My Chaotic Realm

Today’s New Moon arrived in Taurus at 3:01 p.m., and it felt less like a spark and more like a deep exhale into the Earth itself. Not every beginning arrives like lightning. Some begin like roots. Some begin quietly, beneath the surface, where no one applauds the work being done. This moon reminded me that growth is not always dramatic. Sometimes transformation looks like stability returning to the body. Sometimes it looks like rest. Sometimes it looks like allowing myself to stop gripping so tightly to certainty and trusting that the ground beneath me is already holding my weight. The mountain is not standing alone above the Earth. It rises because the Earth holds it. This was from my I-Ching reading. I kept turning that thought over today as I observed the New Moon in Taurus. How often have I mistaken support for weakness? How often have I believed I needed to carry everything alone in order for my strength to “count”? But Taurus teaches differently. The mountain is steadfast not be...

 This month does not arrive as a single clear turning. It arrives in layers—like weather systems crossing the same sky. Beltane on one hand: movement, participation, the steady return of life asking to be lived out loud again. And beneath it, the Flower Moon in Scorpio: depth, emotional honesty, and the quiet dismantling of anything that can’t stay true under closer light. Nothing about it is separate. It all happens at once. April saw me showing up in the middle of ordinary obligations that still carried weight. Delivering our older RV to a stranger so 3 children could “camp out” for the first time, managing the logistics of it, and moving through the practical realities of change—these were not small things. They were acts of coordination, release, and responsibility all at once. Life asking for attention in measurable, physical ways. I joined a small writing group—standing inside uncertainty, sharing something I wasn’t fully sure I wanted to reveal, and discovering afterward tha...

Days roll fast now like they're late for something. News like gravel in the mouth. Opinions like knives for nothing. I scroll past stories that aren't even mine. And still my chest tightness like I'm the one on the front line. I've learned the world can feel like a loud machine that never shuts off, never lets you breathe. And I'm not asking for a perfect life, just a corner of the day. Where my shoulders drop. Where my mind stops standing guard. Peace isn't a luxury. It's survival with dignity. I want a quiet harbor in the middle of this sea. Not escape, just home to be. Let the world keep shouting. Let it spill what it spills. I want a quiet harbor. Will my soul get still? Build me a table, two honest voices, a small prayer without fear. A night that doesn't demand choices. I don't need more speed. I need more days. I don't need to win the war. I need peace. in my breath. The strongest task of the day is refu...

I did not brace against the wind this month. I let it move through me and around me. There were moments of standing in public witness— signs raised, voices joined, honks and waves reminding me that even small bodies in motion are part of something larger. There were moments of quiet tending— palms gathered and placed, spaces prepared, traditions held not as obligation but as living threads I chose to carry. There were moments of almost-losing and gentle finding— a misplaced wallet, a retraced path, the reminder that not everything lost is gone, and not everything found needs to be dramatic. There was food made and shared, tables extended, grief given a chair and a plate, and gratitude spoken in the presence of absence. There was laughter in ordinary places— a wheelbarrow assembled to the sound of questions and answers, hands busy, hearts light, joy arriving without announcement. There was responsibility accepted— not as a burden, but as a steadying of hands around somethi...

I was following. Not lost—just not leading. Two cars ahead of me, people I knew, people I trusted. I stayed behind them, watching where they turned, letting their movement shape mine. At some point, I left my own car. I climbed across hoods—awkward, exposed, determined—and slipped into theirs. First one, then another. I was welcomed. I belonged there. I knew how to be with each of them, how to fit, how to move between spaces without friction. But when I arrived in the lead car, someone looked at me and asked, “Who are you?” And I didn’t answer for myself. I pointed backward to the car in the middle. “Ask her.” As if I could be explained by someone else. As if my place was something reflected, not rooted. Still, we arrived. A gathering of women. Like-minded. Aligned. The kind of place that feels like an exhale you didn’t know you were holding. And I knew, without question, I belonged there too. But then—quietly, without panic—I realized: I didn’t have my car. At some point, in all the m...

I did not rush the thaw. At Imbolc, I made a quiet agreement with myself: to soften at my own pace, in my own way. No forcing. No performance of becoming. Just the slow, sacred return of warmth. And now, the wheel turns. The Spring Equinox arrives not as a demand, but as a balance point— light and dark holding equal space, neither rushing the other off the stage. This month, I have lived inside that balance. I have stood in uncertainty—unemployed by choice, unsteady in identity, learning to sit with the question marks instead of frantically trying to turn them into answers. And still— life moved. Not in sweeping transformations, but in small, undeniable proofs of aliveness: A wheelbarrow assembled with laughter and Jeopardy in the background. The simple satisfaction of being useful, of being in rhythm with another human. A “lost” wallet found in plain sight— a reminder that sometimes what we are searching for has not gone anywhere at all. A kitchen filled with food made for ot...

 At Imbolc I told myself: I did not rush the thaw. I let it come at my own pace, in my own way. February proved that was true. There were quiet mornings, shared meals, sunrise coffee, wrens waking the cardinals, moments of joy I did not force, only allowed. And now the full moon rises. We woke at 3:30 in the morning, rested enough, and left the kids’ driveway at 4am,, coffee in hand, the road dark and open ahead of us. A weekend of family, grandchildren, old friends, noise, food, and careful conversations behind us. On the way home, the notice came... work has separated me, effective today. I waited for fear. I waited for anger. Instead, I felt steady.  Tomorrow’s Worm Moon breaks the ground open whether we feel ready or not. The thaw does not ask permission. It only insists that life will move again. My life shook once more, like an Etch-a-Sketch in someone else’s hands. But the screen is clear now, and this time I am holding it. Nine months stretches ahead of me — not empty,...

February did not roar. It did not explode into transformation. It thawed. This was the month I stopped gripping. At the beginning of the month, I was still inside the tight container of work stress — rotating through understaffed shifts, holding more than was mine, carrying payroll problems on my nervous system like they were a moral failing. And then something subtle shifted. I began separating what was mine from what was not. There was a day when I felt the anger fully — the hot, justified kind — and instead of swallowing it, I named it. That anger wasn’t volatility. It was a boundary, forming bones. And then came relief. Not fireworks relief...Body relief. The kind where your shoulders drop without you telling them to. I chose to resign. I chose to step out of consensus and into alignment. An oracle message echoed all month:  “Don’t worry about the effects of going against the grain. When we are who we are in truth, we attract the support, protection, and energy we need to thriv...

Waking the Hands, Waking the Flame Imbolc arrives not with certainty, but with sensation. A faint warmth under frozen ground. A loosening. The quiet knowledge that the Deep has done its work. January did not ask me to leap back into the world. It asked me to prepare for re-entry. At Imbolc, I did not rush the thaw. I kept myself warm while the world stayed cold, and I returned to motion gently, at my own pace, in my own way. This year, January was a threshold month — a time of returning not to momentum, but to my body, my home, my hands. After a long season of holding and pushing, the work became smaller and more intimate: tending what was closest, listening for what wanted warmth. Physical tending took the shape of hearth-work . Hands-on. Slow. Intentional. Even trying new recipes. The primary project this month was modest by design: tending one small area of my home that had grown heavy with neglect and winter pause. I cleared it slowly, touching each object with a sin...

 This is a monthly witness, not a summary.  At the end of each month, I pause to notice — not to evaluate or explain — what was lived, what was tended, and what is still unfolding. What I Tried I tried moving at the pace my body set, not the pace my fear suggested. I practiced noticing early signs of stress and responding sooner instead of pushing through. I experimented with smaller days: fewer expectations, clearer edges, more rest. What I’m Keeping / What I’m Releasing Keeping: Slow mornings and checking in with my body before committing my energy. Releasing: The belief that rest needs to be justified or earned. A Physical Project I tended one small area of my home that had grown heavy with neglect and winter pause. I cleared it slowly, touching each object with intention. The result wasn’t perfection, but space — a place ready to be lived in again. A Monthly Ritual I marked the Full Wolf Moon with quiet presence rather than performance. I spent time noticing ...

I’m not replacing hustle with another aesthetic version of productivity. I’m not optimizing my rest or monetizing my healing. What I’m doing in 2026 is practicing—slowly, imperfectly—ways of living that don’t require me to be in constant pursuit mode. Here’s what that looks like right now. I’m practicing pace. Letting things take the time they take. Leaving margin. Choosing “not yet” more often than “push through.” I’m practicing embodied yeses and noes. Listening to my body before my calendar. Noticing where tension appears when I agree to something—and honoring that information. I’m practicing enoughness. Stopping at “good and sufficient” instead of polishing myself into exhaustion. Letting “done” be a form of care. I’m practicing work that doesn’t hurt me. Not pain-free, not perfect—but work that doesn’t demand constant self-betrayal as the price of admission. I’m practicing creativity as nourishment. Writing, journaling, making, and mending without asking whether i...

I’m not starting 2026 with a manifesto. No word of the year. No demand that I become sharper, faster, or more impressive by spring. No declaration of the goals that I “must” do, then accounting for them (done or not). I’m starting the year the way I start most things now: by listening. Listening to my body, to the whispers on the wind, and to the voices in my mind. The last few years taught me that reinvention isn’t loud. It’s patient. You don’t burn your old life down—you compost it. You let what’s been survive long enough to feed what comes next. I’ve lived so many versions of myself. Some were polished. Some were exhausted. Some were trying very hard to fit inside systems that never fit back. Some of them almost died. Yet, all of them belonged. All of them brought me here.  Eventually, you can read more about those versions in my book (when I publish!). This year, I’m interested in sustainability—not as a slogan, but as a bodily truth. The kind that asks:  What do I want ...

I entered 2025 carrying more than I admitted. Stress I had normalized. Pain I had minimized. Stories about myself that no longer fit—but hadn’t yet been set down.   This was not the year everything changed. This was the year I changed how I listened . I learned that my body was not betraying me; it was telling the truth long before my mouth could.   I stopped asking What is wrong with me? and began asking What do I need to stay whole? I did not escape the systems that exhaust me, but I built buffers, boundaries, and language. I practiced choosing enough over everything . I honored my creativity not as output, but as remembrance — through essays, vignettes, journaling-as-ritual, and the slow, cosmic redrawing of my life’s Etch-a-Sketch.   I reclaimed nourishment: food as care, rest as necessary, ritual as grounding. I marked time not just by tasks completed, but by what I built with my hands and what I consecrated with intention. I allowed myself to be seen. I let s...

Last week, we watched the tide turn. I’m not celebrating Charlie Kirk’s death, but I’m not mourning it either. We can hold two truths at once: sadly, assassinations are happening at all, and also that Kirk died on the altar he built. The right wasted no time blaming the “radical left” before there was even a suspect. And now that evidence shows the shooter was a far-right Nick Fuentes follower—the “your body my choice” guy—it doesn’t matter. What matters is the story they spin. And that story is already being weaponized to go after free speech, opposition, the press, and the right to assemble. The timing couldn’t be better for them. MAGA was splintering over the Epstein files, and even Kirk was veering off script about Epstein and Israel. Now his death stitches the party back together, and his huge following and network slide neatly into Trump’s pocket. Proof? JD Vance literally hosted Kirk’s podcast from his office the very next day. And the fact it all went down the day befor...

We finally made it to the Upper Peninsula! Getting here wasn’t exactly smooth sailing, but hey—that’s part of the adventure, right? Friday night, we pulled the RV up to the house to start packing, and in true “oops” fashion, managed to fry the wiring in the entire living room. Turns out plugging the RV into the outside outlet while the hot tub was still on the same circuit was not our brightest idea. So now the living room is dark and moody. Issue#1 on the now-growing list of things we have to deal with upon our return. Don’t worry—Issues #2 and #3 will make their grand appearances later. We kicked off August 9th bright and early, tackling the usual last-minute scramble: packing the stragglers, taking out the trash, and finishing the dishes. All that domestic hustle before… heading to work. Because apparently vacations don’t start until after the real workday. This was our third adventure in the Itasca. Trip #1, I had to meet her on the road (thanks, work), so I drove the tow car. Tr...

 I looked at my calendar and I see that Mercury will be going retrograde tomorrow. Let me get this communication out before that!   The gravel project around the house—meant to cover a 3-foot perimeter where rain falls from the eaves—has been a bit of a rollercoaster. We initially hired someone to remove the grass along the house, with the clear expectation that they would return to level the area, lay down weed barrier, install edging to contain the gravel, and then pour the rock. Unfortunately, that’s not how things unfolded. In the end, we had to bring in someone else to actually clear the full 3 feet, since the original worker seemed unable to grasp how to use the yardstick we provided. And L has been laying down all the weed barrier and guides herself. And then we began pouring the rock, which turned out to be the easiest part for me. I am 6 weeks post-mishap with my knee, and it is much better, but not able to get down in it yet.   Less than three weeks un...

The weather here has been beautiful lately—overnight lows in the upper 60s and daytime highs barely nudging into the 90s. Living near the water has its perks; there's a steady breeze that makes things feel pleasant overall. We’ve even been able to open the windows some days. And I have been taking my motorcycle out more, even riding it to work some days.  Work at Office Depot is still going well. I do wish it weren’t a full 40 hours a week, but that’s not something I can change at the moment. Thankfully, it’s mostly stress-free—apart from the usual nonsense that comes with retail. Some customers really seem to be trying to wear down my last nerve, and the entitlement levels can be unreal. But not all are bad—some are kind, and some are even grateful, which helps balance things out. I’ve been able to carve out a little time for art on Fridays, which—for now—seems to be consistently one of my two days off. Sundays are my other day off, but those tend to be reserved for family time an...

The Print Manager position came with a substantial raise and a full 40-hour week. My drive is 10 miles/15 minutes. I do not have to get up in the middle of the night anymore to be at work. Even the days I open I do not have to wake before 6am! My employee discount is 30%. And, my GM is is kick-ass and we get along fabulously. So, still loving Office Depot. In other news, my mother-in-law passed the morning of the Mango’s inauguration. L brought some stuff back with her then.  We made a trip up to see her Dad 3.9-12 and picked up a few more of her Mom’s belongings. Well, her dad passed the end of March, not quite 10 weeks after her Mom. So Land her brother had to pack up the apartment. All of this to say our garage is (again) full of things we must sort through. As far as life here….we are tucked in, basically not doing a whole hell of a lot. We participated in the April 5 "Hands Off!" protests, which marked the largest day of public demonstration against Trump during his ...

As I look back now on 2024, using the post from an art group I am in as well as my blog posts here,  I can see that 2023 was the year of "NOT according to plan" and 2024 was spent "Regrouping". The recent art group post asked 5 things:  1) What were our plans for 2024, 2) What did we want to do artistically, 3) What did we learn about ourselves in 2023, 4) What was our art focus for 2024? and 5) What was our word for 2024? My plan for 2024 was to protect my peace, which might mean finding a different job.    And I did that, and I am glad, even though it meant taking a severe pay cut. I was approved for an ACA health plan and SNAP so both of those things are helping bridge the income gap. Artistically speaking, in 2024 I planned to continue de-stashing so probably just making greeting cards and journaling.   I did journal most every day (I do so to remain sane) and I made greeting cards. Still behind on the de-stash but not as overwhelmed as I was. Did I learn...

On August 14th, after a full day of work, we set off on our trip—a lesson learned: always take the day off before leaving! Our journey started on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, taking us through Louisiana, then up through Texas to visit family in Plano. From there, we continued to Moore, Oklahoma, for more family time, and then ventured through Kansas and Nebraska into South Dakota. We explored Wall, The Badlands, Mount Rushmore, Mammoth Park, Crazy Horse, and Custer State Park over several days. Our adventure then led us into Wyoming, where we hit a snag in Casper—a flat tire. Thankfully, Les Schwab fixed it for free! We managed to cross Highway 26/287 just before it was closed due to the Fish Creek Fire and arrived at our campsite in the Grand Tetons with plenty of time to relax. We sat back, enjoyed some adult beverages, and watched the sunset—perfect ending to the day. We explored Yellowstone and stopped by the Elk Horn Archway in Afton, where our dog had his stitches removed, and...