As Holy Week continues for Christians around the world we pray to you, Mirroring God. As we look at the face of another at work, at the bank, crossing a border, panhandling, in Hospice care, passed out on a street, at a meeting, in traffic, in the Emergency room on tv, in a political rally, in the shops, in a line-up, awaiting/recovering from surgery with different coloured skin, different political beliefs, a foreign name, an accent , wanting to be in relationship with someone of the same gender, not speaking our language, wearing unfamiliar (to us) clothing, may we see You, reflected, as in a mirror.
Mirroring God, may we mirror your compassion and unconditional love this holy day, in this Holy Week. And may we mirror your compassion and unconditional love, every day, in every week. Amen (which simply means “So be it.”)
“Soulistry – Artistry of the Soul” is about making the connection between creativity and spirituality and last evening, trying to find a youtube video that would show me how to make cotton/silk flower broaches (creativity), I re-discovered the importance of patience (spirituality).
No matter what I put into the search line, while I found some delightful broach-making, hat-pin, etc. videos, I didn’t find what I was looking for. And then, after making a cup of Crystal Tea (aka “boiling water served in a china cup/mug” <g>), slowly sipping it and “letting go”, I came across a little video that gave me the basic instructions and I was able to make these broaches.
While I didn’t save the youtube video or its link and can’t go back and review the process, I learned a new word – Kanzashi, the Japanese art of folding delicate squares of silk into three-dimensional flower petals. Once I learned about that and viewed the video, I was on my way to demystifying the Japanese art form into something I could do with supplies-on-hand.
So why share all of this here? It’s a reminder to myself (and might be of help to others) to continue making connections between spirituality and creativity.
a) welcome the gift of patience with self when learning something new … spirituality
b) “let go” of rules, regulations, “steps in a process” when in a creative mode … creativity
Who says Kanzashi has to be made only of silk? Or that fabric flowers only have to be made out of cotton? Or that all such flowers have to have five or seven petals; or only single layers; or can’t have both cotton and felt in one broach; or must all be the same ‘petal design;’ or …
aka … “play”!
Hope you make time this week to play in some way — perhaps with fabric … or paint … or paper … or yarn … or wood … or a new recipe … or a new garden design … or calligraphy pen and ink … or sketching pencil … or a new blog post.
A story … some realizations … a tender ‘memory … and some conclusions.
Faith: One day, in a town troubled by drought for many months, villagers decided to gather and pray for rain. On the appointed day, the people gathered. One little boy came with an umbrella. Faith. That’s faith. Trust: Have you ever noticed that when you toss babies up in the air, they laugh? That’s because they know you’ll catch them. Trust. That’s trust.
Attitude: When my husband turned 85, he delighted in wearing a shirt that read “I am not 85 years old. I am sweet 16 with 69 years of experience!” Attitude. That’s attitude.
Humour: When we were children, naptime was often regarded as punishment. Now an afternoon nap is like a mini-vacation. Humour. That’s humour.
Hope: Each night, we go to bed without any assurance that we’ll be alive the next day. And yet how often do we still set the alarm to wake up in the morning? Hope. That’s hope.
Confidence: In spite of zero-knowledge that there will be a tomorrow, we still plan events, meetings, appointments in our agendas / daytimers / phones. Confidence. That’s confidence.
Love: The world is suffering and many consider the future to be bleak. Yet people still marry and have children. Love. That’s love.
May we live each day with Faith, Trust, Hope, Confidence, Love, Attitude and Humour. 🙂
A sunset – yes, a sunset! And no, it’s not a black and white photo. That’s just how it looked that particular night at Yellow Point on Vancouver Island – expansive, beautiful, and breath-taking. The beauty of the sunset with its stark sky, water and land reminded me of a phrase our Jewish brothers and sisters use: Tikkun Olam.
Tikkun Olam describes how humanity is called to respond to a world by participating in repairing the world and mending what is broken. More than that, Tikkun Olam incorporates a call to make the world better than it was before it was damaged.
As I stood at the water’s edge that night, watching the sun set, images of our broken world because of climate change, pollution, environmental damage, anger, shattered relationships, abusive leaders, injustice, and more, flashed before my eyes. I wondered about the hope that is in the concept of Tikkun Olam. I remembered how collective actions can bring about repairing the earth through restoration, through reconciliation, through small acts (of love, kindness, solidarity with other people, animals, plant life, oceans, skies and other places on earth), and through larger acts (of social justice and environmental awareness). And I remembered that every person’s life provides an opportunity for tikkun olam … and that each tikkun has the potential to bring about change.
I thought of people like Malala Yousafzai… Martin Luther King Jr … Rosa Parks … Jesus of Nazareth … Joan of Ark … Jonas Salk … Florence Nightingale … Isaac Newton … Eleanor Roosevelt … Beethoven … Rachel Carson … Wangari Maathi … and the question arose within me: “Where would the world be today without each of them?” They and others, made an impact on this world. Each of us can, too. No matter how intellectually gifted, spiritually inclined, physically able-bodied each of us is or is not, we can contribute to the common good and to the creation of a world where justice, integrity, caring, compassion and peace are present in some way each day.
It was just a sunset that night, but it had me thinking – thinking about Tikkun Olam and how I can be more responsive to such a call in my daily living.
How can Tikkun Olam enter your thoughts and action?
Whether it’s listening to music, recommending a restaurant, listening to the opinion of another, politics, religion, looking at art, we all have our own perspective, our own viewpoint, our own experience of what we see / hear / taste / feel.
When I created this ZenDoodle long ago while waiting to see a doctor, it was as it is in the first photo – sideways. Sitting beside me was a fellow who, after watching me doodle, said “How about putting a hat on him?” “A hat?” “Yes, a hat” he replied.
Clearly, I didn’t “see” what the fellow was seeing. But when he leaned over, he took the corner of my little zendoodle and turned it around. I “saw” the image he was seeing. I doodled a little ‘tam’ hat.
Tonight, it seems, that whether I watch a U.S. channel or a Canadian channel or British channel, they’re all talking about the latest “breaking news” … the release of the Mueller report. And while the focus is on the Mueller report and “what could it possibly contain,” very little attention is being paid to the Mozambique cyclone which has devastated that country. If you do an internet search on ‘Mozambique cyclone March 22, 2019, you’ll see what is happening there. When the Mueller report is released, media will form opinions. Family, friends, co-works, neighbours will form opinions. Each of us will form an opinion.
Life’s Lessons are all around us and the little zendoodled fellow has become a gentle reminder that what is seen isn’t always what others see; what is heard isn’t always what others hear; what is experienced isn’t always what others are experiencing, even in the same situation.
It was a full moon. And as I took this photo, I found myself delighting in the wonder of the globe in the sky that shone so brightly – until hidden by clouds.
How often our light is hidden by the clouds we encounter in our lives – clouds of fear, isolation, loneliness, sadness, grief.
In those moments, our light hasn’t gone out. It’s just covered up and waiting for the time when whatever clouds we are experiencing will pass and our light will shine once again.
Thank you Madame Moon, for shining, for teaching, for existing, and for giving hope – in a new way.
We are living in Shadow Times. It’s a difficult time for many. As I think of Shadow Times, I think of my mother – an oil painter – an artist. Under her creative touch, a blank canvas would become transformed with majestic mountains, resplendent flowers and inviting landscapes.
Mom was also a teacher of life. One day, she explained the importance of shadows … shadows in art and shadows in life. “Shadows are just as integral as are the highlights.” <Joy Mack>
When life has become difficult for me, I’ve often recalled her words and tried to remember that in the dark, shadowy times of life (when it seems as if the light of truth, of hope, of peace, of joy are hidden), the shadows can be just as instructive as can be the joy-filled times. Sometimes, even more so. When life’s mountains and valley moments arrive, I try to be patient and remember that plateaus *will* come, where I can breathe. Eventually.
When the frosty moments and hostile people descend, I try to be patient and remember that the sun *will* shine through. Eventually.
Some say that those whose lives have been negatively impacted by life have been sent these things by God as a *test.* I can’t believe in a deity such as that. What kind of god would … create babies born with medical complications … ‘spare’ some in accidents/disasters while killing others … arm terrorists who terrorize/maim/kill … pollute the atmosphere, water … cause climate change … choose ‘who’, ‘when’, ‘how’, ‘where’ people die … decide whose lives are devoured by disease, addiction, mental illness … profoundly affect lives by government shut-down, grief, financial set-back, health issues, divorce, violence, lack of freedom, addiction, abuse, poverty, mental illness. Not a loving one.
Some people think that Shadow Times are to be completely forgotten. I don’t. I believe that such moments serve a purpose, and that by disregarding the challenges of life, we lose opportunities for personal growth. May these Shadow-Times lead us into action, into involvement, into opportunities to be a “channel of peace” as St. Francis of Assisi wisely counselled, so that where there is hatred, we can feel and sow love. Where there is injury, we can offer receive and pardon. Where there is doubt, we can model faith. Where there is despair, we can be hope for others. Where there is darkness, we can bring a glimpse of light. And where there is sadness, we can experience and share joy … even in Shadow Times.
The saying “It’s always darkest before the dawn” originated with prolific English writer Thomas Fuller in 1650. Those were dark days then. There have been dark days since then. Many feel that there are dark days now.
Before closing the blinds recently, a wondrous silver beam of light shone brightly in the sky and through the patio door. It was magical, and oh, so welcome in an unexpected way. It seemed to bring hope. In spite of concern (of war possibilities, ongoing governmental shut-down, unspeakable horrors happening to human beings of all ages, racism, anti-semitism), that beam-of-light-through-the-blinds brought hope that there will be a tomorrow.
When the mind replays troubling words (from a world leader, other political leaders, medical specialists, financial advisors, unhealthy relationships, employers), the moon is shining. Somewhere. When clouds began to form, the moon seemingly becomes hidden, its light diminishes and seems lost (not too dissimilar to those times when it can feel as if our light has gone out and when clouds of fear, isolation, loneliness, sadness, grief, self-doubt, anger begin to form within us), but we are still here.
Scientists tell us that the moon has existed for more than four billion years, shining and giving hope to countless generations. Why then, would we think that the moon will stop shining now? Similarly, why would we think that the clouds of fear etc. being felt will never disappear? Like the moon, (simply covered up, waiting for the time when whatever cloud is being experienced will pass), the light once again will shine forth, the clouds in our lives *will* pass in some way and the light *will* shine forth once again. The wondrous silver beam of light shines brightly in the sky. Somewhere … bringing light, and bringing hope that there will be a tomorrow. Just “when” that tomorrow will come we don’t know. But it *will* come.
Tomorrow came ‘then.’ Tomorrow has come ‘since then’. There *will* be a tomorrow. The words of Alicia Morton in the musical “Annie” say it well: The sun’ll come out – tomorrowBet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there’ll be sun!” May we hold fast to the lesson from the past … there *will be* a tomorrow!
One little drop of water doesn’t seem like much … by itself. But when droplets of water are put together, great things can happen! Parched dry crops become nourished by life-giving rain. Flowing rivers abound with salmon. Glistening snowflakes can be a reminder of individual uniquenesses. Magnificent waterfalls bring forth powerful energy. New life emerges from the waters of baptism.
If these can result when tiny droplets of water come together, it is awe-inspiring to realize what can happen when tiny droplets of respectful and kind words, positive thoughts, peaceful actions, religious words/actions
(any of which can be interpreted as ‘prayer’) are offered by millions around the globe and transformed into cascading waterfalls of healing.
May parched and dry discussions be watered by the Living Word of compassion, kindness and mercy. May rivers of conversation flow freely, gently and lovingly. May social media stop dramatizing, falsifying, lying. May leaders in our world, act like leaders and truly care for the people they were elected to serve, rather than care for their own selfish greed
and need for personal power.
dreams went unfulfilled, a serious illness was diagnosed
a pain wouldn’t leave, finances were unsettled
the future was frighteningwhen Darkness overwhelmed, the voices of love, hope, joy and peace
spoke softly through others, deep within ourselves, in the beauty of Nature,
in the silence, in the wonder of a child’s laughter, in the solitude,
in the lovingkindness of a stranger for a brief moment, and the Light
that was to come was lit
just a small flame, but nonetheless a flame of hope that somewhere in the world at the most difficult of times, the moon still shimmers, the sun still shines, the stars still twinkle, someone is praying, someone is believing
there is hope
perhaps expressed differently than we first imagined, but there is hope,
even in the Darkness
I love stories of “new beginnings” and this is one such story … and a true story at that! It is a story about a clock, a very old clock that began its journey long, long ago, in the province of Friesland, the Netherlands (birthplace of my late husband Hans van der Werff) where tradition had it that when a couple married, an integral part of their home furnishings was a Friesland clock.
Hans’ grandparents (Pake and Beppe) bought such a clock at public auction and even though it “was terribly dirty and did not work,” Pake loved it. Determined to get it back to its original working order, he patiently and gently cleaned it, working countless hours on it and finally, the timepiece worked again and the clock became a focal point of pride in the family home for decades.
When Pake and Beppe died, the clock Pake had lovingly brought back to life, was given to Hans’ parents. Hans remembered it “always being in our home” when he was growing up and it was a lovely memory of his childhood. But when WW11 interrupted their lives and the Nazis began to realize that there could be value in Fryslan clocks, homes were raided and clocks were stolen unless they had been hidden. Not surprisingly, when it was learned that the van der Werff family clock was on the Nazi’s acquisition desirable list, the clock was quickly dismantled and hidden.
Gratefully, it was never discovered during WW11. But after the war, it was still considered to be a valuable commodity, so the family decided that it would be best to get it out of the country for safekeeping. The clock was taken out of hiding and stored until Hans was next in Holland … he had moved to Canada as a young man but often travelled back to Holland as part of his work in those days.
Together, the brothers made a solid wooden box into which they gently placed the clock. Shipping to Canada was arranged, the clock safely arrived and over the decades, Hans lovingly cared for the clock and proudly displayed it in every home in which he lived, cherishing the memories of his childhood, his parents, siblings and grandparents.
When Hans and I married, the clock came to live with us. I was delighted, for its presence was a wonderful connection both to Hans’ Dutch roots and now ‘our’ Dutch family. Hans and I often talked about the clock and he spoke of wanting it to stay with me in our home (should he die before I did), where it was loved and its history was respected. That was the plan.
Well, it was the plan until one morning, about six months after Hans died. During my Quiet Time one morning, an image of the clock being packed up and heading across the ocean back to Holland, filled my thoughts. I lived with that possibility for several weeks and each time I thought about it, peace filled my heart and mind. I wrote Hans’ brother and wife, their daughter and son in law, sharing what I was thinking of doing with the clock … send it back to his homeland – in the Netherlands – and was gratified by the response of them all.
As a result, I contacted a shipping company and the clock began its journey. And here is where a miracle/mystery enters the story. Soon after Hans died, the clock that his brother Peter and his wife had in their home, stopped working. No reason – it just stopped! Peter tried to fix it, but he wasn’t able to. One day, he found a clockmaker who was able to repair it, but the cost was too high to be considered, so Peter headed home knowing that the clock would not be repaired.
As it happened (nawww, not a coincidence <g>), the Friesland-Canada clock was being picked up that very day (!) at the Rotterdam dock, and the moment Peter got the phone call saying that the clock had arrived safely and had been picked up, his wife noticed that the clock in their home began to work! No one had touched it. It just started … miraculously/mysteriously. Each one of us, independently, agreed: “Hans fixed it and is telling us that he is so very happy that the clock has returned back to Holland.”
So the ending of this story is that the clock has returned from whence it came. Or is it really ‘the ending’? The clock is safely back in the Netherlands, proudly displayed in the home of Hans’ brother and his wife’s daughter, our niece, her husband and daughter, our great-niece. When the clock arrived in their home, she proudly remarked that she will pass the clock on to her children and their children with a copy of this story tucked into the clock for generations to know its history for she knows that in time, she will inherit the clock. I know that the future of the clock is secured … and that’s a happy ‘ending’ … a happy ‘beginning’ to this story.
(P.S. I took the photo of the clock, but it’s a very large clock and I couldn’t step back far enough to get all of it in the photo. The length of the chain is really long!)
The words are often sung prior to and at Christmas but … the words are words for all times: “Do you see what I see? Do you hear what I hear? Do you know what I know?” And those words invite reflection:
Do we really see what others see?
Does everyone see the pain of the homeless – their fear? their confusion? their helplessness?
Do we really hear what others hear? Does everyone hear the cry of the abused? the lonely? the angry? the addicted? the powerless?
Do we really know what others know? Does everyone know the authentic, real truth? Was American politician, (sociologist, diplomat, member of the Democratic Party who served as an adviser to Republican President Richard Nixon), Patrick Moynahan, correct in thinking that “everyone is entitled to his/her own opinion, but not to his/her own facts”?
These questions likely began to slowly form when a young French-born musician found himself, against his will, drafted into the German army when France was overwhelmed by Nazi troops during WW11.
Noel Regney endured the horrors of war as a young man. He hated every moment of it and many years later, he moved to the United States. When the Cuban Missile Crisis brought a sense of despair to the United States in October 1962, he was devastated. Again. When he was asked by a record producer to write a Christmas song, he struggled to find anything that would give a sense of Christmas hope and peace.
One day, he noticed two babies in strollers, looking at one another and smiling, and thought of newborn lambs. Before he knew it, a first line had been written and the rest of the lyrics quickly followed. When he shared his words with his pianist and composer wife, Gloria Shayne, a gentle and haunting melody quickly appeared and between them “Do You Hear What I Hear” was born and became a well-known song at Christmas. Regney’s favourite version was sung by Robert Goulet though the most well-known version was sung by Bing Crosby. Sadly, its message of global peace was initially lost on many. Perhaps it is time to have it surface again, and not just at Christmas time?
Hope … intangible hope evidenced in the presence of a lamb in the image of a Child in hearts, in minds, in spirits.
A child asks the everpresent question and the parents try to respond.
Sarah: “Daddy, Mommy, I don’t understand why some of the kids are so mean to Juanita and Shiandra. They say it’s something about them not being really part of our country because they don’t have the right skin colour.”
Daddy: “Well, Sarah, some people think that skin colour determines the goodness of a person and they don’t think these children are good.”
Sarah: “But they are! They’re good and kind and fun and I like them! I don’t understand.”
Mommy: “We don’t either, Sarah. Like these three eggs – each of you is different on the outside, but on the inside, you’re all the same … same colour blood, same organs, same ability to laugh and hurt and feel compassion and know what is right from wrong and …”
Sarah: “If only we could all just have our insides be our outsides.”
A letter to my American neighbours, sisters and brothers
Dear friends,
What has been happening in your country is beyond imagining: the hatred
the fear; the bomb scares this past week; this morning’s deadly shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh; the lack of concerned / caring / pastoral response by your leader in the White House.
You may feel alone. You may feel helpless. You may feel frightened as you have never felt before. You may not have the strength or courage to face “the next.” Please be assured that there are people around the world who are holding you all in the Light; are praying for you; are “with you” in spirit; are hoping and praying and encouraging you to vote in your mid-term elections in numbers your country has never seen before.
May you vote with hope. May you vote love, not hate. May you vote.
June Maffin, a friend and one of your northern neighbours who aches with you and prays for you all.
Today. Today I took a photo of three red maple leaves, prepared the garden for winter, went to our local Farmer’s Market, visited a friend who is recovering from surgery, went to a fun community sing-a-long of the Mary Poppins movie, and voted in our local elections.
Today was a day like many others. And yet it was different. It was different because (as well as being blessed by all of the other things I did), I was blessed by living in this country where I am free … free to garden … free to shop … free to visit friends … free to join in community activities … and free to vote. Free to vote without fear – fear … of harassment … of recrimination … of violence … of interference. Free to research the issues and the candidates. Free to vote the way I choose. Not everyone can do that.
Some may say that it was co-incidental that today was the day I ‘happened’ to see the red maple leaves on the ground, ‘happened’ to take their photo, and that it all ‘happened’ on the day of our municipal elections. Nope – nothing ‘happenstance’ about it. There aren’t many maple trees with bright red leaves where I live, and seldom have I seen them up close, still vibrant in colour. As I bent down to see the three red maple leaves, and take their photo, I remembered something I’d learned a long time ago … a history lesson which told about a time (long before the first European settlers arrived in Canada) when Canada’s aboriginal people (our First Nations people) had discovered the food properties of maple sap which they gathered every spring and how that discovery of the importance of the maple leaf deeply affected Canadian history.
While many historians trace the maple leaf’s service as a Canadian national symbol as early as 1700, its first official recognition was 1867 when Alexander Muir composed the unofficial anthem in English-speaking Canada, ‘The Maple Leaf Forever.’ Not surprisingly, the Canadian flag has a lovely bright red maple leaf in its centre. Raised on Parliament Hill in Ottawa for the first time on February 15, 1965, the red maple leaf has since become the most-recognized symbol of Canada, symbolizing unity, tolerance and peace. Voting today, and all that the privilege, responsibility and blessing of voting means to me, was graphically illustrated in those three bright red maple leaves I ‘happened’ to see.
I am a person. That may seem to be a rather strange thing to post, but before October 18, 1929, in Canada, women were *not* persons.
But on October 18, 1929, Canadian women were declared “persons” under Canadian law. And for that, I give thanks to five ‘persons’… the Famous Five: Henrietta Muir Edwards, Nellie Mooney McClung, Louise Crummy McKinney, Emily Murphy, Irene Marryat Parlby … and the men who “stood with them.” (http://www.famou5.ca/the-persons-case/)
I am a person. And I will vote – with gratitude (after familiarizing myself with the candidates by reading their literature, asking them questions, participating in all-candidates meetings) in local elections, provincial elections, federal elections. I hope that all other ‘persons’ will, too.
(When were women declared to be persons: The last line of the judgement reads, “Understood to mean ‘Are women eligible for appointment to the Senate of Canada,’ the question is answered in the negative.” This judgement was overturned by the British Judicial Committee of the Privy Council on October 18, 1929. This case came to be known as the “Persons Case”).
The world is a Muddy Mess. Russia, China, North Korea – just say the words and people shudder. Think Syria and images of shattered lives jump out. Picture Guatemala and Hawaii and dangerous lava flows, rather than holiday-time on the beach, come to mind. Remember Puerto Rico and phrases like “still no electricity a year later!” and images of a President throwing rolls of paper towels flash into view.
Daily, we learn of fires, floods, tornadoes; unsafe drinking water, hurricanes; homelessness, addiction, mental health issues, poverty in developing countries and developed countries, and children who are being abducted, prostituted and held in prison-like conditions. Watch what is happening in the United States, and, well … it’s a muddy, Muddy Mess World!
And then something happens to remind us of hope … the kind about which poet Emily Dickinson wrote: “Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all, and sweetest in the gale is heard; and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.”
That hope showed up for me when a neighbour’s child strutted past my front window in her mother’s high heel shoes … well, maybe ‘strut’ isn’t the right word … more like ‘wobbled’. A smile broke out on my face, hope filled my heart, and joy flooded my soul.
That hope showed up for me when I experienced barefoot, dirty, hungry little children standing (as there was no room for them to sit in a tiny room in an impossibly crowded refugee camp in Sri Lanka) and sang with glorious smiles on their faces as their eyes lit-up with excitement and happiness. I remember a smile breaking out on my face, hope filling my heart and joy flooding my soul.
As I think of the Muddy Mess this world is in, as I wonder what kind of a world we are leaving these children and their children and their children, I focus on those two images: the children in the refugee camp in Sri Lanka; the neighbour child in high heels crossing the street. They remind me to not give away my hope. Negative thinking doesn’t do me any good. Negative thinking doesn’t do any good for the children. Negative thinking doesn’t do any good for this Muddy Mess World.
So I look to hopeful images. They remind me of the power I have to make a difference in my little corner of the world … to vote … to pray …to be active in my community … to do what I can to keep this community safe … to stay strong and hope-filled and take a lesson from the children – keep playing, keep laughing, keep dancing, keep singing. In spite of the grief, in spite of the fear, in spite of the angst and stress and worry … there are children in this Muddy Mess World playing dress-up, singing, dancing, playing baseball with pebbles from the bombed-out buildings. We must not let negative energy cloud our ability to hope … and believe … that this Muddy Mess World *will* get cleaned up.
My name is UNFI. I’m not pretty. I’m not adorable. And I’m not finished. Far from it. I am ‘unfinished.’ UNFI for short.
But I am “becoming” finished. So are you, dear reader … none of us has yet ‘arrived’ … none of us is ‘finished’ – yet In a way, we are all UNFI.
And just as the creator, who created me delights in me, so too does the Creator who created you … delight in you … just as you are … on the road to ‘becoming finished”. We are all UNFI. 🙂
An aside: UNFI is a puppet and in her ‘unfinished’ state, she was entered into the puppet category at the Fall Cowichan Exhibition and was awarded Second Prize. And no, I’m not going to ‘finish’ her for if I did, she would no longer be my teacher and remind me that I have not-yet-arrived, that I am in the process-of-becoming, and that I too am UNFI. 🙂
It’s been said that some things in life can’t be recovered:
a stone … after it’s thrown;
a word … after it is said;
an occasion … after it’s missed;
dessert … after it’s been eaten;
the time … after it’s gone; a person … after they die.
Life is short sooooooo, let’s forgive quickly; kiss slowly; love deeply; laugh uncontrollably; express gratitude for the big and little blessings and never regret anything or anyone that makes you smile.
