And then my brain was cookin'

and there I was, lovin' every minute of it.

Fun, Fall, Favorites

One of my favorite things in life is a day that unfolds, without plan, to be full of spontaneous fun.

So, yesterday, when I found myself with three of my favorite people, taking in a fall day in all of its splendor, I found myself pretty happy.

My day was originally slated to be spent with these two monkeys, 

but when we realized that there was a) a fall festival going on and b) our friend Katy was house-sitting near it,

we picked her up and said--let's go!

We poked around all the festival had to offer us, got some lunch, played with some bees,

bought a ton of apples, and went home to bake.

BUT, not before we checked out the amazing tree house at Katy's temporary home:

 We decided it was amazing,

 and had ourselves the best time

in such a sturdy tree,

 with such a cool trap door.

Now, I would like to take a moment to say that one of my NOT favorite things is when my pictures are inexplicably erased, and cannot be produced for documentation--but picture the cutest dog running around with a stick in his mouth, 

playing like a little maniac

with this cutest girl,

picture our favorite Katy Stu visiting us once we returned back home, cutting up a million apples with us, 

partaking in a spontaneous nail salon session with two of the best nail salon girls I know.

Picture us all cozied up in the warmth of the house as the fall day turned to cold and dreary, just hanging out. 

In essence, picture me, standing at the stove, my heart rejoicing in my favorites, together, on a fall afternoon of spontaneous leisurely laughterful fun.

And then, picture this Apple Pandowdy

[Apple Panyummy] turning our day into over. the. top.

The best kind of day: 

unfolding, fun, in the fall, with favorites.

An evening with Patti Smith

The past few weeks of my life have been consumed by one name: Patti Smith.

The recipient of this year's IAH Medal for Distinguished Achievement, we have been preparing for her arrival, getting word out to our Penn State community that this is a moment they would not want to miss.

She's a Rock and Roll Hall of Famer, 

on Rolling Stone's Top 50 Acts to See Right Now.

So see her--we were saying.  See her, right now.

And then, last evening, we saw her indeed.  What's more, we tasted a bit of who she is, the sweet strength and the humor that mix inside of her.  We witnessed a powerful presence, as she shared herself with us from the stage.  I sat, I watched, I listened.  I experienced that moment when art collides with your deepest thoughts, the ones you didn't even know you had.  And I came away, a million seeds of reflection rolling through my mind.  Here, some of them.

~~~

Unfolding.
In reading her book Just Kids, which details her early years in New York and the unfolding of her career, I was most struck by how her singing and musicianship simply seemed to emerge.  Without plan, without premeditation, suddenly, there it was.  Once there, then, it seemed to take shape, grow with time.  And as a person who thinks quite a ton about the emerging musical behavior of children, I found this to be quite interesting.

At a small dinner before the ceremony, I sat across from her.  I watched and I listened.  And when she turned to ask me what it is that I do, I told her. I told her about the children, about their musical development, how I want to know how it works.  And then I told her: I'm curious about you too--how is it that your music unfolded for you?

She told me about her early years as a child, how she was drawn to opera, how in school she was always given the tenor lines to sing, how everyone sang around her, how a cappella music was a normalcy then.  She talked about how her singing in her 20s started as a way of breaking up poetry readings, to make things more interesting.

And I realized:  All of life is an unfolding, of being in a place where you can push in and try out and allow yourself to grow.  And I thought of those children I'm always thinking about, how the most important thing I can provide for them is a place to do just that--to push in, to try out, to allow themselves to grow.

 Courtesy of Institute for the Arts and Humanities, Sara Abu Bakr

Bravely go, but don't even think about it.
Later, I stood in the Auditorium, taking in the hungry hum of the crowd as she talked with them, answering their questions with humility, wisdom.  I listened as she told them about her journey, how she took what was in front of her, and did what it asked her to do. She said her focus has never been on where her work might take her, but always on the work itself.  And what I heard was: go where it asks you, but don't think about it too much, or you'll just get in its way.

I thought, then, of my own journey.  I looked back at how one thing led me to the next, how one question drew me forward, into looking for insight, answers.  I looked at where I find myself now, a giant dissertation on my desk, the insight deep but the questions raised far greater than those said and done.  I looked at my to-do folder, the growing list of ideas.  And I remembered my perception of this new two-year stint: to push in, try out, and allow myself to grow.  To bravely go, following the vision of the moment, unfocused on the end.

 Courtesy of Institute for the Arts and Humanities, Sara Abu Bakr

Art is the work, work is the art.
The night proceeded into music, the gravel of her speaking voice breaking into rich warm song.  I sat in my seat, I watched, I listened.  I admired the poetry poised in melody, the artist poised in the telling of her song.  I saw that this was no mere performance; it was a part of the process, a part of the being.  And I thought of those children, I thought of my insistence that their music be theirs, and not about what they can perform. And I realized: The art is the process, it's the being.  It's the work of the work, and it will be, what it is.

To be an artist.
The evening came to a close as these things do, over cake, the shaking of hands.  And as I observed her--complimenting the cake maker, reaching out to the only child in the room, signing the books without being asked, listening to those who sought her ear--I realized that through the stretch of the whole, from beginning to end, I was witness to a woman who knows what it means to be true to herself. She did not overindulge us, as she told us what she needed, what she thought.  She was direct, and she was gracious.  And through it all she remembered what was important to her, and pointed us to what she wanted us to know.

I have long believed that  the true artist is one who can remind people of who they are and of who they will be; the one who speaks beyond words, and then gets out of the way.  And--along with many that I spoke to after all was said and done--this was the truth of the evening.  I left, inspired to think about my own work, my own artistry, my own way of being.  Feeling able to move forward, in freedom, without fear.

I left the evening saying: 

Once in a lifetime, indeed.

Camp Lauren: Groovy

Take a normal weekend.  

Combine it with the annual event of Heather and Ash heading out of town.  The result: Kate and Sarah and I fall into Camp Lauren routines, the grooves of which have become indelible.

We know how this works:

In the early mornings, 

 Kate and I have quiet time,

 with warm beverages,

and Jack [the one-eyed beyond adorable cat].

We dwell in each other's company, until Sarah emerges 

and our day begins. 

Once we get school out of the way, our weekend begins in full:

 trips to Michael's, to pick up craft supplies,

 dinner at Otto's

 [because we LOVE Otto's].

There is always at least one movie night on a Camp Lauren weekend, but this year they multiplied:

 Thursday night, Spirited Away at the local downtown theater [thanks to my lovely new job];

 Friday night, 

 our standard get-in-your-pajamas-and-craft-while-you-watch movie night;

Saturday afternoon, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs 2, cozied up in the dark of the theater.

And there are always lazy mornings at home,

 including standards like the making of [the most delicious pumpkin chocolate chip] pancakes,

culinary explorations  

with delicious outcomes,

 a bit of work 

[me: slog through endless email,
Kate: draw endless pictures of my hair],

 a bit of scientific exploration

[and lessons on how to deal with disappointment and defeat],

a bit of the wild outdoors

and random creative episodes [that's a wheelchair folks, inexplicably crafted out of garbage and duct tape].

In general,

there is always us,

being us.

And, always, it's a weekend of special treats,

 like when this girl got a coffee date with yours truly while Kate was at a birthday party,

like closing out an evening with massive [and wholly inadvisable] amounts of ice cream.

Our groove, refined and defined through the years,

 to which we all say--

groovy.