So this life coach says...

I went to a Ladies Night Out last week at my favorite new pilates studio. Drinks and appetizers, jewelry for sale, 15-minute massages, salsa dancing...and a life coach. Before I go much further, you must first imagine how I just said that word, life coach, with a slight moue on my face. I know a life coach -- a real, sincere, good life coach -- my dearest, dearest, soul mate of a sister/best friend/maid of honor/godmother to my child, and I'm here to tell you, that my friend was made to do this -- she's been doing it for me on some level since we met when I was 16 and she 14...but this lady, let's call her Jane, exuded this vibe that was altogether too easy to role my eyes at. "I'm a life coach," she breathes in her cheery, determined voice...

Anyway, Jane set me on edge from the start...to get things rolling, she asked the ladies within earshot, "Are you ready to make a change?" Complete with her book in the background and worksheets in hand, I got an immediate used-car-sales vibe from her from the get-go. Good lord. Now again, I believe in life coaching, for creativity, for inner peace, for goal-setting, for learning better how to live your life. Jane seemed to have an agenda -- a business agenda -- and her job was to take us through this (very long, repetitive, staged) talk that would explain what a life coach does and the (long, repetitive, staged) process that she uses to accomplish her clients' goals. She mostly focused on health and exercise -- and how to change your daily behaviors and expectations in order to meet these body and diet goals. And she does much of her coaching over the phone apparently. Which just made me cringe even more. On the phone? Come on, lady.

At some point during her shtick, she finally posed a question to the group (imagine a dozen glassy-eyed women sitting somewhat morosely on exercise balls casually bouncing up and down to stay awake), "Who here has a goal they want to achieve -- and wouldn't mind sharing with the group?" As she stared intently (bright-eyed, expectant) at us, someone piped up with, "I want to finish my book." What the...? Did that just come out of my mouth? Crap. How did that happen? Where did that come from? Me, apparently. "Ooooooh, that's a good one," Jane exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight and focusing entirely on me now. Fantastic.

What followed was a series of questions -- showing the group the type of questions she would ask me if I were (eek) her client and she my (gasp) life coach:

Do you have a title? (I did, but it had been so long since I worked on it that in that moment, I actually forgot what it was.)
How long have you been working on it? (Forever. Actually writing it since...and I paused....2001.)
What's it about? (My mother. And her first husband. Who was killed in the Vietnam war. And hence is the whole reason I am here.)

Jane started to coo again, practically rubbing her hands together in some sort of life-coachy delight. But here's where she got interesting:

Why do you want to write it? (Because I'm a writer. Because it's a good story.)
Who are you writing it for? (Uhhhh. Good question. Myself? My mother? I wasn't sure. I'm still not.)
What's stopping you from completing it? (Everything. Time. The fact that I'm a mother of an 18-month-old, working full-time, with a husband who's a pilot and is gone for days at a time effectively leaving me a single mother and it's all I can do to set aside an hour to workout or find a babysitter so I can come to events like this...this came out in one breathless rush).

She asked me some other questions, about finances (yeah I have to work full-time right now) and my husband's support (yes he supports me greatly, can't wait til I finish the NYT bestseller so we can both quit working), challenging me with intentions (a writer writes every day) and things I was doing to further my goal (blogging) and what I was going to do in the very near future to accomplish this (um, well, set aside some time to write, review what I've already written and get back to it). And that's where she got me.

As insane and over-the-top and salesman-y as this too happy and intense woman was, she had me there. Set aside some time next week to write. Get back to it. Just write for god's sake. Write. The. Book. Already.

And for as much as I disdained her, judged her, scoffed at her, dismissed her, she got to me. I guess, she did her job. Although I don't need a life coach (yet), I've been thinking about her simple questions and the 15 minutes she spent firing them at me. And no, I haven't written any more of my book just yet (It Was A Very Good Year -- that's the title by the way, just like the Frank song). But I'm getting there. I'm thinking about it. I'm passionate about it again. No longer on the back burner, but burning brightly in my forward consciousness. I want to bring it back and finish it NOW. I want to see how it turns out -- where it takes me -- how it ends. I owe it to my mother, her first husband, most importantly, I owe to me -- the writer I am -- to complete this thing I began so long ago.

I'm off to yoga right now. And then home to see the boys and make dinner and hopefully relax a bit after this day. And maybe, just maybe, I'll write tonight. And if not, I'll have at least written this much about it. And that is a start that I can be happy with.

Early Morning Mama

Last night, Grif woke up at 4 a.m., whimpering, not really crying, but in some sort of (mild) distress. He hasn't been feeling too well lately, so coming fully awake from a deep, dreamy (Tylenol-nighttime-cold-induced) sleep was immediate and easy. A little water, some quick cuddling and a pacifier later, I came back to my own bed. Ready once again for sleep. Both of us. But the whole 15-minute experience got me thinking...

About mothers. And the fact that I am, in fact, one myself. Ahh, Motherhood. How it has changed absolutely every detail every emotion every goal every feeling every dream every daily action in my life. My dreams for the future no longer (solely) include finishing the book I've been working on (dreaming about) for years. Now my "dreaming" energy is focused much more (daily) on finding a job that will let me work a shorter work week -- so I can have an extra day (or two!) with Grif and my hubby pilot. My budget no longer includes a car payment, instead I have a daycare payment. My living room is no longer the home of my reading sanctuary -- now it shares equal space with Grif's main play area and toy storage. In order to workout, I no longer have to just sacrifice leisure time, now I often have to miss a few Grif hours (hardest when I come home from work first to squeeze in a half-hour before going back out -- a mistake I'm loathe to repeat since the boy breaks my heart every time with his immediate tears and wailing when I leave again). My weekends are no longer marked by the luxury of sleeping in, but blessed by the quiet of three-hour afternoon naps. My whole view of my life, being present in it -- in words and action -- means now being present and central and aware for this amazing small child of mine as well.

Most importantly, my life encompasses more than just the pilot and me together. Now, we are three. Three we are -- a family. And the wonder of this -- amazement, thankfulness, sometimes still sheer disbelief -- strikes me speechless every day. I'm no longer just a daughter, sister and wife. But a mother. Of a bright, beautiful, glorious child. Who loves running outside. And who's already eaten dirt out of one of my plants. Who spins in circles while dancing (usually clockwise). Who looks at me with his big blue eyes and smiles right at me. A small boy who runs to me -- his mama -- when I open the door at daycare and peek around the corner. Who is most amazing to watch when Jim sits him on his lap at the drum set -- how Grif plays, sticks flying. My own little child who can summon me from the depths of sleep to comfort him, his warm body cradled with mine and his head resting on my shoulder. Whose laughter is simply the most joyous thing I've ever heard (and Jim is the best at getting Grif to really laugh -- laugh to tears -- my favorite thing to watch).

I found a new blog this week -- another boho mama type -- but I read a post of hers on motherhood, and fell in love with her writing and her voice immediately:

To be a mother means to kneel a hundred times a day; to kiss a damp and tousled head after a nap, or to rub away some sticky mark upon an upturned cheek (and to wonder, was that oatmeal, or something worse?). It means pressing my knees into the floor, so I can look into the wide eyes of a small person who knows how to press all of my buttons and also how to unlock inexplicable emotions in heart...

Her words have stayed with me all week. And apparently, though the night as well....it was these words that kept me half awake last night (this morning). Waiting to hear if the boy was returning to sleep. Waiting to return there myself. And dreaming/smiling/reveling in motherhood.

Three For One

I'm full -- so very full -- of spring and spring fever and a bounce in my step. Joy abounds today and it's because of so many things -- a cool new song that I can't stop tapping my feet to, the gorgeous weather (I love not having to wear a jacket let alone a coat!), and the fact that it's such a lovely thing to realize (remember) that I am, in fact, a writer -- a good writer at that. I know, a bit full of myself there, but today, it just makes me smile ever wider. I feel good, ya know? How truly marvelous.

So let's start the beginning -- I've heard this song a few times on my favorite local radio station and Sirius, and it suits my whole mood for the week. I even sang part of it to Grif last night before bedtime (instead of my usual Van Morrison Sweet Thing)...there's something about the whistling....the chorus....the tune. It screams happiness and joy and lightheartedness (all perfect for lulling Grif to sleep). And it stands the test for late afternoon pick-me-ups. One might even say it kills it for afternoon pick-me-ups. It's sweet and lovely and good. And it hits both marks -- good music and good lyrics. Take a listen here....I dare you not to bop along with it.

Next up? Spring. I love winter (yes, I know, but I truly do -- it's my passion for snow skiing that does it, snow and winter mean steep, snow-covered hills, moguls and fresh powder, and attacking the hill with the perfect tune on my iPod). I love winter, but spring is the herald for so many things -- stomping in mud puddles with Grif, afternoon family walks to the park, hanging outside on the deck with a beer and my pilot after the boy is in bed (and while it's still light out), grill outs, pool days, basking in the sun during my lunch hour, Fountain Square Farmer's Market, beach and lake vacations...I love it all. And it's tangible today -- the cold, snowy days are over and everything is about to bloom. I can feel it in my bones, can't you?

And last, well, the writer thing. I'm on the blog "team" here at work (yes, I'm at work now, ha!), and in the last five months, I've made the effort to blog twice. Twice! Yes, I've been insanely busy, but I can admit that even that seems a bit ridiculous. So I finally made a contribution this week (on, yes of course, wait for it....grammar -- when it's posted, I'll link to it here). I reread it this morn (cuz again of course, I'm truly obsessive compulsive in ensuring there are NO mistakes, even for something silly like a marketing blog). I read it again, and paused. It was good. Really good. And it made me smile -- call it trifecta, hat trick, whatever, but this last bit of realized happiness/joy/satisfaction/inner-smiling-ness seemed to demand a bit of acknowledgment in one crazy, all-inclusive tribute.

And so here it is. Welcome back, Spring. I didn't realize how much I'd missed you.

Caught wasting my days trying to prolong them...

Oh, Time, you silly, fickle bitch. How I loathe you worship you talk to you crave you need you despair of you hope for more more more of you. Somehow, I've let you get the best of me once again. Somehow, the hourglass has been supercharged and I find myself nearly in March!

My excuse? I've been busy. Too busy. With work. With life. With all of it. And frankly, I've let 2010 pass me by too quickly without taking the time -- to breathe -- and really enjoy it. Bad girl. Even worse, I haven't blogged, posted, written, created here (or anywhere for that matter) in so very long. So that's not really an excuse -- it's a confession. And one that I'm not happy to have had to make.

So! With a fresh new (simpler) look, we charge forward. Back to it! With hope, happiness and vitality -- with really being here, being present each day for myself, and more importantly, my family. Vowing to live each moment from here on with a smile on my face. To not let useless things like traffic getting to work and to Grif and to life frustrate me. To not let my exhaustion from work get in the way of enjoying playtime with him (he's getting so big, so tall), or "us" time with my pilot. To living each moment better, purer, clearer. Getting back to the real me that this odd winter has somehow sapped a wee bit, and left me feeling slightly out of sorts, melancholy and a bit lost -- not enough to really notice sometimes, but nevertheless diminished slightly. Perhaps that's what made losing (ignoring) these past two months so easy...and why March has crept up on me.

I feel like I often write in circles, coming back to the same message over and over -- but by god somewhere in this repetition the universe will hear me -- I will hear me! -- and hopefully conquer crazy days instead of letting them conquer me.

So -- we're off! Or, back, as it were. And to start this new start, I dedicate this one to Jack London. My parents went to Australia over 10 years ago. And for some reason, they took this picture for me. Ok, maybe not for me, but it was mine from the first time I laid eyes on it. And I've posted it prominently wherever I've worked...it's the quote I leave on most cards, the prose I recite aloud when the occasion warrants, the graffiti I use when given the chance. It's my mantra, and one that this entire blog stems from and revolves around. Hell, it's what I try to revolve my life around. And it's been too long absent in its entirety from this blog (and my life -- are ya getting the message?). To drive it home, in case you can't quite read the quote, I'll leave it here below as well. It's worth the time to read -- and feel -- and believe -- and take with you -- and live.

I'd rather be ashes than dust,
a spark burnt out in a brilliant blaze,
than to be stifled in dry rot.
For man's chief purpose is to live, not to exist.
I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them.
I shall use my time.

A Long Breath

Ok, so 2010 hasn't exactly been the stellar year I'd hoped for so far...in short, my work life (yes, my WORK life) has been so over-the-top, insanity-filled, really-crazy-busy-no-I-mean-really-crazy-busy that somehow January has nearly passed me by...not only without a new post here, but without even the time to READ the blogs that I usually (daily) enjoy.

I have, however, luckily made time recently (somehow) to get to yoga (one of my resolutions not just for the New Year, but for life in general). Two things, it's been ages since I've been...yes, I let the holidays (starting waaaay back in October with the boy's birthday) interfere in so many ways. I could blame it on my husband's crazy flying schedule, but I can think of at least five distinct times that I could have gone but either 1. chose not to due to laziness/grif time/jim time/steph time/laziness, or 2. I honestly did not think of it until it was too late...I'm blaming these on the holiday-induced sugar coma that I happily, willingly indulged in throughout.

So it had been awhile, and last Sunday, after my triumphant return to the hot yoga studio I love, I could definitely feel the missing time. My balance was off, my muscles sore and not at all accustomed to the poses I was forcing them to remember...but it was good. Yoga always is.

I went again last night -- after a horribly long, once-again-over-busy day at work, braving the insane rainstorm last night to get there, all of which made it so much more inviting to just stay at home and cuddle up on the couch instead of subjecting my body to the heat and sweat again...but I went anyway. And I swear it was hotter -- significantly so -- than any other class I'd been to. But somewhere in the middle, I think I may have crossed a road -- even with my month-plus absence -- for the first time, I felt my breath and my body push over a line I had not known existed. I was tired, drenched, somewhat defeated, but all of of sudden in the middle of Warrior II, I felt....powerful. Intensely, quietly, fiercely POWERFUL. I could almost feel my whole body vibrating with this strangely silent energy and control. And I reveled in it, felt it, took it all in...all with one long breath. And another....and another...

Afterward, standing in line at Chipotle to finish my eve with a healthy dinner (and yes I ordered healthy there!), looking in the glass at my reflection (which was still beet red, with soaked hair, and more than a little disheveled), I realized that I looked -- no, I felt -- taller. Yes, taller. Larger than life. Thinner even. I felt more.

I was totally exhausted afterward, mentally as well as physically. But in a good way -- a fulfilled way -- quite unlike the exhaustion that (I've let) work as of late drag me down into. And as I lay in bed that night, I lamented the fact that I'd let this blog -- this wonderful outlet -- go dormant for what seemed like much too long. And though this is not the entry I intended today, this is still nothing I truly have time for (here at work), this is much much longer than I wanted, it's here. Again. Finally. And I'm giving a good part of the credit to my yoga class last night. The rest goes to me, for getting there and doing it again. And for getting something even more than I planned out of it. Strength. Health. Presence. Peace. Rest. Breath. All of it oh so good.

And so, it begins (2010)...

Our holidays were truly magic...only my sister's house could be so full of chaos, love, wonderful food, a 90-pound puppy, and true, true goodness. Happiness. Fun. It was the perfect way to close down 2009 with laughter and family and everything it should be. The grand finale of a wondrous decade.

A new year begins...has already begun, in fact (how quickly). It sidled in while we were still opening gifts with Grif and eating decadent food and even more decadent cookies and pie. Sneaky, New Year, sneaky. I have so many hopes, big dreams, bigger expectations, giant demands from (of) this year...where will we be at this time in 2011 when we look back? Will I have accomplished all I wanted? Will I remember -- know -- to be truly grateful for it? Will even the things I failed to do (again, still) bring a feeling of contentment or peace, knowing that there is either time yet to complete them or that they weren't really all that important anyway....It brings a smile to my face to look forward. Breath held. Fingers crossed. Prayers answered. Thanks given.


So here's to 2010. Here's to snow days, coffee breaks and egg breakfasts. Here's to working out more (really) this year. Here's to even returning back to "real" life at work -- as I refuse to let the madness and slight disenchantment of my job get me down. Here's to fitting into that one old dress in my closet. Here's to sled/car/bike/plane/boat rides with Grif. Here's to summer afternoons and cool fall nights. Here's to spending more time with husband. To spending less money. To spending at least one long holiday at my little farm. Here's to all the things that I (we all) vow to do/change/start/finish every year, but never...quite...do. Here's to the hope of those things. Cuz really, as long as I still believe in these things, hope for these things, hope for my life, then I can truly enjoy this wonderful, beautiful new year. As I should.

Feeling the Season

Ok, once again, I stole -- err, borrowed -- a wee bit from Boho Girl (perhaps it would be better to say that she inspired me -- she does that a lot). She began her blog post today with the phrase, "Today I woke up really feeling the season." And suddenly, amidst a somewhat bad headache and millions of errands to do and cookies still to bake and work days left to get through, I realized with a smile that I was too. Really, truly, totally, fully feeling the Christmas spirit, cheer, joy, peace, happiness, vibe, christmasy-ness....

Something about this day has revved up my holiday engines and I'm excited about the week. Was it our family Christmas card that is finally finished (thanks to both friends DR & Kelly!) and one printing job away from being ready to send out? I can't wait to send this card out -- it so perfectly represents our year, and my hopes and dreams as a family...

Was it deciding last minute to buy gifts for the boy's daycare teachers and having my other friend Jen talk about having to return some ornaments whereupon I exclaimed, "Wait, this is perfect! I'll buy them from you!" -- saving us both an extra errand?

Was it joking with the police officers outside Macy's when I asked for directions? I got a wee bit confused and needed quick direction help -- they wanted to charge me $5 for the info. I stood my ground (all of us smiling) and pointed to the Salvation Army Kettle that I had just thrown a few bucks in and told them their "fee" was over there...

Was it the cold, crisp air? We got snow over the weekend, and it's cold out, but bundled up, it's not too cold, certainly not too cold to walk outside (instead of driving) for the lunch hour -- it's the first day of winter officially, and that feels just right for the holiday season today....

Was it making the obviously overworked post office clerk smile? I asked her how she was holding up, and she responded with a totally straight face, "Just another day in paradise." Which, of course, made us both look each other in the eye and totally crack up with real, genuine laughter...

Was it the guy at Chipotle who, in the midst of a seriously insane line of people, took the time to talk and joke and smile at EVERY person, wishing each and every customer (including me) with true exuberance and happiness in his voice (absolutely shining in his eyes), "You have a happy holiday!"...

Was it finding those very last two perfect gifts for two dear friends I wanted to thank? Walking by a certain store sparked an "OF COURSE!" The icing on the cake (the star on the tree?) is that these last two gifts came from a local merchant. Much as I love shopping online, it does my heart good to shop truly local...

Is it looking forward to the end of the day, when I can pick up Grif, make him dinner, play with him, watch him, laugh with him (and read to him -- he's crazy about reading these days) all before he goes to bed whereupon I will dive into rolling out the four cookie doughs in my fridge waiting to be baked?

Is it the phone call I'll get from Jim as this day closes, from a different city, probably in a different time zone, where I'll get to tell him all these magical, minute details that happened today?

I'm still not sure. It's all of these things. It's none of these things. It's something deep inside that I can feel is finally aware, awake, alive with the holidays. Which are about giving. And receiving. And being thankful. And being hopeful. And all about just feeling the season -- being here, in the present, to feel feel feel the season. Which, thank the universe, I am today.

Stealing the Babies

I've been thinking a lot about Griffin these days (and yes, I know, when do I not think/marvel/dream about him?). Wanting to incorporate more of the joy and worry and stunning-ness that surrounds being a mother. I stare at him all day long -- even when I'm at work, I have a "wall of Griffin" that chronicles this year....he is truly a beautiful child (and yes, I am a wee bit biased). So many different expressions and looks -- his blue, blue eyes mesmerize me, his smile truly melts my heart. So much so that I often get teary looking at him, being thankful for him....being thankful for my motherhood.

I never thought it would be like this. I know that's an understatement for all parents, but I truly was worried at certain points in my life about my ability to love a child. How having a child would change my relationship with my husband -- how could I split my heart and divide my love for my husband with a child? Would I be a good mother? Could I be a good mother? Did I even truly want to be a mother? It was such an abstract idea -- who would this child be that would be mine? There was so much that would be sacrificed, changed, and I had no way -- no possible way -- of knowing what I would gain instead. That I would get a Grif. My adorable, fabulous, amazing boy...

As a child, teenager and young woman, I was not "in" to babies -- I didn't babysit (the few times I tried it because it was the thing that girls "did," it was a total disaster...I had to call my mom to come over and help), I have never ooh'd and aah'd over babies or children. I don't think commercials with children are automatically cute. I didn't want a flowergirl or ring bearer at my wedding, nor were any kids under 16 allowed at the reception. "Here, hold the baby!" Eek, do I have to, really? I had never been the kind of female that ever really felt that overwhelming need or desire to have a child -- I didn't not want to have a child, it just wasn't something that I was focused on. Or thought I needed.

Until now. I've said it before -- my husband is my heart and my soul, but Griffin is the center of my universe. I had no idea motherhood would knock me over like this, would consume me, fill me, become so much of who I am now. Even babies -- I still don't want to hold everyone's baby or coo at everyone's child, but I can see the beauty and wonder in their faces so much more clearly now. And rest assured, if I go out of my way to comment on your child, I truly mean it. Children crack me up -- and perhaps this above all, this window of realization, makes me laugh even more.

So today I'm stealing. Even two years ago, this movie probably would not have caught my eye. I would have maybe seen the trailer, thought it was interesting, but not really something I'd go out of my way to see. What a difference a year makes. I'm laughing even now....this movie does more than intrigue me. And I'm sure that it is only because I'm a mother now.

I saw this on Boho Girl's blog -- and now I'm sharing it with you.

I love the holidays. Really.

So why am I struggling through these days? Feeling anxious, somewhat let down, knowing that although I am not yet on the verge of tears, if I let myself really give in to the feeling I have in the pit of my stomach, I could start weeping at any second. Why this mental meltdown? I love the holidays -- I love shopping for just the right gift, something unique and different, something that really means something as opposed to just buying things so that the receiver can have something to open on Christmas day.

I'm not a spendthrift. So Christmas shopping -- hell, even grocery shopping around the holidays -- is not something I do with any shred of frugality. Everyone in my life is so easy to shop for -- ooh, Grif needs this. Perfect, Jim's going to love this! I love the rush, and yes, even the silly, sappy, over-played Christmas music. I love decorating the house just so -- and getting ready for the holiday baking now that the big-turkey-mandatory-clam-chowder day is over. I love it all. It makes me feel warm. Alive. Happy.

So what's different this year? I still feel all these things, but they are tinged (tainted?) by a hint of hysteria. Of panic. Of sadness. Was it my birthday? Yes, I am one year closer to a huge (in my mind) age landmark, but this year's celebration was amazing (maybe that's it -- I'm still hungover?). I've been having a hard time with my mother lately, a daily struggle with emotions and words, so easily misunderstood across the miles and over the phone. So is that it?

Is it that, again, there is still so much left undone that I'd really love to learn how to make time for? I know I have to pick my battles (time, always, more time!) with what I can really do with my free time -- since, at the heart, I want every extra minute to be spent playing with Griffin or taking advantage of stolen days with Jim.

I got teary watching Disney's Prep and Landing the other day -- first because Jim DVR'd it so we could watch it (I love him for doing that -- I didn't even ask. The best surprises are like that.), second because the message was such a fun, simple, modern reminder of what this whole season is really all about. And yet...

For the first time as a blogger, I have no grand resolution to these questions. No lesson to try and remind myself of. No epiphany that writing has helped me realize, embrace, know. No "punchline." No immediate feeling of peace. Inner, solid, fulfilling peace. Am I having a mid-holiday crisis? Perhaps. Perhaps. And so I'll end this one with a song instead of words (and even this was a struggle -- the deliberately sad Robert Downey Jr. River? Or something with just a bit more...something?). And hope that whyever this melancholy is, wherever this sadness comes from, it will soon pass me on by. So I can enjoy the holidays. Really.

Rest, sweet rest

The TV is off, the book is shut...the light is still on, but soon to be extinguished as everything else that has wound down on this lovely, full-mooned night. To rest. Repose, sleep. Freedom from activity or labor, a place for resting, peace of mind or spirit, quiescent, motionless, free from anxieties, a letting go...those of you following along will know exactly where I got this list.

Sigh. To rest. I crave sleep (always, as a mother with a wee boy and a husband who's a pilot)(although I think it's par for the course for any mother, the rest is just extra). I live for the weekends when I can revel in a two-hour nap in the afternoons -- stolen time while the boy sleeps as well. Quiet-time just for me, on the couch in the living room...sweet, sweet naps!

But there's something to be said for the preparing of the night -- the night coming on, the feeling of sleepiness, the quiet that covers everything not unlike the cozy blankets on one's bed. I like -- no, love -- the idea of tiptoeing around the house, trying not only to keep from disturbing the sleeping Griffin, but to also not disturb this film of quiet, the aura of impending motionlessness, the glaze of heavy eyes and soon-to-be sweet dreams. I've been thinking about this nighttime silence for some time now, but of course, have totally succumbed to it and the much-needed slumber before I could take a few minutes to write about it (revel in it)...

Sunsets rather than sunrises. Always for me. The closing of the day -- regardless of how much was accomplished or left undone, how good or bad, successes or failures -- has a magic all its own. Is it hope? A promise of things to come when the day dawns anew? A peacefulness that comes from knowing that regardless of its events, this day has had its time and is now nearly over, past and complete? Or is it just sweet release from the day's busyness, craziness, go-go-goingness? A bit of all of it, but most of all, a letting go. A real sense of peace, not just peacefulness. Dropping the shoulders. Fully gathering the yawn, cozying under the covers, and resting. At rest. Ah, rest.