How forward?

Today, George Floyd’s body is laid to rest.
RIP.

Lights barely there

Last week, I wrote “How forward” for Voice of OC about how to keep working for justice for all, always, especially after the Black Lives Matter hashtag trend wanes. Again.

Find the quietest corner of your room, of your heart, and grieve. Howl if you must. Then listen. Listen to Black voices and believe them when they say they struggle to stay alive. Every. Single. Day. Then stand up with them and for them, but not instead of them and for goodness sake don’t hand-wring. Stand tall and strong, with and for all our fellow humans who have been threatened, incarcerated unfairly, murdered for their “real or perceived disability, gender, nationality, race/ethnicity, religion, or sexual orientation.”

Please read “How forward”  to learn practical steps you can take to work for equality for all.

Do you notice the photo that accompanies my story?

Racial Justice Book Spine Poem

Racial Justice Book-Spine Poem                                                              Catherine Keefe

It looks like a simple stack of books. It is. And it’s more than that too.

Yes. This is a fine reading list to begin an education about all the ways racism is systemic. Take your pick. Begin anywhere to start your education, then reach out and we can discuss. I’d love to hear from you.

This stack of books is also more than a reading list. In its compilation, after it’s photographed, it’s called a Book-Spine Poem.

Americanah

Citizen
deaf republic
between the world and Me
the Fire this time

Racing to justice
One with Others
Just mercy

all about Love

See, I didn’t just pull these books from my shelf haphazardly. Rather, I looked for the titles on my shelf to create an even deeper meaning in conversation with one another, as we should be.

Book-spine poems are on my radar lately because many of the poets I follow on social media have been creating them as a way of being productive while under pandemic quarantine. TAB: The Journal of Poetry and Poetics even has a call for submissions for Book-Spine Poems. I learned that:

In 2013, New York-based artist Nina Kathchadourian published a collection of photographs book spines called Sorted Books. In the book’s introduction, Brian Dillon writes, “it is as though the books have convened of their own accord like plants or insects—following secret or, in the case of more explicitly comic or narrative groupings, not-so-secret attractions.”

A little bit about each book:
Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Fiction. From the author’s website:
Ifemelu and Obinze are young and in love when they depart military-ruled Nigeria for the West. Beautiful, self-assured Ifemelu heads for America, where despite her academic success, she is forced to grapple with what it means to be black for the first time. Quiet, thoughtful Obinze had hoped to join her, but with post-9/11 America closed to him, he instead plunges into a dangerous, undocumented life in London. Fifteen years later, they reunite in a newly democratic Nigeria, and reignite their passion—for each other and for their homeland.

Citizen by Claudia Rankine has been called both poetry and cultural criticism. From the publisher’s website:
Claudia Rankine’s bold new book recounts mounting racial aggressions in ongoing encounters in twenty-first-century daily life and in the media. Some of these encounters are slights, seemingly slips of the tongue, and some are intentional offensives in the classroom, at the supermarket, at home, on the tennis court with Serena Williams and the soccer field with Zinedine Zidane, online, on TV—everywhere, all the time. The accumulative stresses come to bear on a person’s ability to speak, perform, and stay alive. Our addressability is tied to the state of our belonging, Rankine argues, as are our assumptions and expectations of citizenship. In essay, image, and poetry, Citizen is a powerful testament to the individual and collective effects of racism in our contemporary, often named “post-race” society.

Deaf Republic by Ilya Kaminsky. Poetry. I’m very much aware that Deaf Republic is the one of two titles in my Book-Spine Poem not written by a Black author. Yet I’m also very much aware that Ilya Kaminsky, its White author, wrote something prophetic. From the back cover: Deaf Republic stands as a warning and powerful questioning of our own collective silence in the face of our time’s atrocities. I wanted this plea against remaining silent to be part of the reckoning we’re going through nationally and internationally.

Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates. Nonfiction. From the author’s website:
In a profound work that pivots from the biggest questions about American history and ideals to the most intimate concerns of a father for his son, Ta-Nehisi Coates offers a powerful new framework for understanding our nation’s history and current crisis. Americans have built an empire on the idea of “race,” a falsehood that damages us all but falls most heavily on the bodies of black women and men—bodies exploited through slavery and segregation, and, today, threatened, locked up, and murdered out of all proportion.

The Fire This Time: A New Generation Speaks About Race. Edited by Jesmyn Ward. Essay collection. From Jesmyn Ward’s website:
In light of recent tragedies and widespread protests across the nation, The Progressive magazine republished one of its most famous pieces: James Baldwin’s 1962 “Letter to My Nephew,” which was later published in his landmark book, The Fire Next Time. Addressing his fifteen-year-old namesake on the one hundredth anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation, Baldwin wrote: “You know and I know, that the country is celebrating one hundred years of freedom one hundred years too soon.” Award-winning author Jesmyn Ward knows that Baldwin’s words ring as true as ever today. In response, she has gathered short essays, memoir, and a few essential poems to engage the question of race in the United States. And she has turned to some of her generation’s most original thinkers and writers to give voice to their concerns.

Racing to Justice by john a. powell. Essays. From the publisher’s website:
Renowned social justice advocate john a. powell persuasively argues that we have not achieved a post-racial society and that there is much work to do to redeem the American promise of inclusive democracy. Culled from a decade of writing about social justice and spirituality, these meditations on race, identity, and social policy provide an outline for laying claim to our shared humanity and a way toward healing ourselves and securing our future. Racing to Justice challenges us to replace attitudes and institutions that promote and perpetuate social suffering with those that foster relationships and a way of being that transcends disconnection and separation.

One With Others by CD Wright. Poetry blended with investigative journalism. This is the other title in my Book-Spine Poem not written by a Black author, but rather by a White woman. I made this exception because both the book title and its subject show what true White support for Black lives looks like. From the publisher’s website:
Investigative journalism becomes the poet’s realm as C.D. Wright returns to her native Arkansas and examines an explosive incident grounded in the Civil Rights Movement. In her signature style, Wright interweaves oral histories, hymns, lists, interviews, newspaper accounts, and personal memories—especially those of her incandescent mentor, Mrs. Vittitow (V)—with the voices of witnesses, neighbors, police, activists, and a group of black students who were rounded up and detained in an empty public swimming pool.

Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson. Nonfiction book. Film. From the Equal Justice Initiative website:
An unforgettable true story about the potential for mercy to redeem us, and a clarion call to end mass incarceration in America — from one of the most inspiring lawyers of our time…Just Mercy tells the story of Equal Justice Initiative, from the early days with a small staff facing the nation’s highest death sentencing and execution rates, through a successful campaign to challenge the cruel practice of sentencing children to die in prison, to revolutionary projects designed to confront Americans with our history of racial injustice.

All About Love by bell hooks. Essays. From the publisher’s website:
All About Love is a revelation about what causes a polarized society and how to heal the divisions that cause suffering. Here is the truth about love, and inspiration to help us instill caring, compassion, and strength in our homes, schools, and workplaces.

There are many, many more books, films, podcasts, and humans to read, to watch, to listen to.

May we humans not be a deaf republic.
May we educate ourselves and reimagine a culture of inclusivity and equity.
May we be, as bell hooks imagines us into being, all about love. For it is only with love for all that we may move forward in any lasting longtime peace.

So then what happened?

Flourless in the time of Quarantine:  Part 2.

If you’re new to the story, you can read “Flourless in the time of Quarantine” Part 1, here.

Bread Gift

Or, you can skip ahead to this recap:
After the virus-induced grocery stampede, I couldn’t find flour to keep up my sourdough bread baking until generous friends and neighbors shared:

  • The single sandwich baggie-size cupful left with a note in my mailbox…
  • The one 5-pound bag of all-purpose flour found shoved to the back of a grocery shelf…
  • The stacks of gallon-size baggies, scooped from a friend’s sister’s 25-pound stash, which she had gotten from a friend…
  • And so much more…

All this beautiful gifted flour turned into enough ingredients to allow me to revive my starter into a fresh bubbly yeast, which I kneaded into laughing dough balls, which became gratitude loaves, which I’ve now started to embellish with a sunburst scoring pattern to represent hope.

Sunburst

And then things got a little crazy.

Hard to find mustard, picked up by a friend, turned out to be just the thing to go with the hand rolled Indonesian lumpia made by my neighbor, and left on the front bench.

Another neighbor hid Easter eggs in the front yard for my grandkids.

A long-time friend texted and offered me some yeast.

Bakers, who read my story, e-mailed Voice of OC asking for my sourdough recipe. At this very moment new-to-sourdough bread makers are crossing fingers and hoping for a good loaf.

A woman who called herself “The Flour Fairy” left two, 25-pound bags of flour at my front door yesterday after reading the story. Two! That’s 50 pounds.

At this, my husband laughed out loud.

“I knew you really did want that 50-pound bag of flour from Restaurant Depot and after reading your story I see I was right. So I jumped online and found a specialty shop and you’ve got 25 more pounds of flour coming next week!”

I’ve never been good with numbers, but even I can figure out that I have more than 75 pounds of flour. Seventy. Five. Pounds!

So I’m putting out the word. Flour! Flour! Does anyone need some flour?
Sourdough starter! Sourdough recipe! Does anyone want to bake?
Homemade sourdough! Homemade sourdough! Does anyone want some fresh bread?

I found one connection to a most gracious “senior” woman without family who I’ll now be fetching groceries for. She said she’d love some fresh bread. First delivery, Wednesday. “And some brownies too, if it isn’t too much trouble.” No trouble at all.

Next I’m figuring out how to scale up my tiny one-loaf-at-a-time production and I’ll be reaching out to food banks, maybe offering small batches of rolls. I really am just a hack baker. I don’t have a sewing machine to make face masks, or the knowledge to find a CoVid cure, but goodness, have I got flour and enough sense to say when the universe showers me with flour, I’d better get baking for others.

Batch of rolls

Please reach out if you, or someone you know, needs baking guidance, or if you’re in Orange County, California, if someone needs flour or bread.

And thank you to all the farmers and the pickers, the truckers and shelf stockers, to the grocery store cleaners and clerks and checkers, to all the good people who feed us, who never considered their work might be life-threatening, but who are now showing up every day so we can eat.

I see you. I’m grateful for you. May you stay strong and well.
Catherine

Next up: Sourdough Bread Recipe from my neighborhood village ancestors.

 

Flourless in the time of Quarantine

This story first appeared in Voice of OC.

Bread Gift

Flour is not metaphor. Flour is flour. Flour has gone missing.

It’s not in my pantry. Grocery stores have none. Even the specialty baking resource King Arthur Flour had this reply to my desire for one, 10-pound bag, Unbleached All Purpose Flour: Order contains item(s) on backorder. We will ship and charge your order when items become available.That was 20 days ago.

This rebuke, from the “Baking with joy since 1790” company that started “The Isolation Baking Show” to teach us quarantined how to bake bread, make bagels and doughnuts, to master the difference between baking sourdough and whole wheat bread made me feel especially empty. I’m missing the essential element to join the #greatcovidbakeoff.

My heart raced when an Amazon Fresh order promised two, five-pound bags of unbleached all-purpose flour delivered in 10 days! They delivered, yes. But substituted, without permission, two small boxes of gluten-free bread mix requiring yeast. I don’t need bread mix. I need flour.

Besides, I have no yeast. Yeast has gone missing. It’s not on my shelf. None of the groceries have any yeast. How will we rise?

Baking isn’t a new desire for me. Sometimes I’m called the Bread Lady. I learned in the kitchen of a friend and in her spirit, I’ve freely offered more sourdough bread baking lessons to others than I can count. I’ve passed along dozens of jars of ripe, bubbly starter, shared from my own starter which came to me by way of that friend, who got it from another friend, who got it from her grandmother, now long laid to rest.

Bread is my love language. I bake it for mothers who have just given birth; to nourish sick neighbors. When my dear friend’s father died, and I learned that it’s a Bulgarian funeral tradition for family to share bread with funeral goers, who say a prayer as they eat it, I baked her a loaf scored with a “W” for her father’s first name. It was leavened from the same jar of starter I had shared with her years ago, the starter that lifted the bread that she baked for her father, for what turned out to be his last meal a few days earlier.

I. Want. Flour!

Feeding the multitudes was one of my favorite Bible stories. A large group is gathered and hungry. The cautious counters look at the thousands and say, we can’t possibly feed all these people. We have only five loaves and two fishes. Yet the food multiplies enough to fill the hungry.

It’s been many years since I’ve been in a church, but this season of quarantine brings that story to mind. When shoppers began hoarding food, I was slow to shop because I didn’t really believe I needed to rush out and collect food. My cupboards were far from bare. I figured if someone was stockpiling they must need the rice, the toilet paper, the chicken, the can of cannellinis more than I.

And then I ran out of flour. Where are the miracles?

I became a needy little recluse at the same time all my Instagram friends, and real life friends, and my sisters, nieces, and neighbors were all comfort-baking bread and posting photos. Even though I’d been baking homemade sourdough for years, I was shuttered. I hid my starter in the back of the refrigerator to wait until I could revive it.

I answered a barrage of calls, texts and DMs, problem-solving for all the new bakers. Is my dough too lumpy? What kind of pan should I use if I don’t have a Dutch oven? How long should I bake my bread if I don’t want it too crispy? I had a HouseParty app conversation to troubleshoot a too-gooey Sourdough Fig Walnut loaf.  Does this look right? No. Now? Yes.

Are you baking? What kind of bread are you baking now that you’re stuck at home? You must be making so much bread!

“No. No, I’m not baking. I have no flour, can’t find any. Not online. Not in stores.”

Well, there was that one 50-pound bag my husband found at Restaurant Depot a few days into the grocery stampede. When he texted to see if I wanted something that big, I declined, figuring a food bank or small bakery or restaurant trying to survive on take-out needed it more.

I tried to act as if I didn’t care. I had my health, and a roof over my head, two loaves of store-made wheat bread. My desire was insignificant in the face of so much global uncertainty.

Fresh Bread

I was appalled to discover I did care. I looked at old photos of my homemade bread and consoled myself that eventually stores would restock flour. It’s only a loaf. I’m happy others are learning to nourish themselves, Wait, she’s baking now too? She never even liked to walk into her kitchen…Bahhhh!

It was a tennis match: my petty envy pitted against the kind of person I thought I was. With each ungrateful thought, I tried harder to find new ways to be helpful.

I scraped together my last bit of flour and made a small starter for the neighbor who asked because her kids, now home all day, wanted to start baking. What could I do with a scant 3/4 cup when it takes more than four to make each loaf? Could I ask her to share some flour in exchange? What if she only had enough for one loaf would feel bad saying no since I was giving her starter? I printed out my favorite recipes and left them with her new starter on my front porch. Good luck! Let me know if you have any questions.

And then —

How to explain this?

Flour began to slowly sift in as if by gentle wind. It first came in a sandwich baggie-size cupful left with a note in my mailbox by my elderly neighbor. I know you like to bake, maybe this will help.

It arrived on my front-porch bench from another neighbor who found one 5-pound bag shoved to the back of a shelf on her last grocery run.

It multiplied again when stacks of gallon-size baggies, scooped from a friend’s sister’s 25-pound stash, which she had gotten from a friend, were left it in a cardboard box on my porch.

In a matter of days, I went from having no flour to an absolute whiteout. I shook my head with each delivery, overwhelmed by what I hadn’t even asked for. Could flour make me cry?

I Googled the safety of sharing baked bread with others in the time of quarantine. I washed my hands, wiped down my counters with disinfectant. I washed my hands, then washed them again. I pulled out my mixing bowl, my bread hook, my kneading board, my coarse salt and parchment and baking stone.

The first loaves into the oven were gratitude loaves. I baked for all the flour sharers, and left them on porches with notes as messy with the over-use of “thank-you!” as my flour-dusted floor.

Next I baked for my friend whose young adult son is dying on a hospital bed in her family room, not from the virus, but from a horrible disease that has outrun his ability to fight it. She’d withdrawn last week from the meal train of friends. We would like to thank everyone from the bottom of our hearts for the wonderful meals over the past 3 months. It took a tremendous load off around dinner time. We are requesting our friends to please stop and take care of your own food needs during these difficult Corona Virus times.

I blessed her loaf with a prayer for peace and left it on her front porch.

I baked for my 85-year-old parents, and my daughter, my grandchildren, my son; each loaf passed from a long distance across a porch, left on a driveway without a hug. My family missed my bread, they say, easier to miss bread than to reveal how much we crave each other standing there, unable to touch.

To retreat to the heart of my home, to bury my hands in dough and know this one small thing. I can touch something as ancient as man and fire, as miraculous as the way the right kind of bacteria ferments with grain to leaven a loaf that nourishes body and feeds spirit. I’m trying not to start rationing flour now that I can once again feel the rightness of the world as my kitchen warms with the scent of bread. I’ve looked up the practicality of growing wheat in my canyon.

Just now I went to leave another gratitude loaf on the bench to be picked up for a nurse and her firefighter husband.

There, on what I’m becoming to think of as my miracle bench, was another gift. A few weeks back, I shared corned beef and cabbage, mushrooms and fresh oranges with a neighbor. Today, she and her sons baked Blueberry Lemon Bread. “Thank you for your kindness,” she wrote. “This is our favorite. We hope you like it!”

And so on, and so on. And so on this day I know that no matter what happens next, flour is only flour, but love remains as powerfully contagious as virus in the time of quarantine.

Magic Bench on the Front Porch

With awe and gratitude,
Catherine

P.S.
You can’t believe what happened after this story appeared in Voice of OC.
That story, coming soon. And yes, I’ll post the easiest sourdough bread recipe soon too.

To read more adventures, or misadventures, with bread baking, you might enjoy A fig. A failure. A long wait.

 

Will you listen?

Laughing Mama&Leah

Do you remember the sound of your great-grandmother’s laughter? Do you remember her stories?

When I’m not writing my own poetry or essays, I’ve created the best job in the world. I listen to, and write down, stories of people’s lives so they can leave a printed legacy for future generations. Or, for those who have the desire to write themselves, I create short assignments and an outline with the end goal of the story of a life.

Frequently these sessions are a gift to parents from their children. I smile when I get approached about this, because of course it’s a grown child’s own gift to be able to hold the previously unrecorded story of a parent.

The absolute most rewarding aspect of my job as family story coach is when someone looks at me across a kitchen table and says, “Thank you for listening. I haven’t thought about that ______ in years.” I tear up more often than I’d like to admit.

Turns out that small details like plummeting downhill on a first red two-wheel bicycle, or sweeping up into a hot Midwestern summer night on a Ferris wheel, are elements of a life that might have been forgotten if I hadn’t thought to ask, “Do you remember your first broken bone?” Or, “When was the first time you held a boy’s hand?” These small memory jogs frequently lead to a deeper story. Of a first career inkling, or a lasting love.

So many people say, “Why would I want to write my story? My life isn’t extraordinary.”

I respond, “Of course it is, especially to those who love you.”

Some say, “Why should I tell my story now? My life isn’t over.”

I say, “Thankfully, that’s true. But at some point, the distant past fades. It might be forgotten altogether. Can we start with when you were small?”

Here’s a secret. To me, each life is extraordinary. All the human ways we find to grow and learn, to make mistakes, to recover, to be brave or timid, to love hard or hardly love. We are all amazing in our complexity and in our simplicity of wanting to be heard.

Listening is a great act of respect. It sows dignity and reaps understanding. And if you listen very carefully, there’s usually a moment of mirth just about to be called forth. To be in the midst of spontaneous laughter is such a gift.

Women’s History Month seems like a good time to commit to listening to a female ancestor’s story. Or, decide to finally tell your own. Write it down. For now. Or for later. You really are more extraordinary than you’ll ever know.

Reach out in the comment section below if you’d like a few prompts to get you started on beginning to write your life, or if you’re interested in learning how we could work together.

Now go be you, in all your ordinary glory.

 

 

Every day, something

inside books

I’m on a quest to intentionally incorporate one simple act of kindness into each day for one year. My hope that kindness can change the world feels a little like throwing a glass ball into the ocean and believing it won’t break.

You can call this series: 365 Reasons to Roll Your Eyes, but science says your own happiness will increase if you share the journey.
________________________________________________________________________

That feeling you get when you walk into a home and smell fresh bread baking. The sense of welcome, of being in the company of people who generously share what they love, what you love, in an artisanal, intentional way.

That’s what it feels like to me every time I see my work published. Of course it’s nice because then I know my words will find an audience larger than my writing group. But it’s more than that. It’s the overflow of gratitude I feel toward the editors for all the work that goes into getting any creative endeavor out into the world.

Today feels especially good because I have the honor of finding my poem, “Mother” , as Poem of the Day on one of my favorite literary websites, SWWIM Every Day.

Mother /

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You might enjoy the entire poem if you’ve ever looked longingly at a giant book of words hoping to pluck the perfect ones to speak well with someone you love. While poems are supposed to be like a family’s children, no clear favorites allowed, “Mother” holds a soft spot in my heart, as does SWWIM with its mission statement:

SWWIM publishes, celebrates & promotes women, women-identifying & femme-presenting writers through a Miama-based reading series & the online poetry journal SWWIM Every Day.

That’s right. Every. Single. Day. Two super human editors – Jen Karetnick & Catherine Esposito Prescott – put out for all the world to see, one gorgeous poem. You can subscribe and have one poem delivered to your inbox every day and become an Instagram follower to find one fine poem in your feed every day.

I reached out to Jen and Catherine, first to thank them for keeping literature piping hot and always fresh. Then, as if it wasn’t enough to give my poetry an audience, I asked more of them. Questions. They kindly pulled back the curtain so we might glimpse an insight into what fuels their creativity.

How long have you been publishing a daily poem?
We began publishing on October 1, 2017.
Have you ever missed a day?
Yes! But only intentionally. We take periodic breaks around summer and the winter holidays.  This year, we plan to take a publishing sabbatical from July-August. Generally, our publishing breaks coincide with our children’s school vacations. 
Do you have a staff of thousands, or are you two exceedingly gifted at nonstop working?
Hahaha. It’s the two of us…juggling jobs, families, our writing, etc. You know what they say about busy people? We are her kind. Or just workaholics. Whatever fits the narrative.
Do you want to share who you’re reading now, which art you’re immersed in, or what music is on repeat that inspires you? 
Catherine Esposito Prescott says: I’m re-reading the Bhagavad Gītā at the moment and re-engaging with the work of mystical poets and the Transcendentalists as well as Whitman, a bit of Dickinson, and TS Eliot. I recently completed a 200-hour Jivamukti yoga teacher training course, so the music on repeat (in my mind and in my home) is kirtan…lots of mantra chanting.
 
Jen Karetnick says: I’m reading a ton of journals and lit mags—both print and online. My house is on the market, so I have to donate everything afterward to Goodwill or libraries. As we’re going through our mail in prep for an eventual move, we’ve discovered I have upwards of 20 subscriptions. Some of them I’ve been subscribed to twice, under two different spellings of names (I’m looking at you, Poets & Writers). 
~~~~~~~~~~~~

So there’s the secret sauce. Just keep doing what you love and take time to refill your spirit with inspiration.

What is it you do every single day? Some people publish poetry. Others try to find one simple way to spread kindness. Some write. Some paint. Some sing or drum or work at feeding themselves and their families by picking the grapes that dry into raisins that sweeten my bread. Some get out of bed and that’s enough.

If you have a tiny bit of extra energy, take time to reach out and say hey to someone you admire. Tell them they’re a rock star in your eyes. Then carry on being you.

With kindness.
~Catherine

 

 

 

 

“You will go back to your own life…

I’m on a quest to intentionally incorporate one simple act of kindness into each day for one year. My hope that kindness can change the world feels a little like throwing a glass ball into the ocean and believing it won’t break.

You can call this series: 365 Reasons to Roll Your Eyes, but science says your own happiness will increase if you share the journey.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You will go back to your own life, but what will happen to me?” This simple question, asked years ago by a young boy, haunted a poet / editor friend of mine and ultimately inspired her to publish Collateral Damage, a benefit poetry collection dedicated to children impacted by trauma.

7TZr+hJ6TbusB7Wq0tmW6Q_thumb_2b75

I first met Ami Kaye, that poet and editor, shortly after I embarked on my dream of creating dirtcakes, a literary journal. 

“Exceptional works to replenish the spirit.”

This mission statement of Glass Lyre Press, Ami’s publishing imprint, inspires me. It resonates with my own reasons for wanting to get into publishing, what I hope to accomplish every time I sit to write: “to replenish the spirit.”

I sought out Ami at a writer’s conference in Los Angeles to ask her advice for running an independent literary press, which means one with no institutional financial support.  Ami graciously encouraged me, then painted a picture of how at publication time she rallies a small group of volunteers around her dining room table in Illinois. They make editorial decisions about which literature will further the mission of the press, design covers and interior typesetting, diligently proofread galleys, hand package the books and magazines to be sent out to readers. Finally, someone volunteers to drive the batch to the post office.

All for the love of the word.

For so many creatives – writers, artists, musicians – and the people who promote their work, getting art out to humanity is a gesture of kindness. My lasting impression after first meeting Ami Kaye was that she’s a woman who leads with her heart. 

So I wasn’t at all surprised when I learned to she was putting together a benefit anthology titled Collateral Damage.

“This benefit anthology seeks to raise funds for children with basic survival needs, for programs that protect and educate children, and foster child advocacy. This book will highlight children caught in the crossfire of war and political strife, adult ambition and greed. It will also address the transformative power of love and care. As current custodians of this world we need to protect the future: our children. Only if we work together can we harness the strength to speak up for those not allowed a voice; turning away is not an option anymore.”

I consider myself fortunate to now hold Collateral Damage in my hand. It includes two of my poems alongside powerful work from many of my poetry heroes. Not surprisingly, one of my poems is about sharing bread.

CDamage

Putting precious resources of time and money into a book of poetry as a response to war, famine, abuse, injustice and healing might seem like a small, insignificant act of defiance.

But guess what? Counterintuitively, it may be one of the most effective ways to combat psychic numbing to trauma, whether personally experienced or witnessed through media, by offering our human psyches specific imagery, which is one of the superpowers of poetry. And that’s intriguing considering that the National Endowment for the Arts just reported poetry reading is on the rise, at its highest levels since shortly after 9/11/01.

Poet Naomi Shahib Nye offers insight into how poetry has the ability to uniquely connect humanity in an often quoted essay which appeared on Oprah.com  in early 2002.

“Apparently, the entire United States has taken to reading more poetry, which can only be a good sign. Journalists ask, “Why do you suppose people are finding strength in poetry now?” Those of us who have been reading poetry all our lives aren’t a bit surprised. As a direct line to human feeling, empathic experience, genuine language and detail, poetry is everything that headline news is not. It takes us inside situations, helps us imagine life from more than one perspective, honors imagery and metaphor—those great tools of thought—and deepens our confidence in a meaningful world.”

The allure of poetry, of its ability to find a way “inside situations” and create an impact makes sense according to research on witnessing reactions to wide scale trauma by Paul Slovic, PhD, founder and president of Decision Research, a non-profit organization investigating human judgment, decision-making, and risk. Dr. Slovic has invested much of his career trying to understand why epic tragedies like mass genocide, climate change, refugee crises, create numbing among witnesses rather than mass action.

In a 2018 interview with science reporter Brian Resnick in VOX, Dr. Slovic broke down some key findings:

“People care about individuals. We see it over and over again: There’s a child who needs an operation, his parents can’t afford to pay for this operation, and there’s a story in the newspaper. An outpouring of money donations and support is often tremendous. We do care a lot about individuals. We don’t scale that up, even when we’re capable.

“Individual stories and individual photographs can be effective…they get us to see the reality, to glimpse the reality at a scale we can understand and connect to emotionally. But then there has to be somewhere to go with it.

“These…stories of individuals…give us a window of opportunity where we’re suddenly awake and not numbed, and we want to do something. If there’s something we can do, like donate to the Red Cross, people will do it. But then if there’s nothing else they can do, then over time that gets turned off again.”

So here, in Collateral Damage, are poems, “stories of individuals.” One poem, “An Interdiction Forbidding Mourning: Tehran, 2009” by Susan Fox, is dedicated to “Neda Sultan Agha, shot by a sniper for not wearing a chador.” Another, “The New Breed” by Alison Letterman is “For Emma Gonzalez and the other student activists” who are protesting gun violence. The collection holds heartbreak and paths to redemption. 

After I received my contributor copy of Collateral Damage, I sent Ami Kaye a few questions via e-mail about the back story of the anthology and her hopes for its future. She graciously responded for you, dear readers. 

What inspired this anthology?
During an undergrad semester I worked at a blind school and struck a friendship with a teenage boy. After the day’s lesson I shared stories and poems, he sang songs and told me of his dreams. On my last day he was withdrawn and refused to speak to me. After some prodding he burst out, “You will go back to your own life, but what will happen to me?” His words always stayed with me and I became very conscious of the plight of children. After I became a parent, I was even more aware of the staggering problems facing children, and while I was involved in various ways over the years, I did not have the means to do much. Now with the energy and talent of so many wonderful people, I hope we can do more.

In what ways did the project exhaust or energize you?
The sheer volume of correspondence, reading and selecting work, and the production logistics were daunting, but the response from the literary community warmed our hearts. I think that kind of enthusiasm, the shared dedication, and most of all, the thought of the children energized everyone working on this multi-dimensional project.

What did you have to say “no” to in order to say “yes” to this project?
We did not say no to other projects so last year was difficult for all of us. We ended up with a four-month backlog that has spilled into this year, but we think it is worth getting this project off the ground.

Was there a poem (or more than one) that made you cry?
There were several poems that hit me in the gullet. Some poems were powerful, some arresting, some with vivid visuals, but all had components that bolstered the cause. Taken as a whole, the book gives a voice to those rarely allowed one. I know readers will find a number of poems that speak to them.

Who deserves a shout-out for making this a reality? (I see Tracy McQueen, Steven Asmussen, Linda E. Kim, and Karen Bowles’ names on the front matter. Anyone else? Do you care to say a small detail about something one of them did that made the project as beautiful as it is?)
Steve deserves the lion’s share of praise for production, but Linda Kim and Karen had the painstaking job of copyediting. Karen especially, while wrestling with health issues and an evacuee from the recent California wildfires, somehow found the energy to participate in this project. Tracy’s stark cover art is a wordless poem. Most of all, each and every one of our authors and submitting poets deserves a shout out for their dedication to this cause. That kind of sincerity and emotion humbles me and gives me hope.

Is there one specific organization that will benefit from the proceeds? What impact do you imagine it will have?
We were originally thinking of UNICEF, or we’d like to try an organization more likely to allot a greater percentage of funds directly for the children. We are thinking of Shriner’s Children’s Hospital, and a few others. Please email amikaye.pf@gmail.com with any other suggestions.

Obviously our first hope is to raise money for the children, but sometimes impact comes in unforeseen ways. I hope people will read the heartrending poems and be moved to spread the word and raise awareness for programs that benefit and foster child advocacy.

I’m deeply grateful for all the work that Ami and her team at Glass Lyre put into Collateral Damage and all her other projects.

So, I’m spreading the word. And I’m cheating a little with one of my self-set rules for this Year of Kindness: Don’t use monetary donations as an act of kindness.

I bought three issues. But I’m giving myself a pass because I want to share these three issues with you, especially if you run a writing program where you tackle issues of trauma. If you want a free gift issue of Collateral Damage , please send me an e-mail using the form on the sidebar to your right telling me a little something about why you would appreciate this particular volume.

That’s it.

Then go read some poetry. National Poetry Month is in its waning days, but our psyches thrive on the images, the music, the human connection that poetry gifts us with, and that in turn gives us more inner fire to be kind.

Light the world with kindness,
~Catherine

 

Question: The edge

new flower dance

I’m embarking on a new adventure: to intentionally incorporate one simple act of kindness into each day for one year. My certainty that kindness can change the world feels a little like throwing a glass ball into the ocean and believing it won’t break.

You can call this series: 365 Reasons to Roll Your Eyes, but science says your own happiness will increase if you share the journey.

“This one appeared to me
in a dream…”

What a spring to discover one unexpected aspect of this Year of Kindness: It’s impossible to walk through the world without intent attentiveness: To my family. My friends. To the check-out guy at Trader Joes who thanked me for pointing out what a glorious day it was when he said he woke up feeling cynical and sad with the the world. And to the sky flood of bright orange painted lady butterflies which one incredible March day streamed past me in an endless field of poppies while I stood open-armed, smiling in the midst of their silent migration, which by some estimates numbered in the millions. 

I lived through the Trabuco Canyon drought, the brown days and orange fires. And just like that, with a little respite in the form of plentiful rain, I walk through a wonderland this spring learning to name the flowers. Wild hyacinth. Whispering bells. Mariposa Lilly. Lupine.

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Super Bloom expands for miles in such unimaginable scope it’s impossible to photograph the sweeping hillsides in a way that translates their wonder. So I focus close. One kind act. A blooming purple wild chia. One golden poppy stem.

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A gray grasshopper on my back deck.

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The grasshopper reminds me of the opening lines of Lawson Fusao Inada’s poem, “This One, That One.”

This one appeared to me
in a dream, was forgotten,
only to reveal itself
on the shower wall
this morning.
It must have been the water.

That one was on the full moon
last night, clear as a bell.
Someone projected it there.

Something about the ordinariness of the gray grasshopper, especially in this extraordinarily colorful spring makes me wonder, how do you draw the line between the sacredness of this thing or that? Between this person or that one?

One living grasshopper (Schistocerca nitens) pauses on a now-dead hewn piece of ironwood (Tabebuia ipê) sawed into lumber planks for a deck. Both are listed in the Catalogue of Life, “the most comprehensive and authoritative global index of species… essential information on the names, relationships and distributions of over 1.6 million species…compiled from diverse sources around the world.” There are no borders in the Catalogue of Life .

This gray bird grasshopper, also known as a vagrant grasshopper, can be found in most of the Southwest US, Hawaii, and parts of Central America. The ipê is indigenous to many countries including Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Colombia, French Guiana, Guyana, Paraguay, Peru, Suriname, Trinidad and Tobago, and Venezuela. Yet both ended up in my backyard where there appears to be plenty of room. My backyard isn’t full.

How do we name the edge, the border between this thing and that, when nature herself has no walls?

That one speaks to me
of space, and negative space,
of open and filled spaces,
and the among
that comes between.

This year I’m dwelling in the “open and filled spaces, and the among that comes between.” My #KindInKind acts have taken a deeper turn from bread baking and letter writing, although to date I’ve delivered more than a dozen loaves accompanied by time for conversation and I’ve sent almost 20 hand-written notes. I’m delving into things that keep us humans from being kind; I’m studying with those who work toward commonality rather than exploiting differences.

Last week I attended one of a series of community forums sponsored by the Orange County Interfaith Network, a group whose mission is to “present united faith-based responses to social justice issues, while encouraging respect, civility and the common good.” The theme of the forum was “The more you know, the less you fear.”  University students representing eight different spiritual traditions – Eclectic Pagan, Roman Catholic, Interfaith, Muslim, Christian Church Disciples of Christ, Conservative Judaism, Agnostic, and Bahá’í – shared spiritual experience narratives and created space for dialogue with dozens of community members.

Caroline Kutschbach, President of the Chapman University Religious Honors Society, articulated what could have been a summation of the evening. “It’s my goal to teach people to be more understanding of one another. You may see me as your ‘other,’ but I see an ‘I’ in all of us. All faith trails can lead us to the same peak.”

I’ve walked up many peaks this spring but not on the only trail. I may not have a traditional faith practice, but I came away from that evening with incredible faith in our future, in the way some young people face differences with curiosity, respect, open hearts and open minds, consciously trying to find common ground with one another rather than building walls. We are living proof that it’s possible to embody kindness in the same spirit the Dalai Lama, expresses in his Policy of Kindness.

“This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.”

If you’re inspired to consider why it’s kind work, urgent work, to question boundaries and edges, read the entire poem that my grasshopper find called to mind.

“This One, That One” comes from Lawson Fusao Inada’s book, Drawing the Line, about his experience from ages four to seven in an internment campHe was one of the youngest Japanese Americans forced to relocate during WWII after President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 in February, 1942. The order mandated immediate incarceration of all Americans of Japanese ancestry, roughly 120,000 humans, the majority of which were American citizens.

Inada’s poem, his book, questioning the human edge between this one and that one seems especially right for exploring what kindness must mean in America these days and why it feels like the most important practice to focus on this year.

Here’s to trying to lose our rough edge through kindness.
~Catherine

Is kindness more than skin deep?

I’m embarking on a new adventure: to intentionally incorporate one simple act of kindness into each day for one year. My certainty that kindness can change the world is a little like throwing a glass ball into the ocean and believing it won’t break.

Feel free to call this series: 365 Reasons to Roll Your Eyes, but science says your own happiness will increase if you share the journey.

Maybe this week’s actions aren’t even in the category of kindness. You tell me, according to my definition:

“Kindness is any gesture I make directly to – or on behalf of – myself, my fellow humans, or the environment, as a way of saying, “I see you. I believe we’re interconnected. I recognize your dignity and value. 

Kindness must be offered in a way that arises out of attentiveness to another. No one wants to be felt sorry for as much as listened to. Seen. Heard.”

BreadFace

I’m a white woman.

I mostly bake white bread.

I live in a country where white families are statistically still – as in it’s always been this way – wealthier than non-white families.

I live in a country where white students are statistically still – as in it’s always been this way – scoring higher on standardized testing.

I live in a country where white babies are statistically still – as in it’s always been this way – twice as likely to survive their birth than black babies.

“…recently there has been growing acceptance of what has largely been, for the medical establishment, a shocking idea: For black women in America, an inescapable atmosphere of societal and systemic racism can create a kind of toxic physiological stress, resulting in conditions — including hypertension and pre-eclampsia — that lead directly to higher rates of infant and maternal death…” New York Times Magazine, “Why America’s Black Mothers and Babies Are in a Life-or-Death Crisis” by Linda Villarosa. April, 2018.

Can I spend a whole year dedicated to kindness and not inform myself deeply, and talk about, about these inequities?

I’ve benefitted all my 60 years from being white. I’ve never seen art or literary works by white women hauled out for special attention during “White History Month.” It’s assumed that my whiteness is always visible and on the shelf. Every month is white history month.

Yes, there are fewer women than men represented in the arts, and we’ll get our Women’s History Month in March, but I never have to decide if I should first fight for my race rights or my women’s rights.

When I read books by people of color, I specifically have to seek them out. Representation on book shelves isn’t even close to being equal. For example, when I searched for books in my countywide library system with “kindness” in the title, I got 79 results, none written by a person of color.

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Well, there is that one children’s book about a former slave, written by a white woman, but illustrated by a black man. Does that count? It’s the true story of William “Doc” Key, a former slave. Doc trained his horse Beautiful Jim Key to spell and read by using kindness rather than cruelty. The “Afterword” points out that “Doc and Jim’s legacy lives on in today’s stronger humane movement, better enforced animal anticruelty laws, and greater societal compassion toward animals?” Is it easier for us to advocate for kindness toward animals than kindness to each other?

I have a white dog to whom I’m incredibly kind. I’m friends with black dogs.

 

I subscribe to newsletters: one from Lee & Low Books, “the largest multi-cultural children’s book publisher in the country and one of the few minority-owned publishing companies in the United States”; and another from We Need Diverse Books, a non-profit and grassroots organization of children’s book lovers that “advocates essential changes in the publishing industry. Our aim is to help produce and promote literature that reflects and honors the lives of all young people.”

I follow @goodblackreads@wellreadblackgirl, and @diverseclassics on Instagram to help lead me to books I might not easily find on my own.

In Old English, “kindness” or “kyndness” means “nation.” This is a derivative of “kind.”

Middle English kinde, from Old English (ge)cynde” natural, native, innate,” originally “with the feeling of relatives for each other,” from Proto-Germanic *kundi- “natural, native,” from *kunjam “family”

“With the feeling of relatives for each other…”

What would you do for family? What does any of this have to do with kindness?

If you’re following along with this month’s “Grow your heart” Kindness Calendar, you’ll notice repetition:

February 1: Find ways to volunteer in your community. Send 3 e-mails asking for information from a group.

February 6: Seek out a book or film set in a community different from yours.

February 8: Did you hear back from your 3 volunteer organizations?

February 21: How’s that book / film coming? Read more.

February is Black History Month. I’ve been reading, devouring really, stories about being black in America. Histories. Herstories.

I watched Jada Pinkett Smith’s Red Table Talk: Unpacking White Privilege and Prejudice.

I’ve been listening too. I heard this conversation, after a viewing of BlacKkKlansman:

What was the timeframe for BlacKkKlansman? At least it’s not like that in America anymore. Things are better now.

Better for whom? I’d like for my kin to experience no measurable disparity among races.

In 2019 still, in America, being black is a statistical disadvantage for mental health and physical safety, bad for economic stability, and for representation in books, film, art, dance, music, in boardrooms and for over-representation in the criminal justice system. Anything other than white is still “other.” If you’re shaking your head “no, no, no” right now, take a reading break and go on a search engine scavenger hunt. Look up “weathering hypothesis” and “black infant mortality.” Read “A visual look at discriminatory lending in the U.S.” Look up “US Incarceration Rates by Race.”

If I solely identify as white, I don’t have to spend one second of time or energy fighting racism on my own behalf, or that of my family. I statistically benefit every day from things I did nothing to earn but being born of white parents. This leaves me with a hefty store of reserves for #KindInKind, starting with my February 22 suggestion:  How about that volunteer effort?

I volunteer with the Orange County Human Relations committee to speak about hate crimes: How to identify them, report them, prevent them. I went through hours of training, a background check, fingerprinting, practice.

I’ve been waiting more than a year for someone to call on me to present, to allow me to stand safe on the other side of the podium under the banner of OC Human Relations committee and talk about race issues. I’m happy to speak to you or your group, but I’m not waiting anymore for someone to call to take action.

Do you want more from Black History month than quoting Martin Luther King?

Here are four things you can do to kindly “Grow your heart.”

Read: Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption by Bryan Stevenson.

Just Mercy is an unforgettable account of an idealistic, gifted young lawyer’s coming of age, a moving window into the lives of those he has defended, and an inspiring argument for compassion in the pursuit of justice.”

Listen: The red line: Racial disparities in lending  by Reveal, The Center for Investigative Reporting.

“Forty years ago, Congress passed the Community Reinvestment Act, which required banks to lend to qualified borrowers in blighted neighborhoods. The act aimed to eliminate government-sponsored housing discrimination, known as redlining…Today, a new epidemic of modern-day redlining has crept quietly across America. The gap in homeownership between African Americans and whites is now wider than it was during the Jim Crow era.”

Watch: Slavery by Another Name, a 90-minute documentary.

“It is rare to have the opportunity to bring to television a story that, outside of academic circles, is virtually unknown,” says tpt National Productions’ Catherine Allan, executive producer of the 90 minute documentary for PBS.  “In telling the story of what happened to African Americans over the 80 year period of “neo-slavery”, we hope to add a significant new facet to America’s ongoing discussion about race.”

Write: Write to your library, your children’s school, your church, your market, your favorite book publisher / shoe store / media outlet / pet store. Write a letter that goes something like this:

Dear________________________,

I appreciate all you do.

You know I’ve always been a supporter of ________________, and I know the impact all your great work has in the field of ____________________.

Are you open to a suggestion? In ___________________ (months, years) it seems the number of white (presidents / preachers / teachers / presenters / readers / managers / guest speakers / etc.) far outnumber those who are people of color.

Don’t you think it’s time to make more opportunity and visibility available to the full spectrum of humanity that lives in our country?

Of course I wouldn’t dare make a suggestion without offering resources. I’m here to help in any way I can. (Don’t worry, dear reader. If you write this letter, I’m willing to help you find those resources. #KindInKind.)

Hunh, I really didn’t anticipate a deep dive in this Year of Kindness, but deep I go. That dialogue about race everyone’s saying we need to have? It’s been going on and on and on and as a white woman, I need to listen, to learn, to speak up, to widen my circle of  kynd.

I like white bread.

I like my white dog.

I love my white grandchildren. And I really want them to work with me on changes that create kindness and lasting equality in their lifetime. 

Be well. Be aware. Be kind.
~ Catherine

You don’t need to like me

The Glass Forest

I’m embarking on a new adventure: to intentionally incorporate one simple act of kindness into each day for one year. My certainty that kindness can change the world is a little like throwing a glass ball into the ocean and believing it won’t break.

Feel free to call this series: 365 Reasons to Roll Your Eyes, but science says your own happiness will increase if you share the journey.

I mean I really do appreciate all the like and love clicks. ButI also hope to inspire you to try a few acts of kindness yourself and tell me how it goes. 

It’s been just over a month since I vowed:

“I’m embarking on a new adventure: to intentionally incorporate one simple act of kindness into each day for one year. My certainty that kindness can change the world is a little like throwing a glass ball into the ocean and believing it won’t break.”

My glass globe of kindness is bobbing along but it’s picking up a little drag along the way.

  • What is kindness and why am I doing this anyway?
  • Is kindness different from being nice?
  • What if my kind of kindness takes longer than one day to perform? 
  • Might I disappoint some people in order to be kind to others?
  • How do I define kindness?

After one month of doing everything from hosting a Vision Board Potluck party, to romping through the mud for 7 miles to make my pup happy; from taking my Mom and Dad out to lunch and photographing them, to baking bread for my neighbor, I’m learning a few things. And speaking of learning, I took an intensive weekend-long poetry writing class to be kind to myself and my readers too.

 

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So far, this is my definition:

“Kindness is any gesture I make directly to, or on behalf of, myself, my fellow humans, or the environment, as a way of saying, “I see you. I believe we’re interconnected. I recognize your dignity and value.

Kindness must be offered in a way that arises out of attentiveness to another. No one wants to be felt sorry for as much as listened to. Seen. Heard.”

Don’t worry. It’ll smooth out to sound more poetic by the end of the year.

Another thing: for now, I’m challenging myself to actions, rather than donating to causes. I believe there’s a human connectivity that compels me to acknowledge and be grateful for all the goodness I’ve received. This connectivity is the foundational belief between the name of my project, #KindInKind. I’ve received kindness and I’ll return it, “in kind,” a phrase defined by Merriam Webster Dictionary as “consisting of something (such as goods or commodities) other than money.”

Here’s news to anyone who doesn’t tune in to conversations that take place without shouting. Spreading kindness is an entirely unoriginal idea.

There’s:
Random Acts of Kindness Foundation.
Kindness.org
Doing Good Together
The World Kindness Movement
Spread Kindness.org

To some, kindness means an odyssey, a test of the altruistic limits of humanity as in The Kindness Diaries TV series, or the memoir, The Kindness of Strangers: Penniless Across America by Mike McIntyre.

To others, it’s about creating a grand gesture like One Million Acts of Good.

For all this focus on kindness, you’d think it would be as natural an instinct as breathing, and we’d all be nothing but a big ball of happy. We’ll get there. I firmly believe we will.

Would it surprise you to learn there’s a gender bias about the expectation of kindness?

LeahHug

“Words like kind and responsible, while generally used in a positive way overall, were used more consistently as valued traits for women,” according to a July, 2018 report published by the Pew Research Center, “How Americans describe what society values in men and women.”

So here again, my focus on kindness isn’t surprising. I’m a woman. I should be kind. But so should we all because kindness leads to healthier humans, especially in healthcare settings. Recent research by Stanford University’s Center for Compassion and Altruism found that:

 “The statistical significance of kindness-oriented care on improved health outcomes is larger than the effect of aspirin on reducing a heart attack or smoking cessation on male mortality.”

Even rats are impacted by kindness; they develop empathy for who (or what) is helpful to them and return a favor in-kind. You can read all about it in “Rats rescue robots,” a 2018 research study printed in the science journal Animal Behavior and Cognition. Here’s a compelling excerpt.

“There is even some evidence that rats show a form of indirect reciprocity and will “pay it forward,” by rewarding an unknown, unrelated rat that has never rewarded them, but only if they have experienced reward previously provided by other rats.”

I’ll keep testing the theory that kindness can change humanity and push it more in February with the theme “Grow your heart.” I’m learning about the California land where I live, and that means its natives, both people and plants.

Yes, I still bake and share bread and meals, send cards, make time for deep conversations, and do small gestures like running an errand for a neighbor or visiting family. January’s theme, “Close to home” continues its ripples.

But in February so far I’ve dug deep into the history of the Juaneño Band of Mission Indians, Acjachemen Nation, people who first lived where I live in California, to learn how I might develop curriculum for California schools which still teach a 4th grade mission unit that overlooks first nations. 

I’ve researched a common and prolifically applied weed killer ingredient, Glyphosate, and its ill effects on humans and honeybees and am advocating against its use in my neighborhood.

These acts are more complex than simple random gestures. They frequently take longer than a day to finish and they push me to be brave as I approach those with different ideas than mine. In being kind to one person, I might appear to be not nice to another. Am I doing this right?

As I live my questions in the Year of Kindness, I remain inspired by the wisdom of others like R.J. Palaccio, the author of Wonder, who said in an interview after the film was released:

“I think if anything it takes much more courage to be kind in the face of everything. The choice that you can respond to any situation…with kindness…elevates us as people. It’s what we should aspire to be and aspire to do. Kindness is one of those things: You are made kind by doing kind and being kind.  Now, more than ever, it’s a message that needs to get out there in the world.”

Some remarkable things have already happened.

Orange Basket

I’ve gotten countless e-mails, DMs, texts, and phone calls from folks I know, and some I’ve never met, who say they’re inspired by all this kindness and they too are now walking through 2019 more aware of their fellow human beings.

They’ve committed to one kind act here, a month’s worth of kindness there.

I hired a talented young graphic designer to make a February Kindness Calendar for you. It’s filled with ideas on how to make your month, or week, or day more kind. If you want one, drop me a line and I’ll e-mail you the free downloadable PDF.

I’d also love to read your definition of kindness. As George Saunders said in his speech that went viral on the New York Times website and is now printed as Congratulations, by way: Some Thoughts on Kindness. 

“Because kindness, it turns out, is hard—it starts out all rainbows and puppy dogs and expands to include…well, everything.”

What is your everything? Please tell me.

Until then
Be well. Be aware. Be kind.
~Catherine

I photographed “The Glass Forest” at Chihuly Garden and Glass in Seattle, WA.

Through my mother’s eyes

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I’m embarking on a new adventure: to intentionally incorporate one simple act of kindness into each day for one year. My certainty that kindness can change the world is a little like throwing a glass ball into the ocean and believing it won’t break.

Feel free to call this series: 365 Reasons to Roll Your Eyes, but science says your own happiness will increase if you share the journey.

She said, “Show me how you meditate.”

One of my favorite kind acts of January was sharing mindfulness meditation resources with my mom and dad.

Do you want great ideas for ways to spread kindness in February?

Reach out on the contact form below and I’ll share a gorgeous February calendar to give you a kindness quest for every day. The 8 1/2 x 11″ printable PDF calendar is free. It’s intentionally designed by Monica Greene, a young artist I’m crazy about.

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From her design stylesheet:

“That leads me to the color palette. Flowers such as primrose and violet are often associated with February as they are the first flowers to bloom in the cold. I thought this imagery was beautiful as they are harbingers of spring and better things to come and your calendar is serving as a harbinger of positivity and beauty in the winter month…

The leaves are from the Ash tree, another symbol for February and by calling on the tree a source I read says, “…you are seeking a clarification for your own vision and path”. I thought this calendar could be the clarification needed…”
Monica Greene

Go be kind.
Share your kindness journey at #KindInKind
~Catherine