Finding fresh ways to write timeless truth.
We say of someone that their world has become small as if that’s a bad thing. Maybe we could all use a bit more small. A bit more quiet. Sitting on the porch listening to morning birdsong, smelling freshly mown grass, and having a time of thoughtful reflection. A bit more home. Washing dishes by
It’s so sweet to have no fixed agenda, no time commitments, and the opportunity to spend time with my husband doing whatever whenever. Sometimes no schedule is the best schedule. Sometimes I forget that. Yesterday: hot springs, drifting, tulip festival, drifting, hot springs, and a special dinner. Today: some of the same and meandering our
Yesterday, we drove the same highway we took two decades ago enroute to our honeymoon destination in Victoria, BC. We were on the way to somewhere different this time, somewhere we think we might have been before—maybe even on our way home from our honeymoon—but we’re not certain. After two decades, our memories are soft
Daylight Saving Time is still beating me up, and Gerry is worn out from a hike so we decide to turn in early. By the time I arrange my pillows for optimum reading comfort, and move things around on my bedside table so everything is in easy and familiar reach, he’s already in bed reading.
I putter around in my kitchen putting lunch dishes in the dishwasher and wiping counters. I empty the coffee pot and grind beans for the next morning’s must-have elixir. I snip Thai and Genovese basil leaves from plants growing in my Aerogarden, putting them in dishes for later use. I rub my thumb and forefinger on thyme
From the vantage point of my warm bed, I watch the eastern sky grow pink over the familiar hills of home. It is cold outside. I have no desire to go out and watch the sun rise as I did just a few days ago on the beach in Mexico. While is the same sun
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
Our home feels different this morning. It is the first morning since before Christmas that it’s just been the two of us (three of us, if you count Maya) waking up. It has been a full and joyous season, but I am looking forward to a good measure of silence, solitude, and stillness. I’m going
“Do we have anything planned for tomorrow?” Gerry asks from the living room where he’s watching junior hockey with the sound off. ”I’m going to do a whole lot of not very much,” I say as I stir a pot of turkey stew.. ”I’m going to sleep in,” says Makiya, looking up from the jigsaw puzzle
Makiya is excited to sit in the hot tub after their journey so, not long after they arrive, we three girls have a soak and a chat. She started writing the annual Christmas play in the car on the way down, later she conducts interviews and, with great ceremony, chooses a director (Laurinda). I assume
I wake with anticipation: our girls arrive today! The quiet contemplation of Advent is about to give way to the joy of Christmas as seen through the eyes of a child. In these quiet, solitary, early moments of the day, I rest in gratitude. This dark December season has been a sweet one, and I