Getting Ready for the Artist’s Way: a sneak peek into the LHF Greenhouse

English: A sprout in a lightbulb.

Image via Wikipedia

I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m very excited about the LHF Greenhouse, and want to make sure everyone who can benefit from becoming a member has the information they need to make a decision about joining.

So when my engineer boyfriend pointed out the invitation page does a great job of explaining what the greenhouse will feel like, but not such a great job outlining the “what exactly will we be doing” part, I was a little worried.

I tried to write a post to fill in that information gap.  I thought about making a list of the books we would read, and the sort of assignments we’d do.  I tried to create a calendar of events, and to share a schedule for group conversations.

Luckily for both of us I gave up on that post.  Not only was it really, really boring–it wasn’t very accurate.  There is not a good way to tell you what the LHF Greenhouse will be like for the first group of members because we’ll be discovering what works and what doesn’t as we go along.  Which is all well and good, but isn’t very helpful if you are trying to decide if you should join.

Since I can’t really tell you what to expect inside, I decided to show you. Continue reading

The Art of Practice: Discovering your Voice

This week’s small voices–big messages  post comes from my friend, client and new blogger, Lesley Howard.  Any further intro from me would just take away from Lesley’s amazing gift with words, so I’ll step back and let her tell her story.

My momma done me wrong, but taught me right . . .

Those of you who already know me have most likely heard the sorrowful story of my mom’s early years (abusive, alcoholic father & corresponding Dysfunctional Family; frequent, violent, dead-of-night moves one step ahead of the debt collectors; inadequate nutrition or education; etcetera etcetera etcetera). Her response to that childhood was to become an intellectual woman with bucketfuls of discipline – enough to keep her conscious mind free of memories of molestation for fifty-plus years. This level of control also rendered her frequently unable to respond appropriately to my emotional needs.

As I tend to be on the “delicate flower” end of the emotional spectrum, it took me ‘til I was about thirty-five to see my way clear to peace with my mother’s legacy (complicated by her death when I was 31), and ten years since then to pick out the bits of my Self from the rubble (thanks to the engineer husband and some remarkably sane and forgiving friends. And those therapists and antidepressants and Julia Cameron I referred to in the first post!).

A big part of the rubble- sieving occurred when I became a parent myself and witnessed, to my horror, my (unintentional) mistakes flowing forth freely and profusely every day I interacted with my kids. I witness evidence of those errors every time my older son yells at his brother for a minor infraction, or my younger son storms out of the room in frustration (yep, we are an intense household. Nuclear power plants got nothing on us when we really get going). Continue reading