For Alex Pretti and All at the VA

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Here’s to Alex Pretti. And here’s to his memory.

The VA, especially the VA nurses, took stellar care of my dad from the first day he entered into our care in April 2018 till the day he passed in January 2024.

Once we fully and immediately discovered that my dad could not live on his own after my mom suddenly passed, the VA helped us transition dad's care from UPMC Pittsburgh docs and his team at the Pittsburgh VA hospital to full care through the Erie VA Medical Center for two years while he lived with me and Emily in Western NY. Then the VA oversaw his care transition to the James E. Van Zandt VA Medical Center and the State College VA Clinic when he and Emily and I relocated to our home here in Central PA in September 2020.

When we knew it was no longer safe for Dad to be under our care . . . he did not sleep, so we did not sleep . . . and he had already fallen and broken a hip under my care, had multiple organs failing, and needed to be on constant watch among other incredibly challenging physical and emotional needs . . . the VA was there for us again in August 2022 as we moved him into 24-hour care at the Hollidaysburg Veterans' Home. He shared beautiful friendships with the nurses and the doctors there (one of whom I was just in touch with today). When it was time to call hospice services in, the VA coordinated with AseraCare Hospice Care in Altoona, PA.

We had so many moving parts between April 2028 and January 2024 . . . His social worker, the nurses, and the doctors through that time were angels. Big healers and space holders. I weep as I type this note, feeling the immense gratitude to those who cared and put their hearts on the line every day. They helped us with his meds, his oxygen needs (he had advanced COPD, so was on 6 litres of Oxygen 24/7), and they helped us make our home more safe and accessible to him. They coordinated his care between VA docs and community care docs (our record stood at 23 medical appointments for Dad within 13 days). They helped us coordinate emergency transport (multiple ambulance rides from Findley Lake to the ER in Erie, and then from Pennsylvania Furnace to the ER in State College).

The VA not only helped my dad, they also helped keep me and my family intact. I am still here today because of the VA and the care and support they provided to me as Dad's primary (and extremely overwhelmed) caregiver. The AseraCare Hospice group, along with the VA, then helped hold our hands and reassure us all in the final two months of Dad’s care right up until the moment he passed when his primary hospice nurse, Clarissa, was with us as I held my dad when he took his last breath.

To say that the VA and our veterans deserve respect is a watered down phrase. There are no words for how to distill this into the essence it deserves. I still am trying to find the words for how profound their impact and care touched us. My dad was a loving and incredibly complicated man. He had many psychological and physical needs including addiction to meds (many which were/are heavily regulated) and alcohol. His psychological needs were even greater than his physical needs. Perhaps that’s a story for another day . . .

The nurses not only cared for my dad, they also became his friends. Dad’s needs were great, and he was in a dedicated wing of the VA hospital reserved for veterans who had equally great needs. I saw so much when I was there with Dad . . . How the nurses and the docs showed up for all their patients every single day. They shared their time and their stories with my dad, sitting with him, talking with him. Asking him stories about his life and sharing stories of their own lives. My dad had a way of inviting everyone in his world to share their stories, a most vulnerable and healing place where my dad could hold space better than anyone I know. I will remain forever grateful for these incredibly special moments with these earth-based angels in scrubs. I hope to write and share more about these years of Dad’s care, and to share more about how the VA helped hold us together for close to seven years of what I can definitely call the most intense, stressful, and deeply taxing time of my life.

To know the VA is now honoring one of their own this week is heartbreaking. Alex Pretti died needlessly on Saturday, shot in broad daylight, on a sidewalk, in front of a donut shop, in service of helping a fellow community member. His last words to her: “Are you ok?”

I pray for Alex Pretti and his family. I pray for those who love him and who now will miss him. I pray for those who honor him now and always. I pray for the many veterans and their families he cared for. I pray for all who are in the helping and service professions. I pray for those who are needlessly losing their lives, for all families who are broken apart by federal agents (especially without due process). I pray for all who live in fear in these lean and uncertain times. I pray for all who are actively stepping up and who are calling out the atrocities of this administration.

If you have stayed with me this far in this post, thank you. I conclude by making one thing clear: I commit to keeping my heart open and I commit to keeping my eyes and my mind open even more.

Mistake not my soft and open heart and eyes. Keeping them open takes daily work (sometimes moment-by-moment). A lifetime of being fed bullshit stories and living through (and doing my best to heal) dysfunctional family patterns within myself; living through the daily hellscape of caring for my beautiful dad while also trying to raise a teenager, keep my relationship with my husband and my stepdaughter intact, pandemic isolation, keeping up with my own work as best as possible; caring for myself in the midst of all of this and learning what my own needs are (???). I am sharper, more resolute, and I am also tough as fucking nails.

After witnessing the atrocities of this current administration and waking up the next day and praying for a better one . . .

Let me make ONE thing clear: if you still support this administration, I invite you to take a good, clean, sober look in the mirror. Ask yourself what part of history you want to be a part of. This administration is a part of history I have never and will NOT support. My boundaries are intact and fortified. I am solid in my commitment.

Thank God my dad passed when he did. As a lifelong Republican until 2020, an Army veteran, a hometown banker, a dedicated member of Rotary International and many community groups . . . As a loyal husband and an even more amazing father, my dad was outraged and regularly horrified at Trump Version 1.0. He’d lose his shit over Version 2.0. We most certainly did not upgrade.

God, please help us all and hold our country strong. Thank you, Alex Pretti, and thanks to the VA for helping our veterans.

Violence

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"Actions, rhetoric, and consequences are not separate islands—they feed each other."

I have read this sentence in a few places and would like to attribute it to someone, yet I am not finding the direct source. I do find wisdom here though. And, in addition to actions, rhetoric, and consequences, I also add 'thought' to this sequence as it naturally precedes the others. Most importantly, what I find interlaced between thought, action, rhetoric, and consequence is our own deeply personal and reactive nature.

So much of what we pay attention to moment by moment is deeply reactive. Current events are triggering. And paying deep attention to these events feeds a certain kind of addiction to the drama. We know this, right? We're drawn in and we immediately lose our perspective and commitment to be present, thoughtful, clear, and communicative. This isn't our fault. This is how we're wired. Sure, we can be balanced within this all without being inundated, yet balance is not easy to find for most of us once we dive in. The world is not black and white, not cookie cutter, and yet our reactive systems try to make us believe this to be true. Us vs. Them. Right vs. Wrong. Left vs. Right. You catch my drift.

So then, much of how we're moving collectively nowadays comes from this reactive and fractal place in our system. Violence also comes from this place in our system. The traumas we have sustained (and are sustaining) come from this system. I'm not saying you are a violent and traumatized person... yet here we are. We're human. And we're hurting.

We need to heal. All of us. And it starts with the person you see in the mirror, not the person on the other end of your pointed finger/accusation. It starts with the voice(s) in your head. It starts with your thoughts and thought process. It starts with being held accountable. It starts with understanding we can carry this responsibility for ourselves, and we can help to carry it for one another. I do not think we can do this by ourselves, and we certainly cannot do it in our shallow echo chambers. This is going to take work.

Truthful, peaceful, and deeply productive conversations need to happen. Everywhere. Now. Pointing fingers and placing blame... especially on social media? This goes nowhere. Time to move forward. Time to evolve.

I can share that two family members have died due to gunshot wounds. I was raised by an angry and verbally abusive mother whose volume and intensity increased steadily as she got older. I was four months pregnant with my daughter on this tragic day twenty-four years ago. I have actively worked with depression and suicidal thoughts since I was fourteen. I am no stranger to violence and the voices in my head, and I know full well my own reactive nature. I was raised to fight and to push through. To be hard. I can access this even now, yet it is not my nature. It is not where I am in balance. I speak freely about these things, especially with my daughter, because I have needed to heal these places within myself. She deserves to know the truth, and she too deserves to heal from these generational patterns.

This is why I do the work I do. It inspires me every single day. It starts with me; the woman I see in the mirror. I want to be held accountable for my thoughts, actions, and rhetoric; and I sure do want to be aware of the consequences.

We can all do this. Together. Bless our path.

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

Reflecting on Death and Dying

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My dad’s memorial service was held one year ago on this day. His and my mom’s ashes were then buried together in the cemetery where four previous generations of his family are interred. I felt immense relief at the end of the day one year ago, in completing the last step of holding my dad and honoring him as best I could during the six years we cared for and advocated for him. I imagined that I’d feel more myself at the end of the day one year ago, more like the sense of my self had come back in.

Yet, as I sit here today, I can share that I am somewhat more lost than ever. I became an empty nester at about the same time as I became an orphan. My life had been dedicated to parenting, and then to caregiving. So, now passed the crossroads of these milestones, I now have the luxury of reflecting and of finding balance.

I don’t know if I’ll come back from caregiving with the same lightness I once carried. I seek to see the world with freshness again, yet I am bone weary. I wish my parents had the courage to communicate with each other and with me about their declining health and their needs as they got older. Instead, they slammed phones and doors and avoided me, shutting out any possibility of conversing about what was inevitable. That day finally arrived when my mom suddenly passed, and it all came crashing down on my shoulders. I wish I had been prepared. I wish I had been more resilient. Most of all I wish I missed my mom and dad now. I don’t, especially her. This makes me sad, yet I am so much more relieved they are both free from their suffering; her from her demons and him from his pain.

Caregiving shattered me and it crushed me. I’m not sure how else to put it. We moved through each day working off sheer will and instinct. Outside of the high demands of his physical needs, his mind was both beautiful and complicated. He was lost when my mom died: she controlled every part of his life. Thankfully she went first. I realized immediately that I could be there for my dad. If he had passed first, there is no way in hell I could have cared for her. Sitting with sixteen months between his passing and where I am today, I know for sure now there is absolutely no way I’d go back and take care of my dad again if I had the choice.

Today I invite my heart to break open so I can peel back more layers of our complicated family dynamics. Today I have time to reflect. Today I can share too that too many years of holding complications internally does not fare well for our physical health in the long run. Life is complicated. Family dynamics are complicated. I am willing to admit that I am complicated.

Here’s to healing and releasing, opening and allowing softness back into our bodies, our lives, and especially our hearts as we all make our way forward. Here’s to quieting the multitude of distractions so the mind can fully clear.

I want to recognize those in my tribe who have stayed close, especially my husband. I have not been myself for a very long time. It is truly beautiful to see who has remained with me, holding my hand and heart tenderly in the stadium of life after a big game, after the sun has set, and the crew has turned off all the lights. From this place of supported darkness, we can truly see the stars and the moon shine.

Someday, I hope to help others feel more prepared if they find themselves in the same position. Death and the dying process are not the worst of what I faced: they have been the most magical aspects of this entire experience.

(This is the last image taken of my dad and I holding hands. He passed a few hours after this was taken.)

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

Here's to Mondays

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So to counteract the doom and gloom of our country's ongoing political meltdown crap show, I now choose to share something that brings me great joy.

I freaking love Mondays. I've had friends laugh through the years when I share this with them, and they then ask me what the hell am I thinking! Yet why not look at Mondays differently? Mondays get a bad rap collectively, and so from the time I was young, I decided I would look at Mondays differently. There's gotta be an upside. And there sure is. And it all comes down to what we choose to believe.

On this Monday, I am celebrating my new Whole Seed Catalog and all of the promise it carries. This is my spring go-to for garden inspiration and ideas. And, while I'm at it, I love my old Bass canvas bag. This workhorse has been by my side since I was 14 and she's still going strong. Who needs new, fancy, trendy and expensive when you have trusty, sturdy, and dependable? (This, by the way, is how I look at most material objects.)

On this Monday, what brings you joy? Let's shift our worlds. Let's share what brings us joy and life and happiness.

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

My Daughter

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There is a lot I can say about my daughter.

What comes to mind this very moment is how resilient and determined she is. This time last week she started working with an orthopedic surgeon who was evaluating her for a stress fracture in the neck of her left femur. She was scheduled for an MRI Wednesday and, depending on the results, she’d either go into surgery as soon as possible and/or remain on crutches for the next six to eight weeks. Either way, she was going to need to look at the next two months very differently. I witnessed her making immediate adjustments moment by moment as this very new information was coming forward, understanding this last semester of school suddenly looked very different.

It was determined that she would in fact go into surgery so that two screws could be utilized to help reinforce her femur. Remarkably this was her first surgery and she did great. Deep breaths and now to invite the healing process to begin!

She is still required to be on crutches for six to eight weeks and is adjusting in stellar ways. Fast forward to this week and she has exceeded all expectations, making her way around town and campus like a champ. Her dad and granddad were due last weekend for a visit and lo and behold, this image of her was taken by her dad when they went out Friday night for a drink and a piece of pizza. I am finding despite the frustrations she faces at times, her spirit rises to the occasion and she creates a new pathway forward.

On this day celebrating daughters, I honor mine in more ways than I can count. Here’s to you, Emily. May you continue to shine your light even during the darkest of moments.

I love you ❤️

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

The "Firsts"

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They say the “firsts” are the hardest. I’m somewhat on board with that feeling, although I had a lot of “firsts” with my mom’s passing that were not typical. For my dad, we honored his first birthday this past Thursday since his passing in January. He would have been 82.

To be honest he was not much of a birthday guy and argued each year about not wanting to celebrate and grumbled about getting older and less able-bodied. He was angry at his body and so we did our best to cheer him regularly, especially on each of the six birthdays he was with us after my mom’s passing. It felt important to share with him that we were glad he was still here with us and experiencing more of life with us than he ever had the opportunity to do so before. Celebration was not something he and my mom practiced easily.

I dreamt of him in the early hours of his birthday on Thursday. We embraced tightly as if we hadn’t seen each other in a very long time. He was happy. What a gift I was given! I cherish the moments in dreams we connect, and each time I am reminded that he is doing well.

We have memories to lean into and I am glad to have photos of him from earlier times. In this image, he is on the beach near where I lived in Florida with my faithful companion Brown Dog. He looks strong and healthy, straight and happy. He had many health challenges already at this time, and yet I will hold him in this place for a while in my heart feeling his love and seeing his smile, hearing the gentle surf of that day, feeling the sun on our skin, and sharing a peaceful moment of connection.

Happy birthday, Papa. I’m so glad we had an extra six years. I love you ❤️

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

Closing the Circle

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We spent the long weekend honoring my dad and laying to rest his and Mom's ashes. We now close the circle of her sudden passing six years ago and complete this chapter of learning how to become spontaneous caregivers for Dad who has needed us so desperately.

I realize on the other side of this weekend I can now start to reframe the stories, experiences, hardships, and heartaches of being parented by two incredibly lovely, yet devastatingly out of balance individuals. They were trying to do their best. Life is full of contrasts, isn’t it? I have so much deep healing to do and stories to understand. I know I would not be who I am today without the family who raised me. Blessing upon blessing, I have also been raised (and continue to be raised) by so very many who are not related to me through bloodlines.

One thing I know for certain is that I have needed community to help care for and advocate for us especially in dire times. I've learned I cannot and do not want to journey on my own in this lifetime. No man (or woman) is an island, yet this is the message I was taught and shown for 42 years. For my mom and my maternal lineage especially, asking for assistance was shown to be a weakness and significant lack of character. How debilitating this message was and how my heart goes out to all who are not able to trust others and reach out for help when they need it most.

Now more than ever we also need to be fully accountable, honest, and vulnerable. How else are we going to make it? Every day this is our choice.

The clarity created out of absolute necessity these past six years has provided a canvas upon which to build a solid new foundation. I will begin to build again. Rest is first though: my mind has been overwhelmed, my body is exhausted, and my spirit absolutely needs quiet and stillness and space to learn how to breathe again.

I hope to write more about all of this when I find the balance in my heart and in words. I feel there will be many words to share.

For now, I thank all who have offered love, support, and encouragement through the years. I see you and I hold you close. For the first time in so many years, I am starting to see the light of hope and joy and connection in the future again.

Image: the meadow space at home where I plan to spend a lot of time in the coming months laying on the ground and coming back to foundational basics.

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

The In-Between

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I spent most of the day in the library earlier this week diving into a new course dedicated to rest and softly holding the liminal space within sacred transition. This is a year for my heart to honor endings and new beginnings, and I am ready. I also realize I cannot do this alone as these in-between spaces are massive.

Between the in-between the other day I hugged and chatted with my kiddo between her classes and then my man and I got out for a sunset hike in the chill with our pup (that in-between of the light and dark of day at dawn and dusk has always been my favorite light).

In these small moments that feel so special and big in the moment, I realize how much I appreciate the in-between. No matter who we are or where we are, we are constantly in these in-between spaces. It is not always as comfortable, yet all are absolutely necessary for proper transition from one chapter to another.

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

Active Labor

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Almost a full month out now from my dad’s passing and I am beginning to rise with fresh eyes and renewed heart. I have seen how his beautiful and effortless transition has freed him from his great suffering and me from his care. Becoming a spontaneous caregiver and logistics holder for my dad six years ago has changed me forever. There have been many blessings, and I also realize the life-altering events that have taken place. I am beginning to deeply grieve the life I was creating at that time. These past six years have not allowed me to pay much attention to anything other than what is directly in front of me each day with Dad's needs and the immediate needs of our family.

It did not take long for me to recognize these years have felt deeply akin to my active labor process when my daughter was emerging from my amazing body 22 years ago. Six years of active labor with Dad’s release have gifted me the moment that, upon his passing, I sat back in full awe and utter amazement. I held Dad through the morning and then through the moment of his transition. Once words could be found, I shared with Dad’s beautiful hospice nurse that I felt like I had just witnessed a baby being born… it was nothing short of miraculous. This feeling of amazement was so very similar to the miraculous moment I held my daughter in my arms for the first time.

I recognize the gift of seeing this world washed anew and what life means to me now. I am raw, vulnerable, exhausted, grieving the life I thought I would embody, and I am hopeful. I am celebrating the love and the friendship my dad and I still share even though he is no longer embodied. I am grateful for having an amazing support network holding me tightly even now. I am holding all of this so tenderly and with immense presence and care.

My husband said to me upon Dad’s passing, “You have been running a marathon every day for six years. It is now time for you to rest.” And so, I shall. I will rest. I will grieve. I will also rebuild with a completely new foundation of what I am understanding now to be aligned with my path and calling as I embrace this second half of my life.

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

Dear Dad

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Dear Dad,

For you, a perfect Sunday was to start off by sharing a big breakfast with us along with a Bloody Mary (with bacon, of course!) and then to get the Steelers on.

On this Sunday afternoon I sit here at the dining room table. This brisk and wild January wind is blowing all of the sets of chimes out there on the deck, and the late afternoon sun is pouring through the window warming my face and my tears as they pour down my cheeks.

On this Sunday afternoon I sit here equipped with my Bloody Mary (with bacon, of course) and my pen and pad. Through tears of happiness and heartbreak I begin to collect some thoughts.

How do I encapsulate the legacy of your 81+ embodied years… living as an absolutely stellar, loving, faithful, heartfelt, kind, gentle, soft, wise, humble, community-minded, service-oriented, nurturing, fun, and generous human being? You carried more integrity in your little finger than most in their entire being-ness. You were also daring, adventurous, naughty, rebellious, and dangerous (a bit, haha). You are truly a good man and a badass too. And… swoon… sooo handsome (I know, I know… you always brushed off compliments, yet they kept coming).

You are my best friend, #1 cheerleader from Day 1, lifelong confidant, and Anam Cara. You are the greatest father I could have ever asked, dreamed, prayed, and hoped for. You have been the best G’Pa for Emily for almost 22 years, and then being here for Lili as a bonus-G’Pa these past nine years. You have been the best brother for your sister. You have been the best father-in-law for both Jeff and for David. You have been a best friend to all you meet. Above all, you were the most amazing, loving, and loyal partner for your wife of 60 years. We let you know last week your mission was to reconnect with Mom, and wow, I hope your reunion has been glorious. I truly hope and pray all is well now.

We are so damn blessed to have six extra years with you after Mom’s sudden passing in 2018. With you living with us, we three generations saw and experienced life to the fullest together. All of it. You didn’t even miss a beat with your move to receive 24-hour care at the Hollidaysburg Veterans’ Home in August 2022. We have been blessed to still share time with you often, and I am delighted that even on those days we were together in person we’d still be on the phone three, four, five, six times a day checking in on each other. We always told each other we loved each other more than once on those calls. I heard you share those three words for the last time last Monday… so almost a week ago... I will treasure that, and will also hold close in my heart the last gaze and smile you gifted me Thursday.

I feel hollowed knowing the phone now will not ring with you on the other line. I hold hope and pray you and I remain close. I still need you, and even while I celebrate you and am so proud of your great big and wondrous Heavenly step Friday, I have absolutely no idea how to live life without you now…. I am gutted knowing you’re not in your bedroom here at our home. My heart aches with how much I already miss you. Even though you were small in stature, you carried a huge heart presence. I am feeling that loss of your physical presence and yet I feel your heart and love everywhere now… it is going to take me some time to adjust, I know.

Dad, you were not only a stellar human within our family circle, you embraced everyone in the greater community circles to feel like family too. In these last six years especially, I have witnessed and learned (up through even today) how you have touched so many people’s lives. You are a healer and and a helper: one who has been placed here to most definitely make the world a better place.

Aside from being my father, you have also been my first teacher and mentor. Even in your last moments you were showing me how much there is to see when we slow down, remain soft and steady and quiet, remain present, and breathe. You showed me what it was to experience a very good death. I have so much to learn from you still… we all do. Please continue to teach us. I am so proud of and happy for you and I am learning how to celebrate your passing with all my might.

I pray I follow in your footsteps as you lead. I will forever be grateful for everything… thank you.

I wish for you sunset walks on the beach with Mom. I know you two always loved that threshold place of sun, wind, sand, and water.

I wish for you access to a lot of fast cars, motorcycles, helicopters, and hot-rod vintage beauties with big engines. Jeeps and old Mustangs, especially... I hope you can work on them there too ‘cause that’s what you loved to do.

I wish for you treasure troves of beautiful, straight, raw wood to shape, mold, craft, build with, sand and stain. I hope to follow in your footsteps here too as I embrace woodworking. (I’m keeping your tools though, so you’ll have to find your own there, ha!)

I wish for you thousands of books to read. Wow, I love your love of reading.

I wish for you the reconnection with all of your loving pups... Laddie, Loupe, Heidi, Samantha, and Lil' Bit. Please give Libby, Brown Dog, Smokey, Porter, and Kolby my love (and a rawhide too).

I wish you well on your final flight, Sir. Godspeed. Thank you for your service.

Raising my glass right back to you. I will listen for your voice and feel your embrace on the wind.

I love you All Ways ~

Jennifer

P.S. I hope you get to meet Tina and I hope Mom has hooked up with Elvis :)

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Thank you in advance for all who have held space for us these past six years while we've cared and advocated for Dad. A big celebration is forthcoming... May 4th in Murrysville, PA. More details to come soon

The Sacred and the Mundane

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I am dedicating this to the most sacred of places we may find mundane, normal, and passed by.

This is the entrance to a country driveway. This is a spot that most drive past every day without even taking notice. To the left of this drive is a large, bountiful cornfield. To the right is a pasture for beautiful and friendly dairy cows.

What I can share about this spot is that it may be the most magical of all passed by places on Earth. For this spot is where, eight years ago, I was held for the very first time by the Man who caught my breath in my chest and heart and dreams, and who invited me to rethink everything about what I understood a relationship could be.

This is the place where I Knew when I first held Him, I was holding onto a great tree of a Man - an ancient oak of a Man. I immediately Felt this and Knew this as soon as I put my arms around Him in this place, that He could hold me steady through all of what Life has to contribute. And, not only have we held each other through the storms, we have held each other in tenderness, laughter, joy, healing, connection, hope, creativity, and immense expansion as individuals.

When I pass by this place I feel the rush, the excitement, and the promise.

Here is to all of the sacred places we pass by every day. We may not understand it immediately in our mundane daily flow, but we pass by places like this every day... places where love has been kindled and places where love has been lost... places where life has been created and places where life has transitioned... places where brilliance has been fully realized and places where great suffering and atrocities have occurred.

The land upon which we all move is the same land upon which our ancient peoples moved... ancestors of ancestors. They hold us even now as we move through our daily and sacred mundane. The land holds us now through our daily and sacred mundane.

Please notice all of these sacred and mundane and normal places as you pass by. All we need to do is to slow down, to listen, and to become aware that these places exist everywhere.

The land and our collective ancestors will benefit from our attention, our care, and our tending.

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

Creative Needs

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I am welcoming my Self into these Autumn energies by deeply embracing creative needs. I am playing with inks and paints and pens and brushes again. I am writing every day. I am receiving support from mentors and bodyworker-healers. I am investing deep time offline and enjoying the process of hearing my own voice and heart. I am embracing more closely the cycle of life and death, the sun and the moon, lightness and darkness, the change and pace of seasons... and the greatness of it all. I am working with my amazing partner to reconfigure space in our home to suit our needs for family and creativity and work. I am deeply enjoying this powerful, creative, soft feminine way of being in the world.

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

New Beginnings

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I have always found writing to be inspirational and transformational. Creating connection and healing through words has been my primary form of work for a decade, and yet writing creatively outside of work with regular intent is something I have put on the back burner these past five+ years while my world regularly danced and dangled me upside down. As space comes back into my life, so do the shapes, images, colors, textures, channels, and words that flow through me. To say the least I am very excited.

This coming Sunday I begin a new project dedicated to writing and rest and soul work with an exceptional writer I have followed for many years. Join in if you feel called. I find David Whyte's "Three Sunday Series" to be a small and manageable commitment that will pay off for many moons to come. My fountain pens are inked, and my journals are ready.

https://live.davidwhyte.com/

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.

The Art of Change

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Wow... I shared this image SIX YEARS ago on Facebook?

The world was a very, very, very different place for my heart and reality six years ago. Never ever would I have imagined the shifts our family would move through since then, especially beginning in April 2018. I am choosing to celebrate It All.

My husband and I shared a good old-fashioned gratitude-induced cry in the kitchen this morning. We have been by each other's side since 2015 (living 3.5 hours away from each other for most of this time) and for that I am incredibly grateful. So much to share and so much to honor, especially these home spaces that have held us through the years. The invitation continues to open for so much healing and rest and connecting here in this current reality after all we’ve moved through, especially after the massive shake-ups of the past five years. I am grateful and happy to understand I am feeling a bit more robust each day and I am looking forward to some mighty adventures in the coming months.

Still, I am feeling nostalgic for this amazing space I called home for five beautiful years between 2013 and 2018. I miss this garden.... those rocks and that quince... the apple tree in the back where the doe would graze in the late summer mornings and evenings while their fawns stayed close by in the tall grass. I miss that double rocking chair. I miss that beautiful barn. I miss being close to the circle of my closest women-sisters, knowing this home and the spirit of this home held so many of us women and our children and our dreams through deep life transitions. I miss drinking coffee out of that fantastic mug (she holds paint brushes now in my creative space). I miss the idea of what I thought the years between 2018 and 2023 would look like.

Yet, it's all been so beautiful and filled with blessings despite the different and immediate circumstances I was invited into. Different and difficult yes, yet marvelous in so many ways and grounded in instinct and the power of rootedness to place and what Home really means to me. Life is full of change, and while I have been practicing the Art of Change for almost all of my close-to-50-years on the planet, I can say the last five years have really been the biggest learning curve. I know I carry forward so much from these times of learning including my heart who is softer and more open and receptive than I could ever imagine.

I Am Here, no matter where my heart finds herself. I Am Home now, no matter where my home space may be. I Am Grateful for It All <3

Until next time I offer these words of wisdom for better or for worse. Please take them with a grain of salt for we each live our own individual truths. Our mission while we are here is to understand, accept, and celebrate that one very simple, but incredibly significant fact. For all this, I am grateful.