Taking Steps

dsc_0823-2According to the Fitbit strapped around my wrist, I logged close to 7,000 steps by the end of yesterday’s work day.

It’s interesting to think about how many different kinds of steps there are: Long, purposeful strides. Short steps bridging space between this person and the next.  Steps on stairs, up and down, and those errand kinds of steps taken to get things done.  I’ve noticed how my steps slow a bit when my thoughts stall and I don’t quite remember where I was going, or why.

dsc_0725-2Home steps aren’t all that different than work steps, really. Back and forth between the dishwasher and the cupboard, the stove and the fridge, down the stairs to the laundry room, and back up the stairs to fold. Steps walked in circles to pick up, put away,  and tidy. My very favorite home steps: my husband washes dishes  and I dry, walking and talking and loving right there at the sink.


I take slippered steps down the stairs in the morning to my coffee pot and my writing. I’m ready to take on the world and tackle the list when I lace up my sneakers. I wonder about the steps my sons’ shoes have taken as I curse where they’ve been left and I trip over them, one more time.


The very best kind of steps are thoughtful and slow. Meandering steps. Steps and stops. Ellipses steps … like pauses … taken almost always on a Sunday with my camera in hand. Smiling steps.  Hopeful steps. Happy steps.



2016-10-07-20-36-34I’ve been a teacher this week. A wife. A mother. A daughter, sister, and friend. I’ve also been an insurance claim reviewer, a bill payer, and some sort of  unpaid hybrid of an Uber driver and chauffeur. I’ve been both problem solver and whiner. The very best of me and only a shadow of what I should be.

So it’s been a regular week.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I choose to spend my time. In the scheduled blocks of my day, much of my time is spoken for, but what I’m becoming gradually more aware of is the wide open and unspoken for spaces in the daybook.

So far this season, I’ve not dropped any balls, but I sure do get tired of juggling. Ask anyone what I complain about most and, presidential election aside, they’d likely say my consistent go-to is lack of time. I rush and stress and hurry and power walk through the hallways of my day until the sun sets, and it’s time for David Muir on World News Tonight.

From Friday’s perspective, I look back over the week and see how far I’ve walked to make it to this point in time. What I’m questioning, however, is not how far I’ve traveled but rather, how much I remember about the journey. What stands out as the moment to be most savored? In all seven days from one Friday to the next, what felt most important?

There’s a bit of rain outside this morning, and it’s peppering my thoughts,  We’re in the midst of a severe drought, so the rain is welcome. I’ve been so worried about our well. I hear the splash and splat, the growing and then easing of intensity, the gathering water spilling from the roof and trees,  I’m thinking about the leaves. How many will hang on though the storm and how many will fall?

It’s Friday morning. And today, I’ll be a teacher. A wife, mother, daughter, sister, and friend. But I’ll also be a woman who listens to the sound of rain. A woman who thoughtfully chooses how to live better in those wide, open spaces. I’ll be a slow breather, a daydreamer, and a watcher of leaves.

And I hope someone will ask me about the moment most savored. Because today, I’ll know how to answer.

A Good Hair Day

It’s a good hair day.

Not only that, but the dress didn’t need ironing, I found matching shoes, and the bed got made. Lunches did too.

All feels right with the world.

I know.

You’re waiting for the shoe to drop. You’re waiting for … the rest of the story.

Don’t wait. Because it’s all good.

2016-10-02-03-09-41Some days – especially after sleeping – I wake up feeling so powerful and strong and confident … and put together, I’m pretty sure I could run for president. And win.

(Especially this election year.)

I notice these days when they come along. Revel. Celebrate. And rejoice.

Happy Tuesday.

Be glad in it.

Saying No


There are weeks when life lives you.

Meetings. Appointments. A deadline. Or two. An unexpected delay. Bad timing.

You know.

Wednesday – or maybe it was Thursday? – I thought I was going here, but I needed to go there instead. And I could pencil plans in my datebook, but I’d better be sure I kept my eraser handy.

(At last count, I’ve rescheduled my annual eye exam three times.)

All of that erasing can be stressful.

Until you decide not to give in to the stress.

It’s best, I think, when you realize it’s one of those weeks to just drop the reins along with any other attempts at control.  Just give your way over to the gallop, hang on, and find out where you end up.

I was a little resistant at first, I admit, and hopeful maybe life would slow to a more gentle trot by week’s end.

But it didn’t.

Honestly, when life lives you on weeks like this, our homes show the strain. Yesterday’s coffee cup and water bottles sit side by each on the kitchen counter along with mail and newspapers. Our dining room table’s served up a main course of folders, binders, miscellaneous this, thats, and the others.

Let’s not even discuss the laundry and trail of outfits I’ve lived in this week, left behind like breadcrumbs in case I need to find my way back to sane.

Which is where I was.

Last Sunday.

So be it, stress. Whatever.

Yesterday, I moved from room to room like a butterfly drifting from flower to flower.

Serene and saying no … to stress.

All that chaos. All that clutter. Each piece of evidence that life’s been a little … irregular … tucked away, back where it belongs. Doing what I could to quiet life where I live.

Order restored.

And a little bit of sanity too.