October 2013 – peerspirit.com

This blog is something I think about–either late at night waking to the moon and communing a while, but not moving from under the comforter (there’s a reason it’s called that… ahhh, downy delight!); or about 9:00 in the morning when I have an hour before Debbie comes to work and we all show up in the PeerSpirit office to check in and start a different kind of business day… And I won’t let myself derail into blogging when I have so many other demands of my time.

At the moment, this is a legitimate excuse: I am writing my first e-course, consisting of 12 carefully crafted emails and once the course activates an hour+ a day in an on-line writing community practice circle where we all get to share our reaction to the suggestions and exercises embedded in the e-mails.

I’m having fun doing this–and several hundred people are signed up so far… And the blog will continue once I get this loaded and into the world. There is the creative practice of making a point and coming up with a fun exercise in less than 1000 words… and then there is the fun of being in the Practice Circle with people, engaged with all of us reStorying our lives together.

I’ll let you know, next month, how it’s going, and if you read this in a timely fashion: sign up here: https://peerspirit.com/writing-workshop-dates.html#restorying…

Changing colors in the fall garden

Ann checking temperature of newly made compost

I am especially thinking of my dad this fall. He was an avid gardener and once cooler weather began to arrive he taught me to be meticulous about getting plants cut back and prepared for winter.

Yesterday I worked with friends in our community garden to cut back plants, move manure from a local horse farm to compost our garden waste, and generally admire the changing colors.

When I called Dad in the memory care unit this morning, I shared with him a description of what I had done in the garden and thanked him for all he had taught me about gardening. “That’s nice,” he said.

My sisters and I are working to share strong images of his good life with him as he nears the end of his days. At 87 years he is frail and failing. None of us knows when he will die anymore than we can predict when the first frost will come.

What we do know, though, is that this difficult post stroke phase of his life will end. And like all good gardeners everywhere we know that there is a next, beautiful phase to his life . . . for nature teaches us that life continually transforms itself.

Brussels sprouts ready to harvest

Writing excuse: I’m too busy writing!

The Change of Seasons