Welcoming Winter

October 27th and the schools are closed in Duluth, Minnesota. Sixty mile per hour winds and snow, not falling gently, but blowing sideways. Twelve ships have found safe harbor here and are waiting out the storm. They are saying this storm is more severe than the ferocious northwest winds and seas that washed as high as eight to 12 feet over the Edmund Fitzgerald in 1975 taking her down to the bottom of Lake Superior.

The fire is roaring. I sit and listen to the crackle and hiss of snow covered wood. It is a contemplative mood. I have been parked under a down throw answering emails, searching through recipes and gathering thoughts for future muse. The end of October seems entirely too early to be welcoming winter. The animals are already beside themselves for what to do in doors all day long. I have more than enough to entertain myself and I welcome this storm; appreciating my captivity.

Few things are more inviting than a warm kitchen on a cold day–especially one steeped in the redolence of savory dishes and delectable desserts baking. Today is perfect for the oven to be working full-time These past few days I have decided to take up bread baking. Each time I go to the store, I am lured by the artisan breads and appalled by the increasing costs– five and six dollars for a loaf of bread! While many find the time it takes to knead bread therapeutic, kneading is most likely what kept me away from the experience of regular bread baking. I have a mixer on loan to me inclusive of a bread hook that aids me in turning out perfect loaves each and every time. However, bread making is a unique experience, with each loaf, batch and dough having its own personality. Once upon a time, I owned a bakery. Baking did not captivate me. I suppose having a new- born, working an additional full time job and running a bakery business did not lend itself to enjoyment of the art. Now I relish being up to my elbows in flour. I have learned to fold the dough rather than punch it down, to strengthen it as the gases are being redistributed. I've learned to create a steamy environment for the bread to thrive. Perhaps the loaves are not perfectly shaped, but they are delicious and beautiful and I relish the fact, I am learning something new daily. My new practice has slowed life down.


These days, my mornings start with feeding the animals, brewing a pot of coffee, starting the fire. I absorb the predawn silence with mediation and check in with the morning news. I decide on what tasks to take on. I assemble ingredients for the day's bread or layout materials for a craft project and allow myself to be carried by whim and fancy. I am so ever grateful for this sabbatical in time.

As winter whispers hello the days pass effortlessly and chores feel joyful. The wood is piled high next to the wood stove The winds have calmed a bit and the pup and I just came in from a romp in the snow. I tried my best to distract him from the doe standing silently only an arms reach away. Lunch is in the making–a salad of tender greens–buttery spinach and the sweet of craisins and poppyseed dressing are perfect accompaniment to a juicy tender pork loin accented by luscious pear sauce. Herbed popovers with their crumbly tops and chewy centers are the baking excursion for the day. My heart and hearth prepares for the quiet of the season.

~The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
of the big lake they call "Gitche Gumee."
"Superior," they said, "never gives up her dead
when the gales of November come early!"

autumnal awakening

October 12, 2010 and the skies are cool and grey. Early morning and I am undecided which direction to take Sitka on our daily walk. My decision is usually made by how long I feel like hiking and where would Sitka have the most freedom. There is fog obscuring the lake below and the temperature is a chilly forty-eight degrees. I decide the shelter of Chester Creek’s ravine will make the hike more pleasant and hiking the incline will have me shed my jacket in no time. Chester Creek is one of twenty-three major creek ravines in the City of Duluth. Spring fed, it rises in the area of Rice Lake and Arrowhead Roads. But it is the trail from Chester Bowl down to Fourth Street and back that I am so enamored. This 2.5-mile loop trail is somewhat steep and is considered challenging. Each and every day that we venture out is a new excursion. With the season rapidly changing the trail morphs with the constant loss of foliage. Underfoot the leaf bed thickens with rich decay. I can see the creek tumbling down the hillside from points on the trail where I could not see it just a week or so ago.

My practice today is to be part of its nature–not to think and plan but just see, feel, hear and smell the environment that envelops me. It is best to remain present to keep my footing. The roots of trees and rocks protrude making me feel klutzy as my eyes take in the lingering color of the oak and ash trees. I am surprised at discovering leaves yet green and the amount of gold when the vast majority has bared their branches save for a leaf or two. I almost always forget the path that I walk is dead center in town. The cascading water carries me away to the wilderness this was once a part.



Igneous rock sculpted by glacier and water erosion created the geographical features of the creek. The rock formations found in this general area are part of the core of the continent, The Great or Canadian Shield. This volcanic rock is more than one billion years old, some of the oldest on earth. At the top of the park is the historic shoreline of Glacial Lake Duluth. The deposits of red clay found throughout the park were lake bottom sediment, eroded silts from younger volcanic and sedimentary rock washed down by water flows from the retreating glaciers.

The White Pines at this spot are a reminder of the importance of the lumber industry in the history of Duluth. Although the original forest in and around Duluth was heavily logged at turn of the 20th century the steep creek banks prevented the removal of some mature trees so that there are specimens here that are more than 100 years old. White pine for me holds the most majesty.

My thoughts are carried to the gratitude I have for the opportunity to experience the creek as it changes with the season on a daily basis. When I was consumed with the tasks of work and housekeeping I would walk the trail as part of an exercise regime another task to complete on my excursions north. Now the trail is a daily meditation, a portal to hear more clearly the whispers of my soul. In another instant, I hear a child’s laugh carried on the breeze but I realize it is only a premonition. Without realizing it I am projecting to future walks with Halyn, Reed and Myla. I so want to share the magic and the mystery of these surroundings. I hope to travel the creeks and waterways, forests and meadows foraging for treasure as my fellow explorers fall in love with what nature has shown me.

Sitka and I reach the top of the trail just below Chester Bowl. Walking down into the ravine is the antithesis of others’ paths. I walk down with the cascading water and return hiking uphill to be rewarded by my favorite part of the creek where the talus makes the tallest drop and makes the most spectacular of the falls. I am slowly becoming more proficient at my walking meditations. I take a seat on rock where water divides and starts to tumble down. The sun has broken through and a shocking blue sky reveals itself above. In this moment I return to my senses and abandon all thought allowing the feeling to etch memories I hope to one day share.

10.10.10

10.10.10 has numerological significance to the universe, to me. October 10, 2010 has a distinctive number sequence. I woke this morning to read a numerologist account of the day’s significance. The number 10 is represented three times, and only three different digits appear: the 0, the 1 and the 2. There are also noteworthy “coincidences” among the hidden numbers. For example, the 0 and the 2 dominate what numerologists refer to as Challenges — numbers whose presence denotes obstacles and difficulties we have to overcome in order to grow and move forward. These past months I have wondered if I have just been adrift. To an extent, I have been floating downstream in my existence. Although, this is a vast improvement to the years I have struggled paddling upstream trying to control my circumstances to no avail. I kept managing the challenges, but without noticeable growth or forward movement.

My fiftieth year came along with three more. I have been postmenopausal for at least that many. My forties came and went and I survived a tumultuous, drama-filled relationship to uncover how far I was capable of losing my soul. When I could finally trust myself again, I ventured out to discover what love had in store for me and I hit the pavement, literally. I found myself flying across the country to bring home my son who was in the grips of addiction. My first grandchild arrived in the crux of drama and feelings of trepidation. At the height of exhaustion and frustration, I quit my job–retired. I think I could cash in and add to my pension if I received a five spot for every time I was told I am too young to be retired.

It is unseasonably warm this tenth day of October in northern Minnesota. I have been watching ships ease out into Lake Superior from the safety of the harbor while soaking up final rays of the sun as it drenches where I lay in the hammock. I take pride now in the amount of time I give myself to do nothing but just be. It creeps into my awareness that I have not honored the accomplishment of arriving or maybe it’s more like becoming. It isn’t so much about the chronological phases in my life, rather a shedding of an old skin or maybe I am molting. I know I have been on a journey of becoming new. The newness is being defined in each moment of each day as it unfolds. I have not been able to find the word for myself. I have been separated from the word by some internal process that has almost been too subtle to realize. It feels like I drifted through this journey unconscious. It is now almost dream like–recovering from a catastrophic accident, turning 50, moving away from being a fertile female, starting a new marriage, Halyn’s birth, my son’s recovery, ending a career. And said career was most definitely a life’s purpose. Being a teacher has always been who I am while interwoven with parenthood. And now–my purpose?

I am and will be eternally grateful for being able to wake up every morning and never go to just a job. My life has always been filled with meaning and direction. The tasks of teaching academic content, being counsel and giving sage advice on life’s perplexities, watching my student’s move out to make their marks on the world along with raising two extraordinary human beings have filled my life and my world. As I look back on it all, I am grateful that I could hear the inner wisdom whispering, “It is time to move on.” I could no longer be a sage within the box in which I had found myself confined. I was no longer able to find me in this small space with so little oxygen. There was something new underfoot. The earth rumbled. I was losing my balance. I was running out of breath.

There is much significance to the gift of time I have been given. I don’t think I have been present to this gift, until now. I don’t know if I truly understand its richness–yet. Now there are two more grandbabies. There is no doubt this gift allows me to be in this new role. A role I will need to learn how to be. I never thought of myself as anyone’s grandmother, not this soon. I must have had this role reserved up on a shelf for a much later time in my life. I am ever grateful for being present for their births, not just physically present, but emotionally in the here and now. I am like the autumnal season. The fall brings time to slow and retire and burst forth again with spring. I am blessed and fortunate enough to have at it again. I know I have it in me to hear what whispers to my soul.

Home base has been this house for twenty-four years. I am occupying the space for the first time. I have never had the fortune and the pleasure of inhabiting the entire house. I always rented out the first floor apartment. The first floor now is a studio where I can play with images and words. Even now as we share our space and our views with guests, I am able to play with the space and learn how to be in it. I have always been running somewhere, looking for something, teetering on the edge of the next big something. Remarkably, I have returned here to this house on the hill overlooking the greatest of lakes. In all I have been seeking, my final destination is finding balance. I lay in the hammock breathing in the scents of burning leaves. I watch the seagull being held by the breeze. The light is low and diffused in a warmth I have not ever experienced. In all these years, I have never spent hours reveling in October’s light on my own deck. The sun dips below the roof next door and I decide to start a fire on the patio that I built with my own hands this summer. I pour a glass of wine and I grab the computer to feel the flow of characters on the screen. I am hoping the physical act of striking the keys will unscramble these thoughts about arriving in my fifties, being early retired, becoming a grandmother all the while holding seeds of creativity waiting to be planted. It all happened without barely a notice.

The Days Grow Short

I am savoring the last days of summer. Don’t we all exclaim where did the season go? Each year, time slips by even more quickly. So it seems. Once we arrived home in Duluth, I intentionally moved more slowly and breathed in all I could of warm, sultry, humid afternoons. We are not at all accustomed to sweltering weather in the northland and it has been hot. I stopped moving. This is my year to slow down and find my peaceful place. I have had a strong inkling that I would never find happiness and satisfaction “out there”. All that I have searched for is right here in my home and in my heart.
This morning I startle to a plant stand toppling over out on the deck as a storm barrels through. I stumble downstairs to close the windows and give the wet, wood floors a quick mop while the coffee brews. I open the computer to look at the weekend forecast; the foretold temperatures are telling the change of season. I think it may be a bit early to pack up flowery skirts, but this nippy day will send me scurrying for a fleecy sweater. I may be eager for autumn, but I am certainly reluctant to let go of summer. This summer we have lived in the house. A place for contemplation is a porch we have never really used until now. Pleasant afternoons have been spent, sipping a glass of wine and watching ships come and go, wiling away the time in a woven lace hammock. We created space for contemplation and rest. I spend a few moments daily seeking refuge from the sun and take time for tea.
The past few days have been steeped in stillness. Sometimes it is under the guise of a meditation practice that I must make myself sit still and observe each moment. It’s then that I find I really am practicing meditation. As the season slows, I hope to be more comfortable with being still. I often become fidgety and feel the need to do something, accomplish a mountain of tasks perhaps that could never in a lifetime be accomplished anyway. I now no longer have to wait for the weekend. I can take on this and that on any given day now that I am retired. This is the year of me. I may have exclaimed that in years past, but I have never really learned how to be selfish enough to make it all about me. Now I vow to waste more time, to watch the waves roll in one after another, to take naps, to walk the dog more, watch the travel channel, play with words, meditate in my garden and find the meaning of radical rest.
Rest can still be as foreign as my distant culture's siesta. I still fill every day with something to do. In this new life I am creating, I intend to revisit the Sabbath… Sunday with its special feeling–leisurely, quiet, sleepy and special. There is something about once having Sunday sacred. I am guilty of filling the day like any other with chores and errands and projects. If Goddess rested on the seventh day then I have lost an important lesson. I have never needed a building to enter for worship. For me nature nurtures and on my Sabbath it is the ritual I need to return to– walking in the woods, the crunch of sun-burnished leaves underfoot, making the first prints in the snow, breakfast while I languor in bed, tending to sacred space in the house. Like love, my soul needs nurturing. This year is my journey into the next chapter of my life. Understanding those who came before me as I grow older and savoring that connection while sharing that understanding with my children and grandchildren. Sharing what I learn about who I am through words on a page is my foray to connectedness. Thomas Moore reminds us: Soul is not about understanding it’s about connecting.
As fall returns with refreshing crisp breezes, cool temperatures and fading afternoon sun, I am learning to be more present, to be ever mindful of the simple tasks that I intentionally place in my day. Most importantly I cultivate stillness and tend to my soul as the days grow short.

Home again

It's the middle of a hot sultry summer in the northland. I am home in Duluth. I mean– I am at my home. I am home and no longer living in two places. This is it, we have arrived. It didn't seem like the day would ever come. It was a long process, longer than it takes most people to move. I couldn't fathom any other way to get a full house into an already full house but to move it a little at a time. I think we started making trips with our possession back in March. We finished with the final trip at the end of June. July 3rd we were having our first of a long list of summer guests. There are a couple of boxes yet to be unpacked, but I now feel settled. I wake early, however, never as early as my work days. I am just starting to wrap my head around being retired. I don't know if I will really have a sense of what that word feels like until September. After Labor Day has come and gone and I no longer set an alarm, well then, maybe I will comprehend this new chapter in my life.

I hope to savor these next few months like my favorite wine. The time always seems to flow by so quickly. I make the most of my days by becoming ever more mindful. Planting flowers and tending to them morning and evening is becoming a meditative practice. Watching something grow is bound to slow the frenetic pace I was keeping. The dog and I are exploring new paths and trails daily. Sitka has become an almost constant companion. Gerard spends this time trying to find his way through his things and create space for his work. We reconnect for meals and to sit on the deck and read. We are together, but our tasks are often solitary. We never drift too far for too long. But, I look forward to making time to reconnect on a soul level again.

Tonight the sky is an ever changing impressionist watercolor. The reggae music from Bayfront Park dances on its ledger right on up to my deck. I move to the beat of the one drop as if I were down there front and center. The rhythm is perfect in this heat and the breeze is enough to cool the dewy sweat beading on my skin as I dance. If I weren't as sure as I am that I am home in Duluth, I could be easily persuaded that I am in the islands. I drift easily and effortlessly into my dreams on the sweet reggae notes.

Lost in the archives

February 26, 2010

Somewhere under the snow covered ice a silent spring is ready to begin the season’s thaw. Sitka seems to know this. He feels life awakening as we walk on frozen water. Rebirth is both literal and figurative. Today, I am 53 years old. At this very moment, I am flying straight north over the Rocky Mountains to a wedding in Seattle. As my dear friend embarks on a new journey, in a new life, with a new man, in a new country, I know a new journey awaits me. Like the spring I am emerging, starting anew. I am leaving a career of the last 30 years behind. Something under the ice is giving way. There is no clear direction just a yearning to be re-emerge from the winter and grow wings.

Although I feel the stirring of newness, I am ready and willing to just be… be still, be quiet, be aware and be able to listen to a whisper that started more than a winter ago, I don’t know exactly when, but this whisper is acquiring a voice, sweet and clear. My practice of presence is the only tool I have to really hear this voice. My previous lives have always had me orchestrating every note–a mad conductor thriving in the cacophony. Now the notes are sweet and simple. I will follow the tune and listen to where the melody takes me.

The change before me gained new clarity the day before my fifty-third birthday. My a-ha –I need to be a human being, rather than a human doing. I am not always, in fact rarely, comfortable in stillness. I even felt guilty–guilty for not taking a bigger responsibility in changing the world. As if the social change agent I have been these past three decades has not been enough. What I know now–today–is that I am enough. I have done more than enough. I have even inspired others to do this work along side me. That inspiration has been the torch that I pass on. It is enough.

It is within reason to be reflective to just be still, to just be for a while. To listen to what the next “big thing” is. What I know for sure is that for my ship to come in, I first must build a dock. This time of a personal sabbatical is for me to know who I am truly meant to be. My teaching life has been one God-given purpose. But now I know there is something else. It is not a clear vision. The only path I can see down is to head back North and settle into the Duluth house. The occasional visits and vacationing weeks are not quite enough to know what we should do with the house–keep it and learn the ways of the hinterland, or sell it and discover warmer environs. I can see basking in the warm summer sun, enjoying the never-ending views and then make like snowbirds to visit friends and family in southern climates.

This summer we will pack up the remnants of Gerard’s previous life and only the most poignant possessions from these past four years together. We have collected two cats and a dog, a jewelry shop, more books and a host of memories of living on the river. The price for the views of the St. Croix, at this present moment, is continued teaching. I have loved this vocation, but it has evolved into a creature that takes from my soul more than I am willing to give. Gerard hearing me strum my guitar for the first time, asked me why I no longer play. What came tumbling from my lips is that it takes time and commitment to practice and during the school year I don’t have that kind of time to waste… Waste? That one little word was a huge moment of revelation. Last year, I would come home from school to sit behind my computer and work on reports until I dropped into bed. My work world was a passion yes, but for me to consider the passion I felt for producing notes on strings a waste definitively told me I was out of balance.

This summer, I can rise each morning and listen to the rhythms of my life. I can sleep. I can read. I can garden. I can be still and just be with the stirrings in my soul.

For my ship to come in, I must first build a dock

What I know for sure is that for my ship to come in, I first must build a dock. This time of a personal sabbatical is for me to know who I am truly meant to be. My teaching life has been one God-given purpose. But now I know there is something else. It is not a clear vision. The only path I can see down is to head back North and settle

into the Duluth house. The occasional visits and vacationing weeks are not quite enough to know what we should do with the house–keep it and learn the ways of the hinterland, or sell it and discover warmer environs. I can see basking in the warm summer sun, enjoying the never-ending views and then make like snowbirds to visit friends and family in southern climates.

This summer we will pack up the remnants of Gerard’s previous life and only the most poignant possessions from these past four years together. We have collected two cats and a dog, a jewelry shop, more books and a host of memories of living on the river. The pr

ice for the views of the St. Croix, at this present moment, is continued teaching. I have loved this vocation, but it has evolved into a creature that takes from my soul more than I am willing to give and still be healthy. Gerard hearing me strum my guitar for the first time, asked me why I no longer play. What came tumbling from my lips is that it takes time and commitment to practice and I during the school year I don’t have that kind of time to waste… Waste? That one little word was a huge moment of revelation. Last year, I would come home from school to sit behind my computer and work on reports until I dropped into bed. My work world was a passion yes, but for me to consider the passion I felt for producing notes on strings a waste definitively tells me I am out of balance. This year on many a day, I pack it in at the end of our contract time and call it a day. The price of shortened work hours is average teaching with guilt setting in for not being all that and more. Guilt is a signpost for leaving on a sweet note.

I will rise each morning and listen to the rhythms of my life. Meditation has not been mastered. It is a practice I will incorporate daily. I will not have to take Sitka walking at 5 am unless

it is my hearts desire. I will find my own grandmotherly wisdom and now have the time to be with three angels. I will collect materials for and create my driftwood mobiles. Gerard will teach me beading. I will play my guitar.

I can center myself in peace and set an intention of sending peace into the world. The grace of my life will the meditation. In grace, I build my dock, with the light of serenity as my beacon, I will guide the ship.

To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable; and wealthy; not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly..to listen to stars and buds, to babes and sages, with open heart; await occasions, hurry never... this is my symphony. ~William Henry Channing

•The Next Big Thing

Somewhere under the snow covered ice a silent spring is ready to begin the season’s thaw. Sitka seems to know this. He feels life awakening as we walk on frozen water. Rebirth is both literal and figurative. Today, I am 53 years old. At this very moment, I am flying straight north over the Rocky Mountains to a wedding in Seattle. As my dear friend embarks on a new journey, in a new life, with a new man, in a new country, I know a new journey awaits me. Like the spring I am emerging, starting anew. I am leaving a career of the last 30 years behind. Something under the ice is giving way. There is no clear direction just a yearning to be re-emerge from the winter and grow wings.

Although I feel the stirring of newness, I am ready and willing to just be… be still, be quiet, be aware and be able to listen to a whisper that started more than a winter ago, I don’t know exactly when, but this whisper is acquiring a voice, sweet and clear. My practice of presence is the only tool I have to really hear this voice. My previous lives have always had me orchestrating every note–a mad conductor thriving in the cacophony. Now the notes are sweet and simple. I will follow the tune and listen to where the melody takes me.

The change before me gained new clarity the day before my fifty-third birthday. My a-ha –I need to be a human being, rather than a human doing. I am not always, in fact rarely, comfortable in stillness. I even felt guilty–guilty for not taking a bigger responsibility in changing the world. As if the social change agent I have been these past three decades has not been enough. What I know now–today–is that I am enough. I have done more than enough.

I have even inspired others to do this work along side me. That inspiration has been the torch that I pass on. It is enough.

It is within reason to be reflective, to just be still, to just be for a while–maybe a few months; maybe a few years–to listen to what the next “big thing” is.

•It's Time

I'm on the brink of a life changing decision. This new year holds so much promise and the excitement of what is to come. We are at the height of winter and when I would most expect sleepy hibernation of my dreams, I find the snow-capped landscape in the bright sunlight shine a new light a new direction. The school district for which I work has denied my request for a sabbatical- my safety net. When I devised this plan, I had committed to myself that if denied, I would retire. The time has come. It is time to show up and be who I have dared to dream I would be.

Yesterday, I sat in front of

the fire under a moon so full to just be with this decision. The early morning quiet always provides that space for serenity and reflection. I did my best to just be with this decision and my possible fears. In all honesty, for thirty years, I have loved what my vocation has been. I am a teacher. I have never had to go to work. I have been able to get up and go do what I love. It has taken me those thirty years to have earned my present salary. I think this may be the most significant fear I have –to walk away from what I have earned. But, I have also earned a loving and committed relationship. I am in love with a man who will support me financially, spiritually and emotionally. I have a beautiful space to live, in fact, I have two beautiful spaces to live. We will retreat to the lake house and give up the river house. Finally, I trust in the universe to bring an answer to my intentions. For the past six months, I have been saying I am done with the paperwork. I love my teaching and my students with a passion. However, I no longer want to spend my weekends writing reports. It is clear to me that if I work on the weekends or during my evening hours it has to be on something that makes a difference for my students– engaging lessons, reflective exercises–something that promotes their intellectual and soul growth. Under present circumstances, the job requires mountains of paper I can no longer produce.

If I listen to the stirrings of my soul, I recognize the universe is moving me towards the business of bliss. I have long held passions that I have all put on the back burner or extinguished. One day while chatting with Gerard, I said, "I don't have the hours to waste," when explaining why I don't play my guitar. I heard myself, I really heard myself. In my estimation, all my extra hours are to be dedicated to getting my reports done. Plain and simple–hogwash! I will now follow my heart, create a new career, most importantly create. I can still teach, but first I will become a student. Come a year from now, I will be enrolled in massage school in Costa Rica. From this moment until then, I will be about creating. I am in the process of creating the body I want to

inhabit. I have long been less than pleased that I can not move in all the ways I know I am capable. I will create strength, outer and inner. I will create music with words on a page as well as notes on a guitar. I will create the art from nature's remnants I find along my way. I will create the new chapters for my book of life.

~Winter ....is a time to gather golden moments, embark upon a sentimental journey, and enjoy every idle hour. ~John Boswell

•Snug Places to Dream

Living on one of the world's two largest fresh water lakes offers stunning winter vistas. Lake Superior stretches before me like an ocean. Sheets of lake ice collect along the beach like crystalline castles. No walking on water today. I am missing my off-leash space for the pup. The snow today is heavy and wet. However, temperatures are moderate and I am content to have Sitka determine where our two hour walk will lead. I have never enjoyed my time outside in the winter as much as I have this year–with the exception of the perfect day skiing. Snow shoes are on my wish list. I can only imagine winter becoming even more magical. I look forward to further exploration of breaking trails past frozen falls that stand still like opaque curtains. The silence is palpable. The crunch of my step in the frozen snow is the only sound that allows the world the knowledge of my existence.

We make our way home for hot tea and lunch. As the snow drifts and the world quiets, it seems right to settle in front of my fire and read the afternoon away. I towel off the dog. The fire starts at the strike of a match. I finish my exercise regimen with my yoga practice, then draw a hot bath. I will then pull the wing chair and foot rest closer to the fire, settle in to spin a web to collect future plans and dreams.

~With years a richer life begins. The spirit mellows. John Townsend Trowbridge

•Contemplating life on adrenaline

Over the next three days, life's schedule will be totally topsy turvey. I will be helping students move through their final semester exams. I hope they are prepared. I hope I am. Working through an exam for a learning disability student is a feat in itself. A student who may not be able to focus, will have one focus, get through the test and there will be five, maybe six of them. As a teacher, I will have to be prepared to assist students who can not focus, who need a lot of light and those who need low light, students who can not read the test items, and those who have visual perception issues and can not fill in the bubble sheets, another who's test anxiety will make her physically ill. We will have U.S. History, World History, Biology, Chemistry, English, Anatomy, Functions, Statistics and Trigonometry, Advanced Algebra exams all coming into the room at the same time. We will be lucky if the students' teachers have delivered the exams to the resource room and lucky if we will be able to honor the teacher's expectations around test security. I do find it humorous when I find myself wishing my students were centered, prepared and together enough to even contemplate "cheating". It will take everything they have to spend the two hours, and many will take more than the two hours to get through each test. I don't think anyone will ever convince me that this is the method to measure one's knowledge.

This system as a whole has drained me dry. It becomes more difficult to want to function at the super teacher level. I was a super teacher. I once did it all. I started at 4:30 am and ended at 10 pm. I started each day with going to the gym for 2 hours. I would arrive at work early. I assisted students with learning issues and how to overcome or side-step the problems. I created amazing lessons. I did all my federal paperwork and Individual Education Plan meetings with intention and meaning. I advise a group of students who want to change the world and once facilitated their amazing performance art. I connected with communities of color and looked for workshops and learning opportunities for my own growth, but it was at a price.

Teaching students different study strategies, organizational skills and post-secondary planning is my primary role and what is deemed even more important by the district, is the paperwork and parent meetings that say we will address the student needs on an individual basis. It has become impossible to prepare, plan and write these reports in a school day, so I have always taken that work home with me, hence the still working at 10 pm. It never felt like work. It does now. There is less time for creativity, the fun lessons and the discussions about life all have to wait because someone has to pass a test.

I can't do it anymore. At 6pm, I don't want to even think about school anymore. At nine o'clock, I am usually asleep. I use to play guitar and write and create art. I took yoga classes and kickboxing. I had friends. Over the years those joys and passions have had to wait until break, until summer, until I retire.

Recently, the price seems too high. When I come home these days, I want to be home. I no longer want to work until I drop. I don't want to work at all when I walk through the door. I want to watch Oprah, walk the dog for as long as I feel like it rather than scheduling 30 minutes so I can finish a report. I want to enjoy cooking a meal. I want to do an hour of yoga. I want to read a book!

I don't think I want to continue living life on adrenaline. I want to give more attention to things that matter. My students matter, but no one will convince me that that 12 page report that will be filed, possibly round filed, makes a difference. What makes a difference is problem solving with a student through a difficult night with a parent who had been drinking, teaching a test-taking strategy, demonstrating brain yoga, creating short hallway theater pieces around social justice issues. What matters now even more are my personal passions and a balance that includes them both-work and my life. All the hours, all the accomplishments, being patted on the back for a job well done (which we rarely are) won't make a difference if the adrenaline has me crash and burn.

It took me an entire summer to recover from last year's burnout. Halfway through this year, I recognize it is time to rekindle passions that are dimming. I do not have to let my fire go out. I know I do want to return in the fall. But I also know, I will also seek out a new direction. I will break away and focus on my a new social and spiritual path next year this time, body work training in the Nicoya Penninsula, Costa Rica.

For now, in the present, this very weekend, I will center myself in front of the fire, revel in the quiet of my house in Duluth, watch the snow softly fall, and read. I don't have to be super teacher for the next three days. What I really want is to burrow under the covers and stay in my jammies all day. This is where I find pleasure. This weekend I will seek out simple pleasures. I can walk Sitka as long as I like on the edge of the St. Louis River. I can stop for a hot chocolate in any number of coffee shops along the way home. I can make a cup of tea while watching ships pass in the night. I look around me to see a life full of beauty and grace. From this place of serenity, I quietly ready myself for the next semester... no adrenaline needed.

•A moment's repose

A cup of tea in hand and an afternoon of solitude allows time for daydreaming and relaxing. There is no set agenda; however, the day unfolds perfectly. Sleeping until daylight set the stage for perfection. I grabbed a yogurt and started the coffee. I rolled out the yoga mat and completed my thirty minute routine. Gerard headed out the door for a meeting. I cleaned house and started laundry. I was then left with the remainder of the day to do as I pleased. Sitka and I set out for a walk on the ice. There's magic in being able to walk on water. An hour trek could then be traded for an afternoon of idle contemplation. I always settle into my favorite spots in the house, but I needed to break the routine. I pull the rocker into the wide berth of sun streaming into the living room and gaze out on to the snow covered river. The hours ahead have so much potential, but I choose to sit still and revel in the warmth of the sunlight and allow for ideas and inspiration to take wing.

It feels natural to retreat from the frantic pace of a work week. I dream of about days in retirement and the freedom to just be. When nothing in particular has to be done and all the time in the world to do it. It's not always easy for me to leave guilt out of an idle equation. I often need a prescription for sitting still. I often need permission to get lost in a book or work on my driftwood creations. The demands of Monday through Friday can easily convince me to turn over my weekend hours. As the sun dips below the ridge on the other side of the river, I revel in the gift of peace and quiet.

As the evening approaches I contemplate a delectable creation that will warm the house and and be so fragrant it will arouse a sleeping husband from a long winter's nap. I will light the candles and start the fire and then retire to the pages of that new book, guilt free.

•Through time and space...

I am a traveler in time and space. There is more to do and see than there is a lifetime to do it in. I guess I will be around a few more times on this earthly plane. Passion is the foundation in my life... a passion to travel is probably the strongest. I have a passion for finding beauty in what others think is ordinary or simply mundane. I find the joy of now... the strawberries barely visible in the grass, the gargoyles atop an otherwise nondescript apartment building, the way the air smells like Spain after a rain. The world applauds the big, the noisy, the obvious. I value the small, the quiet and the subtle. I do my best not take a minute for granted. I have found a person who also finds joy in simple things and can share some of my passions. He at times will join me and wander ... sometimes its as simple as calling out roadtrip, but next year I will venture off to Costa Rica on a solitary mission to learn body work. What a life! I walk the beach daily (I really do have a beach!), lift weights and kickbox. I strap on the rollerblades, from time to time or head up the shore to explore the rivers. Teaching high school has allowed me to be an advisor to an amazing group of kids called STAR/SPAA. I travel home on weekends when I can to ski and sit in front of the fire. I am not a hunting, fishing, camping gal...did a bit too much of it and now roughing it is a bed and breakfast. I believe I live a charmed life. I have the courage to believe in myself and my dreams. Often people set their goals on the big picture, but my joy comes from the details. someone once said, "God is in the detail." so are most of the pleasures in life.

•In the quiet of the Morning

The quiet of the morning includes only the crackle of the fire and the occasional yawn from the dog. I can now only hear my labored breathing; it is the second time I have succumbed to the flu this season. I always think being under the weather is the way of the universe to stop me in my tracks. Was I really moving all that fast? Winter has been kept at bay with 50 degree temperatures all through November. However, December was as it should be and the new year has us in a deep freeze. We are covered with a blanket of snow and it's well below zero outside.

I do love the start of winter. Getting up early, when it’s still very dark out. I start the fire and the coffee. I open my laptop. I don’t turn on any lights and write in the dark, sleepy and cold, a blanket or two across my lap.

This tumultuous year has closed its chapter. Day is breaking and the first morning light bathes the river scape out my window in blue. The silence is broken by the trumpeting of a bevy of swan landing in the open water by the dam. I am the only witness to their beauty the cats and the dog don’t even twitch an ear.

(Photo by my friend Greg Granger. Check out his photography on facebook)

I feel blessed and I am in the deepest gratitude as a new chapter begins for our family.

My son, Chaz's, ordeal is over. The consequences are manageable. He has his job with hours that mess with his body clock, but for now he can work at getting on his feet again. It may be a long road until he is financially free, but his head and heart are in the right place. He is one year sober now, an enormous accomplishment. He is contemplating writing about all that has happened. There is a lot youth can learn from Chaz’s story. He is joyous about being home with Halyn again.

It is a joy watching him be a dad. He is willing to do some work on what it means to be in a relationship. My hope and dream is Chaz can learn from his parents’ mistakes.

Gerard has graduated from school. He is a certified jeweler and is open for business. Agefiozu (pronounced: a je fee o zu) Mind and Body Ware is his company name. He has spent this fall setting up his workshop. I am not sure what sugarplums are spinning in his head, but I have seen his school projects and I love being the model. He can repair your

jewelry and work on fashioning a new design with your old jewels if you wish. I think most importantly, Gerard has been our greatest jewel, our Knight in shining armor. He has been the backbone of this family, our steady eddy. Through this crisis, Chaz an

d I have been able to turn to him for support in every. We are blessed beyond measure.

Erin and Kyle have had an incredibly productive year. They have just moved into a garage… albeit a beautiful garage with knotty pine paneling through out. They built the garage themselves, literally made their own paneling(yep, split the wood from the trees on Kyle's grandpa's land!) and put in their own septic system. I can only imagine what they will do when they start on the house they will build. Through all the construction, Erin was working on her Masters in business administration and just finished. Yes, she has her MBA and with the slow down in the economy her job was iffy, but now there is a turn around for the steel industry and her job as an engineer in the mine is secure.

Halyn is a year old. I can barely

believe it. It has been a blink i

n time. She started walking on her birthday. She loves me to carry her around as she points to everything saying, “was zat?” She is in 7th heaven when I have this computer out and she can type a letter. She is getting her own laptop from me for xmas.

Halyn’s mama is spending more and more time with us. I couldn’t be more proud of the wonderful mother Britta is. Britta’s days are full with school. She is in a nursing program. Chaz and Britta are learning how bury the past and show up to be the best they can be for Halyn.

We have two new members in our family. We adopted a Samoyed/Shepard named Sitka and kitten that Chaz named Moscow. Moscow is Halyn's kitty. He is sweet and patient with Halyn and will play with her no matter how hard she tugs. Sitka has turned out to be a

wonderful companion and he has both Gerard and me off our butts and walking regularly.

As winter descends, we are finding that Sitka is really good with being off-leash and he can go out on his own and com

es right back. I still get out and take him for our official walks. I found out that our three-year old cat Kole is an actual breed: a Norwegian Forest cat. I am new fan of Animal Planet. Britta calls her a fancy barn cat. A barn is where she was born and we saved her from the dog (who is actually a wolf) at that residence. The animals bring a special kind of warmth

to northern winters. Moscow is being a foot warmer as I type.

As for me, well life’s

lessons are being learned. Although, I inherited a worry gene, I am learning to change that biology. Every year, I tell you through my letters that living in the moment is life’s greatest lesson and so it has been again this year. My present this year is being present. If I spend most of my time thinking about the past or future, I am missing life itself. It’s passing me by while I’m elsewhere. I can’t get the most out of life unless I learn to focus on being present, while things are happening. Thinking about all that’s happened, or what might happen or not happen next is useless if my kids’ lives are passing by with me being lost in worry.

I find that I enjoy life more if I’m present rather than having my mind elsewhere. Food tastes better, I have more fun with my family, even work becomes more enjoyable. Worrying about the past and future gives you stress. But being present is almost like meditation. There are no worries. There is just experiencing. I find that focusing on what I’m doing, rather than trying to multitask or multi-think a million different things at once, I actually complete what I’m doing, do a better job on it, and get it done faster. I don’t necessarily do more, but I get things done. It’s the magic of flow. I, basically, am learning to lose myself in whatever I’m doing. It’s a wonderfully productive zone to be in, and a state that also, incidentally, makes me happier.

Last year’s holiday season was fraught with crisis. This year, I am present to the warmth of family and making homespun gifts from the heart. There is no money this year. Our ordeal has left the accounts bone dry. First time I have been in debt in years. Yet, I live in extraordinary abundance... two homes with extraordinary views, a son who is safe and healing, a G-baby who is off and running, a daughter who is married and happy, a husband who stands at my side no matter what. I think I am enjoying the season more than I have in years. We are all together. We are safe and most importantly, we are happy.

“The living moment is everything.” - D.H. Lawrence

Wishing for you all things warm and wonderful in this new year.

~Catherine and Crew

•Resolute

Another year and this time another dollar. I have put a contract out on myself. I joined StickK. I am resolute in becoming the best me I can possibly be. Each year passes and I never quite make the dream of me, in this physicality, a reality. Who I am inside, is a contrast to how I am physically made up. My desire is to have the two images match. I am happy and content and fit and graceful and full of energy and creativity and loving and giving.... on the inside.

The physical reality is that I am carrying 30 pounds of extra weight(at least) and I am feeling my age 52 years and 10 months, when I move. I don't always feel good in my clothes and age and gravity are wreaking havoc on my body. I am coming close to the end of my teaching career. I see myself enjoying and making the most of time. I am looking forward to letting go of the "have to" and reveling in just being; when moving my body is a way of life rather than something I have to squeeze in between report writing and all the other commitments of the work-a-day world. I have committed all my time and energy to the demands of being a learning disabilities teacher for thirty years. Over the past year, the energy is shifting and I am shifting my focus. It isn't easy to let go of all that I have been in this role. Sometimes, I feel there is more that I need to do with the kids, for the kids. However, the paperwork has killed my passion for going in every day and in my heart of hearts, I know it is time to let go.

This winter break has been about radical rest. I am waking when my body says to wake and moving throughout the day doing what I am inspired to do. This morning is a perfect example. The mercury reads -18. I made the coffee and carried in three bags of wood. I started the fire and watched the sun make its way above the clouds blanketing the lake. Reading has been the order of the morning along with contemplation about how I will hold myself accountable to achieve my heart's desire. The contract and this blog are my foray into this new year. I am basking in the sun that streams into the living room. This will be the warmest place to be for the day. I can return to this space and rebuild the fire after hiking with Sitka. This is my choice. My commitment to me~ I will move my body six days a week and my body will shed one pound per week. If I do not make my commitment, five dollars will be given to charity every week. I can do this... all of this....my resolve is unwaivering. This year it is my choice.