Archive
02
December
2018
Do you remember a favorite gift you received? I’m guessing a part, maybe a big part, of its specialness was because the giver truly saw you. The “I see you” message may not have been spoken but it was reflected in the care that was used to select the gift. Maybe it came with a
02
August
2018
A blur of jump rope passes by my eyes and then slaps the pavement. The girls holding the ends of the rope start the counting rhyme. “Down in the valley where the green grass grows, there sat Nancy sweet as a rose, along came Johnny and kissed her on the cheek. How many kisses did
30
May
2018
Bags of food and supplies gather in the kitchen as I pack up for the spring retreat. There is a gathering energy in me also. Visions of entering a sacred space with a handful of women fill me. I wonder, “What are they feeling as they ready themselves for this journey?” We will move deeper
11
April
2018
I sit at my desk. I wonder. “Can I?” Unbreakable, the title of my new book, challenges me. Writing always does. Yet, this book presents a unique test. It’s impossible for me to write about our unbreakable core without exploring my own brokenness. That is my stopping place. Do I have the courage to be
03
February
2018
“I’m 10. And I Want Girls to Raise Their Hands,” writes Alice Tapper in her New York Times editorial. This is how she recounts her experience on a recent field trip.. “I noticed that all the boys stood in the front and raised their hands while most of the girls politely stayed in the back
03
January
2018
4:25 AM. Darkness surrounds me. Don’s sound asleep upstairs. I’m nestled in the living room window seat. A favorite place to perch for the ten years this house was ours in Ouray, Colorado. Now we rent this mountain home from its new owners. Outside my window stars spill across an indigo predawn sky. Bold outlines
02
November
2017
We are grieving. Recently, we lost Don’s mother and father. They died sixty-five days apart and just missed celebrating their seventy-sixth-wedding anniversary. They had rich full lives. This was not a tragic loss. And yet their deaths have left holes in our hearts and lives. Grieving is an art. Like any art it’s a skill
01
September
2016
I am a 72-year-old human doing. Most days find me doing a lot. Now I’m content to sit here in our family room, last night’s circle still present. Fragrances of sage, and sweet grass connect me to remarkable truths each women shared. As each lit her candle, she took a moment to silently offer a
06
July
2016
A peach tree grows in my childhood. Her leaves, like a thousand green tongues, swallow me. Smooth silvery bark ripples like skin over her limbs. Her branches perfectly spaced so that my little girl legs step on one and then another. I settle into my spot. Thick strong arms reach around me. I am held.
10
March
2015
Spring officially begins in twelve days, according to the sign my snow woman holds. Her countdown is one way I mark its arrival. Crocuses at the edge of my garden are another. Purple and yellow drops of color are refreshing in the midst of a black and white Midwestern winter. Dainty and determined these bright
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