Our Cottage tribe has suffered many losses in the last few weeks–beautiful people called home unexpectantly, dreams dashed by reality, things breaking down and falling apart, and many tangled emotional muddles of one sort or another. The raging wild fires, spewing volcanoes, massive earthquakes, and divisive politics of our time all adding their own terror and pain to the world.
But the Cottage is our refuge, our solace, our heart-safe-place. We meet there to make art that heals, to share talk that heals, and to exchange stories that heal. We meet there to join forces, to bolster our spirits, and to remind eachother that there is joy and laughter and friendship still in this world.
We stick together. We ease, comfort, and uplift each other. We talk it out. We hug it out. We know when to be quiet and when to offer insight. Sometimes we just sit in circle, silent, sharing, crying, and remembering. We support eachother’s causes, buy tickets to eachother’s events, show up with food or sympathy or just plain sillinesss when appropriate…but always with love and sisterhood.
We remind eachother that…
We support eachother’s need to just take a breath, opt out for a spell on the sidelines, and return when we have renourished, rehydrated, and repaired ourselves.
I keep the Cottage rent paid, the doormat swept, the coffee on, the glue and paint and scissors and art supplies stocked. You come when you can, with snacks and supplies to share, with broken hearts or exaltant news, with laughter or tears, and we spend happy hours safe, free, supported, and loved together. We give eachother permission..
There are gifts in getting older. As I hobble toward my 72nd birthday, I think I’ve finally begun to “get it” (better late than never!)…life is short, love is long, we waste soooo much precious time and energy on stupid stuff.
You remind me (in the middle of all the good advice I give you!) that I have my own work to do, my own heartbreak’s to attend to, and my own fragile health & spirit to protect. You give me permission to prioritize myself when I need to.
Though it is often a fierce swim upstream, in a strong current, in polluted waters, against impossible odds, I am determined to keep going, to carry the message we all need to hear…
You help me spread the love–hold up the banner–walk the talk. You help me remember the rainbow at the end of the storm, the love that lingers after the loss, and the simple gifts of friendship in the isolation of grief…
May we always help eachother swim upstream!
With Much Love,
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