Category: creativity

Halloween Begins the Holiday Madness

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Happy Halloween! Wait! I’m not ready. Did I celebrate my daughters’ birthday, or even, 4th of July or Easter, well enough?

This is the first of the marching holidays and I’ve hardly finished my last holidays. But they march on, whether I am ready or not. I have to comfort myself that I do them well enough.

I am a do-er and I do the holidays well enough. But sometimes I want to celebrate Easter in November and Thanksgiving in March.

I am a do-er but also an iconoclast or an anarchist (or some big word that means rule-breaker.)

I can change some things, but I can’t change big things like the seasons. Christmas is good in the winter. Maybe it’d be better at the beginning of December? Maybe I should start a campaign to change the date of Christmas. I could start small.

Here’s my idea: Let’s pump up the less celebrated holidays, like Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Let’s make it a big peace and love day — bigger than Christmas. Same with International Women’s Day. Let’s really love on our international sisters that day.

And I can use the money I save buying shit nobody needs at Christmas to throw some really big Pace and Love parties.

I’m not a Scrooge. While I like, and even love, Christmas and other holidays, I reject the disgusting materialism and commercialism that pervades our culture. I don’t want new things. (I want new experiences.) I don’t want my kids — or anyone for that matter — to think the acquisition of goods leads to the acquisition of happiness.

I have been happiest traveling light. The less stuff I have, the happier I am.

I have been happy with friends, having — and going to — parties, being with my kids, my family. Happy Halloween! March on holiday madness!

So,  “If bloggers had their own Halloween and could go from blog to blog collecting “treats,” what would your blog hand out?” asked the Daily Prompt today. And I answer: more fun, more love, more peace, and more parties. 

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At the church retreat at Shelter Island last weekend, some of the teens carved awesome pumpkins. This is one.
beach scene in October
Leaves blew on to the beach on Shelter Island.

RadioLab at the Beacon

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Something happened last night that I have to talk about — Apocalyptical, the RadioLab show at the Beacon Theatre.

My husband Chris (John Christopher Jones) and his buddy Dan Moran and their artistic journey with their Parkinson’s Disease are featured in the last part of this brilliant three-part show. The music is rocking — so cool. The video images on the big screens are visually creative and stimulating. The factoids and banter are mind-blowing. The gi-normous puppets of dinosaurs carry such emotional heft. They are gorgeous and sad as dinosaurs are — or as we idealize them to be — knowing they will inevitably become extinct. And that is where, too, we find emotional weight in Chris and Dan’s segment. It is heavy and it is light.

This part is not for the faint of heart. When my kids go to see it — at their December 2nd show — I’m seriously thinking we should have our pastor or find a therapist on hand to talk to the kids about the issues that the segment brings up. Namely, mortality.

For that matter, I could’ve used a therapist or pastor last night! Fortunately, I had the exquisite RadioLab producer Andy Mills on hand to talk through some of what I heard, saw and felt. The dude is so good as a listener and kind soul and brilliant radio creator.

Of course it was lovely to see Robert Krulwich too. He and Chris went to Riverdale Country School together. After the show, the two talked about how Riverdale taught them that everything is connected. And it is in making these connections that we find meaning.

Jad (Abumrad) and Robert interviewed us all about year ago show they put together is about endings. The first bit is on how the dinosaurs ended through a pizza-oven type heat; the next bit is on PeptoBismal, and the infinite possibilities of the periodic table; and the third is on Chris and Dan. Jad and Robert talk about how they look straight into the vortex of the progression of their disease and then, what the hell, put on the Samuel Beckett play, Endgame.

I have always thought of Chris and Dan’s performance of the Endgame and the Endgame Project, documentary as a testament to the power and tenacity of the artist. The movie and the play and the experience — shows that while Parkinson’s is slowly robbing Chris and Dan of their acting tools, they still have the chops.

I was chatting with the band about this. Darin Gray said that one bit from Chris’s audio always gives him chills, even though he’s heard it a dozen times. Sweet.

I have several blog posts I want to to finish over the next couple of days, plus a few freelance writing assignments I’ve got to plow through. I want to post some new pics — but I had to tell you about RadioLab’s Apocalyptical today.

I have no idea when this live show may be on the radio, but you should go see it in person.

Reserve tickets for the Beacon show at: http://www.beacontheatre.com/events/2013/october/radiolab.html
or check out the cities where you can catch RadioLab at: http://www.radiolab.org/live/ You may want to bring a therapist with you. Or a scientist or maybe a comedian or better yet, a radio producer, a musician or an artist. Or whatever — bring a friend or your spouse.

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After the show Chris called Dan to tell him how terrific the show was.

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Chris with me and then, with the band and the lovely comedian Ophira Eisenberg.

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It Must Be October

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On an autumn walk, these wildflowers said, "Hello. We are still beautiful."
On an autumn walk, these wildflowers said, “Hello. We are still beautiful.”

I feel old.

It must be October.

It must be the pumpkin-flavored everything.

I am no longer pumpkin-flavored.

I am nutmeg. Nutty.

I see my reflection in the subway window.

I think,

“I need Botox.”

The train travels through Cornwall on the trestle. Sunset.
The train travels through Cornwall on the trestle. Sunset.

I am becoming

invisible – like all the New York belles, wrinkled, made up,

inevitable.

I don’t care – and then

I start singing –

“I don’t care. I love it.”

I am silly, happy. humming to myself on the subway.

I am not yet that creeping cold November.

I am still this playful hot October.

In the beginning of the autumn month.

I am still jumping in a pile of leaves, singing songs to and of myself.

It must be October.

I don’t care.

I love it.

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Mary Beth Coudal
I am in October.
United Methodist Retreat House
This is where we (bootcamp4writers.com) had our beautiful fall retreat.

Biking Adventure

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my view while teaching. And the shadow of my students
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This is an awesome place to explore.
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Along the West Side bikeway
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Around the uptown Fairway
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The George Washington Bridge and the little red lighthouse creep up on you

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The detour under the highway

Yesterday I took a long bike ride, from where I was teaching — around Central Park and 77th to 180th and Broadway for my girlfriends’ craft club.

I took the bikeway. Around the uptown Fairway, I had to detour under the West Side Highway.

Like when I run, when I ride, I am not fast. That gives me time to talk to myself. And time to think. Too often, I scold myself. So last night, I was trying just to be. Just to notice.

Notice the generosity of the Hudson River. Notice the crazy summer flowers that refuse to believe summer is almost over.

Coming back home, in the complete dark, I did not have so much fun. Many places along the path are pitch black and I don’t have a light. I need more light.

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Only Connect

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Lindsay Pontius and Mary Beth CoudalAt the end of August for her birthday, Lindsay (Pontius) and I began writing our seven rules for living at the Yacht Club, also known as the Bistro du Lac. We did this four years ago. At that time, our number one rule was Pile on the People. This time around? Only connect. This is from Howards End.

It is so easy to disconnect. As a writer, I always choose a seat on the outside of the circle. I have to consciously make myself sit at the table. (Reading Sandberg’s Lean In helped.)

I find the sidelines are a good place to watch the action. But do I really want to watch the action? Don’t I want to get in the game? I know I’m mixing metaphors here — a seat at the table and a play on the field. But you know what I mean.

I read Howards End in grad school or maybe I read it for book club. My book club’s been together for 10 years so sometimes I forget where and when I read what.

I do remember the Ivory-Merchant movie of Howards End. It was my first official date with Chris. We saw Howards End at the Paris Theatre. Oh, God, the Paris is like the Ziegfield — such a gorgeous movie theater.

It was my exhusband Jim who told me, “You’ll love this movie.” He was good at knowing what I’d love. Or maybe I was just good at listening to him and letting him tell me what (and who) to love. But with Howards End — what’s not to love? He was right.

Any way, on my first date with the man who would become my second husband, I went to a movie recommended by my first husband.

davidComing out of the Paris, I ran into Diana and David. And Chris was a little ways behind us. So David, playfully, suggested that we pretend he and I were an item.

He said it’d be funny to make Chris and Diana laugh And so, David sort of dipped me on the sidewalk on 58th street and we pretended we were making out. And now — how many years later?! 20? — David died last year, and Chris has Parkinson’s.

And well, it just goes to show, “Connect, only connect.” It’s the message of the movie and the novel and hopefully, this blog post.

Pretend you are making out with someone. Pretend anything. It’ll be funny. Take a seat at the table. Get in the game. Because who knows where you — or anyone — will be in 20 years?

I have digressed. Lindsay and I, over champagne, talked about learning this lesson from her husband Sandy who died of cancer more than ten years ago. She learned you must live fully while you are alive.

That’s why the last time Lindsay and I made rules for living, our number six rule was, “Live every day as if it were your last.” We were inspired by Sandy’s life.

What’s your legacy? What do people remember about you? Were you playful? Were you kind? Did you connect?

Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, And human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect… -E.M. Forster, Howards End

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Writing at the Unconference

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Today was the unconference #IndieCon at New Work City, my coworking space. When I got there, I learned that at an unconference, participants just sign up for the workshop they want to teach. On Thursday night, I had taught Blogging Basics so one of my coworkers suggested I offer a taste of that workshop in one of 30 minute sessions this afternoon.

I did. I had a wonderful group. I gave the bloggers seven minutes to write (then added two more). I offered “hungry for more,” as one of the creative writing prompts to pump the well and get the words flowing. So, in less than 10 minutes, this is what I came up with.

***

I’m hungry for more. I am looking to learn more, I’m grateful for the business I have, leading the workshops I lead, but I want to lead a writing workshop in the Amalfi coast, in a Paris cafe, or on a Guatamalan mountaintop.

I have a bad case of wanderlust.

At my Dangerous Writing workshop with the IWWG (International Women’s Writing Guild) last month, several of the participants had traveled to Natalie Goldberg’s workshop in Italy. One participant said I was a better teacher than Natalie, which blew me away. (Yes, I’m a competitive creative writing teacher!)

And, my student added, she would take an international writing excursion with me, because, besides being a good teacher, I would let her and her friends drink when we traveled together to the castle in Italy.

“Of course, I would let you drink,” I said. Curious about the most famous creative writing teacher’s motivation, I asked, “Why wouldn’t Natalie let you drink?”

“Because then we might become friends,” another of my students who had been on Natalie’s writing workshop chimed in.

Maybe Natalie wanted clear-headed writers. I understand. I know Cheever wrote his best stuff when he sobered up. And I know that the myth of the alcoholic writer is simply a myth, but still, on a writing retreat to Italy, I think we can imbibe.

I love the word ‘imbibe.’ It is such a buttoned-up word and yet the act of drinking is buttoned down.

I am hungry to button down.

I am hungry. Or maybe I am thirsty to imbibe.

***

Here are two photos from my day today. This first is from my early morning birding with Charles Chessler in Central Park. And the last is from my bike ride home from the Unconference along the Hudson River path.

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Barnegat Lighthouse

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I am a lighthouse. I stand tall, watch for shipwrecks, give light.

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Barnegat Lighthouse. On the night of the full moon, we climbed the 217 steps.

Earlier in the day, we’d walked to the lighthouse and I said, “Let’s walk out on the jetty.” But we didn’t.

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20130822-123207.jpgIn the morning, my mother stretched in the bay. I think she missed her daily Chicago yoga when she was visiting me on the East Coast. At the bay beach, mom was bitten by little bugs and wanted to go to the ocean side and so we did. She left for the airport at lunchtime.

That night of the full moon, we climbed the lighthouse steps. I told the girls, “Go ahead! Scamper up! I am going to take my time.” I got dizzy in the spiral staircase. But I love spirals.

All the metal, echo-y steps were the same. Looking up and looking down were the same. It was hard to orient myself.

I think I would like to live in a round building. When my son lived briefly in a yurt at camp, he said there is nowhere to hide when there are no corners in your cabin, so campers were more engaged in conversations. And he said, that campers were closer to nature, and could hear people talking outside the yurt.

Maybe round structures like yurts and lighthouses are more a part of the elements. Round buildings fit in better with nature, like tree trunks and whirlpools. And spirals.

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The girls stopped in a windowsill and asked me to take their pic. The flash blinded us.

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We waited about an hour to climb the stairs of the Barnegat Lighthouse. It was worth the wait.

While standing in line, I thought about the last time I was at Barnegat Light with my son. We kept singing the jingle, “Stronger than the Storm.” And I thought, maybe I don’t always have to be strong. Maybe it’s okay to be weak or vulnerable. What’s so great about being strong? That’s a very male quality. How about I value a more female quality — being soft and round, like a mother?

Every night the sun sets on Barnegat Light.
Every night the sun sets on Barnegat Light.

Yes, I know the sun sets and the moon rises everywhere. I just don’t notice it. Maybe I am not a lighthouse after all.

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The full moon rose as we waited to climb the lighthouse steps. And then it followed us home and hung around all night.
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Soul Doctor

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soul doctorI love religion, hippies, and men who cry easily. So how can I not recommend this new musical Soul Doctor?

This musical has many themes – it’s a coming-of-age parable and an unlikely friendship between Nina Simone and Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach. The Rabbi became a blockbuster recording artist in the 1960s. Incidentally, a synagogue named for him is in my Upper West Side neighborhood.

The show leaves you on such a great high. I felt we, the audience and actors, should end the evening with a group hug. Or together, we could all sing Hava Nagila or Shalom, My Friend — the only Hebrew songs I know.

I am not Jewish but I still enjoyed the spirit of unconditional love in this show.

But I have a few thoughts of how I might tweak this show before it comes to Broadway. Oh, wait! It’s on Broadway. Here are my thoughts any way.

Schlomo, at the end, comes to value his father’s gentle leadership, but what about his mother? Surely, she must’ve been more than a stereotypical small-minded immigrant to have instilled in Shlomo such a deep commitment to love and kindness and warmth for his fellow human beings.

Another thing — when Schlomo and Nina meet, they compare the sufferings of their tribes. This is never a good conversation. Hello! I’m Irish. I don’t think it’s ever productive to brag about or base our identities on our collective victimhood. Instead, let’s talk about the resilience and the perseverance of our peoples. Let’s sing, dance, write poetry (and blogs) and rise above the inevitable suffering with a daily dose of joy — which, mostly this musical does.

After the show, my husband and I met the talented Amber Iman. She played Shlomo’s bestie Nina Simone. She disarmed us with her wisdom and love!

The singing and acting was lovely. I loved Eric Anderson as Shlomo (and yes, wanted to hug him!). He was like the original Hugging Saint Amma. I am a huge fan of hugging. My husband fell in love with Amber Iman (and probably wanted to hug her). She played Nina Simone, like Shlomo, a person of great talent and great warmth for her fellow human beings.

Their relationship was interesting — it transcended a Hollywood narrative. It is charming and disarming when a man and a woman are great friends and artistic supporters of one another without being romantic partners. Artists, like singers and writers, require a lot of encouraging friends. (Thus, my Life Rule #1 Pile on the People.)

I was inspire20130816-122217.jpgd by Shlomo’s deep commitment to young people and social justice.

The musical is at Circle in the Square Theatre, 1633 Broadway (on 50th St. between Broadway and 8th). The last show in that theater was Godspell which my kids loved. Same story, different religion. Give love. Give yourself to others unconditionally.

For more info, check out www.SoulDoctorBroadway.com

Thanks, Culture Mom Media for the tickets to Soul Doctor. All thoughts are my own.

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Cleaning the Closet

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Wallpaper - Hyacinth, pattern #480 - 1915-17
Wallpaper – Hyacinth, pattern #480 – 1915-17 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have been decluttering my apartment — but I’d rather be in Paris.

I hired a home organizer, the Clutter Whisperer, and bribed a girlfriend, Barbara, to help me declutter my stuff. My brother and sis-in-law helped a lot too.

“The 1970s called, Mary Beth,” my bro Brendan said. “They want their chair back.”

I cannot do this kind of spelunking alone. Or without some humor, apparently.

Cynthia, a.k.a., the Clutter Whisperer, whom I found years ago on Craigslist, gave me some advice: purge your books and your clothes. I like her nonjudgmental approach. She said I’d do well in a big old farmhouse rather than a NYC apartment. That’s nice. I’d do better with a backpack in Europe too.

In my defense, as I tell my mother, “City apartments don’t have garages, basements, attics, big closets, cars, or home offices.” I know. I know. We have museums and parks. And I’d take them any day. I like experiences way better than things. But I have to get rid of the things so that I can have the experiences.

I thought when I left my job a year ago, I’d stay on top of my family’s stuff. A family of five just accumulates. And with Chris’s Parkinson’s, he’s a bit slower to help or initiate decluttering.

Also, I’ve been way more interested in my biz and my freelancing work than in home-centered activities.

I have excellent taste. I’m good at noticing (and sometimes making) beautiful things, I’m just not good at showcasing them or bidding them farewell (as in kids’ art projects!)

When working on my closet Friday, Barbara offered me this quote from William Morris, “Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful and believe to be beautiful.” Tall order. As I cleaned the closet, I found:

  • a journal from my raft trip on the Rio Grande in 1992
  • Hi8 tapes from the kids as toddlers
  • an orange tank top with the price still affixed (LOVE orange, but often wear the basic NYC black!)

These things were all kind of beautiful and kind of useful. The “kind-ofs” get me. I hang on to “kind of.”

I am asking the kids to join me in the purging of books and clothes.

I feel like contacting Gretchen Rubin. In her book The Happiness Project she talks about the joys of decluttering and, even, gasp, keeping an empty shelf. I’d like to do that. I’d like be a minimalist. I’d like to escape to Europe.

Right now, I’m traveling through my daughters’ seventh grade papers, going back in time. And if I’m lucky, I’ll recycle the past and move into the present, perhaps even experience a park or museum today.

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Lean In

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I felt so happy to meet Sheryl Sandberg at BlogHer

Sheryl Sandberg, the COO of Facebook and the author of Lean In, talked about how women can step into their rightful place as leaders.

Sheryl Sandberg
Lisa Stone interviews Sheryl Sandberg at the BlogeHer Conference in Chicago

Sandberg said she was inspired by Mellody Hobson, a Chicago businesswoman, who said she was “unapologetically an African American and unapologetically a woman.” Sandberg said she was “unapologetically a business executive and unapologetically a feminist.” Me too!

Sandberg’s blunt truth is that “men rule the world. Ninety-five percent of big companies are run by men.” We all have biases so let’s not be afraid to talk about them and fix them.

As women, we must do a better job of believing in ourselves and stepping up as leaders. And we don’t have to be titans of industries. This applies to women as leaders in our families, school boards, small businesses, classrooms, and hospitals — wherever we find ourselves .

I love this message. I’m glad people are hearing it. I’m glad women are lifting each other up.

I stayed for a small group session. That’s where I briefly chatted with Sandberg. I told her I, too, was a COO of a small biz.

“Really?” she asked. “What’s your business?”

“I lead writing workshops.”

“That’s great!” She said. She seemed genuinely excited and interested in Boot Camp for Writers

As a workshop leader, I’m always trying to improve my game. So I wondered what kind of workshop does the most powerful woman in the world lead. Turns out it’s not so different than mine. Yes, the introduction part of the workshop is EXACTLY the same as mine. It’s a way for people to get to know each other and it’s an exercise I learned from my mother.

Professor Carole Robin from Stanford University led the small group exercises. She told us that we are “three to six times more creative in a group than we are alone.” The power of the peer group can be seen in study groups, weight loss programs, and I would add, church groups. We are challenged and encouraged in small groups. We learn best when we move out of our comfort zones. In fact, “it’s impossible to learn if you remain comfortable,” Robin said.

In our group of six we talked about times when we were brave and times when we were unable to take risks. I can’t disclose more because we agreed to anonymity. We learned that disclosure begets disclosure. And I made a few new friends and cheerleaders!

Sheryl Sandberg’s book, Lean In, is a bestseller and it’s my book club’s choice this month. We meet on Monday night. And you know I’ll have a lot to talk about when we get together.

I’m going to check out LeanIn.org, which is the fastest growing and most engaged internet community . I’m going to value and encourage the leadership of the women and girls in my life. I’m not afraid to push back on sexism and the pay gap. I’m not afraid, even when I feel myself shrink from taking my rightful place at decision-making tables.

I have Sandberg on my side. So do you. So go ahead. Lean in. We’ve got your back.

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