The alarm pulls me from sleep. I stumble towards the bathroom, and then the coffeepot. Turn off the porch light, bring in the newspapers. Do my yoga while the laptop boots. Write.
Life has its own rhythms, unpredictable, changing, pushing us in new directions before we can get too comfortable. On stage, our friends, drummer Sergio Belotti and saxophonist Rocco Ventrella
When it’s time for my day job, I move from the laptop in my upstairs reading space to the office off the kitchen and turn on that laptop. Breakfast over email. In the late afternoon, I reverse the process. Shut down the office computer, move back upstairs, more yoga stretches to relax the body. Write and work until Brad tells me dinner is ready. More work-writing. Sleep. Continue reading
“Would you just shut up for a minute and listen to me!” I shouted angrily. I drew in a long breath and let it out. Then, quietly, “please?”
When we listen with acceptance and without judgment, we speak volumes about how much we care.
Sometimes all we really want is for someone we love to hear us out. To not interrupt. To not offer interpretation. To do nothing other than to intensely focus on us, and to hang on every word we say. Continue reading
As a child, fall meant harvest time. My parents grew up in farming families and so it seemed natural to them that we should grow and preserve at least some of our own food.
We plant our values in our children and realize the harvest when they mature into adults.
As our family worked to harvest vegetables from the gardens on our acreage in the country, the farmers around us worked to harvest thousands of Iowa acres of corn and soybeans. Continue reading