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I think we’re in week 14 of riding the Covidcoaster (not my term), but I’m not sure. The one thing I do know about the COVID-19 pandemic is that it is filled with highs and lows. One minute you’re enjoying relaxing on your patio, and the next minute you’re filled with panic because you realize that all you can do is relax on your patio. Concerts? Festivals? What are those?

            Anyway, this week started out pretty rough for me, but thanks to Sweet Baby Grace (see My Magic Wand, June 23), a great idea from my son, and a muddy hike with my soul sister and our kids, I’m arriving at Friday feeling good, great actually. 

            So if our world and all of its warts has got you down, let yourself feel all of that, but don’t linger in those feelings. I know that it’s easy to wallow in them because I’m really good at it, but we just can’t. We can’t! We have to keep looking for goodness. We have to! Notice how I’m repeating statements for emphasis. I hope it’s working because goodness is there amid all the turmoil and sadness. It is always there. That said, here are this week’s Weekly Winks. 

            Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — John and I took The Tots out on the boat for an evening picnic. Mr. and Mrs. Mallard decided to join us. It’s not often that we get to dine with ducks. 

Sunday — Father’s Day. Even though this day was laced with thorns (it marked one year since mom had been at our house and 10 months since we lost her), we managed to have a successful Father’s Day with our fathers. Dad and I are both struggling with our grief, as it is its own roller coaster, but we keep going because mom would be furious with us if we didn’t. 

Monday — I enjoyed a good talk with my husband. As parents of 10 year olds, a good talk is about as rare as a trip to Paris. 

Tuesday — I had a wonderful conversation with my neighbors’ future son-in-law and his beautiful baby (see My Magic Wand, June 23). We have to talk with each other, folks, but most importantly, we have to listen. 

Wednesday — Graydon suggested that we go on a bike ride, so off we went to Jetton Park. As The Tots and I rode up and down the hills at the park, I felt like I was on a nature rollercoaster. It was glorious!

Thursday — My soul sister invited us to hike South Mountain with her family. We had a great hike to the top. As we were enjoying the waterfall at the summit, a thunderstorm crept up. Suddenly, we were booking it down the mountain in pouring rain and mudslides. Even though it was scary, it was more liberating than anything else. My soul sister always knows what I need. So grateful!

Friday — I heard a construction worker blaring NPR as he worked on a house during my run this morning. As an NPR nerd, that made my heart happy. 

            Get outside this weekend and take in all Mother Nature has to offer. She will save your soul in these dark times. Happy weekend!

I don’t think I’m the only who wishes they had a magic wand these days. For years, I carried a small one in my purse to remind myself that magical moments do indeed happen. I think that it’s time to put another one in my purse, as I’ve found myself spiraling into the pity pit lately. 

            Sure I try to be positive, but the negative vibes spewing out of our world and our country are getting the best of me. Add to that the fact that Father’s Day marked a year since mom was in our house and ten months since her death, and you can imagine how much fun I am to be around right now. 

            My parents, especially my dad, always told me growing up that “your problems are your problems.” They weren’t trying to belittle whatever I was going through. They just wanted me to understand that yes, there are people who have far worse problems and there are others who don’t have that many troubles, so whatever is bugging you is your own particular set of difficulties. It was more of a recognition exercise that let me know it was okay to be sad, but not too sad. 

            Well, here I am at 47 years old squeezing that bit of advice for all that it’s worth. Everything seems to be a complete mess right now, and it’s so easy to start taking up residence in the pity pit. That’s where I was setting up shop until a Wink of Goodness walked by my house this morning. 

            I had just finished working out on our sidewalk (wouldn’t you like to have tickets to that?), when a man carrying his baby walked by. As the mother of grown-up 10 year olds, I jump at any chance to make goo-goo eyes at a baby, so off I went to say “hello.” This man was visiting his future-in-laws, who live in our neighborhood. I spoke to him a few weeks ago when he walking, so I could get yet another baby fix. (I really can’t get enough of little people.)

            This time we talked more, and our conversation quickly jumped from pleasantries to real dialog when he told me that he lived in Brooklyn. I talked about how bad things must be up there because of COVID-19, and he said that they were getting better. Then our talk morphed into race relations and what’s all going on in our country right now.             

He’s a black man, and he told me that he had been raised to love people for who they are, regardless of skin color. I told him that I used to tell my kids that we don’t see color but that I had learned a couple of years ago, that that’s not the thing to do. Not seeing color is not seeing what black people have been through and are still going through. It’s not seeing who they are. 

            While we talked, his little girl (just about one, I think) shied away from looking at me, preferring to play with her father’s necklaces instead. Regardless, we kept talking about how we think things are going to get better and how we’re going to have to work at it, take baby steps (both black and white people, together). And then he said something that stopped my post-workout sweat. He said, “We spend so much time focusing on God that we forget to be Godly.” Boom!

            If you get anything from this entry, please take that gem with you and put it in a safe place. Being Godly, whether or not you’re a believer, means loving each other and taking care of each other, living your life with grace, which happens to be his daughter’s name. I stood there frozen as I absorbed his perfectly powerful statement. I’ll never forget it. 

            Love is the most powerful tool that we have, and it’s what we need most in this world, which is obviously not happy with any of us right now. We are all humans. We’re all made with feelings. We’re all given talents. And we are all capable of love. What would happen if we used our superpowers for good?  I think we’d be acting pretty Godly. 

            Before he left, Grace began smiling at me, and I slowly started climbing out of the pity pit. Even though she can’t talk yet, she is a force of optimism. That’s what I love about babies; they’re such beautiful capsules of hope. 

            As they walked away, I felt the comforting zing of possibility. No, things aren’t great right now, but they will get better. And with that, I knew I had found my magic wand.  

            Happy Friday, everyone! I know we’ve all been reading some heavy stuff lately, which is a good thing, so here’s some not-so-heavy stuff to give your brain a tiny break. 

            Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — We had a Zoom call with John’s family. It was so wonderful catching up with everyone (on three continents and four states)! Zoom isn’t so bad after all. 

Sunday — I spent at least three hours reading on our back stoop (by myself)! And, of course, there was a nice breeze. I’m not sure I could read without one. 

Monday — I completed a major work project, and I am so, so proud of it. This feeling of accomplishment is right up there with finding a sweet pair of shoes on sale!

Tuesday — Hamilton, one of our tabby cats, joined me for yoga in the playroom. I think I got more out of it than he did, but he’s much cuter.  

Wednesday — I worked out on our front sidewalk in a drizzling rain. It was like having my own personal misting system. 

Thursday — Dinner outside with two wonderful friends has never been more fun. I’m so grateful for these glimpses of normal. 

Friday — I discovered the 1^st Wave Workout channel on Sirius XM, so this morning I did bicep curls to REM, The Smiths and The Cure, the holy trinity of Gen X music. (I’m always the last to know about these things.) 

            Get outside this weekend and celebrate the fathers in your life. I’m lucky that I’m married to a wonderful father and that I have an awesome father and father-in-law. To my friends who have lost their dads, you are in my heart. Happy weekend!

I rearranged my home office in January. I didn’t do anything too exciting, but I did turn my desk so that I could see out of the window. If you’ve been following the View from My Window Facebook page, which I highly recommend, you’ll see what people from all over the world see from their windows as they quarantine. While my view is not as glamorous as the Sea of Galilee, the Colorado Rockies or a Parisian street, I do have a first-rate view of lush cedars, as well as a tree I have yet been able to identify. (If any of my plant friends read this, please help me out.)   

            This particular tree sprang from a weed at the edge of our patio at least ten years ago. John and I liked the weed, so we never cut it. Now it’s a tree that reaches beyond our roofline with branches punctuated by waxy leaves and tiny lime-colored blossoms. I love watching it sway in the breeze (big surprise), but I love spying on its visitors even more. Cardinals and blue jays stop by occasionally, but its most frequent guests are bumblebees. 

            These physics-defying creatures dart in and out of our tree’s branches all day long, gathering nectar and pollen from its bushy buds. A second on one flower and a second on the next, then off they go back into the world. It’s a fabulous nature show, and I’m grateful to have a front-row seat. 

            Whenever I grow sad and scared about the state of our world — and let’s be honest, we’re in the Olympics of tumultuous times right now — I look at the bees. They’re completely focused on the task at hand, and though they can’t smile, their whimsical flight patterns let me know how content they are — happy even. 

            It’s a little thing in our big world, but it’s important to cling and collect these little things in our minds. That’s always been the intention of Winks of Goodness. Though I often write about big things like my mother’s death, COVID-19 or race relations, it’s the little things that bring me out of the darkness. It’s the little things that have all the power. 

            My daughter is picking up on this, and it’s so fun to watch her find her own Winks of Goodness. The other day she came inside to get some beach towels. “We’re going to sit in the yard and look at the clouds,” she said as she walked out the front door. I just smiled thinking about the conversations she and her friends might have about the clouds. Would they discuss their shape? How fast they were moving? What kinds of clouds they were? The possibilities were endless. 

            A little later, these socially distanced little girls sat on their beach towels licking popsicles, a quintessential summer activity. Though they couldn’t do a lot of the things they normally would have been doing during the summer, they found simple pleasures on our front lawn. There’s magic in that.

            These days I keep my eyes peeled for magical moments like these more than ever. Maybe that’s why I’m so enamored by our bumblebees. I admire their determination in getting the job done no matter what — and having a good time while doing it. Every day their arrival renews my hope that somehow everything is going to be okay. As we try to find our footing in a world that’s changing by the minute, we can all take comfort in knowing that the bees are going to keep on buzzing. We should follow suit.

“No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow.” Alice Walker

            This quote popped up on my daily calendar the other day, and though it hit smack dab in the middle of home, I had no idea who Alice Walker was. A quick Google search revealed that Alice Malsenior Tallulah-Kate Walker wrote The Color Purple and is also a poet and social activist. What timing! Her quote presented a Eureka moment for me because we’re in such a time of imperative social change, but it also gave me yet another moment to bow my head in a shadow of shame. 

            I know about The Color Purple. Oprah Winfrey is in it. So is Whoopi. And I think it won an Academy Award (let me check, no it didn’t after being nominated for 11 Oscars). Regardless, I’ve never seen it. The tiny snippet I did see of the film years ago scared me, so I turned away, not realizing what a privilege it was to simply turn my head and do something else. I never even tried to read the book — or see the musical. 

            I can’t turn my head anymore. I can’t. I don’t want to, and I hope that you don’t either. As I wrote a couple of weeks ago, my eyes were opened to the institutionalized and systemic racism in this country a couple of years ago when I took a class at my children’s school. And though the lessons I learned were shoved in the back of my head when family illness took the forefront, I made sure they were stored. Now as I pull out the books and articles from the class, I want to dig deeper and try to navigate my part and my family’s part in making things better for people of color. 

            My challenge is roots. Yes, there’s the movie of the same name, and I watched that movie in horror during my high school U.S. History class, but the roots I’m talking about run deep in the South, entangled in casseroles, crocheted quilts and a litany of “bless your hearts.” 

            I grew up in the country, where people have good hearts and will do anything for you. That’s not an easy thing to come by these days, and I’m grateful that I grew up in that environment. However, within that web of goodness, there are pockets of ideals and beliefs with which I don’t agree, especially among the older generations. 

            For years, I’ve remained silent when someone made a racist or offensive comment in my presence. When I was in sixth grade, my late uncle scoffed at me when I told him I was a feminist. “You don’t believe that junk, Lori,” he said. 

            As a 47-year-old white southern woman of extreme privilege, I struggle with how to reconcile the world I grew up in with the world I inhabit now, the world where we’re raising our children to do better than past generations. I was taught that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all, but I think that’s just another way of putting Baby in the corner. I’m tired of being in the corner. 

            I’m tired of seeing people suffer. I’m tired of preconceived notions and stereotypes. I’m tired for my black friends who have to think about every little thing they say and do. On a much, much lighter level, I know what that’s like. It’s maddening to stand there and listen to something so far out of your belief system that you need a telescope to see it, and then say nothing because you don’t want to lose your job, your friends, your kids’ friends — your roots. 

            But here in this moment, not speaking up feels criminal. Not doing something feels irresponsible. We have to listen. We have to learn. And then we have to work together and follow through. We have to do better, and I think that we can. At least, I hope that we can. So Alice, thank you for this quote. It’s time for me to break my silence and grow.

Today is Friday, the day that I share my Weekly Winks, but with all that’s going on in the world, especially our country, it’s hard to point the Winks out. There is so much that I want to say about George Floyd, the man who was murdered by a police officer in Minneapolis; Ahmaud Arbery, the man who was murdered while he was out for a run in Georgia; and the hundreds of others who fall into this senseless category, but I can’t get a grip on my emotions right now, so I’ll offer this. 

            Two years ago I took a class at my children’s school about the history of racism in our country. Taught by the brilliant Dr. Lucretia Carter Berry (check out www.brownicity.com), I learned more than I ever could have imagined about race relations. She designed the curriculum and wrote the book that we studied in the class, What Lies Between Us: Fostering First Steps Toward Racial Healing. Many days I left class with tears in my eyes. Other days I left angry — angry that I didn’t know any of this stuff before now, angry that so many people I know will probably never know it, angrier still that so many people I know won’t really care about it. 

            We always connect to the piece of the puzzle that fits closest to us, and that’s what happened when a fellow mom told me that she didn’t feel comfortable going out in public wearing workout clothes. It’s not that she was overweight; it’s that she was black. She felt like she always had to be dressed to the nines to stay safe and be taken somewhat seriously when she left her home.             

            As someone who wears yoga pants more than not, I quickly fell into a better (not at all complete) understanding of what my black friends face every day. It sounds so simple, but it signifies so many things, and it brought my white privilege to the surface. I live the life fandango every day, even during COVID-19. I’m grateful for every bit of it, but my heart aches for those who can’t go and do the simplest things in this world without facing the eyes of suspicion. It has nothing to do with quarantining and everything to do with racism, and it has to stop.  

            I can’t imagine being the mother of a black child in today’s world. It’s hard enough for me to give my 10-year-old white children a little slice of independence simply because of normal mom anxiety. Will they fall down while riding their bikes? Will they get hit by a car? Will a snake bite them? That’s nothing compared to what black children face when they simply walk around the block. Will someone harass them? Will someone hit them? Will someone shoot them? It’s maddening. 

            Today, as I set up my workout outside, I saw my 90-something neighbor walking with her caregiver. My neighbor is white, and her caregiver is black. Watching them chat away as they passed by, I thought of how more of us need to do that. Sure, they’re in a business arrangement. Her caregiver is paid to take care of her, but what if once a week we took a walk with someone of a different race. What if they walked with us in our neighborhoods and we walked with them in theirs? What if we discovered what we have in common and learned from our differences? What if we shared jokes and stories? What if we swapped recipes? What if we became friends?

            Getting to know someone is the pathway to healing, folks. That’s how we learn, and judging by what I briefly heard on the news this morning (I had to turn it off because I started crying), we have a lot of learning to do. 

            It seems frivolous this week, but the Winks I witnessed are important because they serve as lights in this time of darkness. So without further adieu, here are this week’s Weekly Winks.  

            Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — I saw a piece of art that connects to a new writing business I’m launching — more on that soon. 

Sunday — I’ve always wanted to have my own Christmas special on TV, during which I would walk down a staircase that lights up step by step. (Can you tell I grew up in the ’70s?) Anyway, as I was walking through the freezer section at Publix, the movement sensor lights flashed on in time with me. For a brief moment, my TV special dream came true! (This is what COVID-19 is doing to me.) 

Monday — I did the Murph with a group of neighbors, and we had the best time, especially since one of my neighbors is a veteran who did many tours in Afghanistan, as well as Iraq. He shared some compelling stories with us about his experiences overseas. 

Tuesday — Margot and I visited her church choir leader for a few minutes (in her yard). She’s retiring after 41 years, so it was special to see her. 

Wednesday — The Tots and I found a Muppets version of Bohemian Rhapsody on YouTube. I highly recommend it. 

Thursday — The song from Space Jam came on as I was finishing my workout. I LOVE THAT SONG!

Friday — When I walked out of our front door this morning, I found a large stone with a piece of grass tied around it like a present. My daughter left it there, and I’m sure glad she did. 

            Get outside this weekend and get outside of your comfort zone to connect with someone different from you. You might just find out that you’re not that different after all. 

I think about the past way too much, forcing the present to constantly hit me over the head to pay attention. And the future? I dabble in it by making plans (and even setting goals), but I don’t spend nearly enough time there. 

            I’m a big “a year ago today we ….” person, but these days I’m finding that game much too painful. Sure, the first Thanksgiving and Christmas without my mom were tough, but the field of memory land mines I’m about to walk through is much worse. As the calendar creeps toward June in our new world, my heart is still breaking in our old one. 

            June of last year was one of the happiest times of my life. I had just resigned from my job with plans to spend a fun summer with The Tots. This was going to be the summer we’d always dreamed of, complete with popsicles, boat rides and plenty of beach time. Instead of deadlines hanging over my head, I’d have a pool umbrella towering above me. 

            Seven days later everything came falling down. Dad called early that morning saying that we needed to take mom to the doctor. Five days from her doctor visit, mom sat in a wheelchair as I pushed her into the hospital. Four days after that on July 4, she celebrated her 82^nd birthday there. The next day she found out she had stomach cancer. Forty-eight hours later on a Sunday, the doctor told my father and husband that she had four to six weeks to live. 

            The anniversaries are a blur after that — admitting my mother into a nursing home, managing her care, figuring out a way to bring her home, not realizing the last time she could speak to me and know who I was, saying goodbye, organizing her memorial service, the list goes on. Every time I try to open that box of memories, I slam it shut. One day I’ll sift through it to see what I need to save, but for now, those memories need to stay in the box. 

            Last night when I shared my anxiety with John about this upcoming summer, he asked me why I don’t think about the good anniversaries. He’s right in that some good things also happened last summer. The Tots learned to wakeboard. I drove the pontoon at night on my own. Graydon skied for the first time. We had a great day at Carowinds’ waterpark with short lines, and a cool family moved in across the street from us. 

            Those were all wonderful things filled with goodness. It’s nice to think about those things when I let myself shift focus, but doing that is easier said than done. Regardless, I’m trying. Today, for example, despite the rain wanting to infest us with a dismal mood, I went on a date with my son.

Clad in masks and lathered in hand sanitizer, we ventured into Davidson to grab a slice of normal. We ended up at The Soda Shop. While perusing the menu, the owner came out to catch up with us. We talked about the pandemic, what’s happened and what’s next. And then we talked about how this has been good for us in so many ways because a lot of us, definitely me, are spoiled. 

            Prior to COVID-19, most of us had fun choices to make every day, choices that we took for granted. Before the world was turned on its end, my family and I would have had a good time at The Soda Shop, but we wouldn’t have placed a special value on the experience, and it probably wouldn’t have ranked high enough to be one of our “a year ago today we ….” memories.

            Today is different. Today the cottage fries were extra crispy. Today the vegetable soup was seasoned just right. Today talking to people I hadn’t seen in months meant everything. Today is when we bravely flirted with things we used to do. Today is now officially marked in my mind as a day I will happily remember a year from now. 

            June is coming whether I like it or not, but I can control what I let it do to me. I can wallow in the past, recounting every painful moment of last summer, or I can fold those memories into my heart as I carve out happier ones to reminisce about next year. The choice is up to me. 

         Yesterday, a red cardinal flew to the bird feeder in our front yard about an hour before dinner. He snacked on birdseed for a few minutes, and then he just stood on the ledge of the bird feeder as if he were taking a much-needed break. I think we all know how that bird feels. We’ve been flying around in our homes, trying to stay sane since March, and we need a little break. The problem is that we have different ways of going about this. 

            Today, North Carolina goes into a modified phase 2 of reopening. I know some of you can’t wait to eat in a restaurant after getting your hair trimmed, and I also know that some of you won’t leave your homes for a few more weeks — or months. Here’s where we need some major Winks of Goodness. Instead of jumping on a soapbox filled with stats and sources, some valid and some not, just be kind. The last thing we need in addition to the layers of stress we’re already under is political judgments and bickering. Just be kind. 

            Think of others (especially our vulnerable populations) as you handle the pandemic in a way that works for you and just be kind. In the meantime, it’s Friday, and you know what that means — Weekly Winks!

            Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — I mowed our yard. This is one of my favorite things to do because you see the results instantly. (It’s also nice not being able to hear what anyone says to you.) 

Sunday — A red cardinal sat on the transom window in our living room as we watched our 9:45 church service on YouTube. I’ve never seen a bird in that window before. I hope he liked the service as much as I did. 

Monday — John and The Tots sang along to Michael McDonald’s Minute by Minute (love me some Yacht Rock) as we cleaned the kitchen after dinner. 

Tuesday — Tears filled my eyes as I drove up to The Tots’ school to put cans in the recycling bin. The building, which is usually full of laughing children and learning, was completely empty, and on top of that, it was raining. The scene was beyond sad. A little later after I finished grocery shopping, Wham!’s Freedom came on the radio, and I just started belting it out. Somehow it made me feel better. So folks, remember that there’s always Wham! to bring you up when you’re down. 

Wednesday — The Tots spent the whole rainy day building a city (aptly named Brick Lake City) out of Legos. I loved listening to their city planning discussions. These two are going places! 

Thursday — After dinner, The Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show came on the radio. It’s one of my favorite songs from high school, so I had to show The Tots how to do the dance that goes along with it. They laughed at me so hard, and I loved hearing every second of their cackles.  

Friday — The sun returned!

            This Memorial Day weekend, navigate phase two in a safe way that works for you and our community. AND GET OUTSIDE!

            For Mother’s Day, I had a necklace made that reads Esse Quam Videri. Sound familiar? Check out North Carolina’s state seal and you’ll see this Latin phrase that means, “To be, rather than to seem.” It’s our state motto.

            I can’t remember when I learned our motto’s meaning. It might have been in elementary school, where my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Moose (one of the best teachers ever), painted the halls with endless North Carolina murals. Every time we walked to the restroom, we were reminded that our state shell was the Scotch Bonnet, and our state tree was the pine. 

            Regardless of when I learned our motto, it stuck with me. “To be, rather than to seem” seemed like a wonderful way to live. Little did I know how hard it would be to do because society and its expectations have different ideas about how to go about this. As a people pleaser, I found it difficult to extricate myself from that web of standards. Difficult, but not impossible. 

            That said, I struck out on a self-audit about three years ago that would bring me closer to being rather than seeming. I began noticing things that weren’t working in my life, and slowly, but surely, made adjustments. 

            First, I resigned from a board position that took me away from my children and my parents too much. Then, after ten years, I left a job that was slowly chipping away at my soul and was no longer a good fit for me. Last fall, after ditching church for at least two years, we began attending a new church. These weren’t easy decisions to make, and they were even harder to implement. There were tears, sleepless nights and endless conversations, but my family and I did it. We took brave steps so that we could be rather than seem. 

            As I peek out my door at the world, wondering what it will be like when COVID-19 evolves into a history lesson, I want to continue being rather than seeming. I want to speak out when I see injustice instead of nodding silently and walking away because I’m afraid I’ll offend someone. I want to say “no” when someone asks me to do something I don’t want to do. I want to disagree when I don’t agree with something. I want to live an authentic life with no apologies. 

            These are big goals, but I think I can get there with practice…and age. Speaking of age, one way I’m living authentically is through my hair. Even though the coronavirus has forced many women to grow out their color, I started doing it a year ago. A combination of losing my hairdresser, finances and just becoming tired of the maintenance brought me to this decision. 

            As an older mom, I vehemently opposed letting my white (not gray, folks) hair shine through and vowed that I wouldn’t do it until I hit at least 50. Well, I’m 47.5, and I’ve decided that it’s time to be who I am. My father has the most beautiful white hair you’ve ever seen, and hopefully, I eventually will, too. Until then, we’re going with the term ashy blonde (baby steps). 

            It’s a little thing, but it’s liberating. I’ve earned those white hairs so why would I want to hide them? Why would I want to cover up who I am? Why would anyone want to do that? 

            We are all these wonderful cocktails of experiences, environment, interests and talents. Maybe being cooped up for months will inspire us to serve those cocktails to the world and see what happens. How beautiful would it be if we all came out of this being instead of seeming?

             As for my necklace, I plan to wear it often because I’ve earned it and because I don’t want to forget who I am. It’s taken me a long time to uncover who that is, and I refuse to let her go now.  

         I have three words for COVID-19 — Make it stop. Rough week, folks, so let’s just get on with Weekly Winks. 

Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — Since we’re officially in phase 1, I worked out with some friends on a field Saturday morning. It was so nice to be back together, even though we had to stay six feet apart. 

Sunday — We walked on the greenway as a family for Mother’s Day, and the day could not have been more beautiful. I didn’t see a butterfly, but John and The Tots did. I’m guessing mom knew that would be too much for me on my first Mother’s Day without her.  

Monday — Last day of school for The Tots! Super weird last day of school because of remote learning, but the last day of school nonetheless. After all was said and done, I tree bathed on our patio with a sigh of relief and a heart full of gratitude for teachers. 

Tuesday — I talked with a new friend/church leader at our new church about a new program idea for kids. Can I use the word “new” more? Anyway, it made me excited to think about the world reopening. 

Wednesday — I got some much needed alone time on the water. We are so lucky to live where we live. 

Thursday — On the way to a farewell parade for Margot’s 2-3 loop teacher, who is moving away, two bluebirds flew in front of us. I took it as a sign that things are getting better, even though we were so sad to say goodbye. 

Friday — I got a big dose of girl power by listening to Brene Brown (total awesomeness) interview Jen Hatmaker (also total awesomeness) during a walk. They gave me the kick in the butt I so desperately needed. 

            Here’s to another week of living in the unknown. Keep holding on and get outside!