Grief is a sacred journey

Nature

Butterfly Dreams: Saved by Synchronicity and Soul

98 My body droops into a familiar sinkhole. Hatred fueled killings and threats. Jailed migrant children. Climate catastrophe. Political nastiness and injustice grow worse as politicians rule by fear and rage. It’s all too much to bear.

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What Can We Do about the Mess We’re In?

97 Under cover of night, hundreds of migrant children were moved to tent encampments surrounded by high metal fences in the Texas desert. How is it OK to jail children and separate them from their parents? Can

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Precious Transformation: Monarch Butterflies, Mystery, and Mythology

120 When I wake up each morning, I head for the back porch to check the Monarch nursery. First thing. Who will hatch today? Does anyone need a fresh milkweed leaf? Who became a chrysalis overnight? I

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We Are Family: Strengthening Connections after a Dad’s Death

138 My son David and his wife Liz drove from North Carolina and met my local son Anthony for a beer at Two Goats Brewery on Seneca Lake before they arrived at my house. David and Liz

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Ease Suffering for Everyone, Including Ourselves

109 1 My phone buzzes. The screen reads “restricted number.” Probably an advertiser, but it could be my mother-in-law’s Hospicare nurse, so I pick up. “Hi Elaine, it’s Ray.” Ah, the Hospicare nurse. “Virginia has an infection

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An Owl, a Dream, and a Mystery

87 2 A few nights after arriving in Arizona to visit Dotty and her family, I had a dream: I walk up a steep hill with Dotty. I’m looking for a safe place to release a large

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Message from My Wiser Self

49 Don’t worry when the logger leaves after one day. Be glad he cares about the forest. Be glad he’s upset when his equipment makes ruts in the unfrozen earth beneath the snow. Let the Finger Lakes

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The Estrogen Empire Strikes Back: Seneca Falls Women’s March, 1/20/18

127 1 We drove along the west side of Cayuga Lake toward Seneca Falls, NY, the site of the Women’s Rights National Historical Park where the first Women’s Rights Convention met in 1848. One year ago, Jane

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A Time To Push, A Time to Pause

86 2 My ability to push against fatigue and check new projects off the endless to-do list ran away from home. I’ve looked for her everywhere. Believe me. I have. The Muse refuses to answer my calls.

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Mothering Monarchs, Mothering My Soul

249 13   I carry the glass jar outside to a shady patch of white asters. The earth smells musty and moist in rising heat. Too hot for late September, plus a south wind when the butterfly

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