Oh, Summer Days
On saying YES and choosing pleasure
☀️ Do you wish long summer days would last and last? ☀️
US TOO.
That's why Isabella Dellolio and I created an August retreat designed to be doable no matter how much you have on your plate this summer.
Register now, so that when August sneaks up on us, you'll have a long, languorous, relaxing, and delicious summer day to look forward to, one where all you have to do is show up.
What you can expect:
Write from the heart, play with low-stakes art-making, eat, laugh, let down, connect with yourself in ways you might not usually make time for, and wind up with a gorgeous, professional portrait to use in whatever way you wish.
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THE EARLY BIRD RATE ENDS TOMORROW, JUNE 30.
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Sign up now to save $75 AND get a free copy of my new book, Fierce Encouragement: 201 Writing Prompts for Staying Grounded in Fragile Times.
There are a bunch more juicy details on Isabella’s website, so hop on over.
If you feel pulled to say YES, say YES!
We would love to share this day with you.
Feel free to reach out to either of us if you have any questions!
🍒🌿 this great web of being 🫐🍓
{a Sunday freewrite}
A swim, watermelon dripping down my chin, ripe peaches and Rainier cherries, daylilies everywhere, a warm breeze in the shade, starting a new novel. On days like today, I want summer to stretch out forever, in part because I know it won't. I am never not aware of the luck, luxury, and privilege of having days like this, even as I am always aware that I have no paid time off, no retirement fund. This, and this. Our country makes it impossible not to consider both, at least for me.
More and more, I understand Mary Oliver's wisdom of letting the soft animal of your body love what it loves, of choosing pleasure, or relishing desire, of savoring the simple joys like sitting in a chair reading a book, like hearing birds singing (and ignoring the leaf blower or whatever the heck is making that godawful noise), of eye contact and the power of saying hello, of rinsing guilt down the drain with the last of the pickle brine, of eating homemade strawberry jam by the spoonful that was a gift from one of our grown-ass children, of watching a hawk circle round, of realizing we are all caught in this great web of being, with nothing that isn't in it with us – good, evil, love, hatred, indifference, apathy, attentiveness, care, carelessness, quirky devotion, babies standing on their own two feet for the first time, memory, history, and layers and layers of story as dense as phyllo dough, all the way to the hot core of things.
Oh, Queen of Wands and King of Swords, you sit at the heads of the table making love with your eyes, your knives and forks, at once creative magic and decisive logic serving as many as we can squeeze in at the table. Make a bigger table, they say. There is enough for all of us. Somehow, somehow, someday. And this is why I always end up feeling like everything leads to prayer, everything ends up with a "may it be so" and a "how do we get there," touching a mezuzah as I go in, whispering as I mentally map my kids in my mind, wondering if a shelter of peace is possible and knowing that I won't be able to be part of it if I am unwilling to see what hurts to see, unwilling to wrestle in the night with angels and demons, unwilling to listen outside of my echo chamber. But I like it in here, comes a quiet protest from some other self. I understand, I say. You can stay. I will venture out and report back.
And so it goes.