Compassion is my intention for 2014. This is the quality of being deeply connected to the struggles of others. Each January women, in the circles I guide, select an intention to use as a touchstone. Intentions don’t always rarely take us where we expect to go. This year is no exception. Compassion stirs images of the Dalai […]
Dorothy discovered, in the Land of Oz, that we can return home at any moment. It is an act of remembering. Home: shelter during storms, a spot that welcomes our untamed voices, a nurturing nest where we are known and loved just the way we are. Spring storms come out of nowhere in Toledo, Spain.
Broken hearts. Broken contracts. Broken health. Broken vows. Broken dreams. Broken families. Broken friendships. Broken homes. Broken promises. Life cracks us open. No one escapes the chance to find value in brokenness. In each of these situations something that’s invisible splinters—our self-image.We are not the friend, employee, or wife we thought we were.We’re not as
Birds and Nests are my new obsession. “The Invention of Wings” by Sue Monk Kidd, “When Women Were Birds” by Terry Tempest Williams, “The Goldfinch” by Donna Tratt, “Imperfect Birds” and “Bird by Bird” by Annie Lamont are just some titles that now populate my bookshelves. My Journals increasingly include observations and quotes about our feathered
Snowy branches greet us through every window. Don looks out and says, “It’s a Colorado morning.” I agree. Snowfalls would often continue for hours there. Our response? We would hunker down and enjoy it. That is just what we are doing. Yummy aromas fill the house as a pot of homemade soup simmers in the
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Red, yellow and orange leaves crackle under my feet like giant cornflakes. Colors dance and delight me on this early morning fall walk. A concrete Foo Dog sits among leaves and grasses. Usually spotted in pairs, its partner is nowhere to be seen. Two Foo Dogs guard the entrance at the Temple
Mother Earth’s belly will soon be the resting place for my garden. As the cold season comes plants seek her protection. I will miss my garden’s exuberant summer self. But, I can easily re-create it in my mind’s eye. Well, the surface of it, that is. Its underground life is a mystery to me. I
Party invitations are usually a welcome piece of mail. One September afternoon, in 1978 a Halloween party invite was cause for concern. Sue, my dear friend, is not speaking to me. Her response to a heated argument is silence. Days and weeks pass and she does not respond to my calls or cards. The party,
Birds emerge out of splashes of color. They are my assignment in Carla Sonheim’s online art class Blobimals. First, we splatter a large sheet of paper with two different colors of paint. Then, we turn the page this way and that as we search for images. Squiggly lines become birds, a bunny and then a
Disarray makes it difficult for me to create. So, I keep my studio clear of clutter. Well, most of the time. Its current condition is a sign of how busy my life has been. The book launch, two groups in Paris, book talks, signings and a retreat in Saugatuck all happened within two months, along with
