June 27 2026 and I am looking for all the beautiful things. There are so many.

Today my flash essay Begin Again: Lessons in Love and Knitting was published on Substack in Open Secrets Magazine. A piece that 44 years ago existed as just pencil jots on a piece of notepaper to help me remember the immense and intense of the experience, the kindness of strangers, the good and bad that changed my life. I wrote down everything that happened over the four years of my mother’s illness — notes on random paper, stained napkin, random receipts, some even in the margins of books — then jammed all of them willy-nilly into a boot box for 30 years. These are the foundation of my story on caregiving, living and loss. Thank you for publishing.

I am day 9 post-second-hip surgery, both the procedure and recovery in Washington State. Steps forward, steps back and a lot of ice and kindness from family and friends have me on top of recovery. Thank you all. Remember, you are never too young for a new hip.

Cherries from Eastern Washington, Peaches from Central Washington, Arugula from local farmers are flooding the markets. I could eat a bowl of this bounty every day, tossed together then dashed with some white champagne vinegar and a crack of black pepper. Grateful to the farmers.

The Sweet Peas are blooming at Wren Cottage. At one, two, three in the morning when I wake to walk, take meds or just breathe through discomfort a handful sit in a jug by my pillow, scenting the moonbeams. Really, that magical.

I watch World Cup Soccer daily and still don’t understand FIFA rules but cheer wildly for whatever team needs me while my ice machine hums. Every day I go a little further around the block, alongside the ocean, from the car to the espresso shop. One day at a time.

And to crown the day: this afternoon my grand baby called (with some help). He said Mimi for the first time, grinned at me and kicked a soccer ball around his living room 3,000 miles away. I have no words for the joy.

Life is good, politics get worse, algae blooms: but so does his clever little mind and body, the roses on the fence, friendships and my love of a roasted cherry. Looking forward I will soon be able to lift him high, kick that ball too and kiss that giggly belly.

There you go. We heal.

Today at the Bainbridge Island Farmer’s market.