Bubble an' Squeak

(Just a few of my favorite winter photos from over the years) Old Man Winter arrived here in Fort Collins rather late. However, he is making up for lost time with the high promising to be 19 degrees and the low -4.  I am thankful to be tucked in my house with no where to go and nothing to do. As the wind whips around the house, I open my scrapbook back up.  I thumb through the pages of my trip all those years ago,  I have always known I wanted to go back to France, but it was a loose idea. I wasn't sure how, or when. I just let the wish sit in my heart waiting for the right time. There were many dark years where I did not think I would ever really travel again. My mom brought the idea of going back to France into fruition by informing me that before she dies, she wants to go spend the whole day in the Louvre, to wander, roam, and soak in the experience. This was a bit of a surprise to me. My mom has travelled with her siblings and my dad a few times overseas to Europe. I ...

You are staring up at me. You are making tea, talking on the phone to your boyfriend at the time, you have been crying. Your mom took this photo. You are staring at her. It was the night before you left for France and for the adventure of a lifetime. You are afraid. You are excited. You really cannot believe this dream is coming true. You are so beautiful. September 18th, 1997, you walked off the plane at Gatwick Airport. You would not know for many years that you christened this day auspicious as you walked down the quiet terminal, peering out of the window to see your first glimpses of London. It could be that this date was auspicious for you for many years previously. You were born two weeks early (according to your mother, and she should know). Maybe this was the day you were really supposed to be born?  Yet, instead you were reborn at twenty years old in Gatwick Airport totally alone in the world and on your first - and maybe last adventure of your life.  It is morning an...

  Who : This gang (minus my dad, who has informed us he is never leaving the country again).  Only my sister does not have r etinitis pigmentosa , and my dad, who is not going.  Not to disparage my in-laws, Jennie, Sharon, Scott, Mae, and my husband, Nic, are all coming, too. They can all see, too. It just sounds more dramatic to tell you the blind people are going. It seems anti-climatic to include people who can see. Still, the blind are almost the majority. When : June 2026 Where : Paris, France Why : Because we have to go while we can still see. This is the first official post of The Blind Leading the Blind Tour because although we have been dreaming about this,   WE ARE OFFICIALLY GOING. Consider this the official announcement of The Blind Leading The Blind Tour. Included in this trip are seven full days with this cast of characters (minus Dad) and their better halves. Nic and I will have a Side Quest. Each of my siblings will have their own side quests, bu...

The frost on the blade of grass sparkles. It is only the second cold snap of this unusually warm winter. The forecast in Colorado has been averaging the same highs as Phoenix throughout most of December. However, this morning Old Man Winter reached his long arm out from the mountains to dust us with cold. My breath pours out in a mist in front of my face as I watch Snips ramble over the frozen grass - still green. I wonder if the icy spears will slice her paws, or if they will snap and break, finally accepting winter. It is our early morning ritual. I stand with my hot coffee while she checks the neighborhood.  When I was a child my mother would tell me the frost was painted across the world by Jack Frost. I loved the idea of a magical man painting the world - a magical Bob Ross decorating the world while I slept. Happy little crystals here and there climbing on top of each other to create a castle of cold. I wonder if when I die, will I wish I had spent more time looking at each i...

“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all the darkness.” –Desmond Tutu In my annual tradition of choosing a word for the year, I found myself this morning reflecting on last year's word: Well . Unfortunately, last year (yesterday and the 364 yesterdays before that) was a bit of a train wreck.  In a brief review and update of some of the goals and ambitions I put forth last January: We did not go to Vietnam or Alaska. Neither of those were real goals, more manifestations for the future.  We did focus on the house. We updated my office, installed new HVAC for the house, painted the living room, and we are in the process of redoing the downstairs bathroom to practice for the upstairs bathroom. When I say, 'we,' I mean Nic. I have stood by and nodded throughout these projects and consulted on colors. Nic has done all of the work. I worked hard on getting back to running my usual mileage. I improved my overall health. I am proud of the work I have done physicall...

 Surrender. I lay on my yoga mat this morning face down and surrendered. I surrender to this experience. Wrapped tightly around my body, my white flag whips and catches in the wind as it trails out behind me. The snap of the fabric cracks audibly with me, as I break open at the feet of the Universe.   There is gall in this surrender. It is not the sweet surrender to a lover, or the gentle acceptance of soft reconciliation. It is the brutal, bloody, war-torn heart, who cannot see the other side of the battlefield, who wishes they could crawl through the mud to safety, who dreads the hand of the victor on their neck. But, who lies face down for the world to stand over - waiting. There is shame in this surrender. It is the breaking of a spirit. It is being crushed by the heel of those in power. Does accepting it make more palatable?  I am loathsome. Powerless. I breath in this experience. It fills me. I wait for sleep - there I can forget for a few hours who and what I ...

It is October and the trees shake their arms in grief - or maybe fatigue. The leaves shatter into red, yellow, orange, and brown fragments. I watch their pieces whisk up into the air, swirl in their last dance, and settle on the path. My broken, little pieces are also there, dancing and spinning with the leaves.  Each night, in the wee hours, I sneak out into the street searching for and gathering the pieces of me back up. I am there creeping along the dark paths, scooping the pieces of me back up into my arms to put myself back together for the next day.  Back at home, in my office, I stand in the soft light balancing each piece carefully on top of the last piece. Balanced. Glued. It is the secret work of late nights. I toil away as quietly and secretly as possible. And I try to carefully put myself back together. And I secretly try to be whole. I would like to wear a sign warning people: Fragile.  Please, do not breath too hard on me. I am ever so fragile.