After several weeks of travel and writing, I am back from a retreat in Arizona where we discussed and experienced what it means to be in alignment. May was a busy month–I spent time in Virginia with my family, and we added a trip to Deale, Maryland where a friend let us stay in her home on the water. Being there reminded me of my parents, who have both passed on, but it was a good memory, for they loved the water and had a home on Hilton Head for many years. As soon as I arrived, I felt my breathing slow down and let my body settle into the slow pace the location offered.
I have been very busy with working on a book and submitting essays for consideration in a few publications. I never know how it will work out, but my job is to do the writing, so that is what I focus on. As part of a writing community, I find that I spend much more time writing, but I am also learning so much from the other writers, regardless of their chosen genres.
I get inspiration from other art forms, such as live music and theatre, and have enjoyed both in the past month. I saw a performance of August Wilson’s The Piano Lesson, part of his American Century Cycle of ten plays reflecting the lives of Black people in the 20th century. In Louisville, Kentucky, I went to hear Rhiannon Giddens and her band play, something I did last year in Durham at the Biscuits and Banjoes Festival. Next up, jazz and opera–I sample different genres in music, as I do in my reading.
The book discussion I hosted, Beloved: A Communal Exploration of Toni Morrison’s Award-winning Novel, ended in May, but since Ohio will be celebrating Morrison and her work until February 2027, there are still monthly discussions of all of her books. You can learn more about the many offerings at Literary Cleveland; the talks are free, online, and there are always good facilitators and authors participating. I read Sula for the first time and see why it is the favorite Morrison book for many of her readers.
After the whirl of activity and work, it was ideal to slow down at The Aligned Life Retreat in Scottsdale. Although the schedule was replete with speakers and hands-on workshops, we could choose the sessions that spoke to us or take the time to relax. I did a little of both. Being among a group of focused women who are managing complicated, fulfilling careers while taking care of their personal needs was inspiring. In addition to the work of building businesses, there were activities such as yoga, somatic movement, and for me, a first – a sound bath. Mind, body, and spirit were all attended to, depending on how you structured the day.
If it sounds like a lot, it has been, but I have paced myself, at the retreat, and over the last several weeks. If I make sure that I add in margin, a bit of space between the activity, I am fine. I wrote about this a few weeks ago and will share that with you soon.
I hope your summer is going well and that you have plans for rest, fun, and work. May your life be in alignment with your deepest goals and dreams.
If Provence was a color, it would be a lush shade of green. On my trip, I saw green everywhere—the green of the olives and the leaves in olive trees, fern green, celadon, the basil that I picked in a garden, sage, mint green, the various shades of green in the fields—green was the color that beckoned me in France. It was on the hillsides of Gordes and Roussillon, in the clothing, in the lovely linen napkins that were a gift from a new friend. I love nature, particularly trees, and I felt like I was immersed in green while I was there.
I recently returned from a couple weeks in Provence and it was an incredible trip. For the first part of my journey, I was with a small group of women, all open to learning more about how to find more joie (joy) in life. Through strolls around villages, shopping in open air markets for antiques, food, art, and other goods, shared meals at the table, and moments of quiet awe and joy, we had the opportunity to learn more about the region, meet people, and consider what joy meant for us.
From the welcome toast and apero at our villa, to the goodbye dinner on our last night together, the retreat was the right balance of time immersed in various day trips and time spent alone to reflect on what I was experiencing. I learned about the delight of apero, which is a light meal in the late afternoon or before dinner where you take a pause, enjoy a beverage and fare such as olives, nuts, crackers, vegetables, maybe cured meats. The menu is simple; it is really about community and sharing.
I went to Provence with an open mind; I wanted to be surprised and not locked into any particular outcome. I had been to Nice and knew I loved the region, but I prayed before leaving that I would be open to receive whatever was there for me. We were encouraged to reflect on what we experienced that was meaningful for us while we were there, and also to consider what we might want to take back with us, such as a new practice, an old one reimagined, or a different mindset.
Each day held a surprise; we spent one morning at Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, which has the largest antiques market outside of Paris. I saw everything including furniture, copper pots, vintage linens, silverware, plates, clothing, along with fresh vegetables that were displayed like an art installation. Another day, we visited Loumarin where we had a unique cooking experience. The couple who were our hosts graciously provided a menu, detailed recipes, and taught us how to prepare the meal. The table setting alone was exquisite. I loved preparing the meal, but my time in their garden, picking the basil that would be used in our lunch, was meditation for me. I could feel my body shed any stress or concerns that I brought with me; one person said that I was “in the zone.” That kind of peaceful, quiet attention to a simple task is one thing I want to have more of in my life. It gave me not only peace, but joie.
I want to thank Ajiri Aki for her meticulous planning so that we could have such an amazing time. Her vision of what it means to have to a good life is transformative and allows space for people to discern what a good life, one filled with joie, looks like for them. She has written a wonderful book called JOIE: A Parisian’s Guide to Celebrating the Good Life, which is how I first learned more about her. She is on Instagram and Substack and I enjoy her pieces because of her creativity and willingness to share insights on how to enjoy a good life.
For the second part of the trip my husband met me in Aix-en-Provence where we enjoyed strolling Cours Mirabeau, an avenue that was created in the 1650s as a route for carriages. We visited the numerous shops on the side streets, always saying a pleasant “Bonjour” upon entering. This year Aix is celebrating Cezanne 2025 in honor of Paul Cezanne, the French artist, and we were able to visit Bastide du Jas de Bouffan, his family home and garden, for a guided tour that included an explanation of the history of the home and its role in Cezanne’s life. There were more delicious meals in cafes, shopping for gifts to take back home, and winding down in the evening, a glass of rosé for him and something sparkling but no-alcohol for me. And of course, there was chocolate!
These pictures are but a glimpse of the beauty of Provence, but here are some others:
I have always been drawn to France for reasons I no longer try to unravel. I often joke that it is because my people are from Paris, but that’s Paris in Kentucky, so that cannot be the real reason. I think it’s because my experiences there have always been so enlightening and inspiring. I have found the people to be nice and appreciative of my efforts to use their language as best I can. I like the pace of Provence; it’s somewhat slower than Paris. People are clearly engaged with each other, but the volume of conversation and life in general is set at a much lower range than here at home; I like that too. The architecture and the landscape are truly beautiful.
I love a set table, using cloth napkins, and nice plates, etc., but after this trip, I want to slow down when it comes to preparing and enjoying my meals. I hope to take more walks, because I walked every day there. Admittedly the weather was gorgeous, but walking seemed to be the most efficient way to get around in the smaller villages, and I savored the walks on narrow streets without cars racing by at 50 miles an hour. The owners in the market stands were patient enough to talk about what they sold, where it came from, and how things were made. I am certain this can happen here at home, maybe it is more about me slowing down enough to inquire.
When will I return? I don’t have a date yet, but I know that I will go again. The next time I hope to travel with more of my family; they were as entranced by the photos and descriptions as I was by the experience, so they want to come along. I am grateful for this period in life, what I am calling my calm season, because I have the time and resources to travel in a way that I couldn’t for a while. Beauty and joy can be found in the simplest rituals and places, and it need not be expensive.
I am just back from a week in New Hampshire with family and now I enter the quieter portion of the summer. The weather was great, sunny days with the kind of humidity that seems mild since I grew up in Cincinnati. We baked make-your-own pizzas in the backyard, visited Klemm’s Bakery for pastries, Hayward’s Homemade Ice Cream twice, and drove up to Cape Elizabeth, Maine for seafood and a stop at a nearby lighthouse. Being together was the best part, and I shared photos with those who could not join us. The only hiccups were flight delays, supposedly caused by “fog” in Boston. When I checked with my family in the area and spoke with a woman waiting for her daughter, everyone said there was no fog on a sunny midafternoon that they could see, but I knew the plane would leave when they said it could, so I read while waiting. I’m currently reading “How Beautiful We Were” by Imbolo Mbue, a novel about how a village in Africa is affected by the American oil company that started production and left the people and their land ravaged by illness and neglect. They resist for years, fighting to restore their homeland. I have not finished it, but there are passages so beautifully written that at times I need to put the novel down and just absorb the language and message.
I meant to write about letter writing, which many of us don’t do as much because it has been replaced with the quick text or social media update. I love writing notes and often will send a card with a letter or an article to folks, just to let them know that I am thinking of them. I don’t always get a letter back, but that is not the point for me—I love the slowing down that letter writing requires.
Last week, I did get some sad news—a friend and mentor, Ellen Doyle, OSU, passed away after living with an illness that she had been dealing with for over two years. Ellen often updated her friends, letting us know of her travels, treatments options, and speaking candidly about the gravity of her illness. I was surprised when I got word of her passing, but she had been letting us walk with her all along, preparing us for what she knew could happen.
Ellen wrote a wonderful memoir, “Dear Uncle Stanley”, which shares letters her uncle wrote during her young adulthood; she also wrote to him over those years. She was discerning and coming to understand her call to spiritual life as a sister in a religious community, and he was an older priest, speaking honestly with her about life and its challenges. I appreciated her love of letter writing and how letters are not just welcome in the moment, they also serve as a record of a moment in time. Mbue’s novel also uses letters between those in the village and a friend in the States to move the story along. There are many epistolary novels and memoirs, and I love how a letter can give an intimate portrayal of a person’s mind and heart. Ellen lived a rich and full life, and I know her spirit is at rest. That doesn’t mean I won’t miss her, but I am grateful to have known her for over 50 years.
In this quieter season, I will make a point to send a card or a letter to more people. It is more permanent than a text, even if the recipient does not hold on to it for decades like Ellen did. It is a way of checking in, letting those we care about know we are thinking of them.
This morning in my Pilates session, my trainer asked me if I was retired. I said, “No, not really; I’ll always have a project here and there.” Last week I said yes to an offer to facilitate a panel discussion, and I am in the planning stages for a few other projects that I will share as they are more fully developed. I appreciate this quieter season. I can be still long enough to let the ideas settle, like a butterfly on the coneflowers outside my window. If you are able, carve out some quiet time for yourself, whether it is a few hours or a few weeks. If we get still enough, if we are comfortable with the quiet, we can hear. And if you can hear, you can dream.
Spring is here and I am finally getting out more, traveling. In April, I went down to Durham for the first Biscuits and Banjos Festival, hosted by Rhiannon Giddens. When I heard about it last year I was all in—I have been a fan of Giddens since I saw her years ago with the Carolina Chocolate Drops. Rhiannon Giddens is a GRAMMY Award-winning singer, plays numerous instruments, including the banjo and fiddle, has earned the MacArthur “Genius” grant and a Pulitzer Prize. I was also eager to get back to Durham since I have only been back for business a few times since living there while I earned my MBA at Duke, which was decades ago.
Biscuits and Banjos was about more than food and music, although we did eat our fair share of biscuits while we were there. This was a celebration and education on the influence and importance of Black culture on the culinary and music traditions in this country, which include the banjo, blues, country, jazz, and gospel. There were panel discussions, performances, and a chance to talk with some distinguished and interesting speakers. The festival brought together performers from as near as North Carolina and as far as the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
I appreciate how much I learn from other creatives and usually come away from these live performances with a new respect for what it takes to pursue art of any kind. Christian McBride, a bassist, performed with the student jazz ensemble from North Carolina Central University. The students were a bit nervous at first, but I will not forget the light in their eyes when they settled in and played alongside an accomplished musician; it was something to see. When I witnessed the power and energy of the Legendary Ingramettes, a gospel group that has been at it for over 60 years, I took heart in knowing that it is never too late, I just need to do the work that is before me.
I am aware that many are watching their expenses in ways they may not be accustomed to, given the political and economic climate we are in. But I would rather give up spending in other areas, and now that I have the time, I want to immerse myself in live musical performances as much as possible. There are also numerous free concerts, especially in the summer. I seldom come away wishing I had not spent the time and money, and often leave inspired not just to create, but to act, get involved, share my voice. This is part of the power of the arts—it can rally us to get busy in ways speeches and social media cannot.
Rhiannon Giddens and the Legendary Ingramettes
Giddens, the Carolina Chocolate Drops, and the entire host of musicians take the stage at the Durham Performing Arts Center.
It’s been a minute – well actually months – since I have posted here. I have been writing a little, but when I’ve had thoughts about what to say in this space, it’s been hard to figure out what I wanted to share. I am doing well, and like many of you, I’ve had to adjust to life in this time where the COVID pandemic seems to influence everything.
A few days ago I was running some errands and decided to go to the cemetery where my mother and other family members were laid to rest. As you can see in the photo, it was a sunny day, and besides that, this cemetery has never seemed like a creepy place to me. I went because I can sit on that rock for a few minutes, gather my thoughts, talk to my mother and God, and pray. Sometimes I speak out loud, although not loudly, and at other times it is enough to be still. If I am patient, I just wait, and try to listen.
This time of year can be hard for me. People talk about the time before COVID as the “before-times” but this season is more the “between-times” for me. It is a few weeks after the day, four years ago, when we found out how sick my mother was and just a few weeks before the date she passed. It is a time when I can feel something in my body shift so slightly, and then I remember, that’s it, Ramona, it’s the same time of year as...
But this day it was not so hard. I had taken care of some important business and was on my way to a conversation that I was just not quite sure how it would play out. So I went to this quiet place, with only the sounds of birds, bugs, and the cars going by outside of the cemetery. I looked around me and was moved by the fact that so many other people had been here to say good bye to a loved one. I thought of how close this place is to the neighborhood we moved to when I was a senior in high school. Even if I just thought of my people here, there were so many good memories – of my mother and her laughter, my grandfather’s annual summer party, my aunt’s lemon meringue pie.
Over the last year and a half there has been so much loss – people, celebrations, gatherings, etc. We thought life was headed back to normal when it fact, maybe there is no longer normal, but just now, and the steps we take to shift to whatever is happening now. I am grateful to still be here, to have my memories and my hopes for a future. I will try to write here more often because there is one thing I have learned over the last year – waiting for perfect means I will surely miss it.
I hope everyone reading this is safe and healthy, despite a pandemic that has tossed our expectations of summer and its relaxing days like a trash can full of empty bottles. Continue reading →
This past weekend I was in Washington D.C. for a friend’s birthday. I used to travel to DC often years ago for work, and for a few years I lived in Reston, which is not far away in northern Virginia.
My friend had been planning his event for months, and kept the guest list small so he could gather some of his closest friends and family (many of us had gone to Notre Dame together, but there were people from all phases of his life). The invitation said black tie and we were excited to celebrate him and see what he had curated for the evening experience. Continue reading →
May has been a whirl of activity but let’s start with the 30-day challenge I began in April. My goal was to wake up every day, at 5:18 am, for 30 days. I missed a couple of days, primarily because after the second weekend I asked myself, “Why are you getting up this early on the weekend?” I modified the challenge and did not set an alarm on Saturdays and Sundays; however, even without an alarm, after about four days I found myself naturally stirring around 5:15 am.
Rising early set me up for the next goal for May. I had been accepted for the Vermont College of Fine Arts Novel Retreat, which took place May 15-21. This experience was positive and affirming for me as a writer because I was able to accomplish a few goals I established for the retreat:
Spend hours a day writing, starting a new (and lengthy) project that I want to write,
This afternoon I did something I seldom do when it is cold outside—I went for a walk in my neighborhood. The snow crept in overnight, and when I got up this morning the lawn was blanket of white, and the intersection near my house had the fresh tire tracks of the early risers on their way to work.
I had planned to walk today but when I first saw the snow, I was resistant and did not want to go through the routine of bundling up so that I could walk. So I put it off, one hour, then another, until it was noon. And then I remembered what I learned during my retreat last month. Continue reading →
A snowy day here in northern Indiana. Days like this are perfect for writing, and if it warms up, venturing outside, even if it’s only to open the front door and take it all in. Stay warm!
Ramona M. Payne 