Getting Ready for Retreat

Hello, Readers!

Right now, I am busily preparing for our Summer Retreat at the Augustine Centerjsut North of  Petoskey, MI  on July 11-13.  That means writing agendas, making up notebooks for each participant, thinking of writing prompts and exercises, nailing down details with the retreat center and the like.  I also like to take some time for myself to meditate and center myself before leading a retreat so that I can be fully present to the retreatants and focused on holding the space for them.

My husband and I are in Cincinnati getting ready to move here from a house to a condo, so we can shut the door and spend more time in Michigan, without worrying about taking care of a lawn and flowers and bushes...you get the picture.  We are happy to be moving somewhere where the outside responsibilities are taken care of for us.  Move day is the 2nd of July, so just a few more days to organize before the move!  We have de-cluttered and downsized and are storing some things for the kids in the future and getting rid of others.  It feels good to "deaccession" things...clothes I haven't worn in years and will never fit again.  In fact, I've put some things in storage and with the exception of one box, I can't even remember what I've put away.  Clearly, we had too much stuff.

So, I'm looking forward to the move...getting unpacked as much as possible before I leave on July 8 for the retreat and then holding the retreat with my trusty assistant and friend, Bronwyn Park.  

If you are interested in the retreat, don't hesitate to get in touch via the website.  There is still some room, but we've got a good group of 8 women.

As usual, I'll end with a poem. This time, it is one I just got news will be published in the literary journal, The Pearl.  

Ashes to Ashes

Cremate me.

Whatever you do,

don't give the undertakers

an extra dime!

Sing at the service.

Belt out my favorite

hyms, Like "Go Tell

It on the Mountain."

Off key, if you must.

Wear red and purple,

preferably together.

No somber garments

rent with anguished cries.

Cut a dashing figure, turn heads.

Celebrate my life: A wake

with booze flowing,

stories and good food.

Serve carrot cake

like we had at our wedding.

If you feel down

read Alexander

and the Terrible

Horrible, No Good

Very Bad Day.

Scatter my ashes

by Lake Michigan

where I wrote 

poems that make 

you weep and essays

that make you laugh

so hard you pee.

But give me a headstone

in the family plot, so

generations hence

will wander by

and know I was here.

Never mind that the grave is empty.

Blessings, 

Anni Macht Gibson

Let Me Know You Are Out There....

If you are reading this blog and have an interest in Women Writing for (a) Change Up North, don't be silent -- let me know. I am happy to answer any questions you might have about our classes and retreats.

I just returned from a Leaders' retreat and it was terrific.  I came away with great facilitation ideas to use in classes and retreats, guaranteed to bring your most creative self to the fore!

The beginning of the retreat was for our own writing (even we leaders need writing retreats to jump start our creativity).  I wrote 4 or 5 poems over the eight days of the retreat.  WWf(a)C validates me, strengthens my voice, elicits creativity.  My writing is held gently by those who listen to it.  I get much needed feedback in a supportive environment.  My voice is nurtured in the confidentiality of the writers' circle.  

We are looking for women who want to take some time for themselves to develop their writing, discover their voices, awaken their creativity.  If this is of interest to you, just contact me at gibby767@aol.com for more information.

As usual, I'll close with a poem, this time about writing. 

AT THE TABERNACLE OF WRITING

My desk is an altar to the Goddess

of  Writing, who blesses me

when I have been a good girl.

on it are gathered a brimming chalice

and plate, gleaming, ready

for my work: number 2 hb pencils,

chaste pads of paper, pages bearing

the imprint of their Maker: Staples,

resting beside my trusty Apple Macintosh.

Draped over a chair, the alb and stole of my vocation:

Levi 515 jeans, a white turtleneck, buttery soft

from ample washings, the incense of Tide and Downy.

I wake promptly at six, smack the alarm,

shake the sleep from my brain,

pad down the hall for morning ablutions,

I want to sit down to a feast of bran muffins

and Kenyan AA coffee from Zingerman's,

but perhaps I should fast before the ritual.

Still unclean, I scrub my thoughts with prayer,

intercessions for others and myself,

that a worthy stanza might stumble my way today.

Poised at the tabernacle of writing,

I reach for the Ark of the Covenant

and, ready, begin to receive a poem.

Blessings,

Anni