Your New Moon Creations (Full Worm Moon)

When it comes to launching a new endeavor, some pieces go forward with a bang and others start small and grow. We began Modern Creative Life with a way to be of service to other creatives and build connection with our #NewMoonCreative Prompts with the promise to circle back around and see what was created.

The full moon will bless us tonight, which means it’s time to celebrate how our creative endeavors have come to bloom. We have a tiny offering this month in response to New Moon in Pisces and here is a taste of what was created in response to our “New Moon Creative” prompts:

Nothing says new beginnings like a brand new journal. #newmooncreative

A photo posted by Becca Rowan (@becca.rowan) on


Our next New Moon Creative is April 7th .

We hope you’ll join us and share your creations with us.

Why Not? by Sue Ann Gleason

art journal_500

She is the first in line. With her collage and splash painting standing precariously between her carry on and camera bag, she reaches into her purse for her ID and hands it to the ticket agent at the United Airlines counter.

“Are you the artist?” asks the agent.

Looking behind her for the artist and finding none, she turns back to the agent and sputters, “No, this was just an exercise. I was playing with watercolors.”

“You should frame it,” she says.

Getting through airport security is always an adventure. The woman ahead of her fills five plastic bins. Toiletries, shoes, and various electronic devices tumble and spill as fellow travelers grab their belongings and scramble to make their flights. Grabbing her carry on items from the conveyor belt she shuffles back into her shoes and glances at her poster boards to see how they fared. The collage is still intact but the watercolor piece looks a little tattered. The gentleman standing beside her asks, “Are you an artist?” “No,” she replies. “Just playing in paint.” He smiles and says, “I like it.”

The airport is especially busy this morning, people bumping and jostling their way through the crowd, all in a very big hurry to get to their next destination. At least she’s early. She likes having time to dally a bit before catching her plane. Sourdough bread. Yes, she can’t leave San Francisco without a loaf of that. The line isn’t too long, thankfully. The woman in front or her chooses a thick, creamy soup ladled into a hollowed out, crusty sourdough bowl. For a minute she contemplates the same but the thought of savoring bits and pieces of that loaf on the long flight home is far more appealing. She reaches for a little jar of blueberry jam. The young man behind the cash register asks, “Are you the artist?” She looks at her watercolor splash and thinks, why not

“Yes,” she replies.
 

About the Author: Sue Ann Gleason

Sue Ann GleasonNourishment guide, SoulCollage® Facilitator, and ‘wise business’ strategist, Sue Ann Gleason is a lover of words, a strong believer in the power of imagination, and a champion for women who want to live a more delicious, fully expressed life. She has been featured in Oprah and Runner’s World magazines and numerous online publications.

When not working with private clients or delivering online programs, Sue Ann can be found sampling exotic chocolates or building broccoli forests in her mashed potatoes.

You can connect with her in a few different places. Delicious freebies await you!
nourished living | wise business | instagram

 

Jump Dive Leap by A.R. Hadley

Clouds forming all around me
Afraid to be myself
Afraid to write
Want to take flight

JumpLeapDiveWriteInto the unknown
Deep
Where no one can find me
Can I find me
Can I see myself there
In obscurity
Is what I have worth sharing

Myself
Losing the ability to trust that mirror

Forming words out of fear
Contemplating
Is it good enough
Reminding myself
That it is for me
To live
To breathe
To tell
To testify
To be alive
It is for the positivity
It is for the energy
It can only be truly seen
By those with an open heart
By those free
By those unafraid
By those willing to leap

About the Author: A.R. Hadley

ARHadleyBioA.R. Hadley has been a creative writer since elementary school, however, she all but gave it up after her children were born, devoting herself to the lovely little creatures, forgetting the pleasure and happiness derived from being imaginative.

No more.

She rediscovered her passion in 2014, and has not stopped since — writing essays, poetry, and fiction. A.R is currently working on a set of novels as part of a romantic trilogy, and also dabbles in penning short stories.

Day or night, words float around inside her brain. She hears dialogue when awakening from sleep. She is the one who has been awakened. Writing is her oxygen.

Connect on Twitter and Facebook.

Letter: Words Unspoken by Caroline Persson

To my Love…

The first time I met you was five years ago. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than a cup of coffee between two friends; you were just passing through on your way to somewhere else on a road trip through my country.

Letter WritingThen I saw you, and my heart forgot how to beat as it recognized you from somewhere else. Another time. Another life. Or maybe from a dream.

You must have felt it, too, because that one cup of coffee lasted for a week.

One week of laughter, of time with me and my daughters. One week of seeing you sleep with my youngest girl on your chest during the afternoons, and that’s the moment that I knew that this was where we all belonged: right there, together, was where we would find home.

When the week had passed, you needed to leave and I understood. You had places to be, things to see. Three more weeks until you had to return to work.

So you left…

One week went by, then two…

And you came back. You didn’t visit all the places you’d planned to because you wanted to return to us.

I was given one more week of sleeping with my head on your chest and your arms around me. I was in heaven. We never even did anything really special – just family things. And yet it was the most amazing time for all four of us.

We both knew it couldn’t last, but we never said anything about it. Not out loud.

Time went by fast and you returned to your work and your studies across the sea. We kept contact. I made some things right and I made some things wrong but you always understood and I always tried not to show to much of what I felt. (May I add that I’m really bad at not showing my feelings?)

You always told me to not put my life on hold for you. You didn’t want a relationship, couldn’t have one. There was just no time, no possibility, no chance to make it work.

I always told you it was okay, even though somewhere inside of me I knew it wasn’t. But I accepted it: this is how things had to be.

More time passed by… You wanted me to come to you and I never even thought twice about it: I just got the ticket and left to follow my heart.

I thank the greater power every day for giving me that one more week with you.

You were working when I was there but I didn’t mind because we were together. I spent the days exploring the city, reading a book with a coffee in my hand and getting what I needed from the store to have dinner ready when you came home.

I was in my own paradise because I shared it with you, but still, the insecurity of the young woman I was lingered, always present just under the surface.

There were moments when that part got the best of me –  moments when I let silent tears fall while lying in your arms. Moments when you were sleeping and I told you I loved you, words I could never speak while you were awake.

I knew you couldn’t be with me. I knew it would break your heart to hurt me. But it made me love you even more.

I loved you for always ‘hurting’ people with the truth rather than making them happy with a lie, even when the person was me. I don’t think I have ever thanked you for that, maybe someday I will.

After I left, we stayed in touch the way people do these days: Facebook, email, the occasional phone call, but we still haven’t seen each other again.

Five years… You told me not to wait, you told me to find someone to love me because you couldn’t give me what I deserved… So I did; I found someone.

But what I did was wrong for all of us.

I entered the relationship with the thought that I would make it work just to show you I really could. I was childish in my actions, and for that I’m truly sorry.

When he asked me to marry him after just a short while I said yes, but then I wrote you an email asking you to stop me, telling you that all you needed to do was say you wanted me the way I want you and I wouldn’t go through with it.

Of course you didn’t. Instead, you wished me luck. But I could read between the lines. I could see that just as you’d hurt me, I had hurt you, too. By not stopping me, you tore my heart in two but worse still, I hurt us both because of stupidity.

I got married, and I stayed that way for a while but our contact never stopped and my love for you never faltered. In time even my own husband knew that my heart wasn’t in the relationship I had with him.

He asked me a few times about you, and I told him you were – are – my closest friend, and that I’ll never give you up.  He knew, because it was etched in my eyes and face, that I would never come to love him like I love you, and in time that knowledge is what killed our marriage.

Since then, I’ve been on my own, just me and my daughters who are growing up fast, but they remember you. They still talk about you. They always have. (My youngest one told me at one point to kick my ex-husband out and marry you instead. If only it were so easy!)

Every time they make a picture of us, you are always in the picture too. Every time they write our names, there’s always your name too. They haven’t seen you in five years, still you’re always in their hearts and minds.

Love like that is pure and hard to find.

My mother asked me a while ago why I don’t start dating again, and all I could do was to tell her the truth:  If it’s not you then I’d rather just be on my own. It’s not worth it. I’m doing really good by myself with my girls by my side. We are strong and happy. Why would I change that for someone I do not even know?
My heart and soul belong to you and you alone, and while I hold out the hope that we will, someday, be able to be together, if it should happen that you meet someone who fits better into your life, then I hope you will find the greatest possible love with them.

How strong is my love for you? I love you enough to wish you love and laughter and children of your own. I love you enough to live my life without you if it is what I have to do.

But most of all, I just love you.

Image Copyright: dedivan1923 / 123RF Stock Photo

About the Author: Caroline Persson

Caroline PerssonCaroline Persson is the founder of Perfect Balance. She lives in Osby, Sweden with her two daughters, where she enjoys reading, writing, and family silliness, all punctuated by cups of coffee. Find out more about her on her website: Perfect Balance, or on Facebook.

Seducing My Creative Life by Debra Smouse

I chose “Create” as my word for 2016 and so far this year, I’ve written less than I have the last four years. It’s a cosmic joke when we choose a guiding word and it challenges us. I try to laugh about it, but I’m the first to admit MyWord2016DebraSmousethat I’m feeling incredibly frustrated. I’m not writing as many blog posts or making much progress on my next book. I’m not doing morning pages or writing in my journal consistently.

I’m not even consistently making my to do lists.

There are external circumstances: some travel, household renovations, etc. My Inner Wisdom whispers that it’s not exactly true.  Beyond the external distractions and demands, the deeper truth is that I am evolving as a creative being and that means that I must create in different ways to grow into that next evolution.

That brings us to the real truth around my lack of writing in the year I chose Create as my guiding word: FEAR.

In order to write differently, I have to go into the unknown. I must leave the comfy routines that have sustained me over the last few years and shift them. My inner critic is digging in her little heels, crossing her arms, and protesting this need to change.

I know I’m not alone in this, but fear also convinces us that we are the only one who could possibly be feeling this.

I’d read a blog post about Bullet Journals and wondered if it would be a helpful. I Googled it like crazy, read tips, and went on Amazon to purchase a (serviceable) black journal Leuchtturm1917 notebook to experiment with the process. It was serviceable and delicious. Not only would the journal fit into my purse with ease, but it was all kinds of delicious in the details: index at the front, numbered pages, two bookmarks, a pocket, and sewn in pages so it lays flat. A solution!

The main purpose for a Bullet Journal for me was all those To Dos that were slipping past me. I’d finally have a place to keep up with all those little things John would toss out like… “the next time you’re at the Auto Parts store, would you pick up…”. Of course, I never go to the auto parts store, but I pass one frequently and having it down on paper would be that reminder I needed.

servedmewellNow I had all those needs, requests for unusual items, and practical lists of tasks with due dates in one place.

Which is when it clicked: I was willing to buy a $19 notebook to hold lists of all my tasks, but I was using $4 sketch books (less if I had a coupon!) for my “real” words.

Don’t get me wrong. Those sketch books and the three solid years of using them were part of my own healing process when it comes to putting my words on paper.

A big part of my coaching philosophy is to encourage clients to use the good stuff. Wear the expensive perfume daily. Use the china for Thanksgiving and a random Tuesday night dinner. Stop saving that favorite dress. Use the good towels and sheets. Don’t save that yummy shower gel.

Didn’t my own creative life deserve to use the good stuff? Didn’t my most sacred writings deserve to be penned into beautiful made notebooks with an index and numbered pages? Didn’t my creative life deserve to have a notebook that fit in my purse so I could take it with me?

Maybe part of learning to create differently this year was to seduce myself with a luscious place to create.

I went back to my good friend Google and began seeking a source for those Leuchtturm1919 notebooks in a different color. I discovered The Goulet Pen Company, where I ordered an Azure Blue notebook for myself and a Royal Blue notebook for a birthday present.

Our creative lives deserve to be seduced and nourished in every possible way. Because how we fuel our inner needs to create lays the foundation for how we cultivate a beautiful daily life.

On March 6th, I wrote my first words in the beautiful azure notebook. Two days later, I wrote a chapter of my next stockingupbook and notated the page number in that handy dandy index at the front so I can find it later.

(And because I know that I need a stock of empty journals waiting in the wings, I ordered notebooks in royal, berry, lemon, and orange.)

I believe one of the most important – and most challenging – parts of creative living is the evaluation process. What is nourishing me? What isn’t working? Where have I evolved? What needs to shift?

It’s important because it is how we continue to grow and evolve. And yes, it’s challenging. Because we thrive on the some level of sameness to the tools we use and the way we work.

There comes a time, though, that in order to be of service to our creativity, we must make some changes. And when it’s feeling frustrating and difficult and when our souls demand we evolve, we need nourishment. To survive the inevitable discomfort, we must remind ourselves that we deserve to use the good stuff.

That maybe in order to grow into our next evolutions, instead of playing the harsh taskmaster, we instead choose to romance our creativity with beautiful things and lots of love.

About the Author: Debra Smouse

debra_Smouse_mclDebra Smouse is a self-admitted Tarnished Southern Belle, life coach, and author of Create a Life You Love: Straightforward Wisdom for Creating the Life of Your Dreams. She resides in Dayton, Ohio where she practices the art of living with the Man of Her Dreams. She’s the Editor in Chief here at Modern Creative Life. Connect with her on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

What’s Next? by Jeanie Croope

 

I’m looking at my desk right now. You wouldn’t want to see it. It would make you crazy. It makes me crazy! But I know that underneath my calendar, a jar of scrabble tiles, six paper mache boxes that didn’t get jazzed up for

Christmas, a couple of notepads, a few pieces of inventory from my last art sale, a Pandora catalogue and way too many pens I will find the family tree I scribbled from an online site that I couldn’t get to print last night.

That family tree chart is part of “what’s next” for me. Well, not quite next. Almost next.

Next is a poetry book chronicling the past year Rick and I have spent together. This project is an annual event and by the time you read this, hopefully given and cherished. The concept began early in our courtship as a collection of poems about our travels, the kids, the events and places we shared together, illustrated with — well, whatever I happened to be into that year! It might include photographs or drawings, watercolors or printing. The books ranged from the converted journal to handmade books, folded and stitched by hand (with more than a few unprintable words — sewing is not my forte!

Next after that is is trying to pull together a piece on the power of creativity to enhance mental health for my blog. (Although there is something ironic about stressing out to pull together a piece on creativity’s positive affect on mental health.)

And then Next is finding and ordering a new camera to replace the poor thing that was dropped on its head too many times. I have come to the sad realization that a poor camera does not make for good photographs, no matter how carefully they are framed.

And finally, next is some sort of art journal piece, perhaps a prototype for something larger, that will incorporate some of that information I’ve been ferreting out of this family history site and that one. Maybe I’ll use photos or maps. Who knows? I’m barely getting to know the names of these people who somehow, generations ago, made relationship decisions that would end up in my DNA.

Focusing on any one thing during the white world of winter — even a light one — is not something I find easy to do. It’s a wonderful time to be inside if you’re not a snow bunny, a time to read, paint, draw, print, write. I look at the two tall columns of books, the blank page of the journal, the glare of the computer screen and think, “Maybe I’ll go play ‘Chopped’ today.” Yes, that’s it. Throw some chicken stock in the pot, add some onions and celery. What else is there in the fridge or the cupboard? Mushrooms! Yes, that’ll do. A can of pumpkin. Oh, and what about shredding that chicken breast from last night. A squirt of sriracha sauce. No, make it two. And some ginger. Or cumin. Yes, cumin. It may or may not be tasty. But it will be creative.

During my professional career, I had to be creative on cue. I had to write everything under the sun and under deadline — and to be honest, I found the deadline a blessing. A mixed blessing, sometimes, but nonetheless, it mandated focus. I could juggle multiple projects simultaneously but if the clock was ticking down I knew where to put my energies and exactly how I would do it. The deadline imposed a powerful discipline that I find I often lack in my more recent independent life.

And so, in these last days of winter, as we look forward to longer days and brighter skies, I also look forward to the deadlines I must impose on myself. A Saturday class doesn’t wait until Monday, nor does any assignment that comes from it. A party scheduled is a date that must be honored. And as I begin to again maneuver through a schedule and follow my calendar, I suspect I will find play dates on my calendar, a few more “assignments” that I must “turn in,” if only to myself.

And yes, I know. I have made these deadlines. I can break them. No one cares if I do a new art journal page or a canvas but me. There is a bit of comfort in that idea. But somehow, I think I’ll stick to my plan pretty well. After all, there’s a lot I want to do and probably more than a few things that will lure me away to something new. I can work with that. And now, a deadline is looming for my poetry book! Onward!

 

About the Author: Jeanie Croope

Jeanie Croope bioAfter a long career in public broadcasting, Jeanie Croope is now doing all the things she loves — art, photography, writing, cooking, reading wonderful books and discovering a multitude of new creative passions. You can find her blogging about life and all the things she loves at The Marmelade Gypsy.

Play to the End of the String by Imelda Maguire

Playing-violinist

(after Beethoven’s 3rd string quartet, Contempo quartet)

Draw the bow down,
and when you think
you’ve wrung out all
the sweetness that melody
offers, go on.
Play on.
Play to the end of the string.
Play what you know,
then what you think you know,
then what you don’t know.

Play it, let it fall from your bow.
Play to the end, to the last
of the string.
Play on,
play on,
play on.

 

About the Author: Imelda Maguire

Imelda Maguire bioImelda Maguire has lived in all four provinces of Ireland, and now resides in Donegal, the far north-west of the country. Her poetry has been published widely in journals in Ireland, and she has read at many literary festivals and events throughout the country. A practicing counsellor, she facilitates creative and personal development activities with individuals and groups. Her first collection,  Shout If You Want Me To Sing, was published in 2004 by Summer Palace Press. Her second, Serendipity, was published by Revival Press in 2015. They are both available by contacting her on Facebook or by email at imeldacmaguire@gmail.com.

Ireland Professor of Poetry, Paula Meehan, says “There are many ways Imelda Maguire will lure us into her world…”, and poet Denise Blake recommends Serendipity as a “collection to cherish, (to) keep close at hand.”

Me Before Chickens, Dogs, Cats, Even My Husband: A Typical Day in this Writer’s Life by Andi Cumbo-Floyd

TypicalTuesday_RoutinesandRituals

It’s 5am – or 4:50am or 5:11am – and I’m awake. I’m mostly awake because this is the time I typically get up, but I’m also awake because Mosey, our basset hound, typically wakes at this moment and is sharing his joy with me by licking my toes.

I then feed Mosey and Meander, our other hound dog. By then, the coffee is almost done, and I’ve built a fire in these God's Whisper Farm sunriselate spring mornings. I’ve packed my husband’s lunch and washed the few eggs we gathered late last night.

By 5:30, I am settled into my grandfather’s tufted leather chair and have my mother’s Bible in hand. A chapter from there. A daily read about fasting that I consider intellectually but not physically. A few prayers jotted into a notebook. Then, I lean back with as many chapters of my book of the morning – at this moment, it’s Christie Purifoy’s Roots and Sky – as time and the chill in the air will allow. These are my quiet moments, my centering moments. The only words that I let precede my own for today.

Here in the cold days, I work from our dining room table. (I’m eager to return to my office in what was the summer kitchen of this 200-year-old farmhouse, but that will call for days of sun that warm the walls.) By 6am, I open my laptop and quickly shut down all the browser tabs I forgot to close last night. I slip open MS word and begin.

I tap words ahead into the rising dawn. I do my best not to change anything, trusting that I’ll see better what needs revision when I have plotted the full path of the book. I resist – mostly – the urge to open one of those browser tabs. I keep going until I reach 1,000 words, the magic number Shawn Smucker suggested to me years ago. When I am in rhythm, this takes less than 20 minutes.

For all intents and purposes then, the most important work of my day is done when I get those 1,000 words finished. That’s not to say what I do for the rest of the day – the edits for clients, the manuscript reviews, the notes to communities I organize and writers I love – is unimportant. But for my mental health, for my clarity of mind, for my ability to speak with integrity about the writing life, those 1,000 words are my bedrock.

I have to say there’s another component of this urgency I have to do my personal creative writing first; it has to do with my identity as a Southern, Christian woman. All three of those aspects of my societal upbringing have taught me – through model and intention – to put myself last, to always do what is most important for others before what I do for myself. And while the central underpinning of those teachings – the lessons about selflessness and the need to avoid selfishness are important – many Southern, Christian women, myself included, have come to believe that we are as always to subjugate our calling, our health, our own needs to the wants of others. So when I do my writing first, I am establishing my own personhood as fundamental to the rest of the work I do. I am important, and those 1,000 words help me remember that.

When my 1,000 words are done, I feed our chickens, goats, cats, and Great Pyrenees and then come in to sit with my husband before he leaves for work. Once his truck pulls out of the quarter-mile drive, I’m back to the laptop – writing email missives to clients and crafting newsletters. Then, I edit or listen to client manuscripts for a few hours before taking a lunch break.

This lunch break thing is new for me. I don’t have colleagues to break with, and I don’t have an hours-per-week expectation set from a boss. Therefore, I don’t have boundaries coming from outside myself, and if I’m not careful, I feel pressured to do more every day. Thus, I never stopped for lunch, powering through until my husband came home and the animals needed another round of food. This continual 10 hours of work – 6am-4pm – not only made me cranky and exhausted, but it also made me frenzied and unable to quit work when the day needed to wind down. My belief that it had to all be done now made my chest ache, and I always felt like time was scarce. Somehow, a lunch break has changed all that.

So I eat lunch and watch a TV show on the DVR – Supernatural is my show of choice at the moment. Nothing like some vampire hunting and some pop religious questioning to give the mind a break.
Then, I go back to work for three or four hours until that truck with my beloved rolls back down the lane.

Feed everyone.

Feed ourselves.

Then, by 6pm, we’re back to something else. My husband is usually in his shop working on a car. Some God's Whisper Farm duskevenings I have to work, but I’m making that need more and more rare these days. Instead, I read or listen to podcasts if my energy is still high. As spring comes on, I’ll have garden chores to tend in these hours when the sunshine stretches himself.

Some nights, I’m exhausted and just settle into my recliner – crochet nest nearby – to work on an afghan or stitch a hedgehog. On the days when I’m most tired –usually later in the week – I just watch TV, letting the stories get along without me just fine. (Since I’ve been a full-time editor and writer, I’ve found that I take great comfort – GREAT COMFORT – in the fact that movies and TV shows don’t need my help to get to a resolution. It’s a strange thing to find myself relieved that I don’t have to work out the story myself, and it’s a gift that lets my mind let go of sifting through word choices and point of view strategies. )

9pm means I’m in bed, blankets tucked up to my chin and a book at hand. I’m asleep by 9:30 unless that book is REALLY good . . . and sometime after, my husband and two hound dogs join me under the covers.

It’s not the life everyone would choose, but it’s mine, and it’s so, so good.

Incidentally, this essay is 1001 words. Got my word count in for today. ☺

About the Author: Andi Cumbo-Floyd

andibio1Andi Cumbo-Floyd is a writer, editor, and farmer, who lives on 15 blissful acres at the edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains with her husband, 6 goats, 4 dogs, 4 cats, and 22 chickens. Her books include Steele Secrets, The Slaves Have Names, and Writing Day In and Day Out. You can connect with Andi at her website, andilit.com, or via Facebook and Twitter.

Using Essential Oils as an Aid in Seasonal Transitions by Bella Cirovic

Instrumental_Care of Creative Soul

I absolutely love this time of the year. We are not quite out of the grips of winter, but we can see spring on the horizon, like the light at the end of a long tunnel. After an indulgent season of nesting, catching up on movies, TV series, and audio books, I feel like I’m ready to dip back into my creative writing and photography.

For me, the cold months were a time of deep rest and rejuvenation with limited social commitments and absolutely no work deadlines. My work feels like it’s on the verge of deepening into its next evolution. I’d really love to explore this a bit more but my body is finding it difficult to match the pace that my mind is moving at.

Bella Oil Article 2When this happens, I rely on my sacred essential oils to aide in lifting me out of one season and ushering me into the next. There are a couple of different ways I use the oils and I’d like to share them with you. But first, let me explain what essential oils are.

Therapeutic grade essential oils are derived from plants via steam or dry distillation. They carry the pure essence of plants which makes them highly potent and alive. Essential oils have been used for centuries for healing purposes. A therapeutic grade essential oil will come in a dark colored glass bottle to shield it from sunlight which can alter its potency.

Essential oils can be used in multiple ways. They can be added to a spray bottle with water or witch hazel to create a room spray, they can be added to an oil diffuser to permeate a room with scent, they can be diluted with a carrier oil to create a perfume, or they can be directly applied to the skin (be sure to patch test prior to check for rash or reaction).

There is so much information that can be found online with regard to essential oils and their uses. I have spent many hours researching and taking notes on which oils will help with a particular ailment or feeling I’m having. It’s really helpful to have this information at hand and in a pinch when it is needed. However, another way to choose an oil would be to tap into our intuition and ask ourselves this question: “What do I need right now?” I have found that each oil I choose this way has been the best oil for me at that time.

I love the scent of lavender oil. It’s calming and relaxing, exactly what I need just before bedtime. Instinctively I know just by how it makes me feel that when I am in an overactive or excited state of mind and I need to calm down, I can reach for lavender oil. I highly encourage experimentation and play as a way to get to know the oils better.

So in the transition from winter to spring, my intuition tells me to reach for citrus based oils. I think it’s Bella Oil Article 1because they remind me of summer and sunshine. Bergamot, lime, orange, and lemongrass have been my go to scents to diffuse at home and at work. It is said that citrus scents are energizing, uplifting, and they increase our mental awareness. Yes please! Because citrus fruit grows on trees, I feel like they pair well with a wood scent.

At my office I have been diffusing a combination of grapefruit and sandalwood which is said to aide in calming anxiety. This combination works really well in keeping me aware of my surroundings while feeling relaxed enough to begin writing.

I created a lime and cedar wood combo in a spray bottle with water that I spritz around the house when I get home from work. The lime is tangy while the wood is earthy and warm. It’s a vibrant and welcoming scent that piques my curiosity and imagination which is perfect for when I am ready to cook dinner.

Pairing citrus with woods has worked really well for me at the end of this cold weather season. It helps prepare my mind, body, and soul for the warmer weather that is just around the bend and it infuses my work with a fresh perspective. I daydream a little bit longer which creates space for ideas to grow. Essential oils play a huge role in the expansion of my creative work and tend to my spirit through any transition. They are playful healers and I encourage you to give them a try to see how they enhance your creative life.

 

About the Author: Bella Cirovic

Bella Cirovic BioBella Cirovic is a photographer and writer who lives with her husband and daughter in the suburbs outside of NYC. She writes on the subjects of self care, body love and nourishment, crystals, essential oils, and family life. Catch up with Bella at her blog: She Told Stories

Sunday Brunch: Guitar Journey

Sunday Brunch With Melissa Bartell

There’s something magical about walking into a store that sells musical instruments, even if you’re not a musician. Maybe it’s because all the wire and wood, all the skins and snares, represent more than just the instruments they compose, but the music they will eventually produce. Maybe it’s because bows and sticks and mallets and pics whisper to the most innocent, childlike, fun-loving parts of our brains, telling us, no – urging us –  just to play.

Maybe it’s because we know that when we’re sitting at a piano keyboard, stretching our arms out to get a violin ‘fitted,’ or cradling the curves of a cello against our bodies we’re not just considering the purchase of a musical instrument, we’re buying possibility.

I hadn’t been into an instrument shop in years, but last August, I recognized that it was finally time to follow through on a dream: after 31 years of cello, I was finally going to take the guitar journey I’d been flirting with, and never committing to, for years.

I was going to buy a guitar.

I started on the internet first, of course, researching types of guitars, and learning a bit about the instrument so that, at the very least, when I entered a brick and mortar store, I’d be able to speak intelligently.

My research taught me that I wanted a six-string acoustic guitar. My taste informed me that I wanted an instrument that would be good for folk music. My history with my cello, and the process of shopping for that told me that I wanted a guitar that had as much real wood as possible. Guitar HandsMy size – I’m exactly five feet tall and have fairly small hands – made a smaller instrument seem like the wiser choice. My budget dictated that I not spend more than $500 for my first guitar.

Armed with this information, recommendations from friends, and a few things I’d learned from a guitar blogger who also reviews instruments, I went to my local Guitar Center.

At first, I was a little daunted. Most of the people in the room were sporting visibly edgy looks – I saw piercings that surprised even me – and the vast majority were twenty-something males. I was expecting them to look at me, short, round, white, old (although I still get carded), hobbling because of a recent knee-injury, and not give me the time of day.

I was wrong of course, mostly because I’d forgotten the bond of musicians, the one that is just intrinsically there. It’s this little undercurrent that says I know you even if you’ve never met the other person, and even if you play drastically different instruments.

“I’ve played cello forever,” I said, “but I’ve always wanted to play the guitar.”

The long-haired sales clerk who sported a few very well-placed tattoos on his muscular arms and had the piercings in his ears filled with discs the diameter of quarters, smiled at me. “Okay, let me ask you some questions.”

And he did.

What kind of music did I want to play? Was I looking to record or just have an instrument to learn on. Had I tried any guitars already? Was there a make I had in mind? How much did I want to spend?

I answered his barrage of questions and he led me to a room full of guitars. “There really isn’t that big a difference between a ‘travel’ guitar like the Little Martin that Ed Sheeran uses and a full-size guitar, but those few millimeters can make a difference. Try some out, let me know if you have questions.”

My husband had come with me for support and consultation. Like me, Fuzzy is a musician, but not a guitarist. He’s not even a string player! His instruments are piano, trumpet, and accordion. (No, really, accordion.)

Still, it was nice to have someone there to help me lift the guitars off the racks, and give me an external opinion that wasn’t colored by my initial overwhelmedness – I mean, a room full of guitars – really.

I strummed about five guitars that day. Luna Safari I had no intention of buying one on the first outing unless I fell in love with it, and left pretty much thinking I’d be back in a week to get the solid spruce-top Little Martin. It was at the top of my price range, but Martin is a good brand and I liked the feel of it.

I’m glad I waited to buy it, though, because in the meantime, I discovered a brand called Luna, that specialized in guitars that were designed by, and marketed toward, women. The Luna guitars that I looked at online had everything the Little Martin had, but they were also pretty.

Obviously, what a guitar looks like does not affect its sound in the slightest, but when I bought my cello, I was able to customize it so that the fittings are rosewood, which gives it a more feminine look. Was it wrong, all things considered, to want my guitar to be sort of pretty and feminine also?

My next issue was that the spruce-top travel guitar Luna wanted was not in stock at any of the instrument shops near me. I could have ordered it from Zzounds (a company I highly recommend for recording gear), but even when you think you know what you want, you should never buy an instrument without trying it first.

I did more research, and finally, the day before my birthday, Fuzzy and I drove to the Guitar Center in Dallas (as opposed to the suburban branch I’d initially visited), where a man who was a dead-ringer for Anthony LaPaglia (back when he played Joe in Empire Records) greeted us.

“I know you don’t have the Luna I’m looking for,” I said. “But you have a Luna travel guitar that isn’t spruce-top and it will, at least, let me see how it feels.”

He showed me several smaller guitars, including a Baby Taylor, that was too pricey and not as pretty, and then I played the laminate Luna.

It sounded like a cigar box.

But it felt like I’d met an old friend.

(Just for fun, even though I’d just made my choice, I also played a cotton-candy pink Luna electric-acoustic, but I didn’t like it nearly as well, even though it looked cool.)

We went back to talk to not-actually-Anthony-LaPaglia and he said, “Oh, we can special order the model you want. If you have it delivered to your local store, there’s no shipping fee.”

Four days later, I was holding my Luna Safari Supreme in my hands, tuning it with an app I’d downloaded to my iPhone, and taking my first guitar lesson via a collection of YouTube videos. I haven’t started formal lessons with a live teacher yet – that will probably be this summer’s project – but I’m enjoying the challenge of learning a new instrument after all these years.

I’m also enjoying telling people about my guitar shopping experience, which is best summed up thusly: When I told not-actually-Anthony-LaPaglia that I’d played cello for decades and wanted to take up a new instrument, he looked at me like I was some kind of musical goddess.

“I tried the cello once, a long time ago,” he confessed. “I couldn’t figure it out. Dude… cello’s hard.”

I don’t remember what my response was, but I know that my journey with this guitar – with the wire and the wood, and learning a whole new way of using my hands and fingers, feeling this instrument become part of me – is only just beginning,   and I can’t wait to find out where it takes me next.

I mean, anything’s possible.

(Image credits: Guitar Player is from djoronimo / 123RF Stock Photo; Guitar Face is from Luna Guitars.)

About the author: Melissa A. Bartell

Melissa A. BartellMelissa is a writer, voice actor, podcaster, itinerant musician, voracious reader, and collector of hats and rescue dogs. She is the author of The Bathtub Mermaid: Tales from the Holiday Tub. You can learn more about her on her blog, or connect with her on on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter.

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