katiemae_days

outside in the garden...

I set out on this Monday morning to do a little de-cluttering, internal style. A list of to-do's and random thoughts running amuck in my brain reminded me it was high time I set out to free my mind.

And thanks to the latest crop of weeds that had sprung up in my garden, I worked out my entire core. With every weed, I dug down deep, got to the root and pulled it free. Yes.

Besides weeding, edged the lawn with my new favorite me-powered edger, cleared the beds for winter and hauled a big barrel-load of yard debris to the back alley. Two hours of good, hard labor did my mind and body good. As I cleared the yard, I cleared my mind of all the junk that had been sitting up there in the wee hours of the morning. Outside in the garden becomes my place to work the kinks out and land someplace new. Once I free myself from what bugs me, I feel better, more energized and yes, happier. 

After hours of work in my green space, I took a long look at the pile of weeds I dug and pulled, my reminder of a season now past. Along with the weeds, there are the remnants and rewards of this years crops, brandywine tomatoes, cucumbers, cabbage, kale, collards, pumpkins and purple potatoes. There are the beds now ready for Fall.  

Today I dug in and got my whole self dirty. So grounding it is to have my hands in the dirt, clearing away what gets in the way and noticing all that grows in between. 

Time now to plant something new.

 

 

 

one year ago today...

I woke up this morning feeling energized and entirely grateful as I recognized that one year ago today, I was laid off from my job.

I remember going into work that day which was the day after the Inauguration. I was feeling renewed and excited. By that day(last year), the company had already laid off four people. I asked my coworker, what we could possibly do as a company, as a team to prevent further layoffs. I suggested working less hours, four day work weeks anything. She replied, there wasn't more we could do.

I turned back to my computer screen and thought I want out of here. There I was once more sitting at my desk inside my cubicle daydreaming about what I would do be doing IF I wasn't sitting there. I thought about becoming a Life/Career Coach something I'd already dreamed of years before. I thought about working from home. I visioned it. This exercise in career daydreaming on this day proved to be important because five hours later in surprise to my boss, the HR manager and most important in this story ME, the President of the company called me upstairs and laid me off.

I remember feeling numb and I can notice so clearly now my controls were set for auto-pilot. I offered my sympathies to him that he was experiencing this struggle in his company. I remember wanting the conversation to end fast. I remember looking into his eyes and not having any more to say.
I walked back downstairs and said goodbye to my friends. That part was hard in fact it sucked.

I packed my belongings, got in my car and drove away in surreality. I had been laid off. I dialed a few close friends, my husband. Forget not driving and talking in this moment, I had to talk to someone to find my way back to any sense of the life I knew before 2:30 p.m that afternoon. Each person I talked to reminded me I'd been wanting out of this job for a long time yet I wasn't ready to own that feeling quite yet.

My emotions over the next few weeks traveled from feeling scared to elated to stressed to back to scared again. Traveling the trails of my Survival Mechanism I'm sure.

A few weeks later, I got it. Being laid off was a gift and one that somehow I'd intended to receive. I stopped myself from rushing to another job that had no meaning and instead dedicated myself to figuring out what was next.

For some extra money, I went back to designing websites as Entrepreneur. And most thrilling, I allowed myself to walk into my full mother self and be home.

By summer, I was loving my freedom but knew I wanted to be on path toward growing myself in new ways. I would keep designing websites but considered again pursuing the big dream to become a Coach. I never doubted I would love the work. I loved my work as Counselor and dreamed of directing my passion for listening and guiding in new ways. So in December, leaping across fears as grand as the good ole Grand Canyon, I registered for a rigorous Coach and Leadership Training Program that allows me to work as a Coach while working toward Certification. And now here I am on this day: noticing. being..  here. This day marks 365 days walking forward on my new path.

This is a new journey that began that day last year to be sure and one that so far I am loving. Coaching is work that I know is of me and it feels right. Whatever I discover along the way, this new path is exciting.

Cheers.

words that fell out of my mouth...

in a delicious moment of conversation I noticed these words fall from my mouth: if you break a pattern, you get someplace new. You know when you're struck in a moment by a little self-discovery? Well this was one of those moments.  A-ha I say. A-ha!  I'm beginning to understand what it means to step out of the usual. Practicing as I walk onward.

And she noticed:

the details in one pebble on a beach of millions.  this picture taken by my girl.

a little quiet......

This past Saturday morning, we woke up to a frosty day with temperatures below 30 degrees.Cold for these parts.

The Papa noticed two roses still hanging on their bush as Fall comes to a close. Pink frozen beauty. I shot this picture through an old partial window on our back porch. The window is one of my favorite details in our home. I took some shots sans window too but couldn't get close enough to the rose without getting a poke in the eye. And I needed to be in good form to cook and bake for a big Hanukkah dinner we had that night.

With all sorts of creative projects in progress and a work one too, its taken me until today to post this. Taking time out to really notice this lovely rose that morning and this one too serves as a nice reminder to stop, breathe and enjoy the still.

Now on to bake a batch of cookies for my daughter's school.

Wherever you are, I hope you have some time to breathe in and enjoy the beauty that surrounds you.

a poem shared....

In her recent letter, my niece sent me this line from "The Great Wagon" written by Rumi. I've included the entire poem below but for now, the one line:

*  *  *
Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

*  *  *

Words written thousands of years ago that transcend distance of deserts, mountains, rivers, lands far and wide.  Words that prove time irrevelent.  These words a gift to be sure. This poem a weaving of words that teaches me once again there is beauty in what is, in who I am in all the many layers, in what I do, in where I am in this space in time.

Engaging in what we do in who we are with that is beauty. There is joy in following what I love doing more so than in forcing myself into something where the fire does not burn where my inner voice is saying "no." Moving in the direction where my intuition leads, where my energy ignites feels right. I am learning Who I am is not defined by a job title. Who I am is everything I do. Mother.Designer. Writer. Listener a collage of doing what I love revealed in mixed textures, colors and shapes.

I feel myself pushing on through this path of transition. bush-wacking through rough terrain some days, meandering others through gentle quiet meadows. I stop in moments and take a breath. I appreciate that I am moving, progressing forward at my pace, each step a new frontier in the experience of being. 

This past week I've felt particularly energized when it comes to my work. I completed for the most part my portfolio website. I have more work to do but the site is up and running and that feels good.With the help of a good friend, I put together a new round of my photo notecards to sell and I have a couple of freelance jobs on my plate.And I'm on the verge of making a decision about an educational pursuit that could start as early as January. The training is something I've been dreaming about for years. For various reasons, I've shyed away. I chalk it up to fear prompting me to create excuses for not moving ahead. But why? There are no words I can write or say aloud that make sense. What I know is that through continuing to walk my path, I get somewhere.

There is fear as I look ahead. Fear that I know I can face and greet. Befriend even. Fear that can propel me, challenge me, grow me. Fear and intuition strange cousins.Fear that can halt progress...sometimes. Intuition, that inner knowing that along with courage ignites the next step. Onward. Keep moving onward. Loving all the beauty that surrounds.

I thank my niece for sending this to me this day for inspiring me to think, dream and write.

Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate. We're off to warmer weather for a few days.

* * *

The Great Wagon

When I see your face, the stones start spinning!
You appear; all studying wanders.
I lose my place.

Water turns pearly.
Fire dies down and doesn't destroy.

In your presence I don't want what I thought
I wanted, those three little hanging lamps.

Inside your face the ancient manuscripts
Seem like rusty mirrors.

You breathe; new shapes appear,
and the music of a desire as widespread
as Spring begins to move
like a great wagon.

Drive slowly.

Some of us walking alongside
are lame!

~

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty
and frightened. Don't open the door to the study
and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

Let the beauty we love be what we do.
There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

~

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass,
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase each other
doesn't make any sense.

~

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.

Don't go back to sleep.

You must ask for what you really want.

Don't go back to sleep.

People are going back and forth across the doorsill

where the two worlds touch.

The door is round and open.

Don't go back to sleep.

I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.

Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let's buy it.

~

Daylight, full of small dancing particles
and the one great turning, our souls
are dancing with you, without feet, they dance.
Can you see them when I whisper in your ear?

~

They try to say what you are, spiritual or sexual?
They wonder about Solomon and all his wives.

In the body of the world, they say, there is a soul
and you are that.

But we have ways within each other
that will never be said by anyone.

~

Come to the orchard in Spring.
There is light and wine, and sweethearts

in the pomegranate flowers.

If you do not come, these do not matter.
If you do come, these do not matter

*  *  *

and one more to share

A Community of Spirit-Rumi

There is a community of the spirit.
Join it, and feel the delight
of walking in the noisy street
and being the noise.

Drink all your passion,
and be a disgrace.

Close both eyes
to see with the other eye.

Open your hands,
if you want to be held.

Sit down in the circle.

Quit acting like a wolf, and feel
the shepard's love filling you.

At night, your beloved wanders.
Don't accept consolations.

Close your mouth against food.
Taste the lover's mouth in yours.

You moan, "She left me." "He left me."
Twenty more will come.

Be empty of worrying.
Think of who created thought!

Why do you stay in prison
when the door is so wide open?

Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking.
Live in silence.

Flow down and down in always
widening rings of being.

– Translated by Coleman Barks

my alter ego

 

Before i lived in the pacific northwest, I lived in Boston. otherwise know as the city. While I lived there, I was an urban girl at least that's what I call myself. I lived in the urban hoods of Boston over the span of seven years mainly the Back Bay, Jamaica Plain and a final three-week stint in Somerville on my way out of town.

I loved the city. I lived the city. Because I had no car nor wanted one, I took the train (the "T") or bus to work or rode my bike to work most every day. For exercise, I ran. Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall through the sun, snow and icy rain. Along the Charles river and through the back bay and in town down town. I worked just North of down town in an office building and dressed up for work. I had too. Stockings and all. Even carried a purse that probably matched my shoes.I spent money on clothes and shoes. I think my feet were smaller then.

I lived in old houses either with one friend or many. Friends who are still near and dear even though we now live thousands of miles apart. In Jamaica Plain, I lived with musicians, bartenders and graduate students in a big, old house. One of the beautiful parts of living in that particular house was that music filled the walls daily, nightly. Combined, there were probably well over six hundred cds shared among house mates. I made dozens of mixed tapes; in fact, I still have boxes of them. I'll never toss them. They are my reminder of my old days.

On weekends, we often went to hear live music. I remember wearing black. Alot. Getting dressed was never very hard since I just had to figure out which black shirt to wear with which pair of pants or skirt. We'd hop the train or cab to Kenmore Square in Boston or across the bridge to Central Square in Cambridge. Ahh, memories of the "Middle East" cafe one of my favorite places to see music. Pita bread, hummus and rock and roll in the name of "Treat her Right", "Blood Oranges"and "Morphine." My last year in Boston, 1993, I saw Nirvana the night before "Nevermind" was released. Now that was exciting. I saw the Smashing Pumpkins, Buffalo Tom and Bob Mould, not in mega amphitheaters but in small clubs and bars. As I write I'm listening to one of my favorite albums, "Palomine" from my old days by a band called Bettie Serveert. Music was a central part of my Boston urban girl life. Yeah, music, work and grad school.

I watched several baseball games at Fenway Park and drank beer in more than a few irish taverns.

I wore more make-up back then. Eyeliner. In my early days of the eyeliner scene, I drew an unintentional wobbly line of shimmery green or blue. Finally, I turned to black and dark brown but oh how I shudder now when I take a peak back.

In my urban days, I caught the train to New York now and then and was in the bigger City in the flash of an eye it seemed. I lived in fairly close proximity to dear college friends and saw them often. Flying to see family meant nothing more than a 2 or 3 hour flight. Or less.

My urban girl days cover most of my twenties. Towards the ladder part of that decade when I was rounding at graduate school and working full-time for an amazing not-for-profit, I knew I wanted to see more and take a peak outside Boston town. I flew with a friend to Seattle. I was smitten. Perhaps the romance of "Sleepless in Seattle" or "Reality Bites" seeped deep in my bones. Whatever it was, the west coast feel of the great Northwest hit my soul. I flew back to Seattle one year after I initially visited. I stayed with an old friend I knew from back east who'd moved west. That week, through him I met friends who became my sisters. I decided that week I was going to leave Boston.

I worked another year, finished grad school and packed my bags. I left on a Sunday in the rain. I cried. I was leaving friends and family but I was ready to go. I had a car now for my drive west, a hand-me down from one of my older brothers. Driving felt new again since I'd not been doing much of it in those last seven years. I put my pedal to the metal purposefully and as I rounded the corner of the street where I was temporarily living, I soared inside while the tears of change and leaving rained down. Driving a car towards something new, somewhere new was thrilling. I realized this was my journey. I was in this moment feeling the exhilaration of everything unknown. I picked up my friend in New Hampshire and spent the next five days on the road as we made our way to Seattle. We pulled in on a Friday night in late September 1993. I don't think I've looked back except in missing the friends and family I don't get to see quite as often as I used to.

The first weekend I arrived in Seattle I rode my bike with a friend to Discovery Park along the Puget Sound. There we ran a few miles and rode home. I'd been running on flat city streets in Boston and now I was running up and down big hills on the street and off on trails. I knew as I huffed and puffed making my way very slowly to the crest of each new rise that I had some work to do. Getting more fit as a way of life became a central goal for daily living. I cast aside diets from my former way of life and began eating healthier, more balanced. I started thinking less about how much I weighed and more about how strong I felt. I remember reaching the crest of one big hill feeling my eyes well as I looked to the west towards the Olympic Mountains and the Cascades to the east. I live here I shouted out to myself. I live here. I felt the goodness of my decision to move. I drunk the moment in and savored it.

As I settled in to my new environs, I felt myself shed a few layers of my old self engaging in new experiences, new music, new friendships. I hiked and backpacked and camped high in the mountains. In winter, I learned to hike up trails in the backcountry on skins and ski down. I learn to drink a good microbrew. I found a great job teaching and counseling at a local community college. I took the bus to work or rode my bike an hour to work or back and carpooled. I was creating my new space, designing my new life. I dressed for work but in a whole new way. My once panty hosed legs now donned funky tights. Straight business-style skirts and jackets gave way to loose-flowing skirts and dresses and wide-leg trousers. i grew my hair longer than I ever had before. I knew always I loved Boston and who I was there, what I accomplished but this move marked my personal evolution in the making.

In the first year I moved here, I met the person I would marry seven years later. I have learned that meeting someone when you are in the waters of figuring out just who you are has its challenges. Challenge is good, it grows us I believe. A year after I married, I became a mother. A gift immeasurable. For me, motherhood provides a mirror shining light deep in my soul revealing layers of my own history and of who I want to be. These selves, my east-coast urban girl or me in the Northwest or who I am becoming now are all of me. Layers that make me complex, shape my story and being.

The journey continues. Life changes. I don't hike in the backcountry now. I ski the lift area with my girl. I don't run often. I walk fast and go to boot camp. I still eat well and strive to eat better. I lost my taste for beer but I do like a good glass of red wine. And the music, well that's a constant that sweetly remains. And those flowy skirts and dresses, they do still hang in my closet but are dominated by a good old pair of jeans that I wear most every day with a t-shirt and sweater.

This is my personal evolution in the making and I have to remember to let it keep happening.

The gift of hanging with a old, dear sister-friend this past weekend and getting a taste of my old music inspires me to remember my old days and all of my self. These days are not gone and not forgotten. I played Palomine this morning for my girl while we ate breakfast and practiced spelling words. I danced and sang telling my girl a story from my old days. Who knew when I bought that album some fifteen or more years ago, I'd be playing it in 2009 for my sweet little one.

My alter ego. my friend. here all the while. she reminds me to relax and take a chance. she reminds me to let my hair down and dance and sing to loud music and strum my air guitar proud.

Reporting Live from the Motherland....

 

Oh its been one of those weeks. A hard week. My emotions all tangled, my mood hanging low like the ears of a basset hound and my patience, not at its all time best. I rarely write about these hard moments in the motherland and for that matter in the land of marriage because ..hmmm well, I'm working on figuring out "the because.” What I figure is that I must be embarrassed on some level. I also believe some matters are sacred to be kept private inside the motherland. Boundaries I should respect perhaps. The embarrassment piece though seems a little silly to me, yet it’s a hard one to let go. I know intellectually that feeling embarrassed over the natural development of my dear six-year old or my own cranky mood is nonsense and that I am certainly not alone in my experiences but that doesn’t make it less real.

 

I have talked to a few friends in the motherland about what's happening in their six-year-old world and we come up with the same stories of rising emotions and the emergence of behaviors that are reminiscent of well three and one-half. Tears over what seems like a little thing to us mothers but isn't to our girls. We come to the conclusion that our girls are growing, changing, trying on behaviors like a new pair of pants. They are exhausted after a busy, long day in first-grade. Teachers have even prepared parents for a bounty of emotions in these first few weeks of school.

 

My girl is delighted with her new school, being a first-grader, meeting new friends, playing hard and learning. This makes me feel hugely grateful. As far as emotions and changing behaviors in these first few weeks, mostly what we have experienced is a small meltdown just before dinner. She's tired after playing with friends or is frustrated about having to stop playing and of course she is hungry. We usually manage well by adding some food and water and a hug or two. And she rebounds.

 

This week her tired manifested in the form of whine-redux. Let me say whining if prolonged can test my patience significantly. For this reason, when whining starts, we work to nip it in the bud. Immediately.

 

I start out patient, kind and firm on the age-old no-whining policy in our home that let's be honest has been broken one-thousand times over by any one of us. I say calmly "I would love to listen to you when you use your big voice." I suggest kindly she take a moment or ten to herself until she is ready to ask me for what she wants without sounding like a bike chain in desperate need of oil. Oh I don't know if that makes sense but I'm guessing you know what a whine sounds like. Often my practice of calm works and I remain a peaceful parent. I like these times.

 

Other times when I'm not at my most patient or nourished well the calm can flee resulting in me channeling my not so peaceful self.  And that sucks. I was yelled at as a kid by one of my dear parents. And I do mean dear. I hated it. I swore up and down I would never yell at any child of mine. Well, I have. And again. It sucks. I rarely yell. When I do, I step back and apologize. I beat myself up and judge myself to no end . Productive isn't it? Perhaps, another glimpse into why I don't often write about these harder moments.

 

This week in the sea of whines and valley of more meltdowns than we've had in recent months and the pushing buttons in experimentation of what will mom do if I don’t stop doing what she asked me to stop doing….resulted in my raising my voice ok yelling softly one morning this week.  I was worn down, tired emotionally and frankly feeling compressed. The only way I can explain compression is that my emotions felt pent-up and confined. I was doing everything I could to keep myself together in order to try and parent well. I was feeling cranky and irritated.

 

One reason, the Papa in the house made a comment or two that I didn't like. The tone, the premise, the timing. All wrong. I mean after I have prepared a beautiful meal, cleaned, given him a day to himself to work on some house projects, and a night out with friends; do you think I want to hear as he walks through the door his complaining about my not returning the garbage can or recycling bag to their proper home under the sink. I think what you meant to say dear husband is "dinner smells great and thank you for giving me the night and day today to do what I want." Unfortunately, I wasn't so clever and instead reacted and got mad.

 

The mad turned to irritation and impatience and preoccupation with his poor choice of words in the moment. I cycled and spun out of inner control and outer too. I realize too the other cycle I’m in is that I most assuredly am pms-ing. I can say that not my husband. He may not blame my mood and irritation and all out bad mood this week on my impending period. Only I have permission to do that because damn-it my feelings are real.

 

In effort to counter this travel into blue this week, I ran hard, took pictures, wrote, worked on my business cards and lest I not forget showered. Yes showered. In the spirit of putting my cards on the table, know that I'm not adverse to skipping a day in or two in the shower or to wearing what same T-shirt I wore to bed the next day. I do change my under layer. That I am fastidious about.The run helped so did the shower some and changing my clothes.

 

Still by late Thursday afternoon in the presence of soccer-mom friends, one small tear dribbled out of the corner of my eye. Thank goodness for sunglasses. I was burnt from a long week knowing that I must suck as a Mom surely. How could I raise my voice in response to her umpteenth whine of the afternoon? Um because I am human and I have my moments. One new mama friend reached her hand over mine and that’s all it took to know I was not alone. We all have hard moments. Another old dear friend hugged me and said "oh grrrl--in our way" that makes the other laugh. Another mom reassuringly said "oh you are the fifth nor sixth mom to talk about this same emotional windstorm this week in the world of first-graders." She reminded me in her own words that our girls are in the thick of developmental change. I listened and sat quiet for fear the lump in my throat would open the floodgate of tears I’d already had once this week in the privacy of my own run. And then somehow I found laughter with these good women. And with that perspective.

 

Our day ended beautifully actually. Being in the company of these good women and our kids helped me climb out of my own head and like a said gain a little perspective. For my girl, running and laughing and kicking the ball with her friends helped her get untangled. She climbed into my lap at dinner and hugged me hard. I squeezed her tight. All felt right. Moments come and go. They just do. I want to remember to let them be. I don’t need to apply layers of self-analysis and judgment but rather just sit with the hard stuff because it too shall pass.

 

These are big times for my girl and for me as her mama watching her grow, letting go a little as she learns her way. These are big days as I try and figure out my path. How scary this can feel trusting in a new direction of which I’m not completely sure.

 

My lesson as always: breathe. A dear friend reminded me how when it feels hard, we women try to fix it. Just let yourself feel it right now she said and let it be. Trust what you know and walk towards it. Hard as that is sometimes.

 

There, I share a little more live from the Motherland. Thanks for tuning in.

scenes from a fall morning...

I ran hard this morning. Uphill. Professing my blue mood with each breath, working to burn it through

Breathing in the  cool of this Fall Morning and noticing my surrounds.

Grateful for my friend, deep and true. Sharing as we do on the same plane. Reminding each other in these harder moments. Be still. Breathe out in quiet.

celebrating......

Today, celebrating eight years of marriage.

Eight years since I do, we will, we said.

Mountains in the distance, friends and family in the round. Our stories in between.

 

 

 

Happy Anniversary

six days on the road......

Well not six days actually. We've been away from home about a week so far with an actual three days on the road and the rest of the time we've been hunkered down visiting with my parents in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. The Papa took a class this last week down in Carbondale, Colorado at Solar Energy International. This has been a goal of his for years and finally he was able to attend a class specific for science teachers this past week on renewable energy. Being the multi-taskers that we are, we were able to tie in his course with a road trip to see my family.

I brought my laptop and camera and camera cable with grand plans of hooking into my dad's internet connection downloading photos and keeping up with my posts chock full of photos. Well, my old computer cannot access the network and I've no wireless connection. So while I have a plethora of photos taken from the car zooming at 70-plus miles per hour I'm not yet able to post any here. Yet. I think I'll preserve stories from the road for now until I can post a few photos. I am including one photo of my girl on her bike peddling around my parent's driveway before an afternoon storm came in. She moved up a size on her two-wheeler and is feeling mighty proud.

 

Since we've been at my parents, we have taken some good walks and hit the park. We've helped my parents with a few minor chores around the house that needed attention. Big rains here today which for now has postponed a trip to the pool and biking along the big path near town. But that's just fine. We have games and a piano. And my girl has discovered it. She plays away to her own tune singing songs she's writing in the moment or on the side.  I love seeing the thrill on her face when she is making music. Doesn't matter what it sounds like she's pure joy in the moment and she is bringing such joy right to the heart of her Bapa.

We're both having such fun sitting and making music. I am rediscovering my old piano skills and though I have long way to go to get my keyboard fingers back in shape, I love playing again.  As a kid, I took lessons for years right up through high school. Never practiced enough; in fact, I'd cram a week's worth of practicing in the hour after I got home from school and before I had to leave for piano class. I'd shrink as I walked into my lesson hoping my teacher wouldn't notice that I'd not practiced enough but she always did. And she let me know it, which sucked. I cried more than once in shame for not practicing enough. I never let it sink in that when I did practice, I played well and had fun. I played mostly classical and a little jazz and blues. What I loved most was playing boogie style blues and improvising with the notes I knew. I loved making my own sound.  Then and now.

My dad just dug out a book that's perfect for beginners which I consider myself now. I'm studying, relearning notes and finding my way to reach for a chord or two. I have dreams of being able to sit down with friends and jamming.

I'm glad to spend this time with my parents. With my Dad in particular who is nearing eight-five. He is healthy(knocking right now on every piece of wood around here), but his mind is changing. He is hard of hearing in one ear and deaf in the other but thankfully has a decent hearing aid which helps him hear somewhat with one ear. Talk softly into his ear and he can hear you.

My dad always a quiet gentle man is more quiet now. I like to be with him, helping him organize his office, walking, talking some and just being together. He knows his memory is not the same. He knows he needs to practice reading aloud to get words in his mouth. He knows he needs to be practicing the piano and reading complex articles. He know he needs to exercise his mind like with the diligence he exercises the rest of his muscle. He knows his mind is not the same because he tells me so.

When I am not here, we write each other daily telling of our day. I started doing this with my Dad last year when I noticed more change in his writing.  He is open always about how much he loves us his children and grandchildren and of course my mom. Never an hour goes by without him telling us how special we are to him.  My Dad is a brilliant man, a retired professor who taught post-graduate studies in foreign policy. He changed careers in his forties, got his Masters then PhD with at least six of the seven kids in our family at home all while working full-time. And though I was very young, I remember he was there to say goodnight. Yep, I feel grateful for my dad.

I know my Dad's mind is not the same but I also know he is here right now. I know we don't talk in as much detail as we once did but we talk and our connection has not changed. He is well. Aware. Loving. Present. To be here now with him is a gift.