Gladiola: my grandmother's garden and a new offering

When I was little, we would spend a lot of Saturday nights at my maternal grandmother’s house and then attend Methodist church with her in the morning. She was a teacher in the Sunday school.

Wilda Vickery Peterson was one of the kindest humans I’ve ever known, and my belief in a social justice warrior sort of Christ really comes from her (to begin with. Later in life, I found Merton and Day and so many Catholic mystics but that’s another story).

My grandmother had a large kitchen and in one section there was a chalkboard, which everyone loved, and a small table surrounded by windows. It almost gave a small sunroom effect.

And I would stand at those windows in the good weather and stare out at her large vegetable garden. What mystified me was this: at the end of that garden, year after year, there were always a couple of rows of gladiolas.

October 1917

Wilda was born in October of 1917. She was born into World War I still raging. She was born as the Bolsheviks were completing their overthrow of the Russian government. She was born mere months before the Spanish flu would explode all over the globe.

She would spend a big chunk of her 20s living through and having her first daughter during WWII. She knew what a victory garden was through direct experience.

And she would live through the rest of the century — past her own century mark — seeing too much change to list here. She would not pass from her human form until June of 2020 at the age of 102 and a half.

I bring all of this up to say that she saw more than what many of us are seeing. She, too, lived through times that felt “unprecedented.” Over and over, actually.

And yet she was covered in and surrounded by flowers on her wedding day.

And she grew those few rows of gladiola every year until her oldest granddaughter could stand and admire them out her kitchen window.

Gladiola — a “magazine” of sorts in her honor

I have been thinking for a couple of years of writing over on Substack. There were reasons why I kept not doing it, but I have satisfied my own sense of what’s right and good and admire so many writers over there that I know it’s time.

I will still write here and will replicate some of what’s here to over there and there will be material over there there’s not here.

I will write about movement and the body, of course, but also my love of literature and flowers and anything else that is feeling like it must be written, anything else that I am geeking out about and need to share for the joy of sharing.

And that space will be called Gladiola: Move. Write. Plant. (Click to go over and check it out and it would be great if you wold subscribe. That space will always remain free of charge.)

I realized that those two rows at the end of that practical vegetable garden are the perfect metaphor for the times we’re living in, when we can sometimes forget that beauty for beauty’s sake still matters. When we can forget that we must also feed the heart and the soul and that sometimes the best food for those things are often materials and experiences we start to think of as “unnecessary.”

Gladiola is also perfect for its meaning. Flowers have carried meaning for as long as humans have loved them, and the gladiola is about strength, resilience, moral integrity, and remembrance. Perfect things for Wilda to have planted in so many ways and a perfect name for what I hope to share.

My larger garden

And for those keeping track, this Gladiola will be part of a growing garden of my work: Peony Somatic Dance, of course, is my core passion and my true work in the world and is named for my soul cat, but there’s also Lillian Rose Movement Project, the name under which I create choreographic community experiences, which is named for my paternal grandmother.

May this garden continue to grow and continue to nurture others.

Movement Mantra Mondays

Every Monday on my Facebook business page and on Instagram, you will be seeing Movement Mantras. I won’t be sharing them all here so be sure to follow me at either of those places to see them.

They are a simple offering, but I think they can be impactful if you actually play with them.

I made these hoping they could provide you with a focus point for the week for your body/mind practices. And though this work will not save us from the rising tide of authoritarianism and the violence in the world, I know it will help use to have the energy to do the things that we need to do… to contribute in the ways that we can.

I’ve started thinking about my work in this way: tools for sanity and joy. Because we still deserve and need both of those things.

Like all the things I teach, these are inherently modified and can be used in a variety of ways. (If you find another way to use one that I’ve not listed, let me know!)

Ways to use Movement Mantras

• You could take these to your meditation. Whether you do seated or walking or some other form (like wrapped in a blanket and hiding out from the world for a few minutes), just add this mantra to your breath pattern and notice what arises.

• Most obviously, you could take the mantra to your somatic dance practice. Put on a piece of instrumental music and start to repeat the mantra over and over. You could say it out loud if you’re in a safe space for that. Notice how it feels in your body and then allow yourself to start moving.

• And you could use these as journal explorations. Start with the mantra at the top of your page and sit back and breathe for a few moments. Then start writing. If you get stuck, write the mantra over and over until something comes up.

No matter how you use them (and I suggest mixing it up), try using them throughout your week to see how the experience of them transforms over the days.

Topophilia: bond between human and place

If you’re not from Erie, Pennsylvania then you don’t realize the unique beauty of that small city. It sits on Lake Erie, as do plenty of other towns and cities, but it has something they do not (and no other Great Lake does): the peninsula, Presque Isle.

I was standing on the lake side of the peninsula in this photo. On some of the many miles of beach. Presque Isle has the most sand beaches of all the Great Lakes.

Presque Isle juts into the lake; a bit of land that is shaped like a long hook. And on that little bit of land there are seven — yes, seven — distinct bio regions. Like I said, this is a truly unique spot on this planet.

I was born one block up from the bay — the other side of this photo.

And I and this lake, this specific place on this lake, are forever connected.

We are all connected to some part of this earth

Long enough ago that I can’t remember to what or to whom I was listening, I came across an interview with a man who was part of the indigenous communities on, I think, New Zealand. He was also someone trying to get people to move more, to exercise more.

But they weren’t interested no matter what he taught them about the benefits, and then he realized it was because they do not see benefit to anything that isn’t about the larger community, and in particular, the relationship between larger community and land. Specifically, they thought of themselves as “mountain people,” and once he connected movement to being together on the mountain, voila! Exercise commitment to the max!

He then realized he was a river person, and he believes strongly that all people are a something type of person.

I am a lake person.

And he believes, you can’t take that out of yourself. You can’t move all over and away from your original landscape and expect to be fully happy, fully content, fully at peace, and wow, have I ever learned that in the last 9 years.

Topophilia and Estrangement

Living in Columbus has only gotten harder the longer we are here, the longer I am away from the lake and away from my peninsula.

Another thing you may not know about me: I was at the peninsula almost every day, unlike a lot of people who live there in a more disconnected way. Even if I could only squeeze in a quick drive to the entrance and stand at the water for five minutes, I did that. That was enough for my connection, my sense of self, and my mental health. (Time at the lake is a much larger piece of my mental health puzzle that I ever thought.)

Almost every time I stood at the lake’s edge, I heard her — or I heard the voice deep within me that she made space for me to hear.

So living here, I have become estranged from my landscape. I miss that lake in ways that are indescribable with words.

The names of birds

Living in Columbus is like living on a blank slate. The rivers never change: they are brown and I have never heard their voices.

There are things around here that people call lakes and I know when they say that that they have never seen nor spent significant time at an actual lake. These “lakes” are reservoirs. Man made abominations compared to the real thing.

It hurts my heart to try to go to any more of them; I have been fooled enough times. No more.

But in the last six months, I have noticed something that took me longer: I am losing the names of birds.

And why? Because there are so few here. (And I have spoken to people who have lived here a long time and they have said they’ve noticed the same thing over the last decade.)

Once in a while, I see a cardinal.

I have never seen a damn blue jay here. Not once have I heard it’s annoying whiny voice ((ha)). I miss that sound now.

And a few weeks ago, I realized that I have never seen one of my favorite birds and I realized I could not find its name in my mind.

For a bird nerd, this was … devastating.

I am sitting here typing and having a hard time finding it yet again… JUNCO!

Every early spring, I would know spring was really on its way when dozens of juncos would start turning up in my backyard.

Losing bird names is losing part of myself

This type of loss is endemic in a culture that encourages constant change and moving around for barely any real reasons. People used to move because of things like natural disasters, war, need of food.

Yes, sometimes there are still reasons like that to move, but often it’s a desire for adventure or something new. And though it’s not a bad thing to want adventure, what are we losing in the process and what are we missing in terms of depth experiences if we are constantly distracted by the details of moving and learning new places?

We have become grass is greener people in every sense of the phrase, not realizing that the grass (metaphorically speaking) that we are born to walk upon imprints itself on us and calls to us, no matter how much we try to deafen ourselves to its voice.

The Dalai Lama encourages people to try to stay in the faith tradition they were born into. As someone who believes in reincarnation, he believes there is a reason you are born into specific traditions at specific times and in specific places.

Though that’s a compelling idea, I don’t think we even have to consider this to be mystical to understand that maybe, just maybe, the places we come from are places that remain inside of us and we in them and that there is a relationship that is formed between us and land (or water or mountain) and it’s a relationship that is meant to be lasting.

Our Brain on Fascism and Fear (and I mean all of us)

I follow Fr. James Martin on Facebook. You might know him because he’s a favorite guest on Stephen Colbert’s show. And he’s written a ton of books. He’s also done a lot of very public work with the LGBTQIA population, even meeting with Pope Francis a couple of times and getting his blessing to continue that work. He is a light, for sure.

And he has a new podcast. So the other day, I was scrolling facebook and I see that the newest podcast is an interview with Sr. Helen Prejean, whom you might recall is the subject of the movie Dead Man Walking. Her work in the anti-death penalty arena is epic. She affected me deeply long ago at the beginning of my attempt to overcome depression, which included my path back to my spiritual traditions.

It’s only because of people like Fr. Martin and Sr. Prejean (and the current pope) that I can stomach my own attraction/connection to (mystical) Catholicism.

Anyway, she pops up on my facebook feed, saying something about the dignity of human life and how it’s lost when we think we can take a life for any reason.

And I was overcome with anger and shame all commingled together.

I have always been ardently anti-death penalty.

There are too many humans on death row who shouldn’t be there and there is too much room for error and racism in the legal system.

Listening to her, I realized how much I have moved away from that belief.

It’s complicated.

There are humans right now on this planet who are committing crimes against humanity, much like those committed during WWII. The trials of those people and the punishment after were just and justified.

But I could hear Sr. Prejean reminding me that to be kept in prison for the rest of your life is also punishment. She has many more arguments against my animal level thoughts and I know she’s right but still I cling to wanting vengeance.

I am tired… I am so tired of people never facing consequences for their actions. Whether that cruelty is happening at the family level or the government level, my brain wants justice.

Then I came across this video I’ve included here and it’s worth your time to watch the whole thing, but some things really stood out and stuck for me.

What fascism actually is

This young woman brought some things to light that I, with all of my studies of Germany and the rise of naziism, have never heard anyone speak about.

She asserts (and I agree with her) that fascism is not a set of beliefs but an identity structure.

So when we try to argue with facts and evidence, those things are seen as an attack on that person’s identity. They literally cannot accept what you’re saying or their sense of self will collapse.

They think they are part of a chosen and “purified” community and that is their safety in a world that is frightening to them. (For a wide variety of reasons but I think for a lot of them it comes down to brain structure and that’s another blog post.)

Where fascism comes from

Fascism can only arise during times of great fear. Germans were starving and they felt humiliated, for example. It’s more complicated in the United States than what I want to write about here, but the fear here is also related to economics and racism.

Fear.

A brain that is always in fear response wires differently. Over time, that brain changes and the way that person perceives the world becomes more fearful.

Fear leads to changed perspective and that leads to more fear and the downward spiral goes on and on.

Fear hurts all of us

But it’s not just people susceptible to the brainwashing of fascism that are affected. All of us are being affected by the daily onslaught of fear.

Our brains are changing and we have to become aware of this so we can fight it.

In that video, one sentence stood out to me: “Fear narrows moral perception.”

My God, I thought, that is what has happened to me.

My brain, being lit on fire with fear over this last year, has changed. My moral perception has narrowed, and in that narrowing, I crave vengeance. I want blood.

That’s not me. That’s fear.

What we can do to correct for this

First and above all, just become aware, right? If I had not watched this video and then seen Sr. Prejean and been triggered into shame, I would not have noticed this was happening. And that is scary in and of itself.

Second, now that I’m aware, I can have a little talk with myself and that has made a big difference already.

But third, we need to take daily actions that fend off the fear, that bolster our empathy.

I am doing more spiritual practices. I’m reading Thomas Merton again and Franciscan thought and Dorothy Day… all the great spiritual thinkers I have long admired and looked to in difficult times.

I am in a process of remembering myself.

(If you’re needing a safe space to talk about your own fears and to express challenges and joys, this is just a reminder that I have a very small private group on Facebook that you can ask to be added to.)

Back at it: daily dance and the problem of boredom

Though I had a week with an exhausting head cold that interrupted my new routine, I have been getting back to daily dance. I have been managing a half hour. And for working by myself, this is a good start amount.

In the recent past when I’ve tried to do this, I immediately feel a deep boredom, so I thought back to my practices years ago and came up with a couple of…

Key “rules”

• I can’t force myself into using music that I think I “should.” Yes, even I have this issue. I go into practice thinking I “need” to work on serious pieces. Nope. Whatever works is the best thing.

• So I’ve been using a lot of pop music for now. Like this list and also this list that triggers joy molecules from my tween years at the skating rink.

• And the most important rule of all: the second I feel bored with the music and/or my movement, I change the song. Sometimes that means fast-forwarding through a few songs at a time, waiting for my body to respond.

• Finally, I always start with seated tummy circles, like I start just about every single class I teach. Or if I’m feeling extra dull or sad, I start with Mud Body and then go into seated tummy circles. I ritualize the start of my own practice time just like I do classes and this tells my body, here we go, and it grounds me… helps me to let go of work or overthinking.

Other rules to keep in mind about this sort of practice:

• Don’t change your clothes if that’s getting in the way. Dance in whatever you’re wearing. Or maybe only change your pants. (I do that one a LOT.)

• Don’t fret about space. You can dance in a closet.

• Set time goals for yourself but don’t force it. But also don’t just give up. Find that delicate balance between the two.

• Maybe find a friend (like me!) who could help you with accountability.

• If you hear a song while you’re driving or doing something else that gets an immediate response from your body, make sure to put that on a list.

Let me know if you have any issues with getting into a daily practice or if there are any questions I can help you with.

Is my work even needed right now?

Trust me… I spend a lot of time thinking about the necessity of my work in our current context. I question the need and if it’s trivial or even frivolous.

Thankfully I have some good people in my circles who pull me back from that.

In particular, Linda Soto (whom many of you know), said something during one of my most recent moments of despair that has stuck with me and seems the clearest YES to my work:

What I do (and what she does) is TRIAGE.

Life is really hard right now, and if you’re paying attention at all (and really, that is the most basic thing we should all be doing at this point), you’re probably often feeling really beat up. Injured. Traumatized.

And we can’t function at our highest levels from those states, and we need to be functioning from our highest levels right now. All of us. With each and every one of our gifts.

Not everyone is made to or capable of going out and protesting in the streets but we all have something that is needed.

That’s where my work comes in.

You need to take time to process. To feel. To rest. To restore. And to feel some joy in community because joy is sustaining.

As usual, I’m running Quickie Kundalini yoga and a Thursday evening Peony Somatic Dance, but I’ve also added a 45 minute Wednesday mid morning Peony class.

Go here for more info and registration.

And if you know anyone who needs this work, please pass it along.

Wonder, Whimsy, & Winter Curriculums

I wasn’t really thinking about the whole word of the year thing and then…

Over the weekend I had a delightful conversation with a long time friend/student from long ago, and she said some things that helped ideas in my own head that had been floating around for months to finally coalesce.

Word(s) of the year for 2026

Then my phrase of the year just became obvious. Like, I didn't have to think about it at all. It was just THERE... like something that grew out of the earth:

WONDER AND WHIMSY

So first question: Are you doing a word or phrase? Do you have it yet?

At the same time as I’ve been thinking about things that that conversation helped me to solidify, I’ve also been contemplating the idea of creating personal curriculums. It’s a cool thing going around on TikTok right now.

Personal Curriculum: What and How

We all consume a lot of media — whether online or via books or streaming... We take in a lot, but do we engage with the material?

Obviously some of it is just meant to kinda… pass through us. But there’s a lot that we take in and release that’s deserving of more of our time and attention and thought.

I miss this aspect of college and graduate school: reading literature and then sitting in a room of people who are also interested in literature and we’re dissecting and diving deep and extracting. We’re talking; we’re arguing; we’re writing papers.

And then those works really become a part of us. They inform our identity and how we view the world.

So for this personal curriculum idea, there are a few important components:

1. Pick questions to ask yourself. I saw one person working on the idea of good and evil, for example. Another was investigating how authoritarianism develops. But it doesn’t have to be that serious. I’m looking into redeveloping some sense of my original wonder and whimsy.

2. Put together a course and a time limit. I’ll be working from January through mid May. Like a college’s winter/spring semester.

3. Your course can have books, articles, movies. Whatever you want. You’re the professor here and the student. My course is the stack of books in the photo but I’m still developing it so that might change. (Or I should say, one of my courses.)

4. Have a notebook or some sort of cataloging/writing/thinking process in order before you start. I’ll be using a journal for the most part.

5. Bonus: have some people who are also doing this. Check in with each other. Maybe even have chats now and then to share what you’re excited about or stuck on.

And keep in mind, as I hinted at, you don’t have to stick to one curriculum. I’m developing this one, plus another designed to reignite my geek brain around movement and dance, and a third that is purely physical.

Furthermore, this personal curriculum is just one aspect of how I’ll be playing with and exploring the ideas of wonder and whimsy in 2026, and of course, I’ll keep you up to date now and then about what’s happening.

(May 2026 be better than this terrible year.)

"Breathe and wait" meets its perfect time of year

I’ve been yelling/teaching/prompting “breathe and wait” in classes since the earliest days of Girl on Fire Movement Studio (RIP beautiful studio). Now I tend not to say it enough (and I’ll be changing that). But also? I myself do not always really hear it even as it comes out of my own damn mouth.

And of course, this prompt is not just for movement class but it’s meant to — via movement classes — become so engrained in us that it leads in our wider lives.

Right now? This season of anticipation (advent, the coming solstice, all of it…) and this season of endings (calendars might be made up but they’re based on real things like the sun’s travels and the moon’s cycles)… it seems like the perfect season to really practice breathe and wait in our daily lives and rituals.

Instead of hustling more or seeing how much you can get done in these last days of this year (and how do we continue to hear that advice from the whole coaching community still???)… instead of hustling, let’s just stop.

Let’s breathe and wait.

Breathe and wait to see what peace we can find in these quiet darker days.

Breathe and wait to discern what’s working in our lives — from relationships to routines to work to practices of all kinds.

Breathe and wait.

Pause. Observe. Feel. Listen. Just wait.

Breathe and wait is always followed by allow but we’ll let that off to the side for now.

I felt myself going into hustle mode about halfway through November. I was freaking out about projects I didn’t accomplish this year and I was looking for ways to squeeze them in and luckily I noticed and I stopped.

These last days as we wind down are just not the time for that.

I’m going to focus on connection, rest, and simmering.

I’ll be breathing and waiting as I:

• Get back into paper based journaling and planners and what a joy this has been. Slowing down enough to write slowly instead of hammering away at a computer has been both difficult and delightful.

• Read more and more and more. And read more deeply. I’m planning a personal curriculum for the winter semester and I’ll be writing about that some time soon.

• Turn on twinkle lights and light candles and stretch in the evening on the floor with cats milling about.

• Dream about what’s possible without laying down any really solid plans.

• Connect to my loves and my inner circle of peeps.

What about you?