Mercury leaves retrograde today. Hal-le-LUUUU-jah! The past few weeks were like a cat in the doorway. (Coming in. No, going out. No, just staying here for now. Wait, but I think I want to go out.) Electronic communication went haywire. Texts disappeared into the aether. Phone calls were not received. Three people I know had computers crash and bought new machines. There is more...

There is a jar in my home filled with coins. Occasionally a $20 or $100 bill goes in. These large bills never stay long, though. They come and go, as real money tends to do. The change is the only constant. It reminds me that change accumulates slowly, piece by piece, until one day we look and see what it has become: enough. Enough of what we need. Enough of what we don’t. Enough is enough.

This morning has a softness, a peace to it that is hard-won and deeply rewarding. I am making space.The curvy trail sign where I often walk reminds me that life and relationships are not linear journeys. There will always be turns, there will always be moments and phases when we--and our loved ones--question everything. 

I've been practicing a new thought upon waking: "There is enough time. I have enough time. I have enough."

Who has recovered from the holidays? My tree is still up, for today. New pink roses and ranunculus in a vase soften the shadow of what is now Christmas past as they filter January's light. My word for the year is actually two words, which seems fitting considering it is a mystical "11" year (2+0+1+8=11) and of course, one plus one is two. The words I chose are creative focus...

Extended time with my family of origin always seems to feel like eating a mixed bag of jelly bellies in a dark movie theater. I am going to eat the whole bag because my favorite flavors are in there...

In order for rose hips to develop, one must leave her roses on the bush and avoid the temptation to cut them off mid-summer. She must be willing accept that they will go through a phase of crinkling brown. She must teach herself to love this uncomfortable season of transformation as much as she loved the promise of new buds in May and those soft pink petals in June...

Harvest season is here, the healer told me yesterday. Curious, I asked for more. "It is really three seasons," she explained as I curled into her big turquoise velvet armchair, sipping filtered water from a small mason jar...

My friend called this morning from her new perch on the East Coast. I was sipping coffee and watching Sunday morning rustle through maple leaves in my yard. "The things I need are space and time," I heard her say. It seems there is never enough of either, and yet we are surrounded by them. It is the ultimate paradox of a human life...

Sunday morning I sat on the threshold, in the doorway from my home to the garden, drinking coffee and missing her...

All of the things are blooming. Have you noticed? June is here. The Cecil Brunner rosebush is magnificent this year--an explosion of flowers so heavy that its top has fallen away from the white wall of the little city cottage where Lucia is made, and is spilling toward the alleyway. There is a lesson here for me, in expectation and fruition...

Daily Notes, From the Editor. Amanda married Joe on Saturday. My sweetheart came with me to the wedding, which was billed as a "spring party" so many guests arrived not knowing they were about to become witnesses, accomplices, protectors, defenders and partners in celebration of the bond we humans seek to forge with our chosen one by exchanging nuptial promises and sealing them with a kiss.

Daily Notes, From the Editor (440 words). Come as you are. You with the messy hair and fancy shoes. You with the styled curls and store-bought salsa. I want you here with me. Oh, your emotions have not yet landed? That's a relief, neither have mine. Oh, your story is still unfolding, uncertain, unknown? Thank goodness, me too. Come sit on my living room floor. Let's have a circle. The women behind Lucia gathered Friday night for tacos, mezcal, and May....

Sunday, April 9, 2017 - Daily Notes, From the Editor (550 words). Whoa, April is intense. Burgeoning. This thing we call Spring is aptly named. To the untrained eye, new growth appears suddenly, but if you have been paying attention you know: this all started long ago.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017 - Daily Notes, From the Editor (435 words): Sunday was the last day of winter. It's gone now. Poof! Spring. Two magicians arrived at my doorstep at four o'clock in the afternoon. The little one wore shorts, a heart tee-shirt, and no socks. The sun was shining. Her mother wore a blue sweater and a long down coat, offering me tulips and a humorous eye roll as they entered. It was a silent acknowledgment of both the winter temperature (only 8 degrees above freezing outside) and the spring-like hope of a Seattle child who sees the sun...

Thursday, March 2, 2017 - Daily Notes, From the Editor (290 words). The parchment paper lays delicately on the makeshift altar in morning light, with marks I cannot read, for the language is older than English...

The business of making a dream come true is not for the faint of heart. We are not given maps, and there are no clear answers about how to get there from here...

Daily Notes, From the Editor -- February is sure off to a roaring start, moving so fast we are nearly halfway through. I finally sat down today to write a few notes and as soon as I did, my sister went into labor. The world never stops. I'll share more about my new niece (!!!) when the time is right. But for today, I wanted to fill you in on the exciting adventures and news from my past two weeks...

Daily Notes, From the Editor -- "If you had the chance to go to outer space, would you take it?" He asked me this question from across the table as he poured my tiny cup of Thai Jasmine tea and we waited for our curry to be served...

I woke with these words falling from my mouth, "The women are marching. The women are marching. The women are marching..."

Daily Notes, From the Editor. We begin again in January. Evening meditation is a practice to which I have returned, again. The gentle, firm insistence of a woman I have asked to consider becoming my business coach is what finally got my rear-end to reintroduce itself to the pillow last week...

This was my ideal day. I wrote it down to see how I wish to live this year. Not red letter days when celebrations or vacations commence, but normal days, average days, days that make up my life...

Happy New Year! Oh, the plans I had for ending 2016 with a neat bow, a perfect email, and an announcement of a new offering I've been working on for early 2017. Out the window they flew sometime in the last week while I struggled to balance heart work with paid work, dreams with reality. Instead, I woke this morning unfinished. Like I always do...

Solstice in Southworth was beautiful this year. Mom and Dad always make it so. There was live music. The Happy Sinners took us all back nearly one hundred years, to a time the old-timers seemed to remember...

Walking in the winter city woods yesterday at noon with a friend. Listening. We are all so tired. I gave her permission to not be a fighting warrior right now. "It is December," I heard myself say. "Nothing is happening on the surface except death. Real life is hidden, it is beneath, it is underground. It is like soil being nourished. It is time for us to rest and listen..."

My niece who is nearly three would not let her mother leave the store last week without a blue solar-powered yard ornament that consists of one oversized Christmas lightbulb at the end of a long black stick. Most children want toys. She wanted something different. "My beautiful wand," she whispered...

Holiday jams are always 50 percent off. What I mean is we only get half of what we want...

Shock is an interesting thing. At first we are stunned, powerless. Reality has been blown apart and what we thought was foundational is no longer there...

I voted this morning.

It took me awhile, not because I questioned who to vote for, but because it felt momentous, humongous, historical. I wanted to mark this moment on my heart.

The first woman on the ballot for President of the United States is not a small thing. We are on the cusp of history. We are living legend. We are the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the suffragettes who wore white suit-dresses and fought valiantly against a tide of misogyny (and the men who stood guard beside them) in order for us to have this right.

They are the reason this ballot arrived in my mailbox addressed to "Ms. Laura Lowery" and they are smiling down on all of us now.

I could feel them as I made my mark, there in my living room by the dawn's early light.

A few more words from my little moment, over at Lucia today. May our votes be true, and may we all be stronger together...