i’ve been thinking about repatriation and my delayed reaction to the grief that often accompanies it. disconnected, dismantled. in between two worlds.

24 november 2020. we traveled across the ocean, only planning to stay five months. but now, unbelievably, the five months have turned into almost six years.

of course the journey and the homecoming were complicated, overshadowed by covid-19 and the pandemic. i was also experiencing the worst and longest asthma flare-up i’ve ever had, ten months straight. plus just one month before, we’d said a tearful goodbye to mr. smith, our beloved (and rather famous) tuxedo cat.

physically, mentally, psychologically . . . i was a wreck.

my emotions were complex and scattered, impossible to neatly sort through. the joyful reunion with our sons, lifelong friends within reach once more. roots, familiarity. at the same time, i mourned for the new home we’d created in those four years, my italian friends, my belongings left behind.

interestingly, the impact of re-entry was oddly-yet-clearly illuminated during my trip to argentina last month. and it’s been dominating my thoughts ever since.

i recall, after the initial shock wore off, existing in a truly surreal liminal space. going through the motions, but hardly present. suspended inside an undulating lava lamp. disengaged from myself, from my core essence.

and i realized that that not-quite-settled feeling has never fully gone away. despite moving on with the pink house adventure, and life unfolding, in north idaho. despite the four trips back to italy. despite the three additional retreats at the villa. even despite the seamless thread we assume, in each location each time.

where in the world did i (do i) belong?

[stay tuned for part 2, next thursday . . .]

the year began with a quiet
isolated sojourn to the sea
rockaway on the oregon coast
in wintry january

a chance to shed a lot of
very heavy stuff
still weighing us down
from the year before

immediately upon returning
another broken bone
surgery plus physical therapy
weeks cocooned inside

finally emerging from my shelter
to travel to south america in june
falling in love again with buenos aires
exploring patagonian delights

currently wrapped up
in world cup matches
rooting once more (eternally!)
for my gritty argentina squad

appreciating increased attention
to soccer (futbol) in the states
but bristling at the inevitably
inflammatory snark of social media

allowing my mind to roam free
imagining and visualizing
an all-new winter retreat
this time at the pink house

while feeling disconnected and
perhaps a bit misunderstood
the sting of words and gestures
processing, distancing, protecting

that’s life though
one moment easy and carefree
the next confusing and hard
almost always unpredictable

[all three images captured from little book of inspiration by mantraband]

my husband eric and i travel differently. we usually go somewhere with the idea of potentially moving to that location.

we’ve always done this, and quite seriously too. because we’ve discovered that one of the best ways to get to know a place is to go on a real-estate-scouting expedition. on long island new york, in the european countries of portugal and france, etc. (although both our apartment in buenos aires and our villa in italy were boldly purchased sight unseen!)

anyway, we don’t just visit a place. while there, we live “as if” . . . genuinely trying to approximate what it would be like to reside there on a more permanent basis.

we’ve been to argentina five times. in 2009, 2011, 2012, 2014, and 2026. mostly spending time in its capital city, but this year exploring several provinces in patagonia as well. (on previous journeys, we’ve taken side trips to two other south american countries — paraguay in 2012 and chile in 2014.)

eric and i have owned our apartment for fifteen years, but hadn’t been back in twelve. and i’d been wondering how i’d feel about returning, after experiencing a robbery the last time. as with all very large metropolitan areas, one must always be aware. but we noticed there’s a much bigger police presence now, cops on several corners, and i felt quite comfortable walking everywhere. overall the city, which i’ve always thought to be beautiful, felt significantly safer. and cleaner too. absolutely zero dog waste on the sidewalks (which had previously been such a problem that it was even mentioned in guidebooks).

for me, this journey to argentina felt the most meaningful by far. i felt different, in the best sense. viscerally connected in ways i never had before to this third home-in-the-world of mine. and i did not want to leave.

we are currently considering buying property in patagonia. will we actually do it? we’ll see. but i realized that i revel in this process — to dream, to imagine, to create another chapter. and i know, from personal experience, that far-reaching daydreams sometimes come true (like hosting women’s retreats at my villa in tuscany).

i also know how much work (and fear and tears) go into such a life-changing decision. if we commit to yet another huge endeavor, our world-as-we-know-it would drastically change once again.

i’ve been going back and forth on this one. though i am somewhat restless by nature, i do love the rhythm of my routines and rituals. in fact i seem to, all at once, both acutely crave and sincerely dread change.

do i want to feel that intense level of uncertainty and bewilderment all over again? do i want to rely heavily on my partner for sole companionship and support during the unknown-wilderness phase of this possible venture?

i must ask myself what exactly it is i am seeking. because i want both » the thrill of a new adventure plus the comfort of perceived security.

it always seems to come down to that trite sentiment for me . . . life is short. so why the hell NOT put myself out there and dive into as much of what interests me in this human experience as i possibly can?

i have always feared complacency more than anything else. i just don’t think i’m equipped to live out the rest of my days in one stable predictable setting. i get bored. i’m always wondering what else might be out there, what i haven’t done yet, how i might be eschewing growth.

there is one thing that cannot be denied about living life on the edge of newness, and eric and i have discussed it at length. and that is how the concept of time expands when we go in search of something novel. moments during the almost-three-weeks in argentina felt as if they passed more slowly and were filled with more insight and richer meaning. we noticed the same while living in italy, navigating continuous challenges each day as we adjusted to a new language and culture. on the other hand, with the familiar day-to-day rhythm of life in the states, the regularly-scheduled calendar of our weeks and months (and years) seems to fly by ever so quickly.

we would have stayed longer this time. we’ve stayed much longer during past visits. there’s nothing standing in our way . . . we’re essentially global nomads and can work from anywhere. our sons have obviously been on their own for many years. we (sadly) don’t even have cats to get back to anymore.

and i really really wanted to stay. i kept telling eric that, after months of enduring numbness (physical/mental/emotional), i was finally feeling ALIVE!

but i had to get back for my monthly biologic injection. which, ironically, seems to have suddenly stopped working for me.

i’m dealing with extreme sinus issues again (since the 23rd of may). i guess technically it’s a samter’s triad flare-up, but i’m worried it may actually be a medication failure. my last few injections seem to have done nothing, an indication my body is getting too used to the drug, rendering it (along with so many other treatments in the past) ineffective.

so yeah, that put a huge damper on my time in argentina. unable to breathe either in or out through my nose (and still struggling), after a 3.5-year respite of blissful breathing while on nucala.

i was determined, however, to ignore and enjoy as much as possible. and i think i did that. it was the very best trip, made even more special since we got to spend so much of it with our older son. (the only things missing: a get-together with our dear argentine friends who manage our apartment for us, due to logistical issues; and of course, our younger son too.)

my sinus condition remains the same (not great) since arriving back in the states. reminding me once more that life is short and i must take decisive action while still ready and able.

maybe we should have just stayed in argentina. perhaps we will soon return. to our amazing apartment in the city, where everything we need is just a few steps away. or maybe to a new place in the desert or mountains, for that solitude and respite this extrovert often requires and relishes.

so many possibilities (one of my favorite words). so many chances to dream.

for now. while i still can.

perhaps enthusiastically grabbing onto one of those possibilities or chances makes perfect sense. sooner rather than later.

while i’m feeling so truly alive.

its rugged and untamed wilderness
its breathtakingly majestic mountains

its urban elegance and energy
its passionate and warm people

and all of it, simply all of it . . . beyond magical

you go on a 7-hour adventure with an argentine man who:

• knows the land intimately

• fearlessly and expertly drives his truck where there are no roads (or on narrow only-for-ATV roads with switchbacks and steep drop-offs)

• tirelessly answers hundreds of questions

• graciously welcomes you into his home for coffee and medialunas

we spent the afternoon and evening with a local realtor yesterday, about an hour and 20 minutes from bariloche, exploring just one amazing property (which happens to neighbor the queen of holland’s).

and it proved to be one of the most extraordinary once-in-a-lifetime experiences ever.

[over 550 photos were taken. here are a few.]

p.s. the awe-inspiring andean condor (the largest flying bird on earth with its 10-foot-plus wingspan) made an appearance yesterday too. five condors flew overhead, one quite close, as we navigated the narrow mountain road. alas, no clear pictures were captured, though our son did get a video of one earlier in the week.

twelve years since a rather
regrettable incident in 2014

but now we’re finally back
and it was definitely time

buenos aires is still as energetic
and colorful as it ever was

but it’s also fresher, cleaner now
than ever before

vibrant and cosmopolitan
passionate, expressive, and warm

nicknamed the “paris of south america”
both romanticized and unexpected

yet in some small way
comfortably familiar to me

we’ve owned an apartment in the city
for a decade and a half now

and when we’re here
it feels like home

oh, how time just seems to extend and
expand without mind-numbing routine

we’ve been marveling at how much life
has been lived in only four days

truly one of my favorite places on earth
so very gratifying to reunite once more

that i save cool containers and boxes with no thought as to what their second lives will be?

that i’ve never really liked my middle name but have appreciated it more since realizing it may have been my dad’s nod to my great-grandmother’s french heritage (who settled into italian life after marrying)?

what if i were to tell you that i used to be able to bake a mean mud pie in my playhouse but have no desire to bake real pies as an adult?

that true blue is not my favorite color and 3 is not my favorite number so i tend to avoid both?

that i didn’t really know i have a thing for chairs of all kinds until i started accumulating so many?

what if i were to tell you that i grew fascinated with a baby bird — even though i’m terrified of birds — who was trying unsuccessfully, over and over again, to fly onto my lawn chair?

and that another baby bird overcame extreme odds after finding out his mother hadn’t briefed him on the dangers of windows?

that i stood in awe of an evergreen sapling growing out of the middle of a driveway in my neighborhood?

what if i were to tell you that i often say “i’m sorry” — not when i really have anything to be sorry for but rather as a verbal reflex?

that i smile at everyone i pass by even when some of them don’t smile back?

and that i laugh to myself when i catch those particular individuals totally by surprise?

what if i were to tell you that i am insanely happy being able to write again with my dominant hand, after breaking my wrist and going through a difficult recovery?

that a young moose calmly walked down my alley four days ago?

that a solid hug after a brutal day turns my entire mindset around?

what if i were to tell you that i love bagels and baguettes but bagels and baguettes no longer love me?

that i am a citizen of the united states and a citizen of italy and a resident of paraguay?

that i admire resilience and moxie?

what if i were to tell you that my childhood nickname was bunnyboo?

and that my mom always drew my own personalized bunny logo on the envelopes she addressed to me?

that memories of my dad cracking jokes and my mom laughing at them warm my heart and sadden me at the same time?

what if i were to tell you that my first solo trip anywhere was the time i rode my turquoise miss buzz bike to the S&R drive-in and ordered a 7-up all by myself?

that i experience heightened anxiety every time i travel by air even though i love love love exploring the world?

that i still really really really miss mr smith and harlowe?

what if i were to tell you that celebrating the winter — not summer — solstice on june 21 this year sounds both upside-down and lots of fun?

that my journal collection, those carefully-recorded moments of my life (bins and bins of them), are very very important to me, maddeningly important, crucial even?

that those memoir-like words are how i remember my days, relive snippets of my experiences, analyze my existence, put the whole picture together, in order to recognize and honor who i’ve become and who i am still becoming?

what if i were to tell you?

[combined 13-minute freewrites inspired by 2 lines from 2 poems by maya stein & rosemerry wahtola trommer]

and when that happens, i usually have an idea why. my sinus passages are once again obstructed and, as a result, all of my thoughts feel jumbled and confused, tangled and unclear. hazy.

coherent words are just not possible. and therefore not intriguing or inspirational — to me or to anyone else. so i’ve been concentrating more on movement instead.

i’ve been practicing qi gong for about eleven years now. rooted in traditional chinese medicine, it’s a lovely example of both movement and meditation, leading to increased flexibility in both body and mind.

though i am a huge advocate of mindfulness, i’ve found meditation difficult in the past. i was often unable to calm my mind long enough to ever reap any real benefits. since introducing qi gong into my daily ritual, however, my attempts at meditation have been much more satisfying.

except for one thing. visualization.

i love words. i write words. i think in words. images just don’t come up when i try to picture something. words do. i am simply not a visual person (unless seeing words in my head counts).

but one day while living in italy — way back in early 2018 during a reflexology session with my dear friend ivana — a beautiful visual suddenly sprang to mind. in the middle of that self-care setting, the image was as vivid as a movie screen in front of me. it was of a very large white room, divided into two sections. there were windows, but no furniture at all. the room was spacious, expansive, and empty.

empty, except for one thought. one of my thoughts. just one, so i could easily pay attention to it.

and then the image was gone. but the feeling of spaciousness and clarity lingered.

i thought about it often over the days that followed, pondering its meaning. and i finally wrote my thoughts out in the form of a poem, in an attempt to forever capture the essence of the experience.

i happened to stumble across that poem yesterday, over eight years later. since i’ve been recently struggling to quiet my overly-anxious mind, its serenity arrived at a very opportune time.

and it occurred to me that someone else might be inwardly searching for that absence of cacophony as well. so i decided to share my poem here today . . .

let’s paint a picture, shall we?
of the quiet place we envision,
often long for in our minds.
a place with no cacophony of thoughts.

it’s white and it’s spacious.
and just one thought is in view.
allowed to linger for a time,
taking up exactly its required space.

no more, no less.
leaving ample breathing room.
to process and digest it.
to keep it or release it.

it’s simple in that white white room,
and tidy too.
a room without chaos,
a room filled with calm.

awareness floods the emptiness
with dazzling warmth and truth.
bright light and crystal clarity,
a glowing knowing from within.

if only we could keep creating,
each and every day,
this important mental haven,
mind and soul restored again.

as i usually do when life feels difficult or overwhelming, i started journaling. i poured my heart out, rapidly moving my pen across page after page.

the next day i was flipping through a previous journal from 2020, trying to find a certain passage, and i grew more and more amazed at the words i’d written. different circumstances, different times — i was still living in italy and it was the height of the pandemic — but wow, were the sentiments similar to what i’d just written the day before! so many familiar words and phrases, describing my gloomy thoughts and emotions.

something else i noticed too . . . though some of the stuff i was dealing with at the time was completely different than the stuff i’m dealing with now, a lot was the same. these similar issues seemed beyond my control then, and remain that way today. i had to (have to) learn to cope with them in whatever way works best for me.

however, that 2020 journal gave me hope. because the things i did have some control over had been, to a large degree, resolved. i stepped in, stepped up, and took care of them!

we go through SO MUCH in our lifetimes. births and deaths, joys and heartaches. good health and bad, physical injuries and psychological turmoil.

as a mental health counselor and life & wellness coach for many years, i’ve witnessed varying degrees of anxiety and depression. and i’ve experienced both myself, though fortunately rarely at a debilitating level.

my first line of defense against my own overwhelming emotions? remembering that the opposite of depression is expression. i’m not sure when i first heard that saying (credited to dr. edith eger), but i wholeheartedly believe in it — the idea of expressing yourself in order to combat your depressive feelings.

talking, writing, creating art, dancing. engaging with music. walking or running or hiking. qigong, yoga. anything that helps transform heavy and complex emotions into something more tangible.

like concrete words or vibrant colors, unique choreography or heartfelt lyrics. an energizing stroll. crushing your fastest mile, reaching the summit. your favorite flow or pose.

focusing on an expressive activity shifts things in your brain, enough to gain a small burst of well-needed perspective. it gets the stuff that’s dragging you down out of your body. your feelings might actually feel heightened during the process, but it is within that process that healing can finally begin.

as i mentioned last week, one must feel to heal. i constantly remind myself of this mantra. i also try to keep in mind that, like that big beautiful sun out there, i will always rise again.

when i was young, i drew all the time and even won local art contests. but i’ve never considered myself an artist. i just don’t have the skills. i do, however, create art almost every day. mostly abstract paintings and intuitive collages, and sometimes i end up with a piece i really love. but i’m not in it for the art. that has never been my end goal. for me, it’s all about the process itself. it’s about my mental health. and it extends into my work as well.

i am a masters-level counselor and certified holistic life & wellness coach, and i often utilize art therapy exercises as an impactful self-care tool.

in early march of this year, just one month after my wrist surgery, i spent one windy afternoon sharing my thoughts on this topic with a delightful group of mennonite women who were gathered for a weekend retreat. the theme was self-care.

i brought along a crate of my self-discovery art journals to show what a daily ritual (typically about ten or fifteen minutes for me) could produce, and also to introduce a few techniques. i encouraged them to approach the blank pages in front of them without overthinking or second-guessing their creations. an invitation to go with their gut instincts and let things simply flow, whether already accomplished artists or total beginners.

i also shared that any difficult or conflicting emotions they may currently be experiencing might start sorting themselves out as they painted or collaged. that the complicated issues wouldn’t necessarily reach resolution, but — as they expressed themselves on paper — a welcome emotional release and greater clarity might be possible. feel to heal has been my client mantra for over 20 years, and it blends in nicely when creating art. the feelings become the colors and the paint strokes and the images. and the colors, paint strokes, and images become the feelings.

since i’d broken my right arm just six weeks earlier, i’d been doing everything with my left hand. i’m right-handed, but i had to learn to write, eat, create with my other hand. it was a hard and frustrating journey.

one thing really helped to keep me going though, and that is the fact that non-dominant activities are so very beneficial for your brain. i discussed some of these benefits with the group that day: how neuroplasticity is stimulated; how the awkwardness you might feel is the physical sensation of new neural connections and pathways being forged; how cognitive flexibility is boosted and coordination between the hemispheres increased.

after talking for a bit, we created art together. some chose to paint with watercolors or acrylics, some started working on collages. i challenged them to try using their non-dominant hand (i would be) or to try writing what i call found poetry (from the words in their collages). it was interesting and satisfying, for everyone, to see what emerged from the paintbrushes and pens, and with the glue sticks and scissors.

a peaceful (and fun!) afternoon in a relaxed setting, just the thing for a blustery sunday in early spring. plus a lovely way to care for self.

sometimes i count things. suitcases at an airport check-in. letters inserted into a mailbox. steps that i’m ascending. vitamins & supplements i take each day. things to turn off or close down when i head to bed each night. cats in a park. (actually i always count things!)

sometimes i wish i could experience living in every town and every city in the world. in a mid-century modern design inspired by frank lloyd wright, in a high-rise parisian-style apartment way way up in the sky, in a big white farmhouse in the countryside. maybe in a fairy-tale castle like a princess, or even in a converted shipping container or boxcar. because what if my favorite dwelling on the globe is still out there?

sometimes i’m happy. and sometimes i’m sad. sometimes i’m angry or fearful or annoyed. and sometimes ALL of these emotions visit me in the same day.

sometimes i go for a walk just to nourish my curiosity. i marvel at the smallest little details and i revel in the daily rhythms & flows around me. and i take lots and lots of pictures. the activity replenishes my soul.

sometimes i think about what my life as a fashion magazine editor in new york city would look like. or as a shipping clerk in a bustling harbor town. as the head librarian on a beautiful college campus or as administrative staff at a forest ranger station in the woods. or i imagine myself as a gutsy private eye, hunting down clues and solving puzzles. my fondest career daydream? as the general manager of a grand hotel in a metropolitan setting.

sometimes i look at the things around me and feel so cozy and comforted. telephones i’ve collected. bookshelves filled with delicious stories. collages i’ve created. notes from my husband, from friends. clothes that express my true essence. photos and artwork i’ve chosen to hang on my walls. mementos of places i’ve explored. my journals, especially my journals.

what do YOU sometimes think, do, feel, or dream?

he did eventually manage to save and transfer everything over here, to my new substack site. but the formatting is, of course, distorted. and some of the organization disorganized. slightly broken and not altogether pleasant to view, yet the relevant message in each of my posts remains. so i’ve been slowly weeding through them, trying to fix things where i can, if only for my own peace of mind. since it’s not very much fun, i am attacking it in small increments.

the real surprise? i’ve been amazed to find that so much of what i’d written through the years still resonates with me today, still carries meaning. and for that reason, i have decided to share one of those timeless posts with you today.

setting the stage: in november of 2020, eric and i boarded an almost-empty jet in milan with our cat harlowe. at the time all we wanted to do, following our months-long lockdown experience in italy, was travel to the states and reunite with our sons. we ended up buying the pink house, wrestling with many life decisions, and staying much longer than planned . . . a strange and surreal two-year hiatus. this piece conjures up some of the angsty-and-confused feelings i experienced during that unpredictable era, an example of those transitional in-between moments i never feel comfortable in but have to deal with nonetheless. (tunnels was originally published in october 2022 - one month after we finally returned to our italian home.)

i am fascinated with tunnels

there are many in italy
throughout the european continent
and going through one
becomes a commonplace event
when traveling anywhere

i think they’re interesting
even strikingly beautiful at times

they remind me of spy novels
and they make the best photos

i don’t always love being
inside a tunnel though
especially when it’s miles long

oh, it’s not horrible, not impossible,
to be in there, and the darkness
offers a unique perspective
but it can be slightly uncomfortable

emerging out the other side
back into the bright sunshine
always seems to elicit a
silent sigh of relief

a tunnel is such a metaphor for life

leaving your past, heading
towards your future
a symbol of the paths
you might take
and the challenges you might
encounter along the way

moving through darkness
pushing through obstacles
beginnings and endings
with light and hope, reassurance,
waiting just beyond

evolving over the course of your journey
your very own metamorphosis story

this small glimpse into my continuing story illustrates something we all, as human beings, encounter again and again » our endless adaption to the ups-and-downs of life. our resilience.

reset and recalibrate

.

cottontail bunny
red-winged blackbird
rhythmic train rumble

reassure and remember

.

charming log cabin
flowing river
serene mountain setting

reconnect and rekindle

.

forest bathing
therapeutic waters
peaceful ambience

renew and recover

.

#magicalmajesticmontana

the next day both of my feet were numb as well.

and over the next three months, these neurological issues only worsened and progressed until my entire lower body was completely numb, from midriff to toes.

two months into it, i was FED UP. with the poking and the prodding and all things medical. after three doctor appointments, three different blood tests, five physical therapy sessions, a lumbar spine x-ray, a lumbar spine MRI, and a referral to a spine center (which by the way never responded), i still had no definitive answers as to WHY my lower half was numb. i was seriously struggling but nowhere closer to understanding what in the world was going on. one thing i did know - the tests (and i) did not agree with my doctor’s diagnosis (that it was my back causing the numbness).

i also knew that i needed to take care of myself the best i could and start looking for my own answers. i knew i’d have to take matters into my own hands and do my own detective work, no matter how scary the findings might seem.

after several wrong turns (and frightening moments), i finally figured it out at the end of november. i discovered what was causing the numbness, plus a host of other symptoms i’d been experiencing since the spring of 2025 (that were all part of the same puzzle). in fact, i now truly believe my body kept creating additional symptoms as it TRIED DESPERATELY to supply the final clues!

and it’s a fascinating twist-and-turn story. i’ll start at the beginning . . .

i have a chronic inflammatory condition called samter’s triad for which i receive a monthly biologic injection of nucala. one of the side effects of nucala is shingles. during the six months prior to the numbness, i could feel shingles kind of “brewing” around my midsection, but with no pain and no rash. i recognized the nerve reaction though, because i’d had shingles several years before.

i belong to a samter’s triad group on facebook and out of the blue someone posted this question: “i’m curious . . . who here had mononucleosis as a child or teen?” the responses were overwhelmingly “yes” and that included me too. i’d had a very severe case of mono when i was 18 years old, during my first semester of college. i had to leave the university and go home to convalesce for over a month.

mononucleosis is caused by the epstein-barr virus, which approximately 90% of the world population carries. a lot of cases are asymptomatic. someone else in the group posted a study of people with chronic sinusitis who had had mono going on to develop polyps. that’s me. the “triad” in samter’s triad is characterized by the combination of polyps, asthma, and an allergy to aspirin + nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs).

so i immediately started researching epstein-barr virus. i found that it remains in your system forever and that the three primary ways it can be reactivated are: 1) stress (plenty of that during the year, with my father-in-law’s death and a host of other factors); 2) hormonal changes (my estrogen level took its final dive in 2025, approaching zero); and 3) the shingles virus (which i thought had been brewing for several months, possibly activated by my nucala injection). wow . . . a triple whammy for me!

and when i started researching the symptoms, i was convinced >> the pattern of the numbness in my legs, the rash that appeared on my torso (which also showed up earlier on my face - following a certain pattern as well), the persistent cough i’d had, the peripheral neuropathy in my feet that i’d experienced for months before they went totally numb, etc etc etc.

my doctor in italy had prescribed the anti-viral acyclovir during my shingles outbreak six years ago. after reading that it could also be prescribed for reactivated epstein-barr virus, i knew i had to try it.

just one problem. i’d never been satisfied with the direction my primary care provider had sent me in after the specific symptoms i’d presented to him. not only that, but he more than once questioned the fact i was doing my own research. so i was hesitant to go back to him with this new information. i’d recently had my annual pap smear, however, and my gynecologist is not only an excellent physician - he sincerely listens to his patients. so i went to him with my strange medical tale, and he was kind enough to prescribe what i needed. it was two days before christmas, and one of the very best gifts that i received. i remain grateful to him for genuinely hearing me and being willing to treat me.

after only three days the all-over aching in my legs had almost completely subsided. after the full dosage, the numbness was reduced to only two small areas. and then just a little while later - three months and three weeks after the onset of the hypoesthesia - i was FINALLY symptom-free. HOORAY!

[i couldn’t revel in the victory for long though - only a few days later i broke my arm! but i'm healing nicely now and putting that little setback behind me as well. my last physical therapy appointment was monday. on to continued good health.]

.

so . . . a kaleidoscope of upset. but what is the moral of this long convoluted story?

to LISTEN to that inner voice of yours. it ALWAYS knows.

because you know your body best. it makes sense to pay attention to the signals and cues it’s giving you, since you’re the only one who knows precisely how you’re feeling.

you know your mind and heart best too. you know what you like and what you want, and it’s usually (dare i say always?) wise to follow the path your intuition is leading you in.

p.s. i think it’s absolutely okay - in fact, imperative - that you do your own research when it comes to health matters. after all, you care most about what happens to you. if your doctor suggests otherwise, it might be time to look for a new one. being able to discuss the information you’ve gathered with your medical practitioner in order to move forward with appropriate treatment is ideal.

so much happened in 2025, a great deal of it unexpected and unpleasant, that i never did get around to even announcing my annual word of the year. i took a ton of notes, i started to write, i got sidetracked, i started to write again, something else happened, i even began an art project around it. but nothing was ever completed.

my word was TEXTURE. a rich and multi-layered word with many connotations. i didn’t really have anything specific in mind when i chose it. i just liked the idea of the word, and i was eager to see how it all played out. and boy oh boy, did 2025 supply me with a lot of texture!

in a nutshell (maybe someday i’ll write about some or all of the topics in more detail), the year consisted of travel to two countries, a bittersweet-and-beautiful grand finale of THE ARRIVAL (my seventh women’s retreat in italy), grief, betrayal, the loss of my website (hello substack), and a few difficult moving-forward decisions.

so then. 2026. a new year. a new word.

i decided on RICOCHET. it seemed appropriate for a much needed reset.

or so i thought.

it actually started out wonderfully, with a january trip to rockaway beach in oregon with my husband. a winter sojourn at the ocean seemed like the perfect place to get body and mind attuned and aligned, to ricochet back. i imagined the powerful pounding surf, hair tossing wildly in the brisk bracing wind. sunset and moonrise promises in an almost-deserted wintry landscape. something about the tides and the skies keeping rhythm with the myriad of moods, finally allowing a letting-go process to take place.

and it proved to be all that.

three days after returning to our home at the pink house, however, i had a rather dramatic fall down ten steps, bruising my body all over and breaking my right wrist.

and the word i had chosen to guide me through this new year suddenly took on a whole different meaning than i’d ever intended (you know, something like ricocheting off stairs all the way to the landing).

but now, almost three months later - after surgery, physical therapy, several medical ups & downs, writing 181 journal pages with my non-dominant hand, and rest rest rest - it kind of makes sense.

this definition of ricochet seems quite apt . . . “experiencing life’s challenges that rebound unexpectedly, drastically shifting your path, bouncing back and adapting with resilience, finding strength in new directions following a setback, turning difficult moments into growth” . . . well, yeah.

so that’s where i’m at. starting my own personal new year (i think rather fittingly) on my birthday, april 20, instead. looking forward to a couple of upcoming adventures in may and in june. and always always always remaining appreciative of opportunities that make me stronger, braver, more alive.

and i felt both delighted and honored to be with this incredible group of women during THE ARRIVAL #6 🖤

*******

  "Your commitment to attending the arrival is an investment in your future self. Weeks before your time with April, you are being cared for. The moment you meet April in Italy, you are welcomed and gently supported. The villa is stunning and welcoming, the views are beautiful. April has an easy manner that weaves the participants together, though they have not met or seem to have commonalities. Within hours, I found that I had so much in common with three new friends. At the arrival, all feelings and emotions are welcome, there's no judgment. There is time to be creative and play, I never thought I'd enjoy blowing bubbles while waving at Italian drivers in a tiny commune, but I did and it was wonderful. Everything about your time at the arrival is thoughtfully planned, daily sessions, cultural trips, cooking class, reflexology session, daily meals, with thoughtful treats, flowers in every room, no detail is overlooked. When you see the next session posted, take advantage of the opportunity to do this for yourself. You are worth the money, time and effort." ~Jennifer Gladwell  

*******

  "I just cannot say enough about my time spent at Villa Magnolia and the retreat (or retreat no more!) Arrival #6 during September 2024. From the beginning of each day with an amazing breakfast of fresh, local foods, sessions led by April, the afternoon and evening outings, my experience just could not have been better! Treat yourself. You might not have a chance again to stay in a beautiful Italian villa, take part in inspiring sessions, visit small towns and historic places in beautiful Italy and all under the care of loving, caring hosts. For sure, memories to last a lifetime. Don’t miss out!" ~Sallie Sprute  

*******

  "There is no need to wait for a friend to join you; just go!! Four women, different personalities, histories, life styles and experiences finding our way to Villa Magnolia and our lovely April Lee, our guide. Talented, inspiring and warm, welcoming each of us with open arms and heart. Leading us to open up ourselves as well. The deep conversations, daily belly laughs and soft tears, so vulnerable and yet so, so good. Villa Magnolia is magical! Beautiful, comfy-cozy and delicious, simply amazing. The perfect mix, learning The 7 Essential Elements and our daily adventures. The sights, the food, the people along with the insights and inspiration. And Eric and Liz, taking such great care of all of us too! You’ll be so happy that you said 'YES!' ❤️" ~Jeri Zoglio  

*******

  "I rarely say life changing but truly my life has been forever improved by "The Arrival" forever changed by what I can't explain by any other word than love. I arrived to so many unknowns a town in Italy that I have never visited, people I had never met, a home I saw in pictures but never really knew. In an instant with the class, grace, compassion, concern, and true joy that April brings to her wellness coaching event that unknown changed. The joy, attentiveness, and genuine kindness of Liz. The silent steadfast of all the things Eric did to make everything happen. The ladies attending that were so inspiring, open in sharing of their own life experiences, willing to sit with their life concerns and mine. Motivated to lift up each others spirits with wisdom and empowerment although they were there to also be lifted. The exchange of ideas, moments, concern, and support was surreal. Yes I started with unknown but quickly became seen and cared for by all. truly blessed with the experience to cross life paths with all these individuals. Forever grateful, forever changed, forever in my heart." ~Sonja Cisneros  

*******

and now you can join me for the grand finale! THE ARRIVAL 2025 (#7)

🇮🇹 at villa magnolia in italy 🇮🇹 11-16 may 2025

but HURRY!! ONLY ONE SPOT is left!!

1. our older son is teaching at two different art schools in southern california, gnomon school of visual effects and laguna college of art + design

2. our younger son is currently in japan, skiing with friends after sightseeing in tokyo

3. a truck slid on the ice in front of our home and totaled our parked car

4. i liberally (over)applied a nighttime face cream with retinol that burned my skin and caused a stye to form in my left eye [no photo :D ]

5. 3.3 earthquake 6 miles from wallace, not very big but very close, rocked-and-rumbled the pink house a bit

6. and save the dates >> 11-16 may 2025 = THE ARRIVAL #7, the finale in italy! (all the delicious details revealed next week)

i thought i was all done
with daily headaches last may
especially after that inconclusive MRI
but i still struggle with them (yes, they're back)

i thought that fulfilling my jury duty service
the first week of january and getting
my life-saving-nucala injection approved
after the insurance company's initial denial
would allow me to concentrate on
other things that need attending to
but i still feel distracted

i thought i'd exhausted the self-diagnosis-limit
of several dire diseases
(though it looks like i truly am nearing
the end of a shingles-no-rash outbreak)
but i still feel exhausted with lots of body aches

i thought i'd get used to a home without a cat
after several months of living feline-free
but i still crave that comforting presence    

i guess you could say that so far
2025 hasn't been my favorite year    

but my sons are both on exciting new adventures
that make me proud of them every single day

i'm stretching myself, learning new things,
and spending memorable moments
with eric and good friends

and today i feel cozy and warm
inside the pink house
while beautiful snow
falls silently outside    

it will all be okay.    

never   
ending
never   
understood
never   
peace    

fighting   
to be    
free . . .    

unrivaled.    

stuck
spikes
swirls
set points

repeat.    

out of the loop

dismissed
diminished
detached    

the aches
the pains
but still
the dreams
the hopes    

the moon
cold and full
looms over
my decision
to silently
withdraw
until epiphanies
are no longer
muffled like
solid rock    

to be
effervescent
again
to be
clever
again
to be admired
again
to be
april
again    

blocks
trampling
their way
through
openings
green
fresh
inviting    

creative
strength
training
inside
underneath
hidden
difficult    

unraveled.    

but . . .

"you will be okay.
you will be okay.
you will be okay."    

[i was going to attempt to explain how these words came to be written. and why. but instead, i think i'll just let the piece speak for itself. because its creative arc happened quite magically, and the hows and the whys are not always necessary.]        

but i also chose what i called an auxiliary or secondary word >> VIBE. here's how i characterized it in my head: a vibration that changes throughout the year to align with and adjust to my many mercurial moods. and guess what? it took on an almost alchemical dynamic - altering its shape to fit whatever emotional space, atmosphere, or situation i found myself in. fresh and energetic, in sync with my step, with a sense of releasing me. i checked in to assess my current VIBE from time to time (which ended up being close to quarterly).

so . . . how did i decide the way to describe my VIBE each quarter? well, at the beginning of the year (without even knowing the reason for doing so), i wrote my initials in a vertical line down the page:

A

M

V

L

then i jotted down all of the words that immediately emerged, beginning with those four letters. that is, all of the words that either had significance in my life at the time or that i felt a connection to (and also liked the sound of and idea behind).     while perusing my list in january, violet and layers just organically joined together and jumped off the page at me. just like the-words-based-on-my-initials, i wasn't 100% sure what violet layers even meant. but life has an interesting way of filling in the blank spaces. this is the way i described it after the first three months of 2024:

• introspection, going within

• shadow work

• moving into unknown areas

• transitional thresholds

• physical pain (sharp, dull, everywhere in between)

• emotional battles

• restlessness, anxiety, fear

• extreme self-care and calming techniques

• new horizons and explorations in art and art therapy

    during the second quarter of the year, i studied my list again and the phrase mosaic alchemy was quickly illuminated (a fusion of M and A words). once more, i wasn't completely certain what the symbolism might reveal.

i had spoken earlier of an intensely painful period of headaches, and soon mosaic alchemy aptly described its aftermath. trying to carefully arrange the broken bits and pieces of my suddenly-fragmented essence. an unscripted shift in perspective, colliding-and-coalescing waves. left to regroup, reorganize, reassemble back into one coherent whole. creating new energy, ramping up momentum.     i wrapped up 2024's third quarter by venturing back into my role as retreat guide at my italian home, accompanied by a general VIBE of magnetic vibrancy. golden-glow autumn, new-beginnings september. and THE ARRIVAL #6 proved to be all that >> a rich and vibrant week spent in the company of magnetic and glowing individuals.     and now, in the middle of the last three months, what have i been feeling, experiencing, exploring? what is my VIBE? one more glance at my list convinced me that liminal ambience seemed just right.

the phrase "liminal space" has been used to describe a state of transition (which i currently find myself in - mentally, emotionally, perhaps physically too). it also denotes a somewhat forlorn atmosphere, or hazy dreamlike ambience, in which one tends to semi-withdraw from the world. makes sense, that ghostly corridor. one of my cyclical patterns.

it feels like a reflection of winter's starkness to me, while passing time in an ethereal waiting room; its ambience, the mood that accompanies such a transition, matching it. bare, detached, beiged-out, alone. ambiguity. often with a sense of dread, possibly with eager anticipation. not knowing what's coming or what to expect, just trying to heal any hurts and prepare for the next phase.     as i watch the swirling white snow surround me, i wait to see where this chilly-weather introspection takes me . . .         tweet