“G” is for fish cars & jungle gym bars

It’s Monday again Travellers,

This is a humid one with a rather difficult start. It was hard for me to rise and shine, just like the sun is having a hard time finding it’s way thru the wavy cloud banks this morning. And we encountered many unpleasant smells and grumpy faces on our walk. I thought I should let you know that not every morning is amazing here, but we keep going. Apparently, the world did not get the memo today that Mondays are now fun, or at least they COULD be…

Today our letter is “G” and you are really going to have to close your eyes and visualize these ideas because they require some serious imagination skills. Do you remember how to do that, close yours and see all the possibilities and none of the restrictions we place on ourselves as adults. I believe we call it reality…yea, you’re going to have to suspend that for now…

As a kid, I had a fish named Charlie and a hamster named Betsy. Unlike, dogs and cats, these types of pets obviously require their own individual containers, which always made concerned that they felt abit forlorn. I wanted to free them. In Betsy’s case, that was easily remedied with a plastic ball built for hamsters to transverse their human’s home. I’m not sure which of us enjoyed it more, her or me, but Betsy was an explorer and would even try to best the cat at times in her plastic orb. She was a really awesome hamster and Charlie, well he would hang out in his bowl waiting for me to say hello.

My child minded idea for the letter “G” is to remedy that issue. We’re going to build a fish car.  YES, yes we are… If you look at the physical letter, and just focus on the “C” shape, we would install a hinge at the half way point, so the bowl that would fit in the curved area could be removed, cleaned and filled with tank water. This “C” shape would also be thickened to be more supportive I’m gonna say approximately 5-6” wide and this would also create a wider base for wheels to be added for mobility and support. The sides would be open still so the fish would have windows to look out while driving. Because you can’t have a windowless car, now can you?The shape would be curved to fit around a bowl. I’m not sure if we would use plastic or metal, but something sturdy. Sturdier than that hamster ball which was just a hollow plastic ball with a hatch and some ventilation.

Now here’s where you are going to have to suspend your disbelief, the front piece of the “G” it would somehow connect into the bowl and after some serious research, we would determine what kind of steering apparatus fish prefer…a tiny wheel or perhaps a keyboard for their little caudal fins to operate. Maybe just some symbols that would light up for them to smack. Hard to say what would work, since I’m not a fish.

Figure if Lowly Worm in Richard Scarry’s stories can figure out how to dress himself, something that perplexed my young mind for years, then a fish can certainly learn to drive, right? I mean how the hell did a worm get an entire outfit, a shoe and a hat on his head with no hands or fingers?!? How did he put that shoe on??? SO MIND BOGGLING. And I’m pretty sure my current Betta, Starbuck, would drive like an Andretti if given the chance because he’s an aggressive little guy…There would probably need to be some kind of lighting situation on the little car as well, maybe even a horn for cat and dog traffic.

It’s easy to see why childhood is so awesome isn’t it? Because we believed anything was possible and everything could be delightful if we wanted it to be…

As an adult, I would turn the “G” into a sort of jungle gym. I spent many hours of my youth on jungle gyms, swinging from bars and crawling around on whatever kind of metal menagerie the playground had to offer. I miss that as an adult. And it would be a great fitness tool as well.

Looking at the “G” shape, which by the way, this situation would be quite large, because if you haven’t noticed, kid playground toys are built for small bodies, so this would be for full sized adult bodies…I would essentially make it a giant hollow orb constructed from metal bars. OR even better, maybe it could expand and contract, since this my imagination, it doesn’t have to make sense, right? I like the idea of using the little front leg of the “G” as a sort of platform for my forearms, so I could walk my legs over my head into one of my favorite yoga asanas, Scorpion. In fact, this could be a rig for people to learn to hand stand as that seems to be all the rage on Instagram. Or that area could be a platform to leap from and grab the top.

BUT I also just want bars to climb and hang from knees on like when I was young. I want to crawl on the inside, outside, upside downside…because I loved that and I’m pretty sure I can still do those things. In case you don’t remember, when you were a child, you could squat really deep, usually when you were playing in a sandbox or some other grounded activity. Many adults simply lose that ability because they no longer utilize that range of motion. Pretty sure monkey bars work the same way.

That’s my ideas for the day. What would you do with a “G”?

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The Storm

Happy Weekend Travellers,

If you had a rough week, then congratulations for making it here! Sometimes I feel like getting to the weekend is like swimming to a raft in the center of a turbulent body of water. Once you successfully reach it and drag yourself on top of the float it’s suddenly peaceful and then you look up and the skies are clear and blue. AND when you look back the waters have stilled themselves.

Enjoy every minute while you are here…

Last night, we had a storm for the ages. All the trimmings: thunder, lightening, raining like the sky was trying to wring every drop last drop onto us, abit of hail, winds…you get the picture. It was a spare no expense type downpour. I don’t know what time it was when it began, I was just suddenly jolted out of my deep sleep by the sounds of thunder and rain. There was an intermittent clicking on the windows that I’m pretty sure was hail. I’m not sure how long it went on, I very briefly opened my eyes, but it seemed like hours. Thankfully, it subsided somewhere along the way and I dozed off again.

Have you ever been laying there in the middle of a storm just listening to the loud drumming of the rain on the windows and the roof, the sound of the water gushing like a mad stream thru the gutters onto the ground, the tapping of hail and the wind blowing like the Big Bad Wolf who wanted to unhouse the Three Little Pigs wondering, how is my house going to survive this? How is it still standing? THAT is the storm I heard outside the walls of my warm little bedroom last night…

For me, the true tell tale of a severe storm is the sudden weight of Ramona jumping up into bed because she gets scared. She’s a brave girl, but thunder is her foe. After she lands on the mattress, she then proceeds to slowly scoot me across the bed in this little dance. She’ll get as close to me as possible, lie down and then I will scoot over abit because dogs are hot. Seriously, their body temperature is higher than ours and no one wants to sleep with a tiny furnace nestled into their side in the dead of summer. Ramona will follow me inch by inch, repositioning herself right up against me, over and over until I’m on the edge of the bed with nowhere else to go. It’s a forced surrender.

I always think about homeless animals and people when it storms. Just mere moments the thought always crosses my mind without fail. I realize many people and animals don’t have the good fortune of home. As I lie there in the dark, listening to nature doing it’s worst, I send out a small prayer to all those souls and their well being and hope they are safe, somehow, somewhere. I hope they find a pocket of dry warmth to survive in. I also send out my gratitude to the universe, that the five of us are here in this place. We are most fortunate and should always remember that.

I can’t imagine what that must feel like to not have a home to shelter you from the elements much less conditions like this. The thought makes my heart flutter with a sort of fear and sadness. There is sanctuary and safety in a home unlike anywhere else to me. I’m sure I’ve said that before. Despite the fact that I am now the sole bipedal creature in my house, I still call it this home “ours” because of the four furry souls that reside here with me. I’m always glad we found each other because they are safe and I think shelter and safety is something all life seeks in the deepest recesses of their being. Especially during inclement conditions.

And I always think of one little soul in particular, Mopsy, whom I haven’t mentioned in a very long time. I think of her almost everyday, obviously because I come here and that’s her in my banner. I hope she is well out in the world. I hope she is finding her way and is safe from harm. I miss her like no one else I’ve ever known. It literally makes my eyes and heart well up just typing words about her. Even now.

I remember one of the earliest nights I let her into our home was in the midst of a downpour. She was at the front door meowing with a sad desperation to be let in. So I did, and despite the fact I gave her a towel, she chose to shake off the rain and then proceeded to sleep on the couch in the front room . A stranger in a strange house. I always hoped that our house was a reprieve for her from the world she had been left out in. Even if she couldn’t stay here forever, I just hope she remembers the time she had with me in the same sort of warm glow of how I remember her.


I like to imagine her safe, last night and every night. My world is better believing she is still out there somewhere.

And when the morning comes, the sun rises and rolls back it’s bed linens of clouds to illuminate the world. I conjure up the image of her out exploring the puddles, pawing the downed branches and random debris delighted by what she finds. Just like the ladies in the backyard, surveying the damage and relieved to see the world is was fact, not blown away by the Big Bad Wolf, but it’s still here.

No matter the storm, no matter the damage, we all awake each day to find the world is still waiting for us, still standing. We are still here.

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Breakfast of Champions

Good morning Travellers,

Guess what? You’ll never guess…We had an amazing walk. AGAIN. I know it’s ridiculous how good something so simple can be. This morning there was a symphony of birds singing, birds I’ve never heard before, seriously and owls hooting and of course that rooster crowing. Even a few members of the late night bug symphony were still playing…

There was a moment at the halfway mark of our walk where I stopped to turn around and just soak it in. The fog bank was nestled up against the tree line and the sky was light blue with a few small clouds. Someone cut the grass last night, so there were little pieces of grass on all of our legs. HEAVEN.

It seems the morning skies palette is mostly pinks, purples and blues here in Kansas. I think sunsets won oranges, reds and the more ultraviolet spectrum in some kind of bet. But it suits the morning, the softer colors, because the world wakes gently I feel versus the end of day which can be quite dramatic. I don’t know about you, but I’m not awake enough in morning to handle anything dramatic…

I should also mention this little bank of clouds we saw on the way homeward. Just as we crossed the busy street returning into our neighborhood. It looked like they were all swimming upstream together in the sky. Just lovely I tell you…

I realized as I was walking that there are really no rules here about what I can write. I could tell you anything really, but I have a general message under all these posts, not going to spoil what it is, because that’s up to you to figure that out…

This morning let’s talk about why you should eat breakfast in order to have a happy day. Because I believe what many people believe in that how you begin your day sets the tone of what’s to come. Bad mornings are hard to reset from aren’t they?

Let me interject here that I do realize that some souls just do not enjoy the morning. I’m never really sure what to say to that because it feels like a hard sell that I just can’t make. My ex was not a morning person and that always kind of dampened my joy. It’s probably the first thing I noticed on my own, after he left, how buoyant morning became without him. Everyone is entitled to be who they are though are, no judgement. I wasn’t a jubilant early riser when I was younger, not even sure how I arrived at being a person who relishes these hours of unfolding. But I am now and will most likely live out my days this way.

Back to breakfast. I find when I talk to most people they neglect to eat breakfast everyday. Just no time or no interest. And if I’m being honest I didn’t start eating breakfast until my late twenties. At first it I tried eggs and Canadian bacon on a little English muffin then it was oatmeal. All of that never really did the trick, but I was eating something. Which is a good place to start…

Here’s the thing, when you sleep at night, it’s really like a teeny tiny hibernation. Your body slows down, relaxes and repairs itself and you of course don’t drink any water or eat any food for 6-9 hours depending on how long you sleep. Plus, you probably ate dinner between 5-8pm, so figure you have not really eaten for about 12 hours. Or had water. Which means when you wake up, the tank is empty, you have no fuel, so where are you possibly going without a refill? Remember, the body is the vehicle of the mind and soul, and you would never be able to drive a car without fuel. You may make it a few blocks on fumes, but really, no distance can be travelled with any kind of velocity.

And by the way, coffee/Starbucks/Duncan Donuts are NOT breakfast. Sugar and caffeine are just drugs essentially to fool the system into thinking it has fuel, but it’s really just trickery. I’m talking about eating something that will give you a nutrient boost and energy for a few hours…


What do I eat you ask? Let me show you…


I store these in the freezer and de-thaw one each morning. Because they seem to grow mold quite quickly due to the moisture content. And lately I’ve been using fresh fruits versus dried. This recipe is so versatile, which makes it easy to eat for several years without boredom. You can really add any kind of nuts or fruits that you like but I recommend walnuts due to their nutrient value. I also add the spices pretty freely, I just shake in how ever much I feel like each time, but over the years I’ve found a slightly heavier handed approach really makes a better muffin. Especially nutmeg. Let it be noted I am gluten sensitive and these do nothing but make me feel awesome. If you are a celiac, you may be able to tweak this with alternative flours.

Just look at this awesomeness!! I added fresh cherries and blueberries this last round…


Lastly though, the piece de resistance is almond butter. I have one I like in particular which also has cinnamon in it. I use roughly 2 tablespoons per muffin. Let it be noted, almond butter is not cheap, for me it’s a splurge I allow myself because I love it. This is my first meal of the day so figure it should be super yummy in my tummy. Am I right? Anything worth doing is worth doing well.

I know you can find less expensive butters though, so that’s up to you. The nut butter is VERY IMPORTANT though because of the protein. You need some kind of protein in the morning so you’re body will easily travel the distance to lunch. Protein gets it up and goes. The muffins are very dense and hello, fiber. Which helps with what? Happy intestines and better poop. Big smiles. And nuts are one of the healthy mainstays of my personal diet because again, nutrient content and they seem to have a lasting energy for me.

On the side of this little concoction, I also eat a banana with this situation. I actually alternate my bites between banana and muffin/almond butter and kinda mix it up. They go very nicely together. You could even bake bananas in your mufffins.

Again, every human is different but this is what works for me…but no matter what, if you only listen to one thing I tell you here, EAT YOUR BREAKFAST!!

Thanks for stopping by and sharing your time with me!!

Mow it like you mean it

It’s dinner time Travellers,

I’m obviously arriving late today. Once you begin your morning in tardiness, it seems the entire day is chasing it’s tail. BUT the weather is splendiferous. I love that word. And I love this weather. ALL DAY LONG. Since the world opened it’s eyes this morning, it’s been everything a person wants in a day’s temperament.

Our morning walk bordered on transcendent, which you may think is abit heavy handed, but truly, the skies seemed almost backlit with blues, pinks and purples, the clouds were all drifty and it was peaceful. The three of us treading thru the world half awake. It’s the way days should begin for us I think, getting outside and greeting the world. And I mean all of us.

And in case you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m trying to woo you into morning walks…

Speaking of outside, last night I had a helluva lawn mowing adventure. Adventure is being generous, but that’s what mowing is for me. It’s venturing into uncharted territory. I didn’t have any real lawn mowing experience prior to my divorce. I grew up with outdoor allergies which kinda gave me a hall pass. I think I sort of a princess as a teenager who eventually dropped the crown on the ground.

My backyard is ginormous. Not exaggerating…


It’s every dog’s idea of paradise, but not the owner, me, who has to mow it. And lately, the grass is just erupting out of the backyard’s every orifice. Rapidly exploding like it’s on steroids, which presents a very specific set of problems. Problems I did not know existed until my single girl lawn mowing adventures.

Did you know that grass congeals on the underbelly of the mower itself when it’s moist? It does. And I had no idea. It’s really a special kind of awful. Then that thick build up causes the blade to stall out and the mower shuts off. In mid mowing sentence. What happens next can only be described as a maneuver I call burping the mower, to make it cough up all that grassy gunk. Then it wheezes and sputters to start again leaving behind little verdant mounds in the yard. (which you can see in the photo from and center.) Like grass poop. Or mower vomit, you choose. And you cannot mow over these little piles without upping the ante.

For the final hurrah, you have to gently tilt the mower on it’s side so you can scrape the remaining lawn mortar. It’s thick. It’s like wiping off the mower’s butt, similar to a baby, if that baby were metal, substantially heavier and able to accidentally slice your hand off. Otherwise it grows mold in the garage.


Last night was particularly difficult, and I spent my entire evening battling the great outdoors. The things you learn as a divorced woman. And to my wasband’s credit, he was a masterful greens keeper. I am not. I am getting it done.

As I was mowing thru the more uneventful stretches of green, I considered maybe hiring someone to finish the lawn. Just the random patches. Because I was so frustrated and wanted to quit. But I wasn’t going to quit, then I remembered this short story that Stephen King wrote years ago called “The Lawnmower Man” which is in a collection called “Night Shift”. I think I was in fifth or sixth grade when I read it. There were group of us that read ahead of our class and Stephen King caught my attention at a young age. This particular story is quite grotesque and disturbing. And specific. The imagery is very David Cronenberg-Esque. It’s a bizarre take on something very mundane. I only read it one time, but I still remember it vividly. Random memory from out of nowhere.

Then I was thinking about the “American Dream” or the ideals that once seem to guide the citizens of this country. (Sharp left turn, I know.) And how mowing the lawn seemed to be portrayed as a source of pride for men of a certain era. They even wore shirts and ties and sometimes suits for the occasion! It was something they discussed with neighbors and manicured it weekly. Because having a home with a yard were checkpoints in that dream. Along with a wife, 2 kids and a job. They didn’t shy away from hard work, they made it fancy. They took pride in it. Or so it seems.

I can’t imagine that world…And I can wonder, were they happy? Was life simpler? Did having a checklist work out for them? Or was everyone stuffing their discontentment down into the soles of their soul?

Maybe they just chose to behave better, that’s where I leave you tonight..

Oh, and, I’m pretty sure women weren’t allowed to cut the grass much less burp the mower during that era. And I would certainly hate to miss those experiences…because I’m working on the DO, instead of the dream…

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This is temporary

Holy hot one Travellers,

I should have kept my mouth shut last Friday because no sooner did I declare the glory of our morning walk and the accompanying weather did Mother Nature decide to humidify our lives. 90% humidity. It’s abit much. In truth we’ve really only had two rough weeks of heat and humidity here this year, which is really a gift, and today appears to be the last of this little bout of saturated air.

I actually think of high school chemistry class when it’s humid like this AND super saturated solutions…do you remember that sort of thing? How much particulate can you dissolve into a liquid before it no longer dissolves? In this case though, it’s the air that is supersaturated and that’s actually true because when it can’t hold anymore water, it tends to rain. Am I right? Sorta? Obviously, I’m not a chemist…but my teacher would be so pleased that I even remembered any of that.

Last night was unbearable, the heat and ugh, thick ass air, but when I went outside, this is the sky that greeted me…


It was rolling in waves of gaseous fire… the humidity and the water in the air did a magic trick with the light of the setting sun, for a just a few moments…I stood there, sweating my tooshie off, watching the all the colors recede into the horizon, moving faster than you think…


This life is temporary. Do you think about that? Not in a depressing way, just in the way that it is true. It’s true.

I know that was an abrupt shift, and I’m not the first person to say it, but let me be the first to say it with some Cyndi Lauper

The setting suns, the rising moon, the passing storms, the flowers that bloom, and us. Our lives, the moments of our lives, and really just the nature of this whole ball of life called Earth. There is a sort of built in level of difficulty in our mere existence isn’t there? Because when things are good, you want them to last forever. And when things are bad, you want them to end immediately. We want the people and furry people we love to stay with us all our lives and when we begin to see their mortality fading, we realize our own is just as fleeting.

It’s not the lines on your face that are scary, it’s the fact that a day will arrive when you are gone. There will be no more sunsets here in this place. No more time. And that’s not scary for me, but that is a privilege of working with the elderly. I have become well acquainted with death or the short path there. When we work with families, my colleagues and I always have to remind ourselves that our reactions are different now because of our jobs. We have a familiarity with a road most people only glimpse when their parents or siblings die. And that is a sort of strange gift that my job has bestowed upon me. I can see what a human life is, all the way to the end.

I’m not saying time is flying by, I think time is moving at the rate of awareness we give it. If you live more presently, or work to that end, and it is an endeavor of some difficulty, it seems there are always many good moments in a day. In a life. But those minutes are counter balanced by the unpleasant ones. The painfully emotive ones. In those spaces, time feels like a trap of sorts. Like one of those awful metal mouthed ones hunters use for animals in the forest. A trap inside yourself that you accidentally step into on your way to happier times. And once you pry yourself out of it, and that takes some work and pain of it’s own, you have to remember not to pry it open again.

That’s where I’m at these past few days. Prying my leg out of traps. Struggling with myself. Obviously, the pain of any divorce or break up or misadventure of the heart gone awry, we want to get over it as fast as possible. But it takes the time it needs to take, and the time you will allow. I have had many people tell me that in a year or two I’m going to look back on all of this and it will be just a memory. I will be in a better place and I’m sure you know these people. It will all work in the end they say. They are trying to throw you a life preserver of hope. And they are most likely correct, but I’m here now and there’s a lot of time between here and that destination.

I’m also really struggling with myself, trying to find my path in this life. And I get wrapped up in time. Worrying about if there is enough time to change my life course. Change takes time, do I still have that kind of time? Not because death is at my heels, but because I battle the feeling that I wasted so much of it that I feel hurried now. Hurried to make this life matter to myself. Hurried to become this better person of which those people speak. And I worry about where I spend my time, I don’t want to invest in anything that may not pay off. Which is foolish as fuck.  And the thing is a butterfly can’t be forced out any faster from it’s cocoon, because real metamorphosis takes the time it needs to take. And life changes are all tiny little cocoons we spin for ourselves, aren’t they?

I recently bought this little doodle, just the print and framed it to give myself a sort of tangible reminder in life:


I realize now though it’s not just a reminder of the whole, “This too shall pass” situation, it’s also life. Life is temporary. My fur kids, my garden, the setting sun, my body, this home, my family, my friends, this planet. We are all just very small sentences in the story of life. And you would think that might be upsetting, but it’s starting to make me change the way I see each day as I pass by this little image on the way out my front door. I think about all my little cocoons of change and how they are indeed temporary. I will only be here temporarily. The pain is temporary and the gift of our moments are temporary.

It’s something worth remembering.

Thanks for sharing your time with me!! If you don’t see a space to reply below or any of the other interactive options, please click on the title and the post should reopen with all of that jazz. If you would like to know more about me or join my email notification list, please click on the upper left and right toggles respectively.


“F” is for Flamingos and Fear

Good Monday morning Travellers,

This Monday finds me abit weary in the world, how about you? My business is being audited, which actually isn’t as nerve wracking for me as it seems to be for other people. I tend to believe if you run an honest business, auditing is just a formality which at it’s worst finds minor errors that can be corrected.

If only I handled the rest of my life with such rational ease…

BUT it’s Monday and we are here for a reprieve of typical Monday feelings, are we not? We are here to stretch our imaginations which is pleasurable endeavor is it not? And if this is your first Monday here, please refer to the post “A” is for Alien to fully grasp what’s going on…or any of the other letter posts…

As a kid, I am pretty sure “F” would have become a flamingo named Fiona. The top flat piece of the letter would be her under belly, as she would be standing. The long leg of the “F” would be the single supporting leg, while the smallest perpendicular line would be the lower part of her second leg and I would have added a triangular shape on the front side, so the flamingo legs looked liked a slightly oblong number 4. And on that lifted bent leg, her webbed foot would have a slight point to it. Like a graceful ballet dancer. If you close your eyes and walk thru what I just described you can see it abit better.

Fiona would be a ballet dancer, because, Hello, pink and long legs and her fluffy plumage is very tutu like. She would insist “Swan Lake” be renamed “Flamingo Pond” before she would dance for her audiences around the world. As a child, I would have imagined she required my help putting on her ballet shoes because she would have no hands to do so herself. There would of course be other flamingos in the chorus line, but Fiona would be the virtuoso. And dancing would give her great joy in her life.

I don’t even think there would need to be an adventure this time because I find the series of images in my mind of her dancing about to be so soothing to my soul. Maybe there would be a back story about how she learned that she could dance? I always liked flamingos as a kid, there were a few in the rain forest at my local zoo and they always seemed mysteriously stoic. I also wondered if the “Flamenco” form of dance was originated by Flamingoes, because as a kid that kind of thing made word sense to my child logic. Let it be said that Fiona would have also been an amazing flamenco dancer.

As an adult, I look at the letter “F” and right now, think of FEAR…

Okay, I also think of THIS SONG and the greatest word ever, Fuckery. Also an “F” word, an offspring of THE “F” word. Amy Winehouse sang, it and I’ve loved to using the phrase, “What kind of fuckery is this?” ever since I heard it. And it’s probably the true sentiment of Monday for most people. If we are being honest, but we’re working on imaginative Mondays so back to that…

I’ve been struggling this weekend with Fear and different parts of my life. It’s funny because I can be a serious worrier about things that COULD happen, and I realized this morning that worrying is literally the needle to the balloon of bravery. You can’t be brave if all you do is worry about what might happen now can you?

First, I thought about turning the “F” into an old school antenna. You remember the wirey ones that would be on people’s roofs to receive tv channels? If you are really young you’ll need to Google this, because there was once a world with no Netflix or cable believe it or not. I was really young when cable started, I remember HBO being a part of my childhood movie viewing, but many people didn’t have cable so they had antennas. This however would not be an antenna for television but an antenna to contact people you’ve lost in life.

Specifically, I was thinking how much I wish my Grandma Max was here right now to soothe my soul, or at least to tell me things will work out. She is the best part of me and I miss her quite often. I would give anything to talk to her now. When I was young she was my rock in the storm of my parents marriage. She was always outwardly the calmest person I’ve ever known.

I was thinking what I would really like to ask now as an adult is how she and my grandfather weathered his illness so bravely. Talk about fear, real deep down in your bones paralyzing fear because his MS began in WWII and the medical community had no idea what the disease was and they both had to have felt fear. I never caught a whiff of it growing up, but then again I wasn’t looking for it. I think about how their life was really one of survival because each day there would have been no way to know what would happen next. I always just remember them together.

I realized that my idea didn’t feel very original, it’s very Sixth Sense or like that movie Frequency , so I came up with an alternate idea to soothe my fears, are you ready?

Feline Fear Therapy. As I’ve said before I’m a dog person who met one pussy cat and changed my life view on felines. I would offer either a practical model of this device or a more catlike version depending on what you’re more comfortable with. The length of the letter would be the spine in the cat version and the cat would be lying in a side reclining posture, so we would make the other two flanks of the “F” into legs, which the top would appear shorter since again, lying on it’s side. Or it can look more modern abstract if you like, because the power of the device is not the appearance but the purr. Though I think a cat like appearance may make more sense to our visual mind.


Cats have actually been studied in terms of health benefits to humans and it’s believed they are more therapeutic than dogs. I KNOW. How can that be? The super power of purr. Not only does purring make the cats themselves calmer, it has a healing effect on their bodies. It actually makes their bones stronger from the internal reverberations. Yes, I am serious, look it up. It’s an odd benefit that the dog people are missing out on.

Except now I have Charlie, who is a snuggly purrer and this morning as I was lying in bed he was right next to me purring. In those moments, I felt calmer than I had most of my weekend. My device would have to have many years of research to authentically replicate the purr to avoid just being a giant vibrator in a cat suit. Because purring seems to be more than a vibration. I think it’s one of the great mysteries of our universe.

Until said device arrives, my Monday advice, if you have a having a rough day, go find a nice purring cat to cuddle up to, I swear it makes all the difference…

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All I Really Need to Know I Learned from Movement, #2

Welcome to the weekend Travellers,

If you thought I forgot this thread I started to spin a week ago, I did not in fact, there were just other thoughts that arrived before this one fully formed itself. Others ideas and feelings that needed to get out of me. I find some ideas and thoughts are bossier than others in my mind if you know what I mean. Such is the nature of the muse…

I’m going to limit this to a top 15 kind of situation, because I’m sure I could go on for eons about all the things we learn from moving our bodies and how they inform our daily lives, but there would many repetitive intersections and I like to keep things fresh. Fresh ideas, fresh produce. And by the way, if I failed to say this before, these are not in order of importance. I think they are all important, it’s again whoever gets to the front of my mental line gets to be heard first.

#2 is Being Humble.

Or how movement will humble you and why we need to work from that space versus the ego. What do moments of humbleness teach us and how it affects the way we live with others in this world. Like to hear it? Here we go…

I will say this a zillion times, the human body is never constant, consistent perhaps, but same same, no. You can work out like me for 17 years and still each day I walk into my studio knowing it’s going to be different. You never really do the same work out twice, even if you perform the exact same movements. Your mental and physical acuity will be different every day. Ask any athlete, there are days where you are so attuned in every way it borders on a religious experience. It’s almost like a rebirth. And if you’ve never worked out like that you probably think I sound crazy, but I’m telling you, movement is not about weight loss or looking a certain way, it’s about those moments.

THEN there are the days where you will have your ass handed to you. You will have shit for balance, you will feel weak, your mind will not get into your body and remain present despite all best efforts. Some part of you will still be sore or tightly muscled, or your range of motion just isn’t working as usual. You may not “feel” the movement as usual, or be able to catch your breath. Or as a woman it’s that time of the month and well, that’s a whole level up challenge that men are blessed to never experience. And you will be humbled. Working out is EQUALLY about these moments too.

What do I mean, I mean you will be reminded that you are not a Golden God, you are a mere mortal. You are not invincible. You have not dominated and humiliated all that is before your eyes. And that’s important for all of us to remember. Even in my finest Athena inspired moments, I will stumble and remember that falling down is as important as getting up. I actually make a point to giggle about it versus get angry, because it’s part of the ride. Slip ups and perceived failure are important.

It’s the scene in Batman Begins where Bruce Wayne’s dad asked him, And why do we fall down Bruce? So we can pick ourselves back up. Cheesy, sure, but COMPLETELY FUCKING TRUE.

I think it’s important to always remember we are not above failure or weakness. We are human and there is a softness in our essence where humbleness fits into our design. Even after years of working out, we are never better than another person. More attuned, perhaps, more familiar with our bodies, absolutely. Just not better.

I tend to believe athletic competitions are all an example of not who is better, but who prepared and had a better day. Olympians prepare for one moment, years of hard work and struggle for their ONE moment. That’s humbling in and of itself isn’t it? Because they have to know even despite doing everything, it may not work out. They may not win. The journey there is going to have to be worth more than that moment in order for them to continue on with their sport. You gotta love the movement first and win second or so all the persistent athletes usually express at some point in their careers. Life’s the same way, isn’t it?

Also, humbleness reminds us how to treat each other. It is the great equalizer. None of us are truly a better human than the next, none of us are without our weakness. And arrogance cannot fuel a human forever, the tank will not only run dry, but that soul will be empty as well.

I know some people who believe ego is what drives athletes, but I tend to think the ego is what will get your injured. The ego will tell you to push harder, not for your own growth or learning but to show up someone else. The ego will make you choose unhealthy short cuts and quick gambles with your body. The ego will stomp all over the moments of vulnerability where you could really grow both physically and mentally. You can be proud of your finest moments without being egotistical as an athlete or human. Because you remember the humble moments in equal measure.

If you can learn to be humble in movement, it’s one step closer to applying it to life. Believe me right now after the divorce and looking back, I feel like my life is a field littered with mines of failure. But it’s not, I know it’s not. Deep down. They are just moments where I stumbled. I remind myself what happens when I can’t balance in an asana. I fall but I go on, I get up and I’ll try again. Maybe it won’t work that day. But it will the next. I can wrap my arms around that.

Thanks for sharing your time here with me!!


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Happiness, it’s complicated

Helllooooooo Travellers,

It’s Friday and we had what may be, dare I even say it, the finest walk of our lives. It’s in the 60s, humidity gone, the air was crisp and the world felt freshly plucked. I left at 6am versus the usual 5:30 and the edges of the horizon were the color of ripe cantaloupe that eventually faded to wispy pinks and blues. The owls were hooting as we walked down our street and as we turned the corner, I could hear the rooster doing his thing. Apparently he felt this was a fine day as well, because he was still at it on our way home, that’s 40 minutes of cock-a-doodle-doing, or rather overdoing as I’m sure the neighbors must think…

Yesterday in therapy, we talked about something that I am working on and I can’t help but think others may be as well, so here we go…

I don’t trust happiness. I’ve not trusted it most of life.

I’ll elaborate…

I’m a big fan of moments of happiness or contentment and I can find those pretty easily. I’ve always benefited from that part of myself, the ability to find joy in the little things. The ability to appreciate the taste of fresh strawberries or my pussy cat’s purr or the undulating skies of a sunrise. YES.  I can bask in those things, absorb their essence. But we’re talking about moments, nothing lasting.

I don’t think I’ve ever believed happiness can last, I feel like it’s this elusive creature that comes and stays for awhile but then gets scared away from me. Like I run it off, it figures out who I am and leaves abruptly. Maybe because I don’t know what the care and maintenance is for happiness, because it feels like something you have to nurture to coax it into living with you. Staying with you.

And by no means have I ever allowed happiness to be my true North and guide me in my professional endeavors. I’ve allowed practicality and the ideal of working for the sake of working to be my compass. If I’m good at it, I remain there, working at it. There are aspects of all the things I’ve done in my working career that I enjoyed, but I can’t say I’ve ever been happy. Happy in moments or when I’ve cleared obstacles, I have felt accomplished. In short durations.

In fact, I’ve always felt there is something I’m missing, but couldn’t quite name it. And I know I’m not alone in this, because I’ve known many and heard many people discuss their lack of fulfillment in their job, even after years of college to chase a profession, we arrive to the destination and it may be alright, it’s a good job, it’s a good income, you are responsible, but you still yearn. It’s like eating but the food never tastes like you imagined, can you ever be truly satiated that way?

This little blog has opened an interesting door for me because I had forgotten how much I loved to write, and that I could. I remembered it, but dismissed it as a foolish use of time. But I love how when I walk away after I post I feel like I did something for me that day. It makes me happy. So happy. But the idea of crafting it or the fitness/yoga/health stuff into a job is terrifying to me. And there’s a lot of dialogue out in the world about this idea, the whole following your bliss thing. Follow your dreams, your passion, your heart blah blah blah. It’s an idea that is equally praised and ridiculed by many as chasing rainbows. Are we just complicating life believing there is true fulfillment versus a good life waiting for us? Am I just tormenting myself when my life is fine? Am I fine with this here and now?

I can’t help but think that my feelings about how happiness doesn’t want to live with me or rather I don’t deserve it is once again influenced by what I learned in childhood. I was a happy kid, my parents divorce taught me that happiness would not stay. It was devastating, but then I readjusted to a different happiness when my mom remarried. That lasted about 4 1/2 years.  I was alright till 12-13ish, and then so many awful things happened at once and I wasn’t happy anymore. I changed, I didn’t recover and I lived wounded, without healing.

I lost my best friend at 16, and was alone. There were people around me, I had friends but I was alone and could not reach out. And I just didn’t seem to understand that happiness could still be found or that I even deserved it, much less trust it to guide me. I think I’ve remained just like that girl all my life, but thru therapy I have recurrently begun to remember that I was once different. I have begun to explore the possibility that I could be different here and now.

Think of all the emotions that we allow to make choices for us. The emotions that we allow to guide our behaviors. The ones that we rather foolishly let drive the vehicle of decision making while we ride shotgun. I’ve let anger, sadness, fear, jealousy, broken heartedness, emptiness and insecurities of all sizes take the wheel, but never happiness. I’m beginning to think I’ve had happiness stashed in the trunk for years like a mafia victim, bound and gagged but still alive and hoping for freedom. Hoping I will have a change of heart and let it live.

It’s taken me awhile to figure this out, because one of the great things about therapy is it’s a sort of path, and one discovery leads to the next, because you can’t figure out the universe all at once, can you? It’s the layers that Shrek was talking about, how humans are like onions, lots of layers. Well, we’ve reached the real eye burning layer now haven’t we?

And let me add a weird note on that, I tend to cry when I think of happiness. I will cry when I am happy.  I always have and felt weird about it, but I think this is why. Because I’ve denied it any real stake in my life. Because it is foreign to me. The question now is, what am I going to do about all of this, am I going to try and grow a life where happiness could be a navigational tool or do I just continue on my current trajectory because it appears to most people that I have it all together, or so I’m told. Can I learn to embrace happiness for more than mere moments? If I open the door and let it in, or maybe it’s letting it out, I’m not sure yet, but can it be trusted?


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Into the darkness we go…

It’s a dark stormy Wednesday in Kansas Travellers,

Between 5:30 and 5:45am we set off into the early murky morning. On my block the only street light is between my neighbors driveway and mine. After that the only lights are on the houses until the very end of the street where there is another lamppost. Kansas isn’t big on illuminating their neighborhoods for some reason, no matter where you go.

It’s funny how the darkness sort of tucks houses away who don’t have porch lights. They sort of vanish until you look very hard and see the outline of their structure. And let me tell you, the world is largely asleep at this hour. I think we are rare Travellers at this time which has a sort of flavor to it that I very much enjoy. It feels like we are brave explorers out in the world that few fail to realize is quite astonishing at this time of day.
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Fix me

Good morning Travellers,

This morning on our walk I felt a sense of relief. I had survived the night before and here was the dawn. Though a bit stuffy, even in the darkness. We’ve largely escaped the Midwest humidity this summer, but now it’s here in all it’s glory. Ta-da!! Even at 5:30am in the morning. I can’t imagine how humidity feels to animals, has to be like wearing a zipper-less fur coat into a sauna.

The other thing that made me heart feel better this morning was that rooster, the one I mentioned a few weeks ago. We haven’t heard him since that morning, I was afraid he had met with an ill fate. Or someone choked him to shut him up. This morning though, he was cock-a-doodle-doing with all his might. And it felt like a sort of heralding for me personally… Read More