Hello there,
How are you holding up today? I know things have been difficult for many of us, and that’s one reason I’m writing to you. In the midst of distressing challenges going on over the last seven months or so, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the outcome of some little experiments I’ve been sprinkling into my days. I wondered if they might be of interest, or use, to you.
Here are some snippets I’ve sown together that lead up to, and into, this season of exploration. If you have any thoughts about them, or are considering trying some experiments of your own, please do feel free to write back, and let me know.
Warmly,
Bethany
* * *
Crammed between the open dishwasher door and a corner of cabinets, I unload. As I try to solve the daily puzzle of how to fit our menagerie of mugs into the cupboard so the doors shut, I also carry the knowledge that a loved one is still struggling with health issues.
My soundscape is a collage of audiobook narration, my partial thoughts, and the clatter-chatter of white Corelle plates being stacked on top of blue-patterned china.
Words keep pouring through the foam of my headphones as I breathe in humid air, and I start to feel a half-memory forming. A feeling of concern curls up in my stomach as I realize there’s something I’m supposed to do right after this. Now I’m holding the plates in mid-air. I just checked on those who need that. What do I need to do next? Am I late for something? I’m listening and not listening to the words of the book, as they continue to pour through me. A slight pressure on my throat sets in. Grows stronger.
I step out of the corner.
Pull off the headphones.
*
*
I feel the rolling pin of news headlines crunching over me and back. And my concern is growing for my loved one who is still sick.
What I May Do When Dealing With These Concerns
- See if I can get my loved one anything
- Journal outside
- Take three slow breaths, beginning by exhaling
- Leave a message with the doctor’s office, if needed
- Take a short fast walk
- Brew myself some fresh-ground decaf
- Sign up to volunteer
- Crank up my music in the kitchen and dance
- Call my reps in Congress
- Work on a found poem
- Clean something and hit play on my audiobook
*
“Writing and reading decrease our sense of isolation . . . It’s like singing on a boat during a terrible storm at sea. You can’t stop the raging storm, but singing can change the hearts and spirits of the people who are together on that ship.”
—Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird
*
If I don’t play an audiobook when doing boring solo tasks, I feel like I’m missing out on an opportunity. I could be multitasking. I could be receiving insight or encouragement, or perhaps even more necessary, a reason to chuckle.
But, might I be missing out on something else by always pressing Play? [groan]
*
In the audiobook, The Artist’s Way, I’ve heard Julia Cameron’s suggestion to try a week of reading deprivation to potentially help one’s creativity. I’m not yet willing to embark on a full week of this, but I am experimenting with mini-pauses on incoming words of just 5-30 minutes at a time. Some little picnic shelters to sit and rest in.
*
*
“Sunlight is a mixture of many colors together. Light from the sun looks white to our eyes. All of the colors are in white light, they are just all mixed up. To see all the colors separately, you can use a prism.” (Prisms)
*
Experiment – No incoming words – Afternoon
While dusting, I have an idea for the upcoming month’s photo of our Creativity Café flower arrangement. Each person who came chose a color to represent their presence. This time, instead of gathering them together in a vase, I could try lying the stems out individually on a sheet. Seeing more clearly the outlining shape of each bloom might be interesting and could still look friendly.
*
*
Making something creative with my hands usually boosts my spirits. What can I work on?
*
“The way to get ideas is to do something boring… They fly into one’s head like birds.”
—John Cage, with a hat tip to Austin Kleon
*
Snow-out poem created by Bethany Rohde during a break from incoming words. Source material: Page 201 of wonderful Amy Krause Rosenthal’s book, Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life.
*
Experiment – No incoming words – Morning
Out on the porch alone. All I hear is the distant white noise of traffic, which sounds a bit like a river from here.
A sliding bird note dips through the air.
I grab my pen and jot this down.
*
*
Experiment – No incoming words – Afternoon drive home
As I pull on the steering wheel, hand over hand, a phrase pops into my mind:
w i d e o p e n s p a c e s
*
*
Experiment – No incoming words – Driving on a Sunday morning
Surprisingly bright spring sunshine – no other cars around. I take the backroads through the valley, audiobook paused.
I see further down the hill a triad of small shadows glide across the street, then disappear.
There must be birds above.
I continue to drive, tracing the little road as it cuts between two fields. This new-feeling sunshine is making me half-squint. Occasionally, I pass through a tree-cluster’s shadow. A moment where I can relax my eyes. A second of cool relief. I notice I’m looking forward to the next pool of shade up ahead.
*
Experiment – No incoming words – Driving to pick up a friend
As I approach a steep curve and its yellow signs with thick black arrows, I remember Corita Kent’s intriguing ten rules for her art school students. I realize I want to point them out to my friends in the next Creativity Café gathering. Among them, “Rule 4 – Treat everything as an experiment.”
*
*
Always Has, Always Will
Wait,
Listen,
love the silence,
and eventually the silence
will sing
for you
—Tim Farrington, Found poem by L.L. Barkat. Used with permission of the poet.
*
If I hold completely still, I notice the outline of a billowing cloud formation is slightly moving and developing. Its edges are creating a shape I can’t yet make out.
*
*
Experiment – No incoming words
I’m realizing that The Creativity Café online gatherings create a wide open space. We visit a little, and then have the option to work on our own quietly, side by side. We may not be speaking, but we hold a shared intention in that room. Community refreshment & quiet creating.
*
I feel my openness to my surroundings growing a little. And I feel like I’m landing on some ideas, or hints of ideas. I’m starting to group and gather some of them onto the page. Looking back, I see this is the first essay I’ve tried to piece together in quite a long time.
*
Experiment – No incoming words – 9:10 am
Journaling at the kitchen table, I’m interrupted. The sun coming through the window is tapping at the corner of my eye with the kind of annoying precision that almost makes it feel personal. Can’t ignore it.
I get up to close the curtains and stop when I see bars of splayed sunlight pouring through the evergreen branches onto my lawn. It looks like a fairytale scene.
Instead of going straight back to my writing, I slide on my green coat and grab my mug as I walk out the door for a wider view. Through my coffee’s rising steam, I gaze at the white fur of frosted grass blades. The sunlight pouring through the icy beads creates a pastel rainbow carpet of crystals.
I almost missed this.
*
Experiment without incoming words – 1:16 PM – On a walk
Thinking about how yesterday marked 11 years since one of my dear parents passed away. As I make my way down the sidewalk, I notice a neighbor’s larger-than-me ornamental grass plant spilling over onto the sidewalk.
I slow down
let its leaves gently brush my cheek and left arm as I pass through
Listen to its rustle
*
*
Initially, stopping myself from listening to others’ words felt like deprivation. But I’m finding it’s growing on me? Sometimes, the breaks just give me a resting spot to process the current moment. Other times, I remember a step in a project that I wanted to try, or something I was going to order, an email I forgot to respond to.
If they uncover no particular insights or reminders, they help me unwind my tendency to automatically play others’ words. I’m noticing that now I sort of take my temperature before deciding what I truly want or need to do. When choosing the quiet, I may feel a touch of suspense.
What might the next silence gift me?
*
*
“Despereaux stood with this head cocked to one side, holding very still.
‘Do you hear that sweet, sweet sound?’ he said. …
‘it sounds like … um … honey.’
He was listening, with his big ears, to the sweet sound that no other mouse seemed to hear.”
—Chapter 2 of The Tale of Despereaux, by Kate DiCamillo
*
No one else can hear my thoughts for me. Can tie together the disparate images and ideas I’ve collected over time and connect their significance with my particular history and inclinations.
This is my piece to craft.
*
*
Experiment – No incoming words – 3:16 pm
The crystal prism dangling in the kitchen window is creating a flurry of little rainbow fireflies on my walls. For a moment, I’m surrounded by magic. The slight movement of the crystal, from my bumping it, causes them to dance in unison, drawing on the walls with their fleeting little sweeps. It only happens when the sun is at just the right angle. Keeping me company, these friendly little sprites busy themselves above my head as I write.
After the sun moves away, I find myself holding the crystal up a little higher, a little to the left, to the right, trying to catch the light again – see if I can get the fireflies to come back.
*
*
“The song was as sweet as light shining through stained-glass windows, as captivating as the story in a book.”
—Chapter 3 of The Tale of Desperoux, by Kate DiCamillo
*
A few years ago, something unexpected began to happen when I’d lie down. After closing my eyes for a few minutes, waiting for sleep to find me, I might suddenly see a colorful snapshot. Not every time, but at least a time or two each month. Usually, it’s some kind of unexpected color combination in textiles, outfits, paintings, ceramics, or other images that I don’t recall seeing before.
When they appear, I’m surprised by the sudden loveliness, as I am still awake. It’s like opening a unique present or attending a private showing at a museum. In the moment, I tell myself, Bethany, try to remember, but mostly I just want to stay there and not move. Sometimes, I will whisper the colors outloud to give myself better odds of recalling later.
Today, when I lied down for a short nap, I happened upon a dark emerald-green, translucent bottle vase, filled with dozens of apricot orchids sprawling up and out, branch like. Perhaps there was a blue sky behind this.
Why did this start happening?
Is there something I should do with these images besides enjoy them?
I don’t know, but the pleasure of suddenly happening upon these little gifts has created genuine wonder in me.
*
*
*
Experiment without words – 7:21 pm
I head out my front door for a walk without headphones. I make my way toward the field on the far end where I can occasionally see a horse eating, or perhaps just standing there, staring straight ahead. (What kind of daydreams do horses have?)
Today though, I only see the well-trodden grass, the trees off in the distance against a blue sky. I linger— a little breeze brushes my lips as I wait in near-silence to see what might come next.
*
*
Collage essay and photos by Bethany Rohde.
- Collage: Unwrapping Gifts from the Quiet - May 28, 2025
- Postcards from Burrow & Meadow · No. 4 Seeing - February 16, 2023
- Postcards from Burrow & Meadow · No. 3 Listening - February 10, 2022
Sandra Heska’ King says
Oh. My. Heart.
I’m so glad I stopped for these incoming words! I’ll be back again to soak in them. You’ve outdone yourself, girl. Wow! <3
Bethany R. says
Sandra, thank you so much!
Megan Willome says
This whole post is a “picnic shelter.”
Bethany R. says
Thank you for this, Megan!