Tranquil Resources

Category: Uncategorized

  • Trying to Breathe

    Cleaning crew removed everything from storage

    I’ve been trying to stay centered on peace and joy.
    It’s that time of year, after all — the season of light, of calm, of remembering what matters

    But the truth is, I’m still standing in the middle of a mess.

    A driver ran into my house.
    The damage is real. The disruption lingers.
    And the insurance process — slow, unclear, incomplete — has added another layer of strain. There are unanswered questions. Partial approvals. An estimate that far exceeds what’s been offered. Unnerving silence where communication should be.

    And here I am, trying to figure out what comes next.

    I’m sharing this not because my story is unique — it isn’t. This is how life works. This is how unexpected things arrive. This is how we end up in hard places, still trying to function, still trying to breathe.

    Some days feel especially dark.

    I notice the anger. The tightness in my chest. The urge to replay conversations, searching for something I might have said or misunderstood, to solve everything all at once. I know anger doesn’t repair walls. It doesn’t move claims forward. It doesn’t bring clarity.

    So I come back to the smallest things I can control.

    One breath.
    One step.
    One moment of noticing something beautiful — even though that feels out of place right now.

    I remind myself that peace is something I have to work on every day.  I need to return to it again and again while things are still unresolved.

    This is me working through a dark time.
    This is me trying to stay soft without being naive.
    This is me choosing not to carry anger, even when I have every reason to feel it.

    And if you’re walking through something hard too, know that I get it. This is hard work.

    Be courageous with me —breathe — and keep breathing — until the next step becomes clear.

    Here’s What I Am Going Do Right Now

    Breathe in slowly, reminding myself that everything is safe in this moment.
    Breathe out gently, releasing what I cannot solve today.
    Feel my heart and rest, just here, just now.

    This is my one step
    And this is enough.

  • Painting What We See

    There is a quiet beauty in being older now—
    in sitting back
    and watching the season arrive on its own.

    One simple strand of lights
    is enough to set the stage.
    A single candle, scented like Frasier fir,
    fills the air with the memory of Christmas trees
    and years held close.


    On the stove: orange rinds, cloves, and ginger
    simmer slowly,
    bringing with them the warmth of baking,
    of comfort,
    of familiar things remembered.

    I don’t do everything I once did.
    I don’t hang all the lights or put up a tree.
    I don’t indulge the way I used to.
    Life—and health—have gently asked me to move differently now.

    So I adapt.
    We drive through glowing neighborhoods.
    I accept tins of cookies from friends.
    We reminisce.

    We let this home carry the aroma of past seasons
    with candles and potpourri.
    We watch old Christmas movies.
    We sit quietly while the world hurries around us,
    trying to get everything just right.

    And in the stillness, something settles.

    I am no longer the one creating the perfect scenes.
    I am the one witnessing them—
    with gratitude,
    with softness,
    with love.

    Like Norman Rockwell,
    I sit back and observe.
    I notice the light.
    I hold the moment.

    I paint what I see.

  • A Candle In The Dark

    During the holidays,
    light is everywhere—
    twinkling on trees,
    glowing in windows,
    flickering in quiet corners of our homes. 

    And yet,
    for many,
    this season can still feel heavy.
    The nights are long.
    The days are full.
    The heart carries more than it shows.

    In moments like these,
    we often look for something
    bright enough
    to fix everything at once.
    But hope doesn’t arrive that way.
    It comes softly.
    It comes steadily.
    It comes in small,
    faithful ways.

    In my song, Light A Candle, I wrote:

    “Find a quiet moment.
    Light a candle.
    Watch it dance.
    Invite the stillness.
    Give your heart a chance.”

    A candle does not banish the dark.
    Its quiet glow steadies the room.
    It reminds us that presence
    matters more than perfection.

    So this season,
    if the holidays feel overwhelming,
    don’t search for a brighter light.
    Light the candle you already have.
    Sit with it.
    Let it be enough.

    Even in the darkest nights of winter,
    a gentle flame can guide us—
    one breath, one moment at a time.

  • The “Why”

    The “Why”

    In a world that spins so fast, I’m always trying to find different avenues to share my thoughts. My poetry is vital to me, but also telling about the “Why”.

    That’s where the podcast enters.

    Our book, “Come Find Your Light,” was created for a reason. The collection came together from a journey. A journey through loss and grief, through finding the way out of darkness.

    This podcast creates an opportunity to share deeper thoughts. It also gives me a chance to share some of the music that was created along the way.

    The podcast now has six episodes. This is Episode 1 – Where The Light Begins.

  • Release the Rush

    There are days
    when the world
    seems to move
    faster than I can follow.

    .
    Lists multiply,
    expectations
    stack themselves
    heavily on my shoulders, 

    and suddenly—
    even without meaning to—
    I find myself rushing
    from one moment to the next.

    But rushing
    rarely
    brings me
    closer to peace.


    If anything,
    it pulls me
    farther from the heart
    of what matters.

    So today,
    I give myself permission
     to pause.
    Just for a minute.

    Just long enough
    to feel the ground beneath
    my feet again.
    I will close my eyes.
    Take a slow breath in.

    Imagine
    gathering all the scattered pieces
    of my attention
    and bringing them home.

    Then, on the exhale,
    I’ll let the rush go—
    like snow slipping softly from a branch.
    Let it fall away.

    The world will keep spinning.
    My tasks will still be there.
    But I will be different—
    steadier, calmer,
    anchored
    in the quiet strength
    that comes from choosing presence over pace.

    Release the rush.
    Return to yourself.

  • Winter’s Silent Beauty

    Winter teaches us the quiet art of simplicity.
    When the world slows,
    and the landscape softens
    beneath a blanket of snow,

    Distractions fade.
    The branches, once full, now stand bare—
    nothing extra, nothing hidden,
    only what truly belongs.

    In that stillness,
    we see what remains
    when all is stripped away:
    shape, essence, truth. 

    It reminds us
    that life
    doesn’t need to be full
    to be beautiful. 

    Sometimes,
    the truest beauty
    is found in the pause,
    in the hush between moments.

    Simplicity
    doesn’t mean emptiness—
    It means space.
    Space for light to enter. 

    Space to rest.
    Space to notice
    what we might have missed
    in the rush of other seasons.

    So, when the world
    feels quiet and still,
    don’t rush to fill it.
    Let winter’s silent beauty
    speak softly to your soul.


    There is peace in simplicity, and grace in the quiet things that remain.

  • We Were Featured

    This weekend, an episode of “Oregon Life”, a small town local channel featured us! It was part one of two, entitled “Poetry In The Pines. You know that feeling you get when you’re excited and nervous at the same time? That’s how we felt! But then, to our surprise, it turned out to be stunning. It was a representation of two old people finding beauty in each day.

  • Guiding Flame

    Dr. Wayne Dyer called it
    “Now I lay me down to sleep.”

    My ritual goes like this:
    Light a candle.
    For a moment, watch the flame dance.
    Then, name one thing that you can let go,


    Imagine the flame carrying it away.
    Blow the candle out.
    Closure. The day is finished.
    You are free to rest.

    Even the smallest flame
    can hold our burdens,
    and remind us that
    tomorrow will bring light again.

    Listen to the song I created called “Light A Candle”.

    https://scan.page/p/ni7ySw

  • November’s Whisper

    The rustle through golden leaves
    cools the air,
    tilts the sun toward
    early rest.

    The month of transition
    a gentle reminder
    that change can be
    beautiful,

    That letting go
    can be graceful,
    that stillness
    has it’s own quiet song.

    Remember now,
    to pause
    long enough to hear
    November’s whisper.

  • River’s Quiet Strength

    A river does not rush to prove itself.
    It simply flows — steady, patient, unwavering.
    When rocks block its way, it doesn’t stop.
    It finds a route around.

    When the path dips low,
    It now moves a bit slow
    But then gathers strength
    From solid ground.

    And
    it keeps moving ahead.

    We can carry on, too.
    Without force or hurry
    Trusting the path,
    Winding as it may be.

    Like the river,
    We are stronger than we think.
    Keep moving.
    Believe.

    Trust in the Universe
    There’s nothing to dread.