A Simple Prayer for Remembering the Motherlode We do not become healers. We came as healers. We are. Some of us are still catching up to what we are. We do not become storytellers. We came as carriers of the stories we and our ancestors actually lived. We are. Some of us are still catching
It's late Sunday afternoon. I've just put chicken in the oven for dinner and I'm sitting at the dining table enjoying the most beautiful scent of the first lilacs Gerry snipped from the bush in the backyard and brought to me earlier. There's nothing in the world that smells as sweet as lilacs, and the
We are a smaller than normal group this morning as some women have other commitments, but those who gather to share stories they have worked on since we met last month to the prompt "mothers and daughters" come with strong words, open hearts, and the willingness to be vulnerable within the circle. There are tears
It’s windy again. I stand at the living room window and watch trees sway and silver whirligigs I put in the garden to discourage the white crested sparrows from nibbling on seeds and seedlings spin wildly. Yes, it’s windy. Again. This has been a different kind of spring. Cooler than normal temperatures and relentless wind
There's something beautiful happening at one of the homes in our cul-de-sac. It belongs to an older woman who lost her husband sometime before we moved here in 2014. I used to see her regularly heading out for a walk on the nearby hills, but I don't see her often anymore. There was a water
Gerry and I take a drive one afternoon and end up in a place ravaged by fire last summer. The aftermath is black and bleak and reminds us of last year's deadly heat dome and horrific fire season. It was a tough year for British Columbians and we pray this summer will be better. We
I love my family and I also love my solitude. Right now, Laurinda is at work, Makiya and Gerry are at the gym, and I'm home alone with the dogs. I danced a little jig when the last one was out the door. The dryer is running and, save for the tap-tapping of my fingers
Yesterday, it was a shock of green that caught my attention and today it's a shock of white—as in snow. At the top of the hillside across the valley, barely visible beneath the low cloud, there is a dusting of the white stuff. It's raining here. Real rain. The kind of rain we got when
Early in the morning, before anyone else is up in the house save for me and my tiny Yorkie, I stand at the window in the den and look out over the cul de sac. Lawns and trees are greening up and the most daring among us (read: me) have planted annuals in pots. The
Grandfather and Granddaughter are at the gym, Daughter is at work, the pups are digging into an early dinner, and I've got a few minutes to pop in here and tie up the week with a post. I lost track of time this week and was certain it was Saturday when I got up this
As you can tell, my resolve to return to daily posting isn't going so well. This is interesting, because I've been pondering discipline lately and it seems I need to do more than simply ponder. Time seems to slip away as we walk the tightrope between early spring and full-on spring. I watch weather forecasts,