gratitude

One Nation, Indivisible & Renovation

susanjtweit's picture

I first heard about the Indivisible movement from my 88-year-old dad in January, not long after I moved to Wyoming. In our weekly call--he lives just 15 minutes from my brother and sister-in-law, but I still check in almost every weekend, since Dad lives alone and is legally blind--I asked what was up in his world. 

"Well," he said, "three gals from Panorama [the senior community where he lives] and I visited our Senators' offices to talk about our concerns." 

Gratitude: My Word for 2017

susanjtweit's picture

Every year around Winter Solstice, I remind myself of the word I've chosen for the year, consider what it meant and how it was expressed in the way I lived my days, and then ask myself what next year's word will be. Sometimes I hear the answer right away; other times it takes a while. 

Saying Thanks

susanjtweit's picture


Back in the days when I tended an enormous edible garden in raised beds just outside the kitchen door of my former house, I began a practice of saying thanks to the plants as I harvested them. 


"Thank you, squash plants," I would say, "for producing these shiny green Romanesco squash with the creamy flesh." And then I'd add, "Thank you, squash bees, for pollinating the flowers so the plant can produce the fruits we eat." 


Home Again: Gratitude

susanjtweit's picture


On Wednesday morning, I woke at Jackson Lake Lodge in Northwest Wyoming to gray and gloomy light. The temperature outside was 39 degreesF and the patter of rain on the roof included an odd shushing sound. I looked outside and saw that the rain was mixed with wet flakes--snow. 


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