It astounds me how much can occur - in my inner and outer worlds - in the course of one morning. Moments like:

Reading this passage from The Instruction Manual for Receiving God by Jason Shulman, "Say to yourself, My ego - even with it's difficulties - is a beautiful thing, created by God. I need to love it since it is beauty in action. This is God's will for me."  So aware, since I've been reading this jewel of a book, of the subtle nearly constant war of judgement I feel about my ego (or small self), and how I am always trying to change myself. But of course - love is the answer!

Walking with Ann Cheng and her Australian Shepherd Bowser and my little black cannon ball Luna in the wily weather, watching the dog antics (at one point, they are walking back up the trail toward us and for a split second, I think "Funny, those dogs look just like ours"); then stunned by lime green and burnt yellow and tobacco brown leaves everywhere, draped over the trail, over fallen tree trunks, over rocks, finally spilling down, into the ravine.

Getting a card from my best friend Barbra in which she wrote, "I remember when he walked me down the aisle at my wedding and I was so nervous and he took my hand and said (in his solid way) 'Steady now, steady now'."  I burst out yelling, "I want my Daddy" over and over again. I cry and yell, "I don't want to be a grown up. I want my Daddy." I'm in that stage of grieving in which I simply do not want to believe he is gone. A new ache has appeared in my heart.

Coming home from my walk to receive a package from FedEx - it's my new book, The Inner Organizer. Holding the dense finely crafted weight in my hand, I felt a thrill of pride. My sixth book. It is real. (But not in your hands for another month - sorry!)

A shower, the hot water reviving my toes, then the comfort of wearing my Dad's shirt and pj's bottoms. Clean soft Luna curled up beside me while I coach.

Companionable silence around the fire while Mom reads my condolence cards and I sign books for the sale and Lily (home early for a half day) reading, sharing tears over cards and old friends.
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Our days are exuberant with the fruits of who we are. They are being served to us continually. Are we aware enough to savor them, to let the tart and sweet juices of the present feed the person we will become?

I'm writing from a hotel room outside Chicago. I'm here for a photo shoot for Spring Air Mattress, a company I'm partnering with to get out the message that comfort and self-care is the foundation to create a life you love. In the past, I would have thought myself crash and less than "spiritual" for creating this kind of partnership but the person I am today is very grateful for any opportunity to talk about self-care because I really see how revolutionary it is. So at first I'll be talking just to the salespeople about why comfort is important for women so they understand and then creating a video and booklet for women to see / read in the stores when they buy a new mattress. It feels fun and hopeful.

Which is certainly not how I felt yesterday. Exhausted, short tempered, angry, petty, and judgmental would be more accurate descriptors. After Dad's last fall and trip to the emergency room, we con