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The sum. Is that the end? Is that the goal? When all is said and done, will the sum of all the parts be positive or negative? Will the sum leave us in the black or in the red? Do we work toward that sum or do we focus on the minutiae that all add up to that end? Or, do we focus only on the minutiae and trust that the sum will be what it will be?



He is missed.

When I call…he is missed.

When she says it is very lonely there…he is missed.

When we plan for the holidays…he is missed.

When there is coconut pie at a family gathering…he is missed.

When the church bells next door ring out…he is missed.

But he is here.

When I call…he is here.

When she says it’s very lonely there…he is here.

When we plan for the holidays…he is here.

When there is coconut pie at a family gathering…he is here.

When the church bells next door ring out…he is here.

He is missed…but he is here.

Despite the cliche, I am reminded that life is a blank canvas. It’s given to us with opportunity. Opportunity to make something beautiful; something others will want to see; something that can give us satisfaction in it’s creation. But a blank canvas can be daunting. So many plans. So many ideas. So many desires. But none can be realized without that first stroke on the field of white. That first stroke can seem impossible and some never find the courage to make it. I don’t want to be afraid. What a tragedy to die with a blank canvas. Resolved: Make the mark, love it, live with it, or paint over it…but make the mark.


I love the music and chorus of the Lou Reed song, Take a Walk on the Wild Side. It sticks in my head every time I hear it. The other day I was driving somewhere alone and it came on the radio. I turned it up louder than normal and found myself listening to the lyrics for a change. The next day I found myself humming the tune and my son began humming it too. I caught myself moments before I hit play for him to hear the actual song. That’s one that he needs to discover for himself…many years from now. (And I’ll allow you, Dear Reader, to discover it for yourself as well, if necessary)

Sometimes the tune of a song is much better than the lyrics. It’s like seeing the forest instead of the trees. Sometimes we are so focused on the details, on the trees, on the lyrics, that we forget the big picture, the forest, the tune. Sometimes it’s a nice break to simply soften the edges and allow the essence of our world to envelope us for a moment…maybe forget the shoulds, the woulds, the musts, and let the music itself carry us away…maybe take a little walk on the wild side.



What do you think of when you hear the word…chalkboard?

I think of school. Kids today have whiteboards instead.

My kids have neither.

My kids think of color and art and freedom to explore the medium when they hear the word…chalkboard.

I hope that is what they think of when they hear the word…school.

Georgia found beauty in bones

We slaughter and consume and create bones for our own enjoyment

Yet we hide from the natural creation of bones

And miss out on the joy of life in their song

To console a motherless child

The saddest eyes

The heart set adrift

What can be spoken

What can be offered

To bank the coals

Of the guiding light extinguished

Sometimes it takes a bit of gasoline and a match to violently rid myself of anger…hatred…longing…

Sometimes it takes a bit of gasoline and a match to make way for new growth…

I noticed a few buds this morning…

December Moon by May Sarton, from Coming into Eighty

Before going to bed
After a fall of snow
I look out on the field
Shining there in the moonlight
So calm, untouched and white
Snow silence fills my head
After I leave the window.


Hours later near dawn
When I look down again
The whole landscape has changed
The perfect surface gone
Criss-crossed and written on
Where the wild creatures ranged
While the moon rose and shone.


Why did my dog not bark?
Why did I hear no sound
There on the snow-locked ground
In the tumultuous dark?


How much can come, how much can go
When the December moon is bright,
What worlds of play we’ll never know
Sleeping away the cold white night
After a fall of snow.


Watch your thoughts, for they become words.

Watch your words, for they become actions.

Watch your actions, for they become habits.

Watch your habits, for they become character.

Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.



Namaste, Jeannie


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