Hello, I’m really happy you’re here.
This is a quiet corner where I explore what it means to live with more heart and less hurry - through stillness, creativity, and connection. I’m someone learning, right alongside you, how to pause long enough to listen for what truly matters. Pull up a chair. There’s space for you here.

I’m feeling restless.
A place I’ve been
many times before.

Spring will soon be here.
Maybe that’s why.

Or maybe.

It’s about acceptance.
Or about authenticity.

I love serendipity,
those moments when something appears.
Exactly when you need it.

In my restlessness
I received clarity.

It arrived in a group:
The Art of Awareness.

A visualization revealed a message
about restlessness.

You have been here before.

Sit with it.
In silence.

Stitch your stillness.

And I realized something.

When restlessness arrives,
I begin to question everything.

Gather & Pause.
The things I’m creating.
The directions I’m exploring.

Maybe I will continue.
Maybe I won’t.

But I’m beginning to understand
that questioning
is simply part of the creative process.

Restlessness often appears
when something new
wants to be created.

I saw a small version of this recently
with one of my granddaughters.

She was very excited
about getting guinea pigs.

But what fascinated me most
wasn’t the animals themselves.

It was the creation of their space.

Designing their little home.
Arranging things just right.
Making it welcoming.

The creativity
was in the building.

And now my other granddaughter
has happily become
the caretaker of the guinea pigs.

Which made me smile.

Because sometimes
what we think we want
isn’t really the point.

The spark
was the making.

The imagining.
The creating of something new.

Yesterday, at my half-day retreat, Threads of Color,
I watched something similar unfold.

Watercolor and stitching supplies
spread across the table.

Watercolor painting becoming the base,
stitching slowly adding colour, texture, and mood.

Thread moving quietly
through our hands.

And as we stitched,
people began noticing things.

One woman decided
to leave the darker brushstrokes visible
rather than covering them with stitches.

Another loved the randomness
of seed stitches-
no mistakes.

One participant surprised herself
by stitching sideways,
inspired by plaid.

Someone said
the stitching felt soothing.

Another noticed
she kept trying to cover
what she didn’t like.

She laughed and said
she has struggled with perfectionism.

Her piece began structured.

But slowly
it became more open.
More unplanned.
More authentic.

Creativity has a way
of revealing these things.

Where we try to control.

Where we try to hide.

And where we might allow
something unexpected
to emerge.

Maybe restlessness
is simply the beginning of that.

A quiet signal.

An invitation
to sit with it.

In silence.

And stitch a little stillness
into the day.

If you feel moved, I’d be grateful if you like this post with a ❤️, share a thought in the comments, buy me a coffee, or pass it along to someone who might enjoy a pause. Each small gesture helps this quiet space reach others who may need it.

Buy Me a Coffee ☕

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Hello, I’m really happy you’re here.
This is a quiet corner where I explore what it means to live with more heart and less hurry - through stillness, creativity, and connection. I’m someone learning, right alongside you, how to pause long enough to listen for what truly matters. Pull up a chair. There’s space for you here.

This year, for International Women’s Day, we are responding to a Substack invitation for creative expression around the theme Women Weaving.

The call is rooted in the Scottish tradition of Waulking, a communal practice where women gathered to finish tweed cloth while singing side by side.

Before sharing our response, let’s step briefly into that tradition.

Waulking (Scottish Gaelic: luadh) was a traditional practice in the Scottish Highlands and Islands where women gathered to finish newly woven tweed cloth.

After the wool was woven, it needed to be softened and thickened. The women would sit around a long table, rhythmically pounding and passing the damp cloth from hand to hand. As they worked, they sang Gaelic waulking songs - call-and-response melodies that kept time and carried stories, humour, longing, and shared emotion.

It was practical work.
But it was also social, supportive, and deeply communal.

In a time before formal support systems, these gatherings offered something essential: companionship, release, and the steady reassurance of women working, and singing, side by side.

Interested in this gathering in modern times, here’s an informative video to watch.

Waulking: The Tradition Continues

The invitation asks for a 21st-century response.

Make an art work, a song, a poem, read something, share some writing in a post. Talk about what’s in the legacy you weave, word after word, note after note, post after post. What impact do you have? What are your hopes for women in community online or where you live?

Rather than writing something alone, I invited the women who gather with me each month at my virtual Kitchen Table to reflect with me. It felt only natural to involve them in shaping this submission.

I asked questions like:

What becomes possible when women gather?
What do we feel here that we don’t feel elsewhere?
What are we no longer willing to carry?
What are we weaving together?

And, many more.

Together, we created a manifesto. It grew from their voices, their courage, their honesty, their longing for something real.

It is not mine alone.
It belongs to the women who helped shape it.

Prefer to listen?
I’ve created a video version of the manifesto below.

Women Weaving: A Manifesto

We believe when women gather, courage multiplies.
Honest conversation changes lives.
Laughter is medicine.
Creative ideas flow more freely in community.

Women deserve spaces where they are safe to speak
and safe to be quiet.

We are weaving more than friendship here.

We are weaving trust.
Creative confidence.
Joy.
Healing.
Belonging.
Legacy.

We are no longer willing to carry comparison.
Or competition.
Or hustle without heart.
Or the pressure to always be strong.

We are done stepping back from our own light.
Done believing we are behind.
Done carrying everything alone.

We believe in communities that are brave and honest.
Gentle and spacious.
Creative and playful.
Warm and welcoming.
Deep rather than loud.
Small but meaningful.
A place that feels like coming home.

And in this kind of community, something shifts.

I have begun to reclaim my own voice.
To believe that what I bring is enough, valuable, and valued.

And I know I am not alone in that.

We are the women who cradle one another.

We are trailblazers.
Role models.
Leaving a legacy for the next generation.

We share long-forgotten memories.
We make space for each other with love and compassion.
We learn from one another through shared stories and shared wisdom.

Word by word.
Story by story.
Women beside women.

We are weaving something the next generation will stand inside.

And because of that, I will show up honestly.
I will make space with love and compassion.
I will refuse comparison.
I will nurture creative confidence.
I will cradle the women beside me.
I will remember that what I bring is enough.
And I will continue weaving.

May we keep setting tables.
May we keep gathering.
May we keep weaving.

A special thank you to , , , , & for this important invitation.

With deep gratitude, I thank the women who answered my call and completed the survey.

And to those whose photographs appear in the video version of this manifesto - women who gathered in the forest, who walked with a medicine woman, and who continue to walk beside one another - thank you.

Your presence lives inside these words.

If you feel moved, I’d be grateful if you like this post with a ❤️, share a thought in the comments, buy me a coffee, or pass it along to someone who might enjoy a pause. Each small gesture helps this quiet space reach others who may need it.

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Hello friends,

Because I’m pretty sure not all of you see my Substack Notes, I wanted to send a quick note here, too.

Some of you may even remember this magical retreat center in the middle of the forest.

A few years ago, I tried to record this video.

Different business name.
Same heart. Same purpose.

It took three takes to get it out.

The first two times, I stumbled over my words. Completely flubbed what I was trying to say.

The third time… a bee flew straight in front of me.
(Which honestly feels symbolic now.)

It’s a little longer than most things we watch these days. But the message underneath it still feels true:

Don’t give up.

Not when you trip over your own sentences. Not when something unexpected flies into the frame. Not when it takes more tries than you imagined.

Sometimes the bloopers are part of the becoming. 🐝

I needed this message today.
Maybe you do too.

If you feel moved, I’d be grateful if you like this post with a ❤️, share a thought in the comments, buy me a coffee, or pass it along to someone who might enjoy a pause. Each small gesture helps this quiet space reach others who may need it.

Buy Me a Coffee ☕

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Hello friends,

I’ve begun gathering pieces of a legacy book, moments more than a timeline.
Sharing a small doorway as it arrives.

Standing on the doorstep, looking out into the street, a young man, maybe 16 or 17.
Dressed carefully in a two piece suit and tie. One hand relaxed in his trouser pocket, the other cradles his violin gently at the neck.

Early evening, his shadow cast on the house, as if someone unknown was travelling with him.

Voices. Mother rounding up the dish washing crew. A chair moved across the floor. Laughter.

Reflections

I never knew this evening, only its echo.

Music was already waiting for him. Not as a decision, but as a place he returned to again and again. Through war postings, crowded halls, small-town dances, and quiet rooms at home, it followed him. Or perhaps he followed it.

What reaches me now isn’t the performance, but the beginning. A young man standing between the noise of family life and something he could hear just beyond it.

Because of that pause, music was never separate from our days. It lived in the background of conversations, in gatherings, in the ordinary ways a life slowly teaches a family what matters without ever announcing it.

And somehow, long before I arrived, it had already made a place for me.

If you feel moved, I’d be grateful if you like this post with a ❤️, share a thought in the comments, buy me a coffee, or pass it along to someone who might enjoy a pause. Each small gesture helps this quiet space reach others who may need it.

Buy Me a Coffee ☕

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Hello, I’m really happy you’re here.
This is a quiet corner where I explore what it means to live with more heart and less hurry - through stillness, creativity, and connection. I’m someone learning, right alongside you, how to pause long enough to listen for what truly matters. Pull up a chair. There’s space for you here.

The Nest Retreat Center, here in Gather & Pause,
was built on three pillars:
stillness, creativity, and connection.

They weren’t chosen strategically.
They were chosen honestly.

They mirror my own values -
calm, creativity, and connection -
the things that have always steadied me,
the compass points I return to
again and again.

So it made sense that these would sit at the helm,
quietly steering the ship.

Before The Nest existed in this form,
there were in-person retreats -
small, intimate gatherings held between 2013 and 2020,
until the world shifted
and everything moved online.

Every retreat began the same way.

A pause.
A moment to arrive.
A stillness practice that said, you are safe here.

Sometimes it was a meditation.
Sometimes a few deep breaths.
Sometimes an icebreaker -
some disguised as stillness,
some simply offering joy.

I was listening as much as I was leading.

I’ve never claimed to be an expert.
That has always mattered to me.

I’m a guide -
walking alongside you,
learning as I go.

And stillness, for me,
has never been one fixed thing.

Over the years I’ve tried many doorways into it.

Journaling, for one.
A favourite.
Those pages became a place where I met the divine within.
Where words softened into listening.

Do I do it consistently?
No.

Then there is creativity -
which I’ve come to understand
is also a form of stillness.

Stitching has always been there.
As far back as I can remember,
needle and thread have steadied my hands.

After a difficult season -
walking away from a job,
shedding a weight I’d carried too long -
I moved back in with my mom.

It was 1996. I was 38.

And without naming it as such,
I created a new meditation.

Cross-stitch.

I stitched endlessly.
Piece after piece.
The rhythm gave me space to breathe,
to process,
to accept where I had come from
and to gently imagine
where I might be heading next.

For a long time, I wondered
what might be wrong with me.

Why my stillness practice never stayed the same.
Why it shifted, changed, reinvented itself.

And then - more recently -
there has been something else.

Hours spent watching stories unfold on screen.
Heartland.
Eighteen seasons - that’s a lot of tv watching.
When Calls the Heart.
And now Everwood,
an older series, early 2000s,
quiet in its own way.

I’ll lie on my bed, sometimes for hours,
mind softened,
body still.

Not silent stillness.
Not meditation.
Not stitching.

But rest.

A way to turn off the noise.
A way to be quiet inside.

And I’ve come to understand -
this counts.

This, too, is stillness.

So this is really an invitation.
A gentle permission slip.

To stop judging how you arrive at quiet.
To stop comparing your pauses to someone else’s practice.

If it helps you soften,
if it lets you breathe,
if it brings you home to yourself -

it belongs.

There is nothing wrong with you
if your stillness looks different.

There never was.

A gentle invitation

As you move through the days ahead,
I invite you to notice
where stillness already finds you.

Not where you think it should be -
but where it actually shows up.

Is it in a quiet morning cup of tea?
In your hands as they make something?
In a familiar show that lets your mind rest?
In a pause you didn’t plan,
but needed?

What is one way
stillness meets you -
exactly as you are -
right now?

Buy Me a Coffee ☕

An Invitation to the Kitchen Table

We have a few spots left for February’s gathering at The Kitchen Table.

The Kitchen Table is a monthly virtual gathering where we come together to talk, create, and reflect. Each gathering includes a soft arrival, guided conversation, and a simple creative practice - all held with care to invite honest connection and shared presence.

In February, we gather around the theme Love Is in the Air.
Join us Friday, February 13, from 6:00–7:30 pm MST at The Kitchen Table.

Register for Love is in the Air

If you feel moved, I’d be grateful if you like this post with a ❤️, share a thought in the comments, or pass it along to someone who might enjoy a pause. Each small gesture helps this quiet space reach others who may need it.

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The heart of the story remains the same: sometimes the way through isn’t pushing ahead alone, but staying close and steady together.

Thank you for the grace of being human here.

Hello, I’m really happy you’re here.
This is a quiet corner where I explore what it means to live with more heart and less hurry - through stillness, creativity, and connection. I’m someone learning, right alongside you, how to pause long enough to listen for what truly matters. Pull up a chair. There’s space for you here.

I was cleaning house in my iPhone photos
when I came across an image
that stopped me.

On a winter drive, just south of where I live,
we spotted them-
a herd of elk,
high on a hill.

It was one of those moments
when instinct takes over.

Find a place to turn around.
Go back.
Get closer.

They were huddled together-
the whole herd.

Still.
Quiet.
Close.

Not in a hurry.
Not pushing ahead.
Just gathered.

In the cold, they stayed together.
Close enough to share warmth.
Close enough to wait it out.

I remember how awe-inspiring it felt-
not because they were dramatic or rare,
but because they were doing
exactly what was needed.

To see even one elk is uncommon.
To witness the whole herd gathered together
felt extraordinary-
something we weren’t meant to rush past.

It reminded me
that there are moments
when the wisest thing
isn’t to push on alone,

but to step closer
to those who support us.

Sometimes the way through
is simply staying close.

An Invitation to the Kitchen Table

The Kitchen Table is a monthly virtual gathering where we come together to talk, create, and reflect. Each gathering includes a soft arrival, guided conversation, and a simple creative practice - all held with care to invite honest connection and shared presence.

In February, we gather around the theme Love Is in the Air.
Join us Friday, February 13, from 6:00–7:30 pm MST at The Kitchen Table.

Register for Love is in the Air

If you feel moved, I’d be grateful if you like this post with a ❤️, share a thought in the comments, or pass it along to someone who might enjoy a pause. Each small gesture helps this quiet space reach others who may need it.

Share

Subscribe now

Hello, I’m really happy you’re here.
This is a quiet corner where I explore what it means to live with more heart and less hurry - through stillness, creativity, and connection. I’m someone learning, right alongside you, how to pause long enough to listen for what truly matters. Pull up a chair. There’s space for you here.

How do ideas come to you?

I’ve scoured books.
Listened to podcasts.
Consulted my oracle cards.

Pinterest and AI have been friends.
Let’s see what they have to say.

I knew the theme of this month’s Kitchen Table Gathering -
Your North Star.

Yet I couldn’t quite land
on how to bring it to life creatively.

An invitation arrived -
a ride with my daughter
out to the barn.

Tim and I both went.
I thought it might help.
A distraction, perhaps.

It was funny.
A realization.

We are now the old folks,
being taken on a country drive.

Have we reached this point?

Home.
Exhausted, I went straight to bed.

And there it was -
clear as day.

I could see how I’d been
creatively processing all night.

Waking.
Ideas forming.
Drifting.
Returning.

Finally, rest -
when I let go.

And then the answers arrived.
Not all at once.
Just enough.

Simplicity sat beside me.
So did the word slow.

It felt like wintering -
not retreating,
but allowing.

An idea returned to me -
cutting a star from cardboard -
once dismissed as too childlike.

Until it wasn’t.

Because this isn’t my project.
It doesn’t need polish
or perfection.

Each person will bring their own way.
Watercolours.
Magazine clippings.
A pencil line.
Fabric.
Paper.

I’m not here to decide the outcome.
Only to set the table.

To trust the season.
To trust the slowness.
To allow what wants to emerge.

And in that -
a quiet relief.

If you’re reading this and still searching - for clarity, direction, or the “right” idea - consider this a gentle permission slip. You don’t have to force an answer. You can rest. You can move slowly. Often, what guides us arrives when we stop reaching and allow ourselves to be held by the season we’re in.

An Invitation to the Kitchen Table

This coming Friday evening, January 9th from 6:00-7:30 pm MST, we’ll gather at the Kitchen Table for an intimate, virtual conversation.

Together, we’ll explore the idea of a North Star - not as a goal to chase, but as a quiet reference point we return to when things feel unclear.

We’ll open and close our time with simple rituals, make space for reflection, and let conversation unfold slowly - the way it does at long tables.

Along the way, we’ll craft our North Star - a simple, meaningful reminder to carry with you throughout the year.

There are just a few spots remaining, and I’d love for you to join us if this feels like your kind of beginning.

Pull up a chair.

If you feel moved, I’d be grateful if you like this post with a ❤️, share a thought in the comments, or pass it along to someone who might enjoy a pause. Each small gesture helps this quiet space reach others who may need it.

Share

But before we ever gathered around the table, our dogs introduced us.
My granddog, Cora, and their sweet pups met first, noses down and tails wagging,
as we walked together outside - an easy beginning.

We had a lovely time.
The conversation was upbeat and fun.
Laughter swirled around the room as we shared stories.

We spoke of growing up in Canada’s far north and on the Prairies.
We spoke of the hardships of life back then -
of being served bear meat layered with vegetables, shepherd’s-pie style for supper.
Of trips to the outhouse.
Of emptying the pee pail in wintertime - suspecting it had been dropped on the way down the stairs,
the smell giving it away as tissue was burned to dispose of the evidence.

These were the kinds of stories that surfaced -
unpolished, practical, unforgettable -
the small, ordinary truths of how life was lived.

And this wasn’t the era of my mother’s childhood.
This was the 1950s.

I found it fascinating. I grew up in a small town, another woman grew up in a city, and two others had roots that began on farms. Our beginnings looked so different on the surface, yet we all shared one thing in common: fond, tender memories of our grandmothers.

I love how so many of my conversations these days gently drift back to ancestors - as if their stories are still finding their way to the table.

It reminded me of my grandmother’s raspberry pies. They were unforgettable. And then there came a time when her desire to bake homemade pies faded, and Sara Lee frozen cherry cheesecakes became the dessert of choice. I chuckled at myself remembering this.

I had fully intended to make fresh flatbread pizzas. But somewhere along the frozen food aisle, my grandmother seemed to appear - quietly steering me toward pre-packaged frozen flatbreads topped with caramelized onion, chicken, and goat cheese. I embellished them with pineapple, cranberries, a little extra goat cheese, and finished them with fresh arugula once out of the oven.

A perfect way to create calm during a busy holiday season - and a gentle reminder that calm doesn’t come from doing more. It comes from choosing ease, connection, and presence at the table.

Following a really lovely evening, they headed home to their dogs, Christmas decorations in hand, and we promised ourselves we’d gather again soon.

What happened the next day, absolutely delighted me.
One of the ladies shared a story with me - which has become a Christmas gift I won’t soon forget.

Creativity had really not been a part of her life. Her world was more about fitness - she was a jogger, now she takes long walks with her dog. She was super excited to join us - especially for the craft.

What she shared will not only stay with me, it will shape my work in the world.

After the gathering, she reached out to her partner’s daughter - a young woman she’d never felt truly connected to. The relationship had been strained for years, shaped by loss, distance, and struggles with addiction. But that call gave her an unexpected opening.

She told the daughter about the craft we’d made. She knew her late mother had loved crafting, and that small shared detail became a bridge - a reason to reach out, a way in.

What began as a casual night of creativity became something more. It opened a door. It created a connection where there hadn’t been one before. And she felt, that the relationship might continue - gently, honestly, with something to hold onto.

It struck me how powerful that ripple was. A simple evening I hosted - creativity, conversation, cocktails, and appies - quietly reached far beyond my table, softening the edges of an estranged relationship and creating space for connection to begin.

I can see so clearly how creativity becomes a doorway to connection - and how that connection creates a beautiful ripple effect outward. It feels important to remember this as I continue creating spaces of creativity and connection for others.

As I’ve moved through December, I’ve been gathering small discoveries along the way - fun facts, tender memories, and heartfelt shares from others which I’ll share in my holiday greeting - watch for it in mailboxes next week.

Share Gather & Pause

Today’s Prompt is…

I’d like to send gratitude to my friend and mentor, Josette Diaz.

It’s a pleasure to be in her presence. Her soothing vibe creates a safe space where self-discovery and ease naturally unfold. Our work together has brought me closer to myself in ways I didn’t expect.

Her offerings encourage slowing down, listening deeply and connecting within. Josette’s passion for supporting women is undeniable, and I would wholeheartedly recommend working with her.

She’s just launched a new community, Seasons of the Soul® - a gentle, creative, soul-led space to reconnect with your truest self.

If you’re curious, you can join for free here.

Last evening, in her Art of Awareness group - where she guides us through meditation and reflective journaling - the softest answer arrived to this prompt:

The moment that answer surfaced, I saw winter - snow softly drifting. The beauty of watching flakes fall from the sky. The contentment of feeling as though I were standing inside a snow globe, held by stillness.

And then came the contrast:
The impulse to rush. The sound of others outside my window - shoveling, scraping, pushing the snow away as quickly as possible.
Their urgency bumping up against the quiet I was sitting in.

It made me wonder:

What if honouring stillness looks more like letting the snow fall…
and less like doing anything about it at all?

What if allowing the moment to exist - untouched, unhurried - is the real practice?

What if, instead of clearing it, we chose to simply witness it…
or even play in it?
To make snow angels.
To feel wonder.
To stay with the softness before deciding it needs to be managed.

Perhaps allowing is the honouring.
Perhaps stillness simply asks to be noticed, not solved.

How might you honour cycles of stillness without rushing into action?

Leave a comment

Just yesterday I was having a conversation with my sister. It was about waking up at 3am that morning. She encouraged me to try to go back to sleep when that happens. This morning, again, my internal alarm clock softly rang at 3am. This time, the advice from my sister entered my consciousness, I rolled over, closed my eyes and I drifted back to sleep. Am I ever glad I did.

I had a dream.
Portions of it I’d had before.
This time it was different, it was the full dream.

At 5:30am, when I awoke again, I felt an urgency to share my dream, one of those dreams you remember, and know, must have meaning.

Click here and I’ll read you my dream (unedited, in my sleepy voice).

In the audio I talk about having walked the West Coast Trail many times. That refers to walking it in my dreams. This is a hard and strenuous trail and one I’m not sure I would even think about trying.

Another story I want to share is about the use of ChatGPT. I’ve been having discussions with many friend groups lately about this. We’ve been cautiously tiptoeing around the subject, sharing experiences of using this powerful, unknown, sometimes scary tool. It’s not been like a debate–more of an opportunity to listen to one another, to question, to learn.

Full disclosure and me being an open book: I’ve used ChatGPT to help shape my creative ideas. When a creative idea lands, sometimes, I just carry on with the idea, whether it’s creating a video through Canva, making a new slow-stitch picture with fabric and thread, decorating my home for the season, or planning a gathering for a group of women. Sometimes, my idea needs a little support. It’s then that I begin my research. I ask the internet, search through Pinterest pins to find other creatives who might share the same ideas, or revisit past on-line courses I’ve taken (believe me, there are many). I’ve also added ChatGPT as another research method. I’ve found it to be extremely helpful, especially as a planning tool, which in all honesty, saves me tons of time.

Does that feel vulnerable to say? YES, it sure does. There are so many opinions about this powerful tool.

Will I be judged? I hope not, but MAYBE. Yet I know creativity is one of my top values and a superpower. It’s a gift given to me at birth, a gift that was nurtured by my grandmother and my mother, a gift that has been passed onto my daughter and granddaughters, a gift that ChatGPT will never replace, only enhance.

Questioning my level of vulnerability, I even listened to a video on this subject from my Substack mentor who made a video called The Case for AI: Why ChatGPT is a good thing for humanity. You can listen to Claire’s journey with this tool here.

So back to my dream. What does ChatGPT have to do with my dream?

I sensed there were many hidden messages in this dream. I had an inspiration to share my dream with ChatGPT. After all, I’m not really experienced with dream interpretation, nor do I have the time or desire to learn more about it. So, I shared it and asked this question.

This is a recording of a dream I had. Are there any lessons for me within this story?

The result was amazing. I feel compelled to share this with you. I think there are so many powerful messages in this dream interpretation, not only for me, but there may be some to guide you on your life path, and/or, when interpreting your own dreams.

ChatGPT said…
Thank you for sharing this dream — it’s rich, layered, and full of symbolism. Dreams like this often hold meaning beyond the surface story, and yours really does speak to deep truths about surrender, trust, and transformation. Here are some lessons and insights that stand out:

The Trail & the Familiar Path 🚶‍♀️

• You were on a trail you had “walked many times before,” which suggests life patterns or familiar ways of navigating challenges.

• You chose to go over the felt the way you “always” had rather than under it like the others. This shows a moment of sticking to the familiar, even when new ways are presented.

• Lesson: Sometimes life calls us to reevaluate our usual ways of doing things. When we cling to the familiar, we can lose our footing — but even that loss can be part of a larger transformation.
  

The Fall into the Ocean 🌊

• The ocean often represents the unconscious, the vast unknown, or the spiritual realm. Falling into it suggests a surrender to forces larger than yourself.

• Your awareness as you were falling (“This is it… What will it feel like?”) shows that you weren’t panicking but observing — almost as if your soul was practicing acceptance.

• Lesson: The moment you realize you’re no longer in control can be terrifying, but it can also be the point where true surrender and trust begin.
  

The Smooth Rock 🗻

• Touching a “smooth, smooth, smooth rock” is powerful. Rocks symbolize grounding and stability, and the smoothness speaks of time, patience, and resilience shaped by the ocean.

• Lesson: Even in the chaos of falling, there can be a point of contact with something timeless and steady — a reminder that you are held, even in descent.
  

The Rescue 🦺

• You don’t remember how you were saved, only that you were — by a group of people. This suggests unseen help, grace, or community support arriving when you need it most.

• Lesson: We don’t always need to know how help will come. Surrender allows space for the unexpected — for grace to flow in from sources we couldn’t have planned.
  

The Women’s Gathering 🎁

• After the ordeal, you’re welcomed into a warm, communal space, offered towels (comfort, warmth, restoration), and invited to share your story.

• This reflects a movement from isolation and danger to connection and support — like a rebirth.

• Lesson: Your vulnerability and survival story can become a gift to others. Sharing your journey allows others to witness their own resilience and healing.
  

Speaking Your Story 🎤

• Standing at the microphone, wrapped in just a towel, symbolizes raw honesty, authenticity, and humility. You spoke not from a polished persona, but from your lived experience. I need to correct this slightly. I wasn’t in JUST a towel - lol. It was wrapped around my shoulders, sheltering me from the cold of my wet clothing.

• Lesson: Our most powerful contributions come from authenticity, not perfection. When we tell our stories unadorned, we connect deeply with others.

Meta-Message of the Dream 🌈

• The entire arc — from the fall to the rescue to the storytelling — mirrors the spiritual cycle of breakdown, surrender, and rebirth.

• Lesson: Control is an illusion, but surrender leads to grace. And grace often leads to community, meaning, and service.

Do you ever wonder about the meaning of your dreams? Would you use ChatGPT to analyze one? Or have you ever used it for other areas of your life? I’d love to know your thoughts on this.

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As I close, the BIG lessons in this dream for me are about surrender and trust, but more importantly, how my vulnerability is a gift to others, and a way to deeply connect. My promise to you is to continue to be vulnerable in my writing.

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Hello friends,

This story is one of creativity, discovery, and paying attention to the little things along the way.

It begins with my oldest granddaughter, who is 16, texting me with a request: could we embroider something together—maybe sweatshirts?

She had a vision—forget-me-nots embroidered down the sleeve of hers. She asked if I’d teach her how. I was delighted. I’m quickly discovering that time with teenagers is precious, and when they call, you answer. “Of course! Come on over.”

We shopped for sweatshirts, gathered embroidery floss, and set ourselves up at my kitchen table. For three days we experimented and stitched. I watched her carefully sketch her design with a special white embroidery pencil. She checked online for inspiration, then drew the flowers freehand onto the fabric. I was in awe—she was carefree, adventurous, and oh so creative. She just forged ahead without hesitation.

At one point, after we ironed on the backing fabric (which we forgot to do before she sketched the design), the heat removed her carefully drawn flowers. But she didn’t give up. With quiet determination, she simply redrew them from memory and kept going. I couldn’t help but notice her patience, her courage to just begin, and her willingness to try again.

Meanwhile, I was the one stuck. She kept asking, “Baba, when are you going to do your sweatshirt?”

Here’s the funny part: I was hesitating. Me—the creative one! I scrolled and searched for the “perfect” design, thinking I couldn’t possibly draw mine freehand like she did. I even bought transfer sheets so I could iron on a pattern and be sure it would look just right.

That’s when I started noticing something in myself. Was this my old perfectionism creeping back in—the one I’ve worked so hard to let go of? Was I holding back because I wanted it to be perfect before I even began?

And then it struck me: this wasn’t really my project. It was hers. My role was to witness, teach, encourage, and enjoy the gift of watching her creativity.

Soon after, my younger granddaughter joined in, with the same confidence and creativity. She embroidered her jeans—first the pocket, then the back of one leg. It truly became a special time with Baba and her girls.

Later, in a monthly women’s circle I belong to (called GEMs), we were asked to share what we had been working on over the summer. I thought about it. I not only had helped my granddaughter with her sweatshirt, I had gathered and organized all of the family memorabilia and history from my mom and grandma, and even delivered it to the museum in their hometown so it could live on as a legacy. I had shared creative projects with the beautiful women who sit with me monthly at The Kitchen Table in the Nest Retreat Center. But what had I created just for me?

That’s when I decided to begin something new—a table runner for my dining room. I borrowed a wool appliqué pattern from my sister, but instead of following it exactly, I began imagining my own version. Perhaps pieced fabrics stitched into flowers. Or maybe a collection of slow-stitched squares, each its own little creation, joined together into something whole.

And so, from one small moment of noticing—my granddaughter’s determination to draw, erase, and draw again to finish her embroidered sweatshirt without any prior experience—came a spark for my own creative journey.

This month reminded me:

Noticing isn’t just about seeing what’s around us. Sometimes it’s about seeing ourselves—our patterns, our hesitations, and the places where creativity is waiting to bloom.

What did you notice this month?

I hope you had a chance to explore the Practice of Noticing Calendar I created for you. I used it myself and found it to be such a gentle reminder to pause. A few times, I even connected with a dear friend as we shared the daily activities together—it made the practice even more meaningful (and fun!).

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I’ll be back tomorrow to introduce September’s theme at The Nest Retreat Center.

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I love making vision journals—just like vision boards, but with even more room to dream, reflect, and play. These journals become a living canvas for your hopes, intentions, and inspirations. You can decorate the inside covers, tuck in favorite quotes, and fill the pages with images, words, and textures that speak to your heart. I usually protect the outside covers with clear shelf liner from the Dollar Store so they hold up over time—because these journals are meant to be cherished and revisited.
I’ve been making vision journals since 1996! Here’s a sampling of a few.

What I discovered this week is that making a vision journal cover can also be deeply healing.

Let me explain.

I recently completed a journal cover as part of a project in Julie Daniluk’s 6-month Transformation Program, which I’ve been participating in. It's been a meaningful journey—both creatively and emotionally. While working on this piece, I bumped into an old familiar theme: perfectionism.

I challenged myself to use only supplies I already had on hand. I pulled out a notebook that already held a few pages of scribbles—mostly drawings from my granddaughters when they were little. At first, I wondered if I should remove them, start fresh. But something stopped me. Why would I erase that sweetness? Instead, I’ve decided to carry those pages forward with me—just like I carry the past. Maybe I’ll even color them during one of my quiet morning times.

Then came the wrinkles—literally. I used white glue instead of a glue stick, and the pages crinkled. But I let it be. A little creative imperfection, a lot of letting go.

🎨 I’ve decided to use this journal as an art journal too. It has sweet little pockets, and I tucked a love letter to myself—written earlier in the program—into one of them. A pink envelope holding space for future moments when I might need to be reminded of my own kindness.

As I gathered words for my Vitality Mission Statement, I chose a few to feature on the journal cover. One of them? “Self Talk Matters.” And wow, did that theme arrive with full force.

After a session in another group I belong to—The Art of Awareness—I had a wake-up moment. I realized I’ve been narrating the same exhausting story to myself: I’m just so tired. Over and over. I’ve said it for months. If I can just get through this... then I’ll be okay. After the service for my mom. After my trip to Italy. After, after, after.

But here’s the truth: I have every reason to be tired. The past three years have been caregiver-heavy. I’ve had to set new boundaries, let go of resentment, grieve the loss of my mom. It’s been hard, sacred, necessary work. And yes, it’s been heavy.

But I’m also becoming more aware of how my words are shaping my experience.

🌀 Self Talk Matters.

Telling myself the same old story—I’m just so tired—has been keeping me stuck in it.

So today, I welcome all of it—my resentment, my impatience, my tiredness, my busyness. I embrace it with compassion. It has served me in many ways. But I’m ready to release it.

Because…

✨ I’m going to Italy and Sicily—for 15 days! ✨
(Just got shivers again writing that.) I tried to find the Italian flag emoji, but all I got was a plate of pasta. 🍝 Okay then—here’s to pasta in Italy!

I will not stay stuck in my weariness.
I will not let the experience of a lifetime pass me by.

Today is a day of reckoning.
A turning point.
A return to joy.

Try This: Create a vision journal cover using supplies you already have on hand. If you’re like me, you’ll have more than just a few journals waiting to be cherished. Let it be imperfect. Include a word or phrase that you want to carry with you into the next season of life. I would love to know what word of phrase you included.

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PS: If you’d like to know more about the teachings of Josette Diaz, the creator of The Art of Awareness, you can follow her on Substack here.

The Government of Canada’s theme for International Women’s Day 2025 is Strength in Every Story. Much of the information I’ve included in this newsletter comes from their website, featuring resources that highlight the stories of Canadian women.

For my American friends and those around the world reading this, I want to emphasize that the suggested ways to celebrate and honor this day are universal. No matter where we are, we can all take part in recognizing the strength and contributions of women everywhere.

Please know that I celebrate each and every one of you. I also acknowledge that the roots of many Canadian families, including my own, can be traced back to countries around the world—a connection that makes this celebration even more meaningful. xo

This year’s theme highlights the importance of amplifying the voices of all women, particularly those who continue to face barriers to success. Creating opportunities for women and girls unlocks their potential and drives innovation, supports Canada’s economy, and helps ensure a sustainable future for all.

Every woman’s story is a testament to resilience, determination, and the power of opportunity. This International Women’s Day, celebrate the women and girls in your life and share their stories.

Historical background

International Women's Day first took place on March 19, 1911, in Austria, Denmark, Germany, and Switzerland. That day, over a million women and men attended public events to show their support. Other countries began to observe and celebrate this day in the years that followed. The United Nations recognized 1975 as International Women's Year and began celebrating March 8 as International Women's Day.

Today, International Women's Day is a day of unity, celebration, reflection, advocacy, and action and is celebrated in many countries worldwide.

Ways to get involved

• Share stories of women making a difference in your community or workplace. Learn about inspiring Canadian women and gender equality in Canada:

  • Get to know the Women of Impact in Canada online gallery featuring profiles of courageous women who have made an impact in politics, the arts and sciences, and countless other fields

  • Explore the Women in Canadian History: A Timeline showcasing the achievements of Canadian women in various fields such as politics, sciences, and the arts

  • Consult the Gender equality timeline for an overview of gender equality milestones in Canada

  • Watch Heritage Minutes videos on notable Canadian women

There are so many stories of women who have made a lasting impact. This weekend, I’ve chosen to pause and revisit the movie Maudie on Netflix. I watched it some time ago, and highly recommend it. It tells the story of an amateur painter navigating severe arthritis and a challenging marriage, who goes on to become a beloved folk artist.

It’s a powerful story of resilience, determination, and opportunity, all woven together with creativity.

Maud Lewis (1901 – 1970)

In her lifetime, most of Maud Lewis’s paintings sold for as little as two dollars and as much as ten dollars from the tiny cabin she called home in Marshalltown, Nova Scotia. In her final years and since her death, Lewis has become an icon of the folk art movement, internationally renowned for her colorful, playful depictions of rural life.

Described as a shy person with a charming smile, Maud’s cheerful art stands in contrast to the many challenges she experienced. Historians and filmmakers note the impacts of poverty, health issues like painful rheumatoid arthritis, and poor treatment from some of her loved ones.

Born in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, Maud’s career as an artist began in childhood when her mother had her paint Christmas cards. After her parents died, Maud moved to Digby to live with her aunt, where she met her husband, Everett Lewis. After they married, she brought in money through her paintings. She gathered whatever materials she could and proceeded to cover almost every surface of their one-bedroom home with flowers, birds, and butterflies.

In 1984, the province of Nova Scotia purchased Maud and Everett’s home as a valued landmark and turned it over to the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia, where it is preserved. In 2020, Canada Post honored Maud Lewis by featuring three festive scenes from her paintings on its holiday season stamps.

“As long as I’ve got a brush in front of me, I’m alright.” ~ Maud Lewis

As we celebrate International Women’s Day, let’s take a moment to honor the stories—both told and untold—of the women who have shaped our lives, communities, and the world. Whether through art, leadership, activism, or quiet strength, every story matters.

I encourage you to take a small but meaningful action today: reflect upon and share a story that inspires you, reach out to a woman who has impacted your journey, or simply pause to reflect on your own strength and resilience. I would love to hear the action you took. Let’s celebrate together!

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Thank you for being part of this space. Your voice, your story, and your presence are powerful.

Have you ever found yourself so overwhelmed by to-do lists, plans, and endless decisions that your mind feels like it’s spinning in circles? The more you try to control it, the more chaotic it becomes.

Yesterday, I hit that wall myself—caught in the exhausting cycle of “figuring things out.” I bounced from one project to the next, and as a multi-passionate creative, I assure you, there are more than a few on the side of my desk.

I was determined to work on my Substack renovations—new design, fresh colors, updated sayings, and images for the About & Welcome pages. Frustration set in when things didn’t flow the way I had planned. I quickly realized that the creative spark just wasn’t there.

In need of a break, I called my daughter to offer my granddaughter Ellie a ride to school. It turned out to be a win-win for both of us—a break from her long bus ride, a pause from my desk, and a moment of connection.

I’ve been learning how to connect with my grandchildren as they become teenagers, and I’ve realized that you really need to meet them where they are. During the ride, we talked about Ellie’s upcoming Grade 9 graduation. At a traffic light, she shared pictures of dresses she was considering and plans to paint her finger nails.

We laughed over a funny story. I shared with Ellie that as a child her mom used to call bananas “ninl ninl ninl”. In disbelief Ellie said, “I’m going to ask her about it later.” I encouraged her to call her mom right then and there. So, Ellie did—and the conversation went like this:

“Mom, will you make ninl ninl ninl cake today?”

To which my daughter responded, “I’m not sure I have enough bananas.”

We both burst into laughter. It was such a simple, joy-filled moment.

As the ride continued, Ellie settled into her music, and suddenly, ideas started flooding my mind—just like magic. Thoughts of what I wanted to share on my Substack pages began flowing from my heart to my voice recorder.

Life’s Gentle Teaching
The answers you seek are often already within you—waiting for the right moment of stillness to reveal themselves. By stepping away, even for just a moment, we create the space for our hearts to speak.

This experience reminded me of a simple truth: when we step out of our heads and into our hearts, we tap into a deeper well of wisdom. Inspiration often flows effortlessly when we release control and shift our focus.

Next time you feel overwhelmed or stuck, try stepping away from the noise. Take a drive down an open road. Even better, invite a friend to join you. You might find that bouncing ideas off one another lifts the weight of the world.

Until next time, enjoy your day!

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As a new year begins, so too does this space we’ve shared together. With gratitude for the journey so far, I’m thrilled to introduce a new chapter, a new name for this publication:

This name reflects the heart of what I wish for all of us—a space to gather, pause, and find joy and renewal through stillness, creativity, and connection. Designed as your haven, this intentional space will invite women to rediscover the beauty of stillness, embrace their creative spark, and nurture meaningful connections.

Together, we’ll continue to create moments of pause and celebrate creativity and connection in ways that feel meaningful and nourishing.

As gather & pause evolves, you may notice the site under construction and shifting as I organize and shape it into a space that truly reflects our shared journey.

Your presence here means so much to me. Thank you for being part of this community. I can’t wait to share this next chapter with you.

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Peace arrived in my heart on Day 1 of my Sacred Traditions Advent Calendar. It was the word I chose as my intention for the season, and it did not disappoint. Each day was infused with moments of calm, joy, and reflection. As I look back on what I hoped to manifest, I realize that everything I wished for was received—just as intended.

One unexpected and delightful revelation was recognizing that I’ve been handed the torch and given the title of matriarch in our family.

At Christmas dinner, we set a place at the table for my mom and included a beautiful photo of her from her last Christmas with us. My mom’s role each year was to give the blessing before the meal, and now, as matriarch, that task has passed to me.

I grew up in the Anglican faith, but I no longer attend church and have let many religious traditions fall away. When it came time for the blessing, I must admit—only slightly embarrassed—that I turned to Chat GPT for inspiration. Here’s the blessing I chose:

“Bless us, O Lord, and these Your gifts, which we are about to receive. May this meal nourish our bodies, and may the joy of Christmas fill our hearts. Amen.”

I explained to everyone at the table that I would now take on the role of blessing giver. I’m sure they all sighed with relief knowing I gladly would take on this tradition.

As we dove into plates of turkey and stuffing, my daughter reflected, “You know what I miss most about Grandma right now? She would always wait until I sat down and started eating before she began.”

It was true. My mom had a quiet way of honoring the hostess, showing gratitude to the one who orchestrated the gathering, prepared the food, and set the table with care. Though she had tried to instill this habit in us, at some point, she must have let it go. Yet she never faltered in giving this gift of presence and appreciation.

I found myself, proudly wearing the matriarch badge, explaining to one of my granddaughters why it’s important to place her cutlery in a certain position when she’s done eating. And why fine dinnerware should never be stacked when clearing the table. My mom, and her teachings, were very present at our Christmas dinner table.

Sharing my Sacred Traditions Advent Calendar throughout December was such a joy. Each day brought a small but meaningful practice to center myself and connect with the season. From lighting candles to making ice ornaments, these moments felt like tiny celebrations of peace and creativity. One of my favorites was Day 18, where I introduced wish papers—a tradition we’ll carry into the new year.

As we approach New Year’s, we’ll gather with family and friends for another amazing meal, likely play a fun game, and send our wishes to the heavens with the help of those wish papers. We’ll finish the evening with the community fireworks display, and as is our tradition, my husband and I will be back home and in bed well before midnight.

Here’s the link to the post about wish papers if it’s something you think your family might enjoy.

As this peaceful season comes to a close, I carry forward the lessons of presence, gratitude, and connection that have made this time so special. My wish for the New Year is to continue weaving these sacred traditions into the fabric of our lives—moments of stillness, creativity, and togetherness that bring joy and meaning.

May the coming year be filled with the same peace I’ve found in this season, and may it inspire us all to honor the simple yet profound gifts we share with those we love. Here’s to a year of new beginnings, cherished traditions, and dreams coming to life.

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It was the early 1960’s, and I was just three or four years old. I still remember the agony so vividly—French braids, both my curse and my motivator. My mother’s quest for perfectly braided hair felt relentless, each tug and twist testing my patience. Yet, the promise of sitting in my favorite chair afterward made it all worthwhile, a small but cherished reward that helped me endure.

Let me tell you about my favorite chair and why it mattered so much. It sat in front of the living room picture window—a fishbowl to the world outside and a canvas for frost on cold winter mornings. Its shape was a perfect half-circle, upholstered in red with a hint of black—a texture that felt like tweed. The chair could swivel, gliding smoothly to the right and back to the left. It was in that chair that I found stillness, gazing out at the world beyond and letting my dreams take shape.

I have just one photo of my prized chair. This photo tells the tale of me as a baby, joyfully sitting on my mom’s lap, my red chair patiently waiting for me in the corner.

I spent countless hours in my red chair, watching the world pass by and daydreaming about experiences that made me happy—moments that, I now realize, quietly shaped my dreams.

Creativity was cemented early as I made mud pies on the concrete retaining wall in front of our home—a space that became my creative haven. Discarded cake pans, weathered bowls with peeling plastic, and spoons with bent handles were my trusted tools, turning simple mud and water into imaginative masterpieces.

Connection was planted—as children we watched the seeds sprout and grow. Our mothers modeled the importance of maintaining connections, teaching us the value of friendship. Hours upon hours of endless play with friends—often as our moms spent time together chatting with a bottomless cup of coffee in hand. If they couldn’t meet in person, the phone lines were buzzing as stories of the day were traded—like valued hockey cards and problems, not meant to sit in isolation, were solved together.

So let me bring this story back to frost. Just as frost grows slowly, with intricate patterns that form one crystal at a time, dreams often start with small steps or fragments that gradually piece together into something beautiful.

My dreams took flight in my red chair as I dreamt about my own joyful experiences and those I witnessed from older generations around me. As I look out my window this morning, the frost has disappeared and my vision is clearer now. Born out of stillness, intertwined with creativity and connection, I soon will offer my light to others as my dreams begin to manifest.

Can’t wait to share my dreams with all of you!

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We were invited to write about Winter Lights. To my delight, a memory from my past surfaced and sparked this story about candlelight.

How I Almost Deleted History

The thing I remember most about that day was arriving at work in the morning. Draped across my desk was a cloak of pink wax, stretching from one end to the other. It had pooled across the surface, forming large drip-like designs, hardened in place. My heart sank.

What had I almost done?

It was the late 1980s, and I worked in the Town Hall of our small community. Back then, smoking in the office was normal. I remember the stench vividly—and I remember, even more clearly, the empathy I felt for those who entered our office to do their municipal business. How it must have been for non-smokers as they stepped through the door, greeted by the horrible smell of stale smoke. It must have hit them like driving into a brick wall.

I was one of those smokers who lit up several times a day, often leaving my cigarette to burn in the ashtray right down to the filter before it extinguished itself or I bothered to put it out. Being on the phone or busy at the typewriter didn’t leave much time to actually smoke it. To camouflage the smell, I’d burn a scented candle. How naive I must have been to think a $1 chemically-scented candle could cover the lingering odor of stale smoke in the air. That naivety, I now realize, was entirely in step with many other age-appropriate misjudgments in my life.

You might have guessed by now, I forgot to blow out the candle at the end of my workday. The reality sank in quickly. As I looked at my desk in disbelief, what jumped into my awareness was how catastrophic this mistake could have been. Let me explain why.

I’d spent many hours sitting on the dusty floor of the Town Hall basement, poring over the Archives. Records dating back to the late 1800s were stored in battered boxes or tattered leather binders, resting on wooden shelves holding the weight of history. My coworkers and I often ventured down there, marveling at the richness of the past preserved in those pages. All of it—every fragile document and carefully penned record—could have been lost because of my near-fatal mistake.

I suspect that today, staff—much wiser and more informed about proper archival practices—have found safer ways to preserve those precious records. Thank goodness I didn’t end up as a statistic on their microfiche files, forever remembered as the Town Hall employee who nearly deleted history.

Hope you enjoyed reading about the day I almost deleted history!
"Wishing you a fun, joy-filled day sprinkled with delightful snacks of your own making."

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If you’d like to listen to this letter, click here and I’ll read it to you.

As you read this holiday message, I’m picturing all the different ways you might be spending this day. Perhaps you’re surrounded by family, sharing laughter and opening gifts or playing games. Maybe you have a glass of wine in hand, busy preparing a festive feast. Or perhaps you’re spending the day quietly on your own, by circumstance or by choice. Whatever your situation, I want to send you my heartfelt wishes for peace, joy, and hope this holiday season.

If you joined me for the 24 days of sacred traditions through my holiday advent calendar, I hope it brought inspiration for your own traditions and added a touch of joy to your season. What you may not have realized is that there was a deeper theme woven throughout.

Each tradition was thoughtfully crafted around the pillars of stillness, creativity, and connection—the essence of what makes the holidays, and life itself, truly meaningful.

2024 has been a year of awakening for me—AWAKEN was my word of the year, and it has truly lived up to its promise. I’ve been blessed to embrace profound stillness practices that allowed me to awaken to my dreams and deepest intentions.

This stillness was both challenged and deepened by life events, from an automobile accident in May to the recent passing of my beloved mom. These moments, though difficult, offered opportunities for growth and reflection.

Creativity has also been at an all-time high this year, flowing through projects and passions that have brought immense joy and fulfillment.

And then there’s connection—a theme that has been instrumental in everything I’ve done. From heartfelt moments with family, to cherished interactions with new and old friends, to the invaluable guidance of mentors, and most importantly, a deeper connection with myself, it’s been a year of profound interconnectedness.

As I reflect on 2024, I am filled with gratitude for the lessons, challenges, and joys that have shaped this incredible journey.

And now, I’m brimming with excitement for all that’s to come in 2025! There are some incredible things on the horizon, and I can’t wait to share them with you. Here’s just a little sneak peek—but stay tuned, because there’s so much more to come in the early new year!

"As we celebrate the magic of the season, may your heart be filled with peace, joy, and gratitude for all that 2024 has brought. Wishing you love and light this holiday season and a bright, beautiful start to 2025. I can’t wait to see what the new year holds!"

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Let me explain.

This beautiful woman is my mom. She passed away peacefully on Tuesday, November 26th, just four months shy of her 100th birthday.

It’s been a whirlwind of a week—spending time by her bedside during her final days, helping family from afar say their goodbyes, working with the funeral home, and packing up her belongings from the supported living facility. We’ve decided to wait until spring for her service and burial, so some details can pause for now.

Her passing was truly beautiful. Family surrounded her as she took her final breath, and in a moving procession, we followed the funeral home staff as they escorted her from the building. Watching the staff pay their respects—many with tears in their eyes—was deeply touching. She was so loved and respected, known for her quick wit, deep gratitude, and enormous heart.

In 2022, my husband and I made the decision to move closer to her. I’m so grateful we did. The last two years have been filled with precious joyful memories and special moments I’ll cherish forever.

My mom was married three times, outliving all her husbands. She always had a way of sharing her wisdom with humor. I’m reminded of what she used to tell my single girlfriends who asked her, “How did you meet all these men?” She would reply, “You know what you want, and you go after it.” Wise words that feel especially meaningful as I step into this new chapter of my life, pursuing my dreams with her boldness as inspiration.

This week, I’ve thought a lot about grief. Having lost my dad at just 11 years old, I know how profoundly loss can shape a life and how long healing can take. Over the years, I’ve lost many loved ones, and each experience of grief has been different. One thing that stands out is how much my healing process has changed with time.

Grief is such a personal journey, and no two experiences are the same. I’d like to share a few ways I’ve found healing through the grief process, in the hope that they might inspire or comfort you in your own journey.

Writing has been a powerful outlet for me. When a few family members passed, I spent tearful days writing about them—their unique qualities, the lessons they taught me, and the impact they had on my life. Putting those memories into words helped me honor them and process my emotions.

Music has also been a source of healing. After losing another family member, I spent hours by the ocean, listening to a deeply touching song while allowing myself to fully feel my grief. The combination of music, nature, and tears became a sacred ritual of release.

And then there’s creativity—perhaps the most meaningful tool I’ve leaned on. Creativity, my most cherished value, has been a guiding light through the loss of my mom. It has carried me, especially through the creation of my Sacred Traditions Advent Calendar. This process has brought me so much joy, and knowing that my creativity is a gift from those who have passed—especially my mom and grandma—feels deeply comforting.

For now, I’m cherishing the lessons my mom taught me and the joy she brought to everyone who knew her. Her wisdom, humor, and love will remain with me, guiding me as I honor her memory and carry her spirit into this holiday season and beyond.