We spent Mother's Day afternoon with one of my favorite nonfiction authors, Anne Lamott. She was the featured guest at a “Food For Thought” event hosted by Westwood Presbyterian Church.

Ticket-holders sat shoulder-to-shoulder on long wooden pews, flanked by stone walls and arched doorways in the cathedral-style sanctuary. We’d dressed for the occasion in our Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes--which, translated loosely for SoCal residents, means anything on the fancier side of beachwear.

In walked Anne Lamott, instantly recognizable for her scarf-tied dreads. Her eyes twinkled when she smiled. “I tend to talk about myself a lot,” she began, with the barest hint of an apology. “I’ll share myself in a way that’ll make you feel comfortable… but not for long.”

Sunlight streamed through stain-glass windows. Heads nodded, and shoulders relaxed. We smiled back at her, as if to say: We’ve read your books; we’re ready…

Anne read a selection from her latest book, SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED: A Journal of my Son’s First Son, which was co-written with her son, Sam Lamott. It was disarming in its honesty, at once spiritual and irreverent…the inimitable writing style she’s known for. [Note: You can read the passage at this link, but if you’d rather watch a live performance, click here.]

Then she shared some loosely braided stories from her own life. She talked about dancing and sobriety, the writer’s life and faith. Each experience was a teacher, Anne said; the lessons, interchangeable. [See also: The miracle of “Me, too,” below.]

I’ve paraphrased much of what she said about writing, and I’ve also included a few Grace notes. Hope you enjoy these gems as much as we did!

ON WRITING:

You say you want to live a richer, deeper, childlike existence. Guess what? You get to do that!

Stop the train of unconscious living and mindless multi-tasking. Ask yourself: How alive am I willing to be?

Do what you’ve been putting off, what you’ve been dreading for so long. Be afraid of not finishing the work.

Silence your self-loathing. Transform it into a thing of beauty and service. Hook yourself to something bigger--that’s the path to world peace.

You can fill your mind with stuff: acre upon jumbled acre of rusty car parts, and/or alphabetized rows of planted vegetables. Or you can simply wade into the tide pools of Breath.

A good time to write is never, so begin at the next available time slot. How about 10:00 this evening?

Progress comes of rough feet and rage, of boredom and a butt gone numb because you’ve sat so long in your writing chair.

You need friends who’ll tell you, “I’m going to love this. It’s not perfect yet, but it will be.” And you also need that One True Friend--someone who’s willing to say, “This isn’t going to work,” even (especially) when all you want them to do is clap and pet you.

When you're writing from a place of consciousness and intention, your work becomes a source of light and truth--a remedy for despair and isolation. That’s the miracle of “Me, too.”

ON GRACE:

“I don’t understand the mystery of grace,” Anne said, “But absolutely all I need to know is that it’s an unmerited gift…the unexplained help that gets you out of extreme stuckness.”

Grace is the sliver of light that peeks through the redwoods. It’s a glass of cool water from the flow of the Beloved. It meets us where we are, and does not leave us where it found us.

Grace is fresh air that sneaks through the cracks of our imperfections. It’s WD-40, a solvent for things that grind against each other. And grace is water wings, made available to you at the very moment you feel yourself sinking.

Our afternoon with Anne Lamott was grace, personified. She met us where we were, and did not leave us where she found us.

In late January, this rosebush was a tangled mess of roots & twigs, nothing more.

I amended the soil, added water and compost tea. I whispered prayers as I weeded, released an entire carton of ladybugs over the rosebed when an aphid infestation hit. And ealier this morning, Pope John Paul II made his grand debut in my garden!

Bird by bird, rosebud by rosebud...this is how miracles reveal themselves, I've finally realized. 

I'll show you more blossoms at some point (ha, did you harbor any doubts?), but it seemed appropriate to feature this one on Thankful Thursday.

ETA: Pope John Paul II in full bloom, just in time for Mother's Day! Pure white petals, strong citrus fragrance...a slice of Heaven, here on earth!

I catch glimpses of my Nana's sensibilities (and sentimentalities) in myself, more and more every day. How so, you ask? I offer you five examples:

1. A couple of days ago, this pair of mallards landed in our yard. I'm not sure what they were looking for--the closest water source is my neighbor's pool (although there's a stream bed a few blocks away). Anyway, after strolling through my new rose bed, they ambled across the road. 

Along came an SUV, barreling toward both ducks. I flapped my arms and shouted, "Ducks! Watch out!" The driver screeched to a stop. He slouched in his seat, likely at the thought of the narrowly-averted tragedy. Or maybe he was frightened by the wild-eyed woman who waved him down?  I swan, I just about had a heart attack myself, right then and there.The ducks? They kept right on waddling, utterly nonplussed...

2. The yard into which the ducks shuffled next belonged to my dearly departed neighbor. Jan's front yard's a shambles now, but it used to be a caliope of roses, hibiscus, and gardenias--the pride and joy of the entire neighborhood. She tended her flowers every morning and evening...until she couldn't any longer. The house sold quickly, and the new owners just moved in. A young couple, really nice. But because they have a toddler, they plan to remove all the landscaping out front...sooner than later, as finances permit. 

We understand their reasoning, but the entire neighborhood has once again fallen into grief. We loved Jan's flowers as much as she did, and are anguished to think that her beloved rose beds--her legacy--will disappear without a trace. So when our new neighbors offered me as many roses as I wanted to take, I seized the opportunity.

I struggled mightily with the larger ones, but the thorns were too sharp, the roots too stubborn. Still, I managed to dig up three mid-sized bushes all by myself, and transplanted them into a flower bed in my backyard. I'm wishing on imaginary dandelion puffs now, like Nana taught me long ago. I'm so hoping that they'll make it!!

3. Good news: our orioles are back! And you know what that means, right? TIme to buy some more grape jelly! Nana would've loved to watch them flit from tree to tree. Knowing her, she'd probably sneak an extra pinch of sugar into the nectar while it's cooking...


I took this photo last year. I'll try for a better shot this spring/summer.

4. I'm reading WRITING PAST DARK: Envy, Fear, Distractions, and Other Dilemmas in the Writer's Life. (I wish I could remember who it was that mentioned this wonderful book on their blog, so I could thank them properly!) Bonnie Friedman's an amazing writer, and though I'm reluctant to single out any one chapter, I confess to tearing up while reading, "Your Mother's Passions, Your Sister's Woes: Writing About the Living." Just like my Nana, Ms. Friedman illustrates Truth With story. I love that kind of writing, don't you?

5. One by one, my longtime LiveJournal friends are leaving for greener pastures. I mourn the loss of everyone who leaves us, feel sad when their moving trucks rumble down the street. Nothing is permanent, but LJ felt less transient than most blog platforms...until it didn't. And if I weren't so attached to this place, if I weren't so reluctant to learn all I need to make the shift myself, I'd probably be digging up my own rosebeds about now. But I can't bring myself to do that--not yet, anyway.

Instead, I cling tight to my belief that, despite any temporary transplant shock, the friendships we've cultivated here will survive--and thrive. Here I am again, blowing dandelion wishes into the wind. But as my Nana used to say, "If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride." So I'm also thinking about what I might do to help smooth these transitions.  The odds are better, I've found, when I choose action over chance.