Day 4 of Susannah Conway’s #AugustBreak2015 photography challenge. The word of the day is numbers.
A sea of numbers, under the lifeguard stand
How do you translate numbers into real-life experiences? I snapped a few pictures, to help sum things up.
Paddle boarders venture into the waves, beyond the reach of the rip currents.
A friendly dragon with a birds-eye view.
Family fun–not a cell phone in sight!
A singular tribute, left untouched
Flesh, introduced in 1949 in the 48-Crayola box, existed until 1962, when [manufacturers Binney and Smith] voluntarily changed the name to Peach, recognizing that not everyone’s flesh is the same shade. —New York Times
In 1992, Crayola introduced this special Crayola crayon collection. Designed to represent an inclusive range of skin tones, it contains 8 colors from its current product line: apricot, burnt sienna, mahogany, peach, sepia, and tan, plus white and black. Even the logo is reimagined: a globally diverse group of children are orbited by the words “Multicultural Colors.” I’ve tweaked that box even further, in response to Susannah Conway’s #AugustBreak2015 photography challenge.
Crayola’s Multicultural Crayon box, reinterpreted for #AugustBreak2015
The word of the day is skin. I’ve represented that with texture, pigments, and the hashtag #BlackLivesMatter. This is a grittier look than I’m known for, but then again–same as in 1962–we’re going through some rocky times.
I learned phonics from my mother, on a cross-country trip from California to Baltimore. I devoured the messages on billboards, and then graduated to books like this one.
CAN YOU TELL ME? (Copyright 1950, Zondervan Publishing)
I have vivid memories of those magical moments, can easily recall the shivers that ran up my spine when block letters first translated themselves into sounds and syllables, and then sentences that leaped off the pages.
I developed an insatiable appetite for books, and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.
Perspectives shift. New discoveries challenge old beliefs, and textbooks are rewritten. But at the tender age of three-going-on-four, I believed everything I read.
When I enrolled kindergarten that fall, my world expanded by the number of books I was able to check out from the library at any one time. Two, same as the animals on Noah’s Ark. But when the bookmobile rumbled down our street one day, the entire universe was delivered to my doorstep.
The librarian pulled books from shelves I wouldn’t otherwise have considered. We flipped through the pages together and talked about their contents. Teacher to student, friend to friend. Thanks to her gentle guidance, I learned to ask the deeper questions and challenge the pat answers.
And that, my friends, is what eventually led me to write my own story, Can I Get a Witness?
In honor of His Holiness The XIV Dalai Lama’s 80th birthday, two monks visiting from the Namgyal Monastery in Dharamsala, India are creating a sand mandala on the UCI campus. I count myself lucky to be among those who will be in attendance for The Dalai Lama’s actual birthday celebration, as part of the Global Compassion Summit in Orange County, California. But in advance of that day, I wanted to take part in this more intimate, sacred ceremony.
My Pentecostal upbringing was steeped in rituals, none of them similar; but when I first saw a sand mandala a few years ago, I was instantly drawn to its spiritual metaphors. Events like this are best when shared, so I was happy when my friend Karin agreed to join me.
Mandala-in-progress, featuring the celestial house of Avalokiteshvara. Tibetans regard His Holiness the XIV Dalai Lama as the living manifestation of compassion.
Karin’s first thought, confessed over dinner? Netflix’s hit series, House of Cards. No spoiler alerts, please, because I’ve only watched Season One, Episode I. Still, I’ve read enough to know that the main character’s ruthless ambition is a driving force, that viewers are plunged into the depths of depravity as Frank Underwood claws his way up the political ladder. Having schemed his way into the White House by Season 3, Frank sets for himself the task of establishing his legacy. It is in this context that he and his wife Claire play host to a group of Tibetan monks, who create for the President and First Lady their very own sand mandala (brief video clip).
Foreshadowing, maybe?
“Mandalas constructed from [crushed limestone] are unique to Tibetan Buddhism and are believed to effect purification and healing. Typically, a great teacher chooses the specific mandala to be created. Monks then begin construction of the sand mandala by consecrating the site with sacred chants and music. Next, they make a detailed drawing from memory. Over a number of days, they fill in the design with millions of grains of colored sand. At its completion, the mandala is consecrated. The monks then enact the impermanent nature of existence by sweeping up the colored grains and dispersing them in flowing water.” (Smithsonian Institute)
Vajra and bell, ritual objects used in the dissolution ceremony.
While four monks typically work in tandem on a sand mandala, passport-related concerns brought this seemingly unlikely pair together at UCI. More about that later... Press releases were late, so the place wasn’t crowded. We wandered at our leisure, posed questions and wrote in our journals. I snapped countless photographs, searched the familiar patterns for the inevitable surprise.
On the right, Venerable Sherab Chöphel; on the left, Venerable Tenzia Chödar, aka Namsa Chenmo–H.H. The Dalai Lama’s personal tailor.
Venerable Chöphel bowed over the table, balancing a fluted chakpus over the delicate edge. One brass chakpus grated against the other, until tinted sand flowed like liquid through its narrow opening.
Venerable Chödar took the measure of things…
while Venerable Chöphel transformed crystalline sand into waterfalls.
The process itself had a singular beauty. Mask-covered faces. Deep breaths. Sensible shoes and infinite patience. It was a collaborate effort, with creative license pushed to the margins. Not the tiniest sliver of space for artistic ego, here. The patterns were so deeply rooted in the monks’ collective experience that they grew organically into exquisite designs.
At the end of the day, their work remained unfinished. It will be, by the end of the week. Then, as with every sand mandala created before and after this one, The Dalai Lama’s birthday gift will be deconstructed in a special ceremony:
“The sands are swept up and placed in an urn; to fulfill the function of healing, half is distributed to the audience at the closing ceremony, while the remainder is carried to a nearby body of water, where it is deposited. The waters then carry the healing blessing to the ocean, and from there it spreads throughout the world for planetary healing. (Drepung Loseling Monastery)
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The dissolution of this sand painting is a reminder of the transient nature of things, of the ephemeral nature of our own existence. The name itself means “circle” in Sanskrit, a nod to the underlying symbolism of the mandala’s creation. Viewed solely as an impermanent art form, it is within itself of a house of cards, albeit with no power-grabbing or suffering involved.
My offering: A plumeria blossom that symbolizes impermanence
So the question arises: Does my having photographed this sand mandala alter in any way its meaning? If the purpose is solely to suggest life’s impermanence, maybe so. On the other hand, in sharing these images (and related pop culture references) I’m boosting the signal on a chosen path forward, beyond the isolated world in which Tibetan monks once lived. The Dalai Lama himself–by virtue of his political exile and reemergence as a global ambassador for peace–stands front-and-center in the social media spotlight.
Pixels, satellites, social media and streaming video…avenues, all of them, for continuous rebirth. At the very least, they breathe new life into religious traditions that might otherwise be relegated to the dustbin of history (e.g., this tent revival meeting, via True Detective). And at their best, they forge memories that eventually find their way into the stories we write.
Speaking of which…remember that “inevitable surprise” I mentioned? Stay tuned for Part II, in which we’re invited to stay for tea with the Venerables and discover that one of them is, in fact, The Dalai Lama’s personal tailor!
Update: The mandala is still a work in progress. Stop by to see the finishing touches! (UCI’s Banning House, 9 a.m. – 6 p.m., until July 3)
Judy Blume strides across the stage at Aratani Theatre, flashes of teal polish visible through her peep-toed pumps. Her voice is strained by a lingering cold, but at 78 years young, she’s nowhere near ready to slow down. Her hands flutter, and she talks a mile a minute. She’s ready with an answer, quick to laugh.
Judy Blume at Aratani Theatre, as part of ALOUD’s author series
The audience basks in Judy’s energy, mirrors back to her that radiant smile. It’s ladies night out, with a few exceptions–fans of all ages who’ve come to hear about her latest book release, and to reminisce about her prior works.
It’s hard to pigeonhole the author who helped give birth to the Young Adult genre; and by no means would I want to understate the importance of any one of her beloved characters, all of whom helped redefine what it means to live a ‘normal’ childhood. But here are five things I learned about the inimitable Judy Blume last night (and the one thing I wish I’d learned but didn’t).
1. Judy kept a diary as a young girl, same as the main character in her quasi-autobiographical novel, ARE YOU THERE, GOD? IT’S ME, MARGARET. And now that she’s a writer, she creates what she calls “security notebooks.” Chock-full of research findings, character traits, and setting descriptions, they keep her from feeling alone when she faces a blank screen.
2. About the inevitable setbacks, Judy says, “I was devastated by my first e—um, rejection.” She claps a hand over her mouth, as if to stifle a giggle. “Oops, I was going to say erection.” There’s a short pause, to comedic effect, and then she recites that Highlights Magazine refusal, word for word. “Does not win in competition with others.” The audience erupts in laughter, and Judy grins. #delicious irony
3. Judy’s latest novel, IN THE UNLIKELY EVENT, is based on a trio of plane crashes that occurred in her hometown (Elizabeth, New Jersey) during the 1950s. Inspiration struck her in an unlikely setting, complete in concept and out of the blue. She was listening to author Rachel Kushner talk about her mother’s childhood experiences in Cuba during the 1950s, and boom! There it was. Plot. Structure. Characters. Setting. She knew the storyline, beginning to end. “It was a magical moment,” Judy says. “It never happened to me before, and I don’t know that it’ll ever repeat itself in my lifetime.”
4. Judy Twitters up a storm, famously so, but pangs of nostalgia sometimes hit her. “I still have my IBM Selectric typewriter, “ she says. “Sometimes I open the closet door and whisper, “I still love you.”
Judy Blume, in conversation with Alex Cohen
5. About IN THE UNLIKELY EVENT, Judy says, “ I think this is the one I was meant to write , and that maybe all the other books leading up to it were just practice.”
My only regret, as an avid fan who now shares her profession, is that we didn’t get any deep insights into Judy Blume’s writing process. Successful (and beloved) as she is, surely she could spill a few secrets? The moderator asks, as do several audience members. But true to her belief that “writing is a skill that can’t be taught,” Judy doesn’t proffer much advice. ““Dialogue is what I do best, but I honestly don’t know how it happens. It’s whatever works.”
An aspiring author approaches the mic, asks the same question from another angle. Judy seems genuinely perplexed. “You sit there, get the critic and censor off your shoulders, and just write…And you read, read, read.” When pressed for a more detailed answer, Judy explains that she sits at her computer for 2-3 hours, takes a two-mile hike and then treats herself to a tasty breakfast.
“Just a bread crumb more?” someone wheedles. Judy’s response: “You have to have determination… just sit there and try to let it happen.”
It’s not much to go on, but hey, it’s the inimitable Judy Blume! So we cling to every word in the moment, scribble them into our notebooks for later reflection, and honor her wildly successful, singular process by creating one of our own.
NOTE: This program was sponsored by the Library Foundation of Los Angeles. Flash photography was verboten, but we were allowed cameras in this venue. Hence, these pictures, all my own. Judy’s words, which I’ve placed in quotation marks, aren’t verified against official transcripts, but they come as close to her original statements as I could possibly remember/write.
Portland, Oregon Revival Meeting, August 1966
In researching my memoir, I oftentimes revved up my roadster and slipped into the role of my alter ego, Nancy Drew. I’ve gathered clues from the National Archives; I’ve explored the sites of former tent revivals and churches, long since demolished; and I’ve unearthed numerous artifacts, along the Sawdust Trail.
And so it is, that on this Throwback Thursday (#TBT), I’m recalling that other blogging meme, Thankful Thursday. I unearthed this classified ad in the Portland, Oregonian archives. Like so many other treasures I’ve collected, it could’ve been lost to time and decay, were it not for for the myriad librarians, genealogists and archivists who’ve devoted their time and energies to the preservation of our individual and shared histories.
Serendipity
Coined by Horace Walpole (1717-92), from the Persian fairy tale The Three Princes of Serendip, in which the heroes “were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of.” (Dictionary.com)
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Late last week, I received word from Jennifer Pastiloff that “Grace Notes” was accepted for publication at The Manifest-Station, the hugely popular online journal that published my holiday piece, “Tidings of Comfort and Joy.” I promised Jennifer that I’d find and send her an illustration, even though I knew already that nothing in my own photo collection matched the story. Leap, and then look. Not always, but that’s usually how I roll.
Mockingbirds figure prominently in the story, so that’s where I focused my quest. A couple of Google images looked promising, so I reached out to the website owners on which they were featured: May I use your picture, in exchange for attribution and a wider reach for your beautiful work? One blogger said yes, but when I realized she’d “borrowed” the copyrighted photo without authorization, I bowed out quickly.* But wait! I found something even shinier, and more befitting!
“Mockingbird in the Sun,” copyright Pat D. Hemlepp. Used with permission
Pat Hemlepp calls himself a “photo hobbyist,” but his image gallery is as professional as can be. A total stranger, mind you, but what’s to lose by asking if I can use this gorgeous shot? Quite understandably, he said he needed time to Google search this crazy woman consider my request. “No pressure,” I said, “I’d want you to feel 100% sure it’s the right thing to do—that it aligns with your interests & honors your beautiful work.”
It was in that waiting period—where Hope and Awareness pool their resources, and then set out on a quest of their own – that I “just so happened” to land on my artistic friend Veronica Roth’s Facebook post. As synchronicity would have it, she’d “just so happened” to be painting one of her signature pieces (exquisite watercolor images, overlaid on ephemora). “My friend Diana suggested I paint a mockingbird next,” she wrote. “Working on it. Almost done.” And there it was: a sweet little songbird, pretty as could be…bird feathers and musical notes, harmonizing together on a church voluntary called “Improvisation.”
“Mockingbird,” copyright Veronica Roth. Used with permission
I got goosebumps–same reaction as when I landed on the Harlem Gospel Choir’s Facebook page a couple of months ago. Same as I always do, when I stumble upon the shivery magic that old Horace described as “accidental good fortune.”
It’s not like I was born under a lucky star. I most assuredly wasn’t. Why, then, do I always seem to fall into happy circumstances? It’s a mystery, even for this Nancy Drew wanna-be. Miracles can happen. Of that, I feel certain. But I’m not entirely comfortable with the concept of preordained circumstances; don’t know that I’d put all my faith in the Secret; and find challenging the belief that you can bring to fruition certain things in your life by sitting on a meditation cushion, chanting mantras as your fingers slide from bead to bead on a rosewood mala. I don’t dismiss these ideas outright, but I don’t buy them absolutely.
Could be that when you’re traveling the right road, you meet up with the right people. Researchers seem to think there’s a sure-fire formula for serendipity, beyond the simple rules of cause-effect. What I know for sure is that Serendipity is more likely to show up on our doorsteps when we open our hearts, minds and eyes to Possibility—when we’re willing to look beyond the messy inconvenience of scattered breadcrumbs and to venture down uncharted paths, to see where they might lead.
Not long after I saw Veronica’s watercolor image, Pat graciously granted me permission to use his lovely photograph for my story. That deadline had come and gone, so he allowed me to use “Mockingbird in the Sun” for this blog entry. I’m grateful. And I’m glad for the serendipitous chain of events that brought me to his website in the first place. I’ve bookmarked his page, for the sheer joy of discovering the latest additions to his galleries. Same with Veronica’s online studio, which I visit on a regular basis.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t also say how fortunate I feel, to have my story published on Manifest-Station. If you’ve got time to read “Grace Notes,” I’d love to hear your thoughts.
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*In return for these artists’ generosity, I’d like to share with my fellow bloggers the rules for using someone else’s creative property. As with many of you, I’m more aware of the rules now than I was when I first started blogging, so I’m in the process of removing copyrighted graphics from old posts. As Maya Angelou once said, “When we know better, we do better.”
Endangered Species Carousel, at Living Desert Zoo and Gardens
You have to leave the city of your comfort and go into the wilderness of your intuition. You can’t get there by bus, only by hard work and risk and by not quite knowing what you’re doing, but what you’ll discover will be wonderful. What you’ll discover will be yourself. –Alan Alda
Giraffes are graceful animals, but don’t let their gentle demeanor fool you. Living as they do on the African savanna, they have no choice but to stick their necks out. How else to avoid potential predators, or to locate the next watering hole? No better way to reach the highest tree branches, where the tastiest morsels grow.
If a carousel animal can suggest a truth universal, maybe it’s this: The golden ring is available to those of us who are willing to stretch beyond our comfort zones, and to set our sights on the unknown. Danger lurks, but that’s a given, even for those who seek refuge in a merry-go-round existence.
If there’s a time when a person’s neck is most exposed, it’s when they’re writing memoir. It’s hard, sometimes, to trust the process. But oh, the treasures that make themselves known to us, when we prove ourselves willing to stretch beyond any preset notions or boundaries, and to bravely explore each memory for its underlying essence!
(Random though it might seem, this blog entry was inspired by a visit to “my” desert oasis this past weekend, where I reflected on next-steps for my memoir and pondered Alan Alda’s quote. And of course, long-time readers know already how fond I am of the Endangered Species Carousel.)
