Many areas of life have their own vocabulary and language. Law. Medicine. Emergency Services. Education. Football. And many more. The words we use can be understood and they can be misunderstood. How and what we say can make a difference. Our words matter. But many times it can be like learning and speaking a foreign…
Whether I’m unpolitical, emotional, or whatever I am or am not, my story matters. So does yours. And together our stories make up the world in which we live.
At the core, no matter what our age or physical, social or economic position, every one of us needs something worthwhile to do, we need to be needed, to be valuable, to be important.
More than just About (me), this is some of the backstory.
What do you do with anger and hurt when something happens, or you’re in a situation and you have to be part of it, but it’s hard? You become aware it’s not about you, but you have to live in it.
What if we would recognize the impact of a person before they die?
Pain is a 4-letter word. One that’s OK to use. It’s safe to use. Or is it? Pain is physical. Pain is mental. Pain is emotional. Sometimes it’s a combination of those. We talk about pain in different ways for different reasons. There seems to be a need to quantify pain, to compare degrees of…
My heart will feel and want; my heart will rejoice and be sad.
I am a daughter. I am a wife. I am a mom. I always will be.
It has been said that necessity is the mother of invention. I am a mother, I have 6 kids, and I don’t need any more. But there was necessity, and so, I birthed Invention. We live at the base of a hill at about 8900’ elevation, and the top of our hill is at 9250’….
I’ve discovered that even in the midst of manure, there is often a freshness. It was in the middle of cleaning the barn one day, manure rake in hand, that I realized how intensely therapeutic it all was (is) for me. And I knew that it wasn’t the first time I had come to that realization. In the brightness of the sun shining, with the birds flying in and out of their nest in the barn rafters, and Kody’s soft muzzle against the back of my arm (my “pocket pony” always wanting attention!), I knew I was cleaning out more than barn manure.