The Grass Is Green Enough

What does it really mean to live in the moment?  To be fully present, experiencing each minute of life and all that it has to offer?  Well, I know what it doesn’t mean.  Going through robotic motions each day without any thought.  Work.  Eat.  Run errands.  Pay bills.  Clean, do laundry, and perform chores around the house.  Talk to others while spinning a continual to-do list through my mind, rather than carefully listening.  Smile.  Nod my head.  I’m fine.  What did you say?  Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.  Skim through emails and texts without thoroughly reading them.  It’s a wonder I get anything done at all.  Talk about squirrels and distractions.  Yikes!   I know I’m being hard on myself.  During some life seasons, we’re lucky to just get through the day.  This past year has definitely been like that.   But today.  Today, I lived in the moment.  Surprisingly, it was cloudy and rainy, but absolutely gorgeous!  From the minute I woke up, I took it all in.  I woke up on our sailb

When I opened the pantry door, my heart sank.  There they were, millions of them it seemed, crawling all over a box of Raisin Bran.  They were having an absolute hay day!  Ugh!  As if the year of COVID weren’t bad enough, for some unknown reason, our house has been infested with ants this year.  In the bathroom.  In the kitchen.  The spice cupboard.  The pantry.  Every time I opened a door, it seemed I found more.  I grabbed some spray and annihilated the group that had found the cereal.  I hoped that would be the end of it.   Until it wasn’t.   A few weeks later, I opened up the china hutch to grab a wine glass.  More ants!  They had found a crystal sugar bowl that apparently was put away with sugar in it!  It was a party for sure.     This time, I decided to tackle the problem in a different way.  Instead of spraying, I put out zillions of ant traps.  I followed their trail and placed them all along their path.  For several days, I just watched them carry away the “food” to their nes

It’s been 14 months since we tragically lost our son to suicide. Actually, 447 days to be exact. In the beginning, there was a tsunami of love and support poured out on our family, for which we are forever grateful. But as time goes on, a blanket of silence has slowly crept in. I recently read that the second year of grief can sometimes be harder than the first. I think one of the reasons may be that the initial shock has passed, most of the affairs have been attended to, and the dust has settled, so to speak. People think we’ve moved on, and they certainly don’t want to bring up our lost one’s name for fear that it will stir up more grief. Truth is, it’s just the opposite. The silence is deafening. Even within my own family, we talk less and less about our lost son, sometimes not at all. It’s not that we aren’t thinking about him; it’s just that we avoid the subject because we don’t want to invite sadness into our gatherings. We’re just trying to move forward and enjoy each m