ellenoutloud's Blog: gratitude

If we were to search this website for the word gratitude, we would get 3,177 hits.

And, I think I know why.

A lot of us are probably wondering, how in the world do I practice an “Attitude of Gratitude” when my husband just died? Or I just lost my job. Or I’m still out of work after two years. Or I lost my child. Or my child’s on drugs. Or I’m addicted to alcohol. Or _________ fill in your own blank.

It’s pretty easy to be grateful when we first fall in love, we just won the lottery, our tests results were great, and it wasn’t cancer after all.

I don’t have life’s answers. Heck, I’m still working on the questions, but I think we learn gratitude like we learn anything else, but practicing it, and we start right where we are.

A thousand years ago when I was trying to put myself through school and working two jobs, taking a full load of classes, and a long way from home, I called my mom. “Mom,” I started bawling, “This has to be the worst day of my life! It’s finals week, they’ve cut back my hours at the bank, my car broke down, oh, Mom, I’ve been on the beach all morning crying!”

After a pause she said chuckled softly and said: “Hmm, sounds like a pretty wonderful day to me.”

“WHAT?!?” I asked.

“Baby, anytime you can spend all morning crying on the beach? You’re having a wonderful day. You don’t believe me now, but one day you’ll know what I mean.”

And in the thousand years since I learned what she meant. BY COMPARISON to the things I have had to deal with, that day at the beach, was, well, a day at the beach. I learned there are worse things in life than final exams, problems at work, and car trouble.

Maybe every day we wake up – no matter what we face – we woke up. Maybe we need to remember life could be so much worse and it is not. Could that be the secret to blessing counting? We just take baby steps towards gratitude. We just thank God right where we are, and maybe even whisper, “Mom, you were so right”.

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I'd love to hear what small steps you are making towards gratitude. I am grateful for this site, and for all who come here.

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Before the humbling fairies came along and knocked it almost completely out of me, I was a pretty cocky chick.

In my youth I was "all that", knew everything, reeked of confidence, and as they say in today's vernacular, 'tude. Truth be told, I was a self-absorbed twerp.

I made my way up the corporate ladder quickly. I did what it took, if it meant stepping on another rung or another person, it really didn’t matter – onward and upward. I’m not real proud of my climb.

For years I have struggled to balance my desire to be a Godly, compassionate, serving woman with my need to be a powerhouse and force to be reckoned with. A hire wire act might be easier to master.

In penance for a life not so well lived, I gave away a lot of my power to others. I'd blown my chance at starlight and success. Better to stay in the shadows and let others have their day. Somewhere I confused gentleness with servitude.

An extremist, I see now I threw a lot of confident babies out with the egotist's bathwater and went from having a servant's heart to abject subservience; from Diva to Doormat.

Perhaps the balance I'm seeking lies not in compromise but in degrees of gentleness. It's okay and essential to carry some of that old swagger when I’m righting wrongs, tilting at windmills, battling my own dark-talkers. Strength is fine when its force is measured.

There is a quantum difference between self-assuredness and self-absorption. Quite the high wire act indeed. Better bring in the safety net!

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I'd love to hear what tight rope you are walking on today?

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I wanted to title this post: "I'll Cross That Bridge When I Come to it, As Long As You Are Driving Over It!"

See, I am just a tad bit gephryphohic. I was relieved when I ran across an article in USA Today that said I'm not alone, a lot of folks share the phobia. It’s comforting to know you aren’t crazy all by yourself.

The article pointed out that crossing a bridge creates such anxiety for the phobic that they fear the ensuing panic more than the bridge itself.

In my life, I don’t have any near-miss memories that would engender such illogical fear or anxiety. I don’t know what it stems from. Perhaps it’s another latent “control” issue, or the combo platter of heights and often water.

Whatever the “trigger”, I don’t like crossing them at all. They don’t have to be the world’s highest, like the Millau bridge in the picture. Little bridges are scary too. And it doesn't seem to matter whether I'm riding over as the driver or the passenger, scared is scared, but being alone is always worse.

I manage the white-knuckling by focusing on my goal – what lies on the other end of the span. I psych myself with all the great things waiting for me just on the other side.

I do the same thing when I have to cross those metaphoric bridges in life. I may not always look forward to the process but I hold a clear and positive image of the outcome. And then I cross. I cross.

That's all that matters, isn't it? Despite the anxiety, just cross.
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I’d love to hear what you are courageous enough to do today! What bridge are you willing to cross to get to the reward on the other side?

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It seems to me I’ve enjoyed the most success and made the most personal progress when I’ve seemingly lost my mind! No, no, no! This isn’t about bungee jumping. I’m talking about uncalculated risk-taking and the willingness to change.

There’s a real benefit to youth – you don’t have the wisdom to know better and you are willing to try new things and take chances without thinking them all the way through. If you are young enough, you just don’t have a life experience data bank chock-full of “be careful, remember-what-happened-last-time, and other admonitions.

I went off to college with no money to speak of and a dream. I just sort of figured it would all work out. It never occurred to me that sometimes life didn’t.

When I first started out in the big world of corporate America I worked in downtown Los Angeles. That commute carried me through some really rough neighborhoods and I would walk a couple of blocks in a part of town known as skid row – frequented by … well, it wasn’t pretty. But see? I didn’t know any better. I wouldn’t dream of walking around alone somewhere like that today. Experience is a good teacher, unfortunately it often teaches fear.

I had only been in Dallas two days before I decided to uproot and move twelve hundred miles from California and start my life over. I liked the sky and how it went all the way down to the ground. My point is, I didn’t give it a lot of careful, measured thought to the decision. I had an impulse – some would say instinct – and I followed it. I have always gained the most when I've had nothing to lose.

Now that I am ever so much older and wiser I think I would never do some of the things I did, and frankly, THAT scares me to death. I don’t want to play my life so safe I end up missing the best parts just to avoid some of the scary ones.

Ooooooh Wheeeee! I think I’m getting my brave on!

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I’d love to hear what you are feeling outrageously courageous about today!

I was out walking this morning when she whizzed past me. Dorothy. On her bike. No, no, no -- not that Dorothy, not Wizard of Oz Dorothy. Alamo Country Club Dorothy. She’s a resident here and I see her every morning I walk, flying around the streets of the community like she’s got some place to be right now, flashing the biggest grin you’ve ever seen. Good Lord you’d swear there was a vat of Crème Brulee waiting for her at the end of her ride.

This Dorothy is my inspiration! I never run into her that she isn’t wearing that same “Can you believe I’m so lucky” smile. To look at her you’d never know she’s had her share of tragedies – loss of a child and a husband or two. She’s amazing. The only time she’s not out getting with it is when she’s been temporarily sidelined by a knee surgery or heart bypass. But just as soon as her doctors give her the all clear, you’d better clear out, here she comes!

She’s one of those people that makes your day, just the seeing of her. I feel like I know her but we’ve only actually spoken to one another a couple of times. It’s hard to converse with a whirling dervish!

I was raised by another Dorothy. One I seldom saw out of her nightgown and robe. I can count the times I saw her smile. As I was walking I imagined what it could’ve been like to have been brought up by the bike-riding version. And as soon as I thought that, here she came barreling around the corner. I threw out my arms and blew her big kisses as she flew by.

About a minute later she came around the corner again! I threw up my hands in a “What?” gesture and she hollered as she went past me “I came back for some more of that”! Just a grinning! I was too!

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I hope you are out there whizzing around your own corners with a big ole smile on your face!

You know how I’m always recommending that you try something new? Well I did! I tried eating a bowl of ice cream every night for the past couple of months. Hey, was it my fault the nice folks in Brenham came out with Century Sundae and Triple Caramel the very same month!?!

I actually thought I was getting away with it. I was walking every morning, Blue Bell-ing every night. Turns out my scales waited until the very last minute to let me know that ten pounds had snuck onto my frame.

Isn’t it funny how we can delude ourselves? “I’m not putting on weight, it’s the lighting”. “Man, these pants are tight, must be the salt!” Note to self: Don’t put the jeans in the dryer. You know the drill.

So now, I’m back to the dieting thing. I know what it takes. I’ve gained and lost weight so often just getting on and off the scales is like taking a step class!

I know the drill -- the recommitment to the task, the selection of methodology, the laser focus, the execution and discipline, and all the tedious steps involved with wrestling the will into submission. Here we go again!

Once the hunger pangs start, I know I'm on the road again. The arghe- hgiho-eksha-snnnuffs (well how would YOU type out the sounds my empty stomach makes?) tell me I’m in the zone, moving forward and making progress. Their tune reminds me stay at it and keep my eyes on the thighs, I mean prize.

While arghe-hgiho-eksha-snnnuff isn’t my favorite song, it reminds me of the one I hear whenever I’ve strayed and get back on the right path again. An anthem, a theme, a chorus, a melodious pat on that back reminding me we've been here before, we can do it again. Just because you slay a dragon once doesn’t mean it stays slayed.

Sometimes you have to keep slugging or slogging it out. Slay on, slay on!
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I’d love to hear what dragons you are wrestling or slaying this week. I’m all ears. Tee hee. They are the only part of me that hasn’t put on weight!
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I've discovered there are two kinds of people in the world: those that know how to play and those that haven't learned yet. I, my friends, am a player!

Playing, I discovered, is grossly underrated. Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to do much of it growing up that I appreciate it so much grown. Sometimes I have to just pinch myself when I think that we mortals were granted this huge orb on which to frolic and cavort. Is the Creator cool or what!

Now, I didn’t have a lot of opportunity to perfect my having-fun skills early on, but over the years I think I mastered them. Like anything, it took years of practice, but I am really good now!

Back in college, I was dubbed "bad influence" because I was always persuading one dorm mate or another to put down the books, get out of the study carrel, and go get some pizza or just play on the beach. (Tough duty that was, pursuing academics on the Pacific Ocean coastline!) It wasn't that I wasn't a serious student -- I just thought since we happened to be in one of the prettiest spots in world geography, why spend the entire time cloistered in claustrophobic study boxes. Not when there are waves to splash in, sand to burrow in, stars to gaze at.

If you are like me, if you could also medal in Olympic Playing, you know that the world is full of those just waiting to be taught how. I believe it’s our duty to teach! Playing is, afterall a skill, a habit, and a mindset. It’s a way of choosing to look at the world.

Listen, I know life can be pretty hard. I am not for a moment minimizing the need for liberal doses of discipline and responsibility. But c’mon! Can’t we have fun while we’re at it? It’s like housework. You can do it fun, make a game of it and enjoy it. Or, you can slog your way through it like you’re going to be living in the laundry room forever. The players are in there making bubbles with the detergent and snorting laundry sheets (oh, don’t tell me you don’t sniff ‘em too!?).

I can guarantee that life will dole out moments of heartbreak, pain, and loss. But betwixt and between those harsh exercises I think we need to focus on the frolic. Seek out chances to be frivolous. Remember how to skip. And, as often as possible, get out of the office or study carrel, grab some pizza, or a couple of dryer sheets, and go play on the beach. Recess!

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I'd love to hear what creative ways you find to put some play in your day!

I may have been the last human over the age of six to own an MP3 player but let me tell you, no one loves their iPod as much as I do! I credit the device with my ability to manage two-mile walks every morning.

Exertion does not come easily to me. I am disciplined but I’m not a fitness fruitcake by any means. I don’t jump out of bed each day shrieking: “Yippee, it’s finally morning, I can sweat!” No – I do it. Wincing, whining, woefully, but I get ‘er done. Life is full of the hard stuff.

I believe the Divine Conductor knew we were going to need music to get through a lot of the days on this orb, and man, has He blessed us with great ones. My iPod playlist is a collection of some of the best soaring, inspiring, get-out-there-and-move song choices. My friend and fellow blogger here, Caren4U, wanted to know what song was my anthem? Pick one?!? Impossible.

On almost every walk I listen to an assortment of artists from Aretha to Cher, Chic to Chicago. I always have my ‘aerials up’ for a song that will give me the same rush as “Gonna Fly Now” from “Rocky” or “Eye of the Tiger”.

I found one this week. It’s got some years on it, but it’s worth another listen with older ears. It’s the anthem from the movie “St. Elmo’s Fire”, entitled “Man in Motion.” It’s awesome.

THAT, I said to myself, is going to make an awesome walking anthem.

See? I don’t need to get a song to get going, although I like “A’int No Mountain High Enough.” I’ve got one for my cool down, “The Climb” (thanks, Miley). I need some powerful tunes to get me through the middle to the end – the hard part – where it’s easier to quit than to continue.

We all need a song for that part –

“Soldier On! Only you can do what must be done!” Give it a listen and soldier on!

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I’d love to hear what you listen to when you want to power through the hard parts?

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As I forge on down my path of self-improvement and right choices, I am starting to recognize the importance of regular positive reinforcement. I am finding that a few small indulgences along the way reward me for my progress thus far and encourage me to keep pressing on.

I’d love to tell you that just taking better care of myself is reward in itself, but who are we kidding? I am a sloth at heart. Deep inside there’s a undisciplined, lazy woman just dying to prop her feet up on the ottoman and eat ice cream all day. It’s often hard to keep on keeping on.

Doing the right thing, over and over and over takes effort and energy. In order to walk, and keep walking, diet and keep eating well, and forego all the other bad habits I’ve let have their way with me, I need some tangible ‘at-a-girls’.

My special indulgence of the moment is to luxuriate with a mani-pedi combo! I love the wicked deliciousness of a couple hours stolen time, in which I am pampered and polished like Dorothy in the Land of Oz. I like it so much I’ve had to seek out affordable venues to get my new addiction satisfied. Our neigborhood Wal-mart has a nail salon with a great team that does fabulous work without busting a budget.

I justify my excursions with medical necessity. (So, I’m reaching, work with me!) See, all the walking has developed calluses on my feet and I don’t have room for them and my bunions too! I’ve found with just a half hour in the massage chair, coincidentally about the same time it takes me to walk two miles, I can keep them at bay, and I’m ready to walk some more.

I don’t know what demons you wrestle with or which minions would have you stray from the positive path you are on. One way to keep strong is to find some angels to help you stay in the battle. Keep your eyes peeled: Sometimes they come disguised as manicurists!

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I'd love to hear how you indulge yourself to keep motivated and on track!

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Tiger Woods did not have a good game this weekend. Don’t we love to watch folks fall from the pedestals we put them up on? I too watched with a modicum of morbid curiosity as one of America’s greatest athletes performed his own gold medal-worthy dive off that pedestal.

It seems the guy with the swagger lost both his swash and his buckle – crashing, burning, and landing among the losers, next to dead last. I’ve been there myself.

I spend a lot of time in these posts on the topic of moderation. Like the proverbial Indian in search of a happy hunting ground, I am relentless in my quest of a happy medium, a place where my persona can hang and rest easy -- somewhere between Diva and Doormat. It’s quite the quest!

It’s a full time job keeping this ego in check. While I don’t want to hog the kleiglights again, I don’t want to stay an usher the rest of my life either. My friend and inspirator encourages me to step right on up to center stage and rest assured that if I overdo it, the universe will find a way to humble me.

Oh, I know it will. I am most familiar with the fall pride goes before. I’ve been on top of the heap and buried by it and have worn myself out with the climbing up and the falling down. Each time I crawl back up I’m more humble and decidedly more grateful. But with age, I confess the getting up is getting harder on the knees.

Guess that’s why I’m climbing a little slower these days, exercising a little more caution, and stopping once in a while in my climb to catch my breath. This time, when I get there, I want to enjoy the summit.

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“I claim to be a simple individual liable to err like any other fellow mortal. I own, however, that I have humility enough to confess my errors and to retrace my steps.” – Mahatma Gahndi

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What does your summit look like? I’d love to hear where you’d like to rest easy today…

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I love books. I mean love them, with extra OF in LOVE them. Could be in my DNA. Back before it was fashionable my mom had floor to ceiling bookshelves built in our den. One of her big regrets when she learned her illness was terminal was that there were so many books she hadn’t read. At the time I thought that was so strange, but I can really appreciate it now.

I was on line recently and ran across a blog asking readers for the last life-changing book they’d read and how they came across it. I wrote this and want to share it with you all:

I found my last life-changing book in the meat department at the grocery store. I was at the end of a very long day towards the end of what had been a very long year. I had held it together pretty well up until the moment I bumped into an acquaintance who made the mistake of asking me: “How are you?”

First I laughed, and then I started bawling. I lost it. Right there by the door marked Butcher’s Entrance Only, between the pork chops and chicken. How many tears in hysterical?

Bless his heart. My friend gave me an awkward hug and patted my back and tried to dial down the scene I was making. And then he handed me a book. How he happened to have it on him and at that particular meltdown moment I will never know. “Here, here.” He said. “Read this.” And I did. It was Og Mandino’s “The Greatest Salesman in the World.” A powerful, life-changing book that’s not so much about sales, and all about tenacity and the indomitable spirit.

I still read passages from it almost every day. I think of that day as the one where I went to the store and picked up both hamburger and hope.

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Today I encourage you to be brave enough to comfort the crazy person in the meat department – or whoever you are called to help. And if you have a favorite inspiring book? I’d love to hear about it. I noticed Marlene from MJWOMEN posted a reference to this book yesterday. Must be the Universal Consciousness at work again…

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Sometimes, to succeed, you may have to get a little messy!

Growing up, I dreamt of being lithe, tall, attractive, graceful, and popular. I SAW myself being all those things, not the short, chubby, clumsy kid reflected in the mirror.

My dream me was the one I saw with my eyes closed, and man, she could dance! But no matter how many times I spun arabesques in my head, the real me had two left feet. The disparity between dreams and reality was obvious when I decided to try out for my High School Drill Team.

My friends thought I’d gone ‘round the bend altogether. “Are you CRAZY? Drill team is for the cute, popular girls. Besides you have to know how to do the routines. You’re too short, you can’t dance and you aren’t coordinated.” Raising myself to my full 4’ 10” I replied in my best argumentative debate voice: “Yeah?”

So, against the better judgment of friends and family, “We just don’t want you to get hurt…” I went for it. As I watched the drill leaders demonstrate the steps I knew I’d lost my mind. Wanting to be coordinated does not make it so. And, since I was born without rhythm and cannot remember more than two verbal commands at one time, I was out of step and out of my league. It was hard to concentrate for all the snickering.

The day of try-outs came and so did torrential downpours. Good for me, bad for the fifty beautiful, big haired, perfectly made up, goddesses vying for a spot. All I had on my face was some of my mom’s bright red, it’s-going-to-take-Comet-to-remove-this lipstick, and some Vaseline on my teeth. My hair actually looked better slicked down and sopping wet than it would have dry and frizzy. We all stood before the judges in full salute, waiting for the music to start, drenched to the skin in the deluge of rain.

Naturally, because of my size, they put me in front. The music wouldn’t start and the rain wouldn’t stop and I was standing in a mud hole, but I never stopped smiling. When the music came on, I went for it. Eyes on the judges, I let my dream girl out and managed to complete most of the routine mostly in step and never fell down.

Unbeknownst to me, I was the only one who finished the routine. Everyone else was adjusting their hair, wiping their faces, protecting mascara and making sure they didn’t get their tennis shoes muddy. I guess by comparison, I did okay. Which is why, every Friday night you could find me on the football field, front row center, a Fullerton High School Featherette.

The moral of the story? Sometimes to succeed you have to get a little messy. Smiling and sticking to the drill during the tough times is what sets you apart. You can come out on top if you are willing to get muddy and you never lose the smile. And Pond’s cold cream gets the lipstick off.
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I’d love to hear about your mud and smiles on the road to success!

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You know the expression, “Don’t Quit Your Day Job”? I’m here to tell you that some days I sure would like to! When I’m not writing, consulting, or otherwise roaming the planet, I fill in for the company I used to work for, providing administrative support to the movers and shakers that move and shake like I once did. I used to be a stock broker, but that’s material for a whole ‘nother post.

To say I am on a challenging assignment with a difficult boss would be an understatement. Yesterday, as her door slammed shut for the eleventh time in under an hour, (okay, third) I breathed in deeply through my nose, exhaled through my mouth, and repeated my mantra de jour: “it’s-not-about-me”, “it’s-not-about-me”, “it’s-not-about-me”.

Here’s what I told myself: Sometimes door slammers and control freaks are just trying to keep the cheese on their cracker when everything in their world is spinning out of control. Their vain efforts to feign order amidst chaos are coping mechanisms.

It’s be great if, when our world’s go haywire, and up is upside down, we could just sit on the floor, hang on to the walls and enjoy the ride -- whispering: “wheeeeeee-e-e-e-e.”

Usually we don’t handle adversity with so much aplomb!

Instead, we try to hold it together. We muster our courage and we “gather” ourselves, and sometimes we don’t do a very good job of it. A voice gets raised, a door gets slammed. From time to time, we lose it.

I know. I’ve slammed some doors myself in my time.

The lesson I’m learning is to try and grant the grace I would want granted to me. No one flies off the handle unconscious. When we’ve come to the end of our rope and lash out at others, we usually feel worse than the ones that felt our whip.

I’m going to make a point of being extra patient – at least that’s my plan. What goes around comes around and I’m hoping the next time I lose it, those around me will have some grace, and maybe some earplugs.

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I’d love to hear how you grant grace –

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Yesterday I had my heart set on a spinach salad for lunch. Well, not so much my heart set, as my mind made up. I’m dieting, so I'm trying to make good choices and keep my stomach out of the decision making process.

I don’t know if they’ve gone global, but Jason’s Deli is an awesome restaurant – they offer a great variety and the food is always good, very fresh and tasty.

When I walked in, I lowered my eyes and made a beeline for the salad bar, lest I be tempted by their delectable soups, sandwiches, po’ boys, and muffalattas! Bowl in hand, I started at the greens and thoughtfully chose some romaine and lots of spinach. I passed on the arugula. Hard to eat what you can’t pronounce.

Next came the healthy stuff, the veggie array. Pickles, and olives, check. Carrots and cauliflower, check. Three shades of peppers. Yes, yes, yes. Then came the hard part. Sin alley. Condiments and accoutrements. My downfall. Crumbled egg, cheddar, feta, and cottage cheeses - bad, bad, bad. I stayed strong, passed them up.

Then I hit the salad dressings. Jason’s are homemade and register at least a 6.5 on the caloric Richter scale. Now normally when I make up my mind? It stays made. I said, normally. I even had my dipper in the vinaigrette when the lure of the siren’s song of fresh bleu cheese hit me. I froze, mid dip. I couldn’t move, my eyes glazed over. Days passed.

A helpful patron beside me, one who probably wanted to make her selections before her lunch hour expired, offered to break the impasse: “Good choice. Just stay away from the white stuff. Just remember: Color's good, white bad.”

I felt like Dorothy saved from the poppies. Fat free vinaigrette it was. Off I went, disaster averted.

Everything was going so well until I went to refill my iced tea, replete with lemon and sugar substitute. Right next to the to-go cups, Jason’s thoughtfully installed a free soft-serve machine, dispensing vanilla, chocolate, and combo-swirl ice cream.

Yep. The line in the sand. Time to stand strong. Make good choices.

My point is – the desire to do right lies within all of us. Decision-making is a process. A day after day, option after option, temptation after temptation thing. It’s a skill and it’s an art. Sometimes we make good choices, sometimes we make better ones. I like to think we learn from each and every one.

As for me? I chose … chocolate. C’mon, I’m a braveheart, not a saint. Besides, after all, it’s a color!

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Here’s wishing you a day and a weekend full of yummy choices and grand decisions! Be both brave and light hearted!

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A thousand years ago I was employed as a personnel consultant – that meant I found jobs for folks for a fee. I wasn’t very good at it. Oh, I was great at getting people placed, not so good at the getting paid part – me, not them. One of my most memorable clients had come to me looking for a “sit-down” job. She’d been employed as a waitress and in retail sales and stood on her feet all day. She just wanted to work somewhere she could sit.

Me? I’ve been sitting down all week, and crazy as that sounds, by the end of it I was dead tired. I’ve been looking forward to a sloppy weekend. Maybe that should be slobby. Consonants aside, you know what I mean. Where I don’t hafta set the annoying alarm, throw on the walking togs and head out in the heat to exercise. I just wanna sleep in and hang out in my nightgown all morning. Haftas and Wannas (see? Even my words get slobby on the weekends).

Have-tos, and Wants-tos – it’s a struggle – and a juggle for me, and about 1.2 billion other brave-hearted women around the world trying to accomplish all the tasks that need to get done when you’re working for someone else.

Yep, I’m a whiner, that’s what I am. I’m tired? I have a cushy, temporary assignment that involves answering the phones, baby-sitting a brokerage office, and keeping my mouth shut. (OK, that part’s a little hard )

It’s a “sit-down” job, and I’m well-reminded that women everywhere are working harder, handling more, and much tired-er. By comparison there’s not very much on my plate at all. I don’t carry the responsibility of raising children, supporting a family, and I’m not caring for aging parents.

When I want to lie down and rest because I deserve it? I remember I should be down on my knees in gratitude instead. Grateful for how easy I've got it. So this morning I walked the two miles, started the laundry, and wrote. And spent some time on my knees, most thankful.

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Juggling some hafta and wannas this weekend? I loved to hear about them!

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