Photo Credit: Esther Stanway-Williams I was sorting through some drawers recently and found a small black bag with a collection of interwoven watches inside. They were ones which I’d inherited from my mum (she obviously loved her watches) plus an older one of mine which I’ve replaced, many times. As I began unravelling them, I found myself considering our individual experiences of life. And wondering what my mum would have made of the many directions mine has taken since her

Still finding JOY in riding decades later. I decided I was too soft to last. But then I decided to be even softer. ~ Andrea Gibson 8/13/75 - 7/14/25 I vividly recall my mom telling me as a wee one that I did not have to make life so hard on myself. Yet, I sense it might have been the generational message that had been handed to me. As it had been handed to her, as well as to my grandmother, and to many generations before. Delighting in her carefree and calm essence when she r

Casey, filling in all the pages of her book. I attended a celebration of life service on Zoom for my dearest friend, Casey, this past weekend. Her bonus father said something that I found myself scurrying around to find pen and paper to write down. What I copied was: In the book of Casey, there are no blank pages. What is so utterly amazing, and goose bump producing is that this was how I fully experienced Casey. An extremely wise eleven going on twelve year old. She was in m

Photo Credit: iStock Nous in Greek means eye of the heart.  It is the vision of our perception of soul. “Never forget that once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as your friend.” Elizabeth Gilbert. Meggan Watterson, shares, “In that moment of recognition, that is when we save ourselves, from the self that was never real to begin with. This is the eye of the heart.” I am reminded daily to try to come from this heart space, lest I forget is when I am

Photo Credit: iStock What if we are not meant to become a human Zamboni? Remember those huge machines that smooth the ice when it has become too chunky? I’m sure there is a better word, yet that’s what’s coming in for me now. Both my husband and son played ice hockey and could spin many tales about those machines. Do I recall one of them got to ride on one once? Perhaps I’m spinning some yarn here? Fascinating to hear Glennon Doyle, on a podcast with Jen Hatmaker, commenting

Artist: Lucy Campbell Who do you think you are? I recall hearing this as a child from time to time, and generally after I had a totally reactive kid moment. Actually, more than ever I knew who I was. I had not forgotten  yet, and came in fully equipped to not have to rely on anyone passing along who or what they thought I was  or should be. Don’t you believe we come in with this innate knowledge, an inner knowing, and then we’re plonked down within these families, who are als