Western Salad

            “It’s difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato.”—Lewis Grizzard


“Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad.”—Brian O’Driscoll


It is fresh garden tomato season!  As a child, I never ate tomatoes—or much of any other vegetable for that matter.  (Of course, I love vegetables now!) Nonetheless, I have many fond memories surrounding tomatoes.  To begin, both of my grandparents and my Dad grew tomato plants.  They babied, coddled, and cared for those plants as if they were precious and rare gems.  At the time, I could not understand why. Now, I have a MUCH greater appreciation for their actions.


orange tomato
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When that first tomato arrived on the vine and was ultimately picked, I watched with wonder, as one of the grown-ups in my life would slice the red globe with care.  Next, the tomato would be arranged in a fanned-out circular fashion on a small, plate and carefully salted.


“Salt brings the sweetness out, Stethie,” my Grandmother Helen would explain to me.


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During dinner, depending upon if I was eating dinner with my grandparents or at home, I would observe the adults in my life eating freshly sliced tomato alongside whatever else we were eating.  Oh, to-be-sure, there were plenty of grilled hamburgers and BLT sandwiches served when the tomatoes began ripening, but I never stopped being astonished at the fact that most influential adults in my life ate plain tomato slices with salt only.


Later, my Aunt Patty, from the faraway land of Denton, TX, introduced our family to a new tradition–Western Salad.  This was such a simple recipe that really brought out the tang, zest, and sweetness of a freshly picked garden tomato. It was actually one of the first ways I learned to eat tomato.  Western salad became a HUGE hit in our family.  It was sure to be served at most summer gatherings even when Aunt Patty, my Uncle Ralph, and their kids (my cool cousins) were not in town. To this day, John, my husband, and I, still nosh on Western Salad throughout the hot months of the year. It is now our summer tradition—going well with steak, grilled chicken, hamburgers, and so forth.



Of course, like all family recipes, they change and evolve through time.  Therefore, I am not sure if the recipe I share with you is the exact same recipe that Aunt Patty made all those years ago, but it adheres to the basic ingredients as best I recall.  What I love about this recipe is that it lends itself to modification to fit most any dietary/lifestyle needs.  Don’t like or want beans, leave them out.  Don’t like or need chips, leave them out.  Want to add in grilled chicken, steak, or shrimp, go right ahead.  A good recipe lends itself to modification—and this is a great one—at least to John and me!


From my home to yours, I wish you happy, HEALTHY, and homemade fun!




Aunt Patty’s Famous Western Salad

 Serves 4-6, depending upon size of lettuce and portion of serving


 1 head lettuce (Check that it feel solids and heavy.)

1 large tomato, diced (A freshly grown garden tomato tastes best.)

1 can of Bush’s Vegetarian beans (Feel free to leave beans out if they do not adhere to your dietary needs or you do not like them.)

¼- ½ Catalina or Red French dressing (can be reduced-fat or fat-free)

1-cup shredded sharp cheddar cheese (can be reduced-fat or fat-free)

Fritos, or any other corn based chip to taste—we love chili cheese flavor  (This can be omitted based on dietary needs.)

Optional add-ins: diced green pepper, diced purple or other sweet onion, and/or chopped red cabbage


Chop or tear entire head of lettuce into large salad bowl.

Dice large garden tomato and add to salad bowl.

Slightly drain beans, if using—do not rinse and add to salad.

If using any other additional vegetables, chop/dice and add those.

Gently stir-in Catalina or Red French dressing, a little at a time, until you get the desired amount. Vegetables should be lightly coated, but not drenched.

Top with shredded cheese.

Serve immediately, and top with desired amount Fritos.









Protein Waffle

           “You should eat a waffle!  You can’t be sad if you eat a waffle!”—Lauren Myracle

           “We need to remember what’s important in life:  friends, waffles, work. Or waffles, friends, work, it doesn’t matter.  But work is third.”  Amy Poehler


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           I smelled them before I saw them.  

           Yum. What is that delicious smell?  I couldn’t help but wonder as I stepped out of my bedroom and walked toward the kitchen.

           I had been at one end of the house getting dressed and ready for the day.  I had not yet eaten breakfast and the sweet smell emanating from the kitchen made my mouth water and stomach rumble.   As I continued down the hall and closer to the kitchen, the freshly baked scent became even stronger.

           “Dang, something smells good in here!”  I declared as I entered the kitchen.

           My daughter, Maddie, turned her head and smiled at me.  She was standing at the kitchen counter. In front of her, steaming away, was her mini-Dash waffle maker.  Beside the mini-waffle maker was a plate stacked with several waffles of varying colors.


The mini-Dash waffle maker


           “Wow! You’ve been busy.  Tell me what you’ve made here.”  


           I said this with marvel and admiration in my voice, as it had only been a few weeks since we ordered the waffle maker at Maddie’s request.  When it first arrived, she was a bit apprehensive about how to use it. I talked her through the basics, and set her free to experiment. As with all new skills, there was a bit of a trial and error period. However, now, it was clear, she was the master of the mini-dash.

           “This stack is chocolate chip, this is brownie, this is blueberry, and this is strawberry,” Maddie explained pointing to each one.  “Want to try one?”




           As good as they smelled, she did not have to twist my arm.  Then, she served me strawberry and blueberry flavored waffles.  Boy, did they smell heavenly!


           When I was a kid, I wanted syrup in every single square of a waffle, but the aroma was so divine that I decided to try them just as they were.  Since they had been made in a mini-Dash waffle maker, they were about the size of a large cookie, so I ate it like I was eating a cookie as I sipped my morning coffee.

           “Oh my goodness, Madd, are these ever good! Tell me how you made them.”


Some of the ingredients for protein waffles.


           As I listened to Maddie explain how to make the waffles, I felt a sudden rush of motherly pride and a profusion of love. While she had often helped me out in the kitchen, she had not spent much time in the kitchen by herself experimenting with cooking.  Her life throughout high school had been busy, filled with her devotion to studying and sports’ teams.



           Then, this past school year, she entered Bethany College, throwing herself heart and soul into her classes and studies. The pressure she put on herself was enormous; and while she ended the year with a 4.0, it came at a cost to her physical and mental health.  Maddie came home in May both physically and mentally spent. Her weight was up, her energy was low, and I often saw her sitting and staring straight ahead.


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           As a mom, I couldn’t help but worry about her, but I knew I could not do as I used to do when she was a young girl—hold her in my lap, smother her with kisses and reassurances.  Rather, I had to learn to hold space for her—not an easy thing to learn to do as a parent when you see your child suffering.

           Without going into too much detail, a family member reached out to Maddie.  This person was also going through a difficult time and had also put on stress-related weight.  The family member said they wanted to take charge of their health and were considering the Optimal Weight 5 & 1 plan—a system devoted to optimal health and wellness, not just weight loss.  


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           Long story, longer, Maddie and this family member decided to join forces with a health coach and begin taking small steps towards improving their energy levels and habits as well as mental and physical well-being.  Additionally, Maddie and the other person checked in with their respective doctors. Together, they have been supporting one another; and, as a result, Maddie is beginning to explore the kitchen more. Protein waffles are just one example of the healthful goodies she has learned to create.




           Who doesn’t love waffles? I thought as I sat there mindfully chewing through each tasty bite of the waffles Maddie shared with me.  I never dreamed I could eat a waffle without syrup, but when one tastes this good, it simply doesn’t need a thing.  That said, I have watched Maddie drizzle a little sugar free syrup on her waffles; or, sometimes, she squirts it with a bit of spray butter.  Maddie tends to make these waffles in batches and store each serving in sandwich baggies or reusable containers and reheat them for breakfast or takes them in her lunch. Waffles for lunch?  Sounds good to me!




           In addition to eating these plain, I also like to take one tablespoon of powdered peanut butter and thin it down with about a tablespoon and a half of water, then drizzle that over the top of chocolate and vanilla flavored waffles.  Sometimes, if I want a bit more of a splurge, I will grab about 15 or so mini-semi-sweet chocolate chips and sprinkle over the top—but that’s the rare case. Most of the times, I follow Maddie’s example. I make my mini-waffles ahead of time.  Store them in individual serving bags or containers, and eat them plain any time of the day I need a grab and go meal.




           Now that Maddie is cooking, I am eager to share all that I am learning from her with you, Dear Reader!  While I enjoy the treat of dining out, I most love made-from-the-heart-home-made meals. And, I love sharing that home-cooked joy with others!

           From my home to yours, I wish you happy, HEALTHY, and homemade meals.


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           Final note: In addition to learning to take charge of her own food preparation, Maddie has also begun to practice yoga regularly; she has increased energy; she now possesses the skills to eat out with friends AND make healthy food choices; she is focusing on organizing her bed room and helping her dad and me organize our house; and as I write this, she has also just so happened to have lost 13.4 pounds and over 10 inches in five weeks!  Plus, her sparkling eyes and infectious smile are back! And that’s not all; she is now a Health Coach and paying forward the journey of health with others!




Protein Waffles  **If following the Optimal Weight 5 & 1 Plan, see recipe below

1 serving of your favorite protein powder

Dash of pink Himalayan sea salt

1-tablespoon light cream cheese

2-tablespoons egg whites or egg-replacement

1-3 tablespoons of water

Optional add-ins:

½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract (or other flavor extract for that matter)

1-package of stevia or other favorite sweetener

Coat waffle maker with a light coating of nonstick cooking spray.

Plug-in waffle maker and allow to heat.

In a bowl, combine all ingredients EXCEPT water, including any optional ingredient you wish to add.

Then, gradually add, 1 tablespoon of water at a time, until you get the consistency of a thick batter.  You do not want this to be thin and runny.

If using a round waffle maker, spread all batter onto waffle maker and cook according to waffle-maker’s directions.

If using mini-Dash, pour 1/3 to ½ batter into waffle pan. (It may take a few trial and error practice sessions to figure out the right amount.)

Then, cook according to directions.  (We have found with a mini-Dash waffle maker, each waffle takes about 3 or so minutes to fully cook.)

Serve warm; or allow to cool, and store in fridge for later usage.  

Stays good in fridge for several days.  

Makes one serving.

**Optimal Weight 5 & 1 Recipe for Protein Waffle (Approved by Nutrition Support)

Choose 1 fueling  (Some of Maddie’s favorite fuelings to use are Decadent Double Chocolate Brownie, Sweet Blueberry Biscuit, Chewy Chocolate Cookie, Golden Chocolate Chip Pancake, and Wild Strawberry Shake.  I also personally love all of the chocolate shakes, Creamy Vanilla Shake, and Velvety Hot Chocolate.)

Once you have decided on the fueling to use, decide if you want one thick waffle or two thinner waffles.

For one thick waffle:

1-tablespoon egg white  

1-3 tablespoons of water

Optional add-ins:

½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract = ½ condiment

1 package of stevia = 1 condiment

Coat waffle maker with a light coating of nonstick cooking spray.

Plug-in waffle maker and allow to heat.

In a bowl, combine your favorite fueling with egg white and any optional add-in.

Then, gradually, add water, one tablespoon at a time.  Stirring after each addition until you get a thick (NOT RUNNY) batter.

Spread all batter onto waffle maker, and cook according to waffle-maker’s directions. (We have found with a mini-Dash waffle maker, each waffle takes about 3 or so minutes to fully cook.)

Serve warm; or allow to cool, and store in fridge for later usage.  

Stays good in fridge for several days.  

For two thinner waffles:

1 tablespoon light cream cheese = 1 condiment

1-2 tablespoons egg whites  

2-3 tablespoons water

Optional add-ins:

½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract = ½ condiment

1 package of stevia = 1 condiment

Coat waffle maker with a light coating of nonstick cooking spray.

Plug-in waffle maker and allow to heat.

In a bowl, combine all ingredients EXCEPT water, including any optional ingredient you wish to add.

Then, gradually add, 1 tablespoon of water at a time, until you get the consistency of a thick batter.  You do not want this to be thin and runny.

If using a round waffle maker, spread all batter onto waffle maker and cook according to waffle-maker’s directions.

If using mini-Dash, pour 1/3 to ½ batter into waffle pan. (It may take a few trial and error practice sessions to figure out the right amount.)

Then, cook according to directions.  (We have found with a mini-Dash waffle maker, each waffle takes about 3 or so minutes to fully cook.)

Serve warm or allow to cool, and store in fridge for later usage.  

Stays good in fridge for several days.  

Remember, on the Optimal Weight 5&1 Plan, you can have up to 3 condiments per day.

*For more information regarding the Optimal Weight 5&1 Plan, send message here, or send a private Facebook message my daughter, Maddie Hill or me.





The Sweetness of Life: Lessons from Blackberries

            “When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth . . .”Mary Oliver


          “Through Love all that is bitter will be sweet, Through Love all that is copper will be gold, Through Love all dregs will become wine, Through Love all pain will turn to medicine.”–Rumi

ice cream cone on wood
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Isn’t it interesting how the mind works? As a kid, it seemed as if summer stretched on endlessly like driving across the state of Kansas on Interstate 70.  During the infinite sunny season of my youth, I spent many days and nights at my Grandparents’ house in the small town of Raceland, KY.  I can recall the unique smell of their home—a hybrid of mixed scents: fresh garden green beans, rambling rose and spirea bushes, fried meats, sweetly baked treats, Pledge wood polish, old books and magazines, moth balls, and Estee Lauder Youth Dew.  Even now, the memorable scent wraps me in a blanket of security.


My grandparents’ home in Raceland, KY.


One of the highlights of these lazy, hazy days was the July 4 holiday week.   We almost always gathered at my grandparents’ house for a holiday feast.  Grandmother, as I called my maternal grandmother, was a phenomenal traditional, good ol’ Appalachian cook. Translated:  She often cooked and baked with bacon grease, left over fat drippings saved in a can, and plenty of sugar.  July 4 was her time to shine, let me tell you!!  Freshly strung half-runner green beans pressure cooked with about a half pound of bacon grease in an oversized pot with a whistling top that seemed to dance on the steam emanating from its center, thickly sliced and salted “just picked from the garden” beef steak tomatoes, Heiner’s brown and serve rolls topped with smears of “oleo,” aka margarine, homemade mashed potatoes mixed with whole milk and slabs of butter, fried chicken that was prepared in an electric skillet using an ample supply of Crisco vegetable shortening, salad sprinkled with little croutons from a can, and her famous, block-you-up-for-days macaroni and cheese.    Additionally, there was always a relish tray with olives, varieties of stuffed celery, and an assortment of pickles.


One of my absolute favorite pictures of my Grandmother and Papaw on the day I graduated from Ohio University in June of 1987. Papaw would have been 75 and Grandmother 72 at the time this picture was taken; and, I was a mere 21 years of age.


The real rock star, however, of this show was the tri-fecta of July-4-only-desserts:  made-from-scratch brownies (I still use this recipe.), hand-cranked homemade lemon custard ice cream, and blackberry cobbler baked in a long metal sheet-cake pan with fruit filling on the inside, and a hand rolled pie crust on top. Yes, sir-ree this was some real unbuckle-your-belt and unbutton-your-pants sort of eatin’!


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Spending time with Grandmother and Papaw (as I called my maternal grandfather) a day or two before this epic-eating event was to watch ritualistic feast preparation worthy of mythological Gods.  Energy flowed and vibrated through my grandparents’ entire beings, and thus created a frenetic field of ever flowing love perfected through food. The house was redolent with sweet, savory, and salty aromas.  Typically, I’d hang out in the kitchen, offering to help, but really hoping for food samples.

“Do you need someone to clean the brownie batter dish (or icing bowl, custard dish, etc.)?  I’d be happy to ‘clean’ it for you.”


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I attempted to sound sincere, but my mind schemed, I’ll clean it after I slurp up all the generous leftovers clinging to the sides of the bowl. I’m sure my grandparents knew what I was up to, but they didn’t appear mind my so-called help.


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If I was up early enough during this time period, I’d eat breakfast with Papaw before his assent into the mysterious, overgrown hillside filled with “sticker bushes,” snakes, and insects.  No matter the temperature, he’d don his denim britches, as he called them, a long sleeve plaid shirt, cowboy boots, and a straw summer work hat that had a permanent perspiration ring around the closest part encircling his head like a dirty halo.  Lastly, work gloves were added to one hip pocket, and a red bandana (kerchief) was added to another. Then, once breakfast was over, he’d get an old metal bucket, and head into the safari of overgrowth on both the side and back embankment of their yard.


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Papaw would be gone for hours, or so it seemed. When he finally did return, his bucket would either be overflowing or contain just enough berries to make a cobbler—depending upon the weather the weeks leading up to his picking for which he would never fail to explain to any one who would listen.  His hands would be stained purplish-black, while his arms, legs, head, and face were often scratched with briar claw marks and numerous bug bites despite his clothing.  Aw, but the scent emanating from the bucket was sweet and earthy, the fruits of his stick-to-it-ness.




All of these recollections, and more, ruminated within my head recently as I picked blackberries one hot July evening. Plucking those tiny jewels of dark sweetness, my mind also drifted to thoughts of how berry picking is so much like life.


blackberries on table
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Picking blackberries is hard, often painful, and even annoying work.  It takes time, effort, energy, and much patience to pick enough blackberries to make a cobbler.  As I plucked away at the fruit, thorns perpetually pricked my skin, while mosquitoes and flies dined on my exposed flesh.  Much of the fruit was hidden in the brambles or dangling high above me.  I had to learn ways to work, such as lifting a branch by a leaf to reveal the berries behind it; or, contort my body by sucking in my belly, stretching up on tip toes, and craning my neck at odd angles in order to successfully gain a few more gems. I spent over an hour, and in that time I was able to pick about a pound of berries—not a lot for the wear and tear on my body.  Yet, the sweet reward of fresh baked cobbler scenting my home seemed enough motivation as I thought of my connection to family love.



My hands were stained, scratched, and scoured from picking berries, but the sweet reward kept me moving.


My grandparents had it right.  Marriage, childbirth, education, friendships, work relationships, healthy habits, maintaining a robust faith life, and even family feasts–none of these are easy.  We get snarled, tangled, and stung by life events.   There are time periods in life where we may feel as if we are ensnared in the middle of the world’s biggest briar patch, but it is at these very times where we must keep the faith and continue to pick away from a place of love, genuine good-will, and honest effort, for the ultimate sweetness awaits us—the metaphorical taste of yummy-for-the-tummy, laugh-out-loud at the stain-your-teeth-purple goodness of the simple cobbler that is the joy of life.



Over a pound of blackberries, ready for the freezer in order to make a cobbler later this month.





One Grain of Sand

           “I love the sea’s sounds and the way it reflects the sky.  The colors that shimmer across the surface are unbelievable.  This, combined with the color of the water over the white sand, surprises me every time.”—John Dyer

           “In this big ball of people, I’m just one grain of sand on this beach.”—Aurora

           Walking across black pavement, I moved as if the asphalt under my feet was melting into a viscous mixture.  The air was heavy with 83% early morning humidity. I rounded the corner of the Hilton Garden Inn, Kitty Hawk, NC, and there it was!  Looming directly in front of me: the Kitty Hawk Pier.


The Kitty Hawk Pier bathed in morning sunlight.


           I followed the yoga teacher down the steps beside pier.  She explained that we would practice in the sand facing the pier.  “You’re not going to avoid getting sandy,” she added with a wry smile.  


The beach yoga teacher rearranges a beach blanket on the ground from which she would teach yoga. She had just loaned the only yoga mat she brought with her to a student who did not have one.


           Watching her leave the designated area for our morning practice, she walked to the shoreline.  Sunlight glistened, dazzled, and danced over the expansive, seemingly breathing waves. I inhaled deeply, fully expanding my belly, rib cage, and heart space as is if I could make the ocean air part of my very being at the cellular level, if that were possible.   To and fro went the rhythmic slap of the waves overpowering the sounds of urgent morning birdsong, distant conversation, and the click, click, clatter of sand crabs. The resonance all blended into a shoreline tune full of layered harmony.


Morning sun glistens on the Atlantic Ocean at the Kitty Hawk Pier.


           Gazing down at my feet, the most random questions struck me.  How many grains of sand was I standing upon? How long had it taken for each grain to arrive at this very point in support of my feet?  Furthermore, if I returned to this exact spot tomorrow morning, how many of those grains would be gone, or at the very least, be moved to another location, and how many would be new?  Then, it hit me . . .my life is but one of those grains of sand in a world full of billions of people. However, I rapidly lost this train of thought as a few others gathered. It was time for the morning yoga class to begin.


How many grains of sand are under my feet? How long did it take them to travel there? If I stepped in the exact same spot tomorrow, would any of the same sand grains still be there?


           True to the instructor’s word, we did, indeed, get sandy—really, really sandy.  In fact, I was reminded of a TV commercial for a product of long ago, “Shake and Bake.”  Meat, usually pork chops, as best my memory serves, was placed in a plastic bag. Then, a beautifully manicured hand poured a prefilled pouch of spices into the bag, and over those generously cut pork chops.  Next, those same perfect hands shook the bag turning the raw, red meat into a white, ghost-like, powdery form. That was me practicing yoga on the beach, minus the bag.


Our instructor giving final instructions before beginning our yoga practice.  Students beside me listening and preparing to begin.


           The sun, still low on the eastern horizon, felt like a spotlight on each pose as the instructor taught.  Sweat began to form at the nape of my neck and ran into my eyes whenever we bent forward—which was often at the beginning. We practiced what is called in yoga, appropriately enough, “Sun Salutations.” This is often used as a warm-up sequence in yoga classes.  Warm me up, it did, but I wasn’t about to complain. After all, I was at the beach for heaven’s sake!


photo of sea during golden hour
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           Half way or so, through the class, at the request of one of the students, the teacher moved us into the shade of the Kitty Hawk Pier.  It completely changed my perspective. The beach, the sand, the ocean waves, the beach homes in the distance, the hotel behind the sand dune, people with cups of morning coffee making their way idly along the shoreline, sea birds dipping, darting, and diving for their breakfast, the cacophony of sounds, and the briny, pungent scents—none of this had changed, but my line of vision was now redirected.  It was as if a whole new beach spread out before me.


Under Kitty Hawk Pier.


           This is what a vacation, time away, a day or two off from work, or even a good night of sleep can bring—a newer, fresher perspective.  It is the feeling of the sweet release of a sigh after a deep inhale. It is the sunrise of life. The new sand washed ashore after a storm, or the blue of the sky after days of dark, doom-filled clouds.  


The shore will erase the sand of my footprints as if it is a fresh sheet of paper ready for a new story.


           As a teen, and even into my thirties, I used a typewriter to write essays and assignments for classes or work. There was nothing like pulling out that white sheet of paper, feeling its smoothness, and drinking in its blemish-free blandness.  That blank page was full of promise and hope of work well written.

           I’d carefully line up those paper edges into just the right spot.  Then, I’d roll the bar until I could press the return button and count down the perfect number of lines down before I began typing.  Fingers would hover over the keys momentarily as I sent up the silent whisper of a promise to myself, “You’re not going to make mistakes this time, Steph.  This time, you will not need white out. The margins, the lettering, the spacing will all be beautifully aligned when finished.” Within the first paragraph, however, that fantasy typically came to a crashing halt as I was a terrible typist!


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           And so it is with our attachments, expectations, and even our challenges/problems.  We forget that everything can, will, and is changing. Frequently we attach, and even worry/fret, over our vision of the world, of ourselves, of others, of our problems, of our jobs, of our family, of our current situation, and so forth.  Sometimes, stepping out of the daily routine, habits, and schedule allows us to gain a new vantage point as I did on the beach that morning.


My yoga mat was clean and ready for a new practice before I “dirtied” it up with sand as we practiced on the beach that morning. While I did have to suffer through a bit of sand abrasion and discomfort throughout the practice, once it was over, I picked up my mat and dusted off the sand in order to start fresh for my next practice–just as we can do each and every day and even moment!


           That number of sand grains under my feet as I practiced yoga, changed, shifted, and rearranged itself continually on that day.  My body continuously wobbled, bobbled, and tottered on the shifting sand. In fact, I fell down on more than one occasion! Before long, the sun had risen well above the horizon, the beach was more populated with people, the class came to an end, and those of us who were brought together to practice yoga as one group walked away, one-by-one.  Morning bled into afternoon, afternoon flowed into evening, and the sun was swallowed up by the western horizon. Tomorrow will be a new day with a different view.


I was blessed to see the sun rise on this morning.  A new day, a fresh start after a period of darkness.


           It was my lesson to learn that I need to attach less to material acquirements, status, ideas of perfection, worries, stress, problems, and other rewards or challenges social media and the world attempt to convince me are important.  Instead, may I learn to accept the shifting sands of life, and may I continually see there is always another perspective beyond the image directly in front of me. May I continue to rise up, dust the sand off, and try again whenever I do fall; and, may I allow the same for others.


           Playing around under Kitty Hawk Pier after the beach yoga class.  Thank you Outer Banks Yoga.  You’re absolutely right when you say, “There is time for this.”


An image from Outer Banks Yoga with whom I had the pleasure of practicing yoga and pilates with all week! Namaste!