Hello friends.  So glad your here!

I was a no show last week which I don’t like to do without notice but sometimes I have to follow my own  advise and just have a rest. I love putting this post together though so I’m happy to be back here with you albeit a little late.

Are you celebrating anything today?

Remember large or small it all counts !

As always here are a few simple reminders, as you head into the weekend, that rest is important and doing things that bring us to life on the inside are too.

A Good Word

A Good Look

Wishing you simplicity, sweetness and joy this weekend with a touch of whimsy thrown in,

A Good Idea

from Karen Harrison

Remember How it Feels

My girls went to Michaels craft store and picked out beads galore. They brought them home and laid them out all over the shaggy beige rug. My husband ran to the basement and got a clear plastic container and we watched as they organized their treasures. My oldest opened a package of faux pearls and poured them into a baggie. And then she did what she’s loved to do since she was 2. She put her hands in the bag and felt the beads just fall into her hands and out of her hands, over and over again. Smooth and small bumps of beads.

Yes. Sensitive ones love to feel the texture of things. She said: SO satisfying!  I smiled.

So what about you, artsies? When you create something, do you pay attention to the things?

If you’re a writer, do you like the way the keys click click click or how the pen feels smooth in your fingers or the sound of pencil on paper?

If you paint, do you enjoy the smell of it, the thick or thin look of it as it pours out? The swoosh of your brush, the sound of the splatter?

Photographers, do you have a love affair with the sun? Why did I even ask you that? Of course you do!

Weavers and spinners and stitchers and knitters. Do you touch the thread and the yarn in the store before you buy it? Which one wins you over every time?

Today, when you create, notice what it is that delights you.

Maybe, you’ve been doing your thing for SO long, you’ve taken for granted or forgotten what drew you in, in the first place.

My daughter doesn’t remember being two, standing on a chair at the sink, letting the warm tap water run over her hands, or playing in sand for hours or the backyard water table or the bath full of magic jelly that her Aunt sent her, but her body remembers.

Somewhere deep inside, she knows what calms her, what delights her, what makes her FEEL alive.

And deep inside, the little girl or boy that is YOU, remembers this too.

Yes, the END result of our creative endeavors are beautiful and something to be proud of. The book, the painting, the photo, the blanket, the cross stitched bunnies and the beaded necklaces.

BUT, the BEGINNING feeds something sacred in us that cannot be rushed.

A Good Read

What Is Disabled Motherhood Like?

When I was in high school, my teacher asked the class to carry around dolls for a week as a glimpse into parenthood. Everyone knew this was silly, since dolls are much easier than newborns, but we still cradled them on top of our notebooks and resisted the urge to stick them in our lockers during lunch (an automatic fail). When the experiment was over, and we had turned in our essays about the experience, my teacher called me to his desk.

In the essay I had turned in, I wrote that I most likely wanted kids in the future but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to have them. He looked at me and gruffly whispered, “Allowed to?” with my words resting in his hand. I nodded. Then he said, “Don’t let anyone tell you what you’re allowed to do with your one life. I think you’d make a great mom someday.” – – – Keep reading

I Tracked Down The Girls Who Bullied Me As A Kid. Here’s What They Had To Say.

These Precious Days by Ann Patchett

(This  ones about a 45 minute read or you can read it in parts over the weekend).

I can tell you where it all started because I remember the moment exactly. It was late and I’d just finished the novel I’d been reading. A few more pages would send me off to sleep, so I went in search of a short story. They aren’t hard to come by around here; my office is made up of piles of books, mostly advance-reader copies that have been sent to me in hopes I’ll write a quote for the jacket. They arrive daily in padded mailers—novels, memoirs, essays, histories—things I never requested and in most cases will never get to. On this summer night in 2017, I picked up a collection called Uncommon Type, by Tom Hanks. It had been languishing in a pile by the dresser for a while, and I’d left it there because of an unarticulated belief that actors should stick to acting. Now for no particular reason I changed my mind. Why shouldn’t Tom Hanks write short stories? Why shouldn’t I read one? Off we went to bed, the book and I, and in doing so put the chain of events into motion. The story has started without my realizing it. The first door opened and I walked through – – – Keep reading

That’s it for this week friends. Till next, have a beautiful weekend, rest up, do something you love xx