#Reverb 14, Day 12

1. It all starts with kindness. Everything I have learnt, everyone I have interviewed, every word I have studied has guided me to this simple but profound conclusion: true happiness begins and ends with self-kindness.

No more guilt. No more shoulds. No more comparison.

And the very best way to give your weary soul some kindness at the end of this year? A love note.

Write a letter from you to you... filled with forgiveness, love, and a big bear hug.

2. Future self.  Write a letter to your future self, telling the future you about what you hope for you.'

Dearest Beth,
You are simply an amazing woman. Really. Your husband tells you that all the time, your daughters have told you that many times, in spite of all the past tensions and boundary-setting and arguments you've had with them, in spite of the times when you've sobbed over what you knew was likely the end of your relationship with them (and it hasn't been, so far anyway!).  

You've eased off that self-recrimination, that stupid little interior judge that pronounces you too fat, too mouthy, too lazy, too unhealthy, too -- well, you remember. That's GREAT. Keep it up in 2015, girlfriend. Let it goooooo....for good.  .

You overcame some really scary fears this year, didn't you, and you replaced them with light, and with kindness, and with energy, and you learned new tools and techniques to help you going forward. We know the fear can come back, but you don't have to let it be so paralyzing, so frightening. You know how to fight that blackness and fear, so continue to learn and practice and be positive. Take kindest care of yourself, your body, your health, your mind. You are the only YOU.

You've done better at doing things you want to do this year and not putting them off: do more of that, too. (This is not a dress rehearsal, sweetpea.) Have fun, go to events and places you are drawn to, do things you think you'd enjoy, play a lot more! Travel more: you're already planning some great trips to see friends and family and both new and old places. Embrace that with your whole heart and mind. Keep a journal of the trips so you remember the little things, the day-to-day things. You'll love doing it, you know.

Say thank you to the Universe every day, and say thank you to the people who matter to you. Send more cards. Write more letters. You are filled with so much gratitude -- share that with people who may need to receive it. Be generous with yourself and your loved ones, even more than you already are. You are so, so blessed!

What matters most is kindness, and you have been the recipient of much kindness this year. Do more. Be more. Love more. Live fully, as you've been learning to do. Forgive yourself -- you know, all those piddly little past memories that still occasionally come at you of things you think you did 'wrong'? You know who else remembers them? NO ONE. So let it goooooo. 

Be exactly who you are, Beth, not what you think someone expects you to be. You are enough. You are loved. You are funny and smart and wise. And yes, a smart-mouth sometimes, and yes, a little cynical sometimes. But that is who you ARE. You are unique, lovie. There is no one else like you in the Universe! Isn't that amazing? 

I love you, Beth. I love who you are becoming, every day, every month, every year. You aren't done yet! So get out there and LIVE, girl. 

All love and blessings to you, always --
Your Highest Self


 

 

April Moon 14: Day 5-7 -- Focus, Nuance, Texture

Focus

What feelings does this word evoke? What sorts of memories does it recall? Which of your senses start to tingle? How would you represent what this word means to you?

Like many women, I tend to have several conversation threads running at the same time in my brain: "I can use these leftovers and create _____ for supper," "Let's see, no appointments today, yay, so let's file those long overdue papers," "Need to make time for the latest Oprah-Deepok meditation," "Oops, still laundry to fold," "Wonder what the freebie Kindle is today," and you get the picture. All jumbled up at the same time, but following each one.

FOCUS  is when I follow only one thread at a time. The other conversations, to-do lists, and worries fade away. My attention is riveted only on one thing. Like in meditation: I am focused on my breath, in and out, and if necessary, use a mantra to help me focus only on that. (Sometimes it works for a brief time too! And then I bring my focus back to the breath. And again. And again.)

Sometimes it's called multi-tasking. Actually, it often results in things done poorly, incompletely, or dropping off the radar completely (until you're trying to go to sleep, that is, and then whoosh -- there it is).

Focus helps me do a better job of nearly anything I'm trying to do. It helps me pay attention to conversations with my friends and loved ones because I'm not thinking of what I'm going to say, I'm LiSTENING to what they are saying. It helps me appreciate what is around me every day -- my home, the beautiful countryside, the individuality of our kitties. When I focus, I see more, feel more, and it stimulates great gratitude for what is there.

Less multi-tasking. More focus. Yeah, you, there, in the sweatpants. One. Thing. At. A. Time. Listen. Open. Be Present, right here, right now.

Nuance

What feelings does this word evoke? What sorts of memories does it recall? Which of your senses start to tingle? How would you represent what this word means to you?

OOOOhhh--Nuance is another step in FOCUS, actually, where you pay extra close attention and see a slightly different viewpoint, hear a slightly different tone, see a slightly different perspective, understand something in a slightly different way.

You must be very focused, really immersed in something, to capture the nuances. As you look and listen and examine and feel and see, focus expands not off the subject or thing or person, but wider, sort of like a macro lens on a camera, where you see subtle variations that enhance your perception and appreciation, and expanding your knowledge and understanding. It is the difference between strolling through an art gallery and studying one picture.

When I pay attention, I see nuances. Again, being where I am, present in the moment, will open me to subtleties of life and what I experience.


Texture

What feelings does this word evoke? What sorts of memories does it recall? Which of your senses start to tingle? How would you represent what this word means to you? 

Years and YEARS ago I wrote an essay for a high school English class on visiting a fabric store and discovering the texture of the different fabrics: corduroy, lace, damask, tulle, flannel, cotton, linen, silk, etc. Even now, I can recall the feeling of these different fabrics on my fingertips and how different each texture is, and even the emotions the texture evokes: the soft warmth and nubbiness of the flannel makes me think of cold winter nights and warm flannel sheets and jammies, for instance. The open, slightly stiff but airy weave of tulle says PARTY to me, even more specifically, WEDDING! 

Food texture also stimulates memory: the silky warmth of creamy tomato soup and a crunchy melty-smooth grilled cheese is pure comfort food and memory for many of us. I love the sogginess of graham crackers well-soaked in milk, a kind of slurry almost, that slid down sore throats easily and makes me remember that treat when I didn't feel so good and the comforting care my mother gave me when I was sick. Crisp, fresh lettuce straight from the garden, still slightly sun-warm, and drizzled with a good olive oil and a bite of fresh Meyer lemon makes my mouth pucker in anticipation.

Everything has texture. It gives our moments depth and creates memory. It makes our experiences richer and more meaningful. And again, it is all about paying attention, being in the moment, focusing on one thing at a time, finding the nuances in the experience.





 

Geographic 'cure' -- usually doesn't work

Are you familiar with the term 'geographic cure'? It's when you believe that a change of residence will 'cure' your addiction to any substance, or your poor lifestyle choices, or your out-of-control gambling/spending/shopping/eating/sex/whatever habits, and instantly give you new, much better for you friends and a new life.

In all fairness, sometimes a move can certainly help the situation, especially if you move to a place where you have few, if any, ties, and you are utterly committed to changing what brought you down in the first place.

But most of the time it doesn't work very well.

Because the issues you want to escape are internal ones, perhaps manifested outwardly by your choice of friends, your habits, your living situation. Change the scenery you may, but changing the interior issues is not as easy, and it is often lonely and discouraging (at first) work.

No matter where you go, there you are.

That appears to be the case with R, alas. The geography change wasn't very far, in the first place,and within a week of her move, she has invited a friend back into her life who is herself struggling with several issues and has a following of questionable friends. Evidence appearing this week seems to indicate that R's 'fresh start' is little more than a change in residence and furnishings.

So it's a reminder that I can save only one life: my own. It's a reminder that I cannot fix anyone except myself. It's a reminder that I need to work my own program, one day at a time, focusing on 'what is' rather than 'what I would like it to be' or even 'what I am afraid it is.'

Our minds are powerful: I can imagine scenarios and create fear and generate worry with nothing more than a handful of observations. I can cause sleepless nights and churning stomach and lump-in-the-throat anxiety.

But I can also focus on the here and now, one moment at a time, and on what is in my own life: a beautiful day, an engaging book, a good yoga workout, a few good friends who listen and soothe, and remember that I am powerless over people, places, and things. I do not have to live with imagined consequences of another's choices.

My daughter has her own path, her own journey, to take care of, and I have mine. I have no responsibility for hers, and I will not sacrifice my own life and my journey. That is a choice I make daily, and that is the most loving thing I can do for both of us. God is not finished with her yet, and she is stronger than she may think she is.

A January Reverb prompt -- woohoo!

One of the Reverb teams I followed during December's look back at 2013 is sending monthly prompts this year, which is a great way to check in with oneself. When you have to really think about your days and activities, patterns emerge, thoughts clarify, actions take on new importance. Thank you, Meredith, Sarah, and Kat.

This month's prompt: Routine | Have you started a new routine this January?  Is this routine different from last year?  Is it the result of a resolution or goal you're working on?  Tell us about your days.  How do they flow?  If you'd like, maybe give us a full "day in the life" or just some snippets.

Oops. Welll....I hit 'publish' when I meant to hit 'save,' so let me try to catch up!

The routine I had envisioned for myself this January got shot all to pieces when my daughter finally became ready to move out of what we have dubbed 'The Orc Nest,' the house in which she has lived with her now ex-boyfriend and paid rent (and many other bills), and which has been taken over by squatters (at the invitation of the ex, who has gone down that slippery drug and alcohol slope big time). With help from us, she found a new place to live that she can afford on her own, and generous friends of mine have helped furnish it. She is clear-eyed, ready to move in a new direction, and I am so, so grateful.

The miracles began New Year's Day when someone called here trying to find the owner of a phone found at Walmart (hers had been stolen yet again, given to some creepazoid by her ex to 'use' and then presumably to return, which he did not). The woman who found it did not want anything other than to return it to the owner, and asked only that R pay it forward. Since then, good things have happened nearly every day, and she is safely in a new place, working with two agencies to get counseling and help.

I have been involved in helping her move, getting donated items, providing transportation when necessary, and giving lots of attagirls (the same ex is responsible directly or indirectly for her car being stolen three times. Yes, three. It has not been recovered from the last theft.)

I am also trying to keep a healthy perspective which has not been easy to do because while I am so very grateful for this new direction,   I also realize the very long road ahead and possibility for regression, since we have seen this movie before. This feels different, and there is a support team in place, so I am hopeful.

So the anxiety is still there but has changed perspective, and I understand that I still must resist the urge to control any aspect of this. I still ask the angels for help. I still say constant gratitude prayers. I am humbled by the love shown to me and to her by friends. And I am determined to continue with MY life and activities as well.

So it was back to yoga this week and good intentions for tai chi, even meeting a friend at the gym, only to discover the instructor was out with a serious diagnosis. But the friend and I spent a great hour talking anyawy, and we will try again next week. But as she moves forward into her new reality, I must move forward into mine, thankful that for now I have a positive relationship with both my daughters.

I also have been acclimating a new cat into our outdoor world: he is R's outdoor cat who she knew would be better and safer here than where she had been (and she has two indoor cats who moved with her). He has been living in our shop and has bonded with me; her two other cats stayed there for about a week too while she was between the Orc nest and her new place. So now we are trying to introduce him to the outside and our four outdoor cats. The door is open today, the cats are wandering in and out, and he has come as far as the open door but no further yet.

It's one day at a time for all of us, hm. That's all we ever get anyway, this one day today. I am so grateful for it!

Reverb 13: Day 31: A look foward

The prompt:

At the finish | What's next for you?

Oh, would that I had such vision.

Then again, I'm not sure I really want to know.

My intention is to do more things that make me happy this year. More ocean. More travel. More reading. More quality time and less time on stupid games like Candy Crush Saga!!! 

I intend to work on my relationship with my daughter R, who right this moment is showing good signs about getting out of her awful, toxic living situation, and who I pray will have the strength to cut off contact with her abusers. I want to treat her as the adult she is and limit the lecture and the worry. That means I must continue to work on turning it over to the Universe/God, and creating my own space of acceptance and calm. 

I intend to build up my strength through yoga and Tai Chi and whatever else takes my fancy, because I feel better in my body when I am giving it positive, healthy attention. I intend to skip the excuses: at my age, there is no one to blame but me. 

I intend to be grateful every single day, multiple moments each day, for all the blessings I have and cherish, and for the good people in my life, and I intend to be kinder, more thoughtful, more proactive about being a good friend to others. I intend to listen more than I speak.  And not interrupt.

I intend to continue cleaning out stuff that no longer serves me, recycling what can be reused, giving it away, or putting it in the trash. I made good progress last year, but there are still areas (attic, I'm calling you out) that are cluttered with too much stuff. I even gave away books -- to friends, to my daughters, to the library, to thrift stores. 

Mostly, though, I intend to focus on MY life as I want it to be, on what I still want to do, and on enjoying every single day with my husband. Life is short and we never know when our time is up, and it gets shorter with each passing year. So this year is going to be a really good one for ME.

 

Reverb13: Day 12. Jumping into truth?

1.I'm a big fan of muddy experiences. They become our greatest teachers when we're wise enough to exfoliate with them; roll around in the deep until we finally feel ready to get clean. 

Today, identify something muddy that kept recurring for you throughout 2013, and then ask yourself this: What's the clear truth underneath this damn mud if I finally wash myself clean?

2. Free writing | Write for five consecutive minutes on the word "jump" as it pertains to this past year.  No editing.  Set a timer.  Just write.

1. Two things became clear to me this year, after muddling about, mudding about with them for most of the year, probably more than that, actually.

When I regularly exercise, I feel stronger and more stable on my feet. We're not talking huge weight machines and stuff, just cycling and walking and doing leg lifts and stepups and balance work, and I like the whole body machine at the rehab gym too. I hate going to the gym. But I feel better when I do it and finally see the whole point. Now getting back on track is key here, and I'm still not doing that. So many excuses.

2. Jump. I don't jump much physically anymore although I did a little of it during my rehab sessions. I am, however, pretty good at jumping to conclusions, usually far more dire conclusions than reality actually turns out to be. I jumped to several of those this year where it concerns my daughter, partly because I hear only her perspective, usually on a day when she is really not doing well, or I don't hear from her at all and begin to picture really awful scenarios -- and lately, with what I know is true and from what she has told me, some of those scenarios might be far closer to the truth than I would like to believe. 

Controlling that imagination that is based on so little actual evidence is a huge challenge for me, and pretty much always has been. I do jump too readily to the worst case possibilities. I'd like to work on not jumping at all, just staying right where I am, in this moment, focusing on the breath, on my energy, on taking one moment at a time, since there is NOTHING I can change about anybody else's life. I can change what I do, however, and how high, how far, how frequently I jump. So for me, at this moment, it's 'left foot, right foot, left foot, BREATHE.' Not jump.

The courage to let go

Giving up does not always mean you are weak — sometimes it means that you are strong enough to let go. ~Author Unknown

I am in the second week of a wonderful writing e-class titled Writing and Spiritual Practice, one of several offered here. It comes at a time most needed for me, something I could not have known when I was notified by Kat and Meredith (of Once in a Blue August Moon '13) that I had won a drawing for a free class. Because we were traveling in September, and because I am a spiritual seeker, I chose this class which began Oct. 4.

You'll not likely see my writing for this class on this blog: it is deeply personal and painful (and you already know a lot about me anyway!). There are only eight of us; I believe I am the only US resident; most -- if not all -- live in the UK. 

The first week was about faith and included an essay, some writing suggestions and inspirational materials. We learned how to write 'Small Stones,' a challenging exercise in paying attention and then capturing that moment. And we shared our efforts, giving us intimate insights into the others' worlds and experiences. 

I have never lacked faith in a higher power, in a Universal Wisdom, in whatever you want to call the oversoul that is the collective repository and source for our life energy. It has taken on different faces and dimensions as my spiritual path has evolved and changed, but it always has been there. This class is an opportunity to really examine that spiritual path and where it is taking me.  

I am in a crisis of sorts in dealing with an adult child who is in what I believe to be a dangerous living situation but refuses to do anything about it, and paying such attention to what I am feeling and experiencing has been therapeutic for me, if extremely difficult. Indeed, the second week's theme is "Clear Seeing," and there have been moments where I have clearly received reassurances and messages that I need to remove myself so that both of us can move ahead to whatever is next. Thank you to this writing group and to friends and family who have listened and encouraged and loved me through this. We aren't done but we are moving forward.

We never know from one moment to the next how our lives might change. Being aware of Small Stones help us to stay in this moment and to notice and treasure what is here right now. I wish my efforts weren't so full of roiling guts and heart-breaking fear and worry; I am working to see the other gemstones in all my moments and remember with each breath that “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ― Julian of Norwich

Once in a Blue August Moon: Day 9 -- The next four months

The prompt: How do you plan to proceed with the last four months of 2013?

There's a quote from Woody Allen: "If you want to make God laugh, tell him[her] about your plans."

Another from Arthur C. Clarke:  “All human plans [are] subject to ruthless revision by Nature, or Fate, or whatever one preferred to call the powers behind the Universe.” 

And one more: “You can devise all the plans in the world, but if you don’t welcome spontaneity; you will just disappoint yourself.”   ― Abigail Biddinger 

Yeah, there are a bunch of quotes about how plans are not so important but planning is essential. Whatever.

I understand there must be planning involved in life -- for career, for retirement, for healthcare, for just general day-to-day living, whatever we may want to call it.

But I think that the August Moon prompts have largely been analytical: what have we done? What worked? What did we like? What wasn't so great? What have we learned? What do we want to let go?

That's a plan, Stan.

My 'Letting Go' list is probably as close to a plan about how I intend to live the next four months as I am going to get. There are plans implied within those things: going to the gym (getting up, getting dressed, getting going), eating well (shopping wisely, cooking creatively, paying attention to what goes into my body), lessening the strangleholds of grief and anger and resentment and judgment and criticism (one day at a time, beauties, one day at a time).

  Everything changes eventually. If I can remain fluid, spontaneous, open, I will find unexpected joys, and many more gratitudes. That  plan works for me, for now.

Once in a Blue August Moon: Day 6 -- Zeniths and Nadirs

The prompt: The zeniths and the nadirs. Where have the highlights and low points been for you so far in 2013? Where are you now? How would you like your year to end?

Actually, you'd think I was on antidepressants (I'm not): I haven't had moments of great joy nor of great sorrow this year, and I'm oh so good with that continuing.

I have had moments of tremendous gratitude, like when I came out of the anesthetic after surgery, gasping and sleepy, but so glad I was awake and alive and all right.

Quiet and all-encompassing feelings of gratitude and enormous contentment at very ordinary things, like sitting with my honey and kitties, watching a favorite television show, in a darkened great room with woodstove firelight flickering; tiny white lights high above the stove in a built-in alcove silhouetting the angels I have sitting there, some from my mother including one painted by one of her close friends (both of them now dead), another from a wonderful former client, and all watchful and comforting.

Pleasure at attending a live theater performance -- we don't miss many, if any -- from the Cascade Theatre or Riverfront Playhouse or Shasta College in Redding. The variety of plays and talent is broad: some are fun because the cast members try so hard; others are memorable because the acting is so professional; others reflect such amazing talent in the script. Occasionally, as in "The Women of Lockerbie" which we saw yesterday at Riverfront, and "Fiddler on the Roof" at the Cascade a few months ago, both outstanding script and exceptionally talented cast combine for an unforgettable and stunning performance. I love watching live theater. I love being on stage in an amazing play even more, but those roles don't come often.

I've found little delights in mundane things: wearing a fun pair of comfortable shoes that make me smile every time I look at them. Savoring a piece of really delicious pie with good friends. Feeling sleek and stylish every time I get my hair cut in the precise, angled style I am wearing, greys and whites gleaming in the salon light, and swinging neatly as I walk. Stretching and moving in the dim yoga studio, imagining the muscles and ligaments easing into the familiar positions, and the spiritual grace of 'namaste' we offer at the close of the session. Loving the gleam of clean floors and fixtures after my friend has worked her magic on my house.

Clean, soft sheets every week and the cool green bedroom where we sleep every night, holding hands as we drift off. Reaching to touch my honey in the night, just grateful he is there and breathing.

Anticipation at traveling in our new-to-us travel trailer with our beloved kitties coming along rather than being left at home or in a kennel where they are frightened and surly because they are not with us -- and the comfort we all feel at being together in bed every night. The prospect of spending more than a week beside our mighty-mighty ocean in several campgrounds, reveling in the crash of waves, the salt air, the age-old power that emanates from its depths and stills our souls and minds.

There are low points as well, but far fewer.

Moments of frustration and apprehension: learning that I would have to have a general anesthetic rather than a twilight one just before I went into the OR. 

Times of worry and fear for a loved one who seems to repeat the same patterns without ever learning the lessons that I see so clearly. Ongoing grief for the loss of what might have been, and reluctant distrust in what I am being told and not told.

Anxiety and fear during episodes of afib that seem to occur approximately monthly, although they nearly always revert spontaneously within a few hours to a steady sinus rhythm. (And such gratitude that they do.)

Where am I now? I work daily on gratitude and calm and energy, focusing the energy where I need it most at that moment. I know that nothing is permanent; everything changes, and that the good (which I try to savor as it happens) will pass away as well as the not-good. I am grateful to be who and where I am, and overwhelmingly grateful that I am loved so dearly and deeply by a man who I love just as dearly and deeply. That is THE BEST of my life.

By the end of the year? More joy. More things that make me smile and feel happy. Any health apprehensions addressed and resolved, or at least treated. More awareness of how great a gift life is EVERY SINGLE DAY. More writing. More decluttering of stuff. More spirit.

Amen.

Once in a Blue Moon -- Day 1

For the next 11 days, I'm going to try to participate in August Moon 13, a writing prompt exercise from a couple of bloggers I read regularly. I tend to respond well to prompts, and even though the next week or so looks very busy as we prepare for a trip to see family, it is good for me to exercise this part of my creative self.

You can participate too. Just click here to sign up.

Today's prompt: How have you treated yourself this year? Have you kept your intentions?

My intention for this year was very simple: to recover as completely as physically possible from the foot/ankle reconstruction surgery I had in late December.

I am doing that. For the first two-plus months of the year, I was totally non-weight-bearing, although somewhat mobile, thanks to my knee scooter and a wheelchair. My wonderful husband prepared meals, did shopping, fed cats, retrieved mail and papers, and helped me as needed while I pretty much sat in his recliner with my foot elevated and read, watched movies, and worked on healing energy flowing through my body and into my leg and foot.

Three months of physical therapy re-started everything: I was becoming mobile, regaining strength, reclaiming my self and letting go of parts I no longer wanted in my life. While my foot is still healing, with some numbness still in the toes and ball of the foot, it is stronger and more sure than it has been for more than a year, and I can walk without pain, although as with anything, when I over-do, I can feel it the next day. It's been a long time since I used the cane too, although I'm not sure I want to try a lot of uneven or sloping walks without a walking stick for balance.

And that's fine: if we need a little support to help balance ourselves, we should use it -- no matter whether physical or emotional or mental or spiritual.

I've been blessed with support this year from friends as well as from my husband, and I am deeply grateful for the visits, the meals, the prayers, the conversations, and the love. Knowing the difference it has made in my recovery, I am determined to help others along the way as they need help.

I am still too hard on myself. I still feel like I should 'accomplish' something every  day in a very practical way -- cleaning, exercising, cooking, sorting through the closets and drawers and boxes that contain things that no longer serve our needs and finding new homes for them or discarding them. But I am remembering those early months of this year when it was enough just to 'be,' not to 'do.'  There is accomplishment in reading, in resting, in petting kitties, and in contemplation as well.

I continue to understand that mine is the only life I can save, although some days I need to read Mary Oliver's miraculous poem "The Journey" several times to remember that.

“All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ― Julian of Norwich

 

Scintilla#13, Day 16

The last prompts. Okay, I'm really late to this particular party.

1. What would it have been like if your life had turned out the way you wanted when you were a kid?

2. We bet there was a story you wanted to tell that didn't line up with any of the prompts. Write it anyway - and use it to write a one or two sentence prompt that others could use to tell a good story of their own. Then, share it with us, if you're comfortable.

Well, there are lots of stories I still have to tell, usually prompted by something that stirs a memory or an emotion. I'm hoping I'll be around for a long time to tell 'em.

I've been thinking about the first prompt since it came out, however, and I've already sort of spoken to that one in the Day 7 post about event horizons. Most everything that has happened since I was a kid is because of the choice I made about where to go to college, and then to stay there.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be a nurse. Then a pediatrician. I loved kids; wanted to have four or six of them. Loved babysitting and did a lot of it. Helped in the church nursery and with the four-year-old Sunday school classes. I hung onto the medical field as a career goal pretty much until I butted heads with chemistry classes and realized that medicine was going to require a lot more math and science than I had any interest in -- or aptitude for -- taking. Scratch that one.

Had I stuck with the medical field, I would not have chosen the college I did, and everything would have been different. Everything.

When I hit early high school, I had a spiritual experience at church camp that convinced me I wanted to be a minister (United Methodist Church), and pretty much held onto that through most of high school, even being awarded a Christian service scholarship. It's quite likely that at times I was fairly insufferable, although my view of Christianity and the church's place in the world was very ecumenical and very involved with social justice issues -- clearly a precursor to my admittedly liberal opinions as an adult. I got to attend a variety of church-related conferences and workshops, and met so many interesting people in doing so.

And then in the latter part of my freshman year, that goal changed. I had joined various 'Christian' groups on campus -- not difficult in a church-related college -- and taken the 'Baby Bible' required courses: a semester of Old Testament studies, a semester of New Testament studies. But I started to question everything, including the core Christian belief of the Resurrection: clearly not a good thing for a wanna-be clergyperson to do, huh. Scratch that one too.

As it was, I experienced infertility and my then-husband and I adopted our daughter after a multi-year wait. Scratch the four-to-six kids.

And scratch the boyfriend I had for four years in high school and early college, too, and with whom I'd planned to spend my life. He's gay and is in a wonderful long-term relationship: they came to our wedding in 2000.

I am so grateful that my life has unfolded the way it has, even through the hard stuff and the heartaches. I would never have believed that at age 50 I would fall in love with a man who deeply adores the quicksand I walk on. I would never have believed that I would move to California (of all places -- Colorado would have been so much higher on my list back then!) and live by the ocean and end up in a rural valley between mountain ranges in a house I designed with my honey. I would never have believed that I would do even half of the things I've done -- not all of them pleasant, but each remarkable.

And that's all good, isn't it. We create our own destiny, minute by minute, year by year, experience by experience, hopefully building on what we learn to create a life we love. I have no expectations for these coming years of my life -- other than hope they will be numerous and happy -- but instead try to live and cherish each day, one at a time, and give thanks for it. What an incredible ride it's all been so far!

Life as we know it right now

That it has been more than a month since my last post is embarrassing for someone who fancies herself a writer.

Ideas and comments have popped into my mind over this month, usually escaping as soon as they're formed, and unwritten on a 'to-do' list, of course. I can tell you that among them have been thoughts on aging, aches and pains, insurance, health care, mental illness, people who do simply unimaginable things, losing weight, gaining weight, travel, the ocean, friendships, and oh so many more.

I've been to the mountains four times for day-long respites from heat, tended gardens and reaped bounties from one not my own, alas, boiled many batches of hummingbird nectar for thirsty little birds who scold if the feeder is empty, and refilled thrice weekly the seed feeder both for hungry birds and the many thin deer who lick the spilled seeds from the ground, looking at me through the sliding glass door with seed-covered noses, ears cocked towards me, and huge eyes. And very thin bodies, ribs plainly showing. They are hungry this year, more than usual -- I hope we have acorns next month.

We have received Medicare cards although they're not valid until November, talked about and researched supplemental plans, dental and vision plans, and remain astonished and doubtful at those who claim they can 'pay their own way' through medical care without help from the affordable health care act.

I have read newspapers, magazines, blogs, and a couple of books. I have cooked many meals, watched carb counts at all of those, started getting fresh brown eggs from a neighbor's chickens, hosted my bunco group, cleaned house a few times, attended two plays, and talked with more girlfriends than I ever thought I'd have at one time!

I've said thank you to the universe at least morning and night, and often during the day. I have hugged my husband frequently, petted, fed and played with our kitties (indoors and out), watered my asparagus ferns and ivy geraniums which are laden with blooms and make me smile every time I go outside. I've noted that the deer are eating things they don't eat: coreopsis, vinca, aloe vera, although they still haven't touched the dusty miller nor lavender. Yet. I fill water dishes front and back daily for kitties, deer and whatever other creature needs a drink.

I am ready for summer to be done. I prefer winter's woodstove and afghan weather. I am tired of hot sun and crave cool grey skies for a change. I want rain to wash away the dust and pollen.

Right now my life feels very good: there is little drama, the health issues are minimal and controlled, we have enough of everything, and I am so, SO grateful for that. We are planning a road trip that will take us to places we haven't been and will give us the cool and the grey and the ocean and the mountains that we love, and will end with family hugs and conversation and connection.

That all will change, I know. But for now, I am grateful to be where I am and how I am.

More on life and death

Two poems I cannot get out of my head:

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night by Dylan Thomas -- one of my favorite poets and the subject of my senior English thesis in college. "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." 

No Man is an Island by John Donne, another favorite from my college courses. "... any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

Too many conversations about death and dying and endings and letting go are running through my brain non-stop: Did I say the right things? Is he going to go through with it? What else should I have done? What can anyone do? What right have we to interfere in another adult's decision -- assuming, of course, that his intent is to harm no one except himself,  and thereby harming himself,  he harms others, undoubtedly irreparably, inconsolably. A moral conundrum. 


Until death at last appears unbidden on our threshold to complete our journey, there is always another chance. There is always a way through the pain, the uncertainty, the despair. It is hard work, to be sure, but there are many helping hands along the way if the person only can ask, can admit that death may not be the best solution at this moment, and allow himself to be vulnerable enough to accept a hand. 

We are always stronger working together than we are standing apart. An integral part of every 12-Step group is drawing on the collective strength of the group to keep going on every day, moment to moment, knowing that they are there to fill you back up at yet another meeting, to give you encouragement to keep on, to help you stay on track. 


I want so much for my cousin to know this and to find one shred of something that he still wants to do, to find, to be. Just one tiny thing can make all the difference between life and death. 


I always analyze my own actions and words after they've been done and spoken, and am a harsh critic: did I do enough? Did I do it well enough? Did I say what I meant, and was it received as it was intended? Could I have said something better, more clearly, more meaningfully? Why didn't I think to say/do this, or that, or something that would have worked better?


Yeah, I know. Gotta let that go.

 Deep breath.

Mine is the only life I can save. But may my prayers and my words and my actions reach others who need to hear that someone cares, that there is a way through the dark, that we are not alone in this world. 

Saving the only life I can

Like many whose nature it is to take care of others, I have an almost overwhelming need to make things 'all right' when I know a friend or relative is having problems, sometimes to the point of obsession and to the detriment of my own sleep and daily life.

I want to 'fix' it. I want to offer advice and care. I want their issues to be resolved and for them not to be troubled with whatever it is.

I've done this all my life.

Over the years I've learned to (mostly) shut up and only offer advice if I'm asked, although I still sometimes venture an opinion if I think it will be received as it was meant -- to be helpful. I don't leap in anymore (hardly ever) with my superwoman cape bearing food, money, or tangible 'help' that might ease the pain of whatever issue it is for the individual.

I am especially guilty of asking too many questions, mostly of my daughters, although I have curbed that urge significantly in the last year or two -- admittedly probably not to their satisfaction. I try not to offer unsolicited advice very often, at least.

But I have mom-radar that works overtime and picks up little things here and there that sometimes can feed my obsessive mind and fertile imagination. Sometimes I'm wrong and everything is pretty much okay. And I hate it when I'm right and things start crashing down.

I want my children (and friends) to be okay, to have lives that are satisfying and reasonably calm and with enough of everything to keep them healthy, safe, fed, clothed, warm, and housed.

But I also understand with everything in me that is rational that I cannot live their lives and make their choices for them. I must be okay with watching them fail sometimes and without trying to fix anything.

(I'll admit that both Tony and I have, in the past, 'fixed' things, at least somewhat: Made it easier to get to a goal, or offered support when maybe it would have been better to stand back, lovingly. But we've worked on reasonable boundaries for our behavior and for their expectations, and it has succeeded fairly well, although not without some occasional pain and angst on both sides.)

When someone you love makes choices that appear to be dangerous either to their health or well-being, setting boundaries becomes far more difficult, and yet even more essential.

I've invested much time and money and worry in our girls, especially as some issues have proven to be so huge and ongoing, even a matter of survival. It's taken a toll on me that I've realized more clearly in recent months, and I've been working on relinquishing control, whether by giving my opinion or taking charge of getting things done, or checking in (asking questions).

I got smacked upside the head last week, though, when I was reading through the new O Magazine issue. It was one of our recently frequent stormy, windy nights with rain and very strong gusts howling outside, and I was reading in bed, just prior to turning off the light (as I do every night).

The issue is about poetry and the importance it has for so many of us, how it's shaped our actions or given us touchstones to live by. (I've especially loved Robert Frost since I first read him so many decades ago and still can recite several, for instance. )

On this night, though, I was reading Maria Shriver's interview with poet Mary Oliver. Shriver had included her favorite of Oliver's poems, "The Journey," which I read after I'd finished the article.

And it said exactly what I've needed to hear in exactly the words that would resonate so deeply that I couldn't rationalize my behavior and feelings anymore.

I've read it every day since, (puddling up every time) repeating the last words over and over to myself: "...determined to do the only thing you could do--determined to save the only life you could save."

That would be mine.

And that's my new mantra. It's making things easier for me, actually. It's on the order of the old 12-step saying, "I am powerless over people, places and things" -- but somehow it has been especially meaningful for me right now.

There is more of my life behind me than is ahead of me. I will not abdicate that in favor of someone else's life, no matter how much I love them and want to make things better.

I still have hopes and dreams and plans to achieve for myself. And nobody else can do that for me except me. No one WILL do that for me except me. And I must allow those I care about to do the same for their own lives, regardless of what I might think about it. It is not mine to live.

So I'm finally moving ahead with my own life: taking care of me first, doing things I want to do, living more in the moment -- my moment, not someone else's moment.

And I'm keeping my head up, watching for the stars to break through the clouds. Because they will. They are.

Powerless over others' actions

A recurring theme in these now years of blog posts has been letting go of issues that are not mine to deal with: acknowledging that we are all powerless over people, places, and things, and then letting them go, putting the responsibility where it belongs -- which is not on ME.

I keep working on doing that. And I keep working on not worrying about the outcome of others' actions, and to not feel (or act on) the great need to step in front of that speeding train to keep them safe.

Some days I am more successful than others.

According to one astrology site, a change is coming this week. Hard as change can be, it needs to happen for me.

Not that I want drastic, awful, horrible death-in-the-family change, please, oh please not. Just a shift towards the positive, towards good growth and constructive actions.

And more letting go of things and situations that I am not responsible for, that I cannot cure, that I cannot control. Trying to manage my own thoughts and actions and life is enough: I am not responsible for the outcome of others' choices.

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Spring is springing. Our harbinger tree began leafing out this last weekend (right on time) which means that the other trees will soon bud into green life. We've had daffodils springing up here and there for a couple of weeks now, and many flowering trees (some of which lost lots of blossoms in the cold and wind we've had recently) but the little tree that unfurls its greenness first has always been our true indicator of spring.

While I do enjoy the lovely mild temperatures and the pretty green grasses that make this area so beautiful in the spring, I can't help thinking about the heat that I know will follow all too soon, and I confess that I prefer the woodstove, the rain, and the green grasses -- even the weeds -- to the crispy brown fields and searing 110-degree days that are always a part of our summer.

Our weeds are definitely thriving too -- we have not yet done the spring RoundUp blitz that beats them back from the house and along the driveway, and need to do so. If I can just go out for 10 minutes each day and pull weeds, it'll help: we're now past the stage where they are little sprouts that would hardly be seen once hit by the weed killer, and into full bushy mode, where they'd lay in dead heaps on the ground and REALLY look crappy.

Rhubarb is coming up in the (also weedy) garden but I'm not ready to think about getting into the garden just yet, nor about the plants in the pots close to the house. Later.

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I'm not doing well on my intention to write a book so far; some better on taking care of myself. I'm loving my weekly yoga class and can feel strength building in legs and core -- I only wish we had it twice weekly but am grateful for even this. Loving the monthly massages that so slow me down and release the bad kinks.

It takes time to break bad habits too, and I'm working on that -- most especially the one about letting things go. I'm grateful for time and security to do that. It will come, just as those hot days of summer will come. Meanwhile, we take things one day at a time -- doing all we can, where we are, with what we've got.

Catching up -- bits of thought for 2011

While I've composed bits and pieces of blog posts in my head this past month, they haven't made it to actual type and format. I'm sorry...but also if you've missed me, I'm glad. I'll try to do better.

I've really missed Reverb10, which kept me writing nearly daily in December, introspectively examining the past year and figuring out what was impactful. I know there are prompts out there, but it's not the same thing.

I began a post about taking care of myself and my determination this year to do just that, but it didn't get far. That said, I AM doing more for my own good this year: a weekly yoga class that uses muscles I didn't remember I had, walking at least 10 minutes a day, monthly massages that rejuvenate my body and my spirit from a marvelous masseuse who also uses energy work to enhance her magic fingers, and better permission to read during the day if I want -- something I haven't allowed myself to do much of in some time. I guess it's because I think it's unproductive -- and yet I'll read on the computer for several hours, blogs, websites, etc. Go figure.

Anyway, I'm working on all of it, mostly successfully.

I've spent some time petting kitties too, especially since a friend recently lost her dearly loved 11-year-old cat, and his sibling kitty just three months ago too. I was so sad for her loss, knowing full well how devastating the death of a much-loved animal can be -- dare I say even more, sometimes, than the death of a human? I think it's because with animals we just are who we are and they love us anyway, warts and all. Animals sense a troubled spirit and try to soothe it; they give back so much acceptance and energy and patience with us despite our moods and our troubles. They are with us daily, especially if we're at home much of the time. I appreciate our little boys and am always happy to hold them and pet them when they spring into my lap, even when I don't always appreciate a furry tail in front of my computer monitor.

And I've been following the giant storm that's icing its way across the Midwest today -- deadly ice in Missouri and Indiana -- both states in which I've lived -- and other cities too. I still have relatives and friends there and have been concerned for them. So far, they assure me, they're fine.

We have such spring-like weather right now, with highs in the 60s and approaching 70, and sunshine. Last week we had some bad fog in the mornings and evenings, but it's not ice and snow. (Actually we need more winter -- rain and cooler temperatures -- because all this false spring makes fruit trees blossom too early.) But it's hard to remember what it's like to have below zero temperatures and ice over everything and deep snow -- and we both have had our share of that. I am not a fan of the 110 degree summer days, but I'll take that in order to have the relatively mild winters we have here -- little or no snow, good rain, and temperatures that only rarely get below freezing. Fifty miles in three directions, however, will put us right in a snowbank with plenty of cold ~ another thing I do like about living here.

So here we are in February again: a short month, sweet holidays, a bit more winter (I hope), and then March comes with spring, and then July isn't far behind with hot days.

Time goes faster as we get older, I think. The hair looks a bit more gray, the skin a bit more weathered, the flexibility a bit less. And I look at myself in the mirror and wonder how that all happened so quickly? I remember being 16, waiting for my boyfriend to pick me up for a date. I remember being 21 and about to graduate from college and get married, and I remember when my now almost-35-year-0ld daughter was a baby, feeding herself pears and cottage cheese with her hands rather than the spoon, and getting it all over her sweet face.

I wouldn't go back.

But I'd sure like to slow this time down a little bit more, savor the days and the love and the weather and the kitties and the tastes and the kisses a little longer. I'm heading rapidly toward what I used to regard as 'old' -- and I know what eventually comes -- and I'm not ready for that.

So I'll try again, always, to live where I am, in this moment, with this chore or this joy or this taste or this hug, and to really, REALLY be present. That's all I can do.

Just another ordinary Sunday

...punctuated by rain and wind as has been the case lately. Absolutely not one whit of progress on getting RoundUp on the weeds, which are growing almost visibly, but you can't do it when it's going to rain or with a lot of wind, and we've had both every weekend for weeks -- or have had other appointments that couldn't be postponed. It'll be waiting for us...

We've got a fire in the woodstove, a brisket in the crockpot, granola in the oven, and the dryer is full of clean clothes. Tonight is the season premier of The Tudors, another episode of The Pacific, a two-hour Brothers and Sisters. And the DVR holds several other goodies including the latest James Bond, Quantum of Solace.

Tony's taking a nap. So are the kitties. I just finished up one layout for a program I'm doing and caught up on some reading. Life is good.

I finished Martha Beck's Steering by Starlight last night and will ponder the book for some time to come, I think. It made me puddle up at the end even -- this is, I suppose, not the usual response to a self-help book.

She quotes Einstein as having said that there are two ways to look at life: as though nothing is a miracle or though everything is. And her example of waking up in the morning (miracle), drinking a cup of coffee (miracle: coming from a far distant place to my cup), going online (miracle!) are examples of gratitudes, of blessings we all have and rarely think twice about.

She quotes Mary Oliver: "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

And she says, after a whole book of exercises designed to help us find our Stargazer selves, "If you're afraid you've come to this question too late (the Mary Oliver one), you are wrong: ... The world is re-created in every instant of time, and this moment is always your life's beginning."

Beck ends with a poem that begins, "Live while you are alive..."

In something else I read in the past couple of days -- and it may have been referenced in this book too -- a teacher asked his class what they would do if they learned they had six months to live. Answers ranged from travel to eating whatever they wanted. As the teacher shortened the time, though, to one month to one week to one day, the answers became focused on relationships, on people, on love.

And then he asked the question again: What would you do if you knew you had six months to live? And how do you know you do?

Life is short. It is fragile, but it also is immensely strong and powerful, even when we have had hard things happen to us. But it is all we have, this one 'wild and precious life.'

Live today: tomorrow is not promised

One of my oldest and dearest friends has cancer. While I have every reason to believe she will get better -- and she believes it too -- it is scary.

She actually had it last year too in a cancerous colon polyp, but didn't have to endure chemo or radiation. It was an amazingly easy and swift recovery, and none of us really worried much because it was so contained.

But she has stage IIIa uterine cancer that spread to an ovary, although not any lymph nodes (blessings!), and we are waiting to hear about a teensy spot on her lung that was biopsied yesterday. Surgery is done and she'll do chemo, radiation, then more chemo, and tells me she expects to lose her hair.

She's more than 2,000 miles away from me, and I want to make it better. I want to give her hugs, to take her to the doctor, to fix food for her, to laugh at silly things with her, to visit the apple orchard we used to go to when I lived there, to enjoy the leaves that are turning.

Unlike me, who researches a subject until I know as much as I can possibly learn, she is okay with knowing enough about what to expect, but not too much. She is positive and while she says that she really doesn't want to play this game, she'll do whatever she's told to do in order to get it gone. And she will, too.

I'll go visit her when she needs me to come, whether that is sooner or later. She'll know. So will I.

Meanwhile, she has marvelous friends there who are taking care of her, and children who do too. She is well loved, and I tell her that's because she is such a good friend back to them. When we lived in the same town some 20 plus years ago, I went through a really rough patch and pretty much shut down emotionally, doing what I needed to do -- take care of my daughter, go to work, make sure things were running smoothly -- but I couldn't take anyone expressing sympathy or caring and would dissolve into puddles, so I just didn't listen to that, wouldn't hear it. I didn't go to choir, to church, or anywhere I might be with people who cared about me.

She wouldn't let me isolate. She literally banged on my front door until I opened it and let her in, and dissolved more than once into sobs on her shoulders. And she protected me from making a public display of my emotions too -- she stayed close by when we were with others who knew I was having a hard time, and kept things light.

She has gone through some of her own dark nights too, and I was there for her, although by then I lived that 2000 miles away, but I sent cards and letters, and she couldn't respond back for several years because it was too painful. And when we reconnected, when she finally wrote me all about it, it was like no time had passed.

It's like that when we see each other. We grow older, we grow wiser, we experience things (and tell each other about them), via e-mail and phone calls, but when we're together for our brief, every-few-years visits, it's like we saw each other only yesterday. I am so grateful for her long years of friendship and love.

She forwarded me an e-mail yesterday. I've done a bit of editing, but it says the same things I've so often said in these posts -- life is short. Life is uncertain. Tell people you love them NOW. Read on:

One day a woman's husband died, and on that clear, cold morning, in the warmth of their bedroom, the wife was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't “anymore.” No more hugs, no more special moments to celebrate together, no more phone calls just to chat, no more "just one minute." Sometimes what we care about the most gets all used up and goes away, never to return before we can say good-bye, say "I love you."

So while we have it, it's best we love it, care for it, fix it when it's broken and heal it when it's sick. This is true for marriage.....And old cars.... And children with bad report cards, and dogs with bad hips, and aging parents and grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it.

So I was thinking...I could die today, tomorrow or next week, and I wondered if I had any wounds needing to be healed, friendships that needed rekindling or three words needing to be said.

Let every one of your friends know you love them. Even if you think they don't love you back, you would be amazed at what those three little words and a smile can do.And just in case I'm gone tomorrow, I love you. Live today because tomorrow is not promised.

Living it -- all we have

I received word last night of my friend's death yesterday afternoon -- "swift and painless" is how it was described, a blessing in such illness. She's been on my mind so much, she and her family, and the hole she will leave in the world.

I also received news yesterday of another death, the handicapped son of friends, who simply died in his sleep. An accident long before I ever knew him left him in a wheelchair and with brain damage; yet he had ambitions and dreams, some of which he tried to fulfill. I know his passing will leave a huge hole in his mother's heart.

I always, ALWAYS say gratitude prayers morning and night for my wonderful husband, for the blessings of friendships, and because we have "enough" to sustain and nourish our minds, bodies, and spirits. But I also am so aware of our fragile natures, and how quickly things can change.

A recent post in "Getting Past Your Past," a blog about relationships that I read daily, reinforced that yet again.

The author, Susan J. Elliott, writes: "We must live life the best we can for as long as we can. Because you never know when it all stops.

Long story short: Your life is now. Live it."

It's a fine balance between responsibly planning for the future and living your life here and now. Tony and I were talking about that just last night, and I have no answers -- other than just doing what you see needs to be done until the Universe presents other options. The trick, then, is to be aware of what you are seeing.

I'm seizing the day -- taking advantage of unseasonably cool temps to replace the soaker hose in the garden and do some weeding, and maybe even some planting for fall (and I think the black junk that's sapped the life out of my pumpkin, watermelon and a cuke plant may be aphids....) I like digging in the dirt, feeling that earth energy, seeing life come out of earth and sun and water and seed. It rejuvenates my spirit.

Playing catch-up

Damage to the garden was not disastrous as I'd first thought. Most of the plants are coming back, and the deer nicely thinned the seedlings. I should have lettuce by the end of the week, although with the hot weather we're having now it may bolt before I ever get it to the table.

So we planted tomatoes, zucchini, peppers, and are experimenting with cantaloupe, watermelon and pumpkins. I've replaced soaker hoses and hung prayer flags which flutter nicely in the breezes. We'll hope for a generous bounty.

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Mother's Day came and went without a post from me, although I'd started a draft. I'd put a photo of mother, my brother and me on my Facebook page that was taken just three weeks before she died in 2005. It is hard to believe she's been gone for going on four years now, and that this winter, my dad will have been dead for 10 years.

But I see them in my own reflection: in my fine, greying hair, in my hands that show a delicate network of aging skin and a few arthritic lumps, in my smile. I hear them in my head -- how mother always said she liked listening to the silence rather than music or television (as do I these days), how they preferred ice water to sodas or lemonade, for instance.

I think of them at my age: mother retired at 60 from teaching because daddy had retired at 65, and they spent the next 10 or so years traveling and playing. More than that, too, but those were probably the prime years, although even those saw some health issues for both of them.

That's not quite in the cards for us yet. Tony is in full hammer-down mode as he goes in early and stays late working on a new product release. I've finished up a few stories, but so much of what I was doing has dried up, at least for now, for various reasons -- the main publication I was working on has ended, and I'm just not sure what I want to do next. This last week or so the play has begun to take most of my energy, although that will ease some with opening on Saturday night.

But I'm trying to stay open to opportunity and possibility. I need to make some money doing something, whether it's selling on eBay or pursuing more writing. Doesn't have to be a lot of money -- although I certainly have no objection to money, mind you!

I've asked the universe yet again to provide and to help me be open. We shall see where this next step takes us.
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Summer is upon us, early this year. We've already had triple digit temps, much to my disgust. I just didn't get enough rain this year, and the early heat had me scrambling in my closet for something that wasn't long-sleeved and cozy. I'm still organizing everything, but at least the linen and cotton things are readily available now.

The last few nights have been wonderful, though, with cool breezes making for sound sleeping conditions. I do love our location, but the early heat is a little frightening: it will be with us well into October in all likelihood. We're all fearful of another summer of fires and unhealthy air because it is so dry.

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We celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary yesterday by going out to breakfast, since I had rehearsal last night and he worked late again. We'll go to the ocean for a little R&R later this summer.

But we always remember that day in the Bay Area -- which was unseasonably warm for San Francisco, but gorgeous. We laughed, we cried through parts of the ceremony (which we wrote) and at which my Uncle Tom officiated, aboard a yacht on the Bay. We ate. We played and talked and enjoyed the boat ride all around our favorite landmarks, and there were Oracle and Kensington colleagues as well as family with us to mark the day.

We both feel incredibly blessed to have found each other, and to continue to be so much in love at this age. It's not that we don't have trials and some hard stuff to deal with -- but it's never with each other -- it's issues with the girls or with work or health or property or something like that. How rare that is to have such a relationship! I am so grateful.

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In the midst of all the busy-ness it is sometimes hard to remember that THIS is our life, each day. Time doesn't stop because we are too busy to notice what is happening every day, every moment. When the product is released and the play is over, our lives will change again -- not really back to what they were a few months ago, but to where they are going every day with every moment and every experience.

It is essential to find even a few moments to appreciate what we have THIS DAY, to ask for what we need, to reflect on and remember how precious time really is. One thing that becomes increasingly evident as we age is that everything can change in a moment, with a heartbeat. it is up to us to choose how we spend our time, who we touch, what we do and say, how we express our gratitude. We have that choice every day.

Steel Magnolias is in preview tonight and we open Saturday. The play is about the fragility of life, I believe, and the relationships with others that can help us deal with the uncertainty and the choices we all have. I'm grateful to be in it once again, for the third time, to be forging a bond with the five other actresses who are in the cast. I hope our audiences take home with them the blessing of friendship and the appreciation for each day we are given.