The mystery of love is the mystery of our lives. The energy of love is what enriches our lives. We move from dust to dust, with love being the thing that matters, in between. Love. It’s the last word of this; my blog. And I realized this morning; that’s appropriate. Because love does, after all and in the end, remain the last word. Love makes us strong. Love lets us go on. Love makes us sing. My parents shared just shy of 64 years of a remarkable marriage. Just shy because my mother passed unexpectedly in December and their anniversary
How I’ve loved the last four years in the Pacific Northwest. How I’ve loved the abundance of green and the prolific gardens. We’ve been tucked in Salem, an hour from the quirky fun of Portland, an hour from the radiant beauty of the powerful Pacific and an hour from the gift of time with my oldest son near Eugene. Oregon, in a word, has been gentle. I’ve felt nurtured and calm and held here. I’ve written about and photographed its beauty for different publications. My soul has thrived. I’ve seen my husband transform and come into his own in ways
If you continue to look for the good in people, you will continue to find the good in yourself.
I lost a good friend the other day. She’d been with me for several years, and then one recent morning, she was gone. There had been no warning of her end. She hadn’t slowed down or shown signs of struggling to keep up.
In those simple relationships of loving husband and wife, affectionate sisters, children and grandmother, there are innumerable shades of sweetness and anguish which make up the pattern of our lives day by day. -Willa Cather
We go within. We branch out. Within and outside ourselves.
When one woman honors who she is, all women collectively move closer to becoming who they are capable of being. May I share with you something I witnessed a couple days ago?
Let your heart be your permanent place of residence so God can always find you home. -Frank Coppieters Most of my life, it seems, I’ve been moving.
I read of a father who never hugged his daughter good-bye without saying this blessing: “May every place you be make it hard for you to leave. May every person you love make it hard for you to say good-bye.” I loved this. If you’ve moved many times in your lifetime, like I have, you know what it’s like to leave a place. Yes, there have been a few that didn’t merit so much as a look in the rear view mirror. But they’re the exception. Most have been difficult to leave because there’s beauty in every place on earth.
I’m 87 years old as I write this. Well, I’m imagining I am, taking a few minutes to get myself in that mindset, before I write my current self this letter. What would I say? What would I tell myself to go for? What would I tell myself to release? At 87, what makes me most proud? What makes me the happiest? What, at 87, do I wish I’d done? Not regret – because I’m too wise at 87 to waste time on regret – but what do I wish I’d done? What things would I remind my current self