Magical Moments

Have you ever noticed magic in the natural world? I witnessed several magical moments while exploring the rim of Mexico’s Copper Canyon last month, and when I examined my photos in depth, I discovered an additional mystery.

The original moment occurred at sunrise, an event I rarely attend. Strolling along a large point jutting into the chasm, I watched a herd of goats feast on tender leaves.


On a rocky ledge along the rim, I saw someone greeting the sun — presumably one of the Tarahumara Indians who live in caves beneath the rim. I crept closer and snapped a quick photo through a bush.


Then I circled back and found a rocky perch of my own with a stomach-clenching view hundreds of feet straight down.


From here I saw two people sitting in meditation in the exact spot the Indian had been. Apparently the person I saw had been joined by someone else. I snapped another photo before the misty vista’s grandeur worked magic in my soul.


Yesterday I examined those photos, zooming in on the people. The photos were shot about three minutes apart. Nobody else had come along the rim, but the two photos appeared to show different people! The woman in the first shot was clearly a local Indian, judging from the splotches of colorful clothing showing through the bush. Although dark and indistinct, the people in the second seem to be dressed in hiking clothing.

How eerie! How could this happen? Where did the second person come from? How did either one get there? I hadn't noticed anyone else in the area.

This morning a possible answer came to mind. Later that morning our tour group traveled along the rim to another spectacular view point. Our guide showed us a sturdy log ladder in a crevasse. Within two minutes, a series of Indian women ascended that ladder with bundles of baskets and babies tied on their backs in colorful rebozos. Children scampered along to help sell the baskets and other wares to turistas like us.


That must be the answer. There must have been a ladder or path from below to the area I saw at sunrise. To naïve Anglos, the Indians seem to magically levitate up those cliffs, unbound by gravity. If we had grown up on ledges only a few yards wide, we’d also know how to scale sheer rock faces like mountain goats and think nothing of it.

Were the second people I saw also Indians, in slightly different dress? Did the light play tricks on my camera and eyes? Did they climb a ladder or path? Or perhaps these people have discovered the secret of genuine levitation or “beaming in” ... . Whatever the case, the moment was magic while I was in it, and it remains magic as I remember, which I will continue to do on a regular basis.

What magical moments have you experienced? Were they occasioned by natural beauty and splendor? Unexplained phenomenon? Or maybe something else? With or without photos, tenderly transforming them to words preserves the magic. What better gift to the future than a bubble of magical joy?

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Countdown: 63 days until the release of The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing on July 1. Stay tuned for ordering details.

Transition Generation

Time seems to have stood still in Junction, Texas, a small town on the western edge of the Hill Country that's billed as the“Front Porch of the West.” In spite of noticing modern amenities such as a Cellular One office and a DVD rental store as we drive along Main Street in search of lunch, I feel as if I am ten years old again, passing through similar towns in eastern New Mexico half a century ago.

Gazing at the early twentieth century architecture, I realize I was born at a junction in time, in a sort of transition generation. Those of us born before the Baby Boom have some degree of working knowledge of things like garden hoes, wood cook stoves, hand pumped water and clotheslines. Even things we didn’t experience directly, like horses and buggies or root cellars, seem familiar, because we heard our grandparents speak of them, or read about them in books.

My thoughts flash forward to the noisy, battery-powered toy world of my toddling granddaughter, who holds any small flat object to her ear and says “Hello ...” just like the adults around her. I know and understand the front edge of her world at the same time I remember the older one. Unless I record stories of an earlier age for her, she may never know them at all.

This is my calling, I think, to build a bridge of life stories and family history linking previous generations with those who come after me, and to encourage others to join me in this endeavor. They need to hear these stories that only you and I can tell. This is my legacy. What legacy are you leaving?

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Countdown: 66 days until the release of The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing on July 1. Stay tuned for ordering details.

Mother Lode of Writer's Block Busters

It’s been over a couple of months since I posted anything about Writer’s Block. Since returning from my most recent Big Adventure, I’ve so energized I haven’t even thought about this topic, but I just came across a web page that brought it to mind. That web page is a mother lode of Writer's Block Busters and I immediately recognized it as material you may benefit from reading yourself.

I’m a firm believer that there is no point in re-inventing a wheel. Joyce Boatright has done a splendid job on that list, so I’ll simply send you over to her website to read it rather than creating a new one. When you finish reading her list, you may want to click over to the Wake Up Writing site she links to and sign up for daily writing warm-ups or energizers to enhance your Personal Writing Fitness.

I’m even more pleased to send you there, because I’ve personally met Joyce. I shared a meal with her during the fantastic LifeWriting workshop sponsored by Story Circle Network that I attended in March. Joyce was one of the assistant facilitators and is a sincerely helpful person.

So read this list and if the shoe fits ...

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Countdown: 68 days until the release of The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing on July 1. Stay tuned for ordering details.

Some Pictures Are Best Painted with Words

Driving through the parched landscape of west Texas on I-10 last month, I noticed banks of windmills along the tops of mesas. I was struck by the ironic juxtaposition of robotic grasshoppers strewn across the grassy plain beneath the mesa, rhythmically sucking oil from the earth. I felt a strong urge to take a picture, but the lighting and positioning was wrong, and there was no time to stop, even I felt like clambering a mile or so through tumbleweeds to get it right.

Then a profound insight struck me: I realized that this picture could best be told with words, not a photograph or even a sketch or painting.

I did not take this picture, but if I had, it would have looked much like this. I include it to give you an idea of the gray drabness of the view I found inspiring.

The landscape itself was bleak, drab and hazy that day, hardly the setting for art. The the true picture I saw had nothing to do with the physical landscape. It was the message that lay in my reaction to seeing this Texan example of going “back to the future” as oil reserves near depletion. Gazing at the sight of a new version of an age-old technology edging back into view, I was filled with renewed hope for the future of the world my grandchildren will live in.

That’s the thumbnail sketch. A longer version of this word picture would include a history of my thoughts on energy use, the future of the world, and many related topics. It could expand to fill a volume. All this from one glance at a parched and drab landscape!

Many memories seem as drab as west Texas in retrospect, but when you dig into your reactions and the feelings connected with the memory, you may also find surprising messages. Give it a try!

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

P.S. Lest I sound down on Texas, I must also mention that although this stretch of road and this day was rather drab, there is incredible beauty in west Texas, and I hope to return soon to explore the Big Bend region.

Correction

In yesterday's post I included a link to The Grammar Police, and identified Julia Temlyn as the author of the blog. That's right, but only partly right. It seems that the Grammar Police is a force, not an individual. Julia is a co-author of the blog together with Shawn Hansen, who was a gun-toting cop before she turned in her pistol for a red pen to teach English. Shawn is the author of the Supermarket item I cited yesterday, along with most of the other content.

The lesson I've learned from all of this is to read the fine print on blogs. My apologies to Shawn, who left a very polite comment to set the record straight. I did post a permanent link to the site in the links list in the left column, and I urge you all to check out that blog on a continuing basis. With two authors on board, I'm betting that it will maintain its momentum and provide an unending source of chuckles and enlightenment.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

You Are Never Too Old to Write

Can you imagine having your first book published at the age of 96? Harry Bernstein did just that. He was 96 when his book, The Invisible Wall, was published. He wrote the story to assuage his grief after his wife died four years earlier.

I found this remarkable story on Julia Temlyn’s Mrs. Write Right blog. Julia also writes The Grammar Police, a blog after my own heart. The first item I found on it points out the difference between “less than” and “fewer than,” specifically as used on Quick Check lane signs. You go Julia — right onto my links list in the side column!

Back to Harry Bernstein: Isn’t this just amazing? The Alzheimers Prevention Foundation recommends writing is one of the best ways to keep your brain alert and healthy. Legions of younger people have found comfort in writing as a way of dealing with grief, but Harry probably takes the medal for “Oldest First Time Published Author.”

Perhaps you are hesitating to begin writing because you feel “too old.” Let me put words in Harry’s mouth and tell you, “Balderdash! You are only too old if you never start!” I’m guessing that Harry started writing for himself, then showed some of his writing to family and friends, who encouraged him to continue, and one thing led to another.

If you have friends or relatives who are hesitating, do what you can to spur them on. Give them whatever assistance and encouragement you can, even helping them get started. Assure them that you'll cherish anything they write, even if it has misspellings, errors and other flaws. And share Harry’s story with them. Perhaps it will nudge them into a "can do" attitude.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka, Ritergal

He Spoke For Himself

Few people ever get to speak at their own memorial services, but my husband’s Uncle Walter did — albeit through the lips of his nephew.

Walter Stein, who died at the age of ninety-six in Margate City, New Jersey last January, was born in Tucson out in the Arizona Territory in 1910. The family later moved up to the mining town of Ray, where Walter’s father and uncles ran several businesses to supply the needs of the mining companies and residents until the mines were closed a dozen years later.

He often told people he’d had the good fortune to “live the life every boy dreams of,” and several years ago he wrote down many memories from that time, including highlights such as jumping up on the backs of donkeys and mules for impromptu rides, running water into the bathtub in the summer early to give it time to cool down enough to bath, riding hundred pound sacks of flour and potatoes down the chute into the basement of the store, and similar tales.

In keeping with Walter’s wishes that people celebrate his life rather than mourning his departure, Aunt Ruth scheduled a Celebration of Walter's Life for last Sunday, three months after his passing. Stories and laughter flowed as freely as the champagne. Most stories were recent, some as recent as the last day of his life. All were touching, humorous or both. Rather than adding to the recent memories, my husband chose to read excerpts from Walter’s own story, to the delight of the majority, who knew little about those early days.

Walter wrote his story to document the era and his own zest for life, never imagining as he wrote those words that they would be used for this purpose they served exceedingly well. Although Walter did not have this purpose in mind, many other people do. In her book, Creating Your Own Funeral or Memorial Service, author Stephanie West Allen suggests including a brief version of your own life story as part of your pre-planned service. The book includes guidelines for doing so.

In Walter’s case, his own story was short enough that there was time to read nearly all of it. Others, like me, have several hundred pages of stories, and my survivors are likely to run screaming into the night rather than face selecting a “perfect piece.” I’m going to give serious thought to a way of trimming it down to a page or two specifically for that purpose. I want to have my own say in how I’m remembered!

What about you? Are you willing to leave it to others to recall the elements of your life that were most important to you? Why not start a list where you can jot these thoughts down as they occur to you over the next few months, then tie them together yourself? Be sure you let your family know you are doing this. Tell them where to find your list now. Leave your finished story with your will to make sure it isn't overlooked!

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Sighting In Your Story

When I was about ten years old, my father took my sister and me to the NRA sponsored Junior Rifle Club where we learned to shoot .22 rifles. I earned almost all the badges, stopping short of total accuracy in a standing position. The first thing we had to do each week was to sight in our rifles. I don’t recall exactly how we did this, but the point was to adjust the sights on the rifle by a few microns one way or another until we could actually hit what we aimed at. This involved shooting several rounds from a stable position until a consistently accurate pattern emerged.

Sometimes writing a story (or any other focused and purposeful piece) is something like that. Sometimes you may not even realize that you are “sighting in a story.”

Such was my experience yesterday. Through unfortunate timing, we learned of the death of a dear friend via voice mail, and later by e-mail. The event was not a surprise, but still a shock. As I began composing e-mails to notify our family, and then a few of my own close friends, a message began to emerge. I considered copying our friend’s family on the last one two, but that didn’t seem right. They deserved some words of their own.

By the time I got around to composing a few comforting paragraphs specifically for the family, I had settled into the process. The core purpose and message were clear. The rest fell into place around it, guided by a picture I selected to enhance the point. Although it still took some time, I don’t think I could have written what I ultimately did without the warm-up of the earlier versions to others. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, they allowed me to “sight in” the message that mattered most.

I have not shot a gun since before I graduated from high school, and hadn’t thought of the “sighting in” process for as long. It simply came to me as I reflected back on the experience of writing that piece. Other terms may be even more appropriate. “Nibbling around the edges” would work. It could also be likened to Michaelangelo’s description of carving a marble statue: “I look at the block of marble, see the image inside, and chip away everything that isn’t part of that image.”

I often toss out a few drafts before I settle into a story. Just as you can’t run at ultimate speed when you first hit the road, your words won’t generally flow as smoothly when you first reach for pen or keyboard. Sometimes it may take days or weeks to warm up to a big story. Don’t let that phase you. Hang in there, stretch and warm up by doing freewriting, writing e-mail or letters (just don’t let them crowd out your “real” writing!) or simply launching into a draft that may well be tossed. You’ll find that core story, and just the right words to tell it.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Blast From the Past

In the last post I mentioned that I'd be visiting some childhood sites on my way home. Today was the day. First there was White Sands National Monument. When I was a child it was a special treat to stop and play in these dunes of gypsum sand that look like snow drifts. Many years ago we took our own children there. Today, along with visions of past visits, I discovered an increasing appreciation for the natural beauty of this northern end of the Chihuahuan Desert.

The next major jolt was a stop in Clovis, New Mexico, the town where one set of grandparents lived as I was growing up. The building where their portrait studio stood has been torn down and rebuilt, and the grocery store that used to be across from it is now a parking lot. Such is life. After confirming what I thought I remembered hearing, I was especially amazed to discover that the house they lived in hasn't even been painted in the forty or so years since I last saw it. The trim on the stucco dwelling must have been touched up, but the color has not changed. Some trees are gone, and windows on the sun porch removed, but otherwise, the house is just the same. How eerie!

Viewing that old house brought back a flood of happy memories of visits there — endless summer days happily cleaning up messes inside because I wanted to, not because I was told. Reading stacks and piles of my aunt's old Nancy Drew mysteries, walking back and forth to the studio, the dank basement, the old electric roaster, an old piano that was always out of tune, an air conditioner that got moved from room to room . . . perhaps even an ice box in the very earliest days of my memory.

I remembered listening to The Sons of the Pioneers keen out their cowboy classics from my grandfather's 45 rpm record player, and the push buttons on the radio that was housed in a chair-side table unit. The tiny television there was my first introduction to “Captain Kangaroo” — how pitiful it seemed that these old people watched this show for children! (Twenty years later I learned that they only had it on for my benefit — not realizing that a 16-year-old would find it undignified.)

Driving across Eastern New Mexico and the Texas Panhandle, we were blasted by a monstrous wind and half the topsoil in the area. I hadn't forgotten the infamous West Texas dust storms, and how well I remembered a forgettable freshman year at Texas Tech in Lubbock.

Yes, I filled out more note cards, and I took a few pictures. The story of this house is more than just my own story — it's part of our family history, and part of the legacy I want to leave for the family.

Visits to childhood sites are a powerful way of connecting with old memories and story ideas. Even if things have changed, you'll be reminded of how they used to be. I stopped by the library to see if I could quickly find pictures of my grandparents' old studio, or references to it in local history publications. Perhaps with more time this would have been fruitful, but not in ten minutes! You might want to plan a little more time for this sort of research.

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Exploding Brain

I feel as if my brain is exploding from all the new experiences that have been crammed into it over the last few weeks. In early March I set out for Texas to attend a LifeWriting workshop conducted by Susan Albert. I have two reasons for admiring Susan. She is the author of the widely acclaimed China Bayles Herbal Mysteries with the latest volume available this month, and she is also the author of (find) and founder of Story Circle Network. The workshop met and exceeded my expectations, and you’ll hear more about what I learned there in future blogs.

From there my husband and I went directly to Galveston where we spent five days participating in an Elderhostel conducted by acclaimed photographer Robert Mihovil, whose work has been published in all the big places like National Geographic, Texas Highways, and a long list of others. Robert took us to all sorts of great places, filling our heads with all sorts of fascinating facts about Galveston, but he did more than that. He wouldn’t let us leave a location until each of the two dozen of us had shown him a shot that showed we had mastered the lesson of the site.

The next stop was Austin for a visit with our daughter and her growing family. Our older son and his family arrived for a quick spring break visit while we were there, and what a delight it was to watch our older two grandchildren entertain their tiny cousin.

From there we headed further west to Fort Davis, Texas where we joined another Elderhostel group for a train ride through Mexico’s famed Copper Canyon. This was our first trip into Mexico beyond a few visits to border cities, and we loved every minute. The scenery was splendid, the accommodations amazing, the food terrific, our guide inspiring, and our fellow travelers delightful. Who could ask for more? Beyond that, I was flooded with memories of growing up in New Mexico as we rolled through dry pine forests. The terrain of the state of Chihuahua, especially in the mountains, is amazingly similar to New Mexico, right down to the ponderosa pines and rough-hewn canyons running between flat-top mesas.

Now, as we head east again, we’ll be visiting a few more locations that are going to bring back still more memories and stories. I already have a huge pile of index cards I’ve filled on this trip with both story ideas and fragments and fresh insights on the writing process. I’ll be posting more about this over the next few weeks.

Meanwhile, I highly advise you to keep a few cards in your pocket or purse. Don’t let your memories and story ideas leak away!

Write on,

Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal