I know I'm not the only one. I know there's nothing particularly unique or extraordinary about this.

I am ready for spring.

It feels extraordinary, this readiness. I am ready to awaken, after a time of hibernation, of rest.

It may take time, and that's all right. I like to wake up slowly. That's a luxury that I enjoy.

I am ready. I am ready.

I am ready for spring.

1. I have come to really like cooking, and I made two delicious dinners for my family this week.

2. It won't be my turn to cook dinner again until next week.

3. I could offer to cook dinner sooner, though, and my offer would probably be welcome.

4. It will feel good to rest my head on my silk pillowcase tonight.

5.  There is cereal that I like in the pantry; I can have it for breakfast tomorrow morning.

6. I am so thankful for my online communities. I appreciate the people there every day.

7. We have both coffee and tea in the house; I'll have my choice tomorrow morning.

8. I can reach out and say hello on the Internet, and someone usually responds.

9. I live with three people who are usually happy to give me hugs.

10. I have a beautiful journal, plus four blank journals patiently waiting their turn to be filled.

11. Singing feels marvelous. More than that, it feels magical.

12. I don't mind so much anymore when it takes me a while to fall asleep, because I have some wonderful ways to rest my mind and body while I wait.

Life is good. It really is.

1. Having a fireplace.

2. Having a swimming pool.

3. Creative collaborations with my daughter.

4. Seeing Pink Martini in concert.

5. Visiting Carl Sandburg's home in Flat Rock.

6. Growing my music therapy practice in our new home.

7. Joining the Greenville Chorale.

8. Connecting with people online.

9. Filling many journals.

10. Making music.

11. Reading aloud.

12. Getting more rest.

I hope that your 2015 will be filled with wonderful things. Thanks for being here.

These blog posts feel like whispers lately. I'm embracing that. Psst! Come closer.

What are your wishes for the rest of this year? For the year to come?

I am wishing for sparkle.

I am wishing you all a very sweet and satisfying evening, wherever you are, whatever you are celebrating.

This week, for me, has been an intense push to move my music therapy practice further forward, and the progress is beautiful.

Today I'm dressed in black. I may or may not put on my pointy hat at twilight. My daughter will be cooking up a cauldron full of dinner. We have four bags of Halloween candy. I have no idea whether any trick or treaters will come to our door, but either way, we'll be happy campers.  Later, after things quiet down, I'll reflect. If any friendly spirits wish to visit, I'll be available.

It has been an extraordinary year. I am ready to spend a little time in the underworld, resting and replenishing, preparing below the surface for all that is to come.

Right now, I've got a good feeling about it.

This week, I started a new morning ritual. Actually, I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I made a few tweaks to some things I was already doing, and created a new morning ritual.

I was already stretching. I was already writing morning pages. I was already eating breakfast.

I just made a few minor adjustments, is all.

As I begin to wake up, I stretch. As I stretch my body gently, I begin stretching my mind as well -- catching tendrils of dreams before they dissipate, sending out little green shoots of intention and affirmation.

Then I reach for my journal, and I begin to write -- three pages, uncensored, unedited, just letting the words come.

After the pages are finished, I eat breakfast with one or more members of my family. In the past, it has been fairly typical for me to have breakfast alone, especially on weekdays. We all have different rhythms and schedules. I've decided that -- for me, at least for now -- it's worth making a few small shifts in my own habits. In exchange, I get to make my first daily contact with the people around me a mindful one.

So, that's my morning ritual. Stretch my body. Write my morning pages. Have breakfast with family.

Oh, and there's one other detail I should probably mention: all of these things happen before I check email or get on the Internet.

Just a few gentle practices, just one small morning ritual.

I can hardly wait to see where it leads me.

This is a rather quiet blog right now; don't think I haven't noticed. I'm feeling especially quiet today, because I'm in the midst of a weekend vacation getaway, and it's been busy, and I am tired.

I am tired, and I am tongue-tied -- and I am here.

It feels good to be here. It feels good to have this space, and to show up here.

(It feels good to know you're reading this, too. Hi!)

And...that's all I've got.

And that's okay.

Psssst! Come closer. I want to whisper some secrets to you.

1. I just saw a rabbit right outside my window.  I've never seen a rabbit so close to my house before.

2. There is a thing that I haven't been doing in far too long, that I want to start doing again.

3. There is a thing that I have been doing for more than three dozen years, that I want to stop doing now.

4. I want to make both of these changes by my next birthday, which is about eleven months from now.

5. Some things are going well.

6. Other things are not.

7. This past decade, for me, has been full of surprises. Some have been delightful; others have been difficult.

8. I don't really know what will happen next.

I wonder how much longer it will be until I really feel that I've finished unpacking. I wonder how much longer it will be until I really feel that I live here.

There are still boxes in the basement, and boxes in the garage.  Lots of people have boxes in their basements and garages, though, even people who have been in the same home for years.
I've been reaching out and finding new music therapy clients, bit by bit.

We've been settling into rhythms and routines. I'm not sure if I like all of them, but that's something I can play with.  Everything has to start somewhere.

Has it really been almost six months?

It's summer, though. Summer has a rhythm of its own. I'd like to remember that.

I am tired of feeling broken.
I am choosing to be whole.

Those two lines came to me yesterday, the beginning of a poem that wants to be written. Other fragments came as well, words and images, exquisite shards of mosaic. I transcribed what I could, and will work on/play with sculpting it all later. Soon, I hope. These things can slip away if I'm not careful.

I am tired of feeling broken. I am choosing to be whole.

I remember the day that I decided, just as a private rite of passage, to act as if I were completely whole. As if I were perfect, exactly as I am.

I was amazed at how easy it was.

I forget, though. I have to remind myself, again and again.

What if it can become a habit?

I am tired of feeling broken.

I am choosing to be whole.