I’m not exactly sure where I’m headed . . .

but I do know education opens doors.

I’m thinking a lot about language, specifically, these days: poetic language, certainly, as I’ve just finished one poetry class and begun another, but also because I’ve started learning Spanish. Even if I never make it back to Mexico . . .

. . . the learning itself is worth the effort.

I absolutely won’t stop French. I’m loving the progress I’ve made and there’s still plenty to learn. But I’ve finally achieved a level that won’t be compromised by beginning another related language. I’d thought about Italian, but Spanish is more useful here in Colorado, so Italian will have to get in line.

So far, it doesn’t feel like such an uphill climb this time.

French is a big help, and bonus: fewer accents to remember in Spanish.

I love kids’ fearlessness with language. They’ll repeat anything without hesitation. These darling girls, now in high school, never lived nearby.

I didn’t get to enjoy much of their early speaking years, so I’m definitely making the most of any time I have with Beckett and Brooks.

The quality of Beckett’s and even Brooks’ French pronunciation keeps surprising me. I know it has to do with brain plasticity (or something else I know nothing about), but I wonder if it might also be because they haven’t yet convinced themselves that it’s hard. They take it as it comes, one sound, one word at a time. There’s a lesson in that.

In this time of unending, heartbreaking news, I’m trying to speak kindly in all languages I know or attempt. And more than ever, I’m seeking out kindness in the voices I listen to, wherever my path takes me.

I recommend the podcast “Everything Happens with Kate Bowler” or check out her website here. The best introduction to it may be the interview I heard on another podcast that is absolutely worth your time: “On Being with Krista Tippett” here’s a link to it.

I hope they inspire you, refresh you, and bring a smile to your face. Wishing you, as always, grace and peace–and kindness.

You feel a lot like summer. Things are still green and hot here, though in the 80s rather than 90s, and the evenings and mornings are cooler. A few leaves are starting to turn, but not many near me. Days like this are still to come . . .

It’s been years since I’ve been to Sunapee in the fall–David was the helpful one for closing-up tasks–but I have many great memories.

Although the leaves here on the Front Range aren’t doing much yet, the sunset last night looked like a river of gold coming down from the heavens.

And tonight a full moon was rising just as fireworks were going off about a hundred yards from my deck.

Even the grocery store is sporting fall color.

September has other things going for it, too, like picture day for the boys.

Plus new classes and loads of poetry events. One of my poems finally placed first, this one for a poem in a specific form in the Columbine Poets of Colorado annual contest. Woohoo! Almost as good as a gold star! 😉 Mine is a concrete poem (what used to be called a shaped poem). If you’d like to read it, click on the title: Pears.

So while I wait for a bit more of this . . .

I’m savoring time with dear ones, unexpected beauty, happy surprises, and as always, God’s grace and peace.  I hope you are too!

Roundabouts are becoming more and more common in northern Colorado, and since here in my hometown I tend to know where I’m going, it’s a simple (sort of) matter of choosing the right gap to enter the flow of cars.

In France, they’re everywhere. David and I had plenty of experience with them: on the way to Saint-Émilion. . .

and Château des Baudry. . .

and Tours and the châteaux of the Loire Valley.

Since I was navigating, I had to try to read the little signs as they flashed by on our way around. Sometimes it took an extra lap or two to find the road we wanted, but we eventually made it, hence the photos. You’d think David would have been a roundabout pro by the time we headed here. . .

to Saratoga Springs, New York, in August of 2014, but no. We encountered one, the bulk of it only slightly raised from the surrounding roadway, maybe a small planting of something or other in the very center. David accidentally drove right over it, to the horrified fascination of all onlookers, myself included. Fortunately, on all our adventures with Jacky and Pascale in France, Jacky drove. Merci encore une fois !

Mostly, David and I found the right road. Jacky always did. But life sometimes flings us off the roundabout and onto a road we didn’t see coming and wouldn’t have chosen. I’ve had news recently of several friends facing heartbreaking situations, and others suffering pain or worrying uncertainty. Maybe you have, too. I pray grace,  peace, strength and comfort for them every day, and that those of us in their orbit would know how to help.

I do know a bit about sudden sharp turns. David would have been 71 today, and he is still so sorely missed.

For those who knew and loved him, I pray your day is filled with wonderful memories of him, even if you didn’t get to witness the unforgettable roundabout kerfuffle.

Here’s hoping your roundabouts and the roads they send you out upon are navigable, with many shining moments of beauty and joy. Bonne route !

*Remember you can always click on the links to read other related posts.

I’ve been trying (again) to listen more.  I’m still not very good at it, as many of you know. Please accept my sincere apologies, all who have experienced the fire hose of verbiage that I can be.

I succeed most in venues where I absolutely cannot talk, or at least have to wait my turn, like poetry readings. There have been a few this month, the first a Friday night reading and Saturday morning workshop with Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer,* from the western slope.

She’s a beautiful, gentle soul who does many good and kind things, including writing poems on rocks that she leaves around Placerville, Colorado, on the banks of the San Miguel River (NOT pictured here).

Her reading included music and art and was a delicious blend of beauty, whimsy, and laugh-out-loud humor, but also grief, loss, and enduring love. In the workshop, Rosemerry encouraged us to bring all of life to our poetry, including those complicated moments when laughter and weeping coexist.

A few days later, OLLI (Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at CSU) hosted a reading for this year’s poetry students. More laughter. More tears. This willingness to be vulnerable has created a truly special community of writers.

So I can let others speak, if I don’t get too excited about the topic. I do mostly keep my mouth shut when home alone listening to a podcast, although I catch myself correcting–out loud–the most egregious misuses of “I” and “me.” Can’t help it. Drives me crazy.

Fortunately, some stories are so compelling, I completely forget myself. I listen, rapt, not caring about grammar. Classic favorite podcasts: This American Life and Fresh Air. Also Gospel in Life, which I’ve mentioned before.

I discovered another noteworthy podcast late last year: Ear Hustle. Described as “a consistently surprising and beautifully crafted series on life behind bars,” it was a finalist for a Pulitzer Prize in 2020. I highly recommend it.

Finally, this past weekend, I attended another poignant poetry reading. The poet, a friend of a friend, has been told she has only months to live after the resurgence of an aggressive cancer. While she still feels strong, she has scheduled a number of life-affirming events and happily welcomed me, a complete stranger. She was charming and gracious, and it was a privilege to hear her beautiful poetry.  It–and she–left me blessedly speechless.

Wishing you many opportunities to hear and be heard!

*Be sure to click the links to the various websites. Worth a look–and a listen–I promise.