I struggle with titles. I would be a terrible purveyor of  Clickbait.

I couldn’t draw you in to read this post through a snappy title. I am all but out of words.

This weekend we entered alongside the grief of others while participating in two  “Celebrations of Life.”

These two dear people have held significance in our lives for a very long time. I think that all I need to say is that our hearts have been very tender.

I ignored the headlines for a couple of days, refusing to “click” on stories I could see were going to break me open. I avoided it all until today.

And now I don’t have enough tears in me to express my sorrow.

It’s been a mournful week, both personally, nationally, and internationally. My reserves are a bit low!

But I do refuel.

I find ways to experience joy even when I’m sad.

My children and grandchildren are doing well. I’m thankful. My dog, in all of her idiosyncrasies, makes me laugh. The weather is beautiful and I’m able to sit still and almost prayerfully watch hummingbirds continue to grace our garden. And I shake my head with the hilarity of the squirrels digging in my potted plants while hiding  acorns despite the fact that winter doesn’t visit us.

The rhythms of life are comforting.

I send a wish for peace to each one of you to find cherished moments you can hold close in times of stress.

It’s a new week, and I hope for better. Despite all that I feel and observe, I do tend to make my way back to optimism. I do think we can do better.


I plan to invest in a counter-cultural act and sow seeds of kindness. I’ll bet you’re willing to join me. That’s perhaps all we can do to influence at least our own little spheres and strengthen our small communities. I think that’s a hopeful act.

I have plans to visit the ocean again this week. I think a few days of quiet while staring at the ocean is just what I need for now.


I am in love with Ocean
lifting her thousands of white hats
in the chop of the storm,
or lying smooth and blue, the
loveliest bed in the world.
In the personal life, there is

always grief more than enough,
a heart-load for each of us
on the dusty road. I suppose
there is a reason for this, so I will be
patient, acquiescent. But I will live
nowhere except here, by Ocean, trusting
equally in all the blast and welcome
of her sorrowless, salt self.

Mary Oliver

Love and peace from your friend, Debra