Seasons of love…


My husband and I just celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary.  Twenty-two years is a long time. lol..  We have done our share of laughing and crying, whispering and yelling, living and learning and loving.  What a beautiful thing to make it this far.  We are so lucky.

Really?  Are we lucky?   Certainly we are, lucky to have found each other and lucky to have made it this far.  But luck isn’t what got us here.  It was dedication and hard work and teamwork.  We have had some big bumps in the road.  Sometimes the hills were hard to climb.  Occasionally, we’d stumble and skin a knee or break a hand, pull a muscle.  That’s when the other of us had to reach out and take the reins for both of us.  That’s when we grew stronger – in the hard times and the way we responded to them.

I received the most beautiful gift from my husband on Saturday.  No, it wasn’t jewelry or the beautiful roses he had waiting at the restaurant or the wonderful card he gave me.  Those were supreme efforts for a man with no natural romantic sense.  I applaud them and appreciate them fully – small gestures mean so much.  But they pale in comparison to the best gift I got.  You see, my unromantic husband does this thing where he will say something that is the most incredible compliment anyone has every given me.  Usually offhand in a “drive by” kind of statement he’ll make an observation and it will melt my heart.  This time wasn’t a drive by, but it was a spontaneous moment – one that cannot be repeated – a once in a lifetime chance to speak to my heart.  Those are gifts you cannot put a price tag on.  Those moments are what keeps me here, through hills and tears and bumps in the road.  All those years I spent desperately searching for someone to love me were what kept me going.  Never did I expect to find a man who adores me, warts and all.  I am in awe.  And I am so lucky.

The seasons of searching and preparing and waiting were so worth it.  It felt like an eternity of waiting, but I’d wait another eternity to do it all again.

Love is work.  Day in.  Day out.  Winter.  Spring.  Summer.  Fall. The rewards are only known to those who make it through the hard times.  I highly recommend putting in the work.


[image found here:


“Gift From the Sea”


I began these pages for myself, in order to think out my own particular pattern of living, my own individual balance of life, work and human relationships.  And since I think best with a pencil in my hand, I started naturally to write.  I had the feeling, when the thoughts first clarified on paper, that my experience was very different from other people’s.  (Are we all under this illusion?)  My situation had, in certain ways, more freedom than that of most people, and in certain ways, much less.

Besides, I thought, not all women are searching for a new pattern of living, or want a contemplative corner of their own.  Many women are content with their lives as they are.  They manage amazingly well, far better than I, it seemed to me, looking at their lives from the outside.  With envy and admiration, I observed the porcelain perfection of their smoothly ticking days.  Perhaps they had no problems, or had found the answers long ago.  No, I decided, these discussions would have value and interest only for myself.

But as I went on writing and simultaneously talking with other women, young annd old, with different lives and experiences – those who supported themselves, those who wished careers, those who were hard-working housewives and mothers, and those with more ease – I found that my point of view was not unique.  In varying settings and under different forms, I discovered that many women, and men too, were grappling with essentially the same questions as I, and were hungry to discuss and argue and hammer out possible answers.  Even those whose lives had appeared to be ticking imperturbably under their smiling clock-faces were often trying like me, to evolve another rhythm with more creative pauses in it, more adjustment to their individual needs, and new and more alive relationships to themselves as well as others.

And so gradually, these chapters, fed by conversations, arguments and revelations from men and women of all groups, became more than my individual story, until I decided in the end to give them back to the people who had shared and stimulated many of these thoughts.  Here, then, with my warm feelings of gratitude and companionship for those working along the same lines, I return my gift from the sea.

I am at the beach for a week.  Yay. Freaking. Me.  It’s been fabulous and I haven’t even hit the beach yet.

The above is the introduction from the beautiful work, Gift From the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. I am reading this while I am at the beach.  I hope to find some insight.  It is so stunningly, beautifully, written.  It is absolutely awe inspiring, the way she weaves words.  Reading it in a hammock MUST be what she had in mind.

I’ll share more tomorrow.  Not sure it will be excerpts from the text every day but some of it may be.

Now off to the beach.. to find my gift from the sea.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh (born Anne Spencer Morrow; June 22, 1906 – February 7, 2001) was an American author, aviator, and the spouse of fellow aviator Charles Lindbergh. She was an acclaimed author whose books and articles spanned the genres of poetry to non-fiction, touching upon topics as diverse as youth and age; love and marriage; peace, solitude and contentment, as well as the role of women in the 20th century.


I am naked
and cold.
in this season of despair.

No shield
from the emptiness
that surrounds it all.
It’s nothing.  Really.

No distraction
great enough to blink it away.
Mired in the mindless
Bogged in the boredom
Sick of the same
eating away the comfort.


I need blinders.
I need gumption.
I need
to stop
feeling sorry for myself
get on
with my life.

the ultimate illusion
slithers through my fingers.
no trace of what was.

The indelible stamp
of “was here.”

The mark unmade.

Is that a responsiblity I can bear?

If I will, then I can.  Why don’t I?

Ah… fear!  Always a sticking point.

I cannot operate from a place of fear.
I can only operate from a place of love.
I cannot succeed if fear-based moves
are made.

Years of training
like smelling salts.
Like a whack in the face
with a cold dead fish.

This really stinks.

has stuck
their finger in my eye.


It is time. (the illusion)
I must stop. (and begin)
Feeling sorry for myself. (in my nakedness)
Just get on (move!)
with (or without – just move)
my life.

The gift.

from 2008…