Little Chef

Happiness is...
making homemade chocolate chip cookies
with my little culinary apprentice

and

polishing off the entire batch
(with Dad & Reilly's help, of course)

just because we feel like it.

Scripture Power

We are trying something new at our house these days.

This all came about due to an incident a couple of Saturdays ago that made Bryson and I take a hard look at what we were teaching our children.

Due to his high council responsibilities, Bryson has to give a talk in one of the various church congregations in our area every third Sunday.

Consequentially, every third Saturday you can find him sitting at our kitchen table putting some of his thoughts together-- researching past Conference addresses, writing outlines, or reading scriptural passages.


This month, Taylor walked in on the deliberations.
He saw Bryson with his scriptures.
And became slightly indignant.

"DAD," he chastised,

"scriptures are for CHURCH!"

Clearly the wrong message was getting across.

So now every night, we've been setting aside time for reading in the illustrated children's scripture books that the Church publishes.

We weren't sure how this was going to go over given our kids' extremely limited attention spans, but so far they have absolutely loved it. Taylor now even refuses to go to bed without "scripture stories." I have been amazed.

Taylor thinks Nephi and his boat are way cool.
And he doesn't think Laman & Lemuel are very nice. (his words)

Just 5 minutes every night, and already there is a tangible difference.
Who would have thought?

Promises of Spring

January is a very special time for the garden-obsessed populace.

January?

Oh yes.
You see, at this time every year our mail box is inundated with seed catalogs from across the nation. Glorious, life-giving promises of bounteous harvests to come.


I get giddy just thinking about the possibilities.
What will we carry over from last year? What seeds are still viable in our cold storage? What will our budget allow for this time around?

Those Principe Borghese tomatoes were heavenly dried. Definitely a keeper.
The acorn squash were wonderful, but perhaps we should try for a larger butternut harvest this year instead?
Taylor definitely wants to grow more potatoes... strange, because he refuses to eat them. But again, he refuses to eat most things.
And then there are the greens.
Should I add a French Nicoise blend along with my tried and true Italian Saladini mix?
We most definitely need to raise some okra for pickles this year.
Ooh, and don't get me started on my herb garden.

This year I finally want to get my cold frames up and running.
With a little planning and finesse we could have the capability of extending our growing season indefinitely.

Oh, the prospects!!!!!!!


If your interest in gardening has been piqued like mine always is this time each year, here are a few awesome places to start:

My favorite seed companies include Territorial and Seeds of Change. Territorial's catalog also has great growing instructions, so you don't need an additional library of literature on how to space, plant, & grow their seeds.

If you're looking for fruit, I absolutely adore and have never been disappointed with Raintree Nursery-- something I cannot say for the more popular Stark Brothers, although they are pretty good too.

Four-Season Harvest by Eliot Coleman is my Bible when it comes to all things garden-related. It completely changed my outlook on gardening in general, and living seasonally in particular. I highly, highly recommend this read.

If organic produce is important to you like it is to me, you will also enjoy The Organic Gardener's Handbook of Natural Insect and Disease Control. There's a lot of great information in there, not just about insects and plant diseases but also basic growing info as well. I find it indispensable.



There is something inherently spiritual about gardening. Bringing new life into being, nurturing it, and letting it nourish you & your loved ones in return-- body & soul.

Ahhhhhhhhhh.
The promises of spring are already beginning to warm my soul.

My Fall From Grace

So...

yesterday was one of those days.

Bryson was up to his ears in meetings, we had sick & ornery kids at home, and I was feeling overwhelmed. Even the weather was gloomy-- freezing rain, mixed with snow.

Being that Bryson was supposed to have sustainings to accomplish during Sacrament Meeting, we decided that I would take the first shift with the kids. Bryson would then rush home so I could be back to get my responsibilities with nursery taken care of during second hour.

But, as fate would have it, Sacrament Meeting went long. And soon, the clock was approaching 10:30. I started to get a little panicky. And not a little cranky. I was supposed to have everything in its place by 10:20. I had teachers and children counting on me to be there. Ack!

A couple minutes later, Bryson pulled in the driveway, and I sped off in a rush.
I found a parking spot close to my desired entrance, loaded all the nursery snacks in my arms, and stepped out of the car.

And the next thing I knew, I was sprawled out on the black asphalt. Snacks were flying through the air. I was drenched to the skin.

It was fantastic.

After I got over the initial shock, I became aware of an insistent pain in my left leg. Glancing down, I realized I hadn't chosen a very wise landing position. I was in a modified split position, with my left knee & foot crumpled underneath me, and my right leg sprawled behind me.

As I looked at my left knee, I let out an audible groan of frustration.
It was the same leg on which I had recently injured my iliotibilal band, which has kept me from running for the last few weeks. Of course.

I shakily rose to my feet and started to gather up my things, when a very nice man that I had never met came to my aid. Apparently, when you fall along with several pounds of nursery snacks, it creates quite a ruckus. Fighting the urge to tell him I was fine, that I didn't need help, I swallowed my pride (the few last remaining shreds) and gratefully accepted his assistance.

Arriving in the building, I was hurting and fighting back tears.
Almost immediately I was descended upon my our fabulous Relief Society President, a kindly retired police officer from our congregation, and a good friend of mine who also happened to be the previous bishop's wife. Not a bad group to be in your rescue party.
In a whirlwind of motion, I was suddenly sitting down, my responsibilities were being tended to for me, and I was given cold damp compresses to help stop the bleeding.

I was bleeding?
Looking down, I saw the tattered remains of my poor black nylons-- may they rest in peace-- and open wounds on my knee & foot.
Again-- fantastic.
Now it is true that I was terribly wet and terribly sore. But most of all, I was simply terribly embarrassed.

I tried to shrug it off and get about my business, but my rescue party eventually talked some sense into me. What I needed was rest, and ice.

Lots of ice.

I was given a most gentlemanly police escort back to my vehicle, where I discovered a school of goldfish crackers swimming free in the parking lot. After arriving home, I collapsed on the bed in an exhausted and tearful heap, and spent the greater part of the day there with my ice-packed leg.

What a day.

But there are lessons to be learned:
1. Don't get cranky with your husband if he is running late. There is probably a good explanation. And even if there's not, crankiness never made the world a better place.

2. Never, never wear slick flats to church when there is freezing rain in the forecast. Big chunky boots are always better.

3. Unless you want to set them free, always keep goldfish crackers in a sealed container. You never know when chaos may strike.

and most importantly...

4. Don't be too proud to accept help from others from time to time. Not only will it bless your own life in a time of need, but it allows blessings to flow in their lives as well.


I am so grateful for the kindness of friends & neighbors.And tomorrow is another day.

Nighty-Night

For the last little while I have been fighting an irritatingly persistent cold.
My throat is sore, my body is achy, and I generally feel no desire to get out of bed.

A couple mornings ago, Reilly came upstairs to find me in my room, wrapped blissfully in a down comforter.

"Mom," she inquired, "you're sleeping?"

"Not really," I explained, "Mommy's just feeling a little sick."

"Oh." Reilly nodded her head.
And proceeded to carefully tuck me in.

"Night-night, Mom. I love you so very much! Sweet dreams, and don't let the bed bugs bite!"

I received concerned kisses and hugs, and she started to leave.
Then she turned around abruptly.

"Oh, and Mommy?" she added, "You please stay in your bed!"

I chuckled at the phrase Reilly hears nightly from Bryson & I.
(She likes to get out of bed & play with Sheep into the wee hours of the night.)

I would have liked nothing better than to listen to her reprimand, but alas, when you're a mom that just isn't to be.

But I decided to humor her for a few minutes more.

"I love you, Reilly," I called after her.

"I love you, Mom!" the reply came.

I put my head back down on my pillow and smiled.
Maybe I am doing a few things right.
Everyone should be tucked in with such tenderness and care.

Thank You, Helen

Last week we attended the funeral of one of our good friends and neighbors.
A spunky lady in her late seventies, Helen was a force to be reckoned with and, for a time, my personal guardian angel.

While pregnant with Reilly, I had complications from toxemia, or preclampsia. I was instructed to stay off my feet, and pretty much avoid any of the day-to-day activities needed in order to run a household and take care of a (then) 8-month-old Taylor.

Enter Helen.

Meals were brought, phone calls were made. She, along with her devoted husband, watched over Bryson, Taylor & I for the entire stressful span of my pregnancy. It wasn't until after Reilly was brought home from the hospital and I was returning to health that we heard the sad story. Helen's husband lost his first wife to preeclampsia. And she was determined to not let that fate touch our own little family.

I have always been deeply touched by their (and countless others') kindness and selfless service during that difficult period, and I wish that I would have expressed it more when I had the chance to do so.
But hopefully Helen knows.

It is amazing to consider that despite all the worldly accolades and honors that we can accumulate in this lifetime, that it will be the small and simple things for which we are remembered when we have passed on.

In her life, Helen was a registered nurse anesthetist, political activist, and dog trainer.

But I will remember her simply as a kind-hearted friend.

Inauguration

How do you explain politics to a three-year-old?


Yesterday:

Taylor: Mom! Come help me with my puzzle!

Me: Okay, Taylor-- but just a minute. Mommy's watching something very special right now.

...He glances at the TV, where the inaugural ceremony is being broadcast...

Taylor: (skeptically) Mom... it's not special!

Me: Oh, honey, yes it is. It's very special. Our country is getting a new president today, and Mommy really wants to listen.

Taylor: MOM... it's not Christmas anymore. We're not getting new presents!


Presents...
Presidents..
I suppose it just depends on which way you voted!


If you weren't able to watch the proceedings, you really should read Obama's inaugural address.

I am so proud to be an American.

Mr. President

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.
from Inaugural Poem by Maya Angelou

No matter how you feel about Barack Obama's politics, there is no question that we are living in a most historic moment. In our own politically divided family (I voted Obama, Bryson voted McCain... yes, yes, we're a regular Arnold & Maria!), we now stand united in respect for this moment in time. A moment that would have been impossible just a few short decades ago.

I couldn't help but think that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, whose birthday we just commemorated yesterday, must be smiling down at the political proceedings today. In his famous "I Have a Dream" speech, he exclaimed:

With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together... to stand up for freedom together. ...Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, "I Have a Dream," August 28, 1963

And interestingly enough, exactly 45 years from the date of that celebrated speech we watched another pivotal moment as Obama accepted the presidential nomination at the Democratic National Convention.

I couldn't believe how history was literally unfolding before my eyes.
Finally, America at large seemed to be judging not by the color of one's skin, but by the content of one's character, to paraphrase Dr. King.

Personally, I have great optimism for our new president. I truly hope that he can unite our country's wounded spirit and rebuild some of what has been worn down.

In the closing remarks of Obama's acceptance speech in August, he stated:

America, we cannot turn back. Not with so much work to be done. Not with so many children to educate, and so many veterans to care for. Not with an economy to fix and cities to rebuild and farms to save. Not with so many families to protect and so many lives to mend. America, we cannot turn back. We cannot walk alone. At this moment, in this election, we must pledge once more to march into the future. Let us keep that promise - that American promise - and in the words of Scripture hold firmly, without wavering, to the hope that we confess.
Sen. Barack Obama, IL, Democratic National Convention, August 28, 2008

Here's hoping he stands true to his principles.
Good luck, Mr. President.
And God bless.

The Aria

Music stirs my soul.

I've found that there are two kinds of people in this world-- those for whom music is merely a nice diversion (Bryson), and those for whom music is a complete and utter passion (me).

While I was writing yesterday's post, I was listening to my favorite piece of music... ever.

It's the first aria of a motet by Antonio Vivaldi, entitled Nulla in Mundo Pax Sincera. It makes my spirit soar every time I hear it. I can listen to it over and over, and never grow tired of it.

At any rate, after I was finished writing yesterday, I became curious.
Exactly what is that lovely Italian soprano singing about?

Knowing enough French & Spanish to make passable guesses at translation I had my hunches, but decided to find a definitive English transcription last night.

So, for your cultural enlightenment, here is the Vivaldi aria and its English translation. After all my personal battles this past week, I found it especially timely.

No wonder I love this so much.

Enjoy.

Original Italian:
Nulla in mundo pax sincera
sine felle; pura et vera,
dulcis Jesu, est in te.
Inter poenas et tormenta
vivit anima contenta
casti amoris sola spe.


Translation:

In this world there is no honest peace
free from bitterness; pure and true
peace, sweet Jesus, lies in Thee.

Amidst punishment and torment
lives the contented soul,
chaste love its only hope.

Respite

Sometimes you just need a break.

Last week was spent taking a self inventory of sorts. Reassessing the priorities, pursuits, and passions in my life. Introspection is a quality that I normally like about myself, but when it couples with my relentless streak of perfectionism it can get a wee bit out of control.

Enter the monster.

Now, I realize that to some, being called a "perfectionist" is a compliment. I personally don't see it that way. Sure, when you have a dinner party to host, event to co-chair, or speech to give it can come in handy. A blessing, even. But most of the time it just causes me to be extraordinarily self-critical.

Doubt creeps in.

I start comparing my greatest weaknesses to others' greatest strengths. I rehash mistakes from the past. And I can't help feeling like I'm failing in some way.

I'm sure I'm not alone in feeling this way from time to time, but boy-oh-boy, when you're in that place you sure do feel alone.

Logically, I understand that these feelings have no basis in reality. But why is it so hard to forgive oneself? We may believe theoretically that we can be made perfect in Christ, but why do we not always apply that doctrine personally?

This afternoon, as I was mulling over things, I came upon this quote by Howard W. Hunter:

It has always struck me as being sad that those among us who would not think of reprimanding our neighbor, much less a total stranger, for mistakes that have been made or weaknesses that might be evident, will nevertheless be cruel and unforgiving to themselves. When the scriptures say to judge righteously, that means with fairness and compassion and charity. That’s how we must judge ourselves. We need to be patient and forgiving of ourselves, just as we must be patient and forgiving of others.
The Teachings of Howard W. Hunter, ed. Clyde J. Williams (1997), 34

Whoa.
It never ceases to surprise me how the Spirit can speak so personally to each of us.
And truly it did to me today.

I look to my husband, whom I absolutely adore.
He is one of the kindest, most sincere people I have ever met. He is such a good person, always concerned about those around him. And yet, he is not perfect. However, the mistakes of his past, along with his own personal weaknesses make him a great leader today. He has incredible empathy for others. He knows what it is like to feel lost and alone, for he has walked that path.

A failure?
Far from it.

Arriving home this afternoon from speaking in another congregation on a high council assignment, he gave me a warm embrace. He looked at me and remarked, "It's not where we've been that's important, but where the road is leading us that matters."

So, we rely on the arm of our Savior and trust in his redeeming grace. And, really, I think the road I'm headed on is leading me in the right direction.

I look at Bryson and smile.
Because while we may never be perfect in this lifetime, one thing is certain.

We are perfect for each other.

The Book of Elmo

I think we may have reached a turning point in Sacrament Meeting today.

Heavens be praised, Taylor actually started listening to the speakers.

Ok, so it was only intermittently, but still.

It was a fantastic meeting. If you were going to pick a good one to start listening in on, it would have been an excellent choice! We were blessed to listen to a young missionary from our home ward, having just returned from Albania. And as Taylor started picking up on the speaker's topics of discussion that he knew something about, he got more and more excited.


Taylor: Mom! He's talking about temples!

Me: Yes, temples. Thank you for listening!

Taylor: Mom! He's talking about prayer!

Me: Yes, prayer. Thank you for listening!

(a few minutes go by)

Taylor: Mom! He's talking about Elmo!

Me: (misunderstanding) Yes, he's talking about Alma. Thank you for listening!

Taylor: I just watch Elmo on TV!

Me: (trying really really hard not to laugh) Oh, honey, not Elmo. Alma. It's a book in the Book of Mormon. He's talking about the Book of Alma.

Taylor: Oh. (quickly loses interest)


Oh well.
You've gotta start somewhere.
Better luck next week.

...And Found!

After a tense 36-hour period of frantic searching, we are happy to announce that Sheep has returned home.

Hopefully she has learned her lesson, and will not hide again any time soon.
We shall try and get that same lesson ingrained in our little shepherdess' mind as well.

Thanks for all the thoughts and prayers-- I'm certain you were all on edge waiting to hear the latest. ;)

Missing!

Have you seen this sheep?


Reward: 5 dozen cookies for information leading to Sheep's safe return

Reilly and her family thank you in your efforts.

Blue Eyes, Green Eyes

In Bryson's family, blue eyes are a certain badge of honor.
Something to be treasured, like a valuable genetic family heirloom.

And it's clear why.
The whole family has gorgeous baby blues.
My fabulous sister-in-law Linda--who also married into the blue-eyed clan-- and I joke about our "dark" eyes.
Dark, as in blue-green & green-hazel. In fact, our wonderful mother-in-law has commented about Linda's beautiful "brown" eyes on more than one well-intentioned occasion.

We take it all in stride.
After all, our loving husbands seem to like us this way just fine.
And we like ourselves this way too.
Blue may be pure, but green is beguiling, intriguing.
Or something like that.

But honestly, who can really blame her-- when your whole family has eyes like this:

Everything else must look brownish in comparison.

However, the funny thing is-- Reilly is rebelling against family honor.

Yesterday-- in all her disheveled morning glory-- Reilly blissfully informed me, "Mom, my eyes are green!"

I broke the news gently.
"Oh sweetie, your eyes aren't green. They're a beautiful blue!"

She looked at me with her fiery cobalt peepers and spoke with all the passion a two-year-old can conjure up.
"NO. They're NOT blue. My eyes are GREEN."


Hmmm.
I decided to just let it go.

However, this morning as I was enjoying my daily yoga fix, Reilly approached with interest.
Moving into upward facing dog, Reilly put her little face mere centimeters from my face and squinted at me.
"Mom, you have beautiful green eyes."

"Oh, well, thank you, sweetheart! That's so nice."

"I have beautiful green eyes too!"
*sigh*
She has become quite insistent about it.

But, to be honest, I'm thrilled that she seems to find my "dark" eyes something to be desired.
In a family of crystal blue beauties I was starting to feel a smidgen insecure.

John Denver Reinterpreted

Well, I wouldn't trade my life for diamonds & jewels
I never was one of those money hungry fools
I'd rather have my guitar and my gardenin' tools
Thank God I'm a country girl.

The Purple Beanie

Dear Grandma Brandy,

You know that lovely purple hat you knitted for me?
Just wanted to tell you,

I really,



really,



really,




really like it.
A lot.

Thank you!

Love,
Reilly

Birthday Boy

Yesterday was your birthday!

29 years young...
(making me feel like an old lady at 31)

Thanks for sharing your life with me.
Thanks for finding all my quirks & oddities endearing.
Like when I accidentally put some of your birthday candles in the cake upside-down.
And didn't notice until I went to light them.
Stuff like that.

I absolutely adore you.
Happy Birthday, Bryson.

Love & Hate

For quite awhile, Taylor has had an endearing habit. Whenever he (or we) would get frustrated or angry about something he would look us right in the eye and say, "Mom (or Dad), I just love you!"

The torn look on his face as he said this was priceless. The general gist of his remark seemed to be, "I'm really irritated right now, but I like you a lot, so fine."

I always got a kick out of it.
And in a way, I thought it was a good lesson-- it's important to remember the big picture when the little things get you down.

Well, recently, Taylor discovered a new word.

I'm not sure where it came from, but as we were sitting at the dinner table trying to convince Taylor that the food on his plate was worth his attention, he put his head down and said "I hate you."
I was beside myself.
Taylor went to his room.

A short while later we had a little chat.


Me: Taylor, do you know what 'hate' means?

Taylor: What?

Me: Well... it means you don't like something or someone. When you tell Mommy "I hate you," it means "Mommy, I don't love you."

Taylor: (horrified) Oh. I'm sorry Mommy! I love you very much. You're my special girl!

Me: Oh, Taylor, you're my special boy. I love you very much, too. But we don't say "hate." Okay? It's just not a very nice word.

Taylor: Okay, Mommy. I want to be a nice boy. I just love you!


Much better.

And thankfully, that "new word" seems to have left the premises.

Ear Infection Enlightenment

I didn't miss out
on my spiritual uplift for the week
even though I was absent from
two-thirds of church today...

Snuggling with poor little Reilly on the couch
fills the soul just fine.

That's Amore

A couple of days ago Bryson took me out for dinner to celebrate my birthday. We decided Italian sounded good, so we got in the car and headed to Macaroni Grill. Everything was perfect. We had a table right by the fireplace, an excellent waiter that took good care of us, and the wonderful just-baked bread with the olive oil & balsamic vinegar...
Mmmm.
Just thinking about that bread makes me wax poetic.

Adding to the ambiance, Dean Martin's "Volare" played in the background.


Bryson: I never understood why they play Dean Martin in Italian restuarants.

Me: Um... I'm pretty sure it's because he's Italian.

Bryson: (confused) Really?

Me: Well, yeah... Half the words he's singing are in Italian. He's a Rat Packer, you know.

Bryson: I know that. But isn't he the black guy?

Me: (stunned silence, followed by uncontrollable laughter) Um... no. That would be Sammy Davis, Jr.

Bryson: Which one is Dean Martin?

Me: (still laughing) The big Italian-looking one!

Bryson: Oh.

Me: (laughing harder) Oh, Bryson, I love you.

Bryson: Thanks... I love you too. You can stop laughing now.


Nothing says "Happy Birthday" like good Italian food, a hot date, and a gut-busting laugh session.
Thanks, B.
It couldn't have been better.
♥

Sledding in Paradise

 
When Grandpa Bob gets an idea in his head, there's simply no dissuading him.

There are many simple, introductory sledding hills in the quiet town of Paradise-- but clearly none of them could possibly suffice.

His grandchildren needed a proper crash course into the world of winter sport. (Yes, pun most assuredly intended.)

Near the city cemetery there stands a hill of considerable size-- more appropriate, say, for downhill skiing than sledding with toddlers.
 
*sigh*
 
Of course that was the place Grandpa had in mind.

Armed with little more than a semi-positive attitude and a whole lot of chutzpah, we tested our mettle against the hill.


As Taylor & Reilly bounced down the icy decline with punishing force, I thought, "oh dear... here ends our fun family outing for sure!" Coming to a halt at the bottom, I waited for the tears to arrive... but surprisingly they never did.

"I love sledding!!!" exclaimed a jubilant (and snow-covered) Reilly.

And so the fun began.

Sometimes the hill won, but most of the time it didn't. Sometimes there were tears, but most of the time there was laughter. Some left with battle scars-- Reilly received an ice burn from a nasty crash, and Bryson hurt his back when he slipped running to her aid. I myself am not known for thrill-seeking behaviors, and came very near to swearing off sledding for life after a crash bruised up the left side of my body. But what's life without a little risk now and then? A trip down the hill with Bryson-- crash-free-- and I was back on board.

These are the memories I want our kids to develop in full. Outings spent together as a family. Laughter, excitement, the simple pleasures of life.  

TV and video games have nothing on barreling down an icy mountain at full speed.

Trust me.

Happy. New. Year.

There is a reason that my posts have taken an extended hiatus, and I wish I could pass it off to all the festive celebration of the holidays. Unfortunately, that just isn't the case.

December was a pretty rough month around here.

Some things that have been weighing on my mind I've written about, some I haven't...

The watershed moment occurred Christmas Eve. A good friend of the family passed away in a tragic accident. Based on the national attention the story received, you may have even heard about it.

You can read about it here.

Needless to say, the last few days I've felt like I've been living in a fog. So much heartache, so much tragedy. I am ready for a decidedly more serene 2009. This afternoon, as I was helping Bryson clean up the house a song came on the radio. It was one that I know by heart, but hadn't heard in quite awhile-- "Bring on the Rain" by Jo Dee Messina. As I reacquainted myself with the lyrics, all my pent-up emotion began to rise to the surface.


Another day has almost come and gone
Can't imagine what else could wrong
Sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door
A single battle lost but not the war ('cause)

Tomorrow's another day
And I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain

It's almost like the hard times circle 'round
A couple drops and they all start coming down
Yeah, I might feel defeated,
I might hang my head
I might be barely breathing - but I'm not dead

Tomorrow's another day
And I'm thirsty anyway
So bring on the rain


Those words helped me find voice for the things that I had been trying to repress and tuck away into a dark corner of the mind. It was a much-needed release.

And I feel a lot better.

Who would of thought such catharsis could be found from listening to country radio?

Not me.

So now we come to today. A new year, a new slate. A rebirth of sorts.
We are faced with the endless possibilities of our own potential, to make our lives more aligned to our dreams. This year, I dream for peace.

Adversity is a fact of life.
Tragedy happens.
But it's my hope that if I can hold on to the peace I strive to maintain in my life, perhaps the inevitable downturns won't find me lost in an atmosphere of despair.

And I hope the next 12 months prove peaceful for you too.

Happy
New
Year.