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The very kind and talented Josh Halett took this picture. You can read his account here and more images from the event here.

One of the highlights of my time at Blogher was meeting Elizabeth Edwards. I’d been feeling so distracted during the keynote, wondering what it must be like to be her at this moment in time–knowing you have untreatable cancer, small children and a husband who very well may land up in the White House.

Later at our last party at the Children’s Museum, I had a chance to ask her about all this. She received my curiosity and concern with so much grace.

“I worry about you,” I said, surprised at how emotional I felt putting these thoughts into words. “I know your cancer is back and that you have these little children. I want to be so supportive of what you’re doing, but at the same time I don’t want to participate in something that would diminish this time in your family’s life–your time is so precious.”

It feels shocking now to recount this. Who am I to worry about Elizabeth Edwards or to get myself worked up into some form of motherhood grief over the thought of being ill or leaving little children behind, but the whole thing just gets me. One of my greatest fears is orphaning my children. I feel so deeply how much they need me, how much their hearts would be split in two without me.

She turned to me with so much fire in her blue eyes, so much strength, so much grace. “You know John and I lost a child?” I nod, remembering that story and how that grief must have fueled their resolve to have more children, so many years later. “We know how important it is to not live our lives with regret.” She put her hands on my shoulders, the way your mother does when you need to hear her clearly, when she needs to speak directly to your heart. She tells me about how they keep the children close to them, the way she’s homeschooling them with the help of another teacher, how this is so much the life they are choosing, eyes wide open.

She brushed away my unexpected tears (how can you not cry about things like this?) and tells me, blue eyes on fire, “This is what I want, what we want. ” And I know in my soul it is a thousand percent true. “Now do you feel better?” she said, smiling.

I do, so much better that I remember the Lucy bracelet–my last one, and I give it to her along with the story. Lucy Goode Brooks was a slavewoman who worked with the women in her sewing circle to secure land in Richmond for the orphans returning from the plantations after the Civil War. Together with their Quaker friends they pulled off nothing short of a miracle. Lucy’s work stands to this day and her bracelet helps tell the story.

“John should go there,” I tell her, thinking of Julie and Jenna and all the people at Friends who help Lucy’s work continue and flourish and grow in the most challenging neighborhoods in Richmond. John would know how to appreciate this. She puts the bracelet on, reading the inscription–”Isn’t it amazing what one woman and her friends can do?”

We hug tight as a way to acknowledge all the truth and beauty of this moment. I pray for Mrs. Edward and her friends and all the ways they work to bring hope to the world. I pray for her children and the story she is writing for them right now with her life–the story of her courage and determination to pour herself out with passion and love for the sake of what she believes to be true and right. She turns with all her strength and grace to the next woman in line, and continues with spirit her life’s work.

Blessings, Mrs. Edwards. May you arrive at the finish with peace in your heart and the deep knowledge that everything you’ve given has been so much more than enough. I will never forget you.

kindly sent to me by Linda Davick, fellow illustrator and kindred spirit.

The conference is over now, and I’m writing from the living room of one of my oldest and dear friends, affectionately known to this (former) Hammond girl as Ray-Ray. I have so many thoughts swirling through my head and so many amazing stories to tell. Stay tuned for some serious post dumping.

I loved hearing the stories of Bloghers who blog for the pure joy of it in the Small is Beautiful session that Magpie-Girl Rachelle and I hosted together with our new friend, Krystyn Heide. Elaine Gingery was sorely missed by all.

You can read all about it here from our live-blogger.
Also, Rachelle blogged these great takeaways from the session on Magpie-Girl.com.

I’m in this session right now watching my soulsister Tracey work her magic. This session feels the most comfortable to me so far–I have this sneaking suspicion that these are my people. I feel like I can breathe.

Keri Smith
Zoe Strauss
Tracey Clark
Renee Garner
Gayla Trail

Random notes
Learning to Love You More Miranda July
SuperNaturale.com
wonderful art/process blog Colouring Outside the Lines

Stephanie asked Keri this question–has blogging drained or distracted you from your work or has it fed your creativity?

Keri: The thing that is beautiful about blogs is also the most challenging. The regular audience is great, it forces me to put something out there, it’s helpful to have that draw. I don’t believe in waiting for the Muse to show up–the best thing is to sit in the chair and make the space for the work. At the same time the regular audience can feel like a trap, i don’t want to cater to my audience in any way because that feels forced. My personal feeling is that it can be addictive–you can rely too heavily on your commenters to validate yourself as an artist. Anyone who blogs knows you can be addicted to the comments, so I took them down, even though I miss them.

Gayla: Not having comments keeps the process authentic for me.

Renee: There’s a real price to pay for being too dependent on the feedback–for me I didn’t make art for five years because of that need to please. Now I know it’s not worth it.

Tracey: For me, the feedback keeps helping me want to create. It holds you accountable–it inspires me, but I understand that there’s pressure there, too. That it can cross the line.

Zoe: I need a lot of impetus to work all the time–which isn’t always that healthy, but I’d like to have a forum where I can always be pushed to do more work. It’s very satisfying.

Participant: Before this afternoon, I never thought about putting my art on a blog. This is new to me. How would you compare/contrast the satisfaction of having your work on a blog vs. a website.

Tracey: I have a website that is a gallery of my work–but there’s no flexibility there. A blog gives you the freedom to put up whatever you want–you can share something beautiful to you right away. It doesn’t have to polished and done.

(Sidenote: a couple of people in the room are pronouncing process, PROH-cess. Isn’t that charming? I have now lost all ability to listen to the content of the session, hoping for someone to say PROH-cess just one more time. Okay, back to the program)

Keri: You have to have an opinion to make work that is of value. When I’m being attacked, I know I’m on the right track, I know that I am taking the right risk.

Myriam (participant): When you’re uncomfortable, you know you’re growing.

The Art of Storytelling with Claire Fontaine, Ree and Birdie Jaworski.

I lost this post once already, but these are the two thoughts that stay with me:

Claire offered this test for her writing:
Is it true?
Is it clear?
Is it beautiful?

“Art heals.”

Then my soulsister Stephanie asked this great question: What is the best advice from an editor/writing professional that really helped your writing the most? Responses…
From Ree: I’m not a seasoned enough writer to sustain an entire book. Writing a sample chapter for a book project really helped me understand that.
From Claire: Take your information from anywhere, some of the most important things you will learn could come from a children’s book. Most of the most amazing insights come from unlikely sources.
From Birdie: My dad told me 25 years ago that I could never make it as a writer, and this totally shut me down. It wasn’t until a Buddhist monk told me that couldn’t be true–that “everyone can write.”

I’m sitting in the session on self-promotion and branding (true confession) and getting this icky, my soul is being suffocated feeling. Help! Is it possible to share a global message of hope and kindness without having your hands muddied with the hardcore edge of numbers and business? The women on this panel are clearly smart and savvy, but there’s something missing here. Maybe I’m more interested in social change and viral empowerment more than the bottom line. Though it would be lovely to help pay bills.

quote above by Alice Walker

art by jen, design by nick–pertinent information on the back

In a few short hours, it’s off to Blogher I go. I have absolutely nothing packed, but it hardly matters when Nick designs pretty business cards like this and you get to put them in the back pocket of your Value Village jeans before you get on a plane. I’m exhausted, but happy and feeling so grateful for all the people who pour out so much love and support into my life. The tiny treasures I’ll pack in my bag represent hours of work (thank you, Meryl my angel!) and a lovely web of kindness that holds me all together.

If you’re attending the conference, please say hi if you read this blog and would like a treat from my DREAMER bag. I can’t wait to meet you. I will be much more rumpled than I’d hoped and not cut or colored unfortunately, but we’ll have a happy reunion just the same. If you like this new banner or the card, leave a comment for the brilliant Nick. Maybe then he will come to his senses and start a design company from our dining room table. (hint, hint)

Baby Clara. I took this photo less than one hour after her birth last Wednesday.

This is such a time of transition in my life, and I’m not the only one. All around me I see the signs of struggle, of growth, of doubt. So many people I love are trying to find their way–looking for the best fit, the just right thing they were meant to be, meant to do. I’ve been a doula for so long now, I forget all the birth analogies, but the other day my friend Meg reminded me of how essential it is that someone hold the space in these moments when something new is trying to be born–like a midwife who understands it’s about to happen just when you’ve given up hope.

Anyone who’s ever had a baby can tell you a thing or two about doubt and what it feels like to be sent to the edge of reason. There’s nothing like transition to convince you there’s no way you can go through with this, that this was a crazy idea in the first place, that there’s no way you can do this thing after all. This feeling almost never lasts too long in real birth, but in life it can take time–days, months, sometimes years even–before you can see with newborn eyes that you were meant for this all along. A hundred people can tell you so, but you can’t really believe it’s true until you do the thing yourself.

Birth is like fire that way. There’s no other way than to keep walking through.

Tonight this sweet baby’s mother will hold her in the night, responding to her cries even when she’s tired, even when she’s spent. She’ll do this, so something else can be born in her baby girl–the deep sense of knowing that even when you don’t know exactly what’s happening, everything will turn out okay. I hope the same thing happens for you as you hold close all the things that don’t make sense right now, as you walk through the in between times with hope in your heart.

the DREAMER bag makes her debut. i’m dreaming of being LESS vain in 2008.

This is the part in the story where I realize Blogher is in five days, and it’s entirely too late to lose the five to seven pounds I gained since going last year, thus triggering my recurring vanity issues. To make matters worse, I’m still paying for all the fashion obsessing I did before Blogher Business and may risk the possibility of completely destroying the family budget if I even dare consider a last minute visit to Andre Chreky in hopes of creating so much ooh-la-lah in the hair department that you don’t have a second to contemplate whether that little bump I’m sporting is indeed signs of pregnancy or just my uterus showing from my last two births, six and nine years ago respectively.

For the record, I am NOT pregnant. I just look like I am.

Thankfully, I have a good little collection of creative projects to keep The Vanity at bay for now. My sister Patience has been saying for years now that my sister Kris and I should work together on getting some of my designs/art onto her t-shirts/canvas bags. The planets must have aligned or something because I decided to leave my square mile of neighborhood bliss to drive out to BabyBrewing Headquarters (a.k.a. my sister’s oh-so-cool screen printing DIY small business nirvana/workshop) to see what we could put together. Seven hours later, after one pizza, two beers and once or twice considering if we should just go lie down in traffic, we had a pile of t-shirts, organic cotton bags and the most darling onesies you’ve ever seen in your life. It was exhilarating. And just the beginning. We have a nice start on designs that feel just right for BabyBrewing and one or two things for my little shop. Here’s my favorite:

Isn’t he adorable???

Tonight, after a long weekend of sketching, inking, watercoloring, scanning, designing, printing (both for the screen printing project and the blessing candles), I feel slightly crazy to be working on so many things at once. The last month has been such a burst of productivity for me, I am sure by the time I get to Chicago I’ll be unable to hold my head up let alone worry about my rolls or The Vanity. My DREAMER bag will be serving as a pillow while I catnap! In any case, I’m excited about this little endeavor and hope my sisters and I can keep dreaming up ways to inspire hope and creativity wherever we may go.

Okay, I think I need to sleep! More tomorrow!

A lovely page from inside Rachelle’s new 38 full-color page zine–Tweet! More peeks here.

Seattle-based artist, writer and soul-nurturer Rachelle Mee Chapman was my first blog crush–the first person I ever hit refresh for ten times in a day just to see if she posted something new. I was so determined that we become friends that I linked to her religiously until regular email exchanges were a matter of course. I loved the way she told stories about the friends and neighbors who ate around her table and their communal desire to mark seasons and holidays of every kind of imaginable with candles, ceremony and the most down-to-earth soulful celebrations. We started a phone friendship and not soon after had the opportunity to meet in person at a conference. It was soulsisterhood at first sight!

Now these years later, Rachelle (aka Magpie-Girl!) is my faithful confidante and the finest of companions for this artist path we travel together. There might not be anyone I respect more when it comes to inspired writing, soulful parenting or knitting together a community out of the dear ones who pass through your door. I couldn’t be more delighted that Rachelle is making zines–her most recent offering Tweet! is pure summer delight. She happily obliged when I made my interview request–be sure to stick around for a added treat on your way to the comments below.

I think you and I are the only artists/writers/housewives on earth who are saving our grocery money so we can make zines! Help me explain to the world why the zine is the most magical book-making form on earth! Even though half the time we pull our hair out doing it! What makes it worthwhile for you personally?

A few years ago I began to get very hungry to produce something I thought of as “the secret book.” I was captured by the idea of having a very old cookbook from generations past, with notes written in spidery handwriting, a pressed flower or dried butterfly wing, the guest list from a party, etc. I played with it awhile and have several false starts stacked in my closet. Then Jen introduced me to the idea of zines, and the spark of an idea finally caught fire. I once heard Eric Carle say something like: “I wanted to makes something that is part book, part toy.” That’s what you can do with a zine.

I love the Magpie-Pie Trading Card concept, and this zine’s edition in particular. What inspired you to make these cards? I love these girls looking at me from the kitchen window while I do my dishes. Who can we look for next?

I love the kitchy-retro saint cards you find in cathedral gift cards, but I was tired of lilly-white women with their eyes downcast. I got the idea of doing a series of “saints and sinners” and including women of color. I’ve been re-visioning old saints and scheming up some new ones. Eventually I want to do cards for the ‘sinners’ — all the womanly ways that have been condemmed over the years like actresses, dancers, herbwomen, suffragettes, and divorcees. I found a photo of a beautiful black woman playing a drum set – she’ll be my new saint for the Fall.

One of things I’ve loved about your writing over the years is your appreciation the rhythms of the seasons and all the ways we crave Light in our lives–both in the physical and spiritual sense. Can you talk a little about how you honor the Light with your daughters Eden and Cate?

We have a seasonal shrine in our living room fashioned out of an old dresser drawer. The girls put different things in there express gratitude. Right now there are fresh flowers and lavender blooms. In the fall we’ll string bay leaves and collect rose hips, seed pods, horse chestnuts—anything we can find on our urban walks. I find that a nurturing gratitude in our lives creates and reveals Light. We also celebrate the Light with a big community of artist-friends. Soltice parades, mid-winter parties, spring luminaria walks…the kids have equal creating-rights with the adults at these events and we all fashion art installations to celebrate.

I loved your post about protecting your time as an artist. When we first met through our blogs in 2003, neither one of us would have dared call ourselves artists in the traditional sense, and now we’re both obsessed with doing our work in a regular way and making sure we get good quality studio time–even when half the time we have no idea what we’re doing. What would you say to women in their mid/late 30’s at any age who think it’s too late to switch gears and follow their bliss?

I think treating yourself as a professional artist – even if you aren’t making any money for your work – is one of the hardest and most important things you can do. Reading the War of Art really helped me in this. So did Anne Lamott’s advice to us at a reading to work (roughly) the same time every day (or week) so you can train your brain to click into “artist working” mode. Now when I go to write or collage I tell people “I’m going to work.” Naming what I do as “work” helps me say no to the obligations that sometimes get shoved onto SAHM. Still, I constantly struggle with internal tapes that tell me I’m just mucking about and not doing anything grown up with my life. It’s still an uphill battle to own the title “artist.”

A lot of readers might not know you deal with chronic pain in the form of persistent migraines. I think there’s so many people out there who suffer in silence about this kind of thing–how do you manage to stay on your artist path and do your work with pain always a possibility?

Oh, it’s really REALLY hard. My work time is very limited, about 9 hours a week. Part of this is due to motherhood, and part to how much time it takes for me to take care of a chronic pain condition. Sleep, exercise, and endless doctors appointments have to be a priority. If I get a migraine I can lose days or even weeks at a time. Reading other writers who have chronic conditions helps. I especially like Nancy Mairs, who says: “To view your life as blessed does not require you to deny your pain. It simply demands a more complicated vision…”- Nancy Mairs, Carnal Acts: Essays

Favorite books? music? movies? Favorite Magpie-Girl find? Go ahead, give me your best of summer list.

Oooooh! I love tips! I’m completely in love with Nikki McClure’s art-book Collected Raindrops, I’m listening non-stop to Corrine Bailey Rae and Lily Allen; I think Body Fantasies Cucumber Melon Shimmer Lotion is divine (and from the drugstore!); and I highly recommend eating your weight in raspberries if at all possible.

Artistic plans for the fall of 2007? What’s next for Magpie-Girl?

Provided Tweet sells well, I’d like to produce another zine – maybe something for recovering religious freaks like me called Don’t Drink the KoolAid. (If we can’t laugh, we’ll cry, right?) I’m hoping to host a small writers retreat on the Washington coast by mid-winter. Mostly though, I’d like to see one of my manuscripts picked up by a flexible publisher. I have one in the market right now called “Soulcrafting: 12 Spiritual Practices for Soulful Kids,” but it’s having a hard time finding a landing place because it’s “too interfaith.” When the kids go back to school I’ll start a collection of essays…sort of “a year in the life as an urban abbess.”

Rachelle will be hosting a panel with Elaine Gingery and myself this next week at the Blogher Conference in Chicago. In the spirit of soulsisterhood and in hopes of making sure you get a copy for your next loungefest on the back porch (mojito in hand) asap, let Rachelle know in your Etsy comments you’d like the jenlemen.com discount on your zine purchase and you’ll receive 25% off before shipping. Also, we’ll let Eden and Cate pick a commenter from our collection here to receive a free zine, so please leave your favorite thing about summer in the comments below–those dear girls will enjoy getting to pick the winner!

hopeFULL girl, ink and watercolor on arches hot pressed paper, photoshop magic by Meryl

It’s not too early here, and yet my dear ones sleep–Madeleine beside me on the couch, Carter upstairs in her bed, Dave in mine. Usually by morning we have reconvened in one giant heap, but not today–the sleeping gods have granted everyone a full night’s sleep with no one’s foot in your face, no one’s arm flung wildly over your head.

I loved so much reading your responses to the question “What Am I Meant For?” Such true and honest stories of dreams–some in process, some still secret, some in various stages of question. I have struggled so much over the years with the whole idea of being “meant for” something, mostly because just thinking about it means I have to find a way to answer the question of pain. I think I spoke my heart on this point to a dear friend who has suffered great loss in the last two years. With her permission, here’s a snippet:

i *totally* struggle with the whole “meant for” idea since it requires too that we make sense of our suffering. were you “meant” to be a single mom? were you “meant” for all the pain of your true love leaving? were you “meant” to have the heartache of carrying the grief of that with your son? if so, i want to get off the train and sign up for some other explanation of the Universe and divine care. I hate the idea that any of us might be “meant” to suffer. But in spite of all that, I’m still drawn to the idea of having a great calling in life that you must not shy away from, and I can’t escape the reality that sometimes we walk through fire before we have any idea or will to embrace our deepest gifts that have finally surfaced because of our pain.

It’s important to acknowledge this piece of it, I think–or else we run the danger of running around saying “all your dreams can come true!” without being honest about how much struggle is involved in coming to the conclusion that a dream is possible in the first place. I got a hint of this in Africa where I met so many young people with deep, amazing hopes for their future and so few paths to those realities. That experience made me want to take into my heart the kind of dream that takes those very stark situations into account, the kind of dream that involves not only my life becoming more magical and wonderful, but others’ lives as well. There’s one thing to achieve a personal dream on behalf of yourself–it’s another thing entirely when your dream fuels the possibility that someone else’s path can unfold in power and truth. I think in some cases we do that simply by living our best lives, and in others we do it by casting a wide, wide net where many people can get the nurture they need to do the rest.

I think this is why the Africa zine is taking more time than I hoped (months not weeks if you’ll recall!) I’m figuring out how to hold these things in the same space–pain and possibility. I’ve needed time to gather the perspective to do those stories justice, to give that struggle and that spirit the respect it deserves.

Okay, dear ones, thank you for listening to these ramblings. I hope you experience today the beauty of someone sharing your same struggle, and that in living your life authentically, you give someone else the courage to believe they are not alone. Stay tuned–in a few short hours I’m posting an interview with the oh-so talented Magpie-Girl who just unveiled an amazing full-color zine for summer.