Change. Being entirely ready to try something new.

William Wegman, Intirely, 1990. 

His blog. The Wegman store: cards, calendars, T-shirts, books, more.

I’m thinking about change.

Not the kind of change that is focused on another person, an organization, or thing. I’m thinking about one thing to change in myself.

It’s not that there’s only one thing I need to change. (I have a list.) I’m starting with one thing at a time. I’ll practice before I add new ones.

Here’s a short list:

• Instead of sleeping in, wake early enough to sit quietly and meditate. Consistently. (I added the word consistently after talking with a dear friend over the weekend. She said her change is being consistent. I'm joining her.)

• Become aware of bells ringing during the day—another person’s phone, a train whistle, school and church bells. When I hear a bell, rather than ignore it, stop and take three calming breaths.

• Rather than eat standing up or in the car driving to an appointment, eat at a table.

• Instead of taking big bites and gulping my food, take little bites and eat slowly. Way slow. Thirty chews a bite slow. (I'm working on kindness to my eroded digestive system from chemotherapy.)

• When someone…oh, let’s just get specific. When someone like my daughter tells me about grandbaby Dylan, do not, I repeat, do not tell her what to do. This is based on my vast (choke) experience. Listen, mama Susan, listen. (Listening means my mind is quiet and focused on what she is saying.) Refrain from giving advice. (That means listening with my heart, both ears open, and my one mouth shut.)

• When Terry doesn’t choose an outfit I like, rather than offer my insight on fashion, I want to mind my own business.

There are other things but they’re on my private list.

Choosing and getting clear on the one thing I want to change is a first step. 

I begin anew by choosing the opposite of the behavior I want to change. 

And I need to be entirely willing.

Willingness paves the way to bring about the long hard work of practicing change.

This is a poem about the challenge of willingness. I wrote it in response to William Wegman’s photograph, Intirely, which is pictured above.

Head down, tail up.

         She’s encircled entirely in tire.

         So she thinks.

         Hey, your limbs are free!

Tell me lady with your head down,

What are you doing?

Are you having fun or are you stuck in a tire trap?

If you are trapped, who is holding you?

Oh, you are not held, you want to stay to play. Why?

Hey, try this: just move your head an itsy-bit. You’ll have it—freedom.

Do you want it?

You do? You want it?

Well then do something. Take that inch.

Why don’t you? 
You don’t want freedom?

Oh, I see. It is more fun head down and tail up?

No? What, bark up, I can’t hear you!

You can’t see up with your head down 
and up might be less and more.

I know about you, she you, you don’t know what to do with freedom.

You are she and you don’t have to be the tire.

You can BE the tire, the wheel.

See, you can go, can’t you?

Go grrrrrr!

Susan Michael Barrett, 2011.

(Barrett. T. "Writing and Talking About Photographs." Criticizing Photographs. Fifth Edition, p. 219-220. New York: McGraw-Hill, 2012.)

Mustaches, Movember, and our portmanteau-- Treecember

ma cherie by Nelleke Verhoeff, artist/illustrator from the Netherlands

Fine art prints and angel Christmas cards available at Red Cheeks Factory, Nelleke's company 

I walk up to Starr’s House and see the children peeking through the window. I open the door and Elijah says “group hug” and a spiral of arms wrap around my legs. I reach down and touch each back. “Nice to see you.”

During circle time I read, What’s the Big Idea, Molly? written by Valeri Borbachev. Mouse Molly and her friends Rabbit, Goose, Frog, and Pig are looking for an idea about what to get Turtle for his birthday. They all come up with the same idea (draw a picture of a tree) and inspiration strikes. 

I pull out stick-on mustaches. “Can I have one?” asks Colt. 

“Yes, we can all have one.”

“Children, I have a story about the mustaches we're wearing. Someone had an idea to create a celebration by mixing two words (called a portmanteau). November + Mustaches = Movember. In November, men grow mustaches and other people wear ones like these to remind us to take care of our bodies.” We put on mustaches and take pictures. 

Brennyn laughs because her moustache tickles.

I say, “Here’s my idea. If we put the words Trees + December together we have Treecember. Let’s celebrate and learn about trees! Children, tell me what you know about trees and I'll write them on paper.”

Maggie says, “Stars and leaves are millions,” and Jax adds, “Sometimes fish die.” I thank Jax.

“I know how to climb up them and some leaves fall off and turn orange, red, brown, black, and yellow,” says Elijah. 

Others tell about trees. I write what they say.

We cross out some words.

And this is what we end up with:

Leaf

Green, yellow

Falling off

Blowing away

Into the grass

Into the road

Changing colors

Apex

We hold hands and dance around as we say it. The end.

Notes: I pass a leaf to each child. We play Simon Says about parts of the leaf after teaching the names of the parts. “Simon says put your finger on the apex of the leaf.” 

Outside we use a leaf-shape chart to match leaves we find in the yard. Within a few minutes, Ansel finds deltoid, linear, ovate, and obovate.

Writing a poem using "Ladder for Booker T. Washington"

Image credit: Martin Puryear. Ladder for Booker T. Washington, 1996. Wood (maple and ash), 432 inches x 22-3/4 inches x (narrowing to 1-1/4 at top x 3 in.). Fort Worth Modern Museum of Art. Note: though the ladder appears to rest on the ground, it is suspended. The larger end is 3 feet above the ground and rises up.

This post might inspire a classroom lesson, dinner conversation, or a visit to a contemporary museum.

Begin by looking at this image and ask, "What do you see?" This question invites description and listening to each other, and that's important because we see different things. We bring a variety of life experiences and awareness forward when we say out loud what we see. Spending time on description prepares us for the second question, "What is it about?" Answering the second question is an exploration in interpretation, multiple interpretations and a worthy lesson in itself.

I'm writing about this now because last weekend I participated in a poetry lesson held at the University of New Mexico and led by Valerie Martinez, poet laureate of Santa Fe. It was a "story-telling experiment. The exercise was oral, written, visual, and performative. She asked us to individually and communally explore the story behind the image and relate that story to our own lives. One aspect of the excise was called "looping." This is what she did, the best I can recall.

We entered the room and found a ladder form made with painter's tape on the floor. She asked us each to take a place on the ladder. We did. Then she invited us to say our name and make a statement about why we chose the place we stood. Some stood on the edge, some in the middle on an imagined fulcrum. One person straddled the edge. Another stood on the bottom rung while a few brave ones held on with tiptoes as if ready to leap off the simulated ladder. Then we returned to our seats to begin writing.

Valerie invited us to get comfortable, and said, "Don't worry about what you write. Let your writing take you in" and then she gave us this prompt:

When I open my mouth.
When I don't.

(Isn't that a loaded prompt?)

She said to begin writing without stopping. 

"Write whatever comes. If you stop, keep writing the word that you stop on over and over until something comes." 

We wrote for about 5-7 minutes. 

When the time was up, she said, "Stop. Read over what you just wrote. Find the most interesting combination of words and underline or circle them. Drop down two spaces and copy those words exactly and begin freewriting again using those words as a prompt. Write until I tell you to stop."

We wrote. She said, "Stop. Find the most compelling phrase or words and underline or circle them. Drop down two spaces and begin writing again." We did this 3 times.

Then from that last writing, we chose one line or phrase, the most poignant, rich or fun combination of words. We wrote our selection on a strip of paper. Then one person read his/her line and taped it to the wall. Whoever felt their line was next, read and then taped it to the wall. We continued until each person's line had a place on the wall. As a group performance, we read the entire poem with fluidity and expression, each line read by its composer.

Resources to build on this exercise:

Barrett, Terry. Making Art: Form and Meaning, Chapter 2, Meanings and Interpretations, p. 32 - 33. New York: McGraw-Hill. 2011.
Tarkington, Booth. "Freedom of Speech." Saturday Evening Post Essay. February 20, 1943.
Washington, Booker T. Up From Slavery: An Autobiography. 1856-1915.