Sunday, June 22, 2014.  I want to write about something else for a few moments:  Joys.

One evening my son laid out on my daughter’s kitchen table exquisite pieces of porcelain and stoneware wheel-thrown pottery he made for us and carried to us wrapped inside his clothing inside his carry-on suitcase when he flew out for his visit.  We admired.  His two sisters, my older grandson (age 4) and I each chose pieces we liked best to take into our own lives.  There are no words for such an experience.  So achingly full of love and precious.

Later that night I realized I still have the collection of clay tools that my son and I shared as we worked at a large table on clay in our home the year between his second and third birthdays.  I found them and showed them to him the next day when he stopped by here.  How affirming and joyful to me it is that he chose ten of them to take into his life.

Some of the tools are sharp and could not be carried with him on his flight home yesterday.  I am going to mail them to him but first I am going to make a cloth storage holder for them — long with a pocket for the handle of each tool to slide into — that can be rolled up and tied.

(What is it about being human that love and joy and tears all seem to live together within?  I feel this as I write these words.  I miss my beloved son just as I will miss my beloved daughters and grandsons if I find in a year that I really cannot inwardly afford to continue to live in this horrendous cold winter climate and return to my own desert place that feels like home to me.)


Yes, we child abuse survivors did live through hell that put us through a process that seems to have enlarged and honed some amazing gifts.

Something else quite special happened last week as my son and I an my daughter and her two little boys traveled to visit a zoo an hour south of here.  There were no crowds.  The weather was perfect.  The zoo vibrates with the loving care from humans who care for those confined – and mostly protected – animal species members.

Not unlike my experience of sharing at the smaller local zoo here with that so distressed wild goose who needed to be noticed, heard, helped to calm from its terrible crying as I wrote about it in a post a month or so ago, this past week it was the buffalo who especially touched my soul.

As I approached their double-fenced enclosed pasture to stand at one end all eight of the animals within turned to walk to meet me.  They lined up against their fence, glorious massive heads turned sideways enough that I could see one huge dark eye of each animal and without any sound we spoke to one another of days gone by individually and for one’s species.  Of enduring what is hard and not even just or fair.  Of strength.  Of dignity.  Of not being able to roam around in one’s own world – the pure wild world being destroyed.

Of the sadness that must be contained and lived with well — graciously —  courageously — no matter what.

As I finally turned to find and follow my family they all turned and walked slowly away.  “I will miss you.  I will remember you.  I know you.  I love you.  We are all OK.  Thank you.”

The sentiments flowed out mutually between us without sound until from across the zoo came the mournful, powerful bellow of a Bactrian 2-humped camel, of which there are only 950 left on the planet.


Such moments in life where the light shimmers and gleams sustain me.  Heal me.  Help me.  They remind me nobody is alone on this earth.  But for some reason I may never understand in this lifetime not even such moments seem to pass me by without tears along with the joy.


Here is our first book out in ebook format.  Click here to view or purchase –


It lists for $2.99 and can be read by Amazon Prime customers without charge.  Reviews for the book on the Amazon.com site are welcome.


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