The life of a knitted cap

The story of the knitted hat . . .

About a decade ago my friend Dalla Brown from Canada began treatments for a cancer diagnosis.  To support her recovery I commissioned my sister, Cheryl Madson of Bothell, WA (who is a marvelous knitter) to make a special funny cap in case the need arose. I picked out the wild and crazy wool at a little shop in Half Moon Bay.  Cheryl knitted it and shipped it to me in California.  I sent it to Dalla in Gananoque, Ontario. After keeping the cap for a few years, Dalla returned it to me; and I sent it to be worn by my good friend, Trudy Boyle, another Canadian lady then living in Calgary.  When she began her chemo she started a collection of hats/caps to wear.  A few years later, after Trudy’s lovely hair had all grown back in, and curly to boot, she returned the cap to me.  I shipped it recently to Canada, to Toronto, where a special friend and former student of mine, Monica Romig Green, was living.  Monica is a Spiritual Director and Counselor.  Now that her treatments are complete and her hair is growing back she returned it to me.   Today I mail the cap to my dear sister in law, Lynn Ryan, who is in Virginia and in the middle of her treatment schedule.  I hope that she will wear it occasionally with a smile remembering the others who have worn this cap during their journey.  The cap is a little large, so some wear it by rolling over the band or on top of a scarf or other skullcap.  It is my hope that the cap will continue its journey on to cheer on the recovery of others who will be taking this adventure.

Thank you, Cheryl, for beginning this tradition.

August 27, 2013 

Patricia Ryan Madson

Everyday pleasures . . . folding the sheets

There are moments when my heart seems full and happy.  
Rituals that result in ordinary life being lived often provide this experience.  A deeply satisfying weekly event involves laundry.  It always happens on Sundays, with rare exceptions.  Sunday is "change the sheets day."  I can't remember when we set Sunday as the day when our sheets would be switched out.  But, it seems to work well.  Sunday is a good time since it's rare that we are rushing off first thing.  

When we rise on Sunday Ron helps me to strip the bed, take the sheets to the washing machine and start the machine doing its work. Then we pull out the new, clean sheets, adjusting if the weather has gotten colder or warmer, and we make the bed, pulling on the fleece blankets and ending with a heavy velvety quilt spread that we've had for years.  The bed is clean and made and ready for the week ahead.

And, as the morning progresses the old sheets are laundered and put in the dryer.  An hour later I am able to take the fragrant sheets from the dryer and fold them for putting away.  And, then comes the moment when I place the folded sheets in the linen closet pictured above.  Just so you don't think I'm TOO fussy you can see that the sheet piles are not perfect.  The shelf above has our super warm winter fleece sheets, one of life's great luxuries.  The bottom shelf holds five sets of jersey cotton sheets.

The moment that I want to celebrate here is the moment that I place the laundered sheets in the closet each week.  That simple action fills me with a wonderful sense of accomplishment, order and peace.  A cycle is complete.  I have done my part in taking care of the objects that serve my life (in this case, the sheets).  The fact that I have several sets of sheets, a working washing machine and dryer, water to wash and electricity to power the machines . . . it's all wonderful.  I am filled with thanksgiving for the everyday miracles of having a warm bed to sleep in, soft sheets to cover me and the strength to do my small part in keeping it all working.   Everyday life is the way.

A tribute to Dalla Brown

A truly remarkable woman, my friend Dalla Brown of Gananoque, Ontario died on March 14, 2013.  Her friends and family are giving a celebration of her life on March 22 at the local Legion in Gananoque.  I have asked Dalla's son Stephen Brown to read these thoughts for me.  

These are some thoughts by Patricia Ryan Madson who lives in California.  She was friends with Dalla since 1979.  They met dancing Tai Chi with Al Huang. She asked me to read this for her today. 

I would like to join the party that has come together today to celebrate the wonderfulness of Dalla Brown. I know her as a friend.  In fact I can say easily . . . she was my best friend.  "BFF" they say in the language of texting shorthand.  Best Friends Forever! And we are.  But Dalla would never have wasted time texting, I might add.  She had too much good sense for this. She was too busy looking at the natural world and being helpful to others.

Dalla's great gift was to turn an ordinary life into a work of art.  She touched everything with attention and respect.  She lived lightly on the earth, never wasting anything, and always attending to living things with great care.  I remember once a bird's nest that she watched over at Hawkline. She knew all the creatures who lived in her vicinity.  I don't know if she gave them names . . . but she was aware of life all around her. 

Some of you know that Dalla and Jeremy were frequent visitors at our home in California during the winter months until her health made travel difficult.  They were "snowbirds" who escaped the worst of the Canadian slush by sharing a month with us under mild California skies.  We loved having them near to celebrate the holidays.  

My favorite image of Dalla was in the early morning.  She would often rise quietly before dawn and ascend the stairs from the guest room to sit silently in our living room, wearing her nightclothes.  She always made herself a warm mug of tea and sat on our white sofa cradling the tea while watching the dawn light.  Like a Madonna of the morning Dalla was all there experiencing the ordinary event of daybreak . . .  finding in these moments deep communion with nature, with the light and the dark, with the seasons and with the unmistakable perfection of life "as it is". She was something of a Zen master without all the nonsense or incense.

I learned from her what it means to tune in to the natural world.  This simple wisdom is all too rare these days in a world where we miss the sunrise because we are toying with some electronic device.  Dalla never let technology spoil her relationship to the natural world and the changing of the leaves.  She noticed everything.

I could go on for paragraphs about Dalla the artist . . . the artist in the garden, the artist in the kitchen, the artist in the studio. (oh, how we loved to do art together!) but mostly she was an artist of EVERYDAY LIFE.  She was the best friend I've ever known . . . patient, loyal and always there when I needed her.  I shall miss her wry humor and her loyalty as a friend.  Ron just mentioned that his favorite thing was to hear her burst into laughter.  She had the most delightful and energetic laugh! 

Her laugh and her wisdom will stay with me forever.  It won't be possible to bake a loaf of bread without thinking of Dalla and her practical advice about how to tell if the proportions of flour were right in the bread mixer.  She cooked by instinct, teaching me how to improvise in the kitchen.  I wrote a chapter about her in my book, Improv Wisdom.  "Try-See" was her motto.

I am grateful to Dalla for introducing me to other of her women friends:  Joan, Pat and Elsa as well as her sister Stephanie and daughter Wendy.  I know each of you will join me in the celebration of her friendship. And we treasure the deep love we have for Jeremy, Dalla’s great partner in the dance and for Dalla’s sons (of whom we best know Stephen.)

We would like to be there today to raise a toast and tell a story about this most wonderful of women. Well, we are in spirit.  So our spirit joins with you in Gananoque.  All hail our precious Dalla.  And may the angels of friendship surround Jeremy and be with him and the family.

Love, love and more love

Patricia Ryan Madson and Ron

March 18, 2013

It's all a gift

The holidays in America seem to focus on gifts. No matter how enlightened we are finding a natural and wholesome way of approaching this is a challenge. What is clear to me is that "it is all a gift" . . . Every breath we take is given. The clothes we wear, the food that nourishes us, the devices that bring us news and messages and images, the bed and furniture that supports us . . . All gifts. We cannot escape this truth in my view. The oval seal in the left bottom corner of this painting expresses the idea of thanks to the creator for everything. The Christmas season can be a deep reminder of this.

Painting outside the lines . . .

Growing up I used to do the "paint by numbers" kits.  I always painted INSIDE the lines, carefully.  Now that I'm old I'm happy to see the paint drift wherever it wants to go.  Life changes. And, even the oozes are sweet.

Etegami and Naikan

Two things have occupied my imagination in the years since I retired from full time teaching.  One is a process: art.  I’ve been dong a lot of painting and drawing and faffing about with color, line and image.  I’ve taken classes in botanical art, drawing, watercolor, abstract art, Zentangle, bookmaking and plein aire painting.  I’m a little embarrassed at the volume of artwork that I have churned out.  Recently I’ve been teaching myself Etegami, a Japanese art form, with the help of some online friends, mainly women in Japan.  Etegami is to art as haiku is to poetry.  It’s small, uses few materials and has a purpose greater than itself: to communicate something to a friend. 

The second preoccupation is a perspective:  a way of coding reality that varies from the conventional view.  This way of seeing and valuing life comes from another Japanese practice known as Naikan.  Naikan can be considered a form of meditation or a psychological framework for examining relationships.  It declines from a rigorous and austere Buddhist practice called mishirabe. A Japanese businessman named Yoshimoto Isshin who was living until the late 1980’s in Japan designed the form.  His purpose was to give the ordinary person a rubric for seeing reality.

I spent a week practicing intensive Naikan in the summer of 1989.  That experience changed my worldview in a fundamental way.  The insights gained from Naikan practice (asking and answering three questions about my own life . . . what have I received, what have I given and what trouble and bother have I caused?) led me to the inescapable conclusion that I have been receiving far more than I have been giving.  I discovered this not in some abstract way, but rather through a systematic accounting of benefits received and those given back. I made a list.  After doing an intensive Naikan practice it is not easy to return to a view of myself as a “self-made” person. 

This “truth” about how it is for me, (and for everyone if we start to look at things more realistically) is a game changer.  The fact of this provides a moral framework.  On a practical level it makes me want to do something every day to thank those who support my life and who give to me in what seems a continuous stream.  It’s a challenge to keep up with the thank you notes.  And this is where Etegami enters.

First, let me borrow a definition written by Debbie Davidson, an American women who was born and raised in Japan and who has been teaching this art form to the world through Etegami blog by Debbie Davidson and through a Facebook page called the Etegami Fun Club.  I quote from her blog:

 WHAT IS ETEGAMI?

Etegami (e= "picture"; tegami= "letter/message") are simple drawings accompanied by a few apt words. They are usually done on postcards so that they can be easily mailed off to one's friends. Though etegami has few hard-and-fast rules, traditional tools and materials include writing brushes, sumi ink, blocks of water-soluble, mineral-based pigments called gansai, and washi postcards that have varying degrees of "bleed." They often depict some ordinary item from everyday life, especially items that bring a particular season to mind.

It is small work, always using a postcard sized paper.  Usually it begins with a simple drawing of just about anything, (a vegetable, flower or shoe) coupled with some words (a tiny poem or quote), then usually colored with paint and sporting a red Japanese seal (hanko).  I've been doing these for years and just discovered that it is a whole art form in Japan!  People send these cards to one another.  The deal is that if you receive a card you need to create one and send it to back.  “Be clumsy,” is the first rule of Etegami.

The reason I think Etegami is special is that the point of doing one and sending it is to notice the contributions of a friend. The focus shifts from “me as an artist” to “you as a person to be thanked/encouraged/inspired.” The best Etegami are tailored to express a sentiment that the person receiving it might need to hear.  It’s all about the receiver . . . and not the sender. The cards on this page are samples of etegami.  The Mt. Fuji card was created by Debbie Davidson.  The rest are mine.  

Compassion in action

The Glove in the Subway Story

The improviser is in training to learn how to “take care of his partner” and to develop a mind that is looking out for the welfare of others.  How do we behave when we aren’t only thinking about ourselves? Today I heard a story that illustrates what this looks like in everyday life.

Connie Moffit, a Buddhist and community activist (and one of my former Stanford graduate students) gave a moving talk at the Happiness Conference 2012 in Seattle.  At the end of her thoughtful explanation of how mindfulness can be a path to realistic and compassionate thinking, she tells this story.

A number of years ago the New York Times featured a Wednesday column that offered eyewitness stories of things that were “quintessentially New York.”  Connie remembered reading the report of an event witnessed in an uptown Manhattan subway station.  A woman who had just gotten off an incoming subway train stopped on the platform when she noticed that she was holding only one of her leather gloves.  Turning back to the train, which was still on the platform, she saw the other glove sitting on the seat inside.  The doors were just in the moment of closing.  Without hesitation the woman threw the glove she had back into the train where it landed next to its mate.  Now the two gloves were together. 

Connie labeled this action an example of “impersonal satisfaction.”  I wonder how many of us would even consider such a response.  What a good example of mindfulness and compassion in action.  Thanks, Connie.  

Look carefully . . . Spider at work

Study this photograph carefully.  Really look at the detail.

My niece Emily is a professional photographer, and today on Facebook she posted a shot of a spider web that had manifested inside of her automobile.   Here is the photo.  If you look carefully you can see the detail of the intricate web.  Her comment that accompanied this photo was:  “Grateful to have been paying attention when getting into my vehicle. This lovely specimen had made it's web from my steering wheel to my headrest. Would have received a face-full of arachnid had I not seen it!”  

I was struck by the enlightenment of this observation and I was impressed that she took time to report this moment with her social network. There are at least two important lessons in this story.  First, it is our attention that is our first line of safety.  Careless attention is a common cause of accidents and overall screw-ups.  Careful attention has prevented many a hazard.  Alertness is a key factor in negotiating the ups and downs of life.  Spiders, slippery stairs, roadblocks, faulty handles, electrical cords in disarray, poison oak on the path, unpaid bills . . . you can see where I am going.  Attention to what is actually happening right now is central to our ability to make sensible choices that avoid obvious consequences: late fees on unpaid bills and overdue library books, tripping and falling over obstacles, ending up in the hospital with a rash. 

Of course not all disasters can be foreseen.  Even the most alert driver may be struck by someone who isn’t paying attention, driving too fast and who pulled out of a blind alley.  Crash.  But common sense tells us that attention is our most accurate defense strategy. So, wake up . . .  a lot . . .  in order to stay safe.

The second lesson leads us into the quality of life, into pleasure.  Not only did Emily miss a spider in the face and hair, she was able to stop and marvel at the miracle of it all.  In less than 12 hours this tiny creature had spun a fourteen inch diameter web reaching from the headrest to the steering wheel.  Oh, wondrous life.  The cliché that reminds us to “smell the roses” comes to mind.  How often do we speed through our days missing these precious reminders of the diversity and magic of our planet.  What is life if we don’t take the moment to see it.  Attention.  Attention.  Attention.  It’s all we have.

I am grateful to Emily’s spider friend and to her for reminding us to “slow down and notice the cobwebs.”  Blessed attention. 

How we use our time . . .

The photo below was posted on Facebook by my good friend and Japanese translator, Tomoko Nozu.  The pile of stuff comes from a package I mailed to her in thanks for a favor she did for me.  I was in search of some red stamp pads to use for my etegami art work.  These ordinary stamp pads are everywhere in Japan, but for some odd reason not easy to locate in the USA.  She very kindly (and swiftly) answered my request and mailed me some perfect stamp pads.  So, in thanks I assembled this assortment of tiny gifts.  She said she liked stamps, so I sent a page of current USA stamps along with some chocolates from the local farmer's market and a laminated bookmark (in the back) made from canceled used stamps from around the world.  I recently learned that this small packet of gifts created considerable trouble for her.  The story is a testament to how we use time.  See below.  Oh, the Japanese is her post that accompanied this photograph.)

大小２つのスタンプ台のお礼にと、
チョコレートと、切手と、色紙と、カードが届きました。
チョコレートはご近所の女性が作っているそうです。うっとりするくらい、いい香り♪
ちょっと問題があって税関まで受け取りに行ったのですが、
今、とってもハッピーな気持ちです。(^^)/

How we use our time


The items in this photo were part of a small "gift packet" air mailed to Japan a week ago.  Tomoko tells me that there was a slight hitch in receiving it, however.  Instead of having it delivered normally to her mailbox at home, she received a notice that a package addressed to her had reached Kyoto and was sitting in Customs at the airport for her to come and pick it up.  Apparently there was some "trouble" with the package.  The airport is not really close to Kyoto proper, so Tomoko went on something of a long journey just to get to where the Customs office resides out in the "boonies."  


When she finally found the office and someone who could pull up her "offending package" she discovered the problem.  It seems that several of the canceled stamps which were part of the laminated bookmark were from North Korea.  And, since North Korea and Japan do not have diplomatic relations nothing from that country is permitted to be shipped into Japan.  So, these old stamps, which were currently being used as "art" were disallowed.  I'm not exactly sure just what happened.  Perhaps they cut the "bad stamps" off of the laminated bookmark and allowed her to keep the rest.  Or perhaps she was fined or something . . . at least she did get to keep the chocolate and the art cards I'd sent.


It all struck me as incredibly amusing and such a waste of human effort.  I certainly "get it" that countries have lists of "forbidden things" and this tiny object was on this NO list.  What possible harm could come of some used North Korean stamps finding their way to suburban Kyoto?  Perhaps they just needed to be sure my friend wasn't a spy or something and that this gift was not in code.  


At all events, she took it in stride and wrote the kind thank you note to me.  So let this story be a cautionary tale.  Be careful what you do with used North Korean stamps.  Isn't life funny   sometimes?

Sending out Etegami

Here is a line of cards ready to go into the mail today.

Trying out different papers for etegami

 I have been exploring the same composition on different types of paper.  Some of these are rough, handmade paper, others are watercolor paper and several are of the gasenshi type used in etegami.  It's fascinating to see how the paper affects what the paints do.  I am using traditional gansai paints.

By the sea pink ice plant grows

It was a cold and grey morning by the sea at the end of Mirada Road in the Miramar section of the coast side.  There is one house by the ocean that has a carpet of tiny pink ice plant in the yard.  It was hard not to be drawn to the explosion of color in all of that grey light.  Here is my attempt today. I also did a small etegami shown here.

Shungo Asada: the King of kindness

In the mail today I received the most astonishing gift: Five hand carved hanko from Japan. Three of these were carved from a rubber stamp by Shungo Asada and two others were commissioned by Asada-san from a friend who makes these charming seals. The small red marks on oriental artwork are themselves part of the art. Placement of the stamps on the page is part of the aesthetics. Having a variety of seals to use increases the choice for placement on etegami. I shall have LOTS of fun using these kind gifts. How did I get so lucky? The card at the bottom is a pencil sketch by the artist who made the stamps. Isn't his work delightful? The card on top is part of my thank you to Shungo Asada. Arigato Gozaimasu.

Points for rebounds

On Facebook today a former student, Chris Esparza, now living and teaching in Oregon posted this thought:
"In basketball, they keep stats on rebounding.  In life, this is a skill to cultivate . . .  giving more attention to what happens after a missed shot vs. the miss itself."  This is superior advice for living.  We all get stuck curled into a ball of self recrimination when things don't go well.  What great advice: focus on what comes next!  This is, of course, where our power lies . . . in the actions we do each day to advance our purposes.  So, today's mantra is "BECOME a great REBOUNDER".  Thanks, Chris, for the metaphor.  


And, today's etegami is a gift from the Queen of Etegami in Japan, Debbie Davidson.  Here her touching poem is accompanied by a green onion painted with matcha tea and sparkling gel pens.  What fun.  I love the lamination which protects the card as it flies from Japan to California.  Thanks, Debbie.

Etegami for May

   This watercolor was done in 2006 in Denmark