Be Aware

Friends, I have no words.

I only know that there will be grace to sustain me for what is next. Whatever comes.

Can I trust that?

Can I be like mama duck, returning to her nest in the planter, high off the ground, trusting that it will be left alone? That humans well be aware and not touch?

Can we be aware of each other? Read and write signs for the vulnerable? Look out for one another?

Can we walk gently?

Today brings more big news. It feels like the new Monday Thing.

I won’t lie, I pull out the thermometer to confirm that the tightness in my chest is more panic and less COVID-19. No fever. Just more adjusting to the shifting ground beneath my feet.

I leash the dog and step out into the sunshine. We walk around the block, breathing and distancing. I try hard not to distance from self.

Be aware, Friends. Be kind. We are all in uncharted waters. None of us has done this before. If you need support, please reach out.

We are all in this together.

Let’s be aware.

Zephyr Sketch

I want to be more like Zephyr who curls up in a ball wherever she pleases. Waits patiently by the door to be let out. Speaks up when she is hungry or thirsty. Trusts that her needs will be met.

Zephyr lives in the now. When she is tired, she rests. When she is thirsty she drinks. When she wants to stir things up, she trolls through the house in search of the other animals who share the space.

Zephyr doesn’t ask, she tells. She lets you know exactly what is what in no uncertain terms. Then she curls up again and claims her current space. All of the spaces are hers. She just lets us borrow them.

I want to claim my space in the midst of the many unknowns. To Zephyr the unknown is why all of the humans are now constantly invading her territory. She is having to make adjustments. Work around us.

We are all having to adjust to unknowns. Work around things. Find our new spaces.

This adjusting is difficult. None of us is where we were a week ago. We don’t know what it will look like a week from now. We have only now. I am tired.

There is such a thing as being in seclusion with too many options, too many choices, too much crowding, too many voices. I use Zephyr’s strategy and curl up to rest, rise up to drink some water, and then reengage in a new space.

Refreshed, I stretch and settle in for a little more work before calling this day and moving on to the next part which is the evening.

Out of Sorts

Even daddy duck is out of sorts.

Opening the back door to summon Dewey after his wake up nature call, I heard incessant barking. Unusual for the early-morning hour, especially since the college students are gone and the street quiet, I ventured from my perch on the back stoop and out into the backyard.

Dewey! Come in!

He stood at the fence, pulled up by front paws, barking and kicking his back legs, not the least bit interested in bounding back inside for his breakfast. Unusual. Most unusual.

What’s up, Dog?

My gaze followed his, as a strange sound reached my ears.

There in the middle of our neighbors’ yard was a duck quacking and waddling around. His befuddled wandering in circles mirrored the feeling I have inside these days.

Which way do I go?

With so many virtual options, alternatives, and ideas springing up, I am just trying to orient myself to the new reality of my present-day surroundings. Capacity for clear direction feels muddled. I am as perplexed as a duck wandering an unfamiliar, albeit friendly, backyard being terrorized by a terrier on the other side of the fence.

Come on in, Dewey! Let’s give our visitor some space.

Bounding towards me and scampering inside, Dewey attacked his food dish with gusto. He knows what matters.

I haven’t followed up to see if there is a nest in the neighbors’ yard or if they saw their morning wandering visitor. We are all in this weird space where spring calls us from hibernation, yet social distancing dictates it.

If you read this Melody or Tina, let me know if you have a duck nest in the comments. And also if you need any toilet paper or microwave popcorn, because we have plenty of both to share.

While Waiting

It’s the beginning of the unknown. My children are home, a choice not my own, and yet I have desired that they be gathered, circled around for just a bit longer. Here they are.

We don’t have answers; don’t know the future. We only have now. This present moment.

They sleep until 9, giving me time for coffee and quiet and yoga, trusting what is to come.

I don’t have to strive for what isn’t.

Learning in small ways how to support with technology and how to love more fully in the midst of the storm. I am fed with food for this day, slowing down after years on hyper-speed.

Not wishing on anyone the circumstances we are trying to prevent.

While waiting.

Prayer for Pandemic


You have us.
All of us.
You hold us in your arms.
For our good.
And your glory.
You will be glorified.

What is in front of us?
What can we do
for justice,
How do we show love?
Share from abundance?
Of even from need?

Grant wisdom.

You say if we lack we can
And you will

I lack.
I ask.
Show me.

Make clear the steps forward,
the way to go.
Or stay.

Step by step.

Day by day.

This is bigger than all of us and in your capable hands.

Help love to chase down and cast out the fear.

Grant to us peace in the waiting and rest to us in the unknown.

Vintage Coffee Break

Lunch is over and it’s time to get back to work. It is a day of office tasks, morning and afternoon divided by a lunch date with a friend.

I walk to the kitchenette in my studio and turn the tea kettle on to boil. Desiring a treat, I reach for the small blue tin of Maxwell House International French Vanilla flavored cafe, recently purchased for an event.

Pulling the rubber lid back releases deep emotion from somewhere inside, and I am transported to college days. I feel young, and tears well in the corner of my eyes. Something in this simple action of self-care reminds me of another time and place.

I am eighteen and away from home for the first time. Coffee is one of my comforts, and in addition to a small French press I also bring tins of General Foods International Coffee. This feels rich and indulgent. The chocolaty warmth of Suisse Mocha offers late-night or early-morning soothing to my weary, anxious heart.

Recently I went looking for those red tins, held forever in time in my mind’s eye, only to find the blue Maxwell House brand instead. That is how I find myself opening this tin of flavored coffee beverage with tears in my eyes, curious and feeling very vintage.

Who else enjoyed these flavored coffees in the 80s?

I spoon powder into the bottom of a music mug and lift the whistling tea kettle from a hot cooktop. I pour boiling water and stir rapidly, giving the steamy beverage a foamy top. Lifting it from the counter, I carry it to my work space and settle in to write.

Poolside Soak


I do not yet know I will get stuck in the cute strapless dress that I wear over my swimsuit as a cover-up. Thankfully, I realize this bind early on in the nudging it down process before things get awkward.

Settling back in my lounge chair ~ sans sunglasses, which remain on a window ledge in my studio in Virginia ~ I pull the long skirt of my dress up to my thighs, exposing legs to sunlight. I appreciate that the promotional swag collected by my husband during his morning work session includes sunscreen.

I choose a seat in the beach sand section. It is mostly empty, and I sit at the end of a row. A large group appears and begins settling in place, claiming chairs around me. Though I have my new earbuds in, I can hear the chatter.

Conversation grows loud. The gist of it is that there are not enough seats for everyone in this group. There are now towels stacked on the chairs around me. I begin to feel crowded and claustrophobic. Uninvested in my spot, stuck in my cover-up dress, I sit up and slide on my sandals.

This happens in the time it takes to listen to one song.

Are you all together? I ask.

Yes. We are all cottage owners. But you don’t have to leave. Seriously. The response is matter-of-fact tinged with kind.

I don’t mind. I’m not invested in this spot. Is this section reserved?

I ask because of the speed at which people are appearing and the intensity of the seat-claiming. I feel as if there is something I missed.

No. No. No. Are you a cottage owner?


Really. You don’t have to leave. There’s just a big group of us cottage owners . . . The voice trails off distractedly looking around, assessing the current seating status.

Knowing that I want to straighten out my cover~up situation in the bathroom, I graciously excuse myself. Also, I am not sure if I want to be in the sand, after all, or surrounded by a crowd. A teenager in the group addresses me kindly, attempting a conversation.

Are you here with family?

I’m with my husband on a work trip.

Winding up the wires to my earbuds and zipping them into their case, I rise.

You don’t have to go.

Thank you. I know.

Smiling, I leave for the restroom, seeking the privacy of a stall where I can extract myself from the dress covering my body. I begin the wrestling which borders on panic as I try to remove a garment that refuses to budge down over my hips or up past my bustline.

Years ago this was a breeze. Same dress. Same swimsuit. It is another reminder of my midlife body’s changing shape.

Must. Get. This. Off, Now.

Sparing further imagery, I get it off, but not without much agony. I walk to the opposite pool, the one surrounded by concrete, not sand. I choose a safe-looking chair away from others and sit down. I take out earbuds, once again, to listen to Audrey Assaad’s latest work, Peace.

My body is changing. On my yoga mat I set the intention to tend it with steady care.

Looking at it.

Blessing it.

Inhabiting it.

Things have changed, and continue to change, for me. I lean back, look up, and accept the offer of a frozen margarita from my favorite friend who has come to say hi, as I rest and soak up the sun.

Steady On

I want to write not just when I’m wiped out and done with everything. I am so tired tonight and have several things weighing on me. I would actually *LOVE* a snow day tomorrow . . . I think this is one of the first times I have felt that way. I would love the permission to have a little extra space. Today’s client cancellation was kind, because it gave me time to take down Christmas decor in the studio. I would love to do the same here at home.

Will there be snow? The only way to find out is to go to bed.

These words and more spilled into my journal at the end of a long Monday. Most curious to me was my hope for a snow day. That was a first.

I woke the following morning to school cancellations and bare ground. Glad for a slow start to the day and for the ability to work from home, I made a scheduled 8:00 phone call and then fixed waffles.

By 10:00 snow was steadily falling, creating a winter wonderland. I braved the elements to visit a friend. By the time I returned, a blanket of white covered everything, including the ornaments hanging from the tree in the front yard, a new place for them this year.

Usually they hang on the porch from the plant hangers. This year I thought they would look fun in the tree of friendship. I was right! Several neighbors commented on how festive it looked as they walked past our house.

My children thought otherwise. One commented that they were going to find a light blue blanket to wrap around the base of the tree next year. Another thought it was something only a Baab would do or like. Both correct.

Today I took them down. The same week that brought snow and two and a half days off of school for my kids brought seventy degree weather and sunshine for the weekend. Hauling the storage box from the basement, I walked to the front yard and removed the colorful orbs.

The tree now stands empty, unlike my planner for the upcoming week. 2020 has burst onto the scene with no sign of slowing. As I ponder how to remain steady throughout, I realize it takes living moment by moment. That is what I practice as I sit here writing.

I cannot plan for snow days or predict when a child will need me. I cannot know when a client will cancel or forget an appointment, or when I will get an unexpected, much-welcomed last-minute appointment call. I can only do the things in front of me and wait for what surprises may come.

Steady on, Friends! Enjoy your week, surprises and all.

Accepting All of Myself

My husband invites me to accompany him to the wellness center while he exercises. He suggests I use a guest pass to enjoy the hot tub while he swims laps. Having not donned my swimsuit since summer, this idea sounds like a good trial run for our upcoming weekend at an Orlando resort.

I accept.

I know my suit will fit differently since summer. Much about my body is different since summer. I wear the same size, but things are shifting. Places I do not care to accentuate now have their turn on center stage.

Do you wear your swimsuit there or change upon arrival?

I change there.

Packing my sandals and suit into a string bag, I follow him into the dark winter evening.

The women’s locker room is almost empty, but I am still nervous about figuring out the locker and lock. I scope out the best place to change into my bathing suit. I know people change right out in the open by the lockers. I am not ready.

I push the swinging door to the toilet stalls open and carry my string bag with me there. This room is empty. I feel awkward and clumsy hustling into a swimsuit, trying to be quick about it before anyone comes in to use the restroom. How old am I? Fourteen? I feel fourteen.

Exiting nonchalantly, now wearing a swimsuit, I put my things in a locker. I snap the lock shut, fit its elastic key around my wrist, and head to the showers. It is the final grueling step before entering the pool area.

I realize I never picked up a towel from the towel stack only after I am soaked. I walk over to collect one, leaving a trail of water. I see a lone folded towel on the shelf and snatch it up. Everything about me feels clumsy.

Families and children fill the warm pool. The hot tub is full, as well. Eight pairs of male eyes, in various ages and stages of life, look out from it at me. This is way beyond my comfort zone. I continue past, deciding in that moment to take a lane in the lap pool.

I know everyone is not watching me, I do. I am a 48-year-old woman. It feels that way, though. I feel embarrassed and clumsy when I try to swim.

I swim anyway.

I also walk laps back-and-forth in the swim lane and discover that I really like backstroke. It feels as if I am in a sensory deprivation tank. I swim three backstroke laps before I am exhausted and decide to get out.

I do not know the protocol for exiting the far lane of the pool, and I have to know the protocol at all times. I try boosting myself up onto the ledge and then ease up onto the pool deck. Now seated, I realize I am not going to be able to stand gracefully, so I slip back into the pool casually and swim a few more laps.

My second exit attempt is a success. I use the ladder that is midway along the side of my lane. The hot tub Is much less crowded now. I walk over to it and climb in, sliding my lower back to one of the jets. The rhythmic pounding on aching muscles feels good.

Steve joins me for a few minutes before we exit to our separate dressing rooms. It is time to reverse the process and leave.

I realize there’s no way my clothes will stay dry if I decide to get them from my locker and bring them over to put on in the shower area. I make a choice to face my fear, removing my swimsuit completely. I shower, wash my hair, and wrap in a scant towel that covers my body ~ barely.

I feel conspicuous as I walk to the swimsuit spinner and drop my suit into it. One hand holds the towel tightly around me, the other presses down on the top of the spinner to begin the cycle. A woman stands behind me waiting her turn. I act as if I am a pro at this.

I kind of am at the spinning part, just not at the standing naked wrapped in a towel part. I have spun out a lot of swimsuits and am thankful I know how the machine works.

Extracting my swimsuit from the canister, I walk towards the lockers and find a fellow band mom sitting on the bench in front of mine. She slides over so I can open it. Her daughter finishes dressing. We laugh and make small talk.

I feel more anxious than I care to admit and act as if I am always half naked in the locker room with people I know in various stages of undress. I slide and twist my underclothes on and, as quickly as possible, pull my sweater over my head.

I find it curious that my stomach is the body part I am most eager to cover up. I make a mental note of that as I step into my jeans and shoes. I long to be kinder to and more at peace with my body. It is a process.

I step out into a hallway. Positive body-image and self-care quotes line the wall. Too many to take in at once, I glance over them and continue walking to the kind man who invited me to this experience, grateful for a partner who accepts all of me on this journey when I have difficulty accepting all of myself.

Word of the Year 2020

My word came to me in October. offering two months to ponder and confirm that it was, indeed, the one.

firmly fixed, supported or balanced, not shaking or moving

regular, even, and continuous in development, frequency or intensity

Art journaling feelings around what I desire for 2020 confirmed my choice. I created two practice pages before designing the official page.

The first was arranged at the Intention Day Retreat. It holds the themes but not the word.

This page inspires me as I prepare for 2020!

The second I assembled while processing on my own.

I love the dog on this page.

2019 was my favorite year, yet. Flourish was the exact word I needed to get moving and take steps towards growth. So many good things happened, including the start of my business, Heart Path Story Coaching.

I love that in 2019 my friend, Angela, and I shared the same word! Here is her post about it! I look forward to reading about her choice for this year. We each flourished in our own way, proving that a word can be both general for many and specific to each person.

I recently took an online quiz that offered to choose a word for me based on my answers to questions. It came up with stand.

Looking at my art journal pages, I see how that fits in with the word I chose. There are a lot of standing images, including the dog!

I shared my untitled page during the final art journaling session of 2019. I loved the observations participants made for me. This is the beauty of the process. You choose and arrange images subconsciously that make sense when you and others name what is seen.

I love the polar bear. He is my favorite.

Comments such as This doesn’t seem like you. The seating feels structured and the gears appear rigid, not like the free-flowing Julie I know. But when I look closer at the pattern on the floor, I know that whoever is sitting in those seats is going to receive goodness.

The polar bear was noted. I knew he had to be on the page. Something about his presence and posture evoked the feeling of my word. Another participant said, That’s Steve!

Last year felt playful and open-ended as I set an intention to Flourish. From where I stood at the beginning, I knew that any movement would be forward. I truly felt like a plant that was emerging from the earth, poking its head out of the soil and into the sunshine before twisting and sprawling and blooming in a season of rapid growth.

2020 is calling me to be steady. To continue on a path of steady flourishing. To stand firm in what I have started and work on making progress towards specific goals. It is time to settle into more of an intentional routine.

The structured seating and clock-like gears are my reminders to stay steady and focused as is the runner on the path. Tho people stand on paddle boards, balancing, moving steadily forward. And the snail is playfully obvious.

This is a year to be steady in 2020, a phrase which only came to me after I chose the word.

Now it’s your turn to share. Please do in the comments. Happy New Year!