The first person who called me “Mom,” was born over half a century before me.
His name was Raymond. Deemed unable to make his own decisions, he became an adult ward of the state after his parents and close relatives passed. Unlike a child who learns whom to call mother, Ray asked my permission. When I paused, he explained with choppy speech and teary eyes that he missed his mom and knew it was pretend.
Then came the day when I got home from work and found just a few shreds of mangled stems and leaves. One of the groundskeepers had managed to find the only healthy green plant in sight on that early spring day, and he decided it must be a weed. (Even though it was inside my patio fence at the base of a trellis for the vines to climb on!)
One type of activity I’ve been thinking a lot about lately is something I’ve decided to start calling “Rituals of Care”—those activities we do that include a certain care component—that is some aspect of the labor that feeds into something greater than what it does, in a practical, applied sense, for you.
As I turned back to my book, I heard a tap on the window. I stiffened, imagining an ominous creature lurking outside, knocking on the pane. Just as I relaxed, assuring myself the wind was blowing rain against the glass, there was another tap. With caution, I approached the window and peered out into the storm. Lightning flashed, illuminating the face of my friend. Smiling, I opened it to let him in. Instead, he encouraged me to follow him out, into the storm.
While delicate and beautiful, ice is powerful and merciless. Trees bent under the increasing weight, resembling our own huddled bodies as we snuggled under quilts. We gasped at the sound of wood groaning and splitting, and we watched a large branch fall to the frozen ground below. Tiny twigs snapped and tumbled toward the arms of their mother branch, scattering ice across the yard. Raising our gaze to the top of a giant cherry, we studied the space where the large branch let go, looking for other branches that might follow.
This popular missionary saint is best known for introducing Christianity to pagan Ireland during the 5th century AD. I thought it would be interesting ask the Irish Fae (aes sidhe) for their viewpoint on the massive cultural changes resulting from Patrick’s work, which disrupted ancient relationships between humans and the many species of fae folk.
Inspired by Louisa May Alcott's 'I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship' from Little Women, reflections on my Polish grandmother's enduring wisdom, sewing as mending metaphor, family moments in snowy February, and finding hope amid change and loss.
Shelly Smith had been building toward her one woman show for years, but it wasn’t until the night before it opened that she completed it. “I booked the date, then I knew I had to finish it,” Smith explained. “It was not done ‘til literally those last 24 hours, as I was fine tuning it.”
After 32 years of marriage, I discovered how The 5 Love Languages—acts of service, words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time, and gifts—deepen connection. From sunroof surprises to quiet dances, real stories of love that lasts.
A conversation with Polaris, the “North” star
Once terrified of the dark—haunted by sleepwalking and shadowy fears—I learned to see darkness as a gentle, restful lady. Through winter nights and motherhood, find peace in the quiet beauty of night. Reflections on overcoming fear.
Channeled message from gold
Once I was settled, I “announced” that my new home was open to all. Now that I live next to the Huron River, fae who travel this natural highway have a safe place to rest for the night. I’ve been told that a sort of “welcome sign” which is visible only to non-humans is in front of my place.
I warmly invite you to choose a word that describes something you’d like to focus on or move toward in the coming year. How would you like to show up in the world, and what word could help you to move in that direction?
Lost in the Paris Metro: How One Act of Kindness from a Stranger Changed Everything
Today, I am joined by three representatives of these secretive hidden peoples. Will you introduce yourselves, please?
“War is Peace” is one of the three slogans in 1984 by George Orwell. The antithetical idea has long been utilized by governments around the world. The essence: people unite against a common foreign enemy. However, what to do when no one else in the world will play war? Or if there is no perceivable direct threat to one’s country? The next step is to divide within to control the masses. How best to create division? Step 1, create a threat. Step 2, blame a group by using generalities to incite fear. Step 3, discourage rational discussion and critical thinking.
Earlier this year I made my annual mammography visit to Trinity Health’s Women’s Health Center in Ypsilanti. On that particular morning, the sun beaming in the windows really lit up the healthy, beautiful plants at the entry. Inside the mammography suite, there are several beds of green Pothos plants with golden highlights, and every plant looks so vibrant and perfect that at first glance, you might think they are artificial. While I was waiting for my appointment, I realized that these lovely green beings were offering messages.
I see (in my mind) a very large Fox Squirrel sitting on a branch of a maple tree framed by a clear blue sky, its red-gold fur glistening in the sunshine. And I feel a deep wave of love-energy move through my body.
We practice for these times, for times like this in the world. We go to our mat, under our shawl, sit on our cushion, to find peace amid the rubble of grief, rage, and fear. We attend to our practice precisely so that when the tides of emotion are strong, so is our practice. We return again and again to our breath, to our body and mind in the moment, returning to ourselves. Our ancestors developed these practices because they knew—they knew that we could be swept off our feet by our emotions, our ability to choose wisely blinded by the redness of rage or the waters of our grief
Trailer for issue #92
Slip into spring with the May issue of The Crazy Wisdom Monthly, featuring a human interest story by Bill Smith and Anna Gersh about Washtenaw County Sheriff Alyshia Dyer and her team. The story is entitled: Mission Compassion in the Age of ICE. Also in this issue a touching personal essay on Mothering just in time to celebrate your mother by Katherine Munter, A Conversation with Ginger Pie by Peggy River Singer, our Community Spotlight, Slow Farm, cooking asparagus, Circle Pines Center, our book picks of the month, and more!
The Crazy Wisdom Monthly
Issues #1 - #159
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