Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Five Senses Tour, After the Circus

   This morning I woke up to a painfully quiet, slightly disheveled house. 
Handsome and I crept outside for the first Hot Tub Summit in two weeks, 
and now I am close to tears. No, wait, I am in full blown tears now. 
For the past ten days or so the farm has been filled with other people’s offspring, 
and now they are all home where they belong. And I miss them. 
Every one of them, so much.  I’ll share more about our week together soon, 
but this morning I need to “reset” with a Senses Tour. 
Then I need to go clean this house. Like, for serious you guys.

See:  Matt’s Cool Whip hand print on the glass of the back door, evidence of a spectacular food fight. Several empty plastic two-liter bottles laying tiredly in the living room. Crumpled bed sheets on two well cuddled twin beds. Water-color artwork by Harley. Score sheet from a vicious UNO tournament. Mud puddles outside. Dried muddy footprints inside.

Hear:  Almost nothing. Even the animals are quiet this morning, possibly stunned into silence by the sudden lack of activity. I only hear the ceiling fan and the tapping of my keyboard. I no longer hear laughing, squealing, chattering kids. I no longer hear Mortal Kombat vs. DC Comics playing in the background. I also do not hear the ice dispenser struggling to produce something it does not have. I do hear a few echoes of happy people.

Smell: Time for some extreme honesty, friends… The cinnamon-vanilla Scentsy I switched on this morning is not doing much to combat the ambiguous funk. I have a date with some bleach today. And some baking soda. And every cleaning tool known to man. Thank goodness for the overnight rainstorm, because I can walk outside for some fresh air and inhale that wonderful ozone fragrance.

Touch: Breeze from the ceiling fan on my shoulder. Sore legs from running and roller skating. Tears drying on my face. Slightly crunchy wood floors beneath my bare feet. Did I mention this house is getting scrubbed today?

Think: How many miles will I need to log on each of the next sixteen days to meet my Iron Goat goals? Will Sammy ever truly get her revenge on Matt? Do my own human chickens understand the truth of things? How far-gone am I, spiritually? I wonder if that basil is ready to cut yet. It is a flat-out miracle from heaven that I didn’t gain any weight this week.

Feel: A deep connection to my girls and the peace of a long view. Relief for some practical matters and high tension for some professional ones. Swells of love for these five young people who made a two-week appearance in our life. Excitement for an upcoming bee hive exercise!

We are very thankful to our friends and family who trusted us 
with their incredible sons and daughters these past two weeks. 
We had such fun, learned and remembered so much we had been missing, 
and basically loved every second. Talk about memory making!
I can promise you I will never forget this little slice of summertime! 
Now I’m going to go cry myself silly while cleaning. It’s therapeutic.

Kids are Amazing.
Appreciate Them.
And Also Keep Bleach Handy.
xoxoxo

Wedding in Instagram

 Hey you guys! Remember how we had no personal photos of the wedding we hosted here two Saturdays ago? Well, thanks to my friend Marci, who along with her darling offspring and gentleman beau also helped a ton with Brian & Rebecca’s wedding, we have a few more photos at our disposal. She shared her Instagram snap shots with me, and I am sharing them with you. Thanks again Marci!!

   Incidentally, these are some of the best visuals of a few of the Pinterest projects we chose as a group.

   This sign is cool because the picket itself came from my Dad. Mysti stenciled the lettering. Susan painted over the stenciling in white. Handsome nailed it all together and sank it into the rock hard earth. Juliana helped me decorate it after sunset the night before the wedding. And now Brian, the new groom, has placed it in the happy couple’s new garden! A team effort if ever there was one.
   Here is the beautiful bride making her gentle way down the aisle. Rebecca looked incredible and treated everyone with love and warmth, from the first wedding conversation a month ago till the last minute of the wild reception. And do you see the blue hydrangeas? Debbie brought two such gorgeous arrangements to mark the aisle. The day was so windy that we had to place a thousand rocks at the base of each one but everything turned out just fine. Also, you can see Luis, the talented photographer in the background. Have you watched his artistic slideshow yet? Beautiful.
   
   Here we have the precious 8-year-old Juliana and the slightly less precious 38-year-old me. The previous night we had agreed to both wear sock buns, a’la Pinterest of course. This little girl was not only a LOT of help; she was also a true joy to have flitting around the farm, and I think she made fast friends with Madison, Rebecca’s sweet little girl. Hey there’s Luis again!
   Who has two thumbs and is a sucker for blurred white twinkle lights??? This guy. Oh, and here is one way we used the four million coffee-filter poms sewn and fluffed out by Jacqueline, Susan, Rebecca, Marci, and probably more wonderful ladies. 
   
   This was hands down my personal favorite part of the wedding decor. Our exuberant Oklahoma wind really made the most out of these free-form blue and white tree streamers, wildly installed by Juliana and her big brother Koby. Later that Saturday night, we had some pretty hefty thunderstorms, and so these fluffy tissue beauties became shrunken, pasted beauties. But the effect was wonderful for the special day, and I will definitely be doing this again.
   Rebecca’s nephew cut dozens of sheet music triangles, and Debbie and Susan constructed yards and yards of these paper pennants for decorating the reception trees. 
   
   We placed various succulents and potted ivies along with sand-and-candle-filled mason jars throughout the reception. The tables were all dressed in old linens and lace, borrowed from so many generous ladies.
   Dusty was feeling amorous that day.
   And apparently he was rubbing off on Daphne.
   What a relief to have a few more photos. What a fun collection of projects. And most importantly, what a memory-rich day. 
Whew!
xoxoxo

Easter Past and Present

   One of the happiest Sundays of the year is just a couple of days away… Happy Easter you guys! How do you celebrate? Our traditions are kind of a mash up of my Catholic heritage and Handsome’s straight line Bible upbringing. From my childhood, I remember a version of Seder meals, palm fronds burned into ashes for crossing ourselves at Lent’s onset, purple satin, and the weekly, suspenseful countdown culminating in a jubilant Easter Sunday service. I remember lots of white flowers always and a huge, towering wooden cross.

   Handsome’s heritage is based on passionate preaching. Beautiful, strict adherence to the gospel and sincere wonderment at the prophecies that led up to Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection. They have used the same tall cross wrapped in white satin for years. They also fill the church with white flowers which are always sent home for in-laws, friends, and far flung loved ones.

   Did you notice the satin and flowers? Our lives before marriage are filled with uncanny connections like this. And for the handful of dogma differences between the faiths, both of our incredible families in their own ways lay out delicious feasts and shower the kids in candy, egg hunts, frills, and love.

   In our marriage, then, we have learned to do a lot of blending, and Easter-time is when these hybrid practices are most evident. I like to roll out the Jewish remembrances and Old Testament stuff, which he tolerates with a smile. And he really, really, really loves his chocolate Easter bunnies. Like, so much you guys.

   Anyway, this Easter without the kiddos we are not dyeing eggs or filling baskets with fluffy pretty things. I think we’ll light a big bonfire here at the farm and cross our fingers that some of the chicken eggs hatch. Some of them are due, after all, and we do tend to get baby chicks ever year on Easter Sunday! One of our roosters named Peep was hatched two Easters ago. I am certain he has sired many chicks by now.

   Sunday we will be at church and then with both of our big beautiful families, taking pictures of nieces and nephews, filling up on ham and sugar and love. In the mean time I am so happy to dig through old photos and memories and share a few glimpses of Easter Past…

“Then ye shall say, it is the sacrifice of the Lord’s Passover,
who passed over the houses of the children of Israel in Egypt
when he smote the Egyptians, and delivered our houses. 
And the people bowed the head and worshiped.”
~Exodus 12:27

One of our personal traditions has been to cover the front door frame in paper then paint it red,
to symbolize the sacrificial blood required for the Passover.
Of course this is to facilitate the message about Jesus being the ultimate sacrifice.
Here is one of many front door paintings over the years, this time in 2006.  xoxo
Look at those sparkling dark brown eyes!
And I just love “good morning” hair on my girls…
Makes me want to snuggle them and inhale their sunshine perfume!
Easter morning is when solemnity ends for us.
The waiting is over because the stone is rolled away!
We are all candy and color and fun, pomp and circumstance!
(Egad! Looks like I was hoping for a resurrection for that poinsettia!)

 
   If springtime is when the earth reawakens, then Easter is when my spirit does. No doubt about it, witnessing so much spontaneous life all around us grows more amazing every year. If seeds can sprout just by sitting on top of damp soil, untended and unwept, then surely Love can spark in even the dimmest relationships. Surely healing can be delivered to withering bodies. Love is what makes this happen, and it is the most powerful force of all. When something is promised to you, however unlikely it seems, trust it. When you have heard that whisper that everything is gonna be alright, then stop railing against the circumstances and just be ready for it.

“And behold, there was a great earthquake:
for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, 
and came and rolled back 
the STONE from the door, and sat upon it.”
~Matthew 28:2

Happy girl in white lace gloves at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for a big cousins egg hunt! 2006
She has downright infectious laughter and can squeeze the air out you with one of her famous hugs!

They wore their dresses and bonnets all day long!
Our first Easter at the farm, 2008.
Our house looked so different before the fire that happened a few months later!
This pretty girl is my baby offering a very solemn Bible reading
before our traditional sader meal of grape juice and unleavened bread.
We usually do this on Good Friday.
Another door painting for Passover. Look how much the girls grew!
Over the years they memorized our unique traditions.
If I almost forgot the foot washing, they let me know!
Admittedly that part is pretty nice.
In 2008 we were blessed with a set of adorable pygmy goat twins just in time for Easter.
We packed them up  in a basket full of baby blankets and took them to church!
(I resisted the intense urge to dress them in Easter frocks… sufficed with lacy blankets instead.)
There was much baa-ing and giggling during service, and all the kids wanted to hold them.
This is one of the hidden benefits of attending a small church. You can bring your goats if you feel like it.
My beautiful first born. The artist, the feeler, the animal tender.
She watched over those goats all of that very long, happy Sunday
and let Spice (this gray little girl) nap on her whenever she needed it.
I love you baby. xoxoxo You amaze me in so many ways.
Here is my gorgeous little sister Ang with her baby and my little buddy Kenz.
The baby goats were a handful, but they did not lack for attention that Easter!
   So maybe your Easter traditions are steeped in faith and ceremony. Or maybe they are lovely pastel shades of chocolate and Pagan (wink-wink, rib-rib, totally kidding). Better yet, maybe your customs are a perfectly American blend of the two. However you celebrate this weekend, the Lazy W wishes you and yours lots of love, lots of joy, and lots of deep refreshment. The best kind, the kind that lasts and lasts. 
“But whosoever drinketh of the water 
that I shall give him shall never thirst;
but the water that I shall give him 
shall be in him a WELL
of water springing up into everlasting life.”
~John 4:14

Celebrating New Life is Good.
Believing in Impossible Miracles is Better.
Happy Easter You Guys!
xoxoxo

Famous Last Words: the Forest Incident

   So, a few weeks ago my ten-four-good-buddy M Half was visiting the farm. Somewhere between her remote office laptop work and conference calls, my multitudinous farm chores, and the need for us both to get cleaned up for another installment of our world famous book club which we affectionately call “Dinner Club With a Reading Problem,” *take a deep breath* she and I decided to thrust ourselves into the quiet and solitude of the Pine Forest. We needed some Zen, you guys. We laid everything aside, found suitable footwear (okay, yes, I just kept my rubber boots on, whatever), and paced toward the green, threat-less edge of the wild. 
   Here’s the thing. In hindsight I see our crossing of that gated threshold between the Lazy W and the Pine Forest a bit like the beginning of a good thriller movie. Neither of us knew it at the time, but we were about to make a few memories. Like, for real you guys. 
   Why haven’t I written about this yet? Why now, almost a month late? Because it shook me to my core. My tree-climbing, childhood summers-in-the-country, horse whispering, ain’t-skeeird core. I have spent the last few weeks digesting and coming to terms with what happened, what almost happened, and how it all came out in the wash. Plus, of course, M Half wrote about it last night and spicily bet everyone ten bucks I would follow suit today. So here we go. Here is my ten dollar story.
********************
I. The Setting:

   The forest was bright and friendly that afternoon. We passed by the abandoned and mostly demolished workshop where the owls eat their prey then threaded our way between wild roses, dormant cherry trees, and baby loblolly pines. This is a sparse expanse of the property, easily navigated. The pale prairie grasses crunched beneath our feet. Sunshine sliced through the leafy canopy and warmed us up pretty quickly. I remember having worn a light jacket but not needing it for long.

   We paused at a particularly open, grassy spot where the sunshine poured in freely, like liquid gold, and we dubbed it Yoga Meadow. Having just pressed through a half hour of yoga together back at the house, M Half and I were in the mood to commemorate the peacefulness. We may or may not have done some heavy-footed, jacket-impeded spontaneous poses right there in Yoga Meadow. Imagine Madonna in Vogue crossed awkwardly with Mary Catherine Gallagher from SNL.
II. Onward…
   We descended through the forest, which slopes downhill as you head either north or west away from the farm. Perhaps this is a good time to point out that I was eventually unsure of what direction we were headed. We slipped through dilapidated interior gates (but never crossed a fence, this is crucial information). We followed deer trails and marveled at unusual divets in the thick pine needle floor. We listened. We admired. We soaked up nature and shared a certain astonishment that so much wildness was so near home.

   I think I said something like, “You know, I used to let the kids hike in here all the time, and I’ve been here a hundred times alone, but never this deep. We’ve never been past that fence.” M Half and I more or less agreed about the unlikelihood of getting lost so close to home. Which is to say that I arrogantly assured my friend there was no way we would ever get lost so close to home.

   People should keep track of the stupid things they say. 
   We hiked lower and lower, trading light, effortless conversation, touching the tree bark and watching the undergrowth increase dramatically with every step. I noticed my companion’s delicacy, her wish to disturb as little as possible, even if it meant doing some crazy bends and dips. She is an experienced, cosmopolitan hiker who has navigated beautiful places in Colorado, Arizona, and Costa Rica, probably much more. I am just a wide eyed tromper who is happy enough to have explored hundreds of great places right here in Oklahoma plus a few in Louisiana. (I don’t think a Mexico honeymoon counts for the purposes of this story.)

   While she was avoiding leaving even a footprint, I was collecting what few wildflowers I could find and snapping off slender tree branches so I could “force” them to bloom in a vase of water back home. I was raised to be respectful of nature but accept her wonderful gifts. This is not where the dissimilarity ended that day.


III. More Examples of How Differently We Experienced That Hike:

  • I climbed a tree that was designed specifically for climbing. It was perfect. She watched patiently from the ground and was apparently scripting in her head explanations to Handsome  about my inevitable mouth injuries. There were none, thanktheheavensabove.
  • Having been home when the storms hit a few years ago, I was relatively unfazed by our discovery of tornado debris still remaining in some of the trees. She seemed almost saddened by it, or at least stunned.
  • I must have looked behind us, over my shoulder, about ten thousand times, wondering over and over again why it suddenly got so quiet in there, while she just pressed confidently on the chosen path. No biggie, her posture seemed to say. We got this.
  • I was afraid. She was undisturbed. I would make it home in tears of panic. She would make it home in tears of laughter.
IV. Fast forward about 45 minutes, or maybe it was 3 hours: 

   At some point quite deep into the hike, my writerly friend and I discovered not only deer droppings but also cow patties. 

   Cow patties. In the forest.  The forest that is supposedly fenced off. Where no one lives. Where certainly no one keeps cows. A phantom cow. A phantom menace cow.
   
   Now, you guys, you know I have a buffalo who is as sweet as can be, and I know how to deal with him and horses and mean roosters and geese and everything, but cows are very different. 
V. My Fear of Cows Background: 

   When I was a little girl on one of those tromping expeditions with a few other young Okies (cousins), we were once viciously, rabidly, undeservedly chased and subsequently treed by a cow. This is one good reason to be a skilled tree climber, even past the age when most people find it reasonable to climb trees. You never know when a cow will chase you up one. It happened to us also on the edge of a forest, also in the quiet, like this day with M Half. My cousins and I were in that tree for over an hour, and it was flat out terrifying. I thought I was going to die. 

   The day of my hike with M Half, though, what did I actually say? Probably just, “Hey, look, I think that’s a cow patty. Huh” Trying to act all cool. She could not have known that from that moment on my heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird and as violently as a bass drum. My bovine terror was the beginning of the end of our peaceful adventure. 

VI. Things declined rapidly from there:
   We approached a new boundary, another dry creek bed, which M Half seemed happy to cross, and I nearly had a panic attack. I wanted to be home in the worst way, not extending our distance! I could not see any buildings, could not hear any of our animals, not even Mia’s heartsick moaning, could not even tell which direction was north, and I felt that prickly heat stabbing at my armpits. My eyes were glued open at maximum dilation. I was on high alert and was actively thanking God I had not brought my children on this misadventure. Because everyone knows that cows, vengeful creatures that they are, love to eat juicy, tender children.
   Then as we tried to elbow our way back from whence we came, the landmarks had shifted. We thought we were following the same trees and errant plastic milk crate, but then it was clear we were not. It was painfully clear to me and humorously clear to her that we were not headed back the same way we came.
   It took every ounce of self control I could muster to not break down into tears.  
   I was working my way through a maze of braided tree branches, desperate for a clear path and vowing to never again wander so far from home, when to my right appeared a low, thick, dome-topped structure. Kind of like a small hut. Kind of like a den. About two feet away from me. Where my boots were fairly stuck in the leaves, mud, and undergrowth.
   Oh my God, it’s probably a wolverine den, I moaned inwardly as the panic mounted in my body. But audibly all I said was “Hey look, some kind of a den.” Again, the undersell was pathetic and probably transparent.
   M Half, at that exact moment, said in her cheerful, experienced-hiker voice, “Hey do you have bears in Oklahoma?” 

   “WHAT?! Why would you SAY that?!” I was suddenly shrieking at her. I could no longer hide my terror. Without any warning my secret fears came spilling out all over my bewildered friend. I tore mercilessly through those low, braided branches, determined not to get caught by either a bear or a wolverine. Or a cow. Our pace increased tenfold as we searched for the red dirt road, for any dirt road, for any sign of civilization.

   Every twig that snapped beneath our feet was possibly a beast thirsty for our guts and marrow. When a rabbit darted in front of me I screamed bloody murder, a long, exaggerated wailing, pleading for my life kind of scream that unfortunately made M Half giggle uncontrollably.  It was, again, pathetic on my part, and it was also a recipe for our first real fight as friends. 

VII. The Attack:

   Out of nowhere appeared a coyote and a bobcat working in tandem to kill us. Or, according to M, they were two “smallish to medium sized” dogs, I am still not sure. They stopped on our path, looked us directly in the eyes, then turned on their murderous heels and ran in a straight line toward a property we had just noticed ourselves. It was hidden behind some trees, an unsavory and foreign looking place that was probably the home of a serial killer.

   M Half, still sweetly oblivious to the opposite effect being had by her attempts to calm me, said, “Don’t worry, they’re just going to tell their owner we’re here…”

   “Are you serious? That is not good! People have guns and I think we’re trespassing!!” I started jogging. Which is to say that I willingly left M Half to her own devices. Side note, when I told my Mom this part of the story about a week later, she scolded me for leaving my friend behind. Awesome.

VIII. Then the road: 

   We found it just as suddenly as we had discovered our desperation. The blessed, unpaved, tire tracks red dirt road which would prove to be either our salvation or the site of our final, ironic demise. I had the sensation of vertigo, where the actual length of the road stretched out elastically, bending and eluding my clumsy, rubber-booted feet. I would have felt more stable on a moving fun house floor.

   Within seconds, from that unfamiliar property behind us, a truck engine came to life. No, it roared to life. The driver who had turned its ignition key was clearly digging his foot deeply and repeatedly into the accelerator much the same way he wanted to dig a knife deep into my belly. Revving it wildly. I started to sprint, but M Half protested.

   “Just walk, calm down, it’s okay…”
   

   I have these vague, disconnected memories of my level headed (if slightly naive) buddy trying in different ways to calm me down, to slow me down a bit, assuring me of things like never in the daylight, never so close to home, we’re not even wearing bikinis, etc, etc. Part of me remembers her trying to touch my arm, to soothe me, and I tossed her off, brimming with bitter adrenaline, unwilling to be talked down from my ledge of hysteria.

IX. Home Sweet Home:

   Eventually, of course, we made it down that elastic length of red dirt and found the perpendicular paved road which would lead us home. Although I felt like we had hiked to the ends of the known world, the farm was in fact only about a quarter of a mile away. M Half was full on laughing by then, and I really can’t blame her. But it was a while before I could sincerely join her in that levity.

   As we shoved open the front gate and walked sweatily and trembling up the driveway, she and I both noticed that the Lazy W animals were also on high alert. The horses were tense, ears pricked forward and eyes wide, the buffalo’s tail was straight up in the air like an exclamation point, and the geese and guineas were screaming and flying around the yard, definitely panic stricken.

   We can only guess exactly why the barnyard was so steeped in chaos upon our return, but in my heart I know they felt my fear. They might have even heard me scream, realizing now how close to home we actually were when it happened. But we were safe. No serial killer or cow or coyote would dare battle our many loving animals for my life or that of my friend.

********************
   So that’s my ten dollar story. Please compare it to M Half’s to get an alternate version of the truth (rib-rib). And for goodness’ sake, if you go on a hike, use breadcrumbs.
Hansel & Gretel Were Smart
xoxoxoxo

Share the Shine Project, Passing it Forward!

    This story today is even more long and circular than usual, 
so please bear with me. 
xoxoxo

***Background***

   When my girls were little we had lots of driving-to-school rituals, one of them resulting in the name of my little textiles effort, Green Goose, a story I’ll tell some other day, and another having to do with Christian radio. The three of us listened to K-Love a lot, simmering in the upbeat songs and fun lyrics just like so many other people. It makes for a positive morning!

   One of our favorite songs was called Shine by the Newsboys. We would crank it up, sing along, laugh about at the silly parts with Eskimos and origami, and share the energy. Lots of laughter. Lots of smiles and air kisses. Although the three of us don’t drive around together much these days and when we do we’re catching up furiously, racing our conversations against the clock instead of singing along to the radio,  Shine remains one of my all time favorite songs. This probably has a lot to do with the loving memories with my girls, but the song is just plain good.
   Give it a listen if you have exactly 3:44. Here’s an i-Tunes link. And here are the super fun and motivating lyrics. Funny thing, we used to sing the word ketchup somewhere in there, and now I don’t see it anywhere. Huh. Also, I never noticed “Oprah” before. Whatevv.



   My Sweet Chickens on the way to school in 2006
They shine in every way. 
If you know them, you know what I’m talking about.
xoxoxo

***Recent History***

   Okay, there’s a bigger reason I’m telling you about this. The word shine is special to me, and recently it stood out in a cool way. A few weeks ago I was browsing a sewing blog that has blossomed into a seriously soul nourishing blog called Lil Blue Boo. The owner and writer, Ashley, is a beautiful young woman battling cancer and sharing her story with the biggest dose of joy you can imagine. She chooses joy! I am seriously inspired by her, as are a lot of people. Well, she recently gained a new sponsor in the form of another  beautiful young woman also named Ashley, and her site is called The Shine Project.

   I am not exaggerating to tell you that upon browsing Ashley’s Shine site I felt that same rib rattling joy I used to feel when singing with my girls on the way to school. Yes, it could be the word coincidence, but only in part. She drums up a craving to move beyond “enough” and really be vibrant. To really, truly, shine, every single day. No matter your circumstances, no matter your resources, no matter your fears. Just gather up all you’ve got, smile from deep inside, and shine. She encourages and motivates people to serve others.

   She also sells simple charmed necklaces and tee shirts to raise money for college scholarships for kids in her area (Phoenix, AZ), but the encouragement to Shine is about all parts of life, and I love it. 

   I ordered a necklace and have been checking in on her writing here and there, and today I get to be part of launching a new project. 
***On Shining & Passing It Forward***

(Please check out the Spread the Shine site for complete details.)


   Starting this week, a large quantity 
of pre-printed cards 
will be circulating the globe.
They look like this:


SHINECARDback(1)new.jpg


They’re kinda like little “pass it forward” Olympic torches 
than belong either to no one at all or to all of us at once, 
depending on how you like to look at things.


Each card has its own identification number, 
correlating to a special site Ashley has designed.


As the cards move about the world, 
one personal transaction at a time, 
spreading good will and small, 
random acts of kindness, 
the unique stories attached to them 
will be gradually documented on the site.


That is, if everyone takes the time to participate, 
and why wouldn’t you?


Talk about a community building affair!
So if one of these cards happens your way,
please join the effort.
It does not have to be expensive.
It just has to be selfless.


   Okay, that’s my long winded celebration today. I’m pretty excited about this, and I am really looking forward to receiving my card in the mail so I can start its circulation in our little corner of paradise. (I already know who’s getting it first!) Remember, you don’t need a pre-printed card to be randomly or intentionally kind. And your life does not have to be perfect in order for you to shine, today.

   Take a deep breath, gaze at all the blessings in your life, and embrace joy fully! Love and joy are powerful antidotes to pain, I really believe that. And we all have so much to share with others. Let’s get to it.
Be radiant, be happy, pass it forward!
xoxoxo