Plenty of Gifts

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The morning is dark as I slide out of bed.  I sit upon my wool yoga blankets and close my eyes. I breathe deeply.  Ten minutes, maybe fifteen.  After a few stretches for my spine, I rise and walk downstairs.  My husband has left for work but the kids are still sleeping. The house is quiet.  So quiet.

I make myself a cup of tea and sit at my desk, open my journal, take hold of a pen.  And I write.  Not a lot, but enough.  And I feel part-calm as I start my day with pen and paper, part-frantic as I try to get it down before the kids wake up. Because it’s 6:40 in the morning and I can’t believe my son is still sleeping.  This time in the quiet and dark of the house is a gift.

The following morning is dark as I slide out of bed.  Again I make my way to the blankets and breathe.  Deeply.  But then…my daughter tiptoes into the room and climbs into my lap.  Her long, nearly-10 year old legs don’t fit neatly into my crossed legs anymore. But her head still rests comfortably against my heart.  Half of her {enough of her} still curls within my arms. There is no writing on this morning in the quiet and dark of the house.  There is no tea/desk/pen and paper.  But there is this moment with my daughter.  In the quiet and the dark.  A gift.

 

Sending a little love your way, m

 

P.S.  Just six days left to sign up for Intention for 7!

 

 

 

It’s Time to Set Intention

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In December of 2013, I led a group of {really} wonderful women in a one-week exploration of intention.  Each of us picked something on which we desired to focus and we did just that. Exercising, getting more sleep, drinking more water, speaking with grace…it was anything of our choice.  Just one thing that we each wanted to work on for those seven days. Together. The class was called Intention for 7.

I didn’t run it again this past December because it just felt too close on the heels of Gratitude Week.  And I’m glad I waited. Because now I feel ready.  I’m desiring the focus for myself.  And I’m keen to share that time, that exploration, that intention with others.

So consider this your official invitation.  The class will run for 7 days, April 6-12.  It’s free of charge.  Show up as you are. With the intention to do just one thing.

You can read a little more and sign up for the class by clicking right here.  I hope to see you there.  Really.  It’s a gentle week. Dare I say it’s a gift that you’ll gift yourself?  {I think I just did.}  Seven days to consider something that will feed you…and, no doubt, will ripple outward and feed those around you.

Come along then…

Sending a little love your way, m

 

 

 

Permission to Droop

 

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This lone drooping tulip.

Usually a drooping flower {a drooping anything} feels sad to me, but this tulip doesn’t feel especially sad to me.  It kind of feels like it’s just doing its thing.

Sometimes it’s hard to stand in the crowd and not do the same thing that everyone else is doing.  Sometimes it’s hard to hang low when everyone else is intent on stretching high.  But some days call for riding low.  Some days call for bending in a direction other than the one that’s expected.

I want to remember to be like this tulip.  I want to remember that it’s perfectly fine to stretch in whatever direction feels best. That might be up, that might be out.  It might be down.  The stretching – the movement – is key.

Life rests in movement.  Even in the kind that droops.

 

Sending a little love your way, m

 

 

The Ordinary and Extraordinary

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I couldn’t decide if I should share a photo of the beautiful tulips I bought on Tuesday, or my daughter’s horses.  You see which won out.  The tulips are lovely, a pale shade of yellow. But these toy horses, well, they tug at my heart even days after taking the shot.  My daughter hasn’t played with these particular horses in a while, but last week she spread a blanket across the family room floor and set them all up.  There they stayed for days and I happily moved around them so as not to disturb the set-up.  When I watch my children play – even my son who is nearing {I can’t believe I’m about to write this number} fourteen {ack!} – I am brought back to my own childhood days and how I used to get lost in stories and fantasy.  I remember playing with my own toy horses, in fact…acting out stories as if the horses were humans. It was magic.

And while I don’t play in the same way these days, stories are still a part of my days. Stories that I read to my children, stories that I read to myself, stories that I tell my children of days long ago, stories I tell my husband of the day transpired. In my journal, I write stories of every day life and stories of dreams and wonderings.  I write of magic.

Not the poof kind of magic.  But the ordinary, everyday, simple, extraordinary kind of magic. The magic of hot tea sipped slowly while the kids lazily read in the early hours of our day. The magic of a conversation with a dear friend.  The magic of watching my children grow before my very eyes.  The magic of watching myself continue to grow.  The magic of the snow which falls from our winter sky.  The magic of daffodils blooming in a friend’s yard on the west coast…as the snow falls from my east coast sky.  The magic of toy horses arranged on a fleece blanket field.  Magic, I tell you.

And it humbles me.  Brings me back to center, even as the dishes pile in the sink and the laundry pile grows and the dust bunnies lie along the hallway baseboard.  The ordinary, everyday, simple, extraordinary kind of magic that finds us if we but look and listen and embrace…

Sending a little love your way, m

 

 

Who Knew

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Plans are cancelled and new ones made as
the white sky releases heavy flakes from its mouth
falling faster and heavier than those who told us what’s coming
really knew.

Layers are donned
hats, scarves, gloves, boots
all that remains a nose, two eyes
peeking from within fortification.

Bounding down the back steps and
into the white, crunching
sinking
floating.

Shovelfuls, handfuls
packing and molding
sled runs and igloos and
people of the snow.

And when the cold and wet work their way into bones
and bellies beg for food
a bursting through the door, disrobing
and so much more than nose and eyes beam at me in delight.

Hats, scarves, gloves, boots
some hung, some tossed to the towel laid upon the floor
contentment hovering in the air.
Did the weather forecasters know this would come too?

No one really knew
what today would hold until
the holding had all been held
and then we knew.  We really knew.

 

Sending a little love your way, m