Ken, Briggs, and I went to a wake tonight.

The father of a dear friend did pass gently into that goodnight this past weekend, after having lived a truly long and fruitful life deeply rooted in family and service.

Though, to call the man who lost his Dad a friend isn’t quite right.

This man, and my Dad, Bob have been connected since high school.  In fact they’ve known each other longer than they’ve known their wives or any of us kids.  His family, ours, and the families of three other gentlemen who’ve been running together since back in the day, have all been stitched and woven together through the decades.

No matter last names or bloodlines.  It’s all just family now.

And it’s apparent.  Especially on a night like this.  When one has suffered such great loss.

There is an ease and peace to the reconvening.  Amongst the “framilies” enough food is provided for days of comfort eating.  Bars are stocked for toasting.  Someone puts the Bruins on for normalcy.

The tired and the grieving are given permission to sit, eat, cry, laugh, sleep, and rest assured that the leftovers will be wrapped and the counters washed down.  And we will see each other, soon, at services tomorrow morning in fact…

The rhythm of family is so clear, I can actually hear it beating.  And it’s obvious the only instrument required to keep it playing, is Love.

I got caught on a toll road this afternoon with no change.

Stopped in bumper-to-bumper traffic I ransacked my wallet, glove compartment, and the console under the shoulder rest for spare change.  But, I’ve been so mindful about keeping my new car clean that there wasn’t a cent to be found.

I moved on to my laptop and lunch bags.  Still no change, but amazingly, my checkbook.  I started carrying it with me as a reminder to write my childcare provider a check every Friday.

While still in stand-still traffic I quickly wrote out a $1.25 check to the State of Massachusetts.  I said a short prayer – set an intention that the trying, for now, was enough.  Then, I rolled up to the CASH ONLY booth.

As I extended the paper, the kind, young man working the booth shook his head without ever removing his ear buds.

“Can’t take that,” he said, slightly louder than necessary.

“It’s all I have.”

He paused for a moment.  “Okay, okay,” he said, motioning for me to put the check away and go on through.

“Thank you,” I beamed.  “Thank you, thank you.”

“Just pay it forward,” he shouted as I began to pull away.

“I promise, I will.  I really will.”

And so, tomorrow, I get to discover a way to turn $1.25 into someone else’s grateful break.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WhGbWCH6IPE

Win or lose.

The goal may have very little to do with the score (even though keeping score is awfully fun and even healthy) and everything to do with playing, giving, and exerting so much that you can finally and completely let go.

Give yourself over to restorative sleep.

Let your dreams acknowledge all that you have already done.

And awake, more invigorated by all the good you still get to do.

I was confused at first.

I mean, the car was stopped – for the most part – but, I didn’t even hear Ken take off his seatbelt.

Given that the Pats are the favorite to take home tomorrow’s AFC Championship, and that there’s a blizzard moving up the east coast, the parking lot at the Reading Market Basket was predictably packed around eleven o’clock this morning.

Full families, young couples, single moms, bundled babies, and long-time New Englanders navigated the bone-chilling winds, zig-zagging carts, and slow moving vehicles with equal parts focus and frustration.

In trying my best to avoid another accident (after all the insurance adjuster did show up yesterday to assess the damage from my fender-bender on I-93 last week), I had completely missed the elderly woman far off to the right.  But my husband didn’t.

“Mom!” Briggs yelled from the backseat.  “Where’s Dad going?  Where’s he going!?”

“It’s okay,” I said calmly.  “He must be helping someone.”

I kept the car still.  My foot firmly on the brake as Briggs and I sat just about twenty feet from the store’s left side entrance.

Ken darted out in front of our car, took a hard left, and then reached down for something that appeared to be rolling toward the top of the next closest lane.

“Something got away,” I whispered.

Now, with what I could clearly decipher as a bottle of Market Basket brand Ginger Ale under his arm, I watched Ken jog back to an elderly woman who was clearly struggling to get her knees to cooperate.

The woman was standing outside of her car with a expression of genuine relief and gratitude…as if to say, I was afraid it was a goner.

I rolled up to where Ken was standing, he hopped back in, and Briggs asked:

“Dad what happened?”

Ken explained that he had seen someone in need, knew he could help, and so that’s what he did.

In our nearly twelve years together, I’ve had the pleasure of falling in love with my husband multiple times over.

Today in that frigid Market Basket parking lot was another one of those heart-melting times.

(PS – This isn’t a picture from the Market Basket parking lot – just another moment of the two of us in love. :))

I am so grateful to, and for you.

For years I abandoned my writing and creativity, and through this blog and your participation, both have been miraculously restored.

More than 2,000 readers have taken in what I’ve shared here – which has helped me find the courage to begin my book.

Part of me is nervous to admit that.  It’s still all so new and rough and who knows how long it will take.

And there are schools that have strict rules about broadcasting this kind of thing so early in the process.

But secrets have never served me well, and I kind of like the idea of being a rule-breaker.

Thank you for the strength to get up this morning and get my first ten pages down.

Love & Light.

I completed my first go-round of the 21 Day Superstar Cleanse.

21 days of delicious raw, live, vegan menus, meditative yoga, and fun prompts to try new things.

I lost ten pounds.  Learned a whole bunch, and deepened my practice of gratitude.

For the first time in my life I started to really honor my body, along with the stuff I put in and on it.

I rekindled my love of sun-ripened olives and sun-dried tomatoes. Indulged in the decadence of pure, raw walnuts, almonds, cashews, and macadamias.  I learned to juice.  All the soaps and shampoos in my bathroom are now safe to eat…but we don’t eat them.  I developed a healthy addiction to raw honey and fresh dates.  And fell head-over-heels for cacao.

And while the food stuff was, is, and will continue to be valuable.  It’s all the stuff around the food that I’m most grateful for.

Like the fact that my husband totally supported me – even when it meant shopping at three different grocery stores to stock the pantry and purchasing a few new kitchen gadgets and appliances.

Or that my friends and family never made a fuss about me accepting a dinner invitation, and then bringing (or prepping) my own separate meal.

Or that today, when I told my co-workers that I had officially wrapped the 21 days – and they all jumped at the chance to toast my commitment with a round of half-glass wines after work.

With so many good, strong, kind, helpful and encouraging people in my corner failure felt impossible.

So, my takeaway from this experience:  Stack Your Corner.

With the right people behind you, anything’s possible…even giving up cooked food at the start of a New England winter. 🙂

Recently, I was asked why I share on social media.  Why I write a blog.  Why I feel the need to put it out there.

I explained that I tried holding it in, but that didn’t really work out for me.  And that I share with the intention of inspiring.

Truth is, I learn an awful lot from those who find the courage to share their stories in books, art, service, and status updates.  And while the insights, humility, and kindness I continue to gain through these shared pieces cannot be paid back, this gratitude blog is one way I intentionally try to pay it forward.

Today, I spent a lot of time reflecting on sharing.  What it means to share your best.  To freely offer your strength.  Your beliefs.  Your deepest and truest Self.

There are some (maybe even many) who spend the bulk of their temporary existence here among us convinced that sharing their best is nothing but a convoluted dream.

And others, who so passionately and openly share their dreams that they continue to weave their way into reality even long after they are gone.

I’m honored to stand with the Dreamers.  The Sharers.  The Good Doers.

We went to my parents’ for dinner tonight.

They had my nephew over the weekend.  So, I knew my sister, Lindsey and her husband would be there.  My youngest sister, Teresa was due in from a recent service trip in Texas, so, I knew she would be there.  So, even though I knew I wouldn’t be eating the same meal (I’m at the very end of my cleanse), I really wanted to be gathered around their table.

This is the same table I grew up eating at.  Dreading family meetings at.  Celebrating report cards at.  Confessing bad decisions and deep loves at.  Contemplating big moves and little everythings at.

And while the table itself is nearly as old as I am – of course, it’s always been more about the people around it.  The people at the head of it.  The people who made it possible for the rest of us to find a seat.

After dinner my husband got a call from his Mom & Dad, letting us know that if we wanted to stop by their place on the way home, they’d be there.

I could hear from the moment that Ken said hello, that of course he wanted to stop by – and I loved him even more for wanting to do so.

And so we did.

Soon after arriving at Ken’s parents’ home, our four year-old discovered that his Nana bought him a new book with an accompanying stuffed animal.

“Do you know that mouse’s name?” She asked.

“No,” Briggs answered.

“That’s Frederick.  His name is Frederick and that book’s all about him.  And do you know who else was named Frederick?”

“No,” Briggs said again.

“My Dad.”

“Your Dad?”

“Yeah, you know how your Dad’s named Kenny and Dad’s Dad is named, Herman?”

Briggs smiled and nodded.

“Well, my Dad’s name was Frederick.  And that’s why I want you to have that.”

Then, we all smiled.

When we finally got home it was near nine o’clock and Briggs was exhausted, but I asked if he wanted to read his new book after we brushed his teeth – and of course he did.

Turns out, Frederick (the book) is all about the importance of family, hard work, creativity, and connection.

It was the most perfect way to close out a day that held so many brilliant reminders of the blessings that are our Moms and Dads.

The gift of having them.  The gift of being them.  And the miracle of forever carrying them with you.

My day-off started yesterday with a call from a high-ranking executive.

This woman is smart, driven, compassionate, intelligent, and one of the greatest go-getters I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

She was one of the first people at work I openly told about my Depression and General Anxiety Disorder, and she was remarkably kind and supportive of my leave.

When her name came up on my phone, I wondered if there was a loose end that she needed some help tightening before the morning ran off into the afternoon.  I happily answered and she responded:

Hey, I just wanted to give you a call and let you know that I was thinking about you.  I was just thinking about what you’ve done, what you’ve tackled and accomplished over the last six months and I am so impressed and inspired by you.  To recognize something isn’t right, tackle it head-on, take the time you need, and come back hitting it out of the park…Not everyone can do that.  It’s really excellent work and you’re doing an incredible job. I don’t mean to sound maternal, but I’m really proud of you.

I told her that her saying what she said meant a great deal…and I liked that it sounded maternal.

Later that day, that night really, I found myself in a hotel room with 20 other music lovers being treated to an extremely intimate pre-show by the band beloved by so many Bostonians: Guster.

I’m hoping to do some work with the the group who threw the VIP party, and it was truly a “get to” work moment.

When the band closed with their fan favorite, Amsterdam, I got a little teary.  Overwhelmed with gratitude for where I was, thinking back on that call from earlier, I gave myself permission to recognize that I was pretty proud of me, too.

(PS – The show was amazing, Guster plays House of Blues again tonight if you’re looking for a great night out. They sound as good as ever.)

A lot’s happened lately.

And a lot more is coming up.

And it all feels fast.  Too fast.

For Christmas, executive leadership at the non-profit where I work gave everyone on staff a gift certificate to a local spa – and a bonus vacation day to use it.

Tomorrow I’m using mine.  Opening up a full four days off.  Plenty of time to read, breathe, stretch, recoup, and get the prettiest nails that you ever did see.

It wasn’t too long ago that I held on to the deep belief that getting it done meant digging in until it hurt.  Pounding, scraping, and scratching endlessly to exhaustion.

Now, I find that loving myself enough to know when it’s simply time to stop in order to start, works much better.