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one afternoon last week, in a long string of nameless days, i received what at the time felt like some really wretched news in the mail. when i read the brief letter, maybe three sentences that seemed calloused and cold, i felt a heavy sinking in my chest that left an empty hole. or, so i thought. the sun had been shining that afternoon, and great clouds blew in from the south/southwest; within a minute or two the bottom fell out of the sky, with grey sheets falling straight down, fast and hard, between here and those familiar western mountains. don't ask me why, i can't even say why, but i ran out to the porch, grabbed that beloved buddha, and carried him out onto the open deck into the pouring rain: it seemed like the thing to do, a cleansing ritual that was long, long, long overdue. there was something incredible about the light - watery, liquid, filtered light that shed relief over everything in sight. we've had not much rain here in the south for weeks, and now here it was, falling down onto the green summer leaves, on my bare tank top shoulders, on my tear-streaked face, onto the shut-eyed smile of my quiet buddha. it was a cleansing rain, gentle and steady and true, and i had the wisdom to run back inside, grab my camera, and come back out to capture the moment for everything that it was.
as quickly as the thunderstorm came, it stopped and passed on over the surrounding mountains to some other, unseen cove. the clouds, i am utterly serious here, cracked open overhead to the deepest, bluest sky that lay beyond those billowy edges of white. i stood there glancing up and out, drenched and amazed, then turned and went back in to find a scrub brush and a bowl of warm, soapy water. it was a wonderful thing to stand there on that wet deck in my bare feet and wash the buddha that has been in this house with me for six years without ever having had a single bath. out went the hurt, and the gap in my chest; in came compassion and strength. i will be just fine. already, i pass through entire days when not an aching moment of sadness descends. i think of this, and - hungry as i am for a map, for a plan - i understand with faith and gratitude that there is a promise of fresh new things that wait for me, ahead.
i've been waiting to talk to you all about a project i've been working on in the quiet days after daddy's passing; the final components are not yet back here with me at the house, and i'm anxious for the time to come when i will be able to pull them all together. i'll wait until i have a piece assembled before i show it to you; for now, imagine the shape of a heart in weathered brass that features daddy's words, with a charm of direction dangling at the bottom. for now, i'll tell you this much: think back to early april when i was rushing back and forth from here to alabama and back again, then boarding a plane to fly out to port townsend, washington to teach for three days at artfest. i was worried about being so far from home, in the midst of daddy's rapid decline; i worried for my exhausted mother, most of all. still, i managed to go, to be fully there, to teach, and to take jewelry to sell that i'd somehow pulled together in a matter of three short, chilly weeks in march. two days after flying home on an overnight red eye flight, i drove back down to alabama, and was once again able to stand there at daddy's side. there were many, many profound and beautiful things that he said to me in those following weeks - nearly a month was i there, listening and taking notes and being In The Moment, there with my mother, there with him. the first thing he said to me upon my return, when i explained (over and over) that i'd had to leave, to go out west to teach, was this: "Traveling is not for babies. You ought to design a piece of jewelry that features those very words. I know it would sell", and i nodded and promised him that i would. i can remember the piercing, direct look in his eyes when he was saying this to me; i'll never forget that moment, ever. you know most of the rest of the story, with daddy; i'm sure bits and pieces of it will surface for me to share with you from time to time, but for now let me explain that i carried those words safely, firmly in my heart all the way back home with me. when enough time had passed that i could summon the energy to walk back into the studio, i began working on something that i'd like to offer here in the next week or so. it is in daddy's memory, and making the final piece in which he was so directly involved has brought me much comfort and peace.
daddy is everywhere here, i might add. on a daily basis, i am running across little notes that he had written to me in past years, snippets of his words and heart that i had tucked away. i do not consider it a coincidence that i am now suddenly finding them again; they rest within the front covers of antique books that i randomly pull from a shelf to see what might be inside, they are nestled in an outdated address book that i've decided to toss, they hide under a pile of things on a corner of my disheveled studio table. i'm no longer surprised when a note turns up, just like that; hello, daddy. i know that you are always here with me.
here is the necklace that i have in these past days made for myself, using the words that in april daddy shared with me. part of the chain is constructed from his old broken army i.d. bracelet, from 1943 (it had rested in his dresser drawer for all those many years, and was given to me by mama as i was leaving to come back home); part of it is fashioned from one of my mother's, which features her family nickname of endearment (her baby brother, my beloved uncle bob, could not pronounce elizabeth, so forevermore she has been ebers), from 1946. i wear this necklace daily, as a talisman of love. i wear it, in rain or in shine, as i walk and as i rest, and the silver grows warm next to my skin. the silver grows warm, from our love.
xo

obsessions

Cathy Cullis
i find much joy in the words and art and connection with/of my london friend Cathy Cullis; her embroidered artwork, her dolls, her drawings and poetry all make me gasp. go take a look for yourself - you'll see what i mean.
Julie Whitmore Pottery
Julie's pottery is whimsical and dear - a true reflection of her beautiful spirit, and i have amassed quite a little collection of cups, tiny plates, a bowl with a robin holding a forget me not in its mouth. be careful, though - her work is addictive!
Kate Phillips - painting, vessels
check out kate's beautiful prints, and her really wonderful little torso vessels. kate is from scotland, living in san francisco, and i am beyond smitten with everything she creates...
Malaprop's Bookstore/Cafe - Asheville
my favorite bookstore - an independent one, of course, and in downtown asheville. go inside, have a cup of soy chai latte, and browse amongst the extensive collection of poetry, fiction, and art books for as many hours as you can spare...

Photo Albums

Comments

Hello Nina, I have SO missed your wonderful posts! I love the peaceful smile of the buddha, the words your Daddy passed on to you and the fabulous necklace of memories.

You are strong.
You can do this.
You are going to be fine.

Posted by: sue | June 13, 2011 at 11:08 AM

Nina few days ago i saw very vivid dream where i was visiting in USA and saw you there. I have been thinking of you so much, hoping that your heart do not feel so heavy.

love.

Posted by: delila | June 13, 2011 at 11:11 AM

How wonderful that the project you recently mentioned to me is coming to fruition. I am so anxious to to see it! And the cleansing rain....so perfect. Sure wish we could take a walk and chat about charting the course of our lives!!! But I know one thing for certain...we shall travel with strength, grace and anticipation of the joys to come.... xoxo, dear one

Posted by: Nilene | June 13, 2011 at 11:22 AM

I've missed your words,your pictures,but most of all I've missed Nina ;o)

Posted by: Denise S. | June 13, 2011 at 11:25 AM

traveling is not for babies. for many reasons this message is of utmost importance to me right now. thanks, nina's daddy-- you really are everywhere.

Posted by: janet | June 13, 2011 at 11:29 AM

Beautiful, brought a tear to my eye. Thank you for sharing, as always. And I LOVE that quote from your dad-travelling really is not for babies.

Posted by: Erin | June 13, 2011 at 11:34 AM

to really take in the journey of life.....your Daddy is right-- not for babies. Thanks for sharing your 'awakeness'......
missy from the bayou

Posted by: missy | June 13, 2011 at 11:37 AM

a healing rain, the clouds breaking, the sun and beautiful blue sky smiling down on you. i am a firm believer that we are given exactly what we need at exactly the time we need them. the path you've been traveling, the journey you've been on....your work will be different from now on, i believe, because of such a life-changing event....one that proves indeed, traveling is not for babies. yes, my dear, you will be just fine. xo

Posted by: Tina in McLeansville | June 13, 2011 at 11:41 AM

traveling. moving from place to place and moment to moment. . .moving on, moving forward, getting through. . .one moment or one step or one day at a time. . .

"Traveling is not for babies." Words of wisdom shared between you and your sweet Daddy and now shared by you with all of the daughters out here who need the reminder and the affirmation. . .

Thank you so much for sharing.

Posted by: Karen | June 13, 2011 at 12:10 PM

Oh, it is so good to hear this note of peace in you, Nina. Yes, your Daddy is there with you. I'm glad you recognize his little whispers.

Posted by: nelda ream | June 13, 2011 at 12:26 PM

It is so like you to take pain and turn it into something beautiful. I don't know who wrote you the cold and calloused letter, but you need to cut people like that out of your life. There always seems to be someone in your life bent on hurting you. They're pitiful, but nobody can fix them and you needn't give them heart-room.

Posted by: Diana B | June 13, 2011 at 12:35 PM

What a beautiful token of love to where around your neck.

Posted by: Adrienne Berry | June 13, 2011 at 12:53 PM

he will always be there, nina. in ways that are quiet (and sometimes loud). it was 19 yrs ago when i unexpectedly said goodbye to my father...and yet, he has been right here in subtle ways since. when i am 'listening', i notice. sending you healing thoughts...warmly,s

Posted by: sperlygirl | June 13, 2011 at 12:53 PM

damn, you pulled so much together to make one wonderful post. a little clarity from buddha, messages from your daddy and firefly magic can go a long way. x

Posted by: julie | June 13, 2011 at 01:57 PM

Peace be with you, Nina. xxoo

Posted by: Jennifer | June 13, 2011 at 02:32 PM

Your wisdom is growing through this pain. I thank you for sharing all of it with us, with me. The necklace is a treasure that will carry you through.

Posted by: Judi | June 13, 2011 at 02:59 PM

Yes, rituals & talismen.

Posted by: Cynthia | June 13, 2011 at 03:59 PM

So very happy that you had that wodnerful cleansing rain- you and Buddha!!! You are going to be just fine with all of your Dad and Mom with you, in everything that you do!!!!

Posted by: Elizabeth Woodford | June 13, 2011 at 04:04 PM

Even the sky knows your needs. Beautiful. ox

Posted by: stephanie | June 13, 2011 at 04:10 PM

i am always, ALWAYS so shocked when you post about people who send negative remarks to you. i am both enraged by, and saddened for, them. but God is so good; He literally showered you with grace and strength...

remembering you always, and holding you so very close in my heart this weekend. xxoo

Posted by: mary | June 13, 2011 at 04:34 PM

Beautiful... everything... and moving as all your work - words and work - always is, thank you.

Posted by: Valerianna | June 13, 2011 at 05:00 PM

wonderfully beautiful, Nina. I am remembering now when my grandmother passed away that I began finding her little notes nestled among my things, and it seems when I most need her, I find them again. what a wonderful, magical, mysterious world we live in.

Posted by: Katie | June 13, 2011 at 05:17 PM

happy buddha bubbles. we must find the inspiration and guidance as we can. i am looking and praying for some of my own today... magic is everywhere, and love.

Posted by: Vickie | June 13, 2011 at 05:53 PM

Cleansing rain, warm silver and quiet moments. Such is your journey, my dear one.

Posted by: herhimnbryn | June 13, 2011 at 06:16 PM

What a gift you have, to craft such a powerful talisman. (And the Buddha story is beautiful, both in image and spirit.)

Posted by: Lynn in Tucson | June 13, 2011 at 07:32 PM

Thank you for this post, Nina.
Your storytelling brought tears to my eyes - the Buddha in the rain and your Daddy's words.
And, your beautiful necklace is a labor of love - so special. As are you.

xo dusan

Posted by: susan | June 13, 2011 at 07:58 PM

How beautiful to see Buddha in the rain, how cleansing it is too. It is so simple yet at the same time so complex and strong.......... how lovely to hear your daddy's words and I love that you made that talisman to wear everyday.

Posted by: Linda | June 13, 2011 at 10:28 PM

The Buddha has bestowed you with a great gift. The grieving continues, but the peace of the everyday and the beauty of your life has wrapped itself around you.
You are truly living in the moment...
The last photo is proof.

Posted by: Farmlady | June 13, 2011 at 11:27 PM

"Traveling is not for babies".

How right your daddy was.

When I read that I thought:

Yes, this life is tough, and it is hard, and sometimes almost too much to bear. But this world is not our home. We are all travelers--pilgrims, seeking a better city, an eternal city, not built by hands..a dwelling place, a resting place, where there is no night and no sorrow and the Son is in the midst, wiping away all tears and giving light, peace, rest, and eternal joy.

Thank God, this world is not my home, but a temporary sojourn. And thank God that Jesus has prepared a place for us, a place called Heaven, a refuge and dwelling place where we will no longer be travelers and pilgrims.

But while we dwell in this body, this shell, here on earth, we will have no permanent ease, no place of constant rest. Our roses come with thorns.

Yes--your daddy is right...traveling is not for babies.

This Christian hymn comes to mind:

"This world is not my home.
I'm just passing through.
My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue.
The angels beckon me to heaven's golden door.
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore."

And your daddy's shell may be in the grave, but his spirit lives beyond the grave, eternally vigilant. He is not gone, merely out of sight. His spirit exists as surely as yours, mine, and the rest of humanity--forevermore.

Posted by: Dinahsoar | June 13, 2011 at 11:46 PM

You have traveled to 'true north.' And, yes, it's not a journey for babies.

Posted by: Michele Unger | June 14, 2011 at 01:17 AM

beautiful & heartffelt & touching & real ~ your generosity of soul is so nurturing. Thank You

Posted by: lizzie | June 14, 2011 at 01:26 AM

Great to hear from you and I hope your healing process is continuing. It takes time - I lost my father almost 14 years ago and still miss him - but it gets better and now I can talk about him and think of him with a smile:-)

Posted by: Stefanie | June 14, 2011 at 06:57 AM

So happy that there are fleating moments of peace, these moments will turn into hours then days. You are a changed person because of this experience, that what living is all about. There is even more of a loving and appreciative soul in you now. It's not what happens to you in life, it's what you do with it - peace on your new journey.

Posted by: peggy mcdevitt | June 14, 2011 at 07:51 AM

when some flowers and herbs are stepped on, they exude only fragrance. you are such a radiant, beautiful blooming fragrant creation of God's love...and as i just read from my devotional: a year with rumi..."you are as you are~an indescribable message on the air"
love & blessings,
abigail

Posted by: rusted wings | June 14, 2011 at 08:24 AM

Talisman jewelry, the best kind. I have a feeling you will be wearing this one more than any other. I recently made myself a talisman earring....I have worn it every day since I made it...and I have been noticing some odd coincidences (?). (Very nice ones I might add.) I don't discount that sort of thing. I wonder what you will be open to as you wear it? Love ,comfort and a sense of peace I am thinking.

Posted by: Gayle | June 14, 2011 at 10:37 AM

What beautiful insight you have been given. Your silver lining has showed itself and you were there to receive it.
Your necklace is wonderful -- so full of meaning and memories!
Hugs to you and Walter,
Lori B.

Posted by: Lori Burek | June 14, 2011 at 11:29 AM

How absolutely wonderful that you came into possession of your parents' bracelets and how marvelous is the talisman which you have fashioned from them!

Posted by: Jan | June 14, 2011 at 01:00 PM

mmmmmmmm. so good to read your posts. the necklace both power and gentleness all in one....
looking forward to seeing and hearing more.
thankyou
mmmmm. buddha cleansing

Posted by: sandra | June 14, 2011 at 01:09 PM

Nina -- That picture of your clean buddha in the after-rain light is beautiful. Your talisman necklace is also beautiful. Your daddy is right -- "Traveling is not for babies" resonates with so many of us. Those of us who literally travel as well as those of us who journey beyond ourselves, beyond our zones of comfort. Those of us on the journey of life. So a piece -- pieces! -- with that simple sentence would surely sell. I am glad to hear of your own journey and looking forward as always to your next post. Sending you prayers and good wishes during this difficult time.

Posted by: Mary G. | June 14, 2011 at 02:10 PM

Beautiful post! I stopped by today during a cleaning break. Reading your beautiful words, seeing your lovely images and your special necklace are just what I needed to carry on.

Sharon

Posted by: Sharon | June 14, 2011 at 02:58 PM

Amen, Sistah!
x to the power of o
S

Posted by: Susan Sewell | June 14, 2011 at 03:20 PM

I love the post. Love the necklace. I have no mementos from my father. My grandmother selfishly kept them for years and years, then when she passed, my aunt took them. Someday.

Posted by: Lee | June 14, 2011 at 08:57 PM

Hello, Nina! I just found my way here, not sure how I landed her, but very glad I did! But how very sorry I am to learn of your father's passing. Your necklace is a beautiful talisman & memory. I just took a peek at your Etsy shop and very much admire your jewelry. I used had a jewelry shop on Etsy for some year, but have this year created a new shop with mix of jewelry and prayer/love flags. I'm a Buddhist practitioner, and just love your rainy Buddha photos. Looking forward to visiting here again. Make you be keeping well of body, strong of mind. I send a comforting white light to surround & comfort you at this time. :o)

Posted by: Tracy | June 15, 2011 at 07:57 AM

I came back today because what your dad said about traveling really resonated with me on a deeper level. It surfaced today for me.

As time goes on or we age(have you pick?) traveling becomes an issue in our lifestyle.

Just how close do we wish to remain close to home? how far do we want to venture away? how safe is it for us to travel? does it work for us and our lifestyle? is it worth it?

I have lost some associates because of my disdain for "traveling".

One of the reasons I love the internet is because we have the globe at our fingertips. I was once afraid to try some of the new mediums such as skype, webinars, instant messaging.

I've participated in some of these mediums and it works for me. Your dad had it right. Traveling is not for babies.

I wish more of my associates were not babies too.(although they won't acknowledge it) If they were the traveling kind I'd just sit here and let them come to me.

Posted by: sandra | June 15, 2011 at 02:27 PM

My Dear Nina...You always touch my heart and inspire me to feel and see things in a different way.

Many blessings to you

Posted by: lindy mcclellan | June 15, 2011 at 04:43 PM

First off, I am sorry for your loss..and can so emphasize with you. In March I lost my mom, at the age of 58, she was killed while crossing in a crosswalk at an intersection. Her and my stepdad were all packed up and moving back to NY from Florida..she was killed in New Jersey. My heart has ached every moment since. I denied to myself that their was an afterlife..but have been given so very many signs..I feel like it is slapping me in the face..It was nice to read about your signs..god bless..

Posted by: jenn | June 15, 2011 at 05:28 PM

An incredibly beautiful post about an incredibly heartless event, thank you for the inspiration, the example you are of dealing with adversity.

Posted by: Sharron | June 15, 2011 at 09:51 PM

What a beautiful and inspiring post. Thank you for sharing it. The piece you created is just lovely and a wonderful tribute.

Posted by: Maria | June 16, 2011 at 11:48 PM

What a cathartic cleansing you and the buddha took together. And together is where you will always be with you father!

Posted by: Seth | June 18, 2011 at 01:15 AM

"Traveling is not for babies" - so true and such a coincidence. Just minutes before reading this, I was visiting another favorite blog of a woman who loves to travel and is often flying off to faraway places as if it were nothing. I dread traveling and told her that sometimes I don't even feel like crossing the street!

Posted by: Anna Maria | June 19, 2011 at 10:42 AM

Just thinking of you, Nina.
It's my first Father's Day without my dad too. Sending you love and prayers to help you through today.

Posted by: susan | June 19, 2011 at 02:44 PM

Nina Your budda is alive and beautiful ...... And I mean looking alive with that rain pouring down. Amazing photos, Amazing you xxoo

Posted by: Minnie | June 20, 2011 at 02:04 AM

Nina, what a wonderful, uplifting post. My mother is dying from cancer. Even now she lays asleep in her bed, too weak to do anything more. I hope in the coming days and weeks I can find the same solace that you experienced in that sudden rainshower.

Thank you.

Posted by: Alice | June 21, 2011 at 05:00 PM

Travels, journeys, discoveries ... not for babies. Not for the faint-of-heart.

Posted by: Jenny Doh | June 23, 2011 at 11:30 AM

I love that it features ur mama and papa's bracelets, that her nickname is "Ebers" and that you are here with words again. I love your words. Your pictures. Your makings. Your love for your parents. The way you honour them. The simplest things but again you remind me how important it is to stay authentic and real. There's so much pressure on me to be otherwise sometimes, its like rain in the dessert for me, coming here.

Posted by: rachelle | June 24, 2011 at 02:09 PM

This is a lovely necklace, Nina. Your father's words, juxtaposed with his army ID bracelet - created by your skillful, creative hands. Perfect.

I was so very sorry to hear about your Dad's passing. For the loss of a parent, there really are no words. I too, lost my Daddy to cancer - four years ago - and as I read your experience I instantly recalled his extreme lows, unexpected highs, and back to the lows again and again. This type of death is so difficult - both for the victim and his family.

Please know you have been in my thoughts, and I wish you peace - and the joy of memories shared with him.

Deb

Posted by: Deb | June 25, 2011 at 01:23 PM