Summer Vacation in Your Own Backyard

The High Line Canal trail winds itself through the front range, beginning at Waterton Canyon in Douglas County and ending in Green Valley Ranch in Northeast Denver.  The trail itself is 71 miles long, with 66 of those accessible by path. Gregg and I set a goal last summer to trek the entire 66 miles of pathway. 

As Colorado natives, we had each enjoyed a childhood that included time spent along the canal in one way or another, but neither of us realized the enormity of the extensive trail.  

The crunch of gravel under foot became the soundtrack to our adventure. Giant cottonwoods gave us respite from summer's heat as we enjoyed the constantly-changing landscape.

Whether winding through prairies, navigating busy inner-city intersections, or exploring suburban neighborhoods, the High Line Canal trail provided a feast for the eyes and senses.

Each day we walked, we discovered something new about the region we both have called home our entire lives.  We became acquainted with neighborhoods we hadn't known existed  and developed a new appreciation for Colorado (as if we needed another). 

The zig-zagging nature of the High Line Canal trail as it follows the literal high line of the land can be imagined as an electrocardiogram, following the heartbeat of Denver and its suburbs. The canal was originally built in the 1800s to provide water to the plains and encourage gold miners and settlers in the area to stay and create communities. Today, its trail is widely enjoyed by walkers, runners, cyclists and equestrians. 

Your summer vacation doesn't need to be any further than your backyard.  Find a local trail and follow it to completion.  You might be surprised at all the treasures that lie close at hand.

Live, love and create with intention,
Kristi

On Suffering

It seems that since I've navigated my forties, I've become increasingly aware of suffering.

Sometimes the suffering is my own or my family's.  

Other times, it is friends who are fighting for their lives, or grieving the loss of someone near and dear to their hearts.  It has included the emotional turmoil of a failed marriage, and the difficult self-exploration that results from job loss.  Whether I have experienced it firsthand, or as the listener, the suffering exists and is debilitating to those in its midst. 

It seems that almost anywhere I turn, there is significant suffering.

It feels foggy and dense and hard to navigate.

As the listener, I try my best to offer support and encouragement and positivity and love to the one in pain. I see them in their dark season and want nothing more than to help them find peace or resolve. 

Often times, it's just not possible.

In fact, in some cases, these individuals I love have become so identified as sufferers that they are unable or unwilling to see themselves whole again. They have embraced their tormentor, and refuse to loosen their grip.  It has become more comfortable for them to do this, than to seek peace itself.  Their journey and their pain is very real.  

The struggle is so enormous that they forget to keep living, and their negativity becomes toxic to their well-being, as well as to those on which they rely for comfort.

Every breath is a reflection on the past, or lived in fear of the future, but the truth is that every moment of every day is intended to be just that:

A moment. 

Here at this time.

The next one, freshly following.

Our lives are made of moments.  Each one happening presently before swiftly moving to the next.

The choice to breathe and to welcome each present moment by saying, "Yes" to its circumstances takes practice, but in surrendering to this moment's lesson, we are free to move to the next one and begin to live again. The burden of resisting pain is lifted when we relax into the knowledge that the present moment is the only moment we truly have. 

What if we all started to view our lives in this moment solely?

What cannot be endured for just this moment? 

What light might the next moment hold? 

We will never know if we constantly hit replay on old wounds and hurts.

Past moments are but memories, both wonderful and devastating.

This moment has offerings of its own, if we're willing to shift our attention and give nod to its possibilities.

I wish you all moments of presence and clarity which deliver you from the hardships of your pasts and the apprehensions of your future.

Love, live and create with intention,

Kristi 

Some Thoughts on Friendship

The year was 1987.

The hair was permed, the skin was over-tanned, and the metal was heavy.

Shimmering Shell lipstick was the go-to and high school graduation was on everyone's mind.

We were 80s girls and the world was our oyster.

This photo was taken at a graduation party and it makes me so happy to look at each of these fresh-faced optimists. Together throughout our entire childhood, we turned to each other as friends, teammates, classmates, neighbors, rivals and confidants. 

Side-by-side, we fumbled through many of life's "firsts."

We learned exactly what we did and did not want in a friend.

More importantly, we learned what kind of a friend we wanted to be.

My thoughts now turn to my own children:

Have I shown them what it's like to be a good friend? 

Certainly, we've discussed it at length, but has my example been enough?

More than anything, my hope for my children is that they experience life with a loving, nurturing support system firmly in place. They know with all certainty that they are loved immeasurably, 

but will they know how to love others well?

Selfless love takes maturity and discipline and lots and lots of practice. 

It's placing your own needs aside to listen and love others when they most need it.

It involves continually choosing to love friends who may not always be lovable.

It takes patience and commitment and the ability to listen in an attempt to better understand the struggles of others.

Often times, words are not needed.

Showing up and listening with consistency act as tiny deposits in other's trust banks. 

As the saying goes, "It takes a long time to grow an old friend."

I love that social media like Facebook has allowed me to reconnect with so many wonderful people who were part of my childhood.  I truly enjoy being able to have a snapshot into their lives and to be able to reach out and let them know they are on my mind.

I'm honored when a friend from my past contacts me in an attempt to reconnect, or to send a sweet birthday wish.  I do not take that lightly. Friendships take effort. 

Close friendships take commitment, and time, and loyalty... and it's worth every ounce of energy.

Today alone, I was able to spend time with one of my dearest friends who is fiercely battling breast cancer.  Her quiet strength is an inspiration. 

I got to hug and visit briefly with my first friend. We met in preschool when our mothers became best friends. I hadn't seen him in years.

I was contacted by a friend from high school who had questions about relationships and was seeking advice.

After each of these encounters, I was touched beyond measure with gratitude. 

I deeply value intimacy and the gift of sincere friendships.

My desire for my children is for them to be the kind of friend they hope to have.

It makes the crazy ride worthwhile.

Love, live, and create with intention,

Kristi

On Loss and Life

The past month has hosted a multitude of losses for several of my closest friends.

One couple tragically lost their teenage son in a car accident. 

Another friend was delivered unexpected news about her health that will require chemotherapy and radiation and the possibility of further surgeries before she regains health as she once knew it.

In both situations, the grief has been immeasurable.

Tears have flowed to the point where it seems impossible that our bodies could conjure up more.

There were moments of laughter and sprinklings of hope and joy, but there has been a weight that sat squarely on my shoulders; a reminder of the freshness of these losses. 

It's easy to fall prisoner to such suffering... to curl up in the pain and take residence in a blanket of sorrow. It seems to make some sense that in holding on to grief, we hold on to that which we lost a bit longer. We become identified by our loss and that becomes our "new normal".

I cannot pretend to understand the enormity of my precious friends' pain. I have not experienced their loss firsthand.  I have lost loved ones under unexpected and extreme circumstances, but I do not know their personal pain. I just know that seeing those you love most enduring such agony awakens grief.

Grief is tricky.

Grief is experienced and expressed through a full spectrum of emotions and actions. 

For some, it's a private, internal battle where "What if..." and "If only..." lead the attack.

For others, it's an outward proclamation of unfairness and rage.

There is no "right" or "wrong"; only raw emotion, where deep sadness resides.

And then there is life.

A turn of the head reveals that, in the midst of suffering, there is still celebration.

Babies are born. Weddings take place. Victories are won. Life continues.

There is goodness and hope and joy.

In one of my darkest hours, I bought a simple magnet for my refrigerator that states,

"It will all be okay in the end.

If it's not okay, it's not the end."

On countless occasions, I felt as if I was gaining some ground when a setback occurred and I would recite these words to myself as a personal mantra. 

There were certainly times when I questioned whether or not I would ever truly be okay.

But I am. 

In time, the celebrations outnumbered the instances of suffering.

Seeds of hope sprouted into joy.

I nodded, allowing myself to host these blossoms and eventually nurture them into vines of gratitude. 

Somehow, life lessens loss if we turn our heads and seek it.

When our intentions are joyful, we will find joy.

It may take time and practice, but joy will present itself.

Intention is key.

Our emotions usually follow our intentions.

I don't know how to help my treasured friends navigate the journey ahead, other than to just love them, listen to them, and encourage them. Grief has no pace. It's personal and very real.

When time has healed their raw wounds (as time always does), I will encourage them to turn their heads towards life.  I will nudge them to accept hope, and eventually joy, without guilt. 

I hope that, because of their experiences, their celebrations are much more meaningful.

I will walk alongside them and remind them that it WILL somehow all be okay in the end.

Be gentle to one another.

Love, Live and Create with intention,

Kristi

The Face of a Warrior

With all the recent attention on ALS through the Ice Bucket Challenge, I have a bit of renewed hope. 

I watch as friends and families douse themselves in freezing cold water and post challenges on Facebook, Instagram an other social media avenues.  

I'm encouraged as companies and world leaders take part in this challenge and nominate others to do the same.

I hope these people are making monetary donations and not just participating for the sake of personal publicity, but this sort of attention is phenomenal either way. 

Her name is Heidi. 

Hers is the beautiful face of an ALS Warrior. 

For quite awhile, Heidi, Paula and I would carpool to a morning workout class together.

On the drive home, we would lament about the crazy thigh burn or how our abs were aching.

Then, Heidi began noticing something different.

Lifting the bar of weights off her shoulders after our step class was becoming nearly impossible. 

She explained that despite regular rigorous workouts, she felt she was becoming weaker, not stronger.

A few weeks later, I looked into the wide, tear-filled eyes of my sweet friend at the bus stop.

We had just sent our children off to school, and my normally over-the-top cheerful friend answered my concern with a simple statement:

"I can't tie Jillian's shoes."

Jillian was her precious kindergartener.  She had two older sisters, Shelby and Rachel.

All three girls were absolutely Heidi's heartbeat, along with her doting husband, Bill, and her dog, Lulu.

Heidi's diagnosis of ALS absolutely stunned our neighborhood community.

Most of us had no idea that this horrific disease would steal our Heidi.

Their family courageously exhausted every single avenue of hope for improving her health.  

Bill kept a heart-wrenching blog of his front-lines journey to eventually walk Heidi home.

They suffered tremendously. 

ALS is devastating.

With no cure and no real solution for helping those afflicted live a decent-quality, prolonged life, families affected by this disease are required to work to the point of exhaustion daily to care for their loved one. 

They witness a beautiful, strong body atrophy before their eyes as the messages sent from the brain no longer reach the intended muscles.

They live with fear and anger and questions and frustration and exhaustion and mourning...

mourning what could and should have been.

Heidi did not want to leave her daughters and husband. 

I remember her saying to me simply,

"If my family isn't with me in heaven, then that's no heaven at all to me."

Heidi was a fierce Warrior.

She made every single moment of her remaining life count.

She loved BIG and continued to laugh and joke until she could just barely whisper.

She thought constantly about her daughters and their futures.

She wondered about their one-day spouses and wedding gowns and life celebrations. 

She also took a special trip with some of us to her hometown of Destin, FL.

It was important to her that we knew her story.

She's depending on us to tell the stories to her daughters.

We ate at the restaurant where she went with her prom date in high school.

She told us she wore a hot pink taffeta dress... so awesomely 80s!

We walked along the dunes that lined the beaches and she shared how her sweet mama, Eileen, would always sit a few dunes away from her and her high school friends, so the boys wouldn't have to know the girls were supervised. 

We spent time with Heidi's mom and DooDah (stepfather), as well as her fabulous stepmother, Lisa.

We laughed and shopped and made memories.

I think we all knew how precious these memories would soon be.

ALS stole our darling Heidi on September 22, 2009.

There have been many moments since then when I feel her touch...

in the bloom of a sunflower

or the song of a bird outside my window.

I know her spirit lingers, even when it's impossible to once more share an afternoon freckled lemonade ("Mommy-style", as Heidi would say with a wink).

I am making another donation to ALS in honor of my friend. 

I felt that giving you one small glimpse into the face of an ALS Warrior and her Warrior Caretakers might be more profound than another Ice Bucket Challenge video.

How you choose to help is irrelevant, but please get behind this cause.

Today is too soon to lose another precious warrior!

I love you and miss you, sweet Heidi! 

xoxoxo

Love, Live and Create with intention,

Kristi

Unwritten

If there's one thing I've learned for sure this school year, it's that being the mother of a senior is not for sissies.

Lord, help me!

Those of you who read my blog post in August know that I had a very emotional time wrapping my head around the fact that I was in the final stages of preparing my oldest daughter for the world beyond her childhood. 

A dear friend and I joke that next year we will need to start the MOPS equivalent of Mothers of College Students (MOCS).  We thrived under the emotional support of other young mothers in our MOPS days, and we feel that the experience of emptying the nest might again require some serious emotional support from girlfriends in the same boat (and perhaps several shots of vodka).

When Kenna was born, I was unprepared for the incredible love that would blossom immediately. 

I was unaware that a mother's heart was capable of such devotion and protection.

These were wonderful discoveries and, not counting a few dozen or so sleepless nights in the past eighteen years over my daughter's procrastinated projects, I have absolutely LOVED each day in my role as Kenna's mom.   

Today, I sit face-to-face with my own procrastinated project: assembling the video summary of her childhood to present to her this week at her graduation luncheon.  

How do I begin to sift through the scrapbooks and digital images saved in computer files in order to select the 450 most meaningful moments (from the thousands of photos) in her life so far? 

Each photo triggers memories.

Each expression tugs at my heart, as if begging to make the cut.

Gregg and I attended Kenna's Thespian Awards Banquet last night. 

We affectionately refer to it as the Drama Prom.

The students attend in Oscars attire and the rituals and traditions that run so deeply in this theatre crowd are "willed" from the seniors to the remaining thespians. 

Awards are given, new inductees are honored, and the senior slideshow is shown.

Blast it.

It's like the world is beckoning my meltdown.

For the most part, I've held my poker face.

I've honestly relayed what my mind knows to be true.

Kenna is ready to fly.

This is a very exciting time for her, as I remember it being for me when I was her age.

Then today, Gregg and I sit down to attack the graduation video project, and I fall to pieces when we pair Amos Lee's Sweet Pea (her first nickname) with her baby photos. 

I can instantly smell the Baby Magic lotion I slathered on her soft skin and recall staring at her cherubic hands as she slept against my chest, as if willing the details of those tiny dimpled knuckles to embed themselves forever in my memory.

Moving into the adolescent stage of photos, we notice a theme: LOVE

Kenna is constantly hugging and sweetly kissing siblings and family members and friends. 

After listening to dozens of possible song choices, we choose Ingrid Michaelson's Everybody.

Feeling grateful to be among the recipients of her great love, we watch adoringly as, across the screen, this girl's love is so generously doled-out on others.

Our collection of photos from Kenna's years and years of theatre productions are set to a show tune.

Every three seconds or so, an image of Kenna in one of the numerous roles she has played over the years flashes before our eyes.

Each costume stirs a memory of the countless hours this girl has spent in the theatre between auditions, play rehearsals, painting set pieces and creating show posters. She has worked with tech crews and organized the loft and given her heart to this first love: The Stage.

Now, her future is unwritten.

Just as Natasha Bedingfield's song explains:

No one else can feel it for you,

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

I'm absorbing these lyrics fully as I see the ambition in photographs of my daughter's eyes.

I know she is indeed ready to take flight.

She will, undoubtedly, fill her life's pages with words of insight and self-reflection.

She is strong and brave. She loves fiercely and loyally to those she deems deserving.

As Gregg adds the finishing editing touches to our graduation gift, I watch... numb from the whirlwind task that just consumed an entire Saturday.

He presses play, and I am overwhelmed with simultaneous love and grief.

I watch as my beautiful daughter grows from an infant to a high school senior in just over seventeen minutes. It's surreal.

I wish I could rewind and freeze several moments in the past, just to relive the preciousness of the moment.

There are other moments I am happy only demand a few seconds of my attention.

Her book is unwritten, but one thing is sure...

I can't wait to read the first edition!

Love, live and create with intention,

Kristi

My Own Tribe: A Tribute to My Siblings

You don't get to pick your siblings usually.

You get what you get and you adapt and, if you're lucky, you end up with a lifelong friend or two.

I hit the sibling jackpot.

My parents had four children within four and a half years.

I remember asking my sweet mama, 

"Mom... what were you and Dad thinking?!"

With a twinkle in her eye and a half-laugh, she replied,

"Honey, clearly we weren't THINKING... "

I loved that response.

Together, we faced life as a tribe, of sorts.  The girls would laugh and fight and "borrow" each other's clothing and shoes while our baby brother, Johnny, stayed true to his relaxed disposition. At a very young age, he realized it was best to steer clear of the drama.

We embraced the 80s and MTV and giant hair.  We made our parents sit through our "shows" as we choreographed routines to the Archies and Donny & Marie.

Apparently, last week was National Sibling Week.

I didn't get a post pulled together in time to give my siblings a shout-out, 

so I'm dedicating this blog entry to my three best lifelong friends!

Nancie:

 Much to her chagrin, I grew up wanting to be her.

I played the same sports as her

(soccer, gymnastics, track and cheerleading).

I copied her taste in music, clothing and style.

I hung on her every word.

Nancie is fiercely loyal.  She's the first to strut her pint-sized self across a room to confront anyone who mistreats her siblings. She can hold a good grudge, but loves bigger than you'd believe possible.

She's the voice of reason and a patient listener.     

She is quite possibly the most generous of the siblings,

offering her time and resources whenever she senses a need.

Nancie is a stellar companion.

We have laughed our way across the country as we enjoy travels with our husbands and family.  We confide our most secret thoughts... the details too private or shameful for ordinary discussion. 

We have kept secrets and cried and allowed our differences to be discussed and used as tools to draw us closer together.

She's the assertive leader of our little tribe.

With a heart bigger than what you'd think could fit in her tiny frame, she's a definite keeper! So glad she's mine!

Joanie: 

Joanie is one of the funniest people ever created. Her quick wit, paired with her theatrical gestures and expressions have left me in fits of tears on more occasions than I could possibly count.  She finds humor in most every situation.

She loves to love and is as passionate as she is bubbly.

My children and stepchildren have been blessed by her love of children and babies.  The love with which she raised her own two precious girls has trickled onto our own children as her girls have now left the nest. 

She loves Christmas and most other holidays, always pairing the occasion with a jingle or two and gifts wrapped in elaborate, artistic packaging. 

Her enthusiasm is never in short supply.

Joanie's performance skills continually leave me in awe.  Her confidence on stage and at the mic have often left me feeling verklempt and so very proud.  She is polished and poised.

My sweet, passionate, dramatic sister Joanie... she's my second keeper!

Johnny:

Last in birth order, but first in the hearts of most who know him is Johnny. 

"The boy with four mothers" endured more than his fair share of sisterly hugs and kisses when he entered the family.  He was our little guy, and all three of the sisters (as well as our mother) were crazy about our littlest tribe member. 

He is an intellect to be reckoned with, and embraces his uncanny knack of inserting humorous quips and comments regularly into any conversation.  Like Joanie, he has the rest of us in laughing fits on a regular basis. 

Johnny's best quality, in my opinion, is his compassion.  He's a terrific listener... open-minded and accepting.  He roots for the underdog and easily gives people the benefit of the doubt.  

He is completely devoted to his wife and two daughters and is still loyally in touch with friends he has collected throughout his life.  He is genuine and easy-going.  I don't believe he has ever known an enemy.  He's DEFINITELY a keeper, too!

Through thick and thin, I know for certain that I could not have asked for a better tribe 

in which to be raised. 

The laughter and love have exceeded plentiful.

Isn't that really what makes the ride worthwhile?

I could not let this week of sibling recognition pass without acknowledging 

my three closest lifelong friends!  

Love you all so SO much!

Love, live, and create with intention,

Kristi