+ Her Barefoot Heart
today is not the day to
point fingers
at world leaders.
today is not the day to
vilify countries
because of the
differences in
cultural norms
or
religious beliefs
or even
crimes against humanity.
today is not the day to
debate
the pros and cons
of war.
today is the day
when we simply
say
“thank you.”
and to all the veterans
i know
and to all the veterans
i’ve never had
and will never have
the honor of meeting,
i do thank you.
deeply,
thoroughly,
sincerely.
sometimes
maybe we can make
a silk purse from a sow’s ear.
sometimes we have to at least
try
because the alternative is
unfathomable,
unbearable.
it’s
resourcefulness
and
resiliency,
this spirit of
making do
of
mending
of
carrying on.
it’s creativity.
it’s mettle.
and in the end
it may not be
silk,
but it’s still
a little pocket
into which we
slip
the important
things,
nuggets
we
need to carry around
and keep close
for at least
a little while.
When we moved last spring, merging the contents of a 5,000 square foot house into an already-furnished 3,000 square foot second home, a lot of things went up for adoption.
A lot.
But there were several things that simply have too much emotional and sentimental value for me to let go of completely. when it came to certain treasures, I just couldn’t do it. I know they’re just things. I know I’m supposed to be unattached. I know it’s just more to dust – but let’s face it: I’m just not that evolved as a woman.
I’m just not.
In no particular order, let me introduce you to some of my treasures:
The basket I purchased at the animal shelter fundraiser. It was made by a local woman, and it was love at first sight. Right now it holds shards to a pot gone bad, but soon enough it will go back to being the prayer vessel – where I put the daily prayers once I’ve written them on pretty paper.
The pottery piece turned candle dish that Andy and Kipp bought me while on a father/son bonding trip.
The little ceramic piece that captured my heart last year at the Storytelling Festival, the piece that rather represented the theme of a year past.
There’s the Christmas Cactus that my brother-in-law gave me when my Daddy died in December 2000. It had gotten so big, and when we moved up here, I put it out on the deck so it could enjoy some fresh air and sunshine which I tried to find a place to put it – it had gotten so big then one day along came a stiff wind and blew it into the falls. I wasn’t home, but my loving husband ventured out and picked up the few little pieces that didn’t make it into the water, and now we start again . . . with the plant, not the memories.
There’s this little doll-size party dress in a chipped frame that just makes my heart smile. I haven’t slowed down long enough to figure out why that is.
There’s this fairy cuddling a dragon whilst sitting atop a glass ball. My daughter and I saw these in a convenience store when we stopped for fuel on a trip to Hilton Head several years ago. Oh my goodness, how we laughed.
There’s the egg painting I saw when spending a delightful day in Fairhope, Alabama with my mother last year. Even though my bones told me to snag it that day, I didn’t – didn’t even get the name of the gallery. But when I couldn’t get it out of my mind after coming home, I tracked it down, whipped out the ole’ credit card, and within 10 days, it was hanging in my studio.
There’s the glass nib, a surprise gift from my son when we were visiting Hawaii several years ago. Oh how I enjoy using it.
This basket made from okra and cotton and such sat on the floor under a display in the gallery. It was marked half price, this beauty named Mother and Child, but I would’ve paid full price.
I call this an oddity, and it reminds me to wonder.
This piece, another gift from my son, is – like so many people I run into – prickly on the outside and filled with the sweetness of candy on the inside.
When my son brought his girlfriend home last July, we bopped into one of my favorite shops in Asheville but not before saying “Keep your eyes peeled for a red phone with a curly cord.” I had one in my hands within 7 minutes, and one day, I’m gonna’ show you why I wanted it so badly.
And when I do show you, I’ll also be using what’s inside here:
This:
makes me smile.
There are my stones
and the impractical pot my nephew Drew made for me – pure, unadulterated fun:
and the print I call Blue Girl Reading that I found on a trip I took with my daughter:
to name a few.
But here’s the problem . . . right now, they are just lined up atop the two cabinets I pulled into service when I surrendered my downstairs studio to hubs when we moved here full time lsat spring, sprinkling myself into every nook and cranny upstairs.
I’m a minimalist – I like space. And I like my treasures because they inspire and delight me, but right now, they are just clutter. Seeing clear horizontal surfaces and visible baseboards calms me, representing space for possibilities and creativity. Breathing space. The clutter coupled with the brown cabinets – brown is a color that for reasons I can’t explain, deflates me, well, something must be done. So my daughter (who’s so blazingly creative) and I put our heads together this afternoon and hatched some possible remedies. Stay tuned . . . we’ll be done by the time company comes for Thanksgiving.
Or bust.
this year
i discovered
dahlias.
discovered,
more specifically,
that i can grow them.
i also discovered
instagr.am
and fell flat out
in love
with photography,
realizing
what a visual
person i am.
and how i take
pictures
the way i present
myself in life:
only a wee little
bit at a time.
perceived safety and all.
we’ll talk more about that
later.
i discovered
sunflowers this year, too.
oh, i knew sunflowers
from way back.
in graduate school,
i’d trek up to stowe
for some good wine,
good chocolate,
and roadside
sunflowers,
sold on the
honor system.
but this year,
thanks to the
help of my
camera
(iphone 4, no less)
i came to
know both
dahlias and sunflowers
in a different,
more intimate way,
much as jane kenyon
came to know
peonies . . .
In the darkening June evening
I draw a blossom near, and bending close
search it as a woman searches
a loved one’s face.
sunflowers,
like so many people i’ve been honored to know,
age
and eventually die
with grace.
something you’re
bound to see
if you don’t just gaze
or look
or glimpse
but see,
deeply,
lovingly
see.
at first glance,
it’s obvious she belongs to
the Sunflower family.
the family resemblance is obvious.
those yellow petals
shining brightly
from the dark center
of seeds.
future generations of Sunflowers.
but sit with her,
take a while to get to know her,
and you’ll see that
while yes,
she is a Sunflower,
she is more
than who she’s related to,
more than the
geography
from which she
comes.
so much more.
and maybe
not at all
what you
thought she was
when you knew her
only as a Sunflower.
i am honored to have been the entertainment for my high school class reunion last saturday night. now, almost a week later, i’m still enjoying the afterglow. there’s something downright magical about standing before your true peers, leading them on a trek down memory lane – a trek you know from the outset won’t be finished that night. i’ve got enough stuff and enough stories to last at least two more treks, a.k.a. reunions. there’s simply never enough time, is there?
my mother had her class reunion that same day – class of 1945. they get together every october – every single october. their love and support for each other is strong. maybe they cleared the path for us. maybe they set the stage, the example.
a surprisingly large number of us went through all 12 years of school together – that’s really something, isn’t it? we knew each other’s parents and fought with each other’s siblings like they were our own. though we knew there was a mother round every corner making it downright impossible to get away with anything, we still tried. occasionally. the entire village raised us, and i don’t remember one parent ever turning on another with that how-dare-you attitude. they simply thanked each other for caring enough, then resumed the badminton game.
such a satisfying sense of groundedness to be with people you bore witness to and who bore witness to you throughout years of major evolutionary and developmental changes. people who you spent 6-7 hours a day with in class, then several more hours in after school activities, then church and other community events. spending the nights together, partying, talking on the phone. learning, knowing, realizing, grappling, struggling, celebrating together. it was fun to reconnect. to remember. to leave the years and any unpleasant memories far, far away from this gathering. to laugh nostalgically. to note countless times we’ve amazed and astounded ourselves and each other.
only one person asked me the dreaded question “what do you do?” maybe it’s cause nobody’s interested, but i prefer to attribute it to a deeper level of togetherness and acceptance that connects us. a knowing that what we do isn’t who we are, and who we are is what’s most important. there is space in our togetherness. there is love in our togetherness. the kind of space that just happens. the kind of love you can’t buy.
Thank you all for continuing to embrace Rhonda. I haven’t spoken with her since I posted her journal pieces, but finally this comes in. This entire experience of being in different states (and I mean “states” in oh so many ways) is a proving ground for trust, faith, and love. I will continue to post updates as I receive them, and I continue to thank you for continuing to hold a space for Rhonda . . .
FROM RHONDA:
S.O.S.
(Slinking out of Silence)
I alarm an emergency call because I am silenced. This is an unnatural, even painful state.
I am getting hit by multiple UTIs. My Urologist does not want me to take antibiotics, fearing my later immunity to the large doses. I am now only treating UTIs with large amounts of liquid.
My inability to write is also due to the voice to text new software that I have still not learned to use adequately. And also my voice when I have infections is not loud enough to register type.
The third whammy against me was my recent “oops” of dropping my drinking water on to the keyboard. Needless to say, it was dead.
I am not directly composing this journal entry. Dorothy, Mike’s mom, is typing it for me. “I’m glad to do it” she says.
My friend, Angela, is one amazing woman, and if you don’t know her, you should. A voracious reader, a tenacious seeker, a sensitive, thoughtful woman who coined the term “theel” to bring together thinking and feeling as a way of being in the world, Angela is intensely loyal to her friends, her family, her causes. Having survived an abusive marriage, Angela is now putting the final spit polish on her memoir, and let me tell you: it is truthful and it is captivating. Thoroughly dedicated to ridding the world of domestic violence, Angela and her cohorts have just launched In Real Life, a web site dedicated to providing information, support, resources, and a safe place for vitally important discussion and equally important hope for those in abusive relationships. It’s the kind of thing she does, the kind of thing she puts her heart and whole self into.
Three weeks ago her beloved Gracie died, and Angela goes through grief as she goes through life: with grace and humility, and frankly, an inquisitiveness that is simultaneously admirable and touching. Like the ancient Greeks, Angela dedicates herself to becoming the best person she can be. Despite her advanced degrees, when it comes to learning, she’s a sponge. When it comes to living, she is fearless. When it comes to loving, she is indefatigable.
So here I am, using capital letters and squeaking in at the very last minute of her birthday 2011, mere minutes before I turn into a pumpkin to say:
Happy, birthday,
I love you, my friend.
i am
vintage
i am
vast.
i am
the hottest
part of the flame
with plenty
of wick
remaining.
i am
strips of fabric
torn to find the
true grain
then
woven together
into a
whole cloth.
i
bloom
i
soar
i
reflect
i
refract.
i
stand tall –
majestic, even –
but am learning
to let things
crumble
and fall
when it’s time.
i am
layers
and
light
and
gifts
yet unwrapped.
i am
at one with
the world of
This work by Jeanne Hewell-Chambers is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://www.TheBarefootHeart.com.
© 2026 Jeanne Hewell-Chambers
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