Friendship

When I look back, I know that the good feelings, of security and light-heartedness have washed out any feelings I must have had of sadness, fear, or boredom.   I was never bored.  There was so much to do, even when I was alone:  arrange my plastic animal collection in new ways;  draw; use my Fashion plates;  dress and undress my Barbies; make blanket forts; play with matchbox cars in our little yard, making roads in the dirt.  And that was just what I could do alone.

 With a friend, we could play wall ball, army, jump and squeal in the sprinkler; practice cartwheels;  the possibilities were endless.  With a friend in the wide red leather back seat of my mom’s enourmous Pontiac, everything was fun.  Whatever music played on the radio was what we listened to and sang along to.  Errands.  To the supermarket, to the drugstore, it didn’t matter.  With a friend, it was just background to endless conversations and sharing.  Sharing sugar dot candies from paper strips;  sharing and trading glittery-plastic jelly bracelets, sharing stickers, sharing barettes and banana clips;  sharing secrets:  who we thought was “cute” and what we dreamed about, and what we over heard our parents fight about.  Through the frigid grocery store isles, our conversations would continue, or our dances, or jokes that only we thought were funny.  It really didn’t matter where we were or what we were doing, a good friend was enough.  

Things to do with a 14 year old boy that aren't "lame"

I miss the days of crafts, cooking, going for walks, and playing with my little boy.  As I've lamented before, our list of shared interests has dwindled over the past year.  I am sad.  Jackson, now 14,  could care less. So, that's good.  He's right on track developmentally.  (sniff, sniff)
Here's my list of fun things for us to do this summer that are not "lame" (unlike hiking, biking, art, visiting museums, and baking)

• Play one-on-one in the driveway then cool off with the hose (we already do this, sans the hose) Winner gets to hose off the loser…or maybe vice-versa
• Make weird popsicles…jalapeno lime orange;  chili pineapple;
• 4 Square Tournament with kids and adults
• Ultimate burger cook-off
• Fish local streams and brooks for little brookies
• Take photos of John (my husband) sleeping in his camp chair and make a photo montage
• Summer Photo Challenge:  take one photo every day of summer
• Drop water balloons off the roof on unsuspecting friends
• Set up a double slip ‘n slide
• Go to Waterville to the big pool we used to go to when Jackson was a baby, then go out for Indian Food
• Go to a concert in Bangor or Portland on the waterfront
• Go to Boston on a “Duck Tour” and see the Blue Man Group
• Go “mining” in Bethel
• Jump off the Kingfield bridge
• Go to Houston Brook Falls and jump off the cliff

Not my usual type of post...

This post is way out of alignment with what I usually write about, but I'm angry and need an outlet.

Why is it that teachers are still using the word "tattle"?  In fact, why is it that on Pinterest there are THOUSANDS of pins dedicated to "teaching the difference between tattling and telling"?

When teachers send the message to "not to tattle" they are really sending the message not to tell.  To face their problems alone, to figure it out, to be a bystander who "minds their beeswax".  O sure, there are all sorts of helpful videos and posters and flow charts to help students navigate the murky waters of when to tell and when not to tell.  It's not okay.  They are still getting the message that sometimes if you tell you will be ridiculed.  This idea takes root and by the time students get into fifth grade the idea is rooted to not tell.  About any harassment.  Ever.  It's dangerous and it's wrong of teachers to ever use the word "tattle."

 This poster is especially repulsive.

What's the solution?  I learned from Stan Davis, author of Schools Where Everyone Belongs teachers can simply say, "Thank you for telling me" when a child tells on another child for an incident that does not pose a threat to anyone.   Let's say Charlie runs up to you and reports that Gina is using a red pen to do her homework.  All I have to do is say, "Thank you for telling me."  I don't have to address the issue or talk to Gina at all.  Charlie has gotten the message that it is good to tell the teacher when something concerns him or when someone is breaking the rules. Gina gets to go about her business.  I have found that I just need to let my students in on my approach:  that I want them to tell me when something is wrong, but it's up to me to decide what to do from there.

Please, if you are a teacher, try this approach.  It actually saves time.  You don't have to go into your whole dissertation about the difference between telling and tattling, everyone can get back to enjoying their recess time, and maybe students with time will not have the "don't tell" culture ground into their psyche.

Shedding

Everything is hatching, blooming, changing.  Here is a dragonfly exoskeleton and a caddisfly case.

It makes me consider what habits I could shed.  I am reading Gretchen Ruben's Better than Before.  It's a great read.  She doesn't tell you what to do, she describes many strategies for adopting, letting go of, or changing habits.  Some of the habits I am considering are:

A new exercise program:  strength 3X/week (Mon, Wed, Fri); Yoga (Tues/Thurs/Sun) with running or something cardiovascular when I can fit it in for fun

Eating "clean"

Adopting a new filing system for all the paper in our lives

Committing to never "winging it" at school, to always have my plans for the next day in place before I leave for the day.  

Putting my clothes away and not allowing them to pile up on my dresser or in clothes baskets

De-cluttering everything possible, one room at a time.

Making my bed each morning.

Read the news at least two times per week so that I am better informed about what's going on in the world...but WHERE?!  It has to be easy and convenient!  (Easy to do, hard to fail is how habits stick)

Accepting my husband's habits as his own, which I cannot alter...but my son is fair game.

Mom knows best (Not this mom, but my mom)

On the Friday before Memorial Day I lost my phone.  It was a hectic end to the day with phone calls coming in, packing up my room, a math meeting, and general Friday-before-a-vacation-pandimonium.  Finally in the parking lot, I recalled the parent phone calls I had to make. Determined to not go back into the building, I opened up my laptop on the hood of my car to look up parent numbers and enter them into my phone.  I'd call them later.  Also, knowing I had to pack up a car and that my family was waiting for me to leave for the weekend made me all the more harried.  I didn't know it at the time, but I left my phone on the roof of my car and drove off.

I searched my car and my school and dumped out every bag I own several times.  I gave up.  The phone was gone.  I ordered a new one.  Yesterday, my new phone came and I promptly called Tracphone to set it up.

The kind woman with a slight Slavic accent told me that the number to my old phone had been changed and therefore I would not be able to use my old number.  A light went off in my mind.
"Will you give me the new number, please?" I asked.  I would call and see who the hell had my phone.

"Yes, but please, first you must answer a security question."

How the heck did whoever had my phone know the answer? I wondered.  In any case.  I gave the correct pin and was granted the information.

"(207) 616-8398," the Slavic lady replied.

"Thank you." My hands shook as I dialed the number.  Please don't let it be one of my students.  That would be so disappointing.

"Hello?" a man's voice answered.

"Hi.  This is Stacey.  Who am I speaking with?"

"This is Billy Peters."

"Hi Billy.  By any chance did you find the phone you are speaking on?"

"Yuh."

"Oh, well, that's my phone.  I lost it.  Can I have it back?"

"Yuh."

"Great!  That would be wonderful." (You stupid jerk, lowlife thief).  Deep breaths, I thought,  remember you get more bears with honey and all that...just get the phone.  "So, are you in the North Anson area?"

"Nope.  I'm in Fairfield."

At this point I should have offered to come get it, but did I?  No, of course not.  I never see the most direct path to anything.

"Oh, so if I give you my address will you mail my phone to me?"

"Yuh."

"Okay, good."  Why didn't this idiot just look in my contacts and call me? I wondered.  Ask nicely.  "Can I ask you a question? Why didn't you just call my home number listed in the contacts?"

"I didn't see any." Because he's dishonest or stupid or both!  Be patient.  Be kind.  Deep breath.

 I was about to give Billy my address but was feeling a bit doubtful of him following through. "Are you really going to mail it to me, or are you going to just keep my phone?"

"Ah, well, I can try, but I'm low income."

Then all my love-for-humanity-deep-breathing-calmness seeped out of me.  "Well, you should have just looked in the contacts and called the number labeled 'Home'! Then you wouldn't HAVE to mail it.  It IS MY phone, and you just KEPT it for weeks because you thought--what? Finders keepers? Give me a break----"

He hung up.  Great.

Full of indignation, I called my mom to share my outrage.  She listened, full of compassion as always, but then when I came to the part about grilling the guy about not calling me when he found the phone, my mom said, "Well, did you want to give him a lecture or get your phone?"

And there lies the crux of my problem with relating to people.  I have such a hard time not telling them what's what.  I tick people off  just to satisfy my own self-righteousness.  Lesson:  Keep the goal in sight.  Keep my ego in check.

Check.

Dragonfly Hatch...Almost

While down by the river this morning I saw an emerald green dragonfly fanning its wings.  It must have recently hatched.  I searched around on the rocks nearby to find its husk.  What if I could witness a dragonfly hatching?  That would be magnificent.  I would go back home, get the SD card which I had forgotten to replace in my camera, and come back down.
Back at home, I replaced the SD card, remembered I had to water my flowers because I skipped last night.   Might as well hang out the laundry on my way out after watering the flowers. Got sidetracked because Jackson wanted my feedback on a poster he is creating for me.  It was good work, going over his designs with him.
While I was upstairs I gathered another load of laundry and grabbed the book I was reading last night to find that great quote about how being lazy encourages creativity.
Back downstairs, camera in hand, hoisted the laundry outside to hang on the line.  THEN I would go see if I could witness the miracle of a dragonfly hatching.  With the last clothespin left on the line, I spotted this:

Isn't the regularity a wonder?  

 and the resourcefulness?

At the top of the clothespin are two halves of some sort of casing. 

 I'll be keeping an eye on these eggs.  

Hiding ourselves

"Jackson, where's your memoir?  I've been looking forward to reading it," I asked, leafing through my son's school folder.

"You can't.  It's personal," he replied.

Maybe he was joking. "Well, I want to read it," I plodded on.  "I read your last one.  I love your writing.  I want to read it."  

"Fine," he sighed, but two days later I have still not seen the memoir.  

I understand where my 14 year old son is coming from.  I can remember my dad opening my portfolio when I was in art school and feeling sqeamish, mildly violated, and embarrassed as he flipped through my drawings and paintings.  My artwork was so personal.  I didn't share that part of myself with my parents: my full, adult, sexual, spiritual, daring self.  I felt like I had a whole aspect of myself that I shielded from my parents because it didn't meld with who I thought they would want or expect me to be.  In retrospect, I was shielding them from me, not me from them.  I didn't think they could handle it, and I was too scared to find out.

And even though I am an adult, 40 years old, I still don't want to share many of my stories with my parents.  It's absurd!  Why should I be ashamed?  Yes, I was foolish, reckless, passionate, but they love me as I love my child.  Maybe I'm fooling myself.  Maybe they don't want to know.  

I'm a different parent than my parents were.  I teach sex ed, for goodness sake.  I let my son swear--at home only!--and listen to all his stories and complaints with the prime objective of being a listener and not always an adviser or corrector.  I have told Jackson many times that I accept him completely as he is.  Everyone can improve themselves, but I accept him and love him.  But really, he probably just hears, "I love you, blah blah blah."  The point is, I'm open, I don't shock easily, and I'm accepting.  

This does not change the fact that there are sides to my son that he does not want to show me.  I'm not talking about behavior.  I don't expect or want him to behave with me as he would with his buddies.  And I know that this is the time that teens must begin to break away from their parents.  But his memoir?  He shared that with his class, his teachers.  What could he share with them that he can't share with me?  Is he afraid I will scrutinize his recollection of the events?  That could be.  We are a family of debaters.  

Maybe Jackson's desire for privacy is that is another part of him that I have to accept. But I'm not sure.  I think not letting the people we love see us for who we wholly are, especially creatively, is selling everyone short.  Can I heed my own advice?  Can I be brave and share more with my parents?  If I can't can I expect my son to?

What if?

I watched Julie Burnstien’s TED talk this morning on four lessons of creativity.  The four lessons, in a nutshell, are to pay attention to the world around us, to push against the limits of what you think is possible, that creativity comes out of what’s difficult, and to embrace loss. Also, creativity is essential not only to artists, but to all work that we must do. Above is one of the images Burnstein shared in her talk. It is a Japanese tea bowl, 100 years old, the original crafter's fingermarks still on the simple pinched vessel. At some point the bowl broke, and the person who reassembled it chose to use a gold medium to show the imperfection rather than hide it. The cracks have made this more beautiful. A perfect metaphor for all of us in our endeavors to be our best. Our flaws are what makes us original. But this isn't the lesson I want to dwell on.

Julie Burnstein told the story of how sculptor Richard Sera, as a young painter living in Florence, went to see the painting Las Meninas by Velazquez and realized that he couldn’t paint that picture.  Sera embraced his limitations, threw away his paintings, moved to New York and started listing verbs:  to roll, to crumple, to fold, and many others.  He then started doing these things to different materials.  His verb, “To lift” gave rise to this sculpture, "To Lift".

Richard Serra. “To Lift,” 1967. Vulcanized rubber. 36 x 80 x 60 in. Courtesy David Zwirner Gallery. Photo: Peter Moore © 2013. Richard Serra/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

Sera’s  work reminds me of Cristo’s work.  Their work seems to start with the question “what if?”

Richard Serra, Inside Out, 2013, Weatherproof steel 158 x 982 x 482 1/2 inches, Shot before delivery to this exhibition venue: Richard Serra/New Sculpture, Gagosian Gallery, West 21st Street NY, NY, October 26- February 8, 2014 Photo by Lorenz Kienzl

Christo, Valley Curtain, Rifle, Colorado, 1970-72.

12,780 square meters of nylon, cables, and rope  

Running Fence, Sonoma and Marin Counties, California, 1972-76.200,000 square meters of nylon, steel poles, and steel cables

Christo and Jeanne-Claude Surrounded Islands, Biscayne Bay, Greater Miami, Florida, 1980-83 Photo: Wolfgang Volz © 1983 Christo

The phrase “What if” has gotten a bad rep.  People think of it as a phrase we use when contemplating the past and feeling regret:  What if I moved when I had the chance?  What if I went to art school?  What if I never ___________?  But “What if?” can also be a way to tease out creativity and other things we want in life.

"What  if" can bring structure to each day:

What if I accomplished one small project per day?  What project would I do today?

It can bring exploration:

What if I brought the kids swimming some place new today?

What if we biked up this road to find out where it leads?

"What if" can make us happier:

What if instead of being offended I laughed?

What if instead of saying “sorry” I said “thank you.”

What if I go into my 8am-2pm meeting tomorrow with the satisfaction of doing important work instead of remorse that I am going to be inside during a beautiful day?

"What if" can lead us to better health with a sense of exploration and inquiry instead of heavy-handedness:

What if I ate 6 servings of vegetables today?

What if I drank only two cups of coffee?

What would that be like?  What would I feel like?

"What if" can also push us to follow our dreams:

What if I found funding for my project?

What if I wrote a business plan?

What if I stop waiting for it to happen, and make it happen? What if I commit to my dream? What if I give up security and was brave enough to move past my fear of having to hussle for grants and investors? What if I stopped playing small?

And if I fail, I will think of the Japanese pot, more beautiful for its flaws than a featureless, smooth vessel.

Lessons to learn over and over

When Jackson was a toddler and whining about something, I learned to say, "That's really frustrating, huh?"  My co-worker who had children in college taught me to follow up with, "I'm sorry I can't help you fix that," if nothing I did stopped his whining. I'm not sure if any of you have experience with toddlers who have a fit because their blanket (or sock, sticker placement, or block tower) isn't "just so", but it can be maddening.

When Jackson got a little older, I learned to listen and not always advise.  But for some reason, I forget that this can apply to anyone in my life. 

I don't need to fix people's problems just because they are complaining to me.  And more importantly, they probably don't want me to.

I used to have these huge, disk-shaped earrings that a friend and co-worker Julie called my "shit shields" because she imagined they deflected anyone's negativity or BS.  Julie was a great source for positivism.  I can still hear her saying, "Why lament?"  Lesson to remember:

I do not need to let other people's negativity seep into my own thoughts or feelings.  I am my own separate entity.  

Assessing my negative thoughts

So, after keeping track of my negative thoughts for five days, I've noticed a few things.  I am not proud of these things, but here it is.

• About one fifth of my negative thoughts are wishing people would be quiet, or at least stop talking to me. 
• About a quarter are martyr-ish.  I am the only person who:  cleans the toilet, buys pet food, mops, does the accounting, listens, grocery shops, cooks, picks up my socks, and returns phone calls.  
• I had five negative thoughts about my appearance...pants fit too tightly, hair looking bad, wrinkly old-face-bags under my eyes, when did I get cellulite there?, wow, I can't even do ten push-ups anymore I'm weak.
• I had myself convinced that a parent whose child sprained his ankle on our camping trip was going to call me in anger or sue me.
• I also convinced myself that I would get an angry call from a mother whose son I stepped on because I didn't see him while I was sprinting madly to the "safety" while playing man hunt on our camping trip.  I played these imaginary confrontations in my head WAY too many times.
• Sometimes I have negative thoughts that I dwell on because I want to convince myself of something.  For example, I don't really want to go to workshops at my school during the summer, but if I must I want to get paid.So I was really indignant and put-out about the fact that we teachers aren't being compensated for our time.  I wanted to convince myself that I just shouldn't go.  This is not the case.  I should go because it is valuable training that I need to be a better math teacher.  
• Random negatives:  nights are boring;  I hate caterpillars, I should have had more than one child, I'm lonely, I miss my son being little, I hope my parents don't die soon, I'm not doing enough to grab life by the b-lls, I'm a crappy friend, I'm a crappy mother, I'm a crappy fisherman.  I know nothing.
• I sometimes have a hard time seeing the big picture and have negative thoughts that are hard to escape such as, "My son is never going to have fun with us again.  He doesn't even like us anymore" and "Dogs are assholes."

The negative thoughts that are destructive are the ones of self-doubt.  

As for wanting people to be quiet, I should be thankful that people need me.  They won't always be here to ask me questions, ask for my help, show me a funny post, rant to me or tell me a story.  I actually wish my 14 year old would talk to me more.  At least there's car rides.  Car rides are always good for conversations.

A trick I do when I being a martyr-in-my-mind is to imagine that I didn't have a husband.  THEN I actually would be doing everything.  It just seems like I do more than my share because there are other people around who could be doing all the work that I am doing, but they are doing other work that I am not doing.  "If something needs to be addressed, address it or shut up." That is my happy little mantra.

Spotting Jack

On my morning walk I spotted this dandy:

It's funny how once you focus on a certain species, you suddenly see it easily, where you didn't see it before.  John and I have noticed this happens with gathering mushrooms too.  I took a good look at the leaves and then...

noticed Jack-in-the-Pulpits all around me.  Because of this, I got to see how the flower develops at many stages.  Here's what one looks like before they get their stripes.

 I read that Native Americans would gather and eat the corms of the plant to eat, but it has to be cooked or it causes a burning reaction.   Also, the spadix (the "Jack" in the pulpit) has tiny male and female flowers at its base.  I plan to dig one up to see the corm for myself and peel back the spathe to see the tiny flowers.  

This flower is so exotic looking.  It would seem out of place in the Maine woods were it not for its subdued hues.  It's shape strikes me as dramatic, like a woman with a fur stole flung over one shoulder.  

On my way out of the woods, I noticed many patches of Poison Ivy.  What a grand imitator that plant is!  On the top, Jack-in-the-Pulpit. On bottom, Poison Ivy.  Here's a fun and helpful quiz:   Is This Poison Ivy or Not?  

If you can train your eyes to see a specific plant that went unnoticed before, what else can we be trained to see?

Squash Beetles

While on a run today I told my friend Steph about my idea that curbing negative thinking, and thereby increasing my blissfulness, is like cutting back on calories consumed or cutting back on spending.  The first step is to make myslef aware of my negative thoughts.  She suggested I write them down, the way you write down the calories you consume or the money you spend.  I think this is worth trying.  It would be a way to purge and to examine for patterns.  I'm going to try it.  It just so happens I have an extra little pocket notebook and its color is black.

My tomatillos already have squash beetles and a few of my beans' leaves look like lace. Come on!  There are only two leaves per little shoot!  I entered the garden with a bucket of soapy water to eradicate the pests from my seedlings.  The act of closely inspecting the leaves and a-ha!  discovering flea beetles on the beans and then washing each leaf, one at a time put me in a state of "flow".  It was meditative.  At the lower garden, I picked off each squash bug and dropped it into the soapy water, then lovingly washed those plants too.  While I was down there, I got a good look at a tomatillo flower for the first time.

I love it when something negative begets something positive.

Camping with My Peeps

This Saturday I am taking my homeroom of 8th graders camping at Mt.Blue State Park.   I had initially planned to take my students on the 11th.  However, that is the same day of our district's high school graduation.  After feeling badly about my choice of dates, realizing that two of my students would be unable to join us, and being yelled at by one mother, I changed the date.  Of course, that mother's child is not coming because she suddenly has plans.

The logistics of transportation, tents and food were developing nicely until today. One by one, ten students decided they would not join us.  Is it a current of fear of not following the "cool kids" or being out of their comfort zone?  I'm not sure, but I felt very slighted.  "Never again will I do this," I declared to myself, scratching away frantically to figure out how I would transport the remaining students to the park and feed them.  But then I looked at my list of who is still attending and smiled.  Who cares that a couple of students aren't coming because they think it is sure to be boring?  And yes, there was that mother who was supposed to drive 6 kids and contribute pasta salad, but o well.  

I am so lucky to be going camping with the boy who tells me a story every day and dances and sings Chrisina Aguilera songs at recess.  And the girl who has never been camping but loves the outdoors. And the kids who are always up for anything--even dorky math games!  And the shy girl whose smile is a rare, spectacular gift.  And the boy who talks a mile a minute about everything because he's got so much in his head.  And the really hyper boy who likes more than anything to be helpful.  I am so lucky to be camping with all of them.  They are going to set up tents for the first time, build fires for the first time, fish for the first time, SUP for the first time and I will be there.  I am giving this gift to my quirky, sweet, in-transition, students.  I love them. 

My lesson to myself:  Change the focus, change the situation.

Students canoeing on Flagstaff Lake, Fall 2015

Keeping Belichick in Check

You know when you try to get a hold of your expenses, or a hold on your diet you begin by keeping track of what you are spending (or eating)?  Well, I'm doing that with my negative thoughts. Here's how the internal monologue goes, but first the back ground...



On Monday morning, while walking alongside a brook we were fishing, I stopped to take a photo. John kept walking.  He walks like a gazelle, so it was no surprise that by the time I was shoving my camera back in my pack he was gone.  No biggie, up the trail I walked, keeping my eye on the brook.  I walked for several minutes though and that's when my inner Belichick started in, getting me ready to battle:

 He's going to be all irritated with me and wonder where I was, when all I was doing was going pee and appreciating nature!  Why does he have to walk so fast?! He's probably fished all the way to the waterfall by now.  I bet when I find him he'll be sitting on a rock.  I don't even have the net.  O man, look at that pocket!  I don't have any floatant either!  

But then, I stopped and interrupted myself:

Why would you need to blame him?  Are you afraid of being blamed?  And for what, exactly?  You are in one of the most beautiful places you could be.  All you have to do if he does act crabby about it, is smile and say, "I'm sorry, I must have missed you."  Smile and act like it's no big deal because IT ISN'T.

I happened to walk right by him, where he was waiting for me in the brook, fishing.  And there was no fight.

This afternoon John told me that he didn't buy the glasses at Reny's I asked him to buy.  You know how one day you are nesting pint glasses to cram them in your cupboard and the next day you have two?  Yah, so please pick up four or five at a buck a piece.  But no, he did not buy them.  WHY?????? I wanted to scream.  Are you that damn cheap??? Or was it a hassle???  You were already there to buy other stuff!!!  
For goodness sake, calm down.  It's drinking glasses, not a blood transfusion.  And it isn't necessarily a slight on his character (EXCEPT THAT HE DOES IT ALL THE TIME!!!) because he didn't get everything on your list. But it's like I am getting nickeled and dimed to DEATH!  He can't even Ahem. You don't always "find" his stuff either when he asks you to.  But that's out of LAZINESS, NOT CHEAPNESS!  And your point is???

I am pretty darn sensible when I put my mind to it.

Surly

I've been in a bad mood for about a year.
I give myself talks, as though I’m my own life coach. “Lighten up,” I say.  “Have fun, take care of yourself, and for goodness sake, be nice.” So I bake bread, grow flowers, play one-on-one with my son, eat ice cream, read good books, exercise, get 8 hours of sleep, dance, spend time with my friends.

I count to ten.  

I take deep breaths, but still.  

Surly.

I have a moment every day when I think, “Man, my life is good.”  And I look around and see that it is true. But if I don't tend to my negativity, I'm a taken-for-granted, can't-take-a-joke grouch. Worst of all, I don’t opt for kindness and patience enough with my husband.  

My life is in a sweet spot too: my parents are not elderly; I’m young enough to be physically strong, old enough to be confidant; I’m financially stable and don’t want for what I don’t have.

And I give thanks daily.  I give thanks for my and my family’s health, for my warm little house, for clean water and fresh air.  Who or what do I thank?  The universe.  I just put it out there, extend my full heart in a big, thanking exhale.  

Despite my gratitude, somehow my relationship with my soul has become a bit estranged.  Jesus and Mary?  I haven’t spoken to them in years.  And I’m wondering if this might be my problem.

In this blog, I will document getting reacquainted with my soul, and in particular with my inherited religion, Christianity.  I’m not sure how I’ll do this yet, but I’ll figure that out.  

A little art-making might help my mission, as well as being attuned to the blissful moments in each day and capturing them with words and my camera.   It will be my soul’s multivitamin:  a big, juicy daily bliss bomb.