With this week's post, I'm introducing a new feature called Last Wednesday Wisdom. On the last Wednesday of every month, I'll serve up a potpourri of advice, inspiration and other tidbits I've come across in recent weeks. 

This installment comes with a bonus: If you read all the way to the end, you'll get a sneak peek at a few more fairy houses created for the Camp Newaygo Enchanted Forest event, plus another surprise photo. So read on (and no fair jumping to the end to see the pictures first!).

Creativity is merely a plus name for regular activity. Any activity becomes creative when the doer cares about doing it right, or better.
-- John Updike

When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.
-- Ansel Adams 

Even work you consider to be your worst is good for something. Every effort teaches you about your desires and tendencies, or guides you toward some new possibility, or shuts the door on an avenue you mistakenly thought was the right one. 
-- Novelist Téa Obreht, quoted in The Writer magazine

The women whom I love and admire for their strength and grace did not get that way because sh*t worked out. They got that way because sh*t went wrong, and they handled it. They handled it in a thousand different ways on a thousand different days, but they handled it. Those women are my superheroes.
​-- Elizabeth Gilbert

Faith is taking the first step, even when you don’t see the whole staircase. 
​-- Martin Luther King

You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.
-- Pablo Neruda

Are you ready for your treat now? Me, too! But before the fairy house preview, here's a new creative challenge. Ray made up a fairy tale to go with his fairy house. Can you come up with one for your own or someone else's fairy house? (If you missed the earlier preview, find more inspiration here.)

Now take a look at these creations by "Sylvan Sally" Kane, "Elfin Eileen" Kent, "Diaphanous Diane" Sack, "Linda of Lilliput" Cudworth, "Spritely Sue" Schneider and her granddaughter "Artsy Ayla":

​SYLVAN SALLY

​ELFIN EILEEN

​DIAPHANOUS DIANE

​LINDA OF LILLIPUT

​SPRITELY SUE AND AIRY AYLA

And finally, in response to last week's post on serendipity, Cindi McDonald of San Antonio sent this:

I have no story, but I do have a pic.

​Thanks, Cindi, fairy house builders, contributors of wisdom. . . and readers! Have you come up with any fairy stories or do you have discoveries from the past month to share? 

​The picture you see on the left is a postcard I keep inside a cabinet door above my desk. Every time I open the cabinet, I see the card—a reminder of a vacation in 2006 that took an unexpected, but fortuitous, turn and taught me a valuable lesson. 

​I'll come back to the postcard and the story behind it in a moment. First, I want to share a more recent experience that prompted me to think back to that trip and its unanticipated consequences.
 
On a drizzly Sunday afternoon a few weekends ago, a group of us gathered at a friend's house to talk about enhancing serendipity in our lives. We were brought together by Maadho'okiid Marsha Reeves, a local holistic nurse and keeper of Anishinaabe lifeways.

​Our discussion began with thoughts about what serendipitous experiences have in common: a surprise that shakes up our plans and expectations, but leads to something new that "feels right" (and often, downright delightful).
 
Because of that element of surprise, I'd always thought of serendipity as a random occurrence. But as the afternoon went on, I came to see that there are ways of promoting "happy accidents," or at least being more open to their possibilities.

​One way is through the Gifts of the Seven Grandfathers, Marsha told us. In the Anishinaabe tradition, these teachings—Wisdom, Love, Respect, Bravery, Honesty, Humility, and Truth—are tools we can use to live a good life. By actively using these qualities, we can connect to the spirit realm where serendipity comes together. "All we need to do is be willing for Spirit to act through us, and it happens," Marsha said.
 
Though this was my first introduction to the Gifts of the Seven Grandfathers, I could see how valuable these teachings would be when life goes in unexpected directions. 
​

For me, Humility is a big one to keep in mind. Even though experience has taught me that life doesn't always follow the script I write for it, I persist in believing things will unfold the way I expect them to. When they don't, I'm incensed. How dare anything thwart my plans, my well thought out, logical plans! At such times, it might help to pause and remember that plans are only plans and that reality may have a better idea.
​

​That's where Bravery can come in. It takes courage to let go and trust that the new way will turn out all right, even if it it's not what I had in mind.

​Then there's Truth. When I get hung up on over-planning, my mind is too full of its own chatter to hear anything else. It's only when I quiet the commotion that I can hear messages that seem to come from a deeper place and ring with truth. Ceremony and ritual—even something as simple as lighting a candle—can help us settle down and access those deeper truths, Marsha said. 

​I knew nothing about Anishinaabe teachings when Ray and I set out on that vacation I mentioned earlier, but I think the spirit of serendipity was with us on that trip. Read on and tell me what you think:
​

There we were, rolling along through Colorado in our small motorhome, bound for the Grand Canyon. The GRAND Canyon! Can you blame us for scurrying a bit as we passed through Denver and on down toward the New Mexico border? Near the border, we passed through the town of Trinidad, but I'm not sure I noticed anything about it.
​

A few miles beyond Trinidad, we ascended Raton Pass. As we started back down, Ray got a worried look and said, "Uh-oh, hang on," as he steered—no brakes, no power—to the shoulder. The engine had stalled and wouldn't start again. A couple of hours later, a tow truck arrived and hauled the motorhome back to Trinidad for repairs. 
​

But guess what: it was Friday of Memorial Day weekend, and the repair shop was about to close for three days. The motorhome came back to life enough to limp across the highway to a "campground" that looked more like a long-neglected parking lot. So instead of grand vistas, we found ourselves staring at weeds and power lines.
​

​Now we had three days to kill and not a clue what to do with all that time except drive back to Denver in our tow-behind Jeep to pick up a part the repair shop had ordered before closing for the holiday weekend. Did I mention that daytime temperatures were in the broiling range, the Jeep had no air conditioning, and the rest area water fountains were out of order?
 

We made the Denver trip early Saturday morning. Then, eager for distractions—and cool refuges—on the drive back to Trinidad, we took a side trip to Manitou Springs. There, we wandered the art-filled streets, drank from the mineral spring-fed fountains, encountered colorful characters, snacked on chicken wings and Fat Tire Amber Ale and felt thoroughly refreshed in body and spirit.
​​

The next day, we slept in and lounged around all morning, then drove the Jeep to nearby Trinidad Lake State Park, where we hiked to the top of a hill overlooking Trinidad Lake. Maybe the views weren't grand, but they were pleasant, we were outdoors, we were hiking on a beautiful afternoon and life felt fine. 
​

From the park, we wandered along Highway 12 and came upon the town of Stonewall, where a 250-foot-high wall of sandstone juts out of the earth like the dorsal fin of a gigantic subterranean creature. Later, I read that the spring waters around Stonewall are said to be enchanted. Easy to believe. 
​​

Perhaps some of that enchantment led us to our next stop. Just when hunger overtook us, we saw a sign for Monument Lake Resort, followed it and found an adobe-style structure built in 1937 by the WPA and the Izaak Walton League. We ate lunch on the resort's pergola-shaded patio overlooking Monument Lake—another lovely vista. 
​

Legend tells of two Native American chiefs who, searching for water for their people, met at this spot and embraced in peace. A lake formed at their feet, and a volcano erupted, enclosing the two leaders in rock in the center of the lake. Their peaceful spirit still prevails and settled over us as we looked out on the lake.
​

Back in the campground that evening, we reflected on how much we would have missed if our trip had gone as planned and we'd hurried on to our destination. Before we left Trinidad, I bought the postcard—a view of Fisher Peak, Trinidad's most distinctive feature—as a reminder to let serendipity disrupt my plans more often.
​

And by the way, the Grand Canyon was still there when we finally arrived. And it was just as grand as ever.
​

Do you have a serendipity story to share? Have you found ways of enhancing serendipity in your life?

​Croton resident Valerie Deur, who's rumored to be part pixie, has transformed a tree stump into a palace for tiny folk of all sorts.

Meanwhile, Diane "Diaphanous Di" Sack plans to take stump transformation to new heights with a multistory creation in this stump.

One evening, our sprites flew all the way down to Ada, where a fairy house-making party was in progress at Heather Lane Pottery. The intrepid imps returned with photos of these enchanting dwellings created by the group, which includes Lisa Boerema, Mary Beth Cooper, Dorrie Crago, Cortney Horan, Linda Kilmer, Janet Krueger, Terri Oostendorp, and Sue Monterusso.

Even my own home was invaded by those snoopy sylphs, who just couldn't stand the suspense of waiting to see what Ray has been up to in his workshop. They captured these pictures of the process and end result.

Feeling inspired? It's not too late to craft your own fairy house. You have until April 1 to finish your creation and deliver it to Camp Newaygo. So summon your muse, fire up the glue gun and get busy!

As Alice Bandstra, president of the Mecosta County nonprofit arts organization Artworks, describes it: "We build community and memories through the Festival, while we are expressing our creativity and having fun."

That's exactly the point of Authorpalooza: creativity, community and fun. It's a chance for authors to meet and learn from one another and for readers to connect with writers and even rub elbows (or wing tips) with characters from favorite books. The costumed characters, new to the festival this year, were members of the Ferris State University honorary theatre fraternity, and let me tell you, they were convincing. I followed Little Red Riding Hood around for half an hour, hoping she'd mistake me for Grandma and share some goodies.

When we chatted at Authorpalooza, Betty filled me in on plans for the next workshop and shared the exciting news that her novel One Amber Bead, a family saga that takes place in Poland and the United States, is being translated into Polish.

In high school, it was the parking lot of Griff's Burger Bar. In college, the Starlight Terrace, a terrazzo-floored, sky-lit space filled with café tables on the student union's fourth floor. In my mid- to late-twenties, it was a homey Northern California bar called Jambalaya that hosted poetry readings and plays, as well as the house band's rollicking music on weekends.
 
I remember these places not so much for their physical features (though I can still picture Jambalaya's homemade tablecloths and the compass design in the center of the Starlight Terrace floor) as for their feelings they evoked. Each place, in its time, was the place to go and find a sense of belonging. You could always count on running into at least one person you knew, but more often, a whole crowd of friendly faces. And because these were all public gathering spots, there was also the chance of meeting someone new and exciting.

When I moved with my parents to American Samoa for a year in my mid-teens, I wondered if any such place existed for kids my age to connect. The driving age was eighteen, and even if we younger teens had been allowed to drive, there were no burger joints with parking lots where kids could hang out. But, as I discovered within a week of my arrival, there was the tennis court. By day, it was nothing but a rectangle of pitted concrete surrounded by rusty chain-link fencing, but every evening, it was the place to make the scene and socialize.

Here's how I describe that social scene in my unpublished memoir, Mango Rash: Survival Lessons in the Land of Frangipani and Fanta:  
          Girls in Bermuda shorts and summer tops clustered together, alternately whispering and shrieking, glancing over their shoulders at the older boys, who hung back in the shadows, cigarettes dangling from their lips. A couple of younger kids, not yet in their teens, rode Sting-Ray bikes in figure-eights, slicing through the crowd like swift fish through a reef. A Samoan boy shinnied up a palm tree and threw down coconuts; someone cleaved off the tops and passed around the unhusked nuts for drinking. Not exactly lime Dr. Pepper, but I'd give it a try.  
          The night had the feel of a midsummer evening in the small-town America of my childhood, where all the neighborhood kids drifted out of their houses after supper for a game of Kick the Can. Without cars or other signs of status, we weren't adolescents posing as adults; we were just a bunch of big kids who'd come out to play under street lights and stars.

Nowadays, you may not always see Linda when you visit Hit the Road Joe. Her youngest daughter Keeva Filipek has taken over managing the restaurant, and Tracy and middle daughter Vanessa Farrel work there every other weekend. Still, the café that many customers refer to as "Linda's" has the welcoming feel she fostered over the years.
 
Where do you feel welcome? I'd love to hear about your favorite hangouts, recent or remembered, and what makes them special to you.