stressed

Overwhelmed? Too many things to do? Like an endless list, with things that put themselves back on the list every month, every week, every day?

I did.

Then one day, I said that from now on I would honor this list all morning, but come lunch, I am free for the rest of the day to do what I want. Sort of “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.” And to me what is mine: peace of mind.

I need to honor my own needs, not just the needs the modern world places upon me.

There is something about winter which I really love.

It feels sleepy, resting, in a sense meditating.

It seems to give an upspoken permission to just relax – to have some time for yourself.

All the colors are muted - grays and washed-out browns. And the trees are laid bare, to show a visual essence language written by their shapes, their intricate and poetic lines, all outlined with lacy fine twigs around the edges. At sunset, they glow orange.

The sun is hazy, diffuse behind a gray sky – you may even think it’s the moon.

Come to the lake of calm. It sits there open to you.

You will not find it in travel books, nor upon any map ever made.

Because you do not “go there,” but rather “tune-in,” like dialing a radio station.

Many of us keep this place ready for you. Holding a space of pure peace.

Thousands, if not tens of thousands, if not far more, offer this collective vision. We pour out thought-power, our peaceful energy, our imagination into this “place,” this little realm, if you want to call it that.

We combine our thought focus to offer this.

I sincerely thank whoever discovered the muffin.

There is something really irresistible about a muffin – all kinds of muffins.

Others may love their croissant, but I love my muffin.

Right away, I think of muffins wrapped in red and white checked gingham in a honey-colored wicker basket. I think of New England or charming European villages with fresh baked breads. I think of the open hearth, with a log fire, at the center of a home.

It’s so primal – food – eating – our daily bread.

Every year we like to visit the rose gardens at Boothe Park in Stratford, Connecticut. Even from several feet away, one can smell the beautiful and pungent scent of the various types of roses. Once inside the garden, one can see all the different sizes, shapes, and types of roses - more than seem possible.

It is like a Wonderland of Flowers. Some are red, some are pink, some are yellow, some white, some purple, some orange, and some are even multicolored. Inevitably, some are buds, while others are partly bloomed, and still others are in full bloom.