When I came home from Africa, I brought the Maasai with me.
There was this elephant…
Last week, soon after returning from Africa, I received a gentle prod to post again.
This ragged piece of a cardboard box will forever be a reminder for me of a time of confounding, big magic.
Reading a book recently about a grief-stricken young boy who goes searching for his dead mother, halfway through it I found myself feeling positively giddy.
She talked to corn plants growing in the field. And the corn talked back.
A decade ago, orbs began to show up in my photos—my all-time favorite, this one above of preschooler Ryder and a “friend.”
An enthusiastic veteran of a Gateway Voyage recently dubbed the magical place where she’d had one unforgettable adventure after another—“Hogwarts for adults.”
“Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it” says Joan Didion, a writer who suddenly became a widow and decided to pull no punches about the grieving process.
The days after my mother’s passing were solemn ones which is why the lighthearted reunion with dearly departed relatives shortly before her transition was such a balm for the soul.