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Posts Tagged ‘determination’

Organizing, Inside and Outside

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 17, 2017| 2 Comments »

Right now, I am trying to be in a place of calm, a place where I can chill out and then handle the chaos of life better. You don’t just get it overnight; you have to work at it. It’s a daily struggle. (Jackée Harry)

I have a bookcase, better described as cheap than inexpensive. It is a strictly functional piece. The back is as thin as a pizza box and leaves some shelves open, vulnerable. Perhaps, a dark wall showing through would make a nice decorative touch. However, my office also serves as a toy room. (Stuffed cow, twin watering cans, and children’s books get the sturdier case.) The room’s ambience has a more turned-over toy box look than showroom feel.

Items from my shelf frequently fall out against the wall. However, an old phone book has dropped from the top and set off an avalanche. Books, papers, and notebooks followed like sheep to slaughter.

Okay, I guess it’s time to organize. Not reorganize. Most of my life is filed under miscellaneous.

First, I empty the bookcase and place it against the desk instead of the wall. If my system doesn’t work, escaped items can be retrieved under the desk. As backup I have a stack of magazines in the way—to protect computer wires. Yes, someday I’ll get a nicer bookshelf. For now, I’ll deal with what I have. I’m satisfied with functional.

Each stack of items becomes less defined in the small area. How did all this fit in one bookcase to begin with? Ooh!  Sun Magazine. Did I finish reading this July article? I am hesitant to throw away my favorite periodicals. Focus, Terry, focus.

Somewhere in the chaos I find the manuscript for an unpublished story I wrote fourteen years ago, not bad, but it needs editing and development. Time to keep on trucking—continue to steps two and three. In the present, possibilities to follow.

I think about real life, how much I’d like to tackle the whole of a world situation, settle it. Now. I can only send out a pebble onto the water and let the ripples flow. Toward justice, peace, recognition of all people.  I pick up one item in my mess and face my limits as well as my strengths. The existence of a flaw does not deny a talent. For anyone.

The three photos of my mundane work space below combine to show art coming from chaos. In this picture, a MiFrame program did most of the work. In the everyday, it isn’t as easy.

I see you; you see me. As we are. We grow from there.

organizing

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Ordinary Act of Kindness—More than Ordinary

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 26, 2017| Leave a Comment »

If we all do one random act of kindness daily, we just might set the world in the right direction. (Martin Kornfeld)

At water aerobics, I decide not to use water weights, even a lighter set. Yes, physical therapy has brought enormous improvement. However, I feel twinges, minor muscle pulls warning more pain, and decide to stop while I’m ahead. I’ll do the exercises my therapist gave me later, with deep breaths, seeing all as well—even if that wellness only lasts until the next news broadcast.

Another member of the class asks if I want a set of weights. I tell her why I’m abstaining today. She is relatively new to the class, and exudes a gentle friendliness. When we meet, we smile at one another as if we’ve been friends for years.

“I’ll pray for you,” she says.

I’m surprised by her response. After all, I am basically okay, almost-there recovery-wise. Yet, she offers concern on a spiritual level. A blessed presence.

“Thanks,” I respond. “That means a lot to me.”

Later, dinner has ended and dishes are washed, although there are other chores that swim through my head as the wash machine heads toward a final spin. I work on manuscript edits. I wonder if my head is moving faster than the whirl in the basement.

Then I hear a soft ping on my laptop. A message. From Cecelia, my almost-daughter-in-law. How are you? The chores will wait. She genuinely cares. Perhaps we will chat for only a few minutes. Then again, we may converse for an hour. It has happened before.

The everyday has been interrupted by another everyday experience—a simple reaching out, an act of love.

The state of the world has not changed. The state of the moment has. May this moment weave beauty into the next, with enough strength to defy the ugliness. May I work toward peace and not return hate with any of hate’s relatives, subtle or blatant.

 

heart-cloud-on-yellow-background

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Author Kelsey Timmerman: Finding Empathy

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 20, 2017| 1 Comment »

Acceptance and tolerance and forgiveness, those are life-altering lessons.  (Jessica Lange)

Today’s blog is the longest I have ever posted. Yet only this introductory paragraph comes from me. Kelsey Timmerman wrote the rest of it; I copied it verbatim with his permission. If you come from a different political platform, please hold on until the end. The purpose is not primarily political. It is human. Step into someone else’s shoes—at least for a few minutes. Peace, upon all:

…

…”I hated them because they voted for a man who I despised because of his hate speech. I hated hate so I hated and hated myself for hating.”

I wrote this piece on my blog after the election. Sharing again here on inauguration day:

THANKS FOR THE INSPIRATION, DONALD TRUMP. LET’S GET TO WORK.

There are a lot of reasons I didn’t want Donald J. Trump to be our next president, but there is one reason (and probably only one) that I’m glad he won.

The night of the election, I went to a watch party hosted at The Downtown Farm Stand. Gary Younge from the Guardian was there too. (Can you get more liberal than drinking organic beer and eating organic free-range, potato chips with your GMO-free friends, including a reporter from The Guardian? Probably not.) Like everyone else we expected to watch the election of the first female president. I can’t say I was a vigorous supporter of Hillary Clinton (there’s something rather unappealing about political dynasties), but earlier that day when I cast a vote for her I did get the “feels.” I have a daughter and if her fascination with burping and farting ever goes away, I’d like to think she could have any job, including President of the United States.

At the party, I thought, “If Trump did happen to win by some miracle, I’ll be more inspired than ever to get busy on my personal work and my work with The Facing Project connecting people through stories to strengthen community.”

At 9:30 PM it was obvious that Clinton was in trouble. The myth of the “silent Trump” voter was a reality. I stayed up until 3AM. I watched President-elect Trump’s victory speech. I felt like someone had died.

I had solid reasons to feel this way:

Since I’m a freelance troublemaker, we get our insurance through the ACA healthcare exchange. I have an autistic son who receives more than $100K of therapy each year. If/when President Trump repeals Obamacare, will a private insurance company outside the exchange insure us with Griffin’s “preexisting condition?” Or will we have to end therapy altogether?

Then there is Trump…

Did I mention I have a son with disabilities?

There’s the rhetoric of hate, fear, and misogyny. But I don’t want to write about all the reasons President Trump scares the shit out of me and makes me disappointed for our country, and how I feel for anyone that’s been labeled an outsider or other by the creepy nationalistic vibe that he represents. I want to write about how his being elected has inspired me more than ever to build empathy through stories.

On Wednesday I mourned. I skipped my morning workout and zombie-like drove Griffin to preschool. As I moved through the day, I’d see people and speculate that they voted for Trump on the smallest detail–what they wore, what they drove, facial hair. I was prejudging everyone and once I determined that they were a Trump voter, I hated them. I hated them because they voted for a man who I despised because of his hate speech. I hated hate so I hated and hated myself for hating.

On Thursday I was giving a talk at Northern Kentucky University. First year students at NKU read Where Am I Eating? as a common read. I had decided to make the talk entirely about the election and not mention our election once.

I told the story of a family who lived in the Mathare Valley slum in Nairobi Kenya. After a disputed election in 2008, violence spilled out across Kenya. The losing party was protesting the results of the election in which a candidate of the Luo tribe lost to a candidate from the Kikuyu tribe. Luo protestors went door-to-door in Mathare Valley and asked questions in their native tongue. If their questions couldn’t be answered, they killed all those inside. Shaddy Hopkid Marsha, the middle brother of the family, spoke both languages. He gathered up his neighbors and hid them inside his shanty. He answered the questions. He saved the lives of his neighbors.

“How many houses, dorm rooms, apartments, do you have to go from your home until you don’t know the names of the people who live there?” I asked the students and myself.

I shared a story about standing outside of a mosque in Bangladesh while men in prayer robes poured out. This was 2007, and, as much as I liked to think that the constant barrage of “fear the Muslims” in our media and society hadn’t sunk in, it had. My heart beat faster. I was nervous that if they knew I were an American, they wouldn’t like me. I was afraid. But then I spent then next month hanging out with people…people who were Muslim. They were amazing.

“How can we fear people who we’ve never met?” I asked the students and myself.

I shared Amilcar Lozano‘s story. Amilcar left his job as a garment worker in Honduras and risked his life to come to the United States where he works today supporting his family in a way he couldn’t if he were actually with them. No matter where you are on the immigration debate, you can appreciate the sacrifice Amilcar made for his family and the courage it took to make his journey.

“When we start with stories instead of politics and ideology, we can have a conversation with anyone regardless of what political team they are on or who they voted for,” I told the students and myself.

I talked about knowing our neighbors, listening to them, not fearing people we don’t know, and about the responsibility we all have to use our own privilege and opportunity to help others.

It felt so damn good not to hate. It felt good to take positive action to make a difference instead of complaining about things I couldn’t control.

On Saturday, the Facing Racism Project in Muncie project shared 38 stories of people in our community who had a racism story to be told. The event sold out in a matter of days. I’m the co-founder of The Facing Project, a nationwide nonprofit storytelling initiative that seeks to build empathy, and I was also a writer and a part of the planning committee for the project.

The stories reminded us all how far we’ve come as a society, yet how very far we have to go. To collect the stories, volunteer writers sat with volunteer storytellers to listen and collaborate on each story, and actors brought the stories to life. Well over 100 people were involved in the project.

The participants and the audience reminded me that there are people who are willing to sit and listen to difficult subjects. There are people who are willing to connect with people who are different than them.

After the election, we didn’t wake up in a different country. This is our country. If you were surprised by the results like I was, we obviously weren’t listening to other people enough. We let our politics and our politicians divide us. We need to connect and seek to understand those who have different opinions than us.

Universities, bless their souls, are providing safe places for students to mourn the election results. I’ll give you Wednesday. Wednesday I needed a safe place to just not do Wednesday, so I stayed home as much as possible. But Thursday? We don’t need quiet places to be alone, we need to be meeting people, getting engaged with all parts of our community and not just people who look, think, and act like us.

I will make this important caveat though: I understand why certain people are afraid of a Trump presidency. They are afraid of being deported, having a loved one being deported, being rounded up into an internment camp, of being unmarried to a loved one, of not being able to afford health insurance. Those of us who are less impacted by the possibilities listed above need to be there for the groups of people who feel like they may lose rights or be discriminated against. We need to listen to them and stand with them.

We also need to listen to the people who voted for Trump. I have loved ones who I believe are some of the best damn people on the planet and they voted for Trump. I side with Jon Stewart on this.

Here’s what he had to say to Charlie Rose recently:

“I thought Donald Trump disqualified himself at numerous points. But there is now this idea that anyone who voted for him has to be defined by the worst of his rhetoric. Like, there are guys in my neighborhood that I love, that I respect, that I think have incredible qualities who are not afraid of Mexicans, and not afraid of Muslims, and not afraid of blacks. They’re afraid of their insurance premiums. In the liberal community, you hate this idea of creating people as a monolith. Don’t look at Muslims as a monolith. They are the individuals and it would be ignorance. But everybody who voted for Trump is a monolith, is a racist. That hypocrisy is also real in our country.”

We fear what we don’t know. When we don’t know our neighbors, we fear them.

We all need to listen to each other and have empathy for one another. This election has reminded me of that and that the work that I do and the work of The Facing Project is more important than ever. I hope you have similar work to pour yourself into that isn’t just a Facebook post, or a Change.org petition, or protesting. Those things are fine, but if you really want to make an impact, you need to go beyond being against things and work on the things you are for. You need to become part of the community out your actual front door.

If you aren’t sure what to do and want to build empathy story by story, The Facing Project needs volunteer coaches and editors. We also need resources–you can donate here to the Building Empathy Story by Story campaign – http://give.classy.org/empathy .

Since the election, I’ve completed the first draft of a book proposal and shipped it off to JL Stermer–another global quest–and feel absolutely reinvigorated and as passionate as ever toward my work with The Facing Project.

And for that I’m thankful. It’s not a new world. It’s the same world and this election has been a reminder we still have a lot of work to do.

photos taken from Facing Project web page, highlighted with Word tools

A team studies possible approaches in the top photo. Autistic children celebrate who they are in the lower pic.

kelseys-post-hatred-is-not-the-answer

 

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Approaching a New Year, with the Moving Fragile Clouds

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 29, 2016| Leave a Comment »

Growth demands a temporary surrender of security. (Gail Sheehy)

Clouds don’t hold any shape for long; they form, disintegrate and reappear. I watch bright blue sky fill with white and then darken around the edges. Unusual for me to watch anything for long. I’m addicted to constant activity. However, both an asthmatic cough and a dull pain in the back of my head demand that I stay still for a while.

This year has almost ended. Some of 2016 has been sweet. Some of it has been so bitter I can scarcely swallow when I think about it. The clouds shift by. Change is what they do—part of what they are.

I’m not that flexible. My neck screams to me every time I turn too far left or right. My spirit continues to learn, through friends, grandchildren, and circumstances both within and beyond my control.

Sure, I’m tempted to worry about the factions that have divided this country. Moreover, I’ve seen too many deaths both close and far away.

Beauty remains despite ugliness and hate. I have a choice. Can I stay inside fear or celebrate the fact that my husband has chosen to lie down beside me?

A Happy New Year to all. May your paths lead you to become the best you were meant to be.

two photos taken from my front yard, MiFrame enhanced

image

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Learning to See Differently—From a Friend with a White Cane

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 24, 2016| 1 Comment »

A good friend is a connection to life—a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world. (Lois Wyse)

A. and I sing along with Christmas carols played in the background at the senior Christmas party. She is not distracted by the colors and movement around her—she can’t see them. Her white cane leans against an empty chair next to her.

A.’s enthusiasm buoys mine. We have already exchanged gifts, nothing dramatic. She gave us the practical items we asked for: potholders and handkerchiefs. We got her a grocery gift-certificate. The gifts don’t matter. Our intentions do.

“You don’t know it, but you really helped me,” I tell her.

Then the leader of the senior program goes to the microphone and asks for quiet. Among a group of older folk, that’s something like suggesting a tornado stop mid-whirl. For a change, everyone’s hearing aids are tuned-in. A little girl plays a few carols on guitar, single notes, but the songs extend into complicated musical patterns.

The featured entertainer switches from guitar to keyboard.

“He’s good,” A. says, tapping out the rhythm to “Here Comes Santa Claus.”

Our friends at the table seem to pick up on her enthusiasm. A. wins one of the door prizes.

When we are in the car and returning home, A. asks how she could possibly have helped me.

I tell her about how our friendship deepened when Jay was in the hospital in the fall. I was having muscle spasms and needed to care for my recovering spouse. She was sunshine when I felt uncertain and more than a little frightened. A. told me then she could listen and would be my friend forever. Her assurance helped me get through a difficult time.

I watch as she feels the items through the plastic wrap over the basket of the door-prize win. Dish cleaner, a wash cloth, some unidentified smaller objects, possibly kitchen oriented. I can’t see anything tucked under the visible objects. I don’t know if any other treasures wait inside. A ceramic angel is situated on top, in the center.

At first I wonder how an angel could have anything to do with miscellaneous cleaning products. Maybe the connection doesn’t need to be obvious. Maybe the blessed isn’t separated from the ordinary. And a human-angel is appreciating a ceramic image with a tactile dexterity I have never experienced.

The winter solstice appears now. Each day slowly adds daylight. A. has never seen light. Yet, she has absorbed it through her being, even if her eyes can’t observe a single cloud, or recognize one shade of blue or gray.

I see the shapes and colors. However, I haven’t captured the fullness of what I can touch, taste, smell, see, and hear. Yet.

A., my newest life teacher, unlocks her apartment door. “Call you in a couple of weeks,” she says. I hope she doesn’t mind if I contact her sooner. This student has a short memory.

The Solstice: created from a public domain image

winter-solstice-with-background

 

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Iced-Inside a 1997 Toyota one December day

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 18, 2016| 2 Comments »

Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans. (John Lennon)

Today. Finally. I’ll get a few errands completed. Even though old man winter is mocking the bright blue sky by plunging the temperature below ten degrees. My key opens the lock on the door of my 1997 Toyota on the second try.

The ignition responds. Unfortunately, the door doesn’t close—not because the seat belt is in the way. I pull the door shut and try to hold it sufficiently tight to lock, with the false hope that it will stay there. Oh, sure, the lock catches, but the door is not properly positioned—and I can’t get it unlocked again.

Great! I. Am. Stuck. Inside. This. Car. And Jay is at the auto repair shop now getting an oil change for his car. Naturally, my purse and phone are in the house. I am simply warming little green for a minute or two. My old car has decided it doesn’t want to go anywhere.

Now, if I can get the window to open… I press the buttons. The windows lower only on the passenger side. That means I get to climb over the gear shift, pray I don’t drop the keys out the window, and open the door from that side.

Hallelujah! I’m sprung. Little green Toyota remains iced, but at least I can call to see if Jay is still at our friend’s repair shop. Our friend suggests Jay make a simple repair with a spray; it does not work. Jay and I both drive back to the shop—not in our neighborhood. He follows, as my car-dian angel.

The warm drive allows the door to relax and behave as if nothing had ever been wrong with it. Ack! Ack! Triple ack. At least my-car-that-could-be-almost-classic-if-it-didn’t-resemble-a-demolition-derby-look-alike gets an oil change. And I learn to cover my key with the point of a pencil (graphite.) Graphite in the form of a pencil point or graphite spray helps to loosen the lock.

Of course, this cure only helps in models old enough to earn rust stains. My vehicle fits in that category. Little green is not old enough to remember carburetors, however.

My errands will wait for tomorrow. Maybe. Fate, the weather, Armageddon? Whatever tomorrow brings, I’m grateful not to be a four-foot eleven-inch ice cube.

iced-in

 

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Wisdom, Five-year-old Style

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 9, 2016| 1 Comment »

If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older. (Abraham Sutzkever )

My almost grandson, Dakota, is about to leave our house to spend the weekend with his dad. I am on the floor of my office/playroom. The area doubles as both.

Ella and I are making Play-Doh food for two baby dolls. She leads each scene; I follow, savoring every inconsistency with reality. Time follows a whim. Meatballs can be blue. Toy characters can be friends even if they are three times the size of one another.

“I love you, Ella,” Dakota says. “Be good for your daddy and I will be home on Sunday. I love you.”

A five-year-old angel stands in a room filled with the imperfection that happens when every toy finds its way off the shelves. I want to hug the little boy, and gather in the beauty I see. Instead, I wait in awe.

He doesn’t know how incredible he is. I don’t have the pre-school language to explain to him what I see. I listen, and allow him to teach. About accepting life as it is, not how I want it to be.

Utopia does not exist. Anywhere. Even in play. Some of the Play-Doh has dried out. My grandchildren love the stuff. It’s inexpensive enough to replace. The toys can be returned to the shelf in less than thirty minutes.

I look at the world scene, however, and the pain in my neck and back increases—a somatic response as helpful as screaming into a storm, telling the wind to stop, immediately. I work toward taking one step at a time, and listen to the nuances of each situation. Act. Don’t react, Ter. Easier said than done, but a lot more effective than war, on any level.

I am grateful my grandchildren live in town. They may think they have a grandma-playmate. However, they rekindle a long-ago child who believes in creativity and kindness.

I may never be able to convince my arthritic hands they belong forming odd-colored vegetables for a stuffed snowman and cow. Nevertheless, the children convince my spirit it can remain fresh and pliable, capable of change, open to love.

(Dakota’s drawings of my son, Steve, and his family: Mom, Steve, Ella, and Dakota. When asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, Dakota answered, “A daddy like Steve.”)

dakotas-drawings-of-steve-and-his-family

 

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Late-ripening tomatoes: a Metaphor for November 9, 2016

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 10, 2016| 1 Comment »

Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That’s why it’s a comfort to go hand in hand.  (Emily Kimbrough)

November 9, sunrise hasn’t made an appearance yet. I pass through the doorway between our dining room and kitchen. Two green tomatoes wait on the windowsill for the sun to ripen them. I pause. One of the fruits has caught a pink glow; the other remains a solid, unchanged color. Perhaps, the two broke from the vine at a different time in their development. I can’t judge tomatoes any more than I can judge people. I have a black thumb.

My husband handles the watering and care of plants. If they survive, he deserves the credit. Cooking and cleaning remain in my jurisdiction.

My response to this moment also remains in my jurisdiction. Today seems darker than it usually is before sunrise.

Everyone is in a different stage of development. Human beings were born with senses—yet, we perceive the same realities differently. Some people are excited about the election of this new president. Others shudder; this man has no concern for individuals, especially women and people from other countries. He cares only for his own goals.

Events in my life that occurred in another century, long ago past, reappear in my mind. I imagine them viewed by many among the current generation of voters, as if the pain were no big deal, as if the possibility of being left for dead in a ditch, meant nothing. I didn’t die. Instead, my tormentors promised: We will be back for you tomorrow. I thought death may have been better because reporting the incident became another form of torture. The win, a Pyrrhic victory.

Abuse talk disintegrates into buzz words, leading into useless argument or emotional responses. Worse, it is immediately dismissed. Perhaps we have become hardened to the subject, the way we have responded to other forms of violence.

Nevertheless, I survived, and I survived well. I am a wife, mother, grandmother, writer, author. I learned to play guitar in my mid-fifties and have written songs and sung them publicly, even if my mother would have told me I didn’t have enough ability to achieve such a goal. Strangers have complimented me on my words, music, voice, smile and positive outlook.

Dawn appears. It always has. My husband brings home a bag of late, partially green tomatoes. I line them up on the window sill.

I can’t predict the future, and I won’t pretend that more than a little trepidation floats through me.

The sun rises higher. I pray to rise with it, joined by friends who stumble, too, but are not afraid to reach for the hand of another.                                             

tomatoes-on-window-sill

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One More Moment—to remember, or not

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 20, 2016| 1 Comment »

People forget years and remember moments. (Ann Beattie)

I missed two fun events that featured music and song. Singing makes my soul feel rich and full. There will be other opportunities, and I need to forget about times that cannot be retrieved.

This moment demands all my attention: a darkened hospital room where my husband recovers from surgery—from an unexpected but not life-threatening condition. Details are unnecessary. Insert any life crisis here: health, trauma, devastating news…

I go home overnight, and then return to the same colonial-blue couch in a standard white hospital room. The situation worsens. Yet the sun shines and I try to gather its rays deeper than any surface can allow.

My husband picks up a newspaper and puts on his glasses. He reads. Even if the news predicts Armageddon on every page, he’s awake, alive. And I celebrate our relationship as the IV piggyback dose of Phenergan, for nausea, puts him to sleep again.

Yesterday I called and let my sons know Dad will be staying at the hospital longer than anticipated. They rearranged their work schedules to be here. My sister-in-law and niece, both nurses arrived. They asked the right questions. These are not the blessings I asked for.

But, they are gifts nevertheless. I wait for a better tomorrow, yet live in today.

hospital-room-three-pics

 

 

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Hi, Mother Nature, I came for a leisurely stroll…

Posted in positive thinking, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 6, 2016| 1 Comment »

Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand. (Albert Einstein)

I have more than enough work and projects to keep me indoors for the next century—or at least it seems that way. However, as Jay and I put clean sheets on the bed I look outside at the clear blue. And it calls to me to come outside and play.

How much worse will my back feel on a shady trail in the woods than it does now? I look at the clock. We have just enough time in the afternoon to enjoy the warm, but not-too-warm, early September.

Jay knows most of the trails in the park. He chooses one that winds through prairie grass reaching twelve-feet high. He can walk much faster than I can. Yet, as other people come through he lets them go first. “We move slowly,” he says, emphasis on the word, we. But he chooses to stay with my uneven step.

And the slow travel allows the discovery of a bird nest hidden in a bush on the side of the path. Jewel weed abounds. The stem of the plant can be opened and spread on skin to ward off poison ivy. The jewel weed acts as a guardian angel plant since it seems to follow poison ivy patches. Canopies of branches stretch across the trail. Huge bluebird houses, large enough for other birds, hide high in the trees.

We step over and into last year’s dry, dark brown leaves. Yesterdays that can’t be returned. The past. I remember when I felt I would always be 25-years-old. I acted as if each moment could be prolonged forever, too.  Some of those moments ended as regrets crunched now by the heel of my shoe, especially on my right hip where the pain hits sharpest.

But, I also notice the pain doesn’t stop me. Instead it teaches me to savor beauty while it lasts.

I smile as I recall a recent yesterday: My two older grandchildren visited. Kate and Rebe healed with their presence and their humor. They pretended to find cures from a mock healing source on a Walmart Internet site. And for no external reason at all I chuckle as the trail twists and so does my aching back.

The sun shines and casts moving shadows. I call the brightness, hope.

take-hearts-for-walk-in-the-woods

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