Hickory Smoked Turkey

  The other day, while sitting in circle, a student who had been upset and crying outside because a friend hurt her feelings, leaned over to me and said: "I'm sorry I'm crying over something so small." My heart sank because I knew how she felt. I looked our sweet student in the face and reassured her she had nothing to apologize for, that her feelings, no matter what they were, were valid.   Why is it so easy to recognize the pain or sadness of another human as valid, but it's such a challenge to honor and validate my/our own?   I've struggled with not only validating my own feelings but even recognizing them.  Over the summer, with my sister and nephew in town, I was sure that the nausea and trouble breathing I was experiencing, were due to an asthma attack. My hands and fingers cramped up and I felt like I was hyperventilating.  My husband took me to urgent care where the doctor listened to my symptoms and asked if I was especially worried about some

Macro focus, micro focus, ants move. Rooster on gravel road, VFW door. Tips of leaves begin to change. From the playground, a rooster crows.

  I think of myself as optimistic. I tend to have a positive outlook on things and try to see the "bright side" of challenges. But, I am kidding myself. I'm freaking stressed out, in a manageable way, but I need to acknowledge it.   This summer I began to notice a pattern. I had just gotten surgery and after a week I expected that I would be back to normal. Six weeks later, while feeling pretty normal I'm still experiencing the after effects and am very much in the healing process. When I slow down and allow myself to think about how I'm feeling and the possible reasons associated with it, I see that I too often try to rush through life without acknowledgement of experience, struggle, or emotion.   On Friday I met with a new acupuncturist who is helping me with my healing process but also fertility. When going through my intake form she asked me a few times about stress levels in my life. I answered each question with, "Nah, I don't think I'm

Dynamite In the uneven lot, he walks slowly, the shuffle of a stroke, to the coffee shop door. I stay behind, don't want to rush him. I wait in line, "Good morning, Brian.  Coffee for here and two refills?" The man smiles, "Yes, please. "

The window, one large cloud, nowhere to go or float suspended near me.

  When I was a kid I believed that once you hit a certain age, maybe 30 or 35, a switch was flipped and you suddenly knew everything you needed to know about life.  How to pay the mortgage? Answered. How to deal with difficult or challenging situations? No need to worry. How to be happy? Pfft, so easy.   I also assumed that adults were done growing and learning, that they had every ounce of knowledge and wisdom that they needed. Adults always had the answers and were never fumbling for what to say, what to do, or how to act. In my young mind, adults didn't have to "work" on things, they were simply fully evolved. It sounded logical to me, in many ways that if I didn't have the answer to an obstacle or tricky question at 21, I would at 31.   One of the things I'm glad I was wrong about is the ability as an "adult" to continually improve and learn. At 39 I am working on so many things about myself. This task can be overwhelming and scary but it can als

Found Poem That spark         in the early night RiffRaff         canvas transformed         listening artist         home back home

  I'm back! The past 9 days I've been off schedule, working extra hours and traveling.  I've visited Mary Todd Lincoln's childhood home, drank gin at a liquor distillery, and met a server named Sharon who brought me insight into what it means to connect with others.  More on that later.   For now, I'm getting used to writing regularly again.  It's only been a short time since I stepped away, but I feel like I'm fumbling and disconnected.   There is a neighborhood stray, a grumpy black and white cat, who we affectionately call Bing Bong.  He never comes up to our door but regularly visits our neighbor.  For the past year she has fed Bing Bong daily, patiently building a relationship with him and letting him know she can be trusted.  Slowly we've watched Bing Bong creep ever closer to our neighbor's door. Whenever we approach, he runs away, but he waits for our neighbor to appear. He's most likely only interested in food but he feels safe with