New Year's Eve

Home = Heart

2014

2014

will be remembered as the year I

produced my first series,

explored Cuba,

said goodbye to Monkey,

glimpsed the possibility of a dream not coming true,

celebrated a milestone,

explored Atlanta,

played in Austin,

road tripped to San Francisco,

had adventures of the heart,

and deepened my yoga practice.

Upon reflection, my memories are are less about what I did,

and more about who shared my experiences.

My life overflows with deep connections.

They are my life blood,

the pulse through which all else exists.

Holiday

Woke up Christmas morning fighting the desire to stay in bed due to

a twitch in my nose, and scratch in my throat.

I powered through the day,

visiting friends, toasting the holiday, hiking, walking, celebrating.

The next day I was down for the count.

Annoyed I'm spending the vacation in bed with a stuffy nose and sore throat.

Sky

Trombones

The trombone Christmas party, one of my favorite holiday events,

usually takes place on a cul-de-sac at the bottom of my hill. 

I've never attended, but always benefited from being able to hear the horns from my deck.

This year, the party moved locations, and although still close by,

I wouldn't be able to hear it from my house.

Plans to host a party were thwarted, but luckily,

a friend secured me an invitation.

Pure magic.

A short walk, and down the steep stone stairs to a 1920s Spanish,

I saw the courtyard glowing from fire pits, and stands of white lights.

Twenty five, super talented studio trombonists gathered on the steps.  

I drank mulled wine, chatted with neighbors, and toasted my good fortune.

The PCT

A few months ago I found access to the Pacific Crest Trail

which is gaining new found popularity from Cheryl Strayed's memoir WILD.

The recently released film does the book justice, and

beautifully captures the profound experience one can have on a hiking trail.

A physical challenge can indeed elevate the mind and spirit.

On this chilly, moist morning I finally had time to explore a mere 7 mile portion of the PCT which extends

from Mexico to Canada and wondered if I could endure such an adventure.

The Signature of All Things

"I will tell you why we have these extraordinary minds and souls, Miss Whittaker," he continued, as though he had not heard her. "We have them because there is a supreme intelligence in the universe, which wishes for communion with us. This supreme intelligence longs to be known. It calls out to us. It draws us close to its mystery, and grants us these remarkable minds, in order that we try to reach for it. It wants us to find it. It wants union with us, more than anything.”

“There is a level of grief so deep that it stops resembling grief at all. The pain becomes so severe that the body can no longer feel it. The grief cauterizes itself, scars over, prevents inflated feeling. Such numbness is a kind of mercy.”  

“The old cobbler had believed in something he called "the signature of all things"-namely, that God had hidden clues for humanity's betterment inside the design of every flower, leaf, fruit, and tree on earth. All the natural world was a divine code, Boehme claimed, containing proof of our Creator's love.”

Cuba!

Go Obama!

While visiting Cuba in September,

I hoped that the bitter, foolish embargo, and the strained ties between the US and Cuba

would be lifted in the near future.

I'm thrilled to learn that Obama has been working on this mission

for over a year, and progress is being made.

Once again there will be a US Embassy in Havana.

Of course, this news was quickly followed by

resistance on Capitol Hill.

Keep fighting the fighting, Mr. President.

These next two years are yours to make a difference.

 

At the Ballet

The Nutcracker

'Tis The Season

Work disappointments have knocked me on my ass.

I can't seem to purge the low grade agitation

that stirs beneath the surface of my well being.

And yet, at every turn, my downward spiral

is halted by the gestures of friends.

They rescued me today after a wrestling match with a Christmas tree.

Some things you can't do alone.

Some things are meant to be shared.

Smoke.Oil.Salt

Friday night, dinner with friends.

Unknowingly, my GPS took me to the wrong address.

Finally found a parking spot, several blocks away

from the WRONG address.

Late and short tempered, I walked back to my car and

drove past the RIGHT address several times.

Head lights blurred through my foggy windshield

challenging my already compromised night vision.

I wanted to turn around, profusely apologize to my friends,

explain I wouldn't be good company.

Thirty minutes late I arrived, desperate to shake off by state of mind.

And I did, quickly, and easily.

A testament to good company and understanding friends.

Amazing food, comforting conversation

helped to wash the disappointments away.

 

Gray

Monkey

Not That Kind of Girl

Growth Spurt

Gray Day

All The Light We Cannot See

Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever.

We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs.

His voice is low and soft, a piece of silk you might keep in a drawer and pull out only on rare occasions, just to feel it between your fingers.

I have been feeling very clearheaded lately and what I want to write about today is the sea.

 It contains so many colors. Silver at dawn, green at noon, dark blue in the evening.

 Sometimes it looks almost red. Or it will turn the color of old coins.

 Right now the shadows of clouds are dragging across it,

 and patches of sunlight are touching down everywhere.

White strings of gulls drag over it like beads.

Anthony Doerr