The Cruelest Month

March 13, 2024

March is the cruelest month. Despite years of knowing it is full of false promises of spring followed by bitter cold, often heavy wet dumps of snow, and chilling winds, I am unable to find balance as the temperatures swing from highs of mid sixties to lows in the teens and clouds chase away early morning sun even before I get out to feed the chickens. The persistently inconsistent weather has pushed the replacing of my septic system back and back and back again, as four consecutive days of dry weather are needed to do the work – and the delivery driver bringing the new tank has been unavailable twice, in the only weeks when those four days could be predicted. A lesson in patience that I don’t really need, after the past 9 months of being patient with an untimely contractor restoring my home from its damage in last May’s wildfire.

But maybe I should call May the cruelest month, as the Hermit’s Peak/Calf Canyon fire catastrophe of 2022 that smoked but didn’t burn me, and the 2023 Las Tusas fire that destroyed chunks of my property and damaged the house both occurred in early May. This year’s May should not be a threat, as there is not enough vegetation left to feed another wildfire. Not that insurance companies recognize that it is quite safe to insure my neighborhood now… but that’s a topic for another day.

Maybe it’s November that is cruel, forcing us out of daylight saving time and back into darkness at the end of the workday, just when we most need a bit of extra daylight to shop in preparation for the winter holidays?

No, I’ll stay with March. The hope-followed-by-disillusion cycle occurs annually and repetitively throughout the month, aggravating my already unpredictable ability to function on any given day due to an autoimmune triggered depletion of energy. 

Yes, I hear you. Appreciating the immediate present is a way to cope. Detach from planning, go with the flow, all those fine sounding suggestions that do sometimes help. They don’t produce a new homeowner’s insurance policy that depends on completed restoration of the property that depends on consistent enough weather to do the exterior finishing work.

April, please hurry up and get here! Thank you.

Solitude (Revised)

March 8, 2024

My husband works “away” ( in another part of the state ) so I am accustomed to chunks of solitude during the week, enjoying it as a balance to my other-focused weekends with him, and the enjoyment of companionship as we accomplish the chores and entertainments of married life.  Just now, by contrast, my husband is out of the country for five weeks, so I am largely alone, with only intermittent company at home from my stepson, or when I venture out to town for appointments and some socializing. I have previously experienced several equally long, or longer, periods alone as this trip is my husband’s fourth in the past six years. And there have been substantial periods of solitude earlier in my life (before this marriage). I am therefore very clear on the difference between being alone and being lonely. I am fortunate to be able to say I usually experience the former, only very rarely the latter.

Today is qualitatively different, in that I am constrained to solitude by a winter-weather triggered dip in health. It is in the nature of the autoimmune disorder I live with, that a sequence of similar weather days allows me to have energy to accomplish, while a shift from sun to clouds and back again to sun results in energy depletion often accompanied by a lowering attitude that begs for the distraction of company to keep it in check. Coming off several days of promise-of-spring weather that let me forget my health constraints, I am restless and edgy today, minding my decreased capacity to do, rather than enjoying an opportunity to just be.The whining child in me is demanding why this dip had to occur, yet again, despite all that I have done to counteract the barometer body component of my disorder. The annoyed parent tells the child to stop complaining, while the adult feels frustrated at having to mediate yet another silly emotional dispute that is nothing more than misdirected attention. 

Attention given to how I benefit from peace without the distracting presence of others, to contemplate the multiplicity of reasons I have to be grateful.

Attention to the reading (about how to deeply connect with others) that is due for a study group I participate in.

Attention to listening for the inner voice of spirit that is best heard when there is minimal outer distraction.

Attention to putting my current state of being into words, here, where I can see and hear and reflect on them better than when they are merely random thoughts floating in my head.

How many of us, I wonder, use blog posts to hear ourselves think? And feel grateful when the expressed words resonate with at least a few readers who may from time to time encounter the same conundrums?  I wonder, do we come to the same conclusions? Hard to tell in this format that is largely disconnected from the feedback that constitutes a conversation.

For now, I choose to stay focused on using my alone time productively (for me) and continuing to learn ways to both conserve my energy and boost it without having to turn to an adrenaline fueled rush of stress to push through future demanding days. Which means unlearning the routines that have defined much of my life, replacing them with what I am promised is a much easier path of pausing, relaxing, focusing inward, and listening to the softly voiced instructions which, when followed, allow me to accomplish all that needs doing, easily and without pain. I suspect I may have more to say on this topic, as I practice a way of being rather than doing. Meanwhile, in the present moment, it is time to feed my chickens and collect eggs – yes midwinter the hens are, most unusually, laying well.

 One more reason for gratitude.

The Saint and the Snake

February 1, 2024

The first truly winter snow of the season , earlier in January, caused me to miss an appointment and reschedule several days of plans as I was confronted with yet another after-effect of this year’s wildfire (not the big one that consumed most of northeastern NM last year but the much smaller one that did in about ten of us who had been only slightly singed the first time around) in that my four wheel drive Envoy was crisped and I have not yet been able to replace it. I am grateful to have friends who enabled the rescheduling, and I did appreciate the gift of a quiet couple days at home.

The rebuilding process has been arduous – delay after delay, poor or no communication as to why, piles of building materials blocking the entrance to my house and creating what has felt like a fiercely threatening fall hazard for my achy body. Thankfully the worst of that danger has been removed as some of the materials just went into a new carport – still unfinished but of some partial use protecting my car these winter days.

Taught to look for useful “takeaway” lessons in the challenges life throws at me, I find I am learning to deepen my patience and to become more clear about when to just let things be and when to push against what feels truly wrongful. In that context, I was much taken with a parable I encountered in Forgive for Good, by Dr. Fred Luskin. It is not long, so rather than summarize, I am copying it out here.

“A long time ago a village had a saint living near it. That saint walked among the hills and one day came upon a rattlesnake lying in the grass. The snake lunged with its fangs bared and made to bite the holy man. The saint smiled, and the snake was stopped by his kindness and love. The saint spoke to the rattler and asked the snake to give up biting the village’s children. He said in that way the snake would be better liked and cause less harm.

Because of the power the holy man possessed, the snake agreed to stop biting. The next week the saint walked by the same spot and saw the snake on the ground lying in a pool of its own blood. The snake used what little strength it had to admonish the saint for almost killing him. “Look what happened to me when I took your advice. I am a bloody mess. Look what happened to me when I tried to be nice and not bite, and now everyone is trying to hurt me.” The saint looked at the snake, smiled and said “I never told you not to hiss.”

I would say that the big lesson for me these past 8 months, and ongoing, is knowing when to stay quiet, and when to hiss.

A parallel ongoing lesson has to do with managing one symptom of a recently diagnosed autoimmune disorder. It causes pain but that is fairly well under control. The unpredictable deep fatigue is not. I am still sorting out how much exhaustion comes from overdoing physical activity, how much is my body’s response to weather changes (barometer body), what arises from digestion issues that the new disorder has exacerbated, and what comes from stress. On a truly bad day, I know that all four are contributing. I have learned my physical limitations, and am beginning to understand the digestion dynamics. I can do nothing about the weather – which leaves stress as the main uncontrolled variable. 

Needless to say, managing a major restoration of my home is stressful. No less so is the task of letting go of a lifetime of being a planner and organizer, and instead to “go with the flow” as weather fluctuations dictate my portion of energy for any given day. Slowly I seem to be learning to sort the absolute necessities out from the list of “want to’s”, to recognize when my energy is waning, and to judge if I can take a break and resume, or need to quickly finish the few mandatory items and postpone everything else. Slowly I am learning to hear the wise inner voice that gives flawless directions for how to negotiate each day. And happily I can hear in myself the excellent indicator of impending energy collapse  – nearly constant hissing.

Next step? Hear and follow the flawless directions, obviating the need to hiss.

Why I Resist Change

October 11, 2023

Three AM is not the best time to be awake, when a good night’s sleep is needed in order to have the energy for the next busy day. But three AM is when, on some nights, my inner self alerts my mind to what it is misperceiving, or not giving sufficient attention to, with subsequent unaddressed emotional stress further depleting my already age-limited energy. My most recent three AM wakening first brought out a well of anger at banks for forcing abandonment of payment by check, through outrageous fees for using checking accounts as they were originally designed to be used – to pay monthly bills, for non-local purchases, and daily expenses when carrying much cash is putting oneself at risk.

Apparently we are now supposed to set all regular payments as automatic withdrawals from an account. I have already experienced the humongous hassle of trying to stop one of those when it is no longer appropriate, and swore I would not go that route again for anything less than a gun to my head. A few current monthly expenses are paid by direct withdrawal, but only as I initiate them each month – nothing automatic. And every time I do provide account information online I cringe, too aware of the risks from hacking, fraud and phishing that we are constantly warned to be alert for.

So what is left? Constant use of a credit card – while monitoring the totals so it can be paid off in full each month, obviating fees. That carries some risk, however – in that the issuer can put a hold on the card at any time, if they suspect there may be a fraudulent charge, and apparently there is no requirement that they promptly notify the legitimate card holder of the fraud alert hold. I was left stranded overseas, my card refused, in one such case. It took three days of long distance calls to get the hold released. And just recently a similar silent hold prevented local withdrawal of cash from an account, again without any notice to me.

We older people are persistently urged to “keep up with the times” as technological “advances” flood our lives. This older person appreciates some of the benefits of interconnectivity, and as a writer I most certainly appreciate the ease of editing and rewriting online, compared to using the typewriter with which I began. Not all the changes and supposed helpers that change my words or think they know better than I do what I am trying to say and how I wish to express it. I still turn off every autocorrect that I can. My grammar remains far superior to that which is programmed into current software.

What I don’t appreciate, and I think gives rise to the misperception that older people are resistant to change, is the present conviction that change is always positive. Nope, sorry. Especially not when the changes are rooted in a serious shift in ethos, values and worldview.

I am far from alone in pointing to major changes in how politicians, pundits, the press and the now fashionable “influencers” present themselves, and their perception of what matters – or should matter – to the rest of us. If I were given the right to name the current period of time I would call it the era of personality cultism. How many followers can I collect, in order to sell their information to advertisers and thereby support myself without having to work for someone else? How do I acquire power to use as I see fit, without regard to the good of others, not even that of my constituents (Mr. Manchin)? How loudly can I scapegoat, point fingers, deflect blame, vilify and generally disrespect anyone who doesn’t bow at my feet? How high can I raise narcissism as a virtue, making it the norm rather than an aberration?

In company with many elders, I resist change when it goes so dramatically against the values I have lived by – that respect and a following are to be earned by honest conduct, thoughtful engagement, respectful listening to different viewpoints, and the search for collective wellbeing. I resist the marketing of absolutely everything, and the abandonment of a belief that not everything has a price. If that makes me a “stodgy old fogey” so be it. I suspect I am still in quite good company, though I accept that the current ethos, especially online, deprives me of the opportunity to find and connect with most of that company.

Would that we had louder voices, more stamina and energy to make our presence, our values and our concerns not just heard but listened to! With awareness that the years ahead of us to act and perhaps make a difference are rapidly diminishing, it is difficult not to despair. If all I can do now is stand firm in my own life, for what I perceive is right, that is what I must do.

So bank be advised – if you won’t let me write checks, I will close my account and go elsewhere!

Mind the Mind

October 3, 2023

As I strive to be patient with what is beginning to feel like an intolerably delayed process, I repeat to myself that things can’t happen on any different time schedule, just because I want them to. I remind myself that stressing about delays moves nothing forward, only wears my patience down further. I think that I would be handling the situation better if only there were meaningful communication. Are the workers coming today, or did their cancellation due to weather yesterday (never communicated to me until after dark last night) set everything back an unknown length of time?

As I try to stay in the present, and enjoy the quiet that I know will be lacking in days ahead, my squirrely mind jumps to the self imposed approaching deadline – that I want to be able to enjoy entertaining guests for a joint birthday for my stepson (his first in the US) and me in just a few weeks, in late October. No way can I do that with the inside of the house in its present dismantled state, everything off the walls and away from shelf edges, to prevent crashing disasters as the outside walls are pounded, in the process of putting up new siding.

I do not lack for alternatives. Several friends have offered us retreats to their homes during the noisy reconstruction, and I’m certain I could even plan a party in one of those spaces. As deeply appreciative as I am of these offers, my mind keeps me hung up on it “not being the same” as entertaining at home.

Why does this aspect of identity (a demanding mind) that I know is not “the real me” keep interfering with acceptance of what is? Can’t it be content with its prowess at Wordl and crossword puzzles, and let go of the false and illusory pretense of control? How many times must it subject itself (and me) to the hard lesson that no amount of planning and preparation can ever envision all possible outcomes? No matter how many past experiences I reflect on, where in retrospect I see that things worked out exactly as best benefited me despite not being what mind intended, still today sitting here waiting for the possible arrival of a crew (or not), that mind resists relaxing and letting me just be.

It helps, verbalizing the dilemma, so that I have a focus for the spiritual exercise I will engage in as I walk out to feed chickens and go down the hill to empty the mailbox, grateful that the sun is out and that there is green showing on the tops of many of the still-standing burnt trees both on my own property and its surrounding areas.

Mind, please be at peace.

Summing Up Another Year

September 21, 2023

Apparently I have been engaged in a transition, recognized by others on the spiritual Path I follow, as a key shift in both focus of attention and sense of identity, that requires limiting one’s outer engagements to just what is necessary for daily life, with much of what occupied my time and energy stripped away. Hence my writing has been set aside, along with most social interaction, social media usage, even the number of books I am accustomed to getting read in a week. Undoubtedly the considerable demands to adapt imposed by acquiring a teenage stepson, and being displaced from home (again) by wildfire, have played their part in my largely unconscious decision to pull in, focus inward, and go relatively silent to the unseen audience such as I may still have for this blog.

The aftermath of fire damage is still unfolding. My house was saved, its exterior severely damaged and about to be remade (projected to take about a month). Garage and large shipping container of stored life history are gone. The electric meter, and therefore power for the well, was destroyed and took several months to be restored to code specifications, during which time I was evacuated to a location 140 miles away, traveling back twice a week to care for animals and receive my scheduled weekly health support treatments. Friends housed me near home for those overnights. I am deeply grateful for their caring assistance.

Learning to live, three of us in a small one bedroom apartment where my husband lives during his workweek, in a big city near its airport, was a challenging adjustment for the three months of being evacuated from home. I have known intuitively, all my life, that I am not a city person, despite living in them from early childhood until my late 20’s when I moved to New Mexico. Once here, I have lived rural, delighted to visit cities when necessary but no longer confined by them. Despite the view from some of my windows now being of charred trees, I still savor the rural landscape that has been my daily blessing for more than thirty years. And there are patches of green reemerging on many of the trees, the grasses have come back in full, along with sunflowers and some other small wildflowers. Additionally, the grasshopper infestation that has plagued my neighbors living outside the burn area has not come near my surviving perennials. Doves never left, and songbirds have returned. The only thing I missed this summer season was hummingbirds. I expect them back next year.

It is too soon to say what may be my biggest gift from this year of upheaval, but as I approach both the anniversary of meeting my spiritual teacher and my own birth anniversary, both in late October, I acknowledge my gratitude for finally learning to release mind’s iron grip and dictates, freeing me to be flexible, adaptable and trusting, experiencing satisfying outcomes I could not envision with my limited mental outlook. My Teacher repeatedly reminds us that Soul is a happy entity. Seeing that I can be happy despite outer tensions and challenges is a lovely indication that I am approaching knowing myself as Soul, lovingly guided on what to say, when to say it, when to be still, when to act and how to simply Be.

Thank you to all who continue to follow despite my long silence. I appreciate you.

Forced Change

March 27, 2023

I set out to post a cheery spring picture so as to counter the dreary, unending gray winter weather that I am beyond fed up with.

Instead of easing through my familiar steps on WordPress, I was forced to change to this new application.

Maybe not so inappropriate since the hyacinths have been “forced” into bloom indoors.

Mixed Signals

February 17, 2023

Sitting on my couch, looking out at dense snow whitening everything except the hyacinth tips which are peaking out of soil in their pots on my enclosed porch. 

Wondering if the flowers are as confused as my hens, as to what the daily shifts in weather mean. Two days ago it was sunny and warming spring, yesterday there was high wind, today it is full winter snow all day and nighttime temperature predicted to hit zero.

Will egg laying, which had begun after the hens’ short-winter-day hiatus, continue or will the ladies decide to keep their potential progeny to themselves until more favorable temperatures become continuous?

I do welcome the snow and its much needed moisture in our arid climate, and I appreciate that its timing means I only have to cancel one appointment today, instead of three yesterday. I am grateful that my days, overall, can be flexible enough to accommodate disruptive weather. What I am not yet at ease with is the seemingly permanent state of uncertainty about everything, from weather to egg production to mass shootings, local water shortage concerns and world tragedies, mental health crises and trophy winners. Big and small, meaningful and insignificant, all of it blasted at us repeatedly over multiple internet channels.

Yes it is very true that the only certainty in life is that things change. And yes, it is a frustrating aspect of human nature that we seem compelled to seek to impose stability and structure on that ceaseless change. I, and my flowers and hens, will do as we must if it is winter, and also if it is spring. What none of us manage well is the uncertainty of what we will face each new day.

Take my intention to write about trees, my personal relationship to them, the way that they are presented as vitally engaged with Native tribal life in Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, and the mystique surrounding some of the most ancient of individuals or their seeming ability to communicate via underground links. My thoughts were taking form, ready to be presented here – when in my morning news feed I encountered a new study that denies that there is any contact from tree to tree, the linking fungal networks discounted as providing a means of communication. Do I continue to believe the spiritual yet scientific vision in Kimmerer’s work, and the delightful concept of trees talking to one another via underground networks, or must I accept a conceptual shift due to this new, challenging research study? 

Many years ago in a modern dance class, we were  assigned to compose a dance that would render an “inanimate object” through motion, leaving the work untitled, and the class members to name the object once they had seen the performance. I chose trees, and presented a pine, a willow and a maple. My classmates did “see” the subjects and named my choreography “A Walk in the Woods”. As I composed the dance, I felt the essence of those three entities and had no doubt that they were both animate and friendly. 

I still feel akin to trees, and to many other plants, especially those living in my home. We have history. One ivy, now over 40 years old, was a new spring in my office in the New Mexico Penitentiary when I taught there. Together we survived the 1980 prison riot. A poinsettia gifted to me more than 25 years ago put out two blooms this past holiday season. A petunia given me this past summer, supposedly an annual, died back to just one small sprig due to both onset of winter and a bug infestation. Sprayed, watered and talked to, it now has new growth and multiple flowers. 
So I will continue to hold beliefs compatible with those in Braiding Sweetgrass, enjoying the sense of spiritual connection to the world around me, and accepting responsibility for an interaction that appreciates gifts given and requires a return of respect and care. Oh, and I thank the hens for their willingness to give me eggs despite the bitter cold.

In Passing

January 19, 2023

Yesterday I was informed by a dear friend, Jay, that she had rather suddenly lost one of her close friends to death. That friend had apparently been relatively healthy, but in only a matter of a few weeks went from active and engaged to departed.  Jay stated that mentally she understood what had just happened but emotionally she was not coping well because of the suddenness of the loss. 

A few hours later I received a packet of writing from a dear friend of mine who has been living with a progressively deteriorating health condition for many years. He has soldiered through the  steady decline with an amazing adaptability and retention of positive attitude. What was evident, however, in what he sent me was the fact that the core elements that he has retained as his sense of identity are now under attack. He is experiencing difficulties with all forms of communication and becoming an unwillingly isolated shut-in.

In my initial response to Jay, I spoke about the difference between losing someone suddenly and watching a steady decline, the latter situation giving one an opportunity to adjust emotionally as well as mentally to what is coming. However, that latter situation also implies or imposes awareness that the friend suffering the decline is indeed suffering over an extended period of time. What I mentioned to Jay in my initial response was the ambiguity that I have lived with for many years over the “better” way for a life to end. It seems that for the person who is departing this life it must be easier if the departure is relatively sudden. No living with pain, no agonizing over things undone, not really any time to guilt trip oneself, which I realize may or may not be the case, there being no means to ask after the departure whether the person did in fact experience regrets, or depart in peace.

For those of us left behind after a quick death, similar questions can nag at us. By contrast, when there is a lingering illness and progressive decline, the person experiencing the challenges may or may not value the time provided and the advance notice that whatever activities or communications have been neglected can be put right before death. The friend or family member standing beside or watching the decline also has time to sort things out if they choose to do so. Working in home care for many years, I watched all sorts of variations of the slower passing and saw family member caregivers who treasured every moment of their connection to the dying individual. I also saw family members impatient for the end to come, feeling overwhelmed or angry or just immeasurably sad that their loved one was suffering and in pain. 

For myself, I have tried to live by guidance received from my grandfather when he was near the end of his life. He said then that he had only two regrets, one being that it would have been better for my mother, his daughter, if he had remarried but he never found a woman he wanted to commit to. His other regret was that he never learned to play the mandolin. At that time, when I was in my late twenties, I undertook to try to live in such a way that whenever my end came I would have no more regrets than he did. 

I’m comfortable in saying that at this moment I have achieved that goal. I recognize that the goal is a moving target and that I need to be mindful to stay in this space of no more than two regrets. Doing so helps keep me honest in my interactions, respectful of others, and sufficiently self aware to keep myself motivated in pursuing my own next steps.

I cannot speak for those who care for me with regard to what they would prefer, my rapid and unexpected passing versus an anticipated steady decline. That choice seems to be a very individual one for each of them. I do think that living by the mantra of minimizing regrets (making prompt restitution when we err) can benefit us all, so that however an end comes, whether our own or a loved one’s, the transition can be smoother and less emotionally painful for all who are involved in the passing.

May it be so.

Voicing It

January 17, 2023

I am finding that the different free voice to text options currently available to me differ rather significantly. The app built into my Samsung Android phone works very nicely for text messages with few errors and little need for me to make corrections. The Google Docs app that I’m using to create this blog post persistently does not capitalize after a period. I don’t know why. I have yet to find any settings options that would let me instruct the software to capitalize after a period. Fun and games in the new to me world of tech. (new paragraph) That didn’t work either,

So I stopped dictating and edited including starting a new paragraph. I wonder if the length of pause in my dictation following a period is what triggers a capital? I just tried it. Now I need to try it without starting a sentence with I that does regularly get capitalized. Didn’t work.  nonetheless the software does reduce demands on my very painful right arm which is what has led me to try to learn a different way of creating posts. I am very aware that my thoughts flow much more smoothly directly from my brain through my fingers to the keyboard. Stopping to monitor how the software is performing impedes my thought process. One more challenge associated with the ills of aging that I am trying to appreciate as a nudge into continued engagement with an uncertain future.

 In the larger scheme of things I am very fortunate with little to complain about and much to be grateful for. Overall I still have good health and my lowest energy down days are not so severe as to prevent me from accomplishing at least the basics of my everyday routines. Also, those more serious down days are relatively infrequent or at least spaced out and not piled one after the other to the point that undone tasks stare at me and guilt trip me. 

However tedious and somewhat unsatisfactory this voice to text software is, it is nonetheless a gift that I am grateful for as it does allow me to keep to my commitment to myself to resume reasonably regular posts. the difference in how my brain functions, speaking rather than writing, is something to explore. (I just had to stop dictating and correct text that for unknown reasons began appearing in italics). I am reasonably certain that if I need to continue primarily doing voice to text writing I will want to find a program that functions more smoothly.   ( Once again the italics appeared for no apparent reason.)

I think maybe the auto save somehow triggers the switch to italics. At least that seems to be a possibility. I don’t have a lot of patience this morning to play with the software but I did want to put something up on my blog to at least indicate that I am committed to resuming somewhat regular communication and posts. I hope that by the next go round I will have better command of the software and be able to actually reflect on things rather than just report on them. In the meantime I wish all my readers and followers good days and good inner connection.


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