for my birthday this month, i took myself to a spot that i have been wanting to visit since we moved here: joan miró’s home and studio/workshop outside his hometown of mont roig. it’s about an hour drive away from here, through mountains and gorgeous roadways. if you are thinking you don’t know who this artist is, yes, actually, yes you do: he was all over my art history books in university and he is one of the most famous spanish painters, ranking up with picasso and gaudí. In fact, gaudí was born just down the road from miró in reus, and picasso too spent time in this area, along with other well-known artists–so the area is called the paisatge dels genis in catalan: the landscape of the geniuses.

so on a gorgeous sunday morning, i drove into this landscape and landed at miro’s home and workshop right towards the beginning of their opening hours, which gave me the place all to myself, gloriously. i got to wander through the home at my own pace, stand for a nice long space of time in the workshop, listen to the audioguide to learn all the details, and notice details of my own (such as the tile patterning in each room, like low-maintenance but just-as-beautiful rugs). i was able to sit on the ledge of the patio of the workshop and write in my journal, undisturbed, unwatched. as i was getting ready to leave, there were others coming in, and i thought: perfect timing.

and then it hit me: i was actually really enjoying being by myself for the start of my birthday. i thought it would be sad, but here i was, so content. i got to go at my own pace, and only be concerned with myself (and if you are a mom, you know how rare that is) while i explored the environment and workspace of a genius painter.

did you know that mirós father told him, about his dreams of being a painter as a young person, “it’s nice that you paint, it will be a great hobby, but you need to have a real job,” and so miró started out as an accountant, as a clerk? so no surprise then that gave him a mental breakdown and in his late 20s he abandoned a “real job” and went to paris and got connected to the surrealist movement there, where he then became an important figure in the movement, and in fact in the art world as a whole.

this, too, gave me hope. the path wasn’t straightforward. it included a breakdown. it included moving around, trying new things. not staying in one style. and yet, he triumphed. and mightily. and in his own lifetime.

throughout his life, miró kept coming back to his family home in catalunya, to mont roig, at least whenever wars and dictatorships would allow. he spent a lot of time in paris, in barcelona where he spent most of his childhood, and in palma, mallorca, where his wife was from. but mont-roig was the family home. the house was purchased by his grandfather (from some shady colonialist dude), and then his father added a chapel (that had actual services open to the public), and joan added the workshop. it was the place he came back to, the place that was “home” despite living in many other places.

joan miró, i learned thanks to the audioguide, talked about “working like a farmer,” and i pondered in my journal what he meant by that. i thought about my own rhythms here, how i have designated that winters are for writing (and reading) by the fire, and the growing seasons are for the garden and the studio. i have often thought of myself as having “farmer rhythms,” with seasons that are very full and busy and then a more slow season.

and so now, with spring in full swing, it is time to really lean into that painting season.

to, as miro said, “work like a farmer.”

Subscribe now

want to come explore the landscape of the geniuses with me? oh you can do that! take a look at the l’Artesania website to learn more.

Missed a letter?

Last letter:

els omellons, population 190.

the rosemary is in bloom. the country road i took for 20 minutes to get here had so much rosemary along the road, and trees of all kinds: olive and almond of course but i think also some cherry and i don’t know what else.

now, after wandering around a bit in this absolutely adorable little down (cut short by the rain starting back up again), i am sat in the corner of the town bar with my coffee, listening to the (mostly but not all) old men arguing politics and farming issues (there were a lot of flooded fields on my way here), or perhaps complaining about their wives, who are all at home evidently. the wives are probably enjoying a quiet house–these men are so very loud.

every table in the bar is full but one, the single bar/restaurant in town. i am literally the only woman here except one of the staff, and let me tell you that it is still nice to be in a country where i don’t have to feel uneasy being the only woman.

the only direct interaction i have gotten is from a hunched-over old man leaning on his table, gesturing his newspaper at me, shrugging a whole conversation in his friendly “i don’t mean to bother you, just wanted to offer” manner. i kindly demure with a shake of my head and a slightly-frowning-but-still-friendly no on my face. after multiple additional shrugs, these of the “whatever, just if you want” variety, he walked away with the help of his walking cane, the kind made of metal, with the four little feet at the bottom for extra stability, that gets prescribed by the doctor for you. in the moment i marveled at two things: the consideration of strangers in a place i’ve never been, seeing me sitting by myself in a bar sipping a coffee, and two, how much we can communicate without a single word.

this town has no grocery store, no tobacco shop, no general store. not even a bakery, and that one surprises me here in spain, for usually, even the smallest town has a place to pick up your daily bread. other than this bar/restaurant i am in, i don’t see much for commerce at all, though there is a rarely-open olive oil shop by a local producer and a locksmith. despite all the lack in commerce, there is still a civic center, a place for town events, and an activity center for old people. there is still an outdoor pool and this bar and weekly farmers market.

what i am saying is that there are not enough residents to support businesses but the government is still supporting the town. it’s making sure that there are services and provisions and, most importantly, gathering spaces. third spaces–social spaces–are very important to spaniards. it seems that to a spaniard, a good social life is the highest value. they have recognized, rightly, the importance of community for our mental and, yes also, physical health. so the government makes sure there are places for everyone to go: places to run into your neighbors, to catch up, to not be stuck alone in your home.

for a euro twenty you can get a cafe con leche and hang out with a table full of your neighbors. maybe join in a game of cards, or dominoes. every bar has a table of men playing cards. i asked once what the men in our town were playing, and it was a card game called “botifarra” (which is also the name of a common sausage) played with a regular deck of cards. always just men, because as mentioned, the wives are at home enjoying the peace and quiet (and probably having their friends over for coffee at home).

i am finding my own peace and quiet here, in the foothills, with a simple life. on my way here, i drove down a back road and the song “feels like home” by bonnie raitt came on.

and i thought yes, yes it does.

i have found my place.

my place with the craggy boulders in the fields of olive trees and almond blossoms, with the mountains of prades to my south and the mountains of the pyrenees to my north, both within view on a clear day. with the rosemary and thyme taking over the roadways and blooming with wild abandon in thanks for just a little rain. with the good neighbors looking out for me and the little neighborhood bars welcoming me in, offering me a paper, but no pressure, thinking nothing of an artist writing in her little notebook in the corner, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

want to come walk the tiny villages and write in our journals with me? oh you can do that! take a look at the l’Artesania website to learn more.

Missed a letter?

Last letter:

i was driving home from getting groceries, at the not-so-tiny-sized town down the road that has a full-sized mercadona. (mercadona, friends, is the grocery store in spain with a cult following. and i have joined the cult.)

on the way back i drove past a sign that said “SENAN, 7 km,” a sign that has piqued my interest multiple times. i said out loud, “i still don’t know what’s in senan.” yes, out loud. no, there was no one else in the car with me.

on that short drive home, i started cooking up a plan: a near-daily walk and journal in a new coffeeshop, field, or casal bar. every town, no matter how small, has a “bar casal,” a town bar. they’re usually small and full of families (not uncommon to have a small playground at a bar casal!) and low-key and they serve a good espresso every hour of the day. they’re supported by the local government, in an effort to make sure small towns still have enough life in them to keep people moving away (at such a fast clip) to the cities. usually that means the building is owned by the local government, and they rent it out for something like one euro a month to the proprietor willing to run a bar or cafe in a tiny town with perhaps just 100 people. this makes the business an affordable enterprise for someone willing to run a business in such a small place, and it creates a “third space,” a gathering place, for the residents. it’s a win-win. no one is getting rich off the deal, but everyone’s lives are richer for it.

so, I have decided to take on this challenge of walking my journal all around the 15-minute radius from the cottage, for multiple reasons. first, when I lived in barcelona 20 years ago, i would stop in a park or a bar nearly every day to write in my journal–and I miss that. now, I don’t have any desire in moving along any gentrification in the tiny towns around me, like has happened in barcelona, by sharing these places with you. i think we are safe though, given the shrinking populations of the thousands of tiny towns there are throughout spain.

there are over 8,000 “municipalities” in spain altogether, and the vast majority are so small and getting smaller, that they qualify for a variety of initiatives to repopulate “españa vaciada,” emptied-out spain. now do I think my little notes to you on substack are going to repopulate those towns? well no. but i would like it if at least more people knew about them.

i want people to know the spain outside the big tourist destination cities. the charm of a tiny poble in catalunya is unmatched, and more people should realize the beauty waiting for them just outside those gentrified, tourist-trapped cities. i’m going to start by sharing just the ones neighboring my own.

and so, that is my goal: drive to a neighboring town 15 minutes (or so) away, take a short walk, followed by a stop in a field or a bar or a coffeeshop with my journal. i’ll jot down in that journal what i saw in the town i walked around, the dirt road i wandered down. i’ll chart in my journal the beauty i found along the way. i might write down an overheard conversation or describe the space or the people. i may even comment on the contrast between my slow life in spain and my harried, anxious life in the united states.

and I’ll share some of those experiences here, for you. why not? i’ll get back my old journal-date practice, and i’ll share beauty with you. yes? yes.

okay great. it’s a plan. trato hecho, as they say here. well actually they say here, “tracte fet,” because… catalan.

i’m off to scout google maps for every last tiny town within a 15 minute drive radius around me, and their bar casal hours. in the meantime, here’s a few captures from a walk through and around my own town this weekend, during the height of almond blossom season.

be sure to notice the beauty today, friends. it still exists. it’s waiting for you. in times when the horrors persist, beauty is a way we get ourselves to persist, as well.

want to come walk the tiny villages and write in our journals with me? oh you can do that! take a look at the l’Artesania website to learn more.

• A working monastery 20 minutes away: Poblet.

• A medieval town with its entire wall still intact, 18 minutes away: Montblanc.

• A weekend spread of local gastronomy, 8 minutes away: Tarres (El Sindicat).

• A mountain with “runny sand castle” rock formations, another monastery, an important Black Madonna, 1.25 hours: Monsterrat.

• A mountain town with the best restaurant around, 30 min: Prades (La Font).

• A winding stone road with a goat herd, the best views , another 30 minutes: Siurana.

• A walk through a vineyard filled with large-scale sculptures, 20 min: La Pobla de Cervoles (Mas Blanch i Jové and La Vinya dels Artistes).

• A high speed train, a day wandering El Raval, Barrio Gotico, El Born, Ciutadella, fighting with Renfe train staff(and winning), 40 min drive 30 min train: Barcelona.

• A Roman city, a wandering cathedral, a beachfront bar, 45 min: Tarragona.

• The birthplace of Spanish vermouth, modernista buildings, a toast to a wonderful trip, 40 minutes: Reus.

• One last pica pica, this one with pan con tomate and spanish tortilla, 0 min: L’Albi.

This last week one of my dearest friends, Dee, the person I purchased l’Artesania with, came to visit with two of their sisters-in-law and a friend. I got to be tour guide/translator/restaurant recommender for the week, and more importantly, I got to spend precious time with beautiful people. It was much needed, well timed, and on top of it all the weather was gorgeous, in the 60s and full sun all week. The food was delicious, the sights were beautiful, the challenges were overcome. The heart was filled. The soul was restored.

Which is good, because I was running on empty over here. I was in desperate need of beauty, and being reminded of beauty through the eyes of others. I was so in need of old friends and good memories and great meals and feeling valued and appreciated. When you move to a new country, for a long time you just keep feeling like you are bumbling along, barely figuring things out, getting behind on things because you can’t figure them out. And then to have a child with severe chronic pain and be going through a divorce after over 20 years of marriage? Well friends, you start to feel like you aren’t good at much, that you can’t handle anything else, that you really are generally failing. Flailing. Not just failing but failing Fantastically. Dramatically.

So this week, when I could provide expertise and get us through trials and challenges with… that word aplomb comes to mind… was a good reminder that I am capable. I am loved. I am going to make it.

And in the meantime, while getting through to the other side, I am surrounded by so much beauty

.

There’s an old writer’s practice in journaling where you take a line from a book or poem and you use it as the start of your own writing. You steal someone else’s words ( of “Steal Like an Artist” would be proud) to get you started on your own.

Personally, I like to take a passage or poem that I’ve been returning to over and over again. Maybe it’s the first line of the poem but maybe it’s somewhere else in there, something that sparks a little light in your interior.

The poem I’ve been returning to over and over again is one by , and it’s a letter from Hestia, the Greek goddess of the hearth and home.

Subscribe now

You see, I went to a solstice party in December, and we were instructed to each bring a poem to read around the fire. I brought this one, after being told about Hestia at the Barcelona Journaling Festival in a session with Jon Sayers, where he introduced us to journaling in the method of Carl Jung. Jon’s workshop continues to shock and delight me, and it showed up again in finding this poem by Gill:

Advice from Hestia to Girls

You are not made of paper.
If you were, you would have
Turned to ash long ago.

You are more, Bone, and muscle,
And beginnings and endings–
Evoke that when the world tries
To convince you that you are small.

You are not stone. Your heart is warm,
But seek no homes in other people’s chests,
Seek no truths there while your own heart,
Each throb, reminds you of your true home.

You are not made of paper.
Paper is easy to use and crush,
And you were not made for that.
You were made flame first.

And fire is born knowing
its elemental nature.
It knows the mystic force in shining alone

-Nikita Gill

Share

Your visual prompt: Start by collecting colors and images that you relate to, or that feel encouraging and empowering to you. Maybe it’s the colors of flames, or maybe there are beautiful flowers or…. Whatever feels encouraging and embodying. With those bits, make a border of ephemera around your two page spread.

Your written prompt: Within that border you have just created, write your own letter of advice. Start with a line from the poem above- maybe you take the first line, “You are not made of paper.” Or maybe it is any other line within the poem–start where you want! Let that first stolen line of a poem be the start of your own poem of advice, encouraging and strengthening you and reminding you of who you are at your core. And whenever stealing, remember: always take note of the original author- give credit now, if for no other reason than you can remember who inspired you when you look back! but mostly because one should always, always credit.

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

Last letter:

Other great moments of beauty to explore:

• The art museum in Valls, great for exploring Catalan artists from the area.

• On being a multi-hyphen person, and the end of the feasibility of a “career writer.”

• A so-enjoyable flip-through of a visual journal by Stacie Martinez.

• You have until Feb 24 to order Amie McNee’s next book.

Maybe you, like me, follow several folks here that have more than one kind of content-and you’re interested in one or a few of their posts but not all of them. It’s possible that, like me, these Substack creators have their letters to you separated into sections on their Substack platform.

For handwritten notes, for example, I’ve got two: there’s handwritten notes, the OG reason I am here, the “American artist living in Spain” content, and then there is “the creative notebook,” my creative journaling letters where I provide a written and visual prompt for those interested in exploring keeping their own creative notebook.

So if you have subscribed to @handwrittennotes, maybe you’re all about the journaling prompts and exploring your creativity, but you’re not really all that into learning about my odd adventures in Spain. Or maybe you’re interested in all that American-sells-all-her-stuff-to-start-over-as-an-immigrant-in-her-50s story, but not at all wanting to get my journaling prompts in your email inbox. Not offended! I’m glad you’re here. In fact, I wanted to make sure you know you could get in your email newsletters or in your Substack notifications, just the content you’re interested in. It’s pretty simple, once you know the steps.

So here they are, the steps to select which content you want—and which you don’t. You’ll have to jump on your computer to do this—it’s not available on the phone app, sadly.

First, go to your settings. You can do that by clicking on the three bars in the bottom left of the page, where it says “More” if you hover over it.

Click settings, and then once you’re in there, (it will start with an Account section) scroll down to Subscriptions, and click on one of them that you want to separate out which things you receive and how.

This will bring you to your settings specifically for that subscription. I selected Suleika Jaouad at because well, she’s amazing, and a guru at journaling to boot, but also because over the years since Isolation Journals started during the pandemic, she’s added multiple sections. Once there, scroll down just a bit to Notifications, and toggle on and off whatever you’d like to receive or not receive. That’s it!

See? Easy peasy. You’ll notice I’ve got them all toggled on, I want to receive All The Things from Suleika, because well. Because she’s amazing, as I may have stated.

Now. One more almond blossom photo for the road, yes? YES.

I hope this was helpful! Looking forward to many more stories from Spain and creative journaling ideas for you right here. You pick your own adventure.

Back in November, I attended the Barcelona Journaling Festival, and it was a glorious two days of returning to myself, just shortly after my ex had moved back to the states. It was two days of connecting with other people passionate about writing and keeping a journal, like me. Community and writing it all out. It was so needed. I keep returning to many of the journaling practices and prompts from those two transformative days, to get me through winter, to get me through this wintering period of my life.

I went to this festival, intent on one thing that I think was very important for its transformative powers. I had been writing daily for the two weeks before the event about the past, about the divorce, about the loss and the need to start over. But for these two days, in this space full of other journalers, I told myself I was not allowed to process the divorce or the loss. I was only allowed to focus on the rest of my life. I was to focus on the future, on the parts of my life: my writing, my artmaking, my life in Spain, the retreat home for artists and writers I was building. I was to focus on the building. Giving myself permission to step away from all the writing about the thing going wrong, and write about all the other parts of life so full of possibility and beauty–was so good. And Barcelona Journaling Festival was so very full of amazing presenters and workshop leaders. So many.

One in particular that I can’t stop going back to the practice she introduced us to was Amie McNee. She talked about her own past struggles, and how journaling got her through–and out–of it. She told us about how she got herself to a place where she could really value and prioritize the gifts she has to give to the world: her art.

It seems to have worked, because McNee published two books last year, and has just published another book this year. This year’s book I haven’t received yet but wow, both the historical fiction, “To Kill A Queen,” and the motivational goodness that is “We Need Your Art” were both just so, so good. This year’s newest book, “I Don’t Want a Job,” built from what started as a Substack post, looks incredible as well and I can’t wait to get the copy I ordered.

So, you ask, what was the practice that I keep coming back to? What short journaling exercise is an important part of getting me through? It’s a bit of talking about the hard, and then showering myself with love and acceptance, really. And what a gift the combination these two parts has been. Read below in the prompt to try out my version of Amie’s journaling prompt yourself.

(If you’re curious what a creative notebook is or what these written visual prompts are about, begin here or check out the full collection of creative notebook letters here.)

Your Writing Prompt: Set a timer for one minute, 90 seconds tops: spend this time really spilling out a quick release of emotion, of telling the most bare, honest, crabby version of the truth. Yell onto the page what’s wrong. Then when that timer goes off, write a letter to yourself from a mothering voice (and as Amie so wisely advised, if your own mother wasn’t great at comforting you, create that comforting voice you wish you had been given. Create your own comforting, encouraging, accepting cheerleader you need now).

Write a love letter to that hurting spot. Start with “of course you are sad, this is very hard. Of course you don’t have any energy right now. And then move on with that voice, not a blasé cheerleader that denies the truth, the hard, but a voice who sees in you a future that overcomes and is brilliant. That knows what you are capable of achieving. That believes you are more capable than even you can trust right now. That voice, she believes in you. She knows your goodness, your gift, your strength. Let her tell you all that you are able to do, let her envision a brilliant future for you. Not one that acts like it’s easy, but one that knows you are able of handling the hard. One that gives you permission to fully rest, that doesn’t rush you, that doesn’t expect stark discipline when what you really need is a nap. The voice of wise love and adoration. Write yourself a letter from that voice. She might make you cry, but they will be tears of release, tears of renewal. Tears that will let you get up and take that next step.

Your visual prompt: Review that love letter, that belief-in-you letter, and take a phrase or sentence that you want to remind yourself of again. Turn the page and write those words big, with a big fat marker or a brush pen or just an outline of bigger letters you can fill in. Take your time, make it **aesthetic** but please, please don’t worry about making it perfect. Doodle or scribble all around it, using bright or soothing colors. Maybe even get out the watercolors or marker set to really make yourself a big beautiful love note to yourself. In future days, you can turn to that page, take a few deep slow breaths while reading that love note to yourself over and over, and then start another journaling page with that very phrase, and see where it takes you when you repeat this loving truth to yourself. See what happens when you focus on the voice that believes in you.

Highly recommend:

• Attending the Journaling Festival in New York (August) or Barcelona (November) this year.

• Reading one or all of Amie McNee’s books:

  • We Need Your Art

  • To Kill a Queen

  • I Don’t Want A Job (which, may I remind you, is very different than not wanting to work!)

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

Last letter:

Well, here we are, at the end of the first month of the new year. I have to admit I spent a lot of time wintering: sad, slow, vacillating between feeling guilty and giving myself grace. I have never been a big “new year new me” person, winter is not the time for big plans and big energy after all. But this year, understandably, was slower than even my normal January speed. Between watching the horrors of America becoming a fascist state from afar, to working through a divorce and starting a life as a full time single mom, to continuing to try to find solutions to my daughter’s constant stomach pain and nausea, it’s just… it’s a lot all at once. We get up every day, we fight as long as we can, and then we give up for the day. Sometimes the fight lasts an hour. Sometimes we luchar longer through the day. Always we try to give ourselves grace and continue to move forward, even if it is by inches.

So thankfully, I had one thing on my calendar in January that I was excited about: the Gran Calçotada in Valls, Spain, the birthplace of the calçot. I missed learning about it by a single week last year, and the 2026 date has been on my calendar since then, determined to not miss this important kick-off to a culinary season in my region once again.

So I headed to Valls, a rough and revolutionary city, so of course it captured my heart. And I do love a calçotada, so it was great to experience the official, big one.

What is a calçotada, you ask? Well. Calçots are like giant green onions, that have dirt piled up around them as they grow to keep more of the stalk white. They get thrown on a fire of grape vines, which the farmers have just trimmed their vineyards, and are put on when the fire is still very hot, so they get a good char on them. Then they’re wrapped in newspaper or foil to steam. You eat them by stripping that charred out layer with your hands, a messy process indeed. The prepared calçot is then dipped in the calçot sauce, and eating all in one go. A proper calçotada starts with these calçots, and lots of them. Then once the fire has calmed down, you move on to the second course: meats. There has to be longanisa, a traditional sausage around here, but people throw all kinds of meat, and lots of it, on the grill for course two.

For our visit to the Gran Calçotada, I met my friend Jeanne and her husband Juan for the experience. We paid 15 euros for a bag with a dozen calçots, the sauce, half a loaf of rustic multigrain bread, a small bottle of water, a full size bottle of red wine, an orange and two little cookies. Then we wandered around in search of our longanisa, before watching Then it was time for the gegants parade- the giants! Every town has their “local couple” giants. Sometimes they’re dignitaries, saints, or former lords that owned the castle in town. I love that Valls’ couple were calçots farmers. Along with the obligatory local couple was a giant calçot trailed by all the little ingredients that make the sauce—like you do— and then a traveling maypole, traditional dancers, and a medieval horse. Each giant had their own little team of troubadours, playing traditional tunes on piccolos and drums. It was so joyful, and being an American I was in need of some joy.

Before leaving, we had to take in the calçots eating contest. We started watching these dozen or so contestants, eating calçot after calçot, and were wondering why they weren’t going faster. Can you not rush a Spaniard, even in an eating contest? Then we thought, well, maybe they are pacing themselves. Time went by, more and more confused, only to discover… the eating contest lasts for 45 minutes. Forty-Five Minutes, friends. Typically they eat 200-300 calçots in that 45 minutes.

Spaniards, man. They cannot be rushed. Especially at mealtime.

Spaniards are known for drawing out their meals- including a time after the meal, sitting around continuing to talk and enjoy each others’ company and wine or a coffee. It’s called sobremesa, and it’s so serious that restaurants will absolutely not bring you your check until you request it. To do so would be rude, rushing you. Now, Spaniards will meet to “tomar algo,” to get a drink- whether it’s a beer or a fancy cocktail or a coffee (and all three may be enjoyed at the same table by different people, thus the “algo,” the “something.”) When you meet to tomar algo, it may last only an hour or sometimes less, no worries. Getting a drink can be quick. A touchpoint to reconnect with friends that doesn’t require a big plan ahead to arrange it- but meals? Meals cannot be rushed. Slow down. Enjoy your food. Enjoy the company. Relax and sip your wine and remember that life has so much to be enjoyed without rush.

Learning to understand and enjoy the sobremesa concept is why I love spending time in other cultures. Someone new to Spain, a tourist from America, say, may be frustrated why the server isn’t bringing them their check so they can move on to the activity they have planned after the meal. But in Spain? The meal is the activity.

There’s a story of famous architect Gaudi’s representative being asked by a reporter if Gaudi was getting frustrated by the slow process of Sagrada Familia. There were wars and a dictator and all of this was interrupting work time and supply chains, and the Sagrada Familia had a series of years where they weren’t able to make much progress. But when asked if this frustrated its creator, his rep simply said, “No, no. My client is not in a hurry.”

Meals cannot be rushed. Creation cannot be rushed. Life–life cannot be rushed.

Even in a competition: Spaniards will not be rushed.

What a beautiful way to live.

But let me warn you: you have to give in to it, learn to enjoy its benefits-or else it will be highly frustrating. If you can’t adjust to the culture you are in, and understand the values behind the actions- they will confuse, annoy, and test your patience. You may even think they are “wrong” for doing it differently than you do. But I promise, stick around long enough, stay curious long enough, and you will uncover the value behind the action that makes it all make beautiful sense.

Missed a letter?

Last letter:

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Cross-posted from our retreat home’s website, thecraft.es.

I live in a tiny little village with two restaurants (three in the summer if you count the pool patio bar) and just 700 y pico people. You would think that there would be nothing to do, but to be honest there are plenty of festivals and events right here in town, many of them just out the living room windows from our retreat home—and so many incredible options just a short drive away. At one point I just decided to create a master list of my top recommendations, a quicker way to answer that “what should we do when we come?” question.

I thought I’d share them here, too, because who doesn’t like an insider view of what to do when you’re outside of Barcelona in Catalunya, Spain. In each one, you’ll see the location, followed by my recommended itinerary. then I’ll tell you a little more about why it made the cut.

On the original post on thecraft.es, I’ve also shared more about what to do right at l’Artesania, a suggested rhythm for scheduling your days, and what to expect for costs when traveling in my region.

Planning your days at and around l’Artesania, our retreat home in L’Albi, Lleida, Catalunya, Spain:

1. Day trips: experiences, adventures, and architecture options just around the corner are vast.

   1. Montblanc: coffee/tapas in the square > wander > visit cathedral 1 euro > stop at Mercadona for groceries (20 min drive from L’Albi)
      Twenty minutes from L’Albi is a well-known medieval town called Montblanc. It’s still got a complete stone wall up around the original town borders, and an incredible medieval festival around the week of Dia de Sant Jordi, where you’ll find knights on horses riding around town randomly, and an old medieval beer garden everywhere you look. It’s crowded, but worth the crowds.

   2. Poblet Monastery (20 min)
      There are three significant monasteries near L’Albi: Poblet, Santes Creus, and Vallbona. I would suggest starting with Poblet. It’s absolutely stunning and still a working monastery, which means it is the most kept up, and less having portions that feel like ruins.

   3. Lleida: La Seu, menú at Casa Marti for a slow, traditional lunch, shopping on Carrer Major (30 min)
      There are three big towns close by that are absolutely worth the visit: Reus, Tarragona, and Lleida. Let’s start with Lleida, half an hour away. Lleida’s main tourist attraction, in an otherwise kind of gray city, is La Seu. A huge cathedral on the top of the hill of Lleida, it was built in 1200 and Franco took it over as a prison at one point. More recently restored, the outdoor area, the cloister, is one of my favorite spots around. Next to it, open fewer hours, is the king’s castle. Outside of the cathedral and castle on the hill, Lleida is a good place to get bigger stores, as well as a full shopping street with everything from your standard Zara and H&M chains to local little gems. Lleida also has the closest AVE (fast train) to go into Barcelona for the day.

   4. Tarragona: Roman ruins > wandering and shopping in Part Alta > cathedral > lunch at Braseria la Catedral > beach outside town (45 min)
      Tarragona was a Roman port, Tarraco, back in the—well—start of AD. Tarragona, along with Roman ruins like a race track and amphitheatre, has possibly my favorite cathedral I’ve seen yet in Catalunya. The cathedral is at the top of the old quarter, a great place to wander and home to the best tourist gifts shop, La Botiga del Bon Gust, that has more varied and quality options than your typical Barcelona tshirts-and-fake-pottery shop. For lunch, if you’re tired of pork and love a pile of meat, I highly recommend a halal wood fire grill just behind the cathedral, Braseria la Catedral. Tarragona is also on the coast, so it’s a good place to combine historical tours with some beach time.

   5. Reus: Casa Navas > wander and shop > Patateria Laurie > Colmado Baró > a proper vermouth hour then tapas lunch outdoors at Casa Coder (35 min)

      The small city with the most Modernista architecture per capita, even more than Barcelona. The birthplace of Spanish vermouth. Home to an incredible range of quality foods from around the world. Like Barcelona without its downsides of pickpockets and overtourism. It’s hard to narrow down my recommendations in Reus but I will say that it’s a great place to get to know more about vermouth culture and pick up your own bottle of the good stuff at Colmado Baro. It’s also close to Salou, an uber-popular beach town along the coast, so a morning in Reus with the afternoon on the beach is also a good combo.

   6. Montserrat: Aeri up > tour cathedral, light a candle, lunch > funicular to the top > hike/take in the views > Aeri down > Bar el Rincon tapas (1 hr 15 min)
      Bit more of a drive than my other suggestions, but Montserrat is a famous mountaintop monastery with the Black Madonna. Not just for touring the cathedral there, it’s a great place for hiking, and of course a great excuse to ride a funicular and an aerial cable car in one day. Be sure to end your day with a stop at the little outdoor bar “Bar el Rincon” on the other side of the train tracks surrounded by trees.

   7. Prades and Siurana: Prades wander > menú lunch at La Font > drive up to Siurana (30 min/1 hr)
      We are in the foothills of the Prades mountains here in L’Albi, so in half an hour you can be up in the red rock town of Prades, with one of my favorite restaurants around, La Font. Up another half hour and you’re in Siurana, town of 40 residents, at the top of the mountain. One of the prettiest towns and breathtaking views in all of Spain. Worth the windy roads to get there, for sure. Don’t forget to walk up to the Mirador (cliffs for that view) past the church and marvel at the lack of safety rails.

   8. Santuari de Monsterrat and Montferri (40 min)
      A beautiful drive down the road from home base is a tiny church built brick by brick by the townspeople in Montferri that will stop you in your tracks if you happen upon it driving by. This sanctuary is sweet and surprising. In Montferri, across the road, is my favorite winery: Cava Vives Ambrós. There’s also a microbrewery there, a rarity in Spain.

2. Small town life: If you just want to experience village life, there are many captivating villages and towns right around us-and all just 15 minutes or less by car to get there. A stop for a coffee and a wander around town in each of these options is a great way to start a day.

   1. Vinaixa: El Nou Bar el Sol is not known for its ambiance but the friendly staff and great food quickly make up for it.

   2. Cerviá: Lo Nou Casal has incredible menú lunches, and in the summer on Saturday nights they close off the street, and put up tables all outside under strings of lights, and it is like a movie scene.

   3. Vilosell

   4. Tarrés: this town is adorable. And the weekend buffet at El Sindicat so far outshines what you picture as a buffet. It’s a Spanish culinary experience. The cured meat and cheese boards alone…

   5. Vallclara

   6. L’Espluga de Francoli: This is more a town than a village, by which I mean you have lots of options for shopping and restaurants (compared to my village with two). It is home to my favorite bakery (Cots Artesans), weekly farmers market (on Fridays in the plaza by the cathedral), and Sunday-only pollo y conejo a l’ast (rotisserie chicken and rabbit) to die for at Polleria Antónia.

   7. Vimbodi: on your wander, stop by Ca la Cova for their “hot and honey” sobrassada (which I explain as a “spreadable chorizo”) and many other great charcuterie options.

   8. La Pobla de Cervoles: Don’t miss the free outdoor sculpture park just outside town at Vinya dels Artistes, by the Mas Blanch y Jove winery.

See the full post and learn more about booking a stay at l’Artesania here.

If you want to experience the food culture of Spain, you’re going to have to know how to eat like a Spaniard. What does that look like? Let me walk you through a typical day:

AM: When you get up, breakfast is simply a cafe con leche and a tostada or Maria cookies. If you’re out, switch that out for a croissant. First ask i it’s mantequilla and not manteca (butter vs lard), as not all croissants in Spain are equal. That’s it. That’s all you get for breakfast. Eggs are for lunch and dinner not breakfast, buddy. Don’t worry, we’ll stop again around 10:30 or 11 to have an entrepan (sandwich of baguette bread, smear of tomato and olive oil, with meat and/or cheese) and another coffee.

MIDDAY: Lunch is at 2, or for early eaters, 1. It is the biggest meal of the day.

But wait, before lunch! If you want to experience a proper vermouth hour, before lunch is the time to do it. It’s a glass of Spanish vermouth with a single giant ice cube, slice of orange or lemon, toothpick with 1-3 olives. A proper vermouth hour is served with homemade chips and olives.

Menú is traditional Spanish lunch, with three courses. Usually wine and water, olives and bread are included. There’s Primero, which is where you’ll find salads and light(er) options, though you’ll also see pastas and other filling options.) then Segundo, that’ll be meat-forward. Usually you will have 3-5 options to choose from for each of those courses. This is also when you would have paella, which is always and only for lunch. Then dessert course, which will also include a fruit option and a plain yogurt option. Always ask which desserts are made in-house, and get those. Don’t want even fruit or yogurt? You can switch out for a coffee. If you have coffee and dessert, they’ll charge you for the coffee separately. And remember, we are not in a rush at lunch so you will have to ask for your bill when you are ready to leave. They will not rush you by bringing it before you ask.

AFTERNOON: Around 5 or so, there’s Merienda: snack time. For kids, it’s often a sweet something. For adults, well, I won’t stop you from having a little chocolate pastry. I would never.

Before dinner, Spaniards will often stop to “tomar algo” with friends. That can be anything from a glass of wine or a beer or a Vichy sparkling mineral water-or a cafe solo (yes, shot of espresso) for those lucky souls who can have caffeine any hour of the day.

DINNER: At the earliest, you might have dinner at 8. In the summer, it’s going to be more like 9 or 10 or later. Dinner is typically when a group will share a few tapas, but at home it will be a salad or a vegetable puree soup, or … something small and simple. Another favorite dinner is pica pica: like charcuterie, with cheese and cured meat, olives (of course) and nuts and dried fruits. Yes, you can definitely add in some fresh, raw seasonal vegetables and fruits in there too. But keep it small and simple and on most days, mostly vegetables.

SOBREMESA: After dinner, and really at any meal, it’s traditional to draw out the meal at the table, continuing the conversation and the enjoyment. It’s so traditional that there’s a Spanish word for it: sobremesa, which literally translates as “on/around the table.” Do not skip sobremesa if you want to eat like a Spaniard. We are not in a rush here. Relax, sit back, let the food settle and enjoy each others’ company.

For my creative notebook followers, your prompt: tell me the rhythms of your food culture where you live. Give me your best “How to Eat Like a…” and tell it to me like I’m a foreigner who has very different rhythms and assumptions. Explain a day in your food culture to me. Because what’s fascinating to non-Spaniards is just a normal day to someone here. We often don’t notice the special habits and experiences and events of our own lives. So talk to a stranger, from another culture, another country. Help them understand your food rhythms and norms. It’s only normal because you live there, after all.

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

Last creative notebook letter:

And you can find all the creative notebook entries here.

You can also support my work by sharing with others. Thanks for reading all the way to the end!

Share

I am starting the new year slow but strong. And if you’re leaning towards the slow part of it, it’s not too late to do a little visioning of your own.

Long ago, I rejected the idea of new year’s resolutions. I’m more of a “spring is the start of the new energy” kind of girl, that resolutions facing cold, dreary, exhausted January were just asking to create disappointment in yourself. That moving with the seasons, with the agricultural year, makes a lot more sense for new projects and vows to grow into a better person.

But I’m also a planner lover, even if it’s a DIY Bullet Journaling planner. A new planner just begs for you to consider your plans for the new year, so years ago I replaced those resolutions with new year goals. New year bucket lists. New year habits to build over time. For a while I would pick a ‘word” for the year, setting a tone or a gentle reminder of where to focus and what to live into in this new year. Even if I wasn’t resolving to never eat sugar ever again, no not ever—I was starting to consider what the new year could look like and what it could become in time. January is also when I generally start planning my garden, ordering any specialty seeds, drawing up garden plans. It’s a gardener tradition! So in many ways January is the “how will I grow” month, you know, just sitting under cozy blankets, tea in hand, plotting and scheming what I could do after the thaw.

One thing I had never done, until this year, was to create a vision board. But this year, my friend Jeanne invited me and just one other friend (and let me tell you the joy in “being picked” has not lessened after middle school in me!) over for a New Years Day retreat. She made us gorgeous silk velvet eye masks, filled with rice, and lavender she grew in her garden. We did a meditation and journaling process, sat outside in the sun enjoying her lasagna, and then got to the stacks and stacks of magazines in the living room by the fire. Jeanne told us to just wander through the magazines, and pull out of them whatever we were drawn to. To make a whole stack of images and inspiration, maybe thinking about what we wanted in our new year. Nothing super structured, not on a hunt for specific things. But to just flip through the pages and see what called to us. Then we got to arranging on our boards.

Mine of course, had plenty of flower pictures, and lots of the word artist. I do plan to grow lots and lots of flowers this year, but I also think it was just as much the thought of surrounding myself, cocooning myself, in beauty. After glueing down those that made the cut, I still had a nice little pile of options.

I didn’t want to just toss away what had called to me.

So I brought that little stack home, and did some more starter pages with them. Starter pages are just as the name suggests: a start to a page. maybe it’s a little bit of washi, or a few bits of paper, or even just one. A starter page has a little visual bit started on the page- they’re great for getting rid of that blank white page fear, and make me want to keep journaling to fill them up.

Your visual prompt this week: If you don’t have magazines at home, ask around to friends, or perhaps visit your local library and ask them if they have old magazines set to go to the recycle bin. Make sure there’s a variety of options- including magazines you wouldnt’ necessarily normally read. Look not just for words or images but also for colors that call to you. Then once you’ve got entirely too much to choose from, start arranging and see what ends up on the board. Maybe that “board” is just the front first spread of your journal, you know, the one you’ve been waiting to put something special in. For that matter it could just be the next empty two page spread.

Once you’ve got that glued down, you’ll have lovely bits that shouldn’t just be tossed away! Anything that doesn’t make it into the spread goes into starter pages. Maybe add a little washi tape or a bit of some other design element, but stick to a single thing you pulled out, that drew you, per spread.

Your writing prompt: Take some time to look at your vision board, and write a letter to a friend, “showing” them your vision board, and what you think it means to you. Through the next week, use those starter pages to write about what you are drawn to in those images, using the cutout as a prompt or what you want out of this year. State your desires. Dream big. Hold your plans loosely, with an open hand. Know that dreams and desires may not happen in the timing or the way we want them to– but that we can keep working towards them, with a willingness to flow as things change: right along with them we adjust and let go and keep holding on. Right along with those changes we can allow ourselves to see how much bigger and better sometimes those initial ideas end up coming into reality.

In this dreaming, planning, and preparing month, I’d like to kick off with encouraging you to create your own vision board. Because I don’t know about you, but my need for visions of a better future didn’t stop on January 1. And my need for beauty, in these last days, has only gotten stronger. Beauty as survival, visions and dreams as forward motion. We need it all these days, friends.

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

Last creative notebook letter:

And you can find all the creative notebook entries here.

You can also support my work by sharing with others. Thanks for reading all the way to the end!

Share

Hello, dear readers.

Well it is the end of the year and since October I apologize as I have kind of… disappeared. I kept trying to show up, and it felt… false. Fake. Like I was hiding something and acting like everything was fine.

Because I was, and it wasn’t. Everything was not fine, and I was hiding something.

You see, along with various other struggles and road blocks here these days, in October my husband of 21 years and I decided to divorce. I don’t feel like I need to share on the world wide web the hows and whys of our relationship, but he has returned to the United States, and our daughter and I have stayed here in Spain. And so, at nearly-54, I am starting 2026 with a lot of change. I am, step by step, creating a life on my own: a single mother, a foreigner trying to navigate Spanish bureaucracy, building a business, trying to stay positive. I am pleased to report that the majority of the days, but definitely not all days, I am achieving that.

Some weeks we are not majority positive, it’s true. Of course they are not. Some weeks are sad or overwhelming or all the emotions all at the same time. And I have taken these last months of the year to really process these changes.

I do believe that these changes will be, in the long run, good ones. I know that my daughter and I will both be creating a beautiful life here in Spain. I never stopped thinking, knowing, trusting that was possible. I have big ideas for this upcoming year, and despite low energy and challenges for both of us abounding, I know that we will get there. We just have to take it step by step. In 2026, we are going to trust the path will open up as we take each step.

More later, my friends. I can’t wait to see what this new year holds for us all.

-holly

I have a secret to tell you.

No, not that one, another one: I am trying my hand at writing fiction.

In May of this year, I was still trying to plot out an idea for a nonfiction book I had been trying to lay out and figure out and answer niggling questions and concerns about it for over half a year. Something wasn’t quite right, but I didn’t want to let go of the idea, either. It just wasn’t coming together and then… suddenly it came together. But it came together in a completely different way than I could have ever imagined: it turned into a fiction book.

I have always said I’m no fiction writer. I have never understood how people just come up with whole worlds and this has always been some magical out-of-reach skill that I, as a writer, just was never going to have. I love reading fiction but I had made my peace with never writing it. I’m much more a reflecting-on-this-life kind of writer. But then, the nonfiction I had been wrestling with suggested I turn it into a fiction story, and like a whirlwind it came together for me.

No, I’m not going to tell you what it is. But what I will say is that the roadblock suddenly was unblocked. Like a flood, in the middle of May, I was writing up a story premise, and doing character sketches, and setting the story in a specific time frame and place, and for three days straight I was writing like mad, dreaming up all sorts of scenarios and story arcs and conflict and resolution.

I have never written like this. I have never thought like this. But I kept thinking about it, and writing about it, throughout the rest of the year. I didn’t get much of the actual chapters written. I think I was not ready to trust it. But I couldn’t stop thinking about-and writing about-this story. These worlds. And now, as the weather starts to cool and cozy season is upon us, I am settling in and excited to begin slowly chipping away at putting down really rough, unorganized un-fixed attempts. This next phase will be just getting down the story. Writing chapters.

My trepidatious but inspired exploration of fiction writing got me thinking about life, of course. Writing always reminds me of life.

And here’s what thinking about fiction has me thinking about life:
How much more would we accomplish if we just allowed ourselves to do things badly, and then fix it later? All those ideas and goals and dreams we have been noodling for months if not years, but we are hesitating: what if we allowed ourselves to do them badly, and then get better at it as we go? What if we stopped worrying about being good at it before we had even had a chance to try it? What if we allowed ourselves to be a beginner when we begin something?

So if you are at the edge of this really crazy idea, something you know nothing about, but can’t stop thinking about? Now is the time.

Be a beginner.
Start learning, start researching, and most importantly start doing.
Begin while you are still learning.
Begin before you are good at it.
Begin even though you are nervous, even though that debbie downer logical side of your brain says it’s ridiculous.

BEGIN.

Share

How about we practice this a bit, explore this a bit, in our safe space: our creative notebooks.

This week’s visual prompt: Pull out a few of your favorite markmaking tools- thick markers, colorful pens, the best soft pencil in your pencil case. Use those favorite tools to doodle numbers one through five along the left hand side of the page. Make them whimsical, ridiculous, colorful. One through five, going all the way down the page. Big, audacious doodled numbers all decorated with swirls and little bits and bobs.

And your writing prompt: Alongside those fun and funky numbers, list five fun and funky things you would do with your time if you weren’t worried about whether or not you were any good at it. Don’t think about what you’re talented at, or what you think od possible to eventually be good at. Don’t even think about what the purpose is. Just list five things you have thought would be interesting to try- especially those things that you thought had no purpose, or that you would be terrible at them. List those things.

Then take one of them, and write about it more. What’s stopping you? What would happen if you ignored that and did it anyway? What would happen if you took half an hour a day away from doom scrolling and instead played with this ridiculous idea you’ve had instead? What would that look like? The doing of it, I mean.
The beginning.

We’re not concerning ourselves with the results or the purpose or heavens definitely not what people will think of it. Okay? Just what would it be like to try it out? What could you do to ease in, to allow yourself time to just give it a shot, try it out, no pressure no expectations? Write into that space.

Write into the beginning of beginning.

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

Last week:

And you can find all the creative notebook entries here.

How is it already the end of October? Here in Catalunya, we have had I am told a slightly warmer October than normal, with daytime temps in the mid 70s most of the month, and just this final week it’s gotten a little cooler-60s during the day. My October days here are like a Michigan June. Not unhappy about that.

Looking back on this month, I realize it has been a lot of nesting and puttering. It’s like when you’re at the very end of your pregnancy, about to bring a new life into the world, and you suddenly get the urge to get everything set up and cozy and ready for the next stage. You’re more tired than you thought was possible to be tired, your body hurts, you’re crazy emotional, but also: you somehow gather up your strength and invest long hours in putting up food for the future and arranging furniture and getting everything ready. You know that feeling, ladies? That has been me this month, to a tee. Minus the giant belly, that has been me.

I have been super tired, going through some changes, and preparing for a new life stage. This will be our first winter in the little stone cottage in the huertos (the garden plots on the outskirts of town) and so I have been doing all kinds of things inside and out to set up for a cozy winter here.

Share

For example, I bought two reclining chairs (you know those zero gravity chairs?) to set on the patio where it gets afternoon sun so I can sit outside and write in the warmest part of the day, all winter long.

I am setting up the garden for winter crops and preparing for spring harvests: garlic, carrot, kale, spinach. Transplanted herbs from the bounty of a friend’s land. I am fall sowing lots and lots of flowers. I realized there is nowhere to buy fresh cut flowers here in town, and I think we could all use more flowers in our lives, so I have set out to resolve that. Perhaps I’ll have a little roadside stand alongside the cottage, you know with those honor jars like you find out in the country in northern Michigan… who knows what I will end up doing next year with all those flowers, but if nothing else, I’ll be growing beauty, in abundance.

And inside, I am back to my kitchen puttering ways. I have been harvesting olives, tree by tree, to experiment with different ways of curing, brining, and marinating olives. I’m doing some in a salt cure, just layers of olives and salt, that will turn out like those dry-pack kalamata olives that I love so much. I’ve got one batch of olives that will be brined with garlic and lemon and thyme, another with rosemary, and so on. I even started a dedicated notebook (because of course I did) to keep track of all my experiments and results. Once everything is ready, I plan to have friends over for an olive tasting, so we can assess the results and differences, and I can narrow down all my trials to a few different kinds that I can do next year. I’m lighting fires and trying out homemade seed crackers and cooking down the last of the tomatoes into a gorgeous sauce with lots of onion and garlic. I’m setting up beds with more blankets, I’m lighting candles, and I even bought some little twinkle lights for that dark area along the entry stairs where there’s a giant boulder as our wall. I am, in short, setting up for a new life.

It’s super overwhelming and not without its range of emotions. It’s exhausting, and exciting, and full of hope.

So at the end of the month, though tired and overwhelmed, I find myself mostly so grateful. Despite all the …. Everything… in the world and in my life, I am finding my way. I am setting up to grow an abundance of beauty, full of hope.

And beauty and hope, on its own, is more than enough.

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

You can find all the creative notebook entries and monthly stories here.

When I lived in Chicago for a short season of my life, I would attend art openings in the Pilsen neighborhood, visiting a gallery and studio and alternative space, one after another, on Second Fridays. It was really great: I saw a lot of great art, and a lot of really bad art, and I met very interesting characters. But it was a LOT.

And what I remember the most about those Second Fridays is needing to step outside the galleries at some point during the evening, to focus on just the sky, or just the sidewalk. My eyes and brain needed a rest. They needed space to settle down.

I think about that sometimes these days, as Americans face so much news, an onslaught of what the hell, and I mean that not as a swear but as a true representation of news of the day, every day. I think about it in my life, with so many things to do and so many changes happening and so many cultural and governmental shifts that I need to understand and take in and assimilate to.

Life is a lot, and sometimes we just need to stare at a seemingly blank space. To lower the input and for just a bit, to find calm. Maybe it’s just me, the urge to just sit and stare at the wall for a while, to let my mind and eyes come to an equilibrium after so much input. But I don’t think so. I think it’s a human response to overwhelm. It’s why staring out at the lake or ocean regardless of whether or not there are waves is so soothing. It’s part of what is wonderful about laying in a dark field looking up at the stars, quiet and reverent.

There is just so much input, and we need a chance to calm the noise.

And I have been needing that a lot lately. I have been needing it so much that I have been intentionally setting myself on a practice to turn off the input, if even for 10 minutes, to let my mind settle.

Subscribe now

Part of the practice (surprise! You had no idea, did you?) is recording that experience in my journal. I dial down the input to a blue sky or the dirt beneath my feet. I take a picture. I breathe, in and out, and just stare for 10 minutes. And then I go to my journal after those 10 minutes and write the observances and thoughts during those 10 minutes. What I love about this practice is that you really can do it anywhere. You can stare up at your ceiling in your room. You can lay down in a lawn to look up.

The sky is always above and the ground is always below. Wherever we are, there is respite from the input, from all the noise.

Let’s try it.

Writing and Visual Prompt:

Lay on your back, looking up. Maybe it’s your back yard, maybe it’s a park, or a field out in the country, maybe it’s the middle of the night or first thing in the morning. Wherever it is, just lie down on the earth and look up at the sky.

Set a timer for 10 minutes, no music, no nothing, just you, staring up. Just staring, interrupted only by a moment to take a picture. Then when the timer goes off, sit up, grab your journal, set a 2nd 10 min timer, and write about the experience. What did you notice? See? Hear? Think about? Was it hard or did you find it relaxing? Pick out on or a few selections of those images to a one hour WalGreens photo service (for example) or print out a low-res version on your home printer, and paste those in your journal opposite your writing. Draw a frame around them, doodle and label the images.

Later in the week, or the next day, do the same thing, except looking down. What do you notice, along with your shoes and socks? Where are you standing or sitting? What is the ground beneath your feet? How did it feel to shut off the world around and just look below? Again, print out a photo. Meditate on it while you create a frame of doodles of some sort. Slow down while you contemplate the experience of slowing down.

And then remember, my dear friend, that the sky is always above and the ground is always below.

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

Last week:

And you can find all the creative notebook entries here.

There is a lot, just so overwhelmingly much, happening in the U.S. government these days. And the problem with all that national politics is that politics affects local, personal, individual lives. It not only affects the everyday lives of everyday people–it is intricately interwoven into everything we do. It affects our interactions with strangers. Our safety. Our neighbor’s safety. Politics is always personal.

Politics is not some far-off thought experiment that we can discuss with differing opinions (like Libby Eddleman’s insight about Ezra Klein’s observations of politics in Gaza as if it’s a thought exercise vs Ta-Nehisi Coates’ observations of politics and how it affects lives). Politics is our lives, and it determines the quality and value of our lives. Politics determines our children’s education, our transportation, our health care, our access to opportunities and to our everyday infrastructure. And so much more.

This is not unique to the United States. It’s the same everywhere. Here in Spain, whether or not my little town has a pool and a doctor? That’s politics. Whether or not we still have a farmers market every week in the plaça, and the price of a lot of those fruits and vegetables? Yep, directly influenced and shaped by politics year to year. Here in Spain, and there in the U.S., and in every country, politics isn’t some nebulous, neutral debate topic.

Politics is the arrangement of our societies. It is embedded in everything.

And so, when I watch the political upheaval in my home country of the United States, I know it means personal upheaval for everyone living there too–and it means infinitely more upheaval for my immigrant friends, my black and brown friends, my lgbtq+ friends, my friends who depend on medicaid to keep their kids healthy… and so many neighbors of those friends, too. The upheaval in everyone’s daily lives has been weighing heavily on me. I am hurting for those who are hurting.

And from over here, other than writing my reps and voting when voting days come around, I don’t know what else to do. What can I do from over here in my tiny village in Spain?

Well, I can share with you a practice that may not overcome the upheaval but will help you survive it, and be able to fight it another day. Because one thing I know about upheaval is that it tries to distract you. It tries to unsettle you, to wear you down. And one of the best ways I know of for resettling, recentering, and reconnecting to the present? It’s to simply take a deep breath and look around you.

To stop, look right around you at the physical world, and name it. To make sure to also see the beautiful little bits right in front of you. Beauty will help us survive. So friend: today we are going to reconnect our bodies to the physical world right in front of us. We are going to hone our observational skills because not only is it a coping mechanism for the overwhelm of political/personal upheaval, but it then arms us to go out beyond what is directly around us, and to better see what is happening in the broader world, as well. And if we need anything right now, it’s to be able to center, and to be able to continue seeing clearly what is happening around us. To name the things. To say them out loud, to put them into words. To be witnesses, and to speak up, speak out. To name the thing without fear.

So no, this journaling practice you’ve been doing with me? It’s not useless and it’s not just a “silly little thing” to reconnect to beauty. It is survival and it is resistance. Observe around you. Name what you see. Name it clearly, directly, in detail. Stay in the present, and stay observant.

This week’s journaling prompts

First, let’s do a little Visual Play: Look around you. This week is all about honing our observation skills, so stop for a moment and see what you have right in front of you. What bits and scraps can you move to your journal that you find next to you? Perhaps it’s in the recycling bin in the kitchen, a wrapper or box or cookie sleeve. Perhaps there are post-its with reminders scribbled on them on your desk. Perhaps it’s in the drawer to your left, those stickers and stationary that you never know what to use for–maybe some of those bits and scraps can be arranged in the corner of a page. Gather those all together, overlap them, glue them down.

Writing Prompt: Now that we have started looking around us, looking enough to uncover hidden “treasure” to capture in our journals, let’s move on to our writing prompt this week. This week’s prompt is all about slowing down and describing what is next to us. Two weeks ago we talked about taking a visitor on your everyday routine or errands. Let’s continue with that reminder to start paying closer attention to our everyday lives. Today we are noticing what is right in front of us. Take ten minutes, set a timer (oh yes, I’m making you use a timer again) and spend that full ten minutes describing your surroundings. What is next to you, in front of you? No judgment, no assessment or opinions. Just straightforward description: there is a glossy, deep brown coffee mug from IKEA, with just a single sip left of cafe con leche in it, cold and deserted. Next to it, my red sunglasses, thrown aside when I suddenly realized they were still perched on my head and making that spot behind my ears hurt. Behind them, The Book of Alchemy by Suleika Jaouad, thrown on top of a pile of receipts and bills in no particular order. …. And keep going.

And then when you are done with your journal: friend, keep going. Sending love to everyone in the midst of upheaval this week.

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

Last week:

This month, my friend Nuria, owner of Albium, the award-winning olive oil company, took me on a tour of their olive groves. And yes, when I say award-winning I don’t mean some piddly little local contest, which on its own would still be a feat, because we are after all in the middle of Spain, in an area that has a Lot of olive groves. It’s not a small selection of oils to compete with, even just in our region. But no. I mean winning international and national prizes. First place in Spain. Third place in the world. THAT kind of olive oil. You feel me?

So one beautiful sunny afternoon, she’s driving me around all their various olive groves, as the trees are being prepared for harvest season. There’s a beautiful olive grove area with a nice space to gather, overlooking L’Albi, and she wants to be sure I know about it. Then we drive up a hill, and park the car to walk up to the top of another hill that overlooks the valley of olive groves, with L’Albi more in a distance. This area, she says, would be “fatal” (Not fatal like deadly. Fatal like “killer good.”) for our guests or for camping, to wake up in the morning to that view when the mist is still low on the mountains. Next, we visit a newer grove, the trees just a couple years old, all in rows to accommodate the new way of growing and harvesting olives with an odd-shaped tractor that drives right over a closely-planted row of trees, like legs spread wide for a game of frog, making harvesting faster. We’re not going to this grove for its agricultural advances though. We’re going because it has one of the few remaining “cabanes de pedra seca,” or voltas as they’re sometimes called. These are little vaulted stone cabins, built hundreds of years ago for farmers to sleep in during long days so they wouldn’t have to walk all the way back home from the terreno at the end of the day and then all the way back again early the next morning. You see, farmers don’t live in a house surrounded by their land here, necessarily. A lot of them live in the nearby pueblo, and their land may be 5-10 kilometers away from their house. So in the busy season, Spanish countrysides are ready with little field casitas. Many are falling down in ruin, even fewer remain of the vaulted stone kind, built into the side of the hill to keep cool. Well Nuria’s land has a beautiful one, absolutely beautiful. And she proclaims I needed to see it. It’s along a long stone wall, in a terraced land, and down the way from it is an “ice house,” you know, a nearly-buried stone container for ice- they’d freeze water in the winter, then store it in the ice house for use in warmer months, to keep food from spoiling. So that bit of land, it has modern farming practices, but it also has ancient practices still well preserved, like an ice house and a volta. It’s incredible, and just as incredible is that she is showing it to me so I can bring artists and writers there for plein air sessions, whenever we want.

But then, oh then: I needed to see the best place to see a puesta del sol, a sunset. It’s over in another olive grove, this one with a lot of terracing as it climbs up a hill, but that’s what gives it that great view. Off to the far left in the distance are the windmills, which always fill me with hope for the future with their passive energy production. Past them L’Albi is far enough away that it only takes up a small portion of our vista. Then across acres and acres of fields to the right, we get to the sunset. There’s a big rock up above us that Nuria tells me has a nice flat top, perfect for sitting up there with a picnic to watch that sunset. Come out half an hour before sunset, get yourselves all set up and ready to really properly enjoy it, she tells me.

All of this: she offers without wanting anything in return. Of course we can go onto their land whenever we want, she says. We can use it and bring strangers with us. Spaniards, or at least Catalans, or maybe just people in our area, don’t have this attitude of private property. Yes, they own the land. But the land is welcome to be crossed or visited by others. It’s nature. You don’t keep it all to yourself. It’s too good to keep people out. It’s meant to be shared. Nature is generous, and so should we, the caretakers of the land, be in response. Nuria, I have a feeling, is even more generous than the average Catalan. She and her husband Jaume? They are generous, warm, hard-working people. People of the land. Some of my favorite people I’ve met here. What an honor it is to be able to share the richness of their land with others.

I have dreams of writing sessions, creative journaling, and yes just sitting and watching a sunset perched atop that flat rock. My dreams are for artists, yes, but they are so much more than a painter standing in a field with their easel or sketching quick captures for paintings later in their studio. Oh, no. These plein air sessions are for so much more than professional artists. They are for anyone who wants to take in beauty, and create some beauty in response. Capture just a little sliver of that goodness to take home with them. Maybe it will be an oil masterpiece, sure. But maybe it will be a few cell phone photos and writing down what they see in front of them. Maybe it will provide the quiet and peace for working on your own project, in a new setting, away from everything. Maybe… maybe you have an idea that I haven’t even dreamed up yet.

Like I said: what an honor.

Oh, and also: buy their olive oil. It’s incredible.

Along with my tour with Nuria of her olive groves, September was a full month.

• I went to my first journaling session with Marusha of Girls Who Write (who is also the founder of Barcelona Journaling Festival, can’t wait!) in Barcelona. What an incredible experience: I filled 14 large journal pages in one evening!

• I started a 100 day challenge with London Writers Salon, this one for the final 100 days of the year. I’m making marks in my journal every day and sharing it here in the notes, as well as on Instagram.

• We hosted a guest for two whole weeks, and practiced our “scouting assistant” skills, as she is debating a move to Spain (or Greece or Italy. How do you choose?).

• Attended the Barcelona Gallery Weekend, and met some wonderful artists and gallerists. It was a complete energy push to be surrounded by a big art event again, but this time as a newbie instead of a known reporter. Noticeable difference!

• I made gazpacho and paella for said guest, and after having paella in a menu lunch, she proclaimed that mine was better. I’m still glowing from that compliment.

• Harvested the last of the summer garden, including a huge pile of tomatoes, of which I am still finding ways to use up. May have discovered a new favorite: roasted tomatoes, onions, and garlic-with only good quality olive oil and salt. While still warm, pile it up on some good toasted bread. Consider adding some sort of cheesy goodness, whether it’s melted manchego or just a healthy schmear of cream cheese.

• I finally explored Reus with the help of new friend Jeanne. Verdict: I love Reus. I liked it so much I brought our guest there for more exploring, including visiting the incredible, I mean incredible, Navas House. Did you know Reus has more Catalan Modernista architecture than Barcelona? And did you know Reus is the birthplace of vermouth? (De Reus, a Paris, a Londres, they say!) Two of my favorite things.

For the month of October, I will be sharing out some in-person and virtual creative journaling opportunities, planting rows and rows of onion and garlic, and a few fruit trees, and enjoying the last of the warm days here in Spain. Be sure to follow along on my Substack notes or on Instagram as I continue the 100 day challenge, as well!

For the second half of September, we have a visitor staying with us, as part of her scouting and research for whether she will be moving to Spain, Italy, or Greece. The lovely Victoria is an American who also has her Greek citizenship, which makes it much easier for her to up and move to… anywhere in the European Union, really. She has conditions: she is looking for inexpensive, she doesn’t need the beach, and she has to be somewhere that she could depend on walking or public transport instead of a car. Challenge accepted!

So of course, like when anyone comes, one of our first tasks is to get our visitors acclimated to the town. Sure, Google Maps exists, but we like to do a little walkabout to show them what’s available where, and just give them their first experience buying a few groceries, for example, with one of us along to help translate or assist with cultural norms.

So that’s exactly what we did on the first full day in L’Albi with Victoria. I took her around to the Bibliobus first. It’s a traveling library that visits our village every other Wednesday, a huge RV that’s been converted to hold hundreds and hundreds of books. Then we were off to the rest of the town. We stopped by both of the two grocery options: the olive oil co-op that also features its own miniature version of a BonArea grocer, and Quevieres Anna where along with basic shelf-stable groceries she could also pick up fruits and vegetables, meats and cheeses. We got the best yogurt on the planet at the co-op, and a local manchego cheese at Anna’s. Of course we stopped in to say hello to Nuria and her general store, packed to the gills with everything you could possibly want, from dishes to cleaning supplies to notebooks to clothing to batteries.

We picked up some Catalan Farmer’s Bread, “Pa de pagès,” and magdalenas at the bakery. We stopped at one of three banks in town so she could use the ATM to pull out some euros. All the shopping options were visited, giving her a good idea of what was available in town, and when she would need to go further down the road.

I know it’s helpful for our visitor, but it’s also so very good for me. It’s nice to see my little town from a newcomer’s eyes once again. Victoria, for example, is a photographer who is very drawn to textures and details. She brought me back to my own love of the textures of walls and doors, the way materials wear over decades and centuries when you let them- it’s beautiful. It is always a gift to be reconnected to beauty, right in your own surroundings. I will take any opportunity to have new eyes reminding me of the wonder of my own everyday place.

Which also, by the way, creates some wonderful fodder for a creative notebook exercise.

Share

Writing Prompt:

Let’s bring a visitor from another country through our everyday lives. In a letter to them, or like a script for what you would tell them about, take them on a walk (or drive, or metro tour) of your everyday needs. Explain the bakery that you go to for special treats, and the bread you get for everyday life. Talk about your rotation of grocery stores, your party store you stop at on the way to the park or yes, a party. Stop by your favorite coffeeshop with them, and talk about your favorite drink there. How is it different from what I’m drinking here in Spain? Maybe to get the wonder back, you’ll need to travel that route yourself again first, your normal Saturday morning errands, perhaps, except this time jotting down notes for your visitor as you go.

Visual prompt:

Your normal everyday activities can be charted, like artifacts worthy of study. Danny Gregory is well known for drawing his every day. So we’re going to take a page from his advice and draw our everyday moments. Make little doodles of the food you eat in a day, or buildings you enter, or the people you see, the tools you use (pencil, computer, coffee cup, car…)— the everyday matters. The more wonky the drawing the better. Have you seen Lewis Rossignol’s work? The more wonky, the more fun, I say. This is not about realistic representation. This is just about charting, slowing down, connecting. Grab your kid’s markers and color in some of it. Label everything.

This week, you could also:

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

Last week:

And you can find all the creative notebook entries here.

Back to school season, which has just happened this week in Spain, always gets me thinking again about those back to school shopping trips when I was a kid. I don’t remember the clothing shopping trips, but I do specifically remember the yearly trek to Lee’s General Store, just off the town square next to the Hallmark store, to pick out our class supplies. Lee’s had a selection of office and school supplies year round, more towards the back, but at the end of summer, they cleared out a whole aisle and a half right up front to make room for all the crayons, pens, markers, erasers, safety scissors and of course: Trapper Keepers. I loved that yearly visit for school supplies. I’d circle that aisle over and over, making sure I knew all my options before making my selections. I’d rummage through the folders to reach the back, making sure there wasn’t another color behind the rest that I didn’t know was available. I’d figure out a color theme for my supplies, so my scissors didn’t clash with my folder which didn’t clash with my 3 ring binder. Yes, I had a 3 ring binder, not a Trapper Keeper. Trapper Keepers were too expensive and, to be honest, a little too garish for my tastes, even as a child. Or maybe that was a defense mechanism, like the fox who couldn’t reach the grapes saying he didn’t really want them anyway. Trapper Keepers, as I remember them, were neon, or animal print, or something super bright and flashy. And I wanted something a little more “mature.” And so I’d pick out a baby blue 3 ring binder, and blue or white eraser, a pencil case with blue in it, and everything would match. Everything had to coordinate, because I was creating a mood, you see. A look. A statement about me, my personality, my style. As a kid whose clothes were nearly all hand-me-downs from my cousin Trish or found at garage sales, my clothes definitely weren’t making a personal statement–so it was important that something I was going back to school with felt like me, I suppose.

I still select my office and art and journaling supplies in the same considered, check out all the options and make a coordinated plan, kind of way.

Of course now, Lee’s General Store is gone, and there is this cheesy gift store in its place, with flowy lettering on faux worn wood and other “shabby chic” decorating bits long after shabby chic has gone out of style in the rest of the country. Bless small town Iowa, she’s always at least a few years behind. Lee’s went out of business after Wal-Mart showed up on the outskirts of town. I hesitate to believe that back-to-school shopping in the back of a big box Wal-Mart could be as magical as my childhood experiences in Lee’s. I am grateful that I grew up in a small town before Wal-Mart took over the United States. Still, in my 50s, every year, I would do my back-to-school supplies shopping. I would pick up a multi-pack of glue sticks (or three), some post-its in fun colors, a dozen of my favorite pens, and peruse all the notebooks and rulers and organizers and well… everything, honestly. I still went round and round the options to make sure I’m selecting exactly what I want. And, yes, I would also still look on in horror at the Trapper Keeper designs that, for reasons I cannot fathom, are still garish and still popular. They’ve even “gone retro” (i.e. copied the designs of my childhood) and then moved on again, which tells me that I am much, much too old to be back-to-school shopping every fall. Definitely too old to be looking forward to that special trip each August. But there it is: a magical trip, buying precious items that others just think of as basic necessities without much thought put into them, every year the kick-off to my fresh-start fall feeling, as everything gets back up to full speed and our days of applying sunscreen and bug spray, packing a book to read, and adding extra ice to our water bottles dwindle.

Of course now, in Spain, I am still learning where to go for my school supplies shopping. I’ve wandered through papelerias and librerías in plenty of locations, but haven’t yet found my perfect spot. I have learned, though, that glue sticks don’t come in big savings packs at back to school. The whole “buy in bulk to save money” thing? Not so common here. I have discovered some favorite brands, like Milan for notebooks and pencil sharpeners, so we’re getting there.

Subscribe now

But I’m still nostalgic for that old general store of my youth back in Pella, Iowa.

I get nostalgic and wistful at the transitions of every season, it’s true, but fall is definitely the strongest season. Fall still has that “fresh pencils and notebooks” kick-off feeling. And so, with that in mind, I thought it’d be a good chance for us to kick off a little fall preparation, now that it’s nearly the official start of fall. I know what you’re going to say. But to me, it’s still summer until September 21, and you will not convince me otherwise! I kind of think of the period between the start of the school year and that official date as our “transition period,” where we are ending summer while also preparing for fall.

So with that, let’s prepare:

Your writing prompt:

This week’s writing prompt is two-fold. First: tell me about your own memories of getting ready to go back to school. Maybe you were excited, like me, about getting new school supplies, or maybe you weren’t my brand of nerd but still some kind of nerd, so you also had some anxiety about how other kids were going to treat you during recess again.

Second: let’s shift from looking back to looking forward. What do you want to do this fall? I am not talking about what you want to accomplish at work, or what you need to get done, or what you hope to complete. Oh, no. We are not making a to-do list here. We are making an experiences list. As Elizabeth says, “schedule the fun first.” So make your checklist. Do you want to pick apples and make apple butter? Make a big batch of chai? Rake leaves with a child so they can jump in them? Go to your favorite park or national forest to take in the colors of the changing leaves? Make a list: at least ten experiences, ten beautiful moments, that you want to make time for this fall. Yes, that’s until December 21. Then rip a blank page out of your journal, re-write that list, and post it to your fridge. You’re going to want to check things off as you do them, so put it where you’ll see it often.

Visual play: gather up your favorite school supplies: pens and pencils, washi tapes, post-its, and so on. Think mark-making and paper bits. Do a bit of using each of them on a journal page: what do those pens write like? Do swatches of all your marker or highlighter colors. We’re not going shopping, we’re just doing an inventory, drawing ourselves back into the tactile and visual qualities of what we already have around us. Be sure to label everything: what is the name of the color? What is the brand? The pen width measurement? Do you notice you like thick lines or thin lines? Does your inventory stay very ordered along the page, or do you find yourself wandering and playing and winding around instead? Inventories don’t have to be boring, after all.

Enjoy your materials!

This week, you could also:

• Consider joining the fall retreat for Rest | Restore |Explore- you have until Oct 3 to make your decision!

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

Missed a letter?

Last week:

And you can find all the creative notebook entries here.

I’ve never been a real habit-keeper. Never had a “standard” breakfast I make every morning, never stuck to a routine very well–I’ve been very much a scheduler and planner, but not a “every day in the morning at x hour I…” kind of gal. That was all fine and good when I had a kid to get off to school at an early hour, and a job to get to at a specific hour, or meetings on the calendar to attend… even if they didn’t fill my day, those timed appointments and requirements built in a structure to my day that left just enough space to plan in everything else. It worked for me. Outside expectations created a half-full structure that then limited the time I had to do my own projects and finish my to-do list around it. That limitation, it turns, out, resulted in more getting done.

But this summer, my daughter wasn’t in school, and I didn’t have a job to go to (though I had plenty to do) and everywhere around me were festivals and events and people taking full months off work… there were no outside expectations. That, combined with some health problems (that we are figuring out and working through, thank goodness!), means I really was not my regular productive self this summer.

In the past, I would often get the “how do you get it all done?” question. People were impressed by all the projects I managed to take on, and finish. But these days it feels like I get very little done, and I’m frustrated with my own lack of internal motivation. I completely see why retired people get bored, frustrated, and their health starts to go down as their days have no structure to keep them moving. There’s got to be a healthy middle ground, doesn’t there, between the nonstop grind culture of America and the Spanish holiday attitude… somewhere?

Subscribe now

Well, this week the daughter starts back to school and the neighbors are all back to work and I am also finding that my need for more rhythm and routine has hit a changing point. One of the things I am stitching into my day is writing and journaling. I spend about an hour at my desk, writing on my “thocky” manual keyboard (like if you turned a typical typewriter sound down with some soft cushioning and a deeper sound, that’s when the clicky-clacky turns to thocky) for an hour a day with the London Writer’s Hour, and opening my journal every day, even if it’s for five minutes, to fill a page.

And when I say fill a page, I mean lots of different things- but one that keeps coming up is really chucking it full of paper bits, all the way to the edge, or filling it mostly with paper bits from my days, and then filling any remaining space with writing. It’s not my typical manner of journaling-I am usually more minimalist in style-but this is a good exercise, and it pushes me past what I would normally do. Of course, pushing yourself past where you would normally go is often a very good practice.

And so, as we all get back into our fall rhythms, hopefully glad to have schedules and plans back into a more structured existence as I am, let’s not forget to give ourselves that time to play, to explore and practice beauty, a routine as important as anything else on our to-do list in this overwhelming world. Even as our schedules fill, it’s important to take some time, even if it is just five minutes a day, to take a deep breath and fill a page. Whatever form it takes in your own life, may the healing powers of beauty be a part of your everyday rhythm.

And now for the prompts:

Visual play: As is usually the pattern for me, actually, today we’re starting with our visual prompt. On the left side of a two-page spread, fill a whole page with papers and ephemera. Not a single square millimeter of that left side page of your journal peeking out. Fill it all. Stuff it full. Get messy. Maybe even have it spill onto the right-side page a bit. You’ll write on the right hand side but there’s no reason the two sides can’t talk to each other, or banter back and forth. Got it all filled? Okay, now we can move to the writing.

Writing prompt: Pick out a favorite song, and two or three different pens/markers, at least one of them creating a nice and thick line. While you listen to that song on repeat, write out those lyrics on the right-hand side of your two page spread. Get all angsty and expressive like a college girl just discovering the smiths. Use a fat marker or a calligraphy pen or brush pen, you know, something that can really make a mark. Maybe write a line or two of those lyrics over top of your page full of paper bits, right on top of it all. Be sure to get messy, with your writing just as you did with your visual play, and really fill the page with the lyrics.

For some of you maximalists, this set of prompts today will feel good, it will feel comfortable. For others, like me, oh boy is this a push for us. But that’s okay, remember: journals are for exploring and trying things out. Don’t like it? We can turn the page, simple as that, and have a fresh new start. A new blank page.

This week, you could also:

• Consider joining the fall retreat for Rest | Restore |Explore- you have until Oct 3 to make your decision!

• Catch up on Instagram: l’Artesania retreat center, the creative notebook, and me.

• Plan a visit to L’Albi

• Schedule a creative journaling workshop or plein air session with me

  

Missed a letter?

Last week:

And you can find all the creative notebook entries here.