shift in perceptive

It's been 7 months. I'm not sure I have ever been away from this space for that long. The thought of ending the writing crossed my mind at random points - 'what a silly project that was' I thought. Or was it writers block? I couldn't find the right words to write down.

But now I'm here. And I think I have found them.

Nearly a year into Asheville and we decided to veer off somewhere else. The opportunity came out of nowhere and with surprise to us, the final decision to pack up and go was not a hard one. We left behind jobs we disliked and an overpriced apartment. Sadly, new friends, too. But, honestly, it was harder to always be working for the weekend. And the weekends never lasted long enough. Better work options seemed bleak in that town- moving away felt easier. Yesterday evening I heard a lyric by Feist that resonated with me- ' I know more than I knew before. I didn't rest, I didn't stop…' and I thought, damn right girl- that is how I feel about all that.

Mountains are a constant for us. We followed the Appalachians about five hours north to the foothills of Virginia and moved into a 200 year old farmhouse tucked away in the Shenandoahs. Kyle's new position brought us here as he knew he needed to get back into his element. He needed to get his hands dirty again- I feel the garden and greenhouse environment are his 'soul offices'. He has so much passion for them. I'm envious of him because I can't wait to find mine.

There is a therapeutic element to his job and mine as we interact with groups of individuals with a range of disabilities at different times during our week. The social scientist in me is loving these new interactions with people I initially thought were very different from me. Turns out I was wrong- at the core there is no difference. Human beings have emotional hearts and are pretty similar in the end as we universally have an innate desire to feel validated, loved and free.

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A maintenance employee came over to our house the other day to fix molding in our bathroom. He's an older, hairy man. Nice and gentle. Heavy smoker. I can smell it on him and hear that raspy cough that accompanies that habit once its reeled you in so tight there's no way of escaping. Anyway, he lugs in many different types of tools and a can full of white paint. Outside he sets up his saw and cuts molding pieces for the different areas that need fixing up. He works and works and works. He spends most of the day in the bathroom fixing the specific areas. At the end of the day, I came back inside just in time to see the final product as he was finishing up. I was impressed. You are so talented! I tell him. He laughs and I can tell he doesn't necessary believe in the compliment I gave him. But it was true. He is an artist to me. He gathers his tools and puts them back in his red truck. He lights a cigarette and drives off. I imagine him going back to his house to let his dogs out- first grabbing a cold beer from the refrigerator- thinking about making steak and potatoes for dinner.

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I'm understanding how my environments play such a deep role with my personal creative process. The character of the space I live in presently is inspiring to me- after all, I felt the energy to finally sit down and write again. I'm anxious to start taking pictures with my 'big camera'- and go through with building up my photography. I'm excited to round up some new music and to cook with new spices. I've even started dreaming about a baby. First time in four years. I'm not even sure when the right time for that will be, but the idea doesn't seem as outlandish as it has in the past.

Southward

We moved to Asheville a few weeks ago. Sage, Simone and I ( Oh! And Sage's fish, Jenny) drove into the area on our own, entering Buncombe County with the Walter Mitty Soundtrack playing. 'Space Oddity' by David Bowie came on right as the waves of blue mountains appeared. I rolled down my windows as he sang 'now it's time to leave the capsule if you dare...' and I felt proud of myself.

I learned taking a grandchild away from grandparents that love the way ours do is not easy. Both sets seemed deeply sadden by us leaving and I was beginning to feel guilty as our moving date approached closer. My boss and I had a beer after my last day of work and I asked him if I was being selfish for taking her away and he said I wasn't- -"you guys are young. Go live and explore and take her with you, it will be good for her." I felt a wave of relief wash over me from his words and finished my beer agreeing. We parted ways a little after that, giving each other a big hug, both acknowledging how great it was that our paths crossed.

I broke down and cried when I gave Ann a hug goodbye. It was an accumulation of all the emotions I had been carrying with me that past week colliding together, I think. In that instance, it hit me that our embrace marked the final end to an era. That was it, we were off. Tears flowed out and letting them felt so right. Once I got back in my car and started driving, I wiped them all away and the wind pouring in through my windows dried the rest up because everything about this drive- this move- felt just as right.

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My low pressure oil light came on while I was traveling down. What the hell does that mean anyway? Having to deal with this with a toddler and golden retriever in the back was not something I felt like doing. I was upset with myself for not knowing more about cars. I was upset with myself for not taking it to get a quick maintenance before I left. I didn't want to end up on the side of the road but still just decided to ignore it for the time being to see if it would turn off. It actually did, too! But then it came back on.

Damnit!! 

I knew I had to deal with it then. I took the next exit and drove to the closes gas station. I saw there was an auto shop next to it and decided to walk on over to see if this was a situation I needed to take care of right away.

I carried Sage on my hip. She was barefoot and confused. The mechanic told me I needed oil and he could help me if I pulled in the garage in the back. I pulled in. He had missing teeth and a thick southern accent. I didn't know if I should like him. I was thankful he quickly put the oil in and showed me where to pay.

I got out of my car and noticed two other men that I didn't see before behind the counter. I could tell the older, heavier one checked my body out as I approached him. That felt gross to me and my gut was nagging at my insides alerting me to beware- it hated the energy in the place. I had to give them my information and I ended up getting a bit testy at the end because this transaction thing was taking too long. I started thinking of how I was going to protect myself if one of them tried putting their hands on me or my daughter. Warrior Mama would have come out, I tell you. I truly believe I would have found the power to hurt them if I had to.

Nothing happened, though. I paid my sixteen dollars and the guys waved me off making my final two hour drive into Asheville worry free.  My sensor light went off and I soared the rest of the way there. I thought a little bit about making prejudgments toward people during my drive, but, really, I'm learning to trust my feelings more and more in situations, and I'm not convinced I made any.
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We drive down a road into the River Art's District after a day of walking around and biking by the river. It is later in the day when the sun is low and bursting with orange hues. This light and the tree branches collide together creating a strobe like effect as we move on forward. We take a turn and see a small group of bikers that look our age heading towards the main city. One of the bikers carries a kid carrier book bag for hiking on her back with her dog comfortably placed in the inside. My heart melted once I saw the dog, it seriously was one of the cutest things I ever seen. The dog seemed so happy in there, so down for the ride, so full of life.

I've been going to yoga again and my body feels that good kind of soreness from it right now. The room we practice in is big and the yoga community is donation based. Whatever you can afford that week is what you pay. No more than $15, $5 is great too.  I sit on my mat and listen to the teacher. She tells us to open our hearts and take note of our breaths. I'm still trying to figure out the breath thing, but I always feel grateful to be there. So incredibly happy I showed up.

free falling

I walk in circles around my work desk eating a banana. Twice I walk around limping a bit because my right knee is hurt. The knee was sore and achy before I pushed it through a thirteen mile run and now I'm paying for it. I can feel it healing though. As I move around in my circle eating my banana, I can feel the pain lessening.

The colorful leaves came and now they have fallen. I wasn't expecting to like the looks of these bare trees as much as I do at the moment, but I have to say I do feel comforted by them. I'm liking their rawness, they are so strong to brave these colder months completely naked.

The sun sets as I leave work. There will be a little bit of daylight left once I pull out of the parking lot, but once I hit Eastern Boulevard it is dark and head light after head light shines brightly in my eyes. Lately I've noticed my drive homes being full of thought, my head in the clouds. I'll come to my senses at a point and realize- wow, I've been driving in silence, I got myself from this point and to that point without even realizing it. I'll lose myself again- thinking, thinking, thinking and then before I know it, I'm pulling into my mother-in-laws drive way. I turn the engine off and swallow in the cold, gusty air as I open my car door. Inside I go in search of my daughter so I can give her a kiss on her beautiful rosy cheek.

This weather is forcing us inside but my body doesn't feel like hunkering down, it doesn't feel like covering up. And winter seems to be a time to be sedentary in a sense but my spirit wants none of that.

And it is all very funny because I wrote that a few weeks ago and right now all I want is to be still with my family and watch a festive holiday movie all snuggled up. I feel so grateful for them and to everyone else and it is cold and dreary outside and I am tired.

seasons

Our dog has been my teacher lately. And so has my daughter. Simone continues to remind me of the powerful wisdom she holds of living in the present moment. A few weeks ago she helped with breaking the ice after a frustrating morning walk to the beach with my family---on the way we had learned we forgot the pale and shovel-- Simone was walking too fast on her leash--Sage was whiny --raindrops were slowly falling out of the clouds and onto our heads---I had originally envisioned this walk to the ocean to be much more pleasant. Our moods were not good when we reached the shoreline. I laid out a blanket for us and hoped these bad feelings would melt away and pass as fast as the clouds above us. Simone sat down beside me but quickly decided to get up and walk to the ocean. She slowly let her paws get wet and then all of a sudden that was it--her furry body was leaping into the waves. We watched as her golden coat merged into a dark brown color and her legs moved so instinctively in the water as she paddled into the current- every movement of hers was like medicine to our souls. I looked over at Kyle and smiled and realized that was all we needed. We were by the ocean, our feet were in the sand, the sun was beginning to peek out through the clouds and pour warmth onto our shoulders. We were here together right now in this moment and I could see happiness begin to fill us.

I pulled into the park last week with Sage after a day of packing. Her little body needed to release some energy and I felt anxious to get her to a playground to run around. As I turned the corner though I saw there was a family reunion going on under the park pavilion and immediately a bad word came out of my mouth. I didn't have the energy to socialize with park strangers and I told Sage we were going to go to another park. But then I heard, "Don't be scared, Mommy. They're our friends- don't be scared of our friends. It will be fine." And my heart melted and I knew she was so right. She is such a gem, my greatest treasure.

 We have officially moved off the farm and will be spending a couple months with family to figure out our next move. I thought I would be carrying around more sadness after saying goodbye to that place but it turns out I'm not feeling much of that at all. After we had packed and cleaned everything out, I went around to each room and said thank you. Thank you for keeping us safe. Thank you for adding inspiration into my life. I walked to the door and took a nice long look at the large cluster of windows facing the west. They were always my favorite feature.  When I looked at them, I felt them give me an encouraging hug to get out. Leave!...go!...I felt them say. You guys weren't happy here on this land anymore- go find your happiness--- go learn and grow away from this farm. Go on an adventure- go meet new people-go watch the sun set from another place! And swooooosh- their energy lovingly turned by body around towards the outside. I walked out and shut the door and never even felt the urge to look back.

road signs

I left work and rolled down my car windows. Moving from the cold air conditioned office to this summer warmth feels so good.  As I reverse out of my parking spot, I watch as goosebumps rise on my arms and swear my body is saying 'thank you' in someway.  It tells me, 'Thank you' for moving us into a more natural environment.  I only have about three minutes of this good feeling before the heat begins to consume me and sweat starts to build up on my forehead. I turn right heading towards the highway feeling wisps of my hair flying wildly in the wind. I watch as my hand floats in the tunnel of air through my side mirror.

Modest Mouse tunes pull in through my ears and tug on my heart strings. This band seems to resurface in nostalgia induced moments- or when thoughts seem heavy. In this case, the thoughts inspired their words and rhythm to spill out again.  Inspiration, excitement, sadness, frustrations- it's all swirling around right here.

I've been taking notes. Twenty-six years in and I've been thinking: this world is a bewildering place. The highs and lows involved, the ebb and flow of everything. We all have to be so strong and bold. Some people have to be so, so strong it brings tears to my eyes. I just don't understand.

I've been thinking about change. Change is inevitable. It can come in many forms and being afraid of change is not a healthy or productive thing to be scared of.

high waters

The rain fell hard in the middle of the night. It pounded on our roof and made it seem like each drop was leaving its own impression on the gravel outside our window. The rush of water created a small pond under the gutter attached to the barn, and gusts of wind blew raindrops in through the window that were cold and surprising as they touched my face and arms. We closed our windows in a bit. Kyle was a little worried about the chickens outside in the field. He rolled over and hoped aloud that their coop wasn't going to hold water. Geeze- me too, I thought to myself. What a terrible sight to wake up to in the morning if that were the case.

Farming is a hard job. And sometimes sad. I think I've mention this before, but it truly is. I've been observing the sad element the most this season as I watch Kyle deal with unwanted animals either killing his own chickens or eating his crops. It's a blow to the spirit when you spend all this time planting vegetables from the greenhouse into the earth and then come out to see they were ruined the night before. All that work...

This year, too, we've had a couple chickens become sick. They seem to be withering away. A call has to be made. Someone has to deal with them and release them from this world. Someone has to dig a hole for their body. Farming is hard and sad sometimes.

We have been waiting patiently for our strawberries to come in. Sage is excited and calls them candy. I let her know it's nature's candy. The best candy. And then I feel this overwhelming amount of pressure to serve her little body right when it comes to the food I choose to put in front of her. She's no longer a baby- I can't just mash up a concoction of super foods with a sprinkle of chia seeds and spoon feed her every single bite.  She's developed a mind of her. A mind that seems to overpower me some days.
 This is part of the hardships of parenting, I tell myself. This is when I learn to fill my body with patience.
 Then a more pleasant moment will arise- a moment where I can sit with my almost- three- year- old and feel her brain taking in my thoughts as I explain the nourishing properties of the food I have for her. I tell her 'this will help your eyes see clearly...this will help your beautiful blonde hair grow down your precious back.'

Summer has arrived. I've been blissfully taking in the last one we will spend here on this farm- I sunbath near the llamas and laugh to myself as they snort at each other behind me. Occasionally I have to scare off chickens that roam around and try to peck me. The whole scenario seems perfect to me, so fitting for this place. When Sage ventures out we talk about dragons that spit out friendly fires. The kind that can painlessly dry up the tears from her cheeks if she happens to fall down and hurt her knees. She believes all the churches in town are castles and likes to pretend she is a bird with glittery wings that can fly high into the trees. I love how she views the world right now. Her thoughts always make my day more beautiful.

december picture notes

unfolding

The other morning I sat on the sofa and found myself mesmerized by my daughter eating her cereal.  I thought this is kind of silly, Meagan--stop staring at the poor girl- let her eat in peace. But then I realized I truly didn't want to- my eyes were glued on her and that spoon and that bowl full of milk and cheerios.  I watched closely as she skillfully scooped and then guided the contents to her mouth. Only to then do it again. And then again.  An "uh oh" would follow if any pieces fell off- which in turn would be picked up by her chubby beautiful little fingers and put right back in her mouth.

The whole moment was surprisingly an artistic one for me. Thats probably why I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I found it pretty and I don't feel a camera or really even words can describe the beauty that it all entailed. I realize, though, lifestyle art and photojournalistic art really draws me in-- and this little event struck me as a piece of my own motherhood lifestyle art- a film naturally made by my daughter for my eyes to take in- for my brain to process and file away, hopefully to remember always.

Winter is near. I can smell it in the air. The trees are becoming more and more naked by the day and frosts are becoming a morning ritual.

Kyle has started "winterizing" the farm and all the vegetables that he will be caring for over these colder months. He's also been hard at work harvesting the rest that won't make it through. They need to be sent to these last few Farmers' Markets to do what they were intended to do: provide and nourish.

I'm feeling pretty good pushing forward into the winter season. I'm not sure if it's because I can finally see my family adjusting well to a new routine since I've gone back to work part-time. But, my body feels ready to handle the cold this year and whatever else may come next.