Finding fresh ways to write timeless truth.
I wake from a dream in which I had returned to work in a similar role as one I was once very proficient in. I was, shall we say, less so in the dream and in my early wakefulness ponder what I remember and what’s lost to me about the technical aspect of my former
Well, we slogged our way through another week (That’s how if feels. Just keeping it real.). Friday arrives fat with promise and intention to spend a day puttering at home. Seems like another good opportunity to look back at the week that was, because despite the weight that feels so heavy it was rich with
As I’ve been pondering blogging, what it once was, and what I imagine it returning to now, I remembered The Simple Woman’s Daybook. Months ago, when I was really struggling, I began listing things in my journal that I saw, smelled, tasted, heard, and felt as a grounding practice. It sounds simple, but it helped.
It’s been years since I participated in Friday Fave Five by posting five things from the week that sparked joy. In the spirit of renewed appreciation for good old fashioned blogging and focusing on what is good and beautiful in the world, I’m going to join in today. It’s Saturday, so I’m a day late,
I wake with a reminder dancing in my mind. Think about the true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, and admirable things. The better things. The best things. And I think the Divine has whispered to me in the liminal space between sleep and waking. Low cloud hovers in the valley. There is no sunrise, just a
In the middle of the week in the middle of the afternoon I curl up under a blanket, turn on the TV, and watch a Hallmark movie. Once I longed to have time and opportunity to do such a thing. Then, when my time was my own, I made myself too busy to consider it.
We put up our three non-traditional trees. I spend the dark afternoon in the soft glow of one of them, listening to the King’s College Choir and working through edits on my manuscript. It’s time well spent. Today, more of the same—minus the manuscript. The house is winter-cozy even if it doesn’t yet feel or look
. . . the more you study delight, the more delight there is to study. Ross Gay, The Book of Delights I hit the wall again, spending the afternoon on the sofa then flitting in and out of wakefulness as Gerry and I watch a program on TV after supper. This morning I’m tired before
Another long day canning tomatoes and by the time I lift the last bubbling jar from the pressure canner I’m spent. But there’s still the garden that needs watering, and the flowerpots are thirsty, and Gerry promises a caramel sundae in the mix. That’s enough to entice me to change my clothes, freshen up, and
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
It starts to feel like it has always been winter. Cabin fever sets in. I bring some tulips home and arrange them in a vase. A bit of spring on my table. In silent solitude I sit with my camera and find peace among the waxy petals. Later, when I take the Yorkie outside I