Small Stone - Past Expiration

I'm embarrassed to admit this:

I finished a massive cleanup job this morning.

It involved our medicine cabinet and the drawers in our bath.

I also tackled the area under the sinks - that nether region of forgotten items.

For two people who don't take much medication except an occasional Tylenol,

I couldn't believe all the outdated prescriptions and potions in the medicine cabinet.

Speaking of Tylenol, why did we think we were low on supply?

Bottle after bottle were hiding in there.

We moved into this house in 1995.

Some of the dates on the bottles preceded our move!

I think they were definitely "past expiration date"!

Truthfully, I can't remember ever getting rid of stuff in that cabinet.

We just kept adding to it until the disarrayed shelves could take no more.

"Out of sight, out of mind" seemed to be our motto.

(This travesty of clutter sprang from a couple who tend to be tidy.)

Now all is pristine, and I'm feeling a pride that I hope doesn't go before a fall.

No photos today obviously - I've shocked you enough.

My challenge to you is this:

Before you judge, go to your own bath and start opening doors and drawers.

Unless you've moved recently, I bet you'll be as appalled as I was.

Happy reorganizing and cleaning!

PS If you need any Tylenol, let me know...

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Small Stone - Beginning, Middle, and End

I have a friend who starts reading a book, then goes to the last chapter because she wants to know how it ends. I'm appalled. 

Would you do that? 

I want the mystery, the excitement, the adventure of not knowing. Maybe I try to figure out how the story ends and then feel surprise when it veers in a different direction. 

I like the tension of delayed gratification. 

Life is story, of course. I'm glad that we can't look to the last chapter or read the last page before we move through the days and hours and minutes and seconds of our lives. 

When I'm close to the end, I hope I think,

"That was a really good story!"

The photo is about stones but (possibly) has nothing to do with what I wrote previously. I took it at Dog Beach in Del Mar, CA last spring. The names on the stones are of beloved pets who died.

Their lives are over, but I think the stories about them continue.

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Bittersweet

Our son just left - it's early morning. 

He and I were up before dawn. 

He's doing a charity bike ride to benefit Children's Hospital. 

He's riding today in memory of a little girl who lost her battle with cancer. 

To think of losing a child!

 I sit with him in predawn darkness.

We speak in quiet voices as light begins to filter softly through the forest.

Tragedy and hope fill our hearts.

Life is bittersweet.

Yin and yang - light and dark.

Sadness and joy.

The balance of life -

One Good Thing

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Home Sweet Home

Barb skiing Vail

We arrived back home in Colorado a month ago.

Early snow painted our property and the mountains white.

frost on the window of our room in Vail

Cancer treatment takes a toll physically, mentally, and emotionally.

First the diagnosis, then the research, and finally the treatment are all-consuming.

our backyard

In the intricate medical maze that is cancer treatment, there are many questions without answers.

Each person/family must endlessly advocate for the patient.

Bob skiing Breckenridge

We're back to our normal routines.

We exercise daily, eat healthy, and take time to relax.

We keep moving - there is so much to see and do and enjoy each day.

We appreciate people's prayers and positive thoughts on our behalf.

We give and receive affection.

We know that connection and love are healing.

the purity of white calms us

In this post, I share some photos of our beautiful, snowy landscape in CO.

However, the final photo is one of my favorites from our time in CA.

Nature manages to nurture us in many ways.

My friend sent me this quote from the Dalai Lama:

"There are only two days in the year that nothing can be done. One is called yesterday and the other is called tomorrow, so today is the right day to love, believe, do and mostly live."

Happy New Year to all!

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Get Up and Start Over

Here is what I know:

if I fall, I get up

if I fail, I start over

A few days ago, I spent a fantastic morning skiing.

On my last run before heading home, I flew over my skis and landed on my face.

I hit  the snow and bounced, my goggles and glasses smacking me hard.

I was stunned for a moment but then began assessing the damage.

I felt shaky but could tell my body wasn't broken or torn.

However, I had an immediate headache from the blow.

My prescription glasses were in pieces inside my goggles.

A young man, a Good Samaritan, made his way to me:

"Are you OK - can I help you?"

I was up high, hidden in a copse of trees.

I was surprised he found me there.

He was fuzzy - my eyesight is poor without the glasses.

I told him I was OK but had broken my glasses.

I asked if he'd ski to the bottom of the slope to find Bob.

I described what he was wearing.

"Tell him I'm OK - I'll be down soon."

I put the broken glasses in a pocket and slowly rose on the skis.

Dizzy at first, I started making careful turns to the bottom.

Skiing without my glasses felt wierd.

When I finally saw the bright blue of Bob's coat, I was relieved.

Following him, I made my way to the base of the mountain.

I'm still a child at heart.

I've been skiing since age 27 - for 46 years, I've enjoyed the sport.

My mind and body and spirit have benefited from years of balancing and making turns.

Looking down from the top of a snowy mountain is thrilling.

Linking turns on skis is like floating through an expanse of white.

Even though my body is old, skiing allows me to feel graceful.

I'm still sore, so I'm sidelined a few days.

My neck muscles are tight from the whiplash.

Luckily, I have another pair of glasses.

(I always wear an older pair when skiing.)

Our youngest grandson Sam, age 5, learning to ski - photo by his sister, Amanda

Life is about getting up and starting over.

Resilience is my One Good Thing today.

I'm also very thankful for the Good Samaritan.

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Trying to Understand

I navigate familiar paths.

I share space with animals that make

forests, meadows, and mountains their home.

Nature exerts power and makes changes.

I'm small in vast wilderness.

I'm constantly reminded that I'm not in charge.

Weather and the cycles of seasons unfold.

There is nothing I control.

In my small world, I'm attentive.

In the randomness of life, I sometimes discern patterns.

Occasionally, I glimpse my part of the whole.

In those lucid moments, I know peace.

I continue to seek and find my one good thing.

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Thank you to all who have e-mailed me about my posts.

I write to find my way.

I smile to know someone else is walking with me.

Wabi-Sabi Day

I find an old friend at the back of my closet.

The fabric is soft from many washings.

A little roomy but so forgiving.

The color is mottled like the twilight sky.

Perfection!

In the worn jeans, I walk beside the Blue River.

Colors are muted.

I'm quiet, too.

My thoughts reflect back to me.

The river dances and sings its song.

As in life, I cross bridges when I come to them.

I see both sides of the issue.

Changing constantly, yet steadfast.

The water sweeps by as I watch the flow.

I'm part of the ongoing stream.

The jeans, the river, and Barb, definitely wabi-sabi, though perhaps not quite in fashion.

We are old friends - one good thing.

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What's Your Story?

tickle of dried grass

weak winter sun
warming the pages

Walking through a pocket park in the city, I noticed a young man lying on the grass reading a paperback book. It was a mild day - maybe in the low 50's. He had long haired pulled into a ponytail and strong arms bared to the sun. There was an old-style scooter some distance from him, looking like it was made from a hodgepodge of discarded trike parts. Both the man and the scooter seemed like separate entities, brought together by the light and the sheltering trees. I walked until I framed the photo with both the man and the trike, the globe lights in the background adding a feeling of nostalgia. I don't often take photos of strangers, though I'm acutely aware of them, watching and sometimes listening as I tell myself silent stories about what I'm seeing. We all have stories, some intensely private, others displayed for the world to interpret.

Mindful Writing Challenge

I took this photo zooming a bit on the iPhone which degraded the clarity. I wanted only ambiance.  I like the feel of it, so I decided to make it part of my Small Stone today. (Edited in Snapseed and TitleFix.) 

Night Snow from Inside

standing in the kitchen's warmth

watching cold needles of snow 

falling through darkness

small stone

Mindful Writing Challenge

(self portrait reflected in kitchen window looking out to the snow)