At
some point
in 2020, I lost 
​my way.

The
turmoil
went to my
head and to my
heart and I
​froze.

Thankfully,
though, the compost
pile beckoned.

The colors,
textures and yes,
the pungent odors kept
things real and reminded me of
the beauty of it all.

I am
grateful
for extended
time with my family
and with my
​thoughts.

Light
emerged
on the other
side of dark, and
we just kept showing
up for each
other.

The
dailiness
of watermelon
& houseplants that
needed trimming invited
calm in the midst
of brewing
​storms.

And
I voted.
We voted.
​Hope.

And the
Christmas Cactus
bloomed at Thanksgiving
as it does every
​year.

And
we finally
bid farewell to
my mother-in-law's
pressed leaves and rhyming
dictionary she used to
write holiday
​poems.

It was
a messy, smelly
and uncomfortable year,
but it will be impossible to forget
2020 and the good that
will emerge from
the all of
it.

Does
a photo
shoot in a
bog wearing
wet moccasins
cause me to
pause?

If it weren't
for these moments 
from 2020, I would not
even be asking these
questions.

Lines
on a log in
late afternoon.
The same light gives
pink silk & lace
an orange
​hue.

It is a
new year,
so I explore
my 'old favorites'
folder & find
color...

...& the
warming
power of orange
during dark
days.

Pollinators will return.

Cherry
tomatoes will
pop in my mouth during
harvest time.

The sun
will rise and set
and I will drink a toast
to you, for showing
up and caring.
Be well in
2021.

Pressed
leaves - - so
easy to collect &
so simple to
compost.

National
Geographic, not
so much. Each year, eleven
pounds of images from around the world.
But last week, it was time for this collection of stories
and images to move on, to mix and mingle
with holiday wrappings ​and
​old bills.

​Our
children
did not plow
through them, as I
once did, and no library
wanted them. This 450 pound
collection was, in fact, a
burden from
another
era.

We
were managing
the clutter we brought
home from my mother-in-law's
house, which we had cleared out three
years ago. It was time to say farewell to her pressed
leaves, National Geographics and her
dog-eared rhyming
dictionary.

The
compost
absorbed all
of it, including the 
expectations of creating
the perfect turn of phrase in a
gift card, thank you letter or speech
at the garden club. In our pile, the leaves
& this book will nourish new growth
in a new year & maybe even
inspire new ways of
thinking post
2020.

For me,
photographing
the spent blooms has also
been an invitation to see the beauty
embodied in decay, especially
during the past 3 years,
when she has been
in decline.

This
first 'dried
flowers' photograph
is part of my original "Compost
Composition" greeting ​card collection.
There is still a limited supply available, which
I hope to get out into the world. Please express your
gratitude for the US Post Office by writing
cards to those you love. Rumor has
it that these images make
people feel good.
Here's a
link.

I believed
& it was true. Wear
a pair of black leather boots &
you, too, will feel powerful & confident.
It's been five years since I first purchased these on
consignment, polished them up and
faked it till I made it. They
worked their
magic. 

After
wearing them
a few times, I started to
actually believe in my power - -
not in a dominating way, but in a deep
visceral kind of way that flowed from my fascia
and radiated outward. These boots
lead me to the edge of
​my ​known
​world....

And
maybe there
is more power in a
backward glance made with
curiosity, wonder & the core of who
I am, than there is in a pair ​of
boots & a projection of
false confidence.

Colors.
Textures. Shapes.
Invitations to pay attention.

Gorgeous Garbage. Mixed
up and mingled.

Curious
about time & the
need to document how I
use it...Fear emerges: Will we
have the time we need?
Thoughts shift. 

Trump's
election sparked
my initial focus on compost.
Since then, the pile has shifted from
metaphor for America (a diverse soup), to an 
invitation to explore my relationship
to just about everything and
everyone...including
​myself.

So I've
been hanging
out with tea-cups
submerged in ponds and
feeling the power of
moss while in
prayer.

I wonder:
Will I take this invitation
to change, to emerge from this time
with renewed interest in what's possible? Or
will I hold on to what I know & to
what feels safe because
​I am afraid?

If, for
example, she
can't actually walk in
other people's shoes, she can
at least experiment with wearing her
own in new & different places.
Or, perhaps, not wear
​any at all.

The dress,
like so many past
beliefs is gone, blowing
in the wind, beautiful but not
useful anymore. 

And I
​recline on a
wood pile, wearing
those cool black boots from
The Pink Alligator & a black shirt
dress from Revolution.
It all feels quite
​liberating...

Now
the demitasse,
filled with coffee, sits on
the coffee grinds from which it came,
connected and real. In times
like this, it helps to
stay real.

And then
I remembered
how powerful I felt
when we ​first installed our
solar panels in 2010. For less than
the cost of most new cars, we could actually
generate power - - 56,000 Kwh to date, in fact. So
I created this self portrait, wearing those
same black boots & holding a mug
of coffee made by a good
friend. This
is ​real.

And
this is real
too. So after the
photo shoot at the panels,
I filled in my ballot & delivered it
to Town Hall, feeling very very powerful.
I hope that on November 3, 2020 you will vote
as if your life & the lives of your children's
children's great grandchildren
depended on it.

Because
here's the deal.
If you can, do. If you
believe in your power, you
can generate power, not just with
solar panels and your vote, but with the
very core of who you are. I'm a mover & maker,
so I learned to embroider so that I could
share Whitman's poem, This
Compost, and the oh
so powerful final
​stanza...

Renewal
is the operative
word.  Like all this stuff
about demitasse & cotillion dresses
& going deeper into who we are & what we
believe. It's so much easier to
explore when feeling
​powerful. 

it took
over a year,
for the dress and
the woman to emerge -
smiling. ​

"I am
terrified at
the earth," but I
drink my demitasse
and smile. Really? Is that all?
What an incongruous
sham!

But am
I allowed to show
fear or anger? Do I even know
what ​these emotions feel like? And if I
can't show them when no one
is looking, will I ever
be able to be
​real?

I've
buried them
for so long, always
hiding behind that ​smile.
Don't get me wrong. I've only
recently understood how beautiful it
is. But just as the demitasse is a
curious distraction, so is
a smile a fabulous
​cover. 

Perspective
changes everything - 
not just what and how I see,
but also how I feel as a result of that
investigation. On this particular Indigenous
People's Day in Maine, following
fractals made me ​feel
​very humble.