Chihuly Evolution

I have a history with Dale Chihuly.

It began in Venice, my favorite city in the world. I had expected to dislike Venice. I have a severe mold allergy and imagined that a decaying, canal-laced, island would be no fun for me. I was so wrong. I arrived at sunset and stepped from the water taxi onto a bridge and was smitten with the light, the old buildings tilting into the canals, the romance of the gondolas, and the pealing of the church bells. And the romance! One of my favorite captured moments from that first trip was watching a couple rise from their table on Piazza San Marco, step onto the piazza and begin to waltz to the jazzy tune the small band was playing. They were not a young couple, both fairly tall, and were oblivious to those around them, having eyes only for one another. I promised myself I would return to Venice and I did a few years later. I was taking a sailing cruise around the Adriatic and the cruise embarked from Venice. On the ship I met a man and discovered he collected glass and had just been on Murano, a small island and glass making center near Venice. He shared that he was a collector of glass art made by Dale Chihuly. I was fascinated by his passion and wanted to know more about this artist.

As the universe often provides, upon return to Dayton I discovered that there would soon be an exhibition of Chihuly’s work at my home museum, the Dayton Art Institute. Chihuly himself would give a talk at the show’s opening. This talk is forever embedded in my mind. Chihuly was in a traffic accident and lost the use of one eye. As a consequence, he now does the sketches, paintings actually, for his art and due to his vision problem has artisans create the glass work. He had large scale exhibitions in Ireland, Israel, and… Venice. His slide presentation showed magnificent, chandelier-like pieces hung over the canals. How I wish I could have seen them in place! The most extraordinary part of the lecture was when he read from letters he wrote to his young son while traveling to mount the shows. He was a relatively new father and his young son would not understand the letters even if read aloud to him. But can you imagine how his son would later treasure this documentation as to how much his father loved him and wanted to share his life work with him?

I have one of the Chihuly paintings, a design for one of his Venice pieces. It is wildly free, well representative of the artist’s passionate nature and serves as a reminder for me to live full out, be fully present in each moment.

That exhibit was in 2002. This year the Dayton Art Institute had an exhibit of glass artists prominently featuring Chilhuly. I have followed his work, noted the progression of his designs, and have several books about his art that I enjoy perusing. This time I was able to introduce my son to Chihuly’s glass. He sees the painting every day but had not seen any of the glass. This was his favorite piece.

It was a well-curated show, including the works of many fine glass artists, but for me the Chihuly pieces were the anchor. What bliss to be with my friend and fellow creative Lori, and my much-loved son, in the midst of such glorious art. These experiences feed my soul, inspire my work, and increase my daily gratitude for my beautiful life.

Full Bloom

These spectacular tulips greeted me at the corner of Riverside Drive and Monument Avenue at Riverscape Metro Park in Dayton, Ohio. I was stopped in my tracks by their gorgeous full blown beauty.

Our culture is obsessed with peak beauty, youthful beauty. We hear the phrase "past its peak," the implication being that the most beautiful moment has passed. 

But is that true? Take a closer look.

More is visible when the tulips are fully open. We can see and appreciate what's inside.

What if we begin to look at one another that way? Recognize that a mature woman allows us to see beyond the perfection of youth. There are few things more attractive than a woman fully present in her body, fully aware of her power and creativity.

Let's go forward today and look for those women. When you see one, share that smile, that look, that glance, that says I see you and you are gorgeously in full bloom.

Fontanelle, Rome’s Little Fountains

I love travel. I love being in a new place and discovering what makes it unique, its specific charm. One of my favorite quotes is, “Travel is the one thing you buy in life that makes you richer.” Today I am feeling very rich indeed.

I’ve just spent a lovely week in Rome. It was not my first visit there and as I was meeting some friends to write; I was not focused on the tourist high points, amazing as they are, but rather on feeling like a Roman going about my daily work.

It was about a two-mile walk from my hotel in the Veneto area to my writing group at University of Washington University Rome Center near Campo dei Fiori,  just a few minutes from the Tiber River.

As I knew I would be indulging in delicious Italian cuisine all week, I vowed to walk to and from Campo dei Fiori to burn some extra calories. Walking and writing... bliss! The weather was glorious, sunny and in the seventies. I had a date with some friends at Mercato Hostaria on the campo the night before the group was to meet. This was an opportunity to familiarize myself with some walk routes and time it so I could arrive promptly the next day.

I purchased a bottle of water to store in my backpack for the walk. When I got to the restaurant, within view from our al fresco seats I could see a small fountain, nothing pretty or elaborate, with water running continuously from a down spout. As I watched, people refilled their water bottles. The vendors from the square were also filling buckets to use in their booths. Upon inquiry, our waitperson declared the water not only safe to drink but delicious. I had to try this. Not only was the water good, it was icy cold! It was not necessary to buy bottled water. 

I began to look for other fontanelle, “little fountain,” and realized they were everywhere, most are iron containers with a plain metal down spigot but some are more decorative. There are about 2,500 in Rome. The photo at the top is my personal favorite located a few steps off Campo dei Fiori on one of the charming side streets. I think the animal head is a boar.

The other name for the fountain is nasoni, “big nose”, a reference to the shape of the metal spigot. You can cover the bottom, nostril if you will, with your thumb or palm and the water will spurt through a hole in the top making a drinking fountain for those without bottles to fill.

Given the drought in many parts of the USA, I was amazed by the constantly flowing water. I was glad to learn the water is recycled. The elaborate fountains in Rome, such as Fontana di Trevi and Fontana del Pantheon get their water from aquifers as well. The height or force of the fountain spray is related to the gravity available, depending on the source for the water. Trevi was deliberately sunken to allow for more gravity and a higher spray. The fountain near the Pantheon has a gentler flow. Fascinating!

Trevi Fountain

Fountain at the Pantheon

If you are fortunate enough to visit the Eternal City, don’t hesitate to refresh yourself with a drink of icy cold, delicious water from a nasoni, a unique Roman pleasure. And then have another drink for me!

Ciao!

Meeting Prague

My first Czech beer, Krusovice

Do you have a list of places you long to visit? My wish list is lengthy and constantly growing. I love to travel and have made it a priority for my sixties. Prague was near the top of my list and this month the dream became reality.

I am quite comfortable traveling alone. The journey itself is company enough. In the past I have struggled with jet lag on my first day or two after flying east. I discovered a wonderful remedy for it in the Isabella Catalog,  Dr. Singha's Travel Tonic. So I arrived in Prague feeling alert and refreshed. After checking into my hotel in Mala Strana (Lesser Town) I walked down to Stare Mesto (Old Town), about a thirty minute walk. The square is probably the most heavily tourist laden place in Prague. I chose an outdoor table and settled in for some journaling, people watching and traditional Czech food and beer. The Czech Republic is well known for their beer and I was not disappointed with this one. I remained there through the gloaming, just beautiful. The square is surrounded by old churches and their lighted towers were dramatic against the night sky.

The public transportation system is excellent in Prague. I traveled by tram as opposed to subway so I could see as much of the city as possible. Most people in Prague speak some English so it was easy to find help as needed. Czech children begin English instruction in second grade and French in fourth.

On my first full day I visited Petrin Tower, a smaller size replica of the Eiffel Tower. I climbed the 299 steps for a 360 degree view of the city. 

Petrin Tower

It was a beautiful clear day. I could see the Vltava River, Prague Castle, and in the distance the mountains in Germany.

Prague Castle, Vltava River, Mala Strana, Petrin Park

After one day I was enchanted with Prague. The city was just beginning to reveal her secrets and I was pleased that I had another week to explore and experience her. 

God Answers to Many Names

I’m taking several classes at the University of Dayton’s Life Long Learning Institute, UDLLI. For the winter session my focus is on Wellness and Creativity with classes in Chinese Medicine and Acupuncture, Qi Kong, Forgiveness, and Wellness and the Arts.

This week in my Wellness and the Arts class we talked about ekphrastic poetry. Although I was not familiar with the term, I was familiar with the concept of visual art inspiring writing, often poetry.

My first connection was to recall the Don McLean song Vincent (Starry, Starry Night) where both the art and life of Vincent Van Gogh were inspiration for the music and lyrics. Here is a link to a YouTube of the song with the lyrics superimposed on a series of Van Gogh’s paintings including the Starry Night referred to in the title. 

Our assignment was to select an artwork and use it as inspiration to write. In one of those lovely life coincidences, my friend Lori of Laughing Girl Quilts gifted me with a piece of her work that I have long admired. I was deeply touched by this gift as I found the work so evocative.  The seven syllables in the title God Answers To Many Names led me to compose this poem borrowing the 5-7-5 syllable style of haiku.

She gave me her he(art):

God Answers To Many Names

This day, it is friend.

Beautiful stitched texture enhanced with beads and a shell for the moon

The Pear

I'm blogging today at  the Story Circle Network on their blog,  One Woman's Day. Please click here to read my post about this ornament. May all your holiday memories be sweet ones!

Winter Solstice Sisters

In 2009 I held my first winter solstice gathering. The Winter Solstice marks the longest night of the year, from that date forward, there is a bit more light every day until the Summer Solstice in June. It was such a success that I have continued the practice of hosting my treasured friends for a ceremony and meal to celebrate the return of the light.

We begin by creating a sacred space, passing a light until all candles are lit. Each woman speaks in turn, naming what she wants to leave in the darkness and what she wants to embrace in the coming light. Each woman also chooses a word as her focus for the next year.  Part of the magic is how intently we all listen to one another, honoring that woman and her choices.

 

This year I provided Sharpies, markers, pastels, colored pencils, magazines for collage cut outs, letter stamps, and glitter glue to decorate package tags with the chosen word to use as book marks or to tie onto a gear shift or mirror. There were also round balls that could be decorated with the word and hung on the Christmas tree.

Both the tags and the balls were creatively done!

As in the past, the celebration concludes with a shared meal. This year's menu included antipasto, Joy Behar's lasagna, vegetarian acorn squash lasagna with walnut cream, three green salads and a delicious lemon cake. It was an evening of food for the body and food for the soul.

Winter Solstice is a time for contemplation and renewal. It's a time to appreciate friendships, open our hearts to the possible, and state our intentions for the year to come. I'm grateful to have these women in my life.

Sensuously Sixty

I began this blog one year ago today, my birthday, with the express purpose of exploring how to reconnect with my body, to learn to live sensuously.  To celebrate I scheduled a Harmony Farm Ritual. Harmony Farm is a magical place. The beautiful buildings are nestled into a small hill overlooking a pond and open fields. When you enter the front door, the first sensual treat is the smell, eucalyptus, lavender, perhaps mint? Instantly soothing. I usually pause for a moment and breathe deeply, letting myself relax into the atmosphere. 

A soothing waterfall greets and welcomes.

The massage rooms are gorgeous, natural light and nature views. These windows overlook a sloping field and a copse of trees that shelter the labyrinth.





This is the back side of the complex. The massage rooms are on the left side, top floor.







A Harmony Farm Ritual consists of a one hour massage, a one hour facial, and organic sugar scrub treatments for hands and feet. After a lovely Reiki enhanced massage on a heated table, I was already feeling relaxed and centered in my body. Linda Blackburn, my healing practitioner for this experience, describes her skill and the setting perfectly on the website, “I believe massage can take you to a deep level of healing. It can help you reach into your soul and allow you to physically and mentally heal. When your body reaches that level, the muscles begin to relax and respond to the work the therapist is doing. Harmony Farm with its peaceful surroundings, adds a wonderful experience of relaxation and healing to your massage.” 

I never had either a facial or sugar scrub treatments. I loved both! By the time Linda was finished my skin was smooth and, well, glowing.  This truly was a sensuous experience and a perfect way to celebrate all I have learned about connecting with my body. This was a year well spent. Thanks for joining me on the journey.

Yoga From the Inside Out

Because cultural messages about our bodies are so strong and the forces that work to destroy our self-image are so pervasive, having others in our life to mirror to us acceptance and encouragement is crucial.


Christina Sell, Yoga From the Inside Out

I've had an off again, on again relationship with yoga. I first tried it in 1974. I knew nothing about yoga, was just curious. I was new to Dayton and had not yet found a job or made friends and my then husband was completely self absorbed in his first year of law school. I was lonely and thought maybe I'd make some new friends. I found it, well, embarrassing. Way too much attention to the body for me. I felt exposed. I was thin so it was not about the size of my body. It was about not feeling comfortable with my body. As I knew no one in the class or for that matter anyone else doing yoga it felt even more isolating than being alone. So I dropped out. End of yoga

Then, in 1985, after having my first ever massage with a very lovely woman who was also a yoga instructor and was looking for a place to hold a class in my part of town; I volunteered to host a yoga class in my home. This time I made it through all the sessions. It would have been awkward to not participate when it was in my house! The teacher had been trained in Yoga for Round Bodies but I did not know how to ask for help. I was kind of getting the hang of it when she found another, more public, location and I did not move on with the group. I believed I was not a physical person; I did not yet realize that yoga is a spiritual practice too.

In 2002 a friend's daughter was working toward her yoga teacher certification and needed a class to garner teaching hours. This time it was three couples doing downward dog in my living room.  By then I was embarassed by my size so I always took a place behind the others. I found the poses too revealing. Again, once the class was finished, so was I.

Then in 2005 I went to Kripalu in Massachusetts for a weekend class on animal communication. There were free yoga classes every morning so I thought I'd give it another try. The instructor, a normal sized person, said something that stopped me in my tracks. We were doing a twist in a seated position and she said, "Now gently move your tummy to the side and deepen your pose." What? Move your tummy? She did not appear to have a tummy to move! One of the reasons I did not persevere with yoga was because I always felt my stomach got in the way. I had never heard of someone "moving their tummy." This was a revelation. I could adjust my body and do the pose comfortably! It never occurred to me that a normal weight person had to adjust her tummy to do a pose. I thought it was a problem for me because I was overweight and I just had to feel terribly squished to even attempt the pose. Another example of the bad body messages I carried around; since I am heavy, I will suffer. The realization that even thin people might have a tummy to move and that adjusting the pose is normal made me weep with insight and relief.

Now, in 2011, I have another friend doing her yoga teacher training. Lori has taught me that yoga is for everyone and the emphasis is on you and your body, not on doing the perfect pose. And, that yoga is as much a spiritual practice as it is a physical practice. She also keeps reminding me that it is about practice, not perfection. Lori is teaching me to be fully present in my body. I do not think I have ever really done this before.  She introduced me to the book, Yoga From the Inside Out, quoted at the start of this post.

Lori

And that brings me to a sunny day in Dayton, Ohio. I'm sitting on my deck after my morning yoga, savoring some fresh fruit, and writing some notes from Yoga From the Inside Out into my journal. Now that I understand that yoga is both a spiritual and physical practice, with emphasis on the word practice, and that I can adapt that practice to me and my body; yoga feels right for me.

While in Florida recently, my goddaughter Kate and I went to  Yoga On the Beach,  morning yoga classes on beautiful Siesta Key Beach. She, and Lori, are part of my tribe who offer the acceptance and encouragement every woman needs about her body. And I am so grateful...

A rainbow backdrop for yoga on Siesta Key

Hello Beautiful!

August 1, 2010

The Story Circle Network invites women to write for their blog One Woman's Day. They describe the blog this way:
Today a woman somewhere is laughing, weeping, grieving, or celebrating. Someone is giving birth; someone is losing a loved one to death. Relationships are forming, others are ending. For some this will be an ordinary day filled with many of the same activities as yesterday. For others, something unexpected will suddenly make this day unforgettable, one that they may tell their children and grandchildren about in the future. In the same way that we are curious about how our grandmothers lived, future generations will be interested in learning about what an ordinary day was like in our lives.

One year ago I was visiting Siesta Key Florida and had one of those days. I wrote the blog post, submitted it,  and pretty much forgot about it. I was surprised and delighted to start receiving responses to that post while I am again in Siesta Key. Please click on this link to read my post at One Woman's Day.

Yesterday I did a yoga class on the beach with my god daughter. The sun was warm on my skin, the sand was soft under my mat, and the waves and sea birds provided mood music. I felt comfortable and confident in my body and, yes, beautiful.

Siesta Key Beach 2011

July 4th

Happy Fourth of July! I love my country. I love to travel but am always so grateful to come home. On my way home from Paris, as we descended to land, I had a vivid recollection from that first trip to Italy with my mom and a group of mostly senior citizens. When the wheels touched the runway, they spontaneously burst into song, "God Bless America." At first it was just our group but then it spread throughout the plane and strangers were nodding and smiling and singing. I was so choked up I could barely sing. Unabashed love of country.

This trip, I was alone but as we approached Newark I began to sing softly to myself.

God bless America
Land that I love
Stand beside her and guide her
Through the night with a light from above.
From the mountains
To the prairies
To the oceans
White with foam
God Bless America
My home sweet home
God bless America
My home sweet home

Irving Berlin

Again, I choked up. Across the aisle was a couple visiting the USA for the first time. They asked if I was all right. I smiled through my tears and replied I was fine, just grateful to be home.

On this day I value my freedom and I appreciate both my country and its citizens. Here's Martina McBride singing it more beautifully, but in no less heartfelt a way, than I ever could.

Happy 4th of July!

Sage, Not Mint

This is my Prius, the first car I ever bought on my own. The first car I ever bought for me. The first car I ever bought based on what I want. And it was definitely a sensuously sixty experience. Pure delight.

When the ex and I were dating in high school, every once in a while, he would be allowed to drive his mother’s car, a sweet 1967 mint green Malibu convertible. One of my favorite date memories is riding, top down, on a starry summer night after one of the invitation-only dances held in a summer pavilion in a private community.  I can recall the feeling of driving along those mountain roads, relaxed, pleasantly tired from dancing, happy, nothing but tree tops swaying in the wind, crystal clear skies, and one another.

We were very poor for a very long time after we married but I promised myself that one day I would find a 1967 Malibu convertible and have it restored as a gift for him. I had several contacts in the car restoration community who promised to call me when they found one. I dreamt of us riding around in that car, top down, celebrating a well-lived life. One of the rewards of growing old together.

Well, that was not to be. One of many dreams that I did not realize meant something only to me, not to “us.” But, you know, it gets boring feeling sad about stuff like that. One day you start thinking; hey what about buying something that would make me happy? What about something to make new memories?

So when I decided to look for a hybrid, I found myself telling the car salesman I wanted a green car. Period. It had to be green. I had already decided to buy a used car, (thank you Clark Howard!) but was surprised to hear myself say green only. I was not in a hurry and I was willing to wait for what I wanted. My car salesman, a young man named Todd, patiently explained to me that used Prius were hard to come by and usually sold within twenty-four hours of reaching the lot. Most people are happy to just find one. I said okay just call me when you get a green one. When one came in a few days later, he called me, laughing, saying I can’t believe it but I’ve got one. When I saw the car I understood why it had to be green.

This is my Malibu convertible. It is a gorgeous green; most of my friends describe it as sage. Sage is an important word in my life. The color is my favorite. I love cooking with the herb. And I am surrounded with sage artists, healers, and creators; old souls.

My Prius, now named Sage, is not flashy, is not sexy, and is not imbued with old memories.

It is expectant. It is poised for new dreams, new explorations, and new experiences. I’m looking forward, not back. And every single cell in my body is dancing with the possibilities. 

Resilience

Path near the Stillwater River

While walking along a path in one of my local parks, I noticed this tree in bloom. As I looked closer, I realized that one of the branches was snapped, almost completely severed. Yet this very tenuously attached branch was in full and glorious bloom! What resilience. What perseverance. Despite being terribly traumatized, this bough flowered on.

Flowering bough

When I first accepted that I had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from dealing with betrayal and a marriage gone terribly wrong, a friend sent me a page from her book of daily readings entitled Broken to be More Beautiful. I've held on to that reading and that thought as I heal. This tenacious branch reminded me again to stay the course, persevere, and share my beauty.

Broken, yet still creating beauty

           

Storm Body

Judy Abrahamson (writing)

Hurricane Faye

Wind
Refreshing, caressing
Blowing acceptance over naked skin
Lightning overhead, surf below
Healing coolness all around
I am at peace
My body is my own.

Judy Abrahamson

I met this poet several years ago when she shared Hurricane Faye at a writing workshop. I was just beginning this journey to connect with my body and her poem struck a deep chord. It made me cry. I loved it so much that I asked her to submit it to Story Circle Network's annual anthology True Words from Real Women, 2008. I was editor that year with my dear friend and fellow writer Becca Taylor.

What resonated most was the line, "My body is my own." I was feeling so bad about myself and my body. So unloved, so rejected, and so disconnected. That wild hurricane, her oneness with it, the peace of laying claim to her own body made me aware of what I didn't have and what I both want and need. It is a long journey from living and being mostly for someone else to recognizing and honoring myself. To knowing my own beauty and value. To claiming my own power. It is not an easy journey. It is not quick. It is not finished. But words like these heal and encourage and inspire.

When ever a storm rolls through Ohio, accompanied by thunder and lightning and wind, I remember this poem. And I take time to connect with my own storm body, to appreciate who I am and who I am becoming.

Picture This

My plan was to attend a workshop on dirt. Yep, dirt. My aim was to find out how to test the soil in my garden to see if it needed supplementing. Instead I found myself in the third class of a six week series on photography. Here's how it happened. I went into the community center where the dirt class was scheduled. I was a bit late. When I entered the building from the sunny parking lot, my eyes had some trouble adjusting to the dimmed light in the room I entered. So I kept my eyes down and found an empty seat. As my eyes adjusted and I began to look at the slide being projected and began to listen to the speaker, I realized he was definitely not talking about dirt.

He was discussing, not compost but, composition as it relates to photography. I stayed in my seat and hung on every word. And took copious notes. And felt that happy feeling that curls your toes when you realize you have just been given exactly what your heart desires. I'd been hoping to find a good basic photography class. I love taking pictures for this blog. Actually, what I've discovered is that I love taking pictures period. And here I am in a photography class.

But it gets better. The instructor Adam Alonzo mentioned that the next meeting will be a critique class and each person can submit two photographs to be considered for critique. I decided that moment to submit. These are the two photos I sent him along with a request for the handouts from the first two sessions which he promptly sent.

I choose them simply because I like them. I am hopeful at least one will be selected for critique because I want to improve my skills. It's a bit scary, a bit intimidating, and a lot exciting! I keep humming these lyrics from the Rolling Stones, "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what you need."

Zenadew

Handstand # 7

The Drinkin' O' the Green

I'm Irish. I have many happy memories of St. Patrick's Day celebrations: Irish step dancing, vibrant Celtic music, shamrock plants, cold beer, Irish soda bread, and always wearing green so as to not get pinched! Post cancer and focusing on caring for my body, I've switched my focus from the "wearin' o' the green" to the "drinkin' o' the green," green tea that is!

I drink about three cups of green tea every day. I prefer either Trader Joe's Organic Green Tea or Tazo Zen tea, a green tea, lemongrass and spearmint mix. I've read that to get the full benefit of the antioxidants in green tea it is necessary to steep the tea for ten minutes. The problem is that in ten minutes the tea is no longer hot. Humph.

Nancy Snyder

The problem was solved for me by my friend and potter Nancy Snyder of 5th St Clayworx. Nancy makes, among other things, beautiful hand thrown mugs with lids. The lid sits on top of the mug while the tea is steeping and keeps in the heat. The lid then makes a handy place to put the bag. The bonus is that this mug is truly beautiful. The shades of brown and touches of green and blue are a visual feast and make the ten minute wait tolerable.

Mug and fitted lid

Gorgeous and functional

Today's breakfast of green tea and Irish Soda bread (recipe below) was good for the soul because I thought of my friend and her passion for her art. All those antioxidants are good for my body. And starting my day with something beautiful sparks my creativity.  Slainte!

Here's an easy recipe for Irish Soda Bread. I used organic sugar, butter, raisins, and milk but couldn't find organic self-rising flour. Next year I'll figure out how to replace the flour as well.

Irish Soda Bread

4 c. self-rising flour
1/2 c. sugar
4 T. butter
8 oz. raisins
2 c. milk

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Grease and flour two loaf pans.

Mix first three ingredients well. Slowly add in milk. Blend in raisins. Shape into two loaves, place in pans and bake 50-70 minutes until a knife inserted into the loaf comes out clean and the top is beautifully browned. Best served with Irish butter!

At 60 - Find Your Way

In December 2009, while shopping at a lovely artist's boutique at the DVAC Gallery for Christmas gifts for my creative kindred spirits, I discovered the fused glass jewelry of Diane Zubrick and fell in love with this pendant and bought it for myself. I've since worn it quite often.  I love the idea of having a travel permit, or passport, entitling me to a creative journey. 

Last week my friend, Jewels, noticed it and asked to take a closer look. She handed it back to me casually mentioning how appropriate it is that the  return fare is 60, as in Sensuously Sixty, and the final words are, "Find your way." I never put that together. Here I am, at sixty, finding my way. Perfect.