Armfuls of Time

Rediscovered this book today.

And, 

man-oh-man,

was it exactly perfect timing.

Blessed be.

.          *           .

Savouring January - Day 18 - Drink

Slaking this morning’s thirst 

while keeping the icy chill at bay 

with a hand-warming mug of creamy chai tea.

Rediscovering an old favorite cup 

tucked in the back of our kitchen cabinet 

has me smiling big 

as I bask in the wonderful, Joy-filled surprise. 

Blue!! 

Purple!! 

And sweet flowers!! 

(All my favorites)

Throughout my day, 

I almost always have 

a cup of cool water to drink nearby. 

A couple of other 

reliable thirst quenchers for me 

are a lit candle 

and writing in my journal, 

all while under the gracious sheltering presence 

of Mama Grace’s gentle gaze.

Delighting in the dance.

#SavouringJanuary2018

.             *             .

Savouring January - Day 17 - Feel

Today I feel the quiet Joy of contentment. 

It’s a snow day so my cute hubby 

has been working from our kitchen table 

and I’ve been baking Grandma’s Honey-Oatmeal bread 

and working on our Epiphany letter.

Blessed be.

#SavouringJanuary2018

.          *         .

Savouring January - Day 11 - Thoughts

Sometimes I don’t even know what I think 

until I start writing.

Taking the time to put pen to paper 

(or fingers to keyboard) 

often helps me to untangle 

what’s going on inside of me.

Having a lit candle nearby 

reminds me that this really is prayer 

and that I am never alone 

when I pour out my heart on the page. 

I am deeply grateful for my journal, 

my trusted, faithful friend and witness.

Blessed be.

#SavouringJanuary2018

.            *            .

Savouring January - Day 5 - Move

Whenever I move into a new journal, 

my long-held tradition 

is to start by making the first page into a calendar. 

And the next page? 

That one is a prayer asking for blessings and guidance, 

both for time spent on the pages and off.

#SavouringJanuary2018

.             *             .

Be Strong, Be Brave, Be You

Our suitcases have been emptied

and most of the laundry has been done.  

Along with going thru our pictures 

in the last 3 days,

I've just about filled this little 40 page notebook

with snatches and snippets 

and feelings and thoughts

about our recent trip to visit my family

for our nephew's graduation.

Such a welcomed companion 

and quiet reminder

during this, the first phase

 of my emotional and spiritual unpacking.

💕

.          *          .

Savoring January Day 12 :: Love

Along with a few cards to dear ones, I mailed my first of three weekly Love Notes this 

morning.

Do you know of the Love Notes Project? If not and you adore snail mail it's a fun little way 

of trading notes with an assigned new friend.

We use post cards so there's no big pressure to write a lot and no worries about what to write 

about, Jennifer sends us prompts. This week's was "I can trust the universe because..."

#SavouringJanuary2017

.          *            .

Epiphany Blessings

I've written a holiday letter for about 20 years now. I enjoy the whole process of writing

the letter and mailing it to people I love, most of whom I've been sending Christmas cards 

to for even longer than that. Smiling because I have several fans who have told me that they 

look forward to my letter in particular every year.

My busiest time of year at work now falls in November and December and, between that 

and my biggest grief anniversaries falling in December, I found that it was just getting to 

be too much.

And yet abandoning it all together just never felt right.

About 4 years ago, the Graced idea of sending my love letters at Epiphany dawned and I've 

mailed them In January ever since. In fact a couple of years ago I had the space to write our 

letter in December. But when I tried that idea on? I smiled and thought, "nah, I'll stick with 

my new, cherished tradition instead."

Another thing I love about it is, in some traditions, folks bless their homes at Epiphany time. 

The idea of tucking in love for my dear ones and also a little blessing for their homes as well 

gives me great joy.

Plus! The word Epiphany means having a new insight break through and the magi were 

following a star (a part that I especially appreciate) and that still small voice inside. 

What a great holy-day to celebrate! 

 ❤️

.           *           .

August Break :: Handwriting

Sometimes, when awake in the early hours, I'll start my journal page with a quote.

Grinning with a shrug because my handwriting can be hard to decipher at times, even for me. 

I can type so much faster so unless I'm really concentrating (and feeling patient) or wanting it 

to look nice, long gone are the days of beautiful penmanship.

'sides, she adds with a mischievous twinkle, with so many fonts out there?  

I enjoy playing that way. 

😉

 #augustbreak2016

.              *               .

Everyday Beauty :: Compassion

I was awake in the wee hours this morning, struggling. A gremlin in my head kept telling 

me, in a very convincing tone (as gremlins do), that something I had shared was way too 

much. (a very old voice, this one). 

Not being able to sleep, I got up, pulled out my journal and, as I've been learning in a 

course I'm taking, I practiced giving myself the soothing gift of self-compassion. I opened 

to a blank page and, just as a loving Mama would tenderly gather her fearful child close, I

began to write. I was able to gently reassure both myself and that very old part of my 

brain, who is just trying to keep me safe in the only way she knows how, that while it 

may not have been received as I'd hoped, it really was ok.

And after writing a few pages while practicing deep, calming breaths?  I felt so, *so* 

much better.

Blessed be. 

❤️

#everydaybeauty

.              *                 .

Being Seen :: Voice

I misread the time for our nephew's tee-ball game this morning (by 2-1/2 hours!), not 

realizing it until I pulled into the parking lot and didn't see any 7-year old's wearing orange 

shirts and gray pants. 

I'd been feeling a longing to do some more processing via writing about our recent trip to 

Texas so rather than drive the 25 minutes back home, I went to a nearby store and bought 

a cute polka dotted spiral notebook (on sale!), a pen, and a bottle of water. I then parked 

under a nearby tree and wrote 6 pages, front and back. 

Wanting to capture and honor the memory of this self-care move, I took several selfies. 

In looking back at what I had, a wide smile spread to see the sunlight reflecting off a 

nearby car. That it highlighted my mouth felt like a gift. 

Yes. 

For me, writing is a very real way 

for my voice and my heart to Be Seen. 

💕

.               *                .

Writing Letters as a "Be Here" Practice

My grandmother lived on a farm in the 30's, 40's, 50's and 60's.  Not only did she love to
write letters, it was the only realistic way of keeping in touch with her two children that
had moved far away along with other relatives and friends. I still fondly remember how
she would gather her extended family in her front room on a Sunday afternoon and
encourage us younger ones to sit still and listen while she read the latest letter she
received to all of us.

Through her, I grew to love to write letters and have always loved receiving snail mail as
well.  As an aside, I so loved it when email arrived because it seemed to revive the practice
of letter writing. While it's not the same as receiving a hand written letter, I've so enjoyed
hearing from those that I wouldn't have otherwise that I'll take it .... in a heartbeat!

I've always known it was the little daily details that I loved the most, both hearing from my
family and friends, but also what I most enjoyed sharing. In the last few years, I've come to
realize that starting a letter with what it looks like outside my window is really a practice in
being right here - aka practicing paying attention and/or mindfulness. It pulls me into the
present moment because I have to stop, notice, and think about how to phrase what I'm
seeing and sensing. It's a gift to me and, from the letters I receive, I know it's a gift to my
reader as well. When I journal (which a lot of times is simply a love letter to myself), I'll start
with the small ordinary details around me to help ground me .  At the minimum I note the
date, time, and temperature outside.

So a small snapshot of what it looks like here in my little corner of the world right now is:

It's dusk as I type this and the chilly, all-day belated March winds of yesterday have finally
settled into a welcomed calm. Two candles have been quietly burning all afternoon, one on
the small end table right here next to me and the other a short distance away with 4 of my
favorite angels gathered around the flame. I find myself grateful for the light as I haven't
gotten up yet to turn on the lights and, she says with a warm grin, aside from the glow of
my computer screen, it's getting pretty dark around here . . .

.           *          .

WOYH :: Small Scrapes and Bruises

This is my third time to take Kira Elliott's Writing to Open Your Heart workshop and I'm *really* enjoying the writing, companionship, and Kira's gentle way of helping to put the writers at ease and providing a safe container for us.  

I wanted to share my favorite piece that came out of last night's writing prompts.

From Memory or Imagination, write about Small Scrapes and Bruises

She’d had a lot done and so she was used to the big scars on her body… well, mostly. These new ones were so small she wasn’t really even sure they should count. Still, the hairline red scrapes and purple-yellowish bruises weren’t going away and it had been 6 weeks since she fell.

Sipping her almost-too hot chamomile tea, she sunk a little deeper into her deep blue tweed covered rocker recliner. This morning ritual of hers was one of the deep pleasures in her life. Setting her cheerful hand-painted mug with the bright red poppies down, she leaned back, closed her eyes and started to rock. It brought a soft smile to her face to hear the old familiar creak as the chair, which used to be her father’s, soothingly rocked back and forth. Almost without thinking about it, she gently rubbed the fingers of her left hand over the still tender places on her right forearm.

Taking a deep breath, she welcomed a moment to savor the calming effect of her quiet time before her busy day started. While it wasn’t easy at first, with time, practice, and patience, she had gotten quite good at letting everything that was tugging at her be while she relished these few precious minutes. Grinning to herself, she was actually proud of how some days? It had become a game, this letting things be just as they are. What was it her mama used to always say to her? “Girl, this ain’t brain surgery. You can let loose of that one!”

As they always did, thoughts of her mother brought a whole basket of bittersweet memories to her heart. Gracious, she missed her mama! Had it really been almost 19 years ago that she died from liver cancer? Some days it felt like it all happened yesterday.

Taking a peek at the clock, she realized she only had five more minutes. Well, unless she skipped her morning shower, as she often did. Weighing the day ahead and the refreshment she was gaining by just rocking and being, she decided to sit for another 15 minutes.  But after that she knew that she absolutely had to get up and get started on the rest of her day. 

.            *             .

Blackout Poetry

I tried Blackout Poetry with some friends and this one was my fave:

Invade

Take over senses

Free and open 

emotion to understanding 

Twister weather

Teaching tricks

Showcasing 

Wishes to learn

Their own makeup 

...

I so enjoyed this!! 

But can I just say that all 3 of my pieces still *reek* of sharpies? So much so that I still have to keep them at an arm's length distance (at least). 

.            *             .

A Daddy's Love

In the arms of my Daddy.

Saying good-bye at the airport, he's holding me as I cry

while patting me and speaking the soothing words

he knows to say.

While it sometimes feels like he's trying to stop me 

because I'm "too big" once again

(and there is probably a piece of that in there

as my emotions are much deeper than 

he knows how to care for and tend),

this morning I realize 

that it may just be 

that he's trying to help get me buttoned back up 

so that I can leave him

and head home.

(tears)

.            *            .

My Daddy flies in this afternoon for a visit with his girlfriend, Brenda.  While hubby and I usually fly back annually, this is his first trip over in 12 years.  He turns 75 in December, so part of me is very aware that this may be his last trip here.  

In preparation, I've been quite busy over the last few months physically getting ready by cleaning, tidying, and letting go of things and our house feels so good.  Last night in our writing group without fully realizing it, I was emotionally and spiritually preparing by writing the piece below.  Our prompt was:  "From memory or imagination, write about a fragment."  As I read it to our group, I was surprised by the tears that arose... well, perhaps not really.  Tweaking it just a bit, tears arise again this morning.

.            *             .

With a flourish she adds the final swirls of the billowy chocolate frosting on the rich, Devils food cake and steps back for a moment to admire her work.  She loves to bake and these last touches are her favorite part. 

Smoothing a stray strand out of her eyes, she thinks to herself, “maybe a fragment is enough.”  She’s made the last 20 of her father’s 75 birthday cakes and, deep down, she knows that he does love her.  Maybe it’s not to the depth she’d like and perhaps it isn’t to the extent that he loves her other siblings (or is it a simple matter of “able to show?”), but he’s always hugged her warmly when they greet after being apart.

Absent mindedly licking the sweet icing off of the side of her hand, she remembers the day in the airport many years ago, one of the few times she’s ever seen her father cry, and it was as he was saying, “I really want to get out to see you again, sis.”  Remembering that “sis” is his fond name for his girls, she smiles softly and, in the moment, she knows in her heart that, in his own, imperfect way, he does love her.

Can that fragment be enough?  Gathering the measuring cups and spoons into the now empty white, glass mixing bowl, she reminds herself that this might be the last time he ever comes this way.  Can she let what slice of love she has glimpsed over the years, be Enough?

She sure hopes so and she knows that only time shall tell.

.             *             .

Grateful for your witness.

Your warm thoughts, love and prayers 

over the next 5 days would be most welcome.

.            *             .

Beautiful Late Summer Morning Haiku

 

Warm, moist heaviness

Summer's palpable presence

Caressing bare skin

 

.              *             .

 

August Break 2015 :: Listening

When getting ready in the mornings, 

I'm currently listening to Mark Nepo's 

"Reduced to Joy." 

I am really enjoying his calm voice 

and gently wise insights. 

Another way I listen 

is by writing in my journal. 

.             *            .

August Break 2015 :: Notebook[s]

.            *            .

Darlin' Debbie Jo

In our family albums there are pictures with this photo of 2-year old me smiling from the background on a bookshelf in our home. My beloved grandmother's albums held pictures of another copy of this same photo of me smiling from the background of their home, both the farmhouse next to our trailer house when I was a wee one and then the small house in town when they moved because Grandpa (semi <wink>)-retired from farming.

Smiling softly because I remember seeing the one on my Grandma's table and can still recall the warm sense of how I felt I *belonged* to her because she kept my picture out. And we had a good bit in common, she and I... our eye for detail, plus she is the one who taught me to bake and crochet, and instilled my love of letter-writing.  :)

Both she and my dear Grandpa died 4 months apart (another story for another day) 39 years ago and I'm so grateful that their copy of this photo now lives here with me.

.            *             .

Filling Up My Well, Looking With Love, and Enough

Filling up my well 

with deep breaths 

on a beautiful summer Sunday morning. 

So grateful for 

the witness 

of our kind grandmother trees 

and happy birdsong. 

#fivedeepbreaths 

(Well, maybe more than 5)

Today's assignment in Liz's Water Your Mama Soul 

is to take a photo looking at ourselves with love.

As someone who has long struggled 

to find room (and permission) 

for herself and her needs in her own life,

 this particular prompt 

is so nourishing for me 

to come back to again and again. 

and again. 

❤

Hmmmm . . . .

reckon Grandmother tree 

is trying to tell me something?

Ok, ok . . . 

Enough time on the computer.

.            *           .