I don’t remember where I picked up that phrase, nor who
coined it. It’s probably the punchline
to a tired old joke.
But I can tell you, it is one handy way to help you recognize
I remember a former co-worker of mine. I’ll call her Mary. She is a loving mother and grandmother. Her son is a pretty good guy, but he married
Last night before I went to bed, I finished Alyson Stanfield’s book, “I’d Rather Be in the Studio: The Artist’s No-excuse Guide to Self-promotion. It’s written for working artists who want to grow, and full disclosure, Alyson and I work together.
It must have lingered in my consciousness as I slept because
this is what I wrote in my dream journal this morning:
It was Saturday. Just this past Saturday to be exact. The rain was pounding outdoors and the errands I needed to run were not
We go to an art gallery or art museum and look at paintings and sculptures. Is that art?
We browse a craft fair and see clever items, useful and well-made. Is that art?
We hear music on the radio. Is that art?
Last October, around the middle of the month, when I first visited NW Arkansas, I sat with my sister one evening making mind maps. Yep, that's what we do. I had made the decision emotionally to move but had no idea
The workshop was going smoothly. All the participants were engaged in the
material and I could see the light bulbs of recognition and understanding popping.
Several of the ladies attending were empty-nesters who never had a career outside the home. Their lifetime focus had been nurturing family and running a household.
Suddenly, what they thought of as their “purpose” just left for college and they were left standing with a generous heart and lots less laundry.
As we talked about Dreams and what gets in the way of manifesting them, one participant blurted, “Oh no! I lived my life all WRONG!”
She was regretting the ...