Energy is a peculiar thing.  Not just physical, as in, I got enough sleep to be able to climb stairs, deal with difficult people and cook another supper.  It is mental, as in, I can envision and do the small step towards getting my big dreams accomplished, and spiritual, as in, I can spend the morning editing my overgrown garden and know I am just where I should be.

I was at the first Quest Retreat this past weekend.  I was one of 6 staffers and came home exhausted.  I slept well Sunday night but it took until Tuesday to begin taking small steps again.  I’m still busy on that never ending to-do list and spiritual energy is on the back burner.  Hope to get there without untoward delay.
I feel a pressure to get cracking on the two Mindful Circle workshops that I have scheduled at the end of the month.  I had no one sign up for the summer workshop and I am feeling the dread of that happening again.  I am awful at promotion, especially self promotion, and so I drag my feet and sweat over doing it.  How would it be to change that?

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There is something about patience and allowing the path to unfold before me that has usually eluded me.  I tend to push, prod and force myself in directions that become uncomfortable and later untenable.  And then there are days like Saturday.

We went to the Art in the Mill Park in Paoli (http://artinthemillpark.com) and after looking at all the all art, crafts and welded garden dinosaurs, Julia settled herself down at the kids art area and started work on a miniature foil and tape dinosaur that evolved from t-Rex to something aquatic with a dress.  I got bored watching her careful work and with all her attention on the blue Dino, I wandered over to a nearby booth maned by the parents of a young man with developmental disabilities.  His work–colorful, joyous, very optimistic– was selling like . .. Well, doing better than most anything else there.  I engaged his father, Tom, in conversation, careful at first.  Probably too cautiously but Tom was willing to talk, telling me his son’s story until I find the confidence to ask how they managed this–the booth, the post cards and tee shirts, prints, posters and framed originals.  How did they start?  Short answer: taking a huge risk and investing in what their kid loves doing.  He told me about business plans, transition, working in art, investment, 501(c)3’s, and how his son loves theatre and uses the money he makes to bring her friends to shows at the Overture Center.  Alex’s mom joined the conversation and she told me more, emphasizing connections, community and how to figure out an artist’s market.  They told me their son has three jobs, does art, has enrolled in a college program and has his first big commission.

The blue dinosaur grew.  And a dress was designed. Continue reading →

Julia has been sewing in her own for almost a year now.  Mending socks and underwear in her own fashion.  Using embroidery floss with needles and making designs.  Collecting thread and needles.  She has steadfastly refused instruction from me and from respite providers.  Two days ago I showed her a YouTube video about making a simple skirt for an America girl doll.  She wanted to do that.  We fished material out of what is left of my sewing supplies and she cut the pieces she needed.  She ironed the pieces.  Then she learned to use the sewing machine.  I explained and demonstrated and helped when thread was tangled or pulled or a few of the million other things that can go wrong when sewing.  She sewed rows of stitches for almost 2 hours.  I sorted sewing supplies and puttered around carefully containing the bubble of excitement that Julia may be interested in something that I am rather good at and don’t find the time to do.

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Settling into home—we have some summer heat although I’ve only used my air conditioner twice, two weeks of morning swim classes for Julia and a weekend reunion of our China travel group coming up.  Ponderings percolating about traveling together, what I need for a much longer journey, Julia’s ability to enjoy and learn from experience. Julia’s interest in galleries and churches grew as we travelled.  Umm, there was a morning in Venice when she said, “no more churches” but I was poised to go a overboard.  I have a weakness for old churches.

Most days, we did some academic work, some of it informed by the places we visited.  A kid’s biography of da Vinci was ingested and commented upon days afterwards.  An email travel journal sent to friends, mostly adults, was a good way to get her to remember and write about daily doings.  The friends responded to Julia’s mail and we talked about those responses.  In every one, the writer commented about what Julia wrote, told Julia what she was doing and asked at least one question.  I was grateful for such socially appropriate friends. We talked about this form, especially the asking questions part because that mirrors a therapy goal.  I don’t think she wrote a single question, but she kept writing.  Her present teacher asked her to continue writing at home, something that Julia has not done spontaneously.  It is part of today’s tasks.

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We have been home a week and I am catching my breath.  Finally.  Wash is done.  Some friends seen.  Some discussion.  Most notable, Julia finished a week of Girls Rock Camp.  And rather spectacularly. Girls Rock was a challenge – for me, for Julia, for the staff.  I don’t know how much accommodation they have offered in the past.  Some of the staff are educators who understood a lot about Julia.  But I need to back up.

The blurb from the website:

“Girls Rock Camp Madison is an intense, one week day-camp for girls ages 8-18. Campers of all skill levels learn guitar, drums, keyboards, bass and vocals, form a band, write a song and perform at the end of week for friends, family, and hundreds of screaming fans.” (http://girlsrockmadison.org)

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