MUD-LUSCIOUS AND PUDDLE-WONDERFUL

I am reposting this article as I feel it is still cogent and expresses many of the principles upon which Bio.Graphia was founded. I hope you enjoy it!

I love the fact that our existence is often lusciously messy and oozy.

The photo above was taken of my daughter, Marina, and her friend, Claire, when they were teenagers. We were getting ready to have a family gathering and they were asked to get dressed for the party. They decided to take a walk down to the pond, and as you can see, things took an unexpected turn!

As we all know, real life is not a straight, smoothly paved road, but a series of paths through the woods – some well-marked, others hidden until we stumble upon them. There are obstacles, unexpected ends to a journey where we are forced to take up another, and times when we are just plain lost. And, there are times when we get stuck in the muck and mire!

When thinking about writing our life stories, it becomes clear that despite our best efforts to put everything into a logical, orderly fashion, real life is simply not that way. How do we get in touch with the story of our life and communicate its deepest meaning?

Thankfully, like a trail of breadcrumbs, there is always a way back to our true selves through the vehicle of story. The connections that are made through just talking about and sharing our lives with other human beings are often surprising. Sometimes the real story we are meant to tell emerges from the act of remembering it.

As my friend, Tae Cyungha, founder of Oakland Garden School, reminded me the other day, “It is the body that feels the sense of truth, the sense of Self . . . It is the same platform through which we understand the world beyond our body, understand universal wisdom, compassion and empathy, the collective unconscious, and divine spirituality.”

One way back to our story, then, is through sensation, of being in touch with our body memory. Think of one moment -- touching your toes to the icy edge of the water, or feeling the warmth and softness of your new baby’s cheek, hearing the wind in the trees outside your childhood window, or having a taste of your Grandmother’s cinnamon rolls, hot from the oven and dripping with butter and icing. See how just thinking of this scene brings it straight into the present moment and how you can actually feel those sensations! See how other memories come flooding in . . .

My wish for you today is that you will spend some time with your tactile memories. Squish your toes in the mud. Jump into the river. Savor that first kiss. Let it take you places you haven’t visited in awhile and see what happens . . .

LIFE STORY : NARRATIVE AS HEALING MEDICINE

Our stories are very powerful medicine.  For thousands of years, indigenous people have recognized storytelling as a way to nourish both the body and the spirit by connecting us to earth, self and community.  

With so many people expanding their notions of what healing means and seeking viable alternatives in their medical care, it is not surprising that contemporary medicine is finally embracing the concept of “narrative medicine” as a clinical discipline. 

Columbia University now offers a Masters of Science in Narrative Medicine.  Championed by Dr. Rita Charon, author of Narrative Medicine: Honoring the Stories of Illness (Oxford University Press, 2006), the program “. . . fortifies clinical practice with the narrative competence to recognize, absorb, metabolize, interpret, and be moved by the stories of illness.” (http://www.narrativemedicine.org/)

But what do we really mean by narrative medicine?  And, most importantly, how does this affect how we tell our own life stories?

First, let’s explore the difference between narrative healing as practiced by native peoples and alternative practitioners, and narrative medicine as interpreted by the medical community.

In narrative healing, it is expected that the practitioner and the patient are thoroughly invested in and believe in the process.  In the telling of story, disharmonies are discovered and new ways of looking at illness or dis-ease are uncovered.  From there, a fresh viewpoint and positive strategies for both spiritual and physical health can be developed.  The focus is always on the individual, not the healer. 

The work of Lewis Mehl-Madrona, M.D., Ph.D, author of Narrative Medicine: The Use of History and Story in the Healing Process, draws upon Native American wisdom (http://www.healing-arts.org/mehl-madrona/).  He describes the role of narrative this way:  “In order for a person to get well, there has to be a story, one that everyone believes, that leads the individual back to health.”

In contrast to this, narrative medicine as defined by the medical community involves a somewhat different agenda.  In this model, bibliotherapy is wedded to the medical experience.  This involves doctors and caretakers actively writing about their experiences with their patients.  The goal of these “pathographies” is to serve as an antidote to the detached concern (or even apathy) that one encounters in a clinical setting and to teach doctors to be more intuitive and empathetic.  Ideally, doctors, clinicians and patients are brought together in a closer, more bonded relationship.  All of these are positive intents; however, the traditional symptoms-based approach to health solutions remains unchanged.

Central to both viewpoints is the telling and the hearing of story and in finding recovery.  This is the same thing that happens as a matter of course whenever we begin sharing our own histories.  By telling our story, we are transformed.  We naturally begin to see who we are and our relationship to the world in a different way.  

This is important, not just in relation to the challenges and quality of the life we are living, but in how we embrace our whole life story, including our mortality.  As Mehl-Madrona says:

At the end of life we all like to feel like we had meaning and purpose. It’s easier to die then.  Much of what goes on around people who are dying is the preparation of story, to allow everyone to agree that the person’s life had meaning—with the funeral being the culmination. It’s so much more valuable to do that when people are alive.

. . .

Compassionate, empathetic listening is at the very heart of witnessing someone’s life story.  When we truly open ourselves to another, a space is created where magical things can happen.  Memories appear like beautiful butterflies.  Conversations we have long forgotten become crystal clear streams opening into rivers of transformative thought.

When we are encouraged to speak freely, in an atmosphere of trust and non-judgment, our insights flow naturally.  Visions and understandings surface that create connections and deep meaning that we may never have acknowledged or explored before.  We face and sometimes, if we are fortunate or diligent enough, we release the past.  All of these things make the present much more complete, not only for ourselves, but for all those who know and care for us.

In essence, healing begins to take place from the very moment we begin to tell our story.  When our hearts connect, everything is possible.  And therein lies the real medicine, the true gift of sharing our journeys with each other.

May all your stories be heard and be blessed,

Karen Mireau 

IN THE SONG OF THE DOVE

In Memoriam
MIDGE O'BRIEN
1935-2009

When I first saw Midge, she was sitting on my back porch, waiting for an appointment with my husband back then, who was a holistic healer. I thought that she was a young girl. She was so perfect and petite, with such a lively, coltish energy, that from a distance, she looked like a teenager. She never lost that quality, even when she was in great pain and difficulty.

She was there because she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer and she wanted to know what she could do that didn’t involve butchering or irradiating her body. They’d given her a year or two to live, but she was determined to find a better way. She believed that she could change the way her body dealt with what she called, “her irreverent cells”, and she did. The day I first saw her on the porch was over twelve years ago. She’d beaten the odds by an entire decade!

Over the years, Midge and I got to be good friends. She often helped me in my garden and while doing that honest work, we talked a lot about philosophy and poetry and the strange ways of this world. She also shared a lot about her childhood. Midge had been born the youngest of four children in Barren, Wisconsin. She went to a one-room schoolhouse and lived on a farm where she spent a lot of her time climbing trees. One story she told me seems so symbolic of the way Midge saw the world. She said:

“On the farm, I often heard the sound of something, but I didn’t know what it was. I never saw anything making the noise. I thought it was God calling. It wasn’t until I was an adult when I heard the sound again that I found out that it was a Mourning Dove.”

Midge was deeply insightful in the way she thought and spoke. Quick with a soft smile and a hard-hitting witticism, she had that wry kind of humor that revealed a piercing intelligence. She loved a good laugh, but you couldn’t get away with any blarney around Midge. She simply would not tolerate injustice of any kind and worked tirelessly to make the world a better place, especially for those who were downtrodden.

She fought the good fight. I think she was uncommonly brave in choosing to live her life on her own terms. Not many of us would take the road she did. It took great strength to follow convictions that the medical world decried, and even greater strength not to give in to the well-meaning around her who would have found it easier for them for her to take the easy way out. No, that was just not Midge. She had what they used to call ‘pluck’ – and lots of it!

Above all, Midge was curious about the world and what made us all tick. She was a natural scientist of both body and soul. She reminded us on a daily basis that so much depends on the quality of what we feed ourselves not just physically, but spiritually. And because of it, we are all the better for it – inspired, better educated and perhaps more sensitive to the fact that our bodies are not only a marvelous manifestation of chemistry, but of energy and intention, too.

I loved my friend dearly and I am sad to see her go, but I know in my heart that her purpose here was served. She told me so. And that’s all any of us can ask for, isn’t it -- to love and be loved and to share the light that is within us for as long as it burns bright.

Midge did all that. And so much more. We’ll all miss her irreverence and bright blue eyes, but most of all her child-like spirit, the one that could hear God calling her in the song of a dove.

Namaste,

Karen Mireau
Berkeley, CA
January 10, 2009

THE ART OF MIRIAM BRANDSCHAIN

Not long ago, I had the special honor of meeting and getting to know the artist Miriam Brandschain.

Miriam is a fine example of a woman who has lived an incredibly active creative life and who, at 96 years old, continues to inspire. Her humor, quick wit and sharp powers of observation make her a lively conversationalist and she still finds delight in music, dance and art.

Over four days of intensive interviews, she shared her life, her loves, her achievements and her disappointments.  What I found fascinating was that even though Miriam grew up during the Depression, she never for a moment lost her sense of abundance. Her dazzling blue eyes lit up as she described her childhood: playing ‘Red Rover’ in the streets of Philadelphia; walking to the cinema to see serials with her sisters; tasting hand-cranked ice cream mixed with crisp pretzels and discovering her love of color – a fascination that would lead to a life-long love affair with art.

As a young woman, Miriam studied drawing, painting and sculpture with such legendary artists as impressionist Roy Nuse (www.tfaoi.com/aa/3aa/3aa176.htm) and Morris Blackburn (www.dolanmaxwell.com/artists/blackburn), among others. She exhibited her own work at the Philadelphia Artists Guild and was a respected art educator for many years.

Miriam was not only an artist -- she was a highly successful businesswoman during a time when few females worked outside the home. For over a decade Miriam was co-owner of the Fishman-Weiner Gallery in Philadelphia, where she helped promote innovative artists and expand awareness of international art. During this time, she also raised two daughters, both highly creative individuals in their own right, and was involved in philanthropic work in her community.

I was sad to see our interview come to an end, but then began the very challenging task of distilling 96 years of life into a 25 page book.  Soon, the text for the book was completed, the photos chosen and the Italian papers ordered to hand bind the manuscripts into ten artisan books.  By then, I felt that I had been blessed not only by a beautiful new friend, but by someone who was truly an angel.  Seeing her story come to life was a magical moment! 

Aside from being absolutely charming, there is quality in Miriam that seems to radiate from most creative people I know – that is, she is filled with joy in being able to share her work with others and to kindle others’ imaginations.

This is how our stories continue and how we evolve, with the light being passed, one to one to one. Thank you, Miriam, for carrying that spark and for being such a special inspiration to us all!

See more examples of Miriam’s artistry at: share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=0AaM27Zi2YsmTF9A

A WEEKEND WITH NATALIE GOLDBERG

"Just shut up.  And Write!" This was the mantra Natalie Goldberg repeated often during a recent seminar on memoir writing held at the Kripalu Yoga Center in Lenox, Massachusetts.

Natalie is author of 11 books, including her first: “Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within” which has influenced and instructed aspiring writers since its original publication in 1986. Her latest offering, “Old Friend From Far Away: The Practice of Writing Memoir” expands upon those early principles.

“Memoir,” she reminds us, “is an exploration in the way we remember. It is a slice of life, not a chronological telling. We write memoir to not to remember, to cling, but to honor and let go.” Throughout the three-day seminar, we were gently (and sometimes not so gently) led to a state of awareness of the gap between who we are and who we think we are.

The premise is that a writer . . . writes. It differs from Julia Cameron’s “Artist’s Way” techniques in that it is not intended as therapy, but as simple, basic practice. “You create a structure and then you break that structure.” This releases that raw, uncensored energy from which the truth will unfold.

“As a writer, you need only three things,” Natalie says. “Pen, paper and the human mind.” From there, everything is an act of listening. It is a practice as demanding and exacting as any Zen regimen. “Just write. Shut up and write. Let it rip and then get out of the way,” she advises.

Each day began by sitting in silent meditation and allowing our breath to refocus the mind. Then, holding that energy, it was time to get to work. We keep our pens moving, we don’t edit or cross out, but keep writing, writing. Seeing 130 people enthusiastically filling their notebooks in a series of ten-minute writing “sprints”, heads bowed in complete attention, was a remarkable example of the power of Natalie’s methods.

Afterwards, we broke into small groups to read to one other and then aloud to the entire class, practicing the art of non-judgmental listening by recalling key phrases and details that stuck with us – another great way of honing these skills.

After the last of these marathon writing exercises, Natalie led us outside where we took off our shoes and slow-walked barefoot through the cold autumn grass – feeling, seeing, listening, matching breath to step, until a natural rhythm occurred. “Writers are always walking, always observing.” At this point, we felt more than transformed, we felt blessed by the community and trust that had grown so quickly between us in just a few short days.

“All writing,” she says, “is about intimacy, about getting close. To do this, first you have to show up. When you do this consistently, you are like an athlete in training. You soon discover that you can write anywhere, anytime.”

The weekend concluded with a quote by Dogen: “If you walk in the mist, you get wet.” Which is to say that you can’t separate yourself from existence. By receiving your life, your voice, it opens the whole world.

So. Yes. When we just shut up and write, there is room for writing to flow, for saying what needs to be said, for telling the truth and remembering that in the act and practice of writing; ultimately, “We will know that we had a life.”

Thank you, Natalie, for your goodness and your ability to ground us as well as to help us soar!

LOVE HONESTLY

I have just returned from the Sonoma coast, where I was celebrating the birthday of my dear, almost 90-years-old friend, Dr. Annemarie Roeper. Annemarie is an amazing woman.  She and her family fled Nazi Germany when she was 19, where she was a protege of Anna and Sigmund Freud. After arriving in America, she married her childhood sweetheart, raised three children and founded the Roeper School for Gifted Children (www.roeper.org) which is still a beacon for exceptional young people. Her groundbreaking work with children has made her an international celebrity in the world of gifted education.  She continues to write, publish, and travel, as well as counsel gifted children and adults (www.roeperconsultation.com). 

Annemarie is a true inspiration to those around her. Everywhere she goes, children are drawn to her. She has the ability to make them feel as ease, to make them feel known. I have observed how they immediately begin telling her about their lives, their concerns, as if they are having an intimate conversation with an old and trusted friend. It's really quite extraordinary. 

As she reflected recently on what it was like to be an elder in this society, she reminded me that although there are many things that are difficult about growing old, there are many things that simply don't change:  our capacity for giving and receiving love being the one thing that continues to always become richer.  "If there are two words that would express the wisdom I would like to share," she told me.  "It would be this:  'Love Honestly'."  Can you think of any better way to live one's life?

May your own journey be as abundant, inspiring and full of love,

Karen Mireau

A CELEBRATION OF FEMALE FRIENDSHIPS: LOST & FOUND, OLD & NEW

Recently, my oldest and dearest friend, Patti Taylor Edmon recalled how we both shared a love for the children’s stories “Frog and Toad” by Arnold Loebel and how they came to be a symbol of the enduring nature of our 40-year friendship. See: (http://pattiedmon.blogspot.com).
At one time, there was a gap of almost a decade in that relationship that was healed when we both realized what a terrible, horrible, unrelenting void existed without each other being present in our lives. It was a huge lesson for me in the importance of friendship to our overall health and sense of wellbeing in this world (and how not to allow other people to interfere in soul relationships).
We both grieved and mourned the loss of this time deeply, but; happily, we picked up the thread exactly where it had been left off as if no time had transpired. Has this ever happened to you?
So much of our life story can be told by following the glittering, sometimes meandering thread of friendship. Our friends are a lifeline that conjures a story path that is perhaps more in tune with who we are as spiritual beings. After all, our friends are our chosen family. How we meet them is often a story in itself.
A friendship story that I love to tell is how my adopted sister, Lisa Mitchell and I met. We were both walking along the main street of Sierra Madre, CA. When we saw each other, we both stopped dead in our tracks. We looked at one another and both blurted out, “Don’t I know you?” Well, we didn’t, but from then on we were like peas in a pod. We just had an instant connection that was inexplicable. Twenty years later, we were talking about our family lineages and we realized that our grandmothers both came from the same small town in Russia. It’s highly likely that they were friends there, or even more interesting is the possibility that Lisa and I are actually related . . . Imagine that!
Lately, I have had several friendship experiences that re-awakened me to the necessity of keeping open to others – a desire and skill that seems to become a bit rusty with most of us as we get older.
The first is with an amazing 89-year-old woman who came into my life when I first moved to Berkeley a year ago. Dr. Annemarie Roeper founded a school in Michigan for gifted children, still in existence today, and she continues to counsel gifted children and adults. See: (http://www.roeperconsultation.com. I connected with Annemarie’s intense and perceptive spirit the moment I met her. She was like the gift of an angel sent to me after the loss of my adopted Grandmother, Alma Johnson. Her insight into the human condition is extraordinary and she is constantly teaching me great lessons about the resilience of the human spirit and the meaning of growing older. Every moment of the time we spend together is nothing less than magical!
The web has greatly enhanced our stories of love and friendship. Being able to locate friends who would have disappeared due to marriage or otherwise has thankfully rekindled many relationships.
My own recent experience with this was reconnecting with middle school friends artist Carol VanZandt (http://www.CarolVanzandt.com) and art lover/historian/therapist Barbara Brownlow Terranova, both of whom I hadn’t seen in over 35 years. Just by coincidence (or not!), we had all relocated in the Bay area around the same time. An e-mail from Carol to my friend Patti Edmon (while I happened to be visiting her) was the catalyst for our reunion. Once we realized we were all here, a powerful trinity was resumed. We all three feel, that having each other nearby at this time is somehow destined. I would do anything for these women, who are so strong and creative in their own right, and I know they would do the same for me.
To have the comfort of people around you who know your story and whom you don’t have to explain yourself to is one of the most beautiful elements of friendship, wouldn’t you agree?
Another childhood friend, Emily Goldknopf. was found after a long stretch of internet searching, living in Los Angeles. Dear sweet Emily had been my very best friend in Syracuse, New York at Edward Smith Elementary School, and I had always wished to find her after we lost touch when each of us moved away! We share so many precious and hysterical memories (Science fairs! Ill-fated Halloween costumes! Fifth grade teacher Mr. Borsky!) of that time that are now being awakened and remembered thanks to finding each other.
And, just a few weeks ago, my artist friend Teresa Unseld (http://www.teresaunseld.com) and I reconnected via e-mail after several moves on both our parts, thanks to a link from my daughter, Marina Mendez.
Serendipity is so often at the heart of female friendships. I have made a number of incredible friends here in Berkeley that I feel very close to in this way. What they share is the element of chance in how we met.
I happened upon friends Andrea Dorn and Laurey Foulkes while strolling along Highgate in El Cerrito. (I admit it, I was lollygagging, looking at flowers and hummingbirds and otherwise not engaged in anything resembling work.) We all stopped to peer in the windows of a house (it looked like a very intriguing, witchy kind of cottage, all overgrown but somehow enticing) that was for sale and became instant friends from that moment on.
Bass player and Copy Editor extraordinaire, Patty Hammond, happened to sit next to me at a wine tasting on Solano Avenue when I first moved here. Who knows if it was the fine, free-flowing Chardonnay or just the fact that we both had the same weird, dry sense of humor and an affinity for the writing life that did it, but we were just destined to be good friends. (Check out her incredible band, Kickin’ the Mule at http://www.sonicbids.com/kickinthemule).
Sounds like all I do is wander about drinking wine and looking at butterflies, but one day, while I was sitting on my favorite rock, meditating in the Blake Garden (http://www.laep.ced.berkeley.edu/laep/blakegarden/garden.html), portrait photographer Shoey Sindel happened by. (It may have been that big camera hanging around her neck that gave it away!) It just so happened that exactly at that moment I had been daydreaming about the perfect photo for my website – and Voila! There she appeared, offering in her absolutely genuine, generous way (it’s why we all love her!) to take my picture. (http://shoeysindel.com) The rest is friendship history!
Speaking of gardens, there is always the story of finding a friend while looking for something else. This happened to me while I was trying to locate the Harland Hand Memorial Garden (http://www.harlandhandgarden.com). I knew it was somewhere nearby, but was surprised to discover that it was located two doors down from the house I lived in then. After several attempts to contact the owner, I started leaving little messages on her doorstep until finally my badgering paid off and she gave me a tour of the garden. (It’s quite remarkable, by the way). So it was that I met my friend Marjory Harris. It turned out that we had much in common and have greatly enjoyed our friendship ever since.
I won’t get started on work friends (you know who you are) who turn into family or lovely people like artist/physical therapist Donna Morton, who happens to be a new neighbor that I adore and would trust with my life.
One last story. (You see how this goes? Once you get started . . .)
This week I had lunch with a new friend named Olga Aura. Isn’t that a great name? You have to love her without even meeting her, just based on that! Olga is a former Olympic gold-medal-winning Soviet gymnast who defected to the U.S. when she was 14 years old. Since then, she has become an expert on raw foods, natural health and healing, dance movement and many related things. She is an incredible teacher who has been able to transcend the eating disorders and displaced body image she was subjected to as a young gymnast and is able to transmit a very pure, wise healing energy to her clients. (http://www.IAmFullyAlive.com). I love what Olga says about being present: “Empires may rise and fall, people may fall in love and then separate, bodies may form and decay, but it is the tenderness of the human heart that holds the key to living fully in each moment.“ An ad on Craigslist to trade writing and marketing for health guidance was at the center of our connection, but we already have plans to partner on projects that will continue this philosophy and benefit women and men of all ages.
These beautiful stories just continue. I won’t even get started on wonderful people like my spiritual mentor, Feng Shui Consultant and Landscape Designer, Ann Bowe (http://www.annbowedesigns.com). How did we meet? It’s like we have been friends since birth! My favorite moment with Ann (and there have been many) is being followed, or was it chased, through the woods at Ravens Run by a huge pileated woodpecker that actually allowed us to see it feeding its young. It was a soul-stirring day out of many soul-stirring days that occur naturally with Ann. She’s just that way.
Other stories I could tell: how I bumped into Search Engine Optimization guru and hiking partner, Susanne Cubbage (http://consultingace.com); or stamp artist/psychic channeler of undocumented wisdom Marylinn Kelly (http://www.itsmysite.com/marylinnkelly); or Annie L’Esperance; or Kellie Considine; or Mikal Shaefer; or Midge O’Brien; or Kathy Hicks; or Rachel Deeds; or Sarah Jane Clifford; or Linda Faubel or Kathy O'Brien; or Marylee and Eliza Kozlowski; or Connie Milligan (now there's a story!) -- all of whom are continuous sources of joy and inspiration to me . . . (if I’ve left anyone out at this point, it’s strictly a matter of running out of room!)
There are so many women that we have connected with at different parts of our life cycle that were critical to our well being. Where are they now? What are they doing? Where are they in our story of being female? And there, are of course, those who have left this planet for one reason or another. Can you feel their presence, their continued blessings? How they continue to influence us?
My belief is that all friends are magnificent flowers, each different, each intensely glorious, each there for a reason in the ever-evolving garden of our life. We should surround ourselves with their fantastic colors and forms and breathe in their fragrances and energy. We should hold close and record if we can, the memory of their vibrancy – and stay open to allowing these very important relationships to blossom.
May you spend a moment celebrating the radiance of all your female friends and may your own stories and memories of female friendship be never ending! I’d love to hear your own friendship stories. Send them to me and I will post them!

Mud Luscious and Puddle Wonderful

I love the fact that our existence is often lusciously messy and oozy.

The photo above was taken of my daughter, Marina, and her friend, Claire, when they were teenagers. We were getting ready to have a family gathering and they were asked to get dressed for the party. They decided to take a walk down to the pond, and as you can see, things took an unexpected turn!

As we all know, real life is not a straight, smoothly paved road, but a series of paths through the woods – some well-marked, others hidden until we stumble upon them. There are obstacles, unexpected ends to a journey where we are forced to take up another, and times when we are just plain lost. And, there are times when we get stuck in the muck and mire!

When thinking about writing our life stories, it becomes clear that despite our best efforts to put everything into a logical, orderly fashion, real life is simply not that way. How do we get in touch with the story of our life and communicate its deepest meaning?

Thankfully, like a trail of breadcrumbs, there is always a way back to our true selves through the vehicle of story. The connections that are made through just talking about and sharing our lives with other human beings are often surprising. Sometimes the real story we are meant to tell emerges from the act of remembering it.

As my friend, Tae Cyungha, founder of Oakland Garden School, reminded me the other day, “It is the body that feels the sense of truth, the sense of Self . . . It is the same platform through which we understand the world beyond our body, understand universal wisdom, compassion and empathy, the collective unconscious, and divine spirituality.”

One way back to our story, then, is through sensation, of being in touch with our body memory. Think of one moment -- touching your toes to the icy edge of the water, or feeling the warmth and softness of your new baby’s cheek, hearing the wind in the trees outside your childhood window, or having a taste of your Grandmother’s cinnamon rolls, hot from the oven and dripping with butter and icing. See how just thinking of this scene brings it straight into the present moment and how you can actually feel those sensations! See how other memories come flooding in . . .

My wish for you today is that you will spend some time with your tactile memories. Squish your toes in the mud. Jump into the river. Savor that first kiss. Let it take you places you haven’t visited in awhile and see what happens . . .

The Paintbox of Memory

Ashley and Garrett with a Surprise

I love what author Natalie Goldberg has to say in her new book, OLD FRIEND FROM FAR AWAY, about writing our memoirs.

“We go back to our past to piece things together,” she writes. “We want an answer. We want things to be black and white, to be obvious and ordered. Oh, the relief. But have you noticed, it doesn’t work that way? We live more in the mix of black and white, in the gray – or in the brilliant colors of the undefined moment.”

No matter what reason we may have for wanting to record our histories, it becomes an opportunity to open the paintbox of memory. And from there, all of our senses will follow.

For example:

I remember the lilacs that grew just outside my window as a child. In early summer, after a rain, they seemed to be encased in crystals, like something from a fairytale. I opened the window a bit more, reached out my hand and touched one. Cool and sweet, the scent of lilacs filled me with what I can only describe as something beyond joy. For a moment, I was lost in someplace completely magical. Then the crystals shook loose, the sounds of the street below came echoing in, and I heard my mother calling.

We need start only with the words, “I remember . . .” Everything else will follow.

May your memory be awakened today by something small that sparks a moment in time that made you mysteriously happy.

The Origin of Bio.Graphia

Alma and George Johnson

This story begins in mid-life. When my four-year-old daughter Marina and I moved to Kentucky from Los Angeles, a bit shell-shocked from a divorce and feeling, like Dorothy and Toto in the Wizard of Oz, very, very far from home, it didn't take us long to realize what wonderful neighbors we had.

Living right next door were an older couple, Alma and George Johnson. Here's the type of people they were: George would carve small toys and leave them in the crook of the tree out front for Marina to find "from the fairies". When times were tough, Alma would cook delicious country meals and invite us to "pull our coats off and stay awhile". In short, they took us in and showered us with love at every turn. It wasn't long before we all ended up adopting each other.

A few years later, Alma became very ill. By then, I had remarried and moved to a farm nearby and was busy raising a new family and running a literary agency. But Alma, who was then in her eighties, needed someone to tend to her. The thought of having a stranger do this just didn't seem right, and so, for an entire year, I happily spent my days with Alma. It was one of the most beautiful, exceptional experiences of my life.

While Alma talked, I listened. We laughed and cried as she remembered the difficult years of her upbringing, her days as a young girl dancing the jitterbug, and the joys and tragedies of raising thirteen foster children and two step-children. George joined in, too, telling tales of his years in the Navy, traveling from one exotic port to another and of his life as a piano-tuner. Unbeknownst to either of them at the time, I wrote it all down. Shortly before Alma died, I surprised them with a book of all their treasured family stories.

Their gift to me -- of sharing themselves so richly, so openly -- profoundly affected my life. I realized then that as a writer and a storyteller, helping others find and express their own histories in creative and perhaps unexpected ways would some day become my way of making the world a better place.

This is the simple origin and intent of Bio.Graphia.