tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:/blogs/blog
Blog
2022-05-29T10:55:36-04:00
annmarierowland.com
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tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6570886
2021-03-11T11:12:19-05:00
2021-03-11T11:12:19-05:00
It's Been Quiet
<p>It’s Been a Quiet Year </p>
<p>Anyone who ever listened to A Prairie Home Companion remembers that Garrison Keillor always began his monologue with the words, “It’s been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, my hometown.” What came after was always a story about the every-day doings of small-town folk in America’s heartland. To look at The Big Picture of “the town that time forgot”, not much happened. Ever. </p>
<p>Kind of like 2020. I have found myself musing, “It’s been a quiet year in Coldwater, my home town” more times than I care to count. Indeed, we all have felt the halt of our “regular” lives keenly. </p>
<p>An entire year has passed since “they” declared Covid 19 to be a world-wide pandemic. A year since we’ve just gone about living without thinking about masks, hand sanitizer, staying away from one another. A year since we’ve impulsively hugged people on the street simply because we haven’t seen them in a week and we’re glad to meet their eyes. A year of uncertainty, anticipation, dashed hopes, disappointments, losses, and an abundance of something we all wish we had more of… time. </p>
<p>For this girl who makes her living by getting in the car and driving, or on an airplane to fly from here to there and there to here to play my songs for folks, lead workshops and retreats, and direct writing camps, everything ground to a halt. My car didn’t move for weeks at a time. I was grounded, and by that learned some things about myself. </p>
<p>Perhaps to say that I “learned” things is a stretch. But certain truths carved themselves more deeply into my psyche. For example, the truth that I like being still and quiet became not only clear to me, but felt like grace. Oh yes, I love all the things I do and am anxious to get back to them, but it felt better than I expected to simply be in one place for a long stretch; to sleep in the same bed for months on end…to not feel a need to look around in the morning to get my bearings before putting my feet on the floor. That was good. For nearly nine months I went to bed knowing exactly where I would be the next day and the day after that and the day after that. What’s more, I was not, even one time, bored. </p>
<p>I sewed. I knitted. I bought a bicycle and relearned the streets of the town where I grew up. I gardened, sat by backyard bonfires on the weekends, laughed with my sister, read a stack of books, and looked forward. </p>
<p>I was reminded that having enough really is enough. Much of my “usual” life is made up of the “more”, which, when removed, leaves me still alive and, blessedly whole. </p>
<p>And yet, I won’t pretend to have been unaffected. I struggled. I’ve never believed in writer’s block, but this was as close as I have come to becoming a believer. I didn’t have the heart to put my thoughts down. Oh, sure. In the first days I wrote great long lists of Things I Can Accomplish. I made a few attempts, but found my mind wandering, my pen still. Who wanted to read my lamentations, after all? I wrote very little, and of it, none will see the light of day. Acquaintances sent chipper notes, pointing out “how much there is to write about.” I disagreed. Maybe I was just lazy. </p>
<p>I didn’t pick up my guitar much, either. Nor sing. Though it seemed like a great time to dig in and hone my skills, again, I didn’t have the heart for it. “I bet you’re writing a lot of songs!” crowed one acquaintance who I passed on the street one day as I was out for a walk. No. Actually, just one; a particularly dismal one that I worked on for several weeks before abandoning it immediately after singing it through the first time. That happens sometimes. A thing that seems like a good idea turns out to be “just an idea.” </p>
<p>I suppose I was depressed, though I managed to function fairly well. I think a lot of us were. Some still are. I grieve the losses of the past year, recognizing that personally, mine were few and small compared to many others. I learned new ways to count my blessings. </p>
<p>I “learned” that I am more patient than I knew. My partner is Canadian, and as I was in Michigan doing the things I do when the pandemic hit, the border between the US and Canada seemed to widen. Every month when the announcement came that the border would stay closed for another 30 days, my heart broke a little more. I cried a lot. (Gardening and bike riding are good for bruised hearts.) But I resisted the urge to be snippy at people whose biggest gripe was that they “couldn’t go anywhere”. I know that we all suffered…and continue to suffer…in unique ways. I had much to be thankful about, and still do. In time, after jumping through a series of fiery hoops, the border cracked open just a hair for people like me, who have spouses/partners in Canada and I was able to be with him for a couple of weeks…after a two-week quarantine, of course. Those were easy weeks. I was counting days “until” instead of “since”. </p>
<p>Through the months of pause, I missed my boys, 200 miles away. I worried about them, even though they’re grown men with good sense. But I often thought of soldiers away at war, sometimes for a year or more. I thought of people who, a century or more ago, bade their families good-bye, climbed into covered wagons, or boarded steamships, and looked back until the faces most dear to them disappeared from their eyes forever. I was, and am, aware of the families who have lost loved ones to Covid 19. The separation was hard, but at least for me it wasn’t that. </p>
<p>The itch in my feet subsided. Time apart from my love did not diminish our commitment. In being apart, I discovered that while absence didn’t necessarily make my heart grow fonder, it did increase surety. </p>
<p>And now, a year since someone pressed the big PAUSE button on the planet, the sun has begun to shine. I’ve picked up my pen again. I’m singing more. </p>
<p>Yes, it’s been a quiet year, but the months ahead are full of promise. I’m booking concerts for 2022-2023. I’m making plans. Exciting things are on my horizon, and you will find out about them here now that my fingers have found their way back to the keyboard. </p>
<p>Most of my concert dates from 2020 were bumped to 2021. Some have bumped ahead again, giving me a head start on 2022. For that I am grateful. I’m looking forward to getting back out, to singing my songs again, to putting some miles on my car, and having a bit more to write about. </p>
<p>Be well. I’ll see you along the way. <br>AMR</p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028691
2019-04-14T20:00:00-04:00
2021-02-08T03:58:47-05:00
Too Excited to Think
<p>East-bound!<br> <br> In 2016 I had the opportunity to travel to United Arab Emirates to teach creative writing workshops at the Sharjah Children’s Reading Festival. I remember when the invitation was made, I was apprehensive. In truth, I looked for a good reason not to go. I thought of all the places in the world that I had wished for years and years to visit and recognized that UAE was not among them. <br> <br> But I accepted the invitation, with the encouragement of people I trust, and ignoring the voices of people who were fearful; among them, my own. I swallowed my fear of flying, of going someplace new by myself, of the unknown. I learned a single, simple phrase in Arabic that means “Peace be unto you”, took a deep breath and went. After all, it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to have a big adventure, and while I am not, as a rule, an adventurer, it was too good to pass up. <br> <br> I had no idea how that decision would shake up my world. But shake it, it did. It shook out everything I thought I “knew” about a culture. It shook me out of my comfort zone. It dropped me, a tall, blue-eyed, English-speaking American woman into a sea of people who I could not understand. It shook into me a taste of of what it is to be in the minority.<br> <br> It taught me to listen carefully, to speak carefully. It taught me to look carefully too, and to see. Because in listening carefully I learned to hear meaning, not just words. In speaking carefully, I was conscious of needing to convey meaning without lapsing into habitual phrasing that could be misinterpreted. Word choice. Yes. As a writer, I know about that. I found myself having deeper conversations than what I expected I would. Some of them have stayed with me, as fresh as if they occurred yesterday.<br> <br> In looking carefully, I saw. I saw the ways that we, by which I mean the people of the world, are truly all the same in many, if not most, ways. I saw daddies with children on their shoulders. I saw children laughing with delight over bits of beauty. I saw eyes widen in wonder when a new understanding was realized. I saw little ones crying over dropped ice cream. I saw mothers drying their tears. I saw people from a dozen different countries all together in one place being friends. I saw that what seems “exotic” and “strange” from here, looks simply like regular life there. I saw that none of the “warnings” I’d received from my fearful friends had any substance at all. </p>
<p>I saw myself with new eyes, too. I saw myself braver. More capable. I saw that perhaps I would have more to teach people when I returned home than I taught in the workshops I led.</p>
<p>Imagine my excitement when, in January, I received an invitation to do it all again! It took no time at all for me to respond with “YES!” I asked no opinions. I simply felt the still-warm joy from my experience in 2016 and all the ways it stretched me into a wider-thinking person wash over me.<br> <br> Today is Monday. I fly on Thursday. The next two days will go by both at a snail’s pace and at lightning speed. I packed my bag a week ago. This time, I know what I’m in for, and already I can almost feel the heat of the desert, hear the call to prayer from the Mosques, see the wide smiles and colorful clothing, taste the deep spices, and smell the jasmine in the evening.<br> <br> I am so fortunate. So blessed. So lucky. So excited. And so ready. As-Salaam-Alaikum.</p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028690
2017-09-24T20:00:00-04:00
2022-05-29T10:55:36-04:00
Beryl's Gardn
<p>Beryl’s Garden<br> <br>She made her home of finest silk<br>threaded intricately between the alliums;<br>twin batons with dry, brown remnants<br>of sparkling summer days held aloft<br>like wisps of the sulfur-scented smoke that hangs<br>in the humid dusk of a July celebration.<br>I name the tiny creature Charlotte,<br>what else; talk to her as I clear away detritus.<br>Even with her long legs, she’s but a speck; delicate, dancing<br>on the gossamer tightrope she's stung for herself<br>one hundred and eighty times her own height above ground.<br>My gloved hand reaches out automatically,<br>to sweep away the threads that hold her life together<br>where dew gathers and where<br>meals deliver themselves to her doorstep.<br>Over my head a raven calls and I pause<br>A breeze shakes her home and I<br>imagine her eight knees quaking.<br>And though it means that these two, <br>the Allium Towers will be all that remain<br>between the rocks near the tree loaded with gnarly, sweet apples,<br>I withdraw my arm of destruction<br>leaving Charlotte in her penthouse of silk<br>at the edge of Beryl’s garden.<br> <br>AMR © 2017</p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028689
2017-09-16T20:00:00-04:00
2017-09-17T05:15:58-04:00
on my morning walk
<p>On my morning walk</p>
<p>mourning doves, a cardinal, three blue jays<br>greet the day with songs<br>an old man with headphones and a lawnmower<br>bellers a country song out of tune<br>birds flock on the baseball field by the high school<br>the grass freshly cut and over-seeded<br>sparrows stuff themselves into the holes<br>of the chain-link fence feathers fluffed against the chill<br>of September scolding as I pass but not moving<br>farther along in a garage a whistling man<br>bent over with his head under the hood<br>of an orange hot rod straightens nods bends again<br>black walnuts drop from overhead branches<br>bouncing in their green outer shells <br>a squirrel keeps a keen watch chattering<br>about the coming winter<br>how it might be colder harder<br>the sun streams through maples warms me<br>in my sweater that was too thin at the start<br>but has become suffocating<br>I buy books at a yard sale<br>ten cents each she says but I give her a dollar<br>for the four I want if she'll put them in a bag<br>for the last mile that passes by the park<br>where the ancient sycamore glows white<br>and gray on my morning walk<br>AMR (C) 2017</p>
<p> </p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028688
2017-03-09T19:00:00-05:00
2021-04-21T21:55:39-04:00
The Lagging Blogger
<p>"What have you been up to, AnnMarie?" she asked, plopping her suitcase on the kitchen floor and opening her arms for a hug. It had been a year since I'd seen her, and even though I knew her question was sincere, I simply didn't have the energy at that moment to tell her. So I said, "Not much. The usual."</p>
<p><em>NOT MUCH? THE USUAL?</em> I am not in the habit of telling whoppers, but as I look back over the year just past, I know that she really didn't have time right then to listen to all that has gone on since last I saw her. And don't we all do that? Instead of pouring out the bucket of words that reveal the true answer to "How are you", or "What have you been up to?", we give trite answers, such as, "Fine" and, "Not much."</p>
<p>Even now as I look at the date of my last blog post, I see that it has been a long time since I updated. I think it is time, and I'll begin with a review of 2016, which was, without a doubt, one of the most remarkable years I've ever had, and one I could not have ever predicted.</p>
<p>January and February were "usual" for the most part. I was contracted to cook meals for a series of weekend retreats in Northern Michigan. Quilters. A dozen ladies each week gathered to sew, and I kept them fed. It was a fun 5 weeks in a picture-perfect wintry setting, and the time might have been idyllic except for the breast biopsy at the end of January. I am thankful that the results came back in my favor, but it was, in a word, unpleasant.</p>
<p>Also during that time my mother, then 91 years old, developed pneumonia. We thought we were going to lose her, but she pulled through. Miracles do happen every day.<br><br>In March, I had the honor of performing my quilt-themed songs at the American Quilt Society's Quilt Week in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. My sister-friend, Delphine Miller and I presented "Sisters' Choice", a musical trunk show, and I presented a writing workshop, "The Final Stitch" the next day. Driving together from Michigan to Pennsylvania and back was fun, and we were pleased to discover that we got along very well, even spending 24 hours a day together for the better part of a week. We watched late winter turn to mid-spring and back again as we traveled, viewed hundreds of stunning quilts at the AQS show, and deepened our friendship along the way.<br><br>April... What can I say about April, except although I had never dreamt that I'd ever visit the Middle East, I spent two weeks in the United Arab Emirates, which was an unforgettable experience. Sharjah is the Emirate just east of Dubai, and host of the Sharjah International Children's Reading Festival, where I was greatly honoured to teach creative writing workshops to hundreds of bright young people. As I look back at that experience, I know that the lessons I learned far outweigh any lessons I taught. I look at the world through different eyes; eyes that I like to think see past clothing styles, skin color, language, and customs, to hearts, minds, and the things that bind us all as humans. Universal similarities like respect for ourselves and others, family bonds, laughter, the desire to be heard and understood, a sense of home. I ate foods I could not name, but that I miss. I experienced heat like I'd never known and jet lag for the first time. I rode a camel, found a flower blooming in the desert, made friends from around the world, and find myself wanting to go back someday. <br><br>Just a week after returning to Michigan from UAE, April ended and May began with the North of 45 Retreat for Writers; an annual event in Curtis, MI where writers of all levels and styles gather to play with words and take a break from day-to-day distractions. We had a lovely time as the weather warmed along with our hearts. As I write, I am thinking about the coming retreat, and looking forward to reuniting with old friends and making some new ones.</p>
<p>Just a week after the Writers' Retreat, I got on a plane and flew to England. I used to think Europe was a long way away, but on the heels of the trip to to UAE (14 1/2 hours of air time from Detroit) the 6 hour flight to Manchester from Toronto seemed like nothing at all! I went as a bit of a tag-along with my partner's band, RPR, which was on tour in the UK for 5 weeks. Sure, I carried some sound gear into venues and helped with sound checks and CD sales, but mostly I just got in the van and saw the greenest, most flower-filled place I've ever known. Mid-May through early June in England was spectacular, The tulips were just fading when we arrived, and by the time I boarded a plane to come back home, the poppies were blooming alongside the roads. Everything that could produce a flower, did. Highlights were Evensong at Yorkminster, Lincoln Castle, walking the city walls of York, visiting my friend Christine (who I met in UAE!) and, contrary to common belief, the food! English cuisine is grossly underrated. I was struck by the contrast between the endless tan of the desert landscape I'd experienced in Sharjah and the boundless green of England. Completely opposite, equally stunning places.<br><br>My plane touched down just days before the June session of Author Quest, and I was back to words and children and all things familiar in my home state of Michigan. Author Quest is for kids, ages 10 - 13 who love to write. Since 2007 it's been a place where kids who feel a little bit "odd" in their passion for words on paper find their "tribe" and feel like what they do is as natural as breathing, which it is for some of us. The depth of thought and feeling that comes out in youth writing is astonishing. Some people wonder their whole lives what their purpose on this planet is. I need only to think of Author Quest, and I know that the role I play there is my "why".</p>
<p>It takes place three times a year; June, August, and December, and between the three, about 150 young writers make their way to camp. I have the privilege of working with some of the finest people I know, all with the same desire; to create opportunities for kids to reach the stars.<br><br>In October I launched another Writers' Retreat, Word Compass, which is much like North of 45, but smaller, and "family style". It took place in a big log house in northern Michigan, and will be repeated this year. It's open to anyone who writes, or likes to read, stare off into space, draw, or hang out with people who do those things.</p>
<p>Christmas was extra special,and bittersweet, as the whole family was together for the first time in many years. It's difficult to get everyone in one place when there are in-law families to consider, miles, and jobs to coordinate. But we all gathered at Maple Lawn, where Mom lives, for a meal, gifts, laughter, and many tears as mom told us that it would likely be the last Christmas we'd all have together. How fortunate we are to have had that time. How sharply we all felt the truth of her words, spoken with the kind of strength I've not heard from her in a long time. As Parkinson's Disease and age take a little more of her every day, I am grateful for every moment with her. She still plays the organ in the day room; sometimes with the skill that has been hers for decades, and other times when her frustration is heavy. She'll be 93 in May, God willing.</p>
<p>The rest of the year was somewhat ordinary, meaning that I did a lot of driving to interview people, wrote a lot, sang my songs for people, crossed the US-Canadian border a few times to be with my partner, whiled away a good number of days in the garden, and was ever mindful of how blessed I am to live the life I do. <br><br>Now that we're well into 2017, I mean to do a better job of keeping up with blogging. So if you, like my friend at the first 2017 quilt retreat, wonder what I'm up to lately, maybe you'll stop back here to find out. I'll try not to let you down.<br><br>Until next time.<br><br></p>
<p> </p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028687
2016-06-11T20:00:00-04:00
2019-12-18T10:49:16-05:00
A Nomad At Home
<p>A Nomad at Home</p>
<p>I am a woman who has not fully unpacked her suitcase in a year. Actually, it’s been longer than that, but the past 12 months, in particular, can only be described as nomadic. For the record, my address is in Southern Michigan. Way southern…nearly Indiana. But you’d never know it, judging from how much time I have, or haven’t, spent here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Part of that is due to the nature of being a musician. Part is due to being a writer. Part is due to the fact that as a musician and a writer, I sometimes accept temporary employment to fill in the gaps. The rest is due to having a partner who lives in another country. And so I have become a nomad. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the past 12 months I’ve driven from Michigan to Idaho and back; directed 3 camps for young writers and a retreat for adult writers; cooked for 5 women’s retreats (all in Northern Michigan); presented writing workshops for 11 days in the United Arab Emirates, toured England for 3 weeks; visited New Brunswick (I didn’t even know there was an Atlantic time zone!); and performed concerts, conducted interviews, and worked in gardens in too many Michigan towns to count. Oh yes, and spent a little bit of time, though not enough, in Ontario with my partner.</p>
<p><br> <br>These days, if you ask me where Home is, I’m inclined to say “Here.” Because when you live as a nomad, when your bag is always at least part-way packed, when you’ve learned where the water glasses and soup spoons are located in a dozen different addresses of which only one is your own, when the garden you planted in spring is more than 350 miles away from where you get your mail, when there are too many mornings when you wake up and have to think about where you are, you learn that, trite as it is, Home truly is where you make it. It is where your heart resides.<br> <br>Home is an open door, a genuine smile, a sincere embrace, and a cup of coffee across the table from a friend, whether a long-time one or brand new. Home is shelter from the storm, whether the one that obscures the road with snow and wind or dampens the spirit with longing. It is where the heart finds peace, the body rest, the spirit encouragement and acceptance. It is a place where one can just “be” without feeling compelled to “be something”. In the past 12 months, I have found myself at home in surprising places.<br> <br>This morning, as I write, I am at my address. I am at home, in the town where I was born. It’s a sparkling, clear, early summer morning that feels just like my childhood. I slept last night in a bed beneath an open window; heard the familiar sound of birdsong at dawn. I have coffee in a cup that I didn’t need to search to find. I don’t have to be anybody but myself today and I know that I am loved by the people around me. Today I will buy strawberries at the market where I have purchased strawberries countless times before, and I will bake biscuits for a shortcake. I’ll hang laundry on the line and go for a walk through familiar neighborhoods, past my old high school and the park. I’ll sit on the front porch and wait for the lightning bugs to come out and the streetlights to come on. Maybe the ice cream truck will come by, and if it does I’ll hurry to find some money to get an Eskimo Pie. I’ll sleep again under the window with a breeze fluttering the curtains until the cardinal and the robins wake me.<br> <br>And then, tomorrow, I’ll be driving again, north toward another Home. And there I will stay until it is time, once again, to travel. My bag, after all, is still packed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028686
2016-05-11T20:00:00-04:00
2016-05-12T05:10:04-04:00
Chocolate Cake
<p>Chocolate Cake © 2016 AnnMarie Rowland</p>
<p>I am home from my Big Adventure to the United Arab Emirates, and feeling overwhelmed. I am still dazed and disoriented by the experience itself, and the prospect of writing about the events of those two weeks seems far too big. But I’ll try. I expect to be writing about it for some time.<br> <br>When I accepted the invitation to present workshops at the Sharjah Children’s Reading Festival near Dubai, several of my friends and a family member or two expressed some concern. National Media has done a pretty thorough job of instilling fear in the US population of everything Middle-Eastern. “Just be careful.” I heard those words of advice a lot before I left for two weeks on the other side of the world.</p>
<p>We do tend to fear what we don’t know, and my destination was more distant than I had ever gone before. I understood the good intentions, even though I felt none of the apprehension. My only point of hesitation was the long flight since it had been 20 years or more since I’d boarded a plane. But since I was going by myself, and since there was a long list of “unknowns” involved with the trip, I agreed to have a code word; one that would seem meaningless to most people, but which, if I used it, would mean “I’m in serious trouble. Send help!” to my family.</p>
<p> I decided on “Chocolate cake”. I think having this in place was a comfort to a few. Honestly. Once I took off from Detroit, I forgot all about it. Until the last night of the trip.</p>
<p>I’ll tell you straight-up that there was not a single moment while in UAE that I felt even slightly uneasy. I was met by kind, warm-hearted, generous people with wide smiles, twinkling eyes, and an almost-embarrassing desire to be helpful and “of service”. I walked down some narrow alleys; rode in cars alone with men I didn’t know, who didn’t speak much English; found my way through a couple of the world’s largest airports, unassisted; talked to strangers; ate foods I couldn’t identify, and walked away from some very persuasive merchants. But on the final night, the night I rode at what felt like breakneck speed over the dunes of the desert in an SUV <em>and</em> rode a camel… the night I watched the sun sink into the sand and the moon rise into a star-speckled sky (the same moon that rises over my home in Michigan; the same stars)…then I remembered about the chocolate cake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The feast in the desert that night included all my new favorites; chicken biryani, kabobs of beef, shawarma, and chicken, steamed fresh vegetables, Arabic rice, local dates, Naan bread and hummus. There was also the usual array of desserts; baklava, loukoumades, and halwa. But on that night, there was one more dessert; one I had not seen on any buffet lines, seen on any menus, heard any mention of, or even thought of at all. Chocolate cake. Not just any old chocolate cake, either. This was five thin layers of cake with chocolate mousse between and rich, dark ganache over the top. This was the chocolate cake of chocolate cakes; huge, and self-serve. I cut a slab and felt it gently lob onto my plate. I refilled my cup with dark Turkish coffee before returning with my treasures to my place at a low table, on my cushion.</p>
<p>My fork dipped into the softness and I lifted the first bite of that cake to my lips just a breath behind the rich aroma that hit my nose first. It was, without exaggeration, the best cake I’ve ever eaten. Moist, but not heavy. Rich, but not too sweet. It was while I ate a second slice that realization struck. The code word. The cry in the desert. The signal for help. Chocolate cake had arrived, unbidden. Unneeded.</p>
<p>A cool breeze drifted over me and a deep sense of peace pooled at my feet. Here, I thought, was something that felt like God and the Universe whispering in my ear, “There is nothing to fear here. Help has been here every day. Help was a ride to the festival and again to the hotel as often as you needed. Help was abundant, delicious food set before you. Help is the lavish room you’ve enjoyed for 12 nights. Help is the wealth of new friends you have made that will stay with you for a lifetime. Help arrived on the faces of children who were eager to learn. Help has been the sea rolling beneath the sun, terns reeling overhead, and the moon streaming through your window at night. Help is this night in the desert. Taste it. Take big bites.”</p>
<p>I did, and it all tasted like chocolate cake.<br> </p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028685
2016-04-09T20:00:00-04:00
2019-12-18T10:49:16-05:00
Opportunity Road
<p>Opportunity Road</p>
<p>I have been having the same conversation with various people for almost a year. I’d say, “I am going to UAE in April.” They’d say, “Where?” The response was either curiosity or incredulity. Depending on who I was talking to, they either didn’t know where it is, or were alarmed; and to be honest, until a year ago, I had paid no attention. I didn’t have a reason to know anything about that country, or so I thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Until one day last May, when a friend who had just returned from a trip to UAE sent a message to me, asking if I had any interest in teaching writing workshops there at the annual book fair. Mary had told stories of the night sky at the event, and the organizers liked her so much they asked her to recommend other presenters. She thought of me.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her question surprised me, piqued my curiosity, and excited me. I turned to Google, punching “UAE” into the search engine. Pages and pages of results popped onto the screen; all of them referencing United Arab Emirates, which I was sure was a mistake. I re-Googled, and got the same result. Was Mary serious? Surely I had misunderstood. Surely UAE could represent something else. But no amount of searching turned up any other result. I thought of my <em>List Of 100 Places I want To Go</em> <em>In My Lifetime. </em>UAE? Not on it. <br> <br>But then, it had never been a possibility, either, and now here it was on the table in black and white. Did I have any interest in going there to talk to kids about writing? <em> Did I? </em>Suddenly, I did have an interest in doing exactly that. I was actually thinking about it. An opportunity was before me.</p>
<p>I am old enough to be keenly aware of opportunities I’ve missed because I’ve allowed obstacles, both real and assumed, to stand in my way. I have learned the hard way that slamming one door can cause others to quietly close without my knowing. Was this a door I wanted to close without even jiggling the knob? I wrote back to Mary. “I have to think about it,” I said. After all, it’s a long way from home.<br> <br>I forwarded the message from Mary to my partner. “What do you think about this?” I asked, hoping he’d think it was a terrible idea, thereby giving me an easy excuse. For a moment, I forgot that he once told me his favorite word is “opportunity”. He’s also reasonable…the kind to think things through logically. His immediate response was, “It’s not an offer; she is just feeling you out to see if you’re interested. I think you should say yes, and then if they invite you, you should go! What an opportunity!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another note went to Mary, asking for more information. She sent me links to the festival’s website and links to photos from her trip. I wrote again, told her that yes, I was interested, and realized, to my surprise, it was true. Soon after, I received an email from the organizers of the Sharjah Children’s Reading Festival, asking me to submit a workshop proposal for the April 2016 event. I wrote one, closed my eyes, and pushed “send”.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Weeks passed. I had begun to think, with some relief, I admit, that nothing would come of it. And then one day there was another email; an invitation. I forwarded it to my partner. Maybe he wouldn’t think it was a good idea now. But he responded right away. “Excellent! You should go! I’m so proud of you!” I knew that my only real fears were attached to my unreasonable fear of flying, my fear of failing, my fear of succeeding, and my fear of stepping into a situation that is completely foreign to me in every way. I like predictability, I guess, and there is nothing predictable about this Opportunity. So with my heart thudding against my ribs, I wrote a short reply. “Thank you for inviting me… I’d be honored…” Again, I closed my eyes and pushed “send”, and thereby sealed it.<br> <br>So, for almost a year, I have been reading about this little country on the Persian Gulf. And except for the long flight to get there (I think I mentioned that I am a nervous flyer.) I am more than excited. A place of beauty, culture, and history, the United Arab Emirates is also one of the safest travel destinations in the world. I will leave the seemingly endless winter we’ve had in Michigan this season and trade it for eleven days of arid heat. I’ll teach school kids a little bit about the creative process, but know that they will teach me far more. I’ll teach 17 times, and potentially touch the lives of about 600 kids from other cultures. <br> <br>Am I nervous? Oh yes. I won’t know anyone when I get there. I am uncertain that I have chosen the right wardrobe for the weather and cultural expectations. I’m nervous about the food, being in a big city, jet lag (it is an 8 hour difference), currency exchange, communication, and doing a good enough job. Yet my fear is dwarfed by the once-in-a-lifetime size of this opportunity and the remorse I’d live with if I let it pass me by. <br> <br>So off I go, down Opportunity Road. One more time, I’ll close my eyes and push “send”. This time, I’m sending more than an email. I’m sending myself to an unforgettable experience.<br>I’ll keep you updated along the way.<br> </p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028684
2015-06-27T20:00:00-04:00
2015-07-05T11:44:03-04:00
Logging The Miles
<p>What a ride this trip has been so far! Diana and I are tucked in for the night here in Missoula, where the outside temperature is 104.<br>Getting reliable internet has been a sketchy endeavor for the past few days, and phone coverage not always reliable either. Ah, the mountains!<br>so... Let's see. Where were we? Ah yes. My sis and I enjoyed a delightful visit and stay with friends; Tina Welling and her husbsand, John, at their charming cabin in Jackson Hole last Wednesday. Thank you again, my friends, for your warm hospitality. Lovely.<br>On Thursday we drove to Council, Idaho. Parts of that drive were breathtaking. We caught ourselves singing America the Beautiful (that whole purple mountain majesty bit, you know) and This Land Is Your Land (that ribbon of highway, endless skyway, golden valley bit) and alternating between squealing with delight over every new and glorious view, and sucking all the oxygen out of the atmosphere. We drove for a long time along the Snake River, saw a moose in a field, visited a lovely little quilt shop that doubles as a museum, missed running over a big coyote with glossy fur and a wiley grin (no anvils in sight!), stopped to view Shoshone Falls, saw Prairie Hawks, Magpies, Ferruginous Hawks, an eagle, a fake owl, and more miles of sunburned prairie than I could imagine.<br>We didn't care for the signage (or lack thereof) around Boise, nor the driving habits of its residents. But once past that, we headed up north and the terrain changed again to greener mountains, and more beauty, including a herd of elk that stood on a hillside grazing. <br>By the time we reached Council, we were road buzzed and weary, ready for sleep. It was wonderful to see my friend, Sharyn Thompson! We stayed three nights with her, and I must say it felt good to be in one place for a couple of days!<br>I played for the Council Quilt Show on Saturday (was that only yesterday??) and had such a wonderful time. Thanks to Sally and the gals who put that together, and who invited me to come out to play my songs. I felt honoured to be part of that, and appreciate the warmth of your welcome.<br>Today we were back on the road. We drove up from Council to pick up US 12, which runs over the Lolo Pass to Missoula.We drove over the high bridge that spans Hell's Canyon, saw a really pretty, unmarked waterfall, another moose (dead...) and an eagle on a fence post. <br>US 12 runs through our hometown of Coldwater, so it was fun to see a very different section of it! And how different!! If you saw A River Runs Through It, believe me, most of our drive today looked exactly like that. I don't think we drove more than 50 mph for most of the day, and I was glad for the slow pace that gave us time to drink it in. Lolo Pass was magnificent in so many ways. If you have never been out here, DO IT! (Thanks to my honest-to-goodness cowboy friend,<span style="color:#000000"><span style="color:#000000">Bob Marshall</span></span><span style="color:#000000"> </span>for encouraging me to go this way!)<br>We kind of missed lunch, so we stopped at the first place we came to to eat; the Lolo Creek Steak House. Oh my! Perfect steak cooked over a wood fire. Nuff said. <br>So now it is Missoula for the night. It's a pretty town. Maybe tomorrow we can explore a bit before the temperature rises too high for comfort.<br>Thanks to all of you keeping us in your thoughts and prayers as we make our way across the country and back. Thanks to Mary Foster and Mary Weber-Everline for keeping our mom safe while we see these breathtaking places, What a gift it is to share this trip with my sister. We are having a blast!</p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028683
2015-06-20T20:00:00-04:00
2015-06-21T06:13:19-04:00
Time to Go!
<p>The day has finally arrived after months of planning, hours of phone calls, pages of emails, days of packing and unpacking and re-packing... It is time to hit the road.<br><br></p>
<p>But I am not going alone! A few weeks ago I had a call from my sister, asking if I would like some company for the long road ahead; if, that is, she could get the time off from her job, and if we could find someone to stay with our mom. We agreed that if those two seemingly impossible obstacles could be conquered, she would accompany me. <br>"You call your boss," I told her. "I'll call Mary."</p>
<p>Mary is my oldest son's partner. She works as a community living support person, so I knew she would have no trouble with a 91 year old lady with Parkinson's. If... and it seemed like another big If... she too could get the time off from work.<br>I called. She didn't even hesitate. "I'd love to help you! I'd love to spend some time with Jeb's grandma! And" she said, "you and Diana need to do this trip together. Let me check with my boss."<br><br>I tried to busy myself while I waited to hear from both gals, slightly surprised by how much I suddenly needed these details to work out. Within an hour, they had both called back, and the news was good.<br><br>So it is that my sister and I are taking this tour together. She'll be taking pictures, navagating, and figuring out the systems of the car her fiance insisted upon renting for us. "If a rental car breaks down, they'll bring you a different one," he said. "You can't afford to be stranded on the side of the road somewhere in Wyoming!"<br><br>As for me, I am excited, and a little bit frightened by the enormity of this, my first tour as a solo artist. But I have never been one to shy away from an adventure, nor hesitated to bite off a great big piece of something, with a mind to figure out later how to chew it. <br><br>Ii'll be updating this tour journal every day, so stop back often. Check out the photo page for updates too. Right now, it's time to go.<br>I'll see you along the way.</p>
annmarierowland.com
tag:annmarierowland.com,2005:Post/6028682
2015-03-31T20:00:00-04:00
2019-12-18T10:49:16-05:00
Springing into Summer
<p>Not quite a year ago, I released my first solo CD, called Pieces of Time. The songs aren't only for quilters and lovers of quilts, but i admit that they do appeal strongly to those folks. I have been performing all around Michigan for a lot of years, and particularly with these songs over the past year or so. <em><br></em>So I wasn't exaxtly surprised when I received the invitation to perform on June 27th for a quilt show. I <em>was</em> surprised, however, to learn that it is in Council, Idaho! </p>
<p>"IDAHO?" My first thought was, "That's too far away!" But my mouth overtook my head, and I heard it say "Sure! I'd love to come!" and I watched my hand write it on my calendar <em style="font-size: small;">in INK! </em><a href="http://www.councilquiltshow.com" data-imported="1">www.councilquiltshow.com</a></p>
<p>So now it is April 1st, and I am in the process of booking places to sing my songs along the way. I leave on June 21st. All by myself. Just me, in my Suburu Forester named Snowball (She's just a little ball of white, rolling down the road.)</p>
<p>The tour is called Road By Road, which is a bit of a take-off on a phenomenon that occurs in the world of quilting, called The Row By Row Experience. This is the description of that from the Row By Row website: <a href="http://www.rowbyrowexperience.com" data-imported="1">www.rowbyrowexperience.com</a></p>
<p>"Row by Row Experience began in 2011 with 20 quilt shops across New York State. In 2012 the event grew to include 62 participating shops. Pennsylvania came on board in 2013 for a total of 138 shops throughout the two states. In 2014 over 1250 quilt shops participated in 34 states and Ontario. Plans are underway for the biggest and best Row by Row Experience ever in 2015! All 50 states and several more Canadian provinces are planning fun for travelers throughout the summer. Although the quilt shops are organized by area, quilters have no borders. Travel, shop, collect patterns and add rows to your quilt from anywhere."</p>
<p>What am I doing? I am booking concerts in participating quilt shops! I am going "Road By Road", finding shops along the way, and will be performing one-hour concerts that will include a bit of Show and Tell (I'll take some old quilts from my collection along with me). I'll be collecting Row By Row patterns, and swapping fabric License Plates too! I will have some from Delphine's Quilt Shop, LC with me. Delphine's is my "home" quilt shop, located in Gaylord, MI <a href="http://www.delphinesquiltshop.com" data-imported="1">www.delphinesquiltshop.com</a> <br><br></p>
<p>I have some big goals in mind, and will tell you more about them as time gets closer. For now, my Big Goal is to fill up the calendar with concerts. I hope you'll come along with me on this journey.<br>I'm taking it Road By Road.</p>
<p> </p>
annmarierowland.com