I think my muse lives here
frittering around among the
bougainvillea
and
pelicans
and
rose hips
and
waves.
Dancing in colors
of
nightly sunsets.
Not at all interested
in
shades
of
gray.
My muse struggles
in places with
limited light.
But put her in
sunshine.
Hear her
squeal
with
delight.
So,I sit here watching.
My eyes filled
with her
glee.
Trying to write
fast enough
while she’s here
with me.
Windows wide open
Skies pure blue.
It’s January
And I’m doing winter
The way I want to do.
There will be walks
Sometimes on the beach
But among the flowers and butterflies
Within easy reach.
Windows wide open
Smell of citrus fills the air.
Back home the temperature plunges
But I don’t care
I’m not there.
Today, we check in
To the place we get to stay.
The road trip was fun
We saw so much along the way.
But I’m ready, now
To stop living in the car.
Wearing the same two outfits
Creating lunches with apple slices
And Granola bars.
Window wide open.
Miles traveled, time to think.
Freedom is not free these days.
Our country on the brink
But these two aging hippies
Protested plenty in our day.
Viet Nam and Women’s Rights
The length of hair and skirts.
Battling government and our parents
Demanding freedom till it hurt.
Windows wide open
So while we can still stand,
We’ll use our freedom
To cross over frozen land
Away from cold and frozen snow
Windows wide open
In the winter of our life
We’ll go to a place
Where flowers can grow
Lyrics for my original song. Listen and follow along.
Join our 2026 journey cross-country. Today it begins.
[Verse 1]
Back in the day, we wanted to roam and play,
Life felt so simple, nothing stood in our way.
Bell-bottomed jeans, and our hair long and free,
One small bag carried all we’d need.
[Chorus]
Oh, road trip for the aging hippie,
With memories and dreams still so trippy,
Pack it all up, hit the road once more,
Follow the sun through that open door.
[Verse 2]
Music blaring, windows cranked down low,
Not knowing exactly where we wanted to go.
But today’s journey, it needs a plan,
Filling the senior citizen version of a hippie van.
[Chorus]
Oh, road trip for the aging hippie,
With memories and dreams still so trippy,
Pack it all up, hit the road once more,
Follow the sun through that open door.
[Bridge]
Bringing just the essentials, got bags piled
Clothes kept simple.Need room for medical supplies
One bag just for shoes, they’re orthopedic now,
Barefooting’s a memory; our feet won’t allow
[Verse 3]
Save room for the gel, to tame this wild hair,
That flowing, long look is now wispy and rare.
Windows no longer crank, they slide like a dream,
Heated seats cradling us, like warm sunshine beams.
[Chorus]
Oh, road trip for the aging hippie,
With memories and dreams still so trippy,
Pack it all up, hit the road once more,
Follow the sun through that open door
[Verse 4]
In our minds, we’re youthful, with hearts full of cheer,
Letting enthusiasm cover all that we fear.
Taking in the landscapes, the sunsets so grand,
With laughter and love, wobbling a bit as we stand..
[Outro]
So here’s to the journey. Joy filling our hearts,
Let’s hit the road, let this adventure start.
Life might have changed, but we’re still alive,
On a road trip for the aging hippie, we’re ready to drive.
There are moments when words aren’t meant to stand alone.
They’re meant to sit beside sound.
To rest inside melody.
To breathe with music.
This song is meant to be played slowly.
It carries the idea of serendipity —
the gift of finding something valuable
that you weren’t searching for.
The quiet wisdom of happy accidents.
The grace that shows up
when you stop trying to control the way forward.
We’re about to take a journey we’re calling Road Bathing.
Eight days to do what usually takes four.
No tight plans.
No checklist of must-sees.
Just miles, pauses, and the willingness to notice what appears.
That’s where serendipity lives.
In the unexpected roadside pull-off.
In the conversation that lingers longer than planned.
In the moment you realize you don’t need to arrive quickly
to feel like you’re already where you belong.
This song was created for those moments —
when you let go of urgency,
when you leave space around you,
when you allow the road to offer something back.
So if you can, pause here.
Let the music wash over you
the way miles do under open sky.
You don’t need to do anything.
You don’t need to know where you’re going next.
Just listen.
Just notice.
Sometimes, the most memorable parts of the journey
are the ones we never planned.
January — the gift of starting over.
Not all at once.
Not with long lists or heady resolutions,
but one step at a time.
This month invites a pause.
A moment to notice the light
as it arrives quietly, almost unnoticed.
To breathe slowly and steadily.
To resist the urge to look ahead at everything waiting to be done,
or to replay what has already passed.
Instead, let there be gratitude.
I am here, right now.
In this early hour, the scene is simple.
A single tree stands in silhouette
against the gray winter sky.
Strong. Patient. Unrushed.
It does not fight the season it is in.
It waits. It reflects. It rests.
Gathering what it needs
for what will come next.
January asks the same of us.
It is not a month for rushing forward
or demanding clarity.
It is a month for quiet reflection.
For steady breathing.
For trusting that growth can happen
beneath the surface,
even when nothing seems to be moving.
Today, doesn’t need to start loud.
It can begin gently.
With presence.
With patience.
With light slowly finding its way in.
Today, I simply say to myself:
Allow yourself to rest.
Practice patience.
Be kind to yourself.
Today, I choose to share my podcast.
This one is offered to close out a year
filled with so much noise and uncertainty.
Through it all,
I decided to stay focused on light,
searching for beauty.
I turned off the news
and found my truth by walking the woods.
I embraced creative potential,
forcing myself to keep learning,
keep trying new things.
Creating is my way
of breathing healthy air.
This year, that meant
self-publishing a book,
writing songs,
and producing a podcast.
What will the new year bring?
Who knows.
https://open.spotify.com/episode/2lUgiUWQDzRdENfrYnE2gQ?si=Hxb3NxwNQsitqaZ00eZ0gg
This year does not end with a celebration.
It ends with an exhale.
It has been a tumultuous year — politically loud, emotionally charged, and unexpectedly heavy. A year that brought loss we didn’t see coming. A year that tested patience, resilience, and the ability to stay soft when everything felt hard.
There are still many moments when our country feels fractured, when anger seems easier than hope. When the noise makes it hard to hear our own thoughts, let alone each other.
And yet.
In the midst of all this disruption, something else happened quietly.
We created a book that promised light at the end of the tunnel. It was not just a slogan. It was a belief we needed to hold onto ourselves. We wrote words meant to steady us. We shaped something gentle in a time that was anything but.
We created music in the darkest corners of the year. Songs born not from ease, but from necessity. We found a way to share that music with others. It could travel beyond us. It could remind someone else that they weren’t alone.
That is what makes this a quiet crossing.
Not because the year was calm — it wasn’t.
But because we are leaving it with intention.
We are not carrying everything forward. We are setting some things down. The outrage. The exhaustion. The constant vigilance. We honor what this year asked of us, without letting it define what comes next.
This crossing isn’t about forgetting.
It’s about choosing what deserves space in the days ahead.
So as the calendar turns, we step forward gently. A little wiser. A little more worn. Still hopeful. Still creating. Still believing that light matters — especially when it has to be made by hand.
This is how we cross: quietly, honestly, carrying forward our own flicker of light.
https://spotifycreators-web.app.link/e/cWXvlJhg6Yb
Do you have 10 minutes to pause?
So don’t if it’s too much.
But, if there are minutes to spare,
listen to this episode from my attempt at a podcast.
Put in your earbuds.
Close your eyes.
Make it a meditation.
My friend and I created a book filled with photography, poetry, and original songs linked with QR codes. This is a book sharing a meditative way to move from darkness to light after loss. Check it out.
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.
