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A Joyful Noise

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April Art Challenge: Earth Day

April 22, 2017 by Melodye Shore

I’m settled into my backyard glider, watching the hummingbirds sip nectar from native wildflowers and then zip across the sky.

Earth Day is tomorrow, I just remembered, and I’m hosting our Art Challenge on this blog.

But first, I will watch the sun slant through the palm trees, and listen to the sparrow’s lullaby. I am a child again, sitting in my Nana’s porch swing and blowing dandelion wishes into a rainbow-sherbet sky.

We’re so easily distracted, all of us. We lose sight of what’s important, ignore our inner longings. Hence, these monthly Art Challenges!

I like best that they invite me outdoors–playful spirit at the ready, all senses engaged.

Like tiny seedlings, our prompts are rooted in the things that matter most.  Our environment, for instance, and the beautiful creatures with whom we co-exist.

We’re a diverse group, amateurs and pros who express ourselves in different ways.  Using a monthly prompt as our muse, we come together in the name of “art.”

These challenges aren’t a competition, by any means. Participation is our goal, not perfection. It’s all about capturing a fleeting memory, exploring our passions, renewing our childlike sense of wonder, and yes! making a joyful noise.

It’s about storytelling, in words and pictures–being transported to another time and place, or finding our way home.

For this art challenge, we’re showcasing our beautiful home, in all its glory.

Let’s get this party started, shall we?  Some artists will lag behind, but no worries: That’s what comes of being members of a global community. Take the tour when you’re able, and then return for another visit!

Gallery of Artists (with links to their Earth Day entries):

Veronica

Tammie

Eric

Nadine

Carole

Christy

Posted in: art challenge, backyard, birds, Carlsbad, Flower Fields, flowers, garden, Goff Beach, goff cove, goff Island cove, Harbor Seal pups, Harbor Seals, Home, mindfulness, Ranunculus Tagged: carlsbad, egret, flower fields, flowers, garden, goff island cove, harbor seals, hummingbird, ranunculus

On the wings of morning: expressions of grief, solidarity, and sanctity

March 22, 2016 by Melodye Shore

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The Robin is the One
That speechless from her Nest
Submit that Home — and Certainty
And Sanctity, are best. —Emily Dickinson

Three explosions ripped through Brussels earlier this morning, killing at least 34 innocent people and injuring 134. In the aftermath of this terrorist attack, people are linking arms with Belgium via social media.

To their voices, I add my whispered prayers:  Peace among nations, peace in our homes, peace in our hearts.

And I hear the quiet echo of my grandmother’s voice, a comfort to me on this shrouded morning. “In the darkest nights of winter,” my Nana always said, “watch the skies and listen for the robins.”

Violence cast a pall over this second day of Spring. The robin’s song is muted by grief. And still–because of, and despite the horrors of this moment–I carry within my heart an anthem: Cheer cheer, cheerily, cheer up, cheer up…change is gonna come.

Posted in: Am I my brother's keeper?, Belgium, birds, Brussels, Emily Dickinson, Home, peace, robin, Terrorism Tagged: belgium, brussels, emily dickinson, home, nest, peace, robins

Holiday Tea with my friend Sara

December 21, 2015 by Melodye Shore

The tea house is filled with the homey smells of fresh-baked scones, cut flowers, and holiday goodies. Ornaments hang like jewels from the ceiling, intertwined with plaid ribbons and twinkling lights. Sara’s wearing her Winter Princess gown, and why not? It’s our very first holiday tea, and we’re celebrating in style.

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Sara chooses the TreeHouse luncheon, strawberry tea, and a heart-shaped scone. I opt for the quiche and vanilla tea.

Our server places two teapots and strainers on our table, suggests we might want to read our tea leaves when we’re done.

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Sara spoons a generous amount of sugar into her teacup, adds liberal swirls of cream. She tells me she’s tasted sugar cubes, once or twice. So yummy! “At my grandma’s house,” she adds.

“My Nana used to plop them into her English Breakfast tea,” I say; and though I’m flooded with nostalgia, I’m smiling at the effervescence of this day.

Our server returns to the table, refreshes our water glasses. “Those flowers are 100% edible,” she reminds us. Sara takes a nibble, promptly steals repositions my camellia.

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We eat our fill, and then visit the adobe houses and shops along Los Rios, the oldest neighborhood street in California. I follow Sara’s lead…

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Turns out, Santa’s elves have an affinity for gardening. Seems they also love birds, same as us.

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Such a coincidence, too, that this watering can looks very much like a teapot.

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Ho! Ho! Ho! The Grinch nailed a wreath to his front gate–because, you know, Santa’s watching.

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Sara’s transfixed by the “love dove”  on this merchant’s porch, but I’m drawn to the rusted birdcage that stands empty. Save for its rusted patina, it looks identical to the one in which my Nana kept Curly, her pet canary.

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We admire a local artisan’s wares: kitchen utensils, bracelets, and jewelry, exquisitely carved and then polished to a high sheen.

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A caboose rumbles down the railroad tracks, chasing its engine, and Christmas tunes blare from hidden speakers. Sara’s humming to herself, and so am I. There’s an easy harmony between us.

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We savor our special outing, capture its magic in a gazing ball….

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And as quick as you can say “Cinderella,” Sara’s traded her princess gown for play clothes!

“Now,” says my little elf on the shelf, “it’s time to bake Christmas cookies!”

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To be continued…

Posted in: california, Christmas, Home, Orange County California, Sara, Tea House on Los Rios Tagged: christmas, joy, joyful noise, Los Rios, orange county, san juan capistrano, sara, tea house on los rios

Sitting at the threshold of here and there

December 4, 2015 by Melodye Shore

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I sit on my front porch almost every morning, steaming coffee mug in hand. From this vantage point, I can watch coyotes scramble up the hillside–silhouettes that erupt from gauzy shadows, and then vanish in the dark. I hear songbirds, warbling their morning tunes in a nearby sycamore tree, and the whir-thump of the morning newspaper, out for delivery. Hummingbirds cross my field of vision, making territorial clicks as they dart between the window feeder and the fuchsia, a safe haven in which they build their nests.

The marine layer lifts. Wispy, cotton-candy clouds are set aglow by the sunrise. I breathe deep the cool morning air, eyes wide open so that I don’t miss a single, wondrous thing.

On the kitchen counter: my computer and daily to-do lists. But I pour myself one last cup of coffee, savor the last vestiges of dawn before heading inside. Routines can wait, I tell myself, and no real harm has ever come of sitting a while longer, at the threshold of here and there.

 

 

Posted in: birds, Buddhism, calm, Home, joy, liminal, liminal spaces, Photo Challenge, Photography, photography challenge, writing Tagged: coyotes, dawn, eucalyptus, front porch, joy, photography, photography challenge, songbirds, sycamore, threshold

The red, red robin comes bob bob bobbin’ along

September 2, 2015 by Melodye Shore
Robin_01September2015Surprise

American Robin

At the confluence of serendipity & symbolism sits this red-breasted beauty. He appeared in my backyard for the first time yesterday, a dandelion wish finally realized.

I’d search the skies above our new home for more than a year, believed beyond reason that our backyard would one day be graced by a robin’s cheerful song. And just before sunset, without advance warning or fanfare, hope perched its chubby self on my back fence.

He foraged in my flowerbed, splashed in the birdbath, and surveyed the hillside beyond our fence before flying home to his own nest. I’m hoping he’ll return, but even if he doesn’t, I’m over-the-moon happy about this visit.

 

Blog title courtesy of Dean Martin.

 

 

Posted in: birds, Flight, Home, Hope the thing with feathers, joy, nana, Nature, Photography, robin, serendipity, symbolism Tagged: birds, gardening, joy, photography, robin, serendipity, symbolism

Five Facts about Me

August 7, 2015 by Melodye Shore

5ThingsAboutMe

1. I never dreamed I’d live so close to the ocean, but I’ve always felt its pull.

2. If Nature is a magician, I’ve fallen under her spell.

3. I can’t explain this #NanaLove any more than I can count the stars.

4. Happy is my default setting.

5. “Your home should rise up to greet you,” says Nate Berkus, “And at the end of the day, it should ground you in a sense of peace.” I’m not an interior decorator by any means, but I think my home is comfortable and welcoming.

Day 6 of Susannah Conway’s #AugustBreak2015 photography challenge. The phrase of the day is 5 Facts about Me. Ask me again tomorrow, and I’d probably create a wholly different collage. Maybe I’d adjust the zoom lens, crop the pictures a little tighter. But this is pretty decent selfie, for a first attempt.

Posted in: #AugustBreak2015, california, family, friends, Home, joy, joyful noise, Photography Tagged: family, family archives, joy, joyful noise, laguna beach, monarch butterfly, nana, photography

Celebrating Mother Earth and remembering my mother

April 22, 2015 by Melodye Shore

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PaMkj4_H8WM

My mother would have been 77 years old today. Her birthday coincides with Earth Day this year, which seems fitting. She derived her greatest joys, it seemed, from nature-related activities: camping alongside a mountain stream; watching a sunset at the beach; and singing about sweet violets and moonbeams, carried home in a jar. I suspect this was also her private torment, given that we spent so much time on the road–endless days and countless miles, blurring past, rarely knowing for sure where we’d eventually land.

She’d stare out the window, wrapped up in her private thoughts as the moon traded places with the sun and the landscape morphed from rocky terrain to desert wasteland. And then suddenly, with a single word, she’d fix our attention on something she’d seen beyond the narrow ribbon of asphalt. “Look!” she’d say, and I’d follow her pointing finger to a lizard, sunbathing on a rock. “Over there!” she’d exclaim, and we’d wish together on a shooting star.

Eva in Kansas City in 1960

My mom (1960, Kansas City, MO)

 

“For the Beauty of the Earth…” It was my mother  who first taught me this song, who also showed me Mother Nature’s bounty. And it was through her eyes (and Nana’s example) that I came to fully appreciate the wondrous beauty of the earth, sea and sky.

Posted in: CAN I GET A WITNESS, family, genealogy, Home, memoir, Mom, Nature Tagged: can i get a witness, earth day, look, memoir, mom, mother nature

Anniversary Weekend in Santa Barbara

January 5, 2015 by Melodye Shore

Twelve years ago, we exchanged our vows in the clock tower of this very building on a sunny January morning…lots of surprises since, but not a single day’s regrets. 🙂

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(Virtual tour of the Santa Barbara Courthouse and its world-famous, panoramic views)

And so it was that we celebrated our anniversary in Santa Barbara last weekend.

Familiarity with an area is at once comfortable and reassuring, same as with a long-term marriage. Even so, we’re always on the lookout for new experiences, and we actively seek out areas as-yet-unexplored. To our surprise and delight, we discovered Alice Keck Park Memorial Gardens. It’s an urban oasis, truly, so beautiful and tranquil!

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Stearns Wharf was more kinetic and noisy, this being the final hurrah for snowbirds who flock to SoCal beaches during the winter holidays.

I didn’t walk the full length of the pie because of the uneven wooden planks. I’m not yet as sure-footed as I’d like to be, and I need to protect my injured ankle. For the most part, I just basked in the peaceful setting, cherished equally by locals and tourists. And thanks to my zoom lens, I was able to bring close the beautiful scenery that’s beyond my current reach.

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By the time I write my next blog entry, I’ll have migrated over to WordPress. I’ll give you a heads-up, of course, in hopes that you’ll follow me over there.) I can’t wait to tell you about our field trip to the Coronado Butterfly Preserve in Goleta! If you’ve never seen over-wintering monarchs before, you’re in for a real treat! Here’s a sneak preview–very short, because I’m just now figuring out the video features on my camera. 


Posted in: Blogging, Home, Nature, Photography Tagged: alice keck park memorial gardens, anniversary, coronado butterfly preserve, goleta, monarch butterfly, santa barbara, santa barbara courthouse, stearns wharf

A Day of Mindfulness with Thích Nhất Hạnh

November 15, 2013 by Melodye Shore
The mind can go in a thousand directions, but on this beautiful path, I walk in peace.”
Thích Nhất Hạnh

The invitation went out on Facebook: A Day of Mindfulness, led by Thích Nhất Hạnh, will take place at the Ocean of Peace Meditation Hall at Deer Park Monastery in Escondido, California. I wasn’t feeling well, and my to-do list was long. But these kinds of opportunities don’t present themselves every day, so I cleared my calendar, downed some Tylenol and hit the road.

An early-bird by nature, I didn’t mind that I had to leave the house long before sunrise. I breathed deep the welcome silence, inhaled the salty mist along the Pacific Ocean until the GPS told me to turn inland. Black Tesla in my headlights, a rusted VW bus at my back bumper…I found myself in the midst of a miles-long caravan that inched its way up the narrow, steep road to the monastery.

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I felt at ease among this diverse group of travelers: roughly 1400 smiling individuals, dressed in everything from yoga pants to monks’ robes, frayed cargo shorts to haute couture dresses. We sat elbow-to-elbow on folding chairs, knee-to-knee on meditation cushions. Latecomers huddled in the doorways or settled into the spillover areas that circled the rounded stucco building. The excitement was palpable, and multilingual. Headsets were made available for those who needed interpreters.

A gong sounded, and a hush fell over the crowd. A middle-aged monastic swept into the meditation hall, brown robes swishing as he walked. Young Brother—a reformed Catholic priest, formerly known as Father—led us through a sequence of acappella songs. Simple choruses with a shared message: mindfulness in every moment, precious gifts in every breath.

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(I don’t have an actual transcript, so this next part is based on detailed notes and my best recollections.)
“Now that we’re all here,” said Little Brother, “we will walk together, up the hill. No talking, no thinking. Just breathing. Notice the flowers, the blue skies, the birds in flight. Enjoy the silence. Consider each step a gentle kiss for Mother Earth–an expression of gratitude for her gifts. Share this joyful experience with the animals and plants, and with each other. In…out…deep…slow. Breathe in the joy that comes of mindfulness.”
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We hiked a dusty path together, following his instructions (to varying degrees) for about 45 minutes. Hipsters loped up the hill together, scrolling through text messages and snapping selfies. A grizzled couple veered from the trail, high-powered binoculars locked on a red-tail hawk that soared through the canyon. A toddler tugged on his mommy’s sleeve, just ahead of me. “Look, a lizard!” he squealed, oblivious to the yogini-Rastafarian-monk-absentminded professor pileup-in-progress right behind him.  Me, I stayed in the moment as best I could, but I confess: my shoulders were quaking with surpressed giggles. And yes, I did stop now and again, to take in the view and snap some photos.
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Just beyond the chalk-white Buddha statue—where the ground leveled out and the morning sun was slanted just so—I finally caught my first glimpse of Thích Nhất Hạnh. He was sitting cross-legged in the dust, wizened face haloed by a simple bamboo hat. Was he looking inward, or into the distance?  I couldn’t tell.
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Thích Nhất Hạnh. Zen Buddhist monk, prolific writer, social activist, a Nobel Peace Prize nominee who was exiled from his native Vietnam for more than 40 years. Martin Luther King Jr. called him “an apostle of peace and nonviolence.” His students call him “Thây,” the Vietnamese word for teacher.
He sat motionless for several long minutes, flanked on all sides by monastics in identical brown robes. I stood off to the side and behind the assembled crowd…sort of, sometimes. I snapped a few photos, jotted notes into my journal. Random thoughts popped into my head: Wonder how long we’re going to stand here, baking in this heat? Sheesh, that winged insect sure is pesky! Oh hey, is that a security guard, hovering over Thích Nhất Hạnh? Sweat beads rolled down my cheeks and pooled at my collar–partly because of the blazing hot sun, but mostly due to a persistent fever. Fever, chills, fever, chills; jacket off, jacket on. Again and again, I had to call myself back to mindfulness, because yes, I’m human like that.
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Slowly, methodically…Thích brought his palms together at the center of his chest, bowed to the singing bowl in front of him, and then raised it to the level of his heart. After a brief pause, he tapped the bowl with a mallet, thus inviting it to sing. And when the last notes echoed over the canyon, he clasped hands with two children, and led us back down the hill. Breathing in…breathing out…feet of clay in dusty brown clogs, mindful of every step.
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We rearranged ourselves in the meditation hall, so as to better accommodate the influx of newcomers. Thích sat cross-legged on a cushion at the altar, with a bemused smile on his face. A devotee fell to his knees in the doorway, prayerful hands extended toward his teacher, forehead kissing the wooden floor. Friends stepped over his prostrate form, fingering mala beads and chanting.Thích took a slow sip of water, and thus began his Dharma talk:Breathing in, I calm my body. Breathing out, I smile. Breathing in, we invite our ancestors to enjoy breathing with us. We inhale together, oxygen and thoughts. Our ancestors dwell in every cell of our bodies, and they enjoy breathing in with us. Together, we enjoy the exhale. Our smiles show the world that we are free spirits within our bodies.”

“We are in the habit of running,” he said, “running away from the moments that are brought to us by our ancestors. We are afraid of going home to ourselves and to the suffering. But you don’t need to run anymore. You’ve been running all your life. Walk instead like the Buddha, enjoying every step. Every step brings us home to the here and now; every step is healing. No matter how short or long the distance, you nourish yourself with every step. Stop thinking. Breathe and enjoy. Walk like a free person. Release all expectations. Touch Mother Earth…let her nurture you. Let her teach you to walk in joy.
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The conversation turned serious, if only for a moment. “Be mindful of your sensory consumption,” Thích warned. “Everything is so accessible these days, but the messages are oftentimes toxic. This leads us to a state of anxiousness, fear and despair. Even with so many electronic devices, communication is more difficult now than ever before.”From deep in the bowels of a woman’s purse, a ringtone sounded. Her cell phone vibrated again and again, until the woman finally stepped outside to take the call. Thích’s eyes crinkled, and the corners of his mouth lifted–a smiling acknowledgment of this teachable moment.

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Thích‘s Dharma Talk lasted roughly 90 minutes—a quiet unfurling of loosely stitched thoughts. He spoke quietly, in measured tones. Although their Buddhism-inspired messages are very similar, I’d say his speaking style is more subdued than that of the Dalai Lama, whom I especially appreciated for his burbling exuberance. He wasn’t judgmental; nothing he said was prescriptive. Just a kindly man, offering seeds of wisdom. I couldn’t help notice, however, that a handful of people took it upon themselves to stare pointedly at anything that violated their own, unspoken rules: whispered conversations, for instance, and restless children. At some point, the prostrate man rolled onto his side, fast asleep, and started snoring. Breathing in the humor…erupting in laughter. I stifled those giggles again, dodged the dagger eyes they aimed at both of us.
During a lull in the conversation, I leaned toward the woman next to me and asked if she perhaps had a couple of Tylenol.  “Can’t seem to shake this fever,” I joked, “even with all this meditative breathing.” Well now! You would’ve thought I’d asked a vegan for a Big Mac. “Maybe,” she snapped, “you aren’t trying hard enough.”
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“Suffering is the first awareness, Thích continued, “the first Noble Truth. The noblest aspiration is to help people to suffer less. Some of us do not know how to handle pain, and so we have a tendency to run away from ourselves and seek forgetfulness. [But] when we return to ourselves and recognize our own suffering, we can more easily understand the suffering in others. When that happens, it is very easy to feel compassion, and to help people come home to themselves.”
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Home. This seems to me a good place at which to end this post. No, I didn’t summarize all the ideas that Thích shared with us that morning. Even if I had the transcripts at my elbow, I don’t think I could give them their due justice. Too, there was more to the group dynamics than I was able to see through my own, limited lens. But these are the memories that carry me back to that Day of Mindfulness at Deer Park Monastery. Memories of my arrival, of my homecoming. Breathing in those moments as I write this; smiling even now.Site Meter
Posted in: Home, joy, joyful noise, Religion, Thich Nhat Hahn, Uncategorized Tagged: buddhism, dalai lama, day of mindfulness, deer park monastery, escondido california, religion, thich nhat hanh

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