tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14119441800057261172024-03-13T01:34:56.771-07:00Invincible Summer"In the midst of winter I found in me an Invincible Summer." - Camus ...On exploring strength in its many forms:
strong people, strong writing, strong curiosity, obsessions, stances, and loves.
Strength as a concept wide enough to encompass fear, truth, vulnerability, and joy.Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-75478572061726957432024-02-15T12:13:00.000-08:002024-02-15T12:13:55.537-08:00Find me over at Chapter Craft Coaching!<p>Hello you beautiful soul! I've moved. Someday I'll magic this domain into something fresh, but for now please find me at <a href="http://www.chaptercraftcoaching.com.">www.chaptercraftcoaching.com.</a> </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyR_Eq7cEu_WZYfdyAxiyL2Kg6FsjwqDFkYVydvLAIxbUM4FeAloGMlj6aUykZ1TCN5s7KTVxWHUQo-WdOKH2l94ckTZ_NxDnUz3DdDqdNomGIht3i2pXfuNd5gDxOlhJXBVCl71137Hpai6lu9HOAeUEtSSU3aweMuJid2HDE5lH0UHxyeUjg-kFBZdcX/s2100/CopyChristin%20Rice-FINAL-0466.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2100" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyR_Eq7cEu_WZYfdyAxiyL2Kg6FsjwqDFkYVydvLAIxbUM4FeAloGMlj6aUykZ1TCN5s7KTVxWHUQo-WdOKH2l94ckTZ_NxDnUz3DdDqdNomGIht3i2pXfuNd5gDxOlhJXBVCl71137Hpai6lu9HOAeUEtSSU3aweMuJid2HDE5lH0UHxyeUjg-kFBZdcX/s320/CopyChristin%20Rice-FINAL-0466.heic" width="229" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-55034963680371284522023-09-21T14:18:00.002-07:002023-09-21T14:18:32.175-07:00New Site Under Construction....<p> This space will soon be transformed. </p><p>In the meantime come find me at <a href="http://www.chaptercraftcoaching.com.">www.chaptercraftcoaching.com.</a> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfW9w9L2JmtS459LzlbDYqFAxaosIKVLUnfIYfwAsKFaKbctOWoUolqa4IhBbnQTnSg2UvuXdMQE3XynJ9_FuVS8xcxXR7mDVnDL7FCWTbA6yL2hZX_3hRe9oWQkmLQUQMP8FHhPGtzMAXC_alzyGSn2TxLhR2aTKewNu6UE7qBt-AQWI_2fF3IdpQxgO_/s4032/faultline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfW9w9L2JmtS459LzlbDYqFAxaosIKVLUnfIYfwAsKFaKbctOWoUolqa4IhBbnQTnSg2UvuXdMQE3XynJ9_FuVS8xcxXR7mDVnDL7FCWTbA6yL2hZX_3hRe9oWQkmLQUQMP8FHhPGtzMAXC_alzyGSn2TxLhR2aTKewNu6UE7qBt-AQWI_2fF3IdpQxgO_/w480-h640/faultline.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-74654882649659576722023-05-12T09:16:00.005-07:002023-05-12T09:16:52.227-07:00Want more LIFE in your life?<p>Want more LIFE in your life? Less autopilot, more on purpose? Less borrowing someone else's success formula that doesn't quite fit, more living out what's really important to YOU? 1:1 coaching can help you create that transformation. Interested? Email me at christinrice@gmail.com for a free discovery session. If you like the idea, but feel weird working with me (because we are friends, or family, or exes, or what-have-you), no sweat! I have the most lovely network of coaches to connect you to.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrUeFg8hoOesh8GW_yBwTxV7Shcf41LvnTcJBjYkOv-iJ_Z-eCXUUzq8Z1_guEi5lQdoLPL0w7nSoUlQiOyiMo7FnIsp0bPP87aL47T_2LqFJ4H00jPWoEARyynJrjEOZFi_sKU-OXUzenKmYEICrV55sh9oqI43BgpBsAS0ZLF8NyJDCzKpPr8zNPg/s4032/blossoms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrUeFg8hoOesh8GW_yBwTxV7Shcf41LvnTcJBjYkOv-iJ_Z-eCXUUzq8Z1_guEi5lQdoLPL0w7nSoUlQiOyiMo7FnIsp0bPP87aL47T_2LqFJ4H00jPWoEARyynJrjEOZFi_sKU-OXUzenKmYEICrV55sh9oqI43BgpBsAS0ZLF8NyJDCzKpPr8zNPg/w480-h640/blossoms.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-21252326192595145622023-05-04T15:38:00.003-07:002023-05-04T15:38:42.301-07:00Transitions: A Starting Place<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">When you are right inside a transition, in that stage where you might have only just begun to recognize shifts around you, particularly in a transition that doesn’t quite fit into any category of transition you’ve experienced before, it can just feel like a murky, unformed abyss disconnected to anything. If it isn’t a traditional transition (got married, lost a job, new diagnosis) it may even take time to recognize it as a transition to start with. Not yet being able to name it or explain it is SUCH an uncomfortable place to be in. It can feel next level impossible to make it clear to anyone else, let alone yourself, exactly why you are feeling drained, incapable of doing things like you used to, out of sorts for unknown reasons. And the naming and clarity of what kind of transition it is and will be in your life may be a slow, long process. What can help when it all feels murky?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">First, it may be empowering to simply note that you are in a transition. You may not know what you are transitioning out of, and certainly may not have a clue what you’re transitioning into. Yet. But just by recognizing that yes, shift is happening, may be what’s needed to help you with my second recommendation:<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Give yourself so much grace, patience, space, and love and release the need for total comprehension. If you can name that yes, you are in a state of change, then you can start to gather your inner and outer tools for living into and through that change. Things like: rest, time for reflection, time for absolute nothingness, permission to not make yourself perform, trusted friends, professionals like a great therapist or coach, routines to take the mental load lighter, time off, time focused, the permission to tell people you can’t yet explain what’s happening but you know something is shifting and you hope to use the shift for good. And permission for that to be enough. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVjtEGe5M5I6kUCJoHHhct33BpI3KPJfe2fXXjsT5vfzwCPMfVv_7jZ7CCXShTQYi8yqLsqE71ejOS5ULoasxNkvWca4eavbuh3RqTbakC06kznaNY3crmYfp6dOW-lRAP-CGd7NNRgq4Dr5A11YVB9SZjKWpLlMKh3cmwkD377IjzW8yjErVQveN_w/s1797/IcelandRoad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1797" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGVjtEGe5M5I6kUCJoHHhct33BpI3KPJfe2fXXjsT5vfzwCPMfVv_7jZ7CCXShTQYi8yqLsqE71ejOS5ULoasxNkvWca4eavbuh3RqTbakC06kznaNY3crmYfp6dOW-lRAP-CGd7NNRgq4Dr5A11YVB9SZjKWpLlMKh3cmwkD377IjzW8yjErVQveN_w/w320-h400/IcelandRoad.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Clarity will come, but not necessarily in the timeline you’d like. At some point in the future you will be able to look back and have the perspective you need to describe why and what was shifting, and what came from that. You will be able to describe it’s meaning for you, and maybe even how you made it meaningful. If you can’t do that now, that is only because it is still unfolding for you. Release the very human desire to control that unfolding. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Transitions are fertile time for personal growth and meaningful change, if you let them. If you are open to navigating the uncomfortable, temporary mystery at the beginning and middle there will be payoff in the end and beyond, a foundation you can build strong things from. You don’t have to, but you are invited to mine the moments in and after for things you need. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">All of 2022 was a period of shift I couldn’t even name until about halfway through. There was a traditional transition point in there – the death of my father – but it was the other, way more ambiguous changes afoot that took me a while to recognize. Simply put, it felt like all the ways I’d been able to succeed at things in the past (creating clear goals, and a timelines to achieve them, and pushing through all along the way) stopped working. The accumulative pressures of pandemic life, early parenting, the drawn-out grief of my dad’s Alzheimer’s’ journey, all just stopped being things I could white-knuckle my way through. Survival mode was no longer working. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I knew I needed to emerge from it, and I wanted to emerge from it. And I was beginning to gain new ways forward through what I was learning from my coach certification journey. Thinks like making conscious choices, being honest with all my emotions, understanding all of life as energy—constructive and destructive energy—and that I have power to choose how to live with both. The other thing that helped was the radical, life-affirming experience of being coached and being listened to and seen and affirmed and built up by my coaches who were also learners along the journey. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I could not explain what the transition was while I was in it, and I hated that. I love being able to name things. But I also knew slapping a label on it would stifle what good could come from it. I wanted the meaning to emerge, and I knew it would if I let it. And my wonderful therapist helped me see just how fundamentally I needed rest, and more than one form of it. And I made choices to pause on being the productive self I wanted to be (but also just was not able to be, what with the brain fog and exhaustion and not-clear thinking going on), as much as I could. It was so uncomfortable to rest. To release the appeal of forward progress. To find a new orientation to time and how I value mine. To decouple productivity from self-worth. But I also had a strong hunch it would lead me where I really needed to go.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">It's only been a few months now of feeling like I’m in the sweet spot of the transition: mining for meaning and building strong things on top of the foundation of what I learned from and in it. I don’t want to lose the tenderness I felt during the murky middle, that tenderness connects me to others. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">If you are in a mysterious beginning or murky middle of a transition I invite you to trust yourself, and trust the process. And if that feels like too big of a stretch, then at the very least acknowledge you are in a shift. That knowledge can be the first step in the path toward letting that shift be an opportunity to grow. <o:p></o:p></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-58909713504442342162023-04-25T09:26:00.003-07:002023-04-25T09:26:47.955-07:00Life is in the Transitions<p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">I recently read</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><b><a href="https://www.brucefeiler.com/books-articles/life-is-in-the-transitions/" target="_blank">Life Is In The Transitions</a></b></span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">, by Bruce Feiler. It’s a few years old. I first learned about it through Nancy Davis Kho’s <a href="https://midlifemixtape.com/midlife-mixtape-podcast" target="_blank">Midlife Mixtape</a> podcast and got so much from that episode. Sometimes, you get everything you need from a book in a good podcast interview. But I’m so glad I went on to read this, particularly now as I’ve fallen in love with coaching people in and through transitions. The book is such an enjoyable read, full of inspiring stories of hundreds of people and the changes they’ve been through, and the meaning they made from those changes.</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Some big highlights for me in the book were all the ways the author debunked the idea of linearity when it comes to change. It pushed my thinking beyond Erickson’s stages of development. Quite frankly, I used to find a lot of comfort in the thought of life being so neatly organized, even if my own never matched that. It highlighted just how often we are in some form of a transition, and how much longer these last than we expect. And it prompted some creative questions, like what shape would I choose to describe my life? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">One of the giant gifts of being a coach is getting to hear someone tell the story of their life – how they became themselves, where they are now in the journey of becoming themselves, and what they’d like the next chapter of becoming themselves to look like. But anyone can enjoy this gift! You can ask a loved one about their high points, low points, and turning points in life. You can ask yourself. There’s so much richness in hearing someone’s story and in listening to your own.<o:p></o:p></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-9455835324836059232023-03-27T10:52:00.002-07:002023-03-27T10:57:30.112-07:00Books Are Life<p><span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-size: 14px;">This week I’ve been thinking about how our lives are books we are writing as we live them. At first I imagined one big book for our stories. But I’m wondering if it’s more like our lives are several, or many books. Perhaps there is one for each decade of life? Or one for each epoch, and a significant transition point kicks off the next one? I’m still working out the metaphor. </span></p><p><span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-size: 14px;">But particularly I’m learning that each book may have a different set of values that drive us or define what is important for us in each book. And some of these values may carry through each book, but some are only for one particular one. What was super important to me in my twenties are not the same things in my now forties. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-IdRT4xyWVosaY8Vf9zCAytLiEIWVm9WDSLax0D62qCx_ofFyWRmCOu1sUXCCldp1fglgK3i_8Iyj5_8W0gQs6ahVXWppQ41DHEjnQrt5RpXfN65UVJ-qY0KTa9aWHMDbbVpeC0q5YGh9-k-nz9PUUO0t3vjRI-obzT4ON-5KSpSPppzsKiRun7nuQ/s4032/BookasLife.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-IdRT4xyWVosaY8Vf9zCAytLiEIWVm9WDSLax0D62qCx_ofFyWRmCOu1sUXCCldp1fglgK3i_8Iyj5_8W0gQs6ahVXWppQ41DHEjnQrt5RpXfN65UVJ-qY0KTa9aWHMDbbVpeC0q5YGh9-k-nz9PUUO0t3vjRI-obzT4ON-5KSpSPppzsKiRun7nuQ/w300-h400/BookasLife.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p><span face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(38, 38, 38); color: #262626; font-size: 14px;">So it’s helpful to pause in the book of your life you now find yourself in and ask what are my values now? Are they actually mine, or did I inherit them from someone/somewhere? Are the values I’ve listed in the past still what I’m super passionate about? We can evolve and grow, and so can our values. Particularly in or after a big transition in life. One value for me that has always been quietly in the background, but now is leading the pack is connectedness. Feeling connected with myself, others, the earth, mystery, and creating connections too, for myself, between others, between ideas, and beyond.</span></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-11092451407439817072023-01-23T12:02:00.003-08:002023-01-23T12:02:38.158-08:00Coaching InvitationWhat would you like the next chapter of your life to look like? Feel like? Create?
I have been gathering myself -- my experience as a writer, a developer of people, a person passionate about growth, authenticity, and joy -- and I'm beginning a new chapter of life as a COACH.
I want to partner with people who want to grow and create meaningful lives for themselves and others. I bring humor, warmth, and a no-pretenses approach to my coaching (as well as extensive training through an ICF-credentialed coaching certification program through IPEC, or the Institute for Professional Excellence in Coaching). Interested in finding out if coaching would help YOU write that next chapter? Message me here or at christinrice@gmail.com to set up a free 45 minute call or zoom to explore the possibilities.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtuEMZVWbo-GyXhO1H-WOgH8CXux254ac7HfVSwFueum2x8ZjKYkNA5VpgWdZDrxE6JeY3gur0z2EnDzf1zliE33JKV_TcJW_PyXLf02gUuHpfhh2X0QpAlKGdEAuePASCwbIY8QQq4OkYZEUJ0MLIvaodw1FjZXN72AbfvIVQ0pyh5Zt4K9SxGpj8cQ/s1794/CoachLaunch.JPG" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1794" data-original-width="1440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtuEMZVWbo-GyXhO1H-WOgH8CXux254ac7HfVSwFueum2x8ZjKYkNA5VpgWdZDrxE6JeY3gur0z2EnDzf1zliE33JKV_TcJW_PyXLf02gUuHpfhh2X0QpAlKGdEAuePASCwbIY8QQq4OkYZEUJ0MLIvaodw1FjZXN72AbfvIVQ0pyh5Zt4K9SxGpj8cQ/s320/CoachLaunch.JPG"/></a></div>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-58936631456253585642023-01-17T14:40:00.000-08:002023-01-17T14:40:26.824-08:00On Why We Don't Integrate More<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The recording of my thoughts about <a href="http://www.christinrice.com/2023/01/the-great-integration.html" target="_blank">THE GREAT INTEGRATION</a> has taken so much longer than planned. The three weeks of winter break didn’t leave mental space or time to write reflectively. It rarely left time to hold a thought long enough between requests for snacks or play time. That’s okay. Those three weeks were important for different reasons. But now, my attention span is returning. And I want to talk about why we often DON’T self-integrate. Or at least, why I haven’t.</span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-b55261c8-7fff-ed75-128f-efffb16be45d"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m slow to thinking, processing, writing. But even slower to sharing. My introvert self can find it one step too far to also have to talk about what I’m thinking about, even if I’m often thinking in social media post-style. I’ll think: oh! I want to share this! But often something else is needed from me at that moment and when time does again become available, I’m tired. And the idea of thoughtfully articulating what I originally meant to say is very easy to dismiss as no longer necessary.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC8qPqqj724pryw_MVJGdV_-7G-iHlGEQwWAg7OOdjfGU93Ro5TLmDDjvyqlL05n7kZEZNFTvngRYM_msrJ5_HnM9tXlJh1MJgdba_gLH_rF0GKohTkHyuFPqMl3UisOAc6bhxIgcgLjSlmSRKGISfgW2VOGwqyhszOnPOS3HGmm_9hqBZSWgRmBpfw/s1800/Ginko.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHC8qPqqj724pryw_MVJGdV_-7G-iHlGEQwWAg7OOdjfGU93Ro5TLmDDjvyqlL05n7kZEZNFTvngRYM_msrJ5_HnM9tXlJh1MJgdba_gLH_rF0GKohTkHyuFPqMl3UisOAc6bhxIgcgLjSlmSRKGISfgW2VOGwqyhszOnPOS3HGmm_9hqBZSWgRmBpfw/w320-h400/Ginko.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the ginkgos of 2022 were exceptional</td></tr></tbody></table></span></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The current moment always feels more urgent, relevant, valuable. And in many ways it is, right? As some say, all we have is the current moment. Which is true in some regards, as in I can only act right now, I can’t undo or redo something from the past. And what I choose to do/say/think right now will impact the next moment and the four hundred billion after that. BUT. I don’t have just this current moment. I have the accumulated wisdom of all the moments that came before. And that is mine to use. To choose from. To choose differently with. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So much of life these days is too influenced by the aggressive insistence of NOW and staying relevant and at the top of peoples’ feeds by posting things to catch attention NOW. And now is important, but only because it’s also connected to the before and after. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So as my 2022 integration ideas slip into 2023 and are still unfolding even as I start to consider what word/phrase/intention/mantra I want to choose for 2023, I will take a deep breath and let them be relevant without an expiration date. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-SjxTjM7FeVAwlonF670UqsrakIE8X6S9eGdVoxT8Qz_RnuV5G0GQ8YxpefEu-HojlKNqGb082o0yi42zuIFKLrDDbZfI6bKiHtVZ8FU-hg8xQpiHdOvTA0rxt2qr6NGxQKeDOR4CtTQm_sMTmoKz6Xbsai3UGAKCYU89wFjQonRjiDNe_9hVKuPjig/s1800/Newbud.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-SjxTjM7FeVAwlonF670UqsrakIE8X6S9eGdVoxT8Qz_RnuV5G0GQ8YxpefEu-HojlKNqGb082o0yi42zuIFKLrDDbZfI6bKiHtVZ8FU-hg8xQpiHdOvTA0rxt2qr6NGxQKeDOR4CtTQm_sMTmoKz6Xbsai3UGAKCYU89wFjQonRjiDNe_9hVKuPjig/s320/Newbud.JPG" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this new bud appeared the <br />same day of the dropped leaves above; <br />old and new in the same moment</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-35495744015981457772023-01-10T09:41:00.000-08:002023-01-10T09:41:17.354-08:00The Life-Changing Impact of Coaching<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">2022 was the first year I got to coach and be coached for a whole year. As a result, I grew so much. I was rich with incredible coaches! All gleaned from my certification program through the <a href="https://www.ipeccoaching.com/#" target="_blank">Institute for Professional Excellence in Coaching</a> (or iPEC), fellow companions also learning the skills and mindsets of coaching for beautiful purposes. </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-1c9a93ca-7fff-5cf1-3f29-dd946c78ddb1"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today I want to talk about two specific ways I grew through being coached in 2022: </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I worry less.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> While anxiety certainly still comes looking for me, my relationship with worry is changing for the better. A whole lot of that comes from learning how much power I have in my choices. Just the belief that I have the power to make a choice at all in a situation is huge. But even more meaningful is understanding that I actually have the power to choose my mindset, and whether or not to believe the thoughts I’m thinking or feelings I’m feeling. I can zoom out a bit and see them for what they are, and they are not always capital T Truth. And that I can choose my response. It’s not that it’s easy to do so, but just the realization of how I can influence my experience of things through consciously choosing how I want to respond (even if I can’t always influence the circumstances of things) has been life-changing. So, when anxiety seeks me out (or anger, or feeling stuck, or some other internal roadblock), I don’t stay there as long. All this beauty came from learning new ways of understanding energy, and then working with my coaches to practice that new understanding and how to use it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am getting clearer on who I want to be and how I want to be in the world. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is so important to me. I really feel the transition to the latter chapters (not last, just latter) of life on me and want to be really intentional with how I live them. For me that means how I parent, how I begin a coaching business so that I can actually do work I love and that feels super aligned with who I am and my talents, skills, and passions. It also means how I partner and how I friend and just how I exist in this world. So yeah, kind of a big deal. The clarity has come from working with trusted coaches who help me see things about myself I haven’t before, who help me note patterns that I haven’t seen, who help me honor my values in all parts of my life. I’ve brought almost every possible subject to one or other of my coaches in 2022: spirituality, potty training, writing my dad’s obituary, finishing my novel, finding a better mindset for submitting my writing, returning to running, how to navigate an international trip with a tantrumy toddler, the giant “beliefs” that sit on my chest and try to keep me from living a bigger life, and more. Their careful listening and beautiful, spacious questions have created so much room for me to explore ways of being in the world that feel authentic and meaningful and loving. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m profoundly grateful for the presence of those who coached me through 2022. And it makes me incredibly excited to get to coach others, knowing how powerful it can be to have a partner in creating the shifts you need in life. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoBLcv9cR6Jf2CI_rAMhFWpZokCUsPFvEmO5-KcQYNlc1lVpqbKzjjFUaGd6JRzNGx0h03Y-ab5YBE6BeZdl66VXXSkDIaybMSXTh_J19OnFTQzjCmecCnSmQu8rQNrgCgpd1CXW3eMa5KDGR3UbiexhzLcSKqnHCjKUDa_yjiGGX22pdL4nMCWQ7Dg/s4032/coachingpost.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqoBLcv9cR6Jf2CI_rAMhFWpZokCUsPFvEmO5-KcQYNlc1lVpqbKzjjFUaGd6JRzNGx0h03Y-ab5YBE6BeZdl66VXXSkDIaybMSXTh_J19OnFTQzjCmecCnSmQu8rQNrgCgpd1CXW3eMa5KDGR3UbiexhzLcSKqnHCjKUDa_yjiGGX22pdL4nMCWQ7Dg/w400-h300/coachingpost.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">so much of life is a matter of perspective</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p></span></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-89921294152480265632023-01-09T10:33:00.001-08:002023-01-09T10:33:33.067-08:00Toddlers as the True Integrators<p><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Beatrix (who turns four next month) loves to hear and tell stories about when she was a baby. She loves to make reference to something that happened three months ago as “back when I was a baby.” She’s constantly taking in new data about the world and naturally integrating it into her holistic understanding of herself. </span></span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-a379fc6a-7fff-8f79-973b-2a63f85ac048"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I remember doing that too as a child. Of being fascinated by my personal history and having a crystal clear picture of it. I lost that somewhere along the way, in the amassing of so many experiences, in the exponential-ization of my life. At times I felt I could keep a handle on it through journaling. The years when I didn’t journal feel lost to me in a way. And then I lost the sense of permission to look at my whole life and call it mine, or be able to explain it to myself. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj80ipnAFnSmcangGs4ec0ZKSDvS2LbyNR42YD7As2-Hva6opF3HHKazazg2iLFbx49eKz6zeESjPMQT_sFlwNCDAb0SzIR-hYtsb9VZPml2XFxOWVJLmpMB3vFKMSZPfZn_kW3dGKmrZfj1kjF0vq4dagfiMvZoY0z-0dpnrg2tqsBB7l5ZaAynVkhtw/s4032/Beasock.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj80ipnAFnSmcangGs4ec0ZKSDvS2LbyNR42YD7As2-Hva6opF3HHKazazg2iLFbx49eKz6zeESjPMQT_sFlwNCDAb0SzIR-hYtsb9VZPml2XFxOWVJLmpMB3vFKMSZPfZn_kW3dGKmrZfj1kjF0vq4dagfiMvZoY0z-0dpnrg2tqsBB7l5ZaAynVkhtw/s320/Beasock.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She recently grabbed my phone to take photos and now I have a treasure collection of things she deemed photo-worthy, including her cute little fox sock</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So this very <a href="http://www.christinrice.com/2023/01/the-great-integration.html" target="_blank">intentional integration</a> has felt like giving myself back to myself so that I can access all of the wisdom I’ve been allowed to live in, accumulate, develop. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I want to be more like Beatrix when I pick up something new and can connect it to another part of myself. There’s a joy in that. And it makes it solid, less forgettable. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The next time something in the moment zings to a moment in the past, don’t resist. You aren’t (or don’t have to) live in the past. You can simply connect more of yourself to the present moment. </span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA6aNreLIhXqrUW6656InOdekYXNxU2lohckUrSbKPnguaetRAyQJn1DILPOC_Ce1nr-sz3HtNTXJxbsQ9N6W3hKp8yds2HZXUszpltAbHT6eaR7B4sepskr63ckJGwwTY_g8_mNFywSDnYiRjs64m5-ssfILxinq7mZI1uqLk3LPEqXrMvmYgvVcEbA/s4032/Beareflection.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA6aNreLIhXqrUW6656InOdekYXNxU2lohckUrSbKPnguaetRAyQJn1DILPOC_Ce1nr-sz3HtNTXJxbsQ9N6W3hKp8yds2HZXUszpltAbHT6eaR7B4sepskr63ckJGwwTY_g8_mNFywSDnYiRjs64m5-ssfILxinq7mZI1uqLk3LPEqXrMvmYgvVcEbA/s320/Beareflection.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beatrix capturing her own reflection<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span><p></p><br /></span>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-63333300121412143592023-01-06T13:18:00.002-08:002023-01-06T13:18:52.927-08:00Sorrow and Joy Walk Into a Bar...<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">A lot of people lost someone, or several someones, dear to them in 2022. It was the year my dad’s journey with Alzheimer’s came to an end. And if you’d been touched by that or any other such long-lasting, debilitating disease you know there’s a certain amount of relief on the other side of it. To know your loved one no longer is encased in something no one would willingly choose for themself, no longer lost from themself, is to experience wave after wave of relief right there in the middle of grief. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-yDtkGaQWN1G1S1uvDf-C8dgHRDj_MWle4qTehul5rysdoZRHPpgHLN9K2BPgVZHkhIF6kN-zVtFWdhLCPO1VlykVaMJj71W4r2xp1EjBtVXY5-7qwKr3WkJG-zYD2auBBm_yrv05QKpghlaolstxst6EdsPuGA4SE4BsRUU-7dsrRn5Pj6bWCXLJgA/s1024/dad2.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-yDtkGaQWN1G1S1uvDf-C8dgHRDj_MWle4qTehul5rysdoZRHPpgHLN9K2BPgVZHkhIF6kN-zVtFWdhLCPO1VlykVaMJj71W4r2xp1EjBtVXY5-7qwKr3WkJG-zYD2auBBm_yrv05QKpghlaolstxst6EdsPuGA4SE4BsRUU-7dsrRn5Pj6bWCXLJgA/s320/dad2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even after the thread of a story <br />was impossible to hold onto, <br />he still loved to read</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UenUvzW_FfFRNURFx1_sm3RA-lg4-aO1Wm-KlLwJdjprBHYhZqDdPSHCUW9LwaMhREULQ1mAKlb5WF9WhLZ_3XKqyC8quREtxWTfAun7bP_6G4_al5QcbHBq3cdVFfo_oIsa8bLI1L_u6tYYFKZqKotDWO0Jw0BcJ1yXX_35d5x3Ys2XnUjOkf5Tdg/s2015/grandpa5.JPG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2015" data-original-width="1511" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UenUvzW_FfFRNURFx1_sm3RA-lg4-aO1Wm-KlLwJdjprBHYhZqDdPSHCUW9LwaMhREULQ1mAKlb5WF9WhLZ_3XKqyC8quREtxWTfAun7bP_6G4_al5QcbHBq3cdVFfo_oIsa8bLI1L_u6tYYFKZqKotDWO0Jw0BcJ1yXX_35d5x3Ys2XnUjOkf5Tdg/s320/grandpa5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my favorites from <br />the baby days of Beatrix<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-08af6ed7-7fff-78e0-86a6-3960b31a6c07"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I lost my mother to a long-lasting, debilitating disease twenty-six years ago at age twenty-one. (yes, yes, do the math: I either look young or old for my age depending on how much sleep I’ve been allowed lately). And that grief experience also came with relief but I didn’t have any of the right tools to be okay with that relief. I only felt guilty and super conflicted about it. This time around I knew to expect it, and I’ve even embraced it as the gift that it is. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One of the patterns I saw emerge in my <a href="http://www.christinrice.com/2023/01/the-great-integration.html" target="_blank">Great Integration</a> reading was a whole new way to navigate grief.</span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The wide array of tools I now have for navigating my dad-grief is beautiful. It has made it an entirely different experience. I had dear people in my life when my mom died, but no peers who had experienced what I had. I was terrified of therapy then (I thought “they” would try to brainwash me). I had a faith that only held about ten percent of what I needed at the time and didn’t have a safe space to bring my deep sense of betrayal, anger, or need for a whole new way to orient myself. Needless to say that meant that the very natural grief transposed into a whole lot of loneliness and suffering that I now know doesn’t have to be an inherent side effect of grief. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">This time around I had the therapist I’ve known for more than a decade, a slew of peer coaches from my coach certification program, fantastic, grounding friends who’ve also navigated parent-loss, countless internal tools for being honest with myself, make space for myself in however grief needed to show up, and less fear of the experience of sorrow. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I learned so much along the way about getting more comfortable with the presence of sorrow. Of anxiety. Of anger. Basically, all the big scary “bad” feelings. I’m so far from perfect about this, and my toddler’s big feelings challenge me on the daily, But! I’ve realized how important JOY is to me, and that it is only able to be in my life in a long-lasting, life-giving way when I also allow for sorrow. </span></span></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">So this grieving season I’ve integrated both into the wider experience of myself. I’ve invited a lot of intentional joy in, knowing it will bring its rather sloppy, awkward cousin, Sorrow too. And it’s a relief to have both on the journey. It’s a relief to let myself feel all the feelings and know they will shift and see them as a form of connection to the people I’ve loved who are no longer physically present in my life.</span></span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-72741108201376628452023-01-05T15:49:00.000-08:002023-01-05T15:49:01.381-08:00The Great Integration<span id="docs-internal-guid-b4401528-7fff-7dee-5b0f-09356443777e"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At the beginning of 2022 I chose a word for the year, inspired by others who did the same. I wrote it in a journal and mostly forgot about it until the fall. But it worked its magic in the background. My word for the year was INTEGRATION. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I first learned about self-integration in my late twenties when I was also first discovering the transformative power of therapy. Loosely it means seeing all the parts of yourself and your personal history as part of the whole story of you. Being intentional about integration for me has meant being honest with myself about what I want to keep and what I no longer want to carry from previous parts of my life. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2022 had so much beauty and love and positive growth in it for me. But it was also the most challenging year of my life I think, at least of the last two decades. I know I’m not alone in that – I’ve heard from so many friends and family and coaching clients about how the sheer accumulation of challenges in our post-2020 world have taken an extra toll. I know for me that by the summer of 2022 all the ways I’d been able to keep making progress on things dear to me (writing, coaching, becoming the kind of person I want to be) stopped working. My dad’s death and the reorientation in the months after was a big part of that, but only because all that came before was so dang challenging. At the beginning of the year, multiple Covid closures in preschool meant unexpected intensity and uncertainty in my personal and family life. In the spring my dad’s slow, painful journey with Alzheimer’s took a sudden harsh and also gentle turn and he died at home in the care of hospice and surrounded by loved ones. When spring turned to summer and I was wrapping up my coaching program and anticipating the start of a coaching business I was also kind of falling apart in a way that meant it wasn’t the right time to take that leap.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By mid-Summer I stopped being able to get things done. Yes, there was some depression at play. But it was more fundamental than that. And while in it I couldn’t yet give it a name. I like naming things. It helps. So to just live in a nameless state while trying to do what needed doing sucked. A huge part of why I could stay optimistic in the midst of that was my conviction there was something to learn in all of it. But I also knew I wouldn’t be able to learn anything if I didn’t seek some serious repair in the form of real rest. Not just sleep (but lord have mercy, that’s a big part of it too, especially in life with a sleep-challenging toddler), but particularly the kind of restoration that happens while awake too. Good grief, I resist rest! Even though I also crave it and know how powerful it can be, I just want to be able to run at full-tilt! But the body will let you know, and then let you know again before your brain, heart and spirit have caught up to the very real limits that need honoring. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m beginning to emerge from the repair stage. I even have less resistance to rest now. And more ideas and ways of resting. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In addition to resting, a big thing that has been helping me emerge is some very intentional integration. In the muck of feeling like I wasn’t accomplishing anything in 2022, I started to re-read all my class notes and journal entries from the start of my coaching program in November of 2021. I wanted to see what I’d learned along the way that I couldn’t remember I’d learned. And I wanted to see if there were patterns emerging that I couldn’t see while I was inside the emergence. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DIAwEpln7No2eJOxn_OSdTW9dBs5q4v2OOaIuCmMvSZLBxUXqIv8jjkJe9TiQkE_yRNdb9llyL4xGWlcyeY9WVebayOs3-vZBTfhALHr6fVGodibxgqo64VLNLwtGaVuIuF8i0GqTFlbVCwB5GEBkgsjCOyB0Es-2nLNQOagtgXGgR67HgkllnmwDw/s4032/TheGreatIntegration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DIAwEpln7No2eJOxn_OSdTW9dBs5q4v2OOaIuCmMvSZLBxUXqIv8jjkJe9TiQkE_yRNdb9llyL4xGWlcyeY9WVebayOs3-vZBTfhALHr6fVGodibxgqo64VLNLwtGaVuIuF8i0GqTFlbVCwB5GEBkgsjCOyB0Es-2nLNQOagtgXGgR67HgkllnmwDw/s320/TheGreatIntegration.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span></span><p></p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It took me seven weeks to read through it all. Four and a half journals full of my notes from each of the three 3-day coaching intensives (Mods), and all the notes I took during coaching and writing webinars I attended, all the notes I took while I was being coached, all my journal entries in between as I reflected on things, all the notes I jotted down from any podcast that inspired me, and even some of the Notes app notes I took during that time. The sheer accumulation of learning, ideas, connections, shifts, and feelings recorded in all that writing stands as a beautiful contrast to the sheer accumulation of challenges of 2022 and the years prior that still carried so much weight. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It has been so fun to read. So reassuring (yes, actual things were accomplished! Just so much more slowly than I’d wanted. But still, accomplished). So painful (reading an entry from just before my dad’s death, knowing what would unfold just after. Or reading my six-months-ago self have angst over what I was trying to accomplish then knowing it’s still not yet accomplished now). So deeply satisfying. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t want to attempt this exact kind of project again, but I’m so glad I got to do this for myself now. This integration, THE GREAT INTEGRATION as I’m calling it, feels like I’ve invited back all the parts of myself I want and need for stepping into the next chapters of life in a way that begins with more wholeness, strength, authenticity, and joy. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I plan to share a few highlights with you from this year’s-worth of reflection and integration in my coming posts. Not as a triumphant tooting of my own self-development horn, but as a witness to the year. And as an invitation to your own integration if you need that. </span> </p></span>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-24101575250104306672022-09-22T15:35:00.001-07:002022-09-22T15:35:15.548-07:00Relevant to my interests<p>In 48 hours this week I bought, devoured, and finished Liz Strout's newest novel, Lucy by the Sea. To say it is relative to my interests is the understatement of 2022. Like my own novel currently in search of a publishing home, <b><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9780593446065" target="_blank">Lucy by the Sea</a></b> is set in early pandemic days. It's so strange to read about what is already a period piece, less than a toddler's life ago. Depressing. Inspiring. Reminding really - I'm not alone in blocking out certain memories from that period, even having placed the last third of my own novel there. Each revision brought it back fresh, and that was not always a welcome experience. </p><p><br /></p><p>There's much to mourn with Lucy in this gorgeous book by Strout. But I also leave feeling a new appreciation for all of us. The resiliency we've had to dig so deep for, the humanity we've held onto amid such painful, isolating, confusing, and divisive times. The tiny steps we each took to keep going, to stay connected to loved ones, to hold onto our dreams, our humor. Good glory! </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnvMITN0_x7QFr7yOs1XWT_6-CseE7GiZxwrbU0BSAw9fhIs-oKs_r_yT4DyGdNHrDsDolmP5Hma-VaDZFXWEdiwM_9Sted-ln-DKNm9NEKkz68CPBKQXzn2Fym2D2LY609NylexzmJnQz3ohl3BEL0cBk0qx5BjcOUGy3rwZok9BVTD_Yt-caBzUjg/s4032/LucyandShoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwnvMITN0_x7QFr7yOs1XWT_6-CseE7GiZxwrbU0BSAw9fhIs-oKs_r_yT4DyGdNHrDsDolmP5Hma-VaDZFXWEdiwM_9Sted-ln-DKNm9NEKkz68CPBKQXzn2Fym2D2LY609NylexzmJnQz3ohl3BEL0cBk0qx5BjcOUGy3rwZok9BVTD_Yt-caBzUjg/s320/LucyandShoes.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>If you need a novel written by a deeply compassionate writer with a deeply feeling narrator and a compassionate, sweeping view of humanity that lays it bare, get thee to <a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com" target="_blank">an independent bookstore</a> and pick up Lucy by the Sea. </p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-77929955946459191762022-08-30T16:07:00.002-07:002022-08-30T16:11:16.069-07:00Love These Days<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYhkJy-5drThIPllcOUzEy7cKWH4KR6FEaVlPYVUtJEVQJktOoKOfbU5PhEGef8cxFSm2s7fHtDzzw8DTMG9k7AOZULioPioSFyGYu_qqga12xFt4kcZU_VxHpld1DvbvQfptOF5J-8SSc2tFQxDtGec-o8UFH_tVNGRlgGANXyAP9rSAn65LxznAKw/s4032/LoveontheStoop.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYhkJy-5drThIPllcOUzEy7cKWH4KR6FEaVlPYVUtJEVQJktOoKOfbU5PhEGef8cxFSm2s7fHtDzzw8DTMG9k7AOZULioPioSFyGYu_qqga12xFt4kcZU_VxHpld1DvbvQfptOF5J-8SSc2tFQxDtGec-o8UFH_tVNGRlgGANXyAP9rSAn65LxznAKw/s320/LoveontheStoop.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>What love looks like these days in my tiny corner of the world. Or, what I'm loving these days.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Books:</b></p><p>These have brought me so much delight and escape and hope lately:</p><p><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9780593337028" target="_blank">Housebreaking</a>, by Colleen Hubbard</p><p><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9780593321331" target="_blank">The Swimmers</a>, by Julie Otsuka</p><p>A Life in Light; meditations on impermanence, by Mary Pipher</p><p><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9780525559245" target="_blank">Rules for Visiting</a>, by Jessica Francis Kane</p><p>This Time Tomorrow, by Emma Straub</p><p>Unsheltered, by Barbara Kingsolver</p><p><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9781982149680" target="_blank">Hunt, Gather, Parent</a>, by Michaeleen Doucleff, PhD</p><p><br /></p><p><b>Podcasts </b>(the links will take you to specific episodes that moved me):</p><p><a href="https://crazygoodturns.org/episodes/david-whyte-interview/" target="_blank">Crazy Good Turns</a></p><p><a href="https://hermoney.com/earn/job-hunting/hermoney-podcast-episode-276-feeling-stuck-how-to-figure-out-what-you-want-to-do/" target="_blank">HerMoney with Jean Chatzky</a></p><p><a href="https://www.thelazygeniuscollective.com/lazy/kindsofrest" target="_blank">The Lazy Genius Podcast</a></p><p><a href="https://www.megathepodcast.com/burning-down-the-patriarchy-with-jen-hatmaker/" target="_blank">Mega</a></p><p><a href="https://shows.acast.com/moms-dont-have-time-to-grieve-with-kelsey-chittick/episodes/surviving-the-unthinkable" target="_blank">Moms Don't Have Time to Grieve</a></p><p><a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/how-should-we-respond-to-failure/id1440446445?i=1000553870200" target="_blank">Unpublished</a></p><p><a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/why-grief-like-love-is-forever-with-marisa-renee-lee/id1564530722?i=1000568826208" target="_blank">We Can Do Hard Things</a></p><p><a href="https://onbeing.org/programs/kate-dicamillo-for-the-eight-year-old-in-you/" target="_blank">On Being</a></p><p><a href="https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/deathsexmoney/episodes/finding-meaning-after-my-husbands-public-death-death-sex-money" target="_blank">Death, Sex and Money</a></p><p><br /></p><p><b>I was going to add another category here</b> and then I realized all I've been consuming lately are books and podcasts. :)</p><p><br /></p><p>I love a book or podcast recommendation! What have you read or heard lately that has made your heart sing, your world grow, or brought you solace?</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-75712213380343610662022-05-19T09:47:00.001-07:002022-05-19T09:48:08.188-07:00An ABC project of your own making...<p>I had so much fun creating the <b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/ABCs-Pandemic-Parenting-collection-mini-memoir-ebook/dp/B0B1FBMMD4/ref=sr_1_1" target="_blank">ABC's of Pandemic Parenting</a>.</b> It combined a few challenges for me: write multiple pieces of flash nonfiction several times a week (a new form for me), use a personally selected constraint in order to jumpstart my thought process (read: create my own prompt because I am generally allergic to writing prompts), a clear beginning and endpoint (there are only 26 characters in the alphabet I leveraged), and some great animal artwork by Eric Carle (pure bonus). </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXa5hBYMYsDFX5u-n3yPKs3o2VQQ5-_ccG3vw7msLXBlN01iA4RayQAeonoPQu_qNFxn7EWocWXurrE1ZKcGfJ1S6Ic5GI5v6PMV1tuH_gIVX24Wl-4ejY4R47ACdw8xjYfqLvVPXqswytQdy135n99Y5jdQktFNvTiTSh2V3iOHbSjHf6OLPRATGjuw/s4032/cluerug.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXa5hBYMYsDFX5u-n3yPKs3o2VQQ5-_ccG3vw7msLXBlN01iA4RayQAeonoPQu_qNFxn7EWocWXurrE1ZKcGfJ1S6Ic5GI5v6PMV1tuH_gIVX24Wl-4ejY4R47ACdw8xjYfqLvVPXqswytQdy135n99Y5jdQktFNvTiTSh2V3iOHbSjHf6OLPRATGjuw/w150-h200/cluerug.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tiny scene from my life #1: <br />Clue on rug<br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>Interested in creating your own ABC project? Or, maybe a better question would be, What writing assignment could you craft for yourself to unleash creativity and joy? Some elements you could consider:</p><p><br /></p><p>Take something, anything, and make it your jumping off place. For me, that was Eric Carle's ABC book. It was handy, lovely, and felt appropriate as a symbol for both how small and specific my world was in the moment I was writing about it. You don't need to overthink this. It could be an object. A series of pictures. The color wheel. A list of trees that grew outside your childhood home. Your top five favorite books or foods. The collection of reusable water bottles that clang together in a cupboard, half of which are swag from previous jobs. Whatever. </p><p><br /></p><p>You can also use the actual alphabet as a jumping off place. I only just discovered Sheila Heti's super interesting <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2022/03/16/opinion/sheila-heti-alphabetized-diary-defg.html" target="_blank">ABC project</a> wherein she took all of her old journals and typed them into a spreadsheet to look for patterns. Fascinating, right? It does not even need to be the alphabet of your first language, or second language. Perhaps it's hieroglyphics. Or an alphabet from a language you wish you knew. </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ae4U4QrT-_RKZyIvj1YSs0uFJ1QZZ7qSZR6w4DI7MrfkJH0s0-RRXPHHKs_j2PCleYb6vhNumOFgTthjSQCmqtUc7zp-G8-YiFzCK2LSbQY9A9lPuxbc7-bPD5rtLBkhHl9ya0KlJcRm7oqatlC8fdJq2yBEjlcrePVJDFOfepuviZKj7tejwDTziQ/s4032/kitchenwindow.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ae4U4QrT-_RKZyIvj1YSs0uFJ1QZZ7qSZR6w4DI7MrfkJH0s0-RRXPHHKs_j2PCleYb6vhNumOFgTthjSQCmqtUc7zp-G8-YiFzCK2LSbQY9A9lPuxbc7-bPD5rtLBkhHl9ya0KlJcRm7oqatlC8fdJq2yBEjlcrePVJDFOfepuviZKj7tejwDTziQ/w150-h200/kitchenwindow.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">tiny scene from my life #2:<br />kitchen window, evening</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p>A writing assignment benefits from constraint, i.e. the constraint of just 26 letters of the english alphabet and the animals that start with each. Constraint actually pushes you to be creative, just as much, or perhaps even more than the wide open blank page. Because it gives you something to react to, think from, shove off from, push against, embrace, whatever. It gives you somewhere to start. </p><p><br /></p><p>If writing prompts make you itchy but you feel like experimenting, or just need to bring a little more fun into the process of writing, why not try creating an assignment for yourself? I would absolutely love to hear about it. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwRKLLHxyB8XFhj-V17FTFd2-yuhTMUw2uaAYlMj63JAO1auGnWBYI09Eii6C9hVzOSo7RQCSE2pfkB-QZbTA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">tiny scene from my life #3:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the thrill of the hill</div><br /><p><br /></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-66536041377102996202022-05-17T09:43:00.000-07:002022-05-17T09:43:01.384-07:00Available NOW!<p> Welcome to the world little book!!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18ttCj3_GP1XkEHYF3xPjneM3m8Exmv-GsOv22wDR7hfd4-eaqGJEpC3W4xsoiNu3KPLTJH8vZwqnl7ovtISm1dJBWf43GBvmmTPXtWZzp_mi_n5_ZVpuVDtLS3mLOgMt5djmqZv6-j9TROjDRJS7jrexO6hlt5Bf7sivK3ufKY2rSTs0mcakPRsgNw/s2560/ABCs-of-PP-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1805" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18ttCj3_GP1XkEHYF3xPjneM3m8Exmv-GsOv22wDR7hfd4-eaqGJEpC3W4xsoiNu3KPLTJH8vZwqnl7ovtISm1dJBWf43GBvmmTPXtWZzp_mi_n5_ZVpuVDtLS3mLOgMt5djmqZv6-j9TROjDRJS7jrexO6hlt5Bf7sivK3ufKY2rSTs0mcakPRsgNw/s320/ABCs-of-PP-cover.jpg" width="226" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>With great big gratitude to Beatrix, for the perpetual inspiration of rants and reflections, and Nathan Grover, for the gorgeous book design and helping make sure I got this book into the world. </p><p><br /></p><p>A portion of the proceeds go to support <a href="https://voices.org.ua/en/" target="_blank">Voices of Children</a>, an NGO providing psychological help and art therapy to children affected by war in Ukraine. </p><p><br /></p><p>Link to purchase <b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/ABCs-Pandemic-Parenting-collection-mini-memoir-ebook/dp/B0B1FBMMD4/ref=sr_1_1" target="_blank">HERE!</a></span></b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLwu0U39E09bj1dEZr5irYSaHUIWRKrfwJl9DV-ziiiZamhvhnz_q_oocFw5wQV4gGwwL3UlFRfXnfIF20XZWZqRJIGcldejelXutT8aaJtjU88rThYgxm_CKTS9wcySZ8COqjbhIPZvYu7VSYc3Reh3CvEuiAVIQ_-kzlSqhIa6qtQG03slWLWexTg/s4032/Beasqueeze.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLwu0U39E09bj1dEZr5irYSaHUIWRKrfwJl9DV-ziiiZamhvhnz_q_oocFw5wQV4gGwwL3UlFRfXnfIF20XZWZqRJIGcldejelXutT8aaJtjU88rThYgxm_CKTS9wcySZ8COqjbhIPZvYu7VSYc3Reh3CvEuiAVIQ_-kzlSqhIa6qtQG03slWLWexTg/s320/Beasqueeze.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">bonus squeeze from Beatrix</div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-73942531904041971382022-05-12T10:41:00.002-07:002022-05-12T10:41:27.282-07:00Launch date announcement!<p>My launch of The ABC's of Pandemic Parenting has taken a necessary pause as I regather myself after my dad died from complications related to his Alzheimer's in late March. Quite frankly, my brain just didn't work in a way I could trust to be able to see to the details needed to launch. The pause has been restorative (and I suspect will be followed by still more, though hopefully shorter, pauses, because: grief). So I'm excited to announce an actual Let's Do This date:</p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></p><p><span> </span><span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">Wednesday, May 18th 2022!</span></p><p><br /></p><p>Yes, next week. My journey of self-publishing this collection of mini-memoir has been a pleasurable one, and I think a lot of that has to do with working with my coach (I'm currently working on a coaching certification and a gift of that is working with other talented coaches in training) to be clear on what my purpose is in sharing this writing. Keeping those goals as a north star has helped me push through my many layers of resistance to self-publishing, sharing my writing, and ultimately emerge from the pause with renewed delight in having something to share. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDexBpGSEICKqkdWO-VgU-qxdYrGuylOJY5mcgtXy1RbmgI12Hdfif4tIaiFgf6tSvl4RI3BlURYMtjLJTMnHLw6J70RU7sCc2UwsbhNxRar1e8ZY3AXwPKx5xi_yXXVQXNbMR88V3_Y33QnP5KojIL7H8beUhyt91SxZ1NxcGzZP5xKoy3k_238Iwug/s2481/Cover-Sample2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2481" data-original-width="1749" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDexBpGSEICKqkdWO-VgU-qxdYrGuylOJY5mcgtXy1RbmgI12Hdfif4tIaiFgf6tSvl4RI3BlURYMtjLJTMnHLw6J70RU7sCc2UwsbhNxRar1e8ZY3AXwPKx5xi_yXXVQXNbMR88V3_Y33QnP5KojIL7H8beUhyt91SxZ1NxcGzZP5xKoy3k_238Iwug/s320/Cover-Sample2.png" width="226" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Here's a quick look at some of the reasons behind why I want to share this collection of mini-memoir:</p><p>I had a New Year's Resolution of sharing my writing more widely, one that I've made in the past but not followed through with.</p><p>I think it is brave to share your creative work, and I want to be braver. </p><p>I want to learn through this process, and even eventually figure out how to make my life of writing and my emerging life of coaching come together into an actual form of work. I think this experiment will yield a lot of learning toward that.</p><p>Ultimately, I needed to be able to see my own life and that is why I wrote this collection. And I hope it serves as a jumping off point for others to see their life too, and by seeing it, feel the relief and connection that seeing can create. </p><p>There are more, but I'll stop there for now. For now, I'll just savor the thrill of giving a date to the project and sharing that with others. No turning back now. </p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-19538110273612688622022-03-15T20:38:00.001-07:002022-03-15T20:38:24.033-07:00Cover Reveal!Today marks the TWO YEAR anniversary of pandemic lockdown in San Francisco. I'm celebrating with a cover reveal!
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj456h7L8LQmZHVTzn7cFSjKqMsGP_5n8PIDSBoIo6aTwn7cFtllVyTxJvWFN-rswrt31dmCZ60tntImEyRdCqQeo91jQEXigtbftfyta8O4Kg-VmUGiMIlThHIQVsgOo7AgVdWZZb8cxwDLc4zBMQBf39KlTtS-1mbEfdIZ7ONMInKlsPGi7gl6P6XBQ=s2436" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" height="600" data-original-height="2436" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj456h7L8LQmZHVTzn7cFSjKqMsGP_5n8PIDSBoIo6aTwn7cFtllVyTxJvWFN-rswrt31dmCZ60tntImEyRdCqQeo91jQEXigtbftfyta8O4Kg-VmUGiMIlThHIQVsgOo7AgVdWZZb8cxwDLc4zBMQBf39KlTtS-1mbEfdIZ7ONMInKlsPGi7gl6P6XBQ=s600"/></a></div>
My friend Nathan Grover designed this cover and it makes me seven forms of happy. But I think my favorite part is the hint of Covid lurking in the background. It's part benign presence, part scary unknown force. Which is a pretty great way to sum up life with a pandemic.
Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-63874397159019392212022-03-10T12:34:00.002-08:002022-03-10T12:34:26.317-08:00E: Eagle<p>Another excerpt from my soon-to-launch collection of mini-memoir, <a href="http://www.christinrice.com/2022/03/introducing-abc-project.html" target="_blank">The ABC's of Pandemic Parenting</a>:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisb3OwLRtMIDbJZ3sxq-uuMdTZWGlhWvK9sSEF1aJlWdQRFJj2_2JqgZaG_3HkD_c000axSjmsqmB2sS_0x9FpXYb-eCWPubew4uiwsdVD6eCAXpfrrwAqH9S3TV2CH70sCxAqvHBMKFhrNbVTU4kqrmPxgLl-_AXb__ru0iish1NmXc8X8ErOonUQ0Q=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisb3OwLRtMIDbJZ3sxq-uuMdTZWGlhWvK9sSEF1aJlWdQRFJj2_2JqgZaG_3HkD_c000axSjmsqmB2sS_0x9FpXYb-eCWPubew4uiwsdVD6eCAXpfrrwAqH9S3TV2CH70sCxAqvHBMKFhrNbVTU4kqrmPxgLl-_AXb__ru0iish1NmXc8X8ErOonUQ0Q=s320" width="240" /></a></div>The eagle is the symbol of the Unites States Postal Service. It is emblazoned along the side of each mail carrier’s truck. When my father returned from military service first in Germany he floundered for his next role. When we landed in California, the land of his and her families, he found himself a job as a postal carrier. Highlights of that job were the cookies left for him at Christmastime. The Halloween my brother dressed up as a postal carrier, wearing my dad’s oversized uniform, we got to trick or treat along his route. I, always less clever, insisted on being a princess and in turn got way less gushing notes of adoration from the route’s inhabitants. <p></p><br /><p><br /></p><p>My father’s departure from the postal service upheaved my childhood townlife to Southern California where he entered seminary to train as an American Baptist pastor. Each church he served had flags inside the building, adorned with an eagle on top. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi28oPtcADhNhhuFx7BFuUmgl7D9A2Eud0yiOdRYIA-ZrpkbUoW2_TnRtPIUJsuqD8dc8LWxLPKu2VTnD87nnuT5FZyhNZxRG2tiKgV-uLcApDEZq20q0T5L42DUpe1zcQIRng8itnY6mTU3jAml-QSqjWOpRlkmT3TxlGHgFO9kvUEOwSg4T50zAX9Pw=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi28oPtcADhNhhuFx7BFuUmgl7D9A2Eud0yiOdRYIA-ZrpkbUoW2_TnRtPIUJsuqD8dc8LWxLPKu2VTnD87nnuT5FZyhNZxRG2tiKgV-uLcApDEZq20q0T5L42DUpe1zcQIRng8itnY6mTU3jAml-QSqjWOpRlkmT3TxlGHgFO9kvUEOwSg4T50zAX9Pw=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /></div><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p></p>In 2020 amid the pandemic, well before the vaccines rolled out, the US postal service carried us all through the strangest and most unpleasant election season recorded. While their own children were suddenly home doing virtual school they took to their trucks and their walking routes and kept life moving. Packages and personal mail have always been a thing of beauty but during this season of simultaneous extreme isolation and too much closeness they are a lifeline, a happy diversion, a way to connect, a way to distract, a way to keep your house supplied with the things it needs without having to go inside a store. While the current president tried to shut them down, refusing them respect because he deemed them too expensive, they kept showing up. With uncertainty looming, they kept showing up. And the mail arrived. Ballots arrived. Ballots mailed back. Democracy, under threat, prevailed because they kept showing up. They delivered life-giving medications. New toys. Birthday cards. And the ability to participate in turning the tide of history. <p></p><p><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmZS1q-pJBeXpY5oAVLlOKnmItV92HnEvOqrYB3r22HaGfA6yhwdSnPahAwh3McQnSWpIPjOuLqv4pJhY_2q6HpoA6snlJhGRqY9AUUJ1bKZrzxvF98tey-RDj-qjRKKy1o4G3tpOemwJAU_VCX_mcEISwDlqnVUUB866ea_5XAH0373hR1iQgHw6byA=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmZS1q-pJBeXpY5oAVLlOKnmItV92HnEvOqrYB3r22HaGfA6yhwdSnPahAwh3McQnSWpIPjOuLqv4pJhY_2q6HpoA6snlJhGRqY9AUUJ1bKZrzxvF98tey-RDj-qjRKKy1o4G3tpOemwJAU_VCX_mcEISwDlqnVUUB866ea_5XAH0373hR1iQgHw6byA=w240-h320" title="The USPS keeps Clue in kitty kibble too" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the USPS keeps Clue in kitty kibble too!</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>Question time: What's your favorite thing to receive in the mail?</p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-75327410077012197722022-03-07T08:44:00.002-08:002022-03-07T08:44:43.211-08:00B: Bird<p>Another excerpt from <a href="http://www.christinrice.com/2022/03/introducing-abc-project.html" target="_blank">The ABCs of Pandemic Parenting</a>, out soon.</p><p><br /></p><p>Bird is a bit of a cheat, now isn’t Eric Carle? And the world thereof? Because later you’ll be more specific about types of birds, when you begin encountering the more difficult letters. </p><p><br /></p><p>The birds of Golden Gate Park seem to be having a glorious epidemic. Even before the virus there were coyotes. The coyotes infringed on the local feral cat population (infringed is a kind way of saying they ate them). The feral cat population was infringing on the local bird population. But now that the coyotes are widespread through the park the birds are having a renaissance. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdIxAioXJc6Hty9BJPJJoaG-YNMY-FT5M8oUbGn2CHwWao-IXf2LCR5LeEt18bBJXCHZdq_kIG8MNI_jDY5xEEZ7PY7vZ9Vix1sp3bZ7N2Yfzea4E4x1EMcYwsg8_nhFwqJO1vLeoLbnmczxIyzQKoHuIRPrVNOqtJ5zr4jfX74MOteDu82UUYKoBHTA=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdIxAioXJc6Hty9BJPJJoaG-YNMY-FT5M8oUbGn2CHwWao-IXf2LCR5LeEt18bBJXCHZdq_kIG8MNI_jDY5xEEZ7PY7vZ9Vix1sp3bZ7N2Yfzea4E4x1EMcYwsg8_nhFwqJO1vLeoLbnmczxIyzQKoHuIRPrVNOqtJ5zr4jfX74MOteDu82UUYKoBHTA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>During the pandemic I’ve been in the park almost daily and often twice daily. To walk the then-baby, now-toddler. To walk myself into any sort of calm. To run the trails that criss-cross. To write at a picnic table under a tree until all the picnic tables were moved from that field because the coyote pups were close and the coyote mommas were threatened. To lay on the grass in the sun or the fog to meditate, to nap, to let my mind be quiet, away from the tether of a then-baby, now-toddler who is verbose and loathe to share my attention with anything. </p><p><br /></p><p>My daughter can identify more birds than I can already, thanks to our beloved Matthew; her sitter, her “manny,” her best friend that she sees weekly. Matthew is the fourth leg in our table. Without him, we wobble. He has taught her what a blue heron is and now she points them out to me daily. It used to just be crows. But now she knows robin red breasts, blue jays, seagulls. I just called them birds. Matthew taught her type. Three-legged tables can work but you can’t hunker in and lean your elbows on them. </p><div><br /></div>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-35825778937891054902022-03-03T09:47:00.000-08:002022-03-03T09:47:41.004-08:00A: Ants<p>My daughter has just recently reached the age of fascination with ants. Or I should say the beginning of that stage, as I know it could last a lifetime. We live in San Francisco where the ants are tiny and infrequent except for the occasional breach during a rainy bout. They are nothing like the ants of my childhood, angry fat, biting creatures that my body seemed to find everywhere out in the world. San Francisco ants are very civil. Perhaps that’s why my first lesson to her about ants found out in the world is to leave them be. Watch with fascination yes, but don’t ever give in to the inborn temptation to squish them under the pad of your finger that is perfectly ant-sized. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDTlGmdOSRFOHlbT7OXQdNNMaDEM7uchKU2ZadDWXGUg-yKUduKWAF160SkweZtUzHQRQtr77zEhTvtbSNwGKpWL27AtGomV7Ye44OkxkVmnasC4UWI8C8SXgK8cy5APApUMfVgcUGuHblVwqXEyKFfWd8LQC1z25zDJiNNLz0iTbOzGkh1CjPcGyn5g=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiDTlGmdOSRFOHlbT7OXQdNNMaDEM7uchKU2ZadDWXGUg-yKUduKWAF160SkweZtUzHQRQtr77zEhTvtbSNwGKpWL27AtGomV7Ye44OkxkVmnasC4UWI8C8SXgK8cy5APApUMfVgcUGuHblVwqXEyKFfWd8LQC1z25zDJiNNLz0iTbOzGkh1CjPcGyn5g=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>From the <a href="http://www.christinrice.com/2022/03/introducing-abc-project.html" target="_blank">ABC's of Pandemic Parenting</a>:</p><p>Ants makes me think of antsy, as in to be antsy. Which may come from ants (as in the dance of terror performed when ants climb aboard you) or more likely is from anticipate. I am hard-wired for anticipation. It makes me a great employee (except to the people who hate hearing about how you’ve already figured out why something won’t work) a possibly annoying partner (because I can’t stop thinking about what we should do next, a particularly stymying way of being during a pandemic when so few options for next are available) and a safe-keeping parent (the landmines of choking hazards are constantly mapped in my head). It’s my super-power and my burden. I ensure entire vacations succeed because all the right toys and supplies attend with the configurations of our sleep situations in mind at all times. I ruin whole vacations by not enjoying the moments within it, the rabid drone of what’s next a constant companion. </p><p><br /></p><p>Does the states-long trail of ants that rises through Mexico and extends through California still march? Or is it the victim of our lack of anticipating the cost of pushing the pad of our fingers into anything we think we need to shape into our purposes? As my toddler recently started saying, much to my disturbance: have to look it up. </p><p><br /></p><p>This is part of a larger project, launching in full soon. Check back soon for the link to collect that!</p><p><br /></p><p>I want to hear from you. What comes up for you when you see the word ANTS? </p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-54444545311861096782022-03-02T09:26:00.000-08:002022-03-02T09:26:49.507-08:00Introducing the ABC project<p>One of my 2022 goals is to share my writing. I too often create things, think about sharing them, over-think it, then get shy about it, try to perfect it, get bored with that, feel I can't get it perfect anyway, then move onto something else and think too much time has passed to share that thing from before, and so on. But I am so inspired by those creators out there who share their art, even the imperfect bits! Seeing their work brings me a zing of joy. It encourages me to see the art in my own life. It makes me feel more human, more hopeful, and just more. So, here's to me sharing more. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiliJof1mNKVT5Fh848aPMNwHY4t13VkkhGd_XUtPYQ9HnpYychYG4QvMQvPWWf6doWCG2gkSXhnfkZuVJN0NXu5vSkpmo7WGvVo-IPXOJrrUI87spr5uR_ALUvpAZeLgbHsTtP6DUYkSK75KIAVR3FuTCreI8VL4lkmOzYDuAh6MXO3EzAFcVpcnUXNw=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiliJof1mNKVT5Fh848aPMNwHY4t13VkkhGd_XUtPYQ9HnpYychYG4QvMQvPWWf6doWCG2gkSXhnfkZuVJN0NXu5vSkpmo7WGvVo-IPXOJrrUI87spr5uR_ALUvpAZeLgbHsTtP6DUYkSK75KIAVR3FuTCreI8VL4lkmOzYDuAh6MXO3EzAFcVpcnUXNw=s320" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Over the next few weeks I will be sharing excerpts from <b>The ABC's of Pandemic Parenting</b>. The work as a whole will be available soon.</p><p><br /></p><p>This collection of mini-memoir was written in June, 2021 during a Writer In Residency of my own making, inspired by <a href="http://www.artistresidencyinmotherhood.com/" target="_blank">An Artist Residency in Motherhood</a>. I used my daughter’s Eric Carle ABC book as a jumping off place, curious to see what would emerge from each animal’s inspiration as well as what themes overall would appear. It was so fun. And captured my experience of a very particular moment in time, mid-pandemic. I returned to these pieces in January, 2022 amid the third preschool closure of the month, in what I hope is now a late-pandemic era. I share them as a record of myself and an invitation for your own reflection of how this very moment in time connects to all your other parts of self. May we all emerge together soon. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_Bviu_5Y7FDBrFJiK2pQb5LQU8hgI1BSZ0WEspI1tQB2AFzCu0fJ0hruhIDSrgK-Yl-hqaNvenq-RAF2ir0SLsoFe7Ffd6nkinfm9Yoxwhus4a9P5G2HDyxMSZmwLcgZ3Q8CxKCHMSr8WF6zrtN9M9yo90gFxFiAhg3NBJAqWQOEvFS2Na1cpIzr1Yg=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_Bviu_5Y7FDBrFJiK2pQb5LQU8hgI1BSZ0WEspI1tQB2AFzCu0fJ0hruhIDSrgK-Yl-hqaNvenq-RAF2ir0SLsoFe7Ffd6nkinfm9Yoxwhus4a9P5G2HDyxMSZmwLcgZ3Q8CxKCHMSr8WF6zrtN9M9yo90gFxFiAhg3NBJAqWQOEvFS2Na1cpIzr1Yg=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-8143602400293562762022-02-02T11:15:00.002-08:002022-02-02T11:29:27.684-08:00New Year, New Desk<p> One of my new year's resolutions was to finally acquire an ergonomic desk and chair. My sweet, adorable, International Orange (the official color of Golden Gate Bridge) <a href="http://www.christinrice.com/2012/07/new-writing-desk.html" target="_blank">desk</a> and wooden kitchen chair were precious but my ever-aging body that regularly hoists a 35-pound toddler about gave notice. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkh5fhFTG7WUCmyefGsnKYu0Xq5iwZmxXCIXz6Uvc1SBEalRArKMucO-gc2u4sAnqoYEnqKz9SqIdz7T1-9XPTW5k9AzTA3DfAzlRQ4HjcvnxxmFy-tvQ4jcqoPTagOGgL8akP4XPS0HsCppJgo5305TwVuq12tu6z0Txnv4MAmmehnyQN3OKkagJMyw=s1800" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkh5fhFTG7WUCmyefGsnKYu0Xq5iwZmxXCIXz6Uvc1SBEalRArKMucO-gc2u4sAnqoYEnqKz9SqIdz7T1-9XPTW5k9AzTA3DfAzlRQ4HjcvnxxmFy-tvQ4jcqoPTagOGgL8akP4XPS0HsCppJgo5305TwVuq12tu6z0Txnv4MAmmehnyQN3OKkagJMyw=s320" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">OLD</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgl-xHMdqFI5JEKJFrxO5FnAE6_hMg9uJqqu1u8Z8V-wTgG_o3jnSjMgMv9sXv9IyDkl5tifd9DOfXcqsUGSwmKTu_Nph1b93x-la7ipQXyKR7aKcVlcXnuegMfHbNhZ0EdQRtJy7NVAwEBBpAumrrQ9fVIgQkxM9psW3Jr-UTIRI5OXibUeOM-J7mMA=s1800" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgl-xHMdqFI5JEKJFrxO5FnAE6_hMg9uJqqu1u8Z8V-wTgG_o3jnSjMgMv9sXv9IyDkl5tifd9DOfXcqsUGSwmKTu_Nph1b93x-la7ipQXyKR7aKcVlcXnuegMfHbNhZ0EdQRtJy7NVAwEBBpAumrrQ9fVIgQkxM9psW3Jr-UTIRI5OXibUeOM-J7mMA=s320" width="256" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">NEW</div><p><br /></p><p>I wrote my old desk a love letter, and set it out on the street for swift adoption. My new desk is glorious. We have a lot of goodness ahead together, I can tell. More words, less back pain.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>LOVE LETTER TO MY ORANGE DESK</b></p><p><br /></p><p>We have been together for more than ten years. You arrived, used, in Tiffany blue. I shellacked you in International Orange, the official color of the Golden Gate Bridge. </p><p><br /></p><p>You helped me write entire novels. I finished High Turnover with you. Started and finished Invincible People. And started and nearly finished The Clinic with you. Novels still waiting to find their place in the world, but that is not your fault. I clocked countless journal hours, blog posts, social media posts, morning pages, short non-fiction, letters first to my eggs, then my embryos, then to Beatrix. So many words were written on top of your inviting surface.</p><p><br /></p><p>I also used you to hold up my breast pump so the babe could be fed while I escaped. I held each cat on my lap while writing. Your drawers have held tax records. Scads of collected to-do lists which have been done but I can’t seem to part with yet, their record of my life just as sacred to me as my journals. Pens, so many pens. Stamps. The archive of Christmas cards sent. Art supplies. Reading glasses. A sweet felt sloth hung from the desk lamp until it was adopted by Bea, then lost. </p><p><br /></p><p>You’ve been amazing. But my body has outgrown you. You were never the right height, especially paired with a crap kitchen chair for this decade of time together. A masseuse, my GP, and now my physical therapist look at me quizzically: why don’t I yet have an ergonomic desk situation? </p><p><br /></p><p>Tomorrow I turn 46. And my new desk arrived yesterday. Not yet assembled. A box full of pure potential. A desk to finish my current novel on. To finish my coaching certification from. To start a coaching business with. A standing desk. With buttons that will attract my child to futz with it endlessly. </p><p><br /></p><p>The orange desk’s drawers are now emptied, a decluttering of the mind at play as well. I will set you out on the sidewalk with a sign that says “Free, and adorable.” Maybe I’ll leave the leftover can of International Orange paint out too, for the Tiffany blue that bleeds through at the well-worn forearm spot. I give it a half hour before you are adopted.</p><div><br /></div><p>Behind the scenes with my construction crew:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxqlXpSuMXcVGhCPP2czdFQCOeZql0ARUFwoWyd_pEmnvhax-CW1RETIU1wI9RUStHlhHthdluH_X4533X4rA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzb4l9RIlJvTMmZt8SzerHn8iI2XMTw5fafB5A_q5VmwdCWk3eDujYVPiJ0S12odx0mHSZWuoff_wxCL520qQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p>What will you gift yourself this year in support of all the beautiful things you are trying to accomplish?</p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-61662976935146756552021-03-25T10:34:00.002-07:002021-03-25T10:34:57.500-07:00The Great Pandemic Reading List...So Far<p>We just crossed over the one year mark for life in lockdown in San Francisco. I thought it a good time to look back at the books I've read during this strange time, with great gratitude to their authors for providing me with sanity, humor, hope, escape, inspiration, and solace. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWsRB62tXSOQQVvXd3ZTnR8j4z9OsVzVeD14G5xrBHFO3BdEcL1-pXRPmyp2k-qUSkhRgbZoA48F2Zgo-vKvgIlHPo6Wx3R8moodTjeq89Bk0B_icJxKGONam3NQ63syLSatne7hF1Iw6e/s4032/PandemicReading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWsRB62tXSOQQVvXd3ZTnR8j4z9OsVzVeD14G5xrBHFO3BdEcL1-pXRPmyp2k-qUSkhRgbZoA48F2Zgo-vKvgIlHPo6Wx3R8moodTjeq89Bk0B_icJxKGONam3NQ63syLSatne7hF1Iw6e/w480-h640/PandemicReading.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p>From top to bottom, because I can't actually remember the order I read these in:</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.powells.com/book/before-and-after-the-book-deal-9781948226400" target="_blank">Before and After the Book Deal</a></b>, by Courtney Maum. This giant happy book of practical advice should be assigned reading for anyone in an MFA or considering an MFA or deciding they don't need/want an MFA but who would really, really, really like to have a book out someday. It has loads of humor and useful information that was completely news to me about the process of book publication and beyond. True fact: books about publishing usually leave me feeling like I might as well give up before even starting. This book was a beautiful antidote to that. I was inspired to read it after listening to an interview with the author on my favorite writing podcast <a href="http://www.wmfapodcast.com/" target="_blank">WMFA</a> (which I also recommend to all aspiring writers). </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.zyzzyva.org/" target="_blank">Zyzzyva</a></b>, issue no. 119. My favorite experience of reading a literary journal is immediately being inspired to sit down and write. This issue did just that. I read it while sitting in a camping chair in my favorite pandemic-friendly ball field (read; there are no balls, just field) in Golden Gate Park. </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://archipelagobooks.org/book/sarajevo-marlboro/" target="_blank">Sarajevo Marlboro</a></b>, by Miljenko Jergovic. This collection of tiny stories set in the time surrounding the Bosnian war is a delight of tiny details. Each story holds a moment connected to the war but even more shows how much life is continuing on, if different. Not at all unlike this pandemic moment we are living in now. It's a book to savor.</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-thank-you-project-nancy-davis-kho/1131171582" target="_blank">The Thank You Project: Cultivating Happiness One Letter of Gratitude at a Time</a></b>, by Nancy Davis Kho. The delightful author of this book (who I met through a writers conference waaaay back in 2012) wrote fifty letters of gratitude to fifty people (or pastimes or places!) that had shaped her in some way in honor of turning fifty. This book will inspire you to write at least one postcard. Just the process of reading through the categories made me think about who, what, and where that has had a positive impact on me. This reflection during a scary time of pandemic living really helped me see this moment in greater scope. It inspired me to write a letter of gratitude to my father who is living with Alzheimers. And at no time did I feel judged by the fact I wouldn't get much farther than that in my letter writing this year. </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9781250231260" target="_blank">Trust Exercise</a></b>, by Susan Choi. We read this for my beloved book club. Book club went mostly virtual with just a couple socially-distanced meetups in the Botanical Garden at Golden Gate Park. I love my book club fiercely. We all know each other through work at a company that all but two of us have left. We have a no-guilt rule so that if you don't or can't read that every-other-monthly pick you are not shamed. We rotate who picks the book and who provides the tasty treats. I think we've been together for seven, eight, nine years? Book clubs are a gift. This was a fun read, taking many of us back to life as a teenager. <b><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9781594634697" target="_blank">All Adults Here</a></b>, by Emma Straub was also a book club read. Also a fun one. Fun reads to escape into may not sound like much, but when you are trying to find a moment of joy in a pandemic, they are a good start. </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-city-we-became-n-k-jemisin/1130069908?ean=9780316509848" target="_blank">The City We Became</a></b>, by N.K. Jemisin. Holy crap this book is so good!!!! The New York boroughs come to life quite literally: they are characters fighting against an evil that threatens to destroy the city. If you need a taste of Jemisin's writing, may I suggest listening to a story of hers read by the dreamy voice of Reading Rainbow's <a href="https://omny.fm/shows/levar-burton-reads/valedictorian-by-n-k-jemisin" target="_blank">Lavar Burton</a>? </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.booksmith.com/book/9781501160837" target="_blank">Anxious People</a></b>, by Frederik Backman. I hit a point in the pandemic where I just wanted to step inside books of authors I have loved before. This one and the rest of my pile are what happened. If you can't gather in a cafe with a good friend, a book by an author who you can always count on for a good time is a decent substitute. The unlikely bank robber protagonist will steal your heart in Backman's latest. Here's a little nugget I earmarked: "She was thinking about everything Ro had told her that night, the incomprehensible cruelties that terrible people are capable of inflicting on each other, and the utter insanity of war. Then she thought of how Ro, after all that, had somehow managed to grow up to be the sort of person who made other people laugh. Because her parents had taught her during their flight through the mountains that humor is the soul's last line of defense, and as long as we're laughing we're alive, so bad puns and fart jokes were their way of expressing defiance against despair. Ro told Julia all this that first night, and after that Julia got to spend all of the world's everydays with her." That beautiful, sweet poignancy is all Backman all the time. </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.booksmith.com/book/9780593191385" target="_blank">Just Like You</a></b>, by Nick Hornby. Here's a gem that resonated mid-pandemic: "She was happy, in a bubble, and the only reason to pop it was on the grounds that bubbles were not real life. But bubbles made life tolerable, and the trick was to blow as many as possible. There were new-baby bubbles, and honeymoon bubbles, and success-at-work bubbles, and new-friend bubbles, and great-holiday bubbles, and even tiny T.V.-series bubbles, dinner bubbles, party bubbles. They all burst without intervention, and then it was a matter of getting through to the next one. Life hadn't been fizzy for a while. It had been hard."</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9780525521143" target="_blank">The Glass Hotel</a></b>, by Emily St. John Mandel. This took me to surprising places during a time without travel. A remote hotel on the tip of Vancouver Island, deep inside a dark bar scene, the Neptune Cumberland, a great ship between ports of call. Each setting is rendered so viscerally, a welcome escape for a couch-bound brain. </p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Gallows-Rock-Freyja-Huldar-Sigurdardottir/dp/147369339X/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=gallows+rock&qid=1616628667&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><b>Gallows Rock</b></a>, by Yrsa Sigurdardottir. Icelandic crime noir. Not everyone's cup of tea, but there's a lot to be said for a murder mystery. For one, you know that by the time you reach the end of the book you will have your answer. If only more of life were that simple, right?</p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.powells.com/book/we-run-the-tides-a-novel-9780062936233" target="_blank">We Run The Tides</a></b>, by Vendela Vida. Teenage friendships in all their painful complexities and the power of lies. This is a short, delicious read set in San Francisco's Sea Cliff neighborhood before the tech boom changed San Francisco forever. </p><p><br /></p><p>Not pictured because I lent them to others:</p><p><b><a href="https://www.wtawpress.org/2019-books" target="_blank">Like Water and Other Stories</a></b>, by Olga Zilberbourg. This incredible collection of very short stories captures several fleeting moments of the art that can happen while being a parent, and shares some of that transcendence with the reader. Noticing the beauty in front of you is very hard to do when you are just in the grind of it all and I'm always grateful a piece of art that brings it to my attention. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_kRDtbDUu-OQTSWhkWb3HoXuD7p3d2EfV-9OKbHiTIJ5hIsVoWLFwHkLBZSyU0EvD3FFa4wJHCXk-o7enf5oyuGDg0ZGunk4Y6n0qhsnmbTQGzS6QxT_bYj9TySGblPXBq9zuaTuXGfx/s2048/LikeWaterwithMask.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG_kRDtbDUu-OQTSWhkWb3HoXuD7p3d2EfV-9OKbHiTIJ5hIsVoWLFwHkLBZSyU0EvD3FFa4wJHCXk-o7enf5oyuGDg0ZGunk4Y6n0qhsnmbTQGzS6QxT_bYj9TySGblPXBq9zuaTuXGfx/s320/LikeWaterwithMask.JPG" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9780802148537" target="_blank">Writers & Lovers</a></b>, by Lily King. About once a year I like a really indulgent book about a struggling writer who emerges victorious. This was a supremely fun one. </p><p><br /></p><p><b><a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/book/9780802149237" target="_blank">Miss Iceland,</a></b> by<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <a href="https://www.greenapplebooks.com/search/author/%22%C3%93lafsd%C3%B3ttir%2C%20Au%C3%B0ur%20Ava%22" style="background-color: white; outline: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;">Auður Ava Ólafsdóttir</a>. Ic</span>eland again, this time literary fiction set in the 1960s, in the time before Iceland really became a place others sought out as a vacation spot, before it became admirable in how it handles women's equality. This one is also about a writer struggling to emerge: it was a good year to read more than one of those kinds of books. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I'm so grateful for these reads. They genuinely added joy and relief during these last twelve months of crisis-turned-normal. I recommend this tally of your pandemic reading. It's a unique slice of your history of these challenging and unusual twelve months. We have a ways yet to emerge from this pandemic and I am going to need more books to get me through. What books have kept you company lately? </p><p><br /></p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1411944180005726117.post-14625787015240259662020-11-18T20:24:00.009-08:002020-11-18T20:25:59.543-08:00It's The MOST Surreal Time Of The Year...<p>I'm not alone in wanting to (not so) gently shove 2020 out the door. It's got me in the mood to celebrate the holidays. Normally I feel rage when the stores shove Christmas down my throat in October and a bit of derision when my neighbors do as well. But this year I'm all Pumpkin Spice For Everyone! and what? You haven't decorated your tree yet?!? What are you waiting for? I mean, I haven't. I'm nowhere near that organized. But if I was I would. I think. And while I'm about to list some happy ideas it should be said that if you don't feel like celebrating at all you have never had more permission to take a year off than 2020 offers. Holidays in general are a great opportunity for misalignment of expectations and reality. This year there is so much collective and individual grief, and that too needs time and space for acknowledgement. But it's also okay to allow for cheer. </p><p><br /></p><p>Holidays pandemic-style require a fair bit of creativity to craft something enjoyable for ourselves as so many of our typical events are really not wise this year. I'm ALL for having as many humans still alive this time next year as possible, so caution with a side of celebration is my overall motif. </p><p><br /></p><p>With that in mind, here are <b>Five Festive Pandemic-friendly Holiday Ideas:</b></p><p>1. Books. Books are always a good idea, but I'm thinking of trying something new this year. Back when we all got to take vacations I particularly loved choosing a book for a trip that then became a permanent part of the memories of that experience. I loved having a book that either reflected the region I was visiting, or taught me something new, or helped me understand myself in a new way Travel always created a different kind of focus for reading so that most vacations I've taken in the last ten years also have a particular book associated with it. In lieu of holiday travel reading I plan to choose a book to mark the season with me. I think this year it will be Barack Obama's new memoir because I could use a good brain massage to wrap the year with. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvG6cY9pEWqPkCQwVtm3nOHI9kHUgNcFKOBChgdMpBrnf83kSFzC3YrVrd7dik-UEnWjjJ02LJazawqIE2I5enuiRVlx5zLcrhyPloMyJK7KLn3Jr-CyHR09Sa7snYmlhGWavWbh9nrFVs/s2048/Fjordtown.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Yrsa Sigurdardottir's novel are my go-to for any Icelandic travel" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvG6cY9pEWqPkCQwVtm3nOHI9kHUgNcFKOBChgdMpBrnf83kSFzC3YrVrd7dik-UEnWjjJ02LJazawqIE2I5enuiRVlx5zLcrhyPloMyJK7KLn3Jr-CyHR09Sa7snYmlhGWavWbh9nrFVs/w400-h300/Fjordtown.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Yrsa Sigurdardottir's novels populate my Icelandic travel memories</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>2. Create new ways to connect. We are all tired of Zoom and it's many cousins, but it has it does help to see the faces of people we miss having in person. There are other ways to connect creatively: stream a favorite or terrible movie at the same time over Facetime with a friend. Take someone on a virtual walk with you. Send a loved one the same gift as the child/ren in your house so they can "play" onscreen with each other for a moment. Choose an advent calendar for the grandchild/grandparent combo in your life so each day they are opening the same day's picture (or small gift if you're ambitious enough to do one of those really cool reusable ones). Have a one-month-long book club with just one other friend. Make hugs out of construction paper and mail to people you miss holding. <p></p><p>3. Lights. Other people's holiday lights are one of my favorite parts of December every year. It's just so dark out so early that knowing humanity still exists because they went to the effort to hang lights AND turn them on imbues cheer. I also love the ritual of turning holiday lights on each morning and find that little step helps me through solstice when I can start to count on the days lengthening again. This year I think I might particularly really need lights and need them inside my house, knowing they will glow for neighbors passing by as well (apartment life without a front yard means there's only so much to work with, but it also means the lights you hang in a front window do a lot of well-meaning work). </p><p>4. Find and make/purchase one new food, beverage, or scent to mark the season, or choose one that you already love and has particular sentimental strength and have it at least once a week. My usual default is an adult beverage of some sort. This year I'm thinking something along the lines of a <a href="http://barrittsgingerbeer.com/ginger-collins" target="_blank">ginger collins</a>. </p><p>5. Gear (this is also a gifting guide). Pretty much all my pandemic pastimes are outdoors. With rain, fog, cold, and snow for some settling in it's a great time to fine tune the gear in your life to make all of that more enjoyable/survivable. As the saying goes, there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes. A decent umbrella, hat, gloves, rain boots, coat, and scarf are evergreen needs for winter. This year might also really benefit from the addition of a decent outdoor chair so that you are up off the ground while enjoying a chilly picnic date or socially distanced get together in the park. <b><a href="https://www.cleverhiker.com/camping-chairs" target="_blank">Here</a></b> is a list of some that might be more high maintenance or pricey than needed. Sometimes just the ten dollar one from the grocery store is really all you need if you pair it with a fuzzy blanket. Other gear that can add a bit of luxury to going outside when that's really the only place to go are hand warmers, thin long underwear, a fleece mask (is that a thing? it should be), a low folding table, waterproof blanket, a small easy tent that provides a wind block like the kind one would take to the beach, audiobooks (because holding a book in the wind or rain can really suck), waterproof mascara, and a good thermos. Even the addition of just one item of winter-weather-friendly gear can add a lot of joy, and quite frankly motivation, to going outside. </p><p><br /></p><p>What other ideas should we add to the list? What cool new ritual are you crafting for this incredibly hard and painful year we've all survived (if barely)? </p>Christin Ricehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16241611996219354700noreply@blogger.com2