Under construction

I have been working this week on making exciting changes to my newsletter and will continue to do so in the next week. I hope to have the updates completed by the end of next week. I will send along the info once I’ve accomplished my changes.

In the meantime, you will not find any posts in your email box. But I will have lots to chat about when I return soon. I will leave you with my thoughts as I write this.

I hope you are all finding something positive each day to focus on. Everywhere I frequent these last weeks, someone reaches out to me, mentioning something negative about our world. I smile and nod in agreement. It’s a time unlike anything I’ve lived through. 

Being a swimmer, I often think and write as such. Treading water seems to be my strong suit these days. The waters are turbulent, frighteningly so. I’m relying on my ability to tread water and stay afloat making friends along the way. Here’s hoping for an end in sight.

I trust it will come. In the meantime, all I have is today, a reality I work hard to ignore. Imagine if we could buy our time on earth. Wow, okay, I’m digressing big time. Hearing Rick’s voice, “focus, Honey…” 

TODAY IS WHAT I HAVE; ACTUALLY, RIGHT THIS MINUTE IS WHAT I HAVE. Don’t I owe it to myself to use my time wisely? 

While I’m treading water, I will send positive thoughts and prayers into the world. Yes, I’m holding onto that phrase as unpopular as it may become. I will be doing my part to nurture and help in what I consider my sphere of influence. And equally important, I will recognize, embrace and appreciate all the moments in between and all of my blessings.

Take good care of yourselves and your loved ones. 

Be back soon.

Remembering what’s important

Where have I been in the last two weeks? Not at my computer, that’s for sure. My previous blog brought up uncomfortable feelings. So much so that I didn’t post it on social media, only sent it to my followers. I told myself last week that I was too busy to write because Matt was visiting with us. In hindsight, that was an excuse. I could have written on Thursday before he arrived on Friday. It’s taken me a week just to sort through my discomfort, but the process has become an enlightening experience that I’m finally ready to share.

I’ve been listening to Sting’s “Let your soul be your pilot” on repeat. At first, I thought the melody was drawing me in. But as I sit to write about the last two weeks, I understand that the words more likely are what have been drawing me.

If you haven’t read my post of May 27, 2022, I wrote about the phrase “thoughts and prayers,” not from the standpoint of the mass shooting at Uvalde, but instead, a story about what I believe those words mean. My post is about a family in town who recently lost their son. I think it’s a nice post.

But I worried a bit before uploading it; the timing was off because of the shooting. I wrote and rewrote, hoping to make myself clear, and while I believe I succeeded, it still elicited responses about politicians using those exact words with no meaning behind them. 

Let me try to condense what I could spend hours discussing. My childhood was a war zone. It also had its splendid moments. But the battlefield left me resistant to confrontation. Don’t get me wrong, I can hold my own. And when something means enough, I don’t hold back. But it takes a lot out of me when I step into that. It stays with me, lingers… festers. It’s a long process to find my way back to the peace of mind I’ve worked hard to achieve and cherish at 66 years of age.

I avoid politics like the plague; not something I typically write about. But this post brought me front and center with current political issues,; namely gun laws. After I let that simmer, I began to like that people were reaching back out with their comments and demands for reform. I thank Kurt for his brilliant response (check out my website to read his comments.)

It turns out my minor discomfort was worth the gain to help me find my voice. Without apology, being a San Francisco native growing up in the flower-power era, I’m a bleeding-heart liberal and always will be. Frankly, I wear that badge proudly. But I believe that being raised in the Bay Area during that time also came with learning to always be open to new ideas, differing ideas, and conflicting beliefs. It’s such a beautiful part of the San Francisco culture. 

I actually support gun enthusiasts’ rights to bear arms. I think though that we need to reform our laws to protect our citizens and, sadly, our children. We can do this. We can write bills that work for all of us. We can come together as parents and siblings and children, gun enthusiasts, and flower children alike, write laws that make sense, and begin to implement a system that is moving toward a safer world for our children. 

Will it resolve all of the problems? No. There will always be someone who can get their hands on a gun. But it can help us move in the right direction. We owe this to our children and ourselves. 

I acknowledge that changing our gun laws is not the only answer. It’s only a part of the solution. The troubled avenger is also a victim in our current culture. No one is looking out for these individuals. In our quest for bigger better, we have lost sight of the suffering around us; and frankly the numbers defeat us. And if we do happen to notice, we decide it’s not our problem or our business. 

But it is. I’m going to link a post I read recently that put things in perspective for me, Weeding Baby Wendell. It’s such a lovely read. I’m asking you to read a lot, but go with me on this one. I think you will be glad you did. The writer’s name is Stuart M. Perkins, and the link is https://storyshucker.wordpress.com/. I love everything he writes. He takes me back to what’s important.

To follow up on Stuart’s remarkable post, let me say that I rarely swear in my writing, but this problem we face isn’t that fucking hard if we can come together and quiet our egos. Let’s remember what made America great… differing views and the ability to learn from each other, balance, achieve, change, grow, and a reminder from Stuart, to help each other. Together we are a magical force. 

We’ve been battered the last decade. Never doubt though that the fiber that binds us remains intact; it’s just a little tattered. 

My prayer…

I hear you.

Please hear me.

I respect you.

Please respect me.

I have faith in you.

Please have faith in me.

I believe in equality for all.

Please believe with me.

I am my brother’s/sister’s keeper.

Please be mine.

I will always defend your rights.

Please defend mine.

Let’s remember who we are.

We are the United States.

I’m still proud to be an American citizen. 

Please join me in remembering and moving back toward that amazing strength. Life is always about one step forward, two steps back, three steps forward. It’s a dance, a waltz, a jig. No shame in moving backwards to get the steps right.

Thoughts and prayers

A post to save the thoughts and prayers in the world.

While I have my opinions, I, for the most part, shy away from writing about politics or religion, which seems to eliminate many topics. I leave that for the stronger of heart. It could be said I write about life, but I think more accurately, I write about feelings associated with life. And while I don’t always write about happy topics, I try to find the positive in whatever I’m discussing. It can be a daunting task. Today is one of those days.

As our nation reels from yet another school shooting, I ask myself what I can possibly write about after this horrendous event that even remotely centers on the positive? 

I know right now that the phrase “thoughts and prayers” is under attack, and rightfully so. It is a time for action in our country, not words. This post in no way takes issue with the point that many of our citizens are raising, “replace words with action.” I COMPLETELY AGREE. 

But because I’m a wordsmith of sorts, I’d like to preserve the words “thoughts and prayers” for us commoners and instances when they might really send something of importance. Let’s not dump that phrase out in the bathwater, you know, the saying about the baby and the bathwater? Oh man, I always misquote the old sayings. Rick is surely shaking his head.

So, here’s my thinking, I’d like to keep that phrase alive because what is the alternative aside from no response, which might indeed be worse? We all need to believe we are supported in our most challenging times. And most people are not poets, nor do they know how to effectively communicate grief. They settle for sending phrases like “thoughts and prayers.” I also settle for the words if I’m sending it to someone I don’t know very well or at all. Here’s a recent personal story demonstrating what those simple words can mean in a bigger picture.

As I’ve mentioned, I live in a tiny town. It has one intersection of commerce, which includes a grocery store, pharmacy, optometrist, gas station, bank, flower shop, hair salon, post office, a few restaurants, a bar, dentist, and my favorite little wine tasting venue, Rosa-Lucca. I’m missing a few businesses, but you get the picture. 

There is a coffee shop just as I enter the town, up a driveway to the right. A small trailer sits parked on the little lot. Welcome flags wave from the street, inviting patrons to slow down and stop in. An American flag waves proudly on a large flag pole in the center of the lot. You can drive through, pick up your coffee/food, and circle back out to the street. 

While I’ve never frequented the coffee shop, I’ve heard people talking in the market about some of the great selections offered. A few months back, I’ve lost track of how many, I read a disturbing post on Nextdoor about someone’s child dying. And I will say now, before I write this, that I could be wrong on some of these facts. I never investigated. I put my ideas together based on what little I heard. And even if I am not accurate on what family lost their son, the message will still translate.

Putting what little I knew together, I felt that perhaps it was the child of the family who ran the coffee shop. The coffee shop sat quietly from that day forward, no cars driving through, no flags waving in the wind, and the American flag flying at half-mast. I sent my “thoughts and prayers” to the family each time I drove by.

Time passed. I never stopped checking in on the little shop. Then one day, I noticed a flyer on the notice board outside our Holiday Market announcing a celebration of life for an 18-year-old boy occurring the following Sunday. I stopped to read it and admired the sweet-looking young man in the photo. I had to dry my tears before I walked into the market. The following Sunday, I thought about the family sending them “thoughts and prayers.

Time continued to pass, and the little shop showed no signs of reopening. I never stopped sending my thoughts and prayers that the grief-stricken family would find their way back to the living. And last week, on my way to Auburn, just as I was passing the driveway, I caught a glimpse of a waving flag. I slammed on my brakes (good thing I live in a little town with very little traffic). 

There they were, all five or six of the welcome flags waving in the wind, and the American flag in the middle of the property no longer at half-mast. I cried all the way through the canyon, grateful for our ability to heal physically and emotionally; what a blessing that we can at times take for granted. 

This family will likely never know me, nor will they know how many times I’ve sent them thoughts and prayers. I’m no one special, just one in the masses of amazing, incredible, compassionate, and loving people. Our thoughts have power, and our feelings are made of pure energy that can travel between us across the miles regardless of whether we understand how. I never underestimate the human spirit and what we are capable of. 

Join me in sending thoughts and prayers to the families of the recent massacre. Let’s believe in our thoughts to help lift the victims and continue to remember them in the coming months. They will need our help.

Rich Strike

(Written May 9)

Recently Rick and I visited Avila Beach, Ca, with our dear friends from Fresno. Typically it’s a smaller group when we travel, but this weekend we celebrated our friend Al’s 60th birthday, so the group consisted of 22 people ranging from nine months to 85. What a lively group, representing all the stages of life. 

We managed to cover a multitude of activities. Some hiked the hills, and others walked the coastline. We drank amazing lattes at Kraken’s excellent coffee shop right on the ocean. We ate dinner out the first night and cooked in the remaining two nights, food rivaling the restaurant dinner. We visited a winery and a few breweries. We laughed and talked, played word games and cornhole, and participated in our own private Kentucky Derby. 

Al’s son Matt on the first night, put together a pool, asking for $5 each to participate. I reached over and asked Rick if he had any cash. Lucky for me, he handed me $10. We each drew a horse’s name. I selected Lucky Strike, and Rick pulled Zozos. Rick’s horse had a 20-1 chance, and Lucky Strike only had a 30-1. I’m nothing if not a competitor. I eyed our selections and shook my head. Geez, what terrible odds. 

In my book Lessons of a Wayward Yogini, I write about manifesting and often blog about the power of positive thought. Uncharacteristically for me, I let the predictions sway my confidence. I did tell myself a few times that I could win regardless of the numbers. But since winning was not something that meant all that much to me in this instance, I let it go.

Our friend Mary had selected a horse named Happy Jack. Mary and Dennis are expecting their first grandchild in August, a baby boy who will be named Jack. She was so excited when she drew the name that I decided to vote for her horse and chuckled at all the jokes circling about Rich Strike during the day of the race. 

Matt has a great talent for creating fun. His personality exudes excitement coupled with silliness. He made update announcements regarding odds during the day. Rich Strike seemed to have nothing but deteriorating updates. The horse had gone from a 30-1 chance to something like a 90-1 chance. We all laughed and joked about my chances. 

As the race neared, everyone gathered in the great room. I was making chicken that night, so I watched from across the room, literally standing the furthest from the tv working at the kitchen center, enjoying the excitement in the air as the broadcast was leading up to the race. 

As the race began, the energy in the room shifted. Truthfully I was half watching as I worked with the chicken. Before I knew it, the room started to erupt. People were shouting and jumping up from the couch. Ann and Roy’s daughter, Laurin, kept turning around and looking at me. As my eyes shifted from Laurin to others in the room, I realized everyone was looking at me. 

LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY – MAY 07: Jockey Sonny Leon reacts after Rich Strike wins the 148th running of the Kentucky Derby at Churchill Downs on May 07, 2022 in Louisville, Kentucky. (Photo by Carmen Mandato/Getty Images)

(The jockey’s expression matched mine.)

Rich Strike had come from last place to first and won the race in the last few seconds. I received high fives and hugs. There was some initial talk on the tv about the results not yet being official, but Matt, in his magnanimous nature, came bounding toward me, waving the $100 bill saying, “I’m making the call, and you are the winner here!”

I know there likely were many big-time winners that evening receiving much more than my $100, but I wouldn’t have traded places.

I came away once again with a reminder from the universe to never underestimate my ability to generate goodness, success, or whatever I am passionate about, and given that I have created a blogging audience, to remind others that they too have that ability. 

The following was posted by Shannon Rose on FB. I thought it summed things up better than I could. I’m not sure if she wrote it or just quoted it, and I can’t vouch for all of the facts, but I believe most of them to be true. And most importantly, I feel her message is right on regardless of whether every cited point here is 100% accurate.

 “Y’all wanna teach your kids a life lesson in 2 minutes? Show them the replay to the Ky Derby Race.

  1. Not the best starting position.
  2. Not the biggest or best horse.
  3. Only made it into the race on account of another horse having to scratch.
  4. $30,000 horse against a multi-million dollar horse.

It ain’t always about having the best of everything or being the biggest and favored. It’s about the size of heart and dedication to win and excel in everything you do!

Well done, Rich Strike.”

My thanks go out to so many for a blessed weekend. And Rich Strike, you crazy horse, I’ll tuck you in my soul as a reminder of the spirit that all living beings share and the potential we have to lift one another.

Parting with a dear friend

I’m headed into some heart-wrenching changes in my life, which I’m working hard to ignore. How deeply can I dig my heels into the universe to stop my world from spinning around? Apparently not deep enough. 

My wonderful friend, Lynette, who I’ve written about over the last few years, is moving to Florida. Lynette was one of the first friends I made in the foothills. 

I somehow knew I would connect with her based on a Georgetown yoga studio bio I read about her. I tried in vain to attend her class, but the studio had gone out of business a few years earlier, and the internet apparently had not caught up with that fact. After circling Georgetown for 20 minutes, which is saying a lot because it’s a tiny town, I hit a dead-end connecting with my new friend, which, funny enough, is how I was already thinking of her.

I returned home and made my way back to the computer. I learned she was teaching at a different studio in Cool. A few mornings later, I attended her class. While I did admit that I had been hunting her down, I stopped short of hugging her like an old long-lost friend. 

The rest is history. Lynette did become my first friend here in Cool and one that I’ve enjoyed immensely. During my first few years in the foothills, I didn’t connect with many people except my mother’s caretakers, who also became my friends. But working full time and caring for my mom, I simply had no time for extracurricular activities. 

It was heartwarming to unite with someone as lovely as Lynette when I finally had the time. She was kind and open, easy-going, and trustworthy. We both enjoyed yoga and design, art in its many forms, cats, and chatting over a glass of wine, among many other things.

When Lynette and her husband Bernie decided a few months back to move to Florida, I was saddened to hear the news. But thanks to Julie, Lynette did not get the brunt of my sorrow. 

I’ve written about Julie often (Passing Friends chapter in Lessons of a Wayward Yogini), my mentor, mother figure, best friend, and life teacher. She lived across the street from me for close to fifteen years. When Chuck and Julie decided to move to Arkansas many years ago, I was angry at her and completely devastated. But I learned from that experience that any true connection weathers the storm. 

Instead of impromptu afternoon visits across the street with Julie, I soon discovered that I would enjoy extended stays across a few states. Our connection became only sweeter with the distance. We would start our days with coffee and toast in the morning, sit around her familiar antique oak table, sightsee or shop during our days, plan for and cook delicious meals, and laugh.

Lynette should nod in Julie’s direction, thanking her for breaking me in. Thanks to Julie, I’m an old hand now at the disappearing act. (I’m reading a great book titled The Electric Woman, a Memoir in Death-Defying Acts, so I’m thinking about circus acts.)

I will be looking forward to getting to know Florida when Rick and I visit Lynette and Bernie. And our guest room will be open and waiting for their return to Cool. I’m sure I will need to wait in line behind the many friends she made long before me. I’m a patient person.

Wishing Lynette and Bernie all the best in their new adventure. 

Glad I know well how to take those deep yogini breaths. Amy will be moving soon. More on that in a month or so.

Hawaii lessons – cont’d.

I’ve lost track of the times I have spent sitting in the sand or on a rock enjoying the ocean, whether in Hawaii or along our SF coastline. Our Hawaii trip once again offered me time alone to enjoy the sea while Rick and Lalo explored. I found a great spot on a ledge next to a sweet yellow lighthouse and spent time with God contemplating my life. 

Ninini Point LIghthouse in Kauai

Something about the ocean, especially if the sun is shining on the water, transports me, opens my senses fully, and helps me take stock. It’s easy to move quickly through my busy days, forgetting to appreciate all the little things that make my life… I feel compelled to add a few words to the end of that sentence, but I realize “make my life” says it all. 

In May of 2018, I was on a different Hawaiian beach with Rick taking pictures that we thought might work as a cover for Lessons of a Wayward Yogini. That was before I hired a cover designer. Those pictures instead became the banner for my FB business page. The book was in its infant stages at that time. How quickly four years have passed. Sitting on this current bluff, I offered heartfelt thanks for what has transpired since then. 

And I also marveled at the passage of time. I realized by chance that having that memory of the trip in 2018 marking time was instrumental in taking inventory of my life. It gave my journey parameters and helped me understand how much I have accomplished, what I may have left behind or discarded along the way, and how important it is that I continue to look forward and plan. 

I’m not sure what experiences in my life helped create my mindset. I’ve always been hyper-sensitive about making the best of my time, careful not to take for granted the experience of everyday life, and remaining very cognizant that there but for the grace of God go I in terms of the many horrific experiences that life can offer. 

Maybe it was a combination of growing up with my parents, my years working in the courts, and the stories I heard in Ron Martinez’s therapy group over ten years, I’ll never know; but somewhere along the line, I began to hold myself accountable to appreciate my life, every single day of it, good or bad, happy or sad. 

That mindset has dictated my decisions likely since my early 40s. I haven’t always made the easiest choices, but I’ve made them with an honest heart and the need to lead my life to the fullest. It’s not for everyone; I’m pretty confident of that. But at this point, I wouldn’t change the trajectory of my life for anything.

As I sat on the shoreline on this latest trip, my heart was probably fuller than ever, and that’s saying a lot. And once again, I heard myself saying, “Alright, Susie girl, what’s next? Don’t dally too long; your days are numbered and precious.” 

Please understand I don’t mean “numbered” like a threat hanging overhead. I consider it simply a reality. All of my days since birth have been numbered. This is nothing new. But as I age, I feel the gravity of that reality nipping at my heels. And that’s okay; I’m not complaining. Sadly I’ve lost a few friends that probably would have loved becoming 66, understanding that time is slipping by.

Instead, what this means to me, is that now more than ever, I need to appreciate my time, plan wisely, and stay grateful. I’d like to revisit Hawaii again in the next few years to take stock and perhaps make that a continued practice… any excuse to return to the islands 🙂

And what will I be hoping for in that passage of time before my next trip? I’d like to publish another book and blog and continue my love affair with writing. I’d love to become a grandmother, but I’m not really thinking that lines up with the next few years. And that’s okay. But it’s on my bucket list.

Most importantly, I’d appreciate spending lots of time with my loved ones, healthy, happy, and thriving. At this time on earth, it’s impossible not to understand that is the ultimate gift.

Hawaii- cont’d.

I’ve mentioned before how much I love the Hawaiian islands. I recently had someone from Hawaii say to me, “the islands either capture your heart, or they spit you out.” I gave the comment a bit of thought but dismissed it fairly quickly because, luckily, my love affair with the islands has only intensified over the years.

I didn’t doubt her comment, though. The islands are as volatile as they are beautiful. I believe in the folklore and pay my respect at all times, both to the land and the inhabitants.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve been fortunate to visit. My first husband worked for the airlines, and when we were in our early twenties, we could travel to Hawaii cheaper than we could go to Lake Tahoe— $38 a night at the Hilton and, if I remember correctly, $12 each for the flight. We visited each island numerous times, and once our kids were born, they became frequent visitors as well.

Sometimes I regret that I didn’t take advantage of traveling to various different places. But my heart continued to lead me back to the islands. And all these years later, I wouldn’t change it even if I could. Each visit deepened my understanding of and love for Hawaii. 

I suffered for years with a fear of flying. I would lose sleep for nights on end before any trip. And the day of the flight, I was in a bad state. But I would again put myself through that agony for yet another visit. On any trip, as the plane began its descent into the islands, the tears of gratitude would start to fall, both because I was still alive to enjoy the trip and because I was so grateful to be returning. The tropical air and aromatic fragrances would reward me for my temporary suffering. And for the remainder of the trip, I made it my goal to forget that returning home would involve another flight. A mixture of fear and sorrow to be leaving would also involve tears on the return flight.

Over the years, I was fortunate enough to resolve my fear of flying. These days I actually enjoy the journey, playing computer games with Rick, reading, sleeping, anticipating the view of the islands out the window as we near.

It seems I did a great job of passing along my love of the islands to my son Jordan as he now inhabits the island of Kauai, living with dear Brooke and working on the most beautiful farm I’ve ever seen.

Last Thursday, as our plane descended toward those gorgeous green cloud-covered mountains, I choked back the tears, of course. I was returning yet again, but I was also bringing many of my loved ones with me, Amy and Michael, Janet and Lalo, Ann and Roy. We were all there to celebrate each other on this incredible island and spend some time with Jordan and Brooke, learning about their life and farm, which is truly a slice of heaven. 

This trip will go down in my journals as one of my favorites to date, and that’s saying a lot. I’ve said it many times, good friends are likely our earthly angels. We had such a lovely time together. Spending time with my adult children and their partners, which is new, exploring, sharing, getting to know each other, and laughing… is there anything better? 

I also managed to steal away a few private moments with both Amy and Jordan at different times, fueling my tank with the gas that has kept me happy for 33 years. 

Yesterday, our flight home was peaceful and smooth flying as we bid the islands farewell. I left behind my boy and Brooke, which is never easy, but having gained an understanding of the paradise they spend their days in, I feel a calmness in my soul. 

I will be sending Amy and Michael in an opposite direction soon, but that’s for another day, another blog. 

And as I’ve spoken about in the last month or so, I never lose sight of my blessings and the turmoil that abounds around the globe. Today, I am one of the fortunate ones. 

I once again hear my mother’s prayer on one of her last days on earth, “Thank you, God; thank you, God.” Blog post here.  https://sueferrera.com/2019/01/26/thank-you-god-thank-you-god/

For Goodness Sake

I’m heading back into book talk. Winter was quiet, and I welcomed the respite. As spring arrived, promoting Lessons of a Wayward Yogini has slowly reawakened, taking nature’s cue. I’m excited … let me tell you.

I connected with For Goodness Sake in Truckee back in the winter. They are a Non-profit CommUnity Center for Self-Discovery and Spiritual Growth with a library, classes, programs, and events. I stopped in to introduce myself and tell them about my book. I met the director, Kimberly, chatted for maybe five minutes, left my book, and came away knowing I had made a connection that would be something special. 

We exchanged a few emails, and one day I heard from a woman connected with the center, Dinny Evans. Dinny is a forgiveness and radical well being coach, and has been associated with For Goodness Sake for years. 

She was very excited about my book and took it upon herself to embark on a crusade to promote Lessons. Dinny would call me on occasion to share how much she enjoyed the book. I never answer my phone to an unknown phone number, but for some inexplicable reason, I answered Dinny’s first call… thank goodness for For Goodness Sake

After that, I would recognize her name and answer with such anticipation! What a lovely and positive person and fun to chat with. We seemed to share an uncanny number of similarities in our lives.

Within a few weeks, she purchased a number of books for the store. Then she invited me to the reopening. From what I understand, the center’s director passed about five years ago. With Covid following, the organization definitely took a hit. But this year, they are reuniting and celebrating a reopening! I was invited to the celebration. 

Rick and I headed up Sunday. As I entered the door, I was greeted by a lovely woman. I introduced myself, and she asked me if I was the “wayward yogini.”

Really? You know me?

She did indeed know me, was currently reading my book, and asked for a hug. I couldn’t have been happier to hug her! My mom’s words echoed in my ears, Thank you, God, thank you, God. (https://sueferrera.com/2019/01/26/thank-you-god-thank-you-god/) What a fantastic way to begin.

We headed upstairs to meet Dinny, along with many of the center’s members. Dinny greeted me like a long-lost friend. She had my book in hand. As we mingled through the crowd, Dinny would introduce me to someone as she held up my book, telling them how important it was for them to read my book. 

Really? 

Clearly, Dinny is incarnate from some great deed I must have accomplished along the way. I fought back the tears more times than I could count. I had the time of my life. I didn’t need to sell my book, nor myself. I just got to shake hands, meet some lovely people, share a few words, and feel what I always dreamed it would feel like to become an author. I had the time of my life.

Afterward, Rick took me to lunch at our favorite restaurant on Lake Tahoe, Garwoods. Luckily we were seated facing the lake because talking about the event produced a constant stream of happy tears. And celebrating such a monumental day with Rick at one of our favorite places was the icing on the cake.

After a fantastic meal, we made the trek back home, traveling down through the mountains. Our iTunes played on random, a collection of music including both Rick’s favorites and mine, along with the kids’. We listened to Erik Clapton, George Michael, Barbara Streisand, and the Tarzan movie soundtrack as we headed out of the mountains. We were both quiet, making a comment here and there, but for the most part, just enjoying the terrain out the windows changing as we made our way toward lower elevation. Bidding the mountains farewell, I took mental notes of the granite structures, the river snaking along the highway, and the thousands of pine trees lining the mountains. 

Lulled into sleep, I dozed. I awoke to Roy Orbison, followed by a Mozart piece, so happy to be awake to experience the rest of the ride down to the foothills. God’s creations accompanied by music, a human talent, is hard to resist, and in my way of thinking, hard to deny that there is an intrinsic connection. 

I returned home grateful for the day and excited to return to For Goodness Sake soon!

My sister ‘n me

(Photo taken in 1960, me, Sharon and my Dad)

I love the fact that no matter how old I become, there is always something new to learn, about others, about our world, and most surprising, about me. I recently began learning to post on TikTok because Booktok, a part of TikTok, is an excellent platform for promoting your book. Oh, great! Just when I’ve learned to somewhat navigate my way around FB and Instagram, not to mention creating and sending my newsletter on Constant Contact, I now feel I should learn to use TikTok. 

What’s really funny about the idea of creating TikTok videos is that I historically have been known to run the other direction from a video camera. Years ago, when the original cameras came out, I’d head in the other direction if someone pointed the lens at me and told me to say something. Thanks, but no thanks. 

So when I anticipated making my first TikTok video, I wasn’t sure I would do very well. But if you had asked me a year ago if I thought I could talk on a radio show about my book, I would have likely said no. And I’ve now done two shows and hoping for more. Promoting my book has pushed me beyond my comfort zone, and I’m finding it rather thrilling. 

So I watched many videos to learn the dos and don’ts of TikTok. A few weeks ago, I locked myself away in the bedroom, told Rick not to listen through the door, lol, and I began. I made four videos on the first day, short ones about me learning to use TikTok. I decided to have fun with my mistakes, and by the end, I was laughing at myself, so hopefully, others found it humorous. I’ve done a few since, and I feel a little more knowledgeable and confident with each session. One of these days, when I figure out how to post my videos to Instagram, I will begin uploading them. But for now, if you want to see them, my username on TikTok is (surprise, surprise) Waywardyogini. 

Seeing and hearing yourself on the camera can really be uncomfortable. The first question I had was, what’s wrong with my voice? I used some of the lessons I talk about in my book, like being kind to myself and allowing the years to shine through. After all, I’m 66 years old. I gave myself a few pep talks and then gave the voice in my head an ultimatum, “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all!” 

I followed my rules. Instead of picking myself apart, I began to have fun, imagining that I was talking with a friend. This may sound really strange, but it’s been interesting to get to know me from an outside perspective, for instance, what my eyebrows do when I talk, the expression in my eyes when I’m joking as opposed to what I look like when I’m serious. I’ve been told that I don’t have a poker face, and I can see the truth now. I must have been born to be a storyteller because my face tells the story long before my words.

One of the nicest things I noticed is that I reminded myself of my sister Sharon. I’m not even sure what I’m seeing that looks like Sharon, but there is something unmistakable that connects me to my sweet sister, and I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.

Sharon was my father’s daughter from a previous marriage. The first time I met her, I was five, and she was 18. She came to live with us for a brief time, about three months. I fell head over heels in love with her. Our house had a bedroom downstairs, and I vividly remember spending time with her in her room. She would scratch my back, something to this day that I love more than almost anything. 

My parents’ marriage was pretty stormy; both were alcoholics. I’m sure Sharon must have seemed like a dream come true for me. My mother was jealous, and my love for Sharon likely felt like a stab to the heart. But what do children know except for what feels good? And boy, Sharon was a port in the storm for sure.

Sharon only stayed with us for three months, at which time she left to get married, but a bond had been created that has never faded. We’ve always lived very far from one another, but we have remained connected and close at heart regardless of the miles or the limited visits we’ve enjoyed. Sharon is a sweet woman, and I’ve been lucky to call her my sister. And now, I will smile inwardly, knowing that little Suzy managed to steal some indescribable mannerism from her big sister that she still carries to this day. I need only watch one of my videos to enjoy that.

Thank you, big sis.

Continuing to reach for happiness

I read this quote recently in one of my favorite newsletters by 

Dr. Mark Hyman. It has stayed with me.

“I am washing my face before bed while a country is on fire. It feels dumb to wash my face, and dumb not to. It has never been this way, and it has always been this way. Someone has always clinked a cocktail glass in one hemisphere as someone loses a home in another while someone falls in love in the same apartment building where someone grieves. The fact that suffering, mundanity and beauty coincide is unbearable and remarkable.” – Mari Andrew

Sadly, not much has changed since my last post in terms of the world news, at least not in a positive way. I continue to reach toward nature to calm my senses, and I’m never disappointed. This week, the birds have begun their nest building, bluebirds in my backyard and bluejays in my front. This is one of my favorite times, watching the birds work diligently to create a safe haven for their offspring. 

We knew so little about birdhouses when we first moved to the foothills. We had the birdhouses in our Montara yard, but no birds inhabited them. They were only decorative. While unpacking our boxes when we moved to the foothills, we set one of them on our deck railing. The next day there were already birds building a nest inside. Sadly the deck railing was a dangerous place for a nest, and shortly after the baby birds hatched, some animal attacked the nest, leaving a massacre on our deck. 

Within a few years, we developed a plan. We placed the birdhouses on wooden poles in the back of our yard, put a shield around the pole so no animals could climb up to the house, and placed the houses atop the pole. In the first year, we filled both houses with success. We’ve had bluebirds, titmice, and swallows in the years since, my favorite being the swallows. They fly like little bomber pilots to and from the birdhouse; they are fun to watch! And one baby swallow, in particular, would poke his head out of the hole every day waiting to be fed, cutest little face! The day I realized they had left the nest, I felt a bit melancholy. 

But the following year brought new life, as has each year since. I welcome our little bird families this year, needing their reminder of the sweetness of new life during this disturbing time in our world. 

The tiny corn sprouts have made their way up through the soil, as have the potatoes. The maple leaves open a bit more each day, waking up from a harsh winter. I look across our canyon, which has gone from brown to green in just a week, and I pause to enjoy these spring days. Summer and the threat of fire will be here before I know it, but I have no fear of fire today. These disjointed thoughts combine to remind me that all I ever have is now, so it’s essential to use my good days wisely. 

And simply put, to me, that means only a few things. Say a prayer for those in need, do what I can to help, and after that, embrace my day, slow down enough to take in my blessings, enjoy them, and give thanks. 

My last thought is that tragedy often brings people together. Our nation is so torn and tattered after the last few years. It seems none of us can agree on much. I’ve never felt so disconnected from my fellow Americans. But in the last few weeks, I’ve finally been reminded of what makes this nation great. Everyone I’ve met seems to be behind Ukraine, wearing support T-shirts, posting, grieving, praying for the refugees, regardless of where they came from, what color their skin is, what political or religious party they belong to. We finally can agree on something. 

Let’s not underestimate the power of our thoughts and our support. I’m known for saying, “Goodness will always prevail; it sometimes just takes a while.” I will continue to repeat this mantra to myself.

Our greatest gift is patience.

Stay well, friends.