1. Morning walks. Lately, the only places I’ve wanted to walk are either by the river or in the cemetery, which makes sense — river medicine and death meditation. Both places are bringing me peace at a time when that is so necessary.
2. Hospice. It gives me some comfort to know that they are available to help. And did you know that Medicare covers 100% of the cost? Pays the staff and provides supplies. The people who chose that line of work are angels in scrubs.
3. Practice. It continues to save me, allows me to be present with what is, to not freak out or run away or check out when things get hard — and they get HARD. I’ve been practicing, in particular lately, The Nine Contemplations on Death from Atisha.
4. Good food and being able to make it. It’s one of the things I can do to provide comfort and nourishment, for myself and others, and I’m so grateful for that.
5. My tiny family, small home, little life. While I was in Oregon, Eric made me a daily love note and sent me a picture of it. He even snuck one into the bag of tea I’d packed in my suitcase so I’d find it when I got there. I was so glad to be there with my “other” family when I was, and also glad that I have such a wonderful place and person and puppy to come back home to. It’s good to be here, even as I want to be there.
Bonus joy: smart phones, texting, being able to Google just about anything you need to get or know about, that my mom doesn’t have to worry about money and I know she’ll be able to take care of herself, the support of friends and family, bees, hummingbird moths feeding on my Colorado bee plant, raspberries, how green everything still is this late in the summer, training with Shelby and the gang, aqua aerobics, massage, naps, clean sheets, clean air and water, baby deer, all the birds, trees, the sky, a/c, being confident that I could cook just about anything, a lunch date with Eric, Hendrix and Lia’s first days of school, marionberries, the treats from Depoe Baykery that my aunt brought over, a clean bathroom, being able to let go even when it’s hard, books, good TV, that corner of the couch, flip flops and sandals, being barefoot, malas, dreaming, writing in the morning with a mug of green tea, sharing my breakfast (and every other meal, to be honest) with Ringo, yoga with Jamie, restorative yoga teacher training, access to healthcare, Eric home safe after being gone all day, curls, poetry, making each other laugh, good ideas, being able to get books from the library for my Kindle, reading in bed at night while Eric and Ringo sleep.
Open Space Practice, (AKA: A Thousand Shades of Gray) 
Keeping you in my thoughts, Jill. Liminal spaces can be so hard.
Thank you ❤
You’ve been on my mind all week. So much to be grateful for, even when we are sad. Thank you for reminding us.
❤ Have you ever seen Mark Nepo's poem "Adrift"?
Everything is beautiful and I am so sad.
This is how the heart makes a duet of
wonder and grief. The light spraying
through the lace of the fern is as delicate
as the fibers of memory forming their web
around the knot in my throat. The breeze
makes the birds move from branch to branch
as this ache makes me look for those I’ve lost
in the next room, in the next song, in the laugh
of the next stranger. In the very center, under
it all, what we have that no one can take
away and all that we’ve lost face each other.
It is there that I’m adrift, feeling punctured
by a holiness that exists inside everything.
I am so sad and everything is beautiful.
I love this.