infuriating plant goes through various stages of big, wide, fuzzy leaves growing low to the ground--thick taproot like a giant parsnip that never comes out in one piece. A year or two later, that very same plant switches identities and grows into a high, sprawling beast culminating in a crescendo of horrible, sticky burrs that cling to anything passing by it--especially clothing. Ugh.​

Good news:
I am finally getting to my September blog posting.
Bad news:
Yes, it's October:)

The same thing happens with apple picking. I know September is prime time, but the month of September consistently goes by in a blur and then October arrives and we finally pick apples.
​
​It seems to be a resounding theme in my life lately. And--what exactly is lately? This week? This past month? Absolutely not. "Lately" is more like the last several years.

Even this year's month of August, which is usually a time when I try to relax fully and gather all my energy for the fall push, was interrupted by coughing. A cough from nowhere. Just a cough. Wet and productive. At least something has been productive--haha. It's amazing how a cough can be so disruptive, so sleep depriving, so socially unacceptable, and so mysterious. I still haven't discovered the exact cause or cure or for how much longer. For now, it's under control, but only because of a daily inhaler. Something I can't wait to be without.
I suppose we age and our health wanes whether we like it or not.
I don't like it!

So, what now?
Will I ever catch my stride.
How is anybody ever able to proceed at a pace that is enjoyable when life seems to blare at you and then go quiet, then honk, then hum, then crash, then cancel, then . . . then . . .

I am not an animal who can sit by the fire and fetch slippers every morning. I cannot recognize that I have wings and not try to use them.
​Maybe I should? Chickens seem content with it.
I need to work, to use my skills, to feel fulfilled in meaningful ways. But, I don't know that I have found a way to do that at a reasonable pace. I don't know how to get the ebb and flow to cooperate. It seems it's just flow, flow, flow. 

I was recently talking to another writer who has a similar difficulty. The world tells us, "Say 'yes' to everything in order to advance in life." Ok. But, what happens when you've gotten so good at saying "yes," that you forget how to say "no?" I think I need a more fine-tuned instruction manual going forward.