I’ve been taking daily walks as I visit my daughter and her three children in the Midwest.

I don’t know where anything is here, and she lives on a very steep hilly street, so I make my way down her street to the cemetery for my walks.

I remember when I was in elementary school we took a field trip to an old cemetery.

We were given large pieces of paper, and we looked for the most interesting tombstone.

Once we found one, we’d take black chalk and make a rubbing of the engraving on the tombstone.

My active imagination tried to envision what it would be like to live 100 years ago…or more.

In high school, the cemetery was the stuff of urban legend. If you drove around the statue three times in a row, it would come to life and point at you.

I skipped that activity.

I am not spooked by cemeteries, but I don’t choose to go there at night.

During the day, the cemetery here is a peaceful place with wide cement drives throughout.

It’s moderately hilly, and I’ve chosen different paths each time I’ve gone there.

Most of the people I know talk of how they want to be cremated instead of buried. I understand that sentiment.

They don’t want the fuss and expense.

As I walk, I look at the names set in or above the ground. Once in a while, a monument will catch my eye.

The people who chose cemeteries must want to be remembered. Or maybe it’s their loved ones wanting a tangible place to go and visit them in memory.

I have little experience with cemeteries.

The first gravesite ceremony I went to was for the father of my son, killed suddenly in car accident when he was 20.

It was a grey, cold November day when he was laid to rest. The wind cut bitterly against my skin, peppering me with abrasive snow whipped up from the high desert mountain slope that would be his final resting place.

I didn’t return to that small family cemetery for a couple of years. When I did, it was warm and sunny, and the grass covered his grave. I lay on his gravesite, somehow trying to get closer. To remember.

I returned to that small cemetery after his mother died of breast cancer. I couldn’t go to the gravesite service because of a heavy snowfall, and I had to fly home the next day.

Instead, I came back during the warm days again, and once more felt a longing to see her.

March of this year was the next time I was at a cemetery. My beloved mother in law had passed away, and I was there moments after her death, through the funeral, and to the gravesite service. Again it was cold out, but it was the day before spring. I was moved by the fact we laid her to rest just as the earth began to awaken again with new life.

I think of those I have lost as I walk through the cemetery here. I wonder what I will do when my time comes.

I like the thought of having a final place of rest. Of being remembered. Of flowers brought, prayers sent. A peaceful, lovely place with trees.

We all face that decision one day.

Walking through the cemetery, I say names out loud of those buried there. How long has it been since someone said their name?

The wind carries their names off, and I walk home.

This morning as I drank my coffee at my daughters house, I looked out the kitchen window at the robins just outside.

Several robins were foraging for food, and I realized I hadn’t seen a robin since spring.

I live in the South, and a robin sighting heralds the coming of spring. Before it gets too hot, they head north again.

I’m in the Midwest now, and the robins are getting ready to head south.

It’s full circle.

I miss having all four seasons where I live. Most of all, I miss autumn.

We just had a cold snap here, and I know that will brighten the leaves that are starting to turn. I’m looking forward to seeing the leaves glow bright before they release from their host to gently float to the ground.

At home, live oak leaves fall, brittle and green, year-round. Acorns cover my driveway, but most of them are still green, knocked down by the herd of squirrels that patrols my yard.

At my daughters house, the squirrels feeding alongside the robins are big red squirrels. They dwarf the eastern grey squirrels that patrol my yard. I even spotted a black squirrel in the back yard here.

At home the weather goes from temperate to hot, to hurricane season, to hot, to pleasant.

Nothing to indicate seasons changing, cycles of life, dormancy to new life again.

Just relentless heat, with a few breaks of nice weather.

So why do I live there? My parents, brothers, and three of my children call it home. My husbands job keeps us there for the foreseeable future.

In the mean time, I’m grateful I can travel. I fly to the Midwest to see Autumn, to bundle up on cold nights, sleep soundly without A/C blasting.

In winter I’ve gone to Europe and slept in feather beds in the alps. I go home to the Wasatch Front, reveling in the powdery snow and bright blue skies.

In November I’ll return home, and the weather should be pleasant. I’ll walk the coast and appreciate the most beautiful beach on the planet.

I’m counting my blessings, and my family is on top, so I’ll remember how far we’ve come, and tolerate the heat when it comes.

I’m driving to see my child and grandsons, and I stopped for the night in the town where my husband grew up – in Kentucky.

Kentucky will always mean home for me now.

In March when his mother passed away in Indiana, we were there moments after she stepped into eternity.

Mom was born and raised in Kentucky. She grew up on a farm here.

After a couple of other moves, Mom and Dad landed in this small town. They built a house and owned a farm, and raised their children here in Kentucky.

My husband lived here in that home they built from the age of 18 months until he graduated from high school…and it continued to symbolize home until it was suddenly auctioned off eight years ago, abruptly closing that chapter of life.

Mom was Kentucky, through and through. She loved living in the country, in this small town.

For years, we came to the farm every Christmas, and every Fourth of July. We sat on the porch and watched her beloved cardinals. We ate wonderful meals she made, with jams and jellies homemade from fruits of her garden. We cheered with her for the UK basketball team – she was a fanatic, and had her own television in the kitchen, so she could watch every game.

She loved her kids, and adored her grandkids – all of them. This was comfort for my kids and I, who married in to her wonderful love. She would grasp my hands and sincerely thank me for loving her son, for she knew the destruction he had endured. Every single time she saw me, she thanked me. I would respond to her “thank you for raising such a wonderful son!”

When we came to Indiana after she died, it felt like Indiana feels to us…surreal. Like we are interlopers. Not quite right.

Mom had people who loved her in Indiana, but they moved her there from Kentucky when her memory was starting to fray around the edges. It was obvious living down a long driveway, miles from help or neighbors, just wasn’t safe for her anymore.

They got a nice house in a nice neighborhood in Indiana, close to her daughters.

That home wasn’t associated with Mom for us. The longer she lived there, the more she incrementally disappeared. We visited her a year before she died – she was still herself during the day, but at night she sundowned, retreating to the Kentucky of her girlhood.

She was buried in Indiana. Our grief has been stunted, and delayed. We miss her every day, but at her funeral, we left more troubled than settled.

This afternoon, I drove to the old Kentucky home of my husband’s childhood. I stood next to the massive magnolia at the end of the driveway, staring up at the house where Mom lived. The house she decorated with angels and Christmas trees year round. The home that welcomed us all, year after year.

I stood, shaking, and looked at the trees Dad had planted, having gathered them from the riverbank decades ago. They towered over me as they circled the drive.

I wanted to go to the back yard, to see the porch Mom spent so much time on…but another family lives there now. I sat at the end of the long driveway, taking it all in.

I cried all the way back to the hotel – I feel Mom here. We have so many years of happy memories with her here.

Everywhere I went today reminded me of a happy memory with her. Today was a bittersweet gift, a release that has been looking to escape.

I know she’s in heaven, and that comforts me.

Kentucky always will mean Mom to me.

Thank you for that, Mom.

Today we are jetting south.

After a month and a half of drought, I was thrilled to see clouds above me as we took off.

As we ascended and curved, the mountainous billows of clouds soon surrounded our small plane.

At least it seems like a very small plane from up here, above it all.

Down below, so much is going on. It’s been a rough week. Unseasonably hot, humid days. Health challenges.

Above it all up here, though, there is just a deep blue sky, from a deep, endless clear pure blue, fading to a pale white-blue as it met land. The giant cloud formation was like a mountain outside my window – massive, tumbling down the sky, and ever near to me.

We climbed higher still, and the summer hot haze differentiated the sky from the horizon. If I squinted, I could imagine a vast ocean below me, the haze smooth and blue grey.

Up here, it’s severe clear. There are no troubles. No stress – for me at least, as I love the miracle of flying.

My goal for the next ten days is to relax. I’m unplugging from the Internet and all social media. I’m going to read books, laying under the shaded ledges I can find. I’m going to walk, explore, enjoy.

And as always, I will be counting my blessings.

I’m starting now, above it all.

It’s been an interesting year.

I quit my office job last June after struggling with my type 1 diabetes diagnosis, as well as a bout with the flu. I couldn’t get my health stabilized, so my husband and I decided I would stop full time, bedside nursing.

I spent 21 years working in hospitals, and capped it off with a whimper.

Since I entered the stay at home wife phase, I have spent a lot of time being Nana.

Best. Thing. Ever!

I have flown north four times to be with my twin grandsons, and will be there again next month to help my daughter with her new son.

I have been able to be the birth assistant to my daughter in love as grandson number five made his appearance in January. Since then, I spend Monday mornings and Tuesday afternoons with him.

It’s positively rejuvenating!!

I’ve been minimizing my house, one room at a time. I’ve taken out bags of clothing, finally removing all the clothes I never wear, so I could donate them to someone who could.

The house is also getting cleaned, from baseboard to ceiling. When I worked 40hr weeks and commuted 8-10 hours weekly, my exhausted self just did what had to be done.

Since I’ve been home, we’ve torn up the carpet, and put down vinyl plank flooring.

We continue to purge the hideous decor of regimes past, replacing it with comfortable, cozy warmth.

I’m still exhausted – all the time. It’s been difficult to deal with. I’m going to begin training for my next half marathon soon, and I’ve got to get some energy to get moving.

In the mean time, we are going on a cruise, visiting Miami for a couple of days, and I’ll be spending a month hopefully getting some autumn therapy with three of my grandsons.

Will I work as a travel nurse again? Definitely not this calendar year.

With the holidays coming up, my focus is on family.

We will see what the new year brings.

It’s Step Family Day.

There is a “day” for everything, but I am living the step family life, and I know that millions of others are, too, so I acknowledge this day as important.

When my husband and I got married, our five children ranged in ages from 10 to 21.

Deciding to get married when your kids are heading into the tween and teen years is daunting.

We’ve learned a lot over the last 12 years.

First and foremost, being a stepmom is the most thankless job on the planet. You get all the blood, sweat, and tears – but no glory or credit. If you are heading into a step family, moms, you need to understand this. The beginning is hard, and it takes years – YEARS – to get better.

Second, before you get married and blend your families, get counseling, and read up. “The Smart Stepfamily” by Ron Deal is a great book which outlines the path of the stepfamily. Even armed with that before I got married, it’s still a tough row to hoe.

Third, realize you have to remain a united front with your spouse – the marriage comes before the kids. It’s the order of things that keeps the foundation firm.

Forth, you will learn patience. It takes a lot of time for the family to blend – as Ron Deal says, it’s a crock pot, not a blender. You will eventually all find your places – or maybe you will have outliers who refuse to blend. You have to understand everyone moves into their place at their own speed. It cannot be forced.

Fifth, get support. I don’t know what I’d do without my blended family small group, and my girlfriends who are walking this same journey. The mentors who have been together 35 years and live to tell the tale of love and survival…and persistence.

When you are dating and everyone has their rose colored glasses on, it seems like it can’t be that hard. You get married, and it’s happy ever after!

Wrong.

It’s very hard. The challenges step families face continue, to some degree, forever.

So on this step family day, pray for your step family, if you are in one.

If your child or sibling is in a step family, realize that the kids are part of the family now. Don’t ostracize the children that have married into the relationship. Acknowledge them just as you do your biologically related kids. We have an adopted son – we don’t treat him any different. It’s hurtful to our kids when they are treated as an afterthought, or ignored.

If you are an ex, don’t try an alienate the children from their step parent. Your insecurities are not for the children to bear. A loving step parent is a gift – someone who will take good care of the children when they are not with you. Parental alienation includes alienation from the spouse and/or their kids – not only is it morally wrong, it’s a chargeable offense in court.

Our blended family is growing, and now includes another son and daughter in law, a wonderful son in law, a daughter in love, and six grandsons. For the most part, everyone has grown to love each other.

For the rest, we pray.

I put my arms around the stepfamilies today.

It takes a lot of love to put back together what had been destroyed.

We choose love and faith, and that’s what holds us together.

I really hate hurricanes.

I am infinitely grateful for the technology that lets us get “some” idea of where the monster storms are going, but it’s still not perfect science.

I moved here in 2000, and two days later, we evacuated for a hurricane.

I had no idea what living in a hurricane zone entailed. My dad was staying at his military base for the storm, to fly planes out of harms way. The rest of the family headed north.

We evacuated two more times that year.

In the nineteen years I’ve lived here, I’ve ridden out countless tropical storms, as well as category 1 and 2 hurricanes. (If you are instructed to evacuate, always listen to the local officials!). Power has been lost, much damage has been done, and a lot of sleepless nights were spent tossing and turning as the storms or the tornadoes they spun off kept me anxiously awake.

Before moving here, I knew nothing. Now I plot the course of the storms as they spin off of the coast of Africa. I watch the central pressure and forward movement. I know when the new advisories are posted, and I’m watching them for any change.

In September of 2004, I was called in to work the day before Hurricane Ivan hit. Being a registered nurse, you don’t have a choice – you work, or you’re fired. I placed my kids in the safety of my parents condo, and went to work…for the next 72 hours.

To say it was harrowing is an understatement. In a fragile old hospital, a window exploded inward just as the hurricane made landfall around 0135. We jumped up from our makeshift beds on the floor to make sure all was well. We cleaned, rearranged, moved patients around. The power went out.

The next 60 hours were spent without power, running on generators. We had no A/C and no windows to open, but we did have the ice machine up and running. Amazingly, we only had one baby born during that time on labor and delivery, and fortunately it was during the day – I had heard stories of past storms, and childbirth by flashlight.

Scrubs were modified – T-shirt’s and rolled up scrub pants. We took turns taking tepid showers.

Once the storm had passed, a group of four of us snuck out on our off shift to assess the damage. Power lines were draped haphazardly along the road. Roofs were gone from big box stores. Debris was everywhere!

As we pulled into my driveway, I was grateful to see my small brick house was intact. Some shingles had flown away, and there was a pile of vegetation debris six feet high in the back yard, but I had a home to come back to. The other three found similar situations. We sighed in gratitude.

Back at work, we missed our families, and waited to be released. The hospital was running low on food, and we ate cold sandwiches around the clock.

Finally, in the early morning of day three, the power came back on. We cranked the air conditioning down, and slept soundly for the first time since we clocked in over two days ago.

I had eight more hours to go before I could go home and see my three young children. The stress and exhaustion had taken its toll. One of our nurses had a loved one pass away overnight in our hospital, and I relieved her as charge nurse so she could go home and deal with the devastation.

We had one patient who had come in, demanding to be induced. I patiently explained to her that the schedule had been changed due to this catastrophic storm – that her own doctor had been in the hospital 72 hours straight riding out the storm. She would not budge. Her very tired but patient doctor let her stay.

Later that morning, as I answered her call light and was giving a litany of abusive language and expressions, I walked out of her room, and began to cry.

I’m not one to easily cry, but I was at the end of myself, and after not seeing my kids, riding out a storm, missing out on sleep, and the stress off the past three days, I had enough.

I called another nurse in from home, and she gladly took over.

I went to my parents, hugged my kids, and fell into a deep, much needed sleep.

Turns out the storm did more harm than I knew. My power was out for ten days – I had a fridge full of food that was lost, and this hit hard as a single parent.

The neighborhood rallied, though. My neighbor came over and cut up the trees that had fallen in the front yard. Everyone shared food before it was destroyed by lack of refrigeration.

There were also moments of beauty. The first night after the storm passed, we went outside and looked up at the sky, unimpeded by light pollution. It was a clear velvety canvas studded with the brightest stars I’d ever seen. Everything was perfectly still. It was as if nature herself needed a rest.

When I went home, I was mesmerized by dozens of dragonflies flying frantically around the debris pile in the back yard. After a few moments, I realized it was actually hummingbirds, knocked off course and confused in the wake of the cyclone.

I spent the days I wasn’t working cleaning up the debris, and clearing out the fridge. At curfew, I’d head back to my parents condo, where all three adult kids were camped out with their kids.

When I came home ten days after landfall, a power company truck from Ohio was on my street, hooking up our power. I wept as I stopped and gratefully thanked them. In the days to come, every time I saw the parade of power trucks from all over the country, I would weep again.

Over time, cleanup happened, blue tarps were replaced by new roofs, and destroyed buildings were torn down.

I am convinced I have mild PTSD from riding out Ivan. I didn’t have a choice – I am obliged to do so as long as I work as a registered nurse in this state.

I’m grateful my family and our homes were spared. In the years since Ivan, my heart lurches when I hear of a major hurricane aiming at land. I’m sick about the hurricane that is blasting through the Bahamas right now.

Hurricanes are definitely not to be underestimated.

My mother in law passed away in March after almost a year in assisted living.

For me, as the in-law, I think of her daily. She was such a positive force in my life! We had a good relationship, and I loved her very much. She accepted me from day one, didn’t judge me, and was infinitely grateful to me for loving her son – and she told me so. Often.

I know my husband is in a more painful place. The memories are bittersweet. He misses her terribly.

Mother’s Day I was not home, but I prayed fervently for him, as I knew his heart broke a little more again.

This weekend, we went to a wedding of one of his coworkers.

He was a widower, and after several years of grieving and healing after the death of his wife, he met a woman at church.

They have been dating for quite some time, and had a beautiful church wedding Saturday.

At the beginning of the reception, the groom, who is 62, had a dance with his mother.

It was very touching … and tenderly sad. I looked at my husband and said “I’m sorry” as the tears sat gathering in his eyes. I knew he missed his mom, and this beautiful moment would trigger his memories of her. It did.

It’s important to feel the feelings. To let them come. And go. And come again. its important to let the grieving process happen – not to rush it, or move on too soon.

We honor her by remembering her, and keeping her close in our hearts.

We miss you, Mom.

Up until nine years ago, I was cat person.

I grew up in a military family, and all my growing up years, we had cats. They were easy to move with. Easy to clean up after.

I liked the idea of dogs, but out of control, yappy, obnoxious dogs on retractable leashes – or worse, running loose – made me crazy. Dogs jumping on me. Dogs pooping everywhere. No thank you!

Then came Mitzi.

I decided I wanted a dog, and I researched and picked a breed that was intelligent, and that I could exercise with. During my low days, I’d have to get up and walk the dog. Nine years ago, I met with the breeder, and eight years ago, I brought Mitzi the Australian Shepherd home.

She’s been a loyal companion. We both went to puppy class through canine good citizenship (AKC CGC), and I discovered it’s usually the owners fault the dogs misbehave.

I love Mitzi! She turned me into a dog person.

In October, I found a rescued German Shepherd (GSD) online. We’ve fostered a lot of dogs, but my husband wanted “his dog”. Pepper was 8 months old and dumped at a kill shelter. I have no experience with GSD’s, but he grew up with them. He fell in love, and we brought her home, renaming her Layla.

Both dogs love My husband tremendously. He knows how to interact with them, and he’s been a dog person as long as he remembers.

Layla has been a pain in the butt. She’s dog reactive. She’s anxious. She goes after my cat at any chance she can. She’s done a standing jump over a 5′ fence into the neighbors yard.

She’s also very cuddly, and will. Not. Leave. My. Side.

I don’t know if she’s sensing something, or if I resemble someone, or if she just likes me. Even when my husband is home, she is next to me. Always touching me.

I tried to stand back, let hubby take the lead. Yet the dog follows me everywhere.

It could be because the Aussie is always by my side, and she follows her. But where Mitzi sleeps at my feet, Layla will have her head on my shoulder.

In any case, hopefully as the hubby starts training her more, she will follow him around.

I doubt it.

Now that I have more time at my disposal, I’ve been setting small, attainable goals.

Things that have gone by the wayside are being addressed.

I’ve been slowly purging my house of the extra, the trash, the collected detritus that just gathered dust.

This process is ongoing.

Last month, I joined a gym, with the express purpose of taking classes. Specifically yoga.

I have the opportunity to go to yoga 3-4 times a week.

I’ve been running for several years, and I felt my lack of flexibility was my weak area.

As a child, I was a dancer from toddlerhood into high school.

Even at my most limber, it was hard to touch my toes. I’m tall, and my legs are disproportionately long. I’m not complaining about either fact, but they do lend themselves to tight hamstrings, and lower back strain.

I felt yoga could help. So last week, I began.

It’s an Ayurveda yoga class, and I’ve been loving it.

It’s such a complete experience to me. We start by putting away the stress and hurry of the day, and begin with a warm up.

Then we work through a series of poses. Always breathing slowly and deeply in through the nose, out through the mouth. Slowly expanding.

It takes a lot of modifications for me to practice yoga, but I knew this would be the case. Little by little, though, I make progress.

I’m old enough to not care if anyone is looking at me, not able to hold downward dog as many times as they can. I take each movement and breath deliberately. I turn off any stray negative thoughts. I listen to the Christian instrumental music, and I breathe.

At the end of class, we relax. It is wonderful after the strenuous series of poses.

For once, I am able to put my mind at rest, as well.

It turns out the yoga class is helping me mentally and physically.

I look forward to future flexibility…and continued peace.