Overjoyed (Christine Kane)

I've always loved the week between Christmas and New Year's Day; very chill, peaceful, quiet.  It's not quite the respite it used to be, now that I'm older, not to mention retired... but I still use it to recalibrate from the holiday chaos to hanging new calendars in my kitchen as well as my home office.  

I've done lots of reading, made easy-peasy meals, caught up on some off-beat holiday movies, enjoyed phone calls with friends who live close by as well as those who reside across state lines.  Today was Garden Day, always a delight... and tomorrow I'll finalize the Caring Community newsletter and maybe even prepare my holiday cards for mailing.  It is all good... 💖

In these last few days of 2022, I am embracing my imperfections, in awe of my flaws, counting my blessings, and creating my vision of what I want in the next 365 days... for myself, for my community, and for the world around me.

From the ever-wise Donna Ashworth:

Why do we start a new year, with promises to improve?

Who began this tradition of never-ending pressure?

I say, the end of a year, should be filled with congratulation, for all we survived.

And I say a new year should start with promises to be kinder to ourselves, to understand better just how much we bear, as humans on this exhausting treadmill of life.

And if we are to promise more, let’s pledge to rest, before our bodies force us.

Let’s pledge to stop, and drink in life as it happens.

Let’s pledge to strip away a layer of perfection to reveal the flawed and wondrous humanity we truly are inside.

Why start another year, gifted to us on this earth, with demands on our already over-strained humanity.

When we could be learning to accept, that we were always supposed to be imperfect.

And that is where the beauty lives, actually.

And if we can only find that beauty, we would also find peace.

I wish you peace in 2023.

Everything else is all just a part of it.

Let it be so.

SONG:  Overjoyed by Christine Kane

BOOK:  How to Kiss the Universe: An Inspirational Spiritual and Metaphysical Narrative about Human Origin, Essence and Destiny by Jozef Simkovic  

POEM:  Imaginary Conversation by Linda Pastan

You tell me to live each day

as if it were my last. This is in the kitchen

where before coffee I complain

of the day ahead—that obstacle race

of minutes and hours,

grocery stores and doctors.

But why the last? I ask. Why not

live each day as if it were the first—

all raw astonishment, Eve rubbing

her eyes awake that first morning,

the sun coming up

like an ingénue in the east?

You grind the coffee

with the small roar of a mind

trying to clear itself. I set

the table, glance out the window

where dew has baptized every

living surface.

QUOTE(S):  "At midnight on New Year's Eve, open your front door and back door, saying:  blow out the old, blow in the new, blow out the false and blow in the true.  So Mote It Be!"

"Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance." ~ Brené Brown

Yule (Winter Solstice Song) - (Lisa Thiel)

artist: George Wolfe Plank

Happy Yule!  I have always appreciated and been in awe of the Winter Solstice, but, unlike many dear friends, I have never actively celebrated it.  With my recent affinity for gardening leading me to Herbalism (what I like to call Kitchen Witchery), I am finding myself drawn to earth-centered beliefs and Pagan rituals.

I've been wanting to have My Sweet Babboo (a.k.a. four-year-old grandson Colin) over to view my holiday decorations but, through a series of best-laid-plans-gone-awry, it just hasn't worked out yet... until now, when the plan is for me to pick him up from preschool (which I do a few times a week anyway) this afternoon, bring him to my house for a few hours, and then deliver him home to Sarah... 😍  

I cannot wait to walk him through the house, spotlighting my small lighted tree (similar to the one my Mom made in her ceramics class in the '60s)... my dining room table (with vintage ornaments in a square glass vase)... my "candle tree", with presents underneath... my Santa collection, lovingly acquired over the decades (and which I haven't displayed the last few years)... lighting candles throughout... then putting the Netflix fireplace on my TV screen and turning down the overhead lights, enjoying a snack of hot chocolate and cookies, and talking about our holiday wishes (not just which toys Santa is bringing, but of experiences and love... 💖 )

Maybe I have high expectations for those upcoming few hours but, smart and thoughtful kiddo that he is, I think he will more than live up to them.  And, bonding time with my Snugglebunny:  Priceless!

P.S.  Had to share the below article, as I'm recently enamored with Ms. Renkl's writing and am, in fact, giving her book of essays to various of my special peeps this holiday season... 🎁

Falling a Little Bit in Love with the Dark by Margaret Renkl

Dec. 19, 2022

Ms. Renkl is a contributing [NYT] Opinion writer who covers flora, fauna, politics and culture in the American South.

NASHVILLE — This year the winter solstice arrives on Dec. 21 in the shank of the dark afternoon. Officially the first day of astronomical winter, the solstice is better known as the shortest day of the year. I prefer to think of it as the longest night of the year, for I am making friends with darkness.

For most of my life, I looked forward to the solstice because it signals a shift to longer days. I was never a fan of winter, and earlier sunrises and later sunsets always felt to me like a kind of compensation for the cold. But my heart has been thawing these past years, watching as winter becomes ever more fragile, its cold imperiled by the changing climate, its darkness by our own foolishness and fear.

With the arrival of LED lighting, which costs so little to burn, every house has become an island of illumination, every city a blazing forest fire of artificial light. In my own backyard, it’s hard to enjoy the full moon because so many of our neighbors now leave their lights on all night long. And that’s without the holiday displays, each one bright enough to guide an airplane from the sky and land it safely in the middle of our street.

This resolve to snuff out every shadow of night — I wonder how closely it might be linked to the metaphorical darknesses of our age. Discord, suffering and sorrow are everywhere, all much darker than any winter night, and tilting Earth is not to blame for them. It’s not hard to understand what’s really to blame: Media and political figures alike profit when we are angry or afraid.

Literal darkness is simple by comparison, but people inclined to flood their own yards with light for safety’s sake seem not to know how little safety they’ve provided themselves or what measures of actual safety they have closed off in the attempt. They will never know what dangers might lurk beyond their own little circle of light because they’ve created the very circumstances that prevent their eyes from adjusting to darkness.

This is the flip side of Willy Loman’s lament about the loss of sunlight — “The grass don’t grow anymore, you can’t raise a carrot in the backyard,” he says in “Death of a Salesman.” Willy’s trouble is the proliferation of apartment houses. Ours is the proliferation of LEDs. Willy’s garden languishes, and we can no longer see in the dark.

It has become fashionable in fall for people to decorate their front porches with pumpkins of all colors and sizes. In Middle Tennessee, we don’t get more than a few days of true fall weather anymore, and no one I know grows pumpkins, so these porchscapes, as they are called, are mostly aspirational. Less fall than faux fall. An Instagram season.

But the pumpkins are real, heavy and ripe. Pumpkin season used to run right up to Thanksgiving, but Halloween now marks the end of the porchscapes. Apparently taking their cue from the big-box stores, Americans have decided to hang their Christmas lights on the day after Halloween.

It’s almost always a mistake to feed wildlife, in part because feeding habituates wild creatures to our presence. Animals that are not afraid of us tend to come to a bad end at the hands of people who are afraid of them. But I couldn’t bear to see those perfectly good pumpkins, dozens of them, heading to the landfill, so I mentioned on WhatsApp that I thought our wild neighbors would welcome a pumpkin dinner once the pumpkins were no longer useful as decorations.

My human neighbors responded by bringing me trunkloads of pumpkins. Day after day I would find our front bench piled high, and day after day I would carry the pumpkins out back and tuck them up against the fence around the play yard we built to keep our dog out of the wildlife sanctuary that is the rest of this half acre. Every morning I walk down to look at the impromptu fencescape, delighting in each new sign that a raucous feast has been unfolding in our backyard after dark.

The party has been going on for weeks now. Some of the pumpkins have been rolled across the yard, to what purpose I can’t guess. Some of the first pumpkins to arrive are beginning to rot now, but others are perfectly clean inside, gnawed down to the rind. The hollows fill up with rain, a natural water source for thirsty wildlife.

Many creatures in this part of the world will eat a pumpkin: squirrels, chipmunks, groundhogs, birds and turtles by day; mice, deer, opossums, skunks, raccoons, foxes and coyotes by night. Heading out to check the mail, I have watched more than one squirrel spring from the center of a giant pumpkin, rocket-launched from deep within, at the sound of my footfall.

But I don’t know who’s been feasting at night. Nearly every potential pumpkin eater in the suburbs has been spotted in this neighborhood during the 27 years we’ve lived here, and it could be any of them. It could be all of them, one after another. It would be so wonderful if it was all of them.

Which beautiful mysteries are out there in the dark, living their hidden lives so near our own unshadowed lives? I could hang our old trail camera on a nearby tree and probably find out, but so far I haven’t even charged the camera batteries. Something is holding me back, and I’m not sure what.

It might be fear. It would be a thrill to discover some rare and elusive creature delighting in these donated pumpkins, but the reverse is also true. What if I peered at all the grainy trail-cam images and found only the solitary opossum who sleeps under our shed? What if the only thing I learned from the camera is that most of my treasured backyard neighbors have been pushed out by all the changes in this changing city?

I know that’s not true, at least not yet. I can see the coyotes and the foxes with my own eyes. I see the skunks and the raccoons. Every morning Rascal heads down into his yard to sniff the pumpkins through the fence, and some mornings he leaps back in alarm at the scent of what must surely be a predator. Even so, I am afraid the day is coming when they will all be gone.

So I am teaching myself to rest in uncertainties, to revel in the secrets of darkness. I welcome the hungry creatures, cold and wild, that find their way in the dark to this unexpected bounty, but I don’t need to know who they are. Let them live out their lives in mystery. Let the cold nights hold them. Let the cold nights hold me, too.

SONG:  Yule (Winter Solstice Song) by Lisa Thiel

BOOK:  A Light in Life:  Meditations on Impermanence by Mary Pipher

POEM:  Celebration by M.E. Hope

 

 There is a reason we save this time

 of the year for celebration,

 this time when we need sun or star or flame

 to take us through the axis tip;

 when we need snowfall and miracle

 and warmth and song to carry us through

 till spring.  There is a reason

 we search the sky, listening for wingbeat,

 verse, the sound of doves hovering

 in the shelter of pine. We look toward

 one another, rather than away,

 pull in toward the hearth

 the sturdy chair, take the arms of one

 so loved, we could not go on

 without them, and in this

 pause, we pull in the world.

 The long winter night fills us:

 a renewal, a radiance, a reason for waking.

QUOTE(S):  "Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year, beckons us into the darkness, inviting us into the depths of ourselves and asks us, “What must you let die at this time? What is calling to you to be born? What is your next step?” ~ Wild Woman Magic

"May you find peace in the promise of the solstice night, that each day forward is blessed with more light.  That the cycle of nature, unbroken and true, brings faith to your soul and wellbeing to you.  Rejoice in the darkness, in the silence find rest, and may the days that follow be abundantly blessed." ~ Unknown

“This is the solstice, the still point of the sun, its cusp and midnight, the year's threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; the place of caught breath, the door of a vanished house left ajar.“ ~ Margaret Atwood

“To go in the dark with a light is to know the light. To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight, and find, that the dark, too, blooms and sings, and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.“ ~ Wendell Berry

All I Want for Christmas (is World Peace) - (Timbuk3)

Fact:  The last time I posted here was August 22, 2022.  

Thought:  I will stop apologizing... to myself, as well as to whomever might be reading this blog.  

Intention:  I have vowed to post more often, starting today, with no obligatory schedule, because I love to write and I miss it when I don't.  So mote it be... 💖

Interesting in that, when I began this blog draft earlier in the week, I had written:  "My life is pretty d*mn amazing right now".  Whew, what a difference three days makes, right?  Yet I am improving my ability to channel my inner Kahlil Gibran, reminding myself that without sorrow we wouldn't know joy.  Family Drama:  normal.  Overwhelmedness (especially at this time of year):  typical.  Disrupted Sleep Patterns:  horrible during the pandemic, evened out, back to sporadic 3 a.m. two-hour bouts of reading until I get tired enough to try again.

However, I appear to uncharacteristically have my sh*t together this Christmas... and it's still 11 days away!  The house is decorated; I actually put out my Santa collection this year (which I hadn't for a few), and am so much enjoying the vibe as well as the stories behind each one.  Season's Greetings cards will go in the mail early next week.  (Most of the) Presents are wrapped.  My Spotify holiday playlist is in process of being created; then I will share.  This all feels too good to be true. Who am I and what have I done with Susan?!?  Will publish this post and read for a few hours until my modus operandi of panic and frenzy creeps back in (ha ha ha ha ha!)... 💞

In the meantime, some specific moments of loveliness (as well as hilarity):

~ We were invited to join Sarah and Colin, along with J (her boyfriend) and his four kids plus his sister and her daughter, as well as both sets of G families at the Oasis Church for their annual holiday lights extravaganza, complete with train ride... fake snow (Colin:  "it's just bubbles, Lala!)... old-school Frosty the Snowman movie projected on the building wall... popcorn/S'Mores/hot chocolate... and Christmas trivia.  Okay, so temps are still in the 70s-80s here; it's the Spirit that counts, right?... and our Caravan of Chaos had plenty of that... 🎄

~ A few nights later we went to Sarah's to assist in decorating her tree; more stories with each ornament:  the glitter-card-lace Taco Bell ashtray (Sarah's Girl Scout Troop creation, when they still allowed smoking in restaurants!)... Dad's Favorite Child (bought at Cracker Barrel decades ago on a trip to Atlanta for Christmas; yes, each of our three received one, and Rob's is black, to differentiate his from Eric's!)... a glass heart with Colin's handprint, which Sarah helped him make during the pandemic/Christmas 2020!.  The final touch was tinsel (which my mom loved and I always hated, because it made such a mess), and we had fun showing Colin how to gently separate two or three strands and place them at the end of a branch (my mom's modus operandi).  And, when we sat down to admire our handiwork, Sarah played two special songs on her phone:  My Way (my mom's all-time favorite), and Silent Night (my husband's dad's favorite carol).  Bliss!

~ My niece's partner is a kindergarten teacher, and she asked on Facebook for donations of books to her 20 students; pick a number and she would assign us a child, and we could choose from a pre-determined Wish List.  I offered up 8, I got Emmett ("a boy's boy", she said); her offerings were sweet abd thoughtful but, reading her description of his personality made me want to introduce him to the story of my favorite pacifist bull (noted below), so I asked L, if she deemed it appropriate, to please add it to her list.  Hard to believe it was published in 1936, 86 years ago!  Still so relevant and, because it's such a classic, I sent the hardcover edition... ☮

~ Hilarious meme:

Speaking of, I haven't yet had my annual viewing of the latter yet (the Joni CD was better than that d*mn garish necklace anyway... right, Emma?); also, did you know about The Laughter & Secrets of Love Actually: 20 Years Later (a Diane Sawyer Special) on Hulu?  I highly recommend!

NR (Now Reading):  Demon Copperhead by Barbara Kingsolver; set in Appalachia, it's a modern re-telling of David Copperfield and, although only a third of the way through, I'm captivated!

SONG:  All I Want for Christmas (is World Peace) - (Timbuk3)

BOOK:  The Story of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf (illustrated by Robert Lawson)

POEM:  Nest by Jeffrey Harrison

It wasn’t until we got the Christmas tree

into the house and up on the stand

that our daughter discovered a small bird’s nest

tucked among its needled branches.

Amazing, that the nest had made it

all the way from Nova Scotia on a truck

mashed together with hundreds of other trees

without being dislodged or crushed.

 

And now it made the tree feel wilder,

a balsam fir growing in our living room,

as though at any moment a bird might flutter

through the house and return to the nest.

And yet, because we’d brought the tree indoors,

we’d turned the nest into the first ornament.

So we wound the tree with strings of lights,

draped it with strands of red beads,

and added the other ornaments, then dropped

two small brass bells into the nest, like eggs

containing music, and hung a painted goldfinch

from the branch above, as if to keep them warm.

QUOTE:  "Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a songbird will come." ~ Chinese proverb

Hymn to Her (The Pretenders)

"The old hag at her cauldron is perhaps the most enduring image of the Wise Woman and a remnant of a time when women were the healers of their communities. They were shamans, witches, midwifes, medicine women, and priestesses of the Goddess.

The Crone is a symbol of inherent wisdom that comes from experience. She has lived through love, sorrow, hope, and fear, coming out of it all a wise and confident spirit. Through these experiences she has learned the secrets of life and death and of the mysteries beyond this world. She has tasted death itself and watched those she loved make the journey before her. It is through her mourning that she faces death, grows to understand it, and becomes the gatekeeper between worlds.

The wisdom of the Crone comes only after learning the lessons of non-judgment and compassion. Through these lessons the Crone becomes the balancing scales between light and dark and between life and death. She is selfless, yet she loves herself. She is kind, yet she knows when to be harsh. She is free, she is compassionate, and she is wise. Only the Crone can complete the journey to the Otherworld and birth the Child of Completion.

The Crone is full of power. Her body is no longer fertile, but her mind is sharp and able. She no longer bleeds, keeping her power within her and owning it without shame or fear.

She is often seen as a healer, working in tune with Nature to cure ailments and guide those ready to leave or enter this world. She is the elder priestess of the Goddess; the Grandmother whose words are few yet priceless in their wisdom.

In myth the Crone is often seen as something to be feared. She is a representation of death and its mysteries. Things that are unknown are always feared, thus we work to know the Crone; to understand her wisdom and beckon her to impart the mysteries upon us. We surrender our fear and ignorance to the Crone and let her strike these overpowering influences down as a stalk of wheat with her shining sickle.

As with all aspects of the Goddess the Crone is not only found within the aged. She is in all beings at all times. She can be present in men and women, young and old; though age may very likely come before her lessons are fully realized.

The Crone is a cleansing force that sweeps through the world carrying away those whose time to live is done to make room for new life. She is associated with the element of water and the direction of west – land of the dead. She is the necessary force of destruction like the force of a wave on the shore; ripping away the beach and returning it to the sea from which it came.

She is the reaper, the comforter, the mysterious old woman who possesses the knowledge of all worlds. The next time a thunderstorm passes overhead take a moment to listen to the voice of the Crone. Feel the tears of joy and mourning fall upon your head and take the first steps to understand her mysteries." ~ Lee Hutch

Last week, for my 68th birthday, I was gifted with a Croning Party, which was just magical.  I could stop there but, me being me, obviously I won't... 😍

Backstory is that Cynthia teaches various classes:  Herbalism, Fermenting 101, Kitchen Medicine, Eat the Weeds, Homeopathy, etc.  She also offers one called Crone Me, Baby, Crone Me!... "for goddesses 50 and above. Learn to celebrate, embrace and ROCK the ages. We’re going to reclaim the word CRONE. We’ll learn what a croning is and how to celebrate the wisdom, love and magic that can only come from the growth we experience from the passage of time."  We of course are familiar with the three archetypes of Maiden, Mother, Crone (and years ago they added Matriarch between Mother and Crone to define the post-childbearing years when women come into their maturity, stability, and sexuality).  

So, back in July, I approached Cynthia about doing a class for my birthday, and inviting my friends; she could make some money, and we would have a fun as well as educational experience.  Cynthia looked at me, and said, "No... I would like to throw you a Croning Party!", and she was off and running. Sounded like a fun few hours of conviviality as well as wisdom; I was going to wait for my 70th, but one never knows what each year, much less day, will bring... and I am at a very good place in my life right now.

I love a good Worlds-Colliding event, so I invited five of my Besties (Nancy, Kathy, SusanP, Suzanne, and of course my daughter Sarah), all of whom I have known for decades... and then five of my gardening peeps, who I've only known for the last year (Alejandra, Claire, Kiana, Katy, and Kerrie).  For various and legit reasons... Suzanne, Alejandra, Claire, and Kiana could not make it, and naturally we missed them but it did not slow us down.

This took place at Cynthia's home, arrival time 6 p.m. and, when we walked in, there was goddess/Celtic music, lippia sage tea, and a reverential hushed ambiance.  Cynthia did an amazing job putting together a ceremony, and made a headpiece ("crone comes from crown, indicating wisdom emanating from the head") of olive branches and sweet red clover, which I wore throughout.  She told stories, did some prayers and meditations, and then the gifts began:  nothing store-bought, but all handmade, handwritten, hand-crafted.  There may have to be a Part 2 to this, because I want to honor these creative contributions in all their glory, each one more thoughtful and special than the one before, including beautiful words spoken to, and written for, me.  Unlike baseball, to paraphrase Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own, "there *is* crying in croning!".  Happy tears, yet tears nonetheless.

Leo that I am, I am really not comfortable being in the spotlight when it's about *me*.  I was a great emcee for my concert series because it was about the music; I could present a UU church service because it was about the spiritual message.  This was hard, and I got squirrelly with the love and attention, but I basked in it as well, because I took it in and radiated it outward.

Cynthia then led me into another room, where she'd constructed a Croning Tent (teepee-ish, with a beautiful butterfly fabric wrapped around it), and she anointed my legs with sandalwood, and my hands with frankincense, and placed a gorgeous shimmery purple scarf around my neck; we meditated some more, and she invited everyone else into the room to meet and embrace the Newly-Croned Me.  And then we sat back down and I was able to convey my gratitude to everyone for their presence in my life, and for accompanying me on this next step of my aging journey.

Then the wild and crazy playlist kicked in, starting with Respect (my karaoke song, if I did that kind of thing, which I don't), seguing to Helen Reddy and Kesha and Meredith Brooks, and I opened the champagne and we dove into the vegan spread of yummies that I brought, both sweet and savory... and we wrapped up about 9 p.m., everyone going their respective ways.  Oh yeah, and I made goodie bags for each woman... a poetry book, a magnetic bookmark, a Namaste (the divine in me honors the divine in you) candle, 2 packets of Yogi's Spicy Hibiscus Blossom Positive Energy tea, cute patterned footie socks, a sachet of my Bath Tea, and a link to a reworked/refreshed (segued from CD to Spotify) playlist. 

I am crying all over again just writing this down.  Such a dear, loving, wonder-full evening.  Dare I say magical again?  Sigh... 💖

SONG:  Hymn to Her by The Pretenders

BOOK:  Crones Don't Whine: Concentrated Wisdom for Juicy Women by Jean Shinoda Bolen 

POEM(S):  There Is a Girl Inside by Lucille Clifton

There is a girl inside.

She is randy as a wolf.

She will not walk away and leave these bones

to an old woman.

She is a green tree in a forest of kindling.

She is a green girl in a used poet.

She has waited patient as a nun

for the second coming,

when she can break through gray hairs

into blossom

and her lovers will harvest

honey and thyme

and the woods will be wild

with the damn wonder of it.

A Manifesto for Aging Gracefully by Samantha Reynolds

Stand on top

of the heap of your years

like a mountain climber

on a summit.

Squint

and you will see patterns

in the scurrying.

This is wisdom,

feed it grace,

make time

to listen

to your crinkled thoughts.

Keep hoisting yourself up

or age will bury you,

a suffocating

futile

lament

for what was.

QUOTE(S):  "Considering the Crone. Not the one of decay and witchery. Not the old hag bent over and ignored. Not the invisible one who is relegated to the outskirts of society.  No not those subscribed beliefs of diminishing feminine power.  But the True ancient wise one who wears the Crown of light that insight, experience, and her true nature unfettered by the calls to behave and be quiet  provides.  Yes the Sorceress, Crone and Dark Mother which sit in the Northern, Earthen place on the wheel wielding the heart of the Elder, longing to be a contribution to her community by sharing her gifts of the medicine she came to impart." ~ Elizabeth Brown

“The Crone’s title was related to the word crown and she represented the power of the ancient tribal matriarch who made the moral and legal decisions for her subjects and descendants. It was the medieval metamorphosis of the wise woman into the witch that changed the word Crone from a compliment to an insult and established the stereotype of malevolent old womanhood that continues to haunt elder women today.” ~ Barbara Walker

Stay Gentle (Brandi Carlile)

[Art by the amazing A. Silivonchik]

First of all, I need to stop apologizing that I I haven't posted in two days, two weeks, two months.  Ack... and oh f*cking well!  Life has been blissfully, joyfully, delightfully... well... full... 😄

Case in point:  my 68th birthday was this past Friday (August 5).  I spent the morning in the Hope Garden, then most of the rest of the day at my laptop, and posted the following a few minutes before midnight (here's the fundraiser I created to benefit The Caring Community, which has changed my life over the last year.  My goal was $200, which has, only four days in, more than doubled... 💖):

" “There’s a particular feeling in your body when something goes right after a long time of things going wrong. It feels warm and sweet and loose... For a moment all my bees have turned to honey.” ~ Lily King, Writers & Lovers

Thanks again to my friends and family for contributing (via your posts and comments, text messages, phone calls, fundraiser donations, gifts, etc.) to one of the best birthdays I've had in a very long time.  Many of you know I deactivated my Susan Moss account in late-December 2019, meaning I went two years without fanfare, until I was encouraged to create a "ghost" profile (Daisy!) for my gardening presence.  Despite its many frustrations and glitches, there is really just nothing like a Facebook birthday!  I am grateful to you all for making me feel loved and appreciated... 🌼

This aging thing is not for the faint of heart but, so far, I still have my original knees, hips, shoulders... as well as eyes, lungs, and kidneys (none of which I take for granted).  I'd like to think I have also retained my generosity of spirit, my unrelenting optimism, my joie de vivre.  I can even get out in the garden every week, although this summer's heat has taken its toll on my endurance.  Biggest lesson:  Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!

Actually, no; it's Expectations.  Inheritance from my mom + Leo tendencies = disaster.  One of my major life lessons in the last decade has been letting go of them (I have slips now and then), and I find that life is easier and I am happier as a result.  New Day, Tabula Rasa, Starting Over has become a mantra.  I am also working harder to re-set my boundaries, such that everyone's default is based on a respectful, loving place.  If we model it, they will come (around...  😍)

As Joni sings:  

"Calendars of our lives circled with compromise

Sweet bird of time and change, you must be laughing..."

So am I! "

And then this:

FREE WILL ASTROLOGY, week beginning August 4, copyright 2022 by Rob Brezsny

LEO (July 23-Aug. 22): In the coming weeks, Leo, I urge you to always be confident that YOU ARE THE PARTY! Everywhere you go, bring the spirits of fun and revelry. Be educationally entertaining and entertainingly educational. Amuse yourself by making life more interesting for everyone. At the same time, be kind and humble, never arrogant or insensitive. A vital part of your assignment is to nourish and inspire others with your radiance and charm. That formula will ensure you get everything you need. I foresee bounty flowing your way! PS: Regularly reward your admirers and followers with your magnanimous Chesire-cat grin.

And this:  August 5 birthdays:  Neil Armstrong, Wendell Berry, Loni Anderson, Rick Derringer, Maureen McCormick, Mark O'Connor (to name the ones I recognize!)

P.S.  Cynthia is throwing a Croning Party for me next week, which will most certainly be blogworthy... ✌ 💥 💞

SONG:  Stay Gentle by Brandi Carlile

BOOK:  To The Women: words to live by... by Donna Ashworth

POEM(S):  Change the Way You See by Donna Ashworth

I don’t have crow’s feet,

I have happy happy memories of laughing with friends until the tears flowed.

I don’t have frown lines,

I have the marks of my frustration and confusion, which I battled through, smiling in the end.

I am not going grey,

I have shimmering highlights of wisdom, dashed throughout my silver hair.

I don’t have scars,

I have symbols of the strength I was able to find, when life got tough.

I don’t have stretch marks,

I have the marks of growth and the marks of motherhood. My womanly evolution.

I am not fat,

I bear the evidence of a life filled with abundance, blessings and good times.

I am not just forgetful,

I have a mind so full of stories, memories and moments there is scarce room to hold much else.

I am not old,

I am blessed, with a life of great length, something not everyone can say.

Don’t change the way you look my friend,

change the way you see,

change the way you see.

home body by rupi kaur

give me laugh lines and wrinkles

i want proof of the jokes we shared

engrave the lines into my face like

the roots of a tree that grow deeper

with each passing year

i want sunspots as souvenirs

for the beaches we laid on

i want to look like i was

never afraid to let the world

take me by the hand

and show me what it’s made of

i want to leave this place knowing

i did something with my body

other than trying to

make it look perfect

QUOTE(S):  “I want to live the rest of my life, however long or short, with as much sweetness as I can decently manage, loving all the people I love, and doing as much as I can of the work I still have to do. I am going to write fire until it comes out of my ears, my eyes, my noseholes, everywhere. Until it's every breath I breathe. I'm going to go out like a fucking meteor!” ~ Audre Lorde

"I was pondering yesterday why I am enjoying getting older so very much. I think it's because of this fact: That unless you are making a sincere effort to wake up early every single morning and work hard at staying stupid, then you are probably — just by sheer default — getting smarter as you age. (Because seriously — you've gotta REALLY not be paying attention to life, to not be getting even a little bit more wise as you go along.) All that I have ever wanted and longed for was to be wiser, smarter, more clear, more peaceful, more expansive, more prepared for life. The years are bringing that intelligence, my dears... the years are bringing it at last. (And not a moment too soon, may I add.) I look forward to all that I have yet to learn. I plan to keep paying attention, and to let it all in. Stronger by the year, better by the day. It's awesome." ~ Elizabeth Gilbert

We Are Alive (Bruce Springsteen)

When 8 p.m. this past Thursday night rolled around, I was front-and-center to my TV, MSNBC dialed in, with the Dream Team of Rachel, Nicolle, and Joy (plus Chris and Lawrence).  Chair Bennie Thompson kicked it off, and the subsequent proceedings held us all in rapt attention until the very end (including the 10-minute recess during which the above panel gave their mid-hearing commentary).  From the narrative, the deposition interviews, and the two witnesses... it was a compelling connect-the-dots of foundational evidence, designed to show that President Trump designed and perpetrated this beyond-riot insurrection:  "Riots usually have no intent; they devolve from protests and have no purpose except to vent steam by destroying things.  An insurrection is an attempt to overthrow the legitimate government."

This all hearkens back to the phrase used after Watergate about Nixon:  "What did the President know, and when did he know it?".  Stay tuned!

Feel Good... um... Sunday?... 😉

~ The Late Show with Stephen Colbert:  Kermit and the gang open the curtain on the January 6th Committee's first primetime hearing.

~
  

~ Here's every word of the first Jan. 6 committee hearing on its investigation:  ...read the full transcript from the June 9 hearing of the House select committee investigating the Jan. 6th Capitol attack. The transcript was produced by CQ.

~ Letters From an American by Heather Cox Richardson, June 10, 2022:  Preliminary reports say that about 20 million people watched last night’s compelling hearing of the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the U.S. Capitol. That number, which does not include streaming or later views, is fewer than tune in for a normal State of the Union address, but more than for the World Series. In contrast, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton’s 11-hour testimony in a 2015 Benghazi hearing drew only about 4 million viewers. 

~ Only one major cable news channel did not carry the Jan. 6 hearing live: Fox News:  Fox is the nation's most highly rated cable news station and is a favorite of conservatives, Republicans and devotees of former President Donald Trump. But its live coverage of Thursday's Jan. 6 hearing was relegated to Fox Business Network, which is much more lightly viewed, and its digital sites.

~ What’s next for the Jan. 6 panel: More hearings, more Trump:  The House committee investigating the Jan. 6, 2021, attack on the Capitol has laid out a roadmap for the hearings this month as it examines President Donald Trump’s responsibility for the melee and the damage that resulted for law enforcement officers, members of Congress and others in attendance that day.  The next round of hearings won’t take place in prime time like the debut on Thursday, but lawmakers will go into greater detail about specific aspects of the insurrection.

SONG:  We Are Alive by Bruce Springsteen (link ncludes commentary by Michael Moore)

BOOK:  Unthinkable: Trauma, Truth, and the Trials of American Democracy by Jamie Raskin

POEM:  The Start by Matt Mason (the state poet of Nebraska)

It probably started

in a whisper, a murmur,

a low tone hardly caught by the papers,

a sticker, a poster,

a brick wall with slogans in fresh black paint

because

it probably started with a shove,

some bluster, a gunshot,

crushed fingers, it probably started

with a speech that caught the right ears

on an otherwise happy day,

yellow flowers in a wooden stand on the sidewalk,

red apples, radio

trying hard to smooth out the mood,

kid hurrying past, thinking,

God, is that man on the corner

shouting

about me,

pulls his hat low,

it probably started

with another man

drunk on swagger,

it probably started

with a small crowd

coaxing exciting lies,

it probably started

with a neighborhood’s head bowed

as the drone grows each day

(though they’ll claim

it came

in a quick, monstrous surprise).

QUOTE:  "On this point, there is no room for debate. Those who invaded our Capitol and battled law enforcement for hours were motivated by what President Trump had told them: That the election was stolen, and that he was the rightful president. President Trump summoned the mob, assembled the mob and lit the flame of this attack." ~ U.S. Representative (R-Wyo.) Liz Cheney, Vice-Chair of the January 6 Select Committee

Lives in the Balance (Jackson Browne)

Night of Stars by Victor Sparre

Feeling a bit melancholy this morning, in that Garden Day was cancelled, due to (steady earlier this a.m. and now pouring) rain.  In fact, there is a Tropical Storm Warning for South Florida this entire weekend, meaning a few plans I had are now on hold, or at least re-calibrated.  It's okay, though; I've done two short yoga sessions (Adriene released her June 2022 calendar) as well as a Joy Workout (noted below) shared in the New York Times a few weeks ago.  Prior to that, I had my standard two cups of coffee, the second accompanied by an apple fritter my dear husband went up to Dunkin Donuts for.  Yum!  My day bodes an overabundance of reading (is there any such thing?!?), and maybe a hot bath.  No reason to leave this house, so I am burrowing in... ☔

As more details continue to unfold re: the Uvalde school shooting last week, it is obviously apparent that stricter gun controls are needed, and I am appalled that so many resist the need for even the smallest of restrictions (no assault rifles sold to anyone under the age of 21?  Hello, no-brainer!).  In the meantime, we grieve... we mourn... we speak our minds/truth... and we continue to advocate for the children, and for anyone who has been killed or wounded in these senseless acts of violence.  And, while we change the world, we can still count our blessings... 💖

It is indeed Feel Good Friday and, as is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten/enlighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

~ Jen Psaki’s legacy? One of the best press secretaries ever:  During her last week at the White House, we look back on her tenure and the integrity she brought to the job.

~ Former White House press secretary Jen Psaki will join MSNBC this fall:

Psaki will also host a show on MSNBC's hub on the Peacock streaming service, which the network said is expected to debut in the first quarter of 2023.

~ In Life’s Last Chapter, What Matters? A Room With a View:  A window overlooking a stand of trees helped revive this writer’s dying mother

~ Emily Dickinson’s Electric Love Letters to Susan Gilbert:  “Susie, will you indeed come home next Saturday, and be my own again, and kiss me as you used to?… I hope for you so much, and feel so eager for you… that the expectation… makes me feel hot and feverish, and my heart beats so fast.”

~ The Joy Workout:  Six researched-backed moves to improve your mood (reach, sway, bounce, shake, jump for joy, and one I named “celebrate” that looks like tossing confetti in the air)

SONG:  Lives in the Balance by Jackson Browne

BOOK:  Children Under Fire: An American Crisis by John Woodrow Cox 

POEM(S):  We Need to Teach the Children the Old Words by Caroline Mellor

“Words are world-makers”

— Robert MacFarlane

We need to teach the children the old words,

words like brabble and grubble,

twitter-light and clinkerbell;

words which dance and trip and slip

and drip like honey off the tongue

Teach them that a hazy halo of cloud

around the moon is called a moonbroch

and that swiftly moving clouds are named cairies;

how a vixen’s wedding is a sunny shower of rain,

and that a single sunbeam breaking through thick cloud

is known as a messenger

Teach them to know the seasons and scents

of queen of the meadow and bride of the sun,

how to tell Jupiter’s staff from fairy fingers

and which roses bloom with the strawberry moon

Teach them to spot pricklebacks in the tottlegrass,

how to recognise a smeuse or a bishop-barnaby,

when to watch the sky for flittermice and yaffles,

and to pay attention to the dumbeldore and mousearnickle

as she graces the lazy leahs of summer

Teach them a few of the old Sussex words for mud,

like gubber and slub and stodge and pug,

so they know that the precious soil beneath their toes

is anything but worthless dirt

Teach them to be users and keepers and makers

of the words which bring the land alive:

a storybook, where everything has its rightful place,

including us;

where the wilds are fearful and filled with magic

and people do noble things, and nothing is impossible

In this world of harsh new words —

words like planetary dysmorphia and solastalgia,

extinction debt and grief mitigation,

megadrought and megafire,

anthropogenic, pyrocene,

words which alarm and get stuck in our throats

describing a world which our hearts cannot grasp —

we need to teach the children the old words,

so that if they should feel lost,

the old words might colour for them

a warm and breathing, living map,

a light to guide them safely home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glossary

brabble — to argue loudly about matters of no importance

grubble — to grope around in the dark for something that you can’t see

clinkerbell — icicle

twitter-light — twilight

queen of the meadow — meadowsweet

bride of the sun — calendula

Jupiter’s staff — mullein

fairy fingers — foxglove

*prickleback — hedgehog

*tottle grass — high grass

smeuse —the gap in the base of a hedge made by the regular passage of a small animal

*bishop-barnaby — ladybird

*yaffle — green woodpecker

*flittermouse — bat

*dumbledore — bumblebee

*mousearnickle — dragonfly

leah — meadow, clearing

*gubber — black mud of rotting organic matter

*pug — a kind of loam, particularly the sticky yellow Wealden clay

*stodge — thick puddingy mud

*slub — thick mud

Author's Note:   I owe the title and first line of this poem to my friend, Jelly Julieda, who has graciously granted me permission to use her words here. I have also been hugely inspired by the work of Robert MacFarlane, and urge you to read his wonderful book Landmarks if you are interested in the relationship between landscape and language.

The words marked with an *asterisk are native to my home in the Sussex Weald.

Poem to Be Read at 3:00 a.m. by Donald Justice

Excepting the diner

On the outskirts

The town of Ladora

At 3 A.M.

Was dark but

For my headlights

And up in

One second-story room

A single light

Where someone

Was sick or

Perhaps reading

As I drove past

At seventy

Not thinking

This poem

Is for whoever

Had the light on

QUOTE(S):  "The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough." ~ Colum McCann

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.” ~ Helen Keller

I Am a Mother (Friction Farm)

This was scheduled to be an entirely different post, but then... another school shooting a few days ago.  I just told a friend that I had ramped up from Angry and Sad to Furious and Bereft.  So many deep and layered feelings but, for right now, I defer to the statement released by The Caring Community (my loving, gardening, helping family of choice), who always know exactly what to say:

"We are deeply saddened today by the news of the latest school shooting, this time at Robb Elementary in Uvalde, Texas.  The Caring Community was founded to serve teachers as a result of the Parkland tragedy, and every teacher and family in South Florida will be feeling the echoes, reliving the pain.  Our hearts are heavy as well as broken to see these things happen over and over. We can only do what we can do to make a difference. Some things are out of our control.

The unimaginable pain of 21 families, the heartbreak and despair of parents and teachers everywhere reverberates loudly in our community. It is hard to see beyond the horror, to imagine a day when school shootings will never happen again. Rage, hopelessness, and fear are some responses we might feel to yet another tragedy in our schools.  We just want to tell our community, and most especially our teachers and school staff, that we love them. We hope you lean on each other, that you reach out to your amazing EAP (Employee Assistance Program) if you are feeling overwhelmed by it all and that you know that, although you've probably never met any of us, we deeply honor the service you give to our children and our community. We hold onto the hope that this must be the very last time that communities suffer violence like this in any school, anywhere.

No child should ever be fearful of going to school nor should any parent or caregiver fear dropping their child off to school. Our teachers everywhere are under a great deal of stress; no one ever thought that teaching children and young adults everyday would be putting their lives on the line. And yet, we still can't get the gun reform we need or the mental health help for those who desperately need it. How many more lives do we have to lose?"

Oh, yeah... and to paraphrase an all-too-often resurfacing meme:  F*ck Thoughts and Prayers; we need Policy and Change... ✊

SONG:  I Am a Mother by Friction Farm

BOOK:  Trigger Points: Inside the Mission to Stop Mass Shootings in America by Mark Follman

POEM(S):  Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman 

Everything hurts,
Our hearts shadowed and strange,
Minds made muddied and mute.
We carry tragedy, terrifying and true.
And yet none of it is new;
We knew it as home,
As horror,
As heritage.
Even our children
Cannot be children,
Cannot be.

Everything hurts.
It’s a hard time to be alive,
And even harder to stay that way.
We’re burdened to live out these days,
While at the same time, blessed to outlive them.

This alarm is how we know
We must be altered —
That we must differ or die,
That we must triumph or try.
Thus while hate cannot be terminated,
It can be transformed
Into a love that lets us live.

May we not just grieve, but give:
May we not just ache, but act;
May our signed right to bear arms
Never blind our sight from shared harm;
May we choose our children over chaos.
May another innocent never be lost.

Maybe everything hurts,
Our hearts shadowed & strange.
But only when everything hurts
May everything change.

America Is a Gun by Brian Bilston

England is a cup of tea.

France, a wheel of ripened brie.

Greece, a short, squat olive tree.

America is a gun.

Brazil is a football on the sand.

Argentina, Maradona’s hand.

Germany, an oompah band.

America is a gun.

Holland is a wooden shoe.

Hungary, a goulash stew.

Australia, a kangaroo.

America is a gun.

Japan is a thermal spring.

Scotland is a highland fling.

Oh, better to be anything

than America as a gun.

Sorrow by Tim Seibles 

It's not the same

as sadness, though sorrow

has sadness in it---the way {lost}

holds losing: you can see it

in women's eyes when they laugh

and in the way men lean

over their food: after awhile,

we know nearly every love

won't go as it should,

and we know that knowing

cannot make us glad: {knowledge}

stairway to nowhere---we want

the world we cannot have,

and every day the feeling moves

between us, but we try

not to complain and almost

never fall down and cry.

QUOTE(S):  “The time for us to stop mass shootings in this country is right now, right here, today." ~ Beto O'Rourke

“The only thing that can stop a bad politician with a vote is a good citizen with a vote.” ~ Jocelyn Benson, Michigan Secretary of State

Amendment (Ani DiFranco)

Yeah, the leaked Supreme Court decision is bullsh*t, an insane power and control move, and they should all be ashamed of themselves.  I have faith that Roe v. Wade (a Constitutional right we've had for 50 years) will not be overturned.  I'm just Pollyanna-ish enough to think that, if 70% of the population believes in the right to choose, it can not, and will not, be taken away from us.  I refuse to imagine a world resembling The Handmaid's Tale.

In the meantime, I'm remembering reading an article decades ago (late-60s/early-70s) about The Jane Collective, and fearing yet feeling we may need to be prepared to resurrect it nationwide, just in case.  We worked too hard, we won't give up, and we won't go back.

Sunday is Mother's Day, and I am incredibly lucky to be able to say that all three of my children were *chosen*, because I had that luxury.  Every woman deserves a choice as to when, or if, they become mothers.

Backstory: I wrote last Friday about attending a livestream for Anna Quindlen's new book (Write for Your Life) a few weeks ago, and Kelly Corrigan was the moderator. I had never heard of KC, and was instantly captivated by her engaging personality, her fluidity of language, and her insightful questions. She mentioned being an author herself which, of course as soon as the virtual event ended, I had to google. I put all of her books on my reserve list at the library and, when I realized Glitter and Glue was about the mother-daughter relationship, I bought a copy for my daughter for the upcoming Mother's Day... and of course I had to read it first... 💞

It is indeed Feel Good Friday and, as is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten/enlighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

~ The 29 Best Last-Minute Mother’s Day Gifts:  Sure, it happens every year on the second Sunday in May. And, sure, every Rite Aid in the country has been teeming with cards, warning you about its impending occurrence. But, hey, we get it: Sometimes Mother’s Day sneaks up and finds us unprepared.

~  Otters:  Just a mom and her pup... 💜

~ Transcending: Words on Women and Strength:  Author Kelly Corrigan penned this moving essay about women's remarkable capacity to support each other, to laugh together, and to endure.

~ Anne Lamott:  Here is the annual Mother’s Day post, ONLY for those of you who dread the holiday, dread having strangers, cashiers & waiters exclaim cheerfully, mindlessly, “Happy Mother’s Day!” when it is a day that, for whatever reasons, makes you feel deeply sad.

~ Calm Mom Balm:  A soothing balm for those who nurture, made with flowers!

SONG:  Amendment by Ani DiFranco

BOOK(S):  Glitter and Glue... and Lift, both by Kelly Corrigan

POEM:  Right to Life by Marge Piercy

A woman is not a pear tree

thrusting her fruit into mindless fecundity

into the world. Even pear trees bear

heavily one year and rest and grow the next.

An orchard gone wild drops few warm rotting

fruit in the grass but the trees stretch

high and wiry gifting the birds forty

feet up among inch long thorns

broken atavistically from the smooth wood.

A woman is not a basket you place

your buns in to keep them warm. Not a brood

hen you can slip duck eggs under.

Not the purse holding the coins of

your descendants till you spend them in wars.

Not a bank where your genes collect interest

and interesting mutations in the tainted

rain, anymore than you are.

You plant your corn and harvest

it to eat or sell. You put the lamb

in the pasture to fatten and haul it in

to butcher for chops. You slice

the mountain in two for a road and gouge

the high plains for coal and the waters

run muddy for miles and years.

Fish die but you do not call them yours

unless you wished to eat them.

Now you legislate mineral rights in a woman.

You lay claim to her pastures for grazing,

fields for growing babies like iceburg

lettuce. You value children so dearly

that none ever go hungry, none weep

with no one to tend them when mothers

work, none lack fresh fruit,

none chew lead or cough to death and your

orphanages are empty. Every noon the best

restaurants serve poor children steaks.

At this moment at nine o'clock a partera

is performing a table top abortion on an

unwed mother in Texas who can't get Medicaid

any longer. In five days she will die

of tetanus and her little daughter will cry

and be taken away. Next door a husband

and wife are sticking pins in the son

they did not want. They will explain

for hours how wicked he is,

how he wants discipline.

We are all born of woman, in the rose

of the womb we suckled our mother's blood

and every baby born has a right to love

like a seedling to the sun. Every baby born

unloved, unwanted, is a bill that will come

due in twenty years with interest, an anger

that must find a target, a pain that will

beget pain. A decade downstream a child

screams, a woman falls, a synagogue is torched,

a firing squad summoned, a button

is pushed and the world burns.

I will choose what enters me, what becomes,

flesh of my flesh. Without choice, no politics,

no ethics lives. I am not your cornfield,

not your uranium mine, not your calf

for fattening, not your cow for milking.

You may not use me as your factory.

Priests and legislators do not hold

shares in my womb or my mind.

This is my body. If I give it to you

I want it back. My life

is a non-negotiable demand.

QUOTE(S):  “Raising people is not some lark. It's serious work with serious repercussions. It's air-traffic control. You can't step out for a minute; you can barely pause to scratch your ankle.” ~ Kelly Corrigan

"Yeah, that means all across the country, women in places like South Dakota or Missouri or even Texas will have the exact same abortion rights as women in Afghanistan under the Taliban." ~ Trevor Noah

Hallelujah (HAIM)

Okay, raise your hand if you're tired of me saying:  "It's been one month... six weeks... three months... [fill in unit of time measurement here] since my last confession... um... blog post".  I've been busy but I've also been cocooning, if that makes a bit of sense.  RHG and I were talking the other night, reminiscing about the years I suffered from Full Plate Syndrome, and I worked hard to eventually scrape many things off my dish.  I laughed that now, when I add something, it's not a heaping helping of mashed potatoes, but more along the lines of one... pea... at... a... time.  And I'm good with that... 😍

I recently attended a livestream with Anna Quindlen, moderated by Kelly Corrigan (more about her in an upcoming Mother's Day post).  I have been following AQ's writing since first reading her Life in the 30's column when we lived in Puerto Rico (1985-1989), followed by her novels as well as non-fiction works.  There's just something about her "voice" that is simple yet beautiful; her new book (non-fiction) is called Write for Your Life (see link below), and is geared to those who love to write but don't do it professionally.  I related to so many things she said, especially:  "I don't send you a letter to *tell* you something; I send you a letter to *give* you something."  Whoa.  Wow.  Goosebumps.

If you are a friend, or a follower of my blog, or both... you are long familiar with my can't-do-anything-in-25-words-or-less philosophy.  I mean... I can, but I don't want to... not when there's a whole language and vocabulary out there just waiting to be used and highlighted.  This is where I shine; I have missed writing... and her livestream fueled my desire to get back to blogging too, even if only once a week.  

So, here I am.  Rather than recap from where I left off (mid-February... really?!?), I will Begin Again... in the Now... possibly sharing tidbits of that Bermuda Triangle of lost time... or maybe not.  Life is pretty d*mn lovely.  I still read, walk, garden, hug my Colin, sip my hot tea, count my blessings.  Hope there is joy in your days as well, whether bestowed-by-The-Universe magical or earned-tooth-and-nail (equally valued).

It is indeed Feel Good Friday and, as is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten/enlighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

~ MacKenzie Scott Has Pledged to Donate Half Her Net Worth to Charity:  It's a pledge her ex-husband, Jeff Bezos, has yet to make.

~ Love the Hit Game Wordle? Try BRDL, a Bird-Inspired Spinoff:  The daily word quiz that has taken the internet by storm now has a version for birders. Just make sure you know your banding codes.

~ Break a Leg but Never Whistle: How Stage Superstitions Live On:  The return of the Scottish play (that’s “Macbeth” to the rest of you) is a reminder of the idiosyncratic rituals and routines that bring actors comfort.

~ The Best Teas, According to Wirecutter’s Obsessive Staff:  A great cup of tea can make everything better. Even though tea is not as popular as coffee in the US, we think it deserves its place as the second-most widely consumed beverage in the world (water being the first). 

~ 70+ Perennial Vegetables to Plant Once and Harvest for Years:  Edible perennial gardening is a way to grow delicious crops while saving time, money, and effort. 

NR:  One Two Three by Laurie Frankel

SONG:  Hallelujah by HAIM

BOOK:  Write for Your Life by Anna Quindlen 

POEM:  What You Missed That Day You Were Absent From Fourth Grade by Brad Aaron Modlin

Mrs. Nelson explained how to stand still and listen

to the wind, how to find meaning in pumping gas,

how peeling potatoes can be a form of prayer. She took

questions on how not to feel lost in the dark

After lunch she distributed worksheets

that covered ways to remember your grandfather’s

voice. Then the class discussed falling asleep

without feeling you had forgotten to do something else—

something important—and how to believe

the house you wake in is your home. This prompted

Mrs. Nelson to draw a chalkboard diagram detailing

how to chant the Psalms during cigarette breaks,

and how not to squirm for sound when your own thoughts

are all you hear; also, that you have enough.

The English lesson was that I am

is a complete sentence.

And just before the afternoon bell, she made the math equation

look easy. The one that proves that hundreds of questions,

and feeling cold, and all those nights spent looking

for whatever it was you lost, and one person

add up to something.

QUOTE(S):  "When you recover or discover something that nourishes your soul and brings joy, care enough about yourself to make room for it in your life." ~ Jean Shinoda Bolen

“We have a tendency to think in terms of doing and not in terms of being. We think that when we are not doing anything, we are wasting our time. But that is not true. Our time is first of all for us to be. To be what? To be alive, to be peaceful, to be joyful, to be loving. And that is what the world needs most.”

Thich Nhat Hanh 

“Doing those deeply unfashionable things—slowing down, letting your spare time expand, getting enough sleep, resting—is a radical act now, but it is essential. This is a crossroads we all know, a moment when you need to shed a skin. If you do, you’ll expose all those painful nerve endings and feel so raw that you’ll need to take care of yourself for a while. If you don’t, then that skin will harden around you.” ~ Katherine May