The other day, while I was babysitting my five-year-old grandson, Erik, we called his uncle in Vanuatu.

When my son Andrew answered, I said, “Hey Darling.”
It’s what I’ve always called his uncle and his dad

Erik paused.
“Gran,” he asked, “why do you call him Darling?”

I smiled and said, “Because I love him. I say that to people I love.”

He was still a little puzzled, so I tried again.
“It means you’re so special to me. It’s my way of saying, I love you.”

I gave him examples.

How his family calls him Snuggles. His dad calls him Bud.
How his grandfather calls me Sug (short for sugar)
How my son’s French partner says mon cœur…my heart.

These are terms of endearment. A way of saying, you matter.

That seemed to land.
And honestly? I think I’ll start calling Erik Darling.

Love Needs Language

Because love needs to be spoken out loud. And especially now. 

Erik and I playing Connect Four

Tenderness Exits Alongside the Terror

A constant hum of dread has entered our lives now.
Too much...

Lately, most of us have been living with a quiet heaviness running in the background of our day-to-day lives. 

Even when we’re functioning, caring, and doing what needs to be done, something feels unnerving underneath it all.

There are times when what is happening in the world seeps into our bodies, whether we want it to or not. We carry more tension, more vigilance, more grief, often without realizing how much it's affecting us.

I've written recently about how unsettling things feel. That matters. When the world feels unhinged
But today I want to talk about something quieter and just as important.

How do we stay human in times like these?

What We’re Carrying Without Naming

When the world feels chaotic, our nervous systems take a hit.

We can feel fatigued from the constant onslaught of what we see and hear. It can feel like being pummeled by a wave that keeps coming. We get pulled under, surface for air, and then another wave hits.

There have been times in my life when I felt...

I don’t know about you, but I’m still trying to absorb what we witnessed this week.

There’s a particular kind of horror that comes from watching someone in the highest office openly ignore the rules, norms, and shared agreements meant to protect us all. It feels surreal. Disorienting. Like the ground has shifted beneath our feet and we’re left wondering what still holds.

Moments like this don’t stay in the headlines.
They land in the body.
In the nervous system.
In the quiet fear that asks, If this can happen, what does it mean for the rest of us?

And while this is not a time to look away, it’s also not a time to let ourselves be overtaken by despair.

This reflection is an invitation to stay awake and grounded. To remember who you are, what you value, and what remains steady inside you even when the world feels frightening and unstable. Not because it’s easy. But because it matters.

I am horrified by what is happening. The speed of it. The lawlessness. The cruelty. The sense that ...

Last weekend, Thom and I packed up our Tacoma truck and headed to the Lost Coast of California—one of the most remote and pristine places on the California coast, where Highway 1 had to turn inland and where waves crash fiercely. 

We joined four other Jeep/off-road adventurers, people who tackle trails like the Rubicon (a beast of a route, from what I’ve heard). These are serious folks. Rugged, skilled, and thankfully also warm and fun.

We camped at Usal Beach, fog drifting around us, damp air clinging to everything. I bundled up with blankets and jackets, my knit cap pulled down tight. Even as I sat around a beachside campfire wrapped in layers, I felt something start to shift inside me.

That something was a reset.

Because even in the cold, in the wet fog, even with news from the world swirling in my mind, I could hear the ocean calling me back to myself. Pelicans dove for fish. The sea roared. And I remembered how important it is to get quiet.

The next day, we caravanned along a...

"Get out, get out, NOW!"

Thom shouted, his voice cutting through the night.

I immediately heard a strange hissing sound, and my heart sank. My first thought? The air mattress. That glorious air mattress is my lifeline to comfort on the hard floor of our popup tent atop our trusty Tacoma truck. I couldn't lose it.

But within seconds, I realized it wasn’t the air mattress deflating. A dense, white cloud began to fill the tent, suffocating the space where, just moments ago, I felt safe.

There wasn’t a moment to think...

We were camping at Burnside Lake in Toiyabe National Forest, just south of Lake Tahoe. 

The lake shimmered under the early evening sun, a hidden sanctuary wrapped in the stillness of the wilderness.

After setting up camp, we decided to hike the nearby trail, which led to massive boulders overlooking the lake, giving us a 360-degree panoramic view. The sunset painted the landscape in gold, and the air was crisp and clean.

For a moment, life felt perfect

By the ...

This is what our temps have been like for a week now.

We're in the middle of a heat dome now in Northern California, and folks, IT IS HOT.

Hotter than hot. It’s an inferno here.

We can see now that climate change is changing the way we live.

Just this week, my friends in Colorado, Helene, and Dave Van Manen, have been watching a wildfire from their backyard, just three miles away. They can see the flames and smoke and have their car packed and ready with important documents in case they have to evacuate. CLICK HERE to read their story. They've included photos and a treat at the end of the article.

This is how many people live now, especially in the West.

It's real, and it's scary.

It will get worse. I don’t know about you, but it leaves me with that helpless feeling in the pit of my stomach.

It's the same with Gaza, Ukraine, and Sudan, a place we rarely hear about in the news where there's violence against women and girls. Forced child marriages and rape are rampant. And let’s ...

As the winter solstice unfolds its quiet magic today, I find myself reflecting on the significance of this day. It's a gentle reminder to pause before we dive headlong into the hustle and bustle of Christmas.

On this serene solstice morning, I'm reaching out to you with an invitation—to join me in taking a moment to simply be.

I understand the pull to rush around, ticking off tasks for Christmas preparations—shopping, baking, gift wrapping—all vying for our attention. Yet, today is not about succumbing to that pressure; rather, it's an opportunity to resist the urge to hurry.

You might be thinking

"Darkness isn't my favorite time of the year, and Christmas is always challenging." It's true, this season can be difficult, filled with loss and grief. The darkness outside often mirrors the struggles within, making it harder to find motivation and to rise above sadness and depression.

However, even in the heart of this darkness, there lies a purpose—a chance to embrace rather than resi...

Life is a wonder. And it's difficult. And...there will be dying. There will be heartbreak. There will be despair, and there will be horror.  

Thankfully there will also be joy, forgiveness, love, and connection.

Because this is what life is all about. It's about the range of experiences and the thoughts and feelings about what happens. 

If we can pause for a moment to let ourselves feel the pain and joy together and be with all the feelings, then we will be able to handle more of what comes our way and if we can "be" with the people experiencing sadness and deep loss, then we can be a gift to the people who are going through dark times and we can give ourselves a gift, too. 

Embracing Life's Inevitabilities

There will always be things we can't control. There will be the unexpected, the pain of seeing loved ones die or go through hardship. Yet, in the middle of sorrow comes the promise of hope and renewal. For every despair, there is a seed of joy, forgiveness, love, and the unbrea...

March 2023 satellite photos of both Cyclone Judy and Cyclone Kevin

Vanuatu...the tiny island nation where my son and my 3 grandchildren live has been hammered by two back-to-back cyclones in the past few days. Cyclone Judy and Cyclone Kevin, category 4, cyclones slammed across the island within 24 hours of each other. 

If that wasn't enough to make your head swirl, somewhere in between these two cyclones, the country shook from a 6.5 earthquake. There was a lot of damage. It was brutal. 

The people of Vanuatu are used to natural disasters.

In 2015, they were battered by a category 5 cyclone. Cyclone Pam was ruthless. The recovery took years. 

In 1987 when I lived in Vanuatu, Cyclone Uma was a force and wreaked immense havoc. I remember a sleepless night, trying not to be completely freaked out that the roof was going to blow off while I held my 15-month-old toddler on my chest and my husband held our 3-year-old.

It was a long night to hear the winds howling and howling. It was ...

A Guest post by Penny Wood

We must let go of the life we planned,

So as to accept the life that is waiting for us.

Joseph Conrad

When becoming a widow, one joins a club in which no one wants to be a member.  If you are young when widowed, not only do you grieve your husband but also the life you thought you were going to have.  In October this year, I will have been in the widow club for 25 years. 

The day it happened to me 

In October of 1997, I was happily living in Davis, CA.  I was 52.  My husband Doc was 51. Our daughter Sara was 22, having graduated that June from the University of Washington. Our son Gerrit was 19 and beginning his sophomore year at Willamette University where he played football.  

It was Parents Weekend at Willamette and there was a home football game.  We had forgotten to get plane tickets that weekend so we were driving instead.  Near Canyonville in Southern Oregon, an 88-year-old man entered I-5 from an exit and began driving south the wrong way in ...