The difference is this time was planned years ago when her husband became ill. She would make their lives easier, slower, and purposeful while helping care for him. No one else was going to do it. Not his son, not her sons, no one. Did they create their own distance? Did the sons hate them or just not know how to be caregivers for older folks? Is it the generation and culture they were raised in? Is it because they all are from divorced homes? Is it because their parents were, ‘fill in the blank’ – searching for a reason that their adult children didn’t seem to care? Whatever the reason, she was taking the last box to the car and heading to the airport – that was the plan after her husband died.

Only one person knew of her plan, and she doubts that person would even remember being told such a personal moment. That ‘friend’ was self-absorbed – the kind of friends she seemed to accumulate. She shared little with people after her own father died. It was the biggest loss of her life and changed her forever. It broke her heart and her spirit. Love never came again – change that – she never allowed love to come again unless it was from a horse of a dog. She existed to care for others. Mostly strangers that could not develop entanglements. If things got too close, she would change venues, locations, or roles. She was talented, smart, driven, and methodical. Complexity and extensive protective barriers kept her from crumbling. She was accustomed to this lifestyle.

Alone now, boxes secured, the rental car return and the airport awaited to take her far from what she had come to call home. A fresh and solitary adventure. The return flight was open-ended. There were no commitments standing in her way – no dogs to care for. No dogs for the first time in 46 years. No partner to hold her back from her long-awaited desires and checking off the items on her bucket list.

It was time to take the last box to the car.

KT

This writing was inspired by The Weekly Writing Prompt

An important choice made a long time ago about writing path was not a recognizable choice. Long ago, I wrote songs. It wasn’t a decided choice; I just did it. This prompt reminded me of this. It was natural, unprompted, not concerned with what others thought or that it was going to be graded. It was free. Now that I am spending time with this memory I am realizing as I became a more scholarly writer and put myself through higher education, my writing is not free. It is cautious, not curious. It is bound by being supported with research. It is concerned about criticism and getting a grade or published. The new conscious choice today is to try to let go and be more spontaneous with my writing. This is my choice.

KT

The waves rolled in and she sat staring at the sky. Marine layer day – grey in the morning. Must be June in San Francisco. The fog will show itself later. The sky meets the sea with a blurred line, but she could hear the waves roll in. The gulls flew by shouting at the sky. Dipping and diving into the sea for a snack. They dart through the misty morning and call to each other. What do they say?

The waves rolled in and delivered some treasures – smoothed stones, broken shells, and sea kelp. The colors are complimentary, grey, green, white, and black. She picked up a stone and started to walk along the beach – alone for the first time.

K

To seek the depth is to surrender all the warmth of day, a deliberate descent to the ghosts of comfort.

The anchor pulls you toward the heavy center, where the water is a cold and the light is only a memory.

In the crushing quiet, away from the reach of the sun, you find the things the shallows could never teach you.

Stripped of every gilded mask and bright disguise, the heart finally learns to breathe in the dark. Truth does not require the light to exist; it glows from within the immense pressure.

This is a path paved with the color of old grief, black and grey, still silence of the years.

Yet the soul begins to hear it— the steady pulse of a life that only knows how to thrive in the depths.

We have been frozen for many weeks – seems like months now. The ground has been covered with snow, mounds and mounds from the plows trying to keep the roads open. It happens here in the grey days of February; the long-standing snow becomes dirty and crusted from the slight thaw and refreeze. No longer fluffy and new, crisp and clean.

This week it started, the elevation of temperatures above freezing, even into the 40’s! The thaw, first of the grassy areas and the dark green blades start to peek out. Then the mud and wet fallen leaves of fall glisten in the sun. The birds leave the safety and security of the feeder where they have been huddled during the sub-zero temperatures knowing there will be food there. They are filling their bellies elsewhere where nature is becoming unfrozen.

Soon the plowed mounds of dirty snow riddled with stones and sticks will melt down to allow for free passage through the spring thaw and mud. The blades will begin to change from the winter dull green to the fresh vibrant sprouts. The trees will start to offer their buds to the sun for warming. We will begin again and anew!

Karla

Her pain is real, though never seen

she holds herself up proudly.

Her heart aches through the hollow dark caverns

and soot so close surrounding.

The absence and betrayal have crushed her soul

but you would never know.

Her pain is real, though never seen

through generosity unbounding.

The source is dead, the subsequent violators march on

with no regard to their actions.

She holds herself steady and strong.

Her pain is real, and never seen

she stands for all women steadfastly.

The voice and words have been shared for decades

some progress has been gained.

Marches and Laws, Amendments and Acts

the books are being banned.

The new era of violators and frauds with epic disregard

will send us all back to dark ages.

Giving permission to the younger ones, role modeling the abuse

we start again with burdened backs

And vaginas that are fair game.

Her pain is real, and never seen

and goes into battle again.

Norah Brennan is a desert dwelling adventurer. You can follow her life’s journey on her freckled, leathery, tan face. Her long hair has turned from ginger to a grey-ginger blend wrapped in a long pony braid like she does to her horses. Norah’s eyes are emerald green and can burn a hole through you when she feels threatened. Under the tough exterior, Norah has a lovely lilting voice that trails off to a hush when she speaks. When she sings, her beautiful voice can fill the depths of the canyon. She sings daily like a prayer. These days Norah prefers to wear long Bohemian style dresses, a hand-woven shawl and cowboy boots, when she wears shoes at all. If Norah leaves her property to engage with the outside world, she might choose to wear a bra. At 71 years old, Norah believes she’s earned the right to wear what she wants and be who she is.

I really want to get back to this story and see if I can create either a short story or an actual book! Desire and manifest!

Karla

When I feel the inner pull to seize the path, I read a tale or watch a show that immerses me into the land where I belong.

I gaze at images on the web envisioning walking down the row. The colored flags wafting and the rain boots slogging with the mist drifting from the sea.

What’s the plan? When do I go to visit this land where I belong? My heart imploring me to fill its cup and drink a pint from the local pub.

There’s life and the lot that I am responsible to provide care but when is the responsibility to my own soul?

I follow the socials and join the groups as if it makes me part of the community. I long to stroll on Bain’s Beach and sit at the harbor by the sea.

Shetland I will be with thee. Be patient, shall you, with me.

Stream of consciousness here - seeing a lot of ‘what are you grateful for’ because it is the Thanksgiving tradition in the US. For me, I must take the time each day to examine my blessings and have gratitude. I don’t squirrel them away and wait for Thanksgiving to bring them to my awareness. I must do this because if I don’t I wouldn’t make it to another Thanksgiving. There are too many dreadful distractions out there to quash my gratitude. Another thing comes to mind…..while I am typing along here …… just like other holidays that get a lot of hype, holidays are not happy or filled with joyous family gatherings for many people. Holidays can be painful, lonely, and hollow. The hype doesn’t help those of us who may have these grieving moments. The struggle of being enough, having enough, giving enough - the hype drives these hurtful thoughts. I am enough.

Today I am assessing this gratitude season and declaring that every day is a moment to examine life for blessings and to recognize gratitude. Today my gratitude is being able to express myself in this way on this format. For those of you who may experience challenges during the holidays, I see you. You are enough too.

Thanks for allowing me to share.

Karla

I went for a winter hike after an overnight delight of a lovely snowfall. The air was clean, crisp, and calm. I met a bird along the way, a robin, unusual for this time of year in my location. It was a curious and happy companion as I made my way down the trail. I came upon a cottage after crossing through a clearing. I believe this encounter was by design, not accident. I believe in guided paths, you see.

The robin, the snow, the scent of the wood fire, the path through the woods, they all led me there to the not so chance meeting. I recognized the voice when I knocked and they said, “come in”. I was certain it was her. She’d been gone many years, 19 to be exact. I struggled with our relationship then and I continue to struggle with it now. I entered to the warmth of the cozy cottage and smell of coffee to see her sitting there. Quietly gazing through the window to the snowy meadow with the dried patches of wildflowers taking in the flakes. Holding those flakes like shimmering little stars as the sun catches them. Quietly breathing in and out with ease, not like I remembered with the short and huffy outbreaths. Always a criticism, a harshness. She seemed approachable, peaceful, and even welcoming.

Is this my opportunity? Is this what I’ve been guided to experience? Is this the time to ask the burning question?

I move slowly and cautiously toward the small wooden chair at the round table by the window. She invites me to sit down, just by a hand gesture, still breathing in and out with ease. She takes a sip of her coffee and pours me a cup in a mug I remember from my youth. Memories start flooding in. Strong, hurtful, and pointed memories. My mind and body start to tighten up and prepare to fend off the arrows that I anticipate. Something is coming.

She looks up. Her eyes are clear and bright. Her face is softened. She gently clears her throat and says, “I can see you now. I’m sorry I never could see you before and all I could do was push you away, but can see you now.” She returns her gaze to the snowy meadow, takes a sip of coffee, a deep breath, and sits quietly.

My face is no longer cold from the outdoors. My breath has stopped. My body is armored. I sit there watching and waiting for the ‘but’ to come. It doesn’t come. She sits there calmly and quietly and turns again toward me, looking directly in my tear-filled eyes and says, “I’m sorry.”

I finally take a breath releasing a quiet sigh. My shoulders relax and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I raise my hands to my heart and gently cross them over my chest and continue to breathe. The tears are dropping from my eyes onto my handknit scarf that she made for me so many years ago. I try to speak, and no words come out. I press my hands into my heart tighter and focus on my breath. It is slowing down, my heart, and I gain my voice. My mind is blank, which never happens. My question, I need to ask my question, I scream to myself inside my mind. Another voice inside says, “do you?” Hasn’t she just answered it?” But don’t I still need to ask it and have her answer it out loud? Don’t I need to confront her while I have the chance? That voice asks me, “do you?”

I sit there contemplating and reviewing the options in my mind with the internal voices. The angry one, the compassionate one, the reasonable one, the stoic one, the warrior one, and the one who has worked so hard over the long years to make sense of the challenging relationship and long for the day when she would truly notice me and want me. Maybe this was that day and her way. Maybe this was the answer to the question I’ve longed to know since I could remember.

My breathing slows and I can recognize it flows in and out with ease. My heart is not pounding. My armor has melted away. My warrior has laid down her sword. I can see the same snowy meadow with the dried wildflowers cradling the snow. I can sip the same coffee from the familiar cup. I can say to her, “thank you” and I can move on.

I leave the cottage, gently closing the door. I walk back through the snowy woods listening to the crunch under my boots. I feel the coldness freezing my nostrils inside and out making my way back to my cabin. And I breathe with ease.

I moved back because I have a new granddaughter that came into this world dramatically. I realized when she was in the NICU that I didn’t want to be a long-distance grandmother. I made the impulsive decision to move back home. You are one of the few connections I still have in the area, although I know we did not leave on the best of terms. I’d like to make amends.

I know that you were hurt when I moved away 20 years ago, but it was a great career move for me. I invited you to come with me. You didn’t think we were at that stage in our relationship and said you didn’t want to hold me back. So, I left. Little did I know that you would go silent. I believed you when you said you didn’t want to hold me back and believed we would continue to stay in touch. No so.

Now, once we are in the same town again, you don’t appreciate the tone of my posts. I post about gratitude, love, joy, and community. I do not follow any political drama, nor do I want to get involved in any of it. I know the area we live leans toward the political right and there are people here with affiliations to militia groups. I never thought you would be tied to them. Shocking.

So, you responded to my Facebook outreach saying that you would not be friends with me any longer because I am not ‘like-minded’. I am of the ‘weaker sect’. I am not a true Christian believer. I am not worthy of your time.

Based on that response, you are not worthy of mine either. I wish you well, Blessed Be.

The breaking of an American spirit. It is the day after the 2024 Presidential election in the United States. The outcome has been decided. The next President is a former President who is also a convicted felon, sexual abuser, liar, twice-impeached, want-to-be Dictator who has no morality and is a vile unhuman being. I did not vote for this individual. I cannot comprehend what type of person would vote for this individual. Especially the women.

Although fear seems to be the emotion of the moment, confusion, anger, disbelief, and despair are in the mix. I know from my own personal journey that I cannot allow myself to be overcome by despair nor frozen by fear. Confusion leads me to exploration and discovery. Anger motivates me to action. These are the two emotions I will lean into to help me through this moment in our American story.

I never really thought too much about what it means to be to be an American until now. I took it for granted. It is just ‘where I am from.’ But now, after the dysfunctional decision making of so many of my fellow Americans, I am beginning to experience it differently. I don’t know what to expect going forward after the inauguration on January 20, 2025. What I do know is that the previous round with this unhuman being in charge it was barely tolerable. The concern is that now, he is more informed about the position, what he can and can’t get around. How the systems work. There are no guardrails this time and those that are in place are certainly going to be dug out and tossed in the heap! He is dangerous and will put even more dangerous unhumans in places of consequence.

As an American, I am feeling embarrassed by the country’s choice. I am hearing the international grumblings of dissatisfaction and concern across the globe. I don’t want to be identified as HIS kind of American. I grow concerned about how Americans will be treated around the globe due to his impact.

As I wait to see how this unfolds, I must maintain my balance and integrity. I must be an active listener and learn what I must know to stand up for what is right. I must maintain my compassion for those who may be uninformed or incapable of knowing how he is misleading them with his lies and manipulation. I must try to help educate and inform without bias.

I am concerned for our future and our standing in the world. Please be kind and considerate of each other in this journey.

(I’ve only posted this now, after coming across it in my notes. I plan to write a follow up and submit it shortly.)

The trees are bare, it’s winter here, in the residential colony.

The rest of the autumn leaves are piled here and there as we prepare for long nights of cold and frost.

We hope for snowy walks along the residential colony with dogs on leashes plodding on.

When we get home the hats and gloves go on the fireplace rack to dry.

We warm up with a cup of cocoa and sip up by the fire eating pudding, cakes, and treats while playing with the trinkets that inspire our jewelry wares for sale.

The wares are ready when the sun comes round, but not now while winter keeps the garden lots shut and bare.

The table sales start in the spring along the antique grove in the residential colony under the shade with tablecloths and pop up tents the trio of us go

To sell the jewelry we make together with beads and silver and more.

We sort our wares, make displays, and hang our signs as mates we go.

The Sunday ends - we strike our tent and pack away our unsold wares. Our hangers and tools our ribbons and bags til our next Sunday sale under the shady grove of the antique mart in the residential colony

Where in winter the trees are bare.

We are surrounded by noise, electronic stimulation, and busy-ness. Our body and nervous system are up-regulated or hyper aroused causing us to feel overwhelmed and exhausted. There are prescription medications, over the counter supplements, apps on our phones to help us relax or try to calm our nervous system, but there are some alternatives to help us quiet our mind that have been around for centuries. Meditation or mindfulness practice does not require any special equipment or electronics. There are no medication interventions or trendy social media groups to join. Here are some basic tips for quieting the mind. Don’t make it hard!

1. Getting quiet does not require any special equipment. We can find excuses or create roadblocks to delay committing to the process of getting quiet. I need to get a meditation pillow. I need to get incense and a candle. Fill in the blank with your excuse du jour. Getting quiet is just that – wherever we are we can practice being quiet.

2. Put away the phone! Don’t just turn the phone on silent or airplane mode. Put the phone on silent and in another room for the very short period to begin the practice of getting quiet.

3. Start with five minutes or less. Our brains are on overdrive and there are some conditions, such as anxiety, OCD, or PTSD that challenge the ability to get quiet. Some believe that meditation or mindfulness practice require you to sit still for an hour. Our brains cannot handle such an extreme time requirement at the start. Try five minutes. If five minutes is excruciating try three minutes or even one minute and work our way up, gradually. Short attainable goals help us feel good!

4. We don’t have to sit. We can stand, lay down, and yes – we can walk! We can run and be quiet. If there are physical challenges, we can find a way and a place to be quiet. We don’t need the earbuds and chattering or music in our ears while we run. Notice our surroundings and take in the sights. This is practicing mindfulness and getting quiet.

5. We don’t have to close our eyes. Some folks do not feel comfortable closing their eyes. Guess what? We don’t have to! We can find a focal point wherever it is we are trying to quiet our mind. Maybe it is a pretty piece of artwork on the wall. Maybe it is the dog or cat snoozing on the floor. Maybe it is gazing out of the window and noticing the swaying trees.

6. Make it a ritual. Start off with a consistent time to get quiet. Everyone does personal hygiene when they get up from sleeping. Add the quiet time to our personal hygiene habits. Mindful tooth brushing, mindful showering, mindful toilet sitting. If we notice that there is a particular time of day when our mind gets especially busy, try integrating quiet time at that time to help facilitate a reset.

7. Here’s the last tip. As we are practicing getting quiet, pay attention to our breathing. I could go on and on about the importance of breathing and give you fancy breathing techniques. I won’t do that here. That’s advanced stuff. If we struggle with the five minutes of being quiet, try paying attention to our breathing. We all breathe, but how often do we really pay attention to our breath? You will be surprised how long you can be quiet as you are paying attention to your breath.

Give it a try, getting quiet. Our nervous system and our brain will appreciate us for it.

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I know that in my professional career I am meeting these goals. As a writer, I don’t see how I have the same reach. Maybe the writing is just for me? Maybe the writing is to convince myself that I am strong and resilient? I heard something during this Winter Writing Sanctuary that I am going to incorporate into my writing practice and goals. I heard that ‘being told I’m good’ or ‘getting published or paid’ are not the goals for a writer. My life has been about accomplishments and being the best or on top. I have reached those goals and am still wondering if I am enough in my field. Maybe my writing will become the way of internal realization. I started a project like that a long time ago with a book idea. It never got finished. Realizing my own worth outside of external validation and accomplishments has been void.

Priorities:

* Write a minimum of 5 times per week for 30 minutes each time

* Learn more about poetry - this course taught me I really don’t know anything about poetry

* Read more - 1 book per month minimum

* Consider joining a group - considering cost

* Be more vulnerable and share some of my work out loud

* Work on my short stories and complete 2 this year

* Submit for 2 writing competitions in 2025 instead of every one offered by Writer’s Digest

I need to stop my workaholic tendencies to make time for my personal goals. I need to put myself first and let go of some of my professional responsibilities. I need to find joy and internal peace so I can move forward for myself. I need to make the above-mentioned priorities my goals and become the next phase of my existence. I am in the last quarter of my lifespan. I am tired. I am exhausted with dealing with problems and being the expert problem solver or motivational manager. It’s time for me! Maybe then I will write something memorable or useful to others.

Appreciate this assignment. Thank you

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Karla

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I didn’t use the candle or flame today as instructed in the guided meditation. The day outside was too beautiful to ignore. Winter. Snowfall lightly. Grey sky with shimmers of reflection from the flakes. Instead I focused on the layers of bare trees before me just outside my writing desk window.

First, the Japanese Maple within arms reach of my window. Bare, swaying gently in the crisp breeze. There are a few holdovers - shriveled burnt red leaves handing on as if to say ‘we’re staying right here’ ‘you can’t make us go’! I appreciate their tenacity. I welcome them.

The next layer in the far left corner of the lawnscape is the magestically tall strong old man evergreen tree. He scares me sometimes. His height and how the entire trunk sways in each wind storm or gentle breeze. I fear one day he will topple. The damage will be great! Electrical lines, homes, fences, garages, sheds, gardens. He holds the snow steadily in his great arms. Like the biceps of a weightlifter! Sometimes he lets the snow drop off - with a muffled thud!

These tree friends are part of my circle. They speak to me. I connect with the to help breathe and calm my activation of fear. I connect with them when sitting outside under their shade in the summer. I connect with them under the bright red blaze of autumn leaf dazzle!

The trees are my friends and meditation partners who provide strength and softness to my soul. Grateful

.

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Sid sees Cyndi disembarking from the plane. He rushes to wipe the tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his scratchy grey sweater. Cyndi is wearing floral patterned worn flip flops, a pink sarong wrapped around her emaciated frame, and a long-sleeved Chicago Bears hoodie that was given to her by a generous young man on the plane. Barely finding the strength to make her way up the ramp of the entrance gate to meet Sid, Cyndi looked tired, grey and gaunt.

Sid, crying and smiling at the same time, and Cyndi fall together into an embrace that would seem to last hours before Cyndi melts into the tile of the airport gateway floor, exhausted. Sid tried to block her fall but in his own exhaustion crumples beside her still crying. Cyndi is home. Home from the month’s long captivity in South America. Home from the lack of nutrition, sleep, and caring. Home from the torture. Cyndi is home and Sid will help her transition back to life in Chicago. It is winter now.

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The wind stings my exposed cheeks

Settled down cozy

Neglected rose bush

Unclipped hydrangeas stand dry

Must prepare for spring

Snow coming Monday

Prepare the Snow Joe today

Predictions are false

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He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The entire poem by Frost is my favorite ever since I was a young girl. I remember my second grade teacher reading it to us in class and me being able to imagine myself there, in the snowy woods on my horse. Fast forward and I became a horsewoman and had the connection one makes with their horse. The communication is holistic. “He gives his harness bells a shake to ask if there is some mistake.” If we are attuned, we can communicate well with each other - horses and humans I mean. Same with dogs and humans. At least in my world. Not so much the same for me with humans and humans. I don’t know if it’s my own protective mechanisms that get in the way of the attunement with humans because of my learned experience of not trusting them, or if it’s something else. Yes, I do know. It’s protection.

This is January 1st. The opportunity to partner with my protective parts and, perhaps, embark on a new mission to gently risk human attunement. I can choose one worthy candidate and give it a go.

I hear the harness bells and can see the breath of the horse as he snorts whilst shaking them. The air is cold. The snow is gentle. The wind is - yes - easy. Maybe I will risk this human attunement at a gentle, easy, cautious pace.

I dare not mess with Frost! This is a sin!

I would add about a trip into the dark woods and arrive at my barn and fall asleep on the hay with the horse standing by.

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“After Frost - The Solemn Barn”

I awaken in the barn after navigating the miles of dark woods.

The horse who communicated the urgency to beat the snow

Stands guard while providing me with a binaural beat of chewing alfalfa.

I pull the hoodie over my head and roll over with the saddle blanket.

Back to peaceful sleep with my guardian slowly chewing his breakfast.

Happy New Year! Peace, Kindness, Compassion