Having paused my writing for the last few weeks, I’m feeling compelled to return refreshed and upbeat. But the truth is, the last few weeks have been a mix of two parts joy to one part sorrow. It could be worse, two parts sorrow to one part joy, so in that respect I’m feeling grateful. But it’s definitely been a time of retrospect and taking stock of my blessings, being reminded that life is transient and temporary, and needing to urge myself to seize the day.

On Friday night, we went to a birthday party, and I ended up laughing so hard I cried with a couple we’ve just started to get to know. Since I usually cry easily, it felt good to have those tears come from laughter instead.

Wishing you a few good belly laughs this week. Be back Friday.

If you ask what kept me from posting last week or keeping up on world events, I have receipts. A Monday morning conversation with Lucia was my priority. We had much to share and only a few days together.

Later that day, Amy made delicious homemade tortillas to go with my Spanish Chicken entree. As she kneaded and stretched the dough, Lucia and I once again spent time together at the kitchen table, the very table I fed my kids on when they were young.

Jordan arrived on Tuesday morning, the only day we were all together, as they were traveling down to the Bay Area to attend a service for their grandmother. Although brief, we made the most of our time together.

It was a week of comings and goings all too quickly, but I am ever grateful for the time we spent together.

And speaking of comings, Sammie and Scott’s little one, Milo Peter, surprised us by arriving a few weeks early. Saturday morning after dropping Jordan at the airport to return home, Rick and I continued driving down to LA to welcome our newest blessing. I will share photos once I have permission.

We arrived home last evening. I’m getting ready for a colonoscopy tomorrow morning. And we are scheduled to head down to the Bay Area this weekend for a birthday party. It’s a good bet you won’t hear from me again until next Monday, but I sure should have tons to talk about.

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Before I begin, I wanted to thank my readers for the many heartfelt responses to my Friday post. They meant more than I can say.

I said my next post would be a celebration, and I always keep my promises. Can you guess who’s visiting this Sunday? If you guessed the little one in the photo above along with my daughter and son, you’d be right!

And after a long weekend with friends and lots of time in the garden, I feel recharged on all levels and excited for their arrival.

In the photo above, Lucia sits quietly, watching the chickens in her yard. She’s sitting on a quilt I made for my son many years ago. This photo speaks to me about how important it is to slow down, stay curious, and remember we are always held by those who came before us. Little ones have so much to teach us.

I have a humorous topic planned for my next Friday post, which will be up a week from Friday, on May 1. Before that, I’ll be back on Monday, ready to share more as a proud grandma.

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Two forethoughts.

In this post. I, in no way, intend to suggest we need not fight for what we believe in, or against what we don’t. I believe quite the opposite. But a truth prevails, we always need hope to sustain us through the battle. And where better to find hope than in joy.

One of my favorite music stations as of late is SiriusXM: Life with John Mayer. He finds the balance between generations, and even more importantly, touches the deepest part of the soul with his music. I’ve quoted his lyrics in this post and will link the songs in the footnotes1. I often take a short lyric from a song that is not related to what I’m writing about, just because it resonates, along with the beauty of the music.

Walking across our living room, I’m talking back to the Sonos speaker as John Mayer sings—

I guess I just feel like
Good things are gone

Yeah, John, I agree.

These days, hope feels less like a comfort and more like a lifeline I’m clutching tightly.

I consider myself a yogi, and as of late a Reiki practitioner, who has aspired to peaceful resolutions as opposed to drama, a task that isn’t easy as a human, and one I’ll likely continue to work at until my dying days. I always try to offer a positive thought, a loving touch, an open mind, and a forgiving heart, while honoring my boundaries. I try to mind my own business, yet remain mindful that others might need a helping hand even if they don’t ask. I reject retaliatory or spiteful action or reaction. Instead, I remind myself that the Universe always has my back. My efforts in situations where I might be tempted to react will never be as useful or perfect as what the Universe can offer. And I try never to use the word hate; it’s such a powerful emotion that, in the end, only depletes the person feeling that emotion.

Despite my best efforts to stay grounded and positive, I find myself almost overwhelmed by frustration these days; this president is really on my last nerve.

Let’s pause here and shift focus, revisiting where this post originally began a few weeks back, as Rick and I traveled up and down California on Highway 5 on our way to Sammie’s baby shower.

A long drive down Highway 5 offers miles of rolling hills, thousands of cows, endless agriculture, and the occasional sign demanding Governor Newsom save farmers’ water. There’s ample time for conversation, reflection, or rest if you’re the passenger. On this trip, I did all three. Softly, John Mayer played through on Sirius for the whole journey. Something significant happens when we slow enough to allow our brains to sift through what’s been rummaging around inside. I realized a sad truth.

With the world in turmoil, I read less and less in general, but specifically on Substack—not from lack of interest, but from limited bandwidth. I focus on only one or two of my favorite writers (of which I have many) and one or two political posts, then run from my computer to the garden to sink my hands into the soil to set me free.

I’ve lost count of how many of my favorite writers2 are taking a break, or are returning from a break, and I get it. Each week, it becomes increasingly difficult for me to write something I feel is worth posting.

A new critic sits on my shoulder, asking disturbing questions and demanding viewpoints I never intended to write about. She raises her index finger at me, moving it from side to side,

No, no, you can’t write about being happy or grateful, or God forbid some lighthearted topic. What about all the people who are suffering in the world? Happiness is absolutely not allowed right now.

Oh, okay. I guess you’re right. But don’t we need the balance, positivity, and trust in goodness?

Well, I don’t know, with the world on fire, don’t you think you should address that?

Well, maybe. But maybe not, because I’ll never stop this train as one person, especially one person who is not politically savvy or motivated.

As I type this, the sky literally opens up, and the rain comes pouring down. Nature is always communicating with us.

I see I’ve lost my footing in the chaos, letting my joy in writing and thinking slip away.

I guess I just feel like
I guess I just feel like

Nobody’s honest
Nobody’s true
Everyone’s lying
To make it on through
I guess I just feel like

I’m the same way too

I guess I just feel like
Good things are gone

And the weight of my worries

Is too much to take on

I think I remember
This dream that I had
This love’s gonna save us
From a world that’s gone mad
I guess I just feel like
What happened to that

I guess I just feel like
The joke’s getting old

The future is fading

And the past is on hold

But I know that I’m open
And I know that I’m free
And I’ll always let hope in
Wherever I’ll be
And if I go blind I’ll still find my way
I guess I just felt like
Giving up today

The ride reminds me that every crisis is part of a larger cycle: goodness finds a way to resurface, and the truth eventually comes to light, even in dark times. We cannot control the world, but perspective matters.

Mile after mile driving up my home state slowly balances something deep inside. I find the courage to confess to myself, or the world for that matter, that not only can I not control the world, but I also can’t even control my small life. Influence is always a possibility and generally a reality. Control never is.

Somewhere between the tumbleweeds just north of the Grapevine and Harris Ranch, my favorite restaurant to stop at, a turning point comes. I vow to reclaim my right to enjoy my gifts and stop apologizing for whatever happiness I’m fortunate enough to experience. The drive reminds me that, though pain and conflict have always been part of history, recognizing joy is essential—appreciation and gratitude for each well-spent minute are not indulgences but necessities.

With wars and chaos everywhere, I resolve to value what I have, making each day count, and cherishing happiness while acknowledging life’s transient nature.

True happiness is found by cherishing small, meaningful moments—even in the midst of uncertainty— and in my case, writing about them.

I’ll be back soon, and it will be a post celebrating something. Doesn’t even matter what.

What a weekend of wild weather in the California foothills. Lightning and thunder entertained us on two evenings, along with gale-force winds and buckets of rain. Limbs fell everywhere, and our dining table was lifted by the umbrella and smashed into the deck railing.

I loved every minute of it. Had I felt unsafe, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the storm. But, instead, I was comforted by its spectacle. This morning, the skies are blue, and everything glows lush green.

Reflecting on these dramatic weather events, I’m reminded that storms—natural or political—are powerful yet temporary. As the skies clear this morning, I take comfort in the knowledge that political storms, too, eventually pass, leaving a renewed landscape.

I will continue to envision that outcome sooner rather than later. Join me?

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If my senses fail, meet me on the other side of Paradise
Free from complications of our sense of time

Otherside of Paradise- The Revivalists

Our tiny town of Cool, in particular our MahJongg group, lost a dear soul yesterday. Without much fuss, a few phone calls, an ambulance ride by herself, within hours, she was on her way to Paradise, pausing just long enough to donate her organs for someone who might be able to use them. Her departure mimicked exactly how she lived her life. Laurie was bright, quiet, orderly, responsible, thoughtful, kind, and funny. She will be sorely missed.

Last night, the sky over Cool seemed to cry with us. A pink-orange sunset appeared, with scattered clouds letting out a few raindrops. Rick and I stood on the porch, quietly taking it all in, ever grateful for nature’s embrace and for the blessing of friends like Laurie.

It’s Thursday, and I’m still feeling tired. It’s been three busy weeks in a row. While I started a first draft of this week’s post, it needs more work, so I’ll save it for the next Friday Post rather than rush it.

In the meantime, I want to share something exciting: Rick’s son, Matt, has developed a new app called Tastronaut - World Recipes. Mind you, while Rick and I struggle to make sense of all things IT, Matt’s idea of tinkering in his free time is building a complete app from scratch.

Let me tell you about the app!

Tastronaut is a free iPhone and iPad app that turns cooking into a global adventure. Instead of scrolling endlessly through recipe after recipe, you spin an interactive 3D globe and “land” on a random country. Then, cook an authentic dish from wherever you land. It’s a fun, low-pressure way to discover cuisines you’d never think to search for on your own.

The app covers 237 countries and territories with over 1,185 recipes, from Italian pasta to Ethiopian injera to Japanese curry. Each recipe includes step-by-step instructions, ingredient lists with suggested substitutions, prep and cook times, difficulty ratings, and notes on the dish’s cultural background. Additionally, there are vegetarian, vegan, and allergy-friendly alternatives built in.

To make things even more engaging, as you cook your way around the world, the app tracks your progress with achievements, cooking streaks, and continent-by-continent stats, all working toward the title of World Chef. It works completely offline with no account required.

Tastronaut is free to download, with 12 countries available at no cost. A one-time purchase of $9.99 unlocks all 237 destinations. No subscription is needed.

I enjoy this app for an additional reason beyond my love of food and cooking. Right now, with our world so divided, staying connected matters more than ever. Tastronaut allows users to share the culinary customs and traditions of others, fostering an experience that sends out the tiny tendrils of acceptance and inclusion.

I’d love to read your comments if you do check it out. You can find Tastronaut - World Recipes at the App store.

Back on Monday!

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Okay, it’s true, my morning matcha does not look like this.

After spending three weekends away, it feels wonderful to finally sit in my favorite chair this Monday morning. The milk in the fridge has gone sour, and I’m missing my usual warm matcha, but I’m glad to be home. Last week, we celebrated Rick’s birthday with close friends in San Francisco, and this weekend we attended a baby shower for his daughter, Sammie, in LA. I feel grateful for so many loved ones, even when the news from the world is heavy. Rain is coming, and I have a lot to catch up on this week, starting with my writing. I’ve had some good realizations lately, and I’m excited to share more about them in Friday’s post.

I hope you find some quiet moments to reflect as we start a new week. I’ll be back on Friday.

Share a cup?

I attended a three-day Thai massage training last weekend offered by Anjuli and Alok Contact Yoga 1 offered at Santosha Yoga Collective in Loomis, California where I currently teach. If you’ve experienced Thai massage, go ahead and inhale deeply and exhale—ahhhh.

You get it.

If you’ve never tried Thai massage, do yourself an enormous favor, add it to your bucket list.

The training was physical, no doubt, as offering Thai massage requires major use of the giver’s muscles and body parts. But in each class segment, we had the chance not only to offer a massage but also to receive it. This weekend of massage made its way to my list of favorite experiences.

I told a friend today: if I had to choose between sex or massage/back scratches, and could only keep one source of comfort, hands down, I’d pick the latter. Maybe it’s because, at five, I lived with two very unhappy alcoholics. My 18-year-old half-sister came to visit for three months before leaving to get married. During that time, she calmed my bleak reality, scratching my little back for hours. I’m not knocking sex in any way, but nothing soothes me and feels more like love than body work.

Fast forward to this weekend, filled with such loving kindness offered alongside training, I’m still floating days later. As the weekend drew to a close, in the early morning hours of Monday, Rick and I lay awake unexpectedly. As we cuddled close, sounds of contentment kept making their way involuntarily from my throat. Rick asked if I was okay.

Baby, I’m soooo good. Better than I’ve been in a while. And so grateful to be here with you.

I almost didn’t take this course.

We always have our reasons, right? Maybe we shouldn’t spend the money—take the time—be proactive with our health, our bodies, our ambitions?

While I learned a great many techniques I will be sharing with my yoga/Reiki students, the most poignant lesson I gathered this weekend is that the light I often speak of in my writing is alive and well, even when world events might suggest otherwise.

Ten, for the most part, strangers came together to learn an age-old healing modality from two compassionate and extremely talented people. We chanted and sang, and in the form of a massage, offered loving kindness to one another.

Interestingly, the lyrics from Coldplay’s song “Fix You” that I mentioned in my last post seemed to weave themselves into the weekend.

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

I’m always confident about goodness prevailing along with humanity, but if there was ever a doubt, it’s been completely extinguished after last weekend.

We’ll be okay, maybe just a little worse for the wear. We just need to keep putting one foot in front of the next. No breadcrumbs needed. Just gravitate toward loving kindness and pay it forward. Be there for others. Unstoppable strength.

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Spring doesn’t ask permission to arrive. It doesn’t wait until the world is less of a mess, or until we’ve figured everything out. It just comes, quietly and insistently, pushing up through the cold ground.

You get to do the same thing. - Ilona Guanos

The wisteria, along with the Lady Banks roses in our backyard, confirms ’ message in her recent post. They are blooming without regard to the chaos and strife in the world. One might say, they are blooming in spite of it, which is exactly what we must all strive to do. Because the minute we stop shining our light, evil prevails.

Not on my watch.

Join me on Friday— I’m looking forward to telling you about my weekend attending a Thai massage workshop.

I don’t paywall my work, but I sure appreciate it when someone is gracious enough to upgrade their subscription for $4.17 a month. Support can also be offered by sharing my writing with friends or restacking it here on Substack.

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Last week, I heard Coldplay’s “Fix You” on the radio. It had been some time. The song has always generated a mix of emotions for me, nostalgia, melancholia and longing. I’ve been humming the tune to myself ever since. I guess it’s no wonder, right, with so much to fix in the world.

In the last few weeks, two different women approached me after yoga class, tears in their eyes, to thank me for a reading I had offered during class. In each instance, the readings acknowledged the strife surrounding us and offered encouragement to stay the course, believing that goodness ultimately prevails.

Standing on our hill in front of our grapes yesterday, I discovered that many of the starters we planted last year had not survived the winter. Coldplay’s words

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

I’ll be picking up a few new starter plants this week, counting on the light to guide me home, continuing to reach out to those around me, and understanding that I can’t fix everything, but I sure as hell can try.

Stay the course,

I want to acknowledge that I used the words from Neil Diamond’s song “Suzanne” for the title to this post. I have loved Neil Diamond for decades and this song strikes a chord for me.

The new view in our yard, the story here, generated a gentle train of thought, a reminder that the future is always hidden, possibly holding wonderful surprises just beyond our sight. That reminder landed as such a gift on my heart, generating the idea for this post.

Let’s hold this comforting idea as we consider a time when change and accountability have come, filling us with hope for what lies ahead.

Because I’m a believer in the power of thoughts to shape outcomes, I invite you to join me in a meditation manifesting a better future, a thought inspired by my friend Peter. Spend a few minutes with me, will you? If you aren’t listening to this on Substack, you may need to read and rest, read and rest, and that’s okay. There are no rules.

Settle in and prepare to shift from focusing on your breath to envisioning positive change. Begin by finding a comfortable seat or lying down if that’s available. Close your eyes and tune into the rhythm of your breath. Take a minute to give thanks for just that, your breath. Notice the rise and fall of your chest, the feel of your surroundings, and any sound you hear.

Take a deep breath in, followed by a long exhale, actually making the sound of relaxation.

Ahhhhhhh.

Go ahead, no one’s listening. On the next inhale, pull your shoulders slightly up and back, raise your heart to the sky, and then exhale, relaxing the shoulders. Again, let the sound of release be heard. Repeat as many times as you’d like.

When ready, join me on a journey to the future. All things end, and new beginnings await—even when out of sight or seemingly unlikely.

Let your mind recall a time when something wonderful happened unexpectedly. You’ve had countless such moments—big or small. Let those joyful memories wash over you.

Take your time. When you’re ready, let’s visualize a future shaped by our collective hope for unity, justice, and renewal.

A future in which WE WILL—

Witness the efforts from the Trump administration fade away, replaced by clarity, humanity, and transparency.

See the perpetrators of injustice within the current administration held accountable for their actions.

Rejoice in the transformation of ICE, as compassionate and trustworthy people reshape it into a humane and effective force for good.

See once-crowded detention centers empty, returning to stillness and silence amidst the ruin.

See the victims of Epstein finally honored and all the perpetrators, including Trump, held accountable.

See the vindictive plaques beneath President Obama’s portrait in the White House removed.

Watch as our history books once again embrace the completeness of our nation’s story.

Celebrate the integration of all our histories, welcoming honesty and learning as we grow.

Remember forever more that this country was made up of all races, colors, religions, sexual preferences, religious and political preferences.

Honor past leaders with understanding and using what we have learned from their mistakes for the greater good.

Rebuild our education system making teachers a priority in our country in equal measure to celebrities and sports figures.

See a final return to women’s rights over their bodies, never to be eliminated, reduced or redacted again.

Rejoice as our country reunites with former allies, fostering unity and support, and once again building bridges from a place of kindness.

Learn from other nations like Norway, seeking greater balance and connection to nature for collective well-being.

Restore vital services for all citizens, and especially our veterans.

Support our leaders as they embrace new beginnings, establishing term limits to nurture healthy government and renewal.

The list is endless, and I haven’t even made a dent, so take a few moments to envision your most desired changes before we end our manifestation. We can spend as much time as you need.

As we close, take a deep breath in, followed by that

Ahhhhh.

And again, my friend. And again. There’s still no one listening, and it feels so good. Let those shoulders drop an inch and the muscles in your neck and upper back tingle in the process thanking you.

Believe in your thoughts. Believe in our power as a people. Believe in goodness, because above all, she/he/it prevails.

Bring your hands to your chest (Sukhasana Hands To Heart) and thank that beating heart of yours for this moment, and every moment you’ve ever had or ever will experience.

Thank yourself for taking the time to be here. Thank all those who may be reading and experiencing this moment for the energy you each bring. And I thank you all for being here practicing with me. It’s always an honor and a privilege.

Namaste.

I’d love to hear what you wish to manifest. Let’s join together.

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The phrase “you can’t see the forest for the trees” has unfolded at home, bringing pleasant surprises and encouraging a more positive outlook on world events.

Recently, we made a tough choice to take down four Liquidambar trees in our backyard. The trees were here when we moved in and have provided shade and beauty to the back side of our house. Planted by the previous owners, they should likely have been farther from the house given their mature size. Even more problematic, quoting from Google’s AI overview:

Liquidambar trees (Sweetgum) produce hard, spiky, 1–1.5 inch spherical seed pods, often called “gumballs” or “monkey balls” that fall in large numbers during autumn and winter. These bristly brown capsules create significant, painful cleanup, particularly on sidewalks.

When AI says large numbers, we’re talking thousands of monkey balls each year. Plus I’ve got news for AI: the cleanup is even worse on a sloped dirt surface. As the trees have grown, along with the quantity of gumballs, so has the number of times one of us has slipped and actually hit the ground, or just lost our footing and luckily caught ourselves without falling.

After debating the issue for quite some time, we reluctantly decided to protect our aging bodies and err on the side of caution, replacing the trees with similar, safer trees.

Last weekend we removed the trees. I cried off and on as we cut down one tree after another. But something quite lovely transpired as we sat on the deck at the end of a very long, arduous day; we discovered the view that had been hiding behind those trees, a view of the sky and the hills that is simply breathtaking.

Every day, I walk over to the windows numerous times just to enjoy the new view. And the evening views have been even more spectacular.

Would love to hear any of your examples of unexpected happy outcomes.

I’ve got a second part to this post, coming Friday.

In the meantime, be well, stay safe, take good care of yourself and those around you, and keep looking up.

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I often write about my belief that nature profoundly affects our minds and bodies. My sweet grandbaby, Lucia, recently taught me once again the truth of my beliefs. Spend a few minutes with Lucia and me, won’t you?

As Lucia begins to whimper, hinting at fatigue or hunger, Amy asks for a few extra minutes to finish her project. Stepping in, I take Lucia in my arms and head to nature, even if only through a window.

The temps are frigid outside. Warmed by a fire inside, we enjoy the cloud-filled sky and tree-lined pastures covered in snow. An empty bird feeder stands half buried, while two horses cross a distant field in blue plaid and bright red blankets. Bare-limbed trees reveal their sculpted forms. A white-bellied hawk, perched on a fence, takes flight and glides past our window—a private performance for little Lucia and me.

As we take in the gloriousness of our view, I notice Lucia’s body immediately softens, her earlier restlessness eased.

For five to ten minutes, we savor nature together. I lose count of how often I breathe in her scent and kiss her soft head.

Every day, we are given these moments—opportunities to connect with those we love or to find peace alone—simply by turning our attention to nature. The restorative power of the natural world is always accessible, if we choose to embrace it.

Please share any recent nature-inspired gifts you’ve experienced.

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My favorite humorous moments chatting with . I’ll likely never think of corpse pose the same again.

This week, I experienced my first Substack Live with the engaging and friendly , creator of Great Books + Great Minds as well as The Daily Chocolate Taoist.

I first connected with Diamond-Michael a few months ago when I asked if he might consider helping me promote my first book Lessons of a Wayward Yogini. I am beginning to write my second book and want to engage with more readers before its release. He was very accommodating and told me to send my book along.

I waited eagerly for him to read my book and reply, hoping he would be interested. More than that, I really wanted him to invite me for one of his Live interviews. He does both live and written interviews with authors, and after reading and watching several of them, I found myself especially drawn to doing a Live.

Of course, he had no idea about my hopes. He just knew I wanted his help promoting my earlier book. I was impatient while waiting for him to read my book and respond. He actually replied very quickly, but I still found myself getting restless.

Although I have long since lost count of how many experiences I have manifested, I still can doubt my abilities. Just as I started to wonder if my goals aligned with his, Diamond-Michael emailed me to set up our LIVE interview. That’s right, a live!

I’m truly grateful to Diamond-Michael for being willing to talk with me and help me with my efforts. At the end of our interview, he called our Live a “Plump Pleasing Pleasure as well as a Privilege,” a phrase an old friend of his often used. I could not agree more. I had such a great time chatting with him about everything from yoga poses to vulnerability, the twists and turns in life, aging gracefully, and why I write on Substack.

My daughter Amy, whose taste and opinion I trust as much as a thumbs-up from Siskel and Ebert, loved this interview more than any other I’ve done. That means a lot.

Below is the full 36-minute interview, which you can watch/listen to, or if you’re like me, tune in while doing chores, cooking, sewing, cleaning, etc.

Wishing you a restful weekend. Back on Monday.

Great Books + Great Minds

My Random Chat With a Wayward Yogini

Listen now

3 months ago · 7 likes · 2 comments · Diamond-Michael Scott and Sue Ferrera

Home in rainy California, I’m feeling grateful after a week with my kids and granddaughter. Friday, I’ll share favorite moments from the trip. Today at 11:00 a.m. PST, join me and live on Substack to discuss my book, Lessons of a Wayward Yogini. If you can’t make it, the link will be available afterwards.

Live with Diamond-MIchael Scott

Looking out at blue skies and a blanket of pristine white snow, getting my grandbaby as well as a snow fix, I couldn’t be happier. That I’m also enjoying this moment with both my son and daughter makes it all the sweeter. I feel extremely fortunate this week relishing a well-deserved break from the media, and not taking one moment for granted.

Reflecting on the comfort both my body and soul feel, I’m reminded that a well-deserved break should be scheduled into each week during this time in our world.

I’d love to hear—what’s bringing you joy lately, and how are you making time for it?

How are you?

I’ve been thinking a great deal lately about women’s rights. It’s no secret that our current administration puts both a woman’s place and her rights at risk, seeking to subordinate women to men. And I have to tell you, this fact is weighing heavily on my heart. I thought my generation had made giant strides to move beyond. But here we are, moving backwards at an alarming rate. And now that I not only have a daughter to be concerned about, but also a granddaughter, I’m furious.

That we find ourselves here is a puzzle, one we will not unravel soon. AI cannot help us, since all of its intelligence comes from mankind. AI, for all its supposed perfection, still contains the prejudice and incompetence of its creators.1

Faced with these setbacks, I’m asking myself:

What can I, as a woman, do differently going forward to effect real change, even if baby steps?

In what ways am I still supporting a system that denigrates women?

Are there times I don’t speak up or draw that line in the sand when I absolutely should, for fear of “not being nice”?

I’ll have more to say on this, but to start this journey, I’m sharing the most moving poetry I’ve read in some time, from Jeannette Encinias.

Unfit

I tried to put myself into a box
even though it was an awfully bland color
neither here nor there really.

There was nothing magenta about it.
It had never known cobalt blue.
No lavender on its walls, that luxurious
and romantic hue.

The box had all of these safety features
written in very clear print
and to be honest
that appeals to me in a way.
Instructions are very helpful
and we all need help.

But when I stepped inside
my leg began to break
at the shin
and that was OK at first
because we all know
that life is painful
and the body is
resourceful
and so I carried on.

But then having hips
was definitely going to be
bothersome.

How to fit
the body of a woman
into a container
that would buckle
against the weight
of such bounty?

Preposterous!

Still, the box did have
instructions
and so I carried on
but when my spine curled
like a half moon
and my head began to
bow and the sky started to
disappear that is when I truly
wondered if it was worth it
to be so neat and so broken.

Did you know that the foot has 29 muscles?
That the thigh bone is the strongest bone in the body?
That the arms of a woman can span generations
reaching back and forward and back again?
That her neck is a stem reaching up to the petal of her face?
That inside of her chest are acres of earth growing the fruit that feeds you?
Her hands, the tools that raise you?
The smell of her hair, the air that surrounds you?
The tip of her tongue, your first sight?

No, probably not.
The instructions don’t tell you that.

I remember the day
I found use
for the box.

You can fold it and
make it into a hat
and even a bird!

You can take it and
put it on a shelf
in the back of the garage
with the other things you
don’t really need.

You can cut it up
and put it into the fire.
Watch it burn while you
play cards.

As for me
I wrote this poem.
I took the box and broke it into words 
gathered all the instructions
and cut them up, shuffled them around
with a healthy and whole body
and threw them on this page.

What are your thoughts about how we help the goddess within step up and out of the chains that bind?

The last light of the February Snow Moon shines through the window next to my favorite writing chair. I love waking early enough to enjoy the fading moon. I send a plea upward that this new month brings better days ahead.

During the devastating days of January, the lyrics to Loggins and Messina’s “Brighter Days” reflecting on past, sweeter times, changing seasons, and hope for the future, played on repeat in my mind.

It’s been sweeter bitter sweeter days / I know it’s not for always, but all I can say is / I’ve seen better days /

For I’ve seen brighter days / Seen lighter places to stay / Along my way / Oh, I’ve seen brighter days.

But, speaking of lighter places to stay, I’m on my way this week to visit Amy and Lucia, and my son Jordan is coming with me. Perhaps that bittersweet melody will be replaced with, oh, I don’t know, how about “Happy”?

Give the video a watch. Let me know if it lifts you as much as it does me. Be back Friday.

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First, let me thank all of you who responded to last Friday’s post. Your comments were appreciated more than I can say. This morning, with yet another cold-blooded killing over the weekend, the words of one of my readers, , continue to pass through my mind.

I cried for three days over Renee Good’s death.

Tears of sadness and frustration.

Today, after Watching—with my own eyes—the videos of Alex Pretti’s murder, I am squeezing out tears of fire and rage.

Hope is being replaced with purpose, with renewed action and resolve.

I visualize Gandalf striking his staff down with vehement purpose

on the crumbling bridge of despair— “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”

Her phrase, replacing purpose with renewed action and resolve, resonates. And then it dawns on me, we’ve got this amazing platform to work with, let’s use it.

Today I’m offering gorgeous white quince from my garden to honor Alex Pretti. I invite each of you to contribute by sharing photos or descriptions of flowers, or simply offer words of support, an outpouring of love and solidarity for Alex and his family. (This post will be uploaded to Notes where you can add photos.)

I’ll be back next Monday sharing agencies or causes we can support that are working to fight against the horrors unfolding in our world, and I’m hoping my readers will respond in kind. Joining together, we are a powerful force for goodness.

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