Been There Voices: Becky Ripley - Uprooted Miracles

We recently drove to western Maryland where Mother Nature was in full glory. In my Gratitude Mojo Journal, I gave thanks for ten mini-miracles I experienced that weekend. For these and so much more, I am grateful…

 

1. Hillsides of golden trees in mid-wardrobe change
2. Pine needles strewn on the forest floor, creating a blanket for passers-by
3. Rushing surge of waterfalls
4. Cozy-looking lichen-covered rocks, roots and tree trunks
5. Layer upon layer of distant hills, Maryland’s version of a Jerry Schur painting
6. An uprooted tree showing off her labyrinth of lacy roots
7. Six friends professing gratitude for shared time and the gift of each other
8. Wet leaves underfoot, softening the path with intricate shapes and a range of colors
9. Families soaking up Mother Nature, where everything sparkled after yesterday’s rain
10. Blue skies peeking through my surround of autumn tree branches

 

** Becky Ripley, Columbia, MD, lover of life and card making

Click here for more about Becky and other Been There Voices  

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Been There Voices is about us, our lives, our successes and failures, our joys and sorrows, our lessons and our gradual, hard-won wisdom. We have survived and thrived throughout whatever has come our way.

The reasons are arbitrary and not intended to dismiss half of our population, however, this project focuses on the stories of women, and begins with fourteen women, well-polished grains of sand on the beach of life, tumbled by the waves of time until their light shines through, offering their stories, joys and sorrows, to the ocean of wisdom.

Been There Voices: Becky Ripley - One thing my mother said to me

Here’s  Mom, me, and my sister—prepping for a family holiday meal.

The one thing my mother said most often was, “Here, you must be hungry.” The older she got, the more she wanted to feed us from the moment we walked in the door until we left a week later. Before dementia, Mom was an exceptional cook and baker. Food was her language of love. Lots of love.  

A few years ago, I was on an early morning coaching call in my parents’ home office. Mom tiptoed in with a plate of fruit and banana bread and a cup of tea, stage whispering, “I thought you might be hungry.” So dear, albeit so distracting.

 

I shared the following food story during the eulogy I delivered at my mother’s funeral. “I happened to be home for a visit when iconic basketball coach Bobby Knight arrived, hoping to recruit my much younger brother Rod to play for Indiana. Knight got to the house about 8 in the morning as scheduled — just as Mom was pulling a pan of homemade sweet rolls out of the oven. I think Bobby fell a little in love with Mom that day; her warm welcome and delicious baked goods made such an impression that he sent her Indiana sports attire long after Rod declined his offer to be a Hoosier.”

 

All of my friends and family would agree that I didn’t fall far from the feeding tree. I, too, speak the language of love via bodily sustenance. No one has ever left our house hungry.

 

I regularly express gratitude to my dear mother for my culinary talents, my efficiency, her unconditional love, and so much more. Rest in peace, Mom, and thank you.

** Becky Ripley, Columbia, MD, lover of life and card making

Click here for more about Becky and other Been There Voices  

________________________________________________________

Been There Voices is about us, our lives, our successes and failures, our joys and sorrows, our lessons and our gradual, hard-won wisdom. We have survived and thrived throughout whatever has come our way.

The reasons are arbitrary and not intended to dismiss half of our population, however, this project focuses on the stories of women, and begins with fourteen women, well-polished grains of sand on the beach of life, tumbled by the waves of time until their light shines through, offering their stories, joys and sorrows, to the ocean of wisdom.

Been There Voices: It's too late for ...

 One of the prompts for the Been There Voices group was to think of activities or dreams which you think it’s too late for and then find a piece of one of them that’s still within your reach. We were just getting organized so there are only a few responses, however, they are thought provoking. How would you respond?

Susan Larson: We all probably remember the bright yellow boxes of Crayolas and coloring books. Boy, how I yearned for one of those new 64 packs of colors;  I was lucky to get the eight pack. But try as I might, I never could stay in the lines and I would look over at someone else’s work and became totally discouraged. I felt like Pigpen from Charlie Brown comics as I hid my work.

It wasn’t until I was in my 50’s and I became friends with various art teachers in the schools where I taught that I began to understand a tiny bit about art. This became one of the top things on my bucket list for retirement.

During this period I went to a nonspeaking vegan yoga retreat in an isolated part of Cambodia. It was a huge, lush compound, and way off in the back was an art room filled with all kinds of paints, brushes, and paper. There was no one else in that room so I felt free to just try and not have someone next to me working on a masterpiece. The first color I put on the paper created a burst of joy inside of me…a new door sprang open. I began illustrating the journals that I kept, bringing my feelings to a new perspective.

I was teaching in China at the time and when I returned to school I found someone to teach me drawing. I still have my sketchbook and look back at my first drawings and the progression over time amazes me.

Now that I am retired I have taken oil classes for a year and while I love working with that medium, the clean-up turns me off.  A few weeks ago I found a woman with a soft gentle soul and I am trying watercolor lessons with great hopes.

   Becky Ripley: Here are a few ideas about what it's too late for:

• It’s too late to be the next Oprah Winfrey, but not too late to interview people I love to capture their essence in stories.

• It’s too late to be a museum-quality artist, but not too late to paint whatever inspires me and photograph paintings for cards that brighten friends’ and family members’ days.

• It’s too late to be a world-renowned coach, but not too late to help my clients live into their purpose-filled potential.

• It’s too late to be a mother, but not too late to nurture and support people in my life.

Joyce Wycoff: It’s too late for me to be an opera singer, but it’s not too late to sing. (BTW, the dream of being an opera singer passed swiftly when I discovered folk music and rock and roll.)

It’s too late for me to build a great business, but it’s not too late to invest in business or help others build their businesses. 

It's too late for Is it really too late to write a best selling book ... or is it? Are any of these too late or do I just no longer have the motivation for them? What one piece of these dreams can I hold onto?

We would love to hear your comments and thoughts about your dreams you may have packed away thinking it's too late.

Click here for more about  Been There Voices  

________________________________________________________

Been There Voices is about us, our lives, our successes and failures, our joys and sorrows, our lessons and our gradual, hard-won wisdom. We have survived and thrived throughout whatever has come our way.

The reasons are arbitrary and not intended to dismiss half of our population, however, this project focuses on the stories of women, and begins with fourteen women, well-polished grains of sand on the beach of life, tumbled by the waves of time until their light shines through, offering their stories, joys and sorrows, to the ocean of wisdom.

Warrior Spirits, Art as Writing Prompt

Flying Teepees by Becky Ripley

 

Recently, Becky Ripley shared her amazing art with me in the form of a set of greeting cards. I coveted them too much to think about sending them to others, so I began to take each one as a writing prompt. It amazes me to see how these images take me into unexpected territory.

Here's the writing that came from this sparkling image:

Warrior Spirits

It is said that when a brave one is lost in battle, Great Spirit lures him home with a glowing teepee. Hidden by moon and stars, these bright sanctuaries can only be seen by spirits as they leave torn bodies behind, and by a few heart-pained land-walkers.

After a great battle, these golden banners shine in the night sky, beckoning the broken warriors, reflecting the river of tears to come, heralding a time of mourning. Throughout three days and three nights, the shining path flames, while flute players sing their spirit-healing songs and beating drums call the warrior spirits to their next journey in another land.

For three and thirty nights, the land melds into the blood and bones. Winds carry the sounds of grief through the leafless fingers of trees while coyotes howl in fury as the earth beneath them cracks. 

Much is lost; little is gained.

 

 

 

Other Art as Writing Prompt Images:

American Dog, art as writing prompt

Who are the moon dancers? art as writing prompt

Night Flight Gifts, art as writing prompt

 

 

 

 

American Dog, art as writing prompt

Painting by Rebecca Ripley

American Dog

 

by Joyce Wycoff

 

He was an American dog, 

galaxies in his eyes,

heart big as the night sky.

He untethered sun and moon,

launched uncounted stars

of joy and sorrow, light and dark.

He wove all into our story,

though his words were square,

unheard by hearts laid bare.

Sad to the bone,

he headed home,

Alone.

Becky Ripley shared her amazing art with me in the form of a set of greeting cards. I coveted them too much to think about sending them to others, so I took each one as a writing prompt. 

Before I read the title of this particular card, what I saw was a dog. I tried to find something else since it really didn’t look like a dog, but I kept coming back to dog. So, finally, I gave in and allowed it to be dog, and the first line showed up … He was an American dog.

What am I supposed to do with a line like that? 

Ride the wave, I thought.

I never write in rhyme. 

This dog wanted rhyme.

All right, I said, following the dictates of rhyme.

Without Becky’s art,

Without the demand for rhyme,

This particular assemblage of words would never have been born.

This particular feeling of sadness would not have been given space on the page.

 

I would not have admitted that in many ways, I am sad to the bone,

and, too often, feel alone.

This is my American dog.

He will lead me home.

By the way, Becky’s title for this piece is “Night Mask." After I had finished the writing from this, Becky said this about the development of the piece:  "I had recently completed a Thinking Patterns workshop on the work of Dawna Markova. Jacqui and I were then in Santa Fe for Paint Camp. The other campers had driven into town to see The Mission, and Jacqui and I decided to stay home and enjoy the hot tub. Looking up at the sky, I planned this mask to represent my alpha, beta, theta states…"

 

 

Here are other writings prompted by her inspiring art.

Who are the moon dancers?

Night Flight gifts

 

Who are the moon dancers? art as writing prompt

Moon Dancers by Becky Ripley  

see more beauty and wisdom at BeckyRipley.com

Who are the moon dancers?

by Joyce Wycoff

women. women celebrating life. celebrating tribe.

dancing connection. dancing joy into the night.

unfettered by custom and cloth

undaunted by shoulds and shouldn'ts

wild rhythms shaking belly and breasts.

sparks from the communal fire

shooting into dark sky, 

meteor bits streaking silver echos,

bedazzling dancers and unseen eyes.

drums drumming; blood thrumming,

cells loosening, remembering ancient 

joinings in shadowed crevices

softened by undulating strands of seduction

entwining now and forever

in moments of generosity. 

 

women.

women dancing.

women moon dancing.

join in. 

 

Night Flight Gifts, art as writing prompt

Night Flight by Becky Ripley, see more beauty and wisdom at BeckyRipley.com

On the morning before the night of the Geminid meteor shower, 

thinking watching would be too cold, too late, too hard, too dark,

a bright dragonfly appeared as a gift from a friend.

She hies toward a luminous moon surrounded by shooting stars,

pulled by inner vision, braving all to connect with the light. 

Hers is a Night Flight of courage and willingness to follow beauty

and the wisdom of nature. 

How could I not follow her guidance?

Wikipedia states: The Geminids are a prolific meteor shower caused by the object 3200 Phaethon, which is thought to be a Palladian asteroid with a "rock comet" orbit. This would make the Geminids, together with the Quadrantids, the only major meteor showers not originating from a comet. 

However, what made me want to brave the cold night was color and quantity. This year promised as many as 150 meteors per hour in very dark areas. And, Accuweather.com hooked me with, "In addition to the high frequency of meteors, the Geminids are known for featuring shooting stars that are bright and intensely colored. These colors are caused by the elements that make up the meteors. As they burn up in the atmosphere, the elements glow in vibrant colors with each color relating to a specific element.”

I began my vigil at 9 p.m., multi-layered and eager. Two quick streaks gave me hope for the crescendo expected at 2 a.m.. I set an alarm for midnight and dozed.

A ring tone later, bundled in Patagonia thermals and wool, I sat in a plastic chair just yards from the tempting warmth of bed. Orion’s belt caught my adjusting eyes and I began to contemplate ancient sky watchers. 

 

Who were those people from long ago 

who braved the night cold and made friends 

with bright constellations and unraveled their movements? 

 

How many long nights would I have had to sit here 

before I recognized the patterns above me? 

 

How could I have held that immensity in my head 

in order to share it with my people in stories and dance?

The meteors were few; 

the night cold, 

the unexpected gift 

of connection across time 

warmed me.