There is a family settled in on beach chairs not far from where Gerry and I have set up camp for the afternoon in a sheltered place out of the wind. The ocean is not angry, but perhaps a bit testy today. Gerry views the larger waves with a sparkle in his eye, eager to
Yes, it’s beautiful here. I don’t know why we perceive white sands, palm trees, and teal water as especially serene, but we do. Little wonder . . . it is. But is it any more awe-inspiring than snow falling from the sky like feathers dancing? Or the dry, desert-like heat of summer where we live?
I see her when we are having supper. She looks to be about eleven-years-old. Her long blonde hair falls free, it is neatly brushed, and she is wearing a one-piece green jumpsuit. She is watching the cook clean the grill and pour batter—patiently waiting for fresh waffles. Her eyes are big and observant in the
We are in Mexico. We are staying at a resort we have been to a few times in the past. It’s beautiful, and large, and it can be a challenge to find stillness even here. In the morning I sit on the beach, digging my toes in the sand, and offer prayer. In the afternoon
It’s cliche, but at some point it becomes reality, and doctors start looking like they’re teenagers. We’re in a specialist’s office and he has just discussed a course of treatment. He picks up a little voice recorder and dictates notes that will be transcribed into my husband’s chart later (I know this because he indicates,
It is midweek and I have not yet made it to my writing desk. I have, instead, leaned in to a sanctuary of another kind—a gift brought by an unlikely giver. I see that world keeps moving, even when I step out for a time. Things still get done, and disaster doesn’t befall us. I
I spend the entire morning sitting upright in bed, surrounded by friends in the form of words, doing my best to hold my head still. I sip ice water and swallow Gravol as the essential oil diffuser on my bedside table hums a healing, and fragrant, tune. I pray, mumbling words aloud, because to form them