The Power of a Mini-Adventure

 "Things look so bad everywhere / In this whole world, what is fair?

We walk blind and we try to see / Falling behind in what could be.

Bring me a higher love / Bring me a higher love, oh - oh..."

- Lyrics from "Higher Love" by Steve Winwood

"Man, what a hell of a year it's been / Keep on bluffin' but I just can't win

Drowned my sorrows, but they learned to swim / Man, what a hell of a year it's been."

- "Lyrics from "Good News" by Shaboozey

I embarked on a mini-adventure yesterday. Defying the persistent hip and lower back discomfort that seems unavoidable in post-menopause, I ventured to Denver's upscale Cherry Creek district for a third ear piercing in each lobe. My two existing piercings were done ages ago (clumsily, by a teenager with a nail gun), while Rowan, a Cherry Creek boutique, employs nurses who pierce with needles using hypoallergenic titanium posts. Quite the upgrade from the Torrance mall!

Aden accompanied me to Rowan and offered encouragement throughout the procedure as nurse Lauren precisely positioned the third sparkling post. Once the sting subsided, we strolled the streets sipping iced lavender almond milk lattes, admiring the vibrant red and yellow tulips and flowering trees that heralded spring. At Whole Foods, we purchased gluten-free cinnamon rolls and savored them on a shaded bench while tree blossoms drifted onto our plates. The thoroughfares remained relatively quiet early Sunday morning, populated mainly by pedestrians and post-yoga diners filling outdoor seating on this balmy day.

Following our impromptu breakfast, I took the scenic route to a competition where several of my swimmers awaited coaching. I hadn't traveled those roads in over a decade; my last journey along that path involved taking the children berry-picking at a Brighton farm. My playlist delivered one perfect track after another, and I relished this departure from routine even as my thoughts drifted toward circumstances I'd been attempting to avoid. Confronting life lately has proven challenging, and the lyrics seemed to acknowledge that struggle while simultaneously offering glimmers of optimism.

Speaking of optimism, Rob and I indulged in another mini-excursion last week; we both ducked out of work early Wednesday and headed to Boulder where William's startup (Measures AI) had reached the finals of Boulder's New Venture Challenge. Their founder delivered an exceptional pitch with impressive slides. We delighted in hearing all six presentations (three per category) though naturally favored Measures, which secured runner-up status by a narrow margin and received a $10,000 award. Not shabby compensation for an undergraduate senior project launched just last summer.

Afterward, we treated William to drinks at a nearby rooftop lounge, settled by the fire with a view of the 16th Street Mall showcasing its own beds of purple and pink tulips. Capturing moments of joy with our children and each other has made 2025 tolerable thus far. Breaking routine, viewing familiar landscapes from fresh perspectives, and embracing spontaneity reminds me that I can't always predict what awaits. For the price of fuel, a few hours, and some coffee, unexpected delights and welcome news might be just around the corner.

Belated Spring Wishes

“Spring is Christ, raising martyred plants from their shrouds.”

–Rumi, “Spring is Christ”

A belated happy Easter and happy spring wishes to all, and apologies for being absent for several weeks. In the three weeks since our hyacinths first poked their heads out of the ground we have suffered through a nasty stomach virus that hit everyone in the family and laid waste to my children’s digestive tracts. Though it provided just a glimpse of the fear that some families wrestle with on a daily basis as their children fight illness, it was still traumatic for the children and for us. Despite having endless time on my hands as we rattled around the house, trapped by the requirement of a short radius to the lavatory, I could not write, read anything difficult, or indeed harness two functioning brain cells together for any higher-order task.

Celebrating the Easter holiday yesterday with an outdoor egg hunt felt revolutionary, though allowing the children a smidgen of candy and watching them run around raised faint echoes of hysteria in my psyche. My son has “recovered” and roused his energy levels and his appetite four times during this bug only to succumb to horrible bouts of illness from both ends as his system rebelled. Thankfully, I am writing early in the morning after a rare night of good sleep for all and feel confident that the children will finally make an appearance at school (knock wood).

In the last several weeks as I wrestled with huge loads of laundry and measured countless teaspoons of Pedialyte I have had cause to be grateful for the many conveniences and luxuries that I have. Though fearful at the weight loss I watched in my children I know I have access to grocery stores, medicine, clean water, hospitals if need be, washing machines, good shelter and clean clothes. I cannot imagine battling a gastrointestinal illness in a refugee camp or poor village without any of the above. Watching the destructive path of this illness I could believe that diarrhea kills 1.5 million children in the developing world each year (UN statistic, article http://www.philstar.com/Article.aspx?articleid=514392). I am on the lookout for a good rehydration salts distribution program if anyone can recommend one. We need to provide a donation.

During the lengthy rotation of sick and sleepless nights provided by the illness of three children and a husband I caught a glimpse into the perpetual turmoil and worry that must surround a very ill child, and I send prayers to the families and children journeying on this difficult road. You all deserve medals for your mettle, indeed (www.medals4mettle.org). Tag-teaming with my husband through the night as one parent cleaned and consoled a child while the other raced up and down with armfuls of towels and bedding for the washer, carpet cleaner, rags and clean sheets, we could only imagine what endurance and calm it would take to sustain similar efforts through a marathon rather than a sprint. Routine is a blessing, and mundanity can be profound.

In the midst of turmoil we did have a joyful blessing arrive by way of our new nephew and cousin. The little one was born half a country away but felt so close in our hearts as we celebrated his healthy birth with his wonderful parents, who kept us updated via the modern marvels of Facebook and digital photos. The happy tidings felt like an early Easter blessing – new life and hope arriving at the end of a dark period, promising the end of winter and a new start. We wish them joy and peace - and boundless good health.