For Peggy, who’s constantly teaching us that the next great adventure is always within our reach, if you only have the vision, the imagination, the courage to create that which you seek. It’s been a lesson in presence to witness these days - up and down, good and bad - this ebb and flow that is life. Thank you for helping us learn the big things, the big things that hurt. For allowing us to be heartbroken and devastated by the way that life simply is. A mushroom named Reishi

“Who. Are. You?” demanded the Caterpillar. “Well, I… I hardly know sir. I’ve changed so many times since this morning, you see.” “I do not see. Explain yourself.” “Well, I’m afraid I can’t explain myself, sir. Because I’m not myself, you know.” “I do knot know.” “Well, I can’t put it any more clearly, for it isn’t clear to me.” “You. Who are you?” ~ Walt Disney’s “Alice in Wonderland”, 1951 While I was manic, I was obsessed with the question “who are you?” (Fun fact: mania br

I’ve just made a cup of coffee. It smells delicious - rich and comforting, spiced with a pinch of cinnamon, made creamy with almond milk. The cup is hot in my hands, steam warming my face, my perpetually cold nose tip. I am enjoying each and every sip - the scent, the taste, the experience. I feel happy. Buzzed. Mildly giddy, actually. And then suddenly, for no apparent reason, I’m on the verge of tears. Correction - It would seem “the verge” was an optimistic assessment, for

Everything that we have has been Given to us. I, for one, have earned nothing - Not this life, not my body, not my health. Not my family, nor community, Or the thoughts in my head or the skills in my hands. If you resonate with the idea of a force greater than yourself, you may give thanks to that. We can all, however, give thanks to ~ our parents, our ancestors, our genetics, our upbringing, our education. We may give thanks to the people that surround us and support us ~ Th

My mother loves to tell this story about a two-year-old Madison: I was playing in another room and suddenly became very quiet. She was understandably suspicious - a quiet two-year old is rarely a good sign. "Madison?" she asked, "What are you doing in there?" To which I promptly shouted in reply, "I'm being-haved, Mom!" She loves the story as a sign of my early scholastic brilliance - the fact that I had been told to "behave" so many times that I had conjugated the verb to "b