Separate Lives I remember my father typing on his old gunmetal grey Royal manual typewriter, his right pinkie finger splayed out to the right. Boy, could he could fly on that thing. He’d write letters, pages and pages, and send

  Today, while out on a walk in a very high wind, I spotted a little bird way up in the tip top of a bare oak tree; she was holding on every so tightly as the wind tossed and

Out on my morning walk, street signs acted as memory joggers. Perhaps they were nudges so that I could remember, and be grateful for, these two women who were there for me as a kid. BRADFORD was the first sign.

What’s your morning practice? I’ve felt scattered and unfocused for what seems like forever. I listened to a podcast recently that asked, “What’s your morning practice?” I thought for a minute and couldn’t answer. Well, I get up and am

Just when I was about to let the mundane invade my heart, trying its best to take me out of gratitude and into the “must dos” of the morning, I stepped out onto the patio into a soft rush of

Writing your own speech This morning, I listened to my “GrowthDay” recording by Brendon Burchard. He was talking about Martin Luther King, Jr. and his I Have a Dream speech. Then, he said something that really intrigued me. He said,

Broken Hearts on the Mend Lilly has been sitting at the back door the last few nights, peering out into the darkness, begging to go out. She never wanted to go out after dark. A candle still burns at Rocky’s

As temperatures climb to 106 … My Rocky and I have come to the window to watch, to observe the morning of this next to the last day of the year. The rain has stopped for a bit and the

Just an hour on the beach, in the sand, without my shoes, standing in a wash of “pretty rocks,” as a little girl in her blue swimsuit called them as she reached to grab tiny stones and bits of shell,