this past weekend, my hometown hosted a sled-dog race, the copperdog 150, so the keweenaw peninsula was full of mushers and their pups.

my sister and i were crossing guards on friday night.

she had wanted to be a timer or a dog handler, but i thought that sounded like too much responsibility so i signed us up for the crossing guard shift.

i thought we’d be stopping cars, easy peasy. when i learned that we didn’t have the authority to stop cars – we’d be stopping sleds + dogs if necessary – i was so nervous. i felt like the life of 200+ dogs had been placed in my very sweaty hands. plus, i had just spent a week at death’s door (by which i mean the world’s most miserable cold) so i was not at peak strength.

fortunately, when our shift started, it was late at night and below zero and a quiet road, so we just turned our arms and legs into a silent blockade and watched forty-some teams of sled-dogs race by under a starry sky.

on sunday, i went to watch the finish.

i wanted to see the pups in the light of day and take some pictures.

i left the house later than planned and was worried i wouldn’t get a clear photo spot. imagine my surprise to find an empty street when i arrived. apparently when it’s ten degrees below zero, people aren’t in a rush to stand outside.

i was glad i went; the dogs exuded glee.

do you see the pup in the red sled? i’m so disappointed i didn’t notice him/her until the sled was right next to me – i was focused on the running dogs – because it was pretty much the cutest thing ever.

totally worth my frozen fingers and toes. wouldn’t you agree?

{this photo makes me so happy, even though i don’t know why.}

i stumbled upon a list of inuit words for snow.

the words have meanings like this:

still snow, remembered snow, our children’s snow;
snow that falls in large wet flakes, snow that falls slowly, snow in beards;
blowing snow, baked snow, deep fried snow;
snow at dawn, snow that never reaches the ground, snow that has drifted indoors;
the idea of snow, the snows of yesteryear, quickly accumulating snow;
snow that blinds you, snow that hides the whole village, snow mixed with breath;
partially melted snow, good building snow, blowing snow;
snow sparkling with starlight, snow melting in the spring rain, snow that has been marked by wolves.

snow in the mouth,
snow in the south.

snow, snow, snow.

with that, the ordinary becomes extraordinary.

i will never look at snow in the same way.

there, in the words, lies wonder + magic.

“Where round the bed, whence Achelous springs, That wat’ry Fairies dance in mazy rings.”

~ Homer, Iliad

“The wall is silence, the grass is sleep,
Tall trees of peace their vigil keep,
And the Fairy of Dreams with moth-wings furled.
Plays soft on her flute to the drowsy world.”

~ Ida Rentoul Outhwaite

“Like legend and myth, magic fades when it is unused — hence all the old tales of elfin kingdoms moving further and further away from our world, or that magical beings require our faith, our belief in their existence, to survive. That is a lie. All they require is our recognition.”

~ Charles de Lint

a week ago, i had a beautiful moment of clarity, a moment in which everything i do here finally made perfect sense.

the journey to wholeness isn’t always easy & we need places of beauty where we can pause along the way.

places that water our soul.
places that nourish our spirit.
places that reflect the wonder of our own self back to us, in new & different ways.

my intention for this space is that it be one of those places for you, if and when you need it.

everything i do comes from that.

in an unexpected twist, i learned that my web hosting will expire soon & i do not have the money to continue.

for a moment, the thought made me sad. i love this space. it is full of love + care + beauty.

i am proud of the work i’ve done here, and it would be hard to say goodbye.

i was inquiring whether i would lose my years of work in the process when a friend asked whether i was accepting donations to continue.

in thinking about it, i realized something. i planned to tell you about my departure beforehand – because i didn’t want to simply disappear – but not in a way that invited you in.

i think that i should be able to do everything on my own. when i cannot, i don’t want to share. i see my not-knowing, my perceived failure, as a weakness.

the real weakness is that i am unwilling to allow myself to be vulnerable in that way, to ask for or receive help, to let people in.

when i ask for guidance lately, the answer is always: be still and know that all is well.

and so it is.

whatever life may look like on the outside, when i come home to my center, i know that all is well and everything is unfolding as it should.

there is a piece in a book called the holographic universe that i really like.

“In his general theory of relativity Einstein astounded the world when he said that space and time are not separate entities, but are smoothly linked and part of a larger whole he called the space-time continuum. Bohm takes this idea a giant step further. He says that everything in the universe is part of a continuum. Despite the apparent separateness of things at the explicate level, everything is a seamless extension of everything else, and ultimately even the implicate and explicate orders blend into each other.

Take a moment to consider this. Look at your hand. Now look at the light streaming from the lamp beside you. And at the dog resting at your feet. You are not merely made of the same things. You are the same thing. One thing. Unbroken. One enormous something that has extended its uncountable arms and appendages into all the apparent objects, atoms, restless oceans, and twinkling stars in the cosmos.”

one enormous something. yes.

you & me & atlas are each tiny pieces of the whole.

i don’t have to be here, in this place, to water your soul, to be connected.

in a way that i cannot describe or explain – but that i know deep down in my bones – we really are all one.

with that said, i would love to keep this garden in bloom & i could use your help.

here are three specific ways you can help. if you want to, of course! (i’m hoping you do.)

• pass my story club page along to anyone you know who appreciates stories of wonder + whimsy.
• share my etsy shoppe with someone who needs cards, or postcards, or creative + unique gift ideas.
• send prayers, well wishes, and love.

in case you’d like to make a donation toward my web hosting fees, here’s a handy dandy way to do so. (it’s $260 for two more years.)

your presence means the world to me.

i am so glad you are here.

once upon a time, in the wild of northern michigan, there lived a very large puppy named atlas.

one morning, atlas went outside to find the whole world covered in white. he shivered a little. the white was wet and cold on his paws. for a moment, he wondered what had happened to his green grass. but then he saw his bush and went about his business and, when he went back inside, he forgot all about it.

every day, the white seemed to grow until soon, it was taller than atlas.

one day, atlas was taking his person for a walk when he smelled something under the white.

it smelled furry.

atlas dug in the white with one paw.

nothing.

he dug in the white with two paws.

nothing.

atlas dug more deeply, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, both paws moving as fast as they could go, until there was a large hole in front of him.

he stuck his nose in the hole. oh, the smell of fur was strong now!

atlas dug again, furiously, until all of a sudden, the ground collapsed and he fell nose-first into a large dry tunnel.

{to be continued in the story club}

i was walking on the frozen lake during golden hour when i had a vision.

i saw me: slipping something delightful, something hopeful, something wonderful into the mail for you.

i saw you: opening your mailbox and inhaling the scent of spring.

it’s true, you can find the magic in winter day after day after day.

but sometimes, you really just need a reminder that spring will always come.

won’t you let me be the one to remind you?

i love happy surprises, so that is all i am going to say.

i trust that you will know if this offer calls to you.

if it does, you know what to do!

the price: $6

i have inadvertently created a new winter ritual: a pause to notice and enjoy the setting sun. it feels like an anchor of light, a reminder that the days really are growing longer and longer.

yesterday, or maybe the day before, i was outside as twilight tiptoed out and nightfall tiptoed in. as i followed the light from west to east, the color of the sky shifted from royal blue to deep indigo to midnight blue.

then, as i was going through photos of my beloved lake, i noticed these two images. they reminded me how the light (how everything) changes from moment to moment, even when the changes are subtle.

my mother taught me to darn! i put my mittens on one day and my thumbs poked through. i felt morose — i like my mittens; they were made from old sweaters & i bought them at the beginning of winter — so my mother said i could darn them. serendipitously, i had just the right yarn. (it was going to be a scarf but i never finished it and also there wasn’t really enough yarn for a scarf.) i was so pleased when i was done. i had thumbs again! all thanks to me.

i could live on mac’n cheese. mac’n cheese and steamed broccoli. i could eat it every day for dinner and life would be joyous.

for years, i’ve had a faint memory of a dice game i used to play with friends. i remembered that it had six dice, we called it 10,000, and it was seriously addictive. this christmas, my parents gave me a game called farkle because they had heard about it from some friends. when i read the description, i cried actual tears of happiness. it was my dice game! and yes, it is as addicting as ever. also, every time i play, or watch others play, i remember that i should never ever ever gamble.

my hair is driving me batty. i want to cut it all off. but every time i find a photo of a cute pixie cut, i remember how long it took me to grow out the last one. (at one point, unbeknownst to me, i had a mullet. i don’t want another mullet!)

i have been thinking a lot about the gift economy and how to incorporate it into my business. in short: i would give you a product or service as a gift and i would trust you to gift me back with what you think is a fair value for my offering. that gift might come in the form of money; it might be something else altogether (for example: postcards, cookies, referrals, well wishes, a random act of kindness toward someone, a pair of cowboy boots). i love the idea of this for so many reasons but there are two in particular that stand out. one is that it acknowledges and honors the many ways we can express appreciation and gratitude for products and services, money being only one of those ways. the other is that it seems like a beautiful way for me to practice trust. i am not entirely sure if this is feasible for products (because i must spend money in order to create them) but i really really want to use this method of exchange for offerings like the story club or hope floats in winter; i just need to find the words. in the meantime, if there is something you are desiring and this particular form of exchange resonates with you, do let me know.

happy monday! may it be beautiful.

this is my heart, smiling and waving at you across the miles.

may you know that you are loved.

“Said the river: I am part of holiness. And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.”

~ Mary Oliver