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Have you ever noticed magic in the natural world? I witnessed several magical moments while exploring the rim of Mexico’s Copper Canyon last month, and when I examined my photos in depth, I discovered an additional mystery. The original moment occurred at sunrise, an event I rarely attend. Strolling along a large point jutting into the chasm, I watched a herd of goats feast on tender leaves. On a rocky ledge along the rim, I saw someone greeting the sun — presumably one of the Tarahumara Indians who live in caves beneath the rim. I crept closer and snapped a quick photo through a bush. Then I circled back and found a rocky perch of my own with a stomach-clenching view hundreds of feet straight down. From here I saw two people sitting in meditation in the exact spot the Indian had been. Apparently the person I saw had been joined by someone else. I snapped another photo before the misty vista’s grandeur worked magic in my soul. Yesterday I examined those photos, zooming in on the people...

Time seems to have stood still in Junction, Texas, a small town on the western edge of the Hill Country that's billed as the“ Front Porch of the West .” In spite of noticing modern amenities such as a Cellular One office and a DVD rental store as we drive along Main Street in search of lunch, I feel as if I am ten years old again, passing through similar towns in eastern New Mexico half a century ago. Gazing at the early twentieth century architecture, I realize I was born at a junction in time, in a sort of transition generation. Those of us born before the Baby Boom have some degree of working knowledge of things like garden hoes, wood cook stoves, hand pumped water and clotheslines. Even things we didn’t experience directly, like horses and buggies or root cellars, seem familiar, because we heard our grandparents speak of them, or read about them in books. My thoughts flash forward to the noisy, battery-powered toy world of my toddling granddaughter, who holds any small flat ob...

It’s been over a couple of months since I posted anything about Writer’s Block. Since returning from my most recent Big Adventure , I’ve so energized I haven’t even thought about this topic, but I just came across a web page that brought it to mind. That web page is a mother lode of Writer's Block Busters and I immediately recognized it as material you may benefit from reading yourself. I’m a firm believer that there is no point in re-inventing a wheel. Joyce Boatright has done a splendid job on that list, so I’ll simply send you over to her website to read it rather than creating a new one. When you finish reading her list, you may want to click over to the Wake Up Writing site she links to and sign up for daily writing warm-ups or energizers to enhance your Personal Writing Fitness. I’m even more pleased to send you there, because I’ve personally met Joyce. I shared a meal with her during the fantastic LifeWriting workshop sponsored by Story Circle Network that I attended in M...

Driving through the parched landscape of west Texas on I-10 last month, I noticed banks of windmills along the tops of mesas. I was struck by the ironic juxtaposition of robotic grasshoppers strewn across the grassy plain beneath the mesa, rhythmically sucking oil from the earth. I felt a strong urge to take a picture, but the lighting and positioning was wrong, and there was no time to stop, even I felt like clambering a mile or so through tumbleweeds to get it right. Then a profound insight struck me: I realized that this picture could best be told with words, not a photograph or even a sketch or painting. I did not take this picture, but if I had, it would have looked much like this. I include it to give you an idea of the gray drabness of the view I found inspiring. The landscape itself was bleak, drab and hazy that day, hardly the setting for art. The the true picture I saw had nothing to do with the physical landscape. It was the message that lay in my reaction to seeing this Tex...

In yesterday's post I included a link to The Grammar Police , and identified Julia Temlyn as the author of the blog. That's right, but only partly right. It seems that the Grammar Police is a force, not an individual. Julia is a co-author of the blog together with Shawn Hansen, who was a gun-toting cop before she turned in her pistol for a red pen to teach English. Shawn is the author of the Supermarket item I cited yesterday, along with most of the other content. The lesson I've learned from all of this is to read the fine print on blogs. My apologies to Shawn, who left a very polite comment to set the record straight. I did post a permanent link to the site in the links list in the left column, and I urge you all to check out that blog on a continuing basis. With two authors on board, I'm betting that it will maintain its momentum and provide an unending source of chuckles and enlightenment. Write on, Sharon Lippincott, aka Ritergal

Can you imagine having your first book published at the age of 96? Harry Bernstein did just that. He was 96 when his book, The Invisible Wall , was published. He wrote the story to assuage his grief after his wife died four years earlier. I found this remarkable story on Julia Temlyn’s Mrs. Write Right blog. Julia also writes The Grammar Police , a blog after my own heart. The first item I found on it points out the difference between “less than” and “fewer than,” specifically as used on Quick Check lane signs. You go Julia — right onto my links list in the side column! Back to Harry Bernstein: Isn’t this just amazing? The Alzheimers Prevention Foundation recommends writing is one of the best ways to keep your brain alert and healthy. Legions of younger people have found comfort in writing as a way of dealing with grief, but Harry probably takes the medal for “Oldest First Time Published Author.” Perhaps you are hesitating to begin writing because you feel “too old.” Let me put word...

Few people ever get to speak at their own memorial services, but my husband’s Uncle Walter did — albeit through the lips of his nephew. Walter Stein, who died at the age of ninety-six in Margate City, New Jersey last January, was born in Tucson out in the Arizona Territory in 1910. The family later moved up to the mining town of Ray, where Walter’s father and uncles ran several businesses to supply the needs of the mining companies and residents until the mines were closed a dozen years later. He often told people he’d had the good fortune to “live the life every boy dreams of,” and several years ago he wrote down many memories from that time, including highlights such as jumping up on the backs of donkeys and mules for impromptu rides, running water into the bathtub in the summer early to give it time to cool down enough to bath, riding hundred pound sacks of flour and potatoes down the chute into the basement of the store, and similar tales. In keeping with Walter’s wishes that peopl...

When I was about ten years old, my father took my sister and me to the NRA sponsored Junior Rifle Club where we learned to shoot .22 rifles. I earned almost all the badges, stopping short of total accuracy in a standing position. The first thing we had to do each week was to sight in our rifles. I don’t recall exactly how we did this, but the point was to adjust the sights on the rifle by a few microns one way or another until we could actually hit what we aimed at. This involved shooting several rounds from a stable position until a consistently accurate pattern emerged. Sometimes writing a story (or any other focused and purposeful piece) is something like that. Sometimes you may not even realize that you are “sighting in a story.” Such was my experience yesterday. Through unfortunate timing, we learned of the death of a dear friend via voice mail, and later by e-mail. The event was not a surprise, but still a shock. As I began composing e-mails to notify our family, and then a few o...

In the last post I mentioned that I'd be visiting some childhood sites on my way home. Today was the day. First there was White Sands National Monument . When I was a child it was a special treat to stop and play in these dunes of gypsum sand that look like snow drifts. Many years ago we took our own children there. Today, along with visions of past visits, I discovered an increasing appreciation for the natural beauty of this northern end of the Chihuahuan Desert . The next major jolt was a stop in Clovis, New Mexico, the town where one set of grandparents lived as I was growing up. The building where their portrait studio stood has been torn down and rebuilt, and the grocery store that used to be across from it is now a parking lot. Such is life. After confirming what I thought I remembered hearing, I was especially amazed to discover that the house they lived in hasn't even been painted in the forty or so years since I last saw it. The trim on the stucco dwelling must have b...

I feel as if my brain is exploding from all the new experiences that have been crammed into it over the last few weeks. In early March I set out for Texas to attend a LifeWriting workshop conducted by Susan Albert. I have two reasons for admiring Susan. She is the author of the widely acclaimed China Bayles Herbal Mysteries with the latest volume available this month, and she is also the author of (find) and founder of Story Circle Network . The workshop met and exceeded my expectations, and you’ll hear more about what I learned there in future blogs. From there my husband and I went directly to Galveston where we spent five days participating in an Elderhostel conducted by acclaimed photographer Robert Mihovil , whose work has been published in all the big places like National Geographic , Texas Highways , and a long list of others. Robert took us to all sorts of great places, filling our heads with all sorts of fascinating facts about Galveston, but he did more than that. He wouldn...