January 10, 2022|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
And if by some miracle…
And if by some miracle,
you and I,
a million miles apart,
step outside at the same instant
and look up at the stars
blazing in the heavens—
If the deer in the garden,
bending to taste that one sweet blade of grass,
to envelope that velvety circle of tulip
in its mouth,
if it should chance to glance up,
as they do,
to stop and gaze
in that exact moment
at the distant sky,
streaming with milky light and stars–
If by some miracle
we come together later in lust and love,
an explosion of melting sighs,
an instant, a miracle of tenderness,
of two beating hearts made one,
then it will all have been worth it,
it will all have mattered,
all the waiting
and wailing
and wanting what we cannot have,
all the pain,
it will all have been transformed,
all have been made whole
like Lazarus
for that one instant,
that miracle,
that moment
of inarticulate,
inscrutable
awe.
December, 2021|REFLECTIONS
2021: A Year of Heartache and Awe…
2021, a blessed year for us… though not without its heartaches. In May, we lost dear David, our precious brother-in-law, after a valiant 8-year struggle with Parkinson’s. He was so special to us all, and we miss his gentle presence more than words can say. Always, though, he lives on in our hearts and will be a part of our lives forever.
COVID-19, still… Despite the continued need for masks and social distancing this year, or perhaps because of it, Michael and I again turned to nature for healing–long hikes with Zoie up both green and snowy hills; frigid ski days (101 for Michael; 74 for me) floating down powdery slopes; summer mornings of biking for Michael and trail running for me; long but contented hours of pruning, planting and puttering in my garden; gentle evening walks with Zoie under a crimson sky… Quiet times to breathe and offer thanks.
Family time… In June, the whole family—John, Will, Sule, Dad John, Margareth, Michael and I—traveled to Estes Park, Grand Lake and Aspen for our annual family trip, where we hiked and feasted, laughed and reminisced, and even dragged ourselves up 14,440′ Mt. Elbert, the second highest peak in the U.S.—just five days before Michael’s hip-replacement surgery. Seeing my adult children in the lead, I smiled to think of all the times their parents had bribed them with junk food to keep them hiking or backpacking and grinned at the encouragement they doled out to us ‘old folks’ as we huffed and puffed our way to the summit.
Travel… In September, Michael and I spent a week with friends driving through the Black Hills of South Dakota and by ourselves vacationing in beautiful Puerto Vallarta, swimming with pelicans, strolling past alligators and monkeys, and dining on beaches with the waves rolling in just inches away from where we sat. In between those trips, I joined siblings Cindy, Bruce and Rose and cousin Sylvia for two long-awaited and heartwarming reunions in the red rock country of Southern Utah. Precious times to reconnect and remember.
‘Dreams come true,’ my mother always chanted as part of our goodnight mantra; and on November 15, my father’s birthday, they did when I launched my second book The Mudbug and the Winged Creature. Two days later, I was both humbled and happy to see it soar to the top 8% of all bestselling metaphysical fiction on Amazon and later to read reviews that readers I’ve never met had posted. Living in the relatively small town of Park City gave me two added bonuses— an interview on the local radio station: and an article in the local newspaper: https://www.parkrecord.com/entertainment/parkites-new-book-the-mudbug-and-the-winged-creature-was-inspired-by-a-funeral-service-nearly-40-years-ago/, two links you can click on here, if interested, complements of a son who is far more tech savvy than his mother.
Christmas and You… Happy times have come again to the Carlquist household, with Will and Sule back from Bethesda for the holidays and John and his pup Meadow due to arrive on Thursday from Denver. We’ll x-country ski, hike together along mountain trails, visit John and Margareth’s new cabin and raise glasses around evening fires. We’ll laugh and celebrate, reminisce and plan, and toast to all who have added so much to our lives. I raise a symbolic glass now and wish you, dear family and friends, all the joy life has to offer. May 2022 be a year of health, happiness, compassion, and comfort for all! Peace to you, now and always…
February 17, 2021|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
A Promise…
Have you ever promised yourself
that you’d always remember
this moment,
this one single instant
in time?
Maybe when you were nine and wading through grass,
knee-deep and wet with springtime.
Or 39, when you stepped outside after a good night’s sleep
and caught a glimmer of sunlight
winking through aspen
outside your front door.
Or yesterday
when you fell, exhausted, into your softest easy chair
after a day of skiing,
your body still hurtling down slippery slopes,
Your mind dizzy with the weightlessness of flight
without wings.
Maybe even as you dried your hands on a cotton towel
after washing up from a good dinner,
the moon floating ghostlike outside your kitchen window,
the voices murmuring, soft and low, in another room.
And you promise yourself that you’ll always remember This-one-Moment,
not because it’s so special,
not even because it opens your heart in some magical way,
but because you need to hang onto it somehow,
this narrow instant,
this droplet of eternity
that declares you’re alive on this spinning planet
right now,
a miracle,
a silent song.
December, 2020|REFLECTIONS
Goodbye, 2020. I might even miss you…
Another year…
Unique and tragic, beautiful and violent, hushed and… oh, so many things, to be sure. Labels perched upon this year like so many ornaments upon a tree. And yet, for me, a year strewn with moments made even more precious by their fragility, more intimate by their tenuousness, more lovely in their simplicity.
Like many others, we canceled our annual family trip but replaced it with a multitude of heartfelt family portal calls and soul-filled connections. Though we grumbled when our ski season dissolved in March, we filled our days with snowy mountain hikes, long-delayed projects and moments for quiet reflection—and in all these things we found a kind of peace and contentment. While we grieved for those around the globe who suffered and ached for all who lost loved ones, we gave thanks a hundred times a day for the lives we’re blessed to live and for the hope that out of this darkness will come a kinder and more compassionate world—for all peoples and all beings, large and small, feathered and furry, aquatic and buzzing, sentient and otherwise. For Mother Earth, Father Sky and all creatures that abide within and beyond.
Life is aglow in the Carlquist home at the moment. Will and Sule, after quarantining and COVID tests, are back from Bethesda for the holidays, and John David and his pup Meadow arrived on Monday from Denver. Finally, we are all together again. We’ve skied down powdery slopes, hiked up mountain trails and raised glasses around evening fires. We’ve feasted and laughed, reminisced and planned, and spoken kindly about those who have made such an important difference in our lives.
To all of you who mean so very much to me, I say thanks. I think of you often and wish you the best that life has to offer.
May 2021 be a year of health, happiness, compassion and comfort for all! Peace to you, now and always…
April 11, 2020|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
COVID-19 on a Springtime Day
Carry the serenity of sky,
quiet pools
and the transcendent beauty of nature in your soul.
When harsher voices buzz
and fear tightens in your throat,
go out into the sunlight,
blazing brighter than it has in years,
and gaze at the shimmering hills of greens and golds, at the starlings, wild with joy, dipping and wheeling through azure sky.
Then go within 
to find the stillness that waits there
in your heart,
like a soft dove
cooing and settling itself on a branch,
even as twilight descends
in dark grace
around it.
April 6, 2020|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
COVID-19 in a Winter Landscape
These quiet times
softer footprints on the land
after years of
too much, too many
too… too… too…
It’s a bit like Eden—
bluer skies and birdsong—
here on Earth,
albeit a bruised and harried Earth.
We hold hands from a distance—but still,
we hold hands,
really hold them now.
And we wade out into the snow, knowing
a silent killer lurks,
tasting the flakes and turning
our faces
upward
toward the swirling crystals
for answers.
March 25, 2020|REFLECTIONS
Maybe some good will come…
An unsettling time, this COVID-19 crisis, as I have reflected and held dear—perhaps even have clung to—the familiar and to life itself, wishing all would ‘get back to normal.’
But I won’t do that any more; I can’t, though my small self cries out fearfully that I must. No, I—my bigger Self—sees this time, strange as it is, as an opportunity, if only I—we, humanity— take it for what it is or could be anyway, as perhaps one of the most fortuitous times in the history of the world and in our lives from an internal perspective. A time for re-evaluation and reflection, a time of gratitude, a time for reaching out and holding each other close, even as we practice social distancing.
With each passing year, I have ceased taking my life quite so much for granted and have begun recognizing how precious each moment is. At this time when each of us more clearly sees our mortality, let’s pause and consider whether or not we are living our lives as we truly want to. I know I, for one, have to make some changes if I want to be truly happy.
A few days ago, Michael and I were out hiking with friends, wonderful people who are so giving to others and yet who are, like so many others I know, unconscious or uncaring when it comes to their impact on other species that they consider inferior or unimportant.
I was talking to my friends about a vegetarian appetizer I had concocted the night before to use up some veggie ‘chicken’ that I didn’t care for.
“Why don’t you just use regular chicken? What’s wrong with that?” my friend asked.
‘Nothing, I suppose,’ I thought to myself and felt like the hypocrite I sometimes am, since I do eat regular chicken and other meat periodically and buy it quite regularly for Michael.
‘But I wish I didn’t,’ I thought for the billionth time. ‘I wish I were a true vegetarian or vegan ALL the time because I really don’t want to inflict pain and suffering on other creatures.’
I took a breath. “I love animals,” I explained. “And I really don’t need to eat meat, so I try to go vegetarian when I’m cooking for myself. It’s a more compassionate way of living for me.”
My friend said nothing, and I wondered what she was thinking. Not that it mattered. Most people I know, including Michael, think I’m a bit eccentric in my views on life.
Walking along the trail, my friend spied what looked like a mosquito sitting atop a snow bank.
“Look. Should I kill it?” she asked.
“It’s not hurting you, so why should you hurt it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. “Besides, they’re great pollinators. I learned that in a botany class I once took.”
Incredulous but sensing my sincerity, she refrained from killing the bug.
Later, on our way down from the hike, her husband saw another insect. Without a moment’s thought, he pounded it down into the snow.
“Just putting it back in hibernation,” he grinned at me.
I said nothing, but the senseless killing of that poor creature saddened me and still does.
“Looney Tunes,” Michael calls me, and perhaps I am when it comes to my oversensitivity to the plight of other living beings, many of whom die at the hands of humans who think nothing of killing them for no good reason except because they can or because they have been conditioned to do so. I keep hoping that out of this strange COVID-19 time will emerge a softening of the human footprint on the world. I keep praying that as we are forced to our knees, as we hide from the silent killer that stalks us now, that we humans will somehow metamorphose into a kinder, humbler and more mindful species, that we will develop compassion and empathy for all living beings, great and small, during this time. I look at the excerpt from Kitty O’Meara and yearn for a gentler time and a world where each of us respects Mother Earth and all life forms.
“And the people stayed home. And read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still. And listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently. And the people healed. And in the absence of people, living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal. And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.” -Kitty O’Meara
January 24, 2020|REFLECTIONS
Are you the one I’m looking for?
This morning I sit in my newly remodeled home—new siding, fresh paint, inside and out; a new backyard deck replacing the old one that was literally falling down around its joists; a shiny new hickory hardwood floor spanning much of my downstairs; and a modern kitchen, complete with white doors and drawers that actually close by themselves. No more getting down on my knobby knees to paw about for that ever-elusive pot or pan or cake tray. I’m grateful for it all. And though I asked for—and received—lots of advice about how to go about all of this, I was the one, in the long run, who made the final decisions. I’m happy about that, too.
Today I prepare to embark on a new project—one I started a long time ago but put away for a while and hope to finish this year. THE THING IS, I NEED YOUR HELP. It’s my The Mudbug and Winged Creature gift book (you know, sort of like Jonathan Livingston Seagull from the ‘70s), complete with a metaphoric story and photographs. The problem is, I’m a writer, not a Photoshop expert; and though my photographer and I worked on the photos years ago, there’s still lots to be done. So, here goes:
I’M LOOKING TO HIRE AN EXPERIENCED PHOTOSHOP EXPERT AND/OR GRAPHIC ARTIST WITH A KEEN EYE TO HELP ME PREPARE MY LATEST BOOK FOR PUBLICATION. ANY IDEAS OR TAKERS? I’LL BE STARTING INTERVIEWS SOON.
December 31, 2019|REFLECTIONS
Another year…
…each day, a blink of an eye, fleeting but full; each Now, an opportunity to reflect on our lives and, hopefully, add a little something to the lives of others.
This morning I sit in my newly remodeled home—new siding, fresh paint, inside and out; a new backyard deck, replacing the old one that was literally falling down around its joists; a shiny new hickory hardwood floor spanning much of my downstairs; and a modern kitchen, complete with white doors and drawers that actually close by themselves. No more getting down on my knobby knees to paw about for that ever-elusive pot or pan or cake tray. Feeling grateful for this abundance!
2019 was a productive (if somewhat stressful) year. In addition to my remodeling projects, I listened to auditions from nearly a hundred voice actors, hired my producer and narrators and created an Audible version of my 2013 memoir, Moving with God Past the Pain… of divorce, death or any parting of lives once joined. Happily, despite our divorce in 2005, John and I have remained friends and still celebrate birthdays, holidays and annual family trips together with our sons and significant others. This year, all of us —John David, Will and Sule; John, Margareth and Margareth’s daughter Eva; and Michael and I—visited Banff, Lake Louise, Waterton and Glacier, hiking, dining and celebrating life. Dr. Will and Dr. Sule live in Bethesda now, with Will working at the National Institute of Health and Sule doing research with a professor at the University of Pennsylvania. John David, having just been promoted to Workplace Planning and Advice Leader with Fidelity Investments, continues to enjoy his time in Denver. He and his dog Meadow are on their way home to us for the holidays, as I write; however, this is the first Christmas the family won’t all be together. Sule’s father in Turkey is ill, so she and Will have gone there for the holidays to help and support him. Our blessings to Sule’s family at this time!
Yes, 2019 has been a year to remember for us all, I’m sure—accomplishments, changes, happy times, sad. And those gentle moments, as well—for me, skiing down powdery slopes, hiking up quiet mountain trails, sharing a glass (or two) of wine with Michael and friends out on the deck, chatting with the family by the fire, a surprise 70th birthday party, with my children, sister, family and friends, old and new. Yes, and visits—heartfelt talks and notes and so much more—with many of you. Thank you for those memories. They mean more to me than I can say.
Quiet talks with loved ones; a cozy meal around the fire; unexpected calls from friends; and you, all of you, those I saw this year and those I didn’t.
May gentle moments surround you. May you see the golden glow of dawn, hear the simple notes of a love song, smell hot rolls baking in the oven and know the love of family and friends.
May 2020 be a year of joy and love for us all!
September 22|REFLECTIONS
We’re live!
So happy to announce that my memoir, ‘Moving with God PAST THE PAIN… of divorce, death or any parting of lives once joined,’ has launched and is now on sale at Audible, iTunes and Amazon.
At one time or another, we’ve all gone through the heartache of losing a loved one, be it a friend, a parent, a partner, a child, a colleague, a pet, a soulmate; and that loss can carve away at our very essence. But it can also be a catalyst for finding our highest and best selves and for discovering that most elusive of qualities called peace.
This is my story, the true account of an extraordinary year in which I went from a woman despairing to a woman empowered. Perhaps in some small way, my story will touch you.
September 12|REFLECTIONS
September 12…
A special day. Of course, every day is a special day—my loved ones and I, and all of creation really, are alive and so blessed, each in our own way. But it’s particularly special because it’s my son John David’s birthday. 38 years ago, he came into this world, and every day since then his presence has added so much to so many. Thank you, John.
My remodeling continues—new kitchen plans, new flooring, new deck— some ups and some downs, some delays and some bursts of unanticipated activity, most dizzying, all expensive and all reminders that if I stay centered and at peace, even the delays and expenses can be blessings. Each breath, a miracle. Each joy, a choice.
And my Audible—I’ve approved it, and now I simply sit back and wait for the final nod from ACX at Amazon. ‘Hi Pam!’ wrote my narrator Denise (the ‘Pam’ voice in my memoir). ‘It was a pleasure to get to know you through your words. We share a similar jouney to “enlightenment,” although our stories differ a bit. There were moments that were difficult for me to narrate; the smell of roses was a sign from my mother, too. I have a sweet dog named “Annie,” and I had a border collie who, like your Annie, was the Queen of the Pack in the neighborhood. Reading your similar experiences simply choked me up, and I had to regain my composure on a couple of occasions before I was able to continue. What a wonderful journey with you!’
Life IS a wonderful journey. Last night, out on a walk with Zoie and Michael, I caught sight of a mother deer and two fawns in a glade just a stone’s throw away from us. They raised their heads but stayed put, content to munch on wet grass, secure in an inner knowing that Zoie could not or would not bother them, at peace under a cloudy sky, at one with the golden twilight. And so were we. Each breath, a miracle. Each joy, a choice… for us all.
August 30|REFLECTIONS
The Summer of 2019. Dreams have come true…
I sit, staring at the screen.
“Ready for 2nd Review,” it says, and continues, “Great news! Bill Russell has completed production on Moving with God PAST THE PAIN… of divorce, death or any parting of lives once joined.”
‘Here it is,’ I think, and I can feel my whole face light up. My Audible is finished, at last—or almost, anyway. One last review, and if they’ve fixed everything I asked, I can approve it and move on to the next phase—getting the word out, putting it into the hands (or ears) of those who would most enjoy it, relaxing into the idea that another dream has been realized and giving thanks—so much thanks! And I do, even now.
What a summer this has been, the summer of 2019! Dreams have come true:
My 70thbirthday—70 years on this Earth! Amazing! And my kids, all the way from Vancouver, Canada, and Denver, Colorado, have flown in to surprise me with a wonderful celebration, complete with friends and family representing so many stages of my life.
70 auditions later, and I have selected and hired my producer and narrators, Bill Russell and Denise Chamberlain, to create the Audible of my 2013 memoir Moving with God PAST THE PAIN… of divorce, death or any parting of lives once joined. I’d planned to do this since the book came out, and finally here it is, days away from its launch!
My love Michael—back to hiking and biking with gusto after a successful back surgery that has transformed his very being and given him back a happy and pain-free life.
My gardening and remodeling projects underway at last, with flowers aplenty, new exterior siding and fresh paint, inside and out. My 40-year-old home, the dream home my former husband John and I purchased 33 years ago, is looking and feeling younger by the minute, elegant even, if I do say so myself. And I’ve just begun. I’ll pay off my mortgage in January; before then, I’ll have a new back deck, a newly painted garage, a modern kitchen with white cabinets and white quartz countertops and a gorgeous hickory hardwood floor throughout much of my home. I’ve wanted to do a big remodel for years. Finally, this spring, I asked myself, “Why not now?” and answered, “Yes, now!”
In June, our annual family trip—with my two sons John David and Will, my daughter-in-law Sule, my true love Michael, my former husband John, his wife Margareth and her daughter Eva—this time to Banff, Waterton and Glacier for a magical 10 days of hiking, dining, laughing, gazing about at all the beauty and savoring precious moments together. Another dream come true! A family, my family, sharing our lives in this way, despite the fact that John and I have long since divorced and moved on to new and wonderful relationships. It makes me—and all of us—happy.
Michael’s dreams—and, therefore, mine—realized, as well. His successful surgery, yes. But more. For several years now, Michael, who decided townhome living was not for him, has been looking for just the right place in Park City to buy, and this summer he found it, just five minutes from my home in Park Meadows. Though many of our friends think we’re foolish to maintain separate residences since we’re together far more than we’re apart, we feel differently. We each like having our own place—for now, at least; we like our space, you might say, and get a kick out of decorating our homes and yards, bouncing ideas off each other and helping one another in any way we can. Though this arrangement doesn’t work for everyone, it works for us! And we’re glad.
The summer of 2019… a summer of dreams-come-true, so many dreams, so much still to look forward to. Yesterday Michael closed on his house, today my deck project began, tonight we’ll hike with Zoie, tomorrow we’ll celebrate with friends. And always—today, tomorrow and every day—we’ll find ways to say thanks and to show our gratitude to the world and to everyone and everything in it. With every dream-come-true comes blessings galore and opportunities aplenty to share and love and dream some more.
July 4|REFLECTIONS
Part Two: Oh, the best-laid schemes…
“The deepest words of the wise man teach us the same as the whistle of the wind when it blows or the sound of the water when it is flowing.” -Antonio Machado
Almost a month has passed since my last blog, and I thought for sure I’d have completed all of my best-laid plans by now. Alas, that has not happened. The exterior siding on my home is finished, true; the interior paint is clean and fresh, giving my house a crisp, new look; and my love Michael has recovered from his back surgery and is hiking and biking with gusto. We are just back from our annual family vacation, this time to Banff, Waterton and Glacier National Park, where we hiked, dined and laughed as a family should. Ironically, that family includes not only my two sons and daughter-in-law but also my ex-husband John and his wife Margareth, her daughter and, of course, Michael. Perhaps even more ironic is the fact that John and I honeymooned in that same area 44 years ago. When I tell people this, they are astonished; but really, it was so long ago, another lifetime, in fact; and we both feel lucky that we can still enjoy time with our children and each other with such ease.
The Audible version of my PAST THE PAIN memoir is still not finalized but probably could have been if I hadn’t been leaving town just when my producer announced that it was almost ready. I expect to receive it very soon, now that I’m back and eager to listen to, tweak, approve and launch this exciting project.
As for the exterior paint job, it’s not finished either, but it’s coming along. Just last month, I spent almost $100 in sample paints for both the interior and exterior, plus a huge number of hours in the selection and painting process, and agonized for weeks until I found the colors I wanted. Even after that, I held my breath moment by moment and hardly dared to peek, not knowing if I’d like the end results. Happily, I do. Though still a work-in-progress, the outside of my house is taking on a whole new look, going from a tan color with green trim, which I’ve always liked but never loved, to an elegant dark grey with white trim. It feels more like… ME, like HOME. And I’m happy with it.
As for the last project, Enlightenment… well, that’s a work-in-progress, too. I expect it to come any day now, but so far it hasn’t so much as poked its toe around the corner. I HAVE been listening to the whistle of the wind when it blows and to birdsong (a wise man’s deepest words?) and to the sound of water when it flows—we all did a lot of that on our recent trip. But Enlightenment, whatever that thing is, continues to elude me.
I suppose it doesn’t matter, in a way, any of it really—if I’m hopeful. And grateful. And excited to be alive. If I’m willing to just breathe, at times, gaze at my new house and my healed lover and the photos of the trip with my kids and friends, old and new, and listen to the Audible when it come into being, and give thanks for all the gifts that are mine, and yours, and everyone’s… If only we open our hearts to them.
Sh-h, listen. Isn’t that the whistle of the wind in the trees and the sound of flowing water and the deepest words of a wise man, speaking to us? Isn’t that—this—the song of joy?
June 12|REFLECTIONS
Part One: Oh, the best-laid schemes…
“I’m thinking about people and trees and how I wish I could be silent more, be more tree than anything else, less clumsy and loud, less crow, more cool white pine, and how it’s hard not to always want something else, not just to let the savage grass grow.” -Ada Limon
It’s been an interesting, ride, this spring. Not exactly as expected but definitely entertaining—or… something.
Ambitious plans—an Audible version of my PAST THE PAIN memoir; new exterior siding; interior and exterior painting; back surgery after three pain-ridden years and seven different consultations with surgeons for Michael; enlightenment for me ((ha ha—a lifetime project that feels so within reach during my morning meditations and so unattainable when I’m just plain living.)
First Project: The Audible book: After almost 60 auditions, I sign contracts in April with my producer and secondary narrator, both accomplished voice actors. Ahead of schedule, I listen to and approve their ‘First 15 Minute’ segment. We’re on our way. However, it soon becomes clear that things aren’t going as well as I thought between the two actors; and within a week, my secondary narrator resigns. A bump in the road, I think. A rather big bump, but I’m surprisingly okay with it. Almost immediately, I fill the gap with an equally talented and even more experienced narrator. We’re off and running—or recording again—at an even greater pace. All is well.
And then, fate intervenes. My new narrator falls and shatters her arm in four places. She’s in excruciating pain, physically and emotionally, and the momentum comes to a crashing halt. My imposed deadline of May 30, my 70th birthday, dissolves; it’s impossible now, I realize, and actually sigh with relief. I’m so busy with other projects at the moment that I really don’t have time to listen to, tweak, approve and launch the Audible. Anyway, deadlines be damned! Quality is all I really want, I decide. I’m willing to wait. (Enlightenment? Probably not—sure doesn’t feel like enlightenment anyway. I mean, I’m not peacefully content or anything, but I AM willing to let the savage grass grow.)
The exterior siding, preparation for interior painting and Michael’s surgery: The siding goes well, with only a few minor hitches; within a week, that long-awaited project is complete. Even the weather has cooperated. I prepare for the interior paint job, patiently removing pictures from the walls and lamps and knick knacks from tabletops and dressers. I do this alone, however, because Michael has his long-needed back surgery, and the first two weeks are torture, physically and emotionally, for him.
“What if I did the wrong thing or chose the wrong surgeon or even the wrong surgery?” he asks, his face contorted with pain. But he follows the doctor’s orders and walks three times a day at least 20 minutes in the morning, 20 in the afternoon and 20 at night. Zoie and I join him, and we all find ourselves becoming more fit. Even that little bit of exercise out in nature helps to alleviate the stress in our lives.
Finally after two weeks, Michael awakens one morning, his face radiant.
“I had a completely pain-free night!” he exclaims.
The healing continues, and day by day he rejoices in having his body and spirit back again. I celebrate, too. My sweetheart is happy, and so am I. The projects continue. So much still ahead…
(To be continued…)
Moving with God PAST THE PAIN… audiobook COMING SOON!
June 6|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
Morning…
Birdsong.
Sunlight pours in through the window.
The rain has stopped
for the moment.
And the world opens.
I am
awake
at last.
The aches and pains of yesterday
are gone.
Was it all the heavy lifting?
or only my cares
weighing me down?
No matter.
They have flown away
and are singing now
in the tree
outside my window.
I fling back the covers
and begin…
Moving with God PAST THE PAIN… audiobook COMING SOON!
May 7|REFLECTIONS
Out of the mouth of babes…
One of the best lessons I ever learned was from one of my students. Truth be told, I gained more from them than they could ever have gleaned from me over my 40+ years of teaching.
I wish I could remember her name—this student that mentored me that day. I can see her in my mind’s eye—slim, modestly pretty, medium-length brown hair, quiet—but I can’t think of her name. She had just moved to Park City and was only with us a short time, as I recall.
We were discussing lessons from the book TUESDAYS WITH MORRIE, and I asked the class to pause and consider what they most wanted at that moment in their lives.
“If you could choose one thing right now to have, be or become,” I asked, “what would you choose?”
Some answers were funny—a decent night’s sleep, no more homework—ever, etc.; and most were predictable—get into a certain college, make money, fall in love, publish a book, dance professionally, become a doctor—the list went on and on. Admirable goals; thoughtful, wise choices.
Almost everyone volunteered, eager to verbalize their dreams. Only one held back. Smiling, I turned to her, this new girl who seemed shy, yet pert and confident in her own quiet way.
“What about you?” I asked gently. “That is, if you’d like to share. What do you want most of all?”
She looked surprised.
“You mean, besides happiness?” Her eyes were bright, her expression innocent, open, honest.
The room was still.
Staring, I took in her words, then laughed delightedly. It was THE lesson I’d been trying to impart to my students all year, the one I’d been trying to learn myself—the same one that pops up even now in my books, my blogs, my discussions, my poetry, my relationships, my thoughts, my life.
‘Out of the mouth of babes,’ or in this case, out of the mouth of a 15-year-old girl who reminded me, and all of us, that day that when all is said and done, all we really want is joy. Everything else is simply a step—and hopefully a happy one—leading us there.
Moving with God PAST THE PAIN… audiobook COMING SOON!
May 3|REFLECTIONS
My 70th birthday gift is on its way…
Just last week, I posted this message on Facebook: “So excited. Today I signed contracts with my producer and narrator for my Audible book, Moving with God PAST THE PAIN… Recording has already begin, and I expect it to be out in late May, just in time for my 70th (yikes!) birthday.
This last weekend I approved the first 15-minute segment, and now we’re definitely on our way!
Moving with God PAST THE PAIN… audiobook COMING SOON!
Apr 25|REFLECTIONS
Making decisions with joy…
Why is it so difficult for me to make decisions, I wonder. Why do I hem and haw and procrastinate and worry and… procrastinate some more? And from what I hear, I’m not alone. For most of us, making decisions—or maybe NOT making them—can be the biggest detriment to a good night’s sleep.
At least, that’s how it was for me—until recently.
Yesterday and today alone, I’ve made SO many decisions. Big ones, too. I hired a siding contractor who begins today, chose the color for the pre-primed siding to match the exterior paint color I picked out yesterday, signed contracts with my producer and narrator for my upcoming Audible book, Moving with God PAST THE PAIN…,chose a new color for my interior walls (which I’ve wanted to paint for years but didn’t dare try anything different), bought a quart of that color and painted a few walls just to see how it looked before I let the painters (whose contract I just approved) loose in a few weeks, ditched skiing at Snowbird so I could dance, workout at the gym and hike with Zoie in the bright sunshine and… oh, SO many other things. It’s been a big day, exhausting even, but fun because of all the decisions I’ve made— all the decisions, that is, that I’ve made with joy!
It’s a new thing for me, this joyful decision-making, and what a blessing it’s created in my life. While I was in the middle of a meditation about a week ago, enlightenment hit. I realized suddenly why I’d been feeling so anxious lately—that I LOATHED making big decisions and sometimes even small ones, that decision-making was, in fact, my number one nemesis, resulting in unnecessary worry and unhappiness. And in that instant, I vowed to myself to make all future decisions WITH JOY. It’s changed everything.
Even Michael’s into it. I don’t know of anyone (besides myself) who has a harder time with decisions. He stews about each and every one, researching, making phone call after phone call, researching some more and finally second-guessing himself even after he’s supposedly decided. Lately, though, he’s lightened up a bit.
“I’ve decided to go ahead with the back surgery,” he announced the other day after seeing the last of about a million surgeons over a three-year period, googling every last detail of every possible procedure—in general, driving himself, the doctors and me crazy. “And I made the decision with joy!” he added, knowing I’d love that part.
A decision is just a decision, nothing more, I realize now—a calculation we make without a crystal ball. If the outcome isn’t what we hope for, then we can choose differently later on. More importantly, we can make the best choice of all—to be happy and at peace, no matter what. Nothing else really matters in the long run.
Mar 27|REFLECTIONS
Zoie, my furry bully…
Zoie’s been picking on my couch again, beating it up every chance she gets. Like today, for instance. It’s a problem since I do like a tidy house. I’m constantly having to fix the poor thing, plumping up the pillows and sliding them back into position—until the next time.
First thing each morning or whenever she comes in from outside, Zoie stops just long enough on her “foot-drying towel” by the front door to appease me, then waits ‘til I’ve turned my back and pounces on the couch, shoving her whole body under each cushion and heaving it into the air, bullying the sofa into chaotic submission. It’s her moment of triumph, I’ve decided, her purpose in life, her Hallelujah. Her ears prick up, her tail wags maniacally, her face twists into what appears to be a wicked grin. She’s on fire!
Otherwise, she’s an angel…
Guess I’ll keep looking the other way. It does add a little humor to the day…
Mar 21|REFLECTIONS
The 10-Day Challenge…
Outside the wind is howling, jostling tree limbs and sending showers of snow down on all who dare to venture forth. Winter has resumed in earnest after a sort hiatus, but it has warmed a bit—for now, at least—mellowing with age, I suppose, as we all do.
Snowflakes swirl.
Undaunted, I snap on Zoie’s leash, zip up my jacket and step into the hat-snatching gusts. Adventure awaits.
It’s late afternoon, and the sky’s aglow with color. But still the wind rages, pushing back at me as I struggle against it. One step. Push. Another. Zoie’s fur stands straight up, and her usually floppy ears fan out airplane-like. She looks surprised.
I laugh.
“Exhilarating!” I declare and grin as the world around me takes on a new light with this playful perspective. Funny, it always does! And my 10-day challenge proceeds.
Ten days of nothing but happy thoughts, I remind myself. No complaining, blaming or shaming. No negativity of any sort, just focusing on the gifts—of everyone and everything and every situation. An impossible task, of course, except for the most enlightened beings, of which I am not one.
So why bother?
‘Choose something you’re passionate about, something seemingly beyond reach, something that might feel impossible to accomplish in a 10-day period. Believe you can do it, keep an open mind as you work toward your goal and chart your progress.’ That’s the challenge extended to readers in a journal I read recently, and I’ve decided to take it on.
But what DO I want to accomplish in the next 10 days, I ask myself, and the answer is, “Hundreds of things. No, thousands!” I’m one of those crazies, unfortunately, who keeps a gigantic To-Do list and sticks to it ’til the end, though I’m happy to say retirement has mellowed me a bit; I don’t beat myself up quite so much at the end of the day when a few items are left unchecked. Even so, I have more goals, long-term and short, than most mortals would ever care to consider, and this obsession is a problem.
I could try to become a perfect skier over the next ten days, I think, or an incredible ballroom dancer. Both goals definitely fit the ‘seemingly impossible’ criteria. Or I could whiz through the latest auditions, select the perfect reader and launch my new PAST THE PAIN Audible book—a feat that usually takes months, not days. Or finalize my colleague’s 88+ photos and publish our gift book MUDBUG AND THE WINGED CREATURE—AND, as long as I’m at it, my novel ONCE IN THE MEADOWS? (Why not? Revising and publishing two books in 10 days is about as realistic as finishing one.) I could repaint, re-carpet AND remodel my house. Or rescue all the innocents of the world, be they animal, human or plant—impossible, even ridiculous, I know, but something I brood about (and I DO wish God would do something about it soon, since my meager efforts to ease the suffering seem so limited).
I did mention I’m a bit obsessed, right? Because… well, there’s just so much to accomplish in whatever time I have left on this Earth.
Isn’t there?
Or… I guess I COULD just be happy, no matter what, for the next 10 days, I decide suddenly, mindful and appreciative and happy, doing what I can to make the world a better place. It sounds like such an easy goal compared with the other things I was considering, but sometimes staying present and happy can be the most challenging feat of all. For me, anyway.
And if I don’t accomplish all of my goals in this lifetime, let alone the next 10 days? Well, I guess it won’t really matter if I’m happy, though ironically when I’m content, I actually accomplish even more than I do when I’m not, and I bring a more peaceful energy to the world that benefits all.
“Follow your bliss, and the universe will open doors where there were only walls,” says author Joseph Campbell.
And he’s right. So my 10-day Happiness Challenge begins…
Feb 17|REFLECTIONS
Then and Now…
Morning, a while ago…
Sipping my coffee, I note the pink flush of dawn in the sky to the east and savor the all’s-right-with-the-world feeling that seeps inside my soul. It’s a familiar sensation these days, I’m happy to say, a friendly blip that’s just waiting inside whenever I’m present enough to find it there. A peaceful purr. A throb almost of bliss, as though my small and sometimes frightened self has been waiting half my life for just this time.
“Am I creating the life I want to experience?” I whisper. “What do I love about NOW?”
And the glow spreads…
Super Bowl Sunday…
Michael and I host our annual Super Bowl party. Fun but lots of work. It’s 9:00 AM the morning of; and despite the fact that we still have plenty to do before our guests arrive, we grab our skis, jump in the car and head for the slopes in search of fresh powder. The problem is half the world has the same idea, and we inch along in bumper-to-bumper traffic.
Michael, usually mild tempered, is irate. He fusses and fumes, cursing the other drivers for having the nerve to impinge on our limited ski time. I, for once, am in a mellow mood—a phenomenon that occurs once or twice a year—and though I’m as eager as he is to hit the slopes, I’m also enjoying the beauty of the drive—the high snowbanks lining the road, the sunlight glistening off the peaks to the west, the cozy warmth of the car with its seat heater firing beneath me…
“What a morning!” I observe. Michael nods, still glowering at the driver in front of him. I persist. “Guess we might as well enjoy the ride.” I could just let it go at this point, I know, but… “Or, we could just ‘STOP.’ You know, S-T-0-P—Stop! Take three deep breaths. (Come on, three deep breaths.”) I demonstrate. “That’s it. Observe. And… Proceed with love.” I end with a flourish. “There. Better, right?”
A nerve on the side of Michael’s jaw twitches.
At last, inching our way to the parking lot, we find a spot (miracle of miracles) and ski for two blissful hours. At one point while we hang 100 feet in the air, the lift stops. Turning to face me, Michael takes three loud and very deep breaths and grins. I laugh; and the lift starts up.
Today…
I sit in my chair, finishing this blog with my leg elevated and a bag of ice on my swollen knee. Though I’m not actually sure how or when the injury occurred, I can only say it’s uncomfortable—a minor inconvenience, however, compared with the horrifying event I experienced yesterday. Hobbling along a path near the PC Hill, I witnessed the attack of a deer and heard the creature’s agonized cries echoing on and on for what seemed like forever; they still resound in my heart. The owner eventually retrieved her attacking dog, and a quick-witted spectator phoned Wildlife Management, who came to the rescue. Though I don’t know the final outcome, I pray the rangers were able to save the terrified creature from its plight.
All day I was haunted by the heartrending wails of that poor animal, and through the night I found myself brooding about the inevitable suffering of nearly everyone and everything at some point in time. Dark thoughts. Endless, unanswerable musings—at least, for me (Miss Pollyanna?); at least, for now. It didn’t occur to me last night to STOP, as I had so glibly advised Michael only a few weeks prior, to take three deep breaths, observe and proceed with love. I tried; I really did. But ultimately, I spent the night tossing and turning, breathing, worrying and praying. It’s one thing to be philosophical when you’re in a traffic jam; it’s quite another after you’ve witnessed what feels like the needless suffering of another. In short, I was traumatized, as was everyone who’d been present at yesterday’s carnage.
Turning now, I gaze out the window at the sun, which floats ghostlike through the clouds, and I ask myself the question I hope will bring peace.
“What do I love about this moment?”
My stomach hurts—as does my swollen knee. But my heart hurts worse. Blinking hard, I search the sky for… something…
And wait.
Outside a bird sings, despite the cold. An errant snowflake drifts dreamily down, and then a another, and another.
“What do I love about this moment?” I ask again. And this time, the answer comes.
I love that it’s Now, and that in a different Now those of us who witnessed a sad event tried to do something about it, tried to help. I love that I have paused for this one brief interlude to notice the blessings of the world, with all its fragility and sorrow—with all its goodness, too. I love that despite my sadness, I’m grateful for all that IS.
And I am. I AM.
JAN 27, 2019|REFLECTIONS
Twilight time…
‘What shall I write about today,’ I worry as I tread my way through patches of snow and ice on a trail just minutes from my home. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged, and I’m feeling a little out of sorts about that. Winter is a busy time, with skiing and part-time work and exercising my furry friend Zoie and checking in with my grown-up kids and spending quality time with Michael and… and oh, so many things. Maybe if I had another ten hours in my day…
Just this morning at breakfast, I complained about this to Michael.
“There are always so many interruptions,” I wailed. “I need time to write—my books, my blog, everything!”
Wisely, he nodded and kept his comments to himself.
Now, trudging along on this wintery night, I reflect on my rantings.
Pink mountaintops blanketed with snow from the recent storm rise up before me, while the sky, blood-red and brilliant, sets the world afire. I am alone, except for Zoie and the mountains and the silvery trees, lifted and strong. And this is the Twilight Hour, sacred and silent, save for the crunch of boots and the soft padding of paws on snow. My cheeks burn, and my chest aches from the cold. But It’s the beauty that takes my breath away. It beckons to my soul, whispering of magic and reminding me of just who I am and why I’m here.
With every step, all worries, all cares drop away. And the world around me unfolds.
There are no interruptions, I realize. There is just life.
When I allow myself to BE, when I stop resisting and immerse myself in the Now, everything—every task, every phone call, every perceived distraction—ceases to be anything but sacred. And Life sings its song.
JAN 12, 2019|REFLECTIONS
They’re just thoughts…
Revisiting a chapter from my memoir, Moving with God PAST THE PAIN… of divorce, death or any parting of lives once joined:
I’ve been experimenting over the last few weeks with the idea of seeing my thoughts just as thoughts and not as the absolute facts I always assumed they were. And, boy oh boy, has that been interesting!
It’s as though my thoughts grab hold of me by the hand, like they’re my best friends and all; and then the next thing I know, they’ve led me to some of the darkest, most depressing corners of the world—and they’re all in my mind. One minute I’ll be thinking about my sons and how wonderful they are, then the next I’ll be blaming myself because they no longer have the stable family they once had, and the next I’ll be filled with self-loathing because I let my marriage fall apart, and the next I’ll be back in the past at one of my son’s basketball games, correcting papers instead of really watching the game every second the way a good mother would and blaming myself for that, and the next… Well, it goes on and on. My mind has become a monster that doesn’t seem to belong to me anymore, and I have become its slave.
But lately, ever since God mentioned in a discussion we had a few weeks ago that our minds don’t control us unless we let them, I’ve been noticing my thoughts without trying to fix them, simply observing them and seeing what they are and where they’re taking me. I don’t always remember to do this; but when I do, I just stop for a minute and go inside to see what’s happening there—what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling, how my body’s reacting to it all. Mostly, when I’m thinking negative thoughts, I feel a kind of burning and churning in or around my solar plexus. But when I actually take a moment to pause and notice, some of the uneasiness dissipates. Interesting!
I’ve also begun to realize that so many of my thoughts are just part of a tape I’ve been playing over and over in my mind for as long as I can remember, a tape that’s not necessarily accurate. For example, I really was a good mother and still am. Yes, I’m a busy working mother, an English teacher who has lots of papers to correct, but a supportive and loving mother, too, who’s always there at all my sons’ games and performances, watching with rapt attention far more than correcting papers. Anyway, I’ve started talking back to that tape in my mind. “Oh, it’s you again,” I say, “my critic who thinks I’m the cause of everything that’s gone wrong in the world.” Or, “Oh, here’s my ‘you’re-just-not-good-enough’ tape again. You know, I’m getting a little tired of your music. Maybe I’ll put on a different tune.”
Unfortunately, I don’t always catch myself until after I’ve fallen into this huge crevasse of worthlessness and depression. But even then if I stop to observe what’s happening inside, I find I’m usually not quite so stuck in the mire as I was before. My ‘best friends’ are still there trying to drag me down, but at least I’m not as inclined to believe everything they tell me about myself or my life or about life, in general. Just this new little bit of questioning and observing has helped me see things—myself and others and my relationships—more compassionately.
And compassion… well, whenever I view this life of mine—and those of others—from a place of compassion, I find the scenery quite extraordinary, after all!
JAN 7, 2019|REFLECTIONS
Today
A new day…
I stand in my kitchen, holding a cup of hot coffee and gazing symbolically out at the snow-covered mountains to the east as the sun clamors its way up between the two lowest cliffs and blinks at the darkness.
Morning.
Taking a sip, I open to the first morning light.
Recently I read that the indigenous people of North America do this each dawn. In the circle of life, they stand facing the east where the day begins and allow the darkness of the past and all of the memories that no longer serve them to dissolve into the light. They embrace the morning sun with the freshness and fullness of the new day before them.
Each morning now, I do this and invite you to do the same. It is a powerful ritual.
A cup of hot liquid, a turn to the east, an opening of the heart and mind. New thoughts. New awareness. New beginnings, every single day.
By seeing life in the present moment, we untether ourselves from all past judgments, fears and any other lingering thoughts that have held us back in the past from being who we are and who we have come here to be. We are here, I believe, on the planet Earth to be shining lights of love and beauty, joy and bliss. Facing the sun each morning, we brush off anything that is not in alignment with our ever increasing good and live today as the extraordinary beings we are now and have always been. When we do this, our lives get better and the lives of those around us improve, as well.
And so it is…
Happy New Day! Happy Monday!
JAN 1, 2019|REFLECTIONS
Happy New Year!
A new year…
May each of us create the lives we wish to experience, moment by moment and day by day. May we pause often in our daily activities, no matter what is happening in our lives and in the world around us, to ask ourselves, “What do I love about this moment?”
If we do these two simple things, how can we help but have the happiest New Year, New Day, New NOW ever?
DEC 23, 2018|REFLECTIONS
Christmas 2018
Another year…
…and with every passing day, I am more grateful, more aware of how fragile life can be and more determined to add a little something to the world while I’m still able.
2018 was a year to remember as they all are, of course. Highlights include skiing, hiking and biking adventures here at home; a mother/son weekend in Denver; trips to the shores of Ocean City and slot canyons of Kanab; our annual extended-family vacation, this time to Jackson Hole, with the whole gang; a biking and wine-tasting tour of Sonoma and Napa Valley; and an amazing 8-day trek with Michael and friends through the French, Italian and Swiss alps of Mont Blanc, followed by a week in Venice, Florence and beautiful Tuscany.
A note from the last trip: “All beautiful and awe-inspiring. And yet, how funny that certain quiet moments stand out most—a sunset stroll hand-in-hand with Michael along the beach, a tiny antique shop on a side street with its owner so eager to chat, a glass of full-bodied wine so good we almost cried, a quiet dinner of fresh vegetables, fish, homemade pasta and gnocchi amidst geraniums and hanging roses, our Venetian patio with its clothesline, swing, garden and rooftop view of the whole lido, news from home—some happy, some sad—and strangers reaching out to help us in the most unexpected ways. Gentle moments of life…”
Quiet talks with loved ones; a cozy meal around the fire; unexpected letters from a brother and an old friend; a simple smile—things I remember most about this year and about you, those of you I saw and those I didn’t except in my mind’s eye. All so special.
May gentle moments surround you. May you see the golden glow of dawn, hear the simple notes of a love song, smell hot rolls baking in the oven and know the love of family and friends.
And may 2019 be a year of joy and love for all!
NOV 21, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
Two-Voice Poem: Thanksgiving Morning…
Morning
again. Wasn’t it just morning
yesterday? A flower unfolds,
shifts and opens
to the blistering
blooming of sky.
I awake
again and peer through
wooden, slatted shutters
at God’s own kiss,
sweet kiss, upon the
bluing sky.
I am home,
I am home
at last. And it is Now,
my favorite time, Today,
my favorite day. Morning,
timeless, awake
asleep, at peace
and well.
Safe
in the hands,
loving hands, of God
M-m-m-m… Yes.
Morning.
NOV 18, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
And if we knew…
And if we knew…
REALLY knew…
that there is no loss,
only change,
then in the midst of all sadness
would be joy.
And the time for joy
would be NOW.
Sleeplessness
Mindless thoughts
like newly-hatched worms
seeking sustenance
begging for nurturing
from me
or God.
‘Help me,’ they cry,
and I close my eyes
to shut them out.
‘You’re not enough,’ they shriek,
and their accusations crackle
through the darkness,
tearing at the walls I’ve built
around me—
or tried to.
All I really need to do
is believe…
in myself
and all that is good.
Truth
in its many guises
needs no demonic thoughts
no carnage
no bloodshed,
Only silence
and surrender.
I throw my blankets back,
pull myself up
listen…
and turn on the light.
Spiritual Divorce
Freedom
like a tiny bird
learning to fly
Trusting its wings
faltering
falling
teetering
on the brink of annihilation
and despair.
But ascending
and soaring,
the wind under its wings.
I am
like this sparrow
at times
feeling separate and alone
in the skies
but held
by the finger
of God.
Past the Pain
Moving past the pain and despair
of blackest night
the eternal part of us
feels its way
into the light.
SEPT 20, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
Morning
Poetry sighs in my sleepy head,
signaling morning
with all its raw possibility
and purpose.
The chill air outside
calls to me,
and a tinge of orange rust
on the leaves
dangling overhead,
waving down at me
through the rectangular slit of skylight,
beckons.
Wrapped in a cotton sheet,
sipping coffee,
imbued with contentment,
I listen to the stillness,
the eternal stirring of possibilities
awaiting me
like a box of sweet and variant chocolates.
Outside,
the red sky softens,
a shard of sunlight filters
through the trees and
a new day begins…
SEPT 18, 2018|REFLECTIONS
No Regrets
“If God said, ‘Pay homage to everything that has helped you enter my arms,’ there would not be one experience of my life, not one thought, not one feeling, not one act I would not bow to.” -Rumi
So it is with my life—with all lives, I believe. And though difficult as it is at times to see this when things are happening, If I can remember this thought, then every moment, whether happy or sad, takes on new meaning. And all regrets flee…
SEPT 2, 2018|REFLECTIONS
Nothing Outside of Me
It came to me this morning like a soft feather floating from the sky. And it has stayed with me all day—during the quiet of my meditation time and later, while skiing under the turquoise, sun-kissed sky. And now—this sacred NOW.
Nothing outside of me can ever hold me back or keep me down. Nothing outside of you ever can either. We have everything we need, all the time, to be happy.
Of course, like everyone else, I forget. A driver darts out in front of me. The slopes seem overly crowded with skiers. Someone close to me is hurt or sick. If only this could change, or that, I think…
But when I pause to remember what my real goal is—not to change the world so I can be happy but to be happy within the world, this world, just as it is—then everything changes, inside and out. My WORLD changes because I create the world I want FROM WITHIN.
AUG 13, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
UNDER THE SKY
Sleepless,
I slip out the front door
into the dark
and disappear with the night,
letting the silence surround me.
It’s good to be out under the sky,
with the red planet spinning overhead
and the rustle of soft creatures nearby
and the whistle of wings far above me
as a flock of geese glide eerily by.
Nature is the Great Mother
who cradles me in her arms
when rest won’t come.
Whether I sleep tonight or not,
I’ll rise in the morning
and race along cool mountain trails
with the sweet scent of pine
and sage all around
and the wind whispering
of promises
and dreams to come.
For now, this is perfect,
this invisible dwelling,
this just-being
in the wondrous, mystical magic
of night.
AUG 10, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
Peace
Peace.
Snow geese floating overhead,
wildflowers dancing
in the breeze
on a mountainside,
storm clouds brewing,
preparing to drop
gentle rain on a parched earth,
hearts beating
with the freedom to
Be…
AUG 7, 2018|REFLECTIONS
LIFT OFF!
As I prepare for lift-off on my trip back East and this new year of being 69, I review a few life lessons that came to me while writing my memoir Past the Pain—that there is no loss, only change; that for every door that closes, another—no, 100 others—open; and that every moment of life, golden or grey, is precious and rare and oh so lovely when we awaken enough to truly see.
JULY 26, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
And if…
…And if we open
a little
each day—
if we release one instant of doubt,
one tremor of fear—
then the mist begins to part,
the sun breaks through
and we rise, unfettered,
and SOAR…
JUNE 19, 2018|REFLECTIONS
What I love…
Whenever I remember, I ask myself, “What do I love about this moment?”
The answers are sometimes surprising and always uplifting. Life is beautiful!
MAY 8, 2018|REFLECTIONS
Moments
It’s hard to believe it’s been three years since I walked the Camino and four since I published my memoir. Such amazing memories, and yet so many wonderful things have happened since then on this life journey–my love affair with Michael, which goes on and on, a son’s marriage and a daughter to add to our sweet family, two sons who make me proud and grateful every day, my furry friend Zoie, a new novel just finished that I actually wrote in part while walking the Camino, beautiful hiking, biking and ski trips here, there and everywhere, ballroom dancing with my beloved, and so many fun adventures with family and friends. Feeling blessed!
MAY 4, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
True Forgiveness
Forgiveness—
Seeing past limited perception
to the beauty beyond.
APRIL 29, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
Summer’s Song
Summer’s song
On a springtime breeze:
‘Watch for me
And rest in shade.’
AUG 13, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
Heaven
It’s our own happiness
that lifts us up into the sky,
our own song
that carries us to heaven.
APRIL 27, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
Love’s Promise
Love’s promise to all,
Crocus breaking into the light.
Sheer joy!
APRIL 25, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
To Remember
While running trails,
when I remember,
I speed up.
Amidst daily living,
when I remember,
I slow down.
And life is sweet.
APRIL 9, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
Springtime
Springtime in Park City
inches its way in
and settles
like a soft mist
around us.
MARCH 31, 2018|POETRY UNCATEGORIZED
Yes!
A rainy hike today
through the wind-swept hills
of Park City,
my heart opening to the wet beauty
of misty peaks and muddy trails. “Yes,” I shout
to the aliveness of the moment.
To all I see
and all I don’t.
To you and me and Now.