Dear Blog,

You are one year old today.

I think it is time for me to serve you a miniature devil’s food cake and let you smash your face right into it.  I won’t forget to take pictures, either, to try and embarrass you later on when you are all grown up and dignified.

Yes, I am so very proud of you, and I think you are beautiful, even when you have icing on your chin and in your hair.  You have taught me more than I could ever have imagined.

Thank you.

Daisy.

It’s my blogaversary, y’all!

This time last year, I was nearly having a panic attack over the idea of pressing the “publish” button for the first time.  I had no idea then how everything was going to work out so beautifully.  All I could feel, as I read and re-read and re-re-read my initial post, was that old fear that has kept me from showing my writing to anyone for years and years.  Decades, actually.

Let’s just say I had some unpleasant early experiences with publishing and even showing my work to people who were not careful with my developing artistic soul and who stood to gain some things by stealing or trashing or misinterpreting my work.  Also, I was young, and I didn’t know how to defend myself from such attacks.  Pretty soon, I was prepared to burn my work rather than let another human being read it — and indeed, much of my writing over the years has been burned or shredded or even tossed into the trash compactor.  In one rather memorable instance, I even buried a bit of it under a full moon.

Sometimes you have to go for the grand, symbolic gesture.

Around my birthday last year, F. started suggesting that I start a blog, as a creative outlet.  He saw how much I wrote, starting with three pages of longhand stream-of-consciousness writing every morning, and became frustrated with my unwillingness to ever show him anything.  At least when we were dating he’d had the benefit of my words and stories in e-mails.   Now he was getting bupkiss, and because he is an incredibly wise man, he tried to nudge me out of my stubborn and defiant stance.  As he saw it, I was silencing myself and had to be stopped posthaste.

My first reaction was, “And what exactly is this thing called ‘blog’?”

Seems funny now.

Elephant ears, early morning light.

Once I found out — although I still had no idea, really — I backed away from the idea as far as I could go.  I believe I actually may have said things along the lines of how I never could do that, how it would be painful in the extreme, how I’d never have the courage.  A few weeks later, when F. brought it up again, I told him I flat-out refused to even consider it, that he couldn’t possibly understand, and that he was an insensitive jerk to suggest I expose myself and my words ever again.

It was a terrible moment.  I was being asked to open the door just a little bit again, and I reacted with panic and blind fury.  You know those doors you have in your heart, that sometimes you slam shut, and then they get stuck that way, and then it starts to feel comfortable and safe for them to be shut forever?

Well, maybe you are lucky and you’ve never done anything so silly.  But if you have, you’ll know how brave you have to be to even nudge that door open a quarter of an inch.  Such a small sliver of light comes in, not even wide enough to fit a toe in the gap.  But you can put your eye up to it and see farther than you have in years….

I did do that, one year ago.  Only because during a much calmer conversation in late July, F. assured me that no one would ever read my blog.

Not exactly true, it turns out.

Out of curiosity, I checked this morning, and my words have been read (or at least scanned or glanced at) tens of thousands of times now.

Wow.

And I didn’t once die from the exposure.

On the contrary.  This whole experience has been an incredible, radiant joy.  I have learned so much, about myself, about writing, about creativity and resilience, patience and persistence, about gardens and magic and storytellers all around the world.  I have made friends, laughed and cried with y’all, and been told my words lifted someone’s spirit, brought some small measure of beauty and peace into the world, made things a little brighter, for at least a little while.

And now I have tears in my eyes.  I can’t help it.  The creative journey is an amazing one.

I’ll probably write more about this journey past my huge creative block as I come to understand it more.  But for now, let’s stop all this serious stuff and get back to the happy happy joy joy part.

Aren’t blogaversaries supposed to be about celebration? And presents? Yes!  Never fear, I do have presents for you, who have been such an integral and lovely part of my journey.

First and foremost, you have my thanks.

You also have a chance to win free Beauty in your mailbox.

I haven’t said much about it here, but I now sell prints and canvases, postcards and cards of my work over at RedBubble.  (See the box in the sidebar.)  Yes, it enables me to earn a little money in return for the hours of artmaking I’ve put into this site, and yes, I am so appreciative of those of you who have purchased items from the shop, because our financial situation has not been the easiest row to hoe lately.

But originally, I did it all for the love of paper.  I once ran the Paperie at a famous art supply store, and I believe I might have landed the job when the manager asked why I wanted it exactly, and I clasped my hands together like Anne of Green Gables and waxed poetic about how much I adore good paper, and old-fashioned letter writing, and thank-you notes, and fine stationery.

I might also have mentioned how I have a collection of hundreds of postcards and how good-quality, cold-press watercolor paper makes me swoon.

How amazing is it, to be a stationery addict all your life and then to hold your very own designs in your hands?  It was a moment of awe for me.  I’ll be sending two lucky winners a packet of cards and postcards, hoping you feel at least a touch of that pleasure when you open your mailbox.   To enter your name into the random drawing for these gifts, just leave a comment on this post before midnight Eastern Standard Time (that’s the same as NYC, for those of you overseas) on Sunday, August 15th.

If you tweet or otherwise advertise this giveaway, you have my profound gratitude and the joy and satisfaction of serving as a connection point for potential like-minded spirits.  But I really want every reader to have an equal chance to win, so those actions will only be to your benefit karmically.

Now, even though I wish I could send you all a lovely gift in the mail, unfortunately that cannot happen, especially since I am relearning the joys of extreme thrift lately.

Thrift in spring.

Blooming in spring, the kind of thrift I actually prefer.

But still, I have managed to come up with a little something for everyone.  See that square button in the top of the sidebar labeled Soul Food?

Yes, that’s the one, with the pretty yellow flowers.

If you click it, you’ll find a selection of the best of the best of The Enchanted Earth & Victory Garden Redux (the first incarnation).  For each month, I have selected a post where I thought my words were inspired and shining, deep and rich with meaning.  I give them all to you again, with a full heart.

Namasté, y’all.

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“Weather means more when you have a garden.  There’s nothing like listening to a shower and thinking how it is soaking in around your green beans.”

~Marcelene Cox

I am so grateful for the rain.  This week, we’ve had at least a little sprinkle every single day.

Yesterday afternoon, we had the most delicious sunshower.  In fact, “sunshower” is my new vocabulary word for the week, a serendipitous discovery I made when trying to look up a quote from a George MacDonald novel.

Well, it might be from George MacDonald, and it might not.  I’m no longer so sure.  Something about the sun shining on the rain, and the rain falling on the sun.  A little girl character says it.  Of that I’m almost sure.  Does that sound familiar to you?  (If you can place that quote, I’d be in alt if you’d drop me a line.)

Anyway, that’s what was happening here.  The sun was shining on the raindrops, and the rain was pouring down on the sunbeams.  No cache of diamonds could ever compete with the sparkle.  I was transfixed by the beauty, especially just after the rain stopped, and the eaves continued to drip steadily, forming a shimmering, gold-beaded curtain.

Just beneath the beaded curtain, puddles formed, and the droplets spread their perfect ripples over and over, each circle of influence running into another’s circle until the whole thing became a work of modern art:  geometry and light.

Why didn’t I get out my camera, you ask.

Well, I did.  But the light was already fading by then.  And I am always a little bit happy when I forget to photograph something, or only remember too late.  Experience should be immediate and true, or I’ll lose the fire of inspiration and the artistic and creative connection with Nature, with life, that I crave.  It saddens me when I come across a blogger who has lost sight of that in her determination to photograph every detail of her life.  Reflection and documentation and creation should be, in my opinion, byproducts of the original interaction with the moment.

I also wonder if that mania for documenting every lovely moment is merely a display of our doubt of the natural abundance of our lives.  Last Christmas, I fell prey to this insidious mistrust.  Looking back, I know now that I was afraid, with my garden photography days “behind me” for the season, my little vegetable garden dormant, that I wouldn’t have anything left to blog about — and so I took picture after picture of our family gatherings, the food, the table arrangements, the torn giftwrapping sprawled inelegantly across my parents’ wood floors.

At one point, my mother pulled me aside and asked me, gently, to come out from behind the lens.  She pointed out that photographs were no substitute for being part of the action.

Of course she was right.

It is my experience that there are always more opportunities for photos than we can possibly use.  I find myself in exactly this posture with regard to my story ideas.  If I were to live for 500 years, I’d never get to all the good ones in my notebooks.  That’s just the way it is.  The world is bursting with creative energy.  That’s no reason to get in a hurry, to become anxious and afraid to miss something great.

As Minor White said, “Spirit always stands still long enough for the photographer it has chosen.” In this instance, the sun’s rays lingered on the upper curves of the cherry tomatoes just long enough for me to capture a bit of that leftover glow.  The dark clouds were rolling in after the rainstorm, just to increase my sense of being in some Alice-in-Wonderland-type space, or in an unannounced game of cosmic Opposite Day.

I wonder if that strange sequence of events was meant to remind me that nothing is really impossible. Maybe – probably — it’s not really important to know.

Namasté y’all.

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Daisy-like flower, with blue heart.

We are together for a very short time, so it makes sense to live in harmony, in unconditional friendship.

~ Bokar Rinpoche

Please consider this my thank you note to all of you, for reading, and commenting, and sending me messages, and telling me your stories, and writing your beautiful blog posts, and just shining and shining and spreading joy out into the world.

It means so much to me, and I don’t tell you often enough how grateful I am.

I’m still amazed that I get to do this, that we are able to share like this, that we’re so privileged to connect with each other across the miles, every day, whenever we find time.  An ocean might separate us… or only the Georgia/South Carolina border.  Whatever separates us from each other, though, is forgotten in this virtual space, where kindred spirits find no barriers.

And I want to extend a special thank you to one of my readers today.

To Lynn, who has a beautiful, optimistic blog definitely worth your click (hint, hint), and who was my first steady commenter.  Oh, I’d had drop-ins before, but no one stuck around — probably because I hadn’t yet figured out that it would be a good idea to respond to those comments or to go visit commenters’ blogs and try to return the love.  I was a wet-behind-the-ears blogger when Lynn started coming to read what I wrote, and she has been such a sunny and loyal and encouraging presence ever since.  She even networked on my behalf before I’d figured out the rudimentary blog etiquette, bringing me to the attention of another blog friend (Talon) who means so much to me now.  It’s hard to imagine my blogging journey without Lynn’s presence.

So, Lynn, thank you, my friend, and namasté.

To all of you who bring your own special something to the conversation here at the blog, I appreciate every single word.

And to all of you who read and look at the photos and continue to come back for more, thank you for being an important part of my journey here.  I don’t ever forget that you are here, following along with me, and your silent presence is a comfort and an encouragement for me.

Every time I sit down to write, you are all with me.  At least, it feels that way.

Namasté, y’all.

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