Sometimes nostalgia is overrated. Sometimes it hands a person a messy gift of sadness, feelings that had once been wrapped up tight and put away far back in the memory bank. Not long ago, our modern social Machiavelli Facebook decided nostalgia is good for all of us. We are now given reminders of a life … More Entering Dangerous Territory
I forgot the frog. Left him in my purse instead of slipping him into my front jeans pocket, as I’d planned. He had been sitting on my desk at work, next to three beautiful, hand-formed clay stones imprinted with the words “Just breathe.” The frog is as big as my thumb tip and made of … More A Frog in My Pocket
Letters of My Body Dear Feet. Please stop for a moment – please stop jiggling worriedly or pushing shyly beneath the blanket on the couch. I’ve written a poem for you in Morse code. There, dotted along your tops where the sun tenders that thin skin. I’ve dotted the tops of your big toes – … More Letters of My Body
“I can’t count the number of times I’ve been in jaw-dropping places in my life-in the mountains, at a picturesque restaurant, watching a sunset, on a boat heading to one of the San Juan Islands–where words got in the way of fully feeling and enjoying where I was.” ~Katherine Jenkins. “Lessons from the Monk … More A Roaring Kind of Quiet
On Thursday evenings, I attend a class called “Intuitive Writing.” A small group of us are led by amazingly gifted author and teacher (and just plain happy, kind, and soulful human being), Katherine Jenkins. Her book “Lessons from the Monk I Married” has been translated into multiple languages and she writes a blog with the … More The Art of “I Am”
Nature doesn’t take more than it needs. When it rains, the drops are welcomed for what they are. Used up quietly. Sunshine is thanked in the way leaves warm to green and birds chime at daybreak. Nature waits and blooms and fades, pushing into or pulling against a river’s current or sandy soil. Nature finds a … More Nature, Nurture
Acceptance. This word has been orbiting my life for many years. In the last two, especially, acceptance has been like a comet, passing through so close I have to stop and notice. Forty years, compressed, goes something like this: Before I was 20, I moved out of my small hometown. Within three years, I married … More When You F*@k Up and Decide It’s Something Different
